#never punishing him with the severe method the elders used on him

[atqh16]

You guys ever think about how the only way Sizhui could have turned out to be the kind hearted, patient and compassionate boy that he is, is because he was nurtured lovingly by someone who cared for him deeply and showed it?

[samwisethewitch]

Cults? In my life? It’s more likely than you think.

In my last post, I talked about how the Law of Attraction and Christian prosperity gospel both use the same thought control techniques as cults. I’ve received several public and private replies to that post: some expressing contempt for “sheeple” who can be lead astray by cults, and others who say my post made them scared that they might be part of a cult without knowing it.

I want to address both of those types of replies in this post. I want to talk about what a cult really looks like, and how you can know if you’re dealing with one.

If you type the word “cult” into Google Images, it will bring up lots of photos of people with long hair, wearing all white, with their hands raised in an expression of ecstasy.

Most modern cults do not look anything like this.

Modern cultists look a lot like everyone else. One of the primary goals of most cults is recruitment, and it’s hard to get people to join your cause if they think you and your group are all Kool-Aid-drinking weirdos. The cults that last are the ones that manage to convince people that they’re just like everyone else — a little weird maybe, but certainly not dangerous.

In the book The Road to Jonestown: Jim Jones and Peoples Temple, author Jeff Guinn says, “In years to come, Jim Jones would frequently be compared to murderous demagogues such as Adolf Hitler and Charles Manson. These comparisons completely misinterpret, and historically misrepresent, the initial appeal of Jim Jones to members of Peoples Temple. Jones attracted followers by appealing to their better instincts.”

You might not know Jim Jones and the Peoples Temple by name, but you’ve probably heard their story. They’re the Kool-Aid drinkers I mentioned earlier. Jones and over 900 of his followers, including children, committed mass suicide by drinking Flavor Aid mixed with cyanide.

In a way, the cartoonish image of cults in popular media has helped real-life cults to stay under the radar and slip through people’s defenses.

In her book Recovering Agency: Lifting the Veil of Mormon Mind Control, Luna Lindsey says: “These groups use a legion of persuasive techniques in unison, techniques that strip away the personality to build up a new group pseudopersonality. New members know very little about the group’s purpose, and most expectations remain unrevealed. People become deeply involved, sacrificing vast amounts of time and money, and investing emotionally, spiritually, psychologically, and socially.”

Let’s address some more common myths about cults:

Myth #1: All cults are Satanic or occult in nature. This mostly comes from conservative Christians, who may believe that all non-Christian religions are inherently cultish in nature and are in league with the Devil. This is not the case — most non-Christians don’t even believe in the Devil, much less want to sign away their souls to him. Many cults use Christian theology to recruit members, and some of these groups (Mormons, Jehovah’s Witnesses, etc.) have become popular enough to be recognized as legitimate religions. Most cults have nothing to do with magic or the occult.

Myth #2: All cults are religious. This is also false. While some cults do use religion to recruit members or push an agenda, many cults have no religious or spiritual element. Political cults are those founded around a specific political ideology. Author and cult researcher Janja Lalich is a former member of an American political cult founded on the principles of Marxism. There are also “cults of personality” built around political figures and celebrities, such as Adolf Hitler, Chairman Mao, and Donald Trump. In these cases, the cult is built around hero worship of the leader — it doesn’t really matter what the leader believes or does.

Myth #3: All cults are small fringe groups. Cults can be any size. Some cults have only a handful of members — it’s even possible for parents to use thought control techniques on their children, essentially creating a cult that consists of a single family.  There are some cults that have millions of members (see previous note about Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses).

Myth #4: All cults live on isolated compounds away from mainstream society. While it is true that all cults isolate their members from the outside world, very few modern cults use physical isolation. Many cults employ social isolation, which makes members feel separate from mainstream society. Some cults do this by encouraging their followers to be “In the world but not of the world,” or encouraging them to keep themselves “pure.”

Myth #5: Only stupid, gullible, and/or mentally ill people join cults. Actually, according to Luna Lindsey, the average cult member is of above-average intelligence. As cult expert Steven Hassan points out, “Cults intentionally recruit ‘valuable’ people—they go after those who are intelligent, caring, and motivated. Most cults do not want to be burdened by unintelligent people with serious emotional or physical problems.” The idea that only stupid or gullible people fall for thought control is very dangerous, because it reinforces the idea that “it could never happen to me.” This actually prevents intelligent people from thinking critically about the information they’re consuming and the groups they’re associating with, which makes them easier targets for cult recruitment.

So, now that we have a better idea of what a cult actually looks like, how do you know if you or someone you know is in one?

A good rule of thumb is to compare the group’s actions and teachings to Steven Hassan’s BITE Model. Steven Hassan is an expert on cult psychology, and most cult researchers stand by this model. From Hassan’s website, freedomofmind.com: “Based on research and theory by Robert Jay Lifton, Margaret Singer, Edgar Schein, Louis Jolyon West, and others who studied brainwashing in Maoist China as well as cognitive dissonance theory by Leon Festinger, Steven Hassan developed the BITE Model to describe the specific methods that cults use to recruit and maintain control over people. ‘BITE’ stands for Behavior, Information, Thought, and Emotional control.”

Behavior Control may include…

Telling you how to behave, and enforcing behavior with rewards and punishments. (Rewards may be nonphysical concepts like “salvation” or “enlightenment,” or social rewards like group acceptance or an elevated status within the group. Punishments may also be nonphysical, like “damnation,” or may be social punishments like judgement from peers or removal from the group.)

Dictating where and with whom you live. (This includes pressure to move closer to other group members, even if you will be living separately.)

Controlling or restricting your sexuality. (Includes enforcing chastity or abstinence and/or coercion into non-consensual sex acts.)

Controlling your clothing or hairstyle. (Even if no one explicitly tells you, you may feel subtle pressure to look like the rest of the group.)

Restricting leisure time and activities. (This includes both demanding participation in frequent group activities and telling you how you should spend your free time.)

Requiring you to seek permission for major decisions. (Again, even if you don’t “need” permission, you may feel pressure to make decisions that will be accepted by the group.)

And more.

Information Control may include…

Withholding or distorting information. (This may manifest as levels of initiation, with only the “inner circle” or upper initiates being taught certain information.)

Forbidding members from speaking with ex-members or other critics.

Discouraging members from trusting any source of information that isn’t approved by the group’s leadership.

Forbidding members from sharing certain details of the group’s beliefs or practice with outsiders.

Using propaganda. (This includes “feel good” media that exists only to enforce the group’s message.)

Using information gained in confession or private conversation against you.

Gaslighting to make members doubt their own memory. (“I never said that,” “You’re remembering that wrong,” “You’re confused,” etc.)

Requiring you to report your thoughts, feelings, and activities to group leaders or superiors.

Encouraging you to spy on other group members and report their “misconduct.”

And more.

Thought Control may include…

Black and White, Us vs. Them, or Good vs. Evil thinking.

Requiring you to change part of your identity or take on a new name. (This includes only using last names, as well as titles like “Brother,” “Sister,” and “Elder.”)

Using loaded languages and cliches to stop complex thought. (This is the difference between calling someone a “former member” and calling the same person an “apostate” or “covenant breaker.”)

Inducing hypnotic or trance states including prayer, meditation, singing hymns, etc.

Using thought-stopping techniques to prevent critical thinking. (“If you ever find yourself doubting, say a prayer to distract yourself!”)

Allowing only positive thoughts or speech.

Rejecting rational analysis and criticism both from members and from those outside the group.

And more.

Emotional Control may include…

Inducing irrational fears and phobias, especially in connection with leaving the group. (This includes fear of damnation, fear of losing personal value, fear of persecution, etc.)

Labeling some emotions as evil, worldly, sinful, low-vibrational, or wrong.

Teaching techniques to keep yourself from feeling certain emotions like anger or sadness.

Promoting feelings of guilt, shame, and unworthiness. (This is often done by holding group members to impossible standards, such as being spiritually “pure” or being 100% happy all the time.)

Showering members and new recruits with positive attention — this is called “love bombing.” (This can be anything from expensive gifts to sexual favors to simply being really nice to newcomers.)

Shunning members who disobey orders or disbelieve the group’s teachings.

Teaching members that there is no happiness, peace, comfort, etc. outside of the group.

And more.

If a group ticks most or all of the boxes in any one of these categories, you need to do some serious thinking about whether or not that group is good for your mental health. If a group is doing all four of these, you’re definitely dealing with a cult and need to get out as soon as possible.

These techniques can also be used by individual people in one-on-one relationships. A relationship or friendship where someone tries to control your behavior, thoughts, or emotions is not healthy and, again, you need to get out as soon as possible.

Obviously, not all of these things are inherently bad. Meditation and prayer can be helpful on their own, and being nice to new people is common courtesy. The problem is when these acts become part of a bigger pattern, which enforces someone else’s control over your life.

A group that tries to tell you how to think or who to be is bad for your mental health, your personal relationships, and your sense of self. When in doubt, do what you think is best for you — and always be suspicious of people or groups who refuse to be criticized.

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Dark Forest Resident: Mothbloom

Aliases / Nicknames: Medicine Cat Killer, Foxheart, Mothblood

Gender: tom

Sexuality: homosexual

Family: unnamed mother, unnamed father, unnamed sister, Whitedusk (grandfather)

Other Relations: unnamed mentor

Clan: Thunderclan

Rank: warrior, temporary medicine cat

Characteristics: kills to make his own legacy

Number of Victims: 8

Number of Murders: 7

Murder Method: poisoning, tearing throat

Known Victims: several unnamed warriors and medicine cats, Lilyseed

Victim Profile: anyone he felt like hurting, warriors from other Clans, medicine cats from own Clan, sick or hurt Clanmates that went to him for help

Cause of Death: suffocated, killed by his leader

Cautionary Tale: ??

Story:

It didn’t matter who he was. 

It never mattered what he did.

The only thing that mattered was his legacy, his amazing grandfather, a heroic deputy, a true bright star! If Mothpaw messed up, how dare he stain his grandfather’s name? If Mothpaw did something great, well of course he did! He’s Whitedusk’s kin!

The stress of it all caused Mothpaw to lash out, but no one ever listened to what he had to say, believing him to just be an insolent, disrespectful child.

Even when he shouted in their faces why it was so unfair, they failed to listen, only getting angrier with him and punishing him for speaking such a way to his kin and about his kin.

‘Whitedusk would never.’

Fine! 

They want to know something Whitedusk would really never do? They want to force the burden of some random kin’s legacy on his shoulders and bury him in with the rest of those trapped in his bloodline?

Well, how about he makes his own history? He’ll stand out, apart from Whitedusk, and if by doing so he would have to hurt one or two cats... so be it.

It was just a thought for a long time. Mothbloom wasn’t sure how he could really do it, not just by getting away with it until he was ready for his deeds to be known, but emotionally. 

To think about killing someone was far different than really taking a life. What if he couldn’t handle it?

So he settled with a test. He deliberately carried a still-living chipmunk near the Skyclan border so that he could chase it across and be confronted by a lone Skyclan warrior. 

He struck quickly, snapping at the warrior’s throat like a snake while he was too busy ranting at him to protect himself. A twinge of regret pricked at Mothbloom’s paws at the gurgling, but he held on. Then, looking down at the body, a soothing wave washed away his worries. 

Contented, he dragged the body into a pile of strong-smelling catmint before leaving to wash it all away.

But would one body be enough? If he truly wanted to get rid of Whitedusk’s memory and become his own cat in history, wouldn’t he have to kill plenty?

He couldn’t supress the thrill he felt as the unexpected death was announced at the next gathering. Then again, why should he supress it at all?

More and more, he became content with witnessing others suffer. He killed the Clan’s medicine cats, including the retired elder, more to watch his own Clan weaken-- his own kin who had treated him so horribly for acting the same as any other, just because he had to always be great-- than to add to his...task.

They had to get a new medicine cat from, ironically enough, Skyclan, who luckily also had a retired medicine cat to spare. He had to train an apprentice, Lilypaw, in Skyclan’s territory. With the sudden deaths stirring suspicion and the killer not yet caught, the leader didn’t want to risk her Clanmate.

Mothbloom had to stifle a dark chuckle when he requested to his own leader to have him become a ‘temporary’ medicine cat while Lilypaw was away, proving to her that he had enough information to get by, and if someone seriously needed help, they could run for help.

It was easy to poison his Clanmates then. And he had fun doing it too! The retiree briefed him on what herbs to use when, and especially on what herbs not to use.

Mothbloom made sure to use those ones. It was so fun! Watching them writhe, gasp, reach for him. He pretended to try to help in case someone walked in on him just sitting there while their Clanmate died, but it was always clear to the dying cat that he meant to do nothing for them.

Unfortunately, it was during one of these times that Lilypaw--Lilyseed returned. Helping the cat, she realized that he had died of what were clearly signs of foxglove poisoning. 

She first believed it to be an accident, but after speaking with the leader and discovering that several of their other Clanmates had also died of similar symptoms, as well as symptoms of other poisons, it wasn’t hard to trace it all back to the one cat that was caring for them all-- Mothbloom.

He admitted to it all, taking it as his chance to have his deeds known, and admitted to also killing the previous medicine cats and several cats from the other Clans.

The looks on those who had so badly wanted his destiny to follow Whitedusk’s! Priceless!

He finished his cheerful speech by lunging at Lilyseed. But before he could tear into her, he was tackled to the ground by her father, Bramblegorse, and was beaten to a near-pulp.

Instead of exile, he was kept as prisoner. Lilyseed healed his wounds as best she could, even though she was told that she didn’t have to. 

Still, he was growing weaker by the day. And when the leader slipped into the den and held her paws over his nose and muzzle, he couldn’t fight back.

Additonal Information:

--I think you can guess who this is loosely based on!

--They likely did go for help with so many dying, but they probably settled on ‘some prey must have eaten poison and it affected them’ only for Lilyseed to show up right after someone died (and was thus able to properly examine the body) and go ‘nah they were given poison directly.’

--His family did truly love him and felt incredibly bad because they knew that they pushed him onto such a dark path + they didn’t see the struggle he was undergoing or noticed how evil he had become.

--He’s flamboyant.

[scarletarosa]

Belial

One of the goetic demons and is a king who serves under High King Lucifer in his domain. Like all other goetic demons, Belial is a deity who served the Source as an Angel many ages ago. This information was shared to me by Belial and also learned through my workings with this magnificent infernal god. 

Rulerships: politics, law, rhetoric, tactics, strategy, diplomacy, prosecution, truth, and justice/retribution

History: In the distant past many eternities ago, Belial was created as the second being within this Universe, many ages after Lucifer (the First-Born) came into existence. These two and the rest of the elder Angels were all directly created from the Source, the supreme god, who is formless and incomprehensible. The Angels were all created to manage the Universe and be agents of the Source and his feminine counterpart, the Queen of Heaven (who created some Angels as well). As the first-born deity of this Universe, Lucifer is the most complex, so he became leader of the Angels and was at the head of the Seraphim order. As the second-born, Belial was in charge of the Cherubim (the second-highest order of Angels) and was appointed as an Archangel as well. This lasted for countless ages until the corrupted Aeonic god, Jehovah, entered the Universe from the Void; leaving behind his duties of forming Universes in order to usurp our Universal Throne.

After arriving, he immediately began causing mass destruction and giving out malicious orders to the Angels. Lucifer began a rebellion against this, with Belial being the second Angel to join him in the Fall. After a long traumatic war, Jehovah defeated the rebels and threw them into Hell; condemning them all to this bleak wasteland. Once here, the dark and twisted energies of Hell began to alter the essences of the Fallen ones, making their energies dark as well. Their wings blackened, they grew horns, and some developed red eyes, spikes, claws, or other strange features. They were now a race that came to be called “demons”, and the strongest of these became the three High Kings of Hell: Lucifer, Satan, and Leviathan.

Since Belial had always followed close to Lucifer’s own values, he joined his kingdom and was made one of the kings. And due to Belial’s natural talent for persuasion and finding the truth, he was also appointed as Lucifer’s Truth Tester, or General Investigator. Overtime, Belial gradually became just as much connected to deceit as truth, since he realized the convenience of lies and their many uses. With deception, he often uses it as a method to teach truth (similar to how Lucifer does at times), test whether someone is telling the truth, but also lies whenever he feels the desire to. For this reason, the Christians began calling Belial the “Father of Lies”. Besides this, there was a time in the past where Belial was fond of the Samurai of Japan and encouraged their ideas of Bushido. Yet this was not to last since the Samurai were eventually all killed off by their Emperor. Nowadays, Belial does not much care for humanity in general and has very low expectations of others since people constantly make the same mistakes.

Rank: King

Elements: Air and Fire

Colours: Cream, Black, Vermillion, Metallic Grey, and Peridot Green

Appearance: An elegant gentleman in his late 30’s with short, wavy black hair, dark brown eyes, and light skin. He wears classy outfits or suits that are usually black in colour and wears leather dress shoes. Normally, Belial doesn’t manifest his horns and wings but tends to do so when angered. During battles, he wears elegant dark armour and his choice weapon is either a longsword or katana.

Personality: Belial is very confident, suave, intelligent, strategic, sophisticated, and is a connoisseur of refined tastes. He speaks smoothly and can be sarcastic, though never reveals much about himself to others. He is also willing to speak to anyone of any religion as long as they don’t waste his time or are interested in seeking truth. Belial especially loves speaking to Abrahamists in order to challenge their perspectives (which he never fails at) and takes great amusement in the terror they feel when their veils of ignorance are being lifted. Yet this is too easy of a challenge for him since it doesn’t take much for Belial to convince others of things. So far, the only one who can match Belial in the intellectual art of persuasion is Lucifer.

Overall, Belial tends to have very little patience with humans and doesn’t wish to be disturbed unless someone is serious. He wishes to either provide truth (if he chooses) or assist in certain matters. Otherwise, he won’t show up and does not like to stay around people just to be friendly. For those who work with him, Belial may act as a pedagogue and will have patience for those who try to succeed, even if they fail. However, if a person complains about things without ever trying to make things better, he will have no patience for them at all. As for those who try to sexualize Belial against his will, he severely punishes them and does not forgive it. The same thing goes for those who mock him, call him nicknames, or make him appear “soft”.

In regards to politics, Belial strongly prefers to cunningly solve things through diplomacy and making intelligent maneuvers towards prosperity (even if we must manipulate or deceive in the process). Therefore, Belial may also teach that lies have their place and are not as bad as we have been taught. He also says how truth is the most hated of all virtues because this world is in love with lies. Those who speak the truth wholeheartedly are often called liars and are usually murdered in the end. Because of this, lies are often very necessary and can be used to gradually teach certain truths that would not usually be accepted. Along with Lucifer, Belial is a master strategist able to create incredibly complex plans in order to make the best future possible. He is even in favour of space colonization, provided it is done intelligently and not greedily. For this value of progress, he tends to share his plans of a better world to promising politicians (which is difficult since the majority of politicians in every country are corrupt). Besides strategy and rhetoric, some of the other things Belial tends to enjoy are elegance, classical music, sword fighting, martial arts, horse racing, chess, the game “Go”, expensive things, Versace fashion, luxurious libraries, stock markets, Rolls-Royce cars, satin sheets, mahogany, and the following instruments: violins, pianos, clarinets, and saxophones.

How to call him: Speak to Belial as you would with any other god, be polite and considerate. Contact him through telepathically speaking in your mind, directing the words to him (you can do this verbally, but if malicious spirits hear, they may pretend to be him). When inviting a Goetic demon to you, try to dress well for them since they are divine and royalty.

What he can help with: mutually served interests and dynamic progress through smart resolution and maneuvering. Helps with resolving conflicts through strategy, silencing and/or harming enemies (if he agrees they should be punished), advises on intelligent political maneuvers towards prosperity, and teaches harsh truths

Belial’s Enn (for meditation or devotion): Lirach Tasa Vefa Wehl Belial

Offerings: champagne, pink champagne, expensive wine, spiced rum, dry gin, Irish coffee, beef liver, smoked salmon, lobster, caviar, truffle chocolates, veal, veal fillet, pigeon meat, ostrich meat, basmati rice, truffle mushrooms, ground black pepper, cinnamon, Siberian ginseng, red roses, white roses, black roses, daggers, katanas, longswords, mahogany writing desks, black marble, black tourmaline, black star sapphires, snowflake obsidian, peridot, expensive pens, expensive wristwatches, Italian leather men’s shoes, expensive men’s coats (high society), gold, gold foil in oil, silver, bonsai trees, fancy chess boards, black dice with white dots, fancy playing cards (preferably black and white), expensive colognes

*no pork or lamb offerings, he detests them

*also don’t offer chicken or turkey since he will not accept these

[everybody-loves-purdy]

From a writing perspective snowkits fate always made sense to me. You have this clan thats suffered horribly and been betrayed, to the point the leader's gone mad and cats aside their gods which terrifies the already paranoid clan. The whole book's a series of events thats intended to make even the main character question if starclan themselves are punishing them or don't exist at all in this dark and cruel world. The plot of the first arc is all avout this new generation of cats led by an outsider to their clans shaking up this culture thats become complacent in their traditions.

Several times cats get hurt or injured and the traditional cats are just fine to throw them into the elders den which fireheart and his companions fight against by finding new, unorthodox methods that meet these cats half way. Snowkit is set up to be another one fo these cats thrown to the wayside by the clans traditions to be given a chance by fireheart and his generation, specifically brackenfur, he would not have gotten under the old ways.

And then something completely out of anyone's control happens that could and has happened to any other cat. But in this case it happens in a way the paranoid thunderclan and Bluestar can blame the victim for being picked off by nature and possibly starclan in a way that push Fireheart and his generation into a despair that makes them think maybe the paranoid bluestar and old ways were right and they're being foolish for going against the grain. For a moment they forget all the progress they made and think maybe snowkit really was doomed from the start, and it makes them more cautious at first when brightheart becomes the next victim of the clans ways.

It always came off to me as in-world ableism intended to go alongside brightheart and cinderpelt's stories of being the victim of the clan's harsh, backhanded kindness. That the answer was clearly no, it was all just a tragedy not caused by anything but coincidence, and that it might not have happened at all if thunderclan were not in state that it was in and fireheart been more resolute in his righteousness at the time. Brackenfur was given a different apprentice specifically to show Snowkit could have done well under his wing if they had gotten their act together in time. The book was all about the clan and code being their own worst enemy and many of their own being the victim while their real enemy gets a leg up without trying.

I dont think it was a perfect choice, it was also definitely part of a series of decisions made to make whitestorm and then greystripe deputy. I think maybe it might have also been TOO dark and possibly redundant, and partly a scenario inspired by them not keeping track of queens and their kits from the start. but I never read his story itself as ableism on the erins part, but part of the in-world ableism that fireheart's generation actively fought against as part of their greater fight against the worse aspects of clan tradition and faultered in at that moment due to tragedy and paranoia. It happens a lot at that point in the story where the people around fireheart end up suffering the butt end of the warrior code, from greystripe and bluestar's family to the sick shadowclan cats to swiftpaw and brightheart.

I would say the ableism that bothers me in his story is more the implication that he needs to be useful in some way and that him going off to the elders den to be cared for instead of helping is inherently tragic. But being dependant's an emotion even real life disabled people struggle with, so its never been unreasonable to me that this community that emphasises taking care of each other, idolizes caretakers, and looks down on kittypets who allow themselves "soft lives" would struggle with that. I guess what I mean is what I said before, that it all comes across as in-world, not authour driven, whether they absolutely fumbled the execution or not.

This is such a good analysis of the whole situation

[expended-sleeper]

Fire and Faith

"Here you are." Othreloth handed him a steaming cup and took a seat. "Not as good as when Galdrus makes it, of course."

"I was wondering where your apprentice was," Gelebor replied, hiding his expression behind a sip of tea. "He was usually quite eager to engage with me, during my prior visits."

Othreloth smiled slightly. "I've sent him to Blacklight to receive further training. I'm sure you didn't fail to notice his...overenthusiasm, for tithing."

In truth, after the first time Gelebor had come to the Reclamations Temple he had been careful not to return with more than a few coins on his person. Inevitably, all the gold he carried would end up as an offering to the New Tribunal. This was made all the more impressive since Galdrus incessantly mocked and cursed Auriel during his visits.

"But I sense you didn't come here to speak of Galdrus Hlervu," Othreloth said, and sipped his tea. "You seem changed, my son. Did something happen to you, during your adventure with this woman in the woods?"

Gelebor paused before responding. Before, their conversations had been purely academic. The differences between their faiths, for the most part, and the struggles of walking the correct path. Othreloth still thought him a particularly pale Altmer with a strong devotion to Auriel. But they had never spoken of personal matters.

"Have no fear, Gelebor," Othreloth said, perhaps sensing his reluctance. "Just because we worship Daedra in this land, that doesn't mean dremora will materialize if you dare show weakness. All are safe from judgment within the walls of this temple."

"Thank you, elder." Gelebor leaned back. "I've been turning this problem over in my head these past few days, trying to work through it. Wherever I've found myself doesn't feel much better than where I started. In truth, I've lost my faith. I...no longer feel love, for Auriel."

"Hmm. I see. What prompted this turn? You seemed a most loyal disciple when last we spoke."

"I weary of his ambivalence. For many years I've done nothing but praise his name, wanting neither recognition nor reward. But the rewards he has seen fit to bestow upon me only prolong this endless cruelty, and in the light of eternal life, his ignorance is all the more agonizing."

If Gelebor's confession of immortality shocked Othreloth, the old Dunmer did not show it on his face. He set down his tea cup and pursed his lips.

"Eternal life, you say," Othreloth mused. "Not the most uncommon gift, and perhaps the most shared among the Aedra and Daedra. The latter often use eternity as a self-serving weapon, to ensure they have a strong and loyal servant on the mortal plane for as long as possible. Do you believe Auriel is prolonging your life with the same intention?"

"I don't know," Gelebor replied. He put down his own cup and rubbed his forehead. "I would say such an act would be out of character, but for all the time I've spent serving Auriel I can't say I know him well. What I've seen of his mercy leaves much to be desired."

"I don't need to tell you that our faiths are quite different. Servants of the Daedra can ask the Princes their intentions, and oftentimes even receive a response. The Reclamations are no exception. Azura spoke to the Nerevarine to guide them on the path of prophecy, and Mephala and Boethiah also communicate with those they deem worthy. Many former followers of the Aedra find this transparency refreshing."

"I see." Gelebor drummed his fingers against his chair arm and studied a tapestry on the wall. Othreloth laughed at the look on his face.

"Don't worry, son. I'm not trying to convert you. Tell me. How much do you know of the Dunmer faith?"

"Mostly, only what you've told me." You, and Nadene. "Your people once worshiped a different Tribunal, I know."

"Yes." All the spirit seemed to go out of Othreloth. "We were misled. And as punishment for straying from the right path, the Daedra sent Morrowind back centuries, if not thousands of years. Red Mountain exploded with the fury of our forsaken gods. Even us Ashlanders, who had remained loyal despite the Tribunal's heresy, were not spared the fire and ash that rained from the sky."

"You truly believe the Daedra caused the Red Year?" Gelebor leaned forward. "That's horrible." He opened his mouth to continue, but then thought better of it.

Othreloth smiled wearily. "Go on. We both know what you were about to ask."

"Well...how can you worship gods that treat your lives with such disregard?"

"Finally, you have arrived at the crux of Dunmer faith." Othreloth raised his cup in salute. "It's a bargain, you see? We endure pain and hardship in service to merciless masters, in return for rewards that servants of other faiths can only dream of. But such an arrangement means that if the returns for fierce devotion are so great, the reckonings from disloyalty must be all the more severe."

"I don't quite understand."

"No, I don't expect you would. Despite what you say, your spirit is still twisted towards worship of Auriel. But think about what I've said. The disparities between Aedra and Daedra are not as strong as many believe. Have you ever known your god to abandon his followers?"

Gelebor's mind flashed to the burning Chantry, and Vyrthur, left to the eternal torment of Molag Bal.

"Yes," he replied.

"And has he abandoned you?"

The question struck him like a blow. Gelebor looked down at his hands, nearly as whole and unlined as they had been when he left the Chantry five years ago. The rest of his body was in a similar state of preservation. My immortality lingers, but for what purpose? Why must I persist?

"I don't know," Gelebor admitted. "Perhaps I've just been extraordinarily fortunate."

"Ha." Othreloth stood and accepted Gelebor's offered cup. "Consider this, Gelebor; Auriel has no method of communicating his wishes to you, beyond his gifts. If he has given you years of life, maybe he expects you to figure out yourself what to do with them."

"Maybe. But it's not enough." Gelebor followed the elder back out into the central chamber, where midday worshipers were already quietly entering the temple. "For centuries of love and loyalty, I deserve more to go on than 'do it yourself, you lazy elf'."

"There's your mistake. Love is purely a mortal affliction, my friend," Othreloth said, guiding him towards the door. "The gods have moved past such weaknesses. Pray that you never join them."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18719674/

[untamedunrestrained]

Moral of the Story

I was scrolling through the WangXian tag on Tumblr when I came across a post that I eventually scrolled past but it seems to have planted a germ of an idea that I just can’t shake loose and I tried and I tried and then I procrastinated some more for good measure but it didn’t work. So, here I am trying to present my thoughts with some degree of coherency.

The post that was the impetus for this post, talks about LWJ’s punishment after the events at Nightless City just before WWX’s death. That post raises the question of how LWJ could forgive his uncle and brother for a punishment that would have killed a lesser cultivator.

The moment I read the post I disagreed with it but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why but since I have been thinking about it for the past few days, I now know exactly why I disagreed with the post in the first place.

Before we proceed, I would like to make it clear that while what I’m about to say tracks across every canon of MDZS, I’m going to pick the details from the novel verse because it’s more detailed with regards to this particular aspect of the story, and also if you have only watched The Untamed/CQL and not read the novel (albeit only in its translated form) it might be easier to fall into the type of thinking that lead to the previous post in the first place.

Ideally, I should just link to the original post but since I found the post while I was scrolling through Tumblr’s tag for WangXian and initially tried to ignore it completely because I didn’t quite understand why that particular idea was troubling me, I don’t think it would be easy to find it again and since I’m disagreeing with the post I don’t want the author of the post to find this because even when we try to be rational our first response to being disagreed with is hurt or anger and I don’t want anyone to feel that way. These are just my thoughts and you might agree or disagree with them but I feel like I should put them out there since the idea will not leave me alone.

So, let’s get into it.

LWJ is given thirty-three discipline whips for each of the thirty-three GusuLan elders he gravely injured to protect WWX.

When WWX sees LWJ scars in the novel these are his thoughts-

Usually, with only one or two strikes of the discipline whip, it would already be enough of a punishment for the bearer to remember it for their whole life, never to make the same mistake ever again. The amount of scars on this person’s back accumulated thirty at the least. Just what sort of monstrous crime did he commit for him to be whipped so many times? If it really was a monstrous crime, why didn’t they kill him?

As we will later learn LWJ’s punishment is a little more detailed than just whipping he was also made to kneel in front of the “Wall of Discipline” following the whipping.

It’s a barbaric punishment and of course, the ones ordering it are his uncle and his brother who have both been established as characters who truly do love LWJ. So, why? Why is LWJ’s punishment so severe, well there are two reasons for that and I will discuss the lamer one first.

His punishment was severe because by this point we know that LWJ is probably one of the best cultivators of his generation if not the best (I could definitely argue for the latter, I mean this guy can fight Xue Yang wielding his sword with one hand and keep an entire horde of zombies at bay while playing his guqin with the other. And, did I mention this is happening at the same time, he literally managed to fight a horde of zombies and Xue Yang with two different cultivation methods being practised simultaneously and of course, he won but not only that there wasn’t a moment during this entire fight when that wasn’t the expected outcome). So, of course, if you want to really punish this guy the punishment has to be on par with his own physical and spiritual strength, it wouldn’t be much of a punishment he was able to do it without even breaking a sweat. I told you it was a bit lame.

Secondly and more importantly, the punishment should fit the crime. If the crime is particularly grievous, the punishment must be as well, it must be severe and in this particular story, depending on the individual’s spiritual strength a severe enough punishment might be different for different levels of cultivation. So, the real question is did LWJ deserve the punishment and the answer is an unequivocal YES.

LWJ grievously injured thirty-three GusuLan elders who were looking for him specifically so that they could find him before the other clans did because if the other clans did find him first they would kill him. After all, he saved WWX and kept him alive. The same WWX who at the Nightless City declared war on the combined might of the Cultivation World and then proceeded to kill thousands of Cultivators and then when they died he resurrected them to fight their very own comrades, that WWX.

Now, we might all argue he only fought the Cultivators because they killed all the Wen remnants and that only happened because he killed Jin ZiXuan who he technically didn’t kill but he definitely provided the opportunity and the weapon for his death because his ego couldn’t let Jin ZiXun go. At this point, we don’t know that there is another player in the mix but both these fights that ultimately take the lives of Jin ZiXuan and Jiang Yanli respectively were both started by WWX and even if we forget about the inciting event (Jin ZiXuan’s death), WWX still killed thousands of people from all clans. But, we only know these intricacies because the story is told from WWX’s perspective. LWJ doesn’t know this and neither do most of the people in the Cultivation World.

What they do know is that LWJ took WWX after he had killed thousands of cultivators and depleted the remaining Cultivators of their spiritual energy so thoroughly it took them three months to recover enough to mount a second attack. No matter how you spin it WWX is responsible for those deaths and LWJ is responsible for saving an outright murderer and then he further cemented his crimes by fighting thirty-three of his own elders and grievously injuring them in defence of said murderer when it seems like they largely made the journey to protect LWJ's life and his reputation and not with the primary purpose of killing WWX.

So, yes he deserves his punishment and as he himself believes this -

But he (LWJ) said… that he could not say with certainty whether what you (WWX) did was right or wrong, but no matter what, he was willing to be responsible for all of the consequences alongside you.

The reason LWJ could forgive LXC and LQR for his punishment is because he didn’t need to. He understood exactly why he was being punished. At the end of the day, LWJ didn’t actually protect WWX thinking that he might be right, he protected WWX because he was intensely and irrevocably in love with him and he is ready to stand by his love right or wrong.

While these are all very valid points the real reason that post caused this disquiet to appear in me was because it was trying to paint LXC and LQR’s actions in a bad light with the power of hindsight completely forgetting that their actions were relevant in the context they happened in which brought me spiralling back to the story as a whole.

The story firmly tries to tell you that what you see and what you observe might paint a very clear narrative in your eyes but there is always a possibility that the narrative we feel is so immutable can completely change its structure if we were just able to see it in a different light as is beautifully illuminated by this story.

The other thing that we don’t realise is that in this story we aren’t depicted by LWJ or WWX or JC or JL or LSZ or even NHS and JGY for the matter. We are the mob, we are Sect Leader Yao, we are the people who are told stories that paint people in a certain light and then we can’t see them in any other light. In our very upbringing, some prejudices are a staple and we still harbour them and these influence how we interact with the world and more specifically how we judge people and their actions. This story urges us to remember that while things might seem black and white maybe unearthing the reasons behind them might make the story more grey, so the next time you decide to paint a group of people or even a particular person as wholly bad no matter how egregious their actions may seem remember the moral of Mo Dao Zu Shi, remember that there might be more to the story than meets the eye and more importantly remember that something in the future might make a success of today look like a blight on history.

If I have to be more precise, I would say the moral of this story is to be open to the possibility that we might not know the whole story and we might be wrong even when we are a 100% convinced we aren’t.

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Winter Whumperland Day 2 - Alone

Summary: Written for Winter Whumperland Day 2. Set in a modern AU, sequel to Day 1 'Appearances'. At night after the party, Hiccup lies awake, unable to sleep. He's not alone in bed, but still alone with his thoughts.

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Viggo

Pairing: Vigcup, past-Hiccstrid

Words: 1 321

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “Sleep Deprivation”

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: Since these all take place in the same story, but are loosely tied together, it means that I have the full story to work with as I post these one-shots. I somewhat re-wrote this one and the previous one to fit and flow better and even added another scene to Day 3 because of an event happening on a later day that was already planned but hadn't been written yet.

What I'm trying to say is, this has been an interesting project to work on.Also, is the rating of "mature" right? And I've seen the Winter Whumperland blog itself tag the first Day as "dubcon", does that count for whole relationships that only one half of the couple wants as well?

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

@amonthofwhump

Ao3

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

The clock ticking softly on the wall is infuriating, but it's about the only companion he has right now. That and the moonlight timidly lighting the room with what little the moon can reflect.

Eyes on the ceiling, he's never seen a room look so blue before, so used to the orange light of streetlamps coming in instead.

Or maybe he is used to it, he's been here long enough, after all.

He hates how that thought makes him feel. He's so used to everything now, nothing really fazes him anymore, nothing is new.

He wants to be at home.

Hiccup sighs deeply, a familiar feeling of a deep yearning in his heart that seems so far out of reach now. Every day it dwindles just a little more, every day it goes farther and farther away. Like a pleasant dream one has at night only to wake up and barely remember it.

Someone follows his example, breathing just as deeply, but more contentedly than he does.

He's not alone in bed as Viggo is with him. As if they're a real couple, they share the bed and sometimes it's almost like the elder of the two actually believes that they are. And Hiccup, he feels like pretending that they are makes things easier for him.

He pretended less than an hour ago.

Both bare underneath the covers, Viggo's head is lying on his naked chest, Hiccup can feel his prickly beard on his skin. His expression is quite neutral and Hiccup would've liked it if his sleep was at least a little bit troubled. He doesn't deserve a full night of rest.

The ironic thing is, Viggo is sleeping well because of Hiccup's presence. Something he'd told the young man, who almost felt flattered until that rational part of him, no matter how small after everything, reminded him not to be fooled.

Viggo is a manipulative man, the last thing he needs is to develop Stockholm syndrome after everything.

It's not fair that he gets to sleep while Hiccup can't. He's too uncomfortable to.

There's a layer of sweat coating him and the feeling of it drying on his skin is abhorrent, especially given the circumstances. And so is the culmination of wetness between his legs and on his stomach. They had sex before Viggo so graciously fell asleep on his chest and Hiccup desperately wants to take a shower.

But alas, he can't. That involves getting up and 'his darling' won't appreciate being moved. Maybe he'll get the chance somewhere during the night. If not, he'll be forced to wait until morning. So he has hours of uncomfortably lying in their mess to look forward to.

And he'll be expected to change the sheets later. When you keep someone hostage for your pleasure, you expect them to do the housework, too, apparently.

The Grimborns used to have a housekeeper, but she was "fired" for discovering Hiccup and not wanting to keep him quiet.

She was so kind, Hiccup hopes it was quick at least.

Gods, he hates himself right now. Not that it's a new feeling. He feels responsible for what happened to that poor woman and so he hates himself. And for getting caught in the first place, for drawing attention everywhere he goes, for everything he's had to do just to get through the day.

He's been performing his role as some kind of obedient... He doesn't want to think about it. Like a dog, he's expected to bark, roll over, play dead whenever his master commands him to and he's done it all. He's done it all. Because he's already figured that fighting Viggo and Ryker physically just doesn't work. And then there are those invisible fences to keep him trapped, like he's some pretty bird in a golden cage and Viggo is the master who makes him perform just for him until the day he dies.

It's sad and he hates it, but sex is a handy tool. The youngest Grimborn is a smart man who likes a smart partner, he's reminded Hiccup several times of this fact. But he, too, can be persuaded with the pleasures of the flesh, especially if the person offering is Hiccup.

Tonight, Hiccup pretended they are a couple and offered his body to lessen his anger when Viggo came searching for him after the party and found the bedroom door to be locked. Just as he predicted earlier, locking the door on top of everything else he'd done was the final straw for that night. And it didn't help that the party had left Viggo drained and even more easily agitated.

Hiccup doesn't want to think about how trading himself for his own safety makes him feel like. He doesn't want to be alone with his thoughts either and yet here he is.

Astrid was his girlfriend and they've only done it twice. They were a young couple that thought they had plenty of time, so they didn't rush. That is far, far less than what he's done with his current... "lover".

They were both inexperienced, simply exploring, finding things out together, garnering experience together. He doubts that has changed much for Astrid, but his experience has skyrocketed since their separation. Another thing he hates. So much he's had to learn that he wants to unlearn.

Before pretending that they are in love, he's tried to pretend this was Astrid he was with, but that never lasted long. A 19-year-old young woman and a 30 to 40 something-year-old man aren't the same things, after all.

And then there is another little thing that he's heard the brothers talk about, eavesdropping in on a conversation he was never meant to hear and probably would've been punished severely for. But that is for when Viggo's broken him enough to when they can be sure Hiccup won't run away given the chance.

It'll be the final insult, the last chain that is meant to keep him here, the end goal so to speak. When that guest made his joke earlier, he probably didn't guess the meaning behind Viggo's look correctly, but Hiccup knows what that smile was about.

But he's not going to let it come to that, he can't. Even if he's never found, he has to get out of this situation somehow.

Or maybe he's too optimistic for his own good and his kidnapping will end like so many other cases before him have. Namely, with him in a shallow grave somewhere far away from home. Nothing but skeletal remains and forever remembered as the tragic golden child who went missing when he had so much promise.

Once again, not him, just like that reflection wasn't him.

Hiccup wishes he could sleep. He's so, so tired and he wants his thought process to finally stop bringing him places he doesn't want it to go. He can't even use this time to think of a way out, his mind too preoccupied with hurting itself. He closes his heavy eyes, but they won't stay closed.

How dare Viggo sleep so peacefully when he's the one harboring a missing person that he stole and exploits in every way he wants to.

Glaring down at him, Hiccup curses him for leaving him alone with his thoughts like this.

The nights are arguably the worst in this aspect. Days are bad, but at least there's stuff he can keep himself busy with. House stuff usually, since he's not allowed to do anything else, and they somehow always manage to keep his list of chores full. It's almost like he's a child in a strict household.

But now there's nothing stopping him from thinking, from feeling, from missing. And what he feels is discomfort, fear, heartache, and loneliness.

A well, he'll just have to bear with it. Despite Viggo's methods and his way to beat him down and tire him out, Hiccup does have a plan.

[angstymdzsthoughts]

Ignorance is a bliss

Imagine if “come to gusu with me” ends up with wwx passed out of exhaustion before he could reject the offer. Lwj did brought him to gusu and under the jurisdiction of the elders, after wwx is nursed back to health, his demonic cultivation must be sealed and he must received say maybe 15 lashes as punishment for straying off the righteous path before were sent to seclusion with lwj so that wwx will finally be ‘cleansed’. Wwx wasnt happy ofc but what he could do with his powers are sealed away? Now , 5 strokes of discipline whip may cause a cultivator bedridden for months, how about to a non cultivator ? It must affect them severely so that is why discipline whip can never be used to a non cultivator. Lwj was forced to a house arrest guarded by three disciples due to him trying to (forcefully) persuade the elders to not hurt wwx. Lwj never thought that the elders were so hell bent on punishing wwx , where he promised wwx that gusu will be his safe haven (oh lwj, ignorance is a bliss).

The elders of Lan assumed that wwx’s core is still intact but maybe diminished due to demotic cultivation. So they still proceeded with the punishment. But halfway through the session, wwx lose consciousness and healers were called to heal him so that they could finish the punishment.However, upon trying to heal him , the healers discovered that wwx does not have a golden core. Lxc was horrified and ultimately barked an order to bring wwx to the sect’s infirmary to put him to rest. Glaring at lqr and the elders , he told them if wwx did not survive the ordeal , they would have become a murderer.

Lwj was devastated on the state wwx in. Wwx had a bad fever due to infection despite how hard the healers were trying to use medication. Bandages were changed thrice a day to ensure the infection does not spread to other parts of body. Wwx never gained consciousness for 3 months. He was delirious in fever as his health rapidly declining over the days. Healers concluded that wwx may not he able to perform his daily routine without help as the whip has cause major backlash on his physical and mental health.

After a discussion, the lans decided to finally informed the jiang sects of the situation wwx was in. JC was on his way when wwx woke up. Wwx was in confusion and struggling to get out of his bed. Lxc and lwj had to restrain him to ensure he doesn’t hurt himself. The last thing wwx remembered that his back and legs were excruciating painful and people in white robes are the cause of it.Paranoia settles in him causing wwx to be on alert every second and never utter a single word after waking up, not even to lwj. For wwx, lwj has brought him to gusu because he hated wwx so much that he let those people hurt him. He was betrayed.

Although he was reluctant at first, he forced himself to eat to regained his strength and escape this hell. When the jc arrives at gusu with a group of disciples , lxc and the elders met them at the entrance leaving lwj and wwx alone at the room. Wwx for the first time spoke to lwj, requesting for a new change of robe. “I just dont want anyone to see me in this dirty robe” . Lwj acquiesced.

When lwj came back with new set of fresh robes and a basin of hot water , wwx was gone. Due to the envoy from Jiang sect , the entrance was not guarded as usual and wwx miraculously managed to flee gusu. Wwx put his guard up even he has successfully escape and ran to the most secluded part of Caiyi town. After resting for few hours and after the adrenaline was gone ,wwx realised that he was severely injured and crippled. His left leg cannot be bend without causing painful jolt like feeling. Him running all the way from gusu to caiyi with a bleeding back and hurting leg was indeed a miracle. Now , if walking was painful , then running was courting death. With careful planning using his survival skills and experience , wwx continues his painstaking slow journey and enters a forest , opposite direction of gusu and lotus pier. Wwx was last seen by a fruit vendor of Caiyi Town ; limping away without a trace.

Lwj without a doubt used an inquiry to find wwx , but wwx was an ambitious lad. Wwx somehow managed to create a talisman that can hide his presence even to spirits. Jc has issued posters all over the place , in hopes that someone might give an intel for him to find his brother but to no avail , no one has a clue of where wwx has been gone to. Wwx - like a ghost , has disappeared . JYL and JXZ was also at deeps end, unable to trace her missing brother. Other major sects also keep an eye for wwx, though the Lan clan has claimed that wwx’s demonic cultivation was sealed and was severly injured, who knows what can that young man do ?

Timeskip to 13 years later, JL LJY and LSZ (assuming that the siege never happened, but lwj adopted a-yuan as per requested by wq and wn to ensure he was raised at a proper & healthy background and the wen remnants survived and disperse for safety) was attacked at goddess temple only to be saved by a mystery crippled guy with mask (JL: a non cultivator nonetheless!) (LJY: what an amazing talent ! Only using talisman to beat the statue!). The teenagers were awestruck with the masked man’s skill, that they wanted to thanked him with a meal and few drinks but was rejected and the man leaves.

JL who never accepts no for an answers suggest to secretly follows the man so that they can send drinks or some offering for him to his house instead. Ljy and Lsz tagged along as they were curious of their saviour after all. A non cultivator cannot detect presence like a cultivator do, so the man was unaware that he was tailed. Upon arriving an old shack with a small potato farm , the man limped and sat with a grunt. Taking off his mask , he took a bottle of water and consumed a few concoction of medicine before coughing. The teenagers was surprised on the living condition of their saviour. JL however upon seeing the face of the man, went wide eyes.

“That man, he was in the poster my jiujiu used to issue around LP . My A-niang talks about him a lot,” looking over his other two confused companions. “I can never forget that face. The face that always make my mother cry upon looking at his picture and frown at his name. He is my missing big uncle , Wei Wuxian of Jiang Sect.”

“Ah i heard about him. Apparently our Elders punished him until he was missing his golden core , i think? Or is it the other way around?” Ljy spoke. “But i think the limping was the consequences from our Sects’ punishment. That time , Lan sect and Jiang Sect almost broke the treaty. I heard Madame Jiang managed to convinced your uncle to stop”.

They saw the man plowing a part of his potato field ,who occasionally stopped due to his heavy cough and resume his work. “Wwx , he is the person my father has been looking for the past 13 years. I need to let him know” Lsz finally spoke, smiling.

“Oh my potatoes , I hope you grew up fat and yummy for this master over here! I need more money , or i wont be able to buy medicine. You dont want me to die yet are you~” sang wwx. The 3 looked at each other and finally decides to leave for their respective inn, bringing a joyous news for their leaders.

Next day, both JC and lwj accompanied by the 3 went to wwx’s house. Both heartbroken on the state of the old shack . Knocking the wooden door and clearly listening on the voice mumbling from inside “who the hell would come here early in the morning at middle of a forest”, jc and lwj was shocked on the physical appearance of their missing person. Sunken cheeks and dark eyes as indication of fatigue , limping , voice hoarse from sickness and the obvious whipping scars marring from behind his neck to under the ragged clothes , jc couldnt help but to greet wwx with a hug , holding him so gentle in fear that wwx would break with the slightest of strength. Wwx frozen in shock couldnt hug back but made eye contact with lwj. “Weiying, please forgive me that I couldn’t protect you. I am very sorry.” After 13 years of internal pain and agony , wwx for the first time shed his tears . “I forgive you , so you all should leave me alone. I am a burden. Im no longer a cultivator , but a crippled man with not much time to left. I am nothing but a burden. Please” sobbed wwx.

“Idiot. Give us a chance to take care of you. A-jie misses you so much, every day and night. You haven’t met your nephew , Jing Ling . Don’t you want to eat her soup? And about your health, i can call WenQing to help you. She is still the best doctor alive. Come back with us , okay ? And no one will hurt you. “ jc.

Wwx was shocked to hear wq was still alive and her name was spoken by jc without an ounce of hatred. What have been happening for the past few years he have been isolating himself ? With shaking hands , he grabbed jc’s robe and nodded. He made another eye contact with lwj and could see how sincere he is from his eyes. Maybe , all this time , the fact that lwj hates me and sending me to my demise was all a misunderstanding?

“I am no more a cultivator.”

“It’s fine , WeiYing”

“I cannot contribute to Jiang sect anymore.”

“Who cares about that, idiot?”

“I’m going to be a burden !!! I cant even walk properly. My health is deteriorating”

“WeiYing, if tired , I can carry. Let me take care of you when sick”

“Lan Zhan, i dont want to go to gusu”

“We can go anywhere other than Gusu.”

“I wont let you take a single step to that damn place , no offence Second Young master Lan”

“None taken.”

———

(Alternate ending)

Wwx was still unconscious and attacked by a high fever due to infection in his wound. Numerous method has been used to mitigate the after effect of the whip , but to no avail. Infection starts to spread to his legs, and wwx was delirious and moaning in his sleep due to pain. The severity of the wound caused both of his legs to sepsis and the healers has no other way than to amputate the legs to make sure that the infection will not spread internally.

After the surgery of removing wwx’s legs , the infection are able to be minimised but still needs to be monitored. Still, wwx has no signs of waking up. Lwj was loyal to his side , taking care of changing the bandages . Every night , lwj had a nightmare of the reaction of wwx waking up with no legs . One particular nightmare that haunts him the most is weiying took out his own life out of despair. Lwj couldnt sleep for two nights watching over wwx after that nightmare occurs.

After 6 days, lqr visited the room and berates lwj for neglecting his duty as a student of Lan sect. Lwj angrily talks back, and was taken to kneel in the hall for one day. When he came back , no one was watching wwx. He came back with pure silence from wwx .Where there should a ragged breathing from wwx , it was only silence. Wwx’s usually pale lips was ashen. Bandaged chest that should be heaving was still. Wwx finally succumbed to his injuries after 11 days of fighting and lwj (again) was not by his side. His sect (again) are the cause of pain for his beloved ones and has taken everything from him.

—-

Wow took this one hour and a half. This is my second time posting here. 😋 enjoy?

-b

[creepingsharia]

“Kidnapped, Raped, Humiliated, and Forced to Convert to Islam”: Muslim Persecution of Christians, December 2019

Martyred on Christmas Day: Islamic State in Nigeria videotaped the slaughter of 11 Christians

by Raymond Ibrahim

The following are some of the abuses Muslims inflicted on Christians throughout the month of December, 2019; they are categorized by theme:

The Slaughter of Christians

Nigeria:  The Islamic State in West Africa Province released a video of the execution of 11 Christian aid workers on the day after Christmas.  The brief video shows one Christian being shot followed by 10 others being beheaded by masked jihadis standing behind the tied hostages. “This message is to the Christians in the world,” a man’s voice narrates over the footage. “Those who you see in front of us are Christians, and we will shed their blood as revenge for the two dignified sheikhs, the caliph of the Muslims, and the spokesman for the Islamic State [who were killed by the U.S.]”  Before being slaughtered, the captives reportedly made pleas, including to Nigeria president Muhammadu Buhari, to save them.  Buhari, who has himself been accused of turning a blind eye to the persecution of Christians in Nigeria—and even abetting it—condemned the executions, adding that “these barbaric killers don’t represent Islam.”

A separate report cited by Fox News found that more than 6,000 Christians have been slaughtered by Islamic terrorists since 2015—a thousand of them in just 2019.  According to the report,

They attack rural villages, force villagers off their lands and settle in their place — a strategy that is epitomized by the phrase: “Your land or your blood.” In every village, the message from local people is the same: “Please, please help us! The Fulani are coming. We are not safe in our own homes.”

The nomadic Fulani herdsmen “seek to replace diversity and difference with an Islamist ideology which is imposed with violence on those who refuse to comply,” Baroness Caroline Cox commented. “It is—according to the Nigerian House of Representatives—genocide.  Something has to change—urgently.  For the longer we tolerate these massacres, the more we embolden the perpetrators. We give them a ‘green light’ to carry on killing.”

Kenya: After armed Muslim militants stopped and stormed a passenger bus near the Somali border on December 6, they proceeded to separate the 56 passengers into Muslim and Christian groups—reportedly by asking them to recite the Islamic shahada (creed); 11 of those who would or could not due to their Christian faith, were paraded out of the bus. “They were told to lie on the ground face down and were shot at close range,” one report said. “The militants then ordered the bus to leave with the rest of the passengers.” The attackers apparently also relied on whether a passenger appeared to be local (meaning likely Muslim) or not (meaning likely Christian).  “The majority of the population in this region is Muslim,” Rev. Nicholas Mutua, a Catholic priest, explained. “The non-locals had come from other parts of the country and they would definitely have been Christians.” “One of the Muslim men gave me Somali attire, and when the separation was being done I went to the side of the Muslims, and immediately we were told to get [back] into the bus,” a survivor recalled. “As the locals were getting back into the bus, the non-locals who were left behind were fired upon with gunshots.”   Separating Muslims from Christians before slaughtering the latter has long been the modus operandi of Islamic terror groups.  In the Garissa University College massacre of 2015, when militants slaughtered nearly 150 people, a survivor explained how the Islamic terrorists burst into a Christian service, seized worshippers, and then “proceeded to the hostels, shooting anybody they came across except their fellows, the Muslims.”  Another witness said the gunmen were opening doors and inquiring if the people inside were Muslims or Christians: “If you were a Christian you were shot on the spot.  With each blast of the gun I thought I was going to die.”

Burkina Faso:  On Sunday, December 1, Islamic terrorists stormed a church during service and opened fire; 14 worshippers were killed and many injured.  The gunmen fled on motorbikes following the massacre.  Discussing this incident, a separate report offers statistics:

Burkina Faso’s Christian minority used to live in relative peace. Now the violence and persecution of Christians has quadrupled in the last two years and is expected to increase by [another] 60%…  Radical Islamic groups such as the Islamic State in the Greater Sahara and other local insurgents have pushed nearly half a million people from their homes.  Sunday’s attack comes after a Catholic priest was executed in February, five Christians were killed during an attack on a Church service in April, and 13 Christians were killed in a Church arson attack and procession in May. Most recently was on October 26 when unknown gunmen stormed a Christian village and reportedly killed 12 and abducted several others.

Cameroon:  In just the first half of December, Islamic militants “began an onslaught of attacks on Cameroonian Christians that left 7 dead and 21 captive to the terrorist group.”  According to the report:

On December 1, gunmen opened fire at a funeral in Mayo Sava district, in the far north of Cameroon. Four were killed and three were wounded. In another attack on the same day, militants ransacked homes and looted them of food and basic necessities. The next night, three more people were murdered and another was injured in another looting of Zangola village. A few days later on December 5, militants methodically searched for children and young adults and kidnapped them. In the middle of the night they came and stole nine girls and twelve boys from their homes, ranging from 12 to 21 years old. Four of the captives managed to escape. While en-route to their base, the Boko Haram militants attacked Tahert village where one girl was injured and a motorbike was stolen. Nearly 300 people have been killed in Cameroon in 2019 by Islamic militants, with 80% being civilians.

Pakistan: Naveed Masih, a 24-year-old Christian man was found hanging from a tree, dead, because he had earlier prevented Muslim men from harassing and pressuring a married Christian mother to convert to Islam.   Due to this, “a mob of 20 individuals attacked Naveed’s house,” the report says. “The mob beat Naveed and damaged many of the family’s belongings. The mob further threatened Naveed to not interfere with their efforts to convert the Christian woman.”  Two months later, he was lured to a supposed parley.  When he arrived at the meeting point, “he was brutally tortured and he was hanged from a tree as a result of protecting a Christian woman’s faith,” his father, Herbert, recalled:   “Carrying your son’s dead body in your arms is heartbreaking and unbearable.  It almost ended my life when I had to shoulder my son’s funeral….  My family is still under threats to withdraw the case against the culprits.  However, I have nothing to lose now.”

In a separate but similar incident in Pakistan, after sexually abusing him, two Muslim men killed Daud (“David”) Masih, a Christian teenager, on December 14 in a factory.  According to a local Christian activist, “Daud and his elder brother started working at the embroidery factory during the night shift about three months ago. They were additional breadwinners for the family as the mother is sick and their father is a day laborer.”  Weeks before the murder, Masih had complained about the “unethical behavior from his Muslim co-workers.”  Because the owner of the factory did not seem to care or intervene, Masih stopped going to work, until the owner assured him of protection.  He was abused and killed on the same day he returned to work; one of his murderers is allegedly the brother of the owner.  Last reported, the individuals accused of the crime have not been arrested and were pressuring and trying to bribe the victim’s family to drop the case:  “Although I am a poor Christian woman, I want justice for my son and punishment for those who killed Daud,” his mother said. “I will never go for compensation or reconciliation, as my son was killed brutally.”

Attacks on Churches

Philippines:  During Sunday Mass on the evening of December 22, Islamic terrorists detonated a bomb just outside Immaculate Conception Cathedral in Cotabato, a city on the island of Mindanao.  Twenty-two people were injured in the explosion, 12 of whom were soldiers patrolling the church as part of security measures adopted during the Christmas holidays.  Parish priest Zaldy Robles, who called it “a cowardly act on the eve of the Christmas celebrations,” said “casualties would have been unimaginable” had the bomb reached the inside of the church.  In 2009, a similar bomb attack on the same cathedral in Mindanao killed five people and injured 34.  Most of the Philippines’ Muslim minority live in Mindanao, which has been a hotbed of terrorism in recent years.  Among other attacks, “Islamic State-affiliated terrorists were blamed for twin suicide bombings at Our Lady of Mt. Carmel Cathedral in Jolo, Sulu Province on Jan. 27 [2019], which killed at least 22 people and wounded more than 100. Jolo is a small island off the coast of Mindanao.”

Iraq: The Catholic Church of Divine Wisdom in Baghdad, built in 1929, was invaded on the day after Christmas in what was described by one report as a “hostile takeover attempt”: “Details remain scarce. Security footage of the invasion show that an Islamic leader was present amongst the invaders, who attempted to open the gate and remove the cross.”  Later reports revealed that the church had been “marked for demolition by the authorities, together with some surrounding buildings, as part of a redevelopment programme in the city,” but that “local residents say the project is driven by commercial and political forces, and does not take into account the significance of the church for the community.”

Indonesia: Several reports appearing around Christmas indicated the difficulties churches experience during the holiday season.  In “Aceh Christians forced to celebrate Christmas in a tent,” the BBC reported on December 23 that:

Christians in the Indonesian province of Aceh are preparing to celebrate Christmas in makeshift tents in the jungle.  Their churches were destroyed four years ago by Islamic vigilante groups and the police.  Indonesia – the world’s largest Muslim population – has a pluralist constitution that is meant to protect the rights of followers of all the major faiths.  But Church leaders in Singkil Aceh say the local authorities are stopping them from rebuilding….

Separately, authorities on the Indonesian island of Sumatra banned Christians from celebrating Christmas in private homes.  According to Sudarto, the director of an intercommunity initiative, “They did not get permission from the local government since the Christmas celebration and worship were held at the house of one of the Christians who had been involved. The local government argued that the situation was not conducive.”  He added that the ban on Christians to celebrate Christmas and the New Year “has been going on for a long time [since 1985], so far they have been quietly worshiping at the home of one of the worshipers, but they have applied for permission several times. Yet the permit to celebrate Christmas was never granted. The house where they performed worship services was once burned down in early 2000 due to resistance from residents.”

Discussing yet another incident, the Jakarta Post reported on Christmas Day that “Christians in Jambi city, Jambi, still struggle to find joy on the eve of the holy day since the authorities sealed a number of local churches in the city….  Several Christians in the region were aghast when they were welcomed by a notice plastered on the closed front doors of the Assemblies of God Church (GSJA) informing them the church was sealed on Dec. 24, instead of the customary Christmas prayers and services.”  This church is among three churches in the area to be closed down by the Jambi city administration following protests by local Muslim residents who cited the lack of building permits.  “This is the second Christmas celebration to feel depressing for us,” said its pastor Jonathan Klaise on Christmas Eve.  “It’s a difficult situation. We have no other choice but to cope with it…  We can only hope that we will soon be able to pray in our church.”

Attacks on Muslim Converts (“Apostates”)  to Christianity

Uganda: A Muslim man with three wives abandoned one of them and their three children on learning that she had converted to Christianity.  Problems began for Florence Namuyiga, 27, when she took her eldest son, aged 7, to the church that she had been secretly attending following her conversion last May. “That evening, while back at home, my son began singing some of the Christian songs that were sung in the church,” she explained. “My husband began questioning me where the son picked such kinds of songs, but I kept quiet. He then turned to our son, who narrated what he saw in church of both men and women worshipping together in one big hall. Thereafter we went to bed with no communication with my husband.”  Then, on November 29, her husband, Abudalah Nsubuga, 34, insisted she to go to Friday mosque prayers.  “I refused,” she said. “He started beating me up with sticks, blows and kicks.

When I fell down, he left me and went to the mosque. I began bleeding with serious injury on my left arm. That evening he did not come to the house but slept in the house of one of my co-wives.”  On the next day,

He arrived [home] and pronounced [ritual Islamic] words of divorce and threatened to kill me if I remained in the homestead…  There and then I left the homestead, leaving all my belongings behind….  I have been supporting my three children by washing peoples’ clothing around the village.  Indeed life is quite difficult for me and the children. I have realized that following Jesus is not easy. Sometimes I spend sleepless nights thinking on my future and that of my small kids, especially their school fees.

Iran: On December 20, Mohammad Moghiseh, the head of Tehran Revolutionary Court, sentenced nine Muslim apostates to a total of 45 years in prison.  “These Christian converts have objected to the verdict issued by the Tehran Revolutionary Court and are awaiting final appeal,” the report states. The day before sentencing, on December 19, the US Treasury Department accused Mohammad Moghiseh and another Revolutionary judge of violating justice and abusing the rights of religious minorities and others.

General Abuse of and Discrimination against Christians

Tajikistan: A Christian pastor who was sentenced to three years in prison on the charge of “singing extremist songs in church and so inciting religious hatred,” was released on December 18, 2020, after serving two-and-a-half years.  In 2017, authorities had raided the Good News of Grace Protestant Church in Khujand. Many of the congregation were beat, lost their jobs, and faced other forms of repercussions in the wake of the raid on their church.  Pastor Bakhrom Kholmatov, a 43-year-old married father of three, was then sentenced on the aforementioned charges.  According to the report,

Officials claimed that Christian songs found on his computer and the book More Than a Carpenter by Josh McDowell are “extremist materials.” They alleged that religious “experts” recognised the songs Praise God, O Unbelieving Country, Army of Christ and Our Battle is Not Against Blood and Flesh as “extremist and calling people to overthrow the government.”

“I’d like to express my huge gratitude to all the people who supported and prayed for me, my family and my church,” Kholmatov said in a statement. “All these three years I felt your prayers, they helped me to stand, they helped my precious wife and children, they helped the members of my church who were left without a pastor, then kicked by the authorities out of our building.”

Iran:  “The Iranian regime has begun cracking down on evangelical Christians in Iran in the run-up to Christmas,” Al Arabiya reported on December 15. “Security officials routinely arrest Christian citizens during the Christmas season, according to the 2019 US Commission for International Religious Freedom report, which found the regime arrested 114 Christians during the first week of December in 2018.”   Dabrina Tamraz, who experienced persecution as a Christian before she managed to flee the Islamic republic nine years ago, shed light on the plight of Christians by recounting her own experiences:  “Christmas celebrations make it easier for Iranian authorities to arrest a group of Christians at one time,” said the escapee who currently resides in Europe.  During a family Christmas gathering in Tehran in 2014, “My brother opened the door only to be confronted with about 30 plain clothes officers who pushed their way in. They separated men from women and conducted strip body searches. Three people, including my father, were arrested and charged with acting against national security and conducting evangelism.”  The report adds that “The Iranian government considers evangelism—the sharing of the Christian faith—a criminal act.”

As another example of the persecution and discrimination Christians routinely experience around Christmas, the annual Armenian Christian market at Tehran’s Ararat Club, which was supposed to be held between Christmas Eve and the New Year, was canceled by officials.  According to that report,

In a situation where the economy is declining and the business market is sluggish due to the policies of the Islamic Republic … this cancellation for preventing ‘Christian propaganda’ is an irrational decision.  The cancellation of the market, which is a clear sign of discrimination and inequality, has received widespread criticism in the Armenian community… Every year on the eve of Christmas, pressure on the Iranian Christian community by various government agencies is increasing, including arresting Christian activists, obstructing the business of Christian sellers, even those who sell Christmas decorations!…  Christian compatriots are subject to double discrimination, whether in the labor market, employment, job position or in violating their right to run private businesses.

Pakistan:  “A 14-year-old Christian girl from Zia Colony, Karachi, was kidnapped, forcibly converted and married off to a Muslim man,” Asia Times reported on December 3. “Our daughters are insecure and abused in this country,” the mother of Huma Younus, explained. “They are not safe anywhere. We leave them at schools or home but they are kidnapped, raped, humiliated, and forced to convert to Islam.”  The eighth grade student was seen by neighbors being forcefully dragged into a car by three armed men.  “She was kidnapped by Abdul Jabar, a Muslim,” her father said.  After the girl’s family went to police, Jabar sent documents to the family over WhatsApp: “He asked us not to be worried for Huma as she is now his wife and has entered into Islam”; however, “the religious conversion documents are fake,” said the mother, noting that the date of the document of the 14-year-old’s alleged conversion is the same date of her abduction.  “My daughter’s life is in danger. She could be tortured or killed. I beg the authorities to recover my daughter as soon as possible.”   “Christian girls are being abused and forcefully converted,” Fr. Saleh Diego, Director of the Catholic Commission for Justice and Peace in Karachi, said while discussing this latest incident:

The kidnappers are misusing religion for their motives and spoiling the lives of hundreds of young girls from the marginalized Christian community….Huma must be recovered with no further delay. This unethical and illegal practice must also be stopped and the kidnappers of Huma and other girls must be brought to justice and punished for their crimes.

To date, police and courts have largely been unresponsive.  “Abducting for the purpose of forced conversion and marriage is a major issue in Pakistan,” Asia Times concludes. “Most of the victims are Christian and Hindu girls and young women, forced to wed against their will to much older Muslim men.”

United Nations: According to a December 4 CBN News report, “Christian Syrian refugees … have been blocked from getting help from the United Nations Refugee Agency … by Muslim UN officials in Jordan.” One of the refugees, Hasan, a Syrian convert to Christianity, explained that Muslim UN camp officials “knew that we were Muslims and became Christians and they dealt with us with persecution and mockery. They didn’t let us into the office. They ignored our request.” “Hasan and his family are now in hiding,” the report adds, “afraid that they will be arrested by Jordanian police, or even killed. Converting to Christianity is a serious crime in Jordan.”  Timothy, another Jordanian Muslim convert to Christianity, confirmed: “All of the United Nations officials [apparently in Jordan], most of them, 99 percent, they are Muslims, and they were treating us as enemies.”  Addressing this issue, Paul Diamond, a British human rights lawyer, elaborated:

You have this absurd situation where the scheme is set up to help Syrian refugees and the people most in need, Christians who have been “genocided,” they can’t even get into the U.N. camps to get the food. If you enter and say I am a Christian or convert, the Muslim U.N. guards will block you [from] getting in and laugh at you and mock you and even threaten you…. [saying]  “You shouldn’t have converted. You’re an idiot for converting. You get what you get,” words to that effect.

Raymond Ibrahim, author of the new book, Sword and Scimitar, Fourteen Centuries of War between Islam and the West, is a Distinguished Senior Fellow at the Gatestone Institute, a Shillman Fellow at the David Horowitz Freedom Center, and a Judith Rosen Friedman Fellow at the Middle East Forum.

About this Series

The persecution of Christians in the Islamic world has become endemic.  Accordingly, “Muslim Persecution of Christians” was developed in 2011 to collate some—by no means all—of the instances of persecution that occur or are reported each month. It serves two purposes:

1)          To document that which the mainstream media does not: the habitual, if not chronic, persecution of Christians.

2)          To show that such persecution is not “random,” but systematic and interrelated—that it is rooted in a worldview inspired by Islamic Sharia.

Accordingly, whatever the anecdote of persecution, it typically fits under a specific theme, including hatred for churches and other Christian symbols; apostasy, blasphemy, and proselytism laws that criminalize and sometimes punish with death those who “offend” Islam; sexual abuse of Christian women; forced conversions to Islam;  theft and plunder in lieu of jizya (financial tribute expected from non-Muslims); overall expectations for Christians to behave like cowed dhimmis, or second-class, “tolerated” citizens; and simple violence and murder. Sometimes it is a combination thereof.

Because these accounts of persecution span different ethnicities, languages, and locales—from Morocco in the West, to Indonesia in the East—it should be clear that one thing alone binds them: Islam—whether the strict application of Islamic Sharia law, or the supremacist culture born of it.

[marshmallow-phd]

Lies Untold

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Supernatural, Wolf Au

Pairing: Luhan x Reader

Summary: For generations, your family has been the protectors of mankind. You were considered one of the best and due to that reputation, you were sent on what could be the most important mission for the organization. Going under cover in a college to sniff out a particularly large and threatening wolf pack seemed easy enough. But when you meet one of the members, everything you’ve known since birth will be overturned and your loyalty to your family and heritage will be tested.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I Final

**

Ice ran through your veins. You could feel his hot breath against your neck. His very proximity was enough to churn your stomach. Your skin was crawling to get away from him. He’d had this effect on you since you were children. There was always something unnerving and unsettling about him.

Out all the people… no. You couldn’t lose your cool. You could still control the situation. You’d conquered your fear of him long ago.

“I don’t know what you’re blabbering about,” you hissed as you stood up from your chair abruptly, causing him to jump back. “I was fixing the files after finding there was a mistake in the information. We can’t exactly operate at an efficient level if we’re strategizing off of inaccurate information.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow, something sparking in his gray eyes. “Inaccurate information, you say?” Out of his pocket, he procured a folded up piece of paper. He held it up between his index and middle finger like it was the winning card of a poker game; his ace in the hole. “If the town was incorrectly named in the files, then why do your GPS coordinates have you going only to the town previously mentioned in the files?”

You always knew that Johnny was twisted. He crossed lines and went around orders. His disciplinary file had an above average amount of papers that had found a home there, but he was never really punished for any of his transgressions. Most of the council actually preferred his methods, even if they went against tradition and honor. And he had mastered hiding the more insatiable parts of himself from the elders. His greatest trick.

This, though… it was like he knew you weren’t going to go through with your mission. Or… he’d been planning something from the beginning….

“What are you getting at, Johnny?” Challenging him in this moment probably wasn’t the best idea, but you needed to keep him talking. Johnny was like the villain in a spy movie. Once he started on his speeches, he gave away everything.

“Entrusting you with this mission was a mistake from the start,” he sneered. “You’re too soft. You’ve never even slain your own wolf.”

“This mission wasn’t about killing,” you snarled back. Whether you were choosing to leave this life or not, being called soft or weak was still an insult. You’d been taught since you were little that being either one of those things would get you killed. “It was getting the book. That’s why you weren’t sent. You’re too reckless. All you think about is the kill. You never look at other perspectives.”

Johnny scoffed. “Other perspectives? You sound a little peace-loving, don’t you?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Slowly, a smirk grew across his lips. “Do I?”

Turning into the predator he really was, Johnny began to circle you, his eyes trained on your face. You tried hard to remain collected, to act bored or uninterested in his little game while in reality, panic was beginning to shake the very fibers of your muscles. Fight or flight was kicking in and either one would give you away.

“I don’t think I do know what you mean actually,” he hissed in a very snake-like fashion in your ear. He was directly behind you now and enjoying the game he was masterminding. “You forget, (y/n), I’ve seen you hesitate before..”

You elbowed him hard in the stomach, receiving a satisfying groan in return. “That was years ago, in a simulation. If that’s the best you’ve got, then maybe you should pick a new career.”

Before you could walk away, Johnny grabbed your arm and spun you around. His wide, round face was red from the strain it took to hold himself back. Controlling his temper was always a struggle for him and you might have just pressed the wrong button.

“I was born and bred to someday lead this section of the organization,” he growled, the grip on your arm tightening, forcing a wince out of you. “I am the only one strong enough to lead the next generation. You are weak and sympathetic. It makes me sick.”

“I am not,” you argued back desperately.

“Yes, you are. You don’t have the willpower to do what is necessary. But don’t worry. Because I have the will and the vision it takes to eradicate the world of those creatures. I will make sure that every single mongrel is wiped from the face of this earth and I’ll start with your precious monsters.”

“They’re not monsters!” The words were out from your lips before you could bite them back. By the sickening grin spreading across Johnny’s face, you knew you’d given yourself away.

Slowly, the real monster turned his head and glanced over his shoulder. “Is that proof enough for you?”

Suddenly the monitors on the walls flickered on, revealing the council sitting back at the conference table after you’d been told the meeting was dismissed. You were surrounded on all sides by the people you used to admire and look up to. Every member wore a cold expression, save your father. Disappointment and heartbreak were written all over his face.

“No judgement will be passed as of yet,” your father declared. His voice was much more powerful and indifferent than what his features showed. “We’ll investigate further. Until then, she’ll be held in the cells with the possible charge of treason.”

The monitors went black again, cutting off any possible argument you might have given. Pressed against the delicate skin of your neck was the sharp edge of Johnny’s favorite knife.

“Don’t try to fight,” he laughed. “There are more of us outside this room.”

You didn’t plan on fighting. Not right now. But of course he brought backup. He knew if it was simply one-on-one, you’d win. Johnny couldn’t hold his own in a long running match.

Knowing that you didn’t have any other choice, you let him lead you out of the main hall and across the grounds towards the holding cells while his loyal goons followed closely behind with Tasers crackling in their hands.

“(y/n)?”

Shit.

You kept your face forward, ignoring the cries of your baby sister as she ran towards you.

“What are you doing with her!” Alli shouted.

Johnny snarled at her. “Mind your own business, child!”

“I’m not a child!” she bit back. Turning to you, her fierce façade melted away to a desperation for answers. “(y/n), what’s going on?”

“Don’t worry about it, Alli. Everything’s going to be fine.” An empty promise. And she knew it. She maybe not have been an adult, but you couldn’t get away with simple generalizations with her like you could a child.

“Don’t lie to me!”

“Your sister is a traitor, how about that?” Johnny shoved Alli away, making you fight against his grip, but the knife was back at your throat and his slid the metal just enough to break skin. “Get out of here. If you want answers, find your father.”

Alli shot you one last pleading look. At your silence, she took off for the main hall. You weren’t sure if your father would actually explain anything to her, but you hoped he would keep her in the dark just a little while longer. For her own sake.

The only light that was given in the small, stable-like prison came from the high windows that would be just out of your reach. Concrete slabs made up the walls, impossible to climb with their smooth surfaces, and old iron bars speckled with red-orange rust created the doors to the five-by-eight rooms. Old, musky straw covered the dirt floors and several of the cells had worn wrist cuffs hanging from a heavy nail hammered into the walls. Thankfully, Johnny didn’t see a need to chain you up as he shoved you into one of the cells near the middle of the single-hallway building after patting you down for weapons. You hadn’t strapped any on you this morning, deeming it unnecessary. That decision still seemed right. If you were able to get out of here, you knew exactly where your weapons were stored, rather than being in the possession of Johnny. Again, that was if you got out of here.

“This is a truly enjoyable sight,” he snickered as he slammed the cell door shut. With a motion of his head, he led his posse outside, leaving you alone.

You slid down to the ground, not caring about the dirt and grime that was getting all over your pants. It wasn’t a surprise that you landed here. As soon as you’d gotten into Innie’s car, you knew there was a high chance that you’d be caught. You’d come to terms with the end and so now all there was left to do was sit and wait for your fate.

**

Luhan crouched down low in the shrubbery that outlined the compound. Buildings that ranged from large training facilities to personal homes were scattered among the grounds in no specific order. Hunters were wandering around in groups of three or four, the older ones walking stoically with their hands hand their backs while the more youthful hunters were loudly joking and shoving each other.

The sun was still too high in the sky for his liking, so Luhan waited - rather impatiently - for the better cover of night. He had no idea where you were or which house belonged to your family, but that was easily handled. He just needed to find a small hint of your scent. Surely you’d been gone long enough that he wouldn’t pick up old, confusing traces.

As soon as he had the cover of darkness and the compound seemed to have settled for the night, Luhan emerged from the forest and slowly walked along the cemented trails. He stuck to the shadows, but at the same time tried to look like he belonged so no one would question him from a distance. Taking several deep breaths, he tried to concentrate on finding your scent among dozens scattered around the area.

Finally locating it, he followed your trail to the largest building in the center of this place. He knew walking into what was obviously the headquarters for this branch of the organization, but he needed to find you.

And the front door was unlocked.

So, he opened it slowly, stepping inside and carefully, quietly closing it back up again. He scanned the long hallway, careful to look for any signs of movement. After a hundred feet or so, your scent came to a stop at a pair of double doors. There was no light shining out from underneath onto the carpet, indicating that the room wasn’t in use. Was it possible you were still in there?

Luhan decided to take the risk. He placed his palm on the shiny golden handle and pushed.

The room was empty. Great. Now he had to find the trail again.

“Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise?”

Luhan whirled around. Leaning against the opposite wall was a cocky-looking hunter about his size twirling a knife between his hands. Luhan knew his eyes were giving off an amber glow, catching the smallest bit of light to give him better sight. This hunter knew what he was, anyway.

“It’s interesting that you came after her. Very revealing,” the hunter mused, not looking up at Luhan. He instead kept watching the knife as if it held the world’s secrets in its structure. “I thought (y/n) had just gone soft, unable to hurt the poor, unsuspecting wolves. But now that you’re here,” he pointed at Luhan with the knife, finally making eye contact with him, “I suspect that it’s much more than that. Is she, perhaps, your precious, fated mate? That would certainly explain a lot.”

Luhan let out a low, threatening growl. “Where is she?”

“In the same place all traitors go,” he shrugged. “But she won’t be there very long. Especially now that you’re here. Maybe we’ll be nice and kill you both together. Wouldn’t that be sweet? Just like Shakespeare’s stupid play.”

Luhan wanted to pounce. He wanted nothing more than to jump on this sick, sadistic hunter and rip his throat out for even thinking about hurting you. But before his muscles could twitch, the doors at the end of the hallway flew open, revealing a new group of hunters.

Shlink.

The knife the first hunter had been holding was now embedded into the wall near Luhan’s ear.

Well, shit.

Taking off in the opposite direction, Luhan burst through the doors, making it to the outside before the other hunters made it to their leader. Thankful for his supernatural speed, Luhan bobbed and weaved through the buildings. He couldn’t head back to the woods. Even though it was his territory, the place he was most familiar with, it would make getting back here nearly impossible.

From what he heard with his acute ears, the hunters were still a ways behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, but he couldn’t see where they might be looking for him. Up ahead, there looked like what might have been an unused building. The grass around the edge of overgrown and a few of the higher up windows were cracked or missing corner pieces. He ran towards the possible hiding spot.

He didn’t make it.

Strong hands stopped him in his tracks and yanked him off his course. He landed hard on his back against the wall of one of the steel buildings. The jolt sent a shockwave through his system, unnerving him for a few seconds as he shook the stars away.

“If we live through this, I’m going to kill you.”

Luhan blinked, his eyes widening as he made out the silhouettes of some of his pack members. Kris still had a good grip on Luhan’s shirt and his eyes were flickering red as he towered over him.

“Why the hell did you take off on your own?” Tao whispered harshly. Concern was evident all over his face, even in the low light of a crescent moon.

Luhan shoved Kris’ hand away. Guilt bubbled up in his stomach, growing worse when he saw that Minseok was among the tiny rescue party. “You shouldn’t have come for me. The more of us there are, the more easily we could be caught.”

“Well, we’re not going to be caught because we’re getting out of here,” Kris argued.

“No.” Luhan glared up at the alpha. “They have (y/n) locked up and they’re going to kill her. I have to get her out.”

Tao looked back and forth between Kris and Luhan, his uncertainty of who to follow apparent. Minseok, however, had no trouble on deciding.

“I’ll help you get her out.”

Kris’ looked down at the eldest wolf in shock. “You realize she’s the one who shot you, right?”

“Yes, I do,” Minseok nodded. “But at the end of the day, she’s Luhan’s mate. If getting her out means Luhan comes home, too, then I’m going to help.”

Kris tried to hold his ground. They all knew if he really wanted to, he could order them all back home. The only one who wouldn’t be able to obey would be Luhan. Only the mate pull was stronger than a true alpha’s orders. But Kris had always refused to be the person who forced his authority.

He sighed heavily, looking up at the twinkling stars before bringing his face back down. “Fine. We’ll get the hunter out.”

Luhan smiled, but the flickering, hope-filled joy only lasted a second as an ear-splitting scream cut through the air.

[divinesoldier]

                                                  “And so you wear their fear like a bridal veil”.

&&. ( sanem aydın ) was just spotted in amsterdam. rumor has it ( she ) is a ( 1,779 / appears 28 ) year old ( angel of light ) who resembles ( melisa pamuk ). ( she ) has been said to be ( devoted & intelligent ) but also quite ( ruthless & unrepentant ).with all the chaos surrounding the magical underworld, ( she ) has chosen to align with ( the angels of light ). ( she ) is currently serving as ( a warrior angel / soldier ). hopefully the city doesn’t devour them whole. 

Hey there, angels! It’s Jay, resident gay boi here with my daughter Sanem! As always you can pop into my dms here or on discord @ megan thee stallion’s right boot #3410 for plotting and being cute!

Name: Sanem Demir

Age: Twenty-eight (1,779 but who’s counting?)

Allegiance: Angels of Light

Sexuality: Homosexual

Occupation: Warrior Angel / Soldier

Gender: Cisgender woman

Theme song: I Am Shell I Am Bone - Gazelle Twin

                                                                      † In Depth.

She had been crafted by careful and capable hands, in the same divine cosmic energy that which made her invincible. She appeared in the fading gloss of eternity, a creature molded entirely from a vision within a mind beyond both mortal and immortal comprehension. In her ears came the sweet croonings of her blessed siblings, each of them rubbing soft circles onto the back of fledgling wings. You will be the bringer of peace, an agent of prosperity, a servant. It is in your care that the weak shall find solace. The poor, bewildered creature had been given an eternal task before even being given a name, though she would later come to know herself as Sanem. Let it be known that her role in eternity It isn’t something that should be taken lightly, and she definitely doesn’t take it lightly. Her creation may have been nothing of great importance, but she was destined to do great things for her maker, for her kind.

She thrived in the center of holy light, the glow of everlasting love and devotion carving sacred insignias into the depths of her mind, forever cementing her allegiance. Every challenge that presented itself before Sanem had been swiftly defeated; every opportunity for advancement, taken. She grew into her strength both mentally and physically until every new threat seemed more minute than the last. Sanem rapidly excelled beneath the trusted tutelage of her elders and bore her duties quietly as all servants of greater powers must. It was not in her nature to defy or to question the will of her maker, and so she didn’t, and she was praised for not doing so. Of course, Sanem was never a creature spoiled, as there is no room for divine favorites drunk on privilege in the empyrean, but in her isolation, she revelled in their endless admiration of her. And so every kind word that had been placed at her feet for her diamond wit or her immeasurable strength further fueled the raging flame of pride within her; a fatal flaw that should have been eradicated.

When the time came to choose two representatives to serve the Light on Earth, Sanem’s name was, painfully, regretfully, absent. Surely an angel as strong and accomplished as she would be the first candidate to serve the greatest of purposes on the Earth, and yet she had been forced to stand quietly on the side whilst Laurent and Melody were awarded titles and duties that should have been hers by right (a true test of her piety and a subtle way to dismantle her growing pride she was sure). They were but glass panes easily shattered next to her, impenetrable bedrock. After the decision was made, the almighty revealed that there was a plan in place for her. Sanem was to become a warrior.

See, Sanem had been beautiful, cunning, and ruthless in the same ways as Lucifer, but there was one defining difference between them. Where Lucifer’s pride overshadowed his duty to his maker, Sanem’s didn’t. The sole purpose of her birth was to serve and so when her new role had draped across her shoulders, she accepted it with steely grace even though the title she desired above all else had been granted to another. And It is here that Sanem became less of an angel and more of a sword; a weapon used to neutralize an enemy, a weapon that swung at the command of something greater than herself. Throughout several centuries, Sanem put down rebellions in the name of the Lord, punishing souls that dare to defy the word of the maker. Each victory is met with yet another task, and she bows to the maker’s demands quietly, willingly.

The perfect soldier, the warrior of Heaven in all of her ancient and sage wisdom knew very little of the concept of love. Yes, Sanem loved her maker and her cause, for it was her purpose that drove her to please. Though it was only when beside her only true friend, Melanie, that Sanem could ever feel anything remotely close to true love. The younger angel was all sugar spun curls, sweetness, and light. If Sanem was the cold, unrelenting gaze, then Melanie was the warm and reassuring smile that completed their very own masterpiece. But of course, her chance at love had also been cruelly snatched away from her the moment that Melanie bonded her soul to another. Once again, Sanem was forced to watch something that she could have sworn was rightfully hers be given to someone less than her, someone terribly weak and stupid. This time, she wouldn’t stand on the side in envy. This time, she would take what belonged to her.

Those who waver in their devotion are easy prey, Melanie’s mate being the easiest. Sanem watched him from afar, spending her time away from the war torn front lines observing him like any predator might do with their prey. Just as she suspected, Melanie’s mate could be easily distracted by a pretty face; a pretty human face at that. It took but a few tactical measures to situate them in the right place at the right time, and just like that, he fell into her trap. At the news of the falling of her dear friend’s mate, Sanem offered her shoulder and placed soft kisses atop Melanie’s cheek with a dangerous kind of satisfaction hidden beneath them. Never again would Sanem be denied her golden prize. Make no mistake, this… weakling’s decision to marry Melanie was taken as an act of war, and what a pretty little war trophy did Melanie make in the end.

When Laurent and Melody were slaughtered at the hands of lesser beings, Sanem felt nothing. Their end had been spelled out the very moment that they were given positions they were unfit to fill. Sanem had worked her way up to commanding armies, cutting down threat after threat with brutal and calculated methods, meanwhile Laurent and Melody ruled with the ideas that brave words would be enough to put an end to a rebellion. The Earth had been perverted by flawed humans, (creatures that need to be protected at all costs, even from themselves) vampires, and fallen angels who were high on demon blood and filled with silly, juvenile notions of independence. Sanem would put an end to them all, forever wiping the slate clean for future generations. She had been destined to bring about peace and she would do so through punishment.

                                                            † Summary

TL;DR: Gay angel takes her purpose in life very seriously and is willing to step on anyone to fulfill it lmao.

                                                           † Connections

TBA!

[autumnstwilight]

Dawn of The Future excerpt: Ardyn and Somnus

Here are two sections from the novel that develop Somnus and Ardyn’s relationship and conflict. I skipped over the scene in between these two, which is the conversation about rest that Ardyn and Aera have in Episode Ardyn.

[Page 8, line 13 to page 11, line 9]

“Brother, you don’t understand anything.”

Somnus’ voice, which he had not heard in some time, was terribly cold.

“You’re not even trying to understand the role of a ruler of the people.”

No, this was not something that had just begun. It had been a long time since he and his younger brother had had what could be called a conversation. In a dark mood, Ardyn counted on his fingers how many years it had been since he had last heard Somnus laugh.

They had got along well as children. In the gaps between study and weapons training, they had often played chess together. Somnus disliked the common practice of the elder player giving up a pawn for each year that they were older than the younger. He stubbornly insisted that there was no point in winning if the players were not under the same conditions. And he showed no sign of bending on that no matter how many times he lost. Ardyn had been proud of his little brother, who from a young age, had tried to keep an attitude of fairness in all things.

Somnus did not leave Ardyn’s side, either. No matter where Ardyn went, he followed behind. Those around them went as far as to say, on days when they saw the two separate from each other, that they would be caught in a sudden rain shower.

[Note: I’m guessing this is some kind of expression implying it’s rare for them to be apart, but I’m not familiar with it.]

But now…

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand.”

He had to stop Somnus, no matter what. It wasn’t the time to mince words.

“Why do you allow the soldiers to commit massacres? They are raising their hands against neither enemies nor beasts. They are our own people.”

“Our people? What nonsense. Those are monsters. If you leave them be, they will cause harm.”

“You’re wrong. They’re not monsters or anything like that. They are merely a little… yes, merely people suffering from a difficult illness.”

In recent years, a strange sickness had spread among the people. No treatment could heal it, and no medicine had any effect. And so, those with the strange symptoms, who had acquired the disease, were plunged into the depths of despair. People sometimes saw it as a curse, or explained it as a divine punishment, and feared it.

But Ardyn knew that it was not a curse or a hex, nor even a punishment from the Gods. It was a sickness. For even if medicine had no effect, he could cure it.

“They attack people because of the agony caused by their illness. They themselves have committed no sin. So, if we drive out the sickness before that happens, they will cause no harm to those around them.”

The strange symptoms were that the whole body turned an inky black, and the victims lost their sense of self and attacked people indiscriminately. Severe cases were called daemons, and before they became impossible to capture, they were restrained, isolated… and killed. Ardyn provided them with treatment and returned them to their original form before that could happen.

“The same as always,” Somnus spat.

“What’s the same?”

“Even if we suppose the daemons are people afflicted with a sickness, you are the only one who can heal it. No matter how skilled the physician, they cannot imitate what you do, right?”

It was as he said. For some reason, the Gods had given the power to heal the sickness to Ardyn alone.

“What can you achieve by yourself?”

“If I can save even one more person…”

“And what if, by the time you have saved that one person, the number of patients increases by five, by ten? No, not ‘if’- they are increasing even now. No matter how hard you try, brother, you won’t catch up.”

“That…”

Ardyn was lost for words. Somnus had hit a sore point.

“And what if daemons end up overflowing from every place? You see, there’s no choice but to kill them.”

Somnus laughed as if victorious.

“But they’re humans!”

Frightened by their own bodies that had transformed so terribly, struggling to hold themselves back with the last of their sense of self. Unfortunate souls who were guilty of nothing more than falling victim to a disease.

“You can’t take the lives of innocent people…”

“You’re always saying that, brother. Do you think you can build a country on nothing but pretty words and fantasies!?”

“Is that why you turn to the easy way?”

“Brother!”

Suddenly, Somnus’ tone had changed.

“Fawn upon the people all you like, but I request that you refrain from speaking in a manner that will cause them confusion. Even if you are my brother, I can no longer overlook it.”

Ardyn did not reply. He couldn’t.

He saw murderous intent in Somnus’ eyes. For the first time, he felt that he was in danger. Or rather, shock at his own inattention, for not realizing the possibility earlier. He should have known Somnus’ personality and temperament better than anyone else. He would use any means to achieve his goals. He had always been that way. Once he had decided upon something, he would carry it out no matter what.

I must hide, he thought. I cannot die now. People are ill and suffering, waiting for me. No matter what happens, I must live until I have saved every last one. That is my calling.

[Page 14, line 12 to end of page 16]

“A report, my lord. We have searched every corner of the territory, but there is still no sign of Ardyn’s whereabouts…”

Somnus dismissed the soldier with a wave of his hand, cutting off his report. It had been half a year since his last argument with Ardyn. Perhaps knowing that further discussion between them would be pointless, Ardyn had vanished into some place or another.

Frustration, resignation, and contempt. Somnus painfully remembered the last expression he had seen on his brother’s face. His brother, who was adored by the people and desired as the next King. Perhaps the expression on his face reflected what was in the hearts of their people, Somnus thought.

And yet, his beloved brother seemed as if he had somehow lost the ability to see reality. He trusted people too much. Not just people, Somnus couldn’t help but think he only ever looked at the good side of things, and turned his eyes away from the bad.

People and things were not only their beautiful parts. There were unfair, horrid and dirty parts as well. That is why they needed to be restrained, to be ruled. Was that not what a king was for?

“That’s right. What a King needs is power to rule the people. How can a nation become strong if you fawn over them?”

A nation must be strong. For a nation must be a safe place that others could not invade. It could not simply be a muddled collection of people. The truth was that all who lived on this land were having their lives and livelihoods threatened by the daemons.

What could promise them safety? Soldiers, to wipe out the daemon threat that stood before them. He would be the one to foster, train and assemble those soldiers.

“My brother understands nothing…”

His brother had said that he wanted to save even one more person. But not everyone could be saved through his brother’s methods. While some would be saved, others would be lost. In the end, “even one more” meant abandoning those who were not chosen.

His brother’s method was one of a man who had never held a speck of doubt that he was chosen. He did not know how the unchosen looked at the chosen. The reason was that he had forever and always accumulated the trust and hopes of those around him, and continued to be one of the chosen ones.

“Is that why you turn to the easy way?”

What’s wrong with doing things the easy way? Somnus thought. At least those who had turned into daemons would not be chosen from. There would be none who died bearing the sorrow, the jealousy, the envy of being unchosen. It might be cruel, but it was fair.

“Lord Somnus, to where shall we go?”

A voice called from behind him. He continued walking, giving only a reply.

“I require no accompaniment.”

At the present moment, his brother’s fiancee, Aera, the Oracle, was shut away in the temple to listen to the voice of the Gods. He had to hurry to meet her. Meet her, make sure, and then…

Somnus glanced down at his own hand.

“I won’t ask forgiveness. And I don’t expect to be forgiven.”

Even if he had to dirty his hands, there was something that must be done.

[thegeekerynj]

An Occasional Attempt to Read, Discuss and Review the Wonders of Comics By: John Rafferty, cranky old man, and Fan of All Things Comics

Dark Nights: Death Metal #1

Writer: Scott Snyder Artist: Greg Capullo

‘Hex, they’re all yours.

Yeehaw, sir.

Finally, a party where I’m the @#$% pretty one.’

Gentle Readers, I have been totally blown away.

I have been trying to write this for a week, now. I have given this book to several people to read. The least comment I’ve received back is:

‘WOW. Holy Crap! Damn!’

Yes, I heard the capitalization. I saw the sense of wonder, shock, insane glee in the person’s eyes. I watched as he sat down again, and reread it, asked if the Comic Shop was open so he could go buy his own copy... then said lots of words I would get smacked for putting in here.

In short, the duo of Snyder and Capullo are on fire...again. And they know it, by the names they gave themselves... Scott ‘Hallowed Be Thy Name’ Snyder, and Greg ‘Painkiller’ Capullo. And these bastiches do live up to them! (heh...heh heh)

So, we start off with Sergeant Rock ( yes, Easy Company’s Sergeant), explaining the situation ‘ta this flyboy’. And he does this, in the colorful, typically melodramatic style of Jack Webb, in ‘The D.I’, or R. Lee Ermey in ‘Full Metal Jacket’ giving the ‘flyboy’ the rundown on then tire meal of ‘turdburger and turd fries’ being served up in the new DCU...

Yes, the Next Page, the Second Page is a map labeled ‘the DCU’... complete with the Arkham Wastelands, the Fall of Captain Atom (can be taken two ways, hopefully this will be explained), Themyscira, Megapokolips, The Hellscape, and Castle Bat...

This is the map of the area around the Castle Bat, home to the Batman Who Laughs, and his minions, the various corruptions of the Bat, and the Groblins. And so much more...

This is the End of All Things, the Dark Matter Universe has permeated everything, and the Corruption Abides. The Green is poisoned, as is seen by the condition of the Protector of the Green, Swamp Thing. He is a walking putrefaction, more a rot thing than the robust Emissary of Parliament of Trees he had been.

Diana of Themyscira is reduced to gaoler for the Master, overseeing his dungeons, and the Pit, which he reserves for his special ‘interests’. Her mother and sisters, used as the method to keep her from tearing the Castle from the heights it reaches, and pounding it flat into the foundations, far below, in the bowels of Themyscira, where we find the gates to Tartarus, the new prison for the Batman who Laughs.

We open on Diana, wielding a chainsaw, taking apart her iconic Invisible Plane, and melting it down into Invisible metal. More punishment, more humiliation.

She receives news of a new prisoner for the Pit, from the corrupted Guardian of the Green, Alec Holland. The Prisoner is being escorted by 3 Bats (the Red Death, a Bat that is the Tyrannosaur robot with Bruce Wayne’s mind uploaded into it, and a BatMage), an unheard of number, so this must be a formidable prisoner indeed.

As they proceed toward the Pit, the reader is updated somewhat with the ongoings since Metal...

What, there are some reading this that never read Dark Night: Metal? Ok, show of hands, how many... one, two,...seven... nineteen... well. I’m going to stop here. Go on, go get a copy of the collected Metal. And the crossovers. And the One Shots. NOW! I’ll wait (have to use the Men’s Room, anyway...)

Done? Good. Hey, YOU! Finish up! Damn... Ok.

So, where were we... Oh, yes, Castle Bat. the Check-in, Harley is in charge of hunting the Wastelands, with a Bat controlled Dr. Arkham, Wonder Woman, well, she basically runs Hell with a Batmage, who could be a Dark Multiverse Bat Zatara (I originally thought Fate, but, no Helmet of Fate), Aquaman and Bat-Bathomet (a Cthulhu looking Elder demon), and Megapokolips is presided over by a manacled, and subdued Scott Free, with his overseer, DarkFather, who bears an unkind resemblance to Darkseid’s son, Kalibak.

And, we can see Free and the DarkFather are monitoring an Anti-Life infected Superman, waiting for his change into a controlled Darkseid.

Holy Crap, that’s 8 1/2 pages in... and the action hasn’t started!

We’re introduced to all the Bat-Knights - The Bat-Etrigan, the Bat-Clayface, Bat-Deathstroke, Bat-Reaper, the Bat-Plastic Ma... Plastic Man??? Along with the Drowned, the Red Death, the Dawnbreaker, the Devastator, the Murder Machine and the Merciless, and some more interesting mashes... A Bat-cowl wearing Penguin, Jokerized dragons (words I never thought I would ever write, after once writing Joker fish - Thanks Steve Englehart and Marshall Rogers!), and the return of the Black Lantern Ring... WHAAAAAA???? OMFG!!??!!

Again, we aren’t halfway through the issue.

Snyder and Capullo have set a standard so incredibly high, it will be absolutely amazing if they can maintain the pace and intensity of this 32 page issue. Snyder’s dialogue is measured, direct, with not a wasted syllable, much less word. His script is extraordinary, well done, descriptive, amazingly vivid.

Capullo’s pencils, Dear Jeebus, this man’s pencils bring Snyder’s word to life, or as close to life as the Dark Multiverse will allow. He brings an intensity to the work which drives the reader forward, pushing onward from panel to panel, barely allowing the reader to recover from the

last surprise before gobsmacking him with the next graphically intense page.This is a meal, each panel to be savored as a tapas course, building on the flavors of the last visual mouthful, until the reader is so overwhelmed, he is unaware he has finished the meal, is full, but wants to go back to the first course and start all over again.

Gentle Readers, please understand, on a book such as this, I am a horrid reviewer. I have no filter, no concept of Spoiler Alerts, and no care for posting the alert. I WANT to share all the action, all the nuance, and little points that make this story amazing.

I also want, more than this, for you, the Reader, to go out and read this book on your own. That is more important, for it is YOU, the reader who will ultimately make the determination whether this reviewer is credible, or as full of crap as a Christmas Goose.

So, if you do nothing else, take the time to visit your local Purveyors of Four Color Sequential Periodicals, and slap down the $5 necessary to purchase this book. Give me the benefit of the doubt.

I promise you, there is no disappointment here.

Out of 5 🌶 🌶🌶🌶🌶🌶

[padfootagain]

The Lesson (I)

Part 1 : Punishment 

Ha, look at the fool that I am!! Look how a silly little one-shot has turned into a multi-chaptered fic!! Watch and learn. This is what having 0 self-control looks like…

Anyway, this is a very cute little fic that I'm writing here. Lots of fluff and silly idiots in love.

I hope you like it! Tell me what you think of it!!

Gif not mine

Word Count : 4825

Gabriel really doesn't have a clue what's going on right now.

A minute ago, he was in heaven, drinking tea with Michael, and laughing at some poor ridiculous angel, who had knocked a whole pile of their old files off and therefore had to spend their afternoon putting it all back the way it was before.

And then he was summoned. By God herself. Or well, the Metatron, to be precise, as no one really talks to Her directly. But talking to the Metatron is like talking to God after all, he is Her voice. And he is the one devoted to take care of all the tiny insignificant business that God Herself is too busy to take care of herself.

Gabriel is rather surprised by the summon, but he is an Archangel, after all. And more than that he is the Archangel Fucking Gabriel. He is something of importance, up there, in Heaven, and is quite proud of his influence and reputation throughout the angelic organization.

And yet, how fast has his world come to crumble…

"But, there must be a mistake, I mean… what would She want to punish me for?" Gabriel tries to argue.

He can't be sentenced to something. He just can't. Why… Where was that all coming from anyway?

"You have grown too much apart from the humans you are meant to help and protect," the Metatron replies in a calm, slow voice.

"That's… with all due respect, that's a misunderstanding."

"God knows best."

"Of course, She does. But I am…"

"You shall see the benefit of Her teaching in the end, even if for now, Her decision appears all but mysterious to you. You will grow to learn the lesson She means to teach you."

"What shall I do then?"

After all, Gabriel can't defy God. She for sure knows better than him. His ego is ready to accept only this limitation, but this one, it can't deny.

"You shall experience the world as a human."

"What?!"

"You will be sent to Earth under your mortal form, and shall remain there as long as you need to learn the lesson God has prepared for you."

"But… like… I could stay for several days?! I can't stay down there for days! What about that terrible air they breathe, and this disgusting food and… hang on… if I'm mortal, does that mean I have to eat?! I can't sully my ethereal body with this!"

"You shall leave like a mortal for as long as necessary for you to learn the people you are meant to help."

"This is…"

But he stops himself before he would let out the word. He can't say that it was all ridiculous. Blasphemy and all that. He reckons he is in enough trouble already.

"When am I leaving?"

The Metatron smiles.

"Now, of course."

And before Gabriel can protest, the world around him is of a blinding white, and he is gone.

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

 Crowley is so proud of his garden. He's always loved plants, he's always loved watching them grow (into perfection, using a little bit of his voice). And in the South Downs, near the limestone cliffs and chalky rocks, in the cottage he and Aziraphale have bought after the almost-end-of-the-world incident, he created a welcoming and rather furnished garden. Aziraphale is not one to complain about it, first because he can see how the garden makes the demon happy, and whatever makes Crowley happy instantly makes Aziraphale happy as well, but also because Crowley has turned the garden into the loveliest place to read a good book. Under the warm summer sun, sitting on the wooden bench Crowley has placed there for him (of course, the demon has never admitted that adding a bench to the garden was meant for the angel, but Aziraphale is not a fool, not anymore, at least), with the sweet perfume of blooming jasmine, lilac and hydrangea, it makes it perfect for the angel to get lost in a good book. And that is precisely what he is doing at that moment.

It is a rare copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray he is devouring now, that Oscar Wilde signed for him a long time ago - with a tender note that had made Crowley doubt the angel's purity for a while too, until Aziraphale denied it with a blush and used the obvious fact that there was already someone in his heart when he had met the author in question, to which Crowley had been the one to fiercely blush and hiss a little.

Aziraphale is not surprised at all when Crowley joins him on the bench, takes off his dark sunglasses, that he carefully places in the pocket of his black shirt, and lies down to rest his head on the angel's laps. Actually, Aziraphale has been waiting for Crowley to join him on the bench. It is almost a habit by now, really. A habit nor Aziraphale nor Crowley have managed to get quite used to, even now, that they have been free for several years from both Heaven and Hell.

They can be close now. As close as they have always wanted and fantasized and hoped for, and they are. It doesn't mean either of them has grown accustomed to how lucky they both are to have each other though.

Aziraphale adjusts his position on the bench a little to give Crowley more room to unfold his long legs, and lowers a hand from his precious book to Crowley's burning hair, eliciting a content sigh from the demon as he closes his eyes.

He must admit that this life is a rather good one. A quiet cottage near the sea, crowded with Aziraphale's old books and a large garden for Crowley to terrorize as many plants as he wants. And he's with Aziraphale now. They live together, and drink their tea in the morning while they read the newspaper, and they go out to eat ice-creams in the afternoon, and organize picnics by the sea, and dinners home in the trembling light of burning candles, and they go to bed together, and hold each other as they fall asleep…

… and they can kiss, and hold hands, and touch, run fingers through hair and peck smiles and all of this tastes a little bit too much like paradise for the demon's heart to handle.

He loves it anyway.

They've been free from Hell and Heaven for a decade now. Or well, it will soon be a decade, in one week, to be exact. It coincides with their anniversary too. One year after the almost-Armageddon. After a year of dates at the Ritz, and picnics in Saint James's Park, and holding hands along the Thames, and stealing kisses in the bookshop, and faking they didn't hear people mistaking them for husbands so they wouldn't have to correct them. After a year they decided to move away from the busy town together, and Aziraphale proposed to get the arrangement one step further. Maybe it would make things easier and more practical to get a house. Maybe it would spare them the bother of having people mistaken their relationship. And maybe he wanted to spend the rest of eternity by Crowley's side, and is it not what marriage is all about, after all? A promise to be there, whatever may happen?

Crowley agreed that it would make things clear for the new neighbours, and might drive a few conservative old ladies mad, and he's a demon still, so how could he miss the occasion to mess up with narrow-minded elders? And maybe he also wanted to spend all eternity with Aziraphale, and if he had made that promise to stay with him forever long before, maybe he would enjoy making the statement official now.

It was almost nine years ago that they took their vows, and the thought brings Crowley to gently stroke the silvery ring around his finger, where a pair of wings is engraved. He opens his eyes to glimpse at Azirphale's matching golden ring, wrapped around a finger that holds his book up to read.

They're lucky. Unbearably, cheesily, disgustingly lucky, and it makes Crowley so annoyingly happy.

He closes his eyes again, drinking in the sun that warms up his eyelids, enjoying the way the angel soothingly runs his fingers through his hair.

"Your lilac smells divine, dear," Aziraphale compliments him, and Crowley can't refrain a little smile.

Aziraphale is distracted from his book for good. After six thousand years of companionship (and secret longing), he knows the angel by heart. He might fake an innocent tone, but he merely wants to talk with Crowley. About nothing in particular, really, just talk, maybe hold hands at one point while the sun warms their two frames, and they'll probably share a few kisses on the way too. Crowley grins at the thought.

Temptation accomplished.

"I've made sure they would," he replied without bothering opening his eyes.

"Oh, dearest, really, you ought to stop terrifying these poor things!"

"May I remind you how many plants you managed to make grow with your 'all love and sweetness method' when you were a gardener for Warlock, huh?"

Aziraphale let out a revolted huff.

"Well, your jasmine didn't die when I complimented it yesterday, did it?" he whispers under his breath, just loudly enough for Crowley to catch his words.

In response, Crowley jolts upright.

"You did WHAT?!" he shouts through the quiet garden, but Aziraphale fakes innocence, the ghost of an amused smile tugging at his lips.

And Crowley notices it. Oh, of course he does. Aziraphale can be so horridly annoying sometimes…

"Me? Nothing."

"How many timessss do you have to tell you? No kindnesssss!" Crowley hisses in his anger.

But Aziraphale stares at him with such a tender glance now, as he puts his book down on his lap to cup Crowley's cheeks.

"Oh, you foul fiend…"

But in that soft and playful tone, Crowley knows that the words truly mean You're such a nice soul.

"I'm not niccce," he replies with a pout.

"Of course you are," Aziraphale replies, before pulling the demon to him and kissing him gently on the lips.

" 'm not."

"Yes, you are, dear."

"You bastard."

"I know that too."

They chuckle against each other's lips, and kiss again. And again. And again…

Until they hear a loud thudding noise coming from behind them, in the back of the garden. It comes from… yes, definitely around Crowley's red dahlias.

Crowley is on his feet before a second has the time to tick, and Aziraphale has turned on the bench as well, in the direction of the noise.

A groan rises from behind the tall flowers. Human, without a doubt. Male, judging by the sound of the voice.

Where the hell is he coming from?

"Oh dear… he must be hurt, he must have climbed over the wall," Aziraphale whispers, standing up as well and nervously twisting his clasped hands.

"And landed three meters away from the fence? What was he doing on top of the wall anyway? Diving into dahlias?"

"What should I know? But he must be hurt. We should… go and take a look."

Which, as Crowley perfectly knows, means 'you should go and take a look'.

He rolls his eyes.

"Should I call the police?" Aziraphale asks, following Crowley, a couple of steps behind.

"Nah, no need. I'll handle it, angel. Must be drunk or something."

Aziraphale comes a little closer to the demon, which can only make Crowley smile. As if he would get in a fight if there was to be one anyway… But now that he thinks about it, Crowley guesses that the angel might, if there were to be a real danger. The idiotic selfless being of love…

They walk through the patch of grass splayed before the dahlias, and Crowley notices the broken plants in the blink of an eye.

"My dahlias!" he exclaims with both anger and distress in his voice.

"Oh, my love," Aziraphale tries to soothe him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe a little miracle…"

"No! No! Angel, it took me years to have them so red!"

"I know, dearest, I'm sorry."

"My dahlias!"

"I know. But there's someone in the dahlias, honey, we should…"

"Aziraphale?"

Both the angel and the demon freeze. It's not difficult to recognize Gabriel's voice. He's been haunting their nightmares for years.

They exchange a surprised, then shocked, then scared look, before focusing on the dahlias again. Taking a few more steps towards the plants, they easily spot the archangel indeed, still lying head first in the earth.

Crowley moves to stand between Aziraphale and Gabriel, and the angel has no trouble recognizing the dangerous look in the demon's eyes, along with the little sparks coming out of the tip of his fingers.

"Crowley, no. He seems hurt," Aziraphale stops him, but Crowley turns to him with an astonished look on his features.

"He tried to kill you, angel. He wanted to kill you!"

"But he didn't, did he now?"

Crowley clenches his jaw, hellfire burning in his eyes with his devouring rage, and Aziraphale heaves a sigh.

Meanwhile, Gabriel has sat up in the dahlias, destroying a few more flowers in the process.

"Aziraphale! Oh, I'm so glad to see you!"

"Well, not ussss," Crowley spits back.

"Still with your best friend, I see."

Crowley glares at him, and Aziraphale takes a step closer, coming right beside Crowley.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were to leave us alone, now," he asks back, making an effort close to a miracle to keep a polite tone.

"Well, that's quite a long story."

"Get out of here."

Crowley's jaw and fists are clenched, and Aziraphale knows how close the demon is to miracle Gabriel in the depth of the Mariana Trench.

"Well, I… I'm afraid I can't," Gabriel shakes his head, a touch of panic twisting his features.

"You'd better miracle yourself out of this garden… no, actually, out of this town… no, no, out of this country before I have time to miracle it for you," the demon spits.

"Crowley…"

"He tried to kill you!"

Aziraphale heaves a sigh.

"Look… why have you come here? We weren't doing anything…" Aziraphale turns to Gabriel again.

"No, I mean. I didn't choose where I landed, I just… I was sent here."

"Sent here? By whom? For what?"

"God. She… is punishing me."

Both Crowley and Aziraphale stared at him as their eyebrows shot up to their hairline.

"Punishing you?"

Gabriel nods, on the verge of tears. His white suit is stained with dark dirt and the green dye of broken leaves, his hair a mess. He looks desperate.

"Apparently I've grown… too far from humans. I've… lost the point or…I don't really know why I was sent here as a mortal."

"A mortal?" the demon and the angel ask in an astonished unison.

"I'm stuck here in a mortal body for as long as I haven't changed."

"Changed for what?"

"I have no idea."

He looks up at them. Crowley the demon, and Aziraphale the angel. He hates both of them. They stopped the war that would end everything. They saved humanity, and for what? A garden? A cottage? A little bit of sun? It's ridiculous. They're a joke, an anomaly, and he wishes he and Beelzebub could have found a way to get rid of them both all those years ago.

But he's also alone, in a world he barely knows, with nowhere to go and nothing to do. And they are they only ones he can rely on, if they let him.

"Help me."

Crowley snorts.

"Yeah, of course, why not? Why not help the archangel who tried to burn him alive," Crowley mocks, pointing at Aziraphale, and as he goes on, at himself. "And handed enough holy water to dissolve me."

"We haven't always agreed on general politics..."

"That is a euphemism, Gabriel," Aziraphale replies in a harsh tone. "Crowley has a point, you did try to murder us."

"Yes, that's true. But I'm sent here in a human's body and I don't know what I'm even supposed to do and have nowhere to go…"

"Well, first, you can GET OUT OF MY GARDEN!" Crowley roars.

"But…"

"OUT!"

Aziraphale makes a movement towards the archangel, but Crowley stops him.

"He might be armed."

"I'm not. I'm human now!"

"Oh, and we should take your word for it then?"

"Crowley."

The demon stops to look at Aziraphale again. He seems hesitant, but determined too. Crowley knows this look. It's the look that gets them both in trouble everytime. It's the look that means I know it might be a bad idea, but it's the right thing to do, and thus I must do it. And he hates that look…

"Crowley and I will take you to the hotel. We'll give you some money too, so you can pay for the room for a few days," he decides, and Crowley wants to shout to the top of his lungs how annoying and wrong and stupid the angel is right now. Instead, he lets out a low groan.

He has never managed to make Aziraphale change his mind, not in six thousand years, he doesn't expect to win now.

"Thank you," is all Gabriel can manage to say.

He stands up, and Crowley watches as he reveals the broken plants.

And Gabriel is almost certain to see tears in the yellow, demonic eyes.

"My dahlias…" Crowley breathes, and Aziraphale pats his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, dear."

"It took my years…"

"I know. But they'll grow back. You'll make them grow back."

"My dahlias…"

Gabriel is more confused than ever…

They guide him through the house, that Gabriel quickly examines as they walk through but doesn't really care about lingering in. It feels warm and a little crowded, but in the most comforting way. As they walk through the kitchen, he notices the collection of herbs, the books about cooking and gardening, the many mugs of all colours and shapes, the many boxes of tea and cocoa, the light coming in from the large window. In the living room, the many shelves stacked with old books encircling the room, a large TV screen lost in the middle of them. A warm carpet, a comfortable sofa and two armchairs are set around a little glass table. He can't deny that the place feels loved, even if he's not an angel anymore, and can't feel it the way he used to. But he doesn't really want to linger around the two traitors, and he reckons that a hotel sounds like a good idea. He feels tired all of a sudden. And that's when it hits him. He is tired. Instinctively, he knows he needs to sleep. He also feels a constant but quiet pain in his stomach. Is it what hunger feels like?

The more he thinks about it, the more he is panicking. Crowley has already opened the front door and is ready to throw the (former) archangel out when Gabriel stops in his tracks, and leans against the large leathery sofa in an attempt to keep on standing.

"Oh dear Lord…" he breathes, his heart speeding up, and the thought of his beating heart makes a new wave of panic course through his veins. "What am I gonna do? How… I don't know how to do things like this…"

"What are you talking about?" Aziraphale inquires with a frown, and Crowley hates the fact that he sees pity into his blue eyes.

Really, pity for this murderer is the last thing they need.

"I'm… I think I… my body needs to sleep."

"Well, we're taking you to a hotel. You'll have a comfortable bed and everything you need to sleep."

"But HOW?! How do I sleep?"

"Oh…"

Crowley and Aziraphale exchange a glance, but they don't try to make the other understand the same message at all through this silent communication.

Crowley tries to say this is the worst idea in the whole history of the universe and I am not helping this prick.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale's blue eyes are begging for we can't leave him like this, he's just a human now, after all.

And Crowley, at this particular moment, hates both Aziraphale and himself. Himself because he knows that he loves Aziraphale too much to refuse anything he could possibly ask him. The bastard could ask for the stars, and Crowley would re-learn how to create them just for him. And he hates Aziraphale too because he knows perfectly well that he is looking at him with this particularly soft gaze because of which Crowley can't refuse him anything.

"Well, you… You just lie down in a bed. And close your eyes and try to think of something nice," Aziraphale explains, gently taking Gabriel by the elbow to guide him towards the door.

"Try to think of something nice?! That's all? What nice things do you think about?"

"Well… A good book, or some good food or…"

"Or burning you in hellfire," Crowley hisses behind his gritted teeth, making both Gabriel and Aziraphale glower at him.

"I don't even know what I did wrong," Gabriel went on, and despite Aziraphale's cold feelings towards the archangel, he can't help but feel sorry for him. "I don't know what I have to do to get back. What if I stay stuck here forever?"

Crowley and Aziraphale exchange a panicked glance. They can't allow that to happen…

"I'm sure you'll find something."

"What am I going to do? And I don't have money… they still use money down here, right?"

"Yes. We'll give you some to get by for a few days."

"But then?"

"Then… you'll have to find a job and pay for yourself, I suppose."

"I can't do it, Aziraphale. I can't…"

Gabriel is shaking from the tip of his white shoes to his perfect hair (or well, usually perfect hair, the landing in Crowley's dahlia has disturbed a couple of strands). Aziraphale makes him sit on the sofa while he turns to speak with Crowley, taking his arm and pulling him into the kitchen. By the window, they can see the garden still bathed in sunlight, in which two sparrows decide to settle to sing, but they spend a moment commenting on what could have caused the perfect garden to look so messy now with all these broken dahlias.

"We have to help him," the angel decides with urgency shaking his voice.

"What?! Of course not! He tried to kill you, angel! There wasn't even any form of trial."

"I know…"

"Have you forgotten how mean he was to you all these years?! All his remarks and cruel little comments?!"

"I haven't forgotten any of those, and you know it."

"Then how on Earth can you think for a second about helping him?!"

"Because… if we don't, he might never be sent back."

"Perhaps a lifetime on Earth will do him good," Crowley replies with darkness in his voice.

"We'll never get rid of him then," Aziraphale reasons his demon. "Besides, we're better than him. We have to be better than him. Better than all of them. Our side has to be better than theirs."

Crowley sighs, running a hand through his hair and making the ginger strands messy. He hates it when Aziraphale does that, when he chooses the perfect arguments to convince him.

"We can't leave him," Aziraphale adds in a shy voice.

"He wouldn't do the same for us. He would kill us both if he had the chance."

"But we're not him."

"He doesn't deserve your kindness, angel. Not after all he's done to you."

"No, maybe he doesn't. But he doesn't need to deserve it for me to grant it to him anyway."

Crowley sighs again, but he can't find words to reply. Deep down, he thinks about a day long gone, spent on the top of a wall encircling Eden, watching the first storm wet the world and a couple with a flaming sword disappear in the distance. He thinks about an angel offering him protection from the cold rain under his wing. He thinks about his smile. He thinks about all the times they met after that.

He doesn't think that he deserved Aziraphale's kindness then either, but the angel granted it to him anyway. He isn't even sure that even now, he fully deserves it. He's just lucky to own it.

He rolls his eyes and picks up his dark sunglasses from his pocket to put them on again.

"Fine," he answers moodily. "But I won't be nice with him. And only for a week. One week and he goes to that hotel, and I never want to see him again. Is that clear?"

Aziraphale nods, giving him a tender smile that Crowley knows means you're nicer than you pretend to be again. But Crowley is too preoccupied by the (former) archangel sitting on their sofa to correct the angel this time.

They walk back into the living room, and Aziraphale rests a soothing hand on Gabriel's shoulder. The man really looks distraught. Crowley almost feels sorry for him. But not quite.

"You… can stay here for a few days, if you want. Crowley and I will help you understand what's going on. And once you know what you have to do, you can accomplish your mission and go home."

Gabriel slowly nods.

"If you're tired, you should sleep. We have a spare bedroom upstairs. Come on."

Gabriel follows the angel upstairs, well aware of Crowley's glare as he walks up the stairs behind him, but he chooses to act as if he could ignore it. Instead, he follows Aziraphale into a little bedroom, that is clearly used as an office as well, judging by the many papers on the desk.

"Here, lie down on the bed, close your eyes, and try to calm down. It can take a little while to fall asleep, although, you truly look exhausted," Aziraphale guides the distraught (former) archangel to the bed.

He and Crowley exit the room as soon as Gabriel has closed his eyes, and the angel uses a miracle to lock the door.

"Can you tell me now what the hell you're playing at, angel?" Crowley hisses through gritted teeth as they walk back downstairs. "You can't be helping him just to be good, I know you well enough for that."

"Not so loud," Aziraphale admonishes, nervously glancing up the stairs.

"We shouldn't be helping him!"

"Because letting him wander off across town is a better idea, perhaps?" the angel snaps back.

"Yes!"

"No! We should keep an eye on him. Make sure of what he's up to. And what better way to do so than to keep him here?"

"He could be trying to kill us!"

"I know. Which is why we should make sure he doesn't get the chance to gather some help to do so. Better to keep one's enemies close, right?"

Crowley opens his mouth to reply, but smiles instead.

"Besides, it's the decent thing to do, really," Aziraphale goes on. "No matter what he has done in the past, we can't abandon him. We need to be better than that."

"You, bastard."

"Now, now… no need for that kind of language," Aziraphale fakes to admonish, when in reality, he's smiling and blushing a little. "We need to keep a close watch on him, and make sure no one else is sent down here."

"Or up here."

They exchange a wary glance.

"I'll write the runes on the front door, you take the back," Crowley orders, and they both move to the kitchen to get a chalk.

Before they part to protect their home, Aziraphale takes Crowley's hand in his and gives him a reassuring smile.

"We'll be just fine. As long as we're together, we'll be just fine."

Crowley answers with a tender smile, cupping the angel's face.

"I know."

"I love you."

"I love you too. Now, come on. Let's make sure no one can come in uninvited."

They kiss before parting, and half an hour later, the two doors of their cottage are protected by a series of runes written in white chalk.

In the distance, coming from the sea, dark clouds gather through the sky, slowly drifting towards the cottage, and the demon watches them roll through the firmament. Crowley wonders what the future might bring. With Gabriel back in their life, he guesses nothing good is to be expected in the coming days. He steps back inside the house and closes the door behind him, leaving the clouds behind to rest his eyes on his angel instead, who is preparing some tea for both of them.

If one thing is for certain, it is that he will make sure Aziraphale is safe, no matter the cost.

***********************************

Taglist : @imafangirlofeverything @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi

[sueniia]

He pulled into his restaurant parking sooner than expected and after parking the car, walked around to the back entrance of the restaurant and entered inside.

Sanji’s restaurant served as a cafe during the morning, a restaurant at lunch, and occasionally as a bar. The interior was designed in deep red colors that spanned the entire wall area from the front entrance around the areas designated for the customers to sit, the display cases for their pastries, and the area for the register.

The bar was located upstairs but it was only opened on the weekends but never on Sunday, as that was the store’s general day’s off. Sanji always arrived first and took care of the morning’s shift food and today was no different.

Sanji arrived and soon after entering and turning on the light, he went to change and remove any non-essential clothing in case it were to get dirty or worse. He left them in his changing room locker and went to begin cooking the day’s pastries.

An hour or so after his arrival, Sanji was called up by one of his waitresses and he ignored it and washed off the bits of dough stuck to his skin before exiting the kitchen and heading to the front door to unlock it and let her in.

Sanji, when he’d hired his staff, had told them in case of the keys being misplaced or something happening to either them or the store he was going to always arrive first and they were to call him to inform them when they were outside for him to let them in. Sanji knew it was a weird request and he could just unlock the door when he arrived so he didn’t have to go through the process of walking to the door and unlocking it each time, but it was what he preferred as it provided an albeit peculiar, sense of comfort.

He moved aside and let her walk in and closed the door behind her before greeting her cheerfully.  “Good morning, Rebecca!”

Rebecca began removing her bag and her outer coat and taking it to the changing room but not before replying to Sanji’s enthusiastic greeting. “Good morning to you too, Sanji-san!”

“Ah~” Sanji swooned and pretended to faint. “You look wonderful today as well, Rebecca!”

Rebecca put away her things and changed into the black and pale pink colored top designated for work before returning outside to the eating hall. She giggled at Sanji’s comment and said, “Thank you, Sanji-san.”

“Has no one else arrived yet?” Rebecca adds and Sanji shakes his head. “Not yet. You’re the first one here.”

Rebecca glances at the dark brown watch latched onto her wrist and nods. “Well, I am a bit early today. I’ll begin cleaning the tables downstairs first. Is there anything you need me to help you with?”

Sanji shook his head again. “No, I’m good on my own. Thank you for asking.” He begins heading back to the kitchen and adds, “I’m hoping you’ll open for the other when they arrive.”

Rebecca flashes a smile and Sanji swoons again. “No problem, Sanji! Get back in there! It’s going to be time for us to open soon.”

Sanji laughs and goes back inside the kitchen and continuing with the pastries. Eventually, he hears the bell fixed on the top of the entrance door ring once while he was doing the finishing touches on a cake.

The second ring follows soon after the first and Sanji assumes it was half of his morning shift staff. His assumptions are confirmed when he hears the clicking sound of Shirahoshi’s shoes on the tiles. She pops her head in the kitchen and sends him a quick greeting which he returns with almost as much flare as he did for Rebecca.

Caimie, his last waitress does the same and is rewarded with the same reaction. Sanji’s shower of praise and adoration is interrupted by Rebecca calling out for the two women and is closely followed by a threat from Rebecca for him to finish his work soon or they were going to be late.

Sanji took all the pastries he’d made and neatly arranged them in the display case. He made sure they had enough drinks and materials for the customers that would order a drink before giving Rebecca the okay signal and watching as she flipped the “close” sign outside to “open.”

LINE BREAK

Their morning rush was surprisingly more manageable than they all thought and they soon found themselves either resting on one of the empty chairs whilst waiting for either a customer or busy cleaning the bottom half of the restaurant for the umpteenth time.

The bell rang again but when Sanji looked up to see, he found out it was just his second cook arriving in time for work.

Sanji had hired several waiters and waitresses because he knew to manage the register, serving people, and making the food, although not impossible, would be tricky for him to do. So, he hired an extra chef to handle the lunch rush and sometimes the night one as well. It worked out well for him because he found a capable cook which meant he could relax and take a couple of minutes to himself.

“Hey guys,” Hatchan greeted when he entered, and like Rebecca, went inside to change out of his normal clothes. “Business is slow again?”

Shirahoshi nodded and lifted her head from where it rested against her palms on one of the empty tables. “The morning rush is getting slower and slower every day.”

Rebecca added, “I mean I’m happy I don’t have to deal with some annoying customers, but when it’s this slow, I would honestly prefer every annoying customer.”

Hatchan laughed. “Then, move your shift over to lunch. There’s more than enough annoying customers at that time.”

Rebecca and Shirahoshi simultaneously shook their heads. “No, thank you. I’ve seen how haggard Coby and Helmeppo look after.”

Sanji greeted Hatchan with a head nod and moved aside for the older man to begin cooking. He went back to the changing room and dug around in his coat before pulling out a small white box, barely past the length of his wrist to where his fingers ended, his phone and a gold and white lighter.

Sanji passed by the front again and interrupted their mini argument over which rush, morning or lunch, was worse to deal with. “I’m gonna be outside for a bit.” Sanji lifted the box up and tapped it with his finger once before heading outside and closing the door behind him.

LINE BREAK

Sanji’s life had been exciting, or extremely busy depending on how you looked at it. As a child, he had a dream to run his own place and make his own food for whoever wanted to eat, and as he grew up and became a teenager, he enrolled in his first-ever cooking school and spent four years, studying and learning, from some of the best cooks in their country.

When he graduated with flying colors, Sanji seeked tutelage. He had learned a lot being in the school but he doubted all he learned in class would be quite the same as being in a restaurant. He searched for someone capable, someone he would grow to admire and respect, someone that would help him further his skills, and fortunately enough, he was lucky to find someone he considered the best.

Throughout his life, post-graduation, Sanji spent it working under that man and although Sanji still considered his methods barbaric and boorish, he had enough pride to admit that he did learn something. That the five years, he spent there was the backbone holding his own restaurant in place and keeping it afloat.

Sanji pulled out one cigarette from the white pack and flicked open his lighter, and lighting his cigarette. Sanji took a deep drag from it and held it inside, letting the smoke swirl with his insides and nestle deeply inside his lungs before exhaling slowly and blowing it out.

Sanji repeated the action four more times, and each time a bit more of his cigarette burned closer and closer to where his slim, bony fingers rested. Sanji was about to take another drag when he felt a low vibration in his back pocket.

Someone was calling him.

Sanji took his phone out and almost immediately, his face contorted when he read the name at the Caller ID. Sanji sneered at his phone and considered letting it ring until the phone call ended automatically but knew that wasn’t ever going to be enough to stop his insufferable elder siblings.

“What?” Sanji asked, his tone highly acidic and abrasive.

A harsh and cruel laugh sounded in his ears. “Is that how you greet your brother now, Sanji? I’m hurt.” His brother finished with a mock gasp of pain.

Sanji rolled his eyes but didn’t let up. “You are no brother of mine, Niji. What do you want?”

Niji simply laughed again and said, “Those are our words, dear brother. A failure like you simply cannot be one of us.”

Sanji grits his teeth and dug into the filter part of the cigarette. His grip on the phone tightened to the point Sanji wondered if it was possible to break a phone with his bare hands because right now, it felt like he could.

“What. Do. You. Want?” Sanji spat out each accentuated word and was punished with another sound of Niji laughing.

“You’re so tense, little brother.” Niji mocked. “It’s not like I want to talk to you either, you know. But because our father is becoming old and disgustingly sentimental, he wants to see you.”

Sanji scoffed and threw down the cigarette and stomped on it, the tip of his shoes digging into the earth. “He’s never wanted to see me for the past twelve years, what does he want from me now?”

“Ooh!” Niji made a sound and said, “You spent all that time counting if Daddy was ever going to come and get you back, Sanji?”

Sanji growled angrily and barked out. “If you don’t tell me what the fuck you want, Niji, I will hang up on you.”

Niji whistled and laughed again. “Okay, okay. No need to get your panties in a twist.” His voice became serious. “Dad wants you home for the Christmas holidays.”

Sanji scoffed again and shook his head. The outright audacity of his family, if he could even call them that, never ceased to astound him.

“No fucking way am I returning back to you and that man.”

Niji laughed again but it was filled with scorn and hate. “It’s not up to you, Sanji. He wants to see you, so you better be here before Christmas.”

“Listen to me very well, Niji, and make sure you tell this to that man as well. There is no fucking way I am going to come back there. You can all go and fuck yourselves.” Sanji hanged up after saying that and made sure to block that number.

His nerves were agitated after nearly a minute spent talking to one of his elder siblings and Sanji pulled out two more cigarettes and smoked them down to the end.

Sanji takes a bit longer to cool off before heading back inside and returning his phone, cigarette box and lighter into his coat. He exits the room only to bump into Shirahoshi.

“I’m sorry about that, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Sanji said but it lacked the usual enthusiasm and vigor. “Are you alright?”

Shirahoshi nodded and waved off Sanji’s concern, “I’m fine. I was just a little bit dazed.”

Sanji offers a smile but even Shirahoshi can see it’s forced and weak. He turns, about to walk past her and back to the kitchen when she grabs his arm and halts him from leaving.

Sanji turns to her and looks at her expectantly and Shirahoshi flusters and lets go of Sanji’s arm, crossing her own behind her back as she hurriedly spits out a lame excuse.

“Uh…I was talking to Rebecca and Caimie,” Shirahoshi began, “And since Christmas is in two weeks, we were talking about our Christmas plans and…”

Sanji tensed at the mention of Christmas but kept his face blank and neutral.

Shirahoshi, “I wanted to ask if you had any plans for Christmas, this year. Last year you stayed here by yourself, so I wanted to know if you had planned anything  this year or not.”

Sanji could tell Shirahoshi’s question came from a good place and he did appreciate her worries for him although he felt bad for making a woman, especially a young woman like Shirahoshi worry about him, he couldn’t really tell her the truth about his family and why he was so adamant when it came to this specific holiday.

Sanji smiled at her again and did his best to make it look natural. “Unfortunately, I’ll be staying home this Christmas, Shirahoshi. Thank you for worrying about me though,” Sanji rested a hand on Shirahoshi’s shoulder, “I appreciate it.”

Sanji walked past Shirahoshi and went back to the kitchen and wholly immersed himself into making food in the desperate hope that the scathing words that were already etched into his skull from his elder brother would dissipate if he ignored it hard enough.

LINE BREAK

The next day, fortunately, was a Saturday, which meant Sanji only had to work for half a day and it was at night. Sanji groaned and turned over in bed, burying his head deeper into the pillow. He was about to fall asleep when he felt a vibration to his left and soon a ringing sound filled the room.

In his sleep-dazed state, Sanji groaned again and reached out for the noisy device. He felt his fingers around the small rectangular shape and grabbed it, his fingers automatically sliding the green caller icon to the right and answering the call.

Sanji slapped the phone onto his ear and made a weak sound into it that he assumed sounded like “What?”.

Sanji expected several different people that weren’t his sister to be calling him so when his sister’s stern yet kind voice filtered through to his ears, he immediately shot upright and grasped his phone in hand.

Sanji pulled the device away and looked at the ID and it was, in fact, his elder sister calling him at 7 in the morning. Sanji returned the phone to his ear and hesitantly responded, “Reiju…?”

Reiju scoffed and said, “Do you know anyone else called Reiju, Sanji?”

Sanji shook his head then remembered she couldn’t see him. “No, it’s not that. It’s just you almost never call me. Is something wrong?”

“I don’t call you because you’re never there to pick up my calls!” Reiju bit back and Sanji winced. She was right.

“I’m sorry…” Sanji replied meekly and he heard Reiju huff into the speaker. “But you didn’t answer my question. Is something wrong?”

Reiju paused for a moment before exhaling heavily. If Sanji wasn’t sure about there being a problem before, that sigh definitely confirmed it.

“Are you really not going to come this time as well?” Reiju asked, her voice uncharacteristically small and timid. 

Sanji hesitates and runs a hand through his messy morning hair. “I...don’t know, Reiju... I don’t want to be anywhere near that man, not after what he did.”

Reiju sighed. “I know, Sanji and I don’t want to be there either. But you know how bad he can be if you don’t come. I told you what happened last time.”

Sanji, “I honestly think the little tantrum was worth it. I can’t stand to be there knowing how much sick pleasure he gets from seeing me angry.”

Reiju, “It wasn’t just a tantrum, Sanji! Tantrums are what Yonji does! What he did was attack everyone that came within a meter distance of him!”

“He’s done worse and we both know it, Reiju.” Sanji countered.

Reiju huffed again and Sanji could see her running a hand through her hair frustratedly. “Anyway, will you come? Please? Don’t leave me here alone with them again, Sanji.”

Sanji faltered. He absolutely did not want to step a foot in that building his siblings called home, nor did he want to see that man he was supposed to call his father but he couldn’t stand to leave Reiju alone. He already felt guilty for doing it to her last year, doing it once more would be an asshole move even if it meant seeing his siblings and birth father in the flesh.

He sighed and said, “Okay. I’ll come.”

Reiju’s tone immediately became vibrant and happy. “Really? Thank you, Sanji!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved off his sister’s comments but a smile pulled on his lips. “But don’t tell the others I’m coming yet. I need to sort things out here first.”

Reiju agreed and after a few more words the call ended and Sanji sat there in silence. He looked down at his phone and cursed himself. He had just willingly doomed himself to almost a week in his elder siblings and father's presence. Reiju was a blessing and would definitely help to ease some of the animosity flying between them but Sanji couldn’t count on her to be there always. He considered getting Ace or Brook to come along but he knew they both had to already have plans for Christmas.

Sanji groaned and fell back onto the mattress. He covered his face with the bedsheets and blanket and tried to fall asleep. After all, he still had two weeks to try and come up with a solution. For now, he was going to sleep and internally wish he woke up when it was the new year already.