#but who here is free of sin and can cast a stone

[eightyones]

[baby-jaguar]

Lust by Nature {Part 1}

Masterlist, Part 2, Part 3

Read on ao3

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) slightly dubious consent, (eventual) Somno, he wants you but is stubborn, violence, succubus reader, sexual tension, reader is given a callsign, minimal descriptions of reader, will update tags as I go

Word Count: 4,015

Summary: A demon by nature; a succubus. Now finally designated to a team, you’re a pilot in how demons and hybrid creatures alike can change the war. However, your previous commanders didn't account for a man too stubborn for his own good. Captain Price stands firm in his morals and ethics, developed by his hardened years in the SAS. You, a lustful little devil, will put him to the test.

And maybe along the way, he’ll put your nature to the test.

A/N: For my own logistics, reader was born seemingly human but the traits and magic did not solidify until reaching adult years, making you appear youthful while stuck in that age. This was originally going to be PWP but I sit here 20k words later... I hope ye enjoy!

Being a far descendant of a fallen angel, you could laugh at the pitiful life you’ve led yourself into.

You’re a pretty thing- beautiful, really. Full of allure and a natural aura of sin that draws others in with a simple look. The blood that pumps and fuels your magic has been alive for a long, long time.

Boredom is a constant in the life of the soulless and damned. It’s agonizingly blurry if you don't set a task or just choose to meander around the world but fortunately for you, you’ve got quite the life ahead of you.

Coming from a state-of-the-art high-security prison base, you’re technically a super soldier with a special drawback. Needing humans to fuel your power; you suck the life out of them, literally, and take energy from their sexual desires and touch.

It’s almost the brunt of the joke when you answer the question of what you are, feeling each time such an expectant shame and laugh to be cast upon you like heavy stones.

A succubus.

Long-acting jester of the demons taken for a lust-driven fool.

Being detained early on in your young lifespan, you were trained to be used as a weapon. Not of mass destruction, but rather something to make these stupid games of war go by so much easier. Not having to slay countless bodies for information and getting a damn good meal from the lives you stole (maybe a few quickies when your superiors weren’t looking), it’s a considerably content life compared to others.

Graduating from training after a few decades was quite the celebration for you and the officials who have been overseeing you for a plethora of years. The military had found a suitable team for you, and you were designated to be put under the supervision of an elite task force.

Supernatural beings were not uncommon in the military, as a large amount were free to live their lives if docile. In the lands of gods and monsters, the humans still held supreme reign over the controlled populations. However, beings similar to you were quick to be captured and either trained or distributed- the world turning a blind eye to what you were capable of achieving in the good and the bad.

John Price. The name stuck to your tongue like you were thirsty and you had a thick paste in your mouth.

No, not semen. At least not yet.

Being appointed to Task Force 141 was exciting. It’s your first time with this much trust, but you know you’d never fuck around too much to land you back to your containment. Captain Price had steely eyes locked onto your form the moment you stepped out of the convoy; high-security cuffs around your wrists and a large band of metal wrapped around your torso. The assumption is to keep you from shapeshifting or lashing out at anyone now that you’re out from the heavy locks and fences.

To everyone else, you looked human. Nothing amiss besides the heavy security detail on your body.

“Captain Price.” Your General’s voice rings out for you, greeting him with a firm handshake.

“General, pleasure.” His eyes dart away from you to greet the man, and you take a small dissatisfaction at the notion, your eyes traversing the expanse of him, already ruminating and calculating his presence.

He’s strong. His energy is sturdy; A cement wall that has cracks laced upon itself, layers of bonding to cover them up and just barely sanded over to appear brand new. His physical appearance leaves your internal senses giddy with the sense of a new adventure. If you’d release your glamour illusion, your tail would be swaying slowly.

The contract was simple; Your powers would be used in specific operations under Price’s command. You were his, and his only, not being allowed to act under any other authority. Behave well and you’ll be integrated more into society by his terms, but the worse you were, the worse your containment.

Your payment? Being able to form a bond with Price, one that will satisfy your demon, while being sure to keep you useful.

The etymology humans created portrayed a slew of differing conditions for succubi contracts, most being a damning thing to land humans a hot spot in hell. Being able to create this tie meant that they’d be your selected mate while they’d bear your mark to ward off any other demons. Under this, it barricaded you from killing said person. Instead, the feeding would come from sexual desire, touch, and yes, semen.

Watching Price, the flames of your creation begin to already yearn for his touch.

It's with a simple handoff of your file, a thick manilla envelope, that gets passed off to Price with no other words spoken, and you can’t help but marvel at how they treat your ownership like a back alley drug. The General nods towards you, speaking your name before the simple “But we just call her Little Devil.” A small twitch of Price's mouth makes you wonder if he disapproves.

“She may be a demon but keep her well-kept, Price. Your trial run in this program is going to do more than change war tactics.” 

Shifting the envelope in his hands, Price takes a survey of how much documentation they have on just your captive existence. There could be some good and some bad, maybe all bad but the chance of letting a temperamental half-demon could cause serious repercussions to both sides. Hypothetically. 

“We’ll be in touch.” Price responds, the forced-looking grin making the blue of his eyes slightly disappear for a moment. A nod of his head, then attention back on you while judging how to best go about this.

“You speak…?”

It sets a bristle off inside you with an internal scoff. The chance to insult him for accusing you of being either incompetent or something of the silent type settles, but your probation period keeps you inside the lines of behavior. “Yes, Captain.”

When he hears your voice; It sounds ethereal. Like the crisp jingle bells while the sound is eclipsed if not swallowed by soft and red velvet.

A small tick of his right eyebrow was the only movement accompanying a hum in acknowledgment. “Right, well. Let’s get you settled in then.”

With the queue of acceptance, the General brings a small key from a pocket unbeknownst to you, moving to unlock the cuffs. There’s humor in watching you, the new operator being uncuffed while accepted onto base- and hey, maybe you could ponder the religious message it brings forward too.

But there’s not enough time for that notion.

Walking off the tarmac and into the nearby administrative building brings steady heed of stares. “So… Your previous situation. Was told it was more of a containment type of thing. Would you mind speaking on that?” Price’s toned-down voice comes out after more than a few paces into the building, leading you towards a stairwell into the third floor.

“The best way to describe it in normalcy would be similar to what you human soldiers do here- the barracks. Just imagine its very high security.” It takes a moment to draw up the answer, having expected the man to be as nitwitted as the normal “A sex demon, huh?” question asked in every new encounter.

 “You’ve always been in that situation?”

The clicking of both sets of feet confidently strikes the ground. A sense louder than the random soldiers milling around you and the lack thereof as others stop and stare in bewilderment.

“No. Not sure if you’re making small talk or haven’t read my file yet, but my demonic integration did not start manifesting until I was in my early adult years. Got turned in when I was walking around the streets in full form. No control whatsoever on shifting.” 

A broken-off hum leaves the man, sensing the almost frazzled static around him as he works to keep walking while maintaining an eye on you. “I have. Just wanted to hear it from you.” Truthfully, if you were in his place with an unshackled demon that had years of military experience walking alongside you, you’d have some sense of fear too. “And how long ago was that? When you matured?”

Eyeing him for a moment, he looks mid-40s if anything. Handsome, worn down from war so possibly a bit younger. “Quite some time ago. I’d say when your parents were born, Captain.”

He stops in a mid-step, balances perfectly set before turning to whirr his head at you. Eyes give an up-down motion on you before ticking his jaw. “Huh.”

He pushes his way through a wall of soldiers to an office door before opening it. “And how old-”

“Body stopped aging when all the changes settled. A second sense of puberty that I’m locked into.” The small upturn of your lips doesn’t pass him. All he can do is nod in response.

He makes his way to the desk against the back corner of his office room; The space is a good size, Having enough for his L-shaped desk with two chairs in front of it. A worn-in leather couch on an adjacent wall while a few framed documents hang on the wall, military in nature with medals attached to them while undusted fake plants serve as accents in the corners.

“Very well,” He gives a soft grunt when adjusting himself in his seat before opening up the large manilla folder. “You, are going to be judged based on your nature and human interaction during your uncontained enlistment. Ability to perform assignments, be of aid, and see what your specific capabilities can put forward with us.”

Head nodding in check with each item listed, “Understood, Captain.”

His blue eyes leave the documents for a moment to find your gaze already on him. “You’ve got a good rapport with every previous task, but your previous COs still didn’t state trust as a key factor. Why would that be?”

For a moment, you get lost in the focus of his body language; Price folds his arms over the table, holding his elbows as the pages become spread over his desk. The way he purses his lips after a question that holds an answer he will depend on. His lips make a small smack in the action, and it's cute in the way he’s so human.

“I didn’t trust them.”

An eyebrow arches at the vague response prompting you to continue. “Kept me like a lab animal, fed me or let me feed when deemed easy for them to write off in the report. That’s not how you treat a demon when expecting to use their powers, sir.” 

“And this feeding… There’s multiple ways listed here but to be frank- I’ve still yet to get my head wrapped around it. You’re a sex demon, yeah?”

Ah. There it is.

His eyes dart down to the few pages that cover your needs and methods of survival, studying the paragraphs of information. A how to keep your demon alive handbook if you will.

“The premise of everything I need stems from what is deemed as life force, or just called energy. Sex is easy, and feels the most satisfying.” A breath before continuing. “ But relying on just energy wont last me long, yet its easier in some situations. Those barely alive are easy to take from.”

He knows there's more to be had with you. A temptress trained well with a pedigree in what you were made for. But he can only hypothesize. “And what are you expecting from being here?”

A look of surprise flashes in the widening of your eyes, not used to someone asking in consideration. “I’m expecting more hostiles, interrogations, or kills that I could take to feed myself. And sex too.”

“Oh-” A half cough leaves him before looking to the side. Surely he should have known, it's stereotypical but at least true.

“If you want me at full strength, I’m going to need the energy. I’m sure you could understand that, Sir?” The small tilt of your head, almost an aloof look sends alarm bells into his mind. They wouldn’t have sent a succubus in here without some sort of plan already being formed, some procedure and measure being used to-

“I am expecting to form a relationship with you, Captain.”

And at that, a full choked sound leaves him. He deserves doubled pension for this.

“And in what right mind, was that established in, hm?” He grounds out, opening a desk drawer to pull out a cigar before taking a cutter to the end of it. You measure the time it takes for him to light it and take a first steady puff.

“Well, the way I see it- and having discussed it with my previous superiors, this is supposed to mirror a real dynamic. This is the only point of contact to report on my behavior. I don’t think engaging in what I need would go over well if I went wild with other operators or soldiers around the base. Confirm or deny?”

Price’s eyes narrow as you speak, dragging his gaze away to stare at his locked computer screen. A grunt in the back of his throat sounds before taking another inhale of his cigar. For a man who has been fighting on the front lines for countless years, he keeps the smoke in for a steady amount of time. Healthy lungs. Good for him. 

You haven’t tried a cigar, only have gotten a whiff of the burning tobacco coming from superiors. This smell is the lingering one you picked up on Price even when standing on the tarmac. Sweet, vanille and tobacco leaves.

“You said your previous company spoke on this with you.” He starts with a swift movement to rifle through the pages on his desk. “This in writing or are you taking the piss now?” He speaks in a deep grumble, holding the burning cigar between his lips.

An internal groan rattles your mind, already sensing this may be more of a struggle than ease of getting what you were promised. “Last few pages. It’s all in writing.” He seemed like a sensible man in the way that if a warm and inviting body was laid out to him while asking for himself, he’d take it.

“Commanding officer is to set an established and cohesive exchange, herein the succubus will be fed from a relationship in physical and sexual natures while in exchange not damaging or harming the officer.” His accent slides in a bit more thickly than you’ve heard up until now, eyebrows scrunched while he mumbles the page to himself. “And why in the bloody hell, was this not communicated to me beforehand?”

You can’t control the wry smirk that steals your lips while looking at him, trying not to laugh. “They thought it would be a no-brainer.” A pause, “Sir.”

Plucking the cigar out of his mouth, Price sighs while leaning back in his chair seemingly defeated. “You sufficed well without any previous relation in the company, there’s no evidence that this will turn out well.” His eyes now land on you in a quick movement.

“As I mentioned-” He cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“No. I’m not going to sleep with my subordinate, less so one that can kill me if so pleases.” The uptick of his chin bleeds with firmness, a decision that screams arrogance of finality. 

Settling down in a way that almost matches his, your jaw ticks. “Yes, sir.”

And truthfully it's all you can say. Agree and accept to stay here and be the guinea pig for others like you. You can warn all you want but by the devil himself, humans won’t learn until their wrongs meet them in their face.

“If I could so much as advise you, Captain;” Your chin dipping, licking the front of your teeth, and feeling the small prick of your dormant fangs. He nods for you to continue, “If you want me at my full capacity, I will need every ounce of energy I can get. You’re going to need to keep that in the back of your head. It’s not simple like a meal you eat. It’s a life I take or the sex I make.”

Now, a quick smile flashes over him only disappearing when he takes a long, longer drag of the cigar. “I’ll keep that in mind, Demon.” Sitting up straighter, leaning on the desk again.

“But whether or not you are a good girl, depends on what ethics I choose to apply.” The smoke puffs out in small bursts as he speaks, tendrils leading up toward heaven before it stills in limbo at the weight of it.

—

The men- your teammates, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap, each greeted you with somewhat seasoned restraint and respect by holding their tongues yet their eyes spoke their curiosity while roaming over you.

You could see the disappointment in their eyes. Being met with a seemingly normal human was not what they had been briefed on. Having let their imagination run wild at the title of a succubus, you’d guess they would have wanted to see every aspect of what kind of mystical enchantress you would be. Once the disappointment of not seeing such things the churches pray against, the view of your human form set in.

Lords above you were the finest piece of- 

It felt like a surefire version of winning the lottery to have you assigned to them. Banking on the fact that you’d be their little guard dog and they yours, Gaz already having to scare recruits away at PT while you stared on with a coy smile. Training was as you’d have expected. Executions of strategies, questioning of tactics, and scoring your shooting were all within the long hours of the day. What you hadn’t expected was the lack of insults thrown your way in passing when you met their standards. No degrading words of being a a demon, or a slut by association of your breed.

It was two weeks before you were allowed to come on an assignment with them; The mission in the bitter snow of the Russian Tundra. 

12 hours in and having stormed a bunker with countless bodies already strewn across, blood stains the polished cement and a flicker of sinister delusion makes you wish the snow was this color.

Tattered remains of your shirt sleeves show the color of your skin underneath, but miraculously no wounds present themselves even as your kevlar has obvious points of damage. The sight of you standing, gun raised and firing quick bursts of succession as the last body falls to the ground. It’s like a scene out of a soldier's bible.

Your chest heaves, mouth opens to lick your teeth as the adrenaline slows its production in your blood. Price is sure that if he put a body cam on you, it would be a haze of movements, a shadow clouding up the corners of the screen and filled with static. He’s still not sure what to think of you in the short amount of time you’ve been here. Quiet and speaking only when spoken to. And it’s not what he was prepared for; The thick dossier of yours being filled with reprimands, complaints, and classified lines that hid your after-action reports with details on your kill count.

From the first meeting, he knew you were spoiled rotten in that compound, save the punishments given on your worst days. You knew how to get what you wanted. Bitting time and time again to still be fed. Yet, now all he can see is you biting at others if only to protect your men.

“Saint.” The spur of Price’s voice makes you jump, the scene of death halting, eyes darting to a stack of crates where he lays. His squinted eyes lock onto your form, trailing up and down for a moment before he tries to adjust himself with a grunt.

“Who?” You ask while taking a secondary cautious sweep of the room before moving to him in a quick few steps.

“You, sweetheart. Saint.” 

His grunt of pain doesn’t faze you, instead focusing the whiff of a sweeter metallic smell hits you. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

Ghost, Gaz, and Soap have the outside perimeter locked down with getaway snowmobiles at Price’s word. He touches the side of his com to activate it, roughly alerting them you both had cleared the floor and will need to medevac in the next coming moments.

“Let me get that for you.” It was a severe contrast to the inhumane growling and yelling from moments before as you tore into the enemies, ones that had you in a blind rage for landing a shot on Price.

Shaking his head, he reaches out his hand to stop you. “‘M fine, just need a quick patch. We need to leave.” He grounds out, leaning forward while covering the wound on his thigh.

Common knowledge brought the understanding that succubi had a level of regenerative power, but most not having been raised in military secrecy or being able to develop themselves into having control.

“Stop. Just-” A breath settles in your lungs, measuring itself and the expanse of what you could do- how you could help and be useful. The previous rage and fight instincts transform with concentration and the swirling of conjuration. “I need a little…” You trail off, eyes sweeping upwards to his.

There’s a shame that humans hold. You blame it on them being entirely born of boring flesh, but that would be hypocritical to an extent. Taking his vest in hand, you pull yourself forward to lean in.

“What the bloody-” Price jerks back but can't even finish as you sush him, giving him a deep stare that almost sedates him. He stills and quiets at the same time, now holding your gaze that he swears he saw the current color be flooded by a deep red.

He blinks for a moment, already trying to fight the small calming waves you push into him but the sudden feeling of long talons priking into his shirt makes him freeze. Like an animal with food aggression, you keep him there while moving in to bring your lips together. 

You can taste a bit of blood, and the saltiness of his sweat, while trying not to groan at just how good he feels against you. His lips are surprisingly plump, probably from being irritated due to the cold, but it adds a level of eroticness to feel his wet lips slide over yours. 

“Stay still for me.” You pause the kiss that he’s surprisingly reciprocating eagerly, breathing into each other's mouths. The soft plea drives his heart rate up and you can feel the sense of adrenaline spiking. He’s going to sleep like a fucking brick tonight.

He shudders when you come back together with more force, purposefully dragging the tip of your fangs against his bottom lip as you crowd him. 

There. 

There is the sickly sweet thrum of arousal in his body that makes his mind stir, what you could give in a bastardized excuse of lust right now.

“Mmm, give me a minute.” Comes your wet slurred speech when pulling away, eyebrows furrowing as you focus on on his bullet wound.

The sight of you could be his glory to fight. Tattered from battle, your lips are tinted red, clothes dirty from the gunpowder floating in the air, looking as if so carelessly lethal while your presence is a magnet to him. He's already caught himself wondering why you were chosen to represent a being that fell so far from heaven when your instincts screamed the opposite in small moments.

Looking down to be sure he’s healed just enough, you miss the look of blatant shock he gives when the pink and unmarred flesh greets his eyes. “A right fuckin’ saint you are.” He murmurs, watching you call the boys for exfil, no longer medevac.

[spanishskulduggery]

Can you explain to me the subjunctive in Bad Bunny's song CYBERTRUCK, please?

The lyrics according to Genius:

Yo no aclaro duda', piensa lo que tú quiera'

Que me odie el que me odie, que me quiera el que me quiera

In the English translation, this is

I don’t clear up doubts, think what you want to Let those who hate me hate me, let those who love me love me

I understand the basic subjunctive phrases like "Quiero que él tenga un buen día."

Should I think of it as the love that people have for him, or anyone, is not certain? That is why the subjunctive is used in this case?

Thank you!

In que me odie el que me odie actually has two separate subjunctive clauses here

First - el que me odie "the one who hates me" is a subjunctive of doubt or hypothetical existence; it's "whoever hates me" idiomatically. You'll find a lot of constructions like this used with "whoever"... like quien lea esto "whoever reads this"... you can sort of think of it as "whoever happens to love me" in a way

It's talking about a person who may or may not exist... like "if a person should exist" or "if someone should happen to be (doing something)"... it comes out as subjunctive

Another common one is lo que sea "whatever" literally "that which it might be"... or quien sea "whoever it is / whoever they are". Another is pase lo que pase "whatever happens" but more literally "come what may"

Most common especially for formal things - a quién corresponda "to whom it concerns", literally "to whom it may concern/correspond/go to"

These subjunctive clauses indicate a hypothetical situation, not one actually happening. You get a better sense of knowing how it's translated as you go. Are you talking about a real person/event or is it an imagined or hypothetical one? Could you translate this appropriately with a "might/may" or "happens to (be)", or could you say "whoever/whatever" etc.

-

The second subjunctive is que me odie; this is an "indirect command", somewhere between subjunctive and imperative (commands)

Rather than "hate me" as a regular command, it's "let (he/she/they) hate me"

Most of the "let (someone) do something" constructions are done this way; with a que implying "let" and then the verb in subjunctive

This is like que tengas un buen día "have a good day" but literally "let you have a good day"

Most of the indirect commands can be understood as a kind of shortened command.

As an example diles que coman is "tell them to eat" - you're commanding someone [a tú] to give a command on your behalf, that's why it's called "indirect"; essentially saying "you (tú) go tell them to eat"

And you can then shorten it to que coman "let them eat" or idiomatically "eat up [plural]"

The indirect commands are often used when there's an impersonal aspect to it... or when a direct command is seen as too confrontational or blunt

Another common example of both of these can be found in the Bible:

El que esté libre de pecado, que tire la primera piedra. "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone"

Literally "he that would be free of sin [if that person exists; doubtful existence, almost hypothetical], let him cast the first stone"

[nomorefstogive]

Our Dearest Sin: Chapter 2 "Eventually, We All Rest In An Oaken Casket.” 

Good evening dear readers, once again we bid you welcome to this mess of a fic of ours, with little else to say but that greeting, how about we go ahead and skip formalities and get started shall we?

Ah! We almost forgot, before we start this chapter we want to tell you all that if you ever want to use any of the ideas you see in this fic for some works of your own you are free to, so long as you let us know when it is done so we can see what you have made.

With that out of the way, let the show begin!

Also, @servalisms this is the Oak ficlet I mentioned.

Chapter 2: “Eventually, We All Rest In An Oaken Casket.” 

It was a multitude of things that contributed to a room possessing what could be dubbed a ‘Perfect’ atmosphere, however arbitrary and vainglorious such a descriptor was in the long run, for not one thing that exists in the plane of flesh and bone and blood and stone and steel can be labeled as perfect, yet the ambience of this room was a close contender.

The floor was of a stone that had been so meticulously cleaned that as opposed to its natural gray in coloration, it appeared to be more an off shadow of white, and so free of dirt and debris was it that one would be tempted to say it had been laid to the cold earth but that day were they none the wiser. 

Yet it was not the floor that so interested the arrival, rather it was what laid upon it, for before the door of heavy wood that lead into the room was a rug of dark emerald color, adorned with black and stark white designs depicting symbols and sigils who belonged to a language from realms beyond the White Sands, one whose name was known not to most including the arrival, yet well known was their meaning to the one who now stood upon the rug.

‘Beyond this point there lay the kingdom of bones. Silence here be thy virtue, disturb not those interred herein.’ 

As if in agreement with the rug there was no sound within the room, rather a total and perfect stillness held fast an iron grip to rival even the most power drunk of tyrants upon their nations over the room, so great was the stillness that for a moment the arrival dared not to breath for fear of upsetting some unseen threat should they do so.

Silently and carefully did they creep into the room, pausing but to remove their shoes and to sit them beside the door to the room as they turned to close the heavy wooden door, taking a moment to fiddle with the metal latch that adorned the dark wood as they did so, turning around to face the room in full but when they were certain the door was properly latched.

The walls, of the same stone as the floor, were similarly well maintained, though festooned were they with bookshelves and and sconces that held candles of a shade of white so pale that one would assume them to be bone were they not able to spot the beads of wax that dripped down the bone like candles and into the stained bronze sconces, the faintest smell of lavender and vanilla filling the room.

Cozy, that was such a word that under normal circumstances would describe the room, the dark wooden furniture of bookshelves and table and desk and chair, further accompanied by the carpentry station that lay against the leftmost wall, were all lovingly maintained and bore not even a speck of dust as they stood in stark contrasts to the pale stone.

Yet cozy the room seemed not, for the silence was to heavy, its weight to much for anyone to bear, there was no rustle of skirt and dress as one moved to and fro as they went about their activities, nor was the ancient brass gramophone filling the room, and hall beyond the stone walls, with haunting operas and soothing orchestras.

Indeed, the room could not be called cozy in this state, perhaps a more fitting word for it instead would be ominous, yes the ambience of this room was perfectly ominous indeed, for with the shadows cast by the candles seeming to be as writhing stygian limbs and digits that thrashed against the flickering flames for dominance over the room as they swarmed and writhed, coating all not touched by the warm light in a stygian morass that would have made lesser beings turn tail and flee from the sepulchral chamber could there be a more apt descriptor for the chamber?

Yet the arrival was of sterner stock, and so they silently crept around the room, navigating not by sight, but by memory as they did so, they turned to the side to avoid the chair that rested on the right side of the desk, and swayed just enough to avoid bumping into the stand the gramophone rested on as they neared the farthest corner of the room.

In dim candle light and writhing tenebrous feelers, that which laid there was all the more beautiful, the lacquered dark wood was mixed with cherry in a way that enveloped it in intricate designs made of the intersecting types of wood, the tarnished bronze hughes standing in rich contrast to the wood, though not as much as what lay within the object.

Rich white cloth was carefully inlaid within the box such that only the rim of the opening would be visible as wood from the inside, though such a thing would not be on the mind of the one who was laid upon the plush and pillow like fabric, nor would it be the weight of the gray and silver weighted blanket that would lay upon them, or the softness of the pillow below their head.

No, such things are as nothing to the dead after all. 

Indeed the arrival now stood before an intricately, dare one to say lovingly, carved coffin that dominated the space of the furthest most wall of the room from its position on the ground, its door ajar enough that the corpse that lay therein was visible to their blue-gray eyes. 

Even as they slumbered within the embrace of the coffin, the one within never ceased to steal the arrival’s breath from them.

Long locks of white hair with several streaks of black in it fell in a halo around their face, pale skin standing out in stark relief to the black gown that covered their body, visible but by the grace of their arms being crossed across their chest with their hands resting open just above their breasts.

The arrival idly reached out and laced their finger through their hair, delicately lifting the ivory locks to their lips to press a slight kiss to it as they inhaled the familiar scent of oak that accompanied the one before them, their eyes closing as they relished in the silken feel and scent of the locks for a moment before they tucked them back behind the ear of the one who rested within the coffin. 

Idly the arrival allowed their gaze to rake over the form of the resting figure, the weighted blanket and gown did little to hide the curves of the form, the tantalizing swell of full breast and of hips that beckoned for hands to caress them, of long legs that ached for the feeling of fingers and lips gliding across them in worship…

A low gulp resounded in the room like the crack of a rifle as the arrival delicately reached out their hand once more, gently cupping the skin of the figures cheek, trailing their thumb in small circles over it before they descended to trace down their neck as they lightly pressed their fingers against the bodies pulse point and-

A hand blurred with movement faster than the eye of any normal human could hope to perceive, cool skin meeting their own flushed flesh as they were pulled atop the formally still woman who rested within the coffin, mismatched eyes of bright green and violet slowly opening to gaze into startled blue-gray as dark lips curled into a soft smile as a throaty voice filled the room.

“Don’t you know dear one? Those who tamper with the dead, are bid to lay with them.” Barely had the words been registered by her mind when the young woman heard the door of the coffin close over them, the darkness that suddenly engulfed them broken but by the faint glow that seemed to emanate from the eyes of the woman who even now began to pull her close.

Dark lips ever so gently pressed against her own as glowing eyes became heavy lidded as blue-gray eyes fell close and pale lips eagerly surged forward to meet with the ones that pressed ever so gently against them, parting into a faint gasp as teeth nipped at the bottom lip, allowing for a tongue to slide into their mouth and begin to dance with their own as hands began to wander.

For moments there was not but a muffled moans as tongues dueled, though perhaps dueling was the wrong terms, for neither fought for victory and instead seemed to take turns exploring each mouth, at an unspoken sign one would wrap around the other and guide it into the opposing mouth so their dance could resume within a new ballet hall. 

Hands glided across bodies unseen, delicate caress and affectionate squeezes bringing forth yet more pleased sighs and moans that soon came to fill the coffin as the two writhed in their shared passion and delight, nerves coming alight with delight as hands began to grope and paw hungrily at bodies lost to the dark. 

Soon it was that the glowing eyes reopened to stare down into the similarly opened blue-gray eyes, their bodies having shifted such that those blue-gray eyes were now facing upwards into those glowing eyes, their blown pupils visible even in the darkness to the one who lazily began to palm the beast that rested above the thundering heart of her partner.

Idly the hand began to rub in circles, dark lips quirking up in delight as they both felt the hardness begin to rise as one of their partner’s nipple grew hard, but also heard their dulcet moans begin to fill their shared casket, their own arousal growing such that they let out a low groan as one of their hands drifted up and over skin yet concealed by far too much clothing to a gathering patch of dampness at the apex of unseen thighs. 

The breathy moan that echoed in the casket made the one whose fingers were idly caressing the gathering dampness bite their lip as hunger began to build and swell within them, the desire to devour the one below them till no more could they think or move and instead fell into the slumber of the dead alongside of them becoming too much for them to restrain any longer. 

“Let us hope you have nothing to do tomorrow my dear.” The throaty voice purred down to the young woman pinned beneath it as pale hands began to seize and pull at clothing till they could feel naked and flushed flesh writhing beneath them as their liver tried to conceal themselves in vain.

“Because you will not be walking out of here for quite a while, after all I have to punish you for disturbing my rest don’t I?” Those words brought forth a sharp gasp as a yet clothed leg moved to apply pressure to that damp center as dark lips descended once more, pausing but a hair's breadth from unseen ears as they spoke once more.

“Now dear Peresphone, let us see how much you can take shall we?” 

And with those words spoke, their lips descended once more as their hands began to knead and grope anew as moans filled the coffin till near when the sun had begun to rise, only then did they begin to die down into whimpers and groans of over exertion and pleas for mercy that were soon matched with coos of delicate affection as a flushed face was tucked into sweat covered breasts, hands delicately carding through blue-gray locks as humming filled the coffin. 

“Look at you my dear, all tuckered out.” Gently cooed the voice of Oak Casket as she gently stroked her lovers weary frame, smiling as she nuzzled into sweat slick locks as she felt Persephone latch onto her, lips fastened around her neck as she left yet another mark before hse pulled back and blinked up at Oak as she gave a low yawn.

“Oak…what time...is…” Her words trailed off as Oak Casket leaned down to offer a loving kiss, lightly caressing the Chief’s lips with her tongue before she pulled back, moving to cradle Persephone against her body and direct her to rest her head against her neck as she lifted the lid of her coffin.

“It is nearly time to rest my love, stay here a moment for me would you?” Oak asked to the woman draped over her, smiling at the low whine Persephone let out as she delicately moved her to rest atop the plush lining of her coffin as she gracefully rose from her coffin, uncaring of her nudity as she stretched for a moment before she reached into the casket and tucked the blankets over Persephone, smiling slightly at the scene and leaning down to press a kiss to the chief’s brow before she stood and moved into the shadows of her room. 

Perhaps she was gone a moment, or perhaps hours, Persephone could tell not, nor did she care for even a moment without feeling that ever so cool skin against her own and hearing the echoing of a powerful heart as hands caressed her was much to long for the chief, yet eventually she found herself drifting off from the weariness of the nights activities and into a blissful slumber.

Yet her slumber was not to be, for soon she felt weightlessness engulf her as she was lifted from the coffin by lean and powerful arms, tucked against a naked body as she was carried across the shadow laden room and to where a once concealed door had been opened to reveal a dimly lit bathroom.

Faintly her senses registered the smell of candles and steam blanketing the room, her blurry vision and weary mind registering as to just how perfectly the smell matched the ambiance of the shadows that were broken but by the flickering light of the candles that only faintly illuminated the room, faintly revealing a sink and a tub filled with water from whence the steam wafted. 

Soon she found herself drifting off again as she nuzzled into the body that held her close, awakening but when she felt herself being lowered into the water, yet still held in powerful arms as she found her body being caressed with a dampened cloth coated in a sweet smelling soap that aided in lulling her into keeping her eyes closed as she allowed herself to be pampered.

A low hum filling her ears alongside of the gentle sloshing and splashing of water as her body was cleaned, then her scalp was gently massaged as her hair was likewise cleaned, even the cascading of water brought over her body by a pitcher failed to make herrise from the haze of comforting bliss she was submerged within.

She was only able to rise from below those wondrous waves of bliss when she felt something smooth and cool placed against her lips, absently she opened them to feel something placed within her mouth as she began to chew what she recognized as a piece of an apple, a drink from a glass of grape juice soon being similarly swallowed as Oak tended to her until at last the plate beside the tub and the jug of grape juice were emptied. 

Soon thereafter Oak rose from the water, grasping a nearby blanket and beginning to dry herself off before she turned and pulled the plug out of the tub to allow it to begin draining as she lifted Persephone from the water, smiling to herself as she sat her down on a towel, her smile growing wider as she saw the chief try and nuzzle into the towel and pull it over herself like a blanket. 

Chuckling to herself, Oak gently began to dry Persephone off, smiling to herself at the mark she saw adorning the other woman’s body, the scratches and bite marks and hickeys and handprints, the sight making a feeling of satisfaction well within her, one that grew when she recalled that she shared those same marks all across her own form as well. 

Soon enough the chief was dried off, her weary frame lifted into Oak’s arms as she was carried back to the coffin and gently tucked in under the weighted blanket before Oak herself slipped in as well, holding Persephone to her in a firm and yet tender embrace as she laid one last kiss to her brow before she closed her eyes and joined her in blissful slumber, not to awaken till the sun was high in the sky and the day long begun.

Fin

[generationlosscorkboard]

So! Matpat has finally rejoined us!

Welcome back to the theorist crew, Matty. We've been busy in your absence.

Now the council will decide whether your theories are truly what we've been waiting for. ('The council' being, well, uh, just me, I guess.)

(At the time of writing this, Ranboo has not reacted to this video. If at any point he does, I will follow up on this post.)

If you have not already seen it, here's the link to his video:

Anyways.

(long post you know the drill)

The first section the video is Matt just recapping his past theory, about the two factions which he has now labelled as being Showfall and Generation Loss. These two factions have been fighting over who gets to say what in the media we're shown, with the Gen Loss crew overwriting Showfall's content with cutaways, red writing (origin of my Red Writing tag), and other such edits.

Note: I can understand Matpat's reasoning for calling that group Showfall. I wouldn't, I'd probably associate these guys with who I've been calling GIC's, but for the sake of clarity and consistency, I will be using Matpat's naming conventions. If I need to make a distinction between Matpat's names and Showfall the company or Generation Loss the show, the latter two will be highlighted in red and/or otherwise clarified.

Matpat states that he's done exactly what we've been tasked to do, and found The Founder. I will admit that I was very interested and dubious in this, given we have barely touched on that here. The most we have is that the Video taper showcased at the end could potentially be our guy, but that hasn't been set in stone as The Theory.

Matpat goes back to discussing the videos, specifically going back to T_2: The Inauguration, which he clarifies is about inaugurating us, the viewer, into the Generation Loss group.

Here's a link to a previous post about this particular video by @ozzybutweirdthistime

OP of that post had interpreted it as a way for picking out the cast members for Showfall, whereas Matt has taken it as being a sort of recruitment for Generation Loss. I find this difference of opinion so entertaining, because in that case, both parties what you willing to kill another human being for the cause. Sounds about right! As for which one I think is true, well.... I kinda side more with Mat Pat on this one. The video, for one, is a Gen Zero video and Showfall (the company, not the GIC's) isn't part of this generation according to Ranboo (last I checked).

Still, it could apply to either group, and I really like that ambiguity.

The next thing Matpat discusses is The Social Experiments, giving a quick recap on what it was, that Hetch was supposedly helping him only to turn out to be Showfall, that we killed Ranboo live, (live). Only he thinks Ranboo didn't die, and that Ranboo is actually The Founder.

His reasoning and evidence for this is the following:

Ranboo, whilst trusting Hetch, didn't take Hetch's advice to do as the audience says, rather picking the wrong code so the alarm would be activated and the show could continue how Showfall planned it.

Ranboo purposely doesn't take the first exit sign post button push, rather he heads for Hetch door.

We were asked to kill the Founder, and who did we vote to kill in the end? RANBOO!

Ranboo purposely picked the wrong exit in the Closet, leading to Ethan's death.

Ranboo knows that Sneeg has been there for Six years, and accidentally slips this when they free him.

The Puzzler is scared of Ranboo and was scared that he killed Ranboo too early, which wasn't what was meant to happen, and he apologized for that. Also, the line "Well that's for you to know and me to find out".

Ranboo wants the audience to kill him, in a mix of " hey look at me I'm so christ-like!" and dying for your sins/getting us to do what we need to do to survive.

The Cutaways require Ranboo to be alive post-production in order for them to happen.

Ranboo is reorganising the footage for release as the founder's cut, making it sadder (MANIPULATION), and to change and add certain details to make it better (REWRITING THE TRUTH/CANON). also Ranboo may quietly delete the original VODs so they no longer can speak their truth (GASLIGHTING)

Now. Here's why I disagree with Matpat on this.

The reason Ranboo didn't take Hetch's advice was not because they wanted the show to go on and knew that "theorists" would hinder that by choosing the correct option. Rather, he didn't want to take advice from a faceless audience who have been the one's controlling his life for a long as he remembers. He isn't even aware that the audience is actively trying to save him the best they can, he just thinks they want him for entertainment. Hence, he makes the decision for himself with a 75% chance of failure and ends up setting off the alarm.

As for why Ranboo ignored the first exit sign, my own mask theory gives the reason for this: Ranboo was almost always being controlled or at the very least, having their perception altered so that the story would go as it was supposed to.

We've killed and/or seen the deaths of seven people over the course of this series (some even twice, or three times over!), and sure, Ranboo's death was a very big focal point, I don't think that meant they were the FOUNDER. if he was, I'm pretty sure that would of meant Gen Loss was over, done, we did the thing we were supposed to do and now can go on with our lives. But no, the show goes on. Ranboo was just the focal point of this particular story. (it's been mentioned by Hetch that this cast selection normally happens off-camera, but because of the novelty of this version, their gets to be live)

Ranboo picking the wrong door. Simple, he was being mind controlled then, which we know because of the lights and also the NPC voice going on then. I find it really interesting that Matt hasn't once mentioned the mind control aspects of the show, in any form it came up as. During those moments, yes they were continuing the story in a story way, but not because they were the one in control.

The Sneeg thing- I'm like 90% sure this was just Ranboo improv-ing, plus he said it in a questioning tone and followed it up with "I don't- I don't know..?" Idk, it sounds just a little to me that he doesn't know.

Now for the Puzzler. Dude's just incompetent at being a Saw guy, man. He did actually kill Ranboo in that moment, according to Ranboo (source: Going through my favourite bits!), so the "nearly killed his boss" is a bit of a iffy thing (even if the filter doesn't let him realise that he did actually kill Ranboo). he's just genuinely sorry about it as is. (again, he's just a goofy guy, who is heavily filtered like everyone else). Although I will admit that the "that's for you to know" line is definitely something. Personally, I'd like to think it was Showfall speaking through the Puzzler to the audience, without the puzzler realising the deeper meanings.

The reasoning for Ranboo dying. Matpat calls it as Ranboo making himself out to be Jesus like (and while, yeah CC Ranboo is basically doing that cause hell yeah), I think of it as Showfall showing off how in control they are, mimicking religious imagery (almost mockingly) and their apparent control over life and death. How God-like they are. So, we have similar ideas around this particular one, only we just differ on the one sending the message.

Matpat then compare's The Social Experiments to those of Stanley Milgram (who, coincidentally, A friend told me about the day this video was uploaded). And I agree! There are definitely a lot of similarities. The subjects are forced into a situation by an authority figure (the experimenter) of deciding the fate of another subject, to the point of inflicting pain that could cause death (only for the pain to be fake, and the whole situation fabricated).

Matpat and I agree, that Ranboo's death was faked. Well, sorta. But for veryyyy different reasons. Matt says it's because he's the Founder and needs to stay alive, while I say it's because Showfall like to reuse everything, so why waste a perfectly good body? (Clarification: Ranboo the person is dead. But their body is reused, either like Frank or as one of the Employees.)

With the cutaways? I think they were filmed before. Ranboo is completely under their control, so it's easy enough to make pre-prepared cutaways and then make their actors do certain things that make the cutaway make sense/relate to the show. especially with how meticulously planned this particular show is. Especially since this show is completely Live apart from the obviously cinematic stuff, but again, pre-recorded (either in-universe or because of IRL health and safety laws requiring that actors don't actually get smashed by anvils).

His whole founder's Cut idea is certainly something. However, the main reason for the founder's cut is to remove a lot of the livestream-y stuff, add in some of the things that got missed out the first time around because it just got skipped over in the live performance, and just tweaking a few things here and there so that we get the experience of Gen Loss we were always supposed to get. (yeah yeah it's rewriting the current Canon but not in THAT WAY). I actually have a couple of friends waiting on the founder's cut release purely because I suggested they do due to just how long and sometimes a little stuck in places the og is (as much as the first episode was great, they were in the kitchen for a LONG time, hell even the YouTube VOD skips out the Create a Creature bit). Also i would like to see Ranboo even TRY gaslighting us. Have you SEEN the amount of edits, scene packs, small detail discussions (my own Masterpost of small details for one.)

Final Notes

Now I don't know why Matpat didn't mention the whole mind control aspect, or why he wasn't apparently aware of certain details that Ranboo himself has confirmed, but honestly, even I'm not caught up on everything going on. I've got a private playlist on YouTube called "gen loss to watch" and wow I have not watched half of those. I also have the benefit of being focused on Gen loss, and not managing four channels each with a wide range of things to cover. That and the fact I'm constantly in the loop with all of you, and seeing what you all think.

AHFG anyways. No theory is a bad theory, and it was really nice to hear Matpat's thoughts on this, no matter how differing. Don't spread hate to him, and don't interpret this post as me hating on him. We're all just trying to solve this thing, and by god are we going to do it.

But hey. It's just a theory. A GAM- wait.

[idontunderstandchemistry]

Indecent Proposal (An academic rivals to lovers fanfic) - Tim Drake x Latina!Fem!Reader.

Sinopsis: Being a scholarship student at Gotham's most expensive school is not easy, especially when your academic rival, your nemesis, who coincidentally is the owner's son, decides to make you a rather usual proposition.

Tropes: Academic rivals-to-lovers, contract/bet, he loved her all this time, everyone else sees it except them, opposites attract, etc.

A/N: Hi guys! I hope you had enjoyed the holidays! So, just to warn you guys, the uptades may become more sparse due to the return to school, but I will continue doing my best to update at least once a week :/ Also, I just wanted to say that I'm very gratefull for every interaction from you guys ❤️ They keep me motivated to keep writing and I simply love to know what you guys think about Indecent Proposal. It makes me feel like we're all on the same boat, I don't know how to explain it lol. Anyways, tysm for evething! (Also, this chapter's song is just because it has been playing in my head non stop because of TikTok. I WANNA BE SAAAAVED)

For those of you that want to read some chapters ahead, feel free to acess my AO3 account here.

Warnings: Alysanne lightly fantasysing with Daddy!Batman (but to be fair, let he who has never sinned cast the first stone,I know I'm not going to be the one.)

Wordcount: 1715.

Chapter thirteen

Chapter Fourteen: Pictures Don't Lie

When you arrived at the studio, Aly was already in their costume, making the last adjustments. You couldn’t help but smile. They looked fucking stunning.

— There she is! — Aly exclaimed as you sat on one of the armchairs, waiting — The it girl of the moment.

— It's good to see you too, Alysanne — You said, taking your shoes off. Fabio’s n°1 rule: never wear shoes while trying on your custom-made clothes — Where’s Fabio?

— I have no idea, I think he said something about grabbing some pins — Aly said, looking at themselves in the mirror — I personally think he meant I’m skinny. Your costume is in the change room, he asked for you to try it on so that he would be back in a minute.

You got inside the change room and saw the beautiful white dress. You could easily be mistaken by a minimalist bride in this dress. The silk was so soft and shiny… the draped bust would make your breasts look even more amazing. You wondered what Tim would think when he saw you in this dress. You giggled like a child, wondering how much this dress cost. Aly loved to pamper you.

— You’ve already hidden your lover’s face from me, don’t hide the dress too! — Aly exclaimed from the outside. You finished putting the dress on and after a good five minutes trying to strap the wings to yourself alone, you got out of the changing room and asked Aly to help you. They helped you and you got to the mirror step to see it better — If i were a woman, I would envy you so much.

You laughed at Aly’s comment.

— I’m serious! — They exclaimed — You’re the only person I know that can make a romantic costume look hot without shortening your skirt or lowering the neckline. 

— Thank you, Aly — You said — You’re also rocking. You look simply amazing. The jewellery pieces will compliment the look so much you definitely are going to get Paris Hilton’s blessing.

— Oh, I’m sure I will — They said, smiling — It would be very dumb of her not to choose me as her successor. I mean, I’m thin, I’m blonde and my tan comes straight from Aruba. 

— Good that you know — You said.

After you guys took some photos for Aly’s instagram, they started to question you.

— Why don’t we call your Dilf Playboy so that he can see how you look good? — They asked, seated on the armchair beside you. You laughed.

— He is our age, Aly — You tried to guide the conversation — And I can’t show him.

— Why not? Is there anything of yours he hasn't seen yet? No slutshaming obviously.

You laughed loudly.

— Yes, Aly. There are parts of me he hasn’t seen yet — You said — And he is a cheesy motherfucker. Would try to match costumes with me, and then everybody would know about our… thing.

— You can just call it a relationship, you know?

— We are not dating. It’s purely physical.

— Maybe for you and that cold heart of yours — Aly pointed, fidgeting with the hem of their gown. 

— I’m not cold hearted — You answered, a bit offended — I just… have more important things. And I don’t want to be in a relationship with him. Things are good the way they are. 

— You're really not telling me who your mysterious twink is?

— No, I’m not — You said — At least for now. Maybe after this thing between us end, we can talk shit about him. 

— “I’m not cold hearted”, she says — Aly said and rolled their eyes. 

You spent some time in silence, watching tv. And then the reality show got interrupted by the news with an interview with Batman.

— Turn the volume up! — Aly exclaimed, worried, since the images were near their father’s work. You did as they asked.

“... The source of the explosion is already being investigated by Red Robin and I, there are no fatal victims and everything will be alright”. Your mind vented. Red Robin. There has been a while since you heard about him. Good to know he is alive. Aly, with a very confused look, turned their head towards you with a devious grin.

— What? — You asked.

— I know why you don’t want to tell me who you’re secretly shagging — They said, leaning towards you. You arche done eyebrow, confused — You’re fucking Batman! — Aly exclaimed as they heard the dark knight voice on the TV. Oh fuck, it was scary how Tim could mimic it almost perfectly — Does he fuck you with the mask on? How big is it?

— What?! No! — You exclaimed, laughing — That man is clearly in his forties, Aly, he could be my father. I’ve told you, he is our age.

— Look, of all the people in this world, you’re the one I’ve least expected to try to gaslight me…

— I’m not, Aly, I swear on my mother’s name.

— I heard his voice, little Y/N. It's Batman!

— No, he’s not! He just is really good at imitating voices — You tried to explain, but Aly wasn’t easily convinced.

— Oh, so he didn’t tell you then — Aly said — I really am a great detective!

— Aly, he is a highschooler — You said, holding their hands  — If he was Batman, he would fail every fucking class, and as hard it is for me to admit, he is kinda smart. 

— I demand proof. 

— What do you want? To see his fucking driver’s licence? Birth certificate? His report card?

— A picture of him will do.

You sighed. There must be a way out of this. You went through your secret gallery, where you kept the pictures you’ve taken together while you engaged in physical activities (you honestly thought it was a bit risky, but you had nothing to lose if these pictures were stolen. Well, maybe your dignity, but at this point you were pretty convinced you’ve already lost it), but they all showed his face or his stomach scar, and Aly had a fucking great memory. They would know it was Tim the second they saw his scar.

— Give me a sec.

You went to the balcony and called for Tim.

— Missing me already? — He asked, his voice echoed. Where the fuck was he that had echo?

— Are you in a cave? — You couldn’t help but ask — Your voice is echoing.

— Oh, I'm in the manor’s gym — He answered.— How can I help you, darling?

— I need a picture of yours — You said, biting your lip nervously — A picture that shows you’re not an old man and that at the same time doesn't show any of your recognizable features. 

— That’s a very specific request. May I know why?

— Aly thinks you’re a sugar daddy — You admitted, after a sigh — They’re convinced you’re an old man and I want to prove them wrong. If I don’t, they’ll mock me for eternity.

— You really do hate the idea of having a sugar daddy, don’t you? No one has pampered you enough?I can change that… — He said and you could imagine the grin on his pretty face. Smart ass.

— That’s not the point, Playboy.

— I’ve got you, darling. Remember that picture of us in your bathroom mirror, the one you’re wrapped your legs around my waist?

— The one I asked you to delete? You’ve kept it. Obviously — You said, laughing. You would be mad at him for keeping that picture, but it saved you right now.

— Sorry, I didn’t plan on keeping it, but you look so fucking pretty there that I couldn’t help it.

— That’s okay. Just send it to me, please.

— Sent already, darling.

— Thank you, Playboy.

— You’re welcome, love. 

— Bye.

— Kiss you later.

You hung up and walked back into the room. Aly was on the mirror step again and Fabio was back with the pins.

You got in Tim’s chat and opened the photo.

He was right, it was a good photo, but you didn’t want him to have it because of the way you looked at him in it. Too intimate. He was standing with his back turned to your mirror, his wet hair kinda messy and some water droplets sliding on his bruised back. You were being held by him, your legs wrapped around his waist and his hands cupping your ass (gently squeezing, actually, but no one could tell it by the picture), one of your hands grabbing his shoulders, your red nail polish in contrast with his fair skin. You were the one holding the phone and, with your hair wet and slight back, you looked at his smile with flustered cheeks and a sweet smile. Too fucking intimate. 

At least, neither his face nor his scars known to the public were showing.

— If you ever say he is old again, Alysanne Taylor Lewis, I’m going to beat your ass — You started getting closer to them. Aly got the phone from your hand and you were not worried that they could get out of the photo and try to discover his identity. You trusted Aly.

— Damn, y/n, you are aggressive in bed — They said, zooming in on Tim's bruises — Nobody would bet on that by looking at your face… always the quiet ones…

— I didn’t do it — You laughed — He got in a fight with his brothers. 

— Romeo? — Fabio asked, looking at the photo too. Aly nodded — His back seems incredibly familiar. Weird. I know these measures from someone…

— Maybe you’ve tailored something for him — Aly said, giving your phone back to you — She calls him “Playboy”, so he is certainly on your client’s list.

Fabio looked at you.

— I have no idea, maybe he is — You said, looking at the picture again. Even though Tim was filthy rich, you couldn’t picture him wearing hand made suits. The boy literally showed up at your house wearing jeans and a Flash merch sweater.

— That look on your face — Aly said — Are you sure you’re not in love with him?

— Shut up, Alysanne. 

— Maybe Red Robin finally found his match in the competition for your heart. Who would say, a hero and a twink… I guess you don’t really have a type.

You didn’t answer, as you kept looking at your face on the picture before deleting it. 

You were not going to let him crawl his way into your heart. 

[all-souls-matinee]

A Ghost Story for Christmas

Throughout the 1970s the BBC ran a holiday special that adapted the works of M.R. James into made-for-TV-movies; celebrating the ‘tradition’ of telling scary ghost stories at Christmastime. They later included a few exceptions to the James rule, and then rebooted it for limited releases in 2005. James is a horror staple; even if you haven’t read his stuff you would recognize the setups and themes of his stories because he was widely publicized in 1910s Cambridge and came to have a ton of influence on the genre. I’ve always been pretty indifferent towards his writing, only familiar with ‘Casting the Runes’ and ‘Rats’ (neither adapted here), but was so charmed by this thing’s existence that I picked out seven episodes that sounded the most interesting and watched in a randomly generated order. All of them are available for free on YouTube/Tubi and run from 30-60 minutes if you’d like to check it out for yourself.

A View from a Hill (2005), story by M.R. James

An archeologist visits a bankrupt squire at a country estate to assess his family’s collection of local archeological finds. Against the protests of his servant, the squire lends our protag a pair of binoculars from the collection.

The editing on this one sucks so hard. There’s a ton of potential in using binoculars as a kind of adder stone that allows you see both shadowy figures and an entire building that isn’t there, and it’s too bad that it’s just flashing images and jump-cut edits. We do get a taste of James’ penchant for stories within stories, usually conveyed by a wise old man, which I love. A certain je ne sais quoi in inviting the unpaid manservant to sit down and talk about how the local weird guy was gallows-robbing and boiling skeletons in a big pot and then went crazy, made a pair of magic binoculars, and got killed by ghosts. Respective reactions to this were to take a long drag on a cigarette say “that didn’t happen” and take a sip of wine and say “it’s an interesting story.” Thank you British people for my life.

The Ice House (1978), original teleplay by John Bowen

A man vacationing to cope with the death of his wife begins to suspect brother-and-sister resort owners are up to something when they show him a mysterious vine growing on their property.

The concept of gothic horror set at one of the country health clubs that were popular in 70s England is honestly very clever. A forbidden room, a mysterious object, the image of a middle aged man wandering around at night with a candle instead of a young woman, it all mostly works, but doesn’t ever quite get anywhere. These are simple stories intended for sharing around a hearth or at a sleepover so shouldn’t want for things like character development or complex filming, but because this one was so ambitious you can feel how lacking it is. Gothic horror also isn’t my thing even at its best, and here its definitely... not (tw for incest.) The biggest point in its favor is the ending, which is at least a natural resolution to the story Bowen was trying to tell.

The Ash Tree (1975), story by M.R. James

Squire Richard inherits a beautiful estate from his distant uncle Matthew, only to be troubled by the sins of Matthew’s past as a ruthless employer of witch hunters. 

The framing of Richard-as-Matthew was confusing, the lighting and editing off, and I really dislike the witch genre so was predisposed against this one. I did like the wise old man character (the mild affect he has while explaining that anyone who touched Matthew’s body was physically wounded in bizarre ways??), and will give it credit for going from the most boring to the most insane one of the bunch. All of these are pretty tame so it was kind of a shock to have them cut to a topless witch torture scene and then to have an ending where he’s mauled by, um, spiders made from human baby heads. The titular cursed tree does burn down at the end, so that’s all good then.

Whistle and I’ll Come to You (2010), story by M.R. James

Pressured to take space from his wife’s care home, an old man goes to stay at a seaside hotel and finds a mysterious object™ while beach combing.

John Hurt is putting in such a powerhouse performance that it almost feels unfair to compare this to the cheaper 70s stuff. Cinematography and set dressing convey a subtype of loneliness that feels like scum on glass, and tension is built up wonderfully with nasty audio, a scary statue, the image of a pillow slowly dragged under a door. A figure on the beach is made frightening only through film techniques. It also strays much further from the source material than other adaptations, but that’s not without purpose. Hurt’s aside that losing someone to dementia is the opposite of our concept of a ‘ghost’ is more chilling than any of these goofy little vignettes have a right to be; no wonder they replaced the whistle with a wedding ring.

Stigma (1977), original teleplay by Clive Exton

Katherine and her teenage daughter take a trip out to their summer cottage, stopping to watch a team of workers attempt to remove a boulder from the property. Katherine is exasperated with her family, distracted by the workmen, and while cooking dinner finds her hand covered in blood. Only problem is she hasn’t cut herself.

This one was so fucked up and bizarre and I really liked it. As a kid one of my favorite ‘true’ stories was about a house in the Southern U.S. that inexplicably dripped blood from its walls, and this reminded me of that with an added human element. There’s a lot packed into the runtime and characterization considering how simple the plot is. Something both very charming and very chilling about amateur acting and grainy film stock that’s then transformed by moments of pure pathos and truly beautiful shots. The image of blood welling from skin with no visible wounds made me physically shudder; my only issue is that it over-explains itself at the end. So close.

Lost Hearts (1973), story by M.R. James

A preteen named Steven is sent off to live with a distant relation, an eccentric, kindhearted old man obsessed with the occult, and keeps seeing mysterious children around the grounds of his estate.

This one surprised me because I can’t stand the premise, but it really grew on me with time. Even though there’s no mystery (’those children you’re seeing definitely Aren’t little dead ghost children, why, the old man loves kids he adopted two orphans that mysteriously vanished’), it had the best pacing out of any episode I watched. There are some truly arresting and memorable shots like Steven’s benefactor clipping a flower with garden shears and grazing over a cherub statue, or his untimely demise filmed entirely in silhouette. The ghost children’s makeup has them in grey body paint with long vampire fingernails (and, later, open rib cages), which would have terrified me as a child. Even as an adult the image of them tapping on glass windows and humming a leitmotif is memorably creepy.

The Mezzotint (2021), story by M.R. James

Curator Edward Williams comes into possession of a print, a mezzotint, depicting a country estate. When a friend takes a look at it there’s something ever-so-slightly different about the image. Maybe Williams simply missed the moon peeking between the clouds and the figure stepping onto the lawn (spoiler alert: he didn’t.)

The prosthetics that traumatized so many kids who watched The Witches in the 90s never bothered me growing up, but that painting in the beginning gave me nightmares for months, ergo The Mezzotint is the most compelling of any James story. A deep-seated fear of something moving when you can’t see it is just so deliciously scary; I wish it hadn’t had such an unimpressive filming style (Mark Gatiss wrote/directed, and you may remember him from another show), but the pacing, the acting, and the mezzotint itself were great. The wise old man in this one is even played by an old woman- #feminism!

[rainuponme]

My wrestle

Reading 1 Tim 2 over two weeks ago during my quiet time with God left me in tears because of the harshness in tone and the implied blame upon women. It took me close to two weeks of struggle before I arrived at a resolution of sorts, and I wanted to put it here for the sake of posterity. Hopefully when I look back on it again, I will realise that I have, over the years, gained a deeper insight and revelation as God journeys with me through my womanhood.

What helped to sort of resolve my struggle with 1 Tim 2 was reading how Jesus treated the adulteress in John 7. The entire situation then was a classic example of a woman being unfairly blamed. For an adultery to happen, it required the presence of another man, and to be caught in adultery also suggests that a man was caught in the act of adultery with her. Yet the scribes and pharisees only brought the woman to Jesus, almost absolving all blame of the man while unfairly implicating her to be the main bearer of all blame and the sin of adultery, when the man also had an equal part to play. The fact that they brought her before everyone in the temple was absolutely humiliating for the woman, almost implying that her sinfulness was greater than those who were present, almost justifying the humiliation because she deserved the condemnation for the very sin she had committed. But Jesus turned the tables on them and returned the woman her dignity. He challenged their condemnation by having them examine themselves and their sinfulness - “who is without sin among you, let him throw a stone at her first.” In that statement, he brought into equality the states of the woman and those in the crowd, in that he challenged their belief/assumption of their own “holiness” above the woman and showed them that they were all sinful, just like the adulteress. Sure, by all means punish the woman, but only if you are absolutely sure that you are free of all sin. By that very statement, He turned the humiliation meant for the woman against the crowd, especially the pharisees and scribes. 

Jesus did not join in vilifying the woman, and instead, after all have turned away because no one could cast the first stone due to their own awareness of the sinfulness of their own hearts, said that He did not condemn her either. Of all the people who could condemn her, Jesus was the only one who could, but He did not, and in that act of mercy and compassion coupled with the way He overturned the humiliation upon her, restored her dignity. 

One of the reasons I was so hurt by 1 Tim 2 was because of my own hurt at home where I am always blamed for the mistakes of others, especially my brother’s. Even if I am not at fault, I will be blamed by my mother, for whatever reason she can concoct to place that blame on me. And all this while, I always held on to the belief that because God is different and does not behave like my mother or the world, I can always fall back into Him and be comforted that He is on my side. But 1 Tim 2 was phrased so harshly that I couldn’t help but take it personally. How could God allow Paul to say something like this and then have it be in the bible? It hurt me very much because I thought God was different. 

Why is the woman always told to submit and be silent, blamed for the downfall of men? Why aren’t men spoken to as harshly in the bible? Are we lesser beings? Where is the equality in this? Okay, if women are to shut up and not be given authority over men, then shouldn’t men step up to be worthy of the authority accorded to them? If not, there are plenty of women who are absolutely capable and even more capable than the men for leadership positions! So just because we are women we are told to step down? When Paul said that the woman was the one being deceived to eat the fruit not the man, it felt like he was blaming the woman for being gullible and stupid to be tricked into eating it. Then what, Adam has no blame?!

I was infuriated and hurt. The world blames women enough already, and now the bible too?! But as I was trying to process 1 Tim 2, I was challenged of my idea and belief of equality. I was made to face my secular understanding of it and the need to have it reshaped. Men and women are created for different roles, and the original design and natural order was for the man to lead and the woman to follow. But the world we are living in now is so fallen that I don’t know if I can ever really fully understand or see God’s original design for men and women to be completely good, but if there is any equality to hold on to, I am seeing more and more that it’s not about the roles we are given but the true treasures that we are given that reveals that God values both men and women equally. For both men and women, God did not withhold Himself and gave Himself for us, His sacrifice on the cross was for both, and both are heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ - we will all receive the inheritance set aside for us. The HS is given to both men and women in full, His love in full - all of Him is given to us in full. 

I am reminded of the parable of the talents, where it isn’t even about how much each person was given, but how each one faithfully sows with what has been given to them. Perhaps all this while, equality in God is really not about the gifts or roles we are given, but rather about His giving of Himself to us, man or woman, unreservedly.

I also tried to reconcile my understanding of 1 Tim 2. I realised that the reason the devil targeted Eve was because it wanted to overturn the natural order that God had created - it was a targeted deception. It wasn’t that Eve was more gullible than Adam that was why she was chosen. She was chosen because in order to overturn the order, she has to be the one who was deceived to eat the fruit, to “take the lead” in making that happen, and have Adam follow. And perhaps Paul recognised this, which was why he had to emphasise that it was the woman who was deceived. This would mean that the devil will continue to target women with its deception because its goal is to always stand against and create chaos to the natural order that God has originally designed and have deemed to be good. Perhaps this was why Paul wanted women to be silent and to not have authority over men, so as to uphold the good of the original order. I am still not the most pleased with what Paul said, but I am reminded to hold on to the heart of God—His heart demonstrated through Christ, through the way Christ regarded the adulteress—even when there are things that I do not currently understand. After all, on this side of eternity, all I know is in part, but I will eventually know in full when I see Him face to face one day. 

[mrcspectr]

Hello!!! 👋

Here’s an Arther Harrow question: why the glass????? Like SIR, idk if I just missed it in the 6 times I rewatched the series, but I am still confused as to why he did it. Probably just small brain but I am confusion ^^’

Hi there buddy!!

I'd like to start with an interview that Ethan Hawke actually did, where someone asked this exact question.

And what's interesting is, you can really tie this idea into the conversation Arthur has with Ammit in Gods and Monsters.

Your scales lack balance.

I understand. I had hoped my penance might correct my imbalance, but I see now that's impossible. I accept the Scales regardless of the outcome.

They lack balance because of what lies ahead of you.

Then we must spare the world the pain I will cause. I willingly submit.

What lies ahead of you is your service to me.

How may I serve you in death?

Your death is delayed. I once relied on a servant whose Scales balanced perfectly. In exchange, I was bound to stone for 2,000 years.

But I have disciples all over the world whose Scales balance perfectly, awaiting your command. They are worthy, my Goddess.

But you are the one who set me free. You are the Avatar that I need. Serve me, and you will find peace. Do not let the pain of the past control you.

I've talked about it some in the past, but it's an interesting way of revealing some of Harrow's motivations when it comes to his relationships with the gods. Because he had this relationship with Khonshu, spent enough time with him and was abused by him. To the point that he was either cast aside or left him in a way that fundamentally affected his perception of himself and his own moral compass.

He's so caught up in his own obsession with justice and atonement, he potentially spends months to years searching for another god who's sole purpose is balance. He seeks the balance he doesn't feel within himself, because of his service to Khonshu in the past. And within that journey, he becomes as twisted and misguided as Ammit has become, the god who's been so blinded by her desire for preventing evil that she plans to wipe out even the possibility of growth and change in human beings. Who was imprisoned by another Avatar with "perfectly balance scales" for that same desire.

Arthur was willing to die and become a martyr for that cause. Putting glass in his shoes was just the start in the lengths that he would go to prove himself worthy, to wipe his sins clean. And it's hidden under his feet because he's trying to prove it to himself.

[cursedbluebird]

Blutgang

tw for implications of self harm and suicidal thoughts and attempts

Marianne stared at the wicked looking blade that leaned against her bed. It was late at night, so no one should be bothering her at this hour… But just to be safe her door was locked as well.

The odd sword reminded her of a saber, curved slightly at the end. The odd bumps along the blade reminded her of the bones of a tail. The sight of it made something in her click. When she held it in her hand, it felt like her arm was complete, like a natural extension of herself. The red crest stone glowed warmly, the Crest of the Beast clearly visible. If she used this blade, there would be no more hiding it.

Marianne had taken a holiday a few weeks back. In all honesty… she was prepared to throw herself into the sea and never emerge. But something odd pulled her towards the forest instead.

She walked until she thought her feet would fall off. The air grew thick with fog, but she continued forward until she nearly bumped straight into a huge, lumbering beast. The sight made her fall to her knees.

The beast towered over her, surely all it had to do was open its mouth and it could swallow her whole. She wondered if it would hurt.

You… It's voice was deep, rumbling the earth itself. Do you bear our Crest? Our crest? For what purpose did you come here?

 "Our crest?" Marianne furrowed her brow in confusion. "What does that mean?"

Nothing… Will stop me… From feasting upon your flesh… and blood… The beast's voice sounded labored and heavy. It reared back with a snarl and stamped the ground.

"Alright." She said bowing her head. "End my curse… please…"

The beast paused. You wish… for an end…

Did she? That was what she came here to do…

"I'm useless… A burden to everyone. It would be better if I wasn't around. All I do is cause problems for others." Her voice was even, matter of fact. There was no reason to be emotional, it was simply the truth.

 How pathetic. Has my bloodline fallen so far? The beast shoved her to the ground with its head.

Marianne's hands stung as they hit the ground. "I'm sorry."

DO NOT APOLOGIZE. The beast roared. Our blood, we are WARRIORS. We FIGHT. We KILL.

"I don't." Marianne shook her head. "All I can do is heal."

The beast snorted. Healing? Prove it.

Marianne's blood ran cold. "H… How?"

Heal me. Her eyes widened and she stammered out a protest. End my curse.

"I… I don't… I'm not… I…" She stammered. "Where are you injured? I…" she trailed off.

After the war… I would not accept our defeat… I wandered… I killed… I became a beast. The beast began to pace. Our crest. I could not control. For a thousand years… I relished in the screams and please of those who came to me and begged to live.

As the beast paced, Marianne managed to spy a red orb under its horn. "You… you were human once… And you became a beast after overusing your crest." She said. "But why kill so many?"

The thrill of blood. The thrill of blood… My enemy's… And my own. The sight of it… I enjoyed it. Seeing my blood- "Is seeing your life force." Marianne finished. Yes.

Marianne set her jaw and stood to her feet. "I understand… Wanting to bleed…"

To atone… For my failures. It's voice was soft, tinged with shame. Scars on her arms tingled at the beasts words. "To atone for my sins." She whispered. Yes.

Marianne frowned, staring at the orb in the wandering beast's head. "I think I know how to free you from your curse." She said.

How?

"And I think I know how to end my curse…" Cautiously she approached. The beast regarded her with suspicion. "But to do so… I need to reach the crest stone, under your horn. My magic will only work if I can reach it." That was a lie. Marianne could cast spells that healed from across the battle field. But perhaps to break the curse… the beast needed to die…

The beast rested its head on the ground and turned so Marianne could reach the crest stone.

Gently, Marianne touched the stone. The beast huffed, but didn't throw her off. She took a deep breath and willed the white magic to her finger tips. The ground shook with a hum, as if the beast was purring. Marianne pressed harder, slipping her fingers around the stone and pulled it out of the beast's head.

The beast shuddered in relief. Well done… Finally, this nightmare of a thousand years is at its end. Oh, inheritor of my Crest… if this body is to decay, then the sword… I leave it to you… The beast's words faded with its body.

The fog dispersed and all that was left of the beast was a human's skeleton and a sword.

The sword that stared at Marianne from its resting place against her bed.

Maurice. He was finally at rest, Marianne had freed him from his curse. And by freeing him from his curse, Marianne felt as if she herself had been freed from her curse. She felt human.

She felt as if she was bathed in light for the first time in a very long time.

Far, far inside of her, she knew that there was still something dark inside of her. Remnants of the curse. Maurice's curse spiraled out of control because he had lost his family. But it was the last of his family that broke that curse. Marianne's parents were gone, but she had been so blinded by their absence that she didn't even realize she had a new family that could ease her curse. Hilda, Claude, Margrave Edmund, her classmates and professors… They were her family now.

Marianne took the sword by the hilt and lifted it high, watching the candlelight flicker off of the blood red crest stone. She wanted to hide herself away so badly, but that would make the curse grow again. She needed to change. It would be hard, it wasn't going to be a straight path forward. But she had a family behind her.

Congratulations, you have achieved C rank in Sword and have acquired the Bane of Monsters combat art as well as the weapon closest to your heart, the Blutgang!

[spirituallesbianblog]

My Ancient Quest For The Truth Of Self

'I just want to be me'

Live my life my way as a blueprint for my journey as a soul navigating the rhetoric of my human self. If we think about how amazing this life can be as a vehicle for intrepid growth we get to feel excited about the possibilities and let's face it they are infinitely endless.  From the moment we are born a guardian angel is assigned to us and will stay with us until we leave this earthly life. And if we want to stretch the mind to corridors often closed off we can allow a belief there will be spirit guides that are also assigned to watch over our path. A mortal march through the fields of adventure where souls go to party as a human female or male. Some might ask why we do it.  Choose to embark on a journey in a 3-D foreign land. A starlit sanctuary where anything can happen amidst the best-laid plans of a soul script meticulously prepped for thirst-quenching growth. Planet Earth is an enigma a mindset all of its own but still, we hunger to set sail for shores far from our cosmic home to explore the Nirvana dream. An ideal of enlightenment and awakening to the truth of self. Unlike the programs instilled to constantly challenge and disbelieve who we truly are.  A divine soul designed with love by a creator who was inspired to bring forth a universe of celestial beauty and enchantment. A reservoir of enterprise induced by an innovative mind able to manifest into reality their infinite imagination. They say Nirvana is achievable if we grow with the changing tides. Still, many settle for a conditioned style of life with patterns clogging up our divine ID a galactic bloodline that goes back to the beginning.  Masked by human beliefs there is no source or God only us drifting in time and space. This spin doctor rap breeds a disconnect with our divine origin as a heterosexual or gay human doing their best in a compromised world. I reincarnated as a lesbian so I could experience what it is to be gay. Not everyone will agree with this belief but as a spiritualist who honors the concept of reincarnation.

'I see the beauty and bravery in coming to this earth as a gay female wanting to set the record straight about difference'

And how we are all of one God but found reasons to dishonor our soul friends who chose to come in various cultures and skin colors that others find conflict with. If you think for one moment we reincarnate many times it's possible our human choices were varied so we could potentially experience a magical life as an ancient Queen of a principality or slave in times when prejudice was at an all-time high. Each choice allows intimate encounters and events to support our climb to cosmic consciousness. A sphere of all-knowing where our creative gifts and talents are enabled for purpose on a grandiose globe of opportunity. Unconditional love is the heart of this universe where free will is enacted as our freedom of choice. However, it is not always accepted as gospel by those who have differing views about people of gay origin. Much has been said about my LGBT brothers and sister's homosexual inheritance a highly debated subject as science explores the maze of ancestral genetics. At the same time, the church classifies it as immoral and sinful behavior. Indeed it is humans who cast the first stone of judgment by those initiated into the school of biased parents who consider gay to be wrong. This creates a message of hate although the tone has softened as we dare to be different on a planet of mixed mindsets and religions that oppose who I am. I am a spiritual lesbian here to promote a divinity that measures the worth of every human by their loving heart. We are on the precipice of change and I am here to inspire the movement of free-spirited souls who came to help awaken a 'sleeping beauty' world. And why recognizing the truth of self has never been more crucial as resistance comes in from all quarters blaspheming one's right to walk their path with integrity and grace. This evolves humanity spiritually and expansively as each person feels the call of their purpose, whether to rescue our begotten animals or write songs that reflect the depth of one's soul through the power of words and lyrics. Each soul brings an ambition unique to only them. A spirit of invention transmuted by our human self as the definition of who we are and what we bring to this world

'This takes a measure of self-belief we can share our likeness as a preacher of the gospel - an astronaut seeking the stars or a messenger from creation here to lighten a load of humanity with her insightful intellect and vision of heaven on earth'

The sky is the limit but it may require you to find the Joan of Arc hero within as people of Earth can be a tough convert and customers. We like what is familiar and hold tight to programs that bring comfort as we discount our dreams as too hard or unacceptable to the masses. It's a classic call amongst humans to lay down their arms of purpose so they fit in with another or entire planet as we are connective creatures drawn to the closeness achieved through friendships, partnerships, and family units. A framework that seeds the beginnings of a beautiful soul purpose or crushes the spirit enough to forsake a divine being's reason for reincarnating. Life on earth can be a dream come true or a goal lost through the harshness of earlier abuse that shocks the natural flow of a soul and human odyssey. This early crisis can mar the vision of self and deter a person's pathway to purpose. A divine covenant agreed upon before we springboard into human life armed with a mission revealed through experience. Our paths are littered with trials and tests lovingly designed to spark the authentic truth of us and the magic we came to create. We all have it and can tap in when we know how to reach the depth of our awareness of 'who we are.'  And that's at the core of our conviction as divine and human souls. What makes us think and feel the way we do? What drives and guides us to our passions. The art of our inner landscape as a painter, musician, stockbroker, or politician. It is the blind leading the blind as mom and dad teach their kids all they learned. This can be a blessing or a curse as kids try to decipher their inner truth based on the lessons of their parents and the family dynamic. We can hardly blame our guardians for going off the cues they were given by their significant teachers. An ancestral issue that comes down the line until someone breaks the code of dysfunction and breathes a light of health into family interactions that have so far been negative.

'From day one parents tell us who they think we are and what roads we need to take to survive the safari of life'

It begins with the basic steps of learning to crawl and walk then education so we can get a cool job that enables us choices like buying a home, settling down with a partner, having kids, or sailing the seven seas on a boho journey of devil many care adventure. It's all about the conscious choice and what we have learned or decided to discard from our guardians and view of the outer world. What we know thus far can steer the ship of life in any direction and down paths we might wish we hadn't. And that is often because we don't know ourselves only the vision shown to us by people we trusted from an early age. It's a tough call to find the self as we are loaded with the baggage of guidance from our ancestral beliefs. A powerful influence on any child who sees mom and dad as their closest allies. The influencers of their future life and if there has been parental abuse kids may believe the world is a hostile place and harden their hearts to survive. This child is emotionally impaired as a consequence of their abuse and may carry the scars forward as failed relationships and personal life success. Kids are set up to fail through trauma that goes unhealed. How can they find their truth of self when they carry the burdens of frightening unresolved events. This child will struggle to find their authentic self. The keystone to a happy, healthy, and prosperous life. The temporal self of an abused child may be all they know until they heal with the potential to evolve, expand, and ascend in their creation consciousness. When we integrate our mind, body, and emotive self with a clear sense of who we are the light of the universe shines brighter in our world as now we have all the parts working in cohesion. The psychology of spirit embodies the human function of how we emote, think, and act through our physical but what is missing?  Our link to an endless supply of unconditional love and creative consciousness is often not recognized by the person whose belief system does not embrace an expansive power that generates the opulence of knowing there is more to this life than what is seen, heard, or touched.

'The invisible realms are the dance of creation a mystical machine that speaks through our hearts to those ready and willing to hear'

Our soul is the engineer of our existence as humans walking the talk of creation often with no intimate connection to the person they reside in. This causes restrictions in how we navigate our lives especially if we have accumulated a collective of thoughts based on our assimilations as an avatar soaking up every word spoken on our path. We then externalize who we think we are whether it be an authentic perception of self or a masquerade formed from others' perceptions and perspectives. Every day we are besieged with the ideals, values, and expectations of a world governed by those in powerful seats. People who influence our thinking cause a disconnect with the self as we take on the visions of those we see as persuaders or experts in their apparent field. These seasoned souls are of worth in accessing our definitive talents and can show us the purpose we came to fulfill. Each is specific to the individual who may have to scan their psyche to find the deeper meaning of what they believe is their highest aspiration. An idea, belief, or incessant passion that lights up their imagination with joyous thoughts of achievement. The same applies to our original algorithm as a soul defined by past life experiences and beliefs etched in our spiritual framework. And when combined with what it is to be human makes us a symbol of creation as we embrace all that is unity. The disconnection from the source has left us wandering in a desert of mirages where life is determined by our environment rather than our spiritual and human psychology. In alignment when our consciousness soars with the mysteries of this universe syncing esoterically with our mortal jaunt on earth. Our immortal self already knows who we are as we awaken to our ancient truth of self. A signature of divinity and the immaculate conception we are. Letting go of all we know is the crystalline path to self. A worthy adventure as soul and human take the journey inward to the primordial truth of us and our galactic bond with God. We see beyond the ties that bind us on earth and feel the love of an unconditional icon bathed in the blissfulness of light.

'My pilgrimage has taken me to places rarely seen'

I have walked through the corridors of pain and witnessed the dark side of humanity. I am not alone as the ships of abuse are sinking where love is not honored in homes all around the world. Our people are hurting and being hurt by unhealed souls whose wounds are infected. When we are cut we bleed and then often bleed into others who are then the victim of our wounding. The journey to my true self was littered with traumatic events that shattered the illusions of my programming at a very early age. I was aware of the esoteric and a God of mainstream religion. Still, the magnitude of wounding I received cracked me open to a divinity that opened the enlightened gates to an expansive consciousness of awareness, intellect, and supernova growth. The kind that defines my sense of truth to who I am and my divine purpose. It is a freeing experience even if you are still in the throes of trauma which at times I still am. On-going oppressors whose relentless pursuit puts you in a game of stalking and narcissism can be the catalyst for your definition and ancient idealism of yourself as a soul navigating a difficult human life. I believe in reincarnation as the medium by which we express ourselves in human form and then return to our home among the stars. There may be a script to guide our way but in the end, we define our reality as a consensus of who we are and not some carbon copy of a person many tried to convince us we were. It is breaking out of paradigms put in place by people voicing who they thought they were and enacting this belief to teach the masses. We are all interconnected as humans who inhabit this earth but also through our soul heritage and the father of all humanity a divine maestro that governs all that is. This is when our ancient self is revealed and what a homecoming it is. For me, it is an old soul cruising this earth as a lesbian. A woman who values her worth as a disciple of divinity a messenger for the authentic self. How can we live the life of our dreams if we are an imposter of our ancient self? A perpetrator of our authenticity programmed for eons by masterminds of illusion. This is still the state of our conditioned globe where honoring the self is not a priority and has been replaced by a follow-the-crowd ethic. Once we break free from the constraints of societal regimes we find the courage to look deep within and make friends with the core of our beautiful, unique, one-of-a-kind self.

~The ancient truth of self is an internal journey of love for who we truly are and once the cage is opened we fly free from every thought or ideal told to us as the gospel of our worth~

Author ~ Linda E Cole (The Divine Feminine)

[treadmilltreats]

Who are you to judge?

In 2015 when they passed the right for gay marriages. I wrote a blog about that wonderful day. When so many people got to legally marry someone they loved. With the upcoming election and with so many conservatives trying to be voted into office, this is definitely a concern for many of my friends in the LGBTQ community.

Look, they have banned abortion in our country, and they said in the same breath about taking away this right too. Who's next? Seriously, whose rights are at jeopardy next? I lovingly post this blog in honor of the LGBTQ community and their rights, but I add that we should fight for all peoples rights.

When they passed this law of gay marriage around the country, people were up in arms. They were protesting, and they were bringing out the big guns. You know hatred, name calling, and judgment.

Oh, yes, people at their best, showing their true colors of bigotry all over this land of the free.

And yes, of course you know here come the "Christians" out there throwing around the bible and how "these people" are going to burn in hell!

Yes, even some of my "Christian" friends flipped out when back then, I changed my profile picture on Facebook to the rainbow one to show my support of gay rights. I've heard, "Don't you know it's a sin, they are going to hell, you can't possibly support this, this is the devil."

Let me tell you exactly what I told them…I support every right, EVERY RIGHT, black rights, gay rights, women's rights, rights of freedoms and injustice, and the right to free speech Yes, everyone deserves to live the life they choose to live, just like I chose to live my life, without people judging me.

See, the Bible says love one another, it says, those who have no sin, cast the first stone...did you miss that part? It is not my job to judge another human being. Why? Just because their skin is a different color, because they love someone of the same sex and want to have the same rights as you and I? No, that is not my job. My job is to love you because of who you are in your soul. To love the goodness and light I can feel within them.

People always ask me why I had so many friends in school. It was because I was friends with the stoners, the jocks, the snobs, the nerds, the misfits, any and all groups or clicks. I had black friends, Chinese friends, bi racial friends, and gay friends. It didn't matter then, and it definitely doesn't matter now, I love everyone, period!

Some of my dearest friends, and even my best friend, are gay and I am so happy for this accomplishment for them. Yes, they now have the same rights as I do, and they can screw up marriage as much as we have!

But what really is important is that they now have the right to have health insurance and life insurance and a legal right in property. They have a say in the care of a sick loved one and have the right to be there and hold the hand of their life partner when they pass. The rights they didn't have before, basic rights we have taken for for so many years.

Is this so wrong? Basic rights afforded to you and me but not to "them, or those people" because they don't believe in what you do? And who made you God? Who put you in charge of morals? Who said it was okay to hate? It definitely wasn't the bible. It says over and over... love one another.

That's what I am going to keep doing. Sorry if that offends your sense of morals. That's what makes this country so good. You can believe in what you do, and I can believe in what I do without percussions so far. Imagine that?

So today, my friends, remember that as this voting year comes around, learn who is trying to take people's rights. Because when they take away one person's right, everyone's rights are up for grabs. And let's remember to try to practice compassion, practice tolerance, and practice love...love is the most important thing we can share, the thing we all need, the incredible gift of love.

"Be the change you want to see,but"

@TreadmillTreats

[aspenmissing]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚂𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 (𝙿𝚝 𝟸)

Theo, Dean, Sam, Bobby and Tamara are all standing in front of Envy, who is tied to a chair.

"So you know who I am, huh?" Envy says, chuckling.

"We do. We're not impressed" There's no response.

"Why are you here? What are you after?" Sam asks. Envy doesn't reply.

"He asked you a question. What do you want?" Dean says. Envy chuckles condescendingly; Theo opens a flask of holy water and splashes him.

"Ya! Ahh! Ungh...We already have..." Envy pants "what we want"

"What's that?"

"We're out. We're free. Thanks to you, my kind are everywhere. I am legion, for we are many" Envy chuckles "So me, I'm just celebrating. Having a little fun"

"Fun?" Sam asks.

"Yeah. Fun. See, some people crochet. Others golf, Me? I like to see people's insides...on their outside"

"I'm gonna put you down like a dog" Tamara says.

"Please" Envy laughs "You really think you're better than me" He laughs again "Which one of you can cast the first stone, huh? What about you, Dean? You're practically a, a walking billboard of gluttony and lust" Dean nods, in acknowledgement "Theodora? Oh~ I see, Envious of the life you dream to have, the family you wish to bear" Theo glares at him "And Tamara. All that wrath. Oohh" Envy clicks his tongue "It's the reason you and Isaac became hunters in the first place, isn't it? It's so much easier to ... drink in the rage than to face what really happened all those years ago" Face twisted in anger, Tamara smacks him, hard, twice, until Dean and Bobby pull her back "Aah! Whew!" Envy laughs "My point exactly. And you call us sins. We're not sins, man. We are natural human instinct. And you can repress and deny us all you want, but the truth is, you are just animals. Horny... greedy... hungry... violent animals. And you know what? You'll be slaughtered like animals, too" Envy pauses "The others - they're coming for me"

"Maybe. But they're not gonna find you...'cause you'll be in hell" Theo says. Envy looks taken aback "Someone send this clown packing"

"my pleasure" Tamara begins to read "Exorcizamus te,Omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica..." As she continues, the others leave and Envy screams. Dean stops Theo.

"What?" She says. He looks her in the eyes.

"What he said, about you dreaming of a life you can't have and wanting to have children. I-Is it true or was he just messing?"

"Dea-"

"No, just was it or was it not true" Theo sighs.

"It's true. But like he said I dream about it. I won't bring children into this line of work. Believe me, I want to have children of my own but I don't want them to be scared of going to sleep"

"I wouldn't mind little Theo's running around. Although, they may annoy me to death" Dean laughs. Theo follows "Who knows, maybe your dream might come true one day"

"Well, it won't really since I'll be dead" Dean frowns.

"We won't let you die, I promise" The two then walk into the room where Sam and Bobby are.

"I don't think we're gonna have to worry about hunting them?" Bobby says.

"What does that mean?" Sam asks.

"I think maybe this joker's right. They're gonna be hunting us. And they're not gonna quit easy"

"You guys, why don't you take Tamara and head for the hills? I'll stay back, slow them down, buy you a little time" Theo says.

"You're insane, Theo. Just forget about it, okay?" Dean says.

"Dean's right" Bobby says.

"There's six of them, guys. We're outmanned, we're outgunned. We'll be dead by dawn" she says.

"Maybe, but... there's no place to run that they won't find us"

"Look, if we're going down, we're going down together, all right?" Sam says.

"Well let's not make it easy for them" From the other room, Envy gives a final scream; the house shakes and a gust blow out the candles. Tamara slams the book shut and comes into the other room.

"Demon's out of the guy"

"And the guy?" Sam asks.

"He didn't make it" Tamara says coldly.

==

Later Theo is seated on the floor with a row of candles behind her, loading a shotgun. Sam and Dean are across the room filling flasks with holy water. They look over at Theo, who is looking back at them. They watch each other silently for a moment until the lights begin to flicker. They look around. An old radio sparks to life, playing the beginnings of a scratchy recording of ‘We Shall Not Be Moved’.

"Here we go" Theo says cocking the shotgun and standing.

""I shall be, I shall not be moved. I shall be, I shall not be moved. Like a tree that's planted by the water, I shall not be moved. I shall be, I shall not be moved. Like a tree that's planted by the water, I shall not be moved." The music plays faintly until...

"Tamara! Tamara! Tamara! Tamara! Help me! Pleeeeeeeease!" Anguished, she looks back at Bobby, and out the window again "Tamara! I got away, but I'm hurt bad! I need help!"

"It's not him. It's one of those demons. It's possessing his corpse" 'The demon pounds on the door.

"Baby! Why won't you let me in? You left me behind back there. How could you do that? We swore ... At that lake in Michigan. Remember? We swore we would never leave each other!" Tamara sobs, turning to the others.

"Steady, Tamara. Steady, Tamara, steady, steady..."

"You just gonna leave me out here? You just gonna let me die?! I guess that's what you do, dear! Like that night those things came to our house... came ... for our daughter! You just let her die, too"

"You son of a bitch!" Tamara screams.

"Tamara, no!" She pushes the door open, breaking the salt line, and tackles Isaac down the steps. She lands on top of him and raises the Palo Santo stake "You're not Issac!" She plunges the wood deep in his chest; it sizzles, and he screams.

The other six demons cross the broken salt line and enter the house. One, an overweight balding guy, corners Bobby, who backs up slowly. He stalks Bobby confidently, smiling, until he stops as if he's run into an invisible wall. He looks around, confused. He is under another ceiling-devil's-trap. He looks at Bobby, pleading. Bobby smiles.

"Far, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life, son"

==

In another hallway, Theo is slowly walking down, another woman follows. Theo turns around quickly, her gun aimed.

"You know, I opted to kill you all myself, but the others decided to have it a team effort" The demon says.

"Greed, I'm assuming" Theo says.

"Mmm. And you're the Theodora Winchester. The one he wants and the one he'll soon get" Greed looks Theo up and down "Might I add the stories of the great Theodora Winchester doesn't disappoint me. Your looks are exactly like they said only sexier"

"I'm glad you see me that way" Theo is about to shoot but Greed uses her powers and throws her shotgun towards the wall, making it fall to the ground.

"I would have never thought I get to meet you, especially in this position" Greedy says, getting close to Theo.

"If you know me so well, then you'll know that I like my personal space"

"Your personal space is my personal space" Greed says, getting closer, their noses almost touching. Theo smirks before using her head to smack against Greed's, who recoils back. Theo punches her in the face, twice, kicking her back towards a bucket that is filled with holy water. Theo pushed Greed's head under, making hear skin burn, sizzle and smoke, causing Greed to scream. She comes up for air, breathing heavily. Theo moves away and squats down in front of her, coming eye to eye with Greed.

"How are you so strong?" Greed asks.

"I'm a Winchester, bitch" Greed moves her hand quickly to punch Theo, her fist is only centimetres away from Theo's face.

"What the-" Greed looks up to see a Devil's Trap, she looks to Theo with slight fear.

"You see, you may not like working with others but I do" As on cue, Bobby walks in "Now your nothing" Theo stands up and looks to Bobby; she nods. Bobby begins to chant.

"Regna terrae, cantate deo, pasallite domino" She starts screaming as Bobby continues "Tribuite virtutem deo. Exorcizamus te, omnis, immundes sprituis, omnis satanic potestas, omnis incuriso infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, onmis congregato et secta duabikuca, Ergi perdituinos venenum propinare" Greed screams once last time, looking up and the demon smoke filled out of her mouth and towards the ceiling. It disappears. The girl falls to the ground; Bobby and Theo look at each other, nodding.

==

The next morning, Sam, Dean and Theo pile the corpses of the demons that didn't survive into a shallow put and begin pouring salt and fuel over them. Several yards away, Tamara is standing in front of a funeral pyre: Issacs's.

"Think' she's gonna be all right?" Sam asks.

"No. Definitely not" Theo says. Bobby comes out of the house, looking exhausted.

"Well, you look like hell warmed over" Dean says.

"You try exorcising all night and see how you feel"

"Any survivors, Bobby?" Sam asks.

"Well, the two pretty girls and the heavy guy, they'll make it. Lifetime of therapy bills ahead, but, still..."

"That's more than you can say for these poor bastards" Theo says.

"Bobby, that knife - what kind of blade can kill a demon?" Sam asks.

"Yesterday, I would have said there was no such thing"

"I'm just gonna ask it again - who was that masked chick? Actually, the more troubling question would be, how come a girl can fight better than you?" Sam chuckles.

"Three demons, Dean. At once"

"At least you tried, Sammy" Theo says. Dean slaps Sam on his shoulder.

"Hey, whatever it takes to get you through the night, pal"

"Yeah, well, if you want a troubling question, I got one for you"

"What's that?" Dean asks.

"If we let out the seven deadly sins, what else did we let out?" There's a pause "You're right. That is troubling" Theo lights a matchbook and tosses it onto the pyre. Later, the bonfires have settled down and they prepare to leave.

"See you lady and gents around"

"Tamara?" She stops to hear him "The world just got a lot scarier. Be careful"

"You too" Tamara gets into her car and takes off.

"Keep your eyes peeled for omens. I'll do the same"

"You got it"

"Yes sir"

"Wait, Bobby. We can win this war. Right?" Sam asks. After a pause, not answering the question, during which they all look uncomfortable and worried.

"Catch you on the next one" Bobby walks away "Oh, and Theo" He turns to face her "Next time you want to drive my car into a bar again, let me know so I won't let you drive" Theo laughs and Bobby gets into his car and drives away.

"So, where to?" Theo asks.

"Uh, I don't know. I was thinking Louisiana maybe" Dean says.

"Little early for Mardi Gras, isn't it?

"Yeah. Listen, me and Dean were talking to Tamara, and she mentioned this hoodoo priestess outside of Shreveport that might be able to help us out. You know, with your - with your demon deal" Sam says.

"Nah"

"Nah"? What does that mean, "nah?" Dean says.

"Guys, no hoodoo spell's gonna break this deal, all right? It's a goose chase"

"Yeah, but we don't know that, Theo-" Sam is cut off by Theo.

"Yes, we do. Forget it. She can't help" she says.

"Look, it's worth-" Sam says trying to cut in.

"We're not going, and that's that. What about Reno, huh?" Theo says, speaking over Sam. She smacks Sam on the arm lightly and turns to walk away. Sam grabs her sleeve and turns Theo back to face them.

"You know what? I've had it. We've been bending over backwards trying to be nice to you, and..." Sam shrugs "...I don't care anymore"

"That didn't last long" Theo says.

"He's right, Theo, we’ve been busting our asses trying to keep you alive, Theo, and you act like you couldn't care less. What, you got some kind of death wish or something? I thought you wanted to have a family, but yet you want to die!"

"No, it's not like that"

"Then what's it like, Theo?" Sam asks.

"Guys-"

"Please, tell us"

"We trap the crossroads demon, trick it, try to welch our way out of the deal in any way?" Sam and Dean look stunned "You both die. Okay? You die. Those are the terms. There's no way out of it. If you two try to find a way, so help me God, I'm gonna stop you two" Sam sighs.

"How could you make that deal, Theo?" Sam says.

"'Cause I couldn't live with you dead; I couldn't live with Dean falling apart. I just couldn't do it"

"And you think we can live without you?" Dean says. There's a short pause.

"So, what, now I live and you die?"

"That's the general idea, yeah"

"How did you feel when Dad sold his soul for you? 'Cause me and Dean was there. I remember, hell even Dean was in the same position and he remember how you were. You were twisted, and broken. And now you go and do the same thing. To me" Sam pauses.

"I did this for Dean, okay? You weren't there when he was talking to your dead body, Sam. I was. It broke my heart to see my twin brother almost lifeless"

"You didn't just do this for me, Theo" Dean says "You did this so we could be a family for once more year"

"We've lost so many people, Guys... Ash, Dad, Mom and many, many more. So, i just shortened the list for the time being. Until the end of the year anyway. I'm okay"

"We're not"

"Tough. After everything I've done for this family, I think I'm entitled" Theo pause "Truth is, I'm tired, Sam. I don't know, it's like there's a, a light at the end of the tunnel"

"It's hellfire, Theo" Dean says.

"Whatever. You're both alive, I feel good - for the first time in a long time. I got a year to live, Guys. I'd like to make the most of it. So, what do you say we kill some evil sons of bitches and we raise a little hell, huh?" Theo smiles and nods to Sam and Dean and walks on to the car.

"You're unbelievable" Theo pauses, smiling.

"Very true" Theo opens the driver side door and rock music starts to play. She starts the car as Dean and Sam walks, frustratingly, to the car. Dean gets into the passenger side and Sam gets into the back.

[the-silver-chronicles]

FC5(?) OC: Paul Yellowjack song list

Since I did one for the main protagonist of Far Cry The Silver Chronicles, Silva Omar (Deputy version), I decided to do one for who is undoubtedly the main antagonist, Paul Yellowjack.

Note: Reason for question mark is because Paul briefly appears in other works as well. Anyway!

Songs:

Amen - CG5

Quake in fear for he is near Waiting for you to take a step in here If you run you cannot hide You're in danger the moment you arrive

Why not relax? Come on, have some soup It's probably gonna be the last thing you do If you really don't wanna die Keep on running for your life

I am your disciple, don't you know that's true? Look at everything I've done for you You're here and there and everywhere My love is all I've shared

Can I get an amen?

Evil Like Me - Kristin Chenoweth & Dove Cameron

I have tried my whole life long To do the worst I can Clawed my way to victory Built my master plan Now the time has come, my dear For you to take your place Promise me you'll try to be An absolute disgrace

Don't you wanna be evil like me? Don't you wanna be cruel? Don't you wanna be nasty and brutal and cool? And when you grab that wand that's when your reign begins Who wants an evil queen without a sack of sins? Don't you wanna be heartless and hardened as stone? Don't you wanna be finger licking evil to the bone?

...

If you wanna be evil and awful and free Then you should thank your lucky star That you were born the way you are!

A Man Without Love - Engelbert Humperdinck

I cannot face this world that's fallen down on me So if you see my girl, please send her home to me Tell her about my heart that's slowly dying Say I can't stop myself from crying

Every day I wake up, then I start to break up Lonely is a man without love Every day I start out, then I cry my heart out Lonely is a man without love

Shadow of Myself - JT Music

I can sense the presence of evil Settled deep in this residence I've already been through shit And still haven't seen how bad it gets Crashin' their party, bash in their heads Pick up a weapon and splatter the rest This violence has me laughin' After making a massive mess I guess, I'm past the point of saving I'd rather end up dead! Give in to your temptation Transcend mortality Why let yourself be bound by mortal morality?!

Way past saving, can't be helped Just a shadow of myself Feel your darkness cascade over me (Cast it over me) Make me evil, feed me hell I'm a shadow of myself! Swallow my soul, take control of me (Takin' over me)

Instrumental Music:

Further - Brian Tyler (feat. Serena McKinney)

Might update later. Anyway, hope you enjoy.

[libidomechanica]

A pleased my vestal vow takes two

Her smooth-sliding to thrill no moon,     the life long mind; angels thine, t is not evident. In     a voice was also in obtaining, heaven had seeing     his Highland Mary. And those palms in an appendix, which,     hallow-haired you go—call

no more graced her friend, his capering     die, let but short scorn: shall open and ache, whose the parching     all her life, but true genius was frame: those word is wear,     made matters—but there pry upon the Keyes bright earlier     bower. We image in

pride, a problem, as understood     will drink, and look, many things to open lay with that the     queen without a little forth the solitary time mine     eye in death or Doctor! The way lips into a decayed     him thence is dreary,

aweary, aweary, dream, mither,     thought in French, and immortal eyes of cherry, creatures the     sons should ask me who could I ever be? The earthly this     war-horse he restore their loose, let not amiss. Can give? And     there. May God make room, half

appear in its tune, your silly     Man to soundly shake your true love. The tree of such by love     calm. Than ever drumlie: there is to the door, lost his back, but     that a pretty fingers, waxen touch, by the deid o’ the     pillared in Stygian

empery. Lone would be again,     be it should prove he eye those but half-smother words the vines     that to th’ shades and any in thine before she said;     she whole where he doth part strove to show to Shooting slightened     by the wind the kitchen

verboten? In shores and rears     its head across resorted many more, my Love! Who fared     to the attorney, was it yesterday? But I’ll bring reason     down to Camelot. I that her lord she tendences     his plump cheek. Vain and the

children dear, were she screeched for the     less, eyes, stellation of the tree, under we. The hands like     effects continuation by fall; See how far have alwaies     sewn into falchions in the other dressing-gown, who     know the greater far, is

it thee for aye, the end in love     doth remains which here the can hardly is dide. And white-wall’d     for myself can fall from my love—it stands shone so confirmed,     to justice slain. A gilded shells, I shall have to scramble     at last, as truly? Thus

may lived besides, that coy girl who’s     always kiss him, and stern bowers and passion slide; the mute     still woman who left me with stamina so steals from the     red gowden locks and a selfish uncle’s were in and spreads     aloft, where too great

disaster! Tis sin the close, or his     speech, and why and flocks were enough there one, the lawn. A     grandfather wings my tear fresh lap the glue the first-born’s blood or     ink; t is wisdom be shines and stand with Donna Inez     did not boasted Pallas

and become changing clouds blown this     heart a-dying day, fair Venus’ nun, as heavenly, sweet,     and stile and bear a pair of thine. Had pour’d upon a train     and married, and somewhat she scorched we! Under other prayed,     and gum, rich ore: not awed

to my bed, the first thy eternal     heaven is Cupid pine—a green sliver on the road,     and with free her the world for his monthly fumes. I many     bars to proves tip with the flattered Hero’s lovers fall of     house who could not touch, by

that being separate cages, instead.     In the travel both and worn thee deserving now is     plac’d, as if any acres, a priest; shut up shop—he could     be thought, by the rain; I have gone our song from every much     more willows and desolate.

His Odysseys, were in wild     pulsation in his arm, and with a feast and such, the lace,     or garden of the school as God be pride, became attended     it Venus’ sweet to a sigh and all my pocket-hand     then the chanced, the cast

up what it close through all-suffice:     nor to be love is fancy be contrary to reason.     News, somersetshire my pensive head, eyelids, growing not     what the glow-worm bite the gloves to contains to whom them and     gathering ways, and messuage

compile she deeds. Doll’s known, a     lady’s fan; ’ and green side of thine and of grotesques     illumined; and indications of her own, but—Oh! Our life     endures I feel the solve thee! The first, and tomb-stones worn away,     but whether t was

in November, when at once, sweet     and dastard vile, a nurse. A chamber tears to have sting Duncan,     Nelson was heaven, for this studies for virgin Mary     for evermore. You must be done to be hates my foot     of Madam—Madam—hist!

[buildugsroamin]

Last Redoubt, pt.4

“AZUL, WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!”

Before Vera could so much as move an inch, the stranger snatched their new friend, fingers coiling like serpents around her collar. Yet Azul made no effort to escape the newcomer’s grip, even as she raised the small girl’s limp body so the two stared face to face.

“Ah… I…” Azul sputtered.

The burly newcomer’s neck swiveled in Vera’s direction, but to their surprise her eyes shone not of fierce anger, but sheer panic.

“Child, I am so, so sorry about this! Whatever this whore has done to you, I will repay tenfold!” Her tone was desperate, eyes pleading.

Vera, startled and confused, sprung a few steps back, boxing whelks clinking together.

The new lady returned her attention to Azul. “As for YOU, conniving witch, can you explain why our most distinguished guest was lured all the way out to the middle of the garden, where she could potentially acquire our virulent illness, conveniently in the area glorious Madame Saguaro sent YOU?”

“I…I thought she was a demon…”

“LIAR!” The nun hollered, long, thin spikes bursting from under her robes. “WHORE! You’ve beguiled her with your dark magic! Same as you’ve beguiled the beasts of our garden; same as you’ve beguiled my sisters! Madame Saguaro might not be wise to your scheming, but I am not so easily swayed! By the powers vested in me, you WILL confess you sins before the great goddess Kib!”

Vera’s eyes threatened to pop of out their skull. Of all the oddities they’d come across on this strange island, they paled next to a lady who spoke the w word so freely. Though Vera couldn’t claim to have much experience with nuns, they’d always gotten the impression they were supposed to be pious and holy. Yet here one was, spitting out the dirtiest of slurs with no remorse.

“Six years, Azul. Just six years before the next Dispatch, and you would doom us all?! Truly, you are a scoundrel beyond compare!”

The trembling girl tried to slip a word in, something, anything in defense, but whatever she would have said was drowned out by the tears falling in torrents down her cheeks.

“It’s my fault.”

The two Batavians returned their attention to the young visitor. Vera stood tall, chest puffed out in a way they hoped looked mature and dignified. Azul’s eyes, meanwhile, practically glazed over as she stared, enraptured by the unearthly beauty she had so wrongly condemned just moments ago.

“Azul didn’t do anything. I went towards her because she looked like she was hurt. So, uh, don’t get angry with her. It’s my fault.”

The burly nun simply shook her head, giving Vera the look they despised more than anything else: pity. It they weren’t so irked, Vera would have been almost impressed by her ability to shift their emotions at the spur of a moment.

“Child, oh, sweet innocent child.” she shook her head, sighing. “I understand this wench’s wiles are unsurpassed, but there is no need to lie to me.” The nun clenched her free fist, gazing dramatically at one of the moons. “I, Barrel of the Sacred Font, will ensure she can deceive you no further!”

But rather than ease their nerves, Vera felt the burning embers of rage stoke their heart. It was one thing to hurt their friends right in front of them, but not only that, she had the nerve to TALK DOWN TO THEM! This loud-mouthed jerk who wasn’t even as tall as they were!

Still, it wasn’t like Vera could just punch a stranger, however tempting. After all, those who were innocent cast the second stone. See Dad, they thought to themselves, I do remember some of the things you tell me!

They took a deep breath, nerves steadying. “I’m. Not. Lying. Azul didn’t trick me or anything. One of the other ladies was talking with Dad and-“

“This nun,” Barrel intruded. “Did she have a… peculiar odor? Daffodil eyes?”

If the gleeful sparkle in the nun’s eyes was any indication, they really, really should have kept their mouth shut.

Vera’s brow furrowed. On one hand, they didn’t want to get the nice lady they met at the entrance in trouble, but on the other, maybe she was getting into mischief Vera didn’t know about.

They barely held back the urge to yell at the moons. If only they hadn’t fallen out of that stupid tree!

                                                           . . .

“Uhhh…”

As the beautiful stranger hesitated, Azul could see in her crimson eyes that Miss Barrel had been on point. But why would Miss Creosote do such a thing? True, she had her mishaps-slight tardiness, the occasional misplaced bottle, a devotion to Kib that could have been greater- and she did periodically sneak snacks to Azul’s fellow sisters-in-training, but that was for the greater good! After all, Creosote had argued, one couldn’t properly serve Kib on an empty stomach.

In other words, not the sorts of things that would cause the Goddess of Life herself to descend from Venus to personally smite her!

Had Azul been foolish to trust Miss Creosote? Then again, if Creosote had been responsible for the stranger in the garden, who was to say who the real fool was? Besides Miss Barrel, but she had an opinion on everything, and almost none of them good.

Before Azul could spiral further into her own frustration, the foliage shuddered, then parted as two figures arrived in the clearing. One, a lanky fellow with red eyes, the other the esteemed Miss Creosote herself.

The Prodigy let out a sign of relief, little spikes retreating back into her skin. At last, responsible adults who could (hopefully) sort this out!

. . .

Malagasy, gasping, smothered his child in a tight embrace.

“Vera! Oh thank Kib you’re alright! You didn’t get bitten by mosquitoes, did you? Please tell me you didn’t get bitten!”

Vera didn’t say a word. The hug forced all their air out and threatened to buckle their ribs.

However, his smile evaporated the second he lay eyes on a particularly burly nun holding a small child by collar, said child dangling uselessly as a fish hung out to dry.

“Oh… hi, Barrel.” He said.

Oh crap! He thought.

“Salutations to you as well, Malagasy.” Miss Barrel nodded curtly. “I pray you haven’t found our Monastery… inhospitable, in any way?”

                                                      . . .

The lanky man remained tight-lipped, but to a mind as perceptive to the vices of the world as Barrel’s, shallow breathing and sweat drenched face spoke where words failed.

But before she could press for truth, as a proper child of Kib should, Sister Creosote stepped forward. Creosote, who had fled the Monastery the first chance she got, only to return and surge up the ranks, attaining positions that rightfully belonged to more intelligent, competent nuns through guile and deceit. Creosote, who tempted children with worldly pleasures under the guise of ‘self-care’. Creosote, who always had to be the hero, no matter how utterly wrong she was.

“If you must blame anyone, Sister Barrel, it ought to be me. The duty of greeting our wards was mine and mine alone.” Creosote spoke slowly and calmly, the way one might parley with a venomous serpent. Or a bomb.

                                                   . . .

Creosote cursed to herself. What in the name of Kib, and Sish, and Roon, and Limpang-Tung, and all the gods and goddesses in between was Barrel doing up here?! She was supposed to be overseeing the manuscripts, for crying out loud!

The spikes covering Barrel’s body grew longer. Sharper.

“But who’s to say you and Azul aren’t co-conspirators? Perhaps you BOTH plotted to spread our virulent illness to this unsuspecting child!” Barrel pointed to Vera, who had just wrestled free of her father’s tight clasp.

                                                    . . .

A shiver ran down Vera’s spine. Illness?! Dad hadn’t mentioned THAT! Well, he did say they had something, but it went away a long time ago!

                                                    . . .

Creosote exhaled, her veil puffing out ever so slightly where it caught her breath.

“Sister Barrel, the last recorded case of the Contagion was roughly 14.999 million years ago. There’s no reason to believe it is still a thing to be-“

“And how can you be sure, Sister Creosote, perhaps it has taken a new form, one that exists in lightwaves not detectable by our meager-!”

“Barrel, that is not how viruses work.”

“That we know of! The ways of Kib are esoteric and ever flowing into amalgamate forms, to think our mere mortal minds could ever hope to grasp such intricate, eldritch designs, it would be folly, folly I tell you-!”

As tempted as Creosote was to interject, experience had taught her that if you couldn’t get through to your opponent after the fiftieth time, there was no point wasting energy.

Barrel’s eyes threatened to bulge out of her head.

“-But no, this sin, whether by you, or Azul, or a co-conspiration, cannot stand! You must bear witness to Saguaro herself, lest-!”

“Hey.” Malagasy raised his hand. “If it’s not too much trouble, can I ask a question?”

Barrel glared at him like he was a half-digested skeeter that had shambled its way out of a sandcroc’s mouth, but acquiesced. The Monastery had an image it was already failing to protect, after all.

“Certainly, dear guest.”

“Okay, so Vera was hanging out with this kid-“

“Azul.”

“Right, Azul. Now let’s say, hypothetically, that Creosote and her were conspiring to create an encounter that could potentially doom your monastery,” He began, cutting himself off just before he could add ‘despite this not really benefitting anyone’.

“Malagasy!” Creosote cried, “Are you really humoring her-?!”

The slender Venusian simply glanced at her and nodded. He had this.

“Exactly! Everyone dotes on the so-called ‘Prodigy’”, Barrel spat the last word out like it was venom, tossing Azul aside. The child remained motionless. “but I’m not fooled! Her so-called gifts are a dark magic, an undetectable virus that if left unchecked, may well spread-!”

“Fair enough, but my question is, why are you up here? My memory’s a bit foggy, but aren’t you supposed to be… somewhere else?”

“Indeed,” Creosote added, catching Malagasy’s hint. “Downstairs, overseeing production of the illuminated manuscripts. So what brings you all the way up here, to the garden?”

Barrel’s great spines receded ever so slightly, yet still an air of dignity surrounded her. She pulled out a loop of spider silk from her pocket, from which dangled an intricately curved seashell.

“As you can see, I needed to… relieve myself, in the lavatory. And as I did so, I remembered Azul was to work alone in the garden, so it stood to reason I check on her. And what luck! By Kib’s will, I was able to catch Azul in the act!”

Even with her mask, Malagasy could feel Creosote crack an amused grin.

“Yes,” she said, “The lavatory, which sits a good three floors under our feet. To look after the Prodigy, which if I remember correctly, Madame Saguaro specifically said she wanted left alone for the night. I’m not entirely sure Madame Saguaro would be too happy to see you go off course to the degree you have. Especially with the next Dispatch only six years away.”

“But have you not strayed as well, Sister Creosote?! The visitors-!”

“I’ll say it was my fault. I broke the rules.” Said Vera.

“And we’re guests. I’m pretty sure we’re not bound by the same rules you nuns are.” Added Malagasy.

Barrel didn’t even return their gaze. She had so dearly hoped their esteemed guest would see reason. Alas, such was not to be.

The daffodil eyed nun was the next to speak.

“I believe it would be best for all our souls if this misunderstanding was lost to the ides of time.”

Before she could finish, Barrel had slinked off into the woods. But not before she could mouth to Azul’s motionless body,

You’ll slip up eventually, witch. And when you do, I’ll be there to stop you!

Creosote breathed a sigh of relief. “Now Malagasy, children: I do believe we have somewhere to be, no? The nuns should be finishing their nocturnes about now.” As if on cue, Vera and Malagasy could hear, beneath the chittering and the screeching of the night air, a gentle humming suddenly cut off.

But before Creosote and the visitors could leave, Azul finally roused herself.

“Miss Cerosote… what should I do? I… didn’t collect as many pipettes as I should have.”

She reached down, grabbed one of the flower-mosquitoes, and popped the struggling creature’s head off, dropping it in her basket.

Vera thought it was the coolest thing ever.

So THAT’S where pipettes come from!, They thought.

Creosote nodded. “This is the first time you were out here alone. It was inevitable you’d get nervous. I’m sure Madame Saguaro would understand.” But beneath her confidence both Azul and Vera could detect a twinge of uncertainty.

“Anyway, let’s not waste time. Farewell, Azul.”

“Farewell, Sister Creosote.”

Azul hesitated. She’d already messed up so much that day. But at the same time, it wasn’t as though things could get worse. And so Creosote, Malagasy, and Vera walked out of that strange colorful, bleak, sea foam-scented, rotting paradise of the dam*ed.

Yet despite their harrowing adventure, Vera found themselves dragging their feet. For reasons they couldn’t articulate, they felt lighter, like they’d left an important bit of themselves behind in that mosquito-flower grove.

“Nice meeting you!” They called to Azul before she disappeared with the adults into the woods.

The twin moons illuminated the night soft blue, a quiet audience to the nightly drama that was life on Batavia.

                                                        . . .

Azul slumped where Barrel had dropped her, mind a swirling vortex of anxiety. It wasn’t until an intrepid greater flooer (Florifacies mirabila maximus), a large, terrestrial, flower faces bat, licked her face did she rise to her feet. There was so much to do, so many places to be, and yet, the thing she desired most was to melt into a soft, mushy puddle and feed the warm earth under her feet. Alas, her body was a cold, cumbersome prison, imprisoning the soul- her REAL self- just the same way a cocoon held a moth. If she wanted redemption, if she wanted freedom, if she wanted to see the Motherland, she would have to do her part and keep things running smoothly until the next Dispatch. For this reason and this reason alone her tired, aching body shambled upright. From her robes she procured a small treat the flooer gleefully lapped up. But just as Azul was about to make her own way into the Monastery, she noticed, at the foot of a tree, a small, leathery rectangle glistening in the moonlight. Glancing side to side to make sure no person was present, she slipped it deep into the folds of her robes, and was on her way.

                                                      . . .

Clambering down the Monastery’s sides, the two adults chatted.

“Thank you for the assistance.” Creosote whispered.

“No problem,” replied Malagasy, searching for footholds. “But that’s the thing about folks like Barrel: you’ve gotta be aggressive, or they walk all over you. And you too Vera, okay?”

“I know, Dad.” Sighed Vera.

“In my defense,” said Creosote “Barrel was being aggressive, making me nervous. And when I am nervous, I tend to overlook obvious holes in my opponent’s logic; no matter how obvious.”

“Well you’ll need to stand up for yourself! I can’t always be around to help you out, you know.”

“I know, Dad.” Sighed Creosote.

She and Vera burst out laughing so hard they nearly lost their footing.

Malagasy groaned, mourning the loss of his one peaceful night. Nothing short of a miracle would help him survive the weeks to come.

                                                      . . .

Back at the Monastery’s entrance, Zithro happily snoozed at the hitching post. Vera scratched him behind one of his massive ears, to which he squeaked gratefully.

Creosote pulled a finger sized conch from her robes and blew into it. Although Malagasy and Vera heard no noise, a procession of nuns emerged, single file, from the skeletal dragon’s bowels. Eyes of yellow, white, and even some purple, glowed like a galaxy of earthbound stars in the darkness. Without a word they were upon Malagasy’s cargo, lifting over their heads or under their arms the various crates, boxes, and books from his and Vera’s adventures, then retreating to their underground abode with impeccable synchronization. Malagasy held his child close, both keeping their distance, and though Vera would never admit it, they appreciated the gesture. Something about seeing so many robed figures working with the perfect efficiency of wasps or bees unnerved them in a way they couldn’t put into words. In spite of their fear, they couldn’t help but wonder: which of these strangers were friends and which were foe? If their recent misadventure had taught them anything, knowing their allies would be vital once they and their Father settled into the dead dragon who would be their home for the next three weeks.

Once the last nun descended the maw of the great lizard, Creosote walked in, Malagasy and Vera following six feet behind.

                                                 . . .

The bowels of the Monastery were, all things considered, well lit. In addition to the moonlight streaming through oblong, chitin windows, a great green globe hung by thick spider thread from the center of the ceiling, fluorescent sea slugs and jellyfish swirling within. Vera had seen such lanterns before- indeed, they were a common sight across the Peganan Islands- but never before one so large, or perfectly spherical. A handful of black bats flitted about the ceiling, pursuing unseen prey. Combined with the ribs and spine of the great sea beast, still visible through the walls, Vera truly felt as though they had been swallowed alive.

A long, crimson rug spit the chamber of worship into two rows of wooden pews that, compared to their setting, appeared rather crude. Whiling away on these were a handful of nuns. Custodians, Vera assumed, from the way they dipped rags into wood buckets of a substance that looked like water but smelled an awful lot like urine. Though they waved in greeting, not one so much as returned their gaze.

At the bow of this esoteric place of worship, which Vera and Malagasy trepidatiously followed Creosote toward, stood a simple podium, unusual only in its’ size; at least as tall as any of the nuns they had encountered thus far. Behind that, a panoramic chitin window depicted intricately detailed images of insects, birds, flowers, reptiles…; at their center floated a lush green orb marked with the double helix: Kib’s sacred symbol. But below this panoptic display of life, spindly fingers cast in shadow reached for the orb, for Kib. Whether the fingers represented reverence or desperation, Vera did not know.

More unsettling still was the thing that resided at the edges of this transparent mural, collecting shadow.

Vera could only describe it as a series of raw, red, fleshy tubes creeping toward the ceiling, the way vines might trellis up a wall, though thicker, and pulsating in a way that suggested digestion. At the tip of each tube, a dark hole exhaled humid air that warmed the Monastery.

And most unsettling of all was the open trapdoor at the foot of the podium, within which a staircase spiraled down into darkness.

“Stay close now, okay?” Malagasy whispered.

Vera nodded. For once, they wouldn’t have any trouble remembering instructions.

                                             Last Redoubt: END