#all of my self repent flying out the window.

[wolfnlamb]

Todays thought: I’d give Choso that “guack guack guack” any day any time.

[an-organized-confusion]

Mea Culpas & Revelations: The Play

And then the co-conspirator wrote some heartwarming/angsty Creativitwins/DLAMPR stuff (all cred to him here, basically a drabble he wrote on the fly):

Unknown Speaker: "What is the real reason you and Remus don't get along?"

Roman: unintelligible mumbling and forefingers pushing against each other.

Logan: "Speak up." Roman: "We both have to be at the center of attention. We get mad jealous of each other when the other gets more attention." Roman: "And then I chase him with a sword, and he attacks me with a spiked morningstar. It's just best if we're never in the same place at the same time..." Roman: "So we divided what we covered creatively..."

Logan: "And you agreed on this deal?" Roman: "YES, well... at first... But then when I noticed Thomas was disturbed by Remus I started working to push him to the side so that he'd pay more attention to me..." Roman: "And then I may have started a whisper campaign cause Janus told me that it was a good idea..." Remus: from a distance, "Whisper campaign, WHISPER CAMPAIGN. YOU MOTHER DUCKING ASSHAT. YOU STRAIGHT UP TOLD EVERYONE THAT I WAS GOING TO GET THOMAS MURDERED IF THEY DIDN'T LOCK ME OUT."

Logan: That... is partially on me. I apologize Remus, we were younger and the world was far more black and white than we see it now. Statistically speaking your suggestions were going to result in Thomas's death... If he always acted on them." Remus: "And how often did he act on them?!" Logan: pained, "Almost never. You could occasionally get him to lick things, or smell things that were clearly horrendously foul. But for the most part he's never acted on anything you suggested that could've killed him." Remus: "And so you all decided to lock me behind that door." Patton: "Not without misgivings." Virgil: "Not without feeling certain we were making a mistake.” Logan: "I made an error in judgement." Roman: silent

Virgil: "i was the first to volunteer to check on you..." Remus: sighing, "I know, Tickle-Me-Emo, I know. How did that work out for you?" Virgil: glaring at Logan and Roman, "They locked the door behind me." Logan: "I made a series of errors that year. I had deemed that you were the next greatest detriment to Thomas's ability to function. I allowed cognitive bias to cloud my eyes and disregarded the important things you did for Thomas in return for the things I deemed detrimental." Roman: still silent

Janus: "I'll admit, I went in after Virgil. I'm not sure who locked the door behind me." Patton: hanging head in shame, "I'm sorry Janus, that was me. I couldn't accept your existence at that point in Thomas's development. I was wrong, and Thomas didn't learn some of life's most important lessons until it happened the hard way." Remus: "And that's how we stayed, relatively muted to Thomas for oh so long." Janus: "You know there's just one thing that confuses me still." Virgil: glancing between them, "Why the door unlocked?" Janus: "Yes, that is the final question left to answer isn't it?"

Everyone looking between themselves.

Virgil: "You know I always sat nearest to the door. So imagine my surprise when suddenly I heard the lock click one day."

Everyone looks to Virgil.

Virgil: "So imagine my surprise when I turn the knob and the door opened back up." Remus: "Did you see who unlocked it?" Virgil: "No, looked like they did it from a distance using some string."

Virgil: "You've been awfully quiet for awhile now Roman." Roman: blushing, "Yea." Virgil: "Anything you want to contribute to this discussion?" Roman: "Um... I suck at apologies?" Virgil: "Yes, that is well known." Roman: "And admitting when I've been, or actively am wrong." Janus: "Yes, I spent years helping you deny that." Roman: "And I have a lot of feelings of Imposter Syndrome." Remus: "Well Imagine that, you tried claiming to be the entirety of Thomas's creativity." Roman: nods, but falls back into silence

Roman: faintly, "I did it" Remus: "Speak up brother, I know you're more than capable of projecting your voice to the audience." Roman: "I UNLOCKED THE DOOR." Janus: Jamming fingers in ears, "He said projecting to the audience, not deafening them." Virgil: "So the guy who insisted on starting this whole debacle is the one who ended it? I guess the next question is, why?" Roman: "I realized that I wasn't able to act that well without Janus's help to mask my own thoughts." Janus: nodding thoughtfully, "Surely that can't be the only reason." Roman: "I also realized that Virgil gave me the push I needed to write better material, cause I got complacent and coasted on past successes." Virgil: rolling his eyes, "Yes, yes you did. But, you had to have known we'd never have left Remus in that room." Roman: softly, "Was kind of counting on that." Remus: "Speak up brother, unless you want me to lend you my ear to speak into." Roman: chuckling, "I missed that."

Group does a double take.

Logan: "What?" Roman: "I missed my brothers sense of humor. Sure it's sometimes gross, or outright revolting. But he knew how to tell a good dirty joke." Remus: balling up his fists, "You let them out cause you wanted to hear me tell dirty jokes?!" Janus: placing a hand on Remus's shoulder, "No, look at his eye direction and movement as he's talking. I've studied his tells for years; He's lying." Roman: shouting, "BECAUSE I MISSED YOU. DO YOU THINK I FELT GOOD LOCKING MY OWN BROTHER AWAY?"

Roman: to himself, “You’re just as much an integral part of my identity as I am a part of yours. I’ve denied parts of myself all this time and it hurts Remus. It hurts far more than I ever thought it would. Not that I gave it much thought to begin with, I never was the type to give much forethought to harebrained schemes.”

Roman: "Yea, I've been impersonating both of us this whole time, and that felt great at first because Thomas only paid attention to me. But then I realized I don't enjoy always being in the spotlight. I'm not great at one man plays. I need co-stars, or perhaps just a brother. Sure we got jealous of each other when Thomas paid more attention to the other one of us, but we still had fun competing for that attention. It felt hollow without you, like this wasn't a victory."

Roman: "I'm just... tired. I needed a distraction from Thomas's gaze. Then I realized there were 3 perfectly good distractions locked behind a door." Virgil: murderous stare, "Distractions?!" Roman: holding hands up in a placating manner and in surrender, "At first, yes. But with each of you coming back out of that door I noticed that Thomas seemed... more alive. More... Himself, than he'd been since..." Remus: growling, "Since you had us locked behind the door." Roman: nodding regretfully, "I took a joke from Janus the wrong way. It was a moment of weakness when I realized that I could feasibly get away with it. Logan was far more literal back then." Janus: groaning, "Yea, remind me never to tell you a joke." Roman: chuckling in spite of himself, "Indeed, you're too good at telling them. Sounded like serious advice at the time." Virgil: "Yes, he's unfortunately a master of the deadpan face. I'm pretty sure only Remus can tell when he's joking." Remus: "Pshaw. I simply laughed at everything on the off chance he was joking. He couldn't tell if I was manic or appreciating his humor that way." Roman: "Anyways, Virgil you brought back that creative spark I'd been looking for all this time. At first I resented that you had it. But then over time I realized it's not that you had a spark, but that you were the spark I needed. Sure sometimes Logan unintentionally says something that sparks an idea, but you were always there pushing me to do better. Throwing out ideas that would make the audience laugh instead of boo because you were so conscious of their mood."

Virgil: "Or cheer. Plays can't be all laughter." Janus: "I believe comedies beg to differ." Virgil: "People can only laugh so much before they feel numb, and trust me; I'd know." Roman: "Then when Deceit finally decided to announce his presence, I felt like I was starting to get back into the groove of acting. The small things came back to me, like how to control my facial muscles to portray scenes better." Janus: "Those can be difficult to control without really focusing on them." Roman: "But the biggest thing was that I kept seeing signs of my brother all the time. He's in all of us in his own way. Logan's love of 'mad science', Virgil's love of 'horror' films, Janus's willingness to push the boundaries of what Thomas is comfortable with, and even some of Patton's.... Misunderstandings have been borne of Remus's influence."

Logan: looking at Patton, "Adultery, really?" Remus: giggling uncontrollably, "I still can't believe I taught him what that word meant before you got a chance to." Patton: blushing furiously, "I have said that to others sooooooo many times through Thomas. They must all think we're idiots." Virgil: rubbing his arms self consciously, "Pretty sure they don't. Logan is pretty good at damage control." Logan: surprised, "How did you know?" Virgil: "I sat closest to the door, the entire time. I was just waiting for someone to open it back up. It had a window, you know? We could still see things going on, and exert some influence on Thomas. But Janus and Remus mostly got bored and wandered away a lot." Logan: nodding, "I suppose that makes sense, and why Thomas always exhibited some degree of anxiety even after... I will never be able to say I'm sorry enough for the actions I've done. I can only hope to prove through my own actions and behavior from now on that I'm repentant for them." Virgil: "Aye, and I'll keep an eye on that myself. I'll damn well let you know if you're being an asshat again." Logan: chuckling, "Thanks, I need a good reminder that though the chance is infinitesimally small, I can make mistakes." Remus: growing bored, "That's great and all, but Roman still hasn't told us what I brought back to Thomas!"

Roman: looking at his brother as if it's obvious, "Seriously?" Remus: nodding fiercely, "I want to know!" Roman: embarrassed, "You brought color back to Thomas's world. The metaphorical paint palette has been lacking a good stark contrast. Plus we'd never be able to come up with something like Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus" without you to fill in the creative bits that I'm not good with." Patton: "He means that he sucks at them." Roman: looking at Patton shocked, "What?"

Patton: shrugging, "It's the truth Roman. I've sugar coated that knowledge all this time cause Remus wasn't around to demonstrate how to do it properly." Janus: in mock surprise, "Why Patton, did I just hear that you've been lying to not hurt Roman's feelings?" Patton: staring Janus straight in the eyes, "Yes, yes you did. You were absolutely right that there are times when it's not only appropriate, but necessary to lie. I realized that without Remus, Thomas had to have Roman around and functioning. He couldn't have a day off, so to speak. So I may have helped to inflate his ego to the point it's at to this day." Janus: nodding smugly, "Ok." Remus: "So what you're saying Roman. is that you couldn't:

♫ Ever hear the werewolf cry to the red blood moon Or asked the grinning cannibal why he grinned Can you sing with all the voices of the trash mountains Can you paint with all the colors of the foul wind?♫

Roman: scrunching face in disgust, "I loved that song." Remus: chuckling, "I know."

Roman: "But... Yes. I was wrong, you were all important parts of Thomas. I have stewed on that knowledge for awhile now and I've hated myself more by the day for that moment of selfish whim. *crying* I missed Virgil, Janus, but most importantly I missed my brother."

Janus: sharing a glance with Remus, "That's a sincere admission." Remus: nodding, "We'll never get along like we used to." Patton: "I think that's fine actually. We've all gotten older, and changed in one way or another. Nothing remains in stasis forever. Not the body, brain, or emotions." Logan: "I've learned a lot since then, and I've known for some time that I was wrong. I just... couldn't bring myself to confront my past." Virgil: "Yes, that's something I had to push you to do."

Janus: "Well, there's really only one thing left to discuss then." Remus: "Indeed." Patton: "You don't mean?" Logan: "I'm pretty sure they do." Roman: "Are we sure Thomas is ready?" Virgil: "Ready or not, he'll have to deal with it eventually. Best to treat it like a Band-aid and rip it off quick."

Faint tapping comes from a table in the distance.

Unknown Speaker: "So you expect me to show up?" Logan: "It is inevitable, you are an aspect of Thomas." Patton: "But not necessarily the final aspect of Thomas." Janus: "We all rely on you in one way or another." Roman: "Ditto." Remus: "My brother is emotionally overloaded, ignore him. I think you should come in like a wrecking ball when you make your appearance into his life. Just Kool-Aid man your way into the room." Patton: "I think that's a terrible idea. Do you know how much we'd have to pay in repair costs if he did that?" Unknown speaker: chuckling, "In time, perhaps."

Unknown speaker: "I believe we're done for this round table of the psyche?" Logan: "I've got nothing productive to add." Virgil: "I've certainly enjoyed having these again." Patton: "I feel like we made a lot of progress." Janus: "I feel like I'm gonna hurl if you keep up that always positive facade." Remus: "I CAN HURL ON COMMAND, DO YOU WANT TO SEE?" Everyone else: screaming, "NO!"

Unknown Speaker: "Very well then, I'm gonna head back to my mind palace. Thomas will meet me, eventually. If it's necessary."

[nature-god-christ]

Nature of Life: As A Dream

OK. So the Holy Spirit, had aspired a young man to walk according to God's Word. From his holy scriptures, He showed the young man things past, present, and future; of things, good and evil, holy and wicked.

However, observing deep wickedness, the young man marveled at those things, and darkness reached out and found something in him; a weakness, hidden, regarding the nature of flesh, still not yet disciplined by the will of mind, to the power of God's word.

Over the years, the young man enslaved himself to wickedness, incorporating into himself the very things he had previously despised. Yet, by a lust filled symbiotic arrangement, he allowed them entry, insinuation, and emotional substance.

True agents of wickedness who hold governmental powers in this world and had long desired him for their own purposes, decided that his condition and lifestyle had opened him up to false accusation and imprisonment; and so, they falsely accused and imprisoned him.

While in prison, the word came to him, to encourage and remind him of a dream, from years past.

The Dream:

Walking, his mind is filled with the word of God. Upon the closed shade of a opened window, dance shadows of a couple vehemently arguing. He says to himself that this household very much needs to hear the gospel of Christ; but continues on.

Almost instantly, he finds himself face-to-face with a familiar individual who asks regarding his life long friends. To which, he recited the illustrious careers and achievements of each one.

But then, the familiar individual asked the young man about his own career and achievements; to which, the young man fell silent in embarrassment. But then, he quickly stated, "I am in Christ. I am the Son of God."

The familiar individual then smiled, as if to say: Indeed that is the greatest achievement of all. He then, motioned that the young man should continue walking the incline.

Upon leaving the familar individual, the man crossed the street to observe the entrance of a cave, but quickly found himself chained to various people, arm and arm, leg and leg; walking a downward path of total darkness and nether gloom. There was also present, the feelings of guilt, condemnation, and punishment.

Then there appeared, to his left, an opening upon the cave wall. A portal, and one standing at a distance behind it, at a registry of some sort.

You say, you are the Son of God? He demanded. To which, the youngman answered, Yes.

The entity on the other side of the portal, drew closer, to enquire: Then why are you, with all these who are mine?

The young man, in utter embarrassment, gave no answer.

Moving ever so close, the entity demanded proof of the young man's claim; hurling cursings and declarations of ownership.

The young man, recalling the power of God, lifted one and then both feet off the ground, such that he hovered mid air. At which, he heard the voice of God loudly yelling, into his right ear: Do not proove anything to him. Preach my word!

Upon the hearing and flying at great speed, out of the darkness of nether gloom, the youngman found himself in daylight, speaking God's word to people of many ethnicities, tongues, and religions.

As all were rejoicing in the good word and revelations of God and Christ, the world leaders of such ethnicities, tongues, and religions who at first also rejoiced, became very displeased. Huddling together, they plotted, as how to destroy the young man away from the masses.

The Holy Spirit, revealing all things to him, empowered him to again fly. And looking down at his feet, the young man noticed that long spikes had grown from his soles.

With those spikes, he began scrapping the cars, houses, money, and luxurious belongings of those in opposition to God’s word; even as God continued speaking through the young man. This infuriated the religious, political, and economic leaders ever more so, as they plotted his demise.

Nevertheless, people who love truth rejoiced, continually, in God's word; the young man, however, began to look away in the direction of what he was hearing. Upon a distant mountain, he heard and was seeing a mass of people, covering the whole face of it, beautifully attired in brilliance.

Being drawn to it, he instantly appeared above them, flying overhead. As he did so, the largest most glorious of them all, led them in song and praises; himself, receiving praise and directing all such to God. That most glorious individual, whom the young man knew to be Christ, recognized him with the sign of approval, as the young man was crossing overhead.

The backside of the mountain, however, was completely barren.

The young man landed at the foot of the mountain, on its backside. Seeing no one and nothing but wasteland, he looked upward and called to God, saying: I have done, all that you have given me to do.

At that moment, the young man heard the voice of Christ, as he himself hurtled up, into the clouds; gathered with all who, at that time, heard him.

The young man awakened, from the dream that day, briefly speaking the heavenly tongue.

Repentance:

The word that came to the imprisoned older man, reminded him of that night vision from his youth; to encourage him, and return him to Life and repentance; to awaken him, to his mission and purpose for which God had originally sent him to earth.

So then, after threatening many years (more than 20), authorities were forced to release the man, in just a few months.

Four year later, the older man, is NOT a righteous man, is NOT the Good Shepherd, but is desperately aspiring to be such. Yet, again the word comes to him, simply saying: Do, Say, and Be. Water the seed.

Do the work of Christ: Gathering others, to him.

Say whatever the word agrees with, no matter how foreign to the listener. If they reject the seed blossoming, which God himself has implanted in such an imperfect earthen vessel, they yolk themselves to the crucible of Anti-Christ that is now in the world, by the seed of deception, administered through a pandemic of delusion.

Be righteous, by continual washing and cleansing of God's word, by the power of his Spirit, as we are willing of mind.

Be justified, in that the blood sacrifice of a perfected, obedient life that has already washed away all sins-past, present, and future-of all who are continually sanctifying themselves in Truth that is, God's word; having this faith, in willing mind.

Be saved, manifesting God's purpose in life that is today, right now.

Be the agent of God, in opposition to ones own sinfully educated mind and imaginations of heart; until Christ be fully formed, seated upon the throne of heart, subjugating mind, unto fleshly obedience to the commanments of Christ.

Walking The Path:

If one must fake it until they make it, then do so; but only to ones self, not to others. Do not be a hypocrite. For ones self, however, fake or mimic the pattern of righteousness. Do that which Christ exhibited, as an imprint upon words and deeds; in contrast to those, regularly practiced, in disobedience and wickedness. Do it, until the real thing, shows up.

Repetition, passes activity as habit, to mind and soul (emotion and Physiology) that seeds the heart.

If what is seeded in the heart, is a pattern of Christ, the Holy Spirit enjoins with it to incubate a mentality of Christ that conforms to the practiced pattern.

The degree to which one allows the power of God's spirit to autopilot ones own development in Christ, is directly related to ones exposure to accurate knowledge and revelation of God's Word; which, in turn, yields a more exacting likeness of Christ, manifesting through a once disobedient life.

LITV 2Cor 4:7: "But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the excellence of the power may be of God, and not from us;"

On the Path:

King of Wonders

[drmedicsgamesurgery]

Danganronpa Togami Volume 3 Part 10 (Summary)

Sorry for the long hiatus! Hopefully being quarantined means i can pump some more out now.

Thanks to @enoshima-pyon @shockersalvage​ @jinjojess​ @hopeymchope​ 

3.

Shinobu asks Suzuhiko to help her and he leads her to a house full of UN soldiers. After killing all of them, they walk up the stairs leading to the second floor and enter what looks like a child’s room, complete with children’s books. Suzuhiko takes out something that resembles a chocolate bar and starts chewing on it.

She asks him why he is helping Kazuya.

"We reconciled. In order to prove that we are reconciled, we just played UNO together, but it seems to have different rules depending on where you play it. When Kazuya played all the +4 cards at once I really didn’t know what to say..."

“Truthfully?”

"It's true, we really played UNO together, UKNOW? Hey, did you like my funny joke?" [1]

Shinobu finds it difficult to believe what he is saying, but that’s not what is bothering her the most at the moment. She asks whether he reconciled with Kazuya because Kazuya realized that if he couldn’t win against the hitman, the best option would be to join forces. Suzuhiko says that Kazuya simply told him ‘We’re good’ and decided to just leave it at that, noting that he doesn’t care what Kazuya thinks and that he is only interested in what can be seen on the outside.

She asks Suzuhiko to help her save Byakuya. Of course, this being Suzuhiko, he wants to ‘love’ Shinobu. She tries to tell him she could provide other options, but Suzuhiko starts to sing about how wicked she is and the concept of forbidden love between siblings. Suzuhiko asks her to get closer in a lascivious manner. She doesn’t move, so he comes closer himself, grabs her right hand and lifts her up from the chair. And then...

Suzuhiko jumped out of bed and stood in front of me, then he grabbed my right hand and lifted me up from the chair. His face approached me until the breath of two people could meet each other. Suzuhiko’s eyes, hands, and body all revealed the desire to hold me firmly. I was constrained by tension and some unspeakable emotions. My body went stiff.

"Even just having one eye is fine."

Suzuhiko put his lips on my eye patch. I felt the touch through the eyepatch and tried to escape, but because the wrist was caught, I couldn't move. Suzuhiko let his hand slide to the root of my right hand with a posture similar to a lizard crawling on the ground. Then that hand was promptly crushed. I saw the signal transmitter falling to the ground with parts such as hydraulic hoses and gears.

"They are deliberately not catching you," he slammed on the signal transmitter. "Shinobu, your movements are clear as day to the WHO. It must be really hard to be you."

"They expected that I would meet Byakuya..."

"You came to Prague without hesitation after hearing the broadcast of Byakuya Togami. You must know what you have in mind? That Byakuya Togami is in Prague?"

“...”

Suzuhiko tells her not to make that face and reminds her that both of them are now companions. Shinobu wonders that since there was a signal transmitter, if Kazuya was aware of her and Suzuhiko’s relationship. After thinking about how Kasper Hauser, who was sixteen and just released from jail, would’ve been equally as confused as she was, she is then re-assured by Suzuhiko.

After being reminded of her previous apathetic attitude by Suzuhiko, he says not to worry as he will help her find a solution. After all, she is a “princess”. He then says that he will help her find Byakuya but Shinobu is worried that he might be lying to her in order to find Byakuya and kill him since he was apparently hired to do that. On the other hand, he had many opportunities to kill him but didn’t take them. So Shinobu wonders if the hitman contract was actually a lie, and Suzuhiko says that he was lying about that and all his actions were made out of his free will.

Suzuhiko then asks her if she wants to save him just because she needs to write his biography.

"I won't write anything anymore"

She ponders giving up the Super High School Level Secretary title, now that she doesn’t have Borges anymore, but she finally feels free. She will save Byakuya as a sister, not as a secretary. Now she can feel hope and despair, she has desires and dreams. She is not a writing machine anymore. That is why she can’t write his biography anymore. Suzuhiko might be thinking about doing whatever he wants to his sister, but she won’t waver anymore. However he seems to agree with what she is saying and thinks it’s great she is trying to find her own self. So Suzuhiko decides that in order to annoy Kazuya some, he will call off the hit on Byakuya.

There was a sound coming from outside, Kazuya must be here. I was nervous, and Suzuhiko was still sitting on the bed with a calm and unpredictable appearance. I squeezed my remaining hand into a fist and waited for the moment when my brother came up to the second floor. However, it was not Kazuya, but a blast from an explosion, that which came from the first floor, alongside a smell which also came from down the stairs.

"Dahahahahahahahahahaha! What a beautiful explosion C4 has."

"C4?"

"That's it," Suzuhiko showed me what he had just been keeping in his mouth. "This is a C4 bomb. A soft plastic bomb that can change shape in any way."

"You’ve been eating a bomb!?"

"As long as it doesn't detonate it's fine. It's ordinary glycerin, but it isn’t exactly good for the body either. Well, I don't know if my brother is still alive, but it's hard to imagine a person being pulverized by a bomb and still being alive."

"Oh but, I am still alive."

Said Kazuya, walking into the room with three UN soldiers. All four looked quite angry and were glaring at Suzuhiko.

"You... Were you trying to kill me?"

"How can I kill my lovely brother? It was just a joke, just like a cat tormenting a bug!"

"Isn’t that just trying to kill me?"

"Don't mention the small stuff, since you are still alive, It’s no problem, Dahahahahahahahahaha!"

This is the way of communication between Otsuki and Kazuya. Suzuhiko always does this when he is associated with someone he likes. He can only maintain the connection with others through destruction. He who feels that a certain element is lacking in nature had once destroyed me. He can only use this method of insulting to express his affection for me. Of course, my body and mind can't bear it. After a long period of time, the three of us have finally reunited again. However, Suzuhiko not only did not repent, but even intensified his destruction. He knows that his world tends to collapse and he is self-sufficient. Yet, he is still setting up bombs everywhere. 

What is going on with this guy? Self-centered. Such a creepy word came to my mind.

Kazuya refuses to accept Suzuhiko’s word that the hitman wants to reconcile with him, and turns to Shinobu… who can’t look at his gaze. To which Suzuhiko taunts Kazuya over everyone hating him.

"Sister, come to me, don't be with that guy, he will only make you worse off..." begged Kazuya.

However, at that moment Kazuya becomes all too aware of the scene he’s in and asks if the two are in a relationship. Suzuhiko comments that he and Shinobu have love. They are together. Needless, to say Kazuya begins to freak out.

"Ah... no, no, no, no" Kazuya began to move his head violently. "No, what is this? My sister should be with me. Only I can make my sister happy, so that my sister can become a princess."

"Princess?" Shinobu notes that’s the second time that word has come up.

"Yes, because I will become a prince soon."

"Sister, don't listen to him" Suzuhiko said straightforwardly "And Kazuya, let me have her and let me chase after Byakuya, I will help you find him"

"Shut up and give me my sister."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Then I will kill you."

And a lightsaber appeared on Kazuya's right hand. The three UN soldiers also quickly raised their guns. The room is full of murderous intentions.

Kazuya drops what he was holding and points at Suzuhiko with his sword.

"Tell me Kazuya, what is the principle of your sword?"

Suzuhiko didn’t seem interested in the murderousness that was pointed towards him, but he was instead looking at Kazuya’s lightsaber.

"You don't have to know."

"In any case, it must have a reason rooted in common sense. It must be something logical, not a ‘magical power’ or ‘your talented potential’ that only shows itself in a critical moment."

"No matter how you plan to get to the bottom of it, my talent will not disappear."

"Dahahahaha, do you want to talk to me about it? Can you talk about this to the Super High School Level Hitman?”

"I am also talented. The sword you see now is my talent."

"Listen well, Kazuya, there are only a few things that can happen in this world. No matter how powerful a person is, he can't change the nature of thermodynamics or go beyond the scope of physics. You know what I am saying, right? In a place where there is no way to make a lightsaber appear from nothing, this talent does not exist. Just like a person, no matter how talented, can not fly in the sky, or use a shrinking technique."

Shrinking technique? The word caused a flashback in my mind, but Suzuhiko had suddenly stood up from the bed, and now I can’t think about it. With Kazuya’s lightsaber and the soldiers’ guns pointed at us the situation was critical. However--

"Shinobu, Water Release-jutsu!"[2]

The moment Suzuhiko yelled, the room was full of smoke, but it was not the Water Releasing technique at all. The classic blinding method with smoke bombs achieved outstanding results, and they couldn’t see us.

"Let's go on a date."

In this gap, Suzuhiko lifted me up and jumped out of the window.

4.

Suzuhiko and Shinobu get in the old Skoda car and start driving through Prague. Several cars driven by UN soldiers try to stop them but Suzuhiko, who is driving, throws knives at the drivers, killing them. Shinobu feels bad for them, saying they were killed just because they were doing their job. As they pass by the Vltava River, Shinobu begins to feel uneasy because they are going farther away from Byakuya. Suzuhiko, however, is laughing away and is just itching for a chance to be able to kill every soldier the UN has and elope with her. Shinobu asks what his deal is, but Suzuhiko says not to think about it and not to pay too much attention towards his purpose. “Accept the things in front of us”, he believes it’s okay to simply take what’s happening at face value and be ignorant. Needless to say, Shinobu is still confused.

Suzuhiko goes on to say his place is looking after his brothers and sister, and of course with Kazuya he can’t say for certain how attached he is to him. Shinobu, likewise, is still wondering what the hell he is talking about, but tries to steer things along by telling him he really shouldn't be so persistent when trying for her. Something of which even Suzuhiko agrees, since he claims he needs at least a minimum of boundaries to control himself. As they drive past, Suzuhiko points out towards the hill where they escaped from the UN, thus prompting a debate as to why soldiers come after them even when they know it’ll just lead to their deaths. Why? Because it’s their work. Something that Shinobu sums up best:

"Work is like a person's identity."

Suzuhiko wonders if wanting to dominate the world is also part of the Despair High School’s plan. He believes their goal of spreading despair is strange since he finds conquering the world boring, and wonders how anyone can take something like that so seriously. “Especially after knowing about Dr. Lecter and the Joker. Who can really do what they want to conquer the world?” 

Shinobu chimes in the difference between her and them in that it boils down to their chances in achieving it.

"Maybe it's because you have experienced a lot of things, but the first time you come into contact with the concept of conquering the world, I think that should feel very fresh.” she says.

The youth weren’t politically aligned to either the far-left or the far-right. This was not the case until now. Ishikawa Tochigi was eye-catching by the Meiji government. Yukio Mishima was arbitrarily arrested in the city, and Takahashi Ichiro was arrested for preparing a murder weapon. In my eyes, I only saw myself and the world, and shielded against all kinds of problems around me. From the perspective of self-realization, this method works very well because it can make a fool even if one is connected with the world. It can even make a person remain ignorant to conquests against the world.

Suzuhiko backs this and wonders if Despair High School is thinking they can add something new to the concept of world domination. The Despairs that believe their attempt at world conquest is a good thing, would she believe that their actions are related to their sense of existence? Shinobu is confused. Obviously, their attempt at world domination is related to their existence value. However, Suzuhiko believes that “as long as you are alive, your life will have value” and that it is not necessary to give yourself a purpose. Suzuhiko also says an incest joke.

"A person like me who is alive has enough value by being alive..."

Shinobu remembers Byakuya and how the truth is the same for him. He doesn’t need to be involved in the story, or fight like some action hero just to have worth. He just needs to be himself to form Byakuya Togami.

For Suzuhiko, life is interesting as long as he is alive and there’s no need to think about anything at all. Especially since he is the former SHSL Hitman. He is caged by that talent and can’t do anything else. He can’t be a fisherman, cartoonist, motorcyclist or even a nutritionist. All he can do is kill. 

“Don’t you think that’s cruel? But, eh, forget it. You probably wouldn’t understand. After all, you gave up on your Super High School Level Secretary talent. The infinite future is waiting for you! Dahahahahaha!!”

Shinobu mutters that she was enjoying life as a secretary, to which Suzuhiko points out that both being tied down by their talent and finding happiness because of it, are mutual. Shinobu sums it up to this: The situation is like how young people are eager to not follow the common path that adults take. However, that being said the path they take is a ‘path’ in itself. Yet they are still happy with it, since even that is a type of freedom. Shinobu realizes she’s just been following another routine akin to a quote from Ibsen’s “A Doll House”: [3-4]

"I want to abandon this, abandon that, live alone! I am not a doll."

She’s been following a concept that had been in place for more than a hundred years. As she comes to terms with this she realizes that this was what Suzuhiko was meaning about life bound by talent.

“People want to be more free and want to fly higher,” Suzuhiko continued to say unlike his usual style. "Togami’s are also good brothers or killers. To throw all these insignificant things aside and enjoy a completely different life… don't you think we have this freedom?”

Her thoughts are suddenly stopped by when an object falls from the sky. It’s easy to avoid, but to do that Suzuhiko needs to lead the car to another street. Another object falls, and he is forced to change direction again. Shinobu knows they are leading them somewhere and Suzuhiko knows as well, but he doesn’t seem worried considering how much he is laughing. He continues driving, until he gets to a dead end.

A girl wearing a rustic uniform and round glasses is standing there. She is the Super High School Level Literary Girl, Fukawa Toko. Even though the car is getting closer at high speed, she isn’t moving. Suzuhiko then stepped on the gas even more, and decided to kill her. When the car was about to hit her, she jumped really high, avoiding the car, which braked and turned around in order to avoid hitting the wall.

Shinobu gets out of the car, feeling nauseous for the sudden maneuver, and finds Toko standing in front of her, with a pair of scissors in each hand.

"You call me..."

Toko slowly raised her head-

"I shall come..."

red eyes sparkling-

"DING DING DING!!" [5]

She shouted out.

Translation Notes:

[1] The original japanese joke was “We played Uno not Uso”. Uso is japanese for lie.

[2] Reference to Naruto

[3] Henrik Johan Ibsen was a Norwegian playwright and theatre director. As one of the founders of modernism in theatre, Ibsen is often referred to as "the father of realism" and one of the most influential playwrights of his time. He is the most frequently performed dramatist in the world after Shakespeare, and A Doll's House was the world's most performed play in 2006. Ibsen's early poetic and cinematic play Peer Gynt has strong surreal elements. After Peer Gynt Ibsen abandoned verse and wrote in realistic prose. Several of his later dramas were considered scandalous to many of his era, when European theatre was expected to model strict morals of family life and propriety. Ibsen's later work examined the realities that lay behind the facades, revealing much that was disquieting to a number of his contemporaries. He had a critical eye and conducted a free inquiry into the conditions of life and issues of morality. In many critics' estimates The Wild Duck and Rosmersholm are "vying with each other as rivals for the top place among Ibsen's works;" Ibsen himself regarded Emperor and Galilean as his masterpiece.

[4] A Doll's House is a three-act play written by Norway's Henrik Ibsen. It premiered at the Royal Theatre in Copenhagen, Denmark, on 21 December 1879, having been published earlier that month. The play is set in a Norwegian town circa 1879. The play is significant for the way it deals with the fate of a married woman, who at the time in Norway lacked reasonable opportunities for self-fulfillment in a male-dominated world, despite the fact that Ibsen denies it was his intent to write a feminist play. It aroused a great sensation at the time, and caused a "storm of outraged controversy" that went beyond the theatre to the world newspapers and society. In 2006, the centennial of Ibsen's death, A Doll's House held the distinction of being the world's most performed play that year. UNESCO has inscribed Ibsen's autographed manuscripts of A Doll's House on the Memory of the World Register in 2001, in recognition of their historical value.

[5] Seems to be a reference to something but I couldn’t figure it out.

To Be Continued

 https://drmedicsgamesurgery.tumblr.com/GameSurgeryDRTranslations

[joelyjo]

The Ghost of the Christmas Present

Author: joelyjo

Details: MSR, post-S11 and MSIV, Christmas theme, 2.1K, PG rating

Notes: Comes from the same universe as my earlier fic Everything in its Place, (which you can find here on AO3) but it is not necessary to have read that before you read this. Thanks to @londonboba and @peacenik0 for the beta work to rid this of Britspeak. Tagging @spookydarlablack as I think she might like this one... and @today-in-fic

And, yes, I know it is post-Christmas now and everyone is probably done with reading Christmas fics, but I was my usual dithering self with edits and confidence issues, so... yeah... 

It is the night before the dawn before the day of Christmas, says the Ghost of Christmas Present on the Muppet Christmas Carol. He is jolly in his green robe, overflowing with festive spirit as he guides Michael Caine’s reluctant Scrooge through the streets of London.

Alone on the couch, Mulder sits with the baby curled like a tiny comma on his chest. It is early evening; the light is low and the house is quiet apart from the chatter of the television and the crackle of the fire in the hearth. Scully is upstairs, in bed, getting a nap in before their night is disturbed once again. The ‘four-month sleep regression’ is what the textbooks and websites he has read and re-read over the past few weeks have called it, but as far as Mulder’s concerned, it seems like the perfect X-File; somehow their sweet, laid-back baby daughter has been exchanged with a mischievous nocturnal demon. Right now, though, the demon is in its dormant state and Ellen appears innocent and content, sleeping as she is on his chest. Her little rosebud mouth is open, and Mulder can feel the soft puffs of her breath on his neck. She’s been like this since he sat down and switched the television on and started the movie. He dares not move for fear of disturbing her, but he doesn’t care; his heart is so swollen with love for her, he’d sit here all night if Scully would let him.

It is Christmas Eve but tomorrow there are few plans. Church in the morning for Scully, while Mulder prepares the vegetables and puts the tiny turkey in the oven. They will be alone, so there are just a handful of presents beneath the tree and they haven’t even bothered with dessert. But it’s Christmas and they are together and now that Ellen has graced them with her presence, the future is brighter than it’s been in many, many years.

Scrooge is on his knees begging the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come in repentance when Scully appears behind him, threading a hand through his hair in a gesture of tender familiarity. “Hey,” she murmurs. “Seems like someone’s still quiet.”

Mulder hums. “She’s set in for the night. I can try the limbo if you want, but I’m in no hurry. Netflix has every Christmas Carol ever made available to view for three days only.”

“Bonus,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice.

“Did you sleep?”

“Yeah.” She comes and sits on the couch next to him, her hip bumping against his. “Like the dead. Did she eat?”

Mulder angles his head towards an empty feeding bottle on the side table. They have been trying, somewhat unsuccessfully, to encourage Miss Ellen to take some milk from a bottle, to ease the burden on Scully in the night. “The whole bottle. I told you, Scully, she’ll do anything for me.”

Scully chuffs and rolls her eyes. “I’m almost insulted.”

“Don’t be. Think of the undisturbed sleep.”

“Hm.”

They fall to quiet and their attention turns to the television. Scrooge is waking on Christmas morning, with his newfound knowledge of kindness and the Christmas spirit. Scully smiles at his enthusiasm and laughs as he flings open the window, sending Gonzo and Rizzo spinning into the snow below.

Through the living room window, a shadow shifts, and Mulder freezes. He grabs the remote and pauses the playback on the TV. “Scully, shh. There’s somebody on the porch,” he hisses. His mind flashes back to the Russian assassins who tried to take them hostage in their own home and his heart begins to thump wildly.

“What?” she gasps and her eyes fly up to the window. “Where?”

“I don’t have my weapon.”

“Where is it?”

“Upstairs.”

“Shit.”

Mulder gets to his feet and quickly sets Ellen into the pack and play beside the couch. “Stay there,” he instructs Scully. Slowly, he edges around to the front door, grabbing up his baseball bat.

“Mulder! My gun’s in the drawer in the kitchen.” He doubles back and pulls her weapon out, feeling distinctly more comfortable now he has its cool weight in his grip. With supple, creeping steps, he moves towards the door.

There is a scuffling of soft-soled shoes on the wooden floor of the porch, then suddenly, the footsteps head down the steps in a flurry. He yanks open the door and shouts, “Freeze!” at the retreating black figure.

But the figure does not stop, and instead accelerates. Mulder is about to take off after whomever it is when he realises that, sitting on the porch, directly in front of the door, is a large, carefully wrapped package. Frowning in confusion, he looks back up and the figure is gone, ghost-like into the night. “Hey!” he shouts into the darkness.

But there is no response.

Slowly, he lowers the gun and nudges the package contemplatively with the toe of his sneaker. It shifts slightly. There is nothing overtly suspicious about it, apart from its unexpectedness. “Hey, Scully,” he says. “Get over here.”

She appears a moment later in the doorway, looking out of place in her pyjamas and robe, and shivers in the cold air. “What is it?”

“They’re gone. But they left this.”

Scully frowns at the package. It is a box, wrapped in paper covered with jolly looking Santa Clauses, topped with a gaudy red fabric bow and silver ribbons. “It’s a Christmas present,” she says, stating the obvious in her surprise.

“So it seems.” He toes it again. “Doesn’t look like it’s about to explode to me…”

“No,” she agrees. “Should we open it?”    

He tilts his head at it, regarding it sceptically. It doesn’t seem like it’s a threat of any kind, but in their line of work, it is always wise to tread carefully. With tentative hands, he picks it up. It weighs a bit – not enough to be difficult to manoeuvre, but enough to require some effort to shift it. He gives one final glance around the porch and into the distance, then turns and heads back inside.

Once placed on the kitchen table, the present looks even more strange. There is no label, no card, nothing at all to identify the sender. Scully fingers the bow, a frown creasing between her eyes. “You open it, Mulder,” she says and looks up at him.

He nods and reaches in to pull the bow, then run his finger under the tape. Crinkling, the paper falls away and a plain cardboard box is revealed. Packing tape secures this box and there is an address label with the typed address blacked out. He squints at it, but it is impossible to make out the words beneath the marker that has obscured them. “Pass me a knife,” he requests and Scully presses one into his open palm. He slices through the tape and then folds back the box.

Polystyrene packing peanuts erupt in a cascade of white, spilling onto the table. With a glance at Scully, Mulder delves into the box and removes the contents. Whatever it is, it is wrapped once again, this time in multiple layers of bubble wrap. He holds it up so Scully can see it. It is essentially spherical, about the size of a soccer ball. “Well, unless Wile E. Coyote’s sending us Christmas gifts, I’m guessing it’s not a bomb,” he says with a shrug. Her brow arches.

“Open it.”

He uses the knife to split the bubble wrap and pulls it away. Scully’s resulting gasp is enough to make his heart skip a beat. He flinches in shock.

“Oh my God, Mulder…”

Inside, there is a large glass snow globe, the tiny flakes of artificial snow inside already whirling and storming like a blizzard. They watch, transfixed, as the snow slows and stops and a model family appears. Two parents, two children, dressed in festive sweaters, jeans and boots, with a pile of multicoloured presents at their feet.

Scully reaches out and touches the glass, almost reverentially. “Mulder, it’s…” Her voice trails off and she looks up at him, her eyes suddenly watery with tears. “Do you think…?”

There is no further need for elaboration. He knows what the rest of her sentences would be without her having to give them voice. He remembers the snow globe she picked up from William’s room, one of dozens on the boy’s bookcase shelves; he knows she still keeps the smashed remnants of the one she took in her night stand.

Scully picks the globe out of the bubble wrap and sets it back on the table. The base is polished oak and the figures within are carved and painted intricately. Clearly, this isn’t a two-bit token from a tourist spot. “It’s beautiful.” Touching the smooth, cool curve of the glass, she studies the model family.

“It’s us, Scully,” comes Mulder’s quiet voice from beside her. “Us and him.”

She nods. The father is tall, with dark hair, his sweater navy blue with a fairisle pattern of red and white stars. Beside him, the mother is shorter, red-haired, in a cream sweater with gold flecks. The children are a boy and girl, both in red and denim. All four are smiling warmly. Beneath the scene, a brass plaque is inscribed with the words, ‘Christmas Greetings’.

Abruptly, Mulder spins and marches to the door, flinging it open and yells into the darkness, “William! I know you’re out here!” He pauses and scans the yard. “You’re watching somewhere, I know it.”

His voice rings out in the silent night, unanswered.

“Jackson!” he tries again.

“Mulder,” says Scully as she comes up and looks out alongside him. “He’s gone. He didn’t want us to see him.”

“But he…” Mulder feels desperation clawing at him. All he wants is a chance to speak with the boy, a chance to tell him that whoever his father is, it doesn’t matter, because Mulder has believed himself his father for so long, the genetics of it do not matter anymore. His hands hang useless at his sides and the night breeze whips coldly at his skin. Scully rubs his arm, encouraging him to come back inside, but he ignores her. He thinks of Scrooge on Christmas Eve, before the Ghosts show him how to live and love and closes his eyes against the image of William tumbling into the same condition.

Gripped suddenly by a need to reach out to the boy who once was his, he goes to the very edge of the top of the steps and shouts out, “Merry Christmas! Come in! Come in and know me better, man!”

But the only answer to the silly, foolish quote from the movie he’s been watching is a lone dog barking in the distance, and the susurrus of the wind as it gusts through the trees. For a long moment, he stands utterly still and listens, willing William to show himself from wherever he is hiding, for he is sure that he is out there, watching the house and them. It’s Christmas and he doesn’t want him to be alone, or to feel that the only chance of a happy family he has is to gift a model one contained in a snow globe.    

“Come on, Mulder. He never meant for us to see him. He wanted us to have the snow globe. It’s his gift to us.” She takes his hand and squeezes it. He can sense the sadness in her voice, in her resignation that he has not come to spend Christmas with them but has instead, once again, fled away.  

Eventually, Mulder sighs and nods, then allows her to lead him back into the house and close the door on the cold and the dark.

Back inside, he turns to her. “Do you think he’s been watching us?”

“I guess he must’ve,” she replies.

Somehow this comforts Mulder a little. He thinks back to the dark days after that dreadful night on the docks, the strange kaleidoscope of grief and joy he’d felt, the way he’d questioned everything and how the uncertainty had nearly sent him spiralling back into depression. It had only been Scully, and the tiny life unexpectedly and amazingly growing inside her, that had kept him out of the haze.

At that thought, he realises that the room is quiet and he glances to the pack and play. Ellen is asleep in the exact position he set her down in, her tiny fists curled above her head and her mouth pursed in peaceful repose.

Scully comes to his side and together they look down at their daughter in wonder. “Wow,” she murmurs. “I don’t believe it.”

“Maybe it’s the thought of the Christmas Carol marathon,” he says, deadpan as always. They fall silent, watching Ellen as she sleeps, and Mulder knows that they are both thinking of the same thing. “I hope he knows he can come and see her. That he truly is welcome.”

Scully takes his hand and squeezes it softly. “I hope he does too.”

On the table, the snow globe swirls.

 The End.    

[gleek-runner]

I was tagged by @darkside-cookies-913 who I, if you haven't figured out already, stan more than anything else. What an idol. Go follow.

Rules: answer this q & a. Then tag your five new followers and three of your biggest fans. (I assume based on the tumblr algorithm)

So I shall tag: @moutliaaa @youdontknowmesowhydoyoucare @kalamilamepolutampler @lucieischilling @silver-and-gold27 and @fangirl-daydreamer97 @falloutnikki @drawyourgunsr5

What's your shampoo scent?

Strawberries. Although, because of my hair conditioner, my hair usually smell like honey.

What's your aesthetic?

Empty coffee cups, stacks of cds, broken mirrors, open notebooks, yelling before bursting into tears, stretchmarks, red and black, poetry, new ideas, withering roses, sarcasm, broken wings, crooked smiles, memes and finger guns.

What's your favourite time of the day and why?

Early in the morning because I'm somewhat more happy and cheerful.

What do you like the most at the beach?

The sound of the waves.

What's the one thing you keep stressing yourself about?

The future and what I'll do with my life.

A song that's made you cry.

When I was younger, like one or two years ago, Two Birds had me weeping like a baby. Currently though, It's over isn't it has the same effect. (Honorable mentions: All Hamilton songs, Waving through a window and Seventeen)

Some tips to ease your followers.

Tumblr is not a reliable source. Never. Posts don't solve everything. The world is ugly and will always be. If you however, learn to not give a hoot, you'll be fine. Do chase what you want but don't fly too close to the sun.

Things that make you tear up.

Being yelled at. Failing. Dogs dying. Compliments.

What's your favourite thing for every sense?

Sight: moments before the sun is down when the sky is yellow. Frozen areas. Neon lights.

Hearing: violin and piano melodies. Up-beat music. People singing softly and suddenly going too deep. My dog's woof.

Taste: coffee, cheese and chocolate.

Smell: honey, baked cookies, the smell of home after being away, new books.

Touch: blankets, wool, my dog's fur, pillows.

In which alternative universe would you like to live in?

Somewhere, there's a world where soulmates are real and I would be very okay with that. Unless, we're already living in that world and that's why we wake up with songs stuck in our heads that we haven't heard for some time ;)

What's some problems you face on a daily base?

Failure. Social anxiety. Lack of time. The constant fear of how awful I am both outside and inside along with the self-objectification. The big possibility that I shall never be loved enough.

A scene from a book that always makes you sad?

*spoilers ahead for The Death Cure*

Thomas walked half the distance to Newt, then stopped. The worst part about his friend was the wildness in his eyes. Madness lurked behind them, two festering pools of sickness. How had it happened so quickly?

“Hey. Newt. It’s me, Thomas. You still remember me, right?”

A sudden clarity filled Newt’s eyes then, almost making Thomas step back in surprise.

“I bloody remember you, Tommy. You just came to see me at the Palace, rubbed it in that you ignored my note. I can’t go completely crazy in a few days.”

Those words hurt Thomas’s heart even more than the pitiful sight of his friend. “Then why are you here? Why are you with … them?” (...)

“Just come with me,” Thomas begged. “I’ll tie you up if it makes you feel better.”

Newt’s face suddenly hardened into anger and his words shot out in a rage. “Just shut up, you shuck traitor! Didn’t you read my note? You can’t do one last, lousy thing for me? Gotta be the hero, like always? I hate you! I always hated you!”

He doesn’t mean it, Thomas told himself firmly. But they were just words. “Newt …”(...)

“I hate you, Tommy!” He was only a few feet away and Thomas took a step backward, his hurt over Newt turning to fear. “I hate you I hate you I hate you! After all I did for you, after all the freaking klunk I went through in the bloody Maze, you can’t do the one and only thing I’ve ever asked you to do! I can’t even look at your ugly shuck face!”

Thomas took two more steps back. “Newt, you need to stop. They’re going to shoot you. Just stop and listen to me! Get in the van, let me tie you up. Give me a chance!” He couldn’t kill his friend. He just couldn’t. (...)

“You wanna know why I have this limp, Tommy? Did I ever tell you? No, I don’t think I did.”

“What happened?” Thomas asked, stalling for time. He slipped his fingers around the weapon.

“I tried to kill myself in the Maze. Climbed halfway up one of those bloody walls and jumped right off. Alby found me and dragged me back to the Glade right before the Doors closed. I hated the place, Tommy. I hated every second of every day. And it was all … your … fault!”

Newt suddenly twisted around and grabbed Thomas by the hand holding the gun. He yanked it toward himself, forcing it up until the end of the pistol was pressed against his own forehead. “Now make amends! Kill me before I become one of those cannibal monsters! Kill me! I trusted you with the note! No one else. Now do it!”

Thomas tried to pull his hand away, but Newt was too strong. “I can’t, Newt, I can’t.”

“Make amends! Repent for what you did!” The words tore out of him, his whole body trembling. Then his voice dropped to an urgent, harsh whisper. “Kill me, you shuck coward. Prove you can do the right thing. Put me out of my misery.”

The words horrified Thomas. “Newt, maybe we can—”

“Shut up! Just shut up! I trusted you! Now do it!”

“I can’t.”

“Do it!”

“I can’t!” How could Newt ask him to do something like this? How could he possibly kill one of his best friends?

“Kill me or I’ll kill you. Kill me! Do it!”

“Newt …”

“Do it before I become one of them!”

“I …”

“KILL ME!” And then Newt’s eyes cleared, as if he’d gained one last trembling gasp of sanity, and his voice softened. “Please, Tommy. Please.”

With his heart falling into a black abyss, Thomas pulled the trigger.

Tell something to your followers.

During a hen's cycle, an ovary sends a yolk on its path. The yolk forms what we know of as an “egg white” as it moves through the reproductive tract into the shell gland. That means that eggs are a hen's period. In this essay I will--

[unicornsandphoenix]

Beat that, Cinderella

Another drarry Cinderella story based off of this post! This time with a modern twist to it!

Written once more (this time actually fitting the prompt) for the absolutely stunningly incredible @drarrymylove (I hope you enjoy!) and once again I would like to send my love to my AMAZING beta, @staganddragon

Read on Ao3 here

Draco stared at the small but bright spirit bobbing in front of him. He opened his mouth, promptly closed it, and squinted.

“So you’re…”

“A fairy godmother. Yes.”

“And you…”

The fairy, Jeni, Draco remembered, rolled her eyes. “Make the wishes of truly innocent repenters come true.”

“And I am one of these?” He said narrowing his eyes.

“Yes.”

“And because of that you want to send me to the annual Ministry Ball? Because that is my wish. To go to a ball. Tonight. Filled with people who hate me.” Before Jeni could cut in, he added, “An ex-Death Eater. In a room full of Aurors.”

Jeni crossed her little arms in a huff, her curls bouncing against her shoulders.  “Draco. Darling. We have been over this. This is literally the third time we have had this conversation over again. Can you just roll with it? Please. Just give it tonight. Until 12 o'clock.” She reminded Draco ever so slightly of Pansy. Well. A lot, really. Had they met? This would not work out in her favor, Draco decided.

“Right,” Draco snorted. “And then what, at 12 I just leave? The fancy disguise you give me eviscerates? Someone pledges their undying love for me?” Draco chuckle stopped short when he had a brief image of Potter flash through his head. He scowled. And then glared for good measure. Stupid tosser would probably just ignore him as he had been doing ever since a few weeks before Draco quit Auror training last Monday. They must have moved him up to special classes, as Draco never saw him around the ministry, and Potter had certainly not made an effort to reach out to him. Not that he should have, a cheery voice reminded him. Several conversations and flirtatious smiles doesn’t actually mean anything. Draco shook himself out of his stupor.

“Actually…” Jeni started, wincing, and Draco leveled her with a flat look. “Well. We’ll apparate you out of there. No matter what is happening. Just as the clock strikes midnight. We’ve had some… issues in the past. Mice and pumpkins, you understand.”

“Great,” Draco mumbled crossing his arms. “Even fairy godmothers aren’t perfect.” Jeni tisked at him. “How did you even get in here?” Darco wondered. “The manor is guarded against magical creatures now.” Draco paled as he sat down on his bed heavily, remembering the last magical creature that had come to his house. “Are the charms failing? What if-”

Jeni landed on his shoulder and started to pet his hair. “No, Sweetie. I’m sorry I scared you. Godmothers aren’t like ordinary magical creatures. Our magic doesn’t register the same.” Draco took a breath and shook the dark thoughts from his head.

Draco chanced a glace out to his desk. Atop sat a horrifically boring book his mother had been pleading with him to read. He took a slow turn of the room, begging for something to stick out to him, but if he was being honest with himself, he supposed he had nothing better to do. Not that his time wasn’t important. And he had plenty of people to talk to of course. It was just that. Well. His parents were in Paris, and who knows where Blaise and Pansy had fucked off to. Draco had his money on Spain for Blaise and Italy for Pansy. Plus maybe this way he could find a way to talk to Potter again, without him ignoring Draco. It was a masked ball afterall. He pursed his lips, a wrinkle forming between his eyes. Ugh. Potter would probably dress up as a lion, that gryffindor. With his stupid hair and his stupid smile and his stupid penchant for talking to all the hot quidditch stars while he was in the middle of training  and right in front of him- He cleared his throat. “You aren’t going to leave until I agree, are you?” He said, defeated.

Jeni snorted softly on his shoulder and tugged on his hair. “Now you’re getting it. Let’s get you ready!”

Draco’s eyes widened. “What, now? The ball is four hours away! It’s still light outside, for Merlin's sake!” Draco said, flinging his arm to gesture at the window, upending the small fairy forcing her to flutter away.

“You may be right, but this is a long process!” Jeni was insistent, flying up in front of his face and backing him into an armchair. “Plus,” she added, snapping her fingers in a manner that would have made any rich pureblood impressed. A piece of rolled parchment appeared and conveniently floated over to Draco. “You have liability waivers to sign.” The moment Draco took the parchment, it unrolled and spilled across the floor.

“Salazar’s balls!” Draco moaned, already feeling sorry for himself. He grumpily added on, “This better be worth it.” Jeni just smiled and conjured a quill.

~~~~

Draco pulled nervously at his stiff collar outside the ballroom doors. He was nervous. Jeni had poked and prodded him nonstop for what felt like ages, the four hours flying by and an extra half hour used just for glamours, which Draco had insisted upon as to not be recognized. Jeni had rolled her eyes again, smacked him on the head, and then begrudgingly cast some hair coloring charms and the slightest glamour to his face. It was good enough, Draco supposed. No one was going to expect him to come to the ball anyways, and without his hair Draco thought he looked unrecognizable. But he had to give her props. He looked good. His hair was now rich colors of auburn, that brought out some color in his cheeks. His face looked good, not as good as his normal face, but still, Draco supposed, good. And the clothes.

Oh Merlin, Draco hoped somewhere in that contract (which was all hippogriff’s shit from what draco could tell- “contractee will not light the fairy on fire”, “contractee will not perform the macarena while drunk and naked on a balcony”, “contractee will not publicly declare their love for any orange muggle politician”, “contractee will not buy a plane ticket for a midnight flight and then jump out of the plane with no safety gear a minute until midnight”- I mean really, Draco thought, has anyone actually done any of this? Did they have no self respect?) it stated that he would get to keep these clothes. They were absolutely magnificent. Stiff and white on the top, they flowed out to the floor in silvery terraces. The collar was high, and yet dipped in in the front to show off Draco’s chest bones and a hint of his chest itself. Silver detailing, with hints of Draco’s favorite shade of green, crossed the expanse of the fabric, small dragons Draco had been pleased to take note of moved constantly to form ever changing and ever beautiful patterns. It was form fitting, and yet, not constricting. The best feature, Draco thought, was that it made his ass look like two plump apples, ripe for eating. The entire ensemble was finished off with a mask of a dragon that seemed to be made of pure silver with brilliant green emeralds embedded into it. It was entirely fitting of a Malfoy, and Draco was in love.

Suddenly, the doors in front of him opened, and a laughing couple fell out, almost on top of him. He sidestepped them with a sneer and made his way into the ballroom.

Lights were strung up from wall to wall, covering the ceilings. A live band played on the stage to the back of the room, and all around Draco could see people talking with on another. Smiles on their faces. No one stared at him when he walked through. Well, apart from a few glanceovers and appreciative  winks. Draco smirked back at them, but he was saving his wink for someone else.

“Hullo,” a rich voice said from behind him. Draco turned, and almost kept turning right around. The face might have been glamoured, Draco thought, but he would recognize that unruly mop of hair anywhere. If not for that, the eyes would have been a dead give away. Even the absence of the scar could not take away Potter’s earnest and casually commanding presence.

Potter was dressed to the nines, and Draco had to give him props. Or at least props to Granger. There was no chance Potter could have dressed himself for this occasion. He was not a lion, but instead a stag. The outfit looked to be a version of muggle clothing, a sharp black suit, though there was moving golden details on the collar and wrists that glinted everytime the light hit them. His glamoured face was hidden behind a black and gold mask, sleek and elegant, antlers coming out from either side in a majestic sweep. His hair, Draco supposed he could do nothing about, though it did look softer, smoother. Draco could see himself running his fingers through it, gripping on to it, tugging...  Draco was staring.

“Hullo,” he replied. Draco didn’t like the smirk that appeared on Potter’s face. What was he thinking?

Potter held out his hand, and Draco, trying not to see the moment as momentous as it felt, grasped it, but Potter didn’t let him go. “I’m Roonil, but you can just call me Roo. What’s your name?” Potter asked, his eyes never leaving Draco for a second. Draco’s eyes narrowed. What kind of name was Potter playing at?

“Drac- Drake. My name is Drake,” Draco was struggling. He had wanted to confront Potter, but why was his heart beating so damn loud? Also, something was suspicious in the way he was acting.

“Thats funny,” Potter said his eyes sparkling in amusement it sounds a lot like Dr-”

“Do you want to dance?” Draco blurted, afraid at what was about to come out of Potter’s mouth next.

Potter smiled, a real smile where the corners of his eyes grew wrinkles, and tugged on Draco’s hand, leading him onto the dance floor. How long had his hand been clutching Harry’s? Had Harry noticed how strange he was acting?

Harry yanked him towards himself and settled one hand on his back, pulling him in close. Merlin, since when had Draco started to call him Harry in his head? And why was he so out of breath?

Potter lowered his lips to Draco’s ear. “Full disclosure,” he whispered, making Draco shiver involuntarily. “I don’t actually know how to dance.”

Draco covered a snort with a faux huff of disappointment as his confidence rose back up. “Well, then. In that case, I suppose I will just have to lead you,” and he swirled a laughing Harry away.

~~~

Hours later had Draco panting for breaths as Harry lowered his head to Draco’s shoulder.

“I cannot believe you said that to them!” He cried laughing.

“I did! I was fed up! Why should I have had to obliviate the poor man if I could just convince him about the aliens!” Harry said, leaning back from Draco and gesturing wildly before, sinking down into the bench they were sitting on outside the ballroom.

“But Harry,” Draco said, clutching his stomach in laughter. “This poor man quit his job to hunt spaceships!”

Draco was so caught up in his joy, he failed to notice Harry had stopped laughing, and had started staring at him quite curiously.

“You said my name,” Harry stated, perhaps with a hint of wryness. “You know who I am.”

“I, uh, you-” Draco had nothing. Dammit. And the night was going so well! He had had Harry in his clutches- To do what with him, Draco? He thought suddenly. To laugh with him? To get him to smile at you like he has been doing? Is this not what you wanted all along? And now you have him. He doesn’t hate you for what you did. He doesn’t even know who you are. You are free. “Yes,” Draco sighed and pulled back a little. “I do know who you are.” Harry frowned slightly in consideration. “A massive prat! Who would have thought that the poster boy for the Ministry Auror Program commits crimes and convinces Muggles of nonsense in his spare time!”

Harry chuckled, seemingly relieved. “Didn’t you hear? I quit about a month ago-”

“You QUIT?” Draco interrupted. His mind was racing. Maybe Harry hadn’t meant to ignore him, maybe it was all a misun-

“Why, Drake, you seemed scandalized!” Draco quickly collected his thoughts and shoved them away for another time.

“No,” he sniffed. “Not at all. You merely caught me off guard.”

Harry smirked. “I’m sure. Anyways, Drac- Drake. I- Well. I wanted to know if maybe you would like to get dinner with me sometime this week?” Harry looked up at him through his lashes. “It’s been a while since I had this much fun with anyone.”

Draco’s heart thumped. Salazar, this is it! He thought. “I would love that, Harry, I really would. But I’m afraid that I have two conditions that must be seen to first.”

Harry was beaming at him. Well, really he was rolling his eyes, but the smile was important, Draco was sure. “Let’s see what I can do,” Harry said.

Draco nodded, scooting closer on the bench, reaching across Harry to cage him in, and leaning in close. “Well first,” He said, breathing softly and closing the distance inch by inch to Harry’s mouth with his. “I need to check the merchandise, of course.” He was so close, he could see the freckles in Harry’s green eyes. They rather matched his outfit, Draco thought distractedly, watching Harry taking his own eyes with what seemed to be wonder.

“But only of course,” Harry whispered inching impossibly closer and bringing his arms up to hold Draco close to him. They closed their eyes as noses nudged noses.

“Harry,” Draco whimpered. He felt a pulling sensation in his gut and then he was flying.

Harry’s lips touched his and- wait. Were lips supposed to feel this rough? Was Harry squeaking? Surely Draco wasn’t that bad of a kisser. His eyes flew open and he spit out hair. “What the fuck!” He cried out, turning wildly around his bedroom. A wet ball of light flew in front of him, crossing her arms.

“I won’t expect an apology from you-” Draco started to reply, but held his tongue in shock when the fairy turned away from him and just held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it.” Jeni shivered and quickly muttered a quick charm to dry and clean her hair, which returned to the bouncing curls. She looked down to examine her nails. “I hope you had a good time-”

“Would have been more fun if I hadn’t been pulled away,” Draco muttered darkly. But the fairy godmother just continued to speak as if he wasn’t even there, flexing her fingers out in front of her.

“And I hope that you don’t mind that we need to take away your clothes-” Draco let out a squawk as his clothes disappeared, replaced by a bathrobe (which, Draco would have liked to point out, was entirely too short, only barely covering what it needed to). “And please be aware that the glamour will stay in place until you decide to end it manually with a wand.” A loud bang made Draco jump, but the fairy only looked up from her nails. “Oh! I bet that’s him!”

“Who’s-” Draco started, but the fairy just popped out of existence. This was just going too fast for Draco. He heard muffled yelling from the front of the manor, where the door was creaking under the ferocious pounding. An impressive feat, as the door was larger than twice Hagrid’s height. “Alright! I’m coming!” He called out running down the hallway frazzled, confused, and still dazed after his almost kiss with Harry. “Merlin, will you stop!” He said, unlocking and throwing open the door. “Harry!” He said, shocked. Harry’s glamour was gone and he was holding his mask tightly in his fist, his hair looking as if he had run his fingers through it more than usual. How it could have gotten so messy in the span of only a few minutes, Draco could not say. He supposed Harry couldn’t say either. “What are you- how did you-” Harry knocked past him into the hallway before he rounded on him, but not without first glancing down at Draco’s bathrobe, or more specifically, his long, lean legs. It took a few seconds before Harry shook his head.

“What the fuck, Malfoy! You don’t just apparate away in the middle of-”

“I was forcefully apparated away, actually,” Draco interjected.

Harry just continued. “Were you just toying with me? What this all a large joke-”

Draco started. “Fuck no, Potter! I was literally dragged away- against my will- at midnight- wait hold on. Did you just say my name? Do you know who I am?”

Harry snorted, and moved down the hall, peaking into archways and doorways until he found one with sofas. He twitched his wand in the direction of the fireplace, which instantaneously lit up with a roaring fire. In turn, Draco, who had frantically moved to follow him after pushing the front door shut, felt his other wand twitch in response to the display of powerful wordless magic. At least the bathrobe was roomy.

“Well?” Draco demanded, crossing his arms and tapping his foot at Harry, who had sprawled on one end of the sofas in a huff. Harry scoffed.

“Really, Draco,” Harry said with a snort. Draco’s breath caught at the use of his name. But then he supposed, coming to the Manner had been a pretty sure give away. “Did you think you could get away with just casting a half-arsed glamour on your face and changing your hair color? Did you think I wouldn’t recognize that haughty sneer of yours or the way you held yourself? You even recognized me through my glamour!”

“Well,” Draco sniffed, sitting carefully on the edge of the sofa. “Your glamour was crap.” He shifted, hunching in on himself.  Softly, he continued. “And I was going to tell you. That was going to be part of the second condition. That we would accept the other without the glamours, or no deal.”

Harry chuckled fondly, but exasperatedly. “I’m still mad at you, you know,” he said with a small smile. Draco frowned, shifting a little closer and angling his body towards Harry’s. “Why did you leave?” Harry’s eyes found his, and Draco could see how vulnerable he was in this moment. “Jesus, Draco, I was really worried there for a minute,” Harry said, hands coming up hesitantly to hold Draco’s face, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. Draco breathed in. Draco breathed out. And then told him the whole story from the very beginning, which seemed to have started days ago and not just earlier that day.

“What,” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. “And it just so happened to strike midnight what was supposed to be the best kiss I’ve had in awhile-”

He froze, and Draco grew a smirk. “Oh, well then, in that case, Potter, I suppose I will have to make it up to you. Draco moved forward only to stop with a whine as Harry held up a hand to stop him. “What now?” He said against Harry’s fingers.

“If this is going to happen, I want it to be as Harry and Draco, with no glamours in the way. You have conditions to be met.” Draco’s breath caught, and his heart melted. “How else will I know you haven’t grown a mustache or gone hideous?” Draco scowled and Harry preformed another wordless spell to remove first the glamours on his hair, and then the one on his face, before he casually dropped his wand into the sofa to be able to continue to hold Draco’s face. Harry seemed enthralled. Draco was not amused.

“Shut it, Potter,” he said, even as he ran his hands through Harry’s soft hair.

“Harry,” Harry replied grinning, returning the motion in kind.

Draco smiled. “Harry. Shut it, Harry.” And finally, their lips touched.

Jeni watched them move into each other from her place on the windowsill, tickled with happiness. As apprehensive as she had been for combining the two assignments, both feeling guilty and both deserving forgiveness, she could not have asked for a better turnout. “Beat that, Cinderella,” she said, and promptly popped away.

[freaksneedfriendstoo]

My name is Julie and I have a very real and moving Testimony I would like to share with you. Please share this with anyone struggling with mental health, abuse or addiction so that they can know Gods power.

I was born in Toronto in 1983 and taken by CAS at 3 months old. The details surrounding this are sketchy for me but basically my mother got arrested and she got my aunt to watch me who then gave me to a lady she met on the street. I had a very bad cough and the lady took me to the hospital who called CAS because apparently I had bruises. I spent 10 months in foster care and was then adopted. I had psycological problems from the start and would destroy and rip everything apart. I think its because I never had normal bonding or was traumatised. I spent my youth very bullied and I would usually just walk around by myself all recess watching the other kids play. I liked to be alone and at 11 I was taken to a psychiatrist because I became so reclusive and stopped wanting to even eat. I would just listen to my micheal jackson tapes over and over on my walkman with my face buried in the couch.

I started cutting myself at 14 and smoking weed and cigarettes. I got sent to a psychiatric ward the summer after grade 9 and would never live with my adoptive parents again. I got passed through such facilities as Youthdale, Whitby psyc, Thistletown in Etobicoke and Crossroads run by Kinark. In the hospitals I was frequently left alone in restraints tying me to a bed and given so many drugs my personality was gone. My adoptive parents didnt even know me anymore when they visited.

At Whitby I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder by a team of psychiatrists. I frequently would run away from the group home crossroads and once in a fit of rage I climbed the fire escape and threw myself off the roof. An ambulance arrived and put me on a board. I had hairline fractured my lower back.

Shortly after this I ran away from there for good and met up with a 25 year old man named Andrew. I was 16 at the time He was homeless and I stuck to him like glue as he showed me how to live on the street. He had a terrible temper and would beat me especially when he was drunk. I spent 11 months with him living on the street in abandonded houses, under a bridge and for a short time in an apartment in Bradford they we got through a worker. The police would get called to the apartment because people would hear me screaming from him hitting me. I was abusing cocaine and would use anything I could to get high.

After we left there we stayed on the street again and one night around 2am Andrew was drunk and he was literally beating me to death. He was sitting on me and just going at it. He put his hand in my mouth and tried to break my jaw. When I looked in his eyes it was like he didnt even know me anymore. The thought came into my mind to yell at him and desperate I started yelling at him to get away from me. To my astonishment he actually walked away from me yelling at me. I got up and ran pausing for moment to gaze a my reflection in a store window. My face was all swollen and bruised. I ran behind a mall and found a man making deliveries who called mall security who called the police.

I got placed in a group home in Newmarket called Heritage Lodge. I met a 26 year old drug dealer named Doug and started dating him. He got me into using needles shooting cocaine and oxycitin. I would abuse any pills to get high such as Gravol. He would also hit me and I got kicked in the head by him 2 times in a row with shoes on so hard I blacked out for a moment. He got arrested for this and then I went back to him about 6 months later. I had no feelings of self worth or real love.

When I was 18, I took an overdose of pills and went to the hospital and told them I was suicidal. They put me in a small room to wait and see someone. The room had a framed picture on the wall and sadly I broke the glass in the frame and I slit my wrists so badly up and down my forearm that my arm is disfigured by scars for the rest of my life. 4 thick, ropey scars.

At 19 I got pregnant by Doug and went with the baby to a womans shelter when the baby was around 3 months old. We went to Rosalie Hall in Scarborough and Sandgate womans shelter. I recieved emergency housing and was given a one bedroom apartment in a co-op. So now it was just me and my baby. My adoptive parents lent me a small black and white tv and a sleeping bag and I would camp out on the floor snuggling my baby until I got furniture.

After about a year I felt this urgency to find out the truth in life. I went to a used book store called Random Books to see what I could find. I found a book called There’s A New World Coming. The title sparked my interest so I bought it. I took it home and read it right through. It was all about Bible prophecy. At the end of the book was a prayer to recieve Jesus as your Saviour. I recognized that I was a terrible sinner and jumped at the chance to have a Saviour. I prayed for Jesus to be my Saviour and to forgive my sins. I confessed my faith in Him.

Then I tell you the truth I felt God’s indescribable, powerful love washing over me like gentle ocean waves. I spent like a week crying and praying. Confessing my sins. You see having borderline disorder the only thing I had ever felt was desperation. Desperation to be loved but I had no idea what love was nor could I express it. I had felt rage, I had felt pain like there was a giant hole in my chest.

In that moment God filled that hole with His love and peace. He gave me His Holy Spirit and great faith. He forgave me for all my wretched sins because of His great mercy. I have never been the same.

I began distributing Bible tracts and going to church. I got baptised on June 12 2005 and my baptism certificate sits by my bed. Instead of self destruction and self hatred I can by the power of the Holy Spirit feel love and compassion for others. I will help anyone and am moved to express love for others in whatever way I can.

God has filled me with His great compassion for the homeless as I know what it is like to sit panhandling. This new creation He has made in me prepares packages with Bible tracts and gift cards and treats and now I go seek out the broken and the lost on the streets of Toronto every two months.

This Christmas the Holy Spirit moved me to prepare gifts for the homeless and I set out Christmas morning with a hockey bag filled with wrapped packages of pot of gold chocolates, gift cards, handmade cards filled with Scriptures about hope and belonging. ‘No Greater Love Then Jesus’ is what the covers read. God uses me to bring His love to them. God’s love and compassion are the most beautiful things I have ever felt and He fills my heart in an indescribable way. This is just one example of what God has done in my life.

So when people dont believe in God I can tell them without a doubt that God is real. He has done a miracle in me. Everything in the Bible is true. God is good. He is pure in everyway. He is light and He sent His Son Jesus to destroy the works of the devil. The devil devours kids like I was but the Lord rescues them. He saves them.

My name is Julie and I am a living testimony that God is mighty to save and with His Spirit, He can transform even the most broken, hopeless person. Its all about having faith in Jesus and surrendering to His Spirit. Chris Tomlin music has helped me greatly with this as it is so soothing to my soul.

The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentless, faithfulness and self control. I really rely on God’s Holy Spirit as apart from Him I cant feel love, peace, compassion or joy. It’s not things I can or have produced on my own. The works of the flesh (me without Jesus) were all destructive and led to death. Here is my poem called broken that I wrote 12 years ago during the first week I was saved. It poured from me like water.

BROKEN I look at my wrists, I see the scars I search my soul, I know my shame I’ve been led by the blind and beaten down by sin I should have died, but You wouldn’t let them win I see Your hands, the holes in Your palms I know your glory has overcome all pain I turn to You Lord, in my broken suffering A love unimaginable, how can this be In all my wretchedness, You reached out to save me A soul so pure, my hero, Your truth The word of God that whispered to my heart and set me free As I tripped over trials, in this deathly darkness I looked for the way Your light opened my soul and my eyes lit up with hope You showed me a path that I can now take Thanks to Your selfless sacrifice This girl will never fade away I toddle like a baby, into Your strong hands I am Yours, You have made me new again Paralized with tears, my repentance shakes my being Then You kiss my tears away and I am no longer unclean Thank you Father, my cross I’ll bear 'Till the day I go home, when You shout from the sky All Your children will run to You with a happy cry And there I’ll be, tucked safely under Your wing As we fly away, this life will have seemed like a dream I will never forget how You gave Yourself for me I love you Lord Jesus

[dalyunministry]

Pas. Johnraj Lamech

💎

Greetings in the matchless Name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Topic: How to deal with our hard-heartedness?

Rhema Word: Romans 2:5-6 (NKJV) ”But in accordance with your hardness and your impenitent heart you are treasuring up for yourself wrath in the day of wrath and revelation of the righteous judgment of God, who “will render to each one according to his deeds”.”

Let’s pray. Our Gracious Loving Father, thank you for giving us an opportunity to meditate your Word today. Thank you, Holy Spirit, for helping us to understand your Words which are living and active. Please help us to live a life as per your Word Lord. Father, we give all the Glory and Honour to you. We pray in the mighty Name of your beloved Son Jesus Christ. Amen.

While meditating on Mark 3:1-6, ”And He (Jesus) entered the synagogue again, and a man was there who had a withered hand. So they watched Him closely, whether He would heal him on the Sabbath, so that they might accuse Him. And He said to the man who had the withered hand, “Step forward.” Then He said to them, “Is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do evil, to save life or to kill?” But they kept silent. And when He had looked around at them with anger, being grieved by the hardness of their hearts, He said to the man, “Stretch out your hand.” And he stretched it out, and his hand was restored as whole as the other. Then the Pharisees went out and immediately plotted with the Herodians against Him, how they might destroy Him.”, the Holy Spirit whispered into my ears to discover my rocky heart to understand more about hardheartedness.

My heart started flying around the words “hardness of their hearts” like a bee around a flower and my mind jostled from one verse to another extracting the nectar. The net result was a honey-comb of information which enlightened my eyes.

Let us try to understand on the following seven aspects of “hardheartedness” with the help of our Holy Spirit, today:

1] It is refusing to understand God’s dealing in our lives:

2] It is a destructive attitude:

3] It is disobedience to God’s Word:

4] It is being an uncooperative family member:

5] It is pride:

6] It is rejecting counsel:

7] Necessary hardheartedness:

1] It is refusing to understand God’s dealing in our lives:

The first striking incident in the Bible about hardness of heart is Pharaoh refusing to release the Israelites from Egyptian bondage. There are many passages which say, ”God hardened the heart of Pharaoh (Exodus 4:21). But we should not fail to put together corresponding verses which are windows into the other rooms of Pharaoh’s life. We read in Exodus 7:13,14 ”And Pharaoh’s heart grew hard, and he did not heed them, as the Lord had said. So, the Lord said to Moses: “Pharaoh’s heart is hard; he refuses to let the people go.” Further, we see in Exodus 8:15 ” But when Pharaoh saw that there was relief, he hardened his heart and did not heed them.” In other words, God never hardens a soft heart. He only hardens hard hearts to show forth His glory. We can also say that Pharaoh’s heart was hardened as the Lord predicted.

During every trial, Pharaoh was probably getting more and more convinced that Jehovah God was greater than all his Egyptian deities. Maybe he was “almost” convinced like Agrippa (Acts 26:28). But when the situation eased he hardened his heart once again (Exodus 8:15,18,19). There were many opportunities given to him to repent but he was stubborn. The Bible says, ”His heart was not moved by the miracles” (Exodus 7:22).

God works in our lives in various ways. Unless we let our hearts be moved by God’s dealings, our hearts will become stony. Even the smallest of miracles He does in our lives – an escape from a fatal accident, someone sending us what we were just longing for – must catch our eyes and tickle our tongues to praise Him. Similarly whenever He chides, we must be quick to understand and repent.

If Pharaoh had let his heart be moved, he could have saved his country, army, people, firstborn and his soul. If you think Pharaoh could not have let his heart be touched of God because God hardened it, I don’t think I will vote for your opinion.

Very many years later the Philistines captured the Ark of God from Israel and were smitten with piles and mice. Is this the hand of the God of Israelites? Though they could have hardened their hearts they decided to appease the great Jehovah God. Their priests said in 1 Samuel 6:6 ”Why then do you harden your hearts as the Egyptians and Pharaoh hardened their hearts? When He did mighty things among them, did they not let the people go, that they might depart?”

2] It is a destructive attitude:

There were three gallant men in David’s army who were given to hot impulses. David says of them in 2 Samuel 3:39 ”I am weak today, though anointed king; and these men, the sons of Zeruiah, are too harsh for me. The Lord shall repay the evildoer according to his wickedness.”

Zeruiah was not a man, but David’s sister and the mother of the aforesaid three, Abishai, Joab, and Asahel (1 Chron 2:16). More sensitive than the pupils of the eyes, they were full of themselves and slaves so their own urges. We read of three incidents which reveal their harshness in three ways, viz, Vengeance, Insecure reactions and Intolerance:

a] Vengeance:

Abner was captain of Saul’s army. When Asahel, the youngest of Zeruiah’s sons, gave Abner a chase, Abner warned him to leave him alone. When the gazelle-footed Asahel would not be discouraged, Abner killed him in self-defence. The backlash reaction of Joab is sad. Instead of breaking the cycle of hatred and revenge, when opportunity presented itself, Joab stabbed the defenceless Abner to quieten his own nerve and celebrated a lacklustre victory (2 Samuel 3:20-27).

The tragedy struck a cord deep in David. He considered Abner a prince and a great man and walked the extra mile to get him for his kingdom (2 Samuel 3:38-39). But the cutthroats murdered him in a personal vendetta. David was also a shrewd man but for the sake of the kingdom he kept his suspicion at bay and embraced people.

We learn two things here. We have to forgive and maintain personal relationships for the Kingdom’s sake. Secondly, we should not lose people by over-suspicion without proof of their infidelity. Just because we hate somebody or we are suspicious of someone, the Kingdom of God cannot afford to lose people. Yes, we are still weak and we need people. Let us sacrifice personal interests for the Kingdom sake and be broadminded like David.

b] Insecure reactions:

Absalom made Amasa as his captain when he took over David’s kingdom (2 Samuel 17:25). When the coup failed and Absalom died, the people came back to the king. Think of Amasa’s face with rotten egg all over. But David promised to make him commander of his army in Joab’s place (2 Samuel 19:12-14). How tactfully David got the people on his side! May be David decided to promote Joab and give his place to Amasa. He was true to his word (2 Samuel 20:4). The stage was thus set for a clash.

Joab saw Amasa as a threat to his position and murdered him deceitfully (2 Samuel 20:9-10). How sad! What a contrast to David’s soft heart and the hard hearts of the sons of Zeruiah.

Remember, promotion comes from the Lord. Our security is in our position in Christ. No one can take it away. We should never reach for success by trampling on people nor defend our position by slashing whoever cuts our path. That is hardheartedness.

c] Intolerance:

The hardheartedness of the sons of Zeruiah is seen in another scene. Shimei came cursing and throwing stones at the king in his exile. If David had not been there Shimei’s head would have rolled off his shoulders in no time as Abishai drew his sword out. But David, crestfallen, said, ”What have I to do with you, you sons of Zeruiah? So let him curse, because the Lord has said to him ‘Curse David’. Who then shall say, ”Why have you done so?” (2 Samuel 16:8-12). Again what a contrast between the two!

When David again sat on the throne, Shimei apologised for his hasty act. Again Abishai sprang up and demanded his execution. For David the battle was far from over. He lamented, ”What have I to do with you, you sons of Zeruiah?” (2 Samuel 19:20-22). Compare with the disciples desiring to bring down fire to consume a village.

Tolerance is a Christian virtue. Especially when you have the power to hurt someone and you hold it back, God honours it. No wonder David was a man after God’s tender heart. Let us not spring up to slander, harass and hurt people for what they do to us. Let us not take the sword in our hand.

Joab was given a chance to survive. But after the rollercoaster events, Solomon had him executed when he joined Adonijah to make him king. It was not a matter of vengeance but so that more harm will not come to the kingdom (1 Kings 2:5,3-34).

Let the end of the sons of Zeruiah serve as a warning to soften our hard hearts. The three died without a change of heart without letting the hard brick wall around their angry hearts to crumble.

3] It is disobedience to God’s Word:

When we read or hear the Word of God we must make a willing effort to understand it. Only then it will take root, grow and give fruit. Our reading or hearing must be action-oriented. Jesus said in Matthew 13:20-21, ”He who received the seed on stony places, this is he who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy; yet he has no root in himself, but endures only for a while. For when tribulation or persecution arises because of the word, immediately he stumbles.”

Before rushing to judgement let us understand that there is a whole beam in our own eye. Practicing God’s Word is getting that beam out chip by chip, chip by chip. We have no excuse for our disobedience. We judge someone but we do the same.

Apostle Paul says in Romans 2:5 ”But in accordance with your hardness and your impenitent heart you are treasuring up for yourself wrath in the day of wrath and revelation of the righteous judgment of God.” Beloved, it is time to turn your darling sin out of doors. Remember, ”Happy is the man who is always reverent, But he who hardens his heart will fall into calamity” (Proverbs 28:14).

When we believe the effectiveness of the Word of God it becomes easy to practice.

God’s truth can come to us in many ways. We must discern and believe the truth without hardening our hearts. Rebellion against the revealed will of God is hard-heartedness. Yes, God laments in Ezekiel 3:6-9 ”Surely, had I sent you to them, they would have listened to you. But the house of Israel will not listen to you, because they will not listen to Me; for all the house of Israel are impudent and hard-hearted. Behold, I have made your face strong against their faces, and your forehead strong against their foreheads. Like adamant stone, harder than flint, I have made your forehead; do not be afraid of them, nor be dismayed at their looks, though they are a rebellious house.”

Zedekiah did not humble himself before Jeremiah, the prophet, who spoke from the mouth of the Lord…but stiffened his neck and hardened his heart against turning to the Lord God of Israel (2 Chron 36:12-13). The result: His sons were killed before his eyes and his eyes put out so that his last sight and memory would be the slaughter of his children.

OBEY GOD’S WORD AT ALL COST AND YOU WILL NEVER REGRET IT.

4] It is being an uncooperative family member:

Talking about divorce Jesus said ”It was because your hearts were hard that Moses wrote you this law,” (Mark 10:5).

Husband-wife relationship is a very delicate one and must be handled as a flower. When hearts are hardened the relationship dies.

Refusing to wipe away the tears from the eyes of the wife and listening to her problems, not speaking kind and gentle words to her, not doing the duty of a husband are all hardness. Similarly the wife can be hard-hearted by blatant disobedience, by not trying to understand her husband’s physical, spiritual, social, emotional and other needs, by nagging and even by threatening divorce.

When relationship problems arise, sit together, listen to one another and let the Holy Spirit soften your heart to change. Then your marriage will have more chances of working. The Pharisees wanted to loose, unbinding, easy marriage. That is not marital “bond”. Marriage is sticking together through good and bad. In this era of convoluted ideas, God is permitting many to divorce when they pray and pester Him, not because that’s His will for them, but because of their hardheartedness, their unwillingness to forgive, to accept to change themselves a little to suit the other person’s temperament.

That is why Paul says in 1 Corinthians 7:3-5 ”Let the husband render to his wife the affection due her, and likewise also the wife to her husband. The wife does not have authority over her own body, but the husband does. And likewise, the husband does not have authority over his own body, but the wife does. Do not deprive one another except with consent for a time, that you may give yourselves to fasting and prayer; and come together again so that Satan does not tempt you because of your lack of self-control.” Alienated spouses, listen to me! Love is not moonlight, mangoes and music. You must work hard at it. Everybody has got enough reasons to divorce. If you let God soften your heart, you can resuscitate your relationship and be reconciled (1 Corinthians 7:11). Then get your marriage back on track.

Parents can be hard-hearted towards their children by their negligence. In Job 39:13-18 we read about the hard-hearted mother ostrich: ”“The wings of the ostrich wave proudly, But are her wings and pinions like the kindly stork’s? For she leaves her eggs on the ground, And warms them in the dust; She forgets that a foot may crush them, Or that a wild beast may break them. She treats her young harshly, as though they were not hers; Her labour is in vain, without concern, Because God deprived her of wisdom, And did not endow her with understanding. When she lifts herself on high, She scorns the horse and its rider.”

Little children are like eggs. If proper care is not given, they get crushed. Overstrictness, not understanding them, humiliating them pushing them beyond their capacity, excessive and cruel punishments, not expressing love and appreciation, not spending enough time with them, leaving them to fend for themselves or watch the TV for long hours, leaving them with untrustworthy people are all hardheartedness. Remember one thing: you can never hug your kids too much. Teach them the Bible and lay down a good foundation for their future. Children can also be hard-hearted towards parents.

There is also a commandment to be kind-hearted to poor believers. The Bible says in Deuteronomy 15:7 ”If there is among you a poor man of your brethren, within any of the gates in your land which the Lord your God is giving you, you shall not harden your heart nor shut your hand from your poor brother,” When you see a poor Christian many questions will dart across your mind. How can I help him? Will my family object? How many can I help like this? Am I spoiling him by helping? Sort out the questions and help sensibly. It is not at all difficult to pick out the deserving. If not all, select one or two families and help them out.

5] It is pride:

The Bible says in Job 41:24,34 ”His heart is as hard as stone, Even as hard as the lower millstone…He beholds every high thing; He is king over all the children of pride.”. This is about the leviathan which may be a whale or crocodile.

Can you appease a crocodile? Its very being is so hard you cannot get through to its heart. Any plea to it is hitting your head against a rock. If we are so proud and hard by nature we need to change. Much of our bad nature can be changed if we take it up as a challenge and work on ourselves. Somewhere we have to stop and think and change. Do not let pride harden your spirit (Daniel 5:20). Take a major gulp of humility.

Jesus saw a man with a withered hand in the synagogue. The Pharisees watched so they could accuse Him if He healed the man on the Sabbath day. Their mind was so rigid about Sabbath, they decided never to change. Even if it meant delivering of a man from his long-term illness it was unacceptable to them. It was ego. The Bible says Jesus was angry and was grieved at the hardness of their heart. When Jesus healed the man they went out to destroy him (Mark 3:1-6). Yes, ego pushes us well below the civilised standards of behaviour.

Remember, the Bible says in Proverbs 16:18 ”Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall.”

Conquering pride is an uphill task. When the Holy Spirit gently blows on our hearts and whispers, ”You can change yourself and accept the better way of life,” we must let our hearts be softened.

6] It is rejecting counsel:

The Bible says in Proverbs 29:1 ”Whoever remains stiff-necked after many rebukes will suddenly be destroyed—without remedy.” Remember, Pharoah was destroyed suddenly and without remedy

About God’s people, the Bible says in Jeremiah 5:3 ”Lord, do not your eyes look for truth? You struck them, but they felt no pain; you crushed them, but they refused correction. They made their faces harder than stone and refused to repent.”

We should not always expect God to speak to us from the skies. It can come in the most unexpected way. Listen to it and live. Why should you be suddenly destroyed? David had Nathan and Gath as his counsellors. Who were Solomon’s counsellors? Who are your counsellors?

In essence, hardheartedness is the unwillingness to be pliable or make an effort to change.

7] Necessary hardheartedness:

Having understood hardheartedness, we should not become jelly fish. Even Jesus whipped.

A master gave one talent to one of his servants and went abroad. When he returned and claimed his due, the servant replied, ”Lord, I knew you to be a hard man.” The master did not refute. He said, ”You knew I was a hard man, wicked and lazy servant. Then why didn’t you work harder?”

When it comes to getting things done, unless leaders are hard task masters much will not be accomplished. Tender masters tend to make their workers lazy. A hard master with sensitivity to the worker will not only get things done but steps up the quality and sharpens the skills of his workers. In the same way parents need to be wisely hard too for the good of their children. Sometimes wise harshness is necessary to keep the family going in God’s will (Genesis 16:6; 21:10-12).

To get to the bottom of the problem, may be all of us are hard in certain areas. The Bible says in Exodus 9:34 ” When Pharaoh saw that the rain and hail and thunder had stopped, he sinned again: He and his officials hardened their hearts.” Yes, Pharaoh sinned again by hardening his heart.

Let us check our hearts. If the Lord put His finger and pointed out where we are hard, take a giant step forward by confessing it as sin (Exodus 9:34).

In 2 Chronicles 36:11-14 we see about King Zedekiah, ”Zedekiah was twenty-one years old when he became king, and he reigned in Jerusalem eleven years. He did evil in the eyes of the Lord his God and did not humble himself before Jeremiah the prophet, who spoke the word of the Lord. He also rebelled against King Nebuchadnezzar, who had made him take an oath in God’s name. He became stiff-necked and hardened his heart and would not turn to the Lord, the God of Israel. Furthermore, all the leaders of the priests and the people became more and more unfaithful, following all the detestable practices of the nations and defiling the temple of the Lord, which he had consecrated in Jerusalem.”

But, let us long and work for a humble, tender heart like Josiah who was just eight years old when he became king. The Bible says in 2 Kings 22:19 ”Because your heart was responsive and you humbled yourself before the Lord when you heard what I have spoken against this place and its people—that they would become a curse and be laid waste—and because you tore your robes and wept in my presence, I also have heard you, declares the Lord.”

Like a cool breeze in a hot summer day comes God’s assurance that there is no heart too hard for the Lord to break. Under the New Covenant, He has promised to remove our stony heart and transplant in us a heart of flesh! (Ezek 11:19; 32:26). Hallelujah!

CAUTION:

Apostle Paul cautions us in 2 Thessalonians 1:6-10 ”God is just: He will pay back trouble to those who trouble you and give relief to you who are troubled, and to us as well. This will happen when the Lord Jesus is revealed from heaven in blazing fire with his powerful angels. He will punish those who do not know God and do not obey the gospel of our Lord Jesus. They will be punished with everlasting destruction and shut out from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of his might on the day he comes to be glorified in his holy people and to be marvelled at among all those who have believed. This includes you, because you believed our testimony to you.”

Remember, ”Hardening of the arteries may take a man to the grave but hardening of one's spiritual heart will take a man to hell!”

Yes, if the kindness of God toward you is not leading you to repentance, then every day, every hour, you live, drops another drop into the terrible "treasure" of indignation which will burst the great dam of God’s long-suffering in the great Day of His Wrath, when God shall reveal His righteous judgment! Flee to take refuge in the Cross of Calvary.

Jesus said in John 5:24, “Most assuredly, I say to you, he who hears My word and believes in Him who sent Me has everlasting life, and shall not come into judgment, but has passed from death into life.”

Yes, the wrath of God fell on Jesus but will fall on us if we fail to take refuge in Him.

Let us introspect ourselves..

Shall we let our hearts be moved by God’s dealings to pre-empt our hearts from becoming stony?

Shall we listen to our Lord whenever He chides and repent quickly?

Shall we forgive and maintain personal relationships for the Kingdom sake?

Shall we sacrifice personal interests for the Kingdom sake and be broadminded like David?

Shall we withhold us from slandering, harassing and hurting people for what they do to us?

Shall we obey God’s Word at all cost so that we will never regret it?

Shall we conquer pride in our lives with the help of Holy Spirit when He reminds us?

Shall we make an effort to change ourselves when we get counselling from our counsellors?

Shall we take a giant step forward by confessing our hardheartedness as sin and plead for a soft heart from our Lord?

Let us Pray: Our Heavenly Gracious Father, we thank you for helping us to understand about how to deal with our hardheartedness. Please help us to allow our hearts to be moved by You Father to pre-empt our hearts from becoming stony, listen to Your voice and repent whenever You chides us Father, forgive others and maintain personal relationships besides sacrificing our personal interests for the Kingdom sake, help us from slandering, harassing and hurting people for what they do to us, help us to obey Your Word at all cost and conquer pride in our lives, make a sincere effort to change ourselves when we get counselling from our counsellors and confess our hardheartedness as sin. Father, please give us a soft heart so as to have an uninterrupted intimate relationship with You so that we can escape wrath on the day of judgement. We give all praise, glory and honour to Your Holy Name. In Jesus name we pray. Amen.

God bless you all.

[rosewhipped22]

Whump!Cas/Hurt!Cas fic recs

Hurt!Cas fics are my absolute favorite, (in case you couldn’t tell that from my own writing) so here are some I really enjoyed.  I hope you will too!  Please, please, please read and heed the warnings/ratings/tags. Some are super dark.

Repent of your Sins by Anonymous

AU from the end of Season 8.When Cas returns to Dean and Sam, human, confused, disoriented and scared, they take him in. What else can they do?But Dean is still harboring some resentments. Sam is still sick and damaged from the trials, and Dean feels that Cas is to blame for much of what's happened to them in the past couple of years - things he's never really made amends for...

This one is really good, but definitely dark.  Dean is not his usual kind and forgiving self and Cas is hurting throughout.

It's gettin' dark, too dark to see by  Enochian Things (Salr323)

Cas is human and alone in the world; Dean's not handling it. At all. But then again, neither is Castiel.

I tagged this in my bookmarks as ‘homeless Castiel, Angst, lovely’ what else do you need to know??

Kiss the Baker by @ltleflrt  

Jo is pregnant and craving something a little bit unusual. When she sends Dean on a mission to find her some chocolate cake donuts with bacon sprinkles, he's sure that he'll fail. Luckily his partner Benny comes to his rescue and introduces him to a quirky little bakery that sells all kinds of weird (and delicious!) baked goods. And they do special orders!

Dean finds excuses to keep going back, and Castiel finds excuses to keep giving him special treats.

I feel like everyone needs to read this fic at least once.  It’s amazing from beginning to end.  I adored it.  It’s fluffy too <3 (@ltleflrt, you were looking for dark fics the other day--maybe you’ll find something you haven’t tried here!)

Blackbird Fly by artsyUnderstudy

Nearly a year after starting the fire that claimed the lives of Ruby Darvelle and Anna Novak, fifteen year old Sam Winchester returns home from his stint in court ordered rehab. Sam and his older brother, Dean, struggle to remake their own complicated relationship and the home they’ve lost in the wake of this tragedy, while a chance meeting brings Anna’s brother, the troubled and secretive Castiel, into their lives. Fighting with his recovery, Sam finds himself drawn to the strong and lively Jess, while Castiel and Dean find comfort in one another. As consequences of their past emerge and threaten to tear apart what they’ve carefully rebuilt, they are all forced to reevaluate who their family really is, and to what lengths they’re willing to go to keep it safe.

Great fic! Plenty of Sam in this one too.  

Stitches by Askance

Castiel survived Leviathan--but only barely. Vessel mauled and eyes destroyed, Cas is barely clinging to what's left of his grace when Dean finds him naked and alone on the reservoir's edge; in a panic, Dean brings him home to the cabin where he and Sam have been holed up off the grid. What follows is the slow process of the angel's recovery and the unexpected changes that come with his being blind, and in the three months this takes, their little family slowly begins to patch itself back together in forgiveness, love, and darkness.

This was so much better than Cas being left at the hospital with Meg.  I’m glad the boys stick together and help each other.

Dean Is His Mission by LisaEllyn

Castiel is stunned -- absolutely astounded to still be alive. But he needs to focus on healing himself. He needs to get out of the bunker before Dean returns because he has no doubt that the hunter will stay true to his word and not “miss” next time.

He is far from healed when he hears Dean approach the library. “You just aren’t the listening type, are you, Cas?”

This picks up after Dean beats Cas in the bunker after 10.22.  Good stuff. 

Less Than Angels by ashitanoyuki  

Newly human, Castiel moves in with Sam and Dean to the Men of Letters bunker. Unfortunately, his presence attracts the attention of Ezekiel, who develops a dark fascination with him. Hiding behind Sam's face and body, Ezekiel coerces Castiel into a sexual relationship, threatening to kick him out of the bunker if Castiel denies his advances. As Castiel wonders if he himself is to blame for "Sam's" actions, Sam himself is blissfully unaware of the angel inside him. Only when Dean catches wind of what's going on can they come up with a plan to get rid of Ezekiel once and for all.

I enjoyed this one a lot more than I should have.  More than once.  Poor Cas, man.  Poor Sam..

A Hunter's Prey by alpineshoodratt

A blue eyed boy he locked gazes with at a stoplight. His prey sat in the back of a pricey SUV, 4 other boys in the car, rowdy and loud. This kid sat quietly, watching out the window, until he noticed Dean looking. His sapphire eyes met Dean’s emerald ones for all of three seconds, before blushing and looking down.

Yummy

This is another dark!Dean one.  Like serial killer dark.

And I Will Walk On Water by tracy_loo_who

This fic is set after season 4 and totals ~122,600 words. It's a story about friendship and love, recovery and trust, free will, and Dean and Castiel's journey through it all. It's also about chocolate and hugs. If you read it, I really hope you enjoy it. ♥ 

I really love this fic!  If you love whump!Cas and early seasons Cas then you will too!!  It’s really fabulous.  Please give it a try, you won’t regret it.  

Hesitation by apokteino

Zachariah orders Castiel to seduce Dean in order to strengthen his allegiance to heaven. Castiel thinks it will be something to endure. Dean just thinks Castiel wants him. Neither one is right.

Oh man, this fic.  Apokteino is amazing and this fic is too! Read everything by this author.  Bonus: Early season Cas is so well written.

Hautley's Bend by ColdIntheStudio 

Castiel Novak is used to change. He's used to being the new kid in school. So when he moves with his family to the small town of Rail Pass, he doesn't expect things to be much different than the last three towns. But then he meets Dean Winchester, an aggressive fellow student who sees Castiel as the shiny new toy he and his friends get to mess with. Castiel has had his fair share of bullies in the past, but nothing like this. He's never felt this way about a bully, or anyone for that matter, before. Maybe something's wrong with him, that he could feel so attracted to someone who makes his everyday life hell. But then again, he sees the way Dean looks at him sometimes. And there's a lot more to Dean Winchester than meets the eye.

Wow! Buckle in for 500k words of an excellent HS au.  My favorite one.  It’s a slow burn enemies to lovers and it’s simply fabulous. 

It’s Not Easy Being Dean by strangeandcharm

The Winchesters are given a mission: they have to save Castiel. The trouble is, Castiel isn’t really Castiel any more…

I’m really shocked this fic doesn’t have more kudos, I so enjoyed it!  Zachariah is a colossal dick to our favorite angel via his AU creation powers.  

Pay Your Dues by Huggle

Castiel knows he has a lot to make up for and now he's human it will be harder than ever.

The Winchesters know it too, and they won't let him forget it.

Dark Winchesters.  A shorter option for you kids, but it still hurts so good.  

Unforgiven by coldrottingtrees 

For the SPN Kink Meme.

Prompt: "Abaddon, wearing Dean, uses and abuses the hell out of Castiel. (Who probably figures out it's not really Dean...eventually.)"

I’ve reread this one several times because I have issues.  It’s really well done and Abaddon manipulates Cas like a pro

Specimen Two Eighty Five by @hazeldomain

Prompt: Cas gets taken prisoner by the MOL or some other people. They lump angels in with all the other supernatural creatures, and believe they’re little better than animals. They keep Cas restrained and burn or tattoo warding on him. They talk about him like he can’t understand them. They strip him, examine him, make him manifest his wings. He can’t escape, and every day brings new mistreatment and misery.

Hazel is amazing and has lots of good fics--definitely a whump master. Her fic  It Was On Sale is fabulous as well but it features wincest if that’s not for you.  It worked for me because it’s an AU and Sam and Dean aren’t brothers.  Plus Cas is a total BAMF.

Paid In Full by Huggle 

Dean and Sam get word of a book that might hold the key to stopping the Apocalypse. Desperate times, and all, so they don't hesitate to steal it.

Unfortunately for Cas, its owner holds a grudge and has a rather cruel way of settling scores.

This is a short fic (with a 2nd part!! that I actually like even better) but so satisfying.  Huggle is on my list twice because this is one writer who knows how to make things hurt and they have a way with words that just sucks you right in. 

Love in a McHopeless Place by @weasleychick32

Throughout his years working at McDonald’s Dean has experienced a great number of awkward, unsanitary, and just plain strange situations, but what exactly is he supposed to do when he finds a homeless man sleeping in the playplace? This isn’t in the employee handbook.

I almost forgot this one! Yikes, that would have been a mistake.  A great AU with homeless!Cas. This one’s got fluff too!!  So probably a good one to end the list with.  It’s well written and highly recommended.

I do have more, but this should keep you kids busy for a while I hope.  Enjoy! and please leave comments for the authors if you like something!  They really do mean so much.  <3  (Authors let me know if you want your tumblr linked to your fic.  I’ll add it!)

[elegant-etienne]

Prompt #18: Self-control

You are eleven, and you have decided not to smile. It was your mother's idea, though she doesn't realize it. She said, "You would have learned sooner or later that it's never a good idea to let a man think you like him too much." You are eleven, and you make a conscious decision, because you think it will protect you. But to quiet the happiness, before you know it, you have quieted everything.

Over the years-- The Church talks of sin and duty. The Church preaches restraint. The Church calls for you to confess, and you say, "I am a sinner."

When a man of the church asks you, hanging out of a window, if you are happy - You say, unsmiling, "Yes."

Behind the cut: some abuse apologism and some blood and muuuuuurder

You are thirteen, and Mama Adelie says, running a comb through your hair, "Someday you will be happy again, darling, I promise you. It's alright to be there, in this sadness - for however long you need to be. But please don't frighten us like that again."

And you think, maybe you can't smile but you should shout at her. Tell her what's really happening. Tell her that it's too late.

"I'm going to get us out of here," Mama Adelie promises, and she comes so very, very close to doing it. She tries, and on the day she leaves, she begs you to smile because you'll see each other again. She'll send you the money for a chocobo porter to fly you out, and you can be together. Whenever you decide. You don't say a word. You don't cry. And you don't smile.

And you don't see her again. The snow comes.

Never let a man think you like him too much. Oh, some men just hate that. They want you to laugh at their jokes, and it becomes a game of sport to you to find ways to flatter and smooth and tease without batting your eyelashes. You learn the art of making other people feel important and interesting.

When you are quiet, when you hardly make any expressions, people like to paint theirs onto yours. That's fine. You paint on your own face every day.

"I think I smiled four or five times today," you say on your wedding night, smiling and tired and happy and so, so ready for the sort of embrace that will soon follow, "And sometimes not at you - I apologize, dear husband."

You are 27. You'll be 28 the sun after next. You arranged it that way, you think - surely a week away is enough time for both your birthday and your wedding. Surely he can mute the linkpearl that long, for you to be together. Surely the company can handle its own disasters that long.

An icicle of dread enters your heart as you recall, "And I smiled once the day before, too, at a man."

He loves you. He's never been angry with you, and he isn't tonight. He's married you, that means he wants you forever. He understands your anxiety and dread, understands why it is hard for you to smile. He's patient. Too good for you, really - you had to snatch him up quick before he realized his mistake. You smile at him. For a little while, you truly believe that one person can complete another, and you will be safe in your happiness, so you loosen your clutch on your emotions little by little.

"Warm my hands," you often ask him, and he does. You're a little warmer.

It won't be that long before he leaves you cold.

You are 26, and sealing a void gate. Simple work, really, though they don't send every apprentice from the guild out after such tasks. Beneath the tear in the world lay the exposed muscles and quivering flesh of nothingness, a living sea. It smells a bit of sulfur. This, you think, is what desire brings you. This is what caring so much has brought these men. They have called the pulsing things from beyond, and let the monsters settle behind their eyes. This is sin. If you want too much, too strongly, if you clutch too hard, the void will hear it.

In the Quicksand that night, you scoff at love, at fucking - at all the human games. You are in control. Not free of sin but free of passion, free of attachment. No one could ever hurt you by caring, no need could ever consume your life so much that you would rip yourself free of all sanity and surrender to that nothingness. It is need that brought these men to ruin, and you are so lucky you need nothing. Except, paradoxically--

You need to remain in control.

"I don't see why you're so angry. It was a business arrangement."

"I was helpless to do anything, you had to have known. I was so frightened. It's not as though I smiled or said a word to you! You have to have known it was wrong! All I wish is to understand why!"

"We are all of us slaves to our urges. We are creatures of sin, which is why we are so unworthy of Halone. But I have spent my life trying to be worthy. That is the point, isn't it? The struggle to be worthy!"

"Can you at least say that it stopped with me? Answer me, or so help me - You’ll face Halone before you have a chance to repent! You’ll make a murderer of me!"

"Can’t you see that I’ve grown old? I pose no threat to anyone now. And you - you’ve grown into a fine mage. Such beautiful robes. You turned out alright with the money you got. I have nothing to offer you, nothing I could do to make it right. Would you kill a broken, pitiful old man?”

You are 27, and every wall in place splits. You feel the tear as you push yourself beyond what your aether pool holds, feel your heart clench still briefly as you find the rest of the hatred required - your own boiling blood and seething fear, the blinding white heat of your hopeless despair, and you cast the spell.

We are all of us slaves to our urges. You transmute the heat to cold, and after the warm gush of blood from your nose, well, you never really feel warm again.

You ought to have told him, no, you have not moved on. You never move on from anything. You ice it over, crush it down in your heart, and nurse it like a devilish concoction.

After that, it’s so hard to keep warm. But you ask for your husband’s hand a few moons later, hoping, trying.

At 28, you are losing a battle against each hairline fracture in wall. It never got bricked up proper after you broke through, and it is a battle of lost territory. You can’t gain back the control you had before, you hadn’t realized how much you lost in the first place. Ceded to your husband. Given willingly to friends. Too many people know you now. You've been crying a lot, at the worst moments. You fear the power of the anger that risks welling up, so you stuff it down.

Harder to control are those moments you wish to smile, or laugh.

Everything in your life has been so quiet, so muted. To laugh, even a little - the sort of laugh you cover up quickly and pray no one comments on - it brings such color to your world.

It's warmer. Empty and quiet sometimes, but sometimes bright and lively, and sometimes, so busy and warm. It scares the shite out of you.

[ariswrites]

for milk teeth --  (posted on AO3)

the two partly finished fics i mixed together to make it.

NOT completed fics or works. 

tw for self harm / angst / depression

fic 1;

There’s something to be said about survival. When he pictures the word, it conjures images of boats in storms and men huddled together at the base of mountains. There are storms. Natural disasters. There are wars and conflicts and desperation in its most unadulterated form - a need for action, consistent and persistent, red and blue banners of national news programs pasted over.

Survival, by definition, is the resistance of death in the face of the adverse. It is something to be celebrated. To be happy about, when it’s all been and done with.

It very much does not align with what his therapist refers to when she discusses coping methods and medications. It is not a matter of survival that Bakugou takes his antidepressants, or that, in lieu of self-harm he goes for a run or blasts a hole through a training dummy. Nothing extraordinary lies in it. No particular luck, or trick, or heroic notion.

If this is survival as others term it, it is a bleak one. Alarm clocks and pill boxes and the reiteration of basic, humiliating statements that his brain cannot get right. And as ashamed of having to be told to say it to himself he is - he can’t blame his brain, exactly. A chemical imbalance or a learned response. He is given examples, lists them to himself when he looks in the mirror and stares at his shoes;

Everyone doesn’t hate me

Everyone isn’t looking at me all the time

It’s unrealistic to expect myself to always be the best

My past actions do not define me as a bad person

They leave a bitter residue on his tongue. It’s not some incoherent, unbalanced part of his mind telling him everyone hates him. It’s not a stretch of the imagination to picture it, classmates keeping the peace through teeth-grinding tolerance. It’s not a difficult thing to do – hate him, he knows that intimately. He’s angry, sharp, demeaning, arrogant, spiteful. There are more negative words to describe him than positive. That’s a fact.

He knows this more than he feels it. It’s something his therapist couldn’t understand. She specializes in hero counselling - she is, no doubt, used to people formed of gold leaf and smiles coming to her. Inherently good people, people who care about others, risk their lives for other. Survivors. Heros. She wouldn’t know what to do with the rot Bakugou feels gnaw at him from the inside. The dirty, dark words he lathers to his being in the privacy of his thoughts, truisms he has long accepted only at the quietest of hours. Agreements he has reached with himself, alone, empty. Void contracts.

(She can’t know what to do with them - she couldn’t, wouldn’t - or, or Bakugou has stowed this away within himself for naught.

She couldn’t help. She couldn’t. She couldn’t she couldn’t she could-)

It isn’t a mental illness telling him these things. They don’t go away with the medication, or the diagnosis, or the talking. And they don’t hurt him necessarily – his classmates hate him. A statement he can verify. If he were in a life or death situation, they would save him out of their innate sense of hero duty. If they have to work together, they would, because Bakugou is strong and more is better, especially in the face of villains. Bakugou is readily dispensable for the riskier operations - angrier, destructive. A ticking time bomb they can only hope will go off within enemy ranks.

But they wouldn’t help him with a personal issue. They wouldn’t pull his nails from his palms, uncurl his hands from fists. They wouldn’t sit with him over food, talk about their day, offer him niceties that roam outside their natural inclination towards politeness. Because they don’t like Bakugou, and he knows that, and that’s fine.

He feels nothing about it.

(About most things, actually.)

Except – some do. People only ever want things. Take things. Bakugou is strong. This is what he knows. Being nice to him might pay off, one day. Something in Kirishima’s smile is a shade too genuine to tuck away so neatly, but there is little else to name it otherwise. Stupidity, perhaps. Maybe a prize for fooling Bakugou, making him believe someone might forgive what he is. What he’s done.

There are three parts to any good joke: the set-up, the reinforcement and the pay off. He wonders which part he is. How good the pay off will be for putting up with him - he can see them laughing, whispering already. He’s a bully, someone harsh and violent; there are few kinks in his armour, fewer things in which to find humour in. He feels, always, that there is far to fall at the tiniest provocation. He gets so angry at the slightest hint, can’t help but betray his weaknesses. He’s not sure how he would deal with something so seemingly small yet so affirming of a belief he carries close to his chest;

People use him. He is better alone. It doesn’t matter if people hate him. He is strong enough to be alone.

This is where he can catch himself. There is an easy logic to these thoughts, a snowball which builds from a strong base but crumbles the larger it gets.  He is unlikable, but his class is objectively nice. There’s no reason but his own dysfunctional thinking to believe they would try and pull something on him, mess with his trust. They’re straight-forward, morally-guided people.  It’s an irrational belief to look for betrayal in every action, though recognizing it makes Bakugou no less willing to prepare for it.

No one can catch him off guard if he is always waiting. Anticipating. Invest in nothing and lose nothing.

He has learned that people will let you down. Growing up with Midoriya was a practice in how not to trust. He was always so bright, so free with giving out affections, as if there were not a toll on each flowery word, admitted weakness. It seemed to Bakugou that Midoriya did not understand the give and take in the world - that he would repeat, again and again, actions that left him trampled and torn. It was frustrating, infuriating, to have Midoriya, someone who had claimed to be his friend, so easily beat. So obviously weak, a mockery of the hero they both worshiped, aspired to become.

He could push Midoriya, spit at him, tell him to kill himself and the idiot would still trust him. That kind of trust is the kind Bakugou fears the most - unconditional, blind. The concept of it alone is terrifying. He checks his doors before he sleeps, faces windows he can’t close off and tenses at every turned corner. There isn’t the luxury for such forgiving trust in his life, not given to him, and never given by him.

It’s easier to be angry about it than sorry. Anger is impersonal, cold - answer creates a separation, prevents conversation, understanding. If Bakugou is angry, no one holds him to the same expectations between peers. He doesn’t have to be repenting, he doesn’t have to humiliate himself, leave himself open. No matter how much he thinks he should. It’s too late. Too spoilt.

(Right?)

Survival, his therapist says, is what he does everyday, now. Survival is not punishing himself for who he’s been, every bad thing he’s ever done and every good thing he never did. Survival is taking his stupid fucking medication, and going to each inconvenient, badly timetabled therapy session and surviving is living with the thoughts in his head. Accepting. Not pushing for more.

She says, survival is okay, but there is more to life than it.

She says, one day, he will do more than survive. That living is in the inbetweens, that living is being vulnerable, trusting. Being sorry. Stopping the cycle of aggression.

////end

fic 2:

He’s not a villain.

He gets it. He really fucking does; he grew up with the same shit as everybody else. Decorated his room to the teeth with godawful All Might merch, crowded around TVs in stores and living rooms again and again to the electrified presenter ranting about an atrocity. They don’t televise every crime. He doesn’t learn this til much later.

It is always a villain mutated beyond ugly, or face hidden, or sporting a hungry, empty expression that cannot be misinterpreted for anything but bloodlust, greed, desperation. That’s the verbs they use in the reports. They ooze poison to the nearest camera, civilian, deranged and confident and bordering on lunacy. Frothing, laughing, ranting - snug between the borders of his mother's TV. Actions beyond a child's comprehension, something children don’t just get until they are shown, taught, learn by their own hands. That kind of hate - where does that come from? What breeds it?

(Like most children his age, Bakugou had believed it inherent. Villains were bad because they just are. A rot intrinsic in their very being.)

All Might would fly on screen faster than the smaller TV crews could arrive, and he’d beat and restrain with a force no-one would later describe as brutal, nor crushing, nor unnecessary. A goldilocks zone. And he’d smile, and the villain would be taken off screen bleeding and bruised and croaking out words incoherent behind the glory embedded words All Might spun to the camera like fine silk. Phrases for the papers, for the blogs. Bakugou wouldn’t watch the villains, then.

Because then, Villains were evil. Villains were born that way, filthy in ways people spit to consider, a cleanliness people nurture carefully to themselves as though infectious. Then - there were two sides. Inevitable casualties, lessons well learned, rescued towns, villains getting what they deserved - and then were deaths, injured individuals with families, thoughtless murders and inhumane assaults.

Bakugou had been young enough to see the difference.

And he’d wear his All Might shirt proudly, smile to the mirror, stomp around in front of his mother and father's picture taking in blue and red. He’d tell his classmates about the latest fights as if they hadn’t seen, would hit and punch and grin, foot digging into backs and tears on cement. Heroes are unforgiving. Heroes smile as their enemies bleed. Heroes wouldn’t cry at defeat - heroes wouldn’t be defeated, heroes would persist.

Midoriya tells him that he thought being a Hero was about being kind. All Might is not kind when bone bends before his hands, when blood vessels break to him and stain his hands. That is not kindness as Bakugou knows it. That is ruthless, driven purpose. Someone fighting because they know they’ll win. Because they know they’re better, stronger.

The kids didn’t like to play with him. His mother was always angry.

When he looks back at old pictures he can see - one side pulls up too high, his teeth bare like fangs, narrow his eyes into angry glares. If he didn’t know better, he’d call it a mugshot.

Monster, they’d call him then.

Now -

Villain.

+++++

There’s a pair of scissors on his desk.

His hands are sweating, adrenaline shaking his fingertips to a fine rhythm. He could have run a mile, more, ran and ran and ran til his skin shined a shade of desperate peach, sweat pooling and falling and never hitting the ground. It’s something he does - early morning runs, late night runs. People don’t ask about the showers going off at 5am, doors shutting in their dreams, dishes stacked up to dry before they come down.

No one would question why his shirt is stained in sweat. He wishes it were exercise. His chest is heaving- weighted , hard, condensed matter crushing along organs to a terrifyingly heavy heart beat. It seems to echo at his ribs, shakes him down to his legs, femurs trembling and abruptly cold. The world is shaking and his hand blurs into obscurity at the edges of his vision where it digs into the side of his head, winds in hair and pulls erratically at the strands there.

This pain is not settling. This pain is not definitive.

He needs something more than aching muscle, more than pricks of pain along his scalp and the dull, squeezing bite of scissors clasped in his free hand. Three fingers between the blades. Somewhere, he read that there is an unconscious barrier in the brain that stops you exerting your full strength onto yourself - he presses down on the plastic handles so hard they creak, and the detached ache grows but refuses to blossom into more.  It’s unsatisfying; he may as well be pressing his digits to the edge of a wall, kicking his foot against a broken curb. It’s not sharp, steadying, consuming.

There is no barrier, only things that are weak. Weaker than him. He drops the scissors. There is nothing within himself he can’t command, nothing he can not bend to his will - he is not helpless, not powerless. Never again.

Bakugou steadies his palm against his thigh.

His hands stop trembling as skin heats beneath his hands.

He is in control.

(The pain, the real deal, comes later.  Second degree burns take weeks to heal, ache every moment in between.

It is not clever, what he’s doing. He’s not a fucking idiot. He knows, logically, that he puts himself at a disadvantage each times he presses an explosion to his skin, cups his hand around to keep it contained. A neat, clean wound would be a lie. The edges are ragged and raw and catch at his clothes. It’s flesh, barely contained veins, catching on fabric strands and throbbing under every glimpse of contact. Blisters pop up over half of them, the size of cigarette burns which threaten to burst but mainly throb in spikes that last so long they may as well be constant. When they burst on accident, it’s excruciating - he bails practice, the only time he’s ever let it interfere that far, and peeled away the skin stuck to his clothes by plasma and pus.

The first time, he did it on his wrists, and his gloves hurt so much he cried. Bitter. Ugly.

He knows better, now. Legs are easier undetected and he’s improving at fighting without thigh impact. Aizawa always lists it as a weakness - too dependant on his upper half. It’ll come back to bite him one day, but pushing himself to that pain again and again is almost too much. It’s enough to make him considering stopping, finding something else - but if there was anything else, if there was a moment of logical thought before that, then he would have stopped long ago.

Self harm is stupid. Self harm is pointless. Self harm is the only thing between Bakugou and… everything. Or not. He doesn’t care to find out what lays on the other side of his panic attacks, but he’s sure in the knowledge it’s worse than what he feels now. There is something dreadful and heavy in his chest that tells him so. The same conviction that leaves him watching the windows of his room in the dead of night, the one that drives him to hold explosions in his grasp like the hand of another, the motivation behind his relentless, eternal waiting.

There is something coming. There is always something coming.)

+++

He’s first called a villain by a kid in another class - the only ones left with words to say to him - he pushes past their shoulders. They stumble. Bakugou is thinking about playing Search Party in the forest with the neighbourhood kids when he gets back home. One of them swings round, but his friend pull him back. Bakugou snorts to himself, hooks one hand in his backstrap. He hears, as they walk away;

“... the son of a villain. Leave him alone.”

“He’s the villain. There can’t be anyone worse than that.”

“Shut up, he’s going to-”

He doesn���t play with the neighbor kids. He sits in detention, skin scraped from his palms from the force of the explosions. His forearms ache, his throat hurts from screaming, and he thinks of the villain caught last night in downtown xxx.

Yelling, cursing, screaming.

Down on his knees, mouth gag, the glint of All Mights teeth.

He’s the villain.

+++

Younger

Beats bullies bigger than him, older, ones who leer and kick but only get so far once he starts popping explosions behind his caged fingers. They’re just troubled people, angry, hurt, arrogant - but not evil. They get scared when he threatens them, barely hold onto pride; they don’t throw themselves behind their behaviour, stake themselves on action like Bakugou does.

///end

[seasaltmemories]

Demons Chapter 11

Rating: T

Summary: There's nothing broken about you. We just need to allow ourselves the privilege to exist.

When Petra woke up, her head was pounding like a drum. It felt as if she had to carry concrete slabs with her pinky toe just to lift her eyelids. The closest thing to a coherent thought she could muster was regret over drinking whatever beverage it was that could cause a killer hang-over like this. Still as she slowly came to her senses, she realized this felt nothing like that. Whatever this was, it was worse, as if Life itself had picked her up and wrung every drop of energy from her body.

Then a set of bars came into focus, and immediately it was like none of that pain matter anymore. Petra sat up not only to find herself locked in a cell, but a blonde girl sitting across from her.

She looked to be no older than her mid-teens and even smaller than Petra herself, but that did nothing to ease her nerves. There was a dangerous aura to her, one of a soldier, someone trained in discipline. Despite this, she didn't even seem to regard Petra as more threatening than a fly. Somehow that was most frightening thing about the situation, someone holding so much power yet regarding it as nothing.

"Where am I..." As slurred and mumbled her words came out, the girl instantly turned to face her, cool blue eyes glaring at her. For a moment, Petra truly feared for her life, but slowly the girl answered her question.

"You have been detained and arrested by the Holy Legion."

At the sounds of those words, Petra's heart sank like a stone. Memories of Captain's last words came to the forefront of her mind.

Don't trust anyone or anything related to the Holy Legion, if you hear that name, run

And here she had gone and gotten herself captured by them instead.

After the jump, Captain had wanted to sleep for a week. Jumping from one created dimension to the next was nothing like he was used to. Even with his additional training, it still felt like running marathon in an hour. Usually he tried to take a break for a few days just to recharge his batteries.

But then one worry kept tugging at his mind from time to time, keeping him from relaxing fully. He knew Petra wasn't the type to look fondly on him getting a bit overprotective, but it felt wrong to leave her out there without a clue of what was going on. They had been doing this for decades while she was still so green behind the ears.

She could deck you in the face for this kind of behavior you know

And maybe he really deserved it. There was no no explanation for visiting her dorm at this hour that wouldn't paint him as a creep. Still at the very least he needed to rest his nerves. He'd be able to heal a lot faster without having to worry about her on top of everything else.

It was difficult getting into an area so densely populated by humans who had no sense when it came to their sleep schedules. Still stealth was his specialty, and he found himself inside soon enough. At first it seemed as if no one was there, but suddenly he heard a voice.

Quickly he hid as he tried to distinguish the source. It sounded like that girl he had seen hanging around Petra few times. Captain began to listen closely to the individual words she was saying.

"Hey Ian, Petra texted me saying she was gonna stay over with you. Apparently she had something going on today that was located near you and didn't want to make the trip here late at night."

Hearing that news was like having a weight lifted off his chest. He didn't think he had the right to thank God or anything else holy, but the desire to was raw and real. In his relief he almost didn't hear the last part of the conversation.

"What?! You're saying she didn't make it over there!?"

The worst part about being captured was the silence. Her jailer wasn't the chatty type, which left her alone to think about her failure over and over again. Her subconscious replayed the moments right before she was captured. Each time she remembered the it, it was like getting punched in the gut. No matter what she did it seemed her efforts were always useless.

At some point she was taken out of her cell to be read her "charges" for all her crimes by a mysterious

figure cloaked in white. As nice as it was to stretch her legs, it left her more confused than anything else.

"You are charged with collaborating with demonic forces." The figure announced. "Depending on how long and how far this relationship has gone, your sentence will be extended."

"So what does that mean from you weirdos? Do I get a time-out for not living up to whatever cult you run?"

"I suggest you not take the Holy Legion so lightly." Their voice took on a dangerous tone. "We're the only thing that stands between humanity and its destruction. Having infidels like you work together with such monsters makes it even harder to cleanse the world. If I were you I'd show some repentance. Those who don't beg for forgiveness are treated the same as a demon."

Something about those words set off a switch in Petra. Maybe she would have taken this better if she had already cut off contact with Captain and the gang and would have thought before she spoke. Maybe is she wasn't tired and scared out of her wits she would have tried to act pragmatically. Maybe if for a year now it hadn't felt like her life was being run by everyone but herself she would have known not to piss off those who held her life in their hands. Even so, she had grown already sick of whatever freakshow this was.

"Where were you my entire life then?" Her words were as sharp as a knife. "I spent my childhood convinced I was out of my fucking mind. Demons haunted my every move, but apparently they weren't important until I finally found some peace, and now you want to take it away?" Without thinking she raised her fist to strike them, when suddenly she was slammed to the floor by the blonde guard from before.

"Thank you, Ariel." The clocked figure bowed as she dug her heel deeper into Petra's back.

And so her brief stint out of the cell was ended. Looking back she would have taken more of those cryptic threats over this silence. She was still without a clue of what exactly this Holy Legion was up to. All she knew for sure was that she had damned herself in their eyes, and their road to redemption was unlikely to be one she'd like.

With a sigh, Petra raked a hand down her face. This is what she gets for trying to make sense of her madness, to try and find a purpose in her life.

What am I going to do?

At this point she wasn't even sure she could pray to anyone for help.

Faster and faster, Captain teleported himself through the streets of Sina. It was a crazy plan, one even Girly wouldn't have ever suggested. Still the Holy Legion would have to be blind not to notice him this way. Eventually, they'd come to attack him and that's when his search for Petra would really begin.

He knew Commander and Four-Eyes would never allow this sort of behavior to happen. He could practically hear their more logical arguments with each jump. How do you expect to take on the Holy Legion yourself? Do you expect to be able to fight demon hunters after exhausting yourself out? Who knows if they really have Petra. For all he knows she could already be dea-

Captain bit his tongue hard. No, he would not accept that. She was his partner for a good reason, brave as hell and even fiercer. If any human could survive them it was her. It had to be her. Even so he couldn't sit around just twiddling his thumbs while she was in danger.

"Wait for me Petra, I'm coming," He whispered to himself. He'd rescue her no matter what stood in the way.

It was hard to keep track of time. Even if Petra hadn't been busy wallowing her own self-pity, there was no windows or any other signs that could have helped her. So when she found a plate of food and a glass of water set before her, she couldn't help but look up in surprise.

"Eat." It was the first time her guard had spoken to her, making the situation all the more surreal.

Without even thinking, Petra said, "Thank you, Ariel..."

For some reason that made her freeze up. It was another first of hers, showing some emotion besides bland neutrality.

"Is that not what the other dude called you?"

"It is..." She brushed a few strands of hair behind her eye. "But it's not a name I expected to hear from a prisoner of all people."

"A name's a name. why does it matter who says it?" Petra pretended to be occupied with tearing a loaf of bread into smaller pieces. This might be her only opportunity to fish for information. The worst thing she could do would be to ruin it all because she got too eager.

"It's less a name and more a title. Your kind knows very well the power names have." There was a slight quirk to her lips that could be mistaken for a smirk.

Damn it, so she wasn't as subtle as she'd have prefer. Oh well at least Ariel seemed entertained by her antics.

"Did you get to choose it yourself? Because if it's supposed to be intimidating, all it does is remind me of the redhead mermaid from that one movie."

"The reference is more academic than that." She approached Petra's cell to sit across from her, movements effortless graceful as if belonging to a dancer. "The protagonist of Shakespeare's The Tempest, has two slaves: Ariel and Caliban. The former was obedient and well-loved, earning his freedom at the end for his good deeds. The latter was unruly and regarded as inhuman. While he does receive forgiveness in the end, his fate is unclear. The Holy Legion mirrors such behavior for sinners like us. If you act as an Ariel, you're one step closer to earning redemption. On the other hands, Calibans fates are more ambiguous." Even without having observed her quiet nature before, it was obvious that Ariel was not used to speaking this much. Her words came out stilted and awkward, like she was reading a script in a foreign language.

"So am I a Caliban in your eyes?" Petra leaned forward, no longer hiding her interest.

"Everyone starts out as Caliban before the Holy Legion recruits them. Very few are strong enough to dedicated themselves fully to eradicating demons from this world. However a Caliban can always change into an Ariel if they wish to. Your choice is simple. If the Holy Legion runs out of patience though, then soon your disobedience will be punished."

"What happened to that forgiveness?"

"It is always granted at first, but if it is not accepted by the recipient, judgment must be dealt."

"Why tell me this, though?"

"Because I'm tired of unnecessary violence." She gave a long sigh that sounded centuries old. "You seem smart enough to know when to fold your hand." While she tried to remain impersonal and detached, one ghost of an emotion still tainted her words. She seemed lonely, but that wasn't even the most surprising thing she found about her.

The more she looked at Ariel, the more she reminded reminded Petra of herself as a teen, someone who felt so alone and alien in her own world.

All this purple prose and odd behavior was making her head spin. So far what she knew about this Holy Legion was not adding up. Their job was to destroy demons and ones who associated with them like her, yet that was where they tried to recruit their workforce. They named their workers in a very demonic fashion based on if they earned redemption for some unknown sin or-

A thought came to Petra that was shocking, she had to keep from yelping at the revelation. Dear lord, if she was right...

"You're right. I'm not stupid. If that's the only way I can survive, then I'll join y'all." She waited for the right moment, when Ariel's body seemed to loosen up ever so slightly and her guard was let down for a half-second, and then she reached through the bars of her cell to grip her as fiercely as possible.

She fought and bit and screamed to get Petra off her, but her grip was unshakeable. It had to be here. She couldn't be wrong. Then suddenly it flashed before her eyes.

The key.

The crowd seemed to roar louder than any beast alive. One name kept getting chanted over and over again. Annie. Annie. However one quiet voice managed to impact her more than they ever could.

"You have to win this, Annie. You've come so far to make it to the championship. I will not accept failure from you. Do not let her beat you."

With that, Annie stepped into the ring to face her opponent. Already she felt a fraction of her resolve wavering. She looked hardly like a teen her age, more as if Athena herself had come down to Earth and had decided to take up boxing. Even so she tried to stay strong. Dad wouldn't accept failure.

Once the match started, it felt like it would go one forever. Again and again the two weaved around each other, not giving the other an inch. Ugh, they couldn't play this game forever. She had to strike now.

With all her strength, Annie lunged forward with a left hook; however, as she stepped forward, she found herself slipping in a puddle of sweat and hitting her head against her opponent's chair.

Then there was only darkness.

When Petra came back to the real world, she found the demon glowering at her. She looked like a feral animal, and somehow Petra knew if she didn't save her, Annie would decide to kill her.

"You're life has always been this way, Annie. Instead of making your own decisions, someone else has told you what you needed to do, and if you didn't live up to their expectations they beat you into the ground for it."

"You fucking bitch!" She snarled, pulling out a key from her pocket. "I'll-"

"To be honest I've suffered in the same way. First I tried living up to the expectations of human society and simply denying a part of myself, and then I started only valuing the part of me that could live in demon society."

She plunged the key to the lock and all but ripped open the door. This was it, there was no escape if Petra didn't act now.

"Things aren't going to get better for either of us, if we stop trying to be the person others want to be and just choose to be ourselves! It doesn't matter that you're a demon, Annie. There's nothing broken about you. We just need to allow ourselves the privilege to exist!"

Petra closed her eyes, waiting for a fist to connect with her face, but it never happened. When she dared to open her eyes again, she found Annie fading away right before her. For some reason she found her mouth trying to speak, to say something, anything about the situation, but the words wouldn't come. Even so, as she disappeared, a ghost of a whisper passed by Petra's ear.

"Thank you..."

For a beat, all Petra could do was shiver from the chills it sent down her spine. Had that all been intention on her part? Had Annie really wanted to be saved instead of a slave to those who condemned her? Whatever it didn't matter. She could think about such matters once she got out of here. Of course then there was that matter of Petra didn't know where exactly she was...

It was right then she heard a noise coming from the door. Someone was on their way to this room and were coming fast. Despite her lack of weapons or anything really to defend herself, Petra immediately fell into a fighting stance. If she were to die here, then she would go down with a fight.

The door flew open, but instead of eerie figures in white clocks, only one familiar person stood.

It was Captain.

A thousand emotions seemed to run counter to each other in Petra: relief, confusion, joy, fear. Captain though just stared and stared, like she was a miracle just for taking a breath. A part of herself screamed to shoved that inside the deepest dark vault inside her mind, to not let anything dangerous spill out.

Petra said screw that, and leaped into his arms with no regrets.

"Petra," He whispered her name like a prayer. His face was buried in her shoulder, his grip around her frame almost vicelike. All the adrenaline from before began to drain from her body, and suddenly all she wanted to do was collapse and just sob her heart out until there were no tears left. Instead of flinching from such display of vulnerability, Captain simply rubbed his hand in soothing circles and murmured gentle sounds.

"Come on, Girly. Let's get you home."

When Captain came to see her after she had settled down, she felt his presence more than anything else. Her attention had been fully occupied by a Greek shoreline, but at the familiar zap of teleportation, she knew he had returned. Without even turning her head, Petra greeted him.

"Anything you need."

"Just wanting to make sure you're ok after that phone call." He moved to sit next to her. Four Eyes had been the one to deal with most of the details of relocating. At this point it was just tying up the loose ends so she could disappear effectively. Who knew that would be so painful though?

"I'm not sure Dad was processing it. All the money just blew his mind, but then to hear about that witness protection story, it might have been just too much."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that." His words were awkward, but it was the intent that mattered.

"I appreciate it. Still I hope I don't have to leave Sina forever. Even if it's only for a little while I want to see Rico and Dad at least one more time."

"This isn't the first time we've had to move shop because of the Holy Legion. If they see your face in town, they'd jump you right away."

"And you think that would stop me?" She raised an eyebrow and shot him a cocky grin.

Captain smiled back. "No it wouldn't." For a beat the two of them just sat there, enjoying the other's company. But unfortunately nothing can last forever. It wasn't long before he was asking her another question.

"So what are your plans now? You want out?"

Petra licked her lips, trying to find the right words. "Not exactly. I think I'm going to start studying the connection between demons and history, specifically in portrayals of mythology. I told you I loved Greek mythology, didn't I? This is the perfect way to put that and my demon knowledge to use."

"But does that mean we're still partners?"

Hazel eyes met silver, so sharp and piercing and a million other things that made her inside do flips.

"Not necessarily. I may not be staying in the demon taming business, but things don't have to change that much."

"What do you mean?"

She took a deep breath. In. Out. Then slowly she laced their fingers together. "What exactly are we?" It was impossible to say who kissed who first, but it wasn't long before they were drinking each other completely in. As the two of them pulled back for air, a content sigh passed from her lips.

"...I have no idea how relationships like this even go, but do you want to give it a try?" It was strange seeing Captain bashful of all people. The tips of his ears were flushed red, and he seemed determined to look anywhere but her eyes.

Petra thought on the past year's trials and tribulations, of her revelation when captured by the Holy Legion, and all the other anxieties that had been gnawing at her core.

"I want you," she finally said. "I want to everything and anything my heart desires from now on."

Captain grinned. "Then let's get started."

A.N. After way longer than this story should have taken, it's done. It kinda feels unreal. On one hand this story is almost from a different time period in my life. I was 15 when I started this and still figuring out a lot about myself and now three years later and I'm heading for college in less than a week. I've changed so much as a person, I wondered if I was even telling the same story I started out as. Even so I glad to be able to finish this project once and for all. Thank you so much for your support. I love all my readers~

[traditional-with-a-twist]

Cat Burglar

Day 1: Superhero AU

A green laser lances into the roof when she opens the skylight. Nefertiti twists her body upwards so that she’s pressed against the ceiling, only her eyes, sharp even in the darkness, are exposed. She’s almost blinded by the brightness of the man hovering above her, costume glittering and wings spread wide for maximum effect. “That was a warning shot,” he announces. “So repent of your criminal ways and turn yourself in before I am compelled to do worse.”

Nefertiti doesn’t need to think twice. 

Releasing her grip, she hisses and backflips twice to land back on the floor in a crouch. She’ll find another exit. More alarms to dodge going through a new part of the building but… The cat burglar darts into the nearest hall and spies the corner of a window in the next display room over. Her tail flicks in satisfaction.

Checking that her goods are secure on her waist one hand, she takes a moment to glance back for pursuit. The window in front of her explodes into a fireball. “Gotcha.” A grinning man covered in blue scales comes flying out of the wall of fire and pins her to the wall with his claws. “No criminal gets away from me.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” He’s pinned her body but her arms are free. Nefertiti lifts her mask with a smile, eyes flashing red. The dragon man’s face goes slack and he sags away from her. She gives him a helpful push with her other hand and streaks back the way she came. And he thought he could intimidate her. Although, strange, that she hadn’t seen his wings this time—

“Halt!” She sprang back from the winged man in her path. In the low lights of the museum, her mistake was embarrassingly clear. This man shone even brighter gold than he had in the overcast sky and his golden crown and bracers only added to the effect as he blocked her escape with arms crossed. “What have you done to my partner?”

Not looking forward to more surprises, Nefertiti circled to the side of her challenger. Still an easy mark but she’d be more careful this time. In her peripheral vision, she could see that the dragon man was still sprawled on the floor where she’d left him. Ah, good. Tail lashing, she returned her attention to the other one. “Don’t worry; he’s only napping.”

She dodges when the laser fires from the emerald set in his crown, laughing. Saw that one coming. The white fires that bloom on his feathers are a bit more surprising, but no more trouble once he lets them fly. Not with all that space. It doesn’t even look like he’s aiming. She hears the pops of tiny explosions behind her. “Oh, property damage. Isn’t that sinking to my level?” He doesn’t rise to the bait, only continues looking smug and self-righteous.

A great rushing sound makes her snap her gaze behind her again. The dragon man is on his feet engulfed in a column of flame. “Oh, you’ll regret that!” he shouts and charges forward.

Nefertiti’s first instinct is to jump straight up. With a clap of his wings, her other pursuer follows her. He seizes her wrist before she can correct course. His bracer clinks against her bracelet for a fraction of a second, and they both gleam with a light so full it looks solid.

It is solid—because it follows her when the winged man drops her with a start, the golden light stretching between them like a rope. She considers it as her toes touch down and her feet roll onto the floor.

The dragon man skids to a stop, leaving trails of flame on the museum carpets. “Pegasus! What are you doing with her?!” His gaze flashes up and down between them. “Why didn’t you tell me that was the plan?”

They’re both off-balance. The winged Pegasus frowns. “I am not—”

Nefertiti smiles. Well, she’s never looked a gift horse in the mouth. “Don’t fight over me, boys. You’ll only embarrass yourselves.” She taps the golden light still tying her to him and finds she can wrap her fingers around it with no pain. She leaps again, using her weight to swing Pegasus into her place. He tumbles from the air, crashing into his partner as nice as if she’d asked him to. She lands ten feet behind them and the rope dissolves.

“Better luck next time,” she tells the tangle of limbs and then Nefertiti is finally off.

[jamaalw]

My Experiences With Sleep Paralysis Demonic Attacks And The Spiritual War We Are All In

What is Sleep Paralysis?

Many of you reading this probably have experienced it at least once in your lifetime or know someone who has experienced it. You wake up suddenly from sleep and you try to move but can’t no matter how much you exert yourself. You may manage to slightly move your toes or some other body part but it is a struggle and you still can’t move your entire body. This can go on for a few seconds or minutes but at times it can feel like an eternity. During an episode, you may perceive an evil, malicious presence. You may feel utter dread. You may also have actually seen a shadow person or a shadow person wearing a hat or some other evil, demonic-looking entity. You may have experienced some entity sitting on your chest or had an episode accompanied by an entity doing sexual things to your body. Some people have reported having someone’s hands over their neck choking them; others have had heard mocking laughter during an episode.

Lately, it has received more mainstream attention with a recent Netflix documentary and with so-called celebrity Kendall Jenner mentioning it. The phenomenon is called Sleep Paralysis. If you haven’t experienced it I can imagine the difficulty of trying to understand what it is like to experience it. Verily, it can be one of the most frightening experiences for a person and it feels very real to the experiencer.

Is it a spiritual attack or does science have a credible explanation for it?

The Christian website GotQuestion.Org always seems to come up on a Google search when you ask a question related to Christianity. Sadly, they deny sleep paralysis is a spiritual phenomenon:

….there is an entirely physiological explanation for the phenomenon known as sleep paralysis. As we fall asleep, our minds may enter a hypnagogic state. It’s what happens when the sleeper’s still-aware mind is faced with dream images. As some people wake up, they experience a hypnopompic state, which is the dreaming mind faced with stimuli from the real world. In both cases, the dreams can seem very real, taking on a vivid, hallucinatory feeling. Often these images are of black smudges, which the confused mind interprets as human figures, sometimes called “shadow people.” The hallucinations can also take the form of sounds like a loud bang or a child’s cry. These episodes frequently begin with a falling feeling followed by a “hypnic jerk” where the body’s muscles violently contract…..

Muscle paralysis in sleep is a necessary thing. People who act out their dreams on a regular basis are prone to accidental injury—even jumping out of windows. Knowing that you’re asleep and paralyzed, however, can be frightening. You tell yourself to open your eyes, just to get caught in another false awakening. One theory is that sleep paralysis affects the larger parts of the body more completely. You can try to wake up by wiggling your toes or fingers. It’s also possible to pray during this time. This will often give comfort that lets you fall back into unconsciousness. You may be able to avoid sleep paralysis by getting sufficient rest and avoiding drugs and alcohol.

In probably the vast majority of cases, sleep paralysis is just a quirk in a person’s REM cycle, not a spiritual attack.

Source

Huh, really? I have read statistics or studies that show many Christians actually don’t believe in a real, tangible devil exists. What an utter joke. Satan and his angels must be laughing their butts off at such professing Christians as it is a much more effective way for the enemy to attack and operate. It is apparent in the Bible satan and his demons are presented as real entities.

Guys, sleep paralysis is totally a demonic attack! I am 100% certain that it is. It’s not a hallucination like the secular scientists or even some self-proclaimed Christians try to rationalize it. It’s a disservice to many people looking for answers and solutions who happen to go on that site to read such nonsense. Scientists try to explain it away by saying sleep paralysis is merely the brain delaying to alert the body to wake up – our brains shut down our body so it won’t act out while we are dreaming. But just think about it, if it was merely a hallucination then how come people don’t see Mickey Mouse or Hello Kitty or Super Mario? Or how come people don’t report seeing a very beautiful woman or a handsome man? There are a zillion things a person can hallucinate but instead, it is something almost always sinister such as a shadow humanoid figure or aliens. And if you don’t know the “aliens” people have reported seeing come from the same source. More on that later.

If it was merely a hallucination then why do just about all cultures throughout the world associate it with a spiritual attack? This phenomenon is worldwide and not just a modern western phenomenon.

In China, it is known as guǐ yā chuáng which literally means “ghost pressing on body.” In Korean culture, it is called gawi nulim which means “being pressed down by something scary in a dream”. In Thailand, it is called Phi Am and believed to be caused by a ghost and can even inflict bruises. In Hmong culture, sleep paralysis is understood to be caused by a nocturnal pressing spirit, dab tsog. Dab tsog attacks “sleepers” by sitting on their chests, sometimes attempting to strangle them. Some believe that dab tsog is responsible for sudden unexpected nocturnal death syndrome (SUNDS). In Vietnamese culture, sleep paralysis is called ma đè, meaning “held down by a ghost,” or bóng đè, meaning “held down by a shadow.”

There are more examples. In Arabic culture, it is referred to as Ja-thoom which literally means “what sits heavily on something.” In southeast Africa, it is known as jinamizi which means “strangled by jinn.” In Pakistan, sleep paralysis is considered an encounter with Shaitan (satan), evil jinns or demons who have taken over one’s body. In Turkish culture, sleep paralysis is often referred to as karabasan (“the dark presser/assailer”). It is believed to be a creature that attacks people in their sleep, pressing on their chest and stealing their breath. However, folk legends do not provide a reason why the devil or ifrit does that. In Persian culture it is known as bakhtak, which is a ghost-like creature that sits on the dreamer’s chest, making breathing hard for them.

In Kurdish culture, sleep paralysis is often referred to as motakka. It is believed to be a demon that attacks people in their sleep, and particularly children of young age, and steals their breath away as they breathe heavily and keeps it out of reach. In Nigeria, it is called “the devil on your back”. In Mexico, it is believed that it is the spirit of a dead person they call it “subirse el muerto.” In Greece and Cyprus, it is believed that sleep paralysis occurs when a ghost-like creature or Demon named Mora, Vrahnas or Varypnas tries to steal the victim’s speech or sits on the victim’s chest causing asphyxiation. In many parts of the Southern United States, the phenomenon is known as a hag or “witch riding,” and the event is said to portend an approaching tragedy or accident.

My Sleep Paralysis Experiences

I will try to explain my experiences the best way I can for it is difficult to articulate spiritual experiences. Also, a lot of my experiences occurred over a span of several years so my retelling of it may be disjointed or lack cohesiveness because it all seems like a blur to me now. My apologies.

I have had sleep paralysis since I was a teenager. I think my first memory of sleep paralysis was when I went to visit my grandparents’ house in Panama in Central America. I remember I woke up paralyzed and saw flashes of light all throughout the room and it made a strange noise while it was happening. Very bizarre experience to say the least. Part of me knew it was demonic or aliens were literally trying to abduct me but another part of me didn’t know what in the world was going on.

During my teenage years, I remember I had an experience when during sleep paralysis an “alien” would act like it would be implanting something into my ear. Satan’s kingdom knew I was questioning the existence of aliens at that time and tried to use it to ruin my faith in God. I remember expecting my physician to find something inside of my ear using an otoscope but nothing would be found. I thought it was weird but I didn’t make the connection that it was really demons messing with me until I realized that aliens were really just demons masquerading.

A lot of times after a sleep paralysis attacked I would be utterly baffled about what just happened. It was until I did research on the internet I found out it was a phenomenon that a lot of people have experienced so much so it even had a name: sleep paralysis. To my surprise, I discovered it’s a common occurrence. I read testimonies online where people experienced things similar to what I experienced, especially the old hag attack. I don’t think I will ever forget this experience where I woke up with what I perceived to be a witch sitting on my chest trying to choke me to death. Even after I broke out of the paralysis I could perceive the witch flying around my room in circles.

Then about About 5 years ago, the sleep paralysis attacked reached a crescendo – meaning it ramped up in frequency and intensity. This fiery trial or ordeal went on for a period of about 4+ years. I believe it was because I repented of all my sins and totally recommitted and gave my whole life to the Lord and God Jesus Christ. I remember when I turned back to God I felt the Holy Spirit strong in me again. I was pretty shocked that God would forgive me of my sins because I have done a lot of wickedness in God’s eyes. I actually thought everything from that point on things were going to be smooth sailing in regards to my walk with my God. Little did I know the enemy was right there ready to retaliate and try to hinder my walk. It was like he pointed his infrared beam on me ready to take me out. From that point on all hell broke loose against me. Soon after I felt a threatening, evil entity stalking me but initially, I would try to dismiss it as my mind just imagining things. It felt like it desired worship from me. I know, strange. But considering satan desired worship from Jesus in retrospect it makes sense one of his angels wanted worship from me. I remember soon after I took a nap and then it happened: the sleep paralysis attack. I woke up unable to move my body and no matter how much effort I exerted I couldn’t manage to move. I felt this dark, sinister shadow envelope my being. I thought in my head “I am a dead man”. I knew this thing was going to kill me right then and there. But as it was about to “swallow me up” completely I thought in my head “Ah, don’t worry I have Jesus,” then immediately the darkness lifted off of me. Most people would probably be freaked out by it. But I was more rejoicing in the fact that I trusted Jesus even to the point of death.

You thought that was strange it gets stranger. I remember the next day or several days later I took a nap and again I experienced sleep paralysis. I barely closed my eyes to take a nap and I woke up hearing a static noise one would hear on a TV on channel 3. I broke out of the paralysis and I thought it was weird because my TV wasn’t on. I thought perhaps my brain is malfunctioning. I went back to take a nap and I barely closed my eyes then it happened again, the sleep paralysis with the same TV static sound but this time one of the most bizarre experiences I ever had (and I have had a lot of them) occurred. An evil spirit tried to enter my body through my chest while I was in paralysis. One may ask how do I know it was an evil spirit? Because it felt like the dirtiest, most unclean, evil, wicked thing. Now I know why Jesus called some spirits unclean when He expelled demons out of people. In Mark ch. 5, Jesus met a demoniac and Jesus said: “Come out of the man, thou unclean spirit.” That’s what it exactly felt like. Very, very, very unclean. I felt all yucky and disgusted as if when you see someone covered with bugs. When it tried to enter my body I “read” its thoughts or “inner voice”. It had an animal-like snarl I have never heard before and I knew the type of spirit it was. It was a spirit behind a sin that had a stronghold over my life for many years that I repented for and overcame. I knew the assignment the spirit had on me. I resisted the spirit and it left.

Afterward, I naturally got up out of my bed stunned, shocked, and disoriented. I then got out of my house and went to the gym. I walked around like I just went through trauma and as I was walking through the gym I literally wanted to scream out “the devil is real, repent and turn to the Lord Jesus Christ.” I can kind of chuckle about it thinking back but it was a very serious situation for me at that time.

From that point on I had sleep paralysis attacks every night and even multiple times a night for a long time. A lot of times I wouldn’t even sleep, I would just barely close my eyes and I would have a sleep paralysis attack. God allowed me to actually see into the spirit realm. I can recall one time where I was about to go to sleep I “saw” in the spirit realm a demon running at a very fast speed to my bedroom. I saw in the spirit realm that it stuck its head through the wall to scope me out. It was preparing to attack me because it knew I was about to go asleep.

During this period with my many experiences with sleep paralysis, I had a particular demon harass me. Even when I wasn’t sleeping I would perceive it was in my room and I would feel the most intense hatred and evil emanating from it. At times I couldn’t even stand it to be in my presence. The best way I can describe it is when you are standing in front of a very hot open oven and you want to close the door or walk away to get away from the heat. Same idea with this demon but instead of the intense heat it was intense evil, hatred, and ugliness emanating from it. I would tell it to leave in the name of Jesus Christ but it would continuously return. I resorted to fasting against this evil spirit in the name of Jesus. In Mark 9:29 and Matthew 17:21 Jesus said some spirits will not come out unless you pray and fast. This spirit wasn’t in my body but attacking me externally but I thought it was a worth a try to fast. I had nothing to lose to give it a try, right? This is when I first started getting into fasting so I really didn’t know what to do. I didn’t eat for about 4-5 days and I just said a simple short prayer to Jesus to have this fast be against that spirit. The day I ended my fast the spirit entered my bedroom to confront me and I felt the most intense anger and rage coming from the spirit. The atmosphere in the room was so thick with evil and anger that you can cut it with a butter knife. Then I perceived this evil spirit communicating to me saying angrily “why did you fast against me?” I was like “wow, so you hate fasting so then I am going to keep doing it then.” I incorporated fasting as part of my spiritual warfare arsenal. Eventually, the spirit left but the sleep paralysis attacks continued. I believe there are hosts of evil spirits assigned to Christians.

I also experienced demons literally hold me down while paralyzed. I can feel their actual hands on my body holding me down. I had experienced a demon trying to pierce me with something very sharp while in sleep paralysis. I once experienced demon or demons trying to pull me out of my body while in sleep paralysis. Even when I wasn’t asleep demons would show up. My heart would start racing and you would feel the most utter oppression, dread, fear, and evil in the atmosphere and I would feel this entity wanting to literally kill me right then and there.

I can recall a demon that entered my room while I was asleep and somehow managed to show up in my dream. The dream was pretty random but it involved music and I heard someone in the dream say to me “dance.” I said assertively “no, I only dance for Jesus!” Immediately I woke up in a sleep paralysis state. Apparently, the demon got angry I proclaimed my loyalty to Lord Jesus and retaliated.

One time I fasted for several weeks petitioning something from the Lord. After several weeks when I prayed I felt oil dripping down my head. I had a sleep paralysis attack where a demon actually took out a vacuum to try to suck it up. I know, weird.

There were times that sleep paralysis attacks would happen so frequently that I would think in my head before it happens “and here we go again.” But one night I did something differently and prayed to Jesus to send an angel to protect me. I saw in the spirit an angel standing outside my bedroom window and I didn’t get attacked that night. I never asked because I would think “who am I to ask God to send an angel on my behalf?” Thanks be to God that He would dispatch an angel for believers especially if you ask.

I can recall one night when I woke up from a dead sleep and I perceived a demon in my closet peeking at me (perhaps preparing to attack me with sleep paralysis?). And it was my inner voice rebuking it in my head but it wasn’t me who was doing it (I believe it was the Holy Spirit in me doing it). Then the demon flew right past my head as it fled. Strange.

As a person who refrains from any sexual activity (which includes masturbation) as every Christian should be doing if he or she is not married, the enemy knows at times I get tempted. I would have sleep paralysis attacks where demons would hold my body down (and I could actually feel their hands holding me down) and try to sexually stimulate my private parts. This has actually happened to me many times. It is very invasive and violating to go through this. I believe the enemy has demons observing every Christian and they study the person plotting to snare the person into sin. The enemy knows lust is one of my weaknesses.

I can recall one time after a long time of prayer I accidentally fell asleep at a park in my car where a Mormon church (which is a cult) was located nearby. I don’t know if there was a connection with the Mormon church but a dark cloud that came from the direction the church was located came over me and I was paralyzed and I tried with all my strength to scream “Jesus help me” then it lifted off me.

It didn’t matter where I slept. If I slept in the car I got sleep paralysis. If I slept at work during my break it would happen. I have had multiple people living in the same house and no one else experiences what I experience. Just about all the time I can feel or perceive the entity approaching me when I am lying down in my bed as if it is waiting for me to fall asleep to attack me.

Why did this happen to me so frequently? I believe I became a target because I turned back to God. Satan goes for the true born again Christians – those who truly seek God’s kingdom and His righteousness and to follow Jesus because they are a threat to satan’s kingdom.

By the way, not one time I was horrified or scared throughout this whole ordeal. To tell the truth I was more fascinated than anything else. It can be really mind-boggling to know with 100% certainty that demons exist. For a lot of people, it’s difficult for the natural mind to accept there are spiritual entities. But after the fascination wore off and I developed a strong hatred against them and even more determined to cling on to God and do more for His kingdom.

Possible Door Openers to the Enemy And Solutions

You may ask why does sleep paralysis happens to some and not others? I believe there are several primary reasons why it routinely happens to some people. With my experience and observation with deliverance – that is, casting demons out of people – when you practice sin you break the hedge of protection that God has around you and you unwittingly opened the passage for the enemy to come on in and attack you. I believe there are other ways that hedge protection can be broken such as your parents practicing witchcraft or occult or being involved with a person who practices such abominations.

I think stepping into the enemy’s territory can open doors. I remember one time I reluctantly went to a nightclub with a couple of friends and that same night when I went to sleep I had sleep paralysis and I perceived demons hovering above me going around in circles. Several months ago I went with a friend as he gave me a tour of some bars he frequented. I was just curious to see what it was like inside and despite not even drinking or anything of that nature that same night I got attacked.

The enemy hates when a Christian has a strong, consistent prayer life. I would tend to receive retaliation through sleep paralysis after I have engaged in heavy prayer. So it is possible that you are not necessarily doing anything wrong at all but you are just high on the enemy’s hit list because you are heavily engaged in spiritual warfare (whether it is through praying incessantly and fervently, fasting, evangelizing, etc.).

Apparently, the medical establishment has no solution for sleep paralysis because it is fundamentally a spiritual problem. The solution is to repent of your sins and give your life to the Lord and God Jesus Christ. The list of sins can include masturbation, porn watching and any other sexual immorality which is running rampant in the U.S. New Age or eastern mysticism practices can also open doorways. Not too many people are stupid enough to open doorways to the enemy by practicing satanism so the devil deceives people to open doorways through New Age spirituality or eastern mysticism. At the root of the New Age is self-centeredness. The originator of the modern New Age movement comes from Madame Blavatsky (Hitler was a fan of her) who admitted Lucifer was her god. If you are practicing meditation, black or white magic, astral projection, energy crystals, tarot cards, reiki, seeing a psychic, a palm reader or watching horror movies please repent and renounce it in the name of Jesus Christ.

Having certain objects can have demonic attachments such as ouija boards, dream catchers, idols (which can include Buddhist, Hindu, or Islamic related objects), etc. If you have such objects get rid of it as soon as possible. Get rid of any ungodly objects in your home, period. Please repent and renounce it in the name of Jesus Christ.

Here is a list of things you may be practicing or have they may be opening up doors to the enemy [Click here].

There could be generational curses. If your ancestors were involved with the occult, shamanism, witchcraft, New Age practices, etc. it could leave you vulnerable to sleep paralysis. You can try breaking those curses in the name of Jesus Christ.

If you still happen to be under attack during an episode you can even call upon Jesus Christ even in your mind during an episode (yes, God knows all of your thoughts, He is God after all). God hears when anyone calls out to Him especially in urgency and in faith.

I have played an audio Bible (you can find many uploaded on Youtube) while sleeping to prevent attacks. The Bible reads God’s word is like a two-edged sword (Heb. 4:12), like fire, and a hammer (Jer. 23:39). The enemy hates to hear the word of God. This is what I know for certain from my experience with praying for deliverance for people. I have actually heard demons scream out of the mouth of a person when reading scripture.

Just know Jesus Christ is infinitely more powerful than the devil and his minions. In fact, when Jesus was walking on the earth about 2,000 years ago demons were terrified of Him and would cry out not to send them to hell. In Luke 4:34 it reads “Saying, Let us alone; what have we to do with thee, thou Jesus of Nazareth? art thou come to destroy us? I know thee who thou art; the Holy One of God.” And in Matthew 8:29 it reads “And, behold, they cried out, saying, What have we to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of God? art thou come hither to torment us before the time?”

The Spiritual War We Are All In

If you are a believer the devil doesn’t want you to know Jesus said in Luke 10:19 “Behold, I have given you authority to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing will injure you…“. Did you catch that? He gives AUTHORITY OVER ALL THE POWER OF THE ENEMY.

The enemy uses intimidation through deception. He’s not so scary if you have Jesus Christ and stand on His word. The enemy is not as strong as he presents himself to be. If he was so powerful then all of us would be killed right now. God has the enemy on a leash. He can only do what God allows him to do. The reason most people are not killed during a sleep paralysis attack is that God’s protective hand preventing the enemy from doing so. Remember Job? Satan could only do to Job what God allowed him to.

When I was going through my ordeal or fiery trial I visited numerous churches and told them about my problem and sadly they didn’t know what to say or do. Most Christians have no clue about spiritual warfare which is sad because they should be the ones who should have the remedy for spiritual issues, as Christians are the ones with the truth. The vast majority of Christians are what I call religious or nominal Christians – they never repented of their sins and denied themselves, fast, give up the vain things of the world, etc. for Lord Jesus. They are not a viable threat to satan’s kingdom. It seems like satan has done a number on a lot of Christian churches in America. It’s really too bad many of our churches are so filled with nonsensical, watered-down messages. Many Christians don’t have discernment and thus are blind to the seriousness of the war we are all in. The whole world is in darkness and in bondage to satan. There is a worldwide spiritual war going on for the souls of multitudes and yet the church is not equipped to address it or even acknowledge it.

I felt alone when I went through the fiery trials but I looked up and found other Christians online who went through something similar I went through so I know I wasn’t going crazy. By God’s grace, I was able to overcome the fiery trials. Thank be to God.

Whether you believe it or not we are born into a world with a spiritual dimension. The Bible reads in Ephesians 6:12 “For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.” Basically, for satan and his demons, their mission is to kill, steal, destroy and deceive and ultimately drag you to the lake of fire where he is sentenced to go in the future. The Bible reads satan is the god (lowercase “g”) of this age (2 Cor. 4:4). He is called the prince of the power of the air and the spirit who now works in the sons of disobedience (Eph. 2:2). Jesus called satan the ruler of the world (John 12:31; 14:30). Indeed the Bible reads the whole world lies in the power of the wicked one (1 John 5:19). The fact satan offered Jesus all the kingdoms of the world if Jesus worshipped him testifies satan really is the ruler of this world. Jesus never denied he owned the kingdoms. The gall of the devil to tempt the Creator to worship him!

I really hope skeptics or unbelievers in Christ realize there really is a real spiritual realm. I can’t emphasize it enough there is a spiritual battle going on for your soul. Satan’s job is to keep you to repent from your sins and turn to the Lord Jesus Christ so you won’t be sealed with the Holy Spirit – the Spirit of Truth.

To all those who are skeptical you are going to have to deal with the fact your favorite musicians or actor believes in the spirit realm. Elvis Presley, Beyonce, Jay Z, John Lennon, Jimi Hendrix, Oprah Winfrey, Denzel Washington, etc. They all admit to channeling spirits [Watch Demonic Spirit Channeling By Pop “Musicians” Exposed & The Spirit Behind Hollywood Exposed (Channeling, Possession, and Satanism)].

It is crazy we were dumped into satan’s kingdom – born into darkness – a world filled with deception and lies. But there is hope! A Savior, a Person – satan has nothing in Him. A Person who overcame the world. The Light of the world. Jesus Christ of Nazareth. When He returns He’s going to put an end to satan’s kingdom. In Revelation, it reads he gets thrown into the abyss and then ultimately into the lake of fire. So there will be no more sleep paralysis or any kind of demonic attacks then! Jesus’ kingdom will be an everlasting kingdom that will come to no end (Daniel 2:44). All of this should make you reevaluate your life if you’re not a believer. Who or what are you living for? Is there really a heaven and a hell?

There is a pull on the whole world by satan to do evil and to reject the real Jesus Christ of the Bible (I say the real Jesus Christ because many people have a false Jesus that can’t save). He’s not the Muslim Jesus who is merely a prophet and never died on a cross for the sins of the world. He’s not the Mormon Jesus who is the spirit brother of lucifer. He’s not the Jehovah’s Witness Jesus who is the archangel Michael. He is not the New Age Jesus who is a mere man who attained spiritual enlightenment through occult means. The real Jesus Christ is God manifested in the flesh (John 1:1;14, Col. 2:9)!

In God’s Kingdom when a sinner repents and turns to the Lord and God Jesus Christ the angels in heaven actually rejoice over that one sinner according to Jesus. God actually grieves because of our sins. In Genesis ch. 6 it reads “Then the Lord saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every intent of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually. 6 And the Lord was sorry that He had made man on the earth, and He was grieved in His heart.” So I can easily imagine God being broken-hearted when someone refuses to turn to Him (also read Ezekiel 6:9).

But on the opposite end, there is satan’s kingdom and I have no doubt satan rejoices when a sinner dies in his sin. Satan is like that guy at a pool party who is about to fall inside the pool and tries to hold onto other people to drag them down with him. Indeed, satan is trying to drag everybody down with him to the lake of fire. But I believe satan gets furious when a sinner repents and turns to Jesus for salvation because he lost someone he once held captive. In Luke 4:18 it reads: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me, Because He has anointed Me To preach the gospel to the poor; He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted, To proclaim liberty to the captives And recovery of sight to the blind, To set at liberty those who are oppressed;”

All of us without Jesus are actually prisoners of the devil. In fact, we are all spiritually dead unto God until we are born again by the power of the Holy Spirit. Then we are reconciled to God.

Only by the power of Jesus can those shackles and prison bars be broken. I have never witnessed anything but the power of God that can deliver anyone from drug, alcohol or sex addictions.

When a person turns to Jesus the person actually has their name in the Lamb’s Book of Life (Revelation 3:5). Is your name written there?

If you need someone to talk to about your sleep paralysis issue or need prayer please feel free to reach out to me. Also, feel free to share your experiences with sleep paralysis in the comment section.

Have a good, peaceful sleep in the name of Jesus 🙂

“I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety.” – Psalms 4:8

[therecoveringlawyer]

No, no, after you.

I arrived at the airport with plenty of time, an anomaly for my frenetic, always-ten-minutes-late way of scrambling through life. Neither two minutes late (excusable), nor twenty minutes late (apathetic), but ten minutes late; I was always ten minutes late… which, to me, screams pathetically of wanting, yet constantly failing, to be on time. I strolled up to my gate to find boarding had just begun. With atypical calmness, I curiously analyzed human nature as the boarding classes were announced. I was in boarding group 5, and I watched as the folks from in my group hovered like salivating hyenas around writhing roadkill, waiting for the beep of the boarding pass from last person in group 4. Right on cue, I was caught up in the group 5 stampede pushing toward the gate-agent bottleneck. Out of nowhere appeared two women, cutting in line from the side, with complete disregard for the queue forming from the back. I don’t know what got into me in that moment, but I promptly decided I would hold my ground. One of the two women managed to sneak in front of me, and I pretended not to notice the matching white pants, curled hair, and weekend eye makeup of her friend directly behind her. Undoubtedly heading to a girls weekend or a bachelorette party, they were dressed almost identically. I could hear their phone conversation the night before: “Ugh, what are you going to wear on the plane?” One would ask the other, while staring forlornly into her closet, lamenting the serious lack of options. Nevertheless, I pretended I didn’t realize they were traveling together and proceeded to very closely follow woman number one down the jetway. Woman number two followed me almost as closely, and I could feel her palpable disdain as we walked briskly to the plane. I don’t know what possessed me to assert my place in an arbitrary pecking order in the first place, but there I was, with my chin jutted out, actively readjusting my ponytail as I walked, tossing my head just such that my long hair threatened to hit woman number two squarely across the face if she got too close. I started to feel guilty for my Desperate Housewives behavior right about the time the first woman started talking, thinking her twin-friend was right behind her. She turned around, expecting to see her friend, and instead found me, right on her tail. I saw my opportunity. “Oh! Are you two traveling together?” I feigned and stopped abruptly. “Please, go ahead,” I motioned to the woman behind me. She shook her head and rolled her eyes as she passed. Her friend gave me a little smirk and a tight-lipped “thanks.” As we boarded, the two discussed who would take the middle seat for this flight, and I watched like a hawk as the overhead bin space filled up suitcase by suitcase. It was a small plane, and I have one of those roll-aboards that sometimes only fits horizontally in the overhead compartment, taking up two spaces. It’s the luggage equivalent of the morbidly obese person who refuses to buy two plane tickets. Though usually sheepish about this situation, I indignantly hoisted my over-packed suitcase horizontally into the bin above and watched out of the corner of my eye as the two women slid into the window and middle seats of my assigned row. “How funny,” woman number one muttered as I slunk into my aisle seat. I returned a plastic smile and remarked a little too loudly, “well that worked out well.” Woman number two, positioned in the middle seat, said nothing. They dropped their heads and began whispering to one another, and in that moment, I wished I had made the time to put on makeup this morning. Immediately self-conscious of my messy ponytail and Lululemon workout attire, I knew without hesitation that I would trade the leisurely cadence of my morning and accept a sweaty, breathless arrival at my gate, if only it meant under-eye concealer, a brow pencil and some gloss. There is the shame of bad behavior, and then there is the shame of bad behavior compounded by the inability to fake confidence behind a mask of contouring bronzer and mascara. Sighing, I indulged in the only escape available and popped in my headphones.

As the drink cart arrived, I contemplated my opportunity to make amends. Perhaps I should buy their bloody marys, I considered. If we had been in college, or even graduate school, I would have popped for a round of shots, knowing almost all bad behavior can be excused by the acknowledgement and apology that comes from picking up a tab. We were the only people in our immediate area drinking on a Friday morning, so our flight attendant, a decent-looking man, who wore the same cologne as one of my boyfriends from my early twenties, engaged us in playful banter. Clearly, he mistakenly believed I was the brunette friend of the trio. “All together?” he asked, credit card machine in hand, and time stopped for a brief moment while I considered my options. The girls had ordered an assortment of cocktails, adding coffee with baileys to their bloody-Mary repertoire. It would be a pricey repentance. At the same time, I watched woman number one scrunch up her face as she momentarily considered just adding my glass of rose to their extensive bill. “What’s one more drink?” I could see her ask herself, willing to forgive my transgressions so as not to inconvenience our flight attendant. “No, no, mine is separate,” I insisted, smiling at woman number one and momentarily redeeming myself by doing what should have been done in the first place. I imagined the woman thinking to herself, “Maybe she’s alright after all,”as the flight attendant ran my credit card for $7.00 and handed me a tiny plastic bottle of bright pink wine. I basked in the moment of imaginary acceptance. Drinks in hand, the women and I engaged in a brief exchange, wherein I learned they were on a self-described “adult spring break” for the start of training camp. They politely asked me if I too was headed for a weekend of sunshine and baseball. “No, just meeting friends in Santa Fe,” I responded, immediately recognizing the flash of surprise in their eyes that a bitch like me could actually have friends. “And not just any friends,” I wanted to tell them, “but friends who would drive six hours to see me.” We smiled forcibly at each other. The conversation dwindled awkwardly, and I picked up my phone, foregoing my headphones in case they got drunk enough to engage me in conversation. I couldn’t help but listen to their bloody-Mary fueled discussion with remorse and a little bit of envy. They actually sounded like the type of women I would be friends with. I let my imagination envision an entirely different morning, one where I kept my cool, unfazed by the two women cutting in line, and took my place in the aisle seat of their pack, casually striking up a conversation that would lead to lasting friendship. Women can be strange and fickle creatures. The irony was that I, too, was headed to my own girls weekend. Earlier that morning, my girlfriends, who would be driving to our destination while I was (obviously) flying, asked what additional clothes I wanted them to bring on my behalf. Headed for what we had assumed would be a poolside weekend when we had booked it, would actually require multiple layers and down jackets. My friends, arguable quite twin-ish themselves, were en route, undoubtedly sans makeup, with messy ponytails, and donned in Lululemon. It was a routine landing and people began filing off of the plane row by row. I exited my aisle seat and took a step backward, the signal in the universal language of travel for “after you.” 

Seconds passed and woman number two looked at me from the aisle seat, her eyes gleaming in triumph, as she tighten her ponytail and said through pursed lips, “No, please, go ahead.”