#sinners can at least use it as an EXPLANATION not an excuse

[vaggietheangel]

"Awwww poor bwitz! Finally having to own that his actions affect other people's feefees!"

"The worst part is you still make me feel like a bad person for being anrgy at you now."

Girl no. You have every right to hate him. He bailed on her and robbed her because she told him she loved him. Verosika deserves so much better. She desvers someone that loves her back.

Verosika was honestly the best person to give Blitz this wake up call. Realising how much he HURT her and broke her heart made him feel bad. He knows he needs to do better now.

Verosika was so mature about this too. A lot of people would have just slapped him, but she actually talked to him. She may not forgive him (she doesn't have to.) But she knows he's not evil, just an asshole. He CAN change. She won't let her hate for him stop her from making that clear in her conversation.

She's also a good friend to Stolas when he needed one. Love you girl. ❤️

[calitsnow]

Let’s talk about Hong Lu’s poster

Summary:

Introduction

The paifang

Where is Hong Lu?

The reality of Hong Lu

{Skip the introduction if you’re only interested in the analysis of the character of Hong Lu and his poster}

I/ Introduction

Today I would like to offer you an analysis of Hong Lu's character poster. Although it is difficult to know what these character posters seek to show, apart from presenting characters, it is clear that each of them possesses clues about the sinners’ past and especially where the character represented comes from.

For example, we could see the pallid whale destroying the Pequod on Ishmael's poster, although it was easy to make the connection with Moby Dick, the poster also showed us that Ishmael had a history with a white whale and was a survivor of a shipwreck.

I am not sure if all the information is equally valuable according to the posters because, for example, Sinclair's poster is quite enigmatic and does not really show a specific event or place, or at least I do not recognize it.

But that does not stop me from believing that what is depicted behind the sinners is supposed to be related to the sinner, yes, but also, I think, related to a wing or place in the city that was important in the sinner's past.

I even wonder if the moment/place represented is not supposed to represent the place where the sinner decided to join the company.

Why do I say this? Well, you can see behind Rodion's character a casino setting, whereas her ego and space generated by the golden bough were affiliated with a world of ice. So why does Rodion's poster show her in front of an environment reminiscent of a casino? Perhaps it is to evoke her love for gambling as well as her ability to bluff and her desire for money, but if we look at Rodion's photo in the identity archive menu:

We can see Rodion in an outfit we have never seen her in before, an outfit that closely resembles what someone might wear at a casino. We have never seen how Rodion was recruited by Limbus Company, but if we follow the logic I just proposed, Rodion would have been recruited in a casino.

This logic seems credible and yet doubtful when we look at the case of Yi-sang.

For the moment, Yi-Sang is the only sinner whose recruitment by Limbus Company we know:

We know he was coming out of the laboratory where he was held by Gubo, the same laboratory we can see behind him on his poster.

But here's the catch: this is how Yi-sang was dressed when he met Faust VS versus what Yi-sang looks like on his photo in the identity archive:

But hold on! I may have an explanation for this difference:

Yes, in the first image, Yi-Sang is not wearing his scientist coat, but he is indeed wearing the gray shirt, and I think Yi-Sang was indeed dressed with his coat initially, I think he just took it off in the left image.

So yes, it sounds like a lame excuse, but look at how Yi-Sang was dressed before this scene (when he was held captive).

Boom, there it is, that scientist coat. Yi-Sang was indeed dressed as he was in that laboratory when his photo for the company was taken.

But here's the second little hiccup: we don't know how much time separates Yi-Sang's escape and his encounter with Faust...

But if what is depicted behind the sinners is not toward the place/moment where he was recruited by Limbus Company, then I think the place depicted behind the sinner is still a place/moment that shaped the sinner and convinced them to join Limbus Company.

II/ The Paifang

After this brief analysis that raised many questions, I would especially like us to keep the idea that what is depicted behind Hong Lu is related to him and the wing (or other place in the city) where he comes from.

Let's continue:

To make the understanding and analysis of the poster simpler, I decided to divide it into 6 zones:

Red: character

Dark blue: background area with tall buildings —> the city / what is behind the paifang

Purple: Paifang

Light blue: distorted and highly colorful area / portails

Orange: what surrounds the sides of the paifang

Green: the ground and what is in front of the paifang

Even if sometimes I won't do it, I will now also use this color code to target specific areas of the poster when needed.

Well, first of all, I'm going to talk about the purple area, which is everything related to the Paifang, which is a very important element of this poster:

This Paifang, which looks like it's made of (red?) wood, seems to be surrounded by tall walls as we can see in the orange area.

So it seems that this Paifang is the only entrance and exit between two spaces. Indeed, if this Paifang is surrounded by walls and (assuming) they extend over a long distance, we can quickly conclude that this passage is the only one that could allow someone to enter or leave a closed space (we will come back to these ideas a little later).

Returning to the Paifang, it seems to perfectly fit the definition I found of a Paifang: "A Paifang is a traditional Chinese architectural structure in the form of a portico or arch, usually placed at the entrance of important places such as cities, temples, or properties. These symbolic gateways are often richly decorated and serve as monumental entry points."

I think the main idea to remember is that this Paifang is a gate/a means of passage, and I think it is the only gate allowing travel between the two spaces it separates.

But what does this gateway separate? Well, I think we have an answer with the inscription in the middle of this Paifang:

Indeed, what is written in the middle behind Hong Lu is this: 境幻虚太 (Jing Huan Xu Tai), we can recognize 4 distinct characters:

境: Realm

幻: Illusory

虚: Void

太: Great

But what is most surprising is that this phrase is actually written backward; indeed, in Chinese, it should be written 太虚幻境 (especially when we know what this combination means, especially in Dream of the Red Chamber), and here it is written as if it had been reflected in a mirror. We know that mirrors play a very important role in Limbus Company, but we will come back to this idea of a mirror a little later.

{Update : I was informed that the ordering of character written on the paifang is actually correct for traditional Chinese writing and for when the characters have to be placed horizontally (especially when you have to write on a space which does not really allow you to write in the vertical like on this paifan). The fact remains that the name of Hong Lu's weapon is therefore written in backward, so why? I don't really have an explanation now... and I have to admit that I still like my first analysis and I still think it is (a little) relevant in a way, so I invit you to keep reading (while keeping this in mind)}

For now, I would like to return to the meaning of what is written on this Paifang; indeed, once the combination of these 4 characters is reversed, it refers to a very important place in Dream of the Red Chamber: "Illusory Land of Great Void" or "Land of Illusion".

We can therefore conclude that this Paifang overlooks the "Land of Illusion" and separates/is the gateway between these two worlds, which are the "Land of Illusion" and, I think, the city.

Which is reminiscent of its “equivalent” in the novel since in the novel there is also a mention of a gate which separates the world of illusions from the rest or at least which indicates its entry point

{Side note: Strangely, this is not the only time that "太虚幻境" appears on the poster since it also appears just at the bottom right, and yes, "Land of Illusion" is also the name of Hong Lu's weapon, but that's not all! It is of course also the name of his EGO.

We can therefore see that the "Land of Illusion" is used to define many things related to or belonging to Hong Lu.}

In the novel Dream of the Red Chamber, The Land of Illusion is a domain where illusions and fantasies come to life. However, despite its enticing and enchanting appearance, this fictional world is also fraught with dangers and traps as it can lead individuals into deceptive illusions and prevent them from perceiving the truth.

However, a very interesting analysis of the Land of Illusion parallels this place with the Prospect Garden, which is the garden where Baoyu lives with his cousins and servants. It is the setting for many events in the novel and is also a haven of peace cut off from the rest of the world where its inhabitants can indulge in their idle and luxurious lives.

When Baoyu first visits this garden, he feels like he has been here before, and indeed, this garden actually reminds Baoyu of the place he visited in his dreams: the Land of Illusion.

A fantastical literary garden devoted to pleasure and love, which recalls the hero's dream of love and evokes in him a sense of the uncanny, will lead the reader to realize that Prospect Garden is the Land of Illusion. Eden, emptied of humanity, may remain a pristine ideal.

The Prospect Garden becomes a Buddhist allegory of experience. It blooms and withers with the ebb and flow of human desires and longings, but it is also a fictional world, imagined, the stuff of dreams.

The Prospect Garden is the earthly manifestation of the Land of Illusion, just as Baoyu is the physical earthly reincarnation of the stone.

III/ Where is Hong Lu?

After discussing what The Land of Illusion is and what this Paifang separated or rather where it leads to, it's time to ask a question: on which side is Hong Lu on his poster?

The Paifang already gives us an indication of this: since we can read "Land of Illusion" backward.

So I think we can deduce that Hong Lu is currently on the side of the "Land of Illusion" because if we follow the theory that the writing on the Paifang is reversed because Hong Lu is in a mirror world, then it's easy to guess that on the other side (the non-visible face) of the Paifang, we could read "The Land of Illusion" written correctly because this Paifang does lead to the "Land of Illusion."

To support this assertion (that Hong Lu is on the side of "The Land of Illusions"), I invite you to look at the dark blue area.

We can see tall buildings bathed in a red/black color; I think this modern aesthetic and these colors are supposed to remind us of the city, whose red color is often associated with —> just look at the map to notice this.

But that's not all: the color red is associated with the red dust by which Buddhism refers to the earthly realm, which contrasts sharply with the luxury brought to mind by the vernacular use of red.

Red dust is a symbol of the impermanence and transience of human life in Chinese philosophy.

It represents the reality of life as transient and ephemeral, reminding individuals that everything in this world is subject to change and disappearance. This notion is often used in Chinese literature and poetry to express the human condition and the importance of fully living each moment, knowing that nothing is permanent.

Red dust is used to talk about our world and our existence on it, which is but a short-lived illusion filled with suffering, to talk about the mundane world.

In Limbus Company, this world of Red Dust, this illusory world, is the city, and this bubbled paradise is "The Land of Illusion."

But how do we know that Hong Lu is indeed walking on the water of what I have been calling "The Land of Illusion" all this time?

Well, a clue might give us the answer; I invite you to look at the green area.

We can see that Hong Lu is walking on water, which already evokes the notion of "reflection" and this idea that The Land of Illusion is a mirrored world of the world of red dust, as is "The Land of Illusion" in the novel, but that's not all.

I will have to step away from Hong Lu's poster for a moment to look at an image present during the Limbus Company launch trailer.

Although nothing I'm about to say has been confirmed, I don't think it's too farfetched to say that we can see in this image a past version of Hong Lu, before he joined the company when he was at home, probably the Jia family manor (or at least its version of LCB).

What's interesting about this image is the color of the sky: this blue fading towards turquoise. We've seen it elsewhere before:

And yes! I am convinced that this blue space we can see in the cutscene of Hong Lu's EGO is supposed to be the sky from his home. And what is Hong Lu's EGO called? Land of Illusion.

Furthermore, I think that this blue sky is meant to contrast with the red sky of the city. Thus, the separation between the two is even more accentuated, as it was with the Paifang that clearly separated the two realities.

So, I believe that we can conclude that Hong Lu lives in the Land of Illusion.

This idea that the world in which Hong Lu lived is "The Land of Illusion" is emphasized by another detail: the reflection of the moon in the water.

In Buddhism, the image of the moon in the water is often used as a metaphor to illustrate the illusory nature of reality or the nature of conditioned existence. This metaphor is often associated with the practice of meditation and understanding the nature of the mind.

The moon in the water appears clearly and distinctly, but it is unstable and transitory, as it is subject to the movements of the water. Similarly, in daily life, what we perceive as reality is often changing, impermanent, and conditioned by multiple factors.

This metaphor thus emphasizes the importance of recognizing the illusory and impermanent nature of reality and not attaching to appearances or transient phenomena. In summary, in Buddhism, the image of the moon in the water is used to illustrate the illusory nature of reality and to encourage the practice of meditation and the search for the true nature of the mind.

I think that this image of the moon in the water is meant to make us understand the true nature of the place where Hong Lu walks: it is The Land Of Illusion, which is nevertheless Hong Lu's reality.

IV/ The Reality of Hong Lu

Indeed, I will now delve into an explanation, and I will try not to get confused. For this, we must now look at a very important excerpt when analyzing the novel Dream of the Red Chamber:

"Truth becomes fiction when the fiction's true; Real becomes not-real when the unreal's real."

This idiom is not just written anywhere in the world of the novel; it is located on the Paifang serving as the border and gateway to the Land of Illusion, and there is a good chance that it is also on the Paifang that we see behind Hong Lu.

This idiom makes us understand that reality is actually fiction and that fiction is actually the real world. It invites us to reverse our perception of realities and to consider what is called "real" as false and what is called “false” as real.

Here, I think, it is about understanding that Hong Lu's reality, which is (in) the Land of Illusions, is actually a fictitious and false world. Where the city, which is an unknown and completely foreign world to Hong Lu, which could be seen by him as a fictional world that is not real, is actually the real world, whereas the world he considers real is (his home) actually a false world.

To be honest, I cheated a bit because even though the reflection of the moon in the water is used to evoke a world of illusion for Buddhism, and even though I think it can indeed refer to the fact that Hong Lu is on the side of the "Land of Illusion", I think above all that this reflection is meant to make us understand that this world where Hong Lu is located has an illusory nature of reality + a nature of conditioned existence.

This brings me to talk again about Prospect Garden, which I think is the place where Hong Lu grew up but is especially the place from which Hong Lu must escape.

Prospect Garden is, as mentioned earlier, the Land of Illusion materialized in the real world and is therefore a domain where illusions and fantasies come to life, that is, a place where Baoyu bathed in luxury and idleness.

In "Dream of the Red Chamber," Jia Baoyu is often faced with symbolic choices between staying in Prospect Garden, which often represents the materialistic world and earthly pleasures, or setting out in search of spiritual enlightenment. His journey to enlightenment often involves leaving the illusions and distractions of the material world represented by Prospect Garden. Thus, it is often suggested that to achieve enlightenment, Jia Baoyu must move away from Prospect Garden and seek a true understanding of himself and the world around him.

At the end of the novel, Jia Baoyu (the figure who is supposed to have inspired Hong Lu) realizes the illusory nature of his life and realizes that Prospect Garden was only a world where he was trapped by the illusory pleasures of life, and that is why at the end Jia Baoyu decides to break with his previous life and leave the garden (as well as the rest of his family).

I think we are going to go to Hong Lu’s home to realise that he was literally living in a bubbled space and we will go to the Land of Illusion which, I think, will also be the Prospect Garden.

And the fact that the words are reverse like if they were reflected in a mirror helps, I think, to support on the idea that Hong Lu's world/reality is a reflection of the real world but where everything is distorted/inverted (a symbol I also think of Hong Lu's ignorance and his strange vision of the world) and that this illusion glass will break little by little

We also have to remember the sentence

"Truth becomes fiction when the fiction's true; Real becomes not-real when the unreal's real.

And remember that what is true is actually false / wrong according to this. So maybe, if this idea from the novel is kept, the world where Hong Lu is living is just a big lie where everything is just a smoke screen and that Hong Lu is living in denial, prefering to accept this illusion so that his world / vision of reality or truth is not shattered.

So, I think that Hong Lu, during his chapter, will have to understand that his reality is not true and learn to leave the land of illusion to find the truth because it seems to me that one of the theme of Hong Lu will turn around the theme of truth and reality.

[shootingmorningstar]

I was wondering if you're okay writing an Angel Dust. M!Reader. More specifically Drag Angel Dust. I haven't seen anyone make these before so this is an original idea. A one-shot if perfect, but you can do whatever you want. You can do this as smut or fluff, it doesn't matter! Have a great rest of your day!!

I absolutely can ~ .ᐟ By drag I assume you mean a drag queen, let me know if I misunderstood .ᐣ

I'm not too experienced in writing for Angel Dust so I wanted to do something a little less pressure to start him off, I hope a ficlet is alright .ᐣ This prompt got away from me a little and ended up being tooth rottingly sweet, haha.

total wc ; 1.1k

DRAG ANGEL DUST X MALE READER.

Hearing Valentino had temporarily shifted Angel Dust's line of work had been surprising to say the very least -- the change was not an unwelcome one in the slightest, but with just how sought after your boyfriend was in the porn industry, anything that appeared like it might be a potential financial loss for the Overlord seemed vastly out of character.

Still, never a sinner to look a gift horse in the mouth, the news he had brought home with him after a day of particularly rough shoots had been one to be celebrated. Being contracted under Val would never be easy, sure, but this sounded like a step up from being used and abused, thrown around as if he was a doll and subjected to the moth's inhumane treatment, right? Angel's first show would be in just a few days from now and you had been thrilled.

Gathering you and Angel's closest friends hadn't proved hard -- all you'd had to do was swing open the doors to his home, the Hazbin Hotel. It had been through Angel Dust you had met the people gathered in the lobby, true, but they had managed to become your family as well. Seeing the person you loved most changing himself to be better had filled you with pride, the feeling warming you right down to your very soul, and although he had done most of the work needed to improve, the person to spark that change was none other than the Princess of Hell herself -- the exact same Princess who grabs your hands and squeals excitedly as you break the news to her.

A proper celebration is planned in what seems like no time at all -- the plans, while initially your idea, quickly slip through your fingers, Charlie's enthusiasm leading her to take the reigns before she'd even realized what she'd done.

Largely courtesy of Alastor and Lucifer, the hotel soon became filled to the brim with banners, balloons, brilliant lights and thanks to Husk, free flowing booze. Each and every part of the decor is something you're sure Angel will adore, and seeing the way he strolls through the doors, the scowl on his face quickly replaced with that of awe, your assumptions are proved correct. Rushing to his side, a quick murmur of ❛ congratulations, love ❜ is spoken softly into his ear as each and every one of his arms come around you, crushing you to him. Charlie's second to approach, an outfit so flashy in hand it had Velvette written all over it.

❛ We're so happy about your promotion, Angel! ❜ She chimes, a stray tear having built itself into the corner of her eyes. Waiting until he's pulled back from his hug to offer her gift forward, the dress coming alongside an explanation. ❛ We thought you could get some practice in with us before having to go on stage! Now go, take him, ❜ she says, shoving you towards a makeshift dressing room, ❛ and go get ready for your party! No excuses, mister! ❜

Thrilled to go along with what Charlie had said, you take his intended outfit for the night in one hand and Angel's hand in the other, ushering him to follow alongside you. It's not until the pair of you are alone for the first time this evening that he speaks up again. ❛Were you th'one who planned this whole thing, doll? ❜ And with your nod, a look of gratitude glazes over his eyes, his expression offering his silent thanks as he grips your hand just that little bit tighter.

It's not hard to tell that Angel's still unused to receiving acts of kindness. His reaction only serves to endear him to you further, however, and you show him just that by pressing a kiss onto his forehead.

Undressing him from the outfit today's shoot required was a quiet affair, affection laced through your movements as you remove his suit button by button, shifting your focus only when you're done with that to the other accessories he adorns -- his bowtie falling first, followed by his gloves and finishing with his boots. The dress Charlie had selected was nothing short of stunning, an entirely crimson red bodice laced with intricate black detailing, long sleeves stopping only at his hands and a trail touching the floor below both from the arms and towards the bottom, leaving only a sense of mystery where his long legs usually stand proudly on display. You assist him in stepping into the ensemble, your touch delicate as you raise the zipper so as to not catch any of his silky fur in its teeth.

Standing back to admire your work thus far, you brush your fingers against his cheek, palm cradling the side of his face for just a moment before pulling away. ❛ You look exquisite. Sit, please? I've already got your makeup ready, love. ❜

Not wanting to keep the star of tonight's show away for too long, you do your best to speed along the process without tarnishing his beauty -- by the time you're finished, eyeshadow and lipstick alike to match his dress in the most stunning shade of cardinal accentuate the femininity of his facial features, the look truly only complete when you've applied his lashes. Offering your hand once more, you assist your boyfriend to his feet, guiding him to the mirror and encouraging him to finally take in his appearance, to see the results of the love you'd poured into his look.

From head to toe, he looks absolutely stunning. There was no lack of faith from him that he wouldn't -- he knows his looks, prides himself on them, but the emotional little huff that slips past his lips betrays just how he'd really felt. There's a world of difference between how he appears when dolled up by Valentino's employees not paid enough to care how he's feeling and you in contrast, every touch filled with your affections. ❛ C'mon, they're waiting on us. This is all for you, Angel. Every single person out there adores you, just like I do. ❜

You hadn't had it in you to release your hold on his and, and intending to use that very grasp to pull him back towards the lobby, you're surprised when it's him instead pulling you back, bringing you close and stealing a kiss. Gratified by the affection he'd managed to nab from you, he takes charge. His life doesn't often give him the opportunity to be in control, so he cherishes it now, leading you back to take center stage around the sinners who he cares about most.

And there we are .ᐟ As always, hearing what you guys have to say about my work means the world and keeps me writing .ᐟ If you like what you read, consider leaving me a like or a comment .ᐣ I'd really appreciate it. Till next time ~ .ᐟ

[onesidedradiostatic]

LMAOOO I've seen that joke image you mentioned in the tags and have thought of this too, val's antenna isn't exactly as replaceable as mr "I change screens every decade" vox so at least val has an excuse, what's vox's?

but I do want to point out another possible explanation in that it might also just be a property of alastor's magic, remember sinner demons can apparently "pull" themselves "back together" when damaged normally, which in that case, it's weird val's antenna was permanently damaged despite alastor presumably not using angelic steel, if it's a property of alastor's magic it might also apply to vox's antenna so no matter how he replaces his screen he can't undo the damage to that antenna

but then again we also don't entirely know how their biology works and if sinners can regenerate or if pulling themselves back together means respawning or something.

we also have no idea what vox does to replace his head and what it entails because even with this explanation it does sound weird being able to change his whole fucking head but not his antenna LMAO, I just wanted to offer another possible explanation but honestly him intentionally not replacing it is still just as likely (also if we subscribe to the idea the fight took place DIRECTLY before alastor's 7 year absence, it could've also been his way of like keeping some reminder of him in his absence)

Vox's Antenna Theory/Headcanon Idea

I thought of something that I haven't really heard anyone else talk about before- We all know by now about Vox's broken/bent antenna, and that there was a point where it wasn't like that (as shown in the background photo of him and Valentino). The thing is, Vox is fully capable of replacing his head. We know this, again from the photo in episode 2 of him with a CRT television head. He can and has replaced his head to fit with more modern times. If he can replace his entire head presumably whenever he wants, he can certainly replace the antenna as well. So, if something happened to one of his antenna, even if it doesn't affect his working performance, he'd surely want to swap it out for a working one. His public image is obviously important to him, after all, especially in the physical sense.

So why wouldn't Vox, entertainer and manipulator of the public through visual means, do exactly that? Why go through the trouble of replacing his head but not the little things on top of it? Well, a popular idea of what happened to his antenna in the first place is that it got bent in his fight with Alastor (and that may be the same reason for Val's broken antenna as well). While Valentino is incapable of fixing his problem, Vox was apparently just uninterested in fixing his own. This was Alastor's doing and, sure, he hated that. He hated that he was shown up by his rival. He hated that his old friend, someone who he still admired, could do that to him without a second thought. But on the other hand, it's a reminder of a time Alastor would give him any sort of attention, even if it was in a negative context, compared to how Alastor now will hardly give him the time of day and treats his feud with Vox as a minor inconvenience more than a legitimate threat (based on what we've seen so far, how much of it is genuine is another question). TLDR: Alastor: *breaks Vox's antenna in the fight*

Vox, lovestruck: I'm never replacing this antenna again

[charliedawn]

Imagine being the only angel that still believes in Lucifer's redemption part 2

https://charliedawn.tumblr.com/post/646303435890769920/imagine-being-the-only-angel-that-likes-lucifer 1st part

Lucifer doesn't know what to do..He had woken up to a bunch of children poking him with little sticks, with no sign of you or Gabriel. He had no way to communicate with you and was feeling that the gates of Hell had closed their doors..He couldn't enter. Gabriel had made sure to block all of his usual accesses and even Mazikeen couldn't enter. He sighs loudly out of frustration before joining his hands and looking up, wondering if you could still hear him.

" I don't know if it will work but..I miss you, angel..I know that you thought you were doing good in replacing me, but I..I'm afraid that your decision may have altered things too much. I do not hear the souls of all those who should be suffering in Hell, and I feel empty without you by my side..You don't belong down there. It isn't your cross to bare.."

He takes a drag of his cigaret and let's out a puff of smoke before chuckling bitterly to himself.

" You know..I've noticed something. During your last visit, you said that you loved me at least 3 times..But I never thought about saying it back..In fact, I don't remember ever saying it back..Not once in 50 times you decided to come visit me.."

He seems to freeze for a moment at the realization before hitting his forehead with the palm of his hand, trying to hide his tears from the world as the guilt takes over him.

" I'm such an idiot, angel..You must feel so lost and confused right now.."

He tries to keep his cool, but it is becoming harder and harder. His hands are shaking and he feels the tears welling up at the corner of his eyes. Even his tears sting as he thinks of you, ruling Hell and scared of being caught. The thought only making him grip his hair tightly and groan in frustration. Chloe had tried to cheer him up the best she could, but..

"..She isn't you.."

He finally mumbles to himself and suddenly, his grief turns into rage as he remembers that you had defied him..HIM ! He was supposed to be the one keeping Hell, you had disobeyed his direct order, as if what he had said was of no importance..You are mad..There is no other explanation..

" I won't leave you there ! You hear me ! Can't you see the state in which I am because you're gone ?! My little angel..Your trick won't last long..And then ? What will you do ? Any demon could get their hands on you and..?!"

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply as thousands of thoughts of what those creatures would do to you..He had seen what they were capable of, and many wouldn't bat an eye before dismembering you for their own sadistic pleasure..The thought alone makes him shiver and turn his eyes red.

" If you can hear me, angel. Run. Get out of there. I don't want you to see to which extent this place is depraved, to which extent humans are. I don't want to see the faith you have for them falter..nor your love for me.."

He pauses before admitting that last part, knowing that that was his own selfish desire. He sighs loudly, he needed to get out of here and teleports himself to the nearby beach to take a big inspiration of the salty air and relaxes before continuing with a heavy heart, knowing that it would hurt you if you heard his next words.

" We should have never met, Y/N..I tend to destroy everything that I touch..You were only an innocent little angel and we both knew that, one day, this relationship would lead to something disastrous..I'm so sorry for not having reacted sooner..Dad was right..It would have been better for me to erase all of your memories, instead of keeping the first ones. They only paint a very different version of me..If you come back, I promise to give you everything back. I know that some of the memories will make you hate me, or even feel disgusted..But, that way, you will finally see the monster that you're trying to help.."

He lowers his head and nearly jumps out of his seat when he hears a voice behind him.

" Talking to someone ?"

He turns around swiftly to see you standing there with a small smile playing on your lips.

" Aren't you tired of praying someone that can't hear you ? It's been 5 years, brother..She can't hear you. She's been ignoring my calls as well.."

He only groans in annoyance when he recognizes the condescending voice of his twin and turns towards the counter as fast as he had turned around. But, unlike what he had previously thought, Michael doesn't leave and sits next to him, asking a glass of wine to Mazikeen that first glances at Lucifer for approval, which his finally gives with a slight nod of his head.

" So..What brings you to my charming little establishment, brother?"

Lucifer asks when Michael has his drink, that he gulps in one go to Lucifer's astonishment. Well..So much for the vow of sobriety..

" I know that you know where she is, Lucifer..Even though you won't admit it. An angel can't just disappear without you knowing something about it..I won't ask you where she is, I just wanna know if she's alright?"

Lucifer would have normally made a joke about him becoming attached to you, gladly invited him to leave or ignored him all together..But, surprisingly, he didn't have the will to and he sounded so genuine in his worry that Lucifer has to admit with a loud sigh.

" I don't know, Michael..As you could have guessed, every communication with her has been answered by a deafening silence..Wherever she is, she doesn't want to be found.."

Michael mimics his sigh and, for a moment, the same expression of worry and silent contemplation appear on both their faces as they stare far ahead at an invisible spot in front of them..Angels were archangels charge, not important enough to inform Father himself. But, still..Michael couldn't get you out of his head..Not that angels didn't frequently disappear, either slayed by some demon or wanted to become some guardian angel of Earth..But, this was you they were talking about. You had never left this long before and were too weak to be of any particular interest for any demon..However, that didn't mean he didn't worry about you. Where have you gone to? Knowing that he wouldn't probably find any answer with Lucifer, he decides to stand up and take his leave. However, to his surprise, Lucifer asked as he looks at him with a small mocking smile.

" You know that your an idiot, right?"

Michael frowns in incomprehension and also a bit vexed by Lucifer's insult. Lucifer that picks on his confusion as to what he was talking about, adds while pouring himself another glass of whiskey.

" You've had so many occasions to tell her how you truly felt..But each time, you were too much of a scaredy cat to do anything about it. Even when I was up there, it was so painful to watch. It's funny how we were born with the same face, at the exact same time and place..But, we are so different..I immediately knew what I felt for her the moment our eyes met, and I didn't waste my time like you did.."

Michael doesn't turn around, he only turns his head just enough to catch a glimpse of Lucifer's face when he replies.

" Is that so? Then, tell me, how did that work out for you, brother? She would have done anything for you, and you still find ways to hurt her..How many times must you fall before you realize that she is the only one to have ever truly and unconditionally believed in you?"

Lucifer doesn't respond and Michael doesn't wait for and answer as he walks towards the door..Fools. They were both fools in love with the same damn angel. Unaware to the both of them that someone was spying on their discussion..

" Master ?"

You had been so concentrated on listening to the discussion that you had failed to hear that the demon besides you was talking.

" Mmh?"

You mutter at the end, clearly not interested in whatever he was saying. However, the demon doesn't seem that surprised, Lucifer surely wasn't the most attentive angel after all..

" What do you think we should do with the rest of the murderers on level 4?"

Before you could truly think about the answer, you say out loud.

" Oh..Uh..Forgive them?"

The six eyes of the demon widen at the same time and he quizzically looks at you with confusion.

" My lord?"

The demon seems to not comprehend your demand and you want to face-palm yourself so hard..How did Luci ever managed to know what to do?!

" I mean torture them! Why are you coming to me for that, don't you know how to do your own job? Must I send you in the pit of eternal fire for you to finally understand not to disturb me?!"

If you were being honest? You loved pretending to be Lucifer. He was free and spent most of his time just barking orders on his throne. Since the humans were all sinners down there, nobody cared to do paperwork and everybody was obeying you..While in Heaven, you were just an angel, not a high-ranked one either..The only advantage you had was that power, the power to shapeshift. You usually used it to prank people of joke light-heartedly while mimicking archangel Gabriel when he would come and lecture you..Most of the other angels never understood you, and maybe this is why you had never assigned a higher post in the hierarchy? Not that Gabriel would ever let you become an archangel..You smile at the man that you had learned to consider as a big brother and a friend..It was thanks to him that you had met Luci. One day, as you were welcoming a new soul, a man that you recognized as archangel Michael came to supervise your work. To say that you had been stressed would be a huge understatement. Of course, he couldn't exactly fire you, but you knew that angels could be sent to Hell to take care of the bad souls..or worse. You remember Gabriel telling you that archangels, unlike common angels had the power to "kill" angels, or make them disappear anyway..This is why, you had decided to be on your best behavior that day, however you hadn't counted on Luci being there. You didn't ask when, in the middle of the meeting, Michael had excused himself and left, only to reappear a few moments later with a huge grin..

" So, how's the angel business doing?"

You forced yourself to smile and look back at him to list him a bunch of names you had processed that very day. Many angels did not see the point of your job..However, Luci was different. As soon as you looked up at him, his smile faltered and he frowned, as if he knew that you weren't genuinely smiling.

" Stop that."

He had ordered you and you had looked confused at the time.

" That. Don't smile..You look fake.."

You knew better than disobey an angel's direct command and stopped smiling.

" Does my appearance displease you, archangel Michael ?"

You asked, wondering if it was your face that was not to his taste or your whole appearance in itself ? He shook his head negatively before turning around and sighing.

" I thought you would be more interesting..A shame. From what I heard, you like to think outside of the box and make sure that everybody gets to laugh in Heaven..However, I've been following you since this morning, and you haven't succeeded in making me crack up even once..Care to explain why ?"

His accusative tone caught you by surprise, the great Michael wanted you to..make him laugh? That was unexpected..But, since he asked..A true smirk appears on your face as you think of some human joke that may earn a reaction from the archangel.

" Okay..Let's see..Do you promise not to get mad ?"

He arked an eyebrow, intrigued before smirking.

" Depends.."

Well, here was nothing..You had very few information on mankind and the future..Only Father had this sort of information. However, you all had been given the book of Truth that guided humanity..including the passage which talked about his son falling and being crucified to save humanity..You knew better than to joke about that, but what could you do to try to make the great Michael to laugh?!

" Why doesn't Jesus trust mankind ?"

The eyes of Lucifer widened, he hadn't expected that..

" Why ?"

You looked around, as if you were afraid that someone might hear you before whispering.

"He's afraid he'll get double crossed.."

At first, Luci stayed still, but soon his mouth etched into a grin and his eyes brightened with a certain amount of amusement.

" Ah ! I think that joke nailed it!"

His answer made you blank for a moment, but soon, you felt excited. When you had told your joke to Gab, he had simply sighed in utter despair, quickly reprimanding you on how this was no laughing matter..However, knowing that Michael could understand dark humour was the best surprise you'd had for centuries of existence.

" Listen, I have to go..But, keep up the good work and I'll be sure to check in once or twice.."

You smiled genuinely and nodded vividly, impatient to see him again.

" Ah! Here it is! You have a rather beautiful smile, angel..Try to use this one more often.."

You blushed at the compliment and Lucifer winked at you before walking away. Was that just your imagination or did the archangel Michael gave you a compliment ?! You squealed and let yourself do a little victory dance, interrupted by someone coughing loudly behind you. You turned around to see Michael standing there and blushed even more as he eyed you up and down with an amused smile.

" May I know what inspired that sudden little demonstration of happiness, angel Y/N ?" " You decided to ignore his question and ask teasingly instead.

" Did you perhaps come to hear one or two more of my jokes, archangel Michael ? Couldn't get enough ?"

Suddenly, archangel Michael walked straight towards you and lean in so close that you were starting to wonder if you hadn't made a mistake..He arked an eyebrow at you before replying quizzically.

" Weren't you informed that I was supposed to see you today ? The inspection ?"

Your eyes widened, stammering your answer.

" B..But you already d..did ? No?"

He raised an eyebrow in surprise before sighing loudly, understanding what had happened.

" You must have met my brother..Lucifer can be a little eccentric. Do not mind him. I hope that he wasn't too much of a hassle ?"

You turned around to hide your embarrassment, as you had confused Michael with his brother ! However, Michael didn't seem to really mind and only sighs before looking at the files you had made on the advantages of laughter, which earned you a small smile from him.

" I must admit, we were impressed by your work..Especially, the "twin prank". Me and Lucifer had a lot of fun in trying it on the other archangels..and even Father who laughed when we both started dressing as each other and walking around to see who would recognize us..But, what was the funniest, I must admit, was your own reaction. You created that idea, and yet had trouble recognizing it..Wouldn't that mean that we outsmarted you?"

Michael looks up at you with a mischievous grin and you can't help but smile back. At last, you had found other players among all of the archangels..Lucifer and Michael, huh ? Well played..Well played, gentlemen..

" No..Not at all..It just means that the rematch will be sweeter for me.."

You start shifting to their appearance and take one step towards Michael with a daring smile.

" See, archangel. When you try to prank the prankster, you must always expect the game to go on. Now, good luck to differentiate me to your brother.."Am I him ?" You'll both ask yourselves and I will be enjoying immensely your confusion as you both lose your heads.."

Michael, far from feeling threatened, smiles at you..You were different from the other angels he had ever encountered, that was for sure..He suddenly tookyou by the waist and watched as you blushed intensely. He then lowers his face to whisper in your ear. " I've got other ways to find out if your my brother or not.." You both hear a chuckle behind you and and look at Lucifer, smirking widely as he looked over the both of you. This is how you three had bonded: over a prank. And since then, you had never left their sides..Or at least until Lucifer's great fall..

The scared voice of the demon besides you gets you back to reality.

" No! Of course not my lord! I'm sorry..Please, forgive me..The level 4 is overcrowded and we must find a new place to put the new arrivals. Maybe if your majesty could create more space in this area?"

One of tree things that you had not predicted however is that Lucifer was a being capable of manipulating Hell's pit, as he was the one that had created it. Whereas your power only consisted in copying the physical aspects of a being, not its powers..

" I..I.."

You try to find an excuse, but nothing comes to mind, until a hand puts itself on your shoulder.

" No problem. I'm sure the lord is just feeling a bit lost after his long stay in the pitiful human world.."

You look up to find a demon with half of his face burnt down to a crisp and who looks at you with big green eyes. Somehow, he seemed far more intimidating than the other one and also intelligent as his eyes seem to pierce right through you. You shiver at his devilish smirk and quickly stand up to face him, in order to not make yourself even more suspicious.

" And who are you to tell me if I'm lost or not?! Who even gave you the permission to touch me, hmm?"

The demon suddenly takes a step backwards in surprise and kneels on one knee in front of you, his head lowered in respect.

" My apologies, my king..I didn't think that you would find my gesture so inappropriate. I am Azrath. Your second-in-command and faithful servant.."

Perfect ! You had just gave away that you had no clue that the man in front of you was your second-in-command ! You take a profound breath before taking back your emotionless mask and smile.

" I know who you are, Azrath..Your presence is just unexpected..What are you doing here ?"

The demon stands up again and you suddenly are very aware of how tall he was compared to you..His pale face contrasting with his half eaten half worm-infested chest. You have to look away in order for him not to see your eyes prickled with tears at the stench. Not that Hell smelt good in general, but the throne was so high above everything else that it was bearable, which you couldn't say for the walking corpse next to you..

" I just wanted to see if the rumors were true..You did come back.."

He seems almost disappointed for a second, but quickly composes himself and then gives you something that make your eyes widen as big as saucers..hearts..bloody hearts !

" Also, I took the liberty to gather the fresh hearts of the new arrivals..Just as you like them. Still beating."

Lord..Help me. You could see them moving and it takes all of your self-control not to throw up your own heart at the sight..However, you can feel it beating more widely in your chest..Even though you technically didn't have one, the feeling of pure horror conjured one..You force yourself to smile up at the demon and take the bag, trying your hardest not to look back at them..

" Thank you ! This is...lovely..."

This time, both demons seem to be taken aback by your words and you frown, what have you said this time?! The less intelligent of the two, noticing your confusion, takes it upon himself to answer your silent question.

" My lord..You've never "thanked" anyone before..You even forbid anyone to say it in Hell 1000 years ago.."

You understand and sweat profusely at the realization..The other demon remains silent, but the way he was staring at you suspiciously was enough for you to have doubts as to whether he was starting to understand what was going on..You had to do something, quick. You grit your teeths and yell as loud and as scary as you could.

" I am tired of this! Now, I've been gone for a while and wish to be left alone with my thoughts! Would it be possible or is it too much to ask?!"

Both demons fly away and you let out a sigh of relief. You look around and your eyes fall on a little demon that was flying by, transporting some letters. You frown, wondering what it was doing until you notice that it is going towards the gates. It must be a messenger! You summon paper and start writing a letter to Gabriel and call the little demon.

" You ! Send this to archangel Gabriel !"

The little she-demon quivers in fear, but doesn't dare refuse and takes the letter to the only communication link between Hell and Heaven. The tall and lanky skeleton that had talked to you earlier was sure to become a problem..He was far too smart for his own good..You would have to find a way to make him believe you somehow..You sigh loudly in frustration before running you hand through your...his hair..Suddenly, you smell something rotten just behind you and don't have the time to turn around before a dark chuckle sounds nears your ear.

" Archangel Gabriel, huh ?"

Your eyes widen and when you turn around, you find yourself in front of the same clever demon from earlier. His eyes seem brighter somehow and he is covered in..You have to muffle your mouth not to let out a scream or even vomit at the guts hanging from his shoulders and limbs..Oh my Goodness..The demon seems to perceive your uneasiness and hangs his head on one side, wondering what was wrong..You close your eyes and, after a few minute, open them again to see the monster actually smirking mockingly at you.

" What is the matter, Lucifer ? Did the human world affect you so much that you can't even stomach the sight of blood anymore ?"

He laughs at your horrified expression and suddenly takes you by the arm to yank you harshly forward, making you nearly fall from the throne.

" What are you doing?! Unhand me!"

You scream, but he only does a crooked smile before asking, almost expectantly.

" Aren't you going to use your wings, "my lord"?"

The way he had mockingly pronounced the two last words make you quickly understant that he was on to your masquerade and you glare at him.

" I won't let a pitiful demon like you intimidate me..I am your king and I am to he respected as such!"

However, far from feeling threatened, the demon only gets out something that you had forgotten about..the sword of Lucifer..

" The sword of Hell..Only demons or lord Lucifer can wield it..If any other etheral being were to try to use it, they would fall to the core of Hell to burn there for the rest of eternity..And one of the only weapons capable to kill even angels..Now, tell me..Still going to pretend to be our great master?"

You know that what he is saying is true..The sword is as sharp and bloody as it was the day Lucifer got rejected from Heaven..You didn't know what to do, so you admit reluctantly.

" I am angel Y/N, caretaker of humans joy and laughter of sector 45."

You were sure that he would pierce your body with the sword as soon as he would know, but the pain never comes and you open your eyes to see that the demon was now facing you. His wide green eyes were dancing around their sockets and his smile goes from ear to ear, showing his sharp and yellow teeths. He runs his tongue over them and has something in his eyes that makes you shiver in fear..hunger. He eyes you up and down and laughs darkly as you try to get away from him. However, you slip and fall. Not having any choice, you open your wings and all of the demons turn their heads towards you, the blinding light catching their attention. As soon as they see you, they all screech or roar in your direction and fly up in the sky to attack you. You start flying towards the gates, followed closely by waves of demons and Azrath that yells at the guards to cut the entrance. The two huge demons at the doors try to catch you with their bare hands, as if you were some kind of mosquitoe and you have to do multiple spins in the air to escape them. You know that their must be an entrance somewhere since the little demon messengers were able to pass. However, you didn't plan on the said entrance to be tiny orifices, big enough for the little demons to go through, but not you. You turn around to see the wave of demons coming closer..Well, looks like Luci was right..You hadn't totally thought that through..You would probably die here. You close your eyes and smile. At least, you had bought some time for Lucifer to live as he wanted among the humans for 5 whole years..However, suddenly, you feel a hand around your wrist. You open your eyes to see Azrath, dragging you towards the gates where he gets out the sword of Lucifer and cuts you with it. The burn is insufferable and you scream in pain as Azrath forces you to put your injured hand against the door.

" What are you doing?!"

You scream incredulously at his strange behavior, but he only lets out a spine-chilling groan before answering you.

" My great escape, sweetheart ! And if you want to leave, I would advise you to do as I say and shut up!"

You open your eyes wide as he starts pushing against the door, trying to get it open. You look behind you and see the demons flying in circle in the sky, wondering what their boss was doing..

" W..Why are you doing this?!"

You finally ask and, just as the door starts bulging, he answers you with terrifying smirk.

" I'm going to get back Lucifer..I've had more than enough of this place and I'm sure that if he is so reluctant to come home..then that means the human world must be a very nice place. Now, are you going to stay here with the nice little other flying monstrosities, or are you going to follow me, angel Y/N?"

He extends his hand towards you and look back at the screaming harpies and horned devils flying above your heads. You finally sigh and take his hand. As soon as your hand in his, his grin only widens and he runs outside, followed by you. You close your eyes and try to communicate with Lucifer.

" I'm sorry, Lucifer..I've failed."

On Earth, Lucifer was sitting besides Trixie that had grown into quite the young lady, as you had predicted..He finds himself smiling as the door opens and he sees Chloe come in with a loud sigh.

" Today was absolutely crazy at work..There has been some calls all over the cities..missing cats. Can you believe it?! Cats?! What are we?! The Cat Police?!"

The girl and Lucifer look up at her from the sofa while Chloe arks an eyebrow at them.

" What?"

They both look at each other with a serious expression, both nodding understandingly at each other and smile widely before looking back at Chloe with their hands joined together in a gun shape.

" You are under catrest !"

" Paws where I can see them, detective !"

They both yell at the same time and Chloe snorts..Of course those two would do cat puns..typical. However, she acts her part and raises her hands in the air.

" Oh no! You got me!"

They all smile, all the sion having left the room..But then, a loud caught catches their attention.

" Sorry to interrupt this..whatever this is..But, I must talk to Lucifer."

Here was Gabriel, in their living room..after 5 years of absence and Lucifer's smile automatically goes downwards as his eyes take a bright red tint. Chloe, sensing the danger, urges Trixie to go in her room. As soon as the girl is upstairs, Lucifer is quick to react and jumps on Gab to choke the angel.

" You! How dare you show your face again?!"

He shouts angrily, his eyes flashing a bright red. It takes Chloe to grab him by the shirt to yank him off the angel that stands up again to answer him between each pant.

" It's..It's Y/N..I..I made a mistake.."

Lucifer growls at him and responds sarcastically.

" You think?!"

The etheral being looks up at Lucifer with, for the first time in ages, an apologetic glance.

" It wasn't meant to last that long..You were supposed to get back down there a year later..But, she closed the gates, Lucifer. I couldn't come in myself. She closed the gates to anyone but the souls and now, I'm afraid that she may be in trouble, because of me."

Lucifer, far from feeling any compassion towards the angel, is bewildered by his apology and smiles in astonishment at his brother's admittance.

" Oh well..My heart bleeds for you, Gab..It really does. Not even recognizing your own brother must be terrible.."

Lucifer doesn't wait for an answer before pushing Chloe to the side on the sofa before punching Gabriel in the nose. Gabriel stumbles back with the force of the impact and raises his hand in surrender and repeats.

"I know that you are angry, brother..But, I'm not joking, Lucifer. She's in trouble."

Lucifer, astonished by the nerve of this angel that dared come to him for help, can't help but replying ironically.

" Oh! You're not joking?! Well good..Because neither am I !"

His eyes lighten up in orange and he nearly growls at Gab that gets out the letter you had send him to extend it towards Lucifer.

" She wrote me this..One of the demons is on to her..And, as I said earlier, I can't go in there. Not only did she close the doors, but you know as well as I do that I can't go in there without Father's permission.."

Lucifer snickers at Gabriel's pathetic excuse and shakes his head.

" No. I am not going to read that. Fuck off. She chose to disobey..She chose to replace me and she told me herself! She finds my job "extremely complaisant and entertaining". Even if I were to go there, she wouldn't want my help..Plus, as you said, she closed the gates! Only the spirits are allowed in..How do you suppose I get in?!"

However, it's Chloe that reacts first and grabs the letter out of Gab's hands to give it to Lucifer with resolution.

" Open it, Lucifer. You still are the king of Hell! Act like it!"

His eyes widen at Chloe's sudden agressive reply and his voice softens as he looks down at the woman and finally opens the letter to read it.

" Gabriel, my brother and my friend..It has been 5 years now that I've sealed the gates of Hell. I know you must be pretty furious, as our deal ended 4 years ago..However, I couldn't deny Lucifer of his happiness. I know that you can't understand my decision, nor why I did it..But, it's not that bad. I succeeded in blending in among the demons. I think Lucifer would be proud. However, I wanted to know if you could please enlighten me on one of the demons that just arrived in Hell. His name is.."

Lucifer's eyes widen at the familiar name and he looks up at Gabriel with shock..The name of his second-in-command was written on there, but he had deserted eons ago..Why come back now? It didn't make any sense, unless..His jaw clench and he fixes the letter intensely..Unless he had found his sword..as he had asked of him..And if it was the case, then his little angel had some serious problems on her hands..However, before he could voice his concern, he feels a vivid pain in his chest that cuts his breath off..He can feel that you're in danger somehow..But how to find you?! He groans in agony, trying to think of how to find you..until he remembers that there had been mysterious disappearances of cats in the neighborhood. He looks up at Chloe that is by his side, supporting him as he doubles on the floor in pain.

" The..cats.."

He tries to utter, but Chloe doesn't understand and leans in to have a better hearing.

" The cats..Where were they going? Where did the largest number disappear?"

" Around the old church..Why?"

He looks at Gab that instantly understands and nods before disappearing. Asrath was also known as the master of cats, this is why it had been easier for him to search for the sword undetected..He just had to believe that Gab would arrive in time. Chloe frowns at him and asks, bewildered.

" Well?! Are you going to stay there?? Go save her !"

He looks up at her with widened eyes, astonished that she would ever suggest it.

" I can't..I can't leave you, Chloe.."

Chloe takes a big breath before looking up at Lucifer with a small sad smile and caressing his cheek tenderly.

" Go, Lucifer..She needs you. We'll be fine.."

He finally nods and smiles up at her before kissing her on the forehead.

" I love you.."

She smiles with tears in her eyes and forces herself to nod.

" I know.."

And with that confirmation, Lucifer disappears as well, appearing near the old church and the pain worsens with every step he takes. When he enters the said church, it is filled with cats and he sees Gab, fighting Azrath. He looks around to spot you huddled near the cross, your face hidden behind your Y/C hair and then..he sees the blood. You were bleeding from your upper arm and he sees red. His body feels hot and overwhelmed by a new-found energy. He looks up at Azrath that was handling HIS sword against Gabriel that was struggling with fighting back. He walks towards them and as soon as Azrath notices him, he smirks and gets rid of Gabriel by throwing him against the cross that breaks in two. Gab wants to get up, but he feels a pain to his side and sees that Azrath had succeeded in wounding him..In normal circumstances, his wound would close itself immediately. However, this mighty weapon was one conceived especially to kill archangels, and Lucifer had made it with his own hands..The wound would take longer to heal and he felt himself fall unconscious. You whimper and try to help Gab by applying pressure on the bleeding wound, but Azrath notices you and stops you. You back away in fear, your wide eyes full of terror and Lucifer then sees why he had felt your pain..Azrath had carved an upside-down cross on your forehead, sending him a direct invitation..His blood is boiling in his veins as he sees what the vile creature had done to his poor angel, while Azrath seems proud of himself as he takes you by the hair and yanks you forward so you fall to your knees at his feet. It takes you a few minutes to look up, but when you do, his heart stops. In your eyes, the innocence and joy were gone..replaced by unbidden fear. He tries to help you up, but you scurry backwards and his eyes prickle with tears, as you were now afraid of even him.

" Oh..angel.."

He utters apologetically at you before glaring up at Azrath that frowns in incomprehension.

" Why are you looking at me like that?! She's an angel!"

He stands up and Azrath takes a step back as he senses the radiating rage of Lucifer that walks calmly towards him and extends his hand towards him expectantly.

" The sword. Give me the sword."

Azrath takes back his blank expression and shakes his head negatively before looking at the bloody sword in his hands.

" I'm sorry, Master..But you know I can't do that..You need to come back with me. Your kingdom needs you and this sword is the only thing hat can force you to come back.."

Lucifer sighs, knowing that he wouldn't give him without a fight. He suddenly tries to surprise him by sending him a punch, but Azrath, having premeditated it, uses the sword as a shield. But Lucifer, far from being bothered, takes the sword with his bare hands before kicking Azrath backwards. Azrath growls at him, showing his sharp teeths and snake-like tongue. He hisses, his voice dripping with venom.

" You really are going to fight me for her?! She's only an angel! The enemy!"

Lucifer glances back at you and smiles reassuringly at you before looking back at Azrath with eyes glowing in the dark.

" No.."

Azrath seems to be relieved by his answer, but it quickly fades out when Lucifer takes his original form and shouts between gritted teeths.

"..I'm going to kill you!"

Lucifer couldn't just control Azrath, he was too powerful for that..and had always been by his side since his great fall. Azrath closes his eyes and inhales deeply before looking up at Lucifer with his bright green eyes in which his pupils turn to slits and raises his hands in the air.

" As you wish, Master..Know that I never wanted this.."

Suddenly, the cats surround him and cover him from head to toe, melting into a sort of black armor. The great armor of Azrath. Great..Lucifer cracks his head to the side and grins up at his ex second-in-command.

" Always the attention seeker, aren't you Azrath?"

Azrath would have only ignored his comment normally, but this time, his comment earns him a slight chuckle, knowing that one of them would die tonight.

" You know me, Lucifer..I guess I took some things from you.."

After this exchange of ironic comebacks, they both become serious and in a flash, they are both at each other's throats. Azrath bites his shoulder hard and Lucifer slashes his face. Both of them are panting, but in their eyes the same fire burning bright..Suddenly, someone crashes inside through the window and interposes himself between the two demons.

" What is going on here?! What are you two doing here?! Hell is chaos and I find you both here?!"

Michael booms in obvious discontent, not having noticed the sword in Azrath's hands yet..Azrath takes it as an opportunity and raises his sword to strike him down.

" This is for you, Lucifer!"

He brings it down, but you use your last strength to stand up and stand in front of Michael. The three men are shocked and Michael is the first to react, he gets out his lance and decapitates Azrath in one swift blow. As for Lucifer, he quickly kneels besides you and takes you in his arms. He looks at his hand in horror, recognizing the smell and color of blood. He shakes you, trying to wake you up while crying out loud.

" No. No! No! No! Angel! Stay with me! You hear me?! Stay with me!"

He sobs and gets the hair out of your face, cradling your face kissing your face over and over again, hoping for your (Y/C) eyes to open again..Michael, after having made sure that Gabriel was alright, turns towards you and, for the first time in forever, feels tears prickle in his eyes at the realization. He falls to his knees by your side and gently pets the top of your head. He then looks up at the sky and asks for a miracle, begging his Father to bring you back..

" Dad! Please! Do not punish her even more! Please, bring her back!"

But his prayers are unanswered and the only one who seems to be affected by his words is Gab that gasps loudly as he wakes up. He looks at his wound and smiles as he sees that there is nothing left..However, when he sees your cold body on the ground, his smile turns into a pained grimace, his whole face twisting in sadness.

" Why? She saved Michael..She saved your son!"

Lucifer shouts, his eyes pointed towards the sky, not expecting an answer.

" Because, this is Michael's punition.."

They all look towards the direction of the voice, their eyes widening as they see Gab, his kind eyes looking above all of them with a numb stare, having finally understood why Father hadn't said or done anything.

" Michael, you really thought Y/N wouldn't know how you felt ? Your jealousy of your own brother..Jealousy that only grew to win the love of one being and threatened to destroy Heaven and Hell..The very same being that only wished for you two to be happy..She tried to make things right and replace you, Lucifer..Father gave her what she wanted, and what you both feared more than anything..She knew the price, but she asked HIM for your salvation and redemption."

Lucifer and Michael both stand up at the same time and open their mouths to voice their disapproval and utter outrage when Gabriel interrupts them, wanting only one thing now.

" Let's go home.."

He takes your body and looks at both brothers with tearful eyes.

" I hope you will be able to appreciate the second chance she has just both given you..You are both free."

And with those last words, he flies up with your body in his arms. Lucifer and Michael both look at each other and, without them knowing why, they both start tearing up. However, Lucifer forces himself to talk through his sobs.

" We can't..We can't leave her..She didn't deserve this..I know what punishment looks like, and she didn't deserve this! She didn't deserve to be sacrificed for our sakes!"

Michael, for once, agrees with his brother and extends his hand towards his brother.

" I know we had our differences in the past, brother..But, we need to show Dad that we are more! That we can be more than just hateful beings, if we want her back..Are you with me?"

Lucifer nods, and for the first in the History of the World, the Good and the Bad were to become allies in order to save you..

You open your eyes wide and straighten up to look around you, frowning in confusion at your surroundings. You were in the middle of a luxuriant forest with tall trees and bright purple fruits..Where are you? And most of all, how are you alive?! You look at your stomach to see that your wound has completely disappeared.

" How are you, my darling?"

You look up with astonishment as you see a tall woman with a bright green dress making her way to you. Her smile and welcoming expression make you think that she is not a threat, but you still have to ask.

" Hum..Thank you for saving me but, who are you? And where am I?"

She only chuckles at your question, as if it was the funniest joke.

" I'm sorry, my dear..Those are very good questions but, it's been a while since I've got some company so..hearing another human voice is quite exciting.."

You don't reply, waiting for her to answer your questions, which she does and you whiten at her answers.

" My name is Lilith..And this is my prison. I would say that it is the garden..but I've been locked up in here for so long that I can't remember much."

You had heard about Lilith, the first woman, the mistake, the mother of monsters..She had died so many millenias ago. And if you were with her, then that only meant one thing..

" Welcome to the Other Place! The place where angels and demons come when they die ! Of course, as not many angels or demons truly die..They stay here until Father needs them again..Come. You're the first one to get here since a few centuries..I'm sure you've got many stories to share."

Lilith extends her hands towards you with a wide smile and you look at her hand hesitantly for a few seconds before finally taking it with a small sigh.

" Yes. I guess I do.."

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 12: Betray - Sinners Are We Chap.4: The Golden Princess

Little Dove takes her first steps in walking beside mortals and a lot of people plot, particularly Orrin.

Leaving the Keep had been hardly difficult to do for Orrin, Dove hadn’t seemed to even understand what was going on. She also didn’t seem to mind the quaint brick house in one of the more deserted areas. Really it just seemed she wanted her plushie. Children. Though he certainly wasn’t like this in the slightest.

Setting up a proper food supply and figuring out how to get Dove some form of a social circle were the next tasks on the list. The first was pathetically easy, but he supposes it should be. If it was too difficult for the living to get food they died. As for the second, his only experience with socialising like a mortal was talking to passerby’s, speaking in lines, and the occasional concert. Those were not really well suited for a child. He does remember mother and father complaining about ‘school’ but sending her off to some building with other children on her own was actively asking to get found out. Very actively. That was precisely the risky move he’d expect out of brother, which of course means it would not be expected out of him. Which means that if this whole idea of his got sniffed out by mother and father then they would laugh at him doing something so far out of his expected behaviours. Which could save him from a more genuine shit-kicking. He rather didn’t feel like being holed up in bed for a week with all his bones broken and skinned. Besides, he could do that ‘volunteering’ thing to keep an eye on her.

-

Dove has very little clue what’s going on but the walls texture feels really cool and the eating stuff bro brings is weird and smelly, but shiny red and very round. Shiny is nice and It fits nicely in her hands, though it’s so squishy. She can tell it would take so little to smush it up.

Her hands also look weird, not like they usually did when they weren’t glowy. Bro looks weird too, so it must be alright. Oh, and her nails were pink, which is exactly why she licks them a little. Maybe they would taste different too. They don’t. But that’s okay.

Looking to bro and moving over when he makes that hand motion that means he wants her. Curious and hopeful. Maybe they were doing something fun again. She wouldn’t mind that. “Now listen close Dove, we’re around mortals. Yes the living kind. So it is rather imperative that you refrain from using your abilities. Understand?”. She tilts her head and hums, not sure what some of those words mean. But it sounds important and she wouldn’t want to make bro sad. So she nods a little.

Bro frowns slightly, Dove doesn’t really notice. “You didn’t understand what I just said, did you”, and sighs when she shakes her head a little. “No floating or anything. The living can’t do that and we’re pretending to be on of them”. Oh, they were playing pretend? That could be nice. So she nods softly. “You’ll even get to meet other girls your age”. Now that makes her curious. Maybe they were pretty and liked fluffy things. She liked fluffy things. And small things. And big things. And sharp things. She liked a lot of things. Littler bro liked dark things and smooth things. Bigger bro liked loud things that made messes. Pa liked funny things and surprising things. Ma liked metal that made things fly really fast.

So she nods again and happily walks after bro as they leave the small house place.

-

Orrin finds the volunteering to be rather lacklustre, but it serves his purpose. Watching Dove run around and play with the plastic animal things. At least children didn’t give a damn that she never spoke, even if one of the other ‘volunteers’ was certainly giving him an odd look over that. “She’s not much of a talker”, was all the explanation he had given, as if he even needed to explain in the first place. All in all, this ‘school’ thing seemed like it might just work out.

In fact, it might work out better than he could have foreseen. One of the other children’s mothers was part of one of those underground resistances. He personally liked to keep tabs on such things. If his parents ever got genuinely mad at him then he could simply nonchalantly expose one of the resistances to get back into their ‘good books’ again. But here and now he had a much better use for them. A much more interesting one to say the least. After all, he’s already encountered a few of its members and had a few choice conversations with them. He was likely already on their list as a ‘potential ally’ or even ‘potential member’. Resistances were always so eager to snag up new members. He can appreciate the tenacity. Even if most of them will likely die painful deaths sooner rather than later.

-

Dove likes the small lady, Remi, who likes birds the best, and she liked Dove’s name. Or the name bro said was her name, Robin. It wasn’t hers but it was a nice name and much easier than her bro’s. Bro also seems to like Remi, with how he was looking at her with a small grin and wrinkled eyes. That does make her a little cautious though, people usually got hurt when bro looked at them like that. Or he was just planning to scare them a little. Scaring was funny, but the other she doesn’t really like. The reds and greens were pretty and sweet; but the person was always gone after that. That’s the part she didn’t like. People were pretty and they couldn’t be pretty if they were gone. She hopes Ori doesn’t make Remi go.

So when the adult lady says it’s time to go, Dove goes over and pushes his face to stop smiling and turns his head to look away. That just makes him smile in the wide mean way, which she huffs and puffs her cheeks out over. Least he wasn’t looking at Remi that way. But it looks like he might know Remi’s ma, so maybe that’s why he was smiling. How sweet.

She pays more attention to making sure Remi’s hair scrunchie things are on the most perfectly than the two talking.

“I didn’t know you had a daughter, Lark”.

“What can I say, I’m a surprising guy”.

“What’s her name? Remi seems to like her. She seems... really gentle”, laughing a little, “Remi’s not so gentle”.

“Robin. And she’s always been like that, has quite the delicate touch I dare say”.

The lady laughs a little again, “does everyone in your family have bird-related names”.

“I have a sister named Raven. So you could say it’s a running theme”.

“Why am I not surprised. Anyway-”. The conversation got real quiet after that, not that Dove couldn’t easily hear. Even pa pointed out how much better halfa and ghost hearing was than mortal. And all these people were for sure mortal, smelled it. Which was cool and they were so soft and squishy. She thinks she likes these ones even more than the ones at home. “-interested in a play date of sorts”. Dove likes that idea, she likes playing, but the hair thingies still need her attention; sticking her tongue out a little.

“Oh? And where would be the location we would be gracing”. Glancing at bro shows he’s doing that smiling again. She doesn’t know what’s going on but whatever it is bro likes it. And she likes that he likes things, so long as those things don’t have to go goodbye. That makes her kind of... sad.

“No where special”. Even Dove knows that tone means it is somewhere special. Sweet, she likes special things. She knows bro does too, because special things are usually secret things and he loves finding secret things and having secret things. Just like them being here was supposed to be a secret thing. No ma and pa allowed.

“Well I certainly couldn’t turn down an offer like that, now could I”. Dove hums happily as she gets the hair things just right. Wiggling her fingers over them like she sprinkling sparkles, before pushing her gently over to her ma. Because look how pretty she is? She is very pretty.

The lady looks from bro to them, “my, Remi I don’t think I’ve seen your hair ever look so perfect”, and smiles. Dove and Remi smiling right back. Bro is just giving her that weird look that he sometimes does. The one that makes her think that he thinks that she’s weird. Like when she keeps her dollies from getting hurt or puts sprinkles on her food. Bro just doesn’t get it she thinks. Food tastes better when it’s pretty and her dollies might get sad if she didn’t save them.

“Yes it’s very... well done”. The lady looks at him like he’s the weird one so he shrugs, “I’m not the most versed in little girl things”.

The lady points at him, “that’s it, you’re definitely coming for a play date one way or another”.

Bro just raises an eyebrow, “I have already agreed you know”. Which the lady chuckles over. Pa would like her, she laughs a lot.

The lady looks to Remi, “would you like that sweetie? Having Robin here come over to play?”. Remi quickly nods and wraps her arms around Dove. Which Dove decides she really really likes. “Uh-huh uh-huh! Can she please!”. Dove’s never heard that word before. “Then I can put pretty things in her hair!”. Dove likes that idea very much and nods softly to show it.

The lady looks to bro, whispering, “look, their hugging. Or Remi’s hugging anyway”, before nodding at Remi, “of course sweetie”. Which Remi cheers over and squeezes her tighter.

Hugging. That’s what this is called? She likes it very much. She tries doing it back, no squeezing though; she wouldn’t want to break her. And grins, she likes hugging a lot.

-

Orrin hadn’t intended for this to make her even more gentle and soft, that or she was incredibly aware how breakable the living were. Why you could pick them up and they’d just snap in half. She really seems to enjoy the hugging thing though. Having hugged him repeatedly since. That was making Rio suspicious though, her glancing to him after they walk through a door in a tree and let the two girls run off, or in Dove’s cautiously prance would be a better word choice. “She seems to really like hugs. Excuse my rudeness but it didn’t seem like she knew what a hug was until just now”.

Orrin has two options presented before him right now. He could choose some level of honesty and claim that her father wasn’t exactly good and he only recently got her. Or he could just brush it off as her being unusual. But there rises the issue of the living being perceptive to that which is unlike them. While if he uses the first one then he will seem like a ‘sympathetic character’ which may prove more useful in the long run. Actions decided he sighs to make this seem more genuine, “family isn’t the kindest, let’s put it that way. She’s only with me here recently. Today actually”.

Rio’s eyebrows raise and he gets that sad smile he was aiming for, “oh I see”, then she actually looks a bit mad, “wait. So you didn’t even hug her when she showed up?”, and promptly slaps him. Which he seriously has to restrain from ripping her eyes out for.

And he does effectively keep the snarl out of his voice, the venom? not so much, “I’m not a hugger”.

“She’s a child”.

Orrin has never really appreciated Dove’s nativity before now as she runs over and basically halts the conversation. Her having a great many bow clips in her blonde -thanks to his glamour- hair. Is this really what regular little girls liked? Apparently yes, based on her bouncing on her toes faintly. At least she wasn’t trying to float.

Rio still throws him a glare as they take the girls to the ‘play den’ area. Meaning it was time to get down to business.

-

A few weeks go by, and it was becoming incredibly easy to tell who in this city knew about this particular resistance movement. Because suddenly he was some to be respected, which he can’t say he didn’t enjoy. To be treated like an important figure without that lingering fear in their eyes was certainly a new experience for Orrin. Does he prefer it? Not particularly. But he was a Gray-Phantom after all. Him not preferring fear and destruction would be strange. It was still interesting all the same. And it’s not like the group's plan and leadership was all that bad, it seemed better than most at least. Of course they had precisely zero hope of actually doing away with his family, but hey, the genuine effort was amusing. They weren’t even intending to bank everything on just one plan or one plan and a back up either. Oh no, they had a handful they wanted to enacted simultaneously. Which wasn’t actually a horrid plan. Mother could be quite narrow-minded and father easily distracted; and his brother of course was a fool. One of their plans even involved trying to blow up the Ghost Realm, and the bomb designs, that he invisibly sneaked a peek at, would actually be somewhat effective. Impressive actually. Russet would get a real kick out of it. But the group was banking a little too much on his father actually highly valuing his role as High Ghost King. Thinking he would defend the Ghost Realm just like that. His parents didn’t get their positions because they genuinely wanted them. No. They took them purely because they could. It also making them, especially father, stronger was a nice added bonus.

The rest of their plans were far less extreme and ranged from everything from: kidnapping the princess, which he had to resists murdering the lot of them for seriously suggesting, to reconstructing an ancient method of ghost mind control, not realising that that wouldn’t actually work on the high royal family. There had also been talks about turning the mortal knights that served his family, even claimed they already had turned one. But one look at him and it was obvious that was a load of crap and the guy was absolutely going to betray them. Which didn’t work so well for Orrin’s plans, which meant the knight had been promptly fed to a pack of wild bores. Then there was the plot to mind control the entire species of Drugandons and use them as an army to lay siege to the Keep. The sheer amount of chaos that would cause had him practically salivating. Oh yes, these mortals were fun.

Of course none of their plots would actually work on their own or even together. But it did have the highest possibility of any resistance group he’s encountered. And if they did go ahead like this, then plenty of ghosts would jump on board in a heartbeat. Which meant the chances of Russet getting himself destroyed would be incredibly high. And if Orrin himself were to back them, then it would be almost possible that his parents could genuinely maybe be taken out. Which would, of course, leave the throne to him.

Now he’s not particularly the power-hungry type. He doesn’t really give a damn about being High King. But it could be quite interesting. And if this group tried all this, managed to kill his elder brother, then his parents would rain-down absolute Hell. It would be nothing compared to the massacres of previous years or even their debut as monsters. It would be a sight to behold. Glorious even.

Orrin thinks he would rather like to see that. But he also knows exactly how that would go, which did take some of the fun out of it. Meanwhile, Dove becoming a figurehead for resistance was unprecedented. He could hardly predict the ways that could turn out. And Dove certainly enjoyed Remi’s company. Which was a bonus.

Another bonus was picking up on brother dearests ghostly aura a day back and successfully keeping both himself and Dove out of Russet’s awareness. Tricking that man was always a true pleasure. Regardless of how easy it generally was to do.

One thing he hadn’t accounted for though, was human stupidity.

But really? He shouldn’t have been surprised that things went to shit pretty rapidly. Gray-Phantom’s had horrid luck after all.

[tfw-no-tennis]

mtmte liveblog issue 19

it’s 2021 now!! time for more transformers 

we start off w/a flashback showing tyrest retrieving ultra magnus’s body from the ship - and we get a look at magnus’s spark, which is the green color of a 0.1%er [eyes emoji]

tyrest punching magnus..... grrrrr leave my dad alone bastard man

‘the divided self’ what a good title 

rodimus is like listen man this is a lot for my poor thot brain to take in

in flashback land, we see tyrest immediately launch into a crazy person spiel about how he can and will edit the law as he sees fit to conform to the situation, because that doesn't seem like a blatant abuse of power or a huge conflict of interest or anything 

oooh the screen in the corner that says ‘thought warfare,’ I see that

oof, poor magnus. its gotta be rough to hear your boss rant about how bad at your job you are....especially bc this is right after overlord called magnus a joke and nearly killed him

its especially brutal bc as magnus says, his job is his life 

augh, I love the panel where the armor is falling off around minimus, and then the one where he’s holding the ultra magnus head...poetic 

its fascinating that there was an ‘original’ magnus who was an actual guy, and then tyrest chose to make him into this legacy symbol - I'm assuming the OG magnus had no say in this, and probably didn't even know that he was gonna become this lawman legacy figure

I do wanna know though - obviously everyone thought that ultra magnus was one dude, but how did the different guys wearing the armor deal w/that? like, did minimus have people coming up to him like ‘hey ultra magnus old buddy! remember when we fought those guys in that one place? good times!’ like, do they have to study up on the lives of the past armor wearers to prepare for the role of ultra magnus?

augh poor minimus, of course he’s been wondering about what happened with overlord after he was KO’d

oof, drift...I feel like minimus looks surprised and a little skeptical at the idea that drift was the one behind the entire overlord thing - which is interesting bc as we saw at the beginning of the story, he doesn't exactly trust drift, but it’s still pretty far-fetched that one person orchestrated the entire thing

tailgate :(

the concept of a load-bearer is SUPER cool, I love it so much

it also puts a much-needed limit on things - as in, there IS a limit to how much weight/mass a normal cybertronian frame can carry, which is why you don't see everybody upgrading to be Massive - bc they actually CANT

oof, the worst part is that tyrest is RIGHT, minimus essentially DID have a nervous breakdown after the war ended bc of the rigid way he views the world

mental health support is clearly in shambles for cybertronians, yikes. they literally have 1 therapist for their entire race, and he’s not even licensed anymore due to hipaa violations. what a mess

the ‘attention deflectors’ thing is so cool and clever and also a great explanation as to why ratchet or anyone else never said ‘hey wait a minute, you're actually a much smaller dude in a trench coat’ 

I love tailgate knowing all the stuff about the autobot code bc of magnus...my BOY

and THATS why minimus was asking about skids specifically earlier!

oh minimus, please don't put so much stock in tyrest being stable and resonable...

aaaand there's skids and swerve! brainstorm says it best - ‘because something unexpected hasn't happened for at least nine seconds.’ lmao ily brainstorm 

finally checking in w/whirl and cyclonus - god I love that. whirl asking cyclonus how many cons he killed and cyc is like psh I wasn't keeping count....................ok it was six

hhhhh cyclonus IS looking for a cure for tailgate, even though he told tg that there wasn’t anything to hope for....excuse me as I go be emo 

and now we flash over to the unethical medical conduct hell zone, where pharma is being weird and horny and ratchet is appropriately horrified 

I seriously love how unhinged pharma looks, the art & colors do such a good job conveying his feral energy 

ratchet has some massive dick energy for taunting pharma when he’s currently just a head and pharma has dual chainsaws for hands 

ugh, I love whirls speech about anger...and I feel like he really does see cyclonus as a peer, despite cyclonus wanting to kill him, which is why he tells cyclonus all of this 

I fuckgin love that cyclonus’s reaction to very suddenly getting stabbed thru the abdomen is to just glance down at the sword, looking mildly inconvenienced 

back over to ratchet - and at first its like oh wow I can’t believe pharma was stupid enough to let ratchet goad him into this contest....but then you see first aid and ambulon and its like UH OH this is gonna be BAD

the idea that getting sliced in half is no big deal for a cybertronian is wild

‘you're gonna let doctor djd cut us in half?’ yeahhhh that's an appropriate reaction, yikes

FUCKING LENGTHWAYS GOD

pharma you piece of shit

poor ambulon :( :( :( that's fucking brutal. amazing panel but....jesus

and like, to further my point from last issue’s liveblog - the fact that this very gore-y panel is okay, but swearing isn't...that's really funny honestly. I guess robo-gore is acceptable, while I'm guessing regular ole run of the mill human gore wouldn't be

then back to cyclonus, who is still looking only vaguely put out by the sword stuck right thru him

and then cyclonus just pulls it right out, which is a very bad idea for humans but probably not as big of a deal for big near-immortal alien robots

circle of light stuck in capitalistic urban hellscape cubicals 

poor skids, being asked to stand trial while having no idea what his crime is due to Big Amnesia 

OH SHITTTT I totally forgot that getaway shows up here

that is super clever though, with chromedome confusing the name ‘getaway’ with the concept ‘needing to escape’

cant believe tyrest is really dumb enough to tell minimus all his evil plans

BUT that means its time for some very important forged vs constructed cold lore

jro spelling ‘program’ as ‘programme’ made me remember when he said that he considers everyone on the lost light to be british, which is perhaps the least valid thing he’s ever said vhbghjsdbfjkhasbjk

the idea that they used the matrix - which is portrayed as kind of a holy object - in reproductive experiments is really interesting

AUGHHHHH this is all so good and interesting...im really fascinated w/this particular brand of like, alien robot racism/constructism/whatever you wanna call it - I feel like it does such a good job as a plot device, where many other ‘fantasy racism’ concepts from other franchises fail, bc there's not really a ‘human metaphor’ being used here (as far as I know/can tell) - as in, this isn't a thinly veiled metaphor for something that happened/could happen in human history

in fact, this type of bigotry (or w/e you wanna call it) isn't something that is even really possible in humans - I guess if there was a stigma against being born via ivf or something...? but there isn't, so there's no obvious real-world equivalent, which I take as a sign of good writing and worldbuilding - it makes the cybertronians feel more Real, bc of course they would have their own types of bigotry based off of completely different things than humans 

additionally - and this is crucial - tyrest is wrong: there’s no like, inherent moral corruption in cold constructed bots. there's no difference at all, other than method of construction. fantasy racism plotlines often flounder here, with the oppressors having a ‘valid reason’ for oppressing the oppressed, but tyrest is just operated on religious zealot bs and some biased science

like, dude, did you ever think that maybe there are other reasons why your trials only condemned cold constructed bots? like, maybe the trial itself was biased? or societal conditions were to blame? correlation is not causation, my dude, especially when the conclusion is ‘cold constructed bots are inherently SINNERS’ lmao 

like, tyrest rlly said ‘FUCK separation of church and state,’ huh

anyways I just think the whole cold construction vs forged thing is really interesting and well-done, and serves as a good precursor to the more fleshed-out functionism stuff we see later 

so tyrest is clearly off his rockers w/the whole drilling thing - dude, you accidentally gave yourself a lobotomy, okay - but I find it kinda funny that he’s right about a lot of that stuff he said at the end, about primus and the guiding hand and stuff being real 

cyclonus saying ‘tailgate and the others’...I see you, man, I see you

also cyclonus looks fine now??? didn't he just get stabbed??? 

ah, tyrest sprinkling a little light genocide onto his plan to find salvation. nice, dude!

MINIMUS NOOOOOOOOO

‘fully deserved’ SHUT UP BIIIIITCH

poor minimus is taking a lot of Ls this arc, geez

oof, great issue! again, as usual....I loved the lore we got this issue, its so interesting...and some good character stuff too. I love minimus, I feel like he’s gonna be my fav this readthru; my first read my fav was brainstorm, second readthru was whirl, and I feel like its minimus/magnus this time. I just love his character arc...

hype af for more B) 

[dontwanttobeasexyvampire]

I wrote the first chapter of a Preacher fanfic starring an OC and I hope you like it!

Warnings: Mature content, sex, language

It was a sweltering Sunday in Annville, Texas, and the sticky morning heat inside the chapel was suffocating. I sat in the third row next to my Momma, fanning myself with a program and doing my damnedest to stay awake during the service. Unlike her, I wasn't exactly a believer, and as the droplets formed around my brow and rolled down the sides of my face, Momma's voice resounded in my head.

"You're sweating like a sinner in church," she'd scold me in the old days, frequently, at the slightest hint of my distress. Today, I was certainly perspiring through my scratchy Sunday best dress, but at least a quick peek around the room revealed I wasn't the only sweating scamp in the room.

I was trying to keep an open mind—believe me, I was—but the All Saints Congregational church seemed to me to be a meeting  place for the town's biggest outcasts and degenerates. Maybe a quarter of the seats were filled, and try as I might to concentrate, my thoughts drifted, and I couldn’t stop my mind from inventing stories of the folks sitting in the pews around me.

There was the churchgoer who had clearly had the shit beaten out of him, his busted arm held up in a cast and sling. I imagined him losing a bar fight, badly, his pride all but trampled. I'd had to force myself not to stare at another who seemed to have an enormous anus in place of a mouth. No matter where my thoughts went, they couldn't come up with a suitable explanation for this poor kid with the ass face. And then there was the man unselfconsciously stretched out across an entire back pew, dozing. At least he had the right idea, getting in his penance without having to engage whatsoever.

I tried to pass the time by studying the architecture, but I could only stare at the big plain cross at the head of the church for so long, and the harsh sunlight washed out the stained glass windows so I couldn’t even make out the patterns. I had to remove my glasses again and again to wipe the lenses of condensation from the growing humidity in the room, and eventually I simply gave up. The coughing bellow of the pipe organ only served to lull me closer to sleep.

As I sat through a bizarre and toneless punk interpretation of “Amazing Grace," I wondered exactly what I'd gotten myself into coming here. It took only minutes of Sunday service for me to regret ever agreeing to let Momma introduce me to the new preacher, who—she’d reminded me again and again—was single.

After all, I'd only been unattached for two weeks and was in no rush to jump back into the fray. That relationship ended when my boyfriend of 9 years broke things off without warning. I never saw it coming, but all I could think about as the bullshit spewed from his mouth were the things I thought I should be feeling. I wasn't heartbroken or upset. I didn't even feel numb. All I felt was an overwhelming sense of freedom.

It was a signal for change, and after more than a decade in Los Angeles, I had to give in to the fact that Texas was calling out to me. It was time to come home. So I made my arrangements, packed up my things and was out of there in the course of a week.

But even this reinvigorating fresh start couldn't mask that particular stink of Annville. I knew better than to dig too deeply so close to my roots. All that was down there was shit and offal. Instead, the cozy digs I found about 20 miles outside the town limits suited me fine. Even the brown-yellow haze that seemed to perpetually coat the place lifted once you'd gotten far away enough from it. I was glad to miss the introduction of the new town mascot, Pedro the Prairie Dog, on the night I’d arrived. Regardless of what Momma told me, I was sure it was a shitshow.

Preacher Custer wasn't quite what I'd been expecting, either. He was handsome enough, striking quite the figure and emulating a saintly cowboy in his black suit, steel tips and clerical collar, but his little speech threw me for a loop and didn’t exactly inspire my confidence. I glanced at Momma as the preacher spoke and saw that the stuff about starting fights and hurting the community didn’t register at all. But when he got to speaking the word of god, she held her hand to her heart like he’d uttered a revelation. I wasn’t impressed.

When the service ended early, without a sermon, the relieved murmur from the small crowd was impossible to miss. As most of the audience filed out to barbecue and drink Sunday morning beers, Momma leaned over and insisted it was time for me and Jesse Custer to meet. I knew it was a bad idea, but eager to get the whole thing over with, I agreed to step up to the pulpit with her to say hello. We rose from the uncomfortable wooden benches.

That's when we were approached by the organist, who was quite happy to see Momma. She seemed straight-laced and dedicated, but to me it also appeared that she might be hanging on to her composure by a thread. I thought they were going to hug, but a sense of prim propriety forbade it.

"Emily, this is my daughter, Ada," Momma introduced me, and we exchanged pleasantries before Emily saw the program in my hand.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she said to me as she put one hand to her face. “Things were kind of last-minute, so the service didn’t exactly follow along. You must have been very confused."

"Oh, I figured things out," I said. "No big thing." While I'd read every word on the flier to kill time, multiple times, I hadn't been paying enough attention to notice the discrepancies.

"Ada here is back in Texas after a long time away,” Momma chimed in. “And I knew she had to meet Preacher Custer." It was then that the very little color in Emily's face drained completely. Momma didn't notice—or didn't care. "I think they'd make a lovely couple, don't you?"

She did her best to maintain a smile, but I think her eye was starting to twitch.

"Y'know, I gotta run," Emily blurted, suddenly seeking like she had a dozen places to be. "Errands, kids. You know. You two take care." And like that, she was gone.

Despite the weirdness, it a welcome diversion. Momma had to grab my arm and drag me along to get me to finally step up to the preacher. We stood there before him for a moment before I loudly cleared my throat and he finally glanced up from his podium to see us.

"Mae, welcome back," he said to her, his eyes fixated back on the podium, which I realized had nothing on it.

"Preacher Custer, I'd like to introduce you to my daughter, Ada," she replied as she gave me a tiny shove, pushing me nearer to him. Again, there was a pause as he finally raised his eyes long enough to truly see us both.

"Welcome," he said, extending his hand. I firmly gave it a shake, and even through his twinkling, pleasant smile and the way he looked me directly in the eye, I knew he was seeing right through me. "Pleasure to meet you, Ada."

"Pleasure's all mine," I responded.

Momma continued the small talk from there, but it didn't seem Jesse was absorbing much from the conversation. To be fair, neither was I, so I eventually excused myself, seeking some quiet.

I ran my fingers over the corners of the pews on my right as I walked to the back of the church, contemplating this massive waste of time. But then, just before the very last row, I halted. The sleeping man lay there along the bench, arms folded on his chest. His big hazel eyes stared right up at me.

"Hello there,” he said. His voice was deep but musical, and his words ended in a toothy grin. His unmistakably Irish accent caught me off guard. It certainly wasn't the type of thing you ever heard in Annville.

"Hi," I said back. I was a bit wary, but at least I wasn't bored. He sat up then, pulling down at the corners of his denim vest, and then his playful expression sharpened a bit as he gazed up at me, to the front of the chapel and back again, like he was solving some kind of mental equation.

"I can put in a good word for you with the Padre, y'know," he said, pointing his thumb in the general direction of the preacher. I thought he was joking at first, but his sincerity was apparent. "He's my best mate. Listens to me."

Sizing him up, I never would have pegged him as a friend of Custer's. But he was either the world's greatest liar or he was telling the truth, and despite everything, I believed him. Something about him pulled the honesty out of me, too.

"I do appreciate the offer," I said, shaking my head slightly, "but I'm not really interested."

He paused.

"Not your type, eh?" He raised an arched eyebrow emphatically as he studied me.

"Not exactly," I admitted. "Not that I'm looking. I just got broken up with, so for now I'm gonna be taking things slow."

"Well, you look great," he said, looking down and wiping his palms on his jeans.

"I... What?" I stammered, and when a smile cracked again across his lips, I began thinking he liked getting a rise out of me.

"For someone who just had a split, you look great," he expanded. "There's a look about you. A glow. He was probably a bit of a bastard, am I right? You're better off, is what I'm sayin'."

I don't know if it was the heat, but I could feel a warm blush in my cheeks.

"Thanks," is all I managed to say before I heard Momma call behind me to say it was time to go.

The man stood now for the first time, towering above me by more than a head, as he extended a tattoo-marked hand.

"The name's Cassidy," he said.

"Ada." I shook it back, and as he smiled softly at me, I somehow got the feeling this wouldn’t be the last I'd see of him.

—

Momma blabbed about Jesse Custer for the full 10 or so minutes it took me to drive her home, and honestly I was relieved she never once asked me what I thought about him. I imagined I'd feel a bit more focused once things got quiet, but even once I'd dropped her off, I found myself having difficulty concentrating my mind.

The whole drive home was a blur, and when I got back to my apartment, I couldn't muster the willpower to even look at my Sunday to-do list. Moving boxes remained full and laundry sat in hampers. All I could summon the strength to do was watch old movies on TV and order Chinese takeout.

When bedtime came, sleep wouldn't. I'd utilized all my usual insomnia tricks—blackout curtains, melatonin, lavender oil, a white noise machine and a little light meditation—but I still found myself lying awake, bouncing from thought to thought about my life and the decisions that led me here, yet unable to fully dig down and comprehend any of it.

Hours must have passed, and just when I finally thought my mind was finally settling down, the doorbell rang, harsh and piercing, just like the one I'd had back in Los Angeles. It jolted me out of bed. Now my mind was fuzzier than ever, and just making it to the front door left me feeling confused, like my apartment was a winding maze. I finally reached the entrance after what seemed like forever, and then unlocked the main door and opened it wide to see who had rung at such an hour.

I stared through the screen door. Standing in the dark, illuminated by wall lamps, was Cassidy, and somehow just seeing him brought things back into focus. Noticing the look of concern on his face, I quickly undid the next lock and opened the door for him.

"Cassidy... What are you doing here?"

"I had to see you." His voice was resolute, and my first instinct was to comfort him.

"What's wrong?" I asked, stepping closer to put my hand on his arm.

And then he looked straight into me with his sad, probing eyes, cupped his strong hands on both sides of my face, and kissed me hard on the mouth. For a second I did nothing, giving into him entirely, before I tugged on his vest to lead him inside, shutting the doors behind him.

Before I knew it, we were up against the wall, his arms at my waist as he tenderly kissed down my neck, nipping at my ear and sending ripples of pleasure down every inch of me. I felt his hard cock press against my belly through the denim of his jeans and I knew there wasn’t anything I wanted more than him, right here and now.

He was kissing my neck again as I fumbled with the button and zipper of his jeans, finally undoing them to find that his big cock was barely being held back by his boxer briefs. I pulled them down, and as his full length unfurled, I became ravenous for it.

Soon he was lifting me by the thighs, pinning me against the wall, and when he slid inside of me I was wetter than I’d ever been. God he was big, filling me up with powerful strokes that made me quiver and call out. He hungrily kissed my lips and then my neck and then my lips again, pulling me toward him with every thrust of his hips to go deeper and deeper, bringing me closer to ecstasy each time. I leaned into him, arms clutched around his neck, and pulsed with his every move. And then fuck, I felt it coming, slowly building inside of me in waves. I told him not to stop, that I was going to cum, and he obliged.

I moaned his name as I climaxed, and he held me as close as ever, never stopping, as sunlight began to trickle through the breaks in the blinds. Then the rays reached us, and our skin caught with bright, dancing flames. His gaze was so piercing now, even as the blaze left us blistered and risen away to ash.

He gave me one final rough kiss and I bolted awoke in my bed, soaked in sweat, mind racing, and horny as all get out. I'd never had a dream so vivid and emotional and erotic. I pulled the curtain aside to peek out, and was slightly relieved to find it was still the dead of night. I took a quick shower to clean up and try to get my thoughts straight, and I suppose I did, because as I lay in bed for the next three hours trying to get back to sleep, the only thought I could conjure for more than half a second was of Cassidy and when I could see him again.

[pengychan]

[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt. 8

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[Tag with all chapters up here.]

[Also on Ao3]

A/N: Ernesto isn’t as smart as he thinks he is.  Also, art in this chapter is by Dara.

***

“He said he loves her!”

“That he did.”

With a shout, Miguel jumped up on the chair and threw up his arms. Ernesto and Sofía exchanged a quick, amused glance when he gave a drum-shattering grito of triumph. “I knew it!”

“I think we all did,” Sofía said, but Miguel had his full attention back on Ernesto.

“And you told him to tell her? Did you really?”

“No, I told him to write his confession on a piece of paper, roll it up and stick it up-- agh!” he yelped when Sofía suddenly pinched his side, hard, and immediately pasted a smile on his face. “I mean-- of course I told him to tell her. That’s what I said I’d do, no?”

Miguel jumped from the chair to the table to be at his same eye level, smile impossibly wide. “And he said he would?”

“When the time is right.”

Just like that, Miguel’s face fell. “What?? Oh, no. That means he’s never going to do it. I know him, he just says that when he’s not going to do anything!”

“Oh, I think I will eventually. It’s just that this has better odds to work if done at the right time,” Ernesto reassured him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I know something of this kind of thing.”

Miguel raised an eyebrow. “You’re a priest,” he quipped, gaining himself an unimpressed glance.

“Not for lack of women willing to throw themselves at me, I assure you,” he said, and pretended not to have heard Sofía’s absolutely fake cough. “Trust me, he’ll just wait for the right moment, and seize it.”

Miguel gave him a long look. “The right moment,” he muttered, then he suddenly gave a bright smile and nodded. “Of course! He just needs the right moment to tell her,” he exclaimed, and jumped off the table, bolting out of the room the next moment. “I need to speak to Óscar and Felipe! Thanks for your help!” he yelled over his shoulder, causing Ernesto to blink at his retreating back.

“You’re... welcome?” he called out after him, and shrugged. “Who are Óscar and Felipe again?”

“Imelda’s brothers.”

“Oh, right.” A pause. “You don’t think they’re going to do something stupid, do you?”

“You know they probably will.”

“As long as they don’t let Héctor know his confession didn’t stay a secret,” Ernesto grumbled. Last thing he needed was useless drama and additional headache.

Sofía shrugged. “I’m sure he won’t. Well, I hope he won’t, but it’s too late to take that back anyway. Now, Padre,” she added, poking his chest, “it’s time for you to get into the confessional.”

“Uugh. Do I have to?”

“Are you or are you not the parish priest?”

No. “All right,” Ernesto grumbled, standing up. Maybe he’d get to hear something interesting and, if not, at least he would keep Padre Juan from holding confession and causing more trouble. Speaking of which… “Where’s the gringo? I haven’t seen him all day. Or yesterday. Or-”

“What, do you miss him?”

Ernesto snorted. “Like I miss lice,” he muttered. That man was such an absolute pain in the ass, it was no wonder his own family had written him off. Ernesto was ready to bet that his conversion to Catholicism - lucky them, huh? - had only been an excuse to finally get him out of their hair. “Doubt even his mother misses him.”

Sofía rolled her eyes. “Careful there. You’re not supposed to know that, I am not supposed to know about Héctor’s confession--”

“And neither of us is supposed to know Miguel caught the gringo smoking in the grove,” Ernesto cut her off, holding back a chuckle. Amazing, how no secret seemed to stay such in that parish. Except for his own, of course. That one had to be protected - whatever the cost.

Unaware of his thoughts, Sofía was shrugging. “No worries, I know when to keep my mouth shut. Didn’t go around telling anyone about that blessing at the Marques household, did I? Unlike a certain someone who went and boasted the second he returned,” she added.

All right, fine,so maybe he shouldn’t have told her that, but it wasn’t every day you went to someone’s house to give a blessing and end up bedding the woman who asked for it while her husband is in the fields.

“Por favor, Padre - my husband and I have been trying for children for years. If you could come bless our bed, I would be so grateful. I don’t know what else to do,” Mónica Marques had implored, her voice trembling, and of course he couldn’t really say no.

He’d picked up the holy water to spray - he supposed a generic blessing for fertility in plain Spanish would do, without Padre Culo Blanco breathing down his neck - and showed up at her place. He’d expected it to be a quick job; he hadn’t expected to turn to the woman to have her say a prayer with him or something, and realize that she’d taken off her shawl. And blouse.

And was halfway out of her gown.

Honestly, some women clearly had a thing for priests and well, he was only flesh. What was a man to do if not accept the offer?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ernesto finally said, shrugging off the memory. “She was asking for a blessing, and I gave one.”

"Padre. What you described sounded just about nothing like a blessing."

"It does when I'm involved."

"As if."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Ernesto frowned. “I’m pretty sure you said something, sister.”

“Well. If I may speak freely--”

“You always do,” he grumbled, only for Sofía to entirely ignore him.

“-- You and I have different opinions on what’s good enough to be considered a  blessing.”

“Hey!”

Sofía shrugged. “Told you I’d speak freely. Now go and confess sinners, Padre. Did you at least give her absolution, by the way?”

“Of course!”

“Did you bother to get dressed first?”

“That’s entirely irrelevant,” Ernesto scoffed, but he finally sighed and stood. “Ah, well, back to my duties. Maybe I’ll get to hear something interesting,” he added, but of course he highly doubted anything he may hear would be quite as surprising as the blessing the previous day.

He was so, so wrong.

***

“He loves her!”

“Duh.”

“We already knew.”

“Everyone did.”

“... What are the three of you doing in my shack again?”

Chicharrón’s grumble caused Miguel, Óscar and Felipe to turn to look at him. He was sitting on an old chair, scowling and massaging his stump, peg leg on the floor next to him.

“We’re not in your shack,” Felipe pointed out.

“We’re right outside it,” his brother echoed.

“On the porch. That’s still my property,” Chicharrón snorted, and turned his attention back to Miguel. “Run this by me again. Padre Ernesto told Héctor it may be best if both he and Imelda dropped the vows and got married?”

“Yes. I mean…” Miguel raked his brain for an explanation that did not boil down to ‘if he’s a priest you’re Emiliano Zapata’. “He said that if you’re not sure you want to take the vows you shouldn’t do it, you know?”

“Well, I’ll be. A priest with half a brain,” Cheech muttered, and started pressing fresh tobacco in his old pipe. “Not sure Héctor will ask. The boy turns into a complete chicken in front of Imelda.”

“Bwaaak!”

“Lo siento, Juanita. I didn’t mean you,” Cheech said, entirely ignoring the glance the boys exchanged as he reassuringly patted the rooster’s head. “What I’m saying is, I wouldn’t put money on Héctor telling her a thing, even with Padre Ernesto telling him to.”

Miguel grinned. “He needs to find the right moment, so this is the time to act!” he exclaimed, jumped on the porch before he reached to pull both Óscar and Felipe closer. “We must make the right moment happen!”

Both twins’ face lit up like candles. “Oooh, is it a mission?”

“A secret mission!” Miguel grinned. “To get him to confess! And propose!”

“She’ll say yes!”

“She’s got to!”

“This is the best idea you ever had!”

“This is the recipe for trouble, but at this point anything goes,” Chicharrón muttered, putting the pipe in his mouth. “All reasonable attempts failed, so may as well-- what the-- give it back!”

His yell caused Miguel to blink and turn where Cheech was pointing an accusing finger. A few feet from them, was his peg leg - in the mouth of a scrawny, hairless dog with a furiously wagging tail. “Oooh, a Xolo!”

“A thief, more like! Get it to give me my leg back!” Cheech barked, causing Juanita to squawk - that was odd, he was usually so aggressive but hadn’t made a peep while the dog approached - and the dog to wag its tail even more furiously before he barked through the wooden limb and darted off, away from the cemetery. “AH, PINCHE-- don’t stand there, go get it back!”

“Sí, señor!”

“Right away!”

“You wait here!” Miguel yelled over his shoulder as they ran after the dog, leaving behind a very disgruntled man wondering aloud how roasted Xoloitzcuintli would taste as he lit his pipe and took a long drag.

***

“So he’s a convert - is that all?”

Contrary to popular belief, Héctor could make a very good liar; the fact alone it was contrary to popular belief was testament to that. Still, with Imelda’s gaze on him, Héctor found it very difficult not to squirm. She could read him better than most back when they were kids, on the few occasions when she was allowed to play with an orphan like him, and all of his acting skills seemed to disappear whenever around her.

He hated having to lie to her, but this time, he had to. Father John’s inclination was clearly a source of great turmoil to him, and it could destroy him if word came out. Not that he thought Imelda would go around talking about it, but it was his secret to keep, and… well, it was of no relevance to them, none at all. There was no point in spreading it.

“Yes, that is all - I already told Sofía,” he finally said. “And his family disowned him.”

Something in Imelda’s gaze softened for a moment in a look of pity. It was gone quickly, behind a somewhat guarded expression, but it wasn’t lost to him and oh God, she loved her all the more for those glimpses. He should tell her that, for sure. He had to tell her.

“At worst, she says no and all stays as it is,” Padre Ernesto had said, and Héctor knew he was right… but what he couldn’t admit was that a no would have felt like a knife between his ribs.

Not yet. When the time is right.

“So, that’s what the letter is about?”

“Yes.” That, at least, was not a lie. By itself, the letter could very well have been about the different religious stance or… anything, really. It was only the underlined passage from the Leviticus that had given Héctor the context he needed to understand. “I don’t know why he kept it all this time, but… it’s an entirely personal matter. Nothing to do with us, or what is going on here. You can tell them that we have nothing to fear from him.”

“Except for the usual headache,” Imelda muttered, a half smile on her face. “I can’t pretend I didn’t wish we had an excuse to be rid of him for good, but I wasn’t looking forward to sign his death warrant. Maybe he’ll grow tired and move on,” she added, her tone hopeful. She glanced back at the group of children playing swords with a bunch of sticks, perched on each other’s shoulders like knights on their horse as they had a go at each other in the middle of the church’s courtyard. “At least I never had to deal with him personally. If I had to, I don’t know if I could--”

“Ah, Brother Hector! And… Sister Giselle, is it?”

Héctor cringed inwardly at the expression that crossed Imelda’s face when Father John’s voice rang out. She was able to wipe it away before turning, but she was unable to keep some coldness out of her voice. The sun still shone, but Héctor had the distinct feeling the temperature around them had dropped by several degrees.

“Sister Gisela,” Imelda pointed out, only for Father John to nod absentmindedly and turn his full attention on Héctor, like she were a potted plant rather than a person who had just sharply corrected him. He was even paler than usual, and seemed shaken, fidgeting with his sleeve.

His smile looked forced, and it didn’t take a genius to realize he was trying, and failing, to strike up a conversation to distract himself from whatever bothered him.“I was just passing by, and… well, I observed the children wasting their time on such brutish games, and--”

“Play fighting,” Imelda said, her voice a few degrees colder. “I am certain that is something children have in common everywhere.”

This time, Father John couldn’t ignore her, and turned to her with a rather septic smile. “Children everywhere need guidance,” he conceded. He turned back him. “I had an idea,” he added, and Héctor had to suppress a shudder. “As these unfortunate children can’t read or write--”

“We do teach them, in the orphanage,” Imelda interjected.

“I am certain you do. But I was thinking Brother Hector and I may teach them some Latin, as well as some English. They only speak Spanish, after all,” he added. He said it in a tone that made it obvious he had very little regard for the language, and Héctor could almost picture thunderclouds forming above Imelda’s head when she opened her mouth to speak.

Luckily for all of them, she never got to. “Ruff! Ruff!”

“Hey, come back! Someone stop him!”

“Imelda!”

“Héctor, watch out!”

“Wha--”

He didn’t get to see what hit him. One moment he was standing and the next something had slammed into him, knocking him off his legs and all air out of his lungs; he got an instant to stare up at the sky before the ground rushed up to meet him, and something - someone - landed on top of him. “Oof!”

“Ow…!”

“Sorry, Héctor!”

“Lo siento, hermana!”

“WOOF!”

“I got him! I got him!”

“Come on, give me the leg, give it-- oh, good! Good boy!”

Héctor groaned, lifting himself on his elbows and blinking, trying to regain bearing of his surroundings. He blinked fast, and looked up to find himself staring very closely at Imelda’s face as she grimaced and rubbed her head, the headdress askew to let a few locks of hair fall out.

“Uh,” he managed, realizing very suddenly it was her weight keeping him pinned to the ground. She didn’t seem to take notice, and reached to fix the headdress.

“What just happened?” she asked, and looked down at him. And stilled. And fell silent.

“Ah,” she said, and after another few moments she quickly pulled back and stood. The weight gone, Héctor stood somewhat shakily, clearing his throat. His eyes darted around, and he found himself blinking when they found the cause of all that mess: a hairless dog standing in the middle of the yard, tail wagging and tongue flailing as children ran to pet it and Miguel stood by it, panting, something in his hand that looked an awful lot like Cheech’s peg leg.

“What. Is. That,” Imelda all but snarled, causing her brothers - both still trying to catch their breath - to recoil. They made a rather brave attempt at a smile.

“A dog?”

“He took Chicharrón’s leg, and we chased him, and--”

“Can we keep him?” Miguel was calling out. “Héctor, look! He likes me! Can he stay? We’ll feed him and look after him and--”

As he kept pleading and half the orphanage joined in, none of them saw Father John - who had become even more deathly pale at the sight of a dog - recoiling as the town clock chimed, and leaving quietly to head inside the church, doing his utmost to go unnoticed.

***

“Bless me, Padre for I have sinned.”

“Something something, the Lord, something. Go on.”

Outside the confessional, Sofía gave a small chuckle. “I have committed sins of the flesh.”

“You don’t say,” Ernesto muttered, grinning a little. He knew it already, of course - he’d been there. Still, it was a reprieve from what a series of very full confessions. “And with whom?”

“Do you want the short list, or the long one?”

“... Never mind.” Ernesto rolled his eyes. Way to kill the mood, he thought, glancing at the wall. “You don’t sound very contrite. Why should I absolve you?”

“Oh, shall I repent and promise to never do it again?”

Ernesto held back a guffawing laugh. “I don’t think you can.”

“I mean, never with you aga--”

“Absolved,” Ernesto cut her off, and they shared a snicker. He took another swig from the bottle. “You know, you could get in here with me if no one else is waiting for confession.”

“Isn’t that a too harsh penance?”

“You’re hilarious,” Ernest said flatly. He didn’t see her shrug, but he could picture it so well from her tone alone.

“I know. Also, no. Someone else is waiting for confession, so have fun. See you at dinner.”

The next person turned out to be an old guy with a tendency to cheat people in the market out of small change. Ernesto listened, gave a penance of three Hail Mary, blessed the guy, and waited for the next one to kneel at the confessional… except that nothing happened for a while.

Well, that’s it. I’m done for the day, Ernesto thought, and he was just about to get out when suddenly there were steps, and creaking wood as someone knelt. All right, so he wasn’t done at all. With an inward sigh, Ernesto sat again.

There were a couple more moments of silence, a long sigh, before a male voice finally reached him - low, slow, little more than a whisper. It wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, but it wasn’t one he recognized, either. Either the guy had a bad sore throat, or he was trying pretty hard not to make his identity known. “Pordóneme, Padre, porque he pecado,” he whispered. “It’s been… a while since my last confession.”

“Uh… speak freely, my child.”

Maybe the old gravedigger? No, he sounds more like he swallowed a porcupine. Can’t picture that guy coming to confession, anyway.

“I was…” the voice got even lower. Something was off about it, but it was too muffed for Ernesto to put his finger on it. “I sinned in thought, Padre. I have been having… lustful thoughts.”

All right, now Ernesto really hoped that was not old Chicharrón, because that wasn’t a mental image he needed… although, to be fair, he may or may not have cracked a couple of crass jokes about that demonic rooster the old man insisted on calling Juanita. It had stopped being funny when some guy whose identity he hadn’t wanted to guess had come in with a confession that involve a donkey.

“I see,” Ernesto said slowly, reaching to pick up the bottle of mass wine from the floor. Still half full, thank God, in case he needed it urgently. Whoever was on the other side sounded too anguished for a plain old confession of lust towards some pretty girl. “What sort of thoughts?”

Another brief silence, a shaky breath, an unintelligible mumble.

Ernesto frowned. “I couldn’t hear you,” he said, faintly wondering if he wanted to hear in the first place. There was a sharp intake of air, and something not too far away from a sob.

“Thoughts about-- another man,” he managed, causing Ernesto to still and blink.

Oh, he thought. Oh. Right. That made… more sense. With no small measure of relief, he cleared his throat. “I see. That is--”

“An abomination.” The man was weeping now, he could tell, the voice still as hushed. “I have tried so hard… I thought I was cured… I don’t know what else to do. I need…” a shuddering breath, a sniffle. “I need penance, and… and absolution… and advice… on how to fix...” the man’s voice faded, and he suddenly began to sob, harsh broken sounds that seemed to tear all air out of his lungs. Ernesto sighed.

Ay, you’re asking the wrong man. I’ve had more than thoughts, and like hell I told a priest.

Of course, saying that was out of question. “All right, all right,” he muttered, and took a quick swig from the bottle - don’t think of the barracks don’t think of the barracks - just as the man began to downright sob. He raked his brain for something to say. “Don’t despair. It’s-- er…”

Not that bad? Can’t say that as a priest. Think of something else, tell him to pray it away.

“Well. Did you ever, er, act on such thoughts?”

“I-- no! Never!” the man exclaimed, his voice suddenly louder, cracking. “I would  never-- I never! I always resisted! Only in my sleep, I rarely-- when I had no control-- over my… my…”

The voice faded into silence, but it was too late. In his rush to explain himself, its owner had neglected to muffle it quite as well, and it was impossible not to recognize. That accent that had come through couldn’t belong to anyone else, and to be honest Ernesto really should have recognized it sooner.

“Juan?” Ernesto heard himself blurting out, so surprised he didn’t even register the bottle slipping from his fingers, the dull thud of thick glass on the wooden floor and the sloshing of spilled contents. There was a gasp on the other side, a noise like that of a scared dog, and suddenly the creaking of old wood, hurried steps, a door being thrown open and closed again.

For a long time Ernesto just sat in the dim light inside the confessional, blinking, trying to come to terms with what he’d just heard.

***

“Absolutely not! This is a parish, not some kind of refuge for mangy coyotes!”

“He’s not a coyote! And-- and he’s not mangy! He’s meant to be hairless and you know it!”

“Could have fooled me,” Gustavo grumbled, glaring at the dog - who, in turn, growled at him from behind Miguel. Didn’t like him, huh? Well, the feeling was mutual.

Of course, that wasn’t enough to get the kid to relent. He was almost as annoying as Héctor, and twice as stubborn. “Héctor said we can feed him!” was the next, predictable retort. Gustavo snorted and glared at Héctor, who shrugged.

“It’s not like we’re taking him inside the church. If he sticks around, I see nothing wrong with leaving out a few scraps--”

“That’s not the point!” Gustavo snapped. Sure, the golden boy would tell those brats to keep the dog, of course - not like it would be a problem for him. Oh no, it would be Gustavo to have to pick up the pieces and clean up whatever disaster that beast caused. Well, he wasn’t going to let him get away with that crap now - and he didn’t care how much a bunch of stupid kids, or that damn nun who could never shut up, glared at him. He had enough work to do as it was, more than enough to worry about. “You don’t take decisions! You’re not even a priest yet!” Gustavo growled. “If I catch that mangy thing anywhere around here, I’m going to make sure it never comes back to bother anyone!”

“You don’t make the rules, either!” Miguel snapped. “You’re just the sexton!”

Three things happened quickly: Gustavo stepped forward, moving to raise his hand; Héctor stepped between him and the kid; and, most of all, a voice rose up like the crack of a whip.

“You won’t dare, Gustavo,” Imelda - or Sister Gisela or whatever the hell she should be called now - snapped, and it was that, more than anything, to make him still. He turned to glare at her, only to get a cold gaze right back. “Accidents happen,” she said, her voice oddly sweet. “So you better not get any ideas involving the rat poison you keep on the shed.”

Wait, was that-- was the threatening him now? All eyes on him, Gustavo scowled and opened his mouth to snap back - when suddenly he caught glimpse of Father John walking out of the church and across the yard, and smirked. “Well, let’s see what Padre Ju-- Father John says!”

Miguel scowled. “Padre Juan isn’t the parish priest! Padre Ernesto is! He gets to decide!” he exclaimed. The dog barked as though in agreement. “We’ll ask him and I’m sure he’ll say-- er… is he… is he all right?” the boy added, the tirade turning into somewhat hesitant stammering.

“Huh?” Gustavo blinked, and looked back. Now that Father John was closer, he could tell that he didn’t look good at all. He was walking away from the church as fast as one could without running, hand tightly clenched together on the crucifix at his neck, eyes wide and skin white as a sheet - which wasn’t a huge change from usual, but a change nonetheless.

“He looks upset,” one of Imelda’s brother, hell knew which one, muttered.

“He looks ill, ” the other echoed.

“... Father John?” Héctor called out, taking a step forward, and the gringo recoiled as though he’d heard a shout, stopping to look at them. His reddened eyes paused on all of them - the three adults, the kids, the ugly-ass dog - but didn’t seem to really take in any of them. “Are you… is everything all right?” he asked. Nothing was all right, very clearly, but of course that was not the answer. Father John gave them the emptiest smile Gustavo could recall ever seeing.

“Yes, I… my apologies. I do feel quite faint. A walk will do me good.”

“If you’re feeling faint, that is about the last thing you should do,” Héctor pointed out. “Would you like me to help you back in? Maybe Padre Ernesto can--”

“No, no. I-- just-- If you’ll excuse me,” the man mumbled, and just walked fast past them all, away from the yard and heading towards the outskirts of the town. The dog whined and Gustavo blinked, then turned slowly to look at Héctor, who seemed just as taken aback.

“Any idea what that was about?” Imelda asked, and they could only shake their head.

“No clue,” Héctor said. Gustavo scratched his head.

“Maybe he walked into Sister Sofía having fun,” he muttered. Miguel blinked up at him.

“What’s so wrong with having fun?” he asked, confused. Behind him the twins had slapped a hand on each other’s mouth not to laugh, Héctor frantically shook his head, and Imelda downright made a slashing motion across her throat with a finger. Gustavo swallowed.

“Ah, er... nothing at all. You-- were going to ask Padre Ernesto about keeping the dog, sí?”

To his relief, the kid didn’t press the matter: he just gave a grito before ran off towards the church, barking dog in tow, and no one tried to stop him.

***

“... And I wanted to call him Dante, like your horse! Oooh, look! He likes the name! Dante! Dante, sit!”

As the pup dropped on the ground, flopping like a fish out of water, Ernesto smiled and finished the wine. He’d always had a soft spot for dogs himself, so he couldn’t say he minded letting this one wander around the parish. And even if he did then it wouldn’t matter anyway, because he had something else entirely in his mind.

Padre Juan, a maricón. Now that was some news he hadn’t been expecting. Absolutely none of his business and he had no high ground to stand on - don’t think of the barracks don’t think of the barracks - but still, it had sort of blindsided him. And now, to be honest, he was slightly worried over who may be the object of his lust. Not that he could think of many options: the guy ducked out of whatever room he was in the moment Ernesto walked in, but he had insisted to give Héctor English lesson, one on one. Therefore…

He wants Héctor. It’s obvious. Well, sorry, gringo, but he’ll be taken soon.

The thought was amusing, but he wasn’t that worried; given how anguished he’d sounded throughout the confession, good old Juan was more likely to cut off his right hand than to attempt anything. For a moment - all right, maybe a couple of moments - Ernesto even felt sorry for him. Seeing him again was going to be awkward as hell, no question, but once he told Sofía they could at least have a laugh and… and…

“... Hey, are you listening?’

“Huh?” Ernesto recoiled, and looked down to see Miguel raising an eyebrow at him, still scratching Dante’s back. The dog's hind leg twitched, tongue splayed out across the floor.

“You weren’t listening at all.”

“Not past the name,” he admitted with a shrug. “I was wondering where my Dante went.”

Miguel’s expression immediately turned sadder. “Maybe he’s fine and will come back,” he said, hopeful as only kids can be. Ernesto had strong doubts, but he smiled a little.

“Here’s hoping. What else can your dog do?”

That caused the boy to pause. “My dog?”

“Well, he seems to have picked you,” Ernesto replied, and as the kid seemed to glow a little at the thought - his dog! - he took another sip wine. No, he thought, better not tell Sofía a thing. She may know how to keep her mouth shut, but with the gringo universally despised as he was, Ernesto could only imagine how tempting it would be to say something if he stepped out of line.

But this was more than a funny story: it was something that could completely destroy Padre Juan, there in Mexico and back in his country as well. It was the heavy artillery, so to speak, it may be wise to keep it under wraps, for now. Unless he freaked out and revealed himself to everyone and their dog, of course, which was not beyond the realms of possibility.

“I wonder where he came from,” Miguel was saying, rubbing the ecstatic dog’s chest. “I have never seen him around here.”

“Well, stray dogs do wander. It’s what makes them strays.”

“But he’ll never have to stray anymore! He’s home now, isn’t he?”

Ernesto smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. Dog was an insult he got often from civilians while in the army, because of course he would. It was fitting, after all. Huerta’s dogs, on a tight leash. Too tight, and so Huerta’s dog had turned stray - wandering all the way to Santa Cecilia.

He’s home now, isn’t he?

Something clenched in Ernesto’s chest. “I suppose he is,” he said slowly, and emptied the glass.

***

“No, no, no! Are they all drunk? We can’t got back!”

“Those are the orders, and you will obey as the rest of the Regiment.”

“We need to keep going south! We’re rooting out rebels in each and every village - at this rate we’ll leave none in all of Oaxaca! This is far more useful than going to Veracruz!”

“In case the Constitutional Army tries anything, the port must be protected--”

“Then someone else can do it, we’re already doing our part--”

“Enough, Santiago!”

Nando’s snarl caused Santiago to trail off, more out of surprise than actual fear, because Nando rarely raised his voice. But now he was scowling, and it was clear he wouldn’t listen to any of his reasons. “I’m not an idiot, boy. I know exactly why you want to keep searching Oaxaca. It has nothing to do with rebels and everything to do with one deserter.”

“Everything to do with a murderer.”

Beto’s blood on the sand. His body with his face to the ground. The carrion birds already descending on him. The letter to tell his mother, written and torn and rewritten so many times.

Unaware of his thoughts, or perhaps all too aware, Nando scoffed. “Find me one man of arms with clean hands these days.”

Something twisted in Santiago’s stomach. “He killed him like a dog!”

“You shot a woman in the face.”

And I see her every night. “That’s not the same thing! She threw herself at me--”

“On her knees, to beg you to spare her husband--”

“I had no time to think! She could have been armed!”

“... Or maybe you were just too angry to be lucid, because he was not there,” Nando replied.

Santiago fell silent for a few moments. It was true - he knew it to be true - but he refused to dwell on it. “Taking pity on rebels now?” he asked instead, coldly.

“No. You take pity on no one if you want to survive this.” Nando made a face that might, with some imagination, have been a bitter smile. “It’s you I’m worried about. The war comes first - then your personal vendetta.”

“He’s out there somewhere.”

“We don’t even know for sure he headed south. He might have gone west to Yucatán, or taken the long way around to go back north - hell, for all we know he may have crossed the border into Guatemala, and good luck getting him then.”

“I’ll follow him to the ends of Earth.”

“But you don’t know where he may be. You’re guessing he’s somewhere south of here, but--”

“I know it!”

“Oh, did you have a prophetic dream? Holy Mary told you? Can you tell me my fortune?” Nando snapped, only to sigh when Santiago scowled, clenching his fists. “Look. We don’t know where he is. If you’re meant to find him, you will and I promise I’ll be by your side to have him hanged, as Beto’s friend and yours. But until then, I am your superior. You are a soldier, you will do what you’re told, and you’re coming to Veracruz,” he added, and turned, walking away.

I could shoot him now and leave anyway, Santiago thought, and his fingers twitched by the gun at his hip. It was so very tempting, but then the thought struck him - is this what de la Cruz thought, too, before he shot? - and he let his hand fall down his side like a dead weight, head spinning and fingers limp.

***

Padre Juan showed his face again at dinner time, and it was enough for Ernesto to wonder if he’d hallucinated the entire confession that morning: he sure was acting like nothing at all had happened. He barely glanced in his direction but, well, that was the usual. He sat stiffly in the chair, back never touching the backrest, and spoke to Héctor only about some bullshit idea to teach kids Latin.

Yes, it almost made him wonder if he’d been wrong… but then Héctor asked good old Juan how he was feeling, that he’d seemed ill earlier, and that was all he needed to hear. The way the gringo winced when asked and quickly dismissed it as a headache only confirmed his thoughts.

That had been his voice, his accent; the confession had been his, Ernesto was sure of it. The gringo was a better actor than he gave him credit for, that was all, and he wasn’t the only one who could put up an act. So he acted like nothing was wrong, too - until dinner was over, Héctor stood to leave, and Ernesto spoke. “Padre Juan. May I have a word?”

And oh, that worked. The gringo stiffened like he’d just heard him uttering his death sentence, growing paler for a moment, and spoke in a tight voice. “It’s Father John. And yes. You may.”

Héctor gave him a somewhat curious gaze - did he seem slightly alarmed? - but left them alone, closing the door behind himself. Padre Juan folded his hands tightly, in what Ernesto guessed was a pitiful attempt at keeping them from shaking. “What is it?” he asked, voice more controlled. Did he really hope he could make him think he’d been mistaken?

Ernesto shrugged, and gave his most reassuring smile. “I simply wondered if you need any counsel. You seem upset,” he added. Funny thing to say to the guy he’d slammed against the wall only weeks earlier, but the whole situation was odd and the gringo did not remark on that.

“I-- I had a brief episode of vertigo earlier today,” he said, gaze resting on absolutely everything in the room except Ernesto. “I will be fine after a good night’s sleep, and I am-- quite tired.”

“... I understand. But surely, if something is bothering you, you’ll let me know. Won’t you?”

That caused the man to look up at him. For just a moment his expression twisted into something so painful it was gut-wrenching, but then it was gone, and he looked away. “... I will keep it in mind. Will that be all?”

Ernesto nodded. “That will be all,” he said, gaining himself a brief nod before Padre Juan left the room in silence. Not a bad actor overall, but it would take more to fool Ernesto de la Cruz. He knew what he was and he knew what he desired - Héctor, clearly.

“Can’t hide a thing from me,” Ernesto muttered to the empty room, and poured himself a glass.

***

“All right, time to--”

“Ow!”

“What?”

“Your elbow is in my ribs.”

“Sorry. Should have built this doghouse bigger.”

“Well, we’re not supposed to be in it.”

“And yet here we are.”

“... Why are you here?”

Sitting cross-legged with Dante leaning on him, Miguel grinned. “To make plans! We must create the right moment for Héctor and Imelda, so he can seize it!” he exclaimed, and put his arms around the twins’ necks, pulling them close. “Now, here’s my idea…”

***

[Back to Part 7]

[ruffoverthinksthings]

What are some of Claudine's likes and dislikes? I love how you craft her to be spicy and saucy with her tongue, yet accomplished in her studies and quick on her feet (literally and figuratively).

All that reading of the Bible and being secretary to administrative work, listening in to speechs of a very well-spoken and well-read man, and having to defend her faith and later on seduce and manipulate people paid off dividends.

Likes

Books.

After being forced to read and study the Bible and other (verystrictly curated) books about Christianity over and over again, andbeing denied all manner of literature that ends up on thebarges--either overrun copies of cheap/generic adventure/romancestories, or hardcover copies of serious texts like that of history orphilosophy--Claudine finds herself enjoying finally seeing all the“blasphemous and subversive” material that Frollo has so warnedher will corrupt her mind and turn her away from God.

Philosophy interests her primarily, as she’s always been toldthat there is but One Truth, and that is (the Christianinterpretation of) God, and seeing all the many different ways peopleinterpret the meaning of life, what is our purpose, and the manydifferent explanations as to why we do the things we do interest her.

She develops a great interest in Psychology, especially theconcept of “mental gymnastics” whereby people bend overbackwards, go through hoops, and perform all manner of impressivefeats of reasoning and justification just to defend their beliefs,their choices, and their worldviews.

Of particular interest to her is religious extremism and hypocrisyin Religions of all forms, though for obvious reasons she studiesChristianity first and foremost, and second is the way Auradon’s peoplejustify their unfair and inherently skewed social order.

On a leisurely reading note, she really likes romancenovels, adventure stories, and “slice-of-life” works that showher how relationships are supposed to be, protagonists overcomingoverwhelming odds and their own hang-ups through determination,personal growth, and friendship, and how life is supposed to be whenyou’re lucky enough to be born into a (mostly) well-functioningfamily.

Fashion

Because of the limited materials on the Isle, Maleficent having amonopoly on most supplies, and the Evil Queen taking the lion’sshare of good stuff for herself and Evie, a broke and withoutconnections girl like Claudine was forced to rely on just two fashionstyles:

Highly conservative and simple dresses with long sleeves andskirts, and repurposed linens, and of course

Heavily modified and scandalized school uniforms that theiroriginal owners had outgrown and couldn’t find anyone to hand itdown to

She really rather enjoys the expanded choice she has here inAuradon, access to raw materials and fashion from all over the worldas now she can go to all the Well Intentions branch in Auradon Cityand pick-up all the “pre-loved” items for a pittance, planoutfits in advance without fear of it getting stolen, and justgenerally mix-and-match with more styles, designs, and moods than sheever thought possible

It also helps that Esmeralda bonds with her by doing each others’hair and make-up, making outfits for each other that express thesexuality they’re so comfortable with than hide it like mostAuradonians do, along with assisting the drives for collecting goodsand items for the less fortunate

This is both for the ostracized and forgotten of Auradon, and thepeople of the Isle of the Lost. “True, they could just scavenge itfrom the trash, but it feels so much better to open a box that wasmeant for you specifically.”

Confident and Principled Public Figures

Personal bias: Claudine is a VERY big fan of my interpretation ofElsa in the Descendants universe, modeling herself after her assomeone who is not willing to just let awful systems thrive andquestionable decisions be because “that’s just the way thingsare,” be able to ignore her “Pharisees” without even givingthem the time of day, and she also rather enjoys the fact that theIce Queen is a Mistress of Sick Burns.

After living in a congregation of Yes People that just constantlyexcuse and justify everything in their mind so their fragileworldviews are never shattered, Claudine finds great admiration,respect—and if we’re being totally honest, sexual attraction—topeople that are willing to stand by their beliefs in the face offerocious unpopularity, threats and insults, and have unshakablefaith to one thing:

“The Actual Truth”

In her words, “What can I say? I get wet for someone whorises up and doesn’t back down until you give them a damn goodreason.”

Other people she admires for similar reasons include Queen Tiana,Queen Merida, Mulan, Consort Jasmine, Flynn Rider AKA King EugeneFitzhebert, Queen Rapunzel, King Aladdin, Queen Elena, Queen Belle,Maid Marian, Megara, King Ben, and Jordan

Peopleshe respects, but has something of an intense non-romanticlove-hate-but-mostly-hate relationship with include Sebastian, Zazu,Cogsworth, and Rafiki, all of whom have at some point or another beenher mentors in the art of logic, reasoning, politics, publicspeaking, and philosophy

(“Ifyou’re going to curse like a sailor, at least enunciate your fourletter words properly!” - Cogsworth)

Shehas something of an odd inter-generational friendship with Lumiere,as her premiere sparring partner for “swords and slander” alongwith bonding over his checkered, “not entirely legal” past, andthe fact that, true to the stereotype, is her primary source ofromantic advice

Dislikes

RealityTV

Assomeone who dislikes plasticity, hypocrisy, and shallowness as muchas Claudine, Auradon “Reality TV” REALLY gets on her nerves.While nowhere near as trashy or awful as that of Jersey Shorehere, the point still remains that a lot of this shows areshowing carefully planned, scripted, and highly exaggerated versionsof events being pedaled as “the real, unedited thing.”

Claudinecan see right through the bullshit of the adventures of “The GoodSamaritans” with a quick Google search about all the good thingsthe show has actually done, and whether or not their workstuck after the end of the episode, and it gets even worse when shereads about (and sees for herself) the kind of complacency, lack ofcritical thinking, and shallowness excessive TV watching breeds.

Anddon’t get her started with the replies and the messages sentwhenever she criticizes the shows on Social Media…

Alongsideher fellow 3rd Wave VK Anthony Tremaine, she utterlydespises “the boob tube” and how something so good on paperbecame something so horrible in reality.

SocialMedia in General

Claudinedespises Social Media.

Shehates the careful cultivation of personas and outward looks thatdon’t nearly reflect the ugly realities, the careful cutting andpasting of which elements of your life to show off to others tryingto do the same. She hates the constant emphasis on number of friends,likes, and shares, as if that actually meant any sort of meaningfulachievement. She hates the fact that echo chambers, bias, and trollsare a thing there, constantly getting into arguments that she can’tend with her ultimate, never-fail rebuttal:

Kickingsomeone in the crotch, before flipping the bird at them.

Shehates how it just grows all the insecurities she has about beingostracized and left alone by everyone all over again. She hates thefact that it makes her hyper-aware of her appearance, that it bringsup her self-image issues when someone criticizes her for being toorisque, and she hates the fact that she finds herself constantlycomparing to other, prettier girls, with seemingly more perfectlives, and definitely healthy, happy, and not-abusive-nor-crazyparents and family lives.

Butmost of all, she hates that she can’t quit it.

Shehates the fact that “Outcasts” like her all over Auradon tend toconnect with each other on Social Media and the internet for avariety of reasons. She hates the fact that it’s one of her onlyreal platforms to express her opinion, use the voice that has beenconstantly shushed by her father and the congregation for so manyyears. She hates the fact that this very same thing that helpscultivate the “it’s always sunny and happy in Auradon” is alsothe one thing that is rapidly helping dismantle it as the Outcastsare now finding their voices once more, joining in solidarity withthe VKs to finally make Auradon a paradise for everyone.

Inher words, “I know I’m on Storybook like 16 hours a day,everyday—WHY DO YOU THINK I’M SO PISSED OFF ALL THE TIME?!”

Hypocritesand Opportunists

Thisis the reason she does not get along very well with Audrey, Chad, orher fellow 3VK Richard “Rick” Ratcliffe: they’re incrediblyhypocritical, engaging in mean and cruel behaviour despite seeing andthinking themselves as “Good” people; incredibly keen on jumpingon every last opportunity to better themselves and will flag fromtheir principles as soon as it proves more convenient to switch sides when the going gets tough; or both.

Shehas lived ten years of her life praising and loving a man whoespoused himself as the epitome of Goodness and Righteousness in aland of Sinners and Heathens, and from both personal experience andhearing the other side of the story, learned just how much his actiondoesn’t match his rhetoric, the things he will believe and tellhimself and others in order to justify doing the exact opposite ofwhat it is he’s supposed to be doing.

ThatFrollo was also indirectly responsible for Claudine almost dying in afire doesn’t help.

Inher words, “You can’t do anything with someone that’ll get softand back down at the first sign of trouble, and you don’t wantanything to do with someone that’ll do everything and believeanything just to get their way.”

[amorremanet]

Something about Oz, my OC: abusive father, "we gotta keep the appearances up" mother. After his dad's death he can't bring himself to spend too much time with his mom, he hasn't forgiven her for letting the abuse keep going.

send me a fact about your ocs, i reply with a fact about mine!

Oh man, he’s the opposite of my Pete, in that regard. In the aftermath of his abusive father dying, Pete’s gotten closer to his Mama (and he was already pretty close to her), and turned most of his blame toward Jimmy, his big brother.

Some of it’s in the realm of, “it might not be fair, but it’s understandable,” like being mad at Jimmy because he was the one who got more praise when their Dad, James, pit the kids against each other for myriad reasons (like, it’s not Jimmy’s fault that their Dad did that to them and he didn’t “get it easier,” but it’s still understandable that Pete feels resentment over it, and it’s easier to direct that at Jimmy than at their Dad, not least since Jimmy’s still alive and can actually react to it. Also, it’s really not Jimmy’s fault that he takes more after James than Leilani, physically, but it’s kinda understandable that Pete doesn’t always handle it well when he looks at his brother and sees a reflection of their Dad).

Some of it’s in the realm of, “Pete is mad at Jimmy for something else, and dragging it into the mess of feelings about their experiences with their late father, because it gives him justification for being mad at Jimmy” (like how he’s perpetually peeved at Jimmy for his tacit homophobia, which he just keeps spewing, no matter how many times he gets called out on it, or like how he can’t, “voice concern” for Pete without it sounding a lot like, “Are you sure you’re gay? Because I think that this might all go away if you just weren’t gay anymore” — and it’s fair for Pete to be mad at Jimmy over it, but it’s not really related to their issues that were more directly caused by their Dad).

And some of it’s in the realm of, “Okay, Pete is reaching by a lot and he’s projecting his internalized victim-blaming and internalized abuser logic onto Jimmy because he’s an emotional wreck at the moment and he has no idea what else to do with it. On some level, he realizes this, but he’s also most likely a few minutes off from having an emotional meltdown” (like, if he ever slips into anything that sounds like, “It was Jimmy’s fault that Dad did [x thing] to me and Cora”? He’s a mess, he’s probably alone with Sebastian +/- Seb’s dogs, and there’s a really good chance that Pete is going to be crying into his best friend’s chest in the next five minutes)

Granted, there’s a pretty big difference in the situations, because of the differences between Pete’s Mama and what Oz’s Mom sounds like. Pete’s Mama, Leilani, was less about keeping up appearances (and when she did care about that, it was less of a, “but what would the neighbors think” thing and more about trying to put up a strong front to her kids and her side of the family), and she was pretty limited in her ability to actually get out of the situation (if not for the kids, she might have had the resources to leave, but she also wouldn’t have forgiven herself if she’d pulled a “Doll’s House” and walked out like Ibsen’s Nora, leaving her kids with James).

Then, there’s the issue of how messy the situation was, because James’s primary methods of abuse weren’t physical (and when they did cross into the physical realm, it usually wasn’t like breaking big brother Jimmy’s arm or slapping Leilani and middle sister Cora around, but in ways that put fear into his wife and children, and that he could use to manipulate them). One of his most frequently used tactics was gaslighting about his emotionally, psychologically, and spiritually abusive behaviors, and there were plenty of things he did that Pete didn’t get weren’t part of How Every Family Is until he’d seen enough of Seb’s parents to decide that they weren’t just acting kind and supportive when their kids had friends over; they were actually like that.

Three other big factors came together to make it all worse, in Pete’s mind:

1. the moments with James that weren’t completely horrible, most of which he didn’t really turn into, “the abuser is now going to do a nice thing by way of fauxpologizing, gaslighting, victim blaming, and so on” because he didn’t mean for most of them to happen. He usually didn’t have fauxpology moments, because he very rarely recognized that he was in the wrong and needed to apologize or at least put on a façade of apologizing, so when he had okay moments, Pete trusts that they were mostly genuine, and they muddy the emotional water for Pete by a lot, because he’s pretty sure his life would be easier if he could just unilaterally hate his Dad.

Some of these moments were little things, like being proud of a project that Cora put together for science class, or being down on Pete’s fondness for the theatre and criticizing his desire to be an actor, but showing up to his opening night as Cinderella’s Prince Charming Into the Woods and being the first person to make it into a standing ovation (probably without realizing that Pete could see him).

Some of them, Pete doesn’t even really remember consciously, most of the time, until something trips a wire in his head and reminds him of one time when James, who didn’t know at the time that his youngest is gay, told his kids not to listen to their Grandparents when they went on about how LGBTQ people are all terrible, evil sinners and going to Hell, because their uncle, his little brother, is gay. Their cousins’ Dad is gay, too, and so are their Mother and her wife, so unless they think that Uncles Nicholas and Jacob, and Aunts Rachael and Melissa, are all going to Hell, then they should just know that their Grandmother and Grandfather are full of shit about gay people.

Some of them were bigger things, like getting into it with some of his kids’ teachers because he felt they were being treated unfairly (like when one of Jimmy’s essays for a history class in high school got marked down because he used sources other than the textbook and Sister Mary Margaret’s course pack, or when Pete got in trouble because his English teacher didn’t believe that a fourteen-year-old could’ve read Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart over summer break, much less understood it enough to write an essay about it), or getting into it with his parents for picking at Leilani being Filipina and the kids for being biracial.

Some of them were sort of in the middle things that didn’t mean a lot at the time, but have since developed more and/or deeper significance, like one time when James was sober (which was pretty odd for him, at that point), and was a dick about conveying the sentiment, “You’re my son and I love you, I accept that you’re gay but really hate your current boyfriend because he doesn’t treat you right, and FYI, maybe you’ve got your Mama and your sister convinced that you’re doing fine, but if you have to get fucked up on tequila and stimulants just to get through bringing him to dinner with the family and having a not-that-subtle quickie in the men’s room — one that you didn’t seem particularly enthused about even with your current level of intoxication — then that’s a problem, Peter-Paolo,” but was still genuinely trying to help

But whatever form they took, the long-term end result was always massive emotional conflict, because these moments made him feel pretty sure that James did love his family, that it wasn’t all an exercise in him satiating his own ego and sense of entitlement by trying to control Leilani and their kids, and that it wasn’t all terrible — which is all a mess to deal with, because it keeps Pete from unilaterally hating James, and it’s so hard to fully parse out which parts affected him in which ways, making it harder to address all of them.

Then there’s how these moments helped further normalize all of James’s other behaviors, and just…… “Emotionally messy” is an understatement;

2. the fact that James was, himself, a victim/survivor — maybe not a textbook example of a victim/survivor who went on to be an abuser in his own right, but he was pretty close to it. James never even got to understand that what his parents had put him through was abusive, before he died, because they rarely crossed into physical abuse (they were wealthy white Catholics on the Upper East Side in NYC, who eventually moved to Baltimore instead; any physical abuse of their kids would’ve required explanations to the neighbors) and he always thought the way that Virginia and Francis were with their kids was “just good parenting.”Not that any of this is an excuse for how James treated his children (I mean, his younger brother Nicholas went through the same shit and he didn’t abuse his kids) but it’s a point where Pete empathizes with his Dad, despite everything that James ever did to him, Leilani, Cora, and even Jimmy. Like, on some levels, James believed that he was justified in his abuse because it was, “done out of love,” and he was, “helping prepare his kids for the world” whenever he abused them, and, “doing the right thing for his kids, even if it’s kinda hard for them to hear right now”…… and a lot of that came out of how he was treated by his parents while growing up, and as an adult, and how he dealt with that—and Pete doesn’t want to feel for his Dad, or understand that he was, on some level, trying to do what he felt was the right thing and that his way of handling everything was, in large part, learned from his parents and how they treated him;

and 3. the Grandma Virginia factor, because Grandpa Francis wasn’t involved in Pete’s life that deeply (he more often went after Jimmy and Hank, Nicholas’s oldest son, though Pete doesn’t really know about any of that) — but oh man, Grandma Virginia mostly went after Pete and Emerson, Nicholas’s middle child.She was bad enough in her own right, for several reasons, and worse because having been one of her “favorite” grandkids makes Pete empathize with James that much more when he’d really rather not, and she just compounds everything in ways that Pete hasn’t even halfway parsed out since she died a few years back, because they’re tangled and messy, and for all he has literally danced on her grave before (it quickly devolved into having an emotional meltdown on her grave, but still), he did love her.Sometimes, he’s pretty sure he hates her for making him love her more than he hates her for all of the shit she put him and Emerson through (and if pressed to explain it, he’d guess that he hates what she did to them, and he’d hate her for that if Virginia hadn’t made both of them love her, but making them love her was even worse than that because of how it clouded their ability to see that what she was doing to them was wrong and limited their ability to fight back).Sometimes, he feels like he hates her most for what she did to James, and that usually leaves Pete feeling really confused, since he can’t tell if it’s coming more out of, “If she hadn’t abused my Dad, maybe he wouldn’t have abused us” or wishing that James hadn’t been abused because of what a mess it made of him and wishing that James hadn’t been such a mess because, despite anything that Pete ever says to the contrary, he loved his Dad and still does, and he wishes that he didn’t because he feels like hating James would make all of this easier, but…Sometimes, he feels like he hates her more for the things that didn’t seem like a lot at the time, but became bigger deals down the line — like how she tried to pit Pete against Leilani’s side of the family and pull him away from her as much as Virginia could get away with, given that Pete has always been a Mama’s Boyor like how she tried to say that Emerson didn’t need treatment or professional help for his abuse of prescription stimulants when it had nearly killed him more than once, which she said was because she, “believed that he could take care of it himself,” but really, it was because she knew that his parents and siblings wanted to push him into an LGBTQ-exclusive inpatient rehab and get him away from the pro-reparative therapy psychiatrist he was seeing, and she hadn’t succeeded in making Nicholas, “turn away from sin and homosexual deviancy,” but she shad hope that she could get Emerson and Pete to do so

And…… I lost track of that by a lot, but. Yeah, uh.

So, as seen here, the Ardens are kind of a huge mess in a lot of ways, with regard to abuse and familial dysfunction, but Pete’s trying to do his best with the aftermath of it. He’s kinda wound up treating Emerson as a mix of, “replacement older brother, because he’s younger than Jimmy but still older than Pete, and Pete and Jimmy have both contributed to the often shambolic state of their relationship, and it’s easier to talk to Emerson than Jimmy” and, “good friend, who’s okay with good-naturedly picking on each other (though Emerson isn’t sure if Pete is doing that when he says he’s pretty sure Emerson made up his current boyfriend, or if Pete really doesn’t believe that Asa exists)”

And, like. Even if things weren’t a complete mess with Jimmy, Pete would, at this point, feel like his Princess (Sebastian) is basically his brother…… but things being a mess with Jimmy made Pete decide that Seb is pretty much his brother sooner than he might’ve done otherwise, because Seb gets on Pete’s level better, he apologizes when he fucks up by Pete rather than turning it into some tu quoque, “Well, Pete, you’ve fucked up by me before, so I’m not obligated to apologize to you” bullshit, he and Pete have followed each other into multiple bad idea misadventures because they couldn’t talk each other out of it and went, “Okay, well, you’re not going alone” while Jimmy has always been more hands-off……

And I’m not sure how to wrap this up, so…… This is an abrupt ending, I’m sorry that this got so out of hand, I just have a lot of feelings about characters who’ve survived shitty abusive situations, and I’m done now

[toogaytowrite]

I Met The Devil

So, I work at this rinky dink hole in the wall bar in Texas. Everyone just calls it the Spur. Even I don't know if it has a real name beyond that. When I say this place is in the middle of nowhere, I mean the middle of the flatlands, where you can drive for an hour and see nothing but pump jacks. Oilfield worker is about the only job you can get out here, so the patronage is comprised of rowdy good ol boys, coveralls stained with black oil and stinking to high heaven. Sometimes they bring their wives, most of them come here to avoid their wives.

It gets busy on the weekends- it's the only place to get a drink for miles after all. Other times its basically empty. Very few people will drive out here on a Tuesday evening to drink alone. I've spent a lot of my shifts just flipping through the channels on the tv above the bar or dumping spare change into the jukebox. Just me and the bright blinking light outside. Thing gives me a headache, but when it goes dark for a few seconds, rotating through the light bulbs, the outside is pitch black. You pretty much rely on the thing to see at night, so you're thankful for it when you're trying to find your car keys.

Anyway, it was a Monday and everything had slowed to a complete crawl, compared to the ruckus of Saturday and Sunday night. Just me, once again, sitting behind the bar, with no one but the late night televangelists to keep me company. Some old guy just reading bible passages and explaining them. It was either that or infomercials, even the television nightlife is non-existent here. Why the owner keeps the place open on weekdays, well, your guess is a good as mine. We barely make enough money to keep that big ass light outside on.

Normally, you hear the cars pull up before the tinkle of the bells on the door. Again, we are in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and the nearest house is several miles away. Way too far for anyone to walk. The purr of engines and tires on gravel are the warnings I get that a customer is coming in. It gives me a chance to put on my bubbly bar girl face, otherwise I'm thoroughly checked out.

I heard the bells first. I didn't think that was much cause for alarm, just that I must have been having one of my boredom induced out of body experiences and missed the car noises. That, or after three years working here, I'd finally found the man crazy enough to walk ten miles of dirt road to get a stiff drink. The guy that came in was a face I hadn't seen before. Late forties, a little salt in his pepper, he looked like the older men in those commercials for 'enhancement' pills.

Anyway, he wasn't half bad looking. I've never been into the Dukes of Hazzard types that occupied the bar, and having some minor daddy issues has contributed to my major kink in older guys. He took a seat at the bar and I fumbled to look like I wasn't a slob, tuck my hair back into a ponytail, stuff my shirt back into my jeans, casually give myself a sniff to make sure my twelve hour melon scented deodorant was still doing its job. I smelled something weird, but I couldn't tell if it was me or the new guy. Must have been him.

He ordered a scotch half a second before I asked what he'd like. I wasn't even sure if we had any top shelf stuff like that, considering most of our income was made off of shitty watered down beer. We did, and he thanked me when I set his glass on a coaster in front of him. At this point, the preacher on tv had reached the part of his sermon where he demonized “heathen sodomites” and the crowd were shouting amens. I asked if he wanted to watch something else (as if there was anything else to watch), he just smiled and shook his head. Told me it was fine and called me darling. I muted it anyway- the preacher's flapping jowls were getting on my nerves.

“You know he touches kids.” His words caught me a little offguard, but as I possess a notoriously dark sense of humor, I laughed anyway. Partly because I found it funny, mostly out of surprise for the out of the blue statement.

“Yeah, they all do,” I said. He gestured with his glass to an alter boy on the corner of the stage, who the camera never lingered long on.

“He takes that one up to room, has him sit naked on the bed. Thinks as long as he doesn't touch himself then it's not an affront to God.”

I chuckled- I wasn't sure what else to say to that other than, “Yeah. Heh.” and pretend like I had work to do. I ducked behind the bar, acting like I was grabbing a drink so I could let my mouth hang open in shock, mouth “oh my God” to myself, then took a moment to regain my composure before I came back up. How does someone even react to that? That was too dark, even for me. When my head poked back up, he'd set a few bills on the counter, and was smirking at me. Thinking about that look still makes my hair stand on end.

“Share a drink with me.”

I reached for any excuse I could think of, and there were quite a few I could have given. It was against the rules to drink on the job, for one, for two, he had seriously thrown me with the kid diddling anecdote, and for three, I don't share drinks with guys I just met. But he moved his hand a little, and it was then I saw Benjamin Franklin's pursed lip stare looking up at me from the face of a hundred dollar bill. I've done a lot worse for a tip that big. I popped the cap off the least alcoholic beer I could find and our glasses clinked together. He drank deeply from his cup, I only took a cautious sip of mine.

We talked. He seemed nice, a far cry from the types I'm used to around these parts. He didn't once slip into a rant about Muslims, spit chewing tobacco down the neck of my bottle, and I got the impression he didn't have a single Confederate flag bumper sticker on his car or “Pro Life, Pro God, Pro Guns, Palin for VP” shirt in his wardrobe. He was downright charming. I even made him laugh a few times.

I'd almost forgotten about the preacher comment by the time he turned his attention back to the television.

He was still yapping about something, literally thumping his bible as he lectured on the evils of the world. Whenever his gaze ventured off camera, I had to wonder what he was looking at- was it a member of the audience or the little boy, standing motionless as a statue on stage with him?

The next words out of his mouth were, “What do you think is a good punishment for child molesters?” I nearly shot beer out of my nose. I covered my mouth before I sprayed it all over his face and forced myself to swallow. I asked why he wanted to know. He simply shrugged. “Curiosity. Humor me.”

I didn't have to think about it long. “Chemical castration has always been a favorite of mine.”

“Even that's too good for them,” he said. Those were pretty much the exact words I had in mind, but didn't want to say, on the off chance they made me sound bitter or spiteful. Which I'll admit, I am.

“Short of spending their entire lives in prison, getting their salads tossed by someone bigger than them, the only truly fitting punishment I can think of is if they eat a bullet. He could fall off stage right now and break his own neck in front of his flock. My mom used to say they deserve to get a railroad spike driven through their dicks and pushed backwards.”

“Kary must have a colorful imagination.”

Now, my mother's name is Karyn. Everyone calls her Karyn. She's got a hardon for authority and being in control, so she makes sure everyone practices the formality of calling her Karyn. The only people in this world who call my mother Kary are my father and the friends she's had since high school.

Naturally I wanted to know how he knew this.

“Because I'm the Devil.” He said with such casual sincerity, I could only stare blankly at him. When no chuckle or “aha gotcha” moment came, I could only scoff something that almost sounded like a laugh and pull my beer closer to myself. He didn't seem the type to slip something into my drink, but if those kinds of guys looked like the date rapists they were, they would be a hell of a lot easier to avoid. Anyone who just claimed to the Devil had to be some kind of crazy, right? My paranoia was pretty damn merited I think.

“Yeah, and I'm a Mesopotamian death goddess.”

“Well, it's nice to formally make your acquaintance, Nergal.” He downed the rest of his scotch and stood. Let me just say, claiming you're the Devil is not the weirdest thing a drunk guy has told me in that bar. Doesn't even crack the top ten. Of all the drunk sputum I've overheard in my years working there, this, while unsettling, was not that bad in comparison to the time a guy started crying over a bowl of salted pretzels because of something to do with bread yeast. I was fully prepared to brush it off as just him screwing with me, but I don't know. Something in his eyes made me question it. Now, whether I believe in all that fire and brimstone crap, I have to wonder.

He took my hand and shook it. “You're a good kid, Laura. Thanks for indulging me.”

I don't wear a nametag. I hadn't told him my name either. If he knew my mother's nickname, it wasn't that much of a leap to think he might know mine as well, but I instantly prickled. I thought he must have stalked me to learn these things. What other explanation did I have?

As he turned to leave and I opened my mouth to speak, the TV's sound came blaring back into existence, at a much higher volume than when I'd muted it. The sound hit my ears like speakers screeching on either side of my head. I dove for the remote to turn it down as the preacher pounded his bible on the podium with the force of a judge banging his gavel.

“We are all sinners!” He cried. “We are unworthy of God's love, we have not earned it! We do not seek it! On this planet of six billion lives, do you think the almighty cares for you ants? You spineless microbes? There is only one force on this earth that gives a damn whether we live or die, and folks, I would like to introduce you to him tonight.” It sounded, it looked nothing like the man I'd been watching only an hour ago, before the stranger arrived. There was the same feverish passion, but the way he moved. No longer was he strutting the stage with that Man of God swagger, like nothing in the world could harm him because he had God's love protecting him. He sloshed around like a drunk. Like a doll on the strings of a careless puppeteer. And he laughed.

He wouldn't stop laughing- this high pitched, hyena laughter that settled a chill in your bones. I've never heard a man make that sound before or since then. He threw his back in an almost grotesque contortion as his entire body shook with laughter. I heard something that, looking back now, I think might have been his spine popping into the mic. He drew in one long breath at the end of this laughing fit. He exhaled. There was a moment of stillness, where even the crowd's murmurs hushed.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. It wasn't his voice either. It was no one voice. It was like a dozen speaking in perfect unison. He calmly reached up to his mic stand and with one sharp twist, unscrewed the microphone and the clip holding it in place, leaving the metal exposed. “I'll see you all in Hell.”

He dropped the microphone and drove the pipe straight into his skull. The wet squelch as it skewered through his left eyeball and sunk deep into his skull grew distant when the mic fell and thumped to the floor. It was only there for a millisecond, but its a sound I'll never forget.

The camera twisted off kilter, the crew rushed the stage, the silhouettes of the crowd as they shot out of their seats in a panic obscured most of the scene. And he was laughing. Even as he collapsed to the ground, fingers still white knuckled around the metal, he was laughing. I felt nausea hit me almost instantly. Blood pooled around his head, but I could only see flashes in between all the people flocking to his side to tend to him. Like they could do anything to help. He laughed, he thrashed, he went still. I could no longer hear laughter behind the screaming crowd pleading for God, God help him, oh Lord why. The bells pulled me away from the screen long enough to see the stranger's back vanish through the door. I ran after him, your guess is as good as mine what I could have done if I caught up. Though I was little more than a few feet behind him, by the time I wrenched the door open and threw myself outside, he was halfway across the parking lot. He was near the road. The eyesore lights burned brightly, reaching their peak, then went dark at the single most inopportune time. In that short beat of complete darkness, all I could hear was that gut wrenching off air shriek as the televangelist's channel cut the feed. When the lights flicked back to life, he was gone. There was nothing but miles of flatland and the few distant dots of pump jacks.

The next day I saw the preacher's face gracing a newspaper at the gas station. The local paper had only good things to say about him, calling his death a tragedy, calling him an inspiration of faith, but a cursory search online found several articles citing the discovery of his child pornography ring as the possible reason for his public suicide. Turns out the police found an external hard drive in his office with well over a thousand pictures of kids in compromising positions. Twelve victims, reports said. Obviously they can't release names, but I can't get that alter boy's hollow eyes out of my mind. I'm almost sure he must have been one of them.

Haven't seen Mr Devil since then. No one at the Spur believes me, and my mom just wrote him off a crazy person when I spoke to her about it. Hell, if I didn't have the news clippings to prove at least part of it happened, I would think I nodded off on the job and had some crazy dream. It happened. And sometimes, when I sit and turn over everything I saw that night, (which is often) I can smell that odd scent again. It goes right to my head as if he was standing right in front me. I couldn't place it then, but the more I think about it, the more I start to realize that the stranger in the bar that night smelled like something burning.

I can't say what. I'm not sure I want to know.

[pamphletstoinspire]

THE HOLY GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST, ACCORDING TO ST. MARK, FROM THE LATIN VULGATE BIBLE

Chapter 9 - Part 3:

36. Whosoever shall receive one such child as this in my name, receiveth me: and whosoever shall receive me, receiveth not me, but him that sent me.

Ver. 36 No explanation given.

37. John answered him, saying: Master, we saw one casting out devils in thy name, who followeth not us, and we forbade him.

Ver. 37. Who followeth not us, in that special manner, as Christ's apostles did. (Witham)

38. But Jesus said: Do not forbid him: *For there is no man that doth a miracle in my name, that can soon speak ill of me.

Ver. 38. No explanation given.

39. For he that is not against you, is for you.

Ver. 39. No explanation given.

40. For whosoever shall give you to drink a cup of water in my name, because you belong to Christ, Amen, I say to you, he shall not lose his reward.

Ver. 40. Here we may find that no one, however poor, can be excused from good works; since there is no one who is not able to give at least a cup of cold water; and we are assured that he will not lose his reward. (Nicholas of Lyra)

41. And whosoever shall scandalize one of these little ones that believe in me, it were better for him that a mill-stone were hanged about his neck, and he were cast into the sea.

Ver. 41. No explanation given.

42. And if thy hand scandalize thee, cut it off: it is better for thee to enter into life maimed, than, having two hands, to go into hell, into unquenchable fire:

Ver. 42. No explanation given,

43. Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not extinguished.

Ver. 43. Where their worm dieth not. These words are taken out of Isaias lxvi. 24; and are to be expounded of the punishments, and fruitless repentance of the wicked in the next world. (Witham)

44. And if thy foot scandalize thee, cut it off; it is better for thee to enter lame into life everlasting, than, having two feet, to be cast into the hell of unquenchable fire:

Ver 44. No explanation given.

45. Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not extinguished.

Ver. 45. No explanation give.

46. And if thy eye scandalize thee, pluck it out: it is better for thee, with one eye, to enter into the kingdom of God; than, having two eyes, to be cast into the hell of fire:

Ver. 46. No explanation given.

47. Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not extinguished.

Ver. 47. No explanation given.

48. For every one shall be salted with fire: and every victim shall be salted with salt.

Ver. 48. [2]For every one shall be salted with fire. The sense seems to be, that every wicked unrepenting sinner (of whom it was before said, that their worm dieth not) shall be severely and continually punished, though not consumed by the fire of hell. --- And every victim shall be salted with salt; that is, even good men shall be cleansed and purified by trials and sufferings in this world, as some victims were to be salted by the law. (Leviticus ii. 13.) (Witham)

49. Salt is good: but if the salt become unsavoury; wherewith will you season it? Have salt in you, and have peace among you.

Ver. 49. Become unsavoury; i.e. if he, who has once received the faith, should apostatize from it, what is there that can possibly convert him from his wicked ways? since even the salt, with which he was salted, is become unsavoury, i.e. the doctrines he formerly received are no longer of any use. (Nicholas of Lyra)

[pamphletstoinspire]

THE HOLY GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST, ACCORDING TO ST. MARK, FROM THE LATIN VULGATE BIBLE

Chapter 2 - Part 1:

PREFACE.

St. Mark, who wrote this Gospel, is called by St. Augustine, the abridger of St. Matthew. he is the same Mark whom St. Peter calls his son. He was the disciple of St. Paul, and companion of St. Barnabas, and was with St. Paul at Antioch. St. Jerome, Baronius, and others observe. St. Peter revised the work of St. Mark, approved of it, and authorized it to be read in the religious assemblies of the faithful. St. Mark relates the same facts as St. Matthew, and often in the same words: but he adds several particular circumstances, and changes the order of the narration, in which he agrees with St. Luke and St. John. He narrates two histories not mentioned by St. Matthew; the widow's two mites, and Christ's appearing to the two disciples on the road to Emmaus; also some miraculous cures, and omits many things noticed by St. Matthew. But nothing proves clearly, as Dom. Ceillier and others suppose, that he made use of St. Matthew's gospel. In his narrative he is concise, and he writes with a most pleasing simplicity and elegance.

There is a plenary indulgence attached to those who study scripture for at least a half-hour per day under the usual conditions.

Chapter 2 - Part 1:

Christ heals the sick of the palsy: calls Matthew; and excuses his disciples.

1. And again he entered into Capharnaum after some days.

Notes & Commentary:

Ver. 1. No explanation given.

2. And it was heard that he was in the house, and many came together, so that there was no room, not even at the door: and he spoke to them the word.

Ver. 2. Some Greek and Latin copies have, after eight days.

3. And they came to him, bringing one sick of the palsy, who was carried by four.

Ver. 3. No explanation given.

4. And when they could not offer him to him for the multitude, they uncovered the roof where he was: and opening it, they let down the bed wherein the man sick of the palsy lay.

Ver. 4. Such diligence ought to be used to bring sinners to Christ, by means of the sacraments, as was used to procure for this man, through Christ, the health of his body. (Bristow)

5. And when Jesus saw their faith, he saith to the sick of the palsy: Son, thy sins are forgiven thee.

Ver. 5. When Jesus saw their faith. Our Lord is moved to shew mercy to sinners, by the faith and desires, and prayers of others; for this man was not more helpless in his limbs, than in his soul. From this example, we are taught that in sickness the sacraments and helps of the Church, which are the medicines of the soul, should be called for in the first instance; for Christ first healed the sick man's soul, before he removed his bodily infirmity. We also learn that many diseases originate in sin, and that we are to remove the effect by removing the cause.

6. And some of the Scribes were sitting there, and thinking in their hearts:

Ver. 6. No explanation given.

7. Why doth this man speak thus? He blasphemeth. Who can forgive sins, but God only?

Ver. 7. No explanation given.

8. Which Jesus presently knowing in his spirit, that they so thought within themselves, saith to them: Why think you these things in your hearts?

Ver. 8. No explanation given.

9. Which is easier, to say to the sick of the palsy: Thy sins are forgiven thee; or to say: Arise, take up thy bed, and walk?

Ver. 9. No explanation given.

10. But that you may know that the Son of man hath power on earth to forgive sins, (he saith to the sick of the palsy,)

Ver. 10. The Son of man. Jesus Christ here proveth that himself as man, and not as God only, hath power to forgive sins; by this, that he was able to do miracles, and make the sick man suddenly rise; so the apostles and their successors, though they be not God, may in like manner have authority from God to remit sins, not as God, but as God's ministers, and acting in his name, and vested with his delegated authority. --- On earth. This power which the Son of man hath to remit sins on earth, was never taken from him, but is perpetuated in his sacraments and ministers, by whom he still remitteth sins in the Church, and not in heaven only. Relative to sin, there is one court of conscience on earth, and another in heaven, and the judgment of heaven followeth and approveth this on earth; as is plain by the words of our Saviour, to Peter first, and then to all the apostles: Whatsoever thou shalt bind upon earth, it shall by bound also in heaven; and whatsoever thou shalt loose upon earth, it shall be loosed also in heaven. See Matthew xvi. 19. and xviii. 18. Whereupon St. Jerome sayeth: that priests having the keys of the kingdom of heaven, judge in some manner before the day of judgment. (Ep. v. ad Heliod; and St. Chrysostom, more at large, lib. iii. de Sacerd.)

11. I say to thee, Arise, take up thy bed, and go into thy house.

Ver. 11. No explanation given.

12. And immediately he arose: and taking up his bed, went his way in the sight of all: so that all wondered, and glorified God, saying: We never saw the like.

Ver. 12. This paralytic is not the same as that mentioned in St. John; for that distressed man had no one to assist him, whereas this person had four; the former was by the side of the Probatica, but the latter in a house at Capharnaum. (Theophylactus)

13. And he went forth again to the sea side: and all the multitude came to him, and he taught them.

Ver. 13. No explanation given.