#he died in a pool of his own sick for your sins

[ohjesus]

Oh yeah, you just know this kind of campaign for Christ is going to save a lot of souls. At least along Haight Ashbury. Sadly you've just significantly reduced the air quality of heaven when those unwashed hippies get there.

[ptolomia]

hatred for flowers.

- she never knew she could despise flowers, that was until the began to bloom out of her esophagus that is.

- Scott Summers (Cyclops)/Reader Referenced Scott Summers/Jean Grey

Mentions of The Jean - Logan - Scott triangle.

- TW:// Gore / Death

- Hanahaki Disease / Unrequited Love

Pain, the only turn of phrase capable of describing the situation she has been put in. Siting in complete agony as blood pooled out of her mouth. Ironically, the only flowers she ever wanted to receive from him were bouquets, not these. Not the ones traveling up her throat as they pierce her organs. Certainly not the ones exiting her mouth covered in the rouge colored liquid we know to be blood.

Twisting and turning in complete misery, sobbing relentlessly, pain without end. Yet the most agonizing part, she could not let him go. Instead of shrinking, her feelings only grew. Instead of hating him, she grew to hate the flowers blooming within her.

She had begun to hate herself too. Why? You may ask, simple. She hates herself for falling, simply because of an emotion over which she has no control. She resents herself, she goes about her day, blaming herself for ever seeing Scott, when in fact she cannot hate herself for simply being human. She does so for she knows no other way of coping but this. She will resent herself for harbouring such ill borne desire for her oldest friends lover.

Her guilt only seems to grow as she dreams of holding his hand. She pretends her hands fit perfectly within each crevice; and oh god is she grief stricken. Knowing full well that it was made for someone else. He, was made for someone else. Her best friend no less.

She knows all too well that he is not hers, but she is his. She gazes into his eyes and sees the love of her life, whilst he looks into hers and sees his wife’s oldest friend. A friend so madly in love with him, she is willing to risk her own life, unbeknownst to him.

His density is palpable, he doesn’t quite pick up on the hints of affection that you’ve woven into your daily interactions. Even if he did, he chose to remain ignorant. He knows to himself that he is not, and will never be capable of loving anyone as immensely, truly, vastly, soul sickeningly, as he does Jean.

He does this for he is hers, so enamoured to that, he tolerates her blatant lust for another. He remains ignorant for he knows she deserves so much more than he. It does not affect him for he is so terribly in love, that he knows to himself, that he could not be attached to anyone else. He shies away from Jean, from the confrontation for, he fears that if he loses her he will never love again.

She dies out for him, for she would rather die loving him, than live in a world where she hadn’t. She will choose to die with her love, than live without it. She would rather die hating flowers, than live hating him, sick and twisted.

Her guilt had lead her to Professor Xavier’s room. She had rested her head atop his legs as she sat upon the carpeted floor beside his bed. She began confessing her sins, every horrid feeling she had bore. The news that her death was coming soon. Charles absorbed her pain, resting his calloused fingers upon her temple he was taken aback by her agony.

She began to speak again, “Professor, I don’t know what to do. I haven’t lived! How am I meant to die so soon? I’ll never be loved romantically, I’ll never learn to control my powers, I’ll never experience my first kiss, I won’t ever fall in love again. I won’t get a normal life.” Sobs shook her whole body. Charles’ soft voice had lulled her, “You’re a mutant, child, You aren’t normal at all, and that’s beautiful. These superficial things are not what defines a life. You have been loved, this entire academy is a testament to it. You have learned to control your powers, you’ve done more good than you will ever know, and that in itself is a life well lived.”

Allowing herself to wither alongside the flower petals upon the hospital, alone and scared. Not bothering to tell her friends, her fellow mutants, she refused to show weakness, to present her ill state to them.

White walls, shallow beeps, she was slowly being shaken awake. The defribulator shocking her lifeless body, attempting to wake her, failing as when they had gotten there she was long gone, and there was nothing that could be done about it.

A phone chimes, echoing throughout the hallway, slightly startling the young boy, “Hello, is this Scott Summers?” the woman had spoken through the phone. “Yes, this is he.” he chimes, “You’re listed as an emergency contact. We regret to inform you she passed tonight, you may come to ********* , to collect her and her things, I’m sorry for your loss.” she says regretfully, “Okay, thank you.” he says, his heart breaks into the same million pieces that her’s had, his voice cracks, what happened to her?

Pain, the only turn of phrase capable of describing the situation he has been put in, siting in complete agony as tears streamed down his face. He looked at her lifeless form. What had happened? Why hadn’t she informed the team that she was ill? Why hadn’t she informed Jean, she was her dearest friend.

He sat beside her for a few moments, waiting for the Doctor to brief him. “Good Evening Mr Summers, I’m Dr. Hunt.” Scott shook his hand briefly, His vision blurring. “Does she have any other family?” Dr. Hunt asked softly, “Sort of, they’re on their way.” Scott affirmed. “Well, she was diagnosed with late stage Hanahaki Disease. The illness is born out of unrequited love. Flowers will begin to bloom within the lungs of patients until breathing is rendered impossible. There is a surgery for it however she had came in so late that her chances of survival were too slim.” Dr. Hunt had finished, nodding curtly as he exited the room. Scott was mortified. Unrequited love? He thought to himself, She’d never told him nor Jean about any of her romantic interests.

The rest of the team began pouring in, sobs filling the airspace. The cold body filling them all with white hot rage. Scott gave a brief summary of what the doctor had told him, his lips quivering at the thought.

They were just as confused as Scott was. She fell in love? With who? They all thought.

For her dignity, however the professor masked his knowledge. He vividly remembered the way she shook in his lap as she confessed her feelings for Scott. The guilt on her face as she confessed her imminent death had imbedded itself into his psyche. However, he was a man of his word. Charles would take that secret to his grave. The same way she had.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

We're Being Played

Morning broke. Night died. Sun rose over the skyline of Las Vegas.

Invisible to the naked eye, a vortex of souls converged on a small diner in Sin City. Inaudible to human ears, the coalescing pool of shattered consciousness screamed as one. The teeming confluence flowed past oblivious faces on sidewalks, like wind traveling between the steel and concrete, engulfing all traffic, and seeping into every crack of every door and window.

Spiraling, churning, it concentrated on that diner, meeting at the eye of the storm. On the woman dubbed Karma.

She got off the chair at the head of the table and slid onto the booth’s cushioned bench, coming to sit right across from Jericho Kane.

“You know,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “that waitress just overheard what you were saying. So she’s probably going to go call the cops.”

Karma smiled at him. “So what?”

“Well, I know your game. You want me to run away like a little bitch. Whether that juices up your juju, or you’re really just another sick puppy who enjoys it too much, I don’t really care. I’m not giving you the satisfaction either way.”

The waitress, who had indeed overheard Karma mention her mission to murder Jericho for Michael, dialed 9-1-1 on the phone behind the counter, casting terrified glances at her from across the diner. The rest of the patrons looked oblivious.

The sun rose behind Karma. It cast her shadow upon Jericho, and formed a strange halo around her head.

The vortex of souls screamed at her.

Incapable of devouring the light.

Her light.

Death had twisted them. The churning void screamed at Karma to inflict the same perceived injustices upon others, just as she had inflicted injustice upon them.

In such ethereal form, Karma was deaf to their voices. The clarity of her mind firmly rooted Karma on this side of the veil, incapable of perceiving their ghostly presence.

They called to the machete hidden inside her leather jacket. They remembered the cracked white porcelain mask, the last face they had seen before she ended their lives.

Like most other people, Karma could not perceive the vortex of souls. Neither could Jericho. With dour mien, he glared at her.

He asked, “Isn’t this the part now where you hurl more petty insults at me? Call me stupid and tell me to run away? ‘Cause I’m telling you, I ain’t playing your game, asshole.”

The waitress cupped a hand over her mouth as if that could hide what she was speaking into the phone’s receiver. Her face screamed at Karma with the same fear that the teeming souls had experienced in their last moments.

Wide-eyed. Sensing the unstoppable force of Karma.

Blank in the face of a living, walking, breathing terror.

“And you know what?” Jericho added. “Fuuuuck you. It was only days ago that I wanted to die, that I tried to make it happen myself. I tried pulling the damned trigger to blow out my own damned brains and it refused to work.”

He put a finger to his head and cocked his thumb to illustrate the notion.

Peeling her gaze away from the terrified waitress, and leveling her attention fully on Jericho, Karma told him, “Well, dipshit. I reckon I said I have great news for everybody, but it’s kind of good news and bad news, all jumbled up, just depending on who you are and how you’re looking at it.”

“What are you fucking babbling about? Please, spare me this crap. I didn’t know you talked this much when you ended people, and I’m already fed up with it. I always figured you were more of a—I don’t know—a Halloween, Jason Voorhees kind of type? What is this shit?”

Karma’s smile faded as she pondered how to frame things. Then she offered him a lopsided grin.

He was right. The police would show up soon enough. Karma had no desire to kill a bunch of officers.

Not today.

She had something else in mind.

“Shut the fuck up and listen,” she snapped at Jericho. “Michael told me to kill you so the agents of the House of Change can’t get to you and you can’t blab to them.”

“Well, whoop-de-doo, I don’t wanna get caught by those freaks, anyway. I can go off myself right now, I’ll just go shop around for some booze and sleeping pills, hit up a roach-infested motel, and call it a night. Couldn’t you fuckers have just told me on a phone call? I’m so tired of seeing you assholes face to face.”

Karma sensed a lie in there. She sensed that glimmer all her victims shared.

That spark. The suicidal ones possessed it.

That will to live.

He was lying. She had never seen that glimmer in him before. Something had changed, but she wasn’t vested in exploring his inner workings.

“I don’t work for Michael, stupid,” she told him. “I work for Klemens. If Klemens told me to kill you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’d be running for your life until I corner you and gut you like a fish.”

Jericho leaned back in his seat. His brow scrunched up in genuine confusion.

Karma continued, “Much as I hate your guts, I prefer it if they stay inside your pasty Doughboy belly. I enjoy watching you squirm like the pathetic worm you are. I enjoy your suffering way too much, shit-head. So if I’m not getting a direct order from Klem, I’m not doing shit. As much as I shit on you, I hate Michael way more than you. That smug fuck. You know, I dream of the day Klemens tells me to end him, because, let me tell you,” she paused as she leaned over the table, locking her murderous eyes onto Jericho’s, and speaking in the most seductive voice she could muster, “I have so many fantasies about that.”

She tried not to envision them now. Tried to stay focused.

Jericho squinted at her. The gears were turning behind his forehead.

He looked so stupid to Karma.

She flinched when he slapped his palm against the table—all cutlery and plates and coffee cups clinked and rattled upon its surface.

He blurted out, “Thank—fuckin’ thank you.” He enunciated every syllable with comically sharp clarity. “I cannot believe we finally agree on something. Fuck. Michael. Holy shit. You know, what I just saw, before I got here, he—”

“Yeah, whatever,” Karma interrupted him. “Let’s get out of here, talk elsewhere. That waitress called the cops. I already killed someone today and it was fun. I don’t have appetite for piling up a bunch of bodies right now.”

She snatched a fry off the plate on Jericho’s side of the table and ate it in front of him, hoping to provoke a reaction.

To her disappointment, Jericho ignored her, crammed a fist inside his black leather jacket’s pocket, and produced some crumpled dollar bills which he littered the table with while getting up.

Before he could head for the door, Karma slid out of the booth, grabbed him by the arm, and yanked him around.

She shrugged off whatever daggers he stared at her and pulled him along behind her like a little child in her hand.

Instead of heading to the diner’s front door, she walked them to the doors leading to the toilets.

On the way, she renewed her eye contact with the waitress.

Winked at her. Drank the fear she glimpsed in the waitress’s frozen grimace.

The vortex of souls screamed at Karma. Their essence lingered in the shadows cast by the rising sun.

Karma smiled to herself, knowing how much this would confuse the waitress and the cops. As she pushed through the swinging doors and dragged Jericho along, they stepped from one space into another. The room behind those doors was not the hall the doors were supposed to lead to, but the way space folded when she willed it so.

They had passed through the bathroom doors into a closed record shop a few blocks down the street. Past endless rows and shelves of compact discs and vinyl records and band merchandise, she kept dragging Jericho along behind her, marching towards the next door in the back of the store, labeled EMPLOYEES ONLY.

“Okay, enough,” Jericho protested. “Let me go, I’m not some kind of fuckin’ child. We can hoof it from here like normal people.”

Karma squeezed his arm tighter, to the point where she knew it hurt him, and smiled to herself as he grunted in discomfort. She kept dragging him, right through the next door.

Instead of leading into the private office in the shop, they stepped into a busy kitchen of some fancy hotel, yet another few blocks down the road. Brightly lit, with steam rising from pots and pans and the smell of food sizzling and bubbling everywhere around them, several cooks in their white attire looked up from their stations.

“Uh, you can’t be in h—”

“Fuck off,” Karma said. Her words cut like knives.

The chef clammed up in response.

Never stopping once, she continued frog-marching Jericho through the huge kitchen until they pushed through the door to the hotel’s restaurant.

It instead led into a back alley between different buildings, several blocks away yet again, now on the opposite side of the Strip, where a tired-looking man looked up at them from the crates he was hauling outside.

He only shook his head and continued working as the odd couple passed him by through the alley, disappearing into the next door, and reappearing another three blocks down the road, in a paved lot behind a department store.

A truck honked and then beeped, backing up to a loading bay with painful slowness. A shout here, workers shuffled around in the back, and Karma finally let Jericho go.

The screaming vortex had followed them all the way there.

It formed the black holes through which she stepped whenever she used doorways to phase from one place to another.

Jericho glared at her and rubbed his arm through the leather jacket.

To continue belittling him as she so enjoyed doing, Karma leaned against the wall and buried her hands in her sweatpants’ pockets, with the casual air of a high school drug dealer she used to know.

“Now… we got some breathing room. Let’s talk.”

Jericho shot a glance over his shoulder at the workers, all too busy and likely paid too little to pay any attention to the two strangers at the edge of their employer’s lot. Well out of earshot.

He hugged himself. Emitted a weary sigh.

“Why does Michael want me dead now?”

“I wanted to ask you the exact same thing,” she said with a smirk. “Because you sure as hell were never that important.”

He clicked his tongue and sighed in frustration.

“Gimme a break. You love murder. You don’t really care who you kill.”

She shrugged. “You ain’t wrong about that.”

“And that’s something that you and Michael have in common. Probably even that FBI director, Collins. Unlike you fucks, I don’t actually enjoy killing people. I’m not saying I’m, like, sane, or—”

“Let me stop you right there. I have very little in common with Michael. He and I are very different. He murders to work his magick, like the man who kneels in church, begging God for answers to his prayers. I murder because I like it. That thrill of the hunt, the sweet stink of your fear. I work magick because I am your god, your own personal reaper.”

Jericho scoffed and threw his arms up. “All smells like the same bullshit to me, whichever way you wanna word it. You trade your time and soul for some fleeting power.”

Karma laughed.

“Capitalism has poisoned your mind, dumb-dumb. You only see trade, exchange, everywhere. Like some kind of alchemy for idiots. Like you need lead to make gold. You can waste your life looking for a way to do that, or you can just look for gold. Gold is gold. Gods are gods.”

“And, like, what—you think you’re a god? You’re just some crazy-ass psycho chick who has got more power than she has any right to have.”

Her confident smile faded. He had struck upon a vein of truth.

“That’s the gold, Jerry Can. Doesn’t matter what I deserve or not. I don’t pay a price to walk through those doors, walk through time and space like they’re nothing, or deal death like it’s nothing.” She poked his chest, provoking a grimace from him before she added, “My nature is not transactional. I’m a wolf, you are sheep, and I’m a wolf because you know you need to fear my teeth.”

Still sporting the grimace, he asked, “Still not seeing the difference between you psycho fucks. Aside from him being able to cure cancer and see the future, and you can just—what, teleport through doors? Wow.”

“The difference is, Michael is—you know what? Forget it. This is stupid. You’re stupid. Just tell me what you think you did to piss him off so spectacularly that he turned to me to end your sorry existence.”

“I don’t know. You may have not been paying attention, but I’m pro league at pissing people off.”

“Yes, yes, you’re an asshole. It’s your biggest strength, we all know that. But unless you have a hunch as to what you did to warrant a magick hit on you, I have some thoughts of my own, and I’d like you to help me workshop some ideas here.”

He rolled his jaw and studied her with a skeptic air about him. Bit his lip until he noticed her scanning his every tiny expression.

“Okay,” he said. He patted himself down until he found a pack of cigarettes, produced a smoke, and lit it up. “I’m kinda… well, color me intrigued now. Kind of a new experience to not be left out of the thought processes of your shitty little cabal.”

“You’re part of it, jackass. I don’t know what Klem sees in you, but you must serve some purpose we’re all not seeing. To give you some credit, I think you play dumber than you are.”

Jericho blew out smoke. Stayed quiet. Stewed on that.

She continued, “I think Michael wants to cover his tracks. And I think he wants me dead in the process.”

“Like I could kill you? Please.”

“No, stupid. Obviously not you. But if I’m offing you without getting the okay from Klemens, I might have our king cracking down on me. And I…”

“Are you afraid of Klemens?” Jericho’s tone shifted, hitting a surprisingly sympathetic note. “Why do you even work for him in the first place?”

The vortex screamed behind Karma.

The sun had risen so high that it illuminated the whole lot, and warm light bathed her face.

She closed her eyes before the cold blue in them could sparkle, before they could glitter like luminescent gold upon ocean waters, and change the fearsome image she knew Jericho had of her.

“He never threatened me, and I don’t think he ever will,” she finally said, with an eerie softness to her every word. “He… praised the purity, the beauty of my art. He showed me how I could find ever greater strength in it.”

Silence fell between them. The truck at the loading bay chugged and rumbled, some workers shouted at each other. The world kept on turning.

Karma exhaled sharply.

Jericho said, “That’s fucked up.”

“Fuck you,” she muttered.

“I’m not sorry. It’s fucked up. Typical for him to blow sugar up your ass for—what, murder? Art? You’re all out of your fuckin’ gourds. You’re just an assassin who can teleport.”

This comment struck the flint in her belly, shedding a spark of anger in her gut.

Karma kept that place perpetually clean. Healthy diet, disciplined living, seeking harmonious rhythm in everything. Her body was a temple, and her mind a monastery of order and cleanliness, just like every space she inhabited.

No dry wood nor junk there, not even dust—nothing that could catch fire from the tiny spark of such petty insults.

Jericho Kane, as far as she was concerned, understood so little about the cosmos despite meddling in its mysteries that it bordered on something comedic.

“Maybe, one day,” she said with lasting softness, “you’ll wake up and see you’re the punchline to every shitty joke you make.”

She opened her eyes and looked away from the light, albeit staying firmly rooted in its soothing radiance.

In lieu of his response, she added, “But I’m not holding my breath.”

This, in turn, had struck a nerve with him.

He quietly smoked until her cold gaze drilled too deep into his tortured soul, and he averted his eyes.

“Klemens is my only friend in this world,” she said. “Neither you nor Michael are. He appreciates what I do. And I appreciate his sense of justice. I take some pride in being the royal executioner, if you will. And you—”

Karma poked a finger at him.

“You are not scheduled for the chopping block. At least not yet.”

He glared. Not at her, but down the street, to where traffic drifted by.

“He also promise you the, what, 'world of our desires’? Is that it? There’s something you want, only he can help you find?”

Karma shook her head.

“Forget it. Let’s focus. What did you do?”

Jericho ruffled his already messy hair and took a nervous drag from his cigarette.

“Fuck, man, I don’t know. Michael’s done some seriously fucked up shit. He sacrificed three people right in front of me and almost fried my brainpan to scry on that FBI agent, Parker.”

“Par for the course with him. What did you do?”

“Nothing. Nothing!” Jericho groaned, pacing back and forth on the spot, now lost in his own meandering thoughts. His mind was probably as much of a mess as his appearance, Karma reasoned.

At least he was thinking now.

“Did you say anything, do anything?”

“No! He pulled that shit and he gave me, I don’t know—he is giving me really bad vibes. Like he’s plotting to do some fucked up shit, way beyond his normal level of fucked up. He knows exactly what the old man is after, and it finally clicked for me. He’s after it himself, and to hell with Klemens, and you, or me, or anybody else. And—”

“I don’t give a shit about your vibes, you’re as bright as an unflushed turd in a toilet. What. Did you. Do?”

Jericho raised a hand, a finger outstretched, then shook his head.

“I didn’t do jack-shit, I was planning to go back to the ranch and talking to Klemens about—”

“You were thinking about it.”

“Yeah I was,” he froze. “He can’t read thoughts. Right? Shit. Fuck-shit. Can he read minds?”

“No, stupid,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t think he can. But he has visions of the future, and he must have seen something involving you he didn’t like. So, rewind. You were thinking about going to the ranch to tell Klemens. Talk to him about what? What were you going to tell Klemens?”

“Are we fucking workshopping your theories now or workshopping what I need to tell Klemens?”

“Maybe both,” she said, arching her brow for emphasis. “Focus, dummy. What are you going to tell Klem?”

Jericho flicked the smoking cigarette butt away from himself, spraying embers over pavement. “I think Michael is…”

Karma rolled two fingers, wordlessly urging him to think faster. Like she had to rev the engine of his brain. “Michael is… Michael is what?”

“I don’t know!”

“Looking for that book… for Klemens. Why is he looking for the book for Klemens?”

“Because… Klemens asked him to?”

“And why is Klemens looking for the book?”

“I don’t fucking know. He’s the,” Jericho stuttered, as if he struggled to admit something in the process, “he’s the damned… h-h-he’s the king, you know, the guy sitting at the center of THE HIGHWAY, that crazy old German fuck is pulling all the strings. He wants to reshape reality with the book or some such shit. Everybody keeps saying it allows time travel, or dimensional travel, or whoever the hell knows what.”

Karma shook her head. “Why does Klemens know of this book, or even what it’s supposed to do?”

Jericho fell silent. His eyes widened.

“Because Michael told him about it,” he muttered, the words dying into weaker and weaker whispers as they escaped his lips.

“Mhm,” she murmured. Finally, he had started thinking. High time to encourage him further. “Now, riddle me this. You know I don’t see the future, I can’t read minds, and I can’t just murder you if I feel like it but don’t know where in the world you are. How, do you think, did I find you in that diner just now?”

Jericho nodded. Licked his lips. His eyes flashed with cascades of realizations.

“Michael told you where I’d be.”

Karma nodded. “Yeah. And you ever stop to wonder how those House agents found you in Chicago, a place you got no business being in?”

“Oh, fuck me,” he groaned. “Shit, fuuuuck. We’re being played.”

“And that—that’s who I am. That’s how I’m different from Michael. I obey the laws of nature. I am a god among men because that is the role nature gave me, not one I lay claim upon. I do not see myself as standing taller than my king. I only kill, and I revel in death. Klemens builds. He creates. He made all this.”

With a sweeping gesture of an arm, she meant to show him the whole world, and all the beauty she saw in it. Karma meant it with every fiber of her being.

Jericho, stunned, only stared blankly into a grimy corner of the alley, leading out of the lot behind the department store. His nicotine-stained fingers twitched. He itched with the urge to take action.

Karma felt it. Burning inside his heart.

Behind her, the vortex of souls silently screamed.

They wished for her not to spare him, but to ply her blood-riddled trade. To add his spirit to their dark ranks. To swallow him in that ever-growing sea of dust and shadow, to which all minds connected, both living and dead—in this city, and in every city, and on every road, and in every gloomy corner of the vast world.

The screams melted into whispers on the wind, a warm breeze through the brick and steel of buildings, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on edge.

She almost glimpsed the cloud of screaming darkness behind her.

Almost.

Here, she stood firmly in the light.

Jericho remained speechless.

Thus, she spoke instead. “Michael… he doesn’t follow any rules but his own. A snake who wants to take what Klemens built, and I’ll bet my life on him seeing himself as greater than any of us combined. He does not obey the laws of nature. He thinks he stands outside of it all. He thinks he can make the rules. So, what say you—how about we finally put the smug conniving fuck in his place?”

Jericho locked eyes with her. He smoldered with a determination so alien to his demeanor that he almost looked like another person altogether.

For a split-second, this almost threatened to instill in her a shred of respect for him.

Almost.

He immediately destroyed that himself. His usual sledgehammer to the glass window.

He finally replied, “Fuckin’ right we will. I hate that sick fuck. Let’s go, right now, take me to the old man. We tell him everything we just talked about. He’s gotta see reason, right? If he hasn’t blasted his mind into oblivion over building that new homunculus, he’s gotta see reason.”

“Okay,” Karma said. “Good to see you’re not as stupid as I think you are. Just… one more thing before we go. I have one question, and there will be hell to pay if I find out you lie to me about this.”

Jericho clenched his jaw and hooked his thumbs into his pockets, shifting his weight with an air of newfound confidence. Or a complete lack of self-regard. She could never tell those apart in him.

“Shoot,” he said.

“That old green book they want. You don’t want to take that for yourself, do you?”

Jericho’s face twisted with revulsion. He looked like he loathed the very thought of it.

“That stupid fucking book? Fuck no. If it does what Michael claims it does, I’d stay the hell away from that shit. Miles away. Fuck that book. Fuck no. The sooner I stop hearing about it, the better. Why,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “You want that book for yourself?”

“No,” she said. “Everything about it stinks. Whether the story’s true or not. After all the candor I graced you with, you should understand me better now. But let me spell it out for you. I don’t fuck with rituals and relics. They’re just a fast lane to the looney bin, or getting put six feet under too soon. No thank you. Pass. It can burn in hell for all I care.”

Jericho swiveled, rubbed his face, and ran his hands through his hair, projecting an air of exasperation.

He groaned again and said, “I can’t fucking believe I’m agreeing with you, out of all people—out of all the fucking people in this fucked-up world, I’m agreeing with you. It’s like fuckin’ opposite day.”

“Cool,” she said. “Are you done pissing against the wind? Ready to speak with Klemens? Can we go now?”

Jericho nodded, producing another cigarette from his pocket, lighting it up in the fluid motion of a chain-smoker. She despised that vice.

The vortex screamed behind Karma. The shadows watched. Saw all of existence meeting again at a new crossroads.

She could not hear those tormented cries, now crying for her blood as the door opened behind her, and a different brand of death presented itself.

While Jericho stuffed away his cheap plastic lighter, the cigarette drooped and then dropped from the corner of his mouth. Tiny embers exploded from the cancer stick’s tip where it landed on the dirty asphalt between his old boots.

If the vortex of souls could not experience the injustice of adding this sad man to their ranks, then it yearned to witness a different breed of justice.

Karma turned to investigate what Jericho had seen—whatever had frozen him with such shock and awe.

An Asian man and an African American woman had stepped out of the door.

The man cracked a smile over the heavy pistol he was gripping in both hands, pointing its muzzle at Karma’s heart with expert discipline, and just enough range to ensure its accuracy, but too much range for Karma to lunge at it.

The woman stayed stony-faced as her eyes darted back and forth between Jericho and Karma, keeping her shotgun trained so its blast could blow away both of them with a pull of the trigger.

“Hi, guys,” said the Asian man with jovial music to his tone. “Heard we’d find you here.”

The vortex of dead souls screamed.

Justice awaited.

Karma’s entire body turned into taut steel wire, poised to act. Her mind raced through every scenario—she could only avoid one weapon’s shot but not the other. She could move but get hit by both. Use Jericho as a living shield, get winged, and pushed farther away from the nearest door. Push into the two agents from the House of Change to surprise them, still getting shot in the process.

And Michael wouldn’t be healing her injuries this time around.

This was what he had orchestrated.

The pieces had all fallen into place.

The vortex screamed. Michael had been whispering sweet nothings to it for the longest time. Unlike Karma, he used his rituals to stay in touch with the souls of the dead, to bleed them of their secrets, and bind them into new flesh.

“We,” said the black woman, “are going to skip the whole rigmarole. Don’t even think about it. We’re not going to shoot you now, we’re going to take this door, go to our boss, and talk like civilized people together. No bloodshed necessary.”

“Just a friendly little chat,” said the Asian man.

“I’m so tired of talking,” Jericho said, “can you please, just, shoot me now?”

“You wanna talk?” Karma asked. “Don’t listen to him. We can talk, alright. I’d love to meet your boss. I’d love to talk.”

The Asian man feigned amusement with a short mock laugh. “Yeah, sure. Just drop whatever guns you got, Aileen Wuornos. You too, Bonzo.”

“Bonzo?” Jericho scoffed. “Oh, fuck you.”

Karma held up a hand and carefully opened her leather jacket, exposing the machete and porcelain mask.

The vortex screamed at that cold emotionless face, resting inside the fold her coat.

Workers in the storage area beyond the loading bay finally caught wind of this situation. The sight of guns spooked them, signaled by an audible gasp in the distance, and three people fleeing deeper into the bowels of the department store while garage doors slammed shut.

Pinching her weapon of choice between two fingers to signal compliance, Karma pulled the machete out and unceremoniously dropped it. The blade clattered on the ground, alongside Jericho’s revolver.

The Asian man clicked his tongue. “'Kay, I’m satisfied. You try anything, Miss Ford’s gun right here is loaded with explosive shells, and she will, uh, turn you two into paste.”

He raised his gun, signaling a truce was on. Taking a step back, eyes glued on Karma, he opened the door to the building.

It did not lead into the building, but a long corridor.

A long, narrow corridor yawned beyond that door. The velvet blue carpet inside looked like it belonged in a fancy old New England building. The light fixtures on the walls inside the corridor looked like they came from an era several decades past, fashioned from polished brass, and featuring a design altogether alien to whatever commercial basement the door should have revealed instead.

Karma tilted her head. Part of her desired to know how they did that.

She knew how to step through doorways, effortlessly crossing distances in an instant, but she could not open doors like that for others. Only pull them through with her.

The vortex of souls screamed louder.

Their thirst for blood—her blood—would stay unquenched.

Guiding the Asian man’s gesture of invitation, Karma entered the door, entering that mysterious corridor. Jericho muttered profanities as he followed.

When Miss Ford shut the door behind them all, the vortex could not follow. It had been locked out from this otherworld.

Separated from Karma for the first time since her first murder, the vortex screamed into an endless void.

[yandere-romanticaa]

Revenge, and a little more. 🔪💔

♥ YANDERE REACTIONS: How would Mikaela Hyakuya, Run and Izuku Midorya react to their darling cheating on them and then leaving them for that person? Darling became fed up with her yanderes obsessive behaviour and decided to take matters in to her own hands... But, that didn't turn out so well now, did it?

Poor Mikaela, he'd be absolutely heartbroken... How could this happen, how could you do this to him?! He is beyond himself, he has no idea what to do. He blames both himself and the man that stole you away from him. It is his responsibility to take care of you, to nurture you, to protect you, to love you and he... he failed. He couldn't keep you by his side so you took your chance and ran off with that scum.

That disgusting human was going to pay for his sins. Mikaela would make sure of it. No one in this world could be trusted, for goodness sake humans could be even worse than vampires in certain cases. Mikaela's worry nearly consumed him whole as he searched for you, day and night, with little to no rest. You couldn't have gotten far away, there were just too many monsters crawling around... among other things. He hoped neither the vampires or the humans got to you as both sides would have caused your untimely doom. The vampires would just kill you on the spot, while the humans would lock you away and experiment on you for the rest of your days. Those horrid thoughts made Mikaela sick to his stomach...

...God however, seemed to be by his side today.

As he was out looking for you, he suddenly caught a whiff of a very familar scent in the air. Judging by its intensity, you were close. Without much to lose, Mikaela followed the scent until he finally reached the source of it. There you were, sitting on a large rock as your hand bled, a deep gash visible through the fabric of your clothing. Mikaela had to stop himself from pouncing on you right there and then - good grief, you smelled heavenly... It took all of Mikaela willpower to not take that delicate little neck of yours in his hands and to just feast on your divine blood. He suddenly smelled something, or rather someone else too. A man stepped out of a nearby building and that was when Mikaela just lost it. Who does this man think he is? You could have gotten killed at any moment, he left you to bleed right there on the streets and to top it all off the sun was going down. The stupidity of this man baffled Mikaela but his anger was what drove him over the edge.

With a shout, Mikaela raised his sword and charged at the man, giving him no time to prepare for the upcoming strike. Mikaela was brutal, showing no mercy to his enemy. He slashed and slashed, the mans blood spilling all over the young vampire. He didn't care that you were crying at that moment, he didn't care if anyone saw him... All he wanted was for this nuisance to just disappear already, so that Mikaela could finally take you back home and fix you up... And give you a reminder of just how dangerous the world really was.

A strange tang of incredibly sharp pain pierced Run's heart unlike anything he had ever felt before. In his hands was a note but it was not your handwriting. The content of the letter shook Run to the core - it was a note from your new so called lover, claiming that the two of you had run off somewhere, far away from Run's grasp. The man in question was most likely one of the guards you saw daily, but there were so many of them, one might think that finding the culprit would be nearly impossible.

Not for Run though. No, if it came down to you nothing was too difficult for him.

Having a imperial arms already gave Run a significant advantage over his opponent but him being a Jaeger only made things even more easy for him. Run is determined to find you, no matter the cost. He knows for a fact that in your little escape attempt that you had slipped up somewhere and he was going to discover that slip up in just a few hours. Run is high on adrenaline but he manages to keep it together as he talks to several witnesses, all of which claimed to saw a young woman fitting your description, along with an unknown man running off somewhere. In a little less then a day, Run had gathered all the information that he needed and he went out looking for you. With his wings spread high, he flew in the night sky as he searched for you, his heart nearly suffocating him from the seemingly endless worry. You always left him feeling breathless, no matter if it was good or bad...

Not too long after he took off, he finally saw something beneath him - two people holding hands and running, both of their heads were hooded. Run was too far up in the sky in the sky to tell who it was but upon a closer look he sighed a breath of relief. There you were, all dirtied and nervous as you clutched the mans hand tightly. Your paranoia was adorably obvious as you continued to look around left and right, most likely trying to keep an eye out for any danger beast that might be crawling around.

That proved to be a fatal mistake because at that moment, wild danger beasts should be the least of your concerns.

In a flash, your new lover suddenly just dropped dead on to the ground, a pool of crimson blood forming on the ground. You shrieked loudly as you tried to wake him up, your fear increasing even more. You noticed that there was a small hole at the back of his head and without even thinking, you turned around and were already pinned to the ground. Run held your wrists tightly as you trembled beneath him, his sad facial expression contradicting his actions. Heaven's sake, you could have sworn that he was going to break both of your wrists until he brought you closer to himself, his arms wrapping themselves tightly around your waist. Run stared down at the corpse beneath him, knowing full well where he hit the man. He had not died yet surprisingly, but Run wanted it that way. This man was going to spend his final moments watching you being brought back home, all the while he was dying slowly and painfully.

A fitting punishemt for a thief like this, wouldn't you agree dear?

Izuku was shaking at the sight before him - across the street was the love of his life, in the arms of another man as the two happily exchanged kisses as if it was the most normal thing in the world. His vision soon became blurry because in mere seconds, an endless stream of tears started to cascade down his cheeks, his eyes red and puffy, his throat dry as a desert. He felt so sick, so incredibly sick that he might just lose his lunch right there and then. His knees gave in and he was no longer able to stand on his own two feet. All he could do was watch from afar as this stranger took his darling away to who knows where. The sharp, inhumane wave of pain hit him out of nowhere as his vision soon became filled with black spots.

How could this have happened?

Was he not good enough for you?!

Why didn't you love him anymore!?

Why, why, WHY?!? WHY WAS THIS HAPPENING?! You two had the perfect romance - he was your hero and you were his princess! But his delusion was shattered to pieces and it broke Izuku's heart. However, even throught this entire ordeal he still continues to push his belief that you do love him and that none of this is your fault! Oh no, no, it's all his fault! The bastard he just saw you with, he must be blackmailing you in some way! He forced you away from Izuku and now you have to fake everything you do, oh you poor thing!

But don't worry love, your brave hero will be there to save the day!

Izuku always prided himself on his stealth skills and they were proven to be very useful in this situation. He stayed hidden in the shadows and he watched your every move, waiting for the perfect time to pounce. He gatherd all the information he needed in just a few days and orchestrated the perfect plan - at night when your "lover" was heading out to the store, Izuku may or may not have pushed him in to a sketchy alleyway. The attack was so sudden and strong, the poor man didn't stand a chance. Izuku continued to beat him until he was covered with blood from head to toe, his clothes pretty much sticking on to his body. A sick but satisfied smile made its way on his face as he walked towards the apartment you were staying at. Izuku didn't even bother with the clean up, but he made sure to at least cover up his tracks to make sure that no one could trace back anything to him. This bastard deserved this, it was his own fault for taking away Izuku's darling! Tonight though, the two lovers would finally be reunited!

Isn't that just the perfect ending? ♡

[rotten-games]

City of Immortals RO List

Okay so here it is, the list of ROs like I promised. Both mc's have their own pool of love interests to choose from with little overlap.

Here you’ll get a description of the ROs and some information on how the mc or others might view them. Also some info on the mc’s.

Mc1

Born to be a soldier by design, they were afflicted with immortality and stopped aging entirely once they hit thirty. A side effect—or perhaps a feature—is the beast that all but lives inside them, taking control when they feel incredibly strong emotions, though most often when anger is present. Where once they held full control of it, of the transformation they go through, now they must wrestle with its control with each passing day.

You are what’s called a Hunter. Every settlement has them, but Eden has the most. Caroline controls all her hunters from Eden, though ‘Hunter’ may be a bit of an oversimplification of the job description. Yes, one of their main jobs is providing food and other resources for the settlement, but they’re also bounty hunters, keepers of the peace, and are also often recruited for odd jobs when they have no contracts to fill. Perhaps the most important rule in Hunting, is that you always work in pairs.

Caroline: She/her

The best way to describe Carol is ‘short’, with a pair of unblinking amber eyes and a wind-buffeted, naturally tanned complexion. Her russet curls, while  usually out of her face, never seem to stay tied back for long, a seemingly constant slew of curls sticking to her forehead. A jagged scar cuts across the knuckles on her right hand.

Caroline is unrelenting. She knows what her settlement needs and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t get it—to save the lives of those she must oversee she is willing to do anything. Within reason. Truthfully, Caroline never asked to be made the leader of Eden, the job just sort of fell into her lap one day and no one bothered to take it from her. You’ve worked for her for years by the start of chapter one, and if you’ve learned anything about her it’s that she doesn’t do smalltalk. She’s been in a relationship with Lowrie for years now, and as far as you can tell, they’re very happy with one another.

Lowrie: non-binary, they/them pronouns

Impossibly tall and scrawny, Lowrie’s skin is constantly burned red by the sun, seemingly unable to tan no matter what they do. Their face is long, with ash-coloured, shoulder-length hair that would usually hide their grey eyes but is otherwise kept out of their face with a blue-patterned scarf.

Some have called Lowrie stuck up in the past for their less than talkative nature but that would be an oversimplification. In truth, they just aren’t fond of talking—which is probably why they get on with Harley so well—and more shy than anything else. One of Eden’s finest Hunters, they spend most of their time in the sweltering heat of Wasteland bringing bandits in and shooting any of the mangy beasts that stray too close to Eden. The rest of their time is spent managing the bar with Caroline and Harley, tending to keep to themself. You’ve worked with Lowrie in the past, and as far as you can tell there’s little love lost between the two of you. 

Carol + Lowrie poly:

Caroline and Lowrie are poly and in a committed relationship with one another. They will not leave one another for monogamy with mc, however, you don’t have to be in a throuple with them—though that’s definitely on the table—you can simply be with one, who is with both you and the other. Lowrie is also currently casually seeing Harley. Carol is not seeing anyone else.

Mordred: he/him.

With a seemingly constant fuzz along his jaw, and a never-ending supply of little scars littering his warm olive skin, his hair tends to cover everything but his yellow eyes and the deep bags underneath. His hair is typically tied into a loose bun at the back of his head, mostly obscuring his pierced, slightly pointed ears.

Mordred is a hot-headed, easily irritated young man who’s been by your side since day one. You dragged yourselves out of the crumbling ruins of Ledala together, you fought together, and now you work together as Hunters. Partner’s in crime doesn’t quite cover your relationship but it’s certainly close. In recent years, however, your relationship has strained—perhaps it’s due to past mistakes getting in the way, or past feelings, but either way at the start of the book he’s nowhere to be found.

At the start of the game you can determine just what your relationship is with him—it’s strained at this point but the reasons why are totally up to you. He can also potentially have been an old flame of MC2.

Ridley: Gender variable

Ridley is an energetic person with a pair of bright green eyes constantly sparkling with a glint of adventure. Despite their heavily-muscled frame, they seem to constantly be hiding behind their oversized glasses, a veil of their shaggy red hair, and a slouch that makes them out to be much smaller than they are.

Ridley is… an enigma. While technically a Hunter, they seem much more interested in the pursuits of science and research than holding off rabid beasts with nothing but a gun that’s falling apart and a rusty sword. Of course, they can hold their own well enough, but when they’re meant to be spending their time training or helping out—and indeed, even on their time off—they’re usually found traipsing around in the desert looking for… who knows what.

Doc: She/her

Doc is stocky and sharp-jawed, dark brown, almost black eyes always watching. Her dense curls are shoulder-length and appear twisted together and held back behind her head. The tip of her left ear appears to have been torn off somehow.

Not known for her bedside manner, Doc travels between settlements to tend to the sick, injured, and broken, and though none can particularly vouch for her interpersonal skills (though who can say anyone has particularly good ones, these days?), they can certainly do so for her medicinal accomplishments. Some think her a wandering ghost, aiding those who need help to make up for the sins of her past, others simply see her as a woman seeking to do her part for the good of Wasteland, regardless, if you get on her bad side she’s been known to be liberal with her gun. Or so the rumors say.

J. Allard: Gender variable

Allard is a nervous-looking, shifty individual with short but messy brown hair flecked with grey. Constantly fidgeting with the ring on their thumb, their stutter becomes more obvious the more nervous they are. Though their eyes hide behind a pair of darkened glasses, a pallid face a week out from its last wash they are, completely, honest. Trust me.

J. Allard is a totally normal priest. There is nothing strange about them, they simply want what is best for you and your companions.

Mc2

Dragged down into the depths of the earth on the day Ledala fell, you never knew of the city beneath the surface. Your sibling died that day, you’re sure of it, and a part of you died with them—the beast no longer responds to your call and you’re still left injured from whatever afflicted you and your comrades that day. The man who saved you set you to work for him—sorry, with him—and now you walk perpetually in the darkness of a city long since forgotten by the sun, with people named after the remnants of an old world you never knew existed. You were never meant to survive that night, and every day the world around you reminds you of that.

Arthur: he/him

Arthur doesn’t look quite there half the time. His skin is translucent, his pale blue eyes impossibly far away, platinum blond hair little more than wispy strands atop his head. Most of his body is otherwise covered completely by that old, brown coat of his. There’s light freckling across his nose.

Arthur saved you that night. A Private Investigator by trade, he brought you on to work together because you had no where else to go. Maybe because of it you should be closer than you are but there’s always been a distance between you he’s been unwilling to cross. Either way, despite working together—living together—he keeps to himself and you try to keep to yourself in turn. Still, you can’t help but notice the disdain he has for the City Council and their lackeys.

Perci: she/her

Perci is constantly smiling. Relaxed of posture, her straight hair once ashy brown is now dyed silver. It’s cut short at the sides and back, creating an undercut, most of her fringe tucked behind her ears to reveal a pair of dark brown, monolid eyes. She seems allergic to sleeves, taking whatever chance she gets to show off her cybernetic arm and the colourful tattoos that adorn her flesh arm.

A friend of Arthur who sometimes helps with investigations. She’s friendlier than he is with you, even inviting you out on occasion, but rebellion is on her lips more and more nowadays, and she isn’t subtle about it. You haven’t seen her in quite a while—as far as you can tell she and Arthur aren’t on speaking terms anymore after that big fight they had a few months back. As far as you can tell, she’s moved on and you certainly wouldn’t blame her if she has Council dogs on her heels.

Saga: Saga is always the same gender as your mc is.

Saga’s hair is a deep blue in colour, their black roots just barely growing through. Half of their head is shaved, the other half left chest-length and braided over their shoulder. Though their entire body seems to interwoven with tech, what is perhaps most interesting about them is the angular tattoo that crawls down the right side of their face. This is probably why they come to you completely covered in muck and baggy clothing.

Saga shows up at your door with a different name and a job. You aren’t given why, only the how, only the what. They’re stubborn and flighty in equal measure, suspicious of everyone around them including yourself. Oh, they dress the part of a street rat well, but the cash they have just on hand is nothing to blink at and, underneath all that grime, their skin is perfectly unmarred by the ravages of time.

Deimos: he/him, gay

Whether or not Deimos’ strength is his own or from borrowed, military-grade tech is anyone’s guess, but no one’s ever bothered to ask. Though he’s tall, he isn’t necessarily as muscular as the fear he commands would suggest. His eyes glow orange, black hair trimmed but not maintained, and his grin is enough to stop anyone in their tracks. For whatever reason, he always wears warm clothes.

Deimos is a Council dog who’s been hounding Arthur for a few years now. You’ve never officially met him; somehow whenever he drops into the office you always manage to be out. Whether that’s coincidence or because Arthur sends you out on errands very conveniently at those times it’s not for you to say. Somehow, he never seems to do too much damage to your colleague.

Adrastea: Non-binary, they/them or she/her pronouns, only attracted to nb or female mc’s

Adrastea has been voted the city’s most attractive person many years in a row now. Everything about them is perfect; perfect smile, perfect blue eyes, perfect cascading coils of iridescent hair, yet somehow despite their well-calculated appearance it’s like there’s a tiger waiting to pounce on any wary admirer who comes too close.

While not a member of the council they hold great sway simply by virtue of their age and the fact they’re so beloved by the populace. You’ve seen them on the holos, how they’re oh, so giving to the needy and even invite the commonfolk to their lavish parties all the important council members attend. It’s an act, it has to be; through their gorgeous smile and all those sheer dresses they seek nothing if not attention. A lot of their history is shrouded and deleted from public record, but you do know that they were once a head scientist that took part in the very same project that supposedly made you what you are today.

Dagda: gender variable

Dagda is the perfectly attractive face everyone sees on their screens every night. In a world of cybernetic bodies and unnaturally bright lights, they are the one person who almost looks... natural. With a perfectly cultivated appearance of salt and pepper hair, soulful brown eyes, and that winning smile, nothing about them is their own; everything they do exactly what everyone else tells them to do.

The mouthpiece of the Council, Dagda is seen to be charming and down to earth in the vids. They say Ledala is prospering more than it has in decades, that the crime rates are lowering thanks to the wonderful work they and their colleagues on the Council are doing. Of course, there always has been a certain emptiness behind their eyes. When the camera isn’t rolling, you wonder what they really think.

[buryyourfavouritestrope]

Five years sure do fly - Shiro Fujimoto

Author Note: Just going to leave this one here.

How many times had she visited this place in the past three weeks? Not once had she managed to make it through the iron clad gates. Perhaps it was the weather that prevented her entrance. Each day had been a painfully sunny one, the direct opposite to the current heartbreak that was dancing through her chest. Or perhaps if she were being honest with herself, it was her cowardice that stopped her. It would certainly explain a lot, she hadn’t spoken to the man for over five years and yet she had made her way back as though she had never left.

What could she say? ‘Hey Fujimoto, wow how five years flies. I didn’t mean to stay away for so long, but you know the Vatican and other Exorcist business. Could not get the time off. Oh no, I…it had nothing to do with your adopted demon sons starting to call me their mom or pushing both of us to confess feelings that I tried to bury to each other’

Her brow furrowed; in a few minutes the confidence within her would dissipate. She would find her eyes darting to the pavement before her body pulled her further from the area. With a mutter about returning the next day she would scurry away back to the hole she had come from.

It was her own fear that had pushed her away from Fujimoto, the panic paired itself perfectly with self-doubt and within those final few months she had ruined everything. She had stopped visiting the twins, the monastery. She had rejected every call and text from Shiro, every time he would visit, she would pretend to be out, or she would ask for a certain demonic benefactor to draw his attention away.

The day she left; she had made no objection to Mephisto telling Fujimoto. In truth it had been a selfish idea that the man would turn up with his two tearaways in toe and confess like some bad rom com rerun. A selfish picture that she had no right to.

“It helps if you walk inside, the gates a fine material but the grounds inside are much more appealing. I can assure you there are no demons beyond this point,” Mephisto cooed. His sudden presence had caused her to jump, a hand flying to her heart as she glanced at him. It shouldn’t have surprised her that he would turn up here. In fact, it wouldn’t have surprised her if he’d been watching her ever since her return. The demon knew everyone’s habits. “Well, none from Gehenna at least”

“I don’t belong here. I’m not even sure why I even came” She mumbled. There would be no use clearing the air now, the unspoken words had no right to be said – not anymore. Instead, she gathered herself, expelling what little courage she had left and smiled at Mephisto. “I should probably get going, my flight leaves later this afternoon and check in at the airport is a pain these days.”

“My dear, I think this is exactly the place you belong. I’ve watched you stand here for three weeks, each time you stumble at the last hurdle, and though it’s a pleasure of mine to watch you humans and your strange cycles, I really think you should break this one. If you run again, I can’t promise you that it’ll make you feel better.” He chided. The smirk that danced along his features did little to soothe her. “Consider your vacation to the Vatican cancelled, I’ve asked for your help here at this Exorcist Branch. There seems to be some troublesome students at the Cram School that could really use the guidance of someone like you. No protests I’ve already spoken to the higher ups.”

She nodded; there would be no point in arguing with Mephisto. The man always had the last laugh, even when she was younger and he would tease her, much to the protest of Shiro. They always seemed to come to blows when she was involved. Mephisto had a habit of placing her in danger with his ridiculous antics and Shiro would always be there to protect her.

“So step in, say your peace and come to True Cross Academy with me.” He announced, his hands pushed her towards the gates with little resistance. “I’ll be waiting here when you’re ready”

She left him leaning against the iron gates as she dawdled through the grounds. She ran her eyes over each syllable attached to the stones until she found his. It hurt her to know she missed the funeral; it made her sick to her stomach to know that she could’ve done something had she not cancelled her flights every month.

The fresh flowers adorning the stone made her smile. Perhaps Yukio had been this morning, the boy had always been a softie, a strong one but a big softie. She remembered the time they all sat on the grass outside the monastery. She would teach him to make flower crowns and read him books on different flowers whilst Rin ran amuck covering himself in mud. Shiro would stand there a cigarette in his lips as he watched the older twin run around with his arms in the air.

“it’s been a while.” She began, “I don’t know what to say, I guess…You always started conversations, you knew I was hopeless so you always started them because if I did, I would put my foot in something. Like the time on a mission when we visited an elderly couple and they asked how long we’d been together, and I started rambling. I think I called her an old hag; said you were handsome and called her husband a saint for dealing with her.” She smiled. She hadn’t noticed that her legs were trembling or that water had begun to fall down her cheeks. Part of her wanted to call for Mephisto, just to have someone there. She wanted someone to tell her this wasn’t real, Shiro had been planning this prank for years.

‘You called me handsome, I think the actual term was as handsome as sin, I also think I heard you said that no matter how old I get I could still get some” He laughed. His laugh surrounded her like a hug as she pictured that memory. She remembered shouting at him, her face bright red as blood pooled in her cheeks. She hadn’t said that she remembered screaming that at him, that he would be lucky if she even gave that a second thought. ‘uh uh, no take backs. I don’t think my journal could handle the heartbreak. I’d have to go home and scribble out all the hearts with our initials in them.’

“This is so messed up; you shouldn’t be here. You should be with the boys stopping Rin from doing something dumb and watching Yukio study. Anything but here. When Mephisto…when they told me, you died. I screamed and screamed until my lungs hurt too much to continue. It was too late to come to the funeral; he’d come too late and I hated it. I hated him because if he’d been a day earlier, I would’ve been there for Rin and Yukio. I had the tickets months ago, but I missed the flight. I should have been here, and I would give everything to go back and get on that plane. I would give anything to rewind time to five years ago.” She cried. Her knees bucking beneath her as she stumbled to the ground. “I never…I never told you how much you all meant to me, all those messages you sent asking me if I hated you, if you’d done something but it was me. I couldn’t deal with the idea that my feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated. I left it too long and you died.”

Her hysterics flooded the quiet of the graveyard. She was certain Mephisto could hear her cries from outside the graveyard. Even more so when she heard his footsteps falling against the pathway. She felt his arms surround her as she sobbed. Shiro was gone; her world had almost entirely shattered. The words left unspoken were now rotting in her mind.

“I miss him, I miss him so much” She wailed.

“We all do, none more than the two Okumura boys. Father Fujimoto. Shiro informed me shortly before he died, that should he ever be unable to care for the boys that they be placed under your care, if you were to remain abroad, I would look after them. But you’re back now and I think it would be beneficial to them if you saw them. Yukio has grown into a fine teacher since you’ve been gone, and Rin has given himself a bold goal for the future. One I’m sure he’ll need your help with. But first we need to get you all cleaned up.” Mephisto whispered.

[mae-gi-writes]

Weak Spot | Q (The Boyz Imagine)

Royal Kingdom AU: It’s Changmin’s job to protect you, but you can’t help but worry. 

Genre: fluff, royal kingdom au, a little drama? 

Words: 2K 

-----------

“Show me.” 

Changmin shifts uneasily under my gaze, his face painting the perfect picture of a guilty child having gone out and about without his parents’ consent as I keep staring him down with an insistence that causes him to flinch. My jaw is clenched, taking note of the way he holds on to his side, the way his breaths come out a little more rattled each time he exhales. 

I take a step closer and hiss, “show me, Changmin. Now.” 

A few seconds pass. Then he relents, peeling back his dark soldier’s coat to reveal his white shirt stained with a huge pool of blood sticking against his side. A small gasp falls from my mouth, eyes widening while taking in the huge gash staining his white shirt a dark wine red, so dark, too dark in the shadows of the moon slithering between buildings. 

I suck air between my teeth. Changmin averts his gaze, bows his head. 

“What the fuck?” I snap. 

He hurriedly tugs his jacket back, but my hand shoots out to grasp his wrist in mid-action, “What—“ the words get stuck in my throat like sandpaper and I find myself gasping to try and string some kind of coherent sentence, “What happened to you?” 

“They were prepared, faster somehow—“ I don’t give him time to answer as I grab onto his shoulder and pull him inside my room before we get caught by the other guards. 

The Royal Palace’s security has been on high alert ever since rumours of a rogue pirate wanting to kill the Palace’s heir to overthrow the power of the throne had trickled through the throng of maids and cooks scurrying through the castle grounds. It had been no surprise when my father had tightened security around the borders, and while I wasn’t even their main target — my brother, Chanhee, is the true heir to the throne — my father had deemed it necessary to assign some of the best soldiers to flank the outside of my quarters. 

That includes none other than Chanhee’s best friend, Ji Changmin, presently dripping all over my velvet couch as I maneuver him onto one of the soft futons by the hearth. 

Changmin and I had known each other forever, so it isn’t surprising to find us lingering within close proximity, talking about anything and everything that crossed our minds. Most of the time, I begged Changmin for some of the folk stories he’d hear whenever he’g go down to grab a beer in the village, and we’d spend hours in comfortable silence poring over books and reading, bathed in the afternoon sun rays shining down upon our figures.

That also means that I care, a lot more than I should. That fact is as clear as crystal water. But even that small fact might not help me in such a dire situation. “So? Are you going to tell me what happened?” I ask after I had hurriedly filled a bucketful of water from my washroom, scurrying back out to see Changmin barely holding himself together on the floor with his face scrunched in a permanent scowl.

 I wring a damp cloth with two hands as I nod my head towards his shirt, “Open up.” 

“Your Highness—“ 

I don’t wait for his consent, quickly flick his buttons open as he shies away in protest. He relents after a few seconds upon realizing that I’m not going to let him off so easily and my breath hitches when I finally catch sight of the wound itself. It’s a deep gash, glinting with still fresh blood that hits my nostrils and almost makes me throw up. It’s sick, metallic taste lingers at the roof of my mouth as I swallow hard and proceed to clean the wound. 

I can feel his eyes on me, measuring my every move as though I’m about to crack at any moment. But I don’t give him that satisfaction, instead bending down to focus on making the area a little more bearable, a little cleaner. He stiffens at the first few touches, before forcing himself to relax. The pain is probably unbearable, and I notice the beads of sweat dotting his forehead with effort. Soon, there’s blood coating the cloth, my hands and up my arms, the front of my nightshirt. But I don’t care, wringing it out in the bucket that is now swirling with a tinge of scarlet. 

“So are you going to tell me or do I have to drag it out of you?” I speak up in the silence that has settled throughout the room. 

Changmin lets out a soft sigh then. A few beats of silence pass before he speaks up, “He’s not alone, the rogue I mean. He has a team working with him, and we thought that we had him. But we got ambushed at the last minute,” he shook his head and I notice the silent anger simmering in the corner of his eyes, “we shouldn’t have dropped our guard.” 

“It’s not your fault,” I murmur, “you couldn’t have known.”

His fists clench at his sides, “it is my fault. I should’ve been more wary,” he mutters through grounded teeth, a frown befalling upon his features like a dark cloud, “they managed to slip by because we were being too naive—“ “Changmin,” my hand goes up to cup his cheek, halting his internal battle with himself. His eyes widen at my gesture but I hold his gaze with mine persistently, “you did what you could. And you can’t blame yourself for that,” I search his eyes, “It’s not your fault.” 

“I know, I know, but—“

“No,” I place my index finger on his mouth, shushing him and holding his gaze with mine, “stop it.” 

His teeth clamp down onto his lower lip and though I can feel the turmoil rolling through him in tumulus waves of restrained emotion, I decide to give him some space and reach for a few bandage rolls I had pulled out earlier. Gently, I urge him to lift his arms so that I can wrap the cloth around his torso snugly against his stomach. 

“Too tight?” I glance up at him. He shakes his head, and satisfied, I fasten the ends with a pin and tuck the remaining cloth out of sight. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs and closes his eyes briefly. I can’t stop staring at him, chest suddenly swelling with relief at the notion that Changmin is still safe and sound inside the castle walls. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I knew that something had happened to him, of all people.

“I don’t want you out of my sight,” the words fall from my lips before I can even stop them and my eyes widen in surprise at the hostile firmness in my tone. Changmin’s features harden like steel, “my duty lies with the Kingdom, your highness. It would be a sin for me not to fight alongside my brothers.” “Do you think I want you to die?” I snap back as anger flares through my veins, a terrifying beast that is slowly tugging at the edges of my sanity. Enough is enough, I can’t stand by and watch him get hurt for my sake, ‘look at you! You’re barely holding on as it is! Who knows whether next time you’ll be able to make it back?” 

“That’s my personal business. You don’t get to butt into that.” 

“You’re not listening—“

“You are not listening,” Changmin suddenly bursts out with blind rage and I can’t help but flinch back at the aggressiveness twisting his features into a glare. He continues on without relent, “for once, can you not think about your own selfish desires and try and put the kingdom’s safety first? What about your people? What about the rest of the soldiers who swear their lives to protect you? Don’t you feel bad for them?” 

His words are icy daggers that pierce my heart. My mouth drops open in shock and I stand, stock still and staring at the injured soldier. Changmin stands, chest heaving and shaking with every inhale, eyes narrowed and filled with the kind of white hot anger that I’ve never been witness to. 

And then, before I can say anything else, he swivels around and walks out of the room, leaving only his footsteps and the echo of his words in his wake, pounding through my skull like a string of bitter afterthought.

—————— The rogues attacks seemed to have died down from their first attempt to slither into the castle, and ever since then, Changmin has been avoiding me. It bothers me at first, considering how we have just ended things that night, but the guilt soon presses down on my heart, so much so that I can’t see guards without being reminded of the claims spurting out of Changmin’s mouth as he’d berated me how selfish I was for not thinking of the better good of the people that surround me. 

I’m a princess and heir to the throne, of course I had to take care of my people first. How in the world had I let that simple factor slip through my fingers in exchange for my own selfish desires?

So I stay away from Changmin, stop hanging around the stables and decide to bury my nose in books about ancient civilizations and war zone strategies. It is a measly attempt to become a better leader, but mostly, it keeps me busy so that I don’t have to think about Changmin and the hole that he’s just left in my heart, punctured by words that he can’t take back because they’re true. A few weeks pass before our next attack takes place. Instead of staying out on the eve to hang out with Changmin like I usually do, I decide to retreat to my quarters early, knowing full well that right now, I’m definitely not welcome at the soldiers’ table. I nod at a few guards on the way up to my chambers and slide the door closed, briefly going over the plan in my head and ensuring that we’ve got all entrances to the castle covered. 

A door bangs in the distance. My head whips around, eyes jumping straight to my windowsill. Nothing. Nothing but the wind howling outside. And then, I hear someone. 

“Y/N.”

I almost scream but it gets choked up in my throat when a hand clamps down on my mouth. I struggle feebly for a few seconds before the familiar alto suddenly echoes through my ear: 

“It’s me.” 

The sound of his voice instantly causes my muscles to relax, and I turn in his hold so quickly my head spins. I grab his forearms to steady myself, Changmin’s hands quickly clasping the back of my elbows and sending warmth traveling along my limbs at his touch. 

Our eyes meet. I take the softest of breaths, feeling suddenly all too warm all over from the way he was gazing down into my eyes, his pools of brown the softest caramel in the dim light of the room.

Realization dawns. My eyes widen in alert, “what are you doing here?” “We’ve got enough protection on the walls,” his eyes are searching mine, darting back and forth along my features with the strain of panic flashing across his face, “listen, Y/N, I’m sorry.” 

At this, my thoughts come to a stop. I stare at him, waiting. He draws in a soft breath, looks away briefly, and when he looks back at me, I lose breath at the softness in the shades of caramel brown that seem to call out to my heart, make it squeeze against my chest in a way that makes me bite my lower lip. 

“What I said the other night, I didn’t mean it, Y/N. I was just so upset and scared, I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. I wouldn’t be able to deal with the guilt,” the words rushed out of his mouth like a streaming babble that can’t seem to stop now that it’s now open, a pandora’s box that can’t be shut closed no matter what. 

He rakes a hand through his hair, the mere action rendering my legs to jelly, as he continues, “I don’t have a lot of time and I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you again after this. The enemy is strong and they’re more than capable to take us down if they want to. You saw for yourself, a little closer to my heart and their sword would’ve cost me my life.” 

I blink back the angry tears pooling at the corners of my eyes. I don’t even want to think about Changmin dying. Not now, not ever. I won’t be able to live with the thought if ever this turns out to be a reality. 

I open my mouth to tell him so, lift up my head so I can get one more glimpse of his beautifully chiselled features, made of angles and strong lines. But his hands come up to cup my cheeks. He pulls me close as a gasp falls from my mouth. 

And then, he’s kissing me like this is the last time he’s ever going to see me. His kiss is passionate, mouth staining mine with a newfound feeling that causes my stomach to twist upside down as though I’ve just run through the washing machine. My knees tremble at the warmth blossoming between our bodies and I would’ve collapsed to the floor if not for his arm winding itself around my middle to press me closer. 

He angles his head to the other side, deepening the kiss a little more. I gasp in his mouth and his tongue darts out, licking along my lower lip. The sensation has me dizzy, lightheaded, and as I allow myself to open up to him, I feel a rush of electricity tingle down my spine when his tongue slowly eases around mine in an embrace that causes my hands to fist into his shirt. 

When he pulls away after our long liplock, I notice the softest patches of rose dusting his cheeks, and I can’t help the smile that spreads over my face at Changmin’s embarrassment. 

“What exactly was that, Commander Ji?” I cock my head, eyebrow raised. The said man tries ducking away and averting his gaze. 

He coughs softly into his palm, “a promise,” then, his features harden,"in case I don’t make it back.” 

The smile gets wiped off my face, “don’t say that.” 

Changmin doesn’t answer. Instead, he holds my gaze for a second too long, so that I get a glimpse of the tenderness swimming in his brown orbs. Then, he softly brings his lips to my forehead and pecks the skin there. 

“Wait for me,” he murmurs as I close my eyes to enjoy the warmth of his imprint on my skin. When I open my eyes a second later, he’s gone. ————— I wait. 

And wait.

And wait all night. Dawn breaks over the city like a red veil unleashing its flame. Still, I wait. 

Light streaks over houses like a beam gleaming with shimmering gold. In the distance, birds start chirping.

I wait, too nervous to go to sleep. 

Around nine, I call for the maids and ask them about the soldier’s conditions. “A lot of injuries, your highness,” one of them meeps, ��and one death.” That catches my attention, “Who?” “We—We don’t know your highness,” she squeaks back like a terrified mouse, “He hasn’t been identified yet—“

I don’t wait for her to finish her sentence, pushing past them and hurrying towards the soldiers’ quarters as quickly as my feet will allow me. Multiple times, I almost stumble face first down as I skitter down the stairs with my skirts billowing around me, but I keep pushing on despite the fact that I’ve lost my slippers along the way. 

I reach the solders’ quarters breathless, and don’t hesitate to wrench open the door. The chatter ceases instantly, faces whipping around to blink at me. But I don’t care, my eyes quickly searching through the sea of faces for the one that has stolen my heart. 

“Commander Ji,” my voice rises above the crowd, betraying the fear that’s coursing through my veins, “where is commander Ji?” 

A pause. Nobody dares speak, as though shocked into silence. I restrain myself from stomping my foot, my lungs quivering when piping hot anger scorches through my blood like burning hot lava. 

“Your highness?” 

That voice.

I deflate almost instantly. It takes a few seconds for my body to register what my brain has heard. 

Slowly, I turn around. 

There is Changmin, supporting himself against the double doors. He has one of his hands in a sling, a bruised jaw. 

But other than that, he’s alive. Changmin is alive.

At this precise moment, I don’t care about my blood, don’t care about what’s right or wrong. Instead, I fling myself into his arms as an array of gasps echo throughout the room. 

“Your highness!” “And the commander?!” “I thought this was illegal!” “A travesty, surely!” 

Changmin’s lips brush my ear when he murmurs, “not here, your highness.” And then, he’s dragging me out and away from the crowd, down the hallway, and out in the courtyard where there aren’t any prying outside ears or wandering eyes. 

“I thought—I thought you were dead,” my voice broke at the last few words and instantly, Changmin’s arms were holding me in an embrace that felt like heaven. I breathed in his scent; a mixture of pine and mint and what seems to be remnants of the horses’ stables. It’s comforting and warm, it makes me feel safe, and I bury myself closer if that’s even possible.

“I’m here,” he shushes me softly, his lips at my forehead, his good hand gently rubbing my back in comforting circles, “I’m here, I’m okay. We’re okay.” 

“Did you— Are the rogues—“ I swallow back thickly, “gone?” 

“They’re gone, Y/N,” He pecks my forehead chastely, “they’re gone for good. Won’t be coming back so soon.” 

“Thank you,” I find myself blubbering despite the strong facade I had been holding onto just mere seconds ago, and Changmin chuckles softly before bringing his hand up to my face. He brushes aside a stray strand, curling it back behind my ear before meeting my eyes. 

“You’re hurt,” my fingers gently trace over the bruises scattered along his jaw, annoyed that they’d hit such a tender spot, “what happened? You usually never let them get so close.” 

“Oh, they were taunting me,” his face twisted into a scowl at the memory. 

“About what?” 

He paused, bit the inside of his cheek. Then, a soft murmur, “about you.” 

“Me?” 

“They know that I’m…close to you. They knew what my weak spot was.” 

“Changmin,” I huff with a roll of my eyes, “you’re not supposed to let personal matters get between you and your enemies.” 

“I can’t help it,” he pouts so suddenly that it takes me aback, “they can talk shit about me all they want, but not you. Never you.” 

I smile gently before pressing a kiss to his cheek, “thanks, commander Ji.” Despite his strong facade, he blushes right through to the tips of his ears and I can’t help the bubble of laughter from erupting through my chest. 

“No problem, princess.”

[neoptolemid]

"You Can't"

uhhh here's writing i did that I feel emotions about cause I think Eprius is all a bit of a tragedy, also it has not been beta read sorry lol

Warnings for mentions of Illness and de//ath

“You can’t.”

“You simply can’t, you can’t, no no no” His words dribbled on and fell from his mouth, he spilled forth with all his emotion in his chest.

“I .. I . . .. I’ll fordid you from taking such action, I will, I will, I truly will, don’t doubt me”

“Please don’t doubt me”

His voice was meek and as much as he spilled he was tiny and everything he had he held close.

“I don’t want you to die, I want you alive, I need you alive, please let me be selfish I can’t let you die. You have been my friend for so long and I don’t care about any of those damn gods, Apollo hates my family, he spites me even now with this plague, I can’t let you go too”

He cried out to his friend who kneeled next to him, he was too weak to fully pull himself from his bed he could only sit up and beg. It seemed that the whole of Epirus suffered under sickness.

It came like waves taking people in with only some of those going under coming back up from sickness, they had tried many medicines to cure those who fell ill. It seemed most random those who survived and those who died.

Men and women who had seemed like they were recovering one day might be dead by the next morning.

Still Neoptolemus himself had found himself sick, he had been found sick a time ago, and he never seemed to improve, he only lingered and suffered.

Like the one who had struck them with sickness intended to leave him suffering till something was achieved.

He could only sit up in bed and listen to what his oldest friend supposed.

“Please listen to what I had to suppose to you, I have spoken with Helenus, we all know which god has a hand behind this, and we have spoken and a sacrifice must be made-”

He was swiftly cut off my Neoptolemus, “So! Go sacrifice the finest bull then!” his voice was raised as it could be and it cracked and buckled under how loud he tried to be.

He coughed and fought for clean breaths as he looked to his friend.

Teary eyes meeting teary eyes.

There was no way what his friend suggested could be true, and there was no way he would allow it to be his friend, his friend was no criminal, he was no one would would normally be put in the position to be considered from such things.

“You must listen to me” it hurt him so dearly and close to hear his friend suppose such things, he hurt him too closely to hear his friend suggest such things”

His friend kneeled by him and looked him in the eyes, he kneeled by the bed from which he could not break himself from.

“This is something that call for a high sacrifice, something that will take away all the sins when they go, and please I offer myself to this. I want a better future everyone, I want a future for Helenus, Andromache, Scamandrius, for molossus, and the twins”

He pauses a moment to make sure his attention is had

“And you are included in that, I want a better future for everyone and you are included, I will be the scapegoat for these sins that we are deemed to hold, I will take them”

The damn that creaks and spills then bursts and full apart in a single moment.

Neoptolemus breaks in the moment, sobs becoming apparent and words pouring faster than he knows he is speaking, he barely knows his own tongue and he tries to speak to his dear friend, tries to speak sense to him.

His eyes well with tears and makes it hard for him to see, pooling and falling as fast as his body can produce them. He spends no time wiping them away as he reaches out to his friend.

He grabs and pulls him in by his chiton, he pulls him close, he pulls him to his chest. Tucking his head into his chest. Weeping into his friend's shirt.

He holds him close and holds him to hear him, to feel him. \

He refuses to let him go.

“Yo-u you can’t sacrifice yourself, you can’t, you can’t do that under the pretense of, Sins! And if anyone’s sins are to be cleansed through death it should be my own. Chaon please, you have no reason to die”

He looks up from his place tucked to Chaon, he looks up to his eyes and sees only the warmth of his friends eyes and a kind smile that invites. “It will be okay Pyrrhus, it will be okay, I have already taken this burden”

His voice is shining, he is a paragone, he is beautiful and splendid.

In that moment he holds Pyrrhus back, he wraps his arms and pulls pyrrhus all the closer to himself, and he goes on to speak, only this time it is apparent his voice cracks and he joins in true crying.

“And when I die I will go to those beautiful fields, and I will see my family, I will see all those left behind in Troy, and when I die I will take all this hardship with me, I will give Epirus a beautiful tomorrow”

“When I die, when I go, I will, I will, give you a beautiful tomorrow”

“And when I die, i will wait for you with your father and your little brother, and we will wait for you, when you are old and wrinkly, for I will have given you a beautiful tomorrow”

[floxalopex]

I don't know if somebody already did this specifically. But yh the heck let's go.

WARNING 1: THIS IS NOT A POST FOR SENSITIVE PEOPLE AND/OR MINORS. (it contains gore and sexual themes and more).

And yes, SALT. Lots of salt.

WARNING 2: this has nothing to do with Christianity specifically. Atheism isn't hate towards your god(s) and/or its believers. Although there are many forms of atheism (some of which are so strong and violent they make me furious) think about mine as a general form of indifference. I hate the Church state, yes, but sorry I have that "at home" so please don't blame me. I don't like Abrahamic religions in general, but I've grown up with one.

I'm thankfully not a cult survivor, but I can understand some things.

WARNING 3: living in a very religious contest I have many beloved friends and relatives (starting with my mother) who believe in their god a lot. So if my words are too disrespectful tell me, I really don't want to hurt anybody.

Okay.

So.

I've seen many similarities between the cult Horde Prime put his clones in and your very average, very white, very western idea of Christianity.

1) Theophagy:

First of all, I really don't know much how this thing is lived in other Christian countries, but in mine they put a lot of emphasis on the Eucharist.

As far as I've seen I think it's pretty obvious how much in ancient cultures there's a very carnal and very grounded idea of the spirit. That can result in believing the soul to be the "psyche", so literally "the breath of life", the coordination of your sinapsis togheter (to me a very poetic definition of how our whole being ourselves is just us being our central nervous system) or it can lead to you eating the ashes of your granpa so you get his good qualities (something some cultures still do today). They said that the head of Orpheus was buried in the island of Lesbo and that's why its land was filled with amazing poets like Sappho. There's this very, sorry, brutal idea of the embodyment of the soul, the talents of a person, that even a piece of corpse is considered a magic thingy.

This is no different in the very old, very ancient, very rural Christian religion (at least in the most common version of it, we have many flavours of one truth apperentely).

When I was in High School we studied a lot Bacchus and the Baccanalia, because there are several commedies about it. My teacher, being very religious, was almost ashamed to admit that a lot of acts of those festivities (let's say that the most normal thing was for women to give their milk to animal cubs) were actually not very dissimilar in their rawness to certain habits of the religion.

So, what about Horde Prime? (me *yh, what about it, stupid ADHD?*). I have seen a post in the past explaining that yes, even though spacebats have the dentition of a frugivore bat and not haematophagus bat, the scene of Prime recharging in his throne with all those disgusting cables filled with green liquid referred as "the life force" of his clones...well, it's surely something.

Looks like a sort of sci-fi vampire thing. Which is very cool and I love this headcanon. So again I kept thinking...what is THAT amniotic fluid? I am a student, so correct me if I say something wrong.

Amniotic fluid is a combination of water 99%, proteins, glucids, fats and some salts (...it's even effective for electric conduction...the heck is that pool).

The most similar body fluid is plasma, so blood less cells. Even the serum, so plasma less proteins, is very similar.

Now, stated that Prime is a manipulative jerk, stated that I don't know much about aliens' physiology, stated that that fluid can come from blood potentially, in Church they say this:

*and Jesus said: "This is my body/blood which I offer in sacrifice for you"*

Apart from it being very creepy, there's this idea in the whole religion-thingy: if you are human you are a selfish monster, so monstrous you made our Lord and Savior die for your sins for how messed up you were.

So basically you don't become a sinner, you are concived as one. Humanity is sin itself, it can never lead to something good.

So are the clones. That's why Prime, in his benevolence, feeds them with himself. To make them pure, to protect them from the outside world. To make them remember who their strenght comes from.

If you don't want to read all of this just go for the Futurama soda episode, it's basically the same thing. Bleah.

2) Corpse feticism and more.

Again, don't know you guys, but here we are filled with mummies. I went in a place in Palermo and ...my gosh why did I do that.

We have everything here, hands, heads, feet, teeth so many of them, dead babies, dead virgins, dead popes, dead elders, all of them for half the prize, but only if you call today.

We are. Filled. With these atrocities. At least we don't touch them anymore.

Sometimes I wonder if, apart from the "hygene", people in Middle Ages used to die at the honorable age of 13 also because they kissed those... thingies there.

So, can we please talk about Horde Prime collection of "previous selves"?

This man has a whole room filled with corpses of himself. In the Vatican you can find corpses of dead popes as well, preserved and even dressed in a very good way. In Italy in general we have these, I remember a whole room in a town near my city filled with skeletons of "saints". Personally I find it very disturbing because you are basically not allowing that body to rest and serve its last biological purpose, especially if you consider that most of these "saints" were mentally impared young kids who were killed brutally and died as "martyrs". In ancient Greece the WORST thing you could do to a corpse was to leave it unburied, without dignity.

It's getting darker now.

I like both headcanons for Prime, that of a spoiled (maybe even sexist) royal of a lost culture who wanted to conquer the universe and that of him being a sort of ancient evil spirit, but I personally like to stick with the latter.

Imagine the old bodies of the clones Prime used for himself. Pushed to their limits. Clones dying young is horrific as well, but like these people were forced to go on. Not to die. Not to age as much as possible. And now that they are dead they can't even rest. They are a show off for anyone to see. Their brains preserved and their literal dead flesh still tormented for reading.

One may ask me, then what about corpses in formalin for medical use? Well, one thing is a donor or a dead fetus or a corpse nobody claims. That's the story of the skeleton in my university, a young male who didn't eat much. A very lonely man. Well at least now he is well loved and appreciated, ah if only he knew that.

The point is, we respect them. We are grateful for the informations they give us. Gosh, I know I'm creepy, but I even cuddled one bone once. We know they probably suffered. Like, search for HeLa cells. That lady has my highest respect.

But Prime? Those are. Vessels. Just that.

Anyways, apart for the "respect the deads thing" I found Hordak's behaviour in that room that of high distress. Like, ehm, any normal person? Search for "Convento Dei Cappuccini", that place I was talking about in Palermo. The fact that I heard kids cry and "MEMENTO MORI" everywhere.

Everyone and everything is afraid of death, I just accepted that fear because it's normal. That doesn't mean I want to be reminded of it every week, especially if I'm a 7 yo kid.

Honorable mentions: that horrible art collection.

3) Double standards

When I went to catechism my teacher used a very feather hand on males and an iron fist on us ladies. We weren't allowed to wear trousers, to play football, to raise our voice. We were forced to be very clean, to sit with our legs as closed as possible. I heard it was worse before, at least we could play volleyball and weren't forced to knit.

We were however "encouraged" to sing and bake stupid cakes for Sundays. Mind you, I'm very feminine, but one thing is liking ribbons one thing is being a slave.

The boys...well, they could literally do anything. They broke things, used petards, beat each other. They were NEVER reproached, the teachers would say "oh, they are just boys". Like once I was so engrossed. I remember I had to sit behind a guy with his butt almost uncovered (because the lower you put the helm of your trousers the cooler you were) while I had to stay still with my head high, chest out, belly in and legs closed for 2h. The problem was: I almost pitied him. I was like "poor thing he doesn't know how to behave properly". That's so crazy, I was piting a free soul while I had my hands handcuffed because I truly believed the bullshit they put into my mind.

Now, imagine how did Horde Prime's clones feel about Catra and Glimmer.

They can dress as they please. Eat non amniotic fluid. Catra can even go wherever she wants.

To me, they didn't feel envious. As they should! That's how far an indoctrination can go.

Take Yudi interaction with Catra, he believes everything he is saying.

But I think deep down he knows, they all know, the truth, juding by his bitter reaction after being possesed. He knows he is the slave here, not the free man. But he wants to believe the other way round.

I think that yes, of course Prime kept Glimmer and Catra (and Hordak) because he needed them to conquer Etheria. But that is also a good way to show to the poor clones of how lost people far away from Prime's light can be. Slaves of their bodly needs and slaves of their individuality.

4) Sexual abuse

Do I need to explain this? Plus all those sick touches Prime gives not only to Hordak, but to Glimmer, Catra and Adora as well?

I don't know much about other countries, again, but here the Church is a real cancer. If a priest gets accoused of raping children he just gets put into another Church far away, and generally he keeps being a pedo even there and the game goes on.

I wouldn't exately say that Prime is a pedophile but clones are pretty innocent and neotenic to me so...idk.

Of course, Prime is his own state and his own rules, so yh. Raping all day. That's why I don't like to ship him with anything rather than a 100 m fall. Not even with his clones, sorry I know its kinky maybe but he is a monster.

Also, the way the clones feel like...honored to be raped. That's so sad. Maybe he convinced them this is the only right way they could experience sex and intimacy. I really don't know.

One thing I'm sure of is that Christian religion likes to often put shame on some "impure" acts. That's the name. The most impure of all is masturbation. If you are a male ...mmm well it's okay dear, it's not your fault you are male and so a sex starved animal. But if you are a girl? Ihhh oh dare you bitch.

Mind you, I fall in the ace spectrum but I did too have puberty and needs, and these thoughts in my head made me only conflicted.

Last thing. More of an asking. And more irriverent, so please stay away if you don't want to read.

So basically I understood I was atheist at 5 yo, just because I read two different versions of the birth of the Universe, one in my science book and one in my Bible (MY Bible, I still have it, was a gift of my aunt) and preferred the science version. I still felt conflicted, like once during a religion lesson at School (well...I don't blame Mussolini much in this case, I mean the Vatican wasn't still recognizing country indipendence and we needed a compromise) the teacher told me to stop drawing dinosaurs with Adam and Eve because they never existed. I mean...yes that's anachronistic but still I felt very sad, dinosaurs were cooler than that story. I remember I even made an experiment "if I say I don't believe in god will I get thunderstruck?". It didn't happen so I was like "oh cool, science wins". But then CATECHISM ecc ecc. The fun fact is that they think atheists are those who don't study religion, while I was the most zelous of the class.

So.

I just wonder...my baby boy Hordak is a man of science, what were his thoughts after his separation from Prime. I mean of course he still believed, but also not as much after some time. Entrapta is a support system for him of course, but he accepts her affection quite easily on canon. Which is amazing, still... maybe he was already doubting his devotion?

[dragonmartellstark]

AU Targaryen: Best destinations for the children of Jaehaerys I & Alysanne (1/13)

Aegon was born two months premature, born shortly after his mother was attacked in Maiden's Pool by the holy sisters. The prince was considered as white as snow and his cry as painful as that of a widow.

His father decided to put a dragon egg in his cradle thinking that in this way it would alleviate the pain of his offspring. It was thought that the prince would not survive his first month of life, but to the surprise of the masters, Aegon came to fulfill the first day of his name and that same day his dragon Valarr was born, which was black as night. Alysanne took great care of her eldest son and she believed that he could pass away. Aegon grew up as a thin, tall, pale child who was fond of reading, dragons, and the countryside.

Despite being a somewhat shy and fragile child, Aegon had a good relationship with his brothers, especially with Daenerys and Aemon with whom he shared studies, despite not being able to share games with them. In 60 a. C., his sister Daenerys sick with chills and together with her mother prayed continuously for the improvement of Daenerys. A month later her sister would supposedly survive when her white dragon was born.

In 62 a. C., After almost two years of the chills, Jaehaerys I and Alysanne formalize the engagement between Aegon with Daenerys in favor of Septon Barth, however the wedding would not take place until the betrothed were older. A year after getting engaged, Aegon rode his dragon for the first time, Valarr flying from the capital to Harrenhal and it is said that that trip mysteriously improved the prince's health, becoming a young man of good wit, sturdy arms and strong skin.

The prince of Dragonstone began to share some games with his brothers and especially with his sister Daenerys who was considered restless, happy and energetic. Septon Barth recommended to Jaehaerys I that Aegon join the Golden Cloaks stating that "A dragon rider and a future king must be a good warrior", this was well seen by the king, but the queen was afraid of what it could happen to your child during jousting practice. In the end, Jaehaerys managed to convince his beloved wife to allow his firstborn to begin to gain strength and protection for himself.

Aegon entered the Golden Cloaks when he was about 12 years old, but after a year he left due to his inexperience with the sword and bow being considered a young man with very limited strength. Two months later, the long-awaited wedding of the crown princes took place in the Red Keep, being an event much celebrated by the Seven Kingdoms.

Aegon & Daenerys were very close and everyone thought that they would be like their parents reigning in complete peace. The couple did not consume the bed until 70 a. C., when they were both adults, but Daenerys did not get pregnant until a year after she gave birth to a girl, Alysanne Targaryen who would be the wife of her uncle Valerion of hers and they would have a child.

In 73 a. C., her little Daena was born, who became her favorite daughter and a year later her first child, Aegon, was born, but he would die shortly after being born being the tragic death of her for the family. In 76 his third daughter was born, Maerys, who would be Lady of Casterly Rock and would have offspring.

In 78 Aenar would be born who would reach adulthood and have offspring, but would not become King. Three years after the birth of his heir, his little daughter Daena died of tuberculosis at the age of 8, this heartbreaking death for him and he kept the dragon egg that he had given him from which young Daenos was born. After the death of her daughter the couple distanced themselves a bit, but they reconciled again a few months later and in 84 a. C., Daeron is born that would be adviser of the currency and would have descendants. A year after this birth, the family decided to go to Dorne to visit his younger sister, Saera, who was Mistress of Spear of the Sun, and the brothers agreed that Prince Daeron would marry his cousin Maya Martell.

In 90 a. C., Daenerys gave birth to her last daughter, Shaera and this she would become Lady of the Valley by marrying the stepson of her aunt Daella, Lord Arryn. The couple lived in complete peace for ten years, spending their afternoons reading or taking care of their children & during that time their son Aenar married Jocasta Lannister, daughter of Lyman Lannister and Jocasta Tarbeck, but with her they did not have a good relationship due to the ambition that Jocasta had.

In 100 a. C., her mother Alysanne Targaryen died of old age and her death hurt her children a lot, but especially her husband who would miss her for many years. After his mother died, Aegon took over the regency when his father began to be less lucid and his regency is described as calm, in addition to being a thrifty prince.

Three years later, Jaehaerys I Targaryen passed away due to his advanced age, his death being just as tragic as that of the queen. Aegon ascended the throne as Aegon II Targaryen and Daenerys as his consort, being highly praised by the people.

The Reign of Aegon is described as quiet and a golden age when the "Scarlet Bank" or also known as "Band of the Dragon" was founded where all taxes were kept and used for the benefit of the people. That maneuver earned him the nickname "The Golden King" and the sympathy of the people.

In 108 a. C., was born his grandson, Aenys the only legitimate son of his son Aenar Targaryen. The birth of his male grandson further increased tensions between the kings and her daughter-in-law, Jocasta Lannister because she had given birth to the heir to the crown. Four years after the birth of Aenys, Prince Aenar died at 34 years of age of puerperal fever and little Aenys became Prince of Dragonstone.

The death of his son made Aegon II fear that if he died, his grandson would become King and his mother would take the regency, so he dictated in his will that his successor would be his wife, Daenerys until he came of age. of his grandson and that way there would be no ruler. This decision was not welcomed by some men who supported the mother of the young prince, but his younger brother Baelon, who was his Hand of the King, thought that it would be the best for the good of the people and the heir to the crown. Aegon declared to all Daenerys as his heir who would reign until the coming of age of Aenys something that was well seen by the people, but the courtiers did not see well that the prince of Dragonstone was displaced longer from the throne.

In 114 a. C., the kings suffered a poisoning attempt after a feast for the day of the name of the little Aenys and it is believed that it was a plan of Jocasta Lannister or her mother, Lady Tarbeck to get rid of both.

Despite this event, Aegon II's reign was one of complete peace even with the palatial plots of some of his relatives.

At the beginning of 118 a. C., the king began to suffer from serious health problems and ended up dying a month later at 66 years of age due to his advanced age. He was succeeded by his wife, Daenerys I Targaryen who would reign until her own death in 124 a. C. He was cremated and his ashes lie alongside those of his family.

Aegon II (53 d. C.-118 d. C.) Rey de los Siete Reinos

Aegon nació dos meses prematuro, había nacido poco después de que su madre fue atacada en Poza de la Doncella por las santas hermanas. El príncipe era considerado tan blanco como la nieve y su llanto tan doloroso como el de una viuda.

Su padre decidió poner un huevo de dragón en su cuna pensando que de esta forma aliviaría el dolor de su retoño. Se pensaba que el príncipe no sobreviviría a su primer mes de vida, pero para la sorpresa de los maestres, Aegon llego a cumplir su primer día del nombre y ese mismo día nació su dragón Valarr que era negro como la noche. Alysanne cuido con sumo cuidado a su hijo mayor y creía que este podría fallecer. Aegon creció como un niño delgado, de estatura alta y pálido que era aficionado a la lectura, a los dragones y el campo.

Pesé a ser un niño algo tímido y frágil, Aegon tuvo una buena relación con sus hermanos en especial con Daenerys y Aemon con los cuales compartía estudios pesé a no poder compartir juegos con ellos. En 60 d. C., su hermana Daenerys enfermo de escalofríos y junto a su madre rezaba continuamente por la mejoría de Daenerys. Un mes después su hermana sobreviviría supuestamente al nacer su dragón blanca.

En 62 d. C., tras casi dos años del escalofríos, Jaehaerys I y Alysanne formalizan el compromiso entre Aegon con Daenerys por favor del Septon Barth, sin embargo la boda no se realizaría hasta que los prometidos fueran mas mayores. Un año después de comprometerse, Aegon monto por primera vez su dragón, Valarr volando desde la capital hasta Harrenhal y se dice que aquel viaje mejoro misteriosamente la salud del príncipe volviéndose un joven de buen ingenio, brazos resistentes y con una piel fuerte.

El príncipe de Rocadragon empezó a compartir algunos juegos con sus hermanos y sobre todo con su hermana Daenerys que era considerada inquieta, alegre y energética. El septón Barth recomendó a Jaehaerys I que Aegon se uniera a las Capas Doradas afirmando que “Un jinete de dragón y un futuro rey debe de ser un buen guerrero”, esto fue bien visto por el rey, pero la reina tenia miedo de lo que podría pasarle a su hijo durante una practica de justa. Al final Jaehaerys logro convencer a su querida esposa de permitir que su primogénito empiece a adquirir fuerza y protección por el mismo.

Aegon entro en Las Capas Doradas cuando tenia unos 12 años de edad, pero al cabo de un año lo dejo debido a su inexperiencia con la espada y el arco siendo considerado un joven con una fuerza muy limitada. Dos meses mas tarde se celebro la esperada boda de los príncipes herederos en la Fortaleza Roja siendo un evento muy celebrado por los Siete Reinos.

Aegon & Daenerys eran muy cercanos y todos pensaban que serían como sus padres reinando en completa paz. La pareja no consumo el lecho hasta el 70 d. C., cuando ambos ya eran mayores de edad, pero Daenerys no quedo embarazada hasta un año después dando a luz a una niña, Alysanne Targaryen que sería la esposa de su tío Valerion y tendrían un hijo.

En 73 d. C., nace su pequeña Daena que se convirtió en su hija favorita y un año después nació su primer hijo, Aegon, pero este fallecería al poco de nacer siendo su muerte trágica para la familia. En el 76 nace su tercera hija, Maerys que sería Señora de Roca Casterly y tendría descendencia.

En 78 nacería Aenar que llegaría a edad adulta y tendría descendencia, pero no llegaría a ser Rey. Tres años después del nacimiento de su heredero falleció su pequeña Daena por tuberculosis a los 8 años siendo esta muerte desgarradora para el y conservo el huevo de dragón que le había otorgado del cual nació el joven Daenos. Tras la muerte de su hija la pareja se distancio un poco, pero volvieron a reconciliarse unos meses después y en 84 d. C., nace Daeron que sería consejero de la moneda y tendría descendencia. Un año después de este nacimiento, la familia decide partir a Dorne para visitar a su hermana menor, Saera que era Señora de Lanza del Sol y entre los hermanos acordaron que el príncipe Daeron se casaría con su prima Maya Martell.

En 90 d. C., Daenerys dio a luz a su ultima hija, Shaera y esta sería Señora del Valle al casarse con el hijastro de su tía Daella, Lord Arryn. La pareja vivió en completa paz por diez años pasando sus tardes leyendo o cuidando de sus hijos & durante ese tiempo su hijo Aenar se caso con Jocasta Lannister, hija de  Lyman Lannister y Jocasta Tarbeck, pero con esta no tuvieron buena relación por la ambición que Jocasta tenia.

En 100 d. C., falleció su madre Alysanne Targaryen por vejez y su muerte le dolió mucho a sus hijos, pero en especial a su marido que la añoraría por muchos años. Tras morir su madre, Aegon se encargo de la regencia cuando su padre empezó a estar menos lucido y se describe su regencia como tranquila, además de ser un príncipe ahorrador.

Tres años después falleció Jaehaerys I Targaryen por su avanzada edad siendo su muerte igual de trágica que la de la reina. Aegon subió al trono como Aegon II Targaryen y Daenerys como su consorte, siendo muy elogiados por el pueblo.

El Reinado de Aegon se describe como tranquilo y una época de oro cuando se fundo el “Banco Escarlata” o también conocido como “Bando del Dragón” donde todos los impuestos eran guardados y utilizados para beneficio del pueblo. Aquella maniobra le gano el apodo de “El rey Dorado” y la simpatía del pueblo.

En 108 d. C., nació su nieto, Aenys el único hijo legitimo de su hijo Aenar Targaryen. El nacimiento de su nieto varón hizo que incrementara mas las tensiones entre los reyes y su nuera, Jocasta Lannister debido a que había dado a luz al heredero de la corona. Cuatro años después del nacimiento de Aenys, el príncipe Aenar falleció a los 34 años de edad de fiebres puerperales y el pequeño Aenys se convirtió en Príncipe de Rocadragón.

La muerte de su hijo hizo temer a Aegon II de que si el fallecía su nieto se convierta en Rey y la madre de este tomara la regencia, por lo que dicto en su testamento que su sucesora sería su esposa, Daenerys hasta la mayoría de edad de su nieto y de esa forma no habría regente. Esta decisión no fue bien vista por algunos hombres que apoyaban a la madre del joven príncipe, pero su hermano menor Baelon, que era su Mano del Rey pensó que sería lo mejor por el bien del pueblo y del heredero de la corona. Aegon declaro ante todos a Daenerys como su heredera que reinaría hasta la mayoría de edad de Aenys algo que fue bien visto por el pueblo, pero los cortesanos no veían bien que el príncipe de Rocadragón fuera desplazado mas tiempo del trono.

En 114 d. C., los reyes sufrieron un intento de envenenamiento tras un banquete por el día del nombre del pequeño Aenys y se cree que fue plan de Jocasta Lannister o su madre, Lady Tarbeck para deshacerse de ambos.

Pesé a este acontecimiento el reinado de Aegon II fue de completa paz aun con las tramas palaciegas de algunos de sus familiares. 

A principios del 118 d. C., el rey empezó a sufrir de serios problemas de salud y acabo falleciendo un mes después a los 66 años de edad por su avanzada edad. Fue sucedido por su esposa, Daenerys I Targaryen que reinaría hasta su propia muerte en 124 d. C. Fue incinerado y sus cenizas reposan al lado de las de su familia.

[sunflowersunshinevol6]

Iago’s Demise

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Warnings: sexual content, vampire!Harry, blood, Priest!Harry, nun!Y/N

Summary: Escaping from his maker Harry finds himself in London, masquerading as a priest and pondering immortality. But when a young nun tempts him, will he be strong enough to resist.

London was almost another world entirely. But the young vampire stalked it’s streets all the same. He found home in St. Etheldreda’s Church, masquerading as a Priest. He had hoped to find salvation for himself, for his soul, outside of the walls of his maker’s grasp. 

“Good morning Father,” he nodded, keeping his eyes down as he passed through the corridor. He lit a candle and knelt before the altar, clasping his hands together tightly and bowing his head. 

“Father God, all these humans, it is remarkable. Thank you for the control, for the will to resist my thirst. What is my goal? What is my purpose in this new life? Am I damned?” he asked this everyday, never truly finding the answer. 

He had not hunted in nearly six months. Not since he’d come to London, it was hard. More difficult by the day, and yet he persisted, refusing to live off the humans he blessed and prayed for. If he died, he died, and into his Lord’s arms he would go. He did not know what this life was, but he would use it for good. 

“Father Harry?” He straightened up, turning to see a young nun standing behind him. His instincts jerked within him as he laid eyes on her. She was gorgeous and the smell, she smelled divine. The most beautiful meal he could have ever hoped for. 

Harry grips the cross around his neck tightly and takes a step back. Father, save me from this demon, this lust that rises in me. The gluttony. Save your daughter. Spare me from Satan’s grasp. She looks at him confused, her eyes wide and innocent, her cheeks flushed with the blood that pushed through her tiny veins. He could hear it and his mouth watered. 

“Yes? My child.” he cleared his throat, turning his eyes back to the altar. She knelt beside him, lighting a candle of her own. The perfume of her scent wafted towards him, he leaned towards it, hoping not to arouse suspicion. 

“Father you’ve been quite absent these past days. Are you ill?” he wasn’t, the sun had been bright and with no clouds in the sky it was harder to hide. He had stayed in the tombs, praying solemnly and ignoring the gnawing need to feast on the humans above him. 

“I have been sick,” he muttered quietly. He stood, dusting himself off and moving away from her. “Now I must go my child. I have to-” she touched him, her fingers brushed the back of his hand. He heard the audible gasp as her warm skin connected with his cool and hard surface. The instincts jerked again, and this time he felt he could not resist. 

“Father-” he grabbed her, too quickly as her body slammed into his. He fisted his hand into her hair and yanked her head back. He could resist no longer. Satan was good, he knew how weak Harry’s will would be, so he sent the sweetest of temptations. She whimpered, her body quaking with fear as his lips brushed against her skin. 

“Father forgive me,” he mumbled before sinking his teeth into her flesh. 

He dragged her down to the catacombs. There, among the dead, they would not be disturbed. She had fainted as he had begun to feast. That would not do. He paced as she lay on the dirt floor, the flame from the torches that lit the hall, flickered and lit up the red wound at her neck. He gripped the cross again, praying over and over for forgiveness and guidance. What would he do now? What could he say to her? He did not want to kill her. That was a mortal sin. But he was immortal. So what did that mean for him?

She groaned, lifting her head slightly she opened her eyes. Fear struck her, she had no idea where she was. A man stood just feet away from her. It was then that the memory came back to her. The coldness of his hand, the feel of his lips at her neck, the sharp pain she had felt. 

“F….Father Harry….” fear and apprehension dripped from her voice as the devil stepped closer to her. She whimpered, trying to move back. 

“Stand my child.” he demanded. She did as she was told, slowly getting to her feet. Her body ached and there was a throbbing pain at the spot he had bitten her. She placed her hand over it, feeling the gaping wound beneath her fingers. 

Her eyes watered with tears, her skin pale, her lips parted. The horror radiated off of her. He didn’t want her to look at him like that, like he was a monster. It was her fault. And the Devil’s. He had been tempted and fallen. He took a deep breath, the silver of the cross digging into his hand, it never cut him. She stayed rooted to the spot as he brushed his hand over her cheek. 

“Do not fear me,” he tried to sooth. She bit her lip, the open wound on her neck was not helping to sate his hunger. It made him want her more. “Do not fear me.” he kisses her forehead, it’s hard and cold. She stiffens, hands clenched at her sides. 

When he looked down their noses brushed. He was so close, too close for comfort. There was a darkness that surrounded him, she could sense it, it wrapped around her, Satan’s grasp, pulling her in. She tried to move away, but he grasped her wrist, pulling her closer, flush against him, his other arm wrapped around her waist. 

“Look at me.” when their eyes met she wanted to scream, but froze. His eyes were bright, a blood red she had never seen in any human face before. He was not human. He was a demon, and he had her trapped. “How beautiful, you are,” his lips closed over hers. They were cold and hard, her stomach fluttered. 

“F-Father-”

“I’m sorry,” he bowed his head. “I’m sorry but you….I can’t….” he looked back at her, fear evident in his eyes. It pulled at her heart strings. Her head was telling her to run, to get as far away from this monster as she could. But her heart was saying no. There’s something else going on here. 

He gripped her wrist tightly. She tried to struggle but was no match. And she saw his eyes. For the first time, she had seen the red rimmed eyes of her priest. Fear coursed through her as hot and quickly as her own blood. 

“Y..You are a demon sir.” Harry’s lips dragged over her neck. Everything within him tried to resist. 

“Pray.” he growled, gripping her tighter, he tilted her back further, baring his teeth against her neck. Her skin was warm, the blood pulsed in his ears. It was too much. Heaven help him. 

“Our Father….” his fangs sank into her neck. She gasped and grabbed him hard, fingers fisting in his hair. He pressed her against him, crushing her to his chest. The sweet tang of her blood being slurped into his mouth was euphoric, he moaned, relishing in the high of it. 

She had never experienced anything like this. After the pain came something else entirely. A pleasurable feeling she had not anticipated. She whimpered, her body pressing against his as he gently laid her down on the ground, climbing over top of her. She pressed her hips up into his groin, he pushed down against her shoulders. Heat pooled between her legs, her center throbbed. She wanted more. She wanted his touch, his kiss, his body on hers. God help her, she couldn’t think straight. She could hear him drinking deeply from her. He could take it, he could take all of it, she didn’t want the pleasure to end. 

He pulled away, forcing himself to stop. Blood dripped from his lips onto hers, her own lips pale, body weak from loss of blood. She was close to death. Her eyes were glazed and she took a shaky breath. 

“Did you pray?” he asked her, brushing his finger over her lip, smearing the blood, she could taste it. Metallic, like pennies. She nods, wincing as the movement causes her pain. 

“S...Save me….” she cried out weakly. He tilted his head. 

“Do you truly wish to be damned? You cannot.”

“I...I don't want….please don’t let me die.” he snorts, leaning down and whispering in her ear. 

“You would be a devil with me?” he asks her. He doesn’t know what’s come over him, the power is in his head. He could take her life or spare it. In this moment , he feels close to God. 

“S...Save me….” He reaches up and slices open his own neck with a sharp fingernail. He leans down, pushing the wound against her lips. She inhales sharply. He holds himself up over her.

“Drink of me. Drink of me and have eternal life.” she sucks on the wound, drinking his blood from him. He moans, he can feel his cock stiffen between his legs, he reaches down and palms himself lightly, she can feel the back of his hand, and presses her hips up, he moves his hand out of the way, and pushes down against her. 

She’s getting stronger, she sucks harder and grabs him tightly, pushing her hips against his hard, they grind against one another, she can feel the heat within her building as their pace quickens, he groans clawing at the ground as she drinks from him. The power she begins to feel is incredible. He starts to pant, she can feel him getting harder. 

The dirt and rocks digging into her back stop bothering her, the pain fades away as the burn in her body coupled with the pleasure begins to overtake her. His hips stutter and he pulls away from her, only to capture her lips with his. He kisses her hard, their teeth clashing, he bites her lip, causing blood to trickle down her chin. 

Her orgasm shakes her to her core. Her body arcs and he rolls off of her onto his back. She writhes and shakes, licked by the flames of the venom that courses through her and the pleasure that rocks her. Once her orgasm subsides she cries out, turning her head to look at him, wide eyed and with fear. He grins, his teeth glistening with her blood. 

“Your body is dying….you will be mine.”

[cursed-and-quirkless]

Chapter 1 - The Curse

Hello all! Welcome to my first MHA fic! This is the first part of a series about if Izuku was a quirkless vigilante, because I really love that trope.

TW: This fic, the first part especially, has some themes of injury, death/being on the verge of death, and ideas of suicide. No suicide is attempted, however. If these ideas bother you, please be cautious. To skip the first part, do not read until the first “~” symbol. There is also weird church stuff (that’ll make sense when you read), so if that makes you uncomfortable please be cautious. Thank you, hope you enjoy!

Ao3: queenofliterature

They say before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. Izuku never thought that was accurate until now.

There had been plenty of times he had almost died. When a shot rang and the muzzle of a gun flashed, the only thing Izuku thought was run, dodge, never anything about who he was, or how he got here.

Now though, now he understood.

Izuku blinked his tired eyes, focusing on the grey sky. The city was surprisingly peaceful, though maybe that was the falling snow coating the sounds of the bustling life under him. Or the ringing in his ears.

Eyes swollen with exhaustion refused to close for too long. If he fell asleep now, he would never wake up. And as much as he lied to himself, Izuku wasn’t ready for that, not yet.

Hypothermia was settling quickly into his bones, his shallow breaths obvious against the cold night. But the gentle flakes tickled his nose, and all he felt was relief when they touched his fevered skin. Besides, he wouldn’t be dying of the cold tonight, the pools of blood gathering steadily underneath him was a testament to that.

Maybe if Izuku tried hard enough, he could roll off the edge. The rooftop had no railing, and if he stretched his arm just enough, he could dangle his hand over the streets below. But that wouldn’t do, he wanted to see the sky when his body finally let go, and his eyes closed and never reopened. Besides, Izuku could barely even move his fingers, let alone roll his entire body. No… he was stuck here.

It wouldn’t be long now.

Perhaps it was the fact that his blood was sluggishly trailing out of his body this time instead of the threat of instant death but…

His mind began to drift.

~

He was happy.

The middle class apartment he lived in with his mother and father always had the drapes thrown open, rays of sun keeping the apartment a comfortable temperature and bathing the bright green house plants.

His mother would playfully yell and scream, the damsel in distress. His father and him were the heroes.

He doesn’t remember much of his father, but he remembers the warm feeling of his chest, of the hot and smoky breath that would tickle his ears and ruffle his hair.

His father’s hands would hold him in the air as he flew to rescue his mother from the villains that had taken her.

Most of his peers probably wouldn’t want to spend their 5th birthday in the doctor’s office, but to Izuku it was the best present his parents could give him. He should have had a quirk by now, Kaccan said so. But if it was taking this long, it should have been cool and powerful! Just like Kaccan’s!

Izuku buzzed in excitement as the doctor read his file and looked at the x-rays they had taken in the big machine they put him in. Maybe he’d get telepathy, or fire, or a combination! Kaccan and him would grow up and be an unstoppable team and they’d share the rank for Number One hero (no matter what Kaccan said) and they’d save people and fight villains and-

“Quirkless.”

And just like that Izuku’s world shattered. The doctor’s uncaring drawl barely pierced his mind as his stomach lurched.

“W-what?” His mother questioned tearfully. His father simply sat there, eyes clouded with something Izuku would never understand. Sure 20% of the world was quirkless, but most were old and that number was dying out everyday. Only .01% of Japan’s population remained quirkless. And Izuku was now one of them.

When Izuku awoke the next day, his father was gone, and his mother wasn’t surprised.

There was no explosion, no shouted words, no hits or screams. His father was simply gone, any traces of him lingered like a ghost. Sometimes Izuku thought he had made up his father, the only proof he had that the man existed were the pictures Mom had kept in the trunk beside her bed.

It was raining the night he got diagnosed, as if the heavens were weeping for the shattered dream of a crushed child. He sat for hours watching the video of All Might saving all those people at the factory, hitting the replay button until his fingers hurt.

“Because I am here! Because I am here! Because I am here!”

Izuku heard the door creek softly behind him, but he didn’t turn around, he didn’t need to. “S-see that Mom?” Izuku’s tiny voice cracked, and he finally turned around. His mother already had tears springing to her eyes, and Izuku would realize later that’s the moment he would never see his father again.

“He always has a smile on his face, no matter how bad things get.” Izuku’s voice was slowly breaking down along with the little boy. “Even when things seem impossible, he never gives up.” Izuku will never forget the look on his mother’s face, the pain and the sorrow.

“Do you think… I could be a hero too?” Izuku already knew the answer to that question, he saw the answer in his mother’s eyes. His mother rushed forward, gripping him tightly and nuzzling into his hair, murmuring apology after apology. Her touch burned and the ache in his chest choked him, but Izuku didn’t bother to fight her off.

Izuku doesn’t even remember his father’s last words to him.

~

Izuku and his mother went to church the next day.

His mother was aching for a sense of normalcy, and some foolish part of Izuku believed his father would be there waiting for them.

His father was half japanese, but he never told Izuku what his other half was. Hisashi’s parents and siblings chose to follow the Christian faith, though what branch Izuku also didn’t know, he never paid attention. There was a small church half an hour away from the Midoriya apartment, and Hisashi thought it would be good for the small family to have a sense of community.

His mother must have opened up that day to the pastor before Sunday Service, because that was the first time Izuku was called a curse to humanity.

The little boy sat in the pew, hunching over as every word the pastor said pierced his heart.

“The quirkless are a scourge, a curse, a remnant of the days of old. They are a reminder of the sins of man!” Izuku’s eyes pricked at the cheers coming from around him. “We must stay strong in the face of adversity!” The cheers were stronger this time. Whatever his mother told the pastor must have sunk deep into the man’s skin, because they spent the next hour listening to the talks of plagues and scourge and punishment that were the quirkless population, all while he looked at the little green-haired boy.

After the service, all Izuku wanted to do was disappear. Going home would mean facing the unnatural quiet that now suffocated the once bright household, and staying here meant facing the lingering glares and whispers. His mother was in the restroom preparing for the semi-long trip back when Izuku heard footsteps approaching.

“Hello, Izuku.” The pastor greeted with a soft smile. He supposed it should be comforting, but all Izuku felt was fear.

“H-hello.” A meek voice greeted back.

“Your mother told me of your condition. I just wanted you to know I meant every word I said. But I can help.” The pastor offered, and despite the dangerous glint in the man’s eyes, Izuku perked up.

“You can?” Izuku asked cautiously. Maybe this would make Dad come back! And he could make Mom happy again! Izuku’s heart clenched when a hand grabbed his wrist.

“Come, child, it's not your fault. The children of God are innocent, you are being punished for the misgivings of your ancestors.” The gentle words of the pastor did nothing to ease the bile growing in Izuku’s throat. The more Izuku fought, the tighter the bruising grips became.

“W-wait.” Izuku protested as he was dragged away from the restroom. “My Mom! She’ll wonder where I am!”

“It will be a nice surprise for her, don’t you think?” The pastor ignored the protests and continued dragging the boy through the church.

“What-what’s gonna happen?”

“Simple, child. We’ll get the Devil out of you. It may hurt but I promise you’ll be better for it.” The pastor reassured. Thi wasn’t right. Mom and Dad said never go with strangers! But… the pastor wasn’t a stranger, he said he could help?

“Can we ask my Mom, p-please?” Izuku gave a powerful tug, and that seemed to be the last straw.

“Foolish child! Your mother does not understand what needs to be done! I do!” The others in the church startled at the noise, but turned away when they saw what was happening.

Izuku didn’t know what was happening, but he didn’t like it! In a last attempt, Izuku lashed out and bit the man’s hand, pulling away with a gasp when the pastor yanked his hand back.

“You evil child!” The pastor screamed as Izuku ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. He remembered the way to the restrooms, he just hoped his mother would be there. He wanted to go home! He wanted to play hero and be held by his dad and be tucked in by his mom when he fell asleep on the couch!

“Mom!” Izuku screamed when he spotted green hair. The woman quickly turned around from the couple she seemed to be frantically talking too. Izuku’s own eyes matched the tears that were streaming down his mother’s face.

“Izuku!” Inko yelled in relief as her little boy crashed into her. “Baby, where were you? I was worried sick!” Inko cried.

“M-mom, the p-pastor, h-he, a-and-” Izuku couldn’t get any of the story through the spasming of his little lungs. Through hiccuping sobs, Izuku heard the frantic footsteps of the pastor approach him, and he buried himself further into his mother’s neck.

“Pastor? What-what happened?” Inko hesitated at the teeth marks on the hand of the pastor. Her little boy wouldn;t do that for anything.

“H-he said.” Izuku’s little sobs broke her heart.

“Said what, Baby?” Inko coaxed, ignoring the man above them.

“G-gonna get the Devil out.” Inko’s heart dropped, knowing the implication.

“You were gonna beat him?” The horrified whisper reached the poster’s ears and he scoffed.

“Not him, the scourge. The boy may feel pain, but it would make him better.” The pastor declared. Perhaps if Inko hadn’t already been in pieces, she would have yelled at him. Perhaps if her husband hadn’t left and her son wasn’t falling apart she would have defended her son, but for now she had enough.

“Izuku, we’re leaving.” She said to the pastor just as much as her son, and Izuku saw the glance towards his blackened wrist.

It was the first time his mother ignored a bruise, but it would not be the last.

The drive home was quiet, and Izuku didn’t think he would ever get used to the silence that now permeated his new life.

“Mom?” Izuku spoke up, his timid voice uncomfortable with breaking pure silence. “Everything is going to be okay, right?” He just needed to hear those words as his world was crumbling beneath him, ‘It will be okay’.

“Izuku, my baby, there will be many more like him. From now on I want you to walk to and from school with Katsuki. No detours, nothing.” Izuku nodded at his mom’s serious voice. “We’re gonna get you a phone, I want you to text me everyday at lunch, and before and after school, and when you get home.” Izuku nodded again, and kept doing so as more rules were given to him.

When they got home that afternoon, his mother shut down. From afternoon till night, Inko Midoriya held an empty tea cup, not having the energy to fill it. She sat at the table, and tried to remember the deep voice of her husband that floated around the kitchen like embers, and the light and airy voice of her child that bounced against the walls.

Now all she heard was the stone cold silence of a shattered household.

Meanwhile, Izuku sat at the computer. Mom didn't bother to enforce computer time. So he watched the video, over and over again until it somehow pierced the unfeeling void that was beginning to set in. It never did.

“Because I am here! Because I am here! Because I am here!”

He realized that night with a bitter numbness he was already forgetting what his father’s laugh sounded like.

~

Izuku was finally beginning to understand, he knew he was a plague on his mother and father’s life, an infestation in his own skin.

He knew he was a curse.

~~~

Disclaimer: Nothing against any religion. Just as long as you don’t use it to hurt others I don’t care what religion you are/aren’t, this specific church, however, was very radical and was based loosely on unfortunate experiences I had in churches with some personal issues of mine. I just thought it would be interesting to explore how radical groups like this would see quirklessness.

I don't usually do this, but each chapter is gonna have a song I think that fits it!

Chapter Song: i can't breathe by Bea Miller

I have a Discord, and this fic has a channel! Same with Tumblr

Discord: https://discord.gg/UpWvDzKC5R Tumblr: cursed-and-quirkless

[lilwritingraven]

Soulmate AU

I’m planning on turning this into a story, but I’m needing to get the plot in order. So take this scene I’ve written to get myself into the mindset :)

Summary: The Deputy reaches a turning point in the war against the Seed's. She's left to wonder, what is she really fighting for?

Trigger Warnings: Rape/Noncon Elements, Knifeplay, Blood,

I haven’t used trigger warnings before, so if there are any I’ve missed please feel free to let me know and I will update it!

I don't go into a deep description, but to avoid any unintentional triggers, I will be putting the story under the cut.

               Rook sat down, stoking the embers of the campfire to keep it from growing too large. A scowl on her face as she replayed the day’s events over and over. She couldn’t believe that after all this time, Joseph Seed and his inability to just shut up were what caused her to resolve their soul bond.

               It was just like him to annoy her into talking.

               And now, having successfully escaped, all that she could hear over the radio were his incessant pleas to go back ‘home’ so they could finally live as the Voice had intended all along. As a ‘family.’

               A noise of annoyed frustration burned the back of her throat. Even now she could feel the irresistible pull of the fully resolved bond.

               Her back immediately stiffened as she heard the rustling of leaves behind her. She whirled around to find a few men belonging to the whitetail militia. A sigh of relief fell from her lips. “On patrol, are we?” She asked, turning back to her task at hand.

               The one at the head scoffed. “Don’t talk to us like we’re on the same level, peggy.”

               Her head whipped up to stare back at them. “Wha- what did you just call me?” Her lips pulled back in disgust. “I have been fighting this war alongside you all long enough that you should know the difference.”

               An incredulous laugh fell from one of the others lips. Three of them, she thought, almost shockingly. “You think we trust anything you say? We’ve heard the broadcasts. You’re that monster’s soulmate. We know what that does to people.”

               The third stepped forward, unshed tears shining in the firelight. “You can’t resist it. That pull. You’re going to turn your back on this county. It’s not a matter of if, but when. You’re nothing but a liability.”

               Rook stood and turned to face them fully, a heavy weight on her chest, hands up in a slight show of surrender. “Listen, I understand your worry. I do. But I know what is right, that what they are doing is wrong. Despite what I feel, nothing is going to change that.” A sigh left her lips, and her eyes met the ground.

               She should have noticed the punch flying her way. The man had hit her hard on the jaw, sending her sprawling away from the fire. Panic flooded her immediately, and she scrambled to get to her feet. “Hey!” She tried shouting, but was cut off by a hand gripping her windpipe and slamming her into the nearest tree trunk. A gagged cry fell from her lips, pieces of the bark stabbing into her neck. She tried not to think about the possibility of bugs falling down her shirt.

               After all, how ridiculous was it to be thinking of a couple spiders in a time like this? “Shut. Up.” The first one, the one that was leading the group, spat at her. His face was so close to hers the words stirred up the flyaway hairs on her forehead. “We should just kill you and get it over with. See how the precious Father likes having someone taken from him.”

               “I’ve got a better idea.” She couldn’t see which one had spoken, but she didn’t like the way it was said. Malice dripping from every syllable.

               The next sequence of events she could only remember in snapshots, almost as if she were looking at pictures and not memories of the terrible event. Her hands being bound at the wrists with a worn leather belt. Her face being forced against the forest floor, the twigs and rocks cutting into the skin. The horrible, horrible pain.

               When they ripped her shirt in half and saw the other two soul marks, one resolved, the other still in the ugly gray stage of being unresolved, she knew no amount of convincing would change their minds.

               “Get off of me!! She shouted, a raw feeling of terror moving her limbs of their own accord. Trying, against all odds, to kick, elbow, do anything to prevent what was coming. Two pairs of hands shoved her flat on the ground, arms stretched above her head. One man held her shoulders, the other, her calves.

               “Hold her still.” The third man sat astride her thighs, and she heard the unmistakable click of a pocket knife being opened. She thrashed harder, teeth grinding in frustration. The first cut came just under her left shoulder, and she couldn’t help but cry out. She felt the metal of the blade before the searing pain, a wet trail of blood flowing down her side and pooling just below her breast. There was no give, and she worried he was cutting too deep, causing unrepairable damage to her nerves.

She knew, without knowing how, that he was carving a word into her skin. Probably a sick reference to John, a way to mock his workings. His ideals. Her back was on fire, and her head swam, from loss of blood no doubt. Her shirt was sticking to her skin, soaked through.

When he was finished, happy with whatever he had written, the knife tore through the fabric of her jeans. She groaned in protest, too lightheaded to manage much more. The men holding her backed away, and she feebly tried to crawl away from them.

“Where do you think you’re going, peggy slut?” Hands grasped her ankles and dragged her back, flipping her over. The pain of the fresh wound being smashed into the dirt, sticks, and leaves caused black spots in her vision. A scream ripped through her, but it was promptly cut off by a hand crushing her windpipe.

Her pants were ripped the rest of the way off. Tears sprang to her eyes. “No- please, don’t.” She was gasping, trying her best to make the words come out clearly. Fire spread from her insides to every muscle, every fiber of her being as they raped her. Her back scraped roughly against the ground.

               She could hear the sobbing, feel the tears on her cheeks, but it wouldn’t connect with her conscious mind. She remembers questioning if this was really happening, or if it was a sick, bliss induced dream.

               When they left her in the dirt, laughing the whole time, her eyes blankly flew to the fire and wondered just when it had burned out. She turned on her side, curling into the fetal position to try and relieve the burning on her back. She felt hollow, not really a part of the world. Watched as the sky turned pink with the sunrise.

               That was how the Chosen found her, early in the morning light, and she found she couldn’t care when they were lifting her and taking her to Jacob, or Joseph, or whoever they were commanded to obey at that moment. She cried out when their arms rested against her sore shoulders, but they paid her no mind. At least they were kind enough to throw a jacket around her, shielding her from prying eyes.

               Not that that mattered, anyway. She had been betrayed, by the very people she had fought for, cried for, almost died for. All because of something she couldn’t control.

               Her eyes fell shut in anguish, and she didn’t open them again.

                                                       Joseph

               He felt he was on cloud nine. A smile settling itself for the remainder of the day. He relished in the pain her words had caused, knowing what they truly meant.

               After years of waiting, he had finally found his soulmate.

               A pleased sigh tumbled off him, not for the first time. He almost felt like Faith, flying through his tasks. Waiting to hear news of where his soulmate had run off to.

               He fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow…

               …Only to be awoken by a sharp pain shooting through his jaw, into his cheekbone. His first thought, as he scrambled to get out of the sheets, was that she had come back, furious with him for finally making her speak.

               His confusion when he found himself alone in the room was disorienting. His fingers found their way to his jaw, rubbing at the sore spot. He wasn’t imagining it. Just as he had convinced himself it was a weird mishap, pain cut off his breath from his windpipe, a feeling of sharp nails clawing at the base of his neck at the same time. A strangled shout rang through the room, and he fell, more than climbed, off the bed.

               The bedroom door opened to reveal a couple of confused looking guards, and his breathing finally returned to him. “Father, is everything alright?” The woman asked, concern lacing her words.

               “Yes, yes I believe-“ His words were cut short by a gasp. His cheek was on fire, like someone had scratched at him. His hand flew up, only to find nothing that would explain this pain. “Call for my brothers.” He demanded, taking a step forward. An agonized cry burst through him, his legs giving out as he collapsed to the floor. His shoulders were on fire, searing pain shooting down his spine. Only, this time, he recognized the pain.

               It was the same he felt when John would carve his sins into his skin. At that moment, he knew. “Father, what is happening?” His worker shouted, dropping her weapon to appear at his side. His eyes flashed at her.

               “My brothers, now!” The command burst out, heat flaming his face with his anger. How had he never heard of this side effect of soulmates? Feeling their pain as your own.

               All he knew was that he needed to stop John.

               Pulling himself to his feet, he tried to shake off the continuing pain. He walked out of his room, not bothering to put a shirt on. He could feel the scowl on his face. “Sir, Herald John is on his way, and Herald Jacob is completing his trials. He shall be on his way shortly.” The words stopped him short.

               Turning to his follower, he asked, “John is on his way?”

               “Yes, Father. He was already taking a flight when he got the call.” A wave of horror washed through him. If not John, then who?

               He cleared his throat, needing to be alone. The pain distracting him as he tried to keep it at bay. “Very well. Leave.” She wasted no time in running off to do whatever. His back had since stopped burning, instead feeling tight as the aftermath of the scar was left to heal. A breath escaped him, and he shut his eyes tightly as he felt it burn up again.

               Oh, my sweet Rook. What is happening to you?

               His throat constricted again, and he felt a burning fire shoot up from his groin. He doubled over, retching with the pain. “Joseph!” He heard John’s voice, echoing strangely as though they were in a cave.

               John’s cool hand pressed against his back, leading him into a room down the hall. “John.” Joseph gasped, tears trailing his cheeks. Understanding burning him. “She’s- someone- We need to find her.” The words were painful, grating. John knew immediately.

               “I will send out the orders.” And he left the room, leaving Joseph a sobbing mess.

***

               When she was finally brought to them, she was unconscious. Her arm dangled from the arms of the Chosen, and Joseph briefly worried she was dead.

               He brushed the thought away as quickly as it had come. He would know if she was dead of course.

               John watched as his brother turned pale when noticing she was in nothing but one of the guard’s jackets. Jacob grunted, his hand going to his younger brother’s shoulder.

               When they took her to the infirmary, she had to be placed on her stomach. Joseph had been correct; it was indeed a word. However, this was no sin. There, in ugly block letters, was the word WHORE.

               He absently noted the other soul marks she wore as well.

               “Joseph.” John breathed, and Joseph knew he was enjoying the sight. “She’s-“

               “Father,” their medic cut in, either not noticing or just not caring about the icy look John threw his way. “She’s badly injured. I need to take her to surgery, immediately.”

               Joseph tried multiple times to make sense of the words. He felt he was drowning, watching himself react as though from a distance. “Of course. Update me when she’s- when you’ve finished.” He turned, needing desperately to speak to the Voice.

               Unfortunately, Jacob had other plans. “Joseph.” His brusque voice rang out. Joseph knew what he was asking.

               “Find whoever is responsible.” He stopped his pace, turning his cold gaze on his brother. “And I leave them to your mercy.” If the words were visible, they could cut through steel. Jacob grinned, the excitement flowing through him obvious to his younger brother.

               “Yes, Father.”

[notyetneedcoffee]

Birthday Treat Part 2

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Warning: NSFW, 18+, toys and smut

A/N: follow up to Late Night Comfort, but not necessary to enjoy!

o o o o o

Bucky landed the chopper in a clearing beside a cabin with an enclosed front porch. ��

As soon as they could, both men jumped out, opening your door. You’d unbuckled and Bucky extended a hand to help you down. As soon as your feet were firmly planted on the ground, his mouth landed upon yours. Nipping at your lip, tasting your tongue, he hummed delightfully against you. Smiling, he playfully grabbed your ass cheeks, giving them a shake.

It pulled a delighted little whine out of you as the anal toy shifted.  

Steve’s hand grabbed you by the back of neck, turning your head to claim your mouth himself. “Come on, Sweetheart. Let’s take you inside. I can’t wait much longer.”

The enclosed porch included a large day bed and two oversized wicker chairs. Inside, a living area and kitchen were dominated by a stone fireplace. Steve led you by the hand into the bedroom at the back. A blue coverlet, something soft and easy to wash covered the mattress. The frame of the king bed was made of heavy wood and iron.  

“Now.” Steve pulled your shirt over your head, removing your bra, and freeing your breasts. “Shall we get down to the real fun of the trip?”  

Bucky was striping off his clothes as Steve removed the rest of your clothes. You allowed Steve to strip you down, moving with complete compliance. Your attention remained on Buck as he pulled the henley over his head, revealing his strong chest and arms. He gave you’re the most delectable grin as his abs tightening while he unbuckled his belt. Damn he knew how much you liked to look at him.  

As he opened his jeans, he cupped himself, licking his lips. He dropped the rest of his clothes, stepping up to run his hands over your bare flesh. Your eyes drifted closed. When Bucky touched you like this, just his hands sliding over you, one warm, one cool, you just fell into the sensation. Steve’s hands joined in, sweeping over your skin. You swayed a little.  

“Come here, Doll.” Bucky led you to the bed where he laid you in the middle of the mattress, face down. “Just relax.”

A drawer of the nightstand opened and closed.

Two pairs of oil slicked hands began at either shoulder, releasing tight muscles and warming your flesh. They worked their way down your arms and hands. Steve’s mouth trailed wet kisses over your shoulder. Bucky sucked on one finger after another. You moaned.  

Their attention moved to your back, along your spine, over your hips. A deep relaxation settled into your body. They pushed strong thumbs into your calves, fingers slid along the backs of your legs. Bucky’s hands moved your legs further apart, rubbing the muscles of your inner thighs with slick hands.  

Steve shifted, kneeling near your head. He ran his fingers through your hair, working over your scalp. His teeth nipped along the cords of your neck.  

Bucky’s hands slipped over your ass cheeks, between your legs, fingertips brushing your folds, before traveling down your inner thighs. Back and forth, he repeated the pattern, each time stroking your core more and more.  A long, low moan escaped.

The deep relaxed state began to stir with slow desire like floating in a bath of honey milk and sin.  

Heat pooled between your legs and your own slick mixed with the oil Bucky spread along your thighs. Steve’s mouth nipped and bit along your spine, causing your back to curve. His large hands dug into the meat of your cheeks, pulling them apart.

Fingers slipped into your wet cunt, pumping slow and rubbing along your g spot. The toy was spun slowly, tugged and prodded. Their breath brushed over hyper sensitive oil slicked skin. Heat and tension coiled, on a slow burn. You began to pant.

“Oh, boys. Ah, shit. That feels so, fuck, so good.”

The pressure on your g spot picked up, while Bucky’s metal digits slid back and forth across your clit. You want to move, your hips instinctively rocking, but they held you in place. Bucky hummed in satisfaction and Steve chuckled low. They were enjoying themselves.

“That’s it, sweetheart. So pretty. Come for us.”

It only took a moment more. You did, quivering and clutching the sheets. Bucky did not let up, drawing out your orgasm. You didn’t even notice Steve pull the toy free. They only gave you a moment to recover.  

“Come here, Doll.” Bucky laid on his back, hand holding his cock for you. “Wrap those gorgeous lips around this.”

Eagerly rising onto all fours, you positioned yourself between his knees, mouth actually watering. He responded so intensely when you gave him head. It just lit you up. Replacing his hand, you squeezed, stroked, while running a flat wet tongue over his balls. He groaned.  

Pressing your tongue firmly to the underside of his cock, making your way to the tip, and rolling his head between lips and tongue, Bucky’s toes curled. His knees came up when you pushed him past tight wet lips until he hit the back of your throat.

“Fu- uck…yes!”

A deep moan of your own sent vibrations down his cock when Steve plunged into from behind. You fell into a rhythm, deep throating Bucky’s as Steve rammed you forward. So good.  

Steve slick hand played with your ass. After the heavenly torture on the flight, you were eager, pushing back against him. His finger slipped in. You gasped, having to take Buck’s cock in hand for a moment while Steve played with, stretched your opening.

You felt the head of his cock press against you. “Sweetheart?” Steve’s voice was low, rugged.

“Yes.” You pushed back into his, dropping your forehead to Bucky, hand still stroking, nose now nuzzling the base of his cock. Steve pushed into you, the stretch momentarily stealing your breath.

“Oh shit!” Steve growled, breathing heavy. His s fingers dug into your hips as he began to move, with each slow thrust going a little deeper.  

Panting, “Steve, oh fuck, mmm yes, oh god, oh shit.”

Bucky removed your hands, slipping lower beneath you. He brushed the hair from your face, watching you. Locking eyes, seeing his amazement, his desire, as you were overcome by the sensations of what Steve was doing to you, you though your chest would explode.

“Come here, Doll.”  

Steve was suddenly gone, Bucky lifting you to his chest and sinking himself in your cunt. Your moaned, shook, as he kissed you. Tongues and teeth battled. You drowned in his kiss, in the deep rock of his hips as his arms held you to him like he was trying to crawl inside you.

Then Steve was back, filling you so completely you cried into Bucky’s kiss. No pain, just utter overwhelming, completeness. Enveloped between them, overwhelmed by new sensation, desperate for more.

“Oh shit, boys!” You growled. “Fuck me!”

“Yes!” Bucky rocked his hips.

Steve made a noise deep in his chest, thrusting in time. You felt Bucky’s right hand leave your back, he reached past you to Steve. You watched Buck stare at him, and your cunt clenched. Fuck this was heaven.

Bucky’s other hand pulled your hair back hard, craning your neck. Steve bit down on the exposed flesh, hot and wet. You shook. Steve fucked you harder. A cry tore from your throat as you came over Bucky’s cock, entire body quaking.

“Fuck!” Steve growled out, unable to keep from following you over the edge. With groan, he pulled away from you to collapse to the right of Bucky – who jacked his knees up, and physically holding up by the hips and slammed into your cunt furiously. A second orgasm crashed into you before the last dissipated – tearing all breath from you.

“Ah, shit, yes!” Bucky slammed into you, emptying himself, holding you tight, both of you shaking.

You lay there, head on his chest, breath slowly returning to normal and utterly boneless. Steve rolled onto his side, leg tangling with yours. His eyes lashes looked so long when his eyes were closed. You ran a hand over his hip. Your other hand was buried under Bucky’s neck.

Steve reaches up to stroke your back, never opening his eyes.

When Buck adjusted, pulling his right arm up, the two stared at one another. With just a hint of a smile, Steve slid down just enough to rest his head on Bucky’s shoulder. It took a moment, but he let out a long sigh and wrapped himself around both of you.

You lay like that for some time, bodies cooling, listening to each other breath, just feeling close.

“Doll, I know this trip is supposed to be all about you.” Bucky whispered. “But, damn, I missed this.”

“Me, too.” Steve’s response was so quiet you barely heard it. His voice grew to a whisper, “Whatever this is now, with our girl, it is…” he trailed off for a moment. “I don’t know how to be without you two anymore.”

You leaned closer, capturing his lips with your own. Bucky pressed his face into Steve’s hair. You all held each other just a little tighter.  

Still, a question, one you’d had for ages, gnawed at you. Now finally seemed the right time. “Before…,” you settled back onto the wide chest and closed your eyes in contentment. “Any time before I guess, were the two of you…?”

“Together?” Bucky finished. You nodded. “Not in the way you’re thinking, no.”

“You’ve shared women.” You teased, without an ounce of jealousy. It would have been literally decades ago.  

“No.” Steve started, but Bucky spoke over the top of him.

“Well, there was that nurse in France. Oh and that dame in, uh, Dover.”

“But that was a night.” Steve sighed, “It wasn’t like Y/N.”

“You’re right,” Bucky’s hand slipped up and down your back. “Never been someone like our girl.”

“So…” you began to ask when Steve propped himself on an elbow.

He looked down on the two of you, eyes full of warmth and old memories. “Back in the day, I was pretty sickly. My Pa used to tell me to get out of the tub before I let the water out so I wouldn’t get sucked down the drain.”  

Bucky ran a hand through his hair.  

“He died when I was young. My Ma worked her tail off to keep me from having to work as a sick kid. It meant a lot of time alone. A lot of really cold nights. Buck’s family always took me in, fed me. But in the worse times, it was always Bucky. Just him.”

Steve’s eyes closed. “Didn’t matter if I was sick, or cold, or scared or just plain sad. Bucky would hold me until I was better. Even when things were better, he hugged me when no one did. Taught me to dance. Except for my Ma, it was the only touch that ever felt like home.” He took a deep breath. “Then things changed.” Bucky stilled. Steve buried his head in between the two of you, near your face on Bucky’s ribs. “But it’s okay now.”

“After Steve got us out of that camp, I was… confused. Now I was the smaller one. I was the hurt and sick one. I knew how to give, but I didn’t know how to accept. I mean, I guess I did the best I could. Still, I know I hurt Stevie along the way.” Bucky touched you both, finding comfort. “There were times during the war where it got so fucked up it didn’t matter, we were there for each other. But it was desperation. It wasn’t this, wasn’t ‘cause we’re comfortable and happy.”

You thought back to the way your relationship with Steve started. Late talks in the common room turned into secret late talks in his room. Private talks include holding each other, cuddled up on the sofa. Then it turned physical. So much made sense now.  

“Steve,” You trailed your fingers through his hair, touching his face. “Whenever you need, or just want, that contact. We’re here. If you want to haul me up in your arms for any reason, you go right ahead.”

“Sweetheart,” he kissed you tenderly. “I don’t think it would be appropriate…”

“For Steve Rogers to have a life.” Bucky finished. “Pal, we’ve talked about this. I get that Captain America is a symbol. But it’s not you. Amongst friends, within our home – weird to think of the compound as home – you deserve to be a human being.”

“The team will talk about us.”

“Like they don’t already?” Bucky challenged.

“Steve, I’m not talking about jumping way out of your comfort zone. I’m just say you don’t need to stifle yourself.” You smiled. “Besides, seeing Starks face would be a great birthday gift…that and a bath.”

Steve laughed. “I’m not thinking about Tony for two more days. I’ll go run you a bath, though.”

Kissing you long and slow before pushing himself up, he ruffled Bucky’s hair before wondering off to the bathroom.

“Thank you, Doll.” Bucky pulled you closer, rubbing his nose along yours. “We hadn’t really talked about that. Hearing him say we’re okay means a lot. I was hoping this getaway would do us good, but this is great.”

“You mean you didn’t haul me up here to fulfill all my sexual fantasies?” You giggled.

He laughed. “Oh, that’s definitely on the agenda.”

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[fiery-assassin-arc]

Bare Yourself - Iris’ POV

tw nudity mention, tw abuse mention

The chiming of the bells coming from St. Auodeon’s Church is enough to bring chills to me, even though it’s a nice spring day. Memories from Catholic school hit me like a train, thinking of Yvette almost. I wonder how she fares—not that it matters.

 She made her choice when she wouldn’t even help me anymore, and I’m the fool for trusting her still.

My hands go to the cross necklace I decided to wear today, the cold metal unfamiliar since it has never remained on my neck until after school. I look over at the nuns, bowing in respect to the people who are entering, seeking a familiar face.

 “Father Daniel.” I announce his name, walking over to him. The nuns look up and smile. Of course they remember me.

 He turns, gives me a soft smile. “Ah, Iris. What a pleasure to see you on holy grounds again. It’s been what, a few months?”

 “Just one month, Father. I heard the bake sale was a success.”  I look over at the nuns. “Sister Harriet, you look lovely as ever.”

 “Oh stop it dearie. I remember when you were just a wee little girl, scared of the ruler. And now look at you, all confident and strong.” She reaches for my wrist and I retract slowly.

 “I was hoping if you weren’t too busy Father, I would like to speak to you.” I whisper the last seven words softly so only he could hear.

 He nods. I don’t tell Father Daniel much. Mainly the nightmares that never wish to cease their orchestra in my skull. And for some of the acts I’ve committed. I couldn’t stop myself from crying when I told him I killed someone, but he never turned me in. Just told me to find some way for forgiveness to seek absolution. Strangely, in the world we live in, we accept it.

 And this church was now polytheistic.

 He takes me to the confessional booth, sitting on the side so he can appear aloof. Once I sit down, my hand goes to my cross. Rubbing the metal until it hurts my fingertips.

 “Father I have felt plagued by the past.” I start off, lean my head against the chair. “For two weeks now, I have gotten nightmares involving . . .” I exhale slowly, thinking if I say his name, he’d appear like Bloody Mary. My finger goes over the rosary beads that were conveniently placed beside me, inhaling deeply.  He’s not here. He won’t get me here. He won’t he won’t— “Remington, someone who had wronged me in the past.”

 He hums. “What about him that plagues you?”

 “I think he’s back.” I breathe the words out. “He attached me in the woods, I know he did. And my family thinks that I’m imagining it.” As the priest remains silent, I sit back and continue. “You know it’s been over three years since he died?”

 “I remember that day, you had come into my church that following night. Still in your gown. Be grateful it was so dark no one recognized you.” He looks up to the sky, probably apologizing to the Gods.  

 “Yeah, thanks for that.” Almost three years ago, after the wedding was off the air of television due to a electrical circuit being cut, I drove the wedding limo towards this very church. When I made it here, still stained with blood, ready to confess my sins, Father Daniel welcomed me inside.

 “Do you believe his spirit is unrestful, due to the nature of his death?”

 “I don’t know.”  Every time I think of the alternative than what I have experienced, it gives me a headache.  “But due to a random Titan bringing people back, if you haven’t heard, anything is possible.”

 “It frightens you, the idea of him back in your life?”

 It makes me sick. He takes my silence as confirmation.

 “I’ve also had dreams… memories of us. I’m not sure, but they feel like they happened. Showing me what he really was.” He’s silent the whole time. Something wet hits my hand, my fingers are burning from the rubbing of the rosary beads.

 The dreams have started last year on my birthday, showing me glimpses, through motion or a whole movie-length. It’s either our happiest moments, or signs of his abuse I didn’t speak out on. That lunch scene genuinely frightened me.

 And I have no idea if it was real, or he’s fabricated it years ago. My heart rattles inside my ribs, hurting me. How deep did his influence run?

 “That is something I don’t think I could help with,”  Father Daniel leaves his side of the booth and walks for a moment. Then he opens my door, his green eyes soft with concern. Hands me a tissue. “I think that we are done for today.”

 I let go of the beads, see the paint is rubbed onto my skin, a rich brown. I must look a mess in front of him. Shaking, crying. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

 “Breathe, child. It is natural to let go of your emotions.” Father Daniel takes my hand, helps me out of the booth. We go out to the back of the courtyard. “There are things even I cannot assist with. Hearing one confess, hear their problems, but at their own mental expense, I feel it would be too much for their soul.” He gingerly places a hand on my shoulder, smiling at me.

 “Of course, Father. What should I do?”

 “I would suggest talking to someone with knowledge of the mind. Perhaps they can help.” I grimace, but he doesn’t notice, or he did. “Or journal, do something to find ways of what it means.” He inhales, continues. “Sometimes God doesn’t have the answer for it all. I hope you find peace, in what you are going through, Iris.”

 I nod, hear a distant clap of thunder over on the east side. It vibrates within my skin. Hot tears slide down my face. “Thank you.”

  Perhaps it’s because I was born in water, or maybe my zodiac sign, but I love the feeling of it.  The floating, the light twinkling through the glassy ceiling of blue. Submerged ten feet underwater in my pool with flowers floating above, I feel a sense of peace. My hand slowly moves in the water, my eyes open. It doesn’t burn.

 My body twists and glides effortlessly, hair tickling my skin. Finding peace through swimming, ballet. Things I used to do before— they can help me. Sure, I could take Father Daniel’s suggestion of seeing a therapist. But not now. Not until I get him out. Out of the physical realm and my mind.

 And these damned memories. Why are they resurfacing? And are they real?

 I swim back up to the surface, pushing my hair back. All that I hear is my breaths, the muffled sounds from my music, and the water moving with me in tandem. I’ve sent the servants home, and I usually pay them while having them every six months. It’s better being alone. No one hears my screams from my nightmares.  No one has to see my battle.

 I’ve had one person to see my vulnerable side like that, and she’s in a crypt in the frozen tundra. Per my demand.  I wasn’t going to let him turn her to rubble. I trusted him.

 I pull myself out of the water, pulling my hair to the side to wring it out of excess liquid. Maybe I could cook something, get my mind off of today. “Radio, off.” I command, and the radio silences, leaving me in quiet. It’s fine. I can make it one day in silence.

 I wrap the towel around myself and exit out the pool room, making my way to the bathroom, and turn on the shower, nice and hot. I strip myself of my swimsuit and get in. Wash the chlorine from my hair and skin, ignoring the sting of soap in my eyes. I blink it away, scrub it out.

 I don’t want to close my eyes.  I don’t want to see the darkness.

I wash my back, the scars showing lines where I was hurt. Can’t believe it’s been six years since that day. As I look, I notice some look older, a bit more darker than the others. As if I had these scars before my kidnapping.

 Couldn’t be my wings giving the scars. It’s a weird sense of anatomy how they come out,  but never resulted in my back bleeding.

 And I remember the pain of each whip, but on some parts, it hurt worse. Hitting something that was there prior.

 I shake off whatever idea I have, despite the chill and continue to shower. Wanting it out of my system. Maybe… Maybe Dad was right. Maybe it was just because of his anniversary of his death that I imagined it. No. It sounded stupid as soon as I thought of it. Dad can be right on many things, but not this.

 Definitely not this.

 I change into some sweatpants and a big shirt once I’m done, splash some cold water on my face before walking out to the living room. I bend to the fireplace and start it up with some wood and a flame. The sounds of the ember popping a comfort to me. When I exhale, I notice how cold it is.

 “Nick?” I say into the silence, before groaning. “Not in the mood for this, big brother. Next time use a lock.”

 “You’re not as aware of your surroundings as you used to be.”

 My instincts are quick, grabbing the fire poker and pointing it straight at the intruder in my home. He stands at the front door, arms behind his back. Clad in blue, the symbol of our clan proud in the center of his headband. A soft smile. Sad, but soft nonetheless. It’s been four months since I’ve seen the man in front of me. Four months since I almost killed him in revenge.

 Not since the funeral of our friends, clan, of Frost.

 “Hi, Sub-Zero.”

[buggie-hagen]

Sermon for Third Sunday after Epiphany (1/24/21)

Primary Text | Jonah 3:1-10; Mark 1:14-20

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Dear People of God,

         The first thesis of The 95 Theses is, “Our Lord and Master Jesus Christ, in saying, “Repent!” willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.” Indeed, the first word Jesus spoke at the beginning of his ministry, as he proclaimed the kingdom of God has come near, was the word “Repent!” (Mark 1:15). In the kingdom God is ushering in we cannot remain as we are. We must become something different, think differently, act differently, be different. This applies not just to a tiny part of who we are, but to the entire extent of who we are. It applies not just to one moment or another, but to every moment we live. We have no righteousness of our own. Nothing of what we have done or will do can stake a positive claim before the presence of God. Whether the world views us as sinners or as saints, we all are nevertheless of no account and have no standing before God. Sin condemns us and puts us all on even ground, from the greatest to the smallest. From Jonah and Mark we learn what is known as the “entire scope of repentance”: contrition, faith, good fruit.

         Contrition is not in our everyday vocabulary. It means to despair of ourselves, to recognize that God is rightly angry with us, and that we have nothing good of our own to please God. Consider the prophet Jonah and the Ninevites. A prophet, of course, is a spokesperson for God. Though called by God, Jonah had his own share of faults. He did not want to follow God’s call to have him be the one to preach repentance to the Ninevites. Being the capitol of the Assyrians, they were great enemies of Jonah and the people of Israel. Therefore Jonah did not want to give them any chance to repent because he knew God is forgiving, gracious, and merciful. When Jonah finally gets around to speaking God’s word to them he says, “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown” (Jonah 3:4). How do the Ninevites respond? Not by saying, “God you are unfair” or “We did nothing wrong” or “Jonah, you have no right to tell us that!” They in no way tried to justify themselves, instead the entire city repented. As the king said, “All shall turn from their evil ways and from the violence that is in their hands” (Jonah 3:8). They humbled themselves by recognizing God had rightly called them out, so they proclaimed a fast, and put on sackcloth. Which leads us to the next thing in the entire scope of repentance—faith. When Jonah warned of the destruction to come “Nineveh believed God” (Jonah 3:5). Again, no squabbling or nitpicking with Jonah, no trying to find a loophole so as to justify themselves. Instead, they humbly acknowledged their own unrighteousness—simply trusting that what God was saying through Jonah was true. And, then, the last part of the entire scope of repentance—good fruit. As we see, “When God saw what they did, how they turned from their evil ways, God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it” (Jonah 3:10, emphasis added). The good fruit springs from faith. Because its trust is right, it naturally produces a changed way of life. No longer living in the mirky cesspool of the past, but in the sparkling pools of the new. Before they acted only to serve themselves; with good fruit, they began to act to serve their neighbor. As Christians we learn “So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation; everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!” (2 Cor. 5:17). The old passing away and the new coming forth is the daily life of a Christian.

         And so how do we think about this in a way that applies to today? I think of this past Monday being Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Today he is considered among America’s greatest heroes. In his day he was one of America’s most hated men. Why? He was willing to stand up for the truth even when it was unpopular. He wouldn’t let people off the hook either. He lifted up the mirror so America could see that no matter our race, our destiny is bound together. No one is exempt from doing their part to help those who are downtrodden. Yet 60 years after Dr. King’s dream remains unfulfilled. Judging people who are different is a soul-sickness no one has ever truly gotten over. Not one. If we’re considering the good fruit of repentance, repentance for things like racism looks like “I admit it, I have sinned in this matter. God help me to be better.” Repentance for things like racism does not look like saying, “I am already perfect, so that is not a matter that involves me.” Which leads to another sin that saturates our culture: overgrown individualism. This is where our hearts are so frozen solid that we exempt ourselves from responsibility to preserve the life of our neighbors. There is much repentance needed in the time of the pandemic. We need repent when we dismiss the pandemic and its precautions as simply living in fear. And then proceed to live as such to risk our own lives and the lives of our neighbors. God has established worldly authorities for our good. Though God’s representatives in the government and the medical profession have given us small things that can make a difference, we care not. And thereby we tempt God. Which is why the esteemed United States has had one of the worst responses to the pandemic among the nations of the world. It should not be this way. But we would rather shoot ourselves in the foot than lift a finger for our neighbor. When we choose to justify our nonchalance, we have washed our hands of preserving the life of our neighbor. In this manner we look not like Christ but like Pontius Pilate, who washed his hands of Christ (Matt. 27:24) and sent him to his execution.

When Jesus began his ministry, the first word he spoke was “Repent!” Now let us consider the second word he spoke: “Believe in the good news” (Mark 1:15). He speaks the first so that he can speak the second. Without the first we would not receive the second. The Lutheran Confessions give us insight into this matter: “To this office of the law…the New Testament immediately adds the consoling promise of grace through the gospel. This we should believe. As Christ says in Mark 1[:15]: ‘Repent, and believe in the good news.’ This is the same as, ‘Become and act otherwise, and believe in my promise’” (SA 3.3:4). The promise that God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself. The promise that in Christ there is forgiveness of sins freely given. The promise that no matter what you have done God is eager to let the past go, and start afresh with you. This is the good news. Given entirely by grace. God wants us to turn from evil because he is “gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing” (Jonah 4:2). God gives you what you do not deserve. God has not washed his hands of you. He got his hands dirty because he knew that no matter what we would never be able to save ourselves. He died on the cross because he chooses to have mercy on sinners. Nor has he left the matter of repentance to depend on your power. If he did, you would never know if you repented well enough. The entire scope of repentance—contrition, faith, good fruit, come by God’s power. As the psalmist says, “power belongs to God” (Ps. 62:11). What is that power? The power of the promise—that in Jesus Christ God forgives you, God puts you to death, God raises you from the dead. The kingdom of God has come near. Repent, and believe in the good news.