#and my immediate thought was that I was beholding something powerful and majestic

[ficandkaboodle]

I’m trying not to get ahead of myself.

But man.

I could easily imagine being a young and naive convent girl, lonely and confused in her efforts, praying deep into the night in the garden, hands clasped as you weep into the universe for direction, a guardian, a shepherd to guide you towards the path you are meant to walk. And one night, you look up and see this . . .

. . . And you believe your prayers have been answered by the presence of this great and terrible angel.

[celestialarchon]

The Celestial Archon

Chapter One: A Storm of Stars

Genshin Impact x F!reader

In the first chapter, you may find the mystery archon described in a way that doesn’t fit you. That’s okay, it will change to each individual’s own tastes with time. The archon is described a certain way for reasons regarding the story line!

WARNINGS: lots of genshin spoilers, mentions of blood/violence, & mentions of injury.

tag list! @pebblegwn @krexpe @rockinaflock @creation-magician @noythe @weightlessrose @kclremin @vievi @simpinforkirari @red-riots-crocs

Our story began when Mona, the esteemed astrologist made a bold declaration. The stars foretold the return of a mysterious eighth archon. With this information, the most influential people of Mondstat and Liyue set a plan into action. The beloved traveler and his sidekick were quickly dragged into the preparations for the Celestial Archon. Aether and Paimon were looking forward to resting after weeks of hard work but unfortunately were interrupted by a star falling from the heavens. And so, we continue onward with our adventure.

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Aether’s legs were sore, his knees began to buckle as he finally made it to the entrance of dawn winery. He yelped, falling forwards and closed his eyes preparing for the impact. It never came as two sets of hands grasped the boy and steadied him. Diluc, the esteemed owner of Dawn Winery sighed as his brother gently removed the mysterious young woman from Aether’s back. The red headed man scowled as the traveler’s knees buckled once more, catching the now unconscious boy.

The knights of favonious stood outside the winery, watching the two men carry the weakened traveler and mystery lady. With the stars still falling in the distance it was quite a sight to behold. Mona gasped as Kaeya approached, the woman in his arms still still sleeping. Her hair was long and wild, strange silvery tattoos danced on her skin, and her body was frail. Kaeya tried to be gentle with her, holding her bridal style but he could feel her losing strength and the warm blood from a wound staining his shirt.

Noelle rushed forward to remove Aether from Diluc, “My apologies Master Diluc, but this young lady needs a free room immediately.”

Diluc nodded, grimacing at the sight of the wounded woman in his brother’s arms. He pushed the doors to Dawn Winery open, making his way to the nearest guest room. Kaeya followed him and Jean yanked her younger sister along. The room was simple with a bed, night stand, and single chair. Kaeya set the woman down on the bed carefully, and rolled her over to see the back of her top soaked.

“Kaeya, go wash up.” Jean ordered, unsheathing her sword.

Diluc steered his brother out of the room while Jean got to work. With speed and precision, Jean’s sword cut the cloth away from the injury. Her eyes widened and she stepped back as the wound as freed. Barbara peeked around her sister and felt nausea building up. Noelle entered the room to see the two sisters in shock. Jean’s eyes were filled with a mixture of sadness and disgust.

“Did she have wings?” Barbara whispered, eyes never leaving the back of the woman.

“No, this isn’t a tear. Somebody or something did this to her,” Jean gritted her teeth, “they carved it into her.”

Noelle glanced over them to see something incredibly awful. There were two deep and wide gashes starting at her shoulder blades and meeting at her tailbone to make an upside down v symbol. Her breathing was shallow as the air hit the open wound. Barbara made her way to the bedside to infuse the wound with hydro energy and try to help the pain.

“Noelle!” Jean barked, “Find the Alchemists and tell Albedo to set up a direct teleport point here. Bring Sucrose here, we will need all the help we can get.”

Noelle nodded and dashed out the door, nearly colliding with the knight’s librarian. Lisa frowned but ignored the rushed girl and stepped into the room.

“Lisa,” Jean sighed as the woman walked in.

Lisa’s hand found its way to the dandelion knight’s shoulder, “Yes, acting grandmaster?”

“Please send word to Liyue Harbor that we need the aid of their best herbalist right now. This is urgent. You may also inform the adepti and Zhongli of the archon’s arrival but we need aid now.” Jean’s tone was serious, it struck a chord of anxiety in Lisa.

Without a word, Lisa strode out of the room and began to do as she was asked. Barbara continued to ease the pain of the sky goddess but grew more worried each second. The wound was infected. Sucrose burst in soon after, tears forming at the sight before her.

After what seemed like an eternity, Liyue Harbor’s esteemed top herbalist arrived with a small zombie girl. Together, the best healers from both countries began to work hard. They poured all their energy into their work and successfully removed the infection. By the time the sun began to come up, the wound was rapid healed but scarred terribly.

Though morning approached, the temporary residents of Dawn Winery found themselves crawling into bed to get some rest. Jean didn’t want to leave the eight archon’s side but was convinced to by her loving sister. The healers slept all day and all night long, missing the arrival of Liyue’s highest regarded people and adepti. Not a single soul dared to peak at the mysterious goddess as she slept, in fear of interrupting her much needed peace.

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24 Hours had passed since the arrival of the eighth archon. The herbalists and knights began to wake finally as morning approached. Unfortunately, when they went to check on the strange woman and her injuries, the room was empty. Dread set over Dawn Winery with the goddess of the stars missing once more.

Noon soon came to pass but there was no sign of the Celestial Archon. Everyone had split up to search for her but had no luck. Aether was frustrated and panicked as he fell onto the grass. Suddenly a large gust of wind blew him over, Paimon clutched to his hair as a winged blue beast shot across their line of vision.

“Dvalin?” Venti stood abruptly, “Could it be..”

Realization hit Aether, “Let’s go! We need to follow him!”

Aether, Venti, Kaeya, and Lisa trailed behind the dragon. Paimon screamed at them to slow down but they were too focused to care. Finally, out of breath, they stopped. Dvalin had landed on the edge of a cliff, his head leaned down to press his snout against the cheek of a beautiful woman. Her hair was still long and wild but not unkempt. Her eyes shone bright like stars and her skin seemed to glow under the sunlight. Aether was awestruck. Was that really the same person he rescued only a day before?

The wind carried her laughter as the majestic beast snuggled up to her. Her hands came up to stroke his scales as her feet left the ground. She truly was floating. Starstruck, Aether and the knights of favonious could only stare. Venti, however, burst forward with a gleeful giggle. The celestial archon turned as the bard crashed into her. Dvalin rested his head atop of hers as her arms wrapped around the childlike god.

“Don’t worry, Barbatos,” She reassured, “I missed you, too.”

“You scared me, you stupid supernova!” Venti nuzzled his face into her chest.

Aether shivered as a growl tore through the air. The noise startled him enough, he fell right on his ass. Xiao shot forwards, ripping the anemo archon off of the celestial archon.

“You bastard drunk,” Xiao’s face was dark, “Don’t touch her as you please.”

“Ehe,” Venti giggled as the adeptus held him by the collar.

Aether stood and sighed, gazing at the shocked woman. He turned, hearing footsteps behind him. Zhongli had found them and the remaining adepti trailed behind him. The eighth archon’s mouth was agape. She flung herself at Xiao, tackling him. Venti escaped the yaksha as the goddess fell ontop of him.

“Oi,” She grinned clutching onto him, “I think I even missed your shitty attitude, pretty boy.”

Xiao’s face was red as he grumbled, “Just shut up, space case.”

Zhongli clicked his tongue, impatient. He pulled the goddess off of the yaksha and embraced her. His sudden affection made her cheeks flush but she returned the hug. Zhongli’s arms tightened around her, fearful that he would wake up from a dream. After a few moments he released her only for the poor bright eyed goddess to be swarmed by the adepti.

She giggled as they each took turns showing her how much she was missed. Even as Cloud Retainer scolded her, the smile never left her face.

“What exactly happened to you anyways?” The female crane adepti grilled the goddess.

A nervous laugh escaped the young woman, “Well, I kept thinking about how my heart was restless. So I guess I kept walking. Eventually this strange darkness consumed me and I couldn’t go anywhere. It was as if all the evil gods I struck down were exacting their revenge. Some time ago, the void I was stuck in opened up a bit and I escaped but was forced into something even worse. There were terrible monsters and powerful beings who sought my abilities I guess. They mistook me as a new goddess and attacked me.”

Aether’s ears perked up. She was talking about the Abyss, he was sure of it. His heart hurt at the way she tried to mask the pain of the endeavor. She reminded him of Lumine a bit.

“So anyways,” She continued, “I ran again and got caught in this space. It wasn’t bad, but nothing happened. I mean nothing, I was actually stuck for real that time and the space seemed to shift around me even though I couldn’t move. Time didn’t pass and my thoughts came to a stop, too. Then I was forced out and I think I was falling? That blonde kid picked me up but I was weakened. Sorry I don’t remember much but that.”

“Forced out, hm..” Cloud Retainer seemed stuck in her thoughts.

“That’s not quite right,” The goddess sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, “It’s more like it shattered? I think I fell with the pieces of it.”

“How strange,” Kaeya started, “It almost sounds like a domain.”

Zhongli nodded, “It does. Let’s not discuss this any further for now, it seems to be a painful topic.”

The celestial archon smiled gently at the geo archon, embracing him again. Zhongli stiffened but wrapped his arms around her again. Aether felt Xiao shift next to him, he glanced at the adeptus and had to restrain his laughter. He didn’t think the rough adeptus could ever pour, but there he was pouting.

After exchanging greetings and parting with Dvalin, the group headed back to Dawn Winery. Paimon had already taken a liking to the goddess of stars. Aether couldn’t blame the chubby fairy, the archon seemed oddly mortal to him. The other Archons carried themselves with grace and authority. The Celestial Archon was strangely human. Her appearance was godly and she did have a sort of divine aura to her but she was far more down to earth then even Venti.

“So why did you leave so suddenly?” Aether’s curious eyes met hers as they hiked back to the winery.

“I, uh, well the sun was calling to me.” A bashful smile formed on her lips.

Aether raised his eyebrows, “Calling to you?”

“Yeah,” her eyes were a bit distant, “It’s as if it was reminding me that the sun is a star, too. It willed me to bask in it I suppose.”

Paimon giggled at the archon’s clumsy wording. Aether pondered over what she said, thinking it was unique. Dawn Winery came into view and the traveler noticed that everybody else had returned. Chaos ensued at their arrival.

“Ahem,” Venti cleared his throat, “This is the eighth archon. The Celestial Archon, Seraphim. I call her supernova though cause she’s beautiful and destructive.”

“Hello! Let’s skip formalities, feel free to call me by my chosen name!” She introduced herself cheerfully.

Everybody chose to ignore Venti’s comment on the goddess being destructive. She was far too kind and gracious to be anything of that sort. Aether was the only one among them who noticed Venti’s words. They filled him with curiosity.

“I’m so hungry,” Paimon groaned.

“Oh, I missed food!” The bubbly goddess yelled, “Let’s eat! Can we eat?”

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The dining room was filled with chatter as they celebrated the arrival of the long lost archon. Paimon was stuffing her face as Venti chugged another bottle of dandelion wine, hiccuping. Diluc sighed as Kaeya poured another glass for himself with rosy cheeks. The scarlet haired man found himself looking for the celestial archon again. No matter how heard he tried to distract himself, his thoughts and eyes always found their way to her.

She was levitating above her seat, giggling as people brought her food to try. Xiao was uncharacteristically calm and looked happy even, as he fed her bits of almond tofu. Zhongli was smiling at her as she took sips of tea. The goddess picked up the small zombie girl and sat her in her lap, letting the child introduce “coco goat” milk to her. Things were going well overall.

Diluc watched as the kind hearted goddess set the child down and excused herself. She glided towards the terrace with a lingering sadness in her eyes. The esteemed Ragnvindr swiped the unopened bottle of dandelion his brother was reaching for and uncorked it. For a moment, the man was hesitant but his legs carried him to the open terrace anyways.

“Hello, Mister Diluc,” The goddess greeted him without turning to look at him.

“Pardon me,” He stopped at her side, “I don’t mean to intrude. This is a gift for you, Dawn Winery’s special.”

She glanced at him through her peripheral vision and held out her hand. He sighed and placed the bottle in her slender hand, watching her take a sip. She returned to staring at the stars above, sipping on the wine. The tycoon couldn’t help but stay by her side, seeing the look of longing she had. He felt that if he left her, she might just disappear again.

“It’s good,” She murmured, closing her eyes.

“Thank you,” Diluc tried to hold back the smile growing on his face, “I appreciate that you’re savoring it and not gulping it down like certain alcoholics.”

A snort escaped from the girl, “Barbatos the esteemed anemo archon and local alcoholic.”

Diluc snickered at her comment. She was so surreal. Everything about her felt dreamy, it was truly enchanting.

“I can leave you alone with your thoughts, I am deeply sorry if I disturbed you.” The man sighed and turned, but was stopped by her fingertips grazing his wrist.

“Diluc Ragnvindr, you are not a bother,” She sighed, “I am just a fool who would rather look for answers in constellations than face the reality before me. For me, not much time has passed since the Archon War. So you’ll have to forgive me if I seem cold, I simply am frustrated and depressed by the changes in Teyvat. I missed thousands of years and it will haunt me for a long while.”

Diluc’s jaw nearly hit the floor at the bluntness of the woman in front of him. He was empathetic to her situation, after distancing himself from everyone around him he had moments of sadness as well. He was also fascinated by her adoration for the stars.

“Do the stars give you answers?” He asked quietly.

She laughed, “Not always, but i’m able to read the constellations of an individual, even you Darknight Hero.”

“Oh, fucks sake that’s mortifying!” He groaned and then leaned in, “Wait. I have a constellation? How much do you know?”

“Your constellation is Noctua, and it’s fairly easy to read. I know that you pretend like everybody is bothering you at all times, because you don’t want to be disappointed again as your brother disappointed you after the loss of your father. You feel the need to be strong and never seen as weak, somewhere between inferiority complex and social anxiety.” Her words made his heart pound.

“But,” She continued smiling, “I understand. I also have daddy issues of sorts. And it often feels easier to put up those walls.”

Diluc was speechless. Their conversation was interrupted by clapping, as Kaeya made his way out of the shadows. Any vulnerability left Diluc at his brother’s entrance. He quickly exited the balcony seeing Kaeya’s smug expression.

“You are interesting,” his voice was almost sultry, “Tell me, what do you see from my constellation.”

The goddess gave him a sour look. She was quiet for a minute, eyes narrowed at the man. He waited, expectantly.

“Pavo Ocellus,” She sighed, “A complicated constellation. You do carry a heavy burden savior of Khaenri'ah. So much of you is shrouded in mystery, although that’s fitting isn’t it? I don’t know enough to see you as a threat, however your dishonest habits and constant tests you put people through seems irritating.”

“Oh, you’re bold,” He grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “Bold, beautiful, and busty. Just my type.”

“And you say things like that so casually,” She pushed his hand away, making her way back to the dining hall.

“Sir Kaeya, you should be careful saying such things. If you aren’t, somebody might fall for you. It’s like a honey trap. Give the wrong person the wrong idea and you’ll find yourself in a pinch.”

With that, she left the calvary captain alone with his thoughts. He was pulled in by her, but knew she was dangerous. His mind shifted back to Venti’s word earlier and he clicked his tongue. The bard may have been onto something.

When Kaeya returned to the banquet, the Celestial Archon was back to eating and being doted on. Xiao’s glare was locked in and targeted as Kaeya sat a short distance from the goddess. Kaeya merely winked at him, sticking his tongue out slightly. The yaksha’s hand flew to the spear by his side as he snarled at the cryo wielder. The goddess noticed the sudden change in the atmosphere and moved to the adepti’s lap. He blushed and scowled, but set his head on her shoulder.

The young woman’s affection towards Xiao didn’t go unnoticed and soon Zhongli was offering her tea while Venti offered her booze. Even Jean was attempting to seek some attention from the goddess. For once, Diluc and Kaeya had the same thought. That woman is troublesome.

[salt-warrior]

WHEN EARTH TURNS TO ASHES

Masterlist

Chapter Six: Dust and Ashes and Cinders

Burning wings fluttered to no avail. Screams pierced the air with an agonizing ferocity. Flames licked at golden skin as the angels fell from Heaven and into the gaping jaws of Hell.

Dozens of the majestic creatures fell; the gradual descent causing their lovely features to turn impish and cruel. Feathered white wings turned to scales of black; the skin of shimmering gold shriveling into wrinkled gray tinged red; eyes of the purest summer's day transformed to a forest fire. It was both marvelous and shattering to watch.

The burning Hellfire—which should have consumed them—embellished their features into something near glorious. The flames licked their skin and caused it to glimmer instead of burn.

Heaven's clouds of ultimate glory began to close, allowing but one last angel to crash down to Hell. This final angel, however, did not change as she fell. Unlike her brothers and sisters, the angel's godly splendor increased into something more beautiful than man was worthy to behold. This angel was neither of Heaven or Hell, for She had been dragged out of Heaven against her will.

The angel continued to fall, but not to Hell—for the gates to fire and smoke had closed just as sure as the entrance to glory. The fallen angel was stuck in the middle. Earth.

Fire and glory consumed the angel, though no visible harm showed upon her skin. Tears flooded from her large earthy eyes and down her golden skin. She did not scream like the other fallen angels had, for at least they had a place where they were meant to live.

But this angel belonged to no one; she wasn't wanted by anyone.

***

Sweat still cooled the back of his neck, even as Kai walked into the Hospital. It was two in the morning, but family, doctors, and nurses still buzzed inside the white walls. Kai wasn't surprised. He remembered living in a different hospital for weeks while waiting for the passing of his mother.

It had been nearly a week since Kai had last come to visit Selene. He hadn't known whether or not he could stand to look at her, but he could no longer stay away— not after his dream.

Kai never remembered his dreams. He had been jealous of Thorne for having such exotic dreams for years, but maybe there was a reason for why he usually forgot. The dream he'd had was far too terrible and upsetting.

Kai had promised himself that he would do everything in his power to help this girl. He had kept that promise, but perhaps not in the way he should have. Kai had made a statement with the police. He had visited with Levana. He had taken care of her financial problems, but there wasn't a single day in which Kai had sat by her side and been there for her. He had left her all alone. He was a coward.

After seeing Selene for the first time since the accident, Kai had become sick. Guilt ate at him every time he looked at her mutilated flesh and lack of a limb. He had been so selfish; but he was ready to put that past him.

The extreme burns ward stank in a sickening way. You can still leave, Kai thought. She's in a coma; she won't know that you've been here. Kai hated himself for thinking it, but he couldn't help it.

Pushing past all the fear and guilt, Kai opened Selene's door. Immediate relief filled him at the mere sight of her. Already her skin was healing over, the skin grafting making her skin look patchy instead of bloody and charred.

Kai plopped down in the seat next to her bed. He hesitated, but grabbed her right hand— the one that wasn't burned. She looked peaceful and serene as she slept. Every care in the world had been swept away, if only for a few more days. A pang hit Kai's heart as he remembered the angel, knowing that it had been her.

Clearing his throat, Kai spoke to her. "I, um..." Kai turned to look at the doorway, but it remained empty. "I'm sorry that I haven't been here for you. You're all alone, and I let my own self pity and guilt keep me away, and I hope that you'll forgive me."

No response came, but Kai felt as if a weight had been lifted off his chest. "I got most of your affairs sorted through." Kai smiled, rubbing the back of her hand. Her palms were rough, and it must have been from her mechanics job. The backside of her hand, however, was soft and smooth. "I talked to Levana. She's the one who hit you. She feels terrible, maybe even worse than I feel."

A pause. For some reason, Kai kept on expecting her to talk to him. Stupid. "She was driving to visit her step-daughter. She just had a baby, but it's hard for her to take care of her. The daughter, Winter, has schizophrenia. She has these episodes where she thinks she's frozen or that her house is pooling with blood. Anyway, Levana was going down to help because Winter's husband was gone. He's a doctor and studies schizophrenia in hope for a cure. They were childhood best friends and he promised that he would help her. He loves her that much."

A warm fluttering filled Kai's chest. He wasn't entirely sure why he was telling Selene the story, or why Levana herself had told him, but he couldn't help it. He was a hopeless romantic, and the fantasy of someone loving another person that much filled Kai with unexplained joy. Thorne always teased him about it, but Kai couldn't help it.

"Anyways, Levana feels terrible about the whole thing. I heard that she's come to visit you a couple times even. She ran into Thorne one of the times." Thorne, unlike Kai, had visited Selene multiple times, though it was due to Kai's request. He had visited her three times, reporting that she looked even more hot every time he saw her while Kai sat in the hall outside her room trying not to cry. Kai hoped that he would not try to make a move once Selene woke up.

"I hope that Thorne hasn't bugged you too much. I told him just to come in and check on you, but he probably told you some terribly inappropriate jokes instead." Kai chuckled. "Sorry about him. His heart is in the right place, at least.

"I'm going to try contacting your family today. Well, Foster Family. I don't really know if it counts, but I bet they still love you." Kai cursed himself. He didn't want to give her false hope. Or himself for that matter. He had no clue of her backstory or why there had been a falling out. He had always had a happy family, and it was unfair to assume that hers was the same. "I bet that they'll come for you." Kai amended.

"I bet that I can even convince them to come down for your birthday." Kai winked, though there wasn't really a point. She couldn't see him. "I know that you'll be turning the big double decades in a week and I think that I'm gonna throw you a party."

Iko told him that small detail. She even mentioned that Selene should be able to be at home by that time as long as she had daily hospital visits.

"Selene," Kai covered her hand with both of his own. "I know that I don't know you at all, but I feel like some part of me does. Maybe it's because I dragged you from a burning car and have talked only complete nonsense to you since. Or perhaps it was fate. I don't know. You probably don't even believe in that kind of crap anyways."

A tugging sensation in Kai's gut urged him onward. "When I met Thorne, my best friend, we just kind of clicked. I knew that he would be my best friend, even before we talked to each other. I could be crazy, or sleep deprived–" Kai glanced at the clock on the wall.. "–but I think I'm supposed to know you."

Kai pulled Selene's hand up to his mouth and placed a tender kiss on it. He used to do this with his mother, while she was obstructed with machines and tubes. "Thank you for listening to me, Selene. I'll be back soon."

And Kai knew with a surety that he would.

***

The stench of smoke consumed the dark room, but the presence of the substance no longer remained. Selene's lungs burned, and her eyes stung, but at least she could breathe.

A light flashed on above Selene's head and she closed her eyes with a wince, blinded. A headache throbbed behind Selene's eyes, and the light made it ten times worse. "Wake up, you piece of crap." A kick landed in Selene's side. She let out a yelp, but that only earned her more abuse.

"Please stop." Selene begged, something she hated. She had begged for her mother not to leave her, but nature did enjoy the suffering of orphans. She had begged to stay with the Kesley family, but they hadn't wanted her. She had begged for Peony—the only person who had ever treated her like family—to stay with her, but she had left. "Please."

A strong arm grabbed Selene under the armpits, dragging her off the floor. Selene opened her eyes, just as her body was placed in a plastic school chair. Four people surrounded her, all familiar, but only three expected. The fourth caused a stab of betrayal within Selene.

"Why are you–"

"You know why we're doing this to you, Selene." Barked Sybil Mira, but that wasn't what Selene had been asking this time. She knew why they were doing it, but not why her best friend was. Sybil glared, her dark hair contrasted horribly with her honey skin and storm colored eyes. The black spots dancing across Selene's vision weren't doing much to help her case.

"You did a terrible thing." Sneered Aimery Park. It was funny to hear him accusing her of doing something bad after all the torment he had given to dozens of girls. "You killed Peony, and you're going to pay for it."

Selene glanced down at her feet. It was true; she had done something terrible. She was the reason why Peony had lost her life, and she deserved whatever came next. The only thing that she regretted was that her only friend had turned on her as well. She was the only girl who would talk to Selene, and it went the same for her. They sat together at lunch and did group projects together, and had even spent some time together outside of school together. But that had all been before the accident.

Pearl walked in front of the other three, dragging her nail viciously across Selene's cheek. "When we're done with you, you'll be nothing but dust and ashes and cinders."

Selene stared into Pearl's dark eyes fiercely. She was not about to play the docile girl who would get kicked around. Yes, Selene had made a mistake in letting Peony grow attached to her, but there was nothing that would fix it. They could do whatever they wanted to her, but Selene would never accept that it was right. Because it wasn't.

The final person came to stand in front of Selene. Her presence made Selene ache. She was the only one here who could truly hurt Selene. She would be the one to destroy her.

Selene waited for her best friend to say her piece. The girl hesitated, and for a second Selene thought that she looked regretful. There was a shot of pain in the blue eyes, and she was twisting her fingers in her hair out of nervous habit.

"You deserve this, Selene. You deserve the darkest and most fiery places of hades domain." Whispered the familiar voice. A single tear slipped from the girl's eye. Selene visibly flinched at the words. It hurt to know that her best friend would tell those who wanted to hurt her exactly how to injure her the most.

Selene hadn't meant to kill her sister. It had been an accident, and even the paramedics claimed that there was hardly anything she could have done differently. Selene blamed herself, but not in the same way Pearl did. She hadn't meant to do it, and she had thought her best friend would understand that.

Anger bubbled beneath Selene's skin. Hatred filled her; she would no longer beg to these monsters, but take her punishment. They could do anything to her, but in the end, she wouldn't waste another thought on them— they just weren't worth it.

"I'm sorry, but I'm pretty sure that place is already reserved for the four of you, Cress."

[princessvicky01]

The Peacock and the Vixen

Since it’s valentines day, me and @inner-muse have decided to share a swoon worthy romance!

It features my oc Annabel Trevelyan and hers Lord Asharion as they trade glances and much more at a masquerade party. 

If you have a thing for dashing lords, firey ladies and steamy seduction, then you might just enjoy this co-written fic. NSFW - Lemons.

The Peacock and the Vixen ❤

Asharion smirks below his mask, preening just like the peacock it depicts. It had taken even less time than usual to attract an adoring crowd; the anonymity of a masquerade emboldened even the most timid. The relative anonymity, anyway – no one seems to have any trouble recognizing *him.* The hair is a dead giveaway, he supposes, flowing loose over his shoulders in coppery waves – though he likes to think that no one else could possibly match his style, either. Really, who else could pull off a coat trimmed in actual feathers?

He does so love to be the most fabulously alluring person in the room.

Though he has to admit, some of the Ladies’ gowns could give him a run for his money. Not that he minds all that much— especially with half the ladies in question are busily fawning over him. He’s lost count of how many compliments he’s given, how many hands he’s kissed, how many playful kisses he’s blown. Maker, but this is a glorious night!

Seduction was thirsty work, however. He excuses himself – effusively, of course – and makes his way to the sideboard. While he could probably get half a dozen drinks hand-delivered with a word, he prefers to give himself a little break and pour his own wine. The glamour and power were as intoxicating as any fine vintage; he did try not to let it all go *completely* to his head.

He’s not the only one seeking refreshment. His eyes widen behind his mask as he emerges from the crowd to behold a vision of scarlet and gold, helping herself to a glass of fine white wine. The mysterious Lady looks up as he approaches. She is utterly stunning, with a tumble of dark hair, full red lips, and luscious curves – but it’s her sultry smile that most intrigues him, lighting up her face below her vixen mask. Something about her niggles at his memory, but he can’t place her for the life of him.

“If I may... you have exquisite taste, my Lady.” Bowing smoothly, Ash offers her his most charming smile. “I’d thought to indulge in a glass myself, but if you linger here much longer, I’m afraid I shall be drunk on beauty before I’ve tasted a single drop.”

"Do you use that line on all the ladies, Lord Asharion?" She makes a point of using his name as he pours a drink, curious to see if he knows her own, or if she remains the mysterious lady in red. "If you'd like to make me weak at the knees," her smirk turns decidedly naughty. "I'm afraid you'll have to try harder than that."

Annabel had been enjoying watching the throng, the colours and fabrics of the garments on display tonight catching her eye with shimmers of silver, emerald greens and fiery reds. Although, the latter appeared to be simply Lord Asharion's natural hair. She toyed with the end of her own, briefly wondering how copper locks of fire would look against it, before returning to her drink.

Drink she would need to get through the evening, no doubt. She'd already lost count the number of dances she'd twirled for, the number of hands that had 'slipped', by accident of course; noble lords would have her believe they were clumsy fellows. A sharp word and fiery glare were usually enough to make them stutter apologies - apparently, they weren't accustomed to ladies taking offence at their clumsiness. It seemed in a room full of Lords there was not a single gent. Funny really.

As she spies Asharion break from the crowd, she could swear he pauses on sight of her. His reaction, however subtle, is compliment enough to bring out her sultry smile. Perhaps he is the gentleman she seeks? Perhaps not— but either way she desires to find out. His outrageous flirting cracks a smirk that glitters in her eyes. For once it seems she's caught some welcome attention.

The first quip that comes to Asharion’s mind is entirely inappropriate for polite company. “Only the ones who take my breath away,” he says instead, lifting his glass in a light toast. The wine is indeed delicious – although, with a beautiful woman watching, he can’t resist exaggerating a little, humming and wetting his lips with a deliberate flick of his tongue. What was the point in having a mouth made for kissing if he wasn’t going to flaunt it?

The lady’s smirk has only widened. Her mystery – and her restraint – have only made her more intriguing. It’s rare to find a woman who doesn’t immediately swoon and giggle at his attention, nor simply rebuff his advances. The challenge makes his pulse quicken— though as always, he’s wary of overstepping anyone’s boundaries.

“Were you seeking solitude, my Lady vixen? Or shall I continue my attempts to sweep you off your feet?” He can’t shake the feeling that he ought to know who she is... “If I can manage to entice you half as much as you’ve enticed me, I shall consider myself a very lucky man... but if you’d rather be alone tonight...?”

“Oh, no, my Lord Asharion, by all means continue. I want to see if your silver tongue is all it’s rumored to be.”

Ash grins, sinful and eager, and offers her his arm with another little bow. “Seeking my tongue already? My, my, how forward of you,” He winks and is rewarded with a light, musical chuckle. His heart flutters in his chest. Maker, who *is* she? He steers them towards the nearest private balcony, rather selfishly wanting her all to himself for a while. “I am glad you’ll suffer the company, my Lady. Having glimpsed your radiance, the rest of the ballroom is beginning to pale in comparison.”

He gives her a smoldering sideways glance, eyeing her up and down— and very carefully lingering on the shadowed glint of her eyes beneath her mask. Nowhere else, no matter how much he might want to stare at those luscious curves... He’d learned long ago that if he wanted to get anywhere with anyone worth his time, he had to think with his head, not his cock.

Small wonder women flocked to him. A shining beacon of finery with a charm to match, and she is more than a little intrigued. Truthfully, she hadn't expected to catch his eye; she never had in years gone by, and yet he steers her away to a scheduled spot.

She'd always glimpsed him from afar, usually trading quips with her older brother. Of course, he'd attracted her attention, she's not blind and had easily lost moments to watching his graceful movements through the crowds. She'd been introduced, received that winning smile and a kiss on her knuckles that made her heart flutter, but he'd always then gone ahead and fluttered by, more interested in girls his own age. However, time changed all things, it seemed. Here she stands captivating his attention, and she intends to take full advantage of that, even if just for tonight.

The heat behind his glance threatens to flush her skin as it rushes through her, but she manages a small smile, almost coy, and a flick of her hair.

"So the crafty Vixen has captured the majestic peacocks attention, has she?" His smile is all the answer she needs. "It’d be rather foolish to turn down the chance to spend time with Ostwick’s finest bachelor."

He practically preens at the compliment, and Annabel can’t help but smile warmly. It's rather endearing. "And I am no fool." She leans back gently against the rail, making sure to emphasise every curve with a slight hitch of her hip. "I shall enjoy indulging myself in your company, Lord Asharion."

Ash‘s gaze travels down her body once again, slower this time. He can’t help but linger a little; the tantalizing promise of soft flesh beneath tight fabric is more than even he can resist. He’s grateful for the dim evening light and his mask, for concealing the flush of his cheeks. She smirks as he finally meets her eyes again; he chuckles, acknowledging his wandering gaze with a tip of his head.

“A vixen indeed,” he murmurs, low and husky. Settling beside her at the rail, he picks up her hand to lift her fingers to his lips. He keeps his eyes fixed on hers, a sultry smirk of his own tugging at his lips. “With every passing breath, I grow more astounded that I found you alone... Surely I’m not the only one who sought to bask in your presence, my Lady?”

“Mm… The rest sought far more than my mere *presence.*” She tosses her hair, a note of bitterness coloring her tone, and Ash growls softly. With curves like hers, he can guess what sort of liberties the lesser lords had been taking – but just because it was predictable didn’t make it any less abhorrent. How dare anyone try to take advantage of a Lady?

“In that case, I’m glad you shooed them off,” he says seriously. “Such rabble are far beneath you.” He’s still holding her hand; now he brushes his thumb across her knuckles, letting the warmth seep back into his tone. “But I can assure you, you’re in much better company now. If I do say so myself, that is.”

“Well, I’d hardly be here if I thought otherwise, now would I?” The playful lilt has returned to her words, bringing his smile back in full force. For a minute, he’d been concerned he’d spoiled what was shaping up to be a lovely conversation – but it seems he needn’t worry.

“As I said before, my Lady... you have exquisite taste.” His grin flashes against the velvet backdrop of night. He can’t help but wonder if she would taste exquisite as well... but he’s more determined than ever not to let his carnal urges guide the conversation. Whoever she is, this Lady deserves nothing but the utmost respect.

The husky drop of his tone is downright intoxicating. Maker, but how she can't wait to make him rumble, to feel the tingle of his soft caress, and hear hot, wanton, moans mumbled against her skin. Annabel's teeth can't help but nip at her lower lip in approval, polished ivory digging into supple ruby.

“Well, thank the Maker for good taste,” she twirls her crystal wine glass playfully. Lust has quickened her heart, his dark smouldering smirk already making her ache. No wonder the ladies battled so hard for his attention. Bold, as always, and flushed with confidence from his hungry gaze she steps towards him, closing the gap until she's running her hand down the velvet of his arm.

“If I might be totally honest,” she leans closer, body now pressed against his so she can drop her voice to a sinful whisper. “I'm far more interested in *your taste*,” with a mischievous smile she grants him a little space again, the erotic purr of her tone lost to all but him and the chill of the night.

“It appears to be uniquely exquisite,” her tone returns to it's playful nature, her fingertips briefly caressing the feathers on his lapels, curious and tender. “I'm intrigued to find out just how true that is…” Annabel had found that this was the point when most men fell apart, stammering and blushing as lust soaked their minds, yet she gets the distinct impression she's met her match in dear Lord Asharion.

“Are you, now?” He purrs. As she leans against his side, he moves a stray lock of hair behind her shoulder, his fingers brushing feather-light across her skin. “Mmm, and here I was just thinking the same of you, my Lady.”

Mirroring her intimate gesture, he runs his fingers lightly up her arm. When she makes no move to pull away, he shifts his weight away from the railing, and lifts her chin with a delicate knuckle. “Would you care for a sample, dear vixen?” He murmurs, hot and sinful. The nip of her teeth against ruby lips makes his pulse quicken. Maker, how he wants to feel her mouth on his...

As if answering his silent prayer, she closes the gap between them. He kisses her, slowly and thoroughly, wanting to savor and be savored in turn. It’s a delicate dance, maneuvering around their masks – but the decadent slide of her lips on his is more than worth it. When they finally part, she’s pressed up against him once more, her fingers clutching at his lapels, her bosom pooling against his chest. It’s more than enough to make him stir in his trousers, but if she can feel him beneath all the ruffles between them, she gives no sign of offence. Indeed, she seems as reluctant to pull away as he is.

Ash strokes along her jaw, staring down into her eyes, trying to plumb their depths beneath her vixen mask. “Who are you?” He whispers. “I’m certain we’ve met before— but I don’t see how I could have overlooked such an incredible, alluring woman...”

Annabel reflects his softness back with a glowing smile. “Hmmm, well perhaps if you continue to impress you'll get to find out. Take off my mask...” Now it's her turn to run her thumb up his jaw, and skim it over the gold and emerald edge of his disguise as she tiptoes up. “And so much more…” With a whisper her lips ghost over his, soft as rose petals, before they sink deeper into another slow, tantalising kiss.

His taste lingers long after his lips pull away, and already Annabel craves more. Exquisite indeed. She's been left near breathless by a single, slow-burning kiss, her bosom lightly panting against him like something from a romance novel. Perhaps gentlemen did exist, and perhaps so did real romance... Stroking his lapels in her fingers she tries to ground herself, lest she pounce and devour the poor man. There would be plenty of time for that if the twitch of his groin was anything to go by.

The tilt of his head is gentle, as is everything about him, save for the smoulder in his eyes. Dark pools that search hers intensely, trying to solve a riddle but seeming to only become more lost in whatever he finds in her gaze.

Ash hums into the kiss, his hands coming to rest against her hips. He’s panting lightly when they part, his pulse racing with desire. Andraste preserve him, she’s as good a kisser as he is. He closes his eyes for a moment, calming his breath and his heart... and reminding certain other parts of his anatomy who is really in charge. The primal, carnal parts of his brain served his conscious mind, not the other way around.

Opening his eyes again, he peers down at her earnestly, one hand rising to caress her jawline. “Ahh, such a cruel temptress, leaving me to languish in ignorance all evening...” The only thing his soft doe eyes get him, however, is a naughty giggle. His lips twitch in response, despite his best efforts to keep up the playfully mournful facade. “You, my mysterious Lady, are simply delightful. Not to mention delicious...” The husky edge is creeping back into his voice. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me, sweet vixen?”

She bites her lip again, practically purring, and presses even tighter to his chest. “Hmm, I can guess...” A subtle roll of her hips sends a jolt of pleasure down his spine. His breath catches, his grip tightening around her waist.

“Naughty, naughty,” he rumbles. Her wanton noise sends another ripple of heat pooling in his groin. He can feel his control starting to fray at the edges – which meant it was time to diffuse the tension between them.

With a rueful little huff, he disengages from their clinging embrace and returns to a more gentlemanly position by her side. Their wine glasses lay forgotten on the railing beside them; retrieving his, he takes a careful sip to cool down the simmering fire in his veins. “Forgive me, my Lady – it is far too easy to let oneself get carried away, in such an... intimate, exchange. And I have no wish to turn this into a mere tryst. You have me far too captivated for that.” He tips his head to her, smiling warmly.

Annabel returns his smile. She truly hadn't expected for him to be interested in anything more than a simple, albeit, passionate liaison. Impressed once again by his chivalry, by his restraint, she returns to lean herself against the railings, her pose distinctly erotic, from the right point of view: it would take little more than the lifting of her skirts to claim her, scandalously, right here and now.

"I'm very impressed with your restraint Lord Asharion," she casts him a naughty sideways look. "It far exceeds my own, but that's not really saying much. My family is known for being....hot-blooded." She teases him with the tidbit about who it is he's been so enthralled by but doesn't divulge any more.

She takes a sip of wine, trying to clear the haze in her head that had been fueled by the taste of him, by his subtle musky scent and warm embrace.

"Ah! There you are Lord Asharion!" The almost shrill tone of Lady Elizabeth cuts through sultry tension. Annabel gives her new date an irked and weary glance before turning to face the small throng of pastel pinks and purples.

The insult is brazen, as is the women's attempt to physically place herself between Annabel and Asharion. Annabel's lips twitch with a growl, heckles bristling as she bites her tongue, glare flaring with molten heat as the Lady takes Asharion's arm and attempts to actually steer him away! As if he were too precious for the likes of her company. She knows that's exactly what her rival thinks, but she's far too caught out to come back with a witty retort, and far too angry to trust herself to open her mouth.

The butterfly of Elizabeth's mask barely hides her disdain when she spies Annabel, but the three women with her quickly turn their focus onto the handsome Lord as they flock around him. "You left before I could tell you about what happened to Lady Margaret's poor little poodle... Such a horrid affair..." Elizabeth’s eyes flick to Annabel then back to him with a pleasant smile. "It was mauled by a damn mangy fox, of all things! Pesky vermin. A blight to every manor if you ask me, why they can't stay out in the wild where they belong I'll never know."

Annabel appreciates the soft touch and flicks her hair back, radiant and defiant as ever. "Yes, well, I'd rather be a fox over a leashed yappy pet any day. And to be fair, she's usually far worse, she must have been playing nice for you. No doubt I'll be tripped over accidentally or have wine split on me by one of her ever so clumsy minions," Annabel huffs out a growl and spins back to the balcony, anger and hurt all muddling her mind. 

“Mind yourself, Lady Elizabeth,” Ash says softly. “You know I have no tolerance for disrespect.” In this, at least, he doesn’t play games. Lady Elizabeth was perfectly lovely on her own, but her manners left something to be desired with a posse in tow. He frowns beneath his mask, glancing at his mysterious vixen. No wonder she hadn’t joined his usual crowd if this is how she was treated. She’s practically radiating hurt and anger. Unacceptable.

Elizabeth pouts, tugging insistently on his arm. It would be a pretty expression, if not for the ugly feelings behind it. “Why, Lord Asharion, you ran off on us! Surely you can’t blame me for being a little put out...”

Ash peels her fingers off his coat, gently yet firmly. “Jealousy does not become you, darling Elizabeth. I don’t recall anyone giving us trouble when it was *you* I ran off with last week, hmm?” She gasps, and glares at him, but he simply stares calmly back, refusing to be baited. With a huff, Elizabeth yanks her hand from his and flounces off. Ash sighs in exasperation. He’d make it up to her later, he supposed.

Then again... perhaps not.

The rest of the little gaggle are dithering, casting uncertain glances between him and their vanished leader. Ash clears his throat, nodding pointedly towards the balcony doors. “Ladies? Unless you’ve anything more to say about my choice of company tonight?”

They scamper off, trailing ribbons and perfume. Asharion scowls after them. “I had thought I kept better company than that,” he huffs. “I hope that little... episode... has not spoiled your evening too badly, my Lady.” Looking sideways at her, he gives an apologetic little bow, a hand pressed to his heart. “If there is anything I might do to make up for such rudeness, of course, you need only ask.”

“You were awfully polite to those, those, jackals, Lord Asharion.” His vixen props a hand on her hip, her stare a challenge – but he can sense the insecurity beneath it. The whole thing is so stupidly unnecessary! It’s hardly the first time he’s been fought over, and it’s always unbearably petty. He sighs mournfully.

“You’re right. Lady Elizabeth’s cruelty did not deserve a gentle response. I make it a point to be polite to everyone— but that does not mean I lend any credence to her cruel words whatsoever. You have just as much right to a place at my side as anyone else.” He might not know who she is, but he knows that much with certainty. He touches her arm, wanting nothing more than to sweep away every trace of lingering upset.

"Corner a vixen like a rat and then complain over being mauled." She shakes her head with another puff, trying to shift the petty irked emotions. Elizabeth really wasn't worth it and she won't let her spoil such a pleasant evening. More than pleasant in fact... Although learning he'd wooed one of her rivals a week ago brings her notion of romance back down to earth a little, he is only wooing her into bed after all.

"She wasn't just saying that because I was by your side, she's been saying things like that since we were knee-high, although "stealing her man" will likely mean I have to make sure I pour my own drinks for a while. She does enjoy spitting in them and subtly letting you know at the most inappropriate moments, yet apparently, I'm the uncivilized one..." She trails off with a sigh. All of this is hardly his problem... Just another day at court. Just another part of the game.

"I'm sorry," Annabel adds finally, playing loosely with her wine glass, before gathering enough courage to look back up at him, eyes hopeful. She may be wearing a mask but they betray her feelings as clear as the summer sky, her truly greatest weakness in a world of lies. "I hope that, well that all this, hasn't deterred you?... I did rather enjoy the taste of you..."

Asharion’s frown only deepens, his eyes going storm-dark as she speaks. Playing the Game was one thing – he’s no stranger to the shifting web of power at court – but this... this was not politics. This was bullying, pure and simple. His heart aches for the vixen before him, so bold and yet so vulnerable, with her soul shining out from behind those sparkling blue eyes. And despite everything, despite being marked as a target, she still had the courage to be bright and brazen and beautiful.

“You have nothing to apologize for, my Lady.” Stepping up behind her, he slips his arms around her waist, encircling her in a light embrace. “Rest assured, I am anything but deterred. If anyone deserves a night of splendor and sweet passion, it is you, dear vixen. I may not be able to make up for a lifetime of petty abuses, but I can very well try.”

The Lady in his arms half turns to melt against him, her head resting on his shoulder, that little spark of hope flaring brighter. He presses his lips to the top of her head, nestling a kiss amidst the dark silk of her hair above the delicate ears of her mask.

“If anything, I should be the one apologizing,” he murmurs. “It seems dear Elizabeth’s pretty face conceals an atrocious lack of nobility— and our dalliance must have only encouraged her. If I’d realized what sort of appalling behavior was going on behind my back, I would have put a stop to it. Or ceased associating with her, at the very least.” He shakes his head, disgusted with the whole situation.

“It’s not your fault either, Asharion.” Her fingers brush tenderly down his lapels once more, comforting rather than seducing, this time. He smiles softly at the sweet gesture, and is rewarded with an answering smile, small but warm. How much he already yearns for that smile... How perfectly she fits in his arms...

Maker, he is well and truly besotted. And he doesn’t even know her name.

“Hmm, perhaps not. But I still intend to make up for it.” Lifting her chin, he favors her with another brief, warm kiss. When he pulls back, the playful sparkle has returned to his eyes. “Hmm, what do you say we show those yapping poodles where a vixen truly belongs?” She cocks her head curiously, and he smiles once more. “Right in the center of court, naturally. Just beside a certain dashing peacock.” He winks outrageously. Her answering giggle makes his heart glow with warmth.

“I like the sound of that, my Lord Peacock. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I was wondering...” Taking a step back, Ash sweeps her an elaborate bow and holds it, one elegant hand raised in invitation. “...If you might honor me with a dance, my Lady?”

Annabel watches his playful and flamboyant actions with a growing fizz of excitement in her blood. The bow, however, breaks out a beaming smile full of unabashed delight as she bounces on the balls of her feet. It's not the correct reaction, she's been schooled long and hard over such matters, but it is her natural one.

"I'd love to, dear Lord Asharion," she takes his hand with perfect poise and elegance as she tips her head in thanks. She had not actually been raised in the wild afterall.

Linking her arm through his, she steps out to match his stride with the distinct clink of her heels and swish of fabric around her ankles. Holding her head high and his arm snuggly, she dismisses the world around them, and any spiteful looks cast her way. The only looks that mattered are the ones he gives, and right now they brim with confidence and smoulder with rekindled desire.

As they take position on the ballroom floor, she finds her hand seems to fit naturally in his and for some unknown reason, it makes her smile fondly. Silly really, to let herself be swept up by romantic notions once more, but she just can't help herself.

"Hmmm... carry on like this Lord Asharion and it won't be long before you earn my name," her naughty smile glitters up at him and she tiptoes up once more so her purred whisper can burn hotly against his ear. "I can't wait to hear it groaned from your lips..."

Asharion had found himself grinning as her excitement had bubbled out of her. It was hardly the usual response, but it was awfully endearing. Her innocent glee then segues smoothly into a true Lady’s refined grace— and from there, descends once more into pure molten sin. She fascinates him like no one else. It’s not just her beauty that’s enthralling him, now; he could easily spend weeks exploring her every sparkling facet.

Not that his purely carnal attraction has diminished. A rich chuckle rumbles in his chest at her sultry murmur; he gives her hip a little squeeze. “Gladly, my wicked vixen— but only once I’ve heard you moaning mine.”

Her eyes gleam up at him within her mask, shining with desire and sparkling with a coy teasing light.  “Moaning? Why, my dear Lord Asharion... I expect you to make me *scream* it.”

That startles another chuckle out of him as their dance begins. There’s not much time or breath for banter as they sweep smoothly through the motions, scarlet silk and azure feathers swirling together in perfect harmony. His Lady is a wonderful partner, graceful and athletic, with a dash of cheekiness thrown in: she presses rather closer than is proper, and splays her fingers against his chest instead of resting her hand on his shoulder. He smiles the whole time, more than pleased to share in her joy.

Annabel can’t help but become lost in him, in them, Asharion really is as majestic as he'd always seemed, his timing is perfection, as is every movement he makes, every muscle she feels...

Maker but *he* is perfect. Annabel knows she really shouldn't let herself be so swept away by a dalliance that won't last, but he is impossible to resist. His hands hold and tug her waist to lead the way, firm but fluid, and more importantly, they never slip or fumble. She can just imagine his slender fingers digging into the bare skin of her hips, helping to guide them.

Skin flushed pink, she twirls for him as he spins her around, a flurry of red and gold that sweeps to settle over every tantalizing curve. As he tugs her back, she allows herself to gracefully fall and melt against his chest. Resting in the crook of his neck as the music slows, she nuzzles under his jaw in pure affection, beyond mesmerized. The audience is long forgotten as the dance fizzles out, only registering as applause beings to sound. Remembering they're not as alone as she'd like, Annabel pulls back slightly and reaches up once more to whisper his reward with a delicate kiss peaked against his cheek. "It's Lady Annabel."

The rest of the world had fallen away as she twirled. She’s beautiful. Radiant. How could he have ever overlooked this woman?! It’s maddening. He wants to push back her mask, to see her face... And even more, he yearns to tilt her face to his and kiss her, deeply, passionately, till his arms are the only things holding her upright. But the first would be a betrayal, and the second was impossible in the middle of a crowd. All he can do is hold her close, and hope she sees fit to end the torment of his ignorance soon.

And then she does. Asharion’s breath catches at the gift; he whispers her name, in pure adoration— and then his eyes widen as everything clicks into place. “Lady Annabel... Annabel Dracon Trevelyan?” He stops short of adding ‘Bryan’s little sister’ – *that* would be a disaster from which he would not soon recover.

She’d melted back against his chest as soon as they’d ducked behind the draperies. Her cheeks are flushed pink, her eyes shining like sapphires. “Please,” she whispers back, and so he does.

She nods. Now that he knew, it was obvious... as soon as he stopped looking for the girl she’d been, and started seeing the woman she’d become. He’s staring at her, he realizes; there’s a trace of anxiety in her eyes. He smoothes out his dumbfounded expression, a heartfelt smile taking its place.

“You have grown into a remarkable woman, Lady Annabel. I am privileged to have you at my side tonight.” He caresses her cheek before turning to lead them off the dance floor. Letting the court see them together was suddenly not nearly as important as being alone with her once more: he leads them to a draped alcove in the corner, not quite as secluded as the balcony, but much closer.

“May I kiss you again, dear Annabel?” He has to show her he doesn’t think of her as a child anymore. That she’s opened his eyes at last.

This time, he laces one hand through her hair to cup the back of her head. The other arm wraps tight around her waist. It’s a smoldering, fervent kiss; insistent, but never rough, rich and warm like melted chocolate, like molten sin. Annabel’s hands clasp behind his neck, her back aching as she moans into his mouth. Her breasts are soft and full against him. He could swear he can feel her heart, thundering in her chest...

When her knees go weak, he guides her backwards a step to press her back against the wall, and kisses her some more. The mystery of her had been driving him mad all evening; it was time to return the favor.

Annabel had worried for a moment her name had deterred him. That the connection to her brother, or maybe being several years younger, or even the simple ‘hot’ nature of her blood might have taken the shine off her appeal. As he kisses her though, every trace of anguish is burnt away, dashed by the thunder of her heart and the heat he stokes in her veins.

Clasping at his neck, she gasps with pleasure as he presses her into the wall, beautiful, magnificent man. She feels his fingers dig tight through the many layers, she's crushed between him and the stone and honestly, nothing has ever felt better.

The kiss deepens and flows effortlessly, mouths meeting and melding together, his tongue sliding over hers until she steals a cheeky nip of his lip. The huff of his chuckle only serves to make her more desperate, panting a moan against his lips as she feels him twitch against her. Hitching her leg up, she drags his hips down against hers and his wanton rumble shudders pleasure right down her spine. Damn, he could take her right here against this wall for the whole court to hear and she would gladly drag out his every thrust…

“This is the spot, they said-”  a shocked gasp escapes two Lords a mere moment after the drape is partly lifted aside.

Annabel doesn't care, too consumed by her new lover to notice. It seems Asharion, however, has more sense, and pulls away. She let's his lips go but keeps him pinned to her with the firm hold of her thigh. He is going *nowhere*. Panting, flushed and dishevelled, she spies the two Lord's, with hands over gaping mouths, cheeks flushed pink and eyes blown wind by the scene they'd mistakenly uncovered.

“Lord Asharion… I… I… We were just… Just looking for you…”

Ash‘s fingers clench even tighter around her hip. He closes his eyes for a moment, takes a breath, and then turns very slowly to face the intruders. He says nothing, letting his piercing stare do the speaking for him.

“Er, I’m sorry my Lord, we didn’t think you’d be so—“

“Is the ballroom on fire, Lord Gareth?” Asharion doesn’t raise his voice; he doesn’t need to. The haughty lift of his chin, his icily crisp diction, and the edge of a growl rippling beneath the words are more than enough.

“N-no! No, wel just—“

Ash’s voice drops further, rumbling in a true snarl. “Then. Get. Out.” In another heartbeat, they’re gone. He turns back to his vixen— to Annabel— both of them still breathing hard from the kiss.

“Now then, where were we?” He smoulders with anger and desire alike, their mingled heat darkening his eyes and deepening his usual purr to a husky growl. Annabel shudders deliciously. He smirks. “Oh yes, I was busy kissing you to within an inch an inch of your life.”

She pulls his mouth back to hers at the same instant he dips his head. Pinning her hips with his, he devours her, drinking in her wanton moans and returning her passion in kind. The kiss is rougher than the last, hotter, but no less heartfelt. Delicious, sinful, magnificent woman...

“Come to bed with me tonight,” he whispers hoarsely against her lips, when at last they break for air, pressed so tightly together it’s impossible to tell whose thundering heartbeat is whose. “I want you, my Lady Annabel, in every possible way...”

Another hot kiss, her hands cupping his jaw, her body crying out for him with every beat of her heart. His request is unexpected, most men would just assume a woman so wanton would fall into their bed. It's sweet and chivalrous- but then again so is he under all the smoulder.

"Hng... yes," she nods, eyes peering up through their golden frame, burning with sincerity, with want. "I want all of you..." her murmur is breathless in the heat between them. Her lips drag over his until she can suck tiny kisses along his jaw, drinking in the scent and taste of him as if he were the finest wine. "Please..." the panted plea is made, hot and wanton, against his ear, her hands now roaming over the lithe muscles of his shoulders as she yearns to explore him, to know him. "Take me."

“Of course,” he rumbles in answer. He sucks hard on her lower lip, and then nips it lightly, chuckling as she moans again. If this is how she sounds when he’s teasing her in an alcove, he can only imagine how fantastically decadent she’ll be in the bedroom. But he wouldn’t have to imagine for long.

Asharion draws back slowly, intending to offer his arm once more, but Annabel clings to his side. He chuckles again, carding his fingers through her tousled hair. “We shall have to walk through the ballroom, my Lady,” he points out. “As much as I enjoy the sight of you like this, I should like to keep it for my eyes alone, not the entire court.”

“Hmm, I could, it’s true.” Catching her hand as she takes his arm, he brushes her knuckles with a kiss. “Some other time, perhaps, but not the first. I am a not-so-secret romantic, at heart.”

She sighs dramatically, but straightens up, tossing her head and smoothing the front of her dress. “You could simply take me right here, my Lord,” she murmurs, eyes glinting, coy and playful. Ash huffs a laugh as he straightens his jacket.

“Would you like me to purr for you, dear peacock?” She murmurs. “To moan…” her fingernails lightly prick into his scalp. “To groan…” her fingers rake through his silken locks which glitter brighter than any mask. “To praise you with every breath… to call your name as I come undone, to blaspheme as you claim me…” her hips rock lightly against his as she speaks.

“So I'm starting to see,” Annabel's eyes may be dark with pooling lust, but they still cradle a gentle warmth for him. “Another time then… hmm it's probably for the best,” she tussles her hair to fall as loose waves. “I'm known to be… hmmm. Rather vocal, when enjoying myself.” Now he gets her smirk once more, one which he returns, his hand lightly stroking her jaw and settling to cup her chin up at him.

“I can imagine…” his words trail off as he gently wipes smeared lipstick from her plump lower lip with the slow drag of his thumb. “I only hope I can make you sing for me, my darling Vixen.”

Her breath, her heart, catch in her chest for a moment, held there by his majesty, by the depth of his smoulder, his eyes almost hypnotic as he gazes at her. Then a tiny smile, almost cheeky, spills onto his lips and brings out her own. Clasping both his cheeks in her hands she doesn't kiss him, instead, she reaches up and nuzzles at his cheek, as any vixen might.

Pulling back ever so slightly, she lets him catch the naughty sparkle in her eyes, eyes which promise all the above and so much more. Inch by inch, she prises herself away, all too eager to peel that mask from him and bask in his beauty, his undivided attention. Slipping her arm through his, she trades an almost innocent sideways glance at him, the perfectly rosy-cheeked Lady once more. “Shall we?”

Ash scrapes his nails lightly down the back of her neck, eyes dark with lust. “If I told you every sweet sound I wanted to draw from you, my wicked temptress, we’d never make it out of this alcove.”

Ash preens at her regard, shaking back his hair with a rippling copper shimmer. But nothing could distract him long from her, not even himself; reaching up, he cups her face between his palms and cocks a brow, asking the same silent question. Annabel’s teeth dimple her full lower lip once more as she nods. Near breathless in anticipation, Ash lifts her mask just as gently as she’d lifted his, setting it carefully aside.

With a great deal of effort, he gathers the scraps of his lordly composure and tips her an elegant nod. They receive a few knowing glances as they weed their way through the crowd. They’re perhaps a little hastier than was strictly proper – but Asharion’s eagerness in such matters was entirely familiar to the court.

Ash leads his Lady up the grand staircase, along tastefully furnished halls to his private quarters. Opening the door for her, he bows and gestures gracefully. “After you, my Lady.”

Annabel is on him as soon as the door clicks shut behind them. Grabbing his jaw, she pulls him down for a hot, urgent kiss; with a purring growl, he wraps his arms around her waist and responds in kind. When they part, panting slightly, she drags her fingers through his hair again, making him hum contentedly. After a few soft moments, she toys with the edge of his mask and tilts her head in question. At his nod, she gently lifts the brilliant enamelled mask away, then pauses to stare, lips curled in an awestruck smile.

He studies her face as if it truly is the first time he’s seeing it – and in a way, it is. The flush of her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes... “You are... so beautiful,” he whispers, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. This time, when he leans in for a kiss, it’s feather-light, sweet and soft with admiration.

Annabel notes how they light up the moment her mask is gone, and although he must say such things to all the women, that doesn't make them feel any less genuine. The softness in the kiss steals her breath away, unexpected, but wholly welcomed. She wraps her arms up around his neck and nudges him into a private slow dance all their own, bodies hugged close as their lips tenderly explore each other. Nothing has ever felt like this, no one has melted her with such ease, no one captivated her so completely. It isn't just his looks or his gentleman's manners, it's the honesty, the sweetness, the softness refined by steel.

Somehow she'd forgotten how beautiful he was. How refined. How elegant. As if he'd been sculpted by hands with exquisite skill, and coloured by the finest artist. The shine of his copper mane, like liquid fire, is almost as mesmerising as those eyes, dark and rich, begging to have their depths explored...

He’s finally free to stare and Asharion’s eyes gleam with erotic anticipation. The dark shimmer of her hair catches his attention, however, and he drags his eyes up, over the bare skin of her shoulders and the smooth line of her neck. A deep, near-silent purr rumbles in his chest as he moves to stand behind her with casual grace.

“Please, my lord, allow me.” With a delicate swivel, Annabel is facing him. Rather than stepping towards him though, she reaches out and tugs on the front of his trousers, pulling him close and making him smirk all at once.

Annabel buries her fingers amidst the ruffles on his shirt and wriggles her hips to settle herself, a naughty gleam in her eyes, and he moans unabashedly. Grabbing the back of her neck, he pulls her down for a steamy kiss. By the time they break apart, she’s tugged his shirt open, baring his lean muscled chest. She drags her nails lightly down that strip of bare skin as she sits up. Running his hands up her bare thighs, he favors her with a sinful smile. “Hmm, it seems now we can begin, darling Annabel...”

“Your wish is my command, my Lady Annabel,” he murmurs huskily. Grasping under her rear, Asharion hitches her up against his hips; with a delighted giggle, she locks her legs around his waist, allowing him to carry her over to the bed. The pressure of her heated core against the bulge in his trousers has him panting by the time he sets her on the mattress, but he has breath enough to chuckle as she clings to his neck, dragging him down on top of her.

He makes for a magnificent sight beneath her, his chest rising and falling in time with her own.

“Not quite,” she grins back, full of delightful mischief, sliding her hands up her own back Annabel arches decadently as she unclasps her bra before tossing it away. The moment she’s free she feels his grip on her thighs tighten slightly. With a flick of her hair, she basks in his undivided attention.

Delicately leaning over him, Annabel splays her hands against his chest. Running her palms slowly down his torso until she reaches the few remaining buttons left of his shirt, with a sharp sudden tug she tears it, popping buttons free to send them flying with a wicked little chuckle. 

“Naughty little vixen,” the husky rasp of his reprimand pools heat between her thighs, hot enough to make her fingers curl into his waistband. 

“Don't tell me you've not been dying to be set free ever since you first swept me aside, dear, lord Asharion…” her own voice purrs with molten desire, desire that doesn't wait for an answer and instead sees her hand wrap around his cock. He's already wet and so she slides her hand in a long slow pump. Mmmmm, seems every part of him is perfection, including the little strangled gasp he gives at her touch.

Hips bucking in unabashed pleasure, Asharion finds his hands climbing until they are kneading her scrumptious rear. Maker, she is sinfully divine, responding to his every wanton touch with moans erotic enough to make a saint blush.

As his fingers slip to rub over her heat with only thin, damp, panties between them, her eyes close as she shudders over him. He basks in her pleasure as he takes his time, stroking, teasing out little wanton sounds. Glorious woman. 

A sharp shot of pleasure shots up his spine, distracting him from all else as she mimics him, palm teasing circles over his tip. A lesser man would have come undone right there and then, the woman, the goddess, over them proving too much erotic sin to bare. Asharion, however, simply moans then chuckles richly. It seems he's met his match…

The warm touch of her is sharply contrasted by a rush of cold air as she tugs his trousers down so he can kick them away. Fingers wrapping around her panties he tugs as he rolls her, releasing a mischievous giggle from Annabel as she squirms free of their confines and settles under him. He can't resist touching her, feeling her wet heat slide along his fingers, imagining how sweet her nectar tastes even as he nuzzles against her curves.

Wet fingers trail over her hips then up to brush circles over pert nipples that harden with every touch. There is one, greedy knead of her chest to fulfil his most basal desires, before his lips descend to lap and suck against that pert little bud. Asharion feels her nails carding through his hair, her moans growing louder as his devotion grows stronger, more earnest and incessant. 

Never has a lover absorbed him so, and when she pleads, a panted whimper just for him, he can resist her no longer.

She can't breathe as he enters her, breath hitching with a gasp as he stretches and fills her with a divine glide. Maker preserve her… one time will never be enough... How could it be, when he drives pleasure singing through every nerve with every slow, deep, roll of his hips. 

Every pump delivers another ripple of ecstasy that shoots up her spine to release a deep-throated groan from her chest. Needing more, needing all of him, Annabel finds his lips and claims them with her own until she's moaning into his mouth, blunt teeth dragging over his plump lower lip as he pants and increases his speed. Each hit now comes firm and fast, the pleasure too much for her to bear as it surges through her with every rut, every smack of his flesh against hers made in glorious harmony.

Her nails dig into his skin, into the lean muscles of his back and those in his tight, peachy rear as it clenches with every slam. His name spills from her lips, urging him onwards, singing his praises in a way few lovers ever earned. When his mouth crashes over hers, moaning her name with passionate devotion she comes undone around him. Body shuddering as she cries out, a wordless sound borne of pure ecstasy, blinding her to all but the euphoria he sends lurching through her veins.

Another few ruts follow, dragging out the shimmer of pleasure before she feels his muscles clench under her hold, his breath catches then gives way to a deep rumbling groan as he pulses then spills hotly inside her. 

Humming softly to herself, Annabel cards her fingers through his damp hair, riding high on a cloud of bliss that renders everything obsolete save for the thunder of his heart against her chest. After a moment, he groans as he seemingly comes too, lifting his gaze to hers, face haloed by fire as his hair tumbles over them both.

 “Hmmmm, and how was that, my lady?”

There is a softness to his lopsided smile that matches his tone and Annabel can't help but return it. 

“Just as magnificent as you, my Lord,” smile growing she chuckles and presses herself up to peck a kiss against his lips.

Even the most charming can be lost for words. Still recovering in the wake of shared bliss, Asharion can do little more than chuckle at her reply. After a moment of serene smiles, his forehead comes to rest against hers. He brushes a stray lock of hair away from her face, tingling with a glowing warmth, and nuzzles close against her. “Good,” he breathes. His thumb stroking up her jaw is just as tender as the words on his lips. “You deserve nothing but the best, darling Annabel… And I intend to deliver.”

-

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it, then don’t forget, Likes, reblogs and comments show love!

[elevenelvenswords]

A very late birthday present for the amazing @crackinthecup <3 Sorry for taking so long to write and post this, friend! I really hope you enjoy this :3

Heads-up that it’s very much NSFW. It also includes mentions of non-con encounters and unhealthy relationships. Y’know, just the regular Angbang dynamics!

Dark clouds stretched across the horizon in the storm’s wake. Nefarious things they were, blocking out the sun’s warmth, depriving the earthly beings of Arien’s gift to the world. The raspy northern winds whipped the horses’ manes across their unsettled faces mercilessly, and the overseers’ attempts to calm them down proved for naught, as they stamped their hooves to the ground nervously. Perhaps it was the absence of light for days on end that kept them in this state of unease. Perhaps it was the cold that settled in the fortress sooner than expected that kept the Black One from his slumber as well- and due to his constant, furious growling in the dark pits, all his brethren seemed to grow furious as well. Aggressive even, if the couple of dozens of orcish bodies was anything to go by.

 Closer and closer the clouds drew to their settlements, and darkness fell once they touched Thangorodrim’s murky peaks. It was not disarray that followed -for the Dark Lord’s creatures were raised under the biting kiss of whip and thus came to either blindly love or worship darkness- yet nobody could say activities ran smooth in Angband. Truth be told, they hadn’t run smooth at all in quite a while. Creatures shrunk away in fear and perished: wolves broke free of their masters’ hold, and the remaining ones bit back at the hands that fed them . The great drakes let heat grow in the back of their throats and unleashed it when the captains tried to make them tame again. Hunting parties would not return at all, and nobody could quite pinpoint the exact reason. Well, they could guess.

For Mairon, however, it was quite clear what was happening. For though the orcish eyes remained blind to their master’s mood of late, and though the Valaraukar and the vampires busied themselves elsewhere, the lieutenant had been spending most of his time for the past few weeks in his lord’s presence. Reports had to be read aloud -or so Mairon deemed- and a closer inspection of the dungeons where new guests lay warranted both his and his master’s attendance. And it was during all those times spent at his master’s side that Mairon understood. He would catch Melkor’s gaze fixed on him whenever he pivoted on his heel to ask for further clarifications in regards to the newest orders, and his master’s gaze would turn into a glare at times. Abject fury would seethe there; it would envelop him in rage and power and glory all at once, like turbulent waves come crashing down upon frail sand from an angry sea. Yet for all the rage and hatred and spite his master would shoot his way, there was also something far, far worse that Mairon had to endure. Lust. Desire. Carnal needs. And as they would coil their way to his quivering heart, Mairon would shudder and sheepishly look back to his master.

 None of them spoke of it though. A palpable tension between the two was left unspoken whilst Mairon sought to fulfill his duties. No matter how much Melkor’s will would press down upon him, threatening to crush his fëa, none of them would act upon the visceral desires boiling up inside of them. Mairon would excuse himself with a bow and would leave in haste after those… encounters. As weeks rolled by, the lieutenant could see it clearly: the fortress and its inhabitants slipped off their normal axis due to his master’s capriciousness, as Angband’s fate was tightly bound to its lord. His appetites seemed to swell by the day and, unfortunately for Mairon, he happened to be square in the Vala’s way to receive the blow.

 His master sent word to him, requiring his immediate presence in the throne room. The lieutenant swallowed past a lump in his throat as he hastily discarded his forge garments from his earlier work and stepped into a bathtub. He carefully inspected the bruises mottled across his upper arms that still had not healed since the last time Melkor called him to his private chambers.

 Immediate presence. Mairon rolled the words in his head over and over again, hoping against hope that the meaning behind them was strictly related to formal business. Yet there was no room for him lying to himself that night.

 “You absolute idiot…” the Maia murmured to himself and let his head dip completely in the water.

 XX

 It was cold enough in the throne room for his teeth to chatter faintly and, despite his natural -abnormal- warmth, all heat seemed drained from his body as he stopped at the base of the dais. A shaky breath tumbled past his lips when he finally found the courage to raise his look to his master. And there he was: clad in rich ebony silk bordered by golden embroideries and the heavy iron crown resting upon his brow, Melkor was seated majestically upon his throne. The sight nearly stopped the Maia’s breath in his lungs, though he would not admit to it.

 A heartbeat passed in silence. And then another. Mairon’s slender fingers soon found the edge of his tunic and started to fidget with it in silent apprehension. And then Melkor grinned.

 “Why are you here?” his master’s voice rumbled so suddenly that Mairon flinched. He quickly cleared his throat before speaking.

 “You called me here, my lord,” he replied plainly as he prayed his master would not notice the colour rising in his cheeks. Damn him. They hadn’t even started.

 His master grunted his assent as he outstretched his left hand in order to pick up his goblet from a small table and gulped down a generous amount of what Mairon assumed was wine. The Vala regarded him curiously, taking his time to observe him from head to toe. Mairon nearly melted under his gaze.

 “My lord,” he began when the silence stretched on for too long once again, “if you need anyth-“

 “What do you think I would need from you, dear lieutenant?” his master cut him off with surprising gentleness. Yet Mairon would not fall for it. It was but a mere cloak, a disguise for the danger lurking behind it. He knew that danger all too well and he made himself guilty of adoring it.

 He briefly looked for a proper answer, yet came up empty-handed. Instead he gritted his teeth, forcing his tense body to relax, regaining his composure.

 “I reckon you have a mind to tell me.”

 His master laughed at that. A dark, cruel, mirthless laughter, and a knowing, lascivious smirk twisted his mouth. Not knowing how to react to that, the Maia frowned slightly and clasped the edge of his tunic all the tighter. It was a cruel game that his master was playing. And though Melkor was not known for his patience, he always seemed overly eager to engage in long games of abstinence, teasing and taunting. Mairon feared his master acquired a great expertise in how to push the right buttons to make him squirm and gasp and frankly have him wrapped around his finger. Not that it was surprising in the slightest. Melkor always gains what (or who) he desires. Something fluttered low in Mairon’s belly at the thought.

 What his master desires. Who he desires.

 His master sighed as he licked his lips like the cat who got the cream whilst his lieutenant fought to keep his breath steady. And then his master’s command was simple and clear: “Strip.”

 And he did. With shaky fingers he unlaced the long cape tied to his robes, he unlaced his boots and struggled to discard the tunic and robes and breeches, until awfully naked and exposed he stood before his lord. The thud-thud-thud within his chest was loud to his own ears and he dearly hoped Melkor would not try to reach out for his mind now unless he wished to behold a series of filthy images about violent face-fucking and grievous slapping.

 Mercilessly enough for him to let out a sigh of relief, his master did not. Instead he beckoned Mairon closer with a crook of his finger, so the lieutenant hurried in front of the throne, though his steps were not carried out without reluctance. Danger shined maliciously in the Vala’s eyes, and like a moth drawn to the bright flames of the torches Mairon stared straight into his lord’s eyes. For it was there where he truly found his purpose in the intricate fate of Arda. From the very beginning this had been his destiny: to serve and obey his master in all things. The future was cruelly veiled from him and he knew not what the long war’s outcome would be. Yet his place was at his master’s side, now and always. This much he knew. But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that this is what he willingly chose, that this is what he engaged into of his own accord, he couldn’t quite shove the lie down his own throat. For he did not. He did not choose this willingly. And it stung and burned to realise that his master cared little for his actual consent. Should he ever try to voice against their acts of intimacy, should he ever decline, his master would violently pin him down and forcefully take his pleasure with him. He still bore the marks of such affections.

 Hard he locked his jaw when his lord reached out for him, snaking his ashen fingers up his sides and then back down. Pointy fingernails raked across his hips, leaving reddened furrows blossoming on his skin. Hard he fought to keep his breath even, to not give in to his own desire and pounce on his lord to worship him with mouth and tongue like he longed to. This abstinence, this stubbornness of his would not aid him in concealing that which he wished to remain hidden as the sharp intake of breath and unbidden stir of flesh betrayed him once Melkor’s head lowered to his taut abdomen and -Valar be damned- kissed his way down to his member. Whatever composure he still clung to was quickly cast aside as soon as warmth enveloped his half-erect member and a little whimper must have surely escaped him, as he could clearly hear his master chuckle. The vibration of it against his cock sent a shiver down his spine and ‘yes’ he whispered, ‘y-yes’.

 “F-fuck,” he mewled when his master grasped him by the hips and drew him closer, taking him deeper into his mouth, and his cock gave a sudden twitch of arousal. A deep flush touched his cheeks when Melkor removed his mouth with an obscene pop and licked at his lips all the while smiling up at him. Perhaps this was not such a bad idea after all…

 “Turn around, sweetness,” Melkor commanded, and Mairon obeyed. The tell-tale clink of a belt behind him made his knees weak. Much to his shame, it was arousal more than anything that sent his body trembling uncontrollably. Bloody, filthy desire and anticipation were left churning low in his stomach. It was almost blood-curdling : the way he instinctively reacted to even the vaguest hints of intimacy around his master.

 A surprised yelp rang across the hall alongside the vicious slap his master delivered to his rear. Half embarrassed and half aroused beyond measure, he whipped his head about to frown at Melkor. The Vala, however, gave him little respite: brutally he grabbed the Maia by the waist and pulled him down atop his lap. An undignified whimper ebbed from the Maia, and seconds later the flush stretched to the very tips of his ears.

 “Did you enjoy that, Mairon?”

 Enjoy what?

 Feebly Mairon struggled, without any real hope to prevail, until he fell still.

 “I suppose you did,” he heard his master chuckle before pressing his lips to Mairon’s ear and mouthing ‘harlot’. Truly he wanted to protest then. Fiery flames started to crackle across his chest and arms, his horns glittered dark red, and he bared his sharp incisors in a threatening snarl.

 Melkor brushed them all off. Faster than Mairon’s eyes could follow, his master brought his hand up to his throat and squeezed. Naturally, he panicked. He tried to scrabble at his master’s wrist to no avail. When at last his twitching subsided to pitiful choking sounds, his master seemed satisfied. Though he would not relinquish his grip.

 “My lord-“

 “Where are your manners now, Mairon?” his master tsked and licked a hot stripe from his neck to his left cheek, “I thought I’ve taught you better than this.” The grip tightened around his throat and much to Mairon’s horror, he could feel his master’s erection twitching against his backside.

 “Please, my lord…” he bleated out when his lungs truly started to burn, yet Melkor would have none of it.

 “What do we say when we do someone wrong, hmm?”

 Shame blistered anew within him but left with little other option than obey, he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

 “S-sorry,” he tried.

 “Sorry for what, Maia?”

 “F-for… uh… sorry for disobeying you…” he choked, and just when he thought he would lose consciousness and tears started to gloss over his eyelashes, the hand was gone from his sore throat.

 His relief was short-lived though. All of a sudden his master forced his legs apart, and though heat burned bright in his loins, though desire churned in his bowels, so did anxiety. He bit his lip again whilst his master manoeuvred him into an uncomfortable and unusual position: both his calves hooked over the throne’s spiky armrests whilst his right arm was placed behind his master’s head for a better balance. Tightly his master drew him to his chest, until their faces almost touched. Thus, timidly he looked to his lord, his god, and this time it was Mairon that grinned.

“What is it that you wish me to do, Mairon?” Melkor curiously inquired whilst he fetched a small vial of oil from his own robes and unplugged it. Unspeakable arousal seemed to devour Mairon as he watched his master pour a generous amount of oil on his fingers, and he licked at his bloodied lip.

 “I want you,” he began as his master positioned his hand between his deliciously spread legs, “to fuck me hard and fa- oh!” His last words were lost in a whimper when he felt those well-slickened fingers enter him. He cursed, letting the filthy words drip from his mouth, and Melkor seemed to lick them all. Tasting them. Savouring them. In and out his master moved his fingers, and when they eventually hit that one glorious spot, Mairon moaned. A proper, shameful, wanton moan.

 Melkor groaned in response.

 “Do you like my fingers up inside of you?” his lord mumbled the words against his neck as he kissed and sucked a livid welt into the delicate skin there. Mairon could only nod, near delirious with pleasure as he was.

 Unexpectedly, his master took his time to work him open. He moved his hand relentlessly, until his wrist tired of the movement, and then removed it. The beginning of a protest welled up inside Mairon’s throat at the sudden loss, but the ashen fingers were quickly replaced with his master’s cock.

 His whole body tensed when he was breached in one long thrust. Hard he gripped his master’s shoulder for purchase, and his calves ached from the awkward position when Melkor finally started to move. His master fucked him in earnest, with hard, luxurious thrusts. He couldn’t help but wince and moan aloud every time the Vala hit that one bundle of nerves inside of him. And then greyed fingers forced their way inside his mouth, gagging him ruthlessly. With reckless abandon he sucked on them, spittle dribbling down his chin and the Vala’s forearm. He couldn’t quite remember when Melkor’s other fist came to close over his weeping erection, but what he did remember was how utterly alive it made him feel. Ardour shrieked inside of him as his length throbbed and twitched in his master’s hand.

 “P-please, my lord,” he murmured around his master’s fingers, “please, can I…?”

 A litany of obscenities was licked at his ear and he came hard under the relentless ministrations; all his muscles tensed as one as he spurted his seed for his master and he could only twitch and allow himself to be swallowed by the intensity of it all.

 Yet his master did not stop there. No, he kept going and going and going, despite his protests and discomfort. And no matter how hard he sought to dislodge the unrelenting fullness inside his guts, he felt himself growing hard once again. It was not long before his pelvic muscles clenched again and-

 “F-fuck…” he swore under his ragged breath as he came desperately, urgently, helplessly. Across his master’s hand he spilled his seed again. And again and again he felt his master’s length slam into him as remorselessly his lord fucked him. Pain flared across his calves left dangling over the armrests. Like a prize, he thought as raw waves of seething pleasure coursed up through him. Like some obscene doll draped across his master’s throne, sprawled in his master’s lap. Like some petty sex-toy to be debased and used and abused on a whim. And oh how he mewled with the glory of it.

 Harder still his master’s shaft drove into him, and some unexplainable emotion burst to life as his master nudged against something exquisite inside of him, as the angle shifted, as the contact somehow deepened, and the hot squirt inside his bowels felt like sweet absolution.

 He growled whilst the movement ceased, and a groan of both relief and desire punched out of his throat when at last his master slipped free of him.

 Something prodded at his entrance -again- and before he had even the slightest chance to protest, it entered him with appalling ease. His brow furrowed in pain as the Vala’s finger inspected his insides, and it was all he could do not to scream when a second one was added and rammed up in his guts.

 The fingers in his mouth were removed in order to be replaced by the ones that had been inside of him. He gagged at the bitter taste and shivered with the degradation of it. Come and oil and Eru knows what else swirled with his tongue, and his stomach gave a sudden spasm when Melkor buried his fingers down his throat. Fruitlessly he tried to remove the insistent pressure, yet it was not before the first flux of vomit threatened to come up that his master completely retracted his hand.

 Coated in thick saliva and sticky-white fluids, he watched his lord’s hand wipe the mess across his abdomen. Despite the dirtiness and perversion of it, Mairon smiled.

 “You did so well, Mairon. You did so well,” Melkor praised, and the Maia allowed himself to be dragged into a long embrace, followed by a deep, passionate kiss.

 They spent the rest of the night together in his master’s chambers. It was long after Melkor had fallen sound asleep that Mairon peered at the dark clouds above. Nefarious things they were. Mairon thought it suited them well.

[lfthinkerwrites]

The Flight of Icarus

Title: Tales from Gotham Academy: Field Trip

Rating: T for more mayhem 

Summary: Another ride, another misadventure. Mockridge has a come to Jesus moment with a 'business partner.'

Meanwhile, in the office of Daniel Mockridge

"They did what to the boat ride!?"

Cleo Droukas, Mockridge's assistant for the past three years, watched as her boss' face lost its smug smile and turned pale. She tried not to let on how much it amused her. "One of the teachers rammed his boat against another boat, which in turn rammed into a third boat, causing a collision against the embankment. None of the students are injured-"

"Forget the students!" Mockridge shouted. "What about the boats!?"

Cleo frowned. "The third boat was tipped over, but otherwise undamaged. The first and second boats, however, sustained damage during the collisions. They'll need to be repaired."

"And just how much is that gonna cost me!?" Mockridge yelled, running a hand through his hair. "This park's already in the red! Between operating costs and the settlements from that food poisoning case last year, I'm in the hole for $5 million! Which I could have handled, no problem, if Riddle of the Minotaur 2 hadn't bombed!" Mockridge moved his hand from his hair onto his desk, smearing paperwork with the greasy hair product. "I don't get it. Riddle of the Minotaur put Competitron on the map. It broke sales records. How did the second game do so badly? We marketed the shit out of it!"

Perhaps you shouldn't have fired and blacklisted the original game's creator, Cleo wanted to say. Instead, she waited until Mockridge had finished his whining before she continued. "The teacher who rammed the boats, Mr. Basil Karlo, has been removed from the park premises."

"They called the cops on the son of a bitch?"

"They did, but he was taken away in an ambulance. The other teachers administered their own 'justice' on him."

Mockridge's eyes widened. "Jesus Christ," he muttered. "I always knew Nashton was a fruitcake, but what the Hell is wrong with these people?"

Cleo had heard the rumors about how badly the students and teachers behaved at the Raging Rapids Water Park the previous year. She'd tried to warn Mockridge, but he'd been too set on sticking it to Edward Nashton to listen. Now they had to all deal with the consequences. "Principal Gordon is currently speaking with park security, while the teachers and students are continuing their trip."

Mockridge looked slightly amazed. "After the boat ride, they want to stay in the park?"

Cleo shrugged. "Apparently, this isn't anywhere near the worst thing that's ever happened to them on a school trip." Which, if true, was the most disturbing thing she'd heard all day.

An oily smile returned to Mockridge's face. "We may just be able to salvage this day yet! What about Wayne? Is he still happy?"

It took everything Cleo had not to smirk. "He was in the boat that was overturned."

Mockridge's face paled again. "God damn it! He's already pissed at me for that crack I made about his girlfriend! I was hoping to convince him to invest in Competitron!"

That was looking about as likely Mockridge himself admitting that Edward Nashton was the reason Competitron had been as viable as it was. Before she could say anything else, there was a knock at the door. "Yes?" Cleo called.

Mockride's secretary poked his head in. "Sir? Mr. Sionis is on Line One."

All the remaining color drained from Mockridge's face. "Oh shit. Tell him I'm in a meeting!"

The secretary shuffled. "He's being very insistent sir. He threatened to staple my lips shut if I didn't put him on the phone with you."

Mockridge sank in his chair. "Oh, Christ...fine. Put him through." As soon as the door shut, Mockridge pushed a button on his phone. After how badly Riddle of the Minotaur 2 had sold, Mockridge had needed to seek external funding to keep Competitron's losses manageable. Unfortunately, Mockridge had about as much sense in seeking out loans as he was in keeping talent, and he'd wound up in the debt of Roman Sionis, industrial magnate and rumored mobster. "Roman!" Mockridge said jovially. "I was just about to call you! How have you been?"

"Sure you were," Sionis spoke, his voice rumbling over the speakerphone. Oh good. He was pissed. "I checked my account this morning and lo and behold, I didn't see your monthly contribution. Where's my money, Mockridge?"

Cleo watched Mockridge gulp and somehow kept the satisfaction off her face. "Ah well...It's going to be a bit late this month, Roman. I had other obligations to take care of." Said other obligations included child support, gambling debts, payouts to several young ladies under his employ, and a new yacht.

Cleo could just make out the sound of a sharp intake of breath. Then Sionis spoke again. "Perhaps my last request was too mired in subtlety. I want my money, or you're dead. When I say dead, I mean dead. Beaten, broken, YOUR HEAD MOUNTED ON MY WALL KIND OF DEAD!!!"

Mockridge began to sweat, babble excuses and Cleo took that as her cue to leave. She shut the door behind her and finally let out the small laugh she'd been holding in. Then her thoughts turned to the Gotham Academy group. Hopefully, the boat ride would be the extent of their shenanigans for the day.

"We're going to the Library of Alexandria and that's final!"

"Like Hell, we are, Nashton! The kids want rides, we're going on rides!"

"Right, Harv, because the last time we were on a ride, it worked out so well! We're going to a place with books!"

"You can go to a place with books if you want Nashton, I'll take the kids to the rides."

"You're not going anywhere with my little girl without me!"

Jonathan and Jervis looked on at their friend and co-worker's argument and then gave each other a long-suffering look. After seeing Karlo off, Gordon, Wayne, Neil, Miguel, and Victor had been quick to split off into different sections of the park, leaving the four of them in the main hub to argue over which way to go. "We could just leave them, you know," Jonathan whispered to Jervis.

Jervis shook his head. "No we can't, March Hare. You know as well as I do that Harvey will kill Dormouse if left unsupervised."

Jonathan looked back to Harvey and Edward. Harvey's hands were balled up into fists and his face was turning magenta. "Harv looks ready to strangle him now." The students themselves watched the argument with the kind of indifference that came from witnessing this happen several times. Not even Ellen and Duela seemed that concerned.

"Which is why we need to intervene," Jervis insisted. He stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Now see here chaps-"

"If you don't get out of my face in the next two seconds Nashton, I'll make sure that Ellen stays your only child!"

Jonathan rolled his eyes, then stepped in to help Jervis corral the two men. "Knock it off the both of you," he scolded. "You're actin' worse than the actual children." Harvey and Edward turned to glare at Jonathan, then back at each other. Edward looked ready to say something smart when Jonathan interrupted. "Harv, don't you have that coin? Just flip on it."

Harvey smirked and pulled said coin out of his pocket. What he and Jonathan knew but Edward didn't, was that the coin was double-sided. "Alright, Nashton. Heads we go to the rides, tails we go to the Library of Alexandria. Agreed?"

Edward crossed his arms. "Fine. Flip it." Harvey did so and caught it with his left hand, flipping it over onto his right palm. When Edward saw the result, he scowled. "Flip it again!"

"For God's sake!" Jonathan shouted. "Edward, stop acting like a damn toddler and come on already!"

Edward sneered and opened his mouth, only for Ellen to interrupt. "I've got Penny in my contacts," she said in a sing-song tone. "And I'm not afraid to call her..." Edward paled, then sighed.

"Fine. Fine. We'll go rot our brains on the rides. But when disaster strikes, I will be the first to say I told you so!"

"Welcome to the Flight of Icarus! Please observe all posted rules. You must be at least 64 inches tall to ride, follow instructions at all times, one adult must be with a group of kids..."

While the ride attendant droned on, Edward, Jonathan, Jervis, and Harvey took in the ride with a growing sense of horror. The Flight of Icarus was a modified swing ride. Only, instead of seats hanging down from the top of the carousel, there were harnesses. The riders would strap themselves in, lie on their stomachs, and put large canvass wings on their arms. The idea was to simulate flight, like the mythological character of Icarus. It looked even more dangerous than the boat ride. When the ride attendant finished his spiel, the four men looked at each other. "So," Jonathan drawled. "Who's going first?"

"Not me," Edward said immediately. "I'm a father."

"So am I," Harvey said gruffly. "And Duela, there is no way in Hell you're riding that thing."

"I don't want to," Duela quickly agreed. "That thing looks like a death trap."

"I kind of want to go on it," Ellen added. Then her face fell. "But I'm too short to ride."

"Good," Edward said.

"I'm too short as well," Jervis said. "So I suppose that leaves you, March Hare."

Jonathan sighed. "Well, I have no fear of death. Might as well." He and the six kids who actually wanted to go on the ride stepped through the gate, and let themselves be strapped in. When Jonathan's wings were placed on him, he heard Edward chuckle from the other side of the gate.

"You're living up to your name now, Jonathan Crane," he smirked. "When you're airborne you'll look positively majestic."

"I will hurt you," Jonathan said crossly. Once the last child was strapped in, the ride attendant stepped back to the control panel and powered the ride on. The carousel's tower rose slowly as the chains began to move and spin the riders around. At first, it was slow, but it quickly picked up speed. The teachers and the students on the ground were colorful blurs to Jonathan as the ride spun him around, faster and faster. Luckily, in addition to feeling no fear, he felt no nausea. Frankly, it was almost fun.

Unfortunately, while the designers of the ride had accounted for height and maximum weight, no one ever thought to consider a minimum weight for the ride. Jonathan was so light and thin in build that he wasn't securely harnessed. On the thirteenth rotation of the carousel, he slipped out of his harness and was vaulted through the air. "Jesus Chriiiiist!" he screamed as he flew 50 feet above the ground.

"March Hare!" Jervis screeched, running after his friend. Edward and Harvey followed in close pursuit, trailed by Ellen, Duela, and a few other kids. The rest stayed put to film the scene, of course.

"Jon!" Edward shouted as Jonathan began to dip down. "Flap your arms! Try to fly!" Jonathan did so, and remarkably, managed to pick himself up. "We should be close to the main hub," Edward mused as the group followed Jonathan, who was now gliding at a steady pace. "Jon! When we get to the plaza, you should be able to glide into the fountain!"

"The fountain!?" Jonathan shouted. "After the boat ride!?"

"Well it's that or you can impale yourself on a tree!"

"Jesus fucking Christ," Harvey muttered. "Mockridge has one Hell of a lawsuit coming his way."

The small group followed Jonathan into the plaza, where they caught the attention of not only other parkgoers, who were pointing and gasping at the sight of Jonathan gliding through the air. Unfortunately, they also attracted the attention of Maxie Zeus, who took Jonathan's appearance very differently. "A fury!" he bellowed. "Back, fury! Back to the depths of Tartarus with you!" He gripped onto the base of his lightning bolt, which, while not a real lightning bolt, served very well as a javelin. He threw the bolt at Jonathan and his aim was true, the bolt puncturing one of the canvass wings.

"Son of a biiiiiiitch!" Jonathan screamed as he plummeted to Earth, disappearing in the tree line that surrounded the main entrance to the park.

Jervis collapsed onto his knees. "March Hare! Jonathan! No!" He began to wail and sob.

"Dad?" Duela asked, for once almost shaken. "Is Mr. Crane dead?"

"I'm sure he's not," Harvey comforted her. He gave Edward a short nod. "You and Tetch better go look for Crane. I'll take care of the kids."

Edward didn't look happy at the prospect of leaving his daughter, but he liked the idea of her tagging along to find Jonathan's possible corpse even less. "Alright. Ellen, behave yourself. I'll be back with Uncle Jon in a few minutes." He stepped forward and began dragging a still weeping Jervis towards the tree line. "Come on, Jervis. We have a March Hare to find."

In an hour, he would regret letting his daughter out of his sight.

[arthurs-wife]

Cleopatra - 1/?

tigerlilywine said to arthurs-wife:Hey, been reading your drabbles. I think you capture Arthur real well. M!reader and all. You've ever thought of a... future au? They are still cowboys but they jump to worlds instead of areas. Bounty hunters in space. Reader is royalty of one alien species (close to humans) and gets kiddnapped. King hires the gang to save em? (Fluff is a must but smut is optional, though I'm sure you can work it!) It is an idea tho lol keep doing what you're doing!

A/N: because i’m extra as hell, i wrote a ton of lore for this and wanted to throw this up to see if theres interest because I can go on and on with this future shit.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x M!Reader Words: 1.7k Summary: Working for the agency of Lemoyne Department of Defense Services in the year 2149, Arthur Morgan and his gang struggle to complete as many jobs as they can before the Terran Bureaucracy can dissolve it completely. With the promise of one final, multi-million dollar job, Arthur Morgan is sent on a mission to rescue the kidnapped hybrid child of Tavantis’ human King and angel Ruler, going head to head with the Bureaucracy itself. 

If Arthur could change one thing about this bureaucratic hellscape it would be the Jump Queues.

Ten minutes to get to the damn thing, twenty minutes in the queue, another ten while the nice pre-Mars lady checked your license and asked about you and how’s that nice boy doing? What was his name?

“Lenny, ma’am,” Arthur said, hand over his eyes.

“When is he going to come back up here and visit me?” she tittered. The sounds of a mechanic keyboard could be heard in the background, painfully slow.

“Whenever I can rip him from his computer,” Arthur shrugged, staring blankly out of the cockpit’s windshield.

“And where are you heading today, Mister Morgan?” she asked.

“Chantakor,” he read from his console, “the Tavantis continent.”

Another five minutes to punch that unfortunate name in.

“Three jumps,” she declared, “the credits will be taken from your account.”

Arthur grumbled.

“You’re good to go Mister Morgan, jump safe!”

“I will, ma’am,” Arthur promised and sat up straighter as the portal ahead of him turned bright hot-purple and his engines were taken out of lock.

He cut the comms channel and another message came through immediately, buzzing in his ear like it couldn’t wait another five god damn minutes.

“Arthur?” Hosea blared through, “are you there yet?”

“Yep,” he said, pushing up on the throttle and sending his LASO into the portal. The comms cut out, but that was to be expected when you jumped through space beyond light speed.

First jump through and Hosea was back, Arthur turned his ship to face the next portal.

“You said you were there,” Hosea deadpanned.

“And I lied,” Arthur shrugged, speeding up, “you better get to your point before the next one.”

“I just wanted to s-”

Second jump and Arthur blasts through.

“You know Arthur, you’re a real piece of sh-”

Third jump and thank goodness, any more and Arthur’s head would be spinning.

“I’m at Chantakor now, Hosea,” Arthur said, powering down his drives and folding out the secondary wings.

He had never been to Chantakor before, partially due to its royal status in the Galactic System and damn was it a fine sight to behold.

Arthur leaned forward to peer out of his windshield at the whirlwind of activity near the main gate, thousands of LASOs, Chantakorian ships that dwarfed even the largest transport LASO. Humans were good at many things but apparently not at making decent ships. The Chantakorian transports gleamed in the light of the binary suns, making them shimmer like waves.

He almost missed his stop, the heavily guarded gate above the Tavantis continent that would lead him directly to the King’s quarters.

“Are you done being an asshole?” Hosea clips in. Arthur can just hear his arms crossing.

“Yes I’m done,” he said, fiddling with knobs and allowing the Chantakor fields to pull him in carefully.

“Alright listen,” Hosea started, “the King is expecting you any minute now. All you have to do is get in there, get his information on where his child is, and get the hell out of there.”

“His-” Arthur did a double take at nothing, his LASO stopping at the zero-G gate, “his what now?”

“I probably should have mentioned this is a kidnapping bounty,” Hosea said apologetically.

“Who’s the asshole now, Hosea?” Arthur blurted, tapping on his console. Apparently long queues were universal.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, son,” he said, “but it’s a lot of money and you’re our best.”

Arthur grumbled again.

“I will be getting the largest cut of this,” Arthur pointed threateningly at the comms, “and I will be taking the longest vacation afterwards.”

“Whatever you need to do, Arthur,” Hosea said, “but we need this. This job could get most of our systems back online.”

Yes, yes, the fabled systems Lenny and Karen had been working on since… forever it seemed. Arthur was ushered into the planet’s atmosphere and he banked down, heading to the private landing zone of the King himself. He couldn’t muster up any amazement.

He hit a button and the LASO unfolded its wheels as it touched the ground lightly and rolled along the tarmac towards the stupidly ornate building he assumed belonged to the King.

The angels were never a race that Arthur had been acquainted with either. The angels had a proper race name, but they had been dubbed so by the god-fearing human race due to their strikingly similar features to biblical angels. They were tall, gender neutral, majestic pillars that humanity had no business dealing with but dealt with anyway.

The LASO came to a stop in a hangar and Arthur powered it down, clambering out of the seat with some difficulty and opening the hatch. Chantakor was temperate and mild, almost a boring sort of weather if Arthur wasn’t used to the dramatic patterns of Earth.

He was met by two seven foot tall angels who ushered him to the main gate and the halls within the King’s palace. At this distance he could make out more features of the angels, they were all some variance of blue or green or grey, they had feathers all over them, and great big feathery wings that folded up neatly behind them. Their legs were like bird’s legs without all the scales and they were covered in feathers too.

They mumbled something in their native tongue, which sounded like trills and whistles, occasionally glancing back at Arthur. They reached a set of silver doors and turned to face him.

“You’ll see our Ruler now,” the taller one said, their great blackish-purple wings bustling behind them. Arthur held up a thumb to show he was ready to go, in true human fashion.

Also in true human fashion, the angel rolled their eyes and opened the set of doors, letting him in the room. All of the ceilings were cathedral style, towering up over them at almost 20 feet tall. It looked like the angels were just as fond of showmanship as humans were, as the entire room was festooned with colorful curtains and lights. In the far center was who Arthur assumed was the Ruler.

They stood a whopping eight feet tall, taller than any being had ever stood in front of Arthur, and they were bright. Their wings were massive and unfurled to their full extent, shining gold and green like old bronze in the sun. Eyes set wide in a dark face, they blinked several times and scrutinized the dirty man in their throne room.

“Howdy,” Arthur said unceremoniously.

“Are you Arthur Morgan?” they said in the same clipped accent, settling back in on their nest.

“Yes, uh, your Grace.”

“Thalia will do.”

“What’s this about a kidnapping I hear?” Arthur said, supremely indifferent to the angels and their customs.

“My kin has been taken,” Thalia mused with a face so indifferent that Arthur wondered if they actually cared or not, “and my world has shattered.” Of course they cared, Arthur, what’s wrong with you?

“When did this happen?”

“Twenty cycles ago,” they answered.

Arthur counted on his fingers for a moment to add it up.

“Alright so a couple nights ago,” he said, bringing out his comms pad and typing something in, “any ideas at all about who may have taken them?”

“I think my partner may have more information than I,” Thalia turned back and whistled something in their native tongue. The door behind them opened and a tired looking human man strode through and noticed Arthur. As he got closer he extended his hand and Arthur took it.

“I assume you’re the man here about my son?” he asked and Arthur nodded. It was the first time he had heard someone refer to an angel with a pronoun. Then a whole other set of questions popped up in his head. As if he read his mind, the King nodded and waved a hand, gesturing for Arthur to come sit with him.

“Are you familiar with the Llinovan?” he asked and Arthur sat down with him, thinking on it for a moment before realizing the Llinovan were the angels’ proper species name. He shook his head. “When humans first met the Llinovan many years ago there was an initial power struggle. Since then we have lived in harmony, myself and my wife included.”

“Does that mean…?”

“Yes,” the King nodded, “it means my son is part angel and part human.”

Arthur thought about the implications of this.

“You mean to tell me,” he started, “that humans and angels can have kids?”

“Yes,” the man replied, “and it’s not just us. There are thousands of hybrids now, all in hiding. Since they’ve grown in numbers, the human ambassadors on Chantakor have noticed, and they don’t approve.”

“I can imagine.”

“That’s who has taken my son,” the King sighed, looking straight at Arthur.

“I’m not,” Arthur stuttered, holding up a hand, “I can’t go toe to toe with the Terran Bureaucracy, that’s suicide.”

“Even with such a handsome reward?”

“Hosea never told me how much.”

“60 million credits.”

“God damn!” Arthur blurted out before hushing himself quickly. Several of the angels and the Ruler had turned to look at him. The King finally let out a little smile.

“It is my understanding that your community needs the credits,” he went on, “I intend on rewarding anyone who challenges the strong arm of the Terran Bureaucracy for what they’ve done to the human race.

Arthur thought a moment, mulling over the state of Earth, the constant rebuilding of the communities, the lush paradise of Amazonia that only the richest could afford to step foot onto.

“Alright,” Arthur nodded finally, “alright, where can I find these people?”

“The higher ups won’t have gotten their hands dirty with this,” the King said, standing up, “they’ll have sent their versions of bounty hunters to claim him and take him to another world. My guess is Niston, just a jump away.”

“I’ll get right to it then,” Arthur nodded and stood up with him, moving towards the door.

“And Mister Morgan,” the King called after him, “I’m very sorry to hear about LDDS, they have done very good work for us in the past and I’m angry to see them go.”

“Yeah, me too,” Arthur grumbled and tried not to think about it.

[mr-free-spirit]

FALLOUT (NEW CALIFORNIA REPUBLIC)

It’s funny how instant short story ideas suddenly spring to mind.

I had heard of the videogame Fallout several times, but I never took the opportunity to take a good look at it.

What attracted my curiosity the day before yesterday was the fact that someone came into work wearing a T-shirt graced with the California state flag on which our beloved state bear had two heads. I had seen the strange image before, but had never understood the significance of what it was supposed to mean. So I politely asked him.

He explained that it was from the videogame Fallout, and that it was supposed to be the “New California Republic” official state flag, explaining that the setting was a post apocalyptic world.

Of course, just the game’s name implied that things in the game were mutated.

So out of curiosity I decided to look up the terminology on the Internet via my iPhone, and of course found lots of descriptions regarding what was going on in the game itself. And one of the things I had discovered just this morning as I continued to look it up was a mutant animal present within the game called the yao guai (that’s Chinese, by the way), a mutated descendant of the American black bear.

There was an illustration of a yao guai there in the article on the subject.

I stared at it.

“The poor things,” I said sadly. “It’s not their fault that this happened to them. And their skin must hurt all the time.”

The description also went on to say that some people kept domesticated versions of the animal for both personal protection and apparent companionship.

“Are there still any normal bears around?” I found myself suddenly wondering.

And then, suddenly… right then and there as if someone had switched on a three dimensional movie all around me in which I was the main character… the whole following scenario left into my head as though I were really living it within the next three minutes…

——-

“Look!” I exclaimed in shocked surprise as I stared at the tiny brown ball slowly inching its shy way towards me uncertainly as I stood out in the middle of the vast wasteland. “A real honest-to-God brown grizzly!” And once the reality had sunk in, I then remarked softly, “…and he’s just a baby…”

Looking a little off into the distance, it appeared that what was left of his mother was lying there, and I had no desire to venture closer to see exactly what had happened to her. At any rate, it was all to apparent that this tiny cub was now a terribly young orphan.

“It’s okay, baby…” I softly coaxed kneeling on the dirt ground as he slowly and steadily wobbled his frightened way towards my hands.

Gently picking him up, I held him properly supported within my arms, gently stroking him to soothe him the best I can. After a couple of moments, he seemed to melt into my touch and was obviously extremely content.

“I think I’ll call him Yogi,” I said.

*

The next day was spent quietly consulting with a few trusted individuals in our small community trying to figure out the healthiest formula possible which would be best to bottlefeed Yogi. Luckily Jena and Robert were pretty much experts on such matters, and before too long a brothlike milk was eventually cooked. Jena remarked that in its present form it would be too strong for Yogi’s system and could easily give him a bellyache, but Robert’s adding the slightest dash of ginger clove seemed to do the trick.

Yogi loved it; he suckled greedily on his bottle until full, and was easily ready for a peaceful nap afterward. Clearly the formula was a success.

I spent my time raising Yogi amid my usual daily work while somehow managing to keep him as sheltered as I could from the harsh realities of the outside world, not to mention from prying eyes - anyone would saw him could easily see him being worth a fortune and ready to steal him or worse. As a result, Yogi learned nothing of fights or struggles or rough situations to deal with, as I always tried to protect him to best I could. He only felt gentle loving touches by caring human hands, gentle pets and scratches, and learned only of the good that people could give.

He was so very, very playful, and we always had lots of fun with him. And oh, how I loved him.

*

As you can imagine, Yogi grew up to be an amazingly huge, powerful bear, majestic and magnificent to behold. Sold rippling muscle, bright intelligent eyes, a beautiful glistening coat, Yogi was indeed a masterpiece. Others in our community had long since ceased trying to talk me into selling him. Big, beautiful and healthy, he was my pride and joy.

And one day, whenever I had decided the time was right, I would take him with me out into the world to see if we could find a dream come true - another grizzly, a lady grizzly, so the two could be bred and thus repopulate the landscape. With our assistance to protect them while all that raising was going on, of course.

*

But there was that one dreadful moment - Yogi and I had been in the middle of a dried up plain looking for more food sources - and a hideous looking creep armed to the teeth had shown up in the distance, some sort of crooked merchant always looking for odds and ends to sell - you know the type, *any*thing for a buck - and he immediately set enviously evil eyes on Yogi. Worse, he had a domesticated yao guai with him - a powerful, large animal easily just as huge as Yogi. And as hard as a kettle and as wicked as a bad dream.

Thankfully I had my modified rifle strapped to my back in case of emergencies.

Yogi looked confused - he had never seen such a sight in his life - but even so looked like he was preparing to take the situation on, albeit uncertaintly.

While I wasn’t one to run from a fight, my first thoughts were for Yogi - while I knew he was far stronger than the enemy yao guai, being much more muscled and agile, I was fearful of something; if the yao guai bit or scratched him in any way, would my Yogi become infected and possibly mutate???

NO, I thought to myself, I WOULDN’T RISK IT—

So I quickly whirled around and saw the only shelter in sight; an old abandoned farmhouse that still had its walls and a roof. Someone must have touched it up. Did it belong to this freak? I didn’t have time to ponder. I rushed with Yogi following over to its door, forcing it open.

Inside was completely empty wooden floors and walls, except for a large empty closet at its back. Slamming the front door behind us and hoping it’s lock still worked reasonably, I motioned Yogi over to it, and gently coaxed, “It’s okay… in here, quick…”

Once Yogi had trustingly entered the closet, I closed its door, stood before it defiantly, and readied my rifle as the enemies began fiercely banging the door while it’s doorknob rattled.

“GET OUTTA HERE!!!” I screamed with my rifle fully charged and glowing white hit at its barrel. “LEAVE US ALONE!!!”

——-

At this point I imagined someone later asking me once I finally got home and typed this all down, “Did you guys win?”

“Of course we did,” I knew I would say. “I just didn’t get around to making up that part yet.”

My mind wandered back to my scenario…

——-

Yogi, now out of his closet, was gently rubbing his muzzle against my right shoulder as I gently assured him, “It’s alright… they’re gone now. It’s all going to be alright.”

*

After that, I thought to myself, Yogi and I could handle anything. But Yogi’s safety came first. I would have to teach and caution him somehow on who and what was safe to battle in defense and who/what wasn’t.

We would spend many days traveling together over many many miles in search of that beautiful mate for Yogi… and eventually, yes, we did find her. Jena and Robert loved helping to raise Yogi’s new family, and there were many lighthearted campfires beneath the stars… and I knew that wherever we went and what happened, it would always be majestic travelling, travel king, me and Yogi, travelling on forever.

[tashkandi]

Stations of the Cross for Marriages and Families

Introduction

The particular needs of marriages and families prompted and largely influenced this reflection on the Stations of the Cross. Its purpose is to encourage all to reflect on Jesus’ passion in the context of family life, whether those families are immediate or extended, near or far, known or unknown. As St. John Paul II told us, the family is the building block of society, and so in this meditation, we pray for all families in light of the Way of the Cross.

Let us pray: Lord, you raised up the family to new dignity through the bond of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. We pray now for all families, especially those who might be experiencing difficulties of any kind, that the grace brought about by your suffering might give them consolation and new life. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.

  The First Station: Jesus is Condemned to Death

We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you.

(Genuflect) Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

John 19:10-16

        So Pilate said to him, “Do you not speak to me? Do you not know that I have power to release you and I have power to crucify you?” Jesus answered [him], “You would have no power over me if it had not been given to you from above. For this reason the one who handed me over to you has the greater sin.”Consequently, Pilate tried to release him; but the Jews cried out, “If you release him, you are not a Friend of Caesar. Everyone who makes himself a king opposes Caesar.”

        When Pilate heard these words he brought Jesus out and seated him on the judge’s bench in the place called Stone Pavement, in Hebrew, Gabbatha. It was preparation day for Passover, and it was about noon. And he said to the Jews, “Behold, your king!” They cried out, “Take him away, take him away! Crucify him!” Pilate said to them, “Shall I crucify your king?”The chief priests answered, “We have no king but Caesar.”Then he handed him over to them to be crucified.

Reflection: Doing the right thing is not always easy or clear. There are outside pressures and clamoring voices seeking our approval. It is often easier to go with what our culture says—buy a fancier house, car, or big screen TV. Spread gossip, tell those white lies, and hurl insults, big and small, at family, friends, and strangers. It seems a lot harder to make prayer a daily habit, practice tithing, come to worship God every week and on special holy days, remain open to children, practice charity in our families and relationships, and to keep God as our top priority.

Pilate also found it hard to go against the crowd, against the voices of the chief priests, and he ultimately succumbed to their wishes. We strive to do otherwise, and the promise of our faith gives us the courage to be countercultural in our daily decisions. We do so because we trust that living as God asks us, instead of as the world tells us, will bring us greater peace and joy in our relationships, marriages, and families than we could ever find otherwise.

Let us pray: Almighty God, help us to trust in your divine plan for us and to accept what you will in our lives. Instead of heeding our culture and world, we wish to turn to you in a spirit of prayerful listening. You live and reign forever and ever. Amen.

  The Second Station: Jesus Takes Up His Cross

We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you.

(Genuflect) Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

Mark 8:34-36

        He summoned the crowd with his disciples and said to them, “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and that of the gospel will save it. What profit is there for one to gain the whole world and forfeit his life?”

Reflection: It really comes down to a question of goals. What are our goals for our families and lives? Do we want to become famous, be admired and revered, wield great power and influence, accumulate untold wealth? What about helping each other grow in holiness? Challenging each other to more loving relationships? Bearing wrongs patiently and modeling forgiveness? What about helping each other get to heaven? How different would our lives be if these were our goals? As we follow Jesus, taking up our cross as he accepts his, we know that this is not the end; rather, this is the way that leads to eternal life.

Let us pray: Jesus, we want to follow you with all our hearts, but we are sometimes afraid of what our crosses will be. Instill in us a stout heart, that we would willingly accept a sharing in your mission. We give our lives to you in humble service, knowing that you will lead us to eternal life. We pray this in your name. Amen.

  The Third Station: Jesus Falls the First Time

We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you.

(Genuflect) Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

Isaiah 53: 2b-5

He had no majestic bearing to catch our eye,

no beauty to draw us to him.

He was spurned and avoided by men,

a man of suffering, knowing pain,

Like one from whom you turn your face,

spurned, and we held him in no esteem.

Yet it was our pain that he bore,

our sufferings he endured.

We thought of him as stricken,

struck down by God and afflicted,

But he was pierced for our sins,

crushed for our iniquity.

He bore the punishment that makes us whole,

by his wounds we were healed.

Reflection: Inherently, living as families means that there will be conflict. We are a group of imperfect, sinful people with various personalities who live together and try to make it work. There is, at the same time, inherent nobility in this effort because it speaks of our love and commitment to one another. How do we press on after knocking each other down or stumbling ourselves? This is the grace of Christ’s sacrifice—he has taken all our sins upon his shoulders. In his humanity, he even buckled under the weight of our sins. We can take solace, then, that Jesus knew our weakness, experienced its consequences, and still provided us a model of perseverance and a way to true freedom. Drawing our strength from God’s grace, we stand up together and continue along the way.

Let us pray: Lord, when we fall and fail, help us not to become too discouraged but instead to trust in your forgiveness and recommit ourselves to living well. Make us cognizant of the ways in which we cause others to stumble so that we would root out the source of such behavior in our lives. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.

  The Fourth Station: Jesus Meets His Mother

We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you.

(Genuflect) Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

Luke 2:34-35

        The child’s father and mother were amazed at what was said about him; and Simeon blessed them and said to Mary his mother, “Behold, this child is destined for the fall and rise of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be contradicted (and you yourself a sword will pierce) so that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.”

Reflection: Motherhood is one of life’s most sacred callings. A mother carries a growing child for many months and nurtures the baby from her own body during and often after the pregnancy. A mother truly shares in the activity of the divine, creating and sustaining human life. Yet today, motherhood is often not a title of honor or distinction, instead dismissed as something secondary or burdensome. Could we all do something more to honor all the mothers in our lives? After all, Mary was Jesus’ mother, and she infuses the title with nobility and purpose. She bore the weight of her son inside her womb and experienced the even heavier weight of seeing her child suffer at the hands of others. Instead of shying away from this suffering, she walked with Jesus every step of the way. Her obedience to God’s call to motherhood was not without pain and hardship, yet it provides a witness for all mothers of every age. She shows us that a mother’s love and steadfastness is a source of strength for a child, notably for one experiencing a time of trial.

Let us pray: Mother Mary, we ask your intercession on behalf of all mothers. Help them to know of your witness, concern, and love for them and the daily labors in which they partake. May you be a beacon of hope and light to all mothers who must endure the suffering of their children. We pray, Hail Mary… Amen.

  The Fifth Station: Simon of Cyrene Helps Jesus Carry the Cross

We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you.

(Genuflect) Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

Mark 15:20-22

       And when they had mocked him, they stripped him of the purple cloak, dressed him in his own clothes, and led him out to crucify him.

        They pressed into service a passer-by, Simon, a Cyrenian, who was coming in from the country, the father of Alexander and Rufus, to carry his cross.

        They brought him to the place of Golgotha (which is translated Place of the Skull).

Reflection: It is fitting for us that Simon was a father. He likely aspired to be a good one, providing moral instruction to his children, passing on the deposit of faith, and acting as a pillar of strength and protection. Perhaps Alexander and Rufus were with him that day and saw their father pressed into service to help Jesus carry the cross. Would they not have been scared as they saw their father led away and given the burden of a condemned man? Fathers have such an important role in the lives of their families and children. Too often, we have witnessed or even experienced the consequences of a father who has failed or abandoned his family. Our hope is that fathers would recommit themselves to their promises and responsibilities, helping shoulder the burdens of family living. We also trust that, no matter what the conduct of our earthly fathers, we have a Father in heaven who will never abandon us, turn away from us, or leave us to carry our crosses alone.

Let us pray: Heavenly Father, we thank you for the gift of all our fathers. Though they are not perfect, they do reflect, to various degrees, the love that you as our Father in heaven have for us. Embolden all the fathers in the world and remind them of their sacred mission towards their children. May they become more like you with each passing day. We pray, Our Father… Amen.

  The Sixth Station: Veronica Wipes the Face of Jesus

We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you.

(Genuflect) Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

Matthew 25:37-40

        “Then the righteous will answer him and say, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? When did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? When did we see you ill or in prison, and visit you?’ And the king will say to them in reply, ‘Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.’”

Reflection: Veronica’s courageous action enlivens us to be people and families of compassion. When a child or parent is sick, the whole family suffers and sacrifices until the person is well. So, too, in our human family—when another is suffering, we are called to suffer with and sacrifice for the other until all are well. Reaching beyond our own families is difficult, but we must accept our place and role within the Body of Christ and the entire human family and extend our hands and hearts to those in need. As we perform these spiritual and corporal works of mercy, as we truly wipe the face of the stranger among us, we realize that we gaze upon the true image of Jesus.

Let us pray: Jesus, Veronica’s hands were hands of compassion to you in your time of great need. She took such a risk in coming to your aid, but she shows us how fruitful such an action can be. Help our families and each of us to recognize others in need and to reach out to them. May Veronica’s love live on in our actions each day. You live and reign forever and ever. Amen.

  The Seventh Station: Jesus Falls the Second Time

We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you.

(Genuflect) Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

Psalm 22:15-18a

Like water my life drains away;

all my bones grow soft.

My heart has become like wax,

it melts away within me.

As dry as a potsherd is my throat;

my tongue cleaves to my palate; you lay me in the dust of death.

Dogs surround me;

a pack of evildoers closes in on me.

They have pierced my hands and my feet

I can count all my bones.

Reflection: Selfishness is the enemy of lasting relationships. It lays traps for others, takes advantage of the weakest among us, and drains the life from others and, ironically, from ourselves. To be selfish, to look out primarily for number one, seems like the easier option and the way to ensuring our happiness, but we know otherwise. Nevertheless, we sometimes give into our selfish tendencies, and then we fall. Jesus is again our model and our hope. He picks himself up after stumbling and continues his journey. His sacrifice is the ultimate example of selflessness as he truly and freely lays down his life for us. That kind of selflessness transforms the world, and it is what we strive for in our families, marriages, and relationships.

Let us pray: O Spirit of God, no doubt you accompanied Jesus along his walk to Golgotha, providing him strength has he fell repeatedly. Come to us, Holy Spirit, as we continue to stumble and fall in our selfish ways. Give us the ability to eschew our self-centeredness and instead to help others when they are falling. We ask this through Christ, our Lord. Amen.

  The Eighth Station: Jesus Meets the Women of Jerusalem

We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you.

(Genuflect) Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

Luke 23:27-31

        A large crowd of people followed Jesus, including many women who mourned and lamented him. Jesus turned to them and said, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me; weep instead for yourselves and for your children, for indeed, the days are coming when people will say, ‘Blessed are the barren, the wombs that never bore and the breasts that never nursed.’ At that time people will say to the mountains, ‘Fall upon us!’ and to the hills, ‘Cover us!’ For if these things are done when the wood is green what will happen when it is dry?”

Reflection: Jesus heard the cry from the women of Jerusalem, and not only did he know their pain then, he knew of the pain that women would suffer in the millennia to come. We see all too often how society still disrespects women through various forms of abuse and objectification. Jesus knew as well the atrocities that the children of our world would have to face. As enlightened as we sometimes consider ourselves, how often do we still reject our most vulnerable: the unborn, poor, orphaned, or unwanted children of our world? How dry the wood has become in our time. As people of faith and of conscience, we join Jesus in combating such things in our society. Even in his own moment of profound suffering, Jesus reaches out to the women and children of his day. We likewise continue to affirm the inherent dignity and beauty of women and their children, especially those who are in harm’s way.

Let us pray: Loving God, bless all vulnerable women and children in our world today. Help them to know of their dignity and worth, even when at times people tell them otherwise. Make us, in instances and situations where we operate from positions of influence, firm in our resolve to defend the most at-risk in our society. We recognize this as our duty and your will. We pray in Jesus’ name. Amen.

  The Ninth Station: Jesus Falls the Third Time

We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you.

(Genuflect) Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

Isaiah 50:6-7

I gave my back to those who beat me,

my cheeks to those who tore out my beard;

My face I did not hide

from insults and spitting.

The Lord GOD is my help,

therefore I am not disgraced;

Therefore I have set my face like flint,

knowing that I shall not be put to shame.

Reflection: Our human weakness is a reality we are constantly fighting. We try to stay up later at night or do more at work. We do everything we can to stay young and reduce signs of aging. Our weakness, and our eventual bodily death, is a source of great concern for most of us. However, the grace of God gives us hope. Though we are finite in many ways, God is infinite and an inexhaustible source of love and strength. Our lives of faith help us to accept that grace from God, to transcend our human weakness and strive for lasting things. We live in hope that after the final time we fall, the moment of death, God will raise us up to new and eternal life. Surely, this hope kept Jesus going towards Calvary after he fell again, and it sustains our efforts as well.

Let us pray: Jesus, you knew and felt the limitations of being human—the tiredness, the sickness, and even the sting of death. Yet, you rose above such limitations and provided a model for us by which to live, that of a person accepting his or her limitations while utilizing the grace of God to move beyond them. We have faith that you will indeed raise the righteous on the last day, helping us once and for all to leave behind our human weakness and the consequences of our sin. In your name, we pray. Amen.

  The Tenth Station: Jesus is Stripped of His Garments

We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you.

(Genuflect) Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

John 19:23-24

        When the soldiers had crucified Jesus, they took his clothes and divided them into four shares, a share for each soldier. They also took his tunic, but the tunic was seamless, woven in one piece from the top down. So they said to one another, “Let’s not tear it, but cast lots for it to see whose it will be,” in order that the passage of scripture might be fulfilled that says:

“They divided my garments among them,

and for my vesture they cast lots.”

This is what the soldiers did.

Reflection: Crucifixion was not just about pain and torture—it was also about humiliation. We hear of Jesus being stripped of his garments, garments that perhaps his mother had made and that were one of his only remaining possessions in the world. He was standing without any clothes for the entire crowd to see. The soldiers tried to take his dignity, take away everything that he could give to anyone else. But Jesus still had love to give, still had forgiveness to offer, still had his willingness to sacrifice himself, and so he did just that. He accepted the humiliation of nakedness willingly and then proceeded to lay down his life for us all.

This all begs the question for us—if we were stripped of everything…our titles, money, possessions, accomplishments, even the very clothes off our back, would we still be able to give without counting the cost, to love one another unconditionally? The task seems impossible, but there is a certain freedom in being able to say, “Take what you will, but you cannot take away my love. That is mine to give, and I give it freely.”

Let us pray: O God, it is startling, even scary, to think of ourselves without anything but ourselves, without material goods or worldly accolades. We wonder if we could still love if we lost all of this. Most of us will never be called to such radical witness, but we see from what Christ has shown us that our ability to love, forgive, and transform hearts is in none of these temporary things. Remind us again that our true power comes from the divine life that lives in each of us as your created sons and daughters. In Jesus’ name, we pray. Amen.

  The Eleventh Station: Jesus is Nailed to the Cross

We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you.

(Genuflect) Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

Isaiah 53:11-12

Because of his anguish he shall see the light;

because of his knowledge he shall be content;

My servant, the just one, shall justify the many,

their iniquity he shall bear.

Therefore I will give him his portion among the many,

and he shall divide the spoils with the mighty,

Because he surrendered himself to death,

was counted among the transgressors,

Bore the sins of many,

and interceded for the transgressors.

Reflection: Finally, the reality of our sins takes tangible form. The little hurts, the lies, the cheating, the laying blame, the insults, and the insecurities—all are there in those nails. They bring pain and suffering as we nail Jesus to the cross. Yet, if he cries out, he cries out not in protest but in willing acceptance. His sacrifice is a profound one, as he freely gives of his life and receives the nails we intend for each other or even ourselves. May this image of our sin spur us to conversion, and may we always be filled with gratitude when we consider Jesus’ gift.

Let us pray: Lord Jesus, it is difficult to imagine the pain that accompanies being nailed to a cross. Ponder it too long and we shudder. You also trembled at such realities as you prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane, but we see you now bravely and lovingly facing your self-willed destiny. May we repent of the nails we intend through our sinfulness and sit in humble gratitude of your sacrifice. You live and reign forever and ever. Amen.

  The Twelfth Station: Jesus Dies on the Cross

We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you.

(Genuflect) Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

Matthew 27:39-50

        Those passing by reviled him, shaking their heads and saying, “You who would destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, save yourself, if you are the Son of God, and come down from the cross!” Likewise the chief priests with the scribes and elders mocked him and said, “He saved others; he cannot save himself. So he is the king of Israel! Let him come down from the cross now, and we will believe in him. He trusted in God; let him deliver him now if he wants him. For he said, ‘I am the Son of God.’” The revolutionaries who were crucified with him also kept abusing him in the same way.

        From noon onward, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon.And about three o’clock Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Some of the bystanders who heard it said, “This one is calling for Elijah.” Immediately one of them ran to get a sponge; he soaked it in wine, and putting it on a reed, gave it to him to drink. But the rest said, “Wait, let us see if Elijah comes to save him.” But Jesus cried out again in a loud voice, and gave up his spirit.

Reflection: (If possible, kneel for a moment of silence.) Look at the cross as it holds the bruised and bleeding body of our Lord and Savior. How is it that this instrument of torture and shame could bring about our salvation, our lasting hope? It is because of the power of God’s transformative grace. It transforms our lives of sin into lives of holiness, our feuding families into models of sacred family life, our selfish tendencies into acts of selflessness, and our confused sadness into everlasting joy. We cling to Jesus’ death on the cross, this ultimate example of unconditional love, as our refuge in a world full of broken relationships, broken homes, and broken-down people. Christ’s sacrifice is so powerful that it overcomes all of these and ushers in opportunities for peace, for reconciliation, for lasting joy. Truly, by his holy cross, Jesus has redeemed the world.

Let us pray: Father, we gaze upon the body of your Son, and we slowly begin to realize the enormity of your love for us, that you would send him for this purpose of saving us from our sins. We marvel as well at his willing acceptance. We hope that this realization and knowledge never leaves us and that we would apply it to how we live and love in our families, marriages, and relationships. May we remember that unconditional love is the only thing that has ever changed and will continue to change the world for the good. We pray this through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in unity with the Holy Spirit, one God forever and ever. Amen.

  The Thirteenth Station: Jesus is Taken Down from the Cross

We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you.

(Genuflect) Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

Mark 15:43-45

        Joseph of Arimathea, a distinguished member of the council, who was himself awaiting the kingdom of God, came and courageously went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus. Pilate was amazed that he was already dead. He summoned the centurion and asked him if Jesus had already died. And when he learned of it from the centurion, he gave the body to Joseph.

Reflection: Joseph of Arimathea meets Pontius Pilate. Courage meets cowardice. Joseph understands the responsibility and potential cost of discipleship, including going to bury the body of the Lord. Pilate allows it, probably happy to be rid of the problem of Jesus of Nazareth.

What are the costs of discipleship for us today? They are likely much less than what disciples in the early Church faced, and yet, would we be willing to die for our faith? What about being mocked, ridiculed, and scorned? Are these too much to ask, or are our faith and our salvation the most valuable gifts we have? Our families are to be witnesses as well, models of discipleship and of God’s love existing in the world. Our goal is to be evermore like Joseph of Arimathea, people who are disciples despite the risks, disciples because we know of the rewards promised to and won for us.

Let us pray: Spirit of God, you infuse us with your gift of courage. Reawaken this and your other gifts in us that we might live more fully the call to discipleship. Be as tongues of fire to lead us on our way. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.

  The Fourteenth Station: Jesus is Laid in the Tomb

We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you.

(Genuflect) Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

Luke 23:53-56

        After [Joseph] had taken the body down, he wrapped it in a linen cloth and laid him in a rock-hewn tomb in which no one had yet been buried. It was the day of preparation, and the sabbath was about to begin. The women who had come from Galilee with him followed behind, and when they had seen the tomb and the way in which his body was laid in it, they returned and prepared spices and perfumed oils.

Reflection: Regardless of our age, state, or position, death comes into our lives, often abruptly and as an unwelcome visitor. All of our families experience death, sometimes in a grandparent who has lived to a ripe, old age but sometimes in a child who never had a chance at living a full life. No matter when it comes, death is never easy. It is precisely at these times that relationships and families have the potential to be such a blessing. Our bonds with those who remain bring us a measure of consolation. Finally, as we know for Jesus and for ourselves, death is not the final answer. We are a people of hope, hope in the resurrection and eternal life. As we live our lives and deal with the reality of death, may we keep Christ’s life, death, and resurrection firmly in mind as the source of our salvation.

Let us pray: Jesus, how saddened your friends and family must have felt as they laid your body in the tomb, unsure if you would fulfill your prophecy of rising on the third day. Deaths amongst our families and friends are also moments of sadness and doubt for us. During those moments, remind us that you have overcome death and lead our loved ones and us to new life. You live and reign forever and ever. Amen.

  Veneration of the Cross

If possible, venerate the cross with a kiss, genuflection, or other appropriate gesture, observing a time of silence or musical meditation.

Let us pray: Lord Jesus, we have walked with you this Way of the Cross and, in a special way, kept our families, marriages, and relationships in mind. We know that you call us individually and collectively to greater union with you in our way of life. Bless us with the grace to follow you on this pathway of our salvation. We pray all these things in your most holy name. Amen.

+ May the Lord bless us, protect us from all evil, and bring us to everlasting life. Amen.

  About the Author

A recipient of both a Bachelor of Arts and a Master of Divinity degree from the University of Notre Dame, Daniel previously served as the Director of Religious Education at Saint Pius X Catholic Church in Granger, Indiana. His writing interests largely center on Catholic spirituality and theology, particularly family life and the Christian answer to the question of human suffering. Originally from Hays, Kansas, he and his wife Stephanie currently reside with their children in South Bend, Indiana. For more of his writings, visit faithfamilyfatherhood.blogspot.com.

  Copyright Information

This text is used with permission from the author and may not be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author. Electronic and paperback versions are available for sale at this link.

Scripture texts in this work are taken from the New American Bible, revised edition © 2010, 1991, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Washington, D.C. and are used by permission of the copyright owner. All Rights Reserved. No part of the New American Bible may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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