#or wanting her to be a vessel for those they deeply despise

[berriesandcherry]

Glory and Gore

Chapter 19

There were very few things that moved the heart of any man.

A woman’s touch. Glory. Devotion. Honor. Faith.

In the end, no matter what drove his hand, the tip of his sword would always end a life.

War gave Argella no joy, but it gave her a quiet satisfaction. Men never learned. No one fought a war they didn’t believe they could win, yet no one believed they were defeatable. That arrogance—so deeply ingrained in warriors—was something she had despised as a child. She had resented it in her father, the way he carried himself as if the gods had ordained his victories, the way his voice boomed through the halls like a war drum, and the way he treated women like vessels for sons rather than people. The look in her stepmother’s eyes—hollow, resigned—had bled into her memory, resurfacing every time another lady was paraded before him, another name added to the long list of those meant to bear him heirs.

She had hated him for it.

Yet now, she had become someone her younger self would not recognize—perhaps not even approve of.

She was no lady in silk and perfume. She was a warrior in armor and sweat, seated atop a black mare, watching the battlefield with a seasoned eye. Her father stood ahead of her, his hammer in the hands of a waiting squire, a war god in mortal flesh. She had spent years despising the man, but standing there, bloodied and victorious, she understood why men followed him. Why his enemies feared him. Why could his name alone silence a room.

“Father.”

She did not need to shout. His attention turned to her the moment she spoke, the battlefield falling into place around them like a painted tableau of death. The enemy was routed. Soldiers scattered like carrion birds. Hoare’s men had failed to hold the front, and soon they would flee back to their great stone tomb of a castle, licking their wounds like beaten dogs.

She could call for mercy. He would listen to her counsel—he had grown fond of her advice, though that was only because she understood him now. Understood what he wanted from her, what he had always expected from his heir.

Blood.

“We should head back and take their commander,” she said, her voice steady. “Hoare’s plans will be clearer to us if we have his head.”

Her father studied her for a moment, unreadable, then gave a slow nod. With a flick of the reins, he turned his horse.

From the other side of the hill, the son and heir of King Harren glared at her, hatred burning in his dark eyes.

Argella smirked.

He should be grateful she was letting him run home. His numbers were growing, but it would make no difference. One day, they would inherit their fathers' crowns. One day, he would face her again on the battlefield. And when that day came, his Iron Way would crumble.

She would be the one to break him.

By her hand.

It didn’t take them long to reach Storm’s End again. It was a rainy day, and after such a victory, she decided she had earned the right to stay warm inside a carriage. Her father, to her surprise, chose to join her. The interior was dimly lit, the scent of damp leather and steel lingering between them. Her armor was still splattered with the grime of battle, but she had removed her helm, letting the cool air brush against her skin. Across from her, her father sat in quiet contemplation, his expression unreadable.

She had expected the silence to stretch, but instead, his gaze flicked over her, studying the way she held herself. Not like a lady, but like a queen—one who had not only survived but commanded.

Perhaps it was that thought that made her more aware of the way she looked. She was no longer in bloodied armor, but neither was she draped in silk and finery. Instead, she wore a gown of deep golden-brown, cut in a way that did not stifle her movements yet left no question of her station. The fitted bodice cinched at the waist with a belt of dark metal and stones, a mimicry of a knight’s sword belt rather than the delicate chains noblewomen favored. The fabric was heavy, like woven gold, the sleeves long and draped, more like a warrior’s cloak than a lady’s adornment with sharp edges. A single dark gem fastened the collar, drawing attention to the keyhole cut at her throat, a subtle reminder that she was neither fragile nor untouchable but also of her womanhood.

Her father’s lips curled slightly—perhaps in approval, perhaps in something else. “You look like a queen,” he said at last.

Argella’s fingers brushed the cold metal of her belt, her smirk returning.

“I look like your heir,” she whispered, her lips curling into a complicit smile. At that, her father nodded, a satisfied smile painting his face. Over the years, as she earned the respect of his court and vassals, their relationship had transformed. He had once been a distant figure—unreachable, unknowable—but now he looked at her and saw something he had never expected.

A reflection of himself.

He was a paranoid man, she had learned. Always on edge, always watching, always glancing twice at his food taster for any sign of treachery. In a world full of betrayers, he had finally found a worthy ally—her. So she made herself indispensable. She tasted his food before he did, in case the taster was part of a plot. She punished servants harshly for stealing or spying, making everyone fear her fury. She enforced Storm’s End from head to toe in his name, ensuring that every corner of his stronghold was free of weakness. If a vassal was unhappy, Argella resolved it before the problem festered. If a town rebelled, she put them all to the sword before unrest could spread.

There was no doubt. She was his most loyal servant, his most trusted advisor, his truest friend.

And one day, he would pass the crown to her—not through war or bloodshed, but through choice. Through faith. He had wasted years on petty quarrels with the kings of the west, but when she ruled, there would be no more of that. She would carve a path greater than his, making the Kingdom of the Storm the strongest and biggest in Westeros. Perhaps even bigger than the North itself.

But now, she needed to make him listen.

The vassals had turned to her in desperation— out of fear. The war was bleeding them dry—there were no more men to march, no more coin to fill the coffers, no more food to sustain the fighting. She could feel his good mood lingering, seeing the weight of victory resting on his shoulders like a fine cloak. If there was ever a time to speak her truth, it was now.

“This war won’t last long,” she said, her voice firm, measured. “You need to stop.”

He chuckled “What are you saying now?”

She clenched her fists, sighing “We won this battle but our men are starving and our soldiers won’t fight for us if they are hungry” He wasn’t even looking at her now “If we keep up, Harren will come, the Gardeners will come and how will we fight?” He grumbled something under his breath, his beard moving up and down but never a real answer. “Father!”

“I know that!” he yelled. His voice was raspier than usual, frayed at the edges with age and exhaustion. The effort made him cough, his shoulders shaking beneath the weight of his armor. It was only a brief moment—barely noticeable to anyone else—but to her, it was glaring.

He was old.

She had spent a decade weaving alliances, crushing enemies, preparing for the day she would take his place, but she had never truly considered how close that moment was. It wasn’t his gray hairs or his thinning arms that struck her. It was his eyes. Defeat lingered there. Not in the way of a man who had lost a battle, but in the way of a man who had realized, too late, that the war had already been won by time itself. He would live fifteen years more at most, if the gods were kind. And when the day came, he wouldn’t be there to see her wear his crown. He wouldn’t be there to keep the wolves at bay or silence the lords who thought a queen alone was easy prey.

He would have to let her have his glory.

Did that upset him?

And if it did, what part of it unsettled him the most—that his reign was nearing its end? Or that when history spoke of House Durrandon, it would be her name that endured?

“I know we can’t do this alone,” he admitted at last, his voice quieter now, weighed down with something she couldn’t quite name.

Tired.

He was tired.

Her father had never been too tired to fight.

A flicker of something unfamiliar wormed its way into her chest—concern, maybe even fear. He continued, “And it’s my responsibility to solve this, not yours.”

She groaned, exasperation cutting through her worry. “I thought we had agreed that—”

“You may be the future queen, but I am the king!” His voice cracked like a whip, though the rawness in his throat betrayed him. “Your king!” The outburst was strange. Out of place. She narrowed her eyes, studying him. There was something else beneath his anger.

“So?” she asked, her voice quieter now, more measured. “How will you solve this?”

“The dragons.”

The single word dropped between them like a stone in water.

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

“The dragons will help us.”

For a moment, she simply stared. Then, to her own surprise, she laughed. Light and genuine, the sound slipping past her lips before she could stop it. It was absurd! Yes, the Targaryens held power beyond comprehension. Their dragons could burn armies to ash in a single night. They were dangerous, their beauty could charm the harshest man, their intelligence had won them powerful allies in the East and West. But their power was matched only by their selfishness. They did nothing without a price.

And whatever price they named would be high.

“And why would they do that?” Argella pressed, her voice sharper now. “Have you discussed this with your council?”

“It’s already done.”

She stiffened. The words settled like cold steel in her stomach.

“The offer has been made.”

Had they not been confined within the carriage, she might have risen to her feet in anger. Instead, she gripped the wooden seat beneath her, knuckles white with the effort to keep herself still.

He had done something—something this important—without her?

Without her counsel? Without so much as a word?

“Why?” she demanded, her breath coming quicker now.

His expression was unreadable, his jaw set, his gaze fixed out the small window as though unwilling to meet her eyes.

“What was offered?”

A beat of silence.

Then the single word rang in her ears like a war drum.

She blinked, once, twice, but the carriage remained the same, the air still heavy with the scent of damp wood and horses.

She had spent years proving herself, wielding steel and strategy in equal measure, earning his trust, his respect.

And yet, in the end, she was still just a piece to be played.

A sacrifice for a war he could not win.

“You.”

[mysticstarlightduck]

Happy STS! We all know about the tropes, elements, and themes we love (and in some cases, use over and over again) in our WIPs! In The Last Wrath, which trope, theme, or element did you choose NOT to include, and why? Was it a deliberate choice or did it just happen that way?

Happy Storyteller Saturday! Thank you for the Ask, @clairelsonao3!

This is a very good set of questions, I'll try my best to give it a great answer too!

In The Last Wrath, which trope, theme, or element did you choose NOT to include, and why?

I guess I wanted to stay away from the obvious typical overdone tropes from the high fantasy genre and try my best to subvert them *

For example, the Chosen One trope, I try to give all my characters deep importance to the story instead of ever using this trope, and even those that could be considered to have "prophecied ancient powers" - looking at Julyan here - are not Chosen Ones. The path is not paved for them, and often their "gift/blessing" bears far too great of a price or toll for them - especially until they learn to control it, and even afterward. With Julyan's character - the most overt subversion of this specific trope in TLW - his arc begs the question "What is the line between a Man or a Monster?" as in, how far can uncontrollable powers push you and you can still be considered human? He was born with ancient powers, yes, but the powers are more of a curse than a gift, and he struggles with the fact that he is merely the vessel for this untapped magic that can both destroy or save. He wonders if he can still be considered himself and not a weapon after these powers, and the burdens it brings, grow. And even when he learns to control it, it isn't a prophecy that is ever going to save him, but his effort to be something more than the sum of his inhuman powers and use these abilities for good, he doesn't have an easy road to follow nor mentors to train him. He has to do it all by himself, with the help of friends that know nothing about the extent of his magic, in a world where all knowledge of such godly powers was already lost.

But I also try to avoid the smaller, more subtle tropes, such as the famous (which I despise with the entirety of my being) "In Medieval Times everyone wore dirty and dark clothing and lived in unhygienic cities with no sense of culture, in a non-diverse depiction of a very inaccurate Europe". We all know that is not true (while the Medieval Times were often convoluted, our "Dark Ages" perception of it is deeply incorrect, and heavily influenced by Renaissance scholars, who wanted to paint that era in a bad light to make their own time seem more enlightened. People will be people, always, no matter in what era we live in. There is color and diversity, and culture, and the Middle Ages/Medieval Times were no exception) To avoid that trope, I try to give the continent of The Last Wrath as much color and diversity as I can - I try to make all the kingdoms unique, with their own heritage and politics, color schemes and traditions to spare. (This is one of my most despised tropes of all time, so I actively try to avoid that godforsaken thing).

I refuse to add the "Cardboard Cut Out (a.k.a one dimensional) YA Heroine who is Not Like Other Girls and who is toxic to everyone around her." HELL TO THE NAW. My heroines may be unique, but they're humans above all things, they have their quirks, they have their strengths and weaknesses, they love their families (and the people around them), and most importantly, they don't go around shaming other girls for being girls or trying to make it seem like "oh I'm so special look at me, I'm such a victim of the world", NO. Also, a character can be strong and female while not being cliche and unbearable. A girl can be a leader and fall in love (those things shouldn't be "either one or the other." A girl can be both a strong warrior and a caring girlfriend. Just look at - my beloved - Annabeth Chase from the books).

Also, on the note of female character tropes in fantasy fiction, I refuse to write heroines who are "femme fatales" (especially if that sums up their entire personality). A woman can be seductive, and embrace her sexuality while being more than that, while being intelligent, brave, or both. Another reason why I refuse to write good characters (and even most villainesses unless that is the point of their character and they're multidimensional) as "femme fatales", is because often the role of the "seductress" borders WAY too close to glorified s3xual assault (especially female-on-male, or more rarely female-on-female) and no hero character should ever do that. Those are villainous actions suited only to the most twisted, perverse, and sadistic of villains. (It should never be something to admire in a female character. Dominance should always have a limit on both sides of a relationship and femme fatales oh so often cross that limit). It's a deeply problematic trope, and unless the character is properly portrayed as problematic, it bugs the hell out of me. A woman should be more than just sexy, even if she embraces it. A woman can be sexually empowered, without being an offender. (For example of badly done femme fatales, the female heroines in many Bond movies or Irene Adler in most Sherlock portrayals.) And this trope has taken a return on the YA genre, especially with "Not Like The Other Girls" kinds of leads, and I find that... disturbing, to say the least. I also despise the Bad Boy Trope (the male version of a femme fatale that you will often see in YA romance novels) for the same, deeply problematic nature of the trope. Just no.

Relationship Tropes that I openly avoid (due to their problematic nature) in The Last Wrath also include: toxic/unhealthy/dangerous Enemies to Lovers (a relationship, even if it is Enemies to Lovers, should always thrive on respect and love, and be something healthy rather than a twisted fairytale), One Dimensional Villains (all characters need to be well developed, especially the ones that will contrast with the protagonists, that is, the villains, as they are the source of conflict for the story), Problematic/Twisted Family Relationships (a.k.a The Lannister Twins from Game of Thrones. Sweet Home Alabama - NOPE. It gives me all the ick and it is deeply disturbing, to say the least.).

I don't like "grimdark, all hope is lost" worlds. The point of the whole world in TLW (and one of the main themes of the book), is that, while their world may be a truly dangerous and dark place, where many horrors await and justice is often denied, and wars tear lives apart, hope is not lost - and that one must not give up in their search for a brighter future, whatever that search may be. There is light in the midst of the overwhelming darkness. Even if Agrannor is dangerous and their rulers are corrupted, there are people worth fighting for, and there are wondrous things worth living to see! It may be a dark world, as it is a Dark Fantasy novel, but there is hope (even if just a spark of it). Having hope, and allowing oneself to dream of a better future, are one of the bravest things one can do in the face of great darkness and peril.

I try to AVOID the trope that all fantasy heroes need to be one specific type of person. Anyone, if they really try, can be a hero and use their hidden strengths to achieve that goal! Raelen may be the heir to a lost Mageborn House, but she is not a great fighter (at first) nor an incredibly powerful mage, she's just a crafty and smart adventurer who tries to save her world despite many people hating her for her magic, and that she chooses to do so despite knowing she is not powerful enough to face the villains alone. But she is going to try. Ellinor may be the princess who had her kingdom stolen from her, but she chooses to become a warrior assassin and train to actively take back what is hers by fighting on the front lines and bringing justice to those she loves. Darian doesn't know how to fight or use magic, and his inventions often end in disaster, he is small and shy, but he chooses to venture into a warring world alone despite his overwhelming fears and blatant weaknesses, to save his best friend. Zephyr may be a sorcerer, but he has a deeply debilitating curse that makes using his magical affinity a living hell and which considerably weakens him, and yet he is still trying to find an anti-magic spell to reverse the attacks of the Secret Court - so that no one has to suffer like he does. Helios was framed for something he didn't do by someone much more powerful than him and had his whole life stolen from him, and yet instead of giving up and hiding away, he is still trying to find the truth. Nadinne is a delicate girl, a lady on all fronts, but she is not a damsel in distress, and her feminine traits never become weaknesses, and she would rather use her delicate and wishful nature to find a diplomatic solution to her friends' war.

The point is, anyone can be a hero. All it takes it to genuinely try your best, even if against all odds! After all, all we can do is try and hope for a better outcome.

I got very carried away with this post, but I hope I answered your question properly! (:

[kinsurou]

Forgive me Lord, for I have sinned

Pairings: Dabi x Reader

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: Smut, Incubus!Dabi, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, slight hypnosis, horror elements, sex in a church.

Ever since you were a child, something about that church always got under your skin. Being inside that old building always left a fallacious sentiment. No matter the days, months, or years that were spent performing church service with your whole family.

Every time your younger self would attempt saying something about it to an adult, they would always brush off the child pulling on the ends of their shirt with trembling hands and wobbly pouts.

In the eyes of the adults, you were just a child with plenty of imagination.

And your nana's words never helped either.

For "Nothing bad can ever linger in the house of God." 

That was back when you were 18. It was the last time you mentioned anything about that eerie feeling. As well as the last time you stepped inside that church, much to your parent's disappointment.

Now...Five years later, you faced the same house where you grew up, while carrying a suitcase in hand. And a huge, resentful scowl twisting your sceptical face. 

Your parents had begged you to come home for the holidays. The same parents who didn't hesitate when they turned their backs on their daughter, after she tore the rosary off her neck.

Had it not been for your nana's decaying health, you would have never come back in the first place. But the elder woman could leave this world any moment now, and she begged to see her granddaughter one more time.

Having dinner with a bunch of people who did nothing but judge your every move was detestable. From your clothes, to your hair, to your studies, everything seemed wrong in their judgemental, hypocrite eyes. It became downright awkward, when you did not keep your thoughts to yourself.

No longer were you the little girl they could carelessly brush off. But that didn't mean you were the golden child either. And frankly, you wouldn't have it any other way.

The only thing you wish could actually change, were the everlasting tremors you felt each time you passed by that old church. Three blocks away from your parent's home. The same church you could watch every single night, through the window of your childhood room.

Just gazing at that building was enough to feel those tremors all over again. You thought the feeling would disappear as you grew older. That maybe, just maybe, your family's words were true.

If only they knew how wrong they truly were...

That night, as you laid in bed, something bizarre happened. You were used to fall asleep at midnight, allowing the soothing melody of the crickets to lure you into a peaceful slumber.But this specific night, something was off. You had fallen asleep at the same time as always, but not to the regular, dreamless night.

But to someone calling out for you. A deep, raspy voice, kept calling your name, and although unable to comprehend the language, somehow, you could understand what it wanted.

Come to me...

The instant your eyes stirred open, a thick and heavy fog made its way deep inside your head, clouding each and every of your thoughts. Except for that urge to follow the voice.

With stupor glazed eyes and a mindless stare, you peeled the blankets off your body and rose up from the bed. No one noticed you walking to the front door, for they were all resting deeply. 

Hurry...

The front door was easily opened. This neighborhood was one of the quietest and safest places around, so the need to lock the house at night was unnecessary.

Each step led you down a certain path. You were uncertain where, but that voice most certainly did, as it guided you through the dark and empty streets without much of a struggle.

Had anyone seen you outside this late at night, with an empty look in those usually bright eyes, they would have thought you were just sleepwalking and ended up outside.

Not even the aching in your feet, from stepping over sticks and stones was enough to wake you up. Whatever hold that voice had in your mind was stronger than the feeling of stone digging under your bare feet.

You couldn't even tell how much time had passed, but eventually you reached the place where this voice kept dragging you to. Away from the comfort of you plush, albeit small bed.

An old door with elegant, yet subtle carvings all over its surface, currently blocked the path that lead towards the alluring hum, demanding your presence. 

With the strength of your whole body, the door opened effortlessly, allowing you to step inside. 

Come.

The moment you stumbled inside, the voice calling out, had a drastic change. The most prominent of them all, was the clarity behind each and every word. 

This time, you were able to understand it all.

Come closer, little one...

Once again, your legs moved on their own. Following after the strong, magnetic like feeling that kept on pulling you forwards, like a moth entranced by a radiant flame. 

Something changed through your surroundings in an instant. The door slammed itself closed with a tremendous force, rattling the whole building with overwhelming magnitude. 

You didn't know what did it, but that chain of events created an uproar, startling you out of that trance, and immediately dissipated the foggy sensation deeply fixated inside your head. 

And once your head became clear, nothing but worry began swirling inside your head, accompanied by that very same quivers that went down your spine ever since you turned 18.

Because, you were standing right in front of an all too familiar altar, one inside the very same church that you've come to despise over the years.

Worry began brewing inside you at an exorbitant rate. That horrible sensation of something dark and hostile lurking around the corridors began increasing by the second. Bile threatening to crawl its way up your throat the more you stayed in place. 

You had to leave this place, now.

Or at least that was the idea, but no matter how much you tried to open those vast doors trapping you inside, neither of them budged in the slightest. How in the world did they get locked in the first place? The priest had always made it clear that the church's doors should always remain open.

This wasn't normal, at all.

Neither this, or the sudden heath drapped over your back that sent chills down your body, could be considered normal.

"Took you long enough."

The same deep, raspy voice from before, was coming from behind, Sending chill through your body. There was no doubt in your head, that whoever kept calling out for you, and the person standing behind you, were one and the same individual.

"Why don't you turn around, so I can finally see that pretty face of yours?"

A slim hand made its way up your shoulder. Long, sharp claws toyed around with the thin strap of your tank top, making their way under the thin fabric to drag themselves over the soft skin of your shoulder. 

Even if you wanted to follow said command, it was nearly impossible to do so when your whole body was frozen in fright. 

Carefully, your head turned to the side, just enough to take a small glimpse of this...man? Slowly, your body turned around, and you finally saw the one responsible of bringing you here.

A man stood before you, or at least, you thought he was a human male at first. Had it not been for the long pair of horns on his head, slightly angled down before circling all the way to the back of his skull.

That was just one of the few things about him that caught your eye. 

The second thing, was that despite the cold, harsh breeze inside the building, his chest was bare from any clothing, and the only thing that covered this man's psyche was a pair of black, leather pants. 

Even his feet were bare, which by the way, also presented the same sharp, black claws as the ones on his hands.

But if that wasn't enough, the last thing you noticed was his scars.

Nearly his whole body was covered with charred skin, holding on to his body by the metallic stitches that retained everything together. A knot could be felt in your stomach when you saw his face. 

Those very same scars and stitches, were also over the lower half of his face, and right under his eyes as well. That mesmerizing pair of teal colored eyes of his, that you could almost swear glowed in the dark, calling out for your soul.

He slowly advanced towards you with a long stride, but for every step he took forward, you took one backwards, trying to maintain as much distance between you and him as possible. 

Or at least, that was the idea. 

Which came crashing down when you felt that cursed door stopping you from going anywhere. He just smirked lazily when he saw the fear inside your eyes, as you turned to glare nervously at the dreaded piece of wood.

"Going somewhere, little one?" One of his hands came up to play with a lock of your hair. When his knuckles brushed against your cheek, some kind of energy racked your head momentarily. It was like an electric shock that sent your brain into a haze. Almost like an instinct, your head tried leaning towards his hand, yearning for more that feeling.

He took a sharp breath and closed his eyes. Judging by his behaviour, he felt something similar. And when he opened them again, you could have sworn his pupils had turned into slits. 

"Who would have thought, that after all this time," His eyes wandered all over your body. "You would be coming back? Must be my lucky day." 

The same fog that dragged you all the way here came back with force, slowly clouding all of your thoughts like it did before.

It wasn't until he leaned towards your much smaller frame, that you were able to snap out of it. Especially when you felt his breathing ghost over your neck. Blissfully inhaling your scent.

His hum of approval was all the answer you received. But his words were what made you feel real panic.

"You smell so good, so much different from other humans." One of his hands rested on your hip, just above the fabric covering your body. "You'll be a perfect vessel." 

...Vessel...? 

He pushed himself closer, trapping you against the door. And started kissing softly at the skin all over the side of your neck, before leaving a trail down your collarbone, causing another surge of electricity to rattle your body from head to toe.

The feeling of sharp fangs grazing your skin startled you. Frantically, your eyes went all over the place, eventually landing back on the man...no, on the creature in front of you, purring, nipping and peppering your chest with his lips.

That same feeling of dread triggered your fight or flight instincts. And with shaky arms you mustered as much of your strength, pushing the demon away with a shriek. And before he had a chance to lay his hands on you one more time, you had already escaped from him. 

Even he was caught off guard by the push, staggering back with surprised eyes, that slowly became darker. Like those of a starved animal, ready to pounce on his next meal.

In the meantime, you had escaped towards the back of the church. Running away and hoping to find another way out of this damned place.

"I always knew there was something wrong about this place! But did anyone ever listen?! Noooo!" Even as a mere whisper, your voice echoed through the halls. You had to cover your mouth in order to hold back a yelp, when something was violently slammed against the walls. 

Tears began filling your eyes as soon as you heard an approaching pair of footsteps. His voice kept getting louder the closer he got.

"Thought I scared you off for good. But you're a big girl now, aren't you?!"

He shouted bitterly, footsteps becoming erratic.  

Somehow you managed to avoid him, and ran all the way back to one of the utility closets at the back of the halls. Carefully, you opened the first door that came into view and hid inside the small space. 

Hiding between cleaning supplies was never a good idea, but you had no other choice, unless allowing this thing to slaughter you was one of them.

Teardrops became dangerously close to spill when you heard his voice getting closer. The louder his footsteps became, the longer you tried to hold in your breath from the absolute terror you felt.

"I've been watching you for a long time, y'know?" His voice was different this time, calmer, confident, but his frustration was still evident. "Ever since you turned into a grown woman. I could tell there was something different about you!" 

Something was once again thrown into a wall, a loud crack could be heard from the wood of whatever he had thrown this time.

"And when you took off that fucking rosary?! I could feel it, I just knew you had something special!" 

His footsteps became louder, a warning of just how close he came to your hiding spot. You've never felt this terrified in your life, watching his shadow become bigger the closer he got...But then, he just walked past the door, without even bothering to look back.

When he walked around the corner, you opened the door with care, afraid that the slightest of creaks could alert him of your presence.

And then, you dashed back towards the main entrance.

The fear rushing through your veins kept pushing you, telling you to hurry up and get out of this place. And as soon as you were out of this building you would go to your parent's house to take your stuff and never come back again. All those years you were right, but nobody bothered to listen. 

Much to your dismay, the main doors didn't budge in the slightest. Out of frustration, your fist slammed against the wood, the sound echoed loudly all around the place. And your blood went cold when you heard him approaching. 

Hiding in the same place as before was not an option, and in a desperate measure, you ran toward the altar at the front, pulling the cloth and crouching down to hide underneath. 

It was such a small spot, that you had to pull your knees close to your chest in order to fit in. Your whole body trembled with fear. More so when his presence could be felt as soon as he came into the main halls.

"Where are you, little one? I promise you won't get hurt." The tone of his voice was not reassuring.

You may have turned your back on the church all those years ago. But in that moment, you couldn't help praying to God for your safety. So with your eyes closed and hands intertwined together. You began chanting the very same prayer, strictly inculcated in your family for generations.

Our Father, 

Who art in heavan,

Hallowed be thy name.

Thy kingdom come, 

Thy will be done on earth 

as it is in Heavan

Give us this day our daily bread,

And forgive our trespasses

as we forgive those 

Who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,

But deliver us from evil.

"Amen/Amen."

Your whole body broke into a cold swear. And when you felt a cold breeze brush against your trembling body, the thought of opening your eyes made your heart pound harshly against your ribcage, so harshly, it could be heard resonating through the small space you were currently hiding in.

Slowly, slowly turning sideways. The sight in front of you drew out a blood curling scream. The pristine cloth of the altar had been pulled to the side.

And he was crouching down in front of you, with a deep, desperate hunger in those feral eyes of his, completely engulfed into nothing but pitch-black. The feral grin on his face sealing your fate in an instant.

"God can't help you now."

You were dragged out from under the altar by the ankle. Struggling, kicking, and begging for him to release you, but each and every word fell on deaf, pointed ears as his body hovered above yours, trapping you between the carpeted floor and his lean body.

Upon closer inspection, it was clear something was wrong with him. The patches of non-burned skin looked sickly pale, like he hadn't been able to eat, or sleep for a long time...Were demons able of sleep in the first place?

"Please...Don't hurt me..." He ignored your pleading whimpers, observing with half-closed eyes as you became closer to burst into tears. The moment the small, salty droplets ran down the corners of your eyes, he leaned down, and kissed them away with a softness that left you paralyzed.

No longer was he behaving as the same creature slamming pews against the walls in a fit of rage. It was almost like a switch had been flipped, and somebody completely different had taken his place.

"You really think, that I'd do something to hurt my precious vessel?" His palm caressed the side of your face. The touch of his skin was electrifying against your own, sending goosebumps through your whole body.

"I'm not going to hurt you, so just relax your pretty little body, and allow your master to take care of you."

He leaned down once again, this time whispering in your ear with that mesmerizing voice of his.

"The name's Dabi, you better remember that name when it's time to worship you master's cock." He growled eagerly into your ear. 

All those year he could only watch from afar. Now that you were back, Dabi finally had you right where he wanted you. 

He would not let this chance go to waste.

Once again, Dabi started out by kissing your neck, and he had to admit, those gasps were like heavenly music to his ears, as ironic as it sounded.

His black claws started to become longer, and sharper. They made quick work of your shirt, dragging themselves all over the fabric and tearing the thin cotton tank top to nothing but shreds, causing the cold air inside the church to hit your nipples with full force. Even during the hottest time of the year, the inside of the building always felt cold.  

Dabi ignored your shivering. Kissing and nipping all the way down from your neck, to the skin of your chest, leaving a small trail of bites on his path. His lips reached down the plush skin of your belly. The cold inside the building could barely be felt from the warmth he made you feel.

Panic overtook your senses when his hands went to the hem of your shorts, finger hooking into the fabric as he attempted to pull them down. 

"W-Wait!" You yelled out with hesitation, afraid that your words could end up with a raging demon bringing your demise. But it would probably be worse if he found out on his own, right?

"I'm not...I'm not a virgin!" He stopped immediately, and for a minute you saw your life pass before your eyes. 

A low, sarcastic laughter was the only thing he answered with. When you looked at him, Dabi's shoulders were shaking, and he couldn't stop laughing.

"You think that's the only thing demons care about?" You gasped once again, when the remains of your clothes were suddenly torn to shred for the second time, leaving you completely bare to the creature kneeling before you, who took in the sight of your every curve with a famished glint in his eyes.

"Virgins are overrated. Innocence? Purity? Tch." He scoffed in mockery. "Wanna know a secret, little one? Sometimes, the people who claim to be the purest, are actually the worst of them all."

He pulled your legs apart, chest grumbling in satisfaction at the sight of your bare sex present before him. And when your hands went down to attempt covering you body, he just growled, trapping them both by the wrist. Claws digging slightly into the skin, just enough to leave small traces of pain.

"Don't you ever, hide yourself from your master." He growled, slowly releasing your hands, and when you made no other attempts to hide yourself, he retook his proper place in between those exquisite legs.

"And don't think acting all shy will let you off so easily. I can tell just by your scent, just how many people you've laid under the sheets with. I must say, you have experience." 

Dabi had to say, that watching your face flushing that harshly, was a sight he'd treasure for all of his eternal life. 

Dabi spent centuries trapped inside this damn church, without a single chance to satiate his hunger. Watching people come and go inside the building to confess their sins, hoping the act would save them from the hellfire awaiting for them. 

He could say, this was a nice change of scenario.

"Do you need a sin for your next confessional?" The warmth of his breath fanned over your core, and the high pitched squeak coming out through parted lips did nothing but increase his appetite. "'Cause I've got a few in mind I'd like to try with you."

As ironic as it sounded, Dabi almost wanted to thank the heavens. Given that your scent was already addicting, but the moment he dived down, finally getting a taste of your body? He became addicted it.

Addicted enough, to begin devouring you with nothing but pure desperation. Drawing out a breathless moan from you. Nothing but overwhelming pleasure shot through your body from every stroke of that forked tongue against your soaked folds. 

"You taste so good." He pulled away for a second, watching your eyes closed shut, the dark flush across your cheeks and the way your breathing came out in heavy puffs of air. "Even better than the finest of wines."  

Your arms wouldn't stop roaming, looking for something, anything to cling on of dear life as Dabi continued lapping your glistening core, with nothing but pure vigor in those long, sensual strokes. 

And you only hoped it wouldn't anger the demon when you pulled on his hair. As terrified -and aroused- as you felt, the desperation to grab on to something for dear life was stronger than self restrain.

Dabi's reaction was far from expected. His strokes became fiercer, the soft muscle pushing its way inside. Savoring the taste of those velvet walls that coated his jaw with their sweet essence.

Centuries had passed since the last time he fed, and now that he had the chance, Dabi would not let such an exquisite meal go to waste.

You couldn't understand, why did it felt so different from other times? something about the way he devoured you, was too different from your previous partners. It was so good, so addicting, and you couldn't get enough of it.

Your hips buckled against him, a warm feeling began crawling all over your body the more he kept his head in between your legs. And when his thumb went to caress your clit, that feeling began getting stronger.

"Ah!...Dabi, please...!" Your hips buckled against his face, and were quickly brought down by his hands, and a snarl that froze you in place.

"You're interrupting my meal, little one. Stay still, and maybe your master will be generous enough to let you cum."  

As soon as you went quiet, Dabi continued where he left off. Each slurp just kept making even warmer on the inside. And when he pulled away to suckle on your swollen clit. It felt like an explosion, nothing but one of the sharpest bursts of pleasure ran through your lower regions, shortly followed by a loud scream and your back arching from the sweet release. 

"You're such a filthy little thing." Dabi wiped his chin with the back of his hand. A satisfied grin on his face as he waited for you to regain your breath. "But this was just an appetizer. Now, get ready for the main course."

Everything around was like a blurr, the only thing you recognized was the silhouette of the demon before you. Something felt different around him. That feeling that brought terror upon you disappeared, and when you finally looked at him with clarity, something was different.

That sick complexion of his was gone. Pale skin regaining a healthy looking color, and his eyes became clear from that feral like state.

You didn't have time to ask, as he took you by the wrists, tugging you slightly without much of an effort. And positioned you both in a way, that he was laying down on the floor, while your sat down on his lap. 

Looking down between your bodies -When did he take his pants off?!-, the sight of his erect member was definitely a sight to remember...

For starters, his head was modestly pointed, followed by a trail of ridges all the way to the base, and not just that...It was huge. 

You may not be a virgin. But how the hell was that going to fit in?

"Like what you see?" Even his attitude had changed, now he wouldn't stop teasing, at the same time he took a hold of your hips. His hands dragged your body back and forth, grinding your lower lips against him with leisurely gestures. The friction, along with how sensitive you were from your previous orgasm, turned you into a whiny mess for the second time that night.

"I'm going to ruin you so bad. Nobody, and i mean NOBODY, will ever be able to satisfy you. Not like your master."

Slowly, he lifted up your hips, before pulling you back down, slamming his girth deep inside your throbbing cunt until the base of his length was pressing against your clit. 

You screamed in bewilderment. Amazed by the way Dabi made you feel as he buried himself deeply inside of you. The way your insides stretched, adjusting themselves to his size, and the friction from every ridge of his girth was absolutely marvelous. It was like a fire consuming you from the inside. It was hot, so hot that it could burn, and you wanted more.

"What's wrong, little one?" Dabi grunted in satisfaction, loving the dazed look in your eyes from the slightest of movements. His hands guiding your hips back and forth with a quick pace. "Enjoying your master's cock?" 

"Ah!...Y-Yes!...I love my master's c-cock!" You yelled out, leaning forward to rest your hands on his chest, head tilted back with pure euphoria on your face as Dabi had his way with your body.

He had to admit it, you really were perfect. And there'd be no way he'd let you walk away once he was done with you. 

"Then prove it, show me how much you love to be fucked by your master! Worship his cock like your life depended on it!" 

Obeying his every command, you began moving on top of him. When Dabi said he'd ruin you, he was serious. Nothing you've ever done before came remotely close to what he made you feel in that moment. 

Each and every of his thrusts was powerful enough to make you see stars. With every thrust, his head brushed against the deepest corners of your sloppy insides, easily kissing your womb.

A part of you felt ashamed of your actions. You were riding a demon's cock in the very same place where your parents got married. The very same place where they baptized you.

Many sins were committed during your life, but this? This was definitely a sentence to hell.

"Oh...Oh God!" Your eyes widened in bliss, wandering all around the walls of the church. In the midst of it all, you realized Dabi had positioned you both, in a way that you sat right in front of the statue of the lord. It almost made it seem as if the lord himself, was judging your actions with nothing but a disgraceful eye.

Dabi let out one of the darkest chuckles you've ever heard. Dark enough to make every hair in your body stand. 

"God won't hear you now, little one. But the devil will"

In the blink of an eye, he was sitting up. Embracing your waist with a deathly grip. His already rough pace became downright barbaric, so much that it started hurting, but it hurt so fucking good.

The feeling of another climax rattled your thoughts. Everything around you became a blur from the upcoming high. Dabi felt it, and knew he had to get it done fast, it was the perfect chance, and there was no way he would let it go to waste.

"You're getting close, little one. Aren't you?" He pulled your body closer to him, into the suffocating waves of heat. Your wrapped your own arms around his heck, and held him closer to yourself, running your nails along his scalp in the process, which made him purr in enjoyment. 

For a minute, you could have sworn you saw something akin to a blue flame coming to life around him. "Do it my pet, come for your master. And lend your soul to me."

His mouth latched on your neck, tongue running circles around the soft skin, looking for a certain spot. And when he found just the right place, his fangs bit down harshly. Right at the same time your climax overtook your senses. 

All you could do was scream as you felt him tear on the skin with those sharp fangs of his. A warm, sticky sensation ran down your shoulder all the way to your chest. Followed by a scorching pain.

The smell of copper and smoke became intoxicating as Dabi's body trembled, and then he let out an earth shaking roar as he came. Filling your womb with rope after rope of scalding, hot cum.

Exhaustion took over your limp, shaking body. As much as you tried to move, even attempting to lift a finger was considered impossible.

Dabi planted a small, tender kiss on the spot where he sunk his fangs less than a minute ago. During that time, your sweat covered bodies clung to eachother's, still yearning for much craved contact, all while trying to catch your breath. 

When he pulled away, Dabi admired his work as the bite he left on your neck glowed brightly, before dying down and leaving behind a beautiful, burgundy mark. 

Finally, after so many years trapped in this goddamn place, he finally had a vessel. Now, he could leave once and for all.

Dabi carefully pulled away, watching his seed run down your shaky legs with every little throb of that delicious, little hole of yours. If claiming a vessel wasn't that draining to begin with, he'd definitely fuck you again. 

"You, are perfect."  He carried your passed out self in his arms. Taking you all the way to one of the pews, where he laid you down softly on the wooden surface. One of his hands brushed a loose strand of hair back into its proper place. "I'll see you soon, little one."

Taking one last look at his sleeping vessel, Dabi turned on his feet and walked to the church's entrance. As soon as he got closer, the door opened gracefully on its own. 

For the first time in centuries, he was finally able to leave his prison. And with a deep breath of relief and a serene smile, Dabi walked away from the church, disappearing into the dark depths of the night.

......

"...W...up....Wa...ke...Wake up.." Someone kept calling out your name.

Slowly, your eyelids stirred open, and the first thing you saw was a black cassock coming into view, accompanied by the worried face of a middle-aged man you've known since childhood.

What was father August doing in your room?

"Thank god, you're finally awake. What are you doing sleeping in the church?"

Wait...Church?

Your eyes widened in an instant. Father August's words made the memories from last night come back abruptly. The voice, being locked inside the church....And Dabi.

You got up from the pew where you had fallen asleep, and looked around frantically before looking down at your body. All of your clothes were unscathed. But you could have sworn they were torn to nothing but rags after Dabi tore them apart with those big, black claws of his.

Dabi...Where was he?

Thinking about him made you realize something. For the first time, the church no longer felt cold. It had a warm, welcoming feeling to it. Had this sensation been here all those years ago, you'd probably still be on good terms with your family.

"Are you feeling unwell? You seem pale."   

"Y-Yeah..." You looked all around the church. The pews that had been slammed into the wall, broken into pieces, were good as new. And the altar at the front, where its cloth had been carelessly thrown to the side when Dabi found you hiding, was also untouched.

"Was it just a dream?" You asked to yourself. Remembering everything the demon did to you, yet not a single part of your body felt sore. In fact, you felt better than ever. So full of energy.

"What are you talking about? Are you having night terrors again?" 

Oh shit, Father August was still here. 

"N-No! Everything's fine, father!" You reassured the older man that stood straight in front of you. "I must have sleep walked all the way here! Remember I used to do that when I was a kid? ahahaha..." 

No way you would tell him about what happened last night....If it ever happened in the first place.

He was kind enough to walk you home. To say your parents were worried was putting it lightly. They were terrified when your mother went to wake you up and found the bed empty. It was strange, watching how worried they were about you, when they never bothered to call you for a long time.

A tired sigh left your lips once you finally went inside your bedroom. It was barely morning and the whole house was already in chaos.

"Right, today we're going to see Grandma." The suitcase was pulled on top of the mattress with ease. Good thing you preferred to travel lightly. "Better get changed now."

From the small arrangement of clothes, you picked out a white sundress. Then you pulled out the hair dryer as well and turned back to the mirror so you could fix the bird nest in your head, also called hair.

When you saw th reflection in the mirror, your whole body became stiff.

There was a strange mark on your neck. A deep shade of burgundy adorned your skin in the shape of a small flame, running down all the way to the collarbone...Right in the spot where he bit you last night.

The dryer fell out of your hands with a loud clank as you stood in front of the mirror, watching this...thing on your neck with pure horror.Why didn't anyone say anything when you came in with this mark covering a good portion of your skin?!

Your thoughts were interrupted when your mother barged inside the room with a worried look on her face. And you were quick to cover the mark before she could see it.

"What happened? I heard something falling?" She looked at you in worry.

"N-Nothing! The dryer just slipped from my hands!" But she wasn't satisfied by that answer, and squinted in disdain when she saw the way you hid from her prying eyes.

"What are you hiding? Don't tell me you actually got that tattoo?!" She approached with an angry pace to take a closer look at your neck.

"I told you, it's nothing!" But she didn't listen, pulling your hand away from your neck by force. Your eyes closed shut, expecting her to start yelling just like that time you got your ears pierced again.

"Why are you grabbing your neck? Does it hurt?" 

"You can't see it?" You asked quietly. But she just gave you a look.

"See what?" 

So...they couldn't see the mark on your neck?

..........

Three weeks later, you finally came back to your precious apartment, away from your family, and that cursed church. But also away from an answer.

What happened that night? Did something even happen at all? Or was it just your brain playing tricks on you? 

Groaning in frustration, you decided to forget about everything and kept walking back home, carrying a bunch of groceries to restock the fridge. Besides, tonight was Taco Tuesday, and you were eager to start preparing your meal.

When you got inside the building's main hall, you could see the landlord talking with someone at the lobby, but their back was facing you, so at the moment, it was impossible to see their face.

The moment the old lady saw you walk inside, her face lit up with joy as she waved at you, and made a gesture to come closer.

"Good afternoon dear! How did your little visit go?" She was always a curious woman, but never meant it in a bad way. There was nobody in the apartment complex who didn't love Miss Yuki.

"Good afternoon Yuki! And well, you already know how it went. It's always the same after all..." You grumbled, not really feeling like going into detail about what happened.

Then you turned sideways to see her guest. A dark haired male just stood there, watching the interaction between the older woman and you with a lazy smile. 

He was wearing a pair of ripped, dark jeans. Black military boots, and a white T-shirt underneath a leather jacket. One of his most prominent features was those teal eyes of his.

Somehow....He seemed familiar.

"Oh how rude of me! My memory's not what it used to be!" Yuki clapped her hands together, embarrassed that she just ignored her guest in favor of talking to you. 

"This is Touya! He just moved into the apartment right next to yours! I was just about to take him to his new home, but I need to take Mochi to the vet. Would you please be a darling and show him the way for me?"  

"Ah, that naughty cat? again?" You laughed sarcastically. That cat of hers always seemed to get into trouble for something. "Don't worry Yuki, I'll take him off your hands!"

"You're such a sweetie! Now, here are your keys, Touya. Please let us know if there's anything you need help with!" She handed Touya the set of keys, and swiftly walked inside her home.

Turning back to Touya, you greeted him with a sheepish smile, ignoring the burning sensation at the side of your neck.

"So, I guess we're neighbors. Welcome to out little community. Just let me put this in my fridge and I'll give you a tour!"

"Ah, yeah. Thank you for the help." ...Even his voice was familiar.

You walked together to the second floor. On the way there, Touya mentioned how her was starting anew. Away from everything, and everyone. In a way, he was just like you.

"Well, this is my place!" You beamed, juggling with the set of keys and the bags in had. Touya had offered to help, but you refused. After you finally unlocked the door with a victorious hum, you pushed it open with your hips, walked inside and turned back to face your new neighbor.

Who's face, for some reason, became dead serious the moment you looked him in the eye.

"Please come in. I'll prepare some coffe!" As cheerful as you were. The smile slowly, slowly disappeared when you saw the way Touya was staring at you. 

There was a dangerous smirk on his face, and an all to familiar glint in his eyes...

He quickly stepped forward, and stood in front of you with a proximity, that allowed you to feel the heat of his whole body. He trapped your chin in between his fingers, and licked his lips with an evident hunger in those blue orbs.

"W-What are you doing?" The nerves were such, that you didn't notice when the bags of groceries fell from your hands, and the carton of milk spilling all over the floor, creating a puddle besides your feet.

"Remember what I told you last time?" From the corner of your eye, you could see those same horns from that night, slowly starting to come out. Your heart pounded against your chest. And the burning sensation in your neck became unbearable the moment his eyes became engulfed in black.

"I told you I'd see you again...Little one."

With those last words, your door was quickly slammed shut.

@hawks-senseis @honeytama @savagetrickster @unbreakableeiji @wakaoujisenhime @fanfic-me-up @natsuosfairy @shoutogepi @gr0vndz3ro

[skipps-writes-for-gojo-satoru]

A short thread I found about Gojo's character that helps shine a light to how caring he is:

https://twitter.com/musikawu/status/1376984416485007363?s=19

Also, I actually just realized this recently after rewatching JJK that Gojo got super attached to Yuji really quickly. Gojo not only got very angry on his behalf but went out of his way to ask Nanami for help in caring for Yuji when he's supposed to be the strongest sorcerer. And at that time, Gojo made it clear to Nanami that he didn't ask him to do so due to Yuji's potential as a vessel. Gojo asked Nanami for this favor as an adult who wants to see the growth of a young man. Gojo was very precise in telling Nanami that he was looking not at Sukuna and Yuji's power, but at Yuji himself as not only an individual, but a child that needed nurturing and care. Before Yuji's death, Gojo had already even made preparations to have Yuta take care of Yuji cause he knew something might happen to him- even more development is that despite what Gojo says about himself, he's aware of his own flaws. What he appears to be on the outside is nothing like what he truly feels on the inside. He doesn't delude himself into narcissistic behavior that makes him unable to ask for help. He asks for help willingly and of his own accord- Yuta couldn't even fathom how the strongest sorcerer would face a problem he couldn't solve on his own, but Gojo does. Gojo is smart enough to know he needs to rely on others to move forward, and relying on someone means putting a certain amount of trust there. Gojo puts just as much faith in other people as he does himself, and the interesting part is that while it's more admirable to go out of your way to protect someone else, Gojo never brags about that. He only "brags" about things that will annoy the other person, but really he is only saying a commonly known "truth" in order to rile people up. It may sound like bragging- which it sort of is- but Gojo saying he's the strongest is not a lie. Him saying "I alone am the honoured one" is not necessarily a lie either. People don't call him the Strongest for nothing.

In fact, even more interestingly enough, besides Gojo, who includes Geto when people talk about the "strongest?" Despite being the definite "strongest," Gojo is the one who constantly says "We are the Strongest," not the other way around. He's also mature enough to recognize and point out other people's strengths, such as Mei Mei's, saying she is too strong to cry.

If Gojo truly was a narcissist, he would have mentioned everything else he's done for people, like stopping Megumi's sale to the Zenin clan and getting the Fushiguros financial aid. He could brag about being persuasive enough to save Yuji from execution or even saving Yuta from execution- Yuta becoming a special grade sorcerer soon after Gojo saved him is something you can easily brag about- but Gojo doesn't brag about his personal achievements at all- not in the way that demands respect from others, at least. Gojo only "brags" to tease others lightheartedly and to tick them off a little- and I don't think the demeaning things Gojo says to the higher ups can be used to show he's a narc because *many* people in Gojo's position would have said (and done) much, much worse things.

Also, when Yuji died, Gojo had become so emotional that even Shoko, who had been there since Gojo's youth, had commented on how unlike him it was. People irl really thought it was because Gojo couldn't use him as a weapon against the higher ups anymore, but reading how Gojo had told Nanami that he saw their relationship as an adult and a child makes me think differently. Something very important in the Light Novel is when Gojo tells Nanami that his students, because they are sorcerers, will soon have to "face the evil intentions of sh*tty humans." Not only sorcerers, but "every person has to bite into that bitterness, know what it means to give up, and pile up despairs to become an adult." People like Gojo and Nanami, Gojo had said, are capable of withstanding and releasing the "poison" that runs through the heart. However, the youngsters are more sensitive in that age, and "one poison could destroy their hearts" (I'm sure Gojo was thinking of Geto as he said this). That's why he wants to leave Yuji in the care of Nanami, "an adult who understands other people pain." Not that Gojo is unable to understand pain, but in the earlier events of the Light Novel as context, Gojo is faced with a mother who is mourning the loss of her child. While Nanami tries to gently comfort her and secretly find information on the cursed spirit at the same time using vague words, Gojo's words are straight forward and to the point, which startles the mother. It's not necessarily a bad things, however- Gojo's words had ended up allowing the mother to see her situation as it was without delusions, a tough love situation, so to speak, and the two were able to confirm their intel to be correct. It was Gojo who helped her to heal quicker by allowing her to realize her problem through his cutting words, but I'm sure Gojo realizes his "bad personality,"- which isn't really so bad in some cases- isn't for everyone. Gojo is very aware that people react negatively to his behavior, even if he is unable to understand just how deeply they despise him (*cough* Utahime) In that way, Gojo shows he cares very much for Yuji's mental growth, even in that short period of time, by entrusting his care to Nanami, who he comments would do a much better job than be could.

Therefore, I think Gojo might actually get attached to people more quickly than it might seem like. He also thinks very deeply and no matter how he acts, he's able to recognize others' strengths and acknowledge his own flaws- this is a key part of his character because he doesn't delude himself in his position as the Strongest. To those who think Gojo sees himself as a God, he is far from that behavior, and he is self aware enough to know that people need more to grow than just power and strength. Unfortunately, it seems most people either despise Gojo or are too enamoured by his looks to see past the surface of the more boisterous and childish part of his personality. That's likely the main reason he finds it hard to commit, too.

(More ranting 😭. There was this reddit post saying Gojo's narcissistic enough to be a more evil villain than Sukuna, that he would actually end up becoming the villain- like really??? And so many people really agreed that he's incapable of feeling true emotions that it's absurd. I really can't believe they even think Gojo has a God complex. Someone with a God complex, like most of the other disorders, wouldn't be able to admit their own flaws, let alone ask for help! The fact that Gojo even admits to having a "bad personality" is another tell against that. Sometimes I wonder if people are just projecting, but I also realize it's hard to differentiate between being an ENTP and being a sociopath because of how- on the surface- they seem so similar! But if you just dig a little deeper to look at their roots, they are so completely different it's a wonder how you'd get confused in the first place)

- 🤔

OH I COULDN'T AGREE MORE 🤔 anon here spitting FACTS. Yeah alot of people think gojo's a narcissist with huge ego but that ain't the case at all as explained above. I mean he was put on a pedestal since birth he gotta have some ego in that but that fact doesnt blind him. yeah sure he's the strongest but just one line "I'm the strongest" doesn't mean he's bragging it may sound like it but he's just stating facts he is indeed in fact the strongest in the jujutsu society. He knows he can't do everything on his own I mean why did he even become a teacher in the first place? Becuz he wants to make the next generation of jujutsu sorcerers stronger! No one asked him to do it he himself wanted to be a teacher even though at time he sucks at it.

He genuinely wants to do good not just for himself but for others as well. As interesting as the concept of Gojo becoming a villain it will never happen. Don't judge a damn book by it's cover even if it's a very attractive one hes just such an interesting character its shame most people don't see that.

[estellaelysian]

Off the table

This really was something to write. It falls under angst, but I don’t know if i should even call it that or is it more horrible. I don’t really know. I feel miserable after writing this, but it just occupied my mind and I couldn’t get it out.

Please don’t read it if angst triggers you.

Song to listen to: Off the table - Ariana Grande, Better off - Ariana Grande

The sky was an odious grey, deep and mournful, and angry clouds, pregnant with rain held back their load, expectant, waiting. Alishka breathed in deeply as she filled a small leather holdall with the things she thought would be necessary for her two day trip, which she was going to face with a rock hard mind. But it wasn’t entirely possible, or that easy even. She had been with a conflict with herself about this trip from the beginning, but she had to go. She couldn’t not go and despise herself forever for not paying a final respect to that old woman who deserved it; all of it, and who had almost loved her like a mother would love her child.

Kathleen John was a senior nurse at the Edenbrook Hospital – a seventy-two year old with an infectious smile and a motherly heart. In the one year Alishka had known her, she had been one of the biggest supports Alishka had had in the hospital, to lean on in times of despair and hardship. Kathleen would get along with almost everyone, because she was quick to laugh, witty and because she could talk about almost anything. They had kept in touch even after she left everything behind. Kathleen would be closest anyone could ever get to her mother in Boston. Kathleen would be missed greatly.

Alishka knew Kathleen would’ve wanted her to go. She was who Alishka was going for.

Alishka’s hair now wrestled free from the poor braid she had attempted to lock them in, cascading down her shoulders in a glossy waterfall. She tossed a thick length behind her shoulders and continued packing before realizing that it was pointless. She turned to the mirror, staring at her green-eyed reflection in a moment of crazy resolution to never look at her the same way again, which crumbled to the floor the next moment. How could she not? It was like she was cursed, like the universe was waiting to watch her fall and leave.

No. she wouldn’t let those feelings in again. She had, once, and it was devastating enough.

Her arms strained from having to braid her hair over and over again, which, no matter how many times she tried, loosened from her grip.

‘Alishka, are you done?’ her mother asked, her voice ringing out in the suburban house.

‘Almost,’ Alishka lied. ‘I am trying to braid my hair.’

She was so engrossed in trying to get it right this time that she didn’t even notice her mother walk into the room. Her fingers worked quickly as she unraveled Alishka’s hair and braided them once again. ‘It’s okay to ask for help sometimes, sweetie. But I know you are too stubborn for your own good so…’

She turned around to find a wistful smile on her mother’s face.

‘Come downstairs,’ she said, patting Alishka’s shoulder affectionately. ‘Dinner is ready.’

‘I’ll be two minutes. I just need to finish up some stuff here.’

‘Very well, I’ll be downstairs then.’

She nodded and turned back to the half-packed holdall, staring at it for a blank moment which seemed to stretch to an eternity, before picking up a few clothes from the bed and stuffing them in.

‘Mommy, I wanna go too,’ said a mellifluous voice, cutting through her confusion. Alicia made a face from the doorway as Alishka looked up from where she was packing on the other side of the room, as if already knowing she was going to say no.

‘Honey, it is a funeral. What are you going to do there?’

‘I want to pay my respect,’ she said, looking down at her hands.

‘You didn’t know her, sweetie.’

‘But you did. And you’ve told me sooo many stories about her, I feel like I know her too. Please, Mommy, let me come too. Please?’

Alishka already knew she was going to regret this very much. And yet…

‘Okay, I’ll allow you to come if you be nice and help your Nana with setting up the table today.’

‘Okay, Mommy, I’ll go help her.’

‘Go on then. She is waiting downstairs.’

She disappeared from the room, and Alishka was left alone with her wretched thoughts.

What was she going to do?

***

They had dinner at the back patio, and afterward, Alishka washed the dishes and her mother dried them.

‘I am taking Alicia with me,’ Alishka said, trying to bring a note of confidence in her voice, but mustering none.

Her mom looked up at her with a skeptical face, setting aside the dish in her hand. ‘Are you sure you are up to that Alishka?’

Even after making so many attempts at hiding every feeling she was going through, it felt as if her mom saw right through her. As if she knew just what Alishka was thinking about.

‘Yeah, Ma,’ she looked away, avoiding her mother’s heavy gaze, a horrible feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. Her mind dived back into the memories, mostly back at that day when she was sitting at the back patio, crying, shaken to the core by what had happened. The day when she had let everything out in an unstoppable rush of words and tears, and the day when her mom had comforted her, put her to sleep, just like she would when Alishka was a kid.

A soft hand on her shoulder brought her back to the present, to the relentless noise of rushing water and clanking of vessels.

‘Honey, do you really think it’s too late?’

***

Alicia pressed a kiss on Fredo’s forehead. ‘Fredo, don’t trouble Nana much, don’t ruin any couch cushions, don’t chew out any pens and … read your medical journals!’

The golden doodle looked up at her with big brown eyes, and Alishka chuckled at the sight before her. ‘Okay, come on, bub its time to go. Say goodnight to your Nana.’

‘Goodnight Nana. Buh-bye. I’ll be back soon, I promise.’

Alishka’s mom laughed. ‘Okay sweetie. I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

Alicia ran to the Jeep and slid in, strapped the seat-belt and waited patiently as Alishka spoke to her mom.

‘Alishka, call me when you get there, okay? And tell me if anything–’

‘I will Ma, don’t worry,’ she said leaning in for a quick hug. ‘Take care.’

‘I will. Be careful. I love you.’

‘Love you too.’

***

A cold December wind was blowing and Alishka crossed her arms as she stared out over the water. She found herself alone at the bay; it was 5:07A.M., and Alicia was sleeping in the car, and though she had spent almost twenty-one hours driving here with only two breaks, she scarcely remembered the trip. Her appetite was gone, her stomach in knots, and yet, she had stopped for food once because of Alicia, and besides, she would need it to make the drive, and at 4A.M., she fetched a coffee for herself.

She wondered if she was doing the right thing, bringing Alicia with her. Her heart fluttered at the thought of him, but the feeling was almost immediately replaced by that of disgust and pain.

She would never be ready for him.

The bay glittered under her thoughtful gaze. She could head to the hotel now, but she wanted a minute to herself before everything went crashing down. She knew it would. There was no way out of this mess for her. Not then, not now, even when she thought she had saved herself, rescued herself, protected herself from getting hurt anymore. But no. She was cursed, and so was her love.

Sighing heavily, she thought about the funeral. There was no way he wouldn’t be there. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought Alicia with her, but now it was too late to think about that. She had planned to stay overnight at first, but no. Looking at the bay and the dull Boston skyline, she knew she didn’t want to stay. She would leave immediately after the services were over.

***

The day brought with it the lingering gloom from last night, grey and colorless, as if it knew, much more than anyone, that it was a day of mourning. She absentmindedly touched the lace neck of her black dress before pulling her hair into a messy ponytail. Could people see it in her eyes? Could they tell? Or had she been successful in hiding seven years worth of pain?

She didn’t know.

‘Mommy, I want to bring this to the funeral,’ Alicia said, padding over, holding a small white oblong.

‘What is it, honey?’

‘It’s the note Kathleen Nana gave you, when you were an intern. I brought it with me. Is it okay if I bring it to the funeral and put it on…’

Alicia looked away sadly, and Alishka made a small smile at her daughter’s thoughtfulness. Sometimes it reminded her of him, but she had grown used to ignoring those feelings, for better or for worse. He had wanted to have nothing to do with her anyway, didn’t he?

‘Okay, sweetheart, you can. I don’t mind. But …’

‘I know,’ she mumbled, looking up at her. ‘I have to be nice and not talk to strangers, even if you have told me stories about them, and I have to be quiet, not talk too much.’

Another half smile. ‘Good, sweetie. I love you.’

‘I love you too Mommy.’

‘Can I have a hug, Alicia?’

She walked over as Alishka kneeled and wrapped her small arms around her. Alishka knew there would come a day when she would consider herself to old for such displays, which is why she squeezed tighter, letting the hug linger more than usual.

***

Ethan made imperceptible adjustments to his tie as he stood before the mirror, nervous and unsettled, staring at his empty blue eyes, lacking any emotion, now that he noticed it. Was it always this way? Was he always this cold? If not, then when did it change?

He didn’t know. As far as he was concerned, he had nothing left anymore. Nothing. He couldn’t save Dolores, he couldn’t save Kathleen, he couldn’t do anything right.

He couldn’t stop her…

Nor could he stop himself.

He wished he had died instead. Atleast he would be released from this pain he felt, from the memories which haunted him every night. Atleast he would get a pass, and a chance to fix everything in the next one.

If only he was given a chance that good.

But maybe he would ruin that too, just like he had ruined everything else.

He looked up at his own eyes again, his mind flitting back, almost unstoppably, to the last time he ever saw her, at Donahue’s, before leaving for Amazon. That was it. The final blow to her feelings, and his unbreakable wit and ego, which, finally had found a way to be shattered into a million pieces, which could not be restored. Not anymore.

Sighing, he reached stepped outside the en-suite, feeling numb and empty. A half hearted glance at his bed had him thinking that it was too big for his liking, and he wondered why he never noticed it before. He hated sleeping in it after returning from Amazon.

May be losing her meant losing himself too. No, it didn’t mean so. It was so. He had lost her the day he decided to leave for Amazon.

He hadn’t seen her after that. She had broken every string that tied her to him and disappeared into thin mist, nowhere to be found, no one knowing about it. Her friends were as clueless about where she had gone as he was. He dreaded the fact that he had not known enough about her. For all the time they had been together, in all the things they had talked, she had never mentioned much about her family. He knew she was from California, and he had tried looking too, only to fail miserably. She was not there. She was nowhere. She was gone, and she would never come back.

It was unbearable. The whole thing. He tried calling her, thinking about what he would say if she answered, but the number had been deactivated. The last few days they had spent together blurred into a mess, as if the pleasure of remembering had been taken away from him, because there was no longer anyone to remember with. It was like losing every memory he had made with her, now that he had lost her.

So he went back to being the person he was before she came along – a terrifying attending with no feelings, whatsoever, of his own. And quite soon, he realized that wasn’t true. He had feelings. She brought them out in him. She brought out his better side.

Without her, he lacked a better side.

He stuffed his wallet and keys in his pockets and left the house, the door banging the frame with a loud bang.

With no perception of what was about to be, he headed outside, into a storm he had created for himself years ago.

***

The funeral service was small and attracted a dozen mourners, which stood huddled under giant black umbrellas with blank, expressionless faces as they stared at the ground in silence. The rain did not last for long, but how did it matter anyway? Kathleen’s children stood next to the coffin, hugging everybody as they passed by. For a while, he just watched people as they walked up to the coffin, all these people he had never seen before kneeling down next to her, look at her for a while, maybe crying. He had only really known Kathleen and her children, and those were who he came for. He knew she would’ve wanted him to come.

A little girl made her way over, putting a small white note on the coffin and whispered something before walking back and disappearing into the black-clad crowd. He did not know why, but he choked up at the sight. It was incredible, given how emotionally resigned he was at that time, and yet, when he tried to find that girl, looking back, he did not find her.

The next few moments were mostly a jumble to him; he did not remember much of what the priest spoke as he stood behind the coffin; he did not remember the minister calling up people and them making their eulogies. He did not remember much of when exactly the funeral service ended, or when people started to disperse. Everything happening there seemed to stark and yet blurred together, somehow, but that was until he rose from his seat and decided to leave too, and that’s when he saw her.

Standing near the rear pew, was a beautiful girl, with long dark brown hair and green eyes, the woman he fell for seven years ago, and the one he decided to hurt in the worst way possible.

But how?

She must’ve been in touch with Kathleen, he thought. His first instinct was to walk away, just like he had, years ago, but something about that sight made his throat choke up. It was the little girl from earlier, her hand clasped tightly in Alishka’s.

Maybe she had married and settled down after all, with someone loving her like the way she deserved to be loved.

But then the girl caught his eye.

And he felt like a huge blow had been delivered to his face, just as he recognized every single of her features mirroring his own.

No, this was a delusion. This was not the truth.

No no no no no…

It couldn’t be.

And then she recognized him, as if she’d already known about him all her life. He watched as she tugged at Alishka’s hand, as Alishka bent down, as she listened to what the little girl whispered before pointing toward him, and finally, Alishka looking up at him, pain clear in her eyes like a plastic sleeve.

He started walking toward them, he did not know why. He saw Alishka take a hesitant step back before steeling herself, and another blow was delivered to his guts when he saw tears streaking her face.

He did not know, and he would never know, what exactly brought him to his knees at the sight of the girl – the striking resemblance of his own features he saw in her own or the need he felt to get on eye-level with her, or the sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach which made him feel too weak to stand.

**********

A/N: Let’s assume there was an elderly nurse in Edenbrook in the intern ear of Alishka

A/N 2: This happens in some sort of an AU where Alishka left Boston when Ethan went to Amazon.

A/N 3: I decided to stop here. I was planning to put this out as a three-part mini series, but couldn’t resist myself. Besides, it’s nothing if not the whole thing. Should I write more? I don’t know. Let me know.

Tagging: @tenaciouslandvoidgiant​ @choicesaddict5​ @schnitzelbutterfingers​

[filthyjanuary]

7-12 and 16-20 for the asks!

7. What do you dislike about your favourite season?

i think season 2 is the best, but as i’ve said before, my favourite is 4 solely because the first few eps i watched were from s4. i think season 4 is very solid and even though it’s a season that HURTS BAD because of everything happening between sam and dean, i think the show earns the conflict for the most part. the literal only thing that still haunts me is that the STUPID VOICEMAIL THAT GETS ALTERED IS NEVER ADDRESSED. like i hate more than anything that sam still thinks dean said those things. like i know jared’s said that sam knows dean loves him but i don’t care!!! sam /and/ dean deserve to know the voicemail was changed.

OH also literally everything with anna milton. she deserved better <3 sorry the fridged you and gave part of your arc to a man, queen.

also sam and dean should’ve found out cas let sam out of the panic room.

8. Thoughts on Sam’s demon blood arc

i love sam’s demon blood arc. his hot girl summer! in all seriousness, it makes perfect sense. mystery spot sets it up that sam goes dark when he doesn’t have dean, and s4 is the natural progression of that. i love sam being hellbent on revenge, and the blood drinking was hot sorry not sorry. like obviously the end result wasn’t stellar and the handling of the demon blood as an addiction was handled rather shittily in the show, but overall this arc is near and dear to me and if i couldn’t have the boy king, i’m glad i got this instead. and it brings up some really interesting concepts that get explored really well in fic.

9. Thoughts on the Moc arc

i hate this arc mostly because like dean was terrible...which makes sense, but even after the mark was gone it’s like... he never /really/ pulls himself out of that place. it also just dragged on for FAR too long. like it didn’t need to be like 30 episodes or however long. i do like that it gave us demon!dean being like sexythreatening, and that scene of sam cradling dean’s face and begging him to tell him that he had to kill all those people and just the general sam is dean’s colette of it all. also the end of s10 with sam on his knees and dean telling him to close his eyes is deeply fucked up and i love it for that reason and obviously that happened bc of the MOC storyline.

10. Fave underrated ep

i am highkey obsessed with 1x04 phantom traveller, 2x07 the usual suspects and 4x19 jump the shark and i feel like most people don’t really care about those episodes or bring them up much. phantom traveller is just interesting bc i think the character moments are fun and i am obsessed with plane crashes for some reason. the usual suspects i just adore because it’s really a great exploration of HOW WELL sam and dean know each other and just how alike they are. and unfortunately i really like the cop lady in this one. jump the shark was the second episode of supernatural i ever saw and for some reason something in my brain latched onto adam and never let go. i love him so much (i know it’s not really him in the ep but ukno) and i love how much you learn about sam and dean through it too.

11. Thoughts on BMOL

boring. like...the actors were not good at their accents. they wanted what bela talbot had in s3. i just didn’t find ‘the british are evil’ a compelling storyline in a supernatural show.... like girl i live in real life you don’t need to preach to me about the british. also like they set up ketch to be evil like worse than toni who i already hate because she tortures/sexually assaults sam by having him kill magda i guess? but then they end up redeeming him and he survives longer than both mick (affectionate) and toni (derogatory), like seriously one of the worst Big Bads they’ve ever had.

12. Thoughts on Mary

to be honest, i think bringing her back was kind of a stupid idea in the sense that the ENTIRE SHOW starts because of her death. but i felt like HAVING DONE THAT, trying to deconstruct her image as like this nuclear housewife was compelling and the whole clash of sam and dean who just want their mom versus mary who left her kids as a an infant and a small child and now has these grown men who are older than her needing things she doesn’t know how to give was very interesting. and i wish they’d done more with that. 

16. Any criticisms of their world building/lore

well i think everyone’s said it better than me that they can’t seem to get their stance on monsters straight at all and the show suffers for it. i also hate how like the later seasons especially just blatantly retcon so much. the prime example is the garden of eden in s5 vs s15.... the s5 version was so much more interesting and i hate that they brought it back just to destroy their own lore. the whole concept of the abrahamic god being like the ‘real’ god vs other gods just being minor annoyances didn’t like...make sense or feel good either. i also would’ve loved more exploration of like what the fuck it means to be a vessel and also exploration of other monsters/urban legends. like ok we get it ghosts/demons/vampires/werewolves sure w/e but there’s so much to pull from. it got repetitive and there’s so many other things they could’ve tried. hell the SECOND EPISODE of the show mentions black dogs and we never actually encounter one. or like chimeras... like there’s just plenty to dig into and they just get lazy.

17. What did you like about s15?

15x20 <3 also just...jack....that’s my son! MICHAEL/ADAM IN 15X08!!!! i think there were a couple moments i liked in like...the gambler and last holiday, and i thought belphagor was funny. oh! also sam’s nightmare visions were kinda fun even tho they led back to lucifer :/

18. Thoughts on Lucifer

he was a really excellent and intimidating villain in s5.... and frankly i enjoyed hallucifer as well because sure he was presented comedically but he was a deeply dark presence hanging over sam as a reminder of what he suffered. everything after that...sucked!!! it sucked!!!!! overstayed his welcome, letting him out of the cage again totally nullifies sam’s sacrifice and frankly he lost every smidge of intimidation factor he ever had. he was just annoying and whiny and pointless and sam should’ve killed him <3 fuck that guy.

19. Most uncomfortable moments throughout the show for you?

answered here

20. Define the different eras in a few lines or words (s1-5, s6-7, s8-11, s12-15)

this was meant to be short... and then it wasnt... sorry.

kripke: PEAK SUPERNATURAL. racist AND sexist but like i frankly do not care because the actually storytelling is so GOOD. COHERENT. i long for what could’ve been had the strike not kneecapped s3 and we’d gotten boyking, but hell the arc we DID get... so good. so fulfilling. aesthetics go off the charts. character dynamics so good!!! conflicts are earned!!!! there was a fucking vision here and it was unique and interesting and the show was COMMITTED TO IT. literally iconic television i love her so much. eric kripke needs a therapist but i’m glad he wrote this show instead of going to see one. 

gamble: sera THEE gamble.... overarching storylines kinda weak, but SO FUN! i had fucking fun! soulless sam is a comedian, godstiel was the last time cas was remotely interesting, like!!!! she gave us everything!!!!! gets slandered way too much by this hell fandom like yes the leviathans were stupid but the were FUN and the character moments in s6-s7!!! so good!!!! lots of excellent MOTW eps as well, which... as we know...i love. when the show lost gamble, it lost something great, i’ll die on this hill. i love u #girlboss.

carver: there’s a lot of good here and a lot i despise. dean steadily grows darker throughout the show but there’s like a real VEER into being awful in s9 that the show never recovers from. it makes dean very unlikeable for the rest of its run, mostly by virtue of the show not realizing how unlikeable it’s made dean because it needs him to always be right so the fact that he’s basically turned into john is never like....addressed in any meaningful way. some storylines (MOC!!) dragged on for too long, while others were way too short (TRIALS!!!) but ultimately i think there were some good ideas here and moments i’m fond of. season 11 is Beautiful. i love her so much. there’s some really excellent eps in s11 and the character moments are good.

dabb: i literally hate it here (jack sweetie you are not included in this assessment you’re doing great). it was just stupid. the characterizations of EVERYBODY sucked and fell flat. way too obsessed with pandering to the loudest faction on twitter. took the wreckage of dean that carver left and full destroyed him. like straight up could’ve done something meaningful if they’d bothered to address it at all but they literally didn’t ever make dean be accountable for his actions??? can’t tell u what cas was doing it was so forgettable he obviously had no purpose literally the only scenes i remember were a couple where he’s being cute with jack and that one ep where he and sam go to that old-timey town and sam gets brainwashed. sam like... exists, and his character is intact but it’s only intact because the writers that were left didn’t want to bother giving him anything meaty to do to so the were like *spins wheel* leadership arc that goes nowhere, and he just exists being kind and compassionate and putting up with too much shit. BUT HE HAD REALLY FUCKING EXCELLENT MOMENTS WITH JACK and that alone is why i think it’s worth the slog. sam/jack is my favourite dynamic on the show following sam/dean so...unfortunately based on that.... i can’t just burn the whole dabb era but seriously... way to make every character a hollow, one-dimensional shell.

send me supernatural asks

[short-stories-club]

anonymous

It happened in November, on a cold Thanksgiving night. I hurried home in the rain and peered over that familiar but unwelcoming meadow that leads directly into the narrow strip of concrete which we called our driveway. The dirt road was wet and muddy, and my toes grew cold and damp through my thin shoes. Tonight was a frigid evening, one that makes your finger tips and extremities numb to the point where one’s dexterity is limited. I cut across the road and hiked atop the mound. My house peaked out at me slowly as I trekked over the hill whilst I quickly caught a glance at the driveway. I noticed that the unsightly old automobile was parked out front; beat up with the scratched paint like it always had. I wasn’t mistaken; he was here tonight, that vile creature I so hated to call my Father.

Aside from the surprise visitor, nothing was different or out of the norm about our landscape; grey, stiff and dead trees still filled the majority of space within the front yard with leaves scattered throughout from yesterday’s windy weather.  The property’s countenance remained consistent year around, and my mother never wanted to repair or fix the exterior of the home although it definitely needed it. This lack of upkeep with the property disturbed me, as it constantly reminded me of my Mother; she always put off her own problems at the expense of others. The ironic part of this situation was that we didn’t own a doormat, and I always joked that she likened herself to one so we didn’t need it.

I got inside and neatly put my shoes aside; I was relieved to finally dry my feet. Peering onto the wall next to my closet, I gazed upon one of my Mother’s favorite family photos. I looked into the quaint picture and studied my sister’s countenance. She was always so positive and full of life. The image jogged my memory; reminiscing on my childhood, I thought back about when father left. I was only 12 years old when this happened, and he left for another woman to top it all off. This was just 5 years after my older sister passed away in a car accident, and I often wondered if Father leaving was ultimately due to her death. He could have felt responsible since he was driving her that day. My older sister was father’s little dream girl; he favored her, undoubtedly, which is why I grew so close to mother and distanced myself from him growing up. Desperate I was as a child, I even hoped that her passing might make draw the two of us closer, but I learned early that having faith in him wasn’t a fruitful endeavor. Nonetheless, he sporadically visited throughout my teen years whenever he felt stimulated to do so. My grip tightened when I analyzed the portrait further; I glanced towards the still image of my father. I don’t remember specifically when I began to disdain my father, I always hated how he hurt mother, but the hatred grew deep as I got into high school. I disrespected my mother for so being so readily available for his presence, but she was a broken woman who couldn’t be fixed. She was truly so kind, forgiving and thoughtful when it came to others, yet self-negligence was her specialty.

“Hey, Damien!” my father yelled from the dinner table. I peered around the corner; he looked thinner and drunker than I remembered. “I haven’t seen you in a good year, why don’t you sit down at the dinner table and entertain some sweet conversation with your old man?” I stood there silent as I glanced at mother, who smiled faintly with her back to me as she stirred the soup. After a good couple seconds I replied “Why are you here? Did you tell mom you were coming?” He looked down, and took a deep breath and stood up. “You aren’t going to give me a warm welcome then, ha? Well… listen he-“My mother quickly interrupted him: “He called me to tell me something important before he came, some big news… he also wanted to tell you in person.” Her attempt to calm the mood was a success; I gazed at him ever so confused. What else did he do besides piss his days away with that whore he claimed? I was glad he left. My mother had been spared for the last 5 years from any beatings, and I was planning on it keeping it that way permanently. “What the hell are you talking about? What’s going on?” I couldn’t read him. I never really could anyway, but this time he unusually more timid. He abode almost bore a sense of grief. “Its crazy son... you’ve sure grown a ton. You’re probably taller than me now…”  His countenance softened as he sat back down, receiving my mother’s soup at the table. I was indeed taller than him now. I’d grown almost 4 inches this year. Quickly brushing the complement aside, I retained my composure and sat opposite him at the dinner table while my own bowl of soup was graciously donated. “Well you see Damien… I wanted to come see you in person to apologize… for how I’ve treated you and, well…your mother over the last few years. You see, uh, Cindy and I aren’t really seeing each other no more, and uh... Well, I’ve been diagnosed with cancer, it’s the shitty kind too... and I wanted to see you both and tell you in person I don’t have much more than a couple months left...”

I was stunned. My chest hurt and throbbed in disbelief. My mother started to tear up and went back to the sink. I couldn’t believe this outcome. How dare he? I hadn’t seen him in almost 2 years and he shows up to tell me this? Conversely, the idea of my father passing away hurt too; a deep part of me always wished things would have worked out for the better. My Father appeared the least big distracted and fully embraced the moment with us.  Nevertheless, my soul erupted with rage as the perception of the gesture was spoiled because of how he had been in the past. So many nights I wished our family hadn’t fallen apart, and that things could be reconciled someway, and this couldn’t simply serve as justification for all of the vile behavior our family witnessed because of his sins. I noticed the blank expression on both of my parent’s faces as they gazed upon me, wondering what I was going to do, or say next.

“You’re a coward...” I said with my head down. I didn’t want my expression to be noticed. “You had your whole life to live this out, yet you chose violence, selfishness, and addiction.” I struggled to articulate myself, careful not to be reckless with my words. He sat there wide eyed. I never saw a submissive countenance overcome the massive, burly figure of my father like this before. I had his full attention and it made me feel powerful. I continued “I couldn’t give two fucks… To me you aren’t a Father figure … you’re nothing but a vagabond who aimlessly moves around in life…also I won’t simply forget the multiple nights of bruising and violence I witnessed at your hand!” A violent passion overwhelmed me. I was upset; I was trying to hold back tears as well. I couldn’t convey the part of myself, of which was so deeply embedded, that wanted affection and acknowledgement from him. He deserved to be punished. There were so many emotions present at the tip of my tongue and I couldn’t find the lexicon to display it verbally. Physically, I was on the brink of violently writhing; Nonetheless, I couldn’t let this wretch see how badly he destroyed my psyche over the many years which comprised my childhood. I chose to conceal myself and put on a façade; I exemplified rage which was an attempt to obscure the ability of my father to apprehend my true countenance, which was one of sorrow and grief. I needed to finally become a man and confront my Father on his many shortcomings.

After a couple of chilling seconds, my father stood up and stared deep into my soul with a gaze that pierced through my proverbial barriers. I really pissed him off with those words. Perhaps he was calling my bluff; he was always able to intimidate me with relative ease, but this time I didn’t want to back down. I stood straight up, facing him with my shoulders square and fists clenched. After all, I was physically much larger now. It really didn’t surprise me that the sweet act lasted only for a moment. Being affectionate was like pulling teeth to him.

He seemed excited as he began walking slowly towards me with a look I’ve never quite seen before. This startled my mother, whom began running at him and took hold of his shoulder with haste; “Stop it! Don’t take another-“My Father abruptly froze as he aggressively grabbed my mother’s wrist. He always despised my mother for trying to alter his temperament. His blood shot eyes began to enlarge as he stiffened his body and took a different countenance immediately. He erupted, and exclaimed for her not to touch him as he swung his right palm with a mighty force towards her soft, delicate face. The sound was deafening as she slammed against the chair, ultimately breaking it, and crashed onto the pale floor. The raw, unhinged scene of violence that I just witnessed triggered me to new heights of dysfunctional behavior. I hadn’t seen this level of violence from my father; did he mean to kill us? I was surprised to new heights of confusion and fear, so I began to panic. Preemptive of his next move, I white-knuckled my dinner fork and swiftly thrust it into the upper region of his figure with all 180 pounds of my strength. I was careless of how much damage this could potentially cause him.

It wasn’t until a moment later I realized I landed a good shot on him. My weapon landed right below his throat area, above his collarbone. Time stood still; he immediately began fondling the sharp object stuck in his throat with desperation, which was about a couple of inches deep into his neck. He trembled, and appeared stunned. With his hands on the silverware, his eyes shifted momentarily, at the ceiling, then back at me. He seemed possessed if only I hadn’t noticed the expression in his eyes; all of his other bodily extremities were so preoccupied with the newly found hunk of metal sticking out of his throat that his eyes were the last physical vessel through which bore his true and utter terror. Those ugly pupils bled with such vile expressions as they bounced around the room, in and out of focus, trying to find a solution to the predicament which beheld him.

He bluntly pulled the fork out and began coughing, which sounded gargled and distorted. His body language regained familiarity, yet he curled inward as he was maimed and defenseless. My heart was beating; I was scared yet curious; I accomplished this with my own physical willpower. I stood still in awe taking the moment in. I could still smell the delicious aroma of soup in the air.

I came back to my senses as he was screaming some sort of expletives, though they were difficult to discern. I stepped forward towards him and grabbed his dinner fork, of which was conveniently located near his bowl of soup. I knew I had to finish what I started. It was too late to choose grace at this point. I grasped the second weapon with all my might, and began stabbing him profusely. I cared only to stab him in his upper regions; above his chest area and below his forehead. His screams were in rhythm with my thrusting motions; beads of blood drenched my hand and decorated the furniture around me. I could feel his body convulsing with each blow, yet his endurance slowed as consecutive attacks ensued. He was half alive; his arms kept reaching out at me like tentacles of which aimlessly attempted to defend against the impending offense, yet they weakened with each and every passing second. I stabbed him for all the times he wasn’t there for me, for all the nights he hit mom, and I even stabbed him because of the fact I couldn’t admit I had deep feelings for him.

It took me a while until I realized what I had accomplished; perhaps a good 5 minutes had passed by until my adrenaline faded. I was truly an abhorrent monster. My mother and father both lay unconscious, but my Mother’s heart still beat. I escaped my own body; I knew I was a monster at some level of intellect, yet I felt absolutely nothing. My body was void of all human emotion. I stood up, drenched in blood, and gazed upon at the disaster I created.

I walked to the kitchen, and did the only thing left I knew to do. I grabbed the sharpest knife above the microwave, and slit my wrists. I fell to the earth, beholding both of my parents at my feet. The heat of the moment captured me. I lacked the post processing that a normal brain, under normal circumstances, possessed. The pain in my wrists slightly brought me back to the earthly plains. The smell of the soup was now masked by the musky smell of blood and sweat. I threw up, and began to feel overwhelmingly dizzy. My senses faded, the room looked grey and lacked color. My head felt heavy and I kept drifting in and out of darkness for what seemed to be an eternity.

The contrasting moments between murdering my father, and the resulting, utter silence that ensued after the fact was almost comical. This was it? No standing ovation? Perhaps God will think otherwise when I proceed into the afterlife. It was at this moment I realized I had been weeping for God knows how long, my eyes were cold and wet; they drained the last remaining life juices from my soul. I took my last breathe as I proclaimed to myself that I had done a good deed, bringing justice to my Father.

The door slammed opened, and the firefighters and police crowded into the small, beat up home. Moments turned into hours as yellow tape stretched around the crime scene. “Looks like a case of domestic violence if you ask me, then he took the easy way out.” The officer exclaimed, as he gestured towards the teenager sprawled out on the kitchen floor. He stepped aside as a very tall man with a trench coat walked inside. “Indeed, looks like a perfectly normal family function gone wrong.” The policeman quickly replied, “Where is the girl?” The detective smirked, and turned his head to focus on the officer. “What do you mean?” He replied, “Well, look” He pulled a picture off of the wall from near the closet and gave it to the large man. “Ah… I see.” He gazed into the photograph and studied each face that made up the solemn family of four. He noticed the how her expression was bright, excited and full of passion. “It’s odd she didn’t join her own family on Thanksgiving Day.” The detective wasn’t fazed. “I was briefed during the trip out here; she passed away years ago in a car accident. Seems like nothing really worked out for this family. Sad ending, really… how’s the Mother holding up?” Both men glanced into the kitchen where the forensic group was hard at work trying to gather as much information as possible. “She is awake finally, although in a great deal of shock. She hasn’t spoken at all and she is as white as a ghost.” The detective grimaced as he handed the photograph back to the officer. He walked into the crime scene, quickly studying each body that lie there. “At least one made it out alive. We should take her back to the hospital, freshen her up. Hopefully by next week we can figure out what the hell happened here.” The officer set the photo back into its proper location near the closet door. “Of course… that’s a good idea.” He made some cryptic calls over his intercom and stepped outside.

The detective’s attention was intrigued by the expression on the boy’s face in the kitchen. He stepped carefully over the tape and into the heart of the scene. “How long has he been dead?” He motioned to one of the able bodied young men nearby. “I’d say a good couple of hours now sir.” He replied abruptly. The detective stared into the boy’s eyes which to his surprise were still opened; he noticed some tears streaming down his pale face. “It’s almost like his soul is crying out, trying to tell us he was innocent.” The worker stopped, chuckled, and slightly nodded. The detective continued, “We’ll figure out one way or the other; cases like these often have a lot of back story.” The detective took his gloves off and wiped the tears away from the boy’s cheek whilst brushing his eyes shut with the palm of his hand. “Rest in peace, kiddo.”

[pandastern]

Gravity (Bakugo x OC)

Part 4: Different Convictions (past)

Bakugou x Vigilante!OC

Warnings: angst, explicit language, violence

Word count: 2433

Genre: enemies to lovers ; angst ; romance

When a new student makes an entrance, Bakugou has a real bad feeling. There is something about this girl that just doesnt feel right. From the flaming hair to the calculating glint in her green eyes, everything about her just pisses him off.

Little does he know that his fate is intertwined with the person he despises so much, defining his future path in a way he would have never expected.

“Fuck…”

Artemis sat in the courtyard at the back of the school, her arms dipped into the cool water of the decorative fountain UA had built to make the space more… decorative.

The cool water soothed the growing ache in her body. Her arms and hands, in particular, hurt from the overuse of her quirk. Artemis sighed deeply. In her head, the fight played again and again. She had lost control. She had become so close to breaking the rules she had given herself. Disgust spread through her gut until she felt like she had to gag.

No, she couldn't let that happen ever again. 

“Artemis?” The low, rumbling voice of her homeroom teacher made her flinch.

“Mr Aizawa.” She sighed and shook her head, dunking her arms deeper into the cold water.

Aizawa narrowed his eyes at his new student. He could clearly see the burns on her skin. “So...are you just going to sit there, sulking like a child, or are you going to tell me what happened there?” he said, sighing deeply, his lazy drawl making his voice deeper. “If your arms are burned, you need to see Recovery Girl.”

“No, I'm fucking fine. I don’t need help, thank you very much. Leave me alone,” Artemis hissed through gritted teeth.

“Ah, I see,” Aizawa replied dryly. “It's practically normal to forcefully rip out a whole school’s water supply in mere seconds.”

Sitting down next to her, he crossed his arms and gave Artemis a stern look. Her eyes flickered up to him, a myriad of emotions passing through those green orbs. Suspicion, anger, fear… He had seen these kinds of eyes before.

“Miss Moon, I’m giving you one last chance to tell me. I won’t ask again.”

Her jaw clenched. Aizawa kept his unflinching eyes on her, studying every movement. Finally, she let out a ragged breath.

“Yeah well… I got angry. I lost control. Shit happens!” she growled, evading his gaze. “Are you going to expel me? Give me detention?”

Her last words sounded more like a challenge than anything else. So much defiance in such a small body.

“No. Here at UA, we dont expel students for accidents,” Aizawa responded. “The principal won’t be pleased and the school will be without water for a while, but what is the city’s tax money is for.”

With a sigh, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a can of iced coffee from one of his pouches, opening it casually and taking a sip.

“In any case, it wasn’t just a one way attack. Rest assured that Bakugou will be reprimanded for his reckless behavior, as well. Whether you like it or not, if you want to be a hero, you will have to learn how to work and rely on others, even If you don’t see eye-to-eye with them.”

“Eye-to-eye? Sure, that’ll happen.” Artemis scoffed and looked up at him. “Relying on others... Funny you should say that considering you prefer to work alone, Eraserhead.”

Ah. So she had done her research before coming to this place. 

“Regardless, I am able to work with my colleagues seamlessly should the need arise. A hero has to be able to do both. If you can’t, you die. Simple as that.”

Aizawa could clearly tell that this stubborn girl in front of him wouldn’t crack. Not now, anyway. He sensed that there was something lingering under the surface of those deep green eyes that were way too old to belong to a 15 year old girl. He sighed.

“In any case, I would prefer that an incident like this does not happen again. The paperwork is horrendous. Am I understood, Miss Moon?”

Artemis swallowed and nodded. Shadows passed through her eyes, as if she’d just evaded grave danger. “Yes, sir. Sorry… about the pipes.”

Aizawa nodded and got up with a groan. “All right. Get yourself cleaned up and go home. Tomorrow won’t be any easier.”

As he walked away, he couldn't help but shake his head. There was something so strange about this girl, but he couldn't put his finger on it yet. He would have to keep his eyes on her in the future. For now, though, he had to prepare the rescue training trip the school had planned for his class for tomorrow.

Artemis sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. The sensation of the shaved side of her head still felt so incredibly unfamiliar to her. After her fight with Bakugou, she’d tried to save what was left, but she’d ended up having to finally admit to herself that the only thing she could do was shave off the burnt hair and give herself an undercut. 

Class 1A was currently boarding a bus to an external training facility. The flame-haired girl watched as their class rep Iida ushered every single student into the vehicle with ridiculous hand gestures while continuously blowing into his coach whistle like a caricature of a flight attendant. Artemis couldn't help but roll her eyes. It wasn’t that Iida was a bad person - in fact, he was as straight cut as a hero could be - but the boy was so much of a stickler it was tiring. 

When it was her turn to board, she let herself fall into the seat next to Kaminari and Sero and stared out of the window. She’d managed to lose herself in thought, when the scent of burnt sugar and nitroglycerin suddenly flooded her senses. Great.

“Heh, nice hair cut,water hazard,” came the smug, taunting voice of Bakugou Katsuki.

A quiet groan escaped her lips and she looked up. Crimson eyes stared down at her in a silent challenge. Hadn’t he had enough already?

“Ah, what a glorious day for you to remind everyone what a giant piece of shit you are. Congratulations, boom boom boy,” she replied with the sweetest smile she could muster. “Don’t worry, we know! No need to prove yourself.”

If looks could kill, she would have been dead this instant.

A small smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. Artemis would have thought that getting almost shot in the face should have been enough to deter him from any further attempts to get a rise out of her. Seemed like she was wrong, though she’d be lying if she said she was disappointed.

“Tch. You little… I'm gonna kick your ass!” Bakugou spat.

“Oh, really?” Artemis chuckled. “That’s funny, considering that I wiped the fucking floor with your sorry ass yesterday.”

Ah, there it was. The blood vessel at Bakugou’s temple. Artemis couldn't help but smirk.

“You just got fucking lucky! Next time I’m gonna break you in half, trust me,” the ash blonde growled with gleaming eyes.

“Move along. No fighting on the bus. And hurry, we don’t have all day.” Aizawa’s voice cut through the tension before Artemis could retort.

As Mr Anger Issues walked along, grumbling something under his breath, Artemis rolled her eyes again. She really wasn’t in the mood for this today.

“God, I hope this guy gets diarrhoea for the rest of his goddamn life,” she muttered, directing her gaze towards the window again.

A snort next to her caught her attention. Kaminari gave her a mischievous wink and nudged her and Sero in a conspiring way

“You mean… explosive diarrhoea?” he snickered.

The image of that cracked Artemis up. “Well, as a quirk, it would suit him even better.”

“Ahem!” Aizawa’s warning voice cut them off.

“S-sorry, sir…” Kaminari muttered and scratched the back of his head.

Artemis sighed. There were a few things that she’d have liked to say, but she knew that Aizawa would be so quick to get on her back that it wasn’t worth it. At least at this moment.

“So, rescue training, huh?” Sero started in an attempt to change the subject. “I’m pretty sure they’re gonna divide us into teams again, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I think so, too. Artemis, you haven’t been in our other training sessions. Are you excited?” Denki asked, giving her a flirty wink.

Artemis chuckled softly. “Well…” She considered how best to word her response. “I’m… curious to see how it’s gonna work. Teamwork is always a challenge. It depends on who you’re in a group with, and who you’re up against.”

“That's true. Personally I’d rather not get paired up with Bakugou or Todoroki,” Sero said with a sigh.

“Ungh, yes,” Denki chimed in. “Don’t get me wrong, they are super hard hitters. But Bakugou is, well, Bakugo, and Todoroki freezes your ass If you're not useful. Bet you I’m gonna end up with one of them.”

That made artemis perk up. “Freeze you? So, ice powers… That is interesting. If I were paired up with him, I could most likely use his quirk as ammunition,” she said more to herself than to the boys next to her.

“I wouldn’t press my luck if I were you. He’s… not a team player. If you're not up to his standard and deemed useless, he’s gonna consider you dead weight and take you out,” Sero said, scratching the back of his head.

“Well, I’m not good at many things, but I certainly ain’t useless in a fight,” Artemis scoffed. “Though I do share his sentiment. Someone who can’t pull their weight in a fight is a liability. Taking them out of the equation is the easiest way to ensure success.”

“Damn, that’s… kinda badass?” Denki said a little nervously. “I didn't pick you for a solo player…”

Artemis shifted in her seat so she could face the boys next to her better. She could clearly see the naive sentiment in their eyes. Usually, the wide-eyed believed that teamwork made the dream work and everything was gonna be all right with ‘friendship’. Not exactly something she could ever understand.

“It’s not badass, it’s common sense,” she said, crossing her arms. “I’m not dying just because someone can’t pull their own weight. The mere wish of wanting to help without the skill to do so does more harm than good. So, best to get out of the way and let those who actually don’t mind getting their hands dirty do the work. This isn’t a game. You either fight and win, or you die. And a dead soldier is a useless soldier. Simple as that.”

That she even had to spell that out to a group of people who were set on becoming the future heroes of tomorrow made her blood boil. The oh-so-familiar steel inside her soul stiffened her posture and she sighed.

“Heroes nowadays spouting about teamwork and ‘oh, happy friends, let’s work together to create a dream’ is utter nonsense, if you ask me. It’s too easy to forget that this isn’t a popularity game. It’s a job. A job that can cost lives if it isn’t done right. No-one gives a fuck about how popular you are if you can’t do your job. Teamwork is only sensible if it’s beneficial for every party involved. It has to be result-oriented. Teamwork just for the sake of teamwork is stupid.”

Artemis ran a hand through her hair and directed her gaze out of the window again.

“That’s why I prefer to work alone. I know my abilities and I know myself. It’s nothing personal.”

The sudden uncomfortable silence that spread around her was something Artemis had not expected. Had she said something wrong? Looking back at Kaminari and Sero, she frowned. Both of them stared at her with their mouths slightly agape.

“What?” Artemis asked, confused. “Why are you both looking at me like I kicked a puppy in the face?”

“Dude,” Kaminari began, clearing his throat. “That’s… kinda harsh? Is that how you work over there in Europe?”

“Yeah… I mean, we are classmates. We gotta stick together. Who can we rely on if not on our friends?” Sero asked.

Artemis sighed again. “That's exactly what I meant. Yes, we’re classmates, but what does that really mean? Teaming up should essentially be dependent on the skills of each party that can work together to accomplish a goal. Whether you’re classmates or not has no part in it. For educational purposes, it might make sense, but in the real world, teaming up just for convenience will most likely turn deadly.”

“Sounds to me like you’re either scared shitless and don’t trust anyone, or you think you’re better than everyone else and arrogant enough to believe no-one can match you,” Bakugou interjected with a nasty smirk from his seat down the bus.

Artemis’s eyes narrowed at the angry blonde. He wasn’t as thick-headed as she’d thought in the beginning. It seemed that he was not only an excellent fighter, but also very perceptive. A dangerous combination. 

“Big talk coming from you, Mr I’m-Better-Than-You,” Artemis purred, leaning forward and focusing her eyes on him like a predator on its prey. “You pretend to be hot shit every day, Katsuki Bakugou, but what can you do exactly? Be loud and do more damage than necessary? My guess is you're overcompensating because you know you ain’t shit.”

“Tch, as if. Don’t act like you know anything about me, you sorry excuse of a squirt gun,” he spat and turned away in his seat.

Something told Artemis that she had hit the target quite well.

The bus came to a halt, and the conversations of the class became louder as a big glass dome came into view. Aizawa rose from his seat.

“All right, class, quiet down. I’m not gonna say it again.” He crossed his arms. “The pro hero Thirteen is gonna wait for you inside. I am expecting you to be on your best behaviour. I will not tolerate any stupidity, or I will make you all train after class ‘till you drop. Is that clear?”

The students hummed in agreement and started to get off the bus.

Aizawa’s dark eyes fell on the newest addition to his class. What he’d overheard her say on the bus ride made him feel slightly uneasy. While she had made some sensible points, her apathy concerning teammates and the people around her was concerning. It was a dangerous, slippery path that could easily go in the wrong direction. He would have to have a conversation with her about that, but something told Aizawa he’d have to be smart about it. Artemis had so many walls up, she may as well have been a high security prison.

He wondered what kind of life this child had lived up to that point that could possibly have made her that way.

[astrogone]

* ﹙✧﹚  :    ❝   @godbanes   ❞     /     𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆  𝐼𝑆  𝐴  𝑆𝐸𝐴  ;  𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆  𝐼𝑆  𝐴  𝑊𝐴𝑅  .

            oh,   she’d known.      the seas had warned her,    the skies had wept when they tried to tell her  — you will lose everything and yourself.    thetis ignored the signs.     the veil of happiness had clouded her view as she clung on ever moment with her boy,   her baby boy who she cherished from the moment he was born.     a bitter smile appears on her face.      “  i should have known.      apollon had prophesied that the bud from my marriage to a mortal would bring me happiness,    that the child will live a long and peaceful life.  ”    how those honest and prophetic lips had lied to her in that moment,   one of the most miserable and dirtiest moments of her life.   the blue in her eyes darken like a storm and her stern gaze finds ophiuchos’.     “   i reckon you already know that,   ophiuchos.  ”     the whole world knows how she was humiliated,   claimed as a prize then stripped of the only remaining thread of hope she had.  

the softness and sensibility on her face disappear,    replaced by the rigid and serious appearance she chooses to take.      thetis learnt to rely on herself and herself only,    even when her sisters had begged her to let them in,   let them help.    the nereid refused.    she became cold as the bottom of the sea and wrathful as the waves.     “  you only say that out of pity.    pity that i do not need.   ”     and yet she sought it when she opened up and let her feelings be heard.     “  you may stay at my side,   but i won’t accept any pity.  ”

thetis rips her gaze away from the elder being,   her breath stuck in her throat.    as a nymph she barely has any control over anything,   including herself.    many gods saw her as a prize,   a piece of meat to use as breeding material.    to protect herself from these hungry animals thetis decided to make herself angry,  disrespectful,  cold,   everything a god would hate in a nymph.    everything that a nymph isn’t.    the act of standing up against those stronger than her still feels wrong despite millennia of training herself to be so cold and uncaring.     “  at the end of the day,   ophiuchos,   it is your choice.   those who remain with me are either blessed or face a tragic ending.  ”

𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐃, 𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘— heard about it from one of their Amalgamations who was presented during her time with the deities nearby, agony ever dwelling beneath her feet. Even if they were just a constellation hung in the sky with no memories, they would witness her struggle, and they would grieve for her by burning too brightly. Burning, burning, dying; it was all a constellation could do. ( THE SINGERS AND POETS WERE LIARS FOR ONLY TELLING THE UNIVERSE THAT THE STARS COULD DANCE, SING, LIVE WHEN THEY WERE NEVER ETERNAL, NEVER FREE. YOU WERE TRAPPED IN A FIRE FOR TOO LONG, IF ANYONE TOLD YOU THAT YOU WERE BEAUTIFUL, YOU WOULD STARE AT THE SUN AND MELT REPLYING TO THEM: “THANK YOU, I DID NOTHING BUT BURN FOR YOU. DO I LOOK BEAUTIFUL STILL?” ) The whole world would know Thetis’ tale, yes, but the sky had eyes everywhere too. Ophiuchos was forever grateful to be given the chance from the believers to be standing beside Thetis, rather than being bound to only the stars and planets, their worst enemy. Though when she told them with such despise about them offering pity, something snapped in Ophiuchos and their stars died out; darkness reigned.

“Pity... Pity, you sssay, huh?”

Genuine confusion flickered violently in their voice, made from the lungs of a vessel that would comprehend so much emotions and their complexities, yet not when Ophiuchos had lived too long holding the burns— the agony as their only emotion. They said it out of pity. Emotions could truly not be that simple, now, was it? Frustration grew in Ophiuchos and they could only see deadly, blinding lights. ( YOU WANT TO SWALLOW THEM WHOLE BUT ALMOST LIKE BEFORE, YOU WILL WAKE UP SEEING YOUR BELLY STRETCHING AND TEARING FROM THE UNIVERSE DEVOURED IN YOU— DO YOU THINK YOU ARE READY TO KILL AND DIE IN REPEAT AGAIN? HAVE YOUR THROAT FULL OF WEEPING, DYING GALAXIES? BECOME A FALSE BIG BANG THAT CAN MAKE THE VOID ITSELF WISH IT CAN DIE ALREADY BEFORE IT CAN BE TOUCHED BY YOU? SHE DOES NOT NEED PITY, BUT LOOK AT YOU, FOOLISH SNAKE, YOU ARE THE PITY. ) “I don’t know how otherssss would say it, but how can I ssay what I meant it without pity— what you define it as painting you asss a weakness, I should ssssay?” they shook their head, as if they were offended to be placed in a position of being the threat when they could simply walk away from all of this chaos— leave her behind to suffer in solitude.

“Burn me into ashes, Thetis, I didn’t ssay it out of pity to make you look like one. I sssaid it becaussse I... I...” Ophiuchos’ mind blanked, their focus wavered as they could not find a proper word to use it in this time— this distorting, dying time, time, time...

“I CARE about you.”

When Thetis looked away from them, a hiss clawed through their throat, telling her to look at them, find the abyss staring back at her in their golden eyes after they threw their black shades over to the sands behind them, a tool now abandoned— forgotten. Stay at her side? No, no, that would not do. Instead, Thetis was going to have Ophiuchos stand in front of her then, with the waves continuing to rage behind their back and the future waiting to steal their spine, soul, name— they would be nothing and no one, and Ophiuchos only laughed despite everything. ( LOOK AT THE SERPENT, LOOK AT THE SINNER. THE NYPMN HOLDS THE RIGHTS TO BECOME THE WRATH, SO WHY TURN AWAY? THERE IS A CAUSE NOW SO BECOME THE EVOLUTION OF IT. THERE ARE THUNDERS RISING IN THE ATMOSPHERE, SANDS VIOLENTLY TREMBLING AHEAD, THE WAVES ARE WAILING AND SNEERING AND SCREAMING ALL AT ONCE; THE THREE GREAT GREEK GODS ARE FOUND IN A POORLY BRED NYPMN, AND THE WHOLE WORLD CAN ONLY WITNESS IT, BE REMINDED THERE IS A REASON WHY A STORM BEARS A NAME. BECOME THE STORM, OH, DEAREST DYING NYPMN, DIE AND BECOME THE UNFORGIVING SEA NO MORTALS AND IMMORTALS WILL EVER WISH TO EVEN THINK OF SUCH MERE PRESENCE— BE FREE. )

“Thossse who are either blessssd with a happy ending or cursssed with a tragic ending by simply being with you iss what I am getting from here,” mused Ophiuchos, tilting their head and their golden eyes gleamed. Though was that not how everyone thought at some point in their life? That those who stayed behind with the ones they thought of their beloved would only face two distinct outcomes? At least, Ophiuchos themself had thought so. ( IN YOU, KINDNESS MADE SOUNDS, AND CHAOS MADE SILENCE. EITHER THESE ENTITIES LIVE VIOLENTLY OR DIE PEACEFULLY BECAUSE OF YOU. YOU ARE A COMPLICATED BEAUTY SHEATHED IN A PHOBIA. YOU CAN NOT REMEMBER WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU MEAN ANYTHING BUT WONDERFUL TERROR TO THE UNIVERSE. YOU BREATHE, THEN EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE WILL BLEED. ) They still did while staring at Thetis, their gaze never breaking, never wavering. Always watching. “Interesssting that you are desscribing my associatesss perfectly as well, but, heh, that only further provesss my ssstatement—” Ophiuchos would try to take her chin for her to look at them directly in the eyes, gently, softly, even when there was only tension between them. Either she would let it happen or turn away from them, they would only think:

‘Look at my eyes and tell me what can you see? Nothing but gold. I was a constellation, so my eyes held those stars, but you don’t see them because I had killed every single of them because I do not deserve them— be remembered in the end. I don’t want to be remembered.’

“You are not alone.”

Ophiuchos stepped back from Thetis, but they were not done speaking yet. She could drown them in the sea, and they would only scream the rest of their words out. Despite the idea that their body would try to tear itself apart, with their lungs and veins full of fire, they would still be heard then and that was all they cared about: To be heard. They screamed in a ball of flames, so what difference would it make to do so in the sea? “If you are planning to leave thiss world and sssstay in the ocean forever after everything that had happened to you, okay, I undersstand, but,” they fisted their hands, clenching their hope that Thetis would listen to them, “Just know that I have already sssuffered so much from just being alone, ssso choosing to be with anyone— you? Oh, I am certainly embracing thissss choice, ssso give me all of what you have from the good and bad and in between, and I will only ssstand turning your ocean into the home made of nothing but MY blood.” Losing out of breath, they harshly exhaled. The weight had formed bit by bit in their body each time they uttered a sentence to Thetis, dragging them closer to the ragged surface of the rock, their face facing nearly Thetis’ feet— as if she was winning anyway, and all she did was watch. Ophiuchos would let her win though because after everything she had to go through?

Lived with?

Thetis deserved one good Goddamn ending in any situations. Just at least one.

Ophiuchos ached deeply, yet they still found a voice to use. They could not recognize it as their own, though they would hate to know if it was truly theirs; this voice was full of cracks and holes, bleeding nothing but pathetic despair. “But if you do allow me to ssstay with you, you will have to let everything in me ssssstay with me, including pity...”

Rage flickered, then died in Ophiuchos.

“It isss all or nothing, Thetis. Light or darkness forevermore. Your choice.”

[illegiblewords]

Snuff

Few utilize the private quarters of the Waking Sands. Although technically property of the Scions and thus equipped with their rooms and workspaces, in reality they are rarely all in use. The Ala Mhigan girl and her lalafell friend (Yda and Papalymo, Lahabrea is aware but such details are of little consequence outside the part he plays) prefer to spend their time in Gridania while the miqo’te woman… Y’shtola, favors Limsa Lominsa.

Of all the obnoxious things to keep track of.

Thancred’s most consistent company—and so, Lahabrea’s—includes the Antecedent, the elezen, and Tataru. The other lalafell.

Oh hells with it.

The Ascian, having taken over his host’s quarters along with his body, releases a loud and enduring exhale. The lamp is nearly finished, shadows long over the walls. A woman’s discarded smallclothes remain piled on the floor near the bed. They have, evidently, been there for some time. He’s already taken it upon himself to wash the man’s filthy sheets, to pick up quills and documents that had (so mysteriously) taken residence on the floor. In their wake the desk has a disturbingly hyur-sized gap, and this is something Lahabrea wants neither to think about nor interact with. So he sits on the floor with his books and his own notes.

Until his joints begin to ache from stagnation at least, which is absurdly soon considering the youth of his vessel.

Of course.

Hands held tight behind his back (posture Thancred would never willingly adopt, something Lahabrea understands instinctively even as he chews his lower lip in another habit peculiar to himself), he begins to pace.

For the time being he has access to all the resources of his enemy, all the information needed to reach a current understanding of “Beast Tribe” political finery. Exploit them to generate a power source for the Heart. He has, admittedly, permitted himself to fall behind on such matters in recent decades. With those sundered of their number otherwise occupied, the direct task of resource management and collecting fuel falls to him. As do negotiations with the Legate. As do keeping the mannerisms of his vessel straight along with the names and minute details of each colleague.

Minfilia possesses a fondness of pancakes and perfumes, has embarrassing difficulty riding chocobos. Urianger may in fact be faking his entire persona for private amusement but this has yet to be proven.

Tataru…

Tataru is insufferable. Involved in everything and everyone at all times. She’s knocked on his door no less than thrice today, voicing concern that he has not emerged for food or drink in a mere eighteen hours. Nor has he slept in longer, but that she need not know.

Thancred is accustomed to such work. Thancred engages similar activity on a regular basis. Thancred’s eyes feel ready to fall out of their sockets for Lahabrea’s dubious pleasure after memorizing the history of Sylphic relations with men, complete with small lettering and an occasional grammatical error on the author’s part. And as if that were not enough, Thancred’s head feels about ready to split open like an egg.

Hells.

Hells.

They will never let him hear the end of this. “Can’t even manage a few beastfolk, Lahabrea? Really?” Meanwhile, Emet-Selch spends half his days sleeping when he could be contributing a moment or two to the Rejoining but no. No, staying awake too is a paltry task that Lahabrea ought be able to handle all by himself along with countless other insultingly easy responsibilities that alone would be nothing to speak of. Together though, with his vessel’s intolerable headache, he finds himself fumbling at details.

Damn them all.

Ask him about the history of the Ixali in Allag, he could recite it in a blink. Their present beliefs and customs have been, until recently, irrelevant. And their hostility toward Gridania overlaps in such ways with the dynamic held between Amal’ja and Ul’dah that he catches himself confusing details between the two more often than he likes.

Elements are clear. Eikons are clear. The rest? Superficial nonsense, but superficial nonsense he must be prepared to use at a moment’s notice.

He drops his hands. Without missing a beat, he strides out the door, into the hall, up the stairs.

“Thancred!” exclaims Tataru, evidently delighted by what she perceives as a victory. “Are you finally going to-“

“No.”

Out the door. Out of the Waking Sands.

It’s approaching dusk, apparently. The sun shines a darkening orange as the sky turns pink and purple and a deep, dark blue.

There is a dock nearby. This, Lahabrea approaches.

In a perfect world, a complete world, there would be no witnesses nearby and he could scream at the infernal sun to his hearts content. But there are witnesses enjoying what might be a beautiful evening, and so Lahabrea only presses Thancred’s palms into his aching, aching eyes and kneels on the ground.

Awful.

Truly awful.

When he began to feel so tired he can’t recall. The Source is too heavy and too bright and too dull and he despises it with every fiber of his being.

He finds himself speaking in circles, more often than not. And laughing at things which, objectively, shouldn’t be funny. When Bahamut, sealed behind enough barriers to endure several Calamities and hurled into the heavens, returned out of nowhere after some odd thousand years to wreak havoc on their behalf—it was bizarrely, surreally hilarious.

Of all things.

And his sundered assistant only stared at him like a man gone mad. From the glances he collected following their great success… the others had misgivings as well.

But he’d succeeded. They’d done it. And they’d done it with an extraterrestrial dragon exploding out of the moon.

Despite himself, Lahabrea can’t help but chuckle quietly.

***

The sky dims. Lahabrea, having allowed himself some minutes to breathe, begins to stand.

Wobbles.

Steadies.

Walks, far less briskly, back toward the disgusting room that awaits him.

A moth beats around the entrance lantern. It nearly hits him in the face, an experience he ducks to avoid. It is for this reason, really, that he is caught off-guard.

“Hold it right there!” shouts Tataru as he slips back into her office.

The door shuts behind him. There are faint spots as his eyes adjust. The tiny receptionist is marching straight toward him, brows knit, mouth tight. An expression that might have been daunting on any other only looks absurd for her.

“Wha-“ he begins, only to find a surprisingly sharp finger jabbed into his stomach.

“No more excuses!” she says, no less forcefully. “You are going to sit down and have dinner and go to bed, and I swear if you so much as begin to argue with me I’ll- I’ll drag you there myself.”

Lahabrea finds himself staring, slack-jawed. Tataru takes one of his hands and, furiously, makes a valiant effort to pull him toward her desk.

There is a small curry there, steaming. A glass of orange juice beside it.

Abruptly, it occurs to him that if he doesn’t eat something immediately he really might die on the spot.

And that would be inconvenient.

***

“Slow down, you’re going to make yourself sick!”

Or choke, Lahabrea considers belatedly with a cough. He downs the juice in one go, which takes some moments and leaves Thancred’s eyes watering even as his lungs burn.

He doubles over after that, one hand still holding a spoon that trembles slightly. Waits for his body to catch up with him.

This was a mistake. It may not be beyond Tataru to drug her friends.

He feels, inexplicably, more miserable than he did before.

Another failed trial. Another weakness. Of body and mind both. Elidibus has been warning him for years, but there is work to do and he-

He can’t close his eyes.

***

Tataru does, in fact, drag him back to his room afterward. He thinks he almost managed to escape. The sink is in another part of the building. Once the dishes were dispensed with he could sneak back to his quarters and lock her out and do what he would.

“No. Do you really think I’ve forgotten last time? You’ve done enough and you’re going to bed and I’ll hear no more arguments about it,” says the lalafell. “March.”

Lahabrea does not march. If anything, he stumbles quietly in her wake and watches the back of her head and contemplates vague, unpleasant experiences he hopes will fall into her lap.

Down the stairs. Into the hall. Through the door.

“Eugh,” says Tataru, clutching her nose with her free hand. She glances about, pauses. Reddens. “How long have those been there?”

Lahabrea doesn’t look up. Doesn’t sigh. Doesn’t shrug. Doesn’t answer in any way whatsoever.

He refuses to be ashamed of a mess that is not his own.

“In the morning,” Tataru goes on, as if he will sleep until morning, “we are straightening this mess up. It’s unacceptable--why, it's a wonder you haven't caught something already!”

“One would think,” he says, and though the voice belongs to Thancred the words are his own, “you were my mother, with how you carry on.”

Tataru squints at him. Something between a glare and a deeply exasperated smile crosses her face. She points at the mattress. “Bed. Now.”

For a moment he only stares at it.

The bed does not, in fact, stare back. But if it could, he does not doubt that it would do so.

It is this thought which ultimately persuades him to comply.

***

She does not tuck him in, Zodiark be praised. That, he does himself.

“Don’t tell me,” says Lahabrea, as the Lalafell picks up his research, stacking one book on top of another, “that you mean to watch.”

Tataru’s smile is utterly terrifying and stripped of pity. “I don’t have to,” she informs him.

She snuffs the lamp out.

“Goodnight, Thancred,” she says. And then she leaves with his work.

***

He does not, in fact, sleep until morning.

He sleeps well into the next afternoon.

And with the mercy of a dreamless night, maybe that’s for the best.

[thesevencrimesandpunishments]

Chapter 3-Pride; Scene 2

Seven Crimes and Punishments, pages 61-70

The Demon of Pride worked hard. It worked very very hard.

His (her?) six wings flapped as hard as they could, and thanks to that we progressively increased the speed at which we moved. In no time at all we had managed to safely arrive at the place where the Lucifenia Palace had once been.

…Although, it still took quite a lot more time than it had with the Demon of Lust or Hänsel.

“Huff…Huff…How ‘bout that, we made it!” the rodent muttered, completely out of breath.

“…Well done.”

“Good grief! –In the first place, was there even any need to take you here at all!?”

“What do you mean?”

“All others aside, weren’t you personally involved with what happened with Riliane!? You would know all of it already even if you didn’t go to meet her now…More than anyone else, if I’m being untactful.”

“Well—I guess that’s true.”

“Michaela was probably just fussing on your behalf. Honestly, if only the day would come when I don’t have to listen to that crappy student--There’s no decency left in this world.”

No decency left in the world, to say nothing of the fact that the world had actually been destroyed.

That seemed to have had some sort of effect on the relationship between Michaela and the “Vessels of Deadly Sin”. The Demon of Lust had claimed that they just had nothing else to do, but judging by how the Demon of Pride was talking, there seemed to be some other reason for it.

After setting me down on the ground, the rodent once more spread its wings wide.

“I’m exhausted. I’m gonna head back and rest. You go on and enjoy your reunion with your long-absent friends as much as you can!”

The rodent shot up before I could give any thanks or goodbyes and flew off towards the Millenium Tree Forest.

The palace stood there before me. It was an illusory palace, much more splendid than the Venomania or Conchita mansions. Even after the Kingdom of Lucifenia fell and became a Republic, this palace continued to remain. It had been made into a tourist destination in recent years, but then it too had disappeared thanks to “Punishment”.

It was my former home.

The place where I had once spent my days as a servant.

“How nostalgic—” I said to myself without thinking.

My obediently following Sickle’s command to visit the “Deadly Sin Contractors” was so that I could come here like this.

To see her, the girl who was the master of this palace—

My older twin sister, Riliane.

.

The palace was packed with people.

Naturally, they were not living humans, but deceased souls. I was still altogether bewildered, not having expected so many of them to be here.

The people assembled here were not just those who had worked in the palace. There were several faces I didn’t recognize present. Come to think of it, considering this place had become a tourist site after the kingdom’s downfall, I had expected that there might be some sight-seers that were different from the time period where I had lived. Yet, judging from the clothing that everyone was wearing, that didn’t seem to be the case. All the uniforms and dresses that I saw looked very much like what one would see from the period of the Lucifenian Kingdom.

“Hey, if it isn’t Allen, my boy! Long time no see!”

Someone spoke up to me. It was a male voice I recognized.

When I turned around, I saw standing there a brown-haired, bespectacled man with a splendid appearance.

“Sir Keel…!”

“It’s been too long. You’re the only person I never saw up there, so I’d been quite worried. …I’d wondered if maybe you’d fallen down to the ‘Hellish Yard’.”

The head of the Freezis Trade Association, Keel Freezis. He had once saved the Kingdom of Lucifenia from famine, and then aided the side of the rebels during the revolution.

What was he doing here? When I asked, Keel gave a slightly troubled smile.

“Well, my daughter told me that she dearly wanted to attend the banquet tonight. So I’m sort of here as her chaperone.”

“Banquet--?”

“Ahh! Allen! Fancy seein’ you here!”

I heard someone else shouting behind me. This time it was a female voice. Thanks to her particular way of talking I could guess who it was even without turning around.

“Chartette…!? What in the world are you doing in that maid unifo—I thought you’d quit being a maid…”

“You’ve gotta come over and help out! We’ve got a whole heck of a lot of people here today, and we’re hardly prepped at all, yannow! Ney’s playin’ hooky somewhere too, yannow! And the head chamberlain’s in a foul mood, yannow!”

When she ran up to me, Chartette roughly grabbed my arm and started to pull me along.

“Wha!? Hold on—"

Still just as unbelievably strong. I was dragged away, unable to resist.

.

Captured by my old coworker Chartette Langley, I ended up being forced to help out with the banquet without any idea of what was actually going on.

“Head chamberlain! King Thorny’s meal isn’t ready yet!”

“What!? Olten, Asan! Hurry! Jet stream service!”

”Yes sir!”

All the servants were working busily. I myself was working without so much as time to breathe; helping with the cooking, carrying out the completed meals, telling guests where to find the restrooms, cleaning up wine that Chartette had spilled on the floor, and working on repairs to holes in the walls Chartette had opened up by bumping into them.

Though five hundred years had passed I surprisingly enough hadn’t lost my deeply ingrained sense for work. That must be the same for the other servants as well. Thanks to that the banquet was progressing without delay, but then as expected I hadn’t any time to speak to the head chamberlain or my other acquaintances.

What in the world was this banquet for? There were a lot of people I recognized among the guests, but I couldn’t see anywhere the center of the occasion. Yes, Riliane. Judging from the way things have been going she was probably the one holding the banquet, but if so that didn’t explain the reason for why so many people were gathered here like this.

Riliane was the “Daughter of Evil”—someone who had been despised by not only the people of her own country, but neighboring ones. Now that the kingdom had perished, there was no need for everyone to toady to her. So then, why—

“Allen! We’re not done yet! We’ve still got another big one, yannow!” Chartette was screaming.

A big one? …It can’t be!

.

“This is a bit of entertainment, from Princess Riliane to all of you!”

At Minister Minis’ words, I and the other servants carted the item out into the Hall of Mirrors.

“Ooooh…”

The guests were all in wonder.

What I had brought out—yes, it was an enormous candy castle.

Something similar had been at a banquet that had been held five hundred years ago…when Riliane was alive. It had been a symbol of pride, created out of her selfishness.

Back then, Riliane had smiled at it, extremely pleased. –But this time, she was nowhere to be found.

I steeled myself and tried asking Minis beside me where she was.

“Lord Minis. Where is the princess right n—”

And then, a bizarre twist occurred.

“Ta-daaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

And with that scream, something yellow jumped out from inside the candy castle before me.

“Wha!?”

Everyone’s eyes grew wide. Mine probably were too.

“Oh ho ho ho ho! I hope you’re having a good time, everyone! And now—come, bow to me!”

There was Riliane, making her signature phrase while covered in cream.

There were the shocked guests, the servants, and then me.

“R-Rilia—”

And then, right as I attempted to regain my composure and speak up to her.

“—Don’t be wasting the foood!”

Someone shouted that at her and rapidly dashed towards her.

It was an imposing woman—garbed in red armor.

It was the adoptive daughter of Leonhart of the Three Heroes, as well as the leader of the revolution.

And she was also my own adoptive older sister.

“Germaine…”

She pulled Riliane from her candy castle, and then fiercely brought her knuckles down on her head.

A dull noise resounded through the Hall of Mirrors.

“Uagh!? …Ooouch.”

“Take that as a punishment for a bad kid!”

“Y…you insolent thug! I’ll have you beheaded! Put you to the guillotine!”

“Oh ho? Go right ahead. I already died a long time ago, so I’m not scared in the least!”

“Grrrr...Th-then I’ll use magic! I’ll have Elluka turn you into a pig! Elluka! …Hey, Elluka!? Where is she!?”

But the court sorceress Elluka was nowhere to be seen.

“My, looks like your requested Miss Elluka isn’t anywhere around here. Weeell then, what shall you do, Your Majesty?”

“…Hmph! Enough! You big dummy.”

Riliane’s mood seemed to have completely soured. She shoved Germaine away and dashed off towards the entrance of the room.

I had watched the quarrel between my two sisters in a stupor, but as I saw Riliane running away I finally regained myself.

“Riliane!”

I headed for the door after her.

“--! A-Allen!? Wait a second!”

Noticing my presence there, Germaine flusteredly followed suit.

But someone extended a hand towards her as she did. That person’s hand gently stopped Germaine as she tried to pursue me.

“Hold up, Dad! Why’d you stop me!? Hey, Allen, wait—”

Sorry, Germaine. There’s a lot I want to talk about with you as well.

But right now—

Listening to Germaine’s voice behind me, I chased after Riliane.

<<prev------directory------next>>

[dustydreamsanddirtyscars]

1x12 “Faith” // 3x10 “Dream A Little Dream of Me” // 8x01 “We Need to Talk about Kevin”

“If the Tin Man Misses His Heart, So Does an Entire Show“ - On 14x01 “Stranger in a Strange Land” and the Thing about Hearts, Love and Faith

“That's one deep, dark nothing you got there, Dean. Can't fill it, can you? Not with food or drink. Not even with sex. [...] Oh, you can smirk and joke and lie to your brother, lie to yourself, but not to me! I can see inside you, Dean. I can see how broken you are, how defeated. You can't win, and you know it. But you just keep fighting. Just... keep going through the motions. You're not hungry, Dean, because inside, you're already...dead.”

- Famine to Dean in 5x14 “My Bloody Valentine”

---

I admit, it is rather weird to write a piece of meta on an episode underneath a gifset that doesn’t feature a single scene from said episode. It doesn’t for good reason though and that being the fact that iTunes doesn’t have the episode available here in Germany yet, so I couldn’t download it to make gifs, therefore this will have to do. I think though that these scenes above will illustrate well enough why I chose to use them in context to the S14 premiere. It’s plain and simple: To me they capture the essence of what this episode was about and to a huge extent in my personal opinion this episode was about one thing: Faith. Whether it was from Maggie mentioning a rawhead (the monster Dean killed in 1x12 “Faith” and almost killing himself in the process as well) the first man we saw Michael visit who started his day with praying to Mary trying to “keep the faith” that they’ll find Dean to Castiel expressing faith in Jack, who has lost it and the believe in himself to Sister Jo who seems to continue to work as a “faith healer” and saving people.

Faith, the very concept of it has always been something Dean as a character was shown to struggle with on Supernatural. Early on, from the very first season onward and especially set up with the episode 1x12 “Faith” that sees Dean close to dying with a damaged heart after having been electrocuted his’s faith or lack thereof has been an integral part of his journey as a character. In fact it has become a red line running throughout the seasons shining a light on Dean’s state of mind as well as perception of self.

Given all that the opening episode of S14 felt very interesting, because imo it called back to its roots and the episode 1x12 “Faith” as that episode not only truly established the heart symbolism surrounding Dean that has been focal point time and again over the course of 13 years, but also marked Dean’s special place within the grand scheme of things which has always lead all the way to Michael, who of course at present is calling the shots.

And here is where these aspects intertwine rather well, because imo the heavy focus on the heart in 14x01 with Kip for example talking about “eating Sam’s heart out” feels especially striking because Dean is absent. Dean, the tin man, lost his heart, his agency, has become a mere puppet to Michael’s will. And along with Dean essentially losing himself to me the show has lost it’s core, his heart too and that was strikingly showcased this episode.

Now, I know many people are going to hate me for saying this, but to me this set up makes one thing perfectly clear: Supernatural cannot work without Dean (which is why Dean is never allowed to not be around for longer periods at a time), because it lacks its heart, the PoV character, the narrator, the one who is holding everything together - and with that also has become the one who has steadily fallen apart due to the weight he carries on his shoulders, because he never once has put himself first or believed he mattered (and frankly ever since that god awful scene at the end of S12 with Dean trying to save Mary by going inside her mind also was plain shown that he indeed doesn’t seem to matter as a person in his own right, but only in extension to someone else) and with that thought he deserved to be saved.

To me this first episode spelt out perfectly the only way Dean should be able to “beat” Michael in the long run (I assume that even though Dean may appear “saved” but really won’t be - I guess they will play up some parallels between Nick and his possession and the aftermath for him with Dean, though frankly this whole thing was the most stupid move, because the vessel Lucifer inhabited was artificially made by Crowley and had nothing to do with Nick anymore, so... duuuhhh + if they needed this for dramataic purposes, Dean sharing with Sam those experiences would have made more sense and would be much more meaningful, but anyway...) lies in the small but important fact of Dean finding self worth and love for himself. The episode has shown one thing clearly and that is that Michael is completely unable to grasp the concept of what love means, it escapes him or at the very least annoys and bewilders him. Just like Lucifer never knew what Baby could trigger for Sam in 5x2 “Swan Song” neither understands Michael the meaning of love. And especially so if it is love for someone else. The only thing he knows about that is how he can use it to manipulate people and that’s how he was able to get Dean too after all.

And here is where I found Michael’s question to his counterparts interesting (though I quite frankly had to roll my eyes at Dabb here too, because really? Now even so obviously reference/steal from Lucifer from “Lucifer” and his “what do you desire?”-style), because every single time, every single answer featured love for someone else and belonging in some fashion, things Michael obviously seems to despise and count as a weakness (he is very Voldemort in that regard actually...) unless it is directed at oneself.

What do I mean with that? Obviously, Michael had asked Kip the question of “what he wants” as well and after some thinking he had come to the conclusion, a very selfish one: Everything. Well, as one says that’s how the mighty fall, but what I felt important in this context is how Kip managed to “survive” Michael and how Michael befriends a vampire at the end of the episode (for its “pure” reasons - lots of callbacks and parallels to purgatory with Dean and Dean and famine here, which I can’t possible work into this text right now, but there are a few fitting things in these storylines relevant to the current set up). They both think of themselves, put themselves first, “love” themselves if you will and THAT is something very strikingly different to Dean, because Dean doesn’t care about himself, doesn’t put himself first and truly has no love for himself. That is exactly why imo Michael has such a strong hold over him, why Michael could overpower Dean. It’s based in Dean’s lack of self worth and that aspect to is directly connected to faith - faith as such as well as the episode from S1.

More than once on the show it was addressed that Dean doesn’t think he deserves to be saved. Be it due to what he did in Hell or plain and simple due to the fact he thinks no one could or should ever love him. I truly think that is why Dean is so vulnerable to be overpowered by Michael, because in opposition to Dean Michael has all the love for himself but none for anybody else. He is self confident to the point of arrogance and being a complete megalomaniac, but point is, he feels worthy. That’s where he draws strength from. Dean on the other hand feels the opposite, has never learnt to form a healthy image of self. That is where to me the aspects of purity and hunger come into play here and especially so Famine’s words to Dean, because even though it is 9 years later, Dean doesn’t feel any different really, he never healed but only accumulated more scars, more trauma, more reasons to hate himself. He has been deeply depressed for a long time and shown to be tired and at the end of his rope, ready to lay his head to rest. Amara to echoed these sentiments previously said by Famine, that Dean feels empty. And well, doesn’t someone who feels empty and despises himself allow all the more room as a literal vessel for someone to inhabit?

So what does it all come down to? My personal takeaway from this episode was that there is only one way to “save” Dean and that is by Dean saving himself. And that may be the hardest part, because as all of the gifs capture above Dean struggles to see himself as worthy to be saved, as important and lovable, because he simply doesn’t feel any of those things for himself. But if I was part of the writing team, this aspect would be the vital aspect for Sam, Jack and Co. to get Dean back, getting Dean to build up his own self worth, loving himself and with that becoming strong enough to fight Michael off who really doesn’t know humanity at all. Dean’s love for his loved ones has proven to “move mountains”, who knows what he could move if he had found just a shred of that immens capacity to love for himself...

[ofmorninglory]

Space Pirates (idk like Treasure Planet maybe?) + Stony or Clintasha

An expansion piece!!! To this post right here --> that’s Halbarry Space Pirates AU and honestly one of the Best AUs, no questions asked, that the lovely @magicalzatanna​ and I came up with when Crossover AU hell first started. Am I also adding that Barry and Clint are twin brothers? Why yes, I certainly am, and there is absolutely nothing anyone can do to stop me! This is basically Star Trek meets Something Like Treasure Planet: 

(I wanted desperately to put this under read more but it won’t LET ME so I’ll tag this as “long post” and hope you guys don’t hate me too much)

Clintasha 

Does Clint absolutely hate his brother for getting him into this? He does, he most certainly would love to suffocate Barry while he was sleeping. Unlike his twin brother, Clint Allen would very much love to have his feet down on Earth. Space was unpredictable, unknown, and it gave Clint the heebie jeebies to actually think about all the things that were out there, floating in space, waiting to pounce on human idiocy. Nevertheless, he was Barry’s twin brother and they had never been more than a couple of days apart. Clint loved Barry more than anything (and how could he not? How could he not adore his twin brother, who was kind and solid ground, who taught everyone around them ASL so they could talk to Clint when he wasn’t feeling like wearing his hearing aids) and the thought of letting him go off-world without him? It was unconceiveable. Sure, he hates space, but he hates the thought of his brother out there all alone even more. (Their mother is gone, their father is in jail--Clint only has Barry and he doesn’t even want to let go) 

It’s a miracle that he gets into the Academy, given his hearing issues, but he figures it has something to do with being buddies with Tony Stark (who also designed all of his hearing aids, no charge or favors owned; “only the best of the best for one of my best” Stark had said back then) and how many recommendation letters administration got from other students (all of Barry’s friends, of course) commending him on his skills (near-perfect aim, spoke 3 languages fluently, skills in combat, great strategist and tactitian, also good with tech when it came down to it). He’s afraid that they might separate him and Barry, but Bruce Wayne is Captain, and chooses him and Barry in their respective departments (he’s Safety & Security while Barry’s Reasearch & Development) for the USS Justicia. Clint actually gets along pretty well with everyone in the ship, specially with the people in Barry’s Lab who all learned basic ASL language for him. He absolutely hates space with a burning passion (and he’ll continue to hate it no matter how many fucking times Barry and Tony get excited over aliens and other equally distressful scenarios), but at least he’s with his brother and that’s about enough for him.

But then there’s a fucking pirate space ship and Clint’s life goes to hell. He thought he had something going on, he really did, but space really is unpredictable. He tried telling this to Barry and Iris about five-hundred-and-forty-six times in the past, but no one ever listens to him. 

Cue in Natasha Romanoff (Natalia Romanova, Natalie Rushman, she doesn’t really know anymore) who was given a second chance at life by the Captain and the Commandos (”It’s my ship!” Hal screams everytime “We are not the Commandos!” “I’m the Captain,” Steve says back, calmly, “And we are.”) Before being found by the Highball, a hideous name if she ever heard one (she’s told Hal as much), Natasha was an asset for a well-known Space Trafficking Ring. She had been picked up as a child, and then whipped into shape by Madame B, under Thaal Sinestro’s orders. Since then, she’d been doing their bidding, hollow and more than a little lost. When Sinestro came back as a Yellow Lantern after being kicked out of the Green Lantern Corps, she was sent to eliminate Hal, of course, but the power of the ring stopped her from doing it. Hal extended her an olive branch, and asked her if this really was what she wanted to be doing. Natasha fled, at first, but the more she hid from Sinestro and Madame B, the more she thought maybe Hal had a point. She finds him, his ship and his crew, and asks to join them. She had to learn to adjust to being part of a team, and she still sometimes feels odd and out of place, but Steve and Sam help her through it. Bucky tries, sure, because he understands, but he’s never been really good. The Highball is as good as any home, she thinks, and she’s warming up to the people around her little by little. 

When the Highball crashes into the USS Justicia (and Tony and Hal bond over rumoured Treasure Planet that they may have been looking for since the ship was space-borne), Clint and Natasha are forced to co-exist, just like everyone else in the ship. Reparations for the USS Justicia are slow with little to no materials to actually do it, and if Clint hated space before he outright despises it now. He takes an instant interest in Natasha, because there’s something there that Clint can’t explain himself but he wants to know. Natasha is elusive and will go to great lengths to avoid him, but he’s sneaky and very good at finding her on every single hide-out in the ship. She hates him a little bit for it, but actually respects him. She starts warming up to the idea of him little by little (and it has nothing to do with how blue his eyes are, shut up, Sam) and they become kind-of-sort-of friends. They talk about combat, martial arts, his great marksmanship, the 800 languages she knows (“They’re 10, Clint.” “I CAN BARELY SAY MY NAME IN ENGLISH, TASHA”), and how their lives turned out like this. Clint probably finds Nat mid nightmare, mid panic attack, mid-I’m-still-in-the-Red-Room spiral down that seems never ending, and he’s the only one who’ll hold her and whisper sweet words into her hair, until she’s fallen back asleep in his arms. Natasha jumps in front of danger every single time Clint is in any bad situation that’s about to get worse. They suddenly start merging into a couple and no one really knows what the fuck is going on, those are facts. Barry’s just happy his brother’s got this out of space, which he seems to hate so much. 

Stony

Tony Stark is head of the R&D department and second in command in the USS Justicia. He and Bruce W had never gotten along much (not like he and Bruce B, who’s a sweetheart and owns Tony’s entire heart) but they’re effective enough together that the Federation thought it was a good idea to give them their own goddamn ship. Tony doesn’t complain. Much. There’s not much waiting for him on Earth (his father disowned him, Stark Industries fell to Obadiah Stane after his parent’s untimely death) and Bruce W is a good Captain that keeps their crew in top-shape. He’s not leading any of them into battle, like so many other Captains did nowadays, and Tony revels in the quiet existance that is flying through space in a glorified saucer. He likes his team (picked Barry himself, deeply interested in his thesis) and they discover heart-stopping, amazingly cool stuff every. Single. Day. Tony couldn’t be happier, he really couldn’t. (Some days Bruce W will go to a Federation Post somewhere for meetings and Tony will get to be Captain, that’s the only instance of all of this that made it better.)

Captain Steve Rogers, or former Captain at least, used to be the captain to an important Federation vessel, the USS Valkyrie, that doesn’t exist anymore (unless you count the heap of scrap that was left of it after it was decomissioned). He was never one to follow rules, and while the Federation had given him his dream to see the stars (something he never would have dreamed of in a million years as a sickly kid, who could never even get out of bed some days), there were still some rules and regulations he simply couldn’t agree on. After getting his rank revoked and his crew relocated (except Bucky, of course, who was with him to the end of the line; he couldn’t blame the others, either, they had families to feed) Steve and Bucky are back on Earth, feeling miserable and forlorn. That is, until the Highball docks in San Francisco (illegally, might I add) and Hal Jordan, in all his glory, offers them a spot in his crew of misfits, and the rest is pretty much history. They travel space, they help people the way they always wanted, they kick-ass, take names--Steve would have never thought, at the beginning of his career, that this is where years of training at the Academy would take him. He finds he doesn’t care very much. 

Until the day the Highball hits the fucking USS Justicia. Steve wants to pull out all of his hair because of course it had to be a fucking Federation vessel. Harold steps up as the calm, collected, reasonable adult that he never is, and get everyone on board. Steve thinks “hey, it can’t get much worse!” and then Tony-fucking-Stark walks through the door and he wants to die. 

Steve’s been crushing on Tony since the younger man stepped into the Academy, all those years ago, except he was never really good at expressing his feelings, and no matter how much Bucky tried to get him to ask Stark on a date, all Steve managed, every single time, was get Tony angrier at him and their relationship becoming even rockier. Tony immediately recognizes him and it’s like they’re younger now, back at the Academy, and being enemies (even when Steve wanted anything but that). Tensions are high at the Highball (hah!) and Steve, bless his heart, just wants to fix the USS Justicia as fast as is possible.

Except, you know, Clint and Natasha find a goddamn map to Treasure Planet (Steve never believed it to be a thing) and Hal and Tony can’t stop vibrating in their places, shooting off at the mouth, overexcitedly, about how many things could be in this planet!! Somehow, they all get roped into searching for this planet, and Steve really, really just wants to rest. Somewhere along the way, Tony stops being all fire and brimstone, and in turn, Steve tries to be less of an awkward idiot around him (Barry helps a lot, he really does) and the two form an unlikely friendship. Since Steve is still Captain of the Highball (Hal appointed him; there was a SIGNED CONTRACT in between; Hal could own the ship all he wanted, but he still was Captain) he feels responsible for everyone inside his ship, and the adventure they’re about to undertake is, perhaps, one of the most dangerous. Steve just hopes they’ll make it through it. 

[tekka-dan]

Pro SK: Do you support the theory that Sarada is Karen's daughter actually?

So being pro SK for me I actually entertain both suigetsu/karin and sasuke/karin, both to me are pretty decent. However about the Sarada being Karin’s daughter theory i think is a really fun way of interpreting her character. Especially cause Kishimoto left the manga open ended.

The reason I say that is because Sarada as just a Uchiha bores me. She’s the supposed daughter of sakura and sasuke the lone uchiha, and that in itself doesn’t intrigue me. Why, you ask? Because of the Sakura mess. I like Sakura as a character, just to be clear. I despise sakura and sasuke’s relationship though but that’s not why I mainly dislike Sarada. I feel like Sarada has issues that doesn’t make her character prevail. Her mother acts worthless around her chooses to be missing father and sarada’s only opinion on him is that she’s connected to him for the sheer fact that..she exists…..Doesn’t do it for me. She goes through her whole arc being livid at the fact that her mother doesn’t tell her a single thing about her own father and even worse proves to not know pretty much anything about him, her house is shattered to shambles, she finds that ironic photo of her teenage father and the woman with the glasses in the rubble and sets out on a journey to find her father and when she does he damn near strangled her after pointing his sword at her, then to have her mother be kidnapped by a lookalike deadpool and then they hadda rescue her only to be told by sasuke that when she asked about the marital status between him and sakura he says that they are connected…because she exists? Like in the real world that..just doesn’t make sense? And even when you really think about it, that’s really pathetic. Also, dismissing that this “isn’t the real world” the whole logic behind it was so..flat. Sarada then forgives him after the poke on the forehead and all is well? I feel like she should’ve been a little more resentful towards the fact that he’s never around? Never bothers to contact them? Doesn’t even..kiss her supposed mother? Like dismissing the whole “that’s just not sasuke’s character” shit, sasuke knows how to show genuine affection or to at least acknowledge it. The conclusion of gaiden proved first and foremost that sasuke..isn’t even connected to them even with sarada existing. Her character bores me, especially with how easily she forgives him. If you’re gonna use the daddy issues thing, then make it prevalent. I mean edward elric despised his father and even at the end when he saved them after the truth was revealed edward doesn’t exactly forgive hohenheim, because he has every right to be angry at his father for leaving them. He understands him but edward doesn’t really forgive him. And that’s what makes his character (to me) feel far more relatable and deeper. Sarada just..forgets that Sasuke has been missing (by choice) for twelve years and her mother is just..okay with her father not being around?I despise this. I dislike that sakura was such a dumb ass that she brought a child into the world by a man that’s never shown any sort of interest in her. It’s even in a hidden novel that she chased him because she didn’t take no for an answer, just what the ever loving fuck lol. Sarada as a uchiha just suffers and it’s because of sakura. Nothing about their family is mended at the end of gaiden, hell sasuke couldn’t wait to dip again. What makes it even worse is that everyone uses his mission as an excuse to be away just to make sakura being a single mother noble when it’s mentioned by naruto (IN BORUTO BECAUSE I FINALLY WATCHED IT) three times that sasuke can VISIT home, it wouldn’t HURT to just stop by and say HELLO. To acknowledge his FAMILY. But he doesn’t do this and it goes back to the fact that he doesn’t want to. Which makes sarada’s character that much more pathetic to me..he hates sakura so much that he avoids his own child which is a spitting image of her. i can’t deal with that.

BUT IF SARADA IS ACTUALLY AN UZUMAKI LOOK HOW MUCH MORE INTERESTING HER CHARACTER BECOMES;Because sasuke doesn’t want to reside in the leaf due to the enteral and everlasting threat of kaguya existing, he wanders aimlessly around the outskirts of konoha. throughout his journey he encounters Karin who still works for Orichmaru alongside Suigetsu who is staying true to his pursuit of the seven ninja swords of the hidden mist village. and jyuugo whose..ambition was never made clear BUT SO sasuke decides he has to procreate in order to revive the clan, and he entrusts Karin with the task of bearing his offspring. Soon after impregnating her he tells her that Orichimaru can’t find out about the pregnancy due to the fact he would want to experiment on the child because of the uchiha mixed blood, Sakura then comes along looking for some dick and thirsting after Sasuke who politely declines her advancements, stating to her that as an aspiring medical ninja the last thing she needs to focus on is childhood lust. sakura takes his advice, but wants to accompany him on his journey. politely he rejects this offer as well but decides to take her to his hideout with karin. There, Karin gives birth to Sarada. Sarada is raised in captivity with Sasuke and Karin for two years without being detected. Suigetsu soon can’t keep his mouth shut and tells Orichimaru that a child has been harbored in his hideout without his knowledge. Intrigued, he goes to investigate but Sasuke overhears Suigetsu panicking and picks up on the fact he’s ratted them out. Sasuke then tells Karin that the best thing they can do is turn Sarada over to Sakura in the leaf village where she cannot be detected or pursued by Orichimaru or anyone else. Sasuke entrusts Sarada into the capable care of Sakura, who he deeply trusts as beloved comrade. He understands more than anyone that she can raise Sarada perfectly, without fearing of her ever being in danger. This gives Sasuke all the more reason to protect Konoha, for the mere fact that his child resides there with her make believe mother. As Sarada grows older, Sakura who has sworn to Sasuke to keep his existence, mission and duties a secret, doesn’t tell Sarada anything regarding her heritage for her sole protection. Sarada has distinct hazy memories of her father as a baby, but cannot distinguish them between dreams or reality. In truth her memories are from when she was raised by his side with Karin in the secret hideout, but after her illness and needing to be given glasses, her memories fog over and she soon starts forgetting her own father and precious memories. When she is finally reunited with him, Sakura informs him after all those years she kept his promise to him on keeping his daughter safe and sound and keeping as much information from her as possible. To Sakura’s surprise, Sasuke thanks her. In means of keeping Karin a secret for the fact she works directly under Orichimaru, he informs her that he is connected to her through Sakura and by this he means that as long as Sakura keeps her safe, he will always be with her. Sarada being young by not naive, with a smile, accepts this wholeheartedly.

I also would just like to add that this would make Mitsuki’s introduction far more intriguing if his focus was on getting closer to Sarada, for mere experimentation purposes. We all know that Mitsuki is an escaped clone of Orichimaru’s but we also learn that Orichimaru accepts the rogue ideals of Mitsuki’s divided ambitions. However, being as he is still an experiment of Orichimaru’s and being raised in one of his hideouts he learns extensive knowledge of the Uchiha’s and Uzumaki’s with their honorable prowess and chakra abilities. He takes interest in Orichimaru’s motivation to obtain uchiha and uzumaki genes/blood. After escaping and meeting Boruto, his interest peaks. But then he encounters Sarada, realizing she’s the perfect vessel for Orichimaru to experiment on because she’s a mix of both notable clans.

See why that storyline is much more interesting? Now that’s a character I can grow with.

[onwesterlywinds]

A Vessel for the Soul

"The body is but a vessel for the soul, A puppet which bends to the soul's tyranny. And lo, the body is not eternal, For it must feed on the flesh of others, Lest it return to the dust whence it came. Therefore must the soul deceive, despise, and murder men."

- A. J. Durai, Vagrant Story

She could not recall where she was or how she had come to be there, but a low and persistent hum filtered into her waking and sleeping thoughts. She was dazed and bleary and only a bit too cold, but for a long while, the presence of that droning hum - familiar, albeit in an unfamiliar way - was all that she knew for certain.

But it hurt to think too deeply, on the topic of her whereabouts or any other. Her head was pounding fit to burst.

At last, she summoned the will and the energy to draw in a deep breath. The air tasted sour, metallic. The tang of it would have evoked a cough, only she found that she could not properly inhale: something was lodged in her mouth, pushing apart her jaws and pressing down her tongue. The more she made to wretch, to spit out the object and all of its wrongness, the more distressing it became that she was unable to do so. The thing was supplying her with air - it, and the thinner tubes that extended from it to enter her nostrils.

She opened her eyes in alarm and at once they began to sting, from contact with water and from the blinding swath of blue that lay before her. Not the clear, pure blue of a warm ocean or an open sky, but of chemicals and machinery.

Of ceruleum.

Before her, only partly opaque through the horrific glow, lay a reflection - her own image, warped from the concave pane of a glass containment tank.

She struggled. She could do nothing else, faced as she was with the full weight of her captivity, and her every movement became a new and futile realization: her legs were strapped together, her arms were bound behind her back, and she could not summon enough force to break free of her restraints. She could not even scream loudly enough to overcome the breathing apparatus, no matter how she tried-

"Shut it down!" a voice cried, as if from a great distance away. "She's overcoming the restraint systems!"

Something silver and shimmering slipped past her field of vision as she writhed. She needed only to look again at her reflection to see what it was for certain, but she refused to look; she dared not allow herself even a glimpse. Instead she focused her gaze straight ahead at a crack beginning to form in the glass of the tank, and at the decidedly Garlean soldiers scrambling about in the laboratory beyond-

"Put her back to sleep! Now!"

There came a sudden burst of pain throughout her every ilm - an electric shock that would have made her cry out even louder, had she the means; the supply of air from the breathing tube had ceased. Her eyelids began to droop, her limbs refused to respond, and she reconciled herself at last to the fact that her body was no longer her own.

"Did you see her?"

They'd turned off most of the illumination modules in the workshop, but there was nothing to be done for the glowing blue lights that came from the ceruleum generators. The machines sent a blue cast across the nearest wall that was a bit dizzying in a way he could not comprehend. He rolled over to the side of the cot, in the event he needed to vomit, but did not. Over and over again, he gulped down breaths of air.

"I... I didn't," he said at last. "Not a thing."

As always, it was as if her own lips were moving to form the words. Deliberation hung heavy in her mind, acute submission to Rosenheim's innermost emotions, but his precise thoughts had always been beyond her reach during the moments of their Echo bond.

"Do you remember," he asked the woman at his side, "still in the first few moons after we met, that night when I was seized by panic down by the lochs? When Marco had to sit you both down and tell you about Blackram."

"I remember."

Tia? Tia, is that you?

"I was dreaming of him. He was sitting in the dark and talking, talking to me like he hasn't been dead for years, like... like he still knew everything about me. Like everything I've seen and done since..."

Her father could not finish his train of thought. He was clenching his fists so tightly that the pressure of his fingernails against his palms might have left welts in her own skin. Were she the least bit conscious, she might have cried out from the pain of it.

"Ridiculous. Ridiculous I'm still letting it get to me, after thirty godsdamned years and a fucking war."

Rosenheim, please. My body's trapped in a Garlean tank, and my mind is here, right behind your eyes-

"And I think of what's happened with Ashelia and me, our Echoes joining, and... sometimes, even that brings back what that bastard did to Sigrid."

I'm right here! Gods, why can't you sense me?!

Tia threw one of her arms about his waist and curled herself into him, despite taking up the majority of the small cot to do so. "Just try to relax. You've been awake far longer than I have." After a single silent moment, she took a long breath and added, "I'm sorry I don't have anything more helpful to say."

Ma. Dad.

Rosenheim responded by turning himself around in bed. A single beam of light from one of the generators lit up most of Tia's face with its radiant blue, illuminating the kind intent with which she regarded him.

Help me.

He leaned over and laid a light kiss upon her brow. "Sleep well." She pulled herself ever closer to him to return the gesture and he shut his eyes at that.

Though it took some time for his body and his mind to drift off, Ashelia saw no more of the workshop or of anything else.

Scientists and officers alike came into the facility to survey her. She could hear them talk from the other side of the ilm-thick glass, muffled as though their voices stretched across eras; whenever she opened her eyes to greet the sound, the speakers often stood no more than a few fulms from her prison. She listened time after time to the people to whom she was more of an afterthought than aught else; eventually, she could absorb each and every syllable of their affected speech and realized that she could even understand what many of them were saying.

Her father had, after all, spent twenty years with these people.

"...not that this would have been the least bit easier under van Baelsar, but Lord Zenos has hardly been forthright with his agenda. I daresay he's making his decisions on a whim."

"I can't believe I'm saying this," a man harrumphed, "and to you of all people. But I agree." He was a relatively easy figure to spot, as he bore an unusual appearance compared to most of the Garleans she had seen in her life: he was short, balding, and incredibly rotund, though he wore a military uniform that fit him as well as any other she had seen. "I had thought the matter settled after our previous discussion: unplug the tank's life support and ship the corpse back to the capital."

"Really, Bonifas." The other speaker was a severe-looking woman with a haughty face, one whom Ashe did not need to be told was named Salonia. Camilla rem Salonia, primus pilus of the XIIth. "With such an investment on the line-"

"Investment into what, exactly? This is the savage that killed Gaius van Baelsar! And you've talked to anyone who would listen about incorporating her into the XIIth, as though she were Garlemald's own prodigal-"

"No wonder you're confused. Time and again you miss the point," the woman snapped. She withdrew a bulging leather wallet from a deep pocket and opened it; inside rested a matchbook and an array of cigarettes. "We wouldn't be incorporating Ashelia Riot into the XIIth. Just as Ashley Riot is not and never has been a Garlean operative." She struck a match, lit her cigarette, and held it between her fingers for a moment as she continued speaking. "I wonder if he would be amenable to helping us choose her new alias, once we have her locate him on our behalf."

"I must wonder why you are so interested in chasing down an operative who failed a mission. Or abandoned it, as is more likely."

"One mission, after hundreds of successes. Besides, he represents an investment of millions."

"It has nothing to do with your alleged physical relationship with him?"

Camilla took a long drag from her cigarette and, before breaking the heavy tension, blew a massive cloud of smoke into the air. "I won't dignify such a baseless accusation with a response." She turned from the man, casting a careless glance up at the tank. "I'm going to confer with Alenna and Invidia; if you need me, I don't care." On her way out the door, she barked a final order. "And for the love of all that's good, shut her down, if you've any idea what you're doing. She's woken up yet again."

Ashelia Riot now understood, and with intimate clarity, exactly how the many creatures in Azys Lla had survived for over five thousand years. Even when she lost any hope of keeping track of time within the confines of her prison, even when each passing minute became its own eternity, she could choose to succumb to her rage. She learned to prefer being conscious, no matter the degradations and violations the Garleans subjected her to. Consciousness kept her thoughts from wandering.

She did not want to think of her company. To do so would be to inevitably speculate how many of them might already have died in her absence, or what the toll might be if they were to mount a rescue effort. She worried most of all for those in Othard, and for her husband leading them, and for whether or not she would ever again see anyone she loved unless it was as a prisoner in her father's mind.

And as time went by, she saw less from him, too. Rosenheim kept to windowless rooms within the Sandsea and spoke little, even to Tia, and soon she could not endure a moment of their shared Echo without resentment beginning to simmer. It was hypocritical - it had taken her nearly twenty years to seek him out, and she likely would never have stormed a castrum for his sake - but it was much easier to occupy and fortify herself with anger than it was to succumb to despair.

In time, she could no longer distinguish the Echo from her dreams.

"We're going to get her out of there," she once heard her father say. "We'll keep you as informed as we can. In the meantime, we'll need you and the rest of the Crimson Blades to give it your all in Othard."

She dreamed that she herself was standing in Doma on a bright and cloudless day, but she had never been to Doma and likely would never get the chance and her surroundings resembled instead the rugged peaks of northern Vylbrand. The westerly wind tasted of sedatives.

“I thought about running home." Edge's voice rang out across the peaks, flat and fatigued and marred by the crackle of static. “Sylv and the others talked me out of it. Now I’m just... numb. I’m going to make them regret this. All of them.”

She climbed with stiff legs over the bones of a massive, prehistoric being, one not so unlike the undead wyrm she had encountered at the Hundred Throes-

The earth began to vibrate over and over again with a noise like that of a low, heavy gong.

She opened her eyes, shaken back into reality at long last. A Garlean foot soldier - young, with close-cropped silver hair and a large third eye - was being dragged off by two others in white laboratory coats. He had kicked her tank. The soldier stared up at her with a hatred that rivaled what she felt for him.

"BITCH!" he spat. "I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME! YOU KILLED MY BROTHER! IN DRAVANIA!"

He tore his arm free from one of the scientists, who stumbled back and nearly flailed into the tank's control panel. Before the soldier could take another step closer, a single shot rang out, and a bullet tore through his head with a sickening spray.

Camilla rem Salonia holstered her pistol. To the stunned researchers gaping over at the crumpled corpse, she said, "Your only warning. Should anyone else speak of Case 72 beyond the limits of this room, every one of you will be brought to the Resonatorium in her stead."

"You should be glad to hear that we've at last determined what's to be done with you."

The fact that the praefectus medicorum was speaking Common made his words no easier to understand. His team had affixed a heavy metal dome to her head - the better to gauge her vitals, they said - and the constant ache from carrying that weight for what felt like half an era was only compounded by that godsdamned hum. Dimly she fantasized about shutting the machine down for good: breaking every pane of glass to shards, shattering all the circuits-

"Now, now," the medicorum said, a slimy smile on his face. "Settle down, my dear, or I'll have to administer another round of shocks. I don't think either of us will be happy with that outcome."

She took her heaving breaths through the tube, fighting her every instinct to writhe back and hating herself for surrendering to his wishes. The medicorum folded his hands together across his front, examined the panel to his immediate left, and waited.

"Acceptable," he said after a time. "But I'll expect better from you in the future." He paused for another moment to allow the words to sink in. "Tomorrow is a very important day. You're to finally be brought before Zenos yae Galvus, legatus of the XIIth Imperial Legion - the new viceroy of the Ala Mhigan territory."

Immediately her thoughts raced to the last time she had seen him, during the raid of Rhalgr's Reach. He had cut down each of his targets indiscriminately, without even a struggle. She would have to prevail against him, unarmed, weak as she was.

"Well?" the medicorum asked. "It's a great honor. The son of the emperor - possibly himself the future emperor - wielding your powers to bring this war to an end once and for all."

How could she hope to prevail against Zenos if she could not overcome even a single researcher?

The medicorum gave the control panel one last glance, then raised his hands in a mocking gesture of conciliation. "Very well. I'll refrain from further attempts to provoke you. You're surprisingly calm at the mention of Lord Zenos, I'll give you that." His sickening grin returned, and he reached for the button that would disable her for the near future. "Let's see if that still holds true tomorrow. Sweet dreams, Seraph."

The humming returned in full force.

In a final act of futile defiance as her eyes began to droop, she summoned the last traces of air left in her lungs and loosed a single, drawn-out, deadened scream at the man's back.

[dailyaudiobible]

01/17/2018 DAB Transcript

Genesis 35:1-36:43, Matthew 12:1-21, Psalms 15:1-5, Proverbs 3:21-26

Today is the 17th day of January. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I'm Brian. It is my pleasure, and a true honor to be here with you today. And I say that because, if you didn't show up, what would be the point. I could just read this to myself, silently. So, I’m thankful and grateful that we have this time together to take the next step forward as we move our way further into the month of January, but further into the year in the Bible that we’re spending. So, we’re reading from the New Living Translation this week. And today we’ll read Genesis chapter 35 and chapter 36.

Commentary:

Okay. So, Jesus has himself in a bit of hot water with the Pharisees. And it's kind of unfolding exactly like Jesus was telling His disciples when He sent them out. Jesus is going out into the countryside and doing good, doing God's work, announcing the kingdom, and even demonstrating the effects of the kingdom. But in the process of doing all of that He’s also, in some ways, breaking with tradition. And He's also being suspected of blasphemy, which is a capital offense. They think He's doing this because He's announcing that He can forgive sins. But He's breaking with other traditions as well. And in today's reading we see that He's breaking tradition with the Sabbath. So, His disciples were walking through a field and they're getting some grain and there eating the grain and this is work. This is what the religious establishment has decided is work. And, so, they’re breaking the Sabbath. And Jesus defends this by simply opening the Scriptures to them. But then He's put in a situation where He may heal on the Sabbath and this has also been determined to be work. And, so He does heal this man's hand after He opens the Scriptures again and shows, like, He's showing them why He's doing what He's doing. He’s reinterpreting the tradition that they have been bound to. He's bringing light and life and health and healing, and all that's happening is that they're getting mad because He did it on the Sabbath. And Jesus declares Himself Lord over the Sabbath. And they decide then, in response, to try to figure out a way to kill Him, which invites us to consider our response when God begins to move counterintuitively in our lives, in a way that breaks with our tradition, in a way that we may not understand. Do we go back to the box and say oh well, God can't or would not be involved in that, because that does, that just works against my little tidy box of understanding? When we think about it in those terms, we understand just how much like the Pharisees we can become. But why do we do that? I mean, why do we protect the box? It's because we don't want to get it wrong, like we’re actually coming from a good place. We don't want to get it wrong. And, so, the question becomes, well, what does a person look like who's getting it right? What does that look like?

Thankfully, we have the writings of the ancient King David in Psalm chapter 15 today, where we get that definition. Who may worship in Your sanctuary, Lord? Who may enter Your presence on Your holy hill? Right? What does the person who is getting this right look like? We have an answer. Those who lead blameless lives and do what is right, speaking the truth from sincere hearts. Those who refuse to gossip or harm their neighbors or speak evil of their friends. Those who despise flagrant sinners in honor of the faithful followers of the Lord and keep their promises, even when it hurts. Those who lend money without charging interest. Right? In other words, those who don't take advantage. And those who cannot be bribed to lie about the innocent. Such people will stand firm forever.

Prayer:

Father, we invite You into this. We can see clearly that You will shake us up and disrupt us in whatever way that You want to in Your word and cause us to think more deeply about things that we had set in concrete. And, so, that's disruptive in and of itself because it makes us ask questions that we weren't anticipating. And this is good. And we invite You into all of it. We invite You to churn inside of us, bringing up things inside of us, reframing what we think that we know, because we can't know You by knowing about You and we can't know You by following recipes or traditions. We can only know You by knowing You. And we see in the Psalms what that looks like. So, we invite you into these things. Come, Holy Spirit, draw us ever closer in relationship to You. We ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website, its home base, its where you find out what's going on around here.

I've been mentioning for a couple of days now, looking forward to February 7th. That is three weeks from today. And I'll be speaking in Bakersfield California at New Life Church and I hope you can come, especially if you're in the area. So, this will be on a Wednesday night. And you can get all the details at dailyaudiobible.com in the Events section -  websites, phone numbers, times, maps, all that kind of stuff. So, check that out. Hope to see you there.

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And, as always, if you have a prayer request or comment, 877-942-4253 is the number to dial.

And that's it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hi. This is Gloria in New York. It is January 12th, Friday. And…I’m actually…I just heard a message, I don’t think you left your name, but I really appreciated the message. A thick British accent, very nice, about being backed in a corner and just God just wanting us to trust Him to get us out. And thank you for that prayer and that message. I am going back to Nevada on Monday. My mom has gotten worse. I wanted to give everyone an update because I know that there are people who are praying and I ask you to continue to pray. The reason I want to keep updating on the situations - my brother, my brother, my husband, and that pending divorce. Everything is so in limbo. Like everything, everything is in limbo. I wanted to give the update because I feel like when something breaks that we can rejoice together, like when you guys call up and give praise reports. It’s just…it’s so nice. It’s interesting when you’re listening to the podcast, it’s like you’re, oh, that was good, and then, awe, you know, you’re just...we’re going through all of our motions together as a family, everybody out there across the world. But anyway, I feel like, you know, it’s so bad right now. Tying this altogether, the message that you left, young lady, it was, yeah, I don’t know what I’m going do, I’m still so lost in all this legal stuff with my mom and she’s really not doing well. I’ve got a trust God with everything. But I feel like something…just…something has to break on some end soon, because I can’t break. So, yeah, just please continue to pray for us, for my family. Thank you. God bless you all.

All is well. I am Daniel and I share this prayer with all of my brothers and sisters listening. Father, we praise You and thank You for our Daily Audio Bible family and all those You bring onto our paths that You have already made best for us. All according to Your purpose. Father, thank You for making each one of us a masterpiece, one-of-a-kind by Your hand. Father, You have us at the right place at the right time according to Your perfect will, not our will, in Your timetable, Father, not our timetable. You are the living word and we give praise to You living inside of us. In all ways, we seek You this moment. Thank You Father that You said we are vessels, a vessel of gold used in Your highest purpose. Praise You for shaping making and molding us into the example of whose we are, a child of the most high God and You are our Father. We pray to the everlasting God. Father, You said, we have made in Your image. You said to us in Your word, I am that I am. We are blessed indeed. Father, You said, I shall lend to not borrow, that all things work together for good to those who love You for those who are called according to Your purpose, and that the wonders shall not cease, and that You will not, will not, will not fail us. Father we thank You for this day and all the long days You have promised according to Your perfect will. We are fully armored moving forward on the path You have made best for us, overflowing with the promise of Your word, more than enough abundant good, more than we can think and imagine already on our path, moving forward Father preparing us to reach that point You have in place on our paths, lifting us higher, fulfilling our purpose, reaching the destiny You framed our lives in, while we choose Your perfect will, not our will, glorifying Your name and furthering Your kingdom. In Jesus name. Amen.

Hi my Daily Audio Bible family. It’s God’s Girl in East Texas. I was listening to the January 13th podcast and a lady called in requesting prayer for her son who committed suicide on December 10th. And I just thought, oh my gosh, you know, there’s just so much pain in this life and our God, our God is there with us. I was married to a minister at one time and he nearly strangled me to death and he used to beat me a lot and then get in the pulpit and preach. I’m not telling you that for pity, but if I could write a book my book would be entitled ‘No Fear.’ And God has brought me oh mighty long way. I’m the lady with the son who’s had 7 brain surgeries. Why do these things happen? You know, God has the answers. All we can do is pray. And that’s what I do for each of you. My heart goes out to you ma’am, the lady whose son took his life. And I don’t know, I don’t have the answers, but Jesus does. And when we’re going through these things…we seem…we feel so isolated and alone, but were not. It’s just that lie of the enemy trying to make us feel like nobody cares. And Eunice, Eunice, are you’re listening to me honey, I am praying for you, I rebuke cancer in the name of Jesus. I love my Daily Audio Bible family. The Lord bless each and every one of you, and remember that Jesus is as close as the mention of His name. Take care and happy new year guys. Okay. I love you. Bye-bye.

Hi. My name is Sherry. I’m from Colorado. There’s so much going on in my mind and in my life right now. I am on a 10 day fast and it seems like the devil is just purely attacking everything, my thoughts. I work a job as a social worker that has been challenging. I am into the 24th year of my career and it is so difficult to display love and to let my life shine as a child of God, because it seems like I’m just daily, being attacked daily, when I walk into that door until sometimes I just feel like I don’t even want to go. And I pray to God all the time, in March 2019 to please release me from his job, because I can’t do it anymore. It is affected by health and each time I get up I’m thinking of how much I don’t want to go to that job. So I just ask for prayer and guidance. I ask for clarity during my fast. This is my first time I’ve done a 10 day fast. So, it is a struggle, but I know that God is able and I know that I am able to get through this with his help. It’s 2 o’clock in the morning and I can’t sleep. And, so, I know when you can sleep it’s time to talk to God. Daily Audio Bible this is my first time calling and I feel such relief. I listen to the prayers all the time. I have made a commitment that this time, the third time, I will try and listen to the whole thing. I often fall behind and miss out all the way to Revelation, but I’m determined this year. Love you all. Bye.

Hello Daily Audio Bible family. This is John calling from Bethlehem Pennsylvania. It is the 13th of January, and I just got through listening to this day’s program. I wanted to call in to say hi to Vicki, who called in and left a prayer request for her family, Vicki, over the tragic death of your son, who took his life back on December 10th. Family let’s pray together for Vicki. Father God, we ask You to provide comfort and strength and healing during this time of excruciating pain and grief for Vicki and her family, Father God. Lord God we ask You to have mercy on her sons soul, who took his life Father God. These are things that we just can’t get our arms around Father and we just can understand but we have complete faith and we have complete trust in You. We trust You father God. In everything that we do we ask you to bring strength and courage and peace to Vicki and her family and all those impacted by this tragedy, Father God. We ask you to bring this community together in love around Vicki, so that she knows that this family is there for her in her time of need and that we will be there for her as we continue. Father God, help her to grow in faith and to be strong in this and to keep looking at You Jesus. We ask this in your mighty and precious name. Amen.