#i have become an expert at managing it and recognizing it when it starts

[kebriones]

And good morning to you, random ass panic attack!

I love just sitting there having breakfast and my brain deciding we should get The Dread along with our coffee today.

[sunni-stuff]

HEYY so I was wondering if you could make a small story about Simon x New!Medic!Reader and getting interested by her because she managed to punch the daylights out of a soldier that was bothering her. And maybe out of interest getting to know each other better *wink* *wink* 😏😏

Eye-catching

Of course, he noticed you. Ghost noticed everything.

You, the shiny new recruit, brought a buzz to the force that was hard to ignore.

When Price first mentioned you, Ghost had snorted dismissively at your file. Price was adamant about your potential, swearing by the renowned doctor who had trained you and recounting your impressive handiwork he'd witnessed firsthand. Price only picked the best.

But Ghost had his reservations. In his eyes, your lack of field experience was a glaring flaw. Still, it wasn't his call to make. If Price vouched for you, Ghost would reserve judgment.

Your arrival on the base was met with indifference from Ghost. He barely acknowledged your polite "hello's" and attempts to connect. You weren't the Cap'n, and you certainly weren't Soap, who, for some unfathomable reason, couldn't stop singing your praises.

Since day one, Soap had been relentless. In the mess hall, he went on about how sweet you were and how Ghost should at least introduce himself properly—after all, you were teammates. If that wasn't enough, when Gaz got injured on a mission, you stitched him up with such skill that he barely felt any pain. Gaz, too, joined the chorus of your admirers, extolling your expert skills as a medic.

It seemed everyone on the team adored you, speaking of you as if you were a miracle worker. To Ghost, you were just a decent medic at best; he saw nothing worth bragging about.

How wrong he was.

About a month after your arrival, Ghost injured his shoulder sparring with Soap. He'd really messed it up, the strain and tension becoming a constant burden. He tried to push through it, gritting his teeth and refusing to let a mere shoulder injury slow him down. For a week, he endured, hissing in pain as he lifted weights, struggling with loads he would usually handle effortlessly. Stubborn as ever, he refused to visit the med bay.

This went on until the following week when Soap, unable to take it any longer, practically scolded the lieutenant for his hard-headedness and dragged him to the medic bay himself.

You were already in the middle of organizing supplies when Soap and Ghost walked in. Ghost, begrudgingly being led, looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. Soap's face lit up when he saw you, and he immediately started talking about Ghost's shoulder, explaining the situation while Ghost stood there, a grimace on his masked face.

You turned around, offering a warm smile despite Ghost's obvious displeasure. "Lieutenant," you greeted him politely, "why don't you have a seat, and I'll take a look at that shoulder."

Ghost hesitated but finally gave in, taking a seat on the examination table. Soap, satisfied with his handiwork, gave you a quick pat on the shoulder before leaving you to your work.

The room was quiet as you began your examination, your hands gentle but firm as you checked for any signs of injury. Ghost watched you with a mix of skepticism and curiosity, trying to gauge whether you were as good as everyone said.

"Looks like you pulled a muscle pretty badly," you said after a few minutes, "but it's nothing I can't fix." You were about to approach and help fix up the lieutenant's troublesome arm when a loud commotion erupted outside. "Excuse me, I'll be right back," you said, stepping out of your office.

An argument was unfolding between a medic-in-training you recognized as Sherry and a soldier you've heard unsavory things about named Allen. Sherry looked nervous, staring at her boots while Allen yelled at her. "I don't want some fresh-blood working on me. Where's Dr. Whitfield?"

Stepping between them, you patted Sherry on the shoulder, positioning yourself protectively in front of her. "I'm sorry, Dr. Whitfield is on family leave right now, but both Sherry and I are qualified to help."

Allen glared down at you, attempting to use his height to intimidate. "I'd rather have someone reliable to help me, not some trainee or a medic with a shiny new coat."

You smiled, recognizing his type immediately. Gently pressing a hand to his shoulder, you said, "While I understand your concern, there is no one more reliable than us, as we are directly trained under Dr. Whitfield. So please, follow me." You attempted to guide him to an empty room, but he jerked his arm away and flicked your forehead while you were stunned. "Are you hard of hearing? I just said—"

Standing your ground, you brushed off his flick and cut him off. "I heard what you said, but if you're going to be an asshole, you should go. Sherry, there's another patient down the hall."

Turning to let Sherry be on her way, you were about to head back to Ghost when Allen suddenly grabbed your wrist, forcing you to face him. "So that's it? Is no one going to tend to me?"

"I've already told you your options. You insist on rejecting what I'm offering. Now let me go." You tried to pull your arm back, but Allen's grip was relentless. His insistence on disregarding your expertise and blatant disrespect tested your patience. "Let me go."

Allen didn't take you seriously, clearly thinking he could talk to the "new kid" however he wanted. Before he could react, your fist shot out, connecting solidly with his jaw.

The impact echoed through the hall as Allen stumbled back, clutching his face in shock. The surrounding soldiers and medics turned to watch, their expressions a mix of surprise and approval.

You stepped back, maintaining your stance. "Anyone else have a problem with the medical staff?" you asked, your voice steady and commanding.

There was a brief silence before Allen, still holding his jaw, muttered something under his breath and stormed off. You returned to Ghost, an apologetic look on your face. "I'm sorry for that. Give me one minute to wash my hands."

Ghost watched as you disappeared into the bathroom within your office, absolutely stunned by what he had just witnessed. He had observed the entire ordeal, ready to intervene if necessary, but he found himself taken aback by how well you had handled the situation—better than he had expected.

The image of you standing your ground and delivering that sharp, decisive punch replayed in his mind. He had seen plenty of confrontations, both on and off the battlefield, but your composed and resolute demeanor in the face of Allen’s aggression was remarkable.

He had underestimated you, and that realization was both surprising and impressive. You weren’t just a medic; you had the grit and determination that demanded respect.

Ghost saw you through a more transparent lens. How the curve of your figure swayed as you walked, the resolute look on your face when you stood your ground, and how much you clearly loved your job.

♡! I know you said short story but you gave me an idea for atleast one or two more parts!!! I'm ngl this ask couldnt have come at a better time bc I was absolutely cooked with writers block.. thank you for your service. 💞

Ghost felt a different kind of throb and this time it wasn't his arm.

P.S. this wasn't proofread.

[ggjunkie]

Heavenly Hazards

Chapter 1

It was your official 5-week anniversary of heaven. And although you may be far from an expert, you’ve gained enough experience and went through enough trial and error to create a list of rules. These rules, under no circumstance, are to be broken, bent, nor rewritten. You may need some reminders every now and then, as they’re all extremely persuasive, but you refuse to falter.

Ahem! So without further ado, here is your list of “Heavenly Hazards!”

Number 1: Steer Clear of the promenade food court’s smoothies.

You made the honest mistake of indulging, and paid the price. In your defense, you really didn’t know any better. Even the worker seemed surprised you had wanted to order. One sip was the equivalent of one hour spent crouching near the toilet. You spent that time wondering if there was an afterlife after this one, or if you’d be forced to die forever. Based on those two days, the second option seemed the most comforting. No more fancy promenades and no more poison-smoothies.

Number 2: Don’t look too closely at the street performers

One fact about heaven they don’t write home about is that these angels will sing. That doesn’t always mean the same thing as “can” or “should,” but you will always find fun numbers on the street. However, watch for too long and that solo will become a duet. Sometimes it can be exhilarating. But when you have concrete plans you’re already running late for and suddenly you find yourself triple time-stepping to the latest edition of “Count On Me,” it can be frustrating.

And the final, most important, at all cost followed, never to be broken rule:

Number 3: Avoid Adam.

Being the first man, he came with a lot of titles. For instance, “the first— and therefore the biggest- baby” and “the first face your fist may meet” were both strong. Or alternatively, something fitting a bit closer to home for you: “The first hookup you had in heaven even though you know you shouldn’t have, and now you have to ignore and avoid his stupid smug face.”

Real catchy name.

It was a serious problem though. Especially since he seemed to want the opposite of that– for whatever reason it may be. Knowing him, it could range from craving a Hookup the Sequel, to wanting to slut-shame you for sex before marriage. However, day after day, you’d always end up “mysteriously” bumping into him. From the streets to your place of work, it’s only a matter of time until he finds out where you live and manages to start bugging you there too. You wondered if he harassed all his past hookups like this, before shaking your head and realizing “yeah, probably.”

The hook up wasn’t your fault though!

Upon arrival into heaven, there was a mysterious ticket slipped into your brochure. It was rich black– a stark contrast to everything else behind the Pearly Gates, everything alternated between white and off-white. Scribbled in a gold marker was what you assumed to be a signature, but you couldn’t be too sure. If anything, it more closely resembled a stick figure– somehow. You would’ve marched back up to that gleaming angel sitting behind his desk and handed over the ticket, only to have been assured it was some sort of mistake and now be promised a million heaven-bucks or whatever other apology he would’ve offered. However, there was one thing stopping you.

Up at the top of the ticket, above the not-quite-signature, was your name. Granted, it was scrawled in a hard-to-understand handwriting. But you can recognize your name anywhere. Or wait… if you squint hard enough, it sort of looked like a second stickman.

Looking at it made you nervous though, so into the trashcan it went. As you tossed it, you clapped your hands clean, ready to open back up that brochure and find out where you will be staying when suddenly everything went black. You sputtered, reaching for your eyes to find something covering them. You peel it off, staring back at none other than the ticket.

With a shocked yelp, you threw it to the floor, watching as it immediately flew back up into your hand. It obviously wasn’t alive– or at least you hoped not– so, maybe enchanted?

“Problem?” the angel behind his desk smiled softly, tilting his head to complete his look of the pinnacle of all things sweet. Quickly, you hid the ticket behind your back, afraid to accidentally be caught with something bad, and shook your head ‘no.’ Ever trusting, the angel grinned back, noticed one of his pens out of place, quickly pushed it right, and then delved straight back into his boring paperwork.

However, the pen he had moved was gold.. Or, wait… yeah no it’s white. Curse this bland place!

With his attention now diverted, you exited the building, started walking– you’re afraid you’ll never get used to these wings–and pulled back out the ticket. Due to most angels taking to choose to fly and soar above, you didn’t have to worry about bumping into anyone. You flipped the ticket back and forth, looking for any sort of clues or hints as to what it could be.

You came back with nothing.

However, because of your distracted pacing, you found yourself at some sort of open area. You swapped out your ticket, fumbling around in your pockets for your brochure and checking the attached map. According to the red star marked “You are Here,” you had found yourself at the promenade. There were places to relax and eat, something that seemed very much appealing after dealing with both death… and this stupid, impossibly infuriating ticket!

Your wings fluttering- a new and weirdly uncomfortable feeling--you moved to join in line and order food. Unfortunately, most of the food lines were a tad bit long. Ever impatient, you decided to hop to the most empty line, which seemed to be…

You squinted up at the sign– oh!

Smoothies!

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

do—

Do Howdy and Barnaby ever get together in your human au 🥺🥺

of course they do, who do you think i am

oh BOY do i have things to say about human!Laughingstock! im so unwell about them allow me to talk and talk and talk and ta-

~

so in this au they're like... the ultimate slowburn. their feelings for each other slowly simmer and grow over the course of *checks nonexistent watch* a lil over a decade i think. it's not very dramatic - just soft & silly w/ just a heap of pining and a pinch of angst for Flavor

it starts when they were teens - Howdy had a lil crush on Barnaby in middle school. and how could he not? Barnaby was cute, hilarious, and kind. at this point, they weren't friends! Barnaby knew Howdy's name, but only because they'd shared a school since elementary (as with 6/7 of the other neighbors) & speaking from experience, you just Know Those Names. Howdy slowly "grew out of" this crush, especially when the friend group started forming and he & Barnaby became actual friends.

that crush would fluctuate over the years. It starts out strong and then softens into just this hum in the back of Howdy's mind. always there, often easy to ignore, just... part of him, in a way.

Barnaby has a similar experience. when he and Howdy became friends, he got a lil crush - how could he not? Howdy was cute, laughed at all of his jokes and had a few of his own, and was endearingly eccentric. but at the time, Barnaby didn't recognize the crush for what it was. so he elected to ignore it until the crush dwindled to something easily manageable, something he wouldn't realize is still there. as with Howdy's, it'd never fully go away

and its noticeable enough to their friends that they'd all kinda side-eye how touchy Howdy & Barnaby are with each other (Barnaby is a physical guy, but damn. if Howdy is nearby they Will find a way to be touching at all times), the way they always laugh at each others jokes, the way they always ask "where's [x] / is [x] coming with" whenever the other is absent. but the group couldn't be sure if they were looking into it or not. it's too subtle. over time they get so used to it that they don't bat an eye - Howdy is Barnaby's best friend after Wally. of course they're close!

but then there's this one college party Howdy drags Barnaby to (and by extension, Wally). they're drunk off their asses, Wally's edible has kicked in, the party is pretty chill and everyone is having a decent time. all three of them are on the couch, and Barnaby and Howdy start drunk-complimenting each other. naturally, this feeds their mutual attraction, and one thing leads to another! they make out on the couch. naturally with Wally sandwiched between them, snacking on chips and committing the moment to memory (it's a surprise tool that'll help them later!) neither Barnaby nor Howdy will remember this

now, something i'd like to state for Barnaby in this au! he has had a lot of relationships - from one night stands to actually dating someone for months. sometimes the one night stands were a "he takes someone home after a date, & they leave while he's sleeping and ghost him" situation. with actual dating, the other person always breaks things off after a few weeks, if not days. it breaks Barnaby's heart a little bit every time. to the point where in his mid-20s, he just... stops dating. he avoids other people's advancements towards him, he always takes a friend with him to bars/etc as a buffer, he becomes an expert at gracefully turning people down

("why, pray tell" no one asks "do they always leave him? he's such a catch!" that he is! when he was in school, it was his friend group. he'd try to introduce his 'girlfriend' to his friends, and it'd be an immediate "eugh, you're friends with those freaks? no way!" as an adult, people found it off-putting how (by societal standards) unusually close he was with Wally. also, again, a "weird" friend group. they'd think it's too much, or just not their scene, or 'why don't you date your little blue haired boyfriend', etc. Barnaby never holds it against Wally or his friends. he has the mindset of if that person was the one, they would accept every part of Barnaby - and his friends are indeed part of him. Howdy has also dated around a little, but to a much lesser extent. he's too busy! he doesn't have time for that!)

but the ball really starts rolling in their late 20s. something the group does together - as a fun lil rare hobby - is LARPing. they get really into it! Sally made them all custom costumes, Julie helped make the weapons (like a giant sword for herself), etc etc. they fully commit to the bit (even Frank <3). so at this event's point in the timeline, Eddie is fully integrated into the clique, but that's unimportant - just to show where we are!

so they're all doing their thing, it's a pretty big LARP event - there's always way more people than our dear neighbors, yk. they're just part of the crowd! & there's a big battle hosted, the group is split between teams, but Barnaby & Howdy are on the same side! yay! during the battle, Barnaby is "mortally wounded." Howdy half-drags him away from the main battle under the cover of their teammates (including Eddie and Julie) and sits him down by the tree. now, Howdy & Barnaby are the ones who get into the roleplay the most. they get lost in the sauce! they perform the hell out of everything they do!

& since Barnaby is "dying", he really acts like it. Howdy acts accordingly, but again, they get a little too emotional, a little too into it, a little lost in the sauce. genuine tears are in their eyes, Howdy's voice is genuinely shaking a little as he holds Barnaby in his "dying moments" (Barnaby is holding the sword between his arm and his side. he has ketchup on his armor.) Eddie and Julie are getting choked up just watching this happen. and as Howdy & Barnaby look into each others' tear-filled eyes, those little feelings that have been so quiet for so long come right back babey! full force! but then they all get hit with "arrows" and have to die right there and then, and the moments over. but! both Barnaby & Howdy walk away from this LARP session grappling with Partially Realized Feelings.

Barnaby struggles with this the most, since yk at this point he's sworn off dating. he's being careful with his heart! but when he tells Wally all of this, cause he tells Wally everything, Wally's like "oh. yes, i know! remember that one college party where you two kissed for an hour". and then he goes on to point out every instance where he's thought "right, Howdy and Barnaby are in love" (bc Wally is way more observant than he lets on! he saw that shit! his peepers were peepin!)

BUT IT'S STILL A SLOW BURN BABEY!

Barnaby and Howdy don't approach each other about this. they're both in the boat of "well, i'll just keep going and see what happens" to the point where they're practically dating without ever saying anything to each other. Howdy notices how Barnaby lingers around the store more. Barnaby notices how Howdy keeps turning up at his work to talk more. (they already chat so much...) but they still! dont! say! anything! but they both Know! they're not emotionally circling each other they are Dancing to their Own Music!

and Barnaby is letting himself believe that this can work because, well... Howdy already accepts him as he is. Howdy is part of the group. Howdy loves Wally just like the rest of em. Howdy has seen Barnaby at his (presumed) worst and didn't even flinch! as for Howdy, well, he just thinks this is right! his whole life no one has really caught his eyes or heart, but Barnaby is different. he's always been in Howdy's peripherals. it feels natural to love him so deeply. Barnaby slots into his life like the final piece of a puzzle!

there's a lot of stuff that happens in this inbetween state - Howdy's store burns down & almost takes him with it, there's some family drama that needs to be handled, The Crash happens, etc etc etc - so it's a while before they "actually" get together. but they're both patient! they've waited this long, even if they didn't know they were waiting. neither of them are in a rush. they're young. they have time.

[prsk-krow]

Hi hi!~ I'd like to request a (R) Kanade x Reader where the reader is secretly a musician that Kanade is a big fan of and follows closely.

Please take this request into consideration, thanks~

Heya! Honestly, the concept of Kanade as a fan has always been so peculiar to me, because she's such a curious and excitable creature (affectionate) but she's still so soft and chill...

{Kanade with Reader that's secretly a musician she likes!} [R]

.‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿.

)─── ･ ｡ﾟ*.☽ .* •ﾟ. ───(

Firstly, Kanade has been around the music world for a while, so she's kept tabs on a lot of rising composers and musicians that she notices have natural talent, no matter how succesful or popular they are, or aren't.

So when she notices you, a new musician that managed to earn a pretty decent following without breaking a sweat, she joins the following in secret! After all, her internet persona does gather attention itself, so she has to be careful about this sort of stuff.

She learns from you, and even starts to note down some of the ideas you have! It's always lovely to learn about how other talented composers think, and how they work! The influence from your work becomes clearer with each new song...

She even chats about you with the people she's close with, including, ironically, you! Even though she's mostly low-key whenever she's chatting, the topic of music always sparks a special feeling inside her!

"Um, I know that I speak about various artists, and many of them share some traits, but... I'm not sure why they feel so special to me. I've been thinking about it all day, but I can't put my finger on it..."

While she is good at analyzing voices, she never makes the connection between yours and the incognito singer, simply because when she enjoys her time with you, she doesn't spend it focused on things like that. She's usually just relaxed...

She talks about your singer persona and friend one with the rest of Niigo, who enjoy seeing the normally relaxed Kanade showing how she enjoys something so much! Who knew she could show such passion with her airy voice...

One day, she invites you to check out some demos! Since you also loved music, you had offered to help her out with her own endeavors, secretly learning things for your own pieces along the line!

You couldn't help but be proud and hide your smirks every time you recognized another one of your styles embedded in her new song, which was slowly becoming something pretty frequent...

However, the sudden increase in frequency of these small details makes you slip up, accidentally referring to the style as yours, which passes unnoticed... For just a fateful moment.

"... Wait, your... Huh?... Hold on, your voice, it's so... Melodical... Almost as if I've heard it before... In a familiar tune... H-hold on, there's no way... Right? Um... I'm not i-imagining this, right?"

Once the hint is thrown, Kanade comes to the conclusion shockingly fast, as she notices the familiarity of your voice, especially with how much she listens to your music, and her sharp ear.

She spends the next few moments absolutely shocked and trying to come to grips with it, the next geeking out and rambling about how she would have never noticed if you didn't slip up, and about how much she loves your songs... As if she hadn't made it so blatantly obvious before...

You thought she was bashful and cute whenever she rambled? Well now she does it more energetically, and shows even more embarrassment afterwards. After all, she borrowed your styles so many times...

You can't help but chuckle and constantly remind her that it's alright, that you don't mind, that you felt really proud that such an expert composer like her constantly used your little songs as reference!

The next Niigo call she's in, she literally cannot stop rambling about her dearest is the famous singer in incognito, all the while you accompany her, and your laughter is caught by her mic...

[bigoted-chicken]

Ha//zbin Ho//tel - Out For Love (A Zestmilla Story)

I don't have much else to say other than.... Zestmilla supremacy

Also this is featuring some HCs I have for Carmilla's backstory so that's some fun shit. I may actually write a normal fic elaborating on those little details.

Anyway I am very tired and my brain is soup so please enjoy

===

“Hh-! HiiHZzz’chuu!!”

“Señora Carmine?”

“What?”

Carmilla turned around sharply to face the tiny Imp servant that was standing in the doorway to her bedroom holding a silver tray with a single lacey handkerchief folded on top. In her momentary lapse of focus, the pearl necklace she’d been fumbling with for the last ten minutes slipped out of her large hands and she had to bite back a sharp foreign curse word.

“Señorita Clara and Señorita Odette requested that I bring this to you,” the servant said, holding out the tray to her.

She narrowed her eyes down at the Imp, reluctantly taking the handkerchief and folding it into the hidden breast pocket of her dress, refusing to let one of her underlings see her in such a vulnerable moment as blowing her nose.

“Thank you, Lester, that will be all,” she said in a croaky voice, clearing her throat as the servant scampered out of the room.

Carmilla bent down and picked the necklace off the ground, going back to trying to fasten together the two tiny chains with her giant fingers that seemed unnaturally shaky today. Her hands were normally as steady as you would expect from an expert markswoman like herself, but the rising pressure behind her eyes and the light goosebumps forming on her shoulders were spelling doom for the evening she had planned with Zestial.

Even though Zestial was as close to retired as an Overlord of Hell could be, the same couldn’t be said for Carmilla. Despite her best efforts to stay in touch with her oldest and closest friend, with her busy schedule loaded with overseeing turf wars, managing her many factories and warehouses, doing arms deals, and dodging the occasional assassination attempt, it felt like the only times lately that her and Zestial got to spend a peaceful moment together were in the brief hour or two after Overlord meetings when they enjoyed a cup of tea and shared news from their respective territories – until inevitably her attention would be called away because of some brand new fire she had to put out. She could have possibly gotten away with calling Overlord meetings more often and coming up with increasingly contrived reasons to hold them, but having to deal with the Vees’ tomfuckery every single meeting made the idea absolutely not worth it.

With that in mind, she was both surprised and incredibly grateful when Zestial approached her and asked if she would meet him for a nice quiet evening under the light of the full moon in the human world. Carmilla had initially wanted to refuse, not wanting to put him through that kind of trouble, but he assured her that she was worth the effort and no expense would be spared, and when she really considered it she decided that an opportunity like this would likely not present itself again. So now here she was, still fumbling with her necklace and about five seconds away from abandoning it all together out of frustration.

“Mamá? Do you need help?” She recognized the voice of her daughter Odette and turned to see her standing exactly where the Imp servant had been standing a few minutes ago.

Carmilla sighed. “You’re welcome to try if you must.”

Odette approached her mother silently and gently took the back clasps from her, easily fastening them together, meanwhile Carmilla felt a slowly building pressure in her sinuses that bloomed into an itch that had become all too familiar to her that day.

“Hah-! HAATZzz’chu!”

“Salud,” Odette said.

“Thank you, cariño…” Carmilla groaned, reaching for the handkerchief in her pocket and dabbing at her leaking nostrils, praying to whatever God had abandoned them that her makeup wouldn’t start running now of all times.

“Mom, are you sure that you’re okay…?” She hadn’t even noticed Clara also enter the room, standing a foot or two behind her sister. “I’m sure Zestial will understand if you’re not feeling well.”

“I agree with Clara, you look and sound… well, with all due respect, terrible,” Odette added.

Carmilla was about to deliver a sharp retort to her two well-meaning daughters, as least as sharp as it could be through the increasing brain fog, when a familiar meek voice spoke up.

“Señora Carmine…?” 

“What!?” Thoroughly irritated, Carmilla snapped at Lester who now stood in the doorway again with his hands folded behind his back.

The poor imp trembled like his boss was about to drive one of the angelic spears displayed on the wall into his neck. “U-Uhm… Lord Zestial has arrived…”

“...Oh.”

Totally ignorant to the happenings between Carmilla and her daughters, Hell’s oldest Overlord waited at the entrance to the Carmine mansion, hands folded to his sides, towering over any servant who dared cross his path. Though he could have walked in the door and perhaps would have faced no repercussions, it would have been most ungentlemanly to do such a thing -- even with as close as they were and as long as they’d known each other.

Assuming nobody had let things slip -- and they seldom let things slip, for no one dared to find out what would happen once they went against Zestial’s wishes -- then he had only to follow his previously-determined plan today. His goal today was simple: win Carmilla over, loosen her up a little, then find out for sure whether the way she felt about him was the same way he felt about her.

Almost a minute had passed and there was still no sign of Carmilla, when the weapons Overlord seemed to magically appear at the top of the staircase and began to descend it; though she tried to remain poised there was an undeniable energy of almost childlike excitement when she saw Zestial waiting in the foyer.

“Zestial, it’s wonderful to see you my friend,” she acknowledged once they were an appropriate distance apart. “You look quite dashing – I’m glad to see I did not in fact overdress.”

Her fellow Overlord returned her greeting with the lightest smile. “Few would wish to underdress for a night in thine presence,” he said with a chuckle. “Has thy day treated thou kindly so far?”

Carmilla smiled as they left the Carmine manor side-by-side. “Compared to every other day this week it has actually been, though I’d argue that isn’t a high bar to reach,” she let out a light cough, disguising it as a simple clearing of the throat in acknowledgement of her comment. “I am grateful to have been able to set aside this evening though.”

“Likewise,” Zestial replied. “I hope thou have prepared thineself for an evening to remember; before I begin, it must be asked for the sake of convenience and leisure: wouldst thou care to join me for a ride down the Styx?”

“If you’re offering, I would love to,” she gingerly hooked her left arm with his right, casting a brief glance at the inside of her home and catching sight of her daughter’s concerned faces before she closed the door. “I just hope that you haven’t gone and spent too much money on me tonight, Zestial,” she said with a slightly coy smile.

“What is too much money when one has the sway of an overlord?” said Zestial, dodging the question almost outright. “Come, now; thou willst find it a grand day once our trip doth concludes. Dare I spoil the end to say: thou willst find the river to only be the beginning of what I have in store.”

“Well in that case, it’s best that we don’t delay,” Carmilla said, in her head wondering how she ever managed to find such a kind and gentlemanly soul in this festering hellhole.

“Agreed.” Without further hesitation, Zestial and his old friend began to walk arm-in-arm to their destination, enjoying the sights -- as otherwise bleak as they were. Zestial could swear that he had just witnessed someone jump off a building in the distance -- and somebody else was eating what looked to be their own mother. Yes, it was a normal day in Hell -- of that, there was no doubt.

Though far from atypical, the usual goings-on of Hell were not about to get in the way of Zestials’ plans. His servants were already aware of his desire to head into the human world once he and Carmilla reached the end of Styx -- and if anything were to get in his way…well, nobody was willing to let that happen. Perhaps the only person who could reverse his plans at this point was Carmilla herself.

The two overlords chatted casually about this and that for several blocks, willfully ignoring the screams of agony that followed their path, Zestial sharing news about some freshly fallen souls he’d managed to rope into a contract, Carmilla venting about the shenanigans her daughters had been up to recently in their apparent efforts to give their immortal mother a heart attack. They were near the entrance to Cannibal Town when Carmilla suddenly turned away, pulling her arm out of Zestial’s. At first he was worried he’d said something that offended her, but then he saw her withdraw the lace handkerchief.

“My apologies,” she said with a sniffle that sounded wetter than she wanted it to. “I’m not sure why but my sinuses have been acting up something fierce lately – my guess is the pollen count must be on the rise…”

“Dost thou need a moment?” her companion inquired. “Thy time may be limited, but I am willing to look away while thou handles thyself.”

“Thank you…” Although blowing her nose in front of Zestial wasn’t much less embarrassing than doing it in front of her servants, she could at least trust that he would never take advantage of her perceived weakness.

With that in mind, she cupped the lace handkerchief over her nose and let out a loud and frankly disgusting sounding blow that guaranteed there was no chance she was putting that thing back in her pocket. It was all for naught anyway, because her sinuses stayed clear for a grand total of two seconds before a sudden tickle lit her nostrils aflame and pushed out all thoughts that had nothing to do with stopping the impending sneeze in its tracks.

Standing just beside her, uncertain if she was finished, Zestial took a gander over his shoulder to see the bridge of Carmilla’s nose wrinkling as she hid the rest of her face from him. “Ist thou alright--?”

“I–...” Carmilla couldn’t hold back a sneeze to save her life, she knew that already, her daughters knew that, Zestial probably knew that too, but knowing that still didn’t stop her from trying. “Ih... Ihh’m – fhhiih – hh! HHEZZz’Chuu! Jesucristo… ‘Scuse m’be…”

Her outburst left Zestial initially uncertain how to follow up -- whether that be with silence or with a culturally-appropriate response. “Salud, dear,” he finally said after much deliberation. “Dost thou know for certain if thine ailment is the result of pollen, or mayhaps something else?” For the first time in what seemed to be decades, the Overlord felt the slightest twinge of anxiety right after saying that -- as if worried that he had just asked the wrong question.

“I’m fine, Zestial, I promise,” she dismissed him rather quickly, folding the handkerchief over so the gross part wasn’t visible but so that it still had at least one more good use in it. “I’m not sure what came over me there but I swear it’s nothing. We should go or we’re going to be late.”

The truth of the matter was that Carmilla would say she was fine whether she actually was or not.

While not totally convinced, Zestial nodded in agreement. “Thou makest a good point; let us continue.” With that, he held his arm out for Carmilla to interlock hers with before they went on their way to the Styx. They began to walk up a subtle incline -- one which Carmilla did not notice until Zestial had pointed it out -- for it was this incline which allowed the Styx to flow as naturally as it did from one base to another. He understood this to be a little counter-intuitive, given that they were going to be transported far above everything else once they made their way down, but such thoughts only sprung up in his mind as a result of planning this event for over two months.

The only thing he had not fully decided yet was where to ask. It made all too much sense to inquire on the status of their relationship while they were going down a river -- but a river in Hell? It seemed like too much of a gamble that something would go awry. Meanwhile, the thought of opening up to her in the human world had less potential for things going wrong, but there were few places there that he knew very well -- and there was always a high possibility that something may have changed since the last time he was in the human world.

By the time they were nearly to the peak where one of Zestial’s servants was waiting, Zestial thought he could hear a wavering breath coming from the Overlord at his side. “Carmilla?” he began, taking a look down. “Ist thy nose causing trouble again?”

“J-Just a tad,” she sniffled, hoping it was just a passing tickle.

The short walk up the shallow incline would have normally been no issue for her, but as they reached the peak the weapons Overlord found herself feeling winded, her normally impeccable balance wavered ever so slightly and she had to resist the desire to lean against Zestial: Not only because she didn’t want to risk knocking over her spindly friend with her denser body weight, but because if she did he would almost certainly have felt the unnatural heat beginning to creep on her skin.

Just as they reached the peak of the hill and their boat was in sight, Carmilla’s hitching breaths suddenly crescendoed. She spun away from Zestial yet again, managing to bring the crook of her elbow up to her face, but just as they both expected a thunderous expulsion, her shoulders relaxed and she sheepishly turned back around to face the confused servant and a clearly concerned Zestial.

To that, Zestial couldn’t help but chuckle: a sound which would have stopped the hearts of those who were not within his social circle. “Were I the air itself, I would know better than to irritate thee in such a bothersome way,” he quipped.

Carmilla couldn’t help but chuckle at his comment, an action which shifted the congestion settling in her chest and forced her to swallow down a bit of phlegm that her body desperately wanted to cough up. She could only hope that Zestial wouldn’t notice that she’d been clearing her throat every five minutes now, and it was starting to get to a point where the little ‘hem hem’s weren’t enough to satisfy the itch in the back of her throat.

Before she could think of uttering another word, the servant at the boat spoke up. “Mister Zestial, Senoria Carmilla,” he began, bowing to each of them. “Your ride is ready for the two of you whenever.”

“Very good. Thou mayst leave us.”

Without any further prompting from Zestial, the imp gave one last bow before leaving the scene, leaving the boat suspended by a rope which anchored it to the support in the ground by Zestial and Carmilla’s feet. Once assured they were all by themselves, Zestial gestured to the boat, a glowing green grin turning up the pitch-black features of his face. “After thee, milady.”

Carmilla smiled warmly at him, placing one hand in his to steady herself as she stepped into the boat. For a brief moment there was the worry that her pointed angelic steel-tipped shoes would break right through the wooden hull but those fears proved to be unfounded. However, as she lowered herself down onto the seat, there was a subtle but noticeable tremor in her legs that was unbecoming of her usual poise and grace. She wouldn’t admit it but she was glad to finally be able to sit down and take some of the pressure off of her aching body, however short lived it would be before they reached their destination.

Zestial spoke not another word as he began to lower himself into the boat, as well, his movement precise and deliberate as always. There was just enough space between the two of them to cozy up to each other without feeling too cramped for space -- like slipping a millimeter either way would capsize the boat.

Once assured that they were secure, Zestial undid the knot on the rope that held them in place -- and within seconds, they began to drift off. Zestial was quick to grab the oar that had been left by the riverside before they got too far away -- before the river widened from its initial creek-like start.

“Zestial – I’ve been thinking,” Carmilla suddenly spoke up after only a couple minutes of drifting along the river’s current. “Not to imply that I’m not appreciative of getting to spend time with you like this, but it all just feels like… a lot… I mean, the boat ride, the trip to the human world… You know that I’m not the type of woman to ask for too much, especially from you…”

For once, Zestial initially found himself unsure how to immediately respond to her comment. “Ist…this fair trip truly ‘too much?’” he asked, partly to himself. “Mayhaps I misunderstood; I would not have done this for thee if I did not desire to, and such plans do not stretch my reach as an Overlord, thou must understand.”

“No, no, it isn’t too much…!” she frantically tried to reassure him as she reached out to touch his shoulder, worried she’d upset her friend without meaning to. “It’s just–... I suppose it’s more than I’ve gotten used to for a long time now… I haven’t had a man go out of his way like this for me since, well, Ernesto…”

Hearing Carmilla speak her late ex-husband’s name for the first time in years was enough to make Zestial’s heart skip a beat. With such mention, Zestial had better context to her current state of mind -- for she must have felt some kind of way about him if she were willing to speak Ernesto’s name now of all times.

The two of them were quiet for an almost uncomfortable amount of time before Zestial spoke up again. “All is well, Carmilla,” he replied with a smile as he went on to reiterate, “What we do today requires but a flick of a wrist for me to set into action. Many thinketh it difficult to make such plans for thy day, and I understand why thee would believest the same, but I do what I do for good reasons.”

The two Overlords sat there in silence for a moment, silence buzzing between them the way static fills the air right before a strike of lightning. There was only the sound of their breathing overlaced with the lapping of water as Zestial continued to hold the oar in his lap, letting the current take them down at a steady, gradual pace. 

“And… what is that reason…?” Carmilla finally asked.

After facing forward for the last minute, Zestial turned his gaze to Carmilla. “I was saving the moment for when we were among the human world,” he began, withdrawing a sigh as he looked away just as briefly as he’d turned his gaze toward Carmilla. “Mine days grow longer the more I delay the truth to thine ears, but thou art my closest companion and thou deservest to know: I--”

Carmilla interrupted him with a sudden sharp intake of air that made Zestial think for a moment she had hurt herself somehow.

“Hh-! HeiiHHZZZ’Chuu! Hah’ZZZChuu!” She snapped forward with two violently rough sneezes that came dangerously close to displacing the already fragile weight distribution in the boat and causing them to capsize. Immediately afterwards she tried taking in a deep breath, but there was an audible crack of congestion in her throat followed by her doubling over into the crook of her elbow to cough and hack her brains out.

The coughing lasted for almost ten solid seconds straight until she practically sounded like she was choking, and when she finally managed to spit the phlegm blocking her airways into her handkerchief, she slowly unfolded her body, taking in a slow labored inhale like she was testing the waters with her breathing. There was now an obvious pale yellow flush dusting her cheeks, but whether it was from embarrassment, fever, or the straining from the fit she just had, was unclear.

Unable to get a word out, Zestial stared back at Carmilla in awe, almost forgetting for a moment that they were still in a boat. “Thou dost not seem well…” he began. “Perhaps we shall end this journey for now.”

“N-No…! I promise I’m – I’m fine…” she punctuated her sentence with a quick cough directed over her shoulder, her upper body swaying as if cocking her head to the side was enough to make her dizzy.

“It is not allergies that ail thee,” Zestial commented, practically ignoring Carmilla’s pleas. “Tell me: is it something else?”

Knowing that at this point she’d already been caught red-handed, rather than outright admitting it, Carmilla swallowed a lump forming in her throat and said in a vulnerable voice: “Zestial – please… You’ve already gone to such effort for me, I don’t want to ruin it because I’m… weak…”

“I could not fathom to let thee grow weaker.” Without further argument, Zestial dug his oar into the wet ground beneath the boat and pivoted their ride toward the edge of the river. From there, he stepped out, gripping the canoe’s hull as he pulled it partially onto solid earth. He then gestured Carmilla over with his free hand. “If thou wouldst please..”

She hesitated, wanting to still try to plead her case, but another sharp cough that rattled the inside of her chest gave her answer before she could. Once she composed herself enough, she reluctantly began stepping out of the boat. Unfortunately, she had stood up just a tad too quickly, all the blood in her body suddenly felt like it had pooled in her feet. She’d just barely gotten one leg out of the boat when everything around her started spinning and tilting to the side, and the next thing she knew she felt a pair of thin yet strong arms wrap around her body just before she hit the ground.

Like her, Zestial was caught off-guard by her sudden trip, not wanting to think of what would have happened if he had deliberated a moment further. “There, now,” he began, his voice low as if he were holding a kitten. “I dread to think what may have happened, had thou fallenest into the river in thy state.” He began to straighten himself as he continued to hold Carmilla upright, bringing her up with him. “Can thou walk without struggle?”

“I… I think so…” she said, slowly separating herself from Zestial and trying to take a few steps in a straight line, but her legs wobbled and she very nearly fell over again before his hands around her waist steadied her; she hadn’t felt this uncoordinated since the last time she went a little too hard on the Beelzejuice.

“Perhaps if we walk as we were before?” Zestial suggested, holding his arm out as he cast a smile down upon her. “As we had just before entering the boat?”

“M-Maybe…” she wheezed, trying her best to stand up straight with Zestial’s support but feeling like a melting ice cube trying to balance on the center of a metal tray – complete with chills radiating through her as if her blood had frozen in her veins.

After having already stopped their trip, Zestial sought no problem in checking Carmilla’s temperature as he rested his palm against her forehead.

Just by the look on his face, the dizzy Carmilla could tell he wasn’t pleased. “Thou art burning hot…” he mumbled. “I believe I should take thee to thy home. Please excuse me for what I am about to do.”

Before Carmilla could think to ask, Zestial bent down and hooked his arm beneath her legs before hoisting her off the ground entirely, carried aloft in his two arms like a feather.

“Zestial,” Carmilla moaned, yet made no real attempt to protest, every bone in her body focused on resisting the desire to bury her face in his chest and fall asleep like a child. “This is… unbecoming…”

“We’ll be out of the public eye soon enough,” he whispered, his voice dropping as low as hers. “I know a shortcut to thy residence.”

===

Back at the Carmine manor, Clara and Odette sat across from each other on different chairs in the family room that was an offshoot of the foyer. They were patiently waiting for the moment their mother and her hopefully soon-to-be boyfriend would return from their outing and they could get all the details. Clara sat with her legs crossed carefully polishing her collection of angelic steel daggers, while Odette flipped through pages on her clipboard reading over the company’s stock reports from the past month.

“So,” Odette broke the silence, pushing her glasses up on her face. “Do you really think Zestial is actually going to confess tonight…?”

“Oh, 100%,” Clara replied without hesitation, not even looking up from a particularly stubborn speck of dirt stuck to the blade she was cleaning. “He’s not even being subtle this time; I don’t know how mom hasn’t picked up on it at this point.”

“Do you think she’ll reciprocate?”

“Why wouldn’t she? They’ve known each other since before we were even born, she has a chair and a teacup reserved for him at the Overlord meetings, and c’mon, do you think she’d get all dressed up like that for him if she just saw him as a friend?”

Odette playfully rolled her eyes before going back to looking at her clipboard. “I think you read too much into things.”

Clara looked up from her daggers and gave her sister a crooked smirk. “I think you just have no imagination, Odie.”

The two girls were interrupted by a sharp knocking at the door. They were not expecting anyone to come visiting at this hour — especially when Zestial’s plans seemed to imply that they would be gone for hours. Clara immediately sprung up from her chair and went to answer the door, willfully ignoring one of Carmilla’s biggest rules about how “If I’m not home, don’t answer the door for anyone”.

“Hey! What are you guys doing back so–” Clara had initially cracked the door open by an inch then threw it open the rest of the way when she got a glimpse of Zestial’s cloak. “...Soon…”

Her face immediately paled upon seeing Zestial standing there cradling her mother’s body, for a split second she thought that she was dead before Carmilla sucked in a breath and muffled a series of coughs into her fist. Her first instinct was to assume they’d been attacked perhaps, but neither of them bore any visible wounds.

“W-What happened?” Clara asked, stepping aside to let Zestial in.

Their guest entered swiftly, his feet unseen beneath his robe. “Thy mother hast come down with a feverish plight,” he explained as he made his way to the nearest couch. “It wouldst be best if thee could find medicine for her, and mayhaps a thermometer for good measure.” 

“Shit – O-Okay…!” Clara ran off both to fetch the items he had requested and to relay the current situation to her sister.

As he approached the couch, he leaned in to Carmilla’s ear. “We are home now; shall I stay by thy side?”

“Mmm…” 

Carmilla made a soft indecipherable noise, apparently too tired to give a proper answer. Her one hand that gripped Zestial’s shoulder tightened its hold, like she wanted to stop him from slipping away from her so this feeling of their bodies being so close could last forever.

Though he hated to have to pull her away, Zestial eventually got down on his knees so that he could safely and comfortably roll her onto the couch -- after which he found a pillow for her to rest her head upon as she laid on her side. Her eyes were open just a crack, her nose had turned a light red, and her sweaty face still burned to the touch. In spite of her condition, she continued to hold a hand out, as if still believing Zestial’s shoulder to be nearby. Once he realized this, he took hold of her hand to, if nothing else, calm her nerves.

Clara and Odette soon came back into the room, Clara was holding a bottle of cold and flu medicine and a mercury thermometer with a washcloth slung over her shoulder, while Odette carried a small basin full of cold water. Watching the way that Zestial held their mother’s hand and gazed lovingly at her feverish face made Clara desperately wanna know if he’d at least gotten the chance to confess that he’d been hoping for, but obviously now was not the most appropriate time to ask.

Realizing that her sister had taken to just staring instead of actually helping, Odette set down the basin by the couch and then took the rest of the supplies from her.

“Here,” Odette said, handing the thermometer to Zestial since he was the one hovering right over Carmilla.

“I thank thee,” he said before slipping the thermometer between their mother’s lips. After a few seconds, he retracted the device and read the number on it out loud: “One hundred and three.”

“Crap,” Clara huffed, peering over Zestial’s shoulder. “We knew she wasn’t feeling well before she left but – we didn’t think it’d get this bad so quickly… Odie, you think we can get her upstairs to her room together?”

“Unlikely,” Odette said. “Mother easily has over 100lbs on the both of us combined, coupled with the fact she’s barely conscious right now, we’d be hard pressed getting her up the stairs alone.”

“Allow me, then,” said Zestial as he set the thermometer in Clara’s hand and slipped his arms beneath Carmilla’s body. With little effort, he hoisted her up once again. “Thou needn’t accompany me,” he went on, “I know where her room is.”

The girls looked at each other with slight apprehension before silently nodded in agreement.

“O-Okay, we’ll just bring this stuff up later,” Clara said. “But let us know if you need any help, okay?”

“I will do,” Zestial affirmed before making his way to the staircase. Though he could only assume Carmilla’s opinion on him going into her room when she was only half-consciously with him, he bit the bullet and stepped inside once he was at the door.

“I’m sorry,” she suddenly murmured, sniffling as he approached her bed. “I know I disgust you right now…”

Hearing her speak almost made him flinch. It took a second for him to understand what she was referring to, at which point he shook his head. “Pish posh, dear -- I have been disgusted by professionals; thou dost not disgust me in the slightest, even in thy current state.”

With the way she was now, however, it was clear that she was still far from comfortable -- and how could one be comfortable wearing the kind of things she did? Just looking at her in spite of her illness, it was clear to him that she had overdressed for this occasion -- and very deliberately so. Even the knots she usually tied her hair in seemed to cause discomfort for his fellow Overlord, as she would occasionally turn her head, only for her tied-up hair to smack a part of the bed frame.

Once he placed her down upon her mattress, Zestial moved to a spot on the bed adjacent to her and began to undo the many knots keeping her hair up in the unnatural form it had currently taken. Undoing the knots caused her hair to fall over her face and her backside in a way that let her white-and-black locks breathe for once today.

“There thou art,” he murmured, setting her hair ties on the night desk. Just after saying that, he suddenly wondered out loud: “Wouldst thou like me to fetch a drink of water for thee?”

Rather than answering verbally Carmilla shook her head no, reaching an arm out and at first he assumed she was reaching for his hand again, but then she shakily pointed at something behind him; he tried to follow where her finger was pointing and saw a small brass bell on her vanity dresser, at which point he remembered that there were in fact many servants working in the Carmine manor who could handle that task just so that he could remain by her side.

Zestial immediately understood what Carmilla was trying to say and proceeded to ring the bell for a servant -- upon which one of them appeared within seconds: a Hellhound of indeterminable gender that resembled a French Bulldog. When they appeared they initially seemed confused that Señora Carmine was not actually the one who summoned them.

“Lord Zestial,” they bowed politely, knowing they were to treat Zestial the same as they would treat any other member of the Carmine family. “How may I help you…?”

“I must stay with Carmilla in here,” Zestial explained. “She needeth water, for her throat hath become sore over the course of the day.”

The Hellhound nodded, immediately scampering off and returning exactly a minute later with a tray carrying a glass cup and a large glass pitcher filled to the brim with water.

“I shall take it from here,” said Zestial as he took the tray from the servant. “I will call upon thee if thy assistance is needed.”

They bowed again and left to go do whatever it was lowly servants did at this time of day. As the Hellhound made their exit, Zestial turned to Carmilla again to hand her the ice-cold glass. The ripples in the water made it clear just how badly her hands were trembling, but she at least managed to bring the glass to her lips and take a few desperate gulps, several drops spilling down her chin in the process.

For the first time since they made it to this room, Zestial smiled upon Carmilla. “I would be just as thirsty as thee in thy state,” he chuckled. “But art thou feeling any better?”

“Not... not really,” she panted out in between heavy breaths. “You don’t… have to stay if you don’t want to… I promise I’ll… I’ll be fine…” her sentence was punctuated by another series of deep chesty coughs followed by a gasping intake of air. “Hh-HAaHZZZ’CHuuu!”

“Salud, Carmilla,” Zestial responded -- upon which he noticed a box of tissues just out of her reach, which he grabbed and left on the bed for her. “And I assure thee: as ill as thou mayst be, I wish only to be here with thee in the little time we have together -- even if that results in a change of plans.”

Carmilla took a small handful of tissues and blew her nose into them, a mostly fruitless waste of energy but it did help her head feel slightly more clear. “You… -snf- You know that you don’t have to… but… I am glad that you’re here anyway… I’m so sorry I ruined your plans – our first chance to spend time together alone in months, and it ends with you needing to take care of me… I’m a horrible friend – I don’t know why you’ve put up with me all this time…”

On such days when he saw his best friend at her lowest, Zestial knew to walk the tightrope and offer consolation where he could without arguing back to her. He knew she wasn’t a horrible friend -- and he also knew, deep down, that Carmilla likely knew that, too. But of all the things that her self-resentment indicated to Zestial, it was the burning desire to know: why? Perhaps now was the best time to explain himself, as he was about to on the boat.

“I told thou earlier,” he began, “that there was a reason for what I do, in spite of perceived concerns of expense. What I do for thee is at my own discretion -- and at my own discretion, I wish only for thee to remember the times we share together.”

Having sat upon Carmilla’s bed for the past couple minutes, he began to scoot closer to the sickly Overlord as he continued -- at the same time his heart began to race and her breath began to catch in her throat, and not as a result of an incoming sneeze.

“The reason why I wish for thy remembrance of our times together is simple: Carmilla -- I see us being more than best friends.” Almost without even noticing, Zestial began to reach his hand out, the tips of his fingers approaching her face before he proceeded to caress her cheek. “I’ve realized my feelings for thee for many a year now, yet never quite found the time or place to admit it. But now that we are together, I must confess that I do imagine us together as more than friends. Perhaps…for a long time, even.”

“Zestial…” his name escaped her mouth as more of an exhale than a spoken word, her hand reached up to touch the one he’d cupped around her cheek. “I’m… not sure I know what to say… all this time, I never imagined that you could feel the same way I do…”

Even when she had given her heart away to another, wed another man and bore his children, she had always felt the gravitational pull that led her back into Zestial’s arms time and time again; perhaps that was why she’d always refused to believe that somewhere in his blackened heart the gentlemanly sinner could desire her the way she desired him. Now she was faced with the truth that had been in front of her face for centuries.

“Perhaps I never made it obvious,” Zestial acknowledged, “for I did not want thee to see me as lesser for having greater feelings for thee than I originally anticipated. Perhaps that is why I went through the trouble of trying to bring us to the human world, even if that is not what we did.” He paused, taking a moment to breathe as the last sentence by itself had almost robbed him of inspiration. “How long hast thou felt the way thee have?”

“It’s hard to say when exactly,” she said wistfully, her feverish eyes gazing beyond him as if looking into their shared past. “I always felt indebted to you in some manner ever since that fateful day when we met, when you saved me… but perhaps it’s only been within the last couple hundred years that whenever I looked at you… I pictured a future for us together that I was under the impression you’d never want… then I met Ernesto, the girls came along eventually, and yet I still could never stop myself from imagining that future…”

“I never wanted to come between thee and thy lover,” said Zestial. “As long as thou wert happy, so was I. But now I find myself at a crossroads, having wondered for so long if it would be right to confess mine truest feelings to thee.” Again he paused, a smirk on his face. “I have a feeling thy daughters already knoweth how I feel; it is not as if I have avoided them in all the time I have known them.”

Carmilla found herself truly at a loss for words now, wanting nothing more than to take him in her arms but feeling too weak to even sit up at the moment. For now she was simply content with feeling his cool hand on her warm face, gazing into his many eyes, wishing she had the strength to express every unspoken word she’d ever wished to say to him.

“Aha! I fucking knew it!” All of a sudden they heard Clara shout triumphantly from the other side of the bedroom door, at which point they both realized it had been cracked ajar this entire time.

“Clara!! Would you shut up??” Odette frantically whispered. “Oh Satan – they totally heard that–”

That couldn’t have happened at a more appropriate time. Realizing this, Zestial turned his gaze back to Carmilla. “Like I said: they already knoweth how I have felt about thee.”

Carmilla let out a wheezy laugh, amusement over the situation overriding any anger she would have otherwise had at her daughters’ lack of respect for privacy. They were both smart girls, of course they’d been able to tell when she hadn’t. 

Ignoring Clara and Odette as they sheepishly entered the room, she turned her attention back to Zestial. Barring the fact she was currently cooking from the inside out, she wished in this moment that they could stay gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes for the rest of their eternal lives. In the back of their minds was the question of what came next, where could they go from here? How would their status as Overlords affect their relationship? Would others try to take advantage of their weakness that came in the form of their attachment, or would it strengthen their resolve to always protect each other no matter what threats Hell or Heaven threw at them?

All these questions buzzing around her head could be answered later. For now, as her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, she couldn’t imagine a more perfect sight to fall asleep to, and a more perfect future to wake up to.

Before such a thing could happen, however, the four people within the room were greeted to the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching them from below, culminating in one of the imp servants arriving, breathless, looking as though they had just witnessed a murder.

“Clara?? Odette!?” the servant asked Carmilla’s daughters, who stood in his field of view from the rest of the bedroom. “Your mother has been reported missing along with Overlord Zestial! You need to--!” Just as he was about to go on, the imp was greeted to the sight of Zestial and Carmilla next to each other as Clara and Odette stepped out of the way; the very sight of Zestial here at all made the imp’s blood freeze.

“Missing, ye say?” Zestial inquired. “Wherever did thou get such an idea?”

“U-um…” the imp stammered, his tail twisting around one of his legs. “I-I heard the report from your servants, sir. They said they found your boat tipped over, and…” He trailed off.

Zestial’s eyes widened. “The boat,” he remembered, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “Right, well--” Tensing up somewhat, he stood up from Carmilla’s bed before turning to face her with a smile. “It seems I have a record to set straight. I shall return to thee shortly, dear. Just you wait right there. As for thou--” He turned his gaze to the servant. “Tell the rest of the mansion’s servants that Carmilla fareth well in her bed; we had a mere miscommunication, that is all.”

“Y-yes sir!” The imp’s tail loosened around his leg as he gave a bow and made his way back down the stairs.

“Hhm-hm,” Zestial chuckled. “Men doth forget the simplest things when their women’s health takes a turn for the worse. Even I am not immune.” With that, the Overlord stepped out of the room before giving a bow of his own and leaving the residence.

Carmilla watched him go with feverish longing in her eyes, she could hardly remember when she last smiled so wide except for the first time she’d held each of her girls in her arms as tiny newborns.

Speaking of which, Clara came up to her bedside and pulled the blankets up to her chin. “Alright mom, you seriously need to get some sleep.”

“Hm… That’s supposed to be my line,” she remarked, the dreamy expression on her face suddenly twisted into one of irritation as she pawed around the bed for the tissue box, bringing a fresh handful up to her nose just in time. “Hh-hh… hHHATZZZChuuu!!”

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Day.16 Water - Sawtober/Sawcember

warning : angst, hurt/comfort, hydrophobia

Sawtober/Sawcember masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The weather is a natural phenomenon and the predictions of weather experts and researchers can only be interpreted. It has happened more than once that it started to rain even though it was high summer or that it snowed in the fall when the leaves started to turn colorful.

But what were initially just annoying and yet somehow pretty weather phenomena had become an inner burden for Agent Strahm.

Since he had woken up in the water trap, since he had felt the cold metal on his neck and his screams had not come out of the box, he seemed to have changed. Not only did his neck still hurt from the hole he had to ram into it with his pen, it was the fear of being surrounded by water again.

The renewed fear of hearing the loud splashing noise that rumbled in his ears, of being helpless and suffocating. A fear he didn't have before - he loved swimming, diving, bathing and showering.

But since he had been discharged from hospital, he had avoided water as much as possible. The shower was hardly ever on and only minimal drops flowed down, prolonging his showers by hours. A fact he denied and dismissed with an

,,I'm fine" every time in front of his boyfriend but he saw the skeptical look on Hoffman's face and knew he knew he had a problem. A problem that couldn't simply be solved, even if his partner disagreed. For Mark it was a simple matter of how to get Peter back under water.

Which is why he came up with a little plan, because he wasn't going to put himself through another couple of hours waiting for his friend in the shower.

Without knowing what it would do to Peter, he would take the risk. The two of them drove to work, as they did every day, and he knew that Strahm kept checking the weather forecast on his cell phone.

Strahm used the large umbrella that was actually intended for two people on his own. ,,Don't worry so much, it's only a few meters to the station," Hoffman said, taking one hand off the steering wheel and placing it on his boyfriend's thigh.

Nevertheless, he could feel the tension in the brown-haired man who didn't want to leave the safety of the car in the rain. ,,Yes-yes... I'll manage," Strahm replied, but his heart was beating wildly as he somehow tried to get out of the car with the half-open umbrella and run to the main door faster than necessary. He winced as he felt the drops of water on his neck and wheeled around.

He saw that Mark had given him the few drops and seemed to want to give him more. ,,Hoffman, don't you dare!" hissed Strahm, shielding himself with his umbrella before hurrying into the station and hearing his friend's grin.

At least that's how it looked from the outside, that Hoffman didn't take his boyfriend's illness seriously, but in reality it was his fault that it was haunting him. Guilt that he hadn't simply recognized Strahm, that he hadn't simply told him that he knew who had set him up.

That it was Lawrence and not Jigsaw. Lawrence the medical genius knew exactly how to get everything out of his victims, both mentally and physically.

But even though Hoffman was initially against it, he knew that interfering would only complicate things. And he wanted to avoid any more complications at all costs.

I'll fix it, the brown-haired man thought to himself and wiped the raindrops off his jacket before he went inside too, because in the end he was just Mark Hoffman the friendly policeman and not Jigsaw.

He just had to find the right mix of both with Peter to help him. Which he did, even if Strahm didn't like it. He would have to get through it.

And when the two men got home, the story had gone on far too long again and they had taken Asian food with them, the last thing Strahm thought about was water, or rather the shower.

,,Did they mix up my sauces?" asked Strahm, leaning back on the couch with his noodles and glad to be back safely in the house.

They both always took the same thing and of course Hoffman knew exactly what his friend wanted because if Strahm didn't cook, Hoffman was screwed.

Instant soup and pasta was the only thing he could manage, but everything else would turn into a cooking lesson with his friend. ,,No, I don't think it's the same as always," Mark said dismissively, looking back at the screen and the ticking clock.

It must be working he thought and shoveled another spoonful of rice and chicken into his mouth. He knew it wasn't the sauce that tasted different, it was the crushed sleeping pills. Lawrence's special recipe as he remembered when the blond had given it to him.

Maybe it was his now somewhat radical conviction to persuade the human mind to do something he was afraid of, or maybe it was just a touch of madness in him.

But he had already heard the third yawn from his peer and knew that it was only a matter of time. He looked back at the screen, but after a few more minutes he heard the clink of the fork falling to the floor as Strahm fell asleep.

,,Time for a test," Hoffman mumbled and carefully placed his and Peter's food on the table before carrying his friend's body as gently as he could into the bathroom.

The shower wasn't huge but there was enough room for them to stand next to each other, but they didn't have to. He leaned Strahm carefully against the wall under the shower head and looked at his friend for a moment.

His shirt slightly unbuttoned and his tie hanging out of his trousers, a tired expression even in his sleep. And yet he was overcome with guilt again when he saw the scar on his friend's neck.

He moved his fingers carefully over it and felt the scarred tissue. ,,I'm sorry," he murmured as he let go of the scar and left a gentle kiss on it before turning on the shower and closing the door.

He waited for Peter to wake up and sat in front of him as best he could and looked at him, he would stay with him and show him that water didn't mean death.

The water had already almost completely soaked his shirt and he could see it sticking to his friend's skin and his pants. But he knew he didn't look any better himself, his hair hanging down as he leaned over to Peter and slapped him lightly on the cheek to wake him up.

,,Peter...come on...wake up," he said slowly, seeing how he woke up again after a few moments and was confused for a split second before he let out a cry of fear. ,,Get out of the way!" he shouted at Mark as he felt the water splashing down on him, grabbing Mark's shoulder and trying to push him aside.

There was sheer fear in his dark eyes. But Mark was quicker to grab the other's arms and pull him into a tight hug.

A hug that didn't let him escape, ,,It's okay, I'm here," he said and heard the echoing screams and pleas to let him go, he seemed like a frightened dog trying to crawl into a corner.

,,No! No! Let me fucking go Hoffman!" Peter continued to scream at him and tried to free himself, clawing and scratching at anything he could find, hitting and biting at a sight that stung Mark. Because he was indirectly responsible. He had done this to Peter.

Which is why he just pulled him even tighter and kept talking to him, hoping it would just stop at some point. That Peter would have to calm down at some point.

The special agent kicked his legs and managed to get the glass door of the shower to crack. ,,Peter, I'm here, you're not drowning, don't you hear me," said Mark, easing up a little as he felt the attempts to escape diminish and Strahn looked at his work with a shocked expression.

The splintered door, Hoffman's body with several bloody scratches and even a bite. But then he saw tears welling up in Strahm's eyes as he realized that it was finally over.

He carefully put a hand on his boyfriend's cheek, ,,What-What have I done? Forgive me," he murmured and Hoffman returned the hug and Mark hugged him.

The two of them were still being hit by the water, but neither of them cared, it was the overcoming that mattered.

And while Strahm told him over and over again, ,,I love you", it was Hoffman who had to fight back the tears as he looked at the slightly bloody water and only said, ,,I'm sorry I did this to you" and hugged him even tighter.

They had both repented in the water only to come out again at the end. In love and not brokenness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@a-reading-dreamer , @megustadilf , @klarise , @misslavenderlady , @mysunfishpeedinmyroom

[hungerpunch]

hi I love you longest and fiercest and kind of gross, my lobot. Will you tell me a story about Pierre and Este and Charles that hurts me real good in all my gayest bits??

ginba you always say the sweetest things (✿◡‿◡)

i guess i may have something ha ha ha. please note that while i've done some research i am not an expert so if anyone has a timeline qualm, have mercy.

He's 13 when he kisses Esteban, soft and scared and burning for it.

He's been confused about his friend for months, vexed by how the innocent urge to spend all his time with Esteban seemed to go from from something boyish to something more, something worse. He's unsure when Esteban's dark gaze started pricking at his skin instead of sliding off like water. Ashamed to admit exactly when his thoughts started being consumed by a repetitive longing to touch Esteban's inky black hair, or fit his hands around the disproportionately skinny clutch of Esteban's ribs.

But it happened. It did. And it's tortured him.

And Esteban kisses him back.

Pierre just had his first kiss with a girl a few weeks back. It made him feel warm and excited, an adrenaline rush that he couldn't stop smiling about.

Kissing Esteban makes him feel sick.

please tell me, Esteban begs over text after weeks of radio silence from Pierre. did that kiss mean anything to you?

No, Pierre texts back with shaking fingers. Sorry, he sends, and watches their friendship unravel over those next few and final years. At their best, they manage a stiff cordial, an all right, a phony politeness. At their worst, they're made of actively hostile barbs and little pushes. Everything from cold shoulders and rude hand gestures in between. There are so many factors that make Charles different. Age. Pierre having a little more job security, some therapy. Not to mention that Charles feels inherently safe and sure whereas Esteban had felt like holding his skin to an open flame: dangerous and reckless. Esteban is a good boy but he's got a bastard in him. Charles is just sweet, only sweet, through and through. Even when he's being bratty, it's vanity. Not deep. It doesn't linger. Nothing about Charles, not even that first disbelieving kiss, makes Pierre feel sick.

It becomes an open secret. It's wide out in the open for witnessing, hidden in plain view between hugs and hip-grabs and pressing close to whisper. The media doesn't look close enough to see it, team principals refuse to see it, non-friends see it and don't care, and friends tease them mercilessly in private.

Pierre is 22 the first time he has to contend with Charles, Esteban, and alcohol in the same space. At least, alcohol with the intent to get fucked up, rather than the occasional glasses of wine at family dinners of their youth. Pierre is no stranger to drinking but he hasn't exactly learned his hard liquor limits yet so he's leaning heavy and kind of sloppy on the bar while he waits to catch the bartenders attention. Charles is at his left side, patient, when an elbow shoves in to Pierre's right and a stick-like body wedges in.

Pierre recognizes him by scent first because he doesn't think Esteban will ever in his life stop using the same soap and deodorant combo.

"Ah, shit," Esteban says out loud when he looks down (down!) and notices it's Pierre he's shoved in next to. "Of course," he says with disdain, black eyes shifting from Pierre to the ceiling like he can't believe his luck.

Pierre, drunk, bristles. "Ah, fuck you." Esteban's spidery eyebrows raise at the back talk. Pierre feels a hand at his waist. "Are we having a problem?" Charles' voice sounds, loud enough to get both their attentions.

Esteban stares at Charles for a beat too uncomfortable before letting one corner of his lips furl into a lazy smirk. When his gap teeth glint behind the slow parting of his lips, they might as well be fangs. "No problem, Charles, if you keep your dog on a leash."

The comment winds Pierre, a brimstone fist in his solar plexus. "I'm not a dog," he says oddly, stunned for a second. Then the anger comes.

At 22, Pierre hasn't put on the pounds of muscle his future promises just yet, which is good because it means Charles is physically capable of dragging Pierre out of the bar before he can wring Esteban's neck.

At 22, he's insulted by the idea of being Charles' dog.

By the time he's 24, he's old enough to know he likes it. Both in bed, thick band of leather around his throat, and in the paddock, arm draped over Charles' shoulder protectively, waiting for Charles to sic him on somebody.

"Good boy," Charles will say and Pierre will think I would rip someone to shreds with my teeth for you. The only thing is, is that when the chips are down for Esteban… he has the same thought. The same viciousness in him. I would rip someone to shreds with my teeth for you, too.

[sgiandubh]

Strike (and patient...) Anon

Forgive the out-of-character delay. I got entangled in a maelstrom of domestic complications and yet somehow managed to keep an eye on the SAG-AFTRA saga.

For context, clarity and empathy, I shall direct you straight to Chemistry & Timing's unique vantage point on this evolving situation (https://www.tumblr.com/fadeupin5432 ). You will probably not get a better, closer to ground zero understanding of what is really at stake, who the major players are and what lies ahead. And an important part of what is at stake, as she explained, is Man vs. Machine, as in TPTB trying to shamelessly exploit the profession's secondary players and rob them of their due rights by endlessly using them as mere support for AI-enhanced recreations of the original silhouette, voice and acting.

This impacts not only their earnings, as she mentioned, but the very long term survival of that unsung army of extras, brave one-line whisperers, stunts, body doubles, etc. But really, nobody is spared, because uncontrolled technology can quickly turn into a tidal wave of doom. Couple that with the studios' greed and we have an explosive cocktail with potential lethal impact.

This almost unprecedented move by SAG-AFTRA has most probably been informed by several successful European precedents, such as the regular strikes of their French and Greek counterparts (to mention just the ones I am most familiar with), eager to see their rights recognized by labor law as employees, not as civil law governed contractual collaborators (way less interesting and protective, since not opening the right to unemployment benefits).

Fun fact, the French artist's guilds almost always go on strike during the summer hiatus, trying to gain leverage and capitalize on a very busy period, featuring high-profile events, such as the Avignon Theatre Festival. Something to be a part of at least once in your life, if you ask me.

But the comparison stops here, because the right to one own's image/right of personal portrayal, including reproduction rights, is taken very seriously by civil law systems since at least the 60's. Because European artist's guilds/trade unions are far more aggressive and politically colored than in the US (on the left side of the spectrum, to be exact). And because whenever new technology rears its strange head on the scene, a group of experts takes it in its stride and thinks of a European directive to try and control its impact on individual rights and avoid exactly this type of situations. The downside of this protective regulation is that it becomes obsolete very, very quickly, because by the time you finished negotiating, technology did not wait for you and caught up already, for a good while.

Then you start it all over again: this is also why I branched off, with no regrets and some hefty experience gained. As I mentioned, I was one of that handful of folks, circa 2005-2010. We tend to quarrel a lot over a comma while thinking about Brussels winter rebates, but we did manage a fine job dealing with far less complicated things, such as digitalization of TV signals, broadcasting rights, pay-per-view regulations - the list is endless and very creative. Enough for the memory lane part.

The amount of Tumblr comments in Mordor from people who clearly have no damn clue of what they are talking about is insulting. The pretention to own the truth when you just pile up newspapers in a helter-skelter manner, also. Take for instance the trolls hoping for a Season 8 cancellation, who clearly never heard of the concept of force majeure, which protects better the parties' interests, in US legal doctrine, than torts' classical doctrines such as "impracticability" or "frustration of purpose". It is my deep hope that S&C's confidential contracts with * offer full coverage of force majeure situations, and I think, as per the COVID precedent, that they do.

Yes, both SAG members, most probably. No, she is not working. Yes, he will just sell the booze and you will be shrieking like banshees, again, in Mordor: tell me, did he take your dime out of your pockets by force, or what? No, no JAMMF pix for you, Onlies and Mommies. And I bet no blonde either, but that is beyond the scope of this note.

SMH. Morons.

Anyways. I had much fun writing this. Come back anytime with witty challenges, Strike Anon. And yes, I follow the situation very closely.

@fadeupin5432, I stand in solidarity.

[sergeantsporks]

Im thinking of writing something about Hunter and you’re the Hunter expert so. What do you think is Hunter’s major flaw.

Awwww yes, I’m the Hunter expert!

It's hard to pin down a definitive "flaw" in Hunter. There are things that cause him difficulty in his daily life, like his traumas and fears, but I wouldn't classify those as "flaws." He trusts the people he cares about to the point of his own demise, but most people wouldn't consider trust a "flaw." He cares so much that it gets him hurt/causes him indecision when he goes up against Belos at first, but again, most people wouldn't consider that a flaw. And then a lot of the things about his character that are generally recognized as flaws, like pride, or undue cruelty, are part of a persona. His indecisiveness goes away when he puts on the golden guard mask, and vice versa, any kind of pride/overconfidence he has while putting on the persona disappears when he's just Hunter (and while pride might have been a bigger part of even just Hunter back at the coven, it was almost more of a coping/defense mechanism to hide his insecurity than a real flaw). Most of the traits Hunter has that could be considered flaws trade in and out with his personas. And I guess that takes us to what his flaw really is:

Hunter hides. He hides what he's feeling when he can, he hides his problems if he can manage it, and he hides his own fear and indecisiveness under a LITERAL mask. Hiding as a trait gets a bad rep when people value fight over flight and freeze. However, it can keep you safe, it kept HUNTER safe. But like any trait, a trait in excess can become a flaw. And it's something we see Hunter do a LOT. First it was under a mask. Then he hid who he was from Kikimora with a scout uniform. Then a fake name, as "Caleb Jasper Bloodwilliams." Then he hid in Hexside. He hid the truth about what he was from his friends. He hides himself under layers of a persona. Like I said, that's not necessarily a bad thing. A lot of it was to survive. But Hunter hides in excess, until whatever he's hiding escapes on its own or starts causing problems for him or for the people he cares about. And I'd say THAT'S his main flaw.

[babylon-crashing]

The following opinion piece was written by Mark Gavoor in the Armenian Weekly and I am reprinting it here because it sums up better than I can do many of the conflicting emotions I am feeling right now:

Like most everyone who reads this, I am feeling very sad and helpless.  Armenians around the world knew it was likely this day would come, when our enemy would begin a military offensive to take Artsakh. We knew this was more likely than a favorable outcome for the Armenians. We have felt this way since the blockade of the Berdzor (Lachin) Corridor started over nine months ago. We have felt this way since Aliyev began referring to the Republic of Armenia as Western Azerbaijan. We knew, but felt helpless to do anything about it. The government of the Republic of Armenia seemed unable to do anything either. The Prime Minister of Armenia Nikol Pashinyan recognized Artsakh as part of Azerbaijan earlier this year. Many in Armenia and the diaspora were appalled by this announcement and accused him of caving in, but no one offered any viable alternatives.  Sadly, an alternative based on self-determination required the Armenians in Armenia or Artsakh to have a military capable of providing a military defense. The days of grabbing a rifle or pitchfork and heroically defending the homeland are well behind us. The only other option was to wait for another country to step in and make Azerbaijan and Turkey agree to terms favorable to the Armenians. Who would do this? Russia, the U.S., France or India?  Countries rarely act on altruism. Look at the news. Our story is buried on page six, if anywhere. It is not the lead story. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky addressing the U.N. is a top story. The U.S. giving $24 billion in aid to Ukraine is a top story. We are an afterthought or no thought at all. The U.S. still gives aid to Azerbaijan. Yet the U.S. State Department made a statement: The United States is deeply concerned by Azerbaijan’s military actions in Nagorno-Karabakh and calls on Azerbaijan to cease these actions immediately. These actions are worsening an already dire humanitarian situation in Nagorno-Karabakh and undermine prospects for peace. Nice words. I can’t imagine they will have any more impact on the outcome in Artsakh than the words I am typing here.  What is the best we hope for now? Will the U.S. and France provide evacuation and resettlement aid for the people of Artsakh? A guarantee of the sovereignty and borders of the Republic of Armenia? Who can possibly make and back-up such a guarantee? Does Armenia become a vassal state of…you tell me? I am not a diplomat, in the leadership of any government or political party, or an expert in international affairs. What do I know? I know that Artsakh is Armenian. We all know that to the core of our beings. Yet we seem to be the only people in the world to believe that. Borders were drawn a century ago, and everyone but us believes that land is now part of Azerbaijan. We cannot do anything to change that or what is happening in Artsakh.  Armenians are in a very precarious position. What is the future of our homeland, our self-determination? I am not sure we even have a paper ladle these days.

Mark Gavoor

Mark Gavoor is Associate Professor of Operations Management in the School of Business and Nonprofit Management at North Park University in Chicago. He is an avid blogger and oud player.

[lingshanhermit]

Lingshan Hermit: The Various Forms of Greed and Its Impact on You

Self-deception is one of the most enduring issues we humans face. As humans, we excel at deceiving ourselves and, in many cases, we actually enjoy it. For many, it's as essential as air and food. Considering its role and the extent of its influence, self-deception can arguably be labeled as the greatest heroin or the ultimate sedative in human history. From Alexander the Great to Genghis Khan, from ancient seekers of truth to modern-day practitioners, at any point in human history, it has universally and tenaciously taken hold of each one of us. In truth, all of us deceive ourselves to some degree; it's just a matter of extent. However, if you are a practitioner, or plan to become one, it's imperative to learn how to avoid self-deception; otherwise, it could bring about your worst nightmares.

When we embark on our spiritual journey, our "ego" operates discreetly. It watches you from the shadows, attempting to discover the most effective way to derail your practice. Self-deception is the most potent and handy weapon of the "ego". It distances us from the true nature of things, erodes our basic judgment, and can cause our practice to crumble right from the start. Those who excel at self-deception have never truly begun their spiritual journey; their path ends before it even starts.

Last year, I spent a significant amount of time discussing self-deception during my lecture on the ten virtuous and ten non-virtuous actions. This was crucial, for the matter is of paramount importance. Unless you can rid yourself of self-deception, you will fundamentally struggle to recognize your own greed, anger, delusion, arrogance, and doubt. I've seen people around me who've been deceiving themselves for a long time. They easily spot others' mistakes but remain willfully blind and lenient towards their own. Even when confronted by someone like me, a so-called "ego-killer", their "ego" still manages to break free. They concoct various excuses and reasons to convince themselves that others are in the wrong. Even under intense pressure, if they admit fault, deep down they never truly believe they were wrong. This is the power of self-deception. It blinds you entirely and destroys any possibility of spiritual advancement. If you're adept at deceiving yourself, no amount of teachings will be of any use. Everything you learn will be swallowed and transformed by your ego. Such individuals are experts at making excuses for themselves and never genuinely admit their mistakes. Thus, before you truly address self-deception, any teachings, whether about the ten virtuous and non-virtuous actions or any other, will be fruitless.

Although every Buddhist practitioner verbally condemns greed, anger, and delusion, the majority have never seriously pondered what constitutes greed and which of their actions fall under its umbrella. While they verbally view greed as an adversary, most don't genuinely believe that it poses significant issues. One of the reasons is that, to them, greed doesn't manifest overtly as greed. Greed doesn't introduce itself openly; it doesn't brazenly announce, "Hello, I am greed." Instead, it might manifest as diligence, as perseverance, or even under the guise of "I wish to help others find liberation" or "I wish to spread the teachings". Few practitioners I've met consider themselves greedy. They believe the term has no relevance to them, thinking they're not greedy at all. They're generous when offering to their spiritual teachers and invest much time and energy in serving Buddhism. How could they possibly be greedy? Such a perception arises because they've lived in an environment of self-deception for so long, lacking the ability and habit of self-reflection. Without genuine guidance and warnings, they fail to see through the tricks of the "ego", remaining unaware of the various disguises of greed and that their actions might be rooted in it. If you can't even recognize who or where the enemy is, how can you avoid a definitive defeat?

Typically, the general public's definition of greed stops at the material level. Therefore, based on such a definition, most spiritual practitioners do not consider themselves to be greedy. I have seen many practitioners who hide their greed very well. On the surface, they seem not to care much about material things and often put on a show of non-attachment. Such individuals are prevalent in the spiritual community. On the outside, they seem indifferent to material goods—I don't know if they truly don't care, or if they are just pretending. But even if they genuinely don't care, it doesn't mean they are not greedy. Many people are indifferent to material goods because their "ego" has cleverly shifted their greed from the material realm to the spiritual realm. Compared to the material domain, spiritual greed is more elusive and harder to halt. Nevertheless, excessive demands on either material or spiritual needs both fall under greed. However, this kind of spiritual excess is often not easily noticed by the general public because it occurs deep within one's heart. What the public sees is someone diligently practicing, an appearance unlikely to be perceived negatively or associated with greed. Most people would consider it commendable.

According to Buddhist teachings, what we refer to as greed is consuming far more material or spiritual products than one genuinely needs—for instance, owning a hundred pairs of jeans suitable for two hundred legs when you only have two legs. Judging material greed seems straightforward for most people. If someone has 2000 properties, 70 Rolls Royces, and hundreds of prayer beads, it's easy to label them as greedy. But if someone spends every day in a library reading or practicing mantras, the public usually won't quickly identify them as greedy. However, this, too, can be a form of greed, a rather covert one. This type of greed is abundant among Buddhist practitioners, and its consequences might be even more significant than those of material greed.

I have a student who wasn't young when we met. He worried whether he still had enough time to embark on "genuine spiritual practice" with me. I told him if he dedicates all his remaining time to "genuine practice," he should have enough. He was pleased with my response. Yet, after spending some time together, I noticed many issues with him. If he continues his current lifestyle, he definitely won't have enough time for genuine practice. Many things and people take up his time, like managing several Buddhist centers, guiding newcomers, and socializing. He spends most of his time on these tasks, leaving little for genuine spiritual practice. (I should clarify that what I call "genuine practice" is not limited to formal rituals—though he does spend considerable time on those. If you wish to understand genuine practice, you should read all my articles. If you're smart enough, you might grasp a bit of it.) I think he probably enjoys this lifestyle and is quite immersed in it, so he might not be in a hurry for enlightenment. If you ask me, this is a deep-seated form of greed. It masks itself as "spiritual practice." Under the guise of "practice," you might engage in activities that seem spiritual but are not genuine because they are driven by ego desires. This greed will consume much of your time, preventing you from genuine practice. This type of greed is similar to wanting many initiations, many teachers, and many teachings. You want to hold onto everything, attend everything, let go of nothing, and maintain relationships with everyone, but in the end, you might not be able to manage any of it or obtain anything.

Many I've encountered believe in a theory that if one attains a profound teaching, they can quickly achieve enlightenment. This belief has been common among many Buddhist practitioners in the past three decades. I'm unsure who planted this notion, but I disagree. From my experience, I've never seen an ordinary person achieve enlightenment merely because they received a profound teaching. I've only seen exceptional individuals attain enlightenment, and not just because of receiving such teachings. For an exceptional person, encountering a profound teaching might just make enlightenment a matter of time.

Consider this analogy: If you give two people a block of wood and a carving knife, the skilled one might craft a beautiful Buddha statue in a month, turning the wood into art. In contrast, the unskilled might merely scratch the surface. Do you see my point? While the wood and knife are necessary, the real factor is the person. This represents our relationship with spiritual teachings.

Many have never genuinely practiced spirituality, so they don't understand its intricacies. They believe that by merely acquiring a specific teaching or method, they can attain enlightenment. If this were true, then the ancient masters must have been utter fools to spend so much time with their teachers. Couldn't they have just practiced on their own after receiving the teachings? Enlightenment requires good character, correct values, discerning right from wrong, genuine trust in one's teacher, unwavering dedication, understanding and following the teacher's guidance, remaining steadfast even when criticized or neglected, honesty, discipline, adequate time, and some financial resources. True enlightenment also requires having a genuine teacher who recognizes you as worthy, genuinely teaches you (beyond just reading their books or attending their lectures), has the time to instruct you, and has achieved a certain level of realization. Both parties need time together, with interactions so frequent that the student might be asked to do seemingly unrelated tasks. The teacher must understand the student deeply, even knowing trivial details like their bedtime. Meeting even one of these conditions is challenging today, let alone all of them. Hence, those who think they can achieve enlightenment by merely following some profound teachings should study the biographies of past masters. Observe how Zen and Tantric masters traditionally practiced under their teachers and understand the traditional guru-disciple relationship. Is it like your current relationship? Although it's 2023, and innovations like ChatGPT exist, and Elon Musk has renamed Twitter to "X", if you seek enlightenment, you must generally follow the traditional path. Otherwise, you're merely dabbling in Buddhism.

Over the years, I've seen many individuals ardently pursuing various empowerments, seeking renowned spiritual teachers, and thirsting for more teachings. Many have fallen into the devil's trap without even realizing it. They are unaware of their own descent into this snare, oblivious to the fact that their greed has now shifted to the spiritual realm. Each one lives in a self-induced delusion of diligent spiritual practice. If you are an exceptional individual, a single empowerment, a single deity, or one scripture is sufficient for liberation. If you're such an exceptional person, one genuine teacher should suffice. I've seen countless people boast about their lineage and the teachings they've acquired, collecting numerous teachings and teachers out of sheer greed. You're not Jamyang Khyentse Wangpo, and you're not tasked with propagating the teachings. So, there's no justifiable reason for an average individual to seek hundreds of empowerments — doing so surely originates from greed. Desiring a connection with a famous teacher is essentially akin to owning a luxury Rolex watch; both arise from the need to show off and boost the ego.

I've encountered many who incessantly seek out teachings. They study one scripture after another, frequently taking exams. To the layperson, such individuals seem very devoted. I've met many like this before. While they have studied many teachings, they have no idea how to apply them. They can provide the correct answers because they know the standard responses, and they can discuss the teachings in a way that might impress those unfamiliar with Buddhism. However, I'm privy to their actual state. The teachings they've acquired have no bearing on their daily lives. For them, teachings are just teachings, separate from real-life. I see no genuine renunciation or bodhichitta in them, only a great capacity for self-deception and self-satisfaction. Their approach to the teachings is like tasting a bit of every dish and then spitting it out. As I've mentioned before, unless you can truly internalize and assimilate the teachings, they remain irrelevant to you. They haven't become part of your beliefs, your life, or your very breath. When confronted with challenges, you revert to your old patterns. The teachings, to you, are mere knowledge – akin to academic information learned in school, rather than real experiences and feelings. Such teachings are utterly useless to you.

Many individuals are passionate about studying various teachings and participating in myriad Buddhist activities, seemingly caught in a fervor. In my view, they've contracted a syndrome of insatiable hunger for teachings, an overwhelming urge to benefit sentient beings, and an obsession with pilgrimages. This has become their new addiction. They feel compelled to constantly take in new teachings, seek new teachers, and crave validation through being needed by others. Honestly, I see little difference between their newfound addiction and the shopping sprees some women are fond of. Both are forms of desire; it's just that the object of greed has shifted. It's moved from Chanel to the Treatises of Nagarjuna, from selfies with spiritual teachers to the notion of "having the most sacred teachings and teachers," and from "I've benefitted another sentient being" to other spiritual accomplishments. This greed, masked by a façade of Buddhism, is not only audacious but also harder to recognize. Most can't discern whether a practitioner's acquisition of a Buddha statue stems from greed or a genuine need to benefit others. This type of desire flows unimpeded in Buddhism because it's difficult to identify. I see the devil smirking behind their backs.

After speaking at length about the intricacies of greed, let's now touch upon a more superficial form of greed. In the past, I've encountered individuals who clearly desired a great deal of wealth, yet hid behind the facade of spiritual practice. Some have told me they yearn to embark on a spiritual journey but can't because they currently lack the funds. So, they aim to amass enough wealth first and then take up spiritual practice. A decade or two ago, I would have believed such claims, truly thinking they lacked the means. But as I spent more time with them, I realized they were far from impoverished. They lived without financial concerns. They merely wanted more wealth. Their idea was to earn more through their spiritual endeavors and then use this additional money for offerings, without touching their original wealth. They hoped to use the newly earned money solely for their spiritual practice and offerings. Such a mindset is truly peculiar. It's a clear reflection of their greed and folly.

For spiritual practitioners, greed is one of our most significant challenges, and it urgently needs addressing. Greed leads to countless issues, including wars. I've seen many fall from grace due to their greed, and many spiritual journeys falter because of it. As practitioners, we often mention the five hindrances - desire, anger, delusion, sloth, and doubt. However, very few recognize their own greed. Most are led astray by it, committing countless foolish acts under its influence. Since they're masters of self-deception, they remain oblivious to their actions, believing they're genuinely practicing for the benefit of all sentient beings.

Greed won't introduce itself as such. It will present itself all dolled up, cloaked in the noble guise of spiritual liberation. Without keen discernment, it's challenging not to fall into its trap. Often, when you seek more initiations and deities, or when you search for more teachers and teachings, you are merely perpetuating your own greed. Your time gets cleverly wasted, and you fail to genuinely benefit from the teachings. On the surface, it may seem like you're learning, but in reality, you're gaining nothing. What you're doing might look and feel like genuine practice, but it's just another face of your greed.

Written by Lingshan Jushi on August 19, 2023.

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灵山居士：贪欲的各种变种以及他对你的影响

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Which is the best course in digital marketing in Laxmi Nagar?

Digital marketing has become an essential skill in today's tech-driven world. With businesses increasingly moving online, the demand for skilled digital marketers is soaring. If you're looking to jumpstart your career or enhance your current job prospects, finding the right digital marketing course is crucial. Laxmi Nagar offers a variety of options tailored to meet different needs and preferences. But with so many choices available, how do you determine which course stands out from the rest? Let’s explore what makes a digital marketing course exceptional and uncover the best options available in Laxmi Nagar today!

Which type of digital marketing course is best?

When considering the best type of digital marketing course, it’s essential to think about your goals. Are you looking for comprehensive training or a specialized focus?

For beginners, a foundational course covering SEO, social media marketing, and content creation is ideal. This approach provides a well-rounded understanding of the entire digital landscape.

If you're already familiar with the basics, consider advanced courses that delve into analytics and paid advertising strategies like PPC. These can significantly enhance your skill set.

Certifications in specific tools such as Google Analytics or Facebook Ads are also valuable. They demonstrate expertise to potential employers and help you stand out in a competitive job market.

Select a course that aligns with your career aspirations while offering practical experience through projects and real-world applications.

What is the fees of digital marketing course in Laxmi Nagar?

The fees for digital marketing courses in Laxmi Nagar can vary significantly. On average, you might expect to pay anywhere from INR 15,000 to INR 40,000. This range depends on several factors such as the course duration and the institution's reputation.

Some institutes offer short-term certifications that are more affordable but still provide essential knowledge. Others may present comprehensive programs with advanced modules at a higher cost.

It's essential to consider what is included in the fee structure. Look for options that may encompass practical training, internships, or job placement assistance.

Always research various institutions before making a decision. Comparing fees alongside curriculum content will help you find a program that fits your budget while meeting your career goals effectively.

What is the salary after digital marketing in Laxmi Nagar?

The salary after completing a digital marketing course in Laxmi Nagar can vary significantly. Entry-level positions typically start from ₹25,000 to ₹40,000 per month. As you gain experience and expertise, this figure can increase substantially.

Mid-level professionals with a few years of experience often earn between ₹50,000 to ₹80,000 monthly. This growth is fueled by the ever-increasing demand for skilled marketers who understand online strategies.

Senior roles or specialized positions like SEO experts or digital marketing managers can command salaries upwards of ₹1 lakh per month. The potential for bonuses and incentives further enhances earnings in this dynamic field.

Additionally, freelancers and consultants have the flexibility to set their rates based on skill level and project complexity. With continuous learning and adaptation to market trends, the earning potential remains promising in Laxmi Nagar’s vibrant job landscape.

How can I study digital marketing?

Studying digital marketing can be an exciting journey. Start by identifying your learning style. Do you prefer online courses, videos, or hands-on projects? Each method offers unique benefits.

Enroll in reputable platforms offering comprehensive digital marketing courses. Look for programs that cover SEO, social media management, and content creation. Certifications from recognized institutions add credibility to your profile.

Practical experience is crucial. Create a blog or manage social media accounts to apply what you've learned in real-time. Experiment with different strategies and monitor the results.

Networking also plays a vital role in education. Join forums and groups where professionals share insights and experiences.

Stay updated with industry trends through webinars, podcasts, and blogs focused on digital marketing developments. This dynamic field constantly evolves; continuous learning keeps you ahead of the curve.

Which field is best in digital marketing?

Digital marketing is a vast landscape with numerous fields to explore. Each area offers unique opportunities and challenges.

Social media marketing stands out for its dynamic nature. It allows brands to engage directly with consumers, shaping their perceptions in real-time.

Content marketing is another vital field that emphasizes storytelling and value creation. Crafting compelling narratives can effectively build brand loyalty and drive traffic.

Search engine optimization (SEO) is crucial for online visibility. Mastery of SEO techniques ensures websites rank higher on search engines, attracting organic traffic.

Email marketing remains powerful due to its high ROI potential. Personalized email campaigns foster relationships with customers while driving conversions.

Data analytics plays an essential role across all digital channels. Understanding consumer behavior through data helps businesses refine strategies for better results.

Each field has its merits; the best choice often depends on personal interests and career goals.

BIIT Technology- Best Digital Marketing Course in Laxmi Nagar

BIIT Technology stands out as a premier institution for digital marketing courses in Laxmi Nagar. Their curriculum is meticulously designed to cover all aspects of digital marketing, from SEO and social media strategies to email campaigns and analytics.

What sets BIIT apart is its emphasis on practical learning. Students engage in real-world projects that enhance their understanding and skills. The faculty comprises industry experts who bring valuable insights and experiences into the classroom.

Moreover, the flexible class schedules cater to working professionals and students alike. This accessibility makes it easier for anyone passionate about entering the digital marketing field.

With state-of-the-art facilities and a supportive learning environment, BIIT Technology creates an ideal atmosphere for growth and innovation. Aspiring marketers find themselves well-equipped to tackle challenges in this dynamic industry after completing their coursework here.

Why join BIIT Technology?

Choosing the right digital marketing course in Laxmi Nagar can significantly impact your career trajectory. BIIT Technology stands out as a top choice for many aspiring marketers. Their comprehensive curriculum covers all essential aspects of digital marketing, ensuring students gain a thorough understanding of the field.

At BIIT Technology, experienced instructors provide hands-on training that enhances learning and retention. The institute also offers flexible timings to accommodate working professionals and students alike.

Moreover, their placement cell actively assists graduates in finding suitable job opportunities within the industry. With state-of-the-art infrastructure and access to real-world projects, students are well-prepared for challenges they may face post-training.

Opting for BIIT Technology means investing in quality education with tangible results. If you’re determined to succeed in the dynamic world of digital marketing, this is undoubtedly an opportunity worth considering.

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