#graveyard keeper prayers

[junglethegamer]

Graveyard Keeper Best Prayers

Explore this insightful article to learn about the most effective prayers to write and perform in Graveyard Keeper, resulting in highly beneficial sermons. Each prayer is carefully reviewed, from those that generate a lot of Faith to those that help players with farming, and a detailed explanation of its attributes and associated benefits is provided.

[retroactivebakeries]

miraculous arcs as dril tweets (revised)

Gatekeeper: im sensing some major bullshit coming from the graveyard

Gatecrasher: my friend the only crypto currency you wanna get your hands on is this: bird seed. There is a lot of birds and they all gotta eat.

Wounded Angel: i'm truly thankful towards Irritable Bowel Syndrome for becoming an integral component of my identity and shaping me into the man i am today

Allegory: not many people know this, b ut i actually coined the term "Lunchtime". before then, time and lunch were two entirely immeasurable concepts,

Become Somebody: i am a Teen and that's somethjing i have to live with for the rest of my life.

Star Quality: night time falls. im "corie latin" now. a man of intrigue. i place a bird feather into my glass of scotch and i never do posts about my dick

Child of the Ash: i am skeptical of the concept "Too Big To Fail" mainly because i am extremely big and i fail constantly

Spiritual: all rise for the national anthem, of Jeans

Called Away: Imagine. A world where guns come out of the ground like plants. And all the water is replaced by Bullet's. This is Gun World. It's real

Creature of the Light: every now and then i like to treat myself to a bit of "Lying under oath"

Creature of Fable: THE COP GROWLS "TAKE OFF TH OSE JEANS, CITIZEN." I COMPLY, REVEALING THE FULL LENGTH DENIM TATTOOS ON BOTH LEGS. THE COP SCREAMS; DEFEATED

Creature of Delirium: if you "clap back" someone with a PhD on here, you should be allowed to have their PhD. Its just common sense people. Oh that's tea

Chosen One: im 14 year s old and im already more psychic than my dad

The Ace: i feel like getting shot would;nt be that bad if you knew how to properly "body spin " away from the bullet or slap it away with your hand

Reality Syndrome: BARBARO IS BACK, THE ONCE DEAD REACEHORSE IS BACK TO LIFE AND TEARING UP THE HORSE TRACK LIKE NEVER BEFORE, "THE SECRET" WORKS,THANK U OPRAH A Keeper of Gardens: ask me anything u please, as long as its about my ambitious plan to build a castle in the Jungle for the apes to live in, called "Ape House" Sentimental: every pitbull dog contains a hidden set of skills known as the "Master Skills". the only two men who can unlock them are me and Elon Impresario: (in highly rational and cool voice) i have the higher follower count than them. i wiont let them undermine me Indomitable: IF THE ZOO BANS ME FOR HOLLERING AT THE ANIMALS I WILL FACE GOD AND WALK BACKWARDS INTO HELL Troubled: *enrolls in psychology major* finnally. this will give me the upper hand in dealing with trolls *fails all courses* college is fake actually Accursed: (dismissing waitress handing me the check with a hand wave) no thank you. i dont believe in any of that Primordial: i;m now getting surgery to completely become a Brand. all bothersome human elements (ability to get mad, go to toilet, etc) will be, removed Prophet: guy who invented Prayer: This is so sick. Im going to get so much free shit from god. This is the cleanest scam yet. So glad I invented this Awakening: i nneed constant 24/7 stream of memes and jokes about coffee being good to prove to myself im not living in rthe Fucking matrix

[larissa-the-scribe]

Terrarium Lights, Pt. 3.1

Last time on Terrarium Lights: Samuel was taking his state of unbeing rather hard, had a literal lightbulb moment, and vanished into thin air. (Next part >>here)

Gail was beginning to get concerned.

That night, she had cleaned up the mess in a mixture of confusion and worry, carefully scouring the floor for broken glass, and wondering what in Heaven's name had happened.

This seemed similar to the first time he had vanished, so perhaps it was a way of him processing what was going on. She wondered how many days it would take for him to reappear this time, and hoped he was doing okay, wherever he was.

It was almost a week, and he still hadn't shown up.

Michael had been delayed, again, but in the Lord’s mercy he was due back in the next couple of days, so maybe he'd have some idea of what to do about the situation. But for now, Gail worried.

Something had happened, clearly—Samuel had been startled and upset by something before he’d broken the terrarium—and, well, how does one track down a ghost? There was the possibility of searching obituaries, or the hospital in town, but those had limited value. They might give her more information (and that was a powerfully vague 'might'), but they were unlikely to tell her where Samuel had gone, or, more importantly, what had happened to him after his presumed death.

Finally, she decided she had to do something, so she went by the church and the graveyard in the off-chance he went back to visit the graves. No luck; he wasn't there.

It had been an unsure shot, but it was disappointing to have it miss.

She took a moment to pray in the chapel again, squared her shoulders, and headed back for another day of waiting.

On the way back, the distant lighthouse caught her eye. Gail remembered what she had been trying to the other day, when they’d been writing information down and forming plans—they had meant to go to the lighthouse.

She stood for a long moment at the crossroads.

It was something of a trek to get there, and it was only a faint hunch. She didn’t even know if Samuel remembered that the lighthouse existed. He hadn’t brought it up since the churchyard visit, at least.

But she had come all the way here because there was an itch in her bones, and the thought of sitting still and waiting when there was an option to explore flared it up again. Still was not an option for her right now, and even if it didn’t do anything, a long walk would be good for her. She was searching, and by golly she was going to do a thorough job of it.

Straightening her hat on her head and offering an extra prayer for guidance and wisdom, she strode out towards the lighthouse to find what might be there.

*

The lighthouse was not as secluded as some lighthouses often were. It was decently close to the city, and along a prominent coastal road (if a tad off the beaten path), so the lighthouse keepers also ran a sort of bakery café for passerbys. Both Mr. and Mrs. Seward enjoyed baking, so it was a good passtime for them, and a decent way to bring in extra income for upkeep and the like. Mr. Seward mostly attended to his duties as the Head Lighthouse Keeper, but when he had the time and energy he would help in the kitchen, while Mrs. Seward ran the bulk of it. It being both a pretty area and a distinct landmark meant they got rather more business than one would expect, and soon became a fairly common spot for smaller cultural events and gatherings.

There were not many people about as Gail made her way up the path—a peddler with his steamwheel, a horse, plus a gearmount or two—so it did not encroach too heavily upon the quiet air of the woods, or the swooshing of the sea waves just beyond the tree line. The closer she got, the stronger rose the enticing smell of fresh bread from the windows of the café, built against the side of the lightkeeper's house.

Gail was at the door, wondering if she should go in—after all, Samuel had expressed discomfort with the idea of being around people, so it was likely he would be in a more isolated spot—when a scramble of movement, disappearing around the corner, caught Gail's eye.

If it wasn't anything related to her quest, it was at least bound to be something interesting—she hoped—so she quietly made her way around the edge of the café.

Samuel was hovering uncertainly in the corner between the back of the café and the house, as messy as she had ever seen him, curled into himself and with wide eyes like a rabbit that's just been targeted by a hawk.

Gail stopped short in shocked recognition, before putting her hands on her hips, the part of her still wading through the surprise half-wanting to give him the piece of her mind that had sprouted at her surge of relief and confusion. The rest of her quelled the impulse, more concerned at his scared state.

He froze upon spotting her, with a wild look, like he was about to dart away again. Gail got the impression he was scared of her.

Gail pursed her lips, regretting not knowing his full name. "Samuel, lad, young man," she said as the pieces stopping whirring about and suddenly clicked together, "have you been keeping away from my place because you feel bad about that terrarium?"

He winced visibly.

She shook her head, unable to quench a laugh. "Good heavens above, you think I'd get mad at you for an accident like that? It’s a small matter in the end, and can be redone. More importantly, where have you even been this last week? Are you alright?"

At her laugh, he shrank back in confusion.

"Well…" he looked at her pleadingly. "You had worked really hard on it and had been keeping it and taking care of it for so long, and then I ruined it because I messed up and overreacted to a different thing, which was the lightbulb, which was something you were kind enough to provide me with—and also you've been doing so much and going out of your way to help me after I invaded your garden, and I've just been a drain on you throughout all of that and haven't given anything back. And then I broke the terrarium. So I thought I should try and figure something out on my own instead of leaning on you too much and maybe breaking something else in the process or just continuing to inconvenience you while you’re just trying to live your life."

Gail put her hands on her hips. "Well, young man, it seems as if you've got a lot to say for yourself and not a lot of sense about the matter. Why, you didn't ask me for any of that. You weren’t somehow imposing your will on me, I was the one that volunteered—if I hadn’t wanted to or couldn’t have or had some reason to keep you away, I could have simply not helped you. But I did, because I wanted to. So please believe I'm being honest when I tell you that I helped you because I wanted to, and I still want to."

There was a noise from inside, like someone calling out questioningly. She realized she was standing behind the building and talking loudly at what might possibly look to others as empty air. Taking a few steps further towards Samuel, she pulled her voice back to a more normal volume. "We can go talk this over somewhere else, if you'd rather. Don't want to scare the locals." She winked at him, hoping to lighten the mood.

The miserable droop of his shoulders and face indicated that he did not share her amusement.

"Doesn't matter," he muttered. "They can't see or hear me."

"Ah.” She stopped chuckling, letting her pang of sadness at his response manifest on her face. Cheerfulness would have to be put back in her pocket for when he needed it. “So you tested it out?"

He nodded, and did not meet her eyes.

Previous

Next

[snoozingredpanda]

Okay I need more Benni and her very accepting Darling to have more scenes. This is very good. I enjoy all of this so much.

Thanks for the support :D sorry this is a bit depressing but I kinda needed to get backstory out of the way lol so readers know why she’s the way she is

—

Benni Winters — Promise

GN!Reader

Warnings: Loneliness, depression, PTSD, mentions of SA, neglect and homophobia, swearing

—

• “You won’t ever leave me, right?”

• It was something Benni asked every night. She lay there next to you, a meek look on her beautiful face, staring up at you, her beloved darling.

• “Of course not. I tell you this every day, Ben,” you smile, fingers tracing her lips. “I love you too much to leave you.”

• “But…” She sighs. “What if you find someone better?”

• “There is no one better. You’re everything I could’ve asked for.”

• She lays her head back, staring at the ceiling. “Promise?”

• “I promise,” you reply.

• There’s a silence for a few minutes, neither of you speaking. But you had so many questions.

• “Is everything okay?” You ask after a while. She looks back at you.

• She nods. “Yeah. Why?”

• “You always get like this,” you murmur, brushing some of her brown hair from her eyes. “All… insecure.”

• She shrugs. “Dunno. Got a lot on my mind, I suppose.”

• “Tell me?” You gently pry. “You know everything about me, but I hardly know anything about you.”

• She’s conflicted. Part of her wants to tell you, but the other part wants to keep it locked away.

• “I don’t know where to start.” Her mouth speaks for itself.

• “At the beginning? What was your childhood like?” You smile.

• Benni doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. “Mom and Dad didn’t like me at all.” She started.

• “She always favoured my older sister. I was just an accident. They already had their perfect little princess, and then came along me. I was just a burden to them.”

• She let out a shallow breath. “Juliet was their pride and joy. She could do no wrong in their eyes. I, on the other hand, could do no right.”

• Benni scoffs.

• “My grades were never enough. I was too fat. I was always too ‘scruffy’ and ‘tomboyish.’ They’d say. ‘Don’t dress like that! The neighbours will think you’re one of those gays!’ But when Juliet wore sweatpants she was ‘just having a rest day’.”

• You stroke her cheek, silently telling her it was okay. “I hardly had a friend growing up. People at school always made fun of my name, saying it was a boy’s name. That’s Juliet’s fault too: our parents let her choose it when I was born, and she named me after her favourite book character, Benni the fuckin’ Bunny.”

• You watch her mutter something inaudible, chewing on her lip.

• “I had no one. I had to eat my lunch in the headmaster’s office because I kept on getting beat up by bullies. I was so lonely, no one ever gave me hugs or told me I was doing good. It was awful.”

• She angrily glares into space, but it turned to a frown. “My family was Christian. Like, really, really religious. Church every Sunday, all that stuff. I never really believed in it, but I had to go. It was alright, I guess.”

• You were listening intently, letting her get everything out. She clearly needed this.

• “When I was nine, I think, we went there Easter Sunday to do the usual prayers. During the after party thing I was playing with Juliet in this corridor in the church and then this… guy… appeared. I think he was the graveyard keeper, and we ignored him until he asked us our names.”

• Something about her tone made anticipation boil up in your chest. You were scared for her, despite this being in the past.

• “Juliet was an idiot and told him, and our ages. She was fourteen at the time, she should’ve known better.” Benni bit her lip. “He asked—told her he’d hidden Easter eggs around the church, and she ran off to find them.”

• “…Leaving us alone. H—he…” She didn’t need to finish her sentence.

• You knew.

• “Benni, baby…” You kiss her gently on the lips, seeing she was on the verge of tears. You didn’t blame her, that was a horrid thing to go through. Anger was swelling up inside you. “Did you tell your parents?”

• “Y—yeah. But Juliet said I was l—lying,” she sniffs. “I h—hate her.”

• You hate her too. Her own sister. This world really was something.

• “A—and when I was fifteen I h—had a date with a girl one night and Juliet found out and told our parents and t—they kicked me out. I haven’t seen them s—since.”

• Benni was sobbing by this point. You pull her in, kissing her forehead as she cries into your chest. You don’t know what to say.

• When you asked, you hadn’t expected neglect, sexual abuse and homophobia. No wonder she was so clingy, so obsessive, so unstable. She’d never experienced love before. And when she did, it hit her like a truck.

• She couldn’t control these feelings, she was infatuated. You were the complete opposite of her family, so beautiful, so sweet so accepting. No wonder she fell so hard.

• And her nightmares. You now understood why she babbled about ‘graveyards’ and ‘him’. Poor thing.

• This was the moment you vowed never to leave her. This girl needed your protection. She needed you, and you were going to keep her safe, just like she keeps you safe. You were going to heal her broken mind and be there for her forever.

• “D—don’t leave me!” She begs. “You’re all I have!” She’s grabbing at your shirt, nails digging into your skin. She’s frantic, as if you’re going to turn to dust. “I’m not a bad person, I promise, I promise!”

• “I’m not going to leave you, honey,” you tell her, peppering her face with kisses. “Never. You’re my beautiful Benni,” you smile, tears of your own falling. “You don’t need them. You’ve got me now. I don’t care if you’re a stalker, or if you watch me sleep. You’re my Benni, okay?”

• “Promise?” She hiccups. You wipe her tears.

• “I promise, sweetheart. As long as you want me, I’ll want you, okay? You could kidnap me and I would be happy with you.”

• “M—maybe I’ll take you up on that,” she jokes. You think.

• “Please do. The world is better in your arms.” You kiss her forehead again and again.

• She replies, “Can we stay like this?”

• You pull her in closer. “Of course, baby.”

• “…Can I tell you one more thing?” She whispers.

• “Anything,” you coo.

• “I’m in love with you. I can’t stop falling in love with you. I know we haven’t been together long but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to part from you. It’s scaring me. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

• “Well it’s a good thing I feel the same way,” you laugh. “I’m yours, Benni. Yours and yours only. I love you so, so much, even if you are a little strange. I need you, I love you.”

• You’d never seen her happier.

• This just proved to her you’re the most perfect thing in the world. Her pretty darling.

[secondwhisper]

Some thoughts on Cultural Christianity; things I don't often see discussed.

To note upfront: I have lived my whole life surrounded by (English-speaking white) Midwestern US Protestantism. Some of these points will be addressing religious/cultural hegemony broadly, most should address manifestations of cultural & hegemonic christianity in particular, and some may be specific to the flavor of christianity local to me.

Funerary practices // Is it normal procedure to have a memorial event with viewing, songs, and speeches after someone has died? Is it normal procedure to have the interment of an embalmed body, in a coffin, in a graveyard? Is it normal to have little or no private/personal mourning practices (eg no changes in dress, socializing, meals, housekeeping), even for close family? Is it normal to have little or no standard practices for anniversaries of a death, even for close family? // Is it illegal in your area to bury an unenbalmed corpse in the earth? Is it illegal in your area to have sky or sea burials? Is it illegal in your area to create a funeral pyre? Is it illegal in your area to cremate a corpse in a crematorium? If no, have these practices always been legal? Are they normal? // What funerary practices followed the death of your grandparents? What funerary practices will follow your death? Would each of these be considered acceptable to your friends, family, and broader community? Are each of these considered normal?

What religion is // Is it normal for "religious" to mean "believing in (the existence of) a deity"? Is it normal for a religious person to venerate one god, which is probably an anthropomorphic personal male creator god? Is it normal for prayer to just be a way to say "please" and "thank you" to that god? Is it normal for a religious person to want to increase the number of people in their religion? Is it normal for a religious person to think that there is only one "correct" or "true" religion (or subtype thereof)? Is it normal for a religious person to be awaiting a messiah/savior? Is it normal for a religion to have a specific canonical "core set" of written teachings/scriptures? Is it normal for religious teachings/scriptures to present themselves as god-given literally-true recountings of history -- and be considered such by members of that religion? What is the legal definition of "religion" or "religious" in your area? // Did your grandparents identify with any religion? Would you, your family, friends, and broader community describe your grandparents as religious? Do you identify with any religion? Do you consider yourself to be religious? (Are these the same question to you?) Do your family, friends, and/or broader community consider you religious, even if you don't see yourself that way?

Literature & language // Are you familiar with phrases such as "o ye of little faith," "(am I) my brother's keeper?," "fire and brimstone," "doubting Thomas," "an eye for an eye," "man does not live on bread alone," "prodigal son," and "the writing is on the wall"? Did you encounter these phrases from friends and family, before or outside of encountering them in popular media or school? Did your schooling emphasize Greek and Roman/Latin foundations of language and/or literature, maybe even to the extent that it obscured/marginalized/erased other sources and influences? In literature classes, were you expected to understand references to heaven and hell, crucifixion and resurrection, virgin birth, a trickster devil, an innocent walled garden and fruit that transmits knowledge/evil, witch trials, walking on water, crusades, anointing, baptizing, and the general concept of a savior/messiah? Do you use these references and themes when/if you write? Are "goliath," "nimrod," "Jesus (Christ)!" as a profanity, "bedlam," and "pharisee/pharisaical" in your vocabulary? Would you expect that your grandparents' answers to these questions would be the same as yours?

These questions are intended to help you identify whether, and to what extent, your culture & the culture around you are consistent with (US protestant) christian culture. This isn't an exhaustive list, these are just three big topics I think people usually leave out of cultural christianity discussions.

Do note: I am not saying that if you aren't christian, you need to change your end-of-life plans, abandon your literary tradition, limit your vocabulary, and get a degree in religious studies/world religions. I am also not saying that every norm above is unique or exclusive to christianity, nor are all of these norms present in all varieties of christianity. I am not saying that it's bad to be religiously christian or culturally christian! I am saying that many people are unaware of the legal, social, and academic advantages they gain for every degree of similarity with their local religious/cultural hegemony. And I am saying that you should consider the ways in which you may be privileged on this axis, whether or not you are religiously christian.

[leonbloder]

Lessons From Saint Demetrios

Recently, I had the opportunity to journey to Greece and Turkey as part of a Footsteps of Paul tour with members and friends of my church. 

As part of that journey, we went to Thessaloniki, the second largest city in Greece, located in the country's northern region.  It's also the city where the Apostle Paul visited and helped start a church during his missionary journeys. 

Thessaloniki experienced a rapid surge in churches built during the Byzantine Empire, including the impressive Church of Saint Demetrios, refurbished and expanded from earlier constructions.

There had been a church on the site since the early 4th Century dedicated to St. Demetrios (patron of Thessaloniki), a young man who was executed there for defending his Christian friend against persecution by a Roman soldier.  

Demetrios was not a Christian but was later afforded legendary stories that included a conversion to the Christian faith. 

During the Ottoman occupation of Greece, most churches, including St. Demetrios, were converted to Mosques but were eventually all restored as churches after the Ottoman Empire collapsed for good following WWI (they picked the wrong side in the war). 

One of the most interesting and sobering aspects of the history of the Church of St. Demetrios is that during the restoration efforts in 1940, the restorers used the shattered and broken tombstones from a desecrated Jewish graveyard nearby as part of the materials. 

The graveyard had been destroyed by both Greeks and Nazi soldiers in the early days of the Nazi occupation of the city.  

Before the Nazis arrived, 54,000 Jews lived in Thessaloniki, most of whom had been there for generations.  Out of those 54,000, only 2,000 made their way back after the war.  The other 52,000 died at Auschwitz or in the ghettos before being transported.  

Many Greek neighbors to the Salonika Jews either remained silent or actively assisted the Nazis in their efforts.  

I thought it strange that for people whose patron saint was a young pagan man who had been executed for defending his Christian friend from being murdered by a Roman, they could so easily turn on their Jewish neighbors. 

But then again, so much of the world did then---all over Europe, Africa, the Middle East, and anywhere Nazi boots marched during those trying and dreadful times. 

There are also stories of people risking their lives to save their Jewish neighbors and many more of how some would take in perfect strangers to hide them, even though it might mean the destruction of their own family if they were found. 

As I stood there in the Church of St. Demetrios, all of these thoughts ran through my head, and as I entered his shrine (beneath a guy who was cleaning the candelabra hanging from the ceiling), I said a prayer, which was actually more of a feeling that I couldn't form into words until later.  

It went something like this:   

Keep your Church from falling to such depths that we forget we are our sibling's keeper. And our siblings are everywhere, and they are your children, just as we are.  And they may not even pray in the name of Jesus as we do.  But in Jesus' name and in the name of St. Demetrios, I pray that we learn to keep one another well because we're failing miserably, and we need Jesus' light and love now more than ever.

May it be so, and may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with us now and always. Amen.  

[fernrisulfr]

Illarion Yewbow

Having weathered the storm of my faulty concepts, the next batch of three will be characters I made very specifically for a campaign I was applying to. This is different from several of the previous cases of a Campaign specific character concept, because I not only never played them, they never got close. I created these while applying for a game, but when I got into that game they no longer needed a Healer so I came in with a different character entirely (the most recent variation of Ripsnarl.). 

Illarion Yewbow - Wood Elf - Grave Domain Cleric - Acolyte - Neutral/Good

Backstory Concept: When the Aurora’s Light first went down, Illarion was just a simple deckhand, barely passed being a cabin boy. Was mostly blind luck that he survived the event. Many more weren't so lucky. He wasn't anyone important, nor was he the "take charge" type as he'd so often been reminded. Only thing he was, was someone who knew how to dig a hole. Many more weren't so lucky as he, and they'd need a burial. Couldn't exactly call it proper to start with, he was no priest, but it was a job that needed to be done, and most people were busy just trying to survive. Bodies washing up on the shore weren't gonna help with that. So he dug, he prayed, and hopefully laid some folks to rest. Once they were buried, graves needed tending. Over time, more graves needed digging. Such is the nature of life. As the years passed he became the keeper pf the Havenrock graveyard, gained some insight through prayer and solitude. He wasn't exactly a priest, but people needed something to believe in. Now he hears word a patrol found a stranger, the populace erupting in foolish excitement. Some youngsters are volunteering to get themselves killed. He'd rather not have to dig another fresh set of graves if he can help it.

Appearance: No idea, never got that far. I at least image that he was pale, light hair, very long, kinda gloomy looking. 

[lovelessdagger]

STARLIGHT - MASTERLIST

DIN DJARIN X ORIGINAL FEMALE CHARACTER

SUMMARY: Nothing ever truly dies. Not the Empire, not the dark, not her. The Mandalorian should know this, and somewhere deep down he does. Whether he cares is a different story. Consequences and the whole of them be damned.

This has all happened before. It was inevitable. Nothing has changed. It is the will of the Force.

Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence

WARNINGS: Blood and Graphic Violence, Explicit Language, PTSD, Past Child Abuse, Panic Attacks, Sexual Tension, Angst, Smut

READER ADVISORY: This is work is dark and an exploration of the effects trauma, abuse, and a harmful relationship with religion. Discretion is advised.

Read Starlight on AO3

SEQUEL: MOONLIGHT NOW ON AO3

ART

Prologue: Before - Haunted by memories, an assassin finds herself once again trapped in hell, otherwise known as Tatooine.

Chapter One: Eyes of Tragedy - Love was never meant for men like the Mandalorian, but her light captures him anyways.

Chapter Two: The Way of the Mandalore - The Mandalorian reflects on the tragedy of his life and makes brash decisions in the face of revenge.

Chapter Three: Kings of Coruscant- The Mandalorian and Assassin meet again and a deal is struck with a king.

Chapter Four: Empire of Ruin - In a graveyard of the Empire, burning Star Destroyers commemorate a lifetime of misery.

Chapter Five: Stardust - Daughters of the Empire rise from the dead on Eadu.

Chapter Six: Shattered Illusions - A debate on reality and illusion.

Chapter Seven: Call Me Pretty - Revelations and spite are always a mixture for disaster.

Chapter Eight: Endless Paranoia - Hauntings of the Empire linger in nightmares and feelings are confused for fear.

Chapter Nine: Flowers Remind Me of You - Trees hold secrets of love, loss, and longing, while flowers are the keepers of truth.

Chapter Ten: A World Between Realms - To exist together, trapped between the physical and intangible is rare. And full of heartbreak.

Chapter Eleven: Three Little Words - A discussion of the meaning of love and consequences of perceived free will.

Chapter Twelve: Idol of Prayer - The consequences of worshipping a lover like a God.

Chapter Thirteen: Grief and Gold - Beautiful people hold beautiful toys to hide their misery.

Chapter Fourteen: Daughter of the Empire - Where the foolish trust in the name of appearances.

Chapter Fifteen: Tell Me to Stay - Games are played, bets are made, and the score is even.

Chapter Sixteen: A Fading Light - Mornings don’t exist without liberty and love.

Chapter Seventeen: You Become the Stars - To regret and mourn over what never was.

Chapter Eighteen: A New Light, Everlasting - The birth of something new in the ashes of the past.

Chapter Nineteen: Dead Don’t Die - Mortality is but an illusion when the dead speak.

Chapter Twenty: Reflections of the Sun - A shining light of dawn is hidden in the shadows.

Chapter Twenty-One: A Prophecy Fulfilled - A sealed fate and atrocities of man.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Secrets Untold - A failed escape from the jaws of the past.

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Greatest Sin - Exploration of the unknown and lost.

Chapter Twenty-Four: A Lost History - The fear of forgetting what was never known.

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Death of Dawn - A retrospective look of the fall of the Empire on a setting sun.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Fragments of the Force - A study of broken mosaics and ghosts of the past.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Progression of Events - The results of love and trust and life.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Forgotten Halcyon - Before the end, there is joy.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Only the Wretched will be Saved - Reconnecting fates and family reunions

Chapter Thirty: A Requiem for Dawn - To remember what has come before, nothing can change.

Chapter Thirty-One: The Devil Rings His Bell - To answer the call is to submit to purgatory

Chapter Thirty-Two: An Image of Perfection - To be made in her image.

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Fruits of Sin - Attempted alliances and shattered truths

Chapter Thirty-Four: The Repetition of Poetry - This has all happened before. 

Chapter Thirty-Five: Apocalypse - The preamble for destruction 

Chapter Thirty-Six: Pandemonium - Hell’s escape

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Where it Began - To conclude, the end becomes the beginning. The beginning becomes the end.

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Losing Dogs - Visitation from the hounds of hell.

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Pyre (Interlude) - Saying goodbye.

Chapter Forty: After - The journey concludes in hell. Otherwise known as Tatooine.

Epilogue: Starlight

[celoica]

first line game

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag some of your favorite authors!

they know god (but i know you) -- “Filthy and covered in grime, nails a ruined mess from scraping his way through wood and then earth; he could taste the grit of graveyard in his teeth.”

distance -- “Billy had been finding God inside boys’ mouths long before Steve Harrington.”

salted -- “It was all Nancy Drew’s fault—or whatever her fucking name was.”

bellyache -- ““So,” Steve said, running his thumb over the edge of his glass. Billy gave him a sharp look, eyebrows raised. “Is it you just don’t like it? Or, like, do you think you’re someone’s bitch if you do it?””

somewhere only we know -- ““Since when do you like anything?” Steve asked, stepping out of the truck and shooting Hopper a pointed look. Hopper grumbled, climbing out and setting his hat on his head.”

alibi -- “If someone had told him months ago that he would end up in Billy Hargrove’s bedroom, Steve wouldn’t have believed them, much less the way he got there.”

a prayer for which no words exist -- “In a small town like Hawkins, everyone knew everyone—and everyone knew everyone else’s business.”

paris syndrome -- ““I’ve never been in love before this,” Billy admitted.”

finders keepers -- “The heavy looks, the biting of lips, the hot press of skin on the court—Steve knew what it was.”

the wild hunt -- “If Nancy knew what he was doing with her krachai dum, she would probably kill him—and then bring him back from the dead to take his balls.”

restraint -- “The kid didn’t look fazed.”

hunger -- “It was gut-wrenching and soul-crushing all at once.”

tagging: @brawlite @hoppnhorn @lazybakerart @lymricks @catharrington @worn-out-theoclymenus i actually follow like fifty people bc i don’t know how to find new people to follow so if anyone wants to do this please feel free!

[poetryothers]

10/23/20, H

see the state of things dissolve like sugar into water a cup of solid efforts a dish that melts into air on your tongue a taste you can't recall we all go mad and unhinge our jaws open toward extinction, sustain us. it is carnage, it is chaos, America, hungry for diners stops on the side of the road a hitchhiker's thumbing and the cars feed him exhaust until one swallows him up don't worry, we're all killers here is the original sin the story of a pristine empty garden where we might walk with God, who has been found dead, and theologians ask, am I my God's keeper? and philosophers say why are you ashamed? we now see our nakedness we see blood on our hands we see flesh in the teeth we see bones on the roadside we walked away from heaven having taken all we can the pope is weeping because god has nothing more to say the prayers for grace and salvation have come to an end the trees and the rocks and the birds know the truth nobody is coming down all the sacred scrolls and documents have been shredded and the files erased but nobody gets away with it we harvest ancient ice to sell to businessmen for nightcaps which are melting down to nothing, battery acid and tires burning streaks into the sky a hole that can't be filled even when stuffed with all the cash you can get your hands on an army of con men march on the promise that the world must be going out of business, and this is the fire sale, everything will go. all of the ghosts and their promises, wait beyond the gates, not a spirit or specter is coming to aid us, no ghosts or gods in the machines, except the ghosts of dinosaurs, burning down to the wick, and we will be asked to account for this, why the bones of history were the chemical dependence upon which our apocalypse was founded, the vehicle of change has run out of gasoline, and the body of work is a pile of bones, and the world is 6ft deep, and the difference between a graveyard and a junkyard is a false distinction now. prophets are on the line, waiting for your calls, there was a run on the banks of the river, everybody looking to be saved at the last second, but the earth will not hear our deathbed confession, and hell has already been on earth for decades.

[rotten-dan]

Fuck the church, gotta learn medicine and anatomy to stop that plague because prayers ain't gonna do it

(ironically) PREACH THISI WILL BE THE CHAOTIC GOOD GRAVEYARD KEEPER DONT @ ME

[loracarol]

Gods of Small Places

Just some DnD worldbuilding shenanigans 

The God of Evergreens-in-the-Valley was a fox, once. 

Wise in the ways of his kind yet naive in the ways of humanity, he would come down from the forests to play with the humans, and to show them tricks with his illusions. Bold as the color of his fur, he even impersonated a Goddess. Once. 

The people came to the temple in tears. A plague was sweeping through the land, and many people were sick. Black lesions rose upon their bodies as they succumbed to fever. No Goddess arrived, and soon the fox was using his tricks to see what he could convince people to do. Leeches he whispered to the people, bloodletting. Frogs. And the people followed his commands. No matter what he said, they followed his instructions.

They actually did it! He crowed to the Goddess of Healing. Chickens!

The people are desperate. She snapped. Don’t you see? 

His shoulder’s slumped. He had seen, but he didn’t understand. Can’t you do something?

I’m fighting Pestilence wherever I can. The Goddess sighed, and the fox really, really looked at her. She looked like the sun trying desperately to break through a fog. 

Stuck here, but some thoughts - she gives him the tiniest hint of her power, he goes back bc this is His People Dammit, and he calls for all the chickens to be burned at the temple. While they’re burning, he snaps them all up - because, he is after all, a fox - and uses the imagery + the spark of power to convince the plague to leave. The people recognize him, but start worshiping him anyway bc He Protects Them. The worship + the spark of God Power turns him into a minor deity. He doesn’t have a strict domain, his “domain” is this village; he is their God, and he will protect his people.   

--------------------

Aifera of Ivydale (formally Springvale) 

Goddess of spring growth and bees. 

Legend says that the town got together and set up an altar with an invitation to any homeless gods who needed a place. 

It’s unknown if Aifera was one of those homeless gods, or if the creation of the altar & their belief in a town god created her. 

Appears as a woman with long brown hair the color of tree bark. Plants grow out of her hair, usually flowers. Medium tone skin, leaf green eyes. 

Bees are her messengers, sometimes real bees doing what she asks, sometimes her guardian bees. 

Offerings tend to be fruit/flowers/honey/beeswax candles/carvings. 

Holy symbols: Apple blossom and bee. 

Generally a goddess of the village, and so does her best to care for everyone. 

More specifically a goddess of plants; when people need healing she leads the healer to plants that can help, but the town is small enough that she doesn’t (usually) have the power to heal directly/raise the dead. 

People in her town found that plants tend to grow up from the graves of townsfolk; as a result, they don’t really have a “graveyard”. Instead people are buried in their favorite spot/view with seeds in their shroud. Apple seeds are common, but wheat + a field are not uncommon. While some towns may find it unsettling, people in the town have no qualms with eating fruits from plants grown over bodies. They view it as a gift, and claim that the fruits have special properties/taste better.   

Outside of town 

Heavily related to bees/beekeepers; while some of her other aspects were spread via song, that’s the part that resonated the most. 

People ask for her to bless their hives. 

Bless their honey/wax production.

Protect from pests. 

Offerings tend to be fresh cut flowers, honey, and beeswax candles.

--------------------

Alexandria the ghost(?)/goddess(?) of The Light

Story goes: 

Once upon a time there was a lighthouse keeper who kept watch for her town. 

There’s a storm one night, and for a moment, the light goes out. 

The light does eventually come back on, and it stays on steadily for the rest of the three day storm. We’re talking like, practically a hurricane. 

After the storm, people go to the lighthouse, and find that the lighthouse keeper’s body still in the light tower, however she was lacerated by the glass surrounding the lighthouse. 

They take her body home, and while work on appointing a new lighthouse keeper. 

However, despite there not being a new lighthouse keeper the next night, the light comes back on - and the next night - and the next night - all the way until they get a new light keeper 

It’s uncertain still if she’s a ghost, a goddess, or a ghost that will become a goddess. 

The story spreads from lighthouse keeper to lighthouse keeper, and people start to send prayers/pleas her way. 

TBD 

--------------------

Spiderlady story/lore keeper 

Spider centaur 

Weaves stories 

Collects stories - you can beg a favor of her by telling her a good one 

Can tell the past - can help you find secrets if you impress her enough/find her enough 

Sometimes can weave the future, but it’s hazy/uncertain

--------------------

The people of Cyun don’t have a God 

They have the Canistos (name may change) 

Legend has it that an invading army came upon Cyun, and took control of the village, using it as a point to refuel/scout from 

The people were shepherds, who kept a variety of dogs to help them guard and herd their flocks 

While the army conscripted the foodstuffs of the town, it soon came out that some of the family’s were still sneaking food to their dogs - as they were considered protectors/part of a family’s “fortune” 

The army found out, and rounded up the dogs 

And then there were no more dogs in Cyun 

At moonrise, a cacophonous howl was heard from in and around the village, and in the morning the soldiers were found ripped apart 

The people took their dogs’ bodies, and buried them with full prayers

People can see the Canistos on the nights with no moon, however the people know that the Canistos are there all the time 

They leave out tributes 

Have a vow to take in any ‘strays’ the Canistos bring to them 

They did eventually get new dogs, legend has it that the Canistos stole them from kings

When a dog dies, they are buried with the same honors and ritual that a human being might get 

???

IDK where I’m going with this but 

tl;dr town doesn’t believe in gods bc they have a pack of ghost dogs 

[juroguro]

@trifiesta woahhh am i late or am i late!! anyway, sad boi hours. this is the au prompt. it’s based off of this (but i’d read it after). yeehaw.

When Yokozawa would look at the headstone, he would only read the name printed. It wasn’t ignorance, it was coping. The dates, the cause, the quote, the religious engravement that the parents wanted but he didn’t: Yokozawa turns a blind eye to that. But the name, oh, the name. Yokozawa speaks it to himself as he places the flowers at its base, hugging the stone, kissing the granite. Lilies, carnations, chrysanthemums. Masamune, Masamune, Masamune. Kissing dark granite. I miss you so, Masamune, Masamune. Red roses. Masamune. I miss you, Masamune.

-------------

Yokozawa visits the grave of his beloved weekly since the day he took his own life (forget those words!). It was overkill, everyone said it was overkill. His mother: “Overkill.”; his father: “Overkill.”; every past and every future lover: “Overkill.”; his cat, even, glaring at him: Overkill. But, for Yokozawa, it was coping. It was letting go. It takes years for some to let go. It takes decades.

But it seems, for some, it only takes seconds. The grave beside Masamune’s reads the strangely familiar name “Oshiro Takehiko.” He did look at the date for this one. It was very close to Masamune’s passing; he can remember the freshness of the tilled earth of that patch on the day of Masamune’s funeral (stop thinking of it!). But there were never flowers, never gifts, not even on holidays, not even the anniversary. It made him feel sick. How could no one care?

How could I not care?

-------------

The twenty-fifth of December is not Christmas, it is Masamune’s birthday. It was a day meant for Yokozawa to shower him with gifts and affection: red roses (they were Masamune’s favorite), dark chocolates, lots of hugs and kisses and rubs to keep warm. Was it sick for him to be excited?

Yokozawa treads along the frozen ground of the cemetery, taking the path he had memorized long ago. Thankfully, no other families were visiting in the area (especially Masamune’s!), so Yokozawa could spend as much time as he wanted.

When he sees the monument— a smooth, rounded rectangle— Yokozawa feels his cheeks light up. “Hi, Masamune.” He dips his head in prayer for several minutes before sitting beside him; the lot next to him was still not taken, “How are you?”

Masamune doesn’t respond. He’s been quiet recently.

“Well,” Yokozawa rubs the back of the tombstone, “Happy birthday!! Your twenty-sixth, huh? I brought you some gifts.” He reveals a bag of chocolates and beer, as well as a big bouquet of flowers. “Let’s celebrate!” He cracks open a can of Usagi, taking a few swigs before pouring the rest into the frozen earth.

A sudden chilled breeze comes in, whipping back Yokozawa’s hair and tickling his cheeks. He smiles a melancholy smile and leans his head on the stone. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.”

Yokozawa talks for an eternity, about work, about missing him at work. He thinks of the bad thing and cries a bit. He drinks more, he eats more chocolates. His lips turn bluish. “I miss you, Masamune,” running his hands up and down the smooth rock, cursing at the chips that roughen his fingers, “I miss you. Masamune, Masamune. I love you, Masamune. I love you. You know I still love you, right?”

A chilled breeze. He cries more.

When Yokozawa feels himself getting too delusional and a bit more than tipsy, he begins packing up. The rest of the beer is dumped into the ground, leftover chocolates sitting at the stone’s base. Yokozawa decorates his grave with flowers and kisses him goodbye, a slow, meaningful goodbye. “I’ll visit next Sunday, okay?”

He turns to his right and sees the empty grave. When all the others are filled with gifts, Takehiko’s is empty. A lump in his throat.

“Forgive me, Masamune.”

One rose from the bouquet is transferred a meter over. Yokozawa bows his head. “...Merry Christmas, Oshiro-san.”

-------------

Yokozawa sits at his desk, searching through survey results with little enthusiasm. His brain can’t stop thinking about Masamune, about today’s cemetery visit. If he’s not there, talking and being near him, he’s daydreaming about it. He’s waiting, always waiting. And as much as he wants to believe this is about letting go, he knows it’s about obsession.

Miss you.

Yokozawa began to develop a comradery with the man that lays next to his love, they were both lonely, both constantly waiting. The single flower Yokozawa liked to leave at Oshiro-san’s grave every few visits has turned into the deceased’s personal bouquet. Yokozawa feels guilty for delivering the flowers; he has a fear that Masamune will feel abandoned or jealous or lonely too.

“They’re both dead,” he can hear his mother scolding him in his head, “Why do you care?”

And he doesn’t know. He doesn’t.

Oh god, Yokozawa grinds his knuckle into his jaw, There’s something wrong with me.

Fully aware that the work he was getting done was negligible, he gives up. A new tab opens; Google. He types in Oshiro’s name, hoping that this doesn’t count as being intrusive or disrespecting the dead. Those worries leave his mind, however, when the search recommendations pop up. Oshiro Takehiko murder, Oshiro Takehiko victims, Oshiro Takehiko suicide (bad word!), Oshiro Takehiko pregnant women, Oshiro Takehiko crime scene: his stomach turns sour.

After a near hour of reading Wikipedia articles and getting progressively sicker, he realizes he’s made a huge mistake. His graveyard friend, Oshiro Takehiko, was apparently a serial murderer of heavily pregnant women and Yokozawa feels so, so very ill. He makes a small list of victims and their burial places and changes his afternoon plans. Breaking his promise to visit Masamune felt awful, but the fact that he was regularly delivering flowers to a serial killer surpassed that.

“Yokozawa-san?”

The salesman spins around in his chair, quickly going back to the page of data. “W-What?”

Henmi scratches the back of his neck, “Um, didn’t you say you had to leave for a doctor’s appointment at 3?”

He wets his lips, craning his neck to check the clock: 15:25. “Oh,” he flashes a smile, “I completely forgot.”

-------------

Kirishima Sakura, the first victim, was stabbed to death in the kitchen of her apartment. Her husband, after being woken by screaming, called 119 quickly. She died quickly in the ambulance, Miraculously, though, the baby survived: a little girl. She was buried in Aoyama cemetery and had a private funeral. Now, somewhere, there’s a ten-year-old girl with no mother. Yokozawa sends his wishes with the biggest bouquet he’s ever bought.

He searches through the cemetery for the headstone; he got directions from the funeral home but forgot them right after. After far too long, Yokozawa seems to have found it; he recognizes the large oak tree the keeper was talking about. There’s an issue, however.

A man and a little girl have their heads dipped in prayer. The man’s back shakes erratically; Yokozawa can hear him cry. They hold hands.

Shit. Yokozawa stands a few meters away, waiting for them to finish. Bad timing.

The man wipes off his tears on his sleeve and turns around to leave—

“Yokozawa-san?”

Shit. Worst timing.

Yokozawa recognized him instantly, immediately getting red in the face. He always screamed at this guy during print-run meetings, always shot him dirty looks for days after them, and never thought of him, his home life. He did hear rumors though, ones that he can’t remember a lick of. Kirishima Zen, editor-in-chief of Japun magazine, approaches him with tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes. “What a-are you doing here?”

Shiiiiiiiiiiittttttt. Yokozawa intensely stares at the ground. “I— um, well…” He looks at the little girl, her glossy eyes. “I… Ah, this is such a weird situation. It’s just, um, there was this guy at this other cemetery that I visit a lot and he never got any flowers so I felt bad about it and started giving him flowers too and then I just looked his name up and oh my God, I’m an idiot and he…” Face completely red, he looks up at Kirishima. He makes the shape of “oh” with his lips but doesn’t make a sound. “S-So I wanted to come and b-bring her some flowers because oh God I’m an awful person and I want to make it up to her and you and everyone else—”

“Yokozawa-san,” he chuckles under his breath, “It’s fine. I’m fine, I mean. You don’t have to be careful. It was a long time ago.” He looks off to the side. “Thank you, though. Thank you so much.”

His mouth goes dry. He doesn’t really know what else to say. But Kirishima smiles at him and doesn’t try to hide it. Like he’s happy. “Why are you grinning like that?”

“What!?” he laughs, “Am I not allowed to smile now? Just because I’m a widow, doesn’t mean I have to be sad all the time.” The girl begins to tug on Kirishima’s leg, impatient. “It’s just, you talk very fast when you get nervous. It’s cute.”

Yokozawa would punch this guy in the face under any other circumstance, but right now, he blushes a deep crimson. “O-Okay…”

“Listen,” he musses the girl’s hair, “My Hiyori’s sleeping over at a friend’s house tonight so I’ve got no plans,” he pulls out his cell phone and flips it open, “If you’d like to go out for a drink or two, gimme a text.” He hands the phone over.

Maybe it doesn’t take years to let go, maybe not decades. Maybe all it takes is a good mug of beer and charming company.

“Okay.”

ao3 | ko-fi

[clatteriing]

her eyes / vacant from the grey of old age the messages are knots on the strings of a prayer bead / like a tourist / clutching an old guide to a deserted zoo / watering        the rhododendron is her new religion / after her husband’s death in the army / you ask how she feels about the aches on her kneecap / you reminded her of your father’s bad voice / for lullaby / this was how a fight of thousand days / began with a blow / i have admitted to knowing things that will happen tomorrow / and that does not make me god / i know that when today is over / we will not be here to retell the story we love to say / when the media visit our homes at night / of how the safest place to sleep was the graveyard / my mouth is the wrong place to be today / the many fantasies of how tomato tastes on this wet tongue / bloats a child’s stomach / she is the castle and i the gate keeper / watching over her from a binocular / i made the sacrifices that took you years to think over / i face it to the Kaaba / and mutters Allahu Akbar / the ram does not cower at the sight of the knife / i untie the legs and watch it walk into the woods / a red string on its right leg / i told my mother i would not live a day if she dies / it sounded like a promise rather than a plea

Oath by Hussain Ahmed

[aftaabmagazine]

Goodbye to All That: A Gloomy Vista of a Leading Light

By Idrees Zaman From the 2001 issue of Afghan Magazine | Lemar-Aftaab

[caption: Ahmad Zahir's احمد ظاهر destroyed grave. Kabul June 2001. Photo by Idress Zaman.]

It was a hot sunny day in June this year in Kabul. As a student of history, I had a wish to see historical monuments and the last remnants of historical personas of my country. Obviously, the first preference was none other than Kabul's famous cemetery, Shuhada-e-Saliheen (The Pure Martyrs) شهدای صالحین.

Upon my arrival there, I decided to go straight to the shrine of Tamim-e-Ansar. The shrine lies at the peak of the cemetery and is perhaps the end point of the current endless memorial park. The shrine has not been immune to life's struggle in Afghanistan. Women and men have been separated from each other, even while in prayer. Nonetheless, I was asked to stop at the doorsteps of the century-old monument until some ladies inside finished their prayer. Finally, my turn came, and I was allowed to enter to complete my salutations.

To make the most of that interval, I began to converse with the beggar ladies and their children surrounding the vicinity of the shrine. Most of these women stated that they were not professional beggars, but were rather one-time teachers and office workers. However, they were forced by the undesired economic circumstances of the nation to come out of their homes. For them, this work was once deemed a nightmare ten year ago.

"It is your turn," shouted an old keeper. So, I performed the common prayers and soon left the sanctuary.

It flashed in my memory that once there was a skillfully designed, white-domed tomb of the legendary singer Ahmad Zahir at Shahada-e-Saliheen. It dawned on me that Ahmad Zahir's grave must have been on the left side on my way towards the shrine. If this were so, why haven't I noticed it yet?

Curiosity replaced the wish to see more gravesites. I asked a little; otherwise, school going but now a beggar kid, "Would you show me Ahmad Zahir's grave."

No answer came forth, he just took my finger in his little, dusty hand and started tugging me down towards the gravesite that I vaguely remembered.

Although it was a short walk, it seemed like an eternity as anxiety replaced my curiosity. We were going fast in a zigzag fashion and finally arrived. I only heard Ahmad Zahir sing to me, "Deldar Raseeda" (دلبر رسیده My Love Has Come).

According to Sadat (2000), "From the time of his death in 1979, it had become an annual event to gather at Ahmad Zahir's gravesite and pay homage to the people's fallen friend and favorite musician. This event lasted until 1992 when Kabul finally fell and was engulfed in warfare."

All that was visible were loads of rubble, pieces of broken black marble, plaster and strained iron bars, but no emblem of a legendary singer. Nevertheless, I was made to accept that it was the resting place to the musician of many generations.

Despite a lengthy and detailed search, I could not find any sign of shrapnel or bullets around, which could show the destruction of the site by using explosive ordinance. It was apparent from the degree of damage that the striking of some heavy hammers over the gravel pillars and dome caused its collapse.

The surface concrete of the grave was still in place, though marbles had all been broken and loaded over different sides of the eight-corner, star-shaped monument.

I enquired, "What happened to it?" Silence was the little child's response. Like many other people, the boy was also unwilling to even talk of that disgraceful and cowardly act of bigotry against our nation's fallen nightingale.

I also saw some green ribbons tied around some iron bars of the pillars over the grave. On my query from my companion, the little boy, I learned that many people believe in the spiritual sanctity of Ahmad Zahir as a martyr, eradicated on behest of the rulers of his time. The boy said that every Friday evening, people come and lit candles on the grave and offer prayers for the departed soul of the late artist.

All that I could think about was to fetch my camera from the concealed partition in the car, to document this heinous treachery. Without a second thought, I placed the camera on my chest, and the shutter secretly captured the diaspora of Ahmad Zahir's grave, which was representative of all sites. It seemed that the camera was also aware that photography is a sin nowadays. I questioned myself, "Why is it that Afghanistan's living and dead continue to suffer?"

Ironically, the dome of the grave was still intact but plummeted to the left side. I was unable to find an inscription on the broken marbles tablet.

All writings, most likely poems, were rubbed off from the tombstone before the desecration. I saw many graves around Ahmad Zahir's tomb patterned with the broken marbles of Ahmad Zahir's grave.

I remembered that once, in one of his later songs, Ahmad Zahir had sung, "Then, the winds and rains will tenderly wash down my name from the face of the headstone" (بعد ها نام مرا باران و باد, نرم می شویند از رخسار سنگ).

But it happened that neither winds nor rains desired to rub out his perpetual name and fame; it was another unnamed disaster from which all his fans and fellow Afghans are suffering. For more than two decades, this disaster has been perpetuated by a war of ignorance.

I was so saddened that I could not continue to see the remaining part of the graveyard, but out of the blue, I recall what Ahmad Zahir once sang:

Oh friends, be happy, I am happy and rest in peace شادی کنید ای دوستان، من شادم و آسوده ام

Now I am ever content, Now I am released from the manacles شادم کنون، شادم کنون، از بند آزادم کنون

Now my god-gifted heart hymns for happiness فریادی شادی میکشد، قلب خدا دادم کنون

May his soul rest in eternal peace and his art continue to remind us what good times and country we had. I dedicate this article and photo of his destroyed, yet desecrated tomb to his mesmerizing voice and devoted fans around the world.

- - - 

About Idress Zaman

When this article was published, Idrees Zaman was 26-year-old Afghan. He received a BA in history and political science and an MBA in financial management. Zaman worked as an aid worker in an Afghan humanitarian organization and made frequent trips to different parts of Afghanistan. He is now the Deputy Foreign Minister of Afghanistan.

Notes

Between 1992 - 1999, Ahmad Zahir's grave was destroyed. The theory is that he represented art and culture that was considered unacceptable by the Islamist powers in Kabul. Therefore a member of their faction desecrated Ahmad Zahir’s grave. Idress Zaman made a bold attempt by taking a photo of the tomb. Photography was banned by the ruling Taliban regime--being caught led to severe punishment.

[fanficksandimagines]

“Guardian Angel.”- G.D.

Grayson Dolan x reader

Warnings: some bad language. That’s about it.

Word count: 6159

A/n I saw this writing prompt and kind off fell in love with the idea. I hope you guys enjoy this one, I really worked hard on it. It holds my love for mythical and supernatural beings and my interpretation oh Heaven and Hell.

Prompt from @writing-prompt-s :  -Hell is getting kind of full, and honestly, you’re getting tired of managing it all by yourself. You hire an angel to convert some of Hell’s denizens into proper god-fearing entities so they can be moved to Heaven and become someone else’s problem.-

Every human knows at least the slightest bit about Hell and Heaven, at least in theory; what they don't know is, that it's real. But, let me tell you; Hell is not just a pit of fire burning up the souls of sinners and spitting out demons, with a huge throne in the middle where the devil himself sits and enjoys the chaos; and Heaven isn't a shiny, clean sea of clouds where angels guide around souls whilst they wait to meet God himself. It's all a bit more complicated, you know? Just like the human world, there's rules you have to follow and jobs you have to do. Well, not you, you're already dead, if you're in one of both places. Demons and Angels also have responsibilities and jobs. Trust me, it's disappointing that, we Demons, don't just go around haunting your houses and possessing humans. Of course there are Demons doing just that, but that's because the gates of hell have been locked to them. It's a life sentence set for something they've done without the kings approval. Oh, and did I mention that the devil has no word here? Yeah, Lucy is kind off locked up, and the throne of Hell is taken by a self-proclaimed king, whose name shall not be spoken. I, as a Demon, won't tell you too much about Heaven, but God isn't there. I think that's worth knowing. He shows up there twice a year, just like your beloved Santa or The father of Christmas 'checks you twice a year'. He shows up, gives the Angels a speech, collect your unanswered prayers and then disappears for another half a year. That's all I'm going to tell you, thought. I'll be as honest as a Demon could be, this place is boring for a 17 year old like me. Since, Demons take their immortal form after they turn 18, I've never been outside Hell. I guess it's worth mentioning that time here is way slower than in the world humans live in, besides we don't sleep. I've been 17 for the past 4 human years and I'll turn 18 in 2 more. For my age and confusing/ complicated past, the king trust me with a pretty important job. I'm the Hells Soul keeper. I can't decide whether it's like babysitting a bunch of toddlers, or being a storekeeper in a magical castle where everything in store floats around on its own creating a chaos. Except storage wouldn't be crying or shouting 'Where the Hell am I?' every three seconds. My job as a Soul keeper isn't boring, sometimes the unfortunate souls just need someone to talk to; and again, as honest as a Demon could be, I explain to them, that they have died and now are in Hell. Doesn't work out, as you would expect, but hey, their reactions can be pretty priceless. We used to be two Soul keepers. Mars was older so he would do the collecting part in the human world. He was the only Demon I dared to call a friend. It was like having an older brother with who you actually had a good relationship. It didn't last long, though. There was an incident and he showed up at the wrong place and wrong time, and ended up dead. Even immortal beings can be killed, you just need the right weapons. You see, a Soul keeper gathers the souls in the human world, then brings them down to the 'waiting room', which is a huge hall with the capacity of 600 thousand souls. Then all of the souls have to be divided in smaller sections and guided in specific halls depending on their sins. Soul keeper watches over those as well, until Demons that watch over the specific sins collect them and guide them further through the ten layers of Hell. Soul keeper is the most important Demon in Hell, otherwise some souls would pay for crimes they never did, and believe me, you wouldn't want to be tortured by the highest standards just because you licked some frosting off of that birthday cake in your grannies fridge, even though your mom told you not to. Also, how else would lost souls find their way to hell? Someone needs to collect them. Something wasn't going as it should in the Hells system. The souls that were already sectioned, weren't being collected and the waiting room was filled with more souls than it should. I had to collect souls above the ground today, and looking at the stack of papers filled with names of dead sinners, there was a good hundred thousand of them. I was so tired of having to babysit over a 800 thousand souls every day, might need to remind you that I don't sleep, and neither do they. There's someone crying all of the time, there's someone screaming all of the time, because of those two groups- there's everyone else complaining, and taking in all of this can get kind of heavy on my shoulders. Since no one in the lower layers of Hell wasn't showing up or answering, I sent a letter to Heaven asking to send someone to help. I didn't get an answer, so I'm kind off hopeless at this point. I snapped my fingers teleporting myself into the break room. I changed out of my all black working uniform, putting some casual clothes on. I grabbed a cd and went to the control panel playing 'Harry Potter' on the TVs in the waiting rooms and sections to distract the souls whilst I'm away. After the movie started playing, I walked over to the weapon section and took a small knife with which I cut a line in my left palm. As the black blood like liquid showed through the cut, I drew a symbol that opened the Hells gate for me. Grabbing my tablet that had all of the collectable souls listed, I left through the gate, the portal closing behind me. "Alright, let's do this!" I said to myself as I showed up in a dark alley located in Kansas. Collecting souls was pretty easy. I teleported from place to place showing up near the graveyards or spots where someone was killed and found the wandering orbs flying around  searching for its human vessel. I guess I could compare collecting the souls to humans catching lightning bugs in jars. Except, I don't catch them in a jar, I catch them in a crystal. After I had collected about the third part of all the sinner spirits on my list, I decided to enjoy a bit of human life. Walking in a small café in Paris, I took a seat next to a window that had a clear view on the Eiffel tower. A waiter came around asking for my order, even if I can't taste anything besides atoms, I still ordered a muffin and a cup of coffee. Whilst I was enjoying the view and waiting for my order a young boy walked inside the café only to be soon followed by someone who looked a lot like him. It was clear as day that they were twins, the only thing off was that they weren't talking to each other. The boy with slightly longer hair took out his phone and started scrolling away, whilst the other one just sat besides him, clearly bored out of his mind. The waiter came around with my order. I thanked her and payed right away with some money that I 'borrowed' from a rich business man, who, I know for sure, will be sent to Hell after his death. I'd say I enjoyed my meal, but the only thing I tasted was atoms. I had to get back to work, so I stood up to leave when the black Soul crystal fell out of my pocket. "Crap!" I whispered to myself reaching down for it. Apparently it caught the attention of the few people that were at the café, since they all looked my way. I took the crystal in my hand and showed my hands in my pockets, quickly walking out of the place. The next soul I had to collect wasn't too far away, so I figured I'd walk there. Walking down the street I felt like someone was following me, and I wasn't wrong. One of the twins was running after me, so I turned the next corner in a small empty street, making myself invisible to the human eye by snapping my fingers. He walked in the street his eyes set on me. "How is this possible?" I tough to myself. "You're Y/N, right? The Soul keeper of Hell?" he questioned still standing there. I guess he figured out, that I had no clue of who he was and why he could still see me, so he showed his wings. It was the most beautiful set of Angel wings I had ever seen. They were clear and white with a hint of blue in the glow, meaning that he was supposed to be a human, but something went wrong. "Yes, I am the Soul keeper." I finally answered his question. "You asked for help." he reminded me of my letter. "Uh, yeah. I wanted to hire an Angel to purify some souls." "I'll be honest, this is the first time I'm out of Heaven, but I was assigned to help you, so here I am." "What about your brother?" "He's a human." "Oh, I'm so sorry." "You're a Demon, you don't feel anything… but It's alright." He was right, Demons don't feel sorry; at least most of them. "Alright. Have you ever collected souls?" "No, I've collected prayers." "Well, then you're in for a treat before we go downstairs. What's your name?" I asked as we made our way to the next soul. "My parents were going to name me Grayson, so I guess that's it." "Well, nice to meet you, Grayson. I'd tell you my name, but you already know it. So, the next soul we have to collect is Frank Hudgens, a twenty year old man who is being rejected by Heaven, because he robbed his aunt and stabbed a policeman." I informed Grayson. Grayson was quiet, for the biggest part of the whole collecting experience, by the end he seemed to ease off and started to talk to me. He told me the slightest bits he knew about his own life, and soon after we were finished with our job. "Well that was the last one." I said after my crystal sucked in the last orb of soul. "We're going to Hell now?" "Absolutely." I took his hand in mine and snapped my fingers, teleporting us back to the gate in Kansas. I opened up the gate and lead us inside, never letting his hand go. After we finally showed up in Hell, I showed him into the break room. I put my stuff down on a table, and quickly checked the cameras to make sure the movie was only now ending. I turned  the next part of the franchise on, so I could finish up all of my works before I had to turn all of my attention back to the whining souls. "Alright, here comes the uncomfortable part." I announced to Grayson walking over to cabinet to take a empty grace jar. "And that would be?" he questioned before sitting down on the couch. "I'll need to take your grace." I took a silver feather that had fallen out of Lucifers' wings and turned back to him. His eyes grew bigger in shock "My what?" "Your Angel grace. Don't worry, not all of it. There will be enough left for you to remain as an Angel." I walked up to him and motioned with the sharp feather to stand up. "Will it hurt?" Grayson stood up, making me slightly stumble back as he was taller than me. "No, it'll just be the worst pain of your never ending life." I quickly mumbled holding eye contact with him, before I cut a line over where his heart should've been. He screamed in pain whilst I held the opened jar next to the cut and let his grace fall inside of it. Once half of his grace was in the jar, I put the lid on and touched the cut with my hand healing it instantly. "Why was that necessary?" "Did they tell you anything about what you will have to go trough?" "No?" "Wow, Angels really are dicks, aren't they?" "That's offensive, kind off." "You'll thank me later." "For cutting my chest open and taking my Angel grace?" "Well, maybe not." "I thought you were going to rip my heart out." "Hate to break it to you, but you don't have one. Now stop talking and rest a little. You're half human now." "I'm what now?" "Half human. And what did I say about talking?" "I'm half human?" "Can you shut up?" I asked now standing by the counter and placing the jar in the storage. Grayson actually shut up and I turned to my next job, which is releasing the souls from the crystal into the waiting room. "Whatever you do, stay in this room." I instructed Grayson just to turn around and see him sleeping. I went to release the souls in the waiting room, then went back to the break room and filled in all the papers before sending them to Marcus, managing to slip in a note asking about the belated collecting. When I was done with all of my jobs, I went to all of the souls giving somewhat of a guidance to the 'newcomers'. I just went with my usual agenda, until Grayson woke up. Making my way back to the waiting room I ran into Marcus, who apparently was searching for me. We walked to the door of the break room together before he started talking. "I got your note." he stated, resting against the wall opposed from the door. "Great, and?" Am I really about to get some answers? "Hell is over populated, that's why it's taking so long. The king is trying to search through the imprisoned souls to turn them into demons." "Don't they need vessels for the souls, to turn them into demons?" "That's why it's taking so long. By the way, Kings assistant asked to tell you that you should hire some help from 'up there', maybe they'll agree to make some exceptions and agree on taking some sinners up there. At least until we have some free space." "Already did it. They sent an angel to purify at least some souls." "You have an angel down here?" "Yes?" "I've never seen a pure angel. Did she show you her wings? Were they golden?" "It's a he, and the wings are white with a blue glow." I whispered with a hint of annoyance. "But that means-" Did I mention that Marcus is a bit of a nerd? "He's not a pure angel. I know." "Then how is he gonna be able to purify any souls?" "With his grace." "You need to drain it from him." "I already did that." "You didn't turn him into a human, did you?" "I took only half of it." "You do know that a guardian angels grace is less powerful than a pure ones, right?" "We'll have to do with what we got." I shrugged knowing well enough that he was right. "There are some stuff that could make it more powerful, even if it's just a little bit, but I need to see the grace before I get the ingredients." Marcus suggested, pushing away from the wall. "I didn't know you have purified souls before." My arms were now crossed on my chest. "I'm older than you think and I've done more than you know." I sighed unfolding my arms and opening the door to the break room; revealing a pretty tired looking Grayson standing next to the screens where all the crying souls were shown. "Do they ever shut up?" He questioned me annoyed, as I walked into the room, Marcus following behind me. "No, but if you press that blue button on under the screens, the sound will turn off." He pressed the button, muting the sound. "Man, those are crying souls. What kind of an angel are you?" Marcus was obviously surprised by the lack of manners. "A regular one?" Grayson questioned his own answer. By just that one question, he made it clear that he doesn't know that he's a guardian angel. Marcus also catched the unsure answer, before looking at Grayson with his eyes slightly squinted in confusion. "What's your job 'upstairs'?" "Up until now, I had to collect all the prayers from the listeners and delivered them to the next office." Grayson answered sitting down on the couch again. "So, you're like the postman of prayers?" "I guess. Why are you so interested in that?" "He's going to help us with some stuff we need for purifying the souls, Marcus just wanted to know have you ever done anything like this before, that's why he asked." I spoke before Marcus could say a thing. Something in my head was telling me that Grayson was clueless for a reason. "No I was-" "Being a curious demon? That's nothing new." I cut him off. I guess he finally understood me, he changed the topic. "Yeah, anyways. Show me the grace?" He gestured for me to move. I took the jar with Graysons grace and gave it to him. He put the jar close to his face inspecting it and seemingly thinking about something, before he took a look at Grayson, then at me and then back at the glowing light. "Alright. I'll go get the needed stuff and we'll make the serum." "How long are you gonna take?" "Depends if Cassandra is gonna show up. She might not be happy that you brought an angel to hell without telling her." "She did say that I should hire some help." Marcus nodded my way before leaving the room. I turned my attention to Grayson. "Your family is from America, right? Why was your brother in Paris?" "They're on a vacation." "Oh. How about we go and collect some souls that have a potential to go to heaven and section them into a separate room, to pass the time?" I suggested. "Can I get something to eat before we do that? I'm pretty hungry." "Oh, right. You're half human again." After we found something for Grayson to eat, we went through a list of all of the souls that were under my responsibility at the moment, picking out the ones with the smallest sins. We then transferred them into a separate room where we would purify them, once Marcus was done making the serum. Marcus took way longer than expected. By way longer I mean a month. It was a long enough time for Grayson to become used to my working agenda. He helped out every single day, in return I brought him food from the human world. We became something that humans would refer to as best friends, and I will remind you- the only person I ever called a friend was Mars. The fact that he was half human, doesn't mean that Grayson was just hungry and tired from time to time. He also started feeling things. Things he never felt before. As an angel or a demon, you're not completely immune to feelings. We feel the basic emotions that humans have- sadness and happiness, just in an easier form, since our anatomical system barley holds any nerves. But during the time Grayson had to spend with his grace partly missing, in Hell, made his body grow a nervous system in a fast speed. The feelings he felt were ones that I've heard of a lot about, like sadness and misery. But he told me about this weird feeling, he couldn't explain, that stood out for me. I had heard about it from some souls, but wasn't sure how real it was. "It's like, I want to smile all of the time, when I'm around you and my stomach starts turning when you smile. It's the weirdest thing ever." "Maybe you're just so disgusted of me that you want to puke." I chuckled. "But I'm not. It's like the feeling is unpleasant, but good at the same time. God, it's so confusing." He shook his head before taking a bite from the sandwich I got him for lunch as we sat on the couch. "Yeah, we don't mention that guy down here." "Sorry, I just don't understand so much and it's making me sick at this point. Life without feelings was easier." "Don't worry, once we get to purify those souls, you'll be able to go back to Heaven and your grace will be given back to you." "Is it weird that I don't want to go back?" I was used to his questions by now, but this one kind of took me off guard. "Why don't you?" "Up there I'm nothing more than someone who delivers prayers from one office to another. Everyone there is so obsessed with their jobs and themselves, that they don't even talk to one and other. No one explains to you what you have to do or why things are the way they are. I feel like I don't fit there." "And how exactly is Hell better?" "You talk to me. You answer my questions even if they are stupid." I bit my lip as I listened to him speaking, "It's like you care. Like you're a human too, at least partly." "Yeah, I'm not. I've just picked up human like habits." "You know I was talking to some of the souls we selected for purifying. There was this soul of an old lady. I explained that strange feeling. The one I feel only around you. She said that it sounds exactly like love. I didn't get to ask what 'love' is, but I think it's a good feeling." I shook my head letting a laugh past my lips, "You need a heart to feel 'love' and you don't have one, Gray. It's probably something else." The room went quiet for a second before Marcus stormed in. "Guys it's ready, but we kind off have a small problem," he seemed out of breath, "There's not enough grace." "How is that possible?" I asked knowing that I took enough. "It's not strong enough to work. Otherwise it's all good." "Well then, Y/N, take some more." Grayson shrugged like it was nothing. "If I'll take more you'll die." My voice grew unexpectedly loud, making me shout that at Grayson. "I know we’re in Hell and it tends to get hot in here, but could you not shout and chill out." Marcus said. "I'm not taking any more of your grace." I stated, my voice lower than previously. Grayson looked at me for a second and then at Marcus, "You won't, but he will." I looked from Grayson to Marcus who stood there unaffected. "I can do it." Marcus gave Gray a look, agreeing. "What? No! Marcus, can you leave us alone for a minute?" I pushed him out the door. "Why not? So what I'll die. You might be holding it a secret from me, but Hell is going to break loose if we don't clear it out. And then shit is gonna go down. No one wants that." "How the fuck do you know about that?" "I heard you and Cassandra talking the other day. If something will go wrong, they'll put it on your shoulders and the king will cage you up with Lucifer." "Don't you understand it? If we take any more of your grace, you will die. If you'll die then I'll have problems with Heaven because I hired you. I was the one who signed underneath that deal! If I'll fail Hell, I'll get tortured and I can deal with that. I can't fail Heaven, I  can't fail God! Not again." "Again?" "Your minute is over!" Marcus stormed in. "Get out for another one!" Grayson yelled. It was a side of him I hadn't seen yet. Marcus looked taken back, but still left closing the door behind him. "What are you hiding?" Grayson asked. I was quiet. I couldn't believe that after all this time I so easily slipped up. And because of what? A weird painful pinch in my chest that holds me back from killing Grayson? Pathetic. "Y/N, what did you mean by that? What are you hiding?" "Nothing, I just- just chose the wrong words. We- uhm- we should go to Marcus and figure out what we can do about this." I was weirdly lost in the situation. "Marcus can wait." "For another minute? Seriously guys? Maybe I should give you another month, I'm starting to get annoyed by this." Marcus peeked through the door. "No, let's go to the hall and figure out what we can do with the purifying." My voice was unusually shaky as I walked past Grayson, pushing the door more open to slip by Marcus and make my way to the next room. Marcus and Grayson soon followed. "So what are we going to do about the serum?" Marcus asked once we all walked into the hall. "How can we make it stronger, without taking the rest of Graysons grace?" I asked. "Y/N, I tried everything. That's why it took so long. There is no other way." "That can't be possible." "It is. Maybe next time you hire an angel to help, look for it to be a pure one, not a guardian." "Guardian?" Grayson suddenly questioned. "Why did you-" "Why didn't you tell him? The guy's been living in Hell for the past month and you don't even care to tell him that he's not fully an angel. For fucks sake, Y/N!" "Marcus, just take my grace and let's get this over with." "No!" I shouted again, rage was pumping through my body. Or was it fear mixed with pain? "What's the point? I don't fit in Heaven, turns out I'm not even a real angel. Just let me do at least one useful thing in my life and save you from being tortured!" Before I could say a thing Marcus pushed Grayson to the wall and cut open his chest over the heart area, making every last bit of grace out of his body. Grayson grew weak in matter of seconds as all of his energy was put out in painful screams. There was something off about the whole situation. It made me feel pain. Pain that only grew. Marcus collected all of Graysons grace and poured in the mixture he had been preparing for the past month. Grayson sat on the floor, weak and almost lifeless. The worst part about an angel being drained from its grace was the slow and painful death. I stood frozen, for some reason not being able to move. "Alright, now, Y/N, take this," Marcus gave me the serum "I'll help Grayson to get to the purgatory." He went over to Grayson picking his limp body from the ground. Grayson hissed in pain. We teleported to the purgatory, where all the souls, that were going to go to Heaven, were. Marcus sat Grayson on the ground on the side of the room. "Alright, Grayson, you'll need to spread your wings, okay. Gather all of your strength and do it. We'll do the rest of it. It was nice knowing ya, buddy." Marcus instructed him, "Let's go, Y/N. We need to get the serum into the system, and set the room on fire." I didn't move. My eyes were set on Grayson who was trying to pull together all of his last strength just to spread his wings. He was in obvious pain. Tears rolling down his cheeks. "Y/N! We have to go. We need to start the purifying before he dies!" Marcus came closer to me snatching the serum out of my hands. "We have to go!" he shouted, "We still have to start the system and set this room on fire, stop acting human and move!" "I'll set the fire." I whispered not moving. "Then move! Otherwise he'll die and this will all be just wasted time!" Marcus shouted at me before walking to the door. "Lock the door behind you." My request was simple. "What now? Seriously, Y/N. Stop acting like a goddamn human!" "Lock the fucking door." "You'll die-" "Lock the fucking door!" I shouted at him, requesting one more time. Marcus mumbled something underneath his breath, before walking out and locking the door. "What are you doing?" Grayson questioned, his voice barely audible. "You're too weak to spread your wings. It won't work without the presence of angel wings." "I would've died either way, right?" "No. If you'd have enough grace in your vessel, you'd be able to take it. You'd survive." I kneeled down next to his body. "But how you staying here will help? We'll both die now." there was blood spilling past his lips as he spoke, coughing in-between his words. I wiped the tears from his cheeks and blood off of his chin. "You'll survive." I felt my own tears rolling over my cheeks as his weak gaze was staring into my eyes. I reached to the back of my neck untying a necklace that I always had but never took off. In it was tied up a small, snuggly bottle. It was so dirty that you couldn't see through it. "You see, Gray. Even the biggest monsters have at least the slightest bit of humanity in them. And not everyone in hell is a demon.” I said whilst rubbing the little bottle with my fingers. Soon enough the secret, I had hidden my whole life in hell, started to glow in all of it's bright blue glory. "What is that?" he questioned but I didn't answer. I opened up the bottle and poured its content onto Graysons cut, afterward touching the cut to heal it. Judging by the amount of time that had passed, the system was going to start running any moment. I stood up, ready to set the fire. There was a slight creaking noise and the sprinklers on the ceiling went off. "That was my angel grace." I explained to Grayson before spreading my own blue angel wings.

They weren't as beautiful as his. My wings were missing feathers and had blood splashed all over them. One wing was cricked. "You weren't supposed to be an angel, Grayson. That's why you didn't fit in Heaven." I snapped my fingers and fire instantly spread throughout the room exploding, burning up all of the sins of the souls. ~~~ "Hey, Grayson! Wake up, dude!" Ethan said shaking his twin brothers shivering body awake. Grayson sat up in his bed, cold sweat running over his hot body. Ethan sat down on the bed besides his brother. "You alright?" "Just a nightmare." Grayson breathed out. "Just a nightmare or-" "I keep seeing the same thing. Like every time… and it always goes the same. I die, the doctors don't save me on time, I go to heaven, then I meet her, then go to hell-" "The same dream over and over again." Ethan nodded, upset at the tough that his own twin brother almost didn't make it. At the thought that Graysons heart stopped for almost a whole minute. "But always a day before our birthday… just then." Grayson stood up from the bed, "It always feels so real too, you know? Like, I always feel the pain. The fucking feather cutting open my chest and the fire burning me up. It used to be just the pain, but now since last year I feel way more than that. I feel her taking my hand when she brings me to hell. I feel her hand on the right side of my chest when she's collecting the grace. I feel her hand on my cheek when she wipes my tears away and the blood on my chin. And her touch whilst she heals up the cut. I feel every single little thing. It's like she's real. Like, I'll just meet her one day." Grayson didn't care that he sounded crazy and that his brother probably didn't even believe him. He cared about the fact that Y/N saved him and he couldn't even say 'thank you' to her. ~~~ Grayson and his family were celebrating his and Ethans 18th birthday when Grayson suddenly felt dizzy. He excused himself from the dinner table and said that he'll go for a short walk outside to get some air. Grayson walked around the backyard, crossing the small frozen river and walking into the forest he knew all too well. The twilight sky making it harder to see, he decided to just stay on spot. He sat down on the snowy ground by his thinking tree and looked up, seeing some stars between the naked branches of the trees. "It's a bit cold to sit on the ground, Grayson." A female voice said, it sounded familiar yet unknown. He looked around, his heart slightly racing. The owner of the voice came closer, but Grayson couldn't recognize the person until she sat on the ground right in front of him. "Hey! It's been a while." She greeted a small smile plastered on her lips. Grayson went slightly pale, recognizing the girl in front of him. "Y/n?" "Yes?" "You, you're-" "I'm real." "Wha- How?" "You remember everything, don't you?" "I keep seeing nightmares." "It's your memory, not nightmares. See, when you were in hell, throughout that time when you became more and more human, a heart developed in your body.

When I gave you my grace it went straight to your heart; which then caused a ripple in time. It went to the moment you died, and it saved you.

My grace is the reason you see the nightmares, it carries it all as a memory set in your heart."

Y/N explained answering all the questions Grayson was dying to ask… except for one. "So you're an angel now?" that wasn't the question. "I always was." "Then how did you end up in hell?" neither is this one. "I was your guardian angel. I failed my job to save you, so God sent me down to hell. In order for us to never meet." "But we met after all… and you still saved me. Are you still living in hell?" "Grayson, that's not the question you want to ask. But I do live in hell, only in the one up there, it's practically the same." Y/N knew there was something else aching to be asked. "Is it possible- Is it possible that I fell in love with you?" His heart sped up again, the pulsing noise so loud, he thought the whole world could hear it. "You're the only one who can answer that, Grayson. I don't even know if I, myself, have a heart." "You definitely stole my heart." "I don't steal hearts, I collect souls." "Well then you accidentally have taken my heart." "If I would've, it wouldn't be beating in your chest right now." "No. You own my heart, you're the reason it keeps beating, and you will always be the reason." "Happy birthday, Grayson." Y/n stood up, spreading her wings that had been cleaned and healed. They looked exactly like Graysons set of wings when he was an angel. Grayson stood up, understanding that Y/n was about to leave. "Oh, a little message from Heaven; you're still Ethans guardian angel. Look after him!" "That's it? You're just going to leave?" "Grayson, this is the last time you’re going to see me. Hopefully the last." "What? Why?" "I'm here to take my grace back. You're 18 now." "But how will I remember that you saved me then?" Y/n stepped closer to Grayson taking his face in her hands. She placed her lips on his kissing him softly and taking the memory of her, hell and heaven away from his mind. The moment they lips parted she was gone and Grayson, all alone, standing in the forest forgot what he was doing there. The only memory left was just the pure fact of him having weird crazy dreams in the past, but in his heart Grayson still knew that there was an angel always looking after him.