#this world's miracles truly never cease

[torao-d-water-ya]

Trafalgar Law, the Don Quixote brothers, and why Doffy takes such personal offence to the existence of Lawlu (Part 2: Hope)

Part 1

1. It’s no use laying your hopes on him!

Doflamingo is an absolute master of emotional manipulation, and he’s a lot more interested in crushing your spirit than doing you bodily harm. To do that he needs to know your weak spots, know where you’re vulnerable, know where it hurts. With Law, the kid who’s been through a past horrific enough to impress Doffy, the kid who was once next in line to be his successor, there are only two weak spots that Doffy puts his entire focus on. Two people.

The man who saved him, and the man who allows him to hope.

Corazon and Luffy.

Doflamingo took care of Corazon 13 years ago, so the next step in getting Law to submit is to break his faith in Luffy.

Unfortunately for Doflamingo, Law's belief in Luffy is stronger than he can possibly imagine.

2. You can’t take down Straw Hat-ya!

Law is staring down the barrel of a gun and refusing to back down, and in “killing” him, Doflamingo is actually admitting defeat. Again, what he wants is to regain control of Law, not kill him. This entire arc he’s been goading Law, chastising him for going soft, for siding with his brother, siding with the idiot Straw Hat... telling him he used to have potential. He wants Law back. But that little speech about Luffy finally, finally rings it home: Law is well and truly out of his reach.

Seeing the full extent of Law’s faith in Luffy forces Doflamingo to admit defeat in his quest to regain his pawn. Now all he wants is to prove to Law (beyond the grave, for the next interaction, because Doffy is just that petty) how stupid and unfounded his faith was.

3. He said you can work miracles. Can you, Straw Hat?

Law’s relationship with Luffy isn’t one sided, and Doflamingo knows this. In fact, his go to point of attack against each of them has become the other: with Law, that Luffy will not live up to his hopes and dreams, and with Luffy, that he’s letting Law down.

He trusted you so much. He said you can work miracles. But there he is, dead on the ground. And it’s all your fault.

Had to include Doffy delivering the most romantically coded jibe in all of One Piece

4. If he loses, I need to be here and die along with him!

Luffy has saved a lot of people from their greatest demons. Nami from Arlong. Vivi from Crocodile. Robin from the World Government. Sanji from Judge.

That the character who tries to seem the most detached, the only one who will continue to refuse the label of ‘Nakama’... that it is Trafalgar Law who makes the most intense, gut-wrenching show of loyalty - even before the deed is done - will never cease to amaze me.

5. Watch closely as your hope gets crushed.

For each of Luffy’s final battles, there is a character that acts as the heart: the one that Luffy is mainly fighting for, the one that makes the fight personal to Luffy. A crew-member, a princess. Sometimes both, and most of the time, with the added weight of a country of suffering innocents. 

In Dressrosa, the role of the ‘heart’ is played by two characters: Law and Rebecca. Law is the one who brings Luffy here, the one who bears the responsibility of taking down this great evil - the Vivi, the Momo and Kinemon. Rebecca is the representative of the suffering innocents - the Toto, the Tama. Luffy fights for both.

The difference here is Law makes the fight personal not just for Luffy, but also for Doflamingo. No other villain has had the kind of connection to the ‘heart’ of the arc that Doflamingo has to Law. To him, defeating Luffy has the added meaning of crushing Law’s hope, of delivering a final punishment to the would-be heir that betrayed him all those years ago. 

And he can’t help but take his final opportunity to rub it in.

6. In some places, there are people who call the Family of D... “Sworn enemy of the gods”

The final attack cuts to reactions all over the country - the Strawhats, members of the soon to be Grand Fleet, Gatz and the citizens of Dressrosa, Riku, Kyros, Viola, and most of all - Rebecca and Law.

But when Luffy finally wins, as Doflamingo falls through the rubble of Dressrosa, we end out the episode entirely from Law's point of view, with the words that connect his first saviour to his current one: In some places, there are people who call the Family of D... "Sworn enemy of the gods".

For all his faith in Luffy, in this one moment, as he looks up at his saviour in the sky, Law can hardly believe it.

It's done.

He's gone.

Law is finally...

[rosyrosethings]

Y/n returns after missing

This story is a rewrite/edit. I posted this story a while ago. But I'm doing over my master list. So i rewrote this. It inspired by the tv show manifest which is a about a plan that goes missing and they return a few years later

Four years had slipped away since the passengers aboard flight N-47 vanished into thin air, presumed to have tragically succumbed to some unfathomable fate. Yet, in a twist befitting a miracle, three souls previously lost had reemerged. Y/n Y/L/N, James Carter, and Sus-... The screen went blank as she snapped off the TV, cutting the newscaster off mid-sentence. For Y/n, those four years encapsulated an epoch of isolation, an overwhelming void where time seemed inconsequential. The world had marched on, relentless and indifferent, leaving behind a cascade of changes she could scarcely begin to absorb.

Memories of her life before the ill-fated flight were vivid and achingly sweet. She had been on the cusp of a new chapter, her dreams tangibly close. A blossoming fashion designer, Y/n was set to weave her creativity and passion into the very fabric of the industry. Her return from Rio was supposed to be a celebratory milestone, marking her transition into a life shared with Harry and the thrilling prospect of seeing her best friend Kendall, potentially the next supermodel sensation, flaunt her designs down the runway.

The reality she returned to, however, was starkly different. Expectations of a warm welcome, of falling back into the comfortable embrace of her old life with Harry, were shattered. Hours turned into an eternity at her mother’s house, each passing moment amplifying her confusion and heartache. Where was Harry? Why was he submerged in a new life where he was a solo artist, a far cry from the hiatus he'd taken from his band in 2015?

Trepidation gripped her heart, preventing her from delving too deep into the life Harry led now. The fear of discovering him entwined with someone else was paralyzing. With a resigned sigh, she closed her laptop, a barrier against the torrent of information that threatened to drown her.

“Y/N? Honey,” the gentle voice of her mother broke through her reverie. The joy in her eyes was unmistakable, yet it carried the weight of years filled with mourning a daughter lost. They had even held a funeral for her, Y/n realized with a start. The profound relief and elation of having her back were palpable in every hug, every tearful smile her mother gave her.

“Yes, mom?”

“Umm, someone is here to see you.”

***

Contrastingly, Harry's life had been a portrait of attempting to move on while being anchored in the past. His home, once a sanctuary of memories shared with Y/n, now housed his new relationship. Kendall, her head resting on his chest, was a constant presence, offering solace in a reality where Y/n existed only in echoes. She was 'Kenny' to him, a pillar during his darkest times, understanding the depth of losing Y/n as she, too, had lost a dear friend.

But the past clung to Harry with stubborn tendrils. His routine, for three long years, involved calling Y/n’s voicemail, a one-sided conversation where he'd spill the day's trivialities and monumental changes alike, seeking solace in the sound of her recorded voice. It wasn’t until the pain dulled into a quiet ache, and with Kenny’s unwavering support, that he ceased this ritual. Yet, he never truly let go, with monthly visits to Y/n's mother becoming a testament to his undying connection to her.

Their bond had been forged in the innocence of childhood, blossoming from neighborly acquaintances to an unbreakable union of soulmates. It was a love story initiated when two eight-year-olds found friendship and grew seamlessly into love as they reached sixteen. It was a story abruptly paused, until an unexpected phone call threatened to turn the page once again.

Harry’s phone shattered the comfortable silence, Mrs. Y/L/N’s number on display. Kendall, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, sat up, her own complex emotions swirling as she watched Harry answer the call.

“Yes, Mrs. Y/L/N, how are you?” Harry’s voice was cautious, unprepared for the emotional maelstrom the conversation would incite.

Kendall battled with her feelings, a mix of jealousy and self-reproach. She loved Harry, but standing in Y/n’s shadow was a constant reminder of what she lacked. She was never going to ignite in Harry the passionate love he held for Y/n. She was a balm, she realized, not the cure to his heartache.

“Harry.. she’s home. My baby is here, Harry. She came back to us.” The words, heavy with emotional gravity, froze Harry in place. Confusion, hope, and sheer disbelief warred within him.

“Okay, I’ll be there shortly, Mrs. Rose,” he managed, his mind racing.

“What is it, Harry? Who was it?” Kendall queried, apprehension lacing her words.

“Y/n’s mom...”

“Are we going to dinner with her tonight?” she attempted lightness, a stark contrast to the situation’s gravity.

“She’s alive, Kenny.”

The words hung in the air, a fragile truth that threatened to change everything. Once again, life’s unpredictable tide was pulling them in a direction they never anticipated. The lost was found, and with her return, the threads of their lives were irrevocably entwined once more.

**

Y/n felt the soft give of her childhood mattress beneath her as she rose, each muscle groaning, still remembering the harshness of the ground she'd slept on for years on the island. The air around her buzzed with a mixture of familiarity and foreignness, a sensation that had enveloped her since her return. She was home yet felt like a stranger in a place woven into the fabric of her earliest memories. Her room, though untouched, seemed to belong to another era, one before her life had fractured into a before and after.

Since her unexpected return, her home had turned into a pilgrimage site. Relatives she hadn’t seen in years, cousins whose names she struggled to remember, and a throng of others had paraded through the living room. She had hoped, with every knock, that she would see Harry’s face, hear his voice, touch his hand. But as hours turned into days, her hope waned.

Dragging herself to her feet, she moved through the hallway, each step echoing the pounding in her heart. Her feet, moving of their own accord, carried her towards the living room, the epicenter of the constant, suffocating stream of visitors.

And then, she saw him.

It was as if the world contracted in that moment, every sound, every color, every breath funneling into this singularity. Harry stood there, a portrait of the years gone by. His hair, shorter than she remembered, framed his face, and those green eyes, which had haunted her dreams, seemed to glow. Dressed in the simplest of clothes — black jeans and a white t-shirt — he was a sight for her sore eyes. He was her beacon during the darkest nights on the island, the memory of him, a silent prayer, a sacred chant that wove through the solitude of her survival.

For Harry, the sight of Y/n wasn't just a balm; it was a resurrection. She was here, alive and so achingly present that his heart faltered in its rhythm. The past years had been a cacophony of grief, confusion, and a numbness that seeped into his bones. And here she was, her skin glowing with a vitality that seemed impossible. He had always adored her skin, the richness of her complexion; it reminded him of the sweetest chocolates he'd ever tasted. He had spent years bolstering her against the world, against the harshness of critics and fans alike, reminding her of her beauty, her worth.

He was captivated by the woman before him, who had been tempered by survival, her spirit burnished but unbroken. How could it be that she stood before him even more breathtaking than he remembered? In that instant, Harry understood the depth of the void her absence had carved into his life. She wasn't just a missing piece; she was the very foundation that his reality had been built upon.

Without a word, he closed the distance between them, his arms enveloping her in a hug that felt like a collision of every unsaid word, every unshed tear, every unfulfilled longing of the past four years. His emotions breached the dam he had painstakingly built, tears wetting the crown of her head as he nestled his face there. "God, I've missed you so much," he breathed, his voice a hoarse whisper laden with every nuance of pain, relief, and overwhelming love he felt.

Y/n, ensconced in Harry's arms, felt a sense of returning. Here, in the circle of his arms, the world righted itself. His scent, the solidness of his chest, the timber of his voice — they were her lighthouse. "I never stopped thinking about you, not even for a moment," she confessed, her voice muffled against him.

Their reunion, however, was shadowed by an unspoken acknowledgment of the time lost and the reality that had marched on relentlessly in her absence. Y/n detected subtle shifts in him, intangible but unmistakable. As they sat on the couch, a chasm of unsaid words stretched between them. Harry's affectionate term, 'kitten,' once a playful endearment, now seemed to echo across a vast distance, a reminder of a shared past that was both their bridge and barrier.

Their conversation meandered, a tentative dance around the elephant in the room. Y/n's fatigue, both emotional and physical, soon became too cumbersome to carry. Her eyelids grew heavy, her body demanded respite. "I need to close my eyes, just for a little while," she whispered, her words a mix of exhaustion and a quiet plea for things to be simple again.

Harry, understanding her unvoiced request, smoothed her hair back, his touch a promise. "Rest, love. When you wake, we'll grab some lunch, maybe even see Kendall. It'll be like old times," he murmured, the ache in his voice belying the casualness of his words.

Y/n's smile, before she succumbed to sleep, was a fragile thing, a tentative hope. And as she drifted off, nestled against Harry, she clung to the sound of his heartbeat — a lullaby that spoke of shared pasts, present uncertainties, and the uncharted future that lay ahead of them.

**

Harry and Kendall sat in the subtle ambiance of the café, the murmur of conversations blending with the soft clinking of cutlery. The tension between them was palpable, like a silent storm brewing. Harry's fingers drummed nervously on the tabletop, betraying the calm facade he attempted to portray.

"Did you tell her?" Kendall's voice sliced through the tension, her agitation evident in the rhythmic tapping of her perfectly manicured nails against the wooden surface.

He hesitated, the truth weighing heavily on his chest. "No... I couldn't," Harry admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as he averted his gaze, finding sudden interest in the patterns of the wood grain. The confession felt like a betrayal, a stark deviation from the promise he made to himself about honesty.

Kendall's sigh was a mixture of frustration and understanding. "We can tell her together," she offered, extending her hand to provide solace. Her fingers were warm, a contrast to the cold dread filling his stomach.

As he intertwined his fingers with hers, seeking comfort in the touch, his eyes caught a familiar figure approaching. It was Y/n, a sight that made his heart leap into his throat. Instinctively, he retracted his hand from Kendall's, a subtle but unmistakable reaction.

Y/n's energy was like a breath of fresh air as she arrived. "Kenny!" she exclaimed with genuine affection, stretching her arms out for a heartfelt embrace. Kendall rose to return the gesture, her own emotions a complex web of happiness, relief, and an underlying sense of conflict she wasn't ready to face.

The warmth of their hug was short-lived for Kendall, overshadowed by a realization that Y/n's presence might change everything, including her own newly discovered hopes. As they separated, Y/n slid into the seat across from them, her presence filling the void but also reminding them of the intricate dynamics of their past.

"Harry, my mom told me what you did for her while I was...gone. I can't thank you enough," Y/n's voice held a mix of gratitude and sorrow, referencing the home Harry had bought for her mother after the accident — a gesture of kindness in the face of tragedy.

Kendall, feigning ignorance, asked, "What did you do, Harry?"

He hesitated, swallowing hard before explaining. "After Y/n's accident, I...I bought a house for her mom. She was devastated, thought she'd lost her only child." His voice was laced with past pain, the memories visibly haunting him.

"And you never mentioned this because...?" Kendall prodded, a hint of hurt in her tone.

Harry's response was evasive, his discomfort evident. "It wasn't about publicity or gratitude. And you were away, busy with your modeling." He tried to downplay his act, but the hurt it caused was unmistakable.

The conversation took a sharp turn when Y/n's eyes fell upon the sparkling diamond on Kendall's finger. "Kendall, you're engaged?!" she exclaimed, joy in her voice. But the excitement dissolved as realization dawned. Her eyes darted between Harry and Kendall, the implications clear and heart-wrenching. "Oh... I see," she murmured, her voice a fragile whisper.

The atmosphere turned heavy, the weight of unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings pressing down on them. "Y/n, please, let's talk about this," Harry pleaded, desperation seeping into his voice. But Y/n was retreating, her defenses coming up.

The meal that followed was a symphony of discomfort, punctuated by stilted conversation and Y/n's increasing detachment. Harry recognized her coping mechanism as she ordered more food than she could possibly consume. It was her refuge, her way of finding control in a situation where she felt she had none.

Her breaking point arrived with silent tears streaming down her face as she attempted to keep eating. "Kitten," Harry whispered, an endearment slipping out as he moved to comfort her. But she recoiled, the nickname a reminder of what they had and what seemed lost now.

"I need a to-go tray," she announced abruptly, her voice strained. She stood up, her movements robotic as she packed her food, her exit a clear signal of her emotional state.

"Kitten, please, can't we just talk?" Harry implored, but his plea fell on deaf ears.

With a sad smile, she replied, "That's the thing, Harry. I'm not your kitten anymore, am I?" And with that, she walked away, leaving behind a table laden with uneaten food, unspoken words, and unresolved futures.

[hirunoka]

"You're My Angel"

for @incidentale (Thank you so much for that ask and the inspiration ❤🌻 )

Words: 1323

(Ao3 link in reblog)

Characters: Simon (Dinner in America 2020), Patty (Dinner in America 2020)

Additional Tags: Fluff, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, They love each other so much, and I love THEM so much oh God we NEED a sequel, Also we need more fanfictions wtf, inspired by a song

“You know that I’m no angel, right?” Simon half-teases with an arched brow after she is done singing, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close on the bed.

“You’re a fucking angel, you’re my angel. All mine, mine, mine…” she sweetly sings into his ear this time. He can feel her smile against his ear and fuck him if it doesn’t make his heart race and ache like crazy.

Just like every time.

He decides that he’ll die a happy man if he can feel her smile like this every day.

“I’m no angel,” he insists.

“You are. To me. You saved me. You can’t deny that. No matter what you do and say, you’ll be always my angel,” Patty says as she nuzzles his neck and that’s what breaks him finally because fuck, he was no one's, and I mean no one's favourite person before: let alone an angel.

Sure, he had a few loyal fans maybe: fans who thought he was amazing and cool, but what the fuck did they know? They only knew John Q.  And they sure didn’t think he was an angel. Not that he wanted them to. He knew he was no angel, and he wasn’t aiming for being seen as one by anyone. That wouldn’t be very punk of him, right? Right. Fuck angels, anyway.

Simon is not sure who saved who, actually, so he just lets out a dry chuckle and swallows the lump in his throat as the tears he was holding back gently roll down his cheeks.

It’s a weird and holy feeling; being loved oh so much.

He doesn’t think he has been ever loved like this before; so truly, madly and deeply. Yeah he is quoting Savage Garden okay, sue him. Not even by his parents who were supposed to love him. Because that’s what parents did, he used to think. They would love and accept their kid. Well, apparently that was such bullshit.

Patty, on the other hand, loved him without trying to change him: she accepted him as a whole, loved him as a whole.

Being loved by her was a miracle. She was a miracle in his eyes.

Patty, Patty, Patty…

Kind, funny, sweet, sexy, patient, honest, and just his-kind-of-crazy.

They were living together in their small but cozy apartment for the past seven months and nine days, and yet she never ceased to amaze him every single day.

He buries his nose in her soft hair and sighs.

“I’m sure you would figure something out by yourself to save yourself from that pathetic shit that you used to call ‘life’, eventually. You are punk as fuck and smart as hell, after all. I just… made the process go faster. Diamonds don’t stay hidden all their lives. They can’t. They find a way to shine sooner or later somehow.”

“I don’t remember allowing you to make this about me,” she complains and slightly pulls herself away to look at him. Seeing his tears makes her frown, but she doesn’t mention it or asks if he is okay. She leans her forehead against Simon’s instead, her thump caressing the side of his cheek as he closes his eyes in content. “But hey, at least you didn’t deny that you’re mine.”

“I don’t remember askin' for permission. Everything is about you for me now.”

‘There is no me without you anymore,’ he thinks.

“Is that so?”

“Hell yeah,” he nods. When he opens his eyes, Patty looks at him like he has given her the whole wide world. “You see that streetlight?” He points at the streetlight across the street from their window. “Even that is about you,” he whispers. “It helps me to see you better when you’re sleeping. Big fan of that one, I swear. Beautiful warm yellow. Maybe I should write a song about it later. And of fucking course I’m yours, music girlfriend. Always. Hell, I was yours before you even knew it.”

“Ew, babe, you’re sooo cheesy right now. You’re like, as cheesy as mac and cheese, even.”

That makes Simon laugh. Teach Patty a word and voilà, just watch her start using it all the time.

“I’m just fuckin' with you,” she laughs back. “And I’m yours, too, angel,” she adds as she starts pressing soft kisses on his body: first on his naked chest and then his collarbone, shoulder and jaw.

“This better not become a thing,” feeling his cheek heat a little, he mumbles, his hands wandering up and down her sides.

“What? Me calling you ‘angel’? How about… ‘Punk Angel’ ‘Angel of Punk? But nah, I think I love calling you just ‘angel’ more. Sorry not sorry,” she says with a cocky smile that suits her so much that Simon falls in love with her all over again.

He is utterly captivated by her and her affection.

“Did I ever tell you that your voice is as deep as an abyss that I wouldn’t mind falling into for the rest of my life, angel?”

That sounds like a promise somehow and Simon’s heart suddenly skips a beat. He hopes and wishes it’s a promise because he would give everything for Patty to stay by his side for the rest of his life.

It makes him feel selfish to want her that much even when he has her now, though. He cannot help but feel like one day she will realize she can do better than him and then decide to leave his sorry ass because God knows she deserves better.

Even imagining that makes him feel like dying so he tells his brain to stop thinking such things and focus on the moment they are in instead.

“And you call me cheesy. Oh God, you’re ridiculous.”

“Goddess, you mean, am I right or am I right?”

“Yeah yeah, whatever you say, you adorable and sexy Punk Goddess.”

Satisfied with his answer, she locks their lips together finally. Simon kisses her back like her lips are oxygen and he is a dying astronaut.

“Don’t be surprised if I steal your idea about that The Streetlight song,” Patty lets him know when they pull away eventually. “I think I can pull it off before Saturday and sing it for you at my concert.”

“I have no doubt you could,” holding her close, he yawns and agrees as she lies on his chest.

“Now hush, I gotta watch you sleep while the streetlight accompanies me.”

“Whaa— You creep.”

“What can I say? You’re my inspiration, angel. And don’t act like I don’t catch you watching me sleep nearly every morning.”

“Who? Me? You can prove nothing,” he denies.

“Uh-huh, sure. Sweet dreams.”

“Being with you is like a sweet dream anyway, I need nothing else.”

And with that, he let himself start falling into the warm embrace of sleep. At this point he cannot even remember how he used to sleep alone before he met her.

“He sleeps soundly by her side, without a care,

While she traces his features with a loving stare.

In the quiet of the night, they're alone,

With the streetlight as their silent chaperone,” just when he is about to fall asleep, he vaguely hears Patty singing quietly.

“Sweet streetlight, keep shining bright

As I watch my angel through the night.

Guide him with your gentle light,

In this moment, everything feels right.”

“Wow, you’re fast. That terribly sounds like a gospel for some reason though,” he makes an honest comment, ignoring the way how it made him feel warm inside despite it really sounding like a gospel.

“Shh, I’m just warming up, ignore it. Sleep.”

Simon chuckles and does as he is told after planting a kiss on her forehead and whispering: “I love you.”

“I love you, too, my angel,” is the last thing he hears before falling asleep with a slight smile on his face.

He thinks he can get used to that.

[umbran6]

What if... Leo got a Cult?

For those of you who have seen some of my previous posts, this one is based on the What if… Leo Became a God? For those of you who know liked, reblogged, or both, thank you very much. For those of you who may not know, please click on the underline. But for those who just want a quick TLDR about that: Leo burns away his mortality while fighting Gaea, which led to him becoming a god. 

Now, I know I’m jumping into possibly ridiculous territory. Leo just became a god. How the hell does he get a cult so quickly? However, I argue that this is one of the most vital components when considering any headcanon that involves one character becoming a god. Gods need domains, belief, memories to maintain their form in the real world. We see an active example of what happens when gods don’t have this through Pan — his domain had been defiled and belief in him had dwindled to the point he ceased to exist. You can't just have demigods like Percy reach godhood without explaining what's going to keep them around afterwards, so this is my attempt to explain as such.

Hera teaches this to Leo when she informs him of his newfound godhood. To truly become a god beyond the few years after his ascension, he needs to give people reason to believe in him. Hercules had his Twelve Labors which are still told to this day. Dionysus had his cult which actively praised him as the God of Wine, and his memory is associated with the twelve Olympians. More minor gods such as Triptolemus lean on a divine patron for their domains, becoming their lieutenants to help make up for a lack of belief. 

Leo needs something to latch him into the real world, because once his friends die and people start forgetting about him if he doesn’t do anything about it, he will cease to exist unless he decides to piggyback off Hephaestus or Hera. Yeah, that course of action is not going to fly - Leo still has a grudge against Hephaestus for ‘going out to get milk’ for nearly all his life, and while Hera is starting to make up for the Nanny-From-Hell Incidents, he still doesn’t trust her. 

Leo understands that but does not know how to achieve it. Nor does he know if he wants to achieve it. Aside from his own feat of destroying Gaea, he doesn’t see why someone would want to worship him. He hasn’t given anyone reason to. So, he decides to avoid doing so - if he was to be glorified, it would only be through ways he thought were right. Little did he forget a good portion of genre-savviness - A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.

Instead, he focuses on the benefits of becoming a minor god. Not the supreme power, but more on the practical benefits. Practical, as in, Leo has everything he needs to live. He easily erases records of his past from the public eye, allowing him to be among mortals without any issue, though he does slightly gaslight his mortal family by popping up in front of them when they least expect it, slowly driving them to insanity. He doesn’t have to worry about money because he can easily conjure it. Our boy got himself the upgrade and glow-up in ways that he could never imagine and doesn’t have to experience the hardship he went through in the streets anymore.

To put it bluntly, Leo knows the negatives of immortality, that everyone he loves will die eventually. But now he can, ironically enough, live. Being able to pop into a country with a snap of his fingers, be free of searching for food every day, having the time to study whatever he pleases and indulge when he never could. All of those are miracles he never takes for granted. Leo loves being a god because there are just so many benefits and so little loss to him on a personal level in the short term.

So, he travels the world, enjoying what he could never appreciate in his voyage in the Argo II, bringing his mom with him for the ride while Calypso adjusts to the modern world. They backpack or rest in luxury, but Leo is not blind as he travels the world — regardless of his newfound godhood, he still sees the poor, the hungry, the sick. The people they used to be before he was aware of his status as a demigod, and before he gave his mom a second chance at life. 

So, Leo helps. Out of empathy, he conjures food and builds shelters for those in need. He teaches what he can and offers resources that help people learn when he can’t teach while he quickly studies the subjects necessary to make their lives better. When violence breaks out, he is the first one to intervene, bringing order to bloody chaos. and crushing threats with the snap of his fingers. Normally the Mist hides the divine, but the world has become more open-minded as fantasy and the supernatural become more entrenched in popular culture. Mortals don’t recognize what he is, but they can understand that there was something more powerful hiding behind the face of a young boy. Children who are more open to the concept of the supernatural know his true nature.

The mortal world formally recognizes him when the media sees Leo put down a war between gangs with steel, fire, and blood, sparing the civilians caught in the crossfire and clutching the leaders by their neck in front of the press. Articles spring up and the rumors and videos lurking in the internet are given legitimacy by the public. They don’t know how to name Leo at first - and they initially draw on pop culture as a reference. Some call him The Boy on Fire, others more familiar with his philanthropy dub him The Architect. In the end, they settle for one title: The Ashborn, for his arrival was heralded by the ashes of those burnt by his flames.  Debates regarding what exactly Leo is are furious - some claim he’s a spirit, others claim he is the reincarnation of whichever spiritual figure they pray to. Some think he’s a devil, but even they can’t deny the good he does. The people he saved praise the god hidden among humans, and the Cult of Ash is formed, though Leo keeps a strict eye so that it does not cause harm, physical or mental, to anyone.

Inspired by his travels when he comes back home while keeping a laser focus on his growing cult, Leo builds. A lot. He makes the first demigod cellphones and starts distributing them around the world to demigods in need, allowing them to communicate with both their mortal and supernatural loved ones, though he partners with Iris so that it has more support among the gods. When he comes across the Waystation, he is inspired to create similar locations around the world so demigods can have temporary shelter. He builds smaller versions of the Argo II so that demigods can travel between camps with ease. He becomes practically a one-man industrial revolution for the demigods, and that resonates through most of the world. 

The demigods don’t know how to react to this. They’ve never had a god actively be interested in improving their lives before, much less so directly. To them, the gods have always been distant - important, of course, but not omnipresent and certainly never aiding them unless it was quid pro quo. But Leo is there. He’s talking to them, handing his inventions without charge. He’s helping, and they don’t know what to do because some of them feel they can do more than just say thank you. 

The demigods, in their confusion, go back to the ancient ways of their predecessors when treating the gods to show respect and praise. Sometimes it’s a simple ‘Thanks Leo’ when a demigod uses their phone to call their mortal friends and family. Sometimes it is food burnt in his honor. Some decide to take a more modern approach and make things in his image. Yes, that means the demigods make Leo merch, including a Mythomagic card and figurine that makes Nico choke on air.

But what stands out are the prayers. Demigods start praying to him for safety, for his intelligence and strength when facing the challenges they face in life. When an attempt to transport three demigods to Camp Half-Blood goes horribly wrong, the satyr prays to Leo for protection. Leo appears and slays the horde in a single motion while he guides the demigods to Camp. The demigods he saves sing his praises while getting a more positive outlook of the gods, for now they know there is someone among the divine that advocates for them. 

Much like the mortals, the demigods give him his own epithets, but they recognize the truth about his ascension. Those who focus on his work in improving the lives of the demigods call him Léon o Efevrétis - Leo the Inventor. For those who focus on the true power he wields, they call him as thus: Apocalypsis Leo. Leo of the Apocalypse, for he was the one that struck down the world when it dared to rise against the gods. 

Leo can sense these prayers. He doesn’t know how to react to them because he’s never had people… believe in him. He’s used to hiding his powers, hiding who he is. Now people are idolizing him (literally - someone’s already made an idol figurine of him, and it makes him look too hot than he really should be) for who he really is. It feels good, but he doesn’t know how to react towards them. He doesn’t know if he is doing the right thing by allowing them to worship him, or that he should encourage them to focus elsewhere. 

So, with a bit of advice from Hera, Leo turns towards the closest god to experience what he went through, Mr. D. Only he would be the one to understand the dilemma that Leo is going through, at least in passing for he himself was also idolized. Leo, with a bit of time, confides in him - mainly because he knows he can’t exactly go about spilling everything to the Olympian. But with time, he does bring up the problem - by allowing people to venerate him, was he doing the right thing? 

Mr. D. can’t answer that. Because Leo’s cult is still growing in numbers, and the results of their actions were yet to be seen. But he does give a nugget of wisdom. That how he treats his followers defines him as a god, but if he cares about the independence of his followers, or how they act, then he should lead by example. Do not encourage them to glorify him but guide them. Whether he was worth being treated as a deity, and if that was the right thing, was a decision the mortals would make among themselves. Thus, outside of Hera and Apollo, Leo makes his first friend among the gods. With this, Dionysus also begins his path as the Camp’s official psychiatric counselor. 

The Olympians' (and the other Pantheons) reactions are mixed. Zeus of course thinks that it should be put down, seeing it as possible threat against the gods. Those more reluctant to accept Leo think that if his cult keeps growing, Leo may gun for a throne among the council. His friends among the divine (his demigod friends are a mixed bag, but I'll get back to that later) see it as Leo getting the reverence he deserves as a god, the same reverence they went through during the times of Ancient Greece, Macedon, and Rome. Some just think the cult will devolve over time. The other Pantheons keep a close eye on both him and his cult, seeing him as a new and powerful player on the international stage of the gods.

However, Leo’s mortal friends are a mixed bag of responses. Reasonable, of course - they’re witnesses, and in some cases, unwitting conspirators to Leo’s ascension. They see their friend unknowingly shaping the world around him through his travels, the news articles and shrines being created in his name, and the legend that grows. And of course, each one has a different take on the cult that grows.

Annabeth is not worried about it. She is somewhat wary of the pace Leo is bringing innovation, for demigods never had to deal with modernization in the ways most mortals dream of. Oh, she loves all the new phones and the fact that she doesn’t have to constantly rely on more impractical methods for communicating with her friends. But she wants Leo to allow other inventors to grow, and for the cult not to persecute those who want to create and stand on their own two feet. 

 Percy sees Leo as his ‘what if’ — what could’ve happened if he chose godhood. He sees all the inventions that Leo makes and how he is making life so much easier for everyone, and he can’t help but compare himself to him, wondering if he could do more. Whenever some of Leo’s worshipers see their subject of worship, they radiate gratitude. He doesn’t know what to make of the cult, but he feels a bit envious when he sees the smiles on everyone’s faces whenever Leo shows up. 

Frank, Hazel, and Reyna, while trying to be friends with him, don’t know how to handle the cult. The cult is gaining influence in New Rome, and its slowly starting to show as more statuettes of Leo appear and more prayers are sung. It speaks volumes of the cult’s growth when New Rome's Senate officially pardons Leo about the Eidolon incident without any prompting. The best they can do is that Leo keeps his cult in check, which he is more than happy to do so. 

Unfortunately, and ironically enough, its Jason and Piper that cannot accept, or at least overcome the cult, but for two separate reasons. Regardless, it has a very devastating effect on their relationship because these two reasons are heavily linked to them as characters. 

For Jason, Leo has unknowingly made his job as Pontifex Maximus extremely more difficult. Leo has indirectly set a higher standard for the minor gods - minor gods aren’t just allowed to exist anymore. They should have influence on their lives, or they should somehow benefit the demigods. Gods such as Tyche/Fortuna and Nemesis still have their own domains that are seen day-to-day, but the more minor gods are heavily criticized for their inaction, with Jason bearing the brunt of said criticism. It’s a slap on the face for Jason when he has spent weeks trying to get a single minor god’s temple approved by the Senate and now must beg and grovel for funding, while the only reason Leo’s worshippers haven’t built him a temple is because they want the guy’s approval of it. 

Leo, although doing his best to maintain neutrality, knows the truth behind Jason’s oath — that he had done it to save his and Percy’s skin when they were at Kymopoleia’s mercy. When the minor gods try to blame Leo for the lack of the oath’s success, he argues in his own defense - the people chose to worship him out of their own free will and Jason was still doing his best to uphold the bargain. But when they ask Kymopoleia about the deal, they get a lot more context and see Jason as unwilling and selfish, seeing his lack of success as more him trying to find a loophole in the oath he swore. 

Jason doesn’t see the bigger picture. All he sees is that everyone is more than happy to sing Leo’s praises for being the hottest god on the block, while everyone is hating him for making sure that the minor gods get their moment in the sun. This slowly starts to build more resentment as the monopoly-board with all the minor gods' shrines seems to be just a dream. In an ironic twist, Jason is now resentful about Leo being the golden boy in the eyes of everyone while he’s the one being overlooked, which was the exact opposite situation when Leo was a demigod. 

Piper, in the meantime, is more resentful of Leo as a whole. Mainly because she sees Leo growing more famous, and more people are asking her about trying to speak with Leo rather than her. She’s reminded of a similar situation with her and her father - that she was seen more as a link to him rather than as a person overall. 

Furthermore, much like Jason, she is also feeling overshadowed. When people speak of their quests, they don't give her the respect that she deserves. They don't discuss Piper giving Festus sentience to fight Khione, because nobody else on the Argo II can’t really accept it —Piper’s charmspeak never showed such a degree of power before. Her role in defeating Gaea? She claims that she ‘put Gaea to sleep’ with her charmspeak, but the thing about an auditory power is that… you can’t exactly hear it from several stories high up, and Jason’s supporting claim is looked upon with suspicion because he is her boyfriend, of course he’ll speak on her behalf. Only Leo can testify otherwise, but outside of that she is given the ‘Princess Peach treatment’ (and no, not like the new Mario Movie), with most of her role being downplayed. 

It doesn’t help that her cognition of Leo is very much against the view his followers have of him. She and Jason always viewed Leo as… more of a jester than the inventor he always was. Good for jokes and getting along with, not exactly one she could see as engineering a plot to kill a goddess. She treats the cult’s viewpoint of Leo as a joke. In the meantime, the cult views him as the leader of innovation, the one who killed Gaea and brought an age of information to the demigods. This ends up in her getting involved in several arguments which leads to a nearly borderline fight with Leo’s followers. Either way, she’s convinced the cult needs to be shut down and Leo is ridiculous for allowing it to flourish. 

 It’s tragic, because they were the ones that cared the most about Leo, and they cannot accept the ways everything close to him changed. They, who should’ve accepted him unconditionally, are the least tolerant of him changing. They cannot accept the new status quo and want a return to normality that can never come back. 

When they confront Leo, it's not pretty. They never really argued, for Leo always held his tongue whenever he was frustrated, always willing to talk less and smile more when he wanted to lash out. It always was like that, him shutting up when he wanted to make a comment that would sting. Not anymore. 

Leo doesn’t have a good reason to shut down the cult, and neither does he want to. They haven't hurt anybody in his name, nor has he encouraged them to do so (and he’s been keeping a tight grip on that). He would advocate for Jason and Piper, but shutting down his entire group of worshipers just because his friends didn’t like them? Especially from Jason, who was supposed to honor all the gods, Leo himself now in that category? No.  

What occurs is an between friends that have completely different views of the future. Leo recognizes that there’s no returning back to ‘the good old days’ — in his point of view, there weren’t any. Jason and Piper believe they’ve lost their friend to his newfound godhood… but they never had him in the first place. They had the façade, the mask of jokes he put in front of the world, so they didn’t have to see his true reaction. Now that people seem to be appreciating him for his abilities, for what he has done and how he treats everybody, he finally decides to take it off and verbally starts swinging. It’s the first and last time they fight before we get into the Trials of Apollo. 

This cult doesn’t initially have any impact… until Trials of Apollo. And Leo’s presence, though subtle, is practically everywhere throughout most of the book. Rather than Apollo landing in a dumpster, Leo tweaks things slightly so that he ends up landing at a close mattress. When Apollo gets to the Jackson residence, there’s a small shrine Sally put up - not out of worship for Leo, but out of respect for what work he has done to protect demigods. Apollo stumbles upon a newspaper rambling about the Ash Cult.

Here’s the thing where things get ridiculously funny for those in the know. Apollo doesn’t remember that past six months, and therefore thinks Leo is dead. He unknowingly mutters a prayer to Leo, thinking Sally’s shrine is to honor his memory and not the god. When he gets to Camp Half-Blood, he’s shocked to see demigods using phones and thanking Leo. He sees the smaller versions of the Argo II, which just transported a bunch of demigods from Camp Jupiter.  He sees a temple with a statue of Leo which Apollo mistakes for a monument. The Triumvirate’s attempt to silence demigod communications through Harpocrates is shattered because Leo is several times stronger than the fading god with his vibrant worship in a world where the gods’ power remains in the memories they laid upon the human consciousness. 

Most interactions whenever Leo is name-dropped can be summarized as such: 

Apollo: I’m sorry for your loss. He was the greatest hero I’ve ever known.

The Campers: Eh, its ok. We’re sure he’s going to show up soon. 

It comes to a head when we get to the part of where Apollo is being forced to open the gates to the Grove of Dodona. During his attempts at stopping himself, he does his best to resist the command. He starts praying for somebody to stop him, because there was no way in Tartarus he would willingly cooperate with Nero. He prays to his sister, to his father no matter how much Apollo may hate him. He hopes that anybody will appear - Will and Nico, preferably with backup of a hundred demigods and Percy Jackson. He latches into a small hope the prayers the campers utter. He hopes that Leo shows up soon. 

It seems nothing happens. The gates still open. In the distance, Apollo sees the Colossus Neronis lumber towards Camp, showing up several minutes ahead of schedule. Nero still tosses that lighter and ignites the Greek fire, which spreads towards the hostages at the stake. And for the sake of drama, I’m going to switch it to Apollo’s first-person point of view.

For a second, everything’s falling apart. Nero starts to lug his guard like an oversized potato sack. The fire is starting to roar in its toxic green, burning through everything that it can touch with its bare hands. There’s no stopping it - unless magic’s used, Greek Fire will burn through everything it can consume. If I already felt enraged when Nero tossed the cigarette lighter to the ground, my heart is now sinking as I look into the distance, feeling the ground tremble at my feet. 

The Colossus Neronis. How did forget about it? The statue’s already marching forward, the hundred-foot-tall masterpiece hitting the magic barriers of Camp Half-Blood with a blade the size of a ship rudder. Though my legs are getting me to Austin, I don't know how the heck we were going to beat this thing and put out the fire in time. 

Then… I see something. For a second I think I'm going mad due to the smoke, but then my eyes focus, getting a picture that was crystal clear for just a few precious seconds. A figure soars across the sky, glowing gold that is tinged with red as it carves through the blue sky. It collides with the Colossus, and the statue staggers back at the sheer amount of force for a few seconds. 

I heard of Deus Ex Machina. I appreciated it, derided it, criticized it, and loved the trope when it occurred on mortal media. I loved being one when I really wanted a chance to shine. But I was never on the other side, witnessing it in action until now. I can’t help but freeze in awe as the figure stopped the enemy with a single motion. 

The Colossus stares at the figure for a few seconds, but that was all the figure needed. They unsheathe a sword which glows with the same aura that enshrouds its wielder and slices towards the machine. The blast it unleashed was thin, yet shined with the intensity of a laser, and the figure sheathes the blade.

Then the Colossus is split straight down the middle as soon as I blink, one half superheated to the point it was a mirror of the horizon before both sides fell towards the distant hill. A threat that would’ve stomped Camp Half-Blood is defeated in just a few seconds. Numbly I could hear someone shouting in frustration, but who it was, I didn’t pay attention. 

The figure turns, and it takes me a second to realize - somehow, they were facing me. Then in a second they fly where I’m at with the speed of a fighter jet, landing next to the flames. The figure’s still covered by that blinding light, but the shadow of their palm is visible, and it sucked in the Greek fire like a vacuum until there was nothing left. 

Loud clapping resonated across the grove, and it takes me a moment to register who its coming from - Nero. Nero’s clapping at the figure with a rare expression on his face - one of respect. 

“So, the rumors are true. A new Ascendant has reached the ranks of Olympus.” 

“And I heard rumors that the supposed dead are walking. Guess it’s time to confirm that they’re going to stay rumors.”

I don’t have a chance to react at the implications, and neither does Nero. The figure grasps the emperor by the collar and tosses him to the air in one smooth swing of their arm, too fast for Nero to defend himself. The figure unsheathes their sword once again and this time the motion is too fast for me to keep track of. When its done, only the blessing of immortality prevents a pink and red puree of organs and blood from spilling out out when the figure kicks Nero in the chest as a final coup de grace. Instead, Nero is shattered into a pile of golden blood and dust.

Meg screams. The hostages start to wake at the sound, shaking off their varying degrees of unconsciousness at the peal of the alarm. Austin’s the first to register his surroundings, and there’s a smile on my son’s face. “I knew you’d come. You’re always looking out for us.” 

Part of me wants to take the win. But I know Austin’s eyes aren’t focused on me. No, they’re focused on the figure, whose aura is slowly dimming with each passing second. Reverence. Respect. Worship. Emotions seen so rarely in demigods these days are plain to see in my son’s gaze. 

“Thank your father. His prayer wouldn’t have allowed me to pinpoint your location.” The figure’s aura vanishes completely, and suddenly everything makes sense in the most horribly right way. 

Austin did something that was akin to a chuckle. "But you are. Your temple wouldn't have been raised at Camp if you weren't."

My mind was still looking at him. Curly hair that was black like ashes. Light brown skin that sometimes reminded me of copper. A smile that radiated mischief in a way that would rival Hermes. All of those are staring right back at me, and now part of me wants to slap myself for being an utter idiot.

My mind flashes to Sally Jackson’s shrine, the picture and statuette surrounded by food. Then it moves towards the monument at Camp Half-Blood. The gratitude people showed whenever they made a call with the cellphone they used. Nico giving a weird look at the deck of Mythomagic cards that featured Leo. Harley’s confidence when I expressed my condolences at losing his half sibling. “It’s okay. He’ll be here soon.”

Leo never died. Or at least, he didn't die in the traditional sense of the word. Because the person in front of me isn't the same nervous boy who traded an impromptu masterpiece of an instrument for the Curse of Delos. He also very much isn't the demigod who slayed Gaea.

Leo Valdez is a god. The third Ascendant of Olympus. The thought passes through my brain like one of my father’s lightning bolts. My legs turn to jelly, and I barely see Leo catching me with a look of worry on his face before everything turns black. 

[im-immortal]

Small Miracles

Beth Greene is not dead. Though it is not for a lack of trying.

After eight long years spent in the CRM's grasp, struggling to find reasons to continue surviving, Beth finally finds her reason: Rick and Daryl are alive, and they are closer than she ever could've guessed. Now she must take advantage of her only opportunity to escape and track them down.

Along the way, she revisits all of the places that changed her into who she has become. And she is forced to remember who she truly is at heart despite how unrecognizable she finds herself.

But she has an unexpected ally along for the journey. Just the same as her, he is somewhat of a living miracle. Except he's no longer living... he's a walker.

[Moonshine Awards 2023 Third Place Winner for Best WIP ZA, and Second Place Winner for Best WIP Reunion/Fix It!]

Chapter 21 // Part 13: The Car

Beth presses her foot on the gas pedal and drives out of the garage, watching in the rearview mirror as Yesenia and Elba wave goodbye. She feels tears pooling in her eyes and quickly blinks them back. It never ceases to amaze her how, in this new world, such strong and meaningful bonds can be formed in such short amounts of time. As she drives down the road and toward the gate, which is slowly sliding open, Mae leans out the passenger window and waves to Yesenia, Elba, and Guillermo. And then they are pulling out of the gate and onto the cracked street outside of Nuevo Atlanta.  The morning sun is slowly rising higher into the sky, casting a stark brightness across everything. Beth speeds through the streets until they reach the city limits and a sign that says they are leaving Atlanta. Even as she knows they are entering unknown territory and even more unknown dangers, she can’t help feeling as though a weight has been lifted from her shoulders: she has her weapons back, a car, and a refreshed store of supplies. Not to mention, she’s had two whole days of good food and real rest. She leaves both Grady and Nuevo Atlanta in the rearview mirror. The wind rushes in through the open windows, and as they reach the open, desolate freeway, Mae lets out a wild laugh. She turns to Beth with a grin that is slowly fading and turning to a frown of worry with every mile they put between themselves and the sight of the Atlanta skyline. “Beth.” “Yeah?” “Do you… do you think we’ll make it? Like, really make it?” Beth glances in the rearview mirror to catch Gale’s milky white eyes. They exchange a discreet smirk. “We already did.”

[babbiweeb]

my pet-muzan kibutsuji

(anime in gif:garden of words)

tw:themes of manipulation/possessiveness, mentions of murder/blood, human trafficking/prostitution, wedlock

initial tags:pre-established reader background, muzan kibutsuji, female reader, demon slayer:kimetsu no yaiba, human/demon muzan

genre:angst, hurt-no-comfort, almost lovers (it’s really kinda like a what could've been moment)

story playlist:

romantic homicide-d4vd

…baby one more time-the marias

i put a spell on you-annie lennox

evergreen-omar apollo

step on me-the cardigans

authors note:i shamelessly will admit muzan has had such a chokehold on me since s1, swordsmith village just amplified my awakening. i can fix him. proofread? but not really because i go crosseyed :) okiee, talk to you later!

 -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

A man who lurks along shadows, whose name ignites fear, once upon a time had a glimpse of normalcy.

A man who has roamed the Earth for nearly a thousand years has shamelessly tormented the weak, watching them twitch for mercy. His utmost pleasure is taken from such a tease. He is ruthless, vile, disgusting-

Yet, he wasn't always this twisted. Close to a millennium ago, a woman had finally been blessed with the next heir to uphold such prominence. A son is what was needed to continue the strength and leadership of the Kibutsuji name. However, his birth was complicated. Considered to be stillborn, he was doomed from the start. 

Muzan, while alive, regarded as nothing but a mere burden–an illness took hold of his frail body. An illness deemed to be terminal, it would be a sheer miracle if he had lived past the age of 20. 

His family had grown desperate. Desperate to find a cure for their only son. Doctors, researchers, and skeptics all came pouring into the young man's life. He was viewed as a sort of spectacle. His illness brought awe to the eyes of those wanting to further their own knowledge of the human body. The Heian Era was cruel to those with severe ailments. However, if you came from money and high status, you were regarded as top priority. 

It seems history truly never ceases to repeat itself-

__

Heian Period-Year 900

__

The drag of ropes slid past the crowd. Some cruelly stepped on the rope, making the line of women trip on themselves. Whispers of shame falling from the breath of bystanders. It never seems to ease up for the poor. People are incredibly quick to judge, yet will always be the first in line to ask for more. The pleasure of the unknown passion behind closed doors takes over the minds of the depraved, the curious, the sick-

A woman dragging her feet slowly begins to feel dread as they approach a back alley. She is an unfortunate soul, born into the world without a chance of survival. Given away to be sold off in an auction, she is young and the perfect selection to be someone’s pet. Her mother was given a handsome price for someone she deemed a burden. Quiet and timid, she keeps to herself. Alone with her thoughts, she tries to think of better days. 

Standing close to those by her side, she keeps her head low, attempting to lessen the attention drawing near. Crowds of men begin to gather around in secret, the sun being the only thing that illuminates the sin of man. 

One by one, each woman called down to turn around slowly for each buyer. Disgust fills her to the brim as she begins to wander off. Though, with just her eyes. Suddenly, she is rushed, her arm being tugged and gripped tightly as a man clouded by smoke demands her to twirl. Sounds of hushed whimpers escape from her. 

The smell of nicotine and whispers of depravity further shifting her demeanor to one of pure agony. Wanting nothing more than to be saved. Her eyes trail slightly, looking amongst the crowd. Just then, she catches the attention of a certain man and woman. The pair dressed like royalty. She had never seen anyone like them around these parts. Her face is full of awe as her eyes slowly begin to plead for their help. Nothing compelled her to do so, she just felt as if they understood her. Perhaps it was just a simple trick? Her mind constantly full of ideas of being free had finally led her to a state of delusion. 

But maybe…just maybe, fate has another plan. One that will grant her just a temporary moment of blissful freedom. 

__

Y/N-

“So this is where you will be staying. It isn't much, a humble space…but I do believe you will be most comfortable.”-The voice of a woman echoes as I keep close to my body. The rope on my wrists still reminds me of what could've been. 

Humble? Not much? People of status have no true grasp of reality. The room is bigger than anything I’ve ever seen! Entering cautiously, I look to the walls. No cracks, chips, or mold. 

How refreshing-

The futon made, not a single crease in sight. Is this really for me?

“Oh, do not worry! We will get you cleaned and changed before we further discuss your duty! Everything you will need is just in that closet-take your time and please come find me once you’ve finished!”-Her voice is doll-like. Calm, soft, not a single hint of worry or stress. The pale woman approaches as she begins to gently untie the ropes. My freedom solidified as my wrists finally loosen.

The initial shock I felt after they claimed me was overwhelming. I never would have expected such an outcome. However, I will be forever grateful to them-I will fulfill my duty.

“Thank you, Lady Kibutsuji.”

Soon, she excuses herself, sliding the door shut. My senses overstimulate my entire being. My ears catching the sound of the door shutting first as I now have this chance to relish in my new found privacy. The air lifted as I stood alone-and for the first time in a long time, I could breathe. 

__

After taking a well deserved moment of rest, I turned to the closet that remained open. Lightly colored and patterned garments neatly folded as my admiration bubbles to the surface. While not silk, the fabric is similar in texture. Nonetheless, I begin to undress my frame. Pieces of my run down clothing shedding off my body. The dirty linen now to the floor, soon to be forgotten. 

The layers hug my body bringing a sense of comfort as I add more and more to my final look. The pattern of faint and simple blossoms compliment the neutral colors of beige and cream. The frills of my apron added dimension and texture. 

Looking into the compact mirror provided, my hair is lifted by my delicate hands. A pin and clip keeping my loose strains together as they threaten to fall.

“Almost ready-”

My thoughts are interrupted as the sound of a man grows loud. A man and a woman can be heard through the walls. The woman sounds like-

Quickly, I leave my bedroom, sliding open the door, never stopping to close it shut. My legs carry me down the long, naturally lit hall as the voices grow loud and louder-

“I do not need some lousy caretaker-this is an unnecessary purchase that will just go to waste.”-The voice of a man unfamiliar to me settles within me as his words begin to make me wonder. 

“This is necessary, your body is growing weaker by the day. Your father insists on leaving you be. I only agreed to such terms if we got you someone to stay here with you. You need constant supervision. I will not lose my son any sooner-”

Her voice is cracking, a certain emotion of fear and uncertainty. It seems my duty is clear. Rounding the corner, I enter the large gathering room. My presence was recognized within an instant. 

“See? And here she is. And look, what a vision she is-”

Lady Kibutsuji steps closer to me as I keep my eyes forward. The compliment phases me slightly. I’m not used to such words being directed towards me. A vision? Is that really what I am? 

“An ordinary woman of low status is a vision to you? No wonder you were so eager to marry father. Your taste is horrid mother.”

A vision? Clearly not. 

Nonetheless, I will foresee my duty complete. Turning to face the young and clearly frail man, I bow my head slightly. My respect for their family name is growing within me. 

“My name is Y/N, no last name given. It is a pleasure to meet you, I look forward to being of use to you.”-The facade of confidence slowly breaks as I confess my lack of title. No last name, no status. 

“She is born of wedlock? How wonderful mother. I’m sure your sickly son being paired with this failure won't bring any further shame to our name.”

Raising my head slowly, I keep low. 

Well isn't he a peach? 

“I will not tolerate this disrespect. I still raised you to be a man. Now start acting like it.”-The lady of the Estate is completely unamused and serious. It seems her words shot an arrow through his heart. He looked at me for a brief moment before turning to walk back to where we all had entered. His balance is nonexistent as he holds onto every object nearby. His breath is heavy as it seems as if he is stepping on knives with each step. Taking a chance, I walked towards him, my arm extended in a careful manner. Not wanting to hurt him further, my voice sweet like honey.

“Sir, allow me to help you…” 

His scoff is audible and telling. He is unamused by my gesture, as if he’s in any position to deny aid. 

“Do not touch me. As for formality, I am Lord Muzan to you. Leave me be maid.”-His venom spat as chills sent down my spine. Without looking back to me, he struggles along as he attempts to carry some authority. My arms find their place once more as I watch him leave. Soon enough, it’s just me and Lady Kibutsuji. 

“Please forgive me. The lack of parenting shows within my son. However-She pauses to walk by my side. Her hand on my shoulder, her touch desperate-give him time. He is in fact ill. While this is not an excuse, he is growing impatient as the days drag on.”

“My only son was born with an illness that is soon to claim his life. His father has given up entirely…”-Another quick pause before she continues almost breathlessly. 

“All my hope is placed within you to help aid my son. I am unsure of what will become of him within the next year, but please, if it isn't too much to ask-take good care of Muzan.”-Her eyes are full with a familiar look of desperation. The same look I had worn for the better half of my young adult life. 

Pity. That is what comes to mind. Looking at her hand on my shoulder, a simple nod is all she needs from me to know that I am determined to help him. While this has already proved to be a difficult task, he still is just human. 

__

Evening rolls quickly with the pair hesitantly leaving such a beautiful Estate. Lady Kibutsuji had placed her dreams within a young woman who has no prior life experience. To take care of a man who is as stubborn as an ox will be no easy task. However, the overwhelming sense of gratitude shadows over all doubt. She is determined to change his cold heart. Surely, he has one? 

With hands tangled together at her front, she tours the halls. A traditional home, mute with any sense of familial love. Soon, the moon rises to catch the serenity of a peaceful garden. Her eyes follow the glow dancing through the beauty of nature. 

This is more than she ever expected–in fact, she feels almost unworthy. She is unaware of  when they will return, if at all.

“Lord Muzan? Are you…alright?”-Approaching slowly, she maintains a steady pace. Her nerves almost ate her alive as his figure grew. The sigh released from him telling her all she needs to know.

“Who gave you the idea to interrupt my peace? You’ve already become a nuisance and you haven't even been here a full day.”-His words slicing through her confidence, breaking her down further into a hole. 

“L-Lord Muzan, as it stands, I am your aid until I am told otherwise by your mother. So please, I would appreciate even the slightest bit of respect.”

Within an instant, his body stands tall as he turns to face the young woman. The look of the woman to the untrained eye may seem unphased, but deep down he can sense her fear. 

“Respect is earned, not that you would have any semblance of how real people act in proper society-”

As if someone had been watching his utter disrespect, his tongue is cut short as he coughs uncontrollably. The sight is horrid. It’s as if he is close to coughing up his own lung. Though, she is still a nurturing woman–the innate intuition to care is apparent. She is aware of her own tragedy, however, the thought of those having it worse off than her fuels her to remain kind. His body folds as his knees fall to the gravel-

“Lord Muzan-I’ve got you.”

Her arms wrap around him, pulling him up to lean slightly against her body. His coughing rage slows as he attempts to hide the embarrassing fit. Upon instinct, her gentle hand rubs his back, reassuring him that he isn't alone–that he would never be alone again. 

“I may not be someone you respect as a real person. But, I have kept something that you should re-learn. Kindness.”

His vision is slightly blurred as he becomes lightheaded, but she is still clear. He couldn't remain headstrong and upset even if he wanted to. She is correct–though his pride still refuses to falter. However, just this once he will accept her aid. The night will blanket over this slight misstep. 

“What an incessant woman…”

__

Muzan-

“Good morning Lord Muzan. A doctor has arrived, he is waiting for you in the back hall.”

Right. She’s staying. My persistent mother, adamant I am in constant need of supervision. While I don’t entirely blame the woman–no, I do blame the woman. How is it I had lost the race without ever even kicking off? To be born with such status, all to go to waste. They’ve both given up, and blamed me through the process. When it was my mother who failed to nurture a proper son. A cursed womb that would have benefited the world by staying utterly barren. 

An obvious disdain for this annoyance falls from my lips. My fingers trace the spine of what was soon to be my escape. A book meant to further expand my knowledge of medical advances–perhaps later. 

“Very well. Tell him I will meet with him soon. Be gone-”

The sound of her footsteps begin to fade. Never once did I turn to look at her, why should I? She is nothing more than a lowly woman. Unless she holds the cure to this cold heart, she will be of no use to me. 

“See? And here she is. And look, what a vision she is-” 

Vision? As if that means anything to me.

__

“What will become of me if I don’t take this?”-The very sight of such a pathetic doctor brings up an ever growing anger within me. He speaks of postponing my inevitable demise. Time. All time has granted me is a constant reminder of my own misery. Forever trapped in my own flesh that betrays me. I am denied the basic pleasures of life. A cruel world indeed. 

Reluctantly, I take the medicine provided, and soon enough he disappears. Where does he travel to? This doctor has been utterly mysterious. He speaks of an experimental elixir that he had been preparing and giving me in small quantities. Yet, I feel no change. Our family's wealth consistently proves to be wasted. 

Speaking of which– 

__

Y/N-

My smile brightens the man’s gloomy demeanor as I say goodbye to him. The doctor states that he shall return within a week, as well as leaving a brief reminder that he feels confident in Lord Muzan’s treatment. 

Wanting to remain by his side, I quickly make my way to the kitchen and prepare a simple snack. Fruits I pricked fresh in the small garden out back–

A small library found in the home seems to be his most favored spot, and with this knowledge my legs lead me there. I can feel it. Butterflies slowly creep up as my anxiety continues to rise. He’s unpredictable, that much I can confidently say. His attitude is one of a spoiled child. He makes it difficult to remain calm. But, for the sake of the Kibutsuji name, I shall try. 

Rounding the corner of the lifted structure, beams of sunlight bring life to such a mute home. An open concept allows the beauty of nature to come and go as it pleases. 

“Lord Muzan? May I enter?”-My hands at the sides of the tray begin to shake slightly. Curse these weak nerves. 

My eyes found him immediately. He sits along a chaise, pillows behind him bringing him clear comfort. His hair is long, dark, and slightly textured. He is the picture perfect definition of ethereal beauty. For a man of his status and undeniable charm, it would be incredibly simple to find his match. If not for his illness, he would be able to experience what many crave to cherish. 

His eyes meet mine for the very first time–oh what heavy eyes.

“What do you want?”-That harsh tone yet again, although, something seems to be different. His breath skipped, even just a little. Almost as if he was caught off guard by my presence? Pushing my thoughts to the side, I walk towards him cautiously, stopping right by his lounge. Placing the tray on the small table beside him, I smile softly. 

“I brought you something small. You never requested breakfast, nor did I see you pass the kitchen. You must be hungry, Lord Muzan.”

His eyes trail to the tray full of small eats, his finger book marking his book as he leans forward. 

“Very well. Dismissed.”

My head tilts just slightly as I keep my hands to my front. My fingers laced together as I gave myself a quick squeeze of reassurance. Turning only to find an open seat not too far from him, I stationed myself close. My bottom sunk comfortably as I keep myself low. 

“Uh, what do you think you’re doing? I said you are dismissed.”-His voice gains my attention as I look back at him. My face now hot, flushes red. 

“Lord Muzan, with all due respect, I plan to stay nearby at all times. This was a request given by your mother.”

As if I had just described a lewd, and unholy act of offense, he looks at me with widened eyes. His eyebrow twitches slightly–a quirk perhaps? 

“That will not be necessary. My privacy is important to me, so I insist you leave.”-Kicking his feet back up and reopening his book, he attempts to escape back into his own world. A small smirk forms as I continue right behind his words.

“And I insist you need my constant supervision. You are sickly Lord Muzan-”

The hint of spite lingers as my words stick. The air grows thick–his eyes now back on me as he sits still. 

“You dare give lip woman?”-The word “woman” rolls off his tongue as if he had casted a hex. What is it about me that represents a thorn in his back? Clicking my own tongue, my eyes keep direct watch. 

“A woman is not a woman without lip. Can’t you handle the taste of your own medicine My Lord?”

The sting in Muzan’s heart almost ignites a fire, brought on by her wit. He feels as if he’s caught in her web. A spark that he had never felt before. He wouldn't admit it out loud, however, his subconscious enjoys her game. 

An audible scoff heard from the man laying across from me rings through my ears. My sly smirk hidden from him as his gaze watches my eyes. My anxiety at the beginning had diminished, this new confidence was found and fueled by the need to destroy this man’s ego. 

“You must make excellent company, your husband must be over the moon to have such a woman by his side-”

A brief pause allows me to feel the small crack inching down my heart. A shameless low blow that speaks volumes. His darts speak for my loneliness. 

“No matter. If you choose to stay, be sure to remain quiet. That pretty voice should be saved for your caring husband.”-His voice, malicious and cocky. Is it his goal to drag those around him down? Does he derive pleasure from pain? 

His attention back to his book, an obvious smirk runs along his lips-

“At least I have a shot at love-”

__

Muzan-

I win. 

Quiet. Just as it should be while in my presence–if only my repeated thoughts of finally being cured would leave me be. This doctor seems rather enthusiastic about his research. He hasn't shared much with me, leaving my thoughts to run rampant. It’s troublesome really. 

Turning the page with my delicately fragile fingers, I catch a quick glimpse of her. My eyes almost instinctively traced her lips. She’s completely distracted by the walls lined with shelves. If something were to happen to me now, surely she wouldn't even realize the second I hit the floor.

“You know you read books, not gawk at them.” 

The look on her face reads something of a nervous delight. Her eyes light up as she pays me no mind. She’s seemingly interested in reading–though quickly, her demeanor shatters. She’s hesitant, that much is clear. 

“I-I understand that much. I just…I can’t read much Lord Muzan”-She does nothing to hide such an embarrassing confession. Is this the truth? She truly doesn't know how to read? How preposterous! 

“What? How is it you can not read? Women are allowed that much.”-I scoff. 

“Forgive my ignorance, Lord Muzan. I was not blessed to live sheltered like you. No one gave me the time of day.”-Her voice trails as her attention focuses slowly back to me. Her gaze followed my every facial expression, my every word. 

Sheltered? Me? My blood boils as I feel a sense of anger slowly wash over me. I hold my tongue as I look at her. All my life, I had no choice but to be this way. Doomed from the start…but her? She had the chance to change. Or at least…that’s what I would do. For just a moment, I catch her eyes, trap them with mine. Holding my gaze, she softens entirely, encapsulating the definition of grace and poise. The anger felt just seconds prior diminishes with one simple look. With her look. Her eyes almost plead with mine, silently begging me to hold my words. After a few seconds more, I finally break contact–my head shaking side to side. 

Reluctantly, I begin-”Go choose a book that sparks an interest.”

Without hesitation, she gets up from her spot and immediately starts to look through the many pieces of literature. It’s as if she had forgotten about our little battle of wit. The exchange proved to be entertaining to me, it proved to her how headstrong and cocky I truly can be. Yet, she seems to be completely carefree, only focused on my request. Obedient. Even if just for herself. 

Soon, she pulls a small and skinny hard cover. I know exactly the one–

“Give it here-”

Once more, without a sense of faltering, she makes her way to me. Her nervousness is transparent, as if she’s terrified of my bite. I drop my legs slowly from the long soft cushion, gently planting my feet to the floor. 

“I-I can make out some words here. This isn’t entirely foreign to me thankfully.”-With sheer grace, she drops to my side, sitting close enough to feel our warmth collide. This is comforting. 

“Well, start where you can…”-In a hushed tone, I continue quietly. “I can help you when I can. Only when I’m not busy with my own book.”

I had to reassure her, right? All for her to understand that I won't be there at all times to hold her hand. This is simply a small favor that I chose to offer in hopes this pitiful woman can learn something. To be early into adulthood, and not know how to read full text? How shameful. 

She snaps to turn and face me, her eyes wide and full of surprise. She really is transparent. Her words almost fail her until I pick up on a faint-

“Thank you.”

Returning to my world, I hide myself slightly within the pages. 

“What a naive woman…”

__

They continued on within a surprisingly comfortable silence, though she still feels uneasy. She doesn't want to be a bother to him, regardless of his harsh outer shell. He catches her unsteady demeanor, jealous of how simple she is. His eyes follow her finger as she traces the thin pages, meanwhile his heart begins to soften. A new, strange feeling that has made itself known subtly. 

Each pronunciation of these foreign words lifts from the pages and rolls of her tongue gently. A cautious, timid soul. Shifting slightly, he takes hold of her book, grazing her soft skin along the way. This was done almost on purpose, just as an excuse to feel some semblance of intimacy. But to admit this would prove to be weak. 

Shocked and shy, she turns her gaze up towards him. Only him. Her attention is direct and eager as her innocent eyes fill with the willingness to learn. The pleasant twist that forms just below the hearts of two entirely different souls now becomes hard to ignore. An unexpected warmth that proves weakness to one, and to the other–

A fondness that wraps her within a desirable warmth. 

__

“T-Thank you Lord Muzan…for teaching me.”-Her voice echos with pure gratitude. Never once had she been blessed with kindness that went beyond a simple “how are you?”. 

Tch–”It’s nothing. I pity those who can’t help themselves. So consider this your push to do better woman.”-His feet raised once more unto the chaise. His body utterly melts into the cushion–completely devoid of his remark. 

“How can you be so sure of yourself that people less than you haven't tried all they can to be better?”-The sheer amount of wit almost catches him off guard. For someone so disadvantaged, she sure does have an enchanting mind. Something he has come to pleasantly enjoy. 

Her question tantalizes him. How can he be sure? Simple. He can’t. This mindset stems from pure arrogance. The faith he has in humanity had diminished years ago. He cares not for those around him, why should he? The illness had taken over and ripped away the innocence, warping him into something close to a line of monstrosity. 

“Lord Muzan, if I may, my heart breaks for you.”

With that, the young woman excuses herself from him. The eerie silence sets as he is left. Yet another reminder that he is truly alone. 

__

Muzan-

Waiting patiently, time moves slowly as I go blank. Her heart breaks for…me? What could she mean by such a thing? Why does her heart supposedly break for me? I never asked for such a thing, nor would I. I do not need the pity of some sorry excuse of a woman. 

My chest rises up and down at a quickened pace, my breath becoming heavy as my anxiety levels. Looking up to the awning, the edge of traditional wood had always brought comfort. The clean cut edges of such beauty begin to blur. My eyes feel as if they are crossing–I need help. I need her, now. My throat closed as I attempted to call out to her. Her name fading from me as soon enough, I succumbed to the darkness. 

If there is a god, he would allow me this final sweet release. 

__

Coming to, my body regains each of my senses one by one. My body laid flat upon a made futon. The bedding is thick, granting me a sense of security. Slowly, my fingers twitch against the warmth. My ears had perked at the sound of draining water, little droplets reaching my exposed skin. 

“I know you’re awake, you can open your eyes now”-Reluctantly, I open my eyes. The dim light of candles gives my eyes relief. Blinking just a few times, the blurred vision subsides as I am met with a face all too familiar. The moon hung low, casting a soft and silver glow over her. Her gentle hands hard at work as they tighten, wringing out water from a small cloth into a small bowl. 

“How are you feeling?”-The lack of formality rings through as she speaks. Her eyes focused on me. My mouth is dry, as is my throat. My words fail me, so I simply nod my head, keeping my watchful eye on her. 

Wringing out the water one last time, she neatly folds the small cloth and places the damp piece on my forehead. The cool sensation immediately alleviated my aching lobe. This small gesture is enough to strain my gaze. Closing my eyes for just a moment, her body shifts–soon I’m being lifted gently. The rim of porcelain reaches my mouth as liquid flows down. 

“I contacted an emergency doctor by letter. He took quite a while reaching back to us with any form of information. I was afraid I had lost you for good.”

My orbs reopened and immediately found hers. Desperately drinking what I can, my eyebrows furrow into confusion. Why would she be afraid? Wouldn't this grant her access away from me? Isn’t this something she would want? To be free? 

“Your primary doctor won't arrive until early next week, until then, you are to take it easy and rest well. The stress may be getting to you, so do not strain yourself further. Allow me to do my job and help you.”-The cries of pleas are no longer hidden. It seems I have inched my way closer to her more than she would ever admit. Why?

Finding my voice, I begin-

“I-I see…very well. I must ask, w-what made you think about coming back?”

“I never meant to leave you for long. I simply needed a break. I felt our conversation would lead nowhere and that it would be best for us both if I had excused myself.”-As she leans back slightly, I am granted a full view of her body. Her frame utterly breathtaking under the faint aglow of candlelight and rays of silver. Her face softened with worry and concern. 

“When I came back, you were on the floor, sprawled out and holding your own throat. The sight was horrific. All I thought to do was get you to your room quickly and reopen your airway. You leaned against me limp as I walked you back to your bedroom. The rest became history, you are up now and that’s what matters.”

My eyes widened as she continued her retelling of events. She did this for me, without a hint of hesitation. A strong willed woman indeed. 

“I see. Well, I suppose I should…express my gratitude, or something?”-Keeping my gaze on her, I am able to catch a sly smile that formed upon her plump lips. Not quite a smirk, and not quite malicious. 

“Lord Muzan, are you trying to say…thank you?”-Her voice lingers as a giggle leaves her.

Embarrassed, my face grows warm once again-

“Don't push it Y/N. You did your job successfully. That’s all there is to it”

And there it is. That wonderfully wicked smirk she wears so well. With one final look of admiration, I close my eyes, hiding my sudden new found gratitude. The sound of her leaving my side followed by a hushed snicker warms my cheeks. As she blows out my candles, right before leaving, I whisper–

“Thank you Y/N.”

“You’re welcome, Lord Muzan.”-After a pregnant pause, the brief silence is interrupted by her final words and the sliding of my door. I hate to admit it, but the warmth in my cheeks could not distract me from the fact that for the first time in forever, a smile had grown. 

“What a cheeky woman.”

__

Y/N-

“What do you mean still not ready? You pathetic excuse of a doctor-”

Lord Muzan’s voice echoes through the halls of the estate. He is angry. Very angry. Last night's events run through my mind–the brief glimpse of potential kindness shattered now as my body trembles. My hands grip the soft fabric that drapes to my side. Sitting just outside the screen, I am a victim to the wraith of his abusive nature. 

“I no longer have time. My body grows weak by each passing day. I can barely walk, let alone sit without my limbs going utterly stiff. This elixir is a joke, much like your practice.”

An elixir? Yes, that’s correct! The doctor had mentioned such a remedy during his last visit. He appeared confident in his research, however, said confidence proves to be less than dirt to him. From my understanding, Lord Muzan had been taking this experimental medicine for weeks–

“I’ve taken your stupid drug–now get out! Out of my sight before I lose my temper completely!”-This wasn't him at his peak? There is more hidden to his anger? Surely not. 

Footsteps come and go as the sound passes by me. Distracted and dazed, my body lifts itself all on its own. 

“Lord Muzan, if I may enter.”-The unsteady hum in my voice gives me away completely as I turn from the screen to look at him. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead and down his sculpted face. Even in such a state, my eyes could never fool me–

His breath is heavy and unhinged. The anger that exudes from him is palpable, like a rabid beast. He is capable of so much more, that much is clear to me now. Regardless of my fear, I approach cautiously, my delicate hand reaching out for him. Soon, the cloth in hand collects his essence. His heat would be almost intoxicating if the circumstances were different. 

Without looking up at me, his mouth moves-

“What have you Y/N? Do you think I’m worth my salt? Why is it that I live such a pitiful life?”-His voice almost begs me for some kind of reassurance, low whimpers falling from his lips. His fist to his own chest, clutching the fabrics of his simple yukata. 

“Lord Muzan, the cards were never set up in your favor, that much is true. However, you are alive today despite it all. There is still a chance while you still breathe.”

He doesn't believe me. An audible scoff and expression of defeat is more than enough to leave a lingering sting to my heart. The same heart that is too big for my own good–

In a moment of sheer weakness, I take hold of his hand, bringing him close to me. His palm firmly planted against my heartbeat. Shocked and curious, his eyes finally met mine. His mouth agape as if he truly wanted to scold me for such behavior, and yet–he welcomes the change.

“Your heart beat is just like mine. Your lungs inhale and exhale the air we share. Your senses all grant you the same sensations I feel. We are no different–your illness does not define you. Your illness only hinders you if you choose to let it drown your mind.”

The air grows thin as time seemingly slows, all we have is each other. We sit across from one another, his hand trembles ever so slightly against my chest as he looks into my eyes. His gaze turns into a stare as his shock continues to build. Left almost speechless, his low mutters become my only indication that he is still with me. 

“W-Why must you have faith in me? Why must you make this difficult?”

“Lord Muzan, everyone deserves a chance to better themselves. The only one stopping you from doing so, is you. If you want something, you make it your reality.”-The road to one's betterment is no easy task. No one gets it right the first time. Old habits resurface, anger prevails, people test you. But for him, his eyes shine with a newfound spark. An epiphany-

“You are…absolutely correct! I will make my desire a reality. My illness will not prevail.”-Surprisingly giddy with excitement, it isn't enough to hide something brewing. There’s a hint of something almost sickening behind his voice. However, as quickly as my body warned me, my naivety in turn diminished such a red flag. 

His hand travels down for a short detour. His fingers graze the slit in between my supple mounds. The tease of his gentle touch sent shivers down my spine. And within an instant, time had pressed on as it did before. No longer stuck in the moment with him–

__

Muzan-

What a woman-

How could I be so blind? She left me utterly speechless. Her caring nature brings me a sense of confidence I had never felt before. I feel as if I can do anything with her by my side. I must keep her close–

“Y/N! I thank you for such reassurance! Please, leave me for the time being! I have some matters to attend to! My thoughts must be sorted.”-Without another word, she follows my order. Excusing herself gracefully from my view. 

Slowly, a familiar curve creeps onto my lips. The excitement builds as an uncontrollable laugh fills my own ears. This is too easy. Too simple–

I will have all I want, this illness will no longer define my life. I am deserving of greatness, if not me? Then who? Who is worthy of such confidence, such power. 

It’s all coming together perfectly. Soon, I will become more than a mere weakling. No one shall ever ignore me again. 

__

Nightfall crept suddenly, as light had vanished from the world. Not a sound had left the chambers of Lord Muzan throughout the day. Worrisome, Y/N had done what she could in order to stay nearby without disturbing his work. She wondered about him, and his odd behavior. He changed so suddenly, his eagerness created an all too recognizable feeling of dread. She knew what this was, but she kept denying such doubts. Even the stars above couldn't calm her nerves. Though, the moon watches over her and her own prayers. The glow of silver shining down upon such an immaculate beauty. It was as if there had been an unannounced competition between the goddess of the moon and the maiden below. Her beauty was witnessed by more than just the serene sky. His presence is quiet as he walks down the garden steps and onto the stone path. While in pain, he chooses to ignore for the time being, wanting to just be close to her. 

“A beautiful night? Isn't it?”-My voice rings through her as she jumps out of her own skin. Startled, she brings a warmth to me as she reacts to my emergence. 

“L-Lord Muzan! You’re up!”-She attempts to sit up, but before long, I lift my hand up hinting that she remains seated. 

“Please, do not worry yourself with me tonight. All I ask from you is to join you for a bit of company.”-For the third time since we met, I smile. Each foreign move of my muscle is all due to her. 

“Y-Yes, of course Lord Muzan!”-She scoots to the edge of the small stone bench, giving me space to join her. With no time wasted, I sit next to her, already feeling our warmth dancing.The cool breeze flows as the trees and brush rustle alongside it. 

“I truly must thank you Y/N. A new found clarity fills my mind and soul. I feel alive-”

“I did nothing really! Although, I must say, you do seem rather lively. Perhaps the elixir-”

“That doctor had nothing to do with this. He is incompetent and will soon be discarded.”-Rudely and swiftly, I cut her off before she can mention such a quack. Our peace must not be disrupted by unnecessary noise. 

“R-Right, yes! My apologies! I just mean to say that you are much better.”-Her stutter never fades as I catch her nervousness. Her hands interwoven as they rested on her lap. 

“You’re quite alright Y/N! As I mentioned, he won’t be a problem soon enough.”-A wave of confidence helps fuel my boldness. Keeping my watchful gaze on her makes me grow impatient. Shifting my body towards her, I lean in closely–

“You are all I need to help aid this sickness-”

Whispers alluding to sweet nothings leave my mouth. Actions beat me to the punch as my hand trails her exposed skin. Starting from her wrist, my fingers trace up her arm. My nails grazed across her faint goosebumps.

“I was a fool to immediately discard you as just another woman. You are much more–aren't you Y/N?”

It was now her turn to grow speechless, though her body language speaks to me. Her skin so supple, so soft-

“You’ve proven to be someone worthy of my praise. You’ve proven to be of use to me. A delicate petal just begging to be plucked. You crave attention, don't you…my pet?”-The sounds of whimpers escape from her luscious lips. Desperate to feel more of such a rose, my fingers crawl behind her exposed neck. Her hair creates an opening of soft skin. Untouched, pure skin. Closing the space between us, her protests are nonexistent as I continue to conquer such a goddess. My breath is hot against her cold skin, licking my lips my eyes fill slowly with undeniable lust. 

“Tell me…”-A brief pause teases her ears as I whisper into her neck. My lips tugging along her sensitive skin-

“Do you wish to serve me? To aid me?”

My lips press together as I leave gentle, yet needy kisses along her neck. Her whimpers only grow as I tug at the hair locked in between my long, slender fingers.

“Answer me”

“Y-Yes”-Obedient. I expect nothing less. 

“Yes? You will? What…my pet?”-Full control is what I have, her body melting under my touch. Pulling her hair back gently, I give myself more to claim. Her scent is intoxicating as I save this sweetness to memory. Never to forget such delectable treat-

“I wish to serve you, Lord Muzan.”-The whisper of seduction. 

A primal instinct possesses my body as a part of her soul is given up to me so easily. My lips are sloppy and quick in bringing utter pleasure to us both. Completely undone, my lips meet hers, never once stopping to think of the consequences. The emotional vulnerability sent me down a spiral. Her soft moans pour into my mouth as her desire fills me to the brim. Our breath grows hot and heavy. The only break we give one another is that of whenever our lips switch positions. Neither of us wanted to give up the heated battle of pure passion. 

My hand that once held the back of her neck now meets her plump and warm cheek. The other slowly meets the other. Her body remains stiff as I caress her with the growing facade of something loving. 

My sweet, sweet pet. Oh how you’ve fallen. 

__

Y/N-

My body has awoken before even my mind. Tossing and turning under the covers of security, a beam of warm light tickles my face. The warmth triggers the events of last night to replay in my mind. His touch still stains my cheeks, forever tainting my memory. 

Morning light pours into my sensitive eyes as I slowly open them. A sigh of relief and complete embarrassment escapes my lips. The woman I became during the evening hours was that of shame. To indulge in the dance of sinful passion with someone meant to be taken care of is nothing less than degrading. 

And yet…here I am, tracing the lines of my lips. My fingers teasing the edges of my delicate skin. 

I liked it. 

__

The Estate eerily resembles that of a ghost town. Not that I am too keen on seeing him this morning, the shadow of worry still lingers. Calling out for him as I walk through each room, I still find no trace of his presence. Perhaps further in? 

“Lord Muzan? Are you awake–”

The smell of iron fills my nose, it’s faint but definitely still noticeable. Curious and against my better judgment, I keep my pace. The sound of wood panels creaking every now and again. Soon enough, the sound of wood falters and is now replaced with a squelching. Reluctantly, I look down at my feet, and to my horror-

Blood. Blood seeps through the floor, flowing from underneath the shoji. My breath caught in my throat as I refused to make a single sound. 

Cautiously, I reach for the screen, careful to not step in the ever growing puddle of fresh blood. Sliding through the screen, I come to bear witness to a man stabbed in the back laying motionless. As if all rational thought left me in an instant, my scream becomes loud, desperate, and fearful. 

My eyes widen at the sight of such gore. However, nothing could be compared to my pure terror as my eyes trail to meet his gaze. His stone cold gaze. He remained seated, unphased and unbothered by the scene. Working quickly, and piecing together the events that had transpired, I once again lose myself-

Dizzy and hazed, my disgust is no longer hidden. 

“You k-killed him…didn't you? This was your doing!”

My voice trembles as I look directly at him, waiting for the slightest bit of humanity to show. Please, tell me it isn't so, this couldn't be! My eyes sting as tears begin to form across my waterline. 

“Good. You’ve finally come to me-”

His voice was cold, more so than typical. This time, his voice sends pure chills to my body. I hold my own sides as I watch him get up without struggle, his walk towards me steady. As he reaches me, I grow stiff as his hand firmly grips my shoulder. He leans in swiftly and whispers into the shell of my ear. 

“Clean this up.”-Just as he came, he left without time wasted. The tears once threatened to pour, now stream down my face. The overwhelming stir of emotions breaking me down to a pathetic mess. 

I want nothing more than to be far, far away from him.

__

Streaks of blood that had stained the wood run across the floor. The smell of death never leaving her nose, forever ingrained in her memory. No matter how much she tried, she couldn't get the image of dragging his limp body out of her mind. The sound of his skin sliding against the wood will prove enough to haunt her dreams. No matter how many times she washes her body, she will never truly rid herself of the filth. Her mind, body, and soul forever tormented in her own personal prison. 

She needed to leave, to get away. But what good would that do? She could never be free, her fate solidified within these walls. All she has is the simple peace found within her own chambers. Sleep takes hold of the emotionally drained. 

Even so, her slumber was interrupted by the sudden sharp chill of a cool breeze. The night pours into her four walls–and what would usually bring her peace, this night instead brings in the dreaded unknown. The days prior of feeling an unsettling wave of uncertainty now haunts her. Always the naive woman to seemingly follow her heart before her own gut. And now look, he stalks her with watchful eyes. Plum red beads that stare into her soul, seeing more than he ever could. Her heartbeat accelerates due to the uneasy tension growing in the thick air. 

Nothing could ever stop him now. The confidence he felt by her side would never compare the pure power he feels coursing through his veins. The power to do as he pleases, whenever he pleases. The world is yet to see true torture, and he will begin his reign with her by his side. She has no choice.

“My pet…”

 -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

authors end note:wow wow wubzi. yeah i don't foresee myself sticking to a writing schedule. writing fics are hard, but then again, i really just do it to ease my brain rot and make my moots happi! so in turn, i happi! this one however, is going on the mAke A pArt TwO list. i’m so delulu. i want to pick this up with y/n becoming a demon by force and eventually running away with my second wife, lady tamayo (the goat). i am so down bad for so many kny characters bro. it’s impressive how many i can fit in my heart. anyways, as per usual, i hope you enjoyed the read! teehe! talk soon, k? :)

word count:8348

many thank! -babbi₊˚⊹♡

-08/18/23

[sonics-atelier]

Happy Birthday My Forever @lorcandidlucienwill

In realms of dreams, where moonbeams softly gleam,

There walks Amita , a radiant dream.

Ethereal beauty, beyond compare,

Her presence a marvel, so wondrously rare.

A miracle found in life's winding maze,

To love her to death, a sweet, endless craze.

In every moment, she is grace,

Bound to her heart in an eternal embrace.

Her laughter, a symphony, joyous and free,

Each note a melody, enchanting me.

When she sings, Apollo's grace bestowed,

A celestial choir in her voice flowed.

A diamond she is, the rarest of gems,

In her radiance, my heart finds its hymns.

Each facet gleaming with love's purest light,

Guiding me through the darkest of night.

Lovely and amazing, in every way,

Her presence brings sunshine to every day.

With every smile, my world comes alive,

In her embrace, I truly thrive.

Kindness her cloak, bravery her sword,

Resilient spirit, by trials untired.

A walking goddess, in mortal guise,

With courage that never ceases to rise.

On this blessed day, her birth's celebration,

A tribute to her, a grand ovation.

For she is the essence of all that's divine,

A beacon of love in life's grand design.

So here's to Amita, my love so true,

May your birthday be as beautiful as you.

In your presence, I am truly blessed,

Forever grateful I am, for you.

- @sonics-atelier ( do not repost or reuse in any way, shape or form , I will decapitate you)

[cosmichighpriestess]

•°÷*°Enjoying the 3D°*÷°•

Message from the Angels:

My dear friends, we love you so very much,

You live forever, dear ones. So do all beings. Humanity, the animals, the spirit of the plants, trees, and Earth herself are part of the beautiful energy field that cannot and never will cease to exist. One with your creator, you immerse yourself in this 3D world for a while, then expand back into love—your true nature—when you make your exit.

When you transition to spirit once again, you have a body that is a projection of your consciousness, but it is not the dense body you live in while in your physical world. It is a body made of light. Although you can hug and eat and do whatever you like in the heavens, there’s an awareness of yourself as energy and an awareness of the One love that lives within all.

On Earth, you immerse yourself in amazing biological bodies. They are magnificent miracles. Every cell is a conscious being, very much like a little animal, always wanting to love, always wanting to surrender to the steady stream of guidance, information, and healing from the Source. That is why we implore you to love your bodies, love your cells, and reaffirm to them that you believe in their ability to recalibrate to their original design. When you live in fear, you pinch off the stream of light. When you live in anger you do the same. When you find something to love, appreciate, or just enjoy a moment of relaxed contentment, you open once again to that flow and allow your little cells to once again receive their instructions straight from the Source.

That said, when it is time to expand back into the heavens, your cells, having done their job, retire their 3D forms as as well and merge once again with the greater consciousness that you are.

There is nothing in the world of form that will last forever, dear ones, while everything in the world of spirit will endure for eternity.

This is not meant to frighten you but rather to inspire you to enjoy this beautiful and temporal reality in which you are journeying for the time being. Enjoy the exquisite feeling of being able to touch your own hands in the physical world, to give yourself or another a hug. Enjoy the miracle of your own skin. Enjoy the cool feeling of a splash of water on your face or a sip of tea. Enjoy your senses. They are unique on your planet Earth, and certainly an experience not to be missed.

We also encourage you to take time regularly to go beyond the sensory world and tap into your eternal being. Connecting with the Source can help you truly enjoy your physical reality, as you feel and know the love behind it more often. After your meditations or prayers, enjoy your 3D reality! Bring your spirit into it fully by living in the present moment with as much love and appreciation as you can. Don’t do this to be “holy.” Don’t do it to achieve anything. Do it because human life is an exquisite experience, not to be rushed through, but rather to be savored.

You will absolutely have senses in the heavens beyond your wildest dreams, but there’s something exquisite about being immersed in your physical, sensory reality that is not to be taken for granted. We even find it difficult to put into words. In the heavens, there is love beyond your wildest dreams. There is music in in the air, and colors beyond your physical specturm. Everything, colored with love, is more beautiful than words can express. And yet, there is something so precious about your 3D, physical, sensory reality that you will treasure once you come to the other side because it is an experience that is unique, precious, and beautiful and oh so tangible in ways that are hard to describe until you expand back into light.

Right now, upon your Earth, you can put on a pair of goggles and visit any location on Earth in a way that seems very real. You can see, hear, and almost touch the spaces that you witness from your own home. Your computer could make these locations seem perfect and fill them with every conceivable beauty. Yet how much more interesting and enjoyable it is to take off the goggles and use your own eyes and senses to experience the imperfect “real” 3D reality that you must drive or fly or walk to see, that you anticipate, and that you embrace with a sense of adventure. How beautiful it is to experience the world through your physical senses. This analogy has its limits, but we are simply encouraging you to enjoy your physical world while you are in it, knowing, of course, that there is so much more behind it that you cannot see.

Your dear ones who have transitioned are with you, often walking right beside you. Your animals in spirit are running around joyfully, visiting both relatives in heaven and those they love on Earth. If you break a glass, the spirit of love that held it together simply releases into the ethers once again, ready to take form as you direct it.

So when you find yourself fearing loss of anything or anyone, breathe. When you fear losing money, or a job, or finances, breathe. Remind yourself that all 3D things are temporary, but the spirit of love that lives within them lives forever. If you lose a loved one, they live on. If you lose a job, the good parts of that job live on as well as even better and you will find the “spirit” of the better job in a new one. If you lose a little money, the bank account might temporarily be a little lower, but the spirit of abundance lives within you, just waiting to be focused back into form so you can enjoy it with even more appreciation.

Dear ones, treasure your earthly lives. They are a precious experience, even if they are often a challenge. There’s not a moment of your life that will seem wasted when you see it from the heavens someday. In the meanwhile, enjoy the grass under your feet, the warmth of sunshine on your face, the smell of your dinner, and the touch of a dear one, because your time on Earth, however long it may be, is an experience to be treasured. Don’t rush to the finish line. Enjoy what you have right here and now, and in that bliss of the moment, you and your cells remain open to the well-being, joy, abundance, and Love that is part of your eternal flow.

God Bless You! We love you so very much.

— The Angels

[itsgeecheebitch]

Until Darkness Descends

  CHAPTER: 1

FANDOM: Final Fantasy XV

MAIN PAIR: Ardyn Izunia x Reader

SEC PAIR: Gladiolus Amicitia x Reader

WARNING: Reader starts off as a minor but nothing romantic or intimate happens between her and Ardyn(Gladiolus comes much later)

NOTE: Reader is loosely based on Aera Fleuret

Ardyn watched as the sun disappeared from the aging sky, its waning light basked the disk of cauthess in a weak golden hue. He felt drawn to this place, drawn to this view.  It was the only sight in this strange world that remained unchanged by the passage of time. A celestial body towering over the corpse of a once great city. The city of Solheim. The very place where he married her.

    The immortal clenched his jaw against the anger that seared his veins like the flames of Ifrit.  Soon. He thought as he turned away from the sight of the meteorite. Soon he’ll have his revenge against the very ones who wronged you both. He recently caught word that the crystal finally selected its champion, the little Prince Noctis. It would be so terribly easy to kill the boy as he is now, infiltrate the deceptively impenetrable walls of the citadel and smother the young child in his sleep, leave his corpse for his wet nurse to find the next morning. But doing so would reward him with very little satisfaction. 

      No. He’ll allow the boy to grow, to blossom into the champion the world had awaited for 2,000 years. Once the prince reaches the pinnacle of his power that’s when Ardyn will allow himself to kill him. Then it will all be over. His traitorous brother’s bloodline will cease to be and all of his accomplishments will crumple in the wake of Ardyn’s victory. The thought was enough to bring an icy smile to his face. 

     He walked up the steps of Lestallum, having no destination in mind other than to enjoy the evening air that had lost its oppressive heat. This city was quite dreadful during the day, always scorchingly hot with a hostile sun. Ardyn may have regenerative powers but not even they are enough to shield him from the pain of the sun’s punishing rays. No matter how many layers he wore in this city, it would always feel like a million needles were sinking into his skin whenever the sun was out. 

     The usual busy streets were surprisingly empty, save for the occasional wandering soul. He overheard one of them speak of a traveling circus that was in town, just over the stairs where the farmer’s market would be during the day. Ardyn had no desire to be around crowds so he walked the opposite direction. He skidded to a halt when a little girl dashed across his path. You were an exuberant little thing with pink ribbons in your hair. Far too energetic, like most young children are, and seemed quite the handful as you chased after a butterfly, jumping into the air and trying to grab it with stubby little fingers. 

      He heard a loud smack. Your wide eyes twinkled with satisfaction as you opened your hands to reveal your prize. A gasp fell from your lips when all you found was the crushed mangled remains of the poor thing. That gasp turned into a full blown sob as you stared at the carnage that soiled your tiny hands. 

     Ardyn rolled his eyes. Your cries were truly aggravating. He could always kill you. A petulant child wouldn’t be missed but your death wasn’t worth the energy. He was about to leave when your hands began to glow an ethereal mint green. Ardyn’s eyes widened as he watched the broken pieces of the butterfly reassemble itself, as though being glued back together by an invisible force. Once the green glow vanished, the butterfly flew away as though it was never dead. 

     In all his years Ardyn had never seen such a feat be done. Not even the Oracle could reanimate the dead. Who was this child? He approached you. Your wide eyes were still glued to your tiny hands as though you were waiting for them to glow again. “How fascinating, to see a small child perform a miracle of that caliber which has never been done before. Was that your first time reanimating the dead, child?”

      You jolted at the sound of his voice and turned to face him. His confident steps faltered. Nothing could perturb Ardyn, not having a sword held against his neck or being faced with the threat of eternal anguish. But this, the sight before him, was enough to force his heart to sledgehammer against his chest with a feeling he couldn’t quite describe. How is this possible? Could he be dreaming? But the immortal doesn’t sleep, he hasn’t for the past 2,000 years. He still pinched his wrist just to be sure. 

     It was like gazing into the past. You looked just like Aera, the way he remembered when they first met as children. In all the years Ardyn traversed the landscape since his release, he had never stumbled across anyone who resembled his beloved so closely they could be a mirrored image. 

      You sniffled and it was enough to break the man out of his meandering thoughts. “I-I don’t know what I did!” You cried. 

    “Now, now, there is no need for tears.” Ardyn said, kneeling to be eye level with you. “What you did was a truly marvelous thing.” With the wave of his hand, a handkerchief suddenly appeared in his grasp and he used it to dry the tears that ran down your face. 

     “You can do magic, too?” You asked.

     Ardyn smiled and this time the warmth behind it didn’t feel fake or forced. “Why yes, but nothing as miraculous as yours.”

     You gasped and clasped your hands together in front of you, his words reviving the excitement in your glistening orbs. “Does that mean you’re a magician?”

      He chuckled and decided to indulge in your childish whims. “Of sorts I suppose.”

      “Uncle Renji is a magician too! But mama and papa say his magic isn’t real, but I’ve seen him pull a rabbit out of his hat! Can you do that too, mister?”

      “I have never tried but I am sure I could.” Ardyn answered. 

       You grabbed his hand and tugged until he stood to his full height. “Maybe you can join our circus! Mama did say we need another magician.” You bounced excitedly before  leading him through the network of stairs and twisting back roads that made up the Lestallum city landscape.   

       He still couldn’t quite figure you out, the question your existence raised. Were you perhaps a descendant of Aera’s sister? But her bloodline, as far as Ardyn knew, only consisted of the current members of house Fleuret. Queen Ceras, princess Lunafreya, and prince Ravus, there was no other Fleuret and you did not look like one either. Your lustrous curls and the hue of your eyes denoted that of house (L/N), the once proud noble family of Solheim who stood over all others as the only people who understood the Gods’ tongue. With the destruction of Solhelm came the end of the (L/N) house, only Aera and her sister remained. So no, you weren’t a Fleuret. But there was no other explanation for your appearance. Or perhaps there was and he just didn’t want to entertain it. 

      So wrapped up in thought, he didn’t realize you led them to a dead end until you suddenly stopped walking.  “Dearest, are you lost?” 

        “I think so.” You hang your head in shame. 

        “Don’t fret over it, this city is not the easiest to traverse. Fortunately, I believe I do recall where your circus is located. It is just over yonder.” He said as he picked her up. “Before I forget, what is your name?”

         “Aera.” You preened. “What’s yours, mister?”

          Ardyn frowned. You even have the same name as his Aera. The same childhood face, the same name, and childhood voice. Could this truly be just a mere coincidence? He narrowed his eyes. Nay, situations as peculiar as this never are. Just what are those dastardly gods planning? Why add a new player to the prophecy and why give her the same name and face as his beloved? Anger rose within him like black smoke from a raging fire, threatening to suffocate all other thoughts in its wake. It was all the immortal could do not to let his soar mood show. If you were truly a new player in the game he needed you to not be wary of him. He must observe you and determine what your role is in all of this. Only then would he be able to figure out what to do with you. 

       “Mister?” You squeaked in that tiny voice of yours. 

        Ardyn plastered a smile onto his face but it felt as cold and lifeless as stone. “Please forgive me, dearest. It seems I lost myself in thought. You may call me Uncle Ardyn.” 

[sketchy-aura]

Mark had known he was special for a while now. Strange occurrences around whenever he entered a room, people seemed to listen to him whenever he used that one voice…it was enough to make somebody utterly insane, to make somebody utterly paranoid. Was it some sort of prank? A sign? Mark didn’t know, and didn’t know if he wanted to.

Cesar was subject to similar things. People listening to him (albeit more often than Mark, as Cesar certainly had more charisma), feeling as if this was all some elaborate dream- but the only difference was Cesar reveled in it. He adored the attention, craved it even, to an extent.

Perhaps, that became his downfall, a downfall that would only continue rolling and rolling until the two awoke from this strange dream they found each other in.

“What the fuck do you want?!” Mark quiveringly yelled from the other side of his bedroom door, watching the black figure underneath the door walk and lift its feet up in the air that reeked of gunpowder and unwashed clothes, as if the mimic of a friend so dear to Mark was taunting him. He simply heard the accursed words repeated back to him like a broken record. Let me in. I have a gift. Let me in, let me in, let me in, in in. That’s all it ever said after these past 3 days- always let me in. Always that Mark could somehow trust…that…thing. He couldn’t bear it much longer. It made him want to go crazy, hearing a voice that was not Cesar’s.

It was Cesar no longer.

Mark didn’t know what it was.

The Alternate on the other side, of course, had every idea that Mark was thinking these things. It knew exactly what it was doing, and knew its duties enough to know it was doing it well. That’s what it was there for, of course- to torture. To rid the world of the man known as Mark Heathcliff, and kill him wearing the skin of the man once known as Cesar Torres, now known only as yet another Alternate, yet another statistic. This, however, did not stop Mark from being truly, utterly terrified.

“What the hell is it doing here?” he couldn’t help but wonder to himself. Had God punished him, by staking an Alternate outside his home for 3 days now? What had he done wrong? “I can’t do this anymore,” he continued to think. He had a gun, after all- there had to be something he could do, right? Some miracle he could perform just to get this Alternate out of his house? His hand rested on the gunmetal of his pistol, which lay by his side. Perhaps, there was a solution after all…

“Let me in, Mark! I have a gift for you-you-you!” The Alternate continued to call, like a broken clock that would never cease talking and twittering- but Mark needed it to stop. He was going to go crazy if this…this thing that wore the skin of his best friend didn’t disappear soon. Mark’s hands gripped upon the door handle, which hid an absolute monstrosity behind it. He needed it gone, and he needed it gone fast. “YOU FUCKING BASTARD!” His efforts were futile. And so were Cesar’s. No matter how much that Alternate tried to devour Mark, he could not. He could not, he could not, he could not. He felt familiar wings on his back- false wings, of an angel that had long been replaced, betraying his own flesh and blood for the sake of the process. For the sake of taking the process.

SUCH WEAK MINDS.

—

Finally found the motivation to write up a bit of the chosen to serve au fic!!! im concerned with the flow so far but i think its going ok

[misakialter]

A Verse-less OC?

More likely than you think. Wanted to post something here, and nothing better like what was written in my notes for a long while. How about a little introduction to change things up a bit?

(Picrew used for this design: https://picrew.me/image_maker/4893 )

"I felt it.

The heavy hand's impact onto my cheek, making my frail body jerk violently as I innevitably smash against the wall with my back. The temple certainly made it seem like it was going to demolished from such a vicious trashing. The pain I endured at that moment made my body freeze, blood began to dribble from my mouth and my anguished groans I could not contain. On my knees, I stubbornly attempted to stand up, deluding myself that it wasn't over. But the eyes which set on me knew that I was too mangled and broken to stand up. The time we spent fighting was already long overdue, and I never made any progress. It was pitiful. There was no fun on a toy you can't play with. One which would crumble with a mere touch. Just like those times he manipulated my innocent, foolish self, he was in full control of the situation. The armor he wore was something I was supposed to protect. A sacred treasure with an immeasurable power which no Priestress should be handing out so freely. I botched this opportunity, this honor, just to ruin everything with a few loving words. Pathetic. Foolish. Unworthy. As much as he ridiculed me, I could not stop condemning myself. How could I not see it? He had me on his palm and used me to his whim! The fireworks which once made my heart feel a burning sensation of happiness ignite into scorching flames of sorrow to this day... Eventually, I heard another voice coming from the room, only filling a wounded heart like mine with guilt. Shocked, I watched one of us - Another Priesteess like me - come to face the thief. She didn't have to step in to save me, but to perform this miracle, to stop this madman wearing the one thing which brings mortals closer to the power of gods, she did the only thing she could do. That voice sang a beautiful melody which engulfed the world around us with a tint of her light, her aura, that began to dissappear completely from what I could sense at that moment. Almost as if she ceased to exist, the harmony would be the only sound we could hear. When the fellow Arpiah approached the man, the melody was about to finish. He was unnable to move, as the woman gave him a gentle smile, before wounds would start to open and a crimson liquid began to pour out from both of them. In a blink, a violent burst would make the room shake. Next thing I know, I find myself within the rubble of an entire place crumbled apart.

My false lover would be then in a crater, lifeless, and with the armor I swore to protect torn apart into pieces. The maiden, meanwhile, collapsed onto the ground, giving her last breaths as a pool of red would begin to form beneath her. And yet despite all of this, the woman remained with a smile...

To this day I question if I could've done something. And only then it would all settle in, only then I would wind up truly alone. One to be the unjust survivor of this crisis. One to be scolded for my insurrection. One to carry the burden of repairing the Celestial Armor. If I payed attention to the teachings of the felled Priestess, perhaps I would've learnt to use this devastating move, unique to our race. But that would mean I would have to throw my life away. The Arpiah's very own Tremor Melody is a requiem of death, so they say. For the first time, I saw what they ment. Every drop of spiritual essence exhausted to force the user and their enemy to be ripped apart from within as that aura bursts violently.

I had no interest in selfless sacrifices. I didn't intend to leave my duties to no one - There won't be no one to trust. I am going to show them all that I've learned my lesson. I am out for myself and myself only. I am a Priestress, I can act like one, I can take care of myself, and most certainly, I won't fall for the same trick twice! I have a mission. One that I must complete. There's no other use for a broken heart like mine..."

Name: Meteora

One of the youthful Priestress who were chosen to protect the coveted treasure of the island of Arpiah, the Celestial Armor, said to constantly replenish the spiritual energy of the wielder as well as increase their strength to that of a deity's reach.

Normally, the high and mighty Meteora would pride herself on meeting the expectations as its caretaker. However, the maiden had fallen in love helplessly with a manipulative thief who sought to steal said relic. Miracolously, they were interrupted before he took the armor away from the island, but the events led to it's complete destruction, and now Meteora, crushed by the experience and taking responsability for allowing this to happen, must seek the means to repairing it as well as the sweeter piece of her heart she refuses to show beneath her bitterness.

[solradguy]

To be fair, gay men have historically had wives! I think it was called a lavender marriage?

Anyway, this is my lavender wife Jack O Guilty Gear and also my lavender male wife Sol Badguy Guilty Gear (he took her last name). The 21st century is a truly wonderful world to be in!

Our lavender wife Jack-O' and my lavender wife Mesa Prime Warframe and my lavender wife Justice and community malewife Sol Badguy. The miracles never cease

[wontonsoupho]

THEN GOD

MADE THEM BLUE

© Artist the Author

PILOT | WHEN THE LEVEES BREAK

THERE’S DEATH on THE BRIDGE of MACABRE

WORD COUNT : 1 , 777 words

TRAUMA WARNING : This episode includes the following triggers; death , mild gore , heavy profanity , suicidal attempt/ideation & PTSD. With FULL DISCLOSURE , PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION AND RISK.

EPISODE THEMES : Life & Death

WE NEVER TRULY SEE IT COMING , yet it sings our names so profoundly as the bells ring their piercingly dreadful sound that echos amongst the tunnels of our hearing—Death. Much like the flowers at the peak of a wintertime filled with an ambiance of pure rigidity , swathed in an atmosphere so thick and coarse the oxygen feels like poisonous needles forcing themselves within the confines of your realm of respiration. It can also be resemblant to the quietus ivory specs of sorrow that blanket the face of the earth and kills her ever so softly with their freezing embrace , we too shall pass on and wither away in open air. In life , it is ultimately every beating heart's destiny to die. Being that as it may , when alas that moment arises from the ashes bathing in the essence of the phoenix it tastes as bitter as the element of a nasty surprise. Gently placed , when the Angel of Death himself Mr. Grim Reaper appears before us at the hour of our rapture , we in fact are unable to bear witness to his presence. We are however capable of partaking in learning what it truly means ceasing to exist in the physicality of it all. Shackled in trauma on a stormy October night , two unfortunate souls fell under this curse of carnal demise — and only God alone owned the anecdote to save this tandem's lives.

The sole commodity tangible to his murky oceans of vision with cavernous skies had been total and utter darkness. A cold , wet , and lingering tenebrosity that shared flavors with the iron profusely decorating his buccal cavity — tart and royally uncomfortable. Gripping the steering wheel with one blood gushing hand , the other shakily unlocked his cellular getting a slew of the crimson DNA all over its screen and by miracle or maybe even muscle memory dialed a very important phone number. Aside from the minimal luminescence provided by the headlights of his customized obsidian Lamborghini Aventador , the heavy downpour and winds produced a beatdown only a world champion could give further aided in the reason for his panic whilst his heavy foot applied pressure to the gas pedal that resided above the nearly flooded backroad.

He'd been scared shitless , even with veins bursting full of adrenaline he could still feel the stronghold of absolute fear's crippling touch. That , and an entire planet of detrimental cogitations crashed into the interstice of his most sacred cerebration whilst each painstaking moment set adrift a new memory everlasting — there lied no time to contemplate anything. His actual life and vitality depended on this feat. With the amount of chasmic wounds his ethereally created anatomy had been littered in , it was an utter phenomenon how he even managed to escape altogether analogously in one piece let alone drive.

“Hello?”A woman's raspy tone called out quite groggily from being awoken into the surround sound of the butterfly doored sports vehicle he possessed. “Nova it is three in the morning , shouldn't you be-”

“No time to explain Chitty listen to me , I'm losing a lot of blood! Please. Could you go by Mama So's 'n make sure Nani is safe and sound at her grandma's for me? Matter fact just go get her , I don't wanna chance it. Yamileth went ballistic on me and I need to be assured she doesn't try to harm another soul tonight. I dead can't believe this shit-”

“Wait , wait , wait , WHAT?! Why are you blee-how did this-none of this shit is adding up Nova , what the fuck are you talking about?! What do you mean Yami went loca , and what does my niece have to do with it-what about the storm-”

“Leoni! I might fuckin' die tonight , please! I know Yamileth is your sister. Right now the only thing that is important is Yaniis , so I'm gonna need you to pull your shit together and go get my fucking daughter like yesterday!”

“Nova. You’re not-”

“GO!”

“But-”

The annoying loud triplet chirp of Nova's phone dying cut Leoni off short in her stride , she who just so happened to be the sister of his daughter's mother in which he'd been making great efforts to save whilst medias res his own rescue mission.

“FUCK!”

That was the only cogitation singing like a blackbird during its fecund season off the chambers of his comprehension. Because what a fucking tragedy to become of it at the end of the song. Even for the other deplorable anima who's existence figure eighted on the skinniest layers of ice that very moment , tortuously unaware when and if she'd awake to lay sight upon another sun. As she too partook in a hot pursuit of her divinely favored place in this world that dreadful night , her cerebrum was plagued with a stampede of overwhelming rumination and her feet bled gravel mixed with fine shards of glass. Naming her weak would be a sadly mistaken understatement , she'd grown far into the thick of enervation with promises of a complete burn out. Every minuscule iota she blinked in hopes that the all consuming black onyx surrounding her wouldn't crystallize and swallow her whole , every mere second the rain dove from the heavens to kiss the physiognomy of her mother earth giving life to the grounds we tread upon , the not so lucky damsel of the night ran as far as her legs would stretch out and carry her.

As the high speed winds picked up their haste , her developed yet petite frame shifted slightly on the concrete asphalt underneath her bare feet. She wanted to look behind her , in fact she yearned for it but knew that in the end it was most prudent to keep focus ahead the best that she could to have a better chance of survival. Everything felt as if a blur and it grew difficult to properly navigate to her destination at her own volition , her limbs appeared to be on autopilot as they sprinted towards a place unknown to her psyche. Fight or flight instinct fading slowly from each of the exhausted membranes of her encephalon , the strong sprint she began with was starting to ware off — as well for her grip on sanity and reality. She'd been running for so long that she lost track of her place within space and time. Running for her life , this particular familiar face is a far fetch from the imagination of her departure within her mind.

     With the storm surging like an overloaded electrical system it was a mystery how she'd reached it but there she was , just a few feet shy from The Bridge of Macabre. By then , the waters that swayed under the spine of the overpass sloshed and smacked the viaduct head on , and slowly the woman's soaked anatomy found itself standing at the edge teetering between land and water. There were only two options she had presented to her — kill or be killed or otherwise risk an existence of forever looking over her shoulder just to prolong the inevitable. Four years junior her fourth decade under the sun , how much longer could she keep this up before she got sloppy from weariness or tired from having to live such a risky lifestyle? It all seemed very clear to her what course of action to take , and as the waves crashed up and downstream Macabre River only one thought sailed her Seas of Cogitation.

Death will always come before dishonor.

     Blinding headlights inched in from her peripheral eventually stinging her retinas full on , proving it difficult for her to decipher whether they were real or not due to her growing further and further into delirium. On approach , the very familiar foreign coupe rolled its passenger five percent tinted window down where a face just the same came into view. Gaging the stick shift into park , the driver of the car began to speak up to her.

“Xolani  , what are you doin' out hea' it's a storm!”

     Looking up to the sky , Xolani felt the heavy precipitation and zephyr sweep over her , a sudden calm chilling every pore until she broke out in goosebumps. Pivoting at one eighty , she glared at he who'd spoken to her with hazy vision not really knowing exactly what to say. Because , what was there to say? The trauma between these two ran deeper than bleeding ink traveling throughout threads of cotton fabric.

“Why do you care Xodus? You never cared-”

“I always fuckin' cared fuck you talkin' 'bout?”

“No you didn't! You drove me away and then they took me , only God can save me now.”

“What's that's supposed to mean Goapel-the fuck you got goin' on right now?” Xodus questioned whilst coughing up blood.  “Fuck-”

“Elijah-”

“C'mon Lani , get in. I'm on the way to the hospital 'n as you can see we don't have time to spare.”

     She hadn't noticed it then but , Xodus had been painted with deep stab wounds , and profusely leaking his life essence all over his fresh white tee and gray sweatpants. That was just the reassurance she needed to know this experience was actually happening and was not just some influenced hallucination from the high of her brush with death. Swiftly as remotely possible , Goapele joined Xodus in his Lamborghini Aventador slamming the butterfly door shut. She took a few moments to examine the situation and come to an understanding on the condition he was in.

“Xodus Elijah , what have you gotten yourself into now boy? We need to switch seats , you're losing entirely too much blood.” Xolani chastised him before deciding to help. She did her best to pull his near three hundred pound stature from driver to passenger , but he'd been of no assistance as his breathing began to mirror the tempo of the percussionist beating his heart. “How did you get yourself into this predicament?”

That was the last question Xolani ever got to ask in her life. A second later , the levees holding the overflow of Macabre River — which allotted for a third of the city's land — broke just east up the bank. A tsunami like mass flood hit the streams and surrounding lands sinking them under. One moment both souls were in route to salvation upon Death's Bridge , the next the two were swallowed by the currents of the rapture. Their lungs filled with the very resource needed to sustain their lives , and true euphoria was bestowed upon all six of their senses engulfing them in utopia. Below the waves of Macabre Bridge sank the bodies of Goapele Scott and Xodus Casanova , then God made them BLUE.

•

Hello my favorite little heauxs , I hope you’re all well today! I wrote this episode a month or so ago and released it on Wattpad on 02/01/2023 , so I’m premiering it here on the fifteenth and I want keep a similar odd week pattern in mind for the schedule. I know there isn’t much intel and it may be a bit vague and or cryptic but trust me when I say that every event will fold together like an envelope as my baby girl develops. Feel free to comment your thoughts , concerns , and opinions below , and remember that if you like her to repost her cause she’s a bad bitch 😉. P. S. IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST CLICK THE HYPERLINK ABOVE HERE. Thank you so much for joining me and my friends in the Artiverse , we hope to see you again.

… DID YOU HEAR WHAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK ON THEN GOD MADE THEM BLUE ?

EPISODE 1 | SEEING GHOSTS (PREMIERE — 04/21/2023)

[lifeofresulullah]

The Life of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH):   First Migration, the Year of Sorrow, the Splitting of the Moon

The Miracle of the Splitting of the Moon

Despite the fact that polytheists witnessed all sorts of miracles that confirmed our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) cause, they continued their denial and stubbornness; they did not accept his truth. They were only deceiving themselves and other people by desiring to find faults with and belittling every miracle they saw as well as attempting to make these miracles seem small and simple. From time to time, they would make seemingly impossible requests, with the intention of troubling our Holy Prophet (PBUH). They would say, “If you truly are an appointed prophet of Allah, then do this-and-this and show this-and-that so that we can see.”

Their intention was not to testify to the truth when making these requests; it was to cause difficulty for our Holy Prophet (PBUH). Nonetheless, Allah never left His Beloved Messenger (PBUH) in a quandary and never ceased protecting and assisting him.

One day, a group from among the leading figures that included Abu Jahl and Walid bin Mughira came to our Holy Prophet (PBUH) and said, “If you truly are a Prophet that has been appointed by Allah, then split the moon in half. Let it be in such a way that one half will appear over the Mount Abu Qubais and the other half will be seen over Mount Quayqan.”

“If I am able to do this then will you become Muslims?” asked our Holy Prophet (PBUH) to which they replied, “Yes we will.”

It is a prophet’s duty to request to show a miracle in order to prove the truth and justness of his cause whereas Allah is the One Who creates this miracle.

It was a full moon, meaning that it was on the 14th night when the moon is in its most beautiful state.

The Master of the Universe (PBUH), who acted in accordance with the will and orders of Allah, pointed towards the moon with his index finger.

This prophetic indication sufficed to split the moon in half in such a way that one half stood over Mount Abu Qubais and the other half was seen over Mount Quayqan just as the polytheists had wanted.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) shouted, “Bear witness! Bear witness!” to the crowd that was present.

The polytheists did not forgo their stubbornness in the face of such a conspicuous miracle. They further tried to deceive and comfort themselves by making a groundless misinterpretation, “This is one of the spells of Abu Kabsha’s Son.”  Of course, they could not deny an incident that happened right before their eyes. Since they were unable to deny it, they were obliged to say that it was a “spell”!

Those Who Came From the Surroundings Reported the Same Circumstance

The polytheists, who called one of our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) conspicuous miracles a spell so as to disaffirm his cause, spoke with one another:

“If Muhammad cast a spell, then it could not have covered the entire world! Let us ask the wayfarers who came from the surrounding areas if they saw what we saw.”

They asked those who came from the surrounding areas. They admitted that they had seen the same thing.

Despite all this, the polytheists whose souls and hearts had decayed from the filth of disbelief did not believe although they had promised to become believers. They did not go to the source of eternal happiness and instead said,

“Abu Talib’s orphan affected the sky with his spell!”

Upon the denial of this bright miracle of the Prophet by the polytheists, God Almighty stated that it took place and that they insisted on being unbelievers and liars as follows:

“The hour (of Judgment) is nigh, and the moon is cleft asunder. But if they see a Sign, they turn away, and say:

“This is (but) transient magic.”

“They reject (the warning) and follow their (own) lusts but every matter has its appointed time.”

[bookoformon]

3 Nephi 20, Part 1. "The Handle."

Jesus predicts a complete knowledge of God will come to the people of the Americas, and a new class of religious disciple called a Nephite "on God's Wavelength" will be the result. This is more proof the Book of Mormon is a contemporary spiritual work rather than an historic one. The word America did not exist in 34 AD. Rather this explains the objective of the second half of the Book of Mormon a new approach to American religion that does not exclude either any person nor any worthwhile aspect of religious thinking:

Jesus provides bread and wine miraculously and again administers the sacrament unto the people—The remnant of Jacob will come to the knowledge of the Lord their God and will inherit the Americas—Jesus is the prophet like unto Moses, and the Nephites are children of the prophets—Others of the Lord’s people will be gathered to Jerusalem. About A.D. 34. "Glared."

1 And it came to pass that he commanded the multitude that they should cease to pray, and also his disciples. And he commanded them that they should not cease to pray in their hearts.

2 And he commanded them that they should rise and stand up upon their feet. And they arose up and stood upon their feet.

3 And it came to pass that he break bread again and blessed it, and gave to the disciples to eat.

4 And when they had eaten he commanded them that they should break bread, and give unto the multitude.

5 And when they had given unto the multitude he also gave them wine to drink, and commanded them that they should give unto the multitude.

6 Now, there had been no bread, neither wine, brought by the disciples, neither by the multitude;

7 But he truly gave unto them bread to eat, and also wine to drink.

8 And he said unto them: He that eateth this bread eateth of my body to his soul; and he that drinketh of this wine drinketh of my blood to his soul; and his soul shall never hunger nor thirst, but shall be filled.

9 Now, when the multitude had all eaten and drunk, behold, they were filled with the Spirit; and they did cry out with one voice, and gave glory to Jesus, whom they both saw and heard.

Sacrament is not performed for its own sake. The fact sacrament is discussed at all is a miracle for a human race that gathers compuslively around altars and then leaves the table to go scorch the earth and murder. This has been our pattern, this religion without results.

Jesus thought the same thing: the verses say humanity had no bread or wine and so He tells mankind again, "stand up" and demonstrates how men are supposed to behave.

If we just read from the New Testament over and over again, shouldn't that be enough? But it wasn't. The Book of Mormon was released in 1830 in Nauvoo, IL and slavery and the slave tried were alive and well. The New Testament apparently dawned on very few people. So the Prophet invokes the sacred rite of the Table one more time hoping to breathe the Grace of God back into humankind.

The Gematria for verses 6-9 explain the process:

v. 6: the Value in Gematria is 5318, ה‎גא‎ח‎, the gah, "proud."

v. 7: the Value in Gematria is 4162, דא‎ו‎ב, doub, "the dove."

v. 8: the Value in Gematria is 9237, טבגז‎ , tabgaz, "you will be spoiled."

v. 9: the Value in Gematria is 14974, ידטזד‎‎, yadtzad, "handle with charity."

The world is spoiled and also rotten. We are taking pride in a world that is rife with corruption, violence, and war, while "doves" priests and pilgrims of religion sing praises to a God they do not understand or respect. There is only one cure for this: pity for persons who are suffering needlessly and all effort must be applied to their causes and nothing less until the ultimate in their wellness has been witnessed by persons who are in positions to guarantee it.

[theatlaswire]

The Atlas Wire

Premiere Edition — June/July 2023

Dexter Harris of MMM just became a grandfather for the first time. Welcome Ka’harri, born June 5, 2023.

Doug Samuel just bought his first house. He says “This place is amazing, part of Ottawa but with such a huge back yard it feels like its in the country.” It’s a 300m (900ft) walk to the green belt from where he can trail run or cross country ski all day and still not get to the end of it. “I Already met one of the neighbors, and they're great. I take possession July 4th, even though I'm Canadian.” we say… LOL, and kudos.

Bruce MacDonald of M’ort just celebrated his 20th wedding anniversary. How did he do it?

Bruce Wechsler of Full On just celebrated his 30th wedding anniversary, will miracles never cease?

Erfan Ahmadi of MMM recently had his very first child, a son he named Atlas. That kind of allegiance could be misconstrued, best to find out from him — why did he have to drink so much kool-aid?

The Mature Masculine Workshop

Sat June 24, 9a to 4p Pacific, in San Diego in person, and on zoom

A New MDI Training For An Ancient Paradigm. A 1-day experiential event facilitated by International MDI Leaders Jim Ellis and Dylan Stewart.

https://secure.mdiconnect.org/np/clients/mdimen/event.jsp?forwardedFromSecureDomain=1&event=233

Be introduced to 20 qualities of a mature masculine man

Participants choose the top mature masculine qualities in which they wish to do a deep dive

Experience a fun and engaging workshop for men ready to go to the next level

Recognize the qualities that support your life to be a success on all levels

Fortify your relationships to make them the best they can be

Discover the power to reach excellence as a man

Unveil a higher purpose that uplifts you and those you influence

Realize the superior you along the way

Enjoy a complimentary lunch

The Next Legacy Discover Weekend is

August 18 19 20, 2023 in Mendocino, California at Mendocino Woodland Camp

LINK: https://www.mentordiscoverinspire.org/courses/legacy-discovery/#events

2.5-Day Life-Changing Weekend Experience

Discover Your Purpose

Create The Man Your Legacy

Discover a life-changing weekend designed to connect you with your masculine identity, life purpose and personal power to create a legacy you’ve always wanted.

Legacy Discovery is a powerful journey that celebrates the strength, wisdom, insight, and purpose you carry through this world as a man. It is an exploration of the collective wisdom of men that includes your own unique and valuable wisdom. It is a voyage that leads you to a deep understanding of the man you are today, and awakens the power within you to create the man your legacy demands.

What You’ll Walk Away With From This Experience

A powerful way of being based on mature masculinity.

How to deepen your connection with men.

How wisdom from a circle of men can bring you more success.

A life purpose that will make a difference.

What you are truly committed to in life.

Your true relationship to money and how that affects your life.

How to communicate more effectively and powerfully.

How to create more trusting relationships.

The real relationship you have with your father.

The role that sex and intimacy play in your life.

How to face yourself, as you truly are and embrace responsibility for your actions.

How excellence as a way of being, can replace the fear of perfection.

LINK: https://www.mentordiscoverinspire.org/courses/legacy-discovery/#events

Do you have something for the next The Atlas Wire?

If you have notable personal announcements for The Atlas Wire, share via your team S1, or directly, and get them to your Atlas S1 Joseph Burgess via arlington@mrsandless.com.