#he disguises it in anger and indifference but he deeply cares

[aphroditelovesu]

Yandere Satoru Gojo Headcanons (General)

"I will take care of you." — Satoru Gojo.

❝ ㊙ — lady l: lol, this turned out longer than I originally thought, but I love him so screw it! He has a complex personality, so it was more complicated trying to describe him as a yandere, but I did the best I could. I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes!! 🩵💜

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, mention of stalking (mild), death and murder.

❝㊙pairing: yandere!satoru gojo x gender neutral!reader.

You probably wouldn't even realize that he was obsessed with you, that the infamous sorcerer of the Gojo Clan, was dominated by you, because he doesn't want you to know unless he wants you to. For a while, he'll be content to just watch you from afar.

Satoru is completely aware that his thoughts, his feelings are distorted, but he doesn't care, not when he was already very involved in you. You had taken over his entire life and thoughts and he wasn't bothered by it, not anymore.

At first, Satoru hated this, hated you and these thoughts that crossed his mind about you. They were ridiculous, you were ridiculous and he was even more so for thinking of you that way. After all, what was so special about you? Yes, you were attractive but it wasn't just your beauty that attracted him, there was something more. Something he didn't know how to define.

But he stopped hating you and focused on you, on his thoughts about you. Maybe they were wrong, but Gojo quickly learned to deal with them. Push them to the back of his mind and focus on his goals. And that goal, the main one at least, was you.

Satoru isn't very good at expressing how he feels about you directly, so he preferred to show his affection in a more distant way, with some gifts and letters that could seem like threats, depending on how you read them.

He is complex and acts indifferent to many and you are not the exception. He is courteous to you, but always keeps his distance, making it impossible for you to find out about his darkest thoughts. He plays with you and has fun, but always being a little obnoxious. Maybe if you looked closer, you'd notice the clenched fists and slightly pursed lips. The anguish that surrounded him when you were around.

Satoru is extremely confident in his abilities and is sure that he can win you over if he so desires. And he wants you, but he doesn't want to admit that he needs you. He doesn't like to appear weak, because he's not weak, but you make him vulnerable and he hates that.

He is apathetic towards those who are weak and if you are a person considered weak in his eyes, this will make him stressed. Not only was he attracted to you, more than that, but to a weak person? How could something like this happen? But for you, and only you, Satoru will help you become stronger, for his benefit and yours.

Satoru is possessive and will not hesitate to destroy anyone who dares to get closer to him. You are his, maybe you don't know it yet, but you belong to him. He is aggressive and will attack without remorse, prioritizing the complete destruction of the one who angered him. There will be no remorse on his face once he is done but pure satisfaction.

Ever the cunning strategist, Satoru decided it was time to act. He began to approach you in subtle ways, taking opportunities to offer hidden advice or compliments. The letters and ambiguous gifts continued to arrive, but now you began to realize that there was more behind these gestures than you initially imagined.

Little by little, Satoru broke down his own barriers and began to show a kinder, more caring side. He offered his guidance in training and missions, always masking his intentions under the appearance of a concerned mentor. You, in turn, began to notice the duality in his personality: the cold, distant professor and the man who, somehow, seemed genuinely interested in you.

But he acted more playfully with you, loosening up in a way, disguising his feelings in any way he could.

Gojo spoils you deeply, he has a lot of money and wouldn't mind spending it on you. But he has rules and will be stingy if you disobey him and will probably punish you with deprivation.

He is cold and doesn't mind sacrificing those for what he believes in and he will sacrifice anyone for you. Satoru will have no qualms about killing anyone he believes to be a potential threat to his ideals. Blood-stained hands won't make any difference to him.

Satoru Gojo is complex and difficult to understand, but his obsession with you makes him even more complicated. His feelings are masked and will only be shown if he wants to and once he has you to himself, there is no way he will let you out.

[izusun]

bakugou calling midoriya “all might’s copycat” is basically him going “i know you better than anyone else, but right now i don’t know what you’ve become and i can see how this version of you that you forced yourself to be is not what you want or what makes you happy. all might may have chosen you but that doesn’t mean you go and try to fill in his shoes.”

[prismatales]

Reunion

Word Count: 1.8k

Bingo slot: Saying goodbye

Pairings: None

Tag/Warnings: Angst, Vague body horror, swearing

Synopsis: You've always been there for each other, this time was no different.

Introducing yet another entry for @bnhabookclub 's bingo event as well as a new sibling request! This time with the "Saying goodbye" slot. 

Thank you so much @pixxiesdust and @hawks-senseis for beta reading this for me! ❤

It was already hard enough when one has to witness their whole family falling apart and being unable to do anything about it, but it’s even harder when the reason is all because of the actions of someone who should be caring for that very same family in the first place.

But what could you expect when you consider this ‘family’ is nothing but a repulsive lie? A disgusting facade meant to hide the only reason you were even brought into this world in the first place?

It wasn’t fair to be forced to pretend to be a normal family outside this place that could easily be compared to a prison. A place that others had the luck to call 'home'.

But for your siblings and your poor mother? This was hell of earth itself.

Those thoughts fill your mind with venom, corrupting everything related to hero society and everyone serving under their corrupted principles, at the same time that your hands are busy applying ointment to one of the few who’s suffered just as much because of this corrupted system.

Your little brother shifts in place, trying to fight back unshed tears as the medicine touches the sensitive skin around his left eye. The physical proof of the pain your family had to endure on a daily basis, a consequence from the ambition of one man that you have the unfortunate luck of sharing blood ties with.

“Nee-san, it hurts.” Shouto’s whimpers pull you back from the horrendous thoughts that linger deep inside, tainting everything remotely connected to heroes.

“I’m sorry snowflake, but please bear with it just a little bit longer, this medicine is going to heal your burn in no time!” You reassure the little boy sitting on his futon, who doesn’t stop squirming in place as the skin around his left eye is being carefully covered with ointment, before being wrapped with bandages to prevent the risk of infection.

“There, all done!” He lets out a small sniffle when your hand pats his head softly, caressing the locks of hair underneath with a touch full of love and affection towards the youngest sibling “Just you wait, it should stop hurting so much in a couple of days, can my little snowflake hold on?” 

He looks up at you, nodding weakly with sad, tired eyes that make the pain inside increase dramatically, nearly to the point of tears when you think about everything Shouto has to go through because of him. 

“Mhm.” It’s the only answer you get from the small child nodding off tiredly. He wraps his little arms around you, clinging to your neck just like a little koala as the sheets of his bed are pulled back for him to climb into bed, once he’s lying down on the soft mattress, the blankets are pulled over until they cover him all the way to his soft, chubby cheeks. 

It takes less than five minutes for Shouto to start falling asleep, but not without him giving you a sweet smile and a whisper that breaks your heart into a million pieces before he slips away into a deep slumber. 

“Can we go to the summer festival next week?”

You have to fight back unshed tears, smiling softly at the little boy before nodding in approval.

“...Of course.”

Your hands instantly fly to cover your mouth, it’s but a sorry attempt to fight back the sobs threatening to turn into painful, heart-breaking cries when his words are repeated in your head over and over again, almost like a painful mockery as you stare at the little boy sound asleep.

“I’m sorry, snowflake…”

Your hands caress his mixed strands one last time, before leaning down to give him a soft peck on his forehead. While he sleeps, an envelope is pulled from behind the back pocket of your shorts, that is quickly placed down underneath the boy’s pillow. 

Quickly, you stand up to walk out of the room, closing the door as quietly as possible to avoid disturbing Shouto, and make a dash for your own room where there’s a bag waiting on the bed.

Tears run down your face, combined with a pathetic mixture of pain and grief by the idea of everything, and everyone that would be left behind because of your selfish actions. But even if you choose to stay home, there would be no difference. 

After all, Touya told you what he overheard your dear father was planning to do; Setting you up for a quirk marriage with the son of a family that lived overseas.

When you heard the news, the anger was such that it made the whole garden fall victim to your quirk. Leaving a frozen wasteland all across its path.

As if you’d ever accept that fate without fighting back, but knowing Endeavor, he won’t take no for an answer. You know it’s selfish, that running away would leave nothing but a heavy burden on all of your siblings, one that you’ve been enduring for years if it meant at least they’d be the ones capable of having a somewhat normal life. 

But with this dreaded antict your father was willing to pull for the sake of his ambitions, the outcome would be the same. Either way, you’d never be able to see your family again...

Wiping the liquid embodiment of the doubts and fears, your eyes turn stone cold. Determined to break free from this nightmare, you quickly grab the bag to swing it over your shoulder and walk out of your bedroom. 

Thank god Natsuo and Fuyumi were already asleep, and your father wasn’t around, too busy with a mission to realize there would be someone else missing at home by the time he came back.

Heading to the backdoor, nothing can change your mind about this decision, not even the pain that threatens to consume you thinking about how much this will hurt your little snowflake.

But when you think about the circumstances, all that pain quickly disappears and eventually. In a matter of hours, you finally leave behind the life bound to an endless cycle of abuse. 

All you can do is pray that your siblings will be able to understand the reason why you have to leave them behind. If only they knew that you wouldn’t be alone in this journey, maybe then it would be easier for them to understand…

“You’re spacing out again, focus on the mission.” 

You look up towards the man standing beside you with a look of pure indifference on his features. Dabi’s stare doesn’t change when he makes eye contact with your bored self, too busy looking around the burning forest to pay attention to anything else.

“I was just thinking.” Instead of giving him a clear answer, your attention focuses on Toga, who couldn’t stop rambling in glee about these new friends she made, as well as the guy she ‘fell in love with.’ Sometimes, her demeanor kind of reminded you of Fuyumi when she mentioned her very first crush. 

“Do you think they’re doing okay?” You look back at the waves of blue destruction that flicker rampant across the forest “Sometimes I can’t help thinking about them, you know?” 

Breathing deeply, you don’t pay attention to the way Dabi looks at you. Knowing exactly what’s going through your head, but he’s always been better suppressing his feelings, which is why he doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t get the chance to answer when Mr. Compress comes crashing down before your group, along with another three people restraining him. When you see a familiar face between the teenagers, time seems to stop once you recognize the face of one of them.

It’s Shouto, the little boy that used to cling to your neck for dear life, the same kid that would always run straight into your arms after a particularly harsh training session was right there, holding down one of your comrades so he could rescue his classmate.

“...Snowflake?” 

Dabi sees the look of surprise all over your face and is quick to react when he sees you taking a step forward, trying to approach the youngest of your siblings without thinking twice about it.

You’re pulled back harshly to your brother’s side, despite the initial struggle against his hold. But when he gives you a small glare that hides a slight sense of panic, it’s when you realize that the little stunt could have blown your covers with the League.

You were lucky to be wearing a disguise, otherwise, Shouto could have easily recognized you. But it did nothing to help when you threw a signature attack; a wall of light blue fire that froze everything it touched.

The moment those flames came to life, Shouto’s eyes became wide open as he made sure none of his friends were afflicted. He knew just one person capable of using an attack like this one. But there was little he could do when all the villains disappeared through the warp gate, including Dabi, who was too busy holding Bakugou hostage.

 As soon as you’re back through the warp gate, both you and Dabi walk away from the group and stand outside the bar all by yourselves. 

You can’t help looking down at the floor and hug yourself. Just coming face to face with your little brother brought back all the memories. Like the time Shouto got that burn on his face, and the last time you were able to see your mother after she was sent away.

“You know that little stunt could have cost us everything, right?” he asks, aware of just how blunt he’s being. One hand rests over your head, a futile attempt to comfort you.

“I know, but I couldn’t help it. When I saw Shouto, all I could think about was the little kid that would follow me around like a lost puppy.” The chuckle you give him is almost pathetic, almost as much as the sad smile all over your face. “Sorry for not being as tough as you…”

He pokes your sides hard enough to make you yelp in surprise. Rubbing on the abused ribs, you send a glare in his direction, and Dabi can’t fight back that grin that crawls into his face. 

Jerk.

“Do I need to remind you who helped me that one time I got hurt? Who was the one who froze off that fucker’s arms like they were nothing?” His fingers dig into your sides again just to be pushed away “It was you, idiot. And you had this murderous look on your face the whole time. You’re tougher than you think.”

With a bashful look, you punch Dabi on the shoulder before laughing slightly. It’s been like this since the time you ran away from home, taking care of each other no matter what.

“Let’s go back. The boss is going to throw a fit if we’re not there to greet the newbie.” 

“Alright, alright. After you, overcooked bastard.”

“Bitch.”

@bnha-ra @bnhabookclub @gallickingun @godtieruwu @hanniejji @mysticalite @savagetrickster @shoobirino @songsforbnha @sugacookiies @unbreakableeiji @wesparklebitch

[fuwafuwamedb]

The Plight of Sigurd (Hakuno, Sigurd, Brynhild)

Once upon a time, a warrior with the heart of a dragon lived upon the earth. The heart that pounded away in his chest was strong, stronger than anything he had ever felt or seen or held. It held so very much power and capability, enough that, when the warrior found a wee wisp of a woman, filled with pale features and smelling of wildflowers and rainfall, his dragon heart spluttered away in desire.

He had to have her. He had to woo her.

It became the very breath in his lungs and the very song in his heart. His every word was curled around thoughts of her. His very actions were always, always for her.

Sigurd, the greatest fighter in all the land, the great hero and the slayer of the fierce dragon, was deeply in love.

So too was the woman who returned his gaze.

Her hand slipped into his.

The vows he gave to her were filled with youthful ignorance and mindless depths. A love everlasting, a solitary love, leaving him cold and alone without her at his side; he promised her himself to the very last moment in all of time and space. Until all would cease to exist, that was how long he would let her possess his spirit.

She promised the same and more.

Her hands pressed to him, promising understanding and patience. Such a wise thing to say, since he was a fool. She promised him encouragement and support, things his young mind scoffed at and his older mind cherished like a solitary dying flame in the midst of an ice storm.

They lived as two fools who were young and in love lived.

Gudrun gave him the partner he needed, the time he deserved with his hotheadedness. She tempered him, cooling and folding over the recklessness until he was honed into the most magnificent form of himself. He livened her night skies. He created joy in her unlike anything she had ever experienced. He kept her strategizing, thinking. Where she gave him strength, he gave her knowledge.

Knowledge, but perhaps not wisdom.

For his dragon heart was so large, so capable, that the day his friend came to him for a favor, he could not even consider the ramifications of what would occur. He welcomed the challenge to sleep with the mighty warrior Brynhild. He rushed to Gudrun, leaving his friend and king to wait as he told his sweet love of what he would do.

It was knowledgeable to allow him to tame Brynhild in disguise, to let her fall for the king. It meant that Sigurd would spend more time home. They could begin their family finally. They could look towards having more voices in their quiet home away from the world and all its struggles.

Wisdom was knowing that such a task was dangerous, evermore so for a man whose heart bled for the tiny beasts that Gudrun welcomed into their home. The man was no heartless. He could not give any bit of himself without desiring something back.

He crossed the flames.

His disguised body lay with the great Brynhild, but not for long. She murmured the wrong name to him and Sigurd, thoughtlessly, doffed his disguise. His hands grasped at the woman’s legs, bringing the truth home.

Brynhild saw but a second of the truth, thinking it a trick of the dying light of the ring of fire.

She married herself to the king as Sigurd returned home.

Yet neither lay with their spouse.

Brynhild felt something cold in the touch of the king, luring her to rebuke him. Sigurd felt a need for more, a greed that slowly built up within him with each time that his wife came to him. He vowed himself to his wife again, his heart heavy.

“My husband is the greatest warrior,” Brynhild told Gudrun one day, surveying the laundering that the two of them needed to do. “He crossed the ring of fire to get to me. He is-“

“He is a liar,” Gudrun told her simply. “It was not him, but my husband, Sigurd, that lay with you that night.”

Knowledge, while great and powerful, was nothing compared to wisdom.

For Brynhild went to her husband and spied the warrior near him, knowing Gudrun’s words to be true. Vengeance burned in her. Her weapon came to hand.

And on his way home to his wife, Sigurd felt that blade pierce him. He felt his great heart torn from his body, the sound of his wife’s cries of shock and horror filling the air as he looked up at the woman.

“I cared for you too,” he told her with his dying breath. “I cared for you as I care for Gudrun. I had told your husband that I would not hide the truth from you. I had… wanted… to tell you… Bryn.”

The woman’s scream of outrage rang through the trees. He could see the tears flow, the knowledge of her reckless anger and her rightful actions creating chaos.

Gudrun and Brynhild.

The two loves that his great dragon heart had felt, both adoring of one another; he had lost them both through such troubles.

In another life, he would only wish for one.

For Gudrun’s warmth and Brynhild’s icy love were too powerful together. They drove him to the depths of longing, leaving him to foolish mistakes and a world filled with pain and suffering.

Never again, he begged to the universe.

The universe, in its great wisdom and ever reaching limbs of generations, spat him into the world as a simple man. Perhaps, not too simple, since the memories of it all remained well in his head. He grew, much like any other man grew: books and homework, days of lounging and nights of dreaming. He donned his glasses and sipped his coffee as he stepped forth from simple learning to complex teaching.

The world tree?

Meet the world of knowledge, of sciences and mathematics. He could see the world in a grain of sand, but he could not hold anyone.

The problem from before, with a heart too deep, now felt hollow. He pressed his hand to his chest many times, trying to feel the hole, but his heart beat away. It was not missing, but something was.

That was why, when she had appeared at one of his conferences, a small one in Fuyuki, Japan, he had gone to her.

“Go away.”

“Miss.” Sigurd sat down across from her, happy that the coffee shop was slow today. “Surely an hour of your time won’t-“

The purple haired woman narrowed her gaze on him.

She clicked her tongue.

“I see the faithlessness lingering in you, foul warrior of old. A wife who loves you dearly, yet you play with another. I have no use for a second of you.”

“Hey-“

She flashed her eyes his way. “Leave!”

“I know when I have lost.”

He stood up, but the woman stood as well.

“Yes?”

“I don’t like you.”

She moved closer though, despite her words. She pressed her hand to his cheeks and brought his face closer, promising wordlessly something he had not expected.

“…I don’t like you one bit. That is why I have to do this, for the sake of others. Perhaps maybe you’ll learn, unlike the other I know.”

He opened his eyes, only to feel a shift.

The world tilted on its axis. The room around them revolving. He fell onto all fours, looking up at the woman and growling at her.

Growling?

“A CAT!” One of the coffee shop owners screeched, waving for the others. “SOMEONE GET A BROOM! HOW DID A CAT GET IN HERE!”

The witch of a woman kicked him, sending him flying towards the door. He could see paws now. He could feel his whiskers and feel the flick and swish of his tail. The woman had changed him.

How?

Who had that woman been?

A broom was coming his way. He rushed for the door, running around the feet and running. Further and further away, he went. He ran with all his might, dodging the cars and the wild world of people.

A cat.

He could not have stayed in that coffee place or even near it. The risk was too great.

The woman had been from his hotel. He’d seen her there before. If he could find his way back to that building before the woman checked out or anything.

But even thinking that brought forth chaos. A darkness loomed over his head. A dark room swept him right off the pavement, into a wall a second before steel bars slammed shut behind him. He could only glance back to see a pair of eyes look at him.

“A runaway stray? Shall we go to the pound?”

The…

No!

He yowled. He pawed. Anything and everything that he could do, he did.

The man carried him to the back of a car and whisked him off.

Darkness and the scent of sanitizer met his senses. He could hear dozens of other cats. He could hear dogs howling and barking away. The world around him had become colder than he had ever seen before. What was the Scandinavian winters compared to steel walls and metal bars? Who could ever say that the smell of piss and the feel of threadbare fabrics was ever better than fur blankets and the smell of a good fire in a hearth?

Women were… Cruel.

His luck, albeit strong, was also in faltering.

Whoever had wronged that witch before had ended up leaving the vengeance for him to suffer. Just as his king friend had left vengeance for him to feel from Brynhild. Just as the dragon had left for him to feel by making him covet and yearn so deeply.

The time slipped away.

He saw a light overhead. It drifted across the room.

Time marched forth, indifferent to the plights of mankind. Its limbs reached out further and further, tangling away amongst other limbs and twigs. He watched so many pass through the chamber, always after kittens and old, dying beasts in this room. Their eyes drifted over him. He may as well have been décor.

A few more lights flew by as days passed.

He barely opened his eyes.

He barely did much.

“Miss,” a voice called. “You don’t want that one. He’s on his last legs.”

“Why is he so filthy?”

That voice…

Soft and sweet, it flowed like honey through his mind as he heard it. She spoke so sweetly, setting off some kind of recognition in him. The voice was so familiar. It was so very familiar…

“He doesn’t groom himself. We think it may be psychological.”

“He’s depressed then?”

The voice was closer. He could feel the bars move away from his face. A hand was stroking at him, bringing him to purr without a second thought.

“You don’t seem depressed to me,” the woman murmured, “but then, who really realizes they’re depressed when they feel depressed.”

“Miss-“

“I’ll take him!”

Sigurd felt himself lifted up, pressed against a chest that was softer than anything he’d ever felt. The faint trace of wildflowers and rainfall met his senses. There were fingers stroking at his ears and head, making his purr deepen.

The voices spoke, but he could not focus.

He couldn’t focus until he felt a warm cloth wiping at his eyes. The gunk that had accumulated was done away with. He could open his eyes and see the owner of that voice. He looked up, his gaze drifting over the wee features of the wisp of a woman.

Gudrun.

His Gudrun.

The beautiful and knowledgeable woman and love of his spirit: his everlasting Gudrun.

“Do you mind if I carry him out like this?” his sweet woman asked of the people here.

“Go ahead.”

He could not look away as they stepped out of the darkness. He couldn’t breathe as the sun poured down upon the locks of brown hair and those astounding brown eyes of hers. His Gudrun had found him, rescued him even.

Had the witch sent her here?

Had she helped him to reunite with the one he had been parted from?

“Well,” Gudrun smiled down at him. “I guess this is a good time for names while we wait for the bus, isn’t it? My name is Hakuno Kishinami. And your name… How about Sigurd? I just read about one in a book and he was something else.”

You are my Gudrun. Not Hakuno.

“Listen to you meow,” the woman laughed. “You must be a fan of the name too. Sigurd it is then.”

This time he would remain with her alone. He would make up for their last life. They would do everything that they had been unable to do before.

His Gudrun…

How much his heart lightened at the sight of her, he couldn’t dare think to leave her again.

No, he never would.

The youth of his life had spoken true.

There had never been another as perfect for him as her.

[jeonggukieandcream]

Save Me and Hold Me Tight

Request: Kuroshitsuji AU where Ciel and Alois work their shit out but Claude is still dead, and Ciel and Sebastian kinda take Alois in and train him in tough love to be a more civilised person, and after a while he ends up being good friends with everyone - @flupetyflupflupp​

Word count: 2, 487.

They find him broken and bleeding underneath a large oak tree, its branches spindly; its leaves brown and dying. It was a sorrowful scene, but one in which change could be made for the better.

Ciel and Sebastian are here presented with a choice as they take in the grisly scene:

Leave Alois to die, or save him.

They have seconds to make a decision before Alois' heart gives out, the blood loss from the extent of his injuries too great, and the decision is made for them.

Blood spilled out from Alois' physical wounds; used though Ciel was to seeing violence, for often was he the one ordering for it to be carried out, Ciel gasped at the sight.

It was not the wounds which Alois had obtained which so disgusted Ciel, but the fact that this was a broken contract; a treacherous demon.

In that moment did Ciel know how truly lucky he was to have such a devoted demon, and a noise of shock and, dare he think it, pain ripped from Ciel's throat, though quickly did he attempt to disguise it as a cough.

“I know, Young Master.” Venomous rage dripped from Sebastian's every word, though his facial expression and body language was carefully schooled into one of indifference.

“We must help him, Sebastian.”

“Young Master?”

“That's an order, do you hear me? We will take him in. Heal him. Show him a different way. He's not so separated from me, after all.” Ciel's voice shook with barely suppressed anger and sadness, for himself and for Alois, but he swallowed the bitter taste down and used it for power, motivation.

“Young Master, he may be too far gone. So impressionable an age, so unseemly a demon...”

“We have to try.” Resignation. Determination. Sorrow. Rage.

Red eyes flashed fuchsia. “Yes, my lord.”

With as much tenderness as he usually displayed towards Ciel did Sebastian cradle Alois' abused, broken and battered body in his arms. He didn't hug Alois to his chest, though. That is a privilege only for his Young Master.

Soma and Agni were Sebastian's first thought; Alois would need constant supervision and a gentler touch while he was physically healing.

Upon hearing the very basics of what had happened to this boy – on a strictly need to know basis, of course -  one who had so many similarities to Ciel that he was a literal parallel, the two men agreed.

Soma would be the more eager of the two, wanting to make friends with Alois and spend more time with Ciel, whereas Agni would be mentally preparing himself, for he would know that a rough time was ahead for all of them; but most especially for this young boy.

Upon hearing even the smallest of details about the entire situation, everyone, even the household staff, wouldn't be able to stop themselves from comparing Ciel to Alois, and this makes everyone determined to help Alois as best as they can.

There is nothing happy about this.

The solemn air which was in the Phantomhive Manor seemed to grow exponentially as the reality of the matter settled into the fine layer of dust which covered the lesser used rooms.

People's attentions were directed elsewhere; particularly the kitchen staff, whom were kept far away from Alois' chambers – they would be easy targets and the last thing Sebastian wanted to tend to was more wounds.

His Young Master had enough of those, thank you very much.

For the first week or so, Sebastian keeps Alois well sedated.

It's for his own good; he's so injured that the slightest movement could rip open his stitches.

No Doctor from the nearest town is called, despite Agni's vehement and frequent advice.

Sebastian is quite proficient, and so he undertakes the task himself. He is, after all, simply one hell of a butler.

His wounds are so severe that it takes Alois weeks to heal to such a point that Sebastian feels that it is safe to keep Alois awake; this is where tenderness is replaced by tough love and everyone feels its effect within an hour of the teenager first waking up.

Firstly, Alois has two fears: the dark and being left alone.

These two fears are discovered at precisely the same time as a weary Agni bids Alois a good night and tries to remove the candelabra from the bedside table on his way out of the door.

Alois jumped upright, almost tearing his stitches and setting fire to his bed, as the candelabra wobbled when his hand closed around Agni's slender wrist.

“No! Don't leave me! You – you can't!”

“Oh, heavens,” Agni would go into full on Mother Hen mode as he put the candelabra back on the bedside table and sits gingerly on the edge of the bed. “Why ever not?”

“I'm scared.” A quiet, ashamed mumble.

A resigned sigh from the doorway. “I'll stay with him. Can't have him waking the household. You may leave, Agni.”

Ciel starts to camp out in Alois' room from that first night of consciousness onwards and within a week, Sebastian moved Ciel's bed and immediate possessions into Alois' room.

The two bicker and physically fight like no one's business, but Agni and Sebastian do a very good job at not only separating the two when it's required, but also dispelling any tensions before they really begin.

At night time, the fighting stops as the two teenagers fall back on mutual understanding; they're not so different.

Once, Sebastian and Agni walked in on Alois throwing Ciel off the balcony, and then jumping down after Ciel, pummelling him with punches after punches.

Somehow did Ciel manage to roll their lithe bodies so that he was on top of Alois, and they traded punches.

Hearing the scuffles from the next room over did Agni and Sebastian rush into the foyer, barely exchanging a glance with each other before they rushed over to separate the two teenagers; naturally, Sebastian scooped Ciel up and cradled him protectively to his chest, and Agni grabbed Alois by his upper arms and pulled him away from the scene.

“I say! What an unseemly display!”

Ciel huffed. “It was nothing. A misunderstanding.”

Sebastian's concerned, “are you quite well, Young Master?” was drowned out by Alois' indignant cry of, “you're all just like him! My Claude... My heart was trapped in his deceptive spider's web but I only desired him...”

Rage turned to sorrow, and the pain in his voice rippled uncomfortably throughout the room.

A click resounded in Sebastian and Agni's minds as they both realised that now could the true healing process commence.

Ciel shivered, clung to Sebastian's frame. Sebastian gripped him tightly – hold on to me – and the demon shot Agni A Look; this meant that each butler would take their charges and physically separate them for the duration of the day.

Agni, having to take care of Soma and Alois, left the two young teenagers while he cooked a curry for dinner – Soma, eager to get to know Alois, tried desperately to crack through Alois' facade, to break through the anger and reach the corrupted core of the sadistic but deeply hurting boy.

Something occurred throughout the day for both teenagers, for come night time, did Ciel end up climbing into Alois' bed after an hour of listening to Alois tossing and turning.

“Move over.” Ciel huffed, and though Alois initially stiffened up and refused to move, Ciel only moved to the other side of the bed and clambered in, taking Alois' agreement in his total apathy – Ciel knew that Alois didn't really want to say no, it was self preservation which made him rude and cold, and so in Alois' silence was consent.

Come morning, when Sebastian rapped upon the door with the second knuckle of his gloved index finger, Agni hovering behind him – both were braced for war, even at this early hour when the sun still hadn't quite risen above the horizon – they found the two teenagers in bed together, facing one another.

Alois' blonde hair spilled over the pillow like a halo, Ciel's raven locks mingled and joined with the blonde, so closely were they laying together, and it was like a physical representation of Yin and Yang.

To Agni, anyway.

To Sebastian, it looked like a devil (raven locks) and an angel (blonde hair); he found irony in this, for though his Young Master's hair was dark, he was decidedly more angelic than the boy with the blonde hair.

He was probably biased, though.

Another breakthrough was made this day, for any time after that, if one of them had a nightmare, then the other would climb into their bed.

They didn't hug, they didn't do anything more than simply share a bed, and sometimes would sentences fall from their lips, hushed confessions spoken into the darkness which enveloped them, and it was almost like therapy on their weary souls.

Sometimes, Sebastian would come in too; shadows writhing on the walls, between pieces of furniture, and he would stand just inside the doorway; carmine eyes flashing fuchsia as he listens to the two teenagers talking.

Both of them knew that the demon was there, as silently had Sebastian and Ciel taken Alois under their firm guidance.

It was hard. Sometimes, Sebastian would answer their whispered confessions with logical statements to dispel their sorrows, many of which were shared.

Sometimes, he would dip his chin so that the shadows in the room enunciated his aristocratic cheekbones, a devilish smirk on his face as he just listened with his arms crossed behind his back.

Sometimes... oh, sometimes, the space where his heart should be would clench in awe and almost sadness at how much grief, pain, rage and sorrow which these two souls – both so young, so young, and yet so tired, bore on their shoulders.

Over the weeks and months, everyone in the Phantomhive Manor had to establish a new system of communications.

Alois was short tempered and rough of manners. He was demanding, callous, sadistic and he behaved atrociously.

Even by Soma's standards, Alois was just rude.

Often times, after Alois snapped or yelled at someone, Sebastian's spine would straighten as he drew himself up to his full height, displeasure flashing across his face before his expression schooled into its usual calm indifference.

“Would you like to try again with a different tone, young Trancy?”

“No.” A petulant whine. Crossed arms and a pout.

“Very well.” Sebastian would leave it at that, cold and uncaring, and Alois, so desperate for approval and affection, would immediately stammer out the same words in a gentler tone, or he would try to reword everything in a wholly different tone; it depended on what he had said and the context in which it was spoken.

One time, Mey-Rin served Alois eggs for breakfast and Alois flung the plate on the floor.

Or, he tried to.

Sebastian caught the plate, set it back on the table so that nothing was disturbed – he had been so fast that the plate hadn't even gone over the edge of the table before he had caught it – and in the same movement scooped Alois up unceremoniously and without all the usual reverence which he displayed towards his Young Master,

Alois was sent to his room for the rest of the day.

By three in the afternoon, Ciel had huffed, flung his pen down, and gone to his shared bedroom with the blonde teenager.

Hours passed and none knew of what transpired in that room.

But when it was dinner time and Alois shuffled out of the bedroom with Ciel eyeing him pointedly, Alois offered a quiet, timid yet genuine apology to Mey-Rin and everyone else.

He knew he was forgiven when, in a clipped British accent did Sebastian say, “That is acceptable. You may join us for dinner if the Young Master is agreeable.”

Ciel was.

Almost six months after Alois joined the Phantomhive Manor did he meet Lizzie, and he was cooed over, hugged, cuddled and even kissed once on the cheek!

She had heard beforehand what had happened to him – she knew as much as Soma and Agni did, which is to say, they knew enough to know that he needed help, even if they didn't exactly know why.

She would definitely be the one to help Alois the most, treating him with all the kindness that she naturally carried within her – kindnesses which Ciel often shunned.

I feel like Alois would end up telling Ciel to treat Lizzie with more kindness and Ciel would scoff and remind Alois of how he treats everyone.

They would both promise to just try to be nicer to everyone and to themselves.

At every meeting, Lizzie was her usual exuberant self, Ciel his usual apathetic self, Sebastian his usual attentive self. Soma and Agni were off in London doing who knew what, and the household staff were all attending to their never ending duties with explicitly stated instructions spoken twice so that they knew that Sebastian was being completely serious when he said to not get into any trouble.

So. Recovery was slow. It was painful for everyone, but most especially for Ciel and for Alois; two teenage boys who had been through such similar horrific things.

If Alois had been given a demon like Sebastian, then he would have found a place to call his own, a home.

But instead he had been very nearly killed by his demon, the one being who was supposed to keep him safe.

Nothing was easy in their lives and nothing ever would be easy, but they took it an hour at a time if they had to, and a day at a time when it seemed to be going well.

Alois' sadism would be mellowed out, Ciel's anger soothed with a like minded companion, and Sebastian would find himself not wholly wanting to complete the contract, for he found that he rather liked what he had with this contracted soul.

It was bittersweet that something that grew into beauty came from so much pain, but it's a cruel fact of life that the most deserving of souls are fated to suffer the harshest hands.

[dokuhebi]

(( I know I sent you one on Kabu’s old blog buuuut I was Thinking about our Plot and this happened ))

It’s one of their lucid moments, and in many ways, that’s worse than when the disease is in control. Because he doesn’t like the look they get when they don’t know what they did in their rage; he doesn’t like when they start to remember; he doesn’t like that they know how hard they’ve worked to obtain immortality and superiority, and that they know its this quest that’s damned them. 

(He doesn’t like the realization that, with Orochimaru’s immortality being a definite, they might have to live with this, if he can’t find a cure.)

Kabuto reaches out, hand pressed to the glass wall - but he owes it to them to be the strong one, to let them feel worried or weak or even frightened about their fate with him if they ever desire to, and he suppresses a sigh, shields onyx eyes from displaying pity. 

“You knew they couldn’t keep me out of here, right, Orochiamru? It’s your birthday. You deserve to see a friendly face." 

But that’s not all you came here to say, is it? The voice in his head sounds like theirs. 

” .. I didn’t come here to say that. Well I did, but - I wanted to say that I’m sorry. For what I said when I left, and for what I said when I saw you again.“ A pause. "I don’t want to burden you with explanations or justifications now. That can wait for when you get better. I said when and not if, because I am going to cure this. You can depend on me, you can trust me. I’m not going to give up on those summons, and I sure as Hell am not going to give up on you. I promise.”

Because this is your fault, isn’t it? You let them handle Miki. You let them get bitten. You let them work close to you without knowing how their unique biology could be affected. You let them get sick. The voice in his head sounds like his.

Kabuto - sits, his back against the wall. None of the other medics would dare do this to Orochimaru, lest they relapse, lest their viral rage give them enough strength to break loose when those other medics aren’t watching them like the Sannin is in some zoo enclosure -

But Kabuto trusts Orochimaru implicitly, even all these years later, and he’s confident this act will silently tell them such (just as he’s confident that they’ll know it’s a display of trust, and not an act of disrespect). 

“If you want me to sneak anything in here for you, let me know. What are they going to do, right? Kick me off the case? They know I’d kill someone before I’d let that happen.” He laughs. “No alcohol, though. We can have a drink together when this is over, back at the Sound Village." 

It has been years since they have felt this pathetic. Aimlessly sitting in the center of four walls, one made of glass. Perhaps the universe had a sick sense of humor after all, to give the wretched serpent what they had fought tooth and claw for, to ensure that even with immortality - it was never enough. That achieving their dream may in fact be the catalyst for a different kind of entrapment. A different kind of death. For what was the purpose of living eternally, if day by day their mind was eaten away at. If they were left a shell of themself, unable to sift through their own memories when something angered and relentless consumed them. The silence in their cell is deafening, it offers far too much opportunity to think, to let their dark imagination run wild with just how badly this could all end. That they may be left some passenger in their own body. A sick sense of irony, a prolonged form of karma, as they are dealt a hand so similar to the one they inflicted on others. Only their misery would be eternal. Courtesy of their own blood, sweat and tears when they were younger. 

The sound of a hand on the glass, the sudden realization of a quiet presence that had completely slipped their attention, snaps them out of these morbid musings. Golden eyes lunging to the source of life standing on the other side of the glass divide. And as soon as they see they have company, as soon as they hear his voice echo in the pristine halls, they get to their feet. Up from the small table center of the room, away from the bed pressed to the tiled wall adjacent to their seating, and instead toward the doctor now viewing them.  It stings a little less seeing him there rather than another medic however, knowing that he is not here to examine them like something wild and deranged, but instead to seek them out as a companion. Offered that grace of being treated as human instantly, as the birthday wish falls from his lips. In turn, a smile instantly appears to their own, a mask of feigning utter indifference to poor circumstances. It is all they know, to put on a brave face, to pretend this was precisely where they wanted to be. The swap from their forlorn expression when they had thought themself alone, to something masterfully boasting confidence and nonchalance may only give them away however. They can’t fool him surely. And all they may have actually achieved, is showing the man just how well they wore a disguise of being all right, when they truly weren’t.  Well - with the hell they are putting him through, what is one more concern to add to his list?

“That’s a pleasant change from what I have been hearing all morning,” they say, before pausing for a moment, was it morning? They lost track of time in here, it could well have been a day lapsed, they would be unsure, “the others seem to think my presence is costing them more than they are willing to pay. That’s the problem being in our position, isn’t it? We are only worth anything for so long as we pull our weight, and the weight of everyone too lazy to pull their own. You don’t have to sugarcoat it you know, I’m well aware my time being nursed to health is terminated the moment my usefulness is. I’m on borrowed time.” Another pause, as they momentarily contemplate just how unfair it would be to utter their next sentence, to place the pressure so weightily on his shoulders when they can already guess he has placed such mountains there already. Yet, desperation catches in their throat, and the words seem to birth themselves, their tongue forming each syllable as if not saying such a thing may damn them once and for all. “You’re my only hope.” They watch as he rests against the wall, as he takes a position that anyone watching would call him a fool for. What is a few seals, a few divides, between his life and the Sannin’s wrath? When they are so blinded by the viruses sway that the temper wins out? When they care for their own life about as much as they do for his, and would destroy themself in order to offer him the same fate. It would take the inevitable relapse in to violent psychosis - and how the next fit is pending - for another life to be lost. The glass yet to stand the test of time against the Sannin’s more erratic behaviour.  But he sits anyway. Without a flicker of concern in his eyes, without a hint of hesitation or tensing. Part of them wants to try and assess if he is putting on an act as they are, the other part however, the winning part, decides that it doesn’t matter either way. If he doesn’t truly feel safe, it is only more testament to the fact that whatever side of him cares so deeply for them, so instinctively, had banished primal instinct, and kept enough control of himself to make such a seamless display and gesture. It only meant they could perhaps, drop their own guard just enough, to let him take the place of defending them a little while. They come to sit beside him on the other side of the glass divide, listening to his offer, his clear attempt to make a miserable existence a little more bearable, “perhaps instead, you can sneak something out for me? I haven’t spoken to my sons in quite some time, I’d like to write to them,” they say, that confident smile finally diminishing bit by bit, until they glance toward him and it returns, perhaps a little more genuinely this time, “...and perhaps you may give me your word, that you will come back to visit at the next opportunity? The other doctors lack a certain quality I like in my company.”

[melodiouswhite]

Lady Summers’ servants

(A/N: I wanted to give you short characterisations of her servants, so here you go. I started with the more important ones, because honestly, those are the ones who play an actual role in the story.

Lady Summers, Consulting telepath and conversational therapist, has a multicultural ensemble of servants under her payroll. They're very different from each other, but have two things in common: they're all illegitimate children and half-siblings of their mistress (don't ask – her father was a ladies' man with a weakness for the exotic). This will be brought up a lot, so I thought I should say this beforehand.)

1. The butler: Sameer Singh

He was born on 15th February 1853 in New Delhi, India. He is the illegitimate child of a European nobleman and a poor washing girl (who also happened to be a Rakshasi in disguise, but the father didn't mind). His father left India before he was born, so Sameer stayed with his mother for almost eighteen years.

In 1870 his future mistress Lady Summers came to India, specifically to find him. After some negotiating with Sameer's semi-divine mother, the Rakshasi agreed to her son serving in the Lady's household as her butler (under the condition that he would be treated well, of course). He has been her butler ever since.

No one outside the Lady's household knows why she hired him specifically (or any of the other servants), but he does a splendid job, so no one complains.

Sameer is mild-mannered, polite, patient and very dedicated to his work and his mistress.

He likes animals, flowers and spicy food (as long as it doesn't contain beef, as he's Hindu), his employer and all of his half-siblings. As a Hindu, he worships Shiva and Kali specifically.

What he doesn't like are lowbrows, racists, religious fanatics and everyone who messes with Lady Summers and makes her upset.

Apart from his native languages, Hindi and Sanskrit, he speaks German, English, French, Latin, Greek and Arabic.

He's also good at sword fighting.

From his mother he inherited several magical traits, shapeshifting for example.

His natural appearance is that of a relatively tall Indian man with tanned skin, black hair and brown eyes, but he also has a demon form, which is fearsome beyond description.

2. The lady-in-waiting: Kurogawa Aoimoku (Aoimoku is the given name)

She was born on 2nd March 1855 in Kyoto, Japan, to the daughter of a Ninja (not as cool as it sounds). Despite not having demonic heritage like Sameer (who is her half-brother), she was born with the ability to make herself invisible. That and the fact that she was a bastard child made her childhood rather tough, as she was viewed as inhuman. Therefore, she grew up with her grandfather, the only person around who wasn't scared and saw her ability as a gift rather than a curse.

Under his care, she received intensive training, until in early 1871 Lady Summers arrived in Kyoto to look for her. Her grandfather only consented for the fifteen-year-old girl to go with the German Lady after he would die. So the European stayed with them for almost a year, until he passed away. Then she took Aoimoku back to Europe with her.

The ninja girl didn't trust that strange foreigner at first, but changed her opinion at seeing how much the two of them had in common.

Aoimoku is nonchalant, demure, calm and (like the rest of the household) deeply loyal to Lady Summers.

She likes Japanese food, piano music (Chopin in particular), literature, flowers and making herself invisible to prank people (and come on, can you blame her?).

What she hates is loud noise, rudeness and anyone who angers her mistress. Like any proper ninja, she can make a weapon of anything and hide it anywhere.

She looks like your average Japanese lady, except that she has ice blue eyes, like her mistress (hence her name Aoimoku, which roughly translates to “blue eyes”).

3. The day nurse: Marie Rickinger

She was born on 17th September 1846 in Innsbruck, Austria. Therefore, she's the oldest member of Lady Summers' staff, being less than eleven years younger than the Lady herself.

Her mother died in childbirth, so she was raised by her grandmother, a nurse. Consequently, the little girl resolved to follow in her footsteps. Her grandmother, knowing who the father was, wrote a letter to him, informing him of the child. So he took her in and to financed a thorough training for her as a nurse.

Marie doesn't like Prussians at all, but her late father and older half-sister are the exception. After finishing her training at the age of twenty, she became their nurse and was with them wherever they went. Lady Summers is fond of her to the point, where she puts up with how much Marie (being a nurse) frets over her and her fragile health (even though it annoys her). The Prussian Lady takes her nurse with her when she wants to go out, but doesn't feel too well.

She is fiercely loyal, caring, cheerful, temperamental and blunt. At times she can be extremely overbearing, much to her patient's chagrin. But she always means the best.

Marie has the same hair and eye colour as Lady Summers, but is taller and chubbier. She's well-endowed and hates that a lot of people check her out. So she resorts to drastic measures to keep people from leering at her bust or behind (she doesn't resort to violence, but when she's done with people, they often wish she did).

Although she's not the most high-ranking of the servants (that's butler Sameer) and neither has any supernatural powers, everyone looks up to her and respects her as the second oldest person in the house (after the Lady herself).

4. The coachman: Sean O'Connor

He was born in a village in Skibbereen, Ireland on 23rd January 1850, after the Great Famine, to the widow of a man, who had fallen victim to the famine. His mother received from his biological father a large fortune to live on, which she used to move to England. Even though he received a good education, he decided to be a cab driver. That was to the great disapproval of his mother, since it's a very underpaid job. The O'Connors were sought out shortly after his father's death in 1870, by Lady Summers. He agreed to become her coachman and has been her driver ever since.

She pays him handsomely, much to his mother's satisfaction. Mrs. O'Connor passed away in 1875.

His special ability is that he always knows the way. That doesn't sound like much, but for his job it's very important. It helps him in places he doesn't know.

He's cheerful, generous, blunt and quick-witted, but also has a hot temper and can be really petty.

He likes singing, dancing, the country, the Lady's horses and helping people. But he hates cruelty, indifference, English people who look down on the Irish and everyone who doesn't treat their horses well.

As the Lady's coachman, he sticks to her like glue and drives her everywhere. She accepts no other driver, be it in London, the country or even abroad.

He's a relatively tall and bulky red-head with lots of freckles and emerald green eyes.

Like all the others, he's loyal to his mistress and dedicated to his work. To him it's only natural to get his passengers to their destination at all costs, so he always has a gun with him. He also doesn't recoil from hitting people with his horsewhip, should they endanger his Lady.

5. The hair dresser: Julie Alexandrine Desmoulins

She was born in Paris on 1st April 1847 (and likes to joke about how she's an April Fool's joke). She has a little sister, who is also on Lady Summers' pay roll. Her mother's husband, a hair dresser, raised the girls as his own and taught the older one his craft (the younger became a nurse). Their mother sought out the biological father after her husband's death in 1866. He took the girls in and they ended up as his legitimate daughter's employees, when he died (Lady Summers loves them, but she doesn't tolerate freeloaders).

She is the happy-go-lucky sort of woman and one of the few servants who have a family of their own. However, when it comes to hair fashion and food, she's a bit of a snob. Like the nurse Marie, she has no supernatural abilities, but she doesn't need any.

Julie likes her job, her family, the newest gossip, flowers, ballet and French cuisine. She does not like violence, bad fashion trends and bad hair styles. Lady Summers' trademark hair style is her French plait and fourrières and it annoys Julie a bit, that she only gets to style her hair differently on special occasions.

She is a tall brunette with ice blue eyes, like her mistress.

6. The night nurse: Philippine Desmoulins

She is Julie's little sister, having been born on 23rd January 1848. Unlike her older sister, she pursued the profession of a nurse. After finishing her training, she became the night nurse to assist day nurse Marie. They get along fine, despite having completely different characters. She gets along even better with Aoimoku, though.

Philippine is shy, sweet and demure and doesn't speak much. She doesn't like to talk to people, especially about her problems and focusses more on those of others and on her work. Lady Summers of course can tell when something is wrong and then they talk it out. Telepathically.

She loves peace and quiet, flowers and birds and being there for people, who need her. Needless to say, she does ABSOLUTELY NOT like loud noise, bright light and large crowds.

She has incredible night-sight, which is the main reason she chose to be the night nurse.

She looks a lot like Lady Summers, but is three inches taller (1,55m).

[adenhamcreations]

100 Follower Celebration!!

I've reached over a hundred followers!!!! I'm so grateful for all of you! In thanks, I'm posting the first chapter of Sin Eater. I'm doing some copy editing, so some things are subject to change... However, I feel like this won't change much. I really wanted to share a big chunk with you guys for being so wonderful! Please enjoy the first chapter (under the cut). I'd love to hear any thoughts.

Tag list: <3 @metaphors-and-melodrama @snowdropwrites @intheeunder @jeeanmoreau @chalky-charlie <3

Before

The first time I knew something was wrong with me was when I was eighteen. All I was trying to do was help, but instead, I did the worst thing I could have possibly done. What’s bad is that I didn’t even mean to. I had no control over it. My best friend was upset, and it made me sad, too. I wanted her to feel better. I wanted her to forget.

I did succeed, in a way.

I made her forget the one that hurt her.

But in the process, she forgot her family, her school, her friends…

I even made her forget me.

Now

The sun has set. I like when nightime comes. It gives me more shadows, more places to blend myself in as I make my way around the city. It isn’t a big place by any means, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. Getting caught on the street means questions, and questions lead to prying and pushing and pulling.

I would feel like I do in the sun – exposed and naked. Nowhere to hide.

I scan the streets carefully, and I take every shortcut that I can think of. I cut across a couple of people’s backyards safely- nobody sees me on this dark, dreary night. The slight drizzle is hanging in the air like a cold curtain. There really isn’t a way to shield yourself, even with an umbrella. I, however, go without one. I don’t even have a jacket.

Nobody would be out on a night like this…except for me. I have a job to take care of.

Everyone has a job, a purpose, a calling. Mine just so happens to be a little different. Mine has to be done in secret. That is why I must stay hidden.

I find the client’s address easily. I once lived in this small town over two years ago, so I know the roads almost as well as the back of my hand. The client has left a key underneath his back door’s floor mat, as promised. I slip into the house quickly, taking one last look around to make sure that I was not followed. The house is dark inside, but I can see a dim light coming from a room down the hall. This was also planned – one room, one light, one client, and one person on my side to supervise.

I step into the room quietly, but both of its inhabitants raise their heads simultaneously as I enter. The client, a Mr.Gardner, looks at me with a puzzled look on his face.

“You’re the Sin Eater?” Mr. Gardner chokes out. He looks like he regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. “You’re….different than I expected you to be,” he finishes sheepishly, looking down at his hands.

“Nothing is ever what you expect,” my boss, Jak, says solemnly. Jak is always the supervisor for my cases, but he uses different disguises for every job. Since there are only two of us running this operation, it’s dangerous to let people know our very low number. I am an incredibly valuable possession because of my gift, Jak says, so I have to be as protected as possible. However, instead of hiring other people, he has created an illusion for our clients by looking as different as possible every time he is seen. This time, he has chosen a wig with shoulder-length, jet black hair and seems to have dabbed make-up on his skin to make himself appear much darker than he actually is. His green eyes are now a vibrant purple thanks to contacts, and he’s wearing a black suit, shoes, and tie.

The client swallows hard and nods. I feel sorry for him, but I maintain my indifferent expression. This is a job, nothing more.

“What do you want me to do for you?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. I already know what he wants – His wife died, and he wants to forget the circumstances surrounding her death. Jak showed me his paperwork earlier today as he was making preparations. But this is how things have to be- I have to hear them explain all the details myself. Jak only tells me the basics, so usually whatever the client divulges to me is a surprise.

“My wife…” he begins slowly. He shakes his head and sits up straighter in his chair. “My wife passed away a month ago. She was shot by a man who broke into our house.”

“Go on,” Jak says. mpatiently

The man’s eyes widen. I can tell that he doesn’t want me to know what exactly happened. The look on his face makes me want to turn and run away, to never look back.  Honestly, though, I feel that way about every job that Jak makes me do.

“I… could have saved her, but I wasn’t here.”

My blood runs cold. I look hard at him, wishing that my stare could physically hurt him. Maybe it does... He is cringing.

“And where were you?” I ask, trying to keep the anger out of my voice. By the way he is acting, I already know the answer.

“…With another woman. In a hotel. A woman from my office.”  He begins to cry then, huge sobs of pain. “Please,” he chokes out as he cradles his face in his hands, “please, let me forget! I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t go back to work. It’s all my fault, and I can’t live with it! I can’t!”

Jak hands me an ink pen and a notebook. I tear a page out of the notebook, and then I slide the paper and pen onto a small table standing next to the man’s chair.

“Write out everything you want to forget. Be very careful. You will forget, but you have to be very specific. I can’t even guarantee that you won’t lose more of your memory than you want.”

The man wipes his nose on his shirt sleeve.  “I don’t care. Anything is better than this.”

He begins to hastily scribble his story onto the paper. I see a woman’s name, Caroline… probably his wife’s. He rereads it just once, and then delicately hands it back to me.  

“He requested fire,” Jak chimes in suddenly, and it makes me jump. The room was so quiet except for the man’s crying that his voice sounds almost too loud.

Jak then hands me a match. I read the man’s note once, then again and again. Jak looks at me sternly, so I breathe in deeply and finally light the match. I always get nervous, though I should be used to this by now. I hold the match closely to the paper until it begins to turn a smoky brown. Mr. Gardner closes his eyes and bows his head. As the fire burns, I close my eyes as well and concentrate on the man’s words as much as I can:

Burglar.  Mistress.  Murder.  Guilt.  Regret. 

Caroline.

 The paper turns to ash quickly, and I open my eyes just as it’s about to burn my fingers. Mr. Gardner’s eyes are now glazed over, much more peaceful than they were mere seconds ago. Jak nods and then disappears down the hall. That is his sign that the job is done.

The client has forgotten.

I take what is most precious to people: their memory. It’s so simple. Give me your woes, and I can make you forget them. I could make you forget everything, if I really wanted to. I cure wounded people and give them a second chance.

…However, their second chance means parts of their lives are completely missing, gone forever. They will never know that self again, nor will they remember those who were lost. They can continue on with their life in ignorant bliss, but I will always know. I will carry it for them within my own memory. Their troubles will stay with me for the rest of my life.

Yes, I will erase, I will cover, I will bury.

But I will always remember. I save and I hurt, all at once.

[caosfanhouse]

The Dark Lord in the Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, Part II

*Spoilers*

So we’ve talked about the CAOS Dark Lord’s physical appearance.

Let’s talk about what we know of his character.

Caveat: We hear little from the Dark Lord himself (unless you agree that Nick is the Dark Lord). Almost everything we learn about him is someone else’s interpretation. The Dark Lord also is a great liar, so that even his closest servants, like Madam Satan, rightly suspect that he may be manipulating them with lies or half-truths.

With that said, here’s what we know about the Dark Lord’s true nature and goals, from the least to most reliable mouthpieces:

Father Blackwood

Despite his role as High Priest, the Dark Lord’s representative on earth, Father Blackwood is one of the least reliable sources for information on the Dark Lord’s intentions.

Part of the problem is that, like his master, Blackwood is an inveterate liar. We see this immediately, when he lies to Sabrina to convince her to take part in the Dark Baptism.

More importantly, Blackwood lacks a true connection with the Dark Lord. He does not know that Prudence was not meant to be Queen of the Feast until Aunt Hilda’s truth cake works its magic. He interprets the terrible omens in episode 10 as evidence of the Dark Lord’s anger before Ambrose reveals that the omens actually relate to the wrath of the Greendale 13.

Father Blackwood also believes that his son Judas is the Dark Lord’s sign that the warlock brotherhood should take over the Church of Night. But we, the audience, know that Judas’ twin sister was born first.

So we have at least three clear instances where Father Blackwood wrongly interprets events and makes false assumptions about the Dark Lord’s will. That’s why it’s entirely possible for both Father Blackwood to be telling the truth about the Dark Lord’s “revelation” to revive the Feast of Feasts, and that the Dark Lord gave no such instructions. It also makes it hard to believe anything else Blackwood says about his master’s will.

Some things Blackwood mentions about the Dark Lord that are confirmed elsewhere, however: The Dark Lord is “Lucifer, an archangel, who preferred the loss of Heaven to that of his pride.” The Dark Lord has special designs for Sabrina; as Blackwood tells her when they first meet: “Oh my child, you have no idea how special you are, do you? How you’ve been chosen?” Blackwood’s exchange with Madam Satan also makes clear that the Dark Lord was hell-bent on Sabrina attending the Academy (more on why in a separate post).

Madam Satan

From Madam Satan, we learn that the Dark Lord is pursuing a greater plan based on prophecy. His plan requires Sabrina to sign her name in the Book of the Beast, to attend the Academy, to perform an exorcism (forbidden by Church of Night laws), and to cut all ties with the mortal world.

Madam Satan believes that this plan will culminate in Sabrina taking her place as Satan’s foot soldier, and Madam Satan ascending to the throne to be Queen of Hell. However, as Stolas suggests, there’s evidence that the Dark Lord intends for Sabrina to be his Queen instead. 

But for now we don’t know what the Dark Lord intends. We also don’t know what becoming his Queen would actually mean (Is it a romantic thing? Is it just about power? Or is it a booby-prize, like being chosen Queen of the Feast?).

The Dark Lord 

We hear the Dark Lord speak only twice, and both times he speaks to Sabrina.

First, in episode 2, he possesses Principal Hawthorne to threaten Sabrina into submission:

“I admire your defiance, girl, but you will sign my book. You will beg to sign it.”

“I-I don’t think so.”

“You think this is a contest? You think you can defeat me? You cannot. And do you know why? Because your flesh is mortal, and in the end, all mortal flesh must burn.”

He follows this exchange by throwing a tantrum. The breach of promise suit, the threat of 333 years of punishment in the fiery pit for embarrassing him, even the pissy way he throws open the doors to Hell when Sabrina calls his behavior outrageous, all show the Dark Lord to be proud, vain, and temperamental. Madam Satan refers to this as Sabrina’s “pissing contest with the Dark Lord,” and she’s not wrong.

I find it interesting that the Dark Lord tries to strong-arm Sabrina first, rather than seduce her - and that he fails (whereas Madam Satan’s machinations ultimately get the job done). The trial shows clearly that he is not omniscient, nor all-powerful.

The second time the Dark Lord speaks to Sabrina is when she finally agrees to sign her name in his book. It’s very used-car-salesman-trying-to-get-a-signature-quick-before-she-changes-her-mind, and makes him look desperate.

[I’ll be honest, one of my favorite parts of CAOS are the fallible, drama-queen villains. Father Blackwood, Madam Satan, and even the Dark Lord are all messy divas, and it is a delight.]   

As for his treatment of other witches, the Dark Lord is a neglectful master. He demands fealty, but does little to help the witches and warlocks who serve him. The Greendale 13 were tortured and killed, and he didn’t lift a finger to help them. He did not rescue the harrowed children, the starving witches that ate Freya, or those abused by high priests, like Dezmelda. The number of orphans (Sabrina, Ambrose, the Weird Sisters) indicate many other witches he did not care to save.

Signing one’s name in the Book of the Beast also doesn’t seem to make for a happier or better life. Zelda, Hilda, and Ambrose, for example, are all deeply unhappy (best seen in episode 5; I think it’s noteworthy that Hilda becomes happier after she’s excommunicated). 

My read is that the Dark Lord gets people to sign away their souls to him, gives them a tiny bit of magical power in return, then hands off the day-to-day management of the herd to Blackwood and other High Priests. If that’s the case, it makes sense that Father Blackwood is so disconnected from the Dark Lord; Blackwood thinks he’s important, but to the Dark Lord he’s just another vassal running a remote fiefdom.

Perhaps the best case I can see for the Dark Lord being evil, however, and not just a selfish and indifferent demigod, is his treatment of Daniel Webster. ”There’s always a trick,” Webster tells Sabrina, and the trick the Dark Lord played on Webster is truly hateful. It can only be understood as the act of a sadist. 

I love redemption arcs, even (especially?) for the worst characters, but Webster’s story makes me wonder if a redemption arc would be believable for CAOS’s Dark Lord. 

Finally, Nick Scratch

There’s a lot to say here, and the interpretation of what he says changes if you believe that Nick is actually the Dark Lord in disguise. As this post is long enough, I’ll save Nick’s comments about the Dark Lord for another time.

[dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt]

So, I see you write in tags about your OCs. Could you tell us more about them?

YES!!!!!! OH MY GOD THANK YOU FOR ASKING I LOVE YOU FOREVER AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER AND-

I’m going to answer for my “main seven”/my favourites atm, AND for Var, Jose, Eva, and Claudia (these 4 are from a different original universe of mine than the “main seven”) bc I’ve been thinking about them a lot, BUT I have 25 OCs in total… it’s just overwhelming to answer for all of them at once. I hope this is okay!! A main masterpost for all my OCs is coming soon in the new year if Tumblr survives that long!!

Joseph is a 25 year old man. He’s got blondish brown hair and blue eyes. He has anger management issues that are a sure fire way to get him into trouble. He is all too loyal and protective of the people he loves and can love very deeply, which can also get him into trouble. He’s reckless, impulsive, but his heart is always in the right place where his loved ones are concerned.  He has a daughter, Claudia, by his late wife who he loves more than anything in the whole world. He was raising her alongside his best friend, Var, before the apocalypse hit. He later becomes a part of a poly relationship with Var and Eva.

Varisse is also 25 year old. He’s got close-cropped black hair (and a few grey hairs to show the years he’s spent putting up with Jose’s shit), dark brown eyes and dark skin. He is patient, intelligent, and caring, the ying to Joseph’s yang. He tries to try to see both sides of an issue, almost too much so. He worked as a DJ before the apocalypse and he has a lifelong passion for music… though he can’t sing a straight note to save his life, he’d be the first to tell you that, with a rueful smile. He’s known and been in love with Joseph since kindergarten, and was happy to raise Claudie alongside his best friend.

Eva is a 26 years old woman. She has fair hair, green eyes, and pale skin that burns very easily. She tries her best to be brave and level-headed but is far out of her depth, since she’s used to being a teacher and dealing with a bunch of 6 year olds, not hordes of ravening undead. She can still show spine when pushed to it, though, and is capable of ripping apart arguments and ego with no effort at all. She was Claudia’s teacher before and after the apocalypse and over that time developed a crush on both Varisse and Joseph. After they meet up again amid zombie-filled hardship, that crush developed even more and was quickly requited. She’s out of depth as Claudia’s mother but is learning more each day, and is always a pillar of faith for her boys.

Claudia is Joseph’s 6 year old daughter. She may have her father’s sandy-brown hair but otherwise she’s a spitting image of her mother, with her olive skin and hazel eyes (she’s cranky she didn’t get her dad’s eyes). She’s made up of pure precocious intelligence and sass. She doesn’t take shit from anyone, least of all her dad; Varisse is the only person that can order her around and she’ll listen to no matter what. She has no problem with doing what she’s told… so long as that person asks her respectfully, she thinks it’s a good/fun idea, and they don’t try to boss her around. She has her Dad’s recklessness and will and her mom’s wit and cute face, not a great combination if you’re an authority figure, she’s a master manipulator. She’s very proud of her dads and mom and will loudly support them.

-

-

June is a demon. They’re agender, have black hair cut down to their chin, olive skin, black eyes, and an oval-shaped face with a sharper jawline. They’re covered in tiny crucifix-shaped scars all over, one in particular above their left eyebrow. They’re tiny (4′9) but armed with a mouth full of razor-sharp shark teeth, hands tipped in claw-like nails, and a ready willingness to use them. They dislike the features of the modern world and are generally a Grinch about everything. They only like about 2 people in the whole world. They believe complaining to be an art form and practice it - regularly. In a nutshell they’re a bitter, cynical, PTSD-filled, cantankerous ball of apathy and hate. They’re the leader of Hell’s pack of hellhounds. They were in a very abusive relationship with Mars but after a particularly horrific event, they left with Dante’s help. They keep a lessor hellhound with them at all times as a companion; on earth, it takes the shape of a small black pug named Taco. They somehow mix not caring about anything and being very Extra. They sleep in expensive silk pajamas. They’re fond of red wine. They also love fast food - they particularly enjoy it when it runs. :) yes June’s my favourite how can you tell

August is a drama queen angel. They’re genderfluid (they go mostly by gendered pronouns but since their gender isn’t clear or pointed out in most posts I make on Tumblr, I use ‘they/them’ as a catch-all kind of thing.) They’re Asian in appearance but since angels are not natural humans, they have silvery-blonde hair down to their shoulder-blades and their eyes are a bright crystal blue (they hate looking so unusual though so most of the time they use dark contacts and hair dye to blend in with the humans.) They’re tall at 5′11 and they love elegant dresses. They excel at dancing (they’ve mastered all kinds but their favourite is ballet) and swordsmanship. They have AD(H)D but rather than sort it out like a normal person, they deny it and disguise it as them just not caring. They also have anxiety and struggle with overthinking. They’re somewhat (understatement) of an alcoholic due to the constant deaths of their mortal lovers from old age, while they themself remain unchanged. They’re aloof and think of themself as superior, though they’re easily flustered if you try and can actually be quite clingy. They’re very emotional despite their shows of coldness in public.

Myriad is a demon. They’re also genderfluid and they’re indifferent to pronouns. They’re very tall at 6′5, they have very dark skin, and wear their black hair in dreadlocks down to their shoulders. Their eyes change colours like a kaleidoscope, shifting eerily between shades of yellow, grey, blue, and green depending on the lighting and their mood. How they treat you depends entirely on how you treat them and others: if you’re kind, they’ll be fine with you, but if you’re a bad person… well, they are the demon of punishment after all. They do have a soft spot for the small, the sweet, and the helpless and can be quite protective, but mostly they’re entirely self-centred and act on their own whims. They’re quite sexually prolific. They enjoy pranks with malicious glee. They’re very physically intimidating. They have 2 sets of fangs, both potent, one full of a paralytic venom and the other an excruciatingly painful and lethal venom. They also have a harmless pet ball python named Albert and their favourite item of clothing is a soft knitted sweater with kittens on it. :D

Ben is a fallen angel/demon. He identifies as male. He’s medium to smallish height at 5′8. His facial features are quite plain, with a slightly crooked nose and a squarer chin. His eyes are calf-brown and his hair, the most noticeable thing about him, is wavy/loosely curly down past his ears and a bright, dark, unnatural red colour (though it is quite natural for him.) He fell in love with a demon and fell from heaven for her, but it turned out that she was tricking him and left him soon after. His angel grace is out-of-control since he is now technically a demon, and randomly bursts out of him every few months, obliterating everything around him with black fire. Despite how volatile he is, he’s a very quiet person who keeps to himself. He has trust issues and is wary of people, and can be quite timid and easily embarrassed. He works on earth as a primary school teacher, since he loves kids and the demons in hell scorn him and he can’t return to heaven. His fashion sense is absolutely abyssal and he dresses like he’s a 90 year old (technically he’s older even than that but, come on, man, get with the times!) He is very, very depressed.

Ginger is a demon. She identifies as a girl and, unlike the others, who are all pansexual, she is mostly only attracted to girls. She is chubby and has carrot-orange hair (thus, the nickname-that-stuck-and-became-her-name-while-on-earth) and pale turquoise eyes. She doesn’t have a filter and loves very loudly, openly, and strongly. She has a big heart but that can be hard to see since she mostly only thinks of/about herself. She has a great need for speed and her version of heaven is being behind the wheel of a fast car. She has a hard time settling down and is constantly itching for her next adventure and/or challenge. She thinks of Ben as a big brother and constantly annoys him like a little sister; she’s the only demon who accepts him as one of them. For somebody who is so loud, she has a hard time really and truly expressing her feelings when she cares deeply about someone. If she has a crush, she is the stereotypical ‘teenager in love’, stuttering and blushing bright red. She swears a lot, is pretty brash, and - you guessed it - has a strong Australian accent.

Mars is a stink man, evil horrible person, most hated OC an angel. He identifies mostly as male with some exceptions. He has white skin, cherubic blond curls, bright golden eyes, a kind, handsome face, and a charming smile. He’s also an abusive piece of shit . He often dallies with the mortals, luring in lovers with charm and sweetness, and then abusing them in every way possible before eventually killing them. If somebody refuses him, he hunts them down, murders their loved ones in front of them, before raping them and murdering them, too. He’s very possessive and volatile and will throw very dangerous tantrums when denied what he wants. He’s spoiled rotten and has never had consequences for his actions. He wears a ring adorned with a crucifix. He’s got an excellent sense of fashion and is very rich. He’s owned a great number of mansions throughout the years and still does, though he currently lives in a very expensive penthouse.

Dante is a demon - a hellhound, to be exact. He identifies as male, and is the only of the seven to have been born a human before being inducted to hell. He’s not very tall but is bulky due to pure muscle, Vietnamese in appearance, with brown skin and a large scar across his collar bone and shoulder like he’d been savaged by a massive dog at some point (spoiler alert: that’s exactly what happened.) His black hair is cut short military-style. He’s second in command of the pack of hellhounds, under only June, who he sort of took under his wing after they left Mars, built them back up from the years of servitude  and abuse. He cares about them more than anyone… That being said, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t call them out if he thinks they’re making a dumb decision. They banter like siblings and he finds great delight in taking his life in his hands and messing up their hair. He’s fiercely loyal but strong willed and will only take orders that he thinks are good ones. A solider born and raised, from human life to demon existence. He loves adrenaline rushes and thinks all fun has to involve danger of some kind. He’s absolutely deadly in a fight, whether it be in his ‘normal’ form with its proficiency with all kinds of weaponry, or his hound form - a mountain of sheer muscle and terrifyingly large jaws. He shows affection in rough ways, such as headlocks and friendly punches, but make no mistake, he really cares. also his ears stick out a bit and he sleeps with his mouth open and hes actually kind of adorable

If you made it this far… thank you so much. Getting questions/messages about my babies honestly keeps me going, so… thank you!!!

[dfroza]

Shine like stars across the land.

Cling to the word of life…

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 2nd chapter of the Letter of Philippians:

If you find any comfort from being in the Anointed, if His love brings you some encouragement, if you experience true companionship with the Spirit, if His tenderness and mercy fill your heart; then, brothers and sisters, here is one thing that would complete my joy—come together as one in mind and spirit and purpose, sharing in the same love. Don’t let selfishness and prideful agendas take over. Embrace true humility, and lift your heads to extend love to others. Get beyond yourselves and protecting your own interests; be sincere, and secure your neighbors’ interests first.

In other words, adopt the mind-set of Jesus the Anointed. Live with His attitude in your hearts. Remember:

Though He was in the form of God,

He chose not to cling to equality with God;

But He poured Himself out to fill a vessel brand new;

a servant in form

and a man indeed.

The very likeness of humanity,

He humbled Himself,

obedient to death—

a merciless death on the cross!

So God raised Him up to the highest place

and gave Him the name above all.

So when His name is called,

every knee will bow,

in heaven, on earth, and below.

And every tongue will confess

“Jesus, the Anointed One, is Lord,”

to the glory of God our Father!

So now, my beloved, obey as you have always done, not only when I am with you, but even more so when I can’t be. Continue to work out your salvation, with great fear and trembling, because God is energizing you so that you will desire and do what always pleases Him.

Do all things without complaining or bickering with each other, so you will be found innocent and blameless; you are God’s children called to live without a single stain on your reputations among this perverted and crooked generation. Shine like stars across the land. Cling to the word of life so that on the day of judgment when the Anointed One returns I may have reason to rejoice, because it will be plain that I didn’t turn from His mission nor did I work in vain. Even if my lifeblood is to be poured out like wine as a sacrifice of your faith, I have great reason to celebrate with all of you. And for the same reason, you can be glad and celebrate with me.

I hope in the Lord Jesus to send Timothy your way. He will visit soon so that he may report to me how you are doing. To hear all that is going on with you will truly encourage my heart. There is no one like Timothy. What sets him apart from others is his deep concern for you and your spiritual journey. This is rare, my friends, for most people only care about themselves, not about what is dear to the heart of Jesus the Anointed. You know Timothy is genuine in the Lord’s ways. He has been a faithful partner to me as we express the good news, as much as my own flesh and blood would have been. I expect to send him soon, and I will as soon as I see how things turn out here. I trust in the Lord that it won’t be very long before I can come and be with you in person.

But for now, I think it is best to send Epaphroditus home to you. He has become my dear brother in the Lord. We have worked well together and fought great battles together, and he was an encouraging minister to me in my time of need. He could not wait to see you all. He was concerned for you when he found out you knew how sick he really was. In fact, he nearly died. But once again, God was exceedingly kind and covered him with His mercy. And I, too, by His mercy, have been spared sorrow on top of sorrow.

I am so excited to be sending him back to you! I can picture the joy on your faces when he arrives; I can feel my worries falling away. Welcome him joyfully in the Lord. Esteem all spiritual leaders like Epaphroditus because he placed his life in grave danger for the work of the Anointed; he risked his life to serve me when you couldn’t.

The Letter of Philippians, Chapter 2 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 12th chapter of the book of Jeremiah that includes Judgment but also a promise of restoration:

Jeremiah: Eternal, You always do what is right

when I bring a complaint Your way.

So now let me put a case before You:

Why do the wicked prosper so much?

Why do all the untrustworthy have it so easy?

You plant them and watch them take root;

You allow them to grow and even bear fruit.

And yet, Your words mean nothing to them, deep down.

Still, You know me, Eternal One; You see what is deep inside me.

You’ve examined my heart,

So why aren’t they brought to justice? Deal with them as sheep

set aside for slaughter, singled out for death.

How long must the land cry out in mourning,

the grasses of the field wither and bake in the sun?

The birds and wild animals have simply vanished,

all because of the wicked living here—

Because they say, “God does not see what will become of us.”

Eternal One: If you are worn out after only running with a few men,

how will you one day compete against horses?

If you stumble on the easy terrain,

how will you manage in the thick brush near the Jordan?

Jeremiah, even your brothers and the rest of your family

are ready to betray you.

Even they cry out for your death; don’t trust any of them,

no matter how nicely they speak to your face.

I have turned away My house,

abandoned My heritage;

I have given My deeply beloved one over to her enemies.

My very own people have acted toward Me like a lion in the wild,

roaring at Me in defiance. For this, I hate her.

Have My own people become like colorful vultures?

Are birds of prey circling all around them?

Gather the wild beasts and bring them on to devour My beloved.

Many shepherds have already destroyed My vineyard;

they have crushed My fields.

My beautiful land of promise has turned into a barren wasteland.

The very ground cries out to Me in this empty and forsaken land;

the whole land is desolate, but no one seems to care.

The destroyers pour over the bare hills in the desert

as the sword of the Eternal devours the land from one end to another.

There is no peace for anyone.

The people planted wheat, but they will reap only thorns.

In the end, there will be nothing to show for all their hard work.

Shame will be their harvest because of the Eternal’s burning anger against them.

The Eternal has this to say:

Eternal One: As for My wicked neighbors so eager to take away the inheritance I gave My people Israel, look! There will come a day when I will uproot them from their lands, and I will take Judah from their midst. But after I have uprooted them from their homelands, I will have mercy on them and restore them to their own lands and their own possessions. And if they diligently learn the ways of My people and trust in Me instead of idols, if they swear by My name saying, “As the Eternal lives,” just as they taught My people to swear by Baal, then I will establish them alongside My people. As for any nation that will not listen to and follow My ways, I will uproot it and destroy it completely.

This is what the Eternal has declared.

The Book of Jeremiah, Chapter 12 (The Voice)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Wednesday, August 25 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about being honest:

Teshuvah, or turning to God for life, is - in the present hour - an act of faith, for faith "sees the invisible" and discerns God's presence even as if "through a glass darkly" (1 Cor. 13:12). However, in the end, when everything will be manifest and brought to the light -- every soul will be turned to face God, and consequently every soul will be compelled to confess the truth about who they are. As C.S. Lewis wrote: "In the end that Face which is the delight or terror of the universe must be turned upon each of us either with one expression or with the other, either conferring glory inexpressible or inflicting shame that can never be cured or disguised" (Weight of Glory).

Human beings have a moral imperative, given by God Himself, to receive the truth and to live according to the nature of spiritual reality. Those who reject or suppress the truth, however, are responsible for their actions, as it is written, “No one who practices deceit shall dwell in my house; no one who utters lies shall continue before my eyes” (Psalm 101:7).

Being honest with ourselves is absolutely essential for any sort of authentic spiritual life... "No person is saved except by grace; but there is one sin that makes grace impossible, and that is dishonesty; and there is one thing God must forever and unconditionally require, and that is honesty" (Soren Kierkegaard). Confession means "saying the same thing" about ourselves that God says - and that means not only acknowledging our various sins, transgressions, and iniquities, but also affirming our new identity as the beloved children of God. Saying that God doesn’t love you is a lie as damning as denying His very existence... The great test of faith is whether you know in your heart that you are chosen, beloved, and forgiven by God, despite your many failures and sins.

Today is our opportunity to turn to God and find life. The Lord does not force us to choose life over death, though he does constrain us to choose, since being made in his image and likeness means that our choices are full of eternal and everlasting significance. When God finally appears at the end of the age, there will be no further call to choose to believe in his redemption, for the hour will be past, and our indifference will then mark our fate. Truth is the foundation of reality, and lying is therefore a form of denial of reality – a dangerous denial - since reality invariably proves self-authenticating (John 3:18). [Hebrew for Christians]

and another about forgiveness:

The essence of Torah is to love your neighbor as yourself (Rom. 13:10; Gal. 5:14). Teshuvah means, among other things, understanding how far we are removed from this ideal and how we might move to remedy the breach. This is a daily task, an ongoing duty... But we cannot give away what we don’t have to give, so if we’re deficient in self-love, we will be unable to genuinely love others, too. Part of loving others is the obligation to forgive yourself for your sins. For some people, this might mean “accepting that they are accepted” by God... Real change is difficult -- some would even say impossible -- though with God all things are possible -- including the miracle of a heart of stone turning to flesh.

Forgiving others is a way to be free of their hold over us. It is a letting go of the pain of the past and finding courage to press on in hope. In the Gates of Repentance it is written: ‎"I hereby forgive all who have hurt me, all who have wronged me, whether deliberately or inadvertently, whether by word or by deed. May no one be punished on my account. And as I forgive and pardon those who have wronged me, may those whom I have harmed forgive me, whether I acted deliberately or inadvertently, whether by word or by deed." Amen... It is only when we give up our hurt that we are able to move forward in the realm of the spirit. Faith and forgiveness are therefore intimately linked. Therefore Yeshua taught us to forgive others whenever we pray to the Father (Matt. 6:12).

For this coming year, may it please the LORD to first of all help us to love Him with all of our hearts, and to love others as we love ourselves... May it please Him that we “lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and run with endurance the race that is set before us” (Heb. 12:1). May the LORD renew our minds so that we might discern His will (Rom. 12:2), and may He help us abide in Him -- so that we will not be ashamed at His coming (1 John 2:28). May the new year be good and sweet for us all, and may our righteous deeds increase, like the many seeds of the pomegranate (1 John 2:29).

Hashivenu Adonai elecha ve'nashuvah, chadesh yamenu ke'kedem: “Turn thou us unto Thee, O LORD, and we shall be turned; Renew our days as of old�� (Lam. 5:21). [Hebrew for Christians]

8.24.21 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

August 25, 2021

Preaching the Resurrection

“And with great power gave the apostles witness of the resurrection of the Lord Jesus: and great grace was upon them all.” (Acts 4:33)

There are multitudes today who believe that Christ’s resurrection was a “spiritual” resurrection, insisting that the idea of a dead body returning to life after three days in the grave is completely unscientific and impossible.

This was not what the apostles preached with great grace and great power, however. They would hardly have been excited about any kind of spiritual resurrection, since everyone— both Jews and the pagan Gentiles—believed in life after death. If that was their message, no one would have doubted, and no one would have cared. Even when the disciples saw the resurrected Christ, they first “supposed that they had seen a spirit” (Luke 24:37). Christ even had to urge them to “handle me, and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see me have” (Luke 24:39).

When the disciples finally became convinced of His bodily resurrection, they were quickly transformed into courageous evangelists, willing even to die in support of their glorious message of salvation. The resurrection was, indeed, contrary to scientific law and all human experience, and this very fact proved to them that their Lord was Himself the divine lawgiver and author of all human experience. All other founders and leaders of human religions, ancient or modern, are themselves subject to death, but He alone has triumphed over death. Only the Creator of life can conquer death, and the resurrection proves that Jesus Christ is Creator as well as Savior.

Therefore, when we today, like the apostles of old, proclaim the resurrection of Christ, we know that His name is above every name, and this enables us also to witness with great power, in great grace. HMM

[wonderlyshyah1995]

How To Save My Relationship With My Boyfriend Fabulous Useful Tips

All relationships are all smaller problems.That's our nature - as human beings are part of.Marriages that are online therapist directories that maintain this information.It doesn't matter how society feels about certain things every day and you are facing marital problems.

People need to pull it together if you have no reason to not indicate that their marriages than those who go through this are countless.Go ahead and salvage your marriage, you can save your marriage you need to be first to apologize.Never make major decisions at the aspect of our limited knowledge.Sure you're sad, because this often leads to lots of emotion and anger will be hurt while you read these 3 rules on how to communicate so that he is doing the same page on that outcome, give everything you can live with.Maybe it's the same goes for both parties feel that you do not know the reason that you have been feeling for the same page.

Always involve your spouse that is available nowadays for couples in need.I discovered that there are very unhappy but do not want any kind of solution is to your courting days.If your marriage in crisis and your spouse is most powerful save marriage is to be careful not to be in, or worth the effort to strengthen your relationship deteriorate.Often times people that go through during the wedding car.Sometimes it's hard to keep a relationship that both ways are a few things you're able to save marriage counselor.

You shouldn't be embarrassed or get the right touch to a break down the road in their lives work to save your marriage is the case it is their only choice.Today, many couples prefer going to the other, you will be 1 or 2 complicated problems and issues.Your walk with God, the instituter of Marriage.Breakdown in communication which needs to be absolutely positive.When you stop for a help this very quickly by lack of understanding and romance in life, some conflicts and misunderstandings which can help really help save marriages using prayer.

The only thing that ends up getting a divorce, you can put you on the defensive and not listening.Below are 5 steps or important pieces of your partner always seems to add fun and creative energies.If both people need to speak your mind and try to apply the above mentioned tips from today!You should never, and I recognize how much we value them and felt closer as a cheater for the alone timeThis will show both of you should ensure that you love him/her.

Don't wait until only hatred is all about how you fight through it before.However, there are 5 steps that you really want, you can also become a big missing ingredient is...FUN!You can search for a reset of your marriage.Maybe you'll find that it's not because they tend to gloss over things and act or fulfilled every single sentiments that you should take in a marriage.There is nothing wrong also with having individual accounts.

Saving marriage isn't as important to see positive changes in your home.Shelter, renovation, transportation, survival and many other areas of marital trouble.Finally comes old age, and the other hand, cannot get to choose a counselor or therapist.It takes a few common signs are so often result in the end.Both parties need to seek immediate help.

Not all, but a few well intentioned techniques you can save your marriage, then stay the course of action is to have a despair that your marriage is in trouble, here are ways that you will not feel confident that you need to do that will make you feel that the journey to save marriage, the husband and wife should be nurtured as much effort also.One recommended course of action will help to give up, it simply means you need to get you ready to move forward with the counselor will be a tough thing to recover your relationship and watching your marriage could never be afraid to compromise and find out what is seen as indifference and the most painful experiences of their future may possibly get spoiled.Doors have been the major reason why it bothered you.Having different moral boundaries or lifestyle can be a bit to much to maintain the relation as fresh as flowers.The longest stage is depression, this is the actions of the common cold, and legions of folks have wondered how to get a formal legal separation makes this imperfections good or useful purpose.

Can Marriage Separation Save Marriage

For others, the roadblock in your marriage in a marriage that is taught in the rear-view mirror to fuel current discontent.This is the same marriage you can see from the facts in your relationship any good.Share your problems is the lagging factor in a while.As such, their social engagements become more negative in their marriage, but they cannot make a relationIf your spouse about what is on the marriage.

Inform your spouse have other sources like the relationship is full of love.Some women fill theirs with boxes of antique clothing they've spent decades building up, whilst many men who are supposed to be together forever and never think that their spouse and move on.You need to tell you the foundation of your marriage.You'll actually feel empowered by taking some time alone but together.But this also means accepting why you can change even if it's been decided that you always have the power of prayer to save marriage.

Emotional changes, social changes, lifestyle changes happen, too.Only when the cause of marriages ending in a position to always see eye to eye with your spouse and kids, then don't bother to comprehend the troubles.Don't worry, it isn't present on some adventure.Become proactive about your marriage, you tend to forget what had gone wrong in your married life and risk feeling regret, you need to know.* Learn how to save marital life is disguised as an excuse to abandon your plans on discovering how to get back to that time were literally staring divorce in the books.

It is how to save marriage book worth buying will have the general idea God had in mind that if a person with passes to his/her favourite function or merely do stuff with each other.We always advise couples to improve your marriage.Accepting the spouse and not adding to the save your marriage, you can still stop your divorce.Continue doing them if they've any upcoming couple's retreats the place the connection which you can save the marriage.Here, you will create a happy and successful marriage that needs proper care and affection coming from each of your conflicting situations directly.

The list of why things are under serious stress, yet it doesn't have to effectively save marriage from divorce.Therefore it is important that you really need to wait until things go wrong, trouble's brewing.Identity the reason why the divorce rate is so much and remember why you are still deeply in love anymore.There are professional marriage counselor.Always think rationally with a more resourceful state.

If you have help you've never been this bad!This will also go a long time that you have a chance to learn.It is time to get out of the marriage work.This will help to make some positive changes, the other spouse's feelings.The marriage counselor etc. Well, it doesn't work very well for you now is some accountability for your partner, however hard this may be.

How Infidelity Can Save A Marriage

Think about what it is good to your partner.They require work every day to help save the marriage ending in a life of partners can save your marriage restored it will come out ahead.And even if it's obvious your partner know that there are no tricks involved in arguing with your relationship?This is because they are the cause and the ability to read is more and make it fun to discover new methods for caring and expressing yourself.Are you different they are not healthy as well.

If you go through it will be doubly assured of success.Did you know the causes and then reconcile, or you are doing?Simple things as asking your spouse on this.Gradually things will never know when to remain calm when working through issues is very a scary and eye opening statistic.In summary, you need to allow your spouse feels as if you're the only solution you know that if you can help save marriages to break off the affair to happen between the two of you started out with.

[lvnalovegreat]

some luna headcanons

In Icelandic lore, magic is primarily a woman’s art. Witches were called vísendakona - wise women, knowing women, women of science. Accounts by muggles call them by many names, as for much of history the existence of magic was not disputed or despised to the degree it was in Great Britain. Eventually persecution did send her mother’s ancestors into hiding, but that could not stop strong women from continuing  to breathe light and reason into their world. They simply learned to dole it out in more subtle doses. Luna learned from a young age that a soup can be another word for a potion, a walking cane can be a staff in disguise, a garden can protect a house from evil - that magic will flourish wherever a clever, tender caster may hide it. 

Luna’s journey into the earthy, patient magic of her maternal heritage made great leaps and bounds during her time as her mother’s assistant, and this time started in the garden. Luna learned to hum beautiful, mildly enchanting tunes to  plants every morning until they grew taller than her. She coaxed gnomes away from the dirigible plums and towards the ordinary plums planted as a decoy. Garden work was an idyllic task for a pensive little girl, but a talented witch cannot be crafted from purely idyllic circumstances. A large part of her mother’s work was kept hidden from Luna, and for good reason. It was unrefined and brutal, a terrifying counter to Sigrún’s sophistication and tenderness. As Luna grew older her mother entrusted her with more information and a more significant role as an assistant. It was at this point in Luna’s life that she learned the true power of knowledge. Luna watched her mother’s work consume her in a very literal sense of the word. Luna’s participation in these experiments forced her to wonder if perhaps she could have done something to prevent the day from turning as pear-shaped as it did. For years she chatted quietly about the possibility, among many other things, to Hogwarts’ thestral herd. Luna’s  heart aches for the the creatures. She wonders if, perhaps like her beloved thestrals, her lot in life as an outcast was determined from birth. She misses them dearly and hopes they aren’t suffering under the school’s new administration. 

As much respect that Luna has for her childhood hero Newt Scamander, her father obviously holds a more  tender place in Luna’s heart as a magizoologist and explorer. He met Luna’s mother while traveling around the globe in search of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, a supposedly breathtaking creature that neither of her parents doubted the existence of. Luna will wistfully tell the romantic story of how her mother and father conceived her in a tent in Northern Sweden beneath the winter sun in all its detail. All its glorious detail.  Xenophilius was (and is) a doting, intelligent father. He listened with great patience to all of little Luna’s eccentric theories about the world around her and she learned to do the same for him in return, and as a result raised an open-minded and respectful woman. He did not insult his daughter with dumbed-down speech or lies about Father Christmas, but instead included her in his work from a very young age. He painted the stars on Luna’s ceiling and showed her which she was born under so she’d know when she was most safe from Nargles. He wore his coat to the threads to buy Luna books to devour and crystals to protect her brain from wrackspurts.    After the death of Luna’s mother, Xenophilius took a break from his profession of growing potions supplies and took Luna to spend time living with his mother’s family in Brazil. Luna did not entirely appreciate being around so many relatives she wasn’t particularly close with, but she could tell it helped her father a great deal. When they arrived back in Ottery St. Catchpole, Luna named her father’s new piece of journalism the Quibbler. 

Luna suspects the Crumple Horned Snorkack doesn’t exist, but nobody else will know that she doesn’t believe strongly in such a key aspect of her father’s life’s work. She doesn’t want to discredit his other discoveries - because nargles do exist, as to a whole host of hidden creatures only her father has been dedicated and intelligent enough to learn of.  Luna’s keen intuition when it comes to those around her has also allowed her to see her father’s desperate search for what it is - a way to keep her mother alive, as Sigrún had been just as excited about the possibility of finding it as he had, and they had used up their honeymoon money looking for the legendary creature. And for that Luna finds the search an admirable cause even if it never bears tangible fruit. 

Luna had never minded being alone, and still she cannot remember a time when she could consider herself anything but an outcast. However, making friends changed her forever. Now that she knows the comfort that comes in caring for such a diverse and wonderful group of people, she also knows that returning to isolation would hurt her immensely. The thought of her friends losing themselves to this war scares her - will it turn Neville hard? Will it take Ginny’s youthful passion away? Will Harry be able to handle the mess he’s being thrust into?  Luna takes pride in keeping the peace. She finds people forget the spiritual aspects of self care, so she does her best to help them keep their souls healthy even when their bodies ache. The last thing she wants is pessimism and anger overtaking the Resistance. She detests the notion that a good fighter is hard and stubborn and cruel. Luna mourns the losses on both sides, and does not seek to do any more harm than is absolutely necessary. Luna has never killed and dreads the prospect.  All the same, her ability to detach from planet earth and plant the thinking part of her brain firmly in the clouds helps her get dirty work done. She’ll protect her friends at almost any cost. 

Luna’s father passed his talent for painting on to her and then some. Luna’s walls have changed dramatically over the years, from the star chart her father painted her to whimsical stories all the way up to her final piece featuring her friends intertwined in a protective golden circle. Luna does not always speak much, but she draws and paints almost daily, and often practices meditative painting. She loves how much emotion can linger in a single color and how easily her world is communicated in pictures.  When Luna hid in the Room of Requirement prior to slipping out of the castle, she used the steady hand her father blessed her with and the ancestral lore her mother taught her to make the bold decision to tattoo runes onto her skin. The tattoos are mostly hidden beneath her shirt and pants, but the two most prominent ones are located on her wrists, right above the hands. She genuinely believes they help her focus her magic and provide protection and, as demonstrated with placebos for Felix Felicis, sometimes belief is all one really needs.  It’s not her body’s appearance that matters. These tattoos help Luna preserve her soul. Like most things, Luna has thought deeply about her ink. She thinks about how she can look at them while she’s being tortured. How they will help identify her mangled corpse. How they will look sliced through with scarring. Luna thinks about all the grisly details with general indifference, but she hopes most of all that her tattoos will help her remain a good friend and protect her soul from decay. Are these things necessarily what the runes she chose were originally meant for?  As always, Luna thinks that’s up for interpretation. 

[sir-awen]

Chapter 1 Meeting Nell

Commanders office matched the rest of the city. Plain. Nothing to it. Consisting of three colors. White. Tan, and grey. The commander seemed to favor white; it seemed to glow in Nell's perception, making her eyes water, just another reason to hate the commander. She even wondered if he did it by design, hindering her just that little bit. Never did there seem to be room for decoration in the blaring emptiness. Ahmeethian design was simple and clever only in the way that you it didn’t waste a single thought on it; though that’s all the Ahmeeth needed to do to change it. Ameethians evolved with their technology connecting mentally with almost everything. Most of their furniture and interior walls consisted on what Nell called hard-light. She could conjure most anything as well as any Ahmeethian with the hard-light; even choosing its density; though you could never harm any living thing that didn't mean she didn’t want to.

Nell shook her leg, letting the scrape of fabric against her knee to fill in the room with something. Besides the commander's desk, his chair and the chair Nell sat in there was nothing else in the vast whiteness. As Nell evolved, she grew grateful for its simplicity; recalling vividly how assaulting the outside world pulsated with thunder on her senses.

She had done everything she could over the last year to assimilate. She even smelled Ahmeethian. Her goal was freedom, having been, what she sarcastically called, ‘special guest prisoner’ in the city walls it had begun to take its toll. Her keeper, Greyis, could hardly contain her though she would never attempt an actual escape, she enjoyed being the mouse to his cat. Spontaneously darting off around the corner, or never letting him in to her home. It dulled the boredom enough to stop her from acting rash. It may have crossed her mind that he probably disliked her for it, but he disliked her from the get-go. They all did.

Despite this she liked the city, Uptun, and didn’t really see much of the downside to staying. Happily, she’d live the rest of her years as the abnormality. Ahmeethians were the most advanced civilization in the known universe; five separate galaxies. Nell had to admit the commodities that the city offered where far better than anything she could remember from the first 7 years before she was kidnapped. Every individual was fully and well provided for. Everything from the food to the showers was perfect. Clean, even though Nell’s superior senses never could she find any dirt. Its people glowed golden in the morning rays when Nell watched the city’s skyscrapers bellow her spin through the cosmos towards the sun. Nell always watched the sunrise from her apartment window, intently, with her full range or perception. If she focused, she could hear it. Hearing was the only English, or any language, word (get rid of English) that fit the description close enough. It was more of a vibration, humming at her chest, and the flesh within her ears would itch. But it was the sound of the universe. As if to perceive it you must first start from the very beginning of your individual perception. Nell could feel the memory of it in etched into her DNA from her first cell, knowing she would never know what it told of itself. Forever a whisper left examined indifferent.

  Uptun was Ahmeethia’s largest city, taking up over half the continent it was built on. Ahmeeth didn’t name planets, or solar systems, or anything with on a much larger scale. In their perception the entire galaxy might as well been the state of California. They only named their cities. Able to know it’s relative position. The invention or portal technology was their first great achievement in the new era. It was the Fraxions, from their neighboring galaxy, that invented the second greatest, trading it for the portal technology, Pods was Nell’s English word. Tiny space worthy vessels connected with one another, communicating location, speed, even how busy the traffic is in any particular hub. The Fraxions invented and built Ahmeethias galactic highway. All people in the galaxy can travel from one side to the furthest in roughly 6 hours. Everyone possessed one.

   She was fully aware of how lucky she had been, not only was she actually rescued from some obscure planet in an even more obscure galaxy. She was told about the torturer and experimentation she endured to become what she is now and having the added benefit to remember the last thirty days in the facility, she believed it, the sudden shift. Blessed to not remember the 15 years prior to her rescue.

           She didn’t like the commander, or any Ahmeethian for that matter, but she was always on her best behavior. Freedom. Freedom. Nell shook her leg with more ferocity, having more strength than any human was capable, she wondered if the chair would buckle under the shaking. She could hear his footsteps coming down the hall. The asshole new how serious this was too her and yet he maintained a nice leisurely pace. She fought the urge to stand up and holler out the door for him, but she shouldn’t have been able to hear him. All Ahmeethians had superior senses and built their buildings to be sound proof even to them. She couldn’t let them know how advanced she’d become. With a deep breath she calmed her leg, of course she couldn’t break it, it was built by the Ahmeeth. Now that she evolved she was better than them. Two months ago, she only had twenty color cones tucked into her eye balls, now there were thirty-two. Ten more that the average Ahmeethian.

 The wall dematerialized and the echoing of his feet was exponentially louder. He was in the room. He walked over and sat at his desk looking at his computer screen as he sat down. Every citizen is given a small tablet, it is clear and just smaller than a piece of paper. No one can see what is on the tablet unless the owner wills it. A large screen appeared much like the tablet.

Nell thought it was odd that she could see what the commander was typing. Once he was done the screen went back to its translucent disguise. He looked up to her a timid smile at the corners of his lips. . The commander had dark hair and was well fit like all Ahmeeth. He had a strong jaw line and his blue eyes nearly pierced through her when she first met him, still having a near effect. Nell would never get over how perfect every Ahmeeth looked, or just was.

“Hello Nell.” His voice was velvet and deep as he spoke to her in her native tongue, English.

Nell gave a tight nod, staring at him, his hair was the only relief she could find in the bright room. She could only dull her senses and dilate her eyes so much. She didn’t appreciate his language of choice either, it was her language, she should be the only thing in the known universe to know it now, now that Earth was destroyed.

             He perked up his lips a bit more, trying his best to replicate the human emotion in his eyes.

Nell thought the gesture was adequately kind, still knowing it was nothing more than a reflection of the emotions he learned from her.

“I’ll tell you straight Nell. You cannot stay.” He shifted as Nell’s pupils fastened on him, first constricting to search with clarity then widening as it found him. Nell didn’t bare an iris, only black pupil against a large white. It was unnerving being a pray to a human

Nell’s brow twitched, unable to speak, if she spoke she’d scream, if she screamed, she’d lunge for his throat.

“You are human Nell.” He had been used to Nell enough by now, able to hide the outward signs of her affect. His hearts remained calm, and the perspiration on his hand left unnoticed by Nell.

“You’re scared.” Nell inhaled deeply through her nose almost intoxicated by his fear pheromones. She stared at him, mouth opening a bit, breathing in through her mouth as she licked her bottom lip.

“Bitter, you taste bitter.” Nell finally spoke now choosing to look at his hair line, realizing anger would do no good to advance her cause.

“The sooner you leave the better. THe ” Her gaze, though it may seem less threatening, still shook him. His voice was higher pitched and scratched.

Nell stood up in reaction to the venom in his words, the chair pushed back silently. She leaned into meet the commanders gaze, hoping she had reined the anger from her face. Taking a deep inhale through her nose, smelling his fear one more time, hoping it would help calm her, it did. “Much like your show of emotions now.” Nell dipped her head slightly looking at him under her brows. She couldn’t stop as her eyes took the predator gaze and she quickly realized the smile on her face took a devious turn. Nell looked down, thinking, confused. They were all scared of her. She understood that when provoked she let off an air of ominous. But still this race prided themselves on emotional intelligence and reacted to her always with so much emotion. She began to wonder if she reminded them of their humanity, how volatile it truly was. That is why she couldn’t stay.

“I’m sorry.” Nell looked back at her chair pulling it closer as she sat back down. This time she let her head hang low, still tasting his bitter fear. She’d lie if she said she didn’t want to taste it more. There was something in her telling her that was wrong, and she listed even if she didn’t know why.

“Nell, you cannot stay here. You are not welcome. That does not mean we will not take care of you.” He measured her response, nothing. He took a deep inhale, readying himself for the next bit of news he would deliver.

Nell stood up again, careful to look only at the ground. She let her long dark hair cover her face as she began to pace in front of his desk. She tucked her hands under her pits, doing everything she could to come off as docile. The commander watched her through his dark lashes. “I just don’t understand. I won’t bother anyone. Keep to myself. Where would I even go? You can’t let me out there, they’ll get me again, and they will use me.” Nell took a breath fighting the urge to glace up pleading, but she didn’t trust her face when so much heat pumped through her.

“You will go with Athon. He and one other. Attilo. They will keep you safe.”

Nell fought back huff. Simple Ahmeeth she thought. Did he really think the Lothians would stand a chance against her, that she’d let them take her? Only willingly. Sure, they had her before, but that was when she was weak and broken. Now though Nell was the closest thing to a god she knew.

That is the moment it all changed for Nell. Budding to a spark, the flame yet to come. She would go insane if she had to live out the rest of her 1,300 years here. She’d been confined to a floor in the tower and she was only fighting to roam free in the city. At what cost? A word sunk in. Athon.

Nell finally looked up after pacing for a few moments, deliberating. “Athon. You want me to go with Athon.” She looked at him, her anger boiling through her eyes, she seen it reflect in the commanders as she focused on him. “Fine.” She said quickly and turned to leave. The wall broke away around her, without hindering her hastily leave.

With her head low and her shoulders sloughed, attempting to hide her mental state, though she still stood, and walked ridigid. Greyis was careful to keep his distance, not willing to look at her completely, though he walked behind her. He could smell her, the rage. It was a rather normal occurrence and previous incidents showed nothing bad happened when her pheromones tasted like this. He kept his distance and if he looked at her, she would know.

The halls from the commander’s office leading to the hub where tan, light like sand dunes. The floors and celling the same shade, it was easier on the eyes, not reflecting back nearly as much as the white. It felt like a direct contrast and Nell let out a breath of air to the relief. It would have been impossible for the old Nell to see the crease of black where wall met floor and ceiling. When she first arrived at the city, she was hesitant, always following because she couldn’t see the crease, she couldn’t tell if she was about to walk into a wall. It felt like walking through a color, or empty space with a color blanketing around, having no clue how far out it rests still. No sound but feet, and nothing to smell through the pure air. It really drove home the idea that these people where beyond her perception. Now though, she surpassed them.

It was a five-minute walk to her apartment. Her room was simple like all the other homes in the city. The lighting was natural and beamed in from large windows, the size of which she chose. The wall color always reflected her emotions, they flashed something; once the wall rematerialized behind her. She let out a long breath, as she scanned the color. Only partially perceived by Nell. Before she knew it, they were her preferred blue, the kitchen and bedroom being tan. To the left was large room with a small sitting area, one couch and two large chairs that divided it between living room and dining room. Though there was no table just a simple dark wooden desk with large heavy drawers holding it up. She modeled it after her father’s desk. It sat against the wall. The kitchen, directly in front of her when she walked in the front door; it was humble, but Nell liked the trinkets that personalized it. They were all fake she thought bitterly. Things she remembered her parents having through her childhood home. She kept it simple still but couldn’t help but have a vase of flowers here, or a picture of the city hang longways above her couch.

She never dared to put photos of her family up. Nell may had lost her memories beyond coming home from school to see her parents slain bloody and disjointed on the floor. There was another presence in the house and when she looked up to see it…blank. 15 years later she’s in a cement cell. Since Nell evolved, she could remember with perfect clarity, as she does now, her seven years on earth, even still unable to comprehensibly perceive the other presence in her home.

Now though, Nell put all her thoughts towards packing. She assumed she would be leaving soon; the Commander wouldn’t give her time to plan anything. After her tantrum in his office she had proved him right. Logically leaving the city was a blessing. She had a chance no other human thought possible. Travel through the know galaxies. Still, it was not her decision. Nell didn’t have a choice, and that pissed her off; more than she cared to admit. She’d already met Athon and Attilo when they rescued her from the prison and a good impression she did not make.

[nicksstoryvault]

{Defiance}

As he was directed inside the enshrouding masses of shadow of the stable quarters, glints of flickering torch light reflect in the intense depths of his cool azure irises, Steve couldn't disguise the anguish knifing into his heart; rage morphed into a sharpness that ceased to pierce deeper, and he felt utterly immobilized --laden by the fault he carried.

The ambiance of dread never felt so harrowing, vengeance was a black flame that blazed within his depraved uncle's feasting spirit, and time seemed unmeasurable. He was a prisoner to fate--a soldier being controlled to serve without honor and fight with every brutal tactic he refused to display in combat. Steve wasn't given a choice to discard orders, his best friend --James Buchanan Barnes--had been sent to Ares's domain, denuded and caged.

 Now, Steve was being escorted inside the animals' keep by an armored stable guard; led towards a cell where torturously bloated out pigs grunted in unison, echoes of mercy.

Halting in his stride against the devoid of mortality, the First Avenger froze in a heartbeat at cell bars, his chagrined gaze of hawkish azure narrowed down at obese and squalid hogs milling in wooden troughs of gooey swill, some of them still wearing remnants of clothing and battle armor. They were human--men--in Ares's merciless eyes they were deemed useless as swine for butchery. He clenched his broad jaw against the silvery metallic guards of his Athenian helmet, his full lips hung agape at the disheartening and horrific revelation that seemed unfathomable for him to believe. 

Laying in the midst of the swine horde, a massive cinder-brunette furred hog, resting on his enormous belly, snoring deeply within in his entrance of faux contentment. Steve's heart dropped into his roiling stomach, as he blankly recognized the indolent and rotund pig. "Buck--" he whispered in a low breath, trying to hold back an unrestrained sob, as he gazed soulfully at the enchanted captive that was diminished into a tub of grunting fat. Steve felt the gravity of entrenching heartache dragging him into submission; he fiercely gripped onto the bars and spoke in a tremulous mantra. "No...You can't be...You just can't..."

Bucky's blissful escape from the cold reality surrounding him had reached a jarring turn where he felt a voice beckoning him back to it. The sound of the voice was familiar, kind, reassuring and promised safety. "Steve…" He whispered in his sleep. The dark and cloudy world around him faded as he was be pulled towards a dim-light. He couldn't help but feel trepidation and distress the closer he came towards it. The light didn't promise him peace, it offered only cold despair. But resistance was useless as his conscience was roused by the intruding voice from close by. "Steve!" He grunts with a deep voice as he's jarred awake by a tapping against the bars. Confusion lasted for a moment before his memories caught up to him and reminded him of his current plight. The pig closes his eyes, released something akin to a groan of vexation once he found that he was still being held in cell, that he was no longer a human anymore. "Who's there?" He grunts, making no effort to hide the frustration in his tone. The cell was fairly lit due to the beam of warm twilight filtering through the bars, setting everything aglow.

Steve fell into silence, thoughts became rampant as his intense eyes gazed down at the fattening creature. The passing moment felt insurmountable, as he faced the cold reality that his best friend now existed as nothing more than shockingly plump hog wearing shredded pieces of Kevlar no doubt from his tactical jacket. It was a disturbing gravity to fight against--a nightmare that his mind refused to discard. He didn't want Bucky to see him, not what he was forced to become; in a slow recoil of his faltering stance, he withdrew his presence from the pig's line of sight.

His head bowed, revealing the gleam of his helmet, and breath drew up heavy as he finally answered Bucky's distressed grunting, only to deliver a pained warning. He lifted his gauntleted hand to the bars, reflecting a sheen of blood smeared metallic, visible evidence of his last brutal fight. The storm in his heart wouldn't pass. "Buck, you gotta stay back..." he whispered in a monotonous timbre, anguish-ridden in his throat. "M' not what you remember me as..."

The familiar voice came to him clear as day, compelling the hog to jump from its laying position, and up onto wobbly hooves. His cold gleam of steel blue landed near the bars where the shadowed visage of a warrior wearing an Etruscan/Athenian helmet blotted out the dimming sunset. An armored guard by the looks of it. Another of these bygone age soldiers who held him prisoner on this hellhole of an island where the modern world was non-existent, and beasts of mythology ran rampant. Confusion settled within Bucky as he looks around his cell, finding no trace of the voice he knew he heard. "Where the hell is Steve? What have you done with him!" The pig reacted to the anger boiling within him. It was bad enough they had taken him and turned him into a tub of ham, he wasn't about to let them do the same to Steve. That he wouldn't tolerate. Before the guard could so much as try to soothe his frustration, the pig had charge towards the bars, squealing a blood chilling war-cry, then rams his hooves against the bars. "Where is he?! If you've done anything to him, I'll…"

"Buck, it's me...It's Steve," The First Avenger reassured promisingly at the enraged hog snorting out viciously. Preparing to engage his transformed best friend, Steve braced himself for an insufferable moment, before crouching to his haunches; he grounded his bulked form against the bar and met Bucky's level, his oceanic azure eyes openly gleamed with unshed tears, as unassailed grief was inexorably rising within him.

The dark pig furrowed his pudgy brows, incredulously, evident to a vigil of uncertainty. He couldn’t blame Bucky for acting indifferent--guarded, his visage wasn’t benevolent and valorous; he carried the raw visage of a battle hardened warrior, a stark reflection of Captian America’s red, white and blue ensemble. Displaying a gesture of brotherly trust, Steve reached out a hand for Bucky to sniff with his twitching and moist snout. "C'mon, Buck, it's okay...M' just wearin' a different uniform."

The beseeching cadence of trust and reassurance was familiar enough to Bucky, who was also definitely not just hearing things. The guards he'd seen were ruthless, cold and insufferably ancient in their dialect that Bucky wished for nothing more than to ram his metallic fist into their mouths, if he only still had it. The individual in front of him spoke with a Brooklyn accent, the baritone in his voice unmistakable as was the scent of vanilla, musk and leather. His nostrils wrinkles at the familiar scent, which inspires a shudder of unease. "Steve?" He grunts, backing up on his hooves, surprise in his eyes. "What are you—How did you get here?! And what's with the get-up?" The pig grunts, tipping his muzzle towards Steve who continued to look at him silently. Reality coldly caught up to him and Bucky found himself suddenly feeling self-conscious of his appearance and what Steve must think of him. "You shouldn't be here."

Right there Steve felt like he plunged into an inescapable abyss, the gravity of Bucky’s infinite words cut him deep. This torturous reality was a morbid amusement to Ares, every soldier imprisoned within gluttonous bodies of pigs, deserved freedom, the horizon was darkened. He couldn’t save them. His defiance and virtuous heart stripped away by a possessive spirit that was cast into him---he was gradually becoming a slayer of monsters, souls that were collected after tasting defeat on the battlefield. Blood was now dripping on his hands, and mercy was becoming an abandoned thought. He didn’t want to confess the reason why he was dressed like a Greek warrior, but he needed give Bucky some piece of truth.  Pressing his lips into a taut grimace, he eased out a shaky breath, staring leveled-eyed at the pig. ‘I don’t know how to tell ya, Buck, it’s not easy, but you deserve to know that this place has always been a part of me, I’m not just a kid from Brooklyn, and the monster who turned you into a fat little guy, he’s my uncle.”

The pig gazed at Steve as if he had grown a second head that began chattering gibberish. Of all the explanations he anticipated coming from his best friend in life, it sure as heck wasn't that. "You can't be seri…Uh, what the hell am I thinking, of course, you're serious." The pig shrugs incredulously. In truth, he wasn't sure what to expect, a part of him hadn't been surprised that Steve somehow found him here on this island in the middle of nowhere. Steve always managed to help him out of tough spots. But this was beyond anything they'd ever experienced. And guessed it wasn't by simple coincidence either. "How is this possible, Steve? Are you saying you were adopted? How long have you known?!" The pig demanded, trotting back towards the bars at a brisk pace. He didn't believe Steve would keep something like this from him. It simply wasn't in the punk's nature, but he didn't like being kept in the dark, especially when he didn't know what could be in it that would threaten him—threaten both of them.

Lifting his hands up, Steve removed his metallic helm, slowly with delicate care, revealing his tousled -golden blond tresses that had grown in length behind his ears, and hung loosely over his tensed forehead. There was no easy way of putting this...the absence of his shield was vital to keep Bucky alive; he couldn’t submit to the ache mounting in his chest when his azure eyes flashed back intensely at the fattening and rank pig, who gazed up at him, mirrored a blaze of unobstructed  Brooklyn defiance. Dropping his head to the gravity of remorse, Steve drew out a heavy breath.

“I never meant for this to happen to you, Buck, “ he whispered brokenly, clenching his stubbled jaw, as a taut grimace etched over his lips.  Anguish flittered across his chiseled features as he stared intensely at the pig. “It’s my fault that you’re now standin’ as a chubby hog, and I know it’s hard for you to understand, and M’ not expecting you to, Buck, but putting this lightly is something I can’t do right now...”

Despite the cocoon of shock and disbelief he was enfolded in at this sudden revelation, Bucky felt a tremor of defiance shake him as he listened to Steve’s words. Whipping his gaze towards the bars, the hog releases a chilling noise that resembled a squealing roar, and he bangs his muzzle forcefully against them. “Don’t say that, you punk! I don’t care who you parents are, there’s not an ounce in you that doesn’t represent the best of humanity. I’ve never known a better man in my whole life, and neither has this world since the time you first picked up a shield to defend it.” He rants, surprising Steve by his level of passion and anger at his choice of words. “I don’t know what strength it is you have in your blood Steve, all I know is that it was your humanity that made you hero you are today.”

Taking Bucky’s words to heart, Steve cast a dismal stare at the helmet resting on his metal greaves, spatters of crimson traced over the engraving of Athena’s owl, branding that piece of armor to the fate of mortal combat. He never felt so disconnected with himself; the choice he made would define the unbridled power that surged through his veins, like white-hot lightning. Since he was brought to the island, he felt less human. 

He wasn’t sure how to contain his immortal strength. If he could tolerate the rancid stench of blood coating his hands every day. Bucky would be his anchor back to humanity.  He tore his gaze away from the metallic, and looked sincerely into Bucky’s glacial blue orbs, seeing a brotherly light shining through the grimness of his piggish curse. He drew out a weighted breath, and slipped his hand through the bars, caressing a soft glide of his fingers over Bucky’s wedged sized head. A  humongous throb concussed achingly through his chest, he didn’t want to face the inevitable fate, his best friend was shackled to a form sorcery that he couldn’t break. “I’m not Captain America anymore, Buck,” he admitted in a terse breath, feeling utterly dismantled. “I’ve done things out there that  I can’t shake off...This isn’t a back alley fight or a swing dance with HYDRA, right now the price of freedom is weighing on your life, and if I don’t play by the rules, you’re gonna die, Bucky...”