#rather than those called to religious life who choose it

[hana-no-seiiki]

Lmao hi i saw you wanted hsr requests-

(man, its so weird to request off anon im sorry 💀)

I still dunno which characters to choose so its up to you but how about yandere character and an Aeon of Love whos quick to fall in love and adore, but just as quick to throw away things that no longer interest them?

YOU CARVED OPEN MY HEART, CAN’T JUST LEAVE ME TO BLEED !

YANDERE AEONS / VARIOUS! HSR x READER

note: this fic is more of proof of concept rather than an actual fic, if you want a more specific scenario feel free to request one through my asks!

warnings: yandere themes, canon divergence.

status: unedited

“

I met with the Snowbird once.

That was all it took for me to be captured within their spell.

To wish for the ability to fly with their holy being once spring came.

An impossible dream that was.

Yet still its honeyed promises of seeing the snowbird once again lured me into this path.

This path of love and despair.

“

— Pope of the Philian Church.

DATA BANK

DATA LOG 01 - I

[Y/N]. The God of Philandering. Snowbird. The Great Majesty of Romance. Their Wintry Excellency. Avem In Perpetua Fuga.

Aeon of Philia.

Some might call them the Aeon of Love but does love really come with a massive fear of commitment and the ease of which they left their significant others? Many scholars that studied the Aeon think not.

Their fickle, almost apathetic nature however did little to dissuade people and other gods alike from falling in love.

You see, [Y/N] was an expert, quite literally the best, when it comes to persuasion and seduction. In contrast to IX whose presence creates madness, theirs made the normal human being almost fall to their knees in religious fervor. Only those blessed by other Aeons could ever hope to escape or endure such an overwhelming aura.

The other gods themselves weren’t completely immune to their charms. One cannot help but be curious as to how a singular being was able to attain the infatuation of such powerful existences . . .

. . . and who exactly that singular being is.

In any case, as one would expect from an Aeon of Romance, the [Y/N] faith is never short of passionate poetry.

Here’s one I found in the General of Xianzhou’s office of all places. Perhaps he might be a follower of theirs? It is quite laughable to think of the great Jing Yuan dabbling in literature when avoiding duties.

“Your love scorched my mind.

Tortured my soul.

Hollowed my body.

But in this pain,

Thoughts of your presence and light,

Dull the blade you sheathed within me.

I await your return,

and your claim over the heart you’ve carved out of me.”

DATA LOG 2 - ADORETH

Perhaps those scholars were being a bit too harsh. A god of love must have extremely high standards for their partner. Perhaps those partners were simply foolish, delusional to believe they’d be enough for them.

It is a popular theory that all Aeons used to live peacefully amongst one another until the Great Majesty of Romance threw the world into chaos. The youth nowadays have written several essays alluding to their idea that it was what jumpstarted paths such as the Destruction and Elation. No evidence of such happenings have come out so far.

In my opinion? If anything the Aeon of Elation, Aha would be the bringer of chaos not the other way around. I suspect that the bias and warnings taught to the masses against worshipping or even studying [Y/N], has led to this kind of popular belief.

DATA LOG ? ¿ ? - THEE

Why ?

Why is it that they won’t come back ?

I have devoted my entire life to clearing their name. I have spent countless nights agonising on the proper words to use when describing their Wintry Excellency.

Why then would they not praise me ? Why then would they not grace me with their presence once more ? Was it all a mirage ? A tantalising dream made to inflict pain on my soul?

. . . Perhaps it is because I have chosen the wrong path.

. . .

Yes.

Yes it’s all my fault.

I should have devoted my entire life to worship not just studies.

How moronic of me !

A god of love would never be so cruel. No.

They are simply waiting. Waiting for the day, I come to them.

That was where everyone else was wrong. And I . . . will be right.

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2023

[thesherrinfordfacility]

okay let's fucking crack into finally discussing the book of life, ive been putting it off for ages but the time is now upon me to chat shit about it, bc apparently i might have a meta/analysis rep to maintain?

so first thing's first, im going to look at the narrative itself and the references we have to the BOL. we start off with michael discussing it on the phone with an unknown person:

given this dialogue further on in s1, i think we're all in agreement that the conversation is with beelzebub; the precedent of intelligence sharing was definitely set in s1 with michael and ligur.

but beelzebub sounds surprised on the phone, and when speaking to crowley seems to slightly hesitate on whether extreme sanctions actually did exist... but the archangel michael has just threatened it, so of course it must be real. it's a threat to anyone without discrimination, by this account - any angel, demon, or human (i imagine) can be written into it - so it stands to reason that beelzebub chooses to take michael at their word.

now michael obviously seems similarly convinced that the BOL indeed exists and that it erases from existence any name that is erased from it. ive mentioned before that its interesting that the moment that the metatron appears in the bookshop is when michael is intending to make good on that threat with aziraphale:

but authorised by who? just in the general scheme of things, as supreme archangel duty officer? in which case, why wasn't this a chekhov's gun suggested in s1, even if in the very abstract? i guess it could have been information overload but, given aziraphale literally helped to divert armageddon and disrupt the great plan, you'd think that would be a situation that would warrant such a threat too, from gabriel as supreme archangel?

so by that reckoning, it must be knowledge that michael didn't know about much before the telephone call, because they weren't of sufficient rank (albeit the rank seems to be one they've assumed rather than been entrusted with in the interim). alternatively, the use of the word 'authorised' suggests they've received a direct green-light from someone above them... and who is above the supreme archangel? 👀

but the metatron interrupts the threat before it can be actualised, which obviously feeds into the whole 'came down here to get aziraphale back on side, here have this coffee 🙂' thing... wouldn't do for you to go out on a recruitment drive and have the angel you want to be blinked out of existence before you can make the job offer. so off the archangels go - after a very pointed interaction of michael and uriel not recognising the metatron at all.

but where does metatron fit in the narrative as concerns the BOL? well, nowhere yet. the conference scene in the beginning of ep6 that Crowley witnesses doesn't have any reference to the BOL at all, so it was never on the table as concerns gabriel's demotion (just a good ole memory wipe). so this is where i come to parsing out what i think the BOL actually is.

now im reluctant to go by other texts to riddle this out, mainly because GO is largely inspired by other works and religious texts so i don't tend to double down solely on what they themselves say, but in the absence of any other information from GO itself, this is what ive got to help it make sense.

BOL indeed, by both hebrew and christian text, records all those that are considered worthy before god. that those people are written into it before birth, and to be removed from it signifies death. now that this seems to be to be very human-centric, so how would this apply to angels? well, the re-wording of 'death' to 'never have existed' is an indicator here.

in Revelations, st john the divine of patmos recorded that those who were written and kept in the book would be saved from the Last Judgement; which i think can be agreed in this case would refer to the resurrection of christ aka. the second coming. and to be removed from the BOL would result in being "cast into the lake of fire" (20:15, KJV). which sounds somewhat familiar, right?

so can we be certain that the BOL just simply means oblivion for any angel written in it? i don't think so. there's the school of thought floating round that crowley had his memory wiped which - yes - there are clues that that may be the case (i still sit on the fence, because in some of the examples that support the theory i still also hold the thought that the angel that crowley was may have just been a bit of a work-obsessed knob). but i do wonder if there's some small grain of truth to it, because if we consider this hypothesis that being'wiped from existence' isn't actually that at all, or not as it sounds anyway, wouldn't an angel consider that not being an angel is essentially the same thing?

in falling, you lose who you were, and you're no longer that person. that person, that angel, ceases to exist?

it would certainly make sense to therefore not erase gabriel from the BOL, because it would make him fall, and they would lose another powerful angel to hell... after all:

"For one Prince of Heaven to be cast into the outer darkness makes a good story. For it to happen twice makes it look like there is some kind of institutional problem."

[thesiltverses]

I wanted to let you guys know how important this story has become to me in light of the war in Israel. There’s no way you could have intended this, but your meditations on the callous disregard for human life in favor of capitol and the way governments side with power over their people are hitting me so hard it’s unreal. Carpenter in this recent episode worrying about the idea that people are just people who still choose to ignore and perpetuate horror made me legitimately tear up.

Thank you very much - that's really kind of you and it genuinely means so much to hear it.

Yeah, that line really whacked me back in the face when I was working on the sound design, too. (It really helps that Méabh so magnificently captures the quiet, angry, wondering humanity of Carpenter so well in that moment.)

It's a very minor thing in the wider context, but it's been swimming in my head all day and all night; yesterday we had the Prime Minister of the UK briefing to the press that it is inherently "provocative and disrespectful" for people to march through London for a ceasefire in Palestine during WWI's Armistice Day next weekend - because the "sanctity of the day" must be protected.

On one hand, that feels a breathtakingly obvious and cynical strategy to defame, misrepresent and (I think crucially) exogenise dissent against the government's foreign policy.

But it also feels, in a way that I hope we've always been clearly trying to yell about with TSV, like a real symptom of how deeply fucked-up our country's narrative-building around itself truly is; the bewilderingly successful extent to which strong, emotive, reassuring stories delivered from positions of authority continue to be used as a cover for base hypocrisies, inhuman cruelties, and selfish interests.

And the invocation of "sanctity of the day" to mean "pure and unchallengeable supremacy of a century-old war in our hearts, minds, and newspapers" really speaks to that. (I guess it feels like an inverted version of that Dr Strangelove quote, doesn't it? 'Gentlemen, you can't fight in here, this is the War Room.' / 'Armistice Day is no time to call for peace.')

Our media and political classes can lead a call to worship the 110-year-old icon of peace, the half-fled and semi-religious memory of it and the comforting traditions and rituals surrounding it-

-and they can use that icon, in turn, as a weapon to condemn hundreds of thousands of their own citizens from all faiths and all backgrounds who are marching for peace right now (while continuing to ignore the three-quarters of the population who want them to call for a ceasefire).

They can use that icon of peace to callously dismiss the lives and livelihoods of Palestinians suffering right now under a brutal succession of atrocities, and to downplay Western complicity right now in allowing those atrocities to continue unchecked, all in favour of the reassuring idea of showing respect for and paying silent obeisance to a ghostly Tommy soldier in a Brodie helmet with a plastic poppy tucked into his lapel.

A man who was sacrificed, and who must be forever remembered for his sacrifice.

If the superstructure is big and loud and hungry enough, maybe we won't pay too much attention to the screams coming from the base.

Anyway, to find a grace note - we know that we're writing often quite bleak and cruel stuff at a very bleak and cruel time. And while we of course didn't intend a direct comparison to current-day events, it really means a huge amount to hear that someone's finding it meaningful rather than, as we often fear, just too much of reality. So thank you again very much.

[charmedreincarnation]

https://www.tumblr.com/charmedreincarnation/715801428071972864/hey-maya-what-are-your-thoughts-on-the?source=share

Not this anon but wait that means I can manifest a certain afterlife? Like there isn't one destined afterlife but it can be whatever we want it to be?

I wish there was a voice audio setting because I would tell you guys so many stories! but anyways I’ll tell you guys about a specific occurrence that happened when I was around 13/16 that changed my perspective on everything.

Basically I used to go to church often . My family is pretty religious, and at the time, I wasn’t even really religious, but I still followed Christianity. I had gotten into manifesting but I still believed in god pretty avidly (and still do just not in a religious way) so I didn’t mind going.

Anyways there was this super religious girl who I would talk to everytime I went. guys I mean she was giving cult. Cross tattoos, Bible reading club everyday, and she could read the Bible word for word backwards probably! I don’t really like super avidly religious people who make their entire life abt god and every conversation abt it, but idk for her I could tolerate it. She was super sweet and her passion was admirable.

I remember she stopped coming to church and I knew something was wrong because this girl would rather die than miss service. Turns out she was in an accident and was probably going to die, so we held a huge fundraiser for her family. At the time I didn’t know what happened to her because no one talked about it after the fundraiser and I didn’t have her phone number so I just assumed she died.

Then when I was 16, so atp pretty into manifesting and not into church anymore I saw her at a tarot shop.. that she owned. Now it’s a general consensus astrology, tarots and stuff is against Christianity. (not that I cared regardless I still was into that shit) but The Sarah (fake name) I knew Would never step foot into what she called a “devil worshipping temple”

But it was definitely her and she looked so different. She used to have long brown hair, wore traditional clothing, would never show skin etc. this girl had a pixie cut with black hair, so many tattoos of sigils and zodiac stuff on her body, so many piercings, and was wearing booty shorts!! I almost didn’t recognize her but she said hi to me and I was in shock. This bitch owns a crystal shop.. Holy Sarah owns a crystal shop!! atp I believed the rapture was about to start bc what the hell

Anyways I asked her how she was and what happened, because I assumed she was dead. And she said she was. She had been officially dead for 5 straight seconds, but was “brought” back with those machines. I told her she looks good but why the change in lifestyle. she said when she died, she was in a black space of nothing but still had thoughts. She didn’t see Jesus or the purgatory or whatever, all she had was herself. She was crying to herself in this void like space as she knew it was the end, and the atheists were right. We become nothing when we die. Then she just wished to come back, and she said she would do anything to come back, and then she did. She awoke again and when she did she got into spirituality and it changed her life.

16 year old me at this point was pretty deep into my spiritual research and she basically confirmed what I had believed since I was 8. We choose what happenes when we die and we can do the same for our life on earth. I pretty much talked to her for hours, until I had to go because my mom doesn’t want me in those “weird” shops either. Anyways I assume the “space” she was in was the void state, but I didn’t know what that was until the end of 2021 ofc so I couldn’t make the connection at the time.

But I mean it makes sense. we have free will, so if we can decide every aspect of our life while alive, why would that change at death. death isn’t the end, just a beginning of whatever new chapter you want or believe it to be. Just my belief ofc :) you’re inclined to believe whatever !

[transienttheologyproject]

CALL FOR ART BY TRANS+, NON-BINARY, & GENDERQUEER CHRISTIANS

​Are you a trans+ Christian with artwork (of ANY medium!) expressing your journeys in gender and faith? Would you like the opportunity to share your voice and experience with other trans+ Christians who may be struggling at the intersections of their gender and faith identities, especially amidst current transphobic Christian rhetoric? Look no further! Submissions due Friday 8/18 at 12:00 noon EST.

More information below the cutoff and on the project site! :) Please don't hesitate to reach me at soupdempsey25@gmail.com with any further questions!

The Transient Theology Project is an undergraduate research project focused on examining the intersections between Christianity, process philosophy, queer theory, and the lived experiences of trans+ Christians.

Given the ways in which non-cisgender identities and expressions have been understood as not only ‘abnormal’ but supposedly immoral in many Christian spheres, this research aims to offer a constructive theology which suggests that not only is it not immoral to be trans, but that transness is an actualization of what it means to be made in the image of God.

This project is critical and timely, especially due to the current onslaught of anti-trans legislation which directly impacts the quality of life for transgender individuals. This legislation, in tandem with anti-trans rhetoric, is understood to emerge from a particular fundamentalist notion of religious ethics; thus, this project aims to provide inspiration to trans+ Christians who may be struggling with reconciling their faith lives and gender identities within the current socio-political climate.

The main goal behind this project is to provide trans+ Christians with the affirmation that they don't have to choose between their faith and their gender identity. While many trans people have suffered trauma & abuse at the hands of Christian institutions & individuals, some have found that in embracing their gender identity, their relationship with God has been strengthened, and vice-versa. This project is meant to illustrate that those people aren't alone in that experience & that they don't need to pick between themselves and the God they believe in.

In an effort to be made as accessible as possible, rather than be presented in a formal, academic paper, this research will be compiled into a zine — a small-circulation, self-published magazine — that will feature art by transgender Christians and will aim to serve as a guide for those who are trying to navigate the tensions between their Christian faith and their non-cisgender identities and expressions.

Genderqueer Christians are invited to submit their art (of ANY and EVERY medium) to be shared in the zine by this Friday, August 18th at 12:00 noon EST. The link to the submissions form can be found here.

If you're cisgender and/or not Christian, consider spreading the word! Share us with any genderqueer Christian artists you may know, and stick around for more updates & the final zine release by following us on Tumblr, Instagram, and TikTok.

Thank you for your time and consideration!

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

🗒️ Vandal 🗒️

Word Count: 16,000+ (And nobody asked for any of it!)

Summary: A quiet high school student looks a little too closely at the tragic events afflicting their hometown. Can you uncover the truth while keeping your own secrets hidden? Or will a lapse in judgment expose you to a world of hurt? || Kol x disabled!reader || Here lies my Masterlist

Warnings: Some language, references to blood and gore, Kol being a psycho, and some dubious consent but nothing violent or graphic. This turned out a little more Yandere than I intended. Just expect ya gal's general tomfoolery.

A/N: Howdy-doo, this is your captain speaking. I know I promised a lot of you that I would have the sequel to Run for Your Life finished last week, but it's still not done and I'm really sorry. I wrote this instead. Please forgive me. I hate letting y'all down but inspiration has been really low as of late and, as some of you know, I've been facing some very serious struggles with people in my life. My sense of self-worth has been suffering, but writing this fic has been my best escape. So again, I'm really sorry to those who were expecting the Klaus fic, but I hope you like this one nonetheless.

🗒️ Story Begins Below 🗒️

When Niklaus Mikaelson confined himself to his studio, it was common knowledge among all parties of blood relation to the original hybrid that any sibling who valued their breathing privileges should promptly vacate the premises until such a time as that tortured artist ceased muttering his internal monologue aloud. 

Kol, for one, was quite fond of his breathing privileges, thank you very much. 

Ugh, breathing. 

The one thing he’d never thought would require adjusting to through the centuries was now yet another factor among a dozen others that required getting used to. 

The air of this new age he’d found himself in was thick and hazy with chemicals and other nonsense he didn’t care to think about. Drawing the filthy mixture into his lungs required significantly more effort from him than it used to. He wondered vaguely how the humans surrounding his seat at the bar of this stodgy town’s only decent restaurant did it with such ease. It must’ve been tiring. Perhaps that was why so many of the patrons around him seemed content to spend their morning religiously devoted to quaffing down as much of that - oh, what had Mary-Alice called it? - caffeine stuff as they could possibly contain. 

Though the name would suggest otherwise, Kol figured the only way the Mystic Grill, as the place was called, could remain in business was to serve breakfast, lunch, dinner, and drinks. Hence why the place was packed with half-conscious teenagers at the ungodly hour of six in the morning, stopping off for something to eat on their way to school. How did Rebekah enjoy this? Though she’d accompanied him to the grill, Kol’s sister had been quick to grab her coffee and ditch him. She wanted to arrive to school early so she could “talk”. (The notion tempted Kol to impale himself on a billiard cue.) 

Rebekah was also rather upset with him, or more specifically, his newfound enrollment in her high school. There was nothing he could do about that, however. If it was up to him, Kol would choose to spend his time literally any place else. Unfortunately for him, after that little incident with Rebekah’s date, mother dearest had been contemplating ways to keep him in line. High school was evidently what she’d come up with. It was Finn’s idea actually. Kol’s eldest brother - dull lout that he was - had suggested that perhaps attending high school with his sister would provide a convenient way for Kol to catch up on recent history, as well as assist him in developing some control over his appetite seeing as each family member had given their word not to shed the blood of any locals. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Esther had done more than just readily agree. She’d also cast a tracking spell on him. If he strayed beyond the town’s limits, she would know. 

Rest assured, he would find a way to weasel out of it - that was certain. But for now, Kol was stumped. This resurrected version of his mother wasn’t quite so dismissive of him as she’d been in Kol’s human life. He should have liked that - should have reveled in it. Yet, having her attention this time around came with a cold harshness he wasn’t so fond of. For now though, he would have to endure his punishment. Thanks to Klaus, he couldn’t even skip out.

Thus Kol found himself in an overly crowded restaurant, at six in the morning on his first day of school, surrounded by teenagers.

Kol desperately wished he could eat one or two of them. 

They were so rowdy and obnoxious. The whole world it seemed had grown significantly louder since he’d been daggered in nineteen fourteen. So much information assaulting his senses constantly. It was maddening. Being surrounded by thirty or so warm bodies didn’t exactly help. The chorus of their heartbeats fell on his sensitive ears like the cresting of ocean waves and like a riptide, he would surely be carried away if he allowed himself to listen much longer. 

The boy’s throat burned. He was hungry. Always hungry. He could practically taste the relief on his tongue. The high he could get from just one little cheerleader…

Kol got up from his seat, grabbed his bag, and shoved his way out the door, cursing Finn’s name to Hel and back. He reached the end of the street and stopped. Raking his fingers through his hair, Kol rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath.

Wrong move.

A gentle autumn breeze swept past and carried with it a hint of something sweet. No, that was too tame. That scent on the air was like pure sugar and spring water, something like berries and roses and cotton candy all rolled into one supremely tempting aroma so overpowering he nearly choked. White hot pain shot through him and his mouth watered. He was standing in the midst of town square before he even realized he’d moved. 

There, kneeling hunched over on the ground, all alone in the early morning, was a young woman who looked about the same age as he did. Any view of her face was obscured by the curtain of her hair as it fell around her in something of an untamed mess. Her clothes, nothing fancier than a t-shirt and shorts, were rumpled and irreparably stained with just about every color one could imagine as she focused intently on whatever she was doing. Scattered all around her were about a dozen cans of paint and at least a hundred individual sticks of chalk in a variety of shades. She was decorating the walkways, Kol realized as he watched her dip her hand directly into one of the cans of paint before slathering the color over the flagstones she was working on. Once satisfied that the area was evenly covered, she sat up.

The girl paused to wipe her hand on a wet rag before shuffling back around to a different section where the paint looked a little drier. 

Kol had just enough time to register the pattern of scrapes that decorated her hands and knees before that delicious scent washed over him again. It was stronger now that he was so close and like a punch to the gut, just a whiff of it knocked the wind out of him. His throat seared and his fangs ached. She was right there in front of him, trickles of blood seeping from her hands and knees - rivers of temptation. Whatever ichor was rushing through that girl’s veins would certainly be divine. Kol wanted it. He wanted to taste her warm human skin - wanted to lick the scarlet from those teasing little scrapes she’d made. No one was around. He could have that sweet, sweet crimson ambrosia all to himself. 

There was just one problem. This girl was a local. Her residence was clear from the tags dangling from her backpack which she’d tossed a few feet away. Kol couldn’t eat any of the locals, he’d given his word on it. 

Unfortunately for him, that boy’s sense of honor apparently wasn’t enough to keep his legs from moving. He was standing over her shoulder in a matter of seconds. His looming shadow must have caught her attention because the girl paused her work (she was rubbing lines of chalk into the paint now) and twisted around to look up at him, squinting against the rising sun at his back. Her cheeks were twinged with a delicious shade of pink, likely due to the warm, humid morning, and she smiled in a friendly, albeit slightly confused way.

“Hey!” She greeted - voice practically a chirp. The girl lifted a hand to her face in an effort to further block out the sun, but the offensive light couldn’t dampen her smile. Kol fought the urge to roll his eyes at her sunny disposition.

“Good morning, darling.” He flashed her a grin - the crooked one that made girls like her faint. Kol gestured to the swirling mix of hues currently stinging his eyes. “What’s this going to be?” 

The girl blinked and tilted her head. “Could you say that a little louder?” She asked. Her voice was soft but rich with a delicate, wispy quality to it like a warm caramel stretched apart. He supposed it wasn’t entirely unpleasant to listen to.

“Are you painting something specific or is it more abstract?” He wondered, raising his voice a little. Abstract was certainly the most polite term for eyesore, he thought. 

“Oh, uh, yeah! It’s Mystic Falls,” She said brightly. Then she paused. Her face scrunched up a bit and even Kol could admit it was a little endearing. “Um, I mean, not the town, but like, the falls as in the waterfalls… yeah.” Her voice tapered off into a whisper at the end and she cast her eyes away. 

Kol hummed. “I see.” He didn't actually care, however. He’d seen enough. This girl, tantalizing as her blood might be, wasn’t worth his time - nor his mother’s wrath should he break his oath. There was no thrill in chasing someone like that, girls like her gave in too easily. 

Without warning, the little artist stiffened and whipped her head back up to face him, drawing Kol from his thoughts. 

“Say, what’s the time?” She wondered, biting her lip anxiously. Her lips looked rather tasty when she did that.

Kol raised a brow and checked his watch. “Ten to seven,” He answered. 

She cocked her head again. “Sorry, what?”

“Ten to seven,” He repeated a little louder.

“Huh?”

“Bloody hell!” The boy huffed. “It’s six-fifty! Are you Deaf?”

She snorted. “Uh, huh. Yeah.” Kol’s eyes narrowed but the girl only turned her head, shoving a lock of hair back to reveal some technological array perched over her ear. The artist shrugged and faced him again. “It’s the accent, I think. Plus, it ain’t my fault you mumble. What time did you say it was again? I forgot.”

It wasn’t the disability that annoyed him, he wasn’t that shallow. It was her attitude he couldn’t stand. 

“Six. Fifty. One,” He ground out through clenched teeth.

Her eyes widened. “CRAP!” 

The annoying little artist sprang to her feet, scooped her bag from where she’d flung it, and dashed off just like that. He huffed at her lack of tact - not so much as a word of thanks. It was probably best for both of them if they never saw each other again. That mouth-watering ray of sunshine was unlikely to survive another encounter with him.

As he debated whether or not to just wander around aimlessly for the remainder of the day, Kol caught sight of an object that must have tumbled out of the artist’s bag. Only the slightest bit curious, he bent down to pick it up. Upon taking a closer look at it, Kol raised a brow. Well worn and faded, the sketchbook in his hands was nothing special - almost every artist had one, that was no surprise. What caught his attention, however, was the design on the cover, or more accurately, what had been made of it. Whereas the front of the sketchbook had once depicted a quaint scene from what he recognized to be the story Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, with little Alice looking up at the Cheshire Cat perched lazily in a tree, the girl had turned it into something far more sinister. 

For one thing, she’d given Alice a broadsword. Her dress had been redecorated with dirt stains and blood. As for the Cheshire Cat, the artist had transformed the feline into a marionette with blood-stained teeth and dreadful claws. The background had been scribbled out with a black marker. All save for a grinning silhouette, tugging at the strings of its Cheshire Cat puppet, and a line of bold, bloody letters spelling out the phrase: “We’re All Mad Here.”

It was a delightfully grotesque perversion of a story Kol had rather enjoyed reading when it was first published. Perhaps that girl wasn’t quite so boring after all. 

Kol smirked and slipped the sketchbook into his own school bag. Serves her right for being so disrespectful. Besides, the book was steeped in that exquisite aroma of hers, and if he couldn’t devour the poor thing then keeping a little memento was his next best option. If she wanted it back, she’d simply have to prove herself deserving of it. Until then, that little book of horrors was all his.

Who knows what he might do with it?

No matter what, this was bound to be… entertaining.

***

You’d never liked cheerleaders. They’d always seemed so shallowly chipper - the sort of nice that giggles behind a person’s back. Most people said you were just jealous, wishing you could have their beauty, body, or popularity. They were wrong, of course, cheerleading simply wasn’t your thing. As for appearances, at least you were confident enough in your looks that you didn’t require validation from fellow minors. You never corrected the masses though. You let them think whatever they want. (After all, you had other, more important things on your mind.)

All feelings about cheerleaders aside, they were excellent subjects for drawing poses. It was them or the football team and you couldn’t be paid enough to go anywhere near them. Besides, you had already obtained permission from the members of the cheer squad to sit in on their practices. They figured you must have been lonely and seeking their approval. You didn’t correct them either. The girls on the squad were nice enough, though you didn’t know any of them very well. Just some first names. 

Caroline, Bonnie, Amber, Laura, Rebekah. 

Now that Rebekah was an odd one. She sort of unnerved you. Like the rest, the British blonde was nice enough, but something about her wasn’t quite right. She’d just dropped off the map for a month and a half and then showed up today as if she’d never been gone. Then there was her relationship with the other cheerleaders. Half of them avoided her like the plague and the other half worshiped the ground she walked on. It wasn’t normal.

Life isn’t like the drama shows all over tv. Kids in the real world don’t act that way. 

You hadn’t grown up in Mystic Falls. Your parents moved your family into town one year ago. Though you were just a sophomore then, you knew enough to understand that something about this whole town and everything that had been happening within the last year just wasn’t right. Within your sophomore and junior years alone, no less than twenty-six kids were reported missing. At least six were later confirmed dead.

Was it really any wonder you kept to yourself? 

You were fine with being alone. It didn’t bother you. 

What bothered you was that you had somehow lost track of your sketchbook. That bundle of pages hardly ever left your person. You never went anywhere without it, and yet when you had sat on the bleachers and reached into your backpack to pull it out, lo and behold, it was nowhere to be found. Who knew what small-town hic had gotten their grubby little hands on it? 

Alright, that was mean. You just wanted your book back. The idea of someone else flipping through your sketches irked you to no end.

“Well hello again, darling!” A semi-familiar voice rang out from behind you on the bleachers and you twisted around to face him. Had that kid been up there all this time? The boy grinned down at you. “Fancy meeting you here.”

You offered him a tight smile. 

“Yeah,” You said quietly. “Fancy that.”

The boy was pretty, that was for sure. Dark hair, dark eyes, a strong brow, and a sharp jawline. Not to mention that smile, you’d sooner light yourself on fire than call it “dazzling” but you would like to draw it sometime. All in all, he was probably the closest thing to masculine perfection you would ever lay eyes upon. But you weren’t dumb enough to judge a person off of looks alone. 

Though you had nothing to go off of aside from your brief meeting that morning, you didn’t quite like that kid. On the surface, he seemed alright. A little impatient but still pretty normal. It was the way he looked at you… it reminded you of the feeling you got back in your old town whenever you noticed that your best friend's pet boa constrictor was watching you from inside its tank - how its eyes would follow you no matter what you did. It wasn’t an exactly pleasant sensation. Those onyx eyes of his - when you looked into them, you couldn’t see much of a person looking back. His eyes sparkled when he smiled but behind them… behind them there was nothing. A charming grin without a person inside.

The boy’s odd smile only broadened. 

“You know, I-I didn’t take you for the cheerleading type,” He said. You tucked a strand of hair back behind your ear, squinting against the sun in your eyes. Did he always have to position himself so you had to blind yourself to look at him?

“I’m… not.”

He chuckled. “Obviously.” Climbing to his feet, the boy hopped up onto the seat in front of him and walked gracefully down to your level - at least, as gracefully as one can while walking on bleachers. You should probably warn him about the-

“Careful, that next one wobbles,” You spoke up. Your voice never seemed to come out as loud as you intended, yet he didn’t seem to have a problem catching it. 

“Ah-” He tested the next row with his foot and stepped over it lightly. “Thank you very much.” He grinned again as he jumped down beside you.

The boy was much too close for your liking. 

“You’re welcome,” You mumbled, shuffling away slightly. He only leaned in closer.

“So, if you’re with the cheerleaders, but you’re not one of them, then what does that make you?” He wondered, oblivious or insensitive to your discomfort. You couldn’t tell which. “Unrequited lover or wannabe?”

He raised a brow, smirking in a way that appeared bemused but you could sense its condescending edge. You just shrugged. He could think whatever he wanted. 

He was baiting you, that you were sure of. The dark-haired senior wanted you to answer. He waited for you to answer. But his was a lure you weren't going to bite.  You just kept on drawing - filling in lines, and fine-tuning expressions. You were sure he would give up eventually, kids like him always did.

“Are those your chemistry notes?” He asked finally. 

You hummed and nodded. You’d never been too much of a talker. It had nothing to do with your hearing loss, or maybe it did. That was just who you were either way.

“And you’re sketching in them?”

You shrugged. “Lost my sketchbook.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” At least he had the decency to sound sympathetic. “Did you have it this morning?” You nodded. This boy was persistent, you would give him that. He kept talking. “I see… Well, I'm sorry to hear that, darling. I would have loved to see it,” He said. 

Your lips twitched up in a smile. You wouldn’t have shown him anyway, but that didn’t matter.

“Thanks,” You whispered.

"You never answered my question," He pointed out. He was trying to get to you - get closer to you - and while any other girl would do backflips for the attention of a boy like him, you weren't any other girl. If he wanted to know you, then you couldn't let that happen. If you did, he might figure out your secret. Then you could lose everything - your education, your clean record, and the only money-making opportunity you were likely to get in this tiny, provincial town.

"I know." You sighed and closed your substitute sketchbook, just a little fed up. Maybe it was time to let the sunny, shy-girl facade drop. Perhaps a quick glimpse of who you really were would deter him. "But you're here too. So which are you? Unrequited lover or wannabe?"

The boy threw his head back and laughed, loud and clear. His laugh sounded like a stone splashing into a calm pond. Sudden and unique - one of a kind. When his gaze returned to you, he seemed to look you over as if reevaluating his previous judgment of your character. After a moment, he gave a slight nod and shrugged. 

"That's a fair point you make there, darling. I'll have to disappoint you, however, as I am merely here to pick up my sister." He gestured to the girls practicing on the field and then shot you a smirk. The boy held out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, darling. I'm Kol, Kol Mikaelson.”

Your eyes flicked to his outstretched hand, weary.

"I…" 

Glancing up, you met the endless black pits that were his eyes. Your stomach felt queasy. Better to be safe than sorry.

You pushed his hand away. "I… don't particularly care." 

Without another word, you packed up your things and skipped down the bleachers. Exiting left of the football field. 

Perhaps you'd left him stunned. You didn't bother looking back to check.

You started seeing Kol quite often after that, which wouldn't have been weird had he not been a year above you. If it wasn't coincidence that saw you sharing both lunch period and study hall with him, then you didn't want to think about what it was. He kept his distance, which you appreciated. Kol didn't approach you for a while, but whenever you were in the same room with him you couldn't seem to shake a feeling that you were being watched. Closely. 

The day that pattern changed was the day you walked down the hall and found yourself greeted by photocopies of your art taped to every locker. A chill ran down your spine as your eyes landed on that first row of metal doors. The papers fluttered in the wind generated by passing students but you would recognize your art anywhere. 

It was one of the pages from your sketchbook - one of the sketches no one was supposed to see. 

This one depicted the football team, gathered on the field for practice. The sky above was dark and they had their helmets off. Each player's complexion was ghostly pale and their glowing red eyes all stared soullessly at the viewer. Their expressions displayed no emotion, but together they stood in a threatening formation. You had taken inspiration from both classic zombie movies and The Matrix for that sketch. In the top left corner, you had etched the title. You called it "The Hive." 

The only problem was, you hadn't exactly obtained the team's permission to draw it. 

To make matters worse, someone had added an inscription to the image that read: "Members of The Hive possess no individual thought or personality. Furthermore, they acknowledge only other facets of their collective consciousness." The words were scrawled across a crumpled sticky note attached to the top right-hand corner of the page. You hadn't written those words, but it sure looked like your handwriting. Your name was even signed at the bottom.

Someone had stolen and altered your sketchbook, and now they were using it against you.

Panic and paranoia welled up inside you. Clutching your books to your chest, you quickened your pace, catching glimpses of more and more hallways decorated with your sketch. Whispers followed you as you rushed down the hall to your locker, hoping to escape and find solace in your first class of the day, but you had no such luck. Reaching your destination, you gasped at the sight before you, recoiling in shame and confusion. It was like a shot taken straight from a television drama. This thief - whoever they were - had covered your locker with copies of that picture. 

Who would do something like this? You had only been in town a year - you wouldn't have thought that long enough to garner this degree of animosity from anyone.

"What the actual hell, Y/N?" A student exclaimed from down the hall.

Your mouth hung, gaping in shock and you floundered for something - anything to say. There was nothing. No defense. 

"Yeah, Y/L/N! What did Matt and the team ever do to you?"

Your eyes widened. "What?" You shook your head, blinking rapidly as you tried to explain, but your voice refused to rise over the commotion, accusations, and judgment. "N-no, they didn't. I mean, I wasn't trying to-to…"

"You realize how sick this is, right?" Another kid demanded, closer to you this time. "Like, seriously. Judgy much?"

"No, it's not like that," You insisted. It felt like your whole world had been tossed upside down. "I-I just-" You stammered, hapless. For once, it was the people around you who couldn't seem to hear.

"What a creep," Muttered someone else as they passed close enough for your hearing aids to register. Was that what everyone thought of you?

"No! Y-you don't understand! I-I didn't mean it like that. I-" Your heart sank. Shame overwhelmed you and you buried your face in your hands, sliding down the wall to the floor.

Your heart felt like a voodoo doll, impaled with all sorts of pins. You'd never felt impressed to explain yourself to anyone. You had never cared what anyone else thought of you. But when you had imagined all the ways your life might fall apart, this wasn't one of the ways you had envisioned. That drawing and the dozens of others like it - they were yours. 

You wished you'd never made them in the first place.

Shaking your head, you switched off your hearing aids and hugged your arms around yourself, perfectly content to stew in your own misery. A dull roar met your ears as students passed by. None stopped to address you. A few of them tossed crumpled-up photocopies of your sketch at your head but you ignored them.

Then a hand settled itself on your knee. 

Startled, you peeked between your fingers, expecting someone like the assistant principal or guidance counselor to be kneeling in front of you. Instead, you were met with the concerned countenance of none other than Kol Mikaelson. 

You froze, staring at him with wide eyes. 

He proffered a gentle smile and said something, but his words were lost to the prattling hum that encompassed your world without hearing aids. You preferred it this way. It was your natural state. You saw instead of listened, it was what made you such a good artist. Or so you'd thought.

You shook your head at him weakly, pointing to your ears, and mouthed, "I can't hear you."

Why was he here? Was he just going to tease you as he had a few weeks ago on the football stands? 

Kol nodded. "I know," He signed. His movements were small and lax - nonthreatening. 

Unsure how to interpret his sudden kindness and understanding, you shifted to sit up a little straighter, eyeing him. Kol's lips pressed into a thin line that tried to look like a smile. Without warning, he removed the textbooks resting in your lap and stood.

"Let's get you out of here, yeah?" He sighed, offering you his hand. Hesitantly, you reached out and took it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. You stiffened as the boy let go of your hand and instead wrapped his arm around your waist. He pulled you swiftly against his side, shielding you from the view of others in the hallway as he hastily but gently herded you down crowded hallways and out the heavy steel front doors. 

Just outside the school, there were picnic tables set up where students could sit to study or eat lunch. Those were deserted by now as first period was speedily approaching. Kol guided you to one of them and dropped your books on the table, gesturing for you to sit. You weren't overly fond of being told what to do, but you figured this was probably Kol's best effort to be nice so you obliged. He sat down in front of you and cupped your jaw in his hand. With his brows furrowed and expression drawn the boy seemed to be inspecting your face, though for what you couldn't be sure. 

Absently, you noticed that his hands were very warm despite the changing season. (Why that thought made your stomach queasy was a question for another time.)

Kol's thumb brushed over your cheek and you wanted to look away to hide the flare of heat that consumed your cheeks, but he wouldn't let you. 

"Well, you're not panicking," He observed after what felt like an eternity. "That's good." 

His words were muffled without your hearing aids but now, away from the commotion of the bustling hallways, you could understand him well enough. 

You gave a small nod and, refusing to meet his eyes, focused instead on the grass beneath your feet. 

"I'm fine," You whispered. Your voice was a little hoarse but he didn't know you well enough to recognize that. 

"Are you sure?"

The question was inevitable, yet you found yourself scowling anyway. 

Of course you were fine. You were always fine. 

You wanted to tell him that you didn't want his pity, that you weren't some distressing damsel and that he needed to mind his own business. You weren't some charity case he could use to prove to all the senior girls that he could be a sensitive boyfriend. (You'd been there once. You weren't going through it again.) But, as always, the boldness in your head could never seem to leave your lips.

"It's not your responsibility to take care of me," You told him instead. In your lap, your hands fiddled and tugged on the too-long sleeves of your sweater. You'd gotten chalk on your jeans again.

He let his hand drop and the swirling autumn winds cooled your cheeks. You sort of missed the warmth.

"I know that." Kol's concern morphed into a smirk. This was it. You prepared for the incoming ridicule. It never came. "You don't like anyone getting close, do you?" He guessed, casually leaning back as though he already knew the answer. (And respected it.) "Makes you uncomfortable, I'd imagine."

You shrugged and picked at the loose threads on your sleeve. Honestly, he was right - you were just a bucket of trust issues in a Technicolor wrapper. But was that any of his business? No.

"Why are you here?" You wondered in lieu of an answer. 

Kol raised a brow. "Apologies, darling. I was unaware that it's illegal for a bloke to be a good friend 'this side of the pond." 

"It's not illegal," You said. Your eyes narrowed. "But we're not friends."

You'd made a handful of friends since moving to this town. None of them had come to your aid. Then again, none of them knew about your sketchbook.

Kol smirked. "Consider this an application then!" He surmised, eyes glinting. Those unnerving tar pits seemed a little less dead today than they had before. What changed? He chuckled, amused at your loss for words, and continued. "Besides, I get the feeling I'm just about the only one who knows that sketchbook of yours was stolen from you. The only thing I want to know is, what made you draw that picture?" 

Maybe… if you told him the truth about the sketches, he wouldn't look any closer. 

"I don't like Stefan Salvatore," Came your quiet answer. 

That didn't seem to be what he was expecting, but he didn't look disappointed. Kol's lips twitched and he wet his lips in a way that betrayed a certain excitement. 

"Go on."

You took a breath.

"He and I were the only two new kids last year," You began. If you said this, you were going to sound like a lunatic, that was why you'd always opted to draw it out instead. "Strange things happen in this town, and they happen around him. No town has as many "animal attacks" as this one and those only started when he showed up. People started going missing. Some were found dead. Mr. Saltzman is our history teacher because the guy before him got ripped up right over there in the parking lot just before Stefan's first game as part of team. The police said it was a mountain lion, but I was there; I saw the body and there were no scratches. Then there's the way some of his friends a-and Mr. Saltzman look at him sometimes - I've seen them do it - like he's about to murder everyone in the room and they don't know how to stop him."

Kol stared at you. His expression had grown increasingly weary the longer you kept on rambling. When you finally closed your mouth, he nodded slowly, brows furrowed. You bit your lip, awaiting his response.

"That is…" He trailed off. To your great surprise, however, he nodded as if he actually believed you. "Deeply disturbing, darling." Kol's eyes narrowed and he leaned in closer. "You say you saw your teacher's corpse?" He asked.

You nodded. "The "bite" on his neck looked a lot more like buck-shot to me."

His eyes widened. "You think someone killed him?" He hissed.

"And the police covered it up."

"So why draw the football team?"

You hugged your arms around yourself. "Because Matt Donovan is in on it. It's him, Tyler Lockwood, and Stefan Salvatore - they've been acting so weird. Two months ago, Tyler and Stefan started acting really mean all of a sudden and the rest of the football team just started acting like zombies, doing anything they said. It was really freaky."

"And you drew it so you wouldn't have to be afraid." Kol nodded, smiling softly. "Put all the horrors in a little book and out of your head."

This kid had you dead to rights.

You tugged on the sleeves of your sweater. "I never meant to hurt anyone," You sighed.

"I know," He said. "For the record, I quite liked your little interpretation."

"You don't think I'm crazy?"

"I'm not sure yet," The dark-haired boy admitted with a shrug. "Honestly, I've never known another town to have as many functions as this one."

"Right?!" You exclaimed. Finally, someone else saw it! "Smells like organized crime to me…"

"Or cult activity."

"Or that."

"Or maybe you're just a little paranoid," Kol surmised. "But if that's the case, then who am I to judge?"

For the first time in a while, your shoulders shook with a genuine laugh. 

"Thanks Kol."

"Anytime, love."

And that boy lived up to his word. Over the span of the next several weeks, more of your sketches were spread about the school. It wasn't long before your so-called friends had all cut contact. Kol became the only person in town willing to talk to you. Every time a drawing was leaked, no matter how dark, twisted, or gruesome the image, Kol was always there to comfort you and compliment your art style. 

Each drawing that circulated the school was more damaging to your reputation than the last. Anyone you thought was in on the secret of Mystic Falls' suspicious deaths, you turned into a monster in the pages of your sketchbook. 

Jeremy Gilbert became a tortured Voodoo doll. 

("Well, there's an odd comparison," Kol commented idly, inspecting the array of pages that had overtaken your locker. "I quite like it."

A student shoved past you on their way to class, ramming painfully into your shoulder. You winced, aware that the action was purposeful, but you didn't say anything. Kol, however, glared at the kid - a cold, chilling sort of glare. 

You shrugged, readjusting your backpack.

"He just always seems so pained lately. 'Looks at everyone like they're gonna kill 'em.")

Elena, his sister, you portrayed as a prim, psychotic puppet master. 

("I'm sorry, but have I done something to you?" The popular and gorgeous former cheerleader asked when she confronted you about the sketch she clutched in her hand. Seniors Stefan Salvatore and Matt Donovan stood with their arms crossed, flanking her on both sides. The sight only served to reinforce the role your imagination had given her - the girl wore her ex's around her like accessories. They were always there to cover for her strange behavior.

"N-no, it's not like that. I-I-I swear!" You stammered, eyes flicking between her broad-shouldered bodyguards. You swallowed thickly. 

"Look, Y/N," Elena sighed. "I'm not mad at you, but whatever is going on in your life, you can't take it out on me. Or anyone else." 

"That's not what I'm doing," You mumbled, shuffling your feet. She didn't seem to hear you. 

"You know, if there's something bothering you, then you need to tell someone about it," Elena said. You were only a few months younger than her, yet she talked down to you as though you were a toddler. You wished the anger that flared and frothed inside you, didn't look like shame as it stained your cheeks. "I know we're not close, but you can always tell me if something's happening, okay?"

"No thank you, I'm fine." 

"Y/N, it's okay to let someone in." The girl pressed. 

You gritted your teeth, wishing she would just go. "I-"

"Pretty sure she doesn't have to tell you anything, sweetheart," A melodiously snide voice hummed from behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you shot Kol a relieved smile. He dropped a quick wink in return before focusing on his fellow seniors. Elena and her posse seemed to tense up around him for some reason. 

"What's it to you, Kol?" Stefan demanded. 

"Oh, I dunno. Basic human decency? Nothing much," He replied. The dark-haired senior shoved his hands in his pockets and smirked, smug as a bug. 

"How 'bout you mind your own damn business for a change," Matt snapped. He almost made a move toward your friend but Elena stopped him with a hand on his arm.

Kol snorted at their reactions. "Why so defensive? 'Weren't expecting this lovely young lady to have some back-up?" He slung an arm around your shoulder and began twisting a lock of your hair around and around his finger. You sort of liked him tugging on it the way he did.

"We were just a little concerned," Elena claimed.

"Right." Kol smiled thinly. Releasing his fingers from your hair, he took a threatening step forward. You hadn't realized before just how tall that boy was. "Well, as Y/N said, she doesn't need your concern. So why don't you run along and take your puppets with you." 

The three seniors reluctantly surrendered under the force of Kol's steely glare and you watched them go, hugging your arms around yourself and shivering. Kol turned back to you. His hands found their way to your shoulders and he stopped down a little to look you in the eyes.

"Are you alright?" He asked. His eyes were still dark, but not the pits of tar they'd been before. They were more like soft dirt now, holding the promise of future life. 

Kol gently smoothed his hands over your arms, spreading a gooey, molten warmth everywhere his skin touched. There was something bubbly in your lungs and the shudder that ran down your spine this time wasn't from nerves. 

You took a breath and tried to ignore how his touch made you want to melt.

"I'm fine," You lied. You were fine. You were always fine.

The boy smiled as though he didn't quite believe you. "That's good." He tilted his head in the direction Elena and the others had disappeared to. "You were right about them, though. There's definitely something strange going on there."

You nodded. "Thanks."

"Of course, darling.")

Bonnie Bennett, by the grace of your overactive imagination, had been transformed into a wicked witch. Ancient runes glowed in the air, surrounding her dark ritual. Oddly enough, the thief had changed a few of them, though you weren't sure why.  

("If I might ask, why a witch for that one?" Kol asked as the girl herself scowled venomously at you from the other side of the gym.

He sat with his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, leaning in close so you would hear him though he spoke softly, having stayed a little longer after school to help you with your chemistry homework now that no one else would. You could smell cinnamon and something tangy on his breath as his lips brushed over your ear and you tried not to shiver. The whole school probably thought you were a couple, but you knew that wasn't the case. 

"There's some weird looking stuff in that girl's locker," You whispered back, pretending to be blissfully unaware of the daggers she was glaring at your head. If you didn't know better, you would have sworn the temperature of the room dropped a few degrees. "At the fundraiser we had last year, there was this car that just caught fire outta nowhere. The thing wasn't even running and it just exploded. Everybody was freaking out and running but Bonnie just stood there, staring at it like she was possessed."

Kol glanced up at the Bennett girl again. "You know what?" He decided, tilting his head. "I can see it." He sent Bonnie a little wave and turned back to your homework. "I loved the runes you included in that drawing, though," The boy added. 

"Yeah?" You couldn't help but smile.

"Absolutely. Most of them were even correct," He shot you a crooked grin. "It was impressive."

You raised a brow. "Can you… read Runic?"

"Mmhm," He hummed, checking off another problem on your homework. "Remind me and I'll teach you sometime."

You were about to ask where and when he would have learned something like that, but the question was plucked from your brain before you got the chance.

You drew in a sharp breath as his hand, which had previously rested like a ghost's on your hip, slipped deftly under your shirt. Unsure whether you liked it or not, you couldn't decide as your brain had simply quit functioning properly. All you could seem to register was that Kol was touching you and it wasn't a "just friends" sort of touch. Your cheeks felt like they'd caught fire as you glanced up at him, blinking owlishly, only to find that he was already watching you with an unexpectedly sweet smile. He studied your expression, waiting for you to protest - to say no. 

When you remained silent, that sweet smile twisted into a smirk. Leaning down, you felt a soft, tender kiss to your cheek just as Kol pressed his fingers firmly into your skin, wasting no time before he began to explore. His hand was warm, gentle, and soft as he stroked and petted your stomach. Something warm and jittery built up in your chest. It climbed up your throat, threatening to spill out. You whimpered quietly, unable to hold it back. Yet, that only seemed to encourage him. Kol hummed and slid his hand lower with another kiss to your cheek. What was that boy doing to you? Your whole body burned as he continued to fondle and caress you shamelessly. Shuddering, you bit back a moan and curled yourself closer to him, fisting his jacket as though he could hide you from the world. Kol just smirked and continued going over your homework. 

He didn't let go of you - didn't stop touching you - until the bell rang. Then he just got up, shot you a wink, and left without another word.)

Slowly, that boy earned your trust because, though you didn't know exactly how to define your relationship with him, he was always there for you. It was nice to have someone who knew why you had drawn those pictures. Not because you were self-righteous and judgemental, but because there was something very real and very disturbing going on and you needed a way to purge the constant fear from your mind.

Kol believed you. There was something wrong with this town. You weren't crazy.

But no one else could see that. 

The day a sketch of Sheriff Forbes - Caroline's mother - made its way around the student body was the day you were called to the principal's office. The picture displayed Sheriff Forbes as a creature like the Other Mother from Coraline, dutifully sewing shut the mouths of townspeople and stitching buttons over their eyes. The Sheriff was a kind woman. She didn't deserve to be depicted that way. But at the same time, you knew she was hiding something.

So there you sat on the wrong side of the principal's desk, eyes locked firmly on your lap as the graying woman watched you with a disappointed frown.

"Y/N, this is not acceptable," She said, tight-lipped with tired eyes.

"I know," You mumbled.

"Then why did you draw these pictures in the first place?" The woman demanded. 

You shrugged haplessly. She wouldn't believe you if you told the truth. She'd probably recommend you to a mental health institution. 

The principal sighed. "Y/N, it's not my business what you do in your free time, but this has to stop. You need to stop."

"It's not me!" You protested. "Someone stole my sketchbook."

"Well, then you had better find a way to get it back, and once you do I highly recommend you burn it. Otherwise, I will have no choice but to suspend you," She said, folding her hands atop the desk. "The mayor has also been made aware of these sketches and she asked me to warn you that, should another one of these offensive images appear, you can consider her commission canceled."

Your heart stuttered and sank. 

You wanted to scream and cry and tell the world it was all so unfair but all that came out of your mouth was, "Okay."

The principal nodded. "Good afternoon, Miss Y/L/N."

That was your cue to leave. 

You exited her office and shut the door behind you, letting go of a long sigh. Kol was sitting outside, waiting for you. He was always there for you. Upon seeing your distraught expression, the boy got up and wound his arms around you, holding you close. You clung to him, squeezing your eyes shut and grinding your teeth as you buried your face in his chest. 

Kol pressed a feather-light kiss to the crown of your head. “Are you alright?” He asked, just as he always did.

You took a deep breath-

(You were fine. You were always fine.)

-and let out a string of cuss words so foul they’d make a sailor blush.

He hissed in sympathy and hugged you tighter. “I take it that’s a no.”

Kol was a good friend. True, his words sometimes carried a sting to them and some of his touches lingered a little too long to be just friendly. But he was good. The two of you had come a long way since you'd first met him. When he pulled away, he probably should have rested his hands on your waist but Kol grabbed you by your hips instead. His hands were very warm and you found yourself blushing. But if you were being honest, you liked the way he was touching you - the way he had been for a while now.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, hesitantly watching your face though you refused to meet his eyes.

"No," You answered. 

Kol offered you a strained smile and tugged you back into that tight hug. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" He said, gently.

Kol had been such a good friend to you. The least you could do was show him some trust.

"I'd rather show you." 

***

Her hand slid down his arm to his hand which Kol reluctantly lifted off her hip. Then, without another word - because she didn’t talk all that much - she led him off down the hallway. He allowed her to pull him along, amused (and two other things he was trying really hard to ignore.)

There was this funny feeling he got when he looked at that girl sometimes, with her chalk and paint-stained clothes, messy hair, and tired eyes. It was warm and pleasant and it reminded him of how he felt after a really big feed, except not like that at all. He felt satisfied, content… full, but there was nothing sinister about it. Kol found himself unsure how to label that sensation seeing has he’d so rarely felt it and when he had it was fleeting - gone before he could enjoy it. 

This time, however, when it came, that feeling lingered.

And not because he’d killed anyone recently! Kol Mikaelson had not rubbed out a single soul in that miserable little town. (A surprise to all, certainly.) That odd feeling stayed with him day to day, and he tried to ignore how pleasant it was because surly it would disappear any day now… But it never did. Kol knew it had something to do with his little artist but, honestly, that just confused him further. More baffling still was the notion that, over the past few weeks, he hadn’t found himself craving the high that exacting death always afforded him. Sure, he felt a little… hungry (that didn’t seem like the right term) on the weekends, but then he’d see her in the hallways and he felt content again. It wasn’t the sort of satisfaction he took from any of his games either.

That’s what this whole thing had started as - what it was. (Just that he had to remind himself of that fact was unsettling.) It was just a game. He’d played it hundreds of times before with hundreds of girls like her. It was the game where he came into their lives from out of the blue, stripped away every single thing they cared about - robbed them of their friends, their reputation, their comforts, their dreams - and did that all while making them love him for it. Then, once he got them into his bed, he shattered their illusions right before he killed them.

He was so close to winning this one too. Her friends had all abandoned her, half the town was convinced she was schizophrenic, and her dreams were one little sketchbook page away from being crushed. There was just one problem. 

This time, he didn’t want the game to end.

This time, he felt an uncomfortable stabbing sensation in his chest (not unlike the point of a dagger) every time she flinched. Every time she switched off her hearing aids, every time she hugged herself and sighed, every time she pursed her lips on the verge of tears - Kol felt something he hadn’t felt in well over nine hundred years. Guilt. Because he was the one spreading that girl’s naughty little pictures through the halls just so she would want him around. 

Kol simply didn’t understand what made her different. She was human. She wasn’t strong or powerful or even witty. The girl was shy, she hardly said a word to anyone but him, and when some kid shouted abuse in her face she just stood there and took it. She was so plain and boring that Kol often found himself wondering why he hadn’t eaten her yet. 

Sometimes though, she surprised him. 

She surprised him when she shoved her way though the front doors in the middle of the school day. Previously, Kol was convinced that girl had never broken a rule in her life.

She surprised him when she cussed like a sailor and didn’t apologize one bit. Was a girl like that even allowed to say those words? Legally?

But most of all, she surprised him when she tugged him along by the hand in the drizzling rain through the backwoods of Virginia, off the hiking trails, and down into a ravine where she only stopped in front of a looming chain-link fence. That fence had a big, red “No Trespassing” sign attached to it.

She suprised him when she was always fine. That girl accepted his hugs, his touch, his comfort - but she didn’t need it.

Thus, Kol was well and truly floored when his tiny sweet, delicious little artist dropped his hand and scrambled up and over that fence like a monkey scales a tree. He couldn’t believe his eyes. She had absolutely, positively, and without a doubt just broken a law. That couldn’t be right. She was too shy to break the law. This was the same girl that apologized when she broke her bloody pencil.

"You coming or not?" She challenged. And then... Then, she smiled.

The sight of it took Kol's breath away.

That smile. He didn't understand it. Y/N was no witch - he knew that for certain. But somehow there was something magical about that smile.

There were moments - only a handful of them - like the one he was in right then. Those times were so rare but when they occurred, Kol's tiny, sweet, piquant little artist would look back at him, usually over her shoulder, and send him this... this smile. The twist of her lips he'd seen her wear when he'd first met her, the one she passed out to her so-called friends, was a fake he came to realize.

This real one was so much prettier.

Words had so rarely failed him, but there was no language Kol knew that could quite describe just what that smile looked like - what it made him feel or why. That smile of her's was just so real - so deeply heartfelt - that it always made him want to smile back. Her's was never never a silly or obnoxious grin that she gave to him. It was this tiny quirk of her lips that made her eyes sparkle and her cheeks glow a subtle, appetizing pink. Her beauty wasn't like that of the models in those magazines Bekah liked - she wasn't spectacularly eye-catching. That girl's smile didn't light up a room, but it lit a fire in his chest the likes of which he'd never known. It twisted his stomach and Kol felt so hungry every time he got to witness that smile. Except that hunger wasn't the sinister kind he was so familiar with. When she smiled at him, he didn't want to hurt that girl.

He just wanted to pin her against a tree and kiss those beautifully curled lips until the taste of his extraordinary artist was seared into his infallible mind for all eternity.

It wasn't just lust either. It was more than that. Kol didn't want her just because she had a pretty smile. He needed her because that smile only appeared for him - no one else. Kol could make that girl smile and it had nothing to do with his physical appearance. His little artist's smile was reserved just for him simply because he was there to see it. She smiled because he existed and that idea was one he couldn't help but revel in. After all, when was the last time he got something all to himself without having to fight tooth and nail for it?

“Say, love, are we getting close to the bridge?” He wondered. It was the bridge or the falls, but he couldn’t be sure. Y/N didn’t reply. Her lovely, perfect, scrumptious little laugh was all he got in response. After a few more minutes of walking in silence - which he found he liked better than all the other girls he’d ever played with who always felt a need to fill the gap with meaningless prattle - they reached their destination.

So, Kol grinned. That was his real smile too. Only she could bring it out. "Of couse, darling."

He jumped and scaled the fence with the same ease as his quiet companion who took off again as soon as his feet hit the ground. It wasn't long before his enhanced hearing caught the sound of water rushing nearby.

Once free of the tree line, Kol glimpsed the dreary silhouette of Wickery Bridge breaking through the haze of rain and gloom. His little artist glanced back at him with something wild and ferocious gleaming in her eyes. For a moment, he was taken aback by the sight. But that moment was swiftly overtaken by sheer, lucidious excitement. He returned her smile and she bounded off down toward the water. He followed, enraptured and curious as she came to a stop underneath the bridge. 

“Alright, my sweet, I think I’ve let you go on long enough,” He said upon catching up with her, not that doing so was any struggle. “What’s so important that you brought me all the way out here?” 

The girl didn’t say anything. Instead, she began climbing up the mess of rocks and driftwood that had collected on the banks of the river, making her way up to the crevice where the bridge split from the shoreline. As she did, her hand slipped on one of the rocks and she spat out another string of cuss words that would peel the scales off a snake. Normally, Kol would have been impressed; however, he was a little too busy focusing on the minuscule part of him that didn’t want to rip out her throat. 

She’d cut her hand on those rocks and it wasn’t just a little scrape, like the ones he’d grown accustomed to. This was a long, jagged slit across her palm and her all-too-tempting blood was spilling down her arm in beautiful crimson rivers. 

And terrible, awful, horrid reality came crashing back in on him.

For a while there, Kol had almost forgotten the two of them weren’t the same. Somehow he’d felt full enough - full of something, full of her - for long enough that he’d forgotten he wasn’t who and what he was pretending to be. He’d forgotten about what he was doing and why he was there and what he was supposed to be doing with her. He’d forgotten that he was the predator and she was the prey. 

He was there solely to charm her into surrendering her blood and her body. That was it.

THAT. WAS. IT.

Kol hurt people. That was what he did. He screwed up, and he hurt people, and he laughed about it.

So why did the thought of sinking his teeth into that artist’s pretty little neck seem to tear his lungs to shreds? No - not his lungs - that thing between them. That thing he ignored. That thing he didn’t have. Most people call it a heart.

What was that about? Kol was a monster. He hadn’t felt anything in years, aside from rage, hunger, and the occasional apathy. One thousand years of never giving a damn about the value of human life. And now what? His heart suddenly decided to garner affection for one lonely, miserable, pathetic, perfect, baffling, innocent, gorgeous, plush, soft, disillusioned little artist? Now?

Why now? Why her?

(It had been so long. And he’d had no one.)

She was the only one who ever smiled just for him. The only one who ever trusted him enough to let him see how terrified she truly was. She was scared, so scared all the time that something would spring from the shadows that lurked around every corner to snuff out her soul. She should be, he knew. She was right to be scared. Because Kol was right next to her and he was the only person not in her sketchbook. Sure, she’d never had the chance to put him in there but he’d asked her once what he would look like if she were to draw him like she did everyone else, and his tantalizing little artist had told him she didn’t see Kol that way - that he was her friend. She didn’t know it, and he didn’t want her to know it, but she should be scared of him. 

Kol wanted to kill her - needed to kill her. He craved so desperately to ravish that appetizing girl right where they stood. Bloody hell, she should be terrified! 

Yet, he didn’t want to scare her - didn’t mean to. He was just hungry - that was all. No one was around. No one could stop him. She didn’t need to be afraid. He could make her feel good. She might like it. Kol was just hungry - he didn’t want to hurt her. One taste wouldn’t hurt her so bad, would it? She would forgive him. One bite would be enough and then he’d stop. Except he wouldn’t and Kol knew that. He would drain every last drop of scarlet from her body and he knew she would be the most exhilarating high he’d ever get. But he didn’t have to feel bad about it. He could dump her body in the river and he’d never see her again. 

Oh.

That was it.

He’d never see her again.

No. No, he wanted to see her smile again. Wanted to hear her laugh. Wanted to listen to all of her secrets and wanted that girl to let him touch her for real. No. No, no, no, nonononononononononono.

And all this ran through his head before his artist had even finished cussing. 

Y/N waved her hand in the air, displaying her cut. “God hates me!” She called down to him cheerfully. That sunny demeanor that had once annoyed him so now brought him a laugh.

“That’s on you, darling. Perhaps if you were to tell me what it is that you’re trying to achieve, I might be able to assist,” He pointed out, still chuckling to himself. The girl shrugged and reached into the crevice, feeling around for something. “If you get bit by a snake, I’m going to laugh,” Kol mused. She twisted her other hand around and flipped him the bird. After another moment of watching her grope around in a dark hole, his little artist let out an exclamation of success and retrieved her arm which was now attached to a large, black duffle bag. Carefully, she climbed down and tossed the bag on the ground. 

“Ta da!” She grinned at him. It was an odd expression - like her face didn’t quite know how to express her current joy to another being.

Kol raised a brow. “Wow,” He deadpanned. “Color me impressed.” 

Her smile didn’t falter.

“The council just finished renovating this bridge,” She said as though that explained everything.

“And?”

Instead of answering, she simply bent down and unzipped the bag at her feet. Meanwhile, ever the gentleman, Kol forced himself to turn away from admiring the exquisite view of her cleavage this action presented him. He wanted her, yes. Kol delighted in reducing his little artist into a blushing puddle when he touched her. But if he was going to have that girl, he was going to have her everything. Her smile, her heart, her mind, her body, and her respect. Everything. Not just empty lust.

From out of the bag, Y/N drew a pair of gloves, a mask, and two cans of what Kol now recognized to be spray paint. Then, donning the gloves and mask, she marched down to the concrete trusses of Wickery Bridge and got to work. The giant concrete slabs were practically one perfectly untouched canvas for her to exploit.

Suddenly, all those strange behaviors made a whole lot of sense.

“Bloody hell, the girl’s a vandal!” Kol barked a laugh. "I wondered what it was you were so desperate to keep me away from,” He said, shaking his head. “I had my suspicions but this… was not one of them.”

“Oh really,” His artist scoffed. She started out her mural with layers of red. “And what were those suspicions?”

“Abusive parents was number one,” He listed, stretching out casually on the ground, back against a rock. Not the most uncomfortable position he’d ever held. “Self-harm was number two, and number three was a sordid drug habit.”

“Do I really come off that pathetic?” She wondered blithely. 

“Most of the time, yeah.”  

The girl snorted. “Good for me!”

“That desperate to hide your little crimes, are you?” He chuckled.

“Yep!”

“Why?”

“Well, mostly-” She paused to switch colors, going with black now. “-because if Mayor Lockwood ever found out I was the one painting her little town red, I’d lose my commission to paint town square and uh… I like money.”

“Understandable.” He nodded. “I sense an “and” coming.”

“And,” She continued with a slight laugh. “I might have possibly tagged a few properties worth a lot more than a bridge.” She hesitated. “Or a town… or a castle.”

That last remark was enough to have Kol sitting up straight. “So you were the miscreant who wrote out “Blood Money” on the side of my house!” He exclaimed, wide-eyed. It was impressive as no one in his family had heard anyone approach the house that night, yet the message had been there in bright red the next morning. How had she pulled that off?

The girl froze in her painting. “That was your house?”

“Indeed it was.”

“Whoops.”

Kol waved a hand. “Eh. No harm done.” 

“So… not a mafia base then?” 

He wished she was wrong. Kol really wished he wasn’t everything that terrified his precious artist. But he was. And that wouldn’t change.

So he laughed.

“Well, if I told you that, I’d have to kill you,” He joked. Except it wasn’t a joke. But he could let her think it was. He could pretend he believed that too. He could pretend he was just a normal kid, enjoying the company of a beautiful girl. He could pretend that.

She threw her head back and laughed. 

What a beautiful thing.

“Okay! I’m done talking now!” She announced without providing any segue whatsoever. He liked that about her though, that she was blunt and direct. It amused him. 

“Well, what am I supposed to do then?” He protested. He wasn’t all that broken up about it. Just being around that girl was enough to sate his hunger for her. That's what his little game had turned into. 

She shrugged and flipped her hearing aids off, so he supposed that was the end of it. 

“You know, I’m actually a vampire,” He told her. Kol knew she couldn’t hear him and his words fell on deaf ears. He figured he should tell her the truth though. Even if it was only this once. At least then he could say he had. 

“I’ve murdered hundreds of thousands of people - plenty of them for no reason at all. As for you…

“Well, I’ll probably kill you one day. Hell, I almost did just now. I’m not all that great at self-control, you see.” He let go of a bitter laugh and scooped a pebble off the ground, laying back he tossed it over his head and caught it again and again. “But I’m really great at screwing things up!”

“I stole your sketchbook,” He admitted, a little quieter. “It was just supposed to be a bit of fun, but it’s not fun anymore. I-I don’t like to see you hurting. I could stop. That bloody school would never see another picture.” 

He lifted his head, watching her back as she continued painting. 

“But would you still love me if I did?” Kol sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t think you would. You don’t need me.”

This time, when he tossed the rock, he didn’t catch it. The stone flew and landed in the river, lost to the moving water.

“Nobody does.”

He was glad she couldn’t hear him. He could talk to her and she would never know. Blissfully ignorant, he could watch with a lazy smile as she swung her hips and just kept on painting, without a care in the world. His horribly lovely artist sang quietly to herself as the light of the setting sun bounded off the water and carded through her hair, casting an ephemeral glow all around her. He wondered if her quiet verse might be meant for him. He knew that wasn’t the case. For someone so observant and suspicious, she could be quite blind. He doubted she could be in love with him or that she understood how he felt for her. But like with the rest of this bittersweet scene, Kol could pretend. 

“Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows

Everything that's wonderful is what I feel when we're together

Brighter than a lucky penny

When you're near the rain goes, disappears, dear

And I feel so fine

Just to know that you are mine…”

***

Robert Frost had been right, you decided the day your world fell apart. You would have preferred your world had been destroyed in one giant, raging fire. Of course, you didn't get to choose. Your world froze over slowly. The cold strangled your opportunities and relationships one by one until you were left entirely alone.

You stood in front of your locker that day, staring at the final nail in the coffin of your reputation and future. This was how it was to end. In ice. You felt like ice as you stared at that final drawing - cold and despondent. 

That sketch was of Alaric Saltzman, your kindhearted history teacher who believed in infinite chances for a student's grades. He always wore a pained smile - it was a smile for everyone else because he was still hurting but wanted the kids he taught to look forward to the rest of their lives as he no longer did.

You had drawn him differently.

No smile. Just the pain. Pain that had morphed into bitterness and bitterness into hate. He was sitting in his desk chair, facing towards the door - toward the viewer - with a bottle of bourbon in one hand, and a gun in the other. Smoke rose from the barrel of that gun, and the viewer's perception was tinted red.

You had drawn your history teacher murdering you in cold blood. 

Who does that?

"So…" The silky lilt of Kol's gentle accent tugged you from your thoughts and brought just a little relief. Even if you had nothing, you had Kol. "Do I want to know what inspired this one? Or would I rather sleep tonight?"

You shrugged, apathetic. The weight of the moment yet to sink in.

"I saw a gun in his desk," You answered tonelessly. 

"No shit?"

"Uh, huh." You nodded. "Right next to the colored pencils."

The boy whistled. "I'm regretting some of the things I put in my essay now," He said. 

A tiny smile tugged at your lips. "As if you did it."

"Ouch, darling. That hurts." He chuckled lightly and you felt his arms encircle your waist from behind. He tugged you close, resting his head on your shoulder. "You don't know everything about me."

He was trying to joke, for your sake. But nothing could make this better.

"What do I do now?" You asked with a sigh. Kol pressed a kiss to your cheek - light as a feather. For whatever reason, it felt like an apology.

"Well, if I were you," He said. "I'd go out with a bang."

You nodded and shrugged - indifferent. "A bang sounds good."

Kol released you as you slipped your backpack off your shoulders. Eyeing you with a mix of confusion and anticipation, your best friend's eyes flew wide as he watched you wander over to the nearest window, arms reeling back. 

With all your might, you flung your back through the window.

It shattered into a million tiny pieces.

The raucous hallway fell silent and a few dozen pairs of eyes locked on you.

"One of you bastards stole my sketchbook," You told them, not bothering to raise your voice in the slightest. "Is that what you wanted? To see me fall apart?"

No one answered of course as you glanced between stunned expressions.

"Well, I hope you're happy now," You rasped. Shoving a few kids out of your way with the harshness that had been building inside you for months now, you left that school behind you and didn't look back.

The only sound to be heard was Kol's low whistle as the heavy steel doors swung shut. The tears streaming down your face were silent.

You sprinted home through the driving rain, the sky dark and close, almost like a blanket. Perhaps the whole world was crying with you. After all, it always seemed to rain when you were sad.

To your relief, your parents were still at work. You had the comfort of crying in peace. Slamming the door shut, you pressed your back against it, slid to the floor… and screamed.

This was your life and it was crumbling in your hands. What else were you supposed to do?

A light knock tapped against the door. So quiet you wouldn't have heard it if the vibrations weren't centered right next to your ear. 

"Y/N?" Kol's voice called from the other side of the wood. You didn't say anything, though your ragged breathing was far from quiet. "Y/N, I know you're in there. I can hear you crying." He laid his hand flat. You could hear that ring he always wore scraping against the wooden surface. "Please let me in?"

You shook your head. "I'm not some charity case," You choked out, throat raw.

"Perhaps to someone else you are," Kol said. He must have been kneeling on your front porch. "But not me. I don't have charity, darling. I'm rather selfish actually."

You huffed a laugh. It was humorless.

"Then why come?"

"Because I'm selfish," He replied. Then quieter. "I don't like to see you cry." His ring tapped against the door a few times. "Darling, please let me in? I want to help."

Your teeth clenched like a vice.

"I don't need you."

For years you'd longed to say those words. Finally, in this haze of fury and anguish, they weren't so hard to speak.

"I know." He sighed. "I know you don't, darling. It's part of why I like you so much."

Well as long as he understood, perhaps it was alright 

You scraped yourself off the floor and opened the door. Kol stood outside, drenched to the bone, same as you. His eyes weren't dead anymore - not the distant black holes they'd once been. No, his eyes were warm chocolate now, melting with something sad. He really did care.

"Come in," You signed, too worn out to speak. 

Kol's brows furrowed. He seemed worried for a moment, though you couldn't guess why. Then he took a tentative step through the door, smiled, and stepped closer, closing the door behind him. 

You watched him take his shoes and coat off through the dim light. Your house was dark. You hadn't bothered with any lights. Once he'd finished, Kol glanced up at you questioningly. You regarded him for a moment. After all, these sorts of situations never seemed to turn out well in the books you'd read and the shows you'd watched. The characters in those stories always seemed to end up doing something they'd regret.

Or maybe they didn't regret it. 

You thought you would though. 

So, contrary to what Kol was likely expecting, you didn't throw yourself into his arms. You just turned and shuffled into the kitchen. You finally switched on some lights. After a moment, he followed you, watching intently. Milling about in science, you collected the supplies required to make the two of you a cup of tea. Your quiet nature combined with your parent's distrust of humanity meant you'd never really had a friend like Kol before - someone you brought to your house and shared food with.

"You hungry?" You asked, waiting for the water to boil. Your hands shook a little, but you didn't feel like speaking. He leaned against the counter opposite you and offered a thin smile you felt you didn't quite understand.

"I'll be okay," He signed back after a moment. He took a deep breath. "I'm more worried about you."

You grimaced involuntarily, eyes shifting to the kettle on the stove. Inside, the pressure would be building until it all rushed out.

"I'm not broken, Kol," You whispered, voice hoarse and thick with more emotion than you'd ever known how to say.

"I know that-" He began, lifting his hands defensively.

"Then why do you look at me like I am?"

Kol's lips pressed into a thin line, nodding. You'd caught onto his ways a long time ago. That boy had been eyeing you like no one you'd ever known since you'd first met him. The only difference was now you were brave enough to call him out on it. So what if he saw you for who you really were? He'd seen enough of it by now. You were sick of hiding anyway.

Kol sighed and pushed off the counter. He made his way toward you with soft eyes and tentative steps until he stood just inches away, boxing you in. You met his dark chocolate eyes and refused to back down even though you knew your cheeks were stained pink. You'd never let anyone this close before.

Pursing his lips, the boy glanced down at the space between you and lifted his hand. He trailed his knuckles hesitantly over your side, then met your eyes again as if to ask permission. You swallowed thickly, but didn't tell him no. With a ghost of a smile, Kol laid his hands on your hips and squeezed firmly. You couldn’t withhold a shudder. His thumbs slipped under your shirt and rubbed your skin softly as he'd done for you a few times before, knowing how much you liked it. His hands seemed to fit perfectly over your hips as though he'd been made to hold you. 

Your eyes fluttered shut and you relaxed into his touch, letting go of a sigh. His searing hands felt nice when the whole world felt so cold. You needed him closer. 

Reaching up, you fisted the collar of his shirt rather harshly and dragged him toward you, pressing your whole body against his. He flinched slightly, surprised by your newfound eagerness, but he quickly reciprocated. Kol chuckled softly and you felt his lips graze your temple before he clinched your hips tighter and lifted you to sit atop the counter. Your heart stuttered and raced in your chest and you gasped sharply, drawing back enough to catch the smirk dancing on his lips. Your cheeks reddened further as he urged you to spread your legs so he could stand between them. His arms circled around your back and you hesitated.

So what if he was a senior? So what if you were a couple of months younger than he was? He'd been a good friend to you. 

Shaking your doubts away, you wrapped your legs around him and rested your head on his chest. Kol hummed quietly and pressed another soft kiss to the crown of your hair.

"I know you're not broken, darling," He said. His hands ran up and down your back, massaging a blazing heat into your bones. "I'm just trying to figure out what it is that you really are."

Your hands on his shirt clenched tighter.

"I'm angry,” You admitted. 

“Why?”

His question prompted your lips to twist into a scowl as a hysterical laugh bubbled past your lips.

“Really? You’re asking me why?” You huffed, shaking your head. “How ‘bout why not? I’m sick of it, Kol. All of it. The lies, the expectations - nothing is right in this town and I hate it! I’m seventeen! I should get to feel safe but I see people and they’re dropping like flies. And you’d think I’d at least get the luxury of being terrified, but no! I have to act like nothing is wrong!” You looked up at him, tears returning to sting your eyes. “I tried to. I really did. But it was too much and I couldn’t and I had to put it all somewhere. Now some idiot who thinks they’re funny just up and ruined my whole future. I’ll never get a job here now, not like it matters because mom and dad are shipping me off to some mental institution-”

“What?!” Kol cut your rambling off suddenly. Reeling back, he stared at you with wide eyes. You just shrugged. “Your parents are sending you away over this?” He demanded.

You raised a brow. “Kol, this is kind of a big thing.”

“How?!” He exclaimed. His grip on your hips tightened. He seemed agitated - more than you would expect. “You drew some creepy pictures. So what?! Who cares?!”

“A lot of people care,” You deadpanned. “I drew the likeness of people around me without their consent. That's a big no-no. My parents are worried I’m overstressed, narcissistic, and paranoid. They say I need help.”

“No, that’s not-” He cut himself off this time, teeth grinding. He wouldn’t look at you, just squeezed his eyes shut tight. You waited for him to gather his thoughts. 

“They can’t take you away from me.” 

Finally, he looked up. Smoldering black eyes met your own with a determination that couldn’t possibly have belonged to an eighteen year old boy. It was etherial - hard to capture and even harder to understand. His eyes seemed darker all of a sudden. An odd trick of the light. 

“That’s a nice sentiment,” You said quietly. “But unless you’ve got some hard-core magic up your sleeve, it’s not gonna change anything.”

Kol nodded stiffly. “Magic, eh?” His voice was dry - strained almost. He let go of you and took a step back, bracing his hands on the counter. The breaths he drew were long and deep - shaking. His eyes flicked back to yours, blazing with something needy. He cursed. 

“Screw it.”

The boy surged forward and his lips caught yours before you could even blink. His arms wound around you again and held you tight and close. One hand wove itself into your hair, tugging on the strands greedily. You couldn’t seem to focus enough to keep your eyes open, they fluttered closed as Kol pressed closer to you. You weren’t sure what to do or how to react, so you just tentatively kissed him back.

Kol flinched. Actually flinched, like he hadn’t expected his affection to be returned.

He pulled away, chest heaving with ragged, uneven breaths. 

Had you done the right thing? Would you regret this tomorrow? Would he?

“Kol, wha-”

His lips on yours shut your doubts up pretty quickly. 

“I’m so sorry about all of this,” That boy whispered into your mouth. “But it’s okay. You don’t have to worry anymore. I’m going to fix everything, darling. I promise.”

He left you no time to think. He just pressed you closer - as close as he possibly could and you felt warm. Warm and safe and wanted. His fervent kisses grew increasingly heated and desperate by the second. It was like you were in a haze, possessed almost. There was a sweetness and hunger to him that you were entirely unaccustomed to. Holding the back of your head with a gentle hand, Kol was tender and patient yet determined as he licked at the seam of your mouth. You gasped, flinching as you felt his arm around your waist constrict almost painfully. Seizing the opportunity, Kol swiftly deepened the kiss with a hum of satisfaction. He wasn’t harsh or forceful about it. You just weren’t sure. A tiny whimper escaped your throat but he just swallowed it eagerly. Did you really want this? Were you ready? 

You felt suffocated, trapped, and unable to breathe. You pulled back, trembling. But Kol wouldn’t let you go. He broke away, shaking his head.

“No, no. Darling, shhhhhh.” He combed your hair back with his fingers. It was comforting. “You’re alright. I’m not doing anything.”

“Kol, please-”

“No, you’re fine. Everything is going to be alright. Just trust me,” He promised. The boy smiled and settled his lips on yours again. You didn’t fight him. All you could seem to do was shudder as he captured your lower lip and bit down. On his shirt, your hands relaxed. It was almost as if he’d drugged you. Something about that was disturbing, yet you clenched your thighs around him nonetheless.

“See?” Kol flashed you a soft grin as he broke away this time, pressing a sweet kiss against the corner of your mouth. “You’re okay, love. This isn’t me hurting you.”

Then what was?

Kol’s hands slid beneath your shirt and they were so warm as he ran them over your waist and higher onto your ribcage. You had half a mind to let him do anything he wanted, but something wasn’t right. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks at terminal velocity. 

On the stovetop, the tea kettle screamed a warning.

Magic was your first clue. That and he’d said he’d fix things. 

What if he already had?

You stilled. All the warmth in his touch faded in an instant and you let go of him. You didn’t cry out or shove him back. You just quit moving.

Kol’s mouth slowed soon enough. He pulled his hands away and stepped back. The boy eyed you for a moment, but you wouldn’t look at him. Then he cursed. 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I-I don’t know what happened.” Throwing his head back, he scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned. “I don’t even know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have pushed you. That was a disgusting thing to do. Please forgive me?”

You didn’t. You just drew your knees up to your chest, curling into a ball. The tears came back. Your ribcage shook with your pained breaths. 

“Y/N?” His voice was faint and far away. “Y/N, please look at me?”

You hardly heard the words that left his lips. You were too busy processing his greater sin.

The declaration came out as hardly a whisper. 

“It was you.”

Kol blinked. Then he frowned. 

“Darling… what are you talking about?”

You shook your head. Tears streamed down your face.

“Why?” You seethed. “Why would you do it?!”

He took a step back, seeming hurt. “Sweetheart… I’m sorry but you’re not making any sense.”

You weren’t going to play that game. Wordlessly, you hopped off the counter and strode over to the kitchen doorway. Kol had dropped his backpack there. You tore it open and rummaged around until you found it. A little book covered in black Sharpie. 

“How many high school students do you think know Nordic Runes?” You challenged softly.

“I dunno.” He shrugged. “Probably quite a few. I suspect it’s a relatively common niche interest.”

You hummed. “Let me rephrase then: How many high school students in Mystic Falls do you think are fluent enough in runic languages to correct it when they see a mistranslation?” You whipped around, displaying your oh-so-precious stolen sketchbook in your hands.

The color drained from Kol’s face.

“Darling… I can explain that,” He tried, voice raw - desperate for you to believe him. You wouldn’t. 

You offered him a smile. That same fake, hateful smile you offered to all the people in this town who lied to you. 

“Leave.”

Kol looked as though he’d been shot. 

“Y/N, please. Just let me explain.”

You shook your head. 

“I won’t say it twice,” You spat. Then, switching off your hearing aids, you turned away and started for the stairs. “You know where the door is,” You called over your shoulder, half growling the words. “Don’t let it hit you on the way out… bastard.”

Upstairs in your room, you locked the door and cried. This time you didn’t make a sound.

***

Kol had screwed up. Royally. 

In fact, he was convinced that this was even worse than that time he’d accidentally played god on the continent now known as Australia. (Mammals shouldn’t lay eggs and none would if not for his hubris and an escaped lab rat. Or in this case, a lab platypus.) However, this time, Kol couldn’t just run away. Of course, there was mother dearest’s spell to consider but, that wasn’t the only thing keeping him from leaving that girl and her stupid precious tears behind. For whatever reason, he couldn’t stand what he’d done. He knew this for a fact because he’d had all night to think about it.

Her face, sparkling with fresh tears, was an image burned into his memory. Kol couldn’t seem to forget the tremble in her voice as she’d pulled that bloody sketchbook out of his bag. He could still hear her crying on the other side of her bedroom door. No matter how long he’d begged her to let him in, that door had remained locked. 

This wasn’t how things were meant to go - not when he’d been so close. He couldn’t stand it. 

She’d almost been his. Kol had finally held his sweet little artist in his arms and nothing, nothing - no drug nor blood-induced high he’d ever experienced - could ever compare to finally getting to touch her. He could have had more. He could have won his prize - could have kept her forever.

But he’d screwed up. Now, she loathed him.

He could stand losing a game every now and again. That was what kept things fun. But this wasn’t a game anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time. He couldn’t lose. Kol refused to lose.

Luckily, his delicious little artist was very, very human. 

He would go to her one more time, he resolved, to try to explain things. Truthfully, he knew there was no excuse for what he’d done, but that couldn’t change the facts. Kol needed her. He wouldn’t give her up just because he’d been dumb enough to let her snatch that sketchbook from his satchel. It wasn’t her fault. Had their roles been reversed, he wouldn’t forgive himself either. But luckily, his steel-spined artist was human. Luckily, Kol could erase his little mistake. 

Perhaps he could grab a quick bite from her too before he wiped her memory. A little taste might aid his patience for her - he didn’t fancy slipping up again like he had the night before. If he hurt her without realizing what he was doing, Kol knew he would kill his little artist far too soon.

He’d made his decision. The only thing that gave him pause was the wrinkled sheet of paper Bekah found that morning. 

“Kol?” Her voice rang through their brother’s mansion carrying confusion and worry. “I think you might want to see this…”

He’d been at her side in a split second, snatching the paper from her hands. It was a drawing, and Kol recognized its style of it instantly. Her lines were intimately familiar to him now, even as harsh and erratic as they were in the sketch he held. 

His beloved artist had finally drawn him. 

The twisted image was startlingly and horrifically accurate. Something clenched in his chest at the sight. She’d drawn his countenance pale, his hair was a wild mess and his eyes were black, empty holes. A vicious snarl warped his lips, accompanying razor-sharp fangs that looked all too real. In the picture, he knelt in the driving rain, cradling a limp corpse. His lips were coated in thick, crimson blood. Enamored as he was with his nightmarish likeness, Kol’s eyes were drawn to the most lifeless part of the image. He would have recognized those paint-stained clothes anywhere.

Now, Kol had added little notes to the drawings he’d stolen from his sweet artist’s sketchbook. This time, she had included her own. 

The harsh, hate-filled words read: “Vampire - a creature that feeds off the misery of others.”

At the bottom of the page, his artist had left him one more note.

“I hope you’re satisfied.”

Rebekah, peering over his shoulder now, whistled lowly. 

“That’s not Nik’s work,” She noted.

“No.” His voice came out sharp, clipped. “No, its not.”

“So who’d you piss off this time?”

Kol shrugged and tucked the drawing in his pocket. “No one important,” He lied. 

Shortly after that, he arrived beneath the trusses of Wickery Bridge. He knew where that girl would be - knew his artist couldn’t leave a piece unfinished. If she noticed him coming from a far ways off, she gave no inclination. Kol, however, noticed quite a few things. The tremor in her hands as she moved a can of paint back and forth in front of her. A used sleeping bag laid out among the rocks. A banana peel displaying the only proof she’d eaten any sort of meager breakfast. He noticed. He always noticed. 

His feet crunched on the gravel as he approached but he doubted the girl heard it - more than likely she had her hearing aids powered off. He could see the appeal in it. After all, it got quite loud in his head sometimes. Turning off the sounds of the world might be nice, but such was not his curse. 

Kol wound his arms around her waist from behind and leaned down. Her skin was so smooth and perfect, it was hard to resist simply biting down and taking her all to himself, but instead of piercing her throat he opted to kiss her a few times, gently. He knew how she would react by now. Y/N wouldn’t fight or squirm, she wouldn’t even scream. 

She just relaxed. 

Fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. 

A spitfire when angered, she could be quite impressive; however, when confronted she would always resort to that last option.

He could scent her fresh tears as they slipped down her face, while in his arms her body shuddered, though not quite the way he would prefer. Only one word could seem to manifest through her pain. 

"Why?" She didn't say it out loud, just signed it. Kol held her tighter, shrugging.

"Because I'm an attention whore," He answered simply. It was the truth too. "And I don't know when to stop."

He would always need that artist more than she needed him. From the first moment he'd met her, that was how their story had gone.

If it was even possible, that girl melted further into his embrace. Her head rested against his collarbone and she sighed.

"So you think I'm crazy too, huh?" She smiled and it was a miserable thing.

"I never thought you were crazy, love," He admitted, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I just didn't care for a while at first."

"What changed?" She wondered, brows furrowing.

"You smiled at me."

The girl barked a laugh. "Oh, well that's nice." She rolled her eyes.

Kol pulled her closer to him, as though he could make her feel the emotions he couldn't explain. "Don't believe me?"

"Nope." And she never minced words.

"It does sound rather cliche, doesn't it?"

"Ya think?" She scoffed. Her chest still shook with sobs she tried to suppress. He twisted her body around to pull her into a proper hug. Again, she didn't resist. She'd completely given up. 

Kol didn't like this hopeless, hysterical version of the strong, dagger-sharp artist he'd come to adore. He'd seen this sort of apathy before and typically it bored him. In her, it only seemed to hurt. It impressed him to hold her close until she finally understood that he was bloody sorry!

"Can you ever forgive me?" Kol found himself asking. Funny, he couldn't seem to remember another time he'd wondered such a thing. 

Y/N snorted humorlessly. 

"Maybe in a million years," She replied sourly. "Or maybe when the nut-house straightens me out - whichever comes last."

Those words stung like poison. It had been so, so long since he'd made a mistake he couldn't fix with a snap of his fingers. Accountability was a nasty, uncomfortable thing. 

A voice in the back of his mind reminded Kol that he could always compel his pretty little artist. But… he'd rather hoped her affection for him might be real. He didn't want to ruin that just yet.

Kol groaned quietly and tucked his face into the crook of her neck, fixing his lips over that girl's pulse again. The effect was somewhat calming despite making his fangs ache like nothing else. 

"I care about you, darling," He mumbled into her skin. 

"And I trusted you."

He understood. That girl didn't trust anyone. Now he was just another reason why.

A police siren flared to life in the distance, drawing closer. The artist in his arms chuckled dryly.

"Sounds like my ride's here," She observed, void of all life or emotion. The wheels of a police cruiser pulled to a stop not far off. She'd be caught in the act and Kol happened to know the police force had been set on vervain. 

"I won't let them take you," He swore, tightening his grip on his little artist. A car door slammed shut. Footsteps began approaching.

"And what are you gonna-"

Kol picked her up and ran. Consequences be damned. That girl was his. 

He stopped on the pretentious front porch of his brother's mansion and allowed her to absorb her new surroundings. She trembled in his arms, eyes round as saucers as she glanced around.

Her eyes met his and she shook her head, taking a step back. "Kol?" Her voice was thick with dread. "What… just-"

"You're okay," He assured her in lieu of an answer. He spoke calmingly, but she wouldn’t allow him to step any nearer. "You're safe now."

"No." Her voice was bold and firm. She held out a hand, increasing the space between them. “Tha-that wasn’t right. We-we-we were, uh… We were there… a-and now we’re here. What happened? Tell me. Tell me what you did!”

“Relax darling, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” He lied. The boy smiled disarmingly, voice a honeyed guise - it had worked before, back before she’d trusted him. “It’s just me.”

“No… No, y-you’re not-” She bit her lip and retreated further, blinking rapidly. 

He took another step closer, shushing her disoriented protests. “You’re alright, love. It’s. Just. Me.”

“NO!” The girl cried out with a tone forged from steel, but Kol watched as her resolve warped and cracked. He could see it rise to the surface - that all-consuming fear in his delectable little artist that he so relished and despised. “No… Kol, stop. Please.” Her sweet melody of a voice came out as a hoarse whisper now. “Y-you were my friend, and… I-I still want you, I do. But you need to stop. You’re not supposed to be like everyone else. Stop lying.”

Kol sighed heavily. His artist had been betrayed, time and time again. He couldn’t be like the rest of this godforsaken town - not if he wanted her. Yet… If he told her the truth - if he revealed himself to be everything that terrified her so - how would she possibly stand his presence?

“Do you truly wish to know?” He asked, unable to meet her gorgeous, all-too-perceptive eyes.

"I have to,” She whispered, almost to herself. “I’m not crazy. I-I didn't just imagine that!"

“You’re right.” He nodded and offered her a slight, halfhearted smirk. "You see too much for your own good, sweet thing. But please remember, you asked to be shown this part."

Kol thought about her - about his gorgeous, perfect artist. He inhaled deeply, taking in her mouth-watering scent. He focused on her heartbeat - wet and strong - let it lull him. He pictured that adorable, appetizing blush that always spread across her cheeks when he touched her. Kol allowed himself to imagine just how sweet, how lush, how devastatingly succulent that girl would taste just beneath her soft, warm human skin.

Then, welcoming that corrupt temptation, surrendering to it, he opened his eyes. 

His little artist screamed.

Tagging: @yn-ymn-yln @r13mar @rootbeerfaygo @iiskittles16ii @fandomrulesall-blog @dark-night-sky-99 @railingsofsorrow @apolloroid @thatweirdoleigh @misswe03 @eat-cake @felinegrate @cute-freak27 @fayeatheart @archangelslollipop @aonungs-tsahik @sleepneverheardofher @heartbreakgrill @whatsupb18 @enchantedlandcoffee @trikigirl271 @dreamingwithrafe @her-violent-delights @witchcraftandgeekness @dreamingwithrafe @acixsracix Comment or DM me if you want to be added to my tag list!

[jubileemon]

Original Man Adam Theory

It's possible that Adam went to Heaven not because he was a virtuous person who abstained from sinning but because of lack of temptation. If we go through the list of deadly sins and biblical account of what happened after The Fall, he couldn't commit any of them. Pride? Of what? He got cowed by God very hard. Greed? Gluttony? Sloth? He is forced to toil away every day for basic sustenance, there is no wealth to hoard, not enough food to gorge on, and if he is lazy, he'll starve to death.

Lust? There is only one woman he can lust over and that woman is Eve. We call that faithfulness in marriage. Wrath? Envy? Again, against whom? The first victim of those is Abel. He does commit every single one of them after death, though.

Rather fittingly, Adam has been shown to possess several of the Seven Deadly Sins from Charlie's time speaking to him. He pridefully boasts about how superior he is at things to people, lustfully talks about how he convinced another angel to sleep with him, mentions that he got annoyed over said angel wanting another one of his band members instead of him (implying he was envious he wasn't her first pick), got angry over one angel getting killed compared to the thousands of demons he kills every year and gluttonously wolfs down a pack of ribs while meeting with Charlie, is the one angel greedily wearing mostly gold clothes (and actually has golden horns as ornaments in his fashion getup), and is too lazy to make an appearance in person, instead using a hologram since he couldn't be bothered to actually talk to the princess of Hell and hear what she has to say. And, again, rather fittingly, because he's an angel, he doesn't see the irony in any of this.

What's even more ironic is Charlie is shown to possess all of the Seven Virtues despite being a demon and the daughter of Lucifer. Again, Adam and Lute are both such petty jackasses that they don't see the irony in this.

In a way, Adam can be seen as a representation of corrupt religious figures: because he's on the side of good, it means he can't be wrong, that he can get away with anything, etc while preaching to others and looking down upon them for their faults, perceived or otherwise. Conversely, Emily represents the virtuous religious figures, being kind, understanding and open-minded to all she meets, yet is quick to condemn legitimate wrongdoing even when it comes from those she previously trusted/saw as good people, even agreeing with Charlie - the Princess of Hell - that Heaven's practices aren't as lofty as they preach.

Ironically enough, that seems to imply Lucifer bringing free will and the creation of hell was. In hindsight, a huge improvement for everybody involved despite appearances. Because evil exists and now people would not be inherently sent to heaven just for preaching loyalty now, people would be capable of understanding evil and choose not to indulge into it. By resisting sin or even learning from the failures, there's now the chance ascended mortals would have a chance of being actually good people who made the right choices even if the process is still far from perfect. Adam is essentially a pampered child coddled from evil, so now he believes anything he does is justified. Has anyone just simply gone straight to heaven without understanding evil, Heaven would be probably just as much of a bad place as hell currently is.

There's another heavenly mortal within heaven's files: St. Peter himself. Despite being Jesus' apostle, Peter was a victim of many evils in life and also made a fair share of mistakes, with his denial of Jesus being one of the most notable. He had to interact with sin and temptation for all his life and likely also making his share of blunders which he repented greatly. But rather than make him a horrible sinner those events actually made him a stronger, nicer, much more complete person. As such when he's a heaven's gate he's presented as a Nice Guy and very reasonable person unlike the sheltered Adam.

But while Adam says that he never made a mistake in his life, Peter double checks if there was a mistake with Charlie's appointment until he finds out she was correct , and then he proceeds. While it's not explicitly stated, this showcases that Peter is capable of admitting his mistakes. Recognizing a wrongdoing and repenting is a crucial part of salvation.

[sissa-arrows]

Me: *watching Arabs hate on colonialism and display anti-colonialism arguments while eating dinner*

Me: *wipe my mouth*

Me: so what is your stance on Western Sahaara?

(aka me waiting for ppl to show up and call u out on Fitna because they choose selective eyesight and hearing, so i can say once again beli machi Rjal)

Too many Arabs (especially the Maghrebi diaspora in France) think that way… and a lot of them will condemn Saudi Arabia or Qatar so it’s not even about Arab solidarity or whatever. They really have a blind spot when it comes to Western Sahara. In the diaspora it’s often a way to look united. The amount of times I saw people going “they already hate us so we shouldn’t be divided”

I do think being in the diaspora especially in a country as hostile as France means that we have to fight differently but it doesn’t mean putting aside our principles. It means we have to be careful about not accepting support from people who are not anti Moroccan colonialism because they hate colonialism but rather because they hate Arabs. The ones who say Free Western Sahara but won’t acknowledge the role the West especially Spain and France play in the colonization of Western Sahara (without support from the West, Morocco wouldn’t be able to sustain the situation)

That being said I personally only meet this type of people online. In real life the situation is more likely to be “What is Western Sahara?” than “I stand with Morocco”.

And the accusations of fitna get on my nerves. If they wanna get all religious on us please enlighten us how is that fitna to defend our Muslim siblings in Western Sahara but it’s not fitna to colonize, kill, torture and rape them? (While using the same Israeli drones who are used to kill Palestinians).

When Ben Bella (Allah yarhmou) said to the Organisation of African Unity “We fought for 7 years and a half against the most obstinate imperialism that could exist. We have no right to think about ourselves when people are still falling in South Africa, Angola and Mozambique.” He was right and he mentioned only African countries because it was about African unity but it applies to all struggles against colonialism and imperialism. Some Arabs will claim the Algerian victory against colonialism as an Arab victory (it was an Algerian victory not an Arab one not even an Imazighen one) and then turn around and be surprised when the grand children of those who fought and lost their lives stand against colonialism today.

(I’m not going to mention the Arab leaders they are sell outs to my knowledge Tebboune is the only one who stands firmly with the Sahrawi people.)

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Catholic character anon, here’s my questions

1. Can she marry a non Catholic Christian (he’s from the Anglican Church specifically)

2. Should she wear some sort of head covering in public? Even if it’s like a headband or bandana

3. What is the general calendar like for Catholic holidays and other religious events?

4. Do Catholics go to church in Sunday, Saturday, or Wednesday? (I have friends from different branches who all go on some variation of those days so what’s it like for Catholics)

5. Is there anything she, under no circumstances, can do?

Thanks for any answers!

Yes! Catholics can marry non-Catholics. The understanding is that the children will be taught Catholicism as they grow.

Head coverings are not required for anyone. Many women choose to wear veils in church as a sign of humility towards Christ, and as symbolism since the Church is often referred to as the “bride of Christ.” Men, on the other hand, are not supposed to wear head coverings in church as a sign of respect.

Christmas and Easter are huge deals in the Church. There’s a period of penance and preparation leading up to them (advent and lent, respectively), and then the holidays themselves open up an entire festive season that lasts anywhere from 2-4 weeks. Outside of those periods, other big holidays for Catholics are usually single day holy days. We do processions and stuff for some of them, and everyone goes to Mass, no matter what day of the week it is.

The moral obligation to go to Mass falls on Sundays, but Catholic Churches offer Mass every day for anyone who wants to go and pray. For the Sunday obligation, most churches usually offer multiple Masses at different times, and one Saturday evening (called a vigil Mass), any of which can work.

I mean, anything in the 10 commandments, basically 😂 It boils down to loving God, loving neighbor, and what that entails. Don’t murder, respect all life, don’t use others physically, emotionally, sexually, etc. Don’t hurt others. Be in charge of your own free will rather than being a slave to desires and distractions. Honor God. That kind of thing.

[randomreadingtimewithtsuki]

Hello, how are you? Could I request Blue Exorcist Lucifer marriage headcanons with a human female? Please and thank you!

Hello! I am going insane at work, how about you my dear?

Thank you for requesting i hope this is of your liking! Please let me know what you think!

Tsuki's note: I did gender neutral because i'd like to be as inclusive as possible!

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

Most people would think that Lucifer wouldn't want a human s/o.

Yet, here you are.

Lucifer did not quite understand or see meaning in it.

But he indulged you in the idea of marriage, but with some few different details.

Like no religious places - he is a demon. that wouldn't make sense, would it?

And he much rather a quiet and private event.

He agreed with everything else you wanted - food, clothing, the whole thing. even his life support because, you know, he gotta be alive for it.

He even wears the ring and all.

You are treated like a royalty by Lucifer.

Most of the Iluminati also treats you very well and very respectfully.

The ones that doesn't, well, let's say they don't stay around for long.

The demon wants you next to him 24/7, if possible.

Even when he is in his life support - he feels safer knowing you are there next to him, as in he can protect you anytime.

Despite he being in the recovery room most of the time, you guys do have a bedroom of your own.

Lucifer allows you decorate however you'd like.

He finds it extremely adorable to see you choose the colors, decor and all.

It makes him even happier when you ask him about his opinion on something- he does let you do whatever you want, but it just brings a strange warmth seeing you worried about his own taste on things.

And he does gives his opinion.

From time to time, he either goes to fetch you a gift or ask Homare to fetch something for you.

If you have mid to long hair he would love to brush it for you.

All meals must be eaten together, you and him.

He is agood listener, so he does pay extra attention to everything - from what you say, what is left in between in lines, your body language, everything.

He knows your body from head to toe, as in, every single mark, scar, beauty marks everything.

Due to his life support he is not exactly able to cuddle you, but, he absolutely loves having you close to him.

Refers to you with royal names ( princess/prince etc..) or just calls you his spouse.

He doesn't always let you join in meetings - is a way of protecting you for things, not everything needs to be seen or known.

He won't allow you in the front lines ever.

There are people for that, no need for you to be in danger.

All in all, Lucifer is a loving, overprotective husband.

He may be cruel to those who try to hurt you or disrespect you.

But there is nothing else in this world that he adores more, than you, his beloved spouse.

And for you he is willing to go great lengths, to the point you can't even dare to imagine.

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

Thank you for reading!

I feel like this one sucked, sorry !

[clanborn]

More about Alaska clans?? 👀👀

Currently trying to make little infographic posts/comics about them but progress has slowed since school started. I’ll give an overview about them for now though thats hopefully not too long winded lol.

The clans are located in a fictionalized version of the area around Seward, AK and Resurrection Bay.

This map is a bit of an unpolished rough draft, but gives a general idea of the area. I believe the distance between the Iceclan and Oceanclan camps (via traveling around the mountains) is around 13 miles, might have to double check.

Unlike the book clans, the cats in these clans aren’t really in a battle cult and refer to themselves as “denizens” rather than “warriors”, and infighting amongst themselves is rare. The existence of separate groups mainly serves to prevent resource draining and diversify the food sources available to the cats, along with religious reasons (I’m still refining the details of their religion so I’ll probably elaborate on it in a later post). Though separate physically, the four groups essentially function as one large “clan” and coordinate resources and cats accordingly. Cats are able to change between clans with ease if they find their talents are suited elsewhere, and this usually is not a source of drama or conflict. However, though the clans do work as one unit, they do differ slightly in culture, and some clans are more accepting and flexible than others. For example, Oceanclan sees the lowest retention rate in denizens, and few cats switch to this clan, due to their specialized hunting methods and a sort of “hazing” culture for cats who seek to live there. The largest clan is Brookclan, followed closely by Stoneclan, since these clans live in less extreme environments with more opportunities for cats of differing skillsets. Iceclan is the smallest clan, but is the most tight-knit—very few cats born there choose to leave it.

The roles in these clans differ from their book counterparts. Medicine cats are simply referred to as doctors, and their sole job is to heal. Instead, leaders serve as both political and religious leaders, and are responsible for reading signs and attending half-moon meetings. Deputies perform similar duties as in the books, but are chosen differently. I’ll go over these positions later on in more detail.

Communication between the groups is important for the well-being of the clans, in order to be aware of threats and transport food and medicine, and is also important to individuals who may wish to have contact with friends and family in different clans. To facilitate this communication, there exists a Courier role. Clans will have at least two couriers (often more), usually the fastest cats in the clan with the endurance to travel long distances over rough terrain. These cats duties include reporting weather and animal sightings, delivering herbs from other clans, and transporting news and messages between various parties.

Though the clans’ culture doesn’t revolve around battle and aggressive defense of territory like those in the books, they still possess their own set of flawed beliefs. Generally, these clans see survival as a game, a challenge from nature and from their gods. They feel called to prove their worth by thriving in the harshest conditions possible, even when it isn’t necessary. Death is common, and though these cats grieve for those they’ve lost, it is viewed less as a tragedy and more of an unfortunate gamble. Living is a game of chance, and some cats—inevitably—are unable to beat the odds. To live as long as possible, to take whatever hardships the stars throw next, is the ability to gaze at them in defiance and ask: “Is that all you’ve got?”

Some cats can’t handle living this way, and choose to live the risk-defying, danger-seeking life of a clan cat. Cats who leave are sent off with honor, but are unable to return as a denizen. They forfeited the game—and there are no rematches. Some clans are respectful of those who leave (such as Stoneclan), but some tend to look upon them with permanent disdain (such as Oceanclan).

[mercurytrinemoon]

Ok, I logged off, switched to my old account and scrolled through the blog that blocked me to see why was I blocked. I didn't find out but I saw this:

(posting a screenshot cause obviously I can't reblog an account that blocked me. I'm about to be as nice and constructive as possible. I really like starastrologyy's points and examples and how they put it but some here are clearly too ignorant to understand eloquent takes)

The pretentious and dismissive tone while being clearly misinformed is not it for me so I'm gonna use this opportunity to remind everyone that, if you're studying astrology:

you learn to understand that astrology has its seeds in, wait for it... divination and predicting nation-wide events and politics (used mostly for royals) through literal observations of astronomical phenomena. Without that you probably wouldn't even have natal astrology

therefore you do NOT act conceited and disregard the basis and half of the astrological practice that predictive techniques are

you do NOT undermine other people's beliefs about fatedness of their lives as the topic of fate has been strongly intertwined with the practice of astrology since its beginnings

in turn you pick up a book and learn the history and tradition of astrology because some of you are clearly lacking that knowledge yet you act like a total know-it-alls and the ultimate astrology gurus

also, a general life rule, if you don't understand and/or don't have the knowledge on something, simply don't speak on it and certainly do not act arrogant about it

If you so angrily stand for free will and nothing else then that just shows your hyperfixation over some inner insecurity that you have. You're in no position to criticize that some believe in fate and predeterminism. Do you also want to question the whole philosophical movement that stoicism is? Because that was strongly linked with astrology. Maybe some do prefer to lean slightly into that? That no matter what you do, you'll still end up in the spot you're supposed to end up in? That takes away so much anxiety and pressure - to just let go and surrender to what destiny has in store for you.

If you're not interested in predictive techniques for one reason or another, that's fine but saying that it's all bs and astrology has no impact on worldly events just shows your lack of knowledge and lack of respect not only for the astrological craft itself but also the incredible work of people like Richard Tarnas or for astrologers who do have the skills to predict very specific events.

What you CAN argue about is if the stars are causes or signs of events (which, most astrologers would agree that planets act like markers, rather than a literal provokers, but there are those who go with the causal notion and that's totally fine), you CAN even debate on the spectrum of determinism - both were the topic of discussions since the ancient times. But to disregard it completely? If you so religiously believe in free will ONLY then good for you, although I don't really know what you're then doing studying astrology if you're basically calling things coincidental or doing "pick and choose". If so, maybe just call the whole astrology coincidental as well.

Just to bring in a good quote on what astrology was always about:

"Astrology became known as a system, if not the system, that could be used in order to study one's fate. The astrologers themselves were clear that this was what they were doing with astrology. For example, Manilius speaks of our ability to use astrology to 'learn the laws of fate', while Firmicus constantly uses different variations of a phrase in order to say that the role of the astrologer, or the role of astrology, is 'studying the fate of men' or 'explaining the fates of men'. Valens once refers to astrologers as 'soldiers of fate', and elsewhere says that a good astrologer is 'a guide to life, a good advisor and an unerring prophet of fate.'" - Hellenistic Astrology: the study of fate and fortune, Chris Brennan

[clothedinjesus]

Let’s talk about ✨ legalism ✨

Should it happen? NO 🙅🏻‍♀️✋🏼🛑

Does it happen? UNFORTUNATELY 🙁💔

🖤We’re all sinners

🤍We all need Jesus

🖤No one is above anyone else

🤍Help others on their journey with Jesus

🖤Be spiritually accountable for yourself, to Jesus and to others around you

🤍Jesus doesn’t like legalism, neither should you

🖤Love one another as Christ commands

🤍Don’t be discouraged if you witness or experience legalism/legalistic people

✨🙏🏼Scripture 🙏🏼✨ : Mark 2:17

🚩I know this is a long read but it’s worth it!


🩵I’ve grown up in the church all my life. Christianity was NEVER forced upon me. I had the free will to choose if I wanted to be a Christian. Something that I have noticed growing up is that some Christians live like Pharisees (religious hypocrites) with legalistic (extremely strict) tendencies, while others live out the essence of true Christianity. Jesus doesn’t like or agree with legalism. In fact, he says that he is not here for the “righteous” (legalistic), but he’s here for the sinner (mark 2:17). In this context the word righteous is being used as a negative term because the Pharisees thought they were so above everyone else (sin-less because they followed all the “rules”/law) to the point that they didn’t consider themselves sinners (huge mistake!).


🩵The people who act legalistically with a “holier-than-thou” mentality, actions and words often forget that they are also sinners. All of us are sinners. All of us have fallen short of the glory of God! I’m tired of seeing “righteous”/legalistic people tearing down other Christians and other people who are not Christians. Being a Christian is not about being perfect and becoming the holiest, annointed person in the faith. It should be about helping one another to become better people. All of us are on the same path, but all of us are at different points in our life in regard to spiritual maturity and our knowledge about the scriptures. Being a Christian is a PROCESS and that looks DIFFERENT for everyone.


🩵To those who think legalistically I say that I love you GENUINELY! And that it’s time to focus on the things that truly matter versus making others feel less than. I encourage you to extend help to your brother and sister in Christ and that you can also recognize that Christianity isn’t about being perfect, rather it’s about reflecting the love, grace, mercy, compassion and forgiveness that God has shown to us. After all, we are all made in his image.


🩵To those who have been hurt by legalism/legalistic people I say: do not be discouraged! There are good Christians who do live out Christianity in the way God calls us to. No church or group is perfect, but there are good people out there. Don’t let someone’s negative life choices stop you from have a genuine relationship with Jesus. Don’t let those people rob you of the love and joy you can receive from having a relationship with Jesus. People don’t get it right sometimes, that’s why we trust and put our hope and faith in God and not in man. 
🩵To all of us I say: Let’s live life together. Let’s reject legalism and embrace the way Jesus wants us to live in freedom in freedom.

[asterekmess]

Hi, Tali! If you don't mind answering, what do you think of the Jewish Stilinski / Gajos Family headcanon? What about the headcanon of Stiles with ADHD and autism? Finally, do you have headcanons focused on Teen Wolf werewolf culture? For example, I find it interesting that, based on ravens and their symbiotic relationship with wolves, werewolves think of ravens as good luck charms or even allies. Perhaps, they will call someone particularly close to them who is not supernatural, their raven. I don't know. I find the apparent hatred, or reluctance, that the series portrayed for born werewolves rather sad. Thank you so much.

There's a lot of questions here, so i'll go through them one at a time!

Jewish Stilinski/Gajos Family headcanon: It's not one I personally follow; while i like to try and incorporate a little more polish culture with the Stilinski family, I don't really do religious aspects (and yes i know that you can be culturally jewish without being religiously jewish, but it's also not part of how I view him). But i do love the idea, and of course heavily support others bringing it to life for themselves! Admittedly, if I were to make anyone in tw jewish, I usually see Coach as jewish? I don't even know why? It's just permanently there in my brain. o.O But I think that there's a lot of depth you could go into making Stiles/the Stilinski/the Gajos family jewish, and so much that could be added to his character and his parents that way! ADHD & Autistic Stiles: I'm assuming you're specifically talking about him being ADHD AND Autistic, since the ADHD part is canon. And again, while it's not something I personally see/headcanon, I'm still very supportive of others hc'ing it. Autistic characters are rare, and well-written autistic characters even more so. Rep in general for Autistic people is abysmally hard to find if you're looking for canon rep, so I have no hardships with those who hc they're way into getting some. There's plenty of things/behaviors/ideas about Stiles that would support that hc, and people exploring that is awesome! I mean, honestly there's not really headcanons that I don't support, since they're headcanons and people can think whatever it is they wanna think. XD Whether or not I share those headcanons is a wildly different story. XD

Headcanons focused on TW werewolf culture/customs: I have SO MANY. The problem is that I have so many, and they're such integral parts of how I view things, that it's genuinely hard for me to identify what my hc's are, because they're basically canon to me. There's pack bonds being a real, magical thing with physical effects on wolves (this isn't canon, despite what cora says about losing pack members being like losing limbs, and what they say in s2 about packs with more wolves being literally stronger faster, etc. They never say a pack BOND is a thing). There's the Alpha Imperative to protect and care for the pack like essentially a parent, paralleling real life pack structures. That it's not about being dominant, it's about being a Guardian/Caretaker for the rest of the pack. That there's a reason why someone wouldn't WANT to be an Alpha, that there's some kind of downside to all that power, or at least a responsibility that some wouldn't be willing to deal with. The idea that werewolves can't use magic. that you can either be magic, or have magic, and since werewolves ARE magic, they can't control it, unless it's werewolf specific, like the stuff with their claws, etc. So a werewolf couldn't cast a spell, but a witch could. The idea that having control isn't about Not Shifting, it's about being able to CHOOSE whether you shift or not. A fully shifted werewolf isn't less in control than a non-shifted one. If a non-shifted wolf CAN"T shift? They have no control, just as a wolf who can't HELP shifting has no control. True Control is about being Balanced in your ability to choose which way you sway in the shift. And continuing on from that, there's the idea that Werewolves aren't half wolf, half human. They're ALL werewolf, and there's no inner wolf they're fighting for control with or humanity to cling to. There's just…Them. Bitten wolves have new urges that they might Personify as an inner wolf, but especially bitten wolves DONT have that, because why would they? Heightened senses/alternative forms of communication being a THING for werewolves. They go off scent, sure, but also they speak with Body language and read emotions in your stance. That Derek and the Hales might not actually be so damn succinct and non-communicative as everyone assumes, and maybe they're just speaking a different language? Shifting as a general form of communication and behavior. The same as smiling or glaring, having eye flashes and showing fang being a Part of how they talk. It's not necessarily intimidation tactics, it's just…another form of squinting their eyes or winking or whatever other facial expressions humans use? They just have more options bc they have more facial features to work with. Full moons being a sort of….not holiday, but a Custom to werewolves. It's not just a horrific night of torture and pain. It's a night when wolves feel powerful and full of energy and magic and whether they have full moon runs or bonfire nights or parties, or even just mandatory pack nights, having the full moon mean something other than agony. Having a CONNECTION to the moon! Whether they see it as a deity or in general have a cultural respect for nature as a whole or just Feeling something standing in the moonlight, full moon or not. This thing that's so huge to them, having some other effects/meaning something to them!

There's loads more, but i also like your idea about ravens and connections to wolves! I actually have a wip that talks a lot about that concept ^_^ And you're right, it was really sad and disappointing that a show that was supposed to be about werewolves, treated them like the enemy and every glimpse we got into their culture just revealed more violence and hatred and viciousness and just....2 dimensional animalistic propaganda bullshit. Half the stories we heard about werewolves came from hunters! Also, apologies that this response keeps getting longer, tumblr wasn't letting me fucking post the reply bc i guess it was too long?

[vavuska]

The dead of Loraille do not rest. Artemisia is training to be a Gray Sister, a nun who cleanses the bodies of the deceased so that their souls can pass on. She’d rather deal with the dead than the living, who point and whisper about the odd girl who was once possessed by a violent spirit. When her convent is attacked by possessed soldiers, Artemisia fights back by awakening an ancient spirit bound to a high saint’s relic. It is a revenant, a malevolent being now whispering in her head. Wielding its extraordinary power almost consumes her in body and soul. But death has come to Loraille, and only a vespertine, a priestess trained to wield a high relic, has a chance of stopping it. As Artemisia investigates a mystery of saints, secrets and dark magic, an ancient evil is stirring. Can an untrained girl, tormented by the burden of containing the revenant’s devouring power, have any hope of defeating it?

The complete Book of the Ancestor Trilogy, a stunning epic fantasy series by Mark Lawrence! Red Sister: At the Convent of Sweet Mercy, young girls are raised to be killers. In some few children the old bloods show, gifting rare talents that can be honed to deadly or mystic effect. But even the mistresses of sword and shadow don’t truly understand what they have purchased when Nona Grey is brought to their halls. Grey Sister: Behind its walls, the Convent of Sweet Mercy has trained young girls to hone their skills for centuries. In Mystic Class, Novice Nona Grey has begun to learn the secrets of the universe. But so often even the deepest truths just make our choices harder. Before she leaves the convent, Nona must choose which order to dedicate herself to—and whether her path will lead to a life of prayer and service or one of the blade and the fist. Holy Sister: The ice is advancing, the Corridor narrowing, and the empire is under siege from the Scithrowl in the east and the Durns in the west. Everywhere, the emperor’s armies are in retreat. Nona Grey faces the final challenges that must be overcome if she is to become a full sister in the order of her choice. But it seems unlikely that she and her friends will have time to earn a nun’s habit before war is on their doorstep.

This two books are very similar: both the protagonists, Artemisia in Vespertine and Nona in The Book of Ancestor, are orphans raised in a female-dominated holy place, trained in their ways. Both became possessed by devious spirits at some point of the story and both are reluctantly call to save the day. Both the characters are highly influenced by the traumas they endured (physically and psychologically) but while Artemisia — at the beginning of the book — is more isolated and lacks of friends, Nona, despite her more feral nature, is more easily going with people who became loyal friends to her. Both in Vespertine and Book Of Ancestor Trilogy there's a great curruption in the secular and religious hierarchies, but while in Vespertine those religious authorities are victims in their own way, in Book Of Ancestor the corrupted spiritual leaders are more mundane and their action are plotted by the political plans and ambitions of the royal family members.

The main difference is that Artemisia is not a warrior herself: when the convent is attacked by possessed soldiers (Revenants), she takes up a reliquary kept by an elderly nun and, thanks to the spirit that resided there, she runs into the fight, saving the day. Afterward, she is arrested by a priest — probably a future love interest — in conflict with himself and his religious beliefs.

There are a handful of supporting characters with their own special traits: a soldier who experienced a similar trauma to what Artemisia went through as a kid, whom she's able to connect with and help; a fellow nun from the convent who is very different from Artemisia (I appreciated their enemies-to-friends relationship, and her cleverness); and a grouchy but powerful elder who you can't help but adore (which is very similar to the cunning Abbess who took Nona under her care) .

The Revenant is an interesting character, who is supposed to be evil, and it is in some ways, but it’s also caring: it's the revenant that taught Artemisia to take care of herself, to consider herself worthy of being cared for.

Artemisia isn't as kickass as Nona ––many of the badass moments were due to the revenant controlling her––but she has her strengths. I appreciated that she grew to trust and care for the revenant despite how she was raised, and that she was able to push out of her comfort zone at times. It's nice to see how people in similar situations can turn out differently based on their individual experiences.

Book of the Ancestor, on the other hand, follows the growth of young Nona Grey, adopted into a convent of nuns known for their martial and magical skills. Nona and her friends must learn how to utilize the magic of their world to hopefully save their empire. Nona’s story, as she taps into her own potential and makes peace with herself — and the violence within her — is well-written and the self-immersion in her thoughts is cathartic and immediate.

The world of Book of the Ancestor deserves special attention. It is, in my reading, wholly unique. Giant ice sheets are slowly covering the world, squeezing nearly the entire population of the world into a narrow strip of land. It's a fascinating concept and becomes a major part of the series.

Overall, I enjoyed the series. It's fast-paced with characters that I came to enjoy (more on that in a moment). The books have a fun magic system that leads to excellent pay-offs in each of the books, and Lawrence plays with time, too, keeping the tension high throughout the stories.

I'm not a huge fan of magical academy tropes, which are very prevalent in Book Of The Ancestor (like the first book of the The Poppy War Series by R. F. Kuang). There are occasional moments of familiar tropes (there is a brief period where the book seems like it is aping the story of the first Harry Potter book beat for beat; luckily, that quickly fades out), but in the end, Nona and her friends more than turn this into their own story…helped by the fact that this most definitely isn’t a Chosen One story. Indeed, within the first few chapters, it’s revealed that the Chosen One prophecy of this world is hokum designed to distract people – and it’s that sort of decision that makes Book Of Ancestor a great trilogy.

In Book Of Ancestor, magic and supernatural abilities are more common and accepted, while in Vespertine is more marginal, at the point that only elderly nuns have a deep knowledge of the precious powers of the reliquary that they kept.

Nona Grey is also very similar to Rin from The Poppy War Series by R. F. Kuang: high skilled warriors, dominated by their fury, but loyal to their friends, used as weapons by powerful authorities. Even if Rin, at the end, falls victim of her rage and is more eager to be manipulated than Nona, who seems to be unaware of the deeper meaning of her own battles all the time and just follows the Abbess' indications.

And also the detailed distinction made by Lawrence of the four tribes and their powers reminds me of the one created by Susan Dennard in her Witchlands saga, in which every nation has their own elemental-related talents.

[penitentwordsmith]

As I scroll through my social media feeds, I can't help but notice how so many people are taking sides in the Palestine-Israel conflict. It's as if they're choosing teams, like it's a game where one side must win and claim the entire territory. But in reality, it's not a game at all. It's a heartbreaking situation that's tearing lives apart.

I recently saw a post about a place in Palestine considered sacred, where the second masjid was built. On the other side, Israel is the homeland of Jesus Christ, making it sacred in its own right. But as I prayed and knelt before God, I couldn't help but wonder if this is what He intended. Is this a test of people's beliefs? And if so, why do innocent lives have to suffer?

I asked God why life, which is said to be fair in His eyes, seems so painfully unfair for so many people. Some live in comfort, while others cry themselves to sleep because they can't solve their problems. These thoughts brought tears to my eyes, and my heart ached for all those affected.

I watched a video where an 8-month-old baby was crying in her father's arms, frightened by the sounds of bullets and the chaos of the hospital. It made me think of my little sister in such a terrifying situation, and I could hardly breathe at the mere thought. What about that baby's father, who was desperately trying to protect his daughter, knowing he couldn't stop the war just because she was crying?

Turning back to the social media posts, it's disheartening that everyone seems focused on their religious beliefs, whether they are Muslims or Jews, but hardly anyone is talking about the people. It's not about religion, sacred lands, or territory. It's about the people, and every human deserves freedom and peace. No one should have to witness a war, be involved in it, or endure its horrors.

The ongoing genocide is a painful reality that cannot be ignored. The loss of countless lives is a tragedy that should break our hearts. We must come together to call for an end to this violence, an end to the suffering, and an end to the killing of innocent people. No conflict should ever lead to the senseless loss of life.

I believe in a world where every person deserves a peaceful and fulfilling life. A life where dreams can be pursued, choices are made freely, and where the sounds of war aren't the lullaby for the night. I pray for the children, the adults, and the leaders caught in this conflict. I hope for smiles, laughter, full stomachs, and the chance to experience the beauty of the world, rather than its cruelty.