#how we let power corrupt and change; how we avoid truth to maintain our happy bubbles; and so much more

[kilometeresmorales]

both pro and anti an.akin fans are insane and i am convinced fandom in general has ruined people’s ability to sit with fiction

[mymovingfingerwrites]

who is't can read a woman?

let's talk about shakespeare’s women. let’s talk about how they linger at the sides of the pages, their thoughts hidden between iambic pentameter, how their growth occurs when the audience is focused on battles and betrayals and men who command attention, who dominate the narrative so needily. even the "strong female characters" are analyzed in relation to their men. even the most powerful woman is owned – or ignored.

which fate is worse?

let’s talk about ophelia. ophelia, who was barely mentioned past her funeral scene. ophelia, who refused to take herself to a nunnery (to take herself to disrespect and shame, to exclude herself) and instead took herself to death. ophelia, who chose her father over hamlet, who chose unconditional love over that of trinkets and uncertainty, who refused to be a tangent to another’s path of growth. ophelia, who withstood hamlet’s games with a blank face carefully crafted, who left rue behind to the queen but also to herself, who understood regret. hamlet cried words, words, words and wavered between two paths. ophelia, who understood madness, chose her own. did she regret her actions, or merely that she was forced to take them? ophelia, who perhaps died from a broken branch or a vengeful queen or simply from floating herself to sleep, the pale blue sky relentlessly unchallenging. ophelia, who wove flowers in her hair as talismans of protection and hid truths behind nonsensical songs, whose strength is derived from her fragility and not in spite of her femininity. 

a discussion about fragility is not complete without miranda, so let us turn our attention there. yes, let’s talk about miranda, who knew as well as caliban how dangerous language can be. caliban learned how to curse. (miranda learned to—what, to cajole? to care? perhaps what miranda learned is that it matters what you say but also why you say it). miranda, the magician’s daughter, who understands several types of magic. miranda, the beloved daughter, who understands how to enchant, to bewitch, to delight. let’s talk about a miranda striving to maintain her femininity in a world of men. was she forced to, or was it a conscious choice – a rebellion?  miranda knows about rebellion. miranda has learned about perfidy. is her immediate infatuation with her prince an act of defiance? is her optimism insurgent? miranda, whose virginity precedes her. miranda, who remains hopeful, whose naivety is carefully maintained, who faces a brave new world without a hint of fear, whose virtue is as sharp and cutting as a sword. 

and of course, who can forget juliet? juliet has become famous (and also reviled, diminished, disregarded by those unwilling to consider a teenage girl has iron behind soft curves and lacy nightdresses). (juliet would probably not be okay with this). who can forget the tale of juliet and her romeo? hers. juliet, who was willing to fight for romeo, who was willing to lie and twist and deceive and leave the safety of her family for her love. (hers). juliet, who was willing to die for a boy who smiled at her from across the room at a party, for a boy who (was perhaps in love with another) lurked beneath her balcony and proclaimed love, for a boy who represented everything she was not supposed to desire (but allowed herself to anyway). can we consider that perhaps juliet was in love not with romeo but with the idea of betrayal? barely a full day passed before juliet escaped paris and bound herself to romeo, and if juliet wept over his prone and cooling body, will we deny that she also wept at the loss of her freedom? juliet understands that she cannot achieve freedom on her own. juliet understands that some bindings are looser than others but in the end she is always bound. juliet dies as an afterthought to her romeo, but she perhaps also dies as a preclude to the rest of her life. juliet betrays. (juliet escapes). 

we’ve talked about love. we’ve talked about love that consumes, that saves, that kills. what about love between women?

let’s talk about three sisters.

let’s talk about cordelia first. why not? cordelia is the dutiful daughter, the kind sister, the one that forgives and cares and sacrifices. cordelia, who refuses to lie in her father’s test because she does not love for money or land or approval but for its own sake, who recognizes her duty and acknowledges it but also leaves quietly when she is stripped of it. does cordelia truly love lear? no more or no less. cordelia understands this idea, this balance. it would not be difficult to imagine cordelia applying it to the rest of her life, doing what is expected of her but not compromising her ideals, building her happiness without infringing on that of others, seeking growth without focusing solely on success. cordelia is mentioned only in context of her father, first to be rejected and then to forgive. her life must be imagined.

let’s talk about a cordelia who grows up the youngest of three, who watches her sisters scheme and manipulate and fight, who sees complex ties and alliances forged and then broken without a thought, and decides early on that she will not be a tool in someone else’s plan. (cordelia probably loved her sisters no more or no less than they deserved, too).

however, no woman is without flaws. could we not fault cordelia for resenting her family? could we not imagine that cordelia closes her eyes briefly in regret before opening them to meet her father’s sightless ones without a flinch? could we not imagine that cordelia feels a flash of vindication, a burning sense of victory, when she hears about her sisters’ fates? cordelia wins. cordelia endures. 

let’s talk about the others. goneril, next. if we close our eyes, can we imagine goneril young? where did she learn that she must twist her tongue if she wants people to dance to the tune she produces, that betrayal is more reliable than trust, that she must measure her worth in tangible objects because the intangible is too nebulous to be used as a reliable metric of success? the oldest daughter, who holds her head high not because she chooses to but because she has known nothing else. let’s talk about how goneril sees through her father’s ploy and is determined to win, who is cheated once again when her father’s men lay waste to her rightful inheritance, who thinks (hopes?) that edmund can match her, who uses deviousness as a carefully sharpened rapier. goneril, who loses. if we stretch our imagination, can we admit that loss is likely familiar to goneril? goneril, whose aggression is considered unfeminine and therefore disgraceful, who is compared to edmund and considered to fall short, who is ignored and dismissed even as she lashes out. it is difficult not to pity goneril. goneril, who chooses suicide in an attempt to avoid defeat once again, who is willing to accept failure for a man who is merely using her, who is not even honored with an on-stage depiction of her death, who is passed aside once more, who fails. goneril, who seeks power but also love, who refuses to submit even in death.

let’s talk about regan. continuing with our brief foray into speculation, can we imagine regan as a young girl, caught between goneril’s reign of terror and cordelia’s quiet defiance? regan’s power derives from her ability to make choices. let’s talk about how regan is often overlooked, how she is hidden behind cordelia’s virtue and goneril’s vengeance. let’s talk about how regan’s retaliation is swifter and more effective than either sister could have predicted. regan, who is practiced at the art of deception, who has several types of smiles available to parcel out to those around her, who once spent hours looking at herself carefully in the mirror to determine how raising an eyebrow or widening her eyes or quirking her lips could change her entire demeanor, who is unafraid to hide venom behind sweetness. goneril and cordelia both lacked subtlety. regan embraces it.

let’s talk about regan, who displays cruelty but also regret, who identifies edmund as the object of goneril’s desire and then carefully, slowly, slyly takes him. regan, who understands the power of perceptions, whose actions are carefully calculated. regan, who shows concern for gloucester perhaps out of genuine feeling but perhaps as a strategy. cordelia endures, goneril fights, but regan achieves. 

shakespeare wrote girls that were delicate but not weak, young and perhaps naive but not unintelligent, impulsive but also resolute, faltering without sacrificing courage. shakespeare wrote girls that understood sacrifice, who understood familial duty, who understood appearances and constraints and societal norms. shakespeare wrote girls that chose themselves, even if those choices are not immediately obvious to a (largely biased) (largely male) audience. 

however, shakespeare also wrote women. 

let’s talk about those women. they were not better than the girls – there was strife and conflict between them, yes, but girls were not pitted against women in a competition of which is better and which should you be and which is more deserving of a happy ending.

(if there was that, we will choose to ignore it. we will interpret it differently. we recognize more than one type of strength. we acknowledge the importance of weakness. we understand that sometimes you must let her simply be.)

shakespeare’s women had power. they had plot lines of their own, jealously guarded and carefully hidden and often overlooked. these women understood how to make men weak. girls know how to be underestimated. these women grew up and learned how to use this against those that dare forget that they deserve a narrative. these women fight back. these women blaze.

let’s talk about gertrude. gertrude, whose motives are left entirely unexplored, whose sexuality permeates every part of her character, who is told that this sexuality makes her weak and corrupt and shameful. gertrude, whose shoulders remain high and back, whose sharp eyes gleam beneath a crown well won, who can bind men to her with glistening lips or jeweled words or slanted glances. even her son is affected. was gertrude responsible for claudius’ death? gertrude, who has carved out a place for herself, who has ensured her own security, who has a multitude of actions and allies and alibis prearranged and ready for instant use, who remains shrouded in mystery perhaps precisely because she means to be.

hamlet obsesses over her, despises her, lusts after her – and yet manages to overlook her. let’s talk about a gertrude who could have committed murder not once but twice, who might have disposed neatly of ophelia, who maybe cleared the way for her son. let’s talk about a gertrude whose machinations never saw the light of day. let’s talk about a gertrude whose power was magnified because it was never acknowledged, whose strength was quiet and enduring and carefully planned. let’s talk about a gertrude who refused to let oppositions to her sexuality limit her. let’s talk about a gertrude who owned herself, who possessed herself, who loved herself. (did she love herself?)

shakespeare has few women in his stories, but some are more prevalent than others. 

let us turn our attention to lady macbeth. she is not so easy to dismiss. she is not so easy to forget. her schemes are not so easily hidden. lady macbeth, who is never given a first name but rather always referred to as the female partner to her husband. (lady macbeth, i wager, would not be overly upset about this). let’s talk about how lady macbeth coolly plots the murder of a king, who secures her own power by bolstering her husband’s courage, who uses words to twist and enchant and distort, who understands the power of a weapon that fires where pointed. lady macbeth understands that somebody must dirty her hands. let’s talk about how lady macbeth is then rarely mentioned, how her violence is at the forefront of the play but her remorse consumes her in the wings of the stage while her husband’s deterioration is the focus. let’s talk about her strength. let’s talk about her determination. let’s talk about her vulnerabilities, about lady macbeth wandering the hallways with bare feet against chilled stone, who only can be truthful to herself in her sleep, whose hands chafe with guilt. out, out – was lady macbeth speaking of the blood, or of her remorse? lady macbeth models herself after stone, but even stone can crack with time. lady macbeth, who rejects femininity because she rejects weakness, who would rather bash a baby’s head against her breast and stem the blood that runs through her veins than be reduced to a parenthesis, a caretaker, a mother. lady macbeth has no time for remorse. lady macbeth does not want to be lessened. lady macbeth wants to be more.

let's talk about these girls and these women and the narratives that consume them, because if we don't, who will share their stories? (who will tell ours?)

[luna-almighty-god]

Guardian Angel N°10 [The culmination of your mistakes. The mistake of your life]

This is chapter ten !

This story is obviously not canonical, please do not refer to it if you are looking for canonical information.

Have a good read!

===

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

===

The living room was poorly furnished, with only the most important pieces of furniture such as a sofa and a shelf full of books. The rest was empty and dusty, as if the place was not even worth maintaining. This was probably the case. After all, it was only a makeshift shelter, a place they would soon leave and flee to a safer place, before danger caught up with them again and forced them to do the same thing again.

Dream weighed down gently, gazing at the pages of his novel without being able to concentrate. Another night he didn't sleep, another night of biting anxiety, of detestable anguish.

“Worrying won't get you anywhere.” he heard abruptly.

He barely jumped, grumbling with discontent at this unwelcome coming. Though the term was a bit strong... he simply did not wish to see Cross at this moment.

“Go to bed.” the guardian told with exasperation.

But the monochrome ignored him to come and sit beside him, leaning nonchalantly against the backrest while darting his one valid eye on the prince of dreams.

“What's bothering you? he asked, although he already knew the answer.

- Nyx is long gone, but nothing has changed. How can you expect me not to worry about that?”

The swordsman looked up at the ceiling:

“Who knows?

- Don't be so phlegmatic! He's still your pupil, and my nephew! Shit, what if something had happened to him? What if the portal had been unstable? What if... What if he was erased from this reality? Oh my God, what if... God...”

He took his head in his hands, and took a sigh from Cross:

“Dream, I was there. I saw what was on the other side of the gate. Don't worry, he got to the other side safely.

- You can't go safely through the past, damn it Cross!”

And as each time the guard got up sharply, starting to walk a hundred paces, waving his arms excessively, his eyes dark, his teeth clenched:

“If something happened to him, I won't get over it! I promised myself that I would support him, that I would relieve him of a burden!

- Maybe he succeeded, but it just created another timeline, without touching ours.

- Maybe it did! But how do we know that? Damn it, you should have gone with him! You should have!!”

Cross looked up at the sky:

“Don't scream, you'll wake Lux. And then he...”

He got up, approached the guard gently to make him stop moving:

“...do you really think I could have left you when you were facing Dust and Killer? Dream ... the multiverse is completely corrupted ... ...you and I have lost our families, our friends... I've... I've already lost Epic. It's just you and Lux and Nyx. We're alone, completely alone... and if I hope Nyx is happy in another timeline, I can never bring myself to abandon my husband and daughter.”

He took him in his arms, hugging him gently:

“... Even if it means going down with our multiverse ... I want to be with my family to the end.”

Dream responded feverishly to his embrace, his soul clenched.

If only... If only he could have stopped Nightmare in time... if only he could have prevented all this... there wouldn't have been so much loss, so much suffering, so much regret. The multiverse had already begun its downfall the moment Ink had let himself be corrupted by the black apples, but now that Error was dead in turn...

There was only a storm of miscodes left. Codes that were nibbling away at the last remnants of their world. The question was whether they, or the bad guys, would finish them off first...

*** ***

Horror frowned, perplexed, as he let go of the meat that was grilling in the pan. He wanted to believe that Nyx was bad at cooking, but not knowing how to hold a knife ...

“Nyx, are you all right?”

His doubt was confirmed when he saw his comrade stretching slightly, but as always, he took back his impenetrable mask and that false smile that was beginning to unbear the cannibal:

“Yes, I'm all right! I'm just having a little trouble with the vegetables.

- If you held your knife differently too...”

Horror approached him and stole the kitchen tool to better position it in his palm:

“You see, it's like this...”

He paused, perceiving from the corner of his eye the slight grimace of his apprentice. This worried him even more as he began to guess what was going on. Increasingly annoyed, he released the knife and grabbed Nyx's hand frankly, wrenching a cry of surprise and pain from him. Before the drawer could free himself, Horror rolled up his sleeve, revealing a wrist in poor condition, wrapped in a half-untied bandage as if it had been done in haste.

“Wh- I'm dreaming! What the hell happened to you?”

Nyx came out quickly, too abruptly as he grimaced again, aggravating the pain in his wrist. He brought his hand against him and looked away, suddenly feverish. Too feverish.

“N-Nothing...”

His stuttering, weak voice set Horror on fire, and he had to take a deep breath to avoid anger and to stay in control of his actions. He didn't insist, at least not verbally, as he came and grabbed Nyx by the arm - the one that wasn't attached to the broken wrist - and suddenly teleported him to the bathroom.

If Nyx gave him a confused look, Horror didn't explain himself and simply forced him to sit on the edge of the bathtub. Then he turned to the cupboards and searched them thoroughly, only to come out of the bandages a few minutes later.

“You're out of luck ... the cannibal growled as he walked back to Nyx. You've stumbled upon the only castle where no inhabitant is gifted with healing magic.”

The drawer remained silent, simply watching him take his wrist more delicately to remove the half-open bandage.

“Did you put that bandage on yourself?" asked the cook.

- ... Yes, I did.

- ... Damn it. . . You're as bad at cooking as you are at caring. Worse than Killer.”

Nyx laughed, which made Horror smile. Finally, the black-boned skeleton regained some of his good humour, even if it wasn't that yet.

“What's up? Are you going to tell me how you got hurt?”

The cartoonist massaged the nape of his neck:

“You might laugh...

- Eh, why? I promise, I'm not laughing!

- Mm... I was on my bed and I wanted to draw. I leaned over to the bedside table to grab my notebook, but I slipped and smashed on the floor.”

There was a great silence before Horror, looking hallucinated, burst out laughing:

“Oh shit, are you serious? You're even more clumsy than I thought! You'd never think of breaking your wrist like that!”

Nyx had an embarrassed smile. Embarrassment that passed for shame to the cannibal, when in truth the one with the black bones felt guilty for lying like that. But he could never have confessed the truth to anyone...

*** ***

Nightmare stayed for a long time watching the files on his desk, but he left them there phlegmatically, realizing that he could not concentrate. How could he? Nyx's case preoccupied him, preoccupied him too much.

It was hard to admit, and to tell the truth he would probably never admit it to anyone, but the master of woes had become gently attached to the damned cartoonist. And yet, the Creator alone knew how much Nyx could bear it! Seriously ... he came out of nowhere, was not known to anyone, but seemed to know everything about everything, as if he had studied every monster on the multiverse! Well, Nightmare was probably exaggerating a bit, but to see that Nyx knew him - a bit too much - well when he knew nothing about himself was ... terribly frustrating.

Not to mention this barrier around Nyx, a kind of mask, a role that the artist was giving himself. As if he was hiding his true thoughts, his true purpose, behind all sorts of tricks, spells ...

Yes, there was magic. Nightmare wasn't stupid: by noticing that he didn't feel Nyx's emotions, he understood that Nyx was using a spell, a terribly powerful spell that exceeded the power of the nightmare master.

One more mystery about the skeleton with the grey scarf.

And if that's all it was... Nightmare was willing to believe that Nyx was more powerful than he let on. But... from there to blocking his mind?

For no matter how hard Nightmare tried, he had to face the fact that Nyx did not dream. Every living being had a dream bubble at bedtime. A bubble that Nightmare could see and control, a bubble in which a dream, a nightmare, or simply nothing was diffused.

But the Nyx bubble didn't exist. Nightmare searched for it every night, waiting for Nyx to go to sleep, but it was nowhere to be found.

As if Nyx did not sleep.

But it was impossible. Everyone was asleep, skeletons included.

But then... (Sighs) Didn't Nyx look exhausted all the time?

It was true that his black bones perfectly concealed his dark circles.

But ...

Nightmare growled.

He had to get to the bottom of it.

*** ***

[Looks at me]

Shut him up...

[I love you, my angel]

Shut him up!

[I'll always be here]

Wha....

[I'll always be there for y...]

SHUT UP! SHUT HIM UP!

Nyx opened his eyes, too quickly to relate to reality, too quickly for his vision to get used to the darkness.

[It was dark. All dark]

Terror made him speechless, he got up hastily, took his legs in the blanket, fell backwards and felt his shoulder crack against the ground.

[Black, still black]

He ignored the pain, ignored the burning, the inferno of his soul, to rise up with uncontrollable trembling, erratic breathing, white dots dancing before his eyes, a sign of his confused spirit being tormented again by darkness.

He threw himself on the bedside table, had great difficulty in lighting the lamp as his hands trembled.

He was suffocating.

[He needed it]

The sob escaped him in spite of himself.

[WHERE WAS HIS FUCKING BAG?!]

He turned his head towards the office, beamed there instantly.

Using his magic made him twist, made him even more unstable than he already was.

[An apple]

He felt more than he saw the crack on his soul, the crack that spread a little more over his poor inverted heart.

[WHERE WERE HIS APPLES?]

His fingers couldn't find anything. The pain grew stronger, as did the white flashes that kept dazzling him.

He spilled his bag on the ground, in a din that seemed far away, too far away.

Stormy flashes, flashes of memories.

[His birth, a mistake]

He threw himself to the ground, nervously rummaging among the spilled objects.

[Desperate Ink, to the point of accepting a black apple]

Lack of sleep is fatal to health. The mind starts playing with us, deluding us. What is the dream, what is the reality?

Nyx didn't know. He never knew.

[The years of torture and rejection]

[Fighting Continues]

[Plum]

[His Plum]

[His parents]

[ERROR!]

New Flash

And Ink, whose wards had now disappeared, reaped the joy of his son's distress:

“Ah... ahah ... Pathetic and miserable... so this is what you have inherited from me... ?”

The fracture sounded like a mirage, a distant sound. A distant sound but yet so close, too close, too violent.

Plum's neck had just been broken.

Then there was nothing but dust, and the frightened look of Nyx. His gaze turned grey, empty of all emotion.

If he had not been born, the conflict between Ink and Error would not have become so serious. Killer would not have left Nightmare for Color.

If he hadn't been born, his parents wouldn't have continued their unhealthy relationship thinking that they only had this left.

If he hadn't been born, Nightmare wouldn't have been desperate, not so desperate as to upset the already fragile balance of the multiverse by corrupting the majority of universes. He wouldn't have taken possession of Underlust, he wouldn't have killed all its inhabitants except Plum.

If he hadn't been born... Plum wouldn't have joined the Badlands by force. He wouldn't have gotten dragged into this, attached himself to it, died.

And the best irony in all this?

Plum didn't even love him. Never had. But then again... Nyx was the only form of tenderness in the castle. So Lust had fallen back on him.

But Nyx had never needed to read his feelings to know how much Plum disliked him.

For ... Nyx was the son of Nightmare, the master of nightmares. As well as Ink's son, the former guardian, the traitor.

Nyx was the mistake of a lifetime.

But if Plum didn't love him... Nyx had sincerely loved him. From the depths of his soul.

“You...” he stammered, still on the ground, watching unbelievingly as Plum's clothes fell to the ground.

Ink looked at him, leaned his foot a little harder against his skull:

“What, are you going to cry now? Do it Nyx, cry! That's all you're good for anyway. You're only good at sobbing on your own s...”

The Creator stepped back sharply, dodging in extremis the tentacle that had just sprung from the ground, which had failed to perforate his body. He shuddered at the sudden drop in temperature, took another step backwards, lowering his eyes, his eyebrows furrowed.

The magical concentration around Nyx made him yelp. An unhealthy, feverish, trembling magic that accompanied the bitter tears that rolled down the young skeleton's cheeks, his bitter tears that blurred his vision but did not hide his blinking pupils.

Red, grey, red, blue, red, grey, red, blue, red, red, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED.

BLACK.

Nyx exploded:

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Ink petrified, his brush exploded against the ground. He screamed as his patella shattered, shattered cleanly by another tentacle. Falling one knee to the ground, the painter was suddenly propelled to the ceiling, spat out a sheaf of blood before being smashed against the floor.

Nyx was no longer in control, cowering over himself as he continued to scream, the negativity escaping him far too quickly to contain it.

His eyes turned red again. He looked at Ink with his red pupils, dangerous, threatening.

Another tentacle sprang up, grabbed the painter by the neck. But this time Ink had the presence of mind to teleport despite his weakness.

Nyx turned sharply, intercepted the punch with his arms. Ink, who thought he had him on his backside, growled loudly before he teleported his brush in his hand, spraying paint on his son.

The younger one hiccupped, suddenly finding his hands bound by chains, before Ink hit him with his handle, sending him crashing into the wall behind.

He was in the castle room, in another timeline, in another TIMELINE!

Nyx knew he was going to die.

He was out of apples, he was out of apples!

Ink was going to finish him off.

WHERE WERE HIS APPLES?!

But through his blurry vision, Nyx perceived this intrusive blue thread. This wire that he had never seen before, but whose owner he knew.

He found one. An apple. His last apple.

Error immobilized Ink, his livid face, as if he couldn't believe the spectacle he was watching, which he couldn't grasp as his little artist had turned in such a way.

He stuck his fangs in the black pulpit, sweeping away his last glimmers of lucidity, his mind finishing to twist when he felt the oppressive and foul embrace of anger, of resentment, materialize around his soul to tear it apart.

A cold sweat covered him, gravity grabbed him from all sides. He felt his body fall heavily, his skull hit the ground.

“Who are you, kid?”

Nyx didn't answer. Ink did it for him:

“A HORROR, A MISTAKE, THAT'S WHAT HE IS! THIS IS WHAT HE WILL BE FOREVER!”

Nyx groaned piteously, trying to regain his senses, to return to the present moment. But the memories were still playing out, Error's eyes were resting on him.

“I am Error, the Destroyer of UA.”

Nyx looked at him, half-conscious.

“I'm gonna get you out of this hellhole.”

Nyx blinked.

He looked up at the ceiling.

The silence was soft, terribly soft, after the inner screams of his subconscious.

He blew, clutched his tunic to the place of his soul.

His seizure was over... but for how much longer?

His energy completely drained, he turned his head softly, his pupils lingering on his things strewn about the floor.

Tears came, less painful than the previous ones. A form of fatality, of sinister acceptance.

[He ran out of apples.]

We knocked on his door with strength, drive, will. A noise that sounded like a terrible death knell for Nyx, who got up painfully and eagerly, hiding his objects under his bed with a clever turn of his foot. He dragged himself to the door, dressed in his impenetrable mask, with a smile that he knew to be increasingly false.

"Good evening, Nightmare," he greeted his host with a casual greeting.

The master of the house was not at all reluctant and entered the room without the slightest hesitation, sweeping it with his gaze before returning to Nyx:

“You're not asleep.”

An observation, not a question. The cartoonist laughed:

“That's right. But I was planning to go to bed soon.

- I'm not talking about now.”

The guest swallowed, didn't have the opportunity to answer that Nightmare's aura was more worrying, intimidating. For Nightmare was like that: he hated not understanding, that one thing escaped him:

“You're not sleeping. You don't sleep. Otherwise I would have seen it.”

Nyx tilted his head to the side, mimicking astonishment, then forced a laugh:

“It's true I don't sleep much, but when l-“

Nightmare's gaze grew harder and colder as he snapped his tongue:

“Don't take me for a stupid Nyx. I'm not able to feel your emotions, but I can still read people's eyes. And you lie like a little cheeky.”

Nyx felt faint. But he was lucky, this young skeleton. As lucky as a kid in a situation could be. Lucky that Nightmare showed up after his seizure. Lucky that he ate a black apple before confronting the master of misfortune. Lucky to be emotionally stable again, enough not to break down, not to reveal his weakness as he did in front of Horror.

His quiet smile of each day returned.

Nyx looked as confident as ever:

“Nightmare, I'm sorry if I'm upsetting you so much. But are you sure you're all right? Wouldn't your power fail when the baby comes?

- Wha...?

- Insomnia is adorable... but what energy he has! You and Killer must be exhausted, right? If you need help, I'm here, you know? I love the kid, I'm willing to babysit him for you once in a while!”

Nightmare blinked, not understanding how the discussion could have turned out this way. He was about to go back to the initial subject but Nyx cut him off again, leaving to retrieve his abandoned notebook on the bedside table:

“I could teach him to draw, he has a lot of potential! Look!”

The master of the house was slightly startled, surprised that the paper was put in front of his eyes. In spite of himself, he found himself looking at his son's scribbles. And even though it wasn't high art, he was quickly moved without even realizing it.

Nyx had a sweet laugh:

“Killer was talking about a new restaurant the other day... Why don't you go there tomorrow? I'll keep Insomnia with Dust!

- ... I'll ... Suppose we could do that, yes.”

Nyx walked him to the door with a smile:

"It'll be great! You're a couple, but you can't let up! Isn't there anything more beautiful than two lovers seducing each other every day? »

Nightmare got a little worse, not even realizing that he had reached the corridor. Nyx waved to him:

“We'll confirm all this tomorrow! Good night!”

He closed the door ... and Nightmare opened his eyes.

Seriously, though... Nyx managed to get him out?

Again?

He grunted, massaging the bridge of his nose, before turning his attention to the drawings he'd kept in his hand. Was Nyx right? Was he simply too exhausted after all? As much by his couple as by his child?

He grumbled. Nyx had turned the tables a little too easily... but it was true that Nightmare needed a break.

He turned around and went to his room, where Killer must have been waiting for him, sleeping soundly.

Yeah, well... tomorrow he was going out with his husband. Then he'd confront Nyx.

Anyway, there was no rush...

...isn't it?

===

Next Chapter

You can support me on my Utip or on my Ko-fi account !

===

Credits =

Dreamtale ->  Joku

Dust -> Ask DustTale

Error -> LoverOfPiggies

Ink -> Myebi

Killer -> Rahafwabas

Cross and Lux -> Jakei

Insomnia -> EnaPouyou

[bi-outta-cordonia]

Ebb and Flow

Last chapter moved kinda quickly in terms of progression and maybe there’s a miniseries lodged somewhere in all the development I’m shocked we didn’t get to see. Hopefully there’s more hiding in the later chapters. We’ll see!

Blades of Light and Shadow. Tyril Starfury x f!elf MC (if you squint, now complete with light touching!) sfw, all ages. Tags include: Tyril has secrets, that’s why his hair is so long, because it’s full of secrets, also he’s still grappling with some of that juicy early onset sexual tension with Ashala, maybe he’ll deal with it one, maybe. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Salt of the air, taste of the fury on the tongue. The high winds rise as the sea roll low. Clutch the vessel starboard and let Honerva flow!”

Tyril’s ears twitch along to the melody, lifting and bending easy from years of involuntary practice. The priestess—Nia—her song is familiar to him but also completely foreign. Parents of Undermount sing the same tales to their restless and misbehaving children, not as an upbeat shanty but rather as a warning to the wise. Honerva is a goddess that demands much from the mortals that traverse her realm. Stay humble but maintain vigilance. Stay the course but do not ignore the many weaving paths that make up the sea. Honerva may grant safe passage or she may dash a ship full of innocents against craggy stones, whichever mood strikes her first. 

Nia does beautifully as her voice ebbs and the sailors whoop heartily. She offers a dainty bow and heads back to her bunk beneath deck with Threep still perched on her shoulder. 

Much like the odd whims of Honerva, the air shifts as soon as familiar magic cuts through the thin barrier around him. He often erects a small shield when he stands on his own, nothing like the ones he forces up in battle. It’s just enough to give the humes pause as they walk by him—perhaps they’ll turn away so he doesn’t have to stomach looking at them. He knows how they take to him all too well. Better to steer them clear of him before something unpleasant unfolds. 

Even so, there is no guarantee that all the walls around him will remain in tact. Ashala Venralei is impossible to miss and her magic is advanced enough that crossing into his doesn’t give her the overwhelming need to be elsewhere. She quietly folds her hands one over the other and leans against the wooden rails. 

“Honerva is not a gentle goddess yet humans have such cheerful songs about her,” she says. 

“I see,” is all he says. “I didn’t think you’d know of the stories surrounding her.”

“Did the mage miss the morning ritual I conducted prior to our departure?” she teases, head turning completely towards him. He glances at her from the corner of his eye and frowns heavily. “Perhaps I am more elf than he cares to admit—I practically begged for safe passage. Honerva changes moods as often as Mal changes the details of the stories he’s already told. We should be grateful that her temperament has not changed yet.” Her lips quirk. “And that Mal’s stories are amusing. We move amongst seasoned travelers, it seems.”

“Ah, you speak not of I, lowlander,” he corrects. “Undermount has been my home for decades until now. What stories Mal provides come from his adventures. The ones I provide belong to me yet seem to surface whenever it suddenly becomes the fancy of one extremely nosy lowlander.”

She doesn’t laugh and it irritates him in a way. Instead, he watches that sly smile of hers crack across her face, golden eyes as bright as the beaming sun. What little she conveys with her body he can read upon her face. 

Sometimes.

“You could always stop me yourself,” she says. “Two days out from port and you’ve yet to spend time with anyone aside from myself. A choice, I presume?”

Tyril doesn’t answer for a long moment. In the skies above, a flock of gulls circle and swoop down towards the sea to scoop up fish for their meals. White feathers shine wetly as they beat their wings and head back to land. He averts his gaze and stares at the distance ahead of him—nothing but miles and miles of endless sea, the horizon almost indiscernible between the place where the sky meets the water. 

“I don’t…” He stops and narrows his eyes. “All that I could say about the life I’ve grown accustomed to matters little compared to the reality I embrace now.” He stands taller but takes a shaky breath of the salty air. “Stories of the past often matter greatly depending upon the context but my stories are nothing. Just the ramblings of…”

He grows quiet, bowing his head a bit, and he dares not risk a glance towards the woman beside him. His old governess would give him a whack on the knuckles for such weakness. First and foremost are the lessons of propriety—how to maintain veneer with ease and how to trick one’s enemies into believing the face displayed for them. Of all the sickly sweet smiles and taut smirks, nothing delivers more emphatically than the look of unwavering curiosity brimming in Ashala’s eyes. 

Slowly, Tyril turns his head towards her and meets that gaze with his. She exudes smoke and ash, chokes the world around her into a violent submission for it has walked its course over her. She will walk her own path to save a man unrelated to her by blood but in between, the natural well of magic in the world will tip in her bend and the elements all around her will move aside for she refuses to be moved by them. 

“You are…” he starts, resting his chin upon his hand. Her eyes flash—a warning or amusement? He isn’t entirely sure. “A strange creature.”

Ashala shrugs. “You are blue. And tall.” She squints at him. “And horribly gruff. I expected elves from the city beneath the stone to be a lot more refined.”

“I can be if I choose so.”

“But you choose not to be in any given moment.” Her head nods towards the door leading to the bunks beneath deck. “Save for when you interact with Nia, of course. Imtura seems unbothered but Mal does everything in his power to crack the frosty exterior you put up.” 

He chuckles. “And you seem to think I exist for the sake of reciting old stories. You and Mal are no different in that sense—you are both bothersome. Only he seems to do it because nothing else in this world could possibly entertain him more.”

“You have a vein that pops up on that rather large forehead of yours when you get riled up,” she says. His fingers twitch and his jaw works. He will not rise to the bait. He is better than this. 

Better than the coy smirk that tugs at her lips when he does reach up. 

And much better than the playful glint in her eyes as he silently tucks his hair behind his ear, very much avoiding the spot on his forehead where the vein could be. 

He will not think about this later. 

“Is there something in particular you desire, lowlander?” he hisses. “Or have you come to pester me for yet another story?”

She remains silent for a long moment. Her golden eyes sweep back over the water and take in the sight of clear skies all the way in the distance. Her body closes off, turns away to face completely forward. There is a blankness about her face and his brow furrows. 

“We all carry secrets, Tyril,” she says quietly. Ashala’s head remains high despite the strange air settling between them. Before the words leave her mouth, he knows the question sitting on her tongue. “Undermount is your home, yet the minute you called out the next destination, there seemed…there was a hesitation on your part.”

His lips press together. “I see.”

“Your skill is unparalleled. Of the five of us, it is clear your training as House Starfuy’s heir—” His jaw works, “—has granted you the boon of power beyond imagining. Knowledge, tactics—there is much to speak of regarding you but we respect your need to hold such truths to your being. Perhaps there is something we are unaware of that is too painful for you to recall—something that would leave you vulnerable.”

He sighs and lays his arm flat against the railing. 

“No, it…” 

Memories flood the empty space within his mind. Meditation keeps it clear but there are nights where he is restless, tossing and turning as events of the past play out in the form of nightmares most unimaginable. Where there is wisdom there is pride most evil, most corrupting of those that cross its path. His mother—her face is there but hazy. Fanciful feasts, the boisterous laughter of men and women dressed in the finest of silks as servants present delicacies from far and wide—

There was a man whose lips he can still taste—

The woman with straw blonde hair that smiled so beautifully—

House rankings, climbing the rungs of hollowed out ladders that snap so easily but mend just as well if only he would think.

Climb faster.

Push harder. 

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs again. 

“It’s…far too complicated to explain at the moment,” he finally answers. Weight presses on his shoulders and a knot forms in his belly. He remembers a sensation like this back then, only it was much more constant. “In some ways, I envy the life you’ve led.”

Ashala offers nothing at first, her eyes never straying from the horizon slowly moving in the distance. “You’ve been surrounded by luxuries most of your life. Your knowledge of our—of your culture is far more extensive. I cannot fathom the idea of envying one born to nothing.”

“I...I was not lacking for anything, no. You assume correctly in a sense. Even the happiness was constant for a time.” Quiet again. At the very least, she does not push. “Everything moved towards a single goal and that was the most exhilarating aspect. To be able to provide for the house meant just as much as being a part of it. Climbing the ranks was a ruthless game but standing atop the other children brought glory beyond compare.”

“You were heir,” Ashala says. 

A rueful smile tugs at his lips. “Everything I could ever want at my very fingertips—and now? Now, I travel the world committed to a mission that the others of our kind would rather blatantly ignore.” His head shakes. “What good does it do to only partially stop an evil that would destroy us all? Why stop at splitting the shards and why not completely cleanse the world of the Court’s influence?”

Ashala hums but does not respond immediately. Her head turns and she observes him quietly. 

“Then it was pure altruism that saw you abandon such a lucrative role?” His eyes dart away and he knows the exact number of whacks on the knuckles the gesture would earn him. 

“I’ve been away from Undermount for a long while,” he says. “It’s been months at best yet I know the exact number of whacks I’d get for being so loose with my feelings.”

“Oh? How rare to see such a sight,” she says, hand raising to point at the corners of his mouth twitching. Tyril jerks his head away and snorts, drawing a small laugh from her. “A rare yet delightful thing to see. Perhaps I was mistaken about your ability to express any emotion aside from disinterest and disgust.”

“You could stand to repress some of yours more often,” he fires back. “Humes are widely regarded as loud creatures—you are an elf. Some stoicism would make you tolerable at the very least.”

Her laugh is a full-hearted cackle. None of the heat nor venom of his words take for she finds any slight instance of his annoyance enjoyable. Heat floods his cheeks and he can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips as she howls with laughter. 

“To have an elf accuse me of not being stoic enough!” she wheezes, wiping at the corners of her eyes. “Would you believe that humans find me to be the most unapproachable creature that walks this land? The children would often run from the pull of my magic lest it would swallow them whole. I suppose those in possession of magic naturally terrify the folk who have so little experience with it.”

He nods. “Much of yours was self-taught, however. Being able to conceal it is one of the first lessons a proper instructor should’ve taught you, but…” He coughs. “I suppose I could…show you. It would be a useful skill when we face certain enemies.”

She quirks a brow. “Now you instructing me? Perhaps it is a moment I eagerly await if only to see the bitter disdain on your face when you realize how difficult it is to teach me!” His eyes roll but she ignores it. “You still didn’t answer my question, Tyril.”

“It was…” He pauses for a long moment. “It was mostly for that reason, yes. But in truth, it is like you mentioned before. There are some secrets I would still prefer to ‘hold to my chest,’ as you say. It isn’t…it isn’t the most pleasant thing to recall, not now. I…”

Again in an instant—

The faces of hundreds who looked upon him with hope—

That looked broken and angry when he turned his back on them—

There is no shame in doing what needs to be done—for doing the right thing. Pride is not the only source of his sense of self. It makes up only a small portion of all of him but the thought still eats at him—the question of what could’ve been always lingers no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that it isn’t important to know the answer. 

Tyril crosses his arms and gently smooths his fingertips over his bracers. His head bows and he stares at the water violently lapping at the hull as Imtura’s ship cuts through the sea. 

“You don’t regret this,” Ashala says, pulling him from his thoughts. 

“No, not at all.”

“But there are things you wonder about. Things that you cannot change or reverse as a result of your actions…”

He stands still for a moment before nodding once. “All that I do here matters more to me than the circumstances that put me on this path. I chose it, yes. There are factors that led me here, that is also true.”

She stares at him for a long while, that piercing gaze stirring something a bit unsettling within him. It’s like looking into the base of a flame all consuming, a void all encompassing. Ashala Venralei—would he ever tell her the truth about her name and all the reasons why no person in Undermount would ever consider stringing such words together to form a child’s name? He knows what Tyril is—Orthonus, Livienna, Myhri, and Rashki.

“The child born from ash and dreams”—to get to where they needed to go, Ashala’s parents burned a considerable bridge that meant that home would never be a place they could return. 

“We will stop the Shadow Court,” she says and she does something dangerous—far too dangerous—

She reaches across and lays a warm hand on top of his. He swallows and stares into her eyes once more, something far more uncomfortable welling in the pit of his belly. It’s a warmth and a storm in one that starts in his gut before it shoots through the rest of him in uneasy webs. 

He wills himself to nod curtly. When she graces him with a warm and genuine smile, he quivers. 

It must be luck she turns on her heel and leaves him before she notices. 

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

Persephone | John Wick x Reader (Nine)

Words: 3412

Warning: Usual JW-verse violence, minor swearing

A/N: Sorry to update so late. I’ve made an outline for the remaining chapters, but the direction of the story ended up going way off than what I planned and getting more complicated, giving me writer’s block. Why do I do this to myself?

Previously: Abram Tarasov strikes a deal that he will ally with you if you look into the rising power, Sokolov, and find out who’s responsible for it. Gavriil Sokolov is revealed to be a man who had no interest in the criminal Underworld until his father died and is resolved to building the family’s power and sought a similar goal of a new system with the help of Rozaliya Romanova, who happened to be an old friend of yours and asks to meet with you.

-

You took a taxi to the location Rozaliya had written in the note, paying the driver with a golden coin to take a discrete route, avoiding the main roads if possible. John wasn’t all too happy about you going alone, but it was what you wanted to do, so he gave you his bulletproof suit jacket and, surprisingly, let Cerberus follow you.

The loyal dog sat next to you, fitted with the bulletproof vest that you made for him. You had added pockets in it with emergency tools and gadgets tucked away with a matching bracelet on your wrist to activate some of the gadgets. You absentmindedly scratched behind his ear, trying to calm yourself as you neared the location.

It was the apartment from your memory, the place where Ophelia had sent you to get rid of Rozaliya, located in the upscale part of New York. It had been so long ago. To think that this Rozaliya Romanova would reach out to you first and offer aid, especially someone from a powerful family, it seemed too good to be true.

You stepped out of the taxi with Cerberus behind, gazing up at the looming building with its European influenced architecture, the penthouse having a wide balcony to overlook the city. You walked up to the bellman and flashed the rose pink star pendant. He nodded, opening the doors to you.

“Welcome back, Miss (Y/l/n),” he said.

The doors opened to a spatial lobby with marble flooring and pillars and a high ceiling with a crystal chandelier. You made your way over to the elevator where an elevator operator waited, maintaining a neutral expression as you walked in. Once the doors closed, you showed her the pendant.

She nodded, saying, “Welcome back, Miss (Y/l/n).”

She then pulled out a key ring filled with color coded skeleton keys. She took the rose gold colored key and slid a panel open. She turned the key in and pressed the red button next to it. The elevator jerked, taking the three of you to Rozaliya’s penthouse.

Your heart was racing in your chest as the elevator slowly crawled up the building. Was Rozaliya a true ally? Even if she was five years ago, she could have changed during the time you were gone. The note she sent didn’t have much details. You supposed that was on purpose so it could be discussed in person.

According to the note, Rozaliya’s father was no longer in power, so her step-mother took over. From what you’ve managed to remember, her father wasn’t a good leader, let alone a good father. He was good at what he did, but he didn’t like playing by the rules, which wasn’t a trait a High Table member should have.

The elevator opened to a long corridor with floral paintings along the walls. You and Cerberus stepped out and used your muscle memory to lead you down the corridor towards a double door.

You looked down at Cerberus for reassurance. He reached up to lick your hand, making you smile. Right. You had him with you. It was tempting to have John come with since his presence was always comforting for you, but you wanted to talk to Rozaliya one on one. You pulled his suit jacket closer around you, his scent still lingering on it, before you knocked on the double doors.

A tall blonde woman with striking blue eyes opened the doors immediately, a large bright smile on her face once she saw you. Finally seeing her face in the flesh, you weren’t sure what you should be feeling. A part of you wanted to cry since you were practically seeing a dear old friend after five years, but the other part of you wanted to be cautious and see how it plays out.

She launched herself at you, wrapping her arms around you tightly. Cerberus jumped into attention, growling at her. She pulled away and looked down at the pitbull who pushed himself in between you and Rozaliya.

“He’s new,” she said, “Hello, there.” He growled, standing his ground in front of you. “He’s very protective of you, isn’t he?”

“Very,” you said, petting Cerberus’s head to calm him down.

Rozaliya smiled. “I’m glad you could come.” You nodded, not knowing what else to say. “Well, come on in. You’re no stranger. We have a lot to catch up on.”

-

The familiar tea set sat in front of you on the coffee table as Rozaliya brought over a plate of cookies. Cerberus sat next to you, still in alert, almost watching her move around the apartment.

She finally sat down across from the two of you and smiled, folding her hands on her knee. “I’m glad that you’re okay now,” she said.

“You knew what happened to me?” you asked.

Rozaliya pursed her lips. “I wish I knew sooner. I knew how stubborn you were looking for the people that killed your family all on your own, and I should have just gone and send people to help you anyways. We didn’t expect Ophelia to act so soon. It had really pushed our plans back, but let’s not get to that yet. How are you?”

You sighed, tilting your head in thought. “My memory has been coming back gradually. I’ve been relearning… things. Just getting by,” you said.

She looked at you with a sad smile. “You don’t trust me,” she said, “I don’t blame you. Go on, ask me anything.”

“Why only now have you tried to contact me? Why couldn’t you do during those five years?”

“There was a lot going on during that time that I had to deal with and we knew that you weren’t in immediate danger. We never knew that John Wick was going to kill Ophelia, either.”

“And what did you have to do, exactly?”

Rozaliya sighed, recalling the memory. “There are things that my father had done that I had to fix, and it wasn’t easy. I’m still trying to fix it. Years of corruption had led things astray.”

You nodded slowly, taking in this information. Although it seemed like she was telling the truth, there was no way of telling if she was your ally yet. You would just have to hear her out for now. “Alright. What did you want to discuss?”

“I’m sure Yevgeni brought in the briefcase for you. Those documents are what you’ve collected, detailing the accounts of key figures of the Underworld that had gone against the rules or gone around the rules to get their way. Ophelia wanted that information for herself and tried to send people after them. Just because this is the Underworld, doesn’t mean it’s a lawless world. My mother and I want to fix that.” She leaned back in her chair, shifting around to get comfortable.

Cerberus scooted closer to you on the couch. You adjusted yourself, one leg tucked under you, and allowed Cerberus to lean on you. “And you kept all that information with you when I was gone?”

She nodded. “I knew where you kept them and luckily, Ophelia’s people didn’t get to them first. It had been locked away until you came back. It seemed that you came back just in time, too, which brings me to the current situation. You were looking into the Sokolovs, correct?”

“Yes… yes, I am,” you thought for a moment, then said, “You don’t happen to be involved with them are you?”

She bit her lip, adjusting herself on the chair again. “He, Gavriil Sokolov, came to me first. He wanted to use my resources and influence to either rid or take over the other territories, thinking he struck a fair deal by presenting evidence that my father was murdered for his seat at the Table.”

“And was he?”

“He was, but with good reason. As I mentioned, he wasn’t using his powers wisely, so my mother and I planned to get rid of him and take over so we could put things back in order again. Gavriil thought that I would be vengeful of my father’s death and wanting to take the seat from my mother. I only agreed so I could keep an eye on him and influence the outcomes of his plans. He wants a new order, but not in the way that we see it. If he thinks that he could take over, he wouldn’t be any better. That’s what you and John Wick are planning on doing, isn’t it? Planning a new system?”

“How much do you know about our plans?” you said, your arms wrapping around Cerberus. He must have sensed your uneasiness as he growled lowly at Rozaliya.

She smiled at how loyal he was and shrugged. “Everyone knows about what happened to John Wick up to how he practically declared war on the High Table. It would make sense for him to go and find you to help.”

“And you are on our side?”

“Of course, (Y/n). You’re my friend,” she said with such genuity it made you speechless. “You may not readily remember or even believe me, but know that I am on your side. I’ll let you decide what happens next.”

-

Rozaliya’s New York-based underground club, Cassieopia, wasn’t much different from Astraea, except that it was bigger and had a large stage for live performances. You held John’s hand as you weaved through the crowd until you reached the bar. John ordered two shots before leaning against the counter next to you.

“This Gavriil Sokolov is going to be here?” John asked into your ear.

“That’s what she said. She invited him over for a business discussion, but, of course, he doesn’t know we’re here,” you said, “She should be here soon as well.”

A drunk man stumbled passed, tripping over someone’s foot, his hand reaching out to the nearest thing to steady himself, which happened to be your chair. He lifted his head, his eyes scanning your body and he grinned.

“Well, hello-” he leered before John cut him off.

“Goodbye,” John snapped, pushing him away and maneuvering his body to shield you from any other clumsy drunkards that try to make a move on you. 

“You’re acting like Cerberus right now,” you teased, nudging him.

He took a scan of the place, then looked at you with narrowed eyes. His hand moved to your wrist at your pulse. “It seems to me that you enjoy it,” he said lowly.

“Who doesn’t want a tall, dark, and handsome man protecting them?” you grinned, fluttering your eyelashes. John huffed, shoving the shot glass into your hand and held his up. You clinked glasses and drank at the same time.

Rozaliya cleared her throat, looking between you two with a raised eyebrow. “I know you two aren’t the partying type, so I’m sure you want to get straight to business,” she said, her hand resting on John’s arm.

Your eyes caught this immediately and John could feel your pulse picking up. “Rose, our supposed friendship will be in danger if you keep that up,” you found yourself saying. John looked away to hide a smirk. Your cheeks heated when you realized what you said.

Rozaliya removed her hand with a knowing smile. “Okay, you two, follow me.”

You hopped off the bar stool and grabbed John’s hand again, following Rozaliya through the crowd up the metal staircases to one of the private rooms. John squeezed your hand gently as the two of you entered, revealing the room to have a fish tank and a wallpaper filled with stars and galaxies.

Rozaliya sat on one of the leather couches and gestured over to to the wide fish tank at the front of the room. “There’s a door behind me that leads to a hidden room right behind that tank. It’s a one way glass, so you two can see and hear everything. Cameras are installed around this room, the bar, dancefloor, stage area, and the stairway, which you can monitor on the screens. There’s another exit that leads to the main stairwell of the building,” she said.

You walked over to the wall where Rozaliya pointed at, running your fingers along the wallpaper until you felt an indentation hidden in the Rose galaxy. You fished out the pendant from your pocket, the star slotting in perfectly. You cranked the pendant counterclockwise until you heard a click. John pushed the wall, revealing a dimly lit room, then stepped aside to allow you to enter first. The wall clicked shut behind the both of you, the lock returning back to its position.

You made your way over to the monitors, spotting a man that fit the description of Gavriil Sokolov making his way over to the private room. He was of average built with slicked back blonde hair, donning an all black suit. He had brought two guards with him with Yevgeni leading them over.

“How are you, friend?” Gavriil greeted, opening his arms for a hug.

Rozaliya smiled, giving him a short hug before sitting back down. “Drink?”

“Of course.”

Rozaliya nodded at Yevgeni to call in a waiter before turning to Gavriil. “I’ve been made aware of new developments,” she began.

Gavriil chuckled. “That thing. You are resourceful.”

“That’s why you came to me,” she said.

They both laughed it out. “It was a decision I made after much consideration. Thanks to you, the others that are second in line to be the leading crime lord of their territory came into an agreement with me.”

“Agreement?” Rozaliya cocked an eyebrow, her eyes trying to read every facial tic and microexpression on Gavriil’s face even as the waiter came in with the drink and two glasses before leaving without a word.

Gavriil sighed, leaning forward to pour two glasses. “Details. Things you shouldn’t worry too much about. Not everyone agreed, of course, but enough. Word on the street, this Persephone has been gathering up allies as well. Most of the people that disagreed or hadn’t answered had a previous history with her. Do you know of this person?”

Rozaliya hummed, taking the glass from him. If Gavriil got this much done before she found out, how many other plans had he done without her knowledge, using her name to gain influence?

“I suppose you haven’t heard of Persephone. You’ve only been in the Underworld in the past year while she’s been gone from action for almost five years. I’ve heard many things about her. She’s very skilled, very deadly. Even killed a man twice her size with a stiletto shoe.”

“A stiletto shoe?” he asked in disbelief.

“A stiletto shoe.”

John broke away from the monitor and turned to you with a raised eyebrow. “Impressive, but it’s your style. You do love to slice and stab things,” he whispered.

“Didn’t you kill someone with a fuckin’ pencil?” you whispered back, nudging his arm.

John shrugged. “Once or twice.”

Gavriil took a shot of vodka before setting the glass down. “Can you refresh my memory? Killing innocents are against the rules even in the Underworld, too, right?”

“Yes, of course. Why?”

He sighed, pouring himself another drink. “From one of my sources, they say that she’d killed countless of innocent bystanders as well,” he went on. You stiffen, wondering who exactly was his source that would tell such a thing. “They say that she just gone mad and massacre the other residents in her apartment complex. After that, she went missing.”

You shake your head, backing away from the fish tank in denial, but that night of the break-in of your apartment flashed through your mind. You knew that it was one of the Instructor’s people that you killed, but there was still a missing piece between that time and when you were holding the body of an innocent, their blood staining your hands. You weren’t sure if you had killed them, or you simply assumed that you had because you were holding them. But to say that you had killed everyone in that building? It must be a mistake. If you had, the Adjudicator would have been looking for you from that point on and not even Ophelia or Caius could evade them.

Something’s off. The plan was to have him reveal everything and then get rid of him and restore the territories back to Tarasov. You and Rozaliya were convinced that he told everything to her, given how new he was to this business life he would confide in almost every decision he made. He was, after all, using her money and influence to even achieve his goals.

“John-” You started to say, but he was already ahead of you, making his way over to the other door. “Wait.” You rushed over to him and pressed your lips firmly on his cheek. His eyes widened before pulling you closer and captured your lips roughly, pouring every unspoken word into the kiss.

He finally pulled away, running a thumb along your bottom lip. “See you in a bit,” he said before heading out through the narrow hallway behind the room that led to the stairwell.

You caught your breath and turned back to the fish tank, your nerves spiking up again once he left. You tried to focus on the mission, listening intently to the conversation.

“Back to the subject at hand,” Rozaliya said, reminding him, “I thought we agreed that we would be sharing decisions within our partnership. After all, without me, you wouldn’t be able to obtain even half of the power you gained.”

“This is true,” he admitted, “but with my new allies, I don’t think I need you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Especially when you have gone behind my back as well. I may be new to the Underworld, but I am a fast learner. You want to know what I’m planning? Justice to be dealt with on every member of the Table, every leading crime lord, and every Continental manager.” Gavriil smirked, knocking back a shot before standing. He fixed his suit and looked directly into the fishtank. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other in due time, but I really hope not.”

With that, he left with his guards, pushing passed Yevgeni. Once he was out of the room, Rozaliya told Yevgeni to start evacuating the club before making her way over to the hidden room. She walked straight towards the monitors, her blue eyes honing in on Gavriil’s retreating figure. She swore under her breath, pressing a button to eject a disc from the recorder.

“We need to get out. Now,” she said firmly, opening the other exit.

You followed close behind, hearing the ruckus of people spilling out of the club as the music stopped. Rozaliya took her high heels off and rushed up the rest of the stairs, putting them back on once the two of you had reached the ground level.

Yevgeni was already waiting for you two outside, leading you to safety away from the building. An explosion erupted, shattering the windows of the first floor. You swiveled around, looking for Gavriil and his men. The sound of screeching tires caught your attention and you moved towards the sound to see a car speeding towards the block. Three heavy armored black cars rolled up in time as the car opened fire at the evacuated crowd, shielding everyone. They shouted, ducking for cover while the rest of the security guards tried to calm them down and control the situation.

“He thinks he can mess with the Romanovas?” Rozaliya spat. “I’ll show him.”

Once the car drove off, the crowd began to disperse, guiding by the security guards. John stepped away from the window of a nearby building, turning to see his captives, Gavriil’s two bodyguards along with three other men working under him. They struggled against their ropes, blood and sweat trickling down from their foreheads and obscuring their vision.

John walked up to the three men and crouched down to their eye level. “I wonder what Nastya Romanova would do if she finds that several of her men have betrayed the family,” he said.

“I’d imagine she’d be extremely pissed off,” a female’s voice said in Russian.

John turned to see a woman with graying mousy brown hair stepped out of the shadows. John slightly lowered his head in respect. “Nastya,” he greeted.

Nastya grinned. “It’s good to see you again, John. Now, tell me who is trying to hurt my daughter.”

-

Taglist: @venusgothic @weappreciatepower @anita-e-taylor @mikaneonox @sparrowsparrow @introvertedmegalomaniac @tomhardy41 @xmisssnowwhitex

[dwestfieldblog]

Q ONAN IN THE AEON OF HORUS

Insanity is contagious in the Aeon of Horus. Hope you all had a happy and healthy Sirius day on 23rd... I wasn’t going to write another screed until late September but I might well be trapped on the festering cesspool prison island of guinea pigs in three weeks time where the oven ready Boris variant runs wild, and will have very limited access, if any, to the matrix. And I needed to rant off as catharsis on current popular topics. Arf arf arf and fnord as well.

Climate report Doom...fires, floods, earthquakes, hurricanes on the rise, watch the Texans and Arabs and all those aligned with oil continue to deny global warming in the sweating face of the evidence.  The tyranny of the driller killers has been disabling those with clean solar power ideas and the mass use of limitless superconductive  energy for decades, while they work out how ‘to put a metre between us and the sun’. Blame greed. Perhaps they think Bezos will have enough rockets for them to plunder other worlds and leave the future desert of earth behind. Climate change deniers usually have the same mind set as those who are anti vaxxers, it seems to be a typical item on their lists of dislike. Right alongside all the other bollocks and twaddle they don’t believe in, despite the enduring and building testimonies of the majority of professionals.

‘To prevent yourselves doing and seeing and coming into contact with this, that and the other...lock yourselves up in a monastery where you’ll be safe. Immunity...it teaches us how not to be affected by the countless vicissitudes of life; not how to avoid them by running away...The philosopher adapts himself to the exigencies of life, not the exigencies of life to himself.’ The Initiate in the New World by his pupil. Book two of a fascinating trilogy. Hello Cecil Jones.

America...the gurning evil one (‘I love the poorly educated’)  doesn’t seem to be back in the White House quite yet, Q Onan and the boys can’t seem to get their insurrection up. Been there eh? White guys just take the blue tablet and avoid getting redpilled.  ‘We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men evolved differently, that they are born with certain mutable characteristics, and that among these are life and the pursuit of pleasure.’ Yuval Noah Harari-Sapiens.

However, the Onan boys have exported their rabid drivel abroad...A shameful group of wannabe prophets in London a couple of weeks ago were spewing dire craziness and waves of silliness dearly wishing to become important and individualised particles by being observed and applauded. One of their brilliant ideas is that the Great Reset, New World Order of children’s adrenochrome drinking liberal reptiles will be a QUOTE’ An authoritarian socialist government run by powerful capitalists.’ UNQUOTE. Howls of derisive laughter turning into the growl of a wolf with a curled top lip and my left eye twitching for a blackout minute. When sentience returned, I was fairly sure there is no way in this lifetime of me attaining Satori while consumed by this spite. Fear and self loathing in England part 23. To attempt to counter...

Putting the con into conspiracy theories... 1. IF the vaccine is; (A. A poison to cull the overpopulated millions, that would mean that every single decent doctor and nurse in the world is in on it and not one of them is spilling the beans. Neither scenario seems plausible in any way, therefore the first premise appears to be excrement. If Covid doesn’t exist and the x rays are ALL faked (showing the difference between pneumonia, cancer and covid lungs, that also aggressively suggests a high level of implausibility. If you truly believe medical professionals are mostly freemasons and/or serving the Illuminati in the name of genocide etc, you are just a MORON. A DUNGHEADED IDIOT.

As God tweeted last month; It’s always the really dumb who make life hard for the moderately dumb.’

Drug companies and politicians have always been deeply corrupt, some would say with great justification, evil.  Their foul business is as usual. But every nurse working a 16 hour shift in intensive care, do you honestly think they are doing it for the kicks to kill, for the (ha) money or to serve the Devil? Again, if Covid IS real but only the plebs are getting the bad vaccine and the here today gone tomorrow (unless they are Putin types) omnipotent holy world leaders are getting the good stuff...again this would be mighty hard to cover up. And it isn’t only the old, obese and those with ‘underlying health problems’ who are dying, teens and workers are too. No government wants to wreck its economy (apart from Brexit England) by murdering its workers, students and quarantining hundreds of thousands.

If the vaccine is a shot of death and the toll rises twice higher than it already is, governments will know that nobody will believe them the next time round when a new virus mutates...which is not good for mass control. (That said, I feel a deep grim certitude that step by blatant step, totalitarianism is coming to democracies as they realise the only way to dominate the drone masses is to do as China and Russia do.) But ‘why am I drifting into negativity’ eh?

And IF folk think the vaccine is a brain control agent by which we can be spied upon and controlled by our puppet masters via the ubiquitous spooky G5 masts, then the science of how the jab’s ingredients work (And could not possibly be activated with sound waves) should be explained in primary schools so the kids can go home and teach their elders with crayon. At the same time, the anti maskers need to watch videos (with their eyes held open (a la Clockwork Orange) of droplets in breath, the distance they travel without protection, the length of time they hang in the air and in what concentration. Humans react well to moving pictures, it might help. Yes that is dripping with rancid sarcasm. And as for those ranting that wearing masks causes illness, tell that to all the healthcare professionals of the last 100plus years who wore masks most of every bloody day, not just a couple of years. Did they all die of lung problems? I don’t have the actual statistics and I am damn sure you don’t either, so shut up and sit down. As Bill Hicks would say...

‘YOU SEE, IT MAKES NO SENSE’.

Beautiful to see so many holy men in the main religions, priests, rabbis, imans and pujari telling their flock to refuse the vaccine because it will (deep choking breath) make them impotent, gay and/or that it has cows blood and human foetuses in it. For the 23rd time, your shepherds will lead you to butchers again. Very spiritual blokes. Are any women as full of manure as this? Well actually...

One talking blonde cow on the London stage mooed about the vaccine being created by Bill ‘I think it makes sense to believe in God’ Gates, with the patent 060606, so was clearly ‘satanic’. Brilliant detective work and a rational conclusion. Except Bill didn’t formulate the vaccine and the patent was for an entirely different shot with an ACTUAL micro chip to measure if work had been completed and pay wages with Bitcoin. (Which, granted is creepy as fk, but nothing to do with Beelzebub or covid, unless you are going to bang on about none being able to buy or sell without the mark of the beast. So the antichrist is a protestant eh? I saw a video last year of an American ‘Christian’ woman blogger saying Bill was the devil, because of ‘the GATES of hell.’ That’s what we are up against and sidestepping the fk away from.

Those not vaccinated are walking time bomb laboratories of new variants.  Making their own beliefs real as they will be able to say ‘See, told you the vaccine doesn’t work’. Listen to the doctors and nurses begging you.

Once yet again with even more feeling...These demonstrations of hogwash moonshine bullshit theories, mixed in with a fine blend of ahem, ‘patriotism’ are ripping the country apart. On one side the increasingly corrupt English government and their lies and on the other, the deranged and deluded with their falsehoods. An empty vessel makes the most noise and both sides are ripening the fields for populism.

Using the enemy’s own strength against them, well known to Judo black belt KGB pretty boy Putin...widening and deepening internal divisions in democracies, using the basic mistrust of half the people against their governments and encouraging it...works like a charm in times of stress/ fear/ anger. Just let them do most of the work and their own momentum will destroy them...at very least weaken them for the kill. Britain, America, Europe  et al, you are being suckered and you bloody well deserve it for being so thick.

(Sidebar...By the way...Congratulations on 100 glorious years of Chinese communism and now all in the Middle Kingdom are being told, taught, trained, ORDERED to think just like Winnie the Pooh. Perfect unspoiled socialist paradise where millions wonder (as they do in most other places) ‘will there be any hunny for me?’ Unlikely...Communism doesn’t really work that way... another self righteous scam by those who seek power and to maintain their privilege. So the stick makes you keep plodding on for the promised carrot until all you believe in is the stick because it hurts and pain is real. (To greatly paraphrase Sir Terry Prachett, may he remain creative wherever he is.)  )       

Or...The Bilderbergers met a couple of years ago, discussed overpopulation and a threefold plan of how to deal with it...Release an airborne virus in several countries; allow it to spread for a year, Allow fear to rise. Use algorithms to predict the percentage of the obedient and those who will suspect conspiracy. When the vaccine is ‘found’ it will calm the believers for a while and enflame the rebels all the more who will look for ways to make it fit their own schemes of disbelief. This will cause a degree of expected demonstrations and rebellion...which will have the effect of enabling governments to create and quickly pass new laws on freedoms, including peaceful demonstration, to ‘protect’ the law abiding masses that need to believe all is for their own good.

The B boys talked about phased genocide, vaccines, drugs, supplies of medical equipment, government tenders to similar friends, knowing they will survive, and be well positioned to financially ride out the deaths and bankruptcies of lesser protected groups. Who they will then be able to buy out with ease and thus expand. The goldrush thrill of disaster capitalism! When all of this is (temporarily?) over, food and energy resources will be a little less stretched and/or  stricter controlling laws will be in place and democracies will be far easier to control . A sadistic lack of empathy from the richest sociopaths.

There doesn’t need to be anything weird in the vaccines now, people’s minds are doing the paranoid job in their imagination, either with fear or with anger. The rich will remain rich empowering themselves with their inhuman business as usual. Populists will appear to take the side of the people as long as they are rewarded with money and power...and are allowed to join the club. All ethics and morals sacrificed for the temporary glory of pretend immortality.

This was written very quickly over a period of a couple of nights but at least it is a page shorter than usual eh? J I have to concentrate on booking tests (150 pounds in England for a PCR test is RIP OFF. Bastards. The outrageous weight of my suitcase with all my cds and books plus some pants and socks, the forlorn hope of getting a free seat or at least cheap for one of my guitars. The fear I might not be allowed back in to where I am now because the UK still seems to be Boris covid red. And Brexit and being a tourist again. Love the way the brexiteers are pissed off they will have to pay a few Euros to enter Europe as a third country citizen. The Tories voted yes to this idea in 2016 and you voted to become a third country you idiots. So now, you get to stand for a looong time in a longer queue with all the brown people you so disparage. In your nostalgic pride for something which will never be again, you have relegated England to the status of a failed state and voted for the worst government in my lifetime. You should be ashamed but you will just double down.  Disgusting.

Anyway, late summer ‘holidays’ ahoy.  Stay sane and in rude health...hope to see you again, spreading my cosmic rays of great happiness, comfort and joy. Outside of the insanity, keep visualising...Female male left right brain...Yin and yang let’s do our thang...

Y=01=FIRE...WANDS...ADENINE

H=00=WATER...CUPS...THYMINE

V=11=AIR...SWORDS...CYSTOSINE

H=10=EARTH...DISCS...GUANINE

[lucids]

The Ten Golden Rules on Living the Good Life

Examine life, engage life with vengeance; always search for new pleasures and new destines to reach with your mind.

Worry only about the things that are in your control, the things that can be influenced and changed by your actions, not about the things that are beyond your capacity to direct or alter.

Treasure Friendship, the reciprocal attachment that fills the need for affiliation.

Experience True Pleasure. Avoid shallow and transient pleasures. Keep your life simple. Seek calming pleasures that contribute to peace of mind. True pleasure is disciplined and restrained. In its many shapes and forms, pleasure is what every human being is after.

Master Yourself.

Avoid Excess.

Be a Responsible Human Being.

Don’t Be a Prosperous Fool.

Don’t Do Evil to Others.

Kindness towards others tends to be rewarded. Kindness to others is a good habit that supports and reinforces the quest for the good life. Helping others bestows a sense of satisfaction that has two beneficiaries—the beneficiary, the receiver of the help, and the benefactor, the one who provides the help.

-

What is good life? What is happiness? What is success? What is pleasure? How should I treat other people? How should I cope with unfortunate events? How can I get rid off unnecessary worry? How should I handle liberty?

1. Examine life, engage life with vengeance; always search for new pleasures and new destines to reach with your mind. This rule isn’t new. It echoes the verses of ancient Greek philosophers and most notably those of Plato through the voice of his hero, Socrates.  Living life is about examining life through reason, nature’s greatest gift to humanity. The importance of reason in sensing and examining life is evident in all phases of life-- from the infant who strains to explore its new surroundings to the grandparent who actively reads and assesses the headlines of the daily paper.  Reason lets human beings participate in life, to be human is to think, appraise, and explore the world, discovering new sources of material and spiritual pleasure.

2. Worry only about the things that are in your control, the things that can be influenced and changed by your actions, not about the things that are beyond your capacity to direct or alter. This rule summarizes several important features of ancient Stoic wisdom — features that remain powerfully suggestive for modern times. Most notably the belief in an ultimately rational order operating in the universe reflecting a benign providence that ensures proper outcomes in life.  Thinkers such as Epictetus did not simply prescribe “faith” as an abstract philosophical principle; they offered a concrete strategy based on intellectual and spiritual discipline.  The key to resisting the hardship and discord that intrude upon every human life, is to cultivate a certain attitude toward adversity based on the critical distinction between those things we are able to control versus those which are beyond our capacity to manage.  The misguided investor may not be able to recover his fortune but he can resist the tendency to engage in self-torment. The victims of a natural disaster, a major illness or an accident may not be able to recover and live their lives the way they used to, but they too can save themselves the self-torment.   In other words, while we cannot control all of the outcomes we seek in life, we certainly can control our responses to these outcomes and herein lies our potential for a life that is both happy and fulfilled.

3. Treasure Friendship, the reciprocal attachment that fills the need for affiliation. Friendship cannot be acquired in the market place, but must be nurtured and treasured in relations imbued with trust and amity. According to Greek philosophy, one of the defining characteristics of humanity that distinguishes it from other forms of existence is a deeply engrained social instinct, the need for association and affiliation with others, a need for friendship. Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle viewed the formation of society as a reflection of the profound need for human affiliation rather than simply a contractual arrangement between otherwise detached individuals. Gods and animals do not have this kind of need but for humans it is an indispensable aspect of the life worth living because one cannot speak of a completed human identity, or of true happiness, without the associative bonds called “friendship.” No amount of wealth, status, or power can adequately compensate for a life devoid of genuine friends.

4. Experience True Pleasure. Avoid shallow and transient pleasures. Keep your life simple. Seek calming pleasures that contribute to peace of mind. True pleasure is disciplined and restrained. In its many shapes and forms, pleasure is what every human being is after. It is the chief good of life. Yet not all pleasures are alike. Some pleasures are kinetic—shallow, and transient, fading way as soon as the act that creates the pleasure ends. Often they are succeeded by a feeling of emptiness and psychological pain and suffering. Other pleasures are catastematic—deep, and prolonged, and continue even after the act that creates them ends; and it is these pleasures that secure the well-lived life. That’s the message of the Epicurean philosophers that have been maligned and misunderstood for centuries, particularly in the modern era where their theories of the good life have been confused with doctrines advocating gross hedonism.

5. Master Yourself. Resist any external force that might delimit thought and action; stop deceiving yourself, believing only what is personally useful and convenient; complete liberty necessitates a struggle within, a battle to subdue negative psychological and spiritual forces that preclude a healthy existence; self mastery requires ruthless cador. One of the more concrete ties between ancient and modern times is the idea that personal freedom is a highly desirable state and one of life’s great blessings. Today, freedom tends to be associated, above all, with political liberty. Therefore, freedom is often perceived as a reward for political struggle, measured in terms of one’s ability to exercise individual “rights.”

The ancients argued long before Sigmund Freud and the advent of modern psychology that the acquisition of genuine freedom involved a dual battle. First, a battle without, against any external force that might delimit thought and action. Second, a battle within, a struggle to subdue psychological and spiritual forces that preclude a healthy self-reliance. The ancient wisdom clearly recognized that humankind has an infinite capacity for self-deception, to believe what is personally useful and convenient at the expense of truth and reality, all with catastrophic consequences. Individual investors often deceive themselves by holding on to shady stocks, believing what they want to believe. They often end up blaming stock analysts and stockbrokers when the truth of the matter is they are the ones who eventually made the decision to buy them in the first place. Students also deceive themselves believing that they can pass a course without studying, and end up blaming their professors for their eventual failure. Patients also deceive themselves that they can be cured with convenient “alternative medicines,” which do not involve the restrictive lifestyle of conventional methods.

6. Avoid Excess. Live life in harmony and balance. Avoid excesses. Even good things, pursued or attained without moderation, can become a source of misery and suffering. This rule is echoed in the writings of ancient Greek thinkers who viewed moderation as nothing less than a solution to life’s riddle. The idea of avoiding the many opportunities for excess was a prime ingredient in a life properly lived, as summarized in Solon’s prescription “Nothing in Excess” (6th Century B.C.).  The Greeks fully grasped the high costs of passionate excess. They correctly understood that when people violate the limits of a reasonable mean, they pay penalties ranging from countervailing frustrations to utter catastrophe. It is for this reason that they prized ideals such as measure, balance, harmony, and proportion as much as they did, the parameters within which productive living can proceed. If, however, excess is allowed to destroy harmony and balance, then the life worth living becomes impossible to obtain.

7. Be a Responsible Human Being. Approach yourself with honesty and thoroughness; maintain a kind of spiritual hygiene; stop the blame-shifting for your errors and shortcomings. Be honest with yourself and be prepared to assume responsibility and accept consequences. This rule comes from Pythagoras, the famous mathematician and mystic, and has special relevance for all of us because of the common human tendency to reject responsibility for wrongdoing. Very few individuals are willing to hold themselves accountable for the errors and mishaps that inevitably occur in life.  Instead, they tend to foist these situations off on others complaining of circumstances “beyond their control.” There are, of course, situations that occasionally sweep us along, against which we have little or no recourse. But the far more typical tendency is to find ourselves in dilemmas of our own creation — dilemmas for which we refuse to be held accountable. How many times does the average person say something like, “It really wasn’t my fault. If only John or Mary had acted differently then I would not have responded as I did.” Cop-outs like these are the standard reaction for most people. They reflect an infinite human capacity for rationalization, finger-pointing, and denial of responsibility. Unfortunately, this penchant for excuses and self-exemption has negative consequences. People who feed themselves a steady diet of exonerating fiction are in danger of living life in bad faith — more, they risk corrupting their very essence as a human being.

8. Don’t Be a Prosperous Fool. Prosperity by itself, is not a cure-all against an ill-led life, and may be a source of dangerous foolishness. Money is a necessary but not a sufficient condition for the good life, for happiness and wisdom. Prosperity has different meanings to different people. For some, prosperity is about the accumulation of wealth in the form of money, real estate and equities. For others, prosperity is about the accumulation of power and the achievement of status that comes with appointment to business or government positions. In either case, prosperity requires wisdom: the rational use of one’s resources and in the absence of such wisdom, Aeschylus was correct to speak of prosperous fools.

9. Don’t Do Evil to Others. Evildoing is a dangerous habit, a kind of reflex too quickly resorted to and too easily justified that has a lasting and damaging effect upon the quest for the good life. Harming others claims two victims—the receiver of the harm, and the victimizer, the one who does harm.

Contemporary society is filled with mixed messages when it comes to the treatment of our fellow human beings. The message of the Judaeo-Christian religious heritage, for instance, is that doing evil to others is a sin, extolling the virtues of mercy, forgiveness, charity, love, and pacifism. Yet, as we all know, in practice these inspiring ideals tend to be in very short supply. Modern society is a competitive, hard-bitten environment strongly inclined to advocate self-advantage at the expense of the “other.” Under these conditions, it is not surprising that people are often prepared to harm their fellow human beings. These activities are frequently justified by invoking premises such as “payback,” “leveling scores,” or “doing unto others, before they can do unto you.” Implicit in all of these phrases is the notion that malice towards others can be justified on either a reciprocal basis or as a pre-emptive gesture in advance of anticipated injury. What is not considered here are the effects these attempts to render evil have upon the person engaging in such attempts. Our culture has naively assumed that “getting even” is an acceptable response to wrongdoing — that one bad-turn deserves another. What we fail to understand is the psychological, emotional, and spiritual impact victimizing others has upon the victimizer.

10. Kindness towards others tends to be rewarded. Kindness to others is a good habit that supports and reinforces the quest for the good life. Helping others bestows a sense of satisfaction that has two beneficiaries—the beneficiary, the receiver of the help, and the benefactor, the one who provides the help.

Many of the world’s great religions speak of an obligation to extend kindness to others. But these deeds are often advocated as an investment toward future salvation — as the admission ticket to paradise. That’s not the case for the ancient Greeks, however, who saw kindness through the lens of reason, emphasizing the positive effects acts of kindness have not just on the receiver of kindness but to the giver of kindness as well, not for the salvation of the soul in the afterlife, but in this life. Simply put, kindness tends to return to those who do kind deeds, as Aesop demonstrated in his colourful fable of a little mouse cutting the net to free the big lion. Aesop lived in the 6th century B.C. and acquired a great reputation in antiquity for the instruction he offered in his delightful tales. Despite the passage of many centuries, Aesop’s counsels have stood the test of time because in truth, they are timeless observations on the human condition; as relevant and meaningful today as they were 2,500 years ago.

Source: https://www.forbes.com/sites/panosmourdoukoutas/2012/01/14/the-ten-golden-rules-on-living-the-good-life/?sh=4b7957f233fc

[mrlnsfrt]

I Will Come Again

"Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also. And where I go you know, and the way you know."  -- John 14:1-4 (NKJV)

On my previous post, I explored some of the significance of the birth of Jesus and how it fits with the character of God as described throughout the Scriptures. On this post, I will take a look at how God’s desire to be with us impacts our lives today and ultimately point forward to a great event, the second coming of Jesus!

In John 14 Jesus tells his disciples He will come again. Jesus also adds

Jesus said to him, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.

- John 14:6 NKJV

These truths found in John 14 are extremely important because they give us hope and point us in the right direction. Jesus is coming again, that gives us hope, Jesus is the way, that gives us direction. Allow me to explain.

In Matthew 24-25 Jesus briefly talks about His second coming. I would say the main idea of this passage is

Watch therefore, for you do not know what hour your Lord is coming. 

- Matthew 24:42 NKJV

Jesus is not setting a date for His coming, rather He tells His disciples, and us, the signs that will remind us that He is coming. Whenever we witness wars and rumors of wars and famines and pestilences we are reminded that Jesus is coming again. He also tells us what to do, Jesus tells us to watch.

“Watch therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour in which the Son of Man is coming.

- Matthew 25:13 NKJV

Jesus then tells several parables and in all of them the master or bridegroom goes on a trip and takes a long time to return. Each story is different but there are similarities, the main one being the master returns at a time when He is not expected and He rewards the servants according to how they were behaving. Because the servants or virgins do not know when the master/bridegroom will return they ought to live each day expecting His return.

We know that Jesus came the first time, He came as one of us, He was born as a baby in a stable. He grew up in this sinful world lived a perfect life without sin and ultimately died for our sins, that we might have life in Him (John 3:16; 1 Thessalonians 5:10; Romans 14:9; 1 Peter 2:22). But we still live in a sinful world, there is still pain and suffering, sin still exists, Jesus must come again to judge.

“When the Son of Man comes in His glory, and all the holy angels with Him, then He will sit on the throne of His glory. All the nations will be gathered before Him, and He will separate them one from another, as a shepherd divides his sheep from the goats. And He will set the sheep on His right hand, but the goats on the left.

- Matthew 25:31-33 NKJV

Whether the second coming will be a happy or terrible event really depends on you and on how you choose to live your life.

Jesus clearly tells us to be ready, to watch.

How do we go about that?

This is a topic that I continue to study.

How should I live my life in light of the imminent coming of Jesus?

I do not want to live my life terrified. For many years that was m understanding. I better not do anything bad because Jesus could come back at any moment and I would be lost. I thought that to believe in the second coming of Jesus and to live in expectation of it meant being constantly afraid of it. I doubt I am the only one who has struggled with or misunderstood what it means to live expecting the soon return of Jesus. I know of people who never went to college or started a career because there was no need since Jesus was coming soon. There are those who have moved away from civilization to the mountains or the countryside and avoided education and technology believing they were doing what God called them to do in order to prepare for the end of the age.

Here is my struggle with this.

When I isolate myself and move away from others, I have made the gospel about me. When I want to be perfect for Jesus to save me, and in order to be perfect I feel like I must move away from all others (since it is much easier to feel like I am perfect when I am not interacting with others), what happens to the mission? Who is more faithful to Jesus, the believer living off by himself in a hut in the middle of the woods or the missionary looking for ways to share the gospel with those who have not heard it?

Some believe ,and even preach, that a perfect (sinless) generation will bring about the second coming of Jesus. I wonder how they interpret Jesus’ words found in Matthew 24?

And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached in all the world as a witness to all the nations, and then the end will come.

- Matthew 24:14 NKJV

And what happens to Jesus’ command in Matthew 28?

And Jesus came and spoke to them, saying, “All authority has been given to Me in heaven and on earth. Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” Amen.

- Matthew 28:18-20 NKJV (bold mine)

How do I live my life?

Personally, I try to balance the avoidance of sin and the call to mission. I have not yet mastered this, but I currently believe this to be what God has called me to do. I believe the key to living a life where I draw closer to Jesus while being involved in reaching others for the kingdom of God is found in John 15.

“I am the true vine, and My Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit He takes away; and every branch that bears fruit He prunes, that it may bear more fruit. You are already clean because of the word which I have spoken to you. Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in Me.

- John 15:1-4 NKJV

What I know

What I know for sure is that God loves me and that God wants to save me.

For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. 

- John 3:16 NKJV (bold mine)

31 What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? 32 He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things? 33 Who shall bring a charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. 34 Who is he who condemns? It is Christ who died, and furthermore is also risen, who is even at the right hand of God, who also makes intercession for us. 35 Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? 36 As it is written:

“For Your sake we are killed all day long; We are accounted as sheep for the slaughter.”

37 Yet in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us. 38 For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, 39 nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

- Romans 8:31-39 NKJV (bold mine)

This topic is huge and expands the entire Bible. I believe I will continue to grow in my understanding of God’s love for me and His desire to save me, His desire to be with me.

God with us

Now I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away. Also there was no more sea. 2 Then I, John, saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. 3 And I heard a loud voice from heaven saying, “Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people. God Himself will be with them and be their God. 4 And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.”

- Revelation 21:1-4 NKJV (bold mine)

In Revelation 21 we read about the ultimate fulfillment of God’s desire to be with us. So I know for sure that God loves me and wants to be with me.

What’s My Part?

From Matthew 24-25, John 14-15 and Revelation 20:11-15 I get a clear picture of judgment involving how I live my life. This brings me back to my original question. Do I leave everyone in an attempt to live a holier life? DoI maintain contact with people in order to share Jesus with them? What should I do?

With the new year just around the corner, many are thinking about what New Year’s Resolutions to make, what changes to make to make the coming year even better than the previous one. Thinking about this I have come across 3 things that can be considered my part.

The Word of God

The first part I identified is receiving God’s word.

Then Jesus said to those Jews who believed Him, “If you abide in My word, you are My disciples indeed. And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”

John 8:31-32 NKJV (bold mine)

It is impossible to exaggerate the importance of receiving the word of God.

22 Since you have purified your souls in obeying the truth through the Spirit in sincere love of the brethren, love one another fervently with a pure heart, 23 having been born again, not of corruptible seed but incorruptible, through the word of God which lives and abides forever, 24 because

“All flesh is as grass, And all the glory of man as the flower of the grass. The grass withers, And its flower falls away, 25 But the word of the Lord endures forever.”

Now this is the word which by the gospel was preached to you.

- 1 Peter 1:22-25 NKJV (bold mine)

The word of God is not only how we receive the gospel it also has the power to change the life of those who believe it.

For this reason we also thank God without ceasing, because when you received the word of God which you heard from us, you welcomed it not as the word of men, but as it is in truth, the word of God, which also effectively works in you who believe.

1 Thessalonians 2:13 NKJV

There are many other texts that address this, I would recommend reading John 14-15. Here is one verse that highlights the power of the word of God

You are already clean because of the word which I have spoken to you.

John 15:3 NKJV

The receiving of the word of God continues to be of incredible value especially to those who already believe. It is not enough to be aware of the word of God and what it teaches but to receive it daily.

The second part is holding the word of God and refusing to let it go.

The longest chapter in the Bible is entirely dedicated to the value and power of the word of God, Psalm 119.

Your word I have hidden in my heart, That I might not sin against You.

Psalm 119:11 NKJV

The book of Deuteronomy is full of warnings for the children of Israel to not forget what God had done for them (see Deuteronomy 4, 8). Joshua is told to be courageous based on what God commanded him to do.

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and of good courage; do not be afraid, nor be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”

- Joshua 1:9 NKJV

The word of God is how we learn about who God is, we learn about what He has done and what He promises to do. How can we hope in the LORD unless we know what He has promised and what He has done?

The third part is to yield ourselves fully to God’s word.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, And lean not on your own understanding; In all your ways acknowledge Him, And He shall direct your paths.

Proverbs 3:5-6 NKJ

Unless we yield and submit to the will of God as expressed in His word, reading it will do us no good.

Here is the patience of the saints; here are those who keep the commandments of God and the faith of Jesus.

Revelation 14:12 NKJV

My new year’s resolution, the path to spiritual growth, the way to find the balance between living a life set apart while remaining a missionary can be summarized in receiving, holding, and yielding to the word of God. the secret to spiritual growth and missionary success is abiding in Jesus, and abiding in Jesus takes place when I receive His word, when I hold His word and refuse to let it go, and when I yield my selfish desires and sinful tendencies to his word, allowing the word of God to shape how I live my life.

Love must be the principle of action.

Everything I do will have value only when I do them out of love for God. God loved and sacrificed, He gave His only Son (John 3:16). Jesus loved so much that He gave His life for us (1 John 3:16). When we love God, our love will be revealed in sacrifice. It won’t feel like a sacrifice to us, but it will look that way to those who have not experienced that degree of love for God.

This is best demonstrated by Jesus in Matthew 25:31-45. The sheep had done many good actions but they were not even aware of it. They were not even aware that they were bearing fruit, they didn’t see it as a special work deserving any reward.

“Then the righteous will answer Him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry and feed You, or thirsty and give You drink? When did we see You a stranger and take You in, or naked and clothe You? Or when did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?’ And the King will answer and say to them, ‘Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.’

- Matthew 25:37-40 NKJV

The righteous were obeying God, doing God’s will, they were bearing fruit, but they did it without even noticing. When you are abiding in Christ, receiving His word, holding His word, and yielding to His word He takes care of shaping your character and molding it according to His will. God will bless you and make you a blessing.