#being a priest/priestess for the gods sounds so cool

[ash-rigby]

Verdant Transmigration (Spring/Fertility God) [M/M]

Featured Characters: Male human and a male nature god.

Description: Marion, a cleric of one of his town's four resident nature deities, undergoes a ritual to become the next Vessel for Ta'lir who, among many things, is a god of fertility. A merging with Ta'lir requires a more physical element than a purely spiritual one.

Contains: Masked Nonhuman, Size Difference, Aphrodisiacs, Sex Magic, Fellatio, Hand Jobs, Self Lubrication, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Excessive Cum, Mild Cardiophilia.

Completion Date: March 23rd, 2024

Word Count: 3485

This isn't the next requested piece but it was the one I was getting ready to submit to this year's Spring issue of M❤️NSTER. I wound up not making the deadline but I like it too much to wait a year to share it, so I finished it up and here it is!

-

Marion walked into the ritual chamber under the gazes of many, his nude body catching the flickering firelight. He knelt on the floor of the temple as one of the other priests began to lay out a circle in sacred earth around him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, drawing in the spicy yet floral smell of the incense. Drums beat softly on all sides and the sound of low flutes seemed to tickle the nape of his neck. 

He wasn’t nervous, as those around him expected him to be; he had spent the last three days since the previous Vessel’s death in deep meditation to prepare for being the next. Adola was a magnificent woman, a constant through all of Marion’s twenty-five years. A solemn presence with a gentle, motherly hand. Her grace had inspired him to devote his life to the god she carried within her—whom he would carry in her stead.

His city enjoyed the watchful eye of four nature gods, corresponding to the seasons and each with their unique divine favors to bestow. Some blessings and miracles, others that brought simple comforts through the unavoidable trials and pains of life. Whatever their will, it was channeled through a human host; a Vessel that embodied all they were and served the people. But a mortal body is a mortal body, releasing both spirits in death. 

With Adola’s passing, Ta’lir—a god of Spring—had returned to the Ethereal Grove where he fell into dormancy, awaiting rebirth into the mortal realm. The Transmigration ritual for each god involved a performance to inspire a merging of their spirit and that of the willing Vessel. There was the exuberant dance for Summer, a melancholy yet ultimately hopeful song for Autumn, and a grueling test of endurance through cold for Winter.

Ta’lir, among other things, represented fertility. Pleasures of the flesh were a common mode of worshipping him. As a priest of Ta’lir’s temple, Marion had partaken many times; alone, with one or two other clerics, and in the grand orgies. He was more than prepared for what was required of him in the ritual ahead. A spiritual and physical union with Ta’lir.

Marion felt a presence step in front of him. There was a rustle of fabric and the sound of bare feet padding against stone. He opened his eyes to see the High Priestess smiling warmly down at him, her face framed by long, brown hair. She held an ornate cup carved from wood in her hand which she leaned down to hand to him.

“Euphoric passage to the Grove,” she said in blessing as Marion took the cup.

He brought it to his lips, familiar with its contents. The cooled, maroon-coloured tea was brewed from a dried mix containing amiculus clover petals; a powerful aphrodisiac despite its mild, unremarkable flavour. Its influence on the body was enough to carry over even in the spirit through astral projection. Euphoric indeed.

Marion gave the empty cup back to the High Priestess. Another cleric, short in stature, took it from her and replaced it with a shallow bowl of dark paint. She knelt and began to mark him with the shapes and lines that would be branded into his skin once he merged with Ta’lir, denoting him as his Vessel. 

The tea quickly took effect. Heat swirled in Marion’s stomach before migrating lower as a pleasantly tingling pulse. His cock throbbed, gradually filling without a single touch until it stood erect. Need washed over him but he would not be stroking himself or seeking partners in the crowd around him. For once, that wasn’t a part of things; his body and ecstasy were promised solely to Ta’lir that day.

Marion breathed, his cock full and heavy. The High Priestess’ touch was warm and soft, her captivating bluish-grey eyes frequently holding his as she worked. He shivered at the memories of times he had the honor of worshipping with her. A hitched gasp left him, hips jolting slightly, as she finished the final line—a single, agonizingly slow stroke up the underside of his shaft.

She left him panting in the center of the circle, stepping back to join the other clerics who began to chant. The sacred earth gradually gained a bright green glow. Fractal patterns drew themselves into existence and spread inwards from it. As they reached Marion, the lines painted on him erupted with the same light. He was struck by the extraordinary pleasure of it.

His entire body felt alight and sensitive. Nobody was touching him, but the very air seemed to caress and tease. The chanting grew louder, the glow around him flaring as the ripples of invisible sensation intensified. It was like a fire; wild, blazing, hungry. Nipping, licking and leaving trails of desperation across every inch of him.

He fell back and only just managed to catch and hold himself up on his shaking arms, legs spreading open of their own accord. The flutes faded out but the drums beat harder, the sound of them pounding through him. Somehow in perfect time with every throb of his leaking cock. 

Marion tilted his head back, face angled at the ceiling bathed in that green light. Splayed out like this—wantonly moaning and achingly erect—he couldn’t help but feel like a beast crying out for another of its kind to mate. With that thought, the words came to him, spilling from his lips as if someone else had seized his voice.

“Take me, Ta’lir,” he implored to his dormant god. “Oh, Lord of my flesh. My erotic master. Take me!”

His vision became an all-consuming white. Images flooded his mind but did not linger on a single one for long. Wet, dripping holes swallowing his shaft. Slick cocks rubbing against his own. Tangles of hot, sweaty bodies thrusting and grinding. Groping hands. Eager mouths. On top of the drums and chanting came a rising, desperate cacophony of disembodied moans.

Just as Marion felt it all coming to a head, like he might just cum, a hand was placed on the center of his chest. It gave a hefty push and everything stopped. 

The surging, full-body pleasure was whisked away in a second. Though his cock still strained and he could feel the effects of the tea coursing through him. Silence settled around him like a fog, broken only by his heaving breaths. 

Marion was outside; he could feel a cool breeze on his naked form. There was birdsong and the whisper of leaves. The smell of earth, flowers, and petrichor filled his senses. He only realized then that the white light was gone, leaving darkness. His eyes were closed. Feeling slightly foolish, he opened them and awe took his breath.

The Grove was laid out in all its glory before him.

He was kneeling on a stone circle, carved with the same patterns that had sprung up in light back in the temple. Four tall, mossy pillars rose around him, made into the shape of rabbits standing on their hind legs, noses pointed skyward. Beyond that was a rich, verdant sprawl; long grasses, full bushes, and a dense wood that ringed the clearing he was in.

Directly ahead was a short staircase which led to a colossal tree. Marion gazed at its thick trunk and spotted a carved-out portion in the middle which contained a floating, glowing green mass. Lower still, sitting on a throne that melded into the tree, was the unmoving form of Ta’lir. 

Marion stood, not expecting the strength in his legs given what he had just gone through, and walked towards him. He had seen all of the sculptures, scrolls, and murals depicting Ta’lir’s likeness, but nothing could have prepared him for the radiance of the genuine article. 

Even sitting, the god was tall. Whatever visage he had, if any, was completely obscured by a wooden mask of a hare’s head that bore three eyes. There was a thick, lush mantle of vegetation growing from his shoulders that flared behind his head, speckled through with flowering clover. The torso and arms of the body looked carved from wood, though sleek. Marion could see the intricacies of it. There were joints that would allow Ta’lir to move with the ease of flesh and bone. 

The chest was a hollow like the one he had seen in the tree, though the hole was grated over with thin, uneven, wooden lines that intersected and split here and there. The result was a myriad of varying-sized, ovular holes. There were no innards to speak of; sunlight peaked through them to show the solid plane of the other side.

The wood of the upper half faded into the more flesh-like appearance of the lower, though green and mossy. Marion swallowed when his eyes travelled there and he laid eyes on it. Though dormant, Ta’lir was sporting a large, impressive erection. His thick shaft, with its enticing slight upward curve, stood proudly. Waiting. Propelled by piety and arousal that had far from relented, Marion wasted no time in kneeling between his god’s legs.

His hands lighted on Ta’lir’s thighs. The cock before him was almost intimidating, but reverence won out. He mouthed at the hanging, virile balls before working his way upwards. The taste was an ambrosia on his watering, roaming tongue. He licked the sensitive underside of the head, bringing his hand up to the shaft as he did. The sheer girth of it showed itself as his fingers couldn’t close around it.

Marion closed his lips over the round tip, stroking all he could. As he did, he felt a sudden throb against his palm. It came with a sound; a deep, heavy heartbeat sounding above him. He looked up to see the mass in the tree beginning to pulse just as a bright green glow came to the eyes of Ta’lir’s mask.

The large body drew in a breath—into what lungs, Marion didn’t know—and released it with a low, appreciative groan. Ta’lir shifted, his head rolling on his shoulders before tilting down. Marion’s heart pounded as their eyes met, but he didn’t dare stop; he couldn’t bear the thought of taking his mouth or hands off Ta’lir. 

A chuckle, cavernous and gratified, resounded in his mind rather than outward.

“Hello, dear one,” Ta’lir said, his voice thrumming through Marion’s entire being. It was reminiscent of the feeling he experienced during the ritual, though far less sourceless. “And have my thanks for—mmhn—for restoring me.”

Marion responded by taking Ta’lir further into his mouth, bobbing his head and pumping his hand over hot, turgid flesh. The god moaned and it went straight to Marion’s dick, spurring such an intense throb that his eyes briefly rolled. He could cum like this. Just from sucking Ta’lir’s cock. Just from the divine presence of his voice. He upped his pace, yearning to please and dizzy from the pleasure of every noise his efforts worked out.

“I know you,” Ta’lir said. “This eagerness…this lust. Oh, sweet Marion.”

With a wet sound, Marion pulled off of Ta’lir, his hand never stilling as his chest warmed in admiration.

“My reputation precedes me, Lord?” he asked breathlessly, eyelids flickering from the simple action of Ta’lir brushing a tender finger behind his ear—what it was going to feel like getting fucked by this being in this state was beyond his comprehension.

“Come here,” Ta’lir said, tapping his thigh. “Let me see you.”

Marion obeyed, climbing up into his god’s lap and straddling him. His cock raged, weeping onto Ta’lir; a simple but effective tribute. He was panting, well aware of his hole’s proximity to what every part of his insides ached for. Three glowing eyes gazed upon him. Though no emotion could be discerned from them, he could sense the radiating fondness. 

“Such a handsome figure,” Ta’lir marveled, fingertips lightly trailing over his Vessel’s sides. The smile in his tone was felt. “And this…”

His hand went to Marion’s dick, taking it between his massive forefinger and thumb. He began to stroke. Slow pass up. Pause. Slow pass down. The pattern repeated as he remained fixated on Marion’s face, drinking in his moans.

“My previous Vessel was a woman without this,” Ta’lir said. “I did love the change of pace, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss burying myself.”

Marion gasped; unable to speak, shaking from his god’s touch and the waves of his voice.

“You must get a lot of attention,” Ta’lir continued, stroking a little faster. “Such a big, gorgeous cock. This heat…and you throb so strongly. I can’t wait for it to be mine. Oh…we’ll do great things together.”

Marion felt his other hand reach to caress the small of his back, gliding down over the mounds of his ass. A long, dexterous finger breached him with surprising ease; was it his imagination or was he wet? His spirit’s burning desire to take Ta’lir into him in more ways than one must have manifested such things. That one, brief coherent thought melted away as he was deeply penetrated, a second finger swiftly joining the first.

They pumped rapidly, striking true against that near-blindingly sensitive spot inside him. His body jolted, back locking into a rigid, trembling arch as his breath halted. He was lightheaded by the time he was able to suck in air again through in quick, whimpering heaves. With a loud wail, he partially collapsed against Ta’lir, his fingers curling onto the inconsistent lattice that was his chest.

“T-Ta-Ta’lir! I can’t, I can’t—ahh!” Marion cried. “I’ll c-cum. I’m going to cum. I’m going to cum! I’m—!”

“Not until I do,” Ta’lir corrected, almost sing-song. “By what other power did you think we become one? I’ve been asleep for days…allow me some amusement.”

Marion’s head swum, time becoming an unknown blur. He wasn’t sure how long he experienced Ta’lir fucking him on his fingers, but every second was exquisite. If one was keen to equate the word to denial, that is; and he was. 

“You’re amazing, Marion,” Ta’lir praised. “Sucking me in so well. If this is how you take my fingers, then—.”

“Please, Lord,” Marion begged, forgetting himself at a mere insinuation. “I…I need it—.” 

“Not yet, my dear,” Ta’lir said, probing faster into the wet, yielding passage. “Not yet.”

True to Ta’lir’s promise, release didn’t come. Marion remained tottering on its edge. He bounced unconsciously, meeting the thrusts of those thick, relentless fingers. His cock felt engorged, hugged by his balls as his body was trapped in those euphoric seconds before orgasm. The roiling pressure, the fever overtaking his shaft, feeling the rivers he was leaking. He had never known such ecstasy; the Grove’s influence was a marvel.

Marion felt no exhaustion when Ta’lir finally removed his fingers. There was only exhilaration and hunger. He shifted his hips, moving until his ass found Ta’lir’s dick. Meeting the glowing eyes once more, he nudged it insistently. His hole was dripping. Twitching. Wanting.

There was that chuckle again. “How rude of me. Please, take a seat.”

“Thank you, Lord…thank you.”

Marion lined himself up and lowered down. His body shouldn’t have been able to take it entirely. Couldn’t have been able to. But it did, opening up as if driven by pure devotion. Every broad inch claimed him slowly until Ta’lir bottomed out. 

“Oh…oh, you’re perfect,” Ta’lir praised. 

The joy of such a connection with his god was overwhelming and Marion nearly cried. He sat there in hopelessly aroused disbelief, stuffed full and feeling every pulse that throbbed alongside that constant heartbeat. It grew faster as he began to grind.

He kept it slow; now that Ta’lir was inside him, he found himself wanting to savour it. Shallow thrusts were achieved as he lifted up slightly and slid back down. Even that pace felt like being stirred up, the sheer size of Ta’lir’s cock stretching him past his usual limits. His sweltering walls caressed and squeezed—mostly of his own doing, but involuntary clenches were inevitable.

“Yes,” Ta’lir breathed, a visible shiver running through his large frame. “Dance for me.”

His hands came up to cup Marion’s undulating torso, settling over his ribs as the thumbs found his nipples. The wide pads rolled and teased. Marion arched into the touch, expelling a breath that was equal parts a moan and a laugh; it tickled for a moment before settling on pleasure.

It wasn’t long before Ta’lir took control again. Effortlessly, he began to lift Marion up and down his cock. He would get him halfway up the shaft before dropping him to the hilt, that mysterious slick leaking out around him. His head tilted back against the throne as he groaned long and deep.

“Take me…take me.”

Marion’s breath hitched at hearing his own words echoed at him. “I’m yours.”

Ta’lir growled, a sound juxtaposed with the serene herbivore his mask depicted. It was more arousing than it had any right to be. He gripped Marion’s hips and began to pound up into him, grunting with each thrust. His cock seemed impossibly harder; thicker, swelling in its confines.

Marion’s mouth was open, stunned silence occasionally broken by moans cracking his voice to a higher register. He swallowed up that monstrous shaft as if he had been made as its sheath. Like he would be hollow without it. But Ta’lir would fill his empty spaces. Until death parted their spirits.

“I’m yours, I’m yours—ahhh, I’m yours!” he chanted.

He felt himself moving. Ta’lir was standing, hands supporting Marion’s ass as his cock stilled firmly inside. He turned them so he could kneel backwards on his throne and press Marion into its back. His thrusting resumed, faster than his previous position had allowed. A quick clap of meeting flesh filled the Grove.

Marion clutched at Ta’lir. The scent of earth and something more akin to a mammalian musk flooded his nose. The latter grew stronger the more Ta’lir thrust, close to overwhelming the rest and laced with intoxicating pheromones. Marion could practically taste it and drool began to gather in his mouth. He moaned, his hole becoming a desperate vice against the burning beast of a shaft plunging into him.

Gone were Ta’lir’s words, replaced by growls and other feral noises of pleasure as he slammed. Those once-gentle hands gripped, digging deeply into the meat of Marion’s ass. His precum was abundant and incessant in its flow, adding to the lewd squelch of every thrust. It had to be running down his balls, making a mess and dripping onto his throne.

The ever-present heartbeat above their writhing forms raced. Marion was vaguely aware of the glow of that pulsing mass reaching for them in vein-like streaks down the tree’s trunk. Their markings ignited and he felt the first tell-tale throbs making their way through his cock, matching the pace of that pulse. He was close. They were close.

“Cum with me,” Ta’lir said, his voice rough. “Cum…with…!”

He suddenly stilled deep inside and warmth surged into Marion a split second before his own orgasm gripped him. He wailed, explosive ecstasy rushing into every extremity as he excessively came. It seemed endless, spurting from him as his hole milked a similar, copious stream from Ta’lir. 

There was a flood; dripping down his sides, flowing into him. Pump after pump. Two voices, loudly moaning, were beginning to be drowned out by the furious thumping of the tree’s pulse.

Marion’s vision whited and—.

He was back in the temple, kneeling in that circle. His abdomen and thighs were covered in splatters of his own cum. It didn’t cease upon his return, pleasure working through him and making his hips buck as his cock continued to burst. His hole twitched uncontrollably; he could still feel the heat of Ta’lir’s seed and the stretch of his girth. The room was silent save for his own unrestrained moans as his divine orgasm was given proper reverence. 

A faintness washed over Marion as the magic tied to the ritual abated. He collapsed and was descended upon by some of the other clerics. They welcomed him back—a greeting for him and their god. He was vaguely aware of being wrapped in multi-coloured, flower-embroidered cloth and carried to the baths. Gentle hands cleaned him with steaming, pleasant-smelling water as he continued to shiver.

Through heavy eyes, he inspected what he could see of himself. The painted marks had permanently bonded to his skin in swirling lines of brilliant emerald green. But otherwise, he felt no different and a distant pang of concern came to him.

Did it work? Had he been enough?

The High Priestess was carding her fingers through his hair when a familiar voice came to him, clear in his mind; murmurs of praise and contagious excitement for a promising future.

End

Masterlist

[convexicalcrow]

The Copper King looked back over the caravan lining up behind him. A week had passed since he'd seen Cub off to Djesdjes. Normally he didn't dwell on itinerant guests he was unlikely to see again, but something about Cub had stayed with him. If he was indeed heading back to the Two Lands, he was probably already long gone from the oasis. Nevertheless, trading still needed to be done, and so copper and other goods had been gathered, ready to take to Djesdjes.

The Copper King rested a hand on the shoulder of the man before him. "Take good care of the place while I'm gone. I have a feeling things are going to get a bit restless around here."

The man nodded; his bright blue-grey eyes the only thing visible through the hood covering the rest of his face. He said nothing, bowing his head in deference.

"We'll be two days. Hopefully nothing bad happens in that time."

The gates of Djesdjes were not closed to them. The caravan passed through without even being stopped for questions, which the Copper King felt was not a good sign. He might need to speak to the governor about that. Djesdjes itself though seemed to be in good spirits as they entered the centre of the town. The markets were already up and running, and several of the members of the caravan peeled off to set up their own stalls. The Copper King, on the other hand, had other places to be.

He drove his camel through the streets until he reached the temple ruins, tying up the camel nearby. He washed his hands and face in the pool by the gates and stepped inside, carrying precious cargo as well as offerings. He knew where he needed to go, and made his way to the healing temple.

"I come bearing a god," the Copper King said as he entered, seeing a couple of priestesses preparing potions. "Is Ma'akhi around?"

"Oh, he is in with patients at the moment. I will tell him you're here," one of the priestesses said.

"Please do," the Copper King said.

The healing temple really was a lovely place. Cool, calm, and full of life. Perhaps, as he understood it, a little small for the type of temple it was supposed to be, but when needs must, he supposed. The statue in his hands was of a god he didn't know, because it wasn't his own, but that had never been a barrier. Bes, his name was, and he was a strange looking god indeed. A dwarf with leonine features, he had brought with him a fiery energy as the Copper King had worked on this statue. It was needed for the halls, to replace a broken statue. He had quite enjoyed the god's company and would be sad to see it go, but at least it wasn't anywhere he couldn't come to see him again.

"The High Priest will see you now," the priestess said, returning from the halls. "Please, follow me."

-

The Copper King wasn't expecting to be taken to a patient's room, but he understood why once he saw Cub lying there, with another man by his beside. Ma'akhi greeted him and invited him in.

"Come, my friend! It is good to see you again!" Ma'akhi said.

"And I, you, brother! I have the statue you requested. Do you have a space for him?" the Copper King said.

"Of course. Normally I would not bring you here, but Cub overheard and said he knew you so. I would be intrigued to know how you met," Ma'akhi said.

"Our paths were meant to cross. It seems your gods have taken a liking to me if they will send me to aid their followers," the Copper King said.

"Well you do such fine work with the statues, it's not surprising to me. Do you feel up to walking, Cub? I daresay you might like seeing the statue installed," Ma'akhi said.

"Yeah, that sounds nice. I didn't spend nearly enough time with you, Copper King, so I'm glad to see you again," Cub said. "Help me up, Scar, I'm still a little weak."

"I've got you, don't worry."

"Oh, is this the man you were looking for, Cub? I'm glad you found each other again," the Copper King said.

Cub leaned on Scar as he stood up. "Yes, yes it is! He got here before me. I should have listened to you about the uniform though, that was a bad decision, yeah. But I'll be okay."

The Copper King laughed. "Well, I did try to warn you! I am glad to see you alive, though. We must eat together tonight. I would love to hear more of your stories."

"There will be a festival of Seshat tonight at the temple as it is Her feast day. There will be plenty of food for you all," Ma'akhi said. "Now, come, let's get this god back to His home."

-

The Copper King returned home the next day, exhausted but happy, and with plenty of coin in his pockets. But something was nagging at him. Something he couldn't quite place. He was sure he'd seen someone he recognised in amongst the crowds at the festival. Or was it something about Cub and Scar? He didn't know. Just knew something was telling him to go to the Vigil, and so that's what he did once he returned to the mines.

The Vigil was in the centre of the mines in something like a large town square. It was in the middle of a fountain, and had been here for centuries. It was a place of power, of rememberance. The limestone walls around the fountain contained hundreds of candles, burning on top of the remants of hundreds more. The limestone was stained with wax in places. And one candle caught his attention as he surveyed the Vigil, one belonging to a dear friend of his.

The candle was ordinary, red, but also highly decorated with carvings. The blue flame flickered. It was halfway burned by now. The Copper King was used to this kind of divination. The candles called to him when he needed to talk to them, to remember those who needed his attention. And right now, this one did.

"Ahh, my old friend. It has been too many years now. But now I know why that face was so familiar to me. Your son lives, and he's going home, back to the Two Lands. Whether this is a wise decision or not remains to be seen, but you might want to keep an eye on him. I fear danger is not far behind," the Copper King said, gazing at the flame.

A burst of wind caused the flame to flicker and nearly blow out, though the Copper King understood. That voice he hadn't heard in so long was whispering to him. Grateful, but fearful. The Vigil felt uneasy tonight as the Copper King set the candle back. That boy had an ill wind following him. Perhaps he would do his own protections too, just to be sure.

[blairsanne]

Writing Questions Tag Game:

Thanks for tagging me @residentdormouse ♥

What is your absolute all-time favorite idea you’ve ever had?

Um, so the two favourite ideas of mine are not things I can link you to because the first one, which is a faerie story about (among other characters) the fae prince of Winter, is a story I'm writing (I guess it's on hiatus) with my irl bff and it's not finished or available to the public. I don't know how much I should share tbh, but I love all the characters and the world we've built so much.

The other is just my special daydream OC character whose story I will never actually write because it's a mashup of various fandom lores and very complicated and while fun to daydream doesn't sound fun to write. She's a priestess who gets murdered on the altar of her world's gods by her bff and they revive her to kill him (he was a priest who took the power of the gods and then proceeded to basically demolish the world around him). She does so, but is essentially left alone in her world and becomes a guardian of sorts. Her role is to link herself to one person (anchor) in every one of the worlds/dimensions/realities that the collection of souls her gods watch over reincarnate into. She can call on power from the other realities to protect them from outside threats (basically, if the gods were creator beings, there are destroyer beings who want to devour the souls/realities). She ends up being kind of a tragic character though, since she's stuck between a bunch of "lives" so to speak and beholden to different people in different worlds but never able to settle down and be done. She keeps getting revived by the gods when she dies (with all her memories, instead of reincarnating), and she struggles with grief. Why is this my favourite idea? IDK but I keep thinking about it.

Is there a question you’ve been asked in the past that really stands out to you and you still think about sometimes?

Well one time someone on anon complained that I wrote a self-indulgent mary sue oc into my fanfic and asked "who asked for [that]". To which I replied that I did. Because, you know, I write shit for myself first. As a fun hobby. I'm in no way saying that I write anything great, and if you think my writing is cringe, like, okay, you're right? Die mad about it, I guess? Get a life? Idk. I'm just having fun playing pretend with these fictional worlds.

What is your favorite part of being a writer?

Re-reading finished things because I write the type of stories I like to read, so it's really satisfying to get to reread them later. Close second is when someone else likes what I've written, that's pretty cool. ♥

What parts could you take or leave?

The agony of the time between posting something online and that first bit of feedback on it. Now that I actually have people looking at my stuff there's a little bit of like "well I hope at least one person does end up reading and enjoying this" and like... if not then it feels like why bother posting it online? (Honestly I started posting my BWOC fic in 2013 just so my irl bff could read it. I started posting my newer fics on tumblr in 2021 just so I'd move on and finish the missing parts of the story I had been writing... which hasn't worked, in case anyone wondered haha.)

What is your greatest motivation to write/create?

I am constantly coming up with stories in my head. There's something about writing them down and crafting them into something I can read again later that lets me put them down, if that makes sense. Like a brain dump. I don't need to remember just how that scene went or why that was happening in this plot, because it's written down now. I can revisit it later if I like. Or never.

Second-biggest motivation is when I'm writing a fic with someone else in mind, like a request or gift, or for an event, or just something I know that one person in particular will like. In the hopes I contribute something good to their day. (Even if it's smut.)

What do you wish you knew when you were first starting out writing?

I've honestly been writing since I was a child, so I wish I could tell you. XD

What I would say to someone new to writing is this: You get better at every skill by doing it. So, if you want to write, you're better off writing a ton of stories, badly at first and reworking, refining, revising, etc. than to wait until you're "good enough" to write the story you want to write. You can always write a version two or twenty-five, months or years later. Done is better than perfect, and shitty-first-drafts are better than forgotten ideas.

What is your favorite story you’ve written TO COMPLETION? Link it if you’d like and can!

Probably Homecoming, a smut-fic for Bofur in the Durin's Garage AU. Mostly because I haven't written most of my stories to completion, but also I love that fic.

What is your favorite out-of-the-box quote?

"If anyone can do it, so can you."

Which of your characters would you say has the most controversial mindset? Why do you say so and how do you personally feel about their ideals?

In one of my original fiction stories, one of the characters is an emperor who is basically taking over the world bit by bit, and has zero remorse about it. He believes that nobody can love him (for good reason unrelated to his status/warring) and has decided not to love anyone or anything either. At one point, frustrated with how passive his stolen fiancee is, he orders his brother to strangle her to death in front of him and then gets mad at her when she doesn't fight back (he orders the brother to stop, it was just like... a test?). He's very aggressive and believes that everyone only looks out for themselves, etc. so he does the same. (So her passivity sort of challenges him in a way. It's complicated.) It think it's a very toxic but easy-to-fall into worldview when someone thinks that the world is cruel to them, to decide to be cruel back. That's probably the most controversial mindset of my OCs, but that's sort of the point. Obviously I think he's wrong, and eventually things happen to change him.

If you, when you first started writing, met you now, what would younger you think?

She'd probably be confused why we stopped doing forum-RPing and be completely amazed that a single stranger anywhere in the world had read and enjoyed something we wrote all on our own. Honestly I think little me would think I was pretty cool and living the dream. Maybe I should remind myself that more often.

I really value the community in fandom spaces, which I think is why fanfiction is so appealing. We all get to play with the same dolls in different ways and go "ah yes, that's a cool way you played" and learn from each other and grow, and it's all around a shared love of stories. Storytelling is how humans make sense of the world, and community is what makes life feel like it has meaning to me. So this is a pretty cool place to be.

No pressure tags: @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @i-am-still-bb @silvermoon-scrolls @sotwk @middleearthpixie @sketch-and-write-lover @enchantzz @lordoftherazzles and OPEN TAG to anyone who wants to do it. :)

[laaskrin]

5, 9, 22, 25, 30, 31, 34, 35, 36 for Fen and Dimma!! I'm sorry there's so many, I'm just so interested in them!!

Ouuf that's a big one. Let's go

5. Dragonborn's favourite province and dragonborn's least favourite province?

Well neither Dimma nor Fen have ever been outside of Skyrim, aside from Solstheim, so there's no real contest here.

In terms of culture or what they know of other provinces, Dimma is obviously attached to Morrowind, and Fen enjoys Valenwood, especially for their craftsmanship and hunting, since she's a hunter herself. They also share some gods, since the falmeri and bosmeri pantheon have some gods in common. She especially enjoys their meat recipes, it is a welcome change from the Nord ones she is used to.

But Fen dreams of visiting all the provinces in a ship, so that might change one day.

9. Dragonborn names and meaning behind it?

Dimma Stormheart

Dimma: old Norse for "darkness" or Swedish for "fog/mist" (the later being the one that made me choose her name because she was born on a misty day in Windhelm)

Stormheart: it is her clan name, inherited from her father, because she comes from a long line of Kyne worshippers. A lot of her ancestors were Kyne priests/priestesses

Fen

Fen: from English "marshlands" or Frisian "peace", mostly I just thought it sounded cool, no particular reason for that one.

22. How competent are they, be it in general life or other?

Dimma

Generally okay in general life. She ran away from home at 15 and had to fend for herself until she got a found family for herself, so she knows how to cook, clean, survive in the wilderness etc.

Though her area of skills really lays in thievery, magic and gardening. She is quite academically inclined, and can and will info dump about plants if you let her (or even if you didn't). Those are really the areas where she is the most competent. On the other hand, the sucks at outright fighting. She can hold her own against most enemies, but in a fight against an actual warrior, she would lose really quick without magic.

Fen

Fen is a very skilled hunter, she also knows how to prepare pelts and game. She used to live outdoors so she has good "survival" skills. She can absolutely live in the wilds with nothing.

Her people skills are abysmal though. She grew up in Saarthal at the time tensions between atmorans and Falmer were rising, then lived as a nomad with her parents, so she never got to form deep, meaningful relationships. Now, she is a merethic era woman who just go resurected after being dead for 4000 years, so the world and its people are completely different from what she is used to. Same for the language, which keeps complicating things for her.

She will often not understand jokes and sayings, or say things that might vex other poeple without meaning to.

25. Are there any items that are significant to them?

Dimma

She has a pair of earrings from Morrowind that she got from her mother, as well as an amulet of Kyne. Those are her most precious possessions

Fen

Dimma gifted her a bosmer bow. It's her most prized possession, because it was the first time she received a gift from someone else than her parents.

30. When did it all go wrong for them, if it did?

Dimma

It never really did go all wrong for her. She had some rough patches, like when her father disowned her or when her mother left (She was supposed to come back, she wasn't abandoning her), or when the whole dragonborn thing happened, but she never felt as if her whole life was crumbling on itself.

Fen

Well, she actually died, so I don't think it can get much worse for her. Things started to get really bad after the night of tears, as she was a half falmer half atmoran, she had to hide from atmoran when they came back, and she wasn't welcomed by falmer either. Then she got killed by atmoran and came back to life 4000 years later, in a world that is completely different from what she knew.

These were very much not good times for her.

31. Is that stupid bloody beacon still in their inventory at the end of it all?

Dimma is the one who got the privilege of getting by Meridia. And yes, it is still in her inventory, because Dimma's petty, and she doesn't like being bossed around, so unless Meridia starts pestering her, she will never do it :) and if she does, she would do it in the most grumpy way possible.

34. Does their journey ever ends?

I guess? Haven't thought that far ahead, but I like the idea of them having a peaceful end of life after every thing they went through

35. How many scars do they carry, be they mental or physical?

Dimma

Physically, she has scars on her right knee and left ankles from when she fractured her patella and ankle after falling.

She also has scars on her torso, neck and lower face from when she was attacked by wolves as a child.

Mentally, she has abandonment issues. She is always sacred that people love her less than she love them, and might leave her.

She's always surprised when people remember things about her, because she doesn't think she matters to them that much.

Fen

Physically, she still has the stab wound on her neck from when she got her throat slit.

Mentally, oh boy. So much.

All the trauma from the war, dying, resurrecting, losing every thing she knows and feeling alone in the world, the conflict within her loving both her atmoran and falmeri roots, the survivor guilt, and guilt from not being able to save her people by being dragonborn (She didn't know at the time).

Homegirl is a walking trauma

36. How do they die?

Neither of them died definitely yet.

Though the first time, Fen got her throat slit by an atmoran warrior. She scared him by instinctively using the thu'um, so he went for the throat.

[headspace-hotel]

things i want to be writing about (but don’t know how so aaaaaaaaa)

forests where the trees are so huge the forest floor is completely dark in most places, and weird eyeless vampire deer and giant scavenging worms roam about

traveling bards carrying their stories with them wherever they travel

houses with too many doors, where the doors lead unexpected places

fantasy naturalists studying magical creatures n shit

fantasy recipe book

ghosts. maybe hot ghosts. maybe two hot ghosts from different time periods fall in love

dinosaur ghosts

deeply devout but 100% feral priests/priestesses that have shouting arguments with god

mothman. hes hot and hes very shy and nice

abyss dimensions full of desolation and beings that have been waiting for thousands of years to return to the world of living things

cats. just want to write what Warriors could have been if it was better

Extra dimensional hotel

dragons. lots of dragons. so many species of dragons. all colors and shapes and sizes. just so many dragons

that one story I started writing where an astronaut falls out of the sky and two girls almost hit him on the road that was going a fun direction

something about tv show like house hunters or something where they flip houses but all the houses are cursed and haunted and have non Euclidean structures and contain portals to hell and stuff. or just the adventures of a real estate agent who represents haunted and cursed houses specifically

something where all the characters are autistic

women that turn into wolves

all those weird lifeforms on the bottom of the ocean that we don’t know shit about

weird sects of Christianity that don’t exist but sound like they might in the woods somewhere

magic school but it’s college and you can major in necromancy and stuff

cool cities in the sky. everybody has wings. they’re all different colors and shapes and stuff

the concept of a monster

the circumstances under which someone might want to become a monster (whatever one is). a monster being a thing that is frightening and terrible but also good

retail worker at the Store That Literally Sells Everything Including Eternal Life

conspiracy theories, but like, in a fantasy world

literally anything that gives me an opportunity to have a character fight with a macahuitl

wolves. wolves wolves wolves. awooooo

murder grandma

[wrapped-up]

I am loving the idea of Dorcas being a “woman of God”. Also that the title of the fic is related to Dorlene, they get so little attention in this fandom!

There is been some decades since women have been allowed to be priests in the some of the more progressive Christian denominations but I have yet to see any meaningful representation of a priestess (it sounds very d&d) in media of any kind. The only one I actually remember was the priest that officiated Angus wedding in Lovesick (she flirted with Dylan but he was too scared to pursue such a thing). I kinda remember that you mentioned you loved Lovesick as well and I’d love if you take up that lost thread and turn it into a super sexy yet calmed and wise Dorcas that comes to shatter Marlene’s world. I am unsure however if there are any Christian denominations that allow their pastors to be (openly) gay?

In short, I support a Fleabag + Lovesick sexy priest(ess) combo.

Biting my fingers for some more top quality content from you, you really spoil us dear :)

Ah! So I used to be religious-ish and was in the Church of England. As in, in in. Did the readings, administered the chalice, held services for young people and got pretty fucking into it. Now the C of E has its issues, don't get me wrong. But in terms of inclusivity, it's not that bad.

One good thing is that every vicar I ever had was a woman. How cool is that? Lady priests who taught me about theology and life and were some of the most compassionate, badass people I ever met. I am still friends with some of them, and though they try to gently nudge me back into faith, it's pretty chill that I'm not there.

That's not to say there isn't still a lot of room and need for change. I left the church because one such vicar was treated fucking abysmally by the stuffy, white, elderly parishioners who made it pretty damn clear that her face didn't fit and forced her out. And with that, I heard the very clear message that my own face didn't fit either, so I left and have never been back.

The church also permits vicars to be openly gay and they can enter into a civil partnership with a same sex partner. However, they can't marry because this is still seen as something reserved for a man and a woman. There is also an expectation that they remain celibate. I'm hopeful that if the institution wishes to survive, it see the need to change its stance. But I'm not holding my breath.

[misora-msby]

花火 | chapter one : moon

花火 (fireworks) | chapter one : moon

themes / warnings: medieval japan au (sengoku era), supernatural au, death, fluff, angst

pairing: kitsune!suna x fem!reader

word count: 7.0k

notes: part one of a series! it’s not 100% accurate to shintoism and japanese folklore but i did my best to research it and change as little as possible! still, i hope you enjoy this and stick around for the next parts too!

edit from the future : part two can be found here

Rintarou doesn’t remember how he became a kitsune spirit. 

It was just that one summer day he found himself sleeping in front of a manmade structure (a shrine to the god Inari as he would later learn) with a boy of preteen age standing over him. 

That boy, Shinsuke, would teach him and two other foxes, Atsumu and Osamu, how to do their jobs - protecting the priests, priestesses, and shrine maidens living nearby, and delivering the prayers of visitors to the god. It wasn’t an overly difficult job though, and more often than not, Rintarou found himself either running around the shrine grounds with the other two or sleeping in a comfortable spot he found. 

A few years later, the three of them even gained the ability to shapeshift into humans. They were completely amused with how similar Atsumu and Osamu looked, and how Suna’s eyes looked almost the exact same as his fox form, though it greatly upset them that their human forms were much shorter and younger than that of Shinsuke’s. He had to reassure them that someday they were likely to grow to his height or even taller. 

It was just a matter of time, similar to how they had to wait to become strong enough to become human.

Time, Rintarou would eventually learn, was rarely ever on his side.

It was a perfect day for a nap on the roof; a cooling wind blew through the air, preventing Rintarou’s robes from sticking to his skin. The sky was cloudy enough to block out the sun while not being abundant enough to make him worry about a sudden downpour, and the sweet scent of flowers blooming filled the air. Though there weren’t many bouquets in the area, a fox’s strong sense of smell could detect the scent of wisterias carried on the wind. 

After a bit of twisting and turning to find the perfect position to sleep in, Rintarou was woken by the sound of footsteps and chatter. Shuffling to the edge of the roof, he narrowed his eyes upon seeing a family of six walking in. 

“Today, your mom and dad are going to teach you how to pray. We want to pray for your mom and new sibling, okay?” a man spoke to the children who replied with a chorus of “Yes”s. 

“Ah,” Rintarou remembered, “Inari-sama is the god of so many things… Foxes, rice, sake, fertility, agriculture… Why couldn’t they give some of the work to the other gods… we have so much work to do.” 

He figured he might as well do his job while the other three were doing other jobs around or out of the grounds and began to inspect them carefully. Fortunately there were no malicious spirits attached to them, nor could he sense any by the red torii gates at the foot of the mountain slope on which the shrine resided. 

But as Rintarou inspected them from atop the rooftop, he noticed the youngest child of the family, the only daughter, was rather pretty. She looked to be about his age, though he knew she had obviously seen far fewer winters than he had due to the way time progressed for him as a spirit. 

Dressed in a red kimono with her hair just reaching her shoulders in a simple bob like most girls her age, he thought she was the prettiest girl who had ever come to the shrine. He couldn’t understand why his stomach suddenly felt funny, like it was jumping around inside his body. 

Suddenly, their eyes met and that feeling spread to more parts than just his stomach. Big glossy eyes stared up at him in awe while his own fox-like eyes widened. An awfully warm feeling came to his cheeks and the boy quickly scampered away from the edge of the roof, towards the back of the building where they wouldn’t be able to see him. 

Rintarou sat still for a moment, knees to his chest. He took in deep breaths while keeping his cool hands pressed to his cheek and chest. Was she a malevolent spirit?! He thought that could be the only reason for nearly every part of his body to be tingling and causing his heart to want to jump out from his throat. 

And yet he wanted to keep his gaze upon her. To look once again into those bright eyes and to memorise her pretty form. 

He decided to do just that. 

With graceful steps, Rintarou hopped off of the roof and onto the stone tiles. His feet made no sound as he ran over to hide behind a tree and watched as the family made their prayers. He watched as she reached up, struggling to drop her coin into the offering box while his dainty but pudgy fingers gripping onto the bark tightly to prevent himself from running forward and tossing it in for her. 

But surely an evil spirit wouldn’t go through that trouble with praying right? She had to be a regular human. Even the head priest was smiling at the entire family. But he still couldn’t understand why she gave him such a funny feeling. 

Before he could be spotted again, he ran off into the forest to avoid her gaze which caused all these problems in him in the first place. 

･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:•:.｡. .｡.:･゜ﾟ･

A few moons had passed, the cool breeze had become warmer and the pink petals floating in the wind had been replaced by green leaves. The song of young animals had also left, the nights now being filled with the loud croaking of cicadas and the much quieter buzzing of fireflies. The air had become thicker and warmer too, which wasn’t quite something Rintarou enjoyed. But what he did enjoy was the festival occurring tonight. 

Every year the humans would hold an extra special festival in the summer and launch fireworks. Though he didn’t care too much for the spirits of humans, aside from that one girl who he had never seen again since, he did care for their aesthetics. Whether it was the pattern on the fabric of a woman’s kimono, or the design in the pendants and amulets that humans wore around their necks or held in their pockets, he thought they were all rather fascinating. But as much as he wanted to go down and look carefully in person in his human form, hiding his tail was still too difficult for him in the sea of humans, and even if he tried to make himself invisible, children were so painfully receptive to spirits that he wouldn’t be able to get away with it. 

Strangely, he could hide his ears if he wished. He guessed it had something to do with the fact that their tails were directly representative of their level of power so they were harder to hide.

As he sat atop a lone rock in the forest, he could smell the scent of hot snacks wafting up the mountain. Perhaps he’d make an appearance as a fox and hope that some kind humans would give him and Osamu some snacks. They always loved to treat the three little foxes running around the shrine. He was lucky he still only had one tail, otherwise it would gain many stares. He guessed that must be a problem for someone like Shinsuke-senpai who already had three tails.

Rintarou hopped off of his rock, ready to head down and check over the festival with his friends, when he heard sobbing from somewhere in the forest. 

With the way the orange sun had already gone to sleep, he knew that he had to look for the source of the sound. He was meant to be a zenko after all, a celestial fox associated with the god Inari. So while he wanted to just go down and have fun with his friends, he had to first attend to this matter.

Using the speed granted to him, it didn’t take long for him to locate the source. His senses were too strong to not be able to. 

What he found was someone who he had never expected to see again.

“You…” the word left him in a near gasp.

You were the girl from a few months ago, crouching under a tree and sobbing. Your hair had grown a bit longer and this time you wore a light pink yukata with a dark pink obi. The eyes that had captivated him so easily last time were now red and puffy as your little hands rubbed at them to rid them of the tears which poured.

Rintarou crouched in front of you who hadn’t noticed him amongst your crying. “Why are you crying?” he asked in his quiet voice.

You looked up and gasped before quickly wiping away your tears and snot.

“I- I was playing hide and seek with my onii-chans… but it’s been so long and it’s scary and then I fell down and it hurts…” your shaky voice hiccuped as you revealed your scratched up and dirty palms. Looking carefully, Rintarou realised the front of your yukata was dirty too. 

“Oh… Should we go find them?” he asked.

You shook your head quickly, “I don’t wanna go to them! Then I’ll lose!” 

Rintarou pursed his lips slightly, wondering why you wouldn’t want to be found when you were injured. Was hide and seek that important to human children? He had played it a couple of times with the twins but it was merely a way to pass time to them. 

“Then… do you want to fix your hands?” he asked. 

You replied with a nod, your sniffling ceasing. 

In reply, Rintarou untied the inro from the obi on his hip, a small container made of lacquered paper in which he kept healing salve, cloth, (and a snack or two) in the case of an emergency. 

“Show me your hands.” he said, to which you obeyed and held out your dirty hands. The kitsune carefully took your hands and began cleaning them off with a cloth, taking note of how warm you were. 

“Your hands are cold, are you sick?” you asked. 

Rintarou looked up at you for a moment, wondering how he should reply. He knew it had something to do with him being a spirit, but he didn’t want to say that. “I’ve always been cold.” he simply said and applied the salve to your skin. After wrapping them up in a new strip of cloth, he tied the inro back together and hung it on his hip again. 

“Wow, thank you…?” You exclaimed before trailing off as you realised you didn’t know his name.

The kitsune narrowed his eyes, not understanding you. After all, he had lived the past few decades around the same few people and had no reason to give his name.

“Um… what’s your name?” you finally asked after a few seconds of silence.

“Oh… Rintarou,” he said upon finally understanding.

“I’m (Y/N). Thank you for fixing my hand, Rintarou-kun! It already feels better!” you grinned and squeezed his hands to show you were already regaining your strength.

Though upon hearing his name from your lips and coming to the realisation that he had been holding your hands for so long, a blush crept up his cheeks. His eyes widened for a second though they quickly returned to fit his near emotionless state. “It’s nothing,” he quickly said, looking to the side to avoid your gaze, “Anyways, what do you want to do now? You don’t want to go find your brothers yet, right.”

You thought for a moment before asking, “Do you want to play together?”

“Play?”

“Yeah. We can go to the festival!”

At that, Rintarou immediately shook his head, “I don’t like crowds.” It was a lie, he couldn’t care less about crowds if he were in his fox form but if he had to stay a human, he couldn’t bear to spend so much energy in hiding his tail which still had a chance of being seen.

“Then… what do you want to do?” you asked, pouting slightly. 

He thought for a moment. What could you two do? 

Then he sniffed the air. There was the smell of a match being lit but the absence of incense. His sensitive ears could also hear the sound of people gathering and shuffling about in anticipation.

“Come with me, I’ll show you something cool.” He took you by the wrist and you two ran side by side into the forest. Though he had to annoyingly slow his pace for you, you both managed to reach his intended destination in time:

A small glade in the middle of the forest where he assumed a ritual must have taken place decades ago. It was surrounded by purple wisteria trees, as if they created a natural veil to this secret world where fireflies floated on the grass surrounding a single tall boulder. The sounds of the festival were far away now, Rintarou was certain that his guest could no longer hear them with how far up the mountain they were. 

“Quickly, climb up the rock.” He helped push you up the rock, slightly polished yet rough from years of rain and animals scratching upon it. The fireflies in the vicinity had become startled and gathered at the fringes of the glade instead of around the rock, but he figured it was a consequence that came with bringing a human for once to his secret place. Once he had confirmed you had a stable seat, he jumped up and took a seat beside you. 

“What are we doing here, Rintarou?” you asked curiously.

“Wait a bit… there.” He pointed up at the sky where a flower of red and yellow burst among the stars. The loud bang followed two seconds later, making the girl beside him almost jump in fright before becoming entranced at the sight of more fireworks following the first to bloom in the sky.

Reds, yellows, pinks, oranges, whatever colour you named could be found in the starry sky. Bursting and blooming with brilliance, providing just a fleeting amount of beauty before wilting just like a flower whose time had come to be picked from the garden. 

If you asked Rintarou yesterday what the most beautiful sight was, he would have said that it was sitting alone on his favourite rock while the wind blew on a spring day, watching the clouds swim by while joined by floating wisteria petals. It was a sight he spent every day of spring trying to recreate. But if you asked him today what he thought the most beautiful sight was, he surely would have said it was this very moment; sitting beside the only human who he had ever talked to, and who had caused him to feel absolutely captivated, watching the quickly disappearing and reappearing garden in the night sky.

However, all good things had to come to an end, and before he knew it, the night had been filled with a deafening silence, and the sky had become nearly pitch black with the new clouds of smoke.

“I think it’s time to go back,” he stood up to face you, “You definitely won the hide and seek game if you’ve been missing for this long.” 

You nodded in reply and carefully scrambled down the rock, landing on the grass with a soft “oof”. Rintarou jumped down, landing with barely any sound before holding out his hand. “Let’s go,” he said and took your hand as you two carefully walked through the forest.

Though it was dark and late at night, the bright moon was kind enough to allow you to not trip over your own feet as he led you down the path to the shrine which he had already memorised with ease.

“Can we come back here next year?” you asked while squeezing Rintarou’s hand, “It was really pretty.”

“Next year? Sure. Actually, I live at the shrine so you can come visit any time.” He didn’t know why he just said that. He never really talked to people, so why did he want to do this now?

“Okay! I’ll see you then!” you grinned, and Rintarou gave the slightest hint of a smile back.

“(Y/N)! There you are!” a woman cried the moment the two had stepped foot onto the stone shrine floors, running over to give her daughter a great big hug. “We were looking for you all over! Don’t go missing like that!” she sobbed, stroking her hair and dusting off the dirt from her clothes. 

“Sorry, mama. I was playing hide and seek with nii-chan.” you mumbled, allowing your mother to straighten up your looks.

“I know, he told me. But don’t hide in the forest, ok? It’s dangerous and dark and you never know what might be- Oh dear, what happened to your hands?!” the woman asked, inspecting the bandages.

“I fell down and Rintarou put medicine for me! Rintarou, do you wanna-” you turned to wave the boy over but found he was no longer there. “Huh?”

Right then, a shrine maiden hurried over. “Oh! (L/N)-san, I’m glad you managed to find your daughter!” she smiled.

“Onee-san, where’s Rintarou?” The shrine maiden cocked her head at the question from the little girl.

“Rintarou? I’m afraid I don’t know who you’re talking about…” she replied in confusion.

“Eh… but he said he lives here! Um… he’s like… just a bit taller than me, and he has black, no, dark brown hair. Oh, and his eyes are yellow and like… they look like a fox!” Despite your explanations, the shrine maiden still had difficulty in knowing the identity of this person until an idea popped into her mind.

“Since this is a shrine to the god Inari, do you think you met a kitsune spirit?” she asked, “Though kitsunes rarely appear as young boys, there is the possibility.” The young girl gasped and thought for a second.

“Maybe…” you glanced back at the trees before turning to your mother. “I’m sleepy…”

“Alright, alright. Let’s get you home, dear.” The woman held her daughter’s bandaged hand and waved goodbye to the shrine maiden before turning to head down the stairs of the shrine and to go back to the main festival.

While this happened, Rintarou had watched it all from behind a large tree trunk, just out of sight. His heart felt funny and he wished you didn’t have to go. Even if you said you would come back, he wished you didn’t leave in the first place. 

“Hey, Rin! Where were ya? We waited for so long next to the okonomiyaki stall!” Atsumu’s boisterous voice spoke, nearly frightening the boy who had been so deep in his thoughts. 

“There was a human lost in the forest so I had to help them,” he replied in his usual calm voice.

“Ya never miss the chance to walk with us in the festival though.” Osamu pointed out while taking a bite from one of the many toriniku sticks he held. Rintarou stiffened slightly, knowing that he was right.

“She was hurt.”

“‘She’?! A girl? Yer kiddin’ me, did ya get a girlfriend, Rin Rin?!” Atsumu grabbed his friend’s shoulders tightly.

“Nothing of that sort…” Rintarou replied though his cheeks turned pink.

“Maybe,” he realised, “maybe my feelings towards you are in that sort of way…”

･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:•:.｡. .｡.:･゜ﾟ･

Ever since your first meeting that summer, you would visit rather often. Most of the time was either spent idly walking in the forest while talking about various topics, or laying on the grass of the clearing while watching the clouds pass.

Many moons passed and Rintarou was starting to despise the time he would have to see you walk down the road from the shrine, back to your family’s house in the village at the foot of the mountain. Oh if only there were a way to keep you with him forever, he wished. 

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the soft footsteps on dirt approaching him. 

“Rintarou! Over here!” the voice he had missed so dearly spoke up. He jolted out of his thoughts and almost fell out of the tree he sat in, but he quickly regained his composure and hopped down.

“(Y/N), you surprised me.” he asked nonchalantly, as if being alone with you didn’t make his heart feel like it wanted to jump out of his chest.

“Really?! That’s a first!” you giggled before squinting your eyes at the top of his head. The kitsune became worried, were his ears visible? Even though you two had been friends for almost a year now, he still hadn’t told you of him being a spiritual creature. He was worried that you would become scared and that you would never talk to him again. 

Though those fears were dismissed for now as you began to grin cheekily, “Heh, looks like I’m taller than you now!” 

Rintarou narrowed his eyes and stood up straight so your heights matched. “No we’re not, I was just slouching.”

“You’re always slouching!” 

“Am not.”

“Are too!” 

“Whatever you say. Don’t you have prayers to do? I’ll de- I’ll wait for you to finish,” he asked, rather relieved that he didn’t accidentally admit that he would deliver your prayers to Inari.

“Mm… I’ll pray later! I wanted to play with you right now!” you spoke, pleasantly surprising the young kitsune. “And I wanted to check something…” 

Rintarou’s eyes widened in a mix of fear and shock as a hand suddenly lunged to his side before he felt dainty fingers stroke the fur of his tail. A flame burst from the tail in reaction to the surprise, and he could feel his stomach plummet to hell when he saw the look on your face.

You knew.

Instinctively, he jumped back about three metres, his body sliding on the dirt. His hands made contact with the ground, his lengthening nails digging into the soft soil. Unknowingly, his golden eyes turned a shade of vermillion while large brown ears sprouted from his head, no longer invisible, and his tail waved menacingly behind him. If it weren’t for the human form he still had, one would have thought he was a fox preparing to attack.

It was then that he realised that your body had begun to shake. Your hands trembled in fear and your eyes were watery. There was a light thud as your knees buckled and you fell to the floor, face pale as a sheet. 

What had he done?

Rintarou quickly relaxed his body and stood up, embarrassed. His eyes faded back to their usual golden colour and his long nails returned to their usual length. Seeing no reason to hide his tail or ears, he kept them in view. 

“Why?” he asked softly. 

“I- I didn’t actually...“ Words couldn’t leave you, they only stumbled out from your shaking lips. You were still frozen on the floor. 

“Now you know. And you’re scared.” he mumbled. 

Oh Inari-sama, why did he have to fall for her? 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” Rintarou spoke and reached a hand out, hoping you would take it and stand up like you had on that summer night.

But you only flinched. 

Seeing that, he knew your friendship had changed. 

Rintarou turned around, his tail swishing with his movement before he sprinted off into the wood, fists clenched tightly in frustration. 

･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:•:.｡. .｡.:･゜ﾟ･

It had been three hours or so. Perhaps he could return to the shrine now, he thought. You must’ve finally gotten up and went home. 

He had fully exposed himself right then and though he wished he hadn’t, he knew he couldn’t change it. All he could do was sit on the rock and wish to visit that night once again. 

“Rintarou.” 

Shinsuke’s voice, albeit calm, had never sounded scarier to the younger kitsune. 

“That girl has been waiting for ya.” 

“You don’t know that. She’s probably gone home.” 

“She has not. (Y/N) has been sittin’ on the shrine stairs for two hours now, waitin’ either for you or for the sun to set.” Rintarou was surprised to hear that from Shinsuke. Especially since he had never mentioned your name to the other kitsune before. 

“And judging by the time,” Shinsuke started, “Ya better hurry. She’s got some things to say that I think’d sound better from her mouth than from this senpai.” 

With a nod, Rintarou immediately sprung to his feet and took off down the mountain, letting both gravity and his desire to talk carry him with a speed he hadn’t felt before. He came to a screeching halt as he came out of the woods, seeing you sitting on the stone stairs while fiddling with your little drawstring bag. 

“(Y/N),” he called out, making you jump slightly in surprise to see him again. 

You quickly stood up and began to apologise, “Rintarou, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that and I know I should’ve asked but if I did then I know you’d say you weren’t a kitsune. It’s just that I’ve been suspecting since last year but was always too nervous to ask and I know it was really stupid of-”

“Wait a second.”

The phrase made the avalanche of words stop immediately. 

“You knew?”

“Well… yeah,” you admitted, “I saw your tail a couple of times and sometimes you jump really high, or jump from a high place and you’re fine. And you always make sure I don’t see your back, I guess because of your tail.”

Well. Rintarou hadn’t realised how many mistakes he had been making. 

“I see… You don’t hate me or anything?”

“No way!” you spoke with a big smile. “I think it’s so cool! I’m friends with a kitsune. That’s just... woah!” you waved your hands exaggeratedly to show your emotions which you couldn’t put into words.

“I always thought you’d be scared so I didn’t say anything.” Rintarou admitted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. His cheeks had become a dark shade of pink now. 

“Mm, I wouldn’t be scared of you. You’re nice to me, and you’re a zenko so you wouldn’t do anything bad. The thing just now scared me a bit though, but I know that was because I suddenly touched you when I shouldn’t have.” 

There was a pause as you two thought for a while, figuring out what to say next. 

“Then… can we still be friends?” the kitsune asked shyly, his heart beating with joy to know he hadn’t lost his friend and the girl he had feelings for. 

“Of course.” 

The two of you smiled toothily at each other as the sun began its descent. 

･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:•:.｡. .｡.:･゜ﾟ･

“Rin, let’s go to the rock again today!”

“Mm, sure.” 

The summer festival had come again, marking one year since the day you two properly spoke. To Rintarou, it felt unbelievably short and long. Because of the way you visited almost daily, it felt like you had been an integral part of his life. Days you didn’t come to the shrine were spent lazily running around the forest with the twins or acting as Inari’s messenger while thinking about the next day you were meant to come. Yet knowing that you had only been there for one winter of his life versus the many he had experienced made him realise how short of a time you had been there for.

It was funny to think despite the relatively short time he spent with you, he felt like you were the most important thing to him these days. 

So even though he would have to miss another year of the summer festival, he didn’t mind spending it with just you in quiet instead. 

Light footsteps made their way through the forest, the loud laughs and shouts from the crowd below shrinking until they were no more than far off echoes. The path was no longer lit by the warm yellow festival lights from below but rather by the stars and moonlight.

“It’s just as pretty as last year,” you hummed, admiring the fireflies as you pushed back the flowers of the wisteria tree to enter the glade. While you had both visited this place often on your many visits to the shrine, you always had to go back before dark, so this was the rarest sight for you.

After climbing up the rock with ease, an experience you had gotten very used to after multiple times, you waited for Rintarou to jump up before settling yourself comfortably.

“Oh! I bought these before coming up!” you pulled out two small paper packages from your kinchaku, a small drawstring bag your mother made for you with flower-patterned cloth, and unwrapped them. In the first were four pieces of daifuku, and in the other were six small pieces of warabimochi. “I thought we might get hungry!” 

Rintarou smiled and quickly picked a piece of warabimochi before tossing it into his mouth. It bounced on the edge of his lip before entering though, causing the roasted flour to form a little cloud, making a small mess on his face. You giggled at the sight of him coughing a little on the confection. The thought that even yokais like him could be dorky and mess up amused you greatly.

The evening passed quickly, far too quickly for either of your likings. As the moon and stars took their position in the dark blanket above, you two laughed and ate your snacks. It wasn’t the most filling but you two felt happy enough just talking to each other. 

Though your laughter eventually died as the topic of what you were doing tomorrow came up. The once bright smile on your face faded and your gaze couldn’t meet Rintarou’s. 

“What’s wrong, (Y/N)?” He asked, “Do you want to go to get more food?” 

“My um… my parents said I can’t come back to play anymore. They said it’s no good to simply talk with boys anymore. And I have to start studying.” Your voice was soft, the topic scaring you, but the kitsune could easily pick it up. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“They said I’m growing older and someday I have to be married. Before that I have to learn to cook and do a bunch of tasks to run the household and well… They say the war’s gonna reach us soon and my family has a little land but we aren’t super influential so it’s especially important I marry someone good.” 

He had heard of the war. A few domains away the territories were being fought over by some big warlords and while he didn’t know the details, he remembered Shinsuke saying it would likely change the course of history. 

But to think that would affect you who were merely a child. You had only turned 10 this year… the thought confused and saddened Rintarou. 

“They said I have to prepare properly to become a woman,” you explained, “So I can’t waste my time running around a forest with a boy from the shrine.”

“You’re getting married?” he asked. Why did he want to know that more than anything else you mentioned?

“Huh? No no! I’m just preparing to. But I really don’t want to. I hate it so much. I won’t get to see you in forever, Rin!” Tears came to your eyes as you threw your arms around his shoulders. 

The boy awkwardly wrapped his arms around your body and patted your back, letting you cry onto his jinbei. He just had no idea what to say, what was right to say, or what you wanted to hear. Even if he had surpassed you in years he had lived long ago, his mental age was roughly the same as yours if not younger.

“We’ll see each other again, I’m sure,” was the only thing he could think to say right now, “Even if it’ll be a while.”

You sniffed and looked up from his shoulder. Your eyes met, staring at each other in silence.

“Really?” your voice squeaked, body still tense until Rintarou gently stroked your hair. Strangely your body immediately untensed and you felt at ease. Maybe it was a power of his, though you were sure it was just him.

“Yeah. I promise.” 

“I don’t know if I’ll ever even get to come back.”

Rintarou thought for a moment, what could he say? He was never that great with words. 

“If you’re lonely then… look at the moon. And the sky. I’ll be looking at it too, just like we always do.” he replied, cheeks turning just a bit pink. He was glad you couldn’t see his face right now. It sounded funny, but he remembered hearing something like that from a storyteller at one of the summer festivals.

You seemed a bit hesitant at first but eventually you smiled and nodded. “Okay, I’ll do that, Rin.”

He let go of you just as the fireworks began to burst in the sky, prompting you to do the same. The two of you turned your gazes to the sky to watch the performance in the sky just as you had one year ago.

But this time, he noticed that your hand rested on top of his and your head was on his shoulder.

He never wanted this night to end.

･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:•:.｡. .｡.:･゜ﾟ･

Rintarou thought about that night often.

Even if nearly seven summers had passed and he had not seen you once.

He wondered if he would ever see you again, he wanted to see you again. You were someone he could never forget so he hoped you hadn’t forgotten him too.

He wondered where you were, maybe you had moved to a different village and visited a different shrine. Maybe you were living as a servant in that new shogun’s castle. Maybe because of the war you had…

Rintarou shook his head, that couldn’t be the case. He refused to believe it. He just hoped you were okay wherever you were.

As he sat on his rock, gazing up at the sky once again in hopes of today being the day you would return, he sighed to himself. The shrine was being quite noisy these days and he couldn’t be bothered to be around all the sound so he had stayed away. There was some sort of event they were preparing for, he wasn’t sure what exactly but he didn’t care that much. He’d deal with the prayers and such afterwards.

Until he sniffed the air and smelled your familiar scent.

Rintarou had never sat up straighter before practically propelling himself off of the rock to run down to the shrine.

He would finally get to see you again! He wondered if you had grown much taller than him in the years, as he hadn’t grown all that much since that summer day. He cursed his slow growth as a kitsune but in truth it didn’t bother him that much. Though he wondered if you had matured a lot and if you would still be willing to run around in the forest with him. You probably would, right? Just for fun? Rintarou would even slow down if you wished, so you would, right?

His heart was racing as he sprinted down the mountain slope towards the shrine before coming to an abrupt halt. 

A wedding ceremony...

And you were the bride?

Even if you looked completely different, wearing a pure white shiromuku while your hair was done up and hidden in the white wataboshi veil, he could still tell it was you. Even with the heavy makeup on your now matured face, he knew it was you.

Rintarou felt his guts want to simultaneously drop out from him and to also come out from his throat. There was an intense pain in his chest and throat which made him just want to scream in utter agony but all he could do was stand among the trees, completely still and yet trembling like the autumn leaves falling around him as his eyes widened in a mixture of intense emotions.

“Look at that wedding, ‘Samu. We haven’t had one of those around in a while have we?” Rintarou turned to see the twins standing a couple metres away from them, watching the ceremony as well.

“Yeah. I guess with the war now people are getting married less.” Osamu replied to his older brother, “But that’s one of the shogun’s vassals’ vassals. Or somethin’ like that. So no wonder he can afford to.” 

You were getting married to someone like that?

Rintarou stared at the man beside you - he was taller, stronger, and looked far older than he was, especially dressed in his plain black kimono, haori, and hakama set. The kitsune’s small hand crept up his chest and beat it lightly, as if trying to get his heart to restart itself but it just felt painful as he slowly crouched on the soil.

“You were waiting for her, weren’t ya?” Shinsuke’s calm voice spoke from behind the younger kitsune.

As much as he wanted to, Rintarou couldn’t turn away from the wedding. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the smile on your red lips despite how painful it was. Words couldn’t express how badly he wanted to hug you and ask if you remembered him, to wipe the makeup from your face in the same manner he would wipe the dirt from your cheeks after you tripped into mud on those days you played together, to ask you to even talk to him once more. But he knew there was a high chance he would never see you ever again after today.

“Yeah. I was.” the boy sighed as calmly as he could, though it wasn’t hard for Shinsuke to hear the shake in his voice.

The four spirits watched as you and your new husband partook in the san san kudo, drinking sake from the three cups and officially recognising each other as spouses. Your family and friends cheered to see the completion of the ceremony. Smiles could be seen on nearly every person on the shrine grounds and as much as Rintarou hated to admit it, you wore a smile too.

He couldn’t help but wonder if he could have been the one to put that smile on your face. 

All he could do now was to wish for your continued happiness as he passed on your prayers to the god.

･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:•:.｡. .｡.:･゜ﾟ･

Many years had passed. If he was correct, twenty summers had passed, though he wasn’t counting anymore. Twenty summers without you felt like an awfully long time, though time felt like it was flying these days. Certainly faster than the seven years before then where everyday was spent longing for you.

Rintarou noticed that the four foxes had grown taller too, though it seemed like he still had some time to grow. He had grown two new tails too. He wondered how you looked now. If he could he would have left the shrine to see you, but with the war going on more prayers were being offered than ever. 

He wondered if it was foolish of him, but for nearly every day of the past twenty years, he had been clinging on to the hope that one day you would come visit him. Of course, your feelings would be different, but that didn’t matter. All he wanted was to be able to see you again.

Though he hadn’t seen you, he remembered seeing your mother come to the shrine about a year after the wedding to thank Inari for the safe delivery of your new twins. “That’s because of us!” Atsumu boasted once he heard the news (though Shinsuke insisted it was not). Aside from that, Rintarou never heard about you.

Until one day.

“Do you remember that samurai who got married to a woman from this village about twenty years ago?”

“Yeah, what about them?”

“The woman passed away last week from some sickness.”

“No way…”

“Yeah, I think the old shrine maidens said she used to come to the shrine a lot as a kid to play in the woods. They liked her a lot.”

“Then it’s good they aren’t around to hear about her either…”

“Mm, I think so too.”

Rintarou’s skin turned to ice upon hearing the news. Suddenly his usual position on the rooftop no longer felt so comforting. His head pounded and his heart felt like it had stopped, a feeling he hadn’t felt since the day he first saw you. 

He didn’t know what to do. 

He just continued to lie on the roof, hands folded over his stomach as the once soft sky suddenly became a glaring shade of blue and white. Even if he closed his eyes, it hurt. 

Everything hurt. 

He continued to lay there for the next few hours, mind empty as he closed his eyes and simply thought of the sky and of you. Memories of watching the clouds, of climbing trees, of fishing in the little lake, and especially of the fireworks. 

By the time he opened his eyes, Rintarou noticed the moon and stars had already taken their place. It was a sky he had only shared with you twice but somehow looking at it always made him feel comforted; knowing even if you two were far away, you were still watching the same sky, moon, and stars. Just as he said all those years ago. 

But that was no longer the case.

He blinked and the twinkling stars had become blurry. Suddenly they had multiplied and the kitsune felt liquid trail down the side of his face. He laughed to himself lightly and sat up to wipe away the tears. 

The once cooling wind of autumn suddenly grew a chilling bite as it blew a cloud to obscure the pale moon above.

As he looked up at the sky, he thought of how foolish he had been to cling to the hope that you would someday come back to see him, or to have fallen for you in the first place. 

And oh how foolish Rintarou had been to think of the most beautiful girl he had seen whenever he looked up at the once beautiful sky.

[milfmarine]

reverend ninomae

Gawr Gura/Mori Calliope/Ninomae Ina'nis/Takanashi Kiara/Watson Amelia (Hololive), Mori Calliope/Ninomae Ina'nis, Polymyth - Relationship

how many found solace in a humble priestess.

how a town gets destroyed.

how gods play with their food.

Reverend AU, Alternate Universe, tags will update as characters and relationships appear, Churches & Cathedrals, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, but its a fake religion!, cause i havent read the bible :), or any holy text of any religion either, Alternate Universe - Human, Kinda?, Humor

chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

chapter 1 of 10: a voice

She is to care for the dead, Calliope knew that much. She couldn't remember anything before she had received that first message, only that, as soon as she started receiving them, they wouldn't stop. Little urges and ticks would leave her grasping at her side for something that was never there. Tiny wisps of words would make her head ache and split at the most minor sound. 

"A new town," they would say, "A way to find something important, a way to meet me," 

That was when they were quiet. Their voice became less and less weak over time, each word becoming less of a struggle to force out of their metaphorical lungs. Calliope had taken to calling them the works of the devil, only receiving a squawk of resentment in return. Each day she lived out wandering from wild plains to thick forests, not remembering the day before or anything before that. She thought it strange, finding only a blur of shapes and colors where there should've been childhood.

One can only take so much nagging, which is exactly why she had followed the devil's orders. She trekked through the slush that surrounded a pitiful town, drowned in its own waste and tears. Heavy rains deterred Calliope, only to receive an itch in her back every time she turned away. Her ragged clothes stuck to her skin, cold and leaching at her as she spotted the main road. 

"Almost there, Calli," the devil spoke, a hint of impatience in their voice, it recently having taken on a feminine lilt. Surely, it was a trick to garner trust from Calliope, to have someone that's somewhat alike, but something in her stirred at its sound. Her tongue curled around what used to be a name, but long since forgotten. 

Calliope grumbled wearily, her legs screaming as she finally hit the rocky tops of a cobblestone road. The sky sobbed, loud rumbles of water pattering at the roofs of houses around her, deciding to stumble over to the closest building and collapse on the door. It had swung open, leaving Calliope to wetly slap the ground. A quiet gasp was all the warning she got before her head was lifted from the cool stoney floor.

"Oh jeez, uh, are you alright?" The kneeling woman spoke, long dark hair cascaded down her shoulders and onto her cassock. She peered down at Calliope through her glasses, kind and soft eyes relaxed her exhausted body.

Calliope scraped words out of her throat, scratchy with unuse, "Yeah," She sat herself up to the best of her ability, feeling as though if she put too much weight on something, it may snap. 

As Calliope gathered her senses, the devil spoke once more, "Calli! This is it! I remember this place," The woman had stood, now sifting through a few baskets by the door. Calliope scanned the room, it being somewhat sizable, and filled with pews all pointing toward a huge stained glass window. Its colored shards displayed an entirely white figure with tendrils strung across the landscape like webbing, shades of purple and orange faded to a blue aura surrounding the figure. She felt that it may have looked a lot more soothing without the constant bashing of rain against its surface and dark tones it took from the clouds.

Calliope felt a piece of cloth draped on to her head and covered her eyes. Panic stabbing her limbs to life, she scrambled away, ripping the rag off as she did. 

The priest held up her hands as Calliope's breath slowed, "I didn't mean to scare you," She pointed at the watery skidmarks on the floor, "but, unfortunately, you are wet."

Calliope, looks at the puddles, face beginning to prickle with heat. She opened her mouth, only to be cut off with a giggle, "Don't worry about it, I've spilled plenty of bottles of communion wine on these floors. They can take a beating, especially if it means someone is safe," She squatted to meet Calliope's eyes, "Speaking of someone, may I have your name?" 

"Calliope," She coughed out, rubbing at her face with the rag, "Morrison,"

The priest hummed, "Reverend Ninomae," She held out her hand in offering, Calliope hesitated, but took it after drying her own. As they shook, the reverend smiled, "Water you doing out there?" 

A small moment of silence overcame the room, Calliope tilted her head to the side and furrowed her brows. The reverend snickered to herself, "Alright, alright, I'll lay off the puns… for a bit," She readjusted her glasses, moving to sit next to Calliope, "but seriously, what were you doing out there? The whole town's been preparing for this storm for a week-" She stopped herself, turning to squint at Calliope, "You're… not from here, are you?"

Calliope looked off to the side, shaking her head. She sat there for a long moment, staring at the walls of the church surrounding them, “Rever-en…” she cleared her throat, “Rev-Rev… Ni-nino- AGH!” she balled her fists, shaking her head at herself.

    Ninomae held up her hands, “Hey, hey, it’s alright.” She moved her head to meet Calliope’s eyes, “You can call me Ina if that’s easier for you, your voice sounds real beat up, you shouldn't use it all up on my title." She chuckled as Calliope smiled back, gratitude seeping into her expression.

Calliope sat up slightly, preparing her voice with a few thumps to her chest and a cough, "Ina…" she spoke slowly, "home?" she pointed down, tilting her head to the side.

Ina raised a brow for a moment before her eyes widened, "Oh! Yes, I live upstairs. It's a lot cheaper than having a house around here," Ina smiled, a sharp canine slipping out and resting on her bottom lip as she spoke, "I can show you around since I can't imagine you enjoying going back out into the rain." Calliope nodded and Ina stood.

"Wait-" Calliope croaked as Ina paused. She thumped at her chest a few times, stopping to hold up the tattered edge of her tunic, "Spare?" 

[aros001]

Read through light novel vol. 8. Random thoughts.

It's funny that what's made me the angriest thus far in this series is Priestess getting her clothes stolen. Closest was Wizard Boy's arrogant ignorance. With the goblins I feel horror and disgust and yeah there's anger there too, but for whatever reason I had just such a strong reaction of "That bitch!" when the girl stole the mail from Priestess and made her cry.

The news that the first princess had been kidnapped by goblins was enough to make the king stand up from his throne.

Okay, I was mad but not that mad!

“About, that...” Witch, who had produced her pipe from nowhere, gave Priestess a heavy-lidded look. Erk... Priestess felt her heart skip a beat; she put a hand to her chest. Would she be able to have this effect on people someday? It was going to be a long time coming...

That does make me wonder, has there ever been a design for Priestess as an adult, be it official or fan-art? She is only 16, so even if she doesn't get much bustier she should still reasonably grow a bit. It's interesting to imagine her and Goblin Slayer anywhere near a similar height.

Also, this is me probably looking too deep into things, but between Witch, Sword Maiden and even a lot of her interactions with Noble Fencer, does anyone else ever get the feeling Priestess might be bisexual? I hesitate to say that because usually I dislike how often I see people insist that a deep friendship/connection/admiration immediately equals love, but how the narration sometimes describes how Priestess is thinking about some other women makes it sound a lot more like attraction than just envy over body proportions. I say bi and not just gay because she does seem to have at least some romantic feelings for Goblin Slayer, even if it is just a desire for his attention and approval.

That aside, I do really like that she wants to be more like Witch, or at least how she perceives Witch. Cool, powerful, knowledgeable, elegant, stacked. I've always had a soft spot for characters who have another person they admire as their goal to be like and are so humble that they don't quite see the positive effect they already have on those around them. The person who admires someone for their positive qualities not yet seeing that they too are admired for similar qualities.

The skin her vestments revealed was perfectly white, almost translucent, as if untouched by the sun. It meant that the tinge of rose in her cheeks was probably not just from the light. She almost seemed like a harlot—and there were temples that kept sacred prostitutes.

What the f**k is a sacred prostitute?

Given that we know High Elf Archer sleeps in the nude, that's twice in this book Goblin Slayer just barges into a woman's room while she's not dressed, first with Cow Girl and then with her to wake her up.

“I know it’s hard,” Goblin Slayer said with utmost seriousness. “When I was a child, I would lay in bed trying to find out how long I had to keep my eyes closed before it would be morning.”

Again, one of the big draws of this series for me and why I think it works is that it takes trauma seriously. The raping goblins aren't just a gimmick to make the series seem edgy. It addresses that these creature would really mess a person up and that the lingering trauma is treated with understanding, never like it's cowardice or foolishness. How this series handles Sword Maiden especially is something I really respect. She comes in to save the day at the end but it's clear it's taking everything she has just to be there. How she froze up when she was called on in the court to deal with the goblins and the relief like a bright light when Goblin Slayer came in to take the job. The position she's in of being powerful enough to face the Demon King but unable to fight "mere" goblins and no one aside from those who've personally experienced the sheer horror of the goblins able to understand, adding to her feelings of isolation and helplessness. It's really good stuff.

I remember when I first started with Goblin Slayer and I saw some people complaining that the series was kind of dull because he never fights anything other than goblins. One, that's just flat-out not true, as he's fought many non-goblin creatures. He just has no interest in fighting anything that's not a goblin. But even when it's just the goblins, I think this series does a good job at making the goblins always feel like a threat and shaking things up often enough. Giving them new tactics, new leaders, new bases of operation, even new breeds like the Goblin Paladin. Every time they're doing something even slightly different from the norm for them it always sparks some dread about what's coming. The moment this volume mentioned a band of goblins with identical tattoos marking them it was just an instant "Oh, that can't be good" from me, which leads into the Goblin Priest, a big cause for alarm given how useful Priestess has proven herself to be, which led into the weird demon arm thing. It's like complaining that a character never fights anything other than humans or dragons or vampires. The power level doesn't matter if it's the same kind of human/dragon/vampire every time. Be it the things that use goblins as their minions/followers or the goblins themselves, I personally think there's enough variety involved to keep things interesting.

A nice moment with Priestess visiting Wizard's grave (so this is the leaked image that got the false rumor started) and, something I'm really hoping for, the possible return of Fighter, even if it's just Priestess eventually finding the courage to see her again at least once. Again, the reason the goblins work is because what they do isn't just a gimmick. Several volumes after her first party's wipe, Priestess is still thinking about them, lamenting their loss, thinking about what could have been, and how difficult it'll be for them to see each other again after what happened. They weren't just Priestess' origin story, they were real (albeit fictional) people, taken before their time and violated in the worst way possible and they shouldn't be just a footnote. Be it for Priestess and Wizard's brother, they should and do still matter.

She strengthened her barriers as an attack came from a strange angle; Sage was thinking fast. It seemed likely that this thing, this shade—if it could be called that—learned by absorbing other living things. They were simply lucky that the creature it was trying to parasitize at the moment was so incredibly stupid. But... Sage gave voice to the obvious question. “How did the corpse of a goblin drop onto a mountaintop...?”

Holy shit, that's hilarious. And the best part is, there was build up to it. Back in vol. 6 when Goblin Slayer used a scroll to flood a nest he did believe there were some goblins he wasn't able to get. Throughout the series it's been noted he doesn't like using the same tricks too many times in a row in case the goblins learn from him, thus the importance of making sure every goblin he encounters he kills. If some escaped, yeah, it makes total sense he'd change to a different type of location for the Gate scroll, just in case he ever meets up with goblins whom are expecting a flood to pop out.

Second only to this with how good the set-up was has to be Priestess turning the blood from the Goblin Priest's ritual into water, ruining its sacrifice to the dark gods. She discovered she could do that last volume but it seemed like she never would again because she's forbidden from using her miracles to deliberately harm another living being (even a goblin). This was a very clever way of bringing it back, having her learn from her experiences while still being devote to the Earth Mother.

Priestess noticed that her hand was still clinging to his and blushed. She made to disentangle her fingers—hesitated—brushed his hand softly and, finally, pulled hers away. She was humiliated, pathetic, pitiful...and yet. I want to be... ...a source of strength to him. That day, she stored up the smallest of prayers in her heart. One day, she swore, she would be.

All shipping and such aside, this is something I really hope to see someday. That point in the series where Priestess is no longer Goblin Slayer's sidekick but rather his partner. Someone he can have truly walk and fight beside him as an equal, easing the burden on his shoulders, until the day all goblins are gone.

What kind of world is it where I'm thinking "Thank goodness, the princess was only severely beaten and nearly sacrificed to a dark god"?

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/GoblinSlayer/comments/g4llnd/read_through_light_novel_vol_8_random_thoughts/

[megabadbunny]

love don’t roam

“It’s just sex, Rose,” says the Doctor.

“Oh, is that all?” Rose asks exasperatedly.

(A shag-or-die fic; please check tags for potential warnings. <3)

***

“Welp,” says the Doctor appraisingly, glancing all about the room. Rose watches as he catalogs everything from the vaulted ceilings above them to the intricately-patterned gold-paneled walls surrounding them to the rich marble floors beneath them, polished so thoroughly they might as well be mirrors. Withdrawing the sonic, he scans the ceiling and walls and floor, even the lanterns hanging in the corners, their yellow light flickering cheerfully between filigreed panes. His attention lands on the bed, last, scanning over the velvet midnight-blue drapes and golden tassels, the four posts towering high above, the plush pillows and silk brocade lying atop the mattress below.

“It’s got buckets of atmosphere,” the Doctor concludes, and to Rose’s horror, he starts untying the belt to his ceremonial robe. “Shall we get this over with, then?”

“Are you sure we’ve got to?” asks Rose, nervously worrying her lip between her teeth. “I mean…are they really gonna be able to tell, if we’ve…?”

The Doctor pauses, eyebrow piqued. Waiting for her to continue.

Sighing in frustration, Rose rolls her eyes, fidgeting in her robe as she begs her cheeks not to flush.

“Had sex?” she says, and tries not to choke on the words.

“They’re not watching us, if that’s what you mean. The fertility rite is sacred, to be observed only by the physical participants and the gods above.”

“Oh, is that all?” Rose laughs weakly.

“But they do supposedly have their methods of checking, yes. Nothing too invasive,” the Doctor continues, clasping his hands behind his back. “Again, it’s a highly sacred ceremony; they consider your body to be, quite literally, a temple, therefore performing any kind of invasive procedure would be akin to defiling the temple, which is a crime punishable by death. Thus high priests and priestesses are typically chosen from a pool of candidates whose senses are highly attuned to hormones and pheromones.”

Rose fiddles with her earring. “So what, they can smell if I’ve shagged someone?”

“More or less.”

“And if I haven’t? If we don’t?”

Tugging on one ear, the Doctor averts his gaze. “Difficult to say, exactly, but the outcome would be…less than ideal, to be certain. Refusal to engage in the rite would be a crime akin to blasphemy or heresy. And societies like this don’t respond to that sort of thing very nicely.”

“So there goes our chance of saving the queen, is what you’re saying,” Rose murmurs. “Why didn’t you look into all this before you signed us up for the weird secret fertility-death-cult?”

“That would be because it is, as you so accurately described it, a secret fertility-death-cult,” the Doctor replies pleasantly.

Rose glares at him. “You know, if you were any other bloke, I would’ve thought you got me into this on-purpose.”

“Good thing I’m not any other bloke, then,” the Doctor says cheerfully, hands moving back to untie his robe.

Rose’s pulse thunders madly in her ears. “Wait!” she calls out, smacking her hands over his. “They’re only checking me, right?”

“Right. You’re the temple, the holy vessel—the sacred figure, as it were.”

“Okay. So what if I just like…touched myself, instead?” she asks, cringing even as the words leave her mouth.

“Touched yourself?” the Doctor asks. Looking down at her hands, clenched atop his but still very much touching each other, he frowns. “How would that help?”

“No, I mean like—like masturbating,” Rose says, her cheeks absolutely scalding.

“Well, it depends. Which do you find less awkward, sex with your best mate or masturbating in front of your best mate?”

“I don’t know! It’s all awkward, isn’t it? Being forced to shag someone?” Rose blurts out, wrapping her arms round her midsection protectively. “What about everyone else who joined up with us—are they all going through the same thing right now? Have they got to do the fertility thing, too?”

“Well, yes, but I imagine they’re doing so voluntarily.” The Doctor tilts his head, suddenly thoughtful. “In fact, they all seemed rather eager about it.”

Groaning, Rose turns away to flop down on the bed, burying her face in the duvet. A dip in the mattress lets her know the Doctor has sat next to her; her cheeks flush even more, if that’s possible, and she wishes that the bed would swallow her whole.

“You know, any other bloke might consider all of this a blow to his ego,” the Doctor teases.

Rose laughs curtly, the sound muffled by the duvet.

“Would it help if I turned out the lights?”

Begging her stupid body to please stop flushing, Rose slowly sits up in the bed. “The lights aren’t the issue, Doctor.”

“Then, if you don’t mind me asking, what is? I was given to understand you had a fairly easygoing attitude about this sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?”

“Sexual intercourse,” the Doctor replies.

Now Rose’s laughter is verging on the hysterical. “That doesn’t mean I want to shag just anyone!”

“We’re not talking about just any old anyone, though. We’re talking about me.”

Rose buries her face in her hands, wishing this was all some stupid horrible dream, willing herself to wake up. Any time now would be great.

“It’s just sex, Rose,” says the Doctor.

“Oh, is that all?” Rose asks exasperatedly.

“It is. It’s just bodies and fluids and friction.”

“Oh, great,” Rose mutters. “That makes it so much better.”

The Doctor draws in a long breath, as if he’s drawing deep from the well of his patience. Rose half-expects him to say some silly snide or flippant thing; she jumps when he pulls her hands back from her face, instead.

“Rose,” he says, and in any other circumstances—fuck, in any other circumstances, the way he’s looking at her, gaze soft, stupid kissable mouth open and questioning, would make her stomach flutter, her heartrate hammer to match. “There are multiple ways we could go about this, you know,” he tells her. “Methods that don’t involve vaginal penetration.”

Rose’s ears burn like they’re on fire. “Please stop talking now.”

“I’m just saying, I’m quite dexterous, in multiple senses of the word. Orally and manually talented, if you take my meaning.”

“I really wish I didn’t.”

“Just let me know what sort of stimulation works best for you, and I’ll make it happen. You can guide me along the way, direct me towards your pleasure; I’m a very fast learner, as you know, and I’m confident I can bring you to a very enjoyable orgasm.”

“Oh my god,” Rose groans. “Please stop saying words like vaginal and penetration and orgasm. This is bad enough as it is.”

Huffing in frustration, the Doctor pushes off the bed. “Blimey. I’m just trying to make this easier, Rose. Easier for both of us!”

“It’s not about whether or not it’s easy,” Rose argues. “Easy isn’t the question. Easy isn’t the problem. It’s…”

The Doctor stares at her, eyes wide, brow furrowed in confusion. And just—

God, Rose just can’t bring herself to say it.

Because it isn’t just the horrid awkwardness of this whole contrived situation. Even if this giant weight weren’t looming ominously over them, Rose can’t—she just can’t think about him like that. She’s not allowed to. She won’t let herself. Because the Doctor is above all of that, isn’t he? He’s nearly immortal, practically a demi-god, virtually unreachable, functionally untouchable. The Doctor cares for her—of course he does, Rose knows that, she’s not stupid—and they hold hands and they share adventures and they share their lives, to a degree, but that’s it. She can’t ask for more. She can’t even think about asking for more. That would make her selfish, and stupid, and silly, wouldn’t it? It would be like a moth striving to kiss the sun. Wouldn’t it?

Rose may not know much about mythology, but she knows enough to realize what happens to demi-gods and the unlucky mortals who love them.

“It’s just wrong,” Rose says quietly.

The Doctor’s expression cools. “Wrong,” he repeats, voice flat.

“I don’t mean like that. I mean like—having sex because other people are making you, that’s wrong,” Rose quickly amends. “Sex should be something that people do, because they want to. It should—it should mean something.”

The Doctor watches her, his face inscrutable.

“I mean—I know that’s not how it works for everyone,” Rose adds, thinking of Jack and his easy flirtation, that megawatt grin that guarantees a good time to anyone willing and able within a ten-mile-radius. “And that’s fine, for them. But that’s not how it works for me. I can’t just separate sex from my feelings. I can’t just turn it all on and off like that.”

“I understand that, Rose, and in any other circumstances, I wouldn’t push you on this—wouldn’t even dream of it—”

“Then why are you doing it now?” Rose demands.

Scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably, the Doctor averts his gaze, looking uncertain and, dare Rose think it, the slightest bit worried.

“Doctor,” Rose says, suspicious now, “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I don’t want to add undue pressure to the situation,” the Doctor says carefully, “any more than I already have.”

Rose shakes her head. “What does that mean? What are you talking about?”

The Doctor doesn’t answer, his mouth pinched in discomfort, his gaze firmly fixed on the floor.

Huffing in irritation, Rose pushes off the bed. “Look, we’ll find another way to save the queen, yeah?” she says, walking toward the exit. “For now, let’s just—”

“Stop,” the Doctor bites out, grabbing her by the arm.

Rose obeys, only because she’s surprised at the firmness of his grip. “What are you doing?” she asks. “Let’s just leave, Doctor. Please.”

“We can’t,” he says, but he won’t meet her gaze when he says it. “I’m sorry, Rose. We can’t.”

“Why not? What are they gonna do, if we try?”

“It’s like I said earlier,” the Doctor tells her, slowly. “Refusal to engage in the rite is a crime, akin to blasphemy or heresy. And it is punished as such.”

Rose thinks on those words—uncommon words, to her, blasphemy and heresy, it takes a moment for her to properly place them—but after a moment, she remembers school lessons about witch hunts in the Middle Ages, about horror stories from the Inquisition, about Joan of Arc, burned at the stake. Visions of hangman’s nooses and guillotines and deep, dark lakes fill her mind.

The blood rushes from her head, leaving her feeling very swimmy, all of a sudden. “So what,” Rose laughs weakly, “if I don’t do this, they’ll kill us?”

“Not us, Rose,” the Doctor says quietly, looking up at her with pleading eyes. “You.”

An odd ringing sound fills her ears as his words sink in, and the sudden desperation behind them.

Rose shakes herself. “That’s stupid. Don’t be stupid. You’d never let that happen. We can just—”

“We can’t though. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. There’s no way out,” the Doctor replies, frantically running both hands through his hair. Rose wishes he wouldn’t; it’s unbearably sexy, all wild and rumpled like that, and that is not the sort of thing she needs to be thinking right now. “I checked earlier, with the sonic; we’re sealed in, and those seals are deadlocked,” he continues. “The doors can only be opened from the outside. And outside of this room, the temple and the surrounding grounds are patrolled by guards and their beasts. There’s no way to escape, no way to leave until the priests and the guards fetch us in the morning. And their weapons—you saw what they can do, you saw it firsthand. One hit would be enough to kill this body, and that’s saying something. But that’s not the end of the world; it’s unfortunate, uncomfortable, but I’d just regenerate.”

“What do you mean, just regenerate?” Rose demands. “Nothing just about it!”

“But you—you’d never be able to survive that weapon, Rose. You’d be dead in an instant. I’d be powerless to stop it.” The look on his face wills her—begs her—to understand. “I’m sorry.”

Her knees suddenly weak, Rose sinks to the floor and sits, rather than let herself fall.

“Why?” she asks, from very far away.

The Doctor sighs. “The same reason any group like this puts their members through the ringer: they’re looking for absolute dedication. Absolute dedication, total obedience, unquestioning, unwavering loyalty, to the gods, and to their priests. They want to make certain they can say jump, and we’ll pull out the trampoline, no matter what, whether they’re watching us or not. But ultimately, Rose, it doesn’t matter why.”

He kneels to the floor opposite Rose, taking both of her hands in his. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into this,” he tells her earnestly. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve learned more beforehand; I should have known. I shouldn’t have rushed into this so blindly. And I know you want to try to fight back anyway, and…”

The Doctor swallows loudly. “And if that’s what you really want to do, then we will,” he tells. “I’ll do everything in my considerable power to get you out of here, to save you. But you’ve got to know that I can’t make any guarantees. Not this time.”

“Are you totally sure this isn’t some silly plot that Jack cooked up?” Rose jokes feebly.

“I’m sorry, Rose. I know it’s a rubbish choice. But it’s still your choice.” He drinks in a deep inhale. “And whatever you choose…that’s what we’ll do. Okay?”

Rose’s hands feel very clammy in his. “What about the queen, though?”

“Don’t think about her right now. Right now, I need you to think about you.”

Gaze drawn to the floor, Rose tries to think. Almost anything would be better than forced intimacy with an otherwise uninterested and unwilling partner; anything would be better than making things awkward or strange or strained with the Doctor. It would be different if he’d expressed an interest in anything beyond holding hands and slightly-too-long hugs and the occasional platonic cuddle on a cold night out or sleepy night in. But he doesn’t need anything more than that, because he’s not some hormone-addled human enslaved to the driving need of his baser instincts. He doesn’t want intimacy, of the physical kind or otherwise. And the thought of pushing him to do something he doesn’t want or need, straining their friendship in the process, makes Rose feel sick.

And it’s probably not any easier for him, she realizes. The Doctor has likely already calculated every potential scenario. He must have done. And if he’s truly convinced that they can’t safely escape, if he’s run every possible equation and all of them have come up bleak…

Well. At least this explains his weird bullshit cavalier attitude earlier. He really wasn’t trying to pressure her. He was trying to convince her that it was all easy lighthearted fun. Trying to coax her into it, despite any discomfort he may personally have, despite any of his own misgivings, so he didn’t have to tell her just how thin the line is, that her life is hanging from.

(Just how afraid is he, she wonders, of losing her?)

“This is stupid,” Rose announces. “We shouldn’t be stuck in a position like this.”

“I know,” says the Doctor, mouth pinched in discomfort. “But I could always,” he starts to say, and stops, considering. “Would it help if I—”

Rose looks up at him, biting her lip.

“I could make you forget, after,” the Doctor says, his tone carefully neutral.

Something twists deep in Rose’s chest. “No. I don’t want that.”

“I’m just saying—”

“No,” Rose says again, louder this time. “God, Doctor. That’s even worse!”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Rose. I’m so sorry. I’m really so sorry. If there’s anything I can do, to make it up to you, to make it easier—”

She shakes her head sharply, cutting him off. “Just—tell me we’ll still be best mates, afterward,” she tells him. “Say it and mean it.”

“Of course we will,” he says, his voice soft, and god, Rose can’t decide if the stupid prettiness of him is making this situation any better, or so much worse. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“As if any of this is easy.”

The Doctor smiles at her. “Oh, but it is. As easy as we want it to be,” he replies, that cheerful mask of his sliding back into place like it never slipped at all, and he springs up from the floor, offering a hand to help Rose up. “After all, like I said earlier, it’s just fluids and friction, Rose. Just bodies,” he says, punctuating the word by drawing Rose up and close, the motion so sudden it makes her gasp, “drawn to each other like gravity.”

The instant switch in tone is almost enough to give Rose whiplash, but not enough to keep her from flushing warm everywhere they’re touching. “Just like gravity?” she manages to say, desperately trying not to notice he’s pulled her hips into his.

“Just like gravity!” he confirms, one hand grabbing her by the waist. “It’s a force of attraction, you see,” he continues, while his other hand reorients itself around her fingers, “which exists between any two masses.”

And just like that, they’re dancing, now, just the two of them, silly and carefree and not a thing wrong with the world. “Of course, traditionally the term refers to mass and its relationship with the nearest orbital body, but it can also refer to two bodies pulled together,” the Doctor continues, spinning Rose and drawing her back in, “by an irresistible—one could even argue magnetic—force.”

“Never knew you were such a romantic,” Rose laughs, steadfastly ignoring how warm she feels at this close proximity, how she can feel his double heartsbeat tapping steadily against her own.

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, Rose Tyler,” the Doctor says with a wink, and that is precisely enough to distract Rose from realizing that he has stooped to leverage an arm under her legs so he can scoop her up, bridal-style. Rose shrieks as he draws her up and close, scrabbling to ensure her robe hasn’t flown open to reveal anything (as if he won’t be seeing it all in a few moments anyway, but she’d at least like it all to be exposed on her terms). “For example,” says the Doctor, beaming at her as he carries her toward the bed, “I am, in fact, deceptively strong.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yes. Positively riddled with manly muscles, this body is.”

“Only the manliest of muscles,” Rose laughs.

“Indeed, so very manly, that you’ll soon be rendered utterly immune to its irresistible charms,” the Doctor tells her, stopping at the edge of the bed. “Devastated by the pristine gorgeousness of this positively godlike form.”

Rose instinctively loops her arms about his neck, only to look up and realize that, goodness, his face is close to hers, isn’t it? Certainly close enough for a kiss, if they both wanted. Which she doesn’t, Rose reminds herself. Because that’s not what this is about. It’s just a silly adventure, hardly different from any of their usual antics. And one day, they’ll laugh about all this together.

Because that’s all this is. Just a load of dangerous silliness. Like any other day, for them.

“Devastated, huh?” Rose laughs breathlessly. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“Oh, I know you will,” says the Doctor with another wink, setting her down on the bed. “Now,” he says, stepping back, withdrawing the sonic again, “where did we land, on the lights situation?”

Biting her lip, Rose wonders how he’d react if she asked him to leave the lights on; all jokes aside, she really doesn’t mind the idea of being devastated by this gorgeous body of his. “Erm. Off, I think,” she answers, internally kicking herself.

Nodding, the Doctor aims the sonic at the nearest lantern, dimming it and all the others in the room until their synthetic flames flicker a subdued amber hue, casting the room into semi-darkness. Once Rose’s eyes adjust, many of the details in the room are now obscured for her, but she still can easily make out the Doctor’s motions as he pockets the sonic and unties his robe. Rose quickly averts her eyes, no matter how much they may long to linger, as she sheds her own robe, dropping it off the side of the bed, feeling more naked and exposed than she ever has in her entire life, lights off or no.

“Come on. Budge up,” the Doctor says, bumping her knee with his, and Rose scoots back on the mattress to make room. The Doctor pulls up the duvet after her—for modesty’s sake, she supposes—and she wriggles her way down in. The Doctor climbs in next to her and she turns on her side, facing him.

“All right,” says the Doctor cheerfully. “How do you want me?”

Rose stutters in surprise, and thank god the Doctor dimmed the lights, because she doesn’t think she could bear for him to see just how utterly bright-red her cheeks are flaming right now. “Wow,” she says. “Right down to business, huh?”

“I’m sorry, would you prefer to engage in a bit of pillow talk, first?”

“Erm,” says Rose, her mind going blank.

“Sweet talk?”

“Er.”

His voice drops a register. “Dirty talk?”

“How about we don’t talk at all,” Rose says quickly.

“But then how else are we supposed to communicate? Isn’t communication supposed to be key for this sort of thing, isn’t that what all of your trashy mags are always wittering on about?”

Rose quirks an eyebrow in surprise. “You’ve read my trashy mags?”

“A few of them, sure.” He shrugs against the bedclothes. “You sleep a lot. I get bored. And some of them have remarkably insightful social commentary.”

“Maybe I should just masturbate after all,” Rose mutters.

“If you like,” says the Doctor, shrugging again. “It’s up to you.”

Rose picks at the duvet. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you have a preference? Between…”

“Involvement versus observation?”

Rose’s pulse roars in her ears, threatening to drown out all other sound. “Yeah. I mean…just doesn’t seem fair, if I’m the only one getting anything out of this. You know?”

He smiles, the expression almost tender. “Don’t worry about me, Rose. I’ll be fine.”

“Besides,” he continues, chipper once more, “I am getting something out of it: the knowledge that, one way or the other, Rose Tyler is about to have a very pleasant orgasm.”

Rose rolls her eyes. “How is it so easy for you to talk about this, all of a sudden? Is it a regeneration thing? I feel like the other you would have chewed through his own leg first.”

“That was different,” the Doctor replies. “That was a defensive measure against you insulting my manliness—have I mentioned it, before, just how very manly I am?”

“A time or two,” Rose chuckles.

“But this, what we’re doing here? It’s just science. We’re proposing theories and conducting experiments in an effort to generate a specific outcome. Granted, it’s a little more personal than usual, involving components and variables that are typically considered rather private, but at the end of the day, it’s just another brand of science. That’s all.”

“Right,” replies Rose, chewing her lower lip. Science. That makes sense. That makes it a little easier. Doesn’t it? “So we’re just—we’re just like, doing science together, yeah? Just using bodies instead of beakers, or whatever.”

“Exactly,” he says, with a smile, and Rose forces herself not to look at his mouth.

Science, she reminds herself. It’s just science.

Rose draws in a deep, calming breath. “Okay,” she says, letting the breath slowly out. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do some science.”

She edges closer to the Doctor in the bed, and he follows suit, until the two of them are just scant inches apart. In the semi-dark, Rose can just make out the contours and plains of his face, his eyebrows lightly drawn together, his eyes half-shuttered, his mouth so very, very close to hers. Once again, Rose wonders if she should kiss him. Wonders if he wants her to.

“Erm,” says the Doctor, clearing his throat. “So,” he tries again, his voice just a bit uncertain, now; it’s like the bravado-façade has slipped a little, now that they’ve made it this far, now that they’re so very close. “You never did say. Earlier. How you wanted to do this.”

“Oh, yeah.” Breath hitching in her throat, Rose closes her eyes. Maybe this will be easier if she can’t see him at all. “Erm,” she says. “I guess…you should touch me?”

For several long moments, nothing happens. But then a rustle of the bedclothes lets Rose know that the Doctor is moving in, the mattress shifting with his weight, pulling her closer to him. Their bodies pressed together now, Rose feels more of his skin on hers than she’s ever felt before, and her body is warming to him rapidly, in a way that’s got nothing to do with the duvet covering them. Because despite everything else, at the end of the day it’s still the Doctor, it’s still him, and her stupid body doesn’t care that this is a horrible situation contrived out of a cheap romance novel; all her body knows is that he’s close, closer than he’s ever been before, and he smells so good, and his skin is touching hers and it’s new and it’s awkward but it feels wonderful and already her body wants more.

Reaching up, the Doctor’s hand ghosts along her jawline, uncertain, soon retreating to the safe territory of her shoulder. “How would you like me to touch you?” the Doctor asks quietly.

God, she wants to kiss him. God, she wants to kiss him so badly.

She thinks about guiding the Doctor’s hand immediately between her legs, but doesn’t know if that’s too much, too soon. Probably they should start out slow, right? But what does slow mean, in this situation? Does slow mean she should start by touching herself?

(Shouldn’t slow start with both of them wanting this?)

Rose starts to reach down, to stroke herself, but that would mean sliding her hand between the two of them, and that would mean touching his naked skin, touching him, and she doesn’t know if that’s allowed, and the thought of it is a little overwhelming at the moment anyway. So she turns over in the bed, facing away from the Doctor, the better to touch herself without worrying about whether she accidentally comes into contact with him, too.

“Maybe just,” she says, feeling very strange about all of this, “hold me, for now.”

She hears him nod, his hair rasping against the pillow, and the Doctor loops an arm around her waist, spooning her. Her bum nestled against his pelvis, Rose is suddenly very aware of the size and shape of him, and fuck, even though he’s perfectly calm and settled behind her, just that hint of contact is enough to make her nipples stiffen, make moisture well up between her legs. Embarrassment and guilt try to crawl their way up her throat but Rose tamps them both down—it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, she tells herself. This is good. This is helping her get wet. She can use this.

Sliding her hand down between her legs, Rose strokes her inner thighs with a featherlight touch, teasing herself first. Rubbing in gentle circles, she inches her way upward, her fingers glancing against her lips. She imagines it’s the Doctor’s hand instead, drawing closer and closer to her clit, and she feels herself slicken and swell with anticipation.

She pictures his fingers drawing upward, slipping between her lips, delving in to find her wet and wanting, and her hips buck involuntarily at the thought, as she caresses herself the way she imagines the Doctor would, teasing and stroking and just a little more pressure, just a little bit more friction. It feels shameful, almost, thinking of the Doctor while she does this (she usually tries so hard not to, she tries so hard), but he more or less told her it was all up to her, didn’t he? How much he was involved? How much, and in what way? And besides, how is she supposed to not think about him when he’s holding her so close, and they’re both naked, and his hand is clenching against her stomach, and he smells so fucking good?

Biting down on her lip so hard she’s surprised she doesn’t draw blood, Rose buries her face in her pillow, swallowing her arousal and shame. She’s properly wet, now, and positively throbbing between her legs, but as good as this feels, it isn’t enough. Her body is begging for more, more pressure, more friction, more contact, more him. And he asked her, he did, he asked her how she’d like to be touched—

Steeling herself, Rose reaches up to grab the Doctor’s hand, shifting it from her stomach to her breast. She feels him tense behind her, but he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t resist, his hand cupping her gently. Chest heaving with exertion and anticipation, Rose guides him upward, until his hand covers her breast completely, her nipple scraping against his palm. She thinks she hears him swallow (so much for all that suave indifference he was projecting earlier) before he moves in, his face pressed to the back of her neck. He kneads her breast, catching her nipple between his long, elegant fingers, sending little shocks of pleasure shooting straight between her legs. The sensation is enough to make her arch her back, her thighs tensing, muscles clenching slickly with want.

“Fuck,” Rose gasps, surprising herself, but if the Doctor minds, he doesn’t say; if anything, it seems to spur him on, his touch growing firmer, and if Rose didn’t know any better, she’d think he was pressing his lips to her neck. Her hand sliding back down, Rose seeks out her clit straightaway, stroking herself harder, now, her hips rocking to match. “Fuck,” she bites out again, as something winds taut deep inside her, as tension coils tighter and tighter, and she gives up any semblance of composure as the Doctor grasps her breast and she fucks herself with her fingers, rutting harder and harder against her hand and the Doctor until she’s so wet she’s coated the insides of her thighs, and she imagines him hardening behind her, imagines him thrusting in response, and—

And oh, oh fuck, she’s not imagining that part, she’s not imagining it at all. He’s hard against her arse, fully hard, rocking against her, and not a second after she realizes it, the Doctor seems to realize it, too. “Ah—I’m sorry,” he whispers breathlessly against her neck, and he freezes behind her. “Rose, I didn’t mean to—I’m—”

“Don’t stop,” Rose chokes, arching back against the Doctor until his hand abandons her breast in favor of grasping her by the hip, a low groan tearing out of him. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, Rose knows; it’s just friction, it’s just science, it’s just bodies reacting the way bodies do when pressure and movement and warmth and hormones are involved, but she’s too far gone to think clearly about any of that now, and with each thundering bleat of her pulse in her ears and between her legs all she can think about is how very much she wants him to fuck her, and now. “Don’t stop,” she says again, her hand flying up to grasp him by the back of the head, fingers clenching in his hair, and he stifles a moan against her neck, his hips pushing into her as if they’ve got a mind of their own. “Please don’t stop,” Rose pleads, and he doesn’t (thank god he doesn’t) and he thrusts forward again, his cock trapped between her upper thighs, stroking firmly against her slick and swollen clit.

“Rose,” he says helplessly, fingers digging into her hip as he thrusts. His other arm snakes between Rose and the mattress so his free hand can stroke her breasts, teasing her nipples while she ruts against his cock. By now she’s so slippery-wet that he could probably enter her with no resistance, none at all, but instead his fingers plunge between her legs, stroking her clit. She cries out, clenching deliciously. The Doctor buries his face against her neck as she fucks his fingers, his cock thrusting wetly between her thighs and her folds, hitting her with every stroke.

Nearly overwhelmed with sensory stimulation, with the smell of sweat and the slick sounds of sex and the feel of the Doctor moving against her, it isn’t long before Rose feels her climax begin to build, coiling tighter and tighter with each stroke and thrust. Panting for air, Rose grabs a handful of the Doctor’s hair, her nails raking over his scalp, and he inhales sharply, hissing against her skin.

“Please, Rose,” he gasps between the searing, openmouthed kisses he presses to her neck, his thrusts growing shallow and quick, “please…”

She cries out as the tension inside her snaps, muscles contracting violently and flooding her body with pleasure. The Doctor follows soon after, spurting between her thighs, his groans muffled into her skin. The two of them slow to a halt, hearts racing, breaths ragged, and the Doctor removes his hand from between her legs, slumping against her after. They lie like that for a long few moments, each of them catching their breath as the sweat cools on their skin.

“Fuck,” the Doctor eventually announces, utterly winded. “Just…fuck.”

Rose laughs shakily. “Yeah. That was, uh…”

She searches her mind for suitable words, any words, really, but her brain has gone pleasantly blank, filled with nothing but that blissful post-sex buzz.

“…yeah,” she finishes, laughing.

“Indeed,” he pants against her neck.

“Just. Wow.”

“Yes. An apt summary.”

“A hell of a religious rite.”

The Doctor tenses at that. “Rose, I’m sorry. I really didn’t—”

“Don’t apologize,” Rose says quietly, grabbing his hand before he has a chance to move away. “Don’t you dare.”

He hums unhappily into her skin. “You’re far too forgiving.”

“I’m not. I’m exactly the amount of forgiving I want to be.”

The sound he makes suggests he doesn’t entirely believe her.

“By which I mean,” Rose says, “as long as we’re fine, I’m fine. Cos—cos we’re okay, right?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder. “You and me?”

“Of course we are. This just isn’t how I would have liked all this to happen, is all. It isn’t how I would have planned it. You know?”

“I know,” Rose tells him.

Then, after a second, the Doctor’s words properly register with her.

“Wait,” Rose says, mind racing as she sits up in the bed, rewinding the last few moments. “What do you mean, how you would have planned it?” she asks, staring down at him.

The Doctor shrugs, and is she imagining it, or did his eyes flicker down to her naked breasts just now? “For starters,” he says, “typically you don’t have the threat of imminent death involved in this sort of situation, do you?”

“No, I meant—have you thought about this, before?” Rose asks, hardly daring to hope. “Like, you’ve imagined it? Us having sex?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Well, yes,” he admits, as if it were obvious. “Haven’t you?”

Rose can barely believe what she’s hearing right now. “I mean, yeah,” she stammers, something deep in her chest warming nicely at the confession. “I mean, sort of. I mean, I tried not to, I never thought you’d—”

And that’s when the irritation kicks in. “You git!” she shouts, swatting at his shoulder. “Why didn’t you ever say anything? That would have made this whole situation so much easier!”

“Not like you ever said anything either!” the Doctor shoots back accusingly, rubbing his shoulder where she smacked it. “Why are you so surprised, anyway? We flirt constantly!”

“You flirt with everyone! We both do!”

“Yes, but it’s different with you,” he insists. Then, looking the slightest bit unsure of himself, he adds, “Isn’t it?”

She hates how right he is. “Of course it is,” Rose huffs in annoyance. “Don’t be stupid.”

The corner of his mouth quirks in a smile. “Speaking of pillow talk, I think yours could use a little work.”

Rose glares at him. He smiles beatifically up at her, all boyish charm and stupid cheekiness and post-sex-glow.

She hmphs. She also hates how pretty he is. Just for the record.

“And if your trashy mags have taught me anything,” the Doctor continues, tugging on her arm, “it’s that post-coital sessions typically involve a good cuddle.”

With faux-reluctance, Rose inches back down in the bed, sliding back beneath the covers—facing the Doctor, this time. “Would’ve thought you’d skittered away, by now,” she says wryly. “Would’ve thought this bit was too domestic for you.”

“Nah. Besides, exceptions can be made for cuddles.”

“Of course,” Rose laughs, her tongue peeking out to moisten her lower lip. Drawn to the motion, the Doctor’s eyes flicker to her mouth for just a second before darting back away.

Huh. So she’s not the only one who’s been looking. She’s really not.

(How did she never notice any of this, before?)

“So, erm,” she says tentatively, because they’ve come this far, haven’t they? “What did you imagine? When you thought about…”

He meets her gaze evenly, and fuck, he’s gorgeous like this, with his mussed hair and his knowing smile and his distracting nakedness lurking just beneath the duvet. Very distracting nakedness, she thinks.

“…us?” Rose asks.

Blinking in surprise, the Doctor quickly glances away. “Nothing all that specific,” he tells her, and is he the one blushing now? “Didn’t want to cross any lines, do anything inappropriate, of course.”

“Not even in the safety of your own head?”

“Nope. Not even then.” He sighs. “Very few explicitly wicked thoughts in this brain, I’m afraid. I guess I’m just a saint.”

“Uh-huh. What about now, though?”

“What about it?”

Rose licks her lips again, and he’s definitely blushing, this time. “You a saint right now?”

The Doctor hesitates, gaze fixed on her mouth.

“It’s okay,” Rose teases. “We’re still doing the sacred rite, remember? So this is just like a confession.”

He chuckles. “A confession. All right.”

“Tell me what you’re imagining, Doctor.”

“Shall I confess all my wicked thoughts to you?”

Rose leans in a little closer. “Please do.”

“Well,” he says, Adam’s apple bobbing. “At some point, I’d imagine we need to finish dismantling this little cult we’ve stumbled onto.”

“True.”

“And save the queen.”

“Yes,” replies Rose patiently. “And?”

“And in the meantime,” the Doctor says, his gaze soft and dark and locked on hers, “I’d imagine a kiss is in order.”

“Yeah?” Rose breathes, a thrill running through her from head to toe. “Would I kiss you, or would you kiss me?”

“Oh, I’d kiss you, probably.”

“Probably?”

“Definitely,” he says, and he closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to hers.

Rose hums happily against his mouth, her hands landing lightly on his chest. His skin is soft beneath her palms, and even though he’s still cooler than she is, she swears she feels him warming, his heartrates speeding up at her touch. His mouth opens, deepening the kiss, and Rose’s tongue darts out to taste him, glancing against the swell of his lower lip as they part. He watches her through half-mast eyes, after, a soft smile playing across his lips. Something about it is enough to make Rose’s heart trip over itself, just a little.

“So, erm,” Rose says, grinning at him, “how did that compare to your imagination? As good as?”

“Better, I think,” the Doctor replies, with a grin to match hers. “But I’ll need to collect a larger data sample, just to be sure.”

“For science,” Rose laughs.

“For science,” he agrees, and he kisses her again.

  ***

thanks/blame goes to @galiifreyrose​ & @saecookie​ for encouraging/inspiring/enabling me, thank you darlings ( ˘ ³˘)❤

[sif-the-tsunami]

Hello friends,

This is a small sample of the fantasy series I’ve been working on for a few years. I would love to get some kind of feedback. Positive, negative. Lay it on me. I want to know what you think.

This is a rough draft, barely edited. 

Summary: A young warrior starts the path to her destiny. 

Rated: PG-13, this will probably read like YA but there wont be any sexy times. Just talks about violence and death (this doesn’t mean that people under 18 can start interacting with my blog. I mostly post smut.)

The attack on Dawnforge came without warning. Raiders, dozens of them, descended upon the small community surrounding a rural temple. The invaders poured violently out of the woods. In the cool shade of the temple’s grove, Ellisif Thrace’s mossy green eyes shot open from her late afternoon nap when she heard the Keepers sound the alarm. The war horns had only been blown ceremonially for as long as she could remember. The second blast echoed off the stone walls and summoned her to action. The young woman sat strait up, and listened for another moment to see if she could find out what direction the alarm was coming from.  She thought she could hear the Keepers shouting towards the east although she couldn’t make out what they were saying just yet. Always eager to be of assistance, Ellisif picked up her belongings and started running towards the commotion. Ellie, as she preferred to be addressed, had been learning defense and fighting techniques since she was strong enough to pick up a sword. Her father had been a knight errant and thought it was important that his children should know how to keep themselves safe.

Another blast of the horn let her know she was running in the right direction. Soon she heard the sound of weapons being thrown and bashed into the thick wooden gate. The Keepers were directing the villagers to leave the area, a man that Ellisif thought was named Erik told her to go home. He couldn’t have been much older than she was, his skin was sun kissed, with a little pink on his temples and cheekbones. Erik looked scared, brushing his reddish blond hair out of his face.

“I’m here to help, give me a sword!” She shouted.

“Little Sister, you need to go somewhere safe.” Erik ordered. As he was saying this, the Commander put his hand on her shoulder.

“Erik, Ellie is to join the Order at the Feast of Lyria. Let her pick up a shield, if they make it through our defenses, she knows how to handle herself.” The older man told Erik. He handed their recruit a wooden shield with metal studs, “Ellisif, make your father proud.”

Erik rolled his eyes as the Commander went to go hand out more tools. “They are going to break through in a matter of minutes. Take an ax. If they make it past us, cut the fuckers down. And don’t you dare get killed.”

Ellie pulled the cord she had on her wrist to tie her hair back. Her thick dark chocolate brown curls were pulled back out of her face and she said a small prayer to her favorite Goddess. I don’t want to have to kill anyone, but if I do, please let me do it quickly. Her heart pounded in her throat, her trepidation rose with every new crack emerging from the gate. The wood finally gave way, and she watched the horde of mismatched heathens break into her town. The Keepers had set up as much of a barricade as they could. Carts where pushed on their sides trying to create a funnel and direct the invaders to the villages best fighters and war priests. The Archers were doing what they could to thin out the herd. Ellisif inched closer to the battle, she tightened her grip on the handle of her ax just in time for a raider to jump over the stack of crates that had been near where she was standing. She raised her shield to the long sword he was swinging at her and it became stuck in the hard wood. Then it was as if her brain shut off and her body took over.

The warrior would never truly be able to recall everything that happened that afternoon. The surviving Keepers would tell her that she was brave, surgical with her actions and moved like she had been doing this all her life. In her state of shock, she would just say she had really good teachers. They would congratulate her for surviving her first battle. They thanked her for saving lives that day. Not a single invader made it past where she stood her ground.

Ellie looked up at the white stone buildings that were beginning to glow pink with the setting of the sun. What would they do with the bodies, she wondered vaguely. She leaned against the warm stone wall and slid down. What should I be doing? She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to make the sickness in her stomach go away.

“Where is she? Where is my sister, where is my Ellie?” a familiar voice was shouting. A couple of the Keepers pointed towards where she sat with her knees tucked to against her chest, her head resting on the wall behind her. Sarah thought she look more pale than normal.

“I’m right here.” Ellie croaked. Her throat was so dry. The healers had looked at her briefly, said she would be fine but to be prepared that she would probably have some pretty bad bruising on her forearms.

“Oh my Gods, why are you covered in blood? We’ve been so worried! Mama is going to skin you alive. Are you hurt? What were you thinking?” The thin woman stammered together as she fretted over her younger sister.

“I’m fine, the blood’s not mine. At least I don’t think so.” Ellie said, “What was I thinking? I was thinking that this is what I’m supposed to do. I’m supposed to run toward the fight. Do you have your water on you? I need a drink...”

The Commander strutted over like the fine peacock he was and pressed a bottle of ale into Ellie’s open hand and said something about how proud he was. She didn’t care. Ellie just wanted to be able to swallow without her throat feeling like sandpaper. The strawberry ale was sweet and warm, it made swallowing a little easier but after the third mouthful it became clear that the ale was doing nothing for her nausea. There might have been something said to her about how he was looking forward to seeing her take her oath, he chuckled and walked off. Sarah started trying to clean the viscera from her sister’s face but before she got too much grime off of her face, Ellisif turned her head and wretched.  She groaned, “Let’s go home.”

They walked home, arms wrapped around each other. It wouldn’t be until they reached their little home that Ellisif would start talking. The words slipped out of the young woman, still dazed. She looked down at the ax she was still holding onto with white knuckles and whispered “The one who gave this to me, Erik… I don’t know. He was killed. I killed someone today, Sarah. I killed several someones…”

Sarah, as gently as she could, wiped the tears off of her sister’s face, “You did what Daddy taught us to do. You helped keep our family safe, you kept or town safe. Lyria would be proud. She would be thrilled to know you will be defending her temple. Daddy would be so proud too.”

The older sister took her partner in crime into their house, and tucked the battle wary woman into her bed. The ax fell to the ground with a sickening thunk, and Ellie rolled over and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Sarah went to the kitchen and put a kettle on to brew some tea. Their mother, Kyra, had gone to the temple to help bandage up wounds of the Keepers and anyone else who took up arms. She eventually grabbing the heel of the loaf of bread from the pantry and slather it in homemade butter, pulling out her book of herbs. If Ellisif was more athletically inclined, her sister was definitely more well read. Sarah propped the book up and began plaiting her silky hair as she read the well loved tome. The front door opened quietly, the family’s matriarch came back after a long night of bandaging up injured young people and comforting the loved ones of those they lost.

“The Pale Mother now has a few more attendants now,” Kyra sighed, she and Sarah’s looks were similar, though she had more silver in her hair now. They both had dark brown eyes, almost black.  “Those poor souls. The Council and the High Priestess has asked that we all gather tomorrow at the Temple. They found their leader and they are interrogating him. He seemed to not understand that the forge our town was named after has been closed for generations, thought he could arm his merry band of miscreants. I heard Ellisif did her duty. How’s our girl doing?”

“She might have gone into emotional shock. I put her in bed, she’s going to need something strong in the morning. I was just reading up on something that will sooth her nerves, she was covered, and I mean covered, in blood. Evidently none of it was hers, which is good. Daddy taught her well. The Keepers were saying she showed a lot of potential.”

“Your father was the best knight I have ever seen wield a sword, I can only imagine what he taught her. The Temple will have never been safer if she is half as good as he was.” Kyra grabbed another hunk of bread and helped herself to some cheese. “I wish you could have seen him. I’ve never seen anyone burn with righteous fury like he could. When he would swing his sword in the tourneys he fought in, I swear that it looked like it was on fire. It was beautiful and absolutely terrifying. Ells has that same spark. When she was little, I saw it in her too.”

“I told her daddy would be proud.”

“He would be. He would also be profoundly sad for her. Sweetheart, you should go get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be very long.”

Ellisif slept until nightfall the next day. Siggy and Kyra left her to her mild unconsciousness to attend the meeting at noon. The temple slowly filled with the mourning villagers. More than a dozen Keepers had died that afternoon, it had been a decade since there had been any attacks on Dawnforge like this. It would be weeks before the damage the raiders did to the town could be repaired. The surviving raiders were told they could bury their dead on the other side of the ravine outside of the walls and then to assist the town in its repairs to try to make amends. The Thrace women where given the instruction on how they could help by the High Priestess. As soon as they where able to, Sarah and her sister would be going to the schoolhouse. They thought that having a couple extra adults around the kids would help make them feel safer.

Most of the school age kids knew Ellie. Two years ago she had won the combat tournament on the Feast of Seraphina, the Scarlet Mother. Usually the winners give the bouquet of fire Lilies to their significant other, she instead pulled out individual flowers and gave one to every little one who was around the ring that day. Her father had done the same thing the last time he had won the tournament. She enjoyed being their hero that afternoon, Sarah remembered as she and their mom walked home with their orders. The night of the feast, Ellie was asked attend the dance that was be held in the town square. Sarah had never seen her sister so happy as when she came home giggling, barefoot and a little in love.

When they made it to their home again, they saw evidence that Ellie had been up and moving but she was no where to be seen. Kyra suggested that they leave her be for the time being, they were kind in letting the young woman try to recover at her own pace. After a few days of her sleeping more heavily than she ever had, Ellisif needed to be in the forest behind the temple. She wanted to feel the presence of the Green Mother and ask her for guidance. There was a small clearing there, where a large stone acts as an alter for Lyria. It was a large piece of granite that always seemed to be covered with moss in all the directions, not just north. On the morning of Lyria’s feast day, the sun would align itself with this slab perfectly, and that is where she would be taking her vows to join the ranks of the Keepers. They were originally called the Temple Keepers, as the community grew, the area they kept safe grew with it. Once Ellie joined, she would be binding herself to the fate of the town. She could get married and have a family if she chose, but traveling would be almost impossible. If the Empire of Oril ever declared war on any of the other kingdoms, they were almost always the ones that were conscripted.  

While Ellie had wanted to become a Keeper for as long as she could remember, as of this morning, the idea of joining gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her mother had always talked about how even masters of their craft could have their confidence shaken if the seeds of doubt had taken root in their minds. Was this a seed a doubt she had been warned about?

“Lyria, divine mother, I come here to beg you for forgiveness. I never wanted take someone’s life. I thought they would yield if they got hurt. How could I have been so stupid...” and for the first time since the attack, Ellisif’s strength gave out. There she spent the rest of the day sobbing and trying to figure out what she needed to do. Her body shook violently as the waves of emotions crashed over her. In the back of her mind, a small notion crawled its way forward, seeping into her thoughts likes a strong tea in hot water. Devoting herself to the temple may not be the right choice. Ellie cleaned her face of the mess that the sobbing caused. The moon had risen, her family would be worried.

She made it into her home moments before they would begin searching for their missing member. There were hugs and more tears. They remained silent as Ellie made her way to her bed, she prepared herself for the night.

[asklepiean]

Tips for beginners, Pt. 1: How do I start?

This is the first of (I hope) many posts about Cultus Deorum for beginners. The tips you'll read may vary from general suggestions for someone approaching polytheism for the first time to specific things for those interested in Cultus. Given that I'm a hardcore recon a lot of these suggestions will sound quite different than the average "how to *religion*" lists you find on tumblr but are just what I did when I approached a new tradition - for what it's worth, they work.

I'll probably update this post with other details but as a start, these are the suggestions and ideas that can be immediately useful to you.

1) Drop all the socials

Especially during the first phase of the learning process you should be able to focus on your research, and jumping around socials is not a good idea. Socials are good for meeting new and like-minded people but they’re not very useful when it comes to learn things. If you’re easily influenced this can mean trusting idiots who call themselves “priests” and building fragile foundations for your spiritual development. This doesn't mean you have to delete your account, but take some time to reflect on what you're doing and be alone with your thoughts and doubts.

This helps a lot to understand 1) what you want to do without having external inputs that can alter your judgment and 2) building a basic knowledge using reliable academic sources(*) and ancient texts and not trusting second-hand interpretations of secondary sources given by strangers on the internet. And honestly, seeing what is happening on the “polytheist” side of popular socials I would think twice before giving credit to anyone.

(*) I made a lists of useful sources (both ancient and modern) here.

2) Stop thinking that everything is a sign

If you find a pigeon feather on your window and there are pigeons nesting on the roof of your house, that’s hardly a sign. I know it's tempting to think that the Gods are calling you by name to follow Them, but learn to be critical. Signs are given on specific occasions (e.g. when divining or praying) and in antiquity it wasn't common to see many of them. They weren't always nice things (e.g. lightning killing people or destroying monuments, mothers giving birth to deformed children, people dying in ominous circumstances), and when someone needed them they were collected during specific rituals performed by augurs.

If you see too many things there’s a high chance they’re not signs but an attempt to justify what you’re doing. Sometimes signs are obvious, sometimes you have to struggle to understand them. Learn to use a divination system and always question what you see/hear/dream, and you'll learn how to discern divine presence from mundane coincidences.

3) Start learning about the context

If you’re interested in developing a spiritual practice (and it doesn’t matter if you're gonna be a recon, a revivalist, or whatever), you have to study other things than just lists of myths. You need to become knowledgable about the history and culture of those whose religion you want to adopt, and when it comes to Cultus Deorum you have a lot to unpack. Rome lasted for centuries and still deeply influences our culture.

If you don't explore these fields you can't understand why Romans increasingly added new cults and temples in Rome but kept foreigner priests, why Greek culture was so prominent in the Italic context, why Rome and Carthage had a political agreement, or why religion was so tied to politics. It's very easy to accept the "Romans are just copycats" stereotype, and if you don't study the context you won't understand the Gods Themselves.

If you're not familiar with Mediterranean cultures you have to pay double attention. Roman history is still vital for some countries (Italy above all), so for the love of what is most holy in this world have some decency when approaching this topic and be respectful.

4) Don’t use the wheel of the year. Ever.

Romans had a complex calendar and many festivals so if you want to be a cultor/cultrix you need to be familiar with them. Don't use the wheel of the year to substitute the festivals because no, Lughnasadh is not the same thing as the Vinalia, and you can't just switch foreign Gods for Jupiter and Venus. Being familiar with the wheel of the year is not an excuse to alter a whole religious system - if you do it, it's not Cultus Deorum.

While you're at the beginning try to be consistent: do simple things, offer water and bread, chose a God/dess you like and try to set up a small ritual on the kalends and ides. You don't have to celebrate every festival (especially those dedicated to the founding of temples or cities) and other major festivities will come later, more structured rituals and prayers will follow. But again, use the system our forefathers made because there's a reason if things worked for a long time.

5) Understand that Cultus Deorum is community tradition

Roman religion was one with politics and those who cared for the State where the same who held religious offices. Cultus Deorum is deeply rooted in one's community and while it's cool to think about being alone with the Gods it's not a good way to keep a religious life in this context. Pax Deorum was a pact between the Gods and the people (both as individuals and as a unified group). Roman citizens actively took part in political matters and religious celebrations with the same emphasis because it was their duty to do so and many Gods had a civic aspect that was highly praised.

Start understanding how politics work in your country and in your city and while you could not be the kind of person who actively takes part in this, at least be aware of how things work.

6) You can honor different Gods, BUT

Romans had a neat practice called interpretatio romana, or the interpretation of foreign elements based on Roman models. This is what permitted syncretisms and the inclusion of different cultures under Rome's domain. It also permitted the cult of foreign Gods and Goddesses in the City, but at certain conditions: priests/priestess had to be non-Romans, the rites had to be held in a different way than the Roman's.

If you decide to include non-Roman Deities you should research how their cult was seen and interpreted in Rome and in the provinces and act accordingly. This could lead you to explore different topics, such as the army, provincial politics, Near East culture and Hellenic influence in that area.

[lilacmoon83]

Finding You Always

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 234: Final Reckoning

Jekyll smirked, as he looked at the photo of a necklace with a ruby pendant in the book he had swiped from Rose Red's library some time ago. It was a copy of the long and true history of Aphrodite. He had taken it to see if he could glean any weaknesses in the lore of the Chalice and use it to defeat them. And now, after days of skimming through the tome, it looked as though he just might know exactly what he needed to turn the tables against them and defeat Charming once and for all.

~*~

Though it was small, the library of Cibola was magnificent in its own right. The books looked to be very old, but well kept, and rested on golden book shelves.

"We need to bring Rose and Belle here. These books look like some of the oldest in existence," Snow mentioned, as she looked at her eldest.

"Can you use a little magic to translate some of these titles?" Snow asked. Emma nodded and waved her hand, causing the lettering on the bindings of the books to change to English.

"Can you read any of this language?" Bobby asked curiously, but she shook her head.

"It's a dead language...maybe even older than Latin," Zia replied.

"Let me guess...Lunarian?" he asked and her eyes widened.

"You know about the Lunarians?" she asked.

"A little. The first truest loves were Serenity and Endymion. I guess she was Lunarian and in one of my visions, I met their daughter," he explained.

"That's amazing!" she exclaimed and he blushed.

"Yeah...so were the Lunarians really from the moon?" he asked. She giggled.

"No...that part isn't true. They just worshipped the Moon Goddess Selene. The most noble bloodline and first Queen of the Lunarians were named Serenity and thus why all first born daughters in the royal line were named such," Zia explained.

"I guess that makes more sense than living on the moon," he agreed.

"You sound sad about that," she mentioned. He smirked.

"Well, I read a lot of comics and it would be so cool if they really did live on the moon and there was some kind of moon base or something," he said. She giggled.

"I don't think I've read any comics," she mentioned.

"Oh you have to! They're great and Fandral can tell you about some of them that are actually real with all his adventures with Thor," Bobby gushed

"I have heard of the Norse God, Thor. But I'm guessing what I know is not what he's like at all," she mentioned.

"Yeah, the Thor that Fandral knows is a bit different from the one in Mythology," he said.

"Maybe you can tell me about it," she replied. He nodded.

"I've love to," he said.

"Someone is crushing hard," Emma muttered to her mother.

"I know...it's so cute..." Snow gushed, as she looked at her youngest and put a hand to her heart. Emma chuckled and shook her head, as she saw a book that said Maui.

"Hey...wasn't Maui a demi-God?" Emma asked.

"You found a book on Maui?" Zia asked. She nodded and pulled it out. When she did, both the pounamu stone and the book glowed.

"Whoa…I think we found it," David said, as Emma opened the book, while Zia peered over it.

"Lunarian again," she said, as she used her magic to translate it, before handing it to the dark haired girl, who skimmed it. After several minutes, she gasped and started reading.

"Listen to this," she said.

"And though he was fatally wounded by the Void, Maui gave explicit instructions to his younger brother Tao so that his coveted fish hook be protected from those who would exploit it, especially the Void," she read.

"The Void? Is it really talking about Runeard?" David asked.

"How could it be? Runeard wasn't born during Tao's lifetime," Snow replied.

"No...but his powers came from somewhere. He didn't have them when he was banished," Killian reminded them.

"He's right...he picked them up in the Netherworld somehow and we don't really know how or why," Bobby said.

"Before he died, Maui disguised his fish hook as Pounamu stone and told his younger brother that he must guard it from the Void. And so Tao sailed to the island of Mu, aboard his family's luxury vessel, the Solaris, and consulted with the High Priest of Cibola to help him create something to protect the stone. But the High Priest, Atanos told him that only the children of the sun could help him craft something to protect the fish hook of Maui," she read.

"Atanos sent him east to find his son, Esteban, insisting that he was one of these children. Esteban accepted Tao into his Kingdom once he learned he was sent by his father, Atanos. But Tao was much less trusting and it took him time to trust Esteban. Even then, Tao never revealed what the stone actually was. Only that he must conceal it from the world," she continued.

"Does it say what the stone does?" Bobby asked. She nodded.

"Once Esteban met Zia and they were declared the truest love in all the realms by Venus did Tao realize that it was the Chalice of Venus that could craft what he needed," she continued.

"But Tao's mistrust of Zia did not serve him well and he was not happy when he discovered that she knew what the fish hook could do. He accused her of being a witch at first and thought she wanted the fish hook for herself. When she revealed that she knew the fish hook could…" Zia said, as her eyes widened and trailed off.

"What? What does it do?" Emma asked impatiently. Zia swallowed thickly.

"When she revealed that she knew the fish hook could capture all the natural elements, including the sun and the moon, she convinced Tao that she knew what they needed to craft to protect the stone," she revealed.

"Capture the elements?" Emma asked.

"If that's true, it can control the weather, including the phases of the sun and moon. That could be devastating," Snow realized.

"Do you think Aphrodite knows?" David asked.

"I don't think so…" Zia said, as she continued.

"Tao was grateful for her help when she used the Chalice to create a golden jar. In her possession were two golden bars from Cibola, the last in her possession. She used the chalice to melt them down and pour them into a mold of Tao's choosing. The jar mold was one from his home and thus the fish hook was sealed inside so only the children of the sun could open it," she read.

"Tao begged Zia not to tell Esteban what the pounamu stone really was and what it could do. He feared the information could be revealed inadvertently to Esteban's advisors, whom he did not trust," she continued.

"Mendoza," David surmised.

"Most likely," she agreed.

"Zia was very reluctant to keep information from her husband, but agreed and told him only that the jar could never be opened, for the purpose of the stone inside could never be revealed, as it could fall into the wrong hands, particularly, the Void's," she finished, as they looked at each other and then at the stone hanging around Bobby's neck.

"Okay...so this thing probably should go back in the jar," he said, as he took it off.

"Yes…if Runeard sees this, he'll know what it is if he is the Void now and I want you no where near something like that," Snow said, as she took the stone.

"So we seal it back in the jar...but we need to put the jar somewhere that it can't be accessed," David agreed.

"In the tallest tower of Cibola," Nubia chimed in.

"Why there?" Snow asked.

"Yeah...a bunch of steps will hardly deter someone like Runeard," Emma warned. Nubia smiled thinly.

"No...but there are fail safes. There is a place for the jar built into the highest temple by Atanos himself. You'll know it when you see it," Nubia said, as they ventured through the gates and saw the tallest tower gleaming in the distance.

"Okay…we can just teleport ourselves up there," David said.

"I'm sorry, but the journey to the tallest tower must be traversed by foot and by the children of the sun," Nubia said.

"Truest loves," Snow corrected.

"Yeah, sounds like the children of the sun had too many secrets between them. Snow and I don't keep anything from each other," he added.

"Of course...it was their flaw. I do not believe they ever told the Goddess about the stone," Nubia said. David sighed.

"That is a lot of stairs," he said. She smirked.

"Is Prince Charming going soft on me," she teased.

"Do I look like I've gone soft," he teased back, as he towered over her.

"Oh no...and I know where every muscle is," she gushed, as her hands swept over his torso.

"Yeah...you guys have fun with Stairmeggedon," Emma quipped.

"Those that are of their bloodline can accompany them," Nubia chimed in.

"Yeah, hard pass. I'll wait here," Emma said.

"Chicken," David teased.

"Could that mean me? I'm only his half sister," Natalie mentioned.

"I'm sorry...only the children can accompany them, being that they are of both of them," Nubia answered.

"Damn…" she muttered and then looked at her brother.

"Tell me all about it?" she asked. He smiled.

"I'll take pictures for you," he promised.

"I'll go...but I guess Zia can't come?" Bobby asked.

"Actually, she can, because she is training to become the High Priestess of Cibola, she is permitted to enter the sacred temple," Nubia replied. Zia smiled.

"I wouldn't miss this for the world," she said, as she and Bobby followed his parents.

"Uh so...if she's going to be the High Priestess, does that mean she can't get married someday?" Emma asked curiously.

"Stars no...where would you get that idea?" Nubia asked.

"Just the whole Priest thing. In some other religions, it has some restrictions," Emma replied.

"Denying a person of love sounds like it would cause many problems," Nubia observed.

"Oh it does, which is why I asked and I'm glad this has no restriction of that kind," Emma said. Nubia smiled.

"You are good to look after your brother's feelings," she complimented.

"He's a great kid...and I hate it, but he's probably going to end up saving us all from Void," she mentioned. Killian put his arm around her.

"He'll be okay, love...there's no evil that can defeat this family. I've seen it try and fail," he assured her. She smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder, while they waited for them to return.

~*~

"Oh Dark One...your magical protections are no match for science," Jekyll said, as he used his demon powers to burn through the magical protections on the shop door. The cameras weren't picking up anything, since he was using his nano technology to disguise his presence. Therefore, no alarms went off in the shop. He proceeded to the safe behind the counter and then a device he had created to crack the combination. The door opened and he extracted the ruby necklace.

"The necklace of Harmonia...misfortune to any who wear it," he said, as he disappeared in a fiery display.

~*~

"Thanks for bringing this to me...I'll definitely get it added to the Master copy right away," Henry said, as he skimmed through the hidden history of Arendelle that they had recently uncovered.

"Thanks...it's an uncomfortable history. I'm still trying to accept that Arendelle has such a bloody past," Elsa said.

"That's not your fault. Many Kingdoms have committed atrocities in the past. It shouldn't be up to the ancestors of those Kingdoms to pay for those misdeeds," Leo replied.

"He's right...you're doing exactly what you should be. You're informing your people of their true history, which means that they can learn from the past mistakes of their people. Then history hopefully won't repeat," Henry agreed. Elsa smiled and nodded, as they noticed a copy of a tabloid from the Land Without Magic.

"You've got to be kidding. Grimm got someone to publish his dreck?" Leo asked.

"Well...it's a tabloid so I doubt too many are taking it seriously. He and Goldie are doing their best between this and their dumb podcast to make people fearful of magic," Henry said uncomfortably.

"The podcast is getting a lot of hits lately...too many," Eva agreed.

"Are you worried that it might be working?" Paul asked.

"To be honest...yes. They're sowing a narrative of fear and anxiety toward magic and magical people that makes what the Home Office did look like nothing," Henry replied.

"That's why I've been doing my best to keep new chapters of the book up and I've even talked to a few contacts I have at reputable publications in the journalism world to make sure the true story is out there. But you know how people love gossip," Henry replied.

"Yeah...Grimm is even live streaming Goldie's stupid show on the Internet so people in the Land Without Magic get all the happenings going on here in the United Realms, from her skewed point of view, of course," Eva complained.

"Is ENN live streaming any of their broadcasts? Now that we have honest journalists running that show...they should be doing the same," Elsa said.

"She has a point," Leo agreed, as Henry smiled.

"You know, that's a great idea. I'll head over there later and talk to Mr. Boots' replacement. He'll love the idea," Henry said.

"Who is running it now?" Eva asked curiously.

"August," Henry answered. Her eyes widened.

"August left the Storybrooke Mirror?" Leo asked. Henry shrugged.

"A bigger and better opportunity and they came to me and asked me to run it, which I don't have time for. So I recommended the next best journalist I know," he replied.

"That's great! I still wish we could do something to counter their podcast though," Eva said. Paul smiled.

"Maybe we can," he said.

"Like what?" she asked.

"You love podcasts...you listen to them all the time, no matter the subject, because it's an easy way to learn while you're working. So...why don't you do your own," Paul replied.

"You think I should do my own podcast?" Eva asked.

"Now that is an incredible idea," Henry replied.

"Yeah...you could counter their narrative and get all the guests. No one worthwhile would go on their two bit broadcast, but you could get all the good guests. All of us, Mom and Dad, and anyone in our family," Leo said.

"He's right and it will blow theirs out of the water," Henry agreed.

"I'm not even sure I know how to do a podcast though," Eva said.

"I do though and I know August can set us up with all the best equipment. We can go over there now if you want," Henry said.

"That sounds great...I would really love to get the real message out through the airwaves," she agreed. Paul kissed her cheek.

"You're going to be great," he said.

"Will you be my co-host?" she asked.

"Me?" he asked.

"Who better? You were born in the Land Without Magic and you can attest to what it's like having lived in both worlds," Eva said.

"She has a good point," Leo agreed. He smiled.

"Okay...two doctors doing a podcast I guess," he agreed, as they proceeded to head over to the Enchanted News Network studio.

~*~

Jekyll looked at the model on his laptop with satisfaction. He had created the computer model of his plan and with his demon magic, it would all become a reality in a matter of moments.

"Yes...this will be quite perfect," he said, as he made the final modification to the virtual model on his screen.

"You know, I do not take kindly to being summoned, doctor," Rodmilla said, as she arrived.

"I am the reason you're luxuriating in your new castle now. You are at my beck and call, Rodmilla. Make no mistake...I can end you with a flick of my wrist," he warned, as he produced a tiny flame in his palm. She stilled and swallowed her pride.

"What can I do for you, doctor?" she asked.

"You can create this in the ocean at these coordinates," he replied, showing her the model.

"What is all this?" she asked. He smirked.

"My very own nightmare and the place where Prince Charming will perish at my hand," he replied. She didn't question him and did as he asked. She hardly thought he would be successful. No one had managed to defeat Snow and Charming yet and they were more powerful than ever. Honestly, if he did, it would destroy Snow White and cause her eternal misery. If he didn't and Charming finally rid them of the doctor, she'd be free of his insanity and being under his thumb. It was a win-win situation for her.

"There…" she said, as it was complete.

"Good luck doctor...I think you'll need it," she surmised.

"I don't need your luck...my power will overcome him this time," he insisted, as he walked out of his lab. It was time.

~*~

David looked at his wife in amusement, as she groaned during their climb to the top of the tallest tower.

"Okay...you were right, these stairs are a nightmare," she whined, as she lagged slightly behind him with her hand in his.

"Yeah...you'd have to really want whatever is up here to make this climb," he agreed.

"Would you like me to carry you the rest of the way?" he asked.

"No...that would be very unfair to you," she replied.

"But I could," he said. She smirked.

"I know you could...I'm well acquainted with all your muscles," she replied coyly. He smirked back.

Behind them, Bobby closed his eyes and put his hand over his face in embarrassment, as Zia giggled.

"They are so embarrassing sometimes," he said.

"I think they're adorable," she replied.

"Yeah...just wait until you're eating dinner with them and they're feeding each other and start making out. It gets less adorable really fast," he said.

"We can hear you," Snow admonished.

"I know...it'd be nice if you and dad didn't make out during dessert," Bobby replied.

"Yeah...your chances of that aren't good," David said and he rolled his eyes.

"We just got the Emma eye roll," Snow snickered to him.

"Of course...she taught it to them all," he said, as they finally reached the top.

"Finally," Snow said.

"At least going down won't be so bad," David replied, as they went inside and found golden walls except the one in the center. The center wall was stone, with hieroglyphics on each square.

"They just look like symbols," Snow asked. Zia nodded.

"This is the Temple of the Sun...so they use the language of the Chalice. Lunarian," she replied.

"David…" Snow uttered, as she pointed to the square with the depiction of a split heart.

"Wow...and here's one of the chalice," he said.

"Look…" Bobby pointed at five squares in sequence below the split heart.

"Fire, lightning, wind, water, and earth," he said, pointing at the flame, lightning bolt, gust of wind, wave, and a leaf. They looked at each other in amazement.

"This is depicting the seven of us," David said.

"Your love is written in the stars," Zia replied.

"What's this one?" Bobby asked, as it showed a figure surrounded by many objects.

"The Collector…" Snow realized.

"Clayton's bloodline...it's always been a threat, even back to Serenity and Endymion," David said.

"What is this one?" Snow asked, as it depicted another figure shrouded in what seemed like darkness.

"The Void…" Zia said gravely.

"There's the hook," Bobby said, pointing out Maui's fish hook.

"How do we seal the jar away?" David asked.

"The Chalice…that's all I know," Zia replied. Snow and David willed it into its cup form between them and the wall immediately reacted by lighting up in a variety of colors. The squares slowly receded away from the center of the wall, as a compartment revealed itself.

"I guess that's a good place," David said, as they placed the jar inside the compartment. The squares glowed and returned to their place.

"All secure I guess?" she asked.

"Yeah...seemed too easy," he replied.

"I think we're just used to everything we have to do being a pain in the ass," Bobby quipped.

"Language," she chided, as David took pictures for Natalie, before they started back down the stairs.

"You know how we said that going down would be better?" Snow asked.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"It's not any better," she replied, making him chuckle.

"Hey...we got out of there without something or someone trying to kill us. That's a win for us," he reminded her.

"So true," she agreed.

"So...is it safe?" Emma asked. They nodded.

"These pics you just sent me are fascinating. It's practically your story in hieroglyphs," Natalie said, as she swiped through the photos.

"Yeah…I guess we shouldn't be too surprised by now. The texts that King Arthur was once studying back before we met him depicted the chalice and our split heart," David recalled.

"Do you remember whatever happened to those texts?" Natalie asked curiously.

"I assume they're still somewhere in Camelot. I'm sure Lancelot and Guinevere would be happy to let you check them out," Snow replied.

"I'd love to build a display out of these pics and anything they have for the museum," Natalie said. Snow and David smiled. She was really finding her niche as curator of the Atlantis museum.

"So...I guess we're done here," Emma said.

"Yeah...let's head back to Mu," Snow replied, as a portal suddenly opened and they could see Dr. Jekyll through the portal, on an island that seemed to be besieged by molten lava.

"What the hell…" David said.

"Greetings…" he said.

"Not even man enough to face me now? You have to do it through a portal?" David challenged. Jekyll smirked.

"Oh on the contrary...the lovely scenery behind me was created with just you in mind, Charming. It is where you will perish at my hand," he claimed.

"No...you leave my husband and my family alone!" Snow shouted.

"Alas, dear Snow...I could do just that if you would submit yourself to me," he offered.

"No way in hell psychopath…" Bobby said.

"You're not taking her, especially not into some fiery hellhole," David added. The doctor smirked again.

"Like I said, Charming...this fiery hellhole, as you put it, is for you," Jekyll said, as his arms became fiery chains that shot through the portal. They wrapped around him and pulled him through it. Snow cried out in alarm, as it closed and she looked around frantically.

"I'll get a bean," Emma said, as she prepared to transport herself to Anton's field, but Jekyll's voice cut her off.

"Do not bother, Savior...for there is no way you can get to this island via portal now," Jekyll said, as a hologram appeared before them in the sky.

"Charming!" Snow cried, as she saw her husband behind the doctor and on a piece of rock surrounded by a lake of lava.

"As you can see, he is in quite a state of peril and without the help of the Chalice, he will perish at my hand," Jekyll said.

"And the demise of the legendary Prince Charming is being broadcast to the entire United Realms and beyond! It is time for everyone to witness the fiery end to the truest love!" he added.

"Why isn't Dad calling the Chalice sword?" Emma asked. Snow willed the chalice into sight and saw that she had both halves. She tried to will it to her husband...but nothing was happening.

"I see that you have found that your husband is completely cut off from the power of your Chalice," Jekyll said.

"You Son of Bitch!" Snow cried, as she broke down in tears and Emma held her mother, hugging her tightly.

"How the hell is that possible?" Bobby asked, as Regina and Rumple appeared at their location.

"Because he stole the necklace of Harmonia from my shop and placed it around your father's neck upon his arrival in his demonic realm," Rumple answered, just as the twins appeared with Summer and JJ in tow.

"The necklace of Harmonia...how does that cut him off from the Chalice?" Leo asked.

"It's a long story...but in short, from my restored memories, it was a necklace created by Hera and meant for me," Aphrodite replied.

"It curses the wearer with misfortune. Hera meant it for me, but a man named Cadmus found it where Hera left it for me first. He presented it to his bride, Harmonia, and she was killed in a horrible accident on their wedding day. It's been an object avoided like the plague since," Aphrodite explained, as she and James appeared.

"Then why did you have it in your shop!?" Emma cried.

"Because I'm already cursed and immune to its charms. As the Dark One, I was entrusted to keep it away from humanity by Zeus himself. Centuries ago...but the damned psychopath found it. It's quite likely he has been browsing through Rose Red's books without her knowledge," Rumple said.

"We have to do something! We have to get the chalice to Dad somehow!" Summer cried.

~*~

David looked around and hissed from the burns on his arms, thanks to Jekyll's fiery whips. He saw the peculiar necklace around his neck and took in his surroundings. It was definitely an island, but the erupting volcano in the distance had turned it into a nightmare. Acrid smoke filled the air, as embers and ash rained down. Molten magma flowed around the remaining land like a river and the heat was so sweltering that it was hard to breathe.

"Welcome to your demise, Prince Charming," Jekyll said. David extended his hand and attempted to call on the Chalice sword, but found that nothing happened. Jekyll smirked.

"I'm afraid that necklace around your neck will cause you quite a bit of misfortune. Whatever light magic you are able to wield is thwarted by the cursed necklace of Harmonia," he announced. David tried to take it off, but found that he couldn't.

"So this is it...you're so afraid to face me on an even ground that you have to take away my weapon and give me a serious disadvantage?" he challenged.

"Fairness is for heroes. I am a villain, as you so eagerly point out time and again. So I decided to stack the deck in my favor, so to speak," Jekyll said, as an ordinary sword appeared in his hand.

"But I will give you a weapon...not that it will matter much," he added.

"Fine…I'll fight you at a disadvantage and still win," David said confidently. Jekyll chuckled, as his own fiery sword appeared in his hand.

"Oh, your hubris will see that you fail miserably," the doctor said, as he charged with a fierce battle cry and David moved to defend himself.

~*~

Snow screamed, as she saw David narrowly escape falling into the river of lava, as he dueled the psychotic doctor.

"I have to get to him…" Snow sniffed, as she tried to use the Chalice again, but became frustrated when it didn't work again.

"Why isn't it working!?" she screamed.

"It's the necklace...it won't let us portal there with magic," Aphrodite said regrettably. That thought struck Eva.

"But we could with science!" she realized. Snow looked at her daughter with a tearstained face.

"Honey...what do you mean?" she asked.

"That's how he's doing all of this. He got around Mr. Gold's magical protections in the shop with science. We have to use science to get to Daddy," Eva replied.

"She's right...he would have never got through my protections in the shop using magic. He found another way," Gold confirmed.

"Then how do we do it?" Snow asked.

"Hyde...I'll go and see what he and Mr. Flaversham can do," Emma said, as she hugged her mother quickly.

"I'll go with you," Bobby said, as he disappeared with her. Leo and Eva sandwiched Snow between them and held her, as she cried and they witnessed their father try to stay alive.

~*~

"And if you're just joining us...it seems that everyone's favorite Prince is under siege by none other than Dr. Jekyll himself. It would see that the good doctor has found a way to isolate him from his precious Snow White and their magical chalice," Goldie reported, as those at Grimm's tavern all seemed glued to the fight.

"You think he'll do it?" one patron asked.

"If he does...he'll be a legend," another answered.

"And if he does...we will capitalize on the grief of his family and wage attacks on their Kingdoms," Rodmilla said, as she entered with Runeard. A few of them looked uneasy by this plan, but they did not protest. The last protester had been swiftly dealt with and none of them wished for that fate.

~*~

"Hyde!" Emma cried, as they burst into his lab and saw they were watching the spectacle on one of the computer screens in the lab.

"I guess he's beaming the frequency to every screen," Bobby realized.

"I'm afraid so...the doctor has gone too far again," Hyde said.

"He's blocking us off with magic and made it so my Dad has no access to the Chalice," Emma replied.

"And you hope there is a scientific solution," he replied. They nodded.

"We have been working on something...a teleportation device, but it is in no way ready for human trials," Hyde said.

"Yes...at this point, it would likely kill a person in transit. We're still working on the human application," Hiram added and their hearts sank.

"But we have had success in teleporting objects," Hyde said, as he showed them what looked like a silver pad.

"You think you can teleport the chalice to our Dad?" Bobby asked.

"If I can triangulate his location within a few yards. That will take a few moments, but we're ready if you can take us closer," Hiram said, as they picked up their equipment. Emma smiled and nodded, as the four of them disappeared.

~*~

David breathed heavily, but coughed since the air was so filled with heat and ash that it was overwhelming.

"You are so fragile without the power of your chalice sword…" Jekyll goaded.

"Then stop dodging me and actually fight. I may not have my Chalice sword, but I am a master swordsman and even with all your powers...you're not. I think I'll fare better than you think," David challenged. Jekyll smirked.

"I will so enjoy slowly killing you while the lovely Snow watches," he said, as he looked up.

"Pay close attention, my dear Snow! I want you to see the life leave his eyes when I crush him!" he called. David charged him at that and their blades clashed in a fury of strikes, parries, and slashes.

"You're tiring, Charming...I can see it. But I do not tire anymore," Jekyll warned, as they exchanged blows.

"You are fragile...and can barely breathe here. But I am in my element," he continued to boast.

"Doesn't matter," David said, though his words sounded labored.

"True love always wins," he insisted, as the doctor elbowed him in the gut and sent him to the ground. He slid painfully across the ground on his back and could feel the burns already. The pain was excruciating, even as he tried to pull himself to his feet. His shirt was in tatters now, as embers had burned holes in it. But he pressed on and got to his feet, only to have to block Jekyll's blade again.

"Time to die, Charming...and it will be slow and agonizing," he promised. David swept his legs out from under him, but the demon shot a fire blast at him, forcing him to dodge. He rolled to the ground and stared up at the blackened sky. He coughed, as the ash filled his lungs and he tried to move, despite the multiple burns covering his body.

"Snow…" he croaked, as he could feel her presence and love enveloping him.

"Not sure I'm going to make it out of this one, my love…" he whispered, as the doctor's shadow loomed over him…

~*~

Snow cried out, as she saw her husband roll to the ground and she reached out toward his image.

"I have to get to him...this can't be happening!" she cried in anguish, just as Emma reappeared with Bobby, Hyde, and Mr. Flaversham.

"Can you help?" Eva asked.

"We have a solution, but it's not yet ready for human testing. However, we believe it can get the Chalice to him," Hyde replied.

"No…I have to go to him. Please…" Snow cried.

"Mom...this will work, but you getting ripped apart in a teleporter does not help Dad," Emma soothed, as she put her hands on her shoulders. Reluctantly, Snow nodded and watched them set up their equipment.

"Not to pressure you...but you need to hurry!" Leo called, as they watched the dire position their father was in.

"Can you get a fix on his location fairly quickly?" Emma asked.

"Got it...fortunately, the doctor is sending up smoke signals into the atmosphere so to speak," Hyde replied, as he nodded to Snow. She placed the Chalice on the flat device and stepped back, as her children huddled around her.

"Initiate," Hyde said, as Hiram operated the controls and the Chalice disappeared. A few seconds later, the image before them and all the screens where it was being broadcast were filled with a blinding white light, resulting in no one being able to see what was happening.

"Charming!" Snow cried.

~*~

"Do you think she'll feel it? When I drive my fiery sword through your half heart?" Jekyll asked, as he looked down on his nemesis with a smug smirk. He was going to savor and enjoy the Prince's demise immensely.

"She will...but my children will avenge me and protect her," David rasped, as he coughed again.

"So...you're finally admitting defeat?" Jekyll asked with glee.

"I may die at your hand...but our love won't. That will never die," he replied.

"Yet you will be able to do nothing from the afterlife to stop me from making her mine," Jekyll said, he saw a beam of light penetrate his shield around the island.

"Impossible," he uttered, as the light faded and he saw the Chalice resting about a hundred feet away.

"No…" he said. It should have been impossible and he saw Charming's hand twitch.

"Not this time…" he seethed, as he prepared to thrust the blade through his chest. The Prince could barely move, but managed to lift one leg enough to kick Jekyll off balance. The doctor stumbled briefly, but it was enough and the Chalice flew into his hand.

"Noooo!" Jekyll screamed in rage, as light exploded around David and blinded him, as well as blowing him back several feet.

He growled, as he rolled over and tossed his cracked glasses away, before pulling himself to his feet. But what he saw when the light started to fade gave him pause.

David stood tall, as the light faded in his familiar leather jerkin, pants, and boots; the very outfit he had fought many battles in before. His wounds were healed and the Chalice sword gleamed brightly in his hand. The necklace of Harmonia fell off in pieces and burned to ash.

Jekyll seethed and cursed, as he decided to find a way out of this botched plan to fight another day, but the Prince anticipated his next move. David tapped the tip of his sword on the ground, sending a lightwave of power throughout the entire island and the sky.

"What is that?" he asked, as he saw the shimmering shield around the island.

"You promised there was no escape for me from this island, so I'm promising the same for you," David replied.

"You think you can really end me?" Jekyll challenged. David smirked.

"Oh…I know I can," he replied, as he charged, almost catching the doctor off guard. His sword became alive with fire and he parried the Prince's blade. But he was shocked when his sword shattered into a million pieces upon contact with the Prince's. Jekyll screamed in rage and blasted him at point blank with fire. But David slapped the flames away with his blade in expert precision.

"Damn you!" Jekyll screeched, as he slashed at him with his fiery whips, but David evaded his fire and Jekyll made a run for it in an attempt to somehow escape the island. He cackled maniacally, as he ran toward the river of lava that had burst up between the land mass.

"Once I disappear into the fire...you'll never catch me! And then, I'll pop up again when you least expect! Just like Mephisto did!" Jekyll warned, as he saw the river within reach. He laughed, preparing for his escape, as he jumped toward it.

~*~

"Damn him…" David cursed, as he chased the psychotic doctor. If he slipped into the fire, he'd disappear and come back to haunt them again. He couldn't let that happen again. He knew of only one move that could stop him now. He stopped in his tracks and thrust his sword into the air, sending it sailing toward the monster.

~*~

The fire could be seen reflecting in Jekyll's eyes, as he was just a few feet from escape, but he lurched and looked down to find Charming's blade protruding from his chest. He landed on his feet, just at the edge and turned around, looking at him in shock. He saw the blackness slowly spider webbing from his wound and started to see the ash flaking from his body.

"No...this can't be! You can't defeat me!" Jekyll cried, as he lurched again and the blade returned to David's hand.

"I just did," the Prince stated.

"You're done...and you're never going to hurt my wife again, let alone haunt her," David assured him.

"The Chalice absorbed the Olympian crystal long ago. No Underworld, no afterlife, nothing...you just stop existing and we rest easy, knowing that not even your soul can cause harm to anyone ever again," he continued. Jekyll tried to charge at the Prince again, but the white fire from the Chalice sword consumed him in a brilliant flash. He screamed briefly, as he was destroyed and his cries were swiftly squelched, as was his existence.

Charming sighed in relief, as he used the Chalice sword to create a portal out of the hellish island and he returned to Cibola.

The moment his feet hit the sand, Snow was in his arms. He smiled, as she kissed his lips and then buried her face in his neck, as she wrapped her around around his neck. He smiled and held her, as she quietly sobbed in relief.

"It's okay...I'm okay and he's dead, Snow...for real this time," he said, as he pulled back and cupped her beautiful face in his hands.

"He's dead, my love...he's never coming back," he promised. She sniffed and cried happy tears, before their lips crashed together and her feet dangled off the ground, as he picked her up and spun her around while kissing her passionately. Their lips finally parted and their kids gathered around them with hugs as well.

~*~

"And...it appears that the battle is over. Dr. Jekyll, who quite possibly was Charming's greatest challenger ever, is dead. It would appear that no one can defeat the Charmings," Goldie stated gravely.

"Most will celebrate this, I'm sure...but those of us that have made mistakes and refuse to play by their set of rules, life will not improve at all," she added.

"Snow and Charming will continue their reign, unchallenged it seems. Their children will continue to make all others fail to measure up, and Henry Nolan Charming's narrative will continue to be the only acceptable version of the story, while other talented writers like those in the Grimm line will be ignored," she continued.

The patrons in Grimm's bar went back to their normal business and Elias tossed his rag down on the counter in frustration. Charming's heroics would once again be the highlight of any articles and it almost seemed pointless for them to even do a podcast.

He noticed Runeard leaving and Rodmilla followed. Curiously, he followed as well. After all, this mysterious former King was likely the only real challenger to the Charmings that they had now.

"What are you doing?" Rodmilla asked, as she followed him into Jekyll's lab. Runeard was silent, as he picked up the staff that Jekyll had recreated from Hiram Flaversham's blueprint of the original design.

"They will soon come...emboldened by the fact that there is no real challenge here, even without magic. Except me, of course," he said.

"I have magic...synthetic magic that works here where theirs might not," Rodmilla replied. He smirked.

"Oh my dear...I think we both know that whatever you can muster up can easily be quashed by Charming now...or his Asgardian doppelganger for that matter. He just killed a demon with powers derived from hell itself," he reminded her.

"But you can challenge him!" she insisted.

"Oh not yet...not without this staff filled with the star gems I cannot...it's too risky. He knows what I can do with a touch...he'll anticipate my every move. I am not a master swordsman. Jekyll's arrogance is partially why he's dead now. He had no business fighting a warrior of Charming's caliber, even with all his demonic power," Runeard said.

"So...what, you're just going to disappear and leave me to fend for myself?" Rodmilla questioned.

"I must go into hiding for now. I do not have a plan ready to take on all the elements at once. I must take them by surprise and now is not the time. Good luck to you," he said, as he faded away with the staff and the doctor's gloves.

"There must be something in all this junk that we can use!" she cried desperately.

"The only way we still win any of this is to get their mixed blood and write ourselves a new narrative," Grimm said.

"Which is impossible!" she shouted.

"Then you better find a place to lay low...because this will be the first place Charming and his brats come for," Grimm replied, as he left the lab and started back to his tavern.

"There you are…" Goldie said, as she joined him.

"You're a wanted woman...this place isn't going to stop them from coming for you now that Jekyll is gone," he warned.

"You too...that's why we need to escape," Goldie said.

"Where? Pleasure Island was the one place that gave them pause," Grimm replied.

"The Land Without Magic...we can escape there and still do our podcast, you can write…" she said. He sighed.

"I guess it's all we have. We better go now though or we'll never make it. As it is, it will take us all night to go around the checkpoints again," he replied.

"Without the tavern...we'll be broke in no time," he warned.

"We still have a pretty good following with the podcast and that brings in some money. We'll have to supplement in other ways. It's that or prison," she replied, as they started packing what they could.

"We'll manage, I guess...now to figure out where to go," he said.

"The nearest bus stop is Misty Falls. We'll figure it out on the way to Boston," she replied, as they headed to the Harbor to make their escape.

~*~

After celebrating at Granny's with a mountain of food and all their family and friends, they had come home with their kids and retired for the evening. Except with them, there was no sleeping yet and the celebration had continued, in a much more intimate manner.

She rested her head against his chest and relished his arm around her.

"You did it...you freed us from his insanity," she purred, as she looked up at him. He gently kissed her.

"I said I wouldn't rest until he could no longer haunt you...I'm just glad I was able to keep that promise," he replied.

"I never doubted you...but I came very close to losing you," she said, as her eyes misted.

"Shh...no, you could never lose me. He never had a chance...not when it's you and our children that I'm fighting for. Not with a true love as powerful as ours," he replied, as she kissed him passionately and then pressed her forehead against his once their lips parted. He gently wiped a tear away from her cheek and green eyes stared into blue.

"I feel so free with his shadow finally gone," she admitted. He smiled.

"We are free, my darling. There are still battles ahead, but he was the worst one and he's gone forever," he promised. Their lips met again in a searing kiss and their passion consumed them once more. Once again, they had faced certain doom head on and their true love had prevailed, as it always would.

In the next chapter, one year has passed...

[semperintrepida]

In the Sanctuary of Lies

The night of her first death, it was the smell that led her to the bodies piled high at the foot of the cliff. Putrid and oppressive, it nearly forced her to her knees, and even the rain — a cold, hard rain that turned the stone around her an oily black — couldn't wash it out of the air. But she could not stop, not even to retch. She had to find them. Both of them.

She stumbled in the dark, threw her arms out and felt her hands sink into rotting ooze. She looked back at her feet and saw the cooling body of the Elder priest, his head cracked open across the rocks like a bloody egg.

Ahead of her, rain pooled in the upturned cup of an infant's skull. A flash of lightning turned the bone stark white against grey, followed moments later by a thunderclap that left her ears ringing with Zeus's anger. She scrambled on hands and knees across a table set with a feast for vultures, surrounded by stone and bones and those long dead.

But no Kassandra. No Alexios. She couldn't find them.

Her children. Her babies.

Her heart constricted in her chest, squeezing the life out of the hope that had driven her to search the bottom of the cliff. She couldn't find them. They were gone. They were—

Shouts in the distance. The Elders, looking for her after she'd torn herself from their grasping hands, away from them and away from Ni— No. Her mind put a blank where his name had been. The time to hate was later.

She almost missed the whimper, barely louder than the rain and the strangled beats of her heart. Where? Her eyes swept the dark rocks around her, the piles of white bones up ahead, and then the world went white with another lightning bolt and she saw a white shape in a jumbled nest of rib bones. Her heart boomed with the thunder, and she crawled to the bones and brushed her fingers against a blanket she had touched a thousand times.

Alexios. She drew his face to her cheek and felt a whisper of breath, but his skin was so, so cold and he hardly moved.

More shouting. Close now, along with the orange glow of torches.

Kassandra was here, somewhere on these stones, someplace in the dark, but if she stayed and kept looking, the Elders would find her and Alexios, and they'd kill him for sure. Lose one or lose both. Her choice to make.

She tucked Alexios against her bosom and hurried away from the cliff, and part of her soul left her body and died there on those dark stones, the part that had entwined itself around her daughter the moment she knew the gods had blessed her with a child. She had done the unforgivable by giving up on her daughter, and one day she would stand before the gods and answer for it.

The forest underbrush tore at her skirt, and she ducked her head under tree limbs and climbed over fallen trunks. Tree bark and branches scraped her skin but she didn't feel pain. She was soaked through but she didn't feel cold. The rain continued to fall in sheets, but the lightning storm faded along with the shouts of those who pursued her.

She didn't know how she made her way down from the mountain through that dark forest, only that there were lights in the distance ahead, and she recognized them as Pitana, the helot village on the far outskirts of Sparta.

Alexios did not stir, and he was still so cold that despite her fears of injuring him further, she paused and unwrapped him from his blanket and tucked him inside her dress next to her skin. No one in Sparta was skilled enough to help him, even if they were willing to disobey the Elders. The healers in Argolis were her only option, she realized, choking back despair as she calculated the distance. Days away by foot. Faster by horse, if she had one.

If. She set her jaw and moved as swiftly as she could across the muddy wheat fields that ringed the village, avoiding the huts and hovels until she reached the road to Sparta. She'd be safe on the roads as long as she stayed ahead of the messengers of the priests, but she could not risk running into any soldiers in the city. Her home was lost to her now. All she had left in the world was Alexios.

She kept moving, coming to the crossroads where the northern and eastern roads met. There was a kapeleion here, she knew, a squat building from which firelight and drunken laughter escaped. And just outside, a few horses picketed at the fence. She swallowed hard, straightened her shoulders, and walked up to a sturdy-looking gelding. Heart pounding, she untied his lead, swung herself onto the saddle with Alexios cradled against her, and rode off into the night. King Leonidas's daughter Myrrine, reduced to a common thief.

She rode the horse harder than she had any right to, until his flanks were coated in lather and he could no longer keep up a gallop, and as the sun rose, she stopped at the river on the border with Argolis and let him drink deep while she cradled Alexios in her arms.

He was dying.

She mounted the horse, urged him forward. The city of Argos up the road, help up ahead, and Alexios against her breast, so very, very, still.

.oOo.

It seemed to Kassandra that all roads in Argolis pointed to the clinic of Hippokrates of Argos, nestled as it was in the foothills above the city. The clouds wrapped the mountaintops in fluffy grey wool, and it had rained steadily all morning, foul weather leading to foul moods.

Raised voices greeted her at the clinic's doorstep. An older woman, sharply berating a young man. "Look, you insignificant peon. Tell me where he is, or by Hera I'll burn this clinic to the ground with you in it!"

He raised his hands, trying to placate her. "I already told you what I know."

"If Hippokrates thinks he can disrupt social order to make himself into a demigod of healing, perhaps the gods themselves will have their revenge." The woman took a step towards him, and Kassandra could see her arm coiling back, ready to strike.

Kassandra was already stepping into the frame. "Back away from the boy. Slowly," she said.

Now the woman's fury focused on her. "Who dares threaten the Priestess of Hera?"

"Me." Kassandra crossed her arms and moved in close, close enough to emphasize just how far down she had to look to stare into the woman's eyes. "Now step back."

The woman narrowed her eyes, zealot eyes that danced at the edge of madness, and for a moment Kassandra thought she might try something stupid. But then she drew herself up with wounded dignity and said to the young man, "It seems the gods wish me to grant you and your master another chance. Tell Hippokrates that if he doesn't make a public show of respect to the gods, I'll raise an army of believers against him. And if he can't think of a suitable offering, his head will do." Then she pushed her way between them and stormed off.

By the gods, were all priestesses of Hera like this?

"Thank Asklepios she's gone," the young man said. "I thought she was going to kill me this time."

"Who are you, and what was all that about?" Kassandra asked.

"I'm Sostratos," he said. "Chrysis has accused my master Hippokrates of impiety."

"Is he?"

"He believes that beyond praying, people can take their health into their own hands and make themselves well."

That seemed reasonable. After all, it was easier to stab someone with her spear than wait for one of Zeus's thunderbolts to strike them down for her. "Fascinating. Can I speak with him?"

"I'm sorry, he isn't here."

"Then where can I find him?"

"He's gone to Hera's Watch to help the sick there." She could find him if she traveled to the southeast and looked for the end of a long line of desperate people. And did she mind delivering these medical supplies that he'd forgotten in his haste?

When it came to finding her mother, nothing would ever be simple.

She tied the bag of supplies to the back of her saddle and mounted Phobos. Above her stretched woolly skies in every direction. It would be a cold, wet ride to Hera's Watch.

.oOo.

The first person Myrrine encountered in Argos took one look at Alexios and pointed her to Hippokrates's clinic, as did the second person, and the next. She had never been to Argos, and needed to keep asking the way through the blurry maze of houses and temples that surrounded her.

Right at the walnut tree. Left at the statue of Apollo. Follow the fence up the hill to the path through the laurel grove. She slumped forward, weary from riding all night, her horse valiantly keeping up a trot. He'd given her everything he could and still she asked for more.

They left the canopy of laurels and entered a cluster of low buildings with stucco walls, the grounds swept and tidy.

A young man emerged from the building at the sound of hoofbeats in the courtyard, his eyes widening as he caught sight of her. A golden pendant of a snake wrapped around a rod hung from his neck, the sign of the priests of Asklepios, and the last of her energy drained out of her as she realized she had made it to the clinic. She sagged bonelessly in the saddle, and he hurried to her, his hands gentle as he helped her to the ground.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She held Alexios out to him. "My son," was all she could say before her throat closed around the rest of her words.

A glance at the infant in his arms was enough to cause him to hurry. "Come in, come in," he said, leading her into the building. A woman stood in the corner, tending a brazier. "Ortygia, take care of this woman, please." Then he retreated to a back room, carrying Alexios away from her sight.

Her heart raced and she slipped towards panic, but the woman suddenly appeared at her side, gently taking her by the elbow and preventing her from following him. "You're freezing," the woman said. "Come and sit."

Myrrine let herself be guided to a bench next to a burning brazier. Its warmth seemed far away. Her exhaustion made everything feel cold and distant, inert like a pile of ashes. She wanted to sleep and not wake up until Alexios was whole again.

She felt a warm cup being pressed into her hands. "Drink this." Hot wine and herbs. She sipped, tasting nothing. That wasn't right. Sipped again. Nothing. She could no longer trust her senses. The heat from the wine crawled down her chest and thawed something inside, and the meltwater began leaking from her. She closed her eyes against the tears. No. Not now.

After some time, Hippokrates emerged from the back room carrying Alexios, and she knew in an instant that he would not bring her good news. He knelt before her and placed a hand on her knee. "Your son..." His voice wavered, and he shook his head. "This is beyond my abilities as a healer."

She could die kneeling in the middle of a field of ashes, or she could dig, dig down into those cinders. She heard her own voice, steady as it said, "If you can't save him, tell me who can." Warmth under her hands, the smallest embers.

"He's too—"

Embers to flame, her voice raising. "Tell me who can!"

Her tone made him flinch. "The priests at the Sanctuary of Asklepios." He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.

"How do I get there?"

He told her. Placed Alexios into her arms. Helped her to her feet, wrapped her in a blanket, and brought her to her horse. She took up the reins, turned the horse towards the road that led to the Sanctuary, and heard him call out behind her, "Gods be with you both."

Which gods? The ones who told the Oracle in Delphi that Alexios would bring about the downfall of Sparta, thus condemning him to be thrown from a cliff?

There were no gods left for her to trust.

.oOo.

Kassandra stared at the dead man in the cot and shook her head in frustration. All that effort in Fort Tiryns — sneaking past the soldiers, finding the garrison's physician, and bringing him back to Hippokrates — had amounted to nothing.

"I'm sorry for the delay, Hippokrates," Dymas said. "Kassandra helped me save my own patient first."

She'd had to choose: wait for Dymas to finish his surgery, or force him to come with her unwillingly. She'd decided to wait, and it had been the same as picking one life over another. Dymas's patient had survived. This man didn't.

"But why are you here?" Hippokrates asked. "I only needed my notes."

"They were burned in an attack, but fortunately, I have them memorized." Dymas tapped a finger against his temple. "And Kassandra insisted I come with her."

Hippokrates turned to her. "Did you kill anyone to bring Dymas here?"

Anyone? Did he mean the entire fort full of soldiers he'd asked her to sneak into? It took effort to keep her voice neutral. "No." She'd slipped past every sentry without any of them raising an alarm, and she'd done it as quickly as she could. It hadn't been enough.

Hippokrates rested a hand on Dymas's shoulder. "All of us are in the business of making tough decisions. You saved one soul today, and many others to come."

Dymas nodded. "If we're finished here, I'll write down what I remember of your notes."

Kassandra watched him hurry off, then said to Hippokrates, "I won't keep you from your work any longer, doctor. I'll go ask the priests at the Sanctuary about the woman I seek."

He gestured for her to follow and said, "Come with me. You've had a busy day."

They walked inside a large tent, its interior crowded with tables of medical equipment and racks of herbs. It smelled faintly of spices she couldn't place. A large bowl of fruit sat next to a pitcher of water, and he grabbed an apple off the top and tossed it to her. "The importance of diet to maintaining one's health cannot be overstated."

Kassandra looked at the apple in her hand. "What good can one apple really do?"

"Well, taken daily, they can keep the doctor away." The smile in his voice faded. "But on to more serious matters, like the reason you're here. You're looking for your mother."

She'd never been that specific when talking to him.

His gaze roamed across her face. "You have your mother's eyes," he explained.

"Ah." Her chest suddenly ached.

"I've never forgotten her face." He leaned back against a table and sighed. "I was young then, and I didn't have the skills to help her. I turned her away." He looked down at his hands. "I'd... given people bad news before. But your mother... She burned with determination when others would have collapsed into their grief. She shamed me."

"How?"

"Before I met her, I was just a priest. After, I swore to Apollo that I'd never turn away another patient — that I'd dedicate my life to learning everything I could about healing, even the things the other priests refused to try." He was silent for a moment, thinking of the past. "She had a strength about her that left an impression on me."

"She'd be happy to know that."

"I sent your mother to the Sanctuary of Asklepios. They'll have votive records of her visit, but you should try to get an audience with the Elder priest. Tell him I'll be sending him my notes on a new treatment for the sacred disease."

She bowed her head and clasped her hands together in gratitude. "Thank you for this, Hippokrates."

Her mother had spoken to this man, had been here and traveled these same roads, and for a brief moment she'd come to life in his telling. Hippokrates had brought Kassandra closer to her mother than anyone else had, just by remembering her.

.oOo.

The Sanctuary of Asklepios was less a refuge than a place where misery fed upon the living, who drifted like spirits within the shrines and buildings, caught between life and death. Myrrine was one of them now. She'd delivered Alexios into the care of the priests, had allowed herself to be bathed and fed, before being turned out to wander the Sanctuary's grounds until the priests brought her news.

She found a bench in a quiet corner near a fountain, away from the crowds on the walkways. The leaves of an olive tree shivered above her, and the Sanctuary swirled with nervous winds under grey skies. It had not yet begun to rain.

The people around her were silent as they dwelled in their own private worlds, and the fountain's lively waters poured into its basin, indifferent to them all. The basin was ringed by a grooved path worn deep into the stones. Heavy were the worries that burdened all those footsteps.

Every so often a priest would stop by to update her on Alexios's condition, and they spoke words she only half-heard, reassuring words meant to distract her from noticing that they never said he was getting better.

It was growing harder to keep her hope alive. Even embers ran out of fuel to burn eventually.

She paced the perimeter of the fountain's small square. The priests had placed large marble slabs around the edge, making a fence of sorts. Names were carved into the slabs: Agestratus, whose head ached so severely it drove him to madness, cured by applying a poultice of a rooster's tail feathers; Euphanes, suffering from bloat, cured by sacrificing ten dice and his gambling habit on the temple altar. Sometime soon, a priest would strike a mallet to his chisel and inscribe the names Myrrine and Alexios on the stone. She wondered what the words next to them would say.

Day turned to night, the moon hiding behind clouds that spat a fitful rain. She found herself alone next to the fountain. Most of the Sanctuary's visitors had retired to places she didn't know, and didn't care to. She had no need for a bed and no willingness to sleep.

Then she heard her name in the dark, spoken by a priest she didn't know. He was older than the others, and wore his pendant of Asklepios on a necklace of heavy gold. Mydon was his name, he said, and that he was sorry, deeply sorry — and his mouth kept moving and words came out but she didn't understand them. Words like "The fall was devastating..." and "There's nothing we can do..." and as long as she had hope, none of them would make any sense.

But he kept talking, and as he did, her hope faded to nothing, and she knew then what the priest was trying to tell her: Alexios was dead.

Then it felt as though her bones had turned to water, and she sank down to the ground as the last of the embers inside her went out. She broke into sobs, hunching over as they swept through her. "They're gone. They're both gone," she said between gasps, and then she cried out, her voice twisting into a dark howl.

The priest didn't move.

She sat there in the silence left after her wail. Inert like ashes.

Then she spoke to the stones beneath her, so worn with burdens. "Show me."

He helped her to her feet, let her lean on him as he guided her into the temple, past haggard young priests and a priestess, back to a room, and a table, and her son's motionless form.

The other part of her soul left her then. She had lost both Kassandra and Alexios, and only the barest of threads remained for the Fates to weave within her. No mother ever expected to outlive her children; their ghosts would pursue her like the Erinyes until the end of her days, but oh, she was too proud to go mad. She would exist, and she would be both alive and dead within the same body.

She picked Alexios up, cradled him in her arms, and began to sing him a song.

.oOo.

Kassandra arrived at the Sanctuary of Asklepios at dawn, under skies of broken slate streaked with red. Harbinger skies, and if she were back on the Adrestia, Barnabas would have taken one look at them and declared a storm was on its way.

The Sanctuary was nearly silent, save for the footsteps of priests hurrying to the temple, or abaton, or wherever else they needed to go across the expansive grounds. She caught one by his elbow as he tried to pass, but he looked at her, stammered, "I'm sorry Eagle Bearer, I can't help you," and scurried away.

Her reputation had apparently preceded her.

The next few priests said much the same thing, and she finally lost her temper with the last, dragging him into the shadows between two outbuildings before pinning him up against a wall with her forearm. "Who told you not to talk to me?" she demanded.

"Chrysis. She said it would be our heads if we talked to the Eagle Bearer."

Chrysis, the priestess she'd met in Argos. "How is it that she rules over the Sanctuary?"

His eyes widened. "She's the High Priestess of Hera in Argolis!"

So this Chrysis had power to go with her madness. "I need to see the Elder priest."

"Please, Eagle Bearer. She'll have me killed."

"Talk. Now."

"Find Mydon. He has quarters in the guesthouse. But good luck getting a word out of him — he no longer has a tongue."

She released him. "Go."

Priests without tongues and priestesses out for blood. This was a Sanctuary in name only, and time would tell how deep the sickness ran within it.

She returned to the walkway. It was warmer now, though the sun remained reluctant to come out, and when she breathed in, she smelled rain-damp soil and smoky incense. The grounds were more crowded, and a steady stream of horse-drawn carts wheeled past, carrying the ill and the infirm to the abaton and baths. White marble blocks lined the paved path on both sides, their smooth faces inscribed with names and treatments. Votive records, just as Hippokrates had said. But there were hundreds of these blocks, covered in thousands of names with no sense of organization. Finding her mother's name would take days.

She continued wandering, taking in the layout of the walkways, and the locations of the temples, shrines, and other buildings within the grounds. Her path took her from the Temple of Asklepios at the Sanctuary's core, to the outer edges, where the stone buildings were less worn and the trees were smaller and the marble blocks lining the path held fewer names and more blank spaces. Then she heard the sound of a chisel on stone, and followed it around a corner to its source.

An older priest stood at a marble block, carving another name into the Sanctuary's records. He pretended not to notice her, instead leaning close to his work and brushing stone dust away with his hand.

She stopped an armspan's distance away from him. She could pretend also, and she regarded the stone block in front of her without seeing. "If one wanted to find a particular name on these stones, how would they do it?" she mused.

"They'd have to ask a priest who keeps the records."

"A priest such as yourself?"

His fingers stilled on the carved letters. "There are countless records in this Sanctuary. Surely I'm too feeble to remember them all."

"It's a shame. I've traveled here a long way in search of my mother, and all I find are priests too afraid to talk to me."

"Times have changed, Eagle Bearer. It's..." He lowered his voice. "Chrysis. She says she'll kill anyone who helps you, and her threats are not idle."

"Just tell me where I can find the stone that holds the name Myrrine of Sparta. That's all I need."

He rested the point of his chisel against the stone and tapped it with the mallet. "Go to the grove of Artemis." He'd never looked at her once during their entire conversation.

She murmured her thanks, then left him to his work.

It was only a short walk to the grove of Artemis, its cypress trees an island of vibrant green among the skeletal ash and lindens in their winter sleep. In the summer, the cypress would smell of woody, heady spices, but winter's chill had buried it under the scents of damp earth and rotting leaves. The record stones jutted from the ground like a titan's teeth.

There were so many names. Here and there, entries caught her eye — Amyntas of Makedonia, suffering from sword wounds, healed after being licked clean by a pack of dogs — but none with her mother's name, or even names bearing the inscription 'of Sparta'. It was a rare Spartan who would leave Lakonia for anything other than glory.

More names. More odd treatments: snakes and boars' tongues, bear fat and chicken feet. And then she found an inscription notable for what it was missing than what it actually said: —of Sparta, with child, seeking pity from the gods— Someone had carved out the rest.

She was staring at the obliterated stone when she felt someone approaching from behind.

"It is as I feared, then." The stone-cutting priest.

"What is someone trying to hide?"

"I'll tell you. Myrrine of Sparta, who arrived filthy and bleeding from her travels. We cared for her, gave her food, a bath. The child... could not be saved, though we tried everything we could. Where she went after, I do not know."

The child could not be saved. After her encounters with Deimos, she begged to differ. Alexios was alive and unwell, and this priest was either a good liar, or believed the lie himself.

He went on. "I have something more for you. Meet me at sundown, near the Olive Tree of Herakles at the entrance of the sanctuary."

Footsteps sounded on the path into the grove behind them, and she turned to find another priest walking towards them.

"And what do we have here, a priest and a mercenary having a chat?" His manner was friendly, but his eyes were cold.

The stone-cutter cowered under the other priest's gaze. "May the gods be with you, Pleistos! I was just on my way to the archives when she bumped into me."

"Is that so? Might I ask what were you discussing so fervently?"

Kassandra took the opening. "The good priest here was teaching me how to heal sword wounds."

"And what is the treatment for sword wounds according to my friend?"

"You use dogs to lick the wounds clean," she answered.

"Very good! Don't give away all our tricks, Timoxenos. Who will bring offerings to the gods when our patients learn to heal themselves?"

"No, no, of course not," Timoxenos stammered. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must get to the archives." He bowed, then hurried away. He had placed himself in a great deal of danger to seek her out.

"You have your treatment, Eagle Bearer. Now please leave the Sanctuary. We have nothing else for you here."

"A shame to find a place of healing so unwelcome," she said, giving him an exaggerated bow. "But it shall be as you ask."

The Sanctuary was no longer safe for her to travel openly, but there was much she could do from the shadows. The long night of winter would provide them to her soon enough. She returned to the stable where she'd picketed Phobos, mounted up, and disappeared into the forest.

A little before sundown, she watched the Olive Tree of Herakles in the evening light, waiting to see if Timoxenos would arrive as he'd promised.

She saw him walking up the road, and met him beneath the branches of the enormous tree. He pulled a piece of white fabric out from inside his robes.

"Your mother left a blanket behind. We tried to return it, but she said it was too painful a memory." He held it out. "Take it."

She did, and her hands shook as she beheld a blanket she hadn't seen in twenty years. White fabric had turned dirty grey, stained with streaks of rust and brown. She remembered her mother's fingers tucking that fabric around her baby brother the night the Elder priest and the guards came for them. "How did you get this?" she asked, as she folded the blanket and slid it carefully inside her armor.

"I took it from the archi—" His eyes suddenly widened as he spotted something behind her. "Oh, no."

She turned. It was the priest who'd threatened her earlier, Pleistos, along with a burly-looking guard.

"So, Chrysis was right," Pleistos said. "You knew the rules, Timoxenos. You will suffer her wrath."

Kassandra pushed Timoxenos against the tree. "Stay behind me," she said, shifting position so he stood between her and the tree's massive trunk. Keeping him alive would complicate matters.

Pleistos pulled a dagger from his belt, and the guard hefted a poleaxe. She drew her spear and launched it at the priest in one smooth movement. Risky, but her reward was the sound of a gurgled gasp that let her focus on charging the guard. His body was already twisting back into a swing.

The head of the poleaxe slid into view, and then she was inside its reach, with her sword held high. The handle of the axe slammed against her armor as she chopped down at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. The impact of the axe handle against her ribs stole her breath and dropped her to her knees, but the guard went down with her, his head flopping over at an unnatural angle. She pulled her sword clear, and staggered to her feet and over to Pleistos.

Her spear jutted out from the priest's throat, and as her fingers wrapped around its handle, the blood craving wrapped her in its pleasures. Her ribs no longer ached and she smiled down at the dying man and said, "You chose poorly," as she pulled the blade from his neck.

Timoxenos appeared at her shoulder. "They would have killed us both."

She nodded, only half-listening as she bent down and used the point of her spear to sweep the guard's cloak aside. His armor was heavy and angular, stamped with an insignia of twined snakes.

The Cult. The pieces were beginning to fit into place.

She turned to Timoxenos. "You're no longer safe here. Do you have someplace you can go?"

"This is the only home I have."

"Then go to Hippokrates's clinic, and wait there while I deal with Chrysis. But first, I need a favor."

"Name it."

"Which room in the guesthouse is Mydon's?"

"Mydon? He's well guarded!" He looked down at her bloody armor and weapons. "But you won't have any trouble, I suppose. His chambers are the largest in the back of the building."

She gave him her thanks, then looked back at the lights of the Sanctuary flickering in the twilight. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed the men she'd killed were missing and raised an alarm.

That could not happen before she found Mydon.

She stowed her sword and spear and broke into a run, heading for the forest, the blood on her skin drying slowly in the cold wind.

.oOo.

The guesthouse was guarded, as Timoxenos had said it would be, with two sentries at the main entrance, one at the side entrance, and one at the servants' entrance. All wearing bright armor with Cult insignias.

She climbed the wall that shielded the servants' entrance from sight, high enough to sneak a look. The guard she'd seen in the doorway earlier was no longer there, perhaps on patrol within the building, or off having a piss. No matter; it only made things easier. She levered herself over the edge and dropped down the other side, wincing as the landing jarred her ribs. She kept in a crouch and moved to the wall to the right of the door. Then she held her breath and listened.

Footsteps on tile. Heavy. A man's tread approaching the door.

Her fingers closed around a stone and she stood up slowly, flattening herself against the wall. Most people looked to the right when they passed through an open doorway; a distraction would ensure this man did.

She tossed the stone as the footsteps reached the threshold, heard the clack as it landed and a sudden indrawn breath, and then the man stepped through the doorway looking away from her. She was on him in an instant, her spear opening his throat and her weight forcing him to the ground to keep him from thrashing.

The servants' foyer was dark and silent. A doorway on the other side opened into an atrium. She could see no other halls. Every guestroom would open to the atrium directly.

She hid within the shadows in the foyer and looked out across the atrium. Benches covered with pillows, lit braziers, delicate vases. All the trappings of hospitality, except for the armed guard standing watch next to a set of ornate double doors. The atrium was too open, the angles too poor for her to sneak up on him. She could use her spear to kill him, but leaving any blood in the open would be risky. There was no way to tell if all the guests had returned to their rooms for the night.

Sounds at the main entrance, followed by movement, as a young servant woman walked into the atrium carrying a jug. She walked up to the guard, exchanged quiet words, and then Kassandra heard the sound of the doors opening.

That was all the distraction she needed. She came up behind him as he was closing the doors, and as he turned back around she chopped him hard across his throat with the edge of her hand. She caught him as he fell, covered his mouth with one hand and hooked her arm under him, and dragged him back through the servants' foyer, dumping him next to the other guard's body. The strangled choking sounds he made gave her pause, and she knifed him quickly in the throat. She'd shed no tears for Cultists, but asphyxiation was a hard way to go.

Her path back to the doors was clear, and she opened them and slipped inside.

She found the young woman and the old priest in the middle of an embrace, so distracted with themselves that they didn't notice her come out from the shadows and lean up against a nearby wall. She folded her arms and watched them kiss and paw at each other. At this rate, she'd end up seeing something she absolutely didn't want to.

She cleared her throat.

The woman whirled around. "Guards!"

Kassandra examined her bloody fingernails. "They're dead," she said simply. She looked at the priest. "And you must be Mydon."

He let out a disconcerting moan. So she'd been told at least one true thing while she'd been in the Sanctuary.

"He doesn't speak," the servant said. Apparently she was used to speaking for him.

"So I've heard. I'm here to find out why."

"Chrysis did this to him."

"I thought he did this to himself."

"To prove his loyalty to her!"

"Now why would Chrysis want an Elder priest to cut out his tongue?"

"Mydon is a caring, generous man!"

"I don't care what kind of man he is. And now I want answers from him, not you." She fixed her gaze upon him. "Do you remember Myrrine of Sparta, and the baby she brought here years ago?"

He nodded. Yes.

"Did you save the baby?"

No.

"Did she tell you where she was going after?"

No.

She put together all the pieces she'd gathered. "I know why Chrysis made you cut out your tongue. The night my mater brought my brother here, you and your priests thought he was dead. And Chrysis didn't want you telling the story because she took the baby, didn't she? She made you cut out your tongue to hide the truth."

Yes. Yes. Yes.

"Mydon told me how the Spartan woman wept. Held the baby in her arms, sang to him, before finally leaving him to the gods."

"But Chrysis took him instead. Where is she?"

"There's an altar and a small temple near the statue of Apollo Maleatas, up on the bluff overlooking the valley. People take their sick babies there to be healed."

Mydon's eyes glistened with tears, and he clasped his hands together, bowed his head, and tried to speak. None of it was understandable.

Kassandra was suddenly tired of this place and its desperation. "People come to this Sanctuary to be healed — but I come here and find people dying without hope, priests without tongues, and babies left with a madwoman."

She would cut out this sickness at its source.

.oOo.

It was a long, hard climb to the top of the bluff, and once she reached the altar that stood upon it, she smelled blood clotting in the cold breeze. Someone had killed a golden eagle and left it splayed across the top of the altar. It wasn't Ikaros, she knew, but the threat was close enough. The anger she'd kept sheathed within her since she arrived at the Sanctuary pulled itself free and lanced into her blood, bright and burning.

The clouds overhead looked as if a giant beast had riven them with its claws, and moonlight filtered through their torn edges. The wind jostled the dead eagle's feathers. She scanned the top of the bluff, looking for the temple.

She only found a worn path leading away from the altar into the forest.

Suddenly the breeze picked up, and brought with it the sound of a baby crying. Her mind knew it was a trap, but her heart accelerated anyway, and she started running up the path, following the sound.

Nyx had stolen the color from the forest, cut the trees into slashes of black and the underbrush to mottled granite. Beams of light slanted through the cutouts and sparkled in droplets of water scattered by her passage.

Her heart drummed in perfect, relentless time, and her breath came easily, fueling her long muscles to plant, and push, plant, and push as the path gently curved, and the forest thinned, and she saw orange specks of light bobbing in the far distance.

The path opened into a small clearing, and she felt the attackers before she saw them, twisting aside as a dark form dropped from the tree above her. A blade whipped past her ear and smashed into the armor across her left shoulder. Fire bloomed in the joint, shooting tendrils of pain up her neck and down into her chest. She dropped to the ground and rolled into the underbrush, heard the smack of metal against the dirt where she'd just been, and she kicked out, feeling her greave sink into meaty flesh.

She rolled again, then climbed to her feet with her spear in her good hand. There were two armored outlines in front of her, swords glinting, one with a shield and the other dual-wielding a dagger. She swapped her spear to her left hand, biting back a hiss as fire cascaded down her arm, and drew her sword with her right. Pain could be ignored, pushed aside. She'd let her anger fill its place.

She backpedaled, drawing them into the trees. Shield and Dagger. Shield was limping, and she edged around to his weak side, her senses open and ready. His sword-arm tensed, and she backpedaled another step, putting tree branches between her and Dagger and making Shield come to her. His sword sliced down in a silver arc and she raised her spear to meet it. Their blades clashed, and then she sank down instead of pushing back against him, letting his follow-through pull him off-balance above her as she swung her sword around and cut his legs out from under him.

The momentum from her swing lifted her upwards, and she bounced to her feet with her weapons raised in time to deflect a rapid series of sword and dagger strikes.

Her opponent was good. Disciplined. Moved like a woman, with a woman's fluid quickness. They traded attacks: quick, testing strikes. Kassandra kept moving, kept circling, and she could feel the winds shift around them as they moved between the trees. She sensed stillness behind her, and she stepped back, back, inviting the arc of the woman's sword, waiting for commitment to the swing. She ducked. The sword bit deep into the trunk of the tree, and Kassandra's spear sank deep into the woman's side, just above her belt. The woman died with a sigh, as if surprised by the sudden turn of events.

Kassandra took a few steadying breaths and let the warm wave of satisfaction lave the jagged edges of pain in her shoulder smooth. She'd been careless. She shook off the memory of metal whipping past her ear.

As her heartbeat settled and its pounding in her ears faded, she could hear the baby's cry louder than ever, coming from the temple that was now visible through the trees, its columns haloed in torchlight.

She kept her weapons unsheathed as she approached, and she paused before its heavy wooden doors. Stillness, but for the baby's desperate wails.

The doors opened reluctantly, and she ignored the flare of pain as she pushed them apart and stepped into the temple, breathing in the heavy scent of incense. The air felt strangely greasy.

A small marble altar sat at the back of the chamber, its surface strewn with dried flowers and a few scattered oil lamps. Behind the altar stood Chrysis, with the baby cradled in her arms. The priestess's eyes glittered as they lingered on Kassandra's bloody weapons.

"Killing seems to run in your bloodline, oh mighty Kassandra."

"Keep my name out of your mouth, snake."

"I still remember the night your mother brought me my child. So sad and pathetic, crying in the rain. Had I known then that Myrrine had two children... but, here you are. My family is complete."

"Your family is built from lies. You let my mother believe her baby was dead."

"But he was. How she wept after his little heart stopped beating. But then I took care of him. Placed him on this very altar. Screamed for the gods to spare his life. And they listened."

Kassandra took a step closer. "What did you do with my brother?"

"I saved his life. By teaching him to suffer. To know pain so well that he would learn to welcome it like an old friend. And now, he will teach all of the Greek world to know that pain."

"You... tortured a child?" Kassandra didn't want to believe what she was hearing, but it explained too much not to be true. Her fingers tightened around the handle of the spear, and white-hot pain seared within her shoulder.

"I taught him to survive! This world is cruel. It demands strength, or death. So I gave him strength." Chrysis rocked the baby in her arms. "That's something your weakling of a mother could never do. I let her crawl off to Korinth, but that's before I knew about your bloodline." Her eyes returned to Kassandra, looking at her hungrily. "But she can't hide forever. She will give us more children."

"I'll run my spear through your throat before that happens. And you'll pay for all the pain you've caused my family."

Chrysis threw back her head in laughter. "This world is pain. I gave Deimos strength to cope while your mother whined to the gods like a pig on an altar. I'm more a mother to Deimos than she ever was. I can be a mother to you, too, Kassandra."

"You're insane. You bring nothing but suffering."

"You talk of suffering and yet look at you now, drenched in blood. How many did you kill just to come here?" Those mad, piercing eyes stared at her. "Tell me, Kassandra, do you enjoy it?"

For once, Kassandra had nothing to say.

Chrysis smiled benevolently. "You're a killer, just like your brother. Here, let me show you." She placed the baby on the altar, then swept the lamps to the floor before Kassandra could move.

The entire chamber went up in a fireball. Kassandra threw her arms in front of her face as the wave of heat enveloped her — and swirling out from that heat came great howls of laughter. The mad priestess meant for Kassandra to choose: the baby, or her vengeance.

She waded into the inferno, its hot teeth gnawing at her as she looked for the altar. She almost ran into it before she saw its outline through the smoky flames, and she scooped the baby into her arms and dashed out the back doors into fresh air.

Chrysis was long gone, as she'd expected, and she kept running until she felt grass under her feet and the heat from the burning temple faded to warmth. Then her legs gave out and she stumbled to her knees, barely able to hang on to the baby cradled in her good arm. The shawl she wore over her armor was singed and smoking. She lifted the baby closer, and tentatively pulled its wrapping away from its face.

The baby was a boy, and he looked as if he'd frozen solid, his eyes scrunched shut and his mouth wide, and for a moment Kassandra feared the worst. But then his eyes snapped open — eyes of wet, milky blue that drifted around without focus -- and he took a breath, and then another. He began to wriggle, and then fuss. "Hey, little one. It's okay," she murmured.

Kassandra knelt there, scorched and aching in the moonlight, and she rocked the baby in her arms, and began to sing him a song.

Part of the Elegiad. Go back to the previous story, or on to the next...

[queenxxxsupreme]

I wanna hear more abt ur inspiration for darceria

Omg I love love love this question so much!! Also I apologize for how long this is. I just really loved this💕

So with Darceria I had been messing around with characters in my head the second I decided I wanted to write a fic about my baby Geralt (which happened to be when I was watching Betrayer Moon). At first, she wasn't an oracle because I hadn't even thought of that, of making that group of essentially magical beings. I'll explain that a little later. She was originally really insignificant. She wasn't a princess of a fallen kingdom, she wasn't blind, she could see the future. She was bland and I didn't like that. I wanted more. I wanted to make her more interesting and give her shape and definition.

So from there, I made her blind. I have shitty eye sight myself and it's progressively getting worse so I was sort of playing off of that. I've messed with blind characters before and when I say that I mean that I have written out different characters with different personalities, different traits, and different love interests that all were blind. None of those characters were lucky enough to make it further than rough drafts and charts and essentially they've been left in two binders that I keep with all my ideas for characters and plots and fics because seriously I think of new ideas every day and if I acted on impulse more than I already did, I'd have an insanely high amount of fan fics going at once.

(Fun fact, Wattpad is where I started and at one point on that platform I had close to fifteen stories going at once. That number has since been cut to ten after I finished a few stories. Yes I have an issue and yes I acknowledge it 😂🙈🤦‍♀️)

So back to Darceria. I decided to make her blind because I knew it would be difficult to write for her and I love the challenge. I also knew her being in the time period and the society she is in would introduce quite a few conflicts just because of her being blind and conflicts/problems are what drive stories in my opinion.

The oracle half of her character came from a relatively new idea I had in the last year for a Sam Winchester x OC fic. The character was blind and could see the future but how she saw the future was more prophetic and more physical. She'd have nose bleeds and she'd cough up blood and wake up covered in blood in her sleep. That physical part ended up turning into a character for a Pietro Maximoff x OC fic I have going on Wattpad right now. That character just isn't blind.

But when I thought of giving Darceria some sort of supernatural-y power, seeing the future came to mind. I thought it would really really awesome to take her sight but give her the ability to see the future. Sort of poetic/sort of psychotic on my half 😂

Oracle means a few different things but the meaning I took it as was a priest or priestess acting as a medium through whom advise or advise was sought from the gods. I really liked this so I started messing around with what an oracle would look like in the world of the Witcher. I thought about how an oracle would be useful and the first thing that came to my mind was a mage. Mages are advisors to kings and queens. They are heavily knowledged in science/magic and politics. Rulers depend on them for a lot and seek their advise. We saw in season 1 how important mages were to rulers. I highly doubt that without Fringilla's help Nilfgaard wouldn't have gotten as far as they did or it would have taken them much much longer to do so.

I sort of created oracles as the sister to the witch. They naturally have visions, naturally see things that have yet to happen. They have instincual feelings that they can trust. Like when it comes to chosing maybe going down this road or that road, they can sense which would be the wiser choice. It's a part of who they are genetically. But they also have strong magic genes too. They can cast spells to help see the future and that sort of thing. The oracles are just focused more on seeing the future and preserving the kingdom for the long run. (I have so much I want to say about this last sentence because of Darceria and her role in the fall of Romavek but EEK I CAN'T SPOIL)

I wanted to make oracles rare, to make them less known than witches and mages because having just anyone be an oracle would suck the fun out of it in my opinion. So I made it so that oracles are born every half century. They are also extremely rare in the story just for the simple fact that Romavek is the only known place to ever inhabit oracles. Romavek was very secretive and very solitary, even more so than Cintra. Romaveks (as we will see in future updates) very rarely left their country, their kingdom. They had no reason to. They didn't participate in wars unless absolutely necessary. I won't go much further into detail about that because I don't want to accidentally spoil anything.

I also wanted Darceria to be important, to have a destiny of her own that didn't involve Geralt entirely. So that's how I decided she'd be an oracle, a super important piece to Romavek culture and hierarchy.

When I was messing with her characterization, I played around before she was an oracle about the possibility of her being royalty. We know Geralt has sort of a bad habit of finding princesses and rescuing them/killing them (RIP Renfri my baby). So I thought hey what if she's a princess. Well then I saw quite a few different little stories where the OC or reader was a princess to a currently ruling country like Cintra or Kovir or some made up country. Whatever. So I was like well damn I don't want my story to be just another Geralt x princess!OC stories.

So she became a blind princess born with the gifts of an oracle.

As for her personality, I really like writing soft characters who know when to be tough. I am also a sucker for just writing asshole characters. Luckily, Darceria was not an asshole character of mine. She's soft and and she's quiet. She's observant and careful and nurturing. She doesn't like being babied or treated like she's nothing more than her disability. She's very independent but at the same time, she relies heavily on Zephyrina at times. Darceria is also cunning. She uses her disability to her advantage when needed. Like in the proglue, we see her faking being completely blind when she runs into Thominson and spills his drink on him. She fakes being more blind than she actually is to anger him, to get him out of the room. Also she has a very upsetting childhood. Though she was a princess in a thriving kingdom, her childhood is sad and depressing and tragic in a sense. Again we will see more in the future 🙈 I don't want to spoil anything!!

She's observant even though she is blind and she is observant through her other senses. Her "sight" as she explained to Ciri in chapter 1(I think) is very similar to how the creators and writers of Daredevil wrote how he sees in season 1 of Daredevil on Netflix. He sees fire. Darceria sees shapes of objects through sound and she feels them when she touches. Her senses are highly advanced, very much like Matt Murdock/Daredevil.

And as for her physical appearance, the white eyes was something that I thought was really cool. I was watching Supernatural when I saw Abbadon's eyes flicker to white. I thought it would be super cool for Geralt to come across a being with eyes that are different than everyone else's. He could sympathize with her, with how everyone stares at her when they see that her eyes are empty and white.

I absolutely love dark red curly hair (@ Natasha Romanoff) I hadn't seen very many redheads in the first season with the exception of Visenna (Geralt's mom) and Coral, the ginger mage who clenched her fist and kills an entire squadron of Nilfgaardian soldiers at the Battle of Sodden. So when I think of Darceria, I usually picture Scarlett Johannson as Natasha Romanoff in Iron Man 3. (fun Fact: Zephyrina's face in my head looks like Adelaide Kane)

Dareceria's name came to me in a really funny way. I was researching different midieval names and when I didn't like any of those names. Then I came across Daria. It's Polish and means kingly. I didn't like how close it was to Dara so I started adding different things to the end of the name. There was Darialene but that was what too much of a tongue twister and didn't flow off the tongue as nicely as I wanted it to. Dariara came across and in my head I pronounced it Dar-ee-air-ee-uh. So it's not that hard to pronounce but again when you say it out loud it doesn't flow nicely. Then I changed the name completely to something else entirely. Then I went back to Daria and started messing with it more. I messed with it for probably three days before finding Darceria. I personally think it fits in well with the names in the show.

I'm so glad you asked this @wayward-dream !!! I really really loved answering this💕💕sorry it ended up being so long though! I hope I answered you properly and I hope this makes sense!! Ask more questions if you need to please!!! I love answering this

[delicrieux]

-- valar dohaeris

                                        + all men must serve +                                                      chapter 3

pairing: jon snow x reader x various

summary: Tormund and Podrick try to get along with (Name)

warnings: none (i think) just swearing!

words: 2.7k

author’s note: this chapter is more light-hearted (kinda sorta not really)

tagging: @emmaamalie - @storiiteller​

feedback is always appreciated xoxo

masterlist | ch.2 | v. d. masterlist | buy me coffee☕

THE RED PRIESTESS FROM ASSHAI

The Hall is hot, humid, and full to the brim with people and their eager breaths. A small feast – the revival of Jon Snow and Lady Stark’s sudden visit – takes place in order to celebrate this victory before the storm. A great battle looms over the shoulders of the Starks and their loyal followers. A moment of happiness is what all of them deserve, especially before the call to arms.

You sit beside a timid round faced Podrick and a messy haired loud mouthed Tormund right across you. It was the Wildling’s idea to have you join them, as he had, eagerly at that, dragged you from the courtyard and shoved a goblet of dry, cheap wine into your hand. Its ruby surface is diluted and rose, bleak in front of your deep red garments. You are a red spring bird amongst the crows, shining like a midnight star, and for that reason alone you find men’s gazes wandering to you as the evening progresses, each look bolder than the last. Tormund had already drunk his wine, now filling himself more from the pitcher and spilling half of it on the table. He regards his slip of hand with a hearty laugh. Podrick beside you sips politely, his eyes shooting to Brienne of Tarth, the lady knight-to-be seated close to Sansa, set on never leaving the girl for too long.

“C’mon, drink up,” Tormund encourages, clinking his glass with yours and nearly knocking it over, “if you’re quick you might miss the fact that it tastes like piss.”

Podrick snorts into his drink, red-cheeked and giddy, as Tormund, in one impressive gulp, empties the glass, and then moves for the pitcher. You watch mildly impressed. This whole interaction is completely out of your element, and the stiffness in your neck, lack of movement, lack of even a shy glance outside the figures of these two men proves your discomfort visibly. Melisandre is nowhere to be seen, possibly locked away in her chamber, possibly watching the flames and the secrets which hide within them. You should have joined her, you ponder, staring at your full cup, you should be there with her, be preparing for what is instore for the future. You are here to help, not to mindlessly blabber and mingle with strangers you shall never see again.

“You seem unease, Miss.” Podrick comments, his voice gentle, concerned, as his brows knit together in wonder. You say nothing, uncertain if there is anything to say at all. Should you correct him? Lie? There is no point to it. Your fate is not intertwined with his; it would be a waste of time to even engage him. “Is our company…unpleasant?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Pond.” Tormund says, lowering the pitcher from his mouth, “Lady Red here’s probably used to somethin’ a lil’ more fancy than this shithole. Ain’t that right?” He looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to confirm his suspicions and prove just what a pompous royal you are: he had noticed you barely talking to anyone but the Lord Commander, and you and Melisandre rarely left the confinements of your chambers, and if you did, it was to watch eerily from the shadows as the men around you worked and swore.

“No.” You reply after a moment of hesitation, “I’ve…never been to a feast.” It is not a shameful admission, though his reaction ticks you.

“You what?” Tormund barks, laugher bubbling in his chest, “You a good liar, you know that?”

“It is true.” You persevere, voice unwavering, still cool, still unimpressed, “I am a priestess. There are no celebrations in the temple.”

“You mean to tell me that you’ve never had a drink before?” He raises a suspicious brow, “You buyin’ this, Poddick?”

“It’s Podrick.” The man nervously replies. Tormund merely dismisses him with a wave of his hand.

“Not wine, per se.” You say, raising your glass, curiously watching it, “I have had a drink of R’hllor’s Blood.” You catch his gaze, the pretty greens of his eyes twinkling in the firelight, “One sip and the whole world disappears into a cloud of smoke. And for the rest of the night you feel as if you are floating. There is no fear. Nor happiness. Simply a forever of tranquility.” You take a wary sip and regret it immediately. It is disgusting, “And then you awake, with no memory of what had happened. Some find it comforting. Others… unsettling. I say it’s better than drinking this.”

“I need me some of that.” Tormund hums, “You have it with you? Now?”

“Only for ritual purposes, I’m afraid.” You say, “And no. Did not think I would need it.”

“You’re a witch, aren’t you?” Podrick asks cautiously. You simply nod, “As in…A real one?”

“Does she look like a fuckin’ ghost to you?” Tormund questions, his voice rough and mirthful.

A small smile slips on your lips, “Not a ghost, I assure you. Though there are plenty of those that roam the Asshai rivers, hide in corners of old temples.”

“Sounds like a scary place.” Podrick comments.

It had never occurred to you, really, the prospect of fright associated with a city drowned in mist. It is always dark there, always gloomy, and even on the brightest days the sun is hazy purple and the clouds are a furious grey. The homes, castles, temples are built from glossy black stone which absorbs any shred of light that might touch it, creating a vacuum. The rivers are clear and ghastly, the waves of the sea crash in sounds of wails of drowned women, and the roads are always empty. From your room, if you were to gaze outside, you could see perhaps a few figures rushing from one place to another, hidden in cloaks and wearing masks. Then again, those might simply be illusions created by the fire.

“…People usually fear what they don’t understand.” You mutter, “Perhaps to foreigners it does sound a bit…odd. Then again, those who do not wish to study magic have no place there.”

“I don’t need fuckin’ magic when I got a sword.” Tormund starts, elated, as if telling a great tale, “One hand an axe, the other a blade. Cut your head off and stab you for good measure.” He winks, “Oh, you should see what’s beyond the wall. Freedom, is what it is. Freedom. Mountains of snow, the world seems fuckin’ endless. We move from place to place, wherefuckin’ever we like, and we don’t have to answer to any lord or lady. Do what we want, when we want. Beyond the wall is a beautiful fuckin’ place.”

“We?” You ask.

“Me and the Wildings. We travel together. We hunt together. You’d end up dead in a day out there alone.” He explains, near boastful, “And what about you? Form any prayer circles with the other ladies?”

“What Tormund is trying to say,” Podrick quickly intervenes, “is if you and the other priestess’s are close. You and the Red Woman seem amiable.” He finishes with a friendly smile, “Pardon us.” He shoots a glance at Tormund, he already opening his mouth, “We’re just curious. Ashai—Am I saying that correctly? - is so far away and…No one knows much of it.”

Close? You suppose that some might think so, but that would be untrue. You know of Cordelia from the Yi Ti(1), a woman with burgundy hair and chilling ice blue eyes. You have spoken to her once during a ritual, and her voice was permanently struck by sorrow, but melodious and pretty. Then there was Sheena from Nefer(2), a tall, inked woman, whose voice was rasp and low, reminding you of gravel crunching under your feet. But you would never consider them as friends, nor foes, simply other women serving the same God but with different purposes.

Then, of course, there is Melisandre, though friendship between you two is also not something that can be placed. She is more of a mentor, an authoritative figure that watches over you, but her loyalties lie and always will lie with the God of Light and Fire. The nature of your profession does not allow for relationships; there must be no ties to the real world. It is only temporary, after all.

“No,” You admit, suddenly struck with deep sadness as your eyes wander around the room, ears ring painfully with laughter. You feel incredibly small, and your shoulders cave with an exhale, “No, we are not…close.”

Tormund’s brows shoot upwards, “So, you mean to tell me, Lady Red, is that you have no fuckin’ friends?”

You look around again, as if only now noticing how tightly knit this group is, how everyone is conversing eagerly, filling themselves silly with drink, shrilling first notes of a song heard long ago.

“I suppose I don’t.” You confess, “No, I do not have any friends, as you call it. The Asshai’i are…not warm people. And we don’t talk a lot. We are but a small population wandering the maze of the city. We rarely meet. Some of us sail and never return. There is no time for…friendships to form.”

“Sounds lonely.” Podrick mutters after a pause, even Tormund not daring to break it. They note your worry struck face, as if they, too, are living this revelation along with you. It is lonely, indeed, but never have you noticed just how much. You should not care for such things. You did not even think of them before this dreaded conversation.

You have never been abroad, Asshai being your only point of reference. You know little of Westerosi customs and Melisandre had offhandedly once said that one learns these things with time, though a certain detachment must always be in place. The Red Priests must be ready to do anything and everything upon their God’s command. Relationships would only get in the way of that philosophy.

Tormund smacks your shoulder crudely, making you flinch and halt your train of dreaded thought. You glance up at him, finding him grinning from ear to ear, “It’s a good thing we found you then, ey? Cause you’d wish you never had friends if you were to talk to those.” He motions with his head vaguely to the Watchmen, his eyes twinkling with mirth. You crack a smile, secretly thankful for his weirdly convivial words.

JON SNOW

The first embers of happiness light up her face, and he eases in his chair, watching wistfully from afar. Jon had wanted to come to her aid once he saw Tormund drag her helplessly, and Podrick fretfully try to make her feel welcomed, even if evidently she did not want to be a part of their small group. He watched as they drank and she listened to their spouting, later engaging in conversation with Tormund which was never a good idea. He is brash, and zestful, and at times humorous, yet she seemed awfully cautious of her words and bearing no real connection to others, and Jon feared she might not understand, or take offense to something the Wildling had said.

His fear had melted when he noticed that she started to smile as she visibly relaxed in their presence. She raises her cup to her lips for the second time and takes a bolder sip. Tormund cheers happily. Jon grins to himself.

“Go talk to her.” Sansa says, startling him. A smile plays in her voice, “I saw you stealing glances at her all evening.”

He clears his throat, “Yeah, I saw you staring, too.”

Sansa shrugs, “She does stand out amongst the crowd. That and she looked properly uncomfortable.”

“That’s just part of Tormund’s charm, I suppose.” He adds, unsure of what to say. She regards him with a bored look. “What?” He asks.

With her head, Sansa motions to Ladybug, “Go.”

“You go.” He says defensive, “You’re…a girl. You probably have more in common with her anyway.”

Sansa almost rolls her eyes, “I doubt it. The only reason she gave me the Wolf was because you told her I liked needlework. I don’t think she did it because she actually enjoys it.” Her pretty eyes wander to the Red Woman, “She did not strike me as a type to enjoy anything, really.” Ladybug’s laugher rings in the hall like a bell, some men turning to her in wonder. “I suppose she is more approachable than the other one.”

“She’s kind,” Jon says, “if not a bit…”

“Tactless?” Sansa finishes for him. He nods sullenly. Her lips quirk upwards into a teasing smile, “See? You two have a lot in common already.”

“I am not tactless.” He retorts.

“Then prove me wrong and go.” She nudges him, “Come on, before your Wildling friend pours her another glass of this awful wine.”

THE RED PRIESTESS FROM ASSHAI

The moon smiles down at you, half in bloom, its radiant light making the Wall glow. Wind howls in your ears, yet the cold air is refreshing after an evening of confinement within a room full of drinking people. The sweet scent of wine fades as the heavy door closes behind you, along with it snippets of laughs and chatter. The whole world grows pleasantly silent; the night is dark and starless.

Again you sense a restless evil which’s fingers reach from over the Wall, its watchful eye observing your small frame from the sky. You feel it – the shrill of the north, the frost collecting on bones, the sinister unease struck by peering into the void – and you pull your robes closer to your body, trying to keep warm, to feel comfort. Despite the eerie mirage in your mind, you feel a sense of familiarity. Darkness. Wisps of cool wind that sounds like whispers. If the structures were made from stone which can hold no reflection, then you would almost be certain you are back home.

Home. You have no home. Your home is wherever the Lord of Light deems it being. But overhearing Lady Stark tell Lord Snow of Winterfell with such conviction and such tenderness, it made you reconsider the meaning of the world entirely.

The door behind you opens and shuts once more, light spilling on the snow under your feet. You sense him before you see him, his aura now too familiar to be mistaken for anyone else. Jon Snow comes to join you by the railing, silent, brooding, following your gaze to the Wall, perhaps wandering what creatures hide behind it. He clears his throat in an attempt to catch your attention, and you tilt your head gently in his direction, “Saw you talking with Tormund.” He starts trying to sound impartial, “He means no harm, I assure you.” His concern comes out a bit awkward, and he avoids your gaze religiously because of it.

You nod timidly, your mind drifting back to the conversation, “I know.” You say softly, your voice carried by the wind, “It was…enlightening.” For a moment he figures you are joking, and snorts, but then he realises you are serious and hurriedly fixes a thoughtful expression, “You are lucky to have him as a friend. He will aid you in future battles.”

“Saw that in the fire?”

“No. It’s just…what friends do.”

A few snowflakes spiral from the sky; they land on your rosy cheek and kiss the skin with their cool touch. A few more spray the ground, your shoulders, tangle in his curly hair. The two of you move closer to one another, or perhaps he moves closer to you or vice versa, but the furs on his shoulder gently brushes yours and you smile lightly. He assumes you are pleased with the pretty sight of a starting storm. He is only partly wrong.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.” You admit.

“It… doesn’t snow in Asshai?” He asks lamely.

You want to tell him that no, it does not, that it only rains ashes and that they are hot and foul smelling, and that they burn your skin. Alas, you settle with, “For R’hllor’s sake, read a book, Jon Snow.”

He coughs a laugh. You smile to yourself. He ushers you inside when the storm picks up.

(1) Yi Ti is said to be the richest kingdom in Essos (2) Nefer is a underground city of necromancers

thank you for reading xoxo