#ABHORRENT AFFLICTION

[acridid-s]

Izzy: "I didn't ask for this!"

also Izzy:

[shoutyourporpoise]

The app I use to track my closet went from free to paid, so even though I still use it for myself it’s difficult for me to recommend it to others at its price point, BUT I gotta say one of the most valuable things for me is to see the little layout with when I bought it, how much I bought it for, and how many times I’ve worn it.

Some expensive things end up being worth the upfront coast because you’ll use it over and over and over and over until it falls to pieces! On the other hand, there are some things that I paid less for that I wouldn’t have paid for at all if I’d known how they were constructed. Like what does it matter that I got this pair of pants for $8.50 on sale if I’ve worn them maybe once a month since I got them and they already look years old?

And then the additional nice thing is that because it lets me link where I got it from and what the fabric content is, I can immediately recognize that I shouldn’t buy from that place and with that fabrication again. Which doesn’t help me *now,* but has prevented me from making additional stupid purchases.

[preseriesdean]

for @spnficrecfest day six: case fics 🧡

Ions in the Ether by @nigeltde-fic 10.9k words, rated E, published 2019 When was the last time you trusted happy.

Gospel Truth by Cerberuss 15.2k words, rated E, published 2020 ‘DOES YOUR BROTHER KNOW THAT YOU WANT HIM?’ Individually placed letters, bold and tinged brown with the weather. Sam can’t look away and he prays, dream dream dream. This sort of introspection could have come from no one but himself. His secret, his affliction, on display as a reminder. He put this here. Don’t forget, Sam, you’re abhorrent. This is all you.

the constant vow by deadlybride / @zmediaoutlet 119.5k words, rated E, published 2022 With Crowley apparently dead and Sam's soul back in place, even though Eve is a worry and Castiel's fighting a heavenly war, Sam and Dean at last have some space to get back to what passes (for them) as a normal life. They've just finished up a pretty standard job and are killing time in snowy Wisconsin when Dean wakes up no longer looking like Dean. That's just the start of their problems.

Almost At Home by balefully 24.3k words, rated E, published 2008 Sam graduates from high school in early June in rural Tennessee. He and Dean start the summer with an all-nighter of celebration; the day after, while both fight hangovers, John calls to assign them their first hunt by themselves.

Suave & Complicated by OldToadWoman 56.9k words, rated E, published 2015 Sam and Dean discover a useful, little, magical artifact. No one is forcing them to do anything. No one is going to die if they don't. They don't even feel a strange compulsion. But… it would be really helpful if they powered up the magical stone… and… all they have to do is kiss.

Crossed Wires by @rivkat 10.9k words, rated E, published 2015, check warnings Dean thinks Sam is dead.

Yesterday, minnesota by @goshen-applecrumbledore 29.7k words, rated E, published 2022 Any initial awkwardness filtered away over a hundred miles of highway as Sam thumbed through the missing witch’s diary again. Some people had secret coke habits or secret second wives, and some people had passionate, pitch black, no-kissing sex with a family member every four to six months and never talked about it. You had to find ways to cope.

Sight Lines by kickflaw/kissyn 21.3k words, rated E, published 2012 Dad's on a hunt, Dean's acting strange, and Bilton, NY, is the last place on earth Sam imagined he would figure out how to make everything fit right.

They Then Ate the Sailors by coyotesuspect 24.3k words, rated M, published 2013 The summer before Sam leaves for Stanford, Sam and Dean sublet a student apartment in a heat-wave gripped Chicago. With John tied up with a case in Iowa City, Sam and Dean are left to figure what's behind a recent spate of drownings. Sam wrestles with the weight of the secret he's keeping from Dean, while Dean struggles with his feelings for Sam. Things come to a head when a young girl goes missing and Sam nearly drowns.

a thousand dreams within me softly burn by dooping_star 14.6k words, rated T, published 2020 "there is something fierce and terrible in me eligible to burst forth, i dare not tell it in words," - walt whitman, ‘earth, my likeness’, leaves of grass

[papiliotao]

・❥・OF DEVASTATION AND IDYLLIC AFFIRMATIONS

♡ — Reader: GN

♡ — Character: Scaramouche

♡ — Synopsis: After all he has been through, Kunikuzushi finds it difficult to trust. However, a single push causes his indifferent façade to shatter.

♡ — Content: Scaramouche is referred to as Kunikuzushi, hurt/comfort, fluffy ending, nightmares, clingy Scara, vague spoilers for Scara’s backstory, established relationship (but it's in its early stages)

♡ — Word Count: 883

Kunikuzushi has a strange tendency of edging his way around intimacy. He has his back to you each night as you fall asleep beside each other in your shared bed, and whenever you ask to hold him, he rejects your advances without hesitation.

Sometimes his words hurt. They drive venom-coated daggers into your fragile heart with the utmost precision, never failing to make you wince as the pain of your lover’s refusal sows seeds of doubt within your mind. However, after pursuing Kunikuzushi for what feels like eons, you know better than to take his harsh remarks at face value.

Deep down, he’s still afraid — afraid of love. Despite the fact that your gentle touches and reassuring words have acted as remedies to the illness that afflicts his heart, he still can’t help but fear losing you. Loving you just to lose you is the last thing he would ever want, so he keeps his distance, not ready to fully commit just yet.

There are still moments where he’s softer — showing the side of him that you have come to adore through touches as fleeting as autumn leaves and bashful compliments spoken in a voice as soft as a calm zephyr, but it always feels like there’s an invisible barrier that Kunikuzushi is too afraid to shatter. For now, you are nothing more than casual lovers, and while you are awaiting the day Kunikuzushi will finally break the wall and give you his entire heart, Kunikuzushi is trying his best to ensure that you won’t get too attached to him.

To him, the pain of abandonment is an old friend. It lurks in every shadow, every moment of silence, and every intrusive thought, perpetually bringing up the question of what he would do if you ever left him. He doesn’t want the hurt of your betrayal to sting, but above all, the feeling of being forsaken by someone you love is something he would never wish upon you.

So whenever he has to reject your requests to pull him close while you fall asleep, he reminds himself that he’s doing it for you. After all, if he stays away, then you’ll love him less, and if you love him less, then it won’t hurt as much when you inevitably part.

Despite his intentions, he is blind to the suffering that he is making you endure in the process. You, the innocent, courageous, and patient soul that somehow learned to love someone as abhorrent as him. If his heart was honest, he would admit that he wants nothing more than to keep you close to him, but Kunikuzushi cares not for verity in the face of loss.

However, everything changes one morning when you awaken to the feeling of breath tickling your skin. You feel arms wrapped around your waist and a comforting warmth pressed up against you. When you open your eyes, you feel as though the air is knocked out of your lungs by the endearing sight before you.

Your face is mere centimetres away from Kunikuzushi’s. His eyes are closed, and he looks as though he is suspended in a state of pure bliss. Sunlight tints his pale skin a golden shade, making him appear the liveliest you have ever seen him. It’s all breathtaking beyond measure, but what makes your heart seize up the most is the small smile that adorns his visage. It’s subtle — barely noticeable, but it’s there. He’s angelic.

Kunikuzushi begins to stir far too soon for your liking. You try your best to pull away, fearing rejection in spite of the fact that he is the one holding you, but to your surprise, Kunikuzushi’s grip tightens as he whispers a subdued, nearly-inaudible, “stay.”

He’ll never admit it, but he had a nightmare the night prior. Darkness spun of his deepest insecurities and anxieties tormented him for hours on end, and in the midst of it, all he could think about was how he needed you by his side. When he woke up, his first course of action was to frantically search for you. He only managed to calm his breathing and brush the strands of hair sticking to his forehead away after confirming that you were still beside him, sleeping soundingly without a care in the world.

After reliving his most distressing fears, he lets himself admit that the thought of you helps him overcome the worst of them. In you, he is able to find solace, even in the midst of perturbed moments, so he finally allows himself to succumb to his desires. 

Kunikuzushi breathes in your comforting scent as he buries his head in the crook of your neck and pulls you even closer to him. He closes his eyes, sighing contently as you make no move to get up or question him. The puppet now knows that in your presence, he can be his true self without fear of abandonment; you understand him — all his hopes, all his fears, and all his deepest wishes, so for the first time in centuries, he allows himself to trust.

As he drifts into an enchanting slumber filled with the most joyous of emotions, the tension in Kunikuzushi’s body alleviates ever so slightly. Everything feels like an exuberant dream when he is with you.

I mostly speedran this, so I'm not 100% sure if it's decent. Thank you for reading, and please remember to take care and have a nice day!

[yuikomorihotline]

ℌ𝔶𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔞𝔰 𝔑𝔢𝔢𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔚𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔐𝔬𝔰𝔱.

Pairing: Angsty Subaru and Yui , Reiji trying to be a good brother to Subaru.

Trigger warnings: Very light body horror (thorns stuck in Subaru's throat), vomiting, Hanahaki, unrequited love.

Notes: Hydrangeas have no role here, I just needed a title 🧍Once again mischaracterised everyone so happy days ig

Word count: 690

The unpleasant and miasmic metallic taste kept filling up his mouth the more he tried to pull the long thorny vines out of his already severely scraped and swollen larynx. The disgusting red petals… Their obnoxiously vibrant redness was almost mocking his current affliction and distress.

Those stupid roses and their damned thorns.

Subaru hated this… It was her fault for not loving him back, if she actually loved him too, he wouldn't be in so much agony.

Yui made him love her, and he despised her for that.

At this point, Subaru can't tell whether he wants to strangle her for causing him so much pain… Or even shoving thorny stems down her throat so she knows what it's like to be barely able to talk.

Maybe he wants to cry to her on his knees and beg Yui to love him so this pain would end.

Subaru was sick of shoving his hand down his already inflamed throat to pull out these abhorrent flowers that people seem to love for no damn good reason.

The perennial discomfort he felt was suffocating, which gave him the glimmer of hope that he won't make it to next season. But he remembered that he was a vampire, and that hope was but a fairytale.

Reiji was walking, going about his usual daily business, and heard the cloying sound of choking and gagging that made his skin crawl, so he took it upon himself to intrude into his youngest sibling's room to investigate.

"What on Earth is making you produce such a wretched sound? Explain yourself, Subaru.", snapped Reiji, folding his slender arms and examining the rose petals and thorns on the ground.

"Go away, Reiji… You-"

Subaru's insult was interrupted by the sickening feeling in his stomach, making him vomit seconds later and falling to his weak knees in response. Reiji stared at the petals floating in the repugnant bile, but it hardly stirred a reaction.

"T-This is her fault, it's a-all that bitch's fault!", He spluttered, doing everything in his power to calm himself down and to take his mind off the acidic burning in his stomach and throat.

Reiji simply raised an eyebrow in response, thinking that another one of his brothers has finally lost their senses.

"Come now, I cannot assist you if I do not know the source of your issue. Tell me immediately, because you've sounded dreadful for the past few weeks and, frankly, it is bothersome to me."

Subaru was too embarrassed to confide in Reiji, no, confiding was absolutely out of the question. It was common sense and the norm in that household to keep their internal issues to themselves, and if one did confide in another, they'd only receive but a judgemental gaze and a scoff in return.

"You're coughing up flowers… Hanahaki is it?", Mused Reiji.

"W-What's that?", mumbled Subaru, making Reiji's heart slightly sink from hearing how one of his loudest brothers' voice is so hoarse and barely even there.

Reiji sat next to Subaru and hesitated to talk to Subaru about this conundrum.

The elder brother felt like a mother who was asked where a baby came from by her child. However, the subject of love was a rare thing to speak of… Much more than something as simple to them as the pleasures of flesh. But even that would warrant something being thrown at them.

"You're in love, and the person who you love doesn't love you back… Thus the roses with the thorns. Which tells me that you love this person very much… Which is odd, considering what we are after all.", He murmured, which was odd for someone who always spoke so confidently.

Subaru was so close to an ebullition of agony from how badly he desired to gain the love of the blonde sacrifice. This burning feeling blooming the more he thought about her pulchritudinous expression, tranquille and sweet, even when she was in pain from his fangs.

"...Yui."

"So it is her who has caused this reaction… Unfortunately, Subaru… She too, has been coughing up flowers."

[certifiablyinsanez]

My boomer mother told me once, “we thought we would change the world too”. And she isn’t wrong. Boomers were forefront of the hippie counterculture, the anti-war front for the slaughter in Vietnam, were home to the Gay Liberation Front, Stonewall, the Civil Rights Era, and the entire second wave of feminism that fought for our right for abortion, contraception and the right to self determination. They were the people that perished in the AIDS Epidemic and the ones who took care of those afflicted. When you look at the historic track record, boomers would seem to be our natural allies rather than those we are in constant conflict with.

This is something Gen Z needs to keep in mind, not for the future, but right now. Gen Z is often convinced that we are the generation who is gonna save the world. But I can say with confidence that this is not the case. Not only would that sentiment disregard historical precedent, it also allows us to disregard the ugly truth of what we are rapidly becoming. Gen Z is reactionary as hell. You’ll tell someone “we should have love for our fellow people” and some fucking keyboard warrior will say something stupid like “eVEn pEdO’s???”.

I never thought I would complain about cancel culture, but here I am. Because people can’t seem to differentiate between holding people accountable for reprehensible behavior versus having a whole “guilty before proven innocent” mentality. We all grew up in an imperialist, colonial society. White supremacy has not left a single inch of the earth untouched. Every single person has done something wrong in their lives; it’s a feature of the times we live in. It’s a feature of being a human person period. I’ve seen people harass an artist who has been extremely vocal about Palestine and has used their platform for donations and attention and people were in arms about something distasteful he did in like 2002. Be so ffr guys.

I see European Gen Zers saying the most abhorrent things about Romani people. They still actively call them a slur, and when called out they always reply “that’s just what they are”. Some brag about how desensitized they are to gore or sexual content because they were so young when they were exposed. I still remember kids at lunch trying to convince me to watch an ISIS beheading video and couldn’t conceive why I refused to watch it. I’m gonna say it.

So many of yall are just as apathetic and narcissistic as boomers, if not more so. Because boomers pretend, but yall are brutally honest about it. Sure a whole bunch of us believe in liberation and see how shitty capitalism is, but a good chunk are also so extremely far right that even my boomer republican father would balk at the things they readily say. I actually have had conversations with my dad as his queer communist child and I think we had more agreements than these right-wingers in my own generation.

This trend is enormously widespread with Gen Alpha but Gen Z isn’t clear of it either. The inability to fortify their own mental understanding using concise, accurate, and vetted information. In the 14 years I’ve interacted in fandom spaces (where this happens all the time), I’ve never seen such a trend as now where a singular person will just pull something out of their ass and people all over the internet just readily agree. People believe photoshopped photos every day. We make fun of old people for believing everything on the internet, but we’re equally guilty.

Listen I can go on for ages, but let me make my point clear here. We are quickly becoming the very thing we all hated most, and I’m sick of the mass facade that we aren’t.

End of rant.

[hiriajuu-suffering]

Kamala aunty and the Hindu vote

Getting this out of the way, I'm voting for Kamala Harris. Biden really should've dropped out two months ago, and there's no other corporate democrat I would really endorse besides her, and not because of the identity politics. Well, sort of. If the Republican primary taught us anything, is a person of South Asian descent will continue to be the ideological punching bag of the white community.

South Asian men get deleted so hard I can't even find a GIF of Vivek Ramaswamy

How Kamala was treated the past four years by the democratic administration of Biden's was nothing short of egregious. Every impossible problem to solve she was blamed for with no tools address the root cause, and she stayed in there looking dumb like a loyal corporate employee. Now the entire system is banking on the political capital they were sweeping from underneath her to stop a literal convicted felon from retaking power and pardoning himself.

Not to mention the states where votes actually mattered 8 years ago were too sexist to put in a woman in power before, so now we're hoping a woman of color would go over better?

Candace Owens already showed how envious she is of Kamala's biracial swag with some really dumb comments.

Her black half isn't what's the issue is, because she embodies a lot more blackness than Asianness in her disposition to the American psyche. And the precedent for half black Presidents that perfectly fall within the cookie-cutter corporate democrat on policy has already been set.

It's her Asian side that might stoke the xenophobia that caused the whitelash red wave of 2016; y'know, because she's going to be subject to nearly the same misogyny Hilary was.

As an Asian-American, Kamala Harris and Andrew Yang weren't just the two candidates I identified most with, they were the best candidates in that primary, period. But they got dismissed and belittled so immensely because of the need to appeal to milk-toast whiteness. Republicans pander hard to grab minority votes, Democrats just avoid putting any minorities in significant positions influence. Don't believe me? Seen any LBGTQ+ positions in real moving and shaking positions?

The DEI stuff the right is going to criticize the entire scope and sequence of how Kamala became the candidate isn't good or fair, but it's not entirely wrong. Because of just how hollow the Democratic Party treats anyone with the poor affliction of being a minority.

There's a key part of the South Asian diaspora Biden lost exactly that Kamala herself is a part of, which makes things interesting to say the least..

Kamala does have the best policy on Israel of any candidate, but that's not saying much since her policy is essentially Obama-lite.

But that means she might lose her own identity vote on just that considering how abhorrently Islamophobic naturalized Indian-Americans have gotten in their support of Narendra Modi

I don't care how effective the Quadrilateral Security Dialogue has been at curbing Chinese aggression, the Nationalist imagery isn't a good sign for any society, really.

Especially when Muslim civil rights in India have all but evaporated. Nikki Haley wasn't particularly bad on Muslim civil rights compared to other Republicans, even as a half-Indian, she didn't buddy up to Modi (probably because he's done more to encourage gender-based violence in India than stop it), and I expect Kamala to actually get the misogynistic slander from conservative Indians because the hyperpatriarchy only comes when it comes to the opposition.

Being half Brahmin though certainly can't hurt her chances with her Hindu base, right? Well, Hindu men certainly have deeper roots in the red pill movement then we'd like to believe, and the first ones they point the finger towards are Hindu women that didn't choose them. Nikki Haley was polling better but Vivek Ramaswamy ate up her press pretty handily. Everyone sees Asian feminine beauty as valuable, but our misogynistic standards prevent us from seeing that type of ethnic image as leadership-worthy.

At least it's not Gavin Newsom. But that might not be enough for South Asian American males dissatisfied with their lot in life. Trump's message is appealing to us because it feeds into our vanity and takes responsibility off us as to why our sisters are meeting the model minority myth and we aren't. While we're not solely to blame, at least the right has some crazy narrative that explains why life didn't turn out to what was expected of us, even if that narrative twists it in a way that will end up just making us feel more isolated, because the right has the most racist women in the country, bar-none.

Well, women on both sides of the political spectrum are equally pretty racist in their courtship preferences, it's just liberal women will explain things in vague externalities and icks rather than being a sign for public restrooms in pre-1963 America.

In either case, this is a biracial black woman who was never in touch with the struggles of an Asian man, never really having been related to one even though she's an Asian woman. To a lot of Asian men, Trump is just more of what we expect of the lunacy of American politics, versus Kamala might be one of those people who actively makes us feel subhuman by being of the same race but still treating us as less than, like many desi women have been doing since biracial marriages within 1st generation South Asian Americans began getting normalized.

The normative view has to become where femininity isn't inherently more attractive than masculinity, especially so that women aren't just fit to be more educated and start making more, but actually lead society in meaningful ways.

I think if you're an AAPI in any capacity and you're not voting for Kamala Harris, you're missing the point somehow. But we're not the movers and makers of these elections, because we always reside in states that are firmly blue or red (well, at least until 2016 when Georgia did a thing). Kamala Harris's black vote definitely extends further than Biden's, but by less than makes actual sense. Can't do much worse than Biden on the Hispanic vote, but Kamala Harris if anyone is how you do that.

So if there's fundamentally just about how identity works in America, we will have a POTUS 47 in 2025. But we've learned the two decades in America has been anything fair to identity. Heck, as a Muslim teacher of a liberal arts content area in a red state I feel at the time. My supervisors won't make exceptions for me they readily make for anyone else, not that they were requirements to begin with, just because my identity bears the ugliest parts of the model minority myth. I don't look Asian enough to be Asian, and the media makes my ethnic identity look to threatening to be trusted with novel ideas, at least.

That's at least something this candidate and I have in common. Biraciality and Multiethnicity isn't well understood in our discussions of intersectionality in social and political discourse. The only people that try to make sense of it are the ones that actively try to erode the ethnic barriers enclaves self-segregate on. Kamala has had to think about that because it's a fundamental part of her identity.

I'm not voting on identity or identity politics, as the right would claim I will. I'm voting because at least this candidate has the capacity to understand me, because they're not a white, entitled, spoiled brat that tried to overthrow the government when he didn't get his way. Y'know, fundamental stuff like that.

Because I'm still American through-and-through, regardless of what my ethnic background is. What's more American than having a minority prosecutor in a liberal enclave? That's literally one of the top 5 career options every desi child is given when they think about their careers.

So yeah, Kamala2024. Bite me.

[godihatethiswebsite]

Thoughts about your omegaverse fic:

Is Price a part of this polycule?

I feel like the other omega knows what's going on. I don't think the guys would lie to them, so now I'm wondering if the next contact we get is actually from the other omega. And I'm so curious how territorial they'll be.

I find it strange that Reader knows the only way to break a mating bond is a soul bond or whatever (I'm sorry, I can't remember what it's called in this fic, I've read way too much soulmate AU) but now that Reader has LITERALLY FOUND their soul people, it hasn't occurred to Reader that it's their free ticket out of hell? And the only conclusion I can draw is that they see themselves as so undeserving/filthy (and the other omega as the deserving one) that they can't imagine afflicting other people with a permanent tie to them.

Or MAYBE because Reader is so acutely aware of what it's like to be forced into a bond against their will, the idea of doing that to someone else feels too abhorrent to consider, even when the person seems open to it. I wish Reader just had some space to breathe, and figure out who they are and what they want apart from suffocating links to people they don't know! I wish I could slap a patch on their skin and give them a break for a day!

If Reader did get free from their abuser via the soul bond, would he come for Reader? I can totally see him trying to kill them if that happens. (Also how much fucking energy does he have every day to force such a well of hatred down the bond that it sucks Reader dry like that? Like dude, give it a rest)

OH. You know what solve everything? These guys need to go kill that Alpha. THEN Reader can make an informed decision. Yep, that's the answer. You should totally suggest it to them.

Why yes, Void. I will drop the absolute nothing I am doing right now to indulge the huge wall of text you sent my way 🤣❤️

First off, you bet your sexy ass he is ;)

I can neither confirm nor deny the goings on in the pack house and the encounters that follow >> but there will absolutely be more info on points three and four coming soon...

I will say though that the times the bond starts acting up on her isn't always made conscientiously. A lot of the things she goes through are moreso just from the physical strain of being separated from her bonded over such a long distance for a long enough time. At this point they can only really 'feel' each other occasionally (he mostly just fucks with her when he can sense enough powerful emotions over the bond to send a bit of feedback - like when she found her mates and had them brutally ripped away from her) The rest is just the price she paid for leaving her abuser. Even if he was a caring alpha she'd still be going through the ailments that plague her.

I realize I've got a couple loose threads hanging as far as the logistics of my world, but I'm just trying not to shove everything down people's throats all at once. Just a healthy smattering of lore here and there!

And I'll get right on that then, shall I? :)

[bloodblanks]

a field of red spider lilies [eyeless jack x reader] — part ii.

Hanahaki disease. A sickness caused by unrequited love, where the one afflicted with such feelings suffers from flowers blooming in their heart and lungs which are then coughed out, gradually worsening and eventually resulting in death.

inspired by coughing in the bathroom from @whaleofatjme1920! ♡

author's note: this fanfiction will contain darker content, including sickness, death, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

<- part one

You woke up with a strangled cry, your hands immediately clutching at your chest, miserably trying to ease the abhorrent, stabbing pain that blossomed like knives in your heart.

As you rolled over to your side, you curled into yourself, shakily gasping for air. Your heart was hammering in your chest, and you could swear you were going to die from heart failure, but you were not so fortunate as to be relieved from your torment. Not during your sleep, and much less when you were awake, your mind so painfully conscious and aware of what you had just dreamt, the images of your first meeting flashing through your mind, a torturous slideshow.

As your lips parted with desperate attempts at taking in oxygen and your hands gripped at your own torso, you felt a scratching feeling at the back of your throat, causing you to freeze.

Your heart was burning in your chest, a wildfire ablaze within your ribcage, but the flames licking at your lungs were something else.

You tried to hold it in, but couldn’t. The scratchiness was deeply rooted in your chest, blossoming into your throat and airways, and you couldn’t help but hunch over yourself, hurriedly slapping a hand over your mouth before you started violently coughing into it. As you coughed, you could feel petals, wet and sticky with saliva, fall through past your lips and into your palm.

You weren’t sure how long you were coughing for, but when your throat was finally relieved of the horrible scratching feeling, your lungs were empty and sore, and your hand was covered in spit and various petals.

You took a moment to catch your breath again—the sharp pain in your heart had eased ever so slightly—before you got up, trudging your way to the kitchen, flipping on a light switch as you entered the hallway.

Closely inspecting your hand, you could see the same red petal as before, but multiplied and accompanied with thinner petals that resembled strings, some with a tiny seed attached to its tip. Some of the petals stood alone, but one of them was still somewhat intact, with its shorter, thicker red petals attached to one another, and a few stringier ones sticking out from its centre. You scowled at the sight, seconds before you dumped them into the trash bin.

You cleansed the saliva from your hand before retrieving yourself another glass of water. Despite it not doing much, it still soothed the burning in your throat ever so slightly.

You went back to bed, but this time you didn’t care to sleep. Not even in your dreams could you avoid the agony that seemed to have gnawed its way into your brain like a parasite.

You laid there, uncomfortably awake. A ghost of the dream was playing on your mind, haunting your thoughts no matter how hard you tried to avoid thinking about him.

Eventually, you relented, realizing you were fighting a battle you could never win. You let the thoughts consume you.

And consume you, they did.

The primary thought that plagued your mind was the question of ‘why?’.

Why did he break up with you? Why did he do it without saying a word?

The thoughts branched out from there.

Did you do something wrong? You were under the impression that everything was okay. Maybe he just didn’t love you anymore. Maybe he just got bored of you.

Could you have done something differently? What could you have done differently? Or was this inevitable? Maybe he found someone else.

Who could it have been? Was it that girl who he occasionally worked with? Maybe there were signs, and you just didn’t pick them up. Even so, everything had been good between the two of you.

Were you mistaken? Surely you couldn’t have been. There was no sign of anything having gone wrong. Even if you didn’t know it, surely your gut feeling would have picked something up had there been an issue. There couldn’t have been an issue.

But if there wasn’t, then why was he gone? Why wasn’t he here with you anymore? Why did he leave?

Surely then, you thought. This had to be a mistake.

That was it! It was a mistake. Jack had simply made a mistake. It was just a matter of time before he realized it. It was just a matter of time before he came back.

And then everything would be okay. You wouldn’t have this cursed sickness anymore. You wouldn’t have that terrible scratching feeling in your throat. You wouldn’t have to see these blood red petals ever again. And you wouldn’t be waking up from these horrid dreams, instead you’d wake up to see him like you always did when he was over at your place—watching over your sleeping form with a gentle smile on his face.

Because he would realize he made a mistake, and he’d come back to you.

Everything would be okay.

—

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

The next few days went by the same way. You’d wake up after a painful dream about Jack, go about your day—not that you really remembered what you did; the days were going by in a blur, each day blending into the next. You tried to do the basic necessities for yourself, such as keeping yourself clean, showering, brushing your teeth, and so on. You did the bare minimum for that, not bothering to do anything past that, your skincare long since forgotten about.

As for eating, you did your best, but no matter what you ordered—it went without saying, but you didn’t have the energy to make anything—you had no appetite for it. For the majority of the time, the idea of food repulsed you. When it didn’t, you would manage to take a few bites only before feeling full.

Between a repetitious cycle of forcing tiny bites of food down your throat, passing out for a few hours before being inevitably woken up by an agonizing dream, you also were growing more and more flowers in the cavity of your chest. The petals had no regard for what you were feeling. In fact, they only fed off them as if they were photosynthesizing from the sun that was your pain. You coughed and coughed, spitting out singular petals, small ruby strands, and occasionally half formed clumps of the flower.

And just like that, a week had passed by.

You noticed how fatigued you felt all the time. Like a hollow body, a lifeless doll, even just getting out of bed was tiring for you. You chalked it up to the lack of sleep and food. It didn’t really bother you, though. The thought of getting better and recovering from this heartbreak was one not on your mind. The only thing on your mind was a repeat of the same thing, over and over again. Jack.

You missed him, you missed him so dearly so that you felt your chest being torn apart, ripped at its seams, an invisible force reaching in and digging its talons into your heart, planting flowers inside your lungs.

It appeared as if everything existing in your world right now was an allusion to Jack. The lightheaded feeling that threatened to take you away at any moment, the excruciating pain in your chest, the scorching flames in your lungs, the dull, throbbing ache in your stomach, and the chemical like feel of acid in your esophagus, it all served to remind you of Jack’s existence.

Of course, that was not to mention the ever-blooming flowers. With each cough that was expelled from your throat, a memory of Jack surfaced, until you were left with a slowly clogging throat and a mind full of happy moments that were now gone forever.

—

“The blizzard seems to be lightening up,” you commented, observing from the coziness of the sofa chair indoors that you were huddled up upon. A warm, tawny blanket was wrapped around your arms and back, bunched up at the centre of your chest. You had a small table in front of you, a mug filled with a hot drink on top of said table.

“That’s good news,” he replied.

Jack was sitting across from you, in an identical sofa chair, his own drink—a cup of black tea—resting on the same furniture, carved from a deep mahogany wood. You noticed that his home followed a set aesthetic: polished, cherry red wood furniture, and ivory velvet where fabric was called for. The only outlier was his washroom, but you supposed having that aesthetic there wouldn’t make sense.

It had been a few hours since you arrived there, and the two of you had just been chatting over the small round table. The conversation mostly comprised of him asking you about your life, which you were happy to share. You were usually more shy, reserved around others, but his presence put you at ease. At some point, however, you felt the need to address the elephant in the room.

“Jack,” you started, hesitant about what you were going to say next.

“Yes?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I’m sorry if this is offensive, but… what are you, exactly?” You mustered up the courage to ask the question, holding your breath as you waited for a response.

“A demon.” His answer was blunt, straight to the point. You nodded slowly, taking in the information.

“You kill people.” Your words came out more as a statement rather than a question. It wasn’t like you didn’t know, but you wanted confirmation.

“Yes.” This time, he averted his gaze from yours, almost as if he was telling you something he was ashamed of. You wondered then how he felt about killing, but it felt like too personal of a question to ask, ironically enough.

“I see,” you muttered, not really sure of what else to say.

“Are you not afraid?” Jack questioned, tilting his head back up and meeting your eyes once again, with the same curious expression as before.

“Only a little,” you confessed with a giggle. Your laugh appeared to be contagious, or perhaps it was just something about attraction—no, you were getting ahead of yourself—because he, too, laughed. A soft and charming sound.

Charming, you thought. You had only thought about it then. Surely you had noticed it earlier, but this man was oddly charming. Perhaps it was something to do with the fact that he saved your life, but you also appreciated other aspects of him. You liked his voice, you liked his aesthetic, you liked his way of speech, and you liked his face, to your own surprise.

“You’re staring,” Jack observed, a teasing smile on his face. You instantly felt your cheeks flare red, a blush blooming over your face as you realized he was right. You were staring. Amidst your embarrassment, you thought to turn the tables.

“Can’t help it,” you grinned. It was true. The man before you was mesmerizing.

“Then I hope you don’t mind that I stare at you in return,” he breathed; you returned his words with a delighted smile.

“How could I ever complain?” you inquired, a rhetorical question.

To your surprise, the room fell into a heavy tranquillity. Jack didn’t respond, not with something flirty, not with anything at all. Instead, he held your gaze for a moment before dropping it with a sigh escaping his grey-tinted lips.

“What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong?” you questioned, unsure what was up with the sudden change of mood.

“No, not at all—” Jack let out another exhale. “In fact, the problem is that you’re saying everything right.”

You had an idea of what he meant, but you didn’t want to sound narcissistic and full of yourself, so you made the choice to ask for clarification instead.

“What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” he stated. “I was never supposed to have met you, let alone taken you to my home, revealed my identity to you, much less feel attraction towards you.”

You weren’t quite sure, but you felt like you understood why it troubled him so much. Clearly, this wasn’t a daily occurrence for him, and surely it served as nothing but trouble for him, considering what he was and what he did.

“I can leave, if you want. The storm has died down significantly,” you pointed out, gesturing towards the window as you stood up.

“But that’s the problem,” Jack murmured. “I don’t want you to.”

“That works for me,” you spoke softly. “I didn’t want to go, either.”

“Good. Stay,” he said, earnestly looking you in the eyes. You nodded your head, sitting back down on the cream velvet fabric.

—

It was funny, how in times like this, you never reminiscence the bad moments. The fights you had with Jack, the times where he’d upset you, the times where you’d almost broken up; none of that was recalled, none of that mattered.

All that mattered was him.

All that mattered was him, him and every good thing about him, like the way he smiled, the way he held you like you like you were fine, expensive glassware that could shatter at any touch, the way he kissed you so delicately each time, with his lips to yours as if he was sealing an eternal promise—

A bouquet of flowers bursted through your parted lips. It was violent, how sudden it was. As if the flowers had just grown, crawled up your esophagus, made way into your mouth, and expelled itself all in one split second.

But then your lungs were on fire once more, your heart felt far too big for your ribcage, as if it was straining against the bones that now became a prison, and you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop coughing, furiously hacking up petals that were somehow in larger bundles than before, and you didn’t have anywhere really to put them so you hastily snatched up some tissues, placing it on your lap, allowing saliva soaked flowers to aggressively erupt from your mouth, strings of spit still connecting the petals to your lips.

You kept coughing, each bundle of petals more painful than the last as you choked it out, and you could swear your throat was tearing, because by the end of your coughing fit it was hoarse and no amount of water could soothe the sting that sizzled through your upper body.

You considered going out to buy some cough drops but didn’t bother—what was the point? It wouldn’t do anything to help the cause, it would only relieve you of the pain temporarily. Which didn’t matter to you much, because no amount of physical pain you could feel could even come close to the excruciating feeling of loss.

And you thought then, what would happen if this wasn’t a mistake? What if Jack had fully thought out what he was doing—that’s the kind of person he was. After all, he wasn’t rash or impulsive. Then what? This would be it for you. He wouldn’t come back, and you would be left alone, dying to this wretched illness that had surely rooted itself rather deeply into your chest by now.

But that couldn’t be the case. Jack may have been a cannibal, may have been a killer, but he was not unnecessarily cruel. He wouldn’t leave you to die like this. Even if he no longer loved you, he would still not inflict this kind of torment on you. He obviously wouldn’t hate you. He had no reason to, and as long as that was the case, then he wouldn’t leave you to suffer. He wouldn’t kill you. He still had to at least care about you to some extent. You had been together for years. That wouldn’t have just amounted to nothing.

Therefore, it had to be a lapse in judgement. There was no other explanation for his actions. He had to come back. He had to. Even if not for rekindling your relationship, he would at least provide you closure and allow you to move on properly. That was how he was as a person.

He’d come back. You were sure of it.

—

It had been a while since the breakup. Somewhere around three or so weeks, you hadn’t bothered to count. The days had gone by all the same; you couldn’t differentiate one from another.

You sometimes wondered if this is what Hell would be like. Everlasting torment. Each day of your life drenched in suffering, surely you were living it right now. But just what had you done to deserve this? Your mind cycled through the possibilities.

Maybe it was the argument you had the week before that. Where you got upset at him for calling off a date with you to spend time with his friends. In hindsight, you felt nothing but regret for even bothering to argue over that. It hadn’t been worth it at all. The situation felt a lot less significant now than it seemed to you at the time. You wondered what you got so worked up over, and when you couldn’t think of something, you realized that you had gotten upset over nothing.

What an idiot you were. What an idiot you were, for starting minor arguments over things like that. Things that seemed important at the time but were completely meaningless now. Regret surged through you like tidal waves, ricocheting off each corner of your mind and splashing over your conscience with guilt.

Maybe if you hadn’t argued over that, he would still be here.

Maybe if you had been better, he would still be here.

He wasn’t here, because you weren’t good enough.

It was all your fault.

The tears wouldn’t cease their flow. They streamed down your face, hot and angry like lava flowing from a freshly erupted volcano, burning as they slid alongside your cheeks. Burning with shame, burning with guilt.

You hated yourself.

After all, it was your fault that Jack left.

You made him leave.

It was all your fault.

The words repeated in your head like a mantra, and each time it did, you choked out a fresh sob, the tears rolling down your face like a waterfall. Cascading as you let out a cry of fury, of frustration, of forlornness.

As you cried, fresh flowers bloomed in your lungs, taking up space until it eventually was too full and you had to hack them out, the petals and now stems harshly ripping against the tender innards of your esophagus, small tears forming where the flowers had been too rough against your throat. With each sanguine bundle of petals, arching red petals and their cursed red strings, came alongside blood, nearly the same shade as the foreign objects and indistinguishable save for the metallic scent that emanated from them.

After noticing the blood, you felt a panic rise up in your chest, now knowing that the disease had turned lethal, and so you reached for your phone.

And in a desperate attempt, you tried to call Jack.

You already had his contact saved in your favourites, so all you had to do was click the call button.

Instant voicemail.

Maybe his phone was on do not disturb. He had it like that sometimes, but the second call usually would go through. So you tried again, pressing the call button with held breath.

It went instantly to voicemail once again.

You screamed in frustration. You were clenching the phone so hard your knuckles bared white, so close to throwing it across the room when you just barely managed to control yourself and stop, heavily breathing as you tried to calm yourself down.

No. You wouldn’t let this stop you. You could still message him.

Y/N 3:41 hey jack? 3:41 look, i don’t fully understand what’s going on, but just please talk to me

Nothing.

3:43 i get that you probably don’t want to 3:43 i mean you wouldn’t be ignoring me otherwise 3:43 but 3:43 please 3:44 if you care about me even in the slightest bit 3:44 please just reply

Still nothing. You could feel the desperation build up, pathetically layering upon itself.

3:46 we don’t have to be together 3:46 we don’t have to be anything 3:46 if you don’t want me 3:46 that’s fine 3:47 i mean it’s not really fine but there’s nothing i can do about it anyway 3:47 i just want to know what happened 3:47 what did i do wrong

And still nothing.

3:49 please 3:49 jack 3:49 please 3:49 please just reply i’m begging you 3:49 please i’m literally fucking begging you 3:49 i just want to know what’s going on 3:50 i’ll never bother you again after this 3:50 i’ll leave you alone i promise 3:50 you won’t have to ever hear from me again 3:50 so please 3:50 please just tell me why 3:50 please jack i just want to know why 3:50 is that really too much to ask for 3:50 jack please 3:51 please just talk to me 3:51 i’ll literally do anything 3:51 please

The futility of the situation was overwhelming, and you were drowning in it, desperately trying to gasp for air but only filling your lungs with further despair.

3:52 jack please i’m fucking begging you please just reply please please please

No response. You couldn’t for the life of you understand why he wasn’t replying. You had tried everything, you had dropped your ego, you had figuratively sunk down to your knees and begged and still he wouldn’t reply.

3:55 why won’t you talk to me 3:55 why 3:55 please at least just tell me what i did wrong

But he still didn’t answer. Not even to that. The tears were clouding your vision; you hastily wiped at them to be able to see through the screen, and when you did, you realized the screen too, was wet. Teardrops were resting on the surface of the glass, making it hard to type. You wiped the phone against your own shirt.

3:57 whatever it is i’m sorry okay 3:57 i’m sorry 3:57 i’m sorry so please just talk to me

You let out one last plea.

4:00 please jack i love you

You crumbled in within yourself. You curled up into a ball, huddling up, holding yourself as you wailed in your own grasp, cursing whatever god there was out there for allowing this to happen to you.

You truly didn’t understand. Just what had you done wrong to deserve this? Did you commit sins in your past life?

But then you remembered. The argument the two of you had, the one before you guys broke up. You decided that you would ask him about it. Perhaps that was the key.

Just as you were about to type again, you heard a ping from your phone, the classic notification sound going off with an accompanying buzz. The sudden interference from something that wasn’t you made you jump for a slight second, alert despite the smothering fog in your head.

Tim hey

You looked at your phone, staring at the message for a long while before the banner eventually slid back up, disappearing. You slid your screen down to look through the notifications, hovering over Tim’s messages to you. You noticed then that he had sent you an abundance of texts, none of which you had replied to.

Tim —3 weeks ago— 20:01 what 20:13 look, im sorry 20:13 i hope youre feeling okay 20:15 well, as much as you can be

You remembered that. That was when you first messaged him, trying to find out where your ‘boyfriend’ had gone. His answer was one of the many that led you to the unfortunate truth.

—2 weeks ago— 0:34 hey 0:34 how are you holding up? 0:34 sorry for not checking in on you sooner 0:35 thought maybe youd want some space

—10 days ago— 23:43 hey you havent been responding 23:44 im getting worried about you 23:44 send me a text when you have time yeah?

—6 days ago— 1:11 y/n 1:11 i know this must be hard for you 1:12 but please just send a text back so i know youre alright

—2 days ago— 0:56 cant sleep 0:56 cant get this whole thing off my mind 0:56 i keep worrying about you too 0:57 why arent you texting back?

—yesterday— 0:03 y/n you need to text me back 0:03 seriously 0:03 everyones worried about you

—today— 4:04 hey

The phone buzzed again. You could see that he was typing, still.

4:04 listen 4:04 you need to text me back right now 4:04 or im coming over to check on you 4:04 seriously

No, no—that was not good. You couldn’t have him coming over and seeing you in… whatever condition this was considered. You rushed to type out a reply to prevent that from happening.

Y/N 4:04 hi 4:05 everything’s okay

Tim 4:05 jesus christ 4:05 it took you three weeks to fucking reply 4:06 do you know how worried i was?

Y/N 4:06 sorry

You closed out of the chat, shutting your phone off and putting it away. Tim wouldn’t bust your door down now. That’s good enough. You’d worry about the rest of your friends later. Surely Tim would pass on the fact that you’re alive and well to the others, and they wouldn’t be as worried anymore.

You let out a sigh of relief, just before you felt more flora itching at the back of your throat.

—

Days merged into weeks, and soon it had been a month since Jack’s departure.

You thought it was supposed to get better. At least, that’s what people would always say—that time heals all wounds. However, in the case of your situation, there was no improvement to be found. Everything was growing bleaker and bleaker by the day; each swing of the pendulum in your room was a grim reminder that your time left was quickly dissipating.

After all, you weren’t oblivious to the fate of those harbouring the disease. Those who fell ill either opted for a surgery to eradicate their feelings, or slowly succumbed to a slow and torturous death.

Your hopes that Jack would come back were beginning to wane considering the time that had passed, but you weren’t ready to give up entirely yet, and so you made the choice not to get the surgery done.

Instead, you wallowed in your own suffering, permitting it to consume you entirely.

And consume you, it did. The disease devoured you, gnawing at you until you were skin and bones—quite literally.

You had lost a considerable amount of weight, your ribcage visible without the need to suck in your stomach, your hipbones sticking out and collarbones jutting out further than should be.

Not only was the lack of food affecting your appearance, it was also affecting your energy, seeing as you now had none. Most of your days were spent laying in bed with some random show playing that you could barely focus on. You were sure that the fatigue could be due to a number of other reasons, but how utterly weak you felt was surely related to your very limited food intake.

But it had been so long since you ate properly that you had stopped feeling hunger. At least, not in the same way that you used to. It was now dulled to a slight ache in your stomach, something entirely ignorable.

The dreams never stopped, either.

Still, you tried to sleep as much as you could. The dreams, while painful, were still a better alternative to being awake. After all, it was when you were awake that you would really be able to sink into the rabbit hole of your own dreadful thoughts.

But you couldn’t sleep forever, and sooner or later, your conscious mind would replay your fondest memories with Jack, tainting what was once happy and cherished with the same gruesome pain that seemed to follow you wherever you went. You were defenceless against your own brain, something you now despised seeing as all it served was to work against you.

Because nobody could hurt you better than you could hurt yourself.

part three ->

[nectaric]

@maramcna asked: She stands alone, anxious, waiting, watching. And then she catches sight of her son and she cannot stand idly by any longer. Racing towards Ares, throwing her arms around him without caring about the grime that covered him. "Are you hurt?" Pulling back but taking hold of his hands as her eyes roam, searching for any sign of harm. Her son was home.

the battle never ends when the fighting stops. that was a lesson ares had learned early, when the feelings in his body did not dissipate just because the enemy was dead. that bloodlust carried him through every fight, kept him moving even when injury threatened to slow him down or the horrors of violence became too much. it took a long while for that intense thirst to fade, for ares to come back into himself.

and that moment, when the bloodlust faded and he was left with what had been done, was the most dangerous. ares had treated enough soldiers with similar afflictions to know how careful he had to be.

and so, as he walked back up the stairs to the palace, drenched in blood and ichor and all amounts of other nasty things, the lust faded. he was careful, meticulous, in tune with the sensations of his body. injuries he could not feel before came flooding in. his arm was slashed, he thought. his knee ached something fierce. his head throbbed - had someone hit him on the head?

but more than the physical pain was something more insidious. the shock. battle shock, shell shock, trauma. he had trained himself to recognize the signs. shock was... well, it felt like...

the panic set in as the realization did, the knowledge that something was wrong, that his mind was slow and there was a feeling in his chest he couldn't describe, and suddenly everything was abhorrently wrong--

ares heard her voice before he saw his mother, and the relief exploded from him like a desperate sob. her arms were a beacon, guiding him back into his own body, back into reality, into feeling. the battle was never over, but his mother knew that, and she was here, and it was all going to be alright.

"i'll be fine," ares slurred, trying to reassure her. he always came home. every battle took its toll, but he always came home. "i'm sorry."

[thatonepoppyangstguy]

Back to normal, hmm?

It's really quite the miracle, you know. Most toons that twist don't get as lucky as you.

But...why you?

Was it because you did something right? Was it because you happened to have the determination and strength to move forwards?

Or was it because of a freak accident?

You may tell the others that ask that you are thankful for not losing yourself to your own madness, but let's be honest here:

Do you even believe that you deserved to come back?

So many others have been entirely lost to this insidious affliction, their former selves lost to the ichor, but by a stroke of pure chance, YOU somehow break free of this standard.

And yet, no matter how relieved you should feel, you know, deep down...

It should've been somebody else.

Imagine how the others felt, hearing a toon came back from twisting. Maybe it was a useful distractor, or a fast extractor that could help them on missions! Maybe it was someone who could teach the others how to avoid twisting as well!

Imagine their disappointment when you showed up instead.

Useless, insignificant Poppy, who can't do anything right. Who got herself twisted due to an idiotic mistake that she made, and who doesn't even have a reason as to why she went back to normal.

Knowing this now, you would've almost felt more at peace being alone, struggling to keep control as you isolated yourself, when nobody was around to see just how much of a failure you are. You would've felt better if the others never had to lay their eyes upon your abhorrent self.

Don't you see?

You should've never came back in the first place.

-red text anon

Staring, she didnt have any anger in her eye, there wasnt a hint of emotion, adjusting the bandages on her eye slightly, she spoke "Your worthless opinion can't affect me." "Bother someone else." She just.. calmly spoke, Her tail softly swaying "You've done good, possibly more bad, but still good." "I don't believe I'm a failure. "Therefore your opinion is worthless." "Also, it was not a mistake," "Have you not seen the pattern?" "The anons caused me to almost lose my sanity." "My own choices cause me to almost twist." "I didn't want to come back from twisting." "I want to permanently twist." "Theres no more 'oh i dont wanna be a twisted! it hurts!!'" "..I just want to avoid the pain I go through." "I don't know why I didn't twist." "If I knew, I would've stopped it." "Believe me, I would've."

[acridid-s]

godDAMNIT the distortion filter on this bitch (Abhorrent Beast) makes it like impossible to figure out how high to turn up the voicepitch

[gentrychild]

All mighty and terrible owl beast, I beseech thee, tho thoust are correct that AFO hasnt a simp worthy bone in his canon nor his Anyone forms (how one could desire him shirtless thus is the work of demons) and perhaps the pathetic suffering of RAADSC has softened some of his abhorrent traits, but why must thou afflict us with the fearfully gifted redoaktreehill's portraits, creations of such simp worthy honor :(

Oh, this is quite simple. There are two reasons for that.

First, if I like the art, I won't care about what this is and reblog it in order to keep it where I can access it.

Second, if an artist is good, it's in my interest to encourage them to keep drawing so I can get more art, so I reblog and try to make them have more notes so they get warm fuzzy feelings and keep drawing.

[bylagunabay]

Diary of an Exorcist

BINDING PRAYER AGAINST DEMONS BLOCKING MASS ATTENDANCE

- Monsignor Stephen Rossetti

𝙈𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙗𝙚𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙋𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙖 𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙧𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙧 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙠𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙙𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙨’ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙨 𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚? 𝙈𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙗𝙚𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙖 𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙧𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙤 𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙨?

I have been working with someone who is afflicted with a strong demonic presence. We not only encourage him to say deliverance prayers daily, but also to attend Sunday Mass. This is critical. There is consistently nothing more powerful and nothing more hated by the demons than attending Mass and receiving the Body and Blood of Jesus.

The demons’ abhorrence of the Eucharist is a witness to its spiritual efficacy, and ultimately to the teaching of the real presence of Christ. Whenever I even say the name “Jesus,” the possessed man says the demons are “seriously angry” and “it is really very painful.” But the Eucharist is something on a completely higher spiritual plane. The demons do everything they can to keep the possessed away.

Week after week, I have encouraged him to attend Mass but he has not been able. I asked him why and he said, “My mind is ready, and I want to go but I can’t. It’s like I have no control over my body, and I can’t walk out the door. It is as though something big was blocking me.” It is not hard to guess what the “something big” was.

So, I told him: “Next Sunday, as you get ready to go to Mass, I will call you and say a binding prayer. We will bind the demons that are blocking your Mass attendance.” So, I bound the demons right before he left to go to Mass. After successfully attending, he texted: “It was amazing to see the chains and ropes around them [the demons] … I could see that they were bound and it was safe to go in.”

When someone is severely afflicted with demons, their blocking Mass attendance is obvious and expected. But I wonder how many people, who are not possessed or oppressed, are similarly hindered from attending Mass because of an unsuspected demonic interference. It may be more common than we realize.

Might it behoove every Pastor to say a binding prayer every weekend to bind any demons that are hindering his parishioners’ Mass attendance? Might it not behoove parents to say a binding prayer to assist their children to attend Mass?

[godwyne]

incoherent thoughts bc sommer is a genius and i love him tremendously for it x

generally, i am pretty rigid in my characterisations as in... once something is decided, very rarely does it ever change. i'm indecisive enough as is.

however.... thank you dlc and sommer's brain. we were talking about marika and messmer and how she utterly failed him as a parent. i haven't watched any comprehensive lore breakdowns of the dlc bc i 1) want to kill the final boss and 2) sit with the information before applying it.

anyways, fiddling with the idea of adopting into marika's characterisation that messmer was her firstborn before she ascended to godhood and essentially, was an omen of what marika's future rule would entail. asexual reproduction is also something i have considered in the past. and whether willing or unwilling, this fact of messmer's conception ( with obvious religious overtures ) paint marika as an instrument of the GW, and would be used in whatever way it deemed appropriate.

messmer represents everything the GW and golden order are against: sin ( fire ) and blasphemy ( snakes ). he was born cursed, with the elements and afflictions her faith considers abhorrent and she ultimately chose that over loving her child.

this stain in the very beginnings of her life and her rule as a god-queen are obviously burdens she carries with her. i can believe it's why she goes to such lengths to eradicate the fire giants bc she wants so badly to be seen as unwaveringly devout and cleansing the land of sin... but she has a son she chooses to hide away that embodies the very antithesis of the GW and golden order.

it's interesting bc she could have very well killed messmer herself. but i think the part of marika that speaks to her maternal love, no matter how twisted, wouldn't allow her to.

[deathsmark]

" oh, zed. how long until you finally realise that i cannot be killed? you will always fall just shy, and you will always fail. "

Usan had been birthed upon the ascending steps of the kinkou temple & had died, a rotting & abhorrent thing, in the mouth of his most intimate friend. it had been preordained; for he was unlike shen in his obdurate faith & fierce diligence, malleable & altered by the anguish jhin afflicted. It coiled inside of him, a seething, sinuous loathing, burning away the propriety his master had instilled. in the unfurling cavity of a corpse, bowing bones wreathed in intestines & cruor, he had found the tenacity needed to desert the order & their unavailing ideals. he knew it made him weak, existing now only in the peripherals of a life he had coveted so brazenly. if he killed jhin, condemning the vile artisan of death; would it appease the ire & guilt that churned alongside his ragged breath. he did not have that answer. the golden demon’s derision erodes his restraint, expression withering in umbrage. jhin was the tenebrosity that befouled his veins, the sacrilege of ancient magic whittling away at his humanity. it felt ludicrously just to tether the fault for the death that shadowed him to the devil of his past & yet, he felt the laden tow of every life taken like it was shackled to his throat. “ you will die, jhin.” he retorts, vitriol hot on his tongue. he sunk beneath zed’s skin in scalding undulations of fury, boring blunt nails into the palm of his hand, his blade torturously fettered to his side.