#liar! dark lies 9th liar

[everlastingbutterfly]

Sumika's face if you decide to accuse her in the 6th Liar

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[elsanna-shenanigans]

December Contest Submission #20: Never shall you ask me

Words: ca. 4500 Setting: Viking AU / late 9th century Norway Lemon: no CW: strong language, mentions of animal sacrifice, blood

Elsa Agnarrsdóttir had never minded the cold. It was warmth that made her shiver.

The cold had been her constant companion for as long as she could remember: at first, long days spent by the seashore, waiting for her father’s drakkar to fly into Arnardalr’s harbour laden with riches from foreign lands, ocean breeze tearing at her braid and gown and salt wash speckling her skin. Then, after, silent marches through wintery woods, white as far as the eye could see, with no companion save the darkness and the numbing chill in her bones.

The warmth, though? Loge’s flickering child had danced through the straw and thatch and rafters of her father’s hall like a hungry houseguest as, below, her kinsmen had fallen to the storm of shining battle-flames. The warmth had seared her, marked her for its own. Even now she feared it, for it meant the din of cups and the laughter of men in the feast hall, the company of ravens and the courtesy of wolves. 

Her maidservants shuddered as they stepped out into the cold from the heat of the mead hall and drew their furs closer, but Elsa stood proud and tall as a mast. She breathed in the sea breeze, felt the chill through the fabric of her dress. The guards outside—Hans’s—gave her respectful nods as she passed and fell in after them.

In silence, they proceeded outside the village and climbed the Thing hill, a bare, rocky knoll overlooking the harbour. Her grandfather, King Rúnharðr Rauðskeggr, had erected a runestone there, praising his deeds, but Hans had allowed the painted runes to weather away, so that only faded carvings remained. As the women and their guards ascended the hill, they passed through the crowd that had already assembled: housecarls and freemen from all around the valley, some with their sons, wives and thralls in tow, all arrayed in festive garments according to their means. They ringed King Rúnharðr’s runestone like waves in a pond, but made way for them. Some nodded respectfully as she passed. Others—far more—hid their faces and would not look at her.

Jarl Hans Haraldsson, called Hans Suðeyingr, stood at the top of the knoll, leaning on the runestone. Part of Elsa bristled at the desecration, but she knew there was no point in protesting. Hans gave her a wide smile that looked disconcertingly genuine, and one of her companions gasped with barely-veiled delight at the sight. Elsa resisted the urge to scowl at the swooning girl—even she had to admit that Hans was handsome, the very image of a young hero. His flame-red hair and beard were elegantly braided with golden ringlets, his mail shirt merrily glittered in the morning light, and his clothes were richly embroidered with gold and silver thread. His father’s many crowns certainly did not hurt his appeal, even if he was the youngest and least storied of King Haraldr’s many sons. Yes, Hans’s smile had an uncanny ability to make women swoon and fluster, there was no denying it—except, of course, for his betrothed, the woman he had swornhis eternal love a hundred times.

Well, former betrothed. Hans spread his arms as she approached, his smile widening. Elsa scowled at him. She knew better than to be taken in by his smiles and promises. “There she is! I’m glad we did not need to drag you here in chains.” Without paying her any further heed, he looked around. “Men of Arnardalr, you have heard my charge, and I have presented my witnesses. Now hear what she has to say for herself.”

The lawspeaker of the Thing stepped forth from the crowd. She knew Kai Lǫgmaðr well—he had served her father as a housecarl, once. Of course, he had then gone on to serve Hans as a housecarl, but he was not a southerner like the others—a good and loyal man, and wise, just like Gerðr his wife. She thought he cared for her wellbeing, but she had the feeling that would not help her today. “Lady Elsa,” he addressed her darkly, “Jarl Hans has accused you before the thing of murdering your sister, Anna Agnarrsdóttir, by drowning her in the sea five years ago. How do you respond to the charge?”

Elsa ground her teeth. She had been thirteen when Anna—aged ten—had disappeared. That had been less than a year after the southerners had come. With their parents slain and their foes living in their hall, the sisters had only had each other. They’d been inseparable. Except for that day. Elsa could not even recall why she had been mad at her little sister—something foolish involving Hans, no doubt. She had always resented the way Anna had idolised the son of their parents’ killer for every little kindness he had thrown their way like scraps to his dogs. Some stupid argument had sent her running back to the village while playing in the woods, leaving Anna behind. Her sister had not returned that night, and days of searching had come up with nothing.

Many years, Elsa had held on to the hope that somewhere, somehow, Anna might still be alive. I would have felt it, she had told herself and any who would listen. But as the years passed, this certainty had faded away, leaving only a dull ache and yearning, and the dreams that robbed her of her sleep. They had never found the body, but there were all sorts of danger in the woods for a little girl, from wolves to brigands. It was no use thinking about it—only regret remained: that her last words to Anna had been spoken in anger, and that Anna had never been baptised. Elsa prayed that meant Anna had gone to Fólkvangr, as her parents had taught them, not hell.

“Lady Elsa?”

She startled at Kai’s voice. “I reject the charge,” she then said. “I swear by the Virgin that I am guiltless. Moreover, I accuse Hans Suðeyingr of perjury, and call him a liar.”

A gasp went through the crowd, but Kai nodded. “You have that right. What witnesses do you offer?”

Elsa lowered her head. This was it. “None.” The crowd murmured, and Hans chuckled quietly to himself. “But,” she raised her voice, “I do not need any. I challenge Hans Suðeyingr to defend his lies. Is there anyone here who will brave the holmgang for me?”

The crowd fell silent. She looked around at weathered warriors who had raided with her father and stripling boys who had never held a sword. God, please. “Is there no drengr who will fight for me?” There was no response, and her heart sank. “Hear then how I will reward my champion! He shall take everything my father owned. And—” She swallowed. She knew what she had to say, but that did not make it harder. “And if he pleases, he may take me to wife.”

Still, there was silence. Hans’s hot breath brushed over her shoulder and she shivered. “Sounds like no one wants your frigid little kunta, dear. They know who owns you.” Elsa wanted nothing more than to draw her knife and stab him. If she was to be killed as a kinslayer, she’d happily take him with her. Even so, she knew he wasn’t wrong—year after year, she had refused one of the most eligible bachelors in Norway. People talked.

Silence. Elsa hung her head.

“I’ll fight for her!” The high voice had come from the edge of the crowd, where the thralls and younger sons stood. “Oh, sorry—excuse me—coming through …” Her heart sunk. Then, it leapt, as a vision of her father emerged out of the crowd. No—not her father. Still, for a moment, she had been fooled. The stranger was beardless and scrawny, scarcely fifteen winters under his belt. He had her father’s bright copper hair, though, worn long and gathered in a ponytail at the back, and large, eager turquoise eyes. He was simply-dressed in a green tunic and blue leggings, and had a small axe on his belt and a shield slung around his shoulders. An iron broach in the shape of a swan held his cloak. She had never seen him before.

The stranger grinned at her with such obvious enthusiasm she found herself returning a faint smile, even as her heart sunk. No, you fool, she wanted to shout, Hans is going to carve you up like a slab of meat, but no words came across her lips.

“I will fight for you,” he repeated, and took her hand in his. She nearly flinched from the touch, from the warmth of his skin. “But there is something you must promise me first.”

“What?” The question died in her throat.

The grin disappeared. Bright turquoise eyes stared at her, insistent and piercing. His words were like an incantation. “Never shall you ask me, nor trouble yourself to know, whence I have come, nor what my name and clan.”

An outlaw, then. A fugitive thrall. She wanted to laugh in his face. She whispered: “I … swear it.”

The stranger beamed, pure bliss in his eyes. “I love you, Elsa,” he blurted out, rushed in and pressed his lips to hers. For a moment, she froze as warmth sent shivers down her entire body. Then, she stumbled, jumped away from the kiss. The stranger seemed utterly unperturbed, but her face—and her lips, and something else—burnt like fire. “Now hear, Hans Haraldsson!” he shouted so all could hear. “Elsa Agnarrsdóttir is without guilt or fault—let it be known to you through Valföðr’s choice!”

Later, Elsa could not have said why she had ever underestimated her champion. Hans was a mighty drengr and an experienced viking, true, but the stranger moved with the grace of a cat and attacked with the ferocity of a wolf. Three times they met upon the island, and three times the stranger’s axe cleft deep into Hans’s shield. When the third shield split, the first drops of blood flowed. “Through Odin’s word, your life belongs to me,” the stranger had called out, the blade of his axe at prone Hans’s throat, then helped him up to his feet. “Take it as my gift, and use it well.”

And then it was over.

Even as an outlaw, no one dared lay hands on Jarl Hans or his loyal housecarls, so he quietly left the valley. Part of Elsa wished she had gotten her revenge, but at least this way he was gone. That left the oath she had sworn to save her life.

She barely spoke to her drengr over the next three days as they feasted and drank. The stranger sat at the head of the table, talking to jarls and þegns thrice his age like he had been born to it, while Elsa sat silently at his side, poking at her food. She loathed the heat and smoke of the mead hall. The flickering fire at its centre made her eyes water, while the shouting and laughter of the guests felt like horses galloping through her skull. But every time she caught the eye of her betrothed, he would smile at her, eyes wide and bright, as though she was the most precious hoard in the nine worlds. He would say something, and more often than not it would make her laugh, and by the time another well-wisher or petitioner came up to the high table it was easier to bear.

After three days of feasting, it was time for the ceremonies. Her groom bade her farewell with a chaste kiss as they parted—him heading for the grove, Elsa for the church with the other Christians. It was no more than a brief peck on the cheek, and yet the spot his lips had touched burned for hours afterwards. Was this what it was supposed to feel like? A few boys had tried to kiss her in the past, not the least of which was Hans, but she had always been repulsed and nauseated by the sensation. This was … pleasant. It made her burn, yes, made her body heat up like all the fires of Múspellsheimr were burning in her chest. But maybe, just maybe, the warmth was not all that fearsome anymore.

All warmth fled when she saw Hans Suðeyingr, standing at the front of the church. With clenched fists, she took her place next to him as the priest began his liturgy. “You’re an outlaw, Hans,” she hissed once the sermon had begun. “What in Loki’s name are you doing here?”

Hans gave her a sardonic smile. “I could hardly miss the wedding, could I? I have to say, I didn’t think you’d have it in you. How long have you been letting that thrall boy do you behind my back?” Elsa wondered if God would punish her for stabbing a man to death during Mass. “No matter. Tell me, though, how did he beat me? Did your thrall mother teach you Finn seiðr, or did you fuck a boar for Vanadís?”

“Maybe you’re just not as formidable as you think,” she hissed back.

He only smiled at that, handsome and infuriating as ever. “We’ll see.” Then: “So, which is he? A thrall or an outlaw? If he were an honest man, he wouldn’t have forbidden you to ask his name.” He smirked. “We wouldn’t want people to think your boy toy had beaten me through magic or trickery rather than God’s judgment. Don’t you think he looks a bit Finnish? Ah, no matter. Just remember when you try to wash away his stench—you could have had a king’s son. Pater noster qui es …”

She went through the motions of Mass. Hans left her alone after this, but his words lingered. The stranger—her husband, by day’s end—was a nobody. He might as well be a Finnish sorcerer, though she did not think there was more of her mother’s people in him than in her. He had no allies, no housecarls, no clan that she knew of, nothing but what she brought into the marriage herself. And yet, he had fought like one of the einherjar, and spoke well and gracefully like a jarl’s son. Had his family fallen prey to a blood feud, like her own? Would his enemies come after him? Whatever the case, she had to know. He’ll tell me once we’re alone. He must.

Her groom and the other pagans of the valley awaited them as they left the church, keeping a respectful distance from the churchyard. The stranger, hands and cheek covered in the fresh blood of sacrificial victims, beamed when he saw her, and Elsa’s cheeks warmed. But then, his face fell as Hans stepped from the church behind her, and he hurried towards them. “And here comes your pet,” Hans drawled.

Her champion paid him no mind. “Is he bothering you, Elsa?”

She ground her teeth. “It’s fine. Hans was just leaving.”

Hans gave her groom a pleasant smile, as false as any he had ever shown her. A crowd of spectators, churchgoers and pagans both, had gathered around them. “I merely wanted to congratulate you on the wedding. It is not often a man so young, or so lowly, marries the daughter of a king.”

Her groom’s hand went to his axe. “You call me lowly, níðingr?”

Hans spread his arms as if to address the thing. “I call you a thrall, and a seiðmaðr, who on the holm blunted my axeblade with evil galdrar. You spared him this question before the shield-clash, so now let me ask it before all the people: what is your name, your clan, your rank?”

Part of Elsa felt oddly flattered that the stranger’s eyes immediately shot to her, even as the crowd around them gasped at the allegations. But she could not deny that the question had made her prick up her ears. Would she know her husband’s name after all?

“I need not justify myself to an outlaw and a perjurer,” her groom exclaimed, keeping his eyes on Elsa. She thought she could detect a faint quiver in his voice. “Even were you a king, I would owe you no response. There is but one I must answer. Elsa …” The words died on his lips as he stared at her, pleading.

She could end it all right now. The stranger might have powerful enemies, but she was certain he was nobly born. The judgment of the holmgang would stand. Hans would be still be outlawed, and she would be free of both men, free to—at last—inherit her father’s estate in her own right. The stranger would, no doubt, have to flee his foes, but … she barely knew him. What was he to her? Big, turquoise eyes looked at her, a faint, nervous smile. Warmth rose to her cheeks. She said: “You all saw his good deed and his manly mettle. I trust my—my husband.”

No one had looked at her like that in years, and as Elsa beheld the overwhelming love in his eyes, she felt very strange indeed.

And then, they were wed.

With the ale-horn emptied, the swords exchanged and her bridal crown removed, the revellers had wasted no time in escorting them to the bedchamber in a flurry of bawdy jokes and flirtatious banter. Her husband gave as good as he got, but by the time they were left on their own in the bridal chamber, Elsa was on the brink of panic. This was the part she had been dreading. The bedding—and the liberties some of the men had taken in relieving her of her outer garments—had not helped matters. She sat on the edge of the bed, decorated with flowers and ribbons, hugging herself despite the heat of the hall, her shoulders pulled almost up to her ears. She was dressed only in a wool shift, and felt naked and small.

Her husband closed the door behind the last of the revellers. Then, he sunk against it and exhaled a sigh. “Alone at last,” he muttered, and turned to look at her. “Elsa …” She retreated further into herself, and he sat by her side, carefully keeping a thumb’s distance from her body. “I won’t hurt you,” he whispered. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, ever again.”

“Of course,” she murmured. Quietly, she cursed herself—a sane woman would have counted herself lucky to have a husband so considerate, kind, even. This was simply part of the bargain. A sane woman would have taken Hans up on his offer. “Let’s … let’s get this over with, shall we?” That probably wasn’t what he’d been hoping to hear.

Her husband sighed. “Elsa …” Abruptly, he rose and unclasped the swan broach. His cloak dropped to the floor, and he pulled up his tunic … Elsa pressed her eyes shut. She did not need, nor want, to see this.

Eventually, the rustling of cloth ceased. “Elsa,” her husband said. His voice was low, gentle. With her eyes closed, she let her imagination run away with the sound of her name on his lips. To hear it spoken with such love and affection might have made her giddy with delight if it was not her husband speaking it. “Elsa, look at me, please.”

She forced open her eyes. Then, she gasped. Her husband’s body, naked but for a small silver necklace, was toned, every muscle well-defined. More scars were carved on his flesh like battle-runes than befitted one so young.

It was also, quite obviously, womanly. A pair of small, well-formed breasts speckled in freckles sat on her husband’s … wife’s? … chest, and a thin patch of red hair between … her … legs not only drew attention to what wasn’t there, but also made her body tingle. Instinctively, she pressed her thighs together. Her breath hitched. “You … you’re a …” The word died in her throat. A valkyrie? A seiðmaðr, like Hans had said?

“A woman,” her … spouse replied. “Like you.”  The stranger knelt in front of her, took her hands. Elsa tried not to flinch from the touch, even as it sent shivers down her spine. She’d noticed herself reacting in this way to other women’s bodies before, but never with such intensity. No doubt, the solitude of the bridal chamber and her shock had heightened her emotions.

“Forgive me,” her naked drengr explained. “I’m sorry for the deception. I intended only to protect you, not rob you of a chance at marriage.” She bit her lip. “I understand if you’re alarmed, but I promise that I’m not going to touch you. If you like, we can …”

The words fled her lips unbidden, like an evil curse. “What if I want you to?” She shut her mouth and flushed. So did the stranger. God, what a fool she was—maybe if she played it off as a joke? She opened her mouth to respond …

Once more, her drengr’s lips found hers, and her whole body lit on fire.

“I … I love … ah!”

“You look conflicted.” They lay facing each other, their bodies bare, sore and hot. It had been some time since the flood of their passion had ebbed, and it felt as though a sword’s blade lay between them, as each had suddenly grown hesitant to touch the other.

Her drengr bit her lip at Elsa’s question. “I feel like we’ve made a terrible mistake,” she murmured.

“Maybe. But it was a good mistake.” Once more she noticed the freckle right between her lover’s eyes, which she had so enjoyed kissing.

The other woman remained silent, so Elsa reached across to take her small silver hammer pendant in her hand. Elaborate knotwork decorated Mjǫllnir’s head. She had once owned a similar piece, but it had been reforged into a crucifix after her conversion. “You keep the old gods?”

“As your father did.”

She startled. “You know of my father?”

Her ‘husband’ flushed as though caught in a lie. “I know men who sailed with Sea-King Agnarr Rúnharðsson. They told many tales of his exploits.” She grinned. “And of his beautiful daughter.”

Elsa hid her red face in the pillow. She was clearly teasing, but still. “My father had two daughters,” she muttered, quietly, then looked once more at her lover. What would Anna look like now, had she lived? It was difficult to square the child she remembered with the woman she might have become.

“It’s strange,” she whispered at last. “When I first saw you, it was like waking from a dream. You seemed so familiar. Like I have seen you every night of my life.”

“Elsa, let’s not … let’s not go there.” Somewhat hesitantly, where before there had been only eagerness, her drengr leant in to kiss her, gentle and chaste.

“I don’t even know what to call you.” Hearing her name on her lips always sent shivers down Elsa’s spine. She wished she could repay that. Sitting up, she looked down at her drengr. “Now that I know you’re a woman …”

“No.” The response fell like an axe-blow. More softly, she added: “I cannot tell you who I am. Just … just know that I am no thrall. I am your equal in every respect, and my home is glorious. If King Haraldr himself offered me his crowns, I would rightly scorn them.”

“So what is this?” Flames rose in Elsa’s chest. “Do you just go around the countryside, saving maidens for sport? Is that why you won’t tell me, because you’ll abandon me for your glorious home?”

The drengr jumped up. “Never …”

“Then tell me!” Tears welled in her eyes. Her lover seized her wrists, she struggled. “How can you claim to love me, when you won’t give me even that? How can I trust you’ll stay with me when every day I live in fear?”

“Elsa, please!”

“Tell me!” She freed herself, stumbled backwards, raised her finger at her. “Tell me your name!”

“Stop!”

“Whence you have come!”

“I beg of you!”

“And what is your clan!”

The woman staggered as if struck by a hammer-blow, collapsed on the side of the bed, hid her face. Elsa lowered her outstretched finger. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Woe,” the drengr whispered, “woe to our bliss.”

Once more, they dragged her out to the thing hill. This time, it was the woman who only yesterday had made her feel like a goddess who stood before King Rúnharðr’s stone. There was nothing but disgust in the eyes of the men around her, disgust for her, the oathbreaker who had asked the forbidden question, even as Elsa stood in the mud and snow unable to look her beloved in the face. “I could refuse Hans,” her drengr said, her voice flat, “but never you.” She closed her eyes. “Hear then how I answer her forbidden question—and hear if I am not as noble as you.”

“In a distant land, far across the swan-field’s roar, there stands a fortress which is ‘Jómsborg’ called. Five score ships lie at anchor in her harbour, and a thousand men feast always in her mead hall, who call themselves Jómsvikingar. Of their number, one in ten goes bear-skinned, one in ten wears the skin of Viðrir’s hounds, and one in a score with boar-skin bristles. Each of their ranks is blooded in the sword-din, and many men to Valhöll they have sent. Those who from Jómsborg go a-viking, who fight in foreign fields for fame and wealth, bring glory to them all.

“Now hear how I honour my wife’s forbidden question: a Jómsvikingr am I, raised from childhood on. My fathers were Brynjulfr Sløngvandbaudi, who killed Fúlnir Ímisson on Orkneyjar, Engill Rúmfari, who died in Grikkland, and Strut-Haraldr, who taught me manly arts of war. But before that, I was sat on the knee of Styrbjǫrn Ólafsson, known as Styrbjǫrn Sterki, who rules as jarl in Jómsborg.

“When I was a child of ten, I was lost in the woods and set upon by three wolves. I grasped a sharp rock with which I slew one and drove off another, but the third would have killed me, had not Styrbjǫrn Sterki found and saved me. He took me to Jómsborg and raised me a Jómsvikingr. I was an orphan girl ere he made me a shieldmaiden, as I am now. My mother’s name was Iðunnr in Finna, who was the freedwoman and wife of my father, King Agnarr Rúnharðsson, but I myself am Anna Agnarrsdóttir called!”

Elsa hung her head, and Anna left.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Me neither,” Elsa confessed. Anna grinned at that and pulled her into a deep embrace. Her body was warm, soft, inviting. “But I am here.”

The snow on the holm creaked under their feet as they gathered their things. “You didn’t bring much,” Anna pointed out. “It’s a long journey to Jómsborg.”

Elsa gave her a faint smile. “I had to pack in a hurry. Besides …” she leant in to kiss her—chastely on the cheek, for now. There would be time to renegotiate their new relationship later. “I’ve got my sister back. That’s all I need.”

A cold north wind flew over the holm, tearing through their cloaks, and Elsa shivered. “I ought to have brought more furs,” she said.

Anna smirked at her, and that smirk shone more brightly in the night than Surtr’s sword. “That’s alright,” she said. “I’ll keep you warm.”

#elsanna #submission #december 2020 contest #prompt: warmth #cw: animal sacrifice #cw: blood

[sergeantfcx]

BASIC INFORMATION 

FULL NAME : John “Jack” Fox  MEANING :  JOHN | HEBREW, “GOD HAS BEEN GRACIOUS”  FOX | GAELIC, “SON OF THE FOX”  MONIKERS / NICKNAMES : Jack, Sergeant, Fox, The Idol  GENDER & PRONOUNS : CIS-MALE, HE / HIS  ETHNICITY : Italian / English 

DATE OF BIRTH / AGE : January 9th, 1811 ( 34 years old )  ZODIAC SIGN : Capricorn - pragmatic, ambitious, disciplined. ORIENTATION :  Jack is gay, a fact known to precious few. He comes from a well off family, who still harbor hopes that he’ll come back from the Arctic and settle down with a wife--he hasn’t yet worked out the language to tell them that it isn’t going to happen, that he has absolutely no sexual or romantic interest in women at all. He’s never really been in love, but he never does anything half-heartedly, and possesses all of the loyalty of a golden retriever. MARITAL STATUS : Single.  OCCUPATION : Sergeant in Her Majesty’s Royal Guards CURRENT LOCATION : H.M.S Promethean 

BACKGROUND 

PLACE OF BIRTH : Somerset, England  RESIDENCES : He went straight from his parents house, to Sandhurst Military Academy, to postings in the Seychelles, Egypt, and now the Promethean. He rents rooms when he’s in England--nothing special, as he never really knows when he’ll be posted somewhere new.  RELIGIOUS VIEWS : Church of England, casually. After coming back from Egypt, he has little to no faith in any kind of religion.  EDUCATION : Minimal. He and his brothers had tutors growing up, but he was an active child and there were always things to attend to on the farm, so none of it really stayed with him. He also graduated from Sandhurst--he took his military training far more seriously, and it made him a good soldier.  LANGUAGES SPOKEN : English, a few stray words of French, military terms in Arabic, and conversational Italian.  FAMILY :  PARENTS | RICHARD FOX, ELISABETTA ROSSO. Jack’s parents met while Richard was trying to buy mares from Elisabetta’s family in Tuscany, and they’ve been genuinely in love ever since. He has a good relationship with his mother, but there’s always been tension between father and son--Richard would have liked Jack to stay closer to home, to help his older brother run the farm, which Jack summarily rejected as a plan for his life. Since coming back from Egypt, the relationship is thawing somewhat--Richard is happy to have a hero in the family.  SIBLINGS | TOM FOX ( Older Brother ), SAM FOX ( Younger Brother ). They have a pretty good relationship--there is some resentment because the two of them had to pick up the slack at home, so that Jack could roam the globe with the military and play hero. They’re both settled with children of their own, and wish that Jack would come to that point in his life, for the sake of his own happiness.  OTHER FAMILIAL RELATIONS : He has a large extended family in Italy that he only really knows about through the letters his mother writes and receives, and he has two aunts with their own families in London. He’s never really felt like he fit in their circles, so he keeps the contact with them pretty minimal.

APPEARANCE 

FACECLAIM : Luca Marinelli HAIR COLOR / STYLE : He’s the only dark haired Fox son, and favors wearing his hair just a little bit longer than is probably permissible by military regulations. It’s constantly flopping in front of his eyes, and he’s constantly tucking it behind his ear as a kind of nervous tick. He can take or leave facial hair--it depends on the posting. In Egypt he had no scruff / beard, onboard the Promethean he’s letting it grow out. EYE COLOR / SHAPE : blue / green, almond shaped  HEIGHT : 6′0  BUILD : tall, with a lot of lean muscle.  SPEECH STYLE : The proper king’s english--with a little bit of a country accent. If he’s stressed out or frustrated, he puts less emphasis on speaking “correctly” and uses a lot of slang. The military drilled “speak only when spoken to” into him, and so he tends to be more of a listener, in conversation. RECOGNIZABLE MARKINGS : He’s a soldier who’s seen combat action! He has a lot of scars, and most of the time he can’t remember how he got them.  BEAUTY HABITS : If he’s in the field, and depending upon where in the field he is, he doesn’t bother with much more than shaving. If he’s at home, he’s kind of vain about his hair and will make sure it’s laying how he wants it, will fuss a little more with his facial hair. He knows that his looks kind of go hand in hand with his status as an “idol”, so he cares about them perhaps more than he should.

PERSONALITY 

TROPES : THE RELUCTANT HERO, BELIEVING THEIR OWN LIES, GLORY HOUND, WHAT THE HELL, HERO?, THE CHAINS OF COMMANDING  INSPIRATIONS : T.E. Lawrence ( Lawrence of Arabia ), Apsley Cherry-Garrard ( Falcon-Scott Expedition, The Worst Journey in the World ), Marcus Aquila ( The Eagle, The Eagle of the Ninth ), Solomon Tozer ( The Terror ), Edward Little ( The Terror ), Odysseus ( The Illiad, The Odyssey ), Eleanor Guthrie ( Black Sails )  MBTI : ENFJ  ENNEAGRAM : THE ACHIEVER  HOGWARTS HOUSE : GRYFFINDOR  ALIGNMENT : NEUTRAL GOOD  POSITIVE TRAITS : Loyal to his friends and the men underneath of him, charismatic, all the daring and courage of a classical hero.  NEGATIVE TRAITS : he cannot shake the spectre of the ambition that lingers in the pit of his stomach, he is incredibly adept at lying / changing a narrative to fit what he needs it to be, and justifying his own actions. HABITS : Jack is constantly tucking stray locks of hair behind his ears, pulling at the brim of his cap, and pulling at the strap of his rifle. Sitting still for too long makes him anxious and uncomfortable.  HOBBIES : Jack actually likes studying military strategy, planning for possible contingencies. He’s a great marksman and enjoys practicing with a rifle, riding horses, caring for animals in general, and he also enjoys anything that doesn’t require him to stand still / at attention. USUAL DEMEANOR : Cheerful, gregarious, and reserved in equal measure--as every good hero, and ever good soldier should be.

HEALTH 

PHYSICAL AILMENTS : Part of his ambition, his heroism, involves pushing his body to its limits and sometimes past them. He has the aches and bruises of enthusiastic over-exertion, but at this point in his career it’s more of an annoyance than anything else. He used to be the kind of person that would ignore physical ailments, but he’s improving on that front.  NEUROLOGICAL CONDITION : Jack was directly involved with the death of Tamati, and he lives with all of the psychological repercussions of that event--it mostly manifests in insomnia, moments of disassociation, and a guilt that pretty much never leaves the forefront of his mind. He’s also a habitual liar. PHOBIAS : Ghosts, which is a very recent development. He’s also deathly afraid of his secret being found out, being revealed to the people he cares about. ALLERGIES : None. SLEEPING HABITS : Jack has nightmares, and a lot of anxiety about putting himself in a position of vulnerability, so he generally forgoes long periods of sleep. He gets a couple of hours when he can, and habitually drinks coffee to keep himself going.  SOCIABILITY : Jack is incredibly outgoing! He’s an idol, an ideal that people measure themselves to, and he loves having that attention for the most part. More recently, he’s been having a hard time remembering how to be a social being--it’s easier for him to battle his demons alone, without having to explain anything to anyone else. ADDICTIONS : Smoking, occasionally. Coffee. Lying is becoming a real problem for him, a real addicting defense mechanism.

#thank u kat for the format! #the wound will take you there ; it is a blood trail | about #sorry abt everything he chooses to be!

[chaoticqueen601]

Best Friend, But It’s Not Me

It’s a short story, it’s not real.

I had a perfect best friend but I never was one, I’ll tell you how.

It was typical: a pair of polar opposites. But the fun fact is that we didn’t know what a typical best friend is at 11, we had our own definition and we never knew.

 I was new in the city I hated (it’s been 5 years, I still hate it). 7th grade, worst year. I met a junior in the same building and started hanging out, she was best friends with a girl my age and they played lawn tennis together. We never clicked. We attended common birthday parties together and talked a few sentences here and there, she seemed too innocent for a frivolous child like me. 2 months after moving in, my mother started taking maths classes for students till 8th grade, both of them joined (same society you see). Us three used to study together but it got difficult for my mom so she split us into two batches- 6th grade and 7th grade. I was studying with the innocent one and then, we clicked. We started walking together after class, she was my opposite. I used to wear shorts- she was always in a jumpsuit, I was dark- she was fair, I was tall- she was short and many other things.

 She was a good student, but I wasn’t. In her family, all is fine if you get good marks, in my family all is fine if you are happy. Both of us struggled. She was on Facebook so everyday she would show me the memes she found. This went on for two years and then the tables turned, I got Instagram and she didn’t have Facebook anymore. My best friend was not in the same school with me. So I lied to everyone, I said school was fun, no one found out the truth. In 7th grade itself we became the perfect set of best friends. I got closer to her family, her front door was always open. Every day was like this- wave her bye from my bus on my way to school, wave her hi from my bus on my way home, call her at 3 pm, have class together, walk downstairs or chill at home. Very comfortable but then 9th grade started.

Soon we grew, I started going to her house more often- her mother wasn’t very fond of me but of my height, she came around tho- I was her only friend in the society but it wasn’t like that for me. I knew many people who walked downstairs, my best friend noticed how I greeted every third person we crossed. We were used to going to the mall together, ordering take out, I used to tidy up her room in high school, she stopped coming home for tuition was over.

I never told her that I had a serious bunking issue in 9th and 10th grade, I was MIA for weeks. She came from an affluent and loving family, she was the younger sister and I was the older one but I never let her feel the difference. There was a lot of problem in my family- dad had work load, I wasn’t doing well in school and my parents were always fighting. I am an exceptionally good liar, I know what others want to hear and I am very convincing. I used to cry at home but no one knew, not even my little sister.

I am very good at keeping myself collected, I never pushed or screamed at my friends and then it happened. I went to my mom one day and told her that I wanted a divorce regardless of her feelings, I got many slaps. My father had stopped talking to me and whenever he got to know that I wasn’t doing well at school, that night I would lose my appetite. I saw my sister suffering and I couldn’t handle it so I ran away. I used to sneak out at night, I never told anyone, not even my best friend.

I had so many memories with her, same jackets, shoes, skirts, accessories but she was on the greener side but I denied thinking about it, her mom used to introduce me as her daughter. I never fought with my best friend instead I agreed with her, I hid things. Soon enough, I was at her house every day but she never knew why. She treated me like a total best friend- saying whatever she wanted to, throw continuous insults, fed me properly- but there I was, I just listened to her, I never objected her opinions or thoughts and that’s probably why she is a brat. But I was proud of her, I didn’t deserve to have her but I did, so I showed off. She was truly a best friend, all of my friends knew her but none of her’s knew me, because I was not her best friend.

On her 16th birthday I acknowledged it, she’s rich. It hit me hard, I knew where this would end up a long time ago. At the party, I saw a side to her, how her friends treated her and how she didn’t have time to even look at me but I am a liar so I kept it to myself. The most difficult was the gift, I knew what her classmates would get her because she told me everything about them. I knew that at least two wold give her make up then there would be perfumes, nail polishes and stuff toys. I knew it already, that’s why I got her a very glittery bag. I knew her reaction the moment she felt the packaging, she hadn’t even opened it yet. Who was I kidding? I wanted to leave, I was embarrassed. My gift was at one corner and I knew she would never use it, in fact I knew she would have had buried it in her closet instead of throwing or giving it away because she would have had been embarrassed if I ever asked her about it.

The funniest thing is that even though our tutor spent 2 hours daily with us, she never found out that we were friends. I couldn’t believe it when she asked me who my best friend was while I was sitting right beside her. She was the only one who didn’t know, and she thought that it was impossible. Yet, I didn’t blame her. My dad got a transfer, we were moving back to where we came from. She didn’t even sound disappointed, let alone any tear. We don’t talk anymore, I knew we would end up that way. I tried for a few months but I didn’t have a single picture of her to put as my background. My mom talks to her mom more often than we do, both ladies talk once a month, I haven’t heard her voice in 4 or 5 months. I wish she knew. I wish she won't call.

- - - - - 

This is a fictional story. 

Title: Yours Truly, Fake Best Friend Forever 

let me know your views on the narrator

#best friend #best #friend #short story #original #fake best friends #bffs #fbffs #bestfriends #girls #girlcode #funny

[nearlysilentkiller]

January 9th, [REDACTED]

    Reichard is now 18, and Annabelle in her 30s. The mother Reichard didn’t have. She acted as them when René spoke with them. It made them safe, and that’s what’s important to Annabelle. Because of this routine, Annabelle and Reichard begin to learn English, conveniently cleaning when René studied. Annabelle had thawed a bit to René, but their relationship was shaky at best.

     She goes to clean their brother’s room the day after their shared birthday at the usual time, when he’s there and they can speak but he’s gone. Nothing left but a note saying ‘until we meet again, mon cher frère’.

   She crumpled the note in frustration. Of course he would leave. Annabelle could take it, but what about Rei? Were they simply supposed to die here alone? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair he could go without them. It wasn’t fair he could be free. In a fit of rage, she packed up and climbed out of the window. Why bother with a note? No one would miss them. How cruel the world had to been to them, Annabelle hated it.

    They run away to the streets, the noise near foreign to them. How long has it been since they felt the sun? Their skin is pale as snow from their forced reclusion. Collectively they realize a bit too late they only have a bit of money to their name now, what she made as a maid.

    “[Are we going to be okay?]” Rei asked quietly

    “[We’ll make it okay. I’ll make it okay. Do not worry.]” Annabelle promised.

    They hold onto their money and stride to a shop leasing their loft apartment, setting their money on the counter with determination.

    “[I’d like to rent the apartment above, please.]”

    “[... Dear, this… Really isn’t enough.]” The lady at the counter looked up from restocking her mini-shelf. She adjusted the paper surgical mask on her face and frowned.

    “[I-it isn’t?]” She flushed, embarrassed.

    “[Have you… How old are you?]”

    “[Eighteen. Was I supposed to know better?]”

    “[Well, perhaps, but- My niece has difficulties like th- Stop!!]” The lady cried in horror, watching Reichard strike their head against the counter methodically. Upon closer inspection, this young thing looked awful.

    Their eyes have dark, dark circles, their face gaunt and haunted. They’re thin and pale, almost ghostly. They have so many scars and burns on their hands and arms. These details would be covered by René usually, or even Annabelle’s gloves but… He’s gone. They forgot to get them that morning. That wretched liar. He said he’d always be there for them and he lied. It wasn’t fair.

    The lady pulled Reichard close, away from the counter. “Shh… Shhh… [It’s okay. Do you need help?]”

    Reichard sobbed quietly in her arms, nodding. This was the first time in ages they’d been held like this, it… It got to them.

   “[What’s your name, dear?]”

   “[Reichard. … Reichard Champoux.]” They’re not an Alexandre anymore. They can’t carry the name of those people anymore. They have no family. Annabelle will be their mother now.

#tf2 #tf2 spy #tf2 fanfic #blu spy #blue spy #reichard alexandre #annabelle #reichard champoux #marie autry #blue's backstory #the reason blue doesn't understand shit or fuck about money

[psycho-slytherin]

Strangers ch. 17

Three weeks after the fanmeet, Yoongi contacts you.

Pairing: Yoongi x (female) Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Genre: Fluffy floofy flufflefloof

|mlist|

<–– Prev   Next ––>

Yoongi: We need to talk. Please.

You press your lips together and flip over your phone as Xiumin comes back from the restroom.

“Did you miss me?”

“So, so much,” you tease. “So much that I finished your dessert.”

Xiumin gasps in mock betrayal. “Y/n, how could you do this to me?”

You lick your lips. “Easily, to be honest. The cake was yummy.”

“I’ll have to get a taste of it later,” Xiumin says, eyes trained on your lips.

“I have to go home,” you reply regretfully. “I have a shift tomorrow and an essay that I haven’t gotten around to.”

“Oh, sure. I’ll drop you off,” Xiumin says, already calling for the check. Within minutes you’re back in his car, and he drops you off at your apartment with a goodbye kiss and a promise that he’ll call you.

Once you’re upstairs, you reach for phone and sigh. It’s been nearly three weeks, time to get this over with. You text Yoongi: You can call me now if u want.

No less than a minute later, you receive another text.

Yoongi: I want to talk in person. Lamppost?

It’s late, you type back.

Yoongi: When has that ever stopped us?

You sigh, dragging yourself into a standing position. You owe it to him; you did lie, after all. Throwing on a thick jacket, you set out for the tiny street, dark except for the singular lamppost that you’ve grown so fond of.

When you get there, you see Yoongi already leaning against the post, silhouetted against the light.

“Y/n.”

“Yoongi.”

There’s an agonizing pause before Yoongi speaks. “Tell me everything.”

There’s a burning in your chest, a niggling little feeling, an insistence that you can lie your way through this too. A thousand stories whirl through your head– you were there because Lisa insisted, it was just a coincidence, you’d forgotten he was an idol, what even was BTS?– but his eyes bore into you, severe yet vulnerable, as though he’s pleading with you.

You take the deepest breath of your life and look down at your hands. “2014.”

“What?”

“I’ve known you since 2014. Not your debut, I’m not that good.” You can’t look at him as you lace your fingers together. “My first music video was War of Hormone. My first bias was RM. My second bias was –is– Suga.”

You hear him inhale sharply, but you plow forward. “I know your birthday is March 9th, and I know you love meat more than anything. I know your hometown, your blood type, and your music, god…” you realize you’re rambling like an idiot, surely scaring him off, but you can’t stop now.

“I know everything about Suga, because I’m a fan. I’m an ARMY. That’s the big secret,” you tell him.

“So…” Yoongi says quietly. “This whole time…?”

“I’ve been lying to you,” you tell him bluntly. “Since the beginning, since you were Agust, the guy who helped me when I broke my shoe–” your voice breaks, and you bite your lip to keep your breathing steady.

“I’m really sorry, Yoongi, I never wanted to lie, it just got out of hand.”

“No shit. No fucking shit,” Yoongi laughs, an octave too high. “God, you– y/n. Are you… why? All of these lies, all of the… why?”

“I wanted to be your friend,” you whisper. “You needed a friend. Someone that you can talk to, outside of the boys.”

“Don’t tell me what I needed!” Yoongi hisses. “I needed the truth, the one thing you’ve never given me.”

“I tried so hard, but you never gave me a chance,” you say pleadingly. “Every way I turned, it was ‘having a female friend is so refreshing’, ‘my fans don’t want to know the real me’– what am I supposed to think? If I hadn’t lied to you, you wouldn’t know my name!”

“I–” Yoongi’s shoulders tense, and you realize he might say that it would’ve been preferable, and god, if he does your heart might break–

“You’re right.” he says.

“What?”

Yoongi scratches his head. “Yeah, I’m angry, but… I haven’t been a perfect friend either, and whatever you saw at that fanmeet–” he shakes his head. “Nothing happened. I didn’t meet that girl.”

“Oh.”

“Just saying.”

“Yoongi, I’m–”

“Y/n, really–”

You freeze. “You first.”

“No, go ahead.”

You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry for lying to you.”

“I’m sorry for making you feel like you had to lie,” Yoongi replies. “You’re right, if you’d told the truth then I wouldn’t  know your name, and even with all the craziness…” he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t give that up for anything.”

You blink twice. “Wait, so…?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Everything’s out in the open now, right?” he eyes you. “Right?”

“Right. Nothing– no more lies,” you stammer.

“Then let’s stay friends. Please,” he says. “That is… if you want to?”

You don’t need words to respond, not when you can just hug him tightly and for the first time in months you relax into his arms, and you can breathe, and about a thousand tons of weight are lifted off your shoulders.

“I’m, uh… I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says after you’ve pulled away. “That girl, I mean, at the fanmeet.”

“You’re only human, Yoongi,” you shrug. Yes, it did upset you, but without any sort of reasoning you’re not going to take it out on him. “Besides, I should thank you.”

Yoongi stares. “You should?”

“Sure. I ended up getting together with my boyfriend because of it.”

Yoongi’s mouth hangs open. “You have a…? I mean, of course, right, sorry, yeah.” He kicks at the ground. “Is it that guy from before? The…” he snaps his fingers. “The X guy?”

“Xiumin, yeah. We’ve been dating since the day of the fanmeet. Since my…” you falter. “My birthday.”

“It was your birthday?” Yoongi asks softly.

“Yes, but don’t worry or anything,” you tell him. “I still had a lot of fun.”

“I’m glad,” he says. “I feel like such an idiot– I should’ve known, or… or something.” Despite the darkness masking his expression, you can sense that he’s not talking about your birthday anymore.

“It’s not your fault,” you reply. “I’m a good liar.”

“Yeah, but for months? And we texted all the time– did Lisa know?”

“No, it was just me.” You think that’s it, that’s the end of the confession, and you’re about to turn around when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he whispers, and your breath hitches at the emotion in his voice. “I know what it’s like to have to be someone all the time, and you didn’t have anyone to lean on… you must’ve been going crazy.”

“Maybe a little,” you confess to lighten the mood. “But it was worth it.”

“Y/n, I–”

You check the time and yelp. “I need to get going! Fuck, I’ve got an essay to write and work and…” you look at him helplessly. “I’m sorry again, for everything.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Yoongi says with a weak smile. “I’m just glad you don’t need to lie anymore.”

Me too. More than you know. You blink hard and stick out your hand. “Friends? For real this time?”

“Of course,” Yoongi shakes. “And as your friend I owe you a very belated birthday gift.”

You sigh bemusedly as the car pulls up to the curb. “How does it do that?”

Yoongi winks. “Magic. C’mon, we’ll give you a ride.”

You’re certainly not going to turn down his offer. The car ride is quiet and for the first time, so are your thoughts. You’re not worried about accidentally making a reference, or blurting out something you have no right knowing. You feel completely, entirely at peace.

The car stops in front of your building and you get out.

“Goodnight, Yoongi.”

There’s a smile in Yoongi’s voice. “Goodnight, y/n.”

You go upstairs and work on your essay until the sky begins to lighten. Sitting back, you rub your eyes and yawn– you weren’t planning on pulling an all-nighter, but you need to get your work out of the way. Besides, you’re seeing Xiumin later and you don’t want to be stressed.

By midmorning, your lack of sleep is taking a toll: you nearly fall asleep during a scene in Improv and you forget how basic addition works during your math class.

“Ugh,” you groan during lunch, pressing your cheek against the table.

Lisa pokes you with a chopstick. “Are you okay? You’re not usually this dead by noon.”

“I need sleep,” you grumble. You haven’t slept well in a few weeks and last night’s all-nighter didn’t help.

“Such a sleepy bean. No wonder you’re a Suga bias,” Lisa teases.

“And you’re either a cinnamon roll or a sinnamon roll, so it makes sense that you like Jimin,” you reply.

Lisa gasps in mock horror. “Meanie!”

“I don’t hear you denying it.”

“Yeah, because I can’t,” Lisa says, glancing at her phone. “Hey, I’ve got to get going, I need to convince my lit teacher that I deserve to pass.”

“Good luck,” you say before faceplanting back on the table. A few minutes later you feel a tap on your shoulder.

“Lisa…?”

“No, it’s just me,” Xiumin says, sliding into the seat next to you. “Sorry to disappoint.”

You lean into his embrace. “How could you disappoint me?”

“Fair,” Xiumin says. “Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to go watch a movie this weekend?”

“Yeah, let me…” you yawn. “Let me check my calendar.”

“You seem really tired. Did you get any sleep?” Xiumin asks, his voice laced with concern.

“You’re sweet, and I’m fine,” you reply. “Just chatted with a friend and worked on my essay. Took me all night.”

“Aish, that’s not healthy.” Xiumin says, kissing the top of your head. “You need to figure out your sleep schedule.”

“Mm, I’ll just tell my insomnia to go away, that’ll fix it.” you snuggle into him.

“You only have one afternoon class, yeah? Go home and sleep. Your shift isn’t until tonight anyways.”

You yawn again, too tired to argue. “M’kay.”

“Good. I’ll see you later, y/n.” Xiumin presses a kiss to your cheek and then he’s gone.

You suffer through your next class, hanging onto your consciousness by a thread, and as soon as you get home you damn near collapse. Your head barely gets a chance to hit the pillow before you’re down for the count.

You wake up a few hours later to notice a missed call from Yoongi. Curious, you call him back.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Yoongi, what’s up? Is something wrong?”

You hear a laugh on the other end of the line. “Not at all, I was just wondering how you’re doing. I told the guys everything… I couldn’t keep it from them after Jin saw you at the fanmeet.”

“Oh?” you should’ve expected this, but you don’t want them to be mad at you.

“Yeah, Tae’s a bit pissed and Jungkook is embarrassed ‘cause he called you noona, but for the most part they understand. Still, if you want to visit sometime to get back on the maknae line’s good side, you’re welcome to.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. How are you, Yoongi? Are you eating enough?” you’ve been scrolling through some fansites recently and noticed him looking skinnier than usual.

“Yeah, I–” Yoongi sighs. “Maybe not. I can’t afford to be chubby, or–”

“Min Yoongi, you’d better start eating well,” you say sternly. “Seriously. The main thing your fangirls want is for you to take care of yourself.”

“How do you know– oh.” Yoongi says in realization. “I guess you would know, wouldn’t you?”

You smile. “I would. Eat, sleep, don’t go too hard on yourself. All that jazz.” you’re telling him everything you and your fellow ARMYs have always wanted to say. “Oh, and tell Jungkook to pull his shirt up more often, I personally know someone that actually fainted from that bit of choreography.”

“It wasn’t you, I hope?” Yoongi says teasingly.

“Of course not. I told you, I stan Suga. Have you heard of him? He’s a great lyricist,” you say mirthfully, leaning back on your pillow.

“Mm, no, can’t say I know him,” Yoongi replies, playing along. “Sounds like a great guy.”

“He really is.”

The line is quiet for a second, before Yoongi clears his throat. “Well, I have to get going.”

“Comeback rehearsal?”

“How did you–” Yoongi clucks his tongue. “Right. Forgot. Jeez, you really know everything.”

“Yeah, but I’ll shut up. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You couldn’t make me uncomfortable. In fact, it’s kind of fun. I don’t know many fans that’ll tell me exactly what they think, with zero filter.”

“Aw, I feel special. Now go on to your rehearsal,” you say. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“You will?”

“Duh, you’re the only person I know who’s up as late as I am all the time.”

“What about your boyfriend?”

You pause. “He’s a morning person.”

“Huh. Alright, I really have to get going,” Yoongi says.

“Bye, Yoongi.”

“Bye, y/n.”

A/N Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading!! My inbox is always open and I cherish whatever feedback you may have. Feel free to let me know your thoughts :)

#bts #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #bantansonyeondan #bangtan boys #bulletproof boy scouts #beyond the scene #yoongi #suga #min yoongi #bts suga #min suga #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #bts angst #bts drama #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi drama #suga fic #suga fanfic #suga fanfiction #suga fluff #suga angst #suga drama

[delicatelyhaunted]

A thing about my asexuality

All the trigger warnings.

TW: rape, sex, emotional abuse, gaslighting, victim blaming, drugs, abortion

This is a very personal account and rather detailed. The most triggering, detailed section has large headers above and below for when it starts and when it ends. Reader beware. (That part is one paragraph)

Word count below cut: 2,734

Okay, so this is going to be more like a lot about me and my asexuality.

Asexuality comes in many forms. I am sex-repulsed and genitalia-repulsed. 

Yes, I have a kid. We’re going to get to that.

Let me tell you the tale of when my sexual life began.

I was 14. I lived in a not so little town in Arkansas. My sister was off to college, and I had no idea that my mother was sabotaging my sisterly relationship. Granted, she’s 5 years older than me and like many teenagers, didn’t want to hang out with her bratty little sister. (Our grandmother spoiled the shit out of me while being very hateful and abusive to my older sister and our older brother. Seriously, it was fucked up, and I fully admit I was a rotten child.)

I was in 9th grade. In most of Arkansas, this is still this thing called “junior high”. You’re still earning credits for high school, and you’re still a freshman, but it’s like a mediation to get us prepped for the high school environment. The schools, jr high and high school were right next door to each other. We lived close enough to the schools that the buses, to be more time and fuel efficient, didn’t make stops in my neighborhood. This meant I walked to school. 8 minutes. It was an 8 minute walk. No big deal. I did this since the middle of 8th grade, when we moved there. Traffic from the schools was annoying as all get out, but I still got home right at 8 minutes if I didn’t stop at the park on the way home.

It was a miserably hot, September day, and I wore my usual apparel. A floaty knee-length skirt and some tee shirt. Probably had a smart-ass saying on it. Likely one of my sister’s hand me downs (that at that point, I really liked.) I was walking home from school, like normal, passing a yard that had some bushes near the sidewalk. They were tall grasses. I had my backpack up on both shoulders, as usual.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Until something yanked on my backpack. Hard. Like someone grabbed the handle at the top. I spun around, expecting one of my friends to be messing with me, telling me I forgot a binder or something. 

Instead, I see a man’s chest. I was in the process of quickly looking up to his face when he grabbed both of my shoulder straps, from the front, and half-dragged, half-carried me into a garden shed.

I was raped.

Super triggering details in italics below

I was pinned down on my back, one arm ending up painfully twisted, and a dirty, gas stained rag was stuffed in my mouth. He pushed up my skirt and angrily tugged down my underwear. Somehow this disgusting man new my whole name and grunted it with each movement as he raped me. I was crying so hard from the confused of being forced into the shed and the pain of what he was doing, that I could barely make out anything more than a dark shirt and lightish brown hair, and that he was white.

Super triggering part is done

When he was done with me, he just....left the shed and headed toward some houses further down this side street. I hastily rearranged my clothes after ripping this rag out of my mouth that tasted like a lawnmower and I fled, back toward the tall grasses where I could see the sidewalk peeking through. 

I managed to dart across the street, and into the park bathroom. I wiped my face, splashed cold water, and tried to flatten my hair. My thoughts raced. “What am I gonna do? Why did this happen to me? What did I do?”

I halfway ran home. 

My mother didn’t even seem to notice anything was wrong.

 I couldn’t tell her. I was “too ugly” to be raped. I would have been “saying that for attention.” “No one would ever believe” me. This is the garbage that rape culture feeds young girls and women alike. I never reported it. I got my revenge, but that’s not the point.

You see, I hadn’t done anything to provoke anyone. No rape victim ever does.  But this story is about my asexuality,  not about my rape.

Back to asexuality then. I was 14. I wasn’t sexual. I was focused on school, on working hard, getting perfect grades, and getting into college or university on grants and scholarships, like my sister had done. It was the only way for us to get there. We were dirt poor. I didn’t think about dating, or who’s hot, or having sex or anything. In fact, it confused me when other people  my age did. I was a snotty little nerd who prided herself on being the Best Student and getting the Best Grades and being the teacher’s favorite, raising my hand for every question and knowing the answer. Annoying, right?

I never had a chance to explore my sexuality. I had been traumatized. It was going untreated and unspoken. No one knew what happened for nearly 9 years. When a boy at school was being a douchecanoe and actually grabbed my pussy, I lashed at his face with the keys I held like claws. Yeah, I’d seen that tip on the news, about carrying your keys between your clenched fingers. I missed his face, but barely. The other students laughed and thought I couldn’t take a joke. 

“It’s not fucking funny, you immature assholes!”

I try not to be suspicious of him. He has never acted that way toward me before. I try to tell myself “it was coincidence. I just noticed those things more since I’d been attacked. It wasn’t someone he knew.” Because that would be utterly terrifying. But how did the guy know my name, and why was this kid suddenly acting this way toward me? It still nags at me, and I’m 27 now. I was 14 then.

But back to asexuality. Again. I never had a chance to explore. I was terrified. I was traumatized. I had PTSD that wouldn’t be named or acknowledged for several years. I was in attack mode every minute of every day. I didn’t sleep well. I had to force myself to eat. I ran home, on the other side of that street, and stayed away from tall grasses, or dense trees, because I was so afraid. 

I was afraid of intimacy. I was afraid of anything more than hand-holding. I knew boys get horny when they start kissing, so I stayed away from that. I knew that society called girls liars and never blamed the boys. I knew all the blame lines.

I still dressed the same, weather permitting, because those were my clothes. I loved them. But I was afraid of relationships, of being alone with boys who expressed liking me at all. I was scared, and I became mean to push boys away. It worked.

I never had the chance to explore my sexuality. Not like a person who hadn’t been raped right after puberty. 

I missed two menstrual cycles, and was terrified I was pregnant. So I talked to one of my “loser” friends, one of the outcasts, and got some cocktail of pills that it took a lot to pay for. I’m talking “I did 4 8-page book reports in a week” a lot. I took them, at home, at night, in my bed, so my mother wouldn’t know. So if anything happened, like throwing up or the abortion I took them for, I could clean myself up. Hopefully without her knowing.

And I did. I had never been so fucked up in my life. I was scared, and I was crying, and it wasn’t the trauma, it was the feeling of a cocktail of pills racing through my veins. I knew I was going to die. I knew I had taken too much, and it was going to kill me. And I prayed for that. 

I started bleeding. I rushed into the bathroom and tried to clean it off. I wasn’t bleeding out, and it wasn’t my period. So I knew....I knew I was right. I had been pregnant. I stayed in the bathroom for hours. I eventually grabbed a couple maxi pads and went back into my bedroom. I was in pain, but the bleeding wasn’t any worse, but I honestly don’t remember if it was any lighter. I still wasn’t convinced the pills wouldn’t kill me.

I passed out, but I lived. Physically unscathed by my overdose-induced abortion.

Several years later, in a different school, in a different state entirely, I met this crazy ass bitch who would become my best friend. I eventually confided in her that I had been raped years earlier. She never seemed to doubt me.

When I was 18, I met a guy who manipulated me into being his personal sex doll. The first time, I willingly agreed, figuring he was attractive, he was into me, blahblahblah. I figured that I was okay about sex now, and that having sex was just a normal part of modern relationships. The first time with him was unpleasant. But I also knew his temper, so I lied. And then he pressured me over and over and over, and I was scared to say know. By then, my pokerface was wicked so he probably thought I was into it, or he didn’t really care. I kept not saying no because I didn’t want to see his temper unleashed on me. 

Spoiler: That is not consensual sex, that is coercive rape. It was manipulation and indirect threat.

I snapped at his paranoia one day after he told me “the light from your stereo makes you so beautiful when you sleep (I lived on the 2nd level, with no back stairs, and he never slept at my apartment. Stalker-much?) and that if I don’t stop flirting with this guy at school he was gonna beat him to death. From this guy, that was a valid threat. And while I did have feelings for this potential victim, I gave up trying to date him and would merely talk to him and hug him, as I did with many friends in high school. My boyfriend at the time didn’t go to school with me, and admitted to having people watch me for him. Icing on the stalker cake.

So I dumped him. On the spot. He threatened to kill me, so I went to the cops. I was terrified all over again. At that point in my life, it wasn’t easy to scare me. But I was scared. He was arrested. 

That was my unhealthy, initially willing introduction to sex. Even after the willing time, I wasn’t into it.

I did have some healthy, completely consensual sex with other boyfriends after that guy, even if the boyfriends turned out to be unhealthy assholes. I still wasn’t into sex!

When I was 23, my depression had gotten so bad I needed to see a doctor. I was diagnosed with sever major depressive disorder, “just short of a psych ward, because you aren’t actively suicidal” and severe chronic generalized anxiety disorder. She also said, “Insomnia is in here too, but since it’s a symptom of both and you seem to manage okay, we’ll leave it as a symptom.” Great. (Now I suspect it’s DSPS and not insomnia.)

Before I could get my prescription filled, I had to have at least one session with a therapist. Okay, no big deal. She was great. I wish I could have made it a regular thing. She let me talk, but guided the conversation. She confirmed my diagnosis as well as telling me (after a conversation about prescription drug abuse in my last high school) that I very likely also have ADD. “That drug doesn’t work that way unless you have ADD.” Which honestly, explains so much about my life.

And then she asked me if I have additional questions, since time was almost up.

“Yeah. I have a friend....she encouraged me to ask you about PTSD. Cause you see.....” I told her I was raped when I was 14. “....and my friend says I have a lot of the markers for it. Hypervigilance, heightened reflexes, the anxiety, trust issues....” I listed off a few more of what popped up when I looked it up online, but only the things that pertained to me. She asked me about a couple of the symptoms, how they existed in my life. 

She told me, “You seem to have textbook PTSD.”

“Yeah but that’s a little too......perfect of a set of--”

“There is a textbook definition for a reason. It’s still valid if your symptoms match perfectly.

“But it was almost a decade ago...”

“It’s called post traumatic disorder. It doesn’t matter how many years after. It’s still after the trauma happened.”

So yeah, while I wasn’t officially diagnosed, I don’t think I was anyway, a licensed therapist confirmed during a session. Thank you friend, if you are reading this, because I would never have thought I had it, or spoken to a professional, if you hadn’t encouraged me to. Knowing I have PTSD helps a lot. And it’s thanks to you <3 

Moving on, back to sexual relationships.

When I decided “yeah I don’t like sex” and decided to be upfront when the next boyfriend wanted to go there, he outright emotionally abused me. told me I was broken. Told me he loved me and he would do anything to be with me, but that I only agreed to sex because he wanted it, I was broken, damaged, a bitch, etc. This came with a lot of gaslighting, with me supposedly saying things I never said, or telling him something he said and him claiming he never said it and that I was hearing things. And he was good at it. I was losing my mind. I thought maybe I am hearing things, and I tried to change so much about myself because he was smart and talked about big things like science and we could talk politics without fighting, etc. My clothes, my hair, my makeup, my jewelry, my tone of voice, everything that made me me. My identity I worked so hard to sculpt.

I eventually got away from him. Guess what? I still don’t like sex. 

He wasn’t the only one like that. A couple said they were going to do things to fix me.”

And I don’t like genitals. They’re gross to me. I don’t care that others like it, just keep it away from me. That goes for sex and genitals.

But to repeat myself. I never got to experiment with my sexuality like most people.

I was raped. No, I haven’t cried typing this, or had to stop since I started typing this. I can talk about it all day long because I’ve had supportive friends who have made that possible by taking me seriously. And no, my memory wasn’t repressed, which is a good thing, even though it’s been hard, because it never snuck up on me.

The true connection, though, is that my asexuality could very well be trauma based. I’m also aro, which could also be trauma based, due to the cycle of emotional abuse I’ve been through, cause clearly I suck at picking boyfriends. 

TLDR; Whether my orientations are trauma based or not. It doesn’t matter. I am what I am, I have words for what I am (thank you tumblr) and it’s all still very valid.

And believe it or not, this is a shorter version. I could go on. But I won’t. Because it’s after midnight, I’m cold, and I want to sleep. The black cat keeps staring at me, curled up on my bed, waiting for me.

(Final note: That sister of mine? We have a great relationship now. We had to work to repair it, but I’m super glad we did. She is absolutely one of my best friends and biggest supporters. In fact, she follows my blogs and will be reading this after she wakes up and has time. This has more detail in it than she’s seen or heard before and I’m fully aware some of this will be new to her.)

#trigger warning #this is also why I am changing my name #it takes me back to that day every single time I hear it #tag edit to announce tumblr posted it on the wrong goddamned blog #i see desktop version hasnt fixed that -.-

[eldritche-hq-blog]

NANNETTE LEWIS ●  LIVES ON 9TH FLOOR  ● FLEXIBLE ● THEIR EYES WERE WATCHING ● OPEN ●  NAFESSA WILLIAMS

i must go on standing / you can’t break that which isn’t yours — regina spektor 

personality

I can tell already that you think I’m the dragon. Should I be meek? Should I be cowed? Should I apologize for not mourning the death of humanity? You know, we’re not dead yet. There’s still life outside, and I’m not the sort to give up so easily. The champagne is still flowing, the band is playing on, so why shouldn’t we enjoy it? You think I’m the dragon, but I could be the princess. There’s a sentimental heart in this chest, susceptible to hurt and to sorrow. I was a little girl once, believing in frog princes and glass slippers. I see frogs for what they are now, and I got enough sense to see the warts and mucus. Foolish girls get caught, get cursed, get locked in towers. Now, me ... I can protect myself. My forked tongue, my breath of fire, my scales and talons — You can’t destroy that which brings destruction. And, okay. So, I’m the dragon. Big deal.

A man is not an island, but who said anything about a woman being a castle?My foster mother used to say the body was like a temple. My body is no temple, no alter for sacrifice. It’s my fortress, and it’s owned by no one by me. There are others in the apartment, in our black city, that are unwinding. I’m not unwinding, and I’m not breaking because you can’t break what’s already broken. I don’t care — if I have to leave the others behind to make sure I live, I will. Call it selfish, call it cold, but no one’s going to tear down this castle but the hands that built it. What’s a little more chaos going to hurt? The world’s already burning; why not breathe more fire? We all die, we all eventually go, but I will not go quietly or alone. There must be some company in hell.

about nannette

one. He split my mother’s face in two. Two halves, asymmetrical and red. He held his weapon with such bravado, such pride. He did not see me, small, watching, from the cabinet. I was curled up, sweating and biting my hands to stop my cries. The weapon fell. I heard it clatter, imagined Momma’s clean floors speckled and spattered with crimson. She would be so angry, so mad when she woke up. When she pieced her face together, when she put her nose and mouth back. When I’m older, when I am the age I am now, I will remember how it felt to touch her cold, red skin. Her eyes, dull stones, with no life in them, her clever mouth split in half. I’ll remember how small I was when I took a bag and filled with it clothes, books, my toothbrush. How I called for a neighbor and sat in their stuffy house until somebody came for me. Two halves, asymmetrical and bloody. He is always in a shadow, she is always bright red. He left after showering, she left in a black bag. My mother, split. Her killer, shrouded. I live for shadows, but I still curse the dark of a cabinet.

two. Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly. Come sit on my foster parents’ couch. Unbutton your shirt, let me see your tattoos and that scar you got from riding your motorcycle. I’m eighteen and fearless, lawless. My old man and lady are kind-faced, but everyday I see them turning colder. I’m untamable, you know. They tried their hardest, really, to turn me into something sweet. They called me a soft name, pink and frilly for a princess, but I shucked it off like a too-tight shirt. I crawled on walls, I spun webs of stories and lies so thick it trapped strangers, siblings, innocents. Angry or expectant, I was renamed. Anansi — trickster, liar, mischievous little thing. Overnight, I grew eight legs, eight eyes and a mandible. I, young and with secret fears, learned to see at night, how to crawl under doors and sneak out of windows. So, please, if you will, show me those tattoos of yours. Place your hands on my hips, say something charming, amusing. Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly. It’s never the bite that kills — it’s the poison.

three. A man on the street asks if I’ve seen his daughter. I can’t see much of him; just the whites of his eyes, the yellow of his teeth. His hands feel dry and clammy against mine. He’s panting, breathless and cold. He tells me that she’s young, that she’s sweet and innocent. He takes something from his pocket and waves it in front of my face. I can’t see her, his daughter. She’s a shadow, a flash of white and grey and a little yellow. He says that she went down an alleyway, that she likes to wander. Help me, he cries. Please, my precious baby girl. Which alley, I ask. His eyes, white, flash. That one. That one there. There’s no lights in the alley, no sounds, no people, but he insists his daughter’s there and frightened. Won’t you help? Just follow me down. Bring a match, please. I leave him, upset I even entertained him. Turn my back on the man, turn from his white eyes and yellow teeth. I swear, I swear. I swear I heard a godless scream.

contacts & connections

one. They slammed on the door from the other side, begging for somebody, anybody, to let them in, to keep them safe. My tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth, and I wait until there’s no more noise, no more slamming. I warm my apartment with dead men’s candles. 

two. If Tatiana wants help, she’ll have to find it in hell. I take her portion of the food, and say I stole it from a stranger. Her wrists are like twigs now, and I can break them without trouble. When she is through, when she is finished, I will use her bones in stew and what remains of her flesh as my meat.

three. Valentino brings me into his apartment, and shows me my future in candle-wax and tea leaves. I tell him I have no hold with superstition, too strong am I, and he laughs. I break the teacup — my future ruined — and in the mess of leaves and chamomile, the shards of glass become teeth.

#open ch #tiww ch #open character #nafessa williams fc #nannette lewis

[numbersbythebook]

9th Hebrew letter “Tet” & the Ninth Chapter of Revelation

written by Will Schumacher

The ninth letter of the Hebrew alphabet is the “Tet”. It is a picture of a coiled snake. I have posted on this letter “Tet” and the number nine numerous times.  Nine and tet refer to the revealing of our true identity.  Are we God’s and marked by Him or are we the world’s and marked by satan.

I have a post on the number 9 if you care to read it in the archives.  The number 9 is very interesting because whenever you multiply 9 by another number the sum of the integers always reduces to adding to 9.  For instance 4 x 9 = 36. 3 + 6 = 9. Or 225 x 9 = 2025.  2 + 2 + 5 = 9.  Or 109 x 9 = 981.  9 + 8 + 1=18=1+ 8 =9.  I’m sure you get the picture.

The mathematical property of the number seems to be a reflection of the meaning of the mumber 9.  The hidden true identity inside. Just as the Israelites walked through a wilderness full of serpents and scorpions so do we:

Deuteronomy 8:15 Who led thee through that great and terrible wilderness, wherein were fiery serpents, and scorpions, and drought, where there was no water; who brought thee forth water out of the rock of flint;

I have a post on the scorpions and serpents of the wilderness here: https://numbersbythebook.tumblr.com/post/625295374682390528/spiritual-battle-with-serpents-scorpions

Chapter nine of Revelation is a picture of the serpents and scorpions of the world that God allows to reveal our inner character and who we truly love and trust in:

James 1:2 My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations;             James 1:3 Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience.       James 1:4 But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing.

Hannukah is the feast of the 9th month. It is about overcoming the world or assimilation.  You could say it is the overcoming of the serpents and scorpions God allows in this world of testing to see what our true identity is. The 9th commandment is to not bear false witness.  The snakes and scorpions of this world bear false witness of who God is. The world tries to tell us to be our own Gods following our own rules.  The world tells us Gods’s laws are a burden.  The first liar in the Bible is Satan lying to Eve.  He is the father of lies. Recall from Revelation chapter eight that the trumpet blasts are pictures of the Church giving warnings. The “wind” of the Holy Spirit blowing through the vessels of God. One of the uses of the trumpet was to give a warning of impending danger or war.  These 2 trumpet blasts are the calls to fight the spiritual warfare that is all around us.  Paul spoke of this spiritual warfare:

Ephesians 6:12 For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.

The fifth trumpet blast is about this spiritual warfare; the locusts were prepared for war:

Revelation 9:7 The locusts looked like horses prepared for battle. On their heads they wore something like crowns of gold, and their faces resembled human faces.

Locusts in the Old Testament can refer to armies-read the book of Joel.  Here the army is a spiritual army. The locusts are compared to scorpions.

Revelation 9:3 And out of the smoke locusts came down on the earth and were given power like that of scorpions of the earth.

In the Bible scorpions can be a picture of the enemy:

Ezekiel 2:6 And you, son of man, do not be afraid of them or their words. Do not be afraid, though briers and thorns are all around you and you live among scorpions. Do not be afraid of what they say or be terrified by them, though they are a rebellious people.

Luke 10:19 Behold, I give unto you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy: and nothing shall by any means hurt you.

These scorpions have no power over those who trust in Him, just like the Israelites in the wilderness.

Revelation 9:4 They were told not to harm the grass of the earth or any plant or tree, but only those people who did not have the seal of God on their foreheads.

Twice the time period of “five months” is used. The Genesis flood lasted 150 days or 5 months. The eight souls saved in the ark were lifted up and above the flood and protected like those sealed in their foreheads are protected from the scorpions.

Genesis 7:24 The waters flooded the earth for a hundred and fifty days. Revelation 9:5 They were not allowed to kill them but only to torture them for five months Revelation 9:10 They had tails with stingers, like scorpions, and in their tails they had power to torment people for five months.

Much of the imagery of the fifth trumpet blast is from the book of Joel. Their leader is Satan and I believe this fifth trumpet blast is a picture of the first beast of Revelation 13. I believe the sixth trumpet blast warning is a picture of the “false prophet” second beast of Revelation 13. This false prophet continually is hurting people with their mouth.  It is repeated 3 times:

Revelation 9:17 And thus I saw the horses in the vision, and them that sat on them, having breastplates of fire, and of jacinth, and brimstone: and the heads of the horses were as the heads of lions; and out of their mouths issued fire and smoke and brimstone.

Revelation 9:18 By these three was the third part of men killed, by the fire, and by the smoke, and by the brimstone, which issued out of their mouths.

Revelation 9:19 For their power is in their mouth, and in their tails: for their tails were like unto serpents, and had heads, and with them they do hurt.

At the conclusion of Chapter 9 we see the word “repented” used twice.  This is the goal of the trumpet blasts, the goal of the Church, to see people repent and come to Christ.

Revelation 9:20 And the rest of the men which were not killed by these plagues yet repented not of the works of their hands, that they should not worship devils, and idols of gold, and silver, and brass, and stone, and of wood: which neither can see, nor hear, nor walk:

Revelation 9:21 Neither repented they of their murders, nor of their sorceries, nor of their fornication, nor of their thefts.

#will schumacher #Hebrew Letter Tet #Nine #Book of Revelation #Revelation 9 #trumpets #scorpions #serpents #Beast #False Prophet #Jesus #Trumpet Blasts #repentance

[dfroza]

and everything that reveals truth is light to the soul.

This is why the Scripture says,

“Arise, you sleeper! Rise up from your coffin and the Anointed One will shine his light into you!”

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 5th chapter of the Letter of Ephesians:

Be imitators of God in everything you do, for then you will represent your Father as his beloved sons and daughters. And continue to walk surrendered to the extravagant love of Christ, for he surrendered his life as a sacrifice for us. His great love for us was pleasing to God, like an aroma of adoration—a sweet healing fragrance.

And have nothing to do with sexual immorality, lust, or greed—for you are his holy ones and let no one be able to accuse you of them in any form. Guard your speech. Forsake obscenities and worthless insults; these are nonsensical words that bring disgrace and are unnecessary. Instead, let worship fill your heart and spill out in your words.

For it has been made clear to you already that the kingdom of God cannot be accessed by anyone who is guilty of sexual sin, or who is impure or greedy—for greed is the essence of idolatry. How could they expect to have an inheritance in Christ’s kingdom while doing those things?

Don’t be fooled by those who speak their empty words and deceptive teachings telling you otherwise. This is what brings God’s anger upon the rebellious! Don’t listen to them or live like them at all. Once your life was full of sin’s darkness, but now you have the very light of our Lord shining through you because of your union with him. Your mission is to live as children flooded with his revelation-light! And the supernatural fruits of his light will be seen in you—goodness, righteousness, and truth. Then you will learn to choose what is beautiful to our Lord.

And don’t even associate with the servants of darkness because they have no fruit in them; instead, reveal truth to them. The very things they do in secret are too vile and filthy to even mention. Whatever the revelation-light exposes, it will also correct, and everything that reveals truth is light to the soul. This is why the Scripture says,

“Arise, you sleeper! Rise up from your coffin and the Anointed One will shine his light into you!”

So be very careful how you live, not being like those with no understanding, but live honorably with true wisdom, for we are living in evil times. Take full advantage of every day as you spend your life for his purposes. And don’t live foolishly for then you will have discernment to fully understand God’s will. And don’t get drunk with wine, which is rebellion; instead be filled continually with the Holy Spirit. And your hearts will overflow with a joyful song to the Lord. Keep speaking to each other with words of Scripture, singing the Psalms with praises and spontaneous songs given by the Spirit! Always give thanks to Father God for every person he brings into your life in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

And out of your reverence for Christ be supportive of each other in love. For wives, this means being devoted to your husbands like you are tenderly devoted to our Lord, for the husband provides leadership for the wife, just as Christ provides leadership for his church, as the Savior and Reviver of the body. In the same way the church is devoted to Christ, let the wives be devoted to their husbands in everything.

And to the husbands, you are to demonstrate love for your wives with the same tender devotion that Christ demonstrated to us, his bride. For he died for us, sacrificing himself to make us holy and pure, cleansing us through the showering of the pure water of the Word of God. All that he does in us is designed to make us a mature church for his pleasure, until we become a source of praise to him—glorious and radiant, beautiful and holy, without fault or flaw.

Husbands have the obligation of loving and caring for their wives the same way they love and care for their own bodies, for to love your wife is to love your own self. No one abuses his own body, but pampers it—serving and satisfying its needs. That’s exactly what Christ does for his church! He serves and satisfies us as members of his body.

For this reason a man is to leave his father and his mother and lovingly hold to his wife, since the two have become joined as one flesh. Marriage is the beautiful design of the Almighty, a great mystery of Christ and his church. So every married man should be gracious to his wife just as he is gracious to himself. And every wife should be tenderly devoted to her husband.

The Letter of Ephesians, Chapter 5 (The Passion Translation)

marriage is a sacred bond of husband & wife according to our Creator’s design, which is the only “safe place” for sex.

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 9th chapter of the book of Jeremiah about the importance of truth:

Jeremiah: O that my head were a spring of water

and my eyes a fountain of tears;

Then I could weep day and night for my poor people

who have been slaughtered.

O that I had a place in the desert I could run to,

a haven for travelers.

Then I could leave my people,

for they are all an adulterous and treacherous lot.

Eternal One: With tongues bent like bows they shoot their lies at one another.

Truth does not win out in this land; deceit always seems to triumph.

One evil leads to another because they don’t know who I am.

Let everyone be careful of his neighbor,

and think twice before he trusts his brothers;

For every brother is ready to cheat and deceive;

every neighbor is prepared to lie when it suits him.

In this land of liars, friends have no misgivings about deceiving one another;

no one even thinks to tell the truth.

They’ve trained their tongues to utter lies;

they wear themselves out with all their sinning.

Jeremiah, you live in a place where deception is assumed;

as their lies pile up, they refuse to acknowledge Me.

Here is what the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies, has to say:

Eternal One: Watch, I will refine this nation and put them to the test.

What else can I do with My people?

Their tongues are like deadly arrows;

they speak such lies;

Each one leads his neighbor with kind words

into a trap that was already set.

Should I not punish them for what they do?

Should I not repay a nation that acts this way?

Jeremiah: I will weep bitterly for the mountains of my homeland

and grieve for the death of her wild meadows.

For they have become a silent wasteland

where no one dares to travel.

Pastures once filled with the lowing of cattle, now are empty and lifeless.

All the animals have fled; even the birds have left the sky.

Eternal One: I will leave Jerusalem in ruins;

her rubble will be the haunt of jackals.

I will wreak the same havoc on the cities of Judah;

no person will be found there.

Jeremiah: Who is wise enough to take all this in? Who has heard the Eternal speak and can explain His ways to others? Can anyone say why this land has been ruined and left a wasteland, a desert where no one dares to travel?

Eternal One: I will answer you Myself. Because they have ignored the law I gave them generations ago. They haven’t listened to My voice, and they refuse to walk in My ways. Instead, they have stubbornly followed after their own hearts. They have chosen to worship images of Baal just as their ancestors taught them. This is why I, the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies and God of Israel, must now take action. Look, I will now give them bitter food to eat and poisoned water to drink. I Myself will scatter them among the nations—nations neither they nor their ancestors ever knew existed—and I will hunt them down with the sword and destroy them completely.

The Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies, has this to say:

Eternal One: Think this over, and summon the mourners.

Send for the women who will chant the dirge, that they may come.

Let them be quick about it: weep and wail,

that our eyes may fill with tears that streak down our faces.

Listen to the voice of sorrow weeping from Zion herself:

“We are ruined. All that remains for us is great shame.

Now we must leave this land that was ours;

they have torn down our houses.”

Jeremiah: So listen now, women of Judah, to the word of the Eternal.

Mark His words well.

It is time to teach your daughters how to mourn,

time to teach your neighbors the song of lament.

For death has found us all.

It has crept in through our windows and slipped past our defenses.

It has cut down our children in the streets,

and our young men in the public squares. Death has found us all.

Tell everyone what the Eternal has said:

“The dead bodies of men will fall like dung on the open field.

Corpses will lie on the ground like grain cut in the harvest;

but on this day, there will be no one to gather and bury the dead.”

Eternal One: Let not the wise boast in their wisdom, nor the mighty in their strength, nor the rich in their wealth. Whoever boasts must boast in this: that he understands and knows Me. Indeed, I am the Eternal One who acts faithfully and exercises justice and righteousness on earth. These are the things that delight Me.

Look, the day is coming when I will set things right with all people. I will punish all those who are circumcised in their bodies but not in their hearts— the people of Egypt, Judah, Edom, Ammon, and Moab, and all who live in the desert and clip the corners of their hair. All these nations are really uncircumcised, and all of Israel is uncircumcised where it counts, in the heart.

The Book of Jeremiah, Chapter 9 (The Voice)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Sunday, August 22 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about the pure cleansing of grace:

All of us have unhealed parts, "hidden faults" (נסתרות) of which we are not fully aware. "Blind spots." Therefore king David prayed, "Who can discern his errors? cleanse me from secret faults" (Psalm 19:12). We are cleansed by confession, that is, by looking within our hearts to uncover deeper motivations... If we are honest with ourselves we may discover, for example, that we are angry or fearful people, despite how we otherwise wish to regard ourselves. If you find yourself unable to let something go, for instance, some pain or failure of the past, remind yourself that you must do so if you want to move on with your life. Focusing on how things could have been different is to be enslaved to the past. The goal of teshuvah (repentance) is to turn us back to God for life, but to do this, we must be be willing to let go of what makes us sick.

Note that the Hebrew word translated “errors” (i.e., שְׁגִיאוֹת) comes from a root word (שָׁגָה) that means to wander, stray, or transgress. The question raised by David is rhetorical: “Who can discern his errors?” No one – apart from divine intervention... David asked to be cleansed from his “secret faults,” which are not those that were performed by him “in secret,” but rather those that were unknown, unseen, and unconscious to his own sense of awareness. These are “mindless” sins, unthinking offenses, hidden dispositions, character defects and actions that a person unwittingly performs, perhaps because of deep forces of which he was oblivious. These are the “secret sins” set in the light of God’s face (Psalm 90:8); the “sluggish darkness” of the human heart that leads to death and ruin: “The heart is deceitful above all things, and incurably sick; who can understand it?” (Jer. 17:9). How many of us, after all, are fully aware of what we are doing when we are doing something? How many of us are completely transparent both to ourselves and before God, with no unclear motives, etc.? We must always be vigilant... There is always the force of habit, or the subconscious desires or conflicts of the inner life, that work on us, not to mention the trauma of our past and the present devices from the enemy of our souls. May the LORD give us the willingness to be healed, even if there are parts of ourselves that seem to resist that healing. Amen and Shabbat shalom, chaverim. [Hebrew for Christians]

8.20.21 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

August 22, 2021

The Face of Jesus Christ

“For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.” (2 Corinthians 4:6)

The light that shines in the soul of a lost sinner when he first comes to know Jesus Christ can only be compared to the light that Christ called forth on Day One of the creation week. We met this God of glory spiritually when we first beheld in our hearts the face of Jesus Christ.

But the face of Jesus Christ was not always deemed so glorious. We read of a time when ungodly men “did...spit in his face” (Matthew 26:67), then took a blindfold “to cover his face” (Mark 14:65), and finally with a rain of terrible blows “struck him on the face” (Luke 22:64). Once His “countenance [was] as Lebanon, excellent as the cedars” (Song of Solomon 5:15), but when they finished their assault, “his visage was so marred more than any man, and his form more than the sons of men” (Isaiah 52:14).

“The face of the Lord is against them that do evil” (1 Peter 3:12), however, and the time is coming very soon when all those who have turned their faces from Him will call “to the mountains and rocks, Fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb” (Revelation 6:16). When finally they will have seen the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ in all its consuming strength, not even the world itself could stand, “from whose face the earth and the heaven fled away” (Revelation 20:11).

For those who have looked on Him in faith, however, this will not be a time of judgment but blessing, for “they shall see his face” (Revelation 22:4). The face of Jesus Christ, fierce as devouring fire to those He must judge, is glorious in beauty and love to those who believe. HMM

[100-becs]

A Suffocated Soul

TW//Transphobia, homophobic and transphobic slurs, mentions of gore, and mentions of sxxcxde

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Who am I?

I’m an 18 year old disgrace to my family who sees her bearded face as an ailment, who's deep voice, a bass, makes me wish words would fail me, a spiraling mess who's fake masculinity trails me. A girl with a liar's face. A girl who's failing. But still I tire, inside me’s a fire with dwindling kindling, running down to the wire. A soul suffocated and strangled whose saving face is a shell of former self, self hatred shooting through her, forever forced to fester in her failings, sequestered into an inescapable quagmire.

And I said nothing when you told me that my body is not my choice

When I’ve found a way, my voice, my song, it brings me euphoria until you come along, lecturing me that how I'm living is wrong, and how being myself would make me not belong. Relentless ridicule of how my hair is too long, that there’s no going back if I alter my bod. That I can’t be a girl, I watch football all day long. It takes me everything not to pack up and say “so long”. Saying it’ll be my fault if someone kills me, it kills me. Of living, I’m not worthy, as I’m too far along a man to be girly. Oh, gosh, I’m getting wordy. I didn’t realize myself early. The downward spiral into nothingness around me is swirling, as I try to clean up my mess you made for me. Can’t you see I’m distressed? I’m worth less than worthless. Holy fuck, give me a rest. If a rest is too much leniency, go ahead and arrest me. It's torture to continue when my own mother detests me

I said nothing when you went on your tirades against who I am

I’m a girl who can’t cry, though I’m red in the eye. Knuckles bloodied with mirror shards surrounding her. In each is a reflection of a monster. A man who did others wrong and strung people along for his own amusement. Seeping out my hand is where everything I had to prove went. I need to vent. I’m fucking spent. I broke when others bent. Off the ledge, my sanity was sent, the life I’ve dreamt was met with dissent, but though inside, 100 times i’ve wept, I still can’t cry. And despite my eyes and thighs being red with this dye, I lie and say i’m fine. You tell me I'm wired, but my wires are fried and my identity you’ve vilified, and deep inside, I want to die. There's not a day that goes by where I dont think "maybe if I just try, I can act like everything's okay as a guy and i wont have to live with being the type of person you told me you loved but really you're ashamed of."

I said nothing when you told me I’m a man

I’m the antithesis of normality. Fuck the formalities. Send me to my grave at the edge of reality, for the way I exist, you tell me it’s confounding. You feed me to wolves who are hungry and growling. I raise my bloodied fists to fight back, but they all overpower me. The turmoil I face is what has the wolves howling. A little girl whose cries will never come out of me. A little girl named Jocelyn. The name that should never be uttered around you. What you call a trend is why my head's always pounding. The struggle I face every day is astounding. And it stacks up and stacks up and it all amounts to me running numbers through my head, 41 percent. I dont care what you meant because it's the message you sent that I am not welcome in this world being who I am, lest I be happy in my body that others may dissent, and that if my vessel meets an untimely end, the fault is on me, not how wrong society went

I said nothing when you told me it would be on me if someone kills me for wearing a dress

"It's just a trend. I thought I was a lesbian when i was a teenager" is the mantra you constantly use to defend your position. The trans people you mention, you say just want attention, and list ways they're not menschen, in hopes that I stop pretending. I'm not pretending! Apprehending my emotions flowing like the tides of the ocean makes me feel atrocious. The pain that shoots through my skin, skin that imprisons my livelihood within, within my self is a soul begging to be let out, out of my mouth shoots "Why can't I just be fucking normal?!" with my deep voice killing me, "methinks the trxnny doth protest too much" is the response I receive, leaves who I am to die in the darkness, darkness forever blotting out the sun. I'm not your son! I'd gladly run from this thing that I was, reach for my heart instead of a gun that threatens to send this whole operation asunder, and become a being worthy of love and of wonder, not for fun or because I've grown dumber, but because I would never willingly take the brunt of the hell that I live through daily to taste the unimportant heaven of a shred of attention. 

I said nothing when you told me I was following trends

You paint me as a terrible liar, but I was able to convince you that I was a man. I played along with my assigned gender roles when you watched over me, clueless of 10 year old me's crying sleepless nights, or 13 year old me's internal fights, how everything was eating away at me like termites. I know my rights and your words aren't right. I constantly escape to digital landscapes because however it infuriates me wont be a scrape against who I am, and will not cripple my mental state. 

I said nothing when you told me to change my preferred name everywhere.

The 19 years i've spent on this earth, what were they worth? From my birth to the present day, I've pissed my entire life away because I allowed my mother to convince me that she knows more about me than I do about me. That there was no overcoming my greatest obstacle because she birthed me. You've stripped my individuality away from me as if I had just given it away to you. You fed me ideas that I thought nothing of because I focused too hard on the fact that the figure that's supposed to be a universal security blanket won't accept me. And those ideas you spoon-fed to me was the waste of self-doubt I couldn't flush out. My bloody knuckles and shattered mirrors are products of your rhetoric. And as I ball my fist up one last time, bawling my eyes out on the inside, ready to smash the final pane, just end the pain as I go insane…

Why cant I do it?…

My reflection smiles back and shows affection. A disheveled, bloody, broken complexion, but oddly beautiful, a captivating introspection. Completely removed from your hateful gobbledygook, I rub my eyes to take a second look. She's smiling, like she can read me like a book. My ethereal self is happy, while I'm sitting here, still shook. A queer, trans, lesbian mess, but purely my mess. none caused by outside distress, a girl who is always her best and strives for nothing less, Jocelyn. October 9th, 2018 was the first time I saw this wonder, and she helped me see the meaning in my night-long internal plights, my shattered psyche from fights, blights I've brought on my body that brought me ungodly dysphoria and triggered upon me out of body memories because the last body I would possibly want for me is that of a man. She makes me look back on my past and revere it. Im smiling ear to ear because I know although I may fear and people may leer, as long as I'm here, I know I'm queer, I'm here, I'm queer, I'm here, I'm her.

I said nothing when you threatened to send me to a psych ward.

Coming to terms with toxicity can be a tumultuous task that tries to turn you against those you think you love. But that isnt the case here. I know you hate me, but love the boy you think I am. And any attempt I make to let Jocelyn make my life any amount more manageable is met with fury, the situation gets blurry, I constantly worry, like im being buried alive. I strive to be able to survive and thrive because you taught me that I shouldn't let anyone get in the way of me living my life. Please take this knife away from my sight as I contemplate this strife. My existence does not make things worsen, I am my own person!

I said nothing when you lied to me about your care for the LGBTQ+ community

The toxicity of your words only runs skin deep. But this toxic testosterone that courses through my every capillary and produced by my bones makes me scream bloody mary. My hearing is plagued with "fxggot", "trxp", and "trxnny", and if I outwardly say "Hi, I'm transgender", the further attacks on me would be many. But their blaring cacophony is nothing comparing to my body changing to be something that pains me. Waking up to being physically male is just a constant reminder of someone I'm not, an unsettling notification of times best forgot, and of a person who's better off being left to rot. I've screamed, I've shouted, I've sulked, and I've fought. Every day in this body is another day lost, never to be found until I end up deceased on the ground, iced over with the frost, or until this testosterone is replaced with estrogen. Estrogen, the chemical that will make me detest my body much less, make me my best self, but without it i don't know how long until im laid to rest.

Beneath me are the eggshells I've broken because you told me to walk on them. You signed and sealed my name in blood as the son you always loved. I am no husband, brother, father, son. I sold my individuality for safety untold, but as i grew older, the world around me grew colder, the pain inside I couldn't shoulder. My response was to be bolder, but at some point I just rolled over wishing everything would be over because the people i expected to fight alongside me shoved a dagger in my back because I dared to be too authentic to conform to who you thought I was, leaving me to die on the battlefield against my own dysphoria, signing and sealing my deadname in blood, Josh. But as my body grows cold as the blood will roll down my gouged armes from the broken mirrors and the dagger you shoved in my back as a hold. I take hold of the dagger and rip it out of my spine, I won't go down this time. Though it wont all be fine I will continue my climb. I'll push on through the muck and the grime. I'll rise to the top to give my eyes a sight to behold. You say I've lost my mind, I've just gained control. No, today will not be the day that I fold, I'll make sure my story will not go untold, I refuse to be melted and put into a mold, and I can do it all if I could just be bold!

I wont stay silent anymore.

Who am I?

I'm Jocelyn

Perfectly imperfect

#trans girl #dysphoria #trans #poetry #bad parents #deadname

[allforthecourtt]

writing prompt (if u want) : andrew and neil met before while neil was someone else and broke andrew's heart by leaving/vanishing/faking death/idfk and then neil just shows up like no ?? u are like chris or some name and u r dead what is going on and how dare u

so we’re going to pretend im not the shittiest person ever and didn’t take like a week to write this 2000 word thing but anyways hope u like it :)

(PART TWO)

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The shock of the exy racquet crashing into Neil’s stomach was secondary to the shock that came from seeing Andrew Spear again.  While his lungs screamed for air, his brain screamed for an escape.  To run.  And never stop running again.

The edges of his vision turned as black as the shirt Andrew wore the first time they’d met those few years ago.  It had been a startlingly warm day, aided by the fact that Nathaniel and his mother had just migrated south again from Montreal.  California was everything and nothing that Nathaniel, no, Chris, had expected.  It was hot, and there was the smell of salt in the air from the Pacific Ocean – that Chris had known would be there.  He hadn’t counted on people being so open.  Maybe that’s why he was so drawn to Andrew, a spot of darkness against the ever sunny sky.  Andrew had never been an easy read.

The first time Andrew spoke to him, it was because he had gotten into a fight with a teacher.  Neil had left the classroom at the end of the day with his head down, hugging his books close to his body.  He didn’t know how long he’d stay here, but the fact that his mother had let him attend school was a good sign that they’d be in California for a while.  Still it wasn’t a good idea to make friends or have ties here.  Nobody should remember his face.

“You know,” Neil had heard him say as he passed a tree on the edge of the school’s property, “For someone who’s trying to keep a low profile you sure do love to get in a fight.”

He turned and came face to face with the blonde.  Andrew hadn’t mastered the look of complete apathy yet and his eyes revealed the tiny spark of interest Neil had put there.

“For someone who’s barely four feet tall you sure do love antagonizing people,” Neil responded.

“A talent.” Andrew narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

“Christopher Bassett,” Neil lied.

Andrew’s hand rubbed absent mindedly at his inner forearm, covered by long sleeves.  “No.  That’s not it.”

“That’s all there is,” Neil lied again.

“You’re a bad liar.” Neil scoffed, but Andrew ignored him and continued, “but I mean, California is supposed to be full of actors, so what’s one more, right?”

“Why do you care so much?” Neil finally snapped at him.

Andrew sighed. “Because I don’t trust you.”

“And that matters to me?” Neil asked.

“It should.”

Neil laughed under his breath.  “Okay, well, let me know when you have a real reason and maybe I’ll talk to you.” Neil turned and started to walk away from Andrew when he felt the other boy grab his arm and stop him from leaving.

“I recognize the look on your face, okay? I’m…” Andrew took a deep breath, steadying himself, “I’m a foster kid too.  I just want to…. You’re safe right?”

Neil paused, “What?”

“You’re safe, aren’t you? You… The place is safe, right?” Andrew asked quietly.

Neil’s brow furrowed as he searched Andrew’s stoic face for a reason that he’d be asking that question, but there was nothing present in his emotion.  No matter how hard Neil tried he couldn’t get a read on him.

“Yeah,” Neil finally answered, “I’m safe.”

Andrew nodded once and then released Neil’s arm from his grip before leaning back against the tree.  “I’ll see you here tomorrow,” he said.  Not quite a question, but not quite a statement either.  Neil just nodded and then started on the path towards the house he and Mary were squatting in.

He met with Andrew every day for the next month and somehow in that time the two of them had formed, if not a friendship, then a mutual understanding.  Andrew lived in theoreticals, as Neil discovered, and he spent the majority of his time with Andrew hypothesising about what they would do in the case of different situations.  Like a zombie apocalypse or something as equally stupid.  Neil didn’t actually care about the hypotheticals as much as he just enjoyed taking a break.  It was nice to think about surviving something other than his father.

One day, Neil got particularly into detail about how he would survive an attack on the school by Al Capone-like mobsters when Andrew interrupted him.

“Who are you really running from?” Andrew asked.

Neil paused, forming a lie in his head that he didn’t quite finish before blurting out the truth. “My father,” he confessed.

Andrew didn’t say anything.  He just nodded and then encouraged Neil to continue his daring attempt to save the 9th grade math teacher.  That was what Neil liked most about Andrew.  He knew when to stop pushing for answers.

About a week later Neil approached Andrew with his own theoretical when Andrew stopped him from talking with a hand over his mouth.

“Chris, I need you to just shut up and listen.  Don’t respond, because I don’t need to deal with your shit right now too.  Understand?” Neil nodded and Andrew took his hand off of his mouth.  Neil noticed how warm his skin felt under where Andrew’s contact had been, but he ignored it.

Andrew continued, “I have a brother.  An identical twin apparently.  And I don’t know what to do.  He wants to meet me but I can’t let him anywhere near this town.  He found about him.  About Aaron.  And he’s going to hurt him.  I want to see him, but… but I can’t let subject him to this.  I… I couldn’t subject anybody to this.  To him.  I need to tell him to stay the hell away from me, don’t I?  Don’t I?”

Neil blinked, taking in what Andrew was saying.  What his words were implying, and everything suddenly clicked.

“Andrew,” Neil said calmly, “You need to get out of that house.”

Andrew stared at Neil. “What?  No.  I can’t.  I can’t leave Cass.  She’s worth it.”

Neil swallowed, trying to figure out how to get Andrew through this break down.  He watched Andrew methodically fiddle with the long sleeves on his shirt and wondered silently how Andrew had been dealing with this alone.  Andrew made eye contact with Neil again and seemed to calm slightly as he took in Neil’s startled face.

“What will make this better?” Neil asked, “What do you need from me, Andrew?  Take it.”

Andrew’s hand found the back of Neil’s neck and he surged forward, pulling Neil down to meet him and clashing their lips together in the middle.  This wasn’t Neil’s first kiss, but it was the first one he ever felt like participating in.  He kept his hands at his side, unwilling to touch Andrew more than he knew was okay.  When Andrew broke away from the kiss he just glared at him before turning quickly and starting to walk away.

“Andrew,” Neil called after him, “Andrew, please.”

“I hate you,” Andrew replied without ever turning around.

Neil got back to the house late after taking time to run and clear his head.  He was confused about the kiss, and especially confused about the fact that he wanted to kiss Andrew again.  While he had expected to be chastised by Mary about being tardy, what he hadn’t expected was to have his duffle bag thrown at his face the moment he stepped the through the door and to hear Mary’s panicked, “We have to go.  Now.”

Neil froze in place. “What?”

“Abram.” Mary stepped forward and squeezed Neil’s shoulder hard enough to hurt. “We have to leave.  I saw one of his men today.  It’s only a matter of time. We have to get out.”

“But…” Neil started to object before Mary’s grip tightened enough to quiet him.

Neil’s face must have given something away because Mary sighed and loosened her hand.  “No but’s.  We can’t stay any longer,” she said, “I know you made friends and everything but we have to go.”

“Yes mom, I… I understand,” Neil said quietly, “Just let me use the bathroom first, okay?”

Mary nodded and returned to checking to make sure all of their guns were loaded.  She was so focused she didn’t even notice Neil slipping through the bathroom window and running off towards Andrew’s house.

It took a few minutes for Andrew to open his window after Neil insistently tapped on it several times.

Andrew rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he took in Neil’s state.  “What the fuck?”

“Andrew, I have to leave.” Neil’s tone was urgent. “My past found me.  So I can’t stay anymore.”

“You can’t run forever,” Andrew said softly.

“No,” Neil agreed, “I can’t.”

“So stop running.” Andrew said.

“I can’t.” Neil answered.

Andrew closed his eyes for a moment, taking time to center his thoughts.  “Who are you?” He finally asked.

“The only name I can give you is Abram,” Neil told him.  “I’m sorry, Andrew.  I really am,” he said.  And then he turned and did what he always did best.  Neil ran.

——–

Neil’s thoughts returned to the modern day with the oxygen in his lungs.  He had liked being Neil Josten.  Why did this asshole have to ruin everything?  Why did Andrew turn up every time?  Like sobriety after months of wallowing in the intoxication of a normal life.  Of an identity.  He was a somber reminder that Neil Josten didn’t exist, and could never.  A reminder that Neil could never have anything in his life.

“Fuck you,” Neil choked out between gasps.

“So where have you been for the past five years?” Andrew asked, “Running?”

Neil glared up at him.  “Surviving.”

“Dammit Minyard,” Wymack said storming into the room, “This is why we can’t have nice things.”

“Oh, Coach, if he was nice, he wouldn’t be any use to us, would he?” Andrew said mockingly.

Neil zoned out of the rest of the conversation.  Taking the time to studying Andrew’s reaction to him.  He’d heard that Andrew had been put on medication, but seeing it was different than just knowing about it.  And it hurt to look at Andrew like that.  He looked so broken with a forced smile that could never quite reach his eyes.

“Do you know him?” Neil overhead Kevin whisper to Andrew.

Andrew scoffed.  “I’ve never met Neil Josten in my life.”

Neil walked away before the promise of the Palmetto contract could tantalize him any further.  He planned to keep walking until he left this town and the identity of Neil Josten all together but Andrew caught him in the parking lot, tossing the unsigned contract at his feet.

“I thought I told you once that eventually you’d have to stop running.” The smile had vanished from his face, as though Andrew’s system was blocking out the effects of the pills momentarily.

Neil shook his head. “I can’t, Andrew.  It’s not that simple.”

Andrew laughed, a bitter and teasing sound. “Then make it that simple.  Do you want to play exy?”

Neil took a deep breath but like he always did he told Andrew the truth that mattered, “Yes.”

“Then sign the fucking contract.”  Neil stared openly at Andrew, drinking in the sight of his face after so many years.  Thinking briefly of the only kiss his mother had never beaten him for.

“Stop that,” Andrew said suddenly.

“Stop what?” Neil asked.

“Stop looking at me like I’m your fucking answer.”

“Maybe you are.”

“Just sign the contract, Abram,” Andrew said walking away, back to the foxes. Back towards the promise of a future that was just within Neil’s grasp.  And he wanted to badly to reach out and take it.

Maybe Andrew was right.  Maybe it was time to finally stop running.  Neil took a deep breath and sat down in the parking lot outside his school, knowing full well that he’d already made the decision about what to do with the contract.  And all he needed was a pen.

#aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #Anonymous #writing

[blazingsnark]

Perfect?

Pairing: None Wordcount: 1786 Rating: G Notes/Summary: A scene from Contracted which was cut from between the 9th and 10th chapters to preserve the pacing of the fic.  Royal Guard and Noblesse skirt around the issue of their relationship while discussing the issues of Demonio and Diabla’s relationship.

The night before Noblesse’s coronation, Royal Guard prepared her tea, just like he did every night.  The knife Dreadlord had knocked away from him earlier still lay under the cupboard where it had fallen.  Royal Guard made no move to pick it up.

Usually he would be quick, efficient, his hands falling into a routine as he steeped Lu’s tea and stacked two teacups on a tray.  But tonight he hesitated.  He let the tea steep a touch too long, dawdled as he finally poured it into the teapot, and spent a good solid minute staring at the readied tray.

He was nervous.

Noblesse’s reassuring presence flickered in their contract at the back of his mind, but Royal Guard found himself dreading having to walk into her room.  The scars lining his inner arms ached like they hadn’t in months.  She’d seemed remorseful earlier, but what if it had been an act?  Noblesse was a good liar.  Or what if she was just going to ignore it, or tease Royal Guard about it, or she was going to start thinking he needed to be treated like Demonio and-

You’re worrying.

The quiet censure cut through his thoughts and quieted them.  Royal Guard winced and bowed his head.

Come on, Noblesse urged, her calm washing over Royal Guard’s mind and soothing his emotions.  His hands barely shook as he picked up the tea tray and walked out of his kitchen, his shoes clicking on the stone floor as he made his way to Noblesse’s room.

She’d usually be sitting at her desk at this time of night.  Instead, Royal Guard found Noblesse leaning against a pillow-covered headboard, five demonic flames hovering to light the air over her.

He didn't comment.  He just handed her a full teacup.  She sipped it, hummed her approval, then patted the bed next to her.

“Sit.”

Royal Guard hesitated, then obeyed, sitting down stiffly next to Noblesse.  She looked up at him.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he lied, and turned to pour himself tea as well, blocking his thoughts from Noblesse out of force of habit. He nearly jumped when she prodded the wall protecting his mind.

“Are you keeping secrets from me?”

Royal Guard swallowed.  Noblesse shifted from her reclining position, reaching for Royal Guard’s hands, prying the teapot from his stiff fingers and guiding him to recline against the harpy-down pillows.

“No more secrets,” she reminded him, small and earnest like she hadn’t been since Royal Guard started trying to be perfect and she stopped pretending humanity.  He closed his eyes.  The scars hurt.

“I’m worried,” he confessed.  “About your coronation tomorrow, and whether we’ll succeed.”

“Oh, that.”  Noblesse put her hand on Royal Guard’s thigh.  “Most demon coronations are greeted by a rebellion, Ciel.  It’s okay.  We’ll defeat her, and once she’s dead, Demonio-”

“Demonio asked us not to kill her.”  Royal Guard still couldn’t look at Noblesse.  He felt her hesitation.

“When she’s dead, he’ll know it was for the best.  I can’t leave Diabla alive to scheme against me.”

“But Demonio-” Royal Guard started.  Noblesse cut him off.

“The security of my throne depends on her death.  Are you going to work against me, Ciel?”

Royal Guard felt sick.  Work against Noblesse?  Never.  He was loyal, no matter what she might do, no matter what she asked.  That Noblesse would think that…

“I’m sorry,” he managed.  He imagined Demonio’s accusing stare boring into his mind as he acquiesced.  “I’ll kill Diabla if that’s what you wish.”

He couldn’t sit.  Abruptly, Royal Guard opened his eyes and moved to stand up off the bed.  Noblesse took hold of his wrist to stop him.

“You’re more distressed…?”

She sounded confused.  Royal Guard froze, still not looking at her.

“Ciel?  Is there something else?”

Royal Guard hesitated, then risked lowering his defenses just a bit to check Noblesse’s mental state.  She seemed honestly puzzled, as if she didn’t know what her words did to him.  Royal Guard swallowed.

She’d been so regretful earlier.  He’d believed they might change, that Noblesse could be less strict, that he could enjoy greater freedom around her.  Perhaps he’d been wrong, but… perhaps there was still hope.

“Don’t doubt me,” he pleaded softly.  “Please, Lu.  Let me be good enough for you.”

“You are good enough for me,” Noblesse said.  Royal Guard forced himself to turn around and gripped her hands.

“Then please… act like it.  Don’t guilt me.  Don’t shame me.  I want you to trust me like I trust you.”

She stared up at him, and Royal Guard suddenly felt her emotions ebbing through the contract as she realized what she’d accidentally done.  She… felt bad about it.  She felt small and insecure, unsure what to say.

That hadn’t been Royal Guard’s intention.  Now he just felt worse.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, and dropped his gaze.  After a moment, he dropped to his knees by her bed as well.  “I-”

“Ciel,” Noblesse interrupted, and her small hands gripped his biceps, guiding him to stand up and sit next to her again with a touch of her mind.  “Don’t apologize.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize.”

Royal Guard couldn’t respond past the sudden lump in his throat.  This was the cute, apologizing, remorseful Lu he’d wanted all those times he’d been alone with his thoughts and a knife.  So why did this feel wrong?

“Please don’t feel bad,” he managed.

That was a futile request.  Noblesse’s guilt only grew, making Royal Guard swallow hard.  What kind of perfect servant was he supposed to be, calling out his master like this?

“Stop,” Noblesse said, cutting off Royal Guard’s thought.  He watched her as she reached across him to pick up the empty teacup he’d never gotten around to filling, poured the tea, and shoved it into his hands.  “Stop thinking like that.  You’re allowed to talk to me, remember?  I’m not Diabla.”

Right.  He’d always been able to talk to Noblesse when they were alone.  Royal Guard stared down into the dark tea, then sighed and let his head fall back.

“It’s over-steeped,” he confessed.  “Sorry.”

Noblesse paused, then shifted her position, reclining next to Royal Guard.  “You were nervous about coming to see me tonight?”

Royal Guard didn’t have to voice his confirmation.  He could feel Noblesse receiving his answer through the contract, could feel her deep sigh vibrate in his own lungs.

“I’m not like her,” she repeated.  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

But you do, Royal Guard thought, and he felt Noblesse wince, and decided not to say that aloud.  Instead, he just added, “I’m still loyal to you.”

And, before he lost his nerve, he added, “And so is Demonio.  To Diabla.”

Now Noblesse was tense.  Royal Guard wanted to take it back, to stop hurting Noblesse like this and just submit to her will, stay quiet and well within the limits like he’d always done.  But Demonio’s haunted face, the hollow way he carried himself and the sheer desperation in his voice when he pleaded for Diabla’s life, kept him talking.

“He doesn’t care how much she hurts him.  He’ll always be loyal to her, because she’s his Lu.  I… know how he feels.”

Noblesse sucked in a breath through her teeth.  Royal Guard stared down at his tea.

“Not that badly, of course,” he reassured Noblesse.  “But enough.  He… when he was talking to me, in the kitchen, he knew what I was going through.”

He didn’t have words for what he wanted to say, so he offered up the memory to the contract, allowing Noblesse to see Demonio’s uncharacteristic gentleness and the way his words had torn away the band-aid of the festering wound Royal Guard had been keeping concealed.  Noblesse’s small hand gripped his wrist, her fingertips ghosting over the still-not-quite-healed suicide gash on his wrist.  Royal Guard stared at his lap, both hating and craving that touch on the most vulnerable part of him.

“I don’t want to take her away from him.  Not like this.”

Noblesse stayed silent, gently stroking Royal Guard’s scars, pushing his sleeve up further.  A quick check of the contract showed that she was deep in contemplation.  Royal Guard took the few seconds of reprieve to drain his cup of (far too bitter) tea and compose himself.

“Not like this?” Noblesse finally asked, repeating Royal Guard’s last words.  He nodded.

“Their relationship is bad, but you said you and Chiliarch changed, right?  Diabla’s thinking of how things used to be five hundred years ago.  If Diabla can realize that…”

“I don’t think she will,” said Noblesse quietly.  Her fingers had gone still on Royal Guard’s scars.  He shrugged.

“Then Demonio needs to realize that for himself.  We can keep an eye on them, make sure they don’t leave the palace.  Or remove him from her influence for a while, just not break their contract.”

“Breaking their contract at this point would mean killing Demonio.  He’s too dependent.”  Noblesse sighed and dragged her hand across her face, then leaned into Royal Guard’s side.  “Alright, you win.  We’ll keep her alive, just… jail her.”

Royal Guard hesitated, then freed his wrist from her lax grip and put his arm around her.  Noblesse leaned back into the pillows and hummed into Royal Guard’s side.

“Thank you,” he murmured.  Noblesse didn’t respond aloud, but a flicker of warmth showed through the contract.

It had been a long, long time since Royal Guard had been able to do someone a favor.  He’d forgotten how it felt, to know someone powerless would get what they needed because of him.  He smiled.

“Sleep in here tonight,” Noblesse said softly.  Three of the five demonic flames overhead winked out.  Royal Guard reached for the untouched teacup Noblesse had left precariously on the mattress, collecting it and putting it back on the tray along with his own.

“Alright,” he agreed without really thinking about it.  “Is there a reason?”

Another demonic flame flickered and died, leaving only one, casting dim shadows over the room.  Royal Guard drew away from Noblesse, standing up in order to change into the pajamas she kept for him in her room.  Noblesse wriggled under the heavy quilt and hummed.

“I miss being close with you.”

Usually, Royal Guard would drop to one knee immediately at that, thank Noblesse for the compliment and make sure to be close to her for as long as he could.  He even contemplated doing that now.  But instead he just dipped his head and reached through the contract, ruffling her hair like he’d done all those years ago when she first saved him.

She hummed.  The last demonic flame vanished.

“I’ve missed it too,” Royal Guard confessed into the darkness.

#lu #ciel #luciel #lu (elsword) #ciel (elsword) #elsword fic #eltag #elsword #.... #every single time I tag a fic I'm not sure what to write #ha #anyways #sorry I haven't written in like two months people lmao #I've been... busy #and three AP classes in a five-block day is kicking my ass #orz #anyways I'm seriously considering a sequel to Contracted #so uh look forward to that I guess #but don't hold your breath #LMAO #LuCielVerse

[missmeikakuna]

Chad and the Incel Chapter 9

Rated: M

Fandom: Original Fiction (but inspired by the Virgin vs Chad meme)

Relationship type: Male/Male with a bit of Female/Female (the lesbians are adorable, btw) and unrequited Male/Female (in other words, the guys are bisexual).

Description: Chad is, well, a Chad, or at least he looks like one. He’s got his sights set on the cool nerd Becky and enlists the help of her shy incel ex-friend Noah, offering to help him get the gorgeous girl (Stacy) he desperately wants. Noah is reluctant to help, believing that he will be stuck in inceldom forever, but Chad’s interest in his life gives him hope. When their plans go awry, they start turning their romantic attention towards each other.

Content Warning: Given the subject matter, you can guess that this story has dark themes in it, such as suicide and self-harm (plus the mental health issues that often cause them), sexism, slut-shaming homophobia, biphobia and transphobia. There is also swearing and some mentions of sex but nothing too explicit (hence the M rating as opposed to an Explicit rating).

9th Post: [Venting] She’s not my friend

Chad looked up the term ‘trap’ and, amongst the discussion on how hot these anime characters were, he found some YouTube videos on why the word was offensive.

He messaged Noah on his phone, using terms he wasn’t used to using and concepts he wasn’t used to tackling.

So is this ‘trap’ thing just for crossdressing guys? Apparently people call transgenders or whatever that word. The transgenders don’t seem to like it or something like that. Do you know about this?

Noah didn’t reply, focusing on writing more posts and comments on the forum. Chad read through each post as well as some by other users and sent Noah the occasional phone message, causing Noah’s eyebrows to twitch in anger.

A lot of people are posting stuff on that forum about killing themselves. They keep mentioning ‘suicide fuel’. You okay?

Woah, someone just posted about wanting a handy from his mom. The fuck? You’re not like that, right?

Why are girl incels banned? I feel like if a dude incel and a chick incel met they could be together and stop being incels. 

Hey, why didn’t you tell me I’m annoying? And I’m not a liar about being a virgin before we did it. I swear to God.

Noah sent Chad one message before exiting the forum.

If you don’t leave me the fuck alone I’m changing my username and never talking to you ever again. 

At school over the next few days, Noah ignored the talkative Chad.

In the morning Chad said, ‘So, I watched an episode of one of those anime and it was pretty good. It was Cowboy somethingarather. Some website recommended it. I was surprised that there was a black chick in it. I thought anime characters were all white or something. Have you seen this show?’

While lining up in the cafeteria, Chad admitted, ‘I’m a little confused about this blackpill-redpill-bluepill thing. What’s the difference?’

As they walked to their lockers, Chad whispered, ‘Who runs that forum? It seems like chaos in there. People say all sorts of crazy stuff. I mean, feminists can be annoying and shit but I don’t think they’re running some kind of conspiracy to prevent you from getting girls.’

As they reached Noah’s locker, Chad added, ‘And some guy said that it’s over for guys with glasses because of genetics or whatever.’ He looked around to see if anyone was watching. ‘He’s gotta be joking! Glasses on guys?’ He hooked his finger into the collar of his own shirt, pulled the collar like he was in the middle of a heatwave and whistled as he tossed his head back.

Noah had to scowl at him for that, taking off his glasses for a moment just to spite him.

When the two were alone before homeroom one day, Chad kept trying to grab Noah’s hand but Noah kept pulling it away. 

‘What’s wrong?’ Chad asked. ‘No one’s around. And we’ve done more than hold hands.’

Noah bit his lip and looked away. ‘I thought we weren’t going to talk about that.’

‘Sorry. But I don’t know if I really want to forget it. I’ve been thinking a lot about it, actually, how you expected it to be this perfect thing. Did someone on that forum say it’s supposed to be like that? I don’t know how they would be experts on that since they’re incels. But, I mean, it was still fun, right? You said it was okay and that’s better than bad.’

‘Has anyone told you that you talk too much?’

 Chad laughed. ‘Not really. It’s just… I find it easy talking to you. Every time we talk I learn something new and it’s kind of exciting, learning about this incel thing. It’s like I’ve discovered this hidden underground village or something. I don’t know what it is about you.’

‘So you like me because I’m an incel?’

The smile on Chad’s face withered and died. ‘No. Oh my god, no way. I could listen to you talk about anything and I’d be interested. Your looks and that make for a deadly combo.’ He chuckled. ‘I think God did a great job creating you overall.’ His eyes widened. ‘Wait, uh, was that too much?’

Noah looked down at his hands, which were curled up on his lap. His eyes were shiny as if holding back tears.

‘Can you stop with the flattery? I know you’re probably great at flirting and attracting people, but do you really need to keep shoving it in my face? I get it, you’re so much more successful than I am. You’re soooo hot and you could have any femoid you want. Stop bragging and talking down to me.’

‘Sorry about that, but I’m not brag-’

‘Of course you are! You keep bringing up the goddamn forum and how shitty you think the people are on there. Stop trying to act like a damn knight who’s here to rescue me from inceldom. It’s patronising as fuck. And that thing about God making me is stupid. Do you seriously think some magic bearded dude in space made me? Bullshit.’

‘Oh, right, you’re an atheist. Sorry. I kind of forgot. Not that I forget other things about you! I remember a lot.’ Chad paused to collect his thoughts before spouting anything he’d regret. ‘I guess I’m kind of a Christian, though I don’t really go to Church much.’

‘Christian, huh? That explains why you’re so stupid.’

Chad stood up, his chair making an ear-piercing squeak as it was pushed backwards.

‘Hey, that’s not fair!’ He leaned down until he and Noah were the length of a nose apart. ‘Didn’t you hear what I said? Yeah, I believe in some higher power but I’m not some Bible-thumping crazy or anything like that!’

‘Really? I bet when everyone comes through this door you’ll get out of my face and act like you’re not interested in me, like a good Christian boy.’

As soon as he said that, several students entered the classroom, prompting Chad to turn away and sit back down, keeping his hands to himself.

Noah smirked at him before returning to ignoring him.

At home, Noah posted onto the forum. He hadn’t originally planned on posting that day but he had to test something.

Rotcel2003- [Venting] She’s not my friend.

I thought I’d just made a female friend but it turns out she’s not my friend. You can’t trust femoids. You’re just a placeholder until a Chad comes along.

Noah put his watch into timer mode and waited twenty seconds until the message arrived.

Who’s the girl? :( Good for you, I guess. Well, except for her being untrustworthy and shit.

Noah furiously typed one word to Chad.

Creep

He placed his phone onto his desk and collapsed onto his bed. He remembered what someone said to him on Incels.me.

Gay men are just coping incels.

The word ‘coping’ stood out to him. He had heard other incels refer to many other things as a ‘cope’: video games, watching sports and drawing to name a few. Copes were a distraction from the truth, which was that an incel like him could never truly be happy.

It took him half an hour to get out of bed and pick up the laptop. He opened the closet and carefully placed it on the floor inside it. He wanted to just drop the laptop to the ground but, cope as it was, his gaming laptop was expensive. He stacked his physical games next to the laptop. He then looked down into the closet and sighed, remembering who had been in this exact place not long ago. He shook his head. He wasn’t done yet.

He made room in his drawers, an easy task given the lack of quantity his clothing collection had. He put his anime figurines, DVDs and manga in there. He ran out of space to put the model planes in there, so he put them under his bed. He then deleted the manga reader and anime streaming apps on his phone. 

He turned his mirror around until it faced him and the image of smoke clouded his mind. His hands curled into fists and he decided to use one of those fists. Soon the small crack spread to the rest of the mirror. He wiped the blood that seeped out of his hand.

As a final touch, he ripped the posters from the wall. As he reached the lone NFL poster, he bit his lip and blinked quickly. He wasn’t going to cry over some creep. He shoved them under his bed next to the planes.

He looked around the room and noticed how plain and empty it looked. He sat on the bed and smiled at the one piece of decoration left, the cat-themed quilt.

Cope, he thought. He pulled the quilt off the bed and pushed it under the bed. He turned off the lights, slipped between the sheets and lied there, trapped between walls blackened by night. He shivered without the quilt but persevered. There was no point in doing anything that made him happy. All he could do was, as the incels say, lay down and rot.

#virgin vs chad #chad x incel #bisexual #romance #drama #original fiction #breaking stereotypes #lesbian #Chad and the Incel

[gothicastrology]

Lilith - The Black Moon

(these interpretations apply to everyone, despite your pronouns. she/her pronouns are often used to describe Lilith. these interpretations do not only apply to people with she/her pronouns)

Lilith influences our dark side. Our deepest fears, desires, and secrets lie with her. Lilith cannot bring happiness and she will not cause real life events, she can only influence us to cause them ourselves. We have a choice with Lilith. She lies in the emotional and subconscious realm, and if we focus, we can triumph over her temptations. If we indulge in her, she will ultimately lead to our destruction. The sign of Lilith determines how our dark energy is expressed and the house she lives in shows where that dark energy manifests itself. 

Lilith in Aries (Arrogance): Her darkest side is expressed in aggressive and arrogant ways. She is a belligerent being who rarely takes no for an answer. She will fight her way to the top and crush those in her way. Her enemies are usually her male peers and she has the karma of a murderer. She has an apparent obsession with her physical body and will use it to exploits others. If she fails to learn to control her dangerous tendencies, she will find herself severely harming those she loves. 

Lilith in Taurus (Avarice): She expresses a need for controlling everything. She wants everything. She craves material things and has a large appetite for whatever appeals to her. She is stubborn and will do anything to gain wealth and materials. She gives into sloth, greed, lust, and gluttony. Her enemies are her female counterparts and she has the karma of a hoarder. If she fails to learn to control her materialistic desires, she will only lead to her own destruction. 

Lilith in Gemini (Pomposity): Her dark side is selfish. She believes everyone is absorbed with her ideas and opinions. When interrupted, she can get violent. She wants her voice to be heard. She can often stretch the truth and is known for being a superficial liar. She is difficult to fool and can see straight through the lies of others. She will never offer her advice; she will instead violently force her advice upon all. She is known for having many enemies and possesses the karma of a gossiper. If she fails to learn to humble herself, listen, and refrain from deceiving others, she will find herself in a situation three times worse than those of her enemies.

Lilith in Cancer (Trickery): She exploits others feelings and uses this to express her dark side. She has such a great understanding of the emotional realm, that she wants to abuse that realm for others. She is a damsel in distress waiting for someone to help her, despite the fact that she is not in peril. She needs emotional ties to others, so she can harm them easily. She knows what she wants and she’ll be very specific, especially regarding domestic life. Because of her ultra precision, there is a chance that her immediate family members could become her enemies. She has the karma of a traitor. If she fails to learn to respect the emotional realm of others, her own realm will be slaughtered.

Lilith in Leo (Vanity): She is self-centered in every way, shape, and form. She expresses her darkness in dramatic ways. She believes she is one of the most important beings ever. She praises the things she loves and is known to worship objects and oppose god worshiping. She expects others to worship her, but she would never admit something like this. She will boast and she will make unimpressive situations as dramatic as possible. She resents brilliant and dignified people and has the karma of a gambler. If she fails to learn how to reduce the amount of jealousy and vanity she feels, she will lead to her quick destruction.

Lilith in Virgo (Cynicism): She is the most innocent of the 12, yet a great manipulator. She depends on others and will manipulate them when they believe they can trust her. She makes others feel powerful by playing the role of the underdog. If she advances to a position of power, she follows all rules. She is aware of her inner emotional tempest. She knows if it is unleashed, confrontation will arise. She is a critical and greedy being. She doesn’t get along with those she works with and has the karma of a lackey. If she fails to learn how to control her emotions and fails to rise to a position of power, she will forever be the underdog and ultimately meet her demise unsatisfied. 

Lilith in Libra (Elitism): Her dark side is expressed through her partner. She is a bad influence on her sexual and romantic partners and this will be very clear to her. She is an emotionally demanding person to be with. She won’t be ashamed, however. She believes that it is an honor for others to be around her. She believes herself to be higher than the rest in terms of social class. She considers her feelings to be the most important ones, despite their constant fluctuations. She has a hard time making decisions and is often uncertain. Her partners can quickly turn in her enemies and she struggles with them. She has the karma of an unjust judge.

Lilith in Scorpio (Oppressor): She exploits sexuality. She is a cunning and manipulative being. She is arguable of the most dangerous. She manipulates the emotions of others simply for pleasure. She wants to learn the deepest and darkest secrets of others. It is likely that she will use these to blackmail others. She is attracted to dark magic that can be used to harm others. She has great strength and power and abuses it. She’s a tyrant. Her enemies are the powerful and wealthy. If she refuses to learn how to find pleasure in more than emotional manipulation, she herself will be manipulative and brought to her painful demise.

Lilith in Sagittarius (Megalomania): She believes in absolutism, and she is the monarch. Like her sister, she believes everyone is simply begging to be spoon fed by her. Whatever her skills are, she believes herself to be the best. She expects others to treat her like a deity. She is incapable of making mistakes. She denotes liars and hypocrites, but she herself is often guilty of being both. Her enemies are scientific thinkers who try to prove things in a way she doesn’t accept. She has the karma of a false prophet. If she fails to learn how to exert herself as a positive, caring, and accepting leader, she will find herself falling into poverty and reaching her demise. 

Lilith in Capricorn (Machiavellian): She feels she is capable of completing even the most difficult tasks. She has much self confidence, which others perceive as selfishness. She has a cold heart and thinks in a rational way. She wants to rise to the top and will have a hard time accepting if she doesn’t. She doesn’t aggressively fight for the top, she instead strategically thinks of a way to crush her enemies and those in her way. She wrestles with emotions and rarely expresses them in a successful way. She has the karma of a despot and finds enemies in men older than she. She is tempted by power and it will ultimately lead to her demise if she isn’t careful.

Lilith in Aquarius (Protester): She is a disorderly being. She never strives for perfection, and instead, subconsciously strives for chaos. She aspires to be complete free and will do whatever it takes to achieve this. She will recklessly search for something new. She often gets bored and is seduced by anarchy. She shows irresponsibility and exaggerates her greatness. She belittles her closest friends and often finds past best friends as her current enemies. She has the karma of a anarchist. If she fails to learn from the past in order to thrive in the future, her future will be dark and unwelcoming. 

Lilith in Pisces (Fantasist): She lives in her dark dreams and ideas. She is close to incapable of separating her dreams from reality. She believes her dreams to be reality. She will convince others that her dreams contain truthfulness and she will deceive others willingly. She clings to her fantasies. She hides her true intentions and will create illusions simply for the pleasure of fooling others. She doesn’t always see the value in human life and often considers people to be indispensable. She possesses the karma of an addict. If she fails to overcome her addictions and fantasies, she will lead herself to her own destruction

My dark energy manifests in…

Lilith in the 1st House: My overall personality and ego

Lilith in the 2nd House: The way I treat the things I value

Lilith in the 3rd House: The way I communicate with others

Lilith in the 4th House: My domestic activities

Lilith in the 5th House: My creative outlets

Lilith in the 6th House: How I organize my life

Lilith in the 7th House: My intimate relationships

Lilith in the 8th House: My sexuality and hidden life

Lilith in the 9th House: My philosophical ideas and wishes

Lilith in the 10th House: How I express my authority

Lilith in the 11th House: The way I treat my friends and those in need

Lilith in the 12th House: My subconscious temptations

(x)

#YIKES THIS WAS SOME DARK SHIT TO RESEARCH #if you see any mistakes lmk #astrology #zodiac #originalpost #lilith #dark moon #darkness #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces

[king-of-dads-blog]

PLEASE REPOST. DO NOT REBLOG.

tagged by: @scngohan

tagging: 

- @ilovemygreendad

- @creature-of-mxrvel

- ((If anyone else wants to do this, feel free! I’d love to see them.))

LAYER ONE : THE OUTSIDE

Name: Son Piccolo

Eye Color: such a dark green that everyone assumes they’re black.

Hair Style/Color: Bald.

Height: 7′5, but he can grow to any proportion he wants.

Clothing Style: His purple Gi, his weighted turban, and his weighted cape. He’s not fond or comfortable in much else.

Best Physical Feature: His smile. He rarely smiles, but when he does give a genuin smile he looks like an absolute ray of sunshine.

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

Your Fears: Becoming his father and loosing control.

Your Guilty Pleasure: Meditating.

Your Biggest Pet Peeve: Physical affection from people he’s not comfortable with yet. People bothering him when he wishes to be left alone.

Your Ambition for the Future: To right the many wrongs both he and his father caused others.

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

Your First Thoughts Waking Up: He already has a list of activities for the day planned, starting from dusk till past midnight. He hardly gives himself a break or veers from the list unless something more opportune comes up.

What You Think About the Most: Gohan and Dende. He cares deeply for both of them, and wants to help them through anything that they might need him for. Later in life his thoughts are filled with Pam and helping her grow.

What You Think About Before Bed: The activities that happened that day and what he could do the next to help better himself physically and mentally.

You Think Your Best Quality Is: Piccolo hardly thinks of his traits unless they are negative. He used to pride himself on his fighting abilities, but after a while he began to become more humble about those things, excepting that he’d never be the strongest fighter-but at the very least he can surpass Goku.

LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?

Single or Group Dates: He doesn’t go on dates. At all. But he was probably choose singe so that he and the other could get to know one another better without him being pressured to join in a conversation or worries about being shut out.

To be Loved or Respected: Respected. You can’t say you love someone if you don’t respect them, but respect also means someone sees the good qualities in you, and not just the worst.

Beauty or Brains: Brains. Honestly, he doesn’t even know what ugly and beautiful are.

Dogs or Cats: Cats. Dogs are too rambunctious, and cats can easily rest on his lap while he meditates. 

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?

Lie: Yes, but hardly ever. Maybe once in a blue moon, and even then he more or less just tells white lies. If he wanted, Piccolo could be a successful liar, but he very seldom needs to. Only when he lies to an enemy or plays chess with someone does his skill show.

Believe in Yourself: He used to. Bu after getting beat time after time, he began to understand his own limits more. He knows what he is and isn’t capable of, and he never overestimates himself.

Believe in Love: Yes, and no. He believes that Goku and Chi Chi love each other, and that Vegeta and Bulma are also in love in their own way, but if anyone were to say that they loved him he’d shut them down in a heart beat. He’s never received romantic validation, so he would believe the other is lying at first, or perhaps he’s feel guilty, believing that he somehow lied to the other to make them feel that way.

Want Someone: Not romantically. At least not yet. He’s never found anyone he thought that way with, so therefore he’s never had the need to ask himself what he thought love was.

LAYER SIX: EVER?

Been on Stage: Yes. He’d been to the world tournament in his teen years to fight Goku, and he fought in the Cell games.

Done Drugs: Earth drugs don’t really affect him much, but i’m sure he’s found some of Popo’s stuff lying around and asked about it before.

Changed Who You Were to Fit In: Never. He may get flustered at times, but he strongly believes that he needs to be excepted for who he is. He workds on changing himself everyday, but that’s for himself, and not for others.

LAYER SEVEN: FAVORITES

Favorite Color: Purple, green, red, blue, pink.

Favorite Animal: Slugs, snails, fish, insects (until cell)

Favorite Movie: He probably got convinced to watch an action movie once by Krillin and sat through it. Although he criticized every part of it, it was the only movie he had ever seen, so therefore it was his favorite by default. 

Favorite Game: He likes to play strategy games or puzzle games. He probably has a high score in Portal 2. He looses at fighting games. Always.

LAYER EIGHT: AGE

Day Your Next Birthday Will Be: May 9th.

How Old Will You Be: Piccolo will be 26 by the time Pan is born.

Age You Lost Your Virginity: Still hasn’t happened. He hasn’t conceived any eggs, nor has he preformed any sexual acts.

Does Age Matter: Yes, but only slightly. Piccolo would only consider dating people who matched his physical and mental maturity. Humans age much slower than he does, so he can’t be awfully picky. Piccolo was only a few years old by the time he reached the physical maturity of a human teenager, and at age 26 he looks mid thirties to forties.

LAYER NINE: IN A BOY OR GIRL

Best Personality: Someone who has compaction for others, but who’s not a total pansy. He wants someone who can fight fairly well, keep up an intelligent conversation, and who would at least try meditating with him once or twice.

Best Eye Color: He isn’t picky. He likes eyes that have flecks of different colors in the, though.

Best Hair Color: He comes from a race where everyone is bald. He really isn’t one to judge.

Best thing to do With a Partner: Something they enjoy. He is willing to put his preferences asside as long as the other does their best to make him feel comfortable.

LAYER TEN: FINISH THE SENTENCE

I love: my family.

I feel: that i’m starting to become a better.

I hide: my fears of becoming my father.

I miss: Kami.

I wish: that I hadn’t ruined so many good things.

#headcannonons #piccolo #big green