#show this poor soul salvation

[caracello]

nice in like a "as nice as gabriel can get" way . like a superiority complex oh i can guide your poor misguided soul way.

[fangsandfeels]

Got hit with more thoughts about spawns and Cazador...

...and naturally, I'm posting it here because I'm no longer a functional human being.

I remember the lingering question that Astarion seemingly being only one of the spawns using seduction to lure victims in. At least, there is no menition of other’s doing so, except for Petras. So, why is that? Why Astarion was the only one?

In my opinion, it stems from Cazador’s very particular choice of victims. In all these years, he acquired only seven spawns (except for the thousands of Turned nobody knew about), and almost all of them used to be accomplished or talented people:

- Violet, a beloved and talented songbird from Reithwin;

- Dalyria, a respected doctor working in the Parliament;

- Leon, a sorcerer (a spell modifiaction he came up with shows how good he is at his magic);

- Astarion, a magistrate with a promising future, centuries of life ahead of him, and a beauty worthy of a thousand paintings.

Following this tendency, we can assume that Yousen, Aurelia, and Petras also were similarly talented or good at something enough to attract Cazador’s attention and make him envious.

The bastard thinks very highly of himself. He calls himself the most intelligent and beautiful creature out there, and spends hours writing letters to other vampire lords, trying to convince them of his grandeur. He attempts to inflate his ego, making it finally big enough to overcompensate for his miserable inferiority complex, in any way he can: so, whenever he spies someone with a talent or potential, someone who might be better than him at anything, he snuffs them away, adds to his collection, and then breaks them over and over, making them believe that they’re nothing. He is the father who gives them purpose; they are his spawn who owe him everything; and everything they have belongs to him.

And maybe, aside from tortures, and humiliation, and gaslighting, and forcing “siblings” to hurt each other, he came up with one more way to break them - when he forces them to hunt, he forces them to use everything that made them special, loved, respected, and admired for the most gruesome things.

- Violet, previously a talented singer whose voice was fondly remembered up to Reithwin’s fall, using her voice to catch attention; using her image and charm to lure people into the palace to their death.

- Dalyria, picking her victims around apothecaries and temples that responded to the people's suffering by closing doors in their faces, seeking out refugees and ailing citizens low on coin, offering to help them, kindly inviting them to “her place” (if we take Karlach’s family as an example, finding a healer who would agree to help a less-than-wealthy family is quite a problem at the city).

- Leon, using his talents and magic to nab people from the street, to drag them to Cazador without a fight while knowing that he will never be able to use the same power against the bastard himself.

- Astarion, a previously sophisticated, proud, and beautiful elf, stripped of his dignity and pride, using his body to either seduce poor young and inexperienced souls (fulfilling their image of an ethereal and caring lover) or let himself be pawed at by drunkards and brothel-goers.

I don’t think any of Cazador’s choices were accidental. I don't think he had to roam the streets at night, looking for potential candidates; that he ever Turned any of them by chance.  

They all caught his eye at some point, became an object of his obsession, and then fell victim to a scenario where they were confronted by a promise of salvation - and each time, it made Cazador giddy with excitement and a sense of self-importance. He took them away from the world because he could. He will twist and shape them to his whim because he can. And then, he will take everything from them, reducing them to miserable wretches because this is who they should be, compared to him.

They will belong under his heel, scared, helpless, and obedient, worshipping him and fearing him. Forever.

[kamesama]

sukuna and yūji as siblings ( inspired by this post by @nessieartss )

they are nearly spitting images of one another, but they get gravely offended if someone gets their names mixed up. calling yūji by sukuna's name is always followed by a scowl and his brows wrinkling his skin. sukuna's reaction is the same, making them even more similar. these offences lowered in number after sukuna got his face tattoos, however, they still happen every now and then.

on that note, although they behave differently and have nearly opposite worldviews, there are a couple of gestures that seem to be a shared muscle memory; the way they twist their necks and look at some wandering source of stupidity with the same unimpressed gaze being one of them. of course, they do so in a sync. the way they run their hand through their hair and scratch their head a little when confused. the way they fix their shirt and turn to the side in front of a mirror to judge its fit.

yūji is most definitely subjected to sukuna's insults, but he takes them pretty well; he puts up a fight of his own which sukuna appreciates ( invisibly ). he is happy to know his little brother is resilient. however, there are days where yūji simply cannot stomach the proportions of sukuna's asshole-ry. why are you such a prick?

fights — both verbal and non-verbal, physical and non-physical — are nearly a religious everyday routine. some days it's just sukuna walking by and ruffling yūji's hair as he leaves home, and some days it's a ferocious battle ending with yūji in a headlock because he responded to sukuna's random insult with an exasperated and serious, what the fuck is your problem, dude?

sukuna always ends up having an upper hand.

no one gets to bully sukuna's younger brother — other than him. sure, now when they are older, yūji can handle his own ordeals, but as children, one glare from sukuna was enough to provide salvation for his little brother. sukuna also had a way with their parents to get them out of trouble. how he managed to talk things out with them is beyond yūji even today, but sukuna always saved his ass, walking into crying yūji's room with a confident grin on his face to tell him problem's been solved and he can start kissing his feet.

sukuna found a scrunchie laying around at some point and gave yūji the worst time ever because he teased him so much.

yūji — god bless his wonderful soul — is undoubtedly the more respectful one of the two, unsurprisingly so. that pudding in the fridge that he knows belongs to sukuna? he doesn't touch it. he has no interest in it whatsoever. sukuna, on the other hand, will devour anything and everything he gets his hands on with no regard for ownership. i licked it so it's mine kind of logic. yūji starts hiding his snacks. sukuna nonchalantly finds them.

sukuna busts into yūji's room with nearly no announcement and regard. yūji, on the other hand, always knocks. at some point in the early teenagehood, sukuna's room was a yūji-free zone. no brats allowed. as such, yūji has lesser knowledge of sukuna's room than sukuna has of yūji's.

blackmail. threats. vile words and promises. "brat, give that back or you will never see your vanity fair jennifer lawrence poster again." "*gasp* you wouldn't." "oh, i will."

sukuna finds ways to get certain posters, photos, stickers, merch and absolutely whatever else yūji is dying to have, only to bully the poor boy. "can i see?" "no." "you don't even like that show!" however, these things always find their way onto yūji's desk in the end, or wind up under his bed. when they do, yūji strolls over to sukuna's room with the brightest sun-kissed smile on his precious mouth and expresses his gratitude with the utmost of sincerity and child-like joy. sukuna responds with aloof indifference and a middle finger. it's the tough love.

the times they do get along is when they watch movies together. it's never explicitly admitted, but it has to be their favourite way to spend time in each other's presence. they will binge a show, discuss characters, eat an unhealthy amount of snacks along the way, completely unfazed while someone's guts get clawed out and slurped on screen. horror movies are their forte but yūji successfully got sukuna hooked onto some slice-of-life romance drama here and there. if they are not watching something on some brimming-with-viruses-and-completely-illegal website at home, then they definitely go to the cinema.

the 3 am conversations about life happen. they chew on leftovers of a cold pizza, home alone, under the kitchen light, slowly and calmly commenting on the unyielding passage of time, importance of ambition and drive, and the paradox of life's meaningful meaninglessness. they do so for nine minutes before falling into silence and commenting how stupid that cliff hanger was and how a manga chapter will be delayed again.

yūji's music taste is a spectrum far wider than sukuna's, and although he prefers pop, there are some questionable and edgy songs that seem to crawl their way into his ear because sukuna keeps listening to them on high volume while showering.

surprisingly, yūji is messier than sukuna. both are relatively clean in a way that neither of their rooms resemble a pigsty, but yūji has stray hoodies on his chair or textbooks spread and splattered over his desk ( whether he actually reads them is a separate topic ). sukuna keeps his things relatively neat and leans more towards minimalism in certain aspects.

their styles most definitely clash, but not too drastically; sukuna always seems to wear something of a darker hue to the point yūji strongly questions if he owns something that isn't red, black, white or some shade of grey. on another hand, yūji adores his vivid colours; ugly mustard yellows and pastel pinks and forest greens. sukuna likes his accessories a little edgy but tasteful; yūji finds those to be a hassle because he moves around so much. however, they both seem to show affinity towards comfortable and casual wear.

because of their contrast in terms of dressing, they rarely steal borrow one another's clothes. however, there is a very cool-looking dark blue denim jacket of sukuna's that yūji's got heart eyes for, and every now and then he wears it without having asked for permission. yūji's cheeks are stuffed with his order of burger and french fries when he gets a call from sukuna. he picks up, and all that greets him is a frigid and irritated, brat, did you steal my jacket again? yūji swallows and hangs up.

yūji's socks keep disappearing. it takes him a while to realise it's because sukuna is stealing them, solely because they are made of cotton and comfy.

yūji likes sukuna's phone cases; most of them are dark-ish, sure, but they have this visual effect of elegance that makes the phone look nice. no, sukuna does not give them to his brother. the chambers of his heart are not that vast.

sukuna is more familiar with yūji's friend group than yūji is with sukuna's. he gets along with megumi, enough to acknowledge him as a good friend of his little brother. originally, he teased yūji about nobara, but once he met her, he stopped with a claim that there is zero chemistry between the two and that they're just no fun ( nobara gave him a death glare ). he calls them brats, collectively. on another hand, yūji is not well-versed enough to have a stable opinion of uraume, who seems to be sukuna's partner in crime, but he is very familiar with how irritating his brother finds yorozu who just cannot seem to stop annoying him.

thank you for reading!

— kamesama.

[toastykaykes]

Paint it Black (Prologue)

Hello! This is the beginning of a series for me! Series rating will be M (18+). There will be mention of torture, mention of SA, abuse, fighting, alcohol, sex, and probably more that I'll warn before the chapter.

Pair: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Reader.

Please give me feedback so I can become better! But anyway guys, here's the Prologue!! Teehee Enjoy

Word count: 1116

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CLANG 

CLANG CLANG

.

.

“Get up.”

You peek through your eyes, feeling as if you are the earth gazing upon humanities evils. There’s so much crust and filth embedded in your skin, it’s essentially consuming you. You just want to sink and hide beneath it. Away from all of this. Away from this pain. 

You look past this facade and see the same place you’ve been encased in for…how long now? You’ve lost track of time, between the hell they put you through and the salvation you call your mind when everything goes black.

Grime and grease, blood and bodily fluids litter the concrete floor of your cell. No bed, no toilet, just chains they use to confine you. To use you. 

“I SAID GET THE FUCK UP! WHAT YOU CAN’T EVEN HEAR ANYMORE?” The man yells, the increase of volume and proximity making your earthbound soul shake. He pounds the cell wall, this fist probably getting scuffed trying to make himself look like a monster. 

A monster.

You shift your head, (e/c) eyes finding the same guard as always who comes to collect you. His face naturally hosts a snarl of a smirk, as do most of the people at this place. Oh how you just wish to clean the earth of them all. People like them, all they do is hurt and consume others. You manage to contort your muscles in your face to paint on some form of a twisted smile. If it even could be called that. It’s more so of a snarl, but depends on who’s looking. To him, he takes it as a smile, throwing one back as he enters the stall. 

“I knew that would catch your attention honey,” He draws out while his hand jerks out to grab your head, smacking it against the wall behind you, “ya know you’ve lasted way longer than another mutant down here. Poor Wanda couldn’t handle it anymore…tsk. What a shame, right.” 

As you take in his words, your heart feels like it stops. There’s no way she’s..gone. She was so strong, way stronger than me. We both promised to get out of here together, to finally free ourselves of this filth. To make sure no other children and women would ever go through this pain. 

Something that is all you feel right now, throbbing throughout your body. If your body had anything left in it, you would feel the tears slip past the threshold, becoming one with the dirt on your face. You let your eyes fall, shutting out the feeling his hands go lower to your neck ready to start. The cold steel of the needle just barely pierces your skin. 

His chapped fucking lips scorch your ear, “You’re all just filthy demons. You act like you're all powerful when really all you are is weak. Disgusting and impure. Can’t even fight back, I bet you like what we do to you huh? You filthy whore.”

Fight back? All I’ve been doing is fighting back. Day after day, fighting the urge to just let myself die. To end this hellish loop I've been stuck in. But I never did, because of Wanda….

You fall inside your mind, where you're standing surrounded by your shadows. Your safe place. It’s here where you can truly react to what just happened. Wanda is gone. The only person who made you feel an ounce of sanity. Gone. Your knees give out as you gasp, feeling the air leave your body. You feel the shadows around you, swirling between your fingertips and through your anger. You gaze up, tears cascading down your cheeks to see the door. That goddamn red door. 

You begin to smile. Wanda wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. 

I’ll show them who the real monster is. 

And you let your shadows paint the door Black. 

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

“Miss (l/n)?” 

You look up from your stack of ungraded assignments to see Daven holding his hand up. You smile. “Something on your mind Daven?” 

“I was wondering if you have a favorite hero here? Like mine is Cyclops. He’s so cool with his lasers that go ‘bbsszzzz’” Daven asks with a huge grin, hands reenacting exactly what Scott’s eyes do when fighting. The whole class starts to laugh, children chiming in louder who theirs is. 

You can’t help but chuckle as they start to all talk about who on the X-men is their hero. So much for a quiet break. “How about you all draw your favorite X-men and give it to them as a gift? I think that would be quite nice, wouldn't you?” 

This of course went over very well with them, their smiles growing wider in excitement. Chairs topple over as you see them all rush to get their papers and crayons, some grabbing paints. “Remember to be clean!” You chime while sitting back down, grading their homework assignments before their attention span dies. 

By the end of class, everyone has their special drawing and the room is clean. Thank God. 

You hold the door for them as they all let out one by one. “Next week you have a quiz! So remember to read your chapters over the weekend.” You smile at them all, feeling content they enjoyed their art class. It’s something you hold dear to yourself, always finding serenity and peace with it. Which makes your heart happy to be able to share with them. 

“Miss (l/n), I have something for you.”

You look down to see Marie, adorably clad with pigtails and bows that match her uniform. 

“Whatcha got sweetie?” You say while reaching out to grab what she was offering. 

“My hero doesn’t come here often. He’s mysterious like that. But I wanted you to give it to him if you see him.” Her drawing is a misshapen round circle person clad in a yellow suit with what looks like knives poking out of his hands like Freddy Kreuger. HUH

“Honey, you sure you don’t want to give it to him? You made it. I’m sure he’d love to receive it from you.” You look down to see her shake her head no. 

“No, I think you should give it to Logan.” She then turns on her cute little shoes and makes her way out the door and down the hall.  Bro I don’t even know a Logan. Huh, maybe Professor Charles knows something about this. You sigh to yourself before folding it into itself and stuffing it into your bag. You feel the exhaustion from today begin to settle in with the quiet. Closing the door behind you, you walk down the hall, ready to get this meeting over with.

[emperor-church]

Святой Великий Ангел, поставленный блюсти мою бедную душу, не оставь меня и не отступи от меня за невоздержание моё. Не дай возможности всяким демонам властвовать надо мною посредством смертного тела сего. Возьми крепко несчастную и опустившуюся мою руку и выведи меня на путь спасения. О святой Сангвиний, хранитель и покровитель бедной моей души! Прости мне всё, чем я оскорбил Тебя во все дни жизни моей, защити меня в настоящий день и сохрани меня от всякого искушения вражеского, чтобы мне никаким грехом не прогневать Императора, и молись за меня Ему, да утвердит Он меня в страхе Своем и покажет меня человеком, достойным Своей благости.

Holy Great Angel, appointed to watch over my poor soul, do not leave me and do not depart from me for my intemperance. Do not allow any demons to have power over me through this mortal body. Take firmly my unfortunate and fallen hand and lead me to the path of salvation. O holy Sanguinius, guardian and protector of my poor soul! Forgive me everything with which I have offended You all the days of my life, protect me on this day and preserve me from every temptation of the enemy, so that I do not anger the Emperor with any sin, and pray to Him for me, that He will confirm me in His fear and show me a man worthy of His goodness. (art D Monster (Dogma_Monster))

[forsworned]

a thought i couldn't get out of my head about kyle because of this image

cw: religious themes, sexual themes, sacrilege, religious guilt, temptation, power dynamics, Kyle being a delicious temptation.

Penitent!Kyle is beaten, battered, and bruised seeking salvation when he has a terrible run-in with God’s Judgement. He’s the biggest talk around your small, docile, God-fearing town, caught stealing apples with pockets full with of hardtacks. He begs the Minister to let him go, he was running from his “demons”, he says. And that single-handedly saves him from losing his head. Poor, wretched soul, tortured by the voices in his head.

You spot him in the dim sanctuary, a lone figure at the witching hour, talking to the altar, begging for forgiveness in the form of penance. To be gentle, graceful, and the utmost serene. And you, the town beauty, who has been spying on him for the past half hour or so, step out. There’s a creak in the wooden floorboards that captures his attention. And then he sees you, face illuminated by the candle you carry with both hands. It casts a warm, angelic glow over your dulcet features, and his amber, dewy eyes team at the sight. An angel.

He curses himself for the lack of restraint his cock is practicing, but he holds himself still as you approach him. Hands interwoven on the prayer rail, kneeling before God, tears cascading down his smooth golden brown face—looking like an angel himself.

“You’re seeking salvation,” you take him in once more, heart thrumming like a hummingbird's wings in your rib cage. “I see your struggle, I can help guide you,” you murmur, each word a tender caress, “help you find the forgiveness you seek.”

God has heard him. The pathetic sinner he is, He has heard him.

“You’d do that for me?” His whisper is faint, but you hear him clearly in the still night.

You don’t even skip a beat, “Yes.”

And his honey eyes analyze your every move, from the beat you gentle place your pricket candleholder atop of the prayer bench to the way you gracefully glide to the ewer, pouring out holy water into the a bowl. His heart beats louder with every stride you take toward him and you stand tall, poised and maternally before him. Like Mother Mary in the flesh, the light cascades a heavenly glow upon your skin. It’s as if the voices in his head grow silent with every word you utter.

Your voice echoes along the church walls as you begin the ritual, he’s hardly paying attention to the declarations that fall from your mouth. Only imagining how your lips would look puckered around his twitching, rock hard length, “…and renew your soul, granting you the redemption you seek.”

The candlelight dances, outlining your visage, and his Adam’s apple bobs. He’s no longer obstinate in the path God creates for him. He is more than willing to embrace humility, show remorse, and let go of his pride. His eyes quiver, body spasming from the long hours he's spent in these four walls to subdue his demons, to strive for the quiet, serene life of man and wife, and to give up his incubus-like ways. The route to redemption lies right there in front of him, right between your bosom. So soft, so sweet, so willing to bring him to the light, coax him through your expressions of adoration toward the Lord.

“I accept.” He bows his head in acknowledgement, before you tip the bowl to have his sweet, supple lips touch the rim. His knees touch the wooden floor and he looks so sweet, so submissive and willing to give anything to have his sins wiped clean.

Your core throbs with heat, envisioning him hiking up your wool skirt to lap you up. But you allow him to drink, holding the bowl steady as he takes his first tentative sip, water dribbles down his chin and wets his breeches as he sups it up with a haste that makes the desire coil tight within your belly. It’s hard to ignore the large bulging between his thighs, the clamminess in his hands as he puts them over yours. He hears the sudden shudder in your breath, stumbling over as you lose your composure, water spilling into his lap, and apologizing profusely for your clumsiness.

His hardened length presses against his breeches and your innocent eyes broaden at the profane and luscious sight. You’re quick to pull on the discarded surplice that lies on the prie-dieu to blanket his sodden form. Temptation still lies heavy in the air, but you swiftly turn your back to him, rushing out of the chapel. Heart on your sleeve for the man that showed up on your town's doorstep for deliverance as you rush back to your home. You creep back through your window you leave ajar, un-wedging the fork and softly placing it on your nightstand as you catch your breath.

Fingers trembling at your sides with desire and adrenaline, and the memory of his hardened length outlined through the thin fabric of his breeches, tear stained bronzed cheeks, plump lips, woolen hair and taut chest that peeked through the loosened placket of his cotton shirt. And how can you forget his eyes? Eyes the color of golden, everlasting hearth, of polished amber in the first rays of dawn.

With clammy fingers, interlaced at the edge of your bed, you pray to God to let your provocations dissipate into the zephyr of the cool Autumn wind. Part of you doesn’t even want the enticement to leave you, to give into human nature. After all, man was weak.

This deserves a part two, yess???😇

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

New Home

AU Reverse Therapy

Previous Part: (Not)Salvation, Next Part: Peaceful Sleep

Summary: Luka and Virgil bring the girl to her new home.

Pairing: Chaos!Lamenter/fem!OC/Chaos!Flesh Tearer

Characters: Malina (fem!OC), Luka The Angel (OC Chaos Lamenter), Virgil (OC Chaos Flesh Tearer)

Warnings: yandere, violence, mentions of necrophilia and cannibalism

Word count: 2030

Author's note: I really enjoyed writing these idiots.

Song: Inkubus Sukkubus - Danse Vampyr

Tag List: @kit-williams

When Luka officially became a member of the Red Corsairs, he underwent several modifications at the local apothecary. Increased strength and agility, unholy rituals. But no one told him what one of the chemo treatments meant. His new brothers wanted to have fun and see his reaction.

And he, feeling previously hidden emotions, could not resist and gutted the poor female cultist. Later, when he learned that he now felt desire, his soul of the Lamenter sang. Even having become a traitor, he still valued mortals. Not all, but still the need to care remained. And now it has become much more intimate.

He constantly kidnapped mortals. But they died quickly and this made him so sad. Poor "Flower" could not withstand his unbridled desire and her heart eventually stopped. He immediately ate her remains out of grief after he finished. "Rain" cried constantly. Although Luka constantly apologized for having to cut her to drink her blood. But then he had no control over himself and was afraid that he had damaged her neck!

The bad "Pet" was to blame for herself. She always called him a traitor, bit and scratched. Once she wanted to kill him! Luka had to punish her and the once proud imperial soldier began to eat human flesh from the floor like a dog and go under herself with a stupid smile on her disfigured face. In the end, he threw her into the pit with the other slaves. Perhaps she is still alive and hunched over on the lower levels. Luka did not know and did not want to know how the vile bitch was doing.

But this girl... she is different. She is special. Luka had never wanted to possess anyone as much as her.

The rescued city girl was still sleeping on his bed, tired after what she had been through. Her dark hair was scattered across the pillow, and her olive skin was thoroughly washed from ash and dirt (but only exposed areas of skin!) This was just right for the space marine. Not only did he have time to return to the massacre (pouring acid on the inhabitants and eat parents before children's eyes was especially fun), but he also had time to prepare everything.

He ordered the slaves to wash the room clean (he did not live in filth, but the unholy bloody signs had to be removed), drew a two-headed eagle (it turned out crooked, but he tried), got everything the girl needed. Sets of clothes, food and dishes, soap for the bath. Malina should have everything.

Virgil was either at the councils all this time, discussing further robberies, or having fun in the torture chambers with the captured slaves. Luka knew that the space marine was also interested in the girl, although he did not show it.

Never mind, soon Virgil would stop acting like a proud man and would also adore the girl. Luka knew his friend well, even if he denied their connection. Unfortunately for him, the lamenter was not going to give him a choice regarding their relationship.

He rarely gave anyone a choice when it came to affection.

A sudden moan pulled Luka out of his dark thoughts and he turned his attention to the waking girl. Malina did it obviously reluctantly after a hard day, but the warm and comfortable bed did its job. In the end, she opened her dark brown eyes. Blinking a couple of times, she stared in surprise at the traitor leaning over her.

“A-Angel?” - the girl said incredulously.

Luka swallowed. He felt himself harden. Sweet, sweet Malina. No, he must not lose her. He must do everything right and then she will stay with him forever. Soft, warm.

Alive.

“Call me Luka.” - the young man clenched his fist tightly, restraining his urge to stroke the girl’s hair. - “You are safe now. No one will touch you again.”

Only at that moment the girl looked around in confusion. The space marine could not decide where to look. At her surprised face or at her thin neck. At everything, perhaps.

“What? Where am I?” - peering into space, the girl listened to the sounds of air supply surrounding her. - “Is that a ship?”

“That’s right, dear. I’m very sorry, but your world has been captured… by heretics. We had to perform an Exterminatus, and took everyone we managed to save with us.” - the young man nervously licked his lips. The arousal from the blatant lie slowly enveloped him. - “This is your new home now.”

“Y-you are so kind, I” - the girl sniffed, trying her best to wipe away unwanted tears. - “Oh, I don’t even know what to say. I-I… what will my duties be?”

“Just cleaning my armor. And Vergil, he is not in the room now. But you will meet soon,” - the young man smiled happily. - “Don’t worry, you will like him. And he will like you too.”

“Allright.” - the girl smiled shyly. - “Oh, um, my name is-”

“Malina.” - Luka quickly interrupted, hoping not to hear the girl’s real name. He had been thinking about it for so long, it suits her so well and he did not want to know her previous name. What if it turns out to be more beautiful? - “This is your new name. All mortals take new names when they join our service. It is tradition.”

The girl blinked at such expressiveness. She hugged her knees and the worn blanket tighter to her chest. Awkwardly shrugging her shoulders and brushing her bangs off her forehead, the girl muttered embarrassedly.

“F-fine. Malina is a very beautiful name.”

Luka bit his lip, hoping to suppress his groan. If only not to scare her and embarrass her even more. She is so cute! So gentle. Sweet, sweet like juicy raspberries, like warm blood~

The girl looked at Luka warily and he cursed under his breath. It seemed that his eyes widened again like a madman. He was so overwhelmed with emotions that it was difficult to control them. But the girl's attention was immediately distracted by the suddenly opened door. A frightened sigh escaped from dry lips and Malina pressed herself against the wall.

Virgil, who returned to the quarters, was the embodiment of chaos. Pale gray skin was covered with several scars. Two of the largest and deepest were located along the nose and lip to the cheek on the left side of his face. His bright red eyes, white eyebrows and pointed teeth stood out brightly against his bald head and skull.

The black and red armor was covered in someone else's blood, and on his belt there was a new cut piece of flesh with the unfortunate man's face standing out on it. And that's not even mentioning the three skulls hanging on a stake behind his back. To put it simply, Virgil looked like a real heretic and definitely wasn't going to change his image.

Hmm, they somehow didn't think of that.

"Look who woke up~" - the chaosite who entered slowly stretched out the words. The black tongue in his mouth made it seem as if the man didn't have one at all.

The girl trembled and pressed a piece of cloth to her heart, looking at the Lamenter with hope. As her savior. A hero. An angel. And, oh, Luka was going to enjoy this role to the fullest.

"And here's Virgil! Don't be afraid, he may look like a butcher, but he won't hurt you.” - the smiling man soothingly stroked Malina's legs. - "You know, fighting heretics is exhausting. But all enemies are afraid of him."

“Hah, that’s true. With my arrival, the Imperial Guard praises the God-Emperor, and His enemies commit suicide just to avoid falling into my hands.” - the man grinned evilly, closing the door behind him. Black gloves gently stroked one of the skulls. - “These ones were unlucky.”

Still, although Virgil did not try very hard to pretend to be a servant of the Corpse on the Throne, it was impossible to deny at least some attempts. And yet, Luka could not help but feel nervous, looking at the Red Corsairs’ insignia on his belt (the Flesh Tearers’ insignia was still on his shoulder pad).

The Lamenter was one of the few who had not completely changed his armor, adding only a couple of distinctive elements. That’s why Malina took him for a loyalist. But Virgil…

However, the still frightened girl relaxed a little.

"S-sorry, our world was only visited once by Space Marines to replenish supplies. The Lamenters. The other legions, um, were unknown to us. My planet is not the most important in agriculture. So your arrival was a real blessing." - the girl awkwardly glanced at the red-eyed man, preferring to look at her knees. - "Again, m-my apologies."

It is fate. It is definitely fate.

Even Virgil looked at Malina with interest. Despite the fact that it was he who came up with the idea of ​​playing the role of loyalists, it seems he thought that the girl would quickly figure them out. But it seems she was too naive. Or maybe they were just too good at pretending.

“It’s fine, we understand.” - the young man almost switched to a whisper, calming the captive. - “As I said, you just need to clean our armor from blood. Well, and clean the quarters. You will have everything you need. But you must not leave this room.”

“It’s too dangerous on the flagship.” - Virgil joined the lamenter. - “We constantly have to fight heretics and go to not the most rosy places. Someone like you can easily be trampled or sent to hard work, without paying attention to the one you serve.”

“You can even hear not the most pleasant sounds.” - the blond spoke. - “Screams and pleas for help. Sometimes it comes down to real carnage, hah. We have to interrogate our enemies. And, um, Sanguinius' gift has its... flaws. We have to, well. You see-"

"We drink human blood."

"Yes, that's right. We drink human blood. It's the Black Thirst. But it's that rage that makes us so good at fighting heretics." - The young man raised his hands in a calming gesture as he saw Malina's wide eyes. - "Don't worry, everyone gives their blood willingly."

What a blatant lie.

“Everyone must pay their duty to the Imperium. Each in their own way. But your fate is far better than others.” - Virgil chuckled darkly, stepping closer despite Luke’s displeasure. - “Isn’t that so?”

And of course, at that moment, a heartbreaking scream was heard in one of the corridors. Luka involuntarily cringed, holding back his growing rage. Why, why, was everyone trying to ruin his plans for Malina? He had tried so hard.

The hoarse screams of the unfortunate victim, unable to ask for help (let alone the pointlessness of doing so) eventually began to fade. The telltale sounds of broken bones and slimy slop told of the foolish mortal being caught and dragged across the floor back to the quarters for more fun.

Luka stared at the terrified Malina. The poor thing stared at the door before glancing at her two masters. The men looked at the captive expectantly, waiting for her reaction. Partly enjoying her beautiful, terrified look. Partly nervous. Would she scream? Beg them to let her go? Had she realized that she had fallen into the hands of the warriors who had destroyed her world?

No, no, not now, not Malina. He had come to terms with the deaths of other mortals. But she was special, he had saved her, she had almost believed their lies about the God-Emperor. Everything was going so well. He didn't want to kill her.

He already loved her so much.

"I get it. I-" the girl whispered, sobbing. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She pulled her knees up tighter, wrapping herself in the blanket like a cocoon. - "I'll be here."

Luka sighed with relief. Unable to contain his emotions, he nevertheless allowed himself to hug Malina. A massive gloved hand gently stroked the back of the quietly crying girl. Virgil stood nearby like a statue, watching this picture with interest. One thought arose in both of their heads.

Such a good girl.

[vasito-de-leche]

okay I read your analysis on Forget Me Not and I'm in tears now thank you. (No but really thank you, it's such a touching piece.) Can you PLEASE for salvation of our fans souls write anything to like,,, give him hope? Forget Me Not x reader but it doesn't have to be actually all-out with hugs and kisses. We may,,,,,,,, just show him a new hobby? Any hobby of your choosing or idk play an instrument together. Just to give him something else to focus on, to channel at least part of his energy from self-destructive activities to something less hurtful. I'd personally like to bandage his (not actually wounded but still) hands as if they were bleeding. Something of the kind. Sorry for mistakes writing is incredibly inconvenient cuz tears aaa.

;R1999 FORGET ME NOT - "hands, fingers, scales"

Forget Me Not x Reader. 2.3k words. self-harm implied You've befriended Forget Me Not the same one befriends a rabid, beaten, old dog. And while he's much too busy fighting his inner demons, you're more worried about stopping these "pernicious habits" of his. A casual afternoon trying to make sure he's taking care of himself turns into something deeper.

thank you so much for the ask, nonnie!!

I got a little carried away with this request because thinking about how fucking insufferable and confusing FMN has to be just to indulge in HAND HOLDING and GETTING A FUCKING HOBBY made me so deranged and feral as if hes not fucking TOUCHSTARVED lmfao. this guy's love language is straight up worshipping, mf is not subtle about it

either way, hope you like it! here's the lil preview!

Sometimes, Forget Me Not understands the reason men and women kneel at the pew to worship and pray.

Devotion is something arcanists and humans share, whether honest or not. He's witnessed the rich and the poor, the pure and the depraved, and every binary that rules this world - all of them begging, pleading and praying at the end of their lives, casting away the pride they've held on for so long for the chance of salvation. Once stripped down to their core, there is nothing to do but hope God has enough love in His heart to look their way. 

And sometimes, Forget Me Not prays that you’ll find someone else - anyone but him - to fill the role of devotee.

The gentleness in your eyes whenever you look at him is enough to bring him to his knees, and Forget Me Not doesn't know what to do with himself but to worship and pray. Praying that you'll continue to look at him for a little longer, silently begging for your attention until you finally tire of him. Do you think yourself holy enough to replace the vitriol in his veins?

He does.

On good days, he even hopes that you can save him.

You never asked him to become your one and only believer, of course. You're not even aware of the space you take in his mind, nor the conflicting images he keeps conjuring of you at night, he's certain of this. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, holding his hands and inspecting them for any injuries. This role is one of the many self-imposed tragedies in his life.

Your thumbs knead and massage his palm, as if you could soothe the pain away, and yet you refrain from pressing down hard. He's at your mercy, why hesitate? What do you see that he cannot?

Something is bothering you. It's obvious in the way you touch him, like you're afraid of hurting him, as if you were the one with a body count between the two. Every so often, your movements come to a halt and you both sit in silence, until you return to your ministrations, filling the nothingness with your sighing and humming.

All he needs is to look up, right at your face, to know everything he wants to know - but he's too much of a coward for that. Instead, light grey eyes follow your index finger as it slides under the cuffs of his shirt. You trace over the bone of his wrist and continue upwards.

He can't tear his eyes away.

Normally, Forget Me Not wouldn't mind. There is an addictive thrill to witnessing the shock of anyone who dares get so close and personal, but he feels himself shrink when you brush against his scales and recoil away on instinct. That's when he raises his head and finds your eyes in the dimly lit staff room.

That expression on your face - surely, you were regretting every choice that led you to him. By now, you might've surely realized that there is nothing for you to salvage in this shipwreck he calls a life. All attempts to check on him were surely a façade for whatever ulterior motives you continued to withhold from him. He's stubborn, believing that he can read you like an open book, but now he's just as lost as you are. When he opens his mouth to speak, you beat him to it and he grows a little restless at your words.

"Sorry, sorry! Did I, uh, hurt you? Dumb question, you would've definitely told me if that were the case. Anyway, it looks like you're okay! I don't know why I was so worried, actually."

His silence prompts you to continue, and all Forget Me Not can focus on is the absence of your warmth.

You raise a hand to gesture dismissively at your behaviour, brush it off to ease your embarrassment, that much he understands - though it's painful to watch you fumble like that, to deny what he hides under his clothes. Forget Me Not thinks of filling the space between your fingers with his own, just to drag you back to that quiet, albeit suffocating, moment of peace. Instead of doing that, he retreats and places both hands neatly on his lap.

"Thanks for indulging me and, yeah uh, again - sorry about that? It just caught me off guard. I should've been more careful."

But you were never careful with his space or his rules, plunging in and out of his life and leaving him to figure out where he stood in his game of push and pull. Why were you being careful now?

"It's nothing, I understand," he lies. Everything you do means the world to him and he doesn't even understand why. "It cannot hurt to know what sort of things the person pouring your drinks might be hiding under their sleeves."

The word "hypocrite" lingers at the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill out with as much venom as he can muster, but it stays lodged behind his teeth because he knows he's even worse: Forget Me Not prays that you'll stay with him, while also opening the door right out his life for you. As much as he wants to, he has no right of calling you out.

He's not used to receiving apologies and so he chooses not to think too hard on yours - though he's dreamed countless of times for the perfect situation in which he finally rips out one apology after another from the throats of those who wronged him, this one feels different. Undeserved, even.

His heart, that wretched lump in his chest, finally settles down and he prepares to end this interaction to save you the awkwardness of addressing his "deformities". But then you go and surprise him once more.

"Come on, I already told you..." You sigh and he inhales in tandem, but you're much too busy rolling your eyes to notice. "That whole thing you do, when you start scratching or, like, picking at your hand? You've been doing it more lately. It had me worried you might've been doing, I don't know - something."

Forget Me Not's eyes widen in surprise. The audacity to notice such things about him? And to put them on display without a warning? What else did you find out?

Part of him wants him to embrace his nature and scare you away, but that's the side of him that's been slowly losing this battle of attrition in his heart - you're a bad influence for him, after all. The other part... Well, it's still trying to sort itself out.

He settles for slowly undoing the buttons on his sleeve. It only takes a moment to roll up the fine fabric to his elbow, knowing you're staring right at him, through him maybe. The expression on his face is one of indifference, one he fights to maintain - this is the most vulnerable he's felt in decades.

That unsightly pattern begins exactly where his sleeves usually end, coiling around his forearm not unlike a snake and traveling upwards. The scales are dark, an iridescent black that reminds him of an oil spill in the middle of the ocean, and the ones at the edges fade away into lighter hues until they mix with the pale, sickly tone of his skin. He knows the sort of beauty he holds, one that can only be admired at a distance, turning into a grotesque imitation of a man when up close.

Forget Me Not presents himself to you and, with his free hand, gets ready to pluck one of the scales off.

"Wait, don't do that-!"

Seizing his arm and holding it close to your chest, you deprive him of the catharsis that comes with this level of self-mutilation. He knows you're connecting the dots, feeling the scattered, empty spaces from all the times you saw him pick himself apart and more. Your fingers brush against his bare skin looking for said spaces, counting them in your head, mourning their loss.

Some scales are in the process of regrowing like unwanted parasites, and he wishes he could feel anything at all just to be closer to you.

"God, what is wrong with you?! What was the point of that?"

Something compels him to laugh (perhaps it's your heartbeat reaching out to him loud and clear through your clothes, he feels it faintly) it comes across as sinister and condescending, the only way he knows how to express joy. Like he's making fun of your concern.

"Apologies," Forget Me Not begins to say, readjusting his glasses. The way you try to keep his own arm out of his reach doesn't go unnoticed. It's such a petty, childish gesture that makes his grin widen and your frown deepen. "I was under the impression you found this little oddity distasteful. There's no need to worry - they will return in a few days, they always do."

"Still, don't do that. It's not funny. It must...hurt a lot."

"Ah, but it doesn't. If else, I'd compare it to being pricked by a very small needle."

"You're just going to find something to nitpick and contradict everything I say, aren't you?" It's the least he can do to repay all the headaches you've given him, and for forgiving his transgressions too easily.

An intrusive thought makes itself known from the depths of his mind - would you forgive him just as readily if he were to kill someone in front of you? If he showed you just how destructive his arcane skills could be when given free reign? Where would you draw the line? And how much could he continue to push his luck before he lost you?

Before Forget Me Not realizes it, you've loosened your grip on his arm and returned to that previous moment of suffocating peace - the only difference is that you've gone from being deep in thought to troubled and miserable, one hair away from darting out the room and refusing to speak to him. At this, his pinky finger wraps around yours and neither of you mention it.

"Can't you... I don't know, do something else?"

"I could be doing my job, but alas, you're keeping me prisoner here." He says, like he's not delighted to be given your undivided attention. There are no complaints when you step on his foot with a huff, he deserved that one.

"I'm talking about the scales thing! You could wear gloves. If it happens when you get distracted then, I could hang around to make sure you stop in time." A pause, and then the sound of your voice becomes unsure and so very small. "Maybe if we covered them with bandages...? But that could be annoying. Band aids? No, no - too unprofessional. It would ruin the whole aesthetic you're going for."

You continue to trail off, coming up with many different ideas and solutions to a problem he caused. He doesn't understand why you'd even bother in the first place. For you to reciprocate the attention he gives you, to care about him? That's the hardest pill Forget Me Not has ever swallowed - it's something he twirls around with his tongue, as if deciding whether to poison himself with bliss or spit it out and continue latching on to his doubts and insecurities.

Outside, in front of everyone at The Walden, he's the one leading the crowd and talking for hours on end, commanding their attention and manipulating the flow of every conversation.

Behind closed doors, all he does is listen to every nonsensical thought, unnecessary opinion and strange anecdote you throw at him.

"...No, that won't work either." Absentmindedly, you fix and button his sleeve back into place.

You've grown used to his silence the same way you've adapted and grown used to his flaws.

"I mean, it worked on me - getting a little slap on the wrist whenever I started biting my nails, but..." Without even thinking, you rub circles with your thumb across his knuckles.

You might as well be the stupidest angel in heaven.

"Why don't you just get a hobby? That's good enough, right? It's been so long since I've heard you play piano, the one by the stage." And just like that, you're on your feet attempting to drag him outside for a demonstration. "You could teach me! That way, we get to do something fun and I get to keep an eye on you."

Forget Me Not knows he has nothing to offer to this world, but when his saint looks at him with such hope, he cannot refuse. The path to recovery seems almost doable when you bump your shoulder into his, challenging him to play the hardest song he knows.

The stars in your eyes whenever you recognize all the songs he plays becomes intoxicating, more so than the sweet, sweet revenge he's yearned for since he spiraled into decadence.

Some days, his patrons join with their own singing or humming, and he forgets that he hates each and every one of them for as long as his fingers dance across the keys - a momentary reprieve from the constant stream of negativity. It doesn't take long for his body to remember his training and soon, he's improvising.

A melody for gloomy, rainy days. A whimsical tune here and there for celebrations.

A song for you and himself - the first one he teaches you and the only one he plays in private, when he's all alone with nothing but his thoughts. Solitude has gone from a noose wrapped around his neck to the perfect time to compose and hone this long forgotten passion. For the first time in forever, he doesn't dread the silence of an empty room, the endless wait between his shifts at The Walden - not when he can simply fill them with more and more music.

And so, Forget Me Not plays, hoping that you'll continue to cheer him on. Hoping that this tiny spark you've ignited in him can truly become his salvation.

[abhorsenkatiel]

I've been making really over-thought TLT character playlists for about a year now as a background program to keep my brain entertained while I'm at work, and I realized that I have kind of a lot now, so I figured I'd share them here if anyone is interested.

Here's the ones I made for Harrow and Gideon. I'm really happy that I was able to get them to have the same number of songs, and also nearly the same run time! If you listen to them in order, they follow each character's emotional narrative.

Song lists below the cut

Harrow

Walk With Fire, Hunter As A Horse:

For when you're a suicidal ten-year-old committing the gravest sin and having complicated feelings about your life's purpose.

REPENT NOW CONFESS NOW, Lingua Ignota:

For when you're a mentally ill teenager leading the congregation of an apocalypse cult while stewing in your own hypocrisy and guilt.

Anti Body, Gazelle Twin:

For when it's your first time away from your home planet and the fate of you and your entire House depends on getting along with your childhood nemesis.

I Walk The Line, Those Poor Bastards:

For when your cavalier is hanging out with another necromancer and you feel weirdly jealous about it. (Fun Fact: There also ended up being a Johnny Cash reference in Gideon's playlist, which was completely unintentional)

True Love, Eivør:

For when the person you love most is with you for eternity, but not in the way you want. (Favorite line for maximum emotional damage: "House of pain, this body is too small a chamber")

Out of Focus, Ioanna Gika:

For when God denies you your only wish, so you decide to take matters into your own hands.

The Time Machine, Hunter As A Horse:

For when you construct an elaborate alternate reality to keep yourself from remembering your ex. (If someone had told me this was written about Harrow in HtN I would've believed them.)

When That Head Splits, Esben and the Witch:

For when you make your worstie give you a back alley lobotomy to save your cavalier's soul.

Oh You Are Not Well, Chloe Foy:

For when you come back wrong from traumatic brain surgery and all you can do is vomit, murder, and follow cryptic instructions from your past self.

MANY HANDS, Lingua Ignota:

For when you beg God for salvation and he tells you to learn how to make soup. (Favorite line for John and Harrow's relationship: "The Lord spat and held me by my neck. 'I wish things could be different', he wept")

God's Dark Heaven, Those Poor Bastards:

For when you're having a crisis of faith while you wait for a cosmic horror eldritch being to show up at God's vacation home.

SOHEAVYSOHOLLOW, Varien, Tori Letzler:

For when your only comfort is the hallucination (?) of your dead monster girlfriend.

I'm Not Done, Fever Ray:

For when you're dead, but it's not the end.

Gideon

Toll, So Below:

For when you're an abused orphan living in an apocalypse cult.

rise, Origa:

For when you're a teenager and you dream of escaping indentured servitude by achieving military glory.

Dark Room, Foreign Figures, Johnny T:

For when your childhood nemesis foils your 86th escape attempt and you get the depression.

Throne, Saint Mesa:

For when you're and epic, badass swordswoman, but your childhood nemesis makes you pretend to be her cavalier at a nerd convention.

Let You In, Marc Straight, Ellen Rose:

For when your childhood nemesis bares her soul to you and you don't know how to feel about it.

Bad Apple!!, RichaadEB, Cristina Vee:

For when you're trapped in a murder house going into a suicidal spiral.

Martyr, Roniit, Saint Mesa:

For when you decide to sacrifice yourself to save your necromancer whether she wants you to or not.

We Are Forever, Hunter As A Horse:

For when you're at peace with your sacrifice. (If someone had told me this was written about Gideon at the end of GtN I would have believed them.)

Lights Out, (DOLCH):

For when it doesn't work and now your still-conscious soul is trapped in her broken mind.

Song for Zula, Phosphorescent:

For when you give her everything you have and she doesn't even want it. (Here's the Johnny Cash reference for Gideon.)

Family Tree (Intro), Ethel Cain:

For when it turns out that your parents actually are super important and powerful, and also they suck.

Exorcise, Gazelle Twin:

For when you get halfway resurrected and it sucks.

Glory Amem, Those Poor Bastards:

For when you're Her Divine Highness, only child of God, and it sucks.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Setting sun and sin

Frollo x nun!reader

warning : obsession, manipulation, blood, murder (nothing graphical), Frollo being a creep, no use of Y/n

Summary : The evening is still young and pairs of eyes have each settled on different bodies. The punishment of heaven and hell falls on someone and the judge throws his claws at the innocent in person unaware that another judge has already condemned him.

info : The start of my little frollo series i hope you like it as much as i did. Every sunday a new chapter there will be five so it will take a while to finish but there will be smut that much i can say ;) Have fun reading and this time committing sin is allowed.

masterlist

Part.2 , Part.3, Part.4, Part.5

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

What is sin if not love? What is love if not sin? Is it not the same as with each new rising that when the sun illuminates this earth created by God, its inhabitants, the people, are also drawn to another day full of sin and drawn to sin by the devil, a monster from the deepest darkness from hell.

But even when the sun lay over the earth and illuminated everything, it shone on the holy buildings, on the churches, monasteries and cathedrals, the cross high above blessed all and the stained glass windows drew lights of hope and figures of salvation.

It was such a place where only the saints and those praying for salvation met. The old archdeacon was a kind man with a pure heart, with compassion for his charges and a man who helped all people no matter where they came from or what they believed in.

But just as there was good in every city, there was always darkness, darkness that remained hidden, darkness in the alleys, in the streets full of filth and poverty. In the streets of thieves and robbers streets in which human abysses lurked.

But this darkness existed even in the highest instance of the city of Paris hidden in a man a man a judge the name everyone knew. But was this really the only thing lurking in the city of Paris that had a second face?

Could there really only be two monsters in Paris? Questions of faith of her own mind, however, she was not affected by his beautiful sun like an infinite light his life his desire to continue at all in this city.

A city full of sinners and hypocrites he was the only authority, even if this went round and round in his head like a mantra. So he couldn't get away from her since she came here from her former clsoter apart from Paris as far as he had access to the papers.

What beauty strayed into my realm that day and you will never leave again came to his mind as he looked at the Notre Dame Cathedral from the window of his abode.

The place where his pain of the past and his light resided, her brightness, her beautiful concealment under the nun's robe, who, to his sorrow, happily faced Quasimodo whenever she saw him.

A fact that pointed him to every sin he knew, every mortal sin he hated and hated she never had…but she was different she was sin itself. A beautiful creature in a city that contained nothing but scum.

But he had to sacrifice himself for all the poor souls, of course, but that was something he was willing to do, ,,How precious of me,” he murmured, turning away with one last look at the church, back to his desk, the dark wood on which were papers of the city's records, the candles flickering as his figure sat down on the upholstered chair and his ringed fingers reached for the quill.

A bright white soft quill dipped in the dark ink before he continued to write the signatures and orders. A task he had been doing for decades and could probably have done it in his sleep, but no. Of course, any other man would have taken a bribe at this point, given up his power and sat back.

But what a disgraceful act this would be, ,,Giving up power is something only the stupid ones do” he spoke his thoughts and didn't have to look at the rings worth a fortune just the tip of his wealth but he would never succumb to a sin of utter excess and immoderation to show off this splendor. Sins were for weak men, for monsters for creatures of their instincts not for him.

The way the ink on the paper had found its way and soaked into the rags like a dagger thrust, a dagger thrust of corruption, a portrait of weakness. No, no, nothing like that would happen to him, he knew that. While the pen continued to run over the paper for some time, his writing did not lose its flourish and he took sporadic sips from his goblet of dark wine.

Time passed and the city was filled with the noisy people trading and shopping at the market, a mass of people going about their day doing almost the same thing every day.

He prayed for salvation whenever the church called for a service and then celebrated when festivities were due.

A cykle he no longer needed, not as an inciting and dispelling force, not when the city guard was under his hand, not when he had power and not when he would see it.

Letting the pen glide over the paper one last time, he signed the last signature and folded the papers, giving a slight sigh of annoyance before releasing the chalice and opening the drawer of his writing desk. A small compartment for more ink or another silver tip for the quill but he reached for the familiar object.

The faint click of the pearls could be heard as they clinked together, the mother-of-pearl changing color from a creamy white to a turquoise and light violet.

Pearls that had been hand-sewn pearled like dark pearls harmonized with the three ruby pearls in between before the Christian counterpart ended with a golden cross.

White pearls like her innocence, the rubies like her untainted blood and the gold for the ring she will wear he thought with a wry smile before hiding the rose in his robe and walking out of his chambers to the stable attached to it. ,,My lord, good evening,” the stable boy greeted his master and looked from the black horse Snowball to the older one who gave him an annoyed look and pointed to the saddle with a wave of his hand.

,,I'll be back at night for a private meeting of the church. I want the food ready when I get back,” he said, ignoring the catty, submissive manner as he saw exactly how the smaller one was worrying in his head about what the best food was.

But so far he had always had something good made, maybe that was the reason why he hadn't ended up in the dungeon like his last one. But what did he care now, after a moment of wrestling and tightening the straps, he handed him the reins and Frollo swung himself onto his faithful companion.

He ignored the congratulations of his stable boy and moved to the reins before Snowball trotted off in the direction of the church. The clatter of horseshoes on the stone could be heard as the people who were out that early evening dodged him and bowed, but he paid them no heed.

His gaze was on the cathedral, seeing the cross illuminated by the setting sun, he knew she was here, knew she was always in the church at this time…he had watched her too many times for that. His horse rode through the streets and squares and it only took a few minutes before he brought Snowball to a halt with another tug on the reins.

Patting the animal lightly, he dismounted to make his way up the sacred stairs he had climbed all his life and yet ever since he had seen her, there was something truly divine about her. She was something divine. The slight squeak of the big old wooden doors let others know that another believer had entered.

His dark eyes immediately went to one of the statues, an altar to Mother Mary, where she always knelt and prayed for the poor, for the children, for the nuns and monks on their missionary journey. Moving quietly towards her, he waited at one of the pillars but his gaze did not even leave her form.

Despite her nonen habit she looked beautiful, on the contrary the fabric on her body the face which was framed by the white and black fabric the long skirt which nevertheless could not completely hide her pretty form. Her ankles not covered by stockings when she bent to pick something up he had seen her he had made an image of her.

Of a biblical beauty, of the soft, lovely eyes, the fine hands that must have been as soft as her whole body, the lips that curled into a smile whenever she played with the orphans and read stories.

Her voice was not too loud, not too soft, appropriate to her situation, yet knowing her place in society. A voice that drew him in so softly that sometimes he wanted to hear it break.

Her form under her clothes simply perfection like an angel an angel on earth and without wings it seemed as if Lucifer had already taken her wings and brought her here but he knew once she heard him she would bear his name and the gold on her finger would illuminate her in her holiness.

But he couldn't let his mind wander any further than that as she turned to him after she had finished her prayer and had an expression that was at first surprised and then neutral.

,,Good afternoon, Judge Frollo,“ she greeted him and made a slight curtsy which made him smile slightly and he made a bowing gesture, ,,Likewise to you I hope I have not disturbed your prayer?” he asked and looked briefly between himself and the saintly figure knowing that she could only pray partially knew that whenever her head looked down a little further she was lost in the prayers without the rosary. But why was she so nervous? She lacked the stability he could give her.

He saw exactly how she was overcome, her gaze fell for a moment on her hands, he saw that she had probably tried to use them to help her, but she didn't have fifty-nine beads and she just needed something to lead her back to God. ,,No-no you do not have that please don't be worried” she said and shook her head slightly the small wooden cross that lay on her chest moved slightly a cross she would take off when she had hers.

,,Is something bothering you my love?” he asked after her gaze avoided his again and she seemed to ask something, not quite trusting herself as if she didn't know if their “relationship” was ready. He came a step closer, suppressing his desire to lay a hand on her and reassure her that it was all right, but then his pretty holiness found her voice again.

,,My rosary it seems I have lost it…it helps me to pray better have you seen it?” she dared to ask and pointed lightly at her cross as if to confirm that she did not have it but he knew for a week that she did not have it not after he had it stolen. The wooden furs in his bedside cabinet were locked away just for himself.

He gave her a pitying look before raising his hand as if he had just thought of something, ,,Wait I have mine with me as a judge you always have to be prepared for anything” he said and smiled slightly because there was truth behind it you really had to be prepared for anything and always be one step ahead of a pretty naive little sheep as a wolf.

He pulled the rosary out of his robe and she heard surprised noises when she saw the more than normal rosary, such a thing was expensive and costly, something she could never afford.

She hastily stepped back a step and raised her hands slightly, ,,No, Judge Frollo, this is yours, I can't accept such a valuable thing, please, really,” she tried to convince him, but he had long since made up his mind.

This time he shook his head slightly, took her hand gently in his, felt that her skin was truly soft and placed the rosary in her hand, holding it for a moment before he closed his fingers around it.

,,I insist as judge and bearer that you can do the will of god properly“ he replied and saw her look at the rosary for a moment and then to him a look of infinite gratitude had settled on her eyes and a smile revealed itself to him ,,Have many thanks Frollo many thanks you are a truly holy savior” she said and he saw her wrap the pretty beads one by one around her hand as she held it.

He looked at her for a moment before heading back towards the main door and she followed him, knowing she had to go home.

Of course he knew. ,,How can I repay you?” she asked when they arrived at the door and his hands had opened it, the cool evening air coming slightly towards them and her skirt moving slightly, ,,A meal I would like to invite you for a meal to discuss the situation of the orphans”.

A sentence that made them even more confused but on the one hand happy that ma was taking care of the poor children and on the other hand almost intimidated by a meal. ,,Please, I insist,” he begged, this time placing a hand on her shoulder for a brief moment, feeling the warm body under the soft fabric.

A body that would belong to him. But she gave in, of course she did, she had too much respect for such a powerful man in her presence. The voice of her farewell, a soft sound wafting in the early evening, left him in her shadow.

He knew he could have accompanied her to her small apartment, knew he could have forced his way inside her walls, but why would the wolf strike so quickly when stalking and hunting was so much better?

His eyes didn't leave her form until she had passed into the streets, the sun seemed to have disappeared behind the cross, the gold in the air vanished and it would grow cold a chill that was in his heart except for her That fool better have prepared dinner he thought as he turned back to his horse and was about to mount Snowball when he snorted and jerked his head up. Fear. His animal was afraid, but of what?

Looking around not knowing if it was those tricky witches and wizards, those nefarious insects on the streets in their caravans. ,,Show yourselves in the name of the law of France!” he commanded, his voice echoing through the streets and it seemed as if the dark alleys were suddenly getting longer, darker and colder with every step he took away from his snowball back to the church.

His hand on the side of his robe feeling the dagger, knowing he was getting away with everything. ,,Show yourselves now!” he shouted it wasn't fear he felt it was uncertainty that someone didn't accept him. That his position was being questioned.

But then right there he saw a shadow from the dark not even a blink later he felt the hard stone of the stairs under his feet he stepped off or had he been pushed? Was it a shadow or had he seen those hideous hellish eyes, was it God's answer to his plan?

Or was it something else, what had that something been that had struck him with a dagger that almost broke his bones. His scream trying to escape his throat as he felt an unspeakable pain in his throat, a voice like a whisper entering his body, claws pinning him to the ground. He heard the neighing of Snowbald who did not know what was happening, who had the evil feeling.

But the judge of this something that could not be human finally let go of him in his state of seeing this creature. ,,The devil” his dry lips uttered as his hand pressed down on his neck to stop the bleeding after the underworld creature had bitten him, the words of the bible as close as he had ever gotten.

But those red eyes, the jet-black hair that blew in the non-existent wind, the white skin that kept heaving under the shadow that surrounded him, and those rice fangs sharp and deadly that were still bloody. ,,You will not get rid of them, my judge…such a monster within the church you are now…and your faith has called me Judge Claude Frollo” he heard the devil speak and as it stretched out a shadowy arm before the sound of beeping and fluttering could be heard.

Hundreds of bats swooped down on him and the swarm took his revenant master but the look of those red undead eyes he would not forget and with the bite…everyone knew the stories.

Not those of the devil but those of the revenant who rose from his graves to infest the living. His dark eyes with a slight sly daze searched the ground for the dagger and he lunged for it when he finally saw it.

His heart pounded like a drum as he pulled his collar down slightly and a sound of disbelief escaped him when he saw the bloody bite with the two dots.

But his lips did not curl into a grimace of fear, of fear that the devil had met him-no, not at all. The figure of the judge rose, staggering, the dagger firmly in his hand and a smile on his lips as he realized what God had rewarded him with, what the devil had blessed him with.

It was the judge's laughter that echoed through the dark alleys as he still laughed about it and couldn't contain himself as he realized what he was, as he realized that it would be so much easier now, that his stable boy was waiting for him and his heart made a sound that made Frollo grip the dagger tighter.

A melody that became a scream as the judge's own fangs dug into the younger man's body and he feasted on the new food…just as he would soon feast on her.

,,Thank God for casting me out and pray to the devil to lead you to me for your heart and his will be mine my love” he finished his last supper and threw the body into the haystack with a force he had not felt for many decades before the judge's laughter was reduced to a grin of madness and the door of the mighty man slid shut…but the night was far from over for Judge Claude Frollo and especially for his pretty nun, a world of darkness had only just begun.

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

@magmabayvi , @missmannequin , @siwucha

@aliensthegreat , @oceansrose2002 , @fantadym

[queen-of-deans-booty]

About A Boy: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Dean gets turned back into a teenager and realizes one thing: his Mark is gone. Is this his salvation or his downfall?

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

"Yeah, we have that stuff in the trunk," Sam clears his throat. "So, we'll get you changed back and light Sabrina's ass up."

"About that," Dean chuckles. "It turns out, this whole freak show has an upside." Dean pulls his shirt sleeve up to reveal his arm doesn't have the Mark. "The Mark is gone."

"How?"

"This witch slammed me back into the body I had when I was fourteen. I didn't have the Mark back then. If we reverse this spell, it's gonna come back. What if we don't?"

"Wait a second. Are you saying you want to stay like this?" you ask.

"No, but if it's between a psycho rage monster/borderline demon or a teenager, well..."

"Really?"

"Look, I'm not a fan, either but this is a problem solved. I'm still me. I can still hunt. I'm just, you know, dewier."

"You kind of have a point, but--"

"There are no buts, Sam," Dean cuts his brother off. "Good news is I have a virgin liver. So, what do you say when we're done doing our hero thing, we take her for a spin?"

"Yeah, sure. I mean, you can drink again in like seven years?"

"That's not funny," Dean says seriously.

"That's kind of funny."

"That's not funny."

"It's kind of funny," you smirk.

Silence fills the Impala and something comes over Sam and Dean. Both brothers are thinking the exact same thing. If Dean never changes back, what's going to happen when they shove a fourteen-year-old soul back into your body? Did Dean's soul revert back to that age, too? If so, did yours? Does this mean your soul is purely white now?

Sam arrives at the house Dean was kept in and immediately follows his brother to the small window he escaped from. This window is too small for either you or Sam to fit through so you'll have to find another entrance into the basement. There is a light on inside the house indicating someone is home.

"Looks like someone's home."

"We gotta get Tina out first. The window is still open."

"There is no way I'll fit through that," Sam says.

"First time you ever had to say that, huh?" Dean smirks.

"Big talk coming from the dude wearing underoos."

"Okay, good one," Dean nods. "Go find another entrance."

"Come on," Sam says to you.

Sam finds the back door and easily slips in. Tina and the witch might be upstairs but Dean is downstairs in the basement. When you get there, some big man has Dean in a chokehold. Sam hits the man in the back of the neck causing him to let go of Dean. The man falls to the ground and Dean joins your side.

"Don't!" Sam yells when he is about to get up. "Where's the girl?"

"Upstairs. Alive."

"What did you do to us?" Dean asks.

"Nothing. I'm not a witch. I just work for one."

"Shitty gig," you scoff. "Where is she?"

"Upstairs. Her name is Katja and she's the worst person in the world."

"I don't know. I work with this one," Dean gestures to you.

"Yeah, truth be told, I'm as evil as it gets," you smile.

"I've been with her for centuries. The things I've seen her do. She made my sister and I hurt and kill people. When we tried to escape, she caught us and tortured me, then she made me eat poor Gretel's heart."

"Gretel? Witch? Are you saying you're Hansel? Gretel and Hansel? Like the fable? Like Brothers Grimm?"

"It wasn't a fable." Hansel gets up and dusts off his pants. "It was based on a true story. They just gave it a happy ending."

"Oh, okay. We get to barbecue a celebrity. Cool," Dean shrugs.

"You can't kill her. You're just men and a woman."

"We're more than that." Sam takes out the Molotov cocktail that will be used to kill the witch. "We're hunters."

"Then let me help."

"What's in it for you?"

"Because if you're going to fry that candy-coated bitch, I want in."

"Tell me how to turn him back," Sam says and keeps the gun trained on him.

"Sam, it can wait," Dean sighs.

"Tell me how!!"

"The hex bag that I'm wearing will reverse the spell. Squeeze it and you'll return to your proper age." Sam lowers his gun. "Look, we waste the witch, I give you the cure. Deal?"

Once both brothers agree to the terms, Hansel takes all three of you upstairs. Katja is cooking in the kitchen and Tina is tied to a chair with a gag over her mouth. Katja chops onions up and places them into the large pot that's on the stove.

"Your friend JP didn't have much meat on his bones," she chuckles, "but a good cook works with the ingredients she's given." She tastes the soup and grins happily. "Mmm. Wunderbar!" The witch is originally from Germany so she'll put a few words in German from time to time. Tina cries quietly and Katja sees this. "Oh, don't worry, liebchen. You're too good for soup. I'm thinking of a nice, sweet chili glaze with a few hours of roasting in the oven. Ooh! An apple in your mouth to top it off."

Hansel steps into the kitchen alerting the witch.

"Hansel." You three appear behind him. You have a knife in your hand, Sam has a gun, and Dean has the Molotov cocktail in his. "Well, our lost lamb. I thought we'd have to go looking for you. Maybe even abandon our home sweet home here. I never dreamt you'd be stupid enough to come back on your own. Hansel, take care of them."

Hansel doesn't respond and walks to the right side of you, between you and Tina.

"Yeah, he's not exactly your biggest fan. Maybe you shouldn't have made him chow down on his sister."

Katja smirks and looks at Hansel.

"I never made Hansel do anything."

Suddenly, the knife is knocked out of your hand and Hansel pushes you into the wall behind you. He kicks Sam and grabs his gun, disarming him. Hansel quickly grabs you and places you in front of him, putting the gun to your head. Dean curses and tries to light the Molotov Cocktail but Katja uses her magic and sends it flying against the wall. The bottle breaks which means the spell is useless against her.

"Now, who's hungry?" she grins evilly.

Sam tries to move but Hansel shoves the gun further into your head.

"Don't move or I will kill her."

You're not scared, obviously, but you do value your life. If you were to make a move, he'd kill you. You'd like to live to see another day so you don't move an inch. Katja walks up to Dean and feels his arm.

"Ooh, scrawny. We'll have to fatten you up."

"Don't fucking touch me," Dean glares and yanks his arm away.

"I'm gonna do more than that." She walks back to the kitchen island. "Children. They're so sweet and delicious. You'll see." She looks at Hansel and nods once. "When I cook him up, I'll give you some, hmm?"

"If you like kids so much, why not go after kids? What's with this whole fountain of youth?" Sam asks.

"In the olden days, if a child went missing, it didn't matter. The young died all the time. Now, with all your AMBER Alerts and your milk cartons, a person fillets one rugrat and people get so angry. So, I improvise. I take adults no one will miss and give them back their youth. It's the only way I can eat in peace."

Sam slowly reaches into his back pocket where his knife is. Dean sees this and decides to stall the witch and keep the focus on him.

"Is it worth it? I mean, the word on the street is people kind of taste like chicken."

"A bit. European children are more free-range and gamier. Americans, though, are Heaven... fattier. The meat is so finely marbled that it's almost buttery. I just can't get enough."

"Awesome," Dean rolls his eyes.

"No! I am in awe. This is my first visit to your country, and I have to say, God Bless the U.S.A!"

"Oh, so, you're a tourist?"

"No. It's business, not pleasure. An old friend is causing trouble and the Grand Coven asked me to take of her. Poor, stupid Rowena."

"Rowena?" you bark out a laugh. "That bitch? Does she have red hair and have a thing for ritzy hotels?"

Katja drops the vegetable she is holding in shock.

"How do you know that?"

Sam finally gets his knife out without anyone noticing but you and Dean. He immediately lunges for Katja with the knife while Dean tackles Hansel to the ground. You jumped out of the way just at the right time so you didn't go down with them. You back up and stand next to Tina to watch this unfold.

Katja goes to stab Sam with her knife but he knocks it out of her hand. She uses her magic and flings him into the bookcase by the door, and he crumbles to the ground along with everything else on it. Hansel elbows Dean off him and grabs him by the collar to repeatedly slam him into the ground. Tina looks at you to see if you're going to do anything but you wave her off.

"He's fine," you shrug.

Katja opens the fiery oven, and Hansel shoves Dean three times against the fridge. Dean slides to the ground and looks at Sam who is too weak to get up. He looks at you and sees no regard for his safety in your eyes.

"Now you'll burn!" Katja yells. "Turn them!"

Hansel turns to you and Sam with an evil grin on his face. He grabs his neck where the hex bag should have been but realizes it's gone. He turns to Dean and goes white when he sees Dean has the hex bag. Dean clutches the bag and squeezes it, giving off a pure white light that is too bright to look at. Dean, now in his normal adult body, grabs the knife Katja dropped on the ground and shoves it deep into Hansel's chest.

He stomps over to Katja and shoves the hex bag into her mouth so she can't use any spells against him. She struggles against him but he shoves her into the open fiery oven and closes the door. She screams and begs to be let out but Dean closes the little door that lets the smoke out.

Dean didn't use the Blade to kill someone but he did take two lives. Your Mark is tingling in the most delicious way.

With the witch and Hansel dead, Tina is let go and forced to face the gravity of the situation. The brothers bring her outside the house to talk while you're off to the side picking the bark of a tree.

"That was crazy. Like psycho crazy. You three do this all the time?"

"All the fucking time."

"Not all the time," Sam mutters.

"Can you turn me back?"

"The hex bag went up in flames. I'm so sorry, Tina." She looks disappointed but not as much as she should. "We may be able to reverse engineer the spell, though."

She looks at her reflection in the window and decides to come to terms with who she is now.

"Maybe you don't. I have three ex-husbands, fifty grand in debt, and not much else. I was kind of a shitty adult. Maybe I'll do better this time around. Get out of town and get a fresh start. This is my second chance. Everybody wants a second chance, right?"

Dean looks over at you but you're not paying attention to them. Do you deserve a second chance? When she shoves this soul back into you, you'll remember every horrible thing you've said and done. Does he really want to do that to you? He'll have to make a deal with Death and put a wall in your head to make you forget.

That will be your second chance.

"Are you sure you're going to be alright?" Dean asks.

"Like I told you, I always am."

"Can we at least give you a ride somewhere?"

"To a bus station would be nice."

You and Tina head for the car and Dean sticks his hand out toward Sam.

"Give me the keys."

Sam and Dean take Tina to the nearest bus station while you stay in the car. Both of them give her all the cash they have so she can use it to get herself out of town. She thanks them and heads into the station, and the brothers return to the car.

"So, Grand Coven. Any ideas?" Dean asks.

"It doesn't sound good."

"It sounds like an 80's hair metal band. You know, a lot of hair spray, a lot of eye shadow, and a lot of keytar." Sam stares blankly at Dean. "No? Nothing? Come on, man. I'm painting a word picture here."

"Is it back?"

Dean sighs and lifts his sleeve to show that the Mark is indeed back on his arm.

"Look, I know what you're going to say, okay? But you were in deep."

"I know. You saved me, Tina, and Y/N. You pulled a Dean Winchester. Thank you."

"Anytime," Dean smiles.

"Do I wish the mark was gone? Yes, of course, on both of you," You roll your eyes, "but I wanted you back more. Here you are and you didn't Hulk out. I'll take the win. As for the rest of it—the mark, everything else--we'll figure it out. We always do."

"Damn right. Let's get out here." Dean starts the car and he smiles when she purrs. "I'm back, baby."

Dean turns on the radio and Taylor Swift's Shake It Off plays over the radio. Sam looks to Dean expecting him to switch the song but he keeps it playing. Sam continues to stare at Dean but the older brother shrugs and leaves it on. He peels out of the parking lot with it still playing.

"I don't know about you two but we need to figure out where the hell my soul went. I want my magic back."

"That's something considering you're out for blood."

"What can I say? I want to switch it up this time."

If you can get them to believe you want your soul back, then you can trick them into giving you the remote for the device on your neck. Your time is up on this ride, and you finally want off it.

x

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[ophelian-darling]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧.

Yandere Dabi x female reader.

Summary: Hell is the other people, yet that doesn't mean to not have a devil to love in the abyss.

TW: Violent thoughts, Possessiveness, Dub-con, Drug & alcohol consumption, Obsession, Onanism.

This is a NSFW piece, Minors DNI.

enjoy ♡

As if the flames of Inferno hadn't devoured enough of him: his flesh went adust and he metamorphosed into an ugly, grotesque replica of a corpse. It was a lord's grace that he managed to survive -that's what would anyone say to him- Yet what was there to rejoice with still?! The reflection of the stained glass on the wall painted a poor excuse of a human- a failed hope of a legend and the dead blues of eyes that used to be chaste. His skin and scars were attached together in a cruel show of monstrosity, a thin line separated the decaying flesh from the unhealable wounds, and nothing in the world can wash away the hatred and rage boiling inside like the devil's pit. Ever since he swore on destroying the world, every hue of an emotion and any glimpse of a feeling had been sewn shut and imprisoned, filling  the Lilies with thorns and drops of blood to shield what was remaining. 

Dabi couldn't bring himself to offer more oblations- The Idol of heroism and honor, that he used to put on a pedestal and bow down ardently for, is now nothing but a scarecrow: a deceiving figure and a cover for the truly vile intentions; the real salvation  of the world was to set it on fire and enliven it to God's innocent Eden, where no snakes or poisoned fruit will crawl inside. The 'league of villains' were the angels of death and the new Azraels of the fallen world, accompanied together to rescue the unfortunate from corruption; there were no dreams or love to live for, as his goal was the new sacred numen.

His so-called colleagues are puppets, just like he is, moved with different threads and for different roles. He couldn't bring himself to develop anything for them, whether it's fellowship, friendship or fraternity. All of them appeared to get along well: a bond was knitting itself more and more everyday as Shigaraki led them to achieve a seemingly similar paradise, gladly taking their places in a chess war and armoured as pawns, and you were no exception. 

Your features conveyed no sensation, as what a devoted villain should show themself. Unlike Toga or Twice, you were silent as a lamb to the slaughter and serene as a deep sea, not disturbed or strangled, like you gave your soul on a silver platter with a peaceful heart. Others sought solace from the dregs of what had the air of a warm feeling provided by you- love and acceptance, just as they were a little loving family, where you alongside Magne, were regarded as the older sisters, and looked as the weak fraction of a home. 

Poison in honey. Clouds of doubt and distrust bedimmed his mind whenever he conjured up your lineaments: the resting lines across your face and the reverent glamor in the color of your eyes- none of what you showed was to be perceived as evil. all of the fallen from grace around him had a revolutionary flame in their gaze, au contraire of your placidly hollowed stare, promising to cast a long illusion of Kafkaesque awes.

To Shigaraki's pleasure, you were his favorite- or more correctly the most tolerable member of the league. a perfect model of obedience you were: you spoke so little and worked so hard, polished the numen of new heroism with blood and gifted it so many sacrifices -sacrifices that were out of pure love, souls and pieces of the useless- With no fear or selfish intentions. Toga mooned over your figure and clinged to your hip. The little blonde was a childish loon and He couldn't endure her most of the time, while you (In addition to managing to remain a decent human being) hit it off and contained her tantrums just as you did with Twice -That psychotic freak-. He hated everyone equally: His family, His comrades and leader, and he wanted to despise you as well; the wall of an unknown sentiment hitting back what his mind wanted him to comprehend. 

You're giving him a sort of hate that he didn't accept nor understand. Why would he feel irritated instead of apathetic at your surface attitude towards him?! Surely he is in no need of baring someone else's hopes -he'd rather carry his own despair alone-  yet he won't swallow down the thought of you thinking of him as a failure, a maggot that devours rotten carcasses or merely a lost cause, he is indeed a lost cause but never an empty noise in the background of your head, or someone that you can ignore so easily. As he watches you patch up Jin, smile sweetly at Atsuhiro's tantalizings, play cards with Shuichi or chat with Himiko about everything and nothing. The virulent wave of an emotion keeps washing at him; playing a series of cruel thoughts and imaginations that were rather sadistic: bashing your head against a wall till the threads of crimson sewed your calm face, burning your flawless skin until it discolored to a vile, pussed red; all to hear your screams and enjoy the melody of your vocal cords as you cried in agony for him to stop. The scenarios of torturing you blessed his nights with vivid dreams: Unlike what his consciousness wanted to see, his psyche animated you and him in cherry blossom reveries, the lost innocence drowning everything in a blissful haze. He remembered the feeling of your touch and the note of your true voice: soft as silk and meek as milk, the sweet fruit of heaven, not poisoned by satan. He recalls more than a time how his nightdreams were a small warm flash of affection at first, then ignited into a fevered kiss before escalating to a carnal feast. The euphoria of uniting with you was unforgettable: kissing and nipping at each inch of you, from your lips and face down to your neck, a lovely odor fragrancing your shoulders, the mellow flesh of your breasts, gently squishing in his palms and the raw pomes of your nipples and their flavor- how he imagined the graze of his teeth and nails on the pure fabric of your skin, the path of his tongue down to your dripping cunt- your nectarous cunt, generously pouring your essence on his tongue as he lapped your flower, savoring every little drop of fluid in every little spot of each petal while your croons and moans composed a midnight chant. Flames blazed in his loins while your core was drenched; him immediately dousing the heat when he entered you roughly. The scenery was utterly perfect: your cries of pleasure and whines at his dandlings and teasing, the purple blooms across your neck and cleavage, and the full mewl of vigor escaping your throat as you finished, his cock spasming so deep inside; cervix opened up and swallowing his seed. The sweet haze filled everything to a bright sweven, bright as the fullest moon in the darkest night, consumed by the clouds and veiled into the dim. He wakes up- hard and frustrated as he palms himself, cussing at the many shapes of your form within his memory. He needed to feel you, now and next to him. 

Dabi would never unfold his fantasies to you. the idea of revealing such a hidden side of him to anyone (let alone you, the person in concern for his nocturnal musings) was embarrassing; the pride and dignity -even as a morally shattered rogue- he built over the years refused to lower over someone and disclose such a vulnerable part of a parlous evildoer. It's his lucky day- the annoying brat of a leader finally made a good decision of teaming you up together. Shigaraki thinks that you're capable of cooling Dabi's heat while he would warm up your apathy, just as fire and ice would balance each other. And of course, he didn't give a single fuck about the mission's success or the plan as much as he did about getting to start something with you, something that'll hopefully develop into what he had in mind. Soon enough, the dreams of your body on him will come to be a reality. 

Good. you aren't scared away or seem to be disgusted at him. you were pretty docile: he didn't have to call you a name or throw a threat at you to pay attention to him. Dabi colors his attempts to coax you with a hue of bitter judgment and cynicism, hoping to elicit a real reaction from the depths of your mind, not that mild bright look of your eyes, sending him a scattered letters and an unknown message: a feeling of opacity, odd serenity that increased his desire to maim you beyond all of the evils a human can imagine. 

His fantasies became even rougher and more detailed. The brightness of blood and sunlight on your face were equally exciting, and his desire to own you for his jollity increased with each time his hand tried to replace the smoothness of your walls, desperately delineating the scene from a third eye: him burying himself in the heat of your core, clutching your arms in a fist, spitting curses and degradations at your cutely fucked face. The idea of you being a cheap whore and a costly mistress at the same time sparked a fire in his mind; corrupting whatever purity you still had and breaking your sanity- wiping that stupid calm face off and putting a bloodied and scared one in a show for him. The visions were so pleasant that his hands wanted nothing but to beat you broken and burn you dead; drag you to his pit of misery. 

Dabi now shows you a fraction of what he can offer of 'Kindness'. Every Time you happen to converse with him, he aims to provoke you by obscene flirtation or direct teasing, which you respond to with a quick comeback or an eyeroll. The more he pushes your buttons, the more your true nature comes to light for him: you're a cruel, doe-eyed disaster, everything ugly and pretty at the same time; he absolutely loves that.

Anger doesn't rise when you throw your words at him: your insults weren't even insults, whether you laced them with poison or honed their edges sharp, they didn't wound as much as they tickled: everything that came out of that pretty little mouth of yours was sweet, too sweet that made him eager to cut your tongue off and watch blood cascade. He wanted to get a devil out of you, as to take it to a hell of his own, where you would both revel in cutting each other to ribbons. 

The inflicted pain loses its ache with time, and melts into a crippling throe, and grows to a deep blue melancholy. it feels to him -and you as well- that you took comfort in hurting him and him hurting you, like breaking a bone to forget a sharp twist of the heart. indulging in banes was a temporary relief as well: cigarettes and Alcohol, pills and remedies weren't enough to release a lingering burden of shame and acrimony. It happened in a moonless night- a bottle of wine dangling lazily from your fingers, your head on his shoulder and your tongue unlacing its knot, through a blur of tears, all of what had been coffined under your skin teared through and emerged into existence: you were just like him- a torn hope for a legend, a replaceable weapon and a losing card. Just when you believed the serpent's lie of power and grace, your superiors took you out of what used to be your home, your heaven and haven; everything was ripped out from your hands overnight, and tears were no longer an antidote. and he listens- he listens to every word you say, dread filling his cogitation as the familiar scenes are played.

"Was I really a failure all along?" He watched you swallow your words with a full gulp, the red in the bottle swinging within it in your shaking grip. Your eyes were distant as always, but in an exciting way- you seemed hopeless, utterly woebegone, the gleam of your eyes absent to where an unknown corner of your head laid.

"The more I think of it, the more my hatred for them grows… but I can't deny that I used to love them… and I still love them!" 

Sobs lost between gulps; the drink wasn't able to pacify your sorrows. He just simply stares at the mess of you, intrigued by both of your tears and subtle determination of revenge. His imagination creates a scene where your form stood, gazing up to a charred horizon, your head turning around, a numb smile crossing its curved line on your face, while your eyes carried a certain violent gentleness. As he watches you wipe the traces of sorrow on your face, Dabi comes to the realization of who you verily were: an embodiment of the darkest depravity in the garments of the purest piety, that you were the serpent and not the sinner. If this life was hell; then you ought to be the devil itself; a reincarnation of Jezebel's deceit, Circe's eyes and Delilah's lulling.

Your fingers twitched and moved, skimming his scarred hand, spiderlike at first, wanting a silent agreement from him to continue, then bold, obscene as you took his silence as an acceptance.

Now he notices how well manicured are your nails and how neat are your digits, coy when they took both of his palms, to downright prurient when you slipped his hands under your shirt to meet your bosom.

"I've seen the way you look at me" you purred, stars of a far nirvana lustering in your eyes, not like you were just weeping. 

You squeezed his hands, encouraging him to fondle on the soft flesh on your chest, which he did, immediate and eager as he was whenever he recalled that dream.

"You seemed like you wanted to hurt me terribly… and just to let you know, being hurt by you isn't a very awful thought… it's…" you giggled like a vamp "Sexy…" 

He felt like an overflowed dam. just as you let the final words, he planted a forceful kiss to your lips, relishing the taste of ale on your tongue. you moaned into his mouth, arms on his shoulders welcoming him for sin.

The bottle rolled to an unknown corner of the room, its content missing than a few drops. All it took to loosen your composure was a hundredth night of drinking and a tipsy talk. To him, none of the Alcohol was as much of an intoxication as the feeling of you, far more rapturous and surreal than the vistas of violence and vigor he visualized in the dead of the night. Time lost its sense in a complete haze, nothing but the grunts and murmurs caroling the cold air of the small room.

When the first threads of daybreak slipped through the cracks, it all befell you in a sharp remembrance. you recognized the scars on the body beside you, softly snoring and twisting its muscles as it woke up. 

"Round two, Ay, love?" 

You were obviously regretful of what'd taken place nights ago, as you wore your annoyance on your face. He had his way with you during a moment of weakness, claimed himself as a 'boyfriend' and crawled under your skin. In all honesty, you'd found him attractive when you first set your sight on him, the dead blues he gloomed the world with spoke a threat of violence and vengeance, sparking your own fantasies to deprave and go astray with insanity. You thought about breaking him slowly with seduction and faux timidity; succeeding when he allowed his demons to entice him into touching you, but failing when he sought love from you of all people. 

He's not ashamed of letting his emotional deprivation surface. He's a nuisance- constantly clinging to your hip, demanding all sorts of affection regardless of the time. There's a mission? He accompanies you, disobeying the leader's instructions with all satisfaction. You're going somewhere? He tags along, not caring about your protests and complaints of his existence. a hue of joy on his face blinks when you're alone together: He speaks more, attempts to flirt in his words and asks for physical assurance more than he gives (not like you wanted anything from him except sex). His tolerance decreases when it comes to your connections with the rest of the league members; he's now ruder to them and sometimes violent- warning them audibly to stop interacting with you, and you couldn't oppose yourself, feeling gleeful deep down at your capacity to get this side out of him. You were fully aware he had issues, sorts of injuries that didn't stop at his face and limbs, but that wasn't a concern of yours. 

In the silence of everything at the end of day, his head on your chest, Dabi spills out every single letter of what he thinks of you. 

"You're a bitch, and I love that about you… another disaster in my life, but a pretty one…" He rotates his head to look at you, a smug line curving up his lips "Wanna show me how much of a slutty wide-eyed brat you are?" 

You give a sweet smile in return, starting a long night of pain that didn't hurt more than it pleased. The silence of the dark would stretch until the light is poured in heavens, when every aching memory, tear and sob is forgotten and deemed to return in next kisses and bites. The journey of your lives continues to a shared horizon: you both swore on destroying the world together, ruin the scarecrow of falsity and sacralize what was truly sacred: you and him only; your new heaven through the colors of your eyes.

"Mousey…" 

"Hmm?"

"Stay with me forever…" 

"I want to be your world, you're already mine" 

"Let's burn together in hell" 

"Dance with me on their corpses" 

"I love you, do you love me?" 

"I do love you… Touya" 

[verona2314]

Judgment of the Damned (translation) PART V

LINK PART IV

Summary:

In the realm of Limbo, where souls deemed too good for Hell but not virtuous enough for Heaven reside, Victoria finds herself thrust into an unprecedented mission. When a notorious sinner, Sir Pentious, achieves redemption and ascends to Heaven, it sends shockwaves through all realms. Tasked with unraveling this mystery, Victoria, a minor judge of souls, is sent to the infamous Hazbin Hotel in Hell. For the first time, an emissary from Limbo steps foot into the fiery depths, tasked with observing and judging the denizens of Hell for their potential for redemption. As Victoria navigates this unfamiliar territory, she captures the unrequired attention of the enigmatic Radio Demon, Alastor. Amidst the chaos of demonic antics and the pursuit of understanding redemption, Victoria must confront her own beliefs and judgments. As she delves deeper into the secrets of the Hazbin Hotel, Victoria uncovers hidden truths about sinners, redemption, and the ultimate fate of souls caught between damnation and salvation. With each soul she encounters, Victoria's journey becomes not only a quest for answers but a personal voyage of self-discovery in the heart of darkness.

Chapter 5: A Fair Trade ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey, I just want to thank each and every one of you for your support...As always, thank you very much for reading this story. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I also want to inform you that I won't be uploading chapters this weekend as I want to have some chapters ready to upload during the week. Please, feel free to leave your comments and ask questions if you wish.

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

Alastor

After his interesting conversation with Zestial, he immediately set out to resolve that small problem Carmilla was dealing with. After all, he had told the ancestral Overlord that he would take care of that matter in exchange for the information. It wouldn't take him long as he already had everything prepared and planned in advance. He appreciated efficiency and his time, so he would try to be as brief as possible.

He headed towards a building in very poor condition, where several sinners did not receive him kindly. Their first impulse was to attack until they realized his identity. They tried to flee in terror, but Alastor showed no mercy. As he took care of the "clean-up," his thoughts wandered to everything Zestial had told him. The mere possibility that those stories were true thrilled him immensely. Just imagining having in his possession a creature with the ability to modify or annul a contract caused him an indescribable sensation. It could be that backdoor he had been searching for. Who better than a judge to find weaknesses in a contract?

The screams of his victims didn't even faze him. He was so excited that he was undoubtedly going overboard, but he didn't care in the least. He needed to know more about the judge. He had to find out if she really had the abilities that Zestial had mentioned in his tale. The problem was that Victoria wasn't simply going to answer his questions, let alone reveal her cards. It was evident that the esteemed judge was cunning and wouldn't expose herself in that way. The only remaining option was to try to subtly extract the truth through seemingly innocent conversations. However, this wouldn't simplify things much either, as she seemed like a difficult person to manipulate. Furthermore, making the situation even more unfavorable for him, Victoria never trusted him.

The night had already fallen. Alastor walked over the bodies as he tried to solve this dilemma. He truly felt very eager for this challenge and was anxious to have another conversation with the judge and discover what sharp retorts she would give to his sarcastic remarks. Perhaps he could crack that mask of calmness again and see once more that expression of indignation on her face. It was gratifying to know that he had provoked that, that he, the great Alastor, had gotten on the nerves of a minor Judge. Clearly, he had used a low trick. Anyone would be annoyed if they were made to fall to the ground, so he couldn't boast much about that achievement either. Wasn't he perhaps thinking too much about her? Well... how could he not when she was his new source of amusement? A rival to respect and to keep him on his toes. It was just that. Besides, as long as no one else knew about the dear judge's existence, he would have plenty of entertainment time assured.

To his surprise, this last thought caused him a slight unease. The idea of other Overlords trying to befriend her in order to obtain information or use her abilities did not please him. Having competition would make this job much more difficult and would only succeed in making Victoria's walls rise even higher and stronger. No. He couldn't allow the news to spread, as that would completely go against his own interests. And on the other hand, Zestial would also be very pissed off if he found out that he had hidden something like that from him.

Alastor had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed he was already outside the hotel. He entered the building and came face to face with the remains of the chandelier. "I thought it had stayed firm this time," he thought to himself as he looked at the ceiling. “How could it have fallen if I made sure the chandelier could withstand twice its weight?.” 

At that moment, Alastor heard some very lively laughter coming from the hotel's new bar. Of course, he wanted to know what was the origin of such a cheerful atmosphere, so he transported himself to the door of the lounge, coming across a completely unexpected scene.

Sitting at the bar were Angeldust, Husk, and the judge, engaged in a lively conversation. Victoria laughed and responded to her interlocutors' comments in a charming and carefree manner, acting completely different from what he had seen.

"So you won't believe what the guy replied," Alastor heard Victoria say. "He said that anyone would be grateful to meet his 'little friend'."

"And what did you say?" Angeldust asked, quite interested.

"Well, what anyone would say in that situation," replied Victoria. "That with those tight pants, it was clear that what he had down there was a rather small 'little friend' and that he had proven to not be very smart, so I doubted he could use it in any way to compensate for that detail. So I politely declined his offer."

"Judge!" Angel responded, feigning shock while Husk chuckled quietly. "I never imagined you could be so sharp."

-Well," Victoria continued, shrugging her shoulders, "maybe I went a bit too far. The idea was to deflate his ego, not tear him to pieces."

"I didn't know Limbo could receive such unpleasant people," added Husk, pouring some drinks. From a distance, Alastor could notice that Victoria's smile faltered for a second, which struck him as slightly suspicious.

"Well, you know what they say," the judge replied, "there's all sorts in the Lord's vineyard."

"Judge," said Angel, "I must admit I never thought you could be so amusing. I thought you'd be a boring and strict woman. No offense."

"I can understand why," Victoria replied casually. "It's the image associated with this position. However, it would be difficult to reach people if you can't socialize and build bonds. How could I do my job of gathering information about sinners if I acted like an insufferable woman? I can be firm with my convictions and ideals and uphold the rules while being friendly at the same time. Although when I am strict, I can be quite fearsome. Or so I've been told, at least."

"You're not what I expected from someone who spends their entire existence judging the actions of humans as good or bad," Husk responded.

"There are many shades of gray," Victoria pointed out, looking at her glass. "I've learned that sometimes context does matter and other times it doesn't. That people with the same circumstances make completely different decisions, but life is full of tough choices. Hence, these ideas of 'double effect' or 'unrenounceable fear' emerge."

"I think angels wouldn't like you," murmured Angel.

"Great! That's great news," the judge responded in a celebratory tone. The trio laughed again.

Alastor listened to this conversation from afar, completely puzzled. It was hard to believe that this person was the same Victoria he had spoken to just a few hours ago. She retained her dignified aura and elegant movements, but her face displayed a variety of positive expressions while her amber eyes sparkled with wit. It seemed effortless for her to connect with people. Even Husk seemed to be in a good mood. This implied that Victoria had great social skills and empathy. How could a being from Limbo possess such qualities?

He narrowed his eyes. There was definitely something very suspicious about her. His first impulse was to try to start a conversation with the judge to get answers. He was about to take the first step towards the group when he noticed a slight detail that made him pause. She wasn't carrying the briefcase. His eyes widened. He had to take advantage of the fact that the dear judge was distracted, and without wasting any time, he teleported to her room.

Yes, it wasn't very gentlemanly to intrude without permission into a lady's room, but because of how suspicious the woman seemed, he could make an exception. He turned on the room's light and looked around. Immediately, he spotted the briefcase on the table. It was open, and around it were closed documents. "So that's what you were hiding in there," Alastor thought to himself as he approached the table. Each of the files had a label on the front with a name written on it. "These must be the documents with information about the inhabitants of Hell," he mused to himself as he saw some very interesting names. He reached out to take one of the files when suddenly, golden chains surrounded the folder while he felt the tips of his fingers burning slightly, causing a deep ache.

"Fuck!" he muttered, withdrawing his hand. How could he have underestimated the judge so much? It was obvious that she wouldn't leave something so important in plain sight without any protection. His carelessness irritated him. He needed to find a way to obtain those documents, but apparently, they were protected by some kind of enchantment he knew nothing about. He stepped back frustrated, temporarily giving up on the idea. He would come up with a plan eventually. Slowly, the burning sensation in his fingertips faded until there was no trace of pain. It reminded him of when a child gets a light slap on the hand for trying to take something they shouldn't. He let out a small laugh. He wasn't going to deny that he deserved it. He had decided to leave the room when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a small notebook with a lilac cover on the bed. He tried to resist the temptation, but in the end, curiosity won. With great care and caution, he slowly reached out to take the notebook. This time, no chains appeared, nor did he feel any burns. He examined its exterior, but the only thing written on the cover was the judge's name in very elegant lettering. Alastor shrugged and decided to open the notebook slowly until he could see the first page. Nothing happened. That page was completely blank. Now confident, Alastor decided to turn the page to start reading the contents of the notebook. To his surprise, the blank page wrapped around his index fingers, trapping them, and the notebook slammed shut.

"What's this?" he exclaimed, studying the way the paper had wrapped around his fingers. At first, he was confused; every time he tried to free his fingers, they became more trapped. Finally, he remembered what this was. He had fallen prey to a Chinese finger trap. A really sturdy one that wouldn't break even when he pulled with all his might. For several minutes, he tried to free himself from this trap. He tried in various ways, even with his demonic powers, but the finger trap wouldn't budge. It wasn't hard to deduce that it must also have some enchantment from Limbo. One of very poor taste in his opinion. It was as if they were mocking him. Completely frustrated, he decided to leave the room, hiding his little predicament with the sleeves of his coat. It would be absolutely humiliating if anyone saw him like this. No. Under no circumstances would he allow such a thing. He had had enough for today. He chose to retreat to his room and deal with the damn trap on his own; after all, he was a powerful Overlord.

Victoria

That morning she woke up with a slightly dry mouth. She wasn't sure if it was because of how much she had talked the night before, or from the alcohol she had drunk, or both. Anyway, she felt very happy to have had such a pleasant moment with Angel and Husk. After the chandelier incident, she knew she had to break that awkwardness with the residents immediately before it got worse. So, after getting up, she followed Angel and Husk to the hotel bar where things just fell into place wonderfully.

Unfortunately, her good mood was slightly overshadowed by remembering the reason she was in that place in the first place. Her biggest problem was that she had no idea how to enter the social circles of Hell without resorting to the Overlords or other more important figures. She also didn't want to ask for help from Lucifer because if introduced by him, she would attract too much attention by being associated with the king of Hell. No. She had to find another way, but for now, nothing came to mind. Perhaps she was too focused on that and needed to take some time to relax and clear her mind and maybe, acclimate to the environment. With that in mind, she made the decision to give herself the morning off.

She left her room and after a few minutes of wandering, she found, to her delight, a room with several armchairs and some shelves with books. It was a kind of reading room. She browsed through the books and most of them were dense classics. She could understand that for many, this type of reading could be torturous. There were works by authors like Ivan Turgenev, Leo Tolstoy, William Faulkner, etc. To her surprise, she found a book by Victor Hugo, The Hunchback of Notre Dame. That would be her choice for the day. She sat in the armchair closest to the window and immersed herself in the story. She was so focused on her reading and wiping away the tears that Victor Hugo's words caused her that she didn't notice that someone had entered the room, closing the door.

"Good morning, dear judge!" Alastor greeted with a very lively and noisy voice. Victoria startled in her seat, emitting a small squeak. "It wasn't my intention to scare you, but I can't deny that was very amusing. It definitely must be repeated."

"Alastor," Victoria responded in a monotone voice, regaining her composure. "Good morning to you too," she added, returning her attention to the book, but the radio demon continued to stare at her. She tried to ignore him, but as time passed, she grew more uncomfortable. She sighed resignedly. "Yes? Do you need something?"

"Indeed, dear judge! But I didn't want to interrupt your... interesting reading. I see we share a taste for Victor Hugo, however, I believe you would categorize his books as tragedy and I... hmm never mind."

"You were going to say comedy, weren't you?" Victoria responded, narrowing her eyes and raising her eyebrows.

"Guilty," Alastor smiled.

"I think I'm the one who should decide that, right?" she replied jokingly. At that moment, Victoria noticed Alastor was hiding his hands. "What are you hiding?"

"What do you mean, dear judge?" Alastor feigned ignorance. Victoria gave him a stern look. Alastor pinned his ears back and looked to the side. "I don't have a weapon or anything of the sort. Relax, dear. In fact, Judge, I wanted... um... to ask for your help with a small matter, but I would greatly appreciate it if it stayed between us."

"My help?" Victoria looked at him incredulously and with complete distrust. This whole situation was too strange and suspicious. Her mental alarms were screaming at her not to meddle further in the matter. He was surely trying to manipulate her to get something from her. Had he discovered something else? Was he already aware of her abilities as a judge of Limbo?

"Indeed," Alastor responded with an expression of annoyance.

Victoria could tell that Alastor seemed uncomfortable. He wouldn't look her in the eye, and his expression seemed tense. "Alright. I'll help you."

"It's crucial, dear judge, that you don't tell anyone about this," the radio demon emphasized.

"Yes, yes. I got it," she replied a bit annoyed. "So, what is it?" At that moment, Alastor sighed and revealed his hands. Victoria tried to contain her laughter, but the corners of her lips trembled. What she was witnessing was hilarious. She tried to take a deep breath, but small chuckles tried to escape her lips. Alastor looked at her with his ears even more pinned back, averting his gaze with a look of absolute irritation. She couldn't hold it in any longer and started laughing. "Can you tell me why you have a Chinese finger trap?" she asked amidst laughter. "Wait... is it from my notebook? Did you sneak into my room?"

"I apologize for that invasion of your privacy," muttered the radio demon under his breath.

Victoria kept laughing. "Oh, Mr. Accused, it seems you're ready to be brought to court. Ready to testify?"

Alastor chuckled lightly at her last remark. "Yes, my esteemed judge. What am I accused of?" the demon played along.

"Attempted theft! And the evidence is very clear," said Victoria, pointing to Alastor's fingers trapped in the finger trap.

"False! I plead. It was never an attempted theft. Perhaps trespassing... but not theft,  judge."

At that moment, they both looked at each other while laughing lightly. Feeling more composed now, Victoria shook her head slightly, setting the book aside.

"Goodness, Alastor. I hope you didn't try to touch the documents I had on my table. I can't believe you entered my room. Is your curiosity that great? Don't you know curiosity killed the cat?"

"Should I feel offended that you're equating me to a cat?" the demon responded.

"On the contrary. They're pleasant creatures."

"Have you seen cats in Limbo?" Alastor asked, clearly confused.

"It doesn't matter. That's irrelevant. The point is... I'm very tempted to leave you like this. It would be much easier to deal with you in that state."

"Believe me, my dear judge, I don't need to have my hands free to make your day difficult. Why does your notebook have this cursed thing? I tried to free myself from it all night."

"Well, that notebook was a gift from Seilmon."

"Who?"

Victoria looked at him for a moment. Was this a trick from the radio demon to gather information? She sighed. There was really no harm in Alastor knowing a little about Limbo, and she highly doubted he would subject himself to such humiliation just to uncover her secrets. "Seilmon is the president of the five supreme judges. You could say he's my boss. He's a wise, calm being, but a bit playful. His sense of humor is somewhat childish. That finger trap is completely his style."

Alastor snorted indignantly. "Can you remove it?"

"I could... in exchange for a favor." Victoria wasn't going to miss this opportunity.

"Oh, I see you have claws, my esteemed judge," Alastor said, looking at her maliciously.

"Don't worry, it's nothing too serious. You shouldn't get defensive," Victoria said with a slight smile.

"You couldn't be more wrong. I'm not defensive, I'm very intrigued. Tell me, my dear judge, what can I do for you?"

"I need to enter some social circles of Hell without attracting too much attention. I didn't want to turn to anyone in authority because of the problems that could imply. It's not a good idea to owe favors to individuals like yourselves. But look at what a magnificent opportunity presented itself now that you're in this little predicament, isn't it?"

Alastor emitted a deep, grave laugh. He watched her for a few minutes, possibly trying to read her intentions, but she was being completely honest. Alastor approached her, and she immediately stood up from her seat. The last time he had gotten this close, she had ended up on the floor.

"Oh, don't be afraid, dear judge," Alastor said, leaning down to be at eye level with her. He looked into her eyes for a moment and then straightened up, raising his hands to expose them. "It seems like a fair deal. I'm at your mercy."

Victoria rolled her eyes in annoyance before proceeding to free Alastor from the finger trap. "Can I touch your hands?" she asked to avoid being invasive. The radio demon nodded. Victoria took Alastor's hands and first tried to release him from the trap by bringing his hands closer together to slide his fingers further into the tube. As she suspected, it didn't work. She knew Alastor was clever enough and must know the trick to get out of this type of artifact. She pondered for a moment. This was Seilmon's doing... she had to try to think like him.

"Well?" Alastor inquired. "Are you just going to hold my hands?"

"I'm thinking," she replied calmly. At that moment, a possible solution came to her mind. She concentrated for a moment and whispered, "Free yourself." The trap didn't release. It seemed she would have to give the command with the complete formula. After all, Seilmon was old-fashioned. Again, she focused and with a firm yet calm voice, she said, "With my authority as a judge, I mandate you to free yourself." Barely had she finished speaking when the finger trap released, freeing Alastor. Victoria smiled satisfactorily, but her tranquility wouldn't last long upon seeing her interlocutor's expression. The radio demon was looking at her with a wide smile and eyes full of enthusiasm.

"I SEE NOW! That's a judge's mandate! Tell me, my dear judge Victoria, then… are the rumors about your other abilities true?" LINK PART VI

[xiyouyanyi]

JTTW Era: Pilgrimage and After

-JTTW novel-wise, the fillet was a symbol of external control on a mind that lacks self-control, and when SWK became enlightened at the end, the fillet also magically disappeared.

-However, one very similar fillet appeared in FSYY's Ten Thousand Immortal Formation arc, and was used on one of the Chan 12, Sage Huanglong (literally "Yellow Dragon").

-That fillet would not actually be the one given to SWK. But it would come into play in the far, far future...

-LBD, known as the Ivory Lady, made her last attempt at steering a mortal king onto the right track before going "fuck it" and pulling off a successful coup with the help of the Mayor.

-In this AU, he is also a pseudo-ghostly immortal: a middle-ranking general who died on the battlefield after being denied reinforcement by corrupt ministers, but had his souls grabbed and returned to his body by LBD, before the Underworld officials could show up and take him away.

-Post-coup, she had also established an alliance with the rogue Lunar Mansion, Kui Mulang, who agreed to conceal her project from celestial eyes in exchange for her aid in finding the reincarnation of his immortal lover.

-What was this project, you asked? Well, let's just say it's the prototype of what she'd go on to pull off at the end of S2, and involves mass human sacrifices, where each and every soul was consumed and broken down into their smallest components.

-She wasn't seeking out Tripitaka to eat his flesh, unlike the other demons. Rather, her goal was to possess him and make the holy monk, one who already had the merits and some of the six powers of an Arhat, into her perfect vessel.

-And when she was playing her con game on the pilgrims, she didn't just shift into a regular human girl and then, an old couple, but was possessing actual long-dead bodies.

-After Kui Mulang was dealt with, dragged back to the Celestial Realm to serve as furnace-fanning boy, his illusion on LBD's old kingdom also came down, allowing the rest of the gang to track her down, after she sneaked the imprisoned Tripitaka out of the dungeon of Baoxiang Kingdom in the chaos.

-I'd like to think they had an actual philosophical debate in the short time before Tripitaka's disciples kicked down the doors.

"Don't make me laugh. You are just prolonging the suffering needlessly, cutting away the shaft of an arrow while leaving the metal head inside the wound. Making it worse, in fact. Just like your master." "And your solution to suffering is inflicting more suffering, Shizhu? Putting out a fire with another fire? You blame this poor monk for prolonging the suffering, yet he only desires to sever suffering at its roots, release the restless dead from the cycle once and for all." "A cycle that will never end, for those who are not fortunate enough to receive your salvation! If the inherent order of this world is rotten to the core, you do not end suffering by showing people the exits. No, you raze it all to the ground, and build a perfect one upon its ashes."

-To seal her away securely, her souls were bound to one of the skeletons she was puppeting around, then locked up inside the coffin + tomb we saw in the show.

-Azure showed up during the Wuji Kingdom arc, on Manjushri's orders——who, while evaluating its king for Arhat-hood, saw an incoming drought, criticized the king for spoiling the Buddhist clergy and not using his wealth on more productive things, and got dunked into a canal for his troubles.

-Here, he summoned a storm to end the drought and became sworn brother with the king while in Daoist disguise, but the "murder the king and push him into a well" part was both out of his own volition (vegeneance on his master's behalf) and a decision that created a lot of doubt in him.

-Because he had gotten to know the king too well, to a point where he couldn't fit the man into his black-and-white worldview of sage kings and tyrants as easily, even though he justified the murder-replace with karmic laws.

-Much like in the novel, he was a good ruler during these three years, despite the guilt that resulted from the queen's distress at her husband's sudden change in personality and refusal of intimacy.

-He also knew that Wuji Kingdom was on the road of this...pilgrimage SWK was now a part of, and was hoping to learn the real reasons his brother and king joined their side——it had to be under force, or part of a cunning plan, right?

-When it broke into a fight, and all he saw in said fight was Tripitaka using the fillet in an attempt to reveal the transformed Azure, despite the pain it caused SWK, he'd have every reason to believe that SWK was essentially whipped into submission.

-Yet, if so——why wouldn't he answer, when Azure cried out that he could free him by silencing the monk once and for all? Has he truly turned his back on his brothers, accepted the offer and become another hound of the tyrant?

A giant tangent: On Zhao-an and its implications

Now, I've seen people asking "Why jump straight to rebellion instead of reforming it from within?" when it comes to Azure and his grievances against the Celestial Host.

Well, the sheer inertia of the dynastic system aside, do you know what "reform" and "working within the system" means for a brotherhood of rebels?

It means you submit to the throne, get enlisted to crush another group of rebels, watch most of your brothers die horribly in the campaign and then get poisoned by two corrupt officials. (Yeah, I just summed up the second half of Water Margins.)

This is called Zhao-an(招安), one of the classic approaches to a popular rebellion, where the imperial court went "Look, we are kinda at an impasse here. I don't feel like spending more resources on crushing you rebels when I have more urgent problems to deal with, you know you are at a disadvantage and can't possibly win once we get serious, so how 'bout we grant you a position in the bureaucracy and you guys fight for us instead?"

As great as the offer might sound on paper, what often happened was, the moment the throne no longer needed these ex-rebel fighters, they were fucked.

Depending on the circumstances, it could quickly turn from an amnesty into an euphemism for "crush you later", and the dynastic rulers would always be wary of these folks rebelling again, as well as the possibility of their leniency encouraging future uprisings.

(book!SWK getting appointed as Bimawen, and, after the First Havoc, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven? These are pretty textbook cases of Zhao-an, done by an emperor's minister.)

Now, if you are one of the major leaders of a rebellion, your brother and fellow leader is captured by the enemies, and when he came back, he didn't want to topple the tyrant anymore and is working for one of their allies?

Zhao-an would be the first thing that came to your mind. Not only had he betrayed you, it was very likely that he would have been sent against his ex-brothers at some point, and he accepted the deal anyways, just so he could live on with a sword hanging above his head.

To people who have that context, this is far from an unreasonable assumption. And such is the tragedy and dark side of your traditional brotherhood: loyalty is everything for the miscontent, and thus, betrayal is the gravest sin you can ever commit.

How can you say you are doing this for us? How can a wolf ever be trusted as a hound, without having to hunt its old packs down as a proof of loyalty? How dare you?

To reduce all that complexity and inherent tragedy to "Well, they must all secretly be power-hungry/delusional manipulators!" is, to me, the least interesting choice you can make for these characters.

Giant tangent over, back to the pilgrimage:

-Red Boy's Samadhi Fire awakened, seriously influenced his personality in a bad way, fought the Pilgrims, and was subdued by Guanyin and taken back to the South Sea. 

-This enraged DBK and PIF enough that, when the pilgrims passed the Flaming Mountains——created by one of the two fallen embers from Lao Tzu's furnance when SWK broke out of it, they had the same fight they had in the novels.

-SEM, even though he held no loyalty towards the Camel Ridge Trio nor their kingdom-building ambitions, was working under very similar assumptions and logic.

-But for him, it was less "How can you do this to us? How can you willingly serve a tyrant?" and more "How can you do this to ME? No, how can you do this to yourself? Become a mockery of everything that once made the Great Sage in Heaven?"

-As much as I'm an ardent novel liker, I have to admit: if SEM did the novel-accurate cannibalism thing, there was no way SWK would ever be okay with him being alive again, or letting him anywhere near his disciple.

-So in this AU, after Sha Wujing killed the imposter-monkeys in a rage, he just reanimated their dead bodies and used them as literal shadow puppets when SWK rushed back to FFM to fight this "shadowy impersonator".

"My, my! Out of everything, this is what finally sends you into a rage?" With a flick of his fingers, another reanimated thrall dropped out of a shadow portal. "Like you haven't been using your monkeys in the exact same manner! Puppeting them to their doom, then tossing them aside——tossing me aside!"

-An act that was sufficiently ruthless, spiteful, and would absolutely piss SWK off enough to deal a lethal blow once SEM's true nature was exposed and his glamour broken.

-His soul was dragged into the Underworld by the combined efforts of the newly formed Black & White Guards regiment, but not before gravely injuring one of their two commanders.

-Come the Lion Camel Ridge Arc, the pilgrim didn't actually pass by the kingdom on their journey; they went there because of the pleading of the old Lion Camel Kingdom's only surviving prince, whose entire family had been slaughtered by Peng in the aftermath of the kingdom's fall, and only survived thanks to the sacrifice of an old family servant.

-Which would both answer the question of "If LCR was just a haven for yaoguais, a kingdom for and ruled by their kind, why would the pilgrim destroy it?" and add some moral ambiguity to the whole situation, without making the trio into the man-eating demonic warlords they are in the original novel.

-Upon their defeat, not even their masters could save them from the consequences. They were dragged straight to the Demon-Vanquishing Mansion of the North Pole for judgment, then trapped inside the Memory Scroll, just like in the show.

-And it wasn't a mercy, but, from the POV of the celestials, more cruel than the literal tortures of the Eighteen Hells. Like, these punishments went on and on, but still had an end. You are able to reincarnate and start over, once the karmic debts are cleansed.

-Inside the Scroll, there is no such end.

Post-Journey:

-Basically, Tripitaka became a Bodhisattva by forsaking his Body of Benefit, Bajie reincarnated like any regular being since, like in JTTW canon, he never attained Enlightenment, Wujing did not become an Arhat but a guardian deity of Western Heaven, who could still be born into a mortal body when needed.

-Ao Lie died because of the Samadhi Fire, but not before using the last bit of his power to fly into the void of space and minimize the damage. Unknown to him, a tiny spark of it was passed onto his descendant.

-Why does it have such a negative effect on him? Naturally, dragons are Water-aligned and able to suppress Fire. However, the West Sea's element is Metal, which is weak to Fire if the concentration of the element is not high enough to start birthing Water. 

-This wouldn't have been a problem if his sub-power comes from a Water/Yin-aligned star, but the star that gives him the astral fire is none other than Yinghuo (Mars), and he was born while said star was intruding into the Heart Moon Fox's quarter of the sky——perhaps the greatest of ill omens in traditional Chinese astrology.

-True to JTTW, DBK had been arrested (and put into the Demon-locking Mirror) after Red Son was taken away by Guanyin. However, she soon discovered a problem: even though the pure elemental Water of her vase could suppress the Samadhi Fire and not let it unleash its full destructive potential, it is still slowly eating at the child's soul.

-Thus she summoned Tripitaka and the rest of the Pilgrims to actually remove it from Red Son's body and split it apart, to be stored securely inside three rings. What happened next was pretty much the same as canon, except it wasn't DBK holding Red Son at the end, but PIF.

-Because of the Samadhi Fire's damage, however, Red Son had no memory of his Red Boy years, nor did he remember Guanyin and the South Sea.

-Longnv was rather saddened when she sneaked out to visit her ex-junior brother during one of her homecoming trips, only to be met with confused stares and stern warnings from PIF.

-DBK was released because of the Demon-locking Mirror Incident, a.k.a. "Erlang and Nezha's drunken archery accident". These two would have been charged with recapturing him, if not for SWK stepping in and sealing DBK under a mountain.

-Because they didn't get to make up for their mistakes, however, they had to face JE's punishment: Nezha was ordered to guard the Samadhi Ring Map while reflecting on his mistakes, and Erlang no longer allowed to prolong his sworn brothers' lives with immortality pills, essentially sentencing them to death via old age.

-Lotus Lantern happened. At this point, Erlang knew very well that even if his uncle could not punish him directly, he could still do it through proxy, by subjecting his family and friends to a cruel fate.

-And that? That is why he fought his sister and put her under a mountain, despite her protest that the marriage had gotten a pass from the Celestial Host.

-fsyyDivinely ordained, you mean. Well, he'd seen what "Divinely ordained marriages" looked like during the War of the Investiture, and he'd die before he let his sister become another Deng Chanyu or Princess Longji.

[auburniivenus]

THERE WAS NOTHING TO FEAR.

Not from someone like him, he brought no harm at all, to anyone. This was a blessing, could she not see that, the poor little thing. Could she not see that he has saved her from the darkness, from the clutches of death, from the end of her life.

All alone in the world, so cold as well, shivering from the cold night air, biting at the skin. She was very fortunate that he happened to be right here, right now, at the right time to save her from the cold.

As he stood over her, and looked down on her for the moment, a little smile on his face as his eyes would widen then, settle on her.

Another little lost soul, in this cruel land. Who had no place to call their own, it was always so sad, so horrible, so upsetting to see little women like this, cut off from the world and denied a chance to live, a happy, rich and fulfilled life.

“You don’t have to be afraid, not of me.”

Salvation was at hand.

She only needed to be brave enough to reach out and take it. As he stretched his arm out to her, overturned his hand to show the palm to him, to allow her the chance, to reach out, and take it, to have the choice within her hands, that all humans have, the right to choose her fate. She could stay here, and freeze to death, or she could, like so many others before her, take his hand, come with her and be saved, become ..

Something so much more.

“Take my hand …” As he towered over her, offering her the chance to take back her life, take back action, take back the means and the ways to defy the expectations that the world had on her, that death was meant to take her, but with him here, he can change that, delay it and turn her into something so much more, useful to him. @fallesto

In   the   solace   of   her   confinement,   where   frigidness   imprisons   her   existence   with   a   brutality   that   feels   almost   deliberate,   she   examines   the   world   through   a   lens   of   introspection   and   a   constant   chill.   Walls   around   her,   adorned   in   frost,   provide   a   quiescent   companionship   in   this   moment   of   isolation.   Her   physique,   a   mere   silhouette   of   vulnerability   against   the   stark,   curls   inward   on   itself.   She   tightens   her   arms   strongly   around   her   knees,   a   futile   attempt   to   shield   the   dwindling   embers   of   warmth   that   her   corpulence   desperately   seeks   to   preserve.   Shivers,   unstoppable   in   their   pursuit,   course   through   her,   each   one   a   remembrance   of   her   continuous   battle   against   the   cold's   enhalse.   Her   mind,   though   momentarily,   wanders   into   the   realm   of   contemplation,   pondering   the   reality   that   encircles   her.   Is   this   the   sombre   fee   one   pays   for   immortality,   a   parlous   existence   under   the   dominion   of   a   cruelty-prone   rex?   Is   her   orlay   to   abide   thus   lifeless,   a   lineage   of   royalty   reduced   to   mere   entertainment?

With   fingers   that   tremble   not   just   from   the   cold   but   from   the   magnitude   of   her   reality,   she   frees   the   two   hairpins   from   her   hair.   These   pins,   forged   exclusively   for   her,   capture   her   attentiveness   momentarily,   their   luminescence   seeming   to   echo   the   upheaval   within   her. "Once,   you   spoke   of   greatness   as   my   destiny.   Is   this   existence   truly   all   that   is   meant   for   me?"   Whispers,   her   voice   barely   more   than   a   breath,   to   the   ornaments   resting   in   her   palm,   a   silential   plea   for   guidance   that   remains   unanswered.   In   lieu   of   words,   they   transform,   encasing   her   in   a   cocoon   of   luminescent   light,   healing   the   bruises   that   mar   her   visage,   and,   for   a   fleeting   moment,   restoring   her   to   a   state   of   unmolested   grace   before   reverting   back   into   their   original   form,   adorning   her   hair   once   more.

Coldness   incapacitates   her   senses,   lulling   her   into   a   state   of   semi-consciousness,   a   temporary   respite   that   is   fragmented   by   the   presence   of   another.   She   lifts   her   gaze   to   meet   his, Cazador.   Is   his   approach   another   maneuver   in   a   long   game   of   manipulation?   It   could   well   be.   Yet,   the   gentleness   in   his   demeanor,   a   divergence   from   his   accustomed   facade,   puzzles   her.   She   finds   herself   aching   to   voice   the   myriad   thoughts   that   pulsate   within   her,   yet   her   lips   remain   sealed,   her   stare   fixed   upon   his   poised   hand,   a   dormant   inquiry   into   the   future   that   lies   beyond   her   current   state   of   utmost   need   and   subservience.

She   extends   her   palm   towards   his,   their   touch   an   amalgam   of suppleness   and   pandemonium.   "As   you   wish,   my   lord."   Acquiesces,   her   ascendance   from   the   cold   concrete   marked   by   the   graceful   fall   of   her   auburn   locks   around   her   shoulders.   "What   is   it   you   desire   of   me?"   Her   voice,   now   a   soft   melody,   challenges   the   frigidness   that   dominates   them.   Can   altruistic   kindness   discover   its   trail   to   her   through   darkness?   Is   there   a   sliver   of   hope   for   autonomy,   for   her   to   rise   above   her   predestined   existence   and   become   something   more   alongside   him,   sovereign   of   shadows?   Her   question   lingers,   a   delicate   balance   between   hope   and   despair,   hinting   at   the   prospective   for   an   orlay   yet   unclaimed.   Perhaps,   within   the   confines   of   this   implacable   winter,   she   might   discover   the   means   to   carve   out   a   new   existence   for   herself.

Praedator sanguis

[theprayerfulword]

September 17

Romans 8:1-2 There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit. 2 For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus hath made me free from the law of sin and death.

Isaiah 40:29 He gives strength to the weary, and to him who lacks might He increases power.

Psalm 37:7 Be still before the Lord, and wait patiently for Him.

Matthew 6:33 But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.

Philippians 2:13 For God is working in you, giving you the desire and the power to do what pleases Him.

1 Corinthians 9:25 All athletes are disciplined in their training. They do it to win a prize that will fade away, but we do it for an eternal prize.

May you ever exalt the Lord and praise His Name for, in perfect faithfulness, He has done marvelous things planned long ago, since He has torn down the strongholds of the enemy and is a refuge for the poor and the needy in distress, a shelter from the storm of the ruthless and a shade from the heat of their anger. Isaiah 25

May you trust in Him for He will save you; may you rejoice and be glad in His salvation for He has forever swallowed up and destroyed the shroud of death that enfolds all peoples and the sheet of the grave that covers all nations, wiping away the tears from all faces and removing the disgrace of His people from all the earth, just as the Lord has spoken it. Isaiah 25

May you trust in the Lord forever for the Lord is the Rock eternal Who keeps you in perfect peace when your mind is steadfast because you trust in Him, but humbles those who dwell on high, causing them to be trampled by the feet of the oppressed and the footsteps of the poor. Isaiah 26

May you walk in the way of the Lord, for the path of the righteous is leveled by the Upright One Who makes the way smooth. Isaiah 26

May you wait for Him, allowing His name and renown to become the desire of your heart, and causing your soul to yearn for Him in the night and your spirit to long for Him in the morning, for you know that when His judgments come on the earth the people of the world learn righteousness. Isaiah 26

May you honor the name of the Lord your God alone, even though other lords besides Him have ruled over you in the past, for He has established peace for you and all that you have accomplished He has done for you. Isaiah 26

May you enter your room and shut the doors behind you, hiding yourself for a little while until His wrath has passed by, for see, the Lord is coming out of His dwelling to punish the people of the earth for their sins. Isaiah 26

My child, study to discern My Body on earth, even as you study to draw near to Me. There is no quicker or more effective method to learn of Me than through your spiritual family, My Body. As in all of life, the lessons learned and the truths gained are not all happy, but they are all useful. As you bring them to Me, you will be led by My Spirit into the understanding and wisdom that will bind you closer to Me, both in your heart, and through your brothers and sisters. Herein is the true test of your love for Me, that you lay down your life in service to Me as I abide in others. Can you provide a meal for Me when I am in the guise of someone who is sick? Can you serve as a house-cleaner for Me when I am in the form of a widow that needs help? Can you provide transport for Me to get groceries and medicine when I look like someone who cannot repay you or return the favor? Can you give of your time to visit and encourage Me in the hospital or in jail, sharing the sorrow, the pain, the concern that these situations contain, repeating My promises back to Me to comfort and soothe the heart that I abide in? As you show honor to My weaker vessels, My Father will show honor to you. As you lend to the poor, you will receive manifold from heaven. As you strengthen the weak, your victories will multiply. As you defend the helpless, the hosts of heaven will be your defense. Learn to see with your heart, My caring one, for then you will see with My eyes rather than your own. Learn to hear with your spirit, My dear one, for then your ears will not betray you. Not all members of your heavenly family, My Body, are equal in the sight of the world, My astonished one, but each one is cherished, loved, and valued as much by Me as you are. Recognize the depth of My passion toward and for both the parts of My Body that I place in the view of the public for expression and testimony, as well as the hidden ones that I shelter from the disdain of those who do not know Me. Give them each the gift of fellowship, acknowledging My Spirit abiding in them and My gifts ministering through them. Understand that I am the One who has placed them where they are for My purpose and glory, and each shall be seated at My banquet table in places of honor. Draw near to Me, My love, as you draw near to those who love Me.

May you hear the song of joy that the Lord sings over you, a song about a fruitful vineyard that the Lord cares for and watches over, continually watering, guarding by day and night that no harm may come to it, punishing with His great and powerful sword the serpent and the fox, burning the briers and thorns that would encroach, that you will take root, bud and blossom, and fill all the world with the fruit that honors Him and draws those whom He seeks. Isaiah 27

May you receive the Lord as a source of strength to turn back the battle at the gate and a spirit of justice when you sit in judgment, for the Lord Almighty will be a glorious crown, a beautiful wreath for you as you walk in obedience to His guidance. Isaiah 28

May you grasp the vanity of seeking justification from transgression by check-listing your adherence to traditions, customs, or statutes, for it is not “what” you do, but “why” you do it, and when faith in the love of God, which was so fully demonstrated through Christ's willingness to suffer shame, pain, and crucifixion for your sins, is your reason for obedience, then the curse of sin is lifted from you and life is given, even as the Father gave it to the Son. Galatians 3

May you discern the truth that the law, and its promises which were given to every person, was not intended to provide a path to justification, but to convince each one in their heart of the impossibility of pleasing God in their own strength and thus show the need for a redemptive Savior, to Whom the promises of the gospel are made first, Who then opened the way, through faith, for our adoption and engrafting so each may receive the blessings of the covenant made to Abraham and to his Seed. Galatians 3

May you call to the Lord from the ends of the earth, as your heart grows faint, for the Lord will hear your cry and lead you to the Rock that is high, a strong tower, a refuge from the foe. Psalm 61

May you long to dwell in His tent forever and take refuge in the shelter of His wings, for He has heard your vows and given you the heritage of those who fear His name. Psalm 61

May you always be zealous for the fear of the Lord and let not your heart envy sinners, for then is surely a future hope for you, and your hope will not be cut off. Proverbs 23:17-18