#but i overcame a lot to not be suicidal

[t4transsexual]

also one more thing to clarify: i am not suicidal. i havent had any suicidal ideation since early 2023, and that (and any other time ive had suicidal ideation) had nothing to do with me being trans. i had an extremely traumatic upbringing and severe CPTSD that i have gone through recovery to mitigate the effects of. i have gone from mentally disabled due to the PTSD to being able to work and go outside and LIVE. i did not put in the work to better my mental health for terfs to call me suicidal for not wanting to die. i AM NOT suicidal. sorry to disappoint, you despicable people

[project-sekai-facts]

Hey I've been wondering, could you explain Akito and his death symbolism? It's been constantly mentioned or implied in his recent focus songs and VBS covers (getting lines about "death" or "dying" and the likes)

It's just because the fandom is using that to mischaracterize him as an overly depressed and suicidal guy (another Mafuyu copy; pls save him and Tsukasa) and I just don't think that's what the writers mean to say and the point of his whole character!!!

(prefacing this: I'm aware there was a thread about this going round twitter a while ago, I haven't read it specifically because of this ask and if anything is the same that wasn't intentional and I apologise)

A large part of Akito's character arc is his difficulty with improvement and his sheer determination and passion that goes alongside it. He had always viewed his lack of natural talent and unrefined skills as something that made him inferior, which only led to him pushing himself to his extremes, and trying to face things independently and head-on. This is something that's touched on heavily in the STRAY BAD DOG event, where we get to see him learn to rely on his teammates more and realise that he isn't alone. Find A Way Out continues his arc of personal development, with him realising he's actually not so different to the people he looks up to, and finally learning to accept and feel confident with his improvement instead of just pushing forward almost desperately. It's that idea of him finally realising that he won't always be a step behind everyone else and good things are actually coming with his hard work.

Building off that idea, it's like a sort of rebirth. And that's where the links to Kashika come in. Kashika is a song about death and longing which gets horribly misinterpreted and has led people to believe Akito is suicidal which is simply untrue. The thing that's dying in this context is Akito's old self. The child who had no talent and was falling so far behind everyone. The child who worked so, so, so hard to be perfect is dying. And that sounds like a negative thing but it's really not. It's a metaphor for Akito reflecting on himself and moving on from the past and breaking new ground.

The 2DMV adds another layer to this with its marigolds, which not only symbolise death, but also can symbolise a renewal. And in this case, renewal refers to Akito's growth following the events of FAWO. He finally faced up to his past mistakes and overcame them, but even then he won't let himself feel relief. It's only with the help of Taiga's story about Ken that he's finally able to be more satisfied with himself and how far he's managed to come. He's finally able to break out from that belief that he's forever going to be stuck behind, and he's able to have faith in himself. Realising that Ken was just like him and managed to get to such a high level of skill and be so respected by those around him finally lets Akito believe that he too can reach that same light.

The butterflies in the background again symbolise renewal or transformation. It's not about death as per se, it's about change. Change and growth and transformation are recurring themes in prsk's character writing, and Akito is no exception. While on a surface level, Kashika is about death, if you put it next to the story, it's about regeneration. Akito is moving forward and leaving the old him behind, he says as much in the FAWO story.

If you actually read the lyrics to Kashika, it's genuinely kinda shocking to me how much people misinterpret its connection to Akito as a character. Like I get the song talks about death a lot and wanting to die, but particularly in these extracts you can see some of the key points of the FAWO event - Akito's determination, passion and self-acceptance. It's a song about Akito growing up, physically and emotionally, and saying goodbye to his past self.

Now as anon pointed out, the marigolds previously appeared in his card from Light Up The Fire. And while in the case of this event, it was most likely drawn to connect with the story surrounding Nagi's death, but it's worth mentioning that every character had their own flower, so the marigolds are specific to him.

As I mentioned in today's fact, aside from being associated with death, grief, and mourning, marigolds can also have positive connotations of optimism and passion based on their warm and vibrant colors. One of the key elements of LUTF was despair and grief, shown through more ways than one. Whilst the truth of Nagi's death came as a shock to the VBS and the others, the following battle with Taiga crushed their hope to the point that everyone except VBS gave up. VBS decides to keep trying for Nagi, and again there's that idea of a renewal. They know the truth now, and are going to come back and get better. Now while this is more general about VBS, the marigolds are still specific to Akito, considering how he's always been the most determined one who has taught himself that the only way he can succeed is through sheer perseverance. Whilst it applies to all of VBS in this instance, it applies even moreso to him.

Also it leads very nicely into his fes card story, which follows after the events of LUTF from his point of view. Something notable about his fragment sekai is that it's a completely barren wasteland. It's dead. And to top it all off, he gets amnesia. However the whole point of his sekai is to remind him of his determination, remind him that he has never once given up on this dream, how he's fought and fought to hold onto it and shouldn't let what happened with Taiga and the truth behind RW strike him down. Despite the area being dead and barren, and despite the fact he can't even remember who he is at all, he still pushes forwards and keeps walking through the dangerous environment because he knows he can't just sit around, he knows he has to do something. He knows it's not a choice, it's a necessity for him to persevere, even if he can't remember why. In the end he does remember, and finds a single flower that is managing to flourish despite the harsh conditions, and he even compares himself to it because truthfully they're one in the same. Even in a hopeless situation, Akito manages to pull through. In a metaphorical sense, he can't truly die, he still finds a way to thrive even if the world is against him. His determination truly is the core of his character.

And that leads us nicely to BURN MY SOUL, which I would consider to be the end of his first character arc. Despite having learnt a lesson about his true strength and potential in FAWO, he still hasn't reached that full potential, and he still believes that he needs to keep pushing and keep working. Through Ken's advice, he's able to realise that he's been so focused on perfection that he's bottling up all the passion inside of him. Because he's so passionate about music and it's this passion that fuels his resolve that is ultimately his core, his soul. And especially after everything that's happened, the fact that there's still a lingering sense of despair after the incident with Taiga, he needs to truly let that passion burn and realise that his true potential has been inside of him all along. His role as assigned by Ken is to light up a fire amongst the people again, so he let's the fire within him burn freely for the first time, and it works exactly as needed and is able to rekindle hope throughout the town and in one of his teammates.

Back to that idea about how metaphorically Akito cannot die, I really like the symbolism of fire within VBS and Akito in particular because it's framed in such a way that the fire lit by RW is a flame that can't burn out. Even with things such as CRaZY's "I'm so ready to die" and the "I'm going to pry it open like I'm going to die" voiceline that plays when you pull his WL card, it's not meant in such a way that he wants to die, but in a way that he's going to put his all into it as if it is the last thing he'll ever do. Akito doesn't want to die, he wants to live to see things through to the end. He's too determined to let anything snuff out his flame, and even then that makes me think of the original usage of snuffing out a flame, which was actually to trim the wick so the flame could burn brighter. If you care enough about that dumb candle analogy, you could say that Taiga/the events of LUTF tried to extinguish Akito's flame, only for him to come back from the dead (and quite literally considering the wasteland in his fes card), and now he's only burning brighter and stronger.

Akito's death symbolism isn't a negative thing. Akito isn't someone who wants to die, he's too determined to die. No matter how much the universe tells him to give up he'll never stop pushing and never stop breaking down the walls around him until he sees his dreams through. All his death symbolism is equally tied to the idea of rebirth or even just living. Kashika is about him leaving his past behind and moving forward, his fes card is about his passion counteracting despair, and Burn my soul/CRaZY/Break down the wall are all about him being so fired up that he's going to act as if it's his final day. He's learning to be satisfied with his life and where he is. He's ready to live and to say he wants to die is a great injustice to his character arc.

[xx-psych0-rabbit-xx]

anyways heres some misc jamba cult info from the japanese version of star allies the official translation removed/changed the meaning of i found a couple days back (fan translations can be found here)

-this is implied but misworded in english, the jamba cult worships dark matter rather than be masters of it (this is prob why gooey gets positive nickname privileges from zan on twitter)

-the magic n science ancients old relationship prior to the magic clans ban is explicitly positive in japanese

-english hyness says magic overcame science n reached prosperity, japanese says science n magic could only reach prosperity when together

-for wtv reason, english replaced one of the mentions of the "book of legends" (the book abt void hyness has) w talking abt ambiguous ancient scrolls instead...?

-theres some references to a paradise void will destroy in the japanese screens w that one cult prayer that were cut from english (the second n fourth ones specifically iirc), the sisters guest star screens make references to paradise as well, make of that what you will regarding the religious side of the cult

-most if not all instances of void being called dark lord r used to censor out void being called god/god of destruction in the original version

-pon & cons japanese title (a-un guardian beasts) is a reference to a buddhist concept of beginning n ending, the pause screen states they surrendered to the enemy n thats why theyre doing guard work there, rather than they became cultists off screen between games like one might assume

-japanese hyness uses ~ when talking a lot, while most ppl associate that w a character having a sweet cute voice tone, for him it likely just indicates he tends to drag out the end of words a lot

-fully removed from english, hyness has a complex abt his face, which is why its so well covered

-zans second boss screen in english credits her loyalty to hyness' intoxicating charisma n her sense of duty, while japanese later does canonize she has a strong sense of duty in a different screen, it instead says for the second boss she feels indebted he took her in n is also "enamoured" by his charisma n "admires him from within the heart", quoting the used wording bc i think shes both adorable n so deeply worrisome

-weve all heard the english translation censored zan being heavily implied to have attempted suicide n being saved by hyness after it fails (succeeds?) after shes struck by lightning n nearly dies/gets bought back by him.wtv take on hyness saving the mages you prefer

-zan is never called the eldest of the sisters in the original, just the chief of the trio

-hyness misremembers zans name as zan paruru, a pun on the japanese word for forgotten (wasuraruru), that same pun is used for her boss themes title

-one of zans attacks in japanese is named after the "thunder candies" (type of wagashi) found in kaminarimon, where a statue of the shinto thunder god raijin is found, zans drums used during that same attack r literally based on raijins own drums

-zans first boss screen claims she toys w her enemies through her quick attacks rather than render them helpless like prey.just mentioning bc thats silly n has a slightly new show of her personality that line up w her depiction on the official twitter in a way

-flamberge wasnt taking a break in her second boss fight she was just slacking off n picked a nice star/planet on purpose for that.thats funny of her so its justified

-flamberge calls francisca kiss-chan in japanese, this is the same nickname zan gives her in japanese thats officially translated as franny

-this isnt mentioned in the documents but im bringing it up bc its funny.that part of HIAD where francisca calls flamberge "miss flamberge" was just flamberge-san in jp, -san is just a polite honorific to use that isnt immediately translated to miss/mister, specially if the characters know each other.why did they make it that lmao

-japanese explicitly says too much heat might straight up make francisca melt (english also implies that tbf)

-francisca dislikes "pointless murder", but is fine freezing ppl n keeping them for her collection if she deems them an enemy

-hyness' japanese title can be read as both mage priest n devil priest

-the sisters titles all have a reoccurring use of ice blossom, hellfire n thunder fang respectively, n theyre called the demon generals instead of mage sisters

-HIAD hyness' title fell priest has a reference to fallen angels.i feel thats giving pre corruption hyness too much personality credit but alright

-void is refered to both as devil n angel in different forms titles.this is awesome

-theres a kanji for hope thats associated w the jamba cult throughout the whole game

-the japanese guest star screens for the mages say theyre no longer praying n r seeking a new paradise together, for whatever reason, english completely removes the no longer praying part, completely losing the meaning of the sentence n development the sisters have (interestingly, hyness is mentioned in those n still called their master, n zans description straight up states she wants him to watch her triumph (translated officially as her wanting to make him proud), so its not actually explained if they disbanded the cult or theyre just.some kind of normal religion now? but theyre atleast touching grass now)

todays conclusion is the KSA translators just hate us 👍 check the linked fan translation for more examples of that

[k4txlulzz]

[not a ship post.]

mystic messenger 707 after ending secret endings are better than whatever happens with the twins in another story . saeran is allowed to be human and not a perfect little baby boy who is hyper-dependent on mc(the girl who he met a few days ago) . he gets rehabilitated by his twin brother who is the one person who has and will always understand him most(they are a lot more similar and mirror each other more than some ppl think). people say this saeran doesn't have enough agency but truth is he was not in the right state to make decisions and in ray's route and after ending it's just mc doing it instead of saeyoung anyway. again, saeyoung is the person who knows whats best for him, not mc. additionally, seven goes through exact same mental struggles as his brother(example: suicidal tendencies + inferiority and guilt complexes) and its BECAUSE of the fact that he overcame them that he can reassure his brother properly. furthermore, saeran mirrors his twin's way of thinking when he basically asks himself "do i deserve this good ending?"

this route also has the most correct characterization of seven that, unlike another story stuff(ray AE especially lol), does not paint saeyoung as the aggressive bad boy twin . that whole thing with him being feral when it comes to protecting his brother and standing up to the agency + his dad + v is something i do love but it is, again, used to make him "the angry troublemaker one" . he gets tortured for two weeks straight for god's sake and saeran not only isnt allowed to have a proper reaction to it but sae just quickly recovers like nothing AND is "not nice" for not forgiving the dude who just did all that to him, apparently😭to give cheritz the benefit of the doubt, this maybe could be chalked up to seven thinking lowly of himself again but that's debatable

secret ending choi twins>>>>>>>>>

even though i love them being sweet in another story and i still think it is a very happy ending for twins, it isn't the right characterization

[raamitsu]

Umemiya Hajime, 14 years old young boy, dreamt to unite every students of Furin High and townsfolks together. I'll make this short since I can get very emotional when writing a post, sadly.

Referring to my previous post, a nine years old Ume went through a lot of unresolved feelings; and the most obvious one was definitely where he blamed himself for the accident that he did not expected nor caused. Fate is known to intertwine people not just through pleasure of life but also hardship, and he met his; kids from the orphanage, the man named Yuki who managed the orphanage and a student from Furin High which his identity was unknown - recognized Yuki as his "sensei".

Again, his fate intertwined with the student as he attempted to commit suicide for the second time, as his first attempt failed to take his life away. This was where his life began to gain its value. To be honest, it was a relieved turnover because Ume might not be existed as the current representative of Bofurin if he jumped off without the student to watch over or the townsfolks + Yuki to search for him. When reading from a reader's POV, you will realize that this situation is what you call "the little things that matters" ; to preserve and protect the life of innocent people. (Rings a bell, isn't it? Hehe.) It is also to gain your sympathy and empathy as a human being.

For the last five years, he had finally letting go of the guilt that chained him down, overcame his trauma and successfully built a strong bond with everyone at the orphanage (he even addressed himself as "onii-chan" which means "big brother" 😭) and became a 14 years old teen who had a big smile on his face and extremely cheerful - as we have also seen in the earlier chapters.

Back to the first paragraph, his goal was to connect the student of Furin and townsfolks together - in order to create an atmosphere filled with harmony and peace among themselves. This goes back to where he was saved by the same student from the same school he went into and the people from the orphanage who did not give up on him. Even when he has lost his parents' everlasting love and care through a tragedy, both of it were then extended through them. Therefore once again, Ume had regained the two things he has lost and decided to extend those with the others - thus create a place (or you can say a safe space) where "everyone can be happy together" regardless of who you are.

Man, Umemiya really has changed into a completely fine young man *sobs* Through a faithful and constant actions, he finally achieved it in a year after Furin was reunited.

Oh crap- unfortunately this post has gotten too long though I've said otherwise so that's it ^^ Thank you for patiently reading my thoughts.

[alexdelray1]

Mizu angst(idm if you write angst or have rules about it- I couldn't find anything on your blog so I'm so sorry if I missed anything and you don't wanna do this, that's totally fine)

Reader patches Mizu up, and they become attached and feelings ensue... However Mizu leaves, claiming it's for readers own good.

Not even a day later, Mizu heard word of some rogue soldiers attacking readers village. Mizu runs back only to find reader dead or dying

Mizu x Reader. Angst!

Y/L- your lastname.

You have always been in the same village where you were born. Your city wasn't modern or anything, but there were good people there so you loved it for so many good memories. You never even thought about leaving even for a while until one day.

POV:READER.

-Reader, how is the wood? - my mother asked me while I was stacking wood for the stove.

-We collected a lot over the summer, so we'll definitely have enough for many more months. - I replied with a smile and stood up.

-Since we have so much of it, maybe you can go and sell it in the village nearby.- said my mother, going to the stove to warm it up.

-But I don't know where it is.- I replied, crossing my arms.

-There are signs, and your father also went there once and got lost, but he found the way and you are his firstborn and only daughter, so I'm sure you will guess the way. - my mother urged me.

-Okay, but if I get lost, don't bury me, just burn me and throw my ashes into the water. - I said and grabbed a large straw basket. I started putting wood into it.

-You certainly are, my little suicidal woman, you don't have a husband yet and you want to kill yourself. Such things come to mind more after marriage, my mother commented and started helping me.

-Don't even remind me about it, I said. When we finished putting the wood into the basket, I put it on my back and walked to the door to the yard.

-Bye, mom. See you later. - I mumbled and left.

I started walking towards the gate. Winter is a very beautiful season, but at the same time a deadly one. So many people die in winter and so many animals die from various causes. Children, most often, stepped on thin ice. They were adults because they were drunk and went out into the yard and couldn't find their homes anymore. Animals because poachers hunt them more often in winter.

I got to the forest and saw the sign, but there was something wrong with it… It had blood on it. Maybe the poachers marked where they would go hunting.

I continued walking deeper into the forest, hoping to find the neighboring village. It was still dark, but it's better to go at night because there are a lot of thieves here during the day.

-Fuck…Oh shit…- I heard a voice behind the tree. My curiosity overcame my fear and I went behind the tree.

I saw a man, probably a samurai, lying in the snow.

-Oh my God! Are you okay?- I asked him and crouched down next to him.

-Run.- he said and lost consciousness. I heard some voices a few meters ahead of us.

-Where's that son of a bitch!?-- He ran away, damn it.-- Let's go that way.-

I picked him up and started running home. Of course, it was difficult with a tree on my back in the snow, but due to adrenaline I didn't feel it for several minutes.

When I reached the gate, only then did I fall into the snow with him. Fortunately, on the back. The guards ran up to us and, knowing me, took us to the doctor in our village.

I was lying on a futon in my underwear and the doctor was examining me.

-Are you sure everything is fine with you?- the doctor asked and I just looked at the man I saved.

-I just did some cardio. You should be more worried about him. - I replied and he looked at the floor.

-I can't treat him. He's not from our village. He can only lie here until he dies or when he wakes up. - said the doctor and handed me my clothes.

-Well, I'll cure him. - I decided and the doctor just sighed. I put on my clothes and stood up.

-Okay, but you have to treat him at home. - he said and I just shook my head. I picked up the man and left the doctor's house with him.

When I got home, my parents were sleeping in their room, so I took it to mine.

I laid him on my futon and started bandaging him. I felt wounds only on his legs and face, so I only saw him there without clothes.

When I finished, I lay down two meters away on the floor and fell asleep.

-Why did you save me? I told you to run. As soon as I opened my eyes, that was the first thing I heard. I noticed that I was now lying on the futon and he was sitting in front of the window on the floor.

-I did what you told me. I only escaped with you. And you saved me yourself. If you hadn't cursed under your breath, I might not have heard you, gone further and been raped by those people who were chasing you. - I defended myself and sat on the futon.

-What if they were the good guys and I was the bad guy? So that you would now be lying on the futon, raped and dead, or just raped. - He stood his ground without looking at me.

-Okay, you're right, but halfway because I would have agreed. - I said and covered my mouth in shame.

-Wait what?- He finally looked at me.

-Nothing. So basically you were one of them and they were one of four. I don't think you would attack them first. - I replied, changing the subject.

-I could be a criminal and they could be people who chase criminals.- he said calmly.

-Well, I can't with this guy.- I muttered under my breath and stood up.

-I have similar feelings towards you too.- he said, miraculously hearing me.

TIMESKIP.

I don't know how it happened, but I found out Mizu and I have feelings for each other. Three weeks have passed and everyone already knows about my partner. My parents are even planning a wedding.

POV:MIZU.

It's been three weeks and she doesn't know I'm a woman. Whenever she wanted to initiate something more, I simply pleased her by telling her that my genitals had been suffering from something lately. I thought we would just live like this until one day.

“So how's your relationship going, Reader?” her mom asked my girlfriend. We had dinner at her parents' house. The atmosphere was even nice and relaxed.

-Very good. We even talked about buying a house somewhere near you. Right, Mizu? - Reader asked me and I nodded.

-Mizu, can I ask you one question? - my future father-in-law asked me.

-Sure, Mr. Y/L.- I replied and put down the chopsticks.

-Why are you wearing those glasses?- he asked me again.

-It's a family heirloom.- I lied not to go further.

-Really? This means that one of your children will have these glasses. - Dad said and started eating. I was speechless. Kids? I didn't even think about it. How can I give her children if I don't even have a penis?

-Dad, it's too early for something like that.-Reader replied and the topic somehow ended.

After dinner we went to bed. I slept in the Reader room on a shared futon and began to wonder. After an hour of thinking, I realized that Reader is worth more.

I got up from the futon and started getting dressed in the middle of the night.

-Mizu? Where are you going? - Reader asked, waking up.

-I'm sorry, Reader, but it'll be better for you.- I said and put on my coat.

Before she could react, I left her room and locked the door, so that she could only leave it when her parents woke up.

I left the house and all I heard was crying and someone kicking the door. It was hard, but I left.

A few hours later, when it was morning, I was sitting there thinking until I heard something.

-Do you know that today around 2 a.m. some bandits attacked the village where they trade in wood? - said one of the inn's guests and I noticed it.

-Seriously? Anyone survived? - asked the second one.

-I don't know. I think most of them were murdered. Definitely that Y/L family. They had connections at all, so they will probably be buried by someone tomorrow. - As soon as I heard this, I ran towards the village.

No matter how cold it was or how many people I hit while running, I didn't give up. I ran to the gate and all I saw were people's bodies. Massacred. I guarantee that most of them will be unrecognizable.

I ran to Reader's house and saw the bodies of her parents in the walkway. I walked further and saw the broken door to Reader's room on the ground. I went in there and saw her lying on the floor.

She was almost naked. The only thing covering her was her kimono, which had been torn and forcibly removed from her. She was stabbed between the breasts. Her eyes were open but dead. I closed them at the same time I closed mine.

"You know, these men sit together somewhere and let them shake and tremble and be terrified. Because one day, somehow, some way, they might meet me."

[collectorcookie]

@rebelscythe123 this is for u <3

Loooots and lots of spoilers for everything caiowe for anyone reading this btw

Ok so a lot of cain's roles in the narrative focuses on him sacrificing himself. He's a knight so he should put his life in danger to protect others. He's a sage's wizard so he should, again, put himself in life-threatening danger to save the world. He is arthur's personal knight so, you guessed it, he should protect arthur at all costs, including himself. He's so kind and sweet and he made being a shield to others his meaning of life <3. This isn't a good thing, duh. He has no sense for self preservation and is very suicidal, maybe not in the depressed way, but in the extremely willing to throw his life away way. Like, in central ballad, he immediately puts himself between akira and oz throwing a rampage KNOWING ozzy can instant kill him, accidentally or not. And in central prelude, he also just throws himself at a beast with no consideration for his own safety.

Now, owen. Owen is the complete opposite of cain. If cain is generally puppy sunshine who's willing to die for anyone, then owen is depressed and thorny and puts his own survival above anyone and anything else.

Owen is the first person in cain's life that DOESN'T require cain to sacrifice anything for him. If anything, owen is the first person to offer cain something. Freedom. Cain, up until that point, had to keep himself hidden away. Now of course, owen defeating cain and stealing his eyeball was very traumatizing for cain, but it ends up in a net positive development for him because he doesn't have to hide anymore. I think cain even thanks him for it eventually. And another thing owen offers cain is a goal to strive towards. Now that owen has defeated him, cain has to work hard and train himself to become a better wizard. Wait i have two screenshots from anni2 that kinda

Just. Them. Ugh.

Now back onto owen, obviously everyone knows that owen latched himself onto cain because baby owen was locked up in a basement with nothing but a picture book with a knight. And cain is number one picture perfect knight. But another thing to consider about owen's character is that....kizu owen isn't owen himself, he isn't the real owen, he is just a trauma holder for owen's past memories. Wait holup i have more screenshots somewhere surely.

Yeah like in north ballad, owen wants to cure his injury because he wants to stay as himself. He's no longer the helpless small child calling out for anyone to save him, he crawled outta that hell himself, he saved himself, he's strong now. I don't like the way people treat kizu owen as the "real owen" or whatever because that kid just straight up isn't, i like the idea of the real self of a traumatized character is the self that overcame the trauma, not the one haunted by it.

And for kizu owen, anyone could have been kizu owen's knight in shining armor, as we see in ms2, where he sticks to oz like glue instead of cain. This fucks up cain severely. Because the reason why cain stuck to owen is because of his kizu self. Because his kizu self straight up says things like "save me" and "don't leave me alone" and what could a knight like cain do but respond? Yeah sure there's this other real owen that's a brutal murderer but let's ignore that for now because see! There's this other him calling out for help! And all of cain's identity is helping others despite the risks so trying to help kizu owen in spite of real owen potentially hurting him is such a cain thing to do.

But kizu owen will stick to anyone willing to respond. He's not a person. He's doesn't form bonds. He doesn't learn. He's just a trauma holder. In ms1, even when cain shows him over and over again that the door is open and it isn't locked and you can literally open the door, you aren't trapped, i wouldn't do that to you, kizu owen still ends up scratching and hitting at the door because he👏doesn't👏learn👏or👏move👏on. That's his thing. It doesn't matter to him if it's cain who is protecting him or if it's oz, he wants anyone.

And now cain is feeling like shit because arthur doesn't need him, owen doesn't need him, his knights don't need him, nobody needs or chooses specifically cain for anything, he has no space to exist. This is why he changes himself 180 degrees in ms2 because in his mind it's "well manipulating people is something only i can do so i will sacrifice myself and all of my morals for it." Are you. Are you seeing it yet?

BUT who does end up choosing cain specifically, over and over again? Owen. The real owen. He goes and fetches arthur aaaaall the way from central country to check up on cain. And ms2 isn't the only instance for this. He teaches cain magic and then later also prays his name in anni1. Owen ends up helping cain even when oz gave up on him in the knights event. Hell, even in central prelude, the only reason cain is alive is because owen's eyeball protected him. I don't remember where but i think there was once a convo between owen and mithra where mithra was like "that guy will take a 1000 years before he gets on your level" and owen was like "i'll wait". Owen WANTS to see cain grow, he wants to see him succeed.

Owen is the only character in the narrative that pushes cain to grow, cain is the only character in the narrative that pushes owen to see the world for what it is instead of the traumatized version he is holding onto.

All in all, caiowe is an EXTREMELY HEALTHY relationship, they literally make each other better, they just need a lot of communication, and they deserve each other, and i love them <3

[maggotbxby]

Coup De Grâce - Deadite Ellie x OC/Reader - Chapter One

"and the devil who had deceived them was thrown into the lake of fire and sulfur where the beast and the false prophet were, and they will be tormented day and night forever and ever" Revelation 20:10

Or...

Greta is a God-fearing, wannabe actress with a particularly strange family history, and an impressive talent of stumbling upon disgusting scenes. When tragedy strikes her home in an old LA high-rise, she quickly realizes her fate may be much more twisted than she was brought up to believe.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6,349

TW: Religious Trauma; Gore; Suicidal Thoughts; Violence; Everything in Evil Dead Rise.

---------

This building is dead.

It died a month ago when the landlord dropped letters in our mail slots letting us all know we have to be out by next month. He didn't even give us the courtesy of calling, just a print and copied half-assed apology letter to the tenants who pay out their livelihoods every month in rent so he can buy a new Ferrari and not fix the lights.

It’s not that I want to be here, particularly. There is just no other apartment on this side of LA that I would be able to afford. No others would even consider me, if I could. No stable job and a 480 credit score doesn't bode well with most landlords.

A category 5 earthquake was just a death blow, and exactly what I needed to truly understand it was, in fact, God's will for me to return to Tennessee.

The apartment is nearly pitch dark, even with the couple of candles I lit. A blackout coming with the aftershocks while I was packing explains a lot about how my luck has been the past few weeks. It’s as quiet as the dead, aside from the typical moans and groans of the old building. If my neighbors weren't stomping around, I would consider it eerie. 

I sit on a rickety stool that came with the place as I sort through my papers. Every tiny shift in my body causes the stool to creak and groan, just like the rest of the wretched building, so I try to be perfectly still.

The candlelight picks up my papers just enough for me to sort through them and chuck them into boxes- or the trash. It's nearly 10:00 and on a normal night I wouldn't keep packing, especially during a post-earthquake blackout, but I want out of this place as quickly as possible, and if I have to suffer for a while to do that, I will. 

I pick up a folder on my desk, and even in the dark I recognize it as my portfolio- or my pathetic excuse of one. I open it up to see my year-old headshots and my resume. I’ve never been a bad actress, particularly, I’ve just been bad at landing roles. Sure, maybe I didn't work hard enough to find a manager, but even if I had, my off-screen charisma has always been lacking. I scored one decent role in a film, only for it to be scrapped halfway through production. But I have kept trying, I tried theater, I tried commercials, I even tried volunteering into the musical theater at my local church; I’ve tried lots of things.

Because my father left me on this earth alone, and try is all that I can do.

I need to keep living, for reasons undisclosed to even my own mind.

I tell myself that my father left because God wanted him to come home. He spent years of his life driving out evil spirits, freeing tormented souls from the clutches of the Devil, and maybe God thought his work was done? I like to believe that over the probable truth that his fear overcame him; that what he has been running from his entire life finally caught up to him. There is a devotion to God and, with it, a fear of the Devil that has been passed down for generations throughout my family. My father, and many men before him, suffered because of it. 

But if God called my father home, what does that tell me about our home? Does God not care about our family? Why wouldn't he take both of us? No matter what I have done to myself after he died, the agony I have both endured and inflicted upon myself, I am still here. So maybe I do have a purpose on this earth. Or maybe God doesn't want me in His Kingdom at all. 

I remain faithful that these thoughts are untrue. I pray to God every day and every night. I spread His word to those I meet, and I follow His guidance in everything I do, so maybe that’s why I'm still here. 

Packing my, and the rest of my fathers belongings a second time has my mind cruelly bogged with memories, scents, feelings; just pure sentimentality. I have never been host to it before, being estranged from the rest of my family young never granted me the privilege. I do not have the patience for it. My body aches as I look at my shattered dreams, and I feel something cold and awful prick at the throbbing muscle inside my chest, frigid claws that dig deep into my being and tear away so subtly.

My anger gets the better of me and I throw the folder into the trash, causing it to topple over and spill papers and garbage all over the floor. Tears of exhaustion and frustration well up in my eyes, and I grip the sides of my head in my hands and bite back a scream. I will not let myself cry over this. I created this problem, I have to dig -or well, clean- myself out of it. 

I admit, I am an exposed nerve, and have been for the last year, my father's death having ripped off my epineurium.

I hop up from the stool, making it creak wretchedly, scraping the wooden floor, and I grab a broom from the kitchen to clean up the mess.

It’s because it is so quiet that I hear footsteps outside my door.

In most apartments, this wouldn't come as a surprise but considering I live around a corner, at the end of the hall, on the top floor, it’s a bit odd to have foot traffic this late. I tend to be left alone down here, no one vying to get in aside from the rats and dust bunnies.

I keep cleaning, because if someone has come to rob me, they will surely be disappointed, and if they have come to kidnap or kill me, my weak body and dry-rotten broomstick surely aren't going to stop them.

The steps draw closer, and I can hear their breathing; sharp, heavy, fast. The pattering footsteps stop but the breathing doesn't, however it draws farther away.

My curiosity gets the best of me, and I slowly approach the peephole in the door. I take in a deep breath only to relax when I see it’s one of the neighbor kids, peering around my little back corner out into the long-stretched hallway with the other apartments. I can’t see that hallway from my room, however.

The moment of relaxation is cut short as I realize the kid is crying. His eyes are wide and red, and his breath is quick, like a rabbit being hunted by a fox.

Then I hear a scream coming from the hallway.

Then another.

Then another.

The child is still hiding around the corner and even though I can’t see what he’s hiding from, everything in my nature tells me it is something he needs to get away from, now. I go to open the door and before I can unlock the deadbolt, the kid takes a mad dash down the long hallway.

…

……

...……

Another scream.

A thud.

My eyes well up in tears of panic and fear as I stand frozen, staring out of the peephole. I see nothing, but I hear everything.

Screaming, crying, ripping, squelching, banging, a gunshot.

Laughing.

Across that sequence of events, which lasted all of 3 minutes, I decided to make peace with death. Because it is all that I can do.

Then it goes quiet again. This time the quiet is eerie. No loud neighbors, no footsteps, nothing.

The air at the top of the high rise is thin, always has been, but trying to breathe it in during a panic feels like there is no air left at all. My hands shake, my chest feels as if it is about to explode. I unlock my cell phone and dial 911 only to be met with a repetitive beep. The earthquake took out the cell towers, of course. Self-preservatory panic overstimulates my senses and I drop to my knees at the door in a terrified heap. I cannot stop the sobs that choke out of my throat, and I fear even my body knows that whoever- or whatever is out there is going to come for me soon.

I clasp my hands and bow my head as I sob out the only thing I can “The lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside still waters; He restores my soul. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death; I fear no evil; for you are with me.”

I whisper prayers until my voice is hoarse. Because that is all that I can do. If anyone saw me at this moment I would be mortified. My neighbors are being attacked just outside my door and I have done nothing . But what can I do? Face a mass murderer by myself. Whoever is out there hasn't been stopped by the entire floor of people. They're a predator, and I am just as much a lamb to be slaughtered as anyone.

What I do need, is to get out of this place.

My mind is frequently unreliable, especially with time, however I have been hyperfocused on sounds tonight and I can confidently say the hallway has been pretty silent for at least 10 minutes now.

This can mean one of two things:

Everyone here except me got the hell out of this building, because they didn’t hide in their apartments like cowards, and the authorities are on their way.

Or everyone here except me has been killed, because they didn’t hide in their apartments, and ran out like idiots, and I am just waiting for my turn to face death as well.

Regardless of the right answer, staying in my apartment is going to get me nowhere. The only available exits are the elevator -which is a terrible option post-earthquake- or the stairs, both of which are at the end of the hall.

I get up from my heap on the floor and scour my apartment to grab the rest of my essentials to get out of here. I toss my phone, keys, wallet, and bible all into my purse, and I slowly and quietly unlock the deadbolt.

The moment I put my hand on the door handle to pull it open I feel my stomach sink and my body tense. The narrow hallway feels like a chute, and I feel as soon as I turn the corner my executioner will be waiting with a captive bolt ready to be driven into my skull. 

I take two quiet steps outside my door towards the other hallway and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my heart threatens to crash its way out of my chest, sending a painful wave of thunder to my wrists and my neck. The sheer force of my blood pressure reverberates into my ears. I keep my body to the wall and clutch my bag to satisfy my brain’s need to have leverage and I use every ounce of courage in my body to peer around the corner into the hallway and-

Corpses.

There are corpses.

Horrifying, mutilated corpses of my neighbors. The corpse of the child who, if I was a second faster, could have been brought into my apartment.

Skin sloughed from muscle, muscle from bone and I am sick sick sick sick si-

The putrid, infectious scent of bile, blood, and exposed flesh makes its way to me, and by some miracle I do not vomit but my body doubles over, and my eyes and mouth are pooling while a black haze creeps into the borders of my field of view.

When I glance up, the sensible part of my brain makes my obscured vision focus on the only thing still moving in the hallway.

I, as anyone who knew her would, recognize her from the tattoos on her exposed flesh and the distinct red hair on her head, Ellie Bixler.

But very much not Ellie Bixler.

Her skin is pale and gray with death, and she is caked in blood and bits of everything that are no longer inside my neighbors' bodies. The curve of her arm is made jagged, and My God limbs are not meant to bend that way.

I suddenly believe that every prayer I have ever spoken has come to protect me at this moment, as she somehow does not notice me while she is focused on what I think is the door to her own apartment. I do not let my luck go to waste as I rush back behind the wall, out of sight of anyone in that hallway.

The quiet I got too comfortable with finally comes to an end in what I assume is the sound of her breaking, or trying to break through her door.

I peer around the corner like an idiot in some sick daze of infatuation when I hear the scream of a child.

Ellie is pushed halfway into her apartment, holding onto what I can only imagine is her youngest daughter, Kassie. Someone else inside the room comes to help as the door is slammed onto Ellie’s arm and she recoils back into the hallway.

She then throws herself into the door, furiously banging on it.

  “OPEN THE DOOR LIKE YOU OPEN YOUR LEGS YOU STINKING GROUPIE SLUT!”

 The voice sounds like a twisted, savage, faux version of my neighbor’s and I feel the overwhelming urge to vomit again as I dart back into hiding, and I take the opportunity of the noise to rush back to my apartment.

The contents of my stomach do end up on my floor after I close and lock the apartment behind myself.

I despise vomiting. Tragically, I was cursed with a weak stomach and an impressive ability to stumble upon revolting sights. A deadly combination only I could be so lucky to have. 

I do not think to clean up the vomit on the floor that will soon be covered in my own blood when I am inevitably found.

I quickly realize as my body autopilots into my bedroom, that spilling my guts combined with a severe spike in adrenaline has given me three things; sharp chest pain, energy renewal, and a massive degree of mania.

I now know what I need to do.

I haven't touched these books since I moved out of Tennessee, not that I should have. Every time they have been opened they consume the one who opens them. My father was constantly buried in these writings, wasting his life trying to make something of them. Something that would allow our family to repent from the sins of our ancestors. I have never been so unlucky to read them, until now.

I know exactly where I hid them. I drop to the floor in front of the old, dusty armoire that came with the apartment, that definitely should have been thrown out years before I moved in here.

I flatten myself on the splintery floor and snake an arm under it, finding what I was looking for. I pull out the wooden box and rise to my knees as I pop open the latch. There is a stack of 3 handwritten journals. Journals scrawled by my great-great Grandfather, Marcus Littleton.

My body quivers, and adrenaline and fear flow through my veins as I pull one of the journals out of the box, illuminated by the moonlight.

I take the box and journal to my desk. I re-light the candle upon my desk and I open the treacherous tome up. My heart is frightened; however, my mind is set.

I have heard my father describe demons for the entirety of my life. ‘Twisted, rotting corpses intent on causing chaos, destruction, and pain everywhere they are found.’

I never fully believed his tales. Of course I didn’t, there was never any public recordings of such events. His stories were from the 1920’s, it could have been nothing but hearsay. Hearsay that he lived and died for. Hearsay that, if I do nothing, I will also die for. 

He never let me touch these books when he was alive, he kept them hidden for himself. When I inherited them, I never opened the box. Partially because I respected my fathers wishes, partially because I didn't want to become consumed in them as he was. My father and I always were alike.

The handwriting of my great-great grandfather is sloppy, and every word is abbreviated, shortened, or misspelled. These books were scrawled in a panic. I knew this. I was, however, never told the extent. I skim through the most legible parts of the pages, many words and phrases unreadable.

“The words I uttered have unleashed a demonic entity beyond my darkest nightmares”

“The book, it cannot be destroyed.”

“Their bodies twisted, decaying.”

“Rotted from the inside out.”

“It does not stop.”

“The possession will spread.”

“They will tear you apart, and bathe in your guts.”

“Run.”

“It cannot be stopped until innocence is destroyed.”

“I cannot escape this.”

“It's going to get me soon.”

I slam the book shut. My body trembles so wildly I begin to spasm. My heart is beating as fast as a racehorse’s and my breathing refuses to slow. The fear of being discovered from the thing just outside my apartment is the only thing keeping me from screaming.

The chicken scratch writing described a book. I have heard about this book for years. A book that was hidden away for the good of humanity. My father wanted to keep us as far away from Los Angeles for a reason. He never knew where the book was hidden away, but he knew it had to be here.

And of course, it would make total, logical sense, that by some absolute joke from God, out of all the old buildings in this city, I manage to land an apartment in the one the book was being held at.

Or perhaps I really am cursed, and some sick string of fate brought me here to die and end my family's bloodline.

The only way this could be happening is if someone found the book. My father always said, ‘They have no power without the book, so long as the words aren't spoken.’ I’m hoping he is right. If he is, maybe there is something in the book that can be used to save whoever is left in the building. Something my great-great grandfather missed.

There is only one problem.

I have absolutely no idea where the book is.

This building has 14 floors, and hundreds of tenants. It would be nearly impossible for me to find it without a mass murderer trying to kill everything in its sight. 

The chaos does seem to be contained to this floor, and by the looks of it, Ellie is the only one causing it. That could potentially narrow it down to someone on this floor having it, unless of course Ellie was just the unlucky one, in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could have been anyone. 

Ellie Bixler didn't deserve this. The journal said the souls of those taken were corrupted by the demon, damning them to burn in hell while their body and partial consciousness remains to wreak havoc among men. Ellie Bixler does not deserve hell.

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

Ellie Bixler was one of the first faces I saw when I moved to this treacherous place. Moving alone was a nightmare, especially moving alone into the top floor of a high-rise, into the apartment farthest from the elevator. 

I thought the nightmare was ending when I got to the last boxes in the truck. However, when I picked them up, and almost toppled over with the weight of them, I realized my bad luck streak continued. I glanced at the label on the top box and sighed—of course it would be my dishes. I hear the ding of the elevator and feel a sudden whoosh of thankfulness.

“Hold the elevator!” I called, hoping that whoever was inside of it heard me. But seeing as I didn’t run into the doors, they must have. “Thank you," I said breathlessly, in passing, and then slumped against the wall of the elevator, balancing the bottom box on my thighs.

“Do you need some help?”

I peered around my stack of boxes to see the woman who had been kind enough to hold the elevator door for me; she was still standing there, dressed in a Guns N’ Roses t-shirt, dark blue ripped jeans, and leather boots. She wasn't dressed like the women I grew up around in the Bible Belt, that's for sure. And judging by her dyed red hair and tattoos, I would guess she didn't act like them either. She was staring at me hesitantly with blue eyes that looked as exhausted as I felt.

“Oh, no, I’ve got it,” I said quickly, disappearing back behind the boxes once I realized I had been staring a few moments too long at the gorgeous, courteous stranger while looking like I had been hit by a bus. “Thank you, though.”

There was a soft hum of contemplation, and then, a few moments later, a swish of the elevator doors sliding closed. I slumped against the elevator wall, thankful that I wouldn't have to converse with my new neighbor while coated with dirt and sweat.

“I think I have to insist, then.”

I jolted up so quickly that the box on the top wobbled precariously, only for it to be slipped off the stack and into the arms of the tall stranger. I stared at her, eyes wide, as the woman slouched under the weight of the box and flushed, before straightening up and smiling at me. 

“Um.” I cringed at myself. What a way to be eloquent. “Thank you, but you really didn’t—”

“I know,” the woman smiled back. “What’s your number?”

I blinked in surprise.

“Excuse me?” There was no way this lady just asked for my number. Who did she think she was?

The woman’s mouth fell open and she was immediately blushing. Her brow furrowed and she chuckled awkwardly, shaking her head. “Your floor… Number. Is what I meant. For the elevator?”

Oh . I looked over at the rows of glowing white buttons; I hadn’t pressed the floor number when I rushed in.

“Oh, yeah! Right!” I replied awkwardly, still not looking at the woman. I shouldn’t have felt bad—after all, this stranger is the one who said it—but I couldn’t help feeling like I was the one who made everything uncomfortable.

“Fourteen,” I finally replied, sighing, after clearing my throat. The woman grinned, a big beautiful smile, and pressed the button.

“Well hello neighbor! I’m on 14 as well, apartment 85.” I looked back over at her sheepishly. “Expect to climb a lot of stairs. This elevator is out of order more often than it’s working.”

“Of course it is,” I commented dryly. Well, at least it appeared to be working on the day I needed it to be. Hopefully that luck holds true for grocery days, too. I thought. “Stairs aren’t a problem. Besides, it gives me an excuse to drink a third cup of coffee in the mornings.”

The woman laughed. “Sometimes I need at least five. Don’t have kids.” the stranger joked.

“You have kids?” I asked.

“Three.” She started, “Two sweet girls, Bridget and Kassie. And my boy, Danny, who is always the culprit if you hear loud music coming from my place.”

“Wow you've got a handful then.” I replied. “I’ve always wanted kids… but it doesn’t seem in my cards anymore.” I winced, and wanted to kick myself so bad for accidentally sounding super melancholic. 

The woman nodded kindly, smart enough not to pry. Or maybe she just didn't want to entertain depressing, deep conversation with someone she met less than 3 minutes ago. 

“I’d shake your hand…” the woman said, her voice hesitant as if she could sense the awkward tension in the elevator, “but…” she glanced pointedly at the box, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“I appreciate the concern for my dishes.”

“Dishes,” she said, staring at the box. “Well, that explains things.”

Like the fact that it’s a lot heavier than you thought it would be , I thought, and couldn't hold in my chuckle.

“My name’s Ellie.” The stranger—or Ellie, apparently—looked over at me. “By the way. Since we’re… Going to be neighbors.” This time, Ellie was the one who cringed.

“Well then, neighbor.” I stressed the word around my smile. “I’m Greta.”

“Greta.” Ellie said. My name sounded so pleasant coming from her lips compared to my own. I quickly eliminated that thought from my mind. 

“Ellie.” I intoned in the same manner, and Ellie laughed. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open; Ellie inclined her head, as if to say you first , and I nod as I step through the doors. 

“I probably should have warned you that I live all the way at the end of the hall.” I shifted the box in my arms and glanced over at Ellie. “Before you decided to be a good samaritan.”

“I’m always a good samaritan,” Ellie responded, her tone of voice slightly defensive.

“Careful. You told me where you live. I might abuse that.” That sounded a lot creepier than I meant it, but Ellie just laughed, which slightly lifted my embarrassment.

I stepped through the doors of my apartment. I didn’t expect Ellie to be impressed—chances are we had the same exact apartment, hers just… properly decorated—so rather than trying to play the role of host, I simply led Ellie straight to where I put the box containing my disassembled Ikea kitchen table.

Ellie did, however, let out a low whistle as she looked around.

“Wow, you’ve been at this all day, haven't you?” She slipped the box on top of the Ikea box while I laid mine on the floor. 

“Yes, tragically. I slept on the floor and left the truck full of my non-essential stuff last night. Looking back, I definitely should have gotten robbed.”

“Long drive then?”

“You could say that.. Knoxville.” I sighed.

“You're telling me you drove here… from Tennessee?” She looked at me, eyes wide in shock. “With seemingly no help?”

“Just me and god.” Ellie laughed at that, but then caught herself when she noticed my expression, and the cross on my necklace, and realized I was serious.

“Well, then… I’d be happy to help, if you’d like?”

“That’s really nice of you, Ellie, but I’m afraid you're just too late. Those were my last boxes.”

“I have impeccable timing, huh?”

“Seems like it.” We both laughed, a bit awkwardly.

“What brought you all the way to the City of Angels?” Ellie interjected, cutting the awkward tension once again.

I breathed a heavy sigh, “It’s a long story…”

“Well, you could tell it, if you come have dinner with me.”

I recoiled, “I couldn’t- No. No thank you, I really should start putting all this stuff away.”

Ellie put her hand on my arm, “I insist. My husband, Jay, is making steak tonight and when he cooks, he cooks for a village.” Not that 3 children isn't a village.

I flinched, then relaxed slightly under the hand on my arm, I looked up at Ellie, contemplating, but there was little I would do to argue. I was exhausted, and I shouldn’t decline free food, even from a stranger. “I suppose I can't say no.”

  ------------

That night was the first, and the only time in a long time I felt safe. 

I didn’t spend a lot of time with Ellie outside of that night. She was a very busy woman, and I was constantly trying to find work, or locking myself in my apartment stressing about trying to find work. I often passed her in the hallway, or stopped to chat while doing laundry, but that was the extent. For the most part.

We were also very different, spiritually and morally. She wasn’t religious and I was not going to try and convert an entire family of 5. Our lives were just very different, as much as I felt drawn to her. I often, for some reason, constantly had the gnawing ache to go back to her apartment and spend time with her, and just be in her presence more than I should. It’s a feeling I have felt before, when I was young, and something deep rooted in my consciousness told me I shouldn’t give into that ache.

‘For god cannot be tempted by desire, nor does he tempt anyone; but each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed.’

I found out about her divorce when we crossed paths in the hall. It came as a shock, to an extent. Externally they seemed like the perfect couple, but being their neighbor, I had heard a fair number of screaming matches between the two of them. Divorce is something my family has always been against, especially when there are children involved; however, I believe that God would forgive Ellie if her husband abandoned her.

Ellie was a kind person; Ellie does not deserve Hell.

Ellie’s family –by the looks of it– is still alive in her apartment. As long as no one in the apartment has been possessed, it is possible they can be saved.

I just have to, you know, get there, without the demon in the hall ripping me to shreds before I take a step.

I sit at my desk, chewing on my cheek as I think out the most insane, ludicrous plan to save my neighbors, and to free my family from this book that has haunted us for generations. 

There is an estimated 10 percent chance of getting out of this alive, but there are little alternative options.

There was a shotgun in the hallway. 

If I can get ahold of it, and subdue Ellie long enough for her family to let me in, I can get ahold of the book, and with it, and my great-great grandfather's journals, I could find a way to get us all out alive.

That is, if they will even let me in, and if the book is even with Ellie’s family. This is where my odds drop further.

This plan is flawed. It is dangerous. It is stupid.

But I am all of those things, yet God has kept me alive, so perhaps there is hope to be found somewhere.

As I pack the journals into my bag, and I pull my largest and sharpest knife from the kitchen, I feel the full weight of my mortality sit upon my chest. 

I am mad for this.

But what is my life going to be otherwise? What did God keep me alive through so much for? I have to have faith.

I bear the knife in my hand, and wrap a rosary around my arm and wrist. My bible is held in my bag and I stand before the door to my death once again, praying for my father’s forgiveness if I mess this up.

As I carefully unlock the piece of wood separating me and the Devil, I go white-knuckled on my knife, and I feel bile begin to creep up. I am already out of breath due to panic, dissociating out of my mind, and trembling so forcefully that my teeth chatter. I bite my tongue until I taste blood, and I push open the door.

I am not sure how I want to do this, but planning now would only exhaust me further, and I need to think on my feet. 

Grab the gun, shoot the demon, get inside. 

I take a few, quiet, petrified steps into the hallway and look around the corner when I see-

Kassie?

Ellie’s youngest daughter is standing in the hallway, moving to help a young, dark-haired woman off the ground. From what I have heard, this is Ellie’s sister, Beth, whom I have heard referred to as ‘The Groupie’ from various neighbors.

Their attention turns to me, Beth looks shocked, eyes wide, as she moves to grab the shotgun from what I now sickeningly realize is the corpse of Mr. Fonda. 

The smell, Christ. I have sworn off vomiting again, but my body desperately wants to overrun my mind at this moment. I fight bile and slowly approach them. Kassie puts a finger over her lips, assuring I know to stay quiet.

Where are Bridget and Danny? I already know, at least, I should already know. My twisted mind does not choose to process that in the moment, only focusing on the two people merely 20 feet from me.

It is my fear that allows me a keenness to sound -even over my heartbeat in my ears- and I hear the cracking of glass and bone behind me as I begin to pass Ellie’s apartment.

No.

Please, God, don’t let this happen to me now. Not when I’m this close.

I freeze, because I am a prey animal, no matter what anyone says, in this building, right now, I am prey, and as a prey animal, I have developed the intuition of knowing when I am being watched. 

Its gaze is fixed on me, and I am all taut muscle and dilated pupils underneath it. I know it is behind me, and I know with every fiber of my being that I am going to die if I do not move.

But my body will not allow my muscles to relax enough to bend my limbs.

I am gripping the knife in my hand for dear life and my eyes are locked with Beth’s, who is, currently, my only hope in surviving this. The groupie raises the shotgun, and points it behind me. It is then that I decide to turn and look at-

There is a hand on my neck.

There is a hand on my neck. There is a hand on my neck. There is a hand on my neck. 

It is cold and wet and awful and I set my jaw and every muscle in my throat tenses more than they already were. My teeth threaten to break each other under the force caused by my fear. 

I attempt to drive the knife into the flesh behind me, when my arm is caught in the grasp of another hand. The grip is tighter than the sickeningly gentle hold on my neck, and its claws dig deep into the tendons of my wrist, making me scream out in pain, my eyes screwing shut as my hand involuntarily releases the knife.

There is a wet, breathy, crackling chuckle behind me, and the grip on my neck releases, and I open my tear-filled eyes, only to be thrown into the door across from Ellie's apartment. 

It is on me swiftly after that. It grabs my wrist again and pins it against the door, like it’s body alone wasn’t doing that enough. 

Its stare is predatory and piercing, nothing like Ellie’s once was. It is feral, and it's burning into me. Wide, consuming and unblinking as it stares down at me, I am drowning in it. Pupils like a pinpoint amongst a pale blue, scleras dark and bloodshot. 

It leans down for an awful moment, a pit forms in my stomach and I want to vomit as it licks the blood dripping down my forearm from its claws.

I look over its shoulder at Beth, who Kassie is hiding behind and gripping for dear life.

“Please.” It is my voice that pleads, but I have never heard myself so breathless nor shrill.

“Pl…ease.” The demon's voice mocks me, eyes still burning into mine. It's voice hoarse and deep and repulsive, but the thing that makes me want to upchuck more than anything, is that I can still hear Ellie's voice underneath it. Sweet, funny, no-bullshit Ellie Bixler, consumed by the Devil. 

Beth is looking at me now, fear in her wide eyes, as she aims the gun down sight for a moment, aiming directly at the demon. 

Pull the trigger.

PULL THE GODDAMN TRIGGER.

This is my apex of disaster. This is all that my mind has been made to handle. I have hit the limit of my unluckiness and hit it so damn hard I might as well have heard a comedically timed ‘bang’ and seen stars dancing around my head. 

Beth is unmoving, and my breath catches in my throat as I choke out a strangled sob when I see the woman mouth ‘I’m sorry’ before the shotgun it aimed at the door to apartment 82, and it is blasted open.

The demon before me jolts upright, but doesn't take its smothering gaze off of me, even when Beth grabs Kassie and runs through the door. 

My fate is sealed as the door slams behind her, and all that is heard is the clanking of the security chain lock, as Beth well and truly escapes.

Then there is a deafening silence…

…A pattering of footsteps…

…Heavy, excited, wheezy, panting.

An excited panting that is coming from the creature before me.

This is where my faith in God has led me. Like my father, and his father, and the father before him. All of my life, and all of their lives, have led to this very moment. My death will be the fated coup de grâce of our cursed bloodline.

I am crucified to my place, paralyzed from the neck down as it looks upon me. I am fated to be consumed by this monster. This is my destiny.

[anamericangirl]

Hey there, I have a question.

First off, I used to self h«rm a lot and attempted suic!de multiple times. When I finally decided to talk to the social worker at my very Christian school, the first and only thing she told me was that what I did was a sin, and that I had no right to do it, since my body only belongs to God. Don’t get me wrong, I’m Christian too, but what she told me really damaged my faith. When I told her that I am bisexual (that wasn’t the main topic, it just came up), she told me that for that, I deserve to be kille?, and that it would’ve been better if my attempts had succeeded.

I tried dot educate myself on the topic of suic¿de in the Bible, but I couldn’t really keep doing that since it only triggered me and I couldn’t keep doing it. But I feel like you really know about the Bible, and so I wanted to ask what you know about that topic.

If you don’t want to answer this, that’s completely fine, I can understand it‘s a sensible topic.

Have a beautiful day, you deserve the best.

Wow, I'm so sorry you've had such serious struggles and the social worker would tell you such things. Some people really shouldn't be put in positions where they are supposed to be a trusted source of advice and counsel and she sounds like one of those people. Those are incredibly damaging things to say to someone who was in the very vulnerable state you were in. I'm glad you were able to keep your faith in God and made attempts to study the issue yourself even though you had an experience that understandably made both those things more difficult. Like if she actually told you it would have been better if your suicide attempts were successful that's very suicide baity and I hope she's not still in that position.

I'm very honored you feel like I know the Bible pretty well. I have been studying it more in depth this past year or two so I definitely know more than I used to but there's still a lot for me to learn!

The Bible doesn't explicitly address suicide and say not to do it, but we can get a very solid understanding of what God thinks about it by reading and studying his word. We know that God is the creator and he has given us the gift of life. And he makes it clear in the Bible that all life is unique and precious to him and he does not want us to take it upon ourselves to end our own lives.

There six or seven people mentioned in the Bible who committed suicide and several more who had suicidal thoughts but overcame them by putting their hope in God. Elijah, Solomon, Jonah, Job, even Paul all hit the point where they wanted to give up on life and some even asking God to end them, but instead of going through with these desires, they ended up putting their trust and faith in God and he pulled them through, which is what he wants us to do whenever we have to the point where we are in so much despair the only things we can think of to distract ourselves or end our troubles is self harm and suicide. In Acts 16 Paul even explicitly stops a prison guard who was about to kill himself after thinking a bunch of prisoners had escaped and tells him not to kill himself.

There are many verses in the Bible about coming to God when we feel at our lowest.

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." - Isaiah 41:10

"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." - Jeremiah 29:11

"Cast your cares on the Lord and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous be shaken." - Psalms 55:22

"Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death." - Romans 8:1-2

"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." - Romans 8:38-39

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. The righteous person may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from them all." - Psalms 34:18-19

Those are by no means all the verses, but it is a small sampling that shows that God wants us to come to him with our despair, sorrow and grief so he can give us healing and hope again.

Speaking theologically, suicide would be a considered a sin. It goes against God's commandments and disrespects the gift of life he has given and disrespects the fact that God is the giver and taker of life. Life is not ours to take. Not from another person and not from ourselves. God created us special. In 1 Corinthians it says “Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.” This pertains to far more than suicide, but suicide is definitely a way to disrespect our own body.

God does tell us not to commit murder and suicide is technically self-murder. So while suicide is a sin, it's not unforgivable and it's not something you deserve for anything else you do or are struggling with and it's completely unbiblical for anyone to say you should be killed or your suicide attempts should have been successful.

I am very glad you made attempts to study for yourself instead of just accepting what that woman told you and I hope you have found healing and I hope I was able to provide a somewhat satisfactory answer for you.

Thank you for your kind words. I hope you are doing better and have a wonderful day! God bless!

[athenadione]

'at the edge of the precipice' Chapter 10

Read on a03 HERE

(Rated E for violence, gore, PTSD, allusions to depression/suicide)

It’s not exactly his memory— at least he’s pretty sure it’s not.

Mostly because a lot of it doesn’t make sense.

There’s splashes of color in his vision that overtake his focus on Raven’s arm, and a ringing in his ear that makes him feel a bit lightheaded but he shakes it off.

Then the feeling of a sharp, burning sensation travels up his arm so quickly he thinks he might’ve imagined it. 

It’s a split second decision to make, but he doesn’t tell her what happened. He’s not sure what to make of it all, especially because it seems to come to him in a million shattered pieces. 

Later in the day flashes of memories streak blood red across his vision— too fast for him to really understand what’s going on.

The only moment that’s really clear is the flashpoint. He remembers that it was so bright it was difficult to look at directly even through his domino mask, but even still he couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes. It had come at them like a tsunami at such a neck-breaking speed that Damian had barely registered what was happening. 

He remembers Raven, her warmth pressing at his side, and her small-hitched breath just before the flashpoint overcame them. 

His fingers dig into her waist, holding her close to him and the hold she has on him is just as unbreakable. She shakes, nearly imperceptible, in his arms, and she takes his face in her hands while the weight of what’s happening lays so heavy on his chest. They both seem to realize at the same time that they only have seconds left of this life together. 

He remembers wondering if he held onto Raven tight enough that maybe she’d come with him to wherever he went next. 

When their lips meet for their first kiss it’s so perfect, and Damian wants it to last forever. 

Because that’s what they deserve after all this time.

They had been through so much, she’d been through much more, and this just isn’t fair. He knows that wishing is futile but for once in his life he wishes that this didn’t have to happen. As selfish as it is, he’s not ready to let her go. He kisses her again with fervor. I can’t do this, I won’t. She is— everything to me. 

It’s all over in the briefest second, and Damian feels both strangely empty and like he might combust at the same time. 

Then suddenly Raven is looking at him with blatant concern as the wind is whipping her hair and it’s so long. He can see the ocean just beyond her, waves crashing languidly as her mouth opens to express her concern. 

When she says his name, it sounds so haunted and worried, and he has to swallow back the sudden emotions threatening to spill over. 

Awareness slams into him all at once as Raven’s fingers close around his wrist in the barest of touches. 

She’s here, with him now, and he remembers dying. He remembers her bringing him back to life, and he remembers that hill at Titan’s Tower— everyone still broken beyond repair.

And Barry, making one last attempt to set things back— a chance that he knows they all had no choice but to take. 

It all blurs and circles together in a downward spiral. All until he reaches a point that he’s not sure what’s real and what’s not. The realization that this is exactly what Raven must have felt for months nearly sends him careening over the edge. Over into something so dark and deep that he’s not sure he’ll be able to climb out if he falls.  

So when Raven searches his eyes for the smallest sign of reassurance, he gives it to her— if only to try and ground himself in this reality, because she needs him to be. 

He picks up all the shattered pieces and shoves it in the back of his mind to save for a later time. He stands next to Raven and helps her through the hand toss without shaking. If he notices a faint scream in the distance, and the acrid smell of burnt flesh, he doesn’t show it. He sits through lunch and dinner, and does not fidget. He even makes it through their night walk on the beach. 

Only after walking up each creaky step to the guest bedroom, and helping Raven slide off his back and into bed, does he let himself fall apart. 

He walks right back downstairs and outside, taking great care to slide the door shut without sound. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the sand. He wordlessly unties his shoes, setting them aside. He stands and walks out to where the sand is harder—just a foot or two away from the low tide. 

Then he breaks out into a run, and doesn’t stop until dawn. 

.

Raven knows that there’s something off about Damian. His lips linger on her forehead when he leans down to tell her good night. She can feel the undercurrent of his emotions—too many, each spiraling while they fight for the attention of his consciousness. When she looks up at his face it’s a mask. His brows are just barely drawn together, like it takes a great effort to keep something hidden. She knows he doesn’t get shaken often. 

She doesn’t want to think about why he is. 

She also doesn’t want him to face whatever it is he’s dealing with alone. She considers holding onto his wrist and asking him to stay with her, but she can see the tension in all of his muscles. He needs to let something go, and from her past experience it’s by training. 

There’d been many nights she’d been woken up by the angry streak pulsating in his aura— traveling all the way up to her from the training room. It had always seemed to seek her out, maybe searching for refuge in someone who understood it. She and anger had always been well acquainted. 

Tonight though his aura is drawn taught against his skin with a hazardous warning to stay away. 

So she bids him good night and watches him walk out, closing her door softly. As much as she wants to run after him she doesn’t. If he wanted to be around her, he would have stayed. And even though that thought stings through her chest, she shakes it off. This isn’t about her. She’s already spent too much time feeling sorry for herself. Besides, how many times did she regress back into herself the past few weeks when all Damian asked of her was to talk to him? She had no right to ask him to do the same. 

She’ll go check on him in the morning instead. 

Raven pulls the covers up close to her face and huddles underneath them. Then on second thought she pulls them up and over her head. To keep everything else out. She pulls her feet up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, forcing herself to focus on her own shallow breathing. Until they become more even and measured. She counts to four, holds her breath for another count of four, and then finally releases it. 

Again, and again. Until she’s slipping in and out of consciousness. Her mind wanders, taking her far beyond where she’s explored. It dips into memories that don't feel like hers. 

She’s standing in the library at the manor, huffing with a hand on one hip as Titus positions himself between her and Damian with a growl. His hackles raise even farther when she takes another step. 

“Down boy,” Damian kneels to scratch him behind one of his ears, “What has gotten into you?” 

Frustration flushes through her, anger rising at the display, but she stomps it down. Refuses to show it. She’s come too far to let a dog ruin everything. 

“It’s okay beloved,” she says, bringing Damian’s attention back to her, “I was gone for months, it makes sense that Titus wouldn’t immediately recognize me.” 

“Hm, maybe.”

It’s not lost on her that Damian stays rooted in place—despite the fact that this is the first time they’ve seen each other since her mission.Titus hasn’t stopped growling. 

“You know Star’s been waiting for you to debrief back at the tower, why did you come here first?” 

Anger licks back up her spine, flushing red at her neck. 

“I wanted to see you silly. I’ve missed you.” She takes a step forward, then back again when Titus barks a loud warning. 

“I’ve missed you too, Raven. More than you know,” Damian’s eyes narrow in just the slightest movement, “but you’ve always debriefed at the tower first after a mission. Are you sure you’re okay? It’s not like you to break protocol.” he asks her. 

“Of course I’m okay Damian. I’m so happy to see you. I just—” she reigns her anger back in and tries again— “I just wanted to hug you. Please, just let me touch you. One hug, then I’ll go straight to the tower. I promise.” 

She waits as he stands there, staring at her with an inscrutable look. A long minute of silence goes by while Titus lets out another high-pitched whine. Damian shushes him with a snap of his fingers. Then he relents, “Okay, one hug, but then you have to go straight to Starfire. She was really worried when you didn’t check in.” 

Raven lets out a sigh of relief, “I will. Thank you habibi,” she says, stepping towards them once more. 

This time Titus sits at Damian’s command, but his growl gets louder. And louder, and louder. Until it’s the only thing she can hear besides the sound of her own heartbeat against her eardrums. Then Damian stops short of her, just out of arm's reach, when his eyes harden.  

“I know who you are.” 

Raven jolts awake under her comforter. Her head is pounding and her limbs ache while her heart races as if she had just ran for miles. Her magic pulsates at her fingertips with each heartbeat. It sparks under the blanket before fizzling out. She fists her hands together to stop them from shaking. 

A million thoughts are racing through her mind, but one becomes glaringly clear above them all. She had felt that anger before. She knew that anger all too well, because she had trapped it inside of herself, and lived with it for years. She had fought it back time and time again until the point of exhaustion. She had nearly let it destroy her mind, her body, and her soul. And she had known that it would eventually kill her. It scares her, because it’s not her anger. Not at all. 

It’s Trigon’s. 

.

Even as his calves start to burn and his feet blister from the sand he keeps running. 

It gives him something to focus on. Each harsh breath is a reminder that he’s not from that reality. He’s in this one, right now. And he’s never fought Darkseid. 

Except the memories he holds now tell him otherwise. 

Damian took Darkseid’s beam intended for his father. It killed him. He was irrefutably dead. Gone forever. Even now his muscles twinge from the phantom pain of burning alive. 

Raven had brought him back. 

She was a halo of light above him as he was resurrected. She was angelic, and holy, and she was…crying. Over his body, over his death. The way she held him to her chest was so gentle, so full of love, and admiration. 

He’d do anything for her to hold him like that again. 

A blast of wind brings him back to himself again, if just for a moment. Is this what it’s been like for her? Slipping in and out of memories, some of them on a constant loop. How long had she fought them before she succumbed to them? Sitting in the library for hours at a time, curled up in the chair with that far-away stare. Refusing to eat, to do anything but just sit there. Maybe it was because she physically couldn’t do anything else. Maybe she had been trapped the entire time—forced to relive it all, over and over. 

That thought alone adds to the silent tears already falling down his cheeks, unbidden. 

Dark red streaks across his vision at the sound of a Paradoom tearing off a limb, and then another. 

Then Richard’s scream, so hauntingly loud in the distance, catches him by surprise, and Damian stumbles over his own feet. His brother, one of the best things he had inherited through his father, laughing and ruffling his hair over something he had said at the dinner table. His brother, standing tall and confident, and always in between him and every threat they’ve faced out on patrol together. His brother, pierced straight through his chest and into his heart. His brother, revived but irrevocably broken, and forever locked away for his own safety. 

This isn’t real. These aren’t my memories, they're his. Does that really matter though? He remembers them now as if they always were. And it’s real to Raven. 

He shakes his head free of his thoughts, then looks ahead. The next pier is about a half mile away. I just have to make it to that pier. Then the next one. His feet pound the sand beneath him. I can do this. I can work through this. He’s not going insane, he just needs to adjust. Sort through it all. File them into categories. Make some kind of sense of what happened to them. 

I can do this. Another step, another sharp cry of pain in his ears. 

I can do this. Raven, falling into his arms at Nanda Parbat as she pushes herself beyond her limits. 

I can do this. The long, dark walk to the Lazarus pit, with the weight of Richard’s body in his arms. It was nothing compared to the heaviness of his broken heart. There was no time to mourn. Only to prepare for another fight. 

He pushes onward, wading through the waves of madness in his mind, trying not to break as he continues his run. 

I can do this. 

.

Raven spends the rest of the night meditating, cross-legged and hovering above her bed, trying to follow the source of that memory. Her father’s presence had been unmistakable, but whatever realm it came from she has no idea. She has to make sure it’s not this one. Damian had told her that Raven had defeated Trigon in this reality. At the time she didn’t think to ask how she had done it, but maybe she should now. 

Then again, if it is from this reality it’s in the past right? All of her other memories she’d gained had been from here too. From the Raven that’d originally been here. The Raven that deserved to be here. 

Maybe it’s nothing.

Or maybe… 

No, she’s not going to think about the what-ifs anymore. She can’t go back down that rabbit hole right now. With a heavy sigh Raven looks out towards the balcony. The curtains are still open, and the sun’s just beginning to peek out over the ocean. Damian hadn’t made it back to the beach house yet, at least not to her room. 

She decides to get up and get dressed. Maybe he slept on the couch downstairs. It’d be good to stretch her legs anyway. 

She finds a purple t-shirt in her suitcase that isn’t too bright (thanks again Kori), and some jean shorts. After pulling them on she slips into a pair of slides and makes the journey downstairs. Each step seems to creak, making her cringe inwardly. When she makes it to the living room and sees that the couch is unoccupied she tries not to feel too disappointed. 

Thankfully she doesn’t find anyone else either, because she doesn’t feel up to casual conversation. From the sun she guesses it’s probably around 6am so most likely everyone else is still asleep. Which is good because another argument between Jason and Stephanie this early is bound to make anyone crazy. 

The sun leads her outside. The chill of the night is still in the air, and goosebumps rise on her arms and legs. She ignores it in favor of walking further out on the beach. She’s almost certain that she’ll find Damian out here. 

It doesn’t take her long before she does. 

His red-rimmed eyes meet hers immediately, and she barely contains her gasp. Her eyes trail further down his body. Damian’s shirtless, soaked in sweat, and she has to admit that he looks completely wrecked. 

The sight of him makes her heart jump in her chest. She picks up her pace, intent on reaching him first, but stops short at the way her name sounds on his lips. 

“Raven.” 

.

Damian had every intention of continuing on as if nothing happened. When he’d run to the point of exhaustion, after his body threatened to give out from under his feet, he had finally decided to walk back to the beach house. On the way he makes plans to walk straight upstairs to take a shower, wash his feverish skin until it’s nearly raw, and then promptly shut out everything from last night. 

It’s already done, already decided, until he sees her. 

That’s when he realizes that he can’t keep it in, that it’s not fair for him to, and that he needs her to know. 

He needs her to know that they’ve done it. That after everything, they’ve managed to find their way to each other again, and that it’s all going to be okay. He’s here, and she’s here, and that’s all that matters. 

So he calls out to her, letting her see every emotion in the contours of his face, and doesn’t mind when she stops walking—shocked by the sound of his voice. Raw and torn and vulnerable. 

He finishes the walk to her. His Raven, his everything. 

“Raven,” a choked sob works its way up into this throat, “I remember.” 

His hands reach up to cup her face, around her neck, and he forces her to look at him. To see him. She shakes her head in disbelief, tears threatening to spill over her cheeks when he draws his face down to hers. 

“I remember everything.” 

He doesn’t wait for her response before he pulls her face up to his, and captures her lips in a heated kiss for the first time. 

His lips slide over hers while his thumb strokes her cheek, and Raven gasps into the kiss. Damian swallows it, and then pours everything into it, into her, and into them. He speaks with his lips by nibbling hers, and with his hands—one traveling up to entangle itself in her hair, because words can no longer explain this feeling. 

Raven’s hands reach up to grip his arms tightly, shaking, but not pushing him away. She whimpers against his mouth, whispering his name as tears slip down her face. Damian kisses them away, savoring the salty taste as her arms reach up to wrap around his neck. The move draws them even closer, and her chest bumps against his. He breathes in deep, wanting to commit the smell of her to memory. Never wanting to forget this moment of her lavender and vanilla scented hair blowing in the wind. Or her eyes, filled with something that looks like desperation, but also hope and something more. He never wants to forget the way that her body against his feels like a final puzzle piece dropping into place. That she feels like coming home. 

He deepens their kiss, relishing in her soft moan when she opens her mouth to him, letting his tongue delve inside to explore slowly, sensually. He holds her closer to him when he feels her knees threatening to give out right there on the beach. He takes his time, gently coaxing little noises from her. Pleasure spikes through him at the sounds, and it doesn’t feel like he can get enough of her. He reluctantly breaks their kiss and rests his forehead against hers, listening to her breathing, and the sound of waves crashing beyond them. 

“I love you Raven, so much. Dimensions can’t even separate me from you. I will always find you.” 

Raven laughs and sobs at the time in his arms, “Damian…”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know—that I know now. I can help you through this. You won’t ever be alone with this Raven, ever again.”

“Damian—”

“It might take time but we can get back to a new normal. We’ll visit Constantine again and see if there’s anything else he can do now that I remember—”

“Damian,” Raven cuts him off by pressing her lips against his for the briefest moment. When he opens his eyes again, she’s smiling through her tears. A true smile, for the first time in a long time, and it takes his breath away. 

“I love you too,” she says. 

He smiles just as wide, picks her up, and twirls her around while she lets out a small squeak of surprise. He keeps hold of her when her legs wrap around his waist for support. Then he cups the back of her head with one hand while the other holds her to him, and he drowns himself in another kiss. After all, he has at least three years to make up for.

[getblackout503]

How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore. And a peasant dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in forsaken realm by providence impoverished and squalor. Grow up to be a hero and a scholar.

The ten dollar, founding father without a father got a lot farther by working a lot harder by being a lot smarter by being a self starter. By fourteen they placed in charge of a trading charter

And everyday while slaves were slaughtered and carted away across the waves, he struggled and kept his guard up inside, he was longing for something to be apart of, the brother was ready to beg, steal, borrow, or barter

Then a hurricane came and devastation reigned, our man saw his future drip, dripping down the drain. Put a pencil to his temple, connected to his brain. And he wrote his first refrain. A testament to his pain.

Well, the word got around, they said “this kid is insane, man” took up a collection to send him to the mainland. Get your education don’t forget from whence you came and the world is gonna know your name.

“What’s your name man?”

“Asta Staria” Said a young man with green eyes and ash blond hair. “My name is Asta Staria, and there is a million things I haven’t done, but just you wait, just you wait”

When he was ten, his father split, full of it, debt ridden. Two years later, see Asta and his mother bed ridden. Half dead, sittin’ in their own sick, the scent thick.

And Asta got better but his mother went quick.

Moved in with a cousin, the cousin committed suicide. Left him with nothing but ruined pride. Something new inside A voice saying.

“Asta, you gotta fend for yourself”

He started retreatin’ and readin’ every treatise on the shelf.

There would been nothin’ left to do for someone less astute. He would have been or destitute without a cent or restitution. Started working clerking for his late mother’s landlord. Trading sugar cane, rum, and all the things he can’t afford.

Scamming

For every book he can get his hands on

Planning for the future, see him now as he stand on the bow of a ship heading for a new land.

In Clover you can be a new man.

In Clover you can be a new man

“Just you wait” Staria told himself as he got on the boat.

In Clover you can be a new man.

“Just you wait” He told himself once again as he was standing on the bow of the ship.

In Clover you can be a new

In Clover

In Clover!

“Just you wait!” He screams to the heavens, this time telling his mother to just wait and watch me reach greatness.

Asta Staria.

We are waiting in the winds for you.

You could never back down.

You never learned to take your time.

Oh, Asta Staria, when America sings for you.

Will they know what you overcame?

Will they know you rewrote the game?

The world will never be the same.

“The ship is in the harbor now, see if you can spot him” A brunette male said, his one blue eye looking closely at the ships as he walked to town.

Just you wait

“Another immigrant coming up from the bottom” He will be the narrator of this story. But just you wait.

“His enemies destroyed his rep, America forgot him” He then reveals the rest of the characters.

“We fought with him!” Four men came into the light. Two wore more common clothes, while the two behind them wore clothes of higher quality.

“Me? I died for him” Two more men walked into the light. One with black hair and golden eyes, and another sharing Asta’s Ash blonde hair but had purple eyes.

“Me? I trusted him,” said a well built man who was smoking a cigarette.

Me? I loved him,” said four women, one with silver hair, one with brown, another with black hair and red eyes, and one with pink hair.

“And me?” Our narrator said, turning around to reveal himself. “I’m the damn fool that shot him”

Shot him

Shot him!

“There are a million things I haven’t done,” Staria told himself.

But just you wait

Asta Staria

[foxonrollerskates]

How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten  spot in the Caribbean by Providence impoverished in squalor grow up to be a hero and a scholar?

The Ten dollar, founding father without a father got a lot farther by working a lot harder by being a lot smarter by being a self-starter  by fourteen, they placed him in charge of a trading charter

And every day while slaves were being slaughtered and carted away  across the waves he struggled and kept his guard up Inside he was longing for something to be a part of  the brother was ready to beg steal borrow or barter

Then a hurricane came and devastation rained  our man saw his future drip-dripping down the drain  put a pencil to his temple connected it to his brain and he wrote his first refrain a testament to his pain

Well the word got around they said this kid is insane man took up a collection just to send him to the mainland Get your education don't forget from whence you came. And the world is gonna know your name.  What's ya name, man?

Alexander Hamilton. My name is Alexander Hamilton. And there's a million things I haven't done. But just you wait, just you, wait.

When he was 10, his father split Full of it, debt-ridden Two years later, see Alex and his mother, bed-ridden Half-dead, sittin' in their own sick, the scent thick

And Alex got better but his mother went quick

Moved in with a cousin, the cousin committed suicide Left him with nothin' but ruined pride Somethin' new inside A voice saying Alex, you gotta fend for yourself He started retreatin' and readin' every treatise on the shelf

There would've been nothin' left to do For someone less astute He would've been dead and destitute Without a cent of restitution Started workin', clerkin' for his late mother's landlord Tradin' sugar cane and rum and other things he can't afford

Scannin' for every book he can get his hands on Plannin' for the future, see him now as he stands on The bow of a ship headed for a new land In New York you can be a new man (x4) In New York (New York) Just you wait (x3)

Alexander Hamilton We are waiting in the weeds for you You could never back down You never learned to take your time Alexander Hamilton America Sings for you Do they know what you overcame Do they know you control your name The world will never be the same, oh

The ship is in the harbor now See if you can spot him Another immigrant comin' up from the bottom His enemies destroyed his rep, America forgot him

We, fought with him Me, I died for him Me, I trusted him Me, I loved him And me, I'm the damn fool that shot him There's a million things I haven't done, but just you wait Whats ya name man? ALEXANDER HAMILTON

[shouldhavestayedawayfromhere]

TW: mention of self harm & suicidal thoughts

I don't usually post a lot of personal stuff like this but I kinda wanna share this one because it's important to me.

Today marks the day I'm 3 years clean from self harm. I'm really proud of that and I told my close friends and family about it, too. They were all very happy for me. But I remember a time when I was still in that cycle when some of them made it all about religion.

I know of people who weaponize mental health as a way to prove that their religion is real or that another religion is not real. I heard the "god freed me from my [insert serious mental health issue]!" too many times. I'm actually so sick of that.

A deity can certainly support you on your journey, but it will never rid you of mental illness. My depression were so much worse when I was still a Christian. I only got out of it because I let go of that. And even though I'm now also receiving help from my deities, I would never credit them for making me overcome serious issues like that.

Religion is not a substitute for professional help!

Due to my parents being super religious, I never received the help I should have gotten at the time. So me being 3 years clean is almost a miracle and I wanna take this opportunity to stress this point over and over again.

If you're struggling, get help! Praying can only do so much! When you tell someone that them not being a good enough worshipper is part of the reason they are struggling, that's going to harm them! You're blaming them for their own illness!

I was told horrible things by my religious family members at the time. One person even told me that I could do it (suicide) if I wanted to, but it's a sin and I'd go to hell for it. This ended up being a big part of the reason why I left Christianity.

My "testimony" is something a lot of religious people might not like. But even after becoming a pagan, my mental health will always be only my business. God didn't make me stop self harming, neither could've any other deity.

I overcame this addiction because I wanted to. I refuse to give credit to any supernatural entity that couldn't even respond to my prayers. It's my doing and I'm incredibly proud of that. I want everyone out there who's also struggling or has at some point been struggling with mental health to know that your religion does not matter when it comes to your life.

Your life will always have the first priority to me. Couldn't care less who you worship, if you're telling me that you're sick, you are just that. Sick. And no amount of worship is going to change that.

Anyways, happy 3 years to me and shout-out to everyone dealing with similar stuff. I see you and I'm rooting for you all 🫶

[shallyne]

gone but not forgotten

Wanted to write angst. Thanks to @timesconvert for pushing me to write this

Words: 1.130

TW: death, mourning, suicidal thoughts

Feyre's life took a turn and she deals with the consequences

Feyre watched the water dripping from her hand, the sound of the splatter in the ceramic bowl slicing through the quiet of the room. She swallowed, her heartbeat speeding up as the cool water on her skin became warm and sticks, the clear liquid turning a dark red.

The roaring in her ear started again, as it always did, and the memories of the dead body in her arms came rushing back. Screaming, she was screaming. Help, help, help–

Her breathing became shallow as she turned the faucet on again, water washing away the phantom blood of her hands as she furiously scrubbed them, so hard that her skin became raw. Two, she thought as she turned the faucet off and waited a few seconds, drawing in a deep breath. One more time.

Again, she turned on the faucet and washed her hands. Three times. These days, Feyre did a lot of things in threes. Three bites, three sips, three knocks, three clicks of her pen. Three times washing her hands.

She stopped the water, dried her hands and left the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied something glinting–

A blade. That blade. She jumped forward but two strong hands held her down to make her watch. She struggled, struggled so hard to get free. The blade moved and blood, so much blood–

It was just the reflection of the mirror.

Numb, she was so thoroughly numb that she barely noticed how she put on her shoes and left, her heart hammering in her chest. She didn't notice the stares of the people and she did not register the attention of a familiar blonde, calling out her name. She walked without a purpose, without a destination. Step after step, her breathing growing heavy, a second set of steps an echo behind her.

She didn't think, just letting her legs carry her until she found herself at the familiar, black iron gates.

Hesitation stopped her, for only a moment, before she opened the gate and walked in. The familiar gravel path, past rows and rows of gravestones, past mourning families. Her steps became heavier the closer she came, then she reached it. The gravestone of her husband's father, his mother, his sister. Her husband's gravestone.

Shaking, her legs gave up right under her. The pebbles of the gravel path digging into her knees but she didn't care. She didn't care about that pain because another pain, so much worse, threatened to crack her open.

Heavy breathing turned into sobs, her whole body shaking with them. Vision blurring, she couldn't even see the gravestone through the tears. Feyre's finger rested on the cool stone of Rhys's grave.

The second set of steps stopped behind Feyre. A hand touched her shoulder but she shook it off.

They held her down while she watched him die, she watched him die, she watched him die–

The person knelt down beside her, "Feyre," Mor said gently, "It's me, Mor. It's just me."

Warm hands rested on Feyre's face, wiping her tears away. Feyre blinked furiously, making sense of Mor's face, who smiled sadly, her own tears running down her cheeks. Feyre basically threw herself in Mor's arms as a new wave of tears overcame her.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry, It's my fault. I shouldn't–It's my fault." shaking even harder now.

Mor stroked her hand down Feyre's hair, her back. "It's not–"

"It is." Feyre interrupted, her grief seeming unbearable. She was cracking, irrevocably and irreparable breaking, piece by piece. "It should have been me." It should have been me, it should have been me, it should have been me.

"No," Mor said sternly, moving away to take Feyre's face in her hands. Her voice was cracking as she spoke, "It's not your fault, Feyre. It will never be your fault, you couldn't have changed it."

"I could–"

"No." Mor said, taking a deep breath. "Feyre…you're blaming yourself but you know how Rhys is. He did it to protect you, to protect us all. He sacrificed himself for our future and he would have done it again. You couldn't have talked him out of it, no one could have."

"I can't–" You're here, you survived. Feyre shook her head, she didn't want to be here. Not without Rhys, she didn't want to be here if he wasn't. It didn't make sense. "There's nothing," she admitted, resting her hand over her heart. "My future was with Rhys, he was always there. There isn't a future without him, there's only darkness. All," her breath hitched, "All consuming darkness where once this bright future was. I can't do it. He should be here, he can't be– he can't be…dead. I can't–we can't–"

Mor gripped Feyre's hand, "We can, Feyre. It's going to be a long path and the grief will never be gone but…we will learn how to deal with it. I will be at your side, Cassian will be, so will be Az and even Amren. We will heal, together, and we will not leave each other's sides." Mor wiped away her tears with her free hand. "Rhys would want that."

Feyre knew she was right but it hurt. Once the darkness was something she didn't fear with Rhys at her side, now there was always a light burning because she couldn't bear it. Silence was always comfortable until Rhys was gone and it became heavy. The empty bedside was a painful reminder of the hole that lived inside her, that would never be gone. The house was suddenly so big without Rhys's presence, every step echoed inside her head. Rhys's chair was empty, his belongings untouched. Feyre kept away from the dining table because she still subconsciously set a plate for him. His scent began to fade, Feyre clawing at the memory of it, wanting to bury it down inside her and never forget her. Everything was the same and everything was different.

She doubted that she could ever learn to deal with the pain but nonetheless, she tightened her grip on Mor's hand.

They stayed there for long, unmoving, until the sun began to set.

Feyre would have been content with letting the darkness swallow her whole, to not see the next sunrise, but Mor took her hand and led her from the graveyard. She didn't let go of Feyre, as though she could slip away any moment. Feyre supposed that was very much a possibility.

“Grief, I've learned, is really just love. It's all the love you want to give, but cannot. All of that unspent love gathers in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in the hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.”

– Jamie Anderson

[atom1o6]

YOU CALLED, I ANSWERED

ANON HERE TO PESTER YOU

HERE'S THE FIRST 33 PAGES OF THE LYRICS TO HAMILTON

ACT 1

Alexander Hamilton BURR How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Caribbean by providence, impoverished, in squalor, grow up to be a hero and a scholar? LAURENS The ten-dollar founding father without a father got a lot farther by working a lot harder, by being a lot smarter, by being a self-starter, by fourteen, they placed him in charge of a trading charter. JEFFERSON And every day while slaves were being slaughtered and carted away across the waves, he struggled and kept his guard up. Inside, he was longing for something to be a part of, the brother was ready to beg, steal, borrow or barter. MADISON Then a hurricane came, and devastation reigned, our man saw his future drip, dripping down the drain, put a pencil to his temple, connected it to his brain, and he wrote his first refrain, a testament to his pain. BURR Well, the word got around, they said, “This kid is insane, man” took up a collection just to send him to the mainland. “Get your education, don’t forget from whence you came, and the world is gonna know your name. What’s your name, man?” HAMILTON Alexander Hamilton. My name is Alexander Hamilton. And there’s a million things I haven’t done, but just you wait, just you wait… 2 ELIZA When he was ten his father split, full of it, debt-ridden, two years later, see Alex and his mother bed-ridden, half-dead sittin in their own sick, the scent thick, COMPANY And Alex got better but his mother went quick. WASHINGTON Moved in with a cousin, the cousin committed suicide. Left him with nothin’ but ruined pride, something new inside, a voice saying, WASHINGTON “You gotta fend for yourself.” COMPANY “Alex, you gotta fend for yourself.” WASHINGTON he started retreatin’ and readin’ every treatise on the shelf. BURR There would have been nothin’ left to do for someone less astute, he woulda been dead or destitute without a cent of restitution, started workin’, clerkin’ for his late mother’s landlord, tradin’ sugar cane and rum and all the things he can’t afford scammin’ for every book he can get his hands on, plannin’ for the future see him now as he stands on the bow of a ship headed for a new land, In New York you can be a new man. COMPANY Scammin’ Plannin’ Oooh… COMPANY In New York you can be a new man— In New York you can be a new man— HAMILTON Just you wait! Just you wait! COMPANY In New York you can be a new man— WOMEN In New York— 3 MEN New York— HAMILTON Just you wait! COMPANY Alexander Hamilton We are waiting in the wings for you You could never back down, you never learned to take your time! Oh, Alexander Hamilton When America sings for you Will they know what you overcame? Will they know you rewrote the game? The world will never be the same, oh. COMPANY Alexander Hamilton Waiting in the wings for you You never learned to take your time! Oh, Alexander Hamilton Alexander Hamilton… America sings for you Will they know what you overcame? Will they know you rewrote the game? The world will never be the same, oh. BURR The ship is in the harbor now, see if you can spot him. Another immigrant, comin’ up from the bottom. His enemies destroyed his rep, America forgot him MEN Just you wait COMPANY Just you wait MULLIGAN/LAFAYETTE We fought with him. LAURENS Me? I died for him. WASHINGTON Me? I trusted him. ELIZA/ANGELICA/MARIA Me? I loved him. 4 BURR And me? I’m the damn fool that shot him. COMPANY There’s a million things I haven’t done, but just you wait! BURR What’s your name, man? COMPANY Alexander Hamilton! 5

Aaron Burr, Sir COMPANY

New York City. HAMILTON Pardon me. Are you Aaron Burr, sir? BURR That depends. Who’s asking? HAMILTON Oh, well, sure, sir, I’m Alexander Hamilton, I’m at your service, sir. I have been looking for you. BURR I’m getting nervous. HAMILTON Sir… I heard your name at Princeton. I was seeking an accelerated course of study when I got sort of out of sorts with a buddy of yours. I may have punched him. It’s a blur, sir. He handles the financials? BURR You punched the bursar. HAMILTON Yes! I wanted to do what you did. Graduate in two, then join the revolution. He looked at me like I was stupid, I’m not stupid. So how’d you do it? How’d you graduate so fast? BURR It was my parents��� dying wish before they passed. HAMILTON You’re an orphan. Of course! I’m an orphan. God, I wish there was a war! Then we could prove that we’re worth more than anyone bargained for… BURR 6 Can I buy you a drink? HAMILTON That would be nice. BURR While we’re talking, let me offer you some free advice. Talk less. HAMILTON What? BURR Smile more. HAMILTON Ha. BURR Don’t let them know what you’re against or what you’re for. HAMILTON You can’t be serious. BURR You wanna get ahead? HAMILTON Yes. BURR Fools who run their mouths off wind up dead. LAURENS Yo yo yo yo yo! What time is it? LAURENS/LAFAYETTE/MULLIGAN Show time! BURR …like I said… LAURENS 7 Show time! Show time! Yo! I’m John Laurens in the place to be! Two pints o’ Sam Adams, but I’m workin’ on three, uh! Those redcoats don’t want it with me! Cuz I will pop chick-a pop these cops till I’m free! LAFAYETTE Oui oui, mon ami, je m’appelle Lafayette! The Lancelot of the revolutionary set! I came from afar just to say “Bonsoir!” Tell the King “Casse toi!” Who’s the best? C’est moi! MULLIGAN Brrrah brraaah! I am Hercules Mulligan, Up in it, lovin’ it, yes I heard ya mother said “Come again?” Lock up ya daughters and horses, of course it’s hard to have intercourse over four sets of corsets… LAURENS No more sex, pour me another brew, son! Let’s raise a couple more… LAURENS/LAFAYETTE/MULLIGAN To the revolution! LAURENS Well, if it ain’t the prodigy of Princeton college! MULLIGAN Aaron Burr! LAURENS Give us a verse, drop some knowledge! BURR Good luck with that: you’re takin’ a stand. You spit. I’m ‘a sit. We’ll see where we land. LAFAYETTE/MULLIGAN Boooo! LAURENS Burr, the revolution’s imminent. What do you stall for? HAMILTON If you stand for nothing, Burr, what’ll you fall for? 8

you're welcome :3

WAIT tumblr won't send it :(

this will be sent in multiple parts (i am DEDICATED)

What's funny is I actually read all that

And I plan to do this for the other 5 parts

It's a ridiculous amount of scrolling though

[swampthing07]

How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten

spot in the Caribbean by Providence impoverished in squalor

grow up to be a hero and a scholar?

The Ten dollar, founding father without a father

got a lot farther by working a lot harder

by being a lot smarter by being a self-starter

by fourteen, they placed him in charge of a trading charter

And every day while slaves were being slaughtered and carted away

across the waves he struggled and kept his guard up

Inside he was longing for something to be a part of

the brother was ready to beg steal borrow or barter

Then a hurricane came and devastation rained

our man saw his future drip-dripping down the drain

put a pencil to his temple connected it to his brain

and he wrote his first refrain a testament to his pain

Well the word got around they said this kid is insane man

took up a collection just to send him to the mainland

Get your education don't forget from whence you came. And the world is gonna know your name.

What's ya name, man?

Alexander Hamilton.

My name is Alexander Hamilton.

And there's a million things I haven't done.

But just you wait, just you, wait.

When he was 10, his father split

Full of it, debt-ridden

Two years later, see Alex and his mother, bed-ridden

Half-dead, sittin' in their own sick, the scent thick

And Alex got better but his mother went quick

Moved in with a cousin, the cousin committed suicide

Left him with nothin' but ruined pride

Somethin' new inside

A voice saying Alex, you gotta fend for yourself

He started retreatin' and readin' every treatise on the shelf

There would've been nothin' left to do

For someone less astute

He would've been dead and destitute

Without a cent of restitution

Started workin', clerkin' for his late mother's landlord

Tradin' sugar cane and rum and other things he can't afford

Scannin' for every book he can get his hands on

Plannin' for the future, see him now as he stands on

The bow of a ship headed for a new land

In New York you can be a new man

In New York you can be a new man

In New York you can be a new man

In New York you can be a new man

In New York (New York) Just you wait

In New York (New York) Just you wait

In New York (New York) Just you wait

Alexander Hamilton

We are waiting in the weeds for you

You could never back down

You never learned to take your time

Alexander Hamilton

America Sings for you

Do they know what you overcame

Do they know you control your name

The world will never be the same, oh

The ship is in the harbor now

See if you can spot him

Another immigrant comin' up from the bottom

His enemies destroyed his rep, America forgot him

We, fought with him

Me, I died for him

Me, I trusted him

Me, I loved him

And me, I'm the damn fool that shot him

There's a million things I haven't done, but just you wait

Whats your name, man?

ALEXANDER HAMILTON

Guy who made the bank of the united states