#(*daniels's voice* you lied to me [redacted])

[littlehaize]

i need someone to talk to about my fanfics, because my bunnies are truly no help with coming with way to unblock the stories, they can't even read!!!

[cigarettesandinevitablebetrayal]

WIP Wednesday (Just a Day Late)

So, I lied. When @idlenight tagged me with this, I wasn't really working on anything enough to show off at the time. It's been [checks calendar] about 20 days since then, but I'm actually making decent progress on some of my works now, so here are some excepts for a few.

Stand Tall for the Beast (Ch2: Charge)

“You still haven't even told me why you're doing this?” Panting has become full on gasping as he runs ever lower on steam. He really doesn't have the strength to stall, but there are no other options. “All this destruction and for what? What did you even gain?”

The armored villain doesn't seem to have the same problem. There's no hint of fatigue through the voice modulator as they say, "This wasn't for me. This was to send a message."

Ricardo winces as a blow glances off his dislocated arm. He needs to put space between them, but every jump back is pursued, every inch taken by the behemoth trying to take him apart. Another scan across the crowd. Still no Argent.

"A message?" The smoke and dust is starting to get to him. His throat burns, eyes stinging, and he stifles a cough. "Not very coherent. I don't think I get it."

A shift in the villain's weight spikes Ricardo's heart up and he turns on the balls of his feet. No more being coy about it, he needs to run. Hard metal crashes into his spine, knocking the breath out of him with the scream it pulls from his lips. The roll he folds into is a messy mistake. His form is off and the way it jostles his arm makes his vision go white.

Get up. He needs to get up. And then he is, weightless and half limp as sharp edged fingers take hold of his collar and lift him upright. His knees scrape the pavement, his nice trousers torn beyond saving. The villain leans down until the mirror mask is inches from his face, reflecting back a mix of blood and dirt and fear. For a split second, Ricardo is on his knees in a different time, surrounded by similar destruction and grime. Machinery and gore glaring down at him, telling him to beg as he pressed his hand against the ragged tear in his abdomen.

But there is no blood in the villain's fangs and their voices are less discordant than the Catastrofiend's had been. "It isn't meant for you, either," they growl.

Try to Stop This Feeling

Ortega doesn't flinch when an electric shock jumps between his fingers and his apartment lock as he turns the key. He should've turned his mods off, but reason told him that he'd best keep them on if he's inviting Xiao into his home. Best to be on his guard with a known criminal. And yet he can't quite stifle the growing excitement of inviting him in. When's the last time he had a date in his own home?

He knows the answer to that immediately and it takes real effort to keep the easy smile on his face. Dark eyes framed by long lashes and even darker curls flash through his mind. He shakes his head to dispel the thought of Rashad. That was a lifetime and a death away and they've made it clear that whatever spark had been between them, dragging them on late night motorcycle rides and early morning coffee and mid day spars, is gone. Even if it doesn't feel like it. Even when Rashad's hands still linger on his and their eyes find his when they think he's not looking at them, when the way he says Ricardo's name makes something deep in his chest ache-

He needs to stop thinking about Rashad.

Instead, he turns his eyes to Xiao, who dips his head slightly as he walks in. It's a weird quirk of his, though even in his heels, he doesn't approach the top of the frame. He brushes his hair back from his face as he looks around. It looks freshly dyed, silver and shiny, and Ricardo wonders again how he manages to keep it that color without frying his hair.

Untitled Gift (Sidestep Redacted)

Ricardo tries not to resent the way Daniel seems to be ever encroaching on their old habits and hobbies, things shared only between Ricardo and Sidestep for so long that he'd gotten it in his head that it was their thing, and how quickly, as well. But it's unfair to be grouchy about the whole ordeal on Daniel's birthday.

It's technically the third of Daniel's birthday celebrations and the only that's clearly to celebrate it with Sidestep specifically. Perhaps that's why they're so nervous, their fingers fiddling with the dishware. Or maybe it's the card enveloped in teal, sitting on the coffee table next to Ricardo's gift wrapped in traditional shiny sky blue. Ricardo steals another glance at it through the breakfast nook.

There's a bite of bitterness on his tongue that he swallows down quickly, returning his attention to clearing the food from the cookery. It's an ugly beast in his head, thinking about how well Daniel and Sidestep seem to get along. They move around each other fluidly, handing things to each other with almost instinctive grace and sense of spatial awareness. Is it the lack of static and shields that gives them that edge so quickly? Or is it the natural synergy that develops when people spar regularly. He knows Sidestep's been training Daniel for months now.

Untitled Hauville Birthday Prompt

Julian blinks down at the mess of yarn hastily sewn together scarf in his hands, his jaw working as he tries to find exactly how to say what he wants without hurting Tina's feelings. She stands in front of him, only slightly wringing her wrists, as she waits for him to respond. He must take too long to think, because she sighs in the next second. "You hate it, don't you?"

"I didn't say that," Julian protests. He runs his thumbs across the yarn sutures, thick lines disrupting and squashing the pattern of falling leaves together like a puckered scar. They're the wrong texture as well as being slightly the wrong color and Felix is bound to notice. "I just thought it would look better."

Tina crosses her arms, "I never said I could make it good as new again."

Julian fights the urge to roll his eyes, instead taking a deep breath. "You said you were crafty," he says slowly, keeping his tone level.

"Yeah like 'I can figure it out' crafty, not like 'I can crochet'!" Tina throws her arms out wide. She only looks half as frustrated as she sounds.

I'm tagging @disastersteps, @autistic-sidestep, @silvery-bluish, @swordsandspectacles, @serenpedac, @salem-wilde, and @idlenight right back because I'm sure you're working on something new. No pressure if y'all aren't up to it

[ottofinch]

      so so thrilled to be here with the figurehead, n i know it was a really tough decision for the admins so i just hope i can do him justice ! please find below everything i have thus far on otto ballantyne, the younger brother of nate, and a theatre and classics student who was arranged to be married to daisey. i’ve honestly been itching to play a character like otto for months, so i can’t wait to get my teeth stuck into him. please bombard me with discord messages for plots.

part one: ooc information 

nora, 23, she/her, gmt.

part two: the muse !

skeleton: the figurehead.

faceclaim: froy gutierrez  

otto horatio ballantyne. 

cisgender male.

twenty-one

theatre arts major, minoring in classics.

clubs: student government, mock trial, theatre.

apartment 004. 

part three: the skeleton !

      heavy is the head that wears the crown, though yours is the size of a tennis ball when you are born three weeks premature, barely formed enough to open your eyes. for those first few weeks all your parents knew were fear and love --- fear that you would leave them, love that you had made it through so much, hooked up to wires like a fish in a cryogenic tank. to them your heart that learned one day to beat of its own accord was a miracle. perhaps that’s why you became their golden boy.

      being born as a boy on the brink of death makes you invulnerable. you were achilles and the world couldn’t touch you for you were shielded from harm by a mother’s protective spell. should nathaniel lay so much as a finger on your skin, a voice would raise like the sound of a god from the veranda where she sat sipping her wine, play nice, boys! the sound of it thick with merlot. in every fight they took your side ; angel-headed creatures never lied. you soon learned that adults would believe anything if they liked you, that flattery will get you anywhere and to the well-trained mind, conversation was little more than a parlour game.

      you harboured your mother’s beauty, the softness of her voice, the firmness of her skin and light in the corners of her smile. of your father, they’d say you inherited his wit, though that was your own --- as was the golden hair that tousled your head, taken not from ambrose ballantyne but rather the bout of his three-week business trip to germany when your mother had bedded the gardener. if he knew, he never mentioned it. to believe such a fate would imply that he was not enough for her. though you noticed one day when you were nearing five and the sun was ripe on your freckle-flecked skin that the gardener had stopped coming at all. the grass, once shaven to its scalp, now grew to your knees.

      at school, you learned with porridge still clinging to your mouth that the way to win over your teachers was through your smile. yours was the kind of school where the christmas play was not the nativity but rather the story of the gods, and stardom came to you in the role of apollo, sun shining from your beaming face, a bright halo of hair around your head. this was the first time you noticed a coldness in nathaniel’s eyes as your father threw you over his shoulder and your mother drenched you in praise. a bout of food-poisoning on your brother’s part rendered the italian restaurant, visited in your honour, abandoned. you never did find out if he was faking.

      the room to his door remained shut after that and you learned to wile away your hours in the company of nannies and children from neighbouring castles, played at knights and rescued princesses from nearby dungeons, a tin-foil crown lopsided on your head. you learned to seek influence in the faces of those around you, how their eyes would widen as they hung like stalactites to your words. storyteller. prophet. riddler. prince. you cut your tongue into a well-kept sword and sparred with it thrice a day.

      by nine you had read all of dickens novels. by eleven, all of shakespeare’s comedies --- though you understood them as much as a cricket knows the meaning of the cosmos. still, it sounded rich and impressive when asked by aunties at dinner parties, what are you reading in school, otto? he finds the curriculum tiring, your mother would say, stroking a hand through your thick head of hair. otto’s just finished the merchant of venice. soon you grew to ignore your brother’s glowers at your back. your mother’s was the only smile you needed.

      in cap and blazer your mother would drop you off at school, gated and turreted, the kind that was the envy of poorer neighborhood wives. when you were young, you were sure the gifts that came your way were yours alone, though as you grew older, you learned to expect them in the same way the school expected cheques from your parents. they named them benefactors, you noticed one day, on the wooden plaques fixed to the common room walls. the same plaques you would one day notice their names engraved upon in the arching hallways of st. ettienne’s. acclaim was bought, not earned, and your success was littered with blood money.

      what’s a king without a kingdom? your father surely wanted you to inherit his, though it was not in law and corporal finance that you found yourself a castle, but rather upon the stage. when red curtains split, you found you could become anything with the power of your will --- boy, man, lion, snake, each of them wrung out by wordsmiths dead in their graves, a certain romance in the dusky smell of stage lights. when every eye in the room was focused on you --- that was when you felt most powerful. like a piece of art, you were something to be looked at and admired --- and perhaps in the absence of self-earned merit your vanity blossomed, for even if the trophies that lined your cabinets and the a-grades in columns on a sheet came from heavy pockets, your parents could never buy the sound of applause.

      actors are by nature volatile. though your facade was swifter than an arrow, backstage they would call you tempestuous, bigoted, vain. still, it never left the wings of the theatre. there was a kind of reverence surrounding you that words could not taper, godliness following you from school to college, a peer admired in the practice rooms of st. etienne where you poured over chekhov and ibsen but yearned to read sophocles and euripides. 

      you learned to pride yourself on your looks --- a sharpened jawline and a sharper tongue --- and found that people would do almost anything for a beautiful face. in the beginning, daisey was one so much. first colleagues, then friends, then a frequentor to the table in your families house. with arrogance carried in the curve of your brow, you only ever saw her as an accessory. that changed when let yourself stumble, brogues in a size that differed from your own kicked beneath your bed, a shirt with a larger neck size, pulled sheets, the smell of a foreign cologne.

       talk travelled. it wouldn’t do to have word of your deviance spread further than the ballantyne house. while your parents would claim they were forward-thinking, more lenient than their parents had been, there was a conservative priggishness to the way they’d brush such matters under the rug, your father scarcely able to meet your eye over the dinner table. soon after, the arrangement was set with you all but exalted from the plans until daisey had been informed. too late to back out, neither of you all that eager to be wed, though your families would coo when you fixed your hair or she, in keeping with the role, adjusted your tie. at first it amused you to play house with one such as daisey, but soon you grew listless. like a caged beast you felt suffocated by the falseness of it all. you’d leave the dinners held by your joint households and return bedraggled, smelling of whiskey and sex. you’re not sure daisey ever knew the reason why you couldn’t love her, though perhaps she suspected. at night, the names that would fall from your lips would never be hers. oliver. daniel. mason. rupert. charles.

 part four: the secret !

REDACTED. 

part five: the investigation !

         otto’s an extremely materialistic character who obtains pleasure through the things you can buy in life rather than that which comes to you by way of humble experience. he likes rolex watches, armani suits, louis vuitton travel bags, silk scarves imported from india. he likes to drink wine from decades gone by, where he can almost taste the funk of a victorian farmer hand pressing the grapes into a pulp, or to read a manuscript from the special collections section of the library that he knows has passed through hands which have gone on to achieve greatness. to otto, daisey was always an extension of this hedonistic, pleasure-seeking attitude --- she was something to be paraded like the equestrian trophies on his bookshelf, or his name on the honour roll. it’s not that he didn’t see her as a person --- he’s hardly a chauvinist, although it could easily be inferred from the disdain with which he talks to some women --- but rather that he saw her as someone ethereal and admirable and of high social standing who would elevate his social standing, by extension, were he to spend time with her. (this was such a convoluted sentence omg sorry)

         obviously, the engagement was not his choice. even the idea of it had never crossed his mind. he had never thought to marry -- marriage to otto was a tool used for financial gain --- and being already wealthy, he was content to live out his days as a bachelor. he would take lovers, of course, but it would be on his own terms without the involvement of the law. daisey was chosen as a match for otto because she was from a wealthy, well-liked family and the two had been friends since childhood. it seemed to their parents inevitable that they would marry, and so all that was left was the agreed arrangement between the families and the exchanging of rings. strictly speaking, if the marriage between otto and daisey had gone ahead, then daisey would have been nothing more than a trophy wife to otto. it would have been a miserable marriage for her, and he would have grown to resent her for it --- not resent her for the fact that he could never truly be free to love someone he wanted (for he still would) but resent her, and by extension his family, for taking the option to do that openly and publicly away from him. she would always be seen as the beard, the scorned lover, the cuckold, and it would dampen any future relationships he held with the stain of that upset. 

part six: optional !

pinterest

wanted plots !

a secret society that exists vaguely timelessly where everyone communicates with pretentious quotes 

people who grew up in ashmont and have known otto since childhood, and know of his family. he’s always been fairly popular and well-liked, because he’s got this way of winning people over that he worked out quite quickly.

people who he was friends with as a child but grew apart from when he was sent to private school / they view him as entitled now and the two no longer have much in common

someone who he regularly meets up with to practise his french, maybe they go for coffee or for lunch and they just spend the whole hour speaking french.

fellow thespians ! they could really admire n respect him or ??? actually think he’s overrated as an actor and type cast ??

someone who auditioned for the same role as him, but otto got it, and they’ve resented him for it ever since

sOmEoNe WhO hELpEd hIM BuRy ThE bODy hAha no but seriously anyone who could incriminate him or has something against him, for example, knowing he’s low-key closeted gay and wasn’t into daisey, and therefore has a motive

on the topic of that, [blink 182 vc] all the. gay things. otto’s pretty hedonistic, when he goes out he goes all out, it isn’t rare for him to wake up with a stranger in his bed, he’s thought by most of the student population to be charming and beautiful. i feel like while he’s not out, and almost keeps it a secret, he’s pretty secure in his sexuality??? like he’s always known he was gay, but he’s never felt the need to Come Out bcos its no one’s business what he’s into. 

hasn’t really dated anyone? at college, he tends to hook up with people in a vapid sort of way? so he wouldn’t rEALly have past relationships with boys unless it was..... incredibly quiet and on the DL, literally meeting up in the woods after school to read plato and play with each others hair. suddenly realised i want this. 

alternatively someone who he had a vapid, senseless hook up with and grew attached to :/ rude

literally anyone to go on expensive shopping sprees with him where he spends his monthly allowance on ridiculously priced cufflinks and pocket squares

unlikely friendships ?? with people he wouldn’t usually be drawn to ?? like, he very much sticks to his people, birds of a feather flock together, but ?? maybe he is friend with someone from a vastly different lifestyle??

people he knows on a very superficial and base level in the fact that their only interactions together involve doing coke off someone’s sink 

ples plot w me

[jackednephi]

I feel posting what all I sent my mother on Skype is worth copying and pasting into its own post here. I combined messages into more coherent paragraphs for easier reading but I'm on mobile with no cut so heads up for the long post

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

https://captaintoughfluff.tumblr.com/post/185744166784/hey-so-uhhh-heres-an-important-update-on-whats

Read this. Do not look away. Read it to dad, to Daniel, and to Heather. Share it with everyone you know. You voted for this. All of you voted to do this to human beings. He told you he was going to make this happen and you voted for him anyway. May God have mercy on you for these poor souls surely won't

I'm not saying this to be unkind but for you to witness the harm you yourself have done with your vote. You allowed a Nazi regime to rise because you knew you would be protected by your whiteness. You did not give a thought to people of color, the disabled, queer individuals. Because it was more important to "make America great again" than it was to have an ounce of decency

You can be sorry and feel terrible all you like but your privileged tears mean nothing in the light of your actions. Impact will always mean more than intent and you and others like you have done this. You and dad taught me to think critically, to read between the lines, to research and compare instead of being taken in by false promises or a glittery circus. And you have failed to uphold that which you taught me

Do not look away. Do not flinch. This is what you said you wanted when you cast your vote. You must vote in the primaries and come the general election, if you vote for him again, I will know exactly what kind of people you are at your heart. The kind of people you raised me to be better than. And there will be no room in my life for Nazi sympathizers so you and dad can see yourselves out if it comes to that

I'm going to hold you accountable for the egregious wrong you have committed because somebody has to. You need to see the harm you've done. And you need desperately to repent and hope the lord has forgiveness to spare and pray these thousands of people do not condemn you at the judgement seat. You are responsible for this. You and so many others

You once told me when I was a child that I must have done something great before this existence. I was a powerful spirit to be pregnant with and that I was born in the covenant and had great spiritual powers and whatnot. If that is true then I can tell you exactly what I did. I condemned Satan for all he was worth to you, to dad, to our whole family. I stood up and told you to turn back. That all he had to offer was pretty lies that would only hurt you

That is what I'm doing now. It made me unpopular with [my older brother] when I called him on his racist behavior in 2014 and he hasn't spoken with me since. I did it with [aunt] when she was being transphobic and she has since disowned me as well. I did it with [my younger brother] when he told me I was a dirty sin just for existing. [Eldest brother] and [older sister] may have led armies. I don't know. But I helped convince my family to choose the right and accept mortal existence. I helped you all realize that Lucifer's path was full of pain. I failed to help you realize that Trump was full of pain for people who aren't us but you are also responsible for your own actions. It is my duty to stand for what is right even if it isn't popular. Even if my own family condemns and disowns me. I helped get you all here and I'm trying to get you all back. And maybe I failed to do that

So I will continue to condemn what is wrong with everything I have. And I will continue to use my knowledge that I have gained looking into social issues and current events to show you what is objectively right and good. It's what I did before because it's what I'm doing now and we do not fundamentally change with mortal existence. Our core is still the same. I am as bright and beautiful as I ever was, as good and righteous and strong as I have ever been. I will not allow myself to walk a path of hatred, of pain, of wrong and I cannot in good faith allow my family to do that either. That's why I rail so hard, send you such painful truths. Because you and dad, grandma and [uncle] are all I have left

No one else talks to me. No one else reaches out. I have to help who I can help and hope that who I help can help everyone else. If I achieve nothing else in this life, to bring you back because I could help you understand and choose the right and be better people, that's something powerful. Maybe I can't save everyone this time but at least I'll have saved you. At least I'll have helped the people who taught me to think critically, stand for the defenseless and weaker than myself, to be good and just and bright, and, above all, to be the kindest person I can be

I say all of this not for an apology or explanation. I know why you voted the way you did in your own words. I also know what other factors influenced you. It's not me you owe an apology to at all or an explanation. But rather than apologies, I need you to BE better. I need you to do the work of unlearning racism, classism, ableism, xenophobia, queerphobia, and other forms of bigotry. It isn't going to happen overnight. It's taken me slow progress over several years and I'm far from perfect. I make mistakes all the time. The key is learning from those mistakes, dusting myself off, and continuing to press forward and educate myself. I apologize to those I hurt and then I work to not make those mistakes ever again

Just the other day, I was drawing something for [redacted] and accidentally did something racist with the eyes I was drawing. So I fixed it. I said something antisemitic about Anne Frank I didn't even know it was an issue. Someone brought it to my attention, I educated myself, then I apologized and deleted the offending comment and have done my best to educate others on why what I said was antisemitic to other people making the same mistake I did. The key is continually improving myself

I know this is a wall of text but you need to be told all of these things. You need to see wherein you've made an egregious error and then improve yourself. You need to use your voice of privilege to call others on bigotry. If you do not correct wrong where you see it, if you stay silent or do nothing, you are siding with that wrong. So educate yourself so you never stand with wrong, so you minimize your hurt on other people. Just like I'm doing. I'm using my knowledge to educate to the best of my ability so someone else can then do that. Good and bad are both like snowballs at the top of a mountain. Get them rolling and either can be an avalanche. The key is making sure that we ourselves are a good snowball

I love you or I would never say any of this. I don't go to all this effort for people I don't love and cherish

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

I just feel like I said some really powerful, really strong things and had some good metaphors like the snowball I wanted to share. I just felt like I was really eloquent spur of the moment this morning after I read that tumblr post I sent before anything else. I know my words can be harsh but I also feel like I did this much more kindly than I have in the past and I'm overall really proud of myself here

Feel free to reblog this by the way or to interact. Sometimes I tell y'all not to but this is free game

[irafatum-a]

     “ What a worthless child you are! How dare you approach me as if you were my EQUAL!! This insolence will NOT be tolerated in my domain, and since you’ve been so kind as to present me with the Nephilim who helped destroy Mundus -- I thank you! Perhaps I will give you a peaceful death for all of your services to me, my daughter, for your body and your sword were of use to me until you turned into a TRAITOR!!!! All this time I had thought to spare you, my daughter, I had thought to again reach for you should your SKANKY ASS slither back into the depths of my Hell, but again I realize that leaving you alive will mean very little -- for [ REDACTED ] will not come for me nor for you... and so your purpose is MEANINGLESS. ”

                                    DEMONA - MISTRESS OF MADNESS

     Demona: the mother of Rose and a wrath spawn descended from the fifth circle of hell: anger, it was here that she was raised and molded into a maddened beast of lust and violence. The female demon has a warped mind due to her survival among other demons, she -- herself -- was often abused and tormented by them, even more so by the strongest within the circle until she fled for lust and limbo. Though previous to her turning mad she had never been one for ambition, the flame for more emerged something fierce when she had taken her first kill of a Nephilim: their blood and their lineage had turned her thoroughly obsessed: these beings; whose blood was piqued with strength had turned her attention from self-fulfillment to a severe ambition on ascending to the human world and conquering all -- for if she could not have Hell then she would have the mortal world. She would be a Queen and no longer would she be crushed under the oppressive heel of male demons, who sought to destroy and rape all within their path -- Demona had plans all her own. 

     She had devised a plan to ascend to Earth: first, she would need a powerful ally to fight against the Nephilim, and what better way than to breed with an angel and create her own super soldier. The demoness was no fool, she could never willingly acquire the assistance of a Nephilim to fight their own and seat herself as a supreme leader of madness... she would need to foster a strong bond with brainwashing to ensure compliance. So the answer was simple: get impregnated by a powerful angel that would, in turn, give her a powerful child and she knew just exactly whom to choose: [ REDACTED ]. Once she had pointed out a target, she immediately attempted to coax him from heaven as he appeared to battle demon and Nephilim alike that approached Heaven’s Gate -- even by accident. Day after day, month after month the demoness called to [ REDACTED ] with promises of love, sex, and obedience, but none would shake his resolve to God and his duty. Instead of being drawn into her, he was instead repulsed by the very sight of her, remarking on her demonic stench and sinful goals -- he had made it clear he was not interested nor would be swayed. Instead, Demona had to implement a different plan if she were going to get his cooperation, there would be no raping the angel as he could slice her in two before the deed was done, and Demona was not looking to die before her time. 

     With help of elixirs and ancient spells, Demona was able to learn how to transform her shape into that of a pure, holy woman of God: beautiful golden hair, voluptuous body modestly covered in cloth of white, and atop her head a crown of thorns that she proudly wore with bashful amber eyes. To finish off this new body she came up with a name: Danielle, a young woman born to poor peasants that could not afford to keep her, and instead, sent her to live within a monastery to become a nun and pray for his mercy onto them. Again she approached the Heaven’s Gate, pleading to God to have mercy on her soul and that of her family, begging for death and guidance, only to have [ REDACTED ] appear and become stunned at the sight of the beautiful woman: there she stood, broken and lost, hoping to be guided to the holy father’s light. In all his life he had never become so smitten before and had never questioned how she’d gotten there in the first place, instead he abandoned his convictions to speak with the woman, and as they grew closer Demona grew ever more excited -- soon she would have his seed, and soon she would be heavily pregnant with his child. It merely took a week to finally seduce [ REDACTED ] into a fit of lust, and as they rut for three days straight, when finally impregnated Demona removed her disguise in fits of hysterical laughter, claiming victory and eagerly holding tightly to [ REDACTED ] in near desperation. “ Now I will have your child!! Now we can finally, truly be together! Oh, you see the past week I’ve grown a soft spot for you, mmm? How could I ever find a man more powerful than you? Abandon him, abandon God and be my lover! Let us be together until the Earth is no more! Until existence is no more! ” 

     “ You wicked harpy, so full of lies and deceit!! The woman that hath taken my heart does not exist, and I have sinned against my father in vain! I have failed him and his tenets! I must correct this mistake -- as a mercy to my unborn child, I will slay you, here and now, and no longer will your treacherous breath nor voice exist further. ” [ REDACTED ] wasted little time in trying to destroy Demona; hoping to pierce her through with his holy spear and angelic trigger, but unfortunately for him, she was elusive and escaped his clutches -- just barely. 

     Demona, unable to accept that [ REDACTED ] had immediately refused her upon realizing whom she was, could not accept it and gradually began to spiral out of control. Having nearly escaped death by his hands she knew she could not return, lest he would be quick to dismember her body in hopes of extinguishing the life she’d fought so desperately to acquire in her belly. To increase the chances of survival for not only herself -- but her unborn -- she returned to the second layer of Hell; Lust. It was here that she prepared for the coming of her child, and from that point out made it a point to not only train her child in the art of warfare and strategy but obedience and dependence upon herself. When it was discovered that she would be having a girl, Demona was even further elated as a female could go undetected and underestimated compared to that of a male, coupled with many other benefits that she used to her advantage -- unfortunately allowing her daughter to suffer under many cases of abuse ( sexual and otherwise ) from demons. She did not go about naming her daughter, instead of calling her ‘brat’, ‘scum’, and various other expletives in hopes of demeaning her and asserting hierarchy. And with her daughter's obedience, fear and strength went about murdering other powerful demons to assert power, quickly taking over a slight portion of Lust’s territory, driving out the inhabitants through force and bribery. 

     This reign of terror and abuse did not last forever, eventually, the daughter had enough of her mother’s fierce hold and turned her strength upon her own kin, nearly killing her but not being strong enough to entirely off her -- instead -- she fled to the surface in her attempts to be free. Upon her ascension to limbo, Demona called to her: “ you will never escape me!! Everything you are is because of me!! NEVER FORGET THAT, YOU UNGRATEFUL BRAT! YOU WILL DIE ABOVE, MUNDUS WILL FIND YOU AND WITH SPARDA YOU WILL DIE LIKE THE REST OF THEM -- BWAHAHAHA!! Return to me, my daughter, for you are safest within my bosom! Fwhahaha! ”

     Rose did, in fact, return to the second circle of hell -- though not alone: by her side was one of the son’s of Sparda; Vergil. Together they sought to dominate Hell and those whom occupied it for the greater good; to battle against Dante and regain control of limbo city. When finding out that her mother is still very much alive, Rose requests they find her themselves and dispatch of her knowing what a nuisance her parent could be, with an ulterior motive in mind. . .

     Demona, though powerful and fierce, did not hold up against the fight with Vergil and Rose, instead, she was brought to the brink of death and remained alive enough to curse on both her daughter and her ‘playmate’, scowling about her daughter’s spinelessness, daring her to kill her then and there. Instead, Rose figured she could put her mother to better use, “ as if I would grant you the mercy of death -- why should I? My life has been nothing but enslavement to you and your whims, and I think it only fair that you spend the rest of your days.... serving me and mine! ” Demona, ironically, took no offense to this and instead shrilled out in a fierce laughter, watching her own daughter pierce her clawed hand deep into her own chest with a pained cough, “ y-yes!! Take your revenge on me, take my body and my soul! Maybe I have taught... agh! Taught you well, my daughter, maybe now you will see... the glories of... SUFFERING! Take my power -- take it and DESTROY EVERYTHING! ” The cries of her mad laughter subsided when her body disintegrated into a fierce red light, transforming her into a blade: Datura; a blade harnessing the powers of a wrath demon, channeling blood and flame to destroy foes... though with a cost; one must first stab themselves in offering of blood -- gruesomely -- should they wish to truly tap into it’s potential. 

      “ Don’t worry, mother, I have plans for you. We’ll be a family again, don’t you worry... ”

[ilosttrackofthings]

Can I request Skye getting curious and digging into Jemma's "dead" astronaut husband?

This sequel to I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to has just as much Will as the original and even less Jemma. Sigh.

Skye’s so caught up in her work, she doesn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind her or even realize there’s anyone else there until Bobbi’s asking, “What is that?”

She slams her laptop shut. Which is … not incriminating at all. Sloppy. (She ignores that the chastising voice in her head isn’t May’s.) 

Bobbi’s eyebrows go up and she lifts her hands. “Hey, that’s okay. I know I’m new here, but I’ve been in SHIELD a while. I get it. Some stuff isn’t meant for everyone to see.”

Ugh. She just had to say it like that, didn’t she? Yeah, Bobbi’s new, she’s only been at the Playground a couple weeks, but that’s because she’s spent the last few months working her way into HYDRA, doing God only knows what so she could get high enough in their ranks to protect Jemma. 

And thoughts of her friend only increase Skye’s guilt for wholly different reasons. For weeks she’s had this heartburn feeling in her gut over this. She seriously thought about flying out to Sheffield a couple times over it and then, when she found out Jemma never quit SHIELD at all, she was just undercover … Skye feels downright sick over it. 

She’s gotta tell someone. 

Anyone. 

Except Jemma. 

Or the team. They’re all way too close to this thing.

But Bobbi, who watched Jemma’s back and saved her life, seems as good a choice as any.

“You can’t tell Daniels,” Skye cautions, shifting over on the couch to make room. Bobbi fills it without question.

“Okay.”

Skye reaches to open her laptop, but Bobbi’s hand over hers stops her.

“Who does know about this?” she asks seriously.

Skye shakes her head. “No one.” No one except the base’s resident murderous traitor, but even he doesn’t know she’s followed up on any of the information he’s given her. She doesn’t dare tell Fitz, he’ll tell Jemma for sure. And Skye’s terrified to find out whether Coulson or May might already know.

Bobbi nods her head once. “Okay.” Her lips are thin. She’s lounging, legs stretched out and back reclined, but this close Skye can feel the tension in her. 

She opens the laptop. A swipe of her thumb brings back up the footage she was watching. 

It’s black and white, fisheyed because of the wonky angle of the security camera, but after a few seconds the shape moving slowly into screen left becomes recognizable as an astronaut. He gets himself up on a low ledge, maybe a foot high, and throws a salute to someone out of the shot. Then he jumps. The dark liquid on the other side of the ledge barely sloshes as he passes right through it, so deep he disappears completely. After a couple beats, some of the graininess in the footage smoothes out. At the same time, the liquid recedes, revealing a floor no lower than what’s on the other side of the ledge. The liquid surges up in waves, pitch black piling on top of pitch black to make what looks, when it’s all over, to be a block of solid stone. Men in business casual dress walk on then, a few shake hands. None cross over the ledge.

Skye cuts it off. 

“What,” Bobbi starts. “Um, where did-” She hums low in her throat, trying to get a grasp on what she just saw.

“Yeah.” Skye’s seen it a few times now. It’s still weird, but it’s like seeing a guy jump out of a burning building, you get used to it.

“Why can’t I tell Daniels about this?” is the question Bobbi finally manages to ask.

“That guy? The astronaut? That was Floyd Austin. He wasn’t the first one, you just saw the end of the footage. Before him there was Branden Taylor, Darrick Brubaker, and … Will Daniels.”

Bobbi nods slowly. Skye doesn’t know how familiar Bobbi is with Jemma’s history, but she’s a spy, she knows how to keep it locked down.

“This footage was in the intel dump the Black Widow released onto the internet when HYDRA came out of the shadows. And it wasn’t easy to find, lemme tell you.” But she doesn’t. She had to give a lot of favors to a lot of old Rising Tide friends for this. Decades of secrets and someone went to a lot of trouble to hide this footage, along with the digital piles of redacted documents she’s found related to Project Distant Star Return. 

“Okay,” Bobbi says. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re hiding this from Daniels. She’s a big girl, she can handle the truth. And-” Bobbi sighs, checks the corners to be sure no one’s eavesdropping- “speaking as someone who’s been married, I know I’d want to know what happened.”

That’s just the thing, Skye doesn’t know what happened. She doesn’t have the whole truth yet and she knows from her own experience just how painful it is to try to piece together reality from mismatched bits of evidence. From the lameness of the name, she’s got her guess as to who was behind the whole thing, but she’s also got a whole hell of a lot of suspicions tipping things the other way. She wants to believe it was HYDRA that sent Jemma’s husband off with no hope of return and then lied to her about it, but she’s scared to death it might not have been.

“And I’m gonna tell her. Once there’s something to say. And that means finding out what happened to that thing.” She points to the big block of stone frozen at the edge of the screen.

Bobbi’s quiet for a long minute, but she slowly seems to accept that answer, which is a relief as big as finally telling someone about all of this. Skye was worried that Bobbi might insist on telling Jemma. Or, worse, telling Coulson.

Bobbi pushes herself to the edge of the couch cushion, only to turn back at the last second. “And hey, I’ve got plenty of experience sorting through nonsense files if you want any help figuring this out. And I’m also good at distracting people who are getting too close.” There’s a dangerous glint in her eye, one Skye’s not close enough to her yet to judge whether it’s vicious or playful.

“This is to protect Daniels,” she says carefully. She doesn’t want Jemma concussed just to keep her from seeing this.

Bobbi laughs. It’s light and airy. Playful then, good to know. “I meant something more along the lines of reminding Hunter of the time I set his car on fire.”

Skye sits forward, suddenly eager. “Oh my God. You have got to tell me that story.”

“Later,” Bobbi promises. “I’m supposed to meet Trip for a workout. You wanna come?”

Skye’s computer - and all the waiting intel it contains - weighs heavily on her lap. There are still so many unanswered questions … but a little adrenaline might help her push through the files. She sets the laptop aside. “Sounds like fun.”

[christianworldf]

New Post has been published on Christian Worldview Institute

New Post has been published on https://christianworldviewinstitute.com/bible-prophecies/end-time-events/book-of-daniel/summary-of-new-evidence-proving-false-allegations-against-vic-mignogna/

Summary of NEW Evidence PROVING False Allegations Against Vic Mignogna

Over the last 12 hours or so tons of evidence has been popping up proving allegations against famous voice actor Vic Mignogna are fabricated and images photoshopped to slander and defame his name. Not just that but it also seems lots of well known VA’s are working together to bring Vic down out of personal vendetta’s against him. Shady stuff. #RWBY #Dragonball #AnimeGate —– 🌟Become a Hero Elite🌟

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