#You’re the mortal who has gained god’s favor yet stands in his way

[toestalucia]

i need to watch risings story before the main story update drops so i can make nonsense theories (but they wont be nonsense TO ME)

[loving-all-for-loki]

Voiceless Love Chapter 8: Sweet Release

(Loki’s Route)

Loki x reader

Word count: 2712

Warnings: angst, swearing, fluff

Tag List: @caffeineoverloadandstudying @zizzlekwum @daddysfavoritesexkitten @buckylokisimp @lokiyoulittle @magicalpieex

A/N: So there is not a lot of reader in this chapter for some good reason. We're gonna focus on Loki for this and then the next chapter, the reader will be back more later. Also, for those picking this route over Bucky’s, this one will be a bit longer and more detailed. Much love!

Loki wakes up in his dungeon cell to the sound of metal sliding against metal. His food tray sits in front of the door as the sound of somebody walking away disappears. He crawls over to the food to devour it. Although he may be home, he doesn’t feel like it. The food is disgusting and there’s no sight of the lovely Asgard anywhere. Nothing feels the same.

Nothing has felt the same since he got back. You weren’t there to talk about books with him, play chess, or cuddle. He didn’t have your warm body to hold at night to keep him from being cold. Your voice didn’t wake him up every morning and your hands don’t brush his hair anymore. He finds himself dirty and matted, no one taking care of him or even caring to help him take care of himself. The pile of dirt in the corner of his cell is his only friend/company.

Loki has lost track of time, not sure whether it’s been months or weeks since he’s been gone. From Thor’s words, he knows you’re handling his absence as well as he’s handling yours. You’ve been hiding in your room the whole time, refusing to leave or talk to anyone else. He’s glad they’re trying to talk to you, but he’s nervous about what. He knows they don’t like him, they disapprove of their relationship and are probably telling her out of loving him. Ignoring the terrible thoughts, he’s distracted by the door opening.

Thor stands in front of the doorway in his suit. He looks down at his brother. Loki looks frail, tired, weak. His hair is a mess and his clothes couldn’t be more dirty. There are bags underneath his eyes that are bloodshot from crying. His skin is pale, but his blue shows through.

“Brother, you look-”

“Disgusting? Wretched? Thank you.”

“I was going to say handsome, but those words are more accurate. How are you?”

“Take a look at me and ask that again.”

“Right, well, I’m working hard on getting you out of here.”

“Oh, are you? How is that going?” “Well, it’s taking some time. Father says you still have a couple of months in here still.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Three months?”

Loki rolls his eyes, shaking his head and looking away. Three months. Three months since he’s seen you, held you, kissed you.

“How is she?” he asks.

“Y/N?”

“Of course, you idiot.”

“She’s doing well.”

“Is she?” “Do you want the honest truth?”

Loki looks at Thor in the eyes. He can see pain and pity. Something is wrong with you and he doesn’t think Loki can take it. He wants to protect him.

“Yes.”

“She’s not doing well. She stayed in her room for the whole time. She hardly eats, hardly sleeps. No one’s heard from her. Bucky tries to speak to her, but she ignores him a lot, until just recently. He took her to the hospital to get looked over. She’s weak. She’s tired.”

Loki's eyes swell up with tears when hearing about you. You miss him as much as he misses you and are taking it the same way. She’s stroking herself. There’s little anger stirring in him at the sound of Bucy talking to you. He’s sure he’s taking care of her, getting closer. His jealousy gets the better of him as he punches the wall behind him.

“Why him? Why out of anyone who could help her, it has to be him?”

“We all know his alliance to her, brother.”

“Yes, but you could be that one and when he goes, you tell him you have it under control.”

“Are you really yelling at me for not helping her when I’m helping you? I’m trying to get your freedom!”

“That’s not going so well, is it!” Loki yells back.

The tension is thick between the brothers, they’re eyes not unlocking. Loki looks furious at Thor who’s standing with his chest out and teeth gritting.

“If you weren’t so frail right now, I would want to strangle you.”

“Oh, please do. End the misery I’m in. You’d be doing me a favor.”

Thor knows those words are too true. He knows his brother and when he misses something, he misses it. It’s like a drug and he’s going through withdrawal. Attention. Power. The tesseract. Now you. It takes over everything in him and he can’t think of anything else.

“Brother, I promise you I will get you out of here. No matter what it takes. Not just for you, but also Y/N.”

“Even if it involves going against Father and being banished from Asgard until he dies?”

“Yes.”

Loki knows his brother’s alliance and loyalty to their father, and he knows his words are false. There’s no way he’d go against Odin’s power especially with the whole army of Asgard behind the All-Father.

“Is there anything I can get you?”

“Honestly, a bucket of water and soap? I feel disgusting.”

Thor drops his head and chuckles, pointing at Loki. “I’ve always loved your humor.”

Thor leaves the cell and shuts the door. Loki is left once again in his own darkness and mind.

“That wasn’t a joke.” he mutters.

-

Thor wanders the hall of the castle. Asgardian women pass by, giggling and whispering to themselves as they walk by Thor. He watches them as he walks past before redirecting himself back to the plan. He walks straight to the throne room where Odin is sitting and talking to his advisors.

“Ah, hello, son,” Odin welcomes, “What did I do to have your presence?”

“Lock Loki up. When will he be set free?” “Well, I haven’t really thought about that. Maybe in two years time, I haven’t decided.”

“You haven’t decided? Your own son sits and rots in that cell, being punished for something he didn’t do on this planet, and you haven’t decided his sentence length?”

“Do not criticize me, son. I will decide when it’s time. He’s hardly served what is fair, yet, so it is far from my mind. I have a whole kingdom to rule over. You’ll understand one day when you take the throne.”

“Yes, I will understand. And I will understand when someone is locked away for years, rotting away when he doesn’t need to be. He was getting punished by Midgard. Why take him away?”

“Loki thinks they are lowly. He won’t learn a lesson being ‘punished’ by someone lower than him. He need to be taught by someone in authority, someone he respects.”

“You’re a fool if you think he respects you.”

“Do you forget who you are talking to?” Odin yells, standing up.

“No, I know exactly who I am talking to. The King who doesn’t have enough time or care to worry over his son who is dying in a cell.”

“If he is dying, we’d know. He’d be creating chaos for attention.”

“So doesn’t it worry you that he’s not doing anything?”

There’s thick silence in the room, hanging off of Thor’s words. Odin had never considered how odd it is for the god of mischief to be so quiet while angry and contained. It wasn’t easy getting him in there even though Heimdall had brought him with ease. Loki had fought to not been put it in that cage and now that he is, he’s oddly quiet.

“Thor, I know how you care deeply for your brother, but there are things you won’t understand,” Odin says, ignoring the worrying words that linger in the air.

“Father, I am sure you are right, but Loki is not a negotiable term.”

“You are right. He is not, which is why you coming to be about him seems irrelevant. Nothing you say will change my thoughts as of this moment on.”

“Please, I beg of you to reconsider yourself and think about it for-”

“Are you daring to question my decisions? I am not to be-”

“I dare to question it all when it comes to Loki’s freedom.”

There’s a crack of thunder heard from the distance. Odin’s eyes snap up to meet his sons, seeing them glow blue under the light. The rage builds inside of the god as he stands there, chest out and fists clenched.

“I’ve never seen you so worked up over Loki before. There is more to this, isn’t there?” “It’s incredible to see you finally stop thinking about yourself for once.”

“Why is it so important to you?” “Because I am not seeking Loki’s freedom just for myself or him. There is someone on Midgard in need of his presence.”

“Are you telling me there’s a Midgardian actually wanting him back?”

“You may be the All-Father, but you are not the All-Knowing, Father. There is a human who desires Loki in ways no one else would understand.”

“A Midgardian in love with Loki. Quite interesting.”

“It is, indeed, and I promised her I would not stop fighting for Loki’s release. I will do this for her.”

“She made quite the impression, then? And how does Loki feel about this inferior being?”

“Loki would argue with you on the ‘inferior’ part of your description.”

Odin slowly sits back down on his throne, leaning his chin on his hand in contemplation. He scans Thor’s face for any sign of lies, but he sees none. He knows his son. Loki can hide a million lies, but Thor is easily persuaded and weak. There is not much Thor can hide, yet there is nothing to hide. Odin knows what Thor says is true.

“What do I have to gain by releasing him free? He will not learn his lesson. He’ll lack the power and attention and create chaos once again.”

“You have never seen Loki with this moral. She contains him, controls him,” Thor informs, “She’s the calm to his storm.”

His words ring throughout the throne room. Some of the officials have stopped what they are doing to listen to the two royals bicker and Thor’s description of the girl has piqued all of their interest. They murmur to one another, discussing the topic at hand. A girl who really has control over Loki? It seems impossible. They all remember him growing up, running around and causing havoc. The only woman who ever kept him in check was Frigga. Another woman, a mortal even, being able to have the same power is extraordinarily rare.

“Somehow I believe you,” Odin admits.

“Then let him go and come with me. You can meet her for yourself. She’s truly a rare creature if I say so myself.”

“I might consider that, Thor, but if I were to let him go and your words not be true, there’s no telling what he could do. He could stab me in the back and attempt to take over another world.”

“Fine, then come now. See her for yourself.”

-

There’s a large flash of light that comes down on the hangar. Nat watches as Thor and Odin appear, dressing in formal Asgardian clothing. They walk down the bridge towards the doors as Nat whistles for Steve or Tony. Steve and Bucky walk in to see the gods strutting down.

“What’s happening here?” Steve asks.

“I thought you could answer that,” Nat replies.

“Everybody, this is my father, Odin.”

Their eyes go wide at Thor’s smile. Dropping to their knees, they show Odin respect who chuckles with joy.

“I never knew Midgardians were so compliant. No wonder Loki came here.”

“Father, please try not to anger anyone. No promises that I will protect you. I am here to introduce him to Y/N. I suppose she is around?”

“I’ll go get her.”

As soon as the words leave Bucky’s mouth, Steve gets up to protest but the soldier is already down the hallway. He returns a few moments later with you, wrapped in your blankets. Bucky lightly pushes you towards Thor who stretches out his hand. You take his hand and look over to him with curiosity in your eyes.

“Father,” Thor says, backing up to show Odin to your eyesight, “this is Y/n, who Loki fell in love with.”

Odin looks over you, stunned by your appearance. Although you look better than you have in the last few weeks, you’re still a little scrawny. You don’t stand with power or confidence, but instead with your head low and eyes lower. You lack the flame, the boldness, the theatrical attributes Loki has. Nothing about you makes sense to him.

“You’re the one I’ve heard so much about?”

You nod your head which stirs Odin.

“Will you not answer my-”

“Oh, Father, I failed to mention something important. She is mute. She does not speak to anyone, except for Loki.”

Thor gives his father a shit eating grin, proving another point of Loki’s importance. Odin takes a step back in shock.

“Nobody?”

“Nobody, but Loki.”

Odin looks back over to you who nods your head in agreement, “How unremarkable. Loki falling for a mortal and one who doesn’t speak at that.”

“Like I said, a rare creature.”

“So, tell me, or don’t… do you love Loki?’

You nod your head at Odin’s question and it looks as if he doesn’t understand your answer or as if he doesn’t believe you. Although he has one eye, you can see the confusion on his face. He opens his mouth to speak, but it quivers with no sound coming out. His eyes wander down to see a small gold necklace laying on your chest.

“What is that?”

You hold it up for him to see. The metal resembles a snake, one coiled up and hissing.

“Did Loki get you that?”

You nod enthusiastically, fiddling with it between your fingers. Steve walks up behind you and places a hand on your shoulder.

“Loki has given her a few gifts actually. Flowers, jewelry, name it.”

“And you, whoever you are, have you seen the way Loki is with her?”

“We all have,” Steve admits, “he’s gentle, patient. He’s never made her uncomfortable. She’s his first priority when he wakes and his last thought before he lays himself to bed.”

“Son, it seems your words ring true. I may consider freeing Loki, but I need time.”

“Father, in all due respect time-”

“You’ve challenged me enough today. Y/N, it was a pleasure meeting you and I have learned a lot about Loki, even in our short time meeting. Thor, let’s go back to Asgard. There's a son I’d like a word with.”

-

The door to the cell opens and Loki’s head springs up. Expecting to see Thor, he’s shocked when Odin comes through looking solemn.

“Father, I-”

Odin holds up his finger, silencing Loki. He paces back and forth in the room.

“I know a lot of things. Nobody doubts that,” he rambles, “but for my son to fall in love with a silent mortal girl is not one. She’s sweet. I like her.”

Loki cocks his head to the side, mouth slightly open in confusion.

“Yes, I met her. Tiny thing, but cute. I see why you like her. Thor likes her, too. He’s been arguing with me all day about letting you go and on behalf of her. I can’t say I’m not surprised. It took me a moment to truly believe him when he said you fell in love with a Midgardian. Once he took me down there to meet her, everything made sense. So, I have a proposition for you. You never return here and live the rest of your life on Midgard with her or I keep you here.” “What’s the catch?” Loki whines.

“There is none. Take my generosity before I change my mind. Doesn’t happen often.”

Odin walks out of the cell, but leaves the door open. Loki doesn’t stand up right away, not sure if he’s playing a trick on him or not. He looks around every corner and crevice, checking to see if there is anyone hiding to tackle him for stepping out. Loki stretches his body, bones cracking and popping into placement. He can feel the energy returning to his body as he takes a step out of his cage and towards the main halls of the castle.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Vænn (Ivar’s PoV)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Vænn: beautiful, hopeful, promising (Old Norse)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: Another attempt at writing snippets of Ivar’s PoV of νοσταλγία, this time this relates to chapters 11-12 of the main story, approximately.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: The usual

A/N:Today I was supposed to upload Sieghild’s PoV, and Ivar’s was supposed to be on December 1st but hey, I got it done beforehand so here you go.

I’ve been absolutely hating my writing lately, so I am really sorry if this sucks, I don’t know what else to say other than that. Hopefully it isn’t as bad as my worse thoughts make me believe lol, thank you for reading.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​​ @heavenly1927​​ @toe-vind-ek-jou​​ @xbellaxcarolinax​​ @pieces-by-me​​ @angelofthorr​​

You smile more freely now, he notices. Like you don’t resent the smiles that curve your lips, like you’ve started to realize he isn’t chaining you.

He watches you study a plum you’ve only taken one small and delicate bite off of, as you muse to yourself and, apparently, to him,

“Back home they made wines with these. With many things, actually. Dandelions, cherries,” Your words die with a small chuckle that shakes your shoulders, and you pause to take another small bite of the fruit. “My favorite is roses.”

Ivar only hums a response, because he doesn’t exactly know what to say to that. He was never the best at…talking, at this apparently easy familiarity; and while lately you do seem to be willing and able to strike a conversation about anything and nothing, Ivar will admit he doesn’t know how to deal with that, so he mostly chooses to stay silent and listen to you talk.

Which you do. A lot. He has a feeling you think you talk and share a lot less than you actually do.

But you give a lot away. He may not be good at talking and charming like Hvitserk or Sigurd, or approachable and easy to confide in like Ubbe; but he is good at watching people.

He watches you, and notices you flinch when a fire is breathed too much life, takes note of the way your eyes soften when he says your name, and is delighted to see your smile is colder when it is directed at someone that isn’t him.

And you also talk a lot. Which he doesn’t mind, the Gods know he doesn’t mind. The sound of your voice seems to be perpetually stuck in his head, and although the arrogant and insufferable little tone you get when you think you are right is infuriating, it is much preferable to when he didn’t know the sound of your voice at all, or the little drag of your accent when you speak his language, or the fluidity of when you speak in yours.

“Oh, and pomegranate wine!” You continue, licking a drop of juice from the side of your wrist up, and his eyes follow the movement. You lift big eyes to him as if you don’t realize how much he wants to trap that small wrist in his own hand and lick any offending drops himself. “You don’t have pomegranates here, do you?”

“Would you want some?”

But you shake your head almost immediately, “No, no, I can’t eat them. It’s…the fruit of the temptation, Hiereiai cannot eat the seeds of it.”

He remembers almost all your tales of the Gods you worship, and the six pomegranate seeds that made a Goddess remain in another realm for half eternity has always stayed with him. Maybe because of how it is one of the tales you don’t think much about before speaking of it, you don’t pick and choose at what to say when you speak of her.

And Ivar wonders to himself, if six seeds of this fruit could make a Goddess be bound to that Underworld; what they could do to a mortal woman, a woman that, like the Goddess you speak of, isn’t allowed to eat them.

The errant thought of telling his brother to arrange for some merchant to find him pomegranates stays for a few moments too long on his head.

Because he wasn’t lying, before, when he told you that he could give you anything you wanted. He would, even if admitting it is giving away control, and even worse, giving it to you, power for you to hold over him; he would.

It doesn’t matter, he supposes. You’ll be his wife soon, he’ll have as much power over you as you have over him.

It will be even, then. You will be equals. That has to be what you wanted, even if you still refuse to accept the idea of marrying him.

You didn’t leave him any choice, after all. If he was the one with power, you’d be cold and look at him with hate in your eyes; but Ivar knows if he let you have power without keeping some for himself, you’d run back to your burnt city, you’d leave him.

Ivar knows sooner or later you’ll come to accept it. He knows it, and he knows you should want at least the title of queen if not that of wife. Because even if he didn’t know who you were, if he chose to ignore it like he did in those first days in the run-down village near Dublin, he would know you were made to rule, to command. It’s written in the way you walk, in the way you talk and hold your head high, in that insufferable arrogance, in that stubbornness.

____

There’s something strange about you when you say your goodnight after the announcement of your marriage is brought up before his brothers, but Ivar decides not to dwell on it. And, as he leaves the dim room where he introduced you to his older brother and announced you are to be his wife, he sees Ubbe waiting by a wall, arms crossed over his chest as he stares Ivar down.

“She’s beautiful,” Ubbe comments as he steps away from the wall, “Doesn’t mean she will make a good wife.”

“I’m not marrying her because of beauty, brother.”

He’s marrying you because he has to keep you with him, because he knows now just as he knew when he first saw you in that field, that you were sent by the Gods, by Freyja, to be at his side. The Gods called you to cross many seas, to travel across half a world, and he knows it was because you and him are Fated to meet, to know each other.

And he knows that slave was right, when she spoke of how it all leads to pain and suffering and so it is a proof of the Gods’ favor when people are chosen to suffer. She said those who endure are rewarded, he still remembers her quiet voice uttering the words, but he hadn’t believed her, not at first.

But now, and ever since he first saw that mirage in the red dress with gentle caresses and loving words turn around with a war cry and the fierceness of a Valkyrie, he knows that slave was right, and the Gods do reward those who endure. And one way or another, for a purpose he wishes he knew but doesn’t yet, you were sent to him as the Gods’ gift for enduring a life of pain and suffering; he knows this.

“What are you marrying her for then, Ivar?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because-…brother, you could do this the…the normal way. Find a woman you care for, a woman that wants to be your wife, not some captured witch that fears you.”

He wanted to interrupt him, tell him he has never had a chance to do things the normal way, because while Ubbe may try to tell him he is just like his brothers, he isn’t. And Ragnar was right, he had to accept that he isn’t a normal man, and that means he can’t do things the normal way, like normal men do.

Instead of bringing up a conversation that will make his brother look at him with that pathetic compassion, that brotherly pity, in his eyes; he clarifies,

“She doesn’t fear me. She fears you.”

The other man doesn’t relent, and when Ubbe steps forward, trying to make him understand, “And why do you think that is? I see what she’s trying to do, I see clearly. She’s bewitched you!”

He rolls his eyes with an exaggerated movement of his head, and meets the eyes of his older brother with what is sure to be the deadpan tiredness of hearing so many times about women being able to bewitch the men in his family.

The only woman he has seen use her cunt or her lips to actually gain power is Margrethe, but no, no one thinks she might have bewitched any of his useless brothers. Or cursed him, Ivar has toyed with that idea many times since that damn night when he tried fucking her.

But it is stupid to think a woman would bewitch his father, or him. He may be a cripple, but he’s not an idiot; he would know if you were trying to fool him, if you were trying to play with his head. He thought you were, at first, before he knew you and your mouth that betrays your truths before you can stop it, and your eyes that give away every softness and every fury.

He knows he would have been able to tell if you tried tricking him.

Mainly because you wouldn’t be this infuriating brat if you actually tried getting something you wanted from him, he gathers.

Ubbe just looks at him with the pressed lips and disappointed eyes of a brother that tries acting like a father, before turning his back and walking away.

____

Your surprise him by appearing in his rooms, but before he can fully form a question as to why you are here, you reach up with shaking hands to your shoulders

Your dress drops to the floor and you stand before him, bare and beautiful and his, his to admire, to touch, to…

But you talk, because you talk a lot, you talk a lot more than you realize. And you speak of how you’re willing to offer your body to him if only to avoid becoming his wife, of how he doesn’t have to do this.

And it is once again like sitting in front of a slave that trembles before him, that kisses him at his brother’s request, that barely masks her disgust when she is forced to touch him.

“Get dressed.”

You cover yourself, and soften your voice but not the way he wants you to. Because now you sound scared, helpless, desperate. And you plead for a way to avoid becoming his wife, for an easy path to escape him.

And he wants to punish you, he wants to make you regret ever thinking you can toy with him, he wants…he wants to make you admit it. He wants to make you shed that…that softness of yours, he wants to…

He doesn’t know what he wants.

He thinks a part of him actually wants you to hurt him, to be cruel. To just…prove him right, prove to him that he can’t have that warm familiarity of having you share your day with him, that fascinating enjoyment of being taught your tongue, those smiles that he earns more and more easily as time goes by.

A part of him wants you to prove him right, and to be cruel and a lie. A chimera, a vision, like he thought you were when he first saw you on that battlefield.

It would certainly make things easier, if he could let go of the childish and pathetic hope of having something normal, like a wife that does not despise him, a woman that actually wants him.

But things aren’t easy, so he just spews venom and barely-hidden insecurities in the form of accusations, and prays your own arrogance and your own temper keeps you from seeing how with nothing but you, you can have him at your mercy.

____

So yeah, there you go. I know it’s not much, only 2k, but I struggle a lot when writing Ivar’s PoV. I sincerely hope you didn’t hate it, thank you for reading and I’m sorry if it sucks.

Best of wishes! <3 <3

[justaghostingon]

Forgotten Alters Part 2

Buried Secrets

As the Academy readies itself for the Hunter’s big festival, Gyrus gains the chance to learn a secret about the god and himself.

The courtyard of the academy was bustling with activity. Magicians and casters of all types ran back and forth, some balancing gigantic barrels of paint, others with ceremonial white robes to soak in glowing powder so that no one got shot, and even someone driving a whole herd of wild boars through the center, fattened and grunting and ready to be doused in bright greens and yellows for the festival’s Great Hunt. 

Gyrus dodged around a stray boar, tripping backwards until he collided someone soft. He looked up to see the familiar face of his astrology professor frowning down. 

“Gyrus,” Professor Iro sighed. “Where have you been?”

“I was double checking some of the preparations for the release of the boars,” Gyrus lied through his teeth, not wanting to explain how he’d gone to his secret altar, again, to wish the Hunter good luck on the Great Hunt. He hadn’t been there, which Gyrus really ought to have predicted. The hunter might occasionally masquerade as a priest in Gyrus’ company, but he no doubt had better things to do to prepare than accept the well wishes of a random mortal who kept stumbling into his hidden altar. 

That didn’t stop the disappointed drop in Gyrus’ stomach at the empty altar though.

Professor Iro’s sigh brought Gyrus back to the present. “That’s priest work boy,” he grumbled. “Don’t go doing their job for them. They do little enough as it is.”

“They lead the Hunt!” Gyrus protested, feeling slightly offended on the priest’s behalf. “It’s their job to make sure that everyone has a good time, and that all the boars get caught!”

Professor Iro snorted. “Yeah, theoretically. All just an excuse to Hunt these so called ‘Great Beasts’ and try to imitate their god’s own Great Hunt,” Professor Iro waved a hand at the boars in the courtyard, now being sprayed with the bright green paint. “We’re the ones who actually have to create these ‘great beasts,’ to match the Great Traitor’s monstrous form,  and guide the less experienced hunters to a good catch while the priest frolic in the forest.”

Gyrus looked down at the ground, cobbled stones splattered in glowing emerald paint. The academy did put a lot of work into preparation for the Great Hunt, from painting the boars to guiding the poorer families towards the fattest finds. Still, “At least we’re not in charge of the cooking.” The feast afterwards could last for days, and the smell of blood and grease clung to the priest and peasants for ages after they prepared their kills. 

“Hunter grant us small favors,” Professor Iro muttered. “That reminds me,” he gave Gyrus a peircing look. “The headmaster wants to see you.”

He does?” Gyrus jumped. Running an anxious hand through his hair. “What for?”

“Not sure.” Professor Iro shrugged. “I’m just the messenger. But it sounded important. So whatever it is,” his hand squeezed Gyrus’ shoulder, “make the astrology department proud okay?”

“Of course,” Gyrus gulped. Mind racing. What had he done lately that would warrant a call from the headmaster himself? Was he going to get a reward for his latest project? But why a call to the office? Usually rewards were offered in big ceremonies. This sounded more like a reprimand. Or discipline. But it wasn’t like he’d done anything bad recently. Or anything worthy of reward either. Just his last paper on the Hunter... Oh no. 

“You okay there Gyrus?” Professor Iro’s brow furrowed. “You look kinda pale.”

“I’m great!” Gyrus pulled his lips into a terrible approximation of a smile. “Which way to the headmaster’s office again?”

“It’s in the west wing. Behind the big gold doors, where it’s been since day one.” Professor Iro raised an eyebrow. “Gyrus are you sure you’re okay?”

“Completely!” Gyrus began to back away. “See you at the Hunt!” Not bothering to see Professor Iro’s reply, he took of running west. He needed to find out what the headmaster knew, for the Hunter’s sake. He’d trusted him, Gyrus flashed backwards to their meeting, months ago.

----------

“You’re back,” The Hunter’s voice caused Gyrus to whirl around, the picnic basket of Mandu nearly falling from his hands. The god was leaning against the entrance, effectively cutting out Gyrus only exit. An ethereal light from outside bathed his skin and made him seem to glow. Or he was actually glowing. He was a god after all.

“You’re here!” Gyrus gaped. He’d been so certain the Hunter wouldn’t return, he so rarely manifested twice. Unless - “I’m not going to do the project!”

“Huh?” The Hunter cocked his head, stretching his arms up above his head. “Why not? Seemed like you were pretty excited.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to hurt your...I mean I don’t think the Hunter’s going to like it if I broadcast this failed duality everywhere.” Gyrus glanced at the shadow burns on the wall.

“It’s just a school paper.” The Hunter rolled his eyes. “No one’s going to be consulting some apprentice caster’s first year paper for the next great religious guidelines.”

“Final year” Gyrus corrected, then shoved his hand over his mouth, realizing he’d just contradicted a god.

The Hunter merely raised an eyebrow. “Still an apprentice.” His eyes roved over Gyrus’ body, taking in his tense shoulders and his hand over his mouth. “Relax.” His voice softened. “You’re not gonna offend the Hunter. I’m a priest. I would know.”

Oh so he’s still pushing the whole human thing? Gyrus thought to himself. Ok. He could work with that. “I guess I’ll trust a priest’s word,” he smiled. “But if I’m failed for blasphemy, I’m saying I got it from you.”

“Fair enough,” the Hunter shrugged. His eyes fell on Gyrus’ picnic basket, and flashed bright blue. “Is that Mandu?”

“Yes,” Gyrus lifted it up, watching the hungry god with slight amusement. “Do you want some?”

“If you insist,” the Hunter waved a hand, trying to appear indifferent. Gyrus giggled.

-----------

“There you are Gyrus.” The headmaster stood up as Gyrus burst through the golden doors. 

“I can explain!” Gyrus cried, and the headmaster raised an eyebrow.

“I should hope so.” The headmaster smiled. “Considering this work on the Hunter’s possible connection to a star god is quite ground breaking.”

Oh no. It was just as Gyrus feared. “It’s just a theory!” He held up his hands. “I’ve not got that much evidence, and...” The headmaster held up his hand, and Gyrus’ jaw snapped shut. 

“Modesty is a virtue Gyrus, but not in academia. As it stands, your paper qualifies you for a very special duty for the Great Hunt.” The headmaster smiled, warm and inviting.

“It does?” Gyrus shifted from foot to foot. He’d never heard of any special duties involved. Was he going to have to guide some one important? He hoped it wasn’t the lord. He couldn’t stand that guy.

“Yes.” The Headmaster moved from behind his desk. “If you’d follow me, I can fill you in on the details as we walk.” He moved to the side to open a simple looking brown door off the side of his office. Gyrus hesitated, confused. This all seemed far too convenient. The Headmaster paused. “Gyrus,” his voice held a note of steel beneath the surface, and Gyrus felt his body jump to comply before he told it too. 

The hallway they stepped into was neat and well kept, with other little wooden doors lined up along the way, like any other hallway in the academy. Gyrus’ shoulders relaxed at that. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him.

“...truly excellent work,” the Headmaster was saying, “how did you figure it out?”

Gyrus jumped, nearly tripping over his feet as he tried to figure out what the Headmaster was asking him, and what he was supposed to say. It was probably about the paper, he thought as he tugged at the edge of his shirt to buy himself some more time. But he didn’t want to explain about the altar, or about meeting The Hunter. He knew if he did it would be covered in scholars and magicians and priests. Call him selfish, but he didn’t want to share. Not yet.

“It was just a feeling,” he said instead. “The Hunter likes the stars.” 

“Does he now?” The Headmaster’s eyes narrowed, giving Gyrus a searching look. But Gyrus wasn’t paying attention, mind drifting to the first time he stayed over night at the altar. 

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

“Tell me about the stars,” The Hunter leaned back against the alter, looking upwards through the natural window to his constellation above. A stain of purple on his lips from the berries Gyrus had brought to spice up their daily picnics.

“What?” Gyrus blinked at the man across the picnic basket from him, hand halfway to the berries inside. “Why?” Surely the god knew everything already. If anything, Gyrus should be asking him that. There were so many secrets to the stars he’d love to know more about.

“You’re studying them aren’t you?” The Hunter said with a shrug. “Tell me about what you’ve learned.”

Well, if he insisted. Gyrus sat up, wiping the berry juice on his pant leg. “Stop me if i bore you,” he advised, knowing how long his rambles tended to run. The Hunter gave a nod, and that was all Gyrus needed to launch into a long lecture about astrophysics and the value of science in magic, a subject that only Professor Iro truly seemed to appreciate. The Hunter’s bright blue eyes focused on his face, sharp and interested, and never once did he interrupt him, even as the stars above faded to the blush of dawn.

-----------

 “Tell me, What do you think of the Hunter Gyrus?”

“I think he’s amazing.” Gyrus’s cheeks reddened at the daring of his own words. Hardly a normal thing to call a supposedly distant god. He hoped he didn’t come off sounding like a zealot or a priest.

“He is indeed.” The Headmaster’s voice is solemn. Gyrus glanced up at him, wondering if he’d met the god too, or if he was secretly a zealot. “Do you know why the academy is in this forest?” 

“Because it was a good place to build?” Gyrus asked, absently noting they were coming to the end of the hallway.

“No.” The Headmaster shook his head. “Because before we served The Hunter, we served his duality.”

“We what?” Gyrus stopped short. “Why doesn’t anyone know about this?��� Surely this myth was preserved by the hunter’s priests, if it was still so relevant to the time. Unless... “Did I stumble on a Mystery?” Gyrus groaned. Everyone knew how protective priests were of their more sacred texts. If he’d accidentally found a secret from one of those, he was facing a severe scolding at best, and an indictment into the priestly order at worst. 

“Yes,” the Headmaster nodded gravely, and Gyrus’ heart sank. “But not for the Hunter’s priests. No. This is a Mystery of our own academy. A Mystery that today you are privileged enough to learn.”

“So you know which god the duality was.” Gyrus felt his curiosity bubbling up inside him. “And you’re going to tell me?” Induction into the priests would bore him to tears, but induction into the academy’s own staff? That was a dream come true. 

“Yes.” The headmaster stopped in front of the last door, solid Iron carved with an intricate designs of the Hunter among the stars. “Behind this door lies a secret we’ve guarded for a millennia. And today Gyrus, may open it.”

Gyrus reached to the heavily bolted handle, pulling the polished brass forward with a click and stepped inside.

The room was dim, and he blinked as he moved forward into the amphitheater, towards the only light streaming from a skylight four stories up. Was it that far to the surface? How had they gotten so far under ground? As Gyrus eyes adjusted, he realized they weren’t alone. Rather several people stood on sloping marble steps above them, cloaked in the shadows of the circular room. Gyrus turned his head to the center of the room, where a shallow pool lay at the bottom of the circular steps, water perfectly still, reflecting the image of the carved glass, above, the only light in the room. An eight pointed star.

“The Loadstar.” Gyrus’ legs gave out from underneath him as he gazed downwards at the symbol in horror. The great traitor himself. “But... no...” The Hunter wouldn’t. Not with him. 

“I’m afraid so.” The Headmaster said, and Gyrus heard the audible click of the door closing behind him. “Back before his fall, the Loadstar and the Hunter were in a duality, and to commemorate the occasion, the Loadstar placed the Hunter’s constellation in the stars. A trick, to distract the Hunter from his true intentions. Much like he used his patronage of our early institution to go behind the backs of the gods and plan his atrocities.”

“I don’t understand,” Gyrus shook his head. It was to much, to soon. The Hunter with the Loadstar? The academy serving the enemy? Nothing was making sense. Gyrus’ head was spinning. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because the Hunter took up our patronage from his duality, saving us from disgrace and destruction for one reason alone.” The headmaster lit a torch with magic, casting his face in shadow. “That when a human student with green hair and a love of the stars inevitably showed up and started asking questions on truths he shouldn’t know, we’d turn him over to the Hunter.”

The headmaster touched the torch to the ground, setting a ring of fire blazing around the circular room. In the new light Gyrus saw the faces of board members, professors, even Professor Iro stood among them, jaw set and eyes hard. 

“I don’t...” Gyrus shook his head, trying to make sense of the words coming out of the Headmaster’s mouth. “You think I’m the Loadstar?” That didn’t make sense. Gyrus clutched his chest. He was Gyrus. Just a normal human. A normal human who ate lunch with a god sometimes. But a normal human nonetheless. Wait. “The Hunter,” Gyrus gasped out. “The Hunter can vouch for me.” The Hunter wouldn’t have been so kind when he’d stumbled on the altar if he were his enemy. He couldn’t have known who he was and not told him. Right?

-----------

“You need to be careful,” the Hunter said, Mandu untouched at his feet.

“What?” Gyrus looked up at the Hunter, furrowing his brow in confusion. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” The Hunter bit his lip, frustration in his voice. “This shouldn’t be the first time. But it is. Someone’s been interfering.”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” Gyrus shivered. If the god was worried, then whatever it was must be dangerous. “What should I be looking for?”

“I don’t know that either,” The Hunter shook his head. “Just promise me if something happens, you’ll come here. It’s safer. Probably.” He shot a dark look at the shadow burns on the wall.

“That is not very reassuring,” Gyrus admitted. And the Hunter glared. “But yes!” he raised his hands in defeat. “I’ll come here.”

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

Yes. The Hunter would save him. He'd told him to run to him. He wouldn’t shelter his greatest foe, nor his treacherous ex-duality. A strange confidence filled Gyrus as he raised his head to smile at the Headmaster. “ Summon the Hunter, he’ll clear up this misunderstanding.”

“We aren’t summoning the Hunter,” The Headmaster frowned. “Our reputation would never survive. To serve the Loadstar before his fall is one thing, but to attract him again and again as our academy always does? No. The priests would have us completely disbanded for heresy. There’s only one solution, which has served our founders for a millennia.” One of the professors threw an ax in the air and the Headmaster caught it with one swift motion. “We are going to kill you Gyrus, before the slumbering god awakens within you.” He raised the ax above his head.

The ax sung down and instinct took over. Gyrus dodged sideways, scurrying up the steps and away from the ax’s swing. He looked back for the exit, but the fiery cycle had sealed it off. Above him the professors began to press forward, weapons glinting in the light, and Gyrus took a step back down the stairs to avoid them. 

“You’ve got no where to run,” the Headmaster said, taking another swipe at Gyrus head. “Just surrender and I’ll make this quick.” Gyrus ducked, turning to run, but the amphitheater had nowhere to go. The headmaster chuckled behind him. “You don’t have to die by my ax,” he offered. “We’ve got fire and water too. Although I’d say my ax is probably the quickest.” Gyrus shook his head, picking up speed as he hurried around the edge of the pool. But the sloping steps were not made for running, and his foot slipped, sending him sliding down into the pool below. 

He screamed, kicking outwards as the dark water closed over his head, swallowing him. He tried to swim, but the water folded unnaturally around him, like a tongue dragging him downwards. Malevolent and cold. He looked back at the light of the stars, swimming above him through the murky water. Was the hunter’s constellation above? Or the loadstar? He wasn’t certain. His last thought as he faded to black was if the Hunter would miss the Mandu he couldn’t bring to the altar.

-----------

“Do you want to live?”

“What?”

“You heard me. You’ll die here. But I can save you. You can save you. Do you want my help?”

“Yes!”

“Say it!”

“I want your help!”

The world flashed white.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ― Chapter 7: The Hierophant

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ⥽

They fled New York with one purpose. Find, hunt down, and return with a way to kill a vampire god. They abandoned their loved ones and survived the City of Shadows; had their trust broken and darkest secrets brought to light. All that... and Gaius still won anyway. But now that they have nothing to lose, Nadya and her friends are finally ready to do whatever it takes to see the King of Vampires overthrown.

They just have to avoid a vampire population eager to gain favor with their new monarch, the ruthless Order of the Dawn, and whatever plans Gaius has that involve Nadya captured and brought to him alive. So... easy-peasy, right? The worlds of both dark and light hang in the balance. The time has come for the Bloodkeeper to embrace her destiny. So if anyone wants to clue her in on whatever that means, now would be great!

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing reimagining project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere​, @cess02​, @hellyeah90sbaby​, @tayab12​, @saratustra4​, @imnotdonewiththeelementalists​, @thepotatobleh​​ 

*join the Tag List here!

⥼ Summary ⥽

In Prague, Nadya and the others seek the audience of the most famous name in histories both mortal and vampire. It's probably for the best that she doesn't get her hopes up.

content warnings: language

[READ IT ON AO3]

Prague is cramped roads and buildings of all sizes and heights all mostly the same four or five different earthy, rusty tones. Cobblestone streets and narrow alleys she can’t help but look at even in passing and think, with the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention, there goes another hiding place for something wicked and foul.

That isn’t to say Prague isn’t beautiful. Because it is. One of Nadya’s favorite things about living abroad in college (and only in the very smallest back of her mind in Paris and the other cities they’ve hopped to and from here while on the run for their lives and the very fate of the human race) was all the old architecture she got to walk past every day like it was the most natural thing in the world. And Prague is full of opportunities like that.

In her most Nadya-esque fashion, she chooses to focus on that instead of what may or may not lurk in the shadows. She chooses to look at the beauty and history around her because you don’t see stuff like this every day.

That, and because she knows it doesn’t matter what hiding place she might spot — doesn’t matter whether that alleyway or this abandoned road is empty or not. There are things out to get them — out to stop them — regardless of whether or not she’s lucky enough to catch a glimpse.

That’s just their new reality.

Prague is chillier; a fact not made any better by the fact none of the bodies she can cling to in the cold have an ounce of warmth for her to leech. Prague is also kinda rainy; and more often than not when she has the chance to push back the curtains of their modest hotel room the sky is the same shade of grey it was the day before. That’s totally fine — just add some snow and it’s almost like home.

Prague is also the long-time home of Vlad Tepes, the vampire more popularly known around the world as Dracula.

Don’t forget that bit.

Lily certainly hasn’t.

“C’mon,” she’s brought this up half a dozen times now and it always ends the same way but when has that ever stopped her before, “he can’t really be that bad.” Because she’s convinced herself that Kamilah, Serafine, and Adrian are all being a touch too dramatic when it comes to their biased opinions on the most (in)famous vampire in history.

And part of Nadya is inclined to agree… but it wouldn’t be fair not to take into account how literally none of the aforementioned vampires are prone to excessive hyperbole. So maybe he can really be, well, that bad.

Kamilah simply sighs and continues sipping her wine in idle silence. She stopped entering the discussion early on; probably of the mindset that Lily will see exactly what they all mean when the time comes. Whatever that means.

At this point the only one who will actively engage with her is Adrian. Which says a lot — that’s really out of character for him. “I thought much the same before I met him in person, but the truth is much stranger than the fiction when it comes to Vlad.” He’s said something to this effect every single time, too.

And don’t think Nadya hasn’t noticed how he usually ends up shifting where he sits and-slash-or stands. Or how Serafine is usually there to offer him an affectionate touch in some form or another. There’s a story there, she’s certain of it. But she trusts him to bring it up if or when it becomes relevant to their current dilemma — and if it isn’t then she looks forward to teasing him when the world is safe and Gaius is dust in the wind.

Because it’s important to note that truth and fiction are as different as oil and water when it comes to the man, the myth, the legend. Who apparently did his fair share of noteworthy conquests in his human years and even his first couple of decades as a vampire; but somewhere down the line wound up going from famed ‘impaler’ to something that — based on Serafine’s general description anyway — is shaping in Nadya’s mind’s eye to look something like a cross between Vegas-sensation Mario Bautista and KISS without the face paint.

“There’s something to be said for the measure of success Vlad has been able to attain while living in the heart of the Order’s battleground,” says Serafine almost absently, “but any praise for him should live and die there — even that I find myself questioning from time to time.

“He has been widely reviled from the moment he brought that ridiculous novel to light. Not only for placing us in the public eye but for doing so with such utter… disregard for our truths.”

Jax raises an eyebrow. “You’d think spreading a bunch of lies that humans end up believing wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” But everything on Serafine’s face disagrees.

“One might think, perhaps. But if anyone was less suited to such an ill-fitting ego…”

“So he’s got a big head,” Lily shrugs, “what’s the big deal?”

The Big Deal is, apparently, how Vlad Tepes has gone from boasting ass to full-on diva in the centuries that followed. Something Serafine seems to take more than a little personally. “And one could suffer his endless tales when they revolved around little more than himself. When he shifted his focus to the Church of the First things became… complicated.”

Needless to say the entire premise of ‘Vlad Tepes—the Dracula—considers himself to be a prophet for the First Vampire in all but official theophany, and serves as Europe’s go-to for all things related to the devotion of Rheya Herself’ is something Nadya has been struggling to wrap her head around for… this whole time.

Maybe seeing it all with her own eyes will do something about that, she thinks, if only so Lily will finally stop trying to poke and prod for answers their friends don’t seem eager to provide.

Unlikely, but, you know.

“How a person takes in faith is unique to them, and a deeply personal experience. Regardless of their…” Serafine purses her lips for the right words. Or at least ones that are a little more in English and a little less like curses. “… unchecked vanity.

“While I cannot speak with certainty as to whether or not Vlad was a true believer in the ideals of the Goddess, whatever he did feel was enough to earn him a place at Gaius’ side during the pivotal years he spent spreading Her belief.

“What he lacks in all else he makes up for in his ability to sensationalize anything that comes tumbling out of that vacant head of his.”

Which explains the whole ‘singing Gaius’ praises’ thing; the largest source of disagreement when it finally came down to whether or not they were willing to risk it all for what Vlad might know.

And while it was unanimous that they would have preferred to wait and see what more concrete information they could dig up, time isn’t on their side. “Still an awful lot to risk on a mere hunch,” comments Cadence — whose natural affinity for research has made spontaneously vanishing away to Prague more than a little stressful for him.

“I just can’t understand how anyone would even consider believing his claims to have seen the Eternal Tree for himself when there’s literal published proof he’s a pathological liar.”

But this is something they’ve been over, too. Not that Nadya doesn’t totally understand venting the same frustrations in the wake of inaction. But it’s not faith in Vlad Tepes that she has.

Her faith lies in Kamilah. That is more than enough.

“Time and time again I witnessed retribution served by Gaius unto those who claimed to have been touched by the First in some divine form or another. He would not suffer anyone speaking falsely of Her — for good or for ill. Vlad’s claim to have seen the Tree with his own eyes wasn’t exactly kept quiet, yet he remained untouched and, unfortunately, very much alive.”

Which pretty much confirms it’s the one impossible thing he’s actually telling the truth about. This is a good thing!

“And you’re sure you are up to the task, petit?”

Nadya knows Serafine only asks because this is something they can’t do without her. Serafine could try to suss out the truth from him on her own but it would only waste more time.

For once though, Nadya feels… not-as-uncertain as she usually does about these things. She wouldn’t be so bold as to call it confidence, but how hard can one ordinary (fame aside) vampire be after she literally pulled Gaius’ oldest memory out of thin air?

“I am.”

“And if your way doesn’t work, we can always go my route.”

And perhaps the most disconcerting thing of all is how those who would normally oppose Jax’s methods of sword-related threats and violence remain pointedly and purposefully silent. Not that anyone is particularly inclined to draw attention to it.

Just like they don’t draw attention to the way Kamilah tactfully uses the rim of her wine glass to conceal the barest twitch of her lips.

Though none of them are surprised at his offer however, Serafine seems to have outright expected it. She throws him a coy smile across the table; a devious glint in her eye.

“Actually Jax, I’m glad to hear you are up to the task. As what I have in mind will not be possible without your help.”

Sometimes the best plans are the ones that take the most direct route to get to where you’re going. And there’s really nothing more direct than what Serafine has in mind.

The estate is a little under an hour away from Prague itself; swathed in lush and vibrant countryside — or that’s what Nadya imagines. It’s kind of hard for her to see out of the tinted limousine windows as they venture on their lonely road after dark.

Not that the place itself is hard to see. Like a beacon in the night the Tepes manor and surrounding land is lit up in the night. Even with the moon hidden behind roiling clouds the moment their car pulls in and begins ambling up the long gravel pathway they are met with what’s practically a battalion of lamp-posts to show them the way.

All she can think about is how long it must take someone to travel the grounds and light up every single one.

The rest of Vlad Tepes’ lands are hard to see properly. On account of the towering and neatly-trimmed hedge walls that flank their path. “Vlad’s labyrinth is somewhat of a popular novelty,” Serafine explains quietly, “though our heightened senses take most of the intrigue and mystery from the search from start to finish.”

But some well-manicured bushes are nothing compared to the splendor of the actual castle itself. With its sprawling Gothic architecture in spires and buttresses it’s truly everything one would expect when they hear something like ‘the Castle of Vlad Tepes.’

Flickering flames in old stained-glass windows somehow both perfectly preserved and still allowed to age with grace. Not unlike vampires themselves, Nadya thinks fleetingly, and lets herself drink in the passive appreciation of it while she can.

Before something inevitably goes wrong and, much like in the way of Marcel’s castle back home, has her thinking back on it with a sour taste in her mouth.

“I still can’t believe you just called the guy up.”

Jax has barely paid any of it a second glance; not the journey or the destination. He’s stayed in pretty much the same position the entire drive; arms never uncrossing from his chest and, to literally no one’s surprise, with his sword never leaving his lap.

“How would you rather I have gone about arranging this little parley then, hm?”

The two vampires stare one another down in silence. Suddenly the cabin feels a lot more cramped and heated than it did just a moment ago. Nadya tugs at the collar of her shirt in discomfort.

“I’m not saying I had a plan, but if I’d had time to make one it wouldn’t be walking through his front door.”

But the younger’s irritation only seems to amuse Serafine, who purses her lips into a thin line to keep from smirking at him too obviously.

“Ah, oui. I suspect you would have gone looking for a secret entrance of some kind… perhaps a sewage tunnel by which to secret yourself in and out undetected?”

Jax just shrugs. “Can’t say I wouldn’t.”

“I can.”

Two words and just like that all the mirth is sapped from the air around them. Nothing fills the void left behind; it stays hollow and empty with foreboding.

“If such a passage did exist, which I can assure you it does not, would the Order not have used it long ago in much the same way?” She raises a single eyebrow at Jax, continuing before he has a chance to answer her.

“While your modern methods are indeed a fresh eye on an old war, Jax, they seem to blind you to the full scope of the kind of life we have lived here for all these centuries. Safety is but a fleeting dream to us. No shadow goes undisturbed for signs of the enemy. Every shelter — from a boarded-up chapel on the wayside to a sprawling manor house such as this — has been deemed safe only after proceeding with the utmost caution.

“Even someone as brazen as Vlad would not dare risk his own life by doing anything else.”

Nadya swears she can hear Jax’s teeth grind in his set jaw. That may be the gravel under the tires though.

The limo starts to slow down as they pass through a break in the hedges to reveal a wide arcing roundabout that stops just shy of the castle’s imposing front doors.

“So what you’re saying is if this goes to shit tonight there’s really no escape plan, huh?” Jax finally asks, and with a much softer voice than either Serafine or Nadya would have expected.

It makes the vampiress throw him a sympathetic look. One he pointedly ignores, but when has that ever stopped her before?

“Have you such little faith in my charming disposition?”

It’s a meager attempt to lighten the somber mood at best, but it’s enough to at least ease his suddenly white-knuckled grip on the sheath of his katana.

“More like a lack of faith in your judgment.”

“Inspired by?”

“Whatever the hell you see in Raines.”

It’s as though the driver has been taking his sweet time waiting for a break in their tension to finally get there. Which can’t possibly be the case; since the partition has been up from the moment they pulled away from the hotel and the ones they left behind… can it?

He cuts the engine abruptly. Something about the reigning silence makes Nadya’s heart start to inch its way up into her throat. Jax, sitting closest to her and no doubt hearing the spike in her pulse, reaches out and squeezes her shoulder.

“You okay there?”

She gives a noncommittal shrug, glad when he doesn’t drop his hand. “Situationally or existentially?” The joke, unfortunately, doesn’t quite land.

“At least this one is above ground.” He tries to reassure her. But apparently neither of them are allowed the luxury.

“The parts you can see…” Serafine says; her last words before the door opens to signal their arrival.

The night air is cold and makes Nadya’s eyes water as she steps out between her companions. She would have rather had Kamilah or Adrian at her side but that just wasn’t possible.

Serafine had made a point that couldn’t be denied. Between Kamilah’s assumed death and Gaius’ known ability to hold a grudge longer than most modern civilizations had been around, those two were pretty much screwed if anyone just so happened to recognize them.

With Antony and Isseya off the radar since Kamilah’s return and none of them having any hint or clue as to whether or not Gaius had started extending his reach overseas yet, they were better off housebound (metaphorically speaking) for the time being.

As it is they’re risking enough bringing Jax along, but apparently the fact he hadn’t made “much of an impression” on Gaius, to put it in Kamilah’s own words, was to their benefit. They were playing safe over sorry with Lily and her newly-acquired quirks too.

It was easy to write off the fact that Serafine hadn’t even allowed Cadence to volunteer before shooting him down as being, well, Serafine and Cadence being Serafine and Cadence. But there’s still a lot they don’t know about whatever had happened to their friends when the group split up — whatever it was though was enough to ease that tension in ways nobody would have expected.

“The intention is to meet with Vlad as quickly as possible, and ideally without arousing suspicion from him or any who might be in his entourage.” Serafine had explained. “Seeing as Cynbel of the Trinity has been famously dead for over a century now, seeing him suddenly reappear in the midst of Gaius’ ascension might as well be the definition of suspicious.”

The argument was fair and valid and lucky for them to have that kind of forethought, honestly. But when Nadya thinks back to the vague air of their talk back at Ahmanet in London and pairs it almost absentmindedly with the way Serafine and Kamilah exchanged a long and almost nervous glance at one another when Cadence’s back is turned…

Let’s just say at this point she’s just waiting around for the other shoe to drop. Or the other-other shoe. Like the kind of shoe an octopus might wear or something.

All of that and only Nadya is left; always the odd one out. But the Bloodkeeper can’t not do this, so what choice does she have?

They just have to hope Kamilah was right when she assumed Gaius would want to do everything in his power not to let Nadya’s name and face spread too far or wide. That he wouldn’t dare run the risk of someone else getting to her before he could.

Neither option appeals, for the record. But at least she’s not the only one risking her neck.

The driver gestures for them to wait at the base of the castle steps, letting them know they will be shown in shortly. He doesn’t linger, job completed, and soon Nadya is throwing a glance over her shoulder to catch the bright red tail lights before the car disappears back around the hedge line and out of sight.

Serafine’s hand comes down in between her shoulder blades somehow both heavy and comforting. A simple touch that eases the tension beginning to knot there that Nadya hadn’t even realized existed.

“Your heart is racing, Nadya,” she states the obvious with a gentle smile of her own, “we may be able to account his notoriety for your nerves but please… try to control your breathing.”

She nods, wide eyed, and swallows through her dry throat before inhaling deeply through her nostrils, holding, and letting it out as a warm breath on her lips. In, and hold, and out, and in, and hold, and out several times before she glances and sees the tiniest nod of approval from the vampiress.

“You’re pretty calm, given everything.”

“Why would I not be?” asks Serafine in obvious surprise. A little too sincere, in Nadya’s opinion.

“The way you’ve been talking about him sounds a lot like you guys aren’t old friends.”

Her rouge-tinted lips purse wryly. “No, I would not associate myself with him so plainly.”

“Then why did he agree to meet with you?”

A fair question, too. One that has Jax listening attentively even if he doesn’t look away from the doors still not yet opened to greet them.

Given the gravity of the situation, Nadya’s grateful that the woman doesn’t seem to need the time to carefully choose her words on this. Hopefully that means she isn’t sugarcoating it.

“The truth is that I did not reach out to him, but rather chose to finally accept a long-standing invitation.”

“Invitation to what?”

Serafine’s answer is drowned out by the sudden opening of the front doors; old heavy wood on ornate hinges designed more with the aesthetic in mind. Their harsh squeal cuts into the trio’s ears and makes Nadya flinch violently.

Soft yellowing light spills out into the night. A haze that stretches down the stone steps and all the way to where they stand gathered on the gravel. Nadya quickly throws the back of her hand over her eyes as she blinks away hazy colorless dots in front of her sight.

It’s just one big gaping hole of uninterrupted brightness… until a shadow starts to cut a long path through the din. It stretches longer and longer until it nearly reaches all the way back near the break in the hedges; a towering figure that, once her eyes adjust to the new lighting, doesn’t quite match the reality that stands before them.

“As I live and breathe — what be this vision before me? It could not be the captivating sight of one Serafine Dupont, surely!”

There’s so much to unpack there but Nadya’s brain is already frozen and buffering on account of the singular thought that consumes her entire being.

Those are some tight leather pants.

The fact that Vlad is wearing all black only adds to the formidable, if shapely, shadow he cuts across the front path. He gestures widely and exuberantly and with no small amount of purpose; the kind of motion that makes sure his large billowing sleeves move in precisely the right way and give him the perfect amount of flair.

Even without the combined warnings from Kamilah and Serafine prior to this exact moment, Nadya’s certain this first impression is all it would take for her to know exactly the kind of man Dracula is.

A one-hundred percent unrepentant drama queen.

Neither Jax or Nadya miss the sight of Serafine quickly steeling herself. How she tucks away any lingering distaste (though maybe it’s the whole psychic-connection thing but Nadya swears it’s not that hidden if she can still feel the remnants of it) and slips on what could very well pass as a genuinely sincere smile for how natural it looks.

Oh, she’s good.

“Vlad,” she coos, somehow both a greeting and an endearment both with one meager syllable. “I see the years have remained kind.”

With his hands on his cocked hips Vlad lets out his own rich bellowing laugh. The kind that has Nadya looking subtle as she can over her shoulders to see if there really is anyone able to hear him waiting in the shadows; witnessing them all like a permanent audience for his constant theatrics. Her senses may be perilously human but Jax doesn’t seem to notice anything off… hopefully he’s got a better grasp on their surroundings while their host holds Serafine captive with a gaze.

“Whereas you, my exquisite creature, look absolutely radiant. Perhaps even glowing as much as I am!”

The ‘Count’ is definitely younger than Serafine, which makes his comment more than a little suspect. About as suspect as the fact that he hasn’t moved from his place at the top of the steps… nor has she moved from her place here below.

They’re having a good old-fashioned stand off. Each one waiting for the other to yield their ground and move things along. But it’s different between the pair of them, that much is obvious.

Vlad shifts on the heels of his boots with an expectant lilt to his smile. He’s used to being greeted with respect and reverence — which Serafine isn’t not giving him — but it means he makes others come to him.

And everyone (Vlad included) knows quite well that Serafine only does what she wishes and nothing more. Hence the way she stands graceful, calm, and poised. Hands folded lightly over the bodice tight against her blouse.

She tilts her head to the side so gently her hair falls around her shoulder in a dark pillowing cloud.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she asks bemusedly, “aren’t you going to come give us a kiss?”

With his hand forced and no time to find a reasonable way to turn the tables Vlad has no choice but to acquiesce. “Of course, of course!” Then he’s skipping down the worn stone steps two at a time, the rhythm of his heels following him all the way down. “I just needed a moment to take all of you in, darling. Alive and well and vibrant as ever.”

He embraces his fellow survivor with open arms and a kiss to each of her cheeks.

Another good reason Adrian didn’t come with, Nadya finds herself thinking — the only distraction she can muster to keep from cringing at how he gets a little too friendly on her face with his lips, we need Vlad alive after all.

And after that display… that might have been something up in the air.

Vlad coaxes Serafine back to hold her at arms’ length; only he doesn’t actually let her go. Some small attempt to reconcile his failed power play, maybe.

It doesn’t matter. Just as she did before Serafine breezes her way through anything he might do to her — a simple gesture and roll of her shoulders to adjust her hair has Vlad all but staggering back like she’s thrown him backwards with all of her strength.

“You say such things as though they may have been in doubt.”

His recovery is a meager and tight-lipped smile. “My ears on the ground have a lot to say about changes abound on your side of the continent. Absolute chaos, from what I’m told.”

Tension ripples through Jax and has his hand drifting to the sword affixed to his belt. Nadya throws him a worried look; all wide eyes and silent pleas, but from the looks of it she didn’t need to bother.

They might as well be invisible for all the attention the famed vampire gives them. Not when he has whatever old grudge fuels the calculated exchange between himself and Serafine to put his energy into. But never in her life has Nadya been more glad to be considered chopped liver.

Serafine doesn’t immediately answer. The inaction makes Vlad’s eyes flicker in ruby shades of delight; makes his smile grow wider and a little more meaningful — he thinks he’s won somehow.

“Surely you know of what I speak,” hand over his heart and eyes downcast in cheap, tacky grief, “as I can’t begin to imagine why you wouldn’t have been in Paris during the Dark Solstice. A morbid affair, from what I’ve heard. Almost no survivors to speak of.

“Save yourself, of course.”

Tension crackles between the vampires like electricity. It amps up the long pause that lets his words settle in like a rot; one he’s content to let spread so long as he can’t see it, or as long as nothing of his is damaged by it. Though if he lets it fester everyone’s gonna succumb eventually… or some other metaphor like that.

“You’ve always given credence to such boisterous tales, Vlad.” The woman replies a mite too calmly.

“You deny the Order has reared its fearsome head on your side of the continent?”

“Did I say that?”

“You did not say otherwise.”

“No…” Her voice trails into something soft; hand coming up the brush the back of her knuckles over the high arch of Vlad’s almost alabaster cheekbone. He could bat her hand away, step out of her immediate reach; anything to abate the way he’s shaking very obviously now in his boots. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t move an inch.

He just takes it.

Topped with the cherry pink of Serafine’s angelic smile.

“No I did not.”

And just like that she’s restored some sort of hierarchy between them. One that existed long ago and that Vlad Tepes had apparently forgotten in the intermission that followed. There’s less fear in him when he finally relaxes, when she lowers her hand to clasp his with a gentle little squeeze. But there’s a difference between showing fear and being afraid.

Serafine continues with a newfound confidence. “But your concern warms my heart, old friend. Such as my heart warms to know that with our differences aside we can remember the one thing that binds us. That which is more important than anything else.

“By the Will of the Goddess.”

She takes their joined hands and twists them gently. The darkened copper of her skin in stark contrast to his as she coaxes his palm facing upwards.

Nadya watches intently. She wonders for a moment if Serafine intends to draw blood from the bright vein under her thumb… but it passes over like a kiss and nothing more.

“By the Will of the Goddess,” Vlad repeats — far more winded than he had been mere moments ago.

To Serafine’s left Jax shifts on his boots restlessly. Not that anybody asked but Nadya’s seriously impressed with him right now; given his track record with these kinds of things the fact that he can resist rolling his eyes and looking for all the world as though he’d rather take his way through this in favor of the bare minimum of neutrality is worthy of some serious accolades.

Not that he gets any. But Serafine can take a hint.

“Vlad, ma puce, let us move this inside, shall we? I’ve yet to introduce my delightfully stoic American friend here; and he’s been so patient with us hasn’t he?”

It isn’t hard for Jax to pretend to be utterly disinterested in Vlad as the man finally seems to acknowledge his presence — simply because he’s not even pretending. But Vlad had been; that much is obvious. As he looks the younger vampire over with a lazy enough eye.

One that makes it abundantly clear that he had noticed Serafine was not alone; but that he simply didn’t see why he ought to make the effort to care.

“American you say,” — oh of course he says it like that; snooty upper crusty and like he’s actively trying to get Jax to put him at the top of his hit list; maybe even higher up than Gaius at this point — “how… bold of you.”

But his attitude aside, it’s impossible to miss the shift in the way Vlad’s eyes rake over Jax to take him in fully and as a person, less like a piece of Serafine’s luggage left aside.

His eyelids lower a fraction, likes like smoldering embers as he drags his gaze up to finally take in Jax’s handsome features through thick lashes. If there was any doubt left as to what the man’s mind conjures up with the sight before him — there really isn’t though — that’s pretty much dashed the moment he swipes a hint of his tongue out to wet his lower lip.

“Yes, bold indeed…”

Before he can say anything else there’s a loud noise from just beyond the castle doors. A heavy thud that sounds an awful lot like heavy furniture or something else being dragged across a floor.

Jax’s shoulders sag in visible relief as the sound jostles Vlad out of his thoughts and back to the present. He turns back to Serafine.

“Yes yes, do come inside! The American too, I suppose… You can even bring your little snack.”

It takes Nadya entirely too long for her to realize she is the snack. That doesn’t sit well, to be honest.

But it’s the first time Vlad’s even acknowledged her existence and… it’s a little underwhelming if she’s being honest. Not that she wants to earn Vlad’s attention in any form — especially with how touchy-feely he’d been with Serafine — but maybe by this point she’s just gotten so used to strange reactions from vampires that being completely and utterly ignored is… a whole lot of strange for its own reasons? If that makes sense?

It does make sense, if Serafine’s face is anything to go by. How she darts a quick look between Vlad and Nadya and just barely manages to wipe the confusion from her face before it becomes something worth noting.

It could be worse… so she counts her blessings.

Without further pleasantries the man takes long strides back up the steps. He assumes they will follow right at his heels, and they do. Though if the looks shared between the three of them are any indication nobody is feeling as confident about this whole mess as they did before they exited the car.

And they can’t even mention it. What with the whole vampires having supersense-hearing and all.

Vlad doesn’t stop at the top of the stairs. He continues striding right on through the doorway and immediately he’s met by an attendant on either side. Each face is pretty in the way model runways are pretty; with a sharpness to their features that makes them look almost feline and, these two at least, with some kind of gold-colored highlighter that accentuates the sharpness of their umber skin in the distant candlelight.

One steps behind him to catch the suit jacket he shrugs off of his shoulders, while the other who places a fresh glass of a brown liquor in his waiting hand.

“I hope you can forgive the mess of the place,” Vlad pauses to sip his drink and thanks one of the pretty faces with a knuckle stroked along their long throat. They remain impassive to the act but the intimacy can’t be denied.

“You know how crazy things can get when planning the social event of the year and all that.”

Only it’s not a mess so much as it is just a bit… bustling. From the front walk Nadya’s human hearing hadn’t caught onto the noises coming from inside the place but seeing it all now she’s considering getting her hearing checked.

One would expect an estate that looks like that on the outside would be no less decorated within, but decorated is pretty much an understatement. Though if anyone were to make sure any place they lived was decorated to the nines regardless of the time of year it would be Vlad.

Despite knowing that, the hectic bustle of bodies between propped open grand doors and up and down a staircase that branches off on three of the castle’s main floors, though the staggering height of the place from afar tells her there are more levels than what she sees here.

Everything is decorated with the kind of taste that comes from old and inherited wealth and is topped off with a modern edge.

Banisters roped with thick twines of velvet in various shades of reds and golds and what look like real diamonds acting as little more than baubles dangling from the tassels at the hems; furniture scattered around the large foyer in plush cushions and couches that look at first like the genuine antique but on second glance are gold-inlaid replicas built with modern crafting techniques and with longevity in mind.

Another thud comes from a handful of attendants moving a large chaise from one side of the hall through another doorway.

On the ground floor there’s a giant ladder propped up against the far left wall and an attendant balancing atop it. They hold themselves perfectly still, almost delicate, while they secure dark nearly blood-red ribbons around the bottom rungs of a chandelier. They must be nearly done, judging by the same material already wrapped around the chain securing it to the ceiling, and the dark color of the fabric dulls the light and leaves the room hazy both from the continuous heat of the flames that don’t quite permeate the thick texturing.

By the time this place — or this space at the very least — is done being decorated it will certainly be beautiful. But it will be a dark kind of beauty — gothic in a way.

Exactly the kind of event decorations you would expect from Count Dracula; but there’s a respect to be had for the fact he leans into the aesthetic with gusto.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Tepes,” praises Serafine through a hitch in her throat. She’s looking around the foyer with a wistful kind of wanting; a small sparkle held in her eyes that has nothing to do with the lavish decor and everything to do with the invisible hand squeezing her heart up into her throat.

Given recent events especially, the vampiress is no stranger to grief and longing.

And Vlad beams like the way she speaks is more of a compliment than the words themselves.

“Only the best for the best of us, as I’m sure you remember.”

“All your earlier words about the Order, yet you insist on throwing your bal masqué.”

“It is specifically because of these troubling times that we must continue with our most important traditions, Serafine!��� He feigns shock with a hand on his chest. The ice in his tumbler tinks together delicately in his grasp. “I thought you, of anyone, would agree.”

He’s goading her and getting more obvious in how he does it by the second. She’s taken it with grace up until now but there’s a tight edge to her tone starting to chip through her armor.

“Tradition, in times of war, can be put aside if that’s what ensures it has chance to be continued.”

“When are we not at war? The Order is no less vicious now than it was before…” He stops and sips his drink again. Casting a passive appraisal around the continued decorating.

“Unless,” with a click of his tongue, “there is a different war you speak of.”

Nadya doesn’t know what’s scaring her more right now; the fact that Serafine had let something that dangerous slip to begin with or the fact that Vlad had caught on so easily. She risks a look at him out of the corner of her eye… much to her relief his sights are still set on Serafine.

An easy grin curls his mouth. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment; let me make sure the parlor’s been made to greet us.” And when he takes his leave of them off to the right and around a set of double doors there’s a saunter to his gait that wasn’t there before. His smugness lingers in the air like a bad perfume.

The moment he’s out of earshot Jax rounds on Serafine with barely-restrained frustration.

“What the hell are we playing his games for? We don’t need to do any of this to find out what he knows.”

With pursed lips Serafine continues to watch the preparations taking place around them. Jax’s frown deepens.

“Serafine.”

“I heard you Jax, don’t worry.”

But that’s still not an answer. Before he ends up raising his voice even more, Nadya reaches out and lays her hand over Serafine’s where she wrings her fingers together at her waist.

“Serafine…” If only she didn’t sound as worried as she is; as the woman’s continued silence makes grow inside her. Serafine doesn’t push her away, but she doesn’t seem welcome to the touch either.

She finally lets her head hang with a weary sigh. “I had thought that given all that transpires around us, Vlad might have chosen to postpone this for the sake of his own safety.

“If not because of Gaius, then because of the Order.”

“Because they’ve been attacking more often, you mean.”

She nods. “But that’s assuming far too much of him. Cunning though Vlad may be, he isn’t very bright.”

“He’s certainly…” Jax’s growl drips with venom, “something.” Nothing good.

“So are we keeping with the plan?”

Squeezing the woman’s hand is enough to finally wrench Serafine’s attention back to Nadya. “No, we are not.”

Jax tenses. “Why the hell not?”

“Because this —” Nadya’s hand falls to let her offer a sweeping gesture to the foyer’s decorations, “— his bal masqué? It changes things. It changes everything.”

She says it in a way that has Nadya feeling like she’s missing a few key facts. She and Jax exchange equally confused glances, and make Serafine sigh heavily for it.

“There’s too much to be explained here. We must leave while we still are able.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that he knows who you are, Nadya.”

It’s like a large gust of wind blows out every candle in the room. Not literally — but the warmth of them is sucked from her bones easily enough. It leaves Nadya feeling hollow as much as she is cold; makes her wrap her arms around herself like that will somehow protect her. She shakes her head slowly… but the disbelief isn’t as intense as she would have hoped it to be.

“But he —”

“— is a performer before he is anything else,” interrupts Serafine; and she’s not wrong. “While he may not have guessed you would be at my side tonight, he has likely known your face and who you are for as long as Isseya and Antony have.”

“So Gaius has been in contact with him then.”

Serafine doesn’t even have to give Jax a verbal response.

“Then we need to go. We need to leave the city; regroup somewhere else.”

“We’ll take our leave of him tonight, yes… but—” —there shouldn’t be any ‘buts’— “—we will be back. We’ll be here for the bal masqué, with the others; and, Goddess-willing, better prepared.”

Uhm… what?

“Why the hell would we do that?” And Jax just barely manages to check his volume, though he’s no less angry. “It’s a party for fucks’ sakes. What’s the big deal?”

“Not here.”

The swordsman throws a look over his shoulder towards the doors Vlad should be coming back through any minute now. “He’s not just gonna let us leave. Especially if —”

Especially if he knows.

But Serafine seems to think otherwise.

“He will. He knows we’ll return; I would even hazard to say he is counting on it.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Unsurprising.”

Before he can try and push the issue Serafine wraps a strong arm around Nadya’s shoulders and all but shoves her towards Jax. “Take her and go. I will deal with Vlad and give you what time I can.”

He just barely manages to catch Nadya before she falls into him. Reaching out to steady her and make sure she has her feet before rounding on their companion. “What the he—”

But he’s too late. Serafine is already five long strides away — far enough that he’d need to raise his voice to catch her. And they both know he won’t take the risk in alerting Vlad’s house staff. They’ve all been dutifully working this entire time, but if the woman dusting picture frames or the couple laying down ornate Persian rugs are anywhere as deceptive as their boss they may be ready to strike at any time.

That thought does not sit well with Nadya’s meager dinner.

“We should try and leave.” While we still can.

His jaw visibly tenses, but already he’s starting to slowly nudge the pair of them back through the open doors. “Fine. But she and I aren’t done with this.”

They catch the distant sound of Serafine’s laugh just as they walk through the doorway. The cold bites Nadya’s hands and face harder than before but sheer panic is more than enough to keep her putting one foot in front of the other. When they’re out of the building and back in the darkness, Nadya and Jax don’t hesitate to pick up the pace. Any faster when they hit the gravel and they’ll be full-on running into the night.

Well… they are running into the night. That’s the point.

“What’s with all the vampires on this freaking continent and the fact they can’t give a straight answer to save their lives?”

“Well they can’t all be like you.”

At the glower he gives her Nadya just barely manages a smile through chattering teeth. It definitely helps her feel less panicky.

“And that means what exactly?”

“They can’t all be bold Americans, obviously.”

Jax groans, fully under-appreciating her brand of awkward humor, and takes Nadya’s hand to bring her along as he speeds away.

[hiddendreamer67]

Tears of Fear- The Witcher

Summary: Geralt wakes up to Jaskier crying over his ‘corpse’ and realizes Jaskier is afraid of him.

Word count: 2,102

Had a lot of fun with this, it’s actually my first witcher fic! Feel free to send in more prompts from my bingo card below! Also check out my writing blog @hiddendreamerwriting for more of my work!

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Jaskier was crying.

This was the first thing Geralt processed as he slowly began to wake up from his restless slumber. He was sobbing like a babe, making Geralt cringe as he heard the bard all but wipe his nose on Geralt’s shoulder.

Quickly Geralt became aware of a few other important factors, grimacing through the spike of pain that came rushing back to him. His ribs were definitely cracked, he could feel them slowly melding together beneath his chest. Geralt’s leg was on fire, bent at an angle no human- or witcher- bones should bend. His abdomen felt torn to shreds, and if he looked down Geralt was sure his innards were being exposed to the outside world.

There was a pounding in his skull, a side effect of bashing his skull against a rock, if he recalled correctly. Being used as a ragdoll by a Griffin was not an experience he hoped to encounter again. Had he killed it? He hoped he killed it, for the sake of not doing this twice.

Taking another assessment of his wounds, Geralt knew they would be fatal for a mortal man. Overkill, really; but he’d live. Maybe.

“Fuck.” Geralt hissed, and all of a sudden Jaskier gave a shriek right in his ear, quickly scurrying back from Geralt’s form.

And this was when Geralt realized a third important piece of information: Geralt took in a big whiff of air, recognizing a scent that had been present ever since he woke up.

Jaskier was afraid.

In all the years they had travelled together, Jaskier had never once shown fear towards Geralt- and now, the man reeked of it. It was the witcher’s fault, he assumed. He had let the bard get too close. Seeing Geralt in the throes of a proper battle, seeing the witcher in his primal beast mode as he threw himself and the griffin off the cliff, it had awoken that self-preservation instinct in Jaskier. Finally, Jaskier recognized he was a monster.

“Melitele’s tits, what the fuck?!” Jaskier shrieked again, clawing briefly at the tree behind him to gain distance before seeming to get a grip. He clutched at his heart, which Geralt could hear beating far too rapidly. “I- you- how the fuck- I thought you were dead!”

“Not… yet.” Geralt grit his teeth, growling to get through the pain. “Potion bag. Blue.”

Thankfully, even in his fearful state Jaskier seemed to take some form of pity on him. That, or Jaskier was too frightened to not do as the witcher said. The second was more likely as Jaskier quickly dug through the bag, grabbing the potion and pouring it into Geralt’s mouth with trembling hands.

Geralt grunts his appreciation, feeling the potion take effect. It wasn’t playing nice with the potion already in his system, but Geralt would survive.

“You- you’re okay now, right?” Jaskier cursed under his breath, his tears welling up again. “Of course you’re bloody not, look at you! Why your intestines are all dangling, are they supposed to- oh gods, I’m gonna be sick.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt murmurs, closing his eyes.

“What can I do, Geralt?” Jaskier’s hand is hovering just above his shoulder, touching it briefly as if afraid now to even make contact with such a demon. “I’m no healer, you have to tell me what you need. Another potion? One of the glowy ones?”

“Jaskier.” Geralt repeats, feeling his body drifting back into unconsciousness. “Shut up.”

---

The next time Geralt wakes up, Jaskier is crying again.

This time not on him, thankfully. Instead he’s sniveling to himself across the clearing, head tucked between his knees. Geralt isn’t certain how long he’s been out, but before it was just past dusk and now only the faintest bit of moonlight trickles through the trees, indicating it’s well indo the night. Perhaps he had been unconscious an entire day.

“Jaskier.” Geralt calls, startling the bard into looking his way. That scent of fear is still there.

“Y-yes?” Jaskier hurries to make himself presentable, trying to peer through the darkness. He isn’t gifted with the same night vision Geralt has.

“Potion.” Geralt manages to spit the word out without sounding pathetic, so that’s a bonus. The only reason he’s awake now is yet another burst of pain, a clear sign the last potion wore off. He’s not feeling great about relying on intimidating his best friend to get him through the night.

“Right, right, yes, of course.” Jaskier stumbles to his feet, feeling around cautiously for the potions bag. “Yes, that would- that makes sense, right? You just need these and you’ll… oh shit, I can’t make out the shades in this light. Can you? Is this the right one?”

Jaskier trods over, placing one uncomfortably close to Geralt’s eyeball. He grunts.

“Geralt, in life or death situations you really need to use your words-”

“Yes.” Geralt huffs.

Jaskier sighs, pulling the cork and easing the mixture into Geralt’s mouth as he continues to ramble. “So, you’re going to be alright? Just a few of these to fix you right up? I hope. I didn’t check, didn’t want to… well forgive me for not wanting to see, you’re quite a sight Geralt.”

“Hmm.” Geralt thought that was putting it lightly. He had been run out of towns for less.

“Are you going to… need more of these?” Jaskier asked, his scent spiking as he peered into the potions bag. “I don’t- if you tell me what to gather, I can try, but I’m not certain what it is you witchers put in these. Nearest town is a day’s ride, but I doubt roach will let me leave your side, and of course I’m not eager either-”

Geralt didn’t reply. Before Jaskier had finished his sentence, he had passed out once more.

---

The third time Geralt woke, Jaskier wasn’t crying.

The sun was high in the sky, illuminating the bard who was sitting against a tree, strumming a tuneless chord that was far from cheerful. That bitter scent of fear lingered in the air. Regardless, Jaskier met Geralt’s gaze, giving the witcher a pitiful smile.

“You’re awake.” Jaskier stood up, setting his lute to the side. “Again. Not sure if you’ll even remember all this when you fully wake up. Potion, I assume?”

“Mmm.” Geralt made a noise of agreement, reassessing his wounds. He still felt like shit, but if he was willing to put up with a whole lot of pain Geralt could stand. He could take care of himself.

“Right then, here you are.” Jaskier was at his side in moments, pouring the potion down his throat. “That’s it, nice and easy. Wonder what this stuff tastes like, anyhow- for your sake I hope it’s blueberry or something.”

Geralt didn’t bother giving that a response, swallowing down the last of it. He could feel it taking hold, easing his mangled body back together like the mutated atrocity it was.

“Well, nighty night, dear witcher.” Jaskier sighed.

Geralt looked at the bard. The man looked pale, clearly lacking proper sleep. It was clear he had been neglecting himself in favor of staying at Geralt’s side, frightened of what might happen if Geralt woke up alone.

“Jaskier.” Geralt caught the bard’s attention. “I’m fine.”

Jaskier spared a glance at the rest of Geralt’s body, grimacing. “Well you and I have different definitions of fine, I can tell you that. Your witcher drugs seem to be helping, i’ll be the first to admit, but I can assure you that is not how a man’s stomach should look-”

“I’ll heal.” Geralt cut him off. “I can manage. You’re free to leave.”

Jaskier shook his head. “Geralt, my dear, it is becoming increasingly obvious you have suffered brain damage.” Jaskier assured him, brushing the hair out of Geralt’s face. “No doubt about it, you’re as loony as a duck.”

Geralt gritted his teeth. “I’m of perfectly sound mind.”

“Oh really?” Jaskier’s dramatic attitude made it clear he wasn’t believing a word. “Because ‘perfectly sound’ individuals don’t ask to be abandoned in the woods with fatal injuries. Perhaps if there were a danger about - which would be very valiant and very stupid of you, I must add- , but the only danger here is the rotting corpse of a griffin you conquered several days ago. Which stinks, by the way.”

“There’s no reason for you to stay.” Geralt insisted, and Jaskier looked as though he’d been slapped across the face.

“No- no reason?!” Jaskier sputtered. “I thought after all these years you’d have a bit of faith in your best friend! The bar’s a lot lower than I thought if- if leaving your friend to die is acceptable behavior to you. Gods, I’m glad i’m not the one injured-”

“Shut UP, Jaskier!” Geralt all but roars, and it’s a testament to Jaskier’s bravery that the call of a monster doesn’t increase the smell of his fear. Jaskier isn’t getting it. He refuses to understand. Why must he make Geralt spell out the painful truth?

“...I know you want to leave.” Geralt murmurs. “I won’t hold you here any longer.”

Jaskier pauses, taking a moment to try and read Geralt’s expression. “What in all the glorious fields of the world makes you think I want to leave?”

Geralt grits his teeth. “Because you’re afraid of me.”

It’s quiet just a moment too long.

“What?” Jaskier gives a half laugh, clearly torn between making a joke and treating this seriously. “Geralt, I know you’ve got a lovely head wound, but think about what you’ve said for just a moment. Why would I be following you across half the continent if I was afraid? I’ve had plenty of opportunities to scurry away with my tail between my legs, but no! I treasure your company, bland as it may be at times, and not just for the stories we experience.” Jaskier grimaced, looking at the griffin carcass across the way. “Not that i’m particularly fond of this particular one, I must admit.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Geralt murmurs, perplexed for a moment when he can sense Jaskier isn’t lying. “I can smell it on you.”

“You can- so that’s just a witcher thing, huh? Smelling fear?” Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “Every new thing about witchers I learn is so bizarre. Lovely, mind you, but- wow. Alright, fine then. So how long have you been smelling this fear on me? Have I been scurrying after you terrified out of my wits and not even knowing it?”

“No.” Geralt admitted.

“Ha! So you see?” Jaskier looked rather proud of himself. “It mustn’t be fear then, you’ve just caught some part of my natural musk. Er, not that my musk is particularly frightened- you know what I mean. Your witcher senses fail you, my dear fellow.”

“No.” Geralt growled, frustrated. “It was new. Few days ago, after the attack.”

“... oh.” Jaskier froze, a haunted expression taking over his usually cheerful features. The bard took a deep breath, meeting Geralt’s gaze. “Geralt, you wonderful witcher... you are one of the most foolish people on the entire continent.”

Geralt gave a low warning growl.

“I have never, ever been afraid of you, and I never will.” Jaskier insisted, his jaw set in his declaration. “And you know what? Yes, I was very afraid that evening, and every day since. But I was afraid for the same reason I stayed by your unconscious form all these days, and it’s the same reason I cried over what I thought was your corpse. I’m afraid of losing you, Geralt.”

The witcher paused, never expecting such a response.

“I sat by, trying my damndest to nurse you back to health, not knowing what the hell I could even do.” Jaskier had tears once again pooling in the corners of his eyes, but he brushed them away in a hurry. “Each time you went back to your slumber, I didn’t even know if you’d wake again. But each time you were conscious gave me hope, made me realize you were still holding on. I know witchers are hardier than the rest of us, but good lord you really gave fate a run for her money, Geralt!”

“It takes more than that to kill a witcher.” Geralt furrowed his brow, not sure how to deal with this level of concern. He had never had another person so invested in whether or not he died. Even with his fellow witchers, it was always common knowledge that one day they’d die along the Path.

“And I never want to learn exactly how much it takes.” Jaskier shuddered at the thought.

[bluboothalassophile]

What’s a Holiday without a Little Murder?

Lucifer chuckled as his demon whisked off her current sexual partner; Patrick. His bonded, mate, lover, and wife seemed pleased and smug with herself as she turned around to face him.

“Mm, you’re back,” she chuckled, her head falling back before she turned around to lean over the counter at him.

“For good, all debts filled,” he chuckled. “Nephilim created and angelic links severed.”

“Did you ever wonder why they wanted that?” Maze sighed.

“Not a thought to cross my mind whilst we’re on this lovely holiday,” he chuckled.

“Shame, oh, and she’s been asking for you,” Maze pointed, and he turned in time to see Delilah. The human was rather beautiful, but that had been before, well before the drugs, and life style had caught up to her.

“Oh?” he arched a brow at this and looked back to Maze. “I will go see what she wants, it is good to see you again, Maze,” he chuckled kissing his demon’s left cheek, she preened a bit and he grabbed the drinks before walking over to his former employee.

Delilah saw him and he offered her a drink, she accepted as he kissed her cheek as well.

“There’s something I need to know,” she said.

“Well, what’s that?” he offered as they walked to a quieter lounge in Lux. She sat beside him with a heavy sigh before she dragged her hand through her ratty blonde hair.

“Did I… Did I sell my soul or something, to the Devil?” she asked.

He just about choked on his drink, before sputtering at her question. “No,” he assured her. He made deals, not for souls, though that had been, and still was the standing currency in Hell, the more souls, the more power, and so on. But as he was an archangel, souls were not something he required to gain power. In fact, he could not gain more power, even if he so wanted to. Other than the Endless, Michael and dear old Dad, no one was more powerful than he. And even Endless had stipulations on their powers, and what they could and could not do because of the aspects of continuous reality they were bound to; so in many ways he was more powerful than an Endless even. “All I did was introduced you to a few key people who owed me favors, darling,” he said firmly.

“It’s just that out of all of the good there was a lot of bad,”

“So the Devil made you do it? The alcohol, the drugs, the topless selfies? The choices are on you, my dear. I mean Jimmy Barnes! I can’t believe you almost married that sweaty little imp!”

“He produced my album! You introduced me to him!”

“I suggested that you work with him, not that you to sleep with the maggot. And I certainly didn’t encourage you to marry him,” he chuckled.

“Well… I got a little confused,” she defended meekly with a self-depreciating smile, which had him barking a laugh.

“Then you left him at the altar!”

“Yeah… that was rude of me,” she chuckled dryly.

“No, I actually quite enjoyed that bit,” he assured her with a chuckle.

“You know, he trapped me in a bathroom at the Grammies, and tried to get back together, then I hear he’s marrying a super model this weekend! And I’m jealous…” she slurred. “Oh God I’m a mess,” she sighed.

“God has nothing to do with your mess, darling. No, you didn’t sell your soul,” he promised her tiredly. She gave him a very skeptical look, which had him smiling a bit more. “I like you Delilah,” he said. “But you do owe me a favor.”

“I’m scared,” she meekly offered.

“You should be, because what I’m asking will be quite difficult for you,” he warned. He would like to call in his IOU with her at a later time, but that wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t as distasteful of humans so much now, the past few years had enlightened him to many of their peculiarities, though it had not saved him from his anger at his Father for His obsession over His toys. However, he would like to actually help again, he was an angel and helping felt better to him than anything else; expect maybe punishing the wicked.

She looked panicked for a second.

“Pull yourself together. You’re wasting your talent, your life!” he exclaimed, she nodded with that sweet smile before leaning over to him, he pressed his lips to her brow and glanced at Maze who shrugged at him like he had no clue what was going on. Bloody demon ears though, he knew she had heard it all which had him snorting in amusement. He and Delilah spent the next hour carefully talking about everything on her mind, and when she started to seem calmer, and more relaxed he signal for someone to get her coat.

“Give me a moment, I will walk you out, dear.”

“Gotta go say goodnight to Mazikeen?” she chuckled. “You two are sweet.”

“We are no such thing, but I do have to go check on her and make sure she isn’t raising a little more Hell than normal,” he said before walking off. He got to the bar, where Maze was serving drinks.

His demon paused her work as she leaned on the counter, her look stern and unforgiving as usual, which warned him that tonight’s reunion was going to be a somewhat violent affair. He knew that Mazikeen hadn’t approved of him giving Fate whatever was asked of him to have this holiday and to remove them from the tapestry of Dad’s plan, but it was worth it, even if Mazikeen did not understand. He wanted no more ties to dad, and he hadn’t felt like having all six of his wings cut off just to sever the connections. It wouldn’t be worth it, and it wouldn’t truly sever his connections to Heaven or his Father, or worse… his siblings. Now he was cut free, he and Mazikeen were bound to nothing and no one, they were only bound to each other through the celestial bond they had created when he ruled Hell.

“Heading out?” she asked.

“I’m walking Delilah to her car, I will return shortly, love,” he assured her. “Then you can punish me all you want for the deals I make,” he promised; kissing his bonded’s cheek before walking out with Delilah.

“You and Maze are really good together,” she mused as they walked out.

“Equal understandings and interests there, darling.”

“I wish I could have that,” she nodded.

“Now, darling, you’ll find it,” he promised weakly. He didn’t know if she would or wouldn’t, but humans tended to seek out the companionship for it. “But I do have a favor to ask you darling,” he said.

“I promise to do what you asked of me, Lucifer,” Delilah offered.

“Look, it’s not about me,” he stated. “What happens now, that’s up to you,” he firmly informed her. He had given freewill to creation; and it had come at the price of his Fall, he had given them freewill. He had learned that others should not be puppets and his most understated gift to humanity; the gift which had banished them from Father’s Garden of Eden, was freewill, the ability to think and feel and live without being Father’s puppets. Looking at the pitiful state Delilah was in he was sorry and glad he had rebelled and given these creatures freewill.

“I’ll do it,” she nodded as she hugged him, he hugged her loosely before he saw the flashes, he felt the bullets passing through him, harmless, even as he staggered at the impact and heat, Delilah was gasping in her arms, as she staggered, they collapsed in the shattering singing of glass falling, which had him gasping. The car sped up, he heard the tires screeching, there was a crash as he pushed himself up to scramble over the mortal. Already he felt her soul fluttering out, severed from her mortality.

“No, no no!” he gasped tracing the hair out of her eyes, those sightless eyes stared up at nothing, and even now he knew where she was going, which infuriated him as he scrambled to his feet. A beat of his wings and he landed by the car, the gentleman’s soul was struggling to exit it’s body. “Oh no, not quite yet,” he snarled grabbing the man’s through, his grace gluing the soul in place as the body gasped for life, large eyes staring at him in terror.

Lucifer trembled with his rage, his forms were flickering in his anger.

“What did you do!?” he snapped at the gasping, dying human. If he held on much longer this human would go to the Empty, and he didn’t want that.

“Sorry… just a job,” he gasped.

“See you in Hell,” Lucifer snarled as he released the soul, turning around, inspecting the bullet holes in his clothes as he walked over to where Delilah lay.

“I’m sorry dear,” he sighed as he closed her eyes, there were sirens ringing in the night’s air. There was a cop there, and he nodded as he feigned being in shock, he could feel Maze thrumming through their bond, it was a comfort to him. Maze, his consort, his bonded, always there, in the back of his mind, the link was his only saving grace from true panic. Her presence was a constant, soothing; even when he’d been locked in the Cage and she was beyond pissed at him.

He had mostly panicked a little thinking one of his siblings had somehow tracked him to Los Angeles, which was why he had flared his panic to Maze as the bullets tore through Delilah, he had reacted because he’d seen a flash of light, it wasn’t acceptable. He would get better at this mortal world life he had come to live in. Guns were a part of the mortal reality and annoying with their light flashing and bullets.

He looked over at the cops, there was a detective coming to him, even as he made his initial statement, asked to hand his shirt over as evidence, he shrugged out of the jacket and shirt with ease, even as he felt his back twitch in reaction to the cold. The Cage’s scars had never healed properly, as they’d been inflicted on his Grace.

The cops stared as he pulled a Silk Cut and lit it, taking a soothing breath; the smoke reminded him of Hell; and that soothed him. If he thought of Hell he had to be composed because being uncomposed was not an option. He stood there chatting up the officers; wondering when he could escape back to Lux; which was probably closed now.

She walked towards him, carefully navigating her way around the scene, and he watched her carefully as she walked from the car. She was walking towards him, her blonde hair and frumpy styled cloths concealed her figure. He bet she’d have thought it to be an excellent way to have people take her seriously. Her face was stunning, almost as if it had been sculpted to seduce, even etched in a pouty sorrow, he smiled charmingly.

“I’m Detective Chloe Decker, I’m sorry about this, Mr…?” she said.

“Morningstar, Lucifer Morningstar,” he answered. There wasn’t even a spark of acknowledgement in what he had said with her. Most humans stood there in awe of him, but this one just nodded.

“Mr. Morningstar, you were standing by the victim?”

“We were embracing and saying farewells, bullets went straight through me,” he informed her. “That man, the driver, he said it was a job.”

“What!?” she looked up now sputtering.

“It’s quiet chilly out here detective, mind if we go to Lux so I might retrieve some clothing?” he asked.

“Uh… sure,” she nodded dumbly.

“Excellent.” He released a drag before spinning on his heels and sauntering to Lux, which was surprisingly quiet. But then he noticed the cops asking his patrons questions.

“Lucifer!” Maze shouted, he looked in time to see her walking over to him, her dark, sinful glory.

“Ah, Maze!” he greeted, she plucked his cigarette out of his fingers and took a deep drag of it.

“Cops busted in, wouldn’t let me leave,” she said in frustrations.

“Excuse me,” the detective said. “Witnesses shouldn’t talk together,” she stated.

“Witnesses!?” Maze glared at him, and he shrugged. “Oh don’t even try that!”

“Devil may care, love,” he chuckled dryly.

“Lucifer!” Maze hissed.

“Can you please stop talking to the witness, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry, detective, this is Mazikeen, she is my partner,” Lucifer said turning around, looping his arm around his demon’s waist, she glared cynically at him.

The detective glared at Maze, who now smiled dryly.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Maze offered with the utmost disdain she could muster up.

“Right, we have to go up to the penthouse, the detective has a few things to ask me, I’ll see you tonight,” he promised.

“Can I get your full name for the record?” The detective asked.

“Mazikeen Morningstar,” Maze stated. “See you upstairs,” she said. He kissed her left cheek; as he always did before walking for the elevators. When they had met, Maze was sensitive about her demon appearance, neither beautiful enough to be a temptress, nor hideous enough to scare others, her face was a natural mark of her demon heritage, the decomposed, rotting, mummified half of her face. And since their meeting Lucifer had always done what he could to bestow love on that side of her face, it was now an afterthought for him, for it was a habit; ingrained into him over a millennium.

“That’s your…?” Detective Chloe started.

“My demon consort, sworn before my Father in Las Vegas before an Elvis impersonator. We would have done Wonder Woman, but Maze would’ve fucked Wonder Woman,” he chuckled dryly.

“Right…” Chloe drawled out. “What can you tell me of the deceased?” Chloe asked when they finally made it to the penthouse.

“Not a lot,” he answered walking for his wardrobe. Grabbing a clean shirt he pulled it on, and picked up the jacket. “She was a former employee of mine, a singer in Lux’s lounge, I introduced her to people, and she got big,” he shrugged.

“You said you were shot?”

“Yes,” he shrugged.

“And you walked away from that?” Chloe sputtered.

“I am immortal, dear. It’ll take more than a mere human bullet to take me down,” he replied as he did up his buttons again. He didn’t know why he was doing them, Maze was likely going to tear them all off immediately. With a sigh he left the shirt open and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Right,” Chloe nodded, looking at him as if he were a mere crazy person.

“Look, detective, someone shot her because they wanted her dead!” he snapped. “The gentleman in the car said it was a job.”

“You spoke to the shooter?”

“I glued his soul in place long enough to ask about it, yes,” he answered.

“Did he say anything else?”

“No, but a jobs a job, and he was wearing a ridiculously fancy watch a maggot like he could never afford on his own, a gold Rolex,” he snorted walking past the detective.

“They could’ve been after you?”

“My dear, the people after me would not use mere human bullets,” he retorted. No, if Michael came after him it’d be with a sword; but that was provided his big brother recovered from the Cage at all. Which he doubted.

“How’d you get the scars?” Chloe asked.

“My lovely Father’s punishment,” he replied honestly. Pouring himself a drink he sighed. “Detective I really can’t be much more help to you.”

“I’ll be in touch,” she said handing him a card as she took down his contact information. He looked at it then at her as she stood in the elevator.

“Detective, you had best find who did this before I do,” he warned as the doors closed. Turning away he put her card on the counter and walked to the balcony. He felt Maze coming towards him, through their bond. It was handy to always know where the other was.

A celestial bond, it was an exchange of life forces, he knew that his Father did not approve of these bonds, mainly because it was not something He understood. To love another being, equal to or more than oneself, and to have enough respect to bind your life to theirs, it was a massive commitment which would supersede all others.

He had bonded with Maze; rather unintentionally, shortly after his fall, when all the burns were still hurting and his many wings broken, and the fires of Hell bonding with him. 

Maze had appeared, accidentally finding him when she was running from one of the Dukes of Hell who wanted her as his mate. Barbatos, who was a fine warrior, and torturer, and overall demon, had had his ass kicked by Maze rather publicly and wanted to publicly humiliate the ‘lesser demon’. Maze and he had met because she was running for her life; she was a lesser demon, in terms of power, and in Hell, power was what determined Rank. His power superseded all in Hell, and Maze had been the first to show him kindness, then sworn herself to him. Lucifer had felt their bond form the moment she had done that, he had instinctively reciprocated and she had collapsed to her knees feeling his energy. It was glorious the day they bonded, because it was the first time ever, in his entire existence, he was not so utterly alone, he had an equal and someone who would always stay with him, that had been…

He had no words to describe what Maze had given him when she had sworn her loyalty to him, given her life in his hands, and he had reciprocated.

Maze would never leave him, he would never be left alone, and she would always be there for him, that meant more to him than life itself. Lesser demon or not, she was more than his equal, and she alone had proven to be greater than even the greatest demons and archangels.

The elevator rolled open and he heard his demoness walking towards him.

“You’re an asshole!” she snapped. “Who’s the dead mortal?”

“Delilah,” he answered as he turned to look at Mazikeen, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I just do not know why.”

“What does it matter?” Maze snorted as she folded her arms.

“It matters,” he assured her. His demon assessed him with a critical dark eye before she snorted and walked away, back to the club. He knew his demon would never truly understand, it was not in the demon nature to ask why, all that mattered to demons was: who, what, when, where, and how. They loved how and who usually, it was their jobs. They were creatures of instincts, darkness, aspects that his Father hadn’t been able to control so deemed evil in his war. But no all demons were evil, he knew, having met Mazikeen, who was a Mazzikin demon, the youngest daughter of Lilith. She had been an oddity in the Lilim ranks, a demon who was different was usually destroyed, and he had interfered with that. It was a chance meeting between him and Masikeen.

Her name was even a relic of their first meeting.

Demons wouldn’t understand the need to know why, why was a question which typically fucked them over. Why were they evil? Why were the darkness? Why did they exist? Why did why even matter in the eternal celestial game? He knew this from talks with Maze and her routine dismissal of why as a valid question. But as an angel he knew why was important, and he wanted to know why Delilah was laying there in the glass and blood.

“Is there something else that happened?”

“Yes, Detective Decker,” he answered. Maze rolled her eyes. “She made me cold,” he informed his consort. Maze’s attitude drained from her as she stiffened.

“You stay away from her,” she warned.

“I’m going to find who killed Delilah,” he informed her.

“Then be careful, we still don’t know about your brothers and sisters, or where your Father is,” she warned.

“I’m always careful,” he pointed out smugly. The look she gave him had him laughing. “It isn’t fun if I’m not occasionally the damsel in distress, you’d grow bored with me.”

“You boring? Never,” she assured him.

“I will find the responsible mortal for this, and make them pay, Mazikeen,” he warned tracing her shoulder with his finger tips. He marveled at the demoness before him, she was so wild, dangerous and untamed, and all his.

“I thought we were on holiday?” she stated.

“I do believe we are, this will serve as a distraction love, or you can have fun tying me up and doing naked fun things you want as punishment for me leaving you for the President,” he chuckled. She bit her lip in anticipation as she stepped forward then.

“I like that one,” she said pointedly.

“I thought you might,” he chuckled as he caught her chin and gave her a quick kiss. A thousand different lovers, a millennium of them, and only Maze had kept his attention this long, and continued to captivate him.

[mlmdarkfiction]

Commission for @skeletelestic

Characters belong to them.

TW: Violence, mentions of blood, nudity (but no sex), heavy religious themes.

Prophet-

A person regarded as an inspired proclaimer of the will of God.

Ethan was a prophet. Someone anointed by God to spread the word, and to save souls. But evil is in everything. Evil comes from the Devil, in the form of temptation, and even a man chosen by God himself is not spared from it. But does evil know it is evil? Does evil realize that it’s twisted the word of God for its own selfish purpose?

In this case the answer would be no. Ethan still see’s himself to be holy, called upon by the Lord to do what is righteous and good, by any means necessary. The growing signs that he’s not in holy favor slipping past his demented vision.

*

Angel-

A spiritual being believed to act as an attendant, agent, or messenger of God.

Ariel is more than he appears, more than a simple mortal man. He is an angel. A true creature of Gods will, doing his bidding among the Earth.

The Angel’s current goal is simple in theory. To find the cult responsible for many missing persons and put an end to it. Simple in theory, but difficult in practice. *

Ever faithfully obsessed with his ‘truth’, and paranoid as all cult leaders are, it doesn’t take long before Ethan finds out about the man steadily gaining closer and closer to his religion. Ethan doesn’t think much, if anything of Ariel at first. Another nonbeliever, who’s soon to meet with the wrath of God, brought into reality by Ethan’s own hand.

It doesn’t take long for Ethan to learn what’s truly at work on his congregation. That this man, Ariel, is far more than he appears at first. Far more than human. And it takes a while for him to really grasp what it is that’s at hand, but until then he changes his orders.

Do not kill Ariel on sight. Capture him, alive, and bring him to Ethan.

He wants to see this man for himself.

It’s not that Ariel is careless. More that this is all according to his plans. There is no easier way to get close to Ethan that to allow himself to be captured and brought to the other for his judgment.

*

Ethan waits to hear the good news. That some of his men have managed to capture the nonbeliever, but for now he waits. Paces across his church, through the pews and aisles as he thinks of what he shall do. This is an unforeseen complication. Every form of religion has nonbelievers, but the thought that someone would actively try to stop all the good he’s doing is mind blowing to him. He kneels by the alter and begins to pray for guidance. God will tell him what to do in these challenging times.

Ariel knows he has a metaphorical target on his back. Ethan’s men are far from subtle, and he knows they’re laying traps for him at every possibility. Knowing can only make him more cautious however, as he’s here on a mission, and cannot risk anymore innocents being tormented by the cult. So when he hears the cult is about to try and take people from a nearby neighborhood to ‘convert’ Ariel knows that he has to step in, obvious trap or no.

It’s worse than he expected though. People injured, and bleeding all because they wouldn’t agree with the cult.  It’s…. disgusting. Times like these, Ariel questions the point in helping humans, sinners and saints. Too hurt one another, and for such pitiful reasons, it depresses the angel. However, he can’t deny how horribly and utterly human it is.

In an instant Ariel is able to heal the injured. A holy power given to a holy being. He doesn’t know it yet, but this action, this healing of defenseless human civilians, will be the final nail in his coffin.

*

“Sir-“

A prayer interrupted. Ethan’s eyes snapped open, a fury like no other, all focused on the intruder. The tension in the room is strong, and a primal fear fills Ethan’s follower to the point of almost being rendered completely speechless.

“We found him, and he-he- Well he healed them. I don’t know how he did it, but it was like a miracle…”

“Leave.”

It takes no other words from the preacher before his messenger has fled. Hands reach shakily to his hair, pulling at the strands for a moment, before slowly beginning to let out peels of laughter. He knows now. He understands. Everything is just as God intended. God had sent Ethan this man, this angel, because of his devotion. This was a test.

Ethan would, as he always has, pass the test set before him by the Lord.

*

“I know what you are.” The words alone are enough to make Ariel’s blood run cold. There’s no way that this man really knew. God was no longer on Ethan’s side; no Ariel was here because of such a thing. He assumed and assumed correctly. There’s no need for Ariel to panic. Not yet.  

Ariel has spent so much time on Earth now, that acting like a human is far from hard. He doesn’t respond to Ethan’s probing, pretends to be afraid, shifts as far away from the man as he can with his bonds.

It doesn’t seem to matter if Ariel responds or not however. Ethan is fine to continue talking, almost as if to himself.

“You are a gift. A gift for me, sent by god. To help me, and to guide me, to be my partner.”

This is the moment that Ariel realizes that this man is truly delusional, far beyond what he had originally believed when given this assignment.

“You are my own personal angel.”

Ethan’s steps are slow. Each movement towards Ariel’s bound figure is dramatically deliberate. He wants to frighten the angel, to use his base fears to bend him to his will. Although in his mind, Ethan truly believes Ariel to be sent for him, this Is still a test. A test which he has not yet passed.

Delusional or not, he’s aware of the fact he’s dealing with powers far beyond his own.

“You’re crazy.”

“Maybe. But don’t they say that about all revolutionaries? Didn’t people say Jesus Christ himself was crazy?”

Ariel swallows hard, tries to steady his breathing as the deranged preacher pulls a gun. “Prove it. Prove to me you’re nothing more than a regular human.”

It’s a witch trial. If he dies, he’s human, but if he lives, and he will, it’s proof to Ethan that he’s something else. There’s no way to fake this, or to simply, pretend the issue away.

“Prove it? What do you mean prove it?”

The gun finds itself pressed under Ariel’s chin. “Prove it.”

The cool metal barrel of the gun sends a chill through Ariel’s spine. He doesn’t move though, doesn’t flinch. It would hurt, absolutely, if Ethan pulls the trigger, bullet going through Ariel’s chin, up through the top of his head, it would be incredibly painful, but he would survive. It takes much more than bullets to kill a holy creature.

Ethan grows irritated with the silence. His threat not taken seriously, no response from Ariel at all, nothing, but the fear and irritation behind the man’s eyes.

“Fine,” He pulls the gun away from Ariel’s chin, and before the angel can give a sigh of relief a gunshot rings out.

There’s no way to stay calm. Ariel can’t suppress the pained scream tearing from his lips as a bullet similarly does the same ripping through muscle tissue in his legs before firmly lodging itself in his kneecap.

Nausea runs through Ariel as the shocking pain grips his body. The pain is enough, but the heavy scent of gun powder and copper fills his senses too, dazing him and flopping his stomach.

“I know it hurts.” If the situation were different the pastor’s words would be comforting, soothing, but instead Ariel can only focus on the obvious condescending tone behind the words. Of course it hurts. Ethan had wanted it to hurt.

His hand rests on Ariel’s damaged knee, stroking the mangled flesh. “Just tell me the truth. The truth will set you free.”

The gentle stroking, that continues to send jolts of pain through Ariel, and extends from there. Fingers worm there way through the hole in his pants, and then into the wound.

Ariel screams out again. Fists clenching and unclenching at his side. He could heal himself, heal the wound, and force out Ethan’s fingers.

But he can’t. To do so would only mean exposing himself.

“Fine. Fine.” Ethan stands, fingers removing. “Stay here then.”

And then, like that, Ethan leaves Ariel. He lives him alone in a barren room, tied to a chair, and bleeding profusely from the leg.

*

Ethan considers his options at this point. Ariel is stubborn, but that’s okay. Even a stubborn mans will can break given enough time. And Ethan has time. Now that he’s found Ariel, now that he has his proof, of his goal, he has all the time in the world.

The angel is beautiful, handsome, ethereal. Something far more appealing than the average human. Someone who is worthier than the others. Worthier for Ethan himself than anyone else, any human. Perhaps he’s not only proof sent by god for Ethan, but perhaps he’s sent to be more. A partner, a second half for Ethan. A reward for his utmost devotion, and willingness to do whatever is needed to spread Gods word.

And soon, Ethan assures himself, that, in time, Ariel will come around to not only him, but to his purpose. It’s only a matter of time.

In only a matter of minutes he’s managed to convince himself that they are soulmates.

*

Ariel is left, bleeding in the darkness. He regrets having not taken Ethan more seriously before. Thinking this was a one and done job was the angels own mistake. It’s one he must live with. The blood trickles down his knee and onto the ground, soaking into his pant leg.

If he hadn’t helped the others earlier, if he hadn’t used his powers to heal them, he might be able to heal himself instead. But he can’t. And so instead he suffers, knowing at least that no matter how much blood he loses that he will still, ultimately, be alive in the end.

It is at least one thing the angel doesn’t have to worry about.

Ultimately, it doesn’t really matter anymore, what’s done is done, and in the eyes of God Ethan has crossed a line. A line that cannot be uncrossed. Done something that even the Lord himself cannot forgive.

But still, Ariel is curious. Meeting Ethan was enough alone to confirm that this man, this former prophet, could have changed the world, could have been someone great. The angel wonders what it is that could bring such a man to fall. Is it simply temptation? Greed? Or something far more deviant?

The devil works in mysterious ways, but in every man, there is a capability for their own evil.

This is what Ariel thinks about as he’s left alone to suffer. He doesn’t count the others, finds no point in doing so. When the door finally opens again to reveal not only Ethan, but another woman as well, the light is enough to inform him that it’s at least morning now.

*

It’s a hard scene for Ariel to stomach. The woman with Ethan is obviously a follower of his, a dedicated member to the cult, and it shows in every movement of her body, ever sign of body language. She looks upon Ethan the way the Apostles looked to Christ, as if he is as holy and as good, as if he is everything.

Ethan smiles at Ariel, his arm leading the woman inside, resting on her lower back. “Did you sleep well, my guest?”

Ariel doesn’t give the satisfaction of replying, instead, his eyes glance nervously between Ethan and the woman at his side. It’s not hard to pick up on the anxiety radiating off of the angel and becoming aware of this Ethan’s smile only grows.

To some it would appear to be genuine, and nothing of harm, but Ariel knows better. Ariel knows that whatever Ethan’s planning, it’s not good for him.

But nothing could prepare him.

“This is Samantha,” He introduces the woman at his side, but she remains there, starstruck and smiling, gaze leaving Ethan to finally take in Ariel for the first time. She regards him with the same amazement and reverence she gives to Ethan.

Ariel feels sick.

“She is one of my most devoted followers, and that is why, she’s come to help me.  We’re going to get the truth from you, one way or the other.”

The woman, Samantha, she smiles, and she curtseys to the tied man. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Angel.”

They know. It’s now easy to assume that Ethan has told his followers, or the most loyal, at the very least. Bad news for Ariel.

“Now,” Ethan continues to speak, reaching for his side.

In this moment Ariel becomes acutely aware that Ethan has the gun from yesterday in a holster at his belt.

“Please, show me what you are capable of.”

Followed immediately by three BANGS followed one after another, the sound of Ethan shooting Samantha in the chest.

The woman’s eyes glaze over with tears, there’s blood, so much blood, but there is no sound from the devote woman.

It’s only then that Ariel speaks out, struggling against his bonds, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Ethan just continues to smile, it’s placated, unbothered by his own violent actions. He moves to Ariel, taking his time, all while Samantha gasps and struggles to breathe as blood begins to fill her mouth and lungs.

“My men saw you do a miracle the other day,” His tone is mild, as if this is a regular conversation, as if there’s not a woman dying in front of the two of them. “I’d like to see this for myself. If you wouldn’t mind.”

Ariel can practically hear the smugness in Ethan’s voice as he begins to untie him.

“But if you would rather let her die then…”

It’s not as if Ariel has a choice in the situation. More than anything, Ariel would like to strike Ethan down, smite the man, and end this job he was sent here to do, but there’s no guaranteeing that in the time it would take to rebuke Ethan that Samantha wouldn’t already be dead.

The woman’s already in rough enough shape as it is.

Ariel is freed and attempts to stand with no regard to his injured knee.

He hears the barking laughter of Ethan as he hits the concrete floor hard. The floor has the angel’s teeth clacking together violently, and he tastes blood.

It doesn’t matter.

This pain is nothing, and now he is at least, closer to Samantha’s body. He reaches out, fingers brushing the injured woman’s side, just barely.

Still the contact is enough. It’s faint, but Ethan can see it, can see the way Ariel begins to softly glow. It’s more than anyone would ever expect, more than Ethan could have imagined. It’s biblical in nature, and only confirms the pastor’s thoughts.

Thanks to Ariel Samantha is saved. Weak, and unconscious, but safe, and at no fear of death. The wounds having congealed around themselves before completely healing over.

And for now, Ariel is absolutely powerless. Over extended himself, and his ability, all the while injured and suffering himself. Breathing heavily, he lays, unable to move, in a puddle of his and Samantha’s blood, all the while a pleased Ethan watches overhead.

“You are…so wonderful.”

He sounds out of breath in his amazement and kneels on the ground beside Ariel. His hands stroke Ariel’s hair, and the Angel is stuck, forced to relent in to the other man’s affectionate behavior.

“I knew you were special from the moment I saw you.”

Ethan is careful now, incredibly careful, as his hands leave Ariel’s hair, and begin to slip under the man, planning to pick him up from the blood-stained ground.  He’s done hurting Ariel, for now. He did as he was asked, and as such, he deserves a reward.

*

“I’ll take care of you. You don’t need to worry.”

Unsurprisingly, these attempts at comfort from Ethan do little to calm Ariel’s nerves. Still, he’s still in his captives’ arms. It will take a while for his wounds to heal, and he doesn’t want to make them worse with any unnecessary struggle.

He allows himself to be carried through the house without protest, taking silent note of the turns they take, and the surroundings.

For a deranged cult leader, Ariel finds Ethan’s home to be surprisingly normal.

It’s only when they enter the bathroom, and he is set gently in a sitting position upon the toilet that Ariel begins to struggle.

“Stop, stop it.”

Ethan’s voice is firm, but still soft.

“I need to clean your wounds, if I don’t, you’ll get an infection.” As a warning, his fingers trace the swollen bullet ripped tissue once more.

“You may be an angel, but it still hurts, doesn’t it? Imagine, it can get so much worse.”

The threat doesn’t have the desired affect as Ariel continues to struggle as Ethan begins to strip him. And before long he’s gripped into submission, the mans hand grabbing his injury, and applying enough pressure that Ariel screams out.

He goes limp, and submissive, allowing Ethan to painlessly strip him until he’s completely nude. This seems to be enough for Ethan, as he stops his assault after, his attention going to the tub, where he begins to fill the water up, a steady amount of steam beginning to fill the room around them.

Ariel notices that Ethan seems…Content.  Although his back is to Ariel, but it’s not hard to see the relaxed body language, and to hear the soft hums of ‘Amazing Grace’ that leave him as he checks the water every other minute or so.

Eventually he deems the water to be the correct temperature because then he turns back to Ariel, a deceptive soft smile on his face. “Come on now,”

Again, he shows utmost cautious when lifting Ariel up. If anyone were to see just this snippet, Ethan would look like a concerned lover, not a craved maniac holding Ariel captive, or a cult leader, and certainly not assume that he was the one who hurt the other man in the first place.

The water stings as Ethan lowers Ariel in. The water turns dark with blood fairly quickly.

“I’ll give you your privacy, but I’ll be right outside if you need anything simply call.”

Ariel remains silent.

“It’s not as if you’d be able to escape in your condition anyway.”

*

Once again Ariel finds himself all alone in Ethan’s home. The water is much more comfortable then tied to a chair in the cold basement. His injured knee throbs, and spouts blood in the water. Ethan was right. No matter how much Ariel may want to escape, there’s no use in planning now. He’s far to injured to stand, let alone run.

There’s still the issue of the bullet. There’s no exit wound, it hadn’t left Ariel’s body, meaning it was likely lodged inside, preventing things from healing properly when the time comes.

He’ll do what must be done. Ariel braces himself on the edge of the tub, before forcing his finger into the bullet hole, forcing the wound open inch by inch, until two fingers can fit inside. He can feel the bone, and the grit, the skin and muscle that’s been ripped apart to make room for the bullet that’s trying to make its home inside his body.

It doesn’t take him long to find the bone. His kneecap shattered into two large pieces, and between them, the bullet. The water is cloudier now, and incredibly dark. It’s nearly impossible to see through it to the flesh beneath, and so Ariel relies entirely on feeling alone.

He pulls, and pinches, and pulls, and pinches at the metal intruder with all his might.

It’s not a silent endeavor, there are grunts, and groans of pain as he tears into the flesh of his leg. The sounds provide a form of unintentional entertainment for Ethan, who sits outside the bathroom door, unaware of what it is Ariel is doing, but heavily intrigued by his noises of pain.

Eventually he retrieves the bullet.

Ariel reflects on how much smaller it is compared to the pain it inflected, how much smaller then it had felt when it was tearing up his insides.

The bullet is left on the edge of the tub, in a small pooling of bloodied water.

The exhaustion, and the blood loss is far too much for Ariel. He closes his eyes simply to rest, and instead, falls asleep.

*

When Ariel wakes again, he is no longer in the tub. Not only is he no longer in the tub, but he finds himself dressed in unfamiliar clothing. They’re comfortable and feel like silk. His eyes are closed, still in the thralls of sleep, but he freezes when he feels the presence behind him, accompanied by warmth.

Arms are wrapped around him, holdings Ariel into a ‘little spoon’ position. Now fully awake, it doesn’t take him long to realize the person holding him is Ethan.

“Are you awake?”

He’s close enough that his breath tickles the hair on Ariel’s neck, sending shivers down his spine. Ariel doesn’t get a chance to answer before Ethan continues, already aware he’s woken.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The grip around Ariel’s waist tightens, pulling him closer against Ethan. If it were not for their clothes, then surely, they would be pressed skin to skin.

It’s now that Ethan begins to explain to Ariel everything it as he understands it.

“I understand that I haven’t gained your trust yet, that you are here to test me, and that I have yet to fully pass your test. But I will! I will prove myself worthy, not just worthy to continue doing God’s work, but worthy enough to earn your love as well. You’ve been sent her to help me. I understand that now. I’m sorry that I…I’m sorry that I had to hurt you.”

He squeezes Ariel in his hold, and despite his apology, Ariel has a feeling it will not be the last time.

“But I had to make sure you were the real deal! And you were being so uncooperative that really, you left me no other choice. But I promise…Now that I have you, you’ll never have to worry about anything else hurting you ever again. I will keep you safe. “

He’s delusional. Ariel had known this from the beginning. Only now there was no lack of doubt for how far the man’s delusions could go.  He will play along, for now, having truly no other option, but when the time comes, he will fulfill his duty sent to him by God. Ariel will kill Ethan, perverted ‘love’ for him or not, and put an end to this cult.

It would just take time.

[isroselalondebisexual]

*hesitantly slides my trollswapped kids for you to analyze* Rose Peixes (I thought Rose with a horrorterror for a mom figure would be a neat concept), Dave Ampora, John Vantas, Jade Megido

Rose Peixes! Queen of Alternia, with a shot for the throne, a giant huge large big thousand-tentacled lusus for a mom. Gl'bgolyb is a lusus that makes demands of her charge, but we know from Feferi that she also does engage with her child frequently. Feferi spoke with her lusus, and learned about the encroaching destruction of the universe from her, and then was also able to speak with other horror terrors, which were more vast and horrifying than their emissary, and make friends with them AND gain a boon, so what I can glean from that is that Gl’bgolyb, despite having relatively high demand, was also pretty warm and loving as far as lususes go. Maybe not an authoritative parenting style all across, because she did make high demands and there WAS threat of real and devastating consequences, but not all parents are perfect. Anyway, Rose, raised with all the power in the world, and a lusus that loved her but required some pretty tasking stuff from her with threat of killing her friends if she didn’t cooperate, would result in Rose being a very, very driven person, I think. The throne is hers to seize, if she can fight for it, Alternia is hers to govern, and Rose is not someone to half-ass things. She would be privileged, as anyone from that station would be, and maybe not fully understand the social order on account of being very young still, plus she would be socialized with Alternia’s definition of “fairness,” but I think she would be more concerned with personal achievement than doing stuff like Trizza tbh. She’s relentless, driven, always clawing for bigger, better, harder, faster, someone with a ravenous pursuit of excellence, someone who is dissatisfied with herself unless her idea of perfection is achieved. Rose Peixes and Azula from Avatar would probably be pretty similar tbeh. She’s here to WIN. As Seer of Life, Rose would be the one to foresee the “onward march of positive progress.” That’s pulled straight from the extended zodiac page, btw. Hussie tells us that Life players are “concerned with the betterment of themselves and those around them,” so Rose is all about seeing the way things can be improved, interested in using her sight to propel things forward, make them better, refine them, take the future by the horns and drive it in the direction of progress. Yes, she’s spoiled and privileged, and yes, she needs to learn that her own definition of progress might not always match with other’s, but Rose likes to learn and is quick to adapt to new information, so I have full confidence that Rose Peixes, Seer of Life, would be a harbinger of that which is good.

Dave Ampora, hmmmm. Well, his attention seeking ways are going nowhere. Dave gets raised at the top of the spectrum, full royalty, with only one person in all the world who outranks him by blood, and he just so happens to be childhood best friends/moirails with her. Definitely still a hipster, definitely still takes photographs of weird deep-sea shit and scenic ocean views, absolutely looks up to and adores his ancestor a lot, creating an ideal image of him in his brain that he tries to pursue. Living in the wrecked ship of his ancestor instead of an actual hive is also a very hipster thing to do sooooo. Probably doesn’t like it when people tell him that ancestors aren’t real, or that his was lame. Rose is probably the one telling him how lame his ancestor was tbeh. Dave VERY likely wouldn’t want to help Rose with feeding Gl’bgolyb, that doesn’t strike me as something Dave would want to do, or that Rose would need help with, so he’s more focused on the emotional and caretaking elements of their moirallegiance. Primarily: Rose go the fuck to sleep it’s 3 in the afternoon the sun’s been up for hours I don’t care if you haven’t gotten it “just right” yet you’re never gonna get it “just right” because you’re a fucking perfectionist now get inside your goddamned ‘coon you absolute madwoman or so help me god I’ll swim down there and dunk you in that pile of slime myshellf! Needs constant validation for himself, which on one hand, that’s fine, on the other, he doesn’t ever want to confront when he’s been the one to make a mistake, or that he’s the one who’s overstepped, and that’s something he has to work on and work through, as someone born into immense wealth and power. As Knight of Hope, his task is as the group cheerleader, sort of. He’s the one protecting and sustaining everyone’s ability to look up, look forward, he’s the one that helps and allows Rose to pursue that better future, he’s the one giving John the emotional support and assurance that yes, John is valued and loved and definitely one of the group and not an outsider, Dave is the one to offer Jade support when she thinks the world is resting squarely on her own shoulders and help her keep her cheery disposition, even when life looks hard. He is an odd mix of deeply empathetic and loving, but also selfish at times, and too certain of his own rightness.

John Vantas has a screechy dad and mutant blood, which means he’s really, really good at laughing off conflict. If someone is mad at him, it doesn’t really touch him, which, on one hand, is good for conflict deescalation because it means he’s never sending off the signals that would lead to a back and forth of conflict getting worse and worse and worse. On the other, it can make having serious conversations with him an ABSOLUTE nightmare, because John isn’t taking them SERIOUSLY and he needs to LISTEN! Probably also has a very fatalistic sense of humor, as a way of coping with the fact that he could die at pretty much literally any second. “Whoops, almost got hit by a bus, ahaha, should’ve moved into that street a little faster ;B” *minor inconvenience happens* “Guess I’ll die.” It doesn’t help that Alternia is really violent and unsafe just, like, in general. Every goddamned troll has PTSD and I will stand by that. But humor is John’s coping mechanism, as well as just, he’s a dude who likes a laugh. He’s here for a good time, not a long time. Since he’s a mutant, he defines himself in society primarily based on who he’s friends with! With the Heiress and a fishprince as his good friends, plus his dear sweet darling burgundy moirail, that makes him… relatively well off, actually? He’s not sure how this is happening, but he does know that he loves Rose Dave and Jade so so so so much and ngl I think flush DaveJohn and pitch, playfully-competitive “i’m a bigger little shit than you are” JohnRose would be… excellent… I ship everything y’all I don’t know what you’re expecting of me. He puts a LOT of stock in his relationships with his friends, which unfortunately means that he gets very depressed if he’s left alone for too long. He’s an extrovert with a blood mutation that makes it so he can’t actually GO OUT and engage in activities for fear of revealing his blood color. How does he deal with it? More fatalistic humor. Hahaha… he’s so lonely… haha… At least Jade knows, that’s probably an immense comfort, and when Dave and Rose find out Dave’s immediate assurances that they still love him and this doesn’t change anything would do wonders for John’s outlook on life, as is Dave’s role. As Heir of Blood, I mentioned this already but John places a LOT of his identity in his bonds with others. In many ways, his quest is learning how to balance that with constructing a personal identity. He’s a lowblood, offspectrum mutant on Alternia, that doesn’t allow for a lot of individual value to be placed on himself, so that’s something he’s got to learn and grow away from, but at the same time, his friends are his anchors, what keeps him sane and happy and healthy, so it’s important too for him to grow alongside them, entwined with them, part of their group, part of the whole, part of the community that is no longer stacked unfairly against him. It’s a balance, but he’ll find it.

Jade Megido, raised by a kangaram, low socioeconomic status but magic powers that can break mountains. Nothing can possibly go wrong with this. She’s pretty relentlessly positive, angry at the society that labels her as “lesser” but with a sort of learned helplessness about her that makes her think there’s nothing truly to be done to fight back against it. So fuck the system altogether then! She’s here for a good time, not a long time, her lifespan is short and that’s provided she can even make it that long! So she’s gonna go PET BARKBEASTS and DO SCIENCE and EXPLORE THOSE COOL RUINS NEAR HER HIVE and visit her moirail who she loves dearly. She doesn’t have any of the funding necessary to get the parts and chemicals that she needs on her own, but luckily for her Dave is a people pleaser and vastly wealthy and also flush with her moirail so she can pester him for favors. She fears neither god nor death, pass her some fucking robot parts. A real “Fuckit” mentality, I think, but here to have a good time! Still deeply compassionate as a person, and still lying about how sucky her situation truly is, to her friends and also to herself. She likes to think of herself as just making the most of a bad situation but really she’s just avoiding confronting the fact that Alternia really, really SUCKS for warmbloods and there’s nothing she, one single person, can do in the face of the vastness of it all. As Witch of Time, she is confronted with her own corpse again and again and again, forcing her to look at the fact that life isn’t fair and doesn’t care about her, that she’s mortal, that death comes for them all. But as Witch, she is given the opportunity to CHANGE things. She’s handed the ability to make a difference, to grab the Game and make it do as she tells it to. And so she must first confront her own mortality, and then step forward and change it, she must learn confidence and drive. She cannot just ignore or lie about her problems, she must fix them, and that is where her growth lies. This has some immediate backlash of making Jade think, once she realizes that change lies in her hands, that she is responsible for everything, and that the tables have been flipped entirely and she stands alone as the sole savior of their group. But Rose is there with her sight, and Dave is there with encouragement and compassion, and John is always there to help her, listen to her, talk with her, and Jade is not alone in this. As always, their success lies in all of their strengths working together, and they are triumphant as a team.

[eiriini]

☭ Yi

Send ☭ x for a vs. battle quote to your muse – Not Accepting

@ircnadmiral 

BGM: Synthesized Angels

Battle Intro:

LUCK CHECK: FAILED. WARNING.

Oh no.

You turn and face your team. Master appears to be frightened, as do the others. But Rider does not. He looks… calm. No matter. There is no friend or foe. There is only foes now. You can hear them yelling your name – both True and Class – but you do not answer. You bow to no one, isn’t that right? Who in their right mind would bend the will of yours, Silent Dragon?

Rider is the first to step forward, yet it hurts. You feel something tug at your heart; a voice cry in your head. You push it aside, snarling as you do. A challenge? How naive. 

You should grant him a bit of dignity before he returns to the Throne.

FIGHT!

Victory:

Claw grips his torso as you rise him from the rough earth. You toss his body at those you used to call ‘teammates’, throwing him right into your ‘Master’. He struggles to stand, but the others hold him back. Asking him to stop so he doesn’t over-exert himself. ( Fools. Don’t they see what you made of him? How not even he is a match for you? ) Ah, the sweet sensation of victory. You feel proud. The voice has stopped screaming in your head, and you feel as if there is nothing that can stop you.

 So why do you stop and stare at them?

There’s more to do.

FAILED.

Half HP:

Humans, pesky beings.Even as Heroic Spirits, they’re all just the same. You’re surprised he’s inflicting this much damage into you, but at he same time, you’re even more surprised he’s been able to injure you at all! Maybe you should keep him around for entertainment. Ah, but that pesky ‘Master’ keeps shouting. Unable to hear what they’re saying, you continue your fight, letting a loud roar shake the air.

Low HP:

How can a mere Rider do this to you? No, not that he’s just a ‘Rider’, but once MORTAL. You can feel yourself unable to fully focus as the fight continues, but you still stand proud. You let out a louder roar, claws digging into the torn earth. You won’t back down. You never will; you won’t let them escape. Remember who you are. Man has no control over you.

Die, Rider!

Defeat:

The blade is thrust into your side in a way that isn’t lethal, but enough to break scales. As soon as its pulled out, you go dark. A cry is let out as, finally, it is over. Cracks begin to dance along the dragonic form, and as if taken from a novel, the dragon disappears in a loud, sudden burst. Water is shot up into the air, and just like a geyser, falls back to the ground. 

Now human, once again, you stand. Damaged, bleeding, but breathing. Paralysis kicks in as soon as you gain your eyesight back, and you fall forward. Heavy breathing follows suit, and you lie there. “What…? Why did this have to happen now? I did not mean for this to happen. I was not in control!” Thoughts like those go through your erratic mind. You hear something, but can’t understand it. All you do know is someone is now holding you, and tears begin to fall. If you could speak, you would apologize so fervently. But the words don’t come. The shakes that normally would when you cry don’t happen. 

You’re glad it’s over. You’re glad you’re now you.

Death:

You feel a sudden pain engulf your chest. A Command Seal?! Tsk! So Master was paying attention. However, you didn’t expect a sudden onslaught of attacks. You struggle to move, but are forced to submit. Then, a familiar Noble Phantasm hits, and at the right point. The point between you shifting back to your normal, Saber form. It’s too late to call it off, and it hits you head on. You try to scream in pain, but the paralysis has kicked in. You can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t talk. You begin to feel something, strange. A strangeness you’ve never had to feel before. Like floating on soft clouds….? You try to open your eyes, and by the Gods, it takes all of your might to do so. Something begins to move you, and you’re not sure what, or rather, who. 

It’s getting fuzzier – both mind and body. The floating feeling travels further up. A hand touches your face, as if attempting to get you to look at them. At him. It takes more of your residual energy to do so, and the look on his face terrifies you. There’s that inclination of sorrow in Yi Sun Shin’s eyes. You know him, perhaps too well. You know the slight changes in his form when he goes through specific emotions that he wishes not to show. “Do not cry…” You want to say, but a squeak is all that’s heard. Great Dragons, why…?

As if granted a miracle by the Throne itself, as the dust begins to move up your thighs, you feel the paralysis begin to subside. Was it from the fact that you’re dying? You decide not to question it. Rather, a gloved hand reaches up and rests over his. The smile on your face grows, and slowly nuzzle your cheek against his callous hand. 

“Thank you.” You whisper to him. “I am —sorry for what I did.” He tries to speak up, but you silence him. Lips pressed against his hand, then continue your peace. ( In a way, you’re surprised he’s letting you. But the gold dust of a fading Servant can’t be ignored at this point. ) 

“Yi Sun Shin. Please, never loose your smile. I will… be here.” ‘Here’ as in his heart. Though figments of memories, can Servants not make new ones? Ones that will stay with their spirits for all time…? There’s hope in that thought.“Thank you for, for being there for me. For listening to my strange tales, especially when we first met.” You laugh, tears forming in your eyes. … Is he starting to cry, as well? You reach your other hand up to cup his cheek, brushing against it. 

“Though we may be Heroic Spirits, we are still human at heart. I will never forget you, and the time we shared.” That feeling is getting worse. Wait! 

WAIT! 

But they do not wait. 

“I love you, Yi. Always.” 

And like a fleeting leaf, being cared into the wind, Saber is returned to the Throne. Waiting, evermore, for her knight to welcome her with open arms if she is to be Summoned in this timeline.

[ …. Reset? ]

Assist:

[ Assist.exe cannot be found ]

Taunt:

You stand on your hind legs, like a horse throwing off an ignorant rider. As soon as you land, your tail moves in a beckoning fashion. If you could grin, oh so sinister beast, you would.

Reacting to Taunt:

There’s a growl that resonates from your throat. How dare he! Does he not know who he’s speaking with?! The gall of mankind! No matter, you’ll return the favor with vigor. Those who speak with no resolution must face punishment.

Flee: 

[ Flee.exe cannot be found ]

Reacting to Flee: 

[ Flee.exe cannot be found ]

Tie:  

There is no tie.

Perfect Victory: 

[ See Victory ]

Low HP Victory:

[ See Victory ]

Finishing Move:

One tail swipe – another tail swipe that lands in a slam. You howl at the air as it begins to filter around you. Like a vortex, sucking all that’s around. You manage to catch some debris as well, making it worse. An array of lances, like what you have when you shift your arm, appear around him. With a tail movement, they drive themselves into Yi. One after the other, like a Rube Goldberg machine hitting each of its triggers.

You can’t understand the scream that echos in your head. Pleading you to stop. 

As soon as the last lance hits, you drive forward with a charge, forcing the Rider far into the air. You miss your next move, a force pushing you aside. ( Don not hurt him anymore! This is enough! STOP IT! ) 

Out of frustration, the tail swings around and slams itself into his stomach, and with gravity’s help, a crater forms before. You stay in the air, PROUDLY roaring to the rest of the ‘team’.

Who dare faces the demigod now?

[ …. Reset? ]

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient book of Proverbs and book of Psalms

for june 8 of 2021 with Proverbs 8 and Psalm 8, accompanied by Psalm 81 for the 81st day of Spring and Psalm 9 for day 159 of the year (now with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 2nd revolution this year)

[Proverbs 8]

[Wisdom Calling]

Can’t you hear the voice of Wisdom?

From the top of the mountains of influence

she speaks into the gateways of the glorious city.

At the place where pathways merge,

at the entrance of every portal,

there she stands, ready to impart understanding,

shouting aloud to all who enter,

preaching her sermon to those who will listen.

“I’m calling to you, sons of Adam,

yes, and to you daughters as well.

Listen to me and you will be prudent and wise.

For even the foolish and feeble can receive an understanding heart

that will change their inner being.

The meaning of my words will release within you revelation

for you to reign in life.

My lyrics will empower you to live by what is right.

For everything I say is unquestionably true,

and I refuse to endure the lies of lawlessness—

my words will never lead you astray.

All the declarations of my mouth can be trusted;

they contain no twisted logic or perversion of the truth.

All my words are clear and straightforward to everyone

who possesses spiritual understanding.

If you have an open mind, you will receive revelation-knowledge.

My wise correction is more valuable than silver or gold.

The finest gold is nothing compared to the revelation-knowledge

I can impart.”

Wisdom is so priceless that it exceeds the value of any jewel.

Nothing you could wish for can equal her.

“For I am Wisdom, and I am shrewd and intelligent.

I have at my disposal living-understanding

to devise a plan for your life.

Wisdom pours into you

when you begin to hate every form of evil in your life,

for that’s what worship and fearing God is all about.

Then you will discover

that your pompous pride and perverse speech

are the very ways of wickedness that I hate!”

[The Power of Wisdom]

“You will find true success when you find me,

for I have insight into wise plans that are designed just for you.

I hold in my hands living-understanding, courage, and strength.

I empower kings to reign and rulers to make laws that are just.

I empower princes to rise and take dominion,

and generous ones to govern the earth.

I will show my love to those who passionately love me.

For they will search and search continually until they find me.

Unending wealth and glory

come to those who discover where I dwell.

The riches of righteousness and a long, satisfying life

will be given to them.

What I impart has greater worth than gold and treasure,

and the increase I bring benefits more than a windfall of income.

I lead you into the ways of righteousness

to discover the paths of true justice.

Those who love me gain great wealth and a glorious inheritance,

and I will fill their lives with treasures.”

[Wisdom in the Beginning]

“In the beginning I was there,

for God possessed me even before he created the universe.

From eternity past I was set in place,

before the world began.

I was anointed from the beginning.

Before the oceans depths were poured out,

and before there were any glorious fountains

overflowing with water,

I was there, dancing!

Even before one mountain had been sculpted

or one hill raised up,

I was already there, dancing!

When he created the earth, the fields,

even the first atom of dust,

I was already there.

When he hung the tapestry of the heavens

and stretched out the horizon of the earth,

when the clouds and skies were set in place

and the subterranean fountains began to flow strong,

I was already there.

When he set in place the pillars of the earth

and spoke the decrees of the seas,

commanding the waves

so that they wouldn’t overstep their boundaries,

I was there, close to the Creator’s side as his master artist.

Daily he was filled with delight in me

as I playfully rejoiced before him.

I laughed and played,

so happy with what he had made,

while finding my delight in the children of men.”

[Wisdom Worth Waiting For]

“So listen, my sons and daughters, to everything I tell you,

for nothing will bring you more joy than following my ways.

Listen to my counsel,

for my instruction will enlighten you.

You’ll be wise not to ignore it.

If you wait at wisdom’s doorway,

longing to hear a word for every day,

joy will break forth within you as you listen for what I’ll say.

For the fountain of life pours into you every time that you find me,

and this is the secret of growing in the delight

and the favor of the Lord.

But those who stumble and miss me will be sorry they did!

For ignoring what I have to say will bring harm to your own soul.

Those who hate me are simply flirting with death!”

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 8 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 8]

For the worship leader. A song of David accompanied by the harp.

O Eternal, our Lord,

Your majestic name is heard throughout the earth;

Your magnificent glory shines far above the skies.

From the mouths and souls of infants and toddlers, the most innocent,

You have decreed power to stop Your adversaries

and quash those who seek revenge.

When I gaze to the skies and meditate on Your creation—

on the moon, stars, and all You have made,

I can’t help but wonder why You care about mortals—

sons and daughters of men—

specks of dust floating about the cosmos.

But You placed the son of man just beneath God

and honored him like royalty, crowning him with glory and honor.

You ordained him to govern the works of Your hands,

to nurture the offspring of Your divine imagination;

You placed everything on earth beneath his feet:

All kinds of domesticated animals,

even the wild animals in the fields and forests,

The birds of the sky and the fish of the sea,

all the multitudes of living things that travel the currents of the oceans.

O Eternal, our Lord,

Your majestic name is heard throughout the earth.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 8 (The Voice)

[Psalm 81]

For the worship leader. A song of Asaph accompanied by the harp.

Sing with joy to God, our strength, our fortress.

Raise your voices to the True God of Jacob.

Sing and strike up a melody;

sound the tambourine,

strum the sweet lyre and the harp.

Blow the trumpet to announce the new moon,

the full moon, the day of our feast.

For this is prescribed for Israel,

a rule ordained by the True God of Jacob.

A precept established by God in Joseph

during His journey in Egypt.

I hear it said in a language foreign to me:

“I removed the burden from your shoulders;

I removed heavy baskets from your hands.

You cried out to Me, I heard your distress, and I delivered you;

I answered you from the secret place, where clouds of thunder roll.

I tested you at the waters of Meribah.

[pause]

“O My people, hear Me; I will rebuke you.

Israel, Israel! If you would only listen to Me.

Do not surround yourselves with other gods

or bow down to strange gods.

I am the Eternal, your True God.

I liberated you from slavery, led you out from the land of Egypt.

If you open your mouth wide, I will fill it.

“But My own people did not hear My voice!

Israel refused to obey Me.

So I freed them to follow their hard hearts,

to do what they thought was best.

If only My people would hear My voice

and Israel would follow My direction!

Then I would not hesitate to humble their enemies

and defeat their opposition Myself.

Those who hate the Eternal will cower in His presence, pretending to submit;

they secretly loathe Him, yet their doom is forever.

But you—I will feed you the best wheat

and satisfy you with honey out of the rock.”

The Book of Psalms, Poem 81 (The Voice)

[Psalm 9]

I’m thanking you, God, from a full heart,

I’m writing the book on your wonders.

I’m whistling, laughing, and jumping for joy;

I’m singing your song, High God.

The day my enemies turned tail and ran,

they stumbled on you and fell on their faces.

You took over and set everything right;

when I needed you, you were there, taking charge.

You blow the whistle on godless nations;

you throw dirty players out of the game,

wipe their names right off the roster.

Enemies disappear from the sidelines,

their reputation trashed,

their names erased from the halls of fame.

God holds the high center,

he sees and sets the world’s mess right.

He decides what is right for us earthlings,

gives people their just deserts.

God’s a safe-house for the battered,

a sanctuary during bad times.

The moment you arrive, you relax;

you’re never sorry you knocked.

Sing your songs to Zion-dwelling God,

tell his stories to everyone you meet:

How he tracks down killers

yet keeps his eye on us,

registers every whimper and moan.

Be kind to me, God;

I’ve been kicked around long enough.

Once you’ve pulled me back

from the gates of death,

I’ll write the book on Hallelujahs;

on the corner of Main and First

I’ll hold a street meeting;

I’ll be the song leader; we’ll fill the air

with salvation songs.

They’re trapped, those godless countries,

in the very snares they set,

Their feet all tangled

in the net they spread.

They have no excuse;

the way God works is well-known.

The shrewd machinery made by the wicked

has maimed their own hands.

The wicked bought a one-way

ticket to hell.

No longer will the poor be nameless—

no more humiliation for the humble.

Up, God! Aren’t you fed up with their empty strutting?

Expose these grand pretensions!

Shake them up, God!

Show them how silly they look.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 9 (The Message)

[dfroza]

Today’s reading in the ancient book of Proverbs and Psalms

for friday, may 8 of 2020 with Proverbs 8 and Psalm 8 accompanied by Psalm 51 for the 51st day of Spring and Psalm 129 for day 129 of the year

[Psalm 8]

For the worship leader. A song of David accompanied by the harp.

O Eternal, our Lord,

Your majestic name is heard throughout the earth;

Your magnificent glory shines far above the skies.

From the mouths and souls of infants and toddlers, the most innocent,

You have decreed power to stop Your adversaries

and quash those who seek revenge.

When I gaze to the skies and meditate on Your creation—

on the moon, stars, and all You have made,

I can’t help but wonder why You care about mortals—

sons and daughters of men—

specks of dust floating about the cosmos.

But You placed the son of man just beneath God

and honored him like royalty, crowning him with glory and honor.

You ordained him to govern the works of Your hands,

to nurture the offspring of Your divine imagination;

You placed everything on earth beneath his feet:

All kinds of domesticated animals,

even the wild animals in the fields and forests,

The birds of the sky and the fish of the sea,

all the multitudes of living things that travel the currents of the oceans.

O Eternal, our Lord,

Your majestic name is heard throughout the earth.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 8 (The Voice)

with a reflection upon Eden with these lines from The Message:

Yet we’ve so narrowly missed being gods,

bright with Eden’s dawn light.

You put us in charge of your handcrafted world,

repeated to us your Genesis-charge.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 8:5-6 (The Message)

[Proverbs 8]

Can’t you hear the voice of Wisdom?

From the top of the mountains of influence

she speaks into the gateways of the glorious city.

At the place where pathways merge,

at the entrance of every portal,

there she stands, ready to impart understanding,

shouting aloud to all who enter,

preaching her sermon to those who will listen.

“I’m calling to you, sons of Adam,

yes, and to you daughters as well.

Listen to me and you will be prudent and wise.

For even the foolish and feeble can receive an understanding heart

that will change their inner being.

The meaning of my words will release within you revelation

for you to reign in life.

My lyrics will empower you to live by what is right.

For everything I say is unquestionably true,

and I refuse to endure the lies of lawlessness—

my words will never lead you astray.

All the declarations of my mouth can be trusted;

they contain no twisted logic or perversion of the truth.

All my words are clear and straightforward to everyone

who possesses spiritual understanding.

If you have an open mind, you will receive revelation-knowledge.

My wise correction is more valuable than silver or gold.

The finest gold is nothing compared to the revelation-knowledge

I can impart.”

Wisdom is so priceless that it exceeds the value of any jewel.

Nothing you could wish for can equal her.

“For I am Wisdom, and I am shrewd and intelligent.

I have at my disposal living-understanding

to devise a plan for your life.

Wisdom pours into you

when you begin to hate every form of evil in your life,

for that’s what worship and fearing God is all about.

Then you will discover

that your pompous pride and perverse speech

are the very ways of wickedness that I hate!”

[The Power of Wisdom]

“You will find true success when you find me,

for I have insight into wise plans that are designed just for you.

I hold in my hands living-understanding, courage, and strength.

I empower kings to reign and rulers to make laws that are just.

I empower princes to rise and take dominion,

and generous ones to govern the earth.

I will show my love to those who passionately love me.

For they will search and search continually until they find me.

Unending wealth and glory

come to those who discover where I dwell.

The riches of righteousness and a long, satisfying life

will be given to them.

What I impart has greater worth than gold and treasure,

and the increase I bring benefits more than a windfall of income.

I lead you into the ways of righteousness

to discover the paths of true justice.

Those who love me gain great wealth and a glorious inheritance,

and I will fill their lives with treasures.

[Wisdom in the Beginning]

“In the beginning I was there,

for God possessed me even before he created the universe.

From eternity past I was set in place,

before the world began.

I was anointed from the beginning.

Before the oceans depths were poured out,

and before there were any glorious fountains

overflowing with water,

I was there, dancing!

Even before one mountain had been sculpted

or one hill raised up,

I was already there, dancing!

When he created the earth, the fields,

even the first atom of dust,

I was already there.

When he hung the tapestry of the heavens

and stretched out the horizon of the earth,

when the clouds and skies were set in place

and the subterranean fountains began to flow strong,

I was already there.

when he set in place the pillars of the earth

and spoke the decrees of the seas,

commanding the waves

so that they wouldn’t overstep their boundaries,

I was there, close to the Creator’s side as his master artist.

Daily he was filled with delight in me

as I playfully rejoiced before him.

I laughed and played,

so happy with what he had made,

while finding my delight in the children of men.

[Wisdom Worth Waiting For]

“So listen, my sons and daughters, to everything I tell you,

for nothing will bring you more joy than following my ways.

Listen to my counsel,

for my instruction will enlighten you.

You’ll be wise not to ignore it.

If you wait at wisdom’s doorway,

longing to hear a word for every day,

joy will break forth within you as you listen for what I’ll say.

For the fountain of life pours into you every time that you find me,

and this is the secret of growing in the delight

and the favor of the Lord.

But those who stumble and miss me will be sorry they did!

For ignoring what I have to say will bring harm to your own soul.

Those who hate me are simply flirting with death!”

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 8 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 51]

A David Psalm, After He Was Confronted by Nathan About the Affair with Bathsheba

Generous in love—God, give grace!

Huge in mercy—wipe out my bad record.

Scrub away my guilt,

soak out my sins in your laundry.

I know how bad I’ve been;

my sins are staring me down.

You’re the One I’ve violated, and you’ve seen

it all, seen the full extent of my evil.

You have all the facts before you;

whatever you decide about me is fair.

I’ve been out of step with you for a long time,

in the wrong since before I was born.

What you’re after is truth from the inside out.

Enter me, then; conceive a new, true life.

Soak me in your laundry and I’ll come out clean,

scrub me and I’ll have a snow-white life.

Tune me in to foot-tapping songs,

set these once-broken bones to dancing.

Don’t look too close for blemishes,

give me a clean bill of health.

God, make a fresh start in me,

shape a Genesis week from the chaos of my life.

Don’t throw me out with the trash,

or fail to breathe holiness in me.

Bring me back from gray exile,

put a fresh wind in my sails!

Give me a job teaching rebels your ways

so the lost can find their way home.

Commute my death sentence, God, my salvation God,

and I’ll sing anthems to your life-giving ways.

Unbutton my lips, dear God;

I’ll let loose with your praise.

Going through the motions doesn’t please you,

a flawless performance is nothing to you.

I learned God-worship

when my pride was shattered.

Heart-shattered lives ready for love

don’t for a moment escape God’s notice.

Make Zion the place you delight in,

repair Jerusalem’s broken-down walls.

Then you’ll get real worship from us,

acts of worship small and large,

Including all the bulls

they can heave onto your altar!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 51 (The Message)

[Psalm 129]

Persecuted But Not Defeated

A song of the stairway

Let all Israel admit it.

From our very beginning we have been persecuted by the nations.

And from our very beginning

we have faced never-ending discrimination.

Nevertheless, our enemies have not defeated us. We’re still here!

They have hurt us more than can be expressed,

ripping us to shreds, cutting deeply into our souls.

But no matter what, the Lord is good to us.

He is a righteous God who stood to defend us,

breaking the chains of the evil ones that bound us.

May all who hate the Jews

fall back in disgrace to a shameful defeat!

Let them be like grass planted in shallow soil

that soon withers with no sustenance.

Let them be like weeds ignored by the reaper

and worthless to the harvester.

Let no one who sees them say,

“May the blessings of Jehovah be upon your life.

May the Lord bless you.”

The Book of Psalms, Poem 129 (The Passion Translation)