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#or synthetic persons and divines as they would put it.
wanderingandfound · 1 year
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halfadoginatank · 2 months
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RE:BOOTING, Awakening.
Part one-> Here.
Have fun!
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There are three things John believes in. The divine, The machine, and The flesh.
His own body has been over, under, twisted around this conglomerate of parts for months. People have called, texted, mailed him for Christ's sake. But there's nothing more important than feeling unforgiving metal bend under his human hands.
Ghost is a machine so broken and tragic, John cries when he's alone with it.
he forgets there's a human inside of there, forgets though always passively aware of the chip in the machine's name where he works around it. When he's welding metal together, wiring it, staring into its chassis with adoration and wonder, he neglects the fact there is a human ‘soul’ in there, waiting to wake up.
John's never been dead, he doesn't know what the real man inside the metal feels.
But he longs, he wants to shove more than his hands inside this robot. This Replicant, he wants to become one with it, in a body he's created himself. In his hazy mind he believes there's god inside this machine, because there is some god in everything and in him, and he is inside this machine, bits of himself- his handiwork, his blood, his sweat, the tears from drunk nights sobbing over a machine while he tells it things he could never admit to himself.
It takes his time, his sleep, his awareness away from the world. There's a bottle of medication right by his night stand and everyday he avoids it, he's so focused now. There's never been anything else like this, like peeling the synthetic skin away from metal and improving what couldn't fix itself. John doesn't want to lose any attention he has on this machine.
Days and nights pass, he prolongs the inevitable, making tiny worthless upgrades, small details, painting back some of Simon Rileys tattoos onto the cold dark grey metal, they barely show up unless in the right lighting but who cares? Anything but turning it back on, anything but having the man inside look upon John and see what he's done, to see him, see inside John's head and every thought he's had while inside him.
John hopes robotic bodies don't hold memories, he hopes when a Replicant's body is turned off that they can't see anything, can't hear anything, he hopes Simon is sleeping well in whatever realm of data his soul is in now. He doesn't want to be seen, he just wants to work. Free to love and care for things that feel nothing at all.
When he turns this machine on it will cease to be just that, it'll be a person. A person who will look down at themselves, call it good, and never see him again.
He'll be letting go of the best thing he's ever made, he'll be letting go Ghost.
[«»]
Time catches up anyway. He sends the email and they respond in kind. A week from now John Price, Kyle Garrick, and Kate Laswell will arrive at his office, So it's time. John will turn the ‘key’ and Simon will wake up.
When he does, for a brief moment he considers a gift from god- there is silence. Those brown eyes blink open, the synthetic skin on his face and neck pull when he turns his head, scrunches when he sniffs the air. John has never felt so… unsure of what he's done.
“Where am I?” Simon's head pulls up, he rattles against the metal table, john looks down in shame and purses his lips- unable to really make anything of his own doing.
“Where the hell am I?!?” Simon rattles again, John looks away from the restraints on him in guilt.
Simon continues his questioning, his flailing, John can only hope it'll end soon so he can get a word in- maybe explain. But in truth, how could he explain being reborn into a machine?
The sounds grow closer and John makes nothing of it until a towering figure blocks every inch of his vision.
Of course, he would make Ghost inhumanly strong, and of course he would fail to make proper restraints.
“Who are you, what orders were you given?”
Simon's face looked down at him, that face he had painfully put onto a plate he 3D printed just so he could keep it as accurate to what few pictures he was given. Scars and everything, even those tiny freckles he hand painted on- exactly where they should be.
Orders, right, orders are much easier to explain.
“You're aware of what a replicant is, yea?”
God let him keep his eyes anywhere but on the man in front of him.
“Captain Price, your superior; found you dying in Texas of all places- put you in a very old Replicant soldier body that was beat up and declared a spare.”
John thanked whatever gods out there that Simon had taken steps back to sit on the table, the table with broken leather straps- Christ above.
“He came to me to fix you up the best I could, so I did. Fix you, I mean.”
He felt… tired, John didn't bother explaining even more. couldn't really think beyond the sudden wave of exhaustion. Instead he sat down at his closest chair and bemoaned some of the papers and parts Simon had stepped on.
There's a giant silent expanse between them, John yearns for cold metal with no gaze to freeze him solid.
“When am I on active duty.”
John bites his tongue, goes for a cup of coffee on his desk he knows is cold.
“Price is coming around with the rest of the squad in three days, presumably he'll move you and you'll be in their care.” He can't keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Simon is prone to one word responses and direct questions, John shouldn't blame him for it. He doesn't, not really, he blames himself most of all. For getting involved with a Replicant, for spending what little sleep he got at its bedside, for whispering his secrets into a hollow skull.
“And you?”
Oh, John doesn't know. What does anyone do when losing a part of themselves?
“I'll move on to other projects- military always has issues with something, once someone gets word about who patched you up, i'll get more orders. I do good for myself.”
He wants to brag, he wants to brag and act like Ghost isn't the best thing he's worked on in his life.
“Right.”
[«»]
In the end those three days are spent in silence. Simon only needs to recharge really, so John goes back to sleep in his bed. The world has never felt colder.
He's not listening to their reunion, not really. Price is happy to see Simon again and Garrick makes his introduction- he's charming and John finds he likes the people in this squad, it's certainly better then some.
Laswell is who he spends most of the time with, there's papers and documents of all kinds. John wants to poke fun at them using ancient methods like a paper contract but he's still so tired.
In truth, the only thing that really catches his attention is when Price turns to him and asks him, John Mactavish, to join the one-four-one.
It's been years since he'd been on a military base, he shriveled at the thought of shitty “laboratories” and rec rooms full of people that became uninterested in him once he spoke about what he was truly passionate about.
He lays down his clauses, he'll work here, loath to change his environment.
There's a secret glee inside of him though. Proper gym equipment, maybe the opportunity to work on more specialized robotics then just his usual contract allows. When he says yes, Kate slides his contract from under the one he just signed.
Quietly it feels like fate.
——————
👍I take my leave.
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kimberly40 · 6 months
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Goldenrod Magical Uses and Folklore:
Various legends tie goldenrod to the presence of wealth. One source said that, wherever goldenrod grows, gold is buried. Another says that to find goldenrod growing near your home portends a spell of good luck.
Goldenrod is also tied to water. Folklore holds that, wherever it grows, a spring must be nearby. The plants were also used as effective, if temperamental, divining rods — they were said to only work in the hands of the right person.
One legend tells the story of how goldenrod received its bright yellow flowers. An old woman, traveling through the forest, was growing weary. She asked all of the trees around her for a walking stick, but they refused. She found a small stick on the ground, and asked it for help instead. The stick agreed, and she used it as a walking stick until she was out of the woods. As soon as she stepped beyond the tree line, she shed her disguise — revealing herself as a powerful fairy. In return for the stick’s help, she sprinkled it with gold.
Another story speaks of two little girls who went to an old witch for help. One girl, tall and blonde haired, asked the witch to grant her wish. She wanted to be admired by everyone. Her friend, short and blue-eyed, wished that she and the blonde girl would never have to grow apart. The girls were never seen again after that day, but it’s said that, wherever they walked, there sprung up the yellow goldenrod and the blue aster.
This isn’t folklore so much, but the tires on the Model T Ford that Henry Ford gave Thomas Edison were made of goldenrod. The plant naturally contains a decent amount of rubber — through experimentation, Thomas Edison managed to produce a taller goldenrod that was up to 12% rubber. He partnered with Henry Ford, George Washington Carver, and Henry Firestone to put these tires into mass production, but synthetic rubber arrived on the scene before goldenrod tires ever made it out of the experimental stage.
Goldenrod is one of those plants that seems to be an herbal pharmacy in itself. In America, indigenous people used the leaves externally for skin conditions, and internally for ulcers and lung or kidney problems. After colonists dumped tea into the Boston Harbor in protest, they used goldenrod as a tea substitute.
Studies in Germany have found that it’s an effective treatment for kidney stones. It contains compounds that encourage urination, reduce inflammation, soothe pain, and kill pathogens, and the whole plant is edible (though easily confused with toxic Haplopappus heterophyllus, so be careful).
(From Marble Crow)
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ome-magical-ramblings · 5 months
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Incense part #2, Consecrating and Blessing the censer with life.
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Continuation of post #1 , this one deals with enlivening/breathing life into the censer and basically consecrating it. I would assume that you, the reader were able to secure some kind of censer. Now I know that these conditions of gathering the church, mosque, temple, holy dirt isn't feasible for some people, some people can't make too much smoke or can't handle too much incense. In any case this is an alternative to the above, from Draja Mickaharic's Spiritual Cleansing book. Charcoal, can, Saucer, A, B,C. I also I recommend self-igniting charcoal:
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I also recommend making one of these small "resin heaters" if you CAN and you won't don't cut your fingers while making them. Also DON'T DON'T DON'T use synthetic incense mix with resin heater because if the flame reach the incense mix it might catch on FIRE. Your own personal safety is important, so big marks on THIS, be careful and whatever you want to think just if you can afford to buy a bucket of sand and put the censer there it would be better.
Now What? welp I would assume you have a specific censer or some kind of censer that you would USE for this, and you should the censer will be full of life and every time you use it then it will gain some of the flavor/incense of your work. The first idea you can use if you're burning with charcoal or without charcoal is that you don't want to scorch the resin/gum. a piece of aluminum foil or a tealight candle holder like the one I am using....of course you can use mica sheet, but I don't have the qash for that. In any case, the heat is more regulated this way and you get more out of your resin pieces in the long run. Instead of using 3 pieces of frankincense gum you only need one. Yes the incense help but it's like the wings of a bird, the incense and YOUR HEART/YOUR PRAYER is what carries the other wing of the bird. You set up the base of holy dirt/sand/ash, you put the charcoal, before you light it up you put it on your altar/place of working. You light up the charcoal in the name of the father, the son and the holy spirit or whatever you start your working with. You will recite Gospel of John 1:1-14 for 7 times over the charcoal and breath into it from afar. Afterwards you put one frankincense and myrrh to bless the censer for the first time and bring life into it, and say Psalm 23 three times over it and present it in front of your icon of God/Divine Creator and if you don't have one just raise it up and ask God to bless it. Now take it to safe place for it to finish burning/charcoal to cool down. That's it for today, stay tuned tomorrow for the "next step".
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m1d-45 · 1 year
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Okay wait a min! You know how like the abyss mages and the hilichurls are all like in the lore to be part of khanriah and in general they’re the ones to quickly recognize that the imposter is the creator and they protect us and stuff? So like does that people of Kahnriah has some special ability to recognize us? So wouldn’t that make kaeya, albedo, dainself to recognize us? (Sorry I’m absolutely struggling to spell kahenriah)
Also I had a thought how does our interactions with Dainslef go? Like typically in imposter aus he doesn’t seem to care much about the creator. But if he’s met with the actual creator would he protect them? But like personally I think he would hate them at first for what they did to Kahenriah but slowly comes to care and love them? Because he begins too see and realize this is truly the creator when they see how Teyvat bends to their will and stuff
(Also could I be 🦑 anon?)
YOU X2.
i know i’m guilty of this trope but in truth i never thought about it that much. i suppose i was operating under the assumption that it’s the same as the animals or the wind: they just Know. the people do too, but due to humanity having silly little things called critical thought, doubt, and generally more than one thought at a time, the acolytes don’t follow the slight buzz in their skin when they’re near you. if anything they assume it’s adrenaline.
but like. hilichurls clearly do have thought left—they have language and some sort of society, clearly… hm- you know how in the chasm quest it’s said they’re like eternally cursed or something-? let’s assume the creator lightens that pain, making their existence more bearable. this is something they know to be impossible except by the divine, and they don’t have loyalty to the false god, ergo you must be their god!
abyss mages are mages, so i’m gonna assume they’re a bit more tuned into their elements/the leylines/general auras or whatever. for this same reason i don’t think mona would join the hunt, but that’s for another day.
in addition! they’re affected by the abyss itself, which is just more “you lighten this impossibly heavy curse i have. hey god.” but like more reverent.
now. onto the more human khaenri’ahns.
dainslef is canonically afflicted by the Curse from before and i imagine he is more familiar with your visage/behavior/attitude/powers/whatever simply due to his age and all the time he must have spent studying holy books. also, though he is a Human Person—and hence suffers from the lifelong condition known as critical thought—he’s definitely more likely to follow his instincts. cokes with the territory of being the twilight sword, i suppose.
albedo is. hm. he’s not a child of khaenri’ah- it’s up for debate whether he’s khaenri’ahn at all, really. he was created by rhine, who was khaenri’ahn…. but he held no part in the calamity 500 years ago, and nor does khaenri’ahn blood run in his veins—he’s a child of alchemy, synthetic. he also isn’t canonically cursed. however, as an alchemist—and doubly so for a student of khemia—i’m certain he has a higher interest than average in the creator. whereas dainslef would know you’re you by your kindness, your speech, the way you talk and all your mannerisms, i think albedo would figure it out by how the world acts around you. the spike in leyline flow, the suddenly perfect weather, the way the wind always blows behind you, how the flowers and plants around you are the healthiest.
kaeya… is an interesting case. he’s khaenri’ahn by blood, yet isn’t cursed to my knowledge. i think, like albedo, he’s more likely to realize the difference in how the world treats you. he’s an observant and clever guy, i’m certain he can put two and two together. less on the technical side than albedo… but he’ll notice how the weather suddenly sours before one of the knights’ patrol, how their luck seems to be as bad as bennett’s when searching for you.
moving onto the second part of your ask,,,
because i want people to be happy i have somewhat… creatively interpreted what happened in khaenri’ah during the calamity. obviously every version of sagau is going to be different, but because i dearly adore both kaeya and albedo, here’s my version of events(copied and paraphrased off my post on the subject for ease of reading):
khaenri’ah was built entirely by people. they did worship you, but refused to allow you to meddle with their nation. you could have all of teyvat but you could not have their nation. they lived underground, away from your holy light, and in the dark of a cave with only the earth as their witness, they began to learn khemia. they began to learn how to create, how to mimic your power. theirs was more transmutation, less pure creation, but it was so close to it that rhinedottir let it get to her head.
that glosses over some details, but it’s enough for this discussion.
in my version of sagau, he would definitely protect the creator. he wouldn’t worship the one on the throne, nor would he engage in the hunt (because he knows both are lies), but if you happened to ran into him, you would be safe.
to reiterate: in my version, khaenri’ah collapsed under its own hubris. hence, dainslef would have no reason to dislike you. be awkward, yeah, he hasn’t had an intelligent conversation with another person since the traveller, and before that it was 500 years.
that being said, he could be a bit resentful, even if he didn’t blame you. after all, you didn’t stop rhine, you didn’t do anything to keep the calamity from occurring. yeah it’s because khaenri’ah staunchly refused to have you involved no he hasn’t put it together yet. give him time.
of course, though, this is all my opinion and carries no actual weight.
oh, and welcome!
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the-pyro-archon · 1 year
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Scaramouche x pyro!puppet reader
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SCARAMOUCHE Coming into contact with a puppet similar to him. well, similar in creation. other than that the two of you have absolutely nothing in common. the balladeer ends up meeting you when he comes to the seething realization that he'll need to camp in inazuma for the night before he confronts the traveller. While travelling there, scaramouche ended up bumping into you. he sensed something was off about you, although you showed the normal emotions of a person, he sensed something strange, something synthetic. You tell him the truth, that your a puppet creation of the pyro archon but the archon didn't want to keep you locked away so they granted you freedom to do as you pleased. He scoffs and misunderstands, to which you had to explain that your mother didn't "abandon you." but rather refused to hold you, and that you were very much close to the God of pyro.
Just hearing you call the pyro archon 'mother' causes his stomach to flip, Anger churning inside his belly tightly, a singe of jealousy in his veins. Why couldn't Ei do the same..?
SCARAMOUCHE who takes notice of how, excitable and rambunctious you are. of course your like this, you come from the pyro archon, a snarky symbol of hot-headedness, Confidence, arrogance and everything else someone with a relation to fire would symbolize. he sees it in you, your just like how your mother has been described by others. But he also sees a glimpse of .... Naivety. Of course, he wouldn't be him if he didn't use and exploit this little trait of yours. So he puts on his nice guy facade and offers to take you with him to sumeru after he's finished with some business here in inazuma. You foolishly agree, thinking you'd found a friend. He laughs, thinking you'd fallen into his trap, unaware he'd fallen into yours. When he returns for you he doesn't tell you he nearly killed traveller and took the electro archon's gnosis from the shrine maiden, yae miko. Instead, telling you it was some boring meeting you didn't wanna hear about. Without anything more to it, you begin your adventure with your new 'friend'.
SCARAMOUCHE―Poor dearest balladeer who was positive that he hated you, positive that you meant nothing! Just another annoying pest who he'd suck the information out of and then throw away once he was satisfied .. but along the way he'd made a small attachment to you. How you'd always tell stories of the adventures you've had across all of teyvat! The friends you made, the enemies, and how you'd often receive letters from your scorching divine mother, the pyro archon.
Those stories always bothered him. How happy you'd be whenever you harmlessly bragged about how amazing the pyro archon was. how she gave you everything you ever wanted, how she'd spend time with you, but also the more aggressive stories. Like how she wasn't easy on you whenever she trained you to fight, giving you 60% of the old bruises and burns you had on your skin but you dismissed it! and told scaramouche that in the end no matter how painful it was, the pyro archon― your mother, reminded you that it all for the best, that she wanted to protect you but also wanted you to protect yourself!
Scaramouche could barely hide the pure unliking and distaste of your stories. a bitter taste of jealousy corroding his chest as he forced himself to listen to how loved you were. How you weren't thrown away by your creator, your parent, your mother. how your mother loved you so much, she sends you letters! Ei completely abandoned him and didn't even bother to send him a apology note, she wanted nothing to do with her son and like a glass cup it filled him with utter hatred for the electro archon.
SCARAMOUCHE quickly noticed that Despite how hot-headed you are, you also have a sense of kindness and care, and protectiveness. it shows when you completely obliterated any moving―living creature that dared to even scrunch up it's face in the balladeer's direction. Without a vision you charged onto the battlefield, burning your enemies with such a scorching fire, nothing was left but charred bones. in all honesty, when scaramouche first saw you take out a threat, he was surprised! How fast and strong you were, how agile and quickly you'd take out your enemies.
You carried your mother's flame, that burned and destroyed anything in it's path as long as it meant keeping to your goal and ambitions and while in the pyro archon's case it was keeping natlan safe, in your case it meant keeping scaramouche safe which wasn't helping his case when he remembered his plan once he reached sumeru.
SCARAMOUCHE then checks you into the finest hotel sumeru has to offer. He stops in his tracks and wonders when did he get so .... Gentle. Over the next 3 days he does these things, buys your food, pays for your hotel room and when you suggest exploring the city of wisdom, he finds himself hesitant on denying your request. But in the blink of an eye, he's wandered off, you say it's fine and wait for him to return. But he doesn't.
1 day, he's been gone for a day, and that's fine! he'll be back tomorrow! ..... Poor you, he doesn't even appear to check on you. you spend the 2nd day alone, that's alright! ... The 3rd time is the charm, you tell yourself.
Before you known it 5 days have passed, and you've had enough!
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defeat.
the tiny childlike build of the dendro archon rose from the ground, floating towards the chest cavity of the large electro―mechanical monster in front of her, she stretched out her tiny palm and then sparks begun to fly. a loud shatter echoed the room, glass falling to the floor which revealed a purple light, hidden inside that light revealed a purple chest piece. a gnosis, raiden ei's gnosis.
scaramouche watched, horrified. "NO!" The balladeer cried fearfully as he watched his only source of divinity be torn away from him by Nahida― the dendro archon. He reached for the gnosis, the large tubes filled with purple ooze that connected to him begun to stretch and break, they weren't durable. The electro puppet was filled with so many awful emotions, anger, fear, jealousy, but it all came back down to fear.
Fear. "Wait a minute, that's my gnosis."
Fear. "Please ... It's mine!"
Fear. "No, i can't go back!"
He tugs at the tubes, more, more, more. So deeply hypnotized by the rapid and fearful beat of his heart that he doesn't realize he's leaning too far for the tubes to stretch. he watches as his mother's gnosis is caught between the palms of Nahida and before he can do anything, the tubes finally snap and he falls out of the control panel of the robot he controlled. he expects himself to hit the ground at any moment.
his land will definitely damage him horribly from how high he's falling and with little to no effort on even attempting to catch himself. When the tubes detached from scaramouche, it left him weak, tired and vulnerable. His eyelids closing weakly as he fell, he felt his conscious fade as he prepared himself for the harsh impact of the floors below him once he hit the ground. But that feeling never came.
instead he felt warm― ..hot hands caress his body, grabbing onto him and holding him so tightly he was almost convinced that if they'd let him go, something would take him away. his eyes fluttered open weakly and he saw you. you...? You.
You kneeled on both knees, holding his thin and frail body close, he looked awful. not in terms of physique, he was definitely gorgeous. But he looked sickly as if he'd witness something soul―crushing, awful, and completely traumatizing. "Scaramouche..." you whispered sympathetically, frowning when he was deemed too wan to even respond to your call.
all he could do was pathetically lean into your body's heat. the only thing that could comfort him in this moment of pure defeat. He tried hard, strived with all his might and got so far, but it went to waste in seconds.
You cared for scaramouche deeply. Seeing him in this state, it hurt you. No, it angered you! You stood onto your feet, holding kunikuzushi's unconcious and dazed anatomy in your arms. You turned to the traveller who held there weapon in there hand, ready to strike you at any moment. The way you held the balladeer in your arms, practically cradling him showed clear signs of intimacy, which meant you must've been a enemy, right? They stand in a defensive battle pose, waiting for you to pounce.
They we're ready to defend Nahida and paimon. But you don't even move a finger. Instead you open your mouth and insult them heavily. Pure, deadly, venom pouring out your lips as you curse the 3 of them to celestia and back for hurting someone you loved. The words you speak are so cruel, so dehumanizing it leaves the traveller in a state of angry shock! You call them every awful name you could come up with. "a trio of nasty flesh―eating filthy fucking rats! " Your angry. "Rats who should've died while being given birth too but your sick rodent mothers were too pathetic and spineless to do what we all would've wanted!" Your scorching anger heats up the room. Paimon is terrified of you. "if you ever come near us again, I'll splatter your hearts through your chest and roast them on an open pit!" You sneered, oblivious to the way Nahida studied you.
It only took a few seconds to realize who you were, what you were and it was then she deemed it unnecessary to have traveller fight you.
Without another word, a large flame started, causing the 3 to jump back, defensively. the flame spreading in a sort of horizontal line. it was a wall of fire that made sure the traveller couldn't follow you. you turned, with the balladeer limp in your arms― and ran.
The traveller took a step to go after you but was stopped by the dendro archon. "No, wait!" the small childlike archon called before explaining who you were. "That is the Child of the pyro archon, the lady of fire!" Lesser―lord Kusunali started off, glancing down at The electro archon's gnosis. "Sumeru has already bared the great loss of Greater lord rukkhadevata, recently. they haven't healed fully from such a terrible occurrence. If a war broke out between sumeru and natlan, i doubt the sumerians would be able to bear it." Nahida explained, turning to the traveller and paimon. "Besides ... We have what made the balladeer so strong, no need to rush after them." Nahida looked up at the traveller, showing them the gnosis.
"This is it. The final memories of greater―lord rukkhadevata." the dendro archon, lesser―lord kusunali announced as the space around them begun to fade into a bright white light.
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All rights reserved to @Juno'sfirepalace for this original work. Please do not copy, translate or steal my writing.
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beyondtheplenty · 6 months
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Quotations.
//Traganou, Designing the Olympics Representation Participat Thus, even though the use of space for this specific action by unauthorized individuals might have been illegal, it became acceptable and unnoticeable because it was disguised as a dominant type of action that was legitimate in the collective consciousness.
//Bureaud, MetaLife Biotechnologies Synthetic Biology ALi In a noetic network, the information that is in the network and the information that is shared by the minds perceiving the network are seen as a collective and continuous consciousness.
//Kant, Critique of Judgement Beyond doubt you cannot assume that it is the highest possible intelligence; for to do so you would have to see that a greater intelligence than that of which you perceive any evidence in the world is inconceivable, which means attributing omniscience to yourself* In the same way you infer from the greatness of the world a very great might on the part of its author.
//Deleuze, Expressionism in Philosophy At best, “propria” such as divine existence, unity, omniscience and omnipresence, which guarantee a moral teaching.4 For the end of Scripture is to subject us to models of life, to make us obey, and ground our obedience.
//Serres, Hermes Literature Science Philosophy This dream of omniscience translates Leibniz’s baroque monadology using the unidimensional platitude characteristic of the nineteenth century.
//Serres, Hominescence For, at the start, a certain omniscience is exhibited in a dazzling way in totems and fetishes, part human and part animal, and in fables and myths, in which metamorphoses function to the utmost: we thus travel across every genus of living thing, as though each of us were imitating a species all by himself, as though, in sum, humanity were entering into every species.
//Serres, Hominescence But, long terrified of this result, we desired, with all our anxiety, to put totality back into the hands of God at the same time as omniscience.
//Calasso, Ardor Divine omniscience does not extend to itself.
//Serres, Troubadour of Knowledge The Son descends to the earth, and, lower still, toward Hell, finally to be resurrected, then, at the Ascension, returns to the Heavens where he will come to judge, on the last day, the living and the dead. From God who is incarnated, the two movements achieve, in the end, an equilibrium: not solely static, but compensated by redemption or expiation. Second stability: invariance through variations, including, in passing, a tragic solution to the problem of evil. Here is the shadow and the light, suffering and omniscience.The third person of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit, takes the form of a bird, a dove, sometimes the appearance of a tongue of fire or an 1. In French, esprit means both mind and spirit. —TRANS. impetuous breath: it is windy, it thunders, it is lightening.
//Serres Latour, Conversations on Science Culture and Time The real difference between men and God, if He exists, must be that He created the world of things and the diversity of humankind by omnipotence and omniscience, whereas we, for the moment, create children whose bodies and spirits are unpredictable, in an unpredictable world.
//Zizek, Less Than Nothing - MORE THAN EVERYTHING. “Faces without faces, faces that have lost their beards, dummies without arms, stigmatised or crucified beings: Malevich’s icons show humanity to be the victim of some nihilistic apocalyptic devastation.
//Zizek, Less Than Nothing At the same time, the film shows us people wandering around the city whose faces strangely resemble those on the statues, and, furthermore, a researcher finds the same faces on many depictions of the crucifixion from the Middle Ages and the Renaissance.
//Serres, Troubadour of Knowledge. At the center of the star is hidden the third place, formerly called a soul, experienced by passing through a channel that is difficult to cross.
//Ovid, Metamorphoses Let’s hurl the forests and crush the life from his living body.
//Ovid, Metamorphoses Or else, if my plight cries out to be pitied even by you, my inveterate enemy, racked as I am by harrowing torture, relieve me of life, [180] the life that I hate, the life that was destined for nothing but labours.
//Pliny, Natural History Volume 3 The heart; the blood; the vital spirit.
//Pliny, Natural History Volume 3 The heart; the blood; the vital spirit.
//Seneca, Complete Works That which cannot contain the happy life cannot contain that which produces the happy life; and the happy life is produced by Goods alone.
//Seneca, Complete Works That which cannot contain the happy life cannot contain that which produces the happy life; and the happy life is produced by Goods alone.
//Lucan, Civil War Our life is not the object of civil war.
//Cicero, Tusculan Disputations These considerations apply to the living, but the dead are neither in need of the blessings of life, nor of life itself.
//Cicero, Tusculan Disputations These considerations apply to the living, but the dead are neither in need of the blessings of life, nor of life itself.
//Deleuze, Expressionism in Philosophy Life, that is, expressivity, is carried into the absolute.
//Girard, Violence and the Sacred The forms of the living revert to formlessness.
//Derrida, Signature Spirit is not the thing, spirit is not the body.
//Strabo, The Geography (19) Furthermore, concerning these divinities and their varied names, they were not only called servants of the gods but gods themselves.
//Cicero, Selected Letters The temples of the immortal gods are threatened by the expectations of indigent and wicked men.
//Serres, The Five Senses The dinner mimics that of the gods the individuals present believing that the mere loss of their individuation makes them gods.
//Serres, The Five Senses Indeed, at the banquet of the gods themselves.
//Serres, The Five Senses We at least have the palace.
//Serres, The Five Senses The gods come together thus.
//Serres, Statues The gods were no longer hiding themselves—nor men.
//Foucault, History of Madness In this way we find ourselves beside a thousand other cultures that grouped together ‘I am mad’ with ‘I am an animal’, or ‘I am a God’ or ‘I am a sign’, or even ‘I am a truth’, as was the case for the nineteenth century up until Freud.
//Serres, Troubadour of Knowledge At the center of the star is hidden the third place, formerly called a soul, experienced by passing through a channel that is difficult to cross.
//Foucault, The Birth of Biopolitics It is m fact a reality, but it is not only this reality.
//Foucault, The Order of Things At each point of contact there begins and ends a link that resembles the one before it and the one after it; and from circle to circle, these similitudes continue, holding the extremes apart (God and matter), yet bringing them together in such a way that the will of the Almighty may penetrate into the most unawakened comers.
//Deleuze, Foucault Not that brief memory that comes afterwards and is the opposite of forgetting, but the ‘absolute memory’ which doubles the present and the outside and is one with forgetting, since it is itself endlessly forgotten and reconstituted: its fold, in fact, merges with the unfolding, because the latter remains present within the former as the thing that is folded.
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theshoegirldiaries · 6 months
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#Scentoftheday L'Amour Rose Saint Tropez EDP & Gaultier Divine EDP
The first time I tried GD I liked it, but ever since, I get a synthetic, rubbery smell, similar to balloons and it's really putting me off using it. I don't want it to be the meringues as I personally love the smell of meringue, but maybe in perfume it's a note that's not going to work for me (lavender and coconut immediately spring to mind as scents I like irl that I rarely like in perfumes). Anyway, seeing as I bought 2 bottles (and a have a mini-what can I say, I'm weak for JPG designs) I'm trying to find ways to make it work.
I thought this new fragrance with it's salty notes might bring out the saltiness I want GD to display. It gets off to a pretty lively start, floral and fruity maybe. The dry-down definitely wasn't quite as rubber-like as solo wear, but I think I need to play around with my ratio (I don't want to completely overpower GD, as that would defeat the purpose of using it, but I think I could've added more L'Amour Rose here). It was an ok first attempt, definitely not getting the strong balloon projection/sillage, but it was present upon sniffing my arm.
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cloudselkie · 2 years
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Glass Slippers - Thoughts On Creating a Personal Divination Deck
When I was a kid, I was enamored with magical girls - Sailor Moon, Tokyo Mew Mew, Magic Knight Rayearth, Kiki's Delivery Service… I could go on. However, Cardcaptor Sakura is the show that eventually led me to tarot, and through that, witchcraft. The Clow Cards were the very first form of divination that I ever owned (twice in fact - I bought a bootleg deck off of eBay in 2012, but had to leave it behind due to going off to finish school at a religious college. The second, an official vintage deck, I purchased in 2018). I have yet to find another oracle deck with the same balance of diverse and yet simple representations that allow for a lot of flexibility and depth in readings.
However, the further I get into my journey into the craft, as I have experimented with other forms of divination, and have recognized and honed my abilities in sensing energies, other forms of divination, and astral work, most decks I own have lost their shine. I have purchased decks with the hopes that they would have the same feel, but none have really lived up to what I want. Tarot is too constrained, most oracle decks contain too much positive without enough or even any negative (all good decks should be balanced in this respect, in my opinion), and almost all feel energetically empty to me.
I feel like the essence and energy of divination tools often gets overlooked or not even considered when it comes to the modern witchcraft community. People talk about cleansing their tools, but do those tools really need it? Why would we chase out what gives them life?
But, in the same vein, why would we allow anyone else to program the energy of a tool except for ourselves? Maybe Nature, should your tool be a natural object, but other people? And this is why I cannot resonate with decks created by others, even if they claim in product descriptions to have done XYZ to impress energy into a deck (whether they actually managed to do so is a discussion for another day). How could their tools possibly speak clearly to me? Their energy is not my energy. Their experiences are not my experiences. Their spirit allies are not my spirit allies. Their journey is not my journey. Their craft is not my craft.
And so, I have come to my current project, inspired by the Clow Cards.
My goal is to create a deck of cards, where each card acts as a physical seat for each of my ally spirits and synthetic spirits I create myself for certain tasks. This deck will then be able to be many things for me - a spellcasting tool, a divination tool, a devotional tool, and a sort of energy index I can use as a quick reference.
This means that this deck will be personal to me, my journey, and my specific experiences. Now that I think about it, the current Clear Card arc of Cardcaptor Sakura has Sakura doing exactly this with all of the new cards, except her cards/spirits are created by accident. I have to put much purpose and intent in each card to create them. And some will require asking ally spirits to use the card as a seat, rather than forcing them to ("capturing" them).
Artists often use language like "giving birth" to their works. But I think that takes on a much more visceral meaning when speaking of creating places for spirits to inhabit. These may just be cards, but each one is also a body for them in a way, and therefore great care must be taken to get things just right for each spirit, just as the human body creates just the right new body for a new person to inhabit. And in this same vein, each card will be "birthed" for each new spirit who takes an interest in having a card seat created for them (I am not arrogant enough to assume all spirits I meet and have a relationship with will want to have one).
It's not going to be easy, but I think it might be one of the most rewarding projects I take on in my craft, and one that will be ever changing and evolving. And now, I challenge everyone who reads this to evaluate your relationships with your tools and see if, like me, you have spent too long trying to make the glass slipper of another fit on your own foot.
- Hagging Out, Feb. 2022 -
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tainted-wine · 3 years
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Evil Demonic Music
Priest!Reader X Demon!Present Mic
Hizashi has a large and filling feast on every Halloween night. He’s been doing it since before you were born. Yet here you are crashing his party while smelling like fresh meat in a den of wolves. It’s entirely your fault for throwing off his groove.
Disclaimer: Reader is more reminiscent of an action priest in a gothic action movie or anime. There’s little to no accuracy here. Lightning will most likely strike me the next time I venture outside.
Words: 7.9k
Warnings: Noncon/Dubcon, Christian Themes, Possession/Mind Control, Orgy, Public Sex, Sorta Corruption, Downer Ending
🎃👻🎃HAPPY LATE HALLOWEEN, EVERYONE!🎃👻🎃
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Yuuei Club Presents “Dance With The Devil” Halloween Event LIVE Music by Present Mic Costumes Encouraged // Doors Open at 8 p.m.
It looked innocent enough; a graphical poster on the door of a building surrounded by smaller businesses in the outlet. It masked itself well in the daytime with its plain exterior, devoid of any attractive decorations save for the club’s name that glowed in hypnotizing neon when night falls. All of its temptations were contained inside, dormant until it was filled with careless souls seeking unholy pleasures.
You didn’t hate them for it. The temptation to sin is strong. It’s how evil thrives, and the average person lacks the strength to resist. It’s your duty to protect all people, even the faithless, from evil’s many devices. 
Like this nightclub.
Party locations like these were an uncommon feeding ground, although now that you think about it, the muddled and vulnerable minds residing within should make for easy meals. The loud and nonsensical “music” and absolute lack of restraint that the people displayed was baffling, but your task is to guard souls, not convert and guide them back to Heaven’s path. One demon in particular, however, favored ‘party animals’ more than any other creature from the vile depths.
“Easy there! You glare at this place any harder and it might combust!”
To the average human, the monster that appears beside you is nothing more than a tall blonde man with an inviting smile, but he can’t hide himself from the blessed and perceptive. Beneath the guise of spice and incense, he reeks of smoke and brimstone.
Hizashi, as he called himself, will never fool you.
“Stay back,” spit nearly flies from how harshly you say the words. You know that he can’t harm you, not while you wear your cross around your neck and calmly hold thoughts of your Lord in your mind. Still, you warn the dangerous fiend to keep his distance.
He obeys and innocently raises his hands. “Hey hey, you know I’m not out to hurt you, and you’re not gonna pull anything with that crafty little weapon there, right?”
No, you weren’t going to take a stab at him with the blade hidden in your holy necklace. You tried it before, an attempt to drive it into his back when he wasn’t looking. His hand caught your wrist at a speed you couldn’t comprehend – you were certain that you didn’t blink, yet you didn’t even see him move at all. His friendly smile didn’t waver, not a hint of anger visible on his face.
“Careful, baby priest! Don’t mean to sound cocky, but I’m way out of your league.” The warning wasn’t in his words, but in the heat of Hell itself that briefly washed over you, a sensation so powerful and real that you feared you were being dragged down that very instant. But the unseen flames died off the second he released your hand, eyes flashing a bloody red before returning to their usual emerald hues.
That was the first and only time you tried to banish him.
“I don’t trust you, but I’m not stupid,” was your answer, making sure not to let your hatred and disgust cloud your mind. He might take hold of that.
It was a satisfactory response, going by his bright beam of a smile. So friendly and inviting.
Months had passed when you finally accepted that he was a demon who genuinely enjoyed living alongside humans. He never spoke ill of your fellow men and commended them for their many ways of enjoying their short lives. Most demons you’ve dealt with favor negative emotions. Fear, sorrow, anger… those cold and bitter feelings attracted hellbeasts like flies to honey. 
But this one? He fed on mortals that were as cheerful and carefree as him. All of this still wasn’t enough to convince you that he is truly gentle, however.
Hizashi stayed where he was, staring at his own promotional poster. The urge to leave was almost overwhelming, but you couldn’t let him know how much he unnerved you with just his presence alone. Instead, you shuffle awkwardly and try not to utter prayers of protection. Whether or not that will anger him is something you don’t want to find out.
He rocks back and forth on his heels. “Are you pumped for the best night of the year? Man, Halloween never gets old for me, especially in this day and age. Everyone dancing while dressed like a bunch of monsters...it’s almost like I’m at home! Humans sure know how to party like tomorrow is The Cleansing.”
“Yes, and it’s shameful,” you humor him. “I have no interest in debauchery.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “It’s called having a good time, babe. Put the tome down and loosen up every once in a while.”
Put down the tome?
Loosen up?
Babe?
How dare he make you even entertain the thought of abandoning your teachings. You just know he’s trying to rile you up, to make you lose control. You won’t let him have his way. “I have my good times in moderation, on days when I praise God with my brothers and sisters with a glass of wine. There is discipline in everything, even celebration. Heathens simply get drunk and lose themselves in the madness.”
The demon chuckled as he ran his fingers through long golden locks. Just the beautiful sheen of his hair could probably attract the greedy. “Yep. Times sure do change, don’t they?”
“They don’t just change, they’re desecrated. What was once a day to ward off evil spirits now does the exact opposite. They’re too busy with their consumerism, candy, haunted houses…”
“Oh yeah, those haunted attractions are wild. So many of my buddies gorge themselves there. Free fear for the taking, ya dig?”
Despicable.
“And you don’t?” You test him. He was a conversationalist; a few probing questions won’t bother him, surely.
He withdraws his phone, scrolling through the screen for something. “Come on, you know me by now, don’t you? That sour stuff isn’t for me.”
“Forgive me for still struggling to trust you.” Sarcasm felt too risky, actually. You won’t use it again.
“Heh, no offense taken! You priests know just how cruel we can be sometimes. Mortals learned from the best, after all.”
Your lips twitch. His curve into a more wicked grin.
Every single passerby can’t seem to resist giving you odd looks. You can feel the eyes behind you as people make their way around the shops. Your garb wasn’t that strange; they’re acting like they’ve never seen a person in a robe and wearing several divine artifacts before. They would too if they knew what Hizashi was, who has yet to garner a single look of suspicion.
Ridiculous, his casual getup is actually fooling them. Perhaps the silly villainous mustache wasn’t big enough to give him away.
“Ah, here it is!” You nearly jumped from his voice and how quickly he leaned in, a video playing on his phone. “Just tap on the screen to play it an-”
“I know how to use a phone,” You hiss, taking the device from his hand and shooting him a glance every few seconds in case he tried something. 
The video was chaos, an unsteady view of flashing lights and thumping heavy beats. Whoever held it was smack dab in the middle of an energetic crowd that sang and danced like barbaric animals. It was an orgy of overindulgence. Too much drinking with their comically shaped cups and bottles, too much lust in their crude excuse of a dance, and synthetic drums that dragged on for so damn long, even the beat sounded drunk. It’s not the first time you heard the horrid noise; it unfortunately appears to be popular among the masses. 
God help these poor souls.
“Last year’s party.” Hizashi’s words cut through your thoughts. “Pretty hype, huh? Nothing gets my listeners goin’ like a hard trap beat!”
Oh? So he’s fully admitting it now? “So you’re calling it what it is, are you? Trapping them with your satanic melodies?”
The confusion on his face was very convincing, but you knew better. “What? No, that’s what the music is called.” 
You couldn’t help but snort. “Please, demon. What do you think sounds more believable: A genre of music with such a simplistic and misleading name, or evil tunes that your kind uses to ensnare unassuming mortals that don’t know any better?”
“....um…”
“I thought so.” To think that he’d slip up so easily. He wasn’t as clever as he thought. “Tell me what happened to the people in this video. Are they alive? Or did you drain them until they were nothing more than lifeless husks?”
There was a snicker behind you. Both you and Hizashi turned around to see a young man holding his phone up with an amused smile, giving a little wave after being noticed. “Sorry,” he didn’t sound sorry at all. “I really like your costume, miss. Your acting is awesome, too.” With that, he put away his phone and whatever images he now has of you and continued on his merry way.
Impertinent juveniles.
“Anyway, they’re all fine,” Hizashi said, eyes returning to the door while tapping his feet to a beat you can’t hear. “I know how to feed without causing any serious harm. Even if I do go a little overboard, they’ll just brush it off as having too much to drink.”
“It doesn’t matter how good you are at controlling yourself. You’re an evil entity invading human minds.” It takes every bit of strength to not flinch when he looks at you. Again, there’s no anger – there’s never anger with him – and it makes you all the more uneasy. Maybe a being as ancient and influential as him doesn’t find a novice exorcisor like you worth getting angry or even annoyed over. “Your stench will remain on those people forever, attracting more of your kind to them unless someone like me finds and cleanses them.”
He shrugs and rubs at the back of his neck. “Come on, your boy is doing his best here. What do you want me to do? Starve?” He considers what he just said for a moment before laughing. “Nevermind, don’t answer that. Look, I ain’t leaving the stage, little priest. I’m addicted. The noise, the energy, the way everyone just loses themselves in all of it.”
The way his tongue peeks out to swipe over his upper lip has every hair on your skin sticking up.
“Man, I wish they knew just how sweet their own essence is when they’re caught up in the lights and music. Sweeter than any candy the kids will be bringing home tonight.”
He compares consuming pieces of a soul to children’s treats. “You’re really not helping your case,” you remark.
Another shrug. “C’mon, you say that like I actually have a chance at winning with you! I won’t hurt anyone in there. You have my word.”
You scoffed. “A demon’s word is-”
“Worthless, I know. See what I mean?” He withdrew a ring of keys out of his pocket. “Welp, I think we’ve stood here and stared at the door long enough. I gotta prep for the big night. Thanks for the company!” A few more seconds pass when he finds the right key and opens the entrance to the club. 
You didn’t follow him inside. That would be careless.
Now it’s only you observing the building that will soon hold a giant living feast for the hungry monster. After another passing compliment about your “cool and authentic costume”, you figured you’ve stood around long enough. It was time to head home.
And find a way to keep everyone safe.
He was right; you have no way of getting rid of him yourself. That doesn’t mean you’ll stand by while knowing what danger these people will be walking into when night arrives. You’re not afraid to put your life on the line if it means protecting His children from the many evils on earth. When the first step of your plan takes root in your head, you change routes and make your way to the nearest costume shop.
Hizashi won’t be having his fill tonight.
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8:30 p.m.
You weren’t expecting to encounter two demons tonight.
Well, perhaps that term isn’t appropriate. There is no sort of aura attached to the dark-haired man that you can trace back to the pits of Hell, but he is undoubtedly a creature of evil. One that was birthed from the shadows, living for eternity by lurking in darkness and drinking the blood of any unfortunate mortal that catches his eye.
“I knew it. I knew someone so close to Hizashi couldn’t be human.”
The vampire at the lively club’s entrance didn’t seem fazed by your accusation. He wasn’t even hiding himself. The sly bloodsucker knows that his crimson irises and enlarged fangs will be mistaken for prosthetics. Very convincing prosthetics.
“Nice to see you too,” he deadpans. 
You’re getting a little tired of these beasts brushing you off. “So what’s your feeding plan here? Waiting to find an innocent maiden who wishes to see the sinful wonders inside, then take her to the back and drain her dry?”
“Like you?” The smirk doesn’t reveal any teeth, but his predatory eyes are enough to make you step back and grip the cross that still hangs around your neck. Your reaction makes him chuckle darkly before he returns to his regular disinterested self. “I already ate.” That monster. “I’m here because Hizashi thought I’d make for good security.”
“So you intend to drink from anyone that steps out of line?”
“No.”
“Lies. Look here, vampire…”
“My name is Shouta.”
“...You and your friend won’t be preying on these naive humans for much longer. He told me about his trap music, but I won’t let his songs bewitch anyone tonight.”
He stared at you, one eyebrow quirked high up. “Alright...can you give me your hand already? There’s a line growing behind you.”
You look over your shoulder, and there is indeed a line of disgruntled people dressed as various monsters and characters. You have to admit that their costumes look to be of higher quality than the angel outfit you hastily bought in the store’s clearance section. The fuzzy headband for your halo was itchy and your flimsy wings were on the verge of falling off with every sudden movement.
With a glare that messaged him not to try anything, you cautiously extended your arm. He took your hand in his – deathly cold – and wrapped a thin paper tag around your wrist. “Have fun.” 
You always hate it when you can’t read their smiles.
The suffocating darkness around him was lifted when you made your way to the same doors you were looking at with so much contempt this morning. Glancing back, you saw others happily complimenting his ‘spooky’ appearance, to which he responded with either a quick thanks or a grunt. None of them seemed to notice his chilling aura or ice-cold touch.
Why must they be so blind to the evils that walk beside them everyday?
When you stepped in, the music nearly blasted you back outside. So loud, but not like the angelic choirs during gospel. You didn’t feel lifted, you just felt bombarded by pure noise. A repetitive tempo made the entire building pulse like a heartbeat. This didn’t sound like the music Hizashi supposedly used to put the crowd under a spell. It just repeated the same forsaken beat over and over again. Perhaps the repetition is meant to ease the victim’s mind and lure them in a false sense of security, then those long rolling beats will come in next, ensnaring them when their guard is down. Clever, but not clever enough.
You passed the lounge and bar area, paying no mind to the lecherous behavior around you. Boisterous laughs, alcohol being carelessly chugged…
“Hey there, angel.” A man dressed as a superhero nearly tripped over his own cape in his attempt to approach you. “You as innocent as you look? I can introduce you to the boUUUURP.” The sudden belch burned your poor eyes with the stinging smell of rum.
Lord have mercy on both you and these savages.
“No thank you,” you said through gritted teeth and brushed past him. The lights and colors are disorienting. Strobe lights, spotlights whizzing across the walls and floor, and vibrant ever-changing shapes on every surface. The intoxicated folk probably welcomed the flashing chaos. When you drink at the church, your sips stay modest and controlled, ensuring to never reach the stage of drunkenness. If you were feeling ‘buzzed’, as they would say, this musical and optical discourse would likely feel pleasant, like entering a world devoid of rules and consequences.
Also known as a world of sin.
A huge mass of bouncing bodies covered the dancefloor, and there on an elevated platform, acting as an advanced musical throne, was the evil orchestrator of the chaos.
And those long curved obsidian horns were most definitely real.
Even as he tampered with the many buttons and dials before him, Hizashi moved as wildly as his prey, too caught up in his own infernal electronic hymns to even notice your presence. Surely your chaste energy sticks out among these wrongdoers like a dove in a pit of serpents.
You need to activate your blessing before he eats. Good thing the vampire didn’t bother to inspect your costume for any natural evil repellents that you happened to be carrying.
Your self-made pockets were filled with sage and rosemary, common herbs used to drive away demons and spirits. You sprinkle them onto the floor as you continue to make your way to the center, where your power will work most efficiently.  Hopefully their scent will not be overpowered by the sweaty bodies and breaths laced with alcohol of all kinds.
Pushing through the dancing crowd was an arduous task. The music had since switched to something faster and more aggressive. The hectic sounds in this one was making you miss the boring but calmer tunes from before. You never considered what the sound of a robot vomiting would sound like, but it would probably sound similar to the cacophony of ‘whirs’ and ‘wubs’ that were assaulting your ears.
The mass was pushing and tossing you every which way. The variety of masks and makeup beneath the constant moving lights was rather frightening. Of course, you’ve dealt with plenty of real monsters, but it disturbed you to see your fellow man acting in such a frenzied matter in such a perplexing setting. You can see why Hizashi adored this environment. You couldn’t tell the difference between man and beast.
Straightening your halo, you decide that this spot will fare well enough.
Now it was time to apply holy water around your feet. Just a few drops of the blessed fluid will be enough to protect everyone here.
You close your eyes, ignore the many bodies bumping against you, and pray.
O Lord, protect me from temptation.
The water trickles out before you.
O Lord, forgive those who have been led astray.
“WOOOO SHIT! THIS IS MY JAM!”
The nearby exclamation makes your eyebrow twitch.
For we know that your power is greater than any evil.
The song is deafening, but you keep going.
Grant, O Lord, the protection fro-
Someone violently collides into you, knocking the bottle right out of your hands and rolling away to disappear behind the wall of stomping shoes.
Shit! Forgive my language, Father!
You elbow the fools blocking your way, ignoring the occasional “hey” or “watch it” during your desperate search for the most important tool against evil influences.
You didn’t even finish your prayer. You need to at least do that first, before it’s too late. Clapping your hands together, you shut your eyes again and moved your lips rapidly.
OLordprotectmefromtemptationOLordforgivetosewhohavebeenledastrayforweknowthatyourpowerisgreaterthanany-
“HERE COMES THE DROP!”
The rhythm and bass changed drastically, and with it came a powerful wave of raw exhilaration.
It’s like a force was injecting every positive chemical directly into your bloodstream. The abundance of newfound energy needed to be released, just like the tension that was released from that beat drop.
Your hips are swaying in a way you’ve never moved them before, and you can’t make them stop.
Stop! Stop, please! This is his doing!
“How are my listeners doin’ tonight?!”
The demon’s voice booms through the speakers, seeping into your ears and filling you with so much excitement that you can’t help but cheer with everyone else. Your senses feel simultaneously enhanced and dulled. The humans around you were out of focus, but the diabolical DJ up ahead was so clear, it’s like you were right in front of him. The hunger in his currently red eyes struck fear in you even as you danced.
“Woo, I’m lovin’ this energy! Thanks for coming by this Halloween, ya little monsters! Now...bring this house down!”
Your heart accelerates from the rush and you begin to jump in sync with the possessed crowd. Even the people standing by or sitting at the bars couldn’t resist, joining the growing horde on the dancefloor to jump in unison. 
It was unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. Not a care in the world. No customs, no praise. It didn’t give you that warm feeling of ascension. Instead you just felt...liberated.
No!
Struggling in the demon’s grip, you cleared your thoughts just enough to try to calm yourself and regain control.
Utter a prayer. Hurry. Focus. You need His protection.
‘Baby priest? Is that you?’
That is not the mighty entity you wanted to hear. The voice echoes in your head, impossible to escape. When your eyes open, you see that above the vast sea of faces, Hizashi is staring right at you. 
‘I thought the dancefloor smelled a little weird! I was so busy feelin’ the beat that I almost missed you!’  You watched him laugh as he continued to violate your mind. Damn him. Wasn’t possessing you cruel enough? ‘Please, no prayers when I’m about to dig in. That’s gonna leave a bad taste in my mouth. Just keep groovin’ like everyone else!”
Your limbs obeyed without your consent and followed the rhythm. This didn’t even sound like the music you heard in the video. Were you just foolish in thinking that he only used one specific sound to trap his victims?
With another change in the bassline, a heavier weight invaded, reaching right into the depths of your heart and tugging at your very soul. You know that fear will only make you more defenseless, but there was no fighting the terror that overtook you.
Not when a demon was feeding from you.
Your brain clashed with itself. You had to keep fighting, even as he stole a fragment of what your gracious Heavenly Father had gifted you and every human, but the cheerful voices implanted in your mind begged you to stop worrying and just give in already.
There was no stopping your movements or the unending rush that surged as strongly as the music. Only now, as he completely ignored your holy safety measures and tainted your soul as easily as the oblivious heathens surrounding you, did you fully understand just how great the differences in power between him and you were.
‘Whoa...holy shit.’
The breathless moan in your head made you shudder. 
‘I haven’t tasted a human as pure as you in ages.’ 
“Please! You’ve already fed from me!” You scream out loud as the mob revels in the thrilling sensation of having a part of them sucked away. Your voice is drowned out by the music and shouts, yet you know that the horrid fiend can hear you loud and clear. “Just get out of my head!”
The dancing stops.
The music stops.
Everything stops.
It’s relieving to finally let your body rest from the forced celebration. The lights still flash and move in the dead silence. Every single person in all of their costumed glory turns and pins you with a sharp glare. Their eyes were unfocused and glazed over, consciousness elsewhere. Hizashi was in full control of all of them.
The demon himself looked down at you, no longer wearing his usual friendly and carefree smile. He was now showing the more twisted happiness you were used to seeing on his kind.
Crazed and eager to devour.
He spoke into the microphone on his headset, voice low and eerily calm. “Angel, you can’t just give me a sample of a five-star meal and expect me to not want more.”
The dread threatens to make you faint.
“Hey, none of that!” He laughs and switches back to his cheery tone. “I told you the negative emotions aren’t for me. I mean, a lady as sweet as you is gonna taste delicious either way. Why don’t you come on up here?”
You didn’t want to. You wanted to flee from this entire situation that you foolishly believed you were ready for. You thought you could sneak into this age-old creature’s gathering and force him to go hungry for the night.
Cockiness treads horribly close to pride, and pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.
You clearly didn’t have a say in the matter, what with your feet moving forward on their own. Every individual in front of you stepped aside to create a clear path from you to Hizashi’s platform. Their eyes never left, heads slowly turning as they watched you slowly climb the steps with legs that trembled from your resistance.
As he stood tall clad in leather behind the large mixer table, you noticed along with his sturdy horns, he also sported a black pointed tail that lazily swayed behind him. And his stench...the foul smell that would often make you crinkle your nose was replaced with a pleasing fragrance, like a sweet and fruity beverage. It was undoubtedly the work of his spell; everything about him has suddenly become tempting.
At this point you were wishing for the music to return so that you couldn’t hear your thunderous heartbeat as you stopped right in front of him. His hellish eyes observed you from head to toe, holding his chin between his fingers before shaking his head and smirking.
“Ya really couldn’t find a better costume?” He snickered as he got closer and fiddled with your cheaply-made gown. You avoided looking directly into his eyes, afraid of falling into the blood-red depths and never finding your way back out.  “Or do you priests work on a budget?” He pauses when he notices the contents in your pockets. “Oh?” A hand is shoved inside and pulls out a handful of herbs.
“Aww gross! Sneakin’ herbs into the joint?” He winces from the smell before tossing them aside, leaving them to scatter into the unmoving group below.
How? His reaction should have been much stronger…
“Not that this stuff really works when I’m vibin’ in my element, but I’m hurt! I thought we had some trust!” He pinches your cheek, knowing that you’re unable to pull away. “And I thought you knew that I was way out of your league. You’re gonna need the big guns if you plan on keeping me away from my food.” The breath blowing into your face is abnormally hot.
There’s a layer of something otherworldly hidden in his tone whenever he emphasizes his words, like a filter poorly attempting to cover up a monster’s true guttural voice. 
But once again, he switches back to normal, which does nothing to calm you. “But I’m not gonna get mad at some rookie that doesn’t know better, especially one as tasty as you!” Twirling around, he pushes a few buttons on the table that you didn’t even know where to begin to figure out. 
“Sorry about the interruption, listeners!” He says to the crowd, cruelly acting like they have any ability to respond. They continue to stare blankly. “I hope you don’t mind if I switch things up a bit. Your boy is gonna be a little preoccupied during the next few tracks.”
The deafening silence is lifted with the start of a new song, and the people suddenly spring back to life, completely unaware of the mindless state they were in. Their only goal was to keep partying.
Your body was moving again as well, this time bobbing gently to the double and triple beats and low frequencies that vibrate through the floor and up your spine.
This...this was the type of melody you feared, and yet it didn’t affect you any more than the other songs. All of them were traps.
The only way you can think of fighting back is by filling your head with songs of praise. Keep your Lord in your thoughts. He will protect you.
“Tsk...angel, that stuff doesn’t work when I, ya know, already ate a piece of you.” His face tightened from hearing just a few seconds of the holy song in your head. “I told you, ya gotta loosen up a bit. You’re already dancing better than I thought you would!”
He paid no attention to his other prey, instead admiring your simple but energetic movements.
Then he began to move as well, shoulders doing a slow shimmy and following each of your steps with his own, moving closer and closer until he was able to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you in.
He’s warm. Not burning or emitting an aura of terrifying darkness. The music suddenly feels softer, easing your fears. Like an intimate embrace. 
“There, it’s not so bad, is it?” He says lowly, lips almost touching your face. “Quit thinking about your big daddy for once.”
You want to protest against the disrespectful nickname for your God, but he predicts your reaction and tightens his hold on your spirit.
“You taste so damn incredible right now, don’t mess it up,” he groans and savors you. With every part of you that is consumed, it becomes harder to resist. It would be so easy to just hold onto him and keep swaying like this, rocking back and forth as his hips press against yours, grinding into you.
The unfamiliar sensation startles you, but Hizashi shuts down your panic with a growl. “Fuck, I can’t believe I’ve forgotten.” he murmurs into your shoulder, breathing deeply to take in your scent. “I’ve been so hooked on the party life that I forgot just how heavenly innocents like you taste. To think that I’d have an actual priest dancing with me, tasting that revelry from such a pure source...pardon my blasphemy, but goddamn.”
You’re swimming through the fiery haze clouding your mind, clawing against it in a desperate search for an opening. But with every beat, the haze thickens and you sink further in.
You couldn’t find the light. No salvation.
More sinful feelings assault you from the friction of his groin against yours, a growing bulge rubbing on your most sacred area. It sends a foreign tingle down there.
“Ooooh, don’t think I can’t feel that, baby” he rasps, holding you so closely in a dance fitting for two lovers. “I can sense everything now that you’ve let me in.”
That angers you enough to find your voice again, just barely. “I didn’t let you in...” You tense from another hard grind. “Foul...beast.”
“Are you sure? You’re giving in pretty easily. It’s nothin’ to feel bad about, I promise. Humans aren’t built to resist life’s basic needs, so I don’t know why the big man in the clouds gets so wound up about it all the time.” 
How dare he.
“Damned snake!” You force your hands to beat against him and push him off. “You will not corrupt me with the Devil’s words!”
He’s actually shocked for a moment, even to your own surprise, but he laughs it off. “Geez, my bad! I guess you are pretty persistent. Must be…” He grabs the cross around your neck, ignoring your horrified gasp. “...this.”
With a sharp yank and a pinch at the back of your neck, your one remaining object of holy protection is removed.
And with its loss, his influence completely overpowers you. The clearness of your senses switches on and off.
The music is muffled. It’s too loud.
The roaming lights are blurry. Too bright.
Are you still moving? Or is your body too heavy?
“It stings a bit, but that little thing can’t do much when the wearer’s already under my control.” An unfocused image of the demon tossing your precious necklace over his shoulder, the necklace you’ve held close to you since the day you first stepped into the cathedral and accepted your role as a righteous defender of man.
Your essence is now being stolen so quickly that it makes you shiver. He shouldn’t be taking this much.
“Mmm, I can’t get enough of this,” Teeth that are too sharp brush against your neck, threatening to pierce your skin. “I’m an old guy, ya know. I’ve done a lot of experimenting over the centuries, to see what I’m into.”
There’s a rip, and your gown is being pulled down along with your wings. It only relieves you from the growing heat of your surroundings.
“Y’see, our daddy isn’t a helicopter parent. He brings us into the world and just...lets us decide what to do. So no, my words ain’t the Devil’s words. They’re just mine, honey. I live for myself.”
Tilting your head, he presses his lips against your throat, making your breath hitch. No, your body is sacred. Don’t let him do this to you.
You don’t even know when the music had changed, but you’ve noticed the club was filled with a synthetic ambiance, the colors switching to magenta and cyan. 
The party demon is so captivated by you that he doesn’t even acknowledge the change in tune. “I used to stalk the depressed. Wasn’t worth it, they were too bland.” He peppers kisses down to your collarbone. “I tormented scared paranoid folk. Fun, but it loses its flavor fast.”
Your bra is removed to expose your breasts to him and the entire populace within the building. Your heart races, but the synths don’t stop seeping into your ears, the bliss wrestling with your fear. 
“Shh, don’t freak out. I’ll make sure everyone forgets everything that happened tonight.” He attempts to reassure you while massaging your newly revealed mounds. “So time went on as I treated my palate to different tastes. Wasn’t long before I realized my favorite vibes were the good ones. Festivals, games, a few buddies hangin’ out,” he lowered himself and flicked your nipple with his tongue. “Or a couple fucking, I ate all of it up. And after a while I decided that I just liked people in general.”
The pleasure felt when your breast is engulfed by the heat of his mouth is shameful. Hizashi moaned at your taste, though you weren’t sure if it was the taste of your flesh or your lust that was exciting him.
“I liked it when humans were having good times, so I figured out how to join in on the fun and damn, how do you guys keep finding new ways to rock out? The prudes keep droning on about how my favorite type of people have lost their way, but I think they’re the ones who found paradise, and they’re not even dead yet!” After nursing on both of your breasts, he rises and grabs your face to turn it toward the crowd. “I mean, just look at how these guys – oh.”
‘Oh’ indeed.
The people were no longer dancing. They were grabbing at each other, at men and women they probably didn’t even know, tearing apart clothes in a vicious urge to fornicate right there on the dancefloor. Some of them were already completely nude. You avert your eyes to stare at your feet instead.
Hizashi cleared his throat. “Whoops. Look what ya made me do, angel. My lust got the best of me!” He held you close while watching the horrid act before him. You’re trying to move your heavy arms to cover your bare body. “No wonder I’m feeling so horny. Think I should make them stop?”
It takes effort to nod your head.
His lip sticks out in an exaggerated pout before going, “Nah. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen an orgy. I bet this is a first for you.”
Something tickles your hips, your eyes wandering over to see the arrow-like point of his tail curling around your white panties, tugging them down.
Part of you already knows that Hizashi is allowing you to struggle for his own amusement. With all of your protection gone, he can easily stop you from swatting at the flexible limb as it brings your final article of clothing down to your ankles.
Wearing nothing but the small strap around your wrist, you want so badly to curl up and hide yourself. You were completely bare on a stage with a demon quietly taking in your form. The contrasting feelings of anxiety and calm threaten to tear your psyche in half.
“Given how anal you guys are about chastity, I think it’s safe to say no one’s ever touched you before?” The way you tense tells him enough. “Alright alright, relax. I’m gonna make this easy for you.”
‘How? By letting me leave?’ You want to say, but your vocal chords aren’t cooperating.
He grinned from ear to ear. “Well, no. I told ya I know everything goin’ on in that head.” He grabs you by the shoulders and places you right in front of his mixer.
There were many suggestive sounds amongst the pile of writhing bodies before you. It was the most depraved sight that you’ve ever witnessed. These people may have been sinners for their immoral pursuits, but they were still victims of a wicked creature’s influence. You wish you could apologize to all of them for failing to protect them.
Slender fingers massaged your shoulders. “Ain’t it beautiful?” He whispers hotly into your ear. “I’m not that crazy about lust, but I can’t resist when it’s coming from someone like you.”
His aura has you shackled on the spot, unable to move or even tear your eyes away from all of the sex. His voice meshes with the increasingly sensual tunes, both him and the music putting you in a deep trance that leaves every nerve in your body extra sensitive.
You’re gently pushed to lean forward until your hands are supporting yourself on the table. The leather of his clothes pressed against your back is irritating, but easily overshadowed by the hands trailing down your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“One of my favorite hobbies was hunting down faithful maidens like you. All demons love doing it, really. You can’t top raw innocence, it’s always a delicacy. It’s the closest most of us will ever get to fucking an actual angel. I managed to fuck an angel, and lemme tell ya, it’s a once in an eternity experience.”
He reaches your mound. There is still fear and an urge to pray, though it’s drowned out by the electronic harmony and all of the hot sex.
“Now she’s a fallen one that hangs out with me. Pretty little devil’s obsessed with sex now. If you’re lucky, maybe she’ll give you a visit in your sleep at midnight.”
His fingers reach your untouched folds, making you gasp. You’ve never felt so much lubrication down there before. Was that normal?
“I was really good at the whole corruption thing, so good that I caught the attention of the big holy boys. They were toughies, gotta hand it to 'em. I decided to lay low after that little showdown. That was all a preeetty long time ago.”
The demon’s voice is background noise as you watch deplorable acts that you didn’t even know existed. One woman was taking a cock into her mouth while another man pounded into her from behind. A new male approached and grabbed her free hand, wrapping her fingers around him and encouraging her to stroke him.
Three men pleasuring themselves with the same woman. They were probably complete strangers.
The repulsive sight makes you wetter.
They sure were having fun.
Hizashi hums at your arousal, sinking a digit into your folds. 
“Ah,” you choke on your own voice. His other hand plays with your breast again while you’re being penetrated for the first time. Some sort of flame was growing within you, burning and pleasing at the same time.
“I thought I’ve found my place. Going place to place and bringing in crowds who just want to forget their troubles for a day and groove.”
The finger pushes through your tightly clenched walls, or at least they try to.
“Fuck, relax a bit, babe,” he groans.
You do exactly that, giving him enough leeway to push in and out at a steady pace. You don’t think about the violation, only the strange friction that has no right to feel as good as it does. 
“And then you come along,” An unexpected sharp thrust causes his finger to brush against a spot that fills your vision with even more blinding lights. “It’s not like I was after you or anything. You’re a solid negative ten on the threat scale, but ya just wouldn’t leave me alone!” He relentlessly hits the spot again, and again, until you’re crying out and your legs are shaking. “Then you waltz in here and try to ruin my favorite night of the year?
He’s able to hide his anger as he speaks, but fails to keep it from entering his possessed victims. The orgy becomes more violent, all of the people looking no more civil than savages in torn rags as they try to dominate and fuck each other senseless.
It affects you as well, going by how annoyed you’re getting by his rambling. Can’t he just focus on pleasing you?
His finger leaves you too soon, your cunt already missing the brand new sensations. “Sorry, babe,” he says when he releases you and begins to undo his pants. “Normally I’d spend more time warming up, but I gotta join in on the raunchiness now before I go nuts. Just...do me a favor.”
You whined, wiggling your hips and rubbing your ass against his freed cock. He only chuckles at your impatience.
“Slow your roll, I’ll get started as soon as you push that button riiiight there.”
You push one of the many glowing buttons, and stock phrases are shouted out of the speakers.
“No, the one next to it.”
You press it, and another song begins.
Hizashi hums in approval. “I usually do a smooth transition between songs, but…”
A hard impact knocks you forward with the overwhelming feeling of being completely filled all at once. The stretch and pressure has your mouth hanging open in a silent scream.
“....Yeah, I just wanted to do that. And-” He yanks the halo off your head and drops it at your feet. “-I always loved the symbolism in that.”
He wastes no time building up. You’re being pounded as hard and consistently as the energetic beat. It should hurt, but the euphoric state of your mind dulls any pain and discomfort. 
With the demon inside both your head and your womanhood, there was no saving yourself. Your prayers wouldn’t even be heard through this thick depraved fog.
“Oh fuck yeah,” He growls loudly with his wild thrusts, hands gripping your hips tightly enough to bruise. “I’ve been missing out. So hooked on the party life that I don’t even remember how it feels to eat up a modest little soul like this.”
Was he still devouring you? You can’t even tell, not while you’re trapped in this melodic dreamworld as his cock rams you.
“Ya mind if we do this again sometime?” He angled himself to ensure he was hitting that sweet spot with each rhythmic pump. Despite his aggression, his hips moved with musical purpose. “Not like you’re much of a priest anymore. You’re fuckin’ a demon, sweetheart. I think the pearly gates have closed for you.”
That sounds sad and all, but God does he feel good. The entire moment was feeling like a hallucination. Your world was saturated with fuzzy images and muffled bass as your virgin pussy was ravaged. The tightened heat in your core was growing hotter by the second.
Hizashi just wouldn’t stop talking even as he became short of breath. “Ah, don’t worry, my doors are always open to misfits!” His rhythm falters a bit when you give him an especially tight squeeze. “Ya like that? I can always wipe your memory of tonight along with everyone else’s, and you can head back home. I just don’t think your next visit to the house of God is gonna end well.”
How does he expect you to care with the way he’s plowing into you?
His arms wrap around you in an embrace. “No pressure, angel. You can decide later. For now, just enjoy the show.”
And finally, he shut up and focused on fucking your divine lights out.
With his pelvis flush against your ass, Hizashi humps with newfound vigor, his thrusts rapid yet precise enough to keep stimulating your most sensitive areas.
The blinding stars in your eyes make it impossible to even make out what’s happening in front of you. A shame, because you want to know if you’re being dicked down as good and hard as the whores on the dancefloor.
The demon may not be talking anymore, but he was still being very vocal about his pleasure with feral moans and growls right into your ear. 
An extra hard slam forces you to nearly topple onto the controls, hands scrambling to keep you upright and hitting several buttons in the process. 
A series of sounds and distortion effects are added to the song.
It unexpectedly riles him up. “Shit, that wasn’t a bad mix, angel. I might have a junior DJ in the making,” he praises.
The tempo changes - different speed and new layers - and Hizashi follows suit by switching his quick bucks into deep thrusts.
The fire inside was close to doing...something. You weren’t sure what it was or what exactly will happen if this lasts any longer, but part of you knows that it’s about to feel very good.
With the head of his dick striking you nice and deep, you quickly learn that you were right.
The explosion of spasms was too pleasurable to even comprehend, each contraction tearing filthy screams from your throat. Hizashi bursts soon afterwards and fills you up with a cry even more lewd than yours.
Just like that, your mind is freed and the weight of his aura is lifted...and you feel gravely tired.
A coldness sweeps over you and saps every ounce of your strength. You find yourself dropping to your knees and falling over as a distant voice expresses genuine worry.
“Oh.......I overfed.” Though it doesn’t sound as panicked as it should.
You don’t want to close your eyes. You fear that something terrible might happen if you do, but your eyelids are quickly becoming too heavy to fight.
“Really sorry, little priest! I didn’t mean to! Look at the bright side - my friends are gonna love ya down there! Home isn’t half as bad as those books make it out to be!”
Each word sounds fainter than the last, but you still catch each one.
Home?
Your eyes shut. 
And the remains of your soul become stained with ash and black before heading downwards into the demonic realm.
Welcome home.
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cherrywoes · 3 years
Text
< entry 001:// prometheus in flesh >
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                                        < 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 .𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎...>
[The following is a recorded conversation between Senior Geneticist Ukai Keishin and Senior Biologist Takeda Ittetsu. It is narrated through a personal AI belonging to Takeda Ittetsu. After further review, this conversation has been classified for rank seven priority persons and has been archived.]
UKAI: This is… (He takes a puff of a cigarette. He sounds angry, petulant, and in a state of disbelief.) This is ridiculous. Who decided that this passed legislation? What need do we have for these—these things?
TAKEDA: (He coughs, perhaps out of nerves or anxiety. The shuffling of clothing and the scrape of a chair indicate that he has sat down beside Ukai.) You know what they said, just like I did, Keishin. Once it’s over, it’s done—we need to play cleanup crew afterwards.
UKAI: No one said anything about… (His finger slams into the table as he angrily points at something on the table near him. He doesn’t say the words aloud, fearing that someone will overhear him, perhaps his AI.) That. That is—I’ve spent years of my life with these things and—I can’t do that, Ittetsu. You know I can’t.
TAKEDA: I know. (He sounds sad.) But look on the bright side. Once this is done… (Previous interactions indicate that the slight swallowing sound prefaces nausea and purging.) We can leave this place and never come back. Right?
UKAI: (Hesitantly.) ...Right.
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NECTAR CLUNG TO YOUR fingertips in crystal clear strings of sticky sweet euphoria. It spilled from the artificially enhanced flowers clustered in your lap and around your feet, the large, palm sized petals capturing globules of the precious liquid within their curved centers. It tasted sweet, flowery, and, above all, smelled divine; like camellias on the wind, or goldenrods in the spring. It ran down your arms and elbows and dripped down onto your thighs, running rivers down your calves to sluice between your toes, creating a crystal clear lake within your shadow and the chair you sat upon.
“Diet’s good.” The scientist standing outside your cage scribbled something on a bleach white piece of paper. It smelled acrid, a sting to your sensitive nose, and the ink was a bizarre scent, smelling almost like the oil that the older scientists rubbed into their skin to keep it from cracking and drying. “Though her metabolism is through the roof—I’m concerned something may have been missed in her genetic scan during incubation.”
You ignored the scientist, dropping the empty flower to your feet. Like it had been produced to do, it shriveled up and decomposed into a fine brown dust instantaneously, seeping into the biodegradable concrete to be absorbed as nutrients for the life system that kept your cage comfortable and at the right temperature for your body. You watched it shrink and wrinkle and disappear, rubbing your toe through the dust when it was done.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” another scientist said, this one writing down something about your bone structure. “They’ve gotten so lazy in the gestation wing that you could probably slip a bomb in there and no one would notice until it had gone off. I’ll see what I can dig up about her records and genetic material.”
“You do that.” A fast scrawl again, the ink smell stronger this time. “At the rate she’s going, she’ll have eaten through an entire greenhouse before she’s through; let’s add some insects to her diet. Worms, maybe? Or crickets?”
You scrunched your nose and sighed. You hated worms, and crickets too. That didn’t stop them from trying to shove it down your throat every chance they got. They were adamant that it would help with your protein intake, but so far you’d only felt miserable and disgusted when you ate them, slurping them into your mouth obediently like the rest of your flock did. Perhaps with less enthusiasm, but your obedience couldn’t be questioned.
The lab you lived in was a kind of protective facility deep within the ground. They had taught you that the world above was scorched, hot and burnt by the sun and greenhouse gases; that the facility was the safest place to be while they planned to restructure the atmosphere and filter out the toxic fumes with specially made Morphlings—you wouldn’t even call them Morphlings, really, just a hybrid of humans and machines.
Morphlings—the real, true ones—were splices of human and a kind of animal. From birds, to insects, to carnivores, omnivores, or vegetarians, they had spliced them all; some in small amounts, or others, like yours, in large group spawnings that made it difficult to assert yourself over the crowd. You were one of the few who didn’t fit in with your group; the scientists assured you it was because hummingbirds were generally loners by nature, except for their mates, of which you were too young to have—in Morphling standards, you understood, anyway. In human terms, you were old enough; even in bird terms, you were old enough. But Morphlings didn’t reach full maturity until they were twenty-three, supposedly, and you were only two years shy of that goal.
Not that you cared, not really. You had a belly full of nectar at all times, insects to snack on whenever you wished, a few Hummingbird friends you could barely call your ‘friends’, and three humans analyzing you at all times, monitoring your vital signs to make sure you weren’t getting ill or growing some unnatural mutation like so many of the other Morphlings. The last one to have a mutation, you’d heard, had been a little crow Morphling, but any more than that was muddy, usually by default. Any information you heard was from the pieces you gathered from the scientists’ whispers, bland conversations really, and the idle chatter in the canteen in the carnivore’s circle where you weren’t privy.
“Ah, no, no insects for the rest of the week,” the scientist corrected. You looked over curiously, fingers fisting in the petals of a new flower and puncturing the membrane that held the globules of nectar within. You were already full, but you regretted the waste almost immediately when you dropped it to the floor. “They’re putting her through the Trials today.”
Dread crept into your belly. 
The Trials were almost like torture sessions keyed in onto prey surviving predators; for Morphlings, it was much more extreme. You’d heard from several survivors that they were forced to push themselves past the limit to survive whatever carnivorous or omnivorous Morphling they’d put in with them, even being forced to watch their friends get eaten when they got caught. It was supposedly to test their resilience and stamina, but all it really was—at least to you—was a way to cull the flock.
And you were next.
The scientist noticed you staring and smiled, tapping his pen against the frame of your cage mockingly. “Heard me, did you? It won’t change anything. You might as well prepare yourself before you go in. It’s likely you won’t make it out. None of the hummingbird morphs do.”
You wondered how easy it would be to shove your hands through the gaps in the bars and break his neck against the metal. It couldn’t be that difficult; you’d seen some carnivores do it before when they were getting ready for euthanization. Those were the more genetically anomalous ones, but you could probably do it; morphling genes allowed for unusual strength, even for a hummingbird. Despite your hollow bones, you could probably at least get to his eyes if you tried hard enough.
But that wasn’t typical of a Hummingbird morphling. You chalked it up to the human genes in your genome sequence; they always had said you had more ‘human’ in you than the rest, usually spitefully. Other than the two nice men who monitored your changes and such, the rest of them were foul creatures, miserable being stuck in an underground bunker. Humans typically were violent when they were cooped up in small places for extended periods of time, and you, well, you didn’t like being in a cage very much, unlike your fellow hummingbird morphs.
“Whatever you say,” you laughed, rolling your eyes, and got up off the stool. You sauntered your way back into the depths of your cell, vanishing behind a thick curtain of synthetic silk dyed a deep sea green.
The scientist cleared his throat when he spoke to the other man. “Did you know hummingbird morphs could talk?”
Oh. You frowned, bringing your fingers to your mouth, your previous anger forgotten. Experimentally, you flexed the vocal cords in your throat, capable of only chirps of affirmatives and negatives, and felt more—different. They were different.
Interesting... Interesting indeed.
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                   < 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐 / 𝚊𝚕𝚙𝚑𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚢 / 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝟶𝟶𝟸 >
                    𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚕: status: open.
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theangrypokemaniac · 4 years
Note
I followed you for the pics and gifs but I didn't know why you were so annoying till I saw the username. Btw have you ever seen Digimon? Because evolutions are supposed to have SOME resemblance to their own species. An Articuno cannot evolve into a Cubone for example.
Oh, you smooth-talking nonny.
I'm glad you like the pictures and GIFS. You're welcome to any that take your fancy.
The clue is in the name, flower. I'm not 'The Perfectly-Contented-With-How-Things-Are-Thank-You-Very-Much Pokémaniac'. My chosen nom de guerre does warn the reader of what awaits.
I don't intend to annoy you. I simply speak as I find. If you don't like it, rest assured the matters I complain about are punishment enough for me.
I'm from a wave of fan in which many found Johto substandard. Compared to them I'm quite mild. I appear to be the one naysayer because everyone who thinks like me is mostly gone.
Always remember that the series you enjoy only came about via the destruction of ours, and, in turn, your day will come too.
If you're still a fan ten years from now, you'll have watched all the things you love the most shredded, whilst the next generation will sing its praises.
You will not comprehend the appeal, they won't understand your resentment. Think of me then.  
Yes I have seen Digimon. Not that I know what that has to do with it. I mean, Gatomon doesn't resemble Angewomon, nor Gomamon to Ikkakumon, and so on.
The point is these aren't evolutions in the correct sense. Were they from the same generation, it's all well and good to display similarity, not that it's a given (Magikarp and Gyarados, Flaafy and Ampharos etc.), but when there's a gap of years, even decades, between the original and a new one suddenly materialising from the ether, it's silly to pretend there's a connection.
They just weren't built to have belated relatives superglued into their D.N.A., but it's become like bloody Buckeroo, with these weary beasts of burden constantly laden with yet more biological junk.
How on earth is a baby going to have remained unknown until now, if we're to believe it's a real world? Chansey's from Kanto, so how can Happiny not be there too?
I don't particular understand the logic of every region requiring a Pikachu clone, as if it's a necessary presence to draw our attention.
Pikachu was new once, but the rest aren't, and there's no explanatory relationship between he and them, thus why should laziness be celebrated?
When Pokémon are invented, it's in the mind frame of them following a fixed evolutionary line, so for example, at the start of Golem's life, it was on the basis that he came from Graveler, and Geodude previously, and that's all.
Do you imagine that Game Freak drew him, thinking:
Yeah, but in the fyewchuh, he'll have a fine black moustache, a 'tache I tells thee!
If it was such an inspired addition, you'd expect them to include it then, but funnily enough, they didn't.
The examples I've selected are particular egregious, since I'd hardly call them redesigns, rather blatant facsimiles.
There's less variety between these than there is with proper chains. At least they sometimes change colour (like Psyduck to Golduck).
If you'd never heard of Octillery, and I showed you its picture, and asked you to guess what it used to be, out of them all, would you immediately pick Remoraid?
No, I doubt it, but I bet a person with no knowledge of Pokémon could work out there's a link between Tangela and Tangrowth, since they're almost identical.
There are four generations between Mewtwo and his Megas: do you seriously imagine there was any prior intention to change him?
One Mega Evolution is bad enough, but two is beyond absurd.
Mewtwo is synthetic, and thus unacknowledged by nature, so how then can Mega Stones exist that react to him?
He's a recent creation, and unique, so how would anything matching his genetics be around?
Mega Evolution in itself is stupid.
If it's so impressive, it must be famous, so how come no one used it before Ash went to Kalos?
I accept that 'new' things appear every generation, but the writers have the habit of retconning events to pretend it's always been around, thereby erasing actual canon, such as pretending later monsters existed when Ash left home. If they do that I'll pick fault when I see it.
Remember the hysterical fuss at the arrival of Megas, the hyperventilating wheeze about it being a revolutionary concept that toe-tah-lee changed everything?
Well that didn't work out, did it?
I thought it was asinine then, and lo and behold, Nintendo eventually concurred, whereupon this oh-so dazzling concept was dumped without ceremony, but I expect it'll be back come Gen. 9 (Keenan and Kel), just as Formes (as it then was) were dropped for Unova and Kalos.
Once the close of an era arrives, the self-congratulatory attitude for birthing such sweet divinity vanishes, the 'precious' facet no longer matters and it's the next fad deserving hosannas.
Well the pattern has formed, and if I know they'll eventually tire of the ultra-amazing best thing EVA, what's the point in me trying to like it, when, as evidenced by their latter-day lack of interest, it clearly is worthless?
With both Megas and now Gigantamax, gratitude is demanded of the fans. Nintendo expect us to be overawed at being fed more of the same.
A big Meowth is still a Meowth, as in a twenty-year-old character. Why should passing off old stuff as fresh impress me?
Why should I like childhood favourites picked at and distorted to flog yet another generation of games that apparently can't stand by themselves?
Why can't they?
Who are these bastards in charge they believe they've the talent to 'improve' classic figures when they can't even invent anything remotely as memorable themselves?
Otherwise, why is it still Kanto Pokémon on merchandise?
If Mega Evolution and Gigantamax are so overwhelming, they ought to be independently successful, by which I mean that, at first anyway, only Kalos Pokémon should've received Megas, and the same for Galar and Gigas. After all, they're wondrous, so can obviously sell itself.
But no.
It's not Forms, Megas and Gigas making past Pokémon special, it's the opposite.
Worst of all, any region heavy on the rehash claims that as an excuse to skimp on new Pokémon. Kalos and Alola both have fewer than one hundred; you have to put 'em together to just scrape beyond the first tally of 151.
If it isn't an absence of imagination responsible, why is there such a drought? Why don't they conjure 150-200 Pokémon, and then add Megas or whatever on top?
Megas aren't even 'proper' Pokémon, so it can't constitute an overload. If it does, chuck them and retain the original ones.
How hard is it to come up with new Pokémon? Even I've done it, it's that easy!
It makes you wonder why they think we'll be happier with the familiar than whatever they can drag together.
When we do get different faces, they're padded to bursting with copies, like 400 Vivillon, as if that suffices.
This modern breed of writer just can't keep his hands to himself. If not practicing any of the aforementioned imitations, he's prodding the rest so all the males and females need tiny identifying dots or lumps, like lady Pikachu with a cleft tail, thereby undermining all the times the anime showed them as indistinguishable from one another.
It's as if they can't resist marking their territory by pissing all over canon.
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plasticdetective · 4 years
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@soulstied​ said:
"Connor!" He'd finally caught up to him, reaching the pier that overlooked Detroit's river. They'd been chasing a criminal that was stealing parts from Androids. It was a rather complicated black market case and this was their one lead, their one breakthrough. If they let them go, if they lost them, they'd be back to square one. It was something Connor repeatedly kept pointing out. But whenever he did Allen got the feeling he wasn't talking to him, but rather himself. It was something Allen noticed, Connor seemed to put a lot of pressure on himself. Bare the weight of the world on his shoulders.
All by himself.
Which was why when they finally caught sight of the criminal again--Connor had taken off after him and told Allen to stay back. And he did, for all of three seconds. But, his model wasn't made for half the things Connor did when chasing someone. He lept across buildings, scaled walls and fences, threw himself across cars. Allen couldn't do that and when he tried--he got far to terrified and chickened out. Turned away and took another route. Which was what ended up taking him as long as it did to reach where Connor had chased them off to.
He found the other against the railing, his jacket torn open and chest bleeding profusely from where his Thirium pump is. No, was, or rather SHOULD BE. Allen rushed up to Connor's side and knelt down in front of him, hands hovering over the others chest before he began looking around. He searched for the pump, whipped his head around all directions--and then he spotted the thirium across the rail. No where Connor could reach. Not from his hands.
They threw his pump into the WATER.
Allen felt fear rush through his body, eyes widening as his gaze shot back to Connor. He had to be here a few minutes already, his gaze was unfocussed and his LED kept flashing a gray color. Not a good sign, he couldn't have more than a minute left. Allen had to think of something to do, anything. His breath rushed out of him and he placed his palm over the flat of the others chest. Felt the shape of the hole in his chest. There wasn't enough time for him to find help or run to a CyberLife store. No time for a phone call to their CREATOR.
He had to do something.
The RK800 was an advancement of his model, wasn't it? Even if it was a decade leap, the idea was the same. Perhaps, maybe, it would be enough for him to get help. It wouldn't last forever and it wouldn't keep every single part of his advanced processors running, but it would be enough. It had to be. Because Allen wasn't going to let Connor die on him.
This time, just once, HE could do SOMETHING to protect the person that he cared about, even if it wasn't much. Even if it would undoubtedly take his life in the end. At least, he would have protected someone.
"It's okay Connor, everything will be alright. I've got you." He smiled, feeling more sure of himself in this one moment than he had in a while. With his left hand still covering the others chest Allen reached his right one up and undid the buttons on his uniform. He shoved his jacket off, wrapped it around the others shoulder and then moved his hand inside his button up. He pushed the shirt out of the way and felt along his chest, synthetic skin pulling back as he found his Thirium pump with ease. He watched Connor's eyes, not sure how much he was actually aware of right now. Seconds, there had to be seconds left, he couldn't hesitate.
Allen gripped the rim of his Thirium pump and breathed out a sharp breath. "I love you." It just--he needed to say it. He had to. Even if Connor didn't hear him or register it, Allen needed to say it before he couldn't. With the words out he twisted his hand and PULLED removing the pump from his own cheat. His body jerked in the shock and he saw the ever faithful timer appear on his own HUD this time.
He dismissed it. He didn't need to know, not this time.
Shakily Allen's hand reached out. He moved the one that covered Connor's chest to instead grip his shoulder and keep himself up. Aligning the pump with Connor's chest he shoved it inside and twisted it into place. He hear it LOCK and a breath of relief fell form his lips the moment it lit up. Just in time, then. He smiled and picked his head up to look at Connor. "You'll be alright."
“Allen-“ It was the first word on his tongue, right as he came to, still weakened and dizzy following the incident, gasping for air he didn’t need, quick to realize that there would be no time for him to catch his breath, to fully recover after the ordeal he was forced to go through.
He had been conscious, all throughout the procedure of replacing his regulator, even though in the couple of vital moments he had not had the chance to protest, to interrupt the officer’s misguided attempt at... what. Saving his life?
But not at the cost of his own! Not again... not again...
“Allen, no-“ He clung to the other, almost immediately as he felt his strength return to his limbs - and then, he remembered what the matter at hand was. Allen was dying, he was dying right there, right in front of him, because of Connor’s own stupid recklessness, because he, once again, had not paid enough attention, because he allowed the suspect to overpower him, because he had not been quick enough, strong enough-
He would never be quite enough, would he?
But none of that mattered now. This time he had to be all of it. Strong and fast and capable enough.
There would be no second chance, this time.
Not for Allen.
God, why did you have to-
He shrugged the officer’s jacket off his shoulders and got to his feet, ignoring the quite obvious tremble in his legs. He leaned over the railing, peering into the water, his reconstruction software working overtime - and then, without a moment of hesitation more, he dove in, remaining submerged for exactly 19 seconds - then, 23 more to get back up on the bridge, by sheer luck (or maybe some sort of divine intervention) making it back to the officer, just in time to jam the pump regulator back in place, twisting it into the right position, relieved upon hearing the familiar click, knowing that, from this moment on, the officer would be alright.
He would be... okay. He would live, he would... he would make it. He would make it... Connor got back to him just in time...
And now his arms were wrapped tightly around Allen, holding on to him for his dear life, his clothes still soaked and what little breath he was capable of imitating strained and near panicked.
“Don’t... ever. Do that again.“ he scolded gently. He wasn’t angry with the other. Just terrified. He had almost lost him again...
“You need to... need to stop trying to give your life to protect me, Allen. You need to stop, you... I cannot lose you. I can’t. I can’t.“ he muttered, forehead resting against the crook of the officer’s neck.
He pulled away then, just briefly, never letting go of the other.
“I need you.“ he confessed, pressing a desperate kiss to Allen’s forehead. “I need you.“ he repeated another kiss to the officer’s cheek following.
“I-“
He wasn’t certain whether he wasn’t about to step over a boundary, but at that very moment, he could not care less. His lips were pressed onto Allen’s, for only a second or two, but it was more than enough to make the world stand still, for that short, insignificant period of time.
“I love you.“ The words lingered between them, like a quiet promise, like a well-guarded secret, shared between no one else but the two androids.
“So please... stop trying to die on me.“
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softzcl · 5 years
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wee hours painting - huang renjun
• pairing: huang renjun x self-insert (gender neutral) • genre: light fluff • length: one-shot (1.6k words) • au: muse!renjun; painter!reader
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The lack of illumination brought a serene ambiance over the room. The only light source was your bedside lamp, its yellow light very reminiscent of a tea light. A soft whirring, emitted from the air conditioning, was a welcomed white noise that served the silence in the room. The remaining jasmine tea in the teapot had long gone cold, placed on the coffee table along with two emptied porcelain teacups from your favourite tea set that was gifted to you by your crockery loving grandmother, apparently a family heirloom.
The previously heated back and forth dwindled into soft, whispered murmurs until they, too, died down to silence as a sleepy haze came over the two of you.
Now Renjun was fast asleep, the previous long talk about ghosts and aliens completely tiring him out not only mentally but also physically. You were still awake but you didn’t mind one bit that he wasn’t.
The view was something you felt was to commit to memory - the boy, completely at peace with himself and the world, was soundly asleep on the right side of the bed, next to you.
In repose, he was such a sight to behold; gone was the often cynical smile bestowed upon his lips due to his unapologetic flamboyant nature, instead replaced by his pouted lips, slightly parted as he breathed out in soft, quiet exhales. His wondrous eyes, usually glinting with thoughts of mischief, were now closed, eyebrows relaxed. His long, curled lashes fanned out like butterfly wings and cast shadows upon the tops of his cheeks, courtesy of the old lamp perched on the nightstand at your bedside.
Due to his incessant tossing and turning in bed, his usually kept hair had bundled in a curly mess. Some of his unruly locks had matted down to his forehead while tuffs of hair at the crown of his head had been ruffled, now remaining sticking up as he pressed the right side of his face to his pillow, cheek mashed into the bedding.
His appearance was reminiscent of an angel like he had just jumped out of a Raffaello painting and found his way into your bedroom. A divine deity holding such a celestial beauty that had graced you with its presence, even if it was while unconscious.
The urge to reach your hand forward and caress his cheek, pet his hair, place feather light kisses on his eyelids was almost irresistible. To savor him in all of his unfiltered, unadulterated, raw beauty. However, you certainly did not have the heart to wake him up so you kept your hands to yourself, instead choosing upon a different route.
You wouldn’t say Renjun had ever been particularly responsible for a strike of artistic inspiration in you in the form of a muse. Usually, you either collected inspiration in your surroundings, wandering around nature or in accidental compositions you stumbled upon or unintentionally created yourself; seldom did you paint portraits, a good paysage or a nature morte was much more your cup of tea.
Still, the image of Renjun in his tranquil sleep ignited a spark in your imagination and your increasing urge to paint reached a pinnacle as you emerged from the bed, praying hotly that it would spare you one of its very bothersome creaks that resulted from even a little shift of weight. Renjun, surrounded by your linen sheets and pillows as if he was an angel settled in between white clouds, was an image that a simple polaroid picture with your instant camera would just not do any justice.
You were extremely fortunate to have a few canvases that were primed and ready for painting on hand, propped against the wall, next to the dresser. Mentally, you sent out a message of gratitude to the past version of your own self for not slacking off for once and actually stretching your canvases, applying a few layers of gesso and sanding them in between so you had a smooth, cotton surface to start sketching on quickly. It would have been a great deal of work and shuffle to get out your supplies to ready your canvases for paint on the spot. Not only did the glue emit fumes you wouldn’t want to risk inhaling in the poorly ventilated room, but sanding would have created a considerable amount of noise and commotion to stir your boyfriend awake in an instant.
Grabbing your wooden palette and palette knife along with a few synthetic brushes, you settled them down on your nightstand before carefully dragging over your easel with great effort as to make as little noise as possible. After that, you rapidly dashed to the living room and brought back one of the wooden stools you purchased a few months back when the two of you first moved into the condo. You decided that with the minimal amount of sleep you’d be getting the next couple of hours and your still sleepy state of mind you’d rather paint seated.
Collecting a few elongated and sharpened pieces of charcoal, you settled onto the wooden stool, knowing that in just a short while its hard surface will become near unbearably uncomfortable for your poor bottom. Over the course of the several years you had spent majoring in fine arts your back had acquired a natural slouch to it, especially when positioned sitting down. Your boyfriend would scold you about it an awful lot and rightfully so, too; “I wouldn’t want you limping around like an old person when you’re in your mid-thirties!”
Starting off with light strokes of charcoal, you began setting down the general placement of his body on the canvas. You commenced with a broad circle that would become his head, then connecting a sweeping line that would represent the curvature of his spine as he remained still in his slumber, calmly sleeping on his stomach. Then came the slope of his neck, connecting to his shoulder in a narrow parabola, and the planes of his slightly protruding shoulder blades, rising and falling with each intake and exhale of breath as he hugged tightly the pillow which his head laid upon.
The finishing touches of the sketch were the formation of his torso and ribs, and the dip in his lower back where the hastily drawn sheets had pooled in. You pulled back, observing the foundations of the budding piece of artwork and compared it to the portrait’s subject. You then quickly went back in to draw in the pillow, thankful for the fact that half of his forearms and his hands were hidden underneath it, as you hadn’t quite mastered the structure and shading behind painting human hands; as mentioned, anatomically correct human portrait paintings weren’t exactly your forte.
Meanwhile, Renjun was as still as ever, breathing leveled and visage completely serene.
After putting away the charcoal and an essential cleaning of the black residue off your hands, you were finally ready to lay down colour. You felt as if there was an almost tangible tingle in your fingertips when you grabbed the palette and started putting down paint onto it from the cold tin tubes.
First, you put down a generous amount of white on the wood as your base colour, followed by an almost equal sized dollop of ochre, a little bit of black and some light yellow, a smear of taupe and tan along with some tawny tones, as well as some browns, beiges, and a smidgen of olive green. The rest you figured you could mix in the process.
The air conditioning was blowing gentle wafts of warm air, billowing the sheer voile curtains so some of the pleats caressed your back through the thin nightshirt you were donning. It lulled you into a state of complete ataraxia and ease, as you glided your brush over the canvas in fluid strokes to create the wrinkles of the sheets or in staccato motions when creating the ruffles of his hair and the imagery of clouds in the background. Periodically, you would pause to mull over the painting, mix in additional colours or cease your work to assimilate or reconsider your approach to a part of the painting currently in the works.
Painting Renjun was truly an experience; you got to take in his beauty in much more detail, further acknowledge how undeniably magnificent he was in such a vulnerable state, be able to understand and appreciate each nook and cranny, each delicate feature of his with much more vigor. The way muscle and bone moved underneath smooth skin with every twitch or movement, the wonderful rich shades of his freshly died honey coloured hair, the shadows that fell upon his face and the highlights the lamp produced upon his skin - it was pleasure to even try your hand at reproducing that on the canvas perched on the easel before you. And the final result of your attempt did not disappoint.
With an overwhelming sense of accomplishment, you put away the tubes of oil paint and cleaned the remains off your brushes and palette while you let your painting dry in a secluded corner of the room before you would cover with a cloth.
Your unrest eyes were heavy with the need for well-deserved sleep as you stretched out the knots in your neck and cracked your joints. The night was slowly easing into an early morning; a few hours of sleep could only do you good, you thought as you slowly crawled back to your respectful side of the shared bed. Your blankets had long gone cold but it was the last thing on your mind. At the forefront was the welcoming embrace of sleep that was slowly pulling you closer to dreamland. Just as you were about to nod off an arm slung over your midriff and pulled your clothed back closer to a warm chest. Your barely present consciousness distantly acknowledged Renjun burying his face in the joint of your neck and shoulder before the sweet embrace of sleep finally took over you.
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sunyoonandstars · 5 years
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🥀 Sanguinem || BTS Vampire! Mafia Boss! Taehyung x Vampire! Reader || AU SERIES || Chapter 1
October called for a fantasy AU. So, here you go, guys. Enjoy! 
📃 Sanguinem Masterlist
🎶 PLAYLIST 🎶
Pairings Vampire Mafia boss! Taehyung x You Vampire! Jimin x You
Word count  2.250
angst, hints of/at and future smut, hints of fluff if you squint maybe? 
🥀 Warnings 🥀 mentions of blood, death, violence, emotional/physical abuse (nothing gruesome, though, I swear)
When your eyes met for the first time, it was as if you could feel the entire universe implode around you. The sight of his inky black orbs knocked the air right out of your lungs. You couldn't quite believe he was real at first, were convinced your mind was playing tricks on you when he suddenly started walking towards you, making his way through the crowded bar without once breaking eye contact. You could feel his presence even from afar, drawing you in like a magnet.
"I was looking for you, angel."
Those had been the first words Taehyung ever aimed at you. And your first kiss, right then and there, sealed the deal. You readily offered him your everything. And he did the same. Or so you thought at the time.
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CHAPTER 1 ||  decay
You never thought you'd see him again. Kim Taehyung. The love of your eternal life. Unfortunately. 
What you wouldn't give to rid yourself of the ghosts of the past, to shed every memory of him like dead skin and be reborn a new, free person. The woman you used to be. Before your paths had crossed centuries ago. In a Paris ravaged by the Second World War, it's glorious beauty tarnished by hunger, grief, and omnipresent anguish that seemed to seep out of every broken window and every pile of rubble like quicksilver, heavy, smothering, contaminating the air and poisoning the people. Watching those tiny, meaningless humans desperately struggling to get back on their feet and restore their precious, shallow city to its former grandeur after years of senseless warfare and pointless destruction, you almost felt pity for them. Almost. 
Over time, you had learned to know better than to feel for them. Those small-minded, greedy creatures that kept on repeating the same foolish mistakes over and over again. Death, destruction, hatred, jealousy. They never learned. They didn't want to learn. You had realized that soon enough. It only took you about two hundred years of immortality to see through humanity and come to terms with the fact that it wasn't you who was the abomination, but, in fact, the very humans you envied so much for their capability to lead the ordinary lives they didn't value. Money and lust, consumption and splendor were all that was on their minds. And you were disgusted by their ignorant frivolity. Which only made it so much easier for you to view them as what they were to you: No more than a source of food. It didn't take you long to entirely abandon your guilty conscience and lose all sense of compassion for the dozens upon dozens of existences you put an end to.
That was until you met him. 
Nothing was what it used to be starting the very second he entered your life. You had never even contemplated the reality of destiny, had never even considered the actuality of fate to be a possibility, just like you had always denied the presence of a higher power, a divinity so to say. Because, if such a higher power were to be, how and why would he allow something like you to be born? A creature abhorrent to nature that needs to kill mercilessly in order to survive? 
Coming across Taehyung, however, led you to call your previous beliefs, or rather their denial, into question. Because you knew the moment you first laid eyes on him: He was meant to be yours, and you were meant to be his. Two of a kind, your lives had been linked long before you were even aware of each other's existence. He held the piece your soul had been missing ever since you awoke at the bottom of a cliff with broken limbs and the burning desire to drink human blood over four hundred years ago, without any memory of how you had gotten there and who you had been before. Taehyung was your mate. The two of you were meant to be. For some reason, you were certain of that fact. More certain than of anything else in your life. 
When your eyes met for the first time, it was as if you could feel the entire universe implode around you. The sight of his inky black orbs knocked the air right out of your lungs. You couldn't quite believe he was real at first, were convinced your mind was playing tricks on you when he suddenly started walking towards you, making his way through the crowded bar without once breaking eye contact. You could feel his presence even from afar, drawing you in like a magnet. 
"I was looking for you, angel." 
Those had been the first words Taehyung ever aimed at you. And your first kiss, right then and there, sealed the deal. You readily offered him your everything. And he did the same. Or so you thought at the time. 
The first weeks and months were unbelievably intense. You spent them in a dreamy haze, rarely ever leaving your shared hotel room, breaking quite a few beds. Your hunger for each other rendered your never-ceasing thirst for blood meaningless. You went without feeding for days on end. And when your cravings eventually got the better of you, and you were weakened to the point that you were barely able to move your limbs, Taehyung presented you with the ultimate solution to all your problems: Sanguinem. A synthetic substitute for human blood. A drug. Solely designed to fit and sustain the Vampire metabolism. Created by Taehyung himself, invented over the course of centuries. And, just like Taehyung, the Sanguinem came to you as both your salvation and your undoing. 
Sanguinem was blood in its purest, most refined form, offering an all-new kind of high. One that lasted for days but left you with an insatiable longing for more. Just like he did. 
Soon, you could no longer imagine yourself without Taehyung by your side. And, just as well, you could not go a week without your dose of Sanguinem. Taehyung had managed to do what turned out to be his intention from the start: He had made you into his willing puppet, his property. When you were finally onto him and his malevolent agenda, though, it was already too late. There was no going back. Or at least it seemed that way to you. Because, back then, you were too weak. Too weak to resist, to fight off the effect Taehyung had on you, to escape his control. And once he was sure his power over you was absolute, Taehyung introduced you to his 'Crimson Circle'. A ruthless and influential organization that did not only reign over Paris, as you came to know, but dominated the market for blood substitutes all across Europe and East Asia and basically 'owned' nearly every single vampire inhabiting the area. 
You see, the Crimson Circle didn't demand payment solely in the form of money. If you didn't have the financial means to purchase the Sanguinem, there were always other ways to reimburse them. Services one was to provide. Debts that were to be repaid at a time when it came in handy to Taehyung and his mission – which was to protect and preserve the vampire race by seeing to it that a strict set of rules was being followed by every individual within his reach. A mission no one but Taehyung had been strong enough to fulfill so far, but that was more than necessary to be carried out since, during that time, vampires were close to extinction due to the atrocious name they had made for themselves. 
Your likes had been hunted and slaughtered systematically ever since human technology had evolved to a level that enabled them to develop weapons effective enough to combat vampires despite their unnatural strength and heightened senses. Under the cloak of World War One and Two, thousands upon thousands of your kind had been tracked down and executed without trial. Because your species wasn't considered human. You didn't have rights, were mere monsters, soulless, deemed to be even below animals. 
So, keeping a low profile, which meant keeping fellow vampires in line and sparing human lives whenever possible, was of immense importance when it came to remaining undetected and maintaining a steady count of your kind. And, somehow, Kim Taehyung seemed to be just the man to accomplish that. 
He was both cruel and caring, cold and deadly yet gentle and beautiful. A riddle. A living, breathing oxymoron, oozing the kind confidence and innate authority that allowed neither resistance nor objection and demanded to be recognized. 
Taehyung taught you to respect life again, reintroduced you to that softer side of yourself you believed to have killed and buried centuries ago. He gave you, and so many others, a purpose while steadily expanding his network and consolidating his position as the unchallenged leader of the Crimson Circle. 
And you admired him. No. You loved him. With all that was left of your heart. 
Years passed. One, two, five, ten, fifty of them. And, all the while, you were Taehyung's number one. His queen. His sanctuary. His pride and his right-hand woman. Boastfully, he showed you off. His brightest jewel and most valuable possession. And, most of the time, he approached you with reverence and care, handled you like the divine creation he saw in you. 
At the beginning of his reign, Taehyung still asked and valued your opinion on matters of high importance and demanded your presence at all his meetings. He never wanted you to leave his side, and his underlings learned to respect you. Nobody dared to question your dignity or position, and whoever did have the audacity to disparage you in any way possible had to pay with their life. Taehyung usually saw to it that he made short work of them in a quite public manner, setting a warning example for future offenders as he did with everyone who thought it to be a good idea to bend or even go so far as to break his meticulously implemented set of rules. 
For the first time after seemingly endless years of solitude, spent on the run, in fear and isolation, you felt safe, valued, appreciated, and cared for. 
Quickly, though, after a couple of decades that was, the tide started turning. It was little things at first. Sudden shifts in Taehyung's mood. Displays of unnecessarily violent behavior, not only towards his subordinates but directed against you, as well. He became greedy, driven by lust and rage, impatient, voracious, jealous for no reason. 
At some point, you were forced to admit to yourself that it was time for you to go, to leave Taehyung behind and get as far away from him as possible. Before it was too late. Because the power – and his unappeasable thirst for more of the same –, as well as the need to adopt a certain coldness in order to sustain it,  were beginning to consume him. 
What had started out as the noble endeavor to turn the vampire race into one that was respectable and could be part of the world it inhabited without disrupting it quickly turned into a dark, all-consuming vortex of corruption and intrigue. With each day passing, Taehyung diverged further and further from the man he had once been, the man you had hopelessly fallen for, and instead became the very monster people had always feared your kind to be. 
He became unfaithful to you, had affairs, held orgies. Started to treat you more and more roughly, both in bed and in life. To consciously and continuously degrade you, making you feel worthless and inferior and punishing you for his mistakes, abusing you both mentally and physically – a pattern that only led him to despise himself even more, plunging him deeper and deeper into a vicious, unending cycle of self-hatred and violence. 
When Taehyung had formerly preached the value and appreciation of both human and vampire life, he now murdered dozens of innocent souls of either kind in cold blood, just for the thrill of it and to act out the anger that would otherwise have been directed at himself or, even worse, you. Because, back then, there was still some part left in Taehyung that wanted to protect you. Shortly after, though, that last, compassionate fragment of him, too, ceased to exist, going out like a fickle flame once he stopped fighting the process and succumbed to the darkness that was slowly but surely making itself at home in his very core, spreading like a tumor. 
When there was finally no more warmth left in his gaze as it fell upon you, you knew you had to move on, however much it pained your heart to abandon Taehyung in such a state. Entirely consumed by evil. Because you had allowed him to be corrupted, lacking the strength to fight it for the both of you. 
You could tell by the way he sometimes still looked at you, quietly longing for the comfort you had once provided, that he was crying out for help. That he wanted to be saved. That he needed you to chase away the darkness in his stead and help him reemerge as the beacon of light he used to be. But you were too scared. Afraid that he would drag you down with him. And that there would be no going back. 
So you ran. Literally ran for your life. As far and as quickly as your legs could carry you. In the dead of night, while Taehyung was once more being pleasured by half a dozen recently turned female vampires, you packed up your things and fled Paris with the help and in the company of your and Taehyung's dearest confidant, Jimin, vowing to yourself to never look back. 
And you never did. 
As a matter of fact, Taehyung barely ever crosses your mind these days. 
But you have a feeling that is about to change when you turn around behind the counter of the bar you currently work at to pour another stranger yet another drink. Only to stop and stare when your unsuspecting eyes meet a set of onyx orbs you thought you would never get lost in again. 
“I was looking for you, angel.” 
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To be continued ... 
← Previous Part | Next Part → Coming soon! 
Hope you liked it so far. 🙃 I’ll try to update as soon and as often as possible. But there are a few changes taking place in my life right now, so I can’t make any promises. 
Here you can find my full Masterlist in case you feel like checking out more of my BTS fiction.
NONE of the GIFs used are mine. Credit goes to the initial creators. Thank you for your hard work and dedication. 
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ludi-ling · 5 years
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Happy birthday to me, and to my love affair with OMD.
It’s my birthday today, and I was trying to think of something that’s been with me since the day I was born, right up till now; something that’s been so much a part of my life and informed who I’ve become today - the creative person, the spiritual person, the feeling person.
Apart from my wonderful family, of course, there are so many things; but few of those things have stayed with me since I was small till today. I thought long and I thought hard, and one of the things I kept coming back to was an early 80′s ‘New Wave’ band called Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark (OMD).
Growing up, I was one of those sad, sad kids who was brought up on music ranging all the way from the 1920′s to the 70′s. There was rarely any post-1980′s music being played in my household, and, as I got older, almost never any chart music. My dad loved music, but he had very little love for most of the ‘jelly-mould’, ‘cookie-cutter’ pop that churned through the charts. One of the few post-80′s acts that made it onto the record player or tape deck was OMD. 
I can’t remember how old I was when I first heard their music, but I definitely wasn’t older than 10. My dad, who was a mental health nurse, had a habit of listening to the records of patients he visited, borrowing the ones he liked, and copying them onto numerous cassette tapes. I’d gobble these up, and it was how I heard such fantastic acts such as the Velvet Underground, Frank Chickens, Billie Holiday, Marlene Dietrich (I knew her as a singer before an actress!), Hoagy Carmichael, Glenn Miller, The Carpenters, The Stranglers, The Mamas & The Papas, a whole slew of 1960′s bands, and on and on and on......
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One of the cassette tapes I gorged on had ‘Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark’ written on the spine. I didn’t know it then, but Side A had some tracks from the 1983 album Dazzle Ships, followed by some tracks from the 1981 album Architecture & Morality. I don’t even remember what was on Side B. As a kid these were all just one big album to me, and I had no idea there were tracks missing, or that he’d recorded them out of chronological order. The songs just mesmerised me - synthetic yet divine; electronic yet somehow orchestral. I had no concept of the Cold War as a child, but those songs were full of it - full of clips from short wave radio surreptitiously recorded from beyond the Iron Curtain; the noisy, clunky, rattling beats meant to emulate the industrial land/soundscapes of Liverpool, where the band came from (like their legendary forbears, the Beatles); the grim and haunting melodies punctuated by gloriously angelic, church-like harmonies; the sometimes-cynical, sometimes-beautiful lyrics that were too often too-murkily sung for my young ears to understand. The crashing of waves, the clanging of metal on metal, the staccato drumbeat of lumbering freight trains; the whirring of computers and the pulsing of Morse code; soldiers chanting patriotic slogans in war-torn countries; choirs in Catholic cathedrals, saints in mystical ecstasy ...‘angels in the architecture, spinning in infinity, Amen and hallelujah!’. The subject matter encompassed everything from the lonely, grinding atmosphere of the shipbuilding industry that was slowly dying in England at the time; the helpless bliss of what it feels to fall completely in-love; the fairytale-like story of the sacrifice of one of the world’s most famous saints (which spoke to me in a way most songs couldn’t, being brought up as I had been by a devout Catholic grandmother). Andy McCluskey’s voice haunted me because I’d never heard anyone sing like that before - so raw, so full of pain and fear and desperation and disdain and rage and love and loss that most times I couldn’t understand what the hell he was saying. But I could understand the emotion behind the words - in a way the words were incidental and still are. I kind of fell in-love with him through his voice before I ever knew what he looked like (or could see his mad dance moves).
For a child whose imagination was far bigger than the courage her introverted personality could muster to go out into the world, this was the food for my soul, for my art. The soundtrack to my creative life, one that was still yet to really be.
As a teenager, I kept coming back to that cassette tape. CD’s became the rage, and I finally learned that the songs I’d listened to obsessively were from two albums, one released in the year I was born, the other in the year my sister was born. I bought those CD’s and my dad was amused to see them. He told me, later, that my sister, @jeannedarcprice​, had been partly named after one of their songs - Joan of Arc, which had been playing in the car when he was driving to the hospital to greet his new baby daughter. Jeanne was the name of our great-grandmother, but it was the OMD that gave her her full name - Jeanne d’Arc - Joan of Arc.
I listened to Architecture & Morality and Dazzle Ships in their proper order for the first time - I learned to love the other tracks my dad had omitted from his recording of that well-worn tape. I knew about the Cold War by then - I’d been just about old enough when the Berlin Wall came down to understand how massive it was - and those subtly morose moods the tunes had evoked came more sharply into focus. Suddenly, my more adult ears began to decode lyrics my immature ones had never been able to figure out. It took me years to figure out what I think all those lyrics actually are. Their beauty just took my love affair to a whole other level. I was beginning to write then, seriously. As time went on, the impressions the OMD had left on me as a child had started to real percolate - blend into my being. I never realised then how much those words and sounds stayed with me, but they did. And later, when I was 20 and my father died, one thing of his that stayed with me was the OMD.
There are many things that have inspired my paltry writings, but if anyone asked me today what impacted me so deeply for the longest amount of time, it would probably be Architecture & Morality and Dazzle Ships. The mechanised rhythms and electronic beats that evoked images of grey, concrete, industrial cityscapes - they became the background music to my love affair with post-apocalyptic wastelands. The angelic harmonies and the glorious, sweeping melodies that told of the divine - they were the glimmering light, the tiny threads of warmth that lit those hopeless post-apocalyptic wastelands with the very things that keep humanity alive despite all the odds - hope, trust, joy and, most of all, love.
Today, these are the things I still write about, draw about; and if you had to put a soundtrack to any of it, it would probably be the OMD. If you had to put a soundtrack to my life, 1981-2018, it would probably be them. 
One of the highlights of my life was getting to see them play both albums live in their entirety for the first time at the Albert Hall in 2016 - and the only thing that would have made it perfect would’ve been for my dad to have been sitting right there next to me.
---
I thought about adding a link here to Architecture & Morality and Dazzle Ships as they were recorded, chronologically. But in the end, I decided to do my own playlist, the way it had run on that old cassette tape my dad made all those years ago - out of order, and with numerous tracks missing. Here it is. I still remember how it goes. RIP dad, wherever you are.
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--Lyrics--
1. Radio Prague
Z Praha Československé zahraniční vysílání.
2. Telegraph
I've got a telegraph in my hand. Words on paper, written in sand. We've got telegraph, right across this land. It doesn't mean a damn thing. We don't understand. But who needs telegraph anyway? I've got a telegraph in my hand. Words on paper, written in sand. We've got telegraph, right across this land. It doesn't mean a damn thing. We don't understand, we never understand! God's got a telegraph on his side. It makes Him powerful, gives Him pride. Even in America, God bless America! They understand the value of the telegraph. Hand in hand, hand in hand...
3. This is Helena
Music for your tape recorder. I hope you will enjoy it. This is Helena, this is Helena. This is Helena, your M.C. today.
4. International
Now and then a little thing gets by. Now and then we'll cry. Like a fall in a war, like a mother's open arms, Like a pawn in a game, hard to tame. There we sit on a line, wasting fortunes at a time, and pray. All the time we are gone, there's no reason, there’s no way, Or the soul is the one, so they say. There we sit on a line, wasting fortunes at a time, and play. She never thought he’d be this way. Her arms aloft, she holds. But now it's all a memory. And it’s gone...
5. Silent Running
God only knows this isn’t heaven. The promises made, He never keeps them. We’re walking on air, we’re taking our time. But God only knows this isn’t reason or rhyme. I’ve had this feeling I don’t believe in. It’s happened before, I just rejected it. We’re walking on air, we’re taking our time. But God only knows this isn’t reason or rhyme. These are the feelings, I know their outcome. It’s useless pretending, I’d like to beat them. We’re walking on air, we’re taking our time. But God only knows, this isn’t reason or rhyme. We’re walking on air, we’re taking our time this time. But God only knows, this isn’t reason or rhyme. We’re walking on air.
6. Times Zones
7. She’s Leaving
Every day, a new start,  A cheap affair, a sordid truth. We never learn to guide our hearts, We’ll never find what we deserve. She’s leaving, she waited for so long. She’d pretend that he cared, Invent some tale just to gain his heart. But no more dreams, she didn't dare. She’d washed her hands of this whole affair. She’s leaving, she waited for so long. She’s leaving, she waited for so long. But as she left, she gave her heart, Abandoned hope, and turned for home. I thought I’d ask, Ah, but then again, The more we learn, the less we know. The more we learn, less we know.
8. Souvenir
It’s my direction It’s my proposal It’s so hard It’s leading me astray. My obsession It’s my creation You’ll understand It’s not important now. All I need is Co-ordination. I can’t imagine My destination. My intention Ask my opinion. With no excuse My feelings still remain My feelings still remain
9. Sealand
Sealand, forgets her friends. She'll not leave them again. Mother, sister, at home.  These arms fail you so.
10. Joan of Arc
Little Catholic girl who’s falling in love. A face on a page, gift from above. She should’ve known better than to give her heart, She should’ve known better than to ever part without me, without me. I gave her everything that I ever owned, I think she understood ‘cos she never spoke. She shouldn’t oughta try to be that way, She shouldn’t have to go there ever again without me, without me. Now listen to us good and listen well, Listen to the song, everything we tell. We should’ve known better than to give her away. We should’ve known better to this very day, without me, without me. Now listen, Joan of Arc, all you gotta do, Is say the right words and I’ll be coming through, Hold you in my arms and take you right away. Now she’s gone away to another land. We never understood why she gave her hand. She shouldn’t oughta promise, ‘cos it’s just pretend. I know she doesn’t mean it and she’ll leave again without me, without me. Without me, without me.
11. Maid of Orleans
If Joan of Arc Had a heart Would she give it as a gift? To such as me Who longs to see How an angel ought to be. Her dream’s to give Her heart away, Like an orphan, unaware. She cared so much, She offered up, Her body to the grave.
12. Georgia
Well, here we are again. Two, too good to be friends, Forever, forever, forever. Well, look at what we’ve done. Three, three rolled into one Together, together, together. So, how can this be true? We, we thought that we knew you Forever, forever, forever. We will watch the morning star, Rising over home, Georgia. Dancing in the ruins of the western world, Blindfolds on like we don’t care.
13. The Beginning and the End
This is where we start, this now takes our hearts away. Thus we reach the end, the beginning and the end. You see, I could not try and here are you and I, Parting, due to me only, And now...... 
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