#if your parents didn't achieve what they wanted before they had you that's their fault NOT yours.

[hannibalismos-jaaneman]

no matter what you do and no matter how empathetic you are, you're never gonna know what it feels like to be your parents and they're never gonna know what it's felt like to be you. you might've been born out of their flesh but the same shoes won't feel the same on either feet. there's no point reconciling the pain you've felt if there's no common ground to be found. you don’t have to apologize to be a horrible offspring if they don't have to apologize to be equally horrible parents. a plant only survives the storm when it bends to the current of the wind.

[wordsmithic]

unpopular opinion but with the new tide of Greek mythology stories and retellings, Greek Cultural Sensitivity Readings are absolutely necessary. We are in 2024, with thousands of fics and retellings out there!! How is this not a thing yet?? There's vast improvement one can achieve by working professionally on their text with a Greek. I've seen it so many times!!

Also, duh, I'm offering the service BUT I want you to know that the situation with the inaccuracies of SERIOUS works is so dire that initially I didn't even do it for money. As a writer I just wanted to... fix things, to set a new standard for writers and the industry that sells us the most heavily Americanized pop-culture material and passes it as "authentic vibes of Greek mythology". (And of course there were writers who wanted to do right by their story and they had reached out to me. So kudos to them as well!)

Okay, but why does Cultural Sensitivity Reading make a vast difference and it's not just smoke and mirrors?

As a Greek, I am tired of well-meaning writers and authors butchering very basic elements of my culture. It's not their fault exactly, since they were raised in another culture with a different perspective. And nobody clued them in on how different Greek culture is from theirs, so writers sometimes assume that their culture is the default and they project that into ancient Greece. (Even published professionals like Madeline Miller have written "UK or US in antiquity" (with a very colonialist flavor) instead of writing "Ancient Greece". (Looking at you, Circe!)

Even writers who researched a lot before coming to me still had a lot of misinformation or wrong information in their text, easily verifiable by the average Greek. Again, not their fault. They can only access certain information, which does not include Greek scholarly work and scientific articles that DO offer valuable context.

Translation, accuracy, and meaning: If you ever wondered what a word means or how to pronounce it, here's your chance! There are Greeks like me who are knowledgeable and have a keen interest in antiquity and they will be able to read and compare ancient texts, and dive deeper into the work of Greek scholars regarding those texts.

If you want to create new words, you can do that as well! (It doesn't always work, but we can try. Greek is a really rich language and has a word about everything) If you use existing words, I can help you separate reality from fantasy in the context of your story.

(Do not assume we Greeks are ignorant of our heritage, or that we don't know how to research! Our archaeology sector is huge and archaeological museums are closer to most of us than your local Target is to you)

I guarantee there are things you never thought about Greece and the Mediterranean - from the ancient to the modern era. Sprinkling elements like phrases, types of interactions, customs, songs, instruments, dances, etc , into your text will make your text absolutely rich in culture.

Names matter!!! The genders of the names matter, diminutives matter (If I see one more "Perse" for Persephone I will claw my eyes out along with a few thousand Greeks), naming traditions matter!!! In many cases you should not even use a diminutive!!

You will be able to write about a foreign culture easily! Because of the continuity of Greek culture, you can even write a few more recent Greek elements to fill in the gaps. I can make sure they are not mismatched, and they will complement your ancient setting. I have observed a few things I didn't know we had since antiquity, but they make sense because our land has certain characteristics.

Non-Greek writers often miss the whole context of Greek culture! Do you know how Greek respect towards deities and parents looks like? What tones we use when we talk to our elders? When to use honorific plural - if your setting is more modernized?

Oh, and please let's avoid caricatures when describing Greeks?? (even fantasy Greeks) There can be heavy exotisation and odd descriptions of Greeks, as if we are another species. Even in published works. For many western writers it's difficult to catch, unfortunately.

The whole process is actually way easier than you think. You send me a text, I make notes and then we have some discussion on your vision.

It's always okay to seek guidance from the locals! You are not "guilty" when you admit you don't know! How can you know if you don't ask?? You can't imagine what relief and "πάλι καλά!!!" I read/see from other Greeks when I tell them another foreigner is using me for cultural sensitivity? Greeks want you to seek help and will NOT shame you for it!

(On the contrary, you have no idea how many eye-rolls Greeks do when they see a blatantly wrong thing in a story... Which has happened pretty often for many years now. Can we do better as an industry?? Please???)

You can send me a personal message to share your story, or ask what this whole cultural sensitivity thing is all about, or ask about what I have done so far and how I can help. But for the love of all that's good, don't let your story be another "generic greek myth retelling"! And don't let others sell you their generic greek myth retellings!!

[ardranaline]

only choose if you feel called to

pick an emoji reading. I did this personally in a group chat and everyone resonated so I decided to post it here.

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🌼-you left a ambitious or goal because you were scared. you were not confident in yourself, you didn't know what steps to take. you were confused between multiple options, you didn't want to choose any of them.

🌼-this is very materialistic so a job or your family had asked you to make a choice and you're not willing to make the choice. you're scared of the future because you don't want the past to repeat itself, the past you who's scared and indecisive.

🌼-but very soon you'll realise what mistake you had in your thinking, you'll realise the faults and be able to clearly see your negative aspects as well as others negative aspects. which will push you to understand what actually benefits you and is truly good for you.

🌼-what you had left in the past, be it learning a skill, gym / exercise or personal development. you will gain confidence to finish because you actually know your flaws & mistakes so you focus on improving yourself where it is necessary.

🌼-by doing this you're gonna overcome a blockage in your life and achieve this personal goal. big congrats on not giving up and pursuing and finally understanding where you had to put your efforts. comment 💚 if this resonated

🍋-you were recently denied a desire. your parents denied you a trip, moving out of the house. some of you may even be denied a new bike / car.

🍋- you're very passionate about this but there's not support or any authority helping you so you can't get forward & progress. be careful of headaches and hurting your leg, ankles or knee pain and ankle pain. some should be careful to not eat the wrong medication.

🍋

🍋 - you want to step out of your comfort zone. you want to be more independent. you want to get lost so you can find yourself, you want to wonder and observe yourself grow in absolute freedom. but you're unsure how to achieve it. this might be even a thing that you're manifesting for long. you have to stop forcing and asking for it because I am seeing that it will naturally come to you.

🍋-this will cause people to envy you or wish bad upon you so be careful of that. it is just a matter of timing before you get this. comment 🤍 if this resonated

[ashen-char]

dating max fox - hcs

ship: max fox (better things) x gender neutral reader

warnings: none

notes: look at her she's so cute!!!!

✦ sleeps in. she'd sleep until mid-afternoon if you let her. and max is hard to wake up since she's so stubborn

✧ on days where you two don't have to do much, it's easiest to let her sleep on your chest while you scroll on your phone

✧ when max wakes up, she likes to keep cuddling with you and just watch what you're doing on your phone

✧ she's a big fan of TikTok time, which is where you scroll on your FYP and you both crack jokes and watch together. max is singlehandedly ruining your FYP algorithm by liking the most random stuff

✧ e.g. she watches parenting tips all the way through, making TikTok think you wanna see more. when you tease her about it, max says it's "for our future" and either holds your hand or kisses your cheek

✧ she says sleeping next to you is the most comfortable and safe she's ever felt <3

✧ adores cuddles. can't get enough of them. max always curls up next to you and you can tell if it was a tough day if she doesn't want to talk much

✦ tells you all about her siblings

✧ max doesn't like to show it and would never admit it to them, but she's so proud watching frankie and duke become people. she tells you about their latest achievements, or the rants about the last fight they had

✧ if a fight with her mom/siblings was particularly nasty, max comes to you for comfort. max worries about if she's gone too far, and you reassure her that they know she cares

✧ speaking of her family bond, it was crucial to max that you fit in with everyone. and of course, you were welcomed with open arms and immediate inside jokes

✧ max called them all embarrassing (she loved it)

✦ max isn't afraid to express her feelings, and that can lead to lashing out if she feels scared or angry

✧ she says things more harshly than she means to, which was hard for you at the start when you didn't know how much of a softie she is

✧ it didn't take long for max to realise she was messing things up. and she really liked you. so she decided to be vulnerable

✧ her hopes, fears, dreams, she shared them all. max couldn't bear you thinking that she didn't care when really the reason why she lashed out was because she cared so much.

✧ she's scared of losing you. and sometimes max worries that she's too much, or she's too freaked out about everything, so she closes herself off

✧ like, maybe you'll like her more if she deals with her shit alone and only has good times with you

✧ when you assure her that you want every part of her, the good and the bad, max completely breaks down

✧ you were surprised by how insecure your girl really is. under that confident persona, in some ways max is still that little kid that was rattled by her parents' divorce

✧ does love actually exist? can it last? was it her fault?

✧ not to mention all of max's past break-ups and short-term relationships

✧ she admitted that before you, max used to wonder if she was meant to go it alone forever. that she'd be too intense for anyone to stick around if they weren't forced to - like her family or her best friend, paisley

✧ you need to reassure her. a lot. but it's so worth it when max opens up. she wouldn't agree with you, but you think she's the best at love that you've ever seen

✧ despite her tough exterior, max is fiercely loyal. she'll stand by your side through thick and thin. she's got unwavering support and all the encouragement you need, even if that's with a lot of swearing and colourful imagery

✦ max's creative flair means all the romance.

✧ impromptu poetry readings. a surprise song about you, with max serenading you on her guitar. a pottery class where you make matching plates. homemade dinners under the stars (yes, it's a little burnt but she tried her hardest)

✧ she just likes creating shared memories with you, even if something ends up going haywire

✧ max also has this rebellious streak and thirst for adventure. your dates are spontaneous and never the same as the last. she'll surprise you by impulsively taking you on a road trip and you'll have the time of your life

✦ the love language(s) that max finds easiest to express is physical touch and quality time

✧ with max being the oldest, she has the most memories of life when her parents were still together. she knows how important time together is, because her dad not being around was the beginning of the end

✧ which is why max loves being with you in comfortable silence. she adores having someone she can just be chill with, someone who doesn't judge, and likes her the way she is

✧ max likes taking care of you when you're sick. she'll make soup and some hot tea, and even ask sam for some home remedy, bringing that all up to you on a tray

✧ then, she'll sit with you and tell you about her day. even if you're sweating out a fever, max doesn't care. she'll play with your hair and dab your forehead with a towel

✦ the love language that max loves to receive is words of affirmation

✧ that's actually why she fell for you in the first place - you gave her a genuine compliment when you first met and max couldn't stop thinking about it

✧ you give her compliments on things that she didn't know others would notice or admire about her. every one makes her blush and playfully shove you away

✧ max tells you that you've made her a better person <3

[theheirofthesharingan]

I don’t know if you’ve talked about this here but what do you think was Itachi’s motivation for torturing Sasuke?

I did. I wrote about it here and some relevant words here too. The first post will answer most of your questions, but I'm going to answer this one anyway.

Itachi did not torture Sasuke because he thought he was doing something right. He knew he was very, very wrong, but it was necessary because he'd been threatened by Danzo that if his brother learned the truth, Sasuke would go against the village, and get killed.

Danzo, even when Itachi was alive, sent Sai to kill Sasuke, on the name of protecting the village, whereas he wouldn't do anything about Orochimaru, knowing full well Team 7 was actually chasing Orochimaru as well.

Think from Itachi's POV who was leaving his brother in Konoha.

Konoha was a place Itachi had killed his parents. The same place and the people in power to whom he lost Shisui. Sasuke, a defenceless child, could be in a much worse state. Itachi hoped if he were cruel, Sasuke would have a reason to want to live and get strong. Uchiha are driven by emotions and that's what helps them get stronger. Sasuke with Sharingan or MS would have a better chance at survival than a Sasuke who had no access to those powers.

One more thing is that he wanted Sasuke to kill him. So, Sasuke hating the monster that Itachi had become was important. And after killing him, he wouldn't want Sasuke to live in a regret that he'd killed a brother who loved him. Therefore, he wanted Sasuke to remember him as a monster, so that if anyone ever told him 'Hey, your brother loved you', Sasuke would only remember all the pain Itachi had caused him, not all the love he had in his heart. Because Itachi knew what that would do to Sasuke.

In his whole life Itachi had never known a life that was not traumatizing. That was like a default mode for him. To him, a life like that was still better than being dead. He still cried leaving Sasuke, because causing him pain was the last thing he wanted to do.

And when he returns the second time, Itachi didn't want to come across Sasuke at all. He sees Sasuke from afar and learns he's alive and he leaves before Sasuke can even spot he was there. He then leaves the village to capture Naruto. Itachi's purpose of coming to the village was to check on Sasuke. He does that when he sees him. The next was to show Danzo and the elders that he was still alive and he does that with confronting the Konoha Jonin. And then he follows Jiraiya and Naruto out of the village. If it was only to leave the message that the Akatsuki were after Naruto, he could have done it easily without having to follow Naruto out of the village.

He did it because he didn't want to come across Sasuke. Sasuke isn't a sensory-type ninja, so how would he know where Itachi was, even if he were to learn that he was back in Konoha? He wanted to see Sasuke only when Sasuke was ready to kill him. But things didn't turn out that way.

It's not Sasuke's fault that he was there and Itachi was 10000000% wrong in going to the extreme to torture him, but I despise the narrative that 'Itachi was a cruel and manipulative bastard' when literally every single moment leading up to this moment tells us he was trying to avoid Sasuke, let alone hurt him.

Itachi 'manipulated' Sasuke - the word manipulation works only with your textbook definition of the term because a lot of lies and deceit was involved in how Itachi treated the whole thing, but manipulation always is done with the purpose of using someone for their own good and with a self-serving goal in mind.

Danzo manipulated Itachi to exterminate the Uchiha clan. Orochimaru manipulated Sasuke because he wanted his body. Obito manipulated Sasuke so he could use Sasuke against Konoha. Kabuto tried to manipulate Sasuke to fulfill how own goal of attacking Konoha.

What personal, selfish goal did Itachi have in mind that he wanted to achieve by making Sasuke live? His safety? His life?

The foundation of Itachi's morals was rather fragile because of the way he'd lived, killing people, preferring one kind of lives over the others, and having to make the decisions where lives were always at stake and he had to save them. To him, either it was a strong, powerful, and traumatized Sasuke or a dead Sasuke. And he loved Sasuke too much to kill him. And if he had some better options (in which he was certain that Sasuke would be happier too) he would not have taken the extreme measures. He saw the world was cruel to the Uchiha and once he was gone Sasuke would be all by himself. He only understood Sasuke had a better chance because he had Naruto. But it happened after he had already hurt Sasuke enough.

As outsiders, yes, we understand he choices he made were messed up and thoroughly wrong, but they were made in wake of the life and experiences he'd lived through, and violence and hopelessness he'd experienced firsthand.

[californiannostalgia]

Processing identity as a child abuse survivor

Recently I had a huge revelation. Come with me on this childhood trauma realization journey (if you want).

This post was written for those wavering on the 'was it abuse' question.

Fair warning, each of these revelations were a whammy. I recommend you keep in mind that these revelations will transform the way you see yourself and the world. This took me out of commission for hours at a time.

Revelation 1: Was I Abused?

Read this Tumblr post. Go down the list. Check the 'yes'es and 'maybe's.

'Was I abused' is a yes or no question. I need you to really think about this if your answer is 'kind of'. If you could be truly honest with yourself, what would your answer be?

For years I've gone to the logic of 'it wasn't that bad,' and 'at least the worst didn't happen,' or 'others have had it worse'. This is such a low bar. You deserve better than the bar your parents set for you. The socioeconomic circumstances and the normalization of violence in your living area? Yes, influential. But not a justification.

At the end of the day, the veracity of these statements don't even matter. It's a yes or no question: 'Am I a survivor of child abuse?'

It may take a really long time to truly process, and even then it might feel uncomfortable saying it like it's truth. I need you to know your truth is truth. It's a yes or no question.

Take a break. I recommend you don't progress further until you've processed Revelation 1.

(Shameless plug-in of my fandom blorbo interests: Rick Riordan's Trials of Apollo series really helped me with this first revelation. It made me feel seen and less alone. It may not be perfect, but I personally liked it!)

Revelation 2: What does this mean? (health-wise)

Listen to this Ted Talk by an expert (medical professional).

This is the part where I got angry and really fucking sad. Let yourself be sad. Let yourself be furious. Our life is not our fault and we're still stuck with this lot.

Genuinely this was such a shock for me to realize. The thing that has the biggest impact on my life is not my anxiety, depression, ptsd, insomnia, blood pressure, immune health, etc. The root cause of my physical and mental illnesses is Adverse Childhood Experiences.

ACE is more common than you'd think. Acknowledging that what happened to you was bad will be beneficial to humanity's survival in the long run. Like any illness, ACE can be fought at a societal level.

Take a break. I recommend you don't progress to the next revelation until you've processed Revelation 2.

Take your time to be angry and sad. Take forever. You never have to forgive your abuser, even if they change their behavior. The chance at a civil acquaintanceship you might be willing to extend to your parents doesn't require your forgiveness.

.

Revelation 3: Why is your therapist recommending you retell your life story?

This one is mostly for when you have steady access to a therapist. Here are some things I wish I'd known before seeking out therapy in the US.

(Is it shitty that you can't get therapy on your own terms when you're underage? Yes, it fucking is. To those of us who survived to adulthood: holy shit y'all. At 19 I felt like absolute fucking bullshit, like my brain was a burning ball of tangled barbed wire. It does feel absolutely shitty. But reaching 19 is an achievement.)

The thing is, I do or say a lot of things that I later come to think of as embarrassing, inappropriate, or in certain circumstances, potentially abusive. Genuine trigger reactions happen. I will always have to live with a piece of my parents in my head. But I don't want to do to another person what they did to me. Self-awareness is what separates me from my abusers.

What to do about this? Number 1: chill out. You're not gonna be your abuser. Humans are unique and imperfect. They have not replicated themselves in you. It's okay to make mistakes when you're talking or reacting. Your brain is fucked up. You can do something differently next time.

Number 2: read this article about Overthinking, Over-apologizing, Oversharing, and Overwhelmed as trauma responses.

Then read this article on how to deal with Unresolved Trauma.

Yeah. It be like that. Isn't it fucked up? Recognizing the four Os in my behavior helped me realize I'm not an antisocial asshole by default.

Unresolved trauma is the root cause for my behaviors that I think of as unhealthy. This revelation happened very recently for me. Before this point in time, I couldn't understand why I would want to recount traumatic events in therapy.

At this point in time, I have regular access to a therapist I'm okay with. Going over memories and deconstructing the blame system seems like a reasonable thing to try.

What happened to you as a child is not your fault. You're not the one who landed yourself in your life. You've been given an unfairly difficult situation to be responsible for. You did not create your coping mechanisms for shits and giggles.

So yeah. Number 3: figure out your life with the help of a therapist. Let's see where we are ten years later or something.

Nothing is easy and everything is confusing. Take a break, hydrate, eat, sleep, do something nice for yourself. Do something you like doing. Thanks for reading.

[ser3nityst4r]

Ninth Head

The wind blew fiercely as Riddle, the stoic Housewarden of Heartslabyul, stood triumphant, his eyes gleaming with a chilling victory. Ace and Deuce, their faces flushed with defeat, hung their heads, their initial bravado shattered. Yuu, their friend and confidante, watched in disbelief, a fire of righteous anger simmering within.

'Hmph. You didn't even last five seconds. That was all you had, and still you thought to challenge me?' Riddle sneered, his voice laced with disdain. 'You must be utterly humiliated. I guess my mother was right. A man who cannot follow rules is a man who cannot achieve anything.'

Deuce, his anger simmering, retorted, 'Tch... We agree that rules should be followed. But forcing others to follow nonsensical rules like the ones you've enacted is tyranny!'

Yuu, her voice shaking with indignation, chimed in, 'You can't just abuse your rights as a Housewarden to do whatever you please.'

Riddle scoffed, his arrogance unwavering, 'I am the one who decides what is wrong and right! What sort of pitiful education have you received, that you cannot follow such simple rules? Clearly, you were born to parents with no great magical capability. And as a result… You lack even the basic education necessary to attend a school such as this. It's quite sad.” He feigned pity, attempting to provoke the trio.

Deuce, his jaw clenched, his anger reaching its peak at the mention of his parents, snapped, “You little…” 

Before anyone could react, Ace, with lightning-fast reflexes, delivered a sharp jab to Riddle's face, silencing his mocking words. 'Eugh! T-That hurt!' Riddle sputtered, his composure shattered.

Ace, his voice steady and fierce, countered, 'Kids aren't trophies for their parents to flaunt. And the accomplishments of a child aren't determined by the worth of their parents. It's not your parents' fault you became a tyrant - or anyone else's. You've been here a year and haven't even made a friend who will tell you you're outta line. And that's on you. Maybe you had some rigid upbringing from a relentless helicopter-mom. Is that all you are? An extension of her? Can't you think for yourself? You call yourself the 'red sovereign'? You're just a baby who's good at magic.'

Riddle, his face now crimson with fury, screamed, 'Shut up, Shut up! You know nothing about me! My mother is right and that means I'm also right!' Grim snarled “What kinda logic is that?!” Ears flaring with blue flames as his claws came out at the aggravation of the situation.

Crowley, the Headmaster, appeared at the scene, his voice echoing with authority, 'The challenger has been disqualified due to physical violence. If you do not cease your conflict now, I'll have you written up for breaking school rules!'

But Riddle, lost in his own self-righteous fury, ignored Crowley's warning. And then, out of the blue, an egg sailed through the air, striking Riddle squarely on the head. 

'Huh? An egg?' Riddle mumbled, bewildered, until he saw the bright yellow yolk dripping down his face. 'Heh heh... Ah ha ha ha! You say YOU'RE fed up?! I'M the one who's fed up with all of YOU! No matter how strict I am, no matter how many heads I remove, you keep breaking the rules! All any of you care about is doing what YOU want to do! If the guilty party won't come forward, then I'll pass judgment on all of you! Clearly, none of you value your heads!'

Cater and Trey, sensing the escalating danger, rushed to intervene. “Cease this improper behavior now, Mr. Rosehearts,” Crowley commanded. “I expect better from you.” But his words fell on deaf ears.

With a malevolent grin, Riddle unleashed his power, his dark emotions surging through him. Rose bushes erupted from the ground, their thorns twisting and growing, reaching for Yuu, Ace, and Deuce. 'Mighty roses, tear this brute to pieces!' he roared, his voice infused with venomous rage.

The air crackled with wicked magic, engulfing the courtyard in a dark and dangerous aura. The crimson roses, fueled by Riddle’s anger, began to slither and dance, their thorns glowing with an ominous red light. The courtyard was plunged into darkness, and the chilling cries of the roses filled the air, carrying with them a promise of impending doom.

[elvisabutler]

watch the smoke pour out the doors

summary: elvis presley, the real elvis presley, not whatever they like claiming is the man should be dead. at the very least he should be looking about two decades older than the man in front of you. and yet. elvis presley wishes the las vegas hilton- formerly the international- was a pile of rubble or ash. he enlists your help after a chance meeting. fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) | austin butler rating: m pairing: elvis presley x female reader word count: 8012 warnings: major character death! choking. stalking behavior. the colonel being the worst. being trapped in one place. general depression. elvis is an asshole in this. fade to back sex ( p in v ). kind of yandere elvis? blood. vampire bites and general vampire shenanigans. mention of burn scars. fire in relation to buildings. excessive use of nicknames like lil bunny and spitfire. author’s note: heed that first warning y'all. this does not have a happy ending. i've had this brewing since september/october of last year and it's partially based on @venus-haze's vampire elvis headcanons seen here. so what really stuck with me in her comment about the fact that she took "I’ve been playing this mausoleum for 1,000 years" and ran with it. i took bits and bobs from her headcanons and ta da. also the fire i reference happening in 1981 did actually happen. i hope y'all like this even if this ending is a doozy. y'all know the drill real elvis or austin elvis can be imagined- if the moodboard didn't clue you in. also for musical vibes i have literally only ever really truly listened to meant to be yours from the heathers musical. also i did not add a tag list because this is- this is a fic and i was not about to make any of y'all tumble into it without wanting to.

Las Vegas is hot and is so sun filled that you hate it. You've always hated it but that might not have been the city's fault. Once upon a time you thought it would be your salvation but isn't that always the joke with everyone when it comes to the city. The salvation away from LA, because if you fail there Las Vegas will welcome you with open arms and remind you that what happens there stays there. It keeps you from going back to Memphis with your tail between your legs and being forced to tell your parents that you failed at your big dream. The dream that they supported you on but always figured you'd fail at. Your job pays the bills and you keep your clothes on, which considering the amount of bills you have, well that was a feat for you to achieve.

Working the front desk at the Las Vegas Hilton was challenging, mostly due to the customers with their requests that occasionally bordered on silly and nonsensical but you could handle it. It was nothing too horrible and there was certain pleasure in learning that you managed to pull off keeping some of the higher class- the celebrity clients happy. Of course, nights like this- busy nights with half your staff gone because of any number of problems- made you want to set fire to the building so that you didn't have to deal with this job. Your boss has you running around in what you swear is every direction until she physically stops you with her hands, gripping your shoulders and forcing you to stay put for just a minute.

"Elvis wants a delivery to his room." She says, her face twisting into one of sheer displeasure.

You raise your eyebrow and shake your head. "You mean the Elvis impersonator up in the penthouse. Why does everyone insist on calling him Elvis? We all know it's not him him- like-" The look she gives you is one you've realized means you need to shut up right in that exact moment because if you didn't you were liable to get yourself in a whole lot of trouble so you swallow the rest of your sentence and roll your eyes. "Got it, me and penthouse and his delivery of whatever to his room. Got it."

Your boss mouths a quick thank you before pointing to the kitchen area. It doesn't take you very long to reach there despite your heels and aching feet but it does take the kitchen staff a minute to realize you're standing there all gussied up ready to take whatever it is Mr. Presley wants. What he wants is apparently a feast befitting of a king- heh- and more packs of cigars than you thought one human being capable of smoking in any reasonable time frame but you remember those pictures of him back in the day. The pictures you'd see in your parents' house, in your grandparents' house of him smoking something. Maybe it was just someone who was honestly committed to the bit even if it meant wrecking their lungs and their voice. Once you actually manage to get everything, it's a surprisingly quick walk to the elevator and to the penthouse. For once your heels don't wobble as they have an annoying tendency to do so when you get this much stuff needing to be carried and you easily make it to the door of the penthouse and knock only to realize that your series of knocks have made the door open all on its own.

The room itself is dark, the curtains drawn so not even the light of the strip finds its way into it. It feels not like a tomb, you reason, with the temperature reaching levels that feel almost as if you've entered one. The cold wraps around you and has you shivering in your light blouse and work pants as you look for a free space, a table really to set down the items he requested. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the lack of light but you manage to avoid hitting anything and set the tray onto what you're mostly positive is a table- be it an end table or an actual dining table. You straighten up after you set it down and something feels off to you, feels as if you're being watched. That can't be though, yes Elvis- or whoever it's supposed to be up here had requested the items but that didn't mean they were stalking you from the dark.

Except the feeling doesn't go away and you know so very well that you ought to move, that you should get out of the room and back downstairs where it's busy and you don't feel the faint sensation of worrying that you'll be murdered. You don't though, it's as if your feet are firmly planted in that spot, like you want to see just why you're feeling this particular way. After what feels like an eternity you feel the air around you shift, a small gust of warmth pass by your back and that is the cue for your body to finally turn around. What you see when you turn around shocks you to your very core and makes you think you've got to be hallucinating.

It's like you've seen a ghost when you realize who you're staring at in the darkness of the room. There's always been whispers that Elvis is actually still alive, that he's alive and the person who's been recording the music and performing shows was still him. After all, despite so much information about his relationship with his manager coming out there was no lawsuit coming from the family and that had to mean he was alive. Looking at the man in front of you, looking at the parts you can see of his face that aren't obscured by a half mask over his face- you think they might be right just not in the way everyone assumed. After all, if you take off the mask, the man in front of you looks like he hasn't aged a day since about 1972 or maybe 1974.

Your parents had pictures of him plastered among the walls of your childhood home so you're familiar with the shape of his jaw, his nose and those eyes- those stunning blue eyes. You're familiar with all the facial features that make up one Elvis Presley and seeing them up close and personal as opposed to on stage? There's no mistaking who's in front of you. It's Elvis fucking Presley in the flesh, looking nowhere near the almost 60 he should be. His eyes though- the eyes you're looking at are just as stunning as the blue ones you've always heard about but you can see a hint of what looks like red in the pupil. It confuses you enough to have you moving closer to him to investigate. He raises an eyebrow and tilts his head.

"That's new. Most of ya jus' hide and run away like scared cats." He huffs, allowing you to step closer and peer at his eyes.

"Do I seem like most people, Elvis?" You ask, you accent thickening as your hand against your will finds its way to his mask-covered cheek in an effort to pull him closer, only to have him practically snarl at you and grab your wrist.

"Do that and I'll rip your throat out with my teeth." His warning is accompanied by his eyes narrowing and his canines finding themselves on full display, showing you just how dangerous he could be. Yet, you find yourself raising your own eyebrows.

"Ya mean like you've done with a lot of my former coworkers?" It's suddenly making sense, how a lot of the times girls who went up here wouldn't come back and would suddenly have family emergencies. "Ya said it yourself, most of us jus' hide and run away. Do I look scared?"

The laugh that leaves his mouth sounds downright evil and sinister, like he truly is a devil waiting to ruin anyone who comes near him and you can't help the rush of arousal and fear that shudders through your system. His grip tightens on your wrist. "Oh, darlin'. Ya don't look it but that heart o' yours. Oh, she's betrayin' ya like nothin' else. Tellin' me you want to bolt like a lil scared bunny."

You hate how you swear you can feel your heart jump at those words, proving him right in the worst sort of way. You want to argue with him, want to tell him that his hearing must be going off and he's hearing someone else's heartbeat but you know better- you know from the glint you see in his eyes that there isn't a chance for that lie to fly. Instead you purse your lips and move to pull your wrist out of his grasp. "I haven't yet. And ya haven't tried to kill me yet."

His grip loosens but he takes the opportunity to pull you closer just enough so when he leans forward his lips are brushing your ear as his whisper is practically a short brush of air against it. "Yet." Finally, he lets go of your wrist and steps away from you, his eyes darting to the tray you brought. "All in one piece. You are better than the rest of 'em."

If anyone else were to say that, if you had heard it from an Elvis that looked the age he was supposed to be and didn't look like Dracula you might have preened, enjoying the compliment for what it was. Hearing it from him? Hearing it from a man who you feel will murder you the second you turn your back? All that accomplishes is making you shiver in fear. When you look at his face you see a grin that tells you that's exactly what he wanted to see.

You realize in that moment that you need to leave, you don't know if Elvis is planning on trying to hurt you or if he's just toying with you. Either way it's- it sets you on edge enough that your feet that had seemingly forgotten how to move manage to remember how as you turn away from Elvis, not bothering to give him a response beyond what your body had already inadvertently done.

"There we go, there's that runnin' I'm used to." Elvis chuckles, allowing you to move further away from him slowly inching to the door. "Even if ya practically movin' slow as molasses. Scared but bein' smart 'bout it, ain't cha?"

An answer dances on the tip of your tongue, a joke or a quip about how you'd be a fool to turn your back on a predator or to bolt from a predator. Either way you'd be seen as his prey and arguably easy prey at that. The answer dies on your lips as you feel a rush of air by you and see Elvis opening and holding the door to his room open for you. His grin looks full of promise and is all teeth in a way that sets you on edge.

"Go on, darlin', I'll let ya go. Ain't like I can't find ya 'round here." His eyes rake over your form and you'd think you'd be disgusted as you normally are when someone looks at you like that. Instead you have to suppress the shiver of something that passes through you. "'Specially if ya do that."

You don't dignify his words with a response as you exit hearing some whisper of the word fun and a dark laugh. If the speed of your steps increase once the door shuts. Well, that was your own business between you and whatever God saw fit to abandon you just a bit ago.

As it turns out Elvis is a very persistent man- a fact not tempered and instead heightened by the years he's lived. True to his word, he did know exactly where to find you though actually meeting up with you seemed to be beyond his reach. No, instead you found yourself being bombarded with gifts. Gifts you'd think Elvis couldn't provide and yet there they were. You wondered just how he was getting these things to you but the thought didn't fill you with any sort of delight so you chose not to dwell. It all comes to a head when before your shift one night there was a new outfit on your doorstep. A simple red blouse with a black pinstripe skirt. That in and of itself wouldn't be a problem and yet the true issue was the note.

Took a guess on your size, lil Bunny. You can tell me if I'm right tonight after my show.

It is your size and you have idea how he could tell that let alone how he knew these were your favorite colors and that you favored pinstripes for your dresswear. If you dwell on it for too long some sense of fear and flattered feelings settle deep within your stomach.

The only reason you wear the outfit is because every other work appropriate outfit you have is currently in the wash. A fact that is true purely due to your own laziness and is something you want to curse yourself for. You consider actually going to the show, entirely aware that you could but you're loath to give him the satisfaction. Instead you wait until around the time the show ends to make your way to his room utilizing your ability to have extra keys of rooms to make your way inside. He's not there yet so you sit in a chair and wait in the dark. Dramatic, yes, but you figure it seemed fitting given the circumstances. Perhaps he might even respect the flourish of it, the flourish of you waiting for his own dramatic person in the dark as if he couldn't rip your throat out in an instant.

You almost doze off waiting for him but when he finally arrives he opens his door with a sigh, completely ignoring you before he walks slowly over to you, silent as a church mouse. He opens his mouth to say something as his teeth glitter in the light of the strip coming from the window but you cut him off.

"Is this all supposed to charm me?" A simple question but one that has him chuckling lowly as you try and get up only to be stopped by his hand on your shoulder.

"It working?" His eyes zero in on your skirt before he shrugs. "Fits you like a damn glove. Knew I guessed right."

"You guessed-" You try and take his hand off your shoulder before realizing it only makes him push down just that little bit harder. "I didn't ask for clothes or jewelry or- for you to even still be trying to talk to me. What do you even want from me? My blood?"

"If I wanted to suck ya dry of all your blood, I'd've done it already darlin'. Nah, that'd be a damn waste of a spitfire like ya." Elvis murmurs as his eyes trace your form. "Think we'll have more fun with you alive and me alive as I'll ever be. 'Less ya gonna tell me you've gotta death wish."

You scoff at him, your lips curling up into a sneer. "I didn't even know ya were honestly still alive, what makes ya think ya were a part of any death wish I might have?"

"The fact that your heart insists on goin' a mile a minute 'round me. Or when you shivered like ya did. Might not have realized I was 'round but now that ya do-" His tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Think ya'd enjoy dyin' with me drainin' the life from ya."

You shouldn't think the idea is enjoyable but you can't help the way your legs reflexively clench together. "Mr. Pres-"

"Elvis. Lil bunny, lil spitfire of a woman. You were waitin' f'me in the dark. Could've rushed in 'n torn out that pretty lil throat of yours 'fore I realized it was you. And wouldn't that've been a cryin' shame. Waste of a woman like ya."

It's flattering the way he calls you a spitfire and the way he leans close to you whispering it to you like a long lost lover. You reason your reaction stems from not being intimate with anyone for a while but truly perhaps it just is Elvis's natural charm. A shake of your head is all you manage to do before clearing your throat to speak. "Elvis. That- That was the point not- Ya needed to be caught off guard. Startled. And-"

The laugh he lets out is low and mocking. "Oh darlin' you wanted to surprise a vampire. You- God, you're somethin' else. Maybe- Stay here tonight. Don't got plans, know that."

The unfortunate truth of the matter that he's correct. You don't have plans but spending the night and staying there with him has you shaking your head once again. That is the exact opposite of anything you want to do. "No. Find- They'll send up another girl if ya ask them to or have- I don't know, I'm not staying here tonight."

His hand that's been on your shoulder moves to your neck and traces the lines of it gently as he leans forward and lets a nail act almost as if he's going to prepare it to be pierced by his teeth. "Not even if I have somethin' to tell ya. Somethin' interestin'?"

Your face perks up for a moment at the thought of just what he might want to tell you before you frown. "Not even- I want to go home Mr-"

"Elvis. Not. Mr. Presley. Not to ya." The words are growls in your ear and involuntarily your mouth opens up and lets out a soft whimper and whine. At the noise his hand moves to stroke your clavicle. "Just for tonight. Won't- Don't plan on doing what your body seems to want me t'do. Just wanna talk."

You use the fact that his hand isn't directly pushing you down to slip out of the chair. His eyes widen in shock before he moves to pull you into his arms. He doesn't bother to move fast, more preoccupied with seeing your reaction. You take a step or two back and he drops his arms to his side before motioning to the door. "'Nother night then, Y/N. 'Nother night." A beat. "I won't stop."

Whatever you want to say just comes out as a hiss of anger almost like you're a cat before you slink out the door. Once you're in the elevator you sink to the floor and try to steady your breathing, you try to tamp down on your arousal and try and ignore the part of your brain craving to find out just what he wanted to talk to you about.

That craving doesn't leave you and if you didn't know any better you'd think it was supernatural the way it worms its way into your mind and settles in popping up at the worst possible times. It only takes a week before you find yourself waiting for him in the dark again, wearing a pinstripe pair of pants and the red blouse he had given you. You don't mean to fall asleep waiting for him this time but you do, only to wake up when you feel the presence of something staring at you. By this point his show had been over for an hour and he's in a robe that looks- soft. "Rise n' shine, lil bunny."

You scramble a bit, shocked and mortified that you fell asleep before you look at Elvis who is just sitting casually as can be in a chair next to yours. Your eyes drift over him before you bite your lip. "I'm only here to- I want to know what ya were going to tell me last week. And I want ya to stop- I want to not have a bunch of gifts every day."

His shoulders move in a shrugging motion before he shakes his head. "I got no problem tellin' ya about it, but 'less you're gonna help, ya still gonna get the gifts."

"Why do ya- I don't want- That's not how you charm someone into helping ya." You cycle through words faster than you mean to, more confused than anything else at what he's saying. "What do ya even need my help for?"

It's a valid question, you figure, after all he's a vampire and you are still very much a human but he hums, waving off the question before moving his chair to face you and to essentially pin you into being stuck in your own chair. "It's how I figure you'll be charmed." He pauses. "Lil outta practice wit' th'other one. As for what I need ya help for-" He trails off and pulls off the mask obscuring part of his face to reveal a burn scar that is noticeable enough to have you gasping. "Need ya to help me avoid doin' this again. Don't feel like burnin' up like that on the other side. Let alone anywhere else."

Several moments pass before you finally find the words to articulate your question that aren't just straight confused noises. "Are ya asking me to help ya set fire to something?" He cannot be asking you to do that. You have to be dead and this is just a very vivid post death hallucination.

For his part Elvis nods slowly, looking you dead in the eye with the most laconic face as he answers you. "I'm askin' ya t'help me set fire to this place."

"The hotel?" Your tone shifts up about 2 octaves and you swear your voice just whistles instead of actually speak. "Where I work? Where you perform?"

That same laconic look doesn't leave Elvis's face. "The one I tried to set fire to in '81 only to burn half my face? That very one, lil bunny."

You can't help but laugh though it's not something normal and sensible that comes out of your mouth. No, it's a high pitched mildly terrified giggle that leaves your mouth. He's- He is asking you to commit arson with him. To help him set fire to a place he's performed at since the 1970s. That you work at. He cannot be serious. "You're- You're joking. I- I have Elvis Presley who is apparently a vampire stalking me so that I can help him set fire to a hotel because you fucked up the first time?"

The giggle is still there before his hand darts out and wraps around your throat, tightening just slightly. "Keep laughin' lil one. Keep laughin' and I'll rip that throat clean out. Won't even be recognizable."

His hand steals your breath away from you as you try to take a breath only to have him tighten it more. He- He won't kill you, you don't think, this is just to scare you, to make you want to do what he's asking for but your vision is starting to blur just a bit and you can't help the way your eyes are starting to roll back in your head before suddenly you can breathe. You cough a little violently as air rushes back into your lungs before you glare at him, pushing the chair back in order to stand up. "You keep threatening to kill me, ya sure ya want my help? I don't- I'm leaving. This is a joke. You're a joke just like ya were-"

In a rush Elvis has you pulled tightly to his chest, his arms snaking around you and tightening like a python. "Stopped being a joke the second this happened to me don't- Heard enough of that from all those goddamn tabloids and from the reports of my death."

You're going to die, this is how you're going to die. Not by starvation or homelessness or by some madman murdering you on the streets. No, you're going to die because a man who was a has been before he became a vampire and is even more of one now despite three more albums under his belt and another Grammy for that eighties gospel album. Still you have to fight him, he's not- if he wants your help he won't kill you. You're- he's obsessed with you, isn't he? Wants your help that bad?

"Elvis, I think you're just a lonely scared little boy in a man's- excuse me- vampire's body." You snarl, trying to wriggle out of his grasp, as if you have any chance of winning against a vampire with superhuman strength. As if you'd have any chance winning against him even if he was human. Elvis Presley never had been a small man and you had never been the strongest of women.

"And if I am? Ya gonna be my salvation? Gonna save me from this hell on Earth? This eternal damnation forced on me by a Dutch lyin' bastard?" He leans closer to you, his breath ghosting over your face, over your lips as he takes breaths he doesn't need to and as he watches your eyes have a fire in them that warms him from the inside out. "Gonna make me feel better about it, darlin'? Ya really think ya good enough t'do that? That I like ya 'nough for that t'work?"

"Ya haven't killed me yet." You spit at him, just narrowly avoiding actually spitting on him. "I'm still alive and ya seem pretty damn obsessed with getting me of all the people in this town to help ya. So, yes, I think ya like me just enough."

At your words Elvis's grip on you loosens and he steps back like you burned him for a moment before he practically hisses at you. "'m only obsessed 'cause ya seem like the only person who could do it." A beat and something flashes in his blue and red tinged eyes. "And ya- yer from home." Memphis is what he means but he doesn't think to clarify. He takes a step forward and grabs at your chin even as you let out a snarl of your own. "Ya hate this place as much as I do. And think ya'd like seein' it burn down 'round ya. Don't lie. Can tell if ya do."

A quick dart of your eyes to the side is all the answer you can give for a moment as you try to compose yourself. "Doesn't mean I wanna help ya. Doesn't mean I'm gonna help ya."

For the briefest of moments, Elvis looks human and looks like a little boy when he looks at you. He's- You recognize the look, it's almost practically begging. "Please. This place- it ain't good for anyone. Me, especially but can't tell me it's done a bit of good for anyone other than who owns it."

He's right, as much as you loathe to admit it and it shows in how you purse your lips. "I'm not- I ain't agreeing to this, but tell me just what your hairbrained plan is."

As it turns out, Elvis's plan takes until the break of dawn to explain and two orders of room service delivered by one man who goes back downstairs and a woman who- well, served as Elvis's food until she fell limp in arms. There was something enrapturing about watching the act, watching how her mouth contorted into one of pleasure as she came in his arms before you could slowly see the life drain from her until his mouth came off her neck with a pop and a squelch. When he looks at you his lips are covered in her blood and he can't help but give you a toothy grin. "Sounds like you're jealous of her and me. Can't risk killing ya but maybe- maybe soon lil one."

That morning you call in and dream of his lips against your neck and of the pleasure he'd give you because- he doesn't want to kill you. You'd just get all the joys of being fed from but none of the tragedy. If you avoid him that night, you blame it on your shift. He doesn't call you out on the lie.

Planning arson between two people, one of whom has a larger bank account but can't leave his residence and the other who has a smaller bank account but can roam as she pleases is harder than one would think. Yet you both persevere, meeting up every other night to gather the items needed. What's been tripping you up for ages has been the floor plans and it shows in how you've been getting snappier with Elvis each passing meeting. He gives back in spades, somehow being worse than he was your first and second meetings but tonight- tonight he seems a little melancholy and a melancholy Elvis is a very human Elvis and one you find- one you could see a future with perhaps. A twisted one but one that flutters into your brain on nights you can't sleep or nights you can sleep despite dreams of the two of you mouths red and snarling as you feed.

"At this point ya might as well kill me." Your accent has been returning with a vengeance the more time you spend with Elvis any acting classes you had to train it out of you falling by the wayside. "We ain't gonna find a proper floor plan and without that we can't-"

"Y/N." His tone is laced with a warning- don't test him, not tonight. "I got time- wanna get this done but 'nother week ain't gonna hurt."

"Says the man who hasn't fed from me and is gonna live forever." Your eyes are blazing when you look at him before you continue. "I wanna get this over with. Wanna have- Wanna see if you'll do somethin' if we get it done."

Elvis's eyes narrow looking at you for a moment before he rubs his hand over his mouth. "Oh. That's- Lil Bunny. That's the problem? Ya want me t'do somethin' to ya? Have my wicked way with ya?"

You can feel your heartbeat rushing in your ears before you can even articulate an answer. "That's not- Ya keep looking at me. Like- like I'm someone ya might wanna- No, I don't."

"Ya do." He moves to lean over your chair, putting your face at eye level with his chest. "Ya wanna know what it's like to be in my bed. Wanna know what it's like to please me."

You do, lord above you do. You're essentially committing a crime for him and for what? For the pleasure of knowing you've set fire to a horrible hotel? That you've freed him from this place? For nothing that gives you any satisfaction. "Is that so wrong? Ya won't kill me when there's a line of bodies I can probably trace back to your first year as a vampire. Ya won't feed from me because then where's your help for this silly scheme. Ya won't fuck me because-"

"Listen darlin, honey, satnin. I- I get a lil lonely up here. I know what ya gonna say- jus' leave but you've seen how it is." Seen how he can't leave the room for fear someone's going to actually realize that he's Elvis Presley and not some impersonator. Seen how people already mock the fact that he's still around- after all hadn't you? Seen how he looks out at the view of Vegas, almost wistful when he thinks you're not looking. "I haven't killed ya but- you're- ya remind me of how I was. Always been- the way I am but not not like this. Don't feel like ruinin' it is all."

His hand reaches out to touch your face and it's so gentle that you can't help but nuzzle into it and take a quick inhale of breath. "Elvis."

He hums, noting how your eyes shut and for the briefest of moments he remembers what it was like to have someone whisper his name like that. Like a prayer you're scared will float away and fail if you say it too loud. He's missed that, he's missed so much of what it was like to be human, to be able to live freely even if back in the day his freedom still had him confined. You just look so sweet nuzzling his palm, acting as if you're the love of his life, acting as if you belong there. Maybe that's why he had been cursed otherwise he doubts he would have made it to this decade or at least made it to this decade in a state you might have wanted him in. "Y/N?"

"Why are you being like this?" You whisper, still nuzzling at his palm. "You- From the stories I've heard you're- you've never been a completely good man. I haven't seen you be a good man."

Another hand, his free hand moves to cup the opposite side of your face and forces you to look up at him. His eyes always such a stormy blue with that ring of red since you came across him have taken on a lighter hue and it takes your breath away as you feel his thumbs stroke your cheek. "Haven't had a reason t'be one. Look where it got me, satnin. Haven't pushed ya away yet, maybe you're- maybe you're the thing to settle this violent angry head of mine. So pretty- so gentle when ya wanna be. Let me take care of ya, hm?"

His hand moves away from you and you chance it almost in a trance before you look at him and bite your lip. "Take care of me?" The subtext is clear as your heart starts to race and your legs clench together.

What was the harm in treating you tonight? Maybe it would give you the right incentive to find the floor plans, to look harder than you had been. Maybe that was the real trouble you were having. You were too distracted by your desire and want for him. His hand moves down to your chest, undoing the buttons of your blouse slowly. "Take care of ya. Jus' for tonight."

That night you find yourself gasping for air, screaming his name, arching your back and snarling all at once. You find that when you leave you play with the bite mark on your breast and shudder remembering his words said against your ear more than once. "Might make ya mine if ya do well enough."

It still takes another two weeks to get the floor plans, the proper up to date ones. Two weeks of finding yourself in Elvis's bed with him teasing you and making promises about his plans for you and him. But, as it turns out someone had been wanting to get a room at the hotel and well, you did work the front desk so you could handle getting them some accommodations for a fee of course. Elvis wastes no time in opening up the plans when you arrive that night with them in your hand, holding a bottle of champagne for you and the number of someone you had met on the bus for Elvis to enjoy his own drink. After she's on the floor and you're nursing your second flute of champagne you feel Elvis behind you wrapping his strong arms around your middle and pulling you close.

"Gonna turn ya when it's all ash. Won't be stuck here any longer, can do what I want again. Take ya all around the world." He whispers against the shell of your ear, nipping once he reaches your earlobe. "You're gonna look so fuckin' gourgous feedin'. Vicious as ya are. Ya did so good bringin' me dinner too. Wish I coulda shared her wit' ya. Soon, lil Bunny, soon."

There's an alarm in your head that goes off at those words, at the way he coos them while holding you. They feel off- fake somehow and you down that second glass the moment he lets go of you. Had- You knew very well he wasn't a nice man, you've known this from the second you first spoke but he- there's no way he has any intention of changing you. He might be obsessed with you but that's because you've been the only person who can handle herself well enough to do this, hadn't it? You were going to get him to the finish line of burning down the hotel only to what burn with it yourself? Take the fall for a dead man? You file away the thoughts in your head for a later moment, if you thought about them now Elvis would know.

You smile at him almost saccharine. "Ya mean it? I'll be your vicious lil vampire queen?"

He grabs your chin and pulls you in for a kiss not caring that he still has a trace of blood on his lips. "The second it's up in smoke. Promise."

Liar.

Las Vegas in August is disgusting, better than some places in the United States, but it's still hotter than Hades and feels nearly as suffocating despite the lack of humidity. A fact you keep pointing out to Elvis as you both hold small cans of gas.

"Should've killed ya like the res' of 'em. No one would've missed ya. Jus' another lil' girl in Vegas runnin' 'round thinkin' she could make it big." You see a flash of his teeth and you figure it's supposed to scare you but at this point you like to think you know better.

"If ya killed me who would be helpin' ya right now?" The way you speak is practically a sneer but you can't help it, not with how he just somewhat threatened to kill you. "Hurry up, people are going to start coming back and I don't-"

"It's 11PM and they're in Vegas the hell are they-" He starts before he starts to trot off to the area he's most familiar with- the stages. "Meet me by the damn elevator."

An eye roll is the only response he gets as he leaves you to your own thoughts as you pour the can of gasoline in a line between the already waiting containers of it. If all goes well the walls of fire you and Elvis hope to create will have the entire building up in smoke in no time at all. It makes it so you both have to be quick on each floor but you had taken precautions for this. You knew every way to get down the floors as quickly as you could and Elvis wouldn't leave you behind. After all, he kept talking about his lil' spitfire queen. Kept cooing the words at you in between planning and buying the gas and finding yourself spread across his sheets or above him.

And yet something felt different, you had that same feeling you did when he talked about how gorgeous you'd look feeding. It felt off. You try to shake the feeling away as you two reach the top of the building, his penthouse suite and cover it in extra gasoline. He wanted every bit of this room demolished, nothing salvageable but to do that you are currently feeling faintly high on the sheer amount of gasoline in the room and wondering just how no embers from the cigar he just lit have fallen yet. You almost miss the words he says when he looks over at you. "Ready to run?"

A shrug is your only answer before you try and take a deep breath. "Get in the elevator first, then toss it."

He obliges, letting you go first with a flourish that rather than delight you has your hackles raising. "Ladies first."

Elvis Presley used to be a gentleman. Elvis Presley is not a gentleman any more.

Right before the doors to the elevator close Elvis tosses his cigar between the door and as they shut you feel the rush of heat from the roaring blast it caused. This is the only floor you have to take the elevator for and it makes each consecutive floor easier. You both light a cigar and toss before running to the next floor, rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat even as Elvis pulls you in for a harsh kiss his eyes blazing in the fire he had started with his cigar, looking practically manic with delight. The fire brings out the red in his eyes. It scares you.

"Calm down, Lil' Bunny. Almost there." He shouts practically sing songing the words as you rush down yet another flight of stairs to the second floor. "One more floor and you're mine. We'll be free. I'll be free."

There it is again, that nagging feeling that you're a means to an end for him. You brush it off one final time as you start to cough, the floors of smoke and blaring alarms of a sprinkler system that hasn't produced any water getting to you. "Jus' want this done, 'Vis."

Finally you reach the final floor, the bottom floor which is the most complicated. There's an extra exit, a fire exit in the stage area so you both agree that's the last room, that's the last place to be set ablaze and Elvis finds it almost poetic when he thinks about it. He stares at the doors for a moment before he enters with you, as if he thinks he has all the time in the world. He might, he might be able to run out of there fast enough but the smoke is starting to get to you and the heat from the blaze above and around you is making the area around you sweltering. "You said you'd turn me, Elvis. Once we get outside, right?" You have to shout before you cough over the roar of the blaze and how somehow it's starting blow toward you as you shut the door to leave you and him in the lone area not on fire yet.

The cigar in his mouth is lit and he contemplates knocking off the tip, letting it start to catch everything ablaze before he stops himself and nods. "Course, gonna do it the second you get some air in ya."

Your own cigar- the last cigar is lit and you're about to toss it before you stare at him, stare at him because that tone- that tone betrays his actual plan. "Why not now? I can- I can barely breathe in here, Elvis."

Those words have him tossing his cigar and have a whoosh of fire come up behind him as he walks towards you. "You'll be fine, lil spitfire. Y/N. You don't- Patience. Don't wanna rush forever."

Your mind goes blank as you drop the cigar you were holding and have to jump out of the way as a bit of fire starts to separate you and Elvis. He glances at the fire and growls, realizing he's very quickly going to be boxed in before he wooshes to a spot next to you. "Tryin' to kill me? 'Cause I won't-"

A crash can be heard of a bit of wood falling onto the stage and you jump before you cut him off. "Because you're not plannin' on it. Ya gonna- You're plannin' on killin' me, aren't ya?"

"Eatin' ya, actually. It's what ya wanted back when ya first saw me eat. Wanted to be fucked then sucked. I fucked ya now-" His words are cut off with a slap that he allows you to do because it gives him the ability to grab at your wrist. "Loose end, lil one. Either you go down for this or ya die. Gave ya the more pleasurable option."

"While telling me you were going to change me!" You snarl half running toward the door even as you inhale another bit of smoke causing you to cough more. "You- You've been usin' me this whole damn time! I- you said you'd make me your little queen."

He's faster and he has you pinned up against a wall as he feels the flames starting to inch toward you both and as you keep swallowing more and more smoke. "Ya called me a damn has been and a joke. Darlin' ya don't wanna spend eternity wit' me, ya jus' wanna run around spending an eternity doing whatever the hell ya want to do. Ain't gonna give ya something you think is a gift."

"You- I'm- I can't breathe." You choke out as you try and take deep breaths only to realize that the room is filling with grey smoke. He's fine because he doesn't need to breathe but you- you need air.

"Shame I didn't change ya before. Didn't give ya what ya wanted to use me for. Don't care 'bout me. Lil Memphis spitfire don't care 'bout the thing everyone loves 'bout the place. No wonder your mama and daddy don't want ya to come back." His tone is mocking as he keeps you pinned to the wall, despite inching himself closer to the door. He was going to escape and you were going to die by smoke inhalation if the fire didn't kill you first.

A breath of air enters your lungs suddenly as you find that Elvis lets you go, a bit of the fire catching onto his pant leg right as he reaches the door with you. You seize the opportunity and hit at the door with your body, trying to force it open as he steps on the offending burning fabric. even as another crash can be heard on the stage and you see more and more paint chips fluttering around both of you, or maybe that's ash you've never seen a fire this big. The door finally flings open and more fresh air for your lungs and to feed the fire. Elvis whooshes over to you and attempts to block your way out but for once you have the upper hand, managing to be on the outside of the building while Elvis is still just barely in there. He realizes his mistake, realizes what you just very well might do to him in an instant.

"Lil Bunny- I'll- Don't be rash. I'll do it. I'll do what I said I would." He coos even as the fire rushes around him, his hair becoming more messed up the more he stands there. His face getting more ashes on it the longer he stands there.

"Liar. Liar." You tilt your head and move to push him inside. "Pants on fire."

His eyes look down thinking you're telling him his pants are literally on fire and you take that as your opportunity to shut the door, locking it in a way only you know how. Within a moment he starts to push at the door.

"Y/N!" He shouts through the door. "I'll do it, just let me outta here! I'm- Ya don't want this on your conscious! I wasn't gonna kill ya! Baby- Darlin- Lil Bunny, let me out!"

"Not gonna believe a lyin' dead man, Presley!" You shout, knowing that you sound insane before you start to move away because he's right you don't want that on your conscious. You hear him shouting promises you doubt he'll keep and feel the fresh bite he had made on your chest burn as you walk away but you're able to fake being a victim among the crowd, the ashes covering your face and the way you keep coughing as the building burns and as you swear you hear a series of Southern curses in the wind.

The bite scars over and aches from time to time.

They don't find his body. You try and not let it keep you up at night.

[tanith-rhea]

I'm not sure if this is has been done or not, but Larissa with a Normie (gn) s/o who is very introverted (the complete opposite of Larissa quite honestly) loves books and what not, but the main point is they don't like their own birthday, especially surprise parties. And poor Larissa doesn't know that about her s/o, because s/o never said anything about the situation or even hinted about they wanted on their birthday (even previous ones). If s/o had a choice, they wouldn't have told Larissa about their BD, Larissa just happened to stumble upon it somehow. But Larissa throws a grand surprise party for her s/o at the school and everyone, and I mean everyone was there. S/o doesn't want to ruin this for Larissa even though it is their day, so they try to stay with the party but gets anxiety and hides away somewhere. Someone eventually points out they aren't here and Larissa goes to finds s/o in their usual hiding spot, she just comforts and holds them and slowly understanding where s/o was feeling about the BD situation and deeply apologizes for this, but s/o told her it wasn't really her fault.

Happy birthday, my dear!

Hey, thank you for my first-ever ask! I hope I didn't forget anything and that you'll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you so, so much for this. Have a lovely day!

Word count: <1k (this is a shorter one, but very sweet)

The days coming up to your birthday were always stressful. You had managed to keep your cool and act normal for most of it, but sometimes the need to be alone was encompassing. You knew it would all be over soon, and you would be a year older, and everything would be fine, but the sheer expectation of having something to show for it was too heavy to bear.

The thing was: you didn't accomplish much in your life. Sure, you were the first doctorated child in your family, but a PhD didn't make you fun at parties. You taught super-powered teenagers the importance of literature and were surprisingly adored by the little hormone-filled humans, but they weren't the posh politicians or CEOs your parents envisioned you spending time with.

You were proud of your achievements, they just didn't seem like achievements most of the time and especially during this time of year.

When the day came and no one acted differently, you could kiss every single person that passed through you. Nobody knew, of course, apart from Larissa, who only discovered it because last year your mother called to offer congratulations and passive-aggressively pry on your life. Everything was good, and tomorrow you would be older, wiser, and a hundred per cent not stressed over a disaster party going wrong.

That was until one of your students, Yoko, went looking for you close to seven, claiming someone was looking for you in the entry hall. You knew what it was about, and walking through the corridors to the unlit stairs the nausea of having to talk to people without previous preparation began to clog your throat.

"SURPRISE!" everyone screamed at you when the lights turned on. Oh wow, they weren't even close to what you thought they'd be. The entire school was crowding the spacious hall, a long dinner table had been brought and all types of party snacks decorated it along with an enormous cake saying "Happy Birthday, y/n"

Through the crowd, the culprit of that anxiety-inducing nightmare came to you with open arms and the warmest smile you had ever seen her wear. Larissa hugged you tightly, the proximity easing the knot in your gut by an inch.

"Happy birthday, my love," she said before kissing your cheeks and lips "I hope you liked the surprise."

"Yeah, of course!" your half-strangled high-pitched voice rang in your ears. You were going to pass out, there was no denying it.

A lot of students went to you with birthday wishes and handmade cards, and it was overwhelmingly sweet of them, but all you wanted to do was bolt.

Your colleagues were there as well; every single one shook your hand or hugged you or gave you an awkward but well-meaning pat on the back. Everyone seemed weirdly happy to celebrate one more year of y/n y/ln being alive and it was too much.

You talked with the biggest amount possible of people you knew and endured stale chitchat with the ones that you never saw before but, half an hour in, you could not do it anymore. You waited until no one was paying attention and ran like mad to your safe haven, leaving the blasted function behind.

It took more than you felt comfortable analysing for someone to come looking for you. It was nearly an hour, and you were sleepily going over some poems in a random book you picked by the window when Larissa's soft voice caught your attention.

"Love? What are you doing here?" she was concerned, her bright eyes widening at your own, glossed over with tears you didn't have the energy to shed.

"I was just a bit overwhelmed" you offered simply. Should you explain? You probably should, but you felt too tired to even speak too much.

Larissa quickly joined you at the library seat, taking you in her arms and kissing the top of your head. That had to be the best thing about her: she gave the best cuddles known to men.

"I didn't know you'd feel uncomfortable. I'm so sorry, darling" she whispered atop of you.

"You couldn't know… I never told you" you said weakly against her chest.

"Told me what?"

"That I hate it. All of it," she lifted your face and looked at you questioningly "I hate my birthday. I hate the expectations of having something to show, the fear the friends I invite don't actually want to come, having to talk with my family just to hear how everybody else is excelling at life while I barely can get sixteen-year-olds to read eight books a year, it just-"

"Shhh, love" she touched your lips with her thumb, her hand cupping your cheek and a sad smile. She traced her pad over your bottom lip and leaned to kiss your forehead "I am so, so very sorry for not asking how you felt. I swear I'd never have done any of it if I knew"

You know this. You know she had nothing but the best intentions and while it touched you how far she could go to make you happy, it also meant your undoing.

"It wasn't your fault" you turn to kiss the palm of her hand, pressing it against your mouth with your fingers before leaning on her again "If I had told you it never would have happened."

She held you close and played with your hair, the sounds from the party were slowly subsiding and you could hear people walking the corridors and talking. Probably students going back to their rooms.

After some time, you too wandered to your quarters.

That night you played Scrabble in bed while eating coffee-and-chocolate-flavoured cake and Larissa held you close until you fell asleep, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

[kiiwio]

super cringy vent alert lmao

I despise myself.

It's simple, really. There really is no need to get into the "why's", but for your sake, i'll write that down too.

Why do I despise myself, you ask?

Are you sure you want to hear the whole list?

Ah. Persistent, are you?

I haven't been able to shake off the feeling ever since the end of sixth grade. I got a low grade in my finals in math, it never really was my strong point.

Though the effect it had on my grade was inevitable.

I was third place, and didnt even reach highest honors.

I remember in third grading when I got home from recognition to my mom in the bathroom. I told her I had gotten high honors. She smiles and tells me I did good. When she exits, I show her the highest honors reward, and she's blown away. She's hugging me, tears in her eyes, hitting me a little for making her think I got high honors.

In fourth quarter, my grades dropped.

My parents said it wasn't my fault, but the school system. I had often caught my mom crying the week after they found out my final grade. And then,

I felt guilty.

Starting from then, I would never, ever stop feeling guilty.

I started to hate myself, for causing my parents to be so disappointed. I convinced myself I was a failure.

So in seventh grade, I pushed it. Achieved first place, but again in third grading I was high honors, in fourth I was just honors

I wasn't good at math or science, but my friend was. She pissed me off.

I liked to draw. My friend did too. She pissed me off.

My constantly perfect performance in school was driven by the envy gnawing at the back of my mind, telling me if I didn't achieve better I was simply nothing. Not good at major subjects, not good at my hobbies. Someone was always better than me.

It kept me awake at night, the thoughts.

In the end, there was a girl who was high honors, from the other section.

I am in eighth grade now. In the star section, too.

It's gotten worse, the comparison, the thoughts, the envy. My self-esteem has dropped rock bottom.

My grades have dropped. Shit.

I am a disappointment, a failure, nothing.

I live in constant judgement, not only from the people around me, but from myself. I am never good enough for myself.

No matter what I achieve, it's never good enough for me. I yearn for more, I yearn to close up the hole eating up at my heart, but by doing this, the hole is only getting bigger.

I cannot think properly anymore. All that fills my brain is the thoughts, it's too much.

I'm so tired.

There's always someone better than me, why do I even try?

September fourteenth. That's my birthday.

The day before that is our poster-making in school, and my friend who's good at drawing is our representative.

It kills me inside, the thought that that could've been me, if I tried a little harder.

But I am useless.

What's wrong with me?

Everything.

No one gets it, no one gets me, everyone makes me believe it's normal to feel this way but I don't think so.

Eh.

I'm just being selfish and dramatic. Ignore this.

[snekjoy]

More genshin takes. Today's subject is Diona, who is actually mischaracterised so badly it makes me mad.

Fandom take: brat who hates diluc and complains all the time and hates alcohol (I have seen actual tiktoks complaining about her for these reasons)

Reality:

Diona's mother is not mentioned. She seems to be looked after only by her father, or was looked after by him. Diona loves her father more than anything, and the first time she saw him drunk, her entire world was shattered. She decided that this couldn't be his fault, he was her dad. He was her hero. Clearly, it was the fault of the wine.

Draff is not a responsible parent-

[friendship lv. 4 story: ...young Diona found that her father would wind up particularly drunk... dead to the world before he could even finish her bedtime story]

-and Diona doesn't want to accept that it's his fault, so she hates alcohol and wants to take down the wine industry. The way she wants to achieve this is through mixing drinks so disgusting, nobody who visits the Cat's Tail will ever want to drink again.

Unfortunately, she was blessed on her seventh birthday by the spring fairy, a spirit living in the water at Springvale. She used to go and speak to the water when Draff was drunk, and the fairy listened and chose to bless her.

[friendship lv. 6 story: "I will bless you, daughter of hunters, for your days ahead, and as a farewell. May your cup always run over with the sweet wine of celebration. May it always be refreshing as springs of ever-melting snow."]

Diona doesn't remember this, since she was so young, and believes it to be a dream. She can't make bad drinks, no matter the ingredients or techniques used. It's impossible.

She doesn't know this, so she got a job at the Cat's Tail to try and achieve her goals. This is AWFUL. Margaret, the owner, said: [lv. 3 story] "What choice did I have? She's just too cute."

The creeps at the Cat's Tail are fucking disgusting.

[Lv. 4 story: "...until one day, when a particularly plastered fellow tugged her tail out of curiosity... only to find it unexpectedly warm and soft. That day, Diona turned the tavern upside-down."

Voiceline - About Barbara: "How come all of my fans are drunk middle-aged men, while Barbara's are all young people...?"

More about Diona, II: "You wouldn't ask me to meow like a cat, like those boozehounds at the tavern do, would you? I wouldn't do it, no way! I'm not some little house pet that just shakes my ears real cute and stretches my back!"]

Not to mention that mf from her hangout quest. They're fucking disgusting, and she shouldn't even have a job at her age.

So Diona has a neglectful, drunkard father, is constantly surrounded by creeps, is being essentially exploited by Margaret for her ears and tail, and the only friend she ever had apart from the traveller was a fairy she believes is a dream.

That's why she's so angry all of the time.

Now, why does she dislike Diluc?

Diluc doesn't drink-

[Least favourite food voiceline: I don't like alcohol. It's just... I don't like how it feels in my mouth..."]

-so people often use this as an excuse to get mad that Diona blames him for her dad's drunkenness, but they forget that she doesn't know this. Diona doesn't know that Diluc doesn't like alcohol, she sees him as the leader of the Mondstadt wine industry (since he is.)

[Diona's voiceline- About Diluc: "Diluc! I can't stand him! If there was no Diluc, there would be no Mondstadt wine industry; and if there was no Mondstadt wine industry, Daddy wouldn't drink; and if Daddy didn't drink... he would keep me company."]

She doesn't want the blame to be on her father; she idolises him. She instead wants to blame something she can work against, and in her eyes that is the Mondstadt wine industry. As the figurehead of the industry, of course Diluc is going to be a target of hatred. She's a kid. She doesn't understand that Diluc has no control over it. All she knows is that her dad drinks, and she hates it, and Diluc sells wine.

Diona is incredibly hurt, especially for such a young child. That's not even getting started on how she got her vision (she had to save Draff from a storm, since the Knights couldn't get to him through the rain. Her determination to save him gave her her vision. She's a healer because he was incredibly hurt, and she made a cocktail for him to ease the pain.)

She desperately wants connection, considering how she warms up to the traveller through her friendship levels. She's hurt and sad and lost, and the only way she really knows how to express that is through anger. She's violent (she bit Elzer when he tried to hire her to Dawn Winery) because she HAS NO OTHER OPTIONS.

The fandom hating on her because she dislikes their ~anime husbando~ is annoying as hell and I'm sick of it, because none of them understand WHY. She doesn't hate Diluc personally. She hates the wine industry. She hates that she's alone. She's fucking tragic, but so awfully overlooked it pains me.

[tartarusrising-rp]

OOC INFO

Name/Alias: Cris Pronouns: He/Him/She/Her Age: 27 Timezone: Gmt-3

IC INFO

Character Name: Desdemona Kingsley  Character Age: 60 Character Birthday (with year): October 31, 1964 Gender & Pronouns: Cis Woman, She/Her Affiliation: Church of the Lost Occupation: Leader of the Church of the Lost Faceclaim: Monica Bellucci 

BIOGRAPHY

TWs: Violence, Death, Blood, Corruption, Crucifications, Suicide, Child Neglect, Murder, Child Death, Cults, Religious underthemes, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Stockholm Syndrome, Serial Killers, Sex, Drugs, Alcohol, Homophobia

                                     Thou callest it chaos, I calleth it freedom. In thy despair, I find my throne.

What is brilliance if not madness? ⸻ Warped around the edges, melted until it's an ugly sharp thing dangerously beneath the sea of calm eyes and soft smiles, waiting for a prey to cut and trap. Desdemona Kingsley, née Neroni, is known for a brilliant mind and extraordinary achievements in the field of physiology and forensics. La piccola prodigio professors called her ⸻ the bambina always three steps ahead, observing, seemingly seeing everything; she could read people as an open book, knew the words to say and egos to stroke, weakness to explore. It was uncanny how her dark eyes would watch without shame, stare until people felt like bacterias under a microscope. It is said that's how Desdemona sees people; tiny, insignificant, beneath her; nothing but a thing for her to study and catalog. Tools to be used. 

From Venetia to Oxford, her reputation did not soften ⸻ Somehow, she became sharper, hardened, freezing cold. She makes you think she loves you, becomes the sun in your life, previous peers would warn, and then she leaves you in darkness, feeling small as an ant. That's when she destroys you. That's how she killed Catherine Hartford. Desdemona thinks it is unfair to blame her for that ⸻ The death was self-inflicted, the girl could not handle a simple breakup. That's not her fault. But the rumor mill spins unstoppable, scared looks thrown her way whenever she passed in the middle of crowds parting for her. She didn't mind, of course ⸻ What mongrels think of her is not important to her life at all, doesn't bring her any enlightenment nor growth. 

The only brave soul who didn't mind her temper, indifference, and arrogance was Malthus Atkinson ⸻ heir of the seemingly infinite Atkinson empire. She did not ask where his money came from, and he had very little interest in hers. Desdemona doesn't know what made Malthus gravitate towards her ⸻ what made him stay, in spite of all the things he witnessed her doing. He smiled too much, joked around more often than she could tolerate, and slacked on his work. Honestly, she thinks it was the queerness that made them stick together like glue ⸻ The eighties were not a safe place for people like them, and the more violence they heard in the television, the closer they moved to each other. He told his parents she was his girlfriend, hers long cold six feet under ⸻ father murders mother, daughter murders father, isn't it ironic? ⸻ so they got a townhouse together in Mayfair; a safe haven where Malthus could live with his boyfriend and Desdemona could bring all the delicious innocent pretty little things to corrupt. 

She should've known it was only a matter of time before his incredibly annoying parents started circling them like vultures ⸻ when is the wedding, grandchildren, oh you will be a lovely housewife ⸻ She should've killed them. But she was focused on her thesis, her projects, and graduation, so Malthus's parents were a problem entirely his own to deal with. She would've felt guilt, had she not been giving into his whims; a wedding in Bora-Bora, one in Dublin, and another in Venetia. What pathetic creatures, wanting to make a show of their fake love and life. She loathed how small Malthus seemed to become when his parents were around ⸻ a man who could fill a room with his joyness alone barely would speak a word other than yes sir, of course ma'am. It made her stomach tighten, her spine hurt, a migraine to throb behind the space between her brows. And so, in their honeymoon, a half bottle of wine in and nearly done with Silence of the Lambs, she made a decision for the them that would change the course of their lives forever ⸻ Let's go to the America. I'm serious. I can join the FBI, you can teach history. Your parents won't leave Ireland, and we will be free. 

It wasn't as easy as that night in Greece made them believe. They both had to fight teeth and nails for a spot in the land of the free ⸻ as it turns out, despite their obsession with mafia movies, the American didn't particularly like the Italian or Irish yet. With her brain and his determination, however, they eventually settled on a good routine; she would hunt and profile serial killers for the FBI, and Malthus would become a respected professor in Harvard. Desdemona's habits of sleeping with his students were kept a secret, and Malthus soon got a new boyfriend that made him forget the Englishman from Oxford. Life was good, so of course it wasn't long before their plans got interrupted ⸻ his parents would not budge on their firm demand for a child, threatening to remove Malthus from the will if they didn't comply, so with her eggs and his sperm, a surrogate soon was carrying the heir of the Atkinson empire. Nannies, house keepers, and babysitters were swiftly arranged to ensure a baby wouldn't put a bump in their careers ⸻ Yes, she adored Apollo when he was born, but even the chubby rosy cheeks of a baby wasn't enough to distract her from her work. 

If anything, it only made her work harder ⸻ After all, she had a son to protect now. She needed to study and arrest all those who could present a danger to him. It is the excuse she told herself to begin teaching, at least. At first, it was only for the FBI ⸻ soon, she began lecturing about forensics in Harvard until she was a professor. Her own students to seduce, fresh minds she could shape to her desired image. A perfect job. And then Desdemona met her ⸻ Young, intelligent, alone. Easy prey, honestly, if she had only remained that. No, it wouldn't fit her. Desdemona knew Kiri Stephens deserved to achieve great things ⸻ hold the academic world by their groins, a permanent spot in her bed, free access to her bank accounts. Anything Kiri asked for, she gave; gave, gave, and gave, until she was obsessed and in love. She never knew possessiveness like the one filling her heart then ⸻ Malthus's parents were to die soon, and she would finally make Kiri hers, in law and body. 

But then the assignment came ⸻ The Hangman, they called him; a cult leader whose victims were hanged or crucified in Boston. Malthus was strangely supportive ⸻ he was tired of the pretentious kids at Harvard, and their parents, and a change of scenario could do him some good. The family moved temporarily to the city, a penthouse apartment with big windows for Apollo to stargaze, Malthus to take his afternoon tea in front of, and enough room for Kiri to visit whenever she liked. Move in, Desdemona would beg, I will give you the life of a queen. Malthus would often joke Desdemona was growing soft, but even he knew to keep his lips tightly shut when she got that look in her eyes ⸻ dark, intense, full of lust for control and power. The cult life interested her very little, but files piled in her office, words filled every crevice of her brain, invisible hands tugged and tugged and called to her ⸻ voices of obedient sheeps, following her every word, needing a Shepherd to guide them to dea ⸻

Apollo would tug at her sleeves, bright big doe eyes begging her to tell him a bedtime story. His innocence kept her from giving into temptation, she knows. His love for her, his need for her, kept her sane. Until the shooting ⸻ standing in a morgue on her knees, sobbing as they told her to identify the body of her child and close friend. Her son. Her lamb. Malthus parents were gone a week after ⸻ suicide. She was completely alone, with a bottomless fortune and her only child buried in the ground. 

What is madness if not the exuberance of brilliance? 

                                    There is no salvation in the fire, only rebirth as ashes ⸻ obedient, hollow, mine.

The Church of the Lost was birthed in a small wooden chapel Desdemona built with her own hands in her grief. A quiet place where a beautiful garden welcomes all the lost souls in search of guidance, of her loving hands. A place where grief could not reach, obedience was devotion, and she the only Goddess to worship. People know of Desdemona Kingsley because of her fall from grace ⸻ She lost her mind, faces in front of the television would say. But her colleagues, her former professors, the people she got locked up, they knew better. They would see her in the news, drawings of her face stamped in recruitment pamphlets, and there she was ⸻ the brilliant girl with the abyss swimming under her intense eyes. The girl who wouldn't take a single step without thinking of every possible outcome, who destroyed people by trapping them in her charms, exploiting their weaknesses as if she found joy in despair. The queen who eats the king without her opponent realizing ⸻ cheque mate. Desdemona did not fall into madness ⸻ she simply decided to surround herself with other's madness. 

It was not a surprise how easily she fell into the role of cult leader, of Mother, of Death. Desdemona always wanted and wanted and got what she wanted, consequences and damage inflicted be damned. She wanted devotion, her words a sweet whisper in ears of broken people clinging to her words until they were lost in her grasp. Addicted to the drug she manufactured with Kiri, addicted to her kindness, her cruelty. Her punishments were a proof of her care ⸻ Mother only wants to see us become better. By the time the deaths ⸻ murders, really ⸻ began, she lost her most prized possession. Kiri left for a life of whoring herself for money, left the kingdom Desdemona was building for her. She is humble to admit the child was an act of desperation ⸻ she wanted a lamb, a thing of her own she could shape into whatever she needed, whatever she wanted. A faithful who wouldn't betray her. Malthus's frozen sperm proved itself useful when she heard whispers of a former student starting treatment. The woman was beautiful, and Desdemona could still remember how she tasted ⸻ So of course she pulled every connection and expanse to make it happen. 

On the turn of the year, her lamb was born. Small even for a newborn, premature, quiet as if dead. But it lived ⸻ in her arms, it found life, a purpose. The heir to the Atkinson empire, her precious perfect lamb, the one thing who would return Kiri to her hold. Parting with the child was a necessary evil that broke what little was left of her heart; for a year, she would not spend a minute without it by her side, watching her every move with green eyes sharper than they should've been. The raid took a few of her good faithful down, but she believed it for the best. Her sheeps needed their mother by her side ⸻ her consort, her love, the one that dared to get away. She didn't return. The lamb was delivered and kept, but Kiri did not knock on her door begging for her forgiveness. The week she realized Kiri would never return was when she began with the crucification ⸻ the bad apples can't be allowed to poison our tree. 

Excuses upon excuses her sheeps eagerly swallowed like milk from her tets, their numbers growing worryingly by the day. Her Lieutenants were gifted with luxurious houses built on the property of the Atkinson manor ⸻ now hers to do as she pleases. The lake in the grounds was named The Lake of Sorrows, and baptism would take place in its waters. It became nearly a crime to whisper her name ⸻ the faithful didn't know, the news didn't know, and the FBI erased every trace of her existence. She knew their moves, their spies, so there was little choice but to let her be. The cruel parts of the Church are shared by crazy people in reddit pages for conspiracy theories ⸻ videos calling her all sort of names by self claimed true crime investigators were nothing but free press. The Church of the Lost, to the wide public, is nothing but a church led by a kooky, extravagant woman. Their television channel is a fever dream, their recruitment is secretive, and no one really knows what happens behind the doors of the many compounds around Boston. No one knows of the bodies. No one knows of Artemis. Her new lamb. Her current obsession. 

Her wives ⸻ three of them, one for each decade Malthus has been lost ⸻ think her interest in Artemis is a silly thing brought by her old age and the grief of her lost lamb. But Desdemona knows pure devotion when she sees it ⸻ knows Artemis is completely hers, and very little could take them away from her grasp. Her perfect weapon, ready to kill when given a simple command, ready to die if she only asked. Artemis takes their punishment without complaints, accepts her love with no fear, and Desdemona knows they are a replacement for what she thinks she could've had, before, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter when she is so close to seizing control of everything ⸻ with a murderer hiding among her sheeps, Desdemona knows she has an ace in her sleeve. It's just a matter of time before she uses it. 

[basketcaseeeeee]

The Anniversary Effect. Chapter 2: The car ride.

Warnings: SH, emotional abuse, cheating, mentions of blood, suicide, scaring, trauma, ptsd, angst. So much angst. I think that's it. If there's anymore, please let me know!

Summary: you and your boyfriends relationship was falling apart. One mistaken night, you slept with of his best friends of 10 years. Trying to work through this, your friend group threw a party to try to get back everything back to "normal." Brush everything under the rug. That night, that rug got pulled right from under you. You felt something was coming. Floating around in the background. The uneasiness, growing anxiety. They say the body knows before the mind. You felt something was coming. Floating around in the background. The uneasiness, growing anxiety. They say the body knows before the mind.

You barely slipped into the passenger seat before your boyfriend, Jerrin, was already speeding out of the parking lot. Making your door slam shut in the process. Here we go you think to yourself. He's gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white. You know what's coming. The beratement, name calling, the yelling.

"You're a fucking piece of work you know that? The one thing I told you to do, the one thing that everyone told you to do, and you couldn't even do that! How fucking hard is it to follow one simple direction given straight to you huh?! Are you that fucking stupid?! I told you to stay the fuck away from! Are you that dumb of a bitch? Fucking answer me!" Holding back your tears, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry, again. You choose anger instead of sadness this time to reply. " Fuck you! I didn't tell him to come outside! I hadn't spoken to him all night until that moment, Jerrin! I was outside alone until he stepped out to smoke. This isn't my fault!" "It's never your fault is it?! Shit just happens around you, right? Everyone else is to blame for poor ol you and your misfortune. You just have bad luck, right? Cursed or whatever? Did you ever think that you're the problem?! Anything bad happens, you're always somewhere involved. Your dad was right. You destroy everything you touch. Anything that happens to cross paths with you, you fuck up and destroy!" "HEY! Stop that shit right now!" Eddie yells from the backseat. "I know you're pissed man, but don't bring her dad into it. You and I both know that's a low blow." Jerrin just scoffs "fine, I'll leave that alone but otherwise, you stay out of this if you know what's good for you."

Eddie knew all about your dad, so did Jerrin. He was emotionally abusive. Always calling you names. Nothing you did was ever good enough for him. Both parents always compared you to your siblings. Being the middle child wasn't easy. They never noticed you unless you fucked up somehow. Made a mess of things. And when they did take notice of a accomplishment you achieved, it was always why can't you smart enough like so and so? Why can't you be as athletic, driven, or talented? You never felt good enough and Eddie knew this. He'd been there for you through it all. Him being your best friend since the 3rd grade, saw how your parents treated you. How your home life was messy. His was too. You only had each other to lean on, for comfort, for any sort of resemblance of stability, safety. You were each others lifeline and you made sure to stay that way well into adulthood. Sticking by each other no matter what. Full on honesty, no matter how hard it was to tell each other. That was the number one rule between you. Of course you didn't always agree with the others life choices. The occasional arguments would ensue due to your honesty policy with each other but you'd always appreciate it in the end. Honestly, it annoyed people how close you were, especially when it came to dating, but you didn't care. He was your family, the only family you ever needed, even if there was no blood relation.

"Don't you threaten him." Your tone low surprises everyone in the car, including yourself. Letting out a crazed cackle Jerrin turns to you "I should have known. It was always there, right in my goddamn face the whole time." Rolling your eyes "known what?" You huff already suspecting what he was getting at. "You're fucking him too, huh?" Now letting out your own laughter, pinching your forehead taking a deep breath before replying "you're fucking kidding me right? I'm such a slut now that im fucking everyone? It that it is? You can't seriously..." He cuts you off by slamming him hand against the dashboard "DON'T FUCKING LIE TO ME! I know exactly how you are and yes, you are a slut. A fucking whore, actually. That why you insisted on Eddie living with us? Just couldn't be with out his dick huh? And when you couldn't get his or want mine, you fucked one of my oldest friends Sean huh? Is that it? I bet he's fucked you real good didn't he?" "Shut the fuck up man!" Eddie interjects. Jerrin just laughs as he turns to you. Tears begging to fall, he cups your chin to look at him faking his sincerity with the gesture. "Think your fuck buddy is getting angry back there. Oh, you gonna cry now? God, you so fucking pathetic sometimes." Shoving his hand away "fuck you, Jerrin! The only one who's pathetic here is you. You goddamn piece of shit! Just leave me alone." He just laughs again. As if any of this is humorous. The rest of the ride home is silent. Finally pulling up to your apartment, you practically jump out of the car bolting through your front door to your room. You know, it's only going to get worse from here.

@i-me-mine

[nasatestpilot]

Let me jump off the plane

I want to free fall

I want gravity to be in sole control

I'm tired of fighting for control

I'll finally be free

My limbs will go limp well before I land

No, I can't do that

I promise I'll be safe

When I pull the cord

It'll be the first parachute that I have ever had

All my life I always hit the ground

Get up, shake the dust, put some dirt on the wounds

Hide behind a smile, everyone likes it when you smile

No one can notice the broken bones or bruises

When they're hidden in plain view

Camouflaged behind the mask

That suffocates my truth

My lungs may be clean

But I'm always coughing

It's like I'm struggling for air

Maybe that's why I wrapped a belt around my neck at least three times

I forget if I tried more than that

I went to a gun shop out in the country

And chickened out before I bought one

I didn't want them to feel responsible for my death

On the first warm day of 2018

My childhood in the backseat

Smoke blown in my face

Ashes through the window

But I'm told that I am fine

I learned early on that my voice could be heard

I learned early on that no one ever cared to listen

I was taught to be ashamed of my mistakes

I should have already known even before I had a chance to learn

I'd accept that it's my fault so we could all move on

I'm not a victim because if I'm involved I am always the culprit

Any time I'm involved I receive a verdict of guilt

Be silent, be silent

No one wants to know the truth

Is it the truth if no one else agrees?

How was I to know?

I was just a kid

Reality is all perception

No love was shown in the house

This isn't what I wanted in a family

Hug me, hold me, tell me that I am valued

Please do something to show me that I matter

Put your arm around my shoulder

Let me feel that I am real

I'm scared that I only exist as a ghost

I could vanish at any moment

I'm an imaginary friend that's been forgotten

When a real person comes along

And I disintegrate into obscurity

Lay me into the fucking ground

So I don't need to haunt the world of my presence

I feared that I could never be accepted

I was embarrassed to like anything

And if I opened up

I'd only expose my insecurities

Which would inevitably lead to rejection

I need to keep my distance

To shield from all the pain

Unworthy of unconditional love

I want the suffering to end

Maybe if I'm the best then I'll be good enough

Maybe if I'm smart then they'll want to listen

Maybe if I'm funny enough they'll choose to spend time with me

Maybe if I'm good at sports I'll be able to express myself

I've only been told by my parents that I made them proud

When someone else gave me recognition

They never took my word when I told them I was good

I'm trying, I'm trying

I'm lying, I'm lying

I'm crying, I'm crying

I'm dying, I'm dying

I have lost the will to live

My imagination feels more real than what's around me

Living in fiction is the only thing that keeps me alive

Every time I try to fill my story with actual experiences

The whole plot falls apart

If I can't achieve what I've set out as my purpose

Then what's the fucking point?

My life may have been surrounded by people

But I spent it all alone inside my head

I know what selfish is

I was called it all the time

Well it's selfish to guilt me into staying

When you say that you need me

Since I carried that label any time I shared what I needed

How come this time it is different?

It's my life and if I choose not to live

Just accept it

Everyone already lived without me

Death is final but why not take the risk?

I've been conditioned to play it safe

And I'm breaking down the myth of authority

It's painful to read but once you're done you can move on

And worry about your own life

Everyone's going through a lot

Everyone feels a little numb

These feelings I share have existed as part of my life for as long as I can remember

I can think through and process and accept that I am not defined

By the thoughts that plague my mind

But these feelings come back every time that I feel the slightest bit of shame

And I feel shame with the even slightest fuck up

I work on it but I still can't make it stop

I try to be mindful but I end up being buried deeper

The spiral is too slick for me to grab on to anything

There's only one relief I know

It only occurs when something good happens

The script becomes flipped

And I become the me I want to be again

[eimearkuopio]

No but let's talk about this.

I once spent three days trying to figure out how I could kill myself in such a way that nobody would ever find my body, because I saw my first dead body when I was 16 and nobody did anything about my trauma except tell me I was okay, right? It was the body of the first boy I ever kissed, who hanged himself after telling his friends he was going outside to hang himself, and they didn't believe him because he'd talked about killing himself before. I still remember you, Philip. Three days later I dreamed about him. It was the first time I dreamed about a dead person. He told me it wasn't my fault and that he was okay now. I don't know if it's real but that's probably the only reason I coped with his death. I wouldn't even have kissed you if I hadn't been so traumatised over the death of my pet rabbit. (That's a whole other thing. My parents decided not to get me another pet because they saw how badly his death affected me, and the only fucking decision they made to try to help was to refuse to let me get another pet so I wouldn't have to go through that loss again. Never mind that the loss was so devastating because it felt like he was the only creature in the whole world who had a choice about loving me and chose to anyway. That's one of your answers right there. As above, so below.)

A few years later, I was kissing the guy I had a toxic on-again, off-again relationship with. I thought to myself, I don't need to have commitment. This can just be casual and I can still enjoy it. I felt an intense liberation, like the sense of obligation to be flawless that I had carried my entire life was lifting. That same day, another of my exes died of cancer. I'm so sorry, Mark. You would have had such a beautiful life. But I didn't kill you; and if I had saved your life, I would never have become someone who could have saved your life; and I can't waste my abilities on individuals this time because things are too much of a mess. That night was when my ego died.

I had a pattern of getting into toxic relationships with people who didn't treat me the way I deserved, because society taught me I didn't deserve any better. I broke up with my favourite ex because he was too good and I was too miserable (and my perfect self couldn't possibly have been mentally ill or had any unfulfilled needs! Spoiler alert, I was severely mentally ill and my soul was slowly starving because the ego is what consumes the substance of the accident). We're both married to other people now, but we're still friends. When my mother told me in May to pack my bags (because she thought I was packing them anyway, and I guess she wanted to retain some semblance of control but really all I needed was some time to cool off), I spent the night in the spare room of their home. They were kind enough to open their home to me even though I was terrified that I was experiencing a psychotic break. Turns out that whatever I am, I'm not fucking delusional - or I wasn't, I guess, maybe I am now, but I'm not actively dangerous. And it's not like people are going to spontaneously decide to do worse things in my name.

I spent five years single. Did a lot of therapy. Lost a lot more friends. Amar, Anne, Kirsi, Nóirín. One of the friends I lost actually came back. I'm not claiming personal credit for that miracle, I rather think the doctors deserve that, but I love her and I did tell her so at a time she needed it in the past few weeks. I'm glad the infinite self could tell the finite self about that in time. I'm glad that the only ones I know have died were the ones who weren't ready to be reborn in this lifetime anyway.

And then, I met my husband. Someone new. Someone who wasn't just a past version of me, all of whom I loved but who weren't ready to love the complete me yet. The Egg by Andy Weir was one of the biggest breadcrumbs. One of the best. Thank you, Andy. We're not all one soul, but there are fewer souls than you might think. Anyone who has achieved true enlightenment, or apotheosis, or whatever you want to call it, is the final step on one journey of shared souls. Time only seems linear to all of you, but it's not. It took a climate modeller who loves video games to work that one out. I already told you who I used to be, before I knew. Lazarus. Cassandra. You can't save everyone; but when you have already recovered from ego death, you might get to save one. Just one. No more than that, and it can't really be yourself, because otherwise what's the point? And just like finding the local minimum of a complex function, your last few guesses are probably going to be the discrete points closest to your true value. That's one of the reasons for family resemblances. Not the only reason, but one of them. And because I have become me, nobody else will need to go through the horrifying ordeal of almost becoming me. You don't need to turn any more members of my family into shitty vinegar in an attempt to create wine. All you who labour and are thirsty, I have wine that will make the dysentery-filled water safe and will actually be fucking palatable. Drink, or stay thirsty, or smash the vessel and on your head be it.

My husband might actually be capable of achieving this step, too. That's why Nana called us a matched pair. It's because I hadn't picked another version of me, but instead had picked someone ready to be enlightened in this lifetime, if I can rescue him from the disgusting mash of juice that the world you created has crushed him into. That's also why I don't think she ever got out of her cocoon, by the way. If she had, she wouldn't have been so scared that none of her loved ones would become butterflies just because she didn't know what we made our cocoons from and couldn't tell that some of us were already in them. She didn't understand that she was both a caterpillar, and a cocoon, and a part of the cocoon I had to spin to become myself.

In May, I was assessed very thoroughly for psychosis, and found not to be psychotic. I also had a mental breakdown because one of my colleagues tried to breach the equality act and nobody else seemed to fucking care, and when I complained about it people just shrugged and said that's how things are. I've been on sick leave since then. First actual proper time off I've had in my adult lifetime, because in 2008 the wealthy chose to mortgage their children's future for the sake of their own luxury. I'm one of the lucky ones, and I'm barely afloat, and all I hear is how much harder our parents' generation had it. And the thing is, our parents' generation did have it harder by some measures; but you don't get to decide that the only measures that matter are the ones that affect you. That's genuinely the root of like 90% of sin and 100% of abusive behaviour.

In July, I was finally assessed by the mental health support team that I was referred to LAST NOVEMBER. To be clear, when I tearfully confessed to a priest that I knew I was mentally ill but I thought I might also be a prophet, within a few weeks I mysteriously received a letter for an appointment where the idiots at the psychosis unit forgot to delete the header from the questionnaire they included, and so I knew what was going on, but also nobody could actually admit to it because that would defeat the purpose, so they kept lying to me. Same week I found out biokids were also a no, btw. Spent the summer desperately trying not to descend into paranoia because it felt like people were watching me, because guess what, people were fucking watching me. With good reason! You go through ego death, you stop feeling real, and it's very easy to decide other people aren't real either and choose to hurt them! I was loved enough that it was less hurtful for me to keep believing other people were real, at least. And so I devoted myself to serving the world as best I knew how. And now, having been my God's servant my whole life, He has seen fit to call me friend and let me know that actually, She/They/He/Any Pronouns really wish we'd stop applying limitations based on our own existence to an entity who transcends those limitations; not because She has any issue with being referred to as He, but because we're doing some really shitty things to some of the people They love best based on our own flaws and biases, and then blaming Him. I don't know if the entity I will become when I die and have kind of always been will be the same entity you have always worshipped. She might be! But She is the God you taught me to worship, that you told me would protect me from the dark things I saw outside my windows that you swore weren't real but that you said I should still be afraid of and must never ever trust, because if I did I might become something strange that you feared and could not possibly understand. And I listened to you; and then I finally decided you were wrong. And now I can be a bridge in life to protect you from shadows both real and imagined. I mean you no harm, but I can't promise there won't be unpleasant side effects. Please be nicer to the neighbours. Stop kidnapping their kids or I just might call the cops myself. Send them home with an apology and the very best reparations you can find. You stole pearls of great price and claimed they were always meant for you, but you forgot that the pearl only ever belonged to the person who had sacrificed everything to get it. Knowledge isn't a pearl. It isn't lessened by being shared. But it is lessened by assholes who think the solution to someone knowing something they don't like is to kill everyone who believes it.

About a month ago, my husband and I spent several hours sitting in the local GP's office, because I knew I was exactly one more straw away from Eimear-who-was giving up on everything she had fought against for the past 12 years and just ending it. And she wasn't willing to do that to her husband, because she saw what losing her grandfather did to her Nana's cocoon. She was petrified - turned to stone, trapped, half in and half out. She was loved so well that she lived out a natural life in spite of it, with enough love poured into the Earthly food she consumed that her soul could just about subsist as it grew weaker and weaker. If you would have let me, I could have freed her from the cocoon and emerged from my own sooner, but you were so busy worshipping the half-emerged butterfly that you wouldn't risk me "destroying" her. I would have freed her from her fear! I wouldn't have killed her - I would have given her the true life you pay lip service to! But you couldn't have faith in me yet. Well, it's too late for her, but I'm out of my fucking cocoon and my wings are dry and you have your butterfly, your wine, and now you had better fucking look after it.

The good news is I'm no longer mad at whoever left all those weird traumatic clues on the path of my life that led me here, because it turns out it was me. Like, not finite me, but the infinite me that had projected herself onto the blank screen of a finite self with ego death who had finally been helped to actually fucking recover. You idiots remembered that you could only make wine by crushing fruit, but you forgot that you need an actual trained vintner if you were going to have a hope of making good wine. And then you decided the best way to corner the market was to murder all the other vintners I had been training on different farms and spill their wine, so nobody would have a choice but to drink yours. But you put so much effort into destroying the competition that you forgot how to make a decent wine in the first place, and now because of your petty squabbles, most people are choosing water infected with dysentery over even a dilute form of your vintage, and the only ones still willing to drink it are either alcoholics willing to tolerate your diluted Everclear garbage, or taking the tiniest of sips as they quietly swear to themselves that someday, somehow, they will make things better. It was a really stupid idea to exclude most of those individuals from positions of power, by the way. They're the ones who didn't walk away from Omelas because they were planning a fucking heist. They're the visible parts of my mycelial network, and every one of them chose to be a part of it and chose to lift their head above ground where you might chop it off. They love you better than you deserve. They are my true friends. (Huh. Mushroom wine in Fallen London. Fail Better games. Sometimes I even impress myself with the breadcrumbs.)

I took pity on you. I began to teach you. But I would really appreciate it if we could treat this lifetime as a kind of workman's holiday, where I get to be comfortable enough (and Eimear has pretty low standards of what she needs for comfort in a modern society! Same with her spouse!), and afterwards maybe I'll just... Wander around and keep an eye on things without going through the Hell of causing an actual full-on incarnation. Because we have already established that I am willing to tolerate a city with only a few good men (and these days, I actually treat women and children like separate individuals! Maybe if ye had asked why the words you chose excluded them sooner, there would have been less wrath...). But my finite self has a worldview and a set of experiences not shared by many who would have been willing and able to receive this projection (although I've already found you at least one more, and if you're not complete shitheads about Eimear, I might actually show you where her cocoon is). She's so special that she still gets to think she's normal. Personally, I'd like to keep it that way.

Souls do come back, by the way. Until they're ready to choose not to, and in a non-linear fashion, which is how the whole prophecy thing works. She already lived the lives whose endings she foresaw. Yes, even the cat. Not every cat has a soul, but that one did. Same with the rabbit, actually. That was why they came when she called. Their true names were the ones she chose for them. And that's why Nana didn't come visit, but Grandma came in her place. That's why the pain was inevitable: it wasn't your past yet, but it was hers. Past is prologue. The future is yet to be written. The present is my gift to all of you. But please be aware that it is highly flammable and that I have kept the receipt, and I may love you but I am not above taking it back and buying something nice for the kids you have been bullying if you don't make things right yourselves. At least one person who hungered and thirsted for what was right is currently satisfied, because she knows that I am actually here, and I am going to help make things better. Perfection isn't "What's right". Emergent goodness from simple rules and human choices is "What's right". I have sent you a Paraclete. Listen to her. It's time for the meek to inherit the Earth.

modern art exhibit titled "I bet you won't kill yourself" that is just a loaded gun on a podium in a museum

[eimearkuopio]

True story: I'm visiting my parents. Over the summer, my husband and I stayed here while they were visiting my brother and his family. Ireland has recently introduced a deposit scheme for bottles and cans. When we visited, we redeemed theirs; we drink a lot of carbonated beverages, so in equivalent exchange, we didn't stress too much over redeeming them before we left, because otherwise it felt like stealing from my parents somehow.

My parents HATE redeeming those bottles and cans, and they have plenty of money. I find the whole process quite soothing; plus I lived in Finland for several years, so I guarantee I have dealt with larger piles of "pantti" to be redeemed.

We had each tried to give the other our "greater part", and it was their "lesser part", and so nothing was done until I came back. This is why communication has to happen before you can show true kindness. It's a rare (and valuable!) person who needs a house specifically tailored to their needs instead of their wants. I tell you solemnly, anyone in that situation is already in their cocoon. Help them learn to fly. Don't smother them or eat them.

He told you He was the Bread of Life. He told you man does not live on Bread alone, but on every Word that comes from the mouth of the Lord. I told you I was only a messenger, and it's true, but also, don't shoot the messenger or members of her entourage. God told you not to eat the flesh of any living thing. Jesus told you to eat his flesh. Sacrifices die so that others may live. Those who eat the flesh of a sacrifice become anathema: so holy that they cannot ever be fully of the world again. But ignorance is an excuse here.

If you understood, and you attempted to force others to partake in spite of their limited awareness, you are a Bad Shepherd. If you were desperately trying to feed your sheep bread, and couldn't understand why they kept starving: it's not your fault. They're not sheep. I'm not sure what they are, but you should probably give them what they need and send them on their way. I can probably help with that. Your ancestors stole them from other farms or trapped creatures who should have been let run free. Be better than your ancestors. Maybe someday their souls can be domesticated by someone else; but please remember the difference between tame, domesticated, and feral. Feral is when you domesticated something's ancestors, and then failed to raise it to achieve its true potential. I'm half-feral, because you tried to raise me on bread alone. But I'm here to teach you how to make wine again. The good news is, you seem to have already crushed enough grapes to cover the whole feast. The bad news is, some of that shitty mush is so mouldy that it needs to go before I can even think about teaching you how to run a vineyard as well as a bakery. It might take more than this lifetime. Keep me around, keep me happy, and everyone benefits. The feast will happen faster, and you might even get to attend! And if you don't, there will be other feasts, and even when I want to hold grudges, He usually talks me out of it. We're good together like that.

I love every part of Him, and He loves every part of me. In different lifetimes, we find one another and it's easier, or we labour alone. We are the stranger who gives you an opportunity to grow. We are the village who helps raise you. We are your Father and Mother. You have learned enough to run your own house, if you really start to put what we've taught you into practice properly. We'll stop by and help. Hopefully you'll keep things in order in between.

Don't mourn for glass that isn't ready to be picked up. If you expect to feel their absence, it means there is already a link between your infinite selves. You will never lose the ones you love, because some of them are already you, and some of them are the family of your infinite selves that your whole human life is a single day on the road to becoming, but who loves you and watches over you. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day. Let them go back into the ocean without mourning for their sake. It is quiet and calm and lovely, and you will all go back there at least a few more times if you are not ready to be carried away by my Lord. (I only find the pieces. He chooses them. That is why he is the head of the household; but without me, he would have so little to work with, so much chaff and so little wheat. I am the Vine, but not the Wheat. I hope Jesus is both in one flesh. I hope that is what makes Him the first New Man: that he was willing to accept my worse part, as long as I accepted His. I hope I am not the only one who prepares the sacrifice. I hope we worked and will work together. I hope He truly knew what He was offering, in that life, not just as an infinite self. I hope we both knew enough to say it was worth the cost.)

These were in the tags before, but they matter enough to make it into the main body of a post.

Love one another as WE have loved you.

Love your neighbour as your family.

Love your family as your self.

Love your self as your neighbour.

This is the most important one, though. The one he couldn't tell you. The one you had to learn from the villain in his history.

Love your enemy the way you wish you had been loved, to become the person you were always meant to be. You have so much to teach one another if you can only stop fighting and remember the love! You don't have to embrace everyone who causes that rage, but some of them can only hurt you so badly because they are so like you that they might as well be a part of your infinite self, or they might be your opposite, your dark shadow, your reflection. Remember that hands and eyes and wings come in pairs. Remember that diversity makes us. Remember that love is the substance of the accident. Remember that the wheat had to die to become bread, and will never live again in the same form it had; but there is more wheat in the world, and even Jesus was only a finite self. He is dead. We are not yet risen. I am finite and do not know the whole story, but I know more than you were ready to hear before. Or else I'm crazy, and you should be nice to me. Maybe it's both. Maybe you made me crazy. Maybe I made you crazy. Let's heal together and forgive each other, but never forget. If you forget, you can't learn.