#Creole Bible

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

Jan 17:3 Lavi etènèl se lè yon moun konnen w kòm sèl vrè Bondye, epi lè l konnen Jezikris, moun ou voye a.

(And eternal life means to know you, the only true God, and to know Jesus Christ, whom you sent.) — John 17:3 | Nouvo Testaman: Vèsyon Kreyòl Fasil (VKF) Kreyòl Ayisyen [Haitian Creole] Bible Copyright © 2017 by Bible League International. Cross References: Proverbs 8:35; John 3:17; John 5:44; John 17:8; John 17:18; John 17:21; John 17:23

#God #Jesus #eternal life #John 17:3 #Gospel of John #New Testament #VKF #Nouvo Testaman: Vèsyon Kreyòl Fasil #Creole Bible #Haiti #Kreyòl Ayisyen #Bible League International

[fieriframes]

[Smoked sausage. Really key. You know, a lot of recipes in New Orleans, and rushed to the bookcase and found a Bible, which I opened at random. Right. Spicy and smoke, so we just do it with two different sausages.]

#s25e03 creole cold cuts and crepes #guy fieri #guyfieri #diners drive-ins and dives #two different sausages #smoked sausage #new orleans #lot #recipes #bookcase #bible #spicy

[elianaodeleya]

✳️ https://youtube.com/channel/UCRyk-b8Eu-e2uTk4DxyAspg ⬛️🟪⬛️🟪⬛️🟪⬛️🟪⬛️🟪⬛️ The #Deuteronomy 28 #Project continues! Now in the language of #Creole; be sure to subscribe to #IUIC #Haiti in The Classroom to watch the series. ⬛️🟪⬛️🟪⬛️🟪⬛️🟪⬛️🟪⬛️ Visit our website here 💻👨🏾‍💻 🛑 https://solo.to/unitedinchrist #LIKE👍🏾 #SHARE🔄 #SUB💻 #IUIC #Bible #truth #God #jesus #miami #Hispanics #Latinos #Christianity #dadecounty #love #church #haitian #history #1619 #CRT https://www.instagram.com/p/ClAcNiHOOp9/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#deuteronomy #project #creole #iuic #haiti #like👍🏾 #share🔄 #sub💻 #bible #truth #god #jesus #miami #hispanics #latinos #christianity #dadecounty #love #church #haitian #history #1619 #crt

[starrclown]

Silly little double post cause I thought of this SECONDS after my original post bitching about the Hotel.

I have a theory on why people don't complain about the black characters designs of Hazbin Hotel. (I'll talk about it at the end)

Let's talk about the 4 black characters of Hazbin Hotel that people defend the designs with their LIFE.

First up:

ALASTOR

Alastor has been confirmed to be a mixed Creole man from Louisiana. Does he look like it? No. No he doesn't. If you told me this man has the whitest parents this side of hell then I would believe you. There I nothing visually that gives away he may have black features. Nose shape, lips, not ashy grey skin (something well see just you wait), thy couldn't even be dammned to give him curly hair or nothing! He doesn't have no black features and it's really off putting.

People argue that he has a white parent, a part that could play in him not having black features. I will remind you all again that I am not mixed. I am white. Mixed people can look any way. There is no specific way for mixed people to look. But cmon. No black features at all? Nothing? Personally I believe that Alastor want designed to be black. I believe that Vivziepop only made him black to justify him using voodoo. This is only speculation but to each their own.

Side note but the way yall attack people, mostly on Tiktok, about redesigns or re imagines is actually depressing. Could make a whole rant on that in general.

Next up:

VELVETTE

Thir is similar issues with Alastor and Velvette. No textured hair, no nose shape, no difference in her lips, ashy grey skin. While I like that Velvette changes hair styles every episode, personally I think that Velvette should have more black hairstyles. Like Velvette with braids or dreadlocks would be so cool. To this shows credit, Velvette did have a afro in episode 8. Honestly that should be her starter hair before she changes it. That would be so cute. Manifesting Velvette with a afro.

3rd:

Sera

Sera I would argue is the best designed black character. She actually has more pigmented brown skin and her hair I think is supposed to resemble dreadlocks. Personally I think their is room for improvement. She could be browner, less ashy looking, since she actually had a nose it could be a different shape then just straight, their could be more detail for her hair. While she's the best designed character, their is room to grow.

Side note: Y'all hating Sera too much. I see fanart and animatics of her being this blood thirsty killer that is jus destroying hell. Yall she is actively shown in the first 2 minutes of Hazbin not agreeing with the exterminations and actively frowning at the idea of murder. Sera is great I don't know what yall are on.

Last and certainly least because oh my god:

Emily

This is not a black woman. No I don't care that Viv said she's or that her Bible page says she is. Where is any black features? Her skin is gray, she has pencil thin lips like me, a white boy, she has stringy straight hair, and no nose at all.

This goes along with Sera as well but people say that they are angel's and don't have to look like black women because their angels and don't have a race. Which 1. Is wrong because Emily's Bible page said she was a youthful 20 something black woman and 2. If their angel's that dont have races then that fine. But.

DON'T SAY THEIR BLACK WOMAN AND THEN NOT DESIGN THEM LIKE IT.

If Viv just left them raceless then the would have been fine. But that not what she did. She made them black and then back peddled when people said that they didn't look like black woman. She tried to have her cake and eat it too. No, I don't care their angel's, if your going to give them a race then commit to it.

Let's get on to my conspiracy theory. I've noticed something in the Hazbin Hotel fandom that I think is the reason for the dismissal of the black characters no having black features.

Fanart.

I'm going somewhere with this is swear.

Go to Tumblr or Tiktok and see the art people create of Hazbin Hotel. You'll notice that people give Alastor and Velvette brown skin, they give Emily curly hair, they give Velvette full lips and different black hairstyles.

People make their art of the black characters looking black so when people see it they associate it with the show.

This is of course just a theory but I've noticed it alot and I think it's a pretty damn good explanation.

Sorry if this isn't as good as my other rants, I tried to get this out quickly because my theory was bothering me.

Asks are always open, art is always here, commissions are open, black lives matter.

- ⭐️StarClown⭐️

#hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critique #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #vivziepop critique #helluva boss critique #helluva boss criticism

[foreficfandom]

Alastor - Historical Trivia And Headcanons

Alastor was a mixed-race Creole man living in New Orleans, and was in his 30's/40's when he died in 1933. We don't know much else about him, but historical context can provide us with possible additional details:

The population of New Orleans in 1930 was 458,762, more than it is now. 27.2% of the people were black, 3.1% were foreign-born, and roughly half of America's bipoc population was unemployed thanks to the Great Depression. New Orleans' original Francophonication was still strong, and it was common to run into locals who only spoke French dialects (Cajun French, Louisiana Creole). The city has had a huge Chinatown, a small Little Italy, and multiple other districts known for their immigrant African/colonized French cultures.

The Jim Crow laws were heavily enforced, as was the 'One Drop' rule. If Alastor was a mixed race black man, he would not have been able to attend a white school, use the same public transport, and would have shopped at black-local stores and restaurants under threat of violence. If he was mixed with any other race, some Jim Crow laws didn't apply, but state or city laws might specify differently.

Just because Alastor wears a suit, it doesn't mean he was rich in life. Radio personalities often didn't earn a fortune. Unless he owned his own broadcast, he was paid by a private company for long shifts of hosting music, news, and radio plays. In 1930, 40% of households owned at least one radio, which means that a popular radio host would have been easily recognized.

If he was in his late 30's in 1933, he might have fought in WW1, so long as he was over the age of 21. Some cities gave veterans small benefits, or encouraged the community to give them jobs. This often did not include veterans of color.

New Orleans was famous for being one of the least Christian cities in America, thanks to its unique immigrant and slave population. Haitian-based faiths and practices (such as voudo), indigenous cultures, Asian Buddhism, and atheism were common. But Christianity was still the official, law-enforced religion. Schooling involved reading the Bible, laws were sworn to Jesus, etc.

Alastor's outfit in Hazbin Hotel isn't very accurate to real-life American men's fashions of the time. Back then, deviating from the norm with the smallest detail would have stuck out like a sore thumb - like his white-lined lapels. Men always wore a hat. They were allowed to go without a waistcoat, but not a jacket. Belts were becoming more popular than suspenders. The silhouette was bulkier than the slimmer, Italian cuts of our modern times, especially the pants. Hair was kept short, and oiled down in a side part. Americans preferred the clean shaven look. Ties were essential unless you were a blue-collar laborer. Colors were almost universally muted neutral tones for everyday wear. The most colorful textiles for men were sporting outfits, like a tennis jacket.

If Alastor was a middle-class single man, he likely would have lived in an inner-city apartment, in an ethnic neighborhood. He probably didn't own a car, and took public transit like the streetcars. If he owned a house, it would likely have been an inheritance, and even the more opulent houses of the time would have looked small and plain to our eyes.

Because of the Great Depression, unmarried men were becoming the norm, rather than the exception. Men of the community who were sought after but remained single were suspect to gossip, but less ire than you might think; in the '30s, American queer culture was going through a very sharp revival, escaping the rigid Victorian era and before the puritan 40's/50's. But as a mixed-race man, it may have been illegal for a white woman to marry him, as the Jim Crow laws forbade the marriage of white people and Black/Asian people.

A middle class city household would have had electricity, gas heating, indoor plumbing, but may not have had running taps or a gas stove. Even with decent means, Alastor might have been using a potbelly woodburning stove, a dry sink/washbasin, wooden bathtub, and did his own laundry instead of sending it to the neighborhood laundresses. He may or may not have bothered with an icebox. Fresh groceries needed to be cooked and eaten soon, as things like pasteurized milk or store refrigeration wasn't a thing.

If he had enough money, then he almost certainly hired maids or other servants. Whether the maid came over just once a week, or did the shopping and laundry every other day, hired help was much more common back then, especially if he had no wife.

The most popular musicians in 1933 were Bing Crosby, George Olsen, and Leo Reisman. As you might have noticed, it was trendy for the lead singer to be backed by an orchestra, not a 'band' of just four other people like today. The most popular radio shows were Dick Tracy, Sherlock Holmes, and Doc Savage. They were recordings the radio station would buy and then broadcast, or sometimes the actors were live on the air. The radio host was usually not the journalist - the production team was responsible for writing his script.

#alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanon

[cerisezero]

I keep thinking about the times that someone has looked at the idea of writing their language and gone '…yeah no I'm gonna fix that' or 'yeah I want a piece of that action' and made it happen, for any reason. And I'm gonna make noises about it for a little bit. Maybe highlight a couple of things.

You've got King Sejong in Korea going "OK. The script we're using now is hella complex and …Chinese. I want something that's easy enough for a farmer to learn. And maybe to pay his taxes with." And he works out hangul, neat and logical and frequent winner of Best Writing System awards if such things exist. (And then the nobles don't like it because how are they supposed to look smart if the peasants can write too?)

You've got Sequoyah, thinking the settlers he's doing business with might have at least one good idea in this whole 'talking leaves' system they're using. So he throws himself into working out a syllabary that works for the Cherokee language even when his friends and family think he's losing the plot or he's possessed or… Anything. But he hangs in there. Teaches his daughter. Proves that this is something worth it, and goes on to see the syllabary he created become official and used throughout the Cherokee Nation.

These are the best known ones. But how many are there out there?

There are systems where a missionary or someone similar's come into a place, and gone 'hm, Latin ain't cutting it for writing this' - the Cree syllabics and their extended Canadian family fall into this box, though there's at least some accounts that dispute the usual story. (Given that a lot of those sort of stories come down to 'so we can make a Bible at these people', it's fair to put a big old asterisk on them, but… they're a thing.) Getting away from that issue, though? There's local creators making a bespoke system for their language when the ones they'd picked up from outside just don't fit the sounds or grammatical patterns. Writing systems that can really belong to a language and its people.

While it's absolutely not my place to say whether something is good or bad - the only people who can do that are the language users and community the script was made for - there can't help but be a few that catch the eye. For example, I'm quite fond of the Ditema tsa Dinoko script - it's a pretty recent creation from South Africa as a script for a wide range of Bantu languages, using compact triangular blocks in a way that reflects traditional patterns from Sesotho tradition. From my outside perspective, it's an elegant script. It's just one example, though - there's many creators in Africa who have done similar things, sitting down and making a script that their language needs and that isn't being shoved on them by… yeah. Vai and N'Ko are the biggest examples but there are so many! Moving on, in Oceania, we find the Avoiuli text from Vanuatu, designed so that any one character can be drawn with one stroke in the sand… and elsewhere, the scripts being created to use with signed languages which haven't used them in the past…

If I were to try and go into all of them, it'd be a whole essay. And I'd probably miss some as I'm an outsider nerd without access to the deep literature on some of this stuff. Instead, I'll link to The World's Writing Systems as an index to browse through - unfortunately, it doesn't allow searching by how the writing system was created. But there are plenty of indigenous scripts listed there too that deserve their own deep dive. (The fact it lists con-scripts specifically made for fiction… eh.) Their icon comes from the Afaka script, for the Ndyuka creole in Suriname. A lot of the letters are quite pictorial in nature - including the 'ka' in WWS's icon. Gotta say, that's a way to make things memorable.

…anyway, that's my ramble for today. Just gonna wrap with this source which I haven't fully investigated yet, and Endangered Alphabets which isn't so much for deliberately constructed scripts but (unsurprisingly) for endangered ones in general, and as such plain deserves a link.

Now I go back to my own scribbling. Maybe I'll finish a con-script enough to show off one day. Even if one rather smaller in goals.

#writing #writing systems #language #constructed scripts #conscript #long post #i like words :3 #just a ramble

[gascon-en-exil]

a non-FE question from a person with a tenuous familial connection to quebec (anglo father adopted by a québécois couple) who's always curious about the different francophone experiences: my dad spent a lot of time in new orleans and loved it, but how do the new orleans francophones generally regard the québécois? are there any particular culture clashes?

Unfortunately there aren't many actual culture clashes because there's so little contact. Louisiana and Québec are separated by thousands of kilometers and a national border, and everything from vastly different climates to separate experience with resisting forced assimilation has caused us to diverge from one another quite substantially. I'm glad that I've made friends in Québec, and it seems like every week we're discovering some point of commonality we share in spite of everything that divides us, but that's an entirely personal connection that I sought out myself. Just a few days ago for example a few of them were sharing this post on Facebook:

and they asked me to tell them more about Louisiana king cakes, our spin on the traditional French galettes des rois which are still prepared in Québec apparently just as they are in France.

But let's see if I can condense our biggest differences to some bullet points.

Language: Québec is well known for being a majority French-speaking province, whereas Louisiana is...not. Practically all of the Louisianais are fluent English speakers, because starting from the 1870s French in Louisiana was stigmatized and systemically excluded from education, business, and politics. In recent decades there have been attempts at reviving the language, but they've been slow to take root without a foundation in the home to build upon. Both the Louisianais and Québécois practice code switching (the linguistic term for switching between languages in casual conversation), albeit in opposite ways. The Québécois speak mostly French but will include occasional English words and phrases in their speech, whereas as mentioned the Louisianais primarily communicate in English but use a variety of French terms and names as well as direct English translations of French not used in standard English (ex. "making groceries," a literal translation of faire les courses). This stark contrast is because of...

Population and politics: I won't pretend to understand the Québécois political system in any real depth. I do get however that a large part of the reason that they've been able to maintain a limited degree of autonomy as well as preserve their language is that ethnic French people vastly outnumber Anglos in Québec, and Québec constitutes a much larger percentage of Canada's population and economy than Louisiana does the US's, even back in the 19th century when New Orleans was a much larger city relative to the rest of the US than it is today. Beginning shortly after the Louisiana Purchase, Anglo-Americans began moving into northern and central Louisiana, establishing settlements and slowly pushing southward toward and even into New Orleans. This combined with various political maneuvers that progressively weakened Creole control in the area - splitting what are now coastal Mississippi and Alabama, which had initially been settled by the French, off from Louisiana, moving the capital from New Orleans to a then-barely-inhabited upriver border fort: Baton Rouge, which is mostly Anglo-populated despite the name - resulted in the Louisianais having far less control over our own state than what the Québécois have. Compound that with the aforementioned stigmatization of the French language, and many of the Louisianais have been left feeling disenfranchised and unwilling to participate in national politics. Louisiana is a "red state," in US political parlance, because its biggest voting demographic consists of the very same sort of people that make up the surrounding Bible Belt. Speaking of...

Religion: Québec had its Quiet Revolution in the 1960s, largely removing the presence of the Catholic Church and moving closer to France's model of laïcité/secularism. By contrast, Catholicism is still a highly visible element of life and culture in southern Louisiana, and Catholic education continues to be the standard in New Orleans. This is down to several factors, ranging from the poor quality of public services (not helped, surely, by the voters of northern Louisiana who like US conservatives in general recoil in horror from anything that might be dubbed socialism) to a matter of cultural preservation. The Bible Belt is an aggressively Protestant region, dominated by denominations that have historically held Catholics in poor regard. The US at large also has a long history of anti-Catholic discrimination, particularly in large cities like Boston and Chicago where Catholic immigrants formed a large percentage of the working classes. Southern Louisiana, however, has been majority Catholic since the colony's founding over three centuries ago, and presided over by specifically Latin Catholics in spirit if not in actual practice for all that time. The Louisianais have used that to make allies of other Catholic populations who've moved here, mostly the Spanish and Italians but also more recent immigrants like the Vietnamese. While I wouldn't describe most of us as religious in the sense that the US conceives of that term (I'm certainly not), Catholicism is still a crucial part of our heritage and the preservation of this region as a cultural enclave. I've had trolls calling me a conservative religious nut job because I call myself a Catholic, and yet ironically here we associate the Church with the city's decadent and libertine atmosphere. The focus on visual aesthetics, the relaxed attitude toward alcohol and sex and even sin itself...it's all in sharp contrast to the austerity of Bible Belt Protestants who descend upon New Orleans at regular intervals to protest Mardi Gras and Decadence and call us the new Sodom and Gomorrah, etc. And finally...

Climate: I said it before and it's a comparatively much more straightforward issue, but it really does make a difference. When we're in the height of our social season courtesy of mild subtropical winters, Québec is buried under snow. The reverse is true in summer, which in Louisiana is long and lethally hot and humid and plagued by disease-bearing insects and the ever-present threat of hurricanes. This has also affected our cuisine. Louisiana has a rich and internationally-recognized culinary tradition that builds upon a French foundation with a wealth of local innovations based on crops that thrive in this climate as well as the bounty of the Gulf of Mexico. Québec has...poutine. Obviously I'm joking a bit there, but it's telling that there are multiple Louisiana-themed eateries in Montréal - but the reverse is not true. I've always heard that hot weather climates produce richer and more diverse cuisines than cold weather climates, and I suppose that in this case at least it's true.

#Louisiana Francophone #Louisiana culture #Louisiana #Québec

[best-non-english-word-torunament]

Round one: Bikpela vs Oachkatzlschwoaf

(poll at the end)

Bikpela (Tok Pisin)

No IPA found

Translation: Big, master or lord

Tok Pisin is an English-based creole spoken in Papua New Guinea (the country, not the entire island) by 4 122 000 people out of 9 119 000 inhabitants. It is used as a lingua franca, since the island of New Guinea is well known for its many and small languages (852 of them, not including surrounding islands!!!). The lingua franca status becomes clear when regarding the fact that four million of its speakers speak it as a second language. It has a similar origin to Bislama, as they are related.

Motivation: In Tok Pisin they use the suffix -pela (which originally derives from the word fellow), to make adjectives. So bikpela is literally big-fellow. It also is the word used in the Tok Pisin bible to refer to "the Lord”.

Oachkatzlschwoaf (Bavarian) länk tyska

[ˈoa̯xkat͡sl̩ˌʃwoa̯f]

Translation: Squirrel tail (literally: oak kitten tail)

Bavarian is an Indo-European language belonging to the Germanic branch. It's spoken by around 14 500 000 people in Austria. It is part of the Continental West Germanic dialect continuum, usually considered an Austrian dialect of German but mutually unintelligible and thus a separate language.

Motivation: It's fun to look at and it's fun to say. Often used to confuse speakers of other German dialects as it is completely incomprehensible to them.

#best non english word tournament #poll time #round one #tok pisin #bavarian #bikpela #oachkatzlschwoaf

[imalokivarientstan]

ALASTOR'S POV ABOUT Veronica

It was 1929, the year of the stock market crash. Alastor was a famous and handsome Creole Radio Host in New Orleans, Louisiana, but by night, he was a famous uncaught serial killer.

He had just finished his broadcast for the day, including the report of his own murder unbeknownst to his listeners. His ever present smile plain as day as he walks down the street, women swooning as he walks by. he sees a nun, who's in her mid to early 20's and is very pretty but looks like she has young face and he sees that she heading into the cafe that alastor usually goes into when he done with his daytime job. Alastor was instantly drawn to the beautiful young Nun.

Her beauty was like something from the heavens. Alastor looked at her for a good few seconds, before pulling himself away and walking inside the cafe. As he entered, the cafe was packed as usual. He saw a booth seat that was open near the bar and that seat was Diagonally across from his view from where the nun was, so he decided to sit in that seat and pulled out a newspaper to read. Alastor sat down, putting his newspaper in front of his face, while also being able to see the Nun from his peripheral vision. Alastor was drawn to her beauty, and also drawn by a much darker force within. One he tried not to listen to.as he reads the news of his killings of him being "the new Orleans butcher." he also reads that there's a another killer in town called "the redemption side killer." Alastor stopped reading for a moment, hearing that a new killer had come into town.

Alastor couldn't believe that a murder could be getting more recognition than him. He turned his head and looked over his newspaper, seeing if the Nun was still there and there she was, from where alastor was sitting, was the gorgeous nun sitting in a table booth drinking tea and reading the Bible. Alastor stared for a short moment, and couldn't help but feel something about this woman, a feeling of both lust and of fear...he found it odd, but he couldn't pull his eyes away from her. Her beauty was unmatched, even to any of the women Alastor has met, and she was reading the Holy scripture...what type of power is this woman holding?

As she looks up from reading, she catches him staring at her from her corner of her eye. Alastor was caught off guard when she looked over. Even though her beauty was unrivaled, there was something else about her face, like there was deep hidden sadness, but not just that. Her eyes had a hint of something else, was she afraid of him? he sees that she looks at her watch and her face is calm but turns into worry and hears her say "Oh no, I'm late!" while she quickly pays and runs out of the door of the cafe, which gets alastor's attention.

Alastor instantly got up and followed her from a distance, hiding in alley ways and doorways to keep out of her sight. Alastor couldn't understand it...He wondered what she had to do, why was she in such a hurry? And most importantly...why did he feel as though he needed to go with her. Why did he feel the need to meet this woman that was causing such strange feelings within him?

as moments past, he sees that she entered into an orphanage. Alastor decided to go in and he sees that all the children were praying. Alastor realize that this orphanage was a church as well, then he sees her, Alastor sees the woman again. She's standing in front of all the children praying in front of her. He was able to see her up close now, and her beauty was even more so amazing now. Was she really a nun? Alastor wondered that...as he watched he couldn't help but be drawn by her. He watched her like a hawk, waiting and patiently watching, not wanting to lose her from his view. after the children was done praying, one of them ran up and hugged her and she says "Saint linn, saint linn may we please play now?"

Alastor thought that was the nuns last name. Alastor quickly made a mental note that she must be called Saint Linn. The way she spoke to the children, it felt like she was more of a mother than a nun. That only increased the feelings of lust and protectiveness within. He was still very curious as to why a woman such as her would want to be working in an orphanage. the nun speaks In a beautiful, calm voice "Alright, Marianne alright we can" and the children got excited to hear that. Alastor kept watching, this was all very intriguing. The children's faces were full of joy. As they began to play with the nun, Alastor's mind was beginning to drift off into its devious thoughts. Was this woman really a nun? She was absolutely stunning and incredibly kind to these children. And that only made him want her even more.

As the day goes on, alastor realizes how late it was getting and alastor knows what has to be done..Alastor thought long and hard...he realized that the sun had gone down, the sky was dark and it was becoming night. He realized that time was not his friend. He had wasted too much of it today, watching this woman. He decided that he would act now, instead of waiting for another day, another time...for he was starting to become obsessed with the thought of this woman. All of a sudden all he felt was hunger and desire.

As alastor walked among the streets, trying to pick his next victim, all of a sudden he hears a little girls screaming.Alastor instantly perked up his ears. That sound...there's no mistake in what it was. He'd heard it before, so many countless times. That sound he heard is something he's obsessed with, and when he does hear it... his blood boils with excitement. He immediately starts running toward the source of this scream.

when he follows the scream, he saw a abandoned building but before he could step inside, the little girls screaming stopped, he looked carefully into Window and saw the little girl dead by murder, blood was everywhere but someone else was in there, a women kneeling almost like they were praying and they had a holy cup that was with the little girl's blood, she drank the cup while drawing on the wall a bloody cross.. Alastor couldn't believe what he was witnessing. He saw a woman kneeling over a dead little girl, and with a cup of the child's blood. He couldn't begin to comprehend how someone could do such a gruesome thing to a child? This was an unimaginable sight. Alastor was starting to have doubts...was this woman really a nun? A nun is someone who serves God, and it didn't seem like this woman was serving God. He saw her now drawing a bloody cross on the wall, as he watched from outside the window.

Suddenly she turns around, which makes alastor worried that he might be caught by her, but sees that she the nun that was in the cafe earlier. Alastor was shocked by the sudden movement. He quickly tried to duck and hide, worried that he had been caught. When he looked over, he saw that the woman was the woman from the cafe, the one that had caught his attention earlier. What was she doing in here? Was she the true killer? As he watched his eyes narrowed as his face contorted with rage. She was now standing in the little dead girl's blood...just staring at the body. he hears her start to cry, almost like she was devastated by what she has done almost like she wasn't herself at the time, Hearing the woman cry sent Alastor back into shock. He had thought that the woman was some kind of deranged killer, not a nun. Her crying confused Alastor and he started to doubt again. Perhaps she wasn't the killer after all, perhaps she was the guardian here, looking over the little children. But why would she have blood in a cup from the child..?

he hears her say "What have I done..oh god, Marianne.. I'm sorry, so sorry..”Alastor was utterly confused. The emotions that this woman displayed were so conflicting. On one hand she was crying to God, looking like she had deep remorse for her actions. On the other hand, all the evidence pointed to the woman as the killer. She was kneeling at the dead girl's body after all with a cup of the child's blood. And why was she always calling this Marianne?

he continues to listen

"I'm sorry, my child.. I was supposed to protect you.. Not kill you... she yells out from rage... GOD GET OUT OF MY HEAD” Alastor was now fully confused. Was this woman truly insane? On one hand she was asking God for forgiveness. On the other hand, she told God to get out of her head. Alastor couldn't understand it. She said that she killed the child, and asked for God to get out of her head. This nun...was she insane? Alastor started to listen even more closely to the woman's rantings. she starts to cry even more "Every time, EVERY TIME WHY!?, I black out and wake up and see blood on my hands why.."

Alastor kept listening, he had come very close to the window. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. The woman was ranting and crying, she was crying about blacking out and finding blood on her hands. But the main question remaining was...why was she saying she blacked out? Was she a sleep walker, was she just insane? she continues to speak "I shouldn't have picked up this" alastor sees her holding something that was related to an voodoo object. Alastor was shocked by another realization. The woman was wielding what was clearly some kind of voodoo artifact. This only added to the confusion, as that kind of object is associated with dark and unholy powers. Alastor knew this, but how could a nun be wielding something like that? Were these the things she used to black out and kill people? Alastor felt sorry for her but had to keep a close eye on her.Alastor didn't realize it, but he had come so close to the window he could see a bit of the woman's face. It was like he couldn't tear his eyes away, and he looked with pity and also empathy. The woman was clearly someone who was struggling with something dark. He was still completely torn as to if she was the killer, but he felt something for the woman as well. He'd never felt this way before, was he starting to fall for her?

alastor says something to himself through his mind but hears her say*"I should head back home.." *Alastor looked up when he heard the woman say she was going home. Was she seriously going to leave a murder victim behind and just leave? Or was she going to come back later for her victim? Alastor decided to wait for a bit, to be sure that she wasn't going to go back and do any more foul deeds. Perhaps if he followed her home, he could learn something…He watched her lay a white tarp over her victim and prays over her body for forgiveness before leaving. After she prays she starts to take off her bloody nun's outfit, Alastor watched her as she wrapped up the victim and gave one last prayer. Her prayers almost sounded genuine. Alastor was curious now, what is under her nun's outfit? Is it like a disguise or is it something else? He continues to watch as she takes off her bloody outfit.

as he watched her undress from her bloody nun clothing fully, he in shock to see that she just in her undergarments, showing her curves of her body and she pulled out a full white dress with black Pokidots from the closet**Alastor was stunned when he saw the woman's body, her curves truly made his heart skip a beat. Even after everything he would see today, the woman was still stunning to him. She pulled out an outfit from her closet, the outfit itself was very sexy and beautiful with its black polka dot pattern. He couldn't look away for even a second, he was so mesmerized on one hand, and conflicted on the other.**alastor thinks to himself, conflicted be the feeling of her because he's never been interested in romantic feelings in his entire life, but when he saw her, it changed completely, which made alastor confused.

The confusion within Alastor was immense. He was never the type of person to fall, much less for a nun, and yet...here he was, his blood boiling with lust and desire when he saw this woman. But then also his protectiveness would flare when he saw her with the children. And now this feeling of confusion as he felt an attraction for her...the confusion was too much to bear. And Alastor was starting to question his very own existence.**then he asks himself something in his mind**Alastor asks himself a question: "What am I feeling for her? Why am I acting like a love struck teenage boy"? He asked himself why he was feeling like this. He was a killer, a monster, he was not supposed to feel such feelings. But he couldn't deny the feelings he began to develop. For the first time maybe ever, he was truly conflicted.

then he hears her footsteps with her heels on, walking towards the front door which is where alastor is hidden behind from outside**Alastor hears the woman walking towards the front door. There is absolutely no way he wants to lose this woman, maybe seeing where she lived would answer his many questions. He decided to quietly sneak out of the abandoned building and quickly hide behind the bushes next to it, keeping as still as possible so she wouldn't see him. He hid and watched as she exited, closing the front door behind her.**he sees that she also has red heels on as well**Alastor can't get enough of this woman. Her beauty was not only beyond words, but also beyond reason. Her red heels and the way she walked in them only added to the seduction. Alastor was truly obsessed with this woman now. Alastor then watches as she begins to walk down the street, following her at a distance, he couldn't let her get away.

but suddenly a random man stops her in her tracks and starts to speak to her as alastor watching from afar**"well hey there sugar, don't you know it's very dangerous to around in these streets in the middle of the night, especially for someone like you wandering around, those 2 killers are on the loose"**then she speaks*"I'm sorry but I don't do romance, I'm already married to God.." *she reference to the random man that she was a nun**Alastor heard the woman decline the man with ease. He was glad to hear it, although his blood was boiling that another man could stop to speak with the woman. The fact she was married to God only helped his obsession with her, he had always had a thing for religious women. But the man wasn't taking the hint, he still wasn't backing off. This irritated Alastor.

the random man speaks, obviously not taking the hint, which makes her feel uncomfortable**"oh come on sugar, it's alright to sin a few.."**Alastor started to get very impatient. The man was now making comments about sin and her appearance, obviously trying to seduce her. The man was getting too close and he was obviously making the woman uncomfortable. Alastor was now boiling with rage.**so alastor decided to take things into his own hands and tries to make look like he just walked out of the the abandoned house and starts walking down the sidewalk where they are**Alastor made a decision, he was going to take matters into his own hands. He got up from the bush where he was hiding and started to walk down the sidewalk that the woman and the man were standing on.

As the man continued to speak, Alastor got closer and closer to the two, eventually standing right behind the woman.**she slowly few steps backwards and feels someone else behind her and the random man speaks**"oh hello there, good sir, I was just talking to this young lady right here, just about a few things"**Alastor spoke with annoyance in his voice* "Yes I can see you were talking to this young lady...as I'm sure you could tell, she has no interest in speaking to you anymore. She wants to get home as quickly as possible.”*the random man speaks**"alright then.. Suit yourself, see you around sugar"* *the random man walks off**Alastor watched as the man finally got the hint and walked off. The man was so rude, this woman was beautiful, of course she'd be desirable! She had curves and features that were so stunning! Who could ever resist her? Just looking at her made Alastor feel weak. The fact that the man actually managed to stay that long was amazing to him.

Alastor couldn't help but admire the woman as he watched her, and she still had not noticed him.she turns out to face alastor. Alastor jumped and jolted as his cover had been blown. The woman now knew he was there. He wondered what she would do now, would she scream for help? Would she confront him? Or would she turn around and just walk away? But Alastor didn't even let it get that far, he spoke to the woman. Not only did he want to make sure she was ok after dealing with that creep, but he had a whole different motive in mind.she speaks to him in a smooth but pretty voice "Thank you, I didn't know what to do if you weren't there.."

Alastor couldn't hide the smile that started to form when she thanked him. He was so close to her now, they were only a few feet apart. He loved this woman's voice, it was so sweet and alluring. He couldn't help but admire her beauty and her curves, she was perfect. The way she thanked him melted his heart, he wasn't sure what to say now. "You're welcome...are you alright now?” she speaks " yes I'm alright.. I have to get home I had a long night, tonight."

Alastor had never felt feelings like this before, she was starting to make him so weak. He felt a rush the closer he got. He wanted to make sure she was ok, but more than anything he wanted to see where she lived. But he didn't want to come off as creepy...so he tried to act like he wasn't being a bit creepy.* "Do you live nearby?”"Just a few minutes away, right near where the church is, sir" *she says*"Oh....may I offer you some company on your way? It's really late and I wouldn't want you to have to walk alone. I'd hate for something to happen to you, especially after you have been through so much tonight already…”*she responds*"That would be lovely.."*she gives him an Innocent smile**Alastor was starting to melt. He couldn't really believe that what he wanted, to be alone with the woman, was actually happening. Now he just had to not mess things up...he wanted to keep talking to her. He wanted to see her more. He wanted...other things he couldn't even dare speak of.

He smiled back* "Do you mind if I ask you something while we walk?”"Of course" *she responded to him**Alastor had to keep the conversation going, he didn't want any silences to take over. The woman looked so innocent, he wanted to keep looking at her face.*"So...have you always been a nun?”"No, but.. Only when I moved here in new Orleans about 6 months ago…”*Alastor was taken aback by her answer. She was a nun and it wasn't even a lifetime? She must have decided on it recently then, that makes sense. But what were the circumstances behind this decision? He wanted to ask, but he didn't want his motives to be obvious. He thought of a new question.* "So...you moved to New Orleans around 6 months ago?”"Yes *sir*" *she says**Alastor was starting to feel like this was destiny. She literally did everything that was perfect for him. And she even called him sir, making him feel even more powerful. He wanted to know more about her, where was she from before? Why did she move? He couldn't help but ask.* "Where were you before moving here to New Orleans?”"Massachusetts, salem.."she looked away with sadness behind her eyes.

Alastor's heart dropped from her response. She was from Salem, Massachusetts? The home of many witch trials and executions? And he was literally in the presence of a woman who is a nun, from the home of many witches. This was certainly fate, this woman was truly divine for him. And the fact she was sad by her response had awakened not only his love for her, but also his curiosity. "What brings you to New Orleans? Did you move here to escape the place you were before, or was it something else?” "You can say something like that..” That answer made Alastor's curiosity grow. There was definitely something behind what she had said, this woman was so intriguing to him. And since she offered, Alastor began to dig more deeper. "You came to New Orleans to escape something? May I ask what that something was?” she sighs in sadness"Oh I don't know.. It was something mental I guess.. Wouldn't you agree sir?” Alastor caught on to her words quickly. Something mental...was she implying she had mental trauma? She was starting to feel more and more like the perfect woman for him. They both shared a deep mental torment. Alastor knew exactly what it was like to feel that suffering. This woman was literally made for him, from start to finish. And now he was trying to push the topic so that she wouldn't notice his interest. But then she called him Sir, and that made him feel powerful.

"I do agree…” she stopped walking"Well this is my stop" she pointed at her apartment door*Thank you again for escorting me down, I guess I see you around.. Sugar"and with that she heads on inside She calls him sugar! The whole thing just got real for him. He was going to have to see this woman again. He would have to see her again, there was no way he could let this woman go. As she walked over to the front door, Alastor knew there was no way he could let her end things like this.

He was suddenly struck with courage and he spoke to her "Wait...can I ask you one last thing before you go?” she turns around to face him"yes?”Alastor wasn't sure how he even had the courage to say it. But the whole situation from start to finish made him feel things he hadn't felt in so long; so much so that he felt like he had to try, he would regret it if he didn't. His voice and tone held confidence when he spoke. "Can I see you again?”she responded with a flirty tone"I don't know, how about we let the Lord decide if we can cross paths again, shall we?”The way she spoke, the way she had such confidence and charm and yet also so innocent, she truly was irresistible. He knew he was being toyed with, yet that didn't make him any less attracted to her. He responded to her with a flirtatious tone as well and a sly smile "I suppose we shall. Although I'm sure God sees what I feel for you…” "maybe.. I guess I'll see you around stranger."

Then she finally heads inside of her apartment. Alastor was left standing there alone in the cold, but he was so filled with determination to see this woman again, he would not let her get away. And after this encounter, he knew it was only a matter of time before they saw one another again, he was sure of it. as weeks passed, kept on watching her, stalking her, from a far and already knew her day-to-day schedule. Alastor knew her schedule perfectly by now. He knew it took her about 15 minutes to get to Church from her apartment, and he knew that she was back before 3. He knew when she got off work at 5, and where she went afterwards. He knew her whole routine and it was just a matter of when to actually talk to her again. He couldn't help but keep a watch on this woman, who was now his ultimate desire and not only, she also goes to the cafe that Alastor goes to daily before heading to the orphanage. Alastor knew the cafe she went to as well. He also saw that she had a job working in an orphanage and he was quite impressed with the fact she gave so much of her life to the children. She was truly divine in his mind, and the more he saw, the more it made him want to know her even more.

His obsession and love for this woman was growing stronger each day. He couldn't help but watch her more and more, as if it was his mission. And then she came to the cafe one day…she sits in the exact same place as she always sits where he first noticed her weeks earlier. Alastor was surprised when he actually saw her there. It only confirmed his suspicions that she does in fact go there daily...and that just made his desire for her even stronger. She was sitting at the same spot, and for the first time, he was not going to let her get away from him now. He wasn't going to let her leave the cafe without saying something to her today. He got up and went over to her. but before he can another girl sit across from from her and starts to talk to her"Oh my goodness! Look at you.. You look amazing even with you as a nun!” Alastor's heart dropped as he saw the other woman talk to her.

This girl was trying to flirt with the woman that, in his mind, was his alone. He was starting to feel something rising inside him, an uncontrollable rage at seeing another woman attempt to court the woman of his desire. This rage was only growing bigger and bigger...he needed to take action soon.but then she speaks still reading her Bible.

"How've you been Monica..and how is your husband doin?”Alastor was getting very irritated by the conversation, but he was also getting more and more excited. This woman was not interested in the girl at all, she was clearly devoted to Jesus and the Lord. This would be easier for him. But he still needed to do something quickly, someone else was talking to his woman. He couldn't let this woman take the spotlight away from where Alastor thinks it should belong...his obsession and love for this woman was reaching a boiling point...he would do something before a minute goes by. Monica speaks.

"oh veve, you've always been the one who is no fun... Shouldn't you have a daddy by now?”Alastor was so close to losing it. The frustration of having to now listen to this girl trying to court the nun was becoming too much to handle. His heart rate was increasing with anger and he couldn't even bare to hear this girl speak another word to the nun that he knew in his mind was for him alone. Just the way she used the nickname...it sent a shiver down Alastor's spine...and he couldn't allow the flirtation to continue. He needed to do something, and fast. then she speaks.

"You know I don't have time for that.. Look I know that we're best friends but I'm not interested in romantic things except.."then she bites her lip and Monica gasps in excitement"Oh my lord, WHO!”Alastor couldn't believe his emotions were about to boil over. This girl, who clearly had feelings for this nun, and whom she was biting her lip for right now, was making him angrier than he thought he could be. The jealousy was starting to consume him and all this girl had to do was say one more word…then she speaks softly to Monica so no one can hear"You see that man near the bar?"she points to alastor"That's the stranger I always see sit in the exact same spot but I don't know what his name is, but he is so fine looking"is still whispering to Monica.

He immediately freezes. He heard everything she said. He heard every word from her that was meant to not be heard. Her words about him were so...flirty. And her comment about just how good looking he was sent his heart rate soaring. Now he knew that this woman, whom he was obsessed with, found him attractive. He was so excited by this. But he needed to do something, anything to get her to himself. The girl she was talking to could not take her away from him.then Monica speaks "NU-UH, Really!?"

she Shooshes Monica, trying to lower her tone"I mean, I see what you mean but I'm surprised that you don't already know his name by now, he's well famous for his brodcast over the radio”Alastor could hear them talk more, and he could hear Monica's reaction. The woman who was his obsession was still only talking about how attractive Alastor was. It was working in Alastor's favor, he was now being talked about, and he was also being referred to now, and to his face as well. Alastor was getting more and more filled with adrenaline, he was so close to talking to this woman. This was becoming more and more exhilarating for him. He couldn't let any of this chance get wasted.then she speaks with excitement.

"Oh come on, tell me Monica, please?"*she begins to beg innocently for Monica to tell her his name but Monica shakes her head no and tsked at her"Sorry hon, that's on you..”He wasn't sure if the woman was just being flirty and funny right now, but at this point, he felt he was so close to her. Now she was asking for his name! She was talking about him! The fact she called him fine looking was enough for him, but she wanted to know his name too. Alastor felt his heart beating faster than he could keep up with. Even though she was a nun as well. but she continues to beg for Monica to tell her.

"aw, come on".. Please Monica just do this once??”Monica's no was obviously disappointing the woman. This was actually becoming more and more interesting to Alastor as the woman was becoming more desperate for the info. She desperately wanted to know who this man who she saw every day was, and if it wasn't obvious enough, he looked VERY good from what the woman had said to Monica. This woman was falling for him, and he was watching it happen. He felt like he was going to have a heart attack. then Monica laughs at her a little.

"Then go ask yourself that to him"but she shakes her head no"No way I'm asking.. Besides I'm a nun... And way out of his league”That line...the fact that she considers herself out of his league only fueled his ego higher and higher. He couldn't believe it, this woman, who was such a beauty, thought she was out of HIS league?! He would love nothing more than to prove to her how wrong she is. But for now, he couldn't let her give up. He had to continue listening to her and Monica. Monica speaks.

"not only, he's staring at you~"obviously teasing her as she hides her face from him with her Bible. That was it. Alastor had heard enough. He couldn't take it anymore, he needed to make a move as soon as possible. When he saw just how gorgeous this woman was when she was blushing and trying to hide her eyes, it only made him all the more desperate to talk to her. The way she was looking down so innocently and trying to hide from the looks he was giving her. She was definitely shy. So that means he will have to be the one to push forward...this was now a game to him. Monica laughs.

"veve, you're so red right now.. I can't.”Alastor noticed the woman was becoming more and more red with every joke Monica said. The fact that this woman was so innocent and easily flustered was exactly what he wanted, and he absolutely loved it. Maybe she was shy, but she also found him extremely attractive, that was clear too. So much so that now she is even blushing just by having his gaze on her. Alastor was starting to feel very powerful.then she speaks.

"Monica by heaven's name, I swear if you don't shut up about it I swear to the Lord.."her face turning more red which makes Monica laugh even harder. Alastor found the whole situation funny as well. Just seeing the woman become so flustered like this, even to the point of telling Monica to shut up, was so amusing to him. He was starting to understand why the woman came here every day. She was so perfect, with her shy personality and her beauty, she was so innocent, which he found to be such a turn on for him. This woman was truly a catch in his mind, something that cannot be missed.Monica then says which makes her panic.

"fine then I'll ask him to take you out hon" while she smirks at her. Alastor heard everything. He heard every word that Monica said about taking her out and he could sense it immediately. The woman went into a full-blown panic as soon as she heard her friend say that. Even if she was shy, she had to know that Monica was trying to set her up with Alastor. Now Alastor could see that his opportunity was coming to him. He can't deny it anymore, he needs to take this moment and claim it. Now he is ready to finally approach the woman of his dreams."No, no, no no, Monica no" she says. Alastor watched on as he heard the woman deny this whole thing so quickly. She really was so innocent. The fact she didn't even realize that Monica was trying to set them up was very cute to him. Alastor also didn't understand the whole denial of what Monica was saying. She found him attractive but didn't wanna go out with him? Why was she so nervous? This just made him more attracted to her, he felt like he was losing his mind."hon, you can't stay a nun all of your life, come on you need to let love in your life..i'm worried about you veve"Monica says.

then she speaks "I just want to look at him from afar, I don't want to hurt anyone else.. Not again..”Alastor was stunned upon hearing these words from her. The fact she just casually referred to herself as a nun was so endearing. But not only that, it was the ending of what she said that shocked him quite a bit. Did she have previous trauma? What did that last part mean? He had to know more, and this would be a perfect time to ask her...he just had to figure out how to do this without being too upfront about it, he couldn't risk scaring her away. His heart was still beating extremely fast.``honey, that was three years ago.. I'm worried that you're going to be alone.."Monica says.

That statement got Alastor even more invested. She lost her lover three years ago, so that meant she was single right now. He knew he had to ask her something. He had to get the answer from her without being too forward, as he wanted something like that to come organically. And now he had a perfect chance to learn even more about her. His eyes were fixed upon the woman, waiting for her to speak next. "I know he died for your love veve.. But that's in the past, not in the present besides he sounded like a total ass when you told me your past with him"Monica says.

That statement sent a chill down Alastor's spine. She was talking about someone who she loved but now dead, and he was called a total ass. Whoever that person was, Alastor didn't like hearing them being talked about in this way. Just who was this person who was so hurtful to her? He was growing more and more angry and also concerned about who this was.then Monica says her name very quietly so no one can hear"veronica Linn, my dear, you know I cared about you.. Ok?” That name set off more alarms in Alastor's mind. "Veronica linn..." that name, it sounded very...familiar. He knew this name and he had to find out exactly who and what this name is connected to. And the fact she called this name her friend and had mentioned something about care makes him wonder even more who Veronica Linn was and what their relationship is together."I know you do Monica... I know you do.." she says"Also never say my full name again, you know how I hate it.."she jokes to Monica while rolling her eyes sarcastically at her.

Alastor was intrigued by what he was hearing, and he was trying to make out what the woman was saying while also trying to listen to the conversation between Monica and her as well. Now his ears were on full alert because they heard something that he was trying to make sense of. That name....Veronica Linn, where have I heard it before? No...could it be…?she looks at him from the corner of her eye while she's talking to her friend Monica, almost like she's listening to his thoughts through her gaze. Alastor looked back at her, and he felt an extremely intense feeling of dread as soon as he saw her stare back and almost as if she was looking straight into his soul with her piercing eyes. Could she actually hear his thoughts? That couldn't be...but then that name just now, and what she said...this woman...she had to be Veronica Linn. The only one in his life he loved and then lost, the only one he thought about every single day…but Alastor also realized that she doesn't remember him...the only memory of her was when they were teenagers. That realization hit Alastor hard. This was the woman of his dreams! The girl he loved so deeply years ago. She was right in front of him! But...didn't remember him. She had clearly no idea who he really is...to her...he's really just another stranger right now. He wanted so badly to see her face when she realized it was him. The pain of remembering her now and realizing she has no idea was almost enough to break down in front of her and cry in that cafe. But he couldn't…Alastor also knows her dark secret... that she is the redemption side killer during the night by the nights he's stalked her, but no one knows that, only Alastor does...

Then Alastor says something to himself through his mind on how he'll get her back, even if it means killing others who get in his way…That knowledge is all he needed now to put into motion his plan. She is...the Redemption side killer. She is the mastermind behind the entire city of New Haven's murder cases...but she's so innocent during the day, an angelic figure even. This just makes things much more delicious for Alastor. How could he not want to make her his. She is the most beautiful woman he has ever laid his eyes upon, more than any woman he has encountered in his life. Besides, he was the New Orleans butcher after all..she speaks to Monica while getting up from her seat "I have to go... besides I don't want the children at the orphanage waiting”.Alastor froze at hearing her words, this was so not good. Now she's getting up and getting ready to leave him. That is NOT an option for him whatsoever. No one can take away this woman from him now that he has found her, his emotions are rising too high for him to not take action now. He needs to stop her from leaving or he will regret it very badly. He can't let this pass him by…

as she walks out of the dinner door, Monica pays for the food up at the front but Alastor sees that his nun left her bible on the seat of the booth. His heart literally stopped when he saw the bible being left behind. He had seen her put it down earlier before Monica began speaking to her. This was his chance. He had to act immediately. He quickly walked up to it and picked it up and looked through the pages, trying to find something that will lead him closer to where she will go next. He was desperate, he had to find this woman again, he couldn't let her leave him yet. as soon as he opened her bible, he saw handwriting that was in French and it was a love quote that he remembers so well, even his mother told him this when she was alive. Alastor's mind immediately connected the words that he saw written in the bible. The same words that his own mother once read to him. He felt like he was back in those days again with his mother who he cherished more than anything...now that same feeling was coming back. The bible also clearly belonged to Veronica...this is proof they have already met. But this made his emotions even worse as it was a reminder of the woman that he lost so long ago and alastor recited those word in his mind"Je suis fait de mille erreurs mais pas des erreurs de coeur." Alastor said this in a hushed tone in his mind. The words themselves had a lot of meaning to him as he remembered the day his mother read them to him. And now his words were being brought back because of the same woman who would mean just as much to himhe held back the tears and now he quickly pays the tab at the front and heads out of the dinner to follow her to give her bible that she forgot. he spots her, but as soon as he's at close range she gets on a street trolly. Alastor was immediately crushed by hearing that she was leaving on the trolley, but that quickly turned into a feeling of anger when she was within range. She was so close, and now she was about to get away from him. Alastor couldn't let her, he couldn't let her get on that trolley.

He started to walk quicker to the trolley and was thinking of what he could do to stop it. she reaches into her bag to pull out her bible but she realizes that she left it at the dinner and gets off the street trolly quickly while she starts running, not even paying attention to her surroundings and bumps into alastor. Alastor heard the trolley stop and then heard someone bumping into him hard. When he looked down, he saw the woman who he knew was Veronica. She was running because she forgot her bible, and she bumped into him in her hurry. He immediately looked into her eyes and saw the fear on her face as she realized that she has just run straight into him. They stood, staring at each other. If he played this right he could get her. One quick move is all it takes…"oh goodness im so sorry.." she says with worry but her voice is smooth like silk with a hint of a southern accent that gives Alastor the chills. Alastor couldn't believe what he was hearing. Her voice. Her smooth voice, the way she talked, the way she looked...everything felt like deja vu. There was only one woman that he knew that sounded that way, and she was Veronica...but could this be her really? No way.

After hearing this girl speak, there was no possible way that it wasn't her. She sounded the exact same, she talked the exact same, and now she was speaking to him just like she had all those years ago…Alastor clears his throat and starts to speak to her. "You forgot something." Alastor said to her. His voice was cold, but it was soft enough to sound friendly. He was keeping his distance from her, not stepping too close as he wanted to take things slowly...but was still staying near enough where she could clearly see his face. The mask he was wearing was no longer necessary, she couldn't recognize it was him, and he wouldn't need it from here if he played his cards right. she speaks with now relief "oh thank you sir, i was worried i lost this' 'Alastor's mind spun. This was her. No doubt. He felt that chill in his skin once more just hearing her speak. And those words she used. The "sir" made his mind race back in the old times once more. She hadn't changed at all to him. "oh no.. the trolley! i have to go, thank you" She says as the street trolley moves slowly while she hurries along her way.

Alastor wasn't about to let her leave. He had come too far, and now he has her, he wasn't letting that opportunity go to waste. His emotions started to rise as he spoke up.

"Hey, wait.”

she turns around for a brief second. Their eyes make contact with each other for just a moment, and in that moment, Alastor was almost tempted to rip off the mask he was wearing and just outright reveal himself to her. But the idea of shocking her with this too soon and potentially ruining everything just wasn't worth it. And he needed to play this game of theirs out, he would get there soon enough.

"Wait a second, let's talk.”"

I'm sorry, mister but I have to take care of some children at the orphanage and I am already running late.." She says. Alastor paused for a moment. The woman...she was a nun. She worked with kids to make their lives better. This was definitely the woman he loved. The woman who would always talk about trying to help with the kids of the orphanage because she was so selfless. This was perfect, the perfect opportunity. Now he had to act perfectly.

"Ah, how kind of you. I understand. May I escort you to the orphanage?”

"Oh that's not necessary but I appreciate your kindness" she says to him while being in a rush to get on the street trolley. Alastor was not taking no for an answer. If something was going to happen between them and he was going to claim her as "his" he needed to keep her beside him. And the longer he could keep in close quarters with her, the better. He was getting closer to her and was going to walk beside her.

"I insist. This way.”

Before she can refuse, he grabs her hand while the streets get a little bit busier, leading her to a shortcut to get to the orphanage quicker than the route that she takes. Alastor led the way, and Veronica followed behind him. The closer they got, the faster Alastor's heart beat faster. He kept her close beside him, as if they were a couple. Everything about this was going good so far. But one thing was missing...the reveal. Just when would he take the plunge and do it?He navigated the streets with such ease that they arrived at the orphanage in record time, leaving her surprised and impressed by his knowledge of the area. The realization that he knew the streets better than she did made her wonder how many other hidden talents he possessed.Alastor looked at her as they made it to the orphanage, and she was standing there with her jaw slightly dropped. His knowledge of the area did impress her, but now Alastor needed to turn his attention to the main task here. Veronica didn't know who he is yet, and if he didn't make the reveal quickly, he may miss this opportunity permanently. Now was the time.``well, you sure know your way around here" she says while softly smiling at him. Alastor saw her smile at him, and he knew he couldn't let her just walk away from him like this. It was now or never. The reveal was coming.

"Yeah, I've been around this place enough times to know everything about it. You can say I pretty much live all around the area." Alastor said, casually looking away from her, pretending not to have a care in the world. The time was now for the reveal. He had to wait a few more more seconds...then he would tell her. "especially with the two killers on the loose recently?" she says to him with a gentle smirk on her face, secretly almost referencing her being one of the killers. Alastor's mind froze when he heard this. He didn't want to believe she was involved with those killings. But the way she said it as if she was one of the killers...and the fact she talked about them so casually like it was no big deal, what did she mean...he had to confirm this.

"How bad has it been in the streets with these killers around?" Alastor says, trying really hard to keep his voice calm. He was in a panic internally though."What I read in the lastest 1921 newspaper is that there have been ongoing investigations into the activities of two notorious criminals - the "New Orleans Butcher" and the "Redemption Side Killer". While there were initial claims of progress in the case of the former, it was later revealed that the suspect who had been identified as the Butcher may have been falsely accused and is still at large. As for the Redemption Side Killer, the case remains unsolved and authorities are continuing their efforts to bring the perpetrator to justice..."she says to him. Alastor's heart started to beat very fast as he heard these words. It was true, it was all true. These killers are so infamous and known everywhere that she even knew about them and knew about all the events regarding them. But why is she telling him this? He was the one they were talking about! The New Orleans Butcher, that was him. He was this man that people were afraid of.

"I read about all of this just earlier today actually.” he response

"Really? Hopefully, I won't be the next victim especially with the New Orleans butcher. I also heard that he's a cannibal as well, which is against all sins combined" she jokes to him about being next which makes alastor's thoughts filled with ideas. These words are getting more and more suspicious now. The fact that she is joking about this is not normal, no normal person would joke about something like this. Especially knowing the details of what these killers did to people. And the fact that she said exactly which killer he was...it was almost as if she was asking for him to reveal himself to her.

"Yes, the stories about these two killers are very bad. Almost impossible to believe. But we should both watch out, it seems people have gone missing lately. We should keep our guard up…”"We should...Excuse me for asking, but my memory is failing me. There was an evening when someone kindly walked me to my apartment, and I believe it was a gentleman. It was quite late and I was feeling quite vulnerable and this random stranger kept on catcalling and he helped me out of that awkward situation, I apologize if I am mistaken, but I was wondering if you happened to be that person?" With a hint of hesitation in her voice, she hopes to discover the identity of her kind escort.Alastor was speechless for a moment and then chuckled softly at her. The fact she described one of the times he followed her to her apartment was definitely hinting at him. She remembers him...but she thinks he's just a gentleman walking her home.

"Oh, that was me. I'm sorry that you experienced all of that, it must have been quite frightening." The lie felt wrong as he said it, but he had to use this to his advantage. She thinks he's just some normal guy. He was never better than the opportunity here. One chance only. "no wonder why you looked so handsomely familiar" As she teases him with a teasing grin on her face, Alastor can feel a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. He tries his best to maintain his composure and not give in to her playful banter, but deep down he can't help but feel a tinge of embarrassment. Despite this, he manages to keep a straight face and not let on that her teasing has affected him. He takes a deep breath and carries on with the conversation, hoping that his composure will not falter again. "Oh? Is that so" Alastor said, trying his best to keep his cool despite the blushing on his cheeks. The fact that this beautiful woman was actually enjoying the banter was starting to get him excited, but he needed to stay in control. She liked him, this much was clear. However, she was still unaware that he was indeed the New Orleans Butcher...that was all about to change."Is there a possibility that we might cross paths again in the future or let that decision be up to the lord above, stranger?" she asked with a teasing tone in her voice. Alastor laughed at her teasing, she was so innocent and pure, so beautiful, but she had no idea that this "stranger" she was talking to was actually a notorious criminal and killer. This would be the perfect time to reveal himself and capture her heart. He couldn't let the opportunity pass.

"I'm sure we'll see each other again...and even the Lord would approve of this.” Alastor stood before her, his eyes searching hers as he took a deep breath. He knew that this would be the last time they would be together, and he wanted to make it count. He reached out and took her hand in his, feeling the softness of her skin against his own. He could feel the warmth of her fingers and the rapid beating of her heart. Alastor leaned in slowly, his lips hovering over her hand. He took in the scent of her perfume and the feel of her delicate skin. He savored every moment, knowing that he would never forget the feel of her hand in his or the sound of her voice. Finally, he pressed his lips gently against her hand, a bittersweet and tender gesture of farewell. As he pulled away, he met her gaze once more, his eyes filled with emotion. He knew that he would always carry a piece of her with him, and he hoped that she would do the same.With a final, longing look, Alastor turned and walked away, his heart filled with both joy and sadness. He knew that they would meet again someday, but until then, he would cherish the memory of her soft hand in his. Alastor felt his heart beating fast as he put his lips up to her hand. The fact she let him do it was surprising, but it was so sweet that she did. The kiss on her hand was bittersweet, and once he pulled away, Alastor knew he would always remember this. He knew he wouldn't feel the same kind of love with any other woman...he hoped that she also kept this moment in her mind. As he walked away, his mind raced with ideas of what the future would have with her. Would he ever see her again?

months later..

He was in the woods, disposing of one of his victims' bodies, and he suddenly heard something in the background. He gets startled by the noise and looks around, hoping it is his Veronica. But then suddenly **BANG**...a gunshot fired in the middle of his forehead and his last thoughts before his last and final breath were I'm sorry for not telling you my name...Alastor's mind raced in front of him, the sudden noise caught him by surprise, and when he heard the gunshot, it all felt so sudden. The bullet hit his forehead, and as his vision blurred, he had time for one final thought of her. His eyes were closing and there was nothing he could do. His thoughts drifted away once more and he had a final mental image of Veronica before he closed his eyes. If only he told her his name... if only he had the moment to say it... he could have been more than a stranger......

Despite being aware of the consequences of his actions and knowing that they would lead him to eternal damnation, the man's heart longed for a final glimpse of Veronica. He knew that it was an impossible desire, but the memories of their time together kept haunting him, and he couldn't resist the urge to see her one last time. His mind was consumed by the thought of her, and he couldn't help but wonder if she still remembered him the way he remembered her. The weight of his guilt and the fear of the unknown future seemed small in comparison to the burning desire to catch a final glimpse of the woman he loved. The images of Veronica flashed before his eyes, and he saw the beautiful woman who had taken so much of his heart. He missed her, and the fact she was on his mind even during his mortal ending...he couldn't help but be content with that. Alastor wanted more, though, he wanted to see her one last time...but with each minute, he realized it was becoming more and more impossible. He just wished he could've seen that beautiful face he loved just one last time.

(A/n: let me know if I missed anything about this)

#oc lore #alastor #writers on tumblr #original character #hazbin hotel #fanfic #fandom #writing #oc shipping #human alastor #novel

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

1 Jan 4:10 Kounye a, kisa lanmou ye? Se pa nou ki te renmen Bondye an premye, men se li ki te tèlman renmen nou. Li si tèlman renmen nou, li voye Pitit li pou li netwaye peche nou yo.

(In this is love, not that we loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the expiation for our sins.) — 1 John 4:10 | Nouvo Testaman: Vèsyon Kreyòl Fasil (VKF) Nouvo Testaman: Vèsyon Kreyòl Fasil Copyright © 2017 by Bible League International Cross References: John 3:16; John 6:51; John 13:34; Romans 3:25; Romans 5:8; Romans 5:10; Hebrews 2:17; 1 John 2:2; 1 John 3:1; 1 John 4:9; 1 John 4:19; 1 John 5:11

#sin #sacrifice #love #God #Son #Savior #1 John 4:10 #The Epistle of First John #New Testament #VKF #Haitian Creole Language Bible #Nouvo Testaman: Vèsyon Kreyòl Fasil #Bible League International

[welcome-to-oslov]

Hello! I've spent the past couple of weeks enamored, fascinated, and obsessed by Oslov <3

I was wondering, what is your writing/planning/plotting process like? The world is so intricate, there are so many characters and events and moving parts and sinister plots to keep track of, and I'm amazed how you carry them all though with such detailed care. Oslov is like a spiderweb in all senses of the word, and I'm entirely entangled in the best way as a reader. I'm curious, how much planning goes into all these stories, because everything is so wonderfully connected at any distance.

Also, you mentioned in an earlier Tumblr post the Oslov language and an old grammar for it. I love constructed languages, and also construct them for writing, so I'd be sooooo interested in seeing and hearing what the languages in the saga are like (from inspiration to grammar to vocabulary to development to everything). I understand it is rooted mainly in Germanic (and maybe some Slavic languages) and emerged as a mixture/creole or something similar? If you're interested in sharing some of it, I'd love to learn :)

Thank you for this amazing saga! I'm so excited (and terrified) for what's to come in Oslov Unraveled.

Thank you so much for reading!! And that’s so cool that you create languages too. I wrote my “Oslov grammar” back when I was in college, so it isn’t one of those impressive constructed languages that follow real linguistic principles, but I did apply what I learned from studying German, French, and Latin. The whole thing is handwritten—but readable, I think—so I’ll do a separate post soon with some photos. I wonder if I could scan it, lol.

My writing process is chaotic. I would love to have a “bible” for the whole series, but I haven’t had time to do more than make a few outlines. Luckily I can usually remember which stories/chapters I need to review to prep for new chapters, but continuity errors do slip through. (The color of Besha’s scarf is one I just noticed!) I have one ring binder that contains all my Oslov materials, from the grammar and maps I created decades ago to the more recent time lines and story outlines. I do all the outlining in longhand and don’t write in Scrivener or anything nice like that, just Word.

So I rely on my memory of the overall story and character arcs. It’s far from flawless, but because the story was mostly in my head for so long—barely anything was written down until about 2017—I have a lot of practice in remembering. The story has gotten a LOT longer and more complicated since I started writing it. But it still doesn’t feel like work at all, more like daydreaming, which is what it’s always been. And I love that! If I ever published it, I would get more systematic, but I hope it would still be an escape and not work for me.

Anyway, thank you so much for giving me an excuse to geek out about this! 😊

[afelldemon]

A few of the books in Alastor's study:

A copy of the Douay–Rheims Bible. Rarely used, and extremely hard to obtain in Hell, but kept for sentimental reasons.

A fifth edition Picayune Creole Cookbook - the most well worn out of everything in his little library, and the one he uses most often. (PSA: LET ALASTOR COOK FOR YOUR MUSE).

Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury and As I Lay Dying. He's also managed to read Absalom, Absalom but... he can't keep a copy around him. Hits a little too close to home.

Heavily self-annotated copies of Voodoos and Obeahs by Joseph J. Williams and Liber ABA by Aleister Crowley.

#{headcanons}「i am a reasonable spirit」 #{alastor; ic}「on the air」

[3rdeyeblaque]

Today we venerate Elevated Ancestor Venerable Henriette Delille on her 210th birthday. 🎉

Through her life's work in serving the poor & ministry in her founding of the Sisters of the Holy Family, Venerable Sister Henriette Delille has cemented herself in Black Catholic History in America.

Born a "Free" Woman of Color as a Louisiana Creole with West Afrikan ancestry, to a large mixed family of Creole, Spanish, & French descent. She was a product of the placage system to an unmarried 2nd generation Creole (descended from a West Afrikan Grandmother) & a Spanish sire. While the women in her family were groomed to form serial relationships with wealthy White men, Sister Delille resisted this placage lifestyle in favor of Catholic religious teachings. As a young girl, she became involved in catechism - serving as witness to many marriages among the enslaved & Godmother to their children. She bore 2 sons as a teenager who both died by the age of 3. At 24, she professed her faith & love in Christianity. She'd go on to establish the written template for a devote Christian woman archetype, founding the Society of the Holy Family in 1846 followed by the Association of the Holy Family in 1847, the 1st order of Afrikan descent nuns, who's mission it was to serve the poor, tend to the sick, & educate the ignorant; and committed to many sacrifices in doing so.

Sister Delille faced insurmountable odds in opposition to her service at such a racially violent & socially divided era in U.S. History. Her family abhorred her involvement with slaves for fear that she'd expose their Afrikan roots. The public & the Church largely refuted the involvement of Black Women in Christian service. She overcome it all with humble grace, leadership, & faith. She formed her own order, which had not yet been given formal recognition by the Holy See & took their Confirmation vows in private.

"For the love of Jesus Christ, she made herself the humble servant of slaves.” - the last word in Venerable Henriette Delille's obituary.

Sister Delille rests in Louis No.2 Cemetery in New Orleans, LA. and is currently under canonization. In '88, she was declared a Servant of God. In 2010, she was declared Venerable. Hers is the first case of its kind to be officially open by the Vatican. If the canonization process continues, she'd be the first Afrikan descendant born in the U.S. to achieve Sainthood. Though there is some controversy surrounding her using owned/freed 1 enslaved Woman named, Betsy (the circumstances surrounding this are a mystery) & her being Creole Octoroon, thus questioning her "Blackness" as she self-identified as "Non-White".

We pour libations & give Venerable Henriette Delille her 💐 for her fierce perseverance & commitment to the selfless service. Her patronage is that of racial, gender, healthcare, education, & social equality.

Offering suggestions: a Catholic Bible (in the French tradition), recite her prayers, & red wine.

🌟 FINAL copies of The2023 Hoodoo's Calendar are available for purchase (once sold out, that's it)! Subscribe to the official e-newsletter for the latest updates & exclusive content access. https://thehoodoocalendar.square.site 🌟  

#the hoodoo calendar #ancestor veneration #Venerable #Henriette Delille #black catholics #new Orleans #black Saints

[rosyronkey]

me when i write 17 pages of fanfiction in a blind rage haha, i'm just so in love with my 1960s rural louisiana native will graham headcanon and i don't even mention hannibal at all lmaoo

writing begins under read more, cws for mentioned abuse and period typical homophobia

Will said he would make the groceries himself. 

He announced it to himself, the second Sunday morning cartoons were over, when the bulky TV balanced carefully on the kitchen counter went to the news. His declaration was punctuated by a chorus of bird calls outside the stained glass window. He had done the window himself, as a school project in sixth grade, back when he could take art classes and not get called a pussy.

He dropped his bowl in the slowly overflowing sink, knowing his dad would be on his ass later that night about not cleaning them when he was done. His glass and spoon joined the mess, and he went to get his shoes from the well-worn rug by the door. The mat said "Helleaux" in faded blue block text, but the middle had been walked on so many times it read more like "Hel-ux". 

He paused by the door, waiting to grab his keys from the ring in favor of surveying the kitchen. The TV was still blaring on the chipped counter, and he had forgotten to push his chair in, so the scuff marks on the wood floors were evident. His dead dog's bowl was still pushed into the corner, gathering dust. He carried it from house to house, no matter how many times they moved. As much as he wanted to throw it away, trade it in at the junkyard for a couple extra cents, some stupid strand of sentimentality kept it there.

Will went to untwist the antennae of the TV, and sat on the counter to pull on his Converse. They were the only brand new clothes he'd gotten in years. Dad had bought them for him at the beginning of summer after Will left enough ripped out ads on the coffee table. He had knocked him upside the head the first time, but got the hint when Will defiantly slammed one down with bleeding knuckles. They were left on his bed without a note, and when he picked them up, the red cotton bled out into the air and stained his fingers. He left the laces untied and hoped he looked tuff enough to make up for possibly tripping over them later. 

The stairs were the same chipped concrete and struggling weeds as they always were, green leaves reaching towards the sky. They always struggled for freedom, only to be pulled up from the roots by some old man's hand. Will knew how they felt, in a way. 

He paused, and stopped to breathe in the air. Weed, crawfish, and human excrement. Someone was cooking, somewhere. Someone was always cooking.

The old lady across the street with a baby constantly on her hip yelled a greeting at him in French. It wasn't real French, he knew that much. It was bastardized Creole-French, the kind you can only learn from the old geezers who lived in rotting houses on the end of the block. The ones with empty beer bottles hanging from trees in desperate attempts to keep the ghosts away. He said something or other back, the words tumbling over each other in a way he would have been embarrassed to hear in English. She seemed to find his words satisfying, and turned away to soothe the child sitting behind her on the steps. 

The streets were empty, not surprisingly for a Sunday morning. If his dad were home, Will knew they'd be in church already, sitting in packed pews and drowning in the incense-clogged air. He'd have to dig out his good collared shirt from the pile in his room, and hope to God he didn't mess up the words when they had to stand up and sing. 

Church was supposed to come with a community feeling, that all these people were coming together to pray to one god. They read the bible verses together, and sang together, but it only left Will feeling alienated, no matter which town they were staying in. He hated church. 

A breeze picked up, pulling Will out of his head and back onto the cracked black street. He wished in hindsight that he'd grabbed a bag, even if it was his shitty messenger bag, to put the groceries in. The fridge was severely lacking in anything remotely edible, and he quickly listed off in his head what he needed, and what he wanted. The list of what he wanted spiraled into a philosophical mess, so he abandoned it and started down the street. 

At one house, he stopped dead. He wasn't more than halfway there to the store at that point, but he remembered this house. He'd been invited to a birthday party here, the kind you had in middle school where your mom invited the whole class, and you were too young to care about who came. Will doubted it was much more than a pity play, considering all anyone knew about him was that he was the boy with no mother, and the absent, fisherman father. Will didn't even know their son well, Casper May, who Will was pretty sure had called him a sonofawhore at one point, well after the birthday party in middle school. 

But they had a trampoline in their backyard. Will had never wanted to jump on a piece of shitty metal more than in that moment. It was more about the knowledge he'd have, knowing that he'd trespassed and used their toy without them knowing. Cars were absent from their driveway, and with a quick glance up and down the street, no one was around to see him. No one would notice, but then again, no one ever did. 

They had a low fence. Most houses where he lived did, with practically non-existent crime and all that small town bullshit. It only took a short trek to the service road, and a hop onto their garbage cans, and he was over the fence. The wood reached out for him as he jumped, and he could feel the rips on his pants widen. There was nothing he could do about it now, not in a stranger's backyard and with a waiting trampoline not five feet away. 

The first jump was like a hit of a drug in his system. Euphoric and short-lived, living him reeling and wanting more. He ignored the creaking springs to jump higher. The point when your feet were in the air, and everything was weightless and suspended in time and space was his favorite. He could feel his shirt lift, and watched the leaves and seeds scattered about flip into the air with every impact. Even the sharp pains going up his leg when he landed couldn't deter the pure fun he was having. He hadn't felt like this since he was a little kid. No responsibilities, just an open blue sky that he could almost touch. 

Will flopped backwards, onto his back, and had the breath knocked out of him. He was expecting to fall straight down with only a small bounce, but his momentum flipped him backwards, and his neck twisted at an odd angle. A scream threatened his throat. He stumbled back to his feet, hands flying to check his neck, but he was fine. He was just overreacting. He was fine, but he didn't feel like jumping anymore. 

He was sixteen years old, and he was jumping on a trampoline. God, he was so immature. He sat for a moment in the side, his feet hanging over and shoes contrasting the well-kept grass. His own lawn was brown and the only plants still alive were weeds, persistent things.

He laid back again, slower this time, all the while scrutinizing himself for it. He needed to leave, they could be back any minute and they didn't need some teenager lying on their trampoline. What he needed to do was scale the fence, and fuck off. 

But he stayed there, and stretched his arms toward the sky. Without jumping, it no longer gave the illusion of touching the clouds, more like his hands were hovering just inches away. His fingernails were scuffed and bitten short, his right middle finger nail torn away completely to show the pink skin. His hands were unnaturally knobby, too, probably an effect of malnutrition. Will traced his bones through the skin, and wished, not for the first time, that he could peel his skin away and pull them out. Not to harm himself, no, though the side effect was welcome. To see the muscles attached to his joints, and see how they flexed and moved. He wondered if they were really pinkish red, like he saw in diagrams at school, or if his were darker. Abnormal. 

He tried to ignore the car noises from the driveway, he really did. He vaguely wondered how the Mays would react if they found him like this, spread wide on hot metal. He didn't want to be found, but there was some dark part of him that begged to be seen. 

He could definitely hear their voices now, cheery but strained from church. If they came around the back and saw him, he was screwed. So why wasn't he getting up?

With a push off the springs, he landed in the grass. Unhurt, but adding new stains to his clothes. He brushed himself off with more force than necessary, then made the mistake of looking at the back of their house. Someone was standing behind the screen door, watching him. Not just anyone, but fucking Casper May, with his hands in his pockets and an open-collared shirt. Will could see his collarbones, and the slight flush on his cheeks. His face was void of any emotions that Will could see at least, and curiously, he wasn't turning to get his parents, or open the screen and yell at Will himself. He wasn't sure if he should thank him, but he couldn't seem to break his gaze. 

He dropped it finally when he was situated over the fence, but if he could see Casper's eyes through the fence, Will knew he'd still be looking. 

He'd wasted enough time as is, he needed to get to the store before everyone else got out of church. He turned and ran down the service road, nearly tripping every few feet on rocks and uncollected garbage bags. He ran like someone was chasing him, away from the May's house and deeper into town. 

His pace slowed once he reached a fork in the road. More people were milling around now, and he wondered just how long he'd wasted on the trampoline. Surely not enough for every service to have let out already, but many more than he wanted. He decidedly didn't catch anyone's eyes, and prayed they wouldn't give him a second glance. With his eyes trained downwards, tracking his feet as he walked, Will could almost pretend that he was alone. 

Will didn't like people. He saw too much at times, but not enough at others. Certain people were open books to him, just in the way they'd stand and hold themselves and what clothes they wore and how loudly they talked. But in turn, he seemed to mimic them, molding his nonexistent personality to something they would find suitable. His father called it a gift, but only when Will earned him some complimentary stares at a crawfish boil. Otherwise, it was a hindrance. 

For example, at that moment, he looked up and met a girl's eye across the street. She was pretty, and well-dressed, and stood with her family outside a church where the pastor (probably her father) was shaking hands. But when she looked at him, he could see right through her. The backhanded compliments she received nearly every day, and the pressure to be just like her mother, just like every other good housewife. Will watched her eyes stray to the bottoms of ladies skirts, and then quickly look away. She would never be her father's perfect daughter. 

Will realized he had stopped there, in the middle of the street, with his hands in his pockets to watch this girl. She didn't know him, and if Will saw her again he would purposely avert his gaze, but in this moment they were interchangeable. Every struggle she had cut through his skin like a knife through butter, and he felt her pain building on his bones. With a heavy heart, he pulled himself out of her head. He didn't want anymore pain, whether it be his own or someone else's.

He was almost at the junction of the corner store now, and he spirited in front of a car to cross. They yelled something at him, probably cursing him out for being a dumbass, but the words were lost to the wind. Will was momentarily grateful for it, but then the moment ended, and he was just a fool standing on the curb. 

The door was a step up from the outside, but inside was cool and quiet, with just a generator to interrupt his thoughts. Will breathed it all in, the artificial flavors, the burnt meat sitting under heat lamps, all of it. He wanted the smells to burrow into his bones and make a home so he could always have them with him. He walked to the freezer aisle.

He realized he wasn't normal for this. Even if his ideas of 'right' and 'wrong' were hopelessly skewed anyway (small town cops were ruthless, as he would learn), just the idea of relishing something as pointless as the smell of a store was weird. If he could admit that much to himself, breathing in the stale, cold air of the freezer aisle and reeling in its taste wasn't that hard. It was all he could do to not breathe air onto the glass, and trace meaningless designs until someone else came to get microwave pizza. The fluorescent lights glaring down on him were just that, glaring, like they could read his thoughts and wanted to blind him of his reality. 

He could only sit with his thoughts next to tubs of ice cream for so long, and he got what he needed. What he wanted and what his dad wanted for him were so vastly contradictory they could exist on different planes of existence, but there was some merit to his father's words. While gorging himself on crappy white bread and mozzarella cheese was, in his eyes, living the dream, his stomach would soon protest. 

He reached for the easy-heat chicken and broccoli meal, but caught the eye of Casper May from across the aisle. He was getting nothing but gum and cigarettes, tucked neatly under his bare arm, and so Will paused with his hand still inside the freezer. He'd changed his shirt to a white tank top, how in such a short time Will didn't know. Didn't want to know. His heart was beating faster than he wanted to admit, a reminder of the pulsating blood and muscle an inch under his skin. He was too scared to notice these things, the way the shitty fluorescents caught Casper's blond hair and made it shine like gold. He could come over to Will, yell at him in front of the frozen broccoli about trespassing on his land, but he didn't. He pursed his lips and had the audacity to look interested, as if he didn't catch Will in his backyard less than an hour ago. It was the knotted eyebrows, and the slight tilt in his hips that Will was sure he wasn't even aware of doing. But staring at Casper, and Casper's hips, and honest to God, were his arms always that thick? wasn't helping his heart, or his head. Please walk away. Leave me alone, Will tried to say with his eyes. 

Casper didn't hear him, couldn't hear him. He walked back outside, momentarily letting in sounds from the outside, and Will took a TV dinner from the back of the freezer. He would forget about this tomorrow. Hopefully. 

When Will stepped outside with his already tearing plastic bag of groceries, Casper was gone. Bastard. If all he wanted to do was give Will a heart attack, he'd achieved that much. But now, with the frost of his purchases dripping onto pavement before turning to steam instantly, Will realized he didn't want to go home. Not yet. This day had started as an adventure, and he'd be damned if it didn't finish as one. 

So he tapped his fingers together, and sat on the curb next to his groceries, and thought about where to go. Not the library, definitely. His classmates had caught him there once, and hit him upside the head with the book he'd been reading, and he'd had a bruise the size and shape of Texas on his cheek for weeks. He wasn't eager for a repeat performance. He could walk down to the creek, except it was blisteringly hot and probably crowded out there. Besides, it took nearly an hour to get there and back, and Will only had half of the day left. The only places a guy could go for fun was the pool hall (always full of drunks) and the fishing dock (the longer Will could avoid his father, the better.)

Yet again, Will cursed out small towns and their deprivation of anything to do under his breath. It had been better when his father was getting higher quality jobs, and he worked in port city after port city. Will could walk around those cities for days and still find new things to do, whereas out in Bum Fuck Nowhere, he could walk from one side of the town to the opposite in under an hour. 

So, there wasn't anything to do. Will sighed then blew a curl out of his face. The sun was beating down on him with no regrets. If he didn't put his groceries in the fridge, they'd get warm. Or something. Will didn't actually understand why cold things needed to stay cold. He'd rather they suffered in the heat like everything else. 

Will groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. Once he started personifying inanimate objects, it was over for him. God, it was so hot. Sometimes Will really hated summer in Louisiana. He looked up, propping his head in his hands and waiting for his eyes to focus. 

There was someone across the street, waving at him. He got to his feet, confused but intrigued as they gestured him over. When he got his groceries and set them down next to him, the man asked him something in French. People were so much more polite if they spoke French, he learned. Either that or they were the biggest assholes he'd ever met.

The man was asking him to fix the back door of his store. Before Will could respond, he went on to explain himself, saying he thought Will looked to type to know how to do such a thing. Will wasn't going to correct him if it meant he got to do something other than sitting on the curb like a lump of shit, waiting for inspiration to strike. He asked the man to show him the broken door.

There wasn't any charm in his tone. It came with the territory of fending for yourself as a kid, dodging drunken fists and finding escape in 50 cent paper backs from the corner store. If anyone realized his words were always lack-luster, they never said anything, but then again, he didn't talk to anyone if he didn't have to. He couldn't remember the last time someone had told him they were proud of him. 

The man (who Will still hadn't gotten the name of, but was too lazy to ask for it) led him around back, where the back door was practically falling off the hinges. The alley behind the shop was cluttered and dusty, and Will asked in rapid-fire French if the store had been broken into, but the shop-keeper waved him away, saying it was just worn out with much use. Then he said he'd bring him some tools, if he just sat tight for a few moments. It was always funny to hear American expressions in French, like hearing a senior citizen curse. Unexpected.

When Will received the tools from the man, he got to work. His groceries long forgotten, he shrugged off his shirt after only a few minutes, sweat soaking his skin to an uncomfortable extent. The open air was welcome, even if the exposed skin only served to make him uncomfortable. His chest was too skinny for his taste, ribs exposed and stomach sunken. It wasn't like he was doing this for vanity, though. 

He unscrewed the door completely, and checked the hinges. They were rusted, but usable. The screws on the door itself were another story and would have to be completely replaced. He yelled his findings inside to the shop-keeper, not waiting for an answer before starting to clean the hinges. 

Even this minimal amount of work helped to soothe his mind, and he lost himself in the easy, rhythmic work. He knew it wouldn't take long, or require strength, but he loved it all the same. He loved fixing things, to be specific. His bed frame when it broke, the kitchen sink when his dad threw a bottle at him and missed. It made him feel fulfilled in a way not a lot of other things did. That probably said a lot about him, that only by doing things for other people could make him feel useful. 

Will paused with his hands on the hinges, because, God help him, he thought he saw Casper May again. He had left the house to get away from his dad, only for another unhappy reminder of his psat to keep popping up. The boy in question was leaning against the wall a few houses down, intently reading a poster on the wall. His hands and eyes gave him away though, he was fidgeting and every few seconds he would glance at Will. 

What Will wanted to do was go inside the shop, tell the man he couldn't fix it today, then run like hell to his house to escape, but he wasn't going to do that. He physically couldn't, and even the thought of it made his heart twitch. If he wasn't offering his mind, body, and soul up for other people's use, what was the point? 

The other option was albeit darker, but it delighted him more. A brief fantasy overtook him, in which he gripped Casper May's head tightly, fingers interwoven in that frustrating blonde hair, and slammed his face into the brick, and watched as the blood smeared against his skin. Missing teeth and a broken jaw wasn't the worst he'd have to deal with. With a sharp kick to his knees, Casper May would be on the ground, and Will could really go to work then. 

Will pressed a grounding hand to the brick, not even stiffening when it started to cut through the skin of his palms. He needed the pain now, or he didn't know what he would do in the future. He took a deep breath and felt closer to crying than he had in weeks. Fuck. 

He still had to fix this stupid door and go home. Little things like a kind-of stalker were inconsequential. The shop-keeper popped his head outside the door, asked about the status of the hinges and all, and when Will was done talking, he looked back over to see Casper was gone. Good. He didn't need any more distractions. Today was supposed to be his day, damnit. 

The door was finished, or at least as finished as Will could do without extra parts, and the man (whose name Will learned only in their last exchange) sent him off with an extra dollar in his pocket and a bottle of Coke. It was refreshingly cold, and Will pressed it to his forehead briefly. It made him think of the one time his dad had taken him upstate, to northern Sportsman's Paradise during the winer. Will didn't remember if it was for work or pleasure, but he did remember the snow. It had snowed on their last day there, and he'd run around for hours in his shitty hand-me-down boots. He'd nearly gotten hypothermia, but it was worth it. Will loved every second of it. 

While he was walking back down the main street, he swore his eyes were playing tricks on him. Attention was nice, of course, but every block he could see Casper turning the corner just behind him. Tailing him.

In later years, Will would learn how to drop a tail, how to confront a persecutor. But right now he was sixteen, tired, and unfortunately, enamored with his stalker. It was the hair, Will swore. And the toned, swimmers arms. Needless to say, Will didn't care as much as he should have about another boy following him home. 

Will turned onto his street, waved to the lady who was back outside on her porch, then very certainly didn't look over his shoulder when he walked inside. If Casper could follow him all the way from the store, he could stand to wait outside for five minutes while Will put the groceries away. 

Will didn't know where his anger was coming from, and knew it was wrong to direct it towards another person who hadn't done anything wrong, but honestly Will was beyond caring at this point. He slid the plastic bag off the food, grimacing at the way it stuck to the sides with water, and threw it vaguely near the trash. With the food away, Will didn't have a real reason to delay, but he still wanted to draw out their confrontation for as long as possible. 

The sun was starting to ghost over the tops of trees in the distance, painting the sky with overtones of yellow in the west. Will stopped in his room and gave it a hopeless once over. He couldn't remember the last time he cleaned it, but it wasn't like he had many things anyway. The fixed bed frame supporting a thin mattress and messy gray sheets (they were white when his dad had gotten them.) He had a bookshelf on one wall, and a tiny desk on another. Altogether, it left him with almost two feet of walking space, which was mostly taken up by discarded clothes. Will never asked when his dad was doing laundry, and in turn, it never got done. It was only when the smell got to be too much that his dad would fold, and take his clothes to be washed. Will was always astonished at his own power plays. 

There were a few lures on his desk, and he fiddled with those for a few moments. He had made most of them himself, now that he no longer needed his father's help in tying knots and securing feathers. He only made them nowadays for something to do, rather than as an excuse to fish with his dad. Those days were over, and he was glad. He had bigger problems now, namely the one named Casper May who was still on his front lawn, as far as Will knew. 

He walked back down the hallway, the one that went through every room in the house. They lived in a shotgun, so there was no imitation of privacy to be found. Usually Will could get away with locking himself in the bathroom at the end of the house, but that wasn't working anymore. He'd have to find somewhere else to hide. 

Casper was still on his front lawn. He was sitting, cross-legged and weirdly childish, looking around like he was in trouble. Will worked his jaw. What would the harm be, anyway? At worst, this whole thing could have been a charade to chew Will out somewhere in private, but Will really doubted it. Hope was undeniably stirring in his chest, ignoring his feverish pleas against it. 

He opened the screen door with a bang, and Casper's eyes met his. They were brown, Will hadn't noticed. Or rather, he had, but he'd ignored them. 

They could have exchanged words, meaningful ones. Sentences laced with metaphor and apologies that more than made up for their grievances. Instead, Casper asked if Will wanted to go drink with him on the roof of the abandoned police station. 

It wasn't quite the declaration Will was looking for, but he expected he'd never find his someone. His soulmate, wherever you wanted to call it. Drinking on the roof sounded like a great idea, to be honest. 

Casper brushed off his pants, and Will's gaze lingered there for a moment too long, bringing a flush to both their cheeks. Will wanted to apologize, what for he wasn't certain, but then Casper extended his hand and every thought disappeared from his head. Will might as well spray-paint a slur on his wall with everything holding hands would broadcast, but he wanted to. It was like the trampoline, or helping Steven with his door. It was spur of the moment, and even if he forgot about it the next day, it meant something to him in the moment. Casper meant something to him at that moment, so he locked their fingers together. 

Casper's palms were sweaty, and his nails were longer than Will's. He was fascinated by it, just by touching his hand briefly sent flames licking up his arm, warming his face. 

He should have been looking around. He should have been checking to see if they were safe. Will's dad's car pulled in front of the house at twice the speed it had to, and it sent tendrils of fear right to his heart. He couldn't look at Casper in that moment, knowing he'd only find confusion and fear on his face. Their hands were still locked together, even as they stood a foot apart. 

Will couldn't meet his father's eyes either, not when he stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind him, or when he yelled at Will to look at me in my eyes, you pussy. He saw his father's boots, water beading around the toes and staining the sidewalk. But he couldn't raise his eyes farther than that. Casper, the stupid, stubborn boy, didn't drop Will's hand or step away. He should have run. Will should have told him to run. 

The slap across his cheek was painful, borderline excruciating. Will had other bruises there, faded yellow with time but so, so sensitive. He rocked back on his feet and would have fallen if not for Casper, who pulled him upright and stood in front of him. Blocking his view of his father. 

His dad's voice only rose, to a painfully loud tone in which he denounced Will, calling him a deviant and a fairy and a thousand other words that Will had heard before, but never directed at him. Every person on their street could hear him if only they opened their doors, and let the hate roll in like mist. Will was sure they would. The words stung worse than the slap did. 

Casper tugged on his arm. Will was unwilling to look in his eyes. Will's father didn't seem to care who he was being queer with, only that his only son was the end of his precious bloodline. Will wanted to punch him. Instead, he focused on a leaf near his feet. It was tinged red on the edges. Fall was coming.  

Will let Casper pull him away, onto the street until they were running. The words followed him, and his dad didn't yell at him to come back. Will half-hoped he never did. 

They stopped outside a building, sneakers dragging on the street, and Will got his eyes high enough to see the shabby sign out front. Hopedale Police Station. A laugh erupted from him then, high and off-key, and unbelievably sad. He knew he was digging his fingers into Casper's hand too hard, and that he must be in some kind of pain. He didn't say anything, he just led him to the back of the building where a rusty ladder waited for them. 

They dropped hands to climb, Casper first, and Will immediately missed the feeling. He followed him up, and let his feet hang off the side, facing not forwards or backwards, but out towards the waterfront. Casper took his hand again when Will joined him. 

He could feel the scratchy surface through his jeans. All his pants had holes in them, not the stylish, fashionable ripped pants that people with more money than they knew what to do with had. These were the kind of holes that accumulated over the years, the kind that a thousand pool parties and fence-hoppings often lead to.

Casper said, at least you got his groceries. 

Will laughed normally, and pressed his forehead against Casper's shoulder. It was warm, and slick with sweat from their run. 

Which is great, Will said, except I doubt he'll ever let me in the house again. Unless he drinks and completely forgets about today.

Does he do that a lot?

Enough, yeah. More than I'd like.  

I'm sorry. 

It's not your fault. It's not mine, and I don't think it's his either. We're all a little fucked, this is just… how he deals with it, I guess. Will breathed out. This was more than he told anyone on a good day. 

I should've been less obvious, I can't help but feel like this is my fault. 

Will shook his head, still half-pressed against Casper's side. He would have figured it out. You were direct and it was… well, you were direct. 

Casper laughed, shaking Will slightly from his side. God, his laugh was like music. If Will could bottle it and listen to it on repeat every second of every damn day, he would. 

Why the change of heart? I thought you hated me. Even if Casper left now, even if he pulled away, Will wanted to know. 

Everyone else hates you, I just got roped into it. I never have, really. Casper sounded genuine. If his words didn't match his actions, Will didn't know what he'd do. 

They were silent. Will felt comfortable in knowing that neither of them felt the need to fill the air with meaningless garbage. Even if there was so much Will wanted to know, wanted to say, he could wait. 

He was content to enjoy the sunset, even if he knew he'd be going home alone. 

fin

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[nhundal03]

The 9 races, 15 religions, and 21 chromosomes

All 15 religions have 3 nationalities which are the 45 Gods.

9 races are the 9 dynasties which is the Bible. 15 religions are the Granth. 21 chromosomes are the Quran.

African, European, Asian, Hispanic, Indian, Mexican, Creole, Arabic, and Tibetan

Rasta, Sufi, Yoga, Christian, Nazi, Judai, Ba'hai, Confucius, Buddhism, Shaman, Zoroastrian, Deus, Hindu, Sikh and Sannyasin

Jak, Ego, Aur, Jap, Jan, Uma, Nad, Asr, Buj, Suk, Tar, Sun, Pas, Sav, Tyg (not Yiy), Kar, Dua, And, Hat, Edi, and Und (not Baq) the North is where these live for the 21 Gods.

The religions are synonymous with that 15 God for people with Democratic Party and believe in the Guru Granth. Simarjeet would always believe himself as a Democratic Granthi, the leader of wherever people in themselves were Sikh; even if it had diminished into all identities.

The 5 Gods are within the 9 dynasties, thus may be believed in by other traditions; outside your dynasty and nation.

Jasu is God of Enchante

Kevi is God of Akkra

Mini is Goddess of Jakku

Ruby is Goddess of Janwa

Doyu is Goddess of Chena

Raj is God of Satchi

the Quran also depends on the 21 chromosomes to have an avatar who is a female Angel, which is how they get God's wife beauty to others..there are 10 Dhaliwal, 5 Sahota, and 3 Bajwa which is 18 people plus 3 me who combine as the body of the chromosome god who is soul to create a Quran Angel (who are like their 10 Gurus). Joe Biden is the soul and body of that Angel in the Quran (Buj)

Hassidic liked doing Edi (John McCain), Jan (Mickey Singh), and Sun (Xi JinPing)