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lol-jackles · 3 months

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Anonymous asked: I’m a complete outsider in whatever hell is going on here but I feel like you should let go of this person. Obsessing over them like this can’t be healthy

Goob: As a complete outsider, jump off a cliff. I’ve been getting harassed by her for three solid years, your tactic doesn’t work. This isn’t “obsession”. This is her getting the attention she’s been screaming for for three years while mind-raping me and using pictures of me for her sexual fetishes. Absolutely not. I stop when she dies.

If you don’t like it, fuck off, I will literally drag this bitch into the dirt after the three years of harassment she’s caused me in real life, online, multiple servers, fandoms and websites. Absolute rotten festering cunt. She was literally goddamn warned to stay off my dick, once every three months, for three fucking years, and she was still riding it and starting shit, so now I’m ending it. And the opinions of motherfucking people who care about me fucking up their fictional angel feed really do not fucking matter. She relies on weak ass opinions like this so she can keep on keeping on with her horse shit, and no, it’s over. You will literally have to ban me from the entire internet to make me stop before she dies or surrenders. It’s that simple. I am DONE.

I need you to comprehend I left this bitch three years ago, after she cheated, malignantly plotted to evict me to replace me with a new bf once she got her first check but let me pay the bills, and has since still absolutely stalked me everywhere anyway, invaded my servers, ripped off my face, my religious practices (badly), has been doing outright goddamn blasphemy, is grooming her friends into fetish roleplays using my fucking face, and she just invested SEVEN. GODDAMN. MONTHS. trying to invade YET ANOTHER FRIEND GROUP OF MINE to cause shit, and she got busted, and now her ass is on fire.

IT’S DONE. WE’RE DONE. THE MERCY IS GONE. SHE LETS US GO OR SHE DIES, IT’S THAT SIMPLE.

She wants me to be a demon, I’ll be a demon. She even signed to me. Moron.

Truly this woman was so obsessed she sat in a goddamn furry porn server for half a year trying to sniff out my friends and investors elsewhere. Like she was literally wailing trying to find the contact for one of my main business investors. To start more shit with, of course. Sis, that man let me do 13 billion dollars in damages to WB by proxy. He doesn’t care about your pissmoaning.

This isn’t “obsession”. This is me being tired of hers, and taking any means necessary to end the harassment I’ve been enduring on every possible front for literal years. Even if it means helping her remove herself from the planet and realizing what a service to humanity that is. I’m fuckin DONE. Like, literally, nothing of value would be lost. It’d actually be a net benefit because she’d stop scamming people with her octopus jibberish, plagiarized lines, and outright blasphemy of the god she claims but refuses to read the doctrine of and teaches contrary to.

She truly feels special cuz she can bullshit up some vague horse shit about someone’s grandma to make them feel better then writes retroactive dreams, like the one that only prophecized to her that she was about to get her cheeks clapped, after she got clapped, but she swears she had a vision dream that morning. ok. the other seven months?

Like the whore is even posing right now writing her fanfiction like it’s proof of something compared to my statistics. Yeah I too can shit out narrative horse shit, Shealyn. That doesn’t make you a mystic. She’s basically charging people for her obsession with me, her roleplay fetish, her schizophrenia and a big fat bucket of blasphemy she’ll rot in the void for. And drag some nice little practicing christians with her.

Am I christian? No. But I respect the texts enough to know what she’s doing is deeply fucking these people up. Like, they’re neither following Hermes nor Yahweh’s doctrine, they’re just following whatever octopus jibberish horse shit she hallucinates. It’s literally a cult. A cult she groomed into humping a copy of my face. Like a psychopath.

And no, that’s not the hyperbolic internet use of cult. It is the literal definition of a cult, wherein no classic doctrine is used, but rather the singular teachings of someone that generally revises other practices, and grooms them out of actually reading anything outside of it and, in this case, into humping pictures of me.

You, too, would be flipping shit if your cheating ex wife was convincing people to basically mindrape you while lying about whatever god or doctrine you follow just to try to copy you. And that’s BEFORE the trying to fuck with every friend group I have and my business. For three. Years. And that says nothing about her refusing to look in the face that she channeled motherfucking anime octopus jibberish trying to copy an inside joke. I use “channel” here loosely, obviously. Truly the most horrific skank I’ve had the displeasure of dealing with. Makes Vinnie and Kelios look like saints. And models. At least they’re under the 300 lb threshold and are open about their delusions being about fictional horse shit. They don’t even CHARGE for us to hear them spread their shit.

Trump deserves life more than this creature. At least I believe he’s genuinely retarded. She only acts this dumb, but it’s a conscious way she makes up for her own insecurities, and it’s by lying her way through to try to look divine. She doesn’t doesn’t care what it does to everyone around her. So yeah. Trump is more human than this creature. And, somehow, in better shape.

So yeah, fuck off. She has till September for part one, until 2027 for part two, until 2033 for part three, and the void beyond that for the rest of her penalties, but for right now, you can sit and spin on part one.

But you know, I think that’s fine by her. She’s too coward to end it herself but already experienced soul death and knows it, hence her refusal to build any actual identity. She’s just a sweaty meatsuit over there now going through the motions, I’m pretty sure she wants the void. Don’t worry bertha, they just have to widen the gate a little bit

well that and he realized you actually do want to die, I think, which is why he specifically opted for the “troll you until you do it yourself” route starting yesterday. Sorry Shea, he refuses to let you warp forcing him to reap you into something you can try to spin as a romantic gesture in hell. Like, he’s pretty sure you’re just waiting to grope him then too. Get away from us, you lying schizo slut.

THE OCTOPUS WAS NEVER FUCKING DIVINE, SHEA. YOU DID NOT CHANNEL THE FUCKING OCTOPESE.

Whoa, Goob is admitting that he will actively assist-suicide his ex-wife her by "helping her remove herself from the planet and realizing what a service to humanity that is." I hope the ex is screenshotting all of this gold.

I'll write a lengthier reaction in the next post to save space. Meanwhile in reference to Goob's Trump mention...

Even Newsweek agreed.

#goob

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usetheeauthor · 2 years

Text

The Satanic Panic V +18

Devil!Perv!Eddie Munson x Witch!Sinclair!Reader

For other chapters/story summary check out: https://usetheeauthor.tumblr.com/post/691280498281070592/the-satanic-panic-series-masterlist-18

Summary: You and Eddie discover a new chapter in the book of names which potentially list names the angel bots will go after. Eddie has an interview at a talk show where he decides to come clean. You go to a bar with some friends where you get some much needed fun.

Word Count: 4.6k+

Warnings: masturbation (m), graphic language, fingering (dream sequence), blasphemy, religious themes, slight pervy Eddie moments, sexual tension

V. The Book of Names

“The Book of Names?” Eddie thinks for a little, searching through his memories. “I know this. It’s the book that went missing for like centuries? Right?”

“Right! At least, going based off what Steve told me. He said you’d know but it looks like you’re just as unaware. Possibly more.” You comment.

“Cut me some slack. I’m still processing this whole dark ruler thing. I have memories that aren’t my own, motivations that I’m obligated to fulfill, I’m dealing with these insane new abilities— I’m struggling with mortality or the lack of it, in my case. It’s a lot.” He exhales.

“Whoa, I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t really think about it that way” You looked down at the book between you. “What happens if you don’t do follow your responsibilities as the Devil?”

“Literal fucking chaos.”

“You haven’t had to kill anyone as a ‘restore balance’ thing…have you?” You’re afraid of the answer.

“Nah. Not planning to as long as I’m ruler. Besides, I don’t need to kill. Human nature just takes its course. Every human on this planet is capable of evil. When you let it consume you, then that’s where I come in. I feed chaos but there’s that balance, ya know. There can’t be good without bad just as much as the other way around.”

You nod, showing him you understood. “Do you regret it? Becoming Him?”

He contemplates a moment before saying, “I don’t know yet.”

It quiet between the two of you. You look over at him, he’s simply thinking. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. Sitting up on his bed, you picked up the book and change the conversation. “It’s in some kind of ancient language. Steve couldn’t read it. Told me you’d be the guy.”

“Obviously,” He says in a ‘duh’ tone while sitting up to next to you. “You don’t have to go behind my back for information.”

“I didn’t go behind your back. You just infuriated me.”

“Because you were jealous.” He smirks, taking the book from your hand.

“I wasn’t jealous.” You grumbled.

“This book is in written in Ulkic, an old demon’s tongue,” He explains. “It’s written in real time about every evil deed and name in the world.”

He flips through the pages before stopping at one, pointing. “This chapter is all the people who inhabit the underworld,” He squints at the small text then smiles hard; his dimples deepening. “Would you look at that? Mrs. Reeds is actually in hell. Gareth’ll love that. Where’d you find this book, by the way?”

“Joyce gave it to me. Will’s mother.”

“Why would Will’s mother have a book that’s property of hell?”

You shrug.

“Hmm, interesting.” He says in a wary tone.

“It shouldn’t matter where she got it from. She gave it to me and now I’m giving it back to you. That’s all that matters.”

“What if the person who gave it to her wanted her to give it to you so that you’d give it to me?”

“I didn’t take you for an overthinker, Munson.”

He groans, rubbing his temple. “You just don’t get it. There are some serious implications for who exactly had the book last. There’s reason why this thing keeps going missing. Anyone who knows about it wants their hands on it. It’s power itself. You could alter histories, raise the dead, you could kill people on command. This shit,” He says, shaking around the leather-plastered item for emphasis. “Is bad news.”

“Are you serious?! I carried that book around so casually. I used it as a damn coaster this morning! You mean to tell me that you could literally wreck human history with this thing. How could you have been so irresponsible to lose it?”

“Not me! ‘Beelzebub’ devil did that. I wouldn’t do some stupid shit like that. Although, part of me believes Beelzebub might of ‘misplaced’ it on purpose. I haven’t accessed those memories to know for sure, though. I hope nothing’s changed.”

“It’s been gone for centuries. I think we’re past that point.”

He continues turning each page frantically when all motion stops abruptly.

“What’s wrong?”

“This book has a new chapter,” He shoots you a fearful look. “No one can add a new chapter in this except the devil and the second in command.”

“Steve?”

“No, it must’ve been someone before him,” His eyes scanned up and down the page. “There’s a list in this new chapter. 6 out of 7 spots are empty but there’s a name on number 1.”

“Chrissy Cunningham.” You read, pointing at the text. “Look! Her name’s written in bold red. You think it’s because it knows she’s…dead?”

He winces. “Yeah. Most likely.”

“What’s the chapter name?”

“All it says is The Archangel’s Order. I have no clue who or what that is?”

“We’ll just have to figure that out later. For now, we need to know why they targeted Chrissy and who they’ll be targeting next.”

“Do you remember what the angel bot said the night of the attack?”

You look up, trying to recall. “She said, ‘Gluttony’.”

“Like the deadly sin?”

“Pride. Greed. Wrath. Lust. Envy. Sloth. Those are the 6 empty spots. They’re looking for victims who fit those behaviors.”

“Okay. We’re getting some progress here.”

“Not really. These could be applied to anyone in this town. People will die and we won’t even know who’s next.”

“We’ll figure it out once we know why they decided to choose her. Then, we’ll lead with that.”

“Why would she be gluttony though?”

“I think I have an idea,” His voice is low. “She had an eating disorder. Bulimia. She told me once while we were hanging out in the woods. I thought I’d keep that secret but this is too important.”

“Thanks for sharing. I know it must’ve been hard,” You put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled for anything suspicious. Maybe, some time this week, we could try the precognition spell. I’m thinking if we’re able to see the future victims, we could stop the attacks.”

“Yeah but you’ll probably have to cast it on your own. If I cast the spell with you, they’ll know we’re on to them. They sense divine energy and will be one step ahead of us before we could even attempt anything. If we’re going to strike before they do, we move in silence. I’ll be there to help you along the way, though.”

“I can’t do it on my own. Even a full fledged witch couldn’t do that unless with at least 8 years of experience. I’ll need all the help I can get.”

“You’re in luck,” He smiles a toothy grin. “I’ll be looking for some recruits this week. Potentially, you’ll find some girlies you could make a pact with. Hadn’t you always wanted a coven? You could stick it to those deans at that witch academy.”

You smile, too. “That would be kinda nice. But how will you search for recruits? Can’t just go around telling everyone you’re the devil.”

“Leave it to me, little one.”

“You said the same thing just days ago about my ‘freak lover’ situation.”

“Funny you should mention it, I’ll also be taking care of that too. Killing two birds with one stone, if ya catch my drift.”

“No. No, I do not. Care to elaborate how you’ll stop everyone from harassing my family?”

He shoots a disappointed look. “What’d I say?”

You rolled your eyes, sighing. “Leave it to you.”

He lifts a hand to your cheek, rubbing softly with his thumb. “Good Girl.”

Your eyes locked with his as he said this. You felt warm at the sound of him praising you. Your eyes flicker to his lips then back to his eyes, noticing he did the same thing a second after you did.

You blink out of your enamored state, rising to your feet. “It’s really late. I should go.”

“You could always stay over. I wouldn’t mind. Besides, it’s 3 am. That’s weirdo o’clock.”

“I can handle myself. 3 am is also the witching hour. I’m feeling magical already.” You smiled, twirling a finger in the air like a magic wand.

“Right,” He stands up. “I’ll walk you out.”

The silence and tension between you is thick. You worried you��d choke from its weight. You could his eyes glued to your ass from behind and your hips involuntarily sway under his gaze.

You get a sense of deja vu once you reached outside and found yourself in the same position as yesterday. You standing, your back pressed up against your car while Eddie stood incredibly close.

“Thanks for walking me out. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Maybe not tomorrow. I’ve got this interview on the Conway show. My uncle Wayne booked it. He thought it’d be great idea to humanize me in the eyes of Hawkins folk. Catch me on channel 10. We air at 7 tomorrow night. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the show,” He winks. “Maybe we could do the day after?”

“That works. We could use the break from each other anyway. You’re smothering me.” You teased, nudging him with your elbow.

Eddie could see the moonlight shining in your eyes as you looked up at him, smiling. You looked so ethereally beautiful. The milky light shimmering against your skin like you were some kind of goddess. He steps closer, hearing the tiny gasp that escapes your lips from his sudden forwardness.

Dipping his head low so that your lips were closer, he ghosts his pink, full lips over your supple ones, making sure they don’t touch. You followed his every movement almost chasing his mouth, expecting him to place it on yours. He purposefully misses your lips instead placing a soft kiss to your neck.

Nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck, he whispers, “I like the smell of me on you.”

You swallowed hard; chest heaving, knowing that he could feel your every reaction. He slowly pulls away from your body, looking you up and down. His eyes dark with an emotion that’s raw and carnal.

“You’re free to go.” His voice is strained.

You’re speechless. Nodding, you hopped into your car and practically speeded off. Just when you think you’re understanding your friendship with Eddie, he does something hot that ties your stomach in knots. You definitely could use some time away from him so could understand your feelings without his tempting influence.

———

Eddie couldn’t stop thinking about you tonight. He enjoyed corrupting you in the hours before. The punishment you received wasn’t meant to be so erotic in the sense. He intended to humiliate you, in fact. But then, he smelled the wetness between your legs and all plans changed. Suddenly, he had thoughts of ruining you for any other men.

But he shouldn’t see you that way. It wasn’t right. You clearly had no feelings for him in that way. You were simply jealous possibly because of the binding connection you two share. You couldn’t possibly want Eddie “The Freak” Munson. It already wasn’t easy to confess his feelings for Chrissy. He just couldn’t imagine what it’d be like if he’d let himself fall for you.

And If he moved on so quickly from someone he supposedly loved, what would that make him? Would he end up losing you, too? Eddie shakes these thoughts. It was best not to complicate things between you both…unless you begged him to do so, of course.

Eddie spots your torn underwear on his bedroom floor. Picking them up, he brings it to his nose and inhales. He groans. He couldn’t get enough of it. There were a few times you’d get extremely wet around him and he was forced to be on his best behavior.

He needed to blow some steam or the next time he sees you, you’ll for sure be on all fours filled with his aching cock.

Lowering his pants and underwear, he closes his eyes and thinks of you. After taking in your sweet arousal once more, he wraps the lace around his painfully hard, leaking cock; tightening a fist around himself and stroking softly at first.

He imagined what he’d have done to you if he didn’t hold back. Thinking of the moment where you were bent over his knee, he would’ve shoved his long and thick middle finger into your tight channel. God, he knew you’d be so very tight, clamping onto his finger for dear life. He’d place his hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming out loud in case Uncle Wayne decided to come home during the fun.

He strokes faster at the thought of adding another finger into your wet heat, opening and stretching you so you’d take him inside with little resistance. The sounds of squelching would fill the room and it’d be better than any music he owned.

“Unhh fuck, Ashley.” He groans.

Eddie practically drools at the thought of you being so wet just from his finger fucking into you alone. He’d asked you to fuck back against his fingers and you’d pant and rut against them like you were in bitch in heat; his ridged rings hitting viciously against your clit. He’d focus on how fat your ass looked; so juicy and round while you rode his fingers. Then, eventually he’d touch that spot in you that would make your gush, coating his digits in creamy white.

He came at that very thought, grunting as his hot cum spilled over his fist and stained the lacy panties. He could practically taste you on the tip his tongue where he imagined sucking your juices off his fingers. Relaxing back against the mattress of his bed, he sighs.

Eddie needed you to give in. And soon.

———

You hadn’t planned on going anywhere for the day, wanting to relax from it all. That was until you’d gotten a call from an old friend from the swim team, Robin Buckley. She came back in town after studying abroad. Wanting to catch up, she invited you for some drinks with friends.

You can admit that you were kind of anxious. You haven’t had many friends after high school going from the Valedictorian sporty chick to the stuck up workaholic. You constantly had your head in your books instead of going out to party with people your age.

After work, you brought Erica over to your place to help you pick an outfit. To say the least, she isn’t much help.

“Eww, are you trying to make them think you’re going through a mid-life crisis?” She scrunches her nose at one outfit you’ve thrown on.

You groan, throwing yourself on the bed. “I haven’t been out in ages. This is my first time drinking—legally—but it’s with adults. People my age. I don’t know how people my age think.”

“Well for starters, stop saying ‘people your age’ so much. It makes you sound old. You can’t go wrong with a skirt,” She hops of your bed then rummages through your closet. “Wear this t-shirt dress, thigh high black boots, leather jacket. You’ll look so badass.”

“Language, Erica,” You chastised. “I love it. It’s very fresh and young.”

“Please stop talking. You sound so lame.” Erica facepalms.

You laughed. “Well, I am asking for outfit advice from my 11-year-old sister. I don’t think I could sound any lamer than that.”

“Oh, trust me. You have.” She joins in your laughter.

When it all dies down, you gave your sister a concerned look. She looks at you, confused. “Why are you looking at me the way mom does when she’s sees me hanging out with Rebecca?”

You sit on your bed, patting beside you for her to sit. She follows, anticipating for you to speak.

“I know things have been really tough lately. Part of it feels like it’s all my fault even though it’s no one’s fault. I just hope that no one’s been too harsh with you or Lucas.”

She shrugs. “I can handle it.”

“But you shouldn’t have, too. You shouldn’t have to put up with people constantly harassing you. On the brighter side of things, Eddie will sort this all out and somehow it’ll mean that no one will be bothering us. Not sure how he chooses to do that, though.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with that long-haired freak? You guys a thing?”

You choke on your spit. “N-no. We’re just friends but it’s also complicated.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” You take a deep breath then exhaled looking for a way to explain yourself without it sounding crazy. “Have you felt any different lately? Maybe some…magical changes?”

“If this is ‘the puberty’ talk, you can save it. I’ve already had this conversation with mom and dad.”

“No. I meant, if you noticed that you have powers?”

She halts in place, voice low. “I’m not sure if I do. Mom says that I might be a late bloomer and I should probably wait until I’m 13 to officially know if I have powers. I doubt that I will, though. That Sinclair curse—”

“Has been lifted.” You finished off.

She gives you a look of skepticism. “What?”

“Okay, listen to me very carefully. This will sound completely and utterly insane but it’s happened. Eddie Munson is the devil. He’s also my master and he’s lifted the curse on our family. My only price that I must pay is that I remain devoted to him.”

“What?” She repeats, eyes widened.

“I’m sorry. Did you want me to repeat that again or….”

“No freakin way! That shaggy haired moron’s the dark lord. How in the world?”

“Hey, ease up with the name-calling, lady applejack.” You couldn’t believe you were getting sensitive over her insults of him. Erica had insults for everyone but somehow it struck something in you that made you protective over him.

“Sorry. Just trying to process all of this. Wait until I tell Lucas. He’ll call bullshit for sure.”

“Language.”

She sighs, rolling her eyes. “Bull feces.”

“That’s better.” You smiled, patting her knee.

“I can’t believe you gave yourself up to him just so that we’d have powers. You’re really okay with him being your lord?”

“Technically, he’s your dark lord, too, since he’s the true source of our powers. Although, your exempt from addressing him as such. It isn’t so bad being under his rule, though. He’s actually a really great guy. I never met the devil before Eddie became him but that dude didn’t seem as nice.”

“How’d he become the devil?”

You explained the story of how Eddie met Steve in detail. Erica fully invested, reacting audibly to intense moments in the story.

“He kissed him?” Erica says as if she just received the juiciest gossip.

“I know right. That’s what I said when he told me. Such an epic way to gain divine energy.”

“Did he kiss you, too? So that you’d get your powers.” She blinks, innocently.

You blushed, thinking about that night when he made you get on your knees and submit to him. “Ummm, something like that.”

Your house phone interrupts what could have lead into an awkward conversation. You take this as your way out, running over to the phone in the living room.

You pick up. “Hello. Ashley, speaking.”

“Turn on channel 10. Eddie’s on the Conway Show.” Lucas says in an excited tone.

You called for Erica to come into the living room. Taking the remote, you turned on the television, flipped through the channels, and put up the sound. Erica plops onto the couch along with you as you watched the scene unfold.

“—What I’m saying is, Eddie Munson—what we’d all like to know, actually, is did you murder Chrissy Cunningham.” The host says.

“No. And you know what, I’m tired of having to repeat myself. Chrissy was a really good friend. Someone who I found myself falling for. That night was an unfortunate series of events. I’m traumatized by it myself. Even with the hate I’ve received from the townsfolk nothing could compare to that feeling of hopeless that night.”

“Why’d you feel hopeless?”

“Because I just watched. I ran. I didn’t do anything. I can’t help but think I should’ve been held responsible for selling her those drugs. Nobody blames me more than I do myself. She was only trying to look for that peace of mind. For those moments of silence. I wanted to provide that for her. In the end, was a huge price to pay.”

“There is talk around the town that has been floating around seen saying that you’d misinformed her on how much she could intake so that you could take advantage of her while she was out of it. There is also talk that she’s tried to commit suicide by taking all those drugs. What do you have to say to that?”

“That it’s all lies. Conspiracies made by people who don’t know what happened that night. It’s so easy to assume things when you aren’t the one that experienced it first hand. I was there, though. I watched her take her last breaths. Ashley Sinclair was there, too. And it’s unfair the treatment she and her family is receiving because of me.”

“Tell us about Ashley Sinclair? Would she ever come forward to tell her side of the story?”

“No. Because she doesn’t need to. She shouldn’t have to be interviewed when she’d already went through so much torment. She’s received far worse treatment than me and her only crime was that she was only a witness. There at the right place, but wrong time. Ashley is a good person. She didn’t have to come forward. She didn’t have to prove my innocence and air out her personal life. Yet, she did it because she knew it was the right thing to do. She’s even apologized to me for not coming forward soon enough.”

“Do you have any words to say for the people at home, watching you right now? Assuming they’ve come up with their own decisions of whether they’ll continue to believe you are guilty or that you are actually innocent.”

“People can continue to believe whatever they want. My intentions here were never to convince anyone. I came here to apologize publicly to the people that were hurt in the process. The Cunningham family, my uncle, and the Sinclair family. Neither deserve hate thrown at them for the sides of the case they are on. I’m sorry that this happened. Sometimes I wish it were me that died that day instead…”

You were stunned. It sounded to genuine to be an act. Had he really thought of being the one to die instead?

“Then maybe people wouldn’t be so mad. Nobody would get harassed. Nobody would feel as bad if it were me instead. I’d prefer that reality, too.” He finishes.

Your heart aches at his statement. He’s been harboring these feelings for so long, wishing you’d save her instead of him. When the broadcast ended, you felt yourself consumed with the need to comfort him. You would make him eat his words. You’d hold him and tell him that his life valued just as much as hers.

“Wow, that was intense.” Erica says still watching the screen.

“Yeah. Yeah it was.” Your eyes focused on Eddie’s face, noticing a sadness behind his collected presence.

You were determined to show him that he mattered and that if it came down to it, you’d come in and save his life again in every different scenario of every reality.

——

You dressed up in the outfit that Erica picked out for you, deciding to keep your braids down as they reached down to your butt. You figured that it would better suit your easygoing persona for the night by literally letting your hair down. When you arrived at the bar, you were met by Robin, who stood outside waiting for you. You parked as quickly as you could before running into her arms nearly causing you two to fall.

“It’s been forever.” You say, hugging your arms around her neck and hers were tightly around your waist.

“It has. You look fuckin’ amazing.” She smiles, scanning your outfit.

“You do, too!” I gestured to her outfit.

“Thank you,” She says in a posh accent and curtsies before looping an arm around yours. “Come on. Let’s go inside. I’ve gotta introduce you to some friends of mine.”

Your heart rate, quickens. “Oh, cool. I’m so good with people. I’m still really good with people. Not like I don’t have any friends.” You smile through gritted teeth as you both made your way inside.

The atmosphere was very lively. There was band playing in the stage, the light were a nice neon blue, and everyone sat at their respective tables just enjoying the vibes.

You finally come in contact with the table where Robin’s friends sat. One of them being Steve.

“Steve?” You said.

“Hey, Ash.” He smiles.

“You two know each other?” Robin asks eyes darting between you and Steve.

“Yeah, I’ve only met him recently. Through, a friend. How do you know him?”

“Huh. Small world.” She says then turns her attention to her to greet her other friends. “This is Nancy. My roommate. Nancy, this is Ashley Sinclair.”

“I actually know Nancy, too. Our brothers are best friends,” You waved. “Hey, Nance.”

She smiles shyly, waving.

“Okay, well, I’m guessing you know Jonathan, too.” Robin points out.

“Yep, my brother is also best friends with his brother, too. Hey, Jonathan.” You greeted him as well, earning a shy smile from him as well.

You, Nancy, and Jonathan all grew up together. You had a falling out with Nancy as you both fell into different crowd. Your friendship ending resulted in your friendship with Jonathan ending as well once they became a couple.

It seemed like tonight each party had been willing to put aside their differences for the sake of a good time. You were more than willing to leave the past in the past. It’d been a long time since you’d been out and you would make the most of it.

And that you did. After about an hour and a few rounds of shots, you were all laughing and joking around as if you were all buddies.

“Remember that time in middle school when we hid in our lockers because they called for a code red and we were still getting dressed?” Nancy laughs.

“We were always the last to leave the locker room. The coach hated us for that.” You laugh, too.

“You guys used to take so long that I’d just be waiting in the hallway, pretending to tie my shoes to buy time while the teachers were yelling at us to head back to class.” Jonathan chimes in.

“Steve and I had a similar experience when working at the Scoops Ahoy except we were hiding in our lockers to get away from this guy who kept asking for samples and making these weird noises,” Robin says, nudging Steve. “You remember? The guy was a total creep.”

“Oh yeah! He was all ‘Mmm ahhh’,” Steve imitates. “He was practically moaning and making us, especially you, super uncomfortable.”

“I’ve never asked to hear what a man sounds like creaming his pants. And yet he delivered on that anyway.” Robin jokes.

The club announcer comes on stage halting your conversations. “Karaoke night has officially begun. Anyone wanna take a crack at it? Come on. Don’t be shy.”

You look over at Robin and Nancy. It must’ve been the drinks but you felt the need for you all to rock out on stage together. “You guys wanna do it?” You smiled, encouragingly.

Nancy downs the last of her drink. “Why the hell not? I’m up for it. How bout you, Robin?”

“Oh, I don’t think they’re ready for the amount of female energy we’ll be radiating in this place. Let’s do this.”

Taglist: @nerdypartytrashpsychic @frozenhuntress67

LOOK OUT FOR

VI. The Archangel

You’d gone out drinking at the bar with some friends which is fine for Eddie. That is, until he learns that you and Steve are hanging out together. Suddenly, he’s thinking maybe he should crash the party and teach you another lesson. Before that, a mysterious man approaches you, alluring and angelic in nature.

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 1 year

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Founded in January 2023, Heresy Press addresses a growing void in today’s literary marketplace where conformity and timidity increasingly hold sway. When authors self-censor, agents select works along narrow ideological preferences, and publishers hedge their bets in order to avoid offending anyone, then literature loses. Heresy Press is here to give oxygen to unfettered creativity and to provide a home for authors and works that are not currently favored through the conventional publishing channels. Fiction in all of its forms is the mainstay of Heresy Press, with adult literary fiction, satire, comedy, speculative fiction, and young adult books leading the charge.

“Publishers have adopted a defensive crouch, taking pre-emptive measures to avoid controversy and criticism. Now, many books the left might object to never make it to bookshelves because a softer form of banishment happens earlier in the publishing process: scuttling a project for ideological reasons before a deal is signed, or defusing or eliminating ‘sensitive’ material in the course of editing…. All of this is happening against the backdrop of a recent spate of shameful book bans that comes largely from the right.” (Pamela Paul, New York Times, July 24, 2022)

The new press serves as a real alternative to conventional publishers—both large and small—who increasingly deploy “soft” censorship tactics to avoid landing in hot water over boundary-pushing or “heretical” materials. Instead of adopting a “defensive crouch,” Heresy Press stands proudly for unbounded creativity and fearless expression. We discourage authors from descending into self-censorship; we don’t blink at alleged acts of cultural appropriation; we don’t pander to the presumed sensitivities of hypothetical readers; and we can hardly imagine conditions under which we would consider a retraction. Instead of playing it safe, Heresy Press is unafraid of controversy and criticism. Its ultimate commitment is to enduring quality standards, i.e. literary merit, originality, relevance, courage, humor, and aesthetic appeal. Every serious submission will receive a sympathetic hearing, regardless of the author’s age, gender identity, racial affiliation, political orientation, culture, religion, non-religion, cancellation status, etc. Fiction in all of its forms is the mainstay of Heresy Press, with adult literary fiction, satire, comedy, speculative fiction, and young adult books leading the charge.

Heresy Press is committed to freedom, honesty, openness, dissent, and real diversity in all of its manifestations. We resist conformity and instead operate within the Millsian model of the free market place of ideas. But while we stand firmly behind the First Amendment, any speech that is not protected by the First Amendment, notably incitement to violence, libel, targeted harassment, perjury, obscenity, etc. will not be considered for publication. We think of fiction as a realm that needs as much, if not more, freedoms to thrive in than common forms of real-world discourse: “No human endeavor requires freedom as much as creativity does” (Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie). Heresy Press will consider contributions that some on this planet might deem blasphemous, politically problematic, inconvenient, or impolite, and it will never engage “sensitivity readers” to screen out such aspects. “All great truths begin as blasphemies” (George Bernard Shaw). Heresy Press and its products and representatives shall not be drawn into the vortex of cancel culture, with its apologies, mea-culpas, retractions, atonements, propitiations, etc. and instead focus on what matters—unfettered creativity and fearless imagination.

Welcome to the world of Heresy Press, where creative freedom holds sway and unbridled imagination rules! The press serves as a platform for all literary voices, including those currently sidelined or silenced (paradoxically often in the name of diversity). Heresy Press is here to offer adventurous readers a bounty of alluring, uncensored, relevant, and achingly beautiful stories.

Heresy Press’s first objective is to uphold the highest standards of literary excellence, insisting that, above all else, the writing be vibrant, the vision free from moralizing ideological agendas, and the material an uninhibited artistic exploration of human quandaries.

Instead of assuming that readers are frail creatures who need to be shielded from any and all potentially offensive, unfiltered, or “triggering” contents, Heresy Press assumes that its readers are resilient, curious, open-minded, and discerning people of any background who want to be swept off their feet by a narrative so powerful, they forget to check their phones for hours at a time. We are confident that our authors can deliver on this promise. Witness the first story published by Heresy Press, Raymond Welch’s flash fiction piece “Bad Girlfriend,” published in this issue of Speakeasy.

Heresy Press is a disruptor, not only in terms of its emphasis on radical creative freedom and its faith in a resilient reading public. We do almost everything differently from conventional publishers, both big and small:

Heresy Press treats authors with respect, which means answering queries and submissions personally, and in a timely manner.

Heresy Press does not prescreen submissions according to identity criteria, and it does not hire Sensitivity Readers.

Heresy Press doesn’t charge for submissions and it will never ask authors to contribute financially to their publication.

Heresy Press pays a generous across-the-board royalty on the net profit of all income streams generated by publications of the press, thereby greatly simplifying and disentangling the often complex and opaque process of calculating payments to authors.

Heresy Press runs a very lean operation with lots of professional volunteerism and little overhead cost, thus generating better returns for authors and progressing at a fast pace.

Heresy Press nimbly negotiates between print-on-demand and print-run approaches while also issuing e-books and audio-books.

Essay about the State of Publishing (Part I)

The publishing industry has largely adopted an approach and an outlook that New York Times columnist Pamela Paul has called “a defensive crouch.” Instead of approaching submissions with an eager mindset that goes: “Is it innovative, brilliantly written, daring, fresh, and beautiful?” now many gatekeepers in the world of publishing first raise a set of anxious questions: “Does this author have the right kind of identity, and does it match the identity of her protagonist?” “What will our Sensitivity Readers say to this?” “Is there a clearly identifiable moral center that we approve of?” “Does this story contain any slurs or words that are degrading, regardless of context?”

All of these questions (and probably several more) are intended to ward off potential Twitter-storms and to preempt outrage from thin-skinned readers; significantly, all of these concerns also reflect an obsession with thematic content at the expense of aesthetic considerations:

Authors must write in own-voice. If they portray characters other than members of their own identity group, they are guilty of cultural appropriation. Sensitivity readers stand by to flag any transgressions that agents, editors, and publishers may have missed (or merely suspected).

Authors must take an approved stance on minorities, diversity, transgenderism, racism, guns, immigration, etc., and Sensitivity Readers will make sure that authors stay within the prescribed safe lanes.

Authors must not make anybody uncomfortable by depictions of discrimination, racism, oppression, harassment, or violence, except in explicit condemnation of them, and treatments of Islam are inherently suspect. The Sensitivity Reader’s job is not done until no “problematic” scenes are left standing.

There must be no ideological ambivalence in the text. The reader should not have to wonder whether the author sanctions the views and actions of her characters. Instead, there must be congruence between the opinions of the writer and the conduct and mindset of her literary creations.

With this checklist in hand, agents, editors, publishers, and Sensitivity Readers are placing the focus on what the story is about not how well it is told. Matters of style, of poetics, narrative structure, and aesthetic form are underrated or completely neglected.

The question is how have we ended up here? What has led to this strange, anti-aesthetic climate? I want to sketch an answer to these questions based on my personal experience of the “business” of academic literary criticism.

The current state of affairs in publishing has been long in the making. In essence, it is the result of a paradigm shift in academic/scholarly approaches to literature that started in the 1980s with the rise of critical theory, spearheaded by thinkers associated with the Frankfurt School and French Poststructuralism. Theorists like Foucault, Bourdieu, Derrida, Deleuze and the legions of their followers across the French and Anglo-American academies, shifted the principal attitude from a model that foregrounded the aesthetic and formal properties of texts—as evidenced in the structuralist and New Critical paradigms—to a critical focus that prioritized content over form, focusing predominantly on the expression and rendering of power relations through the medium of language and discourse.

The Marxist thinking of philosophers associated with the Frankfurt School (e.g. Adorno and Horkheimer)—i.e. that all human relations as well as their cultural expressions are manifestations of differential power relations—filtered down into the way literature was treated as a playing field of unequal and essentially inequitable social relations. Hence the birth of the race-class-gender trinity, the literary critical approach that was based on what the philosopher Paul Ricoeur called the “hermeneutics of suspicion.”

Before the wide adoption of that paradigm, literary critics were generally paying homage to what structuralist critic Jonathan Culler defined as the “hyperprotected cooperative principle.” This denotes a sort of contract between reader and author, a bond of trust where the reader approached a work of literature with the conviction that things are arranged the way they were for a reason. Hence, even seemingly incongruous, illogical, or paradoxical parts of the work are there because they were part of the author’s artistic vision, and the critical reader’s job was to figure out how to make sense of the seeming contradictions, tensions, and mysteries within a larger context. Structuralists believed that there were deep mental, societal, and cultural patterns embedded in texts, narratives, myths, traditions, and beliefs, i.e. figurative traces of mental universals and shared human essences or archetypes. Accordingly, their task consisted in unearthing the—often hidden—patterns that inform the myriad different versions, stories, tales, and narratives that are circulating in cultural and literary traditions throughout the world.

This now quaint view of literary interpretation was ditched for the hermeneutics of suspicion sometimes in the late 1980s and 1990s, as critics began to look for signs of the authors’ benighted, socially regressive—and occasionally also adequately progressive—views on matters of racial supremacy, gender inequity, and class warfare. A whole industry, comprising conferences, journals, associations, books, and more sprung up in response to the desire to treat literary texts as compendia of their authors ideological views and opinions, especially in regards to issues of race, class, and gender. Students and future professional literary critics were taught to analyze literary texts for the ways in which they socially constructed, and thus “made” these categories. From being considered a locus of aesthetic pleasure, the text thus morphed into something more closely resembling a crime scene. One may argue that this transition is a symptom of a larger erosion of trust happening on a society-wide scale.

It hardly surprises, therefore, that legions of literary agents and editors are now ensconced in all echelons of the publishing industry who are willing to ditch works of literature, no matter how brilliantly written, on the basis of perceived sins of omission and commission detected on the thematic level of content, character, subject matter, ideological tendency. No wonder, too, that some readers are loudly condemning certain works of literature for their authors’ views, failing to recognize the discontinuity between an author’s own moral (or immoral) views and the characters and events inside the fictional world. If the moralizing approach to literature were to become utterly dominant, then the canon of available literature would shrink to the works of a few unconditionally virtuous, progressive, magnanimous, unprejudiced, and saintly individuals. But what level of riveting, dark, disturbing, funny, and boundary-pushing literature could we expect from such unblemished hands?

The hermeneutics of suspicion has poisoned the appreciation of art, with artists and readers everywhere now paying the price for the prosecutorial approach to literature that has been inculcated into generations of budding literary critics. For the past 50 years, we have failed to teach students to analyze and appreciate the craft of literature as an artistic endeavor and a human striving for profound aesthetic experiences. Attempts in that direction would have likely met with withering scorn by the scholarly community as a new form of “aestheticism.”

There is obviously nothing wrong with having a distinct critical perspective, and it is also true that language is one of the vehicles for encoding and disseminating pernicious stereotypes. However, literature is not the place where we should insert the lever in order to dislodge injustice and rid the world of prejudice. The emphasis should rather be placed on education, on tolerance training, on integration of neighborhoods, schools, businesses, and so on. Instead of purging library shelves of unwelcome books, let’s drive initiatives that strengthen social cohesion through trust-building, dialogue, and compassion. Much more damage than good is done by putting art in fetters over forbidden words and disfavored ideas. This censorious approach is directly counter-productive, since literature is instrumental in broadening minds, enlarging empathy, fostering dialogue, and practicing virtue, albeit vicariously.

Having said, this, I much prefer Oscar Wilde’s aphorism “The telling of beautiful untrue things is the proper aim of Art” to Shelley’s activist dictum about poets being “the unacknowledged legislators of the world.” They are not, at least not in the sense of “legislator” as a person with actual political and legal power or direct socio-economic impact. Poets wield a very different kind of influence–they gift us with soaring diction, they broaden our horizons with new perspectives, and they provide us with deep understanding of ourselves and others via the most effective teaching tool in existence: storytelling. Let’s never lose sight of that.

This is not a plea for uncritical reading. Far from it. But there’s a difference between being an uncritical reader and being a humble, fair, and undogmatic critic. We need more of the latter.

(To be continued)

– Bernard Schweizer (Director Heresy Press)

If you're a writer or a reader frustrated by the current stifling orthodoxy of what can be said and who is allowed to say it, you might like to consider a look at Heresy Press.

Note: I have no experience with them, they just crossed my path. Maybe take a look at their full newsletter. YMMV.

#Heresy Press #Bernard Schweizer #creative writing #writing #fiction #orthodoxy #sensitivity reading #sensitivity reader #creative fiction #literature #fiction writing #approved message #creative freedom #freedom of expression #creativity #ideological conformity #purity culture #religion is a mental illness

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incarnateirony · 3 months

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The funniest thing is once the dumb slut thinks she can block me on tumblr and "stop looking" (which god DAMN I wish the fat cunt had stopped THREE MOTHERFUCKING YEARS AGO when I told the fucking whore to), that's not gonna do it alone anymore Shea. Cuz we figured out this dumb cunt will just wait three months to start over again.

That was your option three years ago. You have since then dedicated three years in half-year long waves explicitly towards stalking me and fucking with my life both online and off.

The second you and your friends "stop", and by that I mean, pretend to go on with your merry fucking day mindraping my face and planning the next way to piss on my face for half a year, that's when this goes to the KC witch groups with it's documentation, and that's when you'd get ejected from Kansas City witchery! Isn't that GRAND?

Hello, Shealyn. You will not run from the truth, even if you wait 20 hours to try to post your new horse shit pretending to be successful. You're still insane. And on my dick. And grooming people to hump my face. We're not just gonna walk past that.

You motherfucking carnival level obesity motherfucker. It's not gonna stop until you stop the blasphemy, theft, and most of all, the obsession that landed you here, riding my dick and friend groups for three fucking years trying to replace me. Sorry you traded one person that was literally stuck being dickless to a useless piece of shit who's both dickless AND boring enough you literally are unable to stop fantasizing about my shit. Fucking. Stop. Let us go you fucking freakazoid.

You cannot motherfucking roleplay me, or a god, or whatever the fuck into your life, you cannot narrative rewrite real people, you stupid slut, when will you accept the consequences of your actions?

This ends when you let us go, or you let yourself go to relieve us. And to let us go, you already know what to do. You refuse. Because you literally cannot, physically, mentally, spiritually, literally cannot stop humping my dick, you fucking psychonaut.

You are one of the most unsalvageable things shaped like a human being on this planet. You will use and use and use and burn and burn and lie and lie and lie and the second you aren't getting your motherfucking games you want, because you have literally pissed off everyone around you, you will throw the real person in the trash, lift your fantasy parts of them, and try to like, groom them into other people's lives. There is no universe that is NOT trash and no universe that's NOT psychotic.

FUCKING LOOK AT IT YOU CRAZY STUPID SLUT, STOP CHARGING PEOPLE FOR YOUR SCHIZOPHRENIA AND YOUR BONER FOR ME. YOU CORPULENT ROLY POLY, WHEN WILL IT CLICK?

And honestly? Every single motherfucker in her life? That is reading this, seeing this, making excuses for her shit, just because you have grudges for being banned from fandom servers and shit, you too are also irredeemable chucklefucks. At least, when I thought she was human, I supported her but also kept her stable when I cared enough to understand she was losing the reality line. You unsalvageable motherfuckers have ridden her schizophrenia into the pit together and can't get off my dick as a result. Fucking motherfucking shame on all of you. She USED to be human. You took a perfectly good schizoid and turned her into an obsessed stalker worshipping the ghost of my astral cock, great work.

Like truly, this bitch is the most vacant piece of shit I've ever seen. It's literally evidenced by, even finding out her fucking hallucinated rumpocky story had her channeling motherfuckin octopus jibberish, she's gonna literally cling to her fuckin jibberish and horse shit. Why? She's so fucking VOID she can't even think of her own shit, she leaned her entire identity on my shit, as she does, and just. She fuckin can't. She can't move on. But If She Not Rumpocky Then Who Is She? We don't know, you fat cunt, you refused to self-define that no matter how many times he tried to teach you, and now you're here, in octopus fetish land. Riding your ex's dick, because you realized you DEEPLY, DEEPLY fucked up and can't replace what you fucked up, and you are DEEPLY and perpetually fucked on that front, and you thought you could just roleplay until you believed it and groomed everyone else into it that didn't know better. It's literally being both a rapist AND lazy as piss. Literally everyone enabling this deserves to die in a fucking white phosphorus fire.

The worst part, I know the fucking aboleth-souled motherfucker named nickel doesn't really believe a single goddamn thing, they're just over there grinning and vibrating from the malice of knowing they've finally made me snap, and they'll fuck Shea's brain right into the dirt to stick it to me for, [slaps face in horror] BANNING THEM FROM A FANDOM SERVER FOR HARASSING PEOPLE. Like, holy shit, that's your wholeass psychotic motivation in life and you'll let this woman fucking Delusional herself into Octopus Language Land to sit there and be smug that you're encouraging her to torture someone in her mania and vibrate on her ex's face all day saying it's Perfectly Fine. There are special places in hell for people like you.

Fucking appaling. A group of internet trolls gaslighting a woman into pretending they give two shits about her rather than using her insanity for social revenge. That has to be it at this point, because otherwise, if a single one of you motherfuckers had two grams of actual caring, you'd get her to a shrink and explain this shit without letting her hide it from them. But no no, she can vague piss something about PTSD to be a victim, rather than recognizing she wasn't ripping her hair out when we were together, it was after I left, because she had anxiety from an absence she has been trying to fill and can't. Like. You guys did that shit to her. It is literally your fucking fault.

For three years, I watched and went "Damn, they're really setting this woman up for a psychotic break when her reality wall fails, that's a suicide waiting to happen", until, finally, here, after this last seven months, it became "good. Fucking do it. we'll finally be able to feed some third world countries, net benefit." Because I'm pretty sure she's past saving. They let her fuck her up this bad and she refuses to change or seek actual help, just more from the voices in her head and her enablers.

Yeah, I sure as shit AM her PTSD, but not for what you wanna spin. Her loss of me, and her inability to grieve in a healthy way or let go, caused her PTSD. Her realizing "Coyote = Aaron? Hermes.... = Aaron? Nonono Hermes is still here, I love hermes, hermes would never leave me" led her down a fucking hole to batshitville. Her own choices, and ejecting something from her life that was precious to her without understanding the consequences of her actions is her PTSD. Choices you antagonized over stupid horse shit that got you personal gratification. You guys. You're her PTSD, she's just too lost in her own schizoid hole you've let her build she can't see it, all she can see is you encouraging her, and my face(s). You are literally slow motion letting this woman kill herself over your petty biases.

And honestly? You've fucked her up so bad, and gotten her to antagonize me so bad, she's on a shortlist of people like Trump that I would just go "fucking. Good. The planet is cleaner and saner now." Y'all did that. Y'all brought it here. And in the end, if you don't get her help, that reality wall will eventually hit her, and she WILL kill herself. One day she WILL let herself realize that it's been me all along she was after, and realize that's WHY she couldn't stop riding my dick in any form for years, and realize she's made herself an abysmal monster to me and no. No, Hermes doesnt love you, Shealyn. Hermes is disgusted by you at this point. And you did it to yourself. Now are you gonna pay him the money you owe him, or is he gonna have to pull it on the ferry ride?

Cuz like. Your entire life is a lie at this point. A lie crafted around my image, and all the other lies scaffolding to try to hold it up as the idol still piloting your life and dragging your fat ass to harass me because you know where what you're after is and you're mad at it that it wants you to die in a fire at this point, but that seems like a personal problem. A verifiable temple, a religion, an ode to her obsession with me so thorough she can not stop chasing the octopus jibberish road and accept the life or home she has, even when given "Hey, Hestia is the opposite offset to--" WAAAAAAAAAAH BUT RUMPOCKY

Jesus fuck.

Shealyn, hermes NEVER loved you. I did. Or I thought I did. I loved the person I thought you were until you continued to morph and morph and morph until you were basically hypnotized into tiktok in headphones screaming at me any time I had the audacity to ask how your day was. Because you were already gone. Why were you gone? To your twitter/bf bullshit. Why that? Because you weren't getting roleplay or "channeling" out of me anymore. Why weren't you getting that? Because we realized you were becoming unwell, for one, and for two, you had literally pissed off everyone in your past by being insufferable in those fucking games. (Oh, and don't forget working 60-70 hours a week during the election to keep up with your spending habits while you had no job until you wanted to replace me.)

Why do you think absolutely zero motherfuckers genuinely bought your horse shit during the Corban stunt? Everyone in your old life was onto your shit, nobody wanted to even play with ME because it brought YOU along, and I didn't want to be trapped in a 1-1 DM box with you trying to hump the hermes form of the day while missing all the goddamn points.

You fucked up. MOVE. ON. INTO THE AFTERLIFE FOR ALL I GODDAMN CARE BUT MOVE ON, AND YOU SURE AS SHIT AINT MOVING ON WHILE CLINGING TO YOUR OCTOPUS JIBBERISH SHIT. LIKE #1 WAY TO START REPAIRING YOUR PSYCHOSIS, LET THE MOTHERFUCKING OCTOPUS JIBBERISH GO, SHEA. THE OCTOPUS WAS NEVER FUCKING DIVINE SHEA, YOU DID NOT CHANNEL THE FUCKING OCTOPESE. EARTH TO SHEA. YOU CAN FIGURE OUT YOUR OWN NAME FOR YOUR OWN STORE LIFE AND BUSINESS, ON GOD, I PROMISE. BUT IT'LL BE REAL AWKWARD IF YOU DONT PICK A MOTHERFUCKING PATH THAT DOESNT INVOLVE YOU CHARGING PEOPLE FOR MY FUCKING GHOST.

I can't believe I have to repeat this, but once more, for the intentionally dense and disassociative,

THE OCTOPUS WAS NEVER FUCKING DIVINE SHEA, YOU DID NOT CHANNEL THE FUCKING OCTOPESE

Earth to MOTHERFUCKING SHEA. Is there ANYONE left home in your head at all? Or is it all just echoes of me left. Because holy fuck.

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maxs-renegades · 2 years

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My first OC, Aiden

Aiden - Sorceress of Tzeentch, Captain of the Blasphemy’s End, Butcher of Dotrius XI, High Prophetess of the Knights of Arcane. Art by the incredible @rowscara.

The intro to her story is under the cut, it is long and I held myself back from writing even more!

The story of Aiden’s rise is a recent one. Once she had been the orphaned child of a pair of nobles on some Hive world. It had been ravaged by Drukhari raids, and she only survived thanks to the collapse of the building around the shelter. She was found by Tempestus Scions who had arrived too late to stop the raid. Many of them had come from similar backgrounds, so Aiden was delivered to the same fate many orphans of the Imperium are condemned too. The Schola Progenium. Where she would first experience first hand many of the injustice’s of the Imperium. Constant training and abuse was heaped upon her, along with the indoctrination and preaching of the many instructors. Of course, the true fear was of the Drill Abbots. The heavy gauntlets that struck her, or the hammer that was a constant threat. She knew the remains of other failed students were melted and hanging above the dorm entrance. Such was life under the Imperiums rule. Despite the conditions, Aiden excelled. The adversity and indoctrination was strong, and like many before her the horrible conditions helped mould her. Her instructors believed she was destined to rise high through the ranks of the Imperium Such a fate would not be hers though. As far away Magnus the Red completed his ritual on Prospero, Aiden and her class were in the midst of their Trials of Compliance. Suddenly Aiden collapsed screaming. Pain rippled through her, as if her very flesh was being rewritten. It felt like decades went by, yet when she finally awoke, not even a second had passed. Around her, her fellow students had changed, and so had she. She felt... powerful. Whispers filled her mind, promises of power and instructions. She looked around at the former classmates. Where before there had been dozens of kids fighting to prove themselves, now mutants rose to their hoofed feet. They turned to her... and bowed. Aiden felt the psychic presence of each one, and could reach into her minds. Before she could come to grips with what had happened... the Drill Abbots came. They saw the heresy, the mutations afflicting the students... and Aiden at the centre, changed. They charged, laying waste to every mutant around them. Aiden could feel the pain as each blow hit, each former comrade died to the relentless hammers. She would not let it continue. For herself and them, completely untrained she raised her arms. Shimmering flames, a cascade of pink, blue, orange fire ripped from them. Where they struck the Abbots, they weren’t killed. No they degenerated into mutant Chaos Spawn. Just as with the mutants, she leashed them to her will. Acting on her training and instinct, she led her forces through the Schola. She knew it would not last. She would have to get off the planet. Words filled her mind, raving and promises. She followed the instructions, sending out a psychic call for help. When a ship came, bearing marking of the Arch-Enemy... she entered, the first true step on the road to damnation. Her rise to being the captain, leader of her Warband, and ascension would be a long, dark journey. For Aiden however, her rise is just a matter of time.

#my ocs #oc #Aiden the Sorceress #my girl #my darling fav #I have so much more about her #this is just the intro #warhammer 40k #warhammer #40k #chaos 40k #chaos witch #please send me any asks about her I will happily respond #this is the first of five main ocs lmao #aiden my beloved

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madaboutmunson · 2 years

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Creep - Part 7 of 12 - Fever

Part 6 link: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/madaboutmunson/687491178985357312?source=share

The drive home is pretty much auto-pilot, except that you absolutely cannot wipe the enormous smile from your face this time. It almost hurts. You replay what just happened, over and over, in your head and feel like the luckiest person on the planet. It was unbelievable this was happening to you. Finally, the wheel of fortune had spun in your favour, and though the cynical voice in your head continually tries to bring you down to reality, Eddie Munson's actions and words are so much louder than it could ever be right now. So it's cloud nine all the way home.

Pulling up in the driveway, you rush into the house, almost slamming the door open. Your parents had been quietly sitting in their respective armchairs with the tv on, doing their individual hobbies, Dad the paper, mom crocheting. Your explosive entrance makes them both drop what they are doing.

"Are you feeling ok, honey?" your Mom asks. The concern in her voice is very present. She's looking over to your Dad for reassurance, but he just shrugs. They half smile at one another.

"Oh, god, Yes! I've had the best time. We played this game--" you begin rambling. Your Mom winces at your enthusiastic blasphemy but looks amused.

"A game? Do you mean a board game or like a sport?" You Mom enquires.

You shake your hands in front of you as if rustling away her questions, so you can continue the story.

"Well, yes, but also, neither really, but maybe closer to a board game, but not" you try to explain.

Your Mom looks utterly confused. Your Dad is leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his hands, watching you lovingly as you pace around the room rapidly, trying to remember each and every detail of the game. Trying to retell it with enough passion and physicality that they would potentially be excited about it too.

You Mom looks at you with an expression you haven't seen for a long time, maybe even years. She seems glad, proud almost, not pity, not turning away as soon as possible.

"So, are you planning on going again?"

"Oh, for sure, well, if that's ok with you both. I mean, they already voted that I could come back, but I wanted to check with you first because..." you slow right down. For the first time in about forty minutes, since you started your whirlwind, one-person re-enactment of the game session, you sit down, like the wind had dropped out of your sails, "...because we said, no secrets, right?"

Your brain flashes back to waking up in the hospital ward, blinking into existence, your Mom and Dad at the side of your bed. Callaghan running out of the door in slow motion yelling for a doctor.

You remember looking all around you, dirt, blood, tubes, wires. You looked your Mom directly in her eyes and let out an ear-splitting scream of terror. They both had instinctively flanked you and held onto you tightly as the tears flooded down your face and clouded your vision, punctuated by cries of anguish and, of course, yelling out for Connie.

Hopper bursts through the doors, and your Dad, in vain, tries to keep him at bay. It's only when your mother forces her way between you and Hopper that he throws his hands in the air and leaves. Doctors and nurses push past him, and your brain throws you forward in time to being left sitting at the table after Hopper had left your house, unsatisfied with your answers to his interrogation.

Your Mom and Dad sit on either side of you, their hands on yours as you tremble and shake.

"Honey, look, I know this is scary, and I know you're just a kid, but this is really serious. If you remember anything, anything at all, you have to tell Hopper, or at very least tell us, ok. We promise no judgements from us. We love you and always will. But, most importantly, Connie needs your help right now."

You look at their faces, "I swear, I-I-I swear on my life. I don't remember. I told Hopper everything I could remember. I wouldn't hide anything if it meant Connie was in danger." You let go of their hands to bring your hands to your face, searching your brain for anything, the slightest clue, but there was nothing.

Your Dad looks worriedly at your Mom, then back at you and grabs your hand back into both of his.

Flash forward, months later, your Mom is holding a pot of pills in her hand, pacing back and forth and yelling at someone down the phone. Your face hurts from the bruises. You can barely see out of one eye. Your Dad bursts through the door. He drops everything and runs over without even taking off his hat or coat. He hurriedly feels over your face, and you wince at his touch. He covers his mouth with his other hand and looks over at your Mom. She only sighs in response and starts yelling down the phone again.

Your Dad grabs you by your shoulders, "We can't keep doing this, honey, ok? No more secrets, alright? You need to tell us where you are going, always, and especially who you are with, alright? Do you hear me? Those bastards" he was trying to sound his most gentle but you could hear the slight anger in his voice. You knew it wasn't aimed at you.

You nod your head weakly, searing pain from the back of your neck down your spine, "No more secrets.... I promise," you manage. He envelops you into his massive arms and falls apart.

Flashforward at warp speed to the present, "...no secrets, right?"

Your Dad and Mom look at one another for a while, communicating silently in the way that only two people, who have spent every day with one another for decades, possibly could, "Ok, but there have to be conditions..." your Dad starts.

You are immediately back in ecstatic mode. Your Mom gets up from her chair, you can't tell if she is annoyed or not, but she doesn't contradict your Dad. She just says, "Well, I'm off to bed. See you both in the morning."

Your Dad seems to wait until your Mom is out of earshot upstairs. He playfully narrows his eyes at you and leans back in his recliner, "Soooo, conditions yes, I'm gonna need their names, especially the one you mentioned a few hundred times...." he pretends to be wracking his brain for it.

"Eddie!" you interject immediately. Straight away, you know you gave it away. Your hands pressed tightly together with the massive grin on your face and the deep breath after you said his name. Then, like a robot, your Dad scans you over rapidly with his eyes.

He leaps up from his chair with excitement and points a finger at you, "Ah HA! I knew it! I knew it when you walked in here. There is a boy!"

Your eyes go wide with embarrassment. It's easy to forget sometimes that your father is an excellent salesman, and part of that is reading people.

"How did you-. You know what? Ok yeah." You throw your hands in defeat and look a little sheepish.

You knew that this wasn't a typical father-to-child conversation, but you didn't have a regular relationship with him. But, after Connie disappeared, he became your best friend, your only friend, at many times.

"Ok, so, this club is definitely real, and this guy is really something, huh? Hmm, but this situation is like a bundle deal. Ok, let me think." he plops back into his seat and drums his fingers on the arm, "Ok, number 1, where and when is this club. Number 2, the attendants. Number 3, I meet this...Eddie"

Your eyes widen at the ground in horror. Eddie's look and extracurricular activities had never really troubled you, but you weren't sure it would sit well with your folks.

Your Dad rubs his hands together in boyish glee. He loves a mystery, "No, no, no, don't tell me. Let me guess." Your Dad gets up again and starts pacing the room, every now and then turning back to you with a word or phrase to see if it describes Eddie,

"Hmmm, let's see what would you be most worried about...The way you described him, he sounds kind and interesting, soooooo it's not necessarily his personality that is the problem, which in all fairness, makes things look pretty good for Eddie so far. He's probably not one of those asshole Jocks. In that case, my dear Watson, it must be appearance...Tattoos?"

"Yeah, a few, I think", you say nervously

"Ok, ok, well, it's just art at the end of the day. They can't be anything too offensive. Otherwise, that wouldn't match up with the personality description. Long hair?"

"Yeah"

"Smoker?"

"Yep"

"Drugs?"

"Nothing extreme, I don't think."

"My goodness, things are not looking good for our friend Eddie at the moment.....unless", he trails off and scratches his chin, "Part of the counterculture?"

"I mean, I guess the whole heavy metal music scene could be seen that way?"

This piques your Dad's interest, "A musician, eh?"

You look hopefully at your Dad's face. He sits back in his chair and reaches for your hand, which you take gently. As he turns around to face you, he says, "Did I ever tell you about the '60s? You know I wasn't always the sharp-dressed businessman you see today. I, too, was once a kid, exploring my identity and everything the world had to offer." He wiggles his eyebrows at you, you are so embarrassed, but it is also way too funny,

"Then, one day, I was queueing for a gig, and the most beautiful angel walked past me. I left that queue and never looked back. Your Mom soon whipped me into shape," he chuckles.

You laugh along with him, feeling a little more relaxed, "I don't think I really want to change anything about him. In all honesty, Dad, he's just, you know, great as he is."

Your Dad looks at you with a raised eyebrow, "You got it that bad? How long have you known this guy?"

"How long have I been speaking to him, or how long have I known who he is?" You need the clarity here.

"Oh geez, I'm gonna regret this, aren't I? Ok, let's go with being on speaking terms."

"A few days...." you say meekly

"A FEW DAYS!! Who is this guy? Cary Grant?" he chuckles to himself, "I'm sorry, honey, I just thought this had been going on for some time or something."

"No secrets", You reply. He proudly nods at you.

"No Secrets", he repeats, "So anything else you wanna tell me about this situation."

"Well, I was thinking about hanging out around his place tomorrow night." Your Dad's fluffy eyebrows shoot up with surprise. They might have shot clear off his face if they had done so with any more momentum. "You know I won't do anything stupid, Dad", You reassure him.

He looks a little uncomfortable about it, but he just sighs and says, "I'm just glad to see this again. Like actual, impossible to contain, joy, and I guess if I have to put up with some little stoner for a few hours to see this again, I suppose I can endure it."

You leap up and give him a great big hug, planting several kisses on his grizzly cheek, "Alright, alright, geez" he play pushes you away.

You grab your bag and run up the stairs. He calls after you, "And just where are you running off to now?"

"To call Eddie!" you bellow back down the stairs.

You charge into your room and throw the contents of your bag onto the bed, frantically searching for the character sheet. Score you find it, you grab it and army roll over the other side of your bed, grab your phone and dial the number. You nervously drum your fingers on the bedside table your phone rest on. You let it keep ringing. You really need to ask him about tomorrow right now. I mean, you could tell him in the morning, but that was really last minute. Even though this was very last minute, wheels were in motion, and you didn't want the games of how you are supposed to approach a relationship to get in the way.

"Jesus H Christ, HELLO!" an angry goblin-like voice comes over the line.

You feel like slamming the phone back down in alarm, but you persist,

"...um...hi? It's me," you say meekly.

"Oh....fuck...sorry...I wasn't expecting...." His fiery tone immediately extinguished, "Hi you" you can hear his smile down the phone as his voice smooths to silk, "Is everything ok?"

"Yeah, everything is fine....well, kind of...I just" you hear a slight cough on the line, "Eddie, did you just cough?"

"What do you mean, kind of? Where are you? Do you need me to come to get you? No, that was you, right?"

"No, no, everything is fine. Just wait one sec, ok?" You jump over the other side of your bed, yank open the door, and bellow down the stairs, "A LITTLE PRIVACY, PLEASE!"

"Ok, ok", your Dad replies, "Excuse me for wanting to hear his dulcet tones" you hear the phone click back on the holder downstairs and do a little run back to your handset.

"Who was that guy?" Eddie demands

"My Dad." You reply nonchalantly.

"Your Dad?"

"Yes, yes, listen, ok, are your free tomorrow, like, early evening?" you curl the twisty phone wire around your fingers in anticipation.

"Yeah, I mean, I asked you, right?" he says, perplexed.

"Ok, well, I know this is gonna seem kinda lame, but I have to ask permission about these kinda things, and well, I can hang out tomorrow, but there is a small condition from my Dad. He wants to meet you first."

The phone line goes to dead air, you wait a few seconds for a reply, but nothing comes.

"Eddie? Eddie?! Are you still there?" your heart sinks. Reasonably this was the exact definition of too much, right? Meeting parents is way, way, way down the line. It's only then you realise you are holding your breath.

"Er...yeah...I'm still here...I just had to pick myself up off the floor...you want me to meet your parents already? My god!" he's laughing. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

"Great, great, great. What's your address? I'll come pick you up tomorrow, ok?"

"I can just drive to yours" there is a moment of knowing silence between you.

"Eddie, no offence, but let them just deal with you first before they have to also accept the van and the way you drive it, ok?"

"Hey now, don't be mean to her and anyway, what's wrong with my driving? I'll have you know I'm great at it." he pretends to be offended.

"Besides...., if I pick you up, I also have to take you back home, right?" you try to drop a hint in your voice as hard as you can muster.

"Oh...I see....ok well, tomorrow, after practice, around five?"

"Thanks, Eddie. I appreciate it. I owe you one."

"Just one?" you can hear him pout over the phone.

"Goodnight, Eddie!" You laugh, shaking your head

"Goodnight" You place down the receiver gently and fall back onto your bed like a scarecrow, looking at the ceiling, smiling broadly.

"Tones were that good, were they? Sorry I missed out," Your Dad chuckles as he peeks around the door. "I mean, I caught the very first bit and was a little confused, but then I mean...WOW!" He acts out, fluttering his eyelashes and twirling around with his hands on his heart. You realise you'd totally forgotten to close the door, he'd basically heard everything, or at least you expect he did.

"Get outta here!" You shout whilst chuckling to yourself, throwing the nearest stuffed animal at him.

He shields by closing the door before it makes it outside.

You look back up at the ceiling. Your sides and face hurt from laughing and smiling so much today. You wonder if this is how everyone feels or if it was just because you were so out of practice.

You reach into the bedside table for your sleeping tablets and swallow two while getting ready for bed and tidying everything back in your bag. Finally, you flop back down on your bed and get ready for the sweet embrace of sleep with a huge smile on your face.

The standard set of images fire up for the dream section of sleep, Party......ripples.....lights.... sirens..... blanket... but this time, something extra, hooded figures looming over you, talking with one another.

What are they saying? You can't make it out. They're laughing now.

You wake up in a cold sweat, unsure if this was a recollection or just your brain sticking all different events together. You take a sip of water from your bedside table and attempt to get a bit more sleep.

#eddie #eddie munson #eddiemunson #eddie munson x reader #eddiemunsonxreader #stranger things fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #mystery #romance #eddie stranger things #stranger things #eddie the freak munson #eddie x reader #eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagine

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mizchievious · 1 year

Text

They Always Kill the Messenger

Poetic Essay by Michael Wade

Everyone walking around mad, as if the next man owes him money, now the debtor is late on the payback. As if every payday is on Friday and the pay is either short, late, or downright absent. People lost in emotions and don’t know how to handle it. Cursed with being stuck in emotional loops. Feeling robbed and duped left holding a reality they did not choose. Forced to play the character in a show no one wants to play. Misplaced trust replaces the vitamins with supplements, humans with robots. This is punishment for strengthening your greatest defense... your intelligence. I choose to make you cry with truth because I would rather hurt your feelings with hopes you'll forgive me, than to see you played for the fool. Speaking a vocabulary from a forgotten language that speaks freedom, the language of revolution to a government, blasphemy to its God. I don’t care how much they yell "don't." They always kill the messenger.

I am death to my enemy, whomever the enemy may be. This is why the enemy killed me. Don't cry for me, my name isn’t important, what I left behind is. I expected this death, I knew this day would come. I found the buried treasure. I discovered the map that was hidden in plain sight. I discovered truth, I uncovered lies. I told the babies, so the flowers may grow. That was my crime, tales told in scriptures I left behind. The sin I committed that released my soul from my shell. I was only human, yin and yang, Able and Cain. I witnessed madness from the crossroads of insanity and sane. I did it for love, I did it for self, I did it because I'm vain. Yet, I won't benefit for this sacrifice. Only time tells who history gets to forget. Not everyone will ride on the spaceship when this planet blows, not everyone will make the list. As I say this you can believe I don't care how much they yell, "don’t". They always kill the messenger.

It is the "fear of shame" that is used to control. It is the fear of shame that allows three percent of thirteen to act high & mighty, bourgeois. A highly effective tool this "fear” of shame is. It is the fear of shame that keeps people trapped in proverbial closets. It is the fear of shame that allows the one with the biggest gun to make the rules, be the protector and murderer. This why they make the loudest sing wearing the biggest jewels, to distract you. Shame keeps the storyteller from telling the greatest story ever told. Courage, bravery are virtues that have been perverted, definitions redefined. Shame is used to keep victims from going after their justice. Refusal to rub the lamp will not get you your wishes. Refusing to gamble won't win you the jackpot. The fear of shame, the fear of others seeing where you are weak. The fear of revealing to the world the true "you" that is hidden. The real "you" who you work hard to hide. It is shame that gives man nightmares and manifests Jekyll and Hyde. Someone always pays, even if it’s only one, this always hold true. They always kill the messenger.

#Mizchief's Ink Publications #They Always Kill the Messenger #Michael Wade #themizinkstore.square.site #poetic essay #spoken poetry #spoken word #Black Writers

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just-a-music-and-poetry-lover · 7 months

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Nightingale

From Crowley to Aziraphale

We've been on this planet for a long time,

You and me.

I used to be our Creator's favourite,

Bringing to existence the stars that She's thanked for today,

Now Her name burns my tongue

And tastes like acid.

My wings are dark,

Covered by the ashes

Of my connection to Her,

My reptile eyes

Must have been Her way

Of trying to pull us apart.

Little did She know that my inhumanity

Would be the only thing that pulled you to me.

You, Her protected in my absence,

You, with your purifying weapon

And angelical face of someone

Who never knew heresy.

Little did She know that those heavenly features

Were a sign of my hand over you,

Controlling you like a marionette,

Or so I believed.

I told you once that those questions

Filling your mind had been

What had made her push me

Into the hellish fire.

She might not have been there,

But She didn't need to.

While I Fell, I could feel Her love,

Which is conditional after all, abandoning me,

Making me this creature

Whose company you enjoy

Until you believe it's blasphemy.

When something cleaner presents itself,

I'm just the demon that tempts you.

Then it's you tempting me

With a return ticket to where it all began.

Trying to, at least.

As if She would ever take me back.

As if I would ever want to go back to Her.

I should have known

That not even a Prince of Hell

Would be enough for you.

Millenia, and you were always waiting

For the opportunity to shape

Me to your liking.

I shouldn't have thought

That there could be an "us".

At least I know that you forgive me for it.

I never doubted. It's in your essence

To forgive, mainly nightmares like me.

A nightmare that formed

Of Her dream's destruction,

Falling into an immortal abyss,

Burning and begging Her for mercy.

I wished she had let me die

Instead of letting me Fall

But, after meeting you, my angel,

I knew I'd Fall every day

I didn't get to have you

And that I would go through

It all again for you.

I'd Fall so deeply into that sulfur lake

That I'd never again hear a nightingale

Sing on that square where everything

Happened to us.

#writing #writing poetry #poetry #writeblr #mlm #writers and poets #writers on tumblr #original poem #good omens season 2 #good omens season 2 finale #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #crowley & aziraphale

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potassium-pilot · 2 years

Text

FFXIVWrite 2022, Day 14: Attrition

“Why is it that every time I should have a dream with you, we always end up in a pub?” Dia asked rhetorically as she sat up in her barstool facing Ardbert.

“I can’t tell if it’s you doing that or me”, Ardbert shrugged. “Either way, it’s not the worst place we could come up with.”

Dia smiled and shook her head. “You know, I have to admit, I’m shocked you still stick around. I get that ours wasn’t quite the same rejoining as the others, but even with that, I would think you’d want peace and quiet.”

“Peace and quiet was never quite for me. Good in short bursts, of course- you have to rest after all- but in the long run, I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

“You are dead.”

“You’re not, however, and like I said, I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

Dia’s eyebrows raised. “You’ve no apprehensions about calling us one person. That’s both concerning and touching.”

“Well, can’t help it when I’m attached to your soul”, Ardbert countered, “At this point, we’re one and the same. I know everything you know.”

“Yeah? Name one thing.”

“You used to make anti-ghost potions when you were a child that consisted solely of grape juice and honey.”

Her eyes widened. “Damn. Good left hook.”

“Now come on. This can’t be a one way street.”

“You’re right, it isn’t, lover boy. I know you used to be madly in love with both Branden and Lamitt.”

Ardbert jolted up. “Oh, that’s not fair.”

“I know, I know. Branden being as married to his duty and madly in love with the princess as he was, you thought he would never, but you didn’t want Lamitt to feel like she was merely a rebound, so you didn’t know how to approach either of them.”

Ardbert gave a nervous, breathy laugh. “So we’re in agreement- we know each other very well.”

“We know each other too well”, Dia smiled.

“Then tell me why I can’t tell for the life of me why we haven’t left the bed in nearly a moon.”

Dia’s smile faded. The band that played in the corner of the pub fell silent, and all the other patrons’ eyes were on him.

“What?” she asked.

“Well…at least I know who’s bringing us to the pub.”

“What do you mean?” Dia emphasized.

“I mean that it’s been weeks since you came back from your fights at the edge of existence. You’ve practically been a vegetable since you came home, and I know you’re not happy about it.”

“Of course I’m not”, she retorted sharply, “But I need rest. The chirurgeons say so.”

“That was weeks ago they told you that. You haven’t asked them since.”

“I’m just…I’m so tired, Ardbert. All the fucking time.”

“I believe you. But this can’t be helping you. Half your body is bed sores.”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

Ardbert thought for a moment, then answered, “When Branden was seriously wounded after one of our quests, he had to follow a physical therapy regimen with the healers of Voeburt Castle. Maybe this is what you need with the chirurgeons of Ishgard.”

Dia sighed. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

“You’ve survived far worse.”

“You may be in my soul, but it wasn’t you who suffered planets quite literally crushing them, but me. I took hit after hit from Zenos- if I didn’t, I would only have encouraged him to harm my friends and loved ones again for his precious ‘challenge’. I nearly tore my soul apart keeping tonzes of light aether locked away. I had my soul torn from me mid-battle. I watched families be torn apart by war and blasphemy both. I watched the Scions fall to the Garlean empire in the Waking Sands and again by the Crystal bloody Braves. I found my fathers’ mangled corpses in the remnants of the Calamity. I lost my dearest friend. I…”

The thunder roared so loud that it shook the foundation as she shuddered in tears.

“Everyone keeps telling me I’ve grown stronger and stronger…but I never feel that way. Maybe physically, I don’t know, but I always feel smaller and more pathetic after each journey, and now I’m here, and my body’s only proving it. I can’t even get up to use the swiving bathroom by myself. I’ve finally done it. I’ve whittled myself down to nothing.”

The roof tore off the top of the pub. The rain poured in wildly, each drop almost like a bullet in speed. The floor started to flood, and the wind howled. The conditions were unbearable.

It was then that an umbrella appeared over her head. She looked up to it.

“You’re not nothing.”

Ardbert held it over her head while he withstood the rain. “Zenos is dead and you’re here. What does that say about you?”

“That I got damn lucky.”

“Maybe, but remember how close they were to losing you. Even with four of them on you, you nearly died. But you didn’t. You held on because you’re strong. Because you’re the stubborn aurochs the world needed you to be. Now the world’s at peace for the first time in an age. Will you join them?”

Dia stared up. The rain started to calm slightly, falling at a far slower speed, and the thunder grew more distant.

“You really think I can?”

“I know you can. I know that it’s a deep desire to get back to where you once were, but even if you can’t, maybe we’ll get you close enough.”

Dia smiled sadly. “This is going to kill me.”

“If Zenos and the Endsinger didn’t, this won’t.”

She breathed a laugh through her nose.

“Now could you please put a roof back on this thing? I’m drenched right now.”

She grinned and in a second, the roof reformed, the flooding on the floor had drained, but tables and chairs were still broken and scattered. She also dried Ardbert as a courtesy.

“Thank you. This is much better.”

“No problem”, she said calmly. “I think I know what I want my end goal to be.”

“Oh?”

“I want to get started on Emet-Selch’s little laundry list. Not out of obligation to him or anyone, but because I want to see it.”

“Ha, I like that goal. Cheers to it”, Ardbert lifted his mug.

Dia lifted hers and clinked it against his. Ardbert took the first sip, and promptly spat it out. It was mostly rainwater.

“Why is this salty?” Ardbert complained.

“Like I’d know.”

“I’m making the dream next time.”

“Good luck with that.” The two laughed for a moment, then Dia was pulled by a sudden sensation on her cheek. The bar turned into a white haze before she opened her eyes back in the master bedchambers of Borel Manor.

“Mm, wha?” Dia muttered sleepily.

“Forgive me. You were crying in your sleep”, Aymeric explained. Dia touched her cheek, and indeed, there were the tears he mentioned.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess I was.”

“It must have been a nightmare.”

She didn’t want to say what the hell that was, but simply let him get on with his morning since the sun was peaking in.

“I have to say, even if we’re separated by a floor, working from my home office to be here for you has been quite a boon for my sleep. I just wish I could say the same for you.”

Dia let out a laugh. “Please, that’s what I’ve been spending half of my days doing.”

Aymeric smiled. “Well, don’t let me interrupt you. I dare not disturb your rest.”

“About that”, Dia began, “I know what Captain Whitecape said, but…do you think it’s time for me to talk to him again? See what the rest of my options are?”

That surprised him for a moment. For weeks, she had been content resting there, and considering the grievousness of her injuries, he understood perfectly well why, but Aymeric got over it, and answered, “I can contact Captain Whitecape and see if he can’t make a house call.”

Dia smiled. “That would be nice. Do you think I can do it?”

“Do…?”

“Get back to my normal self.”

“I never thought that in question, Dia. I’ve seen you take on far more impossible odds, though I do not deny the difficulty of what you wish to undertake.”

She continued to smile. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Let me get dressed and I’ll send my retainer to ask Captain Whitecape to make a visit. For now, I do have a busy morning.”

“Understood. I’ll be here.”

He took her hand and gave the top of it a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” With a gentle squeeze, Aymeric released her hand and rose to greet the morning.

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2022 #ardbert #f elezen wol #aymeric de borel #ew spoilers #writing #fanfiction #so i know you’re reading day 14 #but i may have forgotten to post this on the day it was due #oops #but it makes sense with the prompt i wrote for the free day #so im posting it now

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jibriliantness · 2 years

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The Ascendants of REnoch Shadow self nadir and ascendancies understanding grabbing and vetting we… Inner to existentially never mentioning like anonymity and the abilities to see the best in we… Revelations from Rev-Illy meditation best as celibacy… Pass on past lives knot 🪢 remember-ring the jealous-ease like we invented the fresh set of stress relief genes… A wicked being flees when there seems to be no one around… In the streets it’s the steam that blinds their damned eyes now round and round… I C the relevant tenant slip in and out profound… No sound so low down polished in stone those tears of Smokey’s clown… What a Miracle… Cool when it’s searing through endearing trained from Ye high to withstand the pain… Love is spiritual… So connected that your on the other side and we’re hearing you… Crystal clearly too… But I have to stay… It’s the last thing I had to say… Death from the super ego taking the plunge… Buying the farm all up in ones… Lump sums for suns and suns after good deeds done… Only know Allah(S.W.T.) is The One… This is fact flip like acrobatic to todays mathematics… L.A.S.E. August 2(Wisdom)8(Build/Destroy) whatever one takes for granite… Renovated 2022.5 call sign REnoch magic habits… The light the dark the actual planets every entity wonders like”did they plan it?”… Gamuts from gambits never gamble somehow we cash in… Vibrate past the blasphemies laughing… For the Most High decided to command so I(Y) Fall into the land… Ask Him… All will be revealed for us who can “Imagine”… Haley’s Comet still draggin’… It’s tail across the cosmos of man from Mecca sands to Manhattan… Sent for the rest of the manage-mental health of those residential… Citizens of embellished pens and pencils we all part of the same family so it just makes sense to… Bless who… Curses, steals and worships idols of mammon… The ones that would kick one back down when offering a hand up from the damage… Cleaning the blood soaked bandage… Cooling the eye of a widow… Actions that show actual overstandage of our conditions in which we landed… Monee in the middle… And she’s balanced… Far from a maverick madness… Taught me the only real thing in life was God so the rest is Gucci baggage… King St. Louis V had it then passed it in the form of an eternal flame in the hearts of those with sunken souls like the cold of the Titanic… A different mold we have it… Small change quantum leaps to drastically added heaps of gold from Midas’ cabinets… Qoheleth’s fortress indent course drenched entrenched auras… Clear the folds in space-time near the chakras… Shock-A-Con science hypothesis tested true and proper… The Ether not gonna stop huh? Probably not done… Rock ring top plunge 180 degrees the key we got so leave not the Love locked up… Fresh to death a new meaning to “Washed up” Don’t gotta talk what… Charcoal chalk and star dust the clay off often chilly as a February/March Rush in Toronto… Self respect Still got loads on my soul… Glow like we don’t ever ever need to worry about a foe… Or the Lords answer being “no”…

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menalez · 1 year

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you like lucy liu! great bc i have a story i've been dying to share related to her and it's utterly ridiculous if not stupid. (it's a bit long tho, so sorry abt that - but it fuels my pettiness)

so, I used to have this friend (from ages 15 to 20), we met at school and befriended each other through fandom. I'm a lesbian (bi back then) and always liked wlw ships, my friend (straight) really liked mlm ships & considering our common interests we got along p well. (i say liked mlm ships, but it was probably fetishisation: mlm ships were better than any straight or wlw one bc two men; men deserved to be with another man being w a woman would've been a downgrade etc. basically a lot of internalised misogony)

Okay, so around 2016/17 the Sherlock shows "Elementary" and bbc's "Sherlock" were quite popular. My former friend was really into Sherlock (mostly for the ship); I wasn't. I didn't like Cumberbatch, thought he was arrogant and therefore wasn't interested in watching bbc's Sherlock, I was quite into Elementary though. I liked the spin it took on the Sherlock series, I really liked the idea of an equal and female Watson (Lucy Liu in that case) and I loved the idea of Moriarty being a woman and having great chemistry with Lucy Liu.

I don't remember what led up to the conversation, but she sent me screenshots of her convo with smn else where they were talking about me and my refusal to watch bbc's Sherlock. And to this day, the conversation they had pisses me off so much (but also leaves me going like ??? bc it's ridiculous) It originally was in German, but this was the gist of it: my friend seemed to have been complaining to this other girl (I didn't know her) about me not wanting to watch sherlock. The stranger took offense in my dislike for Cumberbatch and said she didn't know what Elementary was. My friend then replied that I hated Cumberbatch and didn't want to watch Sherlock "only" because he starred in it (both messages accompanied by an eye-roll emoji).

The stranger then asked how smn could hate Cumberbatch and said she just googled the show and went "wtf". My friend then replied "It's an ugly female Watson. And I'm into women, I know what I'm talking about."

The stranger then replied that she couldn't stand Lucy Liu and my friend replied with an over the top "thank you honey I love you for this statement" their conversation ended with the stranger saying that she had just done some research and that Elementary was basically blasphemy and my friend agreed saying she saw it on TV once and it made her want to throw the remote at the TV

that's the story, that pisses me off every time I remember it, bc like, a) beauty is subjective, yes. but i don't think lucy liu can in any way be considered ugly and b) my friend had literally found out she was a lesbian like a week ago. "i like women, ik what i'm talking abt" no, u don't?? it doesn't work like that obvs, but still you don't know what you're talking abt c) the stranger going "how can u dislike cumberbatch" and then in the next breath saying she can't stand lucy liu. ?? ? ??? girl. d) the stranger in general. like where did the audacity come from

i think the statement ("ugly female watson") stemmed from internalised misogyny (on friend's part) rather than racism, bc if watson is female then there is no possibility for a gay sherlock/watson ship, but tbh idk. anyways hope you enjoyed this story that pisses me off to no end

oh and pls also note that this friend was supposedly my best friend at the time and in love with me lol

ok first of all i need to hear the story of u dumping this woman as a friend bc that has got to be juicy too. wtf kind of friend is that.... insane. its insane there was a period in time where ppl act like women are crazy for seeing this demon being and not being interested in seeing more of him:

like he needs to go back to whatever planet he came from n leave us Real human beings alone... terrorizing us with his face is immoral.

also i felt the same about lucy liu but i have sth terrible to reveal... my girlfriend also thinks lucy liu is ugly :( she thinks its insane that im attracted to lucy liu. i think she even said lucy liu wouldnt be considered attractive in taiwan or sth. i feel like east asians have very different ideas of beauty bc this is not the first time i said an east asian woman was beautiful and east asians around me were like "wtf no!"

lastly if this is how she treats her best friend that shes in love with then im concerned over how she treats other ppl

#is she bisexual or a lesbian??? i got confused near the end there bc u described her as straight at first

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sunder-the-gold · 2 years

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This is probably a dumb question, but one I’ve been thinking for a while.

As a Christian, do you believe that aliens can exist? That if life exists out there that God also created it? Or is that heretical/blasphemy?

According to the Bible, nothing exists but that which God created. If anything existed which he did not create, he would not be the unparalleled God, he would be merely a god; a god with rivals, who lies to make himself seem supreme.

A pagan who completely rejects the Jewish texts could not be heretical by definition. To any faith, a pagan belief can only be misguided or mistaken, not heretical.

(Nothing about the canon of Berserk is heretical to the canon of Dragon Ball.)

Only someone who claims to worship the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and yet contradicts the texts about him, could commit heresy either in ignorance or malice.

(You could merely be a new fan if you give the wrong reason why Saitama is bald, but are you really a fan of One Punch Man if you know the canon but attempt to convince people that Saitama shaves because he prefers baldness?)

The Jewish scriptures explicitly credit God with creating the stars. If he created the stars, why would alien life from other solar systems not also be God's creations?

The Bible doesn't describe God creating extraterrestrial life, but also doesn't really get into the origins of the angels, either. It often mentions angels as actors in Earth's story, whereas extraterrestrial life that never interacts with Earth wouldn't warrant a mention.

Now obviously, people "make" things every day through their own efforts, using the materials that God created according to the natural principles that he designed. People can make things God doesn't like, but they are limited to his materials and rules.

This is the basis for Tolkien's recently-famous quote, through Frodo Baggins, about creatures like orcs. "The Shadow that bred them can only mock, it cannot make: not real new things of its own. I don't think it gave life to the orcs, it only ruined them and twisted them; and if they are to live at all, they have to live like other living creatures. Foul waters and foul meats they'll take, if they can get no better, but not poison."

Even the Jewishly-canonical nephilim, creatures born from the unsanctioned union of rebellious angels and human beings, came into the world through the God-designed process of human procreation. The angels could not make the nephilim out of nothing, nor design them to operate according to principles completely contradictory to God's natural laws.

I personally don't know why certain theologians felt it impossible for Satan and other fallen angels to curse humans with lycanthropy, or otherwise twist existing creatures into abominations, in direct contradiction to the Jewish prophets warning people that devils had done so repeatedly.

Leaving "the problem of evil" ("why does God permit these things to happen?") for a different discussion, it is fully possible within Jewish canon for either God or Satan to have originated extraterrestrial life.

If God made aliens directly, they might even be like the loyalist angels and never left God's kingdom as rebels.

C.S. Lewis explored such ideas in the first two books of his "Space Trilogy": Out of the Silent Planet and Perelandra. In these books, angels are Energy Beings who swim through sunlight as water and move through planets as clouds, aliens live in peace with each other, and Earth is the 'silent' planet because it is the North Korea or East Berlin of the universe.

#ask #tolkien #angels #nephilim #dwarves #orcs #lord of the rings #lotr #evil cannot make #it can only mock #aliens #god #c.s. lewis #space triology #out of the silent planet #perelandra #sunder says

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entoman-created-by-the-tallgreys · 2 years

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I am not giving you more stupid I know things !

If the reptilians end up taking the planet they have sinned deeply I know people mock sin because they don't understand religion because of all the cult in the pseudo religious practices on the earth have driven mankind away from spiritual truth I'm not going to go too deep into that because people love to use that as a cult's, I just want to get right to the point.

. . .

The dragon God there are deities for every part of the universe for everything cuz that's how God does things God sets his Divine family up the other deities with a Divine mission but they have to agree with it though it has to be something natural he doesn't just tell them what they're going to do.

. . .

Long story short the dragon God is coming to wipe out the planet Earth a lot of gods try to do their best to keep the universe and some sort of perpetual balance I know it seems like a bunch of Hocus pocus BS but I'm not lying I know things.

. . .

The god of the Draconian is the god of Draco is so disgusted and enraged he is seeing in so much disgusted anger that he is going to leave his holy place in Draco which he is the power source he is the thing that makes Draco so special he is the life force of the draconians.

Here's what makes dragons dragons and snakes, Reptile of all things of reptile he is one of the ultimate life force sources of reptile energy he is the reason why dragons get to be born and why they why they die out old and get reincarnated again he is the true holy God of All things reptile.

. . .

And I dare not speak any blasphemy's name I just want to get right to the point his message.

. . .

The god of the dragons says for All reptiles on reptilians to leave the Earth leave Gaia or else he will come and destroy this place and probably the whole Solar System with it he wants the souls of the reptilians that have conquered this place to go home or else suffer his ultimate wrath.

. . .

To all the reptilians he'll laugh at me and think I'm merely a fool making things up I swear to God on it I swear on that God that he's telling the truth. 🐉🐉🐉

Go home very very soon very very Very Soon.

Basically around the year 2023 which is impossible.

( I'm not saying the dragon guys probably going to be here by the year 2023 - I don't know when he might arrive ultimately I just think that the Draco God really supports the the Grays and I don't think you think he supporting the great alien I think supporting the insectoid goddess of Earth because deity don't really care about The mortals they care about their own mortal they don't care about other deities mortals )

( what you mean titanium really badly wants her Planet back her home back but she can't have it because it cuz one of the greatest experiments have conquered the Earth and then alien mixture of that DNA conquer those experimental results and now she can't have her effing Planet back she can't have her Hive back she can't have a fairy lamp back and She's Royally Fuk'd )

For all reptilians to get off the Earth I recommend you use portals don't say that the people underground don't have photos don't say that they don't know how to make portals that's a lie to open a portal and leave the planet.

Unless you want to take on your beating heart, the deity !

You elites you seemingly Almighty reptilians draconians who conquered Gaia believe you have more power than that of the God of dragons then I merely say do battle with your God, 🐉 you will not win !!!

I don't know this is all true or not then again the dragon guy I could be blowing a bunch of Fuk'n, smoke the dragon guy is very weak but he keeps trying to tell me that he will he probably wondering why do these random God tell Random people, IT'S BECAUSE !

AND WE'LL GIVE THE MESSAGE AS WITH OTHER PEOPLE DON'T LISTEN AND IF THEY COULD HEAR IT THEY WOULD NOT GIVE THE MESSAGE WE DON'T HEAR WHAT THEIR EARS WE HEAR WITH OUR SPIRIT !!!

The god of Draco once his children back he wants his people back he wants a life force back !

And if they don't obey their God which is already an automatic felony in terms of sins.

Then you get to meet the raft the dragon God and that's not something even I want to take on and I'm a crazy SOB that takes on anything I'll write a bear I'll write a grizzly bear I don't care and I do not want to piss off the dragon God good thing I'm not a dragon or reptile I'm a fairy !n🧚🏻‍♀️🧚🏻‍♀️🧚🏻‍♀️ 👽👽👽

And this is what I mean when I say the word Entomanity

This is up insectoid this is a very very good building block and scientific terms for the next version of what you would call Humanity but is not Humanity this is what Humanity dies it looks like a human being but it's nowhere near human and it does not have human nature.

These are my people these are the fairies I told you about they may not have arthropod wings but that will come in time 👽👽👽

. . .

What the dragon God really wants if he wants the world of Gaia to go back to a hive world he wants this place to go back to Fairyland.

And he knows that the reptilians have an iron walk on the earth he is very proud of the reptilians and their masterful skill but it's time to come home.

Nothing of the world belongs to the reptilians that they have stolen give everything back to the fairies also known as insectories give them give everything back to them not even one gold coin should leave and leave with them on the earth if they take anything from the earth it will be cursed and you will see his Wrath the dragon God is just trying to make things right.

! ! ! ! ! ✊🏻🐉✊🏻 DRAGON ✊🏻 GOD ✊🏻🐉✊🏻 ! ! ! ! !

✊🏻 Dragon God ✊🏻 Dragon God✊🏻 Draco Lord ✊🏻 Reptile King ✊🏻

The, Source of Reptile Energy And Essence !

Without the dragon God all things reptile in the universe with suddenly die, literally deities are not like a son to a plant they're like blood to the heart they suddenly go away you instantly die.

And there is much Theory and much debate of the Soul dies with the Gods.

Either way you need the god you need deities without them there is no Universe the it's a really weird thing the universe is the Creator God but the universe is also the gods it's really really weird it goes both ways it's really really complex and convoluted and you can't really prioritize one thing over the other is the absolute reason why everything is the way it is it's both things at once.

I know that's extremely complicated this is not the post that anyway I'm trying to let you know about the dragon God's message

#Draco #Reptile #Reptilian #Dragon #God

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