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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

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with this unruly heart of mine

in which we all wish our parents reacted the same way as Alcina does when one of her daughters comes out to her

title is from Unruly Hearts from The Prom because it fit

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MERCUTIO

If love be rough with you, be rough with love. Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in. A visor for a visor. What care I What curious eye doth cote deformities? Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.

Alcina read that line over and over again, but she still had no idea what the hell any of it really meant. She sighed and leaned back into the cushions of her seat. If she kept getting caught up on the literary meaning of every other paragraph then she would never finish this damned book.

She picked up the teacup sitting on the stand beside her chair and took a long sip. The tea was of sweet cinnamon on her tongue. It left a much better taste in her mouth than the rather gross relationship between Romeo and Juliet in this book. If the short amount of time the two knew each other wasn’t bad enough, the age gap made her teeth bare and nose wrinkle in disgust. What the hell was this William Shakespeare guy thinking when he wrote this?

The soft sound of bare feet padding against hardwood brought her back to the surface of complete awareness, her focus shifting away from the book and to the late-night arrival watching nearby.

A certain fly child stood, arm on the doorway. Her hair was shaggy from seemingly just waking up--or maybe she hadn’t slept at all in the first place. Unruly blonde locks were sticking up in various directions around her head, framing her face like an adolescent lion’s mane. The nightgown she wore was a size too big and drowning her thin frame.

The light from the fireplace made her golden-amber eyes look hollow.

“Mother?”

“Yes, dear?”

“May I sit with you?”

“Of course.”

Slower than she’d ever seen her move before, Bela inched her way onto the cushioned chair beside Alcina’s. She pulled her knees up her chest, bare toes poking over the edge of the seat, and Alcina regarded them with a scrunch of her nose.

“What have I told you about going around the castle barefoot?” Alcina chided gently.

Bela didn’t look away from the flickering fire in the fireplace. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

Something was bothering her.

Bela was a rather fickle little thing. Some days, she wanted to tell Alcina everything, every little fact of the new knowledge she had obtained from her books, all the small details of her latest stories or ideas. Other days, she put up walls and gave vague answers to questions prodded into her sensitive skin, curling into herself like a frightened snail afraid of being interrogated. This seemed to be something of the latter, and Alcina made a mental note to tread lightly to avoid upsetting her daughter.

“I don’t understand this at all,” Alcina said, waggling the book in her hands, trying to make small talk with her distressed child. She didn’t want to pry and further put Bela on edge more than she clearly was, but she couldn’t not do something about her bitter mood. What kind of mother would she be if she didn’t at least attempt to help with her kids’ problems?

“I can hardly make heads or tails of anything they’re saying,” she continued, hoping she wasn’t laying it on too thick.

Bela raised her head from her knees slightly. “What book is it?”

“Romeo and Juliet.”

There was a morbid snort. “How coincidental…”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Bela shook her head. “Lemme see. What part are you at?”

Alina pointed out the current line she had reread at least five times over without being able to discern the Shakespearean into modern-day language. Bela, however, looked it over once, scanned the other pieces of dialogue for context, nodded, then explained, “In this scene, Romeo, Mercutio, and Benvolio are sneaking into a party thrown by the Capulets by wearing masks to disguise themselves. Romeo is upset over Juliet and says he isn’t going to dance. Mercutio then teases him over this and turns all of Romeo’s words into gratuitous sexual metaphors to poke fun at him. Mercutio ends up going on this whole rant about Queen Mab of the fairies, who visits people in their dreams until Romeo and Benvolio cut in to get things back on track. Romeo also kinda foreshadows the entire play at one point. See? Right here: ‘I fear too early, for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night’s revels, and expire the term Of a despisèd life closed in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death.’ I do believe that is hinting at his eventual fate of death.”

Alcina blinked at her for a moment before smiling fondly and rubbing her head. “Such a smart girl,” she cooed. “I could have never gotten that out of this .”

Bela smiled, but then it quickly disappeared, and she leaned back into her chair, curling up and watching the fire once again.

Now Alcina was really concerned. Bela was never one to let go of praise and affection so easily. Usually, she savored it a bit longer before moving onto something else, but here she was, brushing off Alcina’s words and touch as though they were nothing.

Something was very, very wrong.

However, before she had the chance to take the risk and attempt to ask questions, Bela spoke up.

“Have you ever been in love, Mother?”

Surprised, Alcina asked, “And what brought this up?”

Bela shrugged, not making eye contact. She kept looking at the fire as though she wanted to throw herself into it. Her voice was small, so small. “Just curious.”

“I see,” Alcina nodded. She looked up, thinking for a moment as she wracked her brain of the memories of her past life. “I have been in love before. Many times, actually.”

Bela gave her a curious look, finally pulling her gaze from the flames. “Really?”

“Indeed,” Alcina confirmed. “Though, I do believe that just comes with growing up. You gain lovers, you lose lovers. Some were real, some were fantasies I made up. Some lasted a few days, some a few months, some a few years.” She took a sip of her tea again. “None of them really mattered in the end, though. Clearly.” Another sip.

Bela nodded faintly. “Okay.”

“Have you ever been in love?” Alcina decided to ask.

Strangely, Bela went rigid. Her claws clenched around the sides of her calves as she stared forward with pupils that were constricted into pinpricks. Sweat beaded along the golden crown of her head.

“I-I-- umm…”

Alcina furrowed her eyebrows in worry. She closed Romeo and Juliet with a bookmark to mark her page, then set a hand on Bela’s back. Her daughter was trembling.

“Bela?” Alcina said, keeping her voice soothing and low to avoid setting off the poor girl even further. “Is everything alright? You don’t look well.”

“Yes, yes,” Bela answered her, much too quickly for it to be convincing. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Before Alcina could prod further, Bela shot up to her feet. She began to chew on one of her claws, flexing her free hand at her side in visible agitation. Pieces of her skin broke off into flies and buzzed around her head madly. She seemed to be dissociating in panic.

“Bela,” Alcina rose to her feet slowly, not wanting to accidentally frighten her daughter. “Bela, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Bela said, even when she was so obviously far from fine. Her chest was beginning to heave.

“Darling,” Alcina said, and that seemed to get Bela to crack a bit.

With a tight whimper, Bela shook her head. “Hard-- hard to breathe--”

Instantly, Alcina loosely took Bela by the arms and lowered her to the ground. In the firelight, she could see the pallor of her daughter’s increasing panic as it morphed into a complete attack on her anxiety. Bela grabbed her wrists with her claws dug in for desperate grounding, and Alcina let her, even when it stung her skin. Her comfort was far from important in that moment.

“Alright, honey,” Alcina said. “We’re going to do the thing we’ve been practicing, alright? Do you think you can do it?”

Wordlessly, Bela nodded.

“That’s my strong girl,” Alcina said. “Alright, give me five things you can see.”

“Y-you,” Bela stammered. The words shook when they left her lips. “Your hair’s kinda bushy.”

Alcina rolled her eyes in a good-natured way. “Thank you for pointing that out, Bela.”

Bela’s fight instantly gave in at that and she hunched her shoulders in, looking ashamed. Quick to correct herself, Alcina lifted her chin so they could make eye contact.

“I was only teasing you, honey,” Alcina said. “Keep going.”

Bela nodded. “The fire; it’s really pretty. Your-- your, umm, chair; it looks soft. The book; not the best of Shakespeare’s works. And, ah-- the teacup; it has doves on it.”

“Very good,” Alcina praised. “Four things you can feel.”

“The fire’s-- the fire’s warmth. My heart in-- my heart in my throat. The floor under me; I should have worn socks.”

“I told you,” Alcina cut in playfully.

Bela swallowed thickly. “A-and, umm-- and my anxiety. It’s like a Lycan in my chest.”

Alcina frowned at that but quickly wiped it off her face for now. She stroked Bela’s cheek, gaining a spark of hope when Bela leaned into her hand.

“I feel you, too,” Bela said.

“You only needed to name five, little moth,” Alcina said, bopping her on the nose.

Bela just shrugged.

“But you’re doing so well. Can you give me three things you can hear?”

“My heartbeat in my ears; it sounds like thunder. I don’t like thunder. Umm-- the fire crackling; I like that. And-- and a raven outside. I think that’s Merlin. His cawing is kinda raspier than the other birds’. I think he may have hurt his throat at some point.”

A small smile grew onto Alcina’s lips. She continued caressing Bela’s cheek as she talked to her. “Now two things you can smell.”

“Fear,” Bela said almost instantly. Her nose twitched. “I smell fear.”

Alcina could smell it, too. The thickened dread wafting off of her shaken daughter was acrid, bitter, and unsettling.

“Umm--” Bela’s claws fidgeted, clicking against each other softly. “And your tea. Smells like cinnamon. Cinnamon makes me sneeze.”

“One more. One thing you can taste.”

“Fear.”

“Fear?” Alcina echoed, one eyebrow raised. “Again?”

“Yes.”

“What does fear taste like?”

Bela stared down at her claws, which she splayed open before herself. “It-- it has a slightly dull metallic taste that’s mixed with urea, I think. Sometimes it tastes like popping a bloody, pus-filled blister in your mouth and squeezing every drop out with your teeth and savoring it on your tongue. Sucking the wound clean and swallowing it down.” She clenched her fists. “But it doesn’t get clean. It doesn’t dry out. The blister just keeps oozing and oozing until all the discharge comes pouring out of your mouth, but even then it doesn’t stop. Because you can’t force it all down. You can’t just swallow and think it’s done. That’s not how anxiety works. It keeps coming, even when you thought it was gone, and it leaves behind this awful flavor of bitter bile. It’s acidic, too, you know? It melts your chest and stomach and makes you feel like you’re sinking in your own skin.” She looked up at Alcina, and her eyes were shiny and blank. “I taste fear, Mother.”

There was silence between them for just a moment. Bela wasn’t looking at Alcina anymore; she seemed to think the floor was very interesting at that moment. Alcina was still considering her daughter’s dark words, replaying them over and over again until the subtle taste of sour gall spread across her tongue. She swallowed it down and winced when it drooled over the back of her throat like rancid molasses.

“You did it, baby,” Alcina finally said, smiling despite her worry, despite the flavor of fear in her mouth. “I’m so proud of you.”

Bela just nodded. Though she was no longer having a panic attack, she didn’t seem any less upset. Alcina considered letting it go, especially after just having calmed her down, but if something was bothering her daughter so much that she couldn’t breathe when she thought about it too hard, she knew she couldn’t just leave it be. It could escalate into something much, much worse, and she knew damn well that Bela was willing to go to such extremes, if her explanation of fear and the way she kept looking at the fire wasn’t enough proof of that.

“Now,” Alcina saw Bela tense, but she plunged anyway. “I need you to tell me what’s bothering you so I can help.”

Bela shook her head with a strangled whimper. “I can’t tell you.”

“Bela, I’m your mother. You can tell me anything.”

“You’ll hate me.”

“I won’t hate you.”

Bela was quiet. Then, slowly, she dragged her gaze up to Alcina. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise, Bela. I would never hate you.”

Bela nodded. “Okay.” Her claws clenched into fists against the floorboards, knuckles shaking and turning white. She took several deep breaths before forcing out, “I-- I don’t-- I don’t like people like that. Like how I’m supposed to.”

Silence.

Tears flowed freely from Bela’s eyes and she choked on a sob. Her head hung in shame as her entire body quaked. The poor girl looked terrified, and the sight hit Alcina right in the heart--though she didn’t quite get it.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said.

“No, no-- you don’t understand,” Bela’s breath was coming out thin and raspy again. She sat up straight, claws now knotted in her nightgown, tensing and pulling. “I don’t-- I don’t like people, Mama. The way other people do. The way everyone does. I’ve-- I’ve tried, but--” She cut herself off with a whimper, tears pouring down her cheeks.

“What do you mean?” Alcina asked. Trying to discern Bela’s vague words was like trying to discern Shakespearean. “Do you think you can explain it to me, hun? Like you did with the book and the fear. I want to help you.”

Bela sniffled, then nodded. “I-- I, umm-- I don’t feel anything towards people. Like-- like that. Romantically. And sexually.”

Finally, it dawned on Alcina.

“When I read those cheesy romance books Daniela likes, I don’t get the characters’ feelings at all. Just the thought of being in a relationship like that makes me so uncomfortable and I don’t know why, and that scares me, Mama.” Bela continued, her anguish oozing into every word she spoke. “I don’t like the thought of being tied down to someone like that, but it still feels like something has been stolen from me. That promise of a future with true love and marriage and a fairy tale ending that Daniela always talks about is gone, even though I still want it. Or, at least, I think I want it. I don’t know what I want.” She sniffled, looking miserable. “It’s the same for sexual stuff. When I come to scenes with sex in them in books, it makes my skin feel all weird, like severed hands are crawling all over my body. I get embarrassed and awkward and uneasy, and I don’t understand that, either. It just makes me feel so sick to my stomach.”

There was a pause. Bela was taking several shallow breaths and digging her claws into her legs, so Alcina reached out and took one of her hands, stroking her knuckles with her thumbs.

“Breathe, baby,” Alcina murmured. “Breathe.”

“I’ve-- I’ve tried to force myself to be like everyone else before,” Bela said unexpectedly.

Taken aback, Alcina said, “What?”

Bela swallowed thickly. “With-- with a maiden. You know how I am with them- too nice, too polite. I befriended one of them. We were kinda close. After a while, she started making moves on me. I knew what she wanted for so long, but I kept avoiding it because I was uncomfortable or scared. But then I had this revelation: maybe if I did this with her, I would finally feel something! I would be like everyone else! So I did. With her. And I didn’t like it.”

“Bela…”

“It hurt,” Bela whispered. “Like I was being scraped raw. Or my body was being turned inside out. I felt so sick. Humiliatingly, I started crying during it, but I don’t think she noticed. If she did, she didn’t stop. Not until she was finished. When she was, I threw up after she left. I was so sore.” Alcina squeezed her hand, and she sucked in a sharp breath, “But-- but I had to have liked it! I got, umm--” Her cheeks began to turn red with embarrassment, though Alcina didn’t blame her. Having to explain your sex life to your mother would be awkward for anyone. “I got…wet. And-- and that happens when you’re aroused! So-- so I do like sexual stuff!”

“Oh, sweetie…” Alcina sighed sadly.

Bela hunched her shoulders in. “R-right?”

“Honey, ‘getting wet’ doesn’t always mean you’re aroused,” Alcina said gently. “Simply viewing something erotic, like a naked woman, for example, could trigger this bodily response. It’s also a way for the vagina to lubricate itself to help dull the pain of penetration. You can be in a sexual situation and be wet, but not want to have sex. That’s completely normal and one hundred percent okay.” She lifted her hands to cup Bela’s cheeks. “Wetness is not an acceptable body language for consent. Who were you trying to convince: the maiden or yourself?”

Bela stared at her for a long moment, eyes wide and damp, breath hitched in the back of her throat. Then, she began shaking her head, pulling her hair, and weeping, “No, no-- I wanted it, I wanted it-- I know I did. I’m normal, I’m normal--”

It was truly heartbreaking to see her child in such a way. Bela seemed downright devastated over her own sexuality, to the point where she thought she was disgusting and unnatural for something that was actually completely normal.

Taking her daughter’s hands to keep her from hurting herself, Alcina went to say something, but Bela cut her off, getting to the words first.

“What’s wrong with me?!” Bela cried. “Why-- why am I like this, Mama? Am I broken? Am I heartless? I-- I love you and Cassandra and Daniela! I love Uncle Karl and Uncle Moreau and Auntie Donna and Angie and the Duke! I love reading and animals and writing, but-- but when I-- when I try to-- when it comes to sex and romance, I--” She finally gave up and sobbed.

“Oh, Bela,” Alcina said sadly. “Oh, my poor, sweet girl…” She pulled Bela into her lap and held her close, rocking her back and forth to help comfort her. Her fingers gently ran through Bela’s messy hair. “Shh, shh… You aren’t broken or heartless, sweetheart. This is an okay thing to feel.”

“You-- you don’t think I’m wrong?”

Alcina’s heart twisted at the way Bela looked up at her to say that, her eyes holding so much sadness and pain. She tucked her daughter’s head back under her chin and tightened the embrace.

“Absolutely not. Do you think you are?”

Bela answered in a strangled whimper. Alcina couldn’t help but wonder what put such a thought in her daughter’s brain--though, this was Bela she was dealing with. her anxiety was a wild, bestial thing that made her worry about the most obscene things.

“Did you really think this would change anything?” Alcina asked. “That I could ever possibly love you any less?”

Bela shrugged weakly.

“I-I just…”

That deep shame from before seemed to return and Bela’s head dipped. Alcina felt like she was going to try and pull away, so she tightened the embrace and used one hand to lift the girl’s chin.

“Hey, hey,” Alcina murmured, brushing away fresh tears on Bela’s cheeks. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with this, sweetie. There’s nothing wrong with you, either. And if anyone says otherwise, tell me. I’ll eviscerate them.”

That got a tiny, watery giggle out of Bela.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Alcina went on. “Sex and romantic relationships… They aren’t for everyone. And that’s okay. It certainly doesn’t make you broken or heartless.”

“B-but--”

“Hun, look at me. Do I really look like someone who will judge you for being this way?”

Bela shrugged a little. Her little body seemed to have exhausted itself of all its efforts to argue.

Alcina rocked her gently, stroking her hair the way she knew she liked it. “How about I explain something to you, hm?”

Bela looked up at her blearily.

“Your love may not be arousing or romantic, but you want to know what it is like?”

“What?” Bela asked softly.

“Your love is warm and fuzzy, like being wrapped in a blanket during a blizzard. It’s safe and reassuring. Your love is security and shelter. Your love is noticing all the little details, like my bushy hair because it’s late at night or your Uncle Karl’s finger twitching because he’s nervous at the meetings with Mother Miranda but is trying to hide it or Cassandra’s leg bouncing because she’s full of pent up, restless energy. Your love is knowing what makes each of us tick and doing everything in your power to make us feel better when we’re upset. Your love is like the first flower showing up in the snow as winter melts away and the beginning flickers of a tender flame and the gentle fluttering of bird wings.” Alcina let out a soft laugh. “I’m nowhere near as good at details as you are, my darling. But, most importantly, your love is normal and natural and what makes you you. And you shouldn’t have to try and change that for anyone, no matter what.”

Bela stared up at her in silenced awe, tears trickling down her cheeks. Alcina squeezed her reassuringly.

“I want you to know that I’ll always support you, okay?” Alcina said. “I’m always going to be here for you.”

Bela nodded, hiccuping softly. “Thank you, Mama,” she whispered through tiny whimpers. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too, Bela,” Alcina said. She kissed the top of Bela’s head and purred to her softly. “My perfect, perfect girl.”

#resident evil 8 #resident evil village #alcina dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #resident evil fanfic #dimitrescu family #with this unruly heart of mine

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aimeelouart · 4 years ago

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(Everything But) The Kitchen Sink

We’ve discussed some very fun offshoots of Saving Subject C (usually just for our own amusement) but I felt compelled to write this one out. Crack ahoy!

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(Everything But) The Kitchen Sink - 1151 words, pure crack, no pairings. It’s SSC but Jenova manages to make Cloud a two-year-old instead of a seven-ish-year-old. It...doesn’t actually change all that much.

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Cloud was fucked.

It was really that simple. He was fucked. But goddamnit, he was going to go down as spitefully and spectacularly as humanly possible. Phoenix burned the mansion to ash behind him as he glared up...and up...and up at the SOLDIER in the red coat, who was gaping stupidly at his summon. He backed off a few steps, pulling his sword-turned-makeshift-toboggan with him through the snow.

Get bent, SOLDIER-boy, he thought, staring murder at the man. Touch me again and I’ll set YOU on fire. And stab you. At the same time.

“Holy shit,” the man breathed, looked back and forth between Cloud and Phoenix several times. “How did...you’re...did I just see...”

Idiot. At least he was bewildered into inaction. Cloud pondered his options for a moment and then started heading off toward the path that led up into the Nibel mountains. Unfortunately, the SOLDIER didn’t stand around like a stupid, dead fish for very long.

“Woah there, little one!” he said, hurriedly crunching through the snow after Cloud, who, irritatingly, was reduced to a top jogging speed comparable to that of a snail.

“No!” Cloud snapped, reaching to detach one of the smaller blades that composed Tsurugi as he felt hands close around his torso. Too late. He was hauled up into the SOLDIER’s arms and set on a hip. He really fucking wished he’d found a way to keep more than just his boxers and shirt on, but even those were in serious danger of falling off at any second.

“Where are your parents, sweetheart?” the SOLIDER asked, blue eyes still a bit dazed and disbelieving.

“No!” Cloud repeated forcefully, and punched the man directly in the nose. Given that he still had (most) of his mako strength and that he struck point-blank, he succeeded in breaking said nose and was dropped into a snowdrift for his troubles.

“Shit!” the man cursed, reeling backward as one hand flew up to stem the gush of blood from his nose, “how the hell⁠—?”

Cloud scrambled to grab a blade and make good on his unspoken threat, but the SOLDIER finally made a tactically sound decision and cast a Sleep spell on him. With an enraged squall, Cloud faceplanted into Tsurugi and everything went dark.

-----

“Seph,” Genesis hyperventilated into the PHS, “oh Goddess, there’s⁠—I found...it’s fucking⁠—I, Phoenix was⁠—I mean it’s, he’s a toddler, how⁠—”

“Slow down!” Angeal said, standing with Sephiroth as they both listened through his PHS, “what’s happening?”

“Angeal, I just witnessed a TODDLER summon PHOENIX. I am FREAKING OUT.”

As Sephiroth tried to figure out if that was some kind of slang he was unaware of, Angeal frowned at the PHS and said “Genesis, if this is some kind of joke⁠—”

“You’re damn right it’s not a joke because this isn’t fucking funny!” Genesis snapped. “I have a mako-enhanced baby in my arms as we speak and not one fucking bit of it is a JOKE! A blond baby with a very distinctive sword that’s twice as tall as he is. I swear to the Goddess, if you don’t meet me in Costa as fast as possible I will take that sword of yours and shove it up your ass!”

And then he hung up.

What, thought Sephiroth as he came to the conclusion that Genesis was being almost entirely literal. He stared at the PHS. Angeal stared at the PHS. Then they stared at each other until the full impact of Genesis’s words really struck them.

Blond. Sword. Move quickly.

“Helicopter?” Angeal said.

“Helicopter,” Sephiroth agreed, and together they booked it out of the apartment.

-----

The moment Angeal opened the front door to their shared vacation house in Costa Genesis was there, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him in. “Ange,” he whimpered, “what the fuck? What the fuck???” He looked like he’d gone on a week-long pub crawl through the slums, eyes wild and bloodshot, face pale.

“Gen?” Angeal asked, bewildered.

His best friend took his face in his hands and leaned in until their noses nearly touched. “Angeal. The toddler has scars. He has so many scars. And so much mako. Angeal. Angeal someone tortured a toddler. He summoned Phoenix and broke my nose. I have lost my grasp on reality.”

Angeal still had barely a clue what was happening, but he pulled Genesis into a hug and squeezed until the other man went limp against him. Gen sobbed once, convulsively, and then his arms came up to return the hug and yeah, Angeal could understand why a tortured, mako-enhanced toddler might elicit that response. Especially a tortured, mako-enhanced toddler that had absolutely blindsided all of them.

Sephiroth closed the front door and waited quietly to the side, watching them with a blank, vaguely-bewildered look in his eyes.

“Seph,” Genesis said, muffled into Angeal’s shoulder. “Go...look at the baby and come back. And the sword. It’s in the storage room.” He didn’t seem to be willing to budge up just yet, so Angeal offered Seph a reassuring half-smile and a nod. The silver-haired man nodded back and quietly went upstairs.

Sephiroth came back five minutes later as pale as a ghost, eyes to the floor, with...a toddler in his arms. “They look the same,” he murmured. “And the sword certainly matches.”

“Alright,” Angeal said, taking a deep breath. “They look the same. Why did you bring him out here?”

Sephiroth looked at him blankly, which was a slight improvement from staring at the floor. “I...don’t...know…” he said haltingly. He glanced down at the kid’s squishy, sleeping face. “He looked...small.”

Well, that made no sense, but then again Seph’d had a very unusual upbringing and it was entirely possible that seeing a clearly-experimented-on toddler had triggered some kind of odd empathy instincts.

Genesis groaned and straightened, breaking the hug. Angeal cautiously let one hand linger on his friend’s shoulder. It was accepted, which was a good sign. “I’ll Esuna him, hold on.” His bracer flashed, removing the toddler from his enchanted sleep.

The baby woke with a little coo, shifting his head to nuzzle sleepily into Sephiroth’s chest, which was absolutely adorable. Angeal barely bit back a coo of his own. “Mmh?” His eyes fluttered open and⁠...that was definitely a mako glow, as strong as a First Class. In a toddler. Angeal felt a little bit like crying himself at the sight. Poor kid.

The tiny blond yawned, rubbing at his face, and squinted blearily up at Sephiroth. Everyone started to relax as nothing terrible happened⁠—no Phoenix summons, no wailing fits, no sudden start of the apocalypse. Just a little boy, peacefully waking.

Those little mako-blue eyes narrowed, eyebrows scrunching together. The chubby hand slowly lowered. Sephiroth stared back down at him, fascinated. The baby’s eyes widened abruptly. He froze. Sephiroth’s eyes widened and he froze too, uncertain.

Then all hell broke loose.

#my writing #Saving Subject C #(Everything But) The Kitchen Sink #crack #crackfic #my fics #Cloud Strife #angeal hewley #genesis rhapsodos #Sephiroth #aimeelouwrites

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ninnodesu · 4 years ago

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The New Matriarch, ch 3.

Tw: - Mentions of sexual abuse/rape - Memories of sexual abuse/rape

Thomas B. Hewitt.

“Mama!”, Charlie’s voice rings out in the giant house. “Mama, where you at? We need your help here!”.

On his way in Thomas shoos some piglets away with his foot as he walks into one of the seating areas where an empty couch sat before putting the strange woman down on it, careful as to not wake her up. “What are you yellin’ about, Charlie?”, their mother walks in but stops dead in her tracks when Thomas turns to her and reveals the sleeping woman on the couch. “Oh my goodness!”, she rushes over to the couch and gently puts her hand on the sleeping girl’s forehead, almost shoving Thomas out of the way making him wobble slightly as he’s caught off guard at his mother’s sudden actions.

“Who’s this?”, her eyes darted between the men standing there dumbfounded. Thomas just shrugs, brows knitting together while looking at her sleeping face before he remembers that she screamed and gripped her shoulder before he carried her in. He kneels next to her head and slowly lifts her up to look for a wound. When he finds it, he nudges his mother and grunts towards it.

“She’s hurt! Charlie, make yourself useful and go grab a towel and some water, boy.” She turns to Thomas. “And you, go grab your sewing supplies! This looks like it needs stitches.”

He nods and gets up, quickly walking over to his corner of the downstairs area where his sewing machine and sewing whatnots is housed. He works in silence, completely zoned out and deep in concentration, his family’s voices but a blurred sound. He fish the bullet out, which he just throws into some dark corner of the room and proceeds to stitch the wound up. Sure, his fingers are massive - like the rest of him - but his touch is delicate, his stitching is neat and thorough. He’s always like working with his hands, it was probably just by chance that he happened to be good at sewing.

That night he decides to keep a close eye on her, moving one of the lounge chairs over to sit in her vicinity. Sleeping people are easier to interact with, he doesn’t have to do much close to them. It’s the awake ones he - usually - has a problem with, except for when this one came running to him.

Usually, people tend to walk away from him, not run towards him. Not cling to his legs, not shaking and hiding behind him. They hide from him. He’s the problem most of the time, not some kind of… savior. He reclines in the chair, leaning his head back, tilting it slightly.

Who are you?

“So.”, Thomas jumps as he hears Charlie's voice at the door. “You’re just gonna’ be a creep and watch’er, aint ya?”, Charlie chuckles as he leans on the door frame. “Never thought ya’ was gonna’ be a creeper, Tommy”, he clicks his tongue before giving one of his crooked sneers..

Thomas rolls his head towards Charlie and just glares at him until he leaves to the porch, probably to drink and harass their uncle, then he just grunts in annoyance and rolls his head back towards the girl.

I’m just keeping an eye on her, ya dumbass. Again, he snorts at his own joke. At least I think I’m hilarious.

As he sits there, having his own inner conversations with himself about nothing in particular, his thoughts start to wander. Thoughts about how she didn’t recognize him, everyone around these parts knows him. He’s the monster , the big nasty man, the diseased freak . But she didn’t care, she clung to him. Like she would float out to sea if she let go of him. Thinking back to earlier, his heart flutters oh so slightly.

Why…?

A huff later and he’s kicked his boots off and laid his feet up on the couch the girl is sleeping on, a long quiet and tired moan escapes his lips as he just slides down the lounge chair. Crossing his arms he leans his head down on his shoulder and just watches her. Watching her relaxed face, tracing the shape of her nose, her slightly parted lips and the way her messy hair falls over her neck. She looks peaceful, the way her chest rises and falls in a calm rhythmic way. It’s when he lazily watches the movement of her chest he feels his own eyes start to feel heavy.

One loud snore is all it takes for him to wake himself up with a jolt which makes one of his heavy feet to slip off the couch and slam onto the floor with a loud thud , he slowly pushes himself up in the seat as he’s laying more on the floor than across his chair and the couch at this point.

Shit…, he stills as he sees her stir a bit on the couch, small sleeping mumbled words escaping as she turns to the side, he lets a breath out that he’d been holding and hangs his head.

Don’t wake up, please, don’t wake up…, he’s suddenly really afraid that she will. Every shred of bravery after what happened at the barn went out the window the moment he got left alone with her. Outside, it’s pitch black.

Must be late. His eyes start searching the room for the clock. 1:45 AM. Even if he’s really tired, even if his work is most likely going to suffer the next day and even if he’s starting to feel nervous about a stranger in his home, he’s determined to stay up to make sure she doesn’t wake up alone. He’s woken up alone and scared too many times through his teenage years, especially when his nose started to fall apart. And even if he doesn’t know her or even as little as just her name, he doesn’t want her to experience the same fear he did.

I need air, I need something to keep awake. His knees crack slightly as he decides to sneak out on the porch, he glances at his boots but decides to ditch them.

The screen door squeaks lightly as he steps out to plant himself on one of the benches, the board bending at his weight. He leans back and sprawls his legs out in front of him, letting his hands flop down on his thighs.

What have you gotten yourself into, Tommy? You know this was a stupid idea. He sighs and rubs his hands over his masked face. You can’t talk to her, and even if you could, she would just run at the sight of you. Besides, there's barely any food as is. Closing his eyes, he decides to just enjoy the silence and occasional chirp of a grasshopper or fox screaming somewhere in the forest before he has to prepare for work.

He’s awoken just as the sun rises by his mother tapping him on the shoulder. “Tommy, ya' can’t be sleepin' on the porch like that. Come on.” He just nods and follows her inside. “Ya' need to put 'er in a bed”, she orders him motioning to the sleeping girl.

Thomas looks at his mother and raises an eyebrow. A bed? We have extra beds?

Almost as she is - actually - able to read his mind, she shakes her head and turns to show him. “Come on, pick 'er up and I’ll show ya'.”, he looks over at the girl and hesitates at first, fingers twitching nervously. “Thomas Brown Hewitt.”, he flinches. He knows she’s serious when she uses his full name and he nods again.

On the second floor his mama unlocks one of the doors that opens up to a small bedroom, or… a big closet, he’s not entirely sure how to categorize it, but it has a bed, a mirror and a small dresser, although the dresser looks more or less like fire wood. He’s seen the door, sure, but honestly never really bothered much since he’s spent more or less all his life in either his room or in the basement.

He grunts and nods towards the bedroom with a raised eyebrow.

In here?, and continue in when his mother nods.

“I made the bed after I saw you fell asleep watchin’ her.” she whispers while pulling the covers off the bed so he can put her on it. “But,ya' need to head off to the slaughterhouse, and she needs sleep.” He looks between his mama and the girl with a frown. “Tommy, you can’t be at home watchin’ this little lady when you have work to do.”, she tells him with her stern motherly voice before turning to leave.

“Besides…”, he looks at her and raises his eyebrow, asking the obvious non-verbal question.

Besides what?

“We need extra if we gonna’ look after ‘er for a while.”, the answer is simple, on point. But has something to it. He hears it, but doesn't follow what she means. So he nodded, and let out a small “Mmh.”

Just before he closes the door he catches one last look at her while his mother has her back turned, brows furrowing when he feels a slight tinge of worry pick in his stomach.

I’ll be back later, I promise.

The door clicks shut and he heads downstairs, pulls his boots on and with a heaving sigh sets off to the place he both likes - and dislikes - at the same time.

The slaughterhouse.

As the giant building comes into view his mood becomes worse and worse. His chest shrinks, shoulders tense and his hands fists at his sides. He never really liked being here, not fully, only reasons for going being his family, and it’s a good place to let off some steam. But it’s also the place where the majority of his school yard bullies followed him. Even here he had to hear their voices behind his back, and all he wanted when he did was to go home and shut himself in his room. Or basement. Wherever he could hide from the world. Inside, it’s empty. He’s always the first one to enter and last one to leave, the hardest worker of them all, and probably the only thing in his entire life he actually took pride in. The fact that he was a hard worker. But they don’t care, no one ever truly does. Well, except his family of course.

He scratches his neck before putting his apron on and readjust his mask before he heads off to his little corner of the butcher floor. I was right, I am sore as all hell today. , he thinks while rolling his shoulders trying to wake tired and sore muscles up. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep on the porch… , he grunts and snarls at his poor choice of sleeping place.

The day goes by at a snail's pace. Countless jokes and laughing directed at him. Snears and hard dunks at his back as an awful attempt at “We’re just messing with you, big man. Relax, jeez” as they continue using him as some kind of comic relief. He hates it when they comment on his build. When he hears them call him “big” or anything relating to his height. When they say it, it never comes from a place of admiration, or as something positive. It’s only meant to ridicule him. He knows he’s huge, a monster. He’s heard it before, all his life.

I'm nothing more than an… an animal.

He’s also fully aware of his own strength. He can break these people's bones with his hands if he wants to. And by god, did he want to at times. Some days he wanted nothing more than to squeeze the next hand that dunked his back until he heard and felt it crack under his fingers. But he never does. He has way too much to lose to mess with people at work.

When he finally arrives home, the house is empty. Charlie and his mother might still be out, possibly off to try and sell some stuff she found after he cleared the barn, before… she showed up. He’s angry, balancing dangerously close to furious and his footsteps are loud.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. That one creaky step on the stairs scream when his angry foot lands on it. This time, he’s fairly certain a huge part of it got loose in the crawl space underneath. Finally reaching his room, he slams his door shut, momentarily forgetting about the sleeping stranger down the hall, the slam being hard enough to elicit a cracking sound, that crack is all he needs to cross the line between angry and furious. He looks back to make sure he didn’t break another thing due to his strength, before pacing back and forth trying to calm himself down.

Just… Leave me ALONE!, he growls as he fists his hands and gently smacks his head to try and silent every and any bad thought that flows his mind. His chest is heaving.

I just want to do my goddamn WORK, you ASSHOLES! In one swift motion he sweeps his arms across his desk to throw every trinket that rests on it down on the floor to try and sate his rage.

It doesn’t take long after the poor subjects of his rage have quiet down in their rolling and clinking, him just standing there, his mask amplifying his breathing, before the sound of a door opening reaches his ears.

Ssh… it., is all he manages to think when he freezes. And she is slowly inched back into his memories, his eyes widening when he realizes one simple thing. I woke her.

He just stares at his own door, eyes wide in horror as if she was some kind of vicious predator coming to end his own life. Not even sure what to do when he hears a small voice ring out.

“H...ello?”

You

You wake with a jolt after hearing a loud slam somewhere. Your head hurts, your shoulder hurts and you have this creeping ache in your stomach that tells you; You. Are. Starving. “Ow…”, you rub your temple before rubbing your eyes awake. Looking around, you’re in a room. On a bed . At first, you’re scared again. This isn’t the Box, where are you? What was that sound? What room is this? Your mind is blank.

“Where am I?”, you shock yourself a bit when you actually clearly hear your own voice, almost as if you’ve forgotten what it sounded like. Someone had given you water. Your captors did let you drink, but only when you’ve been good enough for them. Only when they decided you had earned a reward. After sitting up for a few minutes just looking around the strange room, you decide to try and stand up on your aching legs.

You groan as you stand, your legs are wobbly and you have to support yourself on the nearest wall to regain your balance. Jesus. My legs are so sore, and my feet hurt. You take an experimental step and despite the soreness you manage to keep your weight up. As you shuffle your way around the small room you see a mirror, a dirty and grimy one, but a mirror nonetheless. Stepping up to it and cleaning it to the best of your abilities with your own half-dirty hand, you’re not sure how to react when you see yourself. You can’t fully remember the last time you saw your own reflection clearly like this.

Your hair is long, dirty, full of knots and a murkier version of your natural hair. Your eyes were still slightly swollen, and puffy, the color of them a contrast to the red. You were still wearing that makeshift “dress” made of scraps of several potato sacks. A horrible attempt at covering yourself up during nights when the Box was cold. Over your shoulder and down around your chest you see something graying white with specks of dried crimson and you tilt your head in curiosity.

“Is that… a bandage?”, you pull your dress down to look at the strange piece of fabric wrapped tightly, but somewhat sloppy, around your shoulder more clearly. “Who did this?”

Suddenly, the sound of several small objects flying across the floor reaches your ears, and you jump. Then, silence falls again.

You pull the dress pack in place and turn towards the door in fear, your body tenses and your breathing becomes heavier as all you do is wait for it to burst open. Your mind gets ready for a new awful hour of being rented out like some kind of object, something to be used and then forgotten about in the Box. Even if you can’t fully remember what has happened, your mind only gives you glimpses of you running, looking down the barrel of a gun and… and… a man, you can still feel a creeping anxiety in the pit of your stomach, your nerves are still on alert mode. But nothing happens, no one is coming to drag you away. There’s no voices calling out to that “stupid bitch”, there’s nothing but silence.

After what feels like hours you decide to make a move and start shuffling towards the door. Only dragging your feet in fear that the floor might creak loudly and announce your present to people. You’re scared, but you still want to try the door.

If I’m not tied down, the door has to be locked. But it’s not. The door is unlocked, and you’re not tied down.

Outside, it’s still. The only sound being a small rhythmic tapping sound coming from downstairs. You sneak out as silent as a cat would when sneaking on a prey.

“H...ello?”, you try. No reply. All you can see looking down the hallway are closed doors. Looking around the empty, silent hallway you sneak out, curiosity picking in your mind. You don’t recognise this house, it doesn’t look like any house you’ve been in when you were rented out. It doesn’t have the same lingering feeling of dread or force. It feels… homely.

Going down the hallway you notice pictures on one of the bookshelves and you stop in front of them to look, to try and piece something together as to who lives here. One photograph catches your eyes and you pick it up, examining it further. It’s a picture of a young boy in a striped t-shirt. His hair is dark but his face is covered up by a pair of older hands.

Why would you cover a small kid’s face like that?, you think and shake your head as you put it back.

Shuffling away from the bookshelf you creep towards the stairs, the steps are cool under your feet, in contrast to the warm rug laid out on the second floor. You wince when you accidentally step a bit harsh on one of your wounds. One step creaks loudly and your heart jumps thinking it’ll break, unbeknownst to you how it manages to hold the weight of a 200 lb behemoth of a man and won’t break under your feather light steps.

Just the same as the top floor, the main floor is empty. Only living things here are the piglets, and even those are sleeping in random places around the living room, gentle snoring coming from them. A sound you can’t help but to giggle at.

You’re not entirely sure what to do. You seem to be completely alone in this huge house. Your stomach starts cramping and rumbles again.

I hope they don’t mind if I borrow some food, you think to yourself as you make your way around the house, trying to find the kitchen. What strikes you first is a smell. A smell of uncleanliness. It’s filthy, dirt everywhere. Mason Jars caked with either dust or moldy food. The fridge is just as gross as the rest of the kitchen, smell even worse in that, and it’s mostly empty.

You sigh. “I guess they don’t own much”, you mumble to, as far as you’re concerned, no one at all and close the fridge to proceed to just… stand there. Alone, in a strange family’s kitchen.

Thomas B. Hewitt.

Footsteps. They’re low, but years of bullying has made him hyper aware and vigilant to any and all noises, and he recognizes how the floorboards creak when someone steps on them. He’s learned the pattern

What should I do?, he doesn’t know how to handle strange people. Strangers make him nervous and it’s not like he can knock her out again to make her go back to sleep so he can function. Out of nervous habit he raises his hands and starts fiddling with his fingers, staying put like an unmovable statue. Him, the behemoth they call Tommy, a nervous wreck when faced with a stranger, and a stranger in his home, where he’s supposed the one in charge. He just stands there, listening and following her footsteps and trying to figure out where in the hallway she currently is, waiting for the perfect moment to step out of his bedroom. He can’t stay there forever just because she’s awake, he has to face her at some point. With or without his mama’s help.

His breath hitches slightly when he notices that she’s stopped.

She’s outside…

A minute or two passes, and then he hears that awful cracking sound of that one step on the stairs, and he lets out a shaky breathe when he realizes She’s going downstairs, and Charlie’s not home . A small but noticeable wave of relief rolls over him. If Charlie would’ve been home she would’ve most likely been bombarded with questions and words and god knows what. Maybe even worse things than that if he had been drinking.

It’s only when he can’t hear her footsteps anymore that he manages to sneak his door open and peek outside, hallway empty, but he hears a faint giggle coming from downstairs. He surprises himself with how silent he’s actually being when snaking his way towards the dreaded stairs.

Really, Thomas. It’s a person, not a wild animal, his body and mind fighting in a fierce battle. I just wish mama was home, how am I going to talk to her?

He’s mindful to skip that crackling step at the stairs and keeps onward down. He’s like a shadow floating through his house. Stopping suddenly as he sees her swiftly walk pass him on the main floor. His eyes widen, lips pressed into a thin line, sucking in air into his lungs and lets it rest there, too nervous to let it out until he hears the fridge door open. Then, and only then does he continue down the stars.

In a corner, shrouded by darkness, he stops and stares at her back as she looks into the fridge, his heart drums in his chest. A rapid melody of du-dumdu-dumdu-dumdu-dum… He’s too used to getting ridiculed, and now when she’s awake, and doesn’t seem as frightened and desperate as she did in the barn, his mind races back to everyone else. To everyone in school, or when they’ve seen him when he’s been at the gas station helping his mother. They all just screamed, some even letting out high pitch screeching when they’ve seen him alone by accident. His self image is only made out of broken pieces at this point. Just the sheer fact that he didn’t run into the house when she first came into the barn is a surprise to himself. But now? Now she’s scary.

“I guess they don’t own much”, her voice is sweet now when he hears it clearly, and he tilts his head to the side. Her voice is both warm and smooth. It flows into his ears like honey.

Now I really do feel like a creep…

He keeps standing in the shadows watching her, his eyes dancing over her form. Her hair now resting on her back, with one part falling over her shoulder. A brief thought of how it would feel to brush that part of hair behind her ear flashes by in his mind and he shakes his head as he feels his cheeks heat up.

After closing the fridge door she just… stands there. Looking around, looking lost.

And Thomas? He does the same. Nervous and anxious, hands raised to his midsection to fiddle with his fingers, head hung low and stray hairs falling in front his eyes. He feels as lost as she looks until one of the small piglets running straight into one of his legs elicits a squeal, Thomas grunts slightly and stomps lightly at the floor to scare the piglet away.

Nice going, pig…, after looking at the pig running away in fear he looks up and is met by a pair of surprised eyes looking at him.

“It’s you! ”, he flinches at how she punctuates “you” and his eyes panic like he doesn’t know where to look, his lips becoming a thin line again, his heart beating like a rapid drum and he begins to breathe heavily, making his hands shake and fingers twitch.

No... He panics and turns to leave, heavy boots sounding out through the hallway, with wide steps he aims for the basement.

“Wait!”, her voice rings out again, that smooth velvety honey hits him, but he just ignores it. He can’t. His brain tells him that she’s just like everyone else. Just like the people in the slaughterhouse, just like the people in town, or at his mama’s store, just like his classmates during recess. She’s no different. When she sees him properly, she’ll scream. And realize what a horrible mistake she made by turning to him for help.

She’s just like everyone else.

#The New Matriarch #TNM #thomas hewitt #thomas #thomas leatherface hewitt #tcm: the beginning #tcm #tcm fanfiction #slasher

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crow-crowson · 4 years ago

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Canary Glow. ❜

Summary: Gods are not constant. Like most, they have a beginning - even if not an end.

Chapter: 1.

Chapter trigger warnings: N/A

Author’s notes: This is set in a fictional world that I created myself, featuring just a handful of my own cast! This is just one story I plan to make with these characters, as I figured the best place to start in any narrative is the beginning. This novel will delve into the creation of Huron as we know it today.

“What in the blazes is that?!”

Wide green eyes followed the burning arc in the sky intensely, watching its fluorescent trail shimmer as it rocketed towards the ground; neon yellow, crackling like electricity, and showing no signs of slowing down.

The speed of that thing… it’s incomprehensible! It looks like it’s going to crash!

Aldierno watched as his surroundings lit up, a fierce sheen of gold spreading across the treetops as the comet continued to fall. In a display of primitive fear, the man flung himself onto the ground, arms shielding his head, his face buried into the dirt as he braced for its impact. It was far too late to run away... impossible, really, with how close it was.

The sound of it hitting the ground was unlike anything he’d ever heard-- a crash of thunder so loud that his hands abandoned his head in favour of his ears. Even then, the noise shook his brain, rattled thoughts around like loose change, and the searing light that followed like a shockwave had his eyes screwing shut, his face pressed tightly into the mud.

Please, please just let me die quickly. Whatever this thing is, let it kill me in a single moment.

Time crawled by like a snail, his body on fire with the knowledge that he would soon be engulfed by pain.

But it never came.

After what felt like a lifetime, Aldierno raised his head and squinted. The woodland was dark once more, an eerie silence smothering him like a quilt. What just happened? What did I see? What was that?

His questions were rewarded with a sudden beam of light shooting high into the sky, breaking the clouds and vanishing into the abyssal black above him. It was hard to look at, blinding even, but he persisted in trying-- in trying to make sense of anything that he’d witnessed thus far.

When his world dimmed once more, Aldierno found it in him to stand up. Aside from mild disorientation and a fiercely fast heartbeat, he had left the situation unscathed. Knees knocked as he straightened up, heightened senses latching onto anything they could. The whistling wind; the breeze weaving through the trees; the dull scratch of dirt beneath his bare feet.

He only realised he’d taken a step forward when he found himself closer to the treeline than before.

What are you doing? Turn around. Go back to the house, where it’s safe.

… but the uncertainty of what had transpired was tantalising. Perhaps it was the rush of bravado one experienced after surviving something fearsome, or the curiosity that was allegedly responsible for the death of so many cats, but he felt intrigued-- no, compelled-- to press on.

“To hell with it,” he muttered through clenched teeth, stalking into the undergrowth before he had the chance to change his mind. He couldn’t explain it, that cloying need to go forward, but it raged in his head like a war cry. It saw him filing through the thicket, braving the sharp bite of brambles and the pervasive scratch of nettles without a single complaint. Even so, the deeper into the dark he went, the more foolish he began to feel.

And then light.

Dim, at first. A pale yellow in the distance, like the very first rays of morn, before it opened up into a pool of liquid sunshine. As he emerged into a clearing, Aldeirno found his gaze falling to the ground, gaze snagged by an unfamiliar crackle. It was teeming with some sort of current, grass combed over, frayed ends burnt and fizzling. Slowly, he inched a toe towards the lip of the undergrowth-- then quickly recoiled when he received a sharp static shock.

How is that possible? Grass burns. I use it in fires all the time.

A murky shape in the near distance caught his attention. It looked weathered and strange, composed of old rock and something all too cosmic. It was simultaneously shimmery and plain, and through a crack did Aldeirno think he saw something molten. It oozed like lava, its canary glow both beautiful and foreboding.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, he hovered at the entrance to the clearing for several minutes. Every so often, he stuck his foot out, then retracted it once more, not keen on the idea of getting shocked again.

You’re never going to find out what the hell that thing is if you don’t press on. Maybe I don’t need to know. Really?

It should have been no surprise to him that he found himself darting across the clearing without much regard for his sense. A dozen sharp static shocks wrangled the soles of his feet, his teeth grit as he skidded to a halt in front of the strange stone, surprised by how quickly he’d grown a tolerance to the current. It was a force of nature, of that he was certain, but it seemed residual at most. If it wasn’t, I’d absolutely have been fried. He dropped to his knees, eyes all but bulbous as he raised a trembling hand to touch the foreign mass in front of him.

It fell apart before he could.

Like an egg after a bird had emerged from it, its granite walls crumbled to the ground, forming a small pile of rubble beside what could only be described as a ball of light. Aldierno tilted his head, persistent in trying to grasp exactly what he was seeing.

There was something dark swimming in the centre of the golden glow; a nondescript shape that seemed suspended by invisible string. Slowly, it began to unfurl, and from the light did Aldierno witness a body come into view. Then arms, then legs, slowly followed by a vague head shape. The thing was tiny, an inky black blot on a white sheet, and only when two pinprick lights appeared on what he could only assume was its face did the man think to fall back.

He landed gracelessly on his rear, the corners of his vision swimming.

“Wh-What are you?!” he exclaimed, voice wobbling meekly, as if it was going to break at any moment. He was numb to the current, heart pounding in his chest as he witnessed the shape flicker like static.

Then, akin to a phoenix, it rose.

He watched the indiscernible mass float upwards, limbs fanning weightlessly outwards. It slowly morphed into a more determined shape, its limbs like fine pencil streaks, two tall ears sprouting atop its round head, before it expelled a final pulse of light. As the energy faded, Aldeirno’s surroundings began to dim once more-- and then the body fell. The mysterious creature hit the ground with a resounding thup, its still mass resembling a ragdoll that had been hurriedly discarded by a rambunctious child.

What is this thing…? Aldierno asked himself as he inched his way closer. He could taste his pulse, feel it flickering across his tongue like lightning-- and the effect only worsened as he lowered himself to a squat, his tall, lanky frame dwarfing his unknown visitor in moments. Despite their clear difference in size, the man felt tiny in its presence. There was something about it that radiated power, power he’d had yet to witness with his own eyes.

Gingerly, he nudged the body with the very tips of his toes. “Hello��?”

But it was no use. His persistence, though valiant, elicited no response.

The longer he stared, the deeper the strange thought sank into him. He felt it first in his mind, then in his soul-- a streak of nonsense so woefully insane that he came to fear it: I need to take it with me. He couldn’t describe the desire unfurling in his brain like a bad omen; the desire to pick the thing up and take it back home, nurse it back to health somehow. It wasn’t as if he knew much about playing nurse, nor did he feel he was overly altruistic as a person. Though he would have liked to exercise his good will from time to time, the simple fact was that his land was Godless. It didn’t pay well to appear weak.

But this poor thing… it looks so small, and so defenceless, and it’ll probably get eaten if I leave it alone.

Your self-preservation is piss-poor. How have you lasted this long?

“... damn it,” he muttered, scooping the creature up and drawing it close to his chest. Though it was unconscious, he felt a strong surge of life spilling from it. The longer he held it, the deeper the pit of dread in his stomach felt-- as if he’d touched something forbidden, opened his mind to a knowledge that should remain unknown.

He clung to it regardless.

#writing #short story #original characters #writers on tumblr #fantasy #friendship #hurt/comfort #online novel #raku;#aldierno;#canary glow;#oc novel #fandomless oc story

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anthropwashere · 4 years ago

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our indestructible days ch 3

ch 1 | ch 2

Stubborn child! Tenacious little brat!

Pride seethes as he carries his new container up through another ruined, empty floor of Father's home, teeth gnashing at stone and metal. How could one inconsequential human soul cling so stubbornly to its body? Especially after being absorbed into his Philosopher's Stone?

It's lucky the little alchemist is such a mad acrobat, otherwise Pride wouldn't have been able to climb to the surface as quickly as he has, even with his shadows to assist. There's only a floor left between him and the parade field. The light from Father's attack has faded now, but he's still wary of jumping out without having a better idea of the situation out there. The light alone hadn't been enough to damage his Stone, but it had been an altogether painful experience for his true form.

A part of him hates to let those survivors scurry off—all those long years guarding Sloth's tunnel, no doubt—but now isn't the time to hunt down vermin. His Stone has only barely stabilized thanks to those few soldiers he'd consumed. He was able to grow this container a new leg without much strain, but he doubts he'd be much good in a proper fight. He's made the mistake of underestimating humans before. It's not a mistake he's keen on repeating.

He slims his shadows to a few cautious coils, tasting the air. Even up here he can smell the living humans below, soaked in blood and snaking away from the epicenter of things. They could reappear virtually anywhere in Central but he doubts they'll go that far, not with how injured they are. Aside from them there's nothing but corpses down there, which won't do him any good. Thanks to absorbing Gluttony he finds the meat delicious, yes, but it's souls he needs.

Aboveground is a far different story. He sniffs again and can't help but smirk. There's dozens—no, hundreds of humans gathering up there, rushing around with their hearts racing and sweat salting their warm skin. He smells too, all the silly little guns they're hauling around in some vain hope of stopping Father.

Pride licks his lips, eager now. They want a fight, do they? He may be weak, but he thinks he can at least provide Father a distraction.

He's careful to keep his container out of sight as he peers over the last crumbling edge, curling tendrils into the air and squinting in the brightening daylight. Behind him Central Command is in ruins, as if some enormous hand had come along and taken a scoop out of it. He can smell only a handful of living humans there, most of them bloody and bruised and terrified. Before him a triangular stretch of the parade field is charred black, heat to sting the razor edges of him still rising from it. Greasy smoke smothers the air, reducing visibility to a frustrating few feet. From here he can only make out the woman sacrifice, sprawled nearby and barely conscious. He can smell her pain, the new bruises and welling blood, but it's nothing serious. There's no urgent spike of adrenaline in her blood, no sour snap of broken bone nor the damp heat of exposed organs. She'll live, for now.

The wind shifts. He narrows his eyes, sniffing, and finds the shredded remains of Alphonse Elric's armor a little further off. Beside it is the troublesome Xingese girl, weeping loudly. Has the younger Elric's blood seal broken? Either way, he won't be taking part in this fight any longer, not in the shape he's in.

The woman sacrifice—Izumi, wasn't it?—wakes, coughing roughly. "H-Hohenheim," she forces out, and as if summoned by her voice Father appears before her, so quickly that neither Pride’s eyes nor nose sensed him move. A strong hand grabs Van Hohenheim out of the dust that had obscured him as well, knocking him aside like so much refuse. He lands in a heap some distance off. Pride pays his piteous groaning no mind, relieved to see that Father still has God's power within him.

"Father!" He cries, springing out into the open to present himself. Izumi twitches nearby, straining to see him over her bloodied shoulder.

"You're first," Father says, raising his hand. Red light arcs between his fingertips. Too late, Pride realizes what he means to do—

Pain riots through his container. All his thoughts collapse to panicked static. His newly acquired lungs and heart seize, his every muscle spasms and his every joint locks. He would scream if he could because to have true flesh is to be set on fire. He'd thought the leg bad before, but he'd retreated into his Stone at the first white-hot shock of hurt and here he's pinned in place, nerves flayed, choking on ash—he can't, he isn't, how is it possible to—hurt—so completely? Defense—he—he must defend against—shadows—his self—all gone, he can't think, he can't—

Father is going to kill him—

A gunshot cracks in the distance, and a wound appears in a fizzle of come-and-go alchemical light at Father's temple. Father's concentration breaks. Pride nearly falls on all fours, sucking in dirty air with a relief that unmoors him. He doesn't hesitate, falling back on the instincts of this taken flesh. His hammering heart says run, so he runs. He sprints through the thinning smoke, wanting distance, needing time to get his bearings, needing to understand why Father just tried to kill him—

He ducks behind some heap of rubble near Central Command's wall, pressing his spine against it and shutting his eyes against the acrid sting. He's—he's panicking. He is, isn't he? He's never one to panic. He is first of the homunculi, oldest and strongest and cleverest. He won't—can't—be cowed so easily as this. Even if—even if it was Father that came so close to—

He is one part of a greater whole. This is something he's always known. But it's never occurred to him that Father might one day want that part back.

No. Never mind that. Father had his reasons. He always does. Surely Father only intended to siphon Fullmetal's soul away, to tear the stubborn child out so Pride could have unfettered control over this container—

[Coward.]

Pride freezes—still panting for breath, damn this flesh—and glares with several pairs of eyes. That voice. It shouldn't be possible, and yet— "Just how many of you damned insects are clinging to sentience within my stone?!"

[Oh, it's just Fullmetal and myself in here, and he's not doing too well at the moment.] Kimblee's laughter grates for all that it's not, technically, real. [He doesn't enjoy the company as much as I do.]

In the distance Pride can hear-smell humans shouting, soldiers making a perimeter in some feeble-minded attempt at hemming Father in, barking out nonsensical orders to one another over the bustle and clatter of all their useless weaponry. A man shouts over a megaphone that Fullmetal is not to be confused with Father, which is a relief and in some small way, terribly funny. He watches the clamor with his container's eyes, peering carefully around the crumbling edge of what might have been a bit of the east wing. If he focuses he thinks he can very nearly feel the pinpoints of solidity within his Stone, Kimblee as fine and bright as a needle, Fullmetal a stolid lump fumbling his way back to consciousness at a snail's pace. "I suppose you'll be wanting to fight me for control over this body next?"

[Oh no, not at all. It'd be a poor fit, I think. And besides, I already have a front row seat to the glorious battle going on right now. Just listen to it!]

The attacks are certainly concussive, if nothing else. From his position on the field it only looks like the soldiers are wasting a great deal of ammunition for nothing; Father's glimmering shield is protecting him even from the heat and dust of the blasts. Some soldier down there belts out a command to take cover and scarcely a moment later a gout of flame rushes down the same charred path as Father's earlier attack to engulf the majority of the parade ground in an inferno. It seems that despite his newfound blindness the Flame Alchemist remains unwilling to sit idly by while there's murder and mayhem to sow. Still, it'll take more than that to slow Father down now.

"They stand no chance against him," he mutters aloud. The plan has fallen apart, perhaps disastrously so, but Father will win. It's only a matter of time.

[No chance?] Kimblee asks, pausing when another gout of flame explodes across the parade field. This one Father catches as easily as a child's toy and sends it right back. Even after that display, amusement curls Kimblee's voice. Infuriating creature. [You say there's no chance, that you homunculi are so much better than humans, but what's Greed without his human vessel? What are you?]

"I am Pride the Arro—"

[Just the two of you left now, and that only thanks to the humans you've attached yourselves to. You claim to be higher life forms, yet you're really nothing more than parasites. How disappointing.]

"I won't die here! Whatever the cost, I refuse to die today!"

[And if your Father willed it otherwise?]

He flinches, and loathes this treacherous body all the more.

[He seemed eager enough to kill you a moment ago,] Kimblee goes on cheerfully, [Yet you turned tail and ran away the second you could. You were named for your dignity as much as your arrogance, yet all you've proven today is that you're a hypocrite and a coward.]

"BE SILENT, KIMBLEE!"

[Mmph.] The Fullmetal lump shifts within his Stone, waking up properly. Pride very nearly throws his hands up in exasperation. [Ah, hell. That hurt. What happened?]

[Welcome back, Edward. I wasn't sure you'd be joining us again.]

Pride curls his mouth irritably, digs dirty nails into the stone's crumbling edge. The automail arm only twitches at his side, still stubbornly resistant to his will. "How many times must I put you in your place until you stay there?"

[Ha. At least one more. Where are we?]

Pride has no chance to reply before his control is tugged away from him. Edward Elric wavers, bracing himself with both hands against the same stretch of scorched stone. Pride's connection to the container and all its startling sensations remains; a sour tang of nausea burns their shared throat, dizziness makes their pulse pound in their ears, a line of sweat down their spine makes them shiver. Edward directs their eyes about the parade field and back to Central Command, taking in the splendor of Father's power. Their ears ache with the ceaseless crack and boom of gunfire.

"Holy shit,” Edward breathes.

With a growl of displeasure Pride pushes back and retakes control. The boy's too stunned to put up more than a token resistance, one that's easily brushed aside. Pride smiles, licking the new configuration of his teeth. "Do you understand now? Do you see what Father is capable of, despite all your little tricks? Are you still so certain you'll win?"

Kimblee whispers, so quietly that Edward seems not to hear, [Are you?]

[Of course I am,] Edward retorts, and while he's unable to wrestle control of his body back he does manage a few of the eyes circling at their feet. Their shared vision wobbles and blurs, and Edward grumbles. [Jeez, how can you stand this? I think I'm gonna puke.]

"Then stop it."

[Nah.] Their shadow twitches, an inelegant lurch that nevertheless forces one of their eyes to loll, and in just such a way that it glimpses Edward's bare left foot. Through their mutable connection of his Stone Pride feels the stuttering evolution of Edward's reaction—dumbfounded, denying, horrified, furious. Their mouth opens against his will and Edward's snarl froths out. "My—my leg. It's—the automail—it's gone. You—you son of a bitch! You really cut it off?!"

[It was slowing me down,] Pride replies calmly, content for the moment to take refuge in his Stone. It almost feels as he did in his Selim container this way; placid, unflappable, controlled. [You're welcome, by the way. I saved you the trouble of trying to get back the original one.]

"Wh—That's not the point! Al and I made a promise! After we found out the cost of making a Philosopher's Stone we promised not to use one for ourselves! We never wanted to be so selfish as to use another life to fix our mistake! Al and I—we—I didn't...."

Edward's inhale is a shaky mess. He sways again, gritting his teeth. It seems he has a new tendency to speak through more than one mouth if he lets his anger get the better of him. How interesting. Pride certainly hadn't manifested one of the three thin mouths in their shadow. Edward bends at their waist to brush their left hand across their new knee cap, draws a line down their shin, splays their toes on the sun-warmed concrete. Pride feels each sensation like a static shock, which isn't half so bizarre as the curdled snatches of Edward's thoughts he absorbs secondhand. Nerve damage—phantom pain in the night—gone, it's gone, he shouldn't feel anything because it's gone—Granny said the cold would be harder on him—cold night spent lying awake, teeth gritted, muscles aching—no amount of massaging around the ports ever helped—Al's metallic voice, "Did you dream about Mom again—"

Pride retreats deeper into his Stone, startled by how real that felt. The ever-groaning souls inside him keep their distance from his toothsome shape—all but Kimblee, who sidles up to him with an overly familiar grin.

Outside, Edward reins in his anger enough to ask, "Where's Alphonse?"

[In pieces,] he replies sullenly, and finds base satisfaction in the diminished jolt of panic he feels from the boy. [The Xingese girl has been using what's left of his armor as a shield—]

Red light crackles in their shared vision and a feeling not unlike a brand burns his Philosopher's Stone. He writhes within and without, as much from shock as from pain. When he can see clearly again Edward's braced against the rubble, breathing raggedly. "Shut up," he growls.

[You're so willing to be free of me you'll hurt yourself to do it?] Pride marvels.

"Shut up," Edward repeats, a mouth splitting in their shadow to hiss the same. "You too, Kimblee."

[I didn't say anything.]

"I can feel how much you're enjoying this." He spits, wiping their mouth with the back of his automail hand, then begins a clumsy half-jog back into the thick of things. There's no telling if it's the new leg or their shadow nipping at their heels giving him more trouble.

[Where are you going?] Pride demands. [What do you intend to do?]

"I'm gonna find Al, then I'm gonna make that bastard pay."

[If you confront him, Father will take my Stone for sure!]

"Good. Let him take care of you for me!"

[He'll kill you too!]

"I don't care!" Edward picks up speed, keeping low and favoring their new leg. When Pride opens a train of eyes in their shadow Edward trips, slapping a hand over their container's eyes with a curse. Nausea tongues his Stone, altogether unpleasant. "I gotta make sure Al's okay!"

[Damn you!] For all that he tries to wrest back control Edward just hangs on to himself harder. Pride rages, scattering souls like gravel beneath the wild sweep of his awareness. Edward snarls back and picks up speed.

[Such dedication!] Kimblee exults, a white sore in his Stone. [Such drive! He really is an admirable creature, isn't? Put a fire under him and he'll burn himself gladly for the chance to keep those he cares for out of it!]

[Be quiet!]

Kimblee calms, raising one unimpressed eyebrow. [Why should I listen to you? A pitiful homunculus who couldn't keep a single human under heel?]

Pride seethes.

#fma #fmab #fullmetal alchemist #my writing

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omgsquee2001 · 5 years ago

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One Piece: Various x Former Slave/Whitebeard’s Daughter Reader: Part 2

This is the second part of the One Piece: Various x Former Slave Reader. Warning! This Story contains feels and angry, protective crew members, brothers and father. Please read at your own risk.

_______________________________________________________________________

~Luffy’s POV~

Meat. Tons and tons of meat. Beef, pork and chicken! And it was all mine! But then the chicken started to scream and cry. Hmm, that’s odd. Maybe it was screaming because I was going to eat it. Wait a minute, that scream sounds familiar. My eyes shot open, I realized it was Nami who was screaming. I jumped out of bed, along with the other guys in my cabin. We rushed to the Girls’ Cabin, pushing the door open, not even bothering to knock. Robin was up, comforting her friend.

“Oi! Nami! What happened?!” I shouted. I noticed Nami sobbing and Robin trying desperately to hold in her cries. Chopper ran up and took the piece of paper from the red head. Chopper read it over. Tears formed in his little eyes. He handed the paper to me. Zoro, Brook, Sanji and Franky read it over my shoulder.

‘Hello, Strawhats,’ the letter started. ‘I have been hired by a friend of your little Tiger Lilly. He wants his property back, and so, hired me. If you try to contact the marines in that area, don’t they are for slavery. If you come here with other pirate crew, just be prepared for your little [Y/N]’s life to be terminated right then and there. I hope you all suffer the same defeat as I did. Best, Zeo.’

I growled and lowered my head, crumpling the paper up in my fist. Nami looked up.

“H-how did he make it onto the ship without any of us noticing? Surly someone would have noticed.” She said. Chopper sighed.

“I-I should have known. I was up later than usual, working on some medicine for [Y/N] and her nightmares. I heard someone walking around, but I just thought it was one of you or [Y/N]. I’m sorry. It’s my fault [Y/N] was kidnapped!” Chopper wailed. I placed his strawhat on Chopper’s head. Chopper looked up.

“It’s not your fault, Chopper. It’s no one’s fault. We all should have payed more attention.” I said. Zoro looked at me.

“What do we do now, Luffy?” He asked. I looked up, determination on my face.

“We’re going to give my brother’s crew and Tra-guy a visit.” I said. Usopp frowned.

“But Zeo said that if we tried to bring another crew [Y/N] would be killed right then and there.” He said. I shook his head.

“We all know that the world government are just a bunch of cowards. They won’t dare stand up to Whitebeard, let alone Whitebeard AND Tra-guy,” I said. I looked at Franky. “Franky, can you get us connected to Tra-guy’s coordinates? It’s time to make the call.” I said.

_______________________________________________________________________

~Law’s POV~

I was sitting in my office, just doing paper work, as usual, when my transponder snail started ringing. I sighed and picked it up, noticing that it took the form of Strawhat Luffy (I have no idea how Transponder Snails work. If you know how they work, please let me know in the comments so I can fix it as soon as possible). I braced for a headache.

“What is it, Strawhat-ya?” I asked in exasperation. What caught my attention was that Luffy’s transponder snail didn’t look like the normal and bubbly face of Luffy. It was a serious face. One only dawned when one of his friends was in trouble.

“Tra-guy,” Luffy said. “It’s about [Y/N].” He said. I tensed. What happened to her? What was going on? I had helped Chopper tend to the poor girl when the Thousand Sunny suddenly showed up to the Polar Tang, the little doctor begging me for help. After that, I promised myself I would help them protect the former slave should the need arise.

“What happened? Is [Y/N] alright?” I asked. I heard Luffy sigh.

“I would be trying to convince myself as well if I said she was fine,” Luffy said. “[Y/N]’s been kidnapped by Zeo, a fishman my crew and I ran into. He took her back to her old master,” Luffy read off the note that was left so that I could hear it. My eyes narrowed. Then, Luffy said something that I would never had thought he would say. “Please, Law,” Never, in the years that I had known the energy filled kid, had I ever heard Luffy call me ‘Law’. “Please, help us find [Y/N] and bring her back.” Luffy pleaded. I closed my eyes and sighed.

“I’ll help you, Luffy. But we’re not going to be able to do it alone. We need more help if we’re going to bring [Y/N] back.” I said. Luffy nodded.

“Yeah, I figured as much. That’s why I’m also going to contact my older brother and the Whitebeard Pirates. Considering Whitebeard is [Y/N]’s father by blood and Marco and Ace are extremely protective of her, we should have no problem getting her back. I’ll have Franky send you the coordinates where we will come up with a plan to get [Y/N] back.” Luffy said. I nodded.

“Alright. I’ll find Whitebeard and tell him the news.” I said. Luffy nodded.

“Thank you, Tra-guy.” Luffy said. I sighed as Luffy hung up. Guess I was wrong about the rubbery boy. He never changes. I frowned and set course for the Moby Dick.

_______________________________________________________________________

~Third Person POV~

The Whitebeard Crew were doing what they normally did. Whitebeard was connected to the many tubes that kept his health up. He watched over his ship with his sons moving about on a peaceful day. Marco was up in the crow’s nest, keeping watch. He noticed bubbles forming. The First Division Commander frowned and turned to his captain.

“Pops! There’s something coming up close to the ship!” He shouted. The crew froze and got ready to fight what ever was coming up. The Polar Tang appeared and Law walked on. Whitebeard frowned. He stood up and disconnected the tubes.

“Trafalgar Law, what brings you to my ship?” Whitebeard asked. Law walked up.

“I’m not here for a fight, Whitebeard. I’m here on behalf of Strawhat Luffy and his Crew.” He said. Ace frowned and stepped forward.

“What’s happened to my brother? If something has happened, I demand you tell me now!” Ace shouted, fire engulfing his form. Whitebeard glanced down at his son.

“Ace, calm yourself. Let Trafalgar speak.” Whitebeard said. Ace calmed down, per his captain’s request. Law sighed.

“You all might want to sit down for this,” he said. The crew took a seat, the division commanders sitting in a circle around Trafalgar. Ace and Marco sat on the left and right of Whitebeard. “Well, for starters, Strawhat-ya found your daughter, Whitebeard. [Y/N].” Law said. Whitebeard’s eyes widened.

“T-that’s impossible. My daughter, [Y/N] disappeared three years ago. She was lost to the unforgiving sea.” He said. Law shook his head.

“No, she wasn’t. About a weak later, [Y/N]-ya was picked up by a World Government ship. Instead of returning her to you, they took her away and made her a slave,” Law explained. Whitebeard’s eyes went wide and tears fell from them.

“Strawhat-ya, Usopp-ya and Tony-ya all found her and took her back to their ship, tending to her until she was back to health.” Law said. Whitebeard wiped the tears away with his large fingers.

“Where is my daughter now?” Whitebeard asked. Law sighed and looked down.

“She’s been kidnapped. By a fishman the Strawhats encountered a while back. His name was Zeo and he has the powers of invisibility. He snuck onto their ship and took [Y/N]-ya away.” Law explained. Whitebeard grit his teeth, looking down. Shadows covered his eyes. Ace frowned and placed his hand on his Pop’s large leg.

“Pops?” Ace asked tentatively. Whitebeard looked up. He glanced down at Marco and Ace.

“Marco, Ace, how would you both like to kick some World officials butts?” Whitebeard asked. Ace smirked and lit up his hand.

“Hell yeah.” Ace said quietly.

Marco smirked and sprouted his wings, landing on his Pop’s shoulder.

“We’d be glad to, Pops.” Marco said. Whitebeard nodded and looked at Law.

“Strawhat-ya is sending me the coordinates of where to meet to come up with a plan. If you don’t mind, my crew and I would like to keep the Polar Tang close to your ship.” He said. Whitebeard nodded.

“Of course. Once you have the coordinates, we’ll set course.” He said. Law nodded. They were going to rescue their beloved [Y/N] even if it costed them their lives.

~Here is Part 2 of the One Piece: Various x Former Slave/Whitebeard’s Daughter Reader series. This series might have more than three parts, I don’t know yet. Anyway, stay tuned for the third part. Please feel free to leave notes and follow me. Thank you all and I hope you are having a great day/night and staying safe.~

#whitebeard pirates #straw hat pirates #heart pirates #family #love #rescue #one-piece-x-reader

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dfroza · 4 years ago

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Today’s reading from the ancient book of Proverbs and book of Psalms

for may 16 of 2021 with Proverbs 16 and Psalm 16, accompanied by Psalm 58 for the 58th day of Spring and Psalm 136 for day 136 of the year

[Proverbs 16]

People go about making their plans,

but the Eternal has the final word.

Even when you think you have good intentions,

He knows your real motives.

Whatever you do, do it as service to Him,

and He will guarantee your success.

The Eternal made everything for a reason.

Even wrongdoers fit in His plans; troubled times await them.

He abhors arrogant people.

Make no mistake about it! They will be punished!

The penalty of sin is removed by love and loyalty;

and by devotion to the Eternal, evil is avoided.

When people make good choices, He is pleased;

He even causes their enemies to live peacefully near them.

Better to have little and stand for what is right

than to become rich by doing what is wrong.

People do their best making plans for their lives,

but the Eternal guides each step.

The king makes a decision under divine inspiration,

but he must never render an unfair judgment.

The Eternal requires that business be conducted honestly;

He wants fairness in all your dealings.

When kings commit evil, it is despicable,

because their thrones should be built on justice.

Kings admire those who tell the truth;

they adore those who set the record straight.

A king’s rage signals that people will die,

but whoever is wise will pacify him.

If a king is smiling brightly, life will be granted;

his favor is like a cloud swelled with the first spring rain.

How much better it is to receive wisdom than the riches of gold

and to gain understanding over some silver prize!

The highway of the just bypasses evil;

those who watch where they’re going protect their lives from sin.

Pride precedes destruction;

an arrogant spirit gives way to a nasty fall.

It is better to be humble and live among the poor,

than to divide up stolen property with the proud.

Those devoted to instruction will prosper in goodness;

those who trust in the Eternal will experience His favor.

The wise at heart have a reputation for understanding;

pleasant words make the lips more persuasive.

Understanding for those who have it is a spring of life,

but it is pointless to try and instruct a fool.

From a wise heart flow careful words;

wise words make the lips more persuasive.

Pleasant words are like a honeycomb:

they drip sweet food for life and bring health to the body.

Before every person lies a road that seems to be right,

but at the end of that road death and destruction wait.

People work to stay alive,

pressed daily by their need to eat.

Good-for-nothings conjure up evil ideas;

their conversations fuel destructive fires.

Perverse people stir up contention;

gossip makes best friends into enemies.

Violent people try to recruit their neighbors,

wanting to lead them down the vile path of evil they have chosen.

Body language can expose a person’s intentions:

whoever winks the eye is planning perversity;

whoever purses his lips is intent on evil.

Gray hair is a crown of honor,

earned by living the right kind of life.

It is better to be a patient man than a mighty warrior,

better to be someone who controls his temper than someone who conquers a city.

We may try to control the roll of the dice,

but actually, the Eternal decides what they will determine.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 16 (The Voice)

[Psalm 16]

The Golden Secret

A precious song, engraved in gold, by David

A prayer of David.

Protect me, God, for the only safety I know is found in the moments I seek You.

I told You, Eternal One, “You are my Lord,

for the only good I know in this world is found in You alone.”

The beauty of faith-filled people encompasses me.

They are true, and my heart is thrilled beyond measure.

All the while the despair of many,

who abandoned Your goodness for the empty promises of false gods, increases day by day.

I refuse to pour out blood offerings,

to utter their names from my lips.

You, Eternal One, are my sustenance and my life-giving cup.

In that cup, You hold my future and my eternal riches.

My home is surrounded in beauty;

You have gifted me with abundance and a rich legacy.

I will bless the Eternal, whose wise teaching orchestrates my days

and centers my mind at night.

He is ever present with me;

at all times He goes before me.

I will not live in fear or abandon my calling

because He stands at my right hand.

This is a good life—my heart is glad, my soul is full of joy,

and my body is at rest.

Who could want for more?

You will not abandon me to experience death and the grave

or leave me to rot alone.

Instead, You direct me on the path that leads to a beautiful life.

As I walk with You, the pleasures are never-ending,

and I know true joy and contentment.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 16 (The Passion Translation / The Voice)

[Psalm 58]

Judge of the Judges

For the Pure and Shining One

King David’s golden song of instruction

To the tune of “Do Not Destroy”

God’s justice? You high and mighty politicians

know nothing about it!

Which one of you has walked in justice toward others?

Which one of you has treated everyone right and fair?

Not one! You only give “justice” in exchange for a bribe.

For the right price you let others get away with murder.

Wicked wanderers even from the womb—that’s who you are!

You lie with your words, and your teaching is poison.

Like cobras closing their ears to the most expert of the charmers,

you strike out against all who are near.

O God, break their fangs;

shatter the teeth of these ravenous lions!

Let them disappear like water falling on thirsty ground.

Let all their weapons be useless.

Let them be like snails dissolving into the slime.

Let them be cut off, never seeing the light of day!

God will sweep them away so fast

that they’ll never know what hit them.

The godly will celebrate in the triumph of good over evil,

and the lovers of God will trample

the wickedness of the wicked under their feet!

Then everyone will say, “There is a God who judges the judges”

and “There is a great reward in loving God!”

The Book of Psalms, Poem 58 (The Passion Translation)

to be accompanied by these lines:

Is this any way to run a country?

Is there an honest politician in the house?

Behind the scenes you weave webs of deceit,

behind closed doors you make deals with demons.

The wicked crawl from the wrong side of the cradle;

their first words out of the womb are lies.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 58:1-3 (The Message)

[Psalm 136]

Let your heart overflow with praise to the Eternal, for He is good,