#Achieve everlasting life

[kelsingra-by-night]

Something you'd like to tell us Beloved ???

-carpenter

-he's the real thing people just don't believe him

-full of wisdom

-has to die in order to save the world (is aware of this, dreads it)

-gets crucified and crowned mockingly

-dies

-is resurrected

[o9sessions]

FRACTURED MASKS ── #1 | ◯ △ □

on the edge of desperation, a chance knocks,

offering salvation wrapped in a red envelope

MASTER | NEXT

wc ; 4.1k warnings ; violence (slapping), cursing

THE hum of the fluorescent lights in the lab was soothing, the faint echo of pens scribbling onto the versitile paper made from processed plant fibers filling the otherwise quiet space. You sat at a corner desk near the back wall away from the other students, bent over your notes; the pages filled with medical terminology and formulas, a language you knew well.

Frankly, it was all you had left—the work, the research, the dream of the future you were still so desperately clinging to, despite the storm brewing around you. You’d always known you were meant for something more, something great.

As a little girl, you’d sit in the back of the classroom in America, your home country, gazing out the window daydreaming about what your life would be like in years to come. The world had so much to offer, and you wanted to be part of the change, part of the movement that would make this world a better place. Studying medicine was your true calling, a everlasting dream to help those in need, just as the doctor who treated your parents had done.

Your grip on the pen nestled in your hand tightened at the thought of them, a heavy sadness weighing in on your heart. They were both hardworking people who fought through their own struggles, but they gave you everything they could—love, support, and dreams of a better future. Your mother had always been the one to say, “You’re going to do something great, something that will change the world.” Your father, though quiet, had always supported that belief, his pride evident whenever you made a small achievement. You were their only child, the only one to carry on their legacy, and they poured everything into your future.

But when they died, everything came crashing down.

It had happened so quickly. One moment, they were fine—healthy, full of life, planning for your future in medicine—and the next, they were gone. The cancer had come back, worse than before, it took both of them in the blink of an eye. You’d never really had the chance to grieve properly; instead you had to grow up in an instant, picking up the pieces of your shattered world.

You found yourself alone in a vast, cold world, with no one to turn to. The grief felt like a dark cloud, following you everywhere. No brothers, no sisters, no extended family—just you. The silence was suffocating. The weight of carrying on your family’s name and legacy felt heavier than anything you could ever imagine. Your parents’ absence was a constant, an unspoken ache carried with you every day.

But you had to keep going. They had invested so much in you. Their dreams had been your dreams, and you couldn’t just let that die. So you packed your bags, got on a plane, and moved across the world to Korea. You’d told herself it was for your future, for your studies, but deep down, you were running—running from the memories that clung to every corner of your childhood home.

Korea was a new beginning. The medical technology there was unmatched, the advancements in treatment and research were groundbreaking, and it was a place where you could finally make you mark. You would build a new life, one far removed from the painful memories of your parents. You threw herself into your studies, determined to not only make them proud but also to prove that their sacrifices meant something.

Your proficiency in Korean, a skill you’d honed since childhood, made the transition easier. You had taken classes since elementary school in preparation for the opportunity to study abroad. It had been a dream of yours for as long as you could remember, and now that dream was within your reach. You were going to be a doctor, someone who could heal the world.

You didn’t notice how lost in thought you were until the PA system crackled to life, breaking your concentration.

“Attention, Miss [name]. Please report to the Head Minister’s office immediately. I repeat, Miss [name], please report to the Head Minister’s office.”

You froze, pen still in hand, the words barely registering in your mind. Dozens of paris of eyes landed on you in an instant, butterflies swirled in your belly from the attention. The sudden, sharp jolt of anxiety hit your chest as you sat up straight, setting the pen down. With haste you began packing materials back onto your bag, quickly scurrying out of the study lab and into the hallway.

Your mind raced—you had no reason to think anything was wrong. You had been keeping up with your assignments, acing exams, staying focused on your studies. What could it be?

Each step echoed down the silent halls of the school. The walk to the Head Minister’s office felt like it took hours, and by the time you stood outside the door, your palms were clammy, stomach twisted in knots. With a shaky breath, you knocked.

“Come in,” a voice called from within.

You pushed the door open, the dim light inside casting long shadows across the room. The Head Minister, a stern-looking woman with sharp eyes, sat behind her desk, papers scattered before her. Her gaze flicked up when the door clicked shut behind you, but there was something in her expression that sent a shiver down your spine—something that made your pulse quicken.

“Miss [name], please, sit,” the Minister said, gesturing to the chair across from her.

You obeyed, feeling the weight of the room settle over the both of you like a cloak. The minister didn’t waste time.

“I’m afraid there’s some troubling news,” she began, her voice cool and detached, as though she had delivered this same message countless times before.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest. You instinctively clasped your hands in your lap, trying to still the nervous shaking that had overtaken them.

“Your financial status with the school has fallen into the negatives. There’s a significant amount of debt you have yet to clear, and unfortunately, it’s put your enrollment in jeopardy.” The Minister’s words landed like a punch, each one more suffocating than the last.

Your breath caught in your throat. You had been trying to ignore it, telling yourself it wasn’t that bad, that you’d find a way. But hearing the words spoken out loud, so matter-of-fact, shattered the fragile illusion you had been clinging to.

“Y-You’re saying I’m… not allowed to continue?” you whispered, voice barely audible.

The Minister’s expression softened for just a moment, but the coldness never fully left her eyes. “I’m afraid that’s the case. Until this debt is settled, we can’t allow you to continue your studies here. You’re being put on hold.”

The world seemed to tilt beneath you, the room spinning as the weight of the situation settled into your bones. You had thought she could keep it together, that you could finish what your parents had started for you. But now—now it felt like the ground was slipping from under you.

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” you stammered, your throat tightening. “How did this happen? I thought my payments were on track.”

The Minister flicked through a few papers in front of her, her face impassive. “It appears the balance has been building for some time now, and the payments haven’t been made in full. There’s an outstanding amount that needs to be cleared immediately.”

Your hands picked harshly at your nails, leg bouncing in anticipation for the answer she would provide to your next question. “How much is the balance?”

The way she looked at you then, eyes flickering with a slight hint of pity was enough to confirm that it was something way out of your limits.

“60 Million Won.” ($41,120 USD)

Your mind raced, that was at least a years worth of tuition. You couldn’t afford this! Not now! Not when everything you had worked for—everything you had sacrificed—was on the line. Your dream of becoming a doctor, hope for a future that seemed just within your reach, was slipping away faster than you could grasp it.

“I-I can get the money,” you blurted out, panic rising in your chest. “I’ll figure something out. Just give me time, please.”

The Minister’s expression softened again, but only slightly. “I’m afraid time is no longer a luxury we can afford. Until your financial situation is resolved, I’m afraid we cannot allow you to remain enrolled.”

A lump formed in your throat, a hot rush of tears threatening to spill over. You wanted to scream, to beg, to plead for them to understand—but the words stuck, lodged somewhere deep inside you, where they couldn’t escape.

You weren’t used to being vulnerable, to letting anyone see how far the weight of everything was crushing you. But this—this was different. This was your future on the line, and there was nothing you could do.

“Take a few days to process everything, Miss [name],” the Minister continued, her tone unreadable. “We’ll be in touch once the situation has been resolved.”

You nodded, unable to form words, too numb to respond. You stood up, legs shaky, and vision blurring. The room seemed to close in around you as you turned and walked out, each step echoing in the hollow silence.

The door clicked shut behind you, and the reality of the situation crashed down on you with full force. You stood in the hallway for a long moment, not knowing what to do, where to go, or how to keep moving forward. Your entire future had just been ripped away from you, and all you had left was the suffocating weight of uncertainty.

The cold air of the train station bites at your skin, a sharp reminder of the emptiness around you. You sit hunched over on the worn bench, your bag at your feet, clutching your phone like it’s the only thing tethering you to the world. The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow on the nearly deserted platform.

At this late hour, there are only a few scattered passengers—an old man reading a newspaper, a couple arguing in hushed tones, a woman sipping coffee to stay awake.

But none of them matter.

Your fingers tremble as you scroll through your phone, searching desperately for a contact, a message, anything that might lead you to him. Your sugar daddy—the one who promised to take care of you, who helped you get this far—was supposed to be your safety net. He had always reassured you, always provided. But now, every attempt to call him goes straight to voicemail. Every message the same, ‘not delivered’.

When you’d first moved to Korea, only 19 years old and barley out of high school, things had been manageable. You found yourself a place to stay in Seoul, a small but cozy apartment. You made school friends, and your studies were progressing well. Then came the sugar daddy—an older man who had a fondness for your ambition, an attraction to your foreignerness.

He offered to fund your education, promising to cover your tuition, rent, and even some living expenses. It was an unexpected stroke of luck. You didn’t feel right about it, but you told herself it was temporary—just until you got your footing, just until you could fully stand on your own.

At first, it had been easy to accept his help. You wasn’t using him, you told herself. He didn’t ask for anything beyond your company and very small sexual favors, a kiss here some oral sex there. You’d convinced yourself you could keep things strictly business. But you were wrong. You had fallen into his world, one of easy luxuries and comfort, and for a while, it felt like a dream.

But dreams are fragile, and sometimes, they shatter without warning.

You try his social media, hoping for some sign, but when you go to type in the filmilar username no profile pops up, you’re hit with the harsh realization—you’ve been blocked. Completely.

Your heart sinks further as you stare at the blank screen, the gnawing sense of abandonment tightening in your chest. You never knew his real name. He only ever used an alias, a charming façade that you thought was enough. But now you realize just how little you actually knew about him. No name. No address. No way to contact him outside of the platforms he controlled.

He’s gone.

Your mind begins to race, dozens of questions swirling your brain, yet left unanswered. How long ago had he cut off your expenses? Did he find someone else, someone younger maybe? Did he stop paying your rent aswell?

“Fuck.” The sudden thought caused the curse to slip from your quivering lips. Hopefully you wouldn’t come home to find an eviction notice tapped to your apartment door.

You know you’ve been distant this past year, canceling meetings at the last minute, pushing off wondering touches and kisses. Yet that was no excuse for him to cut you off and leave you completely in the dark. You’ve expressed to have been been stacked with work from your university, trying hard to make it through medical school.

A wave of hopelessness crashes over you, and you press the heels of your hands into your eyes to stop the tears from spilling over. The train station around you feels colder, lonelier, as you sit there, unsure of what to do next. The weight of the debt—the 60 million won looming over your head—feels unbearable.

“You look troubled,” a smooth, unfamiliar voice breaks through your thoughts.

You look up sharply, your eyes meeting a man standing a few feet away. He’s dressed neatly, almost too neatly for this dingy train station, with a crisp suit and a polished demeanor that feels out of place. There’s something unsettling about the way he smiles at you—warm enough to seem kind, yet sharp enough to put you on edge.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” he continues, stepping closer, “you look like someone with a lot on their mind.”

You shift uncomfortably, hugging your bag tighter. “I’m fine,” you mutter, your voice unconvincing even to yourself.

“Are you?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. His tone is calm, almost soothing, but there’s a hint of something behind it—curiosity, perhaps, or calculation. “Sometimes, it helps to talk about it.”

You hesitate, unsure whether to brush him off or let the floodgates open. Against your better judgment, the words spill out before you can stop them. “I’m in debt,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how I’m going to pay it off. I’ve tried everything, but now…” You trail off, swallowing the lump in your throat, head bowed in shame.

The man nods slowly, as if he’s heard this all before. “A difficult situation, no doubt,” he says, his voice laced with an odd sympathy. “But perhaps there’s a way out.”

Your head snaps to him so quickly your surprised your neck is still attached to your shoulders. “What do you mean there’s still a way out?”

The man takes a step closer, his polished shoes echoing faintly in the nearly empty station. He sets the briefcase he’s been carrying on the bench beside you with a deliberate precision, the metallic click of the latches breaking the silence. Slowly, he opens it, revealing two neatly stacked piles of red and blue paper squares, along with a thick wad of cash.

You blink at the sight, your heart skipping a beat.

“Miss, would you be interested in a game of ddakji?”

“Ddakji?” you repeated, the name sounding unfamiliar on your tongue. Wasn’t this an old korean kids game? “What is this?” you ask, your voice hesitant as you glance between the vibrant paper and the man’s unreadable expression.

“A game,” he replies simply, his tone light yet oddly menacing. He picks up one of the blue squares and hands it to you. “It’s simple. You take this and try to flip over my red paper square by slamming it down. Every time you succeed, I’ll pay you 100,000 won.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the number, but suspicion quickly creeps in. “And if I lose?”

The man’s smile grows, sharp and knowing. “If you lose,” he says, almost casually, “You pay me the same amount.”

You freeze, your fingers tightening on the paper in your hands. “W-what..?”

He nods, unbothered by the disbelief in your voice. “That’s the risk. It’s only fair, don’t you think?”

Your gaze flickers to the money, then back to the man’s face. The desperation in your chest claws at you, urging you to agree. Sixty million won—the debt that looms over your head—flashes in your mind. Even if you win just a few rounds, it could make a difference.

“What happens if I say no?” you ask, your voice quiet.

“Then nothing,” he replies, his smile unfaltering. “You walk away, and your situation stays exactly as it is.” He tilts his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. “But something tells me you won’t.”

You swallow hard, your hands trembling slightly as you look down at the paper square. Against your better judgment, you nod.

“Alright,” you say, trying to sound more confident than you feel. “Let’s play.”

The man’s grin sharpens, and he places a red square on the ground before taking a step back. “Whenever you’re ready,” he says, gesturing for you to start.

You look down at his paper, gripping the blue square tightly. You take a deep breath, then slam it down as hard as you can. The sound echoes through the station, but the red square barely shifts.

The man clicks his tongue in mock disappointment. “Tough luck,” he says, stepping forward.

Your stomach sinks. “I don’t have the money to—”

“Relax,” he interrupts smoothly, raising a hand to cut you off. “You look like you’re about to cry. I’ll tell you what—we’ll change the terms.”

You blink, confused. “Change the terms?”

“Yes.” He crouches slightly so that he’s at eye level with you. His smile stretches wider, his gaze unrelenting. “Every time you lose, instead of paying me money, I’ll slap you.”

Your breath hitches, and you recoil slightly at the proposition. “Slap me?”

“It’s fair, isn’t it?” he says, his voice calm and composed as if he’s suggesting the most reasonable alternative. “And if you win, I’ll still pay you 100,000 won. No money owed. Just a little pain if you lose.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding in your ears. The desperation gnaws at you, urging you forward despite every instinct screaming at you to walk away. Slowly, reluctantly, you nod.

“Fine,” you say, your voice barely audible.

The man’s grin widens, and he gestures toward the red square on the ground. “Good. Let’s begin.”

You kneel down again, gripping the blue square tightly. This time, when you slam it down, the red square doesn’t even budge.

The man wastes no time. He steps forward, his hand swinging sharply. The slap rings out loud and clear, stinging like fire across your cheek.

You press a hand to your face, glaring up at him with watery eyes. “You didn’t have to hit so hard,” you mutter, more out of humiliation than anger.

He shrugs, unbothered. “That’s the game.”

You grit your teeth, determination flaring. You pick up the blue square again, readying yourself for another attempt. This time, when you slam it down, the red square flips over with a satisfying snap.

The man raises an eyebrow, mildly impressed. “Atta girl,” he says, pulling a crisp 100,000 won bill from the briefcase and handing it to you.

The money feels heavier than it should in your hand, like a tangible piece of hope. It ignites something in you, pushing you to keep going.

You play again. And again. And again.

The slaps come harder, the sting lingering longer, but every time you win, the money in your hand grows. By the end of it, your cheek is red and sore, your hand aching from the repeated impact of the paper. But you’ve amassed a small stack of cash—a temporary reprieve from the weight crushing your shoulders.

The man finally raises a hand, signaling the end of the game. “You’ve done well,” he says, his tone almost approving. “But if you’re truly interested in changing your life, there’s a bigger game you can join.”

Your heart sinks at the cryptic offer. “What do you mean?”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black envelope, wrapped in a red bow. He holds it out to you, his expression unreadable, although for a second you swear you saw a flicker of uncertainty—guilt, in his eyes.

“Call the number on this card,” he says. “You’ll have the chance to win far more than what’s in your hands right now. Enough to erase your debt and start fresh.”

You hesitate, staring at the card as if it holds the answer to all your problems—and maybe it does. But there’s an edge to his words, a warning you can’t quite decipher.

“Think about it,” he adds, stepping away and closing the briefcase with a decisive snap. “But don’t take too long. Opportunities like this don’t come often.”

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving you alone in the station with the cash in your hands and the card weighing heavy in your pocket.

The familiar creak of the apartqment door echoes in the silence as you step inside, exhaustion pressing down on you like a physical weight. You shut the door behind you, the click of the lock strangely final. Kicking off your shoes, you shuffle toward the tiny kitchenette, your mind too scattered to bother with anything more than a pack of instant ramen.

The fluorescent light above flickers as you fill a cup with water and pour it into the noodles. You toss the packet into the microwave, pressing a few buttons with little thought. The soft hum fills the quiet space, but it does nothing to soothe the growing ache in your chest.

Leaning against the counter, you glance around the small apartment. The peeling wallpaper, the sagging couch, the pile of bills stacked on the coffee table—it all feels heavier now. Without the safety net of your sugar daddy, this place feels less like home and more like a trap.

You exhale shakily, running a hand through your hair. “What am I supposed to do now?” you mutter, the question hanging in the air.

The microwave beeps, but you don’t move right away. Instead, your gaze drops to your bag sitting on the floor by the door. You remember the card. That strange, cryptic envelope the man gave you at the station.

Pushing off the counter, you walk over and crouch down, pulling the card from the pocket of your bag. The glossy surface catches the dim light as you hold it up.

You pull the little envelope open, it’s a small brown card, your thumb traces over the circle, triangle, and square symbols printed on the front before flipping it, revealing the number written inside.

8650 4006

For a moment, you just stare at it, your mind racing with everything that happened today—the minister’s cold words, your sugar daddy’s abrupt betrayal, the stinging slaps, the small stack of cash you’d managed to scrape together.

Sixty million won. The number feels like a noose around your neck, tightening with every second that passes.

You sit down on the edge of the couch, clutching the card in your hand. Your other hand hovers over your phone, trembling as you consider what you’re about to do.

“This could be it,” you whisper, the words trembling on your lips. “My way out.”

Or your way into something worse.

But desperation drowns out caution. You dial the number, the ringing filling your ear like the ticking of a countdown.

On the third ring, someone answers. A calm, even voice greets you.

“Would like to participate in the games?”

You close your eyes, your breath hitching. “Yes,” you say softly, the word carrying the weight of everything you’ve endured.

“I want to play.”

And just like that, your fate is sealed.

a/n — omg guysss first chapter done, so excited to carry on this new story. don’t worry in-ho will be introduced in the 2nd or 3rd chapter i wanted to build up the reader’s background and give you guys an understanding of her thought process and life yk 😭 feel like everyone just rushes their story to get to the good parts 😣🙄 like where’s the build uppp ! hope yall enjoyeddd if you liked to be tagged in the next chapter comment down belowww

[tarotofhope]

PAC: ❀ What Flower do you resemble? ❀

(Please Read My Pinned post *IMPORTANT NOTE* before selecting a Pile)

Pick an Image by meditating and selecting the image you feel called to. You can be attracted towards more than 1 image. If you are not able to select maybe this reading isn't for you.

⊱Pile 1

Daisy - Innocence, Purity, Joy, Cheerfulness, New Beginnings, Motherhood and Childbirth.

Hibiscus - Love, Passion, Divine Feminine, Happiness, Sunshine, Good Luck.

Dahlia - Pride, Elegance, Beauty, Gracefulness, Creativity, Positivity, Growth, Inner Strength, Accepting Positive Changes.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 1. You are very innocent and pure, or at least you look like that or vice versa, you look very daring and confident, but you are actually very innocent from the inside. You might also be very cheerful and bright, I'm getting a lot of bubbly energy here. Some of you might have a dashing personality even, very elegant, posh, bright and radiant. You might look like you've got all the riches, very abundant. I'm getting the energy of The Empress from this pile, very fertile, very passionate, you might be someone who likes children. You might also be very creative. But doesn't matter how you look, somehow you give other people the vibes of a soldier, a fighter or a daredevil. You look like you can overcome/achieve anything and everything. Some people might even get the impression that your life is full of roses and no thorns, that things are easy for you, but only you know your struggles.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 1.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

⊱Pile 2

Rain Lily - New Beginnings, Renewal, Friendship, Affection, Resilience, Hope.

Snowdrop - Renewal and Rebirth, Hope, Resilience, Beauty, Purity, Overcoming Challenges.

Rose - Love, Beauty, Romance, Passion, Sensuality, Royalty, Charm, Admiration.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 2. You look very gorgeous and beautiful, generally. You might always be hearing words of admiration for your beauty, people sending you proposals, also people getting envious about the same and trying to bring you down(some people do this just because they're insecure and annoyed by your good looks while some people think that your looks can easily steal their romantic partners). But most of you also like to take advantage of your beauty(now this can be for good or bad). You ooze a lot of sexual energy, without trying. Most of the times, people might get the wrong impression that you're trying to be seductive or sensual but they do not understand that you're actually naturally attractive. You're also very brave and resilient, you just get what you want. Like Pile 1, you're also a fighter, you can overcome anything, you also appear very elegant, regal and royal, you might be a dominating personality too. You never lose hope and never back down. You're not afraid of changes and challenges. People might think you're out of their league and hard to impress.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 2.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

⊱Pile 3

Hyacinth - Jealousy, Regret, Seeking Forgiveness, Joy, Playfulness, Sincerity, Genuine Affection (this flower has no basic general meaning, it's totally based on the colors).

Petunia - It holds both positive and negative symbolism. Familiarity and Comfort, Anger and Resentment, Protection, Intimacy, Peace.

Periwinkle - Earlier named as 'Flower of Death,' but in modern times, it has been given the symbolism of 'Immortality.' Also known as the 'graveyard plant' because it's planted in cemeteries, It is associated with serenity, calmness, winter, sentimental memories, everlasting love, blossoming friendships.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 3. You're sometimes hot, sometimes cold. It's difficult for one to guess what you're thinking or what you're upto. You're very unpredictable and mysterious. You might be someone who craves for affection or a deep connection but you hold back a lot of emotions yourself. You might also be someone who regrets after not saying/doing what's on their mind(some of you) or for saying/doing everything that comes to their mind without thinking(others of you). There are so many energies in this single pile, my audience reading this pile might have a complex personality. I can sense very indecisive energy too. You do something that you shouldn't do or you don't do something that you should do. You might find it very hard to be happy. You might also appear very unbothered and uninterested to some people. Your personality is highly misunderstood. It's like when people say, "but he/she doesn't look like he/she could do that." It can also be that either you have two very opposite personalities(one happy one sad) or you live half of your life being positive and half of your life being negative or vice versa.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 3.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

⊱Pile 4

Iris - Faith, Hope and Wisdom.

Carnation - Devotion, Love and Fascination.

Jasmine - Purity, The Divine, Grace, Love, Beauty and Sensuality.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 4. Most of you guys might be devout and traditional. You might be wise beyond your years and you have strong faith and beliefs. Some of you might be into spirituality or healing professions too. You might also be hopelessly romantic and you have a strong desire to love and to be loved. You might appear very angelic and graceful to people. You don't let people get much closer to you(especially romantically), so this leaves them even more curious. There's this peaceful glow to your face. You appear very holy, noble, calm, serene and put together. You look like you haven't or you would never mess anything up. You might also daydream a lot(you mostly daydream about things you cannot get yourself to do irl because you don't want to break the image you've built in people's eyes). You appear so simple yet beautiful, people find it so easy to fall in love with you but they really think what would it be like, to be loved by you. You are like the forbidden fruit that people get so curious about.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 4.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

⊱Pile 5

Tulip - Deep Love, Affection, Happiness, Good Luck, Well Wishes.

Chrysanthemum - Long Life, Rebirth, Friendship, Happiness, Well-being, Earlier, yellow colored ones were symbolised for sorrow and neglected love.

Calendula - Also known as Pot Marigold, it has healing properties, fights bacteria and viruses, used in tincture and ointments for cuts and burns, used as a good luck charm, gives protection against negative energies.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 5. You could be a healer reading this pile, whether professional or not, it can include being a doctor, nurse, vet, pharmacist, care-taker, counsellor, psychic, reiki healer, ayurvedic healer, therapist, etc.. You have deep love and affection for people and/or animals, you can genuinely care for and sympathise with them. Some of you are true empaths. Most of you appear very simple and quiet. There is this air of mystery around you. You don't talk much and you don't mingle around much. You're always in your own zone. You have knowledge of certain things which really helps people(and very few people are blessed with this purpose but I cannot say that all of the people associated with this pile are genuine, not all are), whether it involves guidance for mental and emotional healing or providing herbs and medicines for physical ailments. You work for other people's well-being and happiness. Most of you might yourselves have experienced something bad due to which you decided to get in this line of work.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 5.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

Thank you so much for being here. I post PAC readings every Tuesday and Friday. Do love and support by reblogging, liking or following.

——————————— ♡ ♡ ♡ ———————————

[gay-dorito-dust]

Could I request Welt, Dan Heng, Sunday, Gepard, and Argenti finding their s/o's poetry collection of them?

Argenti:

Would sit himself down somewhere nearby and read every last poem, each one leaving him with a full heart, butterflies in his stomach and another addition to the list of reasons why he adored your creative soul.

He’s extremely honoured that you decided to chose him as your muse for your poems, for he could feel the love and respect you have for him through your writing, before holding the collections of poetry made in his name against his chest as he beamed with happiness.

He’d even openly praise you for your works if he were to see you later on in the day, which would make you understandably upset and embarrassed that he went through your things, but with the way that he passionately talked about your writing and the look upon his face that clearly shown his appreciation and admiration for poetry.

At the end you’re the one who ends up being flustered whilst Argenti was still sending appraisal after appraisal your way, all the while re-reading your works and proudly reciting his favourite passages without shame.

Sunday:

He thought it was sweet that you write poetry about him.

He didn’t feel as though he was invading your privacy at all, seeing as how he’d like to claim that whatever of yours was now also his by osmosis…totally not because he’s fishing for stuff to hold over you and maintain control should you act out…

Anyway- he’s taking his sweet time reading each and every poem you’ve written with him in mind and smiling at the hold he’s taken within your heart, finding it fascinating what adoration could make one do just to express their whole array of emotions.

It was almost as though they were on some timer that others couldn’t see just to express all their innermost feelings towards the special person in their life. Then again love tended to make people feel as though they were invincible, so the unthinkable and accomplish things that they never thought that they were capable of achieving in the first place.

So it didn’t matter whether or not you were able to wax poetry before him, but it was obvious to Sunday that the moment he had taken hold of your life and your every thought, poetry has became your primary outlet for feelings that you weren’t nearly brave enough to say aloud to him. Rest assured however for that day will come for you to open up about those unspoken feelings of yours…sooner or later.

Gepard:

He feels as though he was invading your privacy by reading your poetry collection and wanted to leave before he’d inevitably get caught, but just as he was about to take his leave, he stopped when the title of the first poem caught his eye;

Everlasting winter

He found himself reading through the first few opening sentences and immeditly made connections between himself and the person within your poem. To say it didn’t take long for Gepard to realises that the similarities between him and the person in your poem were purely intentional, and that he was the one the poem was actual about.

His face was blossoming red upon the realisation and averted his eyes elsewhere as he takes in the fact that you found him a perfect enough muse for your poetry. Him, the man who couldn’t hold a tune to save his life, grows flowers that unfortunately don’t last long, and wasn’t possessed with the basic skills of drawing.

And yet you found something about him that was worth writing poem after poem about. He didn’t know why that was but he was appreciative that you found something in him that urged you into written it down on paper, where your affection and admiration for him would be forever immortalised…He also may or may not have taken a poem to read to himself later on at night.

Dan heng:

He had noticed that you left a piece of paper laying about one day and was about to call out to you and give it back, while scolding you for leaving your messes everywhere for him to pick up after, only to see that it was in fact a poem about him.

Red faced, Dan Heng still planned on taking the poem back to you and journeyed to your room where he found that the door was left ajar, but could immeditly tell that your room was empty. Sighing, Dan Heng opened the door and quickly made his way towards your desk, where’d he found more poems in regards to him.

Much like Gepard, Dan Heng felt as though he was reading something he shouldn’t but he found himself unable to look away as he was secretly tempted to know how you viewed him. What he found was nothing short of you portraying him in a way that he’s never quite thought of himself before. If he wasn’t already so easily made flustered by your words alone, your writing was enough to put the poor man into a catatonic state.

Dan Heng wasn’t use to being smothered in a love like yours. Where you felt as though speaking your love for him wasn’t nearly enough, so you had to expand and start writing it instead in the form of poetry. He doesn’t feel as though he’s deserving of it but isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and is more then willing to try to accept the fact that you care deeply for him; especially when he can not find it within him to find anything about him remotely worth being with.

Welt:

He’s made copious amounts of drawings of you that he’s kept hidden in his room. So upon coming across your poetry collection about him, it only made him feel more comfortable knowing that he wasn’t the only one to express his innermost feelings through an art form.

Besides it wasn’t like he was actively searching your room for your poetry collection, he really wasn’t as he just came across them out of pure coincidence. He was currently about four poetries deep and was finding it extremely endearing how you viewed him in most of your writing: which was mainly as an well educated, wise man with a young man’s heart and restlessness sense for adventure, who had a talent for drawing.

Welt would chuckle under his breath at all the moments you’ve shared together, before you’d then went on to write about how beautiful he was in every possible way. From his sweet, insightful eyes that seemingly held all the knowledge you could ever ask for, to his calming, velvety voice that could lull you into a deep sleep within seconds.

You posed him as this figure of comfort, a figure of warmth and Welt soon finding himself not so subtly sneaking some of your poetry into his pocket to read for later. Your poetry only gives Welt the confidence he been looking for, as he would then starts to leave his drawings of you in places where you’d be able to see them; all in hopes that you would know that you had just as much of a huge place in his heart as he did in yours.

[crimsoncandy04]

What if... Scaramouche cucking Kabukimono

(meanwhile in a parallel universe)

You never thought in a million years that it would be possible for someone to actually defeat The Traveler. But it finally happened.

And Scaramouche had finally completed his life's ambition and become the Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom.

But it STILL wasn't good enough for him. Something inside of him still burned with an unquenchable thirst for vengeance. Yet he didn't understand why.

Had he not achieved everything he set out to do?

Why was he still so... unsatisfied?

And then he remembered you one night.

You who had fought so bravely until you had been dealt a near fetal blow that had caused you to become comatose and unaware of the deaths of your old friends. You who had been clever in your attacks and almost just as underhanded as him sometimes.

Scaramouche could respect it.

A little.

Your martial prowess was often overshadowed by your disgusting and burdensome sensitivity.

You didn't want to hurt people.

Not if you didn't have to anyway.

It was your weakness and eventual downfall. Because after hearing Scaramouche's own life story and sympathizing with him, you were hesitant in finishing him off like you should have.

And he had seized the opportunity.

Emotions were a scourge on the face of humanity. Making them irrational. Making them weak.

You were no exception it seemed.

At least he, in all his wisdom and glory could understand this and overcome it.

Even if it was hard sometimes.

Scaramouche continued to imagine you, scared, confused, mournful, angry, and utterly alone in your cell beneath the sanctuary. He wanted to laugh at your circumstance or at least belittle you in his mind, but that same burning and nagging feeling ended up preventing him from doing so.

What was wrong with him?

Did he perhaps... feel bad for you?

Why?

You and that pesky traveler had been nothing but a thorn in his side since the day you met.

So why, now that he had won. Had locked you away until you were healthy enough to be tried by law, did he continuously have dreams about your teary face? The deep sorrow that probably plagued your heart after learning that your friends were gone?

Why did Scaramouche... feel like he was experiencing some kind of deja vu whenever he pictured you all alone with no one to turn to?

It was that original sin of his wasn't it?

The very same feeling of empathy that had besmirched his very being since the day of his creation.

Why wouldn't it die?

It needed to.

But alas...the spirit of his former self lived on inside of Scaramouche's mind like a parasite.

And he hated how YOU triggered it.

It took a few weeks for Scaramouche to finally come up with a plan to solve both of his problems.

First was to extract the essence of his former consciousness and self via an abyssal reach that only a god could ever hope to accomplish. It had exhausted him in doing so.

But the results were better than ideal.

Secondly, use the knowledge of the world at his disposal as well as what he could remember about himself and his own inner workings to create another vessel for the extracted consciousness.

And lastly, order some attendants to retrieve you from your prison cell below and bring you to him somewhat sedated and pumped full of some new drug that had been created by the fatui for torture purposes.

Once Scaramouche laid eyes on the perfect physical replica/clone of Kabukimono as well as a half conscious and drooling you on the floor, he knew that he would leave this room with there being no more doubt in the world,

That Scaramouche was truly the most powerful being in existence.

***Time Skip***

You sit awkwardly as the machine beneath you brought you to orgasm for the 6th time in a row. The giant purple dildo thrusts in and out of your soaking wet pussy quickly, assaulting your g spot repeatedly whether you liked it or not.

All the while, the monster who had you injected with powerful aphrodisiacs and sedatives was just watching the sybian destroy your cunt with a sick delight in his eyes. You wanted to yell at him through your ball gag but instead you just continued to moan loudly as you felt yourself piss again. Even then the machine didn't stop.

Scaramouche laughed coldly as he grew bored of you and soon turned to face his former self who he had bound in a similar fashion to you just a few feet away. Kabukimono's arms were pulled tightly behind his back. Secured to his ankles, forcing his legs apart.

Scaramouche couldn't stand the pitiful and obvious longing in those eyes. Especially when he heard you scream or cry through your gag. Kabukimono's eyes would widen even more. Torn between wanting to help you, and also wanting to take you.

It was no mistake. Scaramouche knew this because even if he DID find you detestable at best, as far as human women went, you had quite a soft and sensual body that just BEGGED for someone to ravage it.

Scaramouche had considered setting it up many times in the past. Making it to where his subordinates distracted your annoying companions while he had his way with your pretty body secretly.

But he has fought those needless and lowly desires instead.

However seeing the lust in the eyes of Kabukimono, made him realize that perhaps, this attraction to you was something that he couldn't fight. Something that even his most inexperienced form was feeling whether he understood what it meant yet or not.

And if this was true, then Scaramouche would conquer these feelings too. He'd keep you as a fuck doll for himself and at the same time, show this annoying and pesky version of himself that HE was stronger.

And HE was in charge here.

Scaramouche walked over and after casting Kabukimono a withering look, he began to press his sandal against Kabukimono's shaft. Forcing his hardened cock to be uncomfortably crushed against the ground underneath Scaramouche's foot.

Kabukimono whimpered as tears began to leak from his eyes and his nipples hardened. He was aroused from the pain and Scaramouche couldn't help but feel nothing but disgust towards him for it.

"you want the girl huh?"

Kabukimono nodded quickly. His own gag stifled his voice as he groaned slightly at the sensation of Scaramouche putting more of his weight down on his dick.

"Too bad. You seriously think I would let YOU have her before ME? That I'd let you fuck her with this useless cock of yours that gets off from being crushed?"

Scaramouche chuckled wickedly. Seeing Kabukimono blush a little as he heard you cry out again. His eyes fixated on the dildo as it stretched you apart and kept you in such a lewd position with your juices coating the floor beneath you for all to see.

Scaramouche couldn't stand it.

He crouched down and grabbed hold of Kabukimono's cock. Roughly stroking it then to the pace of the toy penetrating you in front of him.

"you wish that was your cock fucking her right? Tearing her apart and making her cum?" Scaramouche taunted. Continuing to pull several soft moans from his former self as he continued to pump his own cock.

"Do you even know HOW to use this pathetic thing yet? I doubt it. That machine isn't even real and it's better than this thing between your legs."

Kabukimono's back arched a little as artificial semen suddenly squirted from his dick. Coating Scaramouche's hand. Scaramouche narrowed his eyes in disgust as he tried to shake the stuff off.

"pathetic. You actually ejaculated from that? Oh how pitiful I truly was." Scaramouche got to his feet and turned back to you. Your head had slumped back a little and tears leaked out from underneath your blindfold as another orgasm was ripped from your body. He watched you gasp and tremble as you remained helpless in your bondage. A sadistic gleam filling his indigo eyes as another idea suddenly came to him.

He knelt down again and reached out to tease your swollen clit a little as he spoke.

"get used to it doll. I could make it hurt worse. However, if you behave during the next game I have planned for you, I'll make you feel better than anyone else ever could ~" Scaramouche purred. His touch makes you squeal as you try to fight back another climax but fail miserably.

"so fragile. So many ways I could make you crumble and break. I wonder if...I could somehow make this part even more sensitive."

You feel him pinch your pleasure nub between your legs and you struggle to not pass out. What was this bastard planning next for you and his other self?

[hurthermore]

»»------► 𝙰 𝙼𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 (18+) - 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙴𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝

Pairing: 𝙷𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗!𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Summary: 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗. 𝚂𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘.

Word Count: 𝟻.𝟻𝚔

Warnings: 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝟷𝟾+ 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚐𝚛𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚢, 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝. 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜.

𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏-𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚖 𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚍𝚒𝚣𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚛, 𝚓𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚢, 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚐𝚢𝚗𝚢, 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚗𝚡𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢, 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝

𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎; 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎. 𝙸 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚣𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚘, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝟿𝟻% 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚘, 𝚆𝙷𝙸𝙲𝙷 𝙸 𝙳𝙾𝙽'𝚃 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝙸𝚂 𝙶𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝙾𝚁 𝙱𝙰𝙳??!?!? 𝙾𝚑 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕; 𝙸'𝚖 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚑𝚎𝚑𝚎

𝙴𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢!

𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗�� 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝, 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚖𝚎 <𝟹

“Would you?”

You pondered on his question, dismissing how he had avoided answering yours despite the fact that it wasn’t something you truly knew, even though you had attempted to murder your husband; you had failed that accomplishment in weakness, preventing you from achieving the freedom you craved.

Closing your eyes, you began to recall how more erratic your thoughts had become over the course of a year. You had never wished death upon anyone before Vincent had made his way into your life; latching onto you like a parasite that sucked the life out of you ever so slowly. But your thoughts of Vincent dying, wishing him dead, wishing to kill him, all emerged from the abuse he continuously enacted upon you. Moving the flickering of your pupils to land on Alastor's everlasting gaze that refused to leave your form as you postulated his question; your soft lips gaping ever so slightly as he watched you with an intensity that had you shivering. 

Could you tell him? 

Tell him that you craved to see an end to your husband's life?

No.

If you revealed that, then you would have to explain yourself; explain the abuse.

You weren’t capable of sharing those details.

“I believe I asked you first.” You decided to dodge his question; redirecting the attention back on to him as you leaned toward him ever so slightly, begging to feel the warmth his well built form emitted without having to face the consequences of potential ostracism as you took in the sharpness of his facial structure, your gaze slowly lowering onto his lips, lingering longer than you would’ve liked.

He seemed to not have heard you as he continued to take in the contours of your face, as if he was heavily contemplating your question as his eyes flickered over every inch of facial skin you had to offer; an action that had you squirming as you sat next to him. Your anxiety only heightened as you wondered if he found you attractive or not.

Did Alastor find you attractive?

Vincent always told you that you were beautiful, and you used to believe it; used to believe you were an attractive woman, until that vile being of a man who disguised himself as your husband had entered your life, forcing your confidence to slowly decline like a downward hill. The damage he had inflicted onto you from the past year had not only damaged the physicalities of your body, but it visibly conveyed in your face from how tired the abuse caused upon your brain; how lifeless your once glowing face had become, how dead the look in your eyes had become.

“What if I told you I already have?” Alastors voice pulled you away from the depths of your anxiety induced mind; swarming it instead with bewilderment as you analysed the choice of his words. Already had? His expression seemed suggestive, as if he was attempting to admit a deep dark secret to you with an underlying tone; but the way his smile tugged up in jest had your mind believing it was but a joke. 

Raising an eyebrow at him, a small laugh echoed from your throat ever so slightly. “Then I’d say you have quite an acquired taste in humour.” You beamed your own toothed smile at him as he covered his lower facial structure with his large hand, the one you were so certain he could cover his entire face with from chin to hairline with; and despite not laughing himself, the way his smile tugged even further beneath his covered face as you continued to chuckle let you know he found comedic value in it.

For some reason, you didn’t take him covering his face in a negative light this time.

Attempting to gaze into his soul through his almost black irises that made your heart rate burst as you chuckled with a low and soft tone, he watched you ever so intensely; his hair rhythmically swaying along with yours as the breeze began to pick up ever so slightly. Your heart seemed to become stuck in the depths of your throat as the desire to thread your soft fingertips through his hair was devouring the pits of your mind. And despite the look in his eyes that indicated he wished to ask you again; ask if you would murder someone, he didn't. Instead, he leaned his side back into yours, invading your personal space for the hundredth time; it seemed, before he asked you a question that had you contemplating whether or not it was worse than the previous one.

“What would you have done if you were never arranged to wed that thing?” Spitting out a laugh, you couldn’t believe he had referred to Vincent as a thing. You could feel his smile enlarge from your laughter as his head rested atop of the crown of your scalp.

“You really don’t like him do you?” You asked him with a smile still etched onto your face; your heart basking in warmth as Alastor's hand manoeuvred behind you, only to etch towards your own hand. Despite you asking him a question, he didn’t respond; only waiting for you to actually answer one of his questions with patience as you tried to coherently articulate the words on your tongue; and whether or not you should be truthful with him. But as your sight fixated onto his mother’s grave, you were reminded of how vulnerable Alastor must have reduced himself to, to be able to introduce you to his deceased mother; to open up to you about who she was and how much he loved her. 

You had to give him a bit of vulnerability back; it was only fair, even if you didn’t want to.

As his fingers finally intertwined with yours, you leaned your body back into his. “I’d like to think that I’d be a broadway dancer; I used to always enjoy it when I was younger, and I used to dream of being able to be that good that I could perform before a crowd.” You smiled, reminiscing with melancholy; the thoughts of Broadway forcing your mind to become overwhelmed with Vincent's plan to take you away to New York; a place where it thrived.

But Vincent would never allow you to perform; even if you were there.

Even if you begged.

Without saying anything, Alastor's thumb rubbed against the skin of your dorsal, giving you some comfort as you spoke of your past. “But… Honestly? I always used to dream of meeting my one true love.” You spoke, embarrassment filled with your tone. “I know it sound silly-”

“It’s not silly,” Alastor interrupted you, rightfully so. Your name rolling off his tongue oh so lovely after he spoke. Leaning back so he could gaze into your eyes once again, the tip of his nose brushed against your temple as his words spoke breathly in your face. “I’ve never been the one for love; but recently, I’ve met someone who really has me desiring it in ways I never thought I’d experience.”

Everything shattered inside you as those words left his lips; the words that heavily implied he had met someone he had fallen in love with. Downcasting your eyes to avoid his gaze, you knew in your heart it was best he didn’t reciprocate your feelings. Especially with how Vincent was, with how he was planning to take you away; yet it killed you inside to hear those words, the words that replicated the feeling of a hammer pulverising against your heart in such a wicked way that made tears want to leave your eyes.

Despite how much it hurt, you could only wonder who he had fallen in love with.

You weren’t expecting the desire to kill that person to overcome you as you wondered who they were.

What was wrong with you?

Looking at the sky, you refused to meet Alastors gaze; only to notice how far the sun had moved towards the western side of the sky. Standing up abruptly, you accidentally pushed Alastor off of you before speaking. “I should probably… go home now.” You almost whispered as you still refused to look toward the man who now sat behind you; refusing to allow the sight of him to cause tears to escape your visual organs.

It was best to go home now anyway, regardless of how Alastors words had broken you; the thought of Vincent coming home before you only drenched you with a dread that seemed to grow like a bad lump on the organs of your chest.

Why was everything getting dizzy all of a sudden?

Stumbling ever so slightly as the world began to spin, you felt Alastor’s stong hold grip onto you like his life depended on it. “Are you alright, darling?” You only responded that you were fine as your vision slowly ceased from distorting, the mass amount of gravestones around you steadily began to fix into place as you blinked your eyes heavily, trying to gain control of your sight again.

Calming down from your dizzy spell, Alastor sensed your apprehension as he watched your gaze pinpoint towards the position the sun took place in the sky. “Come now, darling, I’ll take you back.” He spoke with a hint of dejection you thought you had imagined before he began to hurriedly stuff the blanket he had previously lain out back into the basket along with the hardly eaten food he had prepared for you.

Pressing his hand against your bicep, he pulled you towards him; much to your displeasure with how much his touch continued to break your heart into pieces. Reluctantly, your grip held onto him lightly; without much presence. Calling out your name, Alastor’s smile twitched into almost a snarl as he felt your pathetic attempt of holding onto him. “If you don’t hold onto me properly, I will hoist you home.” Flushing at his choice of words, your thighs tensed despite how much your heart pained within the confines of your rib cage.

Perhaps if you weren’t feeling so broken from the newfound information, you might’ve tested him to see if he would do as he threatened.

Instead, you held onto his arm with purpose, with strength; your chest pressing up against his cubital fossa, and you swore you could hear his breath hitch as you did.

He probably didn’t like you pressing up so harshly against him.

Before he pulled you away from the graveyard, you both bid your farewells to his mother and her memorial grounds.

You wished you could have met her.

Would she like you?

It wasn’t as if it mattered anyway, Alastor’s heart clearly belonged to another; meaning you never would end up with him, even if your husband wasn’t in the way.

In an attempt to clear the thick tension that had suddenly formed between the two of you as Alastor guided you home, he spoke up. “Do tell,” His voice reverberated into your system; his tone low natural tone making you shake with embarrassment with how easy it affected you. “If you had to be one animal, what would you be?”

Since he had confessed catching feelings for another person, you looked at him for the first time; your heart breaking yet thumping with intimacy as he caught your gaze with his, staring at you with something you believed to be devotion. “What an odd question.” You mumbled before his smile widened into a toothed grin.

“I was wondering when you’d grace me with that lovely voice of yours again.” His teeth gleamed as he spoke, causing you to face away from him suddenly as his words made your face fill up with warmth; you couldn’t help but call him cruel within the depths of your cognition. How could he say such sweet things to you knowing he had no feelings toward you?

But, then again, you couldn’t help but hope that perhaps you were this person he had fallen for.

No.

It was best not to delude yourself.

Continuing to walk down the street, you ignored his charming compliment before you answered his question; an animal of prey slipping from your tongue ever so quietly as you felt his gaze piercing into you. “And you?”

Leaning his head to hover over yours as he contemplated with dramatics; his free hand grasping the sharpness of his jaw as he thought deeply. “I’d be the hunter that would tie you up in my home, taming you as my own, darling.” Almost coughing from the obscenity of his statement, you pressed your hand over your face as your eyes went wide before looking in the opposite direction that Alastor was in. It didn’t make sense to you as to why he kept finding it appropriate to say such words to you; especially when you were so certain his insinuation of falling in love eluded to a third party person that wasn’t you.

“That’s not an animal, Mr. Hartfelt.” You huffed as you avoided the words in your mind, attempting to debar the warmth that overwhelmed your body; the one that slightly made your vision blur again. “Do you speak to every dame like this? It’s rather inappropriate.” You didn’t know why you had let the sentence out of your mouth, but the desire to see if he would reveal anything about this potential being he harboured feelings for seemed to consume you.

Even if it would hurt you, you needed him to say something about it.

But before Alastors velvet-like voice could caress your auditory senses, you two began to hear a group of men shouting; and it wasn’t until you heard a specific nickname that you realised they were shouting toward you.

“Ey, doll!” Your form froze up despite the fact you continued to walk alongside Alastor; still grasping onto his arm as one of the men screamed that damned nickname at you; and despite it reminding you of your husband, it wasn’t him, yet the name itself had your hairs standing on the edge as if he was there, hiding among the group of men. Looking to your left, your attention, along with Alastors, were grasped by a particularly loud man that huddled in the group of other male specimens similar to his age. “One dollar for a check, five if you show them gams!” The men who stood beside him began laughing hysterically at the proposal for you to kiss him or allow him the luxury of gracing his sight with your legs as they continued to yell offensive and provocative words towards you; one even stating they would pay you for sexual relations.

Instinctively, you pressed yourself into Alastor as you looked away from them; ignoring their bantering catcalling that made you feel as unsafe as your husband did, but as soon as the anxiety of their words hit you, Alastor unlatched his arm from your arm, causing your panic to rise ever so slightly before he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pushing you against him even closer than simply holding his arm allowed; pulling you away from their verbal profanities. Looking up at him as a wave of safety washed over you, you observed Alastor's non existent smile; instead, a viscous scowl embraced the beauty of his face, his upper lip snarling to the point of showing the gum above his canine teeth as his nose scrunched up in disgust, his furrowed gaze not once leaving the group of men until they finally left your sight.

“Are you alright?” Alastor halted the stroll as his expression slowly melted into a more neutral one that held a hint of tenderness to it. His hands both holding onto your shoulders as he massaged his thumbs into your shoulder, accidentally pressurising his hand against a fading bruise that forced you to hide the pain it enforced onto you. Nodding, you placed your own hand on top of his; the one that was pressed against a bruise, threading your fingers through his as a means to get him to stop. His form leaned down towards you, arching his back to place his forehead against yours. Staring into his gaze, his irises kept switching their focus between both of your eyes as his breath became heavy. “People like them deserve to die, don’t they darling?”

You didn’t believe you had heard him correctly at first; didn’t believe he had stated and asked you those words, but as you continued to delve into the depths of his slightly yellowed black eyes, you concluded that he did, in fact, ask you those words.

Yes. It was the first word that entered your mind. To inflict a sense of superiority onto someone who could not physically uphold themselves against them, it made you sick; it made the one who attacked a pathetic pig in your eyes, one who could not withhold themselves against someone of their own calibre. 

Just like your husband.

If those groups of men were that confident to do something so vile as to belittle your being in a publicised place, you were confident in yourself that they would do worse behind closed doors. They could hurt someone just as your husband hurt you.

You didn’t know why your heart pained at the thought of another woman being a victim of the abuse you were currently enduring.

Despite your thoughts, your answer came to Alastor almost instantly. “Yes, they do.” Your voice laced with credence, not a hint of hesitation; something that made Alastor’s smile sneak into an inhumane stretch that oddly had your heart thumping in adoration.

How could you find something so lovely; so attractive, when at its core, it was downright sinister and undoubtedly disturbing?

As Alastors pupils fixated on your lips, he looked downright starved. Like he was ready to kill; to consume. What, you didn’t know. With a closed toothed inhale, Alastor slowly pulled away from you, as if he was attempting to hold himself back from something.

What was wrong with him?

Latching his arm around your shoulder again, he returned the two of you in the walking positions you two had previously taken whilst continuing to accompany you home. You found it strange how quickly he was able to revert back to a neutral form after looking as if he wanted to rip something apart. Yet it didn’t scare you.

Instead, it made you feel strangely aroused.

Closing your eyes, you were certain you were going to hell for having such a reaction. It wasn’t long until you opened them again; visually intaking a street that was too familiar to you, and as Alastor continued to guide you, your house began to enter your line of sight. 

The pain of knowing your time today with Alastor was coming to an end doused you.

Despite everything, you didn’t want to let him go.

Perhaps you could just ask him; ask him who he harboured feelings for; maybe you could just end their life and pick up the pieces for Alastor.

Maybe then he would love you?

Internally shaking your head, you discarded the thoughts from your mind.

You weren’t that type of person.

Were you?

Biting your lower lip, the door to your house entered your vision, and in a panic, you faced the tall, brown haired man beside you, almost begging him to stay with you in your mind. “Would you like to come in?” You asked him, desperate to just be in his presence before you absolutely had to part from him for the day.

If this is how you were reacting now, how would you react when your husband finally took you away to New York?

Without acknowledging his awfully bright posture as you invited him inside, you attempted to open the door, only for Alastor to pick the keys from your fumbling hands to do it for you; opening the entryway and holding it in place to allow you passage through it before him. You could only thank the man who you had found yourself unfortunately falling for; imbedding you with something far more bitter instead of the sweetness you should’ve been basking in as you walked through the door. Closing the door behind you, you turned around, holding your gaze toward his unconventionally attractive facial structure as you contemplated your previous thought.

Should you tell him?

Tell Alastor that Vincent was going to take you away?

Away from him?

You missed how Alastor had locked the front door before his form slowly stalked toward you with purpose, his fingers brushing away stray strands of hair from your face as his other hand encased the entirety of your neck ever so gently.

What was he doing?

“Would you like to visit my home tomorrow?” He whispered into your ear as he continued to lean towards you, your hands grasping together as your heart thumped like a rabbit slamming its foot rapidly into the ground.

Pressing his body against yours, he forced your hands to rest against his hardened chest; an act that had Alastor sucking in a deep breath between closed teeth as he continued to intrude into your personal space.

“I don’t… This isn’t appropriate, Alastor.” You almost whispered as one of his hands began to etch towards your waist before he pressed your stomach into his pelvis, making you gasp in unease, confusion and lust. “I’m… Married; and you harbour feelings for another.” You accidently let your thoughts escape your lips.

Freezing up, Alastor looked at you with furrowed eyebrows as his eyes gazed into yours. Slowly, he began to laugh at you as if you had told him the funniest gag that had yet to grace his ears. Trying to pull yourself from his grip as his reaction put you in perturbation, his grip grew harsher, forcing you to stay still before his laughter halted almost immediately from your attempt of release. Looking down at you, the house seemed to cover his face in a darkness from the setting sun that only allowed you to see the edges of sharp features along with his almost glowing eyes and teeth; smiling at you with a complex mania. “Oh darling, it’s so adorably frustrating how oblivious you are.”

Pushing himself against you, he forced your back to collide against a wall; the sunsetting shadows still encasing his face as his lips ever so slightly brushed against the skin of your cheek, only to press them with urgency against the side of your face. Panting from the act, your heart almost exploded as your mind began to erase any previous thought that may have embedded a sense of doubt or pain onto your psyche. 

Sighing, Alastors lips left your cheek, only to hover ever so slightly above your own; as if waiting for you to reciprocate anything he was giving you, as if he was waiting for you to accept him, to give yourself to him. Breathing with vigour, you slowly etched towards him, and as your lips brushed against his, you heard the blaring sound of your husband's car parking in the driveway. 

Attempting to look towards the door in panic, Alastor gripped his fingers into the cheeks of your face, forcing you to look at him, and him alone. “Alastor, you need to leave, now.” You managed to beg as you tried to escape his grasp, anxiety creeping into your being as you dreaded the outcome of your husband if he were to catch you partaking in essential adultery. 

“Not until you fucking kiss me.” Alastor’s voice surprised you as it became as alarmingly unhinged as the look in eyes. Struggling against him, you wanted to kiss him. You did; but you were so scared. “Kiss me.” He begged before he echoed your name with an oddly loving, passionate anger. The door knob began to rattle, indicating your husband was unable to open it, you could hear Vincent's agitated voice as he yelled your name from outside; not once did he allow his tone to depict anger whilst he called for you, though.

As the door kept rattling, Alastor refused to let go of you; and as the realisation of the door being locked clicked in your mind, you proceeded without thinking; grabbing the sides of his face before smashing your lips against his. As your lips caressed each other, you could only moan from the overwhelming emotions that were bursting through your entire being. His lips tasted like the wooden aroma of the bayous, with slight hints of spiced goods blooming your tongue as you both opened your mouths; both desperate to consume each other, to be intimate with one another. Quickly, one of his large and strong hands reached toward your lower thigh, lifting it up to allow him room to press himself further into your body as his other hand gripped your jaw; his lower palm encasing your upper neck as his fingers pressed against the tip of your ears, caressing your skin with such passionate gentleness that had you moaning in his mouth.

Threading your hands into his hair, the kiss was unlike anything you had ever experienced before; and the addition of the emotions that exploded within you as you kissed him had you desiring more.

You didn’t know how long you both stayed there, consuming each other's essence until your husband's rattles against the door became more brutal, with him now pounding against it; calling for you with a slight agitation in his tone. In that moment, you were so thankful that there was only one key to the house; one your husband never took with him as you were always home; up until recently, that is. 

Pulling away from you, a slick of drool linked between your mouths, only splattering against Alastor’s chin before he leaned against you once more, giving you a more innocent and loving kiss on your lips before he finally let you go with reluctance. Your breath panting as you attempted to regain normalcy, and as you stared into the eyes of the man you had found yourself falling for, you couldn’t avoid how unfiltered his expression looked; how his gaze seemed to fill with pure enamorment that boarded on obsession.

Pressing your hand against Alastors, you guided him with haste towards a large window in your kitchen before you opened it for him; non verbally asking him to leave. And he did; jumping out of the window as if he was used to a form of athletics. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Alastor.” You whispered, his large hands gripping onto your face before you could close the window on him; his lips pressing against yours once more before he bid you farewell, only to leave you watching as he jumped over the fence, his hand waving towards you as he finally left your sight.

Closing the window, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your whole body filling itself with thousands of tiny butterflies that fluttered within your innards, making your whole body shake in pure glee. Quickly, you shook your head as you attempted to compose yourself; you could think about this later.

You had to let your husband in.

Walking towards the door, you patted your dress down to release any creases that may have been formed, along with smoothing out your hair. 

Would he know?

Would Vincent know you had just cheated on him with the man he was planning on tearing you away from?

Twiddling your hands, you quickly unlocked the door as your husband stumbled in, anger doused on his face as he pushed you harshly to the side before slamming the door shut. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” He yelled, screaming your name as he grabbed your wrist. All the pleasant emotions you had only just been encumbered by suddenly shifted into dread as your husband dragged you into the parlour room. “What the fuck took you so long?!” His mouth spat at you, drops of his spit splattering on your face as he shouted his words.

Thinking quickly, you stuttered your words. “I was asleep, after I got up, I passed out!” You yelped in pain as he pushed you into the sofa. “I’m sorry-” You flinched as his hand began the animation of hitting you, your own hands covering your body as you tried to shield yourself from the beating he was going to enact onto you.

But it never came.

Opening your eyes ever so slowly as his hand never collided into you, you witnessed him kneeling on the floor before you, his fingers threaded through his disgusting hair. “All of this, it’s all that bastard's fault.” He mumbled to himself; the self talking became concerning. You had witnessed him do this pathetic act many times; an act that was meant to possess you to feel sorry for him, to allow him to manipulate your mind and plant seeds of doubt within. 

You wanted to be back with Alastor; you desired to be by his side, to have his lips on you again as you forgot about the reality of your situation, but Vincent’s annoyingly loud mumbling made it hard for you to concentrate. Rolling your eyes as he wasn’t looking at you, you sighed silently as you knew the only way to calm him down was by pretending that you cared, that you pitied him. Gritting your teeth, you pushed yourself onto the floor, wrapping your arms around your husband as a way to calm him down, and in turn, prevent him from potentially forcing himself on you.

It surprised you, but the thought of him touching you now after you had just kissed Alastor made you feel even more nauseated than ever. 

It oddly felt like you were cheating on Alastor; not the other way around.

“I’ll make you some food, alright?” You whispered with a softness, a contrast to the grimace on your face; an expression Vincent couldn’t witness as you held your head on top of his.

As you attempted to leave him, Vincent grasped your wrist, pulling you down to the floor before he climbed on top of you. Cringing internally, your mind began to panic, more erratically than usual. “Vincent, I’m… We can’t; I still keep passing out, there’s something wrong-” Pausing, to your surprise and delight, Vincent halted all movements, opting to stare into your anxiety filled eyes; as if he was trying to search for an answer within the depths of your mind.

“What happened last night, doll?” He whispered as he sat on top of your waist, staring down at you; the weight making you rather uncomfortable and causing difficulty for you to breathe. You had completely forgotten about last night; how you had attempted to murder your husband.

“I…” You whispered, unsure of what lie to lead with; but you knew this would be a good opportunity to make him feel like the vile thing he was. “I think… It had something to do with when you…” You suggested, indicating back to when he had knocked you out for the weekend, and as Vincent's mouth opened, no words entered your auditory as he rambled a spit of speech that didn’t compute in your mind as his mouth just wouldn’t cease its movements. The only thing you could hear were the voices that hid within your psyche that spouted comments of hate towards your husband; comments you very much agreed with. 

Everything began to blur as Vincent wouldn’t shut his trap; everything began to spin as the voices distorted in your mind before everything went black for just a mere moment. It took you a while, but as you blinked back into reality, you noticed Vincent wasn’t on top of you anymore. Confused, you looked around, trying to pinpoint where the man you hated was, but you couldn’t see him anywhere; only being able to depict the shadows of darkness that caressed your body. 

Attempting to stand up, your head began to spin again, so you opted to sit on the floor where Vincent had left you passed out; something that had long ago stopped surprising you. 

Giving yourself a moment to breathe, your thoughts becoming consumed with mental images of Alastor.

He harboured feelings for you; just as you did for him.

At least, that's what you had gathered from the kiss you two shared.

You couldn’t help but swoon at the thought; your heart beating erratically as you couldn’t wait to see him again as soon as the next day finally arrived; and arrive it did, quicker than you had anticipated. It shocked you that Vincent hardly bothered you, avoiding you at best before he left for work.

Perhaps he was scared from your consistent passing out and recent bizarre behaviour. 

After getting ready, you sat on the sofa in your parlour room, waiting ever so patiently for Alastor to show up.

By the time it turned midday, you began to worry.

By the time it turned into the late afternoon, you began to cry.

By the time Vincent came home, you felt broken.

Had he simply toyed with you? Messing with your emotions, breaking you even further than even your husband was capable of as Vincent did not attain the love in your heart like Alastor did.

As dried tears cascaded your face, you could only curse Alastor, with only one perception of him embedding into your mind.

Alastor did not care for you.

He simply toyed with you.

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𝙸'𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚎, 𝙸'𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝙸 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚓𝚘𝚋 𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚘 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔.

𝚆𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍.

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[luna-azzurra]

Ways to hit your readers in the gut

When it comes to writing, there's a profound and mesmerizing way to touch your readers deep within their souls. It's about crafting moments that hit them in the gut, stirring up intense emotions and forging an everlasting connection. Here are some techniques to help you achieve this:

1. Unexpected Loss: Introduce a character who captures hearts, only to snatch them away suddenly. Think of J.K. Rowling's "Harry Potter" series, where the abrupt departure of beloved characters like Sirius Black and Fred Weasley leaves readers shattered, their grief a testament to the power of storytelling.

2. Sacrifice for a Cause: Show a character willingly sacrificing their own happiness or even their life for a greater purpose. Suzanne Collins' "The Hunger Games" portrays Katniss Everdeen's selflessness, volunteering as a tribute to save her sister, evoking empathy and admiration.

3. Unrequited Love: Explore the agony of unrequited love, where hearts ache and souls yearn. Charlotte Brontë's "Jane Eyre" delves into the bittersweet and heart-wrenching tale of Jane's unfulfilled affection for Mr. Rochester, resonating with readers who have experienced the profound depths of unrequited longing.

4. Betrayal by a Loved One: Peel back the layers of trust to reveal the sting of betrayal. George R.R. Martin's "A Song of Ice and Fire" series delivers shocking betrayals that shatter readers' expectations, leaving them stunned and heartbroken alongside the characters.

5. Overcoming Personal Demons: Illuminate the struggle against internal conflicts, be it addiction, guilt, or haunting trauma. Anthony Doerr's "All the Light We Cannot See" explores Werner's moral compass during wartime, captivating readers as they witness his battle for redemption and personal growth.

6. Injustice and Oppression: Shed light on the injustices characters endure, igniting empathy and inspiring change. Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mockingbird" reveals the racial prejudice faced by Tom Robinson, awakening readers to the urgent need for justice and equality.

7. Parent-Child Relationships: Navigate the intricate tapestry of emotions between parents and children. Khaled Hosseini's "The Kite Runner" unearths the complexities of the father-son bond, evoking a myriad of feelings, from longing and regret to hope for reconciliation.

8. Final Farewells: Craft poignant scenes where characters bid farewell, whether due to death or separation. Markus Zusak's "The Book Thief" gifts readers with heartbreaking partings amidst the backdrop of World War II, leaving an indelible mark of loss and the fragile beauty of human connections.

9. Personal Transformation: Illuminate characters' growth through adversity, offering a beacon of hope and inspiration. Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" narrates Ebenezer Scrooge's extraordinary journey from a bitter miser to a beacon of compassion, reminding readers that redemption and personal change are within reach.

10. Existential Questions: Delve into existential themes that provoke deep introspection. Albert Camus' "The Stranger" challenges readers to ponder the meaning of life through Meursault's detached and nihilistic worldview, prompting them to question their own existence.

With these techniques, you have the power to touch your readers' souls, leaving an indelible impression. Remember to weave these moments seamlessly into your narrative, allowing them to enrich your characters and themes. Let your words resonate and ignite emotions, for that is the essence of impactful storytelling.

[sustiawan-author]

Biker Charlie Dalton – The Summer of 1963 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

After his expulsion in 1959, Charlie set out to do something he's always wanted to do; finalizing his rebellion.

He no longer sat by his father's commands or wants — it's time for him to venture out to find himself, explore the realms of what can be achieved in this life and more. Sure, he's probably going to end up being a banker anyway, but damn it, he'll have it his way first and for all.

That's when he became your sweet, charming-smiled, dimple-grinned, sly-eyed, biker boy — his gel-slicked hair tousled with the breeze or ruffled by his helmet, his smirk everlasting the necessary smugness to withstand the toughness of the highway roads. He's your everything and you're his.

It's been three years fresh out of high school where he decided to do his gap years. He loved it all; the breeze in his hair, his mighty fine jackets, his beloved engine and most of all, his girl — you with your batted lashes and fluttering gazes, eyes as bright as the stars and a fun-loving soul to tame his own.

You're timid, but not shy. Stealing gazes to him when you thought he wasn't looking, until one day he decided the ache of his heart cannot be relieved by none other than your loving hand.

Then, he always kisses you goodnight when you both reach your door, just careful enough not to wake whoever's inside.

You insist he picks you up to campus tomorrow. He just says 'alright, baby,' his drawl twisting your stomach around with the prettiest butterflies.

But he loves it. He'd do anything for you — his sweetheart under the Northeastern sun. He lives and breathes to hear you laugh at his jokes, no matter how bad they are — to show you off to his gang, his other biker friends and through pictures he sends to the poets back at Welton, saying how he's 'going steady with the girl of his dreams.'

He props you up, guiding you by the waist to the back of his motor before hauling up to it like a cowboy on a bullride. He revvs the engine, only twisting back to ask for your kiss on his cheek. You cup his face and give him a nice, sweetly glazed smooch. He loves it.

He's still so clever, more street-smart now than he's ever been. He still plays the sax, getting better each time he has you listening to it. Charlie still holds poetry in a sacred place in his heart, his pursuit of riding and exploring every bit of roads the world has to offer only incited by his insistence in sucking the marrow out of life.

He honors his past and holds it close to his heart, but he carves his future with a switchblade he folds in the pocket of his American Denim jeans in the shape of a heart with his and your initial on it. Yes, he is still that showy.

You ride off to sunsets with his 1962 Ducati Scrambler he bought from his savings money. It ticks him off sometimes, the anxiety of being completely alone — but then your arms squeeze him just a bit tigher, and you press your cheek against his back and he knows. He's far better off here than anywhere else.

You love him and he loves you — and no matter where you are or what you do, he'll hold a special drop of your heart's blood inside of his,

If only he knows you'd do the same and more.

part 2

Should we make this a series? (˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)˚๐*˟♡

taglist ⤵

@shemisseshome @theduckwithafroghat @heyyyloverr @jazzyisswaggy @sleeping-arsonist @unfortunately-lilith @1tsr1r1 @yournormalidiot @sunlight-in-my-eyes @cossie-fauchelevant @eden-punk @anderperry-soliloquies @boypuncher45 @forpunishers @thirsty4fandoms, and to the anonymous persons who requested this.

[great-kung-lao]

KazuKaoru: Everlasting - An Essay

(This art belongs to amamaiiya, please go and follow, like, reblog her magnificent works)

What defines a good relationship? What makes fictional couple a good one? Each of these questions can have a different answer depending on the person asked, because it is often that in fiction people prefer something they would never allow themselves in real life. You know how they say, the forbidden fruit is sweet. But personally, I have equal preferences for both. In my honest opinion a good relationship has to be, above everything else, a healthy one and consist of trust, mutual understanding and support, where both partners have things in common, respect one another and don't hold back each other. This is what I saw and liked in a dynamic of Kiryu Kazuma and Sayama Kaoru from Like a Dragon (aka Yakuza) series.

Some might say they had a rough start, with them being on opposite sides of the law in a world where people are labeled and treated with prejudice. But that is the whole theme of their love story throughout Like a Dragon 2. It is a relationship that defies what people assume as normal, where characters are developing to see through the superficial and realize that despite their surface level differences, there is much more in common on a deeper level.

They are both humans, shackled by outside perception of them and because of it they might feel they have to act a certain way instead of being themselves. But being themselves is exactly what they manage to achieve around each other, which is something that even Haruka notices about her Uncle Kaz. Isn't that the best kind of thing that can be in a relationship? To be yourself without hiding it and be loved for it? KazuKaoru is that kind of pairing.

Isn't it ironic that he turned to be that someone? Interesting camera work here is that while he says this, it zooms at him. Not very subtle, but nice foreshadowing nonetheless.

Often I come across an assumption that KazuKaoru is rushed. Not one bit. We are talking about two grown up people with experiences, who know or at least feel what they want from life and their partner. It is hard to determine when exactly Kiryu fell for Kaoru, but Kaoru definitely starting falling for Kiryu at the rooftop scene after date. But that scene leaves us with an impression that her feelings are unrequited. She wants to stay with him to watch the stars, but he politely refuses and asks her to rest. There is a moment of hurt and disappointment.

Potential of denial is followed up by a scene at New Serena. After Kaoru suffered through shocking discovery and family member loss, she is a mess and her actual real self with all that baggage might not be loveable at all. She confessed to Kiryu about her insecurities and the truth ended up more harmful than she was prepared for. She started crying after saying this line:

I always read it as her implying something along the lines "you don't need me anymore". With her heart on disaply she is met with silence. But whoever was responsible for this subplot of Yakuza 2 liked to live in a happy land, so we've got this beautiful response from Kiryu that finally showed his true colors and feelings towards Kaoru:

"I would never think less of you" meaning that he accepts her entirely, with whatever may come her way. He loves Kaoru for the person she is and might be. This is pure, kind and tender form of love that is so easy to enjoy. He makes sure she knows that he doesn't want her away, so he asks her a very important thing to do later:

Yakuza and a police officer. Two people on the opposite sides. But both are warriors for justice, upholding same ideals of helping and protecting those in need. They both have power, but use it for good. This is the kind of common ground that can lead to something special and beautiful if they are ever allowed to reunite in later games.

Thankfully Like a Dragon 8 left us with hope. We have a confirmation that Kiryu Kazuma and Sayama Kaoru still have feelings for each other even after 17 years of being apart. This is why I call this essay as Everlasting. Because this is the kind of love they hold for each other, still waiting for a moment where they can be together again.

There is actually a lot more I would have liked to put into words about them. This is my all time favorite video game couple and maybe even my all time favorite OTP. Both characters are outstanding individually and together they are unstoppable. Ultimate power couple whose love story is there to each us a very important lesson in life that we all can take to heart and follow through with it:

[cyor]

Jude Bellingham ideal type reading

General

•

A go-getter. Someone resilient. Someone that works hard to achieve their goals and ambitions. A person with drive and super passionate. Competent, trustable and mature. I see that he really can’t stress enough on people that are mature and “feet on the ground”, because Jude himself is someone grounded, so a no-bullshit individual is one of the things that he aims for the most. Someone inspirational, he wants to be amazed by his partner. Able to keep a positive mindset regardless of the circumstances and the failures. A bit spiritual as well. Maybe someone older than him. He really likes to feel that sense of pride and admiration for the person he likes because of their hard work. This is someone pretty similar to him and also his mother as well? He might view his mother as someone who is very wise and a strong presence (that he cherishes so much) in his life. Loyal, committed. Someone he can trust with his life.

•

Turn on’s

Very feminine energy. Intimidating. Neat and organized. I think Jude also likes those kinds of people that are always on his feet. To him that could mean that the person just cares a lot about him. Someone that doesn’t like negative energies and prefers to have a good laugh and time instead. Bright. He likes beautiful smiles and teeth. Family oriented and away from dramas. Stable person. Again strong and hard working. He adores it when his crush is someone that does something out of their life, almost like a stubborn person who’s workaholic/persistent about their goals. He might also like someone who has suffered a lot in their life and is searching for a light that will embrace them (him in this case).

•

Turn off’s

Of course, someone that is stuck, someone with too many problems in their life constantly and unable to get through them (specially if the issue is money-related. I think he’s been through situations where people just would constantly ask him for money) unstable people. Delusional people. Someone that makes everything about themselves and is unable to see through others. Overly-religious people. Energy all over the place. Failure, everlasting negativity. Laziness, sloppiness, poorly treated hair. People unable to move on.

[noodle-is-unstable]

The JJK Characters as cryptids

(Drabbles)

Ft ~ Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Ryoumen Sukuna, Choso, Takuma Ino, Shiu Kong, Uraume, Yuki Tsukumo, Shoko Ieiri, Mahito

Synopsis ~ The JJK Characters if they were cryptids. Could be Kinktober because if you squint hard enough it looks a little like monster fucking

Content Warning ~ 18+, spooky cryptid folklore things, Idk adult stuff

Gojo ~

Á Bao A Qu

the A Bao A Qu lives on the steps of the Tower of Victory in Chitor, from the top of which one can see "the loveliest landscape in the world". The A Bao A Qu waits on the first step for a man brave enough to try to climb up. Until that point, it lies sleeping, shapeless and translucent, until someone passes. Then, when a man starts climbing, the creature wakes, and follows close behind. As it progresses further and further up, it begins to become clearer and more colorful. It gives off a blue light which increases as it ascends. But it only reaches perfection when the climber reaches the top, and achieves Nirvana, so his acts don't cast any shadows. But almost all the time, the climber cannot reach the top, for they are not perfect. When the A Bao A Qu realizes this, it hangs back, losing color and visibility, and tumbles back down the staircase until it reaches the bottom, once more dormant and shapeless. In doing so, it gives a small cry, so soft that it sounds similar to the rustling of silk. When touched, it feels like the fuzz on the skin of a peach. Only once in its everlasting life has the A Bao A Qu reached its destination at the top of the tower.

This reminds me of Gojo because he was always living up to other people's expectations while never picking his own path. He wanted his students to surpass him so he would follow and watch to see if they could do it. Following his students lead him to fight Sukuna, freeing him and allowing him to achieve his true nirvana

Geto ~

Atmospheric Beasts

Atmospheric Beasts are the strangest of the flying monsters from ufology, cryptozoology and astrobiology. According to eyewitness reports, these beings are, apparently, living creatures, but they break all the usual rules that the biologists apply to living organisms. They appear to be able to levitate without any need for wings; as well as their bodies are even depicted in a semi-solid, often partially invisible, state.

I like the idea that these Atmospheric Beasts were actually just Geto flying around with his curses. He too was floating and flying above everyone. Breaking the laws of physics by simply existing

Nanami ~

Domovoy

The Domovoy a Slavic household Guardian shape-shifter spirit of a given ancestry a spirit who lives in the fireplace or behind stoves. Root word Dom meaning house is from Slavic folklore that lives in the home and protects the family from harm in all ways especially the children and animals. They have a troll-like appearance they have the power to shape-shift into anything but most likely cats, dogs, bears and horses. The Domovoy is said to be able to predict the future, however if enraged the Domovoy will lash out or in sometimes even leave the kin. The Domovoy even has a female counterpart called the Domania. The domovoy is believed to be coexisting with the house. The kin of the domovoy can give gifts and offerings to him.

Nanami would absolutely protect his house and everyone in it with all his power. He is very protective of those younger than him already. I dunno, he just gave me the vibes

Toji ~

Fear Liath Moor

Am Fear Liath Mór, or Big Grey Man or The Grey Man of Ben MacDhui is known to stalk the people who climb the mountain Ben Macdhui, the second highest peak in Scotland. Because of the high levels of fog there, not many people have seen it. Some believe the Grey Man to be a guardian of the mountain, but others believe him to be the guardian of a gate to other dimensions. The grey man is reported to be very tall humanoid, at least 8 feet high (Although sometimes as high as 30 feet). It is covered in short, gray hair, hence the name. Many times the witnesses didn't even see it, but still could hear it due to the loud footsteps. Many believe the Gray Man is a relative to sasquatch/bigfoot. It normally stalks its victims until they realize that it is following them, and then it chases them. This is a common pattern. It walks on two legs, and walks (and runs) like a normal person.

Toji feels like the gateway between the normal and curse knowing world so it seems fitting he would guard it. It is also an interesting parallel because it was of great note when Gojo perceived Toji. It was the first time he said someone actually saw him and he didn't like it

Sukuna ~

Achiyalabopa

Achiyalabopa was a huge bird god of the Pueblo people. He is described as being of extraordinary size and having rainbow-colored feathers as sharp as knives. It was considered a celestial creature and may have once been attributed to the whole of creation.

Sukuna is almost a pseudo god with his reputation and skill. Wings as sharp as knives paralleling his technique. Obviously not attributed for creation but could be argued he was the best showing of what sorcery could truly be and therefor the creator of true curse prowess

Choso ~

Horned Cat

Horned demon cats or Horned cats are the phenomenon of felines with various kinds of "horns" on their head or on their body. These cats or mostly of an occult origin however there are accounts of biological animals and mutations.

The idea the Horned Cat is from occult origins and Choso was born from curse, human experimentation. A creation that was never meant to be of this world but was still created. He also gives cat vibes

Ino ~

Manitou

Manitou is a term used to designate spirit beings among many Algonquian groups of Native Americans. It refers to the concept of one aspect of the interconnection and balance of nature/life, similar to the East Asian concept of qi or the Hindu concept of Brahman; in simpler terms it can refer to a spirit (compare to the Japanese concept of kami). This spirit is seen as a (contactable) person as well as a concept. Everything has its own manitou - every plant, every stone, even every machine.

Ino's technique being Auspicious Beasts Summon allowing him to be a spititual medium it feels fitting. He connects to beast souls and embodies them for his technique, living as a balance between human and spirit beast

Shiu ~

Pale Crawlers

Pale Crawlers are a phenomenon, usually enigmatic entities that appear at night. They are humanoid creatures described as thin and pale, with long limbs with claws and large black eyes. They are known to be incredibly fast, stealthy, and smart. While unconfirmed it is likely that pale crawlers are hyper aggressive.

Shiu is someone that works from the shadows, smart, stealthy and doesn't do his own dirty work. Though unconfirmed it's most likely when backed into a corner Shiu would have no problem being aggressive and even kill

Uraume ~

Abatwa

The Abatwa of Africa are a legendary race of minuscule hunters originally told of by the Zulus as being a menace in their territories; but in the past few decades the tales told of these beings in English language media has greatly changed.

Uraume is the definition of small but deadly. Tiny and likely to go unnoticed but an absolute menace. Uraume could take out people ten times their size and decimate populations

Yuki ~

Siren

In Greek mythology, sirens are female humanlike beings with alluring voices. They are always around locations surrounded by cliffs and rocks. Sirens continued to be used as a symbol for the dangerous temptation embodied by women. "Siren" can also be used as a slang term for a woman considered both very attractive and dangerous.

Yuki will always ask "What's your type?" hoping the answer is her. She has been shown to get agitated when not answered. Her words have often left people in danger or injured. (Leading Geto to become a curse user, leading Todo in training that left him scarred)

Shoko ~

Akkorokamui

According to Shinto mythology, the creature is human-like and contains a bright red color. The Akkorokamui is also characteristically described with the ability to self-amputate, like several octopus species, and regenerate limbs. This characteristic manifests in the belief in Shinto that Akkorokamui has healing powers. Consequently, it is believed among followers that giving offerings to Akkorokamui will heal ailments of the body, in particular, disfigurements and broken limbs.

Shoko's reverse curse technique parallels the healing ability of the Akkorokamui. Though she isn't as destructive she is willing to help those close to her

Mahito ~

Nixie

The Nixie, are humanoid, and often shapeshifting water-spirits in Germanic mythology and folklore. The enthralling music of the Nøkk was most dangerous to women and children, especially pregnant women and unbaptised children. He was thought to be most active during Midsummer's Night, on Christmas Eve, and on Thursdays. However, these superstitions do not necessarily relate to all the versions listed here. Many, if not all of them, developed after the Christianizing of the northern countries, as was the case with similar stories of faeries and other entities in other areas. When malicious Nøkker attempted to carry people off, they could be defeated by calling their name; this was believed to cause their death.

Mahito is known to be a shapeshifter of sorts. Very whimsical and joyful, almost childlike. Dancing, playing, general glee but very dangerous. He lured Junpei to the sewers and is still a curse after all. Though whimsical he would take, torture, experiment and kill people

[rozamasu]

Dragon Ball Z/Super: Comparing and contrasting Goku and Zamasu— two sides of the same coin? (Long post full of yapping!)

The Goku Black arc consistently portrays Black/Zamasu to be ideological parallels to Trunks for obvious reasons (Hope vs Despair, Selfishness vs Selflessness, he's the protagonist of this arc, etc.), but I think it's an interesting exercise to compare Zamasu's journey to Goku's. In my opinion, it really hammers in why Zamasu failed to reach enlightenment and fell from grace besides "mortals = stupid and barbaric" and plain old narcissism.

Everyone knows Goku's story by now, but I want to hone in on the part that I believe Zamasu's own parallels.

The beginning of Z features Goku gradually being introduced to entirely new realms of power and scale. He has to team up with the guy he worked his ass off to defeat 5 years ago just to barely defeat Raditz, a mid class Saiyan, sacrificing his own life in the process.

He is informed constantly by Vegeta that he is nothing but low-class scum, born at the bottom of the interplanetary Saiyan "totem pole", compared to Vegeta's own super-elite-royalty-goodness.

Then, by Namek, he manages to surpass Vegeta, and even trounces the emperor of the universe who subjugated the entire Saiyan race. After Namek, Goku grows so much that the conceptions of "class" that he was blindsided by quickly become faint memories, only brief blips in his life's work to always get stronger.

Not to be the strongest, or even to become "the strongest Saiyan who ever lived", simply to get stronger. Goku's goal is forever ongoing; he will never feel as if his duty is complete. If it ever was, he'd be restless and unsatisfied.

The key thread throughout the Saiyan and Frieza Sagas is that Goku never uses the labels ascribed to him or his opponents as anything more than momentary benchmarks in service of his overarching, everlasting goal to achieve more and more strength. He does not hear Vegeta's boasts about his status and go "okay, guess I'll be good enough once I can beat Vegeta in a 1 on 1, since I'll basically be a super elite!". He hears King Kai's fervent warnings about Frieza's terrible strength and gets curious rather than demotivated.

He doesn't use either of these as an excuse to run away or quit training.

In fact, Goku never uses anything as an excuse. He is not married to any sort of arbitrary benchmark of strength (that honor goes to Chi Chi), even in Super as he gains power that rivals Gods of Destruction.

To treat a level of strength, or a class (God of Destruction, Angel, Super Elite, Emperor of the Universe) as a stopping point for Goku or some sort of ultimate goal would imply that Goku's desire for strength has a defined end. But it doesn't, and so Goku doesn't put much stock into those things. He never loses sight of his goal, and he literally doesn't even stop training when he's dead.

As for Zamasu, the beginning of his journey is why I thought to juxtapose him with Goku in the first place. He shares a surprising similarity with early Z Goku, in that both were able to achieve greater statuses than their birth would afford them.

Zamasu started off as a normal Kai, the guardian of a universal quadrant (the North, same as King Kai). In terms of Dragon Ball's divine hierarchy, this is actually quite the low standing. It is the second lowest known class of Gods, only ranking above planetary deities like Kami and Dende. If a Core Person (Kai race) is born from a rare, special golden fruit, only then will they be qualified enough to train to be a Supreme Kai.

Zamasu is the only known canon example of a normal Kai being selected to become a Supreme Kai, and so his exceptional ascension up the divine hierarchy is a natural parallel to Goku's own defiance of his low-class nature and his comparatively low power level at birth.

Unlike Goku, however, Zamasu is absolutely obsessed with and bound by certain labels, which ultimately leads to his ideological downfall.

Firstly, we can see his fixation on the idea of godhood when he speaks to Gowasu.

When Gowasu simply tells him to temper himself and observe mortals, he immediately begins focusing on and belittling the gods' philosophy, almost outright saying "what the gods think does NOT align with justice". The way he phrases these sentences in both the dub and sub is key: he says "I thought you'd teach me justice, but...", which creates a juxtaposition between "divinity" and "REAL justice".

He even begins to doubt that a god could be considered a god if they did not align with his definition of justice.

Zamasu is young and inexperienced for a Kai (especially considering regular Kais have far shorter biological lifespans than Supreme Kais), so the reactions he displays in this scene suggest that he had a very romanticized, linear view of both godhood and justice. When Gowasu's statement suggests to Zamasu that he can't reconcile the two, it basically calls out all that Zamasu currently stands for, and he doesn't take it well.

Gowasu ends the discussion by challenging Zamasu's narrowminded belief that gods are "absolute" and perfect, but by then the two are already unable to get through to one another.

If you look at the other gods in Dragon Ball, you'll see what Gowasu means here. For example, Beerus is lazy, temperamental, and childish; none of the other gods really like him. Elder Kai is a lecher. Champa is rather undignified and just as temperamental as Beerus.

Where Goku seeks strength, Zamasu seeks virtue. Yet, unlike Goku, Zamasu has an arbitrary benchmark at where his objective stops: the abstract concept of "godhood".

When Zamasu reaches that endpoint and finds that it's not all it's cracked up to be, he constantly contorts his definition of divinity to match it— or rather, to match himself— rather than accepting that being a god is not equivalent to having a "perfect" sense of justice, or being "perfect" in general. He commits barbaric, brutal, bloodthirsty, and wanton acts, all in the name of "divine justice", despite those things being less becoming of gods and more becoming of mortals.

The dilemma extends to the very end of the arc, where in the dub Corrupted Merged Zamasu says to Vegetto: "If one can't control a world, one can't be called a god of it", instantly justifying his hypocrisy, his sadism, his violence, and his arrogance instead of looking inward and asking himself what it meant to be a god.

Like Gowasu said, Zamasu was "obsessed with the contradictions of gods and mortals", and as Trunks said, "it isn't about gods or mortals". Zamasu was so enamored with the idea and label of godhood, yet did not question whether or not his values, the values of his future counterpart, or the values of the other gods aligned with it. And how could he have questioned it if he didn't truly know what godhood meant himself— if he just used the idea as a synonym for what he believed?

Where Goku saw arbitrary labels as inconsequential to his overarching quest, Zamasu saw his life be entirely dictated by them. Zamasu allowed himself to be entrenched in the god-mortal dichotomy, whereas Goku's nature would never allow him to lose his big-picture goal like that.

When Goku's reality is challenged, whether by the introduction of some groundless measure of value (power level, Saiyan class) or by a vastly stronger opponent, he doesn't flinch. He doesn't stop. He doesn't make excuses. His overall goal doesn't change.

When Zamasu's reality was challenged, he broke and became everything he hated. He bent and twisted the rules of what he considered "just", and shattered the natural divine order by doing away with all Gods of Destruction. His goal, by then, was unrecognizable compared to his previous goal to be a benevolent Supreme Kai.

Where Goku's triumphs led him to continue being diligent and humble, Zamasu's own led him to be stagnant and arrogant. Even though Zamasu was proactive and cunning, he was stagnant in the sense that none of what he did made him more moral or virtuous, or gave him a greater understanding of the universe, even though those were the things he originally sought when studying under Gowasu.

All he did was further embed himself (literally, with Future Zamasu) within his own radical beliefs; he never progressed towards his original goal because he replaced it with "I am THE God, no more gods are needed, I will exterminate all mortals personally". His arrogance and inability to see gods as flawed beings made him lose the plot.

Goku continued working hard and getting stronger after vanquishing Frieza, whereas Zamasu's entitlement made him become a complete shell of himself.

Goku saw his growth from low-class warrior to Legendary Super Saiyan to be a testament to everything he stood for; the desire to protect and avenge his friends, his inherited Saiyan pride from Vegeta, and most importantly, his neverending journey to get stronger. Zamasu saw his ascension from North Kai to Supreme Kai as an excuse. A stopping point. An "okay, I've reached the pinnacle of the virtue I seek", refusing to accept that there was more beyond the arbitrary value and moral standing he placed on the role of a god, refusing to think mortals could ever possibly learn, and refusing to think gods could ever need to learn.

Zamasu is a dark reflection of Goku— Son Goku is everything that Zamasu is not. Zamasu is the opposite of many reasons that Goku is such a distinct and unique character, and that makes both of them all the more compelling.

[shrenvents]

Haunting Fear of the Dead

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, implied (small) age gap, survivors guilt etc

Pairing: Rick Grimes x reader

Summary: Negan’s aftermath served as the last straw to instill in you, the belief that nothing lasts forever.

Word count: 1k

...

The conversation rings in the back of my mind, and your face dominates my thoughts. That despairing, lost expression still makes me wonder whether I crossed the line.

Life is moving too fast, and the overwhelming concept of inevitable death, and her vivid memory haunt me.

The idea, that you may see her in my eyes...

Things fall apart, and I'll never be her.

I knew Lori for no more than a week before she died. And now I've known you for several years, yet she hasn't left my side. Has she left yours?

Your wife and I couldn't be more different.

A troubled, younger girl, who can't help how unloveable she feels. How vulnerable I am. How susceptible I am to doubt. Versus the mother of your child. Your woman before the fall.

How can I compare? How can you love me? After this tragedy and loss, how can I return your love?

Maybe these are all the things I should’ve conveyed, but the moments gone, and I’ll never get you back Rick.

…

"If ya sigh one more time girl, I'll smack you," Daryl intimidates passively, and I snap my obscure stare at him below my post. Then, looking at the world outside these metal walls, one last time, I turn to the ladder. "Call Rosita, I'm tired."

"Nuh-uh, if I'm here all night, so are ya," He challenges, catching my gaze. He holds it before scoffing in defeat, obviously feeling guilty, after viewing my sorrowful appearance.

As I pass him, he grips my forearm. "I know things are bad right now, but yer a survivor," he murmurs, full of pity. "And if ya ain't gonna believe in yerself, believe in Rick." He trails off, and I nod to make him loosen his grip, so I may walk away.

Things just blew over with the Saviours, now that Negan is behind bars. But regardless, death plagues my conscience. How can I think my happiness is important, or everlasting when my survival is just dumb luck?

Ending things with Rick rang so much truth to that.

Now lonely and isolated, I only have myself to blame. Since confusion and indecision left my bed empty, my head is full of profuse distress.

To this day, after weeks, I'm still unsure of what I was trying to achieve -what I was running from, and why was it him?

No, I know...

I feel it again, her looming behind me. Lori. Whispering stories of their pleasant life together before Walkers existed.

Her ghost regularly tells me how life would be different if it wasn't the end times. She remarks how Rick wouldn't look my way if I wasn't his only option.

My rapid imagination slows to silence when I pass his house. I picture Carl on his porch bouncing Judith to sleep, and misery brutally latches onto me, forcing me to remember what is lost.

'You left him when he needed you the most...' Lori breathes.

Tears prick my eyes, and I bite my bottom lip to reduce its trembling. Then, a call of my name drags me out of the dark, and I seek out its source.

"Rick?" I reply, swallowing my cry and straightening my back. Blinking frantically, I assess him as he marches towards me, seeing concern playing across his features.

'Good things aren't meant to last...'

"How are you?" I croak.

"Fine," he stammers slightly, "you?"

"I'm well," I lie pathetically, and even though he clearly doesn't believe me, he accepts my response nonetheless.

"Shouldn't you be patrolling the wall?" He questions hesitantly.

"Yeah, but Rosita offered to take over, to let me rest you know?" I murmur with a shrug like I'm asking him to confirm my lies. He nods again, seeming just as awkward. "Need me to walk you back?" Rick proposes, motioning his pointer in the direction of my place. "No," I utter flatly, far too fast. He gulps, unable to hide his dejected manner.

A beat later I wordlessly amble away, but he hollers my name again, and I freeze, whirling around, brows furrowing. "Can I walk you back?" He urges this time, and his dilated pupils hold such fervour and desperation, that I give in. "Okay," muttering, I look to the ground as he jogs to my side.

Walking closely together, we're uncomfortably quiet. I peer at him and see his eyes squeezed shut as he inhales, expanding his chest to its limit.

"Rick?" I mumble. His eyelids pop open, and he swivels his head to mine, brows raised.

"Why are you," exhaling, "forcing yourself to-" I cut myself short, and he grasps my meaning. "I'm not forcing myself to do anything," Rick rasps. "If anything, I'm forcing you, to be with me," he drops my befuddled stare. "I'm sorry," he grunts.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," I splutter as a wave of grief, racks through me. "I'm the one with problems," my meek voice gets choppy.

The pace of his legs falter. "Problems," he echoes, puffing a soundless laugh in disbelief. "Problems I want to hear," he more or less pleads. I faintly shake my head.

When I stagger, Rick stops moving completely, and captures my hand, yanking me squarely to him. I take in how alarmed his features appear and again, wish I was alone so I could cry.

"C'mon beautiful, talk to me," he begs, cupping my hand in both his palms, and when he utters my name of endearment, I finally break.

Liquid flows down my cheeks, and Rick, with his thumbs, hopelessly tries to sweep them aside. But the more his rough pads graze my skin, and he pulls me closer, adorning me with such affection, the more tears stream.

He wraps his sturdy arms around my smaller frame, tugging me tightly to his chest, and I collapse into him. He holds me upright when my knees buckle, and simply lets me cry.

"I broke up with you, why on Earth are you consoling me?" I sob, words escaping my mouth in messy bundles.

Sighing, "Because I love you," Rick's voice grows rocky, "and I hate to break it to you," he chokes up, "that isn't gonna change, just 'cause ya don't feel the same."

His statement makes a louder cry erupt. But, I struggle to muster the courage to dispel, the third lie told tonight.

Of course I love him.

"I'm here, always," he soothes, nuzzling his nose into the crook of my neck, and I feel water drip onto my nape.

As my arms encase his shaking body, Lori materializes behind me.

Reminding me, for the hundredth time:

I don't deserve Rick Grimes, and I never will.

[melliae]

The Moon and Buddhism (Persona 3)

Nothing long or expansive here; just a small thought that occurred to me while reading some things in twitter X.

Did you know the full Moon is an important piece of buddhist symbolism? As far as I know, it stands for the clarity derived from enlightenment, the "emptiness" that allows arhats (people who have achieved nirvana) to act as mirrors of the world at large, fully understanding and reflecting everything as it is without attachment.

On the other hand, the Moon as a whole can also act as a symbol of the transitoriness of reality.

Great Master Ma was unwell. The temple superintendent asked him, “Teacher, how has your venerable health been in recent days?” The great master said, “Sun Face Buddha, Moon Face Buddha.”

Above is a small koan based on the death of the Zen master, Ma. It's based in a small excerpt of the Sutra of Buddha's Names (I couldn't find, pitifully), which explains that the Sun-Face Buddha is everlasting and timeless, while the Moon-Face Buddha is ephemeral and bound to samsara.

Furthermore, the full Moon is also related with the birth and death of the Siddhartha Gautama, the historical Buddha. Thus, change and transformation are, ironically, constants within the illusory world, bounding even the mortal incarnations of the Buddhas (which yes, it's the meaning of the koan).

And with that, water enters, which is understood as a metaphorical mirror just like the Moon, as well as the purity and calmness inherent to "empty" world. The Bodhisattva Guanyin or Avalokiteshvara reflects this on her common list of symbols and iconography, but that's more of a trivia.

There's no need to explain why Nyx is the Moon, nor why the (male) protagonist is the water (thanks, Reload). So, then... where does Ryoji fall? If he's neither the Moon nor the water/sea, then the only option is that he's the reflection of the Moon within the water, the illusion itself that arises from emptiness.

Ryoji was never intended to last. He couldn't. The entirety of him was an illusion that couldn't keep going, because it'd betray his existence as "conditioned" being, that he was a reflection of the ever-changing Moon.

And boy, he sure was aware that his being was just an illusion, another "grain of sand" in the desert that's tossed around by the winds.

But that doesn't mean Ryoji was meaningless. Far from it, since it was him who personified the protagonist's attachment to life, the "golden seed" incubated within that acted as a gift to the world - the possibility to delay the Fall.

Normally, the Moon's reflection in the water doesn't affect either, just as the world doesn't affect its own emptiness. But it seems this one was an exception.

[myreia]

FEBHYURARY XX: PRIMAL

The final day could not dawn, for there is no dawn in everlasting light. Nevertheless when the hour came, Ryne sought him out. She demanded he not go, tears brimming in her eyes. She clung to him desperately, stumbling over her words as she pressed a cartridge into his hand. Specially charged. Crafted to destroy the one they love, designed to prey on her single weakness. A single shot to the heart and it will all be over. He embraced her as he said his farewells, murmuring words of strength and courage he does not have. She will need it in the coming days. Ryne will be the last after him. The last to remain. The last to survive. He knows he will not return, and yet he must go. Some day soon—for Norvrandt’s are numbered—she will understand. And so he climbs the mountain where the primal lightwarden has made her nest. He cuts through her horde of light-corrupted minions, some distant part of his mind numbly acknowledging the twisted faces of friends he once knew. That is what she does; she does not bring death, but transposition. He does not flinch when their claws sink into him; nor does he pause when he strikes them all down. He is battered and bruised when he reaches the apex. Caked with blood and dirt, his gunblade dulled, his cartridges spent save for one. The air here is stale and still, the scent thick with the stench of primal magicks. She is nowhere to be seen. For a brief moment he wonders if he was mistaken, if she has abandoned her home. His heart beats. One, two. One, two. Blood pulsing in his veins, fear and hope and love thumping in his ears. The last shred of his humanity, and he is oh so alive— The creature with Aureia’s face bursts from below, a storm of ice and fire suspended in each hand. Her eyes glow vermilion in twisted mimicry of her natural deep red. Wings of darkness and light in perfect unison, an equilibrium she never achieved when she lived. Hair purged to white as it had been when she was first infected, the red streaks the only remnants of what it once was. Fingers turned to talons soaked in blood. So familiar, yet so alien—she has become a warped fracture of herself, everything he loved about her burnt out of her by blazing light.   He raises his blade and steels his mind. He has come here to slay her. All it takes is one shot. A shot he does not make. Time slows when the end comes, the passage of his mortal life stretched out in perpetuity. Her claws are a vice grip on his chin, the power of her magic scalding his eyes. She holds him in her unblinking ruby gaze as if transfixed, some memory within her ascended mind recalling what he was to her. He wishes for her to end it. If he but moves just a little… her claws would cut his throat… and he would deprive her of her greatest desire. But as he knows, she does not kill, she transforms. Even in this form her love for him burns fiercely. More fiercely than he can comprehend. It washes over him, powerful, overwhelming, the command to submit tugging at his mind, silencing the purpose he came to this mountain to fulfill— It is all gone in a burst of blue and red. Defeat has never tasted so sickeningly sweet.

[celestialholz]

The Resurrectionist (or 'Crowley's dying briefly because character-building, and here's why')

I should start off by saying, friends, that I have written exactly zero books. (Bloody lot of fanfiction, but no actual novels). And I like coffee, but not particularly with oat milk. (The poison's metaphorical, not physical), but... well, you guys can keep both of 'em, because they're just not relevant to this conversation. I am also, as you may have already guessed, not Neil Gaiman. A chick can only speculate, but she does like to back it up with actual evidence.

No, I'm simply here to ask you a question.

What's the single worst thing Heaven could ever do to Aziraphale?

What would drive our angel so far from the clutches of Heaven that he would never, ever wish to return? What would set him unequivocally free from six millenia of assumed responsibility; what would make him realise that God can never change? What would strip everything away from him?

Because of course, this is what we have to do next series. This is Aziraphale's whole arc. If he doesn't try and change things and fail, he will always wonder. Always have a 'what if.' Will never be able to truly move on, will never be free from the eternal abuse cycle.

And so the severing has to be monumental, and everlasting. Then we get our happy ending. Storytelling, loves, done flawlessly. (Again, not a novelist... just a girl who's been writing for over half of her lifetime.)

And so, I ask again:

What's the single worst thing Heaven could ever do to Aziraphale?

And, well, it's a manifold question isn't it, with lots of potential ans - no I'm just kidding. Very simple question, very simple answer.

So congratulations to the very likely hundreds of you who have just said 'murder Crowley,' because a. you're very much correct and b. we've all just predicted the end of series three.

(... I mean, probably not the very end. But the emotional crux, definitely.)

And naturally, I'm not talking discorporation. I'm talking 'wiped from the universe altogether, leaving our angel eternally alone' kinda murder. The real shit. The good shit. Never mind any of this 'editing the Book of Life leading to an ineffable paradox' kinda bullshit - this is Heaven, the natural source point of holy water. One miracled Supersoaker and our demon's ancient history, friends.

Because y'see guys, severing Aziraphale's connection isn't the only problem we face in terms of narrative romance. We've also got Crowley, who has spent six millennia being in love with a guy who just takes, takes, takes... him for granted.

And this is NOT to say that Aziraphale gives him nothing back - he so very clearly does. (I am a consummate Aziraphale apologist, Crowley's just as much of a fool post-series two as our angel is, and Aziraphale needs this, as I've mentioned.) But... Crowley is his teacher. His moral guide. His protector. It mostly goes one way, and despite all of that and him being happy to be that guy for all this time... right when it matters most, Aziraphale (to Crowley, at least) has abandoned him. He's told him he isn't good enough.

(... Which is bollocks. That's not what Aziraphale's said at all, they're both as overprotective as each other and have a desperate, painful longing to keep one another safe in their own best way. But it sure fucking looks like it to CROWLEY, which is what matters.)

And so, we have two issues in achieving our happy-ever-after.

Sundering Aziraphale from Heaven forever;

Ensuring Crowley trusts him fully and knows completely that he is Aziraphale's only choice.

(And also by GOD do they need to have a proper conversation, but that one kinda goes without saying. It'll happen.) We have to even up this relationship; we have to make it absolute narrative equilibrium, and I am absolutely sure Neil knows this probably far better than I do.

... And so, how do we achieve both these things in one hit, whilst also telling a Second Coming story and holding a celestial war?

Well, we kill Crowley. Obviously. Not until episode five or six and after an emotional, romantic reunion of mutual understanding, but... we kill Crowley.

... And then Aziraphale brings him back. Yes, from complete death.

I would like at this juncture to remind you that miracles, apparently (and this is a thing we've just learned guys, almost like it's suddenly going to be relevant ongoing) are measured in Lazarii.

(Great thanks to the Aziraphale to my Crowley, @porgthespacepenguin, for these few screenshots I'm showing off here today. You'd never leave me, not even for my own good. <3)

Lazarii is very obviously named after Jesus' apparently greatest miracle, of raising Lazarus from the dead in the book of John. They managed to achieve twenty-five times the necessary amount of energy it takes to bring someone back from death... without actually fucking trying.

Let's take a look at the book of John a sec. Or more specifically, its eleventh chapter and twenty-fifth verse.

Jesus told her, "I am the resurrection and the life. The person who believes in me, even though he dies, will live."

My thanks to Neil once again for murdering me like Heaven's going to murder Crowley. Cold blood, point-blank.

'Who believes in me.' Huh. Only for the past six thousand years, Aziraphale dear...

Here's a little of what the internet has to say about the number 25 in numerology, by the way.

And may I also remind you at this stage that there is a pub in this series called The Resurrectionist, and only Aziraphale goes into it.

I mean sure, Crowley's booksitting and trying to make the ladies hilariously like him and Aziraphale fall in love in the same way he himself did, but the fact remains... one relevant pub name. One guy. (We all need a narrative excuse sometimes Neil, I get you.)

Considering all this, friends, let me ask you another question. This one's a little more wordy, that's on me.

What do you think would happen when a being capable of raising someone from the dead twelve and a half times over for the sake of his beloved's protection loses said beloved beyond all doubt?

... And this will be after he gains the ultimate celestial power-up, by the way. In case we'd forgotten that that alone is also about to boost Aziraphale to the fucking stratosphere, and finally put him on an equal footing with Crowley. (Who is clearly an ex-archangel, but not Lucifer, so Neil's since said.)

... And I think we know the answer, don't we? The kind of miracle that

(You can't see me, but I'm staring into the camera like I'm one of The Office main cast right now.)

This is the kind of power that fucks with reality - the kind of power that scares Heaven and Hell to absolute death, hence Metatron being in the DMs. And crucially, this miracle was boosted because of love. Because of a desire to keep the status quo, their 'own side'. You amplify both those conditions to the nth degree by destroying one of them? It's over, lads. Resurrection is the beginning.

Resurrection evens up a playing field. It destroys Aziraphale and renews him in one hit; it proves to Crowley once and for all that Aziraphale loves him exactly as he is.

... It's a no-brainer, pals.

And what do they do after this? Well, fuck up the celestial order, naturally. I have theories, the main one of them being that they're going to be God and Satan respectively and unite Heaven and Hell in eternal marriage, but... that's just a theory. A television theory.

The resurrection thing? Not so much.

... See, this is the thing, my friends. You don't need to have written a 16k essay to predict the future.

All you need is the ability to tell a story, an observant eye for that which is already present, and a simple question. (Followed by a mildly more complex one. It's a working allegory.)

... I'm just going to leave you with this one shot of Aziraphale picking up his own destiny. Because poetic cinema.