#souls do not harvest themselves

[temperancegrieves]

my room has been so gorgeous lately

[ifishouldvanish]

Y'all, I can't stop thinking about Olrox's relationship with vampirism.

Despite being a vampire, despite occupying a more antagonistic role compared to the other protagonists, he is shown to quite ostensibly 'have a soul'.

He recognizes the inner conflict Mizrak is contending with regarding working with Bàthory to harvest corpses to turn into night creatures. He recognizes that night creature Edouard has a 'human soul' and wonders what he did to deserve such a fate. He appreciates Edouard's singing, rather than being annoyed by it. He refuses to bow to Bàthory until he absolutely has no choice, and questions hers and Drolta's treatment of the other vampire at the vendee (Asking "what did he do?" when they're holding him down and branding him). He tells Tera that it's good she's still following her heart. Tells Mizrak that he is driven by longing, desire, and love and not hatred and disgust.

We spend season two with all of these moments where the characters ask themselves, "Do vampires/night creatures have souls?" "To what extent are they capable of love and empathy?" and we see Olrox repeatedly act as the living proof that despite his inclination toward self-preservation... yes!! Yes they do!! And yes they are!!! The first thing we learn about him is that Julia Belmont took someone away from him who he loved very much!!!

So I keep coming back to his conversation with Tera, and I like that his line is, "welcome to immortality" instead of, "welcome to vampirism" or something akin to that. Because it presents their 'condition' as an arguably value-neutral one. They're not suddenly soulless monsters, they're still themselves, or at least capable of remaining themselves so long as they 'follow their heart'. The true struggle of the vampire is not one of a loss of the self—of being cursed to live as this soulless thing that only craves blood—but how to hold onto one's self over an eternity.

It's a struggle Olrox has embodied throughout both seasons: How do you honor yourself and the people you love when faced with injustice and impossible odds? Where does one draw the line between cowardice and survival? How many times can you compromise parts of yourself before you no longer recognize the person you've become? To what extent can this process be considered 'survival' at all?

We're used to seeing vampirism framed as a moral tradeoff: you can be young and powerful forever, but it will cost your soul/humanity. Or you can be young and powerful forever, but who really wants to live forever? If Olrox believed vampirism robbed you of your soul, it's doubtful he'd have turned his lover—but clearly he doesn't believe that. And evidently, given his proclivity towards self-preservation, Olrox does want to 'live forever'. 250+ years into his life as a vampire, he still loves, and still wants to live.

Which leaves the blood, and the fact that the very concept of a soul as we're used to seeing it in relation to vampirism is rooted in Christianity. But what weight do these kinds of spiritual arguments have for someone who doesn't share this conception of the soul, or the afterlife, or the universe as a whole?

What weight does "you'll lose your soul" have to a person coming from a population whose genocide was justified under the papal "Doctrine of Discovery", which basically said, "it's okay and even encouraged to steal from, brutalize, and enslave the people you encounter on newly discovered lands, so long as they aren't Christians/refuse to convert."

What weight does "but you'll have to feed on the blood of the living" have to a person coming from a culture where everything on earth is seen as part of the flesh and blood of the gods, and where the spilling of blood is seen as repaying a debt to those gods for giving humanity life and sustenance?

What weight does "you'll have to kill people to survive" have to a person coming from a world where capturing people in ritualized combat for the purpose of sacrificing them was considered a noble calling? An act that helps perpetuate the existence of humanity?

What weight do these arguments have coming from people who are stealing, beating, enslaving, and killing you in the name of their own God? People who don't think you have a soul anyway, or at the very least, think that the only way to save your soul is to completely surrender your beliefs, your culture, and your identity first?

You take away these arguments and you're left with the cost of immortality itself: how to hold onto your sense of self over an eternity, how to keep following your heart, how to not lose yourself.

But even this struggle is already how Olrox's people would have understood ethics and spirituality. A soul is not 'damned' or 'saved'. Rather the three components of the soul are constantly in flux, and man's great spiritual struggle lies in teotl—achieving, maintaining, and continuously restoring the balance of these components over the course of their life.

In this context, vampirism can instead present a chance to outlive the very people who are destroying your world by spilling their blood instead your own. In the face of imminent genocide, it offers survival—without having to compromise much of who you are and how you understand the world. It represents refusing to give up the fight against an enemy that wants to eradicate you, wants to destroy any and all traces of your humanity, wants to make you bow to it and surrender the very core of who you are.

How might this perspective help Olrox to justify turning the people he loves into vampires? Seeing his lover be subject to much of the same genocide, cultural or otherwise, that he experienced himself? To give someone he loved the promise of living to hopefully one day see a better future for his people? Seeing Mizrak be suffocated by the confines of his loyalty to the Catholic church—the very entity that effectively signed off on the genocide of Olrox's people—and wanting to show him, "no, I still have a soul, and so will you"? That there's "nothing to fear" in being turned into a monstrous thing? That the people who are doing this to you, who are causing your suffering, already see you as a monster anyway?

[tainbocuailnge]

this is a final fantasy fourteen dawntrail post. it speaks incredibly for the desperation of the people of alexandria in its decline that they both couldn't bear to remember the dead and couldn't bear the thought of the dead no longer being remembered, and thus created this contradictory system where the dead are only remembered by something other than those to whom that memory is meaningful. so crushed by collective trauma and grief that they directed every effort to eradicating awareness of mortality altogether and it's resulted in a paradise where everyone is incredibly blasé about dying because the dead live forever in the cloud until they run out of spare souls and are completely paralyzed with fear of their own mortality.

but even more than desperation it speaks of a naive sincerity that the scientists and officials behind the project just actually genuinely built and maintained this giant memory database to preserve the deceased at increasingly large cost, rather than just lie that they totally did that to a populace who won't remember those deceased anyway. they're not harvesting souls to power the war effort while using a recreation of the beloved princess as puppet figurehead, they completely sincerely recreate the dead from their memories and simulate them living happily ever after, started by a sincere desire to not lose their beloved princess. living memory is an eternal theme park that actively goes out of its way to facilitate letting people who remember each other fondly meet again. it's the manifestation of a childish wish for a world where there are no partings, only reunions. it's a theme park rather than an actual city with a dmv and shit like amaurot was precisely Because it's a childish dream. it's fundamentally an artificial experience, but one which sole motive is to bring joy and relief from everyday sadness.

and sphene is the first and most prominent victim of that naive sincerity. she's the mascot of this theme park, and because she's the mascot in charge of providing this artificial but kind experience she can't ever break character. the people of alexandria couldn't bear the thought of her being forgotten, so they created a memory of her that would last forever, but they also couldn't bear to actually remember sphene, so she's a mascot instead of a person. she loves her people, and they love her, but none of them can possibly understand the weight that love puts on her shoulders. the sphene we meet is fundamentally trapped by other people's deeply limited understanding of her.

it's so so so important to her character that she's a small dainty feminine woman that exists to take care of everyone emotionally and be loved by them for being so nice and sweet and loving, and when she tries to arrange some kind of secure future she ends up with an abusive husband who ignores her wants and needs for his own ambitions, and she is fundamentally unable to act outside this highly gendered framework. sphene reads like the commonplace tragedy of the straight woman to me to the point where making her in lesbians with wuk lamat is like. I can certainly understand wanting to grant sphene the sense of liberation and comfort that many lesbians themselves feel at the realisation that they don't have to marry men, so far be it from me to say anyone is wrong to do so. but it's kinda ignoring part of what her deal is for the sake of that comfort I think.

not that lesbians have never ended up in abusive marriages with men but sphene very explicitly does not have other options, part of the tragedy is that you fundamentally cannot actually grant her that liberation and comfort. cahciua explicitly says there's no way to know what the real living sphene would have done because this sphene is a recreated memory of the beloved princess whose job is to sustain living memory. their darling sphene who will always listen to all their troubles and is always nice to them and will always take care of them. she's literally trapped by the role society assigned her, and that role is essentially to be their tradwife mother. the living sphene may have been into women, but the people who recorded her to create the sphene we meet never even considered the option.

do you guys know that tweet thread where OP describes going to a funeral for a woman they didn't know who'd died young of a heart attack, and the husband spent most of the eulogy talking about himself instead of his recently deceased wife, and by the end of the ceremony OP had learned nothing at all about what this woman was like beyond being a wife and mother? everyone fondly remembers the princess and queen of alexandria, but nobody remembers sphene. and just like all OP could still do for this woman was go to her casket and acknowledge that she too had been a full person in her own right before the stress of swallowing everything about herself killed her, all wuk lamat can really still do for sphene is think of her as the full person she must have been.

we're not told anything about what sphene was like as a leader, what her policies were, how she actually did her work, her vision for the future of her country before she died and was reconstructed. they only tell us everyone loved her so dearly because she was so kind to them. we're shown her dying moments and it's her using her airship to shield a civilian, so we can assume her love for her people was indeed true. but none of sphene's history that we're shown and nothing of how otis (who knew the living sphene) talks about her tells us anything about what she was like outside her role as beloved princess. her memories from after her "revival" are dissonant and corrupted and possibly not even real, and her policy of preserving living memory no matter what is a wish implanted in her by the people who reconstructed her. we don't even get to see what she looked like when alive. the only sphene the people know is the theme park mascot of living memory.

cahciua was exactly as erenville knew her and was true enough to herself to be able to turn against the system, so we're not given reason to believe any of the endless were tampered with. but sphene was already dead by the time they even tried to figure out how to preserve her memory, her actual soul and memories definitely long gone by the time the technology worked. we're explicitly told that nobody in everkeep really cared who or what sphene was as long as she adequately fulfilled this role of loving them all so much. she can't even tell you her favourite food, none of the people who labored so intensely and sincerely to bring her back bothered to write down even her most basic personal preferences when they reconstructed her. she has to deflect the question with "when I think of the people who make the food I can't pick just one" because the only preference she's allowed is loving all her people equally. she's completely thrown off that wuk lamat would even ask.

and it's precisely because she is remembered only as this kind loving woman who gave everything for her people that she is weak and powerless to actually do whatever it takes to keep them safe. she does not have the freedom to assert herself, let alone to be cruel or violent or take extreme actions. society does not give her that freedom, because she is a small dainty woman and (therefore) the only role allowed to her is to be their tradwife mother. so while her desire to protect her people is as real and true as it can be part of her plan to lobotomise herself in order to become someone capable of violence and cruelty also reads to me as that specific female frustration of wanting to destroy the sweet babygirl image of yourself by doing something extreme. like britney spears shaving her head. but in sphene's case destroying the babygirl image amounts to destroying herself completely, because the babygirl image of her is all that comprises her. and so when all is said and done the only fragment of sphene that is restored and lingers just a bit longer after that image is destroyed is the sphene that wuk lamat sincerely wanted to get to know.

[dionysianivy]

𝐀𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚

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What is Anthesteria?

Anthesteria, celebrated from the 11th to the 13th of Anthesterion (February–March), was one of the biggest festivals dedicated to Dionysus. Known as the Festival of Flowers, it marked the arrival of spring, the opening of the new wine casks, and the renewal of life. But it wasn’t just about feasting and drinking, it was also a time of purification, fertility, and remembrance, when the boundary between the living and the dead grew thin.

At the heart of the festival was the ritual opening of the wine casks that had been fermenting since the last harvest. This wasn’t just practical; it was symbolic. The wine had been maturing underground, just like Dionysus himself had once been carried in Zeus' thigh before being "born again." Bringing the wine to the surface was more than just a tradition,it was a reflection of Dionysus’ own myth.

But Anthesteria wasn’t all joy and celebration. It was believed that during these days, spirits wandered freely, so while people enjoyed the festivities, they also took precautions to protect themselves. The festival was a strange mix of life and death, revelry and ritual, perfectly embodying the nature of Dionysus, a God of both wild celebration and deep mystery. During Anthesteria, it was also said that the maenads celebrated privately in the mountains and forests. In some legends, Dionysus' marriage to Ariadne was held during Anthesteria.

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Days of Anthesteria

Day 1: Pithoigia (Jar-Opening) 🌸

The first day of Anthesteria, Pithoigia, was centered around the ritual opening of the pithoi, large clay jars that contained the previous year’s wine. These casks had spent months underground, and now, they were unearthed and brought to the sanctuary of Dionysus. A portion of the wine was poured out as an offering, and the rest was shared by all members of the household.

The day was filled with flowers, marking the beginning of the season. Everyone over the age of three was invited to participate in the first taste of the new wine, and the mood was communal and joyous.

Day 2: Choës (Pitchers) 🏺

The second day of the festival, Choës, was a time of popular merrymaking, characterized by wine-drinking contests in which even slaves and children participated. People dressed in their finest clothes, with some even embodying figures from myth connected to Dionysus. There were visits to friends and drinking contests, where participants had to drink an entire chous (about 3 liters) in complete silence. This day was open to everyone, even slaves, highlighting how Dionysus transcended the boundaries of class and status.

For children, Choës marked a special rite of passage. Boys reaching their second year were crowned with flowers and given small drinking vessels, symbolizing their gradual initiation into the community. Meanwhile, the devoted followers of Dionysus, his maenads and priestesses, took part in private, sacred rituals that marked the spiritual union between them and the god.

Day 3: Chytroi (Pots) 💀

The final day, Chytroi, was dedicated to the spirits of the dead. Pots filled with a sacred mix of seeds and grains, called panspermia, were offered to Hermes Chthonios and the wandering souls of the deceased. During this time, it was believed that the spirits of the underworld walked among the living. To protect against any malevolent spirits, people chewed on hawthorn leaves and smeared their doorways with tar. The festival came to a close with the dismissal of the spirits: "Away with you, Keres, it is no longer Anthesteria!"

With these words, the spirits were sent back to the underworld, and life in Athens returned to normal, marking the end of the brief but intense period when the living and the dead had shared the same space.

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Activities To Do:

🍷 Drink wine, or any liquid that you like.

🍷 Place flowers on your altar.

🍷 Honor God Dionysus.

🍷 Go to pottery.

🍷 Make a special mask for Lord Dionysus.

🍷 Do a libation in nature.

🍷 Go to the theater.

🍷 Collect flowers from nature.

🍷 Read and recite the hymns to Dionysus.

🍷 Honor both life and death.

🍷 Take a walk in nature and/or in the mountains.

🍷 Draw Dionysus's symbol or carve His name in stones or wood.

🍷 Make art for Dionysus.

🍷 Make a flower crown.

🍷 Honor your deceased loved ones.

🍷 Leave offerings for spirits.

🍷 Light candles.

🍷 Plant seeds in your garden.

🍷 Plan a feast and celebrate with your loved ones.

🍷 Sing and dance while listening to your favorite songs.

🍷 Do creative activities like art or poetry.

🍷 Go wild and celebrate it as you wish, Kala Anthesteria!

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[puppetwoman17]

Do you think that after billy gets adopted Billy's room gets flooded with gifts and offerings and bribes for the gods? because now that he has a permanent residence they can shower him in gifts that won't go to waste or weigh him down, Athena gets him a loom, Persephone and Demeter give him pills and pills of magic plants, Zeus gets him pure gold and so on

Even funnier if Billy gets adopted by the batfam and within less than a week his room looks like Howl's bedroom from Howl's moving castle

Oh I’m a firm believer that if the gods are able, they WILL shower their champion with gifts. A few of them would’ve loved to adopt him themselves, but hey, you get what you get. Now that there’s a place for Billy to actually store his gifts, the gods go all out.

Athena gives Billy loom lessons every weekend(in owl form, so it’s just her feathered hands putting his hands in the right positions and hooting the notes). Demeter, as Goddess of the Harvest, gives him huge baskets with fresh fruits and vegetables. Persephone, as Queen of the Underworld, gives Billy a pouch of drachmas for souls who don’t have any. She trusts his judgement on whether or not a soul deserves to cross over.

With what you said about his potential room in Wayne Manor, my mind immediately went to the gods changing the room in general. Like now his bed is in the shape of a cloud and even feels like one. There’s a window that isn’t the one that was already in the room, and it shows Olympus. Like actual Olympus.

Suddenly there are large pillars lining the room and chandeliers on the ceiling. It’s a full on room from Olympus.

[nickmarini]

Hello Nick!! Your role in Downfall was so amazing and I love the extreme nuances and choices shown in your role playing.

Can you share any how you used terms like “child”, “son” and “father” when referring to the dawn father? Was it separately characteristics of the same god or more showing perspectives in those moments as the mortal avatar? I am fascinated and it make me scratch my brain thinking of possibilities.

Thank you so much!

#CR Downfall

Thank you for saying that, and great question!

This is a round about answer but a lot of that wordplay came from simply the name. Dawnfather is such a name rich in meaning. Both aspects of it have ties to time and new beginnings.

Dawn is the suns' rise each morning, born anew to herald the coming day. Its consistent return gives mortals the ability to track the weeks, the seasons, and the years. To even learn that the suns' patterns can allow one to divine the seasons takes years of thoughtful study. Dawn dispels the darkness and stimulates natures growth. It’s constantly new and also always constant.

Father. One cannot become a father without time. To be a father, one must have been a child, it is a stage of life that must be reached. It necessitates change and growth as much as the dawn does. A father knows what it is to have been a child, to have been the dawn, and now he watches over it, paving the way for the new. If I’m going to show a different side of the Dawnfather then showing that previous stage of life seemed interesting.

Within his name itself is this story of growth. His was the first light, he fathered the dawn, and he has kept watch through the ages as the keeper the time. Sun, summer, time, agriculture, harvest, he is a hands on god, consistent, dutiful, present, with his hands in the dirt, it is what he knows. To become mortal and not tend to the world is hard for him.

Ayden is young, he is new, he is the Dawn, but not yet the Father. He is an aspect, the Dawnfathers hope sent down to Exandria to aid his siblings. He has more abilities pertaining to agriculture than the sun because that is the Dawnfathers newest domain. He comes late because the Dawnfather wants to wait till the absolute last minute to abandon his post. He has yet to make the journey.

All this to say that I wanted to explicitly show him growing from this experience. Ayden is not the Dawnfather we know…yet, he is the Dawnchild, on his journey. He has not toiled for ages tending to the world. I believe that the Dawnfather pre and post divergence is quite different. I think the divine gate separates him from the hands on nature of his expressed divinity. I think Ayden was a way to show this dawning realization that to be a good father one must empathize with children but also sometimes make the hard decisions for them, something they do not always agree with.

I wanted to play with him being both a part of the greater whole of the Dawnfather, and something seperate. His literal age of 15 means he is not fully formed despite being infused with the divine soul of the Dawnfather. Getting to play with “child” “son” and “father” let me highlight the differences and illuminate the growth that happens during this time of mortal incarnation and explore the inner turmoil with the Dawnfather himself as his various aspects interact with one another.

There is also precedent in some belief systems of Sun gods birthing themselves or being replaced by their own mortal incarnations. I think for a diety that rises anew each day it’s natural to associate imagery of rebirth or the journey of child to father.

And lastly I think it shouldn’t be overstated how much effect the Everlight and Trist had on Ayden. Nearly half of his levels are devoted to her. I think that sort of reinforces his mortal shell in a unique way and gives him the opportunity to be two things at once more fully.

[cosmica-galaxy]

Just realized something...humans can't live off sweets alone so I can't help but imagine after a while in this world, if they stay there too long...dead...but on the bright side, again, soul harvest and boom y/n reborn cookie!

Not necessarily! You see, while most of their world is made of candy/sugar/cakes--it's not ALL just candy and sweets. There are plenty of alternatives that the human can eat that can help them survive with a well-rounded diet.

For example, Golden Cheese Cookie lives in a desert where pasta and cheeses can be found. This can fulfill the dairy aspect that the human needs, plus the milk from the underground milk rivers can help. This is their source of calcium. For vitamins, the berries from the Hollyberry kingdom and the fruit from the Soda Islands can remedy vitamin-based issues. With fruit, berries, and maybe even drinks being provided that can help stave off scurvy, brittle bones, rickets, and other ailments. The dark cacao kingdom is pretty much predator central and is where they do most of their hunting from. The sizes of the monsters there are enough to provided good sustenance and most cookies won't complain that a Snow Lion is gone. Then, beast yeast can fill in the little gaps in between. The salt flats can be where they get salt to help ward off muscle aches and mineral-based illnesses. The spices from the spice deserts can help liven up certain things and maybe the jungles of beast yeast can offer other various things to eat as well. Plus, proteins can be supplemented with peanut butter, as it is high in good fats and protein. It may not be as enjoyable as meat, but it's better than nothing. Then, the bread and jellybeans can help with their grain intake. The only true problem is making sure that they have all of those things to eat when they get hungry. Large trade routes would have to be established to meet the upkeep the giant would require. But, maybe it's worth it in the end. Especially if the human tries to not be too bothersome and hunts/forages for themselves and doesn't ask too much. Yet, they will eventually find themselves wanting a massive grilled cheese or a fruity salad every once in a while...

[jupitermoontarot24]

POV: You're In a Scary Movie 🎃 Villain or Victim?🔪

HI guys! Just a snippet from my Patreon from back during halloweek. Come Join Me For More Fun Readings Over There Weekly!

THANKS & ENJOY 💗 Patreon linked: HERE

Piles 1-5 and oh yea... BOO

Pile 1🤬

You would be the villain. I think you would be the villain because you're sexy and you bring all the cats to the yard.  you provide food and comfort. It's like if everybody in the neighborhood had cats and dogs and you put dog treats in your yard everyday, you know you will be attracting everybody's dog. like can you stop? lol and you might just be like oh well I'm just giving the dogs a treat but everybody else is like no. Yeah it's like you're so connected with people that people are like getting hypnotized. In this scary movie you could be seducing somebody's wife or seducing a couple. So the reason why you would be a villain in this is because maybe people wouldn't know what you're doing with the people that are seduced. like where do they go and what happens to them? Yeah it gives you collect souls or you do something with them. Okay so it could be like this couple has joined a cult. they look to you as a savior, as a guidance for them. It could be somebody else who's trying to get away from being hypnotized in this movie because they're afraid that it will cause them to  spiral. But honestly it seems like it's real true guidance from Spirit though. like in this movie you are looked at as a villain but it's just because this person is scared of the real truth. okay it seems like this person could be watching a couple be seduced by you or alert by you so this person is on high alert because they're like pile four is alluring people into them. So the only reason you're the villain in this movie is because you're the magician. So kind of like how people will burn witches at the stake but all witches are not bad witches. Pile 1 doesn't just have one person, they have two people, they have multiple people so what are they doing behind the scenes? They could also be getting Karma in this movie but it's weird because they don't see you doing anything like they can't see what you're doing so it could be like maybe you're doing magic. So in this scary movie this person is suspicious of you. They don't come to you and fight you but they might go to the man in the couple and see why or they might get in contact in some type of way. for some people the couple that you seduce is not together anymore because they both like you were one of them likes you more. Okay so to this person in this movie your villain plan would be to send out a frequency that reaches people and makes them loyal to you and then you harvest their energy or their souls and it makes you more abundant in the physical world. I think you do send out a frequency that goes to people, it brings them to their higher self it brings them to a piece of Nirvana and helps them gather resources for themselves strength…or it’s a evil ploy. It gives dr.doofinsmirk

Victim: none?/ everyone

Uzumaki

Pile 2 🔪

Okay so you would be the victim. they're going to be somebody who is obsessed with you or really really likes you. but the thing is this person wouldn't want you to be out they wouldn't want you to be a hot girl. no other girl no other person would be enough for this person but you.This person can already have a partner/girlfriend but they don't satisfy them enough. like this gives Joe energy from the show where it's like he might be obsessed with somebody but then once he gets them he becomes obsessed with somebody else. they would try to trap you but I feel like you would trap them instead. The crazy thing is is that you do know this person but it's not like you guys were ever in a relationship like you could have just worked together you could have went to school together, you could have mutual friends that ended up at the same places but this is not somebody who you romantically were involved with.I don't like this energy like that like the other pile was a little bit lighter but this person is kind of dark. So in this scary movie this could be a group of people or just a specific person but I feel like they feel that getting you would even the odds like it would make whatever situations balanced. Okay so this person probably did have a accomplice. it seems like this person could have manifested through their third eye basically evil eye because the third eye is very significant so this person could have been sending evil eye and trying to infiltrate you through the mind. The villain was trying to infiltrate you from the inside so you would basically unravel and be lost. Yeah, it seems like you were very hot girlish because this is Bratz rock angelz as the picture so I feel like you're somebody who was on the go, who was cool, who really left a impression on people and on this person specifically. so this is somebody that you could have just met on your adventures like not somebody that you really deep involved with. The accomplice could have made it their mission to make you cry. Maybe they didn't see you as emotional,  maybe you didn't come off like that and this person could have come up as emotional but you give steady and calm and balanced. They tried to plant things in your mind that weren't true basically make you crack,make you sweat. Okay so you're the main goal of the villain could have been to knock you off play with your head maybe close down certain chakras. Basically make you scared/ scare you off. I feel like everything dark comes to light and this person didn't want you to shed light on them so they were trying to cloud your judgment. They could have tried to do this through accomplice.So you definitely beat this villain by playing the switcheroo. you could have lured them to a certain place expecting you to be there but you aren't and instead you got them accomplished. it seems like they get offed energetically though I think you and your lover so maybe you can have like a surprise lover in this movie but they come and you guys energetically kill them off so it almost gives like couple versus couple or just accomplice versus accomplice like Kim Possible. Checkout pile 3

Villian: associate, could have been one your friends.

Blink twice, Bratz rock angelz ,death proof

Blink twice

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS MOVIE

Pile 3 👻

Unfortunately pile three you would be a victim. You would be a victim for being the it girl/boy. Have you watched this movie form the picture Love Don't Cost a Thing ? The girl in the middle and her friends were kind of mean. So this could start off with somebody liking you romantically. This could also be a situation where your friend is obsessed with you like obsessed with you being The It Girl. In this scary movie I think you could be coupled up with somebody so you could be dating somebody and the whole time one of your friends is plotting to mess it up. it gives me Mean Girls. Regina George was looked at as the bad guy, it could be said that that was her karma but Cady pretended to be her friend to sabotage and then she fell in love with her boyfriend that's messed up lol. in this scary movie you're just doing your thing being perfect, being beautiful, dressing amazing, being the main character and you attract someone's attention :a guy/girl?. but you have a whole bunch of Love offers because you're the most popular good looking person around and there's a particular person that proposes something to you and one of your friends sees it and they're like I don't like this. they're like that offer should be made to me? why does this person get everything? Why do they look so good? Why are they so alluring. so they gather up weaponry maybe not literally but different things to make this downfall. Yes so this could be a situation where this friend is only popular because they're around you..  the person that wants you romantically could be real popular as well they could be really good looking and they can have a lot of money.  I feel like this person was already maybe shallow in the first place but when you got with this person it was too much. So I think it would be two people because it is two friends in the picture but one specific person could have been the one trying to really seek out the revenge. The thing is that I feel like realistically it wouldn't work like this person wouldn't succeed at this plan. but you would still be the victim because the plan was made for you but I feel like you will get out of this in such a smooth way that it's funny. I feel like the universe will protect you to the point where you might notice something is off, but it works out like you might not have to do much to get this person away. this is not the type of scary movie where you are fighting to the death at the end with the killer no. this is the scary movie where you do know there's something off and you sense something's off and maybe you're having some type of paranormal experience but it ends up getting solved and the two people kind of disappear or disintegrate off. So in this scary movie it's like one friend would actually have been doing something and you can feel it and the other person probably will try to gas light you. so you could be like something's wrong I feel something is off and it could be specifically this person and the second friend is like you're crazy I don't like when you act like this I don't know if I can be friends with you anymore.Orrrrr they could have just been like you're overreacted its nothing take a chill pill, yeah this person could have been shallow like I said so they could have just been worrying about their looks and how they feel when you were likenreally going through it.So I think this villains plan was almost unknown to them I don't think they really knew where they were going with this they just wanted to be you.

They could have wanted to Destiny swap with you and also by doing that made you be with somebody else. Yeah so maybe they didn't really like their partner like that so they're like I want to be pile 3 and I want their partner and they can have my partner. Their boyfriend/girl could have been involved. check out pile 2.

villains:  a Duo ? a couple, two friends.

Gothika, Love Don't cost a Thing, the craft

Pile 4👿

I think you would be the victim. it gives one of those movies where you know those scene where its this couple out on the town,having fun and they're just in the moment and little do they know it's somebody up on the balcony staring at them. yeah you could be just minding your business and there's somebody who is hot! behind the scene. somebody who doesn't want you to be as abundant and Luscious as you are. This could be the type of scary movie where it's like a wolf in sheeps clothing around. so this person might present something to you but it's like a gag gift. They want you to be stuck somewhere. So you could just be minding your business having a good time and maybe a specific person starts pursuing you and now you're dating this person and they're treating you well  maybe you guys even get married? And the whole time it's this person in the back upset! do we know why? It's because they broke up. Honestly this person could have broken up with their partner but usually their partner comes back like a dog but they didn't because they found you. So you will be the victim because this person will now be on the bottom and their use to being a top priority. This person will be upset but I don't think they would do anything to you per say. I feel like they might try to protect you as a couple? like they don't want anybody else to date  your partner so they'll make sure that you guys stay together or at least make sure nobody else gets in between the relationship but they will be also trying to put themselves in situations to talk to your partner. Yeah like maybe not trying to outwardly get them but say they have the kids together like oh I need you to drop off some paperwork to me, or we need to talk about signing the bills off on my name now. something to where they have to speak. Your partner is really loyal in the scary movie so it's like they're not going for it like they don't want to be with them but it seems like they're always there so they could be following you guys around. you might look up and you guys are at Disneyland with your kids and you're like is that them in sunglasses and a hat? then the villain is like it's no way  pile 5 is this perfect like it's something about them thats going to come out, they're not perfect.  you come off really perfect and balanced. They could have seen you as a villain. They could feel like you were trying to erase them and what they've done but they're plan was to erase you especially if you guys haven't been together that long. they were just trying to get rid of you so they can focus on what they had, the history they have or the relationship/kids. Even make you mad to the point where you leave like you get fed up with the situation and you're like I'm just going to leave. Villian:an ex, stalker

Obsessed

Pile 5 🥵

Definitely the villain. something is shady about you pile 5. Not going to lie you are the sexiest villain to ever be. the villain but this gives a crime of passion. is it a crime? sade voiceYeah like this is more sexy than anything else. so in this scary movie you and your lover can have a lot of eyes a lot of suitors. and that could drive you to do certain things. I heard evening the playing field. this could be a situation where you just get your get back. Okay this is the type of scary movie where it's a psychological war on your partner. so maybe you make them go crazy, they don't know who's really you, is this the real you or if you're playing a game with them maybe they just aren't sure about anything.  it only drives you even more. it makes you raise your level of taunting. yeah the movie for you guys is basic instinct. people could be or your partner could be almost paranoid being with you because it's like are they going to kill me? are they going to do something to me when I'm not looking. but it seems like this is if they did something to you. this doesn't seem just unproved kind of like if they broke your necklace, is pile 5 going to break my neck. are they going to slit my throat? You're the villain because people are scared of you especially if they do something to you. you're like the Grim Reaper.  that type of energy where it's like the reaper is looked at to be really scary but he only comes when it's your time to die it's not really his fault. yeah and you could be nosy or just know a lot of information, see a lot of things, have a lot of eyes, find out things about people really easily so that makes you even more scary. yeah people are like if I do something pile one, if I make them mad.. they go blow out a candle and end my whole life. If I'm not nice they can find out my secrets. Maybe people have received really bad karma surrounding you, like maybe they totaled their car and then somebody walks up to them and issues them a government official debt collect on top of that and the person that presents it has the same name as you or has the same initials something like that. so people like dang there go my karma from pile on. like you have voodoo dolls and you poke them when they do something bad to you or if they were just a bad person. Also people could feel like you're the villain because you are good at seducing people even if it's not on purpose like people might try to seduce you into seducing them. people could lose their partners and be like dang what a villain. so in this scary movie you're a hot Queen / King that everybody is scared of and steals people partners. Either way you give crazy psycho hot person. I would say that your plan as a villain would be to give Karma to people that did you wrong. But honestly I do feel like you would use their energy to become hotter and smarter and faster. 

victim: could have been ppl who weren’t there for you during a tough time, a person left you to drown in your own stuff. 

Scary movie: Jennifers body, american psycho,

💗💗💗💗💗XOXOXOXOXO💗💗 💗🕺🏽🕺🏽🕺🏽🕺🏽

SEE U THERE ;)

[dailyadventureprompts]

Deity: Dispater, Lord of those Below

No Kings Beyond Death

A god of riches and horrors beneath the earth, protector and jailer of the departed souls, grim Dispater rules many realms with a stern hand and an iron will. Often cursed and seldom praised by mortals, it is this god's cosmic lot to keep order in the underworld, where the caverns of the mortal plane intersect with the labyrinths of the underdark and the shadowed halls of the dead.

While his worship overlaps with many other gods of death, few pray to Dispater as his heart is thought to be as cold and unmoving as stone, hardened by the grim work of keeping the domains to which psycopomps and other terminal forces deliver souls, ensuring that they neither have the chance to escape nor that they are picked off by fiends or other malign spirits.

Judges and other arbiters sometimes swear by him, especially when handling matters of life and death, as do miners, bankers, and others who work in precious metals or stones, as Dispater has a connection to caverns and other buried places. His clergy collects tribute in the form of those soft, perishable things that cannot be found below the earth: grain and livestock, flowers and wine. Their sacrifices of these things are said to pass on to the dead themselves, after their lord has taken his due tithe.

Adventure Hooks:

A monstrous bat haunts the countryside, endlessly harrying a graverobber who pilfered from a cemetery consecrated in Dispater's name. The exhausted scoundrel just so happens to have taken refuge in the same country inn as the party, passing himself off as a peddler who was shaken down by bandits. When the bat attacks that night (as he knows it will) he hopes to use the chaos to shift some of his plunder into the heroes' packs, diverting the creature and the divine wrath it represents.

Rumour is, if you find a trail of archaic coins scattered along the road, following it will lead you to one of the mysterious grey merchants, traders from the underworld who deal in memories and mementos cast off by the dead. Woe to anyone who attempts to harry or cheat the merchant though, as they travel under the protection of the lord below.

Shortly after a resurrection of a partymember (that may or may not have gone wrong), the heroes are approached by a dour devil in clerk's garb who insists that they need to follow her into the underworld to help clear up some post-mortality paperwork, or else their friend's soul might be held in litigation for a literal eternity. "Clearing up" in this case involves helping to clear out a field office somewhere in the shadowfell overtaken by the unquiet dead, fending off hostile spirits while the devil and the deceased do a lightninground of signatures on the relevant forms.

Behind the scenes: Hades has fascinated me since I started learning a mythology, and that fascination has only grown as I've traced the idea of him through history and popculture.

Like all the other Greek gods, Hades gets a roman makeover in Pluto; god of earth, the underworld, and wealth. One of his titles "Dis Pater" literally means " Father of Riches", as the earth contains both mineral wealth and the wealth of good harvests.

Because of his association with the underworld Pluto/Dis Pater starts to get adapted into emerging Christian Mythology as the devil, as his realm of of Tartarus (and its punishments reserved for the most wicked) likewise becomes Hell (which exists to torture anyone who sins and doesn't believe).

Fast forward about a millennia and a half and you have the creators of d&d making all the different names for the devil into a rogue's gallery of different fiends. With Dispater's connection to greek mythology completely forgotten he gets sectioned off as the extra schemey member of hell's boyband, at once brilliantly adept at making plans and driven mad with his own paranoia. While this makes him a little more interesting than some of the other devils, it just wasn't enough for me in the end, so a revamp had to ensue.

I wanted to take things full circle and use Dispater's name to bring my own Hades analog into my game's mythology, a god not of death but specifically the underworld, fully drawing on the connotations of both afterlife and underground. Playing with motifs of kingship and a "death and taxes" sort of legalism also makes for unique themes when it comes to the subjectmatter of mortality: Dispater as death is owed tribute by natural and divine law, but that relationship also grants protections to the tributary. Imagine a paladin of Dispater saving someone's life from unlawful execution because they are owed a righteous death.

Thanks as always to @5ecardaday for the monster stats

Artsource

[urspiritualnurse]

Pick a card. (Left to right)

What do I see when I orbit around your soul?

Pile 1.

Predominantly shapeless souls, sometimes harvest itself into a form that it's beholder deeply lacks, wants, yearns, desires or the opposite, fears.

I see that yours has mimicked a root.

Why has it shaped itself to that, what desires or what subconscious motive caused it is something you will naturally realize at your own pace and timing.

I see the repeated number 9s in the cards, and in this case I perceive that number as a blockage, a mid stop, a constantly frequenting incompletion, just when you believe you are about to reach the complete numeral 10, it restarts back to 1, and so begins the continuous sishyphean cycle.

If you picture a root digging in the soil and entangling itself to every fibre and grain of it, that imagery is usually delicate, gentle, soothingly heartwarming .

But in your cards, the picture I visualize is rather hostile , as if every string of that root has claws, shredding each grains, piercing through any and every vitality of the land to dig itself down, so fiercely and so passionately, as if it's life depends on it.

With no end goal, destination in mind, that it is aware of, it just absentmindedly keeps on digging.

I see you going from people to people, community to community, anywhere and everywhere, with your roots clawing on every connections you have had, with a pure intentions to find solace but your desperate and devoid roots knows no other way to plead firmness, and stability except digging furiously onto everyone and everything.

Do you find yourself to be an uncomfortable being to be and be around?

Has your soul crossed you out from being its land where it can simply ground itself?

Has it found other candidates instead to have them fulfill your role?

Do you have someone that you feel is the epitome of comfort?

Ask yourself, when I'm nearing their existence, my soul's form which I have no awareness about, how is it approaching and interacting with them?

Your soul is wandering sad and desperate to feel a sense of connection to a land that it can call its own, why are you uncomfortable to your ownself? That is for you to unpack and unravel.

What can you do to call your beloved vital essence back to yourself?

Start by asking, "why do you make your soul uncomfortable ?"

( your vital roots will inadvertently be claws to the lands, that isn't yours to dig.)

Pile 2.

Anger is an advocate of those too timid to speak.

But if anger is unsupervised, unguided, unguarded, it denotes to the onlookers, that it is only a mere tantrum with loud speakers on, consisting the blend of generous vulgarity and crude language.

I see, in this pile humiliation has been the main force behind reasonable outbursts of anger.

Was there a crowd who laughed when you would scrunch your expression in fury? Was there a community that mocked your anger's sensibility and intelligence?

From this reading, an image of a canine species comes to my mind, whose fangs represents your justified anger, yet I see those fangs growing so tall and untamably beyond the line of normalcy, that it pierces through the specie's snout, making it unable to voice out the core reasons in sensible, coherent language and speech.

Your anger, (and I keep wanting to reassure you) is justifiable, valid.

Yet it has reached to a point of such humiliation, and provokery from the flocks of lunatics around you who are too insensible and too uncompassionate themselves to ever see past your fury.

That your anger has surpassed its own ability to communicate.

It has lost the language it is meant to use for efficient self expression that causes no harm to you and others and also the reality around.

Have you heard the term "blacking out", your anger goes through that quite a lot.

Don't be too hard on yourself, or your burning anger, for that is the only warmth that is loud for you to notice , that is emanating from within you, not others.

A warmth that says, "I care."

Do what you must, after reading this pile.

But my utmost suggestion would be, communicating with your anger.

Ask it, who is it angry at? What did they do? What did they caused?

Nomatter who the culprit behind it is, whether your ownself or others.

Just notice how the anger responds to your question.

Does it howl incoherent language?

Does it throw things around and punishes inanimate objects, walls with your

knuckles?

Or does it speak.....

In a language that only those who are truly listening can understand.

(Insensibility towards a disheartened child, is what leads to a tantrum.)

Pile 3.

Do you know in this whole play of existence, we all expect certain things from the earth that we reside in.

And if we were to put all those collective desires in a single piece of paper, one would notice a common thing from each anonymous man's written desires.

Luminosity.

Every living being with a thrifty sense of individuality, somehow always seem to find anything luminous, desirable.

Or maybe, it's just that, what you want always seems to shine.

Whether it's love, promotion, prosperity, good health, vacation, etc.

I see in this pile, the luminosity you desire is of riches and the freedom that it comes with.

And when I speak of freedom, you must know how grand and multi dimensional it is.

The freedom riches gives, the freedom love gives, the freedom good health gives, etc, are all different yet they all are indeed a valid face of the multifaceted term, freedom.

I see you, having almost a professional outlook and interactions with the world, the earth.

I can almost hear you speak to it, " You are letting me live here, I will pay you back for your service by not throwing litters around, donating to charity that cleans your vast back, agreeing on plastic bans, etc"

In all of those chat you hold with the earth, in your subconscious mind room.

You represent formality and such alienating disconnection, that your inner sense of disbelief towards anything that promotes unity is reasonable.

What you want from this world is a luminosity build by luxury.

No shame, no bringing forth discussions about compassion here because the synonym of riches doesn't mean cruelty, for me to ever dictate you of how you should be and must pursue.

Do you ever feel like escaping your office and the very building you work on?

Somedays the formality eats you up and chews your mental agility and spiritual resilience, so much so you just wish to be at home, playing with your autistic and unspeaking cat.

You can do that.

You can call off the work.

You can reach out to the elevator and press the ground floor that takes you to the parking lot, there will be your car waiting for you, you can get in it and drive away from the office, the work air.

But what will you do when the crushing formality surrounds not just that place, but the entire earth?

Can your car drive you up to mars? To the moon? To the stars?

For you to escape even for a second, out of such professionalism burdens that you inhale every living seconds of your life.

In this reading, I see no visions that I must introduce you to.

You are already a visually active person, you think with visions not just numbers.

By no means this reading insinuates you of being unkind or lacking in any humane qualities.

Neither is it a complain from the mother earth to you.

Take it as a gesture unfolding infront of your awareness.

A gesture that suggests sensibility in your life.

Even the faintest mimickery of sensibility has acquired you a tip of what you yearned for.

Ponder, what the real thing could pull.

(Has the professional interiors followed you, even to your bed?)

Pile 4.

I must introduce you to an objective of mine that suggests what this outside world consists of, happens discreetly within our interior too.

Adversity, competition, push and pull, dog eat dog world pace, etc.

And how you may ask?

Every external worldly tension stems from various reasons, one that stands to this day, the most valid is, lack.

The uprising heat and debates, the battles of winners and losers are here, not just because of human sadism to win but to also get hands on a place, position, thing,etc before someone else does.

Which comes from an arguably devastating narration that we all collectively feed on, lack.

Your internal world seems to be a world copied and pasted from our very reality.

You seem to tell your internal conscious residing within you, that you lack space so severely that to be accepted for residence, one must go for the other to find the leash.

Competion arises the moment lack wanders around introducing itself.

Your masculinity and your feminity will compete for a position because you told them, only one must stay.

Your anger and the contradicting poise of a breeze will compete the moment you say to yourself, i need only one to navigate.

Your mind and heart will start to clash, get into heated arguments that spiral you into madness, depression, anxiety and mental , physical, emotional, spiritual agony.

Because you told yourself, only one is reasonable, the other is not.

That only one is reliable to execute life with, the other is not.

So, when your whole internal cells that makes up your entirety feels like a war zone,

a telenovela about a sibling rivalry, the marching tension between you and your competent colleague, or the ticking time bomb that ticks rules such as the one who gets there first gets to have it, etc.

You must know, it is because a narration is being given with or without your awareness.

That says,

I lack.

I lack so, what I consist entirely of, must decide with each other, who is to get deducted and who is to stay.

In this reading I don't think I need to guide you into answers because you already are aware.

But as a gentle nudge, here goes my everything.

" Lack only exists in places where prosperity unsettles us."

(Stop playing "the floor is lava" with the entirety of yourself.)

[chronicallyonline101]

at @diol0verr669's insistence:

Despite all the years that had passed, you still remember the day he ruined your life.

Dio Brando x GN!Reader - Lust For a Vampyr;

A sneak peek of the next longfic i'm working on 😛 there is also like, minor Jonathan x reader but it's literally only there if you squint

The Charitable Two:

The evening was cold, and bitter. Harsh winter winds batted and whipped against the whining Church windows, kissing the thinly layered glass with frost and ice. The large building was not fit for that of an English winter. The thickly cobbled stone walls retained no warmth or love, craggy and sharp to the touch they stung any passers hand with that of a snow-golems rage. The little warmth emitted from the grand fire at the very front of the building was lost to the winding, scoped roof which plummeted upward toward the holy bell.

Despite the conditions the Church had been busy all day, in fact, winter was its most busy season. A gentle thrum of peasants and middle class families weaved their way through for the luxury of bowing at the altar and thanking their divine Father for the gifts of life and fertility, for a bountiful harvest, and for the hope that they may make it through a winter with no loss or struggle. The lesser fortunate, often traveling from the slums of London's streets, came for a slice of salvation. Some bread, and perhaps if they were lucky some butter and milk would come with it. They would be handed a blanket, hand weaved by the Churches volunteers and told to stay as long as they possibly needed. Those less fortunate were supposed to leave at nightfall, but often, the poor Pastor would cave into demand and allow them the night under the roof of God. 

"It can't do any harm." He would proclaim, settling down a pillow at the edge of a sanded wooden pew for a withered homeless man to take. He was thanked, and he was blessed. 

The conditions within the Church couldn't have been any better than that of outside the Church. Wind swept beneath the thick doors of the entrance and filled the large worshipping room a cold chill, but at least the poor souls were away from the elements. The Pastor was an honest man, with honest intentions. A trait hard to find in many modern men, at least, modern for the era. 

You remembered him well. He had the kind of face, lined with age, that was hard to forget; you had been no older than seventeen at that point, stood near the Churches large open fire. In your nimble fingers you clutched a few woollen blankets, recently cleansed and folded, ready for the taking of anyone who needed them. Though you, yourself appeared better-off than those who sought out guidance and help from the Church, your attire had not been suitable for that of the winter you were soon about to face. Each chattering breath would condensate before your very gaze. It was not the numbing situation you had found yourself in that was concerned you, however. No. Rather your wide, doe-like eyes affixed themselves to one of the thin, stained-glass windows at the side of the Church:

It was snowing outside. Gentle pellets of pure white glistened against the sunlight, which retreated delicately behind great mountains and valleys. The snow was heavy, and the streets were otherwise dry. It would surely stick, and soon, the ground would be layered with a thick sheen of ice. To the children of her village, the sight was wonderous. They would beg their mothers to leave, to play and laugh and enjoy the common occurrence. In their innocence, they'd know not of the dangers such conditions held. In your odd emotional maturity, you knew. 

A frown etched into the corners of your lips, grip tightening against the wool blankets in your hands. You did not wish to leave so early, the clock had yet to chime five times, which indicated the earliness at which the sun was setting. It was your moral duty to remain at the Church for as long as you could, to provide and adore those within it. You weren't all too well-off yourself, but, with your father working as a doctor, you knew you had it better than others. It was your moral duty to stay here, to help those in need.

In addition, you feared you were the only one who paid the sorrowful Pastor any time since his wife's late fate. Her fate was a tragic one, and the reason your village had such an honest man run the Church, for you see, he hadn't always been an ordinated man; he had a job, not a well-paying one, but one at that. He and his wife rarely lived comfortably, but they adored each other and that is all that truly mattered to them. One day however, she fell sick. Typhoid, is what your father believed it to be. Yet the Pastors lack of money and medical knowledge left him alone, he sought out the Church for help but the man who ran it was selfish and crude. He refused to offer help, unless offered a large sum of money. The Pastor had no hope, and his wife died in his very arms. Opening a Church of his own, a welcome Church to anyone of the community rivalled the older Church and soon enough the nasty man had to close it and succumb to poverty. Even then, the Pastor welcomed him, but the man had too much of an ego to allow himself help of a man who beat him so. 

With a large, crooked sigh, you took to placing the soft, wool blankets at the pedestal near the fire. You had hoped the blazing device would warm them, so that they could come as a nice, bundled surprise for whomever was handed them in future. You made your way down the modest steps which alleviated the Pastors pedestal and fire from the rest of the Church and toward the pews where the Pastor guided a lithe woman and her young child to somewhere comfortable and safe. With evenly paced steps you encroached the Pastor, and kindly sought out his attention. 

"Pastor Smith, sir." Your hushed voice rang through the mostly silent Church like an echo, you winced to hear herself repeated so many times. You hoped not to disturb anyone who was residing here for the day. 

Once the woman and child had found themselves somewhere comfortable, thanking the Pastor thoroughly for his kindness to offer them food and shelter, he turned his attention to the young saint who he had found accompanying him for many an afternoon. "Oh, yes? Is there something you need, (Y/N)? You know you need not ask." His tone was that of a soft man, open and caring. He did indeed care much for you, who, after his wife's death and the loss of ever having a family, he thought of as his own child. 

From what was once your monotone expression came that of a much more adoring one. Your browns unknitted and you found herself smiling at the kind man. Your joyous mood however, was cut short when you soon recalled why you had come to speak to him.

"I hate to leave you so early," Came your meek utterance. Now, you averted your gaze from his. Poring over the speckled, and scratched planks of wood that lined the floor. "But.. it is nightfall, and I am afraid if I do not leave now then I will struggle to make my way home." 

It was winters like these, where the winds of the North nipped at England's climate that the you found yourself wishing for the spring or the summer to return once more. You much preferred such weather to this. The sun would cling high up in the air until the late afternoons, and its comforting rays of heat would linger until late into the night. You would stay at the Church for as long as you possibly could through the summer, ever since you had been a Child, and your parents took you to the Church for worship, you had adored the lively atmosphere and environment the building provided. You had dedicated almost your entire life to the Church, and had no regrets of your actions. It brought such joy to provide for those who were less fortunate, and though you did not do such actions with prideful intentions, you were sure that when the day of your death came you would be welcomed past God's gates with no hesitance. 

"Of course," The Pastor spoke confidently, tone filled with gratitude for the service you had provided through the day. You seemed to push yourself the hardest in the winter, understanding that it was the Churches busiest season. As he spoke, your frown only deepened, though his voice did not waver or show any sign of sorrow, you could tell through the saddened glint of his eyes that he did not wish for you to go.

"It would be dangerous to travel alone after dark, especially i'th'cold.. but, wait just a moment, I must pay you for your servitude." The Pastor was quick to reach into the pockets of his holy gown, however, you shut him down almost instantly. 

"No need." You declared with a gentle shake of your head. "I appreciate the thought, Pastor Smith, I really do. But, I am comfortable without, if you are to give your money to anyone let it be someone who direly needs it." You raised your hand up toward the Pastor and wafted it in his direction dismissively.

The Pastor paused for a few moments, eyeing you closely. The saddened look in his eyes morphed to that of determination, a look you often saw toward the end of your working day when the Pastor would ensure you left with something worth your while. You insisted day after day that he need not provide for you when your parents were capable of providing enough. He persisted. 

"God would want you to be rewarded for your virtuous behaviour." Was his excuse. "You have been so charitable today, if you will not accept my payment allow me to find some bread for you to take home to your family. I am sure your mother and your father will enjoy it."

You had no possible chance to disagree with the man, for as soon as his utterance was spoken he ushered himself away. He slipped through a crooked wooden door to the side of the Church, it was small in size and unnoticeable at first glance. This lead to a series of back-rooms, where he kept supplies such as food and blankets. 

At the Pastors insistence you let out a heartfelt laugh. He was such a soft-souled individual. You knew that even if you did not make it to Heaven, he surely would. He cared so much for those around him.

Whilst you bathed in solitude, patiently awaiting the return of the Pastor with a treat to take home, a harsh gust of wind swept through the large building. It's icy tendrils sought out the pale and exposed skin of the Churches occupants, and nipped at any flesh it could find. The cold blanket that layered the room indicated the entrance of someone new. Your narrow suspicions where only confirmed when your senses picked up the groaning of the thick wooden doors which kept the opening shut. With a cold shudder, you made an effort to tug your clothes closer around your shoulders as you eyed the new individual cautiously. 

The boy was unordinary to the Churches common attendants. He was tall, and bulky, with the stout frame of a man who was active and sporty, he appeared mature but the youth of his face said otherwise. you guessed that he had to be around your age. As for his unfamiliarity, well, that was justified in the fact that he seemed to be a wealthy boy. Adorned in cotton, a fine fabric shipped from the Americas, which was thinner, but softer than wool and a denim fabric, which was something farmers used as a practical garment. He had it for fashion. He wore a sweater-vest atop of his shirt, and a thick jacket which had been coated in a thin sheen of frost. From the rough, whipping winds of the outside world his blue hair appeared tousled and ragged, which was a look unusually seen on men dressed such as himself. 

You visibly stiffened at the sight of the boy entering the room, sauntering across the Church floor as though he knew the place inside and out. He had never been there before, that you knew. Such is why you kept such a nervous stance as he encroached upon where you resided. You knew it was wrong to have such a prejudice, yet, you couldn't help the resentment that bubbled up within your core. It was not envy, no, you were grateful for your position in society. Rather, you felt a strong wrath toward the boy. Rich boys almost never came to the Church, they had no need. The aristocrats had their fancy Cathedrals to worship in. The few times that the Church had been visited by rich boys, the same age as you, it had been because they took joy in mocking the lower classes.

You hadn't meant to clench her jaw the way you were at this boy who had entered. It didn't matter that the smile on his face was as soft as the remnants of dew on leaves in an early spring morning. 

The larger boy came to an unsure halt just a few feet away from you, you who had now swivelled your body around to look at him unsurely. You pored over his distinctive features for a few moments, before your gaze trailed down to the box clutched securely in his hands - it had been filled with various toys and objects. The sight relaxed you a little, it appeared that he only wished to donate. 

"Uh-- Hi! Do you know where the Pastor is? I have some things to donate," The boy's gaze lingered on you for some moments, eventually trailing away from your smaller figure and around the Church. He took note of its run-down interior, pairing sadly with the scraggy exterior. The Church was a lot less grand than the Cathedral his father usually took him to, it saddened him. "I.. I saw some signs around the village when I was running some errands, saying that you needed some donations for poorer children- and, well, I guess, I thought that since me and my brother are grown up now, and we don't use these, other children can." 

You remained stunned for a moment, eyes splayed wide with curiosity. Idly, you peered into the box of gifts. There were lots of them, a few worn with time, but most hardly used. You couldn't help the sour feeling that swelled within your chest as she took note of their lack of use, you hardly had toys as a kid whereas this boy, and his brother, had too many between them. Swallowing this feeling for later, you offered your thanks toward the boy.

"Wow, there is so much here.." Came your mumbled tone, breathless demeanour showcased how much you appreciated the thought that this boy was offering. "The Pastor is busy right now, but, I volunteer here. I'll take these to the donation area."

You offered your hands out toward him, prompting him to relieve the weight of the boxes from his arms. He seemed to regret such an action the moment he had obliged, watching as you staggered backward from a moment, a body that was much smaller than his struggling with the weight of the box. It had been easy for him, as he was strong. He hadn't considered the struggle you would have carrying it. 

The young boy shadowed your figure closely. Following you over to a table which had been covered with various donations, all of which had been worn down with good use over the years. Tattered scarves and clothes, cracked and plastered toys of the like. He wasn't sure to feel good for donating such unused items, or to feel bad for not considering his well-off position in society. His eyes pored over you, now arranging his toys into categories for age and interest. 

The comfortable silence that had engulfed the two was broken by the boys inquiry.

"You work here?" He questioned, though his tone could have come across as judgemental, you knew he held no malice. He appeared as harmless as a butterfly. "Er.. well, volunteer here? You don't get any money?" 

If he had to be honest, he found it odd that a person such as yourself was working for the Church. Perhaps it was because of his sheltered upbringing, but, he had originally thought that you were a simple churchgoer, attending for the Lords word and his words only. You were so finely dressed, with lace and twine and real feathers tucked into the pockets of your clothing. This indicated to him that you were of middle-class decent, and being middle-class meant that you were surely better off than any of those needing to take from the Church. You had no reason to want to help them, other than the goodness of your heart. Such a realisation struck a tender chord within the boy, he found himself growing fond of your caring nature. 

You offered him a gentle smile. "Yes, I enjoy it.. I like helping others, ever since I was a child. And, well, I guess it gives me something to do all day." Your initial unease had died down now, settling to the pit of your stomach where you would discard it for later. You now found yourself rather fond of the boy, despite the modest differences. "May I know the name of the one who so generously donated all of these gifts?" 

You grasped onto a quill from the table, fingers delicately squeezing around it as you dipped it into the pot of ink and brought it toward a piece of parchment. You were to write his name onto the donation board, so that the churchgoers could see his charitable efforts. He wished to insist that he really did not need such an action, that he was morally obliged to donate. Yet, he found a small slither of pride wrangling itself around his tongue; the thought of your appraisal making him smile.

"Johnathan Joestar." He confirmed, leaning against the table with a welcoming grin. "My friends call me JoJo."

He may have told a small white lie, in that he in fact, did not have friends. It was only his brother and father that called him such a name, but he swallowed down such a sin in the name of impressing you. Maybe you could become his friend.

He watched as you quilled out his name effortlessly, a sign that you had done such a thing hundreds of times beforehand with hundreds of names before him. Your writing was pristine, and trained, that of someone who had been highly educated. it made sense given your middle-class background. 

"It's a pretty name, JoJo." You hummed, particularly enjoying the sound of his last name 'Joestar'. You were fond of it. It made you think of the night sky, its shine and beauty matched that of himself. You had heard of the Joestar's, a rich family that lived in a rich estate nearby the village. You had never ventured into that part of the land before, aware that a multitude of aristocratic families resided there. The Joestar's were well known for their generous nature, as the wind howls, it was rumoured that Johnathan's brother wasn't related to him. Rather, he was taken in by George Joestar because his father had saved the mans life decades beforehand. 

The boy gazed at you for a few moments longer, holding to the dear compliment that you had thrown his way. "May I know the name of a polite individual such as yourself?" He took to following you once more, subconsciously this time. 

You moved elegantly across the Church. Your actions were almost angelic, and to Johnathan, they absolutely were. You let out a short laugh at his inquiry, for you found herself to be far from the 'polite individual' he was portraying you to be. Yet, you enjoyed this odd boys company, so you humoured him. 

"(Y/N) (L/N)." You complied, voice coy with a shy demeanour. 

Johnathan paused for a moment or so, processing your words. He had heard the name before. He could have brushed it off as a common name, however, he knew that there was more to you than it seemed. "Oh!" He chirruped, looking down at you with an ever growing smile. "Your father is the village doctor, right?" 

It would make sense, he realised. You presented yourself properly and appeared to be highly educated, such as most middle class girls, but, there was something different to you. As though you knew more than you should have. It was enough to intrigue Johnathan, and now, he had his answer. 

Once again, you let out a soft chuckle at his words, and he found himself eager to hear such a such a sound more.

"Yeah, he is." You hummed, answering his question without a beat. "I'm so very grateful for his work, me and my mother live so comfortably because of him.." You placed a hand to your cheek, eyes beginning to trail away from Johnathan as you reminisced how your father would often work himself to the bone to provide for the small family. 

Johnathan saw in you what he desired the most. You were grateful for your fathers work even if it meant you did not have a lavish life. If you got the bare minimum. You would most likely return tonight to a cold home, lit by the fading light of wax candles with stems burnt down to the very core. Your sheets would be thin, and old, and frayed. Yet, you would not complain. Johnathan had led a privileged life, he did not understand how you was capable of such modesty. He aspired to be like you. 

It was soon that the Pastor returned with a loaf of bread for you. He appeared shocked to see a boy such as Johnathan in the humble Church, but accepted the boys donations nonetheless. He was extremely grateful. You took note that as he spoke, his words stumbled and he choked on his own tears. He was so happy to have such a person like Johnathan donate to them. After the Pastor had thanked Johnathan numerous times, hugged and sobbed and cried about how generous the both of the teens had been to him, he allowed them to leave. You made your way home, Johnathan at your side. He had insisted he walk her home, stating that the cold was too harsh for someone such as yourself to be alone - whatever that meant. He additionally believed that the men out at night were to be unkind to you. You allowed him at your side, finding his company to be comforting. 

When the two bid goodbye, they were both left with the warmth and joy of meeting a new confidante. You were grateful to finally find someone your age who cared as much as he did, who had the same level of emotional maturity and honesty as you did. Whilst Johnathan was joyous to have finally found a friend who was as kind and loving as yourself. 

If only the two knew what was to come. 

The Selfish One:

Dio remembered the first time he had heard of (Y/N) (L/N).

He remembered his initial reaction upon hearing of your good deeds, he felt that of distaste, or dislike. He discovered of your existence on the night that Johnathan had decided he was to take their old things to the poverty ridden Church that infested the working-class village nearby. He thought it was a selfish thing of Johnathan to do.

Had he not considered Dio's sentimental attachment to those things?

The evening had continued onward from the interaction Johnathan and you had shared, and as the sun set beyond the horizon, the wicked storm which had been brewing all afternoon came to fruition. The world outside was harsh and unforgiving, bitter winds howled through trees and whipped against the hinges of clamped doorways and frosted windows. Begging and crying to come inside so that it may eat at the flesh of the homes inhabitants. Clumps of snow fell from the sky, batting and damaging both property and people. The people of that village would sit by their fires and succumb to the cold, huddling for warmth under a blanket or two. Many would lose their fingertips, their hair or teeth at the lack of warmth, but such a problem was no bother to the likes of that living within the Joestar mansion. 

The likes of three wealthy men, one elder and two boys sat in a grand dining hall. The glazed table which held then occupants was lengthy and pristinely decorated. Perhaps too much so for just the three of them, for the golden candlesticks and patterned tablecloths and silver cutlery only occupied one corner of the table. The surface had enough room for fifteen, maybe even twenty people. Yet, daily, only three ate from it.

"We must say Grace." Came the wistful voice of the eldest man there, poised maturely at the head of the table. He held his hands together in the form of a prayer, and urged the two boys at his sides to do so with him. 

Dio bit back the overwhelming urge to sneer crudely at the ideal. Offering the boy opposite him a short glare at his eager attitude. Johnathan had clasped his hands together before his father, George, had even requested him to. Johnathan was always eager to please, particularly after Dio had been taken into the family.

Dio, so naturally talented at every he did, so intelligent, and modest, and graced with etiquette despite his background in the slums of London, his presence proved a challenge to Johnathan who tried so hard to embrace the boy as a brother without feeding into the brewing hatred which bubbled and churned within him every time George would praise Dio for something Johnathan could do just as well. 

After just a moment of dismissing George's request however, Dio complied, abliet, hesisitantly. Pressing his pale hands together in an effortless demeanour as to appease the man he was forced to label his 'father'. 

George, watching his two sons comply with his request so quickly felt pride swell deep within his chest. "Oh, I am so blessed to have you two boys at my side." He rasped, tone rough with age. Johnathan offered his father a fond and loving smile. Dio, on the other hand, offered the elder a wicked grin faux with malicious, and manipulative intent. With his sons approval, George began to pray; 

"Our Father, who art in Heaven. Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on Earth, as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us for our tresspasses, as we forgive those who tresspass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is our kingdom, and power, and glory. For ever and ever. Amen." 

"Amen." 

The two young boys had allowed their father to lead the prayer, repeating an 'amen' toward the end so that its request would take into affect. 

Those sacred words were uttered before every meal. In the morning, at breakfast, at noon for their lunch and in the afternoon for their dinner. They were expected to preach it before their slumber. Johnathan and George complied to these rules strictly, every single day through their whole lives. Despite tragedy, and loss and all that afflicted them, they believed these words soothed their pains.

Dio, of course, had never been fond of such beliefs. 

When he was younger, much, much younger, and was stuck living on the overpopulated streets of London with his father, Dario Brando, he hadn't prayed for salvation.

He and his father did not believe in such things. How, if there were a God, could he stand to see his 'perfect' creation live with such cruelty. Dio often reminisced that if there had ever been a divine Messiah or God, then he had long given up on Earth. 

Besides, Dio had no reason to suddenly start worshiping at the feet of the Lord. After all, the change in his living situation was brought forth through his own fruition. Not that of his fathers, or the kidness of the Joestars.

No.

He knew his position, he knew his advantages - he achieved this on his own. Despite this, he prayed with the Joestars. His opinions on the Catholicism that George and Johnathan followed, sensitive opinions, yet he kept them to himself. Understanding his fickle position, a troubled boy leeching from a home and wealth that was not his. He prayed with the Joestars for he knew what such sentiments meant to them, and he strived to equalise himself with their preferences.

As the three settled into their layered meals of venison and vegetables with bread, George thought it wise to make simple conversation with the two boys. He thought meal times to be the most advantageous in bonding with the two, for he was always working. It was a simple question, really, one he asked every other day when speaking to the boys; "What did the two of you get up to today?" 

Such a question should not have made Johnathan light up the way he had. It was visible to all at the table; posture suddenly raising from that of a relaxed slouch to a firm sit, his eyes widened with excitement which followed an ebbing smile. He had hit his knee against the table from the sudden shift in demeanour, if the sudden bang, followed with the wobble of furniture gave anything away. Such a reaction made George eye the boy curiously, and Dio looked up at Johnathan as though he was an idiot. Uninterested and plain. 

"Oh, I actually got up to a lot today!" He cajoled, words gushing out like a child seeing a new toy. The two others at the table offered him prompting looks to continue his monologue. "So, well-- er, I gave away some of mine and Dio's old stuff to the Church down the village today. And well, I met this lovely person, by the name of (Y/N)." His words grew hesitant. If the flush across his cheeks said anything, then such a confession was flustering him. 

Dio's brows knitted together tightly, his uninterested stare now turning to that of confusion. He had to admit, it was rather easy for anyone to get Johnathan in such a flustered state, a few kind words and gentle touches always riled him up. However, Johnathan never really spoke of his antics when it came to people. Not like this. It was a personal subject for him. 

"Well that is lovely, JoJo. So generous to think of those with less than us." George cooed, appraising his son for his charitable deeds. The man was proud of his sons achievements, he thought of both Johnathan and Dio as fine young gentleman. "This person, (Y/N), were they nice? What were they doing in the Church?" 

"Oh, well... they volunteer there, they are so very modest and giving. From what I am aware, they spend most of their days at the Church." The young boys words of praise were soft and adoring, he couldn't help the sigh of content which slipped past his lips at the thought of you. 

George, on the other hand, appeared moderately alarmed as Johnathan continued to ramble about the kind person he had met. "Volunteers? For free?" He gasped, "So.. they must be of the upper-classes then, surely? To afford such a deed?" 

"Not at all!" He shook his head vigorously, as if to emphasise the your status. "They are middle class, yet they do this for the benefit of others rather than their own gain." While gushing over the your charitable actions, he could not see the way his fathers expression shifted. 

Dio eyed George closely, a twisted sense of bitterness welling within his core. George, a noble man, a man who claimed to be oh so giving, and caring. Who opened his doors to the son of the man who had saved his life, despite the boys poor upbringing. Who taught his sons equal lessons of God and love. Who would drop a penny to the ragged beggars on the streets of London. George Joestar, known to all the aristocratic families as a generous fellow with a need to adore all those around him, scowled.

It was brief, an expression most would not catch on to, but it was there, and Dio caught it. He couldn't miss the way George's lips pulled together tightly, twisting to that of a frown. The way his nose scrunched up, following the furrow of his brow. He had caught himself showcasing such distaste, and was quick in regaining his chirpy composure. 

Dio huffed at the sight, muffling a sour grunt by taking a large piece of venison into his mouth. He couldn't help his upset, knowing how George felt of those lesser than him.

It was cruel, almost, to keep the rugged boy in such a household. A household where he knew he was seen as lesser than the residents he shared it with, despite Johnathan's equal age. Despite how often he studied etiquette and manners. How often he'd spend in front of mirrors ensuring he had tucked his coat tail in, that his collar was straight, that his hair was perfect. He had nestled himself among them well, yet, none saw him as a fine gentleman. Not in the same way they saw Johnathan as such. 

It was cruel, like keeping a spider in a cage. The boy was destined to be rough, to be wild and violent. Yet, had been captured by this family after his fathers death and encaged within its formalities. No matter how much he preened himself for the family, looks such as the one George had made at the mention of Johnathan's new middle-classed friend reminded Dio of his lower status.

"That sounds lovely, JoJo." George's once jolly voice turned flat, feigning interest in his sons words as he returned to his meal. "Maybe, though, you should steer away from spending too much time in that village outside of your daily chores. I heard it can be a bit rough." 

The elders words only confirmed Dio's nagging suspicions. The blond boy, with knitted brows and a tight frown, turned his gaze away from the two near him so that his bubbling upset was not palpable.

"But father," Johnathan's curious tone indicated that he was oblivious to his fathers true intent. Dio sneered, he thought the boy to be stupid. "I don't understand.. most I have met there are lovely." 

His father staggered over his words for a moment, stuttering and filling his sentences with idle "uhm"s and "ah"s whilst he figured what to say to disuade Johnathan from the village folk. "Well.. you haven't met everyone from the village, have you?"

"No.." 

Johnathan's words came out unsure, an action which led his father to blurt a short chortle. "There we go, my boy." He grinned at his raven-headed son with a sort of 'I told you so' demeanor. "Not all are sweet and modest. Which is why you have to be careful, heck, the only reason I knew our loving Dio over here wasn't a crackpot was because his father was the most genuine and caring man I've ever met!" 

He was treading on eggshells. Such words brought forth a thick blanket of tension between the two teenage boys, both who found their jaws clenching and hands fisting at their fathers ignorance. 

Dio, now feeling thoroughly insulted, was ready to spew at the insinuation of his true father being anything other than a rotten, evil old man who's decrepit looks reflected well his emotional nature. George was blinded by a misunderstanding, one deed he thought to be good committed over seventeen years ago had forged the ideals of an honourable man. Something which Dio's father was not. Whilst glad to escape the violent clutches of his father, he found himself unfamiliar with the nuclear nature of the Joestar family, and resented them for it thoroughly. 

On the other hand, Johnathan held back a scoff at the belief that his 'brother', if he could even call him that, Dio, was a loving man. Not a crackpot, not an undisciplined bully or a vile and manipulative impertinent man with no regard to the wellbeing of those around him. Dio lied to George, Johnathan knew this. Dio lied about everything, about his habits, his spendings, his friends. However, George had spent so long creating his faux image of Dio and his father that no matter how often Dio proved a disappointment, no matter how many times he failed, or disrupted a service, or return home with bloody knuckles and muddy knees, George would paint him as perfect and loving. 

It was an unfortunate cycle. Dio, thinking of Johnathan as a privileged boy who did not need to suffer the wrath of an abusive father, who need not worry if he was returning home to a cold household with no food. A boy who had never worked in his life. Who never needed to work in his life. Versus, Johnathan who thought of Dio as a boy handed aristocracy without effort or energy. A boy who wasn't expected to fit in with the noble women and men, yet so easily able to mimic the skills and talents that an educated man would take years to learn.

"I mean," Johnathan responded to his father through seethed teeth. Averting his gaze from the two men before him to the contents of his plate before he was able to glare at Dio. "I've met some lovely people down there. So.. though I may avoid the more troublesome civilians of the village, I will always look out for them. (Y/N) is sweet." 

Johnathan had never been able to hide his emotions well, a result of having such an isolated up brining. From the admirable nature of his words, to the soft flush burning at the edges of his cheeks and nose, he had developed a small crush on this person. 

Dio could not help the wicked grin that spread across his cheeks at such a detail - the first smile that had etched its way across his lips that entire evening. He always enjoyed it when Johnathan took an interest in a someone, for it was a thorough experience to ruin such relationships. The boy fell in love so easily, it was hard not to! The first girl, Erina, was so easy; a kiss to the lips stripped her of her dignity enough so much so that she found herself unable to face Johnathan any longer. The second girl, he killed her cat and blamed Johnathan. The third he ensured heard some nasty rumours regarding his brother. So on, so on. 

He looked forward to dissecting this relationship for Johnathan. To watch it crumble, and fall. He already has some ideas formulating on how to rip you away from him, but first, he decided, he must study the way you were. To learn of your habits and traits, he would ensure the most devasting way to take her away from him. 

>>--------> The second time he had heard of (Y/N), was a close encounter. 

A short week had passed since the events at the Joestar estate had unfolded. A dreary week of ice and wind, each passing day marking the years decent into the winter months. The sky, clouded with thick layers of industrial smog and stratus sheathed the small suburbs of outer London with a desolate and melancholy serenade. 

The two Joestar boys, or at least, the Joestar boy and his rotten leech of a 'brother', ambled the iced over cobble streets of the village near their estate. Uneven rocks - barely polished, or finely cut, had been slabbed against each other repeatedly so that a carriage suited path stretched through the entirety of the village. Such a design enthralled Johnathan greatly, who, before meeting his new middle-classed friend had not paid much mind to the lifestyles tended to by the village folk. With homes built of simple brick and wood, tattered at the edges and run down through years of use and street decór ranging from that of slop filled buckets and mounds of manure to wooden crates, he found the differences in their living styles to be a subject of great interest. 

"Thank you greatly for accompanying me here, Dio, I know you do not care for idling within the village beyond the time for your assigned chores." The raven-headed boy offered his brother a soft, thankful smile. Such an action made Dio sneer, cocking his head to the side with aggravation. His crossed arms showcased such irritation, but, perhaps fortunately if anything, Johnathan did not catch onto his aggressive nature. 

"Yeah." He grumbled, gaze loitering on anything but the pathetic boy beside him. "Just don't blame me when George starts asking where you were today, gottit?" He punctuated each word with his thick cockney accent, letting it bleed into each syllable as a means of divergence from Johnathan's proper English pronunciation. 

In all truth, he had begun to resent you for meeting Johnathan, for now the boy's interest in the lower classes had suddenly piqued, and he seemed to make a wonder of everything Dio had grown up to resent. The boy, privileged in his upbringing, could never understand the troubles of that face by those living in this village. From a glance, Dio could tell that many of these run down abodes housed multiple, most likely large families. Johnathan could only imagine what such lives would be like. 

Johnathan pushed back a frown at Dio's disrespectful use of their fathers name, choosing not to start an argument with the boy in the middle of an unfamiliar plane, where only the blond knew to navigate. "He won't know," Was his quick quip, his throat growing dry at the thought of lying to his father. "Besides, it is simply a short visit. Hardly anything to be concerned over." 

With a hand wafting in Dio's direction, he dismissed the conversation completely. Perhaps out of disinterest more than anything, Dio chose to let such a topic go rather than to push Johnathan's clear discomfort. He traipsed behind the boy slowly, mulling over whether he should stay with him to ensure he doesn't get himself into shit with some of the rougher boys in this area or to leave and see how things panned out. 

"Oh!" Dio was torn away from his heavily debated thoughts when Johnathan let out a meek gasp. The boys crimson glare lifted from the dirty village streets toward Johnathan, and from there, slowly followed where his brothers gaze was pointed. It was there, that Dio had his first proper impression of this person he had heard so much about the week prior. 

You appeared to be shy, from what he could gather. You loitered not far from the two of them, a weaved basket filled with unpressed white cotton and a pair of shears in paar clutched tight within your grasp. Your eyes were wide with curiosity and interest, hidden behind long lashes which fluttered timidly toward the older woman your were chatting with. 

With a simple hairstyle, suited to working and moving about all day. To a simple, crinkled outfit with a short shawl to defend you from the elements and a hard straw hat hardly decorated at all. Dio couldn't help but label you as almost... plain. Far plainer than the people he was used to seeing at his fathers estate, and far plainer than all of the people Johnathan had tried to befriend in the past. Such a person was common in the village, he had seen about three whilst he and his brother had made their way through the place, each with varying skin and hair and apparel colours. So... what exactly about you had drawn Johnathan in so direly? 

He was intrigued by such an odd revelation truly. 

"Uhm-- Dio," Johnathan cleared his throat awkwardly, eyeing his brother from the side. Dio let out short grunt of acknowledgment. "I think I can take care of myself now, you may go back to the estate. I'll be fine." 

The blond boy stood still for a few moments, his tight glare not leaving Johnathan as he studied the situation. Johnathan clearly wished to speak to you, it had been the whole reason he had begged Dio to escort him to the village. Though, he had refused to give Dio the real reason for the visit. With a sudden urgency to rid himself of his adopted brother, Dio understood that Johnathan was trying to hide you from him - perhaps out of a fear that he would do the same to you that he had done to everyone beforehand.

It was just a shame he was so shit at hiding it. 

With a short scoff, Dio crossed his arms over his chest.

"Alright. Try not to get beat up, yeah? 'Cuz, like I said, I'm not defending you to George." He wagged a finger in Johnathan's direction sternly, to which Johnathan frowned at. 

He blinked his eyes at Dio to hold back a sarcastic roll of his eyes. "I got it, Dio. I will not get 'beat up', I am not a violent man. Just because you get into scuffs with others all the time does not mean I have to too."

He began to take a tone with his brother, unhappy with the boys insistent coddling. Dio scowled at Johnathan, his brows knitting together tightly.

"I know that. But the other blokes here, they do.. and it ain't common to see rich folk like you down here." He pointed a finger at Johnathan's chest, grinning at the boys cluelessly frustrated expression. "Doesn't help that you don't know a thing about this place. Watch out, JoJo." 

Johnathan remained quiet. The two boys held eye contact for a prolonged period, neither one breaking the awkward silence that had overcome them. 

"I think you should go back to the estate, Dio."

That was that, Johnathan had made his decision and he would not falter in that. He was a stubborn boy when it came to getting what he wanted, which was the one and only trait Dio admired about the boy. 

The blond boy made a show of turning away, his hands raising above his head to mock a surrenderers stance before he slowly but surely threw his legs in the opposite direction. His strides were long, and as he walked, he could feel the icy glare of his brother against his back. It wasn't until he could no longer sense the piercing glare leave his spine, that he took a quick and sharp turn, navigating himself away from the crumbling cobbled path and behind a shabby old building. With his vantage point in the shadows, he crept closer to where Johnathan now conversed with the plain person, making an effort to evade any puddles of mud and manure that lay in piles against the floor.

The scent was foul, a rotten and twisted smell which made his nose contort to that of a grimace. He hadn't had the need to smell such a scent in a long while, and though his unconscious self associated the scent with a darker period in his life, he couldn't help the deep sense of belonging that bubbled deep within his chest. It was nostalgic, almost. 

From his vantage point within the shadowy alleyways, Dio leant toward Johnathan and yourself, listening intently and curiously to the conversation you had begun to engage in. 

"(Y/N)!" The cheery, and snub voice of Johnathan Joestar cooed out toward the you, you who occupied yourself with the basket of unpressed cotton in your arms. The basket was comically large, so much so that you had to wrap your arms around the base to hold it steady. "(Y/N), it's me, Johnathan!"

At the sound of your name being called out so kindly, you turned, delicate strands of hair bouncing against your shoulders as you did so. You caught wind of the larger boy jogging toward you, a light smile etched into the corners of his lips. You returned such a smile joyously, no hesitation in your stance whatsoever as you further swivelled your body toward his and welcomed him. At your response, you caught sight of a light tinge of pink flush across his cheeks and nose - you had assumed such a result came from the bitter cold nipping against his exposed flesh, yet, Dio knew better than to believe such reason. 

"Hello, JoJo." You responded, tone soft and frail against the world around it. The boy you were addressing almost doubled over in awe at just how delicate you could be. "What are you doing here? Are you not busy at this hour?" With wide, curious eyes, your head cocked to the side in question. 

Johnathan stopped his light jog as he encroached your form, switching to that of a walk before stopping entirely just a few feet away from you. At your question, he visibly stiffened for just a moment, feeling called out in his actions because he in fact, did not have anything to do. He swallowed thickly for a moment, embarrassment swelling deep within him at the thought of admitting aloud that he had actively sought out your pristine presence. He thought to himself, for just a moment, that telling a short white lie would not do any harm and so he responded to your question with ease;

"Oh, yes well.. I was just doing some chores for my father, but I've finished now, and I saw you-- so, I thought I'd come say hello!"

From the darkness, Dio sneered, biting his tongue to hold back a loud scoff as to not give away his precarious position. He found himself sneering and scoffing a lot in recent years, a habit he had developed since living with the Joestar's. His crimson glare narrowed at the two interacting, knowing better than anyone else that Johnathan had just lied to poor little you, and gotten away with it, if the joy spreading across your face gave anything away. It appeared as though Johnathan was not the good hearted soul he had preached himself to be.

Dio held no judgement toward the boy, for it was something he himself would do too. No, what Dio began to formulate within him, was a deep sense of satisfaction, satisfied with Johnathan's hypocrisy, his lies and deceit - Dio finally had something above the boy, in that, though he was foul mannered, tongued and harsh in his attitude, he didn't beat around the bush. He would never claim to be a good soul, only to turn and manipulate those around him, no, he would always be aware of his negative aspects. A trait Johnathan would have to work on. 

"Really? Oh, how sweet of you, JoJo!" You cried out with a deep appreciation for the boys kindness toward yourself. You were fond of Johnathan's efforts to be your friend, you didn't often get along with the other children in your village, they were far too rowdy for your liking, and stank of body odour and manure. So, to have a boy such as Johnathan pine for your friendship... you were overjoyed.

"Well... hello, then! I won't be able to hang out for long though, sorry.. I'm helping my mother out with pressing these cottons." Gently, you shook the basket of cotton, wobbling its surface without letting any blow away in the wind. 

Johnathan took a moment to admire the caution and precision you had over the soft substance, before lifting his gaze back up toward you. Stilling himself for a moment as he mulled over his next actions. "I could always help you, if you'd like?" His offer came out shyer than he had intended. "I--- I guess it's just, y'know, I heard cotton pressing takes a lot of muscle! Not that you don't have any!!! But, I do! I could help---- Only if you want to, of course, I'm sure your perfectly capable of doing it on your own!" 

Johnathan stammered over his words repeatedly, cutting himself off repeatedly as though he was debating the offer. You let out a soft giggle at his indecision, the sound abruptly stopping his rambles. He startled backward for a second, the blush across his face returning, more potent this time. 

"If you really want to help, I don't mind JoJo. I'm sure my mother would be happy with it too." 

It was with that the two teenagers made their way out of the village together. Hidden in the shade stood Dio, who had been listening to each of their words intently, clinging to each utterance let out by who was a stranger to him so that he could grasp some sort of semblance of her personality. Once he took a step out from the shade, letting the suns warm rays bathe his skin to contrast the icy wind that batted around him wildly, he scowled. You and Jonathan's interaction had been so brief, he could not gather that much of what you would be like, or how he could ruin yet another friendship for Johnathan. 

From what he had seen, you seemed like a kind soul. Complacent, and trusting, given how you had addressed him so sweetly despite only knowing him for a few days. If such an assumption was correct, it would be easy for Dio to slip himself between the two.

>>--------> The third time Dio had heard of (Y/N), he was once more in the shadows. 

Yet, this time, he was on his own - Johnathan was nowhere near him so the risk of getting caught was next to nothing. He had sought out your presence on his own accord, understanding from Johnathan's ramblings that you spent most of your days at the church, devoted to helping those around your. His aim had been to stalk you, to understand your personality more so that he would have an easier time separating you from Jonathan. 

So, there he was, sat languidly against the wooden pews that lined the central room of the old shabby Church. The benches, unpolished and withering with long cracks splintering across its surface where young kids fiddled and peeled at its panels were reminiscent to that of Dio's childhood. He wasn't fond of the days he had spent at public Churches, he found the whole concept to be a scam, yet he went for the sake of his mother, who would use the hour every Sunday to keep from her abusive husband. The man Dio despised to call a father.

No, Dio was not fond of the place. 

He shivered lightly in his chair, his thickly layered jacket of sheeps wool not helping keep away the sheen of cold that embraced the Church. He found that he much prefered the Cathederal he attended every so often with the Joestar family, as much as he hated their extravagant lifestyle, he had to admit the velvet lined seats and heated walls were much kinder to his body than that of the villages small, unfunded Church.

The blond boys crimson glare cut across the room sharply, poised against your frame almost like a knife ready to strike. In his pale hands he clutched a fountain pen and a short notebook, the parchment coated in neat scribbles which scrawled across the pages entirety. The contents of the paper appeared to regard that of the girl he had found himself following, your interests, personality, habits and such all jotted down to a neat list accompanied by arrows analysing the ways in which he could use such traits to his own benefit in driving you away from Johnathan. 

Some would call it obsessive, but he did not think of it as such. No, he was simply highly organised. 

Across the vast room, handing out small, unbuttered slices of bread to those who needed it, stood the saint he was stalking. The meal was hardly anything, and would do little to quench the overbearing hunger that growled through the stomachs of most who needed it. He had taken note of this, how, despite the little resources provided for you, you continued to strive to provide and care for those around you. 

He scowled at such an ideal. You had to be pretending, right? Faking your kindness, mimicking that of a Saint for the sake of Heaven. That had to be what you were doing. No matter how much Dio tried to wrap his head around your odd behaviour, he couldn't understand just why you would dedicate your life to such meaningless tasks, when all you ever got in return was a measly thanks and a small prayer. Such an attribute he could link back to Johnathan, and it was in this that he understood why he was so infatuated with you. 

From this particular visit, Dio had managed to crack down all of the key details he needed to start his plan in dividing the two; 

You appeared to be extremely timid. You shied away from even those you supposedly knew well, curving inward on yourself and stammering over your words unsurely. He found this to be extremely valuable, for you hadn't known Johnathan that long at all. 

With this, came your strongly enforced morals. Several times that evening he had watched you shoo away those you knew were not at the Church for religious values - boys your age who came to taunt and tease you, privileged individuals who tried to sneak away some bread for themselves. You were shy, sure enough, but when it came to what you thought was right or wrong you knew how to set a situation straight. Jonathan shared this trait, but couldn't enforce it the same way you did.

Dio admired this about you.

With the fact that you had only known Johnathan for a few days at best Dio thought it'd be rather easy to turn you against him. To convince you that the boy was actually quite conniving, who lied to you about his intentions and morals. You would stop seeing him without a second thought, and, much like he did when Dio shooed away Erina Pendleton, Johnathan would be taken to bed with his sorrows and would do absolutely nothing to alleviate the situation. 

The boy had to bite back a sinister laugh at his own thoughts. Was he being petty? Yes, certainly, but Dio did not care for petty things. He cared about his hatred for the Joestar's, and he was going to ensure that Johnathan led a sad, sad life. 

----

THIS IS ALL I'VE WRITTEN FOR THIS... SORRY DIOLOVER669; i started writing this in the December of 2023, cuz i was REALLY depressed and my college exams were KILLING me, but i never finished it because La Squadra took over my brain and i started writing DK instead

I DO HOWEVER REALLY WANT TO FINISH THIS... i had a very good plot outlined, and i think i want to start writing it again once i finish DK !!

[ghost-1-y]

Worship

Human!Giyuu x AFAB!Naiad!Reader

Content Warnings: MDNI, sub!Giyuu, dom!reader, penetrative sex (f! receiving), unprotected sex, oral sex (f! receiving), face-sitting (f! receiving), pegging (not strap-on, Giyuu gets fucked with a dildo though), body worship, having sex underwater, virginity loss (Giyuu is a virgin), creamp!e, praise k!nk, worship k!nk, temperature play (ice), slight degradation from reader, reader refers to Giyuu as “pet” a few times, please lmk if I missed anything!!

Summary: As a water nymph, you never saw the world from beyond the spring you were born from, having only seen humans come to your spring bearing gifts and performing rituals for the sake of worship. However, one day, a beautiful human male stumbled his way into the domain of your sacred spring, and with neither offering nor sacrifice to give you, he thought of another way in which he could pay you worship.

Word Count: ~3.6k

Divider Credit: @/benkeibear

A/N: this was inspired from the story of Hylas and the Water Nymphs, a Greek mythology story where Hylas, a young male, goes to get water from a spring but is kidnapped by the Naiads because of how beautiful he was, it’s a short but interesting read!

Beauty was beheld by those who wished to seek it.

It would be bestowed upon in many different forms, through life, through fertility, and through healing.

Oftentimes, those who sought such beauty would do so through sacrifice – and would give thanks through continued worship of those who so graciously imparted such virtues upon the needy.

As the sun would rise, your eyes bore witness to such worship, as humans from the nearby village would arrive – men, women and children all wishing for their lives to be filled with beauty unknown. Some would ask for it on behalf of others, a sick family member perhaps – or possibly for the good of their village, praying for the blessing of a good harvest with the changing of seasons; others would ask for their own sake, for personal gain and fulfillment. And you were willing to provide them with what they desired, so long as they gave appreciation and thanks in return.

When dawn broke over the horizon, a line of villagers would emerge from the woods, the men carrying the corpses of swine or lambs for the sake of sacrifice. You would peer at them from within your quiet spring, eyes just above the surface of the water as they’d form a circle and remove the bones from the animal and offer them at the edge of the spring. 

Smiling, you’d emerge from the water and would take the bones into your possession, admiring the beauty in the humans’ effort to worship you. As you stood collecting the bones, some of the children would come by and offer locks of their hair to you – curious and excited to see such a pretty being emerge from the spring. You’d take their offerings and gently pat them on the head, before using water to create doll-like figures made out of ice as the children stared in awe at your power. Giggling, they’d take the shaped ice into their soft hands and run back to their mothers, showing them what the “beautiful water fairy” gifted them before it slowly melted away in their hold.

The villagers would cook and feast upon the meat that was not sacrificed until the sun rose higher into the sky, chatting amongst themselves, happiness evident in their eyes as they’d return to the village to find their crops thriving and their sick healing.

It was good.

It was beautiful.

And so you’d return to your spring, with water as calm as night and falls as enchanting as the morning mist, cascading into the place that inhabited your very soul. You submerged into its depths, ripples causing floating lily pads to drift away from you before swimming behind the falls, your home behind its veiled entrance.

Each week, the same ritual would take place – the villagers would change over the years, some growing old and some with newer faces. You’d always laugh at those who’d blush and refuse to make eye contact with you due to your lack of clothing – something unnecessary for a water nymph such as yourself – but the unmistakable happiness remained constant throughout their years of worshiping you.

However, on a day in which the villagers would usually not come to your spring with plans of worship, you heard the trudge of footsteps from outside of your home. Curious, as it sounded like a single human had come to your spring rather than a group, you’d wondered if there had been some sort of emergency that required your help.

Perhaps the human was in need of healing? Or caring for someone who was dying? So you emerged from behind the waterfall, only to find a young man – no older than his early twenties you’d assumed, as you’d learned of the average human lifespan from blessing generations upon generations of villagers over the years. His raven locks splayed past his shoulders and fell down his back and chest – which was completely bare down until his waist, where the only cloth he wore seemed to be his woolen chiton which had fallen off of his wide shoulders and pooled past his hips, revealing a physique that would invoke the envy of Heracles himself. 

He crouched down at your spring, filling his hydria with the sacred water of your home.

“May I ask why you fill your cup with the water of this spring?” you asked, looking at him with curiosity. Startled, he stood up, spilling the water that he had collected in the process.

“This water is not meant for your consumption, love. I must ask that you refrain from drinking it at all,” you continued, a soft smile gracing your features.

“Who are you?” the man asked.

How rude, you thought, taking from your home and not knowing who you were.

“I am the spirit which inhabits this spring, dear human. May I ask what you are doing alone and so far from your village? I’m afraid I have not seen your face before.” You walked along the water’s surface, ripples emanating from your footsteps as you closed the distance between you and the stranger. This man, however, did not seem to like that idea – pulling out a xiphos blade from the scabbard hooked to his waist belt to point it towards you in warning.

“Do not come near,” he demanded, a certain venom lacing his tongue, although a faint blush seemed to grace his cheeks as it took everything within him to not look below your shoulders.

“Such weapons are useless against me, love – I’d have hoped that your kind would be smarter than to show hostility to a being like myself,” you sighed, continuing to draw near. “I assume you did not come for the sake of worship, then, given your confusion?” 

He glared, yet said nothing, instead deciding to sheath his blade – expression nearly unreadable as you tentatively approached him. 

“Why would I waste my time by spending it on worship? I’m collecting water for my group.”

“So there are more of you? I don’t sense them, could they have left you behind?” You looked over his shoulder before gazing at him again. His eyes narrow, his jaw clenching before looking back over his shoulder, searching for someone who wasn’t there.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m thirsty, so I’ll be taking this water with me,” he resolved, holding his hydria close to his naked chest.

“Is that so?” you smirked, a playful look in your eyes, “and yet you have not brought anything for me in return? Not a single offering nor any sacrifice…” You drew close enough to touch him, before a sudden voice rang from the forest.

“Giyuu–!?” the voice called out, and the raven-haired stranger turned his head quickly, seemingly responding to the name. While distracted, you grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the depths of the water, your grip strong enough to persist in holding him close despite his thrashing movements, trying to escape from you and the spring. You exchanged your grip on his arm for holding his jaw, colliding your soft lips with his and exhaling into his mouth. He gasped and parted from you, staring at you in bewilderment as he found himself able to breathe despite being completely submerged under the surface. 

“Is Giyuu your name?” you ask, and he nodded quietly.

“I can’t have you take from me without giving anything in return, Giyuu,” you paused, “if you offer me something, I will allow you to return to your group, does that sound fair?”

“What would I offer? I don’t have anything of value,” he admitted.

“Well, unless you wish for your voice to become a mere echo that haunts this spring, I suggest that you think of something, love,” you folded your arms, looking at him expectantly. “I am a gracious spirit to those who treat me well, but I am also selfish should I not receive any thanks for my good works.”

Giyuu thought deeply, trying to think of something – anything – he could possibly give you to save his life. His mind raced, and his heart started to beat faster out of sheer panic.

But then, he thought back to your kiss – how your lips were soft against his own, and how it lit something deep within him that he wished to feel yet again. His eyes were downcast, unable to meet your own as a blush spread from his cheeks to the tip of his ears.

“I– I could give you–” he swallowed, “my virginity.”

Your eyes widened, having never received such an offer from a human before. You couldn’t lie, the man before you was beautiful, but you also knew that this was a rather unconventional way for one to worship a spirit such as yourself.

“Are you sure?” you asked, wanting to make sure he was fine with it, “you could gift me something else, it could be something small even – like your hydria or even the clothes on your person–”

“No. I’ve made my decision,” he paused, “you wanted someone to worship you, right?” he asked, and you nodded.

“Then let me worship you.”

Despite his words, he seemed very unsure of himself as he reached out for your hand, holding it up to his mouth before kissing along your palm. Your eyes softened, his actions nearly melting your heart. You moved your hand to his cheek, tracing your thumb along it as you initiated a kiss with him once more. This time, rather than doing so to prevent his drowning, you savored the taste of his lips upon yours, enjoying the roughened texture of them as they caressed your lips. His movements were hesitant, but the groan that bubbled from his throat told a very different story.

“Is– is this okay?” he asked once parted from your lips, and you smiled at him.

“It’s more than okay, Giyuu, you’re doing perfectly,” you reassured him, causing the faintest blush to appear on his cheeks.

“Okay.”

He kissed you once more, his hands hesitant before placing them gently on your bare hips. You could feel his pulse beating rapidly against your skin, slowly guiding his hands further down towards your ass. His breath caught in his throat before looking at you, eyes nervous and unsure until you kissed him once more, encouraging him to grope and feel how soft and pliable you were in his hands. A hum emitted from your throat, and he smiled into the kiss, feeling slightly more confident in his actions as he held you close to him.

He moved to your jaw, kissing along it before slowly licking a stripe down your neck, the slight saltiness evident against the freshwater you both were submerged in. His kisses were delicate – soft despite the chapness of his lips as he kissed along your collarbone. He moved his hands from your ass, making them travel upwards and around towards your breasts, holding them gently.

“Squeeze them,” you commanded softly, and he obliged, groping them like he did your ass – but it wasn’t enough. You took his hands in yours, taking them off your breasts.

“Did I do something wrong?” he looked worried, and you shook your head.

“No, love, I just want to show you how I like it, okay?” you reassured him, before taking your own breasts in your hands, pinching your nipples and rolling them between your fingers, moaning softly as you played with your tits. Giyuu watched eagerly, taking in every movement you made as you pleasured yourself. You looked back at him before taking his hands and placing them once more on your breasts, and he copied your movements, yet it somehow felt better than when you did it, his roughened hands playing with your breasts – a delicious contrast against your soft skin. Eventually, he lowered himself so he could latch his mouth to one of your tits, sucking gently as his eyes fluttered shut in contentment, his cock beginning to strain against the cloth that hung from his waist.

“Mmh– such a good boy, Giyuu, doing such a good job for me,” you praised, causing him to groan against your nipple, sending vibrations through it as he felt his cock throb at your words. Your hand rose to cradle the back of his head as he sucked at your tits, alternating between the two when he felt as though he wasn’t giving enough attention to one compared to the other.

Eventually, he started to kiss down your stomach, descending towards your heat until he stood on the floor of the spring, with you floating in the water above him. Your fingers found purchase in his hair as he gave a shy lick to your swollen clit, causing your hands to tighten around his dark locks. His eyes looked up to you in approval, peering through his pretty lashes at you as you brushed your fingers through his hair, smiling down at him. His pupils dilated, and he pressed the tip of his nose to your clit as he began licking around your sopping hole, not tearing his eyes away from you while sloppily eating your hot cunt. His tongue was flattened against your slit as he licked a wide stripe up it, before licking at your clit, running circles around it teasingly. 

Suddenly, an idea came to his mind, causing him to temporarily part from your cunt before sitting down on the sand below him. You lowered yourself down to the floor as well, wondering what he had in mind, before you saw him lay fully on his back.

“Please, will you… sit on my face?” he asked innocently, his eyes peering up at you in such an obedient manner. You smiled at him, and did as he asked. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, pushing you down so your full weight was on him. His tongue delved into your hole, shallowly thrusting in and out of it, causing you to bring a hand up to your mouth, muffling your moans. 

“Wanna hear you, please,” he begged from between your thighs, and reached to bring your arm down and away from your mouth, causing you to moan unabashedly as you ground your hips into his face. 

He continued to slurp up your sweet juices, nose nudging at your clit as he fucked his tongue into you, collecting anything and everything you’d give him, groaning hungrily with each taste. 

“Fuck– I– shit, you’re gonna make me cum,” you moaned, grinding down faster as he continued his ministrations, a tension building up deep in your gut as he licked at your needy pussy, until finally the tension snapped, causing heat and pleasure to course through your blood as you screamed his name.

“Giyuu—! Fuck, so good– so good f’ me,” you whined, and he moaned into your cunt, sending vibrations into it as you rode out your high, roughly grabbing at his hair, causing him to let out a small whine.

“Shit, such a good boy for me, aren’t you?” you asked, and he nodded quietly.

“Say it.” 

“Mmh.. ‘m– ‘m a good boy f’ you,” he whimpered, “love worshiping y-yo– oh!” 

You reached under his cloth and started stroking his cock. You were slightly surprised by its length, giving long strokes along his shaft before collecting the precum that had leaked from his tip. 

“So sensitive, aren’t you? Have you never touched yourself before, Giyuu?” you asked, and he whined pathetically, shaking his head, “so cute, ‘s a shame no one has ever touched this cock before– not even yourself. It’s okay though, baby, ‘m here now to take care of that.” 

He moaned softly as you kept stroking his dick, pulling it out from the cloth that hid it. You pushed the cloth he was wearing down his legs and off of his body. Once he was completely bare, you moved on top of him, your pussy hovering just above his cock.

“I’m going to ask you one more time: are you sure you want this, Giyuu?” you asked.

“Yes, please,” he whimpered.

You sank down on his cock, feeling it throb inside of you, veins pulsing as you took him deeper and deeper inside, moaning as your hips were finally flush against his. You reached behind your back, cupping his balls in your hand before starting to bounce up and down on him. His eyes shut, brows furrowing as he tried to take in how good it felt for your cunt to be wrapped around him. 

“Wait– wait s-slow down, I won’t last long–” he protested, but that only encouraged you to move faster.

“N-no, please, ‘m gonna– ‘m gonna–!” his voice was cut off by a low groan as he spilled himself deep inside of your pussy, his cum hot as it exploded in ropes against your pulsing walls as your second orgasm came crashing down around you, grinding yourself into his hips as you both tilted your heads back in ecstasy.

“Such a good boy, maybe I’ll keep you as a pet– you’d like that, wouldn’t you? To have no worries at all except to look pretty and please me?” you asked him, and he whined a small yes in response.

“I knew it – good pets deserve rewards, don’t you think, baby?”

He nodded, whining at how overstimulated he felt from your pussy clenching around him. You slid off of his cock and stood up, before holding your hand out, palm facing up towards the surface. Ice fractals began to swirl around your palm, forming an object Giyuu couldn’t quite make out until you held it out in front of him, causing his eyes to widen and his cheeks to flush in embarrassment.

“Do you want me to fuck you, pet?” you asked softly, holding up the ice dildo that you created, “I promise I’ll be gentle with you.”

He swallowed thickly, but he was intrigued, so he nodded, “yes, please,” his voice small and soft as he spoke.

“Turn around for me then.”

Giyuu sat up and turned his back to you before getting onto his hands and knees, his ass on complete display for you. You caressed one of his cheeks before giving it a light slap, causing him to whimper softly. You knelt behind him, at first inserting a finger into his hole, causing him to tense at the sensation.

“Relax, pet, you’re doing such a good job for me,” you cooed, and he did his best to relax his muscles, softly whining as you moved your finger in and out of him, caressing his walls before slowly working in a second finger and prodding them deeper into his hole.

He was trembling, arching his back as you thrust your fingers in once more before removing them completely, making him whine at the feeling of emptiness inside of him. His whining was cut short, however, as you pressed the ice cold dick against his ass, causing him to shudder due to its temperature. You leaned over him, and brought your face close to his ear.

“Are you ready, baby boy?”

“Yes,” he moaned, gasping as you inserted the toy inside of him, the coldness of it making it difficult for him to relax as you slowly began moving it, having the toy press against his prostate with every single thrust. You reached around his torso to stroke his cock as you fucked him, and the combined stimulation caused a familiar buildup to bubble up in his gut.

“Nngh– so, so good,” he moaned, slowly losing himself as he began fucking himself back on the toy, meeting each of your thrusts while simultaneously fucking his cock into your fist.

“Such a good little slut for me, you love this don’t you? You love being my pretty little whore, huh?” you smirked.

“Yes, yes– love it,” he moaned, the tension nearly at its breaking point as he continued to fuck himself with your help. “Gonna– gonna cum again, please let me cum,” he begged.

“Of course, baby. Cum for me.”

His legs shook as he arched his back further, head tilting up as his eyes rolled back into his head, moaning as his cum spurted out from his cock. He gasped, panting as he fucked himself slowly into your hand to prolong his orgasm, cheeks red and hot as he finally came down from his high. You removed the dildo from his ass and converted it back into liquid before pulling him into your arms, allowing him to collapse into you from pure exhaustion.

“You did so well for me, baby,” you praised, and he gave you a small smile as he closed his eyes, head resting against your chest.

After a while, you swam him back up to the surface of the water, allowing him to swim and crawl back onto the land surrounding your sacred spring.

“You may always return if you wish, I’d never be opposed to receiving more worship from you,” you teased, and his blush was hot as he frantically tried to pull on his wet clothing, grimacing at the slight discomfort it brought him.

You smiled and, with a wave of your hand, you evaporated the water that soaked both him and his cloth. He sent you a thankful look before pulling it onto his body.

“I believe you should go find your group, pet, they may think you’re dead since you’ve been gone for so long,” you smiled at him.

Nodding, he muttered a quick, “thanks,” before collecting his xiphos blade and hydria and walking off into the forest once more.

It was only by the time he reached his group's encampment that he realized that the hydria he was supposed to fill up was completely empty.

He may need to go back to the spring once more – just to collect the water this time, of course.

Taglist: @oreo-creampie, @k-a-t-h-r-i-n-a, @wow-im-gay, @peanutpunchy, @love-me-satoru, @crazycatlddy, @dinosaur-crime-scene, @thisbicc, @gojoscumslut, @everyonesfinaldestination, @leehoonii-i, @whateverfontmindmenere, @kyojurismo, @briefrebelfanalmond, @izuoyarmin, @ahashiraswife, @d1gitalbathh, @homo-homini-lupus-est-1701

If your name is crossed out, it means tumblr didn't allow me to tag you - apologies for the inconvenience.

I hope you enjoyed!!

[tartppola]

Stranded in another world, with no hope of going back or any magic to defend themselves with, this is the anecdote of the Ramshackle Prefect Yuulis Crowley's first week in another world called Twisted Wonderland.

warning : mentions of blood & dissection, didn't beta this so :P a/n : happy april fools :D

It was a chilly morning on the Night Raven College campus, and Sam’s first day coming back to the mystery shop. Oh, how he missed the purple overlay of the wallpaper; the diamond skulls and taxonomy and other knick-knacks that seamlessly blend together to form something quite avant-garde. Speaking of knick-knacks, he remembered that his new stock of goods his ‘friends’ salvaged from who knows where should be arriving today, how exciting!

His feet skipped up and about, the keys he spun around his finger chiming as he hummed a happy tune from the Port of Jubilee. Sam wonders what kind of faces the new first years would make the first time they step into the shop, or when they meet his ‘friends’ for the first time. 

Just as he was about to make a turn from Main Street, he stopped dead in his tracks. There was a pile of huge boxes at the doorstep, that must be his new goods, but there was something else, or rather, someone else. That someone–young enough to be a first year, but not wearing the school uniform–was waiting by the boxes. No student has ever been to the shop this early, and the school hasn’t allowed any of the local townsfolk to visit, so why?

“Excuse me!” Sam called out, making his way towards them, “I’m flattered that a line is already forming, but opening hours aren’t until lunch time!”

They stared blankly at him the moment he stood right in front of them. They held out a clipboard with a delivery receipt that listed the names of various magical supplies 

“I’m here to on behalf of the Headmaster,” Sam barely understood them through their thick accent, “Please double check the receipt and make sure to tell of any errors.”

Since when did the Headmaster hire any couriers.....and one so young at that. Oh well, as long as Crowley’s not breaking any child labor laws, it should be alright, shouldn’t it? The shopkeep noticed that his back grew colder and colder as he went through the new inventory. He stole a small glance at the youth, turning back immediately when he saw how intently their gaze bore through his soul.

“Phew! It’s getting pretty darn cold out here!” The hand that held his keys trembled a bit, “How about we go inside to warm ourselves up a bit?”

He took back his thoughts. This was far from alright.

“--and where do these charms go, Mr.Sam?” 

“By the aisle near the grimoires, next to the paper talismans,”

It’s been nearly half an hour of restocking, yet they haven’t left the store. Sam tried his best to breathe through the awkward atmosphere, but the tension was so thick he could harvest it, bottle it up and sell each for 500 madol. If only such a thing was possible, if only.

“Mr.Sam,” 

He felt his shadow jump to the ceiling at the sound of their voice. 

“What kind of store is this, exactly?” 

“Well, since you’ve seen my wares firsthand, should you be able to tell right away?” He put on an air of faux confidence, hoping they wouldn’t notice. 

“At first, I thought this was a magic supplies store, but none of them back at home sell dangerous herbs like oleander and wolf’s bane. How did you get a hold of this amount of them anyway?”

“Well, what can I say? There’s only so much exotic ingredients you can grow in the botanical gardens,” 

“But, there are also basic necessities like toothpaste and clothes,” They pondered, “Come to think of it, one of the new deliveries was a box of snacks, wasn’t it?”

“That’s what happens when you’re the only tuck shop in one of the most prestigious schools in the world!” He winked, “It wasn’t easy getting ahold of most of the inventory, but you gotta do what you gotta do, don’t you agree?”

A small chuckle escaped their lips, “That’s not a bad mindset for a businessman.”

In the end, no matter how eccentric they initially seemed, a child is still a child. He felt foolish for being so afraid, what could they do when he had his friends by his side?

“By the way,” it was hard to notice how much time passed by, “Shouldn’t you go back to your dorm and change into your uniform? It’s almost time for morning classes.”

“Ah, was Mr.Sam not present during the entrance ceremony? No wonder you didn’t recognize me,” 

There was some word on the street about a fiasco happening during this year’s entrance ceremony, something about the halls being lit on fire by a beast? He couldn’t believe it when  one of the friends that stayed to guard the shop told him about it.

“I was deemed unworthy to be sorted into a dorm, because I possess no magical capabilities whatsoever. It seems that there was an error during the student selection process,”

“Is that even possible?” his suave expression morphed into worry, “Then, why didn’t the Headmaster send you back home?”

“He tried, but the Mirror of Darkness said something along the lines of ‘The place from whence they came from can’t be found in this world’. 

“And so here I am, doing odd jobs and tasks on behalf of the Headmaster, the students and the staff of NRC,” Sam could hear a small sense of pride at their introduction, “I'm more capable than I look, please don’t hesitate to call upon me if you need any assistance.”

Of all the strange things to make their way into his shop, never in a million years would Sam expect an estranged secretary to be one of them, and one that possibly came from another world to boot. He had a feeling that this year was going to be much, much more eventful than any of the years to have come, and he couldn’t wait to see it all unfold.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, little demon,” The shopkeep tipped his hat in a fine, gentlemanly manner, “Make sure to drop by again, ‘till next time!”

The gap of knowledge between the first and second year was indeed a big leap to overcome, Crewel knew how unprepared his puppies were going to be.

But by the Great Seven, oh how much he overestimated them.

The likes of Riddle Rosehearts and Azul Ashengrotto couldn’t possibly make up for the utter incompetence these mutts have, even the students with subpar scores like Savanaclaw’s Ruggie Bucchi and Diasomnia’s Silver looked like geniuses. At best, there are students like Kalim al-Asim, who actually tries, yet their efforts seem to seep out through their ears the moment they leave class, then there’s the unpredictable ones like Floyd Leech.

He remembers how the eel turned in blank test papers, or how he mixes whatever ingredients he finds interesting together, bleeding the chemical supply. 2 days ago, he used up an entire month’s worth of imp spinal fluid during potions class. It’s not as if they were hard to get, but their effects are most potent when freshly harvested. The thought of harvesting it himself made him shudder; sure, he’s seen some grotesque imagery as an alchemy professor, but who knows how long it will take to restock if he made a report to Crowley?

Sigh. Looks like he’ll have to put practical sessions on hold for a while and haggle with Sam.

“Excuse me, is Professor Crewel here?” 

The door to the alchemy lab opened, bringing the professor back to reality. Someone he has never seen before let themself in, a plastic bag in hand. 

“Stay! I don’t recall allowing anyone without a lab coat to enter….!” Realization kicked in once he got a clearer look, “Huh--so it’s you, the magicless stray that caused a riot in the entrance ceremony.”

The sound of a whip resonated through the room, followed by faint chattering and murmurs from nearby students scrambling away from the alchemy lab. 

“Only authorized students and staff are allowed in the lab during school hours, didn’t the Headmaster tell you?” 

Most of his students would cower just by hearing his tone grow stern, yet they remained unfazed. Playing bold now are we? Looks like he’ll have to teach them a lesson. 

“The Headmaster,” they brought the plastic bag to his chest, “said that the lab’s storage room needed restocking.” 

Ah, was that it? Making a child do his job; how much of a slave driver was Crowley? Knowing Crowley’s tardiness, it was probably something he had already spent his paycheck on, although the bottom of the bag was unusually cold. 

Curiosity getting the better of the professor, he untied the knot and opened the bag. His face recoiled, from the shock of seeing the contents. Aurora moth’s scales--he had only requested these a few days ago! Not to mention all of that translucent mucus coating the scales, how long ago were these harvested?

“Is there something wrong, Professor?”

Crewel almost forgot about the intruder standing in front of him, “No, it’s just--this is the first time I've seen them so...fresh. The ones Crowley buys usually come preserved in bottles.”

“That may be because I just harvested them this afternoon,” they said nonchalantly.

“You--You what?!” the professor didn’t even try to mask his disgust, “You did this yourself?”

Their head tilted sideways, akin to a confused child.

“The Headmaster said that the locals needed help with pest control, so I’d thought I’d lend a hand, and they let me do whatever I wanted with the moths as payment, ” Despite having experience with that sort, Crewel’s stomach began to swirl, “The Headmaster gave me permission too,”

A scowl grew on his face. Typically a moth would've been killed humanely before their wings were plucked to relax their ligaments, but seeing the mess clinging to the wing's ends, it's clear that they didn't consider such option. He couldn't decide if they had a strong stomach to withstand seeing large bugs squirm underneath them, or an uneducated fool.

“Professor, are you alright? You look exhausted,” 

He snapped back to reality that instant, rubbing circles around his temple. Pull yourself together, Crewel, he edged himself, you’ve lost your composure twice already. Maybe he just needed a good serving of raisin butter with wine on the side, or a joyride on his prized car. He glanced back at the dismembered wings, at least he got what he wanted. Still, this has never happened before, perhaps if he could take advantage of this situation….

“Tell me, pup. Since you have...the appropriate experience to harvest wings, how good are you at dissecting imps?”

They pondered for a while. It’s the most animated he’s seen of them, “I suppose I do how to extract fluids, their lymph is a versatile ingredient in many types of salves after all. Although it has been a while since I’ve ever needed to.” 

Bingo

“Then, how about spinal fluid?”

It was their turn to be surprised, “I-I’ve never done that on an imp before. Just think of the amount of imps needed to fill a single bottle.”

“Tell you what, pup. Are you interested in a side-job?” 

Without giving them a chance to respond, Crewel tossed a few madol and a map of the campus in their direction, “There are some common imps causing trouble in the college lately coming from who knows where. If you can deal with them, I’ll give you the other half of the payment, and of course--.”

He shoved them a basket full of empty test tubes, slinging it over their shoulder, “Fill every single test tube here to the brim before tomorrow's Science Club activity, I won't take no for an answer.” 

And with that, they were pushed out of the alchemy lab. Spending their first sleepless night in another world catching imps wasn’t on their bucket list. Sighing heavily, they picked up their feet and staggered.

‘I wanted to creep him out a little,’ they thought, ‘but I ended up being the one getting creeped out.’

For such an important place, why did Crowley’s office have to be in a place so out of reach? For all his years in Night Raven College, Crewel always dreaded sending weekly reports to the Headmaster’s office, he could feel his leg muscles ache as he knocked against the two large gates. He peeked inside the office to look for the Headmaster. 

“There you are, professor! What took you so long?” 

There he was, sitting cross-legged on his desk as the portraits of the Great Seven floated up and about. Trein was there as well, as cold as usual and showing no sign of fatigue, peering at him as if he could see through everything. Maybe it was because he had a 20 year head start, either way, it was irritating how he was the only disheveled one.

“I don’t know, maybe it was the countless stairs I have to climb every week to submit a report when you can simply hire a secretary to fetch them for you?” 

The crow simply smiled, already figuring out a solution to Crewel’s ire, “How has the first week of teaching been for you, professors?”

“I don’t know which is greener, the topiary maze in the Heartslabyul dorm, or the new puppies I’m in charge of,” Crewel shook his head. 

“For once, I agree,” the history professor nodded indefinitely, Lucius yawning in his arms, “But that could be said for every first year in the history of NRC.” 

Dire nodded, “Seems like everything’s going smoothly then! I shall leave the future of our students in your capable hands!”

Both professors nodded in response, “As you wish, Headmaster.”

“Although, I’d like to inquire about something,” Crewel spoke up before raising his index finger to the large window. From above, the view of the setting sun looming over the campus could be seen, but his finger specifically pointed to Main Street, or rather;the magicless stray walking to the direction of the alchemy lab, with the basket in hand and the direbeast from before by their side.

“What are we going to do about that?”

Without needing to look, Trein simply closed his eyes, “If what the mirror spoke was true, then that child quite literally has no place to go back to. It comes to question how they even ended up here in the first place."

Crowley rubbed his chin. The ultimate decision lies with him, and honestly, there was nothing stopping him from just shirking them off his feathers and leaving them to fend for themselves, along with the cat-beast that terrorized the entrance ceremony.

"It would undoubtedly stain the reputation of our esteemed college if we just kicked them out," the Headmaster groaned, "Oh, why must I be plagued with such problems!"

"Best of luck to you then, Headmaster Crowley," The two professors turned their heels and left Crowley's office with not a care in the world, leaving him with his worries.

The Headmaster leaned against his chair and sighed against the beak of is mask. Dealing with the child was the last thing he wanted to do at this moment, with their odd mannerisms and such, however...

Being unable to return home wasn't an unfamiliar conundrum to the Headmaster.

Perhaps it's his boundless generosity speaking to him, but there was a pang of heavy emotion in his chest that told him he couldn't simply leave that child, Yuulis, alone. Was it guilt? or maybe atonement? Whatever it was, it overrode the rational side of his brain

Dire Crowley was the type of person to judge a book by it's cover, which is why he was surprised how his new errand runner, or rather, the new Ramshackle Prefect was able to hold up better than he expected. The reports he received from the staff members he had tasked them with helping have been amicable, and his workflow was much smoother now that he had divided the more menial tasks to someone else. He had thought he had envoked the wrath of the Great Seven with the mess that was thrown his way, but surely they were more pliant than they initially seemed, and now Crowley had a reliable aide at his beck and call.

That would've been the end of the story if Crowley's worries ended there.

Perhaps it's his intuition as a mage, one that's been sharpened by many years of experience, but there was something off about the Prefect. It was subtle enough for none of the other professors to pick up on it, perhaps not even the prefect the▅self were aware of it, but Crowley co▅ld fe▅▅ it.

The lingering mi▅▅ma ▅▅ p▅rmea▅▅ from ▅▅em, it ▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅ ▅ ▅▅▅ M▅▅▅l▅ ▅▅ ▅no▅▅ ▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅ , ▅n▅▅d f▅rom the loo▅▅ ▅, if Crowley doesn't get it under control, it might spell disaster for the mages in his beloved college.

They'd succeeded his expectations as a prefect, so why not bestow upon them another act of kindness?

A knock resounded from the door to the Headmaster's office, before creaking open. Under the candles that lit the office dimly, the prefect looked like one of the many ghosts that toiled in the campus.

"Apologies for the delay," they nodded, curtly greeting the Headmaster, "It took a while to convince Professor Trein to let me into the library archives, but I got what you asked for."

"It can't be helped, I suppose. The lecture he gave me that time still rings in my ears," Crowley picked the bundle of files off of Yuulis' hands.

"Rightfully so," the monotone in their voice wavered, "With all due respect, I don't see why what you did was necessary, nor will it benefit you or your reputation, Headmaster."

His fingers intertwined and rested over his mouth, obscuring what's left of his face. A part of him thought that Yuulis wouldn't question his actions, but it seems they had not let their guard down completely. Not that he blamed them--in a world of villains, it's wiser to play your cards right.

"I've made it quite clear that it was a mutual agreement, yes?" he says, "One day, you'll understand, once you've proven that you're worthy of carrying my secrets."

He sauntered towards them, slow and heavy footsteps circling around the prefect, "Besides, don't you want my help? You won't have to isolate yourself anymore, drifting around from place to place, worrying about hurting other people. You'll be able to live a normal life. It'd be easier for me to help you with your more personal matters like this, wouldn't you agree, my dearest nephew?"

It was probably underhanded of him to take advantage of their ignorance, but it's too late for them. The pact has been made, Crowley isn't sure whether Yuulis could feel the invisible link that binds them together as well, but the matching blue vest he gave them, their new surname, was enough to send them the message.

"It's getting late, come now, I'll walk you back to that rickety old--err, Ramshackle dorm," says the headmaster, waiting for Yuulis to trail behind him, like they usually do.

With bated breath, they come to accept their new circumstances. They step closer to the Headmaster.

"As you wish, uncle,"

[ganondoodle]

(Original art) Xaror, any pronouns, species (?), age (?)

short summary about them; they act as both an antagonist and an ally since they are only really interested in what they want or whats fun to them, they are immortal and call themselves 'death itself' since they have a special connection to souls (being the only one able to communicate with them) and the ability to seperate souls from their bodies in such a way that nothing can harm the soul afterwards their main goal is to .. bother and disturb the 'celestials'*, which they hate, as much as they can, breaking into their palace, freeing prisoners, destroying research, destroying the place, and most importantly, making as many souls unusable to them as possible-

they dont want to destroy the celestials though, they cant fight them anyway and this game of doing 'good' only with the goal of annoying them is their most treasured activity, so Xaror doesnt intend to stop them from killing or hurting anyone, only from harvesting what they are actually after (though Xaror doesnt actually care as little as they think they do about people, and has a soft spot for demons)

most of their appearance is later into the story; Zaphira (the empress) had been in coma and the medical facility she was treated in was destroyed by Shargon (orange eyed demon who acts as her bodyguard for the first part) in an attempt to save her from her estranged relatives taking over her country after they heard of her decline in health, she is believed dead but washes up on the shore of the mountain Xaror resides at years later (it has a reason, too much to write here) and they slowly nurse her back to health, the reason they give for it is that they found their first encounter very fun, thats all (is it?)

(more lore under the cut bc this is already so long .. im trying to keep it short q-q ......... this is stuff i have been working on since i was a kid so uh, some things might be cheesy but i cant change them anymore ..)

just to get some basics out of the way; theres three worlds, the celestials palace, human world and demon world, each are their own planet connected via different gateways

*celestials (possibly not final name, loosely based on angels) are the last remaining "survivors" of their planets demise, when their world died the most powerful among them cannibalized the weaker to sustain themselves until there were only less than 10 left, who each turned into different beings from it and dont resemble their own people much anymore, they built a palace from what was left on their world that protects them from space as its atmosphere collapsed shortly after- however they still needed something to live off; they discover the human world and are delighted to find rather short lived people with powerful souls, the best kind of sustenance for them (now), they aim to herd them like cattle, but a problem arose when it turned out another world has long been in contact with the human world; demons

demons are semi immortal creatures that act as protectors for their world, protection they extended, more or less secretely, to the human world ensuring them a long and secure life- the celestials need them to die at their whim though (demons are few in numbers, hard to kill and rarely have offspring, not an ideal target); as they worked out a plan on how to get rid of demons one of the celestials, Xanthriel (time) grew somewhat fond of people as they spent alot of time in the human world to observe and research them; in the end turning on their own completely, but losing the fight against Uriel (knowledge)

Xanthriel was supposed to be executed for their betrayal, but it doesnt work, instead they are splintered into many parts after a lot of struggle, most body, memory and most strength is one part (ending up as motionless forever bleeding corpse kept locked up in the palace), the rest is some time later gathered together and reforms as a seperate, weak mockery of them, they embody Xanthriels emotion- Xaror, without memory, strangely cut to pieces (hence all the missing limbs and broken halo) but driven by an unstoppable desire to disturb the celestials (they live seperate long enough to each become their own person, at some point Xaror discovers Xanthriels body after all and they merge back together, though as they are now two, Xanthriel only takes over once directly after merging, stays silent for a long time and lets Xaror be themselves, only later revealing that they are there at all .. hiding perhaps- i rarely have specific ideas for voices, but Xanthriels is like, like coarse rocks being violently rubbed against each other, less voice more noise)

(also, the celestials use Xanthriels blood from the day of their execution to create a plague that nearly wipes out all demons, only the youngest of them survived, effectively robbing them of everything, culture, history, knowledge etc- as demons rarely have children, like a complete restart of their society, they disappeared from the human world, and over time being largely forgotten as actually existing- the celestials wanted them all gone however, so they kept kidnapping them to try and find somethign that would work similarly against the young ones too (and then in general, bc the only usable blood of Xanthriel was from the day of their fall, and that has long since been used up) one of the young ones was Shargon, he was the only one still alive from his group

(also, the celestials use Xanthriels blood from the day of their execution to create a plague that nearly wipes out all demons, only the youngest of them survived, effectively robbing them of everything, culture, history, knowledge etc- as demons rarely have children, like a complete restart of their society, they disappeared from the human world, and over time being largely forgotten as actually existing- the celestials wanted them all gone however, so they kept kidnapping them to try and find somethign that would work similarly against the young ones too (and then in general, bc the only usable blood of Xanthriel was from the day of their fall, and that has long since been used up) one of the young ones was Shargon, he was the only one still alive from his group (he wasnt the strongest or special, he was jsut the last in the row and always got the lowest dosage) when Xaror found them in yet another break in into the palace and got him back to the demon world .. where he was promptly blamed for the others that were taken and treated like a pretender/fake/spy bc what he got put through changed his eye color (something that demons cannot change in any form) to one that does not exist among 'real' demons (orange ... notice the inner color of Xarors broken halo? :) ), some even suggesting killing him, but none of them were brave enough to do it (they were all kids still) .. except Eadrya (the big blue-ish one, largely regarded as the strongest demon alive) but Shargon managed to escape, and since then lived largely in isolation- this is part of why he is so hated, and why he starts to spend so much time in the human world after rediscovering the pathway there)

[bizarre-azure]

Theory: Grim Reapers Don’t Have Cinematic Records

I (like several other people on this website) have the headcanon that Grim Reapers have amnesia which prevents them from remembering their previous lives and becoming suicidal all over again. Over time, glimpses of their past lives may be triggered by viewing a certain human’s Cinematic Record and being reminded of something from their past, but it’s extremely foggy. This also ties into my headcanons for Grell’s life when she was alive. That is, she spent her entire past life thinking that she was just a gay man and did not realize that she truly was a woman until RIGHT before the end of her life. When she became a Grim Reaper, she had no memory of her time alive, and the only thing she knew in her heart was that she was a woman who for some reason was not born with the same anatomy as other women.

While rewatching Book of Atlantic, though, I realized that there is a detail that could support my headcanon.

One of the most pivotal moments of the Book of Atlantic movie is when Sebastian gets skewered by Undertaker’s Death Scythe, which was a fatal enough blow to cause his entire Cinematic Record to play from the point where he was first summoned by Ciel to the present day. It is interesting, however, that during that same fight, Ronald and Grell are also sliced by Undertaker’s Death Scythe moments later, but their Cinematic Records don’t play.

You could say that it was because the cut was not deep enough to cause Cinematic Records to appear, but Grell’s chainsaw barely grazed Sebastian’s arm during their fight in the Jack the Ripper arc, and his Cinematic Record still somewhat played. The blow that Undertaker landed on Grell and Ronald was enough to knock them both to the ground, so there’s no doubt that their Cinematic Records would’ve started playing. If they were of a different species, that is 👀.

But if Grim Reapers don’t have Cinematic Records, that means they must not have any memories and must have constant anterograde amnesia, right? But it’s shown that Grell still has her memories from the Jack the Ripper arc during her fight against Undertaker when he points out the stitches on her coat?

Yes, I think that if their Cinematic Records were removed, they would have terrible short term memory loss, UNLESS their Cinematic Records were replaced with artificial ones upon becoming reapers.

Grim Reapers can obviously harvest a human’s soul and Cinematic Record upon finding a dead body, so who’s to say that they can’t do the same thing once a human turns into a Grim Reaper? Perhaps the creation of a Grim Reaper is what happens when a human dies and their Cinematic Records are harvested but not their soul. The artificial Cinematic Records could also be manufactured so that they don’t fly out of the reapers’ bodies as easily as normal Cinematic Records if they were to ever get injured by someone else’s or their own Death Scythe. What could also prevent them from killing themselves again is that their artificial Cinematic Records cannot be taken out of them, since in order for someone to become a lifeless corpse and fully die, both their soul and their Cinematic Record need to be harvested.

After all, where do you think that Undertaker was able to get the extra blank Cinematic Records that he could attach to the preexisting ones inside the early Bizarre Dolls? There’s talk in the fandom about one of the reapers possibly being a double agent that’s also working for Undertaker, so that reaper might’ve been the one to supply him with both the extra Cinematic Records AND the material to create Layla’s scissors.

I wonder who that reaper double agent could be…

[adobealmanac]

How I was taught to cleanse with fire

Many cultures around the world use smoke and fire for cleansing and purification rituals. New Mexico is not different in that manner, as often I see curanderos (and spiritual leaning Catholics) burning a variety of herbs, woods, and resins to cleanse themselves and their spaces. Sometimes we even use mezcal to cleanse by spraying it from our mouths. While not necessarily ‘fire’, it does have that flame element to it. Spraying mezcal from the mouth is often done to cleanse the body or mind of someone, rather than a space.

I grow a variety of herbs on my property and I often find myself inclined to use them over store bought bundles or incense as it feels more traditional, and connects me to the earth and to my ancestors. My grandma taught me how to burn desert sage to purify a space, which is one of my favorites to use spiritually for cleansing. It brings an energy of healing and calmness when you burn it, and also works great for purification. I think of it as the lavender of sages due to its warm hug-like energy it brings.

To begin cleansing with desert sage, you first must hold the sage in your hands, and close your eyes. Envision happiness, and warmth, and hugging your own abuelita. Think about the warm yellow energy of the desert sage and how it brings that feeling of walking through a winter landscape knowing that you will be home soon. Enjoy the feeling and scent of the unburnt sage. Once you feel ready to begin, open your eyes, and take one deep breath in and out. Now, you must open the front door of the place you are cleansing, and optionally more windows if the space is large enough. The thick adobe of my grandmothers house wouldn’t allow any spirits to leave if you didn’t allow them to exit somehow. Begin by walking around the space with the unlit sage, feeling the energies of the space and finding spots that you need to focus on. Once you have identified the dense spots, you can light the sage. I always light the largest end of the desert sage bundle as I find it is the easiest to work with, allowing you to hold it by the smaller portion. Allow a large ember to form, about the size of a dime. Then, while walking through the space blow on the ember allowing the smoke to fill the direction you are blowing into, as this brings life and soul into the sage you burn. While doing this be intently focused on removing ‘anything bad’ as my grandmother would say. Be sure to blow the smoke into each of the four corners of your house too, to fortify and protect your space. I usually include the outdoor corners too, if the weather is calm enough outside to allow my sage to burn. Once you have hit all of the dense spots with your smoke, place the desert sage into a cooking pot in the kitchen or living room until it ceases to burn. This allows the smoke to do any remaining work it needs to. Once complete, thank the spirit of the sage by holding it again in your hands, giving it a sort of hug, and verbally thanking it. You may leave an offering at the bush you collected it from if you harvested the sage itself, otherwise you could also leave the offering near your favorite plant, I suppose. Once complete store your sage respectfully until the next time you need to purify your space.

Allow the front door and any open windows to remain open for at least 30 minutes after the final ember went out. Remember to always practice fire safety and never leave a sage bundle burning unattended.

If desert sage does not grow near you, look into if it would be able to successfully grow in your plant hardiness zone. If not look into using a native sage variety that grows in your area! In my opinion it is always best to use herbs that are from the region you live in over imported ones any day. And of course, do your best, because no one is perfect. If store bought is all that is available to you then use it! Or, if you already have a store bought herb bundle go ahead and use that. Be resourceful, and stay safe out there!