#first time going to church and it was majestic

[boodyghallab]

Greek orthodox cemetery at Alexandria, Egypt.

I saw a flower that day making it's way out of someone's grave, and suddenly the concept of death wasn't that scary, in a sense, it was beautiful.

[the-witch-of-one-piece]

TR Daddys HC : Father and Daughter Dates Ft. Baji, Sanzu, Rindou, Nahoya, Taiju, Hanma, Ran and Hakkai WC: 2600+ Masterlist Resident: @enchantedforest-network TW: TR men being the best daddies to there little princess's

Taiju

A place that he got a bit of peace of mind and it wasn’t church it was the aquarium. No matter the time in the day he loved seeing the different types of fish swimming around. He got to share his enjoyment of the Aquarium with his daughter. Taiju took time out of his schedule to take his daughter out for the day.He asked her where she wanted to go on the father and daughter outing. The first place she said was to the Aquarium. Her eyes gleamed at the large tanks filled with a variety of fishes. Some that were way bigger than her. “Daddy look!” she tugged at his hand bringing him to the large fish tank with a variety of different sharks.  

“I see.” he looked down at his daughter then back at the at tank seeing the large majestic creatures swimming.

His daughter saw some kids running to the touch pool where some of the rays and other sea creatures were. “Daddy can we go over there?!” she pointed  to the crowded area of kids. After agreeing to his daughter's request she snuggled her way into the touch pool, her hands reaching into the water as she was able to touch the ray swimming by. “It's so slimy!” she chuckled as she waited to touch the starfish. 

After going to every touch pool at the aquarium and seeing every exhibit twice, Taiju took his little one to the gift shop where she picked out an item. “Do you need help carrying it?” Taiju took small steps seeing his daughter's arms wrapped around the large shark stuffed animal that was almost as big as her. 

“It’s okay I got it daddy!” His daughter held on tightly to the plushie. It was still taking her sometime to walk since she was still tiny. Taiju decided to pick up his little one while he carried her as she still held onto the plushie. The car was parked pretty far at this rate his daughter was walking, it would have taken a while for them to get to the car. “I gotcha.” Taiju spoke, the sun was beginning to set. “Let me quiz ya which sea creature is green, they can lay eggs on the beach and live to be 100 years old?”

“That’s easy! A sea turtle!” She exclaimed.

During the walk to the car Taiju continued with his talk to his daughter quizzing her on all the sea creatures they saw at the Aquarium.

Hakkai

For the past few weekend’s when he wasn’t busy at a shoot he made time to take his daughter out. One thing he saw his daughter peak interest in was watching him bowl. Hakkai watched his daughter place the bowling ball on the kids ramp. “Alright sweetie you got this.” Hakkai crouches down next to his daughter. “Let's see how many you can knock down this time.” he patted his daughter's head. “You got this.” 

His daughter pushed the bowling ball down the kids ramp. They both watched the ball rolling down the aisle. They both watch as a few pins drop. “ I did it! Dad did you see did you see!?”  she jumped around excitedly.

“You did see I knew you could do it!” Hakkai proudly spoke, giving her a hug. 

“Dad when I get really good I’m going to do the same silly pose like you when you bowl.” she chuckled.

“It's not that silly.” he began scratching the back of his neck. 

His daughter began to imitate the pose she saw throughout the years. When she strikes the pose he closes his eyes, chuckling she was right.. “see dad it made you laugh.”

“Okay you're right but when I do that pose I always get a strike.Why don’t you try it.” Hakkai suggested it to her.

She placed the bowling ball on the ramp once more. When she pushed the ball she automatically did the pose holding it. Hakkai smirked as his daughter held the pose then watched the bowling ball going down the aisle. The pins began to go down one by one till they were all down. “It worked!!!!” “Alright!” picking her up and twirling her around. “I’m proud of you sweetie! 

Nahoya

“Wow.” his daughter was speechless as the ice cream dish was placed in front of her. “I can eat it all?” “Of course, we just can’t let your mom know.” his elbows rested on the table with a grin on his face. He promised his wife no sweets before they both arrived back home. But he couldn’t help but cave in when he saw her looking at the ice cream shop on the way home. It was a bit of a reward for her. “Secret between me and you right kiddo?” holding his pinky out towards her. Her little pinky wrapping around his “secret!” She was already talking about spoonfuls enjoying the mixture of vanilla and chocolate ice cream. “Papa, did  you want some?” she asked as she had a spoonful of the ice towards him. “You know I can’t turn down ice cream now.” he accepted the ice cream spoonful. “Isn’t it yummy?!” happily asking her papa. “Mhmm” he swallowed the ice cream. “That’s really good, it was a good thing we stopped here huh.” “Here, have another bite.” She brought another spoonful to him. He accepted the other bite. “Okay okay enough for me I want you to enjoy it.” “But I want to share it with you, papa!” she pouted slightly.

He was lucky his daughter wasn't bad. He thanked his wife for teaching her manners and sharing with others. She also had her moments at school when she heard her cousin getting picked on, the little Nahoya inside of her and defended her cousin. The reason Nahoya had to pick her up from school today. He was proud of his daughter that she had that spark in her. 

“You made me proud today kiddo. They way you handled a bully for your cousin today you proudly held the Kuwata name up high.” 

“So if I beat up another kid I will get more ice cream?” she asked. “Well depending on the circumstances.” He laughed.

Hanma

“Dad, do you have to be so embarassing?” his daughter ducked her head. “Oh I’m sorry am I embarrassing you my pretty princess?” he raised his brow, smirking. Oh yeah he was embarassing his pre teen daughter. He saw a few kids around her age and they chuckled at the interaction he was having with his daughter.. When did his daughter stop thinking he was cool?  She was in the awkward stage in her life where hanging out with her parents was lame. Hanma from the time she was younger till now always took her to the pier and they would play in the arcade, ride the ferris wheel and the same photo booth would take a photo together.  “Sorry I’m not cool anymore.” “Dad.” She covered her face. 

“Fine, well what do you wanna do then?” Hanma asked his daughter. “You used to like doing all this, now I don't know what you like.”

She still did like doing these things. “I do it just, can you not call me princess...” “Alright if you stop acting all embarrassed to hang out with your old man I will stop calling your princess in public deal?” “Deal.” she nodded. 

The moment they got onto the ferris wheel it was always something his daughter enjoyed as she was able to see everything on the pier. In that moment looking at his daughter he saw her as the little girl who tugged his hand around everywhere, who used to call him daddy or her favorite person in the world. But she was getting older and he didn't like it but he guessed that was a part he had to learn to deal with, letting her be her own person as she got older. His daughter looked over at him and she could see the bit of bum look on his face. “Hey dad.” “Yeah.” he was snapping out of his daze. “I know I don’t say it often like I used to but thank you for taking me out.” His daughter gave him a smile.  Hanma appreciated his daughter's words and made him feel a bit better. After they got off the ferris wheel “Do you wanna take a photo?” She looked over at the old photo booth. “You want to take a picture with me?” he spoke in a chuckling sarcastic tone. “I guess I could spare you sometime.” he gave her a smile as they both walked to the photo booth.

Sanzu

Sanzu’s daughters' tea parties were for exclusive people who lived in their home. He was invited along with the 5 stuffed animals. He sat at the small table and chairs, his knees close to his chest. “Would you care for some tea daddy?” his daughter held the teapot in her hand. “Of course I would love some.” he held the tea cup as she began to pretend to pour the tear in his cup. 

“Be careful it is hot!” she said she began to pretend to pour the other tea cup for her other guest. He watched his daughter pretend to take a sip of her tea “This is good isn’t daddy?” “Oh yeah it’s great.” he pretended to take a sip “It’s the best I ever had.”

“Daddy I have a surprise for you! But you have to close your eyes okay?” she said. “A surprise for me? What is it?” he asked. “She walked up to him she grabbed his hands and then over his eyes “It’s a silly surprise. No peeking!” She ran out of the room. Sanzu heard his little one exiting the room he was unsure of which room she was going into. For a few moments he heard her footsteps coming back into her room. She placed something in front of him. “Okay open them now!” When Sanzu removed his hands from his eyes he could see the familiar box he knew so well. ‘Cozy Corner’ he read on the pastry box. Opening the box to see the strawberry swirl cheesecake. “This is where you and mommy went this morning huh?” “Yup! I told her I wanted this for our tea party!” she gave him a wide grin. ‘Oh hell yea’ he thought to himself. “Lets go dig in this kitchen.”he grabbed the box and began to head towards the kitchen. He sat his daughter on the counter as he served two pieces for him and his daughter.  Both of them began to enjoy the delicious cheesecake. “You sure know how to throw a tea party.” “Mhmm!!” She had her cheeks stuffed with cheesecake. 

Baji

“You can run but you cannot hide.” Baji called out as he hid behind the wall. The room was completely dark there were splatters of glow in the dark paint everywhere. He held his laser gun in his hand. His daughter was very competitive with him. Who would be the one to privilege this victory. Chifuyu and Kazutora were out of the battle; it just came down to him and his daughter.  “Better like you can run but you cannot hide dad.” She shoulders back on the other side of the room crouching down. “Oh yeah well then face me like man coward.” he said taunting her thinking she would come out “I'm a girl!” she shouted. “I know what you're doing Mr. Keisuke.” “Oi that’s dad to you!” he proceeded with caution watching all around him making sure he would get a surprise attack from him. The battle was becoming intense. As the booth crept closer without knowing. Baji's hearing footsteps he turned “there ya are.” he pointed his gun and his daughter dodged out the way. “Dammit”

“Too slow!” she pointed her at him and missed as he moved out the way. Both of them went back and forth with one another until Baji got the final hit. “Who is slow now?” he smirked His daughter squinted her eyes. “You got lucky that's all that was.” She took off the vest. “Next time I will get the last hit.” “Well then I guess I will have to watch my back then,” he ruffled his daughter's hair. “Better yet let's do teams I beat, we can beat anyone on another team.” 

“Hell yeah! Oh I mean yeah that sounds cool.” she tried to play it off. Baji laughed at his laughter trying to cover up and she let a light curse word out. “Easy now I ain't your mom I’ll let it slide every now and then.” 

Ran 

It was a rainy day and they were supposed to go to the park but their plans were canceled. Seeing the bummed look on his little princess face they decided to have their father and daughter date in doors.There was nothing more Ran loved to do than watch his daughter's favorite movies with her. Both of them were in comfortable clothing and a blanket was on her lap. They decided to watch a new movie that was just released. Ran and her saw the previews and were excited to watch it. “You ready?” he smile holding the remote

“Yea!” she had the large bowl of popcorn on her lap.

The more the movie progressed Ran watched his daughter as she didn’t move her eyes were on the tv. The more he watched he noticed there was a touching sad scene in the movie. He saw her eyes slightly watering up, she began to wipe her eye softly sniffling. “That’s so sad daddy.” “You okay princess?” he asked. “She misses her daddy and mommy.” she wiped her eyes again. “What if they don’t find her and she is all by herself forever.” he saw her bottom lip sticking out more. 

It didn’t take Ran long to scoop her up and comfort her. “I know but she will find her mommy and daddy soon.” he was hoping that's how it ended  “no need to cry princess I’m sure she will be happy at the end.” he dried her eyes kissing her temple.He was patting her back trying to soother her but he didn't realize it put her to sleep. As the movie continued Ran was relieved that the movie ended with a happy ending. “See the movie-” Ran looked down to see her asleep. Turning off the t.v. he laid on the couch with his daughter resting on her chest he brought the covers up covering her. He was rubbing her back he let out a content breath he leaned forward kissing the top of her head. He closed his eyes as he took a nap with her.

Rindou

“Daddy you can’t move.” his fingers were widely spreaded on the counter. His daughter was carefully painting his nails. Very bold pink lacquer was coating his nails.

When it came to his little angel he couldn’t not deny any request. This was going to take him forever to get off his nails. “You missed a spot.” He pointed his head in the direction where his daughter missed an area on his nail. “Oh!” She began coating the area. She was humming as she continued to finish the rest of his fingers. The nails were slightly messy but seeing how proud his daughter looked at her work was all worth it. “What do you think daddy?!” she asked him.

“They look great, baby. Now what do I do now?” he asked her. “You have to wait till they dry or they will get messed up! So keep them wide apart.”  she closed up the polish. “Do you think if I ask uncle Ran if he wants his nails done he would?”  “He would if you ask him.” Rindou gave her a small smile. He watched as his daughter walked out of the room and she came back with some of her moms makeup. “What are you doing with mommy's make-up?”

“Imma give you a makeover!” she grabbed the make up brush dipping it into the pink eyeshadow. “Close your eyes daddy.”

Rindou closed his feeling the makeup’s brush being pressed against his eyelid. ‘Anything for my angel.’ He said to himself.

“Daddy you look so pretty!!!” She put the makeup brush down and brought the mirror to his face.

“You dad an amazing job angel.” Giving her a small his face. Even if he looked like a hot mess he did it for her. “Okay my turn to make you look like a princess.” He grabbed a pretty pastel pink nail polish and began to pain her nails.

Tagging: @intheafterall @the-haitani-baton @galactict3a @stygianoir @ratlovecat @niko-ash @kira-rrh @iluv-ace

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[thenaiads]

You can't run forever from me, darling.

Day 13: Reincarnation; confession;

@alterdnbweek

You are here at last, at the ruins of Kane's Castle, this place was always so near to your hometown, but you never visited before today.

It is always open to the public, and the tickets never cost much, either. Still, something has always held you back from coming here since you were a child.

Maybe were the strange and deadly incidents that happened in this place, the numerous horror stories that follow this place.

Stories about Mad Kings, Bloodthirsties Warriors, Vengefuls Gods, Cursed Family Bloodlines, and more.

You never believed in any curses, fantasized versions of Fate and Destiny, or Magic, and still...

You can't shake the weird feeling that something draws you here.

Something you can't ignore anymore, or fight.

This place feels weird, something feels like you are being watched by millions of eyes.

It's like it's waiting for something... or someone.

You look around the place and notice that no one is here visiting the castle, it's seems you and the employee who sold you the ticket are the only ones here.

You start to explore this place, even in its abandoned state you can see the beauty in it, and you ask yourself how majestic could have being the castle when its inhabitants lived here.

Now the place is almost empty, filled with forgotten memories and echoes of the past.

You go down the stairs and find what looks like a little church or a crypt, this place is so pretty and incredibly well-kept, there are statues of knights, a little altar, and some benches, even some little bells that descend from the ceiling and make a sweet tinkling, and... no one is here either.

You start looking around the place a little better, touch some of the things exposed, and try to read the phrases on the statues and the altar, you can't read well the words that you see but you think you can read something that seems too much similar to the word "Blood" in some of them.

You turn around and see a Carmine color Door.

You go near to it and the first thing that you notice is that there is a weird star-shaped hole.

A keyhole you immediately think.

And is so weird but, you swear that the shape almost resembles the familiar crystal handle that you inherited from your parents some time ago.

You look in your bag to reach for it, and then you insert the crystal handle into the keyhole... it fits.

You turn the handle and open the door and... darkness oozed in.

Everything was abnormally dark, you can't literally see anything at all!

It's almost like someone dropped ink all around whatever was in that room, like you were looking at the very definition of a black hole.

Wherever you look is pitch black!

You look down to the floor to try to see, to recognize your surroundings, it's like gazing into a very dark abyss, and it's so surreal.

Then you notice something truly unsettling.

In this weird void, you can see something that looks like little millions of eyes looking right at you.

And then a voice reached your ears

"Hello"

The voice... it came from someone that should be straight in front of you, so you raise your gaze to see whoever is and...

What you see is the beginning of a nightmare.

Eerie scarlet eyes flashed gleefully at you, a garish grin abruptly split open on a mortal pale face.

"Dream, you are back"

"...", you stay silent.

"I'm so glad that you returned"

"...", that is not your name, but you can't find the courage to correct the person.... the being in front of you.

"I waited for so long", the figure says while moving its hand near your face, its fingertips touching your cheek.

The touch is gentle and soft, but you can't stop the feeling of horror shaking every part of you

"Welcome back home, darling"

......................

I hope you all liked this 🥰🥰🥰 And sorry again for any grammar errors

Au explanation below for the curious!!!

Techno here is the messed up reincarnation of the God of War/Blood God, they used to reincarnate as a human, as a way to walk between the humans and do his job.

His second job as a god was to defeat a very powerful Monster h̴̩̼̕ủ̵̹͗̍̍̅̆m̵̗̤̈̒̄̅͆͠ä̸̮́̈͑̓n̴̫͛, that had a lot of knowledge about a particular magic that allowed him to cheat death (reincarnation magic, baby).

At every incarnation they would meet and fight each other the monster would always lose.

In one of their cicles the monster cruelly deceived the god, he disguises himself as someone lovely and gets near to the god with faked promises of friendship and loyalty to discover the god's secrets.

The God falls for this trick and allows his new friend to be close, but never to the point of giving him any secrets.

For a long time the twos stayed together and the Monster with surprise started to fall for his own lie, and cherish his enemy. But nothing last forever.

The God eventually finds out about the lie and enraged starts fighting the monster again as they usually did, but this time the monster doesn't want to fight and he runs. The God eventually found him and he would fight him once again, the monster now more human than he ever was in all his existence, let the God kill him.

They reincarnated and they ended up as enemies again, but this time things are different between them now.

"Dream, on his last breath and a sad smile: See ya next time beacon." "Techno so full of sadness and rage for this curse, and on the verge of tears: Please don't come back, you idiot."

In one of their reincarations, Techno finds a way to seal Dream's true nature and memories, so he could have the possibility to fully live as a human and break/change their terrible fates (if he doesn't remember he will not become power hungry again, and I will not need to slay him).

Dream on the other hand was tired of this cycle of life and death that he created for himself and decided to seal himself somewhere far away and sleep as long as he could and avoid his killer ļ̶͐̃ò̴ͅv̷̘̜̈è̸̻r̴̜͔͌ (depression and one side love will do this to powerful beings).

But things have not gone according to the plans.

.....................

The big inspiration for this story was from this incredible webseries 🤩🤩🤩

The Games "Fausts Alptraum" and "Slay the Princess", and this DNB fanfiction "The Hero We Need"

[hephaestn]

in nomine patris — priest billy hargrove/priest steve harrington. 5k. explicit read on ao3 | beta'd by @bigdumbbambieyes | for @harringrovekinktober

He liked the quietness of the late afternoons, the echo of his shoes against the marbled floors, the coolness that embraced him in the empty nave.

Steve was going to miss this place. It was no cathedral, not even a big church, but it was majestic enough—high, arched ceilings and large stained glass windows, imagery and paintings on almost every wall, and his favorite place of them all: the mighty altar.

He couldn’t believe it had been almost four years in this place; getting to know the town, its people, their secrets.

Steve had found faith at a young age. He felt lost in the world back then, without a tangible, real purpose, and God offered him just that. There was a peace in his chest he had never had before he’d become a man of faith—it fulfilled him, made him feel whole, like there had never been anything wrong with him.

As he rounded the altar on his way to his office, he heard a rumble coming from within. Steve frowned—altar boys weren’t coming in until much later.

He noticed most of the candles on the votive stand weren’t burning. Steve had always loved the smell of candle smoke but he didn’t remember putting them out. Perhaps his mind was elsewhere this afternoon, too preoccupied with the move.

Steve was surprised by the towering figure over his wooden desk. This had happened a few times in the past week, but it kept startling him.

Blue eyes looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “Afternoon, Steve. I was wondering, why do you have Mark 7:21 crossed out in your bible?”

Steve felt violated. No stranger should go through somebody else’s Bible, nor be bold enough to ask the owner such things. He huffed in annoyance and locked the door behind him.

“Good afternoon, Father William.”

Steve closed the gap between them and rested his hands on the desk, in front of his companion. He took his Bible away from William’s prying eyes and scanned the selected page.

“I’ve never liked that quote,” Steve affirmed.

A guttural agreement came out of William’s throat, which made Steve lock eyes with him from across the desk.

“Why’s that?” William asked as he straightened his back and crossed his bare forearms in front of his chest.

Steve took a deep breath in, skimming through the crossed words on the worn-out book.

“I do not think evil things come from within all the time. Sometimes an environment or choices taken in life decide for a person,” Steve explained calmly.

“So…” William bit the inside of his cheek. “You’re one of those people that believe psychopaths are created, not born?”

Steve frowned at the blunt words from the young man opposite of him. “No, I’m not saying that. Of course, some people are born with issues, what I meant is…” Steve fixed his eyes on the blonde’s smile, aware this was just pure entertainment for him. “You know what? Never mind.”

William chuckled. “No, please, go on.”

“We’re colleagues, fellow men of faith. We’re supposed to get along. I don’t know why you keep pushing my buttons like this.” Steve, closed Bible in hand, moved to the small bookshelf by the window and picked up his rosary.

“I’m pushing your buttons?”

There was amusement in William’s voice, it was excruciating how much he purposely got on Steve’s nerves. Steve was well aware the young man who was set to replace him found a weird joy in seeing him agitated.

“Have you thought of your first sermon yet? I’d like to read it before I leave, if that’s okay with you.”

William changed his weight from one foot to the other and looked elsewhere, away from Steve’s examining eyes.

“I’m still working on it. I may have it for tomorrow,” William muttered.

Steve was confused, and perhaps somewhat curious, as to why William kept putting off an important task like this one. He always seemed fine, amused and chatty—until Steve would bring up anything Church related.

“Good. Leave it on my desk whenever you’re done with it or email it to the Church’s email address.” Steve gave William a tight-lipped smile before he checked his watch. “Confession hour is about to start, I better get going.”

William offered Steve a small nod, his cheerful demeanor from earlier completely melted away. Steve worried for a second that he might’ve said something out of place but quickly shook the thought off as he exited the office.

*

Mrs. Hammond kept babbling and babbling about the sinfulness and depravity Mrs. Rowe had shown at the local fair. Apparently, Mrs. Rowe had drunk a bit too much and had started to flirt shamelessly with one of the fair guards. Steve tried his best to pay attention but he couldn’t contain a yawn or two.

“It’s simply revolting! Her husband, may he rest in peace, must be shaking in his grave with anger!”

Steve sighed. “Mrs. Hammond, please. We must be gentle to those around us. Mrs. Rowe has been through a lot, perhaps this was nothing more than a mistake, and what do we always say in mass about mistakes?”

He heard Mrs. Hammond mutter something to herself before she cleared her voice. “Mistakes lead us to a better self.”

“That’s right,” Steve said. “Gossiping is a sin, Mrs. Hammond. We need to be kind to those in our community.”

“I’m sorry, Father. I’m sorry for this and all my other sins,” Mrs. Hammond replied in a smaller voice.

“As work for this week, I commend you to seek Mrs. Rowe and offer her a friendly hand to rely on. And three Hail Marys before you leave Church today, Mrs. Hammond.”

“Yes, Father. Thank you, Father.”

Mrs. Hammond followed along with her Act of Contrition before receiving Steve’s absolution.

A couple of silent minutes went by after Mrs. Hammond left the confessionary. Steve looked at his watch; there wasn’t much time for Confession left, which he was thankful for. He liked helping people but it was also a toll on his mind to carry the secrets of an entire town.

There was a rumbling in the cubicle next to his; someone had entered for Confession. He wondered if it was Mr. Lochland, who had been sick the last couple of weeks.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been nine months since my last confession.”

Steve didn’t quite recognize the voice. It was someone younger, definitely not Mr. Lochland with his hoarse, throaty voice. This voice was smooth, velvety, and calm.

“Go on, son.”

“I’ve been suffering from impure thoughts, Father,” the young man whispered.

Steve made a small gesture of understanding to himself. “It is a frequent occurrence at young ages, son.”

The man cleared his voice. “I’m not so young, Father, and these thoughts…these thoughts have been consuming me for a week, they won’t let me sleep at night.”

Steve started to fidget with the rosary in his hands, the young man sounded concerned, far too preoccupied with these thoughts he kept mentioning.

“Why for a week, son? Has something changed in your life? Have you met someone who’s awakened these impure thoughts in you?” Steve wanted to know a way to provide counsel, a way to help somehow.

“I have, Father.”

Steve thought he knew that voice from somewhere, perhaps an occasional parishioner or someone he knew from town.

“These thoughts…they’re about another man,” the whispering voice continued.

Steve raised his eyebrows, not in judgment but in shock—he didn’t expect his last confession to go like this.

“That’s alright, son. In my parish there’s no discrimination against any type of love.” Steve tried to keep his voice calm and reassuring.

There was a small second of silence and then, “I want to kiss him, Father. Bite his bottom lip until he’s gasping for air.”

Steve was lost for words, his voice caught in his throat by the bluntness of the statement.

“He’s completely oblivious, Father. He’s oblivious to how every time I lay eyes on him I want nothing else but to strip him of his clothes and feel the warmth of his skin underneath my hands.” The voice grew lower, sultrier even.

Steve changed the way he was sitting in the small cubicle of the confessionary, seeking a comfort that wouldn’t be found.

“Father,” the voice whispered. “I need you to cure me, to wipe these thoughts from my mind. I can no longer have them. They’re burning. I’m burning.”

Steve gulped down the knot in his throat. “I’m not sure I can cure it, son. I can absolve you from these sinful thoughts, give you a penitence to complete, but you have to do the work by yourself.”

It was extremely hard to maintain his composure as he spoke but Steve was used to out of the ordinary talks—even if none of the previous ones he’d had throughout his life as a priest had gone this way.

“What kind of penitence, Father?”

“Well, you could do some communitarian work, I think that would get your mind occupied and away from these thoughts,” Steve explained with his usual calmness. “There’s a gardening group here at the Church, we tend the garden on Tuesdays.”

“I couldn’t do that, Father, for you see… he’s a regular of this Church, and being here, even if gardening, would turn me insane with lust. What if he’s there? Bending over some plants, with his bare arms dirtied up with soil?”

Steve sighed—a silent prayer to stop the young man from further explaining his thoughts.

But, Steve’s prayers weren’t heard.

“I’d want to take him right there and then, with our hot, sweaty bodies covered in dirt,” the voice kept getting lower. “Father, I want him like I’ve never wanted anyone before.”

Steve closed his eyes, crossing himself.

“Sometimes, during mass, I cannot help but think of him ripping my shirt off and having his way with me on the benches.”

There was a sudden waft of hot air swallowing Steve within the confessionary. He tried to loosen up the tightness around his neck only to find the resistance of the Roman collar against his fingers.

“I want to feel his thighs against mine, Father,” the voice grew closer, as if the young man was speaking right into Steve’s ear. “Pull his hair as he rides me.”

Steve wanted to say something, anything that would stop this, but he couldn’t. His pulse had accelerated and shivers kept running down his spine with every word said by the man.

“I want him crying and begging for more. I want to see hunger in his eyes, Father.”

Steve felt like he couldn’t breathe. Parts that had been asleep for a long time in him started to awaken. He reached out for the red curtain of the confessionary, seeking a way out.

But the man continued, “I’d take him right here in this confessional box, Father. Make him pant for air as I’m buried deep inside of him.”

Steve grasped the curtain and pulled it open with every bit of strength left in his shaking arms. He was agitated, his pulse loud in his ears.

“That’s quite enough!” Steve’s voice reverberated in the wide, empty navel. His hand tightly clutching his Bible and rosary.

He was panting, his stomach tied in a hundred thousand knots. He felt feverish, like this was all part of a bad dream. Steve didn’t even want to know who hid behind the other curtain, he just wanted this to be over.

“I would invite you to leave this Church, this is unacceptable behavior,” Steve requested in a shaky voice.

He turned his back to the confessional box, determined to go back to his office and pray the man at the other side of the wooden division would silently leave.

It was on Steve’s third step when he heard it; the other curtain of the confessionary sliding open. He squeezed his eyes tightly and carried on, marching at a quick pace towards the altar.

“Steve,” the voice called. Not soft and whispered like before within the small cubicle, it had authority to it, sharp and clear.

And Steve knew who it belonged to.

Steve turned swiftly. It couldn’t be. How?

How was William standing right behind him, next to the confessionary? Steve couldn’t grasp what was happening, his mind making up a thousand excuses for what was going on. Perhaps William was testing him, or—or it could be a prank! Something weird and blasphemous Californian priests would do to pass the time?

It had to be anything, anything other than William actually having these thoughts for a parishioner.

“Father William,” Steve stated.

William put his hands in the pockets of his black trousers as he took a step forward. “You look agitated, Steve.”

Steve snorted, irritated at the nerve of the blond.

“I should report you for whatever this was. I do not care if it was a prank,” he said as the blood in his veins bubbled with anger. “Or, if all you said is actually true, God forbid, you should be away from my parishioners.”

William laughed as he ran the tip of his tongue along his bottom teeth. “Your parishioners? Why should your big flock of elderly women be away from me? Because I’m gay?”

“I don’t care if you’re gay or not. You’re a man of faith! You shouldn’t be saying things like the ones you said in there!” Steve retaliated.

“Ephesians 4:25, Steve.” William took yet another step towards the brunette. “Therefore each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to your neighbor, for we are all members of one body,” he quoted.

Steve was confused, he didn’t understand anything of what was going on. He just wanted his last day here to be a nice, quiet Saturday, giving mass, hearing the same old confessions.

William kept walking towards him as Steve’s mind struggled to find a reasonable answer for all of this.

“Tell me, Steve.” William’s voice got low again, like when he was confessing. “You’ve never had thoughts like those?”

Steve’s heart began to pound to a beat he had long forgotten, the short hair on his nape slowly turning damp with the sweat gathering there from the tension.

“Are you that much of a good boy?” William examined Steve’s eyes. “Are you, pretty boy?”

Steve moved his gaze away from William’s excruciating blue eyes. He felt seen, as if the blond could see right through him, read his mind somehow. Perhaps this was his ultimate test of Faith—and he wasn’t entirely sure he was going to pass it.

“Proverbs 24:26,” William whispered as his eyes traveled to the shape of Steve’s plump lips. “An honest answer is like a kiss on the lips.”

Steve felt like he was in a trance, like he couldn’t look away from the face merely one inch away from his. When he finally managed to snap out of it, his gaze traveled south to find William’s bare forearms there.

He had thought about those forearms—one too many times.

“I want you, Steve.”

When Steve looked up again he found William had stepped even closer, their mouths only a breath away from each other. Steve’s fingertips tingled as he held on tight to the Bible and the rosary that nestled against his chest. Doubtful and confused, he shook his head.

“Me?” Steve asked, his voice breaking at the end.

Steve’s mind was spinning, he couldn’t really process the fact that those things William had listed were about him, not when William was so close, with his hand slowly raising towards Steve’s face.

William cupped Steve’s cheek, to which the brunette could do nothing else but close his eyes at the warmth.

“Let me kiss you,” William muttered with a voice so quiet Steve prayed no Saint in the room could hear.

Steve opened his eyes to gaze at William’s mouth; the shape of it, the color of his lips.

In a courageous and stupid impulse, Steve drove his mouth to William’s, his arms still wrapped around his torso to hold the Holy objects against his core.

William moved his lips with ferocity once he was struck with the realization of what was happening, his lips making Steve’s prisoners of a quick and sloppy dance.

Steve felt a black hole swirling in his stomach. This black hole was hungry all of a sudden, it filled Steve with a need to devour the lips caught in between his. He wanted to be closer, feel the heat emanating from William’s body against his.

Unconsciously, Steve drove his hands to William’s hair, wanting nothing else but to touch him, feel him—but a loud thump made him jump, pulling away by a few steps from a breathless William.

Steve looked down to the marble floor, his Bible resting there, cold and forgotten even for a mere second in Steve’s existence. His rosary was still safe, tangled in between his fingers.

“Steve,” William called. “Look at me.”

He couldn’t look at him, not when his chest kept moving frantically as he tried to catch his breath.

Not when his morals were lying on the ground alongside his Bible.

“Look at me, Steve.”

William commanded and Steve obeyed, like a good little pilgrim. Big, concerned eyes quickly met icy blue.

“That’s it, baby.”

William bit his bottom lip as he spoke, hands back in his pockets. As he walked up to Steve, he kicked away the Bible lying on the floor without even looking at it.

“Anyone could see us, William,” Steve pleaded.

“Billy,” William said in that authoritative tone of his.

“What?” Steve asked in confusion as he watched the blond move closer and closer again. He clasped the rosary in his hand, the beads nailing into his skin.

“Call me Billy, baby.” William retrieved their previous position by cupping Steve’s cheek once more. “I closed the doors, we’re good.”

The next thing Steve felt was Billy’s mouth on his neck, wet and messy, kissing and biting as it moved up towards his ear. Steve’s belly kept feeling tighter and tighter, a pressure there he hadn’t felt since he was a teenage boy.

“Billy,” Steve gasped, closing his eyes at the ecstasy of Billy’s tongue swirling around his ear.

“Yeah, baby?” Billy’s voice was muffled against the hot skin underneath his mouth.

“We…” Steve was trying to concentrate on the words he wanted to say but his brain was muddled, consumed by the tingling feeling traveling through his every nerve. “We shouldn’t...”

Billy sunk his teeth into the crook of Steve’s neck, which instantly made the brunette moan louder than he would’ve wanted. The blond’s hands traveled to Steve’s black shirt, feeling the heat from his skin.

“We shouldn’t?” Billy asked as his mouth left wet kisses along Steve’s jaw.

Steve twisted his fingers into Billy’s blond curls, messy by his previous touch. The hanging beads of his rosary tingled against Billy’s neck.

Steve knew they shouldn’t, this was wrong, he was wrong, this was a sin. He was a sin. Steve had always known, since that one Halloween party when he was a freshman, the party during which he had first kissed a boy. Since then, he knew he was a sin, and he had done everything to make it right; to make himself right.

But, right there and then, with Billy’s tongue licking his lips, with the pit of fire building in his insides, he didn’t think it was much of a sin. Blinded by lust, by want and need, everything felt holy.

Steve tightened his fingers around Billy’s soft hair and pulled it. Billy’s eyes were quickly in his, blackened by desire. Steve could tell he had liked it and so he pulled once again until Billy’s neck was exposed. Steve devoured him, sucking, biting, and kissing every inch of skin under his hungry mouth. Billy’s faint whimpers only encouraged Steve more, who couldn’t help but move his mouth to the blond’s.

Billy’s lips parted as soon as he felt the warmth of Steve’s against his. Steve kissed so differently from him. Billy was quick, ferocious, starved even, in his kisses. Steve, however, was slow, careful, and sensual. So fucking hot. The way his tongue lapped against his lips as they kissed was making Billy harder than he could’ve ever imagined possible.

Steve felt a tingle run down his back with each moan Billy let out against his mouth. The sound echoed in the nave of the Church, making Steve’s head spin.

Out of breath, Billy pulled away and lowered his gaze as he began to undo the buttons of Steve’s shirt.

“I need to feel you,” Billy gasped. “Let me feel you.”

Steve watched as Billy unbuttoned his Saturday shirt. It was ungodly how much he craved Billy’s touch.

Billy smiled as his fingers traveled to the Clerical collar around Steve’s neck.

“I don’t think this suits you anymore, baby.”

Steve stared at Billy’s face as he removed the white plastic off of him. His stomach tied in a knot as he saw the tab fly away and fall onto the ground—near his forgotten Bible. There wasn’t much time for him to second guess his thoughts with Billy’s hot breath against his chest.

“Keep yours,” Steve breathed.

“Hmm?” Billy wondered, mind elsewhere.

“Your collar. Keep it.”

Billy met Steve’s eyes. “Fuck, baby. That’s kinky,” he said with a sly smile.

Steve giggled, feeling like a schoolboy, giddy and nervous to kiss his first crush. Billy went back to his chest, leaving a trail of damp kisses until he reached Steve’s nipple. He twisted his tongue around it, sending a sharp wave of electricity to every nerve in Steve’s body.

“Fuck,” Steve mumbled.

“We don’t curse in the house of the Lord, Father.”

Steve could feel Billy’s amused smile against his skin before he felt his teeth pressing against his hardened nipple. Steve felt a jolt of static run through his head, his eyes rolled back as he let his head fall back in a moan.

“Move,” Billy commanded all of a sudden, shaking Steve out of his pleasure-filled mind.

“What?” Steve asked, confused, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Move.”

Billy pushed Steve away until the brunette’s heels bumped into the small steps up to the altar. Steve’s mind was clouded by the sudden change, his bare chest moving to the beat of his irregular breath.

“Against the altar, come on, baby,” Billy said as he walked up to him.

Steve looked back, the beautiful marble altar behind him felt imposing. He didn’t really know how but he felt the inert object judging him for what he was doing, for what he was about to do. Checking his step, Steve climbed up to the altar, his eyes fixed on the Sacramental bread and wine he had prepared earlier.

He felt it then: the guilt, already bubbling in his stomach, ready to take over every cell in his being. But, Billy’s lips were faster, trailing the curve of Steve’s neck. Billy’s hands were larger, both ghosting over his chest. The pressure of Billy’s body against his back made the guilt fade away, disappearing into a cloud of smoke.

Billy spun him around, slowly, as he kept leaving kisses down his neck and chest. Steve rested his lower back against the cool white marble, gripping the edges as he felt Billy’s mouth nearing his black leather belt. He felt the rosary sleep through his fingers, heard how it collapsed on the ground. Steve didn’t care, not now.

Steve couldn’t really believe the sight below him, blue eyes and flushed cheeks looking up at him as Billy kneeled down in front of him.

“I’ll make you see God, baby,” Billy muttered, two of his fingers faintly tracing the shape of Steve’s bulge through the fabric.

Steve felt that touch like there was no barrier between them at all, made him pant in anticipation. The knot that had started to slowly build up in his belly was growing tighter, he wanted Billy—needed him.

Billy’s hands were eager as he undid Steve’s belt, his mouth leaving a wet trail of kisses on his chest. Steve’s vision was cloudy, fogged up by the need he had repressed for so many years, the want he had for Billy since he first saw him—a want he had obliterated from his thoughts in hopes it would go away.

Billy pulled down Steve’s trousers, the metal of his belt clinked against the floor as it fell. Billy’s breath caught in his throat—Steve looked like a Renaissance painting from where he stood, glistening chest and open-mouthed, a God. He felt a puncturing pain near his ribs that reminded him of the possibility this would be a one-time-only event, that he would never see Steve again after this, that the young priest would suddenly regain consciousness and see him for the monstrosity that he was.

A light touch ran through his curls, pulling him out of his thoughts. Billy hadn’t been aware of how his hands had begun shaking, of how he had instinctively closed his eyes at the pain.

“You’re okay?” Steve wondered with worry in his voice as his fingers caressed through Billy’s hair in a calming, soothing movement.

That alone could’ve brought Billy to tears, the warmth, the care that always emanated from Steve—that was what drew him to the brunette, what made him burn so much.

Steve lowered the hand on Billy’s hair until he was cupping his soft cheek, then, ever so slowly, he drew his thumb to Billy’s bottom lip, tracing the shape of it.

“I want you, too, Billy,” Steve confessed. “Ever since you knocked on my office door saying you were my replacement in the Church, I’ve wanted you.”

Billy couldn’t move his eyes away from Steve’s, those big chocolate ones of his that sparkled with the unshed tears that told Billy that what was being said was true.

Steve felt Billy’s teeth scrape against his fingertip, only to then pull Steve’s thumb into his mouth. Billy’s tongue felt like Paradise’s snake, quick and enticing, wrapping around his finger, drawing out moan after moan from Steve.

“Please,” Steve begged as he struggled for air.

Billy’s hands wormed their way into the sides of Steve’s briefs, grasping the skin on his hips, pulling him forward until his clothed bulge was pressed against Billy’s open mouth.

Steve gasped, his hands back on the white marble behind him, knuckles matching it from his tight grip. He could feel Billy’s hot breath against him, his tongue wetting the cloth of his briefs—it was too much.

Billy twisted his hands to grab the elastic of Steve’s underwear, pulling it down ever so slowly. Steve couldn’t help but let his head fall back; the feeling of the edge of his brief brushing against his hardness made his scalp tingle.

“Fuck,” Billy breathed, watching the artistry of Steve’s exposed neck in front of him.

Steve felt like he was gonna burst into flames, he hadn’t experienced desire in a very long time—perhaps ever, not like this, anyway.

His body convulsed the second Billy’s touch was on him. Steve’s eyes were closed but he very well could see the muscles on Billy’s forearm in his mind, flexing and moving as Billy’s hand moved on his sex.

Steve’s eyes shot open at the feeling of Billy’s tongue tracing the tip of his dick. He couldn’t help the moan that left his throat, echoing through the empty Church, the sound of his own cry of pleasure only made him harder.

“Billy,” Steve choked. “God, please.”

“Not God, baby,” Billy said, gulping as he moved his mouth downward, leaving a chaste kiss on Steve’s length. “Just me.”

Steve was getting impatient, clouded by the storm of lust that traveled through his body. He grabbed onto Billy’s hair with his right hand, his left hand still holding tight onto the altar.

Billy took the tug on his hair as a silent command and licked his way back up to the tip, twisting his tongue around it before pulling Steve into the warmth of his mouth.

Steve whimpered at the feeling of Billy’s wet mouth, at the way one of his hands clutched at Steve’s thigh as he shamelessly worked up and down his shaft.

Billy was sloppy, hungry for Steve in a way that reverberated against the carved and decorated walls. The acoustics of the Church enhanced everything, made Steve feel like this was part of a dream; one he wasn’t sure he wanted to wake up from. His hips moved involuntarily to the rhythm Billy had marked, soon after they were in sync.

Steve let go of Billy’s hair when a wave of pleasure threatened to overcome him, he wanted it to last, to savour every second of the sensation of Billy’s mouth on him. He attempted to hold on to the altar with both hands, accidentally knocking over the Sacramental wine.

“Shit.” Steve watched the liquid run its way down the marble surface, dyeing red the tablecloth that covered it.

The worry didn’t last long as Billy picked up the rhythm, his mouth closing tighter around Steve’s cock, one hand working at the base while the other massaged Steve’s thigh.

Steve’s eyes rolled back as he let his head fall backwards, his back arched against the cold marble. He could feel it, the waves of pleasure rushing through him. Something made him open his eyes then. Jesus, crucified, looked down on him upside down; Steve, a mere reflection of the man he served, hands spread out, head bent. But, Steve wasn’t bleeding, wasn’t dying—he felt more alive than ever, vibrant, electric.

Billy pulled him deeper and Steve felt himself collapse. The blond’s moans vibrated against his length, sending shivers through his spine.

“I’m gonna come,” Steve muttered, almost inaudible. “Fuck.”

That almost silent announcement led his body to tense up and as Billy’s hand tightened on his thigh, a lightning of pleasure bolted through him, leaving everything scorched in its path.

Steve couldn’t recall for how long his mind went into a state of emptiness and white noise but it was Billy’s lips that drove him out of it. He could taste himself in Billy’s tongue, which for some strange reason made him giggle against Billy’s open mouth.

“That was so hot, baby,” Billy said with a satisfied smile. “Did I make you see God?”

Steve kissed him back, soft and gentle. “You know, I think you might’ve,” he replied, amused.

Billy pulled away from Steve to stare at him with a mischievous smile on his face. As he did so, he noticed the spilled wine on the altar behind them.

“We made a mess,” Billy mentioned before he turned back to Steve’s face.

Steve chuckled. He felt ecstatic, his chest filled with a sort of happiness he hadn’t experienced before. Steve cupped Billy’s face as he kept on kissing him.

“Do you want to see God?” Steve purred against the blond’s lips.

Billy’s eyes twinkled. “Fuck, show me God, baby.”

[gayuu-the-necromancer]

William Rex Madness Route - Chapter 23

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Grimsley: "You mean, her Majesty has heard my plea....?"

Grimsley muttered contentedly as the carriage rocked along the cobbles, his fingertips brushing the grips of his cane.

The two escorts flanked on either sides, their hats were pulled over, completely covering the upper portion of their faces.

Alphonse: "Do you need escorts when coming to see her Majesty?"

Grimsley: "I can't be sure that I won't be attacked by those monsters on the road."

Grimsley: "Beasts that should be kept in chains, using her Majesty's authority as an umbrella...to attack me, her loyal subject."

Grimsley: "And now that she knows, her Majesty has finally realised her great mistake....hm?"

The rattling sounds of the wheels become rougher and rougher.

Grimsley soon realized that they were heading in the opposite direction rather than the central London City area,

Grimsley finally starting understanding what's going on.

Grimsley: "Hey, you're going the wrong way."

Grimsley yells at the coachman and bangs on the front window with his cane.

The carriage doesn't stop, as if the coachman could not hear them.

Grimsley: "Hey....! What's going on!?"

Alphonse: "Calm down. Her Majesty is waiting for you."

Grimsley: "....If you're lying, I'll kill you."

Alphonse: "Ahaha! Please don't worry."

Alphonse: "....I hate lies myself."

The carriage drove through the rough roads for a while, finally stopped in front of a deserted area.

Grimsley: "You guys step out first."

Letting his pride overwhelm him, Grimsley tapped his escorts with his cane and gave them instructions.

......The door of the church opened slowly, making a loud sound.

Grimsley: ".....Hey you! Her Majesty is----!"

At the sight that awaited him, Grimsley snarled in exasperation.

William: "Good evening, Grimsley."

William: "How are you feeling?"

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(....So that's Grimsley)

He's dressed in aristocratic, sumptuous clothing and his austere face is adorned by a magnificent moustache.

If one walked by him in the corridors of the palace, they might be nervous at the sight of his majestic appearance.

He let the two physically superior escorts stand front of him like a wall.

Grimsley looked pitifully small now, cowering in the gap, trying not to make eye contact with William.

Grimsley: "So you're a 'cursed one' too, huh...!"

Grimsley glares hatefully at Mr. Alphonse for leading him here.

Alphonse: "Fufu....was it your first time? Riding with a monster?"

Mr. Alphonse closed the church door slowly with a sneer on his face.

In the darkness of the church, darker and blacker than the darkness were the eight shadows glaring at him...

They quietly stared at the man.

As if not letting their captured prey, escape.

By blocking all the escape routes------

-----To bring justice.

(.....Just like the night I met them)

What is different from that night is that I am standing in the same darkness as them, staring into their eyes.

To write down all their 'evil'.

"To protect William, who is 'evil'.

I stand beside William in the darkness.

William: "Are you ready?"

Kate: "Of course."

-----Options-----

No regrets

I know what I want to do.

Rest assured.

------

Kate: "I know what I want to do, so there is no hesitation."

William: "-----I knew it."

Grimsley: "Tsk----!"

Grimsley ran into the shadow of a pillar to escape William's blood-coloured eyes.

The two remaining escorts hold their guns without avoiding William's gaze.

(....? Something's weird)

(Grimsley's reaction tells us that he knows about William's abilities)

(Then why aren't the escorts hiding....?)

William, too seems to have noticed the discomfort and opens his mouth to test something.

William: "Put down your guns"

Escort: "..............."

(Nothing happened....?)

The two escorts were not moving at all and I was surprised to hear Grimsley's proud laughter.

Grimsley: "Did you think I had taken no precautions against your abilities?"

Grimsley: "For commanding people to do what you say, you need them to see your face and hear your voice, right?"

Grimsley: "But what if they can't see your face or hear a single word you say?"

(....That means)

Horrifying thoughts flood my mind, and I strain my eyes.

Hidden by their large hats, which could not be seen clearly......was...

A bandage with a reddish-black stain seemed to be wrapped around their eyes and ears.

(They are deaf as well----?)

William: "....That's so nasty."

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Grimsley: "Hah! You're a monster, you know that? Their job is to be my shields."

Grimsley: "I saved a cash-strapped fallen aristocrat with a contract that allowed me to do whatever with the lives of his second and third son as I pleased."

Grimsley: "It is up to me what I do with the life that has been offered in return for the mercy I have shown to someone."

(This man I swear...he used the lives of innocents as if they were tools, just to lure William out)

(Not only that, even the people beside him...they are only seen as a tool for his own gain)

The ruthlessness of the act arouses more anger than fear.

(He did this to you...so, why are you following his orders....?)

I couldn't understand how the escorts feel, so I stare into the dark night.

(Ah......)

I see now. They were so overwhelmed by helplessness that they had resigned themselves to not feel anger or even sadness.

Those were the eyes of people that killed their own heart.

William: "............"

Grimsley pounded on the church floor with the tip of his cane.

The vibrations may have been a signal for the escorts to fire.

(.....!)

The bullet ricocheted at the feet of William, who did not move an eyebrow.

(I-I....I couldn't move quickly....!)

(But....)

Escorts: "Ngh...."

The bodies of the escorts leans back, perhaps because of the pain from the reaction to the wounded ear.

William: "....If you damage the inside of the ear, you lose your sense of balance. If your balance is impaired, your aim will be less accurate."

William: "To reduce their talents just to kill me...how stupid."

Grimsley: "If I kill you now, I don't care about the rest!"

Grimsley: "If a piece is no longer usable, I'll just replace it."

(...This man)

Staring hard at that the pillar, I endured my simmering anger.

Th escorts, unable to resist the inhumane treatment, simply do as they are told, which is frustrating and painful.

(If they could speak up right now)

(They must want to shout out loud. That they don't want to do this)

William: "Liam, Harrison, restrain the guards."

Liam: "Okay! Leave it to me."

When William calls out into the darkness, a florid voice comes from somewhere.

Escort 1: "......Nn...Ah!?"

One is bound from behind by something invisible.

Harrison: "It would have been nice to threaten them with a gun and tell them not to move, but...what's the point if they can't hear or see us?"

Escort 2: "!? Ah..."

The other was struck in the back of the head by Harrison who had crept up behind him.

Harrison: "I didn't mean to be rough, so please don't take it personally."

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The two escorts were laid on the church benches.

Ellis: "What do we do with them?"

William: "Well, give them proper treatment."

Jude: "Ha!?"

Jude: "They have been complicit in your assassination and have tortured civilians."

William: "But they don't seem to have the will to trample on other's freedom themselves."

William: "To me, they're are also a victim, who was being continuously.....trampled."

William: "Right now, there is no way to question them about the truth or falsity of my predictions. Therefore, their verdict is on hold."

Those who have been deprived of their freedom and have their diginity trampled upon are the objects of William's love, whatever their position might be.

His love, is like a rain of grace, which falls wherever it wants.

Jude: "What if these recovered guys are the same scum as Grimsley?"

William: "Then I will condemn them again."

Jude: "Tch....what a selfish judgement. This is why I can't stand you."

(Yes, it's selfish. He can either save or kill someone according to how he feels)

(But I know that there are people out there who are saved by that selfishness....I know)

(And because William is like that)

(----And that we can never forgive the likes of Grimsley)

Grimsley: "You useless idiots...!"

Grimsley, who remained hidden behind a pillar, seemed to be floundering, having lost his protective shield.

Grimsley: "Her Majesty....that's right, her Majesty will know about this!"

Grimsley: "Although I have resigned from the Privy Council you would still be committing a high treason if you lay your hands on me, a loyal subject of her Majesty's....!"

William: "Fortunately for us, Majesty herself gave us these orders."

Grimsley: "W-What...."

A slight tinge of despair begins to creep into the impatient voice.

Grimsley: "Wha...b-but..why...!?"

William: "That will become clear when you look back at what you have done."

William: "You had the 'butterflies' take away the freedom of the 'have-nots' and exploiting them to the point of silencing them..."

William: "You planned to capture innocent civilians, torture them and even accuse them of murder."

William: "Also from the way you treated your men...I'd say that's more than enough crimes to execute you."

Grimsley: "How can one steer a nation if they're so preoccupied with petty sacrifices like that....!?"

Grimsley: "It's no wonder that in this capital city of the UK, with its ever-growing populations, the inferior people are dying!"

Grimsley: "This is all a cleansing mechanism to keep our country from going to poverty! What's wrong with making good use of lives that would otherwise be left to die in the field!?"

Grimsley: "Unlike you, who goes around mercilessly killing important people who have a stake in national politics...."

Grimsley: "You are the criminals who are disrupting this country! I am trying to save Britain!"

William: "...Hehehe..AHAHAHA!"

William laughed manically at Grimsley's 'justice is mine' temper tantrum.

Grimsley: "W-What are you laughing for!?"

William: "If you say you're saving our country..."

William: "Then why are you hiding behind a pillar?"

Grimsley: ".....You son of a---!!"

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Grimsley: ".....You son of a---!!"

The sound of a gun being fired was heard as an agitated and enraged Grimsley raised his gun.

(That's dangerous----!)

I leap in front of William, who was standing next to me.

William: "Kate, get down."

Kate: "....!"

An arm went behind my back and around my stomach, pulled me to crouch down.

(Nn....!!)

The first shot made a loud noise and shattered the stained glass windows of the church----

Under the pouring rain of glass, the sound of several bullets popping off here and there continues.

Kate: "...William, you're okay, right!?"

William: "Yeah. I wonder if he left his brains behind at the Privy Council, firing his gun while hiding behind a pillar."

William: "This beautiful church, it's now gonna be covered in all bullet holes."

Kate: "That's what you're worried about....?"

We hid myself behind the lectern and peeked to see what's going on.

Grimsley was still hiding behind the pillar.

William: "We have the advantage in numbers and he has no retreat routes. He also has limited ammunition."

I listen to William's calm voice and try to calm my own racing heart.

Kate: "...He fired 3 bullets...right now, right?"

William: "Four. Two more to go. Let's just wait until he runs out of bullets."

William: "Then, Roger and Ellis will trap him from both sides."

(I see...if that's the case, then I feel a little relieved)

(If it's those two, then they will be fine----)

Grimsley: "ARGHHHH!!!"

Kate: "!?"

William: "......!"

Suddenly, Grimsley's unhinged cry echoed through the church.

Before I could even process----

Kate: "Ah!?"

Two shots rang out, and part of the lectern, where I had taken cover, burst open.

(That was close....!)

The flying pieces of wood catch my eye and I can't help but close my eyes.

(That was two shots! This is no time to close my eyes....!)

Kate: "William...! ....Are you alright....?"

I forced my eyes open to look back at William.

William: "...You look like a baby chick trying to find her parents...how cute."

Yoshino: "....Thank god...."

I felt relieved.

William: "Looks like something got in your eyes. Let me see."

He immediately lifted my chin.

Then a large shadow falls in the corner of my eye.

(Eh.....?)

The sound of something wooden breaking is heard and it falls towards me.

(Oh no!)

Before I could process, my body was moving.

Kate: "William....!"

Madness route - Chapter 24

[atotc-weekly]

Book the Third—The Track of a Storm

[X] Chapter XV. The Footsteps Die Out For Ever

Along the Paris streets, the death-carts rumble, hollow and harsh. Six tumbrils carry the day’s wine to La Guillotine. All the devouring and insatiate Monsters imagined since imagination could record itself, are fused in the one realisation, Guillotine. And yet there is not in France, with its rich variety of soil and climate, a blade, a leaf, a root, a sprig, a peppercorn, which will grow to maturity under conditions more certain than those that have produced this horror. Crush humanity out of shape once more, under similar hammers, and it will twist itself into the same tortured forms. Sow the same seed of rapacious license and oppression over again, and it will surely yield the same fruit according to its kind.

Six tumbrils roll along the streets. Change these back again to what they were, thou powerful enchanter, Time, and they shall be seen to be the carriages of absolute monarchs, the equipages of feudal nobles, the toilettes of flaring Jezebels, the churches that are not my father’s house but dens of thieves, the huts of millions of starving peasants! No; the great magician who majestically works out the appointed order of the Creator, never reverses his transformations. “If thou be changed into this shape by the will of God,” say the seers to the enchanted, in the wise Arabian stories, “then remain so! But, if thou wear this form through mere passing conjuration, then resume thy former aspect!” Changeless and hopeless, the tumbrils roll along.

As the sombre wheels of the six carts go round, they seem to plough up a long crooked furrow among the populace in the streets. Ridges of faces are thrown to this side and to that, and the ploughs go steadily onward. So used are the regular inhabitants of the houses to the spectacle, that in many windows there are no people, and in some the occupation of the hands is not so much as suspended, while the eyes survey the faces in the tumbrils. Here and there, the inmate has visitors to see the sight; then he points his finger, with something of the complacency of a curator or authorised exponent, to this cart and to this, and seems to tell who sat here yesterday, and who there the day before.

Of the riders in the tumbrils, some observe these things, and all things on their last roadside, with an impassive stare; others, with a lingering interest in the ways of life and men. Some, seated with drooping heads, are sunk in silent despair; again, there are some so heedful of their looks that they cast upon the multitude such glances as they have seen in theatres, and in pictures. Several close their eyes, and think, or try to get their straying thoughts together. Only one, and he a miserable creature, of a crazed aspect, is so shattered and made drunk by horror, that he sings, and tries to dance. Not one of the whole number appeals by look or gesture, to the pity of the people.

There is a guard of sundry horsemen riding abreast of the tumbrils, and faces are often turned up to some of them, and they are asked some question. It would seem to be always the same question, for, it is always followed by a press of people towards the third cart. The horsemen abreast of that cart, frequently point out one man in it with their swords. The leading curiosity is, to know which is he; he stands at the back of the tumbril with his head bent down, to converse with a mere girl who sits on the side of the cart, and holds his hand. He has no curiosity or care for the scene about him, and always speaks to the girl. Here and there in the long street of St. Honore, cries are raised against him. If they move him at all, it is only to a quiet smile, as he shakes his hair a little more loosely about his face. He cannot easily touch his face, his arms being bound.

On the steps of a church, awaiting the coming-up of the tumbrils, stands the Spy and prison-sheep. He looks into the first of them: not there. He looks into the second: not there. He already asks himself, “Has he sacrificed me?” when his face clears, as he looks into the third.

“Which is Evrémonde?” says a man behind him.

“That. At the back there.”

“With his hand in the girl’s?”

“Yes.”

The man cries, “Down, Evrémonde! To the Guillotine all aristocrats! Down, Evrémonde!”

“Hush, hush!” the Spy entreats him, timidly.

“And why not, citizen?”

“He is going to pay the forfeit: it will be paid in five minutes more. Let him be at peace.”

But the man continuing to exclaim, “Down, Evrémonde!” the face of Evrémonde is for a moment turned towards him. Evrémonde then sees the Spy, and looks attentively at him, and goes his way.

The clocks are on the stroke of three, and the furrow ploughed among the populace is turning round, to come on into the place of execution, and end. The ridges thrown to this side and to that, now crumble in and close behind the last plough as it passes on, for all are following to the Guillotine. In front of it, seated in chairs, as in a garden of public diversion, are a number of women, busily knitting. On one of the fore-most chairs, stands The Vengeance, looking about for her friend.

“Thérèse!” she cries, in her shrill tones. “Who has seen her? Thérèse Defarge!”

“She never missed before,” says a knitting-woman of the sisterhood.

“No; nor will she miss now,” cries The Vengeance, petulantly. “Thérèse.”

“Louder,” the woman recommends.

Ay! Louder, Vengeance, much louder, and still she will scarcely hear thee. Louder yet, Vengeance, with a little oath or so added, and yet it will hardly bring her. Send other women up and down to seek her, lingering somewhere; and yet, although the messengers have done dread deeds, it is questionable whether of their own wills they will go far enough to find her!

“Bad Fortune!” cries The Vengeance, stamping her foot in the chair, “and here are the tumbrils! And Evrémonde will be despatched in a wink, and she not here! See her knitting in my hand, and her empty chair ready for her. I cry with vexation and disappointment!”

As The Vengeance descends from her elevation to do it, the tumbrils begin to discharge their loads. The ministers of Sainte Guillotine are robed and ready. Crash!—A head is held up, and the knitting-women who scarcely lifted their eyes to look at it a moment ago when it could think and speak, count One.

The second tumbril empties and moves on; the third comes up. Crash!—And the knitting-women, never faltering or pausing in their Work, count Two.

The supposed Evrémonde descends, and the seamstress is lifted out next after him. He has not relinquished her patient hand in getting out, but still holds it as he promised. He gently places her with her back to the crashing engine that constantly whirrs up and falls, and she looks into his face and thanks him.

“But for you, dear stranger, I should not be so composed, for I am naturally a poor little thing, faint of heart; nor should I have been able to raise my thoughts to Him who was put to death, that we might have hope and comfort here to-day. I think you were sent to me by Heaven.”

“Or you to me,” says Sydney Carton. “Keep your eyes upon me, dear child, and mind no other object.”

“I mind nothing while I hold your hand. I shall mind nothing when I let it go, if they are rapid.”

“They will be rapid. Fear not!”

The two stand in the fast-thinning throng of victims, but they speak as if they were alone. Eye to eye, voice to voice, hand to hand, heart to heart, these two children of the Universal Mother, else so wide apart and differing, have come together on the dark highway, to repair home together, and to rest in her bosom.

“Brave and generous friend, will you let me ask you one last question? I am very ignorant, and it troubles me—just a little.”

“Tell me what it is.”

“I have a cousin, an only relative and an orphan, like myself, whom I love very dearly. She is five years younger than I, and she lives in a farmer’s house in the south country. Poverty parted us, and she knows nothing of my fate—for I cannot write—and if I could, how should I tell her! It is better as it is.”

“Yes, yes: better as it is.”

“What I have been thinking as we came along, and what I am still thinking now, as I look into your kind strong face which gives me so much support, is this:—If the Republic really does good to the poor, and they come to be less hungry, and in all ways to suffer less, she may live a long time: she may even live to be old.”

“What then, my gentle sister?”

“Do you think:” the uncomplaining eyes in which there is so much endurance, fill with tears, and the lips part a little more and tremble: “that it will seem long to me, while I wait for her in the better land where I trust both you and I will be mercifully sheltered?”

“It cannot be, my child; there is no Time there, and no trouble there.”

“You comfort me so much! I am so ignorant. Am I to kiss you now? Is the moment come?”

“Yes.”

She kisses his lips; he kisses hers; they solemnly bless each other. The spare hand does not tremble as he releases it; nothing worse than a sweet, bright constancy is in the patient face. She goes next before him—is gone; the knitting-women count Twenty-Two.

“I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.”

The murmuring of many voices, the upturning of many faces, the pressing on of many footsteps in the outskirts of the crowd, so that it swells forward in a mass, like one great heave of water, all flashes away. Twenty-Three.

—

They said of him, about the city that night, that it was the peacefullest man’s face ever beheld there. Many added that he looked sublime and prophetic.

One of the most remarkable sufferers by the same axe—a woman—had asked at the foot of the same scaffold, not long before, to be allowed to write down the thoughts that were inspiring her. If he had given any utterance to his, and they were prophetic, they would have been these:

“I see Barsad, and Cly, Defarge, The Vengeance, the Juryman, the Judge, long ranks of the new oppressors who have risen on the destruction of the old, perishing by this retributive instrument, before it shall cease out of its present use. I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from this abyss, and, in their struggles to be truly free, in their triumphs and defeats, through long years to come, I see the evil of this time and of the previous time of which this is the natural birth, gradually making expiation for itself and wearing out.

“I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful, prosperous and happy, in that England which I shall see no more. I see Her with a child upon her bosom, who bears my name. I see her father, aged and bent, but otherwise restored, and faithful to all men in his healing office, and at peace. I see the good old man, so long their friend, in ten years’ time enriching them with all he has, and passing tranquilly to his reward.

“I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendants, generations hence. I see her, an old woman, weeping for me on the anniversary of this day. I see her and her husband, their course done, lying side by side in their last earthly bed, and I know that each was not more honoured and held sacred in the other’s soul, than I was in the souls of both.

“I see that child who lay upon her bosom and who bore my name, a man winning his way up in that path of life which once was mine. I see him winning it so well, that my name is made illustrious there by the light of his. I see the blots I threw upon it, faded away. I see him, fore-most of just judges and honoured men, bringing a boy of my name, with a forehead that I know and golden hair, to this place—then fair to look upon, with not a trace of this day’s disfigurement—and I hear him tell the child my story, with a tender and a faltering voice.

“It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”

The end.

[hopefulatrocity]

From The Ashes- Chapter 9

Note: Thank you to my wonderful beta, @garlic-the-gnome, who also made this beautiful edit. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It's Pheonyx and Daryl's first time really conversing one on one. Next chapter is a big one, twice the size of my past chapters. Also, can anyone recognize a future TWD character that Pheonyx knows? Honestly one of the first scenes I thought of for this story(way down the line canon wise) involves them.

Chapter CW/TW: past depression/anxiety, allusions to past rape/non-con, past child abuse, transphobia mentions(Shane), anxiety

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Pheonyx's POV

For some people, home is a house. Four walls, a roof, a nice bed. If you ask them to describe their home, they’d probably tell you about the color of paint on the siding, or the flowers planted out front, or maybe the style of the dwelling. Maggie and Beth would give a picturesque description of the farmhouse that they had grown up in. The white exterior, the black window panels, the large wrap around porch, the height marks on the kitchen doorway that go back 4 generations, even the rolling fields bordering the historic home. It was the house where they learned to walk, learned to ride horses, where they had their first loves and subsequent first heartbreaks. It was where they had a loving mother and father who supported them throughout every hardship and shaped them into the kind, strong women they were. While the farmhouse was heaven compared to the house he spent the first 8 years of his life in, Pheonyx could never truly call it home. It was a safe place, yes. He didn’t have to worry about being beaten, burned, or degraded like before, but that didn’t mean he felt like he belonged. 

No, the farmhouse was simply a shelter. A place to rest his head during the night before he would escape to his real home. An acre away from the house, the rich, dense forest was where Pheonyx felt solace. When Pheonyx told Rick that he spent everyday in those woods, he hadn’t been exaggerating. Apart from the years he was in Michigan and a couple cases of the flu during his grade school years, he had spent everyday in the woods on the property. It was an escape from the stresses of bullies, school, and church. An escape from his anxiety, his depression, and his own personal demons that formed from having a monster as a father. In the woods, he was safe. In the woods, he didn’t have to pretend to be anyone but himself. 

Walking side by side with Daryl Dixon though, Pheonyx had to admit that he was a bit nervous. The safety of the woods had calmed his nerves from the sudden presence of Rick’s group and of Shane’s transphobic comments. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t anxious about working with a man who made his insides turn to mush. 

No words had been spoken in the first thirty minutes of their hike. Even when they went to enter the woods, Pheonyx had only held out a hand in front of Daryl, to stop him before he walked straight into the brush-covered barbed wire that lined the edges of the woods. The man had grunted at him(possibly a thank you?) before stepping over the metal wire. Pheonyx had nodded in return and picked up Kismet, all seventy lbs of wiggling hound, before stepping over himself. The dog practically leapt out of his arms to follow after the archer. Apparently, Kismet was also  enamored by Daryl. 

So they walked in silence, Daryl just a step in the lead with his crossbow held ready in his hands. Pheonyx couldn’t help but watch him. At the farm, Daryl’s muscles were tense, even when he was in the presence of his group, people he had probably been with since the beginning of the outbreak.  His eyes were constantly flitting back and forth, looking for threats of any kind. He looked like a scared deer about to bolt back into the forest. 

But there, in the woods, Daryl was calm, relaxed. His posture displayed a self-confidence that wasn’t apparent at the farm. The steady movements he made were almost majestic. Although he was walking at a normal pace, his steps were careful and silent, evidence of years of hunting and tracking. The woods around the farm had always been dangerous, but even more so now that the dead were walking around. Pheonyx felt at ease knowing he was walking with someone who knew what they were doing

Despite that ease, he was still feeling the inner butterflies that he was wholly unfamiliar with. This attraction wasn’t something Pheonyx was accustomed to. He’d felt romantic attraction to people before and sexual attraction, but not often since his 22nd birthday. He honestly felt like he had lost a part of himself that night all those years ago. That, maybe, those demons had broken him beyond repair. Had stolen not only his innocence but his ability to trust anyone enough to feel any sort of attraction to them. As part of his healing process, he tried having sex with various people. Shawna, River, and Kasey were women he’d made friends with while working at the tattoo parlor. With them, it was more of a hookup situation. He wasn’t really friends with them, but he trusted them enough to attempt a physical relationship with them. Pheonyx was up front with them about his issues, the idea of maybe leading someone on didn’t sit right with him, and they all had been okay with keeping things as a casual encounter. All three were survivors like him and were familiar with how difficult physical intimacy could be after traumatic events. The only other person Pheonyx had had sex with was Aaron. But he didn’t count that as a hookup by any means. While he wasn’t romantically or sexually attracted to him, Aaron was his friend. More than a friend really. The man had saved his life. He’d been barely clinging to life in that alley and the only reason he survived was because Aaron found him. He’d put pressure on his wound and covered him to protect his dignity while they waited for an ambulance. Unlike most strangers would have, Aaron didn’t leave him when he was taken to the hospital. No, he stuck around. Even after Hershel and his mother had arrived, he stuck at his bedside. He held Pheonyx’s hand for days when he was unconscious, and when nurses were taking evidence from his broken body. Even when he was nearly catatonic, Aaron would come in and read to him or even just talk about nothing. The fact that he had stuck with him, had created a bond that a simple word like “friendship” couldn’t even begin to cover. Aaron had even transferred his job to Michigan for a while after Pheonyx moved so that they could still be around each other. A couple years later, after getting drunk and celebrating Aaron’s upcoming trip with his NGO to Niger, inhibitions lowered by alcohol, they had ended up in bed together. It was clumsy and awkward, but it showed Pheonyx that sex–with a cis man in particular– didn’t have to hurt. It wasn’t something to fear anymore.  Afterwards, they both had agreed that they were better as friends. Even Aaron, a man he trusted implicitly and who wasn’t unattractive by any means, didn’t make him feel the way Daryl did. Having barely spent an hour in the man’s presence, Pheonyx was almost willing to throw caution to the wind and try to get closer to the man walking beside him. 

He had barely spoken to Daryl and yet he felt no fear or apprehension in regards to the man hurting him. The only thing he felt was the weight in his chest that one would get when in the presence of their grade school crush. And the feeling of heat in an area of his body that he had actively avoided for a long time.  

Kismet was oblivious to the turmoil in his owner’s head. He ran ahead of them, sniffing trees and chasing birds, occasionally stopping to run back and make sure that Daryl and Pheonyx were still behind him. He would trot alongside them for a moment before running ahead again.  Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Pheonyx could see a slight upturn of Daryl’s lips whenever Kismet would trot back to them. He couldn’t blame him. The dog was adorable and his cuteness was why he got away with any trouble that his speckled paws managed to stumble into. 

The only noises around them were the ambient swaying of leaves in the late-summer breeze, the crunching of debris under Kismet’s large paws, and the occasional whistling of a bird high in the trees. Combined it was one of Pheonyx’s favorite songs. But honestly, he wanted to break the silence and speak to Daryl. Break the ice. Learn everything he could about the man. But what did he say? 

“Hey, so you’re probably straight and could possibly be transphobic, but I think you’re super attractive and you don’t make me feel like I’m dying of anxiety when I’m in your vicinity. So, would you maybe want to hang out sometime?”Pheonyx internally snorted. That would be too forward. So he started small. 

“How long until we get to where Sophia was last seen?” he broached the waters glancing at the man out of the corner of his eye. 

“Ain’t too far. Maybe ‘nother hour on foot. Rick left ‘er at the creek righ’ off the highway, tried to draw away the walkers chasin’er. She was supposta’ go back but somethin’ spooked ‘er.” Daryl responded, his husky voice licking up Pheonyx’s spine like fire. He thought that the silence of the woods was his favorite sound, but Daryl’s voice was easily pushing that out of the running. 

“Not surprising. She just got chased by shadows. Her adrenaline was probably running high. Any noise could have had her running in the opposite direction.” 

Daryl grunted in agreement. Pheonyx didn’t know that a single sound could have so many meanings but the archer could probably have whole conversations using that single guttural noise. 

“Why dya’ call ‘em that?” Daryl asked, his eyes still roaming the woods. 

“Why do you call them walkers?” Pheonyx countered, with his eyebrow raised. 

He swore the corner of Daryl’s lips turned up in a brief smirk. But it was gone as fast as it came. “They walk ‘round. Ain’t too complicated.” His defined shoulders lifted up into a small shrug, making the muscles in his arms clench. Pheonyx physically gulped as he watched the movement and had to avert his eyes before he started drooling. 

Pull yourself together, man. You’re acting like a dog in heat, he thought, clenching his hand on the hilt of the hunting knife at his side. 

“These dead things. They used to be people. They had lives. Families, friends, hopes, fears. Now…. they’re just shells. All those things are gone, and all that’s left is the shadow of the person they once were. They look like them, but all they are are mindless killers now. The light of their lives is gone and all that’s left is the darkness,” as he spoke, Pheonyx’s voice got more somber and he had to hold back tears as his thoughts floated to his mother and younger brother. Just like at Otis’s funeral though, he took a deep breath and swallowed the pain. “That’s why I call them shadows. I guess I just don’t want to ever forget that these used to be people. I won’t let that stop me from protecting my family or myself, but I still want to remember.” 

Once again, there was silence. Pheonyx wasn’t surprised. Daryl didn’t exactly seem like a man intune with his emotions and he’d just laid a whole therapy session's worth of them on the archer. Luckily, the lack of conversation didn’t last for long. Kismet stopped in his tracks ahead, his head tilted and ears perked. The white and black mottled fur on his hackles raised up and Pheonyx unsheathed the knife at his hip when the pup let out a warning growl. Following this, a low groan and hiss sounded to their left along with characteristic tinkle of windchimes. Daryl lifted his crossbow next to him, taking a step towards the sound. 

“Quiet,” Pheonyx told Kismet and the dog immediately stopped growling. Kismet trotted to his owner’s side, keeping close but not close enough to interfere with his movements. 

Taking slow steps, Pheonyx pushed through the thick brush blocking their view of the dead. A few feet away, one shadow was stuck in his trap. At some point, the woman had probably been beautiful. Her light blonde hair was long and framed a face that had once been heartshaped. Now, her skin was gray and blood coated her hands and chest. A large gaping wound on her arm and neck let him know that she had died from being bitten. The sharpened sticks that she had impaled herself on, were keeping her in place. One was through her shoulder, having torn the small strap of the destroyed dress, and the other was straight through her heart. Black glistening blood coated the tips of the sticks that protruded from her decaying body. Luckily, she was a stranger to Pheonyx. It was always harder when he knew the dead that were caught. Not only did he have to put them down and burn them, but he had to keep silent when his family mentioned those people in passing. Often they made comments, usually at mealtimes when conversation strayed from daily chores to memories, “I wonder if Mrs. Overtan is still around?” or “Do you remember Big Jim? He used to have the cotton farm off of Wyatt Rd? He was headed to the Atlanta safe-zone when the reports started coming in. I hope he, Mary, and the kids are okay.” In those cases, he had to keep his mouth shut and focus on eating. He couldn’t tell them that Mrs. Overtan had her neck torn out and that Big Jim was missing an arm when they both had impaled themselves on the sharp sticks spread throughout the woods. He couldn’t tell them that he had taken a sharp knife to their heads, effectively ending their undead lives, and then burned their bodies in a pit. They wouldn’t be able to handle it. To his family, he would be seen as a murderer. Maybe he was. But he would continue to do it to protect them.  

The walker in front of them most likely wasn’t from Senoia. Unless she had moved there while Pheonyx was living in Michigan, but he doubted it. People rarely moved to the small town.   More than likely, she had died in one of the traffic snarls off the highway and the noise from woods had drawn her in once she’d reanimated. Either way, the small niggle of guilt he felt, when he knew who the shadow used to be, was absent. A low breeze made the windchimes above her tinkle louder and another hiss escaped her gaping mouth, revealing teeth coated with black ooze. Her bony, decaying arms reached above her towards the sparkling metal tubes of the chimes.  Pheonyx raised the knife and took a step forward to kill it, but the woosh of Daryl’s crossbow releasing a bolt stopped him. 

Black sludge, what used to be blood, sprayed from the shadow’s head, coating the side of the tree and dripping down onto the forest floor. The body went limp and the arms, that had been stretched above its head, slumped down at its sides. Pheonyx turned his head and gave Daryl a nod of thanks. He approached the corpse, sheathing his knife as he went, and pulled the bolt from between the shadows eyes. More of the sludge splattered onto his hand and the smell of rot intensified. He wiped the blood off the quarrel on the bottom hem of the shadow’s dress, dirtying the yellow fabric even further.  The now-clean bolt in one hand, he used the other and began to check the small pockets on the front of the tattered dress for anything of use. It was morbid, and some might find it disgusting or appalling, but it was necessary. Resources of all kinds were in short supply. And Pheonyx had found that most people had taken to keeping important items on their person. Ammo, matches, lighters, water purification tablets, medicine. All things he had found by searching pockets of the shadows caught in his traps. Plus a boat load of now-useless change and dollar bills. 

In this case, he found an unopened tube of chapstick, several pennies, 3 dollars, a fancy zippo lighter, and a crushed pack of Marlboro Ultra Lights. 

“You smoke?” Pheonyx asked Daryl over his shoulder, noting the slightly disgusted and confused look on the man’s face. Rolling his eyes, he explained, “I’m not trying to cop a feel on it. People don’t take out the important stuff from their pockets when they’re dying. Morals kinda went out the door when all this shit started.”

He lifted the lighter and cigarettes up to prove his point. A look of understanding( and possible sheepishness?) overtook Daryl’s face and he cleared his throat. 

“Yeah, I smoke.”

With that, he tossed the crumbled pack to the man, who caught it expertly and stuffed it into the pockets of his worn jeans. Kismet had placed himself next to Daryl, waiting patiently for Pheonyx to give him a command. Over the last couple of months, Kismet had gotten used to staying to the side while Pheonyx took care of the bodies that ended up in his traps. In the beginning, the pup had gotten underfoot a lot. He couldn’t blame him really. Kismet had always been eager to help, wanting to be included in any action that occurred. But he didn’t want his best friend to accidentally get hurt while he was distracted with cleaning up the woods. So, Pheonyx spent a good couple weeks training Kismet to sit to the side while he was working on traps. Just like teaching the dog to guard, it took a lot of treats and patience but eventually the training clicked. Now, Kismet gave him a wide berth while he was hauling and burning bodies and he didn’t have to worry about the dog getting into trouble. Chocolate eyes stared at him adoringly and the leaves under Kismet’s butt crunched as his tail wagged back and forth. Pheonyx whistled for him to come over and the dog bolted over to him without hesitation. 

“Gentle,” he said while giving the crossbow bolt to the pup, making sure to offer him the clean end. While animals didn’t seem to be affected by the virus or the blood of those infected, he didn’t want his dog ingesting any of the vile fluids.  Kismet’s tail began to wiggle faster in earnest, eager to please. Despite the burst of energy and excitement, he still grabbed the bolt between his sharp teeth delicately. “Take it to Daryl.” 

Kismet grumbled happily at him and pranced over to Daryl. He began doing happy toe taps, proud of himself,  as he dropped the bolt at the man’s feet. The archer raised an eyebrow at the dog and bent over to pick up the quarrel. He inspected the item for any damage and nodded his head approvingly when he didn’t see any cracks or dents on the fragile shaft. Kismet began to grumble at the man, whining a bit, begging for him to offer some kind of attention or praise for doing a good job. Rolling his eyes, Daryl patted Kismet’s blocky head in reward. Tongue rolling out in pleasure, Kismet melted under his affections. 

Fucking hell. Never thought I’d be this jealous of my dog, Pheonyx thought before turning back to the matter at hand. 

Now for the gross part, he thought sadly. Using his arms as leverage under the shadow’s armpits, he lifted the corpse off the sticks. At one point, the woman probably weighed a buck twenty five soaking wet. Now, she barely weighed anymore than Kismet. Pheonyx’s cutlass knocked against his leg as he pulled the body along. Decayed feet dragging on the floor, he hauled the body ten feet over to the burn pit that he dug next to every trap he set.  Unceremoniously, he dropped it into the hole. Using the lighter he had taken from the shadow’s pockets, he lit the dollar bills that accompanied it on fire. The flames burned the tip of his fingers as the dry paper caught. But he held back the pain and stared at the glowing embers for a moment. Then he carefully tossed them into the pit, onto the body. 

For some reason, shadows were incredibly flammable. Maybe it was the dried skin and hair that made the flames catch so easily. Or maybe it was some byproduct of the virus mutating a body's cells.  Either way, it made Pheonyx’s job a lot easier. He didn’t have to worry about finding much kindling or fuel to get rid of the shells that ended up in the traps. The once-pretty woman was engulfed by flames in moments. The red fire licking along her limbs and burning up the destroyed dress. Soon, all that would be left of the person she was before would be a pile of ash and a memory. 

Pheonyx was drawn from his haze when he felt a nudge at his bicep. He turned his head and saw Daryl holding out a red bandana to him. Glancing down at himself, he grimaced when he saw the black blood coating his hands and the splatter of it smeared on his shirt. The bandana Daryl was holding out to him, had seen better days. The red print was faded and streaks of black grease marred the crumpled fabric. But the thought was what counted. 

“Thanks,” he took the rag and began to wipe off the blood from his hands. Until he took a shower, though, his hands would still have the stain of death on them, no matter how hard he rubbed with the bandana. Daryl shook his head when he tried to hand back the cloth. 

“Keep it. Got more in ma’ bag.”

Stuffing the cloth in his back pocket, they continued their trek towards the highway. Kismet took the lead and began to inspect every tree they walked past. Expecting the rest of the walk to be filled with silence, Pheonyx was surprised when Daryl started the conversation again. 

“Ya Pops din’t seem to know ‘bout all the traps ya got set up. Din’t seem too happy about it neither,” he commented. 

A loud snort broke from Pheonyx’s nose. “That’s an understatement,” he gripped the handles of his hunting knife and cutlass, both sheathed at his sides, “Let’s just say Hershel and I have differing views on how to handle the shadows. He thinks that they’re sick. Which, I guess is technically true. But he also thinks they can be cured. He thinks that someone out there is working on a cure and that it’s just a matter of time before things go back to normal. It’s not just him. They’re all in denial.” Images of his younger brother flashed into his head. A primal hunger reflected in his milky orbs as he bit down on their mother’s arm, condemning her to the same fate. Her screams as Shawn chewed on her pale flesh and blood splashing on the white linens. 

“What do ya think?” Daryl asked. His words were softer, seeming to notice the change in Pheonyx’s tone, the lilt of sadness that laced through his words. 

“They’re dead. Plain and simple. My-,” Pheonyx took a deep breath to ease the ache building in his chest, “My younger brother, Shawn, was bitten early on. I was sitting next to him when he took his last breath. We didn’t really know what was happening at that time. We just knew people were getting sick and going crazy. We didn’t realize what they turned into. So, my mom was too close. She was hugging his body one minute and the next he was biting into her arm. Hershel and Otis got him off of her but it was too late. Within 12 hours she was dead. I had my fingers on her pulse when her heart stopped. And it didn’t restart when she woke up. No rhythm. No blood pumping,” he stepped over a broken tree limb, looking down to try to keep Daryl from seeing his eyes getting red. “I can understand the desire to feel like things will be okay. If they don’t, then they have to acknowledge the fact that Shawn and Mom are gone. But I’m too much of a pessimist to think that everything will go back to normal. Even if, by some miracle, someone created a vaccine or a cure, these people are dead and decaying, curing them would just put them in unimaginable pain.”

There was silence again, the only noises coming from the stomping feet of Kismet as he chased a squirrel up a tree. 

“Don’ know if Rick told ya but we were at the CDC ‘fore we came here.” Daryl’s deep voice wrapped around Pheonyx in a comforting blanket. The ache of talking about his mom and Shawn was still there, but it felt like a dull throb as opposed to a fresh wound. “There was only one doc there. Jenner. All the others left or killed themselves. Doc showed us some stuff. Basically said the bite kills ya but it restarts ya brain stem to get ya walkin’ around. Ain’t nothin’ left of the person ya was before though. Ya brain’s dead. He weren’t too sure if anyone else was lookin’ fer a cure. Fucker nearly killed us. He tried ta lock us in ‘fore the whole buildin’ blew. Rick talked’im outta it though. Got out just in time.”, Blue eyes locked on Pheonyx’s green ones. “Yer right ‘bout the walkers. There ain’t no curing them. Cain’t cure death.”

Pheonyx felt a scale of emotions. On one side he felt relief at knowing his dark views on shadows were right. He wasn’t mindlessly killing sick people like Hershel would think. But he also felt sorrow. Because it meant that his mom and Shawn were truly dead. A small part of him had hoped he was wrong. That maybe the military would roll through any day and cure the sick people they had locked in the barn. But now he knew the truth. The shadows in the barn were just that. Shadows. Just the shells of the people he once loved. 

Kismet seemed to sense his inner rollercoaster of emotions because he trotted over and leaned himself against Pheonyx’s leg as they walked. He tangled his fingers in the downy fur on the dog’s head, letting the warmth of Kismet’s body ease the weight on his chest. Whatever pain was left, he pushed back down. Eventually that denial and repression were going to come and bite him in the ass. Eventually he’d break down and be forced to feel the weight of the pain and sorrow that was hidden in his mind. But that was a problem for future Pheonyx. Kismet gave his hand a small lick before bounding off again after a bird.

He knew the man didn’t have to offer those words of comfort. He could even tell it made him feel a bit awkward, with the way he was avoiding eye contact and how his shoulders tensed a bit. So, he smiled at Daryl in appreciation. 

“Thanks.”

Hearing the gratitude in his voice, Daryl turned his head to look at him, making eye contact. And something came over him in that moment, a bit of flirtatiousness that he’d never felt before. So, his body acted without him thinking and he winked at him. Pheonyx Greene winked at Daryl Dixon. He winked at a man, a tough looking redneck, who he wasn’t entirely sure was gay or bisexual. 

Why the fuck did I just do that?, Pheonyx screamed internally and a bit of fear rose in his chest, What if he reacts badly? This is rural fucking Georgia and the man looks like a typical conservative country boy! They don’t take too kindly to other guys flirting with them and assuming they’re not straight. Oh shit, should I run? I can’t end up like that again. 

Thousands of panicked thoughts ran through his mind and he waited for something, some kind of bad reaction from the man next to him. But nothing came. The only thing he noticed was the red flush that crept up Daryl’s neck and over his ears. Daryl quickly averted his eyes from Pheonyx and coughed a bit. 

“We’re here,” his deep voice was a slight bit huskier and, just like Daryl, Pheonyx felt the blood rush to his face. Mostly from attraction(and a small bit of arousal, he wouldn’t lie), but also from embarrassment. He had almost forgotten why they were out there in the first place. Sophia. The lost girl. 

The trickling of the creek off in the distance allowed him to orient himself. They weren’t too far from the highway and, now that he was here, he knew exactly where they were. Pheonyx whistled the three note recall and Kismet came bounding from the bushes a few feet away. He had a feather hanging from the corner of his lips so Pheonyx could only imagine what the dog had been up to. 

“Ready to work, handsome?” he asked Kismet. The dog began to wiggle, happy at the prospect of having a job, but he sat and waited for Pheonyx to give him a command. He pulled the backpack off his shoulder and opened it up. Just like Maggie said, the pack contained three bottles of water, a dog bowl, and several baggies of Pheonyx’s homemade jerky. The three bigger ziploc bags had darker colored jerky. The color was from the blend of seasonings, soy sauce, worcestershire sauce, and honey that he used to marinate the meat before smoking. The smaller bag had lighter colored unseasoned jerky that he used specifically for training Kismet. Pheonyx stuffed the smaller bag in one pocket and two of the bigger bags in his other pocket for him and Daryl to eat later. One of the nice things about men’s pants was that the pockets were absolutely ginormous. 

Seeing the bag of jerky, Kismet’s eyes got wide and his body began to shake in anticipation. Pheonyx closed his bag and slung it back over his shoulders. He could feel Daryl’s eyes on him from the few feet that separated them. He reached for his waistband, where he had Sophia’s small shirt tucked over his belt, and pulled the thin fabric off the leather strap. 

Kneeling down next to Kismet, Pheonyx used his free hand to stroke the dog’s head. Soft fur and chocolate eyes shining with happiness made his chest swell. He scratched the dog's ears and offered the shirt to Kismet to smell. 

“We gotta find someone, okay boy? We’ve only tracked squirrels and ‘coons up until now but I think you’re ready,”  Kismet snuffled his nose along the shirt, deeply inhaling and then snorting like a pig. Once he got a good few whiffs of the shirt, he leaned back on his haunches and waited for Pheonyx to give him his command. 

Pheonyx stood up and tucked the shirt into his belt again, “Find it boy!”

Being released by the command, Kismet placed his nose to the ground and began to follow the trail. His thick paws kicked up dirt as he trotted through the foliage, snuffling and snorting against the ground the whole way.  

Pheonyx turned and briefly took in the visage of the older archer. The sunlight was peaking through the trees and hitting the side of his face, making his blue eyes shine even brighter than before. Dark hair now looked golden from the sun’s rays. His crossbow was loose in his hands and angled towards the ground. The tender hold he held on the weapon was a facade for the lethality he possessed.  Despite the dirt and general scruffiness, he looked almost ethereal. God-like.

With that image in mind, Pheonyx gestured to the direction that Kismet went. 

“After you, Apollo,” he said with a smile. The other man snorted in response to the nickname, but he adjusted his grip on his crossbow and began to follow the hound’s lead. 

He wasn’t quite proud of it, but Pheonyx took a brief moment to watch Daryl walk in front of him. Green eyes were glued to the other man’s backside and he watched as those dirty jeans hugged him in all the right places.  

“Ya comin’, Firebird?” Daryl called over his shoulder, breaking Pheonyx from his less than innocent thoughts. 

I wish, he thought, Wait…. 

“Firebird?” Pheonyx asked in confusion, jogging to catch up with him.

Taglist: @yoongibaybee @edgyboi10000 @loganlostitall @dixonsboy19

[theprayerfulword]

December 07

Psalm 119:11 I keep Your law in my heart, so that I will not sin against You.

Hebrews 12:1-2 Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.

Romans 5:2-4 And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope

2 Peter 1:3 His divine power has given to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of Him who called us by glory and virtue …

Romans 15:4 For everything that was written in the past was written to teach us, so that through the endurance taught in the Scriptures and the encouragement they provide we might have hope.

Ephesians 5:27 That He might present it to Himself a glorious church, not having spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing; but that it should be holy and without blemish.

May you press on, striving to know the Lord, Whose promise to come and rescue you is as certain and reliable as the appearance of the dawn, and as certain and beneficial as the rain in its season, for though, in His mercy, He has wounded you to heal you, as a physician lances a boil or cuts out a malignancy, He will bind up your wounds where He has injured you, reviving and restoring you that you may live in His presence. Hosea 6

May you offer mercy to those around you rather than sacrifice in the congregation, and may you rightfully acknowledge God to those who hunger to know Him rather than offer burnt offerings without a contrite heart, so that your love for God may deepen and broaden, enduring beyond the rising of the sun, which burns away the morning mist, and refreshing weary travelers in the heat of the day. Hosea 6

May you cry out to the Lord from your heart for He longs to redeem you from destruction. Hosea 7

May you turn to God in love, desiring to serve Him in gratitude and proclaim Him in truth, for then He will extend His protection over you. Hosea 8

May your love and worship of God be pure and from the heart, undefiled and obedient, in humble fear and reverent awe of your majestic Creator and loving Redeemer, for those who give lip-service only, seeking empty forms to follow, without personal cost or involvement, corrupt the worship of God and turn the altar of sin offerings into an altar for sinning. Hosea 8

May you be faithful to God in your devotion, giving Him the first-fruits of your strength, meeting Him at the start of the day, keeping Him first in your thoughts throughout your work, for mere labor will not feed you, nor will business strategy clothe you, and dedicated effort to achieve your goals, without acknowledging God in all your ways, will become idolatry and lead to desolation. Hosea 9

I see more in you, My child, than you are aware of having. I know the seed of life that I planted in your heart, My dear one, when you turned to me in repentance and forsook your own ways, yielding to My grace and love. I rejoice in the potential that I am growing you into, My precious one, as you humble yourself under My hand and align yourself with My word. Therefore I continue working with you, My willing one, coaxing you, encouraging you, exhorting you, disciplining you, patiently cultivating My nature in you. Do not ever believe that at any time I become impatient with you or act out of frustration toward you; My compassion for you is without limit and My loving kindness will never run out. Turn to Me in every situation – I always welcome you. Seek Me for every answer – I will never rebuke you for disturbing Me. Obey Me in the small things – I will reward you lavishly. You are the apple of My eye – I will cover and protect you. You are the delight of My heart – I will abide with you and never abandon or forsake you. Test Me, and trust Me, for I never change, and I am sufficient to see you through all that I guide you into.

May you enjoy good health and may all go well with you, even as your soul is getting along well. 3 John

May you show hospitality to those who go out for the sake of the Name of God, sending them forth in a manner worthy of God, that they need receive no help from unbelievers. 3 John

May your heart be filled with wonder, your mouth filled with laughter and your tongue sing songs of joy when you receive freedom from the Lord, Who does great things for you. Psalm 126

May you go forth, weeping, carrying seed to sow in tears, for you will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves of grain with you when the Lord restores your fortune like streams in the desert. Psalm 126

[dansnaturepictures]

29/09/23-Brownsea Island

Wildlife photos taken today in this set are of: 1, 2, 6, 7 and 8. Enchanting and charismatic Red Squirrels, it was an honour to watch these beauties running around including very close to us, feeding and caching nuts; seeing a huge amount perhaps the most we've ever seen on a day with six in view at once in the woods at one point which is extraordinary. This is always an immersive, uplifting and thrilling experiences seeing these extraordinary mammals and it was so pleasurable to get to do it a second September running and indeed go to Brownsea twice in a year seeing a squirrel briefly on that previous visit in May. And I really wanted to come here in our September week off as getting photos of Red Squirrels today means I've both seen and photographed Red Squirrels in England, Scotland and Wales this year an ambition I had in this unique year of visiting both Scotland and Wales for me. It felt amazing to do this and it's a real staple of the extraordinary year I've had being lucky to see this mammal in different corners of the country. 3. One of loads of Greenshanks seen on Brownsea lagoon also perhaps the most we'd ever seen at once with Teal a bird we enjoyed in great numbers and Moorhen behind, it was a joy to watch seas of these pristine waders. 4. A rosy Shelduck in the sun, it was good to see a few close by at the Avocet hide more great time spent with this bird I love this week and here this year. 5. Avocets and Black-tailed Godwit, the former a highlight again here. 9. Spoonbills another big highlight today, fine birds with Grey Heron. 10. A Pheasant we got close to at the area behind the church where we were watching the squirrels. 11. A bright Speckled Wood it was nice to see.

It was also fantastic to see well a majestic Osprey gliding over near the lagoon as we looked over Poole Harbour from high up in the nature reserve, yet another sighting this autumn and this year bringing me to a pleasing and unprecedented for me tenth occasion seeing one this year of this bird I adore. Other highlights today were top Raven views whilst watching the Osprey, Jay, Long-tailed Tit, Coal Tit, a fair few Red Admiral on the island and on the way over possibly migrating, Peacock (the butterfly and bird also around the back of the church as they often are, the first time I'd seen both in a day), Common Darter, Migrant Hawker, hoverfly, ant, Oystercatcher, Curlew and Dunlin seen together well, Turnstone, Cormorant, Great Black-backed Gull, Black-headed Gull and intimate juvenile Herring Gulls at Poole Quay before boarding the boat. Nice plants seen were St. John's-wort, dock, Michaelmas daisies and beautiful bell heather that looked a great colour. I enjoyed seeing spiders at home this evening and Goldfinches with possibly a Greenfinch, Collared Dove and Starling before going out at home today.

[trigunsbbygirl]

Meryl with a very tall S/O?

I really love how you write knives, and I hope to see more of your posts in the future! Keep doing what you love buddy!! ❤️

thank you so much!!<3 I had to tease Meryl a little sorry- "imagine being short" I say as if I'm taller than her by a lot LOL

•she's used to being surrounded by tall people so she isn't exactly intimidated by you when you first met. (unless you're either taller than Vash or just give off scary vibes)

•anyways, just because she's short doesn't mean she won't (lovingly) kick your ass if you tease her too much.

•if you call her shortie or anything of the likes, Meryl gets really huffy and tells you to either call her by her name or find a new (loving) nickname.

"anything for you my majestic mini queen," you say, rather amused.

Meryl smacks your chest before walking away yelling out, "you know what, that's Meryl Stryfe to you now!"

you can only laugh and chase after her to make up for your teasing.

•okay I'm done teasing her, I'm sorry I love her but I had to-

•Meryl loves wearing your clothes, especially hoodies. they engulf her and help her stay warm during the cold nights! it's a plus that they smell like you too.

•if you aren't there for whatever reason or busy when she gets cold, Meryl will tuck her legs into the shirt or hoodie she's wearing. it's a really cute sight and you have plenty of photos of her like that.

•whenever you maneuvere yourself to the block the sun from her eyes and Meryl feels her heart beat just a little faster when you do that. it's not something she's ever asked you to do and her oh,, she loves and appreciates you so much.

•you are the only one! that is allowed to put your elbow on her head! you don't do it often though, but when you do she just huffs and wraps an arm around you.

•Wolfwood saw you do that once and saw how Meryl didn't do anything or really react so he decided to do it and tease her saying "how's it going down there, shortie?" he got a punch to the stomach(with no real anger dw) as Meryl ranted not to do that and to call her by her name. she knows he never will though, but Wolfwood did stop putting his elbow on her.

•Meryl uses you as a sheild if any bugs come her way. she'll grab onto your jacket and angle you around so she can't see the bug. or if you're scared of them too, you can pick her up and run towards the safety of behind Vash who will shoo the bug away. (Wolfwood the asshole, he'll grab the bug and chase you guys with it.)

•she will absolutely pull you down by the collar of your shirt (or tie) to kiss you sometimes. especially to shut you up.

•occasionally when you guys sleep, Meryl will cuddle up to your side, placing herself in the crook of your arm, or being the little spoon. she prefers sleeping back against back or holding hands, but it's nice to be in your arms ever now and then.

• Meryl actually adores being carried by you in the comfort of your hotel room or out in the dessert when the car has broken down.

•Meryl feels bad when you offer to carry her out in the desert, she may be thirsty and a bit tired, but she can still walk. although, if you do insist, she'll hop onto your back. she's fallen asleep a few times that way.

•or, she'll be focused on checking her list for a supply run the next day, or maybe just got out of the bathroom, having showered when you'll surprise her by picking up bridal style. Meryl will yelp, looking at you with wide eyes, your own soft smile and eyes staring back. you tell her that you hope one day you can carry her like this, but instead of in a hotel room, you hope it's when you're walking down the isle of a church after that special kiss.

•Meryl shut down for a minute, blushing hard as you laughed lightly at her reaction.

she can't help but imagine it too

[non-conventionnel]

Excerpt from the historical novel, Memories of Recurrent Echoes by Anton Sammut

…On arrival at Orly Airport, Fritz and his sister Magda hired a taxi which drove them to the City of Paris. The first Parisian landmark that caught their eye was the majestic Eiffel Tower and in the background, on a distant hill, the white Church of Montmartre. They immediately opted that their hotel could wait and asked the driver to take them around the city, though they knew that this would cost them a whole day’s budget.

The River Seine fascinated them, too, with boatloads of tourists all eager to see as much as they could. They also admired a number of bridges amongst which the flamboyant Pont Alexandre III. The driver, a friendly, balding man of about fifty, with moustaches à la Clemenceau, informed them that quite nearby there’s the famous Pont Neuf which, ironically, was the first to be built way back in 1607. With very broken English, he explained that Paris was divided into twenty Arrondissements: from the Louvre, to the last one which contained the famous Père Lachaise Cemetery. On their way to the fifteenth quarter of Montparnasse, where they were to lodge, the driver affably explained which were the most interesting quarters, particularly the seventh one that hosted the Eiffel Tower and the Hôtel des Invalides, which guards Napoleon’s tomb. The eighth one was notorious, the seat of the haute couture as well as the area of the Champs Elysées. The ninth and tenth quarters were famous for the nightlife with countless cabarets, erotic clubs and bordellos concentrated mostly in Pigalle. The eighteenth quarter could be deemed as the tourists’ paradise, the notorious Montmartre, famous for its refined bistros and for what once was the Mecca of the great artists…

…In the meantime, Fritz and Magda arrived at their three-star hotel, appositely chosen for economical reasons. Once inside, Fritz rushed to the bathroom for a well-earned shower, knowing too well that were his sister to precede him he would have to wait ages before she came out.

At about seven in the evening, the twins took the metro, their destination the Champ de Mars, in the vicinity of the Eiffel Tower; dropped in at a bistro, and enjoyed a delightful meal à la Parisienne. At about nine, the Eiffel Tower was illuminated to vie with the silvery stars seemingly multicoloured light-bulbs lit on earth. Here they strolled for another two hours, at times stopping to light a cigarette, and then they headed for Pigalle, moved on to the Moulin Rouge, booked two tickets for the cabaret show on the following Saturday, and went to another nightclub where they spent the rest of the night in lascivious abandon. Magda hooked up with a pretty tourist-girl and when Fritz saw his sister revelling in that Dionysian oasis conveniently agreed to go his way and meet her later…

…They entered the hotel at almost dawn, physically exhausted, and woke up at four the next afternoon. In the evening they toured the Montparnasse area, then headed for Montmartre and visited other locations which had once hosted celebrated cabarets full of erotic dancers, some of whom were immortalised in paintings by Toulouse-Lautrec. That evening they hit it off with a group of friendly French bon vivants including a number of girls. Fritz was not going to miss his chance and he was soon making overtures to one of them called Colette. “…Vous êtes ravissante. Je voudrais faire votre connaissance. Voulez-vous venir avec moi pour un café?” Fritz didn’t seem to understand, but he was sure that she was all set to conquer him…

[oldguy56-world]

Once

I have done many things in my lifetime and like most people when I find something that I enjoy doing I will do it more again. Like eating hamburgers. I love eating hamburgers so I have been fortunate enough to repeat this activity several thousand times in my life. For the record I have no regrets.

There have been (however) times upon occasion that I have tried something new and it turned out to be a one time thing. This has been for many reasons, sometimes outside of my control. If you are young and reading this (Why?) learn from my experience. If you are old and reading this either you have also tried some of these and stopped or you were smart enough never to consider doing it in the first place. I envy your fortitude.

Walk with me down memory lane and learn.

Skiing. We had to do this for P.E. class. Besides my lips flapping uncontrollably as I hurtled down the hillside I came to the realization that this accomplished the same thing as tobogganing in that it got me from the top of the hill to the bottom very fast. At least on a toboggan it wasn't far to fall when you wipe out.

Curling. I liked this. I found that when I used all of my strength the rock would go shooting out of my hand and when it hit the little rubber things you start your feet in at the other end the rocks launched majestically into the air. They asked me to never come back again.

Riding a loop-de-loop roller coaster. When it finally stopped I was so disoriented that I attempted to ride a horse from the merry-go-round home. I didn't seem to get anywhere.

I ran a 10K race. I am as shocked as you are but there I was seemingly in the peak of my physical prowess. When the race was over I threw up food I had never eaten.

Went to Mexico. Aside from the fact that they lost our luggage, we saw sea snakes that kept us out of the ocean and two men tried to pick me up at a swim up bar (not that there is anything wrong with that) it was an ok time but that was before all of the kidnappings, murders and other mayhem that is happening now.

Smoked weed. I distinctly remember this. I inhaled June 17th 1973 and exhaled August 22 1975. The rest is kind of fuzzy, but I swear I only tried that one puff.

Traveled by train with family to the east coast. I had the upper bunk and knocked myself silly every time I tried to sit up. I was standing when the train made a sharp turn putting me butt first into the corner of a table, and all cars were smoking cars back then. No wonder Agatha Christie set a murder on a train. I was ready to kill somebody on my sole trip.

Drank warm Guinness. Let me set the table for this one. I was sixteen and we were visiting family in England. The pubs didn't care about ID as long as you paid. A PINT (22 ounces) of Guinness sold for 4 pence which was 10 cents Canadian. I spent a dollar (you can do the math on how many ounces that was) and it was served at room temperature. Everything else that happened that night I blame on the greasy peanuts I ate.

Had gas in front of a Bishop. I was twelve and an altar boy. He was visiting for the 11:30 mass. I had beans and eggs for breakfast at 8:00am (not smart now that I reflect on this) and, well that was that. I believe I did set a record for the youngest person ever excommunicated from the Catholic church.

Got lost in Montreal at Expo 67. Was it my fault that none of the people there spoke English? On the upside I did eat a whale steak and a buffalo steak, both also one time things so I hit the trifecta.

THOUGHT OF THE WEEK: Life is to be experienced and that is great as long as you learn from each experience.

[hathorneheiress]

Wedding day pt 7

Nash leaned down, pressing his lips against Libby's sweet lips. It wasn't the first time they had kissed, but it sure felt like it. The first kiss was soft. Gentle. Yet when they went to kiss again it wasn't. It was hard. Passionate. On fire.

His wife's dark lip stick was all over his, but he didn't care. He could have lip stick all over his face and he still wouldn't care.

Finally, they pulled apart. Cheers and applause went up as they walked down the aisle, with the others in tow.

Holding hands, they felt a fall breeze hit their faces as they exited the church. His brothers and the bridesmaids all congratulated them. Handshakes, hugs, and firmly grasped hands-on shoulders were done by all.

The rest of the guests came out, warmly congratulating them. The party then got ready to head back to the house.

A small reception would be held in the formal dining room, but the actual reception would be held in London. The secret, crypt like underground room that his brothers had taken him too for his bachelor party would be where the real celebration would be.

Most people didn't have their wedding reception on the other side of the world from where they had gotten married, but having a billionaire sister and sister-in-law, you could do just that.

Though Nash hadn't inherited all the money, not that he was interested in the first place, he still had means and money as well. But as her wedding gift to them, Avery said all the expenses would be taken care of.

A horse drawn carriage, with two majestic black stallions, drew the bride and groom toward the house. They would leave for London in just a few hours, but for now they were going to have a few hours of refreshments with people who would not be able to come with them.

Nash thought his heart would burst with the feeling of joy and happiness that filled him. He was married to the woman of his choosing, not someone his grandfather had chosen. He had never asked for his grandfather's permission, and he would. (Even with him being dead)

He might still be pulling the strings from the grave, but not for Nash he wasn't. He done with being told what he had to do and who he was going to be with. He was his own boss, doing what he wanted and chose.

Let the great Tobias Hawthorne chew on that!

[dearayei]

Why Traveling with Friends is Rewarding

Due to the Covid-19 pandemic, which restricts our ability to travel and meet friends, four years ago was the saddest year of our generation. The pandemic actually made me feel more lonely because, shortly after it began, I had my heart broken 💔 (by an ex), and my only means of coping was to spend time with friends. However, as a result of the pandemic, my mental health also declined.

But this year 2024 marked my first long-distance trip with my closest friends after the pandemic, who I have come to refer to as my "evolving friends ✨" because whenever I am in their company, I feel as though my soul is being lifted, empowered, and enlightened.

I find it amusing meeting people whom I share the same discipline and aspirations in life, and during the pandemic, they were among the people I was most eager to chat to because of our insightful conversations, life reflections, and committed to being accountable to each other's goals in order to encourage one another to keep going and develop the habits necessary to manifest or materialize our goals. This is how the ✨ Goal Diggers ✨ club was formed ✅.

So, we the "Goal Diggers" girls went to Dao De Gong Temple in Mabacong, Batangas last March 24, 2024, to celebrate Tai Shang Lao Jun's (Lao Tzu) birthday 🎂 (He is the founder of Taoism ☯️), and we thoroughly planned how our trip would go. Because @jeanoccenaworks is from Novaliches and it will take her a day to travel to Batangas, @jeanoccenaworks decided to stay at my place on March 23 (Saturday) so we could all go together early in the morning on Sunday.

To be honest, I'm looking forward to this trip not only because it'll be my first time traveling since the pandemic, but also because the Goal Diggers gals are all together 🥳! The trip was filled with laughter, wisdom talks, love and dating advice, and much more, and it was extremely rewarding for me (my social and mental health) 💖 . Here are some of the photos taken during our trip 📸👇

We also went to Montemaria, which is only 5 minutes away from the temple, to visit and pay our respects to Montemaria. Her Church is truly majestic and beautiful, and if you happen to be in Batangas, it's a must-see location not only because of her massive statue, but also because the beauty of the sea overlooking from her Church will truly give you a boost of energy and peace of mind. I can't wait to return once Montemaria's management has completed their restoration initiatives.

This trip was truly a fulfilling experience with friends since we were able to take a nature break 🍃 from a rat race of life in the city. We adored the scent of early morning dew, fresh air, salty sea, and cow dung 💩 - how can you not miss that 😆?

As a probinsyana girl who grew up in IloIlo, I genuinely love the beauty of the mountains, the chirp of the birds in the morning, the scent of the moist ground (together with the 💩), fresh brewed coffee ☕, the smell of sinangag 🍚 and tuyo 🐟, and the tranquility in nature 🙏.

I can't wait for our next trips together this 2024, as we aim to travel more outside of the city or country and vlog *coming soon* about our adventures. *ABANGAN!* char!

Sincerely, Ayei 🌻

[rhianna]

THE CATHEDRAL OF NOTRE-DAME. VICTOR HUGO.

MOST certainly, the Cathedral of Notre-Dame is still a sublime and majestic edifice. But, despite the beauty which it preserves in its old age, it would be impossible not to be indignant at the injuries and mutilations which Time and man have jointly inflicted upon the venerable structure without respect for Charlemagne, who laid its first stone, and Philip Augustus, who laid its last.

There is always a scar beside a wrinkle on the face of this aged queen of our cathedrals. Tempus edax homo edacior, which I should translate thus: Time is blind, man is stupid.

If we had leisure to examine one by one, with the reader, the various traces of destruction imprinted on the old church, Time’s work would prove to be less destructive than men’s, especially des hommes de l’art, because there have been some individuals in the last two centuries who considered themselves architects.

First, to cite several striking examples, assuredly there are few more beautiful pages in architecture than that façade, exhibiting the three deeply-dug porches with their pointed arches; the plinth, embroidered and indented with twenty-eight royal niches; the immense central rose-window,29 flanked by its two lateral windows, like the priest by his deacon and sub-deacon; the high and frail gallery of open-worked arches, supporting on its delicate columns a heavy platform; and, lastly, the two dark and massive towers, with their slated pent-houses. These harmonious parts of a magnificent whole, superimposed in five gigantic stages, and presenting, with their innumerable details of statuary, sculpture, and carving, an overwhelming yet not perplexing mass, combine in producing a calm grandeur. It is a vast symphony in stone, so to speak; the colossal work of man and of a nation, as united and as complex as the Iliad and the romanceros of which it is the sister; a prodigious production to which all the forces of an epoch contributed, and from every stone of which springs forth in a hundred ways the workman’s fancy directed by the artist’s genius; in one word, a kind of human creation, as strong and fecund as the divine creation from which it seems to have stolen the two-fold character: variety and eternity.

And what I say here of the façade, must be said of the entire Cathedral; and what I say of the Cathedral of Paris, must be said of all the Mediæval Christian churches. Everything in this art, which proceeds from itself, is so logical and well-proportioned that to measure the toe of the foot is to measure the giant.

Let us return to the façade of Notre-Dame, as it exists to-day when we go reverently to admire the solemn and mighty Cathedral, which, according to the old chroniclers, was terrifying: quæ mole sua terrorem incutit spectantibus.

That façade now lacks three important things: first, the30 flight of eleven steps, which raised it above the level of the ground; then, the lower row of statues which occupied the niches of the three porches; and the upper row1 of the twenty-eight ancient kings of France which ornamented the gallery of the first story, beginning with Childebert and ending with Philip Augustus, holding in his hand “la pomme impériale.”

Time in its slow and unchecked progress, raising the level of the city’s soil, buried the steps; but whilst the pavement of Paris like a rising tide has engulfed one by one the eleven steps which formerly added to the majestic height of the edifice, Time has given to the church more, perhaps, than it has stolen, for it is Time that has spread that sombre hue of centuries on the façade which makes the old age of buildings their period of beauty.

[nicklloydnow]

Frankie Boyle's Farewell to the Monarchy

“I didn’t make any jokes when the Queen died. I maintained a strict silence. . . as I tried to sneak back out of her bedroom.

(…)

Famously, the public drew strength from the Royal family staying in London during World War Two. Presumably, they thought the Luftwaffe might hold back if there was a risk they’d bomb their own.

(…)

Richard III in many ways set the tone for what would become the modern, British monarchy: a child-sacrificing cult of violent, ruthless ambition which the British public is happy to tolerate in exchange for a long bank holiday.

(…)

Henry VIII is one of the few husbands Johnny Depp can feel superior to. Only England can watch a man abuse six different women and think “Maybe every school child should learn a rhyme to remember how he did it.” Henry also invented modern divorce and so it’s his fault you’re watching this at home, alone and unloved.

(…)

Every royal coat of arms is richly symbolic. For example, before he became King, Prince Charles’ crest showed a lion mounting another lion while a horse looks patiently on. Whereas the Duke of York’s shows a lion paying twelve millions pounds to a sex-trafficked lion cub that the lion claims it never met. And from Queen Elizabeth I, today’s royals learned a valuable lesson: understand your own symbolic function. Elizabeth, in a time of conflict between Catholicism and Protestantism, understood that by presenting herself as a sort of Virgin Mary incarnate, she could dilute those tensions. And indeed, she went on to shape the worship that took place in the Anglican Church, creating a sort of Catholicism for pussies.

(…)

Victoria had her first sight of Scotland after arriving by ship at Leith. If ever a four-foot-eleven woman with nine kids and clinical depression was going to feel at home, it was going to be in Leith.

(…)

With conditions miserable for many Brits, Queen Victoria did the obvious and spread that misery around the world, much like a U2 tour.

(…)

Personally, I try to deal with the injustice of the British monarchy in my own, small way; giving swans bread soaked in LSD to try and liberate them from their mental shackles.

(…)

Conspiracy theories about the royal family being lizards disguises the fact that they’re something even worse: a slightly dim German family to whom we’ve inexplicably given billions of pounds.

(…)

I used to be outraged by the British class system, how it destroys lives. Then I bought a ‘Live Laugh Love’ magnet for my fridge. Now it all just washes over me. The monarchy is ending. When that happens, let’s not be bitter. Let’s get out in the streets and raise a bottle to them. . . filled with petrol and a burning rag.”

“Is the Coronation going to be a flop? It is impossible to be sure as we know so little about it, but far too many of the signs are bad. How can things go well when the official food for the occasion is a sort of vegetarian flan?

Will our new King be dedicating his life to God, as his mother did, or to Net Zero, as he seems to want to do? How Christian will the ceremony be? I am all for welcoming other faiths, but it is our Christian laws, customs, culture and civilisation which have drawn so many to come to live here. And I believe it is our Anglican settlement which creates the tolerant space in which other beliefs rightly flourish among us.

Few people realise that we are the last nation in the world to have such a ceremony. The other remaining kings and queens of Europe have low-key inaugurations, about as majestic as the induction of a new head teacher.

Ours is a ritual of memory, power, loyalty and acclaim, stretching back a thousand years into the very origins of Christian Europe. And if you read the order of service from the 1953 event, or watch the film of it, you will get a strong sense that the monarchy of the time was not ashamed to exist.

(…)

When the Queen died last year, I was moved enough to queue for hours to see her lying-in-state. But I have never forgiven the authorities for the muffled, underpowered ceremonies surrounding her death. This was the most important death since that of Winston Churchill in 1965 – which was marked by a great triumph worthy of the Roman Empire and ending with crowds lining the railway tracks as he was carried home on a steam train to the heart of the countryside of the nation he saved.

(…)

Well, I shall never be a Royal adviser. Charles long ago decided I was unacceptable and cancelled a meeting he had originally wanted to have with me, because his politically correct aides warned him against it. But if I had gone, I should have said to him, and say again now, that it is no use trying to please or placate the enemies of the Crown. Do what you like. Submit to taxes, embrace political correctness, wear a mask and sit alone at your own spouse’s low-key funeral, cut back on the pomp, sideline your embarrassing relatives. It will do no good.

The radicals who rule the country see all such moves as signs of weakness. And those who treasure a thousand years of majesty know that it will not last much longer if it carries on like this.”