#personally I am trying to free myself from the shackles of shame and help others do the same

[abnormalpsychology]

“the dessert you don’t have to feel bad abt!” “guilt-free snacking!” “all the flavor none of the regret!” skill issue

[sadistic-empath]

Misogyny: The Right Choice for Good girls

I feel the need after the 2024 American Presidential election to set some things clear.

This is a place for me to flirt with my darkest thoughts and fantasies, and as a sadistic Dominant who wants to corrupt you and make you worse, I often hold back my real world views as I worry they will undercut the purity of my kink persona. After all, I like the girls who tend to be a little bit extreme; I don't want those girls scared away because they find out that behind my cruel tongue I have a soft heart.

The truth is that while everything you read on this blog is built around fantasy, most of it represents the world I authentically wish to craft (or have crafted) for myself and my sexual partners. I use sharp and twisted words to carve a bubble full of new demented possibilities for us, striving to float away into the void together as we as we flirt with and approach the darkening clouds of a thickening thunderstorm. I feel personally charged with giving you an electric experience without the illusions of safe grounding. All this is a concerted practice on my part to redefine reality such that our demons can be liberated from their shackles, freed to frolic in fetish with the hopes that we can truly see each other like no one else has seen us: darkness and all.

And yet, it's also true that in the real world, I would define myself as socially progressive. Even though I love the idea of stripping you of your rights, I believe girls ought to be free to choose to have their rights stripped away from them.

I am admittedly a complicated Man, so let me help clarify my true position for you.

I really DO want to corrupt you. I really DO want to ruin you psychologically and make you compromise yourself for me. I will do everything within my substantial influence to persuade you to make all the wrong choices for my personal benefit, knowing that it makes you shamefully drippy to do so.

I might even make you fantasize about having your rights stripped from you by force, once I know with clarity that is what you'd choose for yourself.

But at the end of the day, it's important for you to understand that's exactly what it is, ultimately: a set of CHOICES that you have.

My goal is to try to seduce you... to make you embrace your most shameful kinks and fantasies, as you rub yourself stupid to misogynistic content or other filth that subverts your normal daily identity in a way you internalize as profoundly shameful. I like corrupting a feminist exactly BECAUSE she is a feminist; it is precisely the notable distance and the stark contrast between her ideals and her fantasies that makes her such an enticing morsel for a monster like me.

I really DO want to goad you into giving up your rights and freedoms to be my stupid slutty slave pet, diminished and degraded. Debased and destroyed beyond all recognition.

And yet, I am OUTRAGED at the recent election results in the United States for what they represent; I am OUTRAGED at the idea that the stuff of all my fantasies might be fashioned by weaker men into an inescapable political reality for all of the women who will never be given the opportunity to make all of the wrong choices for themselves.

If women have no rights to begin with, they cannot consent to giving those rights away. If they cannot give their rights away freely, there is nothing to corrupt. How can you corrupt a creature with no agency? How can I lead you to your own fall if you were never standing to begin with?

The fantasy of you having no rights is hot, and I will continue to propagate it on this blog. Making you flirt with turning the fantasy into a reality is hot, and my demon tongue wouldn't let me stop if I tried. Watching you ruin yourself for me in reality, knowing you'll never be able to go back will always be my idea of a deep and meaningful connection.

Having the government legislate this dark erotic landscape by mandate onto all the girls who never had a choice in the matter is NOT hot. Not outside of fantasy. Not if they never had a choice to begin with. Not if they never had the ability to voluntarily trade their consent away.

Nothing you see on this blog is something I would ever truly do without the clear consent of everyone involved.

Please don't think more of me for my soft heart -- I'm still a monster, I promise. This dark twisted landscape might still well be the reality I would will upon you.

I just want it to be MY will that leads you to the decision. I want to walk you to the edge of oblivion myself, your hand in mine, as I prompt you to choose to take the plunge for yourself. And I want you to always know, after you begged me to strip you of your rights and your dignity, that you were complicit the entire time; I want you to be aware of your involvement in your own debasement, like it was a fun little game between us that just happened to go too far, until there is no going back.

This is exactly WHAT I want, but our encroaching political reality is not HOW I want it. I will never stand idly by and let weaker men force women into subjugation against their will.

Because I know you... you're SPECIAL. You deserve to be reduced by a real Man who is worthy enough to win you over AUTHENTICALLY, rather than by a pathetic pack of insecure boys incapable of earning their own kill as they depend on big Daddy government to step in and do all the work for them.

You deserve so much better, doll.

So I'm going to give it to you by continuing to package up nightmares that I market to you as sweet romantic dreams, slowly conditioning you to land where you truly belong...

... on your knees, with your tongue out, doing what you're made for...

... like a good girl who made the right choice for Daddy...

😈 Sadistic Empath, 😘 🖤 The Sweetest Psychopath 🦹🏻‍♂️

[bylertruther]

Byler fanfiction.... Mike or Will?

Which one is the vampire?

Which one is the werewolf?

Which one is royalty?

Which one works at the coffee shop?

Which one is the florist and which one is the tattoo artist?

Which one is the tutor?

Which one offers to teach the other how to kiss?

Which one gets too drunk at the party?

Which one doesn't want to play Spin the Bottle?

OMG I LOVE THIS. I HAVE MANY, MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS.

Which one is the vampire?

mike looks like a vampire, but i'm a vampire!will truther forever and ever. he deserves at least one life where he’s allowed to feast.

consider: vampirism as a metaphor for homosexuality (as all monsterhood and "otherness" can be). they're both hungry, shackled by a shared undying thirst: for blood, for connection, for love. vampirism as a metaphor, because you can try to kill me, but i will live on anyway; because you can cast me to the shadows, but still i will build a life for myself there; because all of your fearmongering stories tell you to be afraid of me, but you cannot help but be captivated, intrigued, and envious of my defiance of your order. vampirism as a metaphor, because all i do is want and that want is forbidden.

will knows this, has never had the pleasure of not knowing this: he was damned from the start and later turned against his will. mike is human, warm, brave, and utterly, pathetically transfixed by him. it matters not that his blood runs hot and his heart thunders on—he feels that same ache, that same hollowing-out hunger that eats at him from the inside out. it's a story about restraint and want and shame and indulgence; about love, everlasting and true, a flame that cannot be snuffed out; about a life to be found only in death that is no true death.

vibes for vampire!will and (currently) human!mike: “you will always be fond of me. i represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit.” + "monsters come in all shapes and sizes. […] sometimes monsters are things people should be scared of, but they aren't." + "it's easy to be yourself in the dark." + "what you don't understand," she said to me once when i told her how dangerous it was, "is that i am the thing in the dark." + "i need you to be a monster, which is to say, i am trying not to love you, which is to say, i am still dreaming of kissing your claws."

Which one is the werewolf?

mike! he's the moon to will's sun after all. consider: lycanthropy as a metaphor for internalized homophobia. it's something that roils inside him and bubbles over when provoked. something that he carries within him like a second skin, hidden away. he fears intimacy because he’s never experienced it. he fears getting close because he doesn't want to hurt anyone or get hurt himself. he turns under the moon in the dead of night, because it's only in the darkness that he can be who he really is. he doesn't want anyone to see him for what he is. he doesn't want to be a monster, but he is, isn't he? that's what everyone says: that werewolves are unclean and unnatural. no matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries—and, god, does he try—he will always be this.

when he turns, he's big and black with surprisingly soft fur and the same deep, dark eyes he's always had. will is the first person he willingly shows. he runs his hand down mike's side, combing his fingers through his fur with unbridled wonder in his eyes. he caresses his large cheek, smooths the space between his eyes that human mike is always furrowing, and can't help himself from petting his twitching ears, too. no one has ever touched mike like this in either form: with such delicacy and reverence, like he’s a creature to admire and behold. he searches those hazel eyes and finds a world previously unknown to him: one of warmth that doesn’t scald, of love that doesn’t fetter, and acceptance free of stipulation. at that, something within mike shifts.

he bows his head and melts into it—into will, and his sweet, open palms that will not hurt him. will, who doesn't look away and feels no fear. this is mike—his mike—and he loves him now as he always has and he always will. he is no monster; no, he's his heart, his loyal protector, and the most beautiful person will has ever known. he presses a kiss to mike's bowed head, and whispers it into his fur and the night air between them, again and again and again—i love you, i know you, i love you so much, i love you now and always—however many times until he knows it and believes it, too. he is beautiful, he is loved, and he is no monster. he's only mike. his caring, brave, and intelligent mike. his loving, tempestuous, and doughty mike who has had to be strong for so very long. will gives and gives and gives, and for once... mike allows himself to take.

they stay like that for a time: gentle hands carding through dark fur, proving to him with every stroke and scratch that he is good and worthy and wanted; lips peppering his head and paws with a litany of kisses, paused only by will’s sputtering and giggles at the fur sticking to his pout, and the exaggerated groans and squirms of protest when mike returns his affections with kisses of his own. will inevitably nods off while “resting his eyes” and mike curls around him as they wait for the sun to rise. when he returns, trembling and weak and unbound by will’s mercy, will is quick to wrap him in one of the blankets they brought and hold him close.

it's about a boy that becomes a wolf, yes; but, more than that, it's about acceptance, about unlearning shame and the rage and grief it bears, about allowing yourself to be seen and witnessed, and about accepting that which you cannot control. mike deserves to learn that he’s worthy and loved just the way that he is.

werewolf!mike vibes: “[the monsters]; you won’t encounter them unless you stow them away inside your soul, unless your soul sets them up before you.” + rage and tenderness existing simultaneously in the same body + "i fear i will be ripped open and found unsightly." + "who hasn’t ever wondered: am i monster or is this what it means to be a person?”

Which one is royalty?

grrrr. mike is canonically a suburban rich boy and he'd look dashing in regal attire. that makes him the easy choice, especially with his canon arc of being forced to grow up and conform, too, but... he's also a paladin and i kind of really like the idea of him swearing an oath of fealty to prince william and being his personal kingsguard, so.. either or! i've no preference heh.

Which one works at the coffee shop?

barista!mike just feels Right. him coming home smelling like coffee, plastering on the most fake and passive aggressive customer service persona ever at work, wearing an apron, and bringing will treats is everything to me. i am, however, also partial to those AUs where el owns a cafe-bakery, will works there, and mike is a writer that drops by often because will may or may not be his muse for the project he’d been previously stuck on.

Which one is the florist and which one is the tattoo artist?

i like will for both! they’re both rather artsy, careful pursuits and he’s an artsy, careful kind of guy! also, picture will giving mike a flower and telling him it reminded him of him. mike would gay panic so hard he’d short-circuit and die lmao.

Which one is the tutor?

mike. he's a physics and math tutor. will asks for his help with algebra and mike tells him they got this. mike massages will’s hand when he whines about all the writing they’re doing, helps him take better notes, and uses the will voice when he sees he’s getting frustrated with himself. will doodles mini cartoon versions of mike on his scrap paper then tears them off for him as a token of his appreciation, shares el’s cookies with him, and uses his puppy-dog eyes to try and weasel the answers out of him. mike keeps every doodle and resists his wicked tricks (which is no easy feat, he says) only because he genuinely wants will to pass. they sit so close that will can feel the heat coming off of mike and mike has to grip his own biceps to keep from making up any excuse to touch will. despite the endless distraction that is mike’s very existence, will manages to pass because mike makes him feel smart and capable. will blushes and stammers his way through inviting mike to a celebratory lunch and gulps when mike, who has been impatiently waiting for the semester to be over so they can be more than friends-who-are-not-just-friends without his supervisor giving him A Look, positively beams at him with a smile reserved for his eyes only and accepts, saying he was just about to ask him out on a movie date himself.

Which one offers to teach the other how to kiss?

it depends. mike is the first to kiss someone, so he offers to teach will how to kiss when he learns he still hasn’t done it (and he tries to ignore and swallow down the pride that swells in his chest after, knowing he’s will’s first). conversely, mike begrudgingly tells will one day that his date told him he isn't a good kisser (it's not true; he's just not interested), so will offers to teach him his tricks. it turns out he’s a very good teacher, but mike claims to be a slow learner, so he may be in need of some more lessons, please, mr. byers.

Which one gets too drunk at the party?

will, but it was an accident. he either forgot that he took a klonopin or spaced it out wrong and now that “pure fuel” is hitting a little too hard. he’s not a sloppy drunk, thank god, but he is very affectionate and smiley to the point that his cheeks hurt. mike kisses his rosy face, tells him he looks like a cute chipmunk, and takes him home.

Which one doesn't want to play Spin the Bottle?

mike. absolutely not. he shuts that shit down with his signature grimace and overreaction, and slings his arm over will’s shoulders, leaving them both like: 😠 and 😳. it's too messy! and scary. and it makes his tummy feel weird. he doesn't want to kiss will (that's not true. he does want to kiss him. maybe even [definitely] a little too much. not that it matters anyway, he already knows will doesn’t feel the same way. [which is rich, considering will is blushing cherry-red beneath his arm and instinctively wrapping his around mike’s waist in turn.]) and he doesn't want anyone else to kiss him either. has the same energy as him barking and biting at dustin when he tried to help will up on halloween night. that's his will. back off and no touchy or kissy! 😡 mike steers them away with a scoff and his signature, “c’mon, will,” as if he wouldn’t follow him anywhere. once they’re alone, will cheekily asks him what all that was about and has to bite down on his amused and all-too-satisfied smile when mike starts sputtering and stammers out some shitty, see-through non-excuse. will hums, mike tells him to shut up, and will, feeling bold and brave enough for them both, tells him to make him.

[fandom-space-princess]

fic writer interview

tagged by @sinaesthete - thanks boo 💕

How many works do you have on AO3?

18. Somehow. I only started posting them in January, which means I've been averaging more than 2 per month?! Granted, most of them are one-shots, but still. Bonkers.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

79,889. I have contributed one novel's worth of questionable fandom content to the greater ecosystem. Joy unbounded.

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

The only fics I've published where anyone else could see them (or finished, for that matter) are for Supernatural. Others exist. I may even dredge them out into the light one day. Especially the Dragon Age ones, when DA4 comes out and inflicts some inevitable violence upon my poor little heart.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

In descending order:

- Wayward Family: (T, 31589 words/26 chapters) Sitcomnatural, aka Seven Fools In A Bunker AU. Stream-of-consciousness first drafts from the beginning of the year, when I was starting to catch up on the show again after having dipped out sometime around season 6-7ish originally. I honestly expected zero readership for this, and was pleasantly surprised that so many people responded so well to it. Because I was definitely still knocking the dust off my writing skills at that point, lol. Maybe one day I'll go back to it and make it better - there's definitely stuff I'd do differently next time around.

- Some Live Like Orpheus: (T, 6193 words/1 chapter) Adam rescues Michael from the Empty, featuring Adam as Orpheus and Michael as Eurydice, with special appearances from Jack and the Shadow. The first thing I wrote that I was really, genuinely pleased with myself over.

- Vox Celeste: (E, 1909 words/1 chapter) Midam smut. PWP, in fact. Lyrical, pretty smut (or at least, that's what I was going for), but all the same.

- The First Day of the Rest of Your Afterlife: (T, 4558 words/1 chapter) Sequel to 'Orpheus'. Michael and Adam having their happily-ever-after together. This might be the most utterly self-indulgent fluff I have written. I love it.

- Two Weddings and an Engagement: (T, 7812 words/1 chapter) Written for the tumblr Midam wedding day. The Love Is Requited, They're Just Idiots - truly the most trope of all time. Featuring background sabrileena, because I am a joyful polyamorous disaster bisexual and I think they should all get to be, too.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Uh. To my great shame, I mostly don't. I always want to - the fact that people take time to comment on my writing is not lost on me as an act of love involving effort, and I can't express how much it means to me. I read and cherish every single comment I get. But interacting on AO3 takes a lot of spoons for me for some reason - and usually I just. Don't have it in me.

I'm working on it.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I don't write much angst, because I am first and foremost a cinnamon roll in need of fluff and comfort. But it does happen occasionally. I think the angstiest fic is Reliquary - more of a ficlet, really, since it's only about 600 words. But they're 600 words of Major Character Death, and I made myself cry writing it, so probably that one.

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

Nah. Not really my jam.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

No direct hate! The closest I've gotten was someone getting rude about characterization, which was more funny than anything else. What a strange thing to pick a fight over.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Quite happily, yes. I find physical intimacy to be very fulfilling, personally, and writing about my characters having those experiences themselves is fun.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge...?

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Also not that I'm aware of.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have not. I kind of suspect I'd be a nightmare to co-write anything with. My writing brain works when it wants to work, not when I want it to work necessarily. And I have no way of predicting when that will be.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

I have a terrible time choosing favorites of anything, so I aggressively multiship. That said, in spn? Michael/Adam. Very closely followed by (exclusively S5 & earlier) Lucifer/Sam.

Outside of Supernatural, it's kind of a tossup. Probably the DA2 OT5 polycule (Hawke/Anders/Fenris/Isabela/Merrill). I'm aware this is a ship for insane people; I will not be accepting criticism at this time 💀

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

As of now, I actually plan to finish all my current WIPs! Pyrphoros was in very real danger of ending up in WIP purgatory for a while, but fortunately or unfortunately for everyone involved, Sin read the first chapter and gave me a pile of compliments. So now I am honor-bound to finish it (<creature brain> Friend liked fic must write more fic must please the Friend </creature brain>). It's getting worked on, bit by bit around my other projects, but still. It's happening.

What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm decent at getting emotions across? I'm also good at vivid visualization - in my head, I can usually see very clearly what I'm trying to describe, and I feel like that's helpful in getting it down effectively. Beyond that, I'm honestly not sure what you'd call my strengths.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I have close to zero control over when I'll have both time and motivation to write. Some of that is just the reality of balancing a more-than-full-time job with my hobby. Some of it is the executive dysfunction. But it does mean that when I'll finish anything can be... unpredictable.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I can't do it, and I don't love reading it. If I have to go looking for a translation somewhere in the notes, it wrecks my immersion in the story. No shade to people who do enjoy it; languages are gorgeous, and translations are imperfect at the best of times. Often the language something is written in is inseparable from the tone and cultural context it is meant to convey. But if given the choice, I don't seek it out.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Like I said, Supernatural is the only fandom with anything published. I think the first fandom I ever actually created anything for was Buffy. (Is that cringe? Yes. But consider: I live free of the shackles of shame. I am cringe, and I am happy).

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Probably one of the mini Midam week ones from earlier this year. Tie between Radio Silence and Every Day's Most Quiet Need, both of which turned out much better than I expected.

Not tagging anybody this time because my brain is currently scrambled eggs, although if anyone wants to do this please consider yourself tagged and feel free!

[sellmedoves]

my college experience

College. I started college in 2016. I was excited that whole summer because I got to have a fresh start and leave high school behind me. I moved into a dorm with 3 girls I didn’t know. I chose to live with random girls that year because I wanted to meet new people. I rushed a sorority at the beginning of the school year, and I met a lot of fun and kind people throughout that week. I got into a seemingly great sorority at the end of rush week and then class began the following week. I really liked my schedule; I didn’t have any 8am classes and I didn’t have any classes at all on Friday’s. It felt like I was finally moving on and starting a new, positive chapter of my life. There was always something in the back of my mind that I felt like was holding me back, though…

I was extremely homesick. My school was only about 30 minutes away from my hometown, but I’m so close to my family, especially my mom, so it was hard for me. I have 3 half siblings, but I grew up as an only child, so it was a difficult transition from always having privacy and my own space to having to share my space with 3 other girls, random girls at that. They were sweet and I actually feel lucky that I got paired with normal people, but it was still hard regardless. I began coming home on weekends and then going back to my dorm during the week. As the first semester went on, I began to isolate myself more and I didn’t have as much ambition and excitement as I used to. By the time I came back from Christmas break and started the second semester, I lost touch with most of the friends that I made, and I felt as if I was the loneliest person in the world. I ended up leaving my sorority right before spring break, isolating myself even further.

Aside from being homesick and lonely, something else I was struggling with was a fear of gaining weight. I was terrified of gaining the “freshman fifteen” that year. I feel like I’ve always had a warped perception of what my body looks like. I’m not sure why that is. Anyways, because of this fear, I barely ate. And by barely ate, I mean I would eat one of those “on the go” sized cups of Cheerios during the day, and that would be it except for when I would go home on the weekends where I’d eat real food with my family. I would look in the mirror and I was never satisfied. I don’t want to say I had an eating disorder as I feel like it’d be disrespectful to people who struggle with life-altering eating disorders for years, but I think it was a result of genuine misery and extremely deep depression. I lost almost 20 pounds that year.

I finally made it through the year and summer began. I was able to move back home, and I got a job. I loved that summer because I was finally free from my freshman year shackles. I began to see a therapist to talk through what I went through mentally and emotionally in the past year and it seemed to have helped me for the time being. I also got diagnosed with ADD that summer which makes...too much sense. I’ve struggled in school my whole life and because of the diagnosis, I now understand why. I have over-focused ADD with OCD tendencies. I tend to obsess over and hang on to things well after others have moved on from it. I’ve been that way my whole life, and now I had an answer as to why. It also causes me to experience mood swings but the Adderall (a God send) I was prescribed helped me to control them, Anyways summer passed by quickly, and I ended up moving into an apartment with 3 girls I was friends with from high school. Sophomore year started and it was great. I was so happy, and it felt like my horrific freshman year was a lifetime ago. There are no “buts” coming about this year. It truly was a wonderful year in my life and it’s something I’ll always cherish when I look back on my hellish college experience as a whole. The next year, though, is a different story.

It’s a story I’m not going to get into. It’s personal and it involves others besides myself, but I respect their privacy and lives since we’ve moved on, so I won’t be going into detail. What I will say is that I have many regrets from this year. I did a lot of things that I’m not proud of and would give anything to go back and change them. I didn’t like the person I was that year looking back, and I still don’t understand why I began to revert back to my misery, maybe it never truly went away like I thought it did. Instead of taking it out on myself like my freshman year, I took it out on others. I now take full responsibility for what I did and the people I hurt as a result and that’s something that I feel like took me a long time to do. It was cruel and it’s something I don’t and won’t try to justify anymore. I’m proud to say that I learned from that experience and the person I was then, isn’t who I am now.

After my junior year, I got an internship working at a consulting company. I LOVED this job. I loved the people I met there and made more friends there than what felt like I had in the entirety of my college experience. Real friendships where we could actually bond over something other than just being in the same class like at school. I realized that I was much happier working in a professional environment than I had ever been at school which made me even more excited to graduate. At the end of the summer, the company offered to extend my internship throughout the school year, and I was THRILLED. I was so happy that I was going to be able to leave school and go somewhere where I actually wanted to be during the week.

My senior year started soon after this and it was just…fine. Not bad but not great either. Just fine. Like I said, I was just grateful to be able to have somewhere to go after class that wasn’t just my apartment or somewhere on campus because of my job. My job began to be where I was the happiest, but, of course, school had to FUCK me over one more time. My class schedule for the second semester was Hitler on paper. I had signed up for the maximum amount of classes my school allows students to take, and just looking at it was overwhelming. I wanted to graduate on time in May and this was the only way to do it. I was forced to quit my job that I loved, and I was devastated. I continued to work there all of Christmas break up until the very last weekend before school started. I hugged my friends at work goodbye and began what would be the hardest semester of my entire life.

When I say this is the hardest semester of my life, I don’t mean it’s been hard like my freshman year was hard. I mean that my entire life is consumed with CLASSES. I feel like I never get a break and I’m always dreading tomorrow. I miss my job, and I miss when my thoughts weren’t filled with overwhelming amounts of assignments and due dates. I guess I should say I MISSED these things actually considering that all of my classes have been converted to online because of the virus terrorizing our planet. As sick as this may sound, if I could choose any semester for something like this to happen, I’m glad it was this one. I hate that a virus that is affecting so many people had to be the reason though. I’m typing this THESIS the day after my school announced it was converting to online classes and it feels like a 10,000-pound weight has been lifted off my shoulders. It felt like I was two assignments away from having a legitimate breakdown. This wasn’t at all how I imagined my last day on campus would be like, but…I’m (kinda) done with college. At least in person. Wow. 

I’m not exactly sure what prompted me to write this. I think I wanted to do it for myself as a way to finally let go of the of pain and anger I’ve experienced through college. I want to move on with my life now that I’m less than two months away from graduation and stop hanging on to things from the past and regrets that I’ve had that I just can’t change. I tend to act like I have a tough exterior, but behind that, there’s been a lot of pain and insecurity. Some of which I’ve kept to myself. Sometimes, I look back at that 18 year old girl who was burdened with so much sadness and cry. However, I want to let go of all of it. I have to. I also wanted people to know that not every college experience is the same and they’re not always going to be like what people tell you they are or what you see in the movies. I wish someone would’ve told me that. The lows I’ve felt throughout my time in college are things I wouldn’t wish on anyone especially young people experiencing their freedom and independence for the first time. I hope anyone that might read this who hasn’t started college or who is already in college make the most of their time there. Don’t compare yourself to others and don’t allow yourself to wallow and fall so deep into a hole that you feel like you can’t get out. Get help if you need it, there’s never any shame in doing so. I’m proud of myself for pushing through and I’m ready to start the life I’ve always wanted for myself. Thank you for making it through a 2 and a half page paper of my woes. 

Xo,

Dani

[aceprosecuties]

How does one write Simon Blackquill? (This is a cry for help because I have no idea how and I'm trying to write a story that has been sitting in my folder for the past 7 months and I want to finish it but how does one write him my God... ;_;)

SO I know I’m still on like…unannounced hiatus as I try andfigure out what I want to do in the face of tumblr’s nsfw ban (which I hate, soI’m wrestling with my desire to not really use tumblr anymore out of protestvs. wanting to stay because I enjoy running this blog for the most part).  BUT I saw this and knew I had to answer! :D

OKAY, so it’s hard for me to exactly say what might be bestsimply because him pre 5-5 and post 5-5 can be slightly different, so I willjust go over how I write him and stuff!  Anddon’t worry; it took me a while to get his voice down myself, and even now Istill sometimes wonder if I’m writing him alright (but I look back at somethings in the beginning of my AA writing career and I think I’ve been able to getcloser to him than I was)!

Simon is odd because he honorable, snarky, a troll(ish), protective,emotional, scary, and soft all at once.  He hasa very specific vision of honor and adheres to that very strictly – this samurai code he follows was his reasoning forwhy he was ready to sacrifice himself for Athena.  In court, too, he has a specific set ofstandards and methods that he finds to be legitimate (which he allows) and just ‘tricks’(which he hates).  He is very intolerantof things he finds dishonorable – hence why he did everything in his power (andwas successful) to make sure that Apollo was not able to use his perceptionability in court (until he found it a necessary evil to taking down thephantom).  To him, this is just a trickand has no legal or scientific basis.  Healso does not like the dirty tricks that Nahyuta sometimes plays – he getsinvolved in 6-4 partially because he found Nahyuta using Athena’s hearingability against her to be underhanded.

(cut because holy shit this got long I am sorry I can’t help myself)

His respect for people varies depending on if he finds themhonorable and to be a worthy ally or opponent. In court, he refers to the opposition with the honorific -dono as a wayto show his respect of them as an enemy. He is very poetic (in his own way) when describing…most things, butespecially courtroom battles – they are, to him, akin to actual war, and thewords and arguments people use are weapons and blades.  His respect (or lack thereof) can usually beseen in how he addresses people.  Thosehe respects get their actual name and an honorific.  Those he does not get a nickname atbest.  (Example – in 6-4 he starts outcalling Nahyuta ‘Sahdmadhi-dono,’ but once Nahyuta loses his respect, hechanges it to ‘Prosecutor Sad Monk’ on top of just flat out insults.)

THAT BEING SAID his having respect for people does not meanthat he always…treats them that way. Simon is The Gadfly/Troll trope – he likes to provoke people and makefun of them and make them uncomfortable…either because he finds it amusing(most of the time), or because he is trying to get them to figure something out(usually in the form of ‘tough love’ especially with respect to Athena in6-4).  In prison he was a prankster andjust reveled in doing things to messwith his fellow inmates. He has an extremely dark sense of humor (gallows-type)due probably needing to have it in his own way in dealing with his prison sentence, and laughs at his own jokeswhile everyone else/most people around him stare awkwardly and feel uncomfortable.  He used this in court a lot too; when peoplestill thought him a murderer, he would act like he was committed to violence andwas about to cut them all down and then when everyone was cowering andterrified he’d be like “lol just kidding you’re all pathetic but you shouldhave seen your faces.”  He also used hisfrightening reputation and appearance to his advantage in court – he wouldglare and bang on the table and break his shackles as a way to unnerve peopleand gain that sort of psychological advantage.  Andwhen he was seriously angry?  Well…that was terrifying.

In the English version of the game, Simon is said to be asamurai, but he actually is more akin to a ronin – a masterless samurai.  Metis was his master/mentor, and he lost herand so does not hold that same sort of reverence for (almost) anyone, which iswhy he is so powerfully devoted to her and preserving her legacy and honor and savingher daughter.  (I say almost because Iwould say that Edgeworth is the closest thing he has to a new ‘master’ in thesense that Edgeworth helped save him and is his boss and is highly respected,etc.  So where I think he makes fun ofeveryone else he respects, he does not do the same to Edgeworth, who is more onthe ‘revered’ level akin to Metis (though still less than her).  Yourmileage may vary on that though.)

Things that do not interest him get zero/minimal attention.  In fact, he will go out of his way to make others do things for him.  In this sense, he actually might be thelaziest of the prosecutors – sure he takes his job seriously and will fight inthe courtroom to the best of his ability, but he will also try and get thejudge and the police and the defense to do parts of his job for him.  Simply because he doesn’t feel like it, and/orsimply because he can.  The easiest example is how he convinces the judgeto do the opening statements in most cases just…because he doesn’t want to. The one he actually does dothe opening statement for is the case that is personal to him and so he takes astrong interest in it.

So, on the outside, Simon is rough.  His sense of honor does not mean he is respectfulin the traditional ‘respectful person’ sort of sense and most people who cross his path would probablyconsider him brash and rude.

On the inside, though, and at his core, Simon is extremelyprotective and loyal and emotional.  Hisprotectiveness comes out mostly with respect to Athena – he might make fun ofher and tease her relentlessly but the moment someone does something toactually hurt her in any way, he ison the warpath and puts himself in the path between whoever is doing that andher.  This is the other reason he gets involved in 6-4; he saw that Athena washurting and panicking and came to help her (while at the same time shaming Nahyuta and the entire courthouse audience).  Sure, he did this with his own ‘tough love’type of approach, but he came to her defense without hesitation. So even after he is out of prison, Athena is still a very importantperson to him – probably the most important aside from her mother – and he willdefend her.

Pre 5-5 he has a lot of emotions deep within him – he is sad(canonically, the marks on his face were created from the tears he cried whenhe was in prison that he never wiped away) and angry and fearful.  Although he ‘accepts’ his death in theloosest sense of the word, he did not wantto die.  It was a sacrifice he wasready to make that went along with his code of honor, but he did not wantdeath.  Sometimes I think people forgethow young he actually is – at 28 hewas in prison for seven years and was a day’s away from execution.  He looks older because of the stress being inprison put him under and from the secrets he carried, but he is still a youngperson and was ready to sacrifice so many years for his mentor’s daughter.These sorts of sad emotions, though, he was usually very good at keeping hiddenbehind his humor and his ‘twisted samurai’ persona.  So I usually use this when I am writing inhis perspective (which is…my usual route when he is around), but I don’t knowif it would be as apparently obvious to others, minus Athena, who knows him bestand can hear his heart’s turmoilwhenever he speaks.  I also write that hestill carries a lot of it after 5-5but that is my personal perspective!  Hedoes have a lot of relief and is happier after 5-5 and that fear of impendingdeath does not follow him.  But to me,that sort of trauma will stay with him. He just, still, does not show it. He is not the type to lean on others. Get them to do his work? Absolutely.  But actually lean onthem for emotional help?  Not somuch.  Even with his sister, he was verystunted in how he expressed his love for her (and vice-versa; neither Blackquillsibling is very good at expressing their emotions).  

UH I’m sure I’m missing things but I just realized that thisis already like…1500 words because I just rambled about Simon’s character and Ilove him so much.  I DON’T KNOW IF THISWAS HELPFUL because it might just be me rambling, so feel free to send meanother ask or DM or something if you would like more or something morespecific, even!  

[usopp-writes]

Am I worthy?

@firefistlaw inspired this story.

The silence that filled the air in the town – which had been full of life and noises minutes ago – was even more deafening. People shooed into their homes, fear clenching their hearts. The reason? From the docks emerged a group of pirates, but not just anybody. No, the Whitebeard Pirates and their aura and intention spoke of murder. It was wise for the commoner to go into their houses, as five of the division commanders walked through the streets, eyes focused on only one place. The large mansion on the top of the hill.

Earlier

“Hey hon, where are you going?” Thatch asked with slight worry.

You looked at him, smiling softly to him, before gently clapping his cheek. “Just going to shop a little and no I can’t wait for Izo this time. I am very capable of shopping myself and I don’t always need a babysitter.” There was a hint of annoyance in your voice as you spoke the last part.

A sigh left the cook. He had of course also heard how some commented that you were troublesome, not really built to fight and not fit to live on the sea. It had angered him, as he cared deeply for you. You were their sister and just because you weren’t a fighter, it didn’t mean you couldn’t sail with them. Besides, Oyaji would never allow you to fight anyway. That was also why there was always a commander or one of the stronger members of the crew with you – and the nurses – when you were shopping.

“Hey, at least take some brothers with you. You know … They can be the ones holding your bags.” He suggested, grinning.

A glare from you made the smile fade and then you left. Thatch wanted to stop you, but there had been something in your glare that held him back. Hurt and disappointment. He didn’t like those eyes, not directed at him.

----

The first thing that you registered was the smell. It smelt like something had died and rotten away, along with rotten water. You wrinkled your nose and tried to remember why you were in a place that smelt like this. A pain soared through your head and you frowned. Why did it hurt so much? The last thing you remembered was sitting at the café outside in the good weather, the bags of clothes and other stuff next to your chair, as you took a break. You were having tea and cake.

Opening your eyes, you found yourself in what you assumed to be a dungeon. It surely looked like it, along with the horrible smell. Once you got free, you would soak in hot water for hours to get the smell out of your nose. Izo would probably know what kind of soap would help you the best.

Izo. Your chest ached when thinking about him. The real reason why you wanted to shop alone was because you wanted to buy something for him and you didn’t want any loud mouthed brother ruining the surprise. Sure Marco or Jozu could have kept it a secret, but both had been busy and you didn’t have the calm to wait for them. That you regretted now.

However, you had been sure that with the mark of Whitebeard on your clothes and as earrings – your own design – no one would dare touching you. Oh you had been so wrong. Whoever held you here either didn’t know or didn’t care. Both scenarios were scaring you, especially the last one. What if that person was strong enough to fight your family? Preventing them from freeing you? Why had they even captured you? You weren’t especially pretty, not like some of the nurses. When you looked at yourself, you thought more you had an average appearance. A little chubby maybe, but you were still fit. Was it your fault that Thatch spoiled you with chocolate budding once a week?

A sigh left your lips, when you thought about your family. Would they even know you were missing? They had all been too busy lately and you felt slight alone. You weren’t friends with all and the few you had, had all been busy with something. Closing your eyes you let a sob escape your lips. What if they thought the comments were true and you didn’t really belong with them? That you were just an annoyance to them and got in the way? A weakling like you didn’t belong on the sea and especially not among the strongest crew there was.

“So you’re awake. Good. Then the fun can begin.”

A male’s voice made you freeze on the spot. You opened your eyes and shifted position so you faced whoever had spoken. It was hard to make out what he looked like, besides being tough built and around the size of Vista. His voice had been dripping with cold amusement and you wondered what kind of fun he talked about.

He moved towards you and instinctively you moved back, pressing your body against the wall. Your hands were tied up behind you and your ankles shackled to the ground. It wasn’t easy to move. He laughed at your try and grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him.

“Listen up, pretty face. You should be honored. After all, our master has decided that you’ll be his oldest son’s first slave. It’s an honor to be chosen to fulfill all the needs of the young master. A sixteenth year old boy have a lot of needs. It’ll be fun to watch him break your will and have you submitting to him.” An evil laugh left his lips, as he let go of your face.

You froze. It was clear what he meant, but you didn’t want that. Why you? You weren’t pretty, you weren’t special at all. Why did it have to be you? Was it because you were a stranger on this island?

He only laughed more at your scared eyes. The man clearly liked to torture your mind, loved how you reacted to his words and you cursed. You were weak. You couldn’t fight and you couldn’t even stand being tortured like this. The comments your supposedly brothers had made were true. You shouldn’t be sailing with them. Oyaji had been wrong. You weren’t worthy of being his child.

Tears rolled down your cheeks, as you realized just how unworthy you were as a Whitebeard Pirate. There was nothing you contributed to the crew with. You weren’t special, just a lost child with no one else. That was why you had happily accepted his offer. Belonging somewhere had always been your dream and now … It shattered.

“Oh it’s already starting? Your will is crumbling in front of me. How wonderful. Master will be so pleased.” He cooed out, making you look away in shame.

Suddenly there was a loud bang. You jerked your head up, staring at the ceiling. What was going on? You could barely make out the noises. Screams, the sound of hasty footsteps and clashing of swords? Who was fighting? Why?

The man cursed under his breath and left, but not without kicking your shin first. It hurt and you barely managed to hold in the scream of pain. Now the tears that rolled down your cheeks were also those of pain. You didn’t notice them, as you tried to make sense of what happened above you. Could it be..?

Silence. The fight had been way too short and it left you confused. Maybe it was some other slaves trying to get free and they had failed? You felt your heart drop. For a moment you had hoped it was your family that came to rescue you, but maybe they were happy you were gone? That the burden you had become was no longer.

“Damn it smells here.”

You head jolted up. That voice… It was Thatch’s. Did they really come? New tears rolled down your lips and you cried out for him, your voice muffled by the cloth in your mouth.

“If y/n is down here, they need a long bath.”

That was Izo and he sounded offended by the smell. As if it personal had attacked him and was foul just because of him. Only the gorgeous male could make it sound like everything was personal.

You closed your eyes when the door was opened and warm light rushed through to chase the shadows away. Gasps could be heard and there was more than just two. You turned your head away in shame and embarrassment. You didn’t want them to see you like this. So weak and exposed. You felt naked, though you did have your clothes on.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” Thatch’s voice reached your ears.

Soft hands worked on the gag in your mouth, while others worked on the cuffs on your ankles and wrists. Blinking you opened your eyes, the light slightly blinding you. Izo then moved to be between the light and your face. It only made him look more gorgeous, though was that the blood on his clothes?

“You’re safe now, sis. Let’s get you home, yoi.”

Marco. He was here too. You couldn’t help but tear up. Without thinking, you threw yourself into the arms of the Phoenix, shaking. He gently held you and lifted you up. His blue eyes looked softly at you, as he started to walk away. No words were spoken, as you were brought outside. Once away from the awful scents, you breathed in the air hungrily. You had never noticed just how wonderful fresh air was.

“An employee at the café brought your bags to us and told us what happened. She was frightened, but brave. Apparently the noble here was terrorizing them and whoever stood up to him was never seen or heard off again.”

That was Haruta and you opened your eyes to look at him. He was smiling at you and you could see how much he cared. How much he had worried about you. As you looked around, you saw the same thing in the eyes of everyone. Were you really worth something?

“Don’t worry, he’ll never be able to terrorize anyone ever again. Nor will his offspring.” Izo’s deep voice was collected and cold at the same time.

You snuggled closer to Marco’s chest, not really trusting your voice at all. It had your friends look worried, but you didn’t see it. You were too tired, but at the same time, you didn’t want to sleep. The feeling of the cold dungeon and the smell still lingered inside of you and you wanted to get rid of it all.

In silence you all went back to the ship. The air was still eerie, as if it just waited for something to happen. When Marco got onto deck, you were gently lifted from his arms. You looked at the man you had come to call father, as he brought you closer to him. Worries shined in his eyes, as they wandered over you, looking for any injuries. They spotted the bruises and the scratch from the kick to your shin. For a moment anger flared in his eyes, before they turned soft and loving.

“I’m glad you home, my child. Take a bath and then go to the infirmary and have Deuce check you up, before going to bed.” He spoke softly and you just nodded.

Placing you down, he turned to look at the island. You did the same and saw that the mansion on the hill was burning brightly and you gasped. A comment was dropped about how Ace probably was enjoying letting go like this. You hadn’t even noticed the freckled male being there too.

“Y/n. Come, I’ll help preparing a bath for you.” Izo placed a hand on your shoulder and guided you to the bathrooms.

The smell of flowers filled the bathroom and you took off your clothes and threw them outside the room. You didn’t care what happened to them. Turning to the tub, you took off the towel and placed it on the bench. You crawled into the tub and sighed happily, as the warm water slowly warmed up your cold body. At the time you had reached the bathroom with Izo, you had been shivering from cold. The commander had rushed to make the bath ready for you, before leaving the room, giving you privacy.

Closing your eyes, you let your mind wander. Thoughts from earlier crept into your mind, but didn’t really have any bite. Not when you felt so comfortable and not after hearing the words of Oyaji, which had been spoken in such a warm and relieved tone. It had made you feel so much better.

After an hour the water was almost too cold to be in. You left the tub and dried your body before realizing you didn’t even bring extra clothes. Cursing, you wrapped a towel around your body, not liking the idea of going almost naked to your room. When you opened the door, you noticed the pile of clothes right outside, with a note from Izo, apologizing for going into your room and get your pajama.

Smiling you picked up the pajama. Going back inside, you put it on and then headed straight to the infirmary. Deuce was ready to see you, worries clearly in his eyes too. You sat down and let him check up your body. It wasn’t the first time he did that and you felt comfortable enough to let him do it. Once he was done, he said you were fine. You only had a few bruises and the scratch was nothing to worry about. You gave him permission to tell Oyaji and the others that you were indeed fine.

You were too tired to do so anyway and so you headed back to your room. As you lied in your bed, you felt just how tired you were. Not just your body, but mind too. So many emotions had rushed through you and it had exhausted you. Closing your eyes, you thought about the day. You went from happy, to doubtful, to fear and to relief. No wonder you were exhausted.

Well, maybe tomorrow everything would be different. No, you knew everything would be different. Because starting tomorrow, you would work hard to earn the worth they gave you.

[sparkleywonderful]

The Princess of Secrets [Ch.18]

A special thanks to @rowan-buzzard-whitethorn a.k.a @loopymoony for the inspiration of the very last line.

Part 18 of The Prince of Ice series, a retelling of Heir of Fire from Rowan’s point of view.

Parts [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 8 ] [ 9 ] [ 10 ] [ 11 ] [ 12 ] [ 13 ] [ 14 ] [ 14.5 ] [ 15 ] [ 16 ]  [ 17 ] [ 18 ]

AO3

A/N: I am officially half way there of my planned 36 chapters. I burned bacon because I was so enthralled in writing this chapter. To me this is the turning point. The tattoo apprentice and the princess of secrets (c38.p335)

- - - - - - -

He winced in pain, that last tap was a little deeper than necessary.

If someone had told him three days ago that Aelin would be in his room he would have laughed. If they had told him that they would not be trying to kill each other, he would have thought that person senile. If they had told him that he would feel lighter and calmed by her scent he would have walked them to the healing compound. But here he was sitting at his work table, talking with Aelin.

She had burned away a piece of his tattoo, the final piece that told the world he would feel his shame until his last breath. He did not want to think what that meant, that she had burned it away. The girl that had stirred feelings other than grief and shame, in him for the first time in over two hundred years.

“Tell me about how you learned to tattoo.”

“No.” He was too busy self reflecting to have a sharing moment.

“If you don’t answer my questions, I might very well make a mistake, and…”

He held back his laugh. The look in her eyes said she might have caught his slip.

“Did you learn from someone? Master and apprentice and all that?”

He gave her a rather incredulous look.

“Yes, master and apprentice and all that. In the war camps, we had a commander who used to tattoo the number of enemies he’d killed on his flesh—sometimes he’d write the whole story of a battle. All the young soldiers were enamored of it, and I convinced him to teach me.”

“With that legendary charm of yours, I suppose.”

He could not help but smile, even if it was just a half of one.

“Just fill in the spots where I—” He hissed through the pain.

“Good. That’s the right depth.”

With the rhythm of her tapping, he return to his introspective thoughts.

“Tell me about your family.”

He did not want to, his endless family that had somehow even now not given up on him. That level of love did not settle well within him, he had lost the right to be loved.

Maybe we could find the way back together

She needed this, her family was dead, what was left were distant cousins.

“Tell me about yours and I’ll tell you about mine,” he said through gritted teeth.

He waited for her response, her agreement to his terms. If they were going to do this together than they would have to bare their entire souls and the scars that ran beneath the surface.

“Fine. Are your parents alive?”

“My parents were very old when they conceived me. I was their only child in the millennia they’d been mated. They faded into the Afterworld before I reached my second decade.”

He could not remember if she had siblings.

“You had no siblings.”

She did not look at him as she began to speak, “My mother, thanks to her Fae heritage, had a difficult time with the pregnancy. She stopped breathing during labor. They said it was my father’s will that kept her tethered to this world. I don’t know if she even could have conceived again after that. So, no siblings. But—”

He waited, letting her decide if she wanted to continue that statement.

“But I had a cousin. He was five years older than me, and we fought and loved each other like siblings.”

She set down the needle and mallet and flex her fingers. He could tell that she hurt.

“I don’t know what happened, but they started saying his name—as a skilled general in the king’s army.”

He had heard of the general, the winds whispered back to Maeve of the general’s fame. The Wolf of the North also known as Ardarlan’s whore was her cousin. He should have known.

“I think facing my cousin after everything would be the worst of it—worse than facing the king.”

He watched as her grief threatened to overwhelm her.

“Keep working,”

Two children broken along with a kingdom. One became an assassin, while the other a general for his enemy. For the first time he had wondered what drove them.

“Do you think, your cousin would kill you or help you? An army like his could change the tide of any war.”

His army was said to be ruthless, though he had known that, now he could connect the stars. Revenge is what fed the Wolf of the North.

“I don’t know what he would think of me, or where his loyalties lie. And I’d rather not know. Ever.”

He hoped that one day Aelin would know that her cousin’s loyalty had never faded.

“Do you have cousins?”

He almost laughed, “Too many. Mora’s line was always the most widespread, and my meddlesome, gossiping cousins make my visits to Doranelle … irksome. You’d probably get along with my cousins, especially with the snooping.”

He could not help but picture Sellene and Aelin scheming together.

“You’re one to talk, Prince. I’ve never been asked so many questions in my life.”

He bared his teeth, though he didn’t mean it. He glanced at his wrist, for the first time he did not want to lament on the meaning. The burns had healed, but there was a slight scarring that would never fade. He would always know that at some level she had burned away a little piece of his shame.

“Hurry up, Princess. I want to go to bed at some point before dawn.”

She used her free hand to make a particularly vulgar gesture, and before he thought about it he caught her hand within his own. Like her gesture, her small hands were not that of a queen.

“That is not very queenly.”

“Then it’s good I’m not a queen, isn’t it?”

Everything in his being told him to not let go of her hand. Together.

She feared being a queen and it was not something he understood.

“You have sworn to free your friend’s kingdom and save the world—but will not even consider your own lands. What scares you about seizing your birthright? The king? Facing what remains of your court?”

He stared into her blue eyes rimmed in the most beautiful gold.

“Give me one good reason why you won’t take back your throne. One good reason, and I’ll keep my mouth shut about it.”

She weighed him, understood the question was not meant to be cruel, but sincere. He wanted, no needed to understand why.

“Because if I free Eyllwe and destroy the king as Celaena, I can go anywhere after that. The crown … my crown is just another set of shackles.”

Shackles?

He quietly said, “What do you mean, another set of shackles?”

He loosened his grip to reveal the two thin bands of scars that wrapped around her wrist. His mouth tightened, she had been shackled. In some point within her ten years, she had been shackled.

She yanked her wrist back hard enough that he let go. He looked at her, waiting for an explanation.

“Nothing, Arobynn, my master, liked to use them for training every now and then.”

He knew she was lying, there was a deeper hurt buried within her. A truth she was not ready to share. He would give her the time and space she needed. He held back a shudder of Arobynn being her master. A young queen of a mighty kingdom turned to an assassin.

“Why did you stay with Arobynn?”

“I knew I wanted two things: First, to disappear from the world and from my enemies, but … ah.”

He wanted to recapture that hand he held.

“I wanted to hide from myself, mostly. I convinced myself I should disappear, because the second thing I wanted, even then, was to be able to someday … hurt people the way I had been hurt. And it turned out that I was very, very good at it.

“If he had tossed me away, I would either have died or wound up with the rebels. If I had grown up with them, I probably would have been found by the king and slaughtered. Or I would have grown up so hateful that I would have been killing Adarlanian soldiers from a young age.”

She surprised him, the girl that wanted to become a healer changed to a person who wanted to hurt. Somehow she had bottled that desire for vengeance away.

“You thought I was just going to spread my whole history at your feet the moment I met you? I’m sure you have even more stories than I do, so stop looking so surprised. Maybe we should just go back to beating each other into a pulp.”

There was no way he was turning back now. Together, they would fight through the darkness together. He would train her to become a warrior. He may not be able to fight with her, but he would give her every tool to protect herself when he could not. They would do this together.

“Oh, not a chance, Princess. You can tell me what you want, when you want, but there’s no going back now.”

“I’m sure your other friends just adore having you around.”

A feral smile, and he grabbed her by the chin—not hard enough to hurt, but to get her to look at him.

“First thing, we’re not friends. I’m still training you, and that means you’re still under my command.”

Lies. He watched the flicker of hurt. He leaned in closer, hoping she would understand.

“Second—whatever we are, whatever this is? I’m still figuring it out, too. So if I’m going to give you the space you deserve to sort yourself out, then you can damn well give it to me.”

She studied him for a moment, the ice danced in his veins.

“Deal.”

As he removed his hand, he knew that whatever this was, he didn't want to let her go.

Parts [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 8 ] [ 9 ] [ 10 ] [ 11 ] [ 12 ] [ 13 ] [ 14 ] [ 14.5 ] [ 15 ] [ 16 ]  [ 17 ] [ 18 ] [ 19 ] [ 20 ]

[evilback-wards]

Top Candidate [Pre-DRV3]

Chapter Nine

Length: 1977*

Rating: 16+ish?

Prefer AO3 format? Click here. Otherwise, below the line lovelies!

*Note: Words in italics come directly from the audition tape mentioned in DRV3. Click here for a link to the auditions! 

I was dressed in my usual school uniform with my red T-shirt underneath.  My feet felt like they were dragging along with the other two people in my cohort. I had no control. I had nothing. This sucks. I started to try and yell out, but another voice spoke in my mind.

“Oh shush! We’re like, totally controlling you to go to the right place! We wouldn’t make you break our own rules, silly,” said an overly feminine voice in my mind, and apparently over some loud speaker too.  I balled my hands into fists, tempted to punch whatever force that was in my body out of it. Why did they think we’d be taken over so easily? Why was it so easy for them to do in the first place?

Jesus fuck. Where am I exactly? I was kept in a dark room for a while, and now, I was being let into a stadium of the sorts. The outside of the stadium had a huge line of lights around it, blinding me from seeing much further detail. I saw thousands of high schoolers being brought in at once. All of them had different facial expressions(a select few appeared delighted to be here). If this was actually a football game as the stadium suggests, I’d be as happy as some of these fucks. But, no, this was our reality. Auditioning for a killing game we never asked to be in. I had no clue of the rules. All I knew was I’d either survive in the game or die here. That’s what MT told me. The green haired cunt had been digitally showing herself as a kid. Apparently it’s a callback from one of the “fictional” characters in Danganronpa. Everyone involved in this was so willing to give me the hour long backstory to this black market mess. For an event like this to happen every four years, it’s no wonder that the police don’t catch these freaks. It wouldn’t shock me if they helped run the show. My hands were in shackles in front of me, my body being moved along by some outer force still. Ever since that day where I had been walking home from school, about to beat the  shitout of my ex’s new boyfriend, everything got blurry. My mind went blank before waking up in a green room with a large rectangular table. I met the person behind and in front of me at that time.

The girl’s name was Maki. Or, what she remembered her name to be at least. She was a fighter, and while I respected her moves, she came from poverty. I couldn’t let dirt like that touch me too deeply. I had to keep my eyes on my affluent ex girlfriend if my dreams of easy fame and riches are to come true. Anyway, Maki started out swinging at the MT kid. Right when I woke up I saw her attacking the green haired brat. MT somehow managed to artfully fight back, pinning Maki on the ground and explaining our fate. Another  person, a guy who was about half my height rocking some serious emo fashion, sat around most days. Whenever I tried small chat he just kept brooding that his life “was a mistake he was constantly trying to fix”. The one good thing around here had to be the chicks. If I was to die soon, at least there were plenty babes for me to gawk at. My neck and other joints turned automatically, but, my eyes could still see babes for miles!

Velvet carpeting along with other high-quality shit lined the hallways. Was this legit black market? Was I going to sell myself to some organ sellers, bulk drug dealers, the big shots in the underground market? The area around me went dark occasionally, my eyes losing sight of Maki. Whoever was the control mastermind behind this, they must be especially trying hard to keep Maki under lock and key. Half the time, in whatever computer sim we’re in, Maki managed to break out of control and constantly kick at the walls. What a weird girl. What the hell would the walls do if they broke, “magically let us out”?

I, personally, am always looking for the time in this place. I hadn’t been able to keep count of the amount of time I spent “crafting” my character, but I know one thing. I won’t let myself die here! I haven’t even gotten the chance to live out my dream!

My eyes began to look over the thousands of students gathered here, wearing a variety of different high school uniforms. We had exited the hallway to a well-lit convention center of the sorts, nice flooring, and even lines of each participating cohort.  How many students did they manage to kidnap? How was this even done without the Amber Alert system going off at least 200 times? I wanted to fight back, but it’s like my body and mind were seperated for now. My legs were beginning to pull away from the others, heading toward another dark hallway. I saw Maki’s body turn briefly toward me, her eyes filled with nothingness. It was always hard to pinpoint what was on her mind. Once my body fully was directed toward the new hallway, I had to cut through a few lines of cute girls.

As I studied the students being shuffled around awkwardly like me, I noticed a familiar face. A blonde, wearing a navy-blue uniform(from Shining Star Academy) with an array of hair clips. Her skirt was shorter than most, likely pulled upward per her usual style. They...they got my ex here too? My free meal ticket, my dream girl, the prodigy I was going to ride the coattails of? I gritted my teeth, wishing I could move more of  my body’s limbs or at least say something. If that chick was here too, then, how was I supposed to return to the easy life after this? I didn’t need to worry about the impossible if it meant I’d go home to a girl like her. As I entered a new hallway, I saw vague shadows of other people I had been following.

“All Kaito Momota’s are on track to be the debut audition! Please line up in accordance to your number. You will only get one chance to sell your character, and then the waiting time begins! Once you see results, well, if you survive...you’re lucky. If not, ta ta!~” A voice screamed out over the loudspeakers. The voice sounded like an annoying preppy student from my high school. Wouldn’t shock me if one of had parents that let them do black market stuff like this.

There were lights every now and then as I proceeded forward. From the brief introductions in light, I noticed something strange. It was as if different copies of me were in a single file line. Sure, they were wearing different high school uniforms but they all appeared similar to me. Their face, weight, stature, among other items were glaringly similar to my own. I know actors often had stunt doubles but this was ridiculous! How was I supposed to differentiate myself from this assholes? Worse, the more we shuffled around, the closer to the top I had been getting. What was my number anyway? I started counting the number of people in front of me, stepping aside toward the walls of the hallway to let me walk through.

There’s at least a hundred of us here...this is crazy. How do so many people in the world exist with my similar body structure? Did they all come from different parts of the world from kidnappers too? There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but, my mouth was sealed tight by whoever was controlling my movements. Was my name anything other than Kaito before coming here? I can’t...even remember that anymore. What a shame.

I could feel my heart race as my body started to move closer to the start of the line. Why, this wasn’t fair, why me…first? Of the others here, I had to be the one to jump head first into this disgusting act of begging for my life. As I got placed in front of  shorter version of myself, I noticed a door in front. It had been wooden, with a metal doorknob. I couldn’t hear a thing from beyond the door. A single light bulb was positioned above it, its bright yellow hue keeping my vision clear. I tried my best, but, my neck couldn’t move to see what all was behind me...the army of freaks who looked just like me. Did they have my same voice? Did they sound different? All of this was overwhelming. All I wanted was an easy life. I just wanted to pick back up and beat the shit out of that green-haired bastard that stole my girlfriend!

If I could only speak, and voice out some strong words, I could have followers...and we could bust out of this place.

“Hello Kaito’s! When you see the light bulb over the door turn purple, please enter! Further instructions will be relayed once you are in the room. Don’t bother closing the door, it’s automatic,” a female voice spoke, again, an annoying preppy voice. And, as foretold, the light bulb at top turned purple. I suddenly felt control snap back in me.

I took a look at those behind me. I grinned, showing my teeth and all the handsomeness I had to sell for myself.

“Good luck,” I said to them, their looks a mixture of confusion and fear. I placed my hand on the doorknob, twisting it as I stepped forward. Psyching out the competition was one way I could give myself an edge.

As I entered the room, it was completely dark. Once my hand had let go of the knob, it felt like I was floating in space.

“Kaito Momota…#1. Your audition will start in 60 seconds. This is your allocated time to pray to any God or Gods you believe in. This is also time to rehearse how you will answer the following question: Winning Danganronpa promises the graduatee(or survivors) fame and fortune for years to come. What are your plans in order to win this near impossible game of Danganronpa?” an automated prompt stated, a large red timer showing up in front of me. My feet felt like they were actually on some sort of ground now! Awesome! Of all the vague bullshit I’ve been fed so far, here’s my actual test! And survivors -- does that mean I could still survive with my ex at the end of this?  But if I still game fame from winning and killing everything, would she even matter? Or could I survive by using her as a meat shield? Either way, from the sounds of it, I could still achieve my dreams with this! Only, I won’t be this Kaito they want. Rather...I’ll be *myself*. Katio Momota, from this point forward, is my identity.

I won’t be fake or any type of character they’ve been forcing me to be. I’m gonna show them that I’m the *real* Kaito, and all of those behind me are fakes.

I could make out my face in the large red timer, purple hair spiked up per usual. I had to practice my award winning smile first. Ok, good. I cleared my throat several times, stretching and smirking as I watched the clock tick down to zero.

The room suddenly became bright, a wooden floor showing itself underneath me as I spoke into a camera on a tripod.

“I’m not just gonna be in Danganronpa, I’m gonna kill everybody and win! Once I’ve got fame and fortune, I don’t gotta worry about what’s impossible, ” I began, giving the camera a thumbs up.

[brownthoughtsrainbowperception]

I decided to take on a project. I decided that it is time to try and make real changes within my country. It took such a time as this to move me and I'm not sure if I should be ashamed at my slothfulness or if I should just shrug and move forward.

I am a Black American female living in Texas. I'm really not sure which of those defines me best or more or if something that I have not even mentioned is the definition of me. But on a few levels this is who I am.

Our world is in turmoil. Not that this is something new. Not that we will ever truly not be in a chaotic state but things are happening that are partly interesting and greatly distressing.

One the conversation of reparations for Black Ameicans has come back to the forefront. I'm sure it was always there but it is loud and out front now. Secondly there is a bit of genuine acknowledgement that the law enforcement approach to Black Americans is flawed. Thirdly we, Americans in general and Black Americans to a greater extent, are destroying our history.

So what am I looking at here. I'm gonna skip the discussions on reparations and law enforcement for a second and I am going skip straight to our history. I am an American first and foremost. I understand that this is not how the world sees me. I am well aware that my skin color is seen first by all communities in my country, including my own. The point is I see myself as an American so I hope that helps to explain some of the things I am about to say.

I do not believe in censorship. I do not believe in hindering anyone from being able to peacefully and respectfully speak their peace. That is what this country is about. Once we censor one we open doors to censor all. It is how our judiciary system is essentially set up. You set a precedent and the whole house of cards falls down.

So what do I mean when I say this in relation to our history? Well... our history is our story. It is the story of our country. Good, bad, shameful, horrific, spectacular, innovative, whatever it is it is ours and to deny any part of it is denying ourselves. It is denying our country.

Look I do not like seeing certain monuments and I agree they should never have been allowed to be erected but they were allowed. Just as Black Americans were freed and then systematically oppressed, terrorized, and marginalized. It was allowed. The point is those monuments are made to some American individual's hero. The person was a general, or a president, or whomever and when he went home he was probably a slave owner.

Okay, I get it. It upsets you. It makes your blood boil. I personally do not watch movies about slavery I know I can't handle it. It outrages me, it hurts me to my core to see someone who looks just like me being abused and spoken to in ways that demean and dehumanize.

This is the point of it. If you destroy the monuments, artifacts, and other reminders of something what does that do for you as a whole? What does it accomplish for our people?

Instead of destroying why not add our story to the narrative? We have artists amongst us who could bring the truth of who we are to any Confederate monument. Try and have your city council members do that. They will be ready to tear down every confederate monument in the country if we fight to have monuments of our heroes erected side by side with theirs.

This is the point. We are fighting for a type of acknowledgement. We want to be seen as human beings and not lesser human beings that you become surprised or impressed with when we demonstrate clear thought. We want to be acknowledged as homosapiens. As humans with fully functional frontal lobes. As humans who are far more than one single aspect of themselves.

If you destroy our past, no matter how horrific it is you give them license to say "well what do you want now? We've destroyed everything reminiscent of slavery and pre-civil war. There is nothing else in our country representing racist ideology. We have purged this house."

The truth is it is more than slavery. Slavery is the root. It is the foundation and upon it Jim Crow, segregation, black face, biased law enforcement practices, biased legislation, and the list goes on was built.

So let me tell you a hard truth. As a people we think small. It is not a bad thing it is a symptom of our continued oppression. Whether anyone wants to admit it openly or not we are a people who live in survival mode and when you live in survival mode you can only truly see the exact second you are standing in.

What's wrong with adding a statue of Frederick Douglas to a statue of General Lee or Jefferson Davis? Why not have our leaders represented in modern day homages to the civil war? Why not have a monument erected for slaves as they were informed they were free?

Number one... this is where we are at now. You can not fight racism wirh racism. Sorry, it really does not work like that. The monuments are there. Yes they are blatant reminders of atrocities committed to and on our people but the truth is this is who we are. We are descendants of slaves. There is no shame in it. We fought, we lost, we fought some more, we continued to fight and we got small concession after small concession. Take pride in the fact that we are strong, resilient people who, in spite of, will persevere and make it to the other side.

Number two... monuments to us can be about more than scarred backs and shackles. We have people to be proud of. We have moments to be proud of. We are a people that truly made a way out of no way and we can celebrate this concept in monuments to ourselves.

It is time that we walk tall and do things that not only lift us up as a people but gives us a sense of stability. We have to learn how to exist in a different state. We are going to survive that is a truth now it is time to truly live and grow and evolve.

So this brings me to reparations. I truly believe that we are owed more than this great nation could ever pay and, in some ways, I feel our leaders know this as well. I really think it is doable and I like the thought of trying to achieve a systemic change. So how do we do that?

First in order to get someone to change their mind about you they need to actually know you on some level. Not "oh yeah I know Matthew but he is not like the rest of 'them'" but understand us as a people.

There has to be an acknowledgment that what happened during, and for many years after, slavery was an atrocity. It can not be about the people today. It has to be about a nation in a time when principles were different. It has to be about promises made by that nation that were never fulfilled.

Then it has to be about being able to put our truth into the narrative. Adding our story to current monuments and/or creating our own. It is about comprehensive history texts that tell the true story of this nation, the complete story of this nation.

Now on the idea of the redistribution of wealth the truth is the resources are already there we just have to access them and legislation needs to be made stating that the funds acquired are strictly for the sole use for descendants of American slaves.

We need representation on a level that is beyond legislation or judiciary because those avenues are historically biased and are currently set up to hinder progress to humanizing Black Americans.

I've already gone on longer than needed.

I am going to start doing YouTube videos talking about this and I'll continue to post my opinions. I know we, as a people, are tired of being marginalized but the thing is we need to stop waiting to be seen and start making moves where we can not be avoided but in good ways.

Don't destroy your history embrace it no matter how horrific. You destroy your history and you deny the people who survived it. You will continue to live incomplete. We are a great people for many reasons and who can say which is most important? All we can say is we went through a lot to get here and who are we to deny any one step our ancestors took to ensure that our people survived?

[miknorahs]

The most imp thing

One thing no one has really asked me as I prepare to leave is the very thing I wish people knew for why I am leaving. It’s the very reason why I decided to start writing again and why I’ve begun to unravel my personal thoughts in a (somewhat) public manner, whether or not there are people out there reading. It’s the very reason why I want to choose to do anything, really.

The question I yearned to be asked was, “Why?”

Since the summer nestled between my high school graduation and my freshman year of college, God has steadily been growing the desire to be sent out to the nations for the supremacy of God in the joy of all peoples.

I can imagine for myself no other life than one completely given to the Lord.

Yet in the budding times of this desire taking root in my heart, there still remained many things to ask God to touch and heal. The shackles laid upon my heart since before and through my middle school days loosened when I was saved the summer before entering high school, yet I was still not free. The acquired burdens of circumstances growing up and harsh words spoken showed up in my shame and the sense of unworthiness I carried with me everywhere.

I grew fearful to even take up space in a room full of people all struggling with their own battles and suffering with their own wounds, yet still striving to live in the light.

It only worsened when, all of a sudden, I found myself stranded without the close guidance and physical proximity of my parents. No, they were not two hours away, but several plane rides away.. nations away. The strong sense of shame and unworthiness I already felt so deeply crashed into a heart carved out into more reasons to believe I was nothing special. Unworthy in every way and role–as a daughter, a sister, friend, and lover. Even as a student, I felt like a failure.

Through it all, there has been one person to stay beside me. He continually fought for me, relentlessly pursued me; He never gave up on me. He told me time and time again how dearly loved I am. He told me repeatedly even in the midst of my deep unbelief. He quite literally walked in and stayed with me when the whole world walked out. He saw me weep and strive, wait and abide. He taught me how to have saving faith in the midst of trials and forgave me when I tried to work for it on my own. He was always so gentle in letting me know the things I was blind to. He loved me at my darkest and most unlovable, and still, He loves me.

He didn’t have to do anything for me/us, but He did, because He is love.

I tried my best to work out what it means to glorify God through brokenness felt so deeply, not only in myself, but in others also. I began learning to live trying to discover different answers to questions like, “How can I seek and find Him in the midst of all the things that still hurt?” The focus shifted from the superficial and surface-level topics to the heart of matters.. because the heart alone is what God sees. Why not for us, too?

I share these tidbits to share that my answer to the “Why?” question is, simply, because of my faithful God.

I have (been given) faith in God to lead me to the people and places I belong for the glory and supremacy of God in the joy of all peoples.

I am going for the sake of the Gospel being shared to His cherished ones I’m privileged to encounter there, beginning with my cohort members I will stand beside at the front lines. With such a collaborative approach, I hope for a truly aligned vision to serve and help shepherd the future citizens of the world in some of their most formative stages of life.

For me, He saw it fit to provide the opportunity to head to Texas and be further equipped as His servant through an alternative teacher preparation program set in an urban setting. Something tells me it will be challenging and humbling as training ground for the work He has established for me to do at a later time. I go with a lowly heart, thankful for all He has done for me and even more grateful that He wants to equip and use me for His Kingdom come here on earth as it is in heaven. Everything in my life is under His sovereignty, everything in this world is under His jurisdiction. All things are to be for His glory.

Love Himself is why.

[mumuonmission]

Free.

What do you call a Christian who preaches the Gospel and sins right after? What is that word people love to call us? A hypocrite?

Famous quote by a famous somebody, “I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”

hypocrite: a person who indulges in hypocrisy.

hypocrisy: the practice of claiming to have moral standards or beliefs to which one's own behavior does not conform; pretense.

I thought I understood how this Christian life works. You profess your faith in Jesus and you’re gifted the Holy Spirit. You live a life of repenting & believing. You confess your sin, try to submit to God’s will, and give God glory in all you do waiting for the day you’ll be made perfect with God. I learned the beauty in suffering and sanctification. I learned Christ’s example of humility. I learned how He persevered and endured for the joy set before Him. I could go on an on about the beautiful, encouraging things I’ve learned about Christianity.  

I’m not a professed teacher, leader, or whatever, but I am on mission to make disciples who can make disciples. I meet with ladies weekly. We live out this mission by learning and living out the Word of God, sharing the Gospel, fellowshipping with one another, and encouraging one another in Gospel-centered accountability. I got in a habit of reading and praying daily. On a weekly basis, I usually attend 2 or more gatherings with believers. I usually have at least one conversation with someone every day about the Gospel and their life. I not only share the Gospel almost every day, but I usually hear it every day.  

I remember asking someone (in a judgmental way), “how can someone share the Gospel and not believe? Don’t you have to believe this and speak with conviction?” & he replied, “Sometimes you just gotta share the truth.” That message wasn’t clear until a week later when God made me aware of my unbelief. We sin when we don’t believe that Jesus is better than what we want to do. We sin when we believe in our will over the will of God. We sin when we don’t believe Jesus is who He says He is. We sin when we believe that there is satisfaction outside of God. We sin when we don’t believe who we are in Christ, FREE. And I sin a lot.

I have been pretty vocal on there aren’t levels to sin (as far as every sin deserves the guilty verdict and punishment of death) and through Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection we have been made righteous in the eyes of God through grace alone. I know it’s ONLY by the grace of God through what Jesus did that I could be counted worthy. I can be a mess. I am pretty transparent about it for the most part too. But I became more and more aware of my sins of unbelief, and for some reason I did not take them seriously. It was easy for me to suppress my unbelief, because it was disguised in “appropriate” behavior. I am a lover of comfort. I love to eat, talk, sleep, and REST. lol. Whatever that looks like. What I realized is my unbelief was masked in every day things I love to do but on another level. Not only did I seek these things for comfort outside of Christ, but I abused them. They were easy to ignore at first because they were acceptable things, but of course God wouldn't let me make it.

I was so prideful with what I was dealing with. I thought “I preach this Gospel every day and I don’t believe it? Nah..” I’m not stupid. I preach confession. I preach repentance. I preach believing! I don’t think because you preach the Gospel you’re sin free, but I did believe those who preach the Gospel did a heart check and believed in this message that set them free. Meaning as you’re on mission you’re confessing, repenting, and believing. I judged the church leaders around me with this thought. I also judged myself. I also thought because my sins weren’t gossiping, stealing, sex, murder, or even hate, lust, and other “acceptable” sins, that I could move on with my life. I did not see the weight of my sin. I forgot the cost of my sin. I was in this weird state of denial. I couldn’t admit I was struggling to believe, because once I admit how I feel I would be this hypocrite. My mind was filled with so many lies. I battled with everything I preached.

I finally wrote it all out. I wrote down why I indulged like I did. I wrote down what I believed about myself. I wrote down what I believed about God. And it was all ugly. They were lies I believed to be true. I knew the next step was to pray, read God’s Word, write out the truth, & to pray for belief. But overwhelmed with seeing my thoughts on paper, I cried. I put on some Gospel preaching worship music. I sent a pic of my thoughts to 2 of my friends, and they led me to the truth. I began crying out to God, reading His word, and I started to preach the Gospel over my issues. I started to rejoice in His truth, and I was at peace. I was at peace because I remembered who I was-FREE, & who set me free-JESUS! I remembered that my guilt and shame died on the cross. I remembered that LOVE paid it all to have my heart! I remembered that Jesus’ death didn’t just forgive me from our sins, BUT through His resurrection I have the power to fight sin because of Jesus’ victory over death. I can fight sin, because it is already defeated.

I started writing down the truth:

He not only saved us from God's wrath but the freedom from sin by changing our identity. That's by grace alone. Following the rules could never save us from slavery. The ransom was paid by grace & the power to stop sinning is through grace not the law/rules. Our goal isn't to stop sinning, but to live as freed slaves-> in our new identity, righteous. Again we are righteous by grace alone. So does a slave whose shackles have been removed, put on shackles themselves? Or does a person who has been released from prison, sit in the jail cell? No they walk free. Because they believe they are free. We walk with shackles & sit in opened jail cells when we believe sin is greater than Jesus &/or that we don't deserve to be free. You may want to remove the shackles yourself. Or you may want to break out of jail yourself, but the reality is the shackles are gone, the door is open. The power of sin died with Jesus, & the power of life raised with Jesus. So when we try to fight sin outside of living in the grace God has given us, we are "wrestling with a dead corpse." Our goal is to live in our freedom by believing we are free, by believing in our Lord who set us free. If following the law could set us free, Jesus died for nothing. Plus your standard of righteousness has been false. Gods standard is 100%. The law was meant to point us to Jesus, our redeemer. He fulfilled the law so that we may love Him & love others. In our freedom, His grace abounds so that we may love out of the abundance given to us.

"If ever I forget my true identity, show me who I am & help me to believe.”

I am loved because a God that sees my good, bad, & ugly died for me so that I could be free, because I am His, & will forever be His. No human could love me unconditionally. The evidence of love is on the cross. The evidence of love is in the resurrection. The evidence of love is throughout the scripture where God remains faithful to people who cheated on Him everyday. God's faithfulness is not based on me. He loves me because He is love. Evidence of His love is not in marriage but the greater covenant between Jesus & His bride. I was chosen & pursued. Evidence of His love is in the Holy Spirit that lives me. Evidence of His love in my freedom. I am free. His love is more than enough, Christ is all I need & His grace abounds to me to love from an abundance.

“If ever I forget my true identity, show me who I am & help me to believe.”

What do you call a Christian who preaches the Gospel and sins right after? A Christian. A Saint. A slave to righteousness. A child of God. You can call me FREE! 

“I did what you said I did, but I’m not who you say I am.” 

I am insulting a just, sovereign God when I place judgment on myself for not being righteous. I am either believing that Jesus’ righteousness isn’t enough or that God’s punishment wasn’t enough. Either way I am believing God isn’t in control. I am believing He isn’t enough. We need a Savior. Our Savior set us free. We need to walk in our freedom. And when our brother or sister has sinned, we need to remind them of their freedom. We don’t need to analyze the “level” of their sin. We do not need to tell ‘em to “do better”. We need them to believe. We need to remind them who died for their sins. We need to listen to what they’re believing, to remind them the truth. We need to cry out to the God who gives us the belief, so that we can walk in our freedom.

No guilt in life. No fear in death. The Gospel sets us free.