#please defile me and ruin me for eternity

[klirk-hammurton]

Kirk in this music video 🥵

[extraaa-30]

Why soft dom Aziraphale + bratty sub Crowley appeals to me

(be serious though they're both switches)*

Soft Dom Aziraphale

1. heaven

An angel is supposed to be the pure one, undefiled, meek, following orders without question, the girl to be got, the prize to be sought after, the white to be soiled. Subvert it! Aziraphale shouldn't be confined to an eternity of zero agency, naivety, and bland pastels. The idea of Aziraphale getting to really own his "bastard" side, getting to be "selfish," be demanding, be in control--delightful.

And, Aziraphale has guilt complexes on his guilt complexes. Because, unlike most of humanity, he is intimately aware of the righteous, pitiless violence that heaven is capable of. And he's made an art of subtly and ceaselessly defying it by being gentle, by demonstrating enormous restraint. He is a warrior who gave away his holy sword. He swerves severely in the direction of being reserved, harmless, feels clear guilt about any strong desires or direct asks. He has an obvious anxiety about excess (the mental acrobatics he does to justify his book collection, for example, are an entire circus). Free him from the fear of going too far!

2. the effeminate gay man

Thee Southern Pansy, "gay as a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide," with the fancy clothes and prim and proper aesthetic, ever the damsel in distress, flamboyant and limp-wristed, the one who is called slurs by children, the one who is sunshine and sweetness, "the nice one."

Except we know he is secretly a bastard! We know this bitch has preferences! Let him own that! The fact that he is effeminate should not automatically make him more submissive I literally hate that. On the inside Aziraphale is cunty and commanding and he should get to be!

3. with Crowley

Let him say what he craves directly so help me god! No double-speak, no games, no lustfully looking but then looking away immediately. Let him consume. Let him indulge in the gluttony he endlessly flirts with yet denies himself out of guilt and fear. The idea of Aziraphale as a gentle dom just seems so healing, like a puzzle piece that finally gets to click into place without shame.

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Bratty Sub Crowley

1. hell

A demon is supposed to be the impure one, the defiler, the temptress, the seducer, the villain who takes, the black that soils. Subvert it! Crowley shouldn't be confined to the tropes of his demonic nature. He does not just take, just ruin. He is not inherently the one with experience while Aziraphale is the naive, pure little virgin. The idea of him being submissive to an angel (well...to this angel) is a delicious way to challenge that narrative.

And oh my god my girl has trust issues. As a demon his mentality is severely no allies, watch your back, the one who was cast out, rejected for a first offense, shaky ground, always in danger. He's not supposed to trust others, and he has legit biblically valid reasons to be wary and paranoid. Free him from the fear of trusting someone else to take control!

2. Mr. Cool

Mr. Bond, suave, smooth, stoic, sharp angles, stylish and slick, so very dangerous and criminal, the one with the car, the rebel, the snake. Compared with Aziraphale, he's supposed to be Mr. Hardass, "not nice."

Except we know he is secretly a disaster twink, 110% a soft sad little loser under that facade (and not buried that deep either)! He is a romantic who, in spite of hell, wants to give his angel chocolates! Let him own that!

3. with Aziraphale

Let him be unequivocally, unambiguously wanted oh my god! No guessing games! No trying to decipher what the fuck Aziraphale is really saying to him! Free him from the fear of always being "too fast" or "too late." All this bitch wants is for Aziraphale to be pleased by him, by Anthony J-acts-of-service Crowley! The idea of finally allowing him that...another puzzle piece. So satisfying and healing and safe.

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*They're switches your honor

1. "our side"

Not heaven, not hell. Not angels or demons. Not all black or all white. If you think they don't switch, you're wrong.

2. weight & gender

Aziraphale is bigger and keeps his hair short and has a steadiness to him and all those things are perceived as more masculine by some and therefore stronger and more dominant. Fuck that! His size also is too often viewed as something unattractive, which--extremely fuck that. My boy is a treat and a catch. He should get to feel pretty and soft in a totally uncomplicated way as often as he goddamn wants.

Crowley is skinny, often has longer hair, has an absolute treasure hoard of gender, and there's a flightiness to him that's perceived as more feminine by some and therefore weaker and more submissive. Again I say fuck that! His slimness likewise is too often viewed as more desirable, more malleable and able to be cowed; to which I say: die! He is no dainty flower. He actually can often be commanding and capable. Take him seriously.

Furthermore: Aside from the obvious fact that weight, gender, and d/s all have jack shit to do with each other, subverting these tropes remains as important as subverting the other ones. Aziraphale should get to feel delicate and wanted just as much as Crowley. And Crowley should get to feel powerful and in control just as much as Aziraphale. To deny either of them those experiences...bad! Shut up!

3. Crowley & Aziraphale

Their dynamic is already basically gentle dom Aziraphale & bratty sub Crowley. Like literally inches below the surface lmao it's not that hard to spot (see: Az pouts about paint on his jacket, Crowley instantly rushes to fix it but in a cunty way; Crowley pins Az to a wall and Az isn't even slightly intimidated or out of control).

The problem is, they're not talking (see: Az can't ask directly; Crowley has to act tough). Which is why I personally feel that a more honest d/s dynamic, with all that unspoken ritual out in the open, would be an enormous relief for them.

That said, it's not fair to confine them to that familiar dynamic! Crowley isn't a sad wet rat all the time-- let him plan things and have them work out for once. Let him be (on purpose lol) successfully seductive! Likewise Aziraphale deserves to let his fucking hair down. Let my girl not have to do everything in this goddamn house! He deserves to not have to be the one in control all the time. He has trust issues just as deep as Crowley's, and equally deserves to feel safe and wanted.

Also Aziraphale is too much of a hedonist to not want to try everything. If you think he's sticking with one dynamic you are a fool. A clown. As my French-speaking 6,000 year old middle aged babygirl would say: an imbécile.

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I wrote this for me, but if you read this far I hope you enjoyed it lol peace & love on planet earth

[delusionalwings]

aaaa! congratulations! you deserve so many followers!!

i hope your blog grows more and more. i enjoy your writing so much ❤️

for the event, can i get 6 for simeon? ✨

thank you for your kindness and well wishes! hope you have a lovely day/night! ^^

Prompt - "Why do you always look at me like you despise me? Don't you want dinner?"

yandere Simeon x gender neutral reader

warnings- mentions of imprisonment and food, of being drugged and poisoned

[ prompt list + event masterlist ]

Simeon was insufferable. To prevent his beloved sheep from roaming too far into the wild, he would happily chop off their legs, pull them on his lap, caress them lovingly and sing them a lullaby till their tear filled eyes closed shut in agonising slumber. Such was the fate of his captive, no better than a vulnerable sheep, that was you.

You knew that his food was making you sick, but you also knew that his food contained the antidote served at the precise time when the poison could very well kill you. So you patiently waited for the knock on your prison door, and when his creepily pleased smile came into view, you swallowed your disgust in silence and spread your hands in wait for the ambrosia of life.

How pleased he felt to believe that he gave you another chance at life! He was your protector, your creator!

It was to make sure that you didn't run away. He knew that you were smart enough to grasp your dire situation. In case, you ever decided to hatch a plan to leave, you would collapse into a dead heap within a few hours because of the poison mixed with your lunch. How would you find the antidote during that short time? You were hours if not days away from any other being in existnce.

He put his faith in Father. As long as Father was looking over him, and blessing him in his endeavour to protect you from the sins of the world, he had no need to fear.

With time, when you showed no signs of resistance, he felt secure in your need for him, and was so pleased with his darling that he believed you would always stay with him.

You had been good so you deserved a reward.

It was time to stop the poison altogether.

Human bodies could only sustain so much even if they took the antidote.

That's when you decided to displease him and break his trust. Simeon's wrath was as bitter as his love was sweet. His love resembled vines - while a support for plants, around a human neck, it was deadly, suffocating one to death. Blue eyes, burning with the flame of eternal damnation, glared at you. You had defiled his feelings by trying to run away.

Punishment was in order.

After forcefully feeding you the poison straight from the bottle, he dragged you to your room.

Your protests fell on deaf ears, but despite your fear, you could no longer mask the hatred you felt for him.

One look at you and he knew. Instantly.

"Why do you always look at me like you despise me? Don't you want dinner?" He grabbed your cheeks roughly and warned. "What? What do you want to do? Those demons have brainwashed you. They have tainted you. I must be your protector and cleanse your soul. Stop being rebellious or you might end up in a place you do not like."

"I can't take it, Simeon. I don't want to eat the garbage you keep giving me. I... I feel worse when I eat it! Take it away and get out. Any place is better than this! Get out, you monster."

The plate that held the dinner, and hence your medicine, was smashed against the wall with a loud clatter.

Simeon was ruthless when rage overtook him.

"Fine." He said as calmly as possible. "I will grant your wish."

And he left without turning back.

You stared at the ruined food just within reach.

You didn't know how long you had to live. You needed the antidote so you crawled to it.

[scorchingbridges]

"....this...is disgusting..." So this is what he'd been hearing the last two days he'd been in this strange world, a theft of identity and so forth. Imposters all around him and then one truth. Hanging suspended is eternal torture for only select eyes to see. No doubt there was no prying eyes now, to gaze at him In his wretched unglamored state before the defiled king. "Unforgivable...this is what they did..."

He shifted, the hooks grinding through his muscle. The king exhaled, throat aching just from the motion. His brows draw downwards, matching the grimace that pulled at his face. Weak. Disgraced. Betrayed. Ruined. There were many titles attached to him, all of them smothering the moniker he was once known as. Something he had been proud to bear. The curl of his lips became sharp. How stupid he was for not seeing the warning signs. He should've kept a closer eye on his general. His friend. If he had, they would've won. If he had been harsher when trying to make Liu Er listen his brothers would be changing the world.

And Sun Wukong would not be locked away, the key thrown aside once they had their fill of mocking. He could still feel their eyes, those hands that gripped at his long mane and yanked.

So it was a surprise that he gained a visitor. As they entered, the king expected to hear that all-too-familiar tone. To hear the gloating and the pleased tone that strangled him. A beast chained and displayed for those who wished to come and gawk. Yet, the words he was gifted with were not venom. They were nothing like what he had known. It would've made him suspicious, except...the voice. It tugged at an aching part of his mind that had been silent for too long.

Sun Wukong slowly lifted his head, golden irises swimming in red sclera. Locks of his mane fell into his face, dirtied and matted. His gaze was not entirely there, this stranger the only thing keeping him from slipping back under. Something. Someone. He blinked, the motion slow before he tilted his head. His tongue darted over cracked lips, before he spoke.

"Such odd words to utter for this old monkey," his voice came from him like the harsh grind of stone against stone. It cracked like the little pebbles that rolled from moving boulders. The taste of iron greeted the king, sating his parched throat only slightly. Yet, the king continued to speak, even as beads of red splattered over his lips.

"Tell me, stranger who wears the ears of my turncoat, what brings you to this damp cave? Have you come to gawk at the sorry sight of a tarnished king?"

[astro-pioneer]

I can't stop thinking about knight!Dain only protecting one person of royalty that he loved and they both get cursed-

yeah, wrute it ❗😃

Your Sword and Shield 『Dainsleif』

The royals were the highest priority - "Protect the heir above everyone else" was his only direct order as the Twilight Sword. But yet, when the gods descended and destroyed Khaenri'ah while he did as ordered, both got punished. And now, both search the world for the other. | We Will Be Reunited spoilers | Angst to fluff (somewhat)

Oh lordy anon I just- ugh. This has been marinating in my thoughts ever since it was revealed all because I thought of ball dancing with him. Plus Dain is a beauty of a man who would treat you right and no one can tell me otherwise. This went a different way then how I thought of it but that's just because I can't properly write my thoughts lmao. Yikes I got tired of this for some reason lmao I'll do a part two that focuses more on (Y/N) travelling with Aether after the whole shebang happened so stay tuned for that (:

The Twilight Sword's job was to protect the nation and population of Khaenri'ah. But, at the same time, it was also to put the heir of the royal family first, as he was a royal guard first and foremost. It was so conflicting and, no matter which choice was made, there would always be a negative aftermath. Dainsleif was aware of that and told himself that he'd never allow his personal feelings influence his actions.

He lied to himself.

Soft music travelled through the big, barren room. Only two people were in there. They didn't perform any exaggerated movements like someone normally would doing a dance, but instead bathed in each other's company. "Darling, I feel as though there will be war in the near future with the gods and us. When that time comes, please put the citizens before me." If only the couple knew how near that future would be. Maybe he wouldn't have lied to his lover, too.

That following night, the blond watched as the curse bestowed upon him just moments ago spread from their back and up their neck. Just to spite Dainsleif even more, the gods made it spread down their left arm, the opposite of where it went on him. The pained screams of the other filled their heads, echoing whenever a moment of silence comes onto them.

Looking back at it while waiting for Aether to meet back with him from talking to Boreas, he realized just how twisted the incident was. He did his job as a royal guard; he protected the royal he was assigned to. After all, orders given by superiors always overruled the ones you originally had. And yet here Dainsleif was, donning a cursed arm and no luck in finding his lost eternal companion.

(Y/N) was somewhere in Teyvat - somewhere in Mondstadt, and the archons be damned if they don't expect him to tear apart this nation to find them. But, before all that, he has to accompany the outlander and his child companion to inhibit another one of the Abyss Order's plans.

"The first Field Tiller," a person donning clothes similar to those Dainsleif wears whispered to themselves, "forced to sit and face the reason it's origin was destroyed." They, too, turned to where the machinery was facing, gazing up to the floating island. "Celestia..."

The breeze erupting from the still harsh wind barriers of the ruins hit their face, causing them to close their eyes and enjoy the moment for a while. "Your creation was the topic of multiple people's conversation for a long time, Tiller, my family being no exception. I remember watching you in action; you flattened an area the size of these ruins with no damage. But, when mass produced after your success, the other machines were much weaker and less efficient. Perhaps that's why we fell under the threat of the gods." They spat out the title like it was venom. "If only they took more time with the future models and made it more like you, we would've been able to set them all loose into the battlefield.

"And yet here I stand in front of you, talking about all the 'what if's instead of a 'what now?' and acting like I can go back and change what happened to us. There are two other people from Khaenri'ah in this nation, but one wants to stop what has become of my people and the other is conflicted on the original orders given by someone I do not know of. While I do not know what to do. My darling is fighting the Abyss Order, and perhaps that is the rightful path. After all, this world has changed, and only a small few are not dependant on the Seven. That rules out trying to recreate Khaenri'ah. Besides, no one would react orderly to a nation without a god, and the citizens of that nation would refuse to work with the land ruled by the Seven. A war would break out all over again. Besides, my people have gone so far down into whatever madness they fell in that they probably do not remember what it originally was."

They knew nothing would be near to listen to their vocal thoughts, but yet they stopped in favour of silently reminiscing. The scent of despair, corruption, and bloodshed was nearing, and yet they didn't move. "Perhaps I've prolonged our reunion for far too long..." A smile that showed the pain of 500 years of torture appeared on their face.

Paimon held her hands to her face as the trio got closer to the Field Tiller, "Oh, Paimon's got a bad feeling about this..." And yet, they still went in, stopping at the Statue of the Seven before Paimon stopped them again. "Wait! Who's that person?" She gasped then, "Are they a part of the Abyss? Are they here for the eye?"

With one look, Dainsleif knew who it was. "I can assure you, that person is one of the last people you can expect to be a part of it." He tore his eyes off of them, turning to look at the concerned face of Aether and scared Paimon. "Well then, let us go check." To believe he allowed his front to drop just enough for Aether to catch. He clicked his tongue before leading the way up.

(E/C) eyes with primogem-shaped pupils revealed themselves to the world once again. The same as those of Dainsleif, Aether connected. "(Y/N)..." The taller blond breathed, forcing himself to not go over immediately. Who knows how much they changed in the 500 years they were separated?

"Hello, darling. I wish we could've reunited under less life-altering events, but..." The rest went unspoken but the two knew what they meant. "I do not know if the eye is still in here, but this is indeed the Field Tiller."

Paimon gasped, pointing a finger. "How'd you know what we were looking for?!" (Y/N) arched an eyebrow at the floating companion.

"An abyss mage left behind a talisman which was presumably meant for one of his superiors. It spoke of the Guardian of the Vortex and a "Defiled Statue" as well as the Field Tiller's eye. But yet, despite being reassured I'm not a threat, you still assume until given proof. That's good."

"'His'? I've never heard of someone use those pronouns for abyss mages. Or any, now that I really think about it." The smile was melancholic and filled with sorrow Aether only saw in the reminiscent ones of Venti and Zhongli. Paimon understood to drop the subject. "Anyway, use elemental sight to see if the eye is in there!"

Dainsleif's and (Y/N)'s capes waved in the breeze as Aether couldn't find the eye. It was on there, however. When it was extracted, (Y/N) couldn't help but analyze and compare it to the other tillers they themselves looked inside of. However, they didn't dare touch it or disagree with the decision to leave it with their significant other. A gem gleamed in the sunlight.

"Would you like to go with us (Y/N)?" For the first time Aether talked to them. "We're going to the place with the Defiled Statue if you were interested."

And just like how Dainsleif agreed to join Aether for any commissions with the Abyss, they looked into his eyes, "Sure." It was when they started the trek from the waypoint to the cavern that the two finally interacted fully. "I'm glad to see you're safe," their voice was the same tone they held when they spoke of the war of Khaenri'ah, going miles while their words only spoke of their feelings. Corrupted hands interlaced together for the first time.

[gerec]

AU-gust 2021 Prompts

1. Ancient Gods AU - Part 1

Thank you to all for the wonderful suggestions for today's prompt; though I ended up doing something else, it was partly sparked by @falconowl's Orpheus and Euridice idea so thank you :D Instead of that particular Greek myth I went with a different one - Medusa the Gorgon. I've always loved the interpretation of her transformation by Athena as a way to protect her from predation and not as a punishment. This is my take on the story with Erik as Medusa and Charles as Perseus - though the ending won't be as it was in the myth. (Also, Charles doesn't show up until the next Part).

Warnings: Erik/Shaw, noncon (not explicit)

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Inside the White Queen’s temple, Erik hid, believing foolishly that he would find safety and shelter within her hallowed halls. For she was the goddess of the orphaned and downtrodden, bent and broken by the whims of fate and the hands of men.

He prayed for her help; for her to intervene, and yet…He came.

“Why do you hide from me?” The Black King’s voice reverberated within the marble walls, and made the temple shake on its foundation. The god was mighty, and beautiful, and yet he filled Erik’s heart with terror and dread. “I wish only to honor you with my presence, child, and bequeath to you a simple…gift.”

Erik trembled, and his throat closed as the immortal touched him, tilting his chin up, up, up, to gaze into those stormy eyes. “I am nothing, oh Lord God of the Seven Seas. Please…I’m unworthy of your majestic company.���

His words only made the Black King laugh, and then he was made to kneel at the god’s feet, watching in horrified awe as He shrank down to Erik’s height, taking on the countenance of a mortal man in his prime. “And yet I choose you, Erik son of Jakob, for you are most comely to my eternal eyes. Submit to me, or all that you love will suffer my wrath.”

And so, Erik laid still on the cold stone floor, as the Black King defiled his virgin body, eager to elicit from him the greatest extremes of both pleasure and pain. He was made to shed tears and blood for hours beyond counting, until the Black King finally grew bored and withdrew to his domain. That is how the White Queen found him when she finally returned to her sacred temple; Erik, his clothes torn and tattered, body ruined beneath the statue bearing Her face.

“I called for you,” Erik said, as the White Queen looked upon his pitiful state, eyes bright with a fury barely contained. “You’ve forsaken me.”

“I come too late.” Her gaze softened as she bent to cradle his head. She was a goddess, and would never deign to explain or apologize to a mortal, and yet Erik could see clearly the sorrow in her eyes, and the burning desire to make things right. “This travesty shall not go unanswered.”

It mattered not, what the gods and goddesses did to one another in their home above the clouds, and nothing the White Queen intended would give back what was taken. “Mercy…please. Grant me a swifter death, for my body is broken.”

“I cannot. I will not,” She answered, and Erik almost screamed aloud in frustration and despair. “You carry within you the Black King’s seed, and your body will birth his children upon your death. Twins…monsters great and powerful to do His bidding. I would deny Him such gain at your expense, child.”

“And yet I will die,” Erik said, and he did weep then, for himself, and the family he would never see again – his parents, and his sisters Raven and Ruth. “I feel it, the breath in my lungs slipping as the blood drains from my body. Please…if I have ever pleased you…I beg you to end my suffering.”

The White Queen brushed the matted hair from his forehead and smiled. “Erik, my beloved child and faithful servant; you will live and you will endure, for one day, the Fates will bring you one truly deserving of your kind heart and fighting spirit. Now, sleep, and wake to a new life.”

Erik slept, and woke in a body, utterly changed.

[tales-of-asgardia]

Loki's Knowhere, Chapter 2. Lost Fonts.

Asgard, the golden city in the Realm Eternal, in the early 13th century as the time was known to the mortals of Midgard, four prodigies of the old arts of sorcery and witchcraft studied. Lorelei, who above all else coveted power in all its forms, her older sister Amora, the most talented of Frigga’s class. Sigyn, with a sincere heart; and Loki, Odinson.

“Amora, I cannot express the greatness of which I do not wish to hear your pinings for my brother.” Loki pleaded to the sorceress with shining golden hair.

“Perhaps I might find the resolve to hold my tongue if my fortitude was not worn down by how grotesquely cute you and Sigyn were daily.” 

Sigyn blushed, “Amora, I do not know what you speak of.”

“You refer to him casually as husband.” Amora stated.

“And?” Loki asked.

“You are not married, or betrothed...lest you have eloped to avoid the judging gaze of the Allfather?” Amora teased.

“We have not.” Loki replied.

Sigyn brought her hands to her cheeks, covering her flush, “Please, shush, her Majesty shall return soon.

“Sigyn, my sweet, most cherished friend, you are so very easy to tease.” Amora laughed.

[Scene transition.]

Several daggers flew across the table from Loki’s outstretched hand, Nebula dodged, but had to raise her arm to stop the third dagger from piercing her chest. She winced as the asgardian conjured blade burned at her cybernetics.

“The next one shall not miss your heart.” Loki declared.

Quill drew his twin blasters on Loki, “Yeah and mine will getcha right between the eyes.”

With the flick of her fingers, the seat below Quill flew up and slammed him into the ceiling and he fell with a hard thud.

Thor looked back to Nebula, “You...tortured Loki?”

“I am groot.” Groot whimpered.

“Under Thanos’s order, yes.” Nebula admitted, “He tortured everyone he could he could use but resisted his will. Including Gamora and myself.” She pulled the thin razor from her arm, tossing it on the table, “We were all his victims.” She said, looking at Loki.

Thor turned around, “Loki, I had no idea.”

“You never do.” Loki spat.

“We’ll leave, Loki.” Nebula said.

“I am groot?”

“Yeah, what about Gamora?” Peter asked.

Loki glared at Nebula, not trusting her eyes off her for even a moment, “I shall not be helping you.”

“There are other leads.” Nebula stated.

The cyborg daughter of Thanos was the first to step out, followed by Drax, Rocket took Groot’s hand. “I am Groot?”

Quill stepped out without a word.

“Uh, Thor?” Rocket asked.

“Sister, I…” Thor said, softly, conflicted. “I said I’d help them.”

Loki’s jaw trembled, “Go.”

Thor nodded, “Thank you, Loki.”

The Thunderer was leaving as Loki spoke up again, “Brother...don’t come back.”

Thor stopped in his tracks, his hand made a shaking fist, he replied, “goodbye, Loki.”

Loki held still, deady painfully still for a long long time. Finally, Loki let out her breath, tears rolling down her cheeks, “Thick oaf.”

Over the intercom a digital voice spoke, “Lady Loki, the hostile entities have left orbit and your throne has been replaced.”

Loki did not reply, she poured herself a goblet of wine, she headed deeper into the Collection, to her personal chambers, “Clear all scheduled events, I need...I need a lot of things.”

“Shall we compile a wish list, Lady Loki?” 

“....No.”

Days passed into weeks for Loki, whose days consisted of day drinking on her throne, and the occasional approval of planetary defense systems as scavengers attempted to take whatever remained of the Collection.

She wore a green silky robe one morning as she sat awkwardly on her throne, lazily clipping her toenails, and munching on a bowl of grapes when the familiar roar of a bifrost bridge blasted outside the museum.

Loki jumped on her throne and glowered towards the sound, ‘Dense oaf, can’t follow the simplest request.” she muttered to herself, though despite all that had transpired she smiled softly.

All while you, Odin the protector of those Nine Realms, are sitting here in your bathrobes eating grapes.

“Oh shit.” She took a quick swallow of wine and stood up, glamoring herself, illusory light shifting her bathrobe into a green armored coat and matching boots, “Uhm, bumbum bah,” She adds fur to the collar of the coat, ‘Perfect.”

“Lady Loki, shall I engage defense protocols?” 

“It’s fine, disengage all safety measures.” Loki quickly said.

As the door opened Loki put on an all serious face, “Even now you cannot listen to a word I say, dear bro-” Loki froze, seeing her breath, she closed her grip on a conjured dagger.

The figure stepped through the door and Loki threw the dagger but it was knocked aside, the figure raised their hand and waves of ice ripped through the throne room and blasted Loki against the wall.

“Foul monster, you dare invade the home,” Loki said, as the figure walked closer, “of Loki, child of...Laufey.”

“Hello, son.” Laufey said, grabbing Loki’s face by the chin and jaw.

Loki let out groans of pain, as her skin grew blue, shapeshifting into jotunari form to protect herself from the damage, she bit Laufey’s hand hard, drawing blood.

“Whatever trick this is, Jotunn, I am not fooled. I killed Laufey myself.” Loki stated, and strained against the icewall, “Now tell, who are you, why should I care, and why,” Loki struggled fruitlessly, “Why can’t I break out of this damn ice!?”

The Jotunn wearing Laufey’s face smiled, erupting into illusory light, revealing a powerful built Jotunn woman with icy blue skin and deep blue-violet hair in thick curls, “I am Utgard Angrboda, Queen of Jotunheim.”

Loki glowered, and sneered, “So, the frost giants finally decided on a new king of the rumble mound? And a witch at that. How many jotnar fell to the power vacuum left in Laufey’s absence?”

“None to succession, millions when the bifrost landed on our world and did not end until it bore into the planet’s core...disrupting rotation, and plunging my world into further ruin than Odin ever dreamed.” Angrboda spat, “My ascension to the throne was assured before our births, when Laufey propositioned my clan for a betrothed for his...child.”

“So what, you’ve come here to kill me?” Loki grimaced, “Wed me? I implore you, choose the first.”

“Neither, unfortunately.” She stepped away, pouring herself a drink from the bar, “I have come because I was assured of your capability, and to call on your debt to your own people. The Realms are in chaos, Yggdrasil sundered, the balance a distant memory...even if I save Jotunheim it would only be a matter of time until all is lost regardless.”

“Funny you should think a Jotunn of all things would know anything about maintaining the balance of the realms.”

Angrboda downed her drink, “Yes, you’re right, after all, only Nine, or was it Eight? No matter, only SOME of the realms have fallen under Odin’s protection.”

Loki grimaced, silently.

“The Balance of the realms has nothing to do with an Imperialist calm. Odin kept his peace in the realms but not true balance. He was it’s defiler, a murderer and thief. Odin stole the fonts of magic from all realms he could not control otherwise, the casket of ancient winters, the eternal flame, the mead of poetry. And in doing so he made the realms weak so he could seem strong.”

“Tell me, jotunn queen, why should I consider a word of what you’re telling me?” Loki asked.

“Because,” Called into the room a new voice, Loki looked to the door in disbelief. “She learned this from me, Loki.”

She walked into the room, with a wave of her hand, chains of light glowed and shattered over Loki, and the ice shattered, she fell to the floor on her knees, wide eyed Loki uttered in dear whisper, “Sigyn.” 

Chapter 1 can be read here https://protector-of-mankind-thor.tumblr.com/post/632008264553463808/the-milano-slowed-as-it-entered-knowheres

[i-write-nsfw-sometimes]

Prinxiety - A Fantasy pt. 2 (dark nsfw)

Roman overhears Remus and Virgil’s plan of escape. Whatever shall he do?

Dark elf!Virgil, human!Roman, human!Remus, dub con, unsympathetic!Roman

Remus finished brushing Virgil's hair, passing them their ribbon. Virgil pulled their hair into a ponytail. Remus kissed Virgil, pulling them close

"You have to go... Roman will get suspicious if I'm in here for too long." Remus nodded

"I know... but I don't know when I'll see you again... and I know I will miss you." Remus kissed Virgil again

"I love you Remus... never forget that... I only love you...." Remus let out a small huff

"And I don't even have to make you say it." Virgil smiled, holding their tears back, kissing Remus one last time

"See you soon dumbass." Remus smiled

"I love you my little arachnid."

"I love you too my filthy octopus." Remus crawled out the window, Virgil closing it behind him. Virgil opened the door, stepping into the bedroom.

"I was wondering what was taking you so long my love." Roman laid on the bed, wearing his night clothes

"Come love, it is time to sleep." Roman pulled back the covers, Virgil climbing in reluctantly, Roman spooned them, pulling up the blankets

"I had a horrible vision my love." Virgil hummed, showing they were listening

"I saw you in my brother's arms, he was defiling your body. I could barely stand it! You are too perfect to be in his arms." Virgil sighed

"'Twas only a vision Roman, I am in your arms right now and not his." Roman kissed Virgil's neck

"True my love... goodnight, sleep well." Virgil nodded, closing their eyes, ignoring Roman's arms wrapping around their waist, pulling them into his body.

The wedding was over relatively quickly... Virgil didn't know if they were happy it was over... or afraid of what came next, Virgil stared at themself in the mirror, not recognizing the dark elf they saw in the mirror. Their hair was in a low bun, silver hairpieces adorned their hair, they wore a white dress, lace covering their collar and arms. They smiled... they'd be with Remus soon, just a little longer. Virgil looked down at the rings on their finger, there was just one more thing they had to do. Roman knocked on the bathroom door

"Love? Are you alright?" Virgil nodded

"I just... I'm nervous..." Roman smiled

"I'll be gentle with you my love, you have been so good to me so it's only fair I return the favor." Roman pulled Virgil to his chest, swaying lightly, kissing their hair

"Let us relocate to the bed shall we?" Virgil gulped, just one more thing, they nodded. Roman scooped them up, carrying them to the bed, setting them down on the floor

"Let's get this dress off you." Roman peeled off the dress, running his fingers over Virgil's skin

"You are so gorgeous love, I can't wait to take my time with you." Roman laid them down, kissing their neck, he stood to take off his cape and shirt, kicking off his pants

"I've waited so long, so many fantasies... so little time." Virgil let out a small huff

"We have more than just tonight Roman... no need to waste all them in one night." Virgil shrugged, Roman nodded, pulling down Virgil's panties. Virgil wanted to vomit, just one more thing,

"You are right my precious angel... if anything you'll have to beg me to stop, I plan on making love to you as often as I am able." Roman kisses Virgil's collarbone, easing two fingers into their cunt,

"R-Roman... please... warning next time." Roman chuckled

"Of course my dear." Roman sucked, leaving a mark on Virgil's neck, Virgil hoped their skin would hide it

"So good for me... I've waited so long to have you underneath me." Roman moaned, grinding down on Virgil's clit.

"Are you ready? Or do you need me to stretch you more?" Roman pulled off his boxers, grabbing a condom

"I s-should be fine." Just one more thing. Roman smirked, lining up with Virgil's pussy, lacing his fingers with Virgil's

"Breathe for me," Roman began pushing in, Virgil gasped, trying to relax, Just one more thing.

"So fucking tight, oh gods spare me." Roman panted, growling at the velvet heat around him. Virgil squeezed Roman's hands, clenching around Roman tight. Just one more.... Roman began thrusting slowly, Virgil winced, feeling Roman pulling at their walls. This didn't feel like it did with Remus... with Remus... Virgil could say stop, Virgil could ask for him to wait, Virgil could reach up and pull Remus into a kiss and beg that he move... with Roman?... Virgil just had to take it... Just one more... It felt like an eternity, Roman touching Virgil, caressing their skin, fucking them through his orgasm. Virgil knew Roman would go until they came.... they could fake it... they had to... Just one... Virgil clenched around Roman and arched their back, letting out a moan of Roman. They relaxed and pretended to be out of breath. They let out a sigh of relief as Roman pulled out, tossing the condom in the garbage.

"You did so well my love. Rest now, I will let you sleep in tomorrow." Roman snuggled up to Virgil, Virgil winced at the soreness, but pretended to fall asleep. Once they heard snoring, they rolled out from Roman's arm. Their hair was falling out of their bun, their neck had a dark purple bruise that stood out from their skin. Virgil tried not to cry, they did it... now they just needed to get to Remus. Virgil grabbed some of their old clothes, quickly braiding their hair. They grabbed their cloak wrapping it around their shoulders. They crept onto the balcony, jumping to the tree nearby, climbing down skillfully. They snuck to Remus' secret exit, a small hole under a tree that led outside the castle walls. Virgil let out a breath they didn't know they had been holding as they exited the castle walls, putting their hood up... they began walking.

Virgil reached the clearing, sitting under a tree, waiting for Remus

"Virge?" Virgil's gaze shot to see Remus in the field

"Remus!" Virgil ran to Remus, jumping in his arms

"Virgil, do you trust me?" Virgil nodded

"With my life."

"Then run, run as fast as you can, Roman is in these woods, if I come back with you he will kill me and take you back, run back to the castle, yell as loud as you can that you were just playing me or some shit.... please" Virgil saw Roman's crimson cloak in the bushes

"W-We can make it.... if we run.... two against one, we will be fine." Virgil sobbed

"I can't lose you... not again..." Remus sighed, he hated seeing his love cry

"Virgil.... You need to run..." Virgil looked down, noticing the growing patch of red on Remus' side

"R-Remus.." Remus smiled

"Please run Virgil... for me?" Virgil shook their head

"Like hell! You're injured!" Virgil helped Remus onto the ground

"Shhh, Virgil, if he takes you back he might hurt you... please run" Virgil ignored Remus, letting the pulse of magic rush through them, their wings sprouting behind them. Virgil put every last ounce of magic into Remus' wound

"I love you Remus... Roman is going to take me away... but your wound is healed...." Virgil smiled tiredly,

"I want one last kiss... you'll pass out after" Remus nodded tears flooding his eyes. Virgil kissed Remus, relishing in having his love close

"I love you," Remus collapsed, passing out

"I love you too," Virgil stood, turning to walk towards the castle

"You need to stop keeping secrets my love" Virgil turned to face Roman, kneeling and bowing their head, their wings drooping

"You have passed my test beloved.... I am now completely and wholly yours..." Roman let out a deep chuckle

"You always were mine, my love, now lets go get you cleaned up for your punishment." Roman lifted Virgil into his arms, Virgil sighed, watching Remus stand. At least he was safe...

"The bath is ready my love, take your time, once you come out I promise you a proper punishment for testing me without my knowledge." Virgil nodded, they lowered themself into the water, tears streaming down their cheeks, as their sorrowful notes echoed off the water

Virgil sighed, looking at the moon, they hoped Remus saw the moon. They remembered late nights when Remus would take them into the maze, they would try to escape the maze without being caught by Remus, the moonlight lit their way, they never tried to escape. When Remus caught them... well

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

"Oooooo~ seems you weren't fast enough my little arachnid" Virgil placed the back of their hand on their forehead

"Oh no! Whatever should I do? Please have mercy" Virgil snorted.

"I am in no mood for mercy! Your punishment shall be a moonlit walk in the meadow."

"So cruel." The two laughed, Remus kissing Virgil's neck

"Let's go dork." Virgil pulled Remus out of the maze, going for their walk

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

Virgil chuckled.... nothing made Virgil as happy as their first time

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

"Gods I just UGH." Remus launched on his bed, Virgil grabbing the royals dirty clothes off the floor

"What's wrong?" Virgil smiled, throwing the clothes in a hamper

"Are you a virgin?" Virgil sputtered

"Where is this coming from?!" Remus turned over and sat up

"Just answer the question." Virgil blushed

"Y-Yes I am.... why?" Remus shrugged, seeming embarassed

"I... I wanted to see if you wanted to be my fuck buddy but I wasn't gonna ruin our friendship if you were." Virgil blushed, mumbling under their breath

"W-Who...Who said I wouldn't want you to be my first?" Remus stood, speed-walking to Virgil, taking their face in his hands

"Tell me no right now, otherwise I am going to treat you the way you should've been treated all your life." Virgil let out a shaky breath

"Please Remus, want it to be you." Remus lifted Virgil up, carrying them to the bed

"I've got you, love, hold onto me. Now before I treat you right, I need to tell you, if anything hurts tell me, if you want to stop tell me, if you want more tell me." Virgil nodded, Remus went to remove his pants

"I'll take my clothes off first, that way you don't have to be embarrassed." Virgil nodded

"Words, sweetcheeks, use em" Virgil chuckled

"What do you want me to say?! I'm not exactly experienced... how do you ex-" Remus smiled, kissing Virgil, Virgil moaned obscenely. Remus pulled back, his eyes lit with excitement. Virgil blushed, covering their face

"That was so hot...." Virgil whimpered

"Please Remus, you're taking too long." Virgil cantered their hips up

"Want me to take off your clothes, or do you want to?" Virgil blushed

"C-Can you get them?"

"Of course my little spider, tonight is about you."

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

The water was cold, Virgil refused to leave.... they just wanted to think.... the water kind of reminded them of the old lake

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

"C'mon Virgie it'll be fun!" Remus drug them to the small waterhole, ditching his clothes and jumping in the water

"If I get sick you are taking care of me." Virgil smirked taking off their clothes, jumping in the water, moving into Remus' arms

"Virge, can I be serious for a second?" Virgil nodded

"I love you... not in the friend way." Virgil gasped

"Thank Jesus you said it and not me." Virgil laughed, kissing Remus, tugging on his hair.

"Two can play at that game." Remus smiled, pulling Virgil's hair out of their ponytail, tugging on it

"Heyyyyyy no sex in a lake." Remus smiled

"Fine fine"

[orthodoxydaily]

Friday, December 4th, 2020:  The entry into the temple of the Holy Mother of God

Commemorated on November 21 by the new calendar

One of the 12 major feasts of the Orthodox Church’s liturgic calendar

     The Entry into the Temple of the MostHoly Mother of God happened, according to the preserved accounts of Holy Tradition, in the following manner. The parents of the Virgin Mary, Righteous Joakim and Anna, in praying for a solution to their childlessness, gave a vow that if a child were born to them, they would dedicate it to the service of God.      When the MostHoly Virgin reached three years of age, the holy parents decided to fulfill their vow. Having gathered together their kinsfolk and acquaintances, and having dressed the All-Pure Mary in Her finest clothes, and with the singing of sacred songs and with lighted candles in their hands they carried Her to the Jerusalem Temple. There the high-priest with a throng of priests met the maiden of God. In the Temple, the stairway led up fifteen high steps. The Child Mary, so it seemed, could not Herself make it up this stairway. But just as they placed Her on the first step, strengthened by the power of God, She quickly made it up over the remaining steps and ascended to the highest. Then the high-priest, through an inspiration from above, led the MostHoly Virgin into the Holy of Holies, and herein of all people it was only the high-priest that entered one time a year with a purifying sacrifice of blood. Therefore all those present in the Temple were astonished at this most unusual occurrence.      Righteous Joakim and Anna, having entrusted their Child to the will of the Heavenly Father, returned home. The MostBlessed Mary remained in the domicile for girls, situated near the Temple. Round about the Temple, through the testimony of Holy Scripture (Exodus 38; 1 Kings 1: 28; Lk. 2: 37), and also the historian Josephus Flavius, there were many living quarters, in which dwelt those dedicated to the service of God.

The earthly life of the MostHoly Mother of God from the time of Her infancy to the time of Her ascent to Heaven is shrouded in deep mystery. Her life at the Jerusalem Temple was also a secret. "If anyone were to ask me, – said Blessed Jerome, – how the MostHoly Virgin spent the time of Her youth, – I would answer: that is known to God Himself and the Archangel Gabriel, Her constant guardian".      But in the Church tradition there were preserved accounts, that during the time of the stay of the All-Pure Virgin at the Jerusalem Temple, She grew up in a community of pious virgins, read diligently the Holy Scripture, occupied Herself with handcrafts, prayed constantly and grew in love for God. In remembrance of the Entry of the MostHoly Mother of God into the Jerusalem Temple, Holy Church from ancient times established a solemn feastday. The decretals for the making of the feast in the first centuries of Christianity are found in the traditions of Palestinian Christians, where mention is made that the holy Empress Helen built a church in honour of the Entry into the Temple of the MostHoly Mother of God.      In the IV Century there is mention of this feast by Sainted Gregory of Nyssa. In the VIII Century Saints Germanos and Tarasios, Constantinople Patriarchs, delivered sermons on the feastday of the Entry.      The feast of the Entry into the Temple of the MostHoly Mother of God – foretells the blessing of God for the human race, the preaching of salvation, the promise of the coming of Christ. DISCOURSE ON THE FEAST OF THE ENTRY OF OUR IMMACULATE LADY MOTHER OF GOD INTO THE HOLY OF HOLIES by Saint Gregory Palamas, ArchBishop of Thessalonika      If a tree be known of by its fruit, and a good tree beareth good fruit (Mt. 7: 17; Lk. 6: 44), then is not the Mother of Goodness Itself and the Birth-Giver of Eternal Beauty incomparably more excellent than any good, situated within the world of the natural or the supernatural? Wherefore the Co-Eternal and Immutable Image of the goodness of the Transcendent Father – the Word Praeternal, Praexistent and Beyond-All-Goodness, through His unutterable love for mankind and compassion for us, aspiring to take our image upon Himself, so as from uttermost hades to draw up our nature unto Himself, and so as to renew this corrupted nature and take it to the heights of Heaven, – for all this to find that most-good Servant, and Ever-Virgin, Whom we glorify, and Whose miraculous Entrance into the Temple – into the Holy of Holies, we now celebrate. God predestined Her before the ages to the salvation and uplifting of our kind: She was chosen from amidst the ranks of the chosen of the ages and the glorified both through verymost piety and prudence, and through God-pleasing word and deed.      The once author of evil – the serpent, exalting it over us, did also entice us into its abyss. Many a reason impelled it to rise up against us and enslave our nature: envy, rivalry, hatred, injustice, trickery, slyness, and in addition to all this, also the death-bearing power within him, which he begat, being the first to fall away from true life. The author of evil was jealous of Adam, having seen him aspiring from earth to Heaven, from which through just cause he was cast down, and filled with envy, with a terrible fierceness he pounced upon Adam, he wanted even to attire him with the garb of death. But jealousy – the begetter not only of hatred, but also murder, which this indeed hater of mankind accomplished over us, with evil having set upon us, whereby with utmost injustice he wanted to be master over the earth-born for the ruination of a creature, created in the image and likeness of God. And since he did not possess sufficient boldness to make a face to face attack, he resorted to cunning and deceit, and having assumed the appearance of a sensual snake, he turned himself to the earth-born, like a friend and useful counsellor, this indeed terrible enemy and malevolent, imperceptibly he passes over into action and by his God-opposing advice and with his own especial death-bearing power, like a venomous poison, he injects it into man.      If Adam had been sufficiently strong to keep the Divine commandment, then he would have rendered himself the vanquisher of his enemy and would have come out on top of the deathly defilement. But since, from the one side, he voluntarily gave in to sin, whereby he underwent defeat and was made a sinner; and from the other side, being the source-root of our race, he begat us as still death-bearing offshoots, – then in order for us to annihilate within ourselves the death-bearing venomed poison of soul and body and find for ourselves eternal life, it was absolutely necessary for our race to have a new tap-root. It was necessary for us to have a new Adam, Who not only would be sinless and absolutely come out the victor, but Who also would be able to forgive sin and set free from the punishment those subject to it. And not only would He be embued with life, but also the capacity to restore to life, so as to make partakers of life those, which cleave to Him and belong to His lineage, and not only those present in the subsequent generations after Him, but also those, which already had died before Him. Wherefore Saint Paul, that great trumpet of the Holy Spirit, doth exclaim: the first man was alive in soul, but the second Man was in spirit life-creating (1 Cor. 15: 45).      But except for God, no one is without sin, nor life-creating, nor able to remit sin. Therefore the new Adam must be not only Man, but also God, so that He Himself through Himself would be with life, with wisdom, and truth, and love, and mercy, and altogether with every good for this – to bring the old Adam into renewal and restoration to life by mercy, by wisdom and truth, set forth in opposition to those means whereof the author of evil has caused death for us.      Thus similar is the contrast in this, how that primordial man-killer did lord it over us with envy and hatred, and how the Source of life was lifted up [on the Cross] on account of His immeasurable love for mankind and His goodness. He intensely desired the salvation of His creation, which salvation consisted in this – to bring anew the creation under Him. In contrast to this the author of evil wanted to bring to ruin the creation of God, and thereby put mankind under his own power, and tyrannically to afflict us. And just as that one gained himself the conquest and the fall of mankind by means of injustice and cunning, by deceit and his trickery, so likewise the Liberator gained Himself the defeat of the author of evil and renewed His creation by means of truth, justice and wisdom.      It was a deed of perfect justice so that our nature, which voluntarily was enslaved and struck down, should itself again enter the struggle for victory and overthrow from itself voluntary enslavement. Wherefore it pleased God to take upon Himself of us our nature, in miraculous form co-uniting with it Hypostatically. But the union of the Most‑High Nature, the purity of which is incomprehensible for our reason, – was impossible for a sinful nature before it purify itself. Therefore, for the conception and birth of the Bearer of purity, it was necessary that there should be a Virgin perfectly Immaculate and MostPure.      We now celebrate the memory of this, – that once formerly was co-operated this Incarnation. Wherein He in nature God, God the Word and Son Co-Eternal and Co-Without-Beginning for the Transcendent Father, is co-actualised with the Son of Man, with the Son of the Ever-Virgin. "Jesus Christ yesterday and today, He is forever" (Heb. 13: 8), immutable in Divinity and immaculate in humanity, He alone only, as the Prophet Isaiah prophesied, "doeth not iniquity, nor is deceit found on His lips" (Is. 53: 9), – He alone was not conceived in iniquity, and His birth was not into sin, in contrast to which regarding himself and every other man the Prophet David gives testimony (Ps. 50 [51]: 7). He alone was perfectly pure and even had not the need of cleansing for Himself: but rather for our sake He took upon Himself suffering, death and resurrection.      God is born of the Immaculate and Holy Virgin, or even better said, of the All‑MostPure and All-Holy. This Virgin is not only above every fleshly defilement, but also even above every impure thought, and Her conceiving resulted not from fleshly lust, but by the overshadowing of the MostHoly Spirit. When the Virgin lived completely remote from people and dwelt in prayerful contemplation and spiritual joy, She declared to the announcing Angel: "Behold the HandMaiden of the Lord: be it unto Me according to thy word" (Lk. 1: 38), and having conceived, She gave birth. And so, in order to render the Virgin worthy for this sublime purpose, God from before the ages predetermined from amidst the number of the chosen and at the beginning of time did choose Her, She now praised by us as the Ever-Virgin. Turn your attention then, whence began this choice. From the sons of Adam was chosen by God the wondrous Seth, who through his decent temperament, through being the image of good sense and utmost virtue, did show himself inspired by Heaven, wherefore also he was granted to be chosen, and from whom the Virgin – the God-like chariot of the Coelestial God – was needed to give birth and thereof to summon the earth-born to the Heavenly sonship of filiation. For this reason also all the lineage of Seth were named "sons of God": wherefore the Son of God did possess this lineage to be born from; and thus also the name of Seth signifies a getting-up or resurrection (from the dead), which spoken specifically, – is also the Lord, promising and giving life immortal to believers in His Name. And how precisely exact is this parallel! Seth was born of Eve, as she herself said, in place of Abel, whom Cain killed through jealousy (Gen. 4: 25); and the Son of the Virgin, Christ, born for us in place of Adam, Whom likewise through jealousy the author of evil killed. But Seth did not resurrect Abel: since he served but as a foretype of resurrection. But our Lord Jesus Christ resurrected Adam, since He is for the earth-born the Life and the Resurrection, for which also the descendents of Seth are vouchsafed, through hope, of filiation to God, being called the children of God. And that afterwards in consequence of this hope they were named sons of God, this indicates first suchlike a calling is through inheritance, and receiving this chosenness was the son of Seth – Enos, who by the report of Moses, first hoped upon this, in order to call on the Name of the Lord (Gen. 4: 26).      By such manner, the choice of the future Mother of God, beginning with the very sons of Adam and proceeding through all the generations of time, through the Providence of God, passes through the Prophet-king David and the successors of his kingdom and lineage. When the chosen time was come, then from the house and fatherhood of David there was chosen by God – Joakim and Anna, who although they were childless, were by their virtuous life and good disposition the finest of all, descended from the line of David. And when in prayer they besought the resolving of their childlessness and promised to dedicate to God the offspring, – then from Her very childhood, then the Mother of God was proclaimed and given them by God, as a Child, – so that from such many-virtued parents was conceived the All-Virtuous and All-Pure Virgin. Thus in suchlike manner, it was a conception chaste in unity with prayer, and the All-Pure co-operated as the Birth-Giver of virginity, in the flesh imperishably giving birth to Him Who before the ages was born of God the Father. And when Righteous Joakim and Anna saw that they had been granted their wish and that the Divine promise to them was realised in fact, then they from their end as true lovers of God hastened to fulfill their vow given to God: they have now led into the Temple of God this in truth Child Virgin Mother of God, having just been weaned from milk. And She, in spite of Her tender age, was imbued with Divine gifts and more than the others She comprehended what was being done over Her, and by all Her manner She appeared – not that they were leading Her into the Temple, but that She Herself through a particular was arriving into the service of God, as though on self‑sprouted wings striving towards the sacred and Divine love, being convinced that Her Entry into the Temple – into the Holy of Holies and dwelling in this Her wished-for destiny. Therefore also the high-priest, seeing that upon the Maiden, more than anyone else, there dwelt Divine grace, wanted to set Her within the Holy of Holies, and he convinced everyone willingly to concur with this. And God assisted the Virgin and sent Her through His Angel mysteried food, thanks to which She was strengthened in nature and was made more pure than the Angels, having for this Heavenly spirits in attendance. And not only once was She led into the Holy of Holies, but was accepted by God for dwelling with Him during the course of Her youthful years: since through Her in due course the Heavenly Abodes were opened and are given for an eternal habitation to believers in Her miraculous birth. Herein is the meaning of why the Chosen amongst the chosen from the beginning of time came to be within the Holy of Holies. Having Her body purer than the most pure by virtue of the spiritual, such that it was able to accept the Hypostatic Word Himself Who is of the Father Without-Beginning, – the Ever-Virgin Mary, like a Treasure of God, through inheritance now is placed into the Holy of Holies, so that at the necessary time, as it were, to serve towards its enriching and worthy adornment. Wherefore, Christ God also doth glorify His Mother, both before birth, and also through birth.      We however, contemplating the co-operating of salvation for our sake through the MostHoly Virgin, do render Her thanks and praise. And truly, if the thankful woman (about whom the Gospel tells us), having heard some saving words of the Lord, did render thankfulness to His Mother, her voice rising above the din of the crowd and saying to Christ: "Blessed is the womb that beareth Thee, and the paps Thou hast suckled" (Lk. 11: 27), – then beyond this even moreso ought we as Christians, who have the imprint of the words of eternal life in our hearts and not only the words, but also the miracles and the Passion, and through them the restoration from death of our nature, and the ascent from earth to Heaven, and the promise to us of immortal life and unfailing salvation, – then after all this ought we not all the more to glorify and unceasingly to bless the Mother of the Author of Salvation and the Bestower of Life, celebrating Her conception and birth and now Her Entry into the Temple – into the Holy of Holies. We shall move on, brethren, from the earthly mountain, we shall transfer from flesh to spirit, by preference a perpetual not an temporal desire. We shall give up the needed scorn of fleshly delights, which serve as allurements against the soul and soon wilt pass away. Let us desire spiritual gifts, which exist imperishably. Let us avert our reason and our attention from earthly concerns and raise it to the Heavenly sublimity – to the Holy of Holies, where now the Mother of God doth reside. Wherefore in such manner our song and prayers with God-pleasing boldness and profit will reach Her, and we in gratitude for Her intercession, together with the present blessings we do co-opt the inheritance of future everlasting blessings, through the grace and love for mankind born for us of Her – our Lord Jesus Christ, to Whom be glory and majesty, honour and worship together with His Father Without-Beginning and His Life-Creating Spirit, now and ever and unto ages of ages. Amen.

© 1996-2001 by translator Fr. S. Janos.

Luke 1:39-49, 56 (Matins Gospel)

39Now Mary arose in those days and went into the hill country with haste, to a city of Judah,40 and entered the house of Zacharias and greeted Elizabeth 41 And it happened, when Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, that the babe leaped in her womb; and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit.42 Then she spoke out with a loud voice and said, "Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!43 But why is this granted to me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? 44 For indeed, as soon as the voice of your greeting sounded in my ears, the babe leaped in my womb for joy. 45 Blessed is she who believed, for there will be a fulfillment of those things which were told her from the Lord. 46 And Mary said: "My soul magnifies the Lord, 47 And my spirit has rejoiced in God my Savior. 48 For He has regarded the lowly state of His maidservant; For behold, henceforth all generations will call me blessed. 49 For He who is mighty has done great things for me, And holy is His name. 56 And Mary remained with her about three months, and returned to her house.

Hebrews 9:1-7 (Theotokos)

1Then indeed, even the first covenant had ordinances of divine service and the earthly sanctuary. 2 For a tabernacle was prepared: the first part, in which was the lampstand, the table, and the showbread, which is called the sanctuary; 3 and behind the second veil, the part of the tabernacle which is called the Holiest of All, 4 which had the golden censer and the ark of the covenant overlaid on all sides with gold, in which were the golden pot that had the manna, Aaron's rod that budded, and the tablets of the covenant; 5 and above it were the cherubim of glory overshadowing the mercy seat. Of these things we cannot now speak in detail. 6 Now when these things had been thus prepared, the priests always went into the first part of the tabernacle, performing the services. 7 But into the second part the high priest went alone once a year, not without blood, which he offered for himself and for the people's sins committed in ignorance;

[clansayeed]

Bound by Choice ― II.iii. The Beginning of the End

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The Trinity’s enemies grow in number.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Three nights before…

Old wood and old metal and bones older still take refuge from the bitter night rain.

In the shadows Cynbel waits, watches. The smith brings down his hammer against white-hot metal clang. clang. clang. Hunting like a different kind of predator and oh he has been so many that this… this he barely feels in the shift of his skin.

Steam erupts into the air, filled with the foul smell of a burning port where the worker submerges his latest creation beneath the water’s surface. Ignorant; blissfully ignorant.

“One would think after a long day’s toiling away, any opportunity for respite would be welcomed.”

Surprise catches in the mortal’s bones. Makes him release his work from the grasp of rusted tongs. He spins around, looks this way and that, but is no better than a blind man in his efforts.

“Who goes there?” Then, once the young man catches himself, “We are closed for the night. Please, return tomorrow at dawn.”

Does he think he plays at manhood? But this new age of innovation demands it of such boys, does it not. He might feel pity for them — if he could.

“Alas,” and when he replies his voice wraps around the small hovel; an embrace from Winter herself, “I cannot.”

Still the boy persists. “I insist, monsieur.”

“Who are you to insist of me?”

It’s advantageous; the hesitation that follows. Gives Cynbel a chance to emerge from his not-so-hidden refuge beside a basket of ores. He A shine catches his eye and he plucks it from the dark and misshapen pile, raises it against the light of the furnace to marvel at the gemstone’s glossy sheen.

He pockets it with little thought. A token of affection for his darling girl — so recently bored of diadems and jewelry and smitten with such… imperfections.

“Hey, that doesn’t bel—”

“Sssh…” The vampire presses a finger to his lips and the human goes quiet. Good, he likes them obedient.

This part of the workshop, back and away from the street where the front room displays the prides of masters and apprentices alike, requires a bit of meandering. But he’s an opportunistic man and takes what is offered for his own uses. Sways his hips with every movement slow, seductive.

Every good hunter knows his prey.

And indeed — when Cynbel comes to tower over the young man’s figure he can see each bead of sweat that rolls down his temples. Not just from the room’s stifling heat. Watches one bead along a shaven chin and glisten over the lump in his throat.

Here, and now in the light, things are different. Aren’t they?

Here every pump of the mortal’s racing heart threatens to deafen him in the best of ways. Here he is illuminated in fire’s heavenly glow; and recognized.

Cynbel lets his finger fall in unspoken permission. Watches as he’s taken in rapturously and in ways he has only seen between the pious and their places of worship… in ways he, too, has found rapture from his own religion.

When the human finally speaks it is rushed; exhaled, “I-worried-you-would-not-come…”

“For you,” and he weaves his fingers through locks of mousy hair, uses it as a master to his hound to pull him forward; breathes his honey-drenched words against peeling lips, “always.”

Their kiss is desperate, fervent with inevitability. Smoke-stained hands smeared over his jaw and Cynbel resists the urge to bite out his inexperienced tongue as a second gift for his beloved. Lets himself be defiled with the touches of a young man craven for affection and so so alone… unable to give it.

He would call this creature pitiful but even that would be too kind. That the mortal is too obsessed with his own gratification to realize every drop of passion is entirely from his own cup, that Cynbel’s cup could not be more barren in his presence, is nothing short of pathetic.

He pulls back as he always does. Stops those dirty wandering fingers as he always does. Kisses the day’s work from trembling knuckles as he always does.

“What kept you away?” The mortal whimpers.

And as he always does Cynbel lies through his teeth. “It matters not — that you stand before me now is more than enough.”

The mortal beams with pride. Though that is not the only vice Cynbel has been able to impart on him.

Everything in the smithy is exactly the same as he had left it a fortnight ago — well, almost.

He doesn’t have to pretend in this. The way he (none too) gently urges the wayward man aside to cross the room in several strides. Among the hammers and horseshoes the work done here is for the meager rank and file of Paris. Nothing as flashy as settings for gems or swords for battle. Cynbel knows this because his time has been well-spent these last months. Because the thing that separates the hunters who fail from the ones who survive is found in the little things.

Surveying the prey. Entering its nest. Staking its claim over the carcass before it has even been devoured.

Knowing all that he does — it begs the question of the mannequin—freshly carved—and the armor—freshly polished—settled snug upon it.

“Is this your work?”

He looks back and hears the skip in the mortal’s heart as he nods. “Indeed. Are you taken with it?”

“As taken as I am with you,” he croons in response; and knows the flush in living cheeks is not from the heat.

“That is why I am still here, actually,” he remembers his work then, and plucks the now solid metal from the bucket to wipe it dry with his sleeve. Small, in comparison to the rest of the pieces, but Cynbel takes it when it is offered; lets their touch linger in a promise he does not intend to keep.

The fastening is crude; its finer points interrupted by Cynbel’s arrival. But the sigil would be difficult not to recognize — especially for his kind. The halo around the center meant to be the sun. The fleur de lis enshrined within it in need of a little more dedication to be perfect.

More likely than not his little apprentice smith knows not what he is being asked to make. The holy war he is urging forward in his own way. A suspicion confirmed as Cynbel offers the work back and allows the mortal to continue to hold his hand.

“This is the only thing left. The master had just arranged contract with the Duke who ordered it when he fell ill,” —he explains this like Cynbel doesn’t know, like he didn’t ensure it— “and as his eldest apprentice the duty fell to me. I don’t know what overcame me, my love… it was as though the muses of old inspired my every movement.

“I missed you terribly, Claude, but I was fortunate there was this work to help me pass the time.”

Should he never hear the false name given for this ruse again it would be too soon.

Cynbel gestures to the armor, a “may I?” whispered reverent on his lips. With the human’s permission he steps closer, ghosts his touch over the refined metal. Imagines all the ways he will go about tearing it from whatever unfortunate soul it is given to limb from bloody, gory limb.

“You have outdone yourself.”

“Truly?”

Is the first of his praises not enough? Disgusting whelp. “Truly and more. I dare say whomever commissioned this will command any battlefield.”

Warm arms encircle his waist. The tack of the human’s sweating forehead presses against his doublet and already Cynbel begins practicing the apologies he will give to his beloveds upon his return. No doubt his Lord and Love will banish him from the apartment for the stench.

It is torture, pure and simple.

“May I confess something to you, Claude?”

Cynbel swallows back his bile. “Anything, always.” And he doesn’t need to see the human’s face to hear his pathetic ‘secret.’

“The Duke has sent word he will arrive in Paris tomorrow — and he hopes to see how the piece is coming along. I hope to convince him of my skill… perhaps even take some of the spoils for myself.”

Greed. One of the few things that make his presence bearable against all his shortcomings.

Cynbel turns in his arms; feigns as though he could never imagine such a scandal. “And what of your master? Will he not cast you out for the gall of it?”

“Perhaps he may not be around long enough to do such.”

“Don’t sound so hopeful.”

“Why not, when you inspire in me such a wonderful hope?”

Their second kiss is far more chaste, entirely so on part of the vampire. The disappointment on the other’s face is impossible to miss.

“Something the matter?”

“I would not have your well-earned pride ruined for it. Pay me no mind.”

“Claude,” Cynbel’s cheeks are taken in grimy mortal hands and he shivers, lets him take it as he wishes, “there is no joy I can bask in without you. Let me ease the weight on your chest. Please.”

Let it be known that he does not give in to the mortal’s whims. But with demons of the night leaping from shadow to shadow among the rafters, with every horrendous and degrading sentiment forced through his teeth; then and there Cynbel has had enough. Enough pretending, enough disgust.

Enough with feeling somehow unworthy of the love bestowed upon him when he returns to the arms of the ones with whom he truly belongs. Oh they placate him dutifully but he sees the twitch of a sensitive nose — a touch moved elsewhere at the last moment. These things are their prey; no better than chattel.

He was amusing at first. But…

“You have simply outlived your usefulness to me.” With no risk comes no reward they say but there is no risk here. He might be inclined to entertain it further if there was.

And like a child the human seems only to hear the kindly things. Continues to hold him, to adore him. To sicken him.

So he continues. “There is no risk, here. Only the continued debasement of the Golden Son, of the first of Valdemaras’ blood. If, when all the ages wither, I find in my soul no love of self then I must at least continue to love the part of me that is my God. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Sure enough that rouses him. As if from a slumber. The masquerade finally coming to a close.

“I don’t understand.”

“Was I not speaking French?” Which could have been a possibility. As it is his muscles tense, predatory, in preparation of the first violent act that comes to mind.

“Yes, Claude, but — what you are saying makes little sense.”

So simpering, so pitiful that Cynbel actually stomachs the will to kiss him again. If only to whisper the insult to his lips; “I would expect nothing less of such a feeble mind.”

He’s seen heartbreak before. This is not it. This is a pantomime—what the inexperienced whelp believes heartbreak to be. Tries, so fleetingly, to wrench himself from Cynbel’s grasp but the charade is finally over. And with it the need to disguise his true strength.

“I had hoped you would have completed all of the armor in time, and maybe had I a stronger constitution one more night would have done the trick.” He looks back to the suit with true critique in his newfound eyes. Such a waste — talent like that in the hands of a worm. “But their sigil is clear enough that any member would recognize it as their own. I suppose there’s a poetic drama to the incomplete set.

“Isseya would know of such things better than I. She’s quite taken with the stage. She is the voice behind my tender affections towards you in fact.”

All the while the human tries to free himself to no avail. His workman’s hands are used to shaping manacles but have never been imprisoned by them after all.

Finally some sense comes about the man. All the telltale signs of a scream; flared nostrils, flushed pallor, the sour odor of fear near his knocking knees. Too late.

“HE—!”

Valdas would be proud how he silences any cry and practices for the upcoming ball in one swift movement. Pulling so hard he feels the joint come loose in a feeble shoulder and presses them close as lovers, back to front; molded against every vibrating measure of him and a hand tight over his lips.

“Ah ah ah…” He turns them both to face his work. Will give him that final gift of his life’s work burned behind his eyelids in the moments before death. “Don’t you want to know, my love? To understand?”

The fussy little fucker actually shakes his head. As though that will save him. As if he is held captive only until Cynbel has given him light where there was previously only darkness.

But that light is not for him. It belongs to them.

He belongs to them.

“If that is what you wish, fine. Throw away my gift, and your life with it.”

“Mmmph!”

“No no taking it back now. My mind is made up.”

“MMmnpm…” A needling heat pierces his skin. The sight of it makes the vampire laugh.

“A tear, really? And here I thought it was quite impossible for me to think less of you.”

He wrestles the human’s head to position; nearly breaks his neck several times in the process. Forces him to take in the splendor that will soon serve as a crafted casket for whatever heathen is suffered to wear it.

Unsympathetic, Cynbel places a final kiss to his temple. “Everything is in place now darling. I want you to know I could not have done it without you. Well—no—I just cannot help myself but lie to you it seems.” Another wave of muffled whimpers drowned in his laughter. “But you have made it easier on me. The Knights will collect your work and your corpse with it. One little life — that’s all it will take to earn their ire. Clever little hellions that they are… they’ll follow every crumb I’ve left. All. the way. to me.

“If my beloved is correct—if the Godmaker graces the evening with his vile presence—then I may finally have the opportunity to rid the world of two evils. Can you imagine? No longer looking over our shoulders… no longer fearing unholy wrath…” The very thought has him in near ecstasy. Actually—quite close to the real thing.

But thoughts of a life free of the Knights draw him, as they inevitably do, to a darker place.

To the cursed memories of Isseya prone, neck bare… to the taste of steel on his tongue and the delicious smell of roasted game—but he was the meal of bubbling blistering flesh and every tear he shed—she shed a fresh wave of agon—

“The events that will unfold will ensure their safety. No one will dare to take them from me ever again…” Cynbel surprises them both in that his voice breaks with unbridled fury, with withheld anguish.

“Lest they remember what befell the last to even try.”

Countless hours spend seducing the young smith who surely had a name that he hadn’t bothered to remember go to waste, then. Such a fragile neck in his grasp — the way it sounds when it snaps is like the first notes of a sonnet.

But there’s still one crucial crumb that needs leaving. One that will ensure the Holy Sacred Knights of the Rising Dawn know exactly who has courted them such.

One that will ensure they amass their armies beneath Paris in droves.

One fallen innocent is a message.

A slaughtered horde—that’s a warning.

He takes his leave of the workshop in much the same way as he entered; undetected by any soul living or dead. The mortal’s blood is tacky on his soaked hands the long walk back to their lodgings. He wants his lovers to taste of the wretched little cur so they know; so they understand.

Their sigil—the Brand of the Made-God Valdemaras—left to dry red on the breastplate. The unfinished clasp fastened neatly in the middle.

It was not unheard of for the vampires of Paris to think themselves important. Far more relevant than they actually are. Cynbel had gazed upon the half-masque of Serafine Dupont in the halls below and assumed her prestige nothing more than vanity; the hostess putting on airs for her guests.

But he’s a big enough man to admit when he’s wrong.

It takes a skill honed from centuries for the discipline she shows now. All of her remaining strength fixated on her injuries, on the effort to stand and set the bone to heal. A wound that would cripple a mortal—and even a younger vampire—rendered fruitless as muscle and flesh knit together in the tapestry of her dedication.

They watch the show of her impressed — but never intimidated. They will give credit where it is due.

With a vengeful cry she lunges forward and all credit is lost when her open palm meets his face.

Cynbel reaches up, feels the heat of the sting on his cheek with a shiver down his spine. Like all pain it fades too fast — but while there may be no more Knights in vain attempts to slay him Serafine still stands there and she looks positively craven for the excuse to strike again.

A look seen by more than just him. One that lands her pinned to a building exterior with splayed limbs and Valdas’ hand around her throat.

“Apologize.”

Yet even as his darling’s softer hands skirt feather-light touches over his healed skin Cynbel laughs. Laughs and laughs and adjusts his hair where the whore had sent it askew.

“No no, let her come for me. The Knights proved no real contest, maybe she’ll last a moment or two longer than they.”

“How dare you mock them,” seethes the woman with labored breaths; and because it isn’t the apology he asked for Valdas only tightens his grip, only strains her further in a wraithish rasp, “have you no grief for our brothers, our sisters who were slaughtered?!”

“They are no kin of ours.” Isseya answers for him. He snakes an arm around her waist and squeezes.

“Forgive her, my God,” he croons, would rather keep his lovers close than risk their already fractured good luck, “the poor thing seems to be under the impression we are on some equal standing.”

And he does, eventually, let her go. But only when it takes longer than a passing moment for the carvings of his nails at her neck to heal.

“A mistake she would do well not to make again.”

Serafine’s eyes are wild; a frightened animal that takes them in all at once. The way they were meant to be understood — the way they had always been understood. Her voiceless words aren’t worth the effort it would take to even try to comprehend her.

“The same blood runs through your veins that does mine, le tueur.” She snarls.

Isseya’s eyes narrow. “Not for long. Not with that foul tongue.”

“Now now, Iss’, let the little thing mourn.” Cynbel attempts to placate her with long, slow pets to her hair.

“She dare call you the killer when those sycophants live?”

She turns her face away from their accuser, tucked into the ridge of his shoulder and Cynbel holds her tighter for it. Knows that she, too, is plagued with memory. That if he coaxed her face up he would see the shine of unshed tears in her beautiful eyes.

“Less of them now,” he whispers, “thanks to us.” For now it is all he can offer her. And for now it is enough. They only have this thorn to deal with before he can comfort Isseya—both of his lovers—properly and as they deserve.

“And while the Knights posed an entertaining foe, I’ll admit there were far more of our kind in attendance tonight than I thought there would be. The cost should have dwarfed the rewards.”

“What rewards? What reward could there possibly be for the senseless murder of our kind?!”

“Victory over the Knights of course.”

The noise she makes; strangled and not quite fully alive before it died in her throat, only amuses the woman on his arm. Has her reaching out for their God like she wants to mock Serafine. And that may very well be the case.

Here is my salvation. Where is yours?

“How was this to be a victory? You speak like —”

“Like he tipped the scales of this war with a battlefield of his own choosing?” offers Valdas -- now comfortable against his surviving lovers. “A soldier ‘til the end, my golden boy.”

Here he thought the deaths of the Knights would not be the only victory this night — the next to come much later and wrapped in sheets of the finest imported silk. But here stands another much to his surprise, crept up out of the gutters like vermin.

It is with utter delight that Cynbel watches Serafine come to understand the truth of the matter; watches the horror and disgust twist upon her beautiful features somehow made better by all-consuming sorrow.

Fills him with an arousal usually reserved for carnage and lovemaking; but this works too.

“You— You… brought the Knights of the Dawn to the crypts?”

“I didn’t hold their hands, no, though I almost needed to. Fucking simpletons.”

The woman’s voice catches. “How?”

“The righteous are terribly predictable. A few bodies here, a few whispers there. If they think their cause to be one of justice they’re akin to a persistent plague.”

Serafine is less an annoyance now; more a festering wound. Really, must she take the fun out of it? As it is he has to reconcile with the Godmaker surviving — no doubt leagues from Paris by now with his Bloodqueen in tow. Can he not just have this?

“You orchestrated this… this culling?”

“Those who died did so because of their own weakness.”

“You willingly led our enemies straight to us!”

“And now they are an army fewer in number.”

The look he gives her — disinterest, boredom. If you seek to make me remorseful you seek in vain.

“Monsters,” Serafine finally chokes out; said to them all but Cynbel takes it just a tad personally, “monsters… the three of you. Les Trois Amants no more than old, cruel, mindless creatures of bloodshed.”

“Not quite,” Cynbel’s hand stays his Maker from attacking her, allows him to meet her gaze level and calm with a lover on each arm. United; permanent.

“Where they seek justice I gave vengeance. That I was able to lead them to us at all says all the things you wish to ignore—to put as blame upon my shoulders. The Knights would have eventually discovered the catacombs our refuge. If not tonight then tomorrow, or a fortnight from now. Would you rather that, mademoiselle? Would you rather they have had the time to plan, to cut off completely all means of escape?

“You should be thanking me that the living outnumber the dead. And that you may count yourself among them.” And with his victory inevitably wilted Cynbel has had enough of her accusations. “But yes — I would watch every vampire alive burn at the hands of the Knights themselves so long as my beloveds are by my side.”

With the last of her strength the vampiress snarls with fangs bared. Such a pitiful portrait she paints of herself; he knows it, all three of them do. It doesn’t even warrant Valdas’ reaction and isn’t that saying something.

“You will see justice at the hands of your enemies.”

“Four centuries and the bastards have yet to do any lasting damage.” An amusing thought, too.

“The Holy Knights are not your only enemy today.”

He can see it, too. A hotter, blinding flame burning inside of her far stronger than the ones that ravage underneath their feet. Give it a century or two, he thinks, and it will be snuffed out with the rest.

Two sets of hands try to keep him close but he gently coaxes them aside. Approaches the tempest before him with her wild eyes and wild hair and finds satisfaction in the flinch of her when his fingertips graze her silken chin.

“My victory is—has always been—inevitable, ma chérie. And I look forward to the prestige it will bring.”

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Charles Spurgeon's "Morning & Evening"

                                  Devotionals for December 16

MORNING

"I will help thee, saith the Lord." - Isaiah 41:14

This morning let us hear the Lord Jesus speak to each one of us: "I will help thee." "It is but a small thing for me, thy God, to help thee. Consider what I have done already. What! not help thee? Why, I bought thee with my blood. What! not help thee? I have died for thee; and if I have done the greater, will I not do the less? Help thee! It is the least thing I will ever do for thee; I have done more, and will do more. Before the world began I chose thee. I made the covenant for thee. I laid aside my glory and became a man for thee; I gave up my life for thee; and if I did all this, I will surely help thee now. In helping thee, I am giving thee what I have bought for thee already. If thou hadst need of a thousand times as much help, I would give it thee; thou requirest little compared with what I am ready to give. 'Tis much for thee to need, but it is nothing for me to bestow. 'Help thee?' Fear not! If there were an ant at the door of thy granary asking for help, it would not ruin thee to give him a handful of thy wheat; and thou art nothing but a tiny insect at the door of my all-sufficiency. 'I will help thee. '"

O my soul, is not this enough? Dost thou need more strength than the omnipotence of the United Trinity? Dost thou want more wisdom than exists in the Father, more love than displays itself in the Son, or more power than is manifest in the influences of the Spirit? Bring hither thine empty pitcher! Surely this well will fill it. Haste, gather up thy wants, and bring them here-thine emptiness, thy woes, thy needs. Behold, this river of God is full for thy supply; what canst thou desire beside? Go forth, my soul, in this thy might. The Eternal God is thine helper!

"Fear not, I am with thee, oh, be not dismay'd! I, I am thy God, and will still give thee aid."

EVENING  

"The Messiah shall be cut off, but not for himself." - Daniel 9:26

Blessed be his name, there was no cause of death in him. Neither original nor actual sin had defiled him, and therefore death had no claim upon him. No man could have taken his life from him justly, for he had done no man wrong, and no man could even have lain him by force unless he had been pleased to yield himself to die. But lo, one sins and another suffers. Justice was offended by us, but found its satisfaction in him. Rivers of tears, mountains of offerings, seas of the blood of bullocks, and hills of frankincense, could not have availed for the removal of sin; but Jesus was cut off for us, and the cause of wrath was cut off at once, for sin was put away for ever. Herein is wisdom, whereby substitution, the sure and speedy way of atonement, was devised! Herein is condescension, which brought Messiah, the Prince, to wear a crown of thorns, and die upon the cross! Herein is love, which led the Redeemer to lay down his life for his enemies!

It is not enough, however, to admire the spectacle of the innocent bleeding for the guilty, we must make sure of our interest therein. The special object of the Messiah's death was the salvation of his church; have we a part and a lot among those for whom he gave his life a ransom? Did the Lord Jesus stand as our representative? Are we healed by his stripes? It will be a terrible thing indeed if we should come short of a portion in his sacrifice; it were better for us that we had never been born. Solemn as the question is, it is a joyful circumstance that it is one which may be answered clearly and without mistake. To all who believe on him the Lord Jesus is a present Saviour, and upon them all the blood of reconciliation has been sprinkled. Let all who trust in the merit of Messiah's death be joyful at every remembrance of him, and let their holy gratitude lead them to the fullest consecration to his cause.

[blogironscepter]

WHO IS THE BRIDE OF CHRIST?

SHALOM, PLEASE ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE MYSELF. MY NAME IS ANNETTE LUKER. IF YOU THINK THE WORLD HAS BECOME INCREASINGLY EVIL AND DANGEROUS AND YOU ARE LOOKING FOR THE TRUTH (AND THE PEACE THAT FOLLOWS) THEN WELCOME TO NEW JERUSALEM AND TO MY BLOG; “THE IRON SCEPTER.”

PLEASE KEEP AN OPEN MIND AND RESEARCH FOR YOURSELF EVERYTHING I AM SAYING.  I CAN BACK UP EVERYTHING I SHARE HERE WITH SCRIPTURE. BUT I CAN NOT DO IT ALL IN A SINGLE POST. FORGET EVERYTHING MAN-MADE RELIGION HAS TAUGHT YOU AND START WITH A CLEAN SLATE, BY READING the Bible FOR YOURSELF WITH NO PRE-CONCEIVED IDEAS.

The Bible SAYS WE DO NOT NEED A MAN TO TEACH US BUT RATHER THE Holy Spirit WILL TEACH US. The Bible ALSO SAYS THE LORD IS DOING A “NEW” THING IN THE LAST DAYS AND THAT THE WISE WILL UNDERSTAND BUT THE WICKED WILL NOT UNDERSTAND. SO, AGAIN PLEASE KEEP AN OPEN MIND AND PRAY TO THE FATHER FOR WISDOM. HIS WORD SAYS HE WILL FREELY GIVE WISDOM TO THOSE WHO ASK WITH A SINCERE HEART.

WHEN I MAKE STATEMENTS LIKE “the Bible SAYS” YOU CAN GOOGLE MY STATEMENT FOR YOURSELF TO FIND THE SCRIPTURE REFERENCE IN the Bible. IT WOULD BE WAY TOO TIME CONSUMING FOR ME TO POST EVERY SCRIPTURE I REFERENCE, HOWEVER, I WILL POST SOME. SO, IF YOU ARE LOOKING FOR THE TRUTH YOU WILL NEED TO SPEND SOME TIME STUDYING the Bible FOR YOURSELF. 

I THINK WE CAN ALL AGREE THE WORLD IS A MESS. WHY IS IT SO EVIL? BECAUSE THIS IS SATAN’S KINGDOM. JESUS SAID HIS “KINGDOM IS NOT OF THIS WORLD.” THE ENEMY USURPED THE RIGHTFUL OWNERS AND HAS FORGED AN EVIL RACE OF LIARS WHO MOCK GOD’S PEOPLE. CHILDREN ARE NOT SAFE, POLITICIANS CONTINUE TO LIE TO US, BREAK THEIR PROMISES, AND MANUFACTURE INTENTIONAL WARS FOR FILTHY LUCRE WHICH STEAL OUR SONS AND DAUGHTERS. 

THE WORLD IS WAXING WORSE AND WORSE WHICH the Bible PREDICTED. THE WORD SAYS PEOPLE’S HEARTS WILL GROW COLDER, MORE EVIL AND THAT PEOPLE WILL ONLY BECOME MORE GREEDY, ARROGANT AND DISRESPECTFUL. IF YOU ARE TIRED OF THE LIES AND DECEPTION AND ARE CONFUSED AS TO WHY IT NEVER GETS BETTER THAN PLEASE KEEP READING.......

I AM THE DAUGHTER OF EL, (LARRY LEE LUKER) THE FATHER AND TRUE POTTER, AND THE BRIDE OF CHRIST, MITCHEL ANDREW (THE SON OF GOD). I WAS SUPERNATURALLY AWAKENED ON MONDAY, JAN 28TH, 2019. I DID NOT SEEK THIS ROLE, BUT RATHER WAS CALLED. I HAVE SPENT THE PAST YEAR DRIVING OVER 13K MILES ACROSS MULTIPLE STATES IN ORDER TO SPIRITUALLY RE-GATHER MY FAMILY (WHO WAS SCATTERED TO THE 4 CORNERS OF THE EARTH) AFTER A FIERCE SPIRITUAL BATTLE BETWEEN GOOD AND EVIL ON MAY 23, 2009.

ON THIS DATE, THE LAMB OF GOD (ANNETTE) WAS SLAUGHTERED (REV 13:8) AND THE TEMPLE (ANNETTE) WAS DEFILED BY THE 7TH AND 8TH BEASTS OF REVELATION, HIS SCORPION LORDS AND HIS FEMALE RIVALS (7-HEADED DRAGON). THIS BIBLICAL “EVENT” IS DEPICTED AND CELEBRATED BY THE ENEMY IN THE POPULAR YOUTUBE VIDEO “I PET GOAT.”  YOU CAN READ MORE ABOUT THIS ONGOING WAR IN DAN 11.  I WILL COVER THE “I PET GOAT” VIDEO IN ANOTHER POST.

I HAVE SINCE RE-LOCATED FROM THE HOME IN TEXAS (WHERE  SATAN’S THRONE IS LOCATED), AND HAVE MOVED TO COLORADO WHERE THE PEOPLE OF GOD HAVE BEEN RE-GATHERED TO RE-BUILD THE RUINS OF OUR ABANDON CITY.  WE ARE LIVING IN PEACE PLANTING AND RE-PAIRING BROKEN WALLS AND GATES.  ALL THIS HAS BEEN TAKING PLACE IN THE SPIRITUAL REALM BUT WILL SOON MANIFEST INTO THE PHYSICAL REALM. THE LORD GOD SAYS, “NOT BY MIGHT BUT BY MY SPIRIT.” ALSO JESUS SAID “I GO TO PREPARE A PLACE FOR YOU.”

I AM THE WOMAN IN THE WILDERNESS AND THE “IRON SCEPTER” FROM (REV 12).  WHO ACCORDING TO the Bible, WILL RULE AND REIGN WITH CHRIST IN THE HEAVENLY CITY OF NEW JERUSALEM. JERUSALEM LITERALLY TRANSLATES “CITY OF PEACE.” I SIT ON THE THRONE WITH CHRIST (THE PRINCE OF PEACE) AND SERVE AS HIS HIGH PRIESTESS. I AM THE PERSONIFICATION OF THE Holy Spirit AND WISDOM. PROVERBS CH 8.

MITCHEL AND I, ARE THE LION AND LAMB; TWO HALVES OF ONE SOUL XY.  The Bible SAYS EVE WAS TAKEN FROM ADAM’S SIDE AND “FORMED” BY THE POTTERS HANDS. (GEN 2) AGAIN, EL, (LARRY LEE LUKER) MY FATHER IS THE POTTER, MITCHEL ANDREW IS HIS SON, AND I AM THE Holy Spirit. WE COMPRISE THE TRINITY; GOD IN 3 PERSON.......

THE BOOK OF JOHN CH 1 “IN THE BEGINNING WAS THE WORD, THE WORD WAS GOD AND THE WORD WAS WITH GOD.”

EL WAS FORCED TO LAY DOWN HIS PHYSICAL BODY/STONE ON JAN 5, 2015 DUE TO THIS ONGOING WAR (READ DANIEL CH 11). BUT HE AND HIS SON HAVE BEEN WORKING BEHIND THE SCENES, IN THE SPIRITUAL REALM, TO COMPLETE THEIR PLAN OF SALVATION FOR THOSE WHO WOULD RECEIVE THIS FREE GIFT. I AM THE BRIDE AND HIS MESSENGER UNTIL CHRIST RETURNS FOR US (HIS BRIDE AND THE CHURCH).

MITCHEL LAID DOWN HIS PHYSICAL BODY AS WELL IN JAN 2019. THAT IS WHEN HIS SPIRIT CAME TO ME AND SUPERNATURALLY AWAKENED ME SO WE ARE NOW ONE MIND, ONE HEART AND ONE SOUL. JER 31:22 SAYS THAT “IN THE LAST DAYS A WOMAN SHALL COMPASS A MAN.” I AM THAT WOMAN AND MITCHEL IS THE MAN. WE ARE ONE IN THIS VESSEL UNTIL HIS RETURN. 

COMPASS MEANS TO SURROUND; TO ENCLOSE ON ALL SIDES.

MY NAME, ANNETTE, MEANS “FAVOR AND GRACE.” MY LAST NAME, LUKER, MEANS “GATE KEEPER AND SHEPERD.” THE LUKER FAMILY COAT OF ARMS IS A WHITE SHIELD WITH A RED STRIPE CONTAINING A GOLD CROSS, AND GREEN GARLAND SURROUNDS THE SHIELD. THE WHITE SHIELD IS FOR PURITY, THE RED STRIPE DOWN THE MIDDLE OF THE SHIELD IS FOR THE BLOOD OF THE TRUE HEIRS AND THE GOLD CROSS IS FOR FAITH WHICH IS MORE VALUABLE THAN GOLD. FINALLY, THE GREEN GARLAND IS SYMBOLIC FOR OUR EVERGREEN, ETERNAL SOULS.

WE ARE NO RESPECTER OF PERSONS, BUT RATHER JUDGE BY THE HEART. OUR CITY IS COMPRISED OF PEOPLE WHO LOVE OTHERS, ARE NOT DECEITFUL AND ARE HONESTLY SEEKING PEACE. The Bible SAYS THE WORLD IS FILLED WITH “A RACE OF LIARS” (IVAIN DOLS). THEY “COVER WITH A COVERING/FLESH, BUT ARE NOT OF MY SPIRIT SAYS THE LORD GOD.” ACCORDING TO the Bible. THIS RACE PRACTICES SORCERY/WITCHCRAFT UNDER THE GUISE OF “RELIGION” TO BRING HARM UPON INNOCENT PEOPLE AND TO MANIPULATE EVENTS FOR THEIR BENEFIT (REV 18).

THEIR NATURE IS EVIL AND THEY CAN NOT CHANGE IT. JESUS SAID  THEY DO NOT KNOW HIM OR THE FATHER AND NEVER HAVE. JUST LIKE A RATTLESNAKE CAN NOT CHANGE ITS NATURE. THIS RACE WAS CREATED BY SATAN (GEN 1) AND THEY HAVE BEEN MULTIPLYING RAPIDLY IN ORDER TO TAKE OVER THE FATHER’S CREATION, RULE OVER AND ENSLAVE THE MASSES AND MAKE THEIR OWN RULES.

THEY DESIRE LICENTIOUS FREEDOM (”DO AS THOU WILT”) AND HAVE REJECTED LEGITIMATE FREEDOM (LOVE THY NEIGHBOR AS THYSELF) WHICH IS WHAT THE FATHER INTENDED FOR HIS CREATION. The Bible ALSO STATES “THEY” PUT THEIR CHILDREN THROUGH THE FIRE AND SACRIFICE THEM TO MOLECH (AN EVIL DEITY). THIS FIRE IS SYMBOLIC OF THE RAPE AND TOTURE OF INNOCENT CHILDREN. GOOGLE “PIZZA-GATE.” ALSO THE MOVIE “TEMPLE OF DOOM” HAS A SCENE REFLECTING THIS OCCULT RITUAL FOR KALI.

THE HEARTS OF THESE CHILDREN ARE SHATTERED AS A RESULT OF THE TRAUMA. THIS EVIL RACE FEEDS ON THEIR ENERGY LIKE PARASITES LIVING OFF THE INNOCENT SOULS OF THESE TERRIFIED CHILDREN.  JESUS SAID “ANYONE WHO HARMS THE LEAST OF THESE WOULD BE BETTER OFF TO HAVE A MILL-STONE TIED AROUND THEIR NECK AND TOSSED IN THE SEA.” 

IT IS HEART BREAKING WHAT THEY HAVE BEEN DOING IN THE DARK SAYING “WHO SEES US WHO KNOWS US?” (ISAIAH 29:15) THEY THINK THEY ARE HIDDEN BUT THE FATHER AND THE SON HAVE SEEN ALL OF IT AND THEY WILL BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE ON JUDGEMENT DAY; WHICH IS UPON US....... THE TIME OF THE END IS HERE.

THANK. YOU FOR TAKING THE TIME TO READ MY INTRODUCTION FOR THE “CITY OF PEACE.”

BLESSINGS

ANNETTE LUKER/ THE IRON SCEPTER

[hannigramfanfic]

Hannibal Fanstory: “The Hunter and Child of the Lupin” Or “Kiss of a Lupin” or “Prince of Wolves - Vilku kunigaikstis

PROLOGUE

There is a Tale told by old Storytellers when fires are lit, and everyone is settled for the night about a Hunter from a distant land and a feral child of the Lupin he met one heavy winter in the lands of the North – where the Spirit of the that Forest, the Ravenstag dwells – when given a task by the vile King Mason Verger to find the child and kill it, while bringing him the head of the creature from Ancient times.

It is said Mason came into power by overthrowing the previous King – Jack Crawford – and his Queen – Bella or Phyliss – and it is unknown what happened to those kind people, because you dear Travellers who come to sit by my fire to hear this Tale have yet to hear how it all began.

Our Tale first begins in the land of Wolf-trap, Virginia where due to unforeseen consequences a pregnant woman bearing a child within her womb leaves behind a place where she was born and raised as behind her in the far distance a great fire burns the woodland causing animals living in it to run alongside her horse as the flames black out the skies.

Choking out a multitude of stars that shine like path and leaving yet only one shining in the sky – a bright single star that would change the child’s life within her womb as the legacy of Wolftrap dissolved in ash and wind.

————————— 

12 MONTHS LATER

Baltimore, Maryland – the former Kingdom of the Missing King Crawford

Despair.

Pestilence.

Starvation.

Depressed souls who head’s hang with the weight of oppression as Hannibal Lecter – Hunter, member of the Hunter’s Guild – and unknown to many in who he was in this country keeps the hood of his long cloak up as he walks through the muddy streets with his horse – Cersai – of Baltimore, Maryland remembering when it had been under King Crawford’s gentle rule.

The street had been a vibrant hive of activity: festivals, market stalls bursting with the hustle and bustle of market stallers shouting their wares to people in the streets, while children ran about with windmills and kites.

That was gone: in place now due to Mason taking reign the color and vibrancy had been drained to monochrome grey and inky black, while faces have become hardened like stone; children are weak and starving beg for scraps at what has now become Mason’s palace from the kitchens only to never get enough and adults have become suspicious of any stranger no matter where they came from.

Neighbor becomes pitted against neighbor, not trusting them at all for any help at all even when the Plague sickness comes and affects either both or one of them as Hannibal passes some Plague doctors standing near a Condemned house talking in whispers – like snakes slithering across each-other to keep warm – wearing the long white beaks like that of a crow or raven beak then turn their beaked gaze towards him.

Watching him walking up to King Verger’s castle, a grotesque building hewn from blood-red rock and spiked turrets where the remnants of people who displeased Mason Verger hang from indicating to all below if they disobeyed this was what would happen. Guards in armour patrolled the battlements.

Hearing the bellowing noise of large bull oxen’s and rumbling of a carriage makes him step out of the way with Cersai seeing, in fact, it is Slave Carriage bearing within poor, frightened souls bound in chains of iron and steel. Their heads hung down in dejection, while rags of cloth barely cover their modesty as it large wheels splash up the foul mud of that for centuries during Mason’s reign has had all manner of traffic go through it.

What makes his Inner Predator within Hannibal want to get rid of Mason if he weren’t controlled by the Hunter’s Code and Contract is the fact the prisoners that been in the Slave Carriage as it heads within the castle – were children. Some of them younger like his darling sister Mischa who been murdered in his homeland when he been only a child of 17 years of age by a rogue general who had overthrown his father – Lord Dvaras – had heard rumours about Mason having certain particular tastes and that was he liked young children – female or male even.

The three Plague Doctors, who have followed him he can sense are still watching him wondering why a foreign stranger has come to such a desolate bleak place where even the strange Plague, Hannibal had seen affecting people in other places he had travelled through and the grief it had brought countless families.

“Mister? Mister? Please any…. spare coins to spare?”

A small voice says, drawing him out of the haze he in and looking down sees it a group of orphaned urchins – their cheeks hollowed in by hunger; eyes bloodshot and bags under them; hair unkempt and unwashed as patchwork rags cover their modesty – and shakes his head at them, having his money pouch already stolen in another town he had passed through. Slapping down greedy hands when they reach for his crossbow on his back, plus dagger and sword hidden by his long cloak.

“Cease that. There not for children to play with. Understand me?” He chides them, making them resist what they are doing, and nod meekly followed by still staying close to him when suddenly a snide leering almost voice shouts at them “BEGONE YOU LITTLE VARMINTS!!! GET!! GO ON!!!” revealing to Hannibal’s displeasure another lacky of Mason’s – Garrett Jacob Hobbs, Captain of the Guards and downright leech-of-a-man – who kicks one the urchins out the way.

They met before, when the man had tried to join the Hunter’s Guild and now sneers at him even when Hannibal reaches into his saddle bag to pull out the Hunter’s Code and Contract – which all Hunter’s sweared to with a Blood oath – then spits heavily, managing to aim it close to Hannibal who just keeps a calm composure.

He couldn’t let the Inner Predator in him loose just yet.

It wasn’t the right……time for it.

————————————–

Now in the Household of the Verger Royal Family: there is Mason Verger, a vile man with no good soul in him causing more torment and ruining people lives than in actually helping them; there is his sister Lady Margot – a young woman of 35 years of age, who is also sadly one of those people that is tormented by her brother behind locked doors and wishes she could be free of him; while there is her Lady-in-waiting Alana Bloom – a simple country girl with strong heart and fierce loyalty to her mistress.

The servants are:  Peter Bernadone – a stable-lad who a cares for the horses for King Mason, though is strongly controlled by a sadistic Lord Clark Ingram; Francis Dolerhyde, the Blacksmith who fashions all the weapons and armour and stays with his adopted little blind girl of seven years of age Reba McClane – who’s father and mother are unknown as she was abandoned at early age and find by Francis as a baby among some bed of heather in the once fertile forests around Baltimore, Maryland; the scholar/ jesters of the Court are Brian Zeller, Beverly Katz and Jimmy Price who Mason uses when he puts on big parties to celebrate certain events and finally Lady Bedelia Du Maurier – rumoured to run the Brothel houses in the seediest parts of Baltimore, Maryland and is known as the Verger’s Tax Collector.

Hmm, yes?

Oh, you want to hear of what lies beyond this place.

Well that is…. the Northern land as far as the crow can fly to it or a horse can travel to it. Not that I’ve tried to travel there myself.

Tall mountain-scapes of tall-peaked mountains dusted with coatings of fine, crisp snow and swathes of large coniferous and deciduous trees that spread outwards to reach to them and waterfalls made from glaciers tumble downwards to form meandering rivers that spread across the strange land like arteries of a giant’s arm and gentle, bubbling streams or of becoming just deep pools of gleaming water that waterfalls just endlessly pour into them.

Autumn there brings a multi-hue of soft oranges, yellows, reds and lilacs and wildlife is ever abundant from all creatures great and small, while Ancient Text tells of how large Beast Gods roamed the forest and the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – watched over all.

It is said the creature possesses the body of a stag, a coat of lustrous Raven’s feathers and a thicket of antler’s that are larger a normal stag’s antlers.

But that is only myth told from the Ancient Text as no-one has ever seen this creature described and yet, it is what Mason fears for some reason.

You ask me why?

It is believed because of Prophesy told to him by a mysterious cloaked figure wearing robes of sea bluish-green and holding a stuff, bearing the carving of Raven that is why. And hear is thus:

Neither Human or even a man

When the Crescent moon doth shine and become full

Turning crimson like spilled blood in the inky, black sky

Come will something that will tear and ravage you asunder

It will break your stone you surround yourself with

Bellow out it’s war cry like the horn of a Carnyx

And pierce you to the very throne you defiled

Beware the golden eyes in the night.

Now that I have started off this Tale, let’s us travel to another place – the Northern Land where we will shall find out what happened to the young man from the Wolftrap Legacy that many had believed had faded into the histories of time to be forgotten for eternity.

 PART 1

A multitude of stars shines brightly in the night-sky, while under the canopy of tall coniferous trees bearing on their fir branches white, undisturbed snow and on a perch of a half-destroyed old tree – that had been hit by lightning – sweeps off into the night on silent wings.

A ghostly white shadow among the inky blackness, while slowly golden eyes appear from the gloom as they step slowly into the moonlight now streaming through the canopy above – a pack of wolves, a family.

There is a difference – on the back of one of the Mother Alpha Wolf – last of the remaining Ancient Beasts of the Wolf Clan – is a young man, gripping her fur mixed with silvery highlights.

While in front, keeping an eye out for dangers are his wolf-brother’s – three of them – and his Wolf-sister, who walks close by. Their names in Ancient are stated thus: Murasaki Kushina – the Alpha Mother, remaining Ancient Beast of the Wolf Clan; daughter Murasaki Chiyoh; and the three sons Murasaki Ashisaki, Keito and Hiharo.

They are Will’s family, after his mother Lady Cassia - Othelia who had given birth to him in this forest one heavy winter night soon afterwards weakened by hunger and trying to survive while grieving the loss of her husband – Lord Orilivano – who unknown to her at the time of when he been a small child had been bitten by rogue Wolf – so passing on the curse onto his only son – Will.

Will knows nothing of his heritage or even where he comes from. He believes his real mother is Murasaki Kushina and knows nothing of what the birthmark on his shoulder means.

“O’kaasan, where are we going?” He asks her in the language of the Wolves – that she had taught him, and she answers in her deep soft voice. “It’s a surprise, my dear little one.”

Will smiles at that. Being with his Wolf-mother, brothers and sisters he knows nothing of the Human beyond the forest he was born in and has not seen another human ever in his life.

His real mother unbeknownst to him is buried in wooden glade, where only the Spirit of the Forest – The Ravenstag – knows where. He remembers one autumn with the leaves spiralling and dancing down onto the forest floor he seen the beautiful creature with a lustrous coat of raven’s feathers ruffling gently in the breeze as it grazed with some deer then it was gone.

Chiyoh, who had gone off soon comes up beside and hands him a branch bearing some succulent edible berries from a winter food storage hole that been made last winter and taking it with one hand, scratches her behind her ear to thank her for it.

Keito – the second youngest of Murasaki Kushina’s Wolf cubs about the same age as Will – comes up, nipping her ear playfully soon making them both bound forwards in front of the others, making Will laugh happily at the sight in front of him.

If only he knew at the time in the Kingdom of Mason Verger, a Hunter would soon be arriving in the forest he lived in and would change his life forever.

  The mountain-passes that separate the Kingdom of Mason Verger from the Northern Forest, where the Ravenstag is to dwell is a Border pass patrolled by four guards – Tobias Budge, Matthew Brown, Abel Gideon and the reluctant Frederick Chilton – who control who goes through to the other side.

Coming up the carved path in the mountainside, while heavy rain falls down causing some parts of the cliff-face to become waterfalls of murky water that tumble down into the misty abyss below, he sees a Raven flying overhead – it’s beady gaze looking down at him – and continuing head up the path, soon sees a groove hollowed by years of intense weathering going over it until it finally hollowed out a pass.

During King Crawford’s reign with his kind permission people could come and go often escorted by himself and the Queen to show the beautiful land beyond the pass then it all changed when King Mason Verger took control and changed the rule so that only a handle of people he chose could enter the pass if they were acceptable and reliable in the tasks he gave them.

Slipping off the horse, he heads to stone-carved hut shaped like large dome to within, where Frederick Chilton – one of the four Border Pass Guards who rather be somewhere else – lifts his head up from making notes to see who has come in then takes the Sealed Pass signed by King Mason from Hannibal.

Hannibal lowering his hood of his long cloak, heads back over to his horse to check she is alright at the sametime the other three Border Pass guards appear, coming into the large stone-carved dome wearing hides of animals to disguise their scent from when they go through the pass and hunt in the land beyond it.

“Chilton, who is this Silver-fox of a foreigner?” One of them – Abel Gideon – a rude, boorish brute of man wishing like Chilton to be somewhere else – like for example the whorehouses of sin, greed and lust rumoured to be run by Lady Bedelia Du Maurier.

“A Hunter, dear Gideon. He has been given a Border Pass by King Verger to enter that accursed land.” Another man speaks – Tobias Budge, once a former member of the Hunter’s Guild until leaving for unknown reasons – who know considered Hunters like Hannibal to be just worthless scum in it for the money they would get from the job.

Hannibal notices the third Border Pass guard is a young man, with his hands crossed over his chest while leaning nonchantly against the stone-carved dome wall with one leg up on it watching him with certain look. He would have to keep an eye out on this one. Something about the gaze indicated a hidden personality the other three men didn’t know about and was something Hannibal had experience with

Having a hidden personality of his own.

  It is in the middle of the night, the rain has ceased outside until leaving only pools of water on the ground in some places as Hannibal silently leaves behind the four sleeping Border Pass Guards and heads quietly to the Pass, where for the moment he soon swears he sees ghostly figure of a child – looking almost like his darling sister Mischa – then getting up into the saddle of his horse, indicates with soft click of his tongue for it to start going through the pass.

It is eerily quiet, with the wind-weathered pass looking like it is leaning in towards any travellers who come into the Pass then finally he reaches the other side to come upon a sight that has been untouched ever since Mason’s reign: large swathes of coniferous and deciduous trees spreading outwards towards towering mountains that jut out like sharp ragged teeth in the clouds of mist that surround them.

A strange sense of calm descends on Hannibal. Never has he seen such a pristine, beautiful place where Humans who once remember King Crawford’s gentle rule now fear to tread in case they incur the wrath of the now King Mason.

Slowly he begins to descend the carved path leading to the very bottom of the valley where the Ancient Beasts were still rumoured to roam and the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – was said to dwell.

  “O’kaasan, what’s wrong?” Will asks, when Murasaki Kushina comes to halt at the large river – Kahaku – where glacial boulders covered in moss, lichen and tiny moths lay within the refreshing water that comes from the mountains in the far distance.

“Man!!!? We must leave!!!?” Come my children.” She replies to him, while Will finds himself gripping her fur more tightly and looks around at the trees that cover both sides of the large flowing river that goes through the forest and out towards the ocean.

Listening attentively, Will uses his special skill he had to block out all other noises and slips his eyes close to immerse himself fully. He soon hears a steady heartbeat coming from the “Man” as the strange creature his O’kaasan had called the strange creature.

He wondered:

Why had they come here to where he lived?

What purpose had brought them here?

Warning growls - bring him out of those internal questions - coming from his other siblings, making him shoot his eyes open seeing watching through some gaps of broken trees that have fallen into the large river at some point.

Until it managed to build a dam of sorts. The “Man” who soon moves from his watching point, gets up onto the broken branches and clambering over them begins to wade through the water towards them until stopping in the middle of the large river.

“Speak Human. You have come into our Forest with some purpose. Why?” Will hears his O’kaasan growling with her fangs bared in warning, while he slips off her back and keeps close to her.

Noticing how the strange “Man’s” maroon eyes stare at him – like they could stare deeply into his soul – and before he even is thinking he is front of them, while they stay still as he starts to pad around them.

Inhaling every mixture of scent coming from the strange “Man” - all unrecognisable and unidentifiable – then bringing his hands up to their shoulders, pushes the strange creature to kneel on both knees so their eye-level.

  Hannibal now kneeling on both his knees in the water of the large river, stays still when the young man – no doubt in his mind the remaining heir of the Wolftrap Legacy – leans close to his cheek inhaling deeply with curiosity at what is he to them.

He knows if he makes a wrong move, four wolves and a one of them an Ancient Beast described in Ancient Texts saying to have existed in this forest, could easily tear him to a bloodied mess.

Keeping his hands still by resting them on his lap, Hannibal doesn’t even flinch when a moist, warm tongue licks his ear to test his reaction and moves to the other – almost like the young man is starting to scent-mark him – then pulls back slightly giving him a look that means he must reciprocate.

Leaning close to the young man’s ear, he brings out his tongue to lick softly – wishing deep also he could take hold of the young man, but he doesn’t – and when finishes scent-marking the other in the way he been indicated then goes back to staying still to feel his cheeks grabbed hold of.

This forces him to tilt his head backwards, where soon sharp teeth or fangs – he can’t tell just yet – bite into his skin – not tearing but marking – drawing some blood as the action of it makes him gasp breathlessly.

Feeling his eyes flutter close, his hands come nearly up to take hold of the young man when a twig snapping underfoot breaks the gentle peace and calm and lowering his head after feeling he is suddenly his now alone sees the young man and the Wolves have left.

Another presence though makes him turn his face to look down the large river, seeing a sight he would never forget even until his and the young man’s tale had faded into history.

A lustrous coat made of Raven’s feathers, gleaming in the soft moonlight from above and antlers that seem to Hannibal’s mind extend to the very heavens then it tilts it’s head backwards bellowing heavily. It’s breath rising like fine mist into the cold, night air.

PART 2

After finding a large hollow of a giant tree that has managed over years of growing in cliff-face until it’s large roots within have hollowed out some form of cave, Hannibal now sits up against one of large roots, twisted slightly as the tree which had been growing searched for water and nutrients.

On the cave wall are Ancient Markings of Forebearers who once in Ancient Times had lived in the forest with harmony with the Ancient Beasts illuminated by the makeshift fire he has made, while on makeshift some meat – rabbit – is being slowly roasted on a makeshift spit made from twigs.

He is calmly sketching with some charcoal a drawing of the young man with the wolves he had met – paying attention to the soft details of the youthful face and soft kissable lips – into an old drawing paper sketchpad and smiles softly when he senses a presence entering the cave.

Hannibal knows who it is and finishing off the final touches, gently closes the sketchpad to place it to one side then reaching forwards turns the makeshift spit so the meat is thoroughly cooked hearing the young man pad up to him.

Lowering his hands to his lap, after doing that task he turns slightly to face the young man with sea bluish-green eyes – deep pools of that colour that remind him of clear pools of water with sunlight filtering down from canopy of trees to shine down on them – curious and intrigued in what will happen next.

The young man still on his hands and knees, while wearing a lace white tunic of sorts and black breeches – which must have been stolen to make what he wears now – reaches for one of Hannibal’s hands. Taking hold of it, while he forgets how to breathe at the feel of tempting kissable lips brush against his wrist’s pulse followed by hint of fangs.

“Something wrong, my Love?”  He asks, before he can correct himself because they’re not Lovers and yet, he couldn’t deny the attraction he was starting to develop for this feral Wolf-Child with curly-brown locks and something else within him he just couldn’t explain what.

“No, just the way you look at me.” The young man replies to him, lifting his head with his eyes closed at first, while stilling holding Hannibal’s wrist as Hannibal finds himself stroking the young man’s delicate cheekbone with feather light touches.

This makes the young man flutter his eyes open, revealing those beautiful eyes when he goes to move his hand away to sort the makeshift spit, so the meat doesn’t burn scorching him with such heat from that look, Hannibal can feel himself slowly becoming aroused then composes himself only just, asks the question.

“How do I look to you?” making the young man smile at him, replying with “As if you were deciding whether or not to eat me. Not that I’m adverse to the idea.” then goes back to nuzzling Hannibal’s wrist as Hannibal starts to feel conflicted by what has been said to him.

It was true, he had a darker side to after tortured in his own homeland by the rogue General – Vladimir Grutas – who overthrown his father and in front of his very young eyes at 17 years of age had taken his little baby sister away, while Gruta’s men took great relish and pleasure in violating his body again and again until he been forced to accept he would starve if he did not eat the food they gave him.

Then to his ultimate horror happened to him, they brought him food and due to his weakened state Hannibal had eaten it then afterwards had discovered the food had been his own sister – slaughtered for meat.

Anger had risen in him, while he soon killed the men who had murdered his sister and as the years went by when he travelled to the land King Mason owned after overthrowing King Crawford in the shadows of alleyways and underground caverns he was given another name “The Chesapeake Ripper” - based on the mythological monster the Wendigo from Ancient Texts who ate the flesh of man.

Coming out of the harsh, cold memory he locks it away in the oubliettes of his Mind Palace and slips his hand away to check the meat on the makeshift spit – finding it is ready to eat – then taking it off the holder, rips some of the meat off and holds it out to the young man.

Sea bluish-green eyes flick to the meat and to him than back to the meat, while Hannibal sighs softly and states. “It’s not poisoned. See.” tearing the meat piece in two then eating it to show to the young man it is only rabbit meat with some wild rosemary he found growing near the cave sprinkled on top.

The young man leans upwards though taking the other half of the meat from his fingers and placing it in his mouth soon presses his lips against Hannibal’s causing him to stiffen slightly then fully relaxing, opens his mouth as the meat is soon shared between them through their mouth’s.

He finds himself starting to breathe heavily through both his nostrils, changing position each time when a warm, moist tongue laps against his and starts to entwine as they keep on eating the rabbit meat between themselves then before he is even thinking of what he is doing, Hannibal has soon pinned the feral Wolf-child to the cave floor on his blanket – he had laid out from his traveling kit - and yet, keeps his hands either side of the young man’s head.

Both are breathing heavily, while he can feel soft hands start to unlace his clothes and pulls back heavily only to soon arch slightly with a breathless hitched gasp when feels the young man leans up to bite one of his nipples through the fabric of his crème-white tunic at the sametime twisting the other nipple, so it rises and peaks under those ministrations.

His hands begin to scar into the cave floor slightly as he un-arches his back and leans over the young man still gasping breathlessly as between his thighs in the confines of breeches, Hannibal can feel the tightening pressure indicating he is slowly becoming aroused and needs to release it one way or another then moves his head back down to kiss the young man again, needing to distract himself from it.

A hand clawing down his shoulder – sharp and lethal feeling to his skin – causes him to groan heavily in machoistic pleasure as it draws some blood in the process, while a sly soft hand soon slips between his thighs to cup him through his breeches heavily and starts to unlace him teasingly slow it makes move his lips away to pant heavily in the young man’s ear.

“If…. you don’t hurry. I won’t last much longer.”

“Don’t worry….I plan to extend this for very long indeed, Hunter.”

“Not….haaa….You wee minx!!!?….not Hunter, but Hannibal.”

“Hannibal….….hmm…then evidently I should tell you mine.”

“Yes…. ahhh!!…Oh, there, you wee minx!!!”

“Will, my name is Will.”

Hannibal wonders how long he can last, while Will now slips downwards, and he find himself flinging his head backwards crying out heavily when he finds himself swallowed down into moist, hot mouth then slipping his hands downwards grips the young man’s head to hold it closer to his groin, watching the sleek curly brown head start to bob back and forth between his thighs.

His mouth agape, he finds himself fisting his hands into the blanket for support as slick, slurp noises and breathless moans, gasps, pants and whimpers fill the cave then he tenses heavily, heart pounding heavily against ribcage feeling himself cup the young man’s cheek to stroke it as the sinful moist, hot mouth swallows down his release.

Soon Hannibal falls backwards to land slightly on the tree root and his travelling pack then whimpers from overstimulation when he is forced to experience another orgasm, while the young man has managed to slip his clothes off fully leaving him only in his crème-white tunic and lace breeches wide open to fully expose him.

“Enough…. Will…Enough!!!……I…want you!!” He gasps out, chest heaving heavily with laboured gasps making the young man raise his head, some remnants of Hannibal’s seed still on his lips and crawls up to him to look at him.

“You want….me?”

“Is that so much to ask of you?”

“No…..I want you as well, Hannibal. I want you…..as my….Mate.”

TO BE CONTINUED

For  @vintagefloof, @amatesura, @avidreadr2004, @crazystaglady, @hannigramfanfics and all the rest of the Fannibals out there. Here is the fic I have been working on… finally arrived. Enjoy. 

[innermuse24]

Hannibal Fanstory: “Prince of Wolves - Vilku kunigaikstis”

PROLOGUE

There is a Tale told by old Storytellers when fires are lit, and everyone is settled for the night about a Hunter from a distant land and a feral child of the Lupin he met one heavy winter in the lands of the North – where the Spirit of the that Forest, the Ravenstag dwells – when given a task by the vile King Mason Verger to find the child and kill it, while bringing him the head of the creature from Ancient times.

It is said Mason came into power by overthrowing the previous King – Jack Crawford – and his Queen – Bella or Phyliss – and it is unknown what happened to those kind people, because you dear Travellers who come to sit by my fire to hear this Tale have yet to hear how it all began.

Our Tale first begins in the land of Wolf-trap, Virginia where due to unforeseen consequences a pregnant woman bearing a child within her womb leaves behind a place where she was born and raised as behind her in the far distance a great fire burns the woodland causing animals living in it to run alongside her horse as the flames black out the skies.

Choking out a multitude of stars that shine like path and leaving yet only one shining in the sky – a bright single star that would change the child’s life within her womb as the legacy of Wolftrap dissolved in ash and wind.

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

12 MONTHS LATER

Baltimore, Maryland – the former Kingdom of the Missing King Crawford

Despair.

Pestilence.

Starvation.

Depressed souls who head’s hang with the weight of oppression as Hannibal Lecter – Hunter, member of the Hunter’s Guild – and unknown to many in who he was in this country keeps the hood of his long cloak up as he walks through the muddy streets with his horse – Cersai – of Baltimore, Maryland remembering when it had been under King Crawford’s gentle rule.

The street had been vibrant hive of activity: festivals, market stalls bursting with the hustle and bustle of market stallers shouting their wares to people in the streets, while children ran about with windmills and kites.

That was gone: in place now due to Mason taking reign the colour and vibrancy had been drained to monochrome grey and inky black, while faces have become hardened like stone; children are weak and starving beg for scraps at what has now become Mason’s palace from the kitchens only to never get enough and adults have become suspicious of any stranger no matter where they came from.

Neighbour becomes pitted against neighbour, not trusting them at all for any help at all even when the Plague sickness comes and affects either both or one of them as Hannibal passes some Plague doctors standing near a Condemned house talking in whispers – like snakes slithering across each-other to keep warm – wearing the long white beaks like that of a crow or raven beak then turn their beaked gaze towards him.

Watching him walking up to King Verger’s castle, a grotesque building hewn from blood-red rock and spiked turrets where the remnants of people who displeased Mason Verger hang from indicating to all below if they disobeyed this was what would happen. Guards in armour patrolled the battlements.

Hearing the bellowing noise of large bull oxen’s and rumbling of a carriage makes him step out of the way with Cersai seeing in fact it is Slave Carriage bearing within poor, frightened souls bound in chains of iron and steel. Their heads hung down in dejection, while rags of cloth barely cover their modesty as it large wheels splash up the foul mud of that for centuries during Mason’s reign has had all manner of traffic go through it.

What makes his Inner Predator within Hannibal want to get rid of Mason if he weren’t controlled by the Hunter’s Code and Contract is the fact the prisoners that been in the Slave Carriage as it heads within the castle – were children. Some of them younger like his darling sister Mischa who been murdered in his homeland when he been only a child of 17 years of age by a rogue general who had overthrown his father – Lord Dvaras – had heard rumours about Mason having certain particular tastes and that was he liked young children – female or male even.

The three Plague Doctors, who have followed him he can sense are still watching him wondering why a foreign stranger has come to such a desolate bleak place where even the strange Plague, Hannibal had seen affecting people in other places he had travelled through and the grief it had brought countless families.

“Mister? Mister? Please any…. spare coins to spare?”

A small voice says, drawing him out of the haze he in and looking down sees it a group of orphaned urchins – their cheeks hollowed in by hunger; eyes bloodshot and bags under them; hair unkempt and unwashed as patchwork rags cover their modesty – and shakes his head at them, having his money pouch already stolen in another town he had passed through. Slapping down greedy hands when they reach for his crossbow on his back, plus dagger and sword hidden by his long cloak.

“Cease that. There not for children to play with. Understand me?” He chides them, making them resist what they are doing, and nod meekly followed by still staying close to him when suddenly a snide leering almost voice shouts at them “BEGONE YOU LITTLE VARMINTS!!! GET!! GO ON!!!” revealing to Hannibal’s displeasure another lacky of Mason’s – Garrett Jacob Hobbs, Captain of the Guards and downright leech-of-a-man – who kicks one the urchins out the way.

They met before, when the man had tried to join the Hunter’s Guild and now sneers at him even when Hannibal reaches into his saddle bag to pull out the Hunter’s Code and Contract – which all Hunter’s sweared to with a Blood oath – then spits heavily, managing to aim it close to Hannibal who just keeps a calm composure.

He couldn’t let the Inner Predator in him loose just yet.

It wasn’t the right……time for it.

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

Now in the Household of the Verger Royal Family: there is Mason Verger, a vile man with no good soul in him causing more torment and ruining people lives than in actually helping them; there is his sister Lady Margot – a young woman of 35 years of age, who is also sadly one of those people that is tormented by her brother behind locked doors and wishes she could be free of him; while there is her Lady-in-waiting Alana Bloom – a simple country girl with strong heart and fierce loyalty to her mistress.

The servants are:  Peter Bernadone – a stable-lad who a cares for the horses for King Mason, though is strongly controlled by a sadistic Lord Clark Ingram; Francis Dolerhyde, the Blacksmith who fashions all the weapons and armour and stays with his adopted little blind girl of seven years of age Reba McClane – who’s father and mother are unknown as she was abandoned at early age and find by Francis as a baby among some bed of heather in the once fertile forests around Baltimore, Maryland; the scholar/ jesters of the Court are Brian Zeller, Beverly Katz and Jimmy Price who Mason uses when he puts on big parties to celebrate certain events and finally Lady Bedelia Du Maurier – rumoured to run the Brothel houses in the seediest parts of Baltimore, Maryland and is known as the Verger’s Tax Collector.

Hmm, yes?

Oh, you want to hear of what lies beyond this place.

Well that is…. the Northern land as far as the crow can fly to it or a horse can travel to it. Not that I’ve tried to travel there myself.

Tall mountain-scapes of tall-peaked mountains dusted with coatings of fine, crisp snow and swathes of large coniferous and deciduous trees that spread outwards to reach to them and waterfalls made from glaciers tumble downwards to form meandering rivers that spread across the strange land like arteries of a giant’s arm and gentle, bubbling streams or of becoming just deep pools of gleaming water that waterfalls just endlessly pour into them.

Autumn there brings a multi-hue of soft oranges, yellows, reds and lilacs and wildlife is ever abundant from all creatures great and small, while Ancient Text tells of how large Beast Gods roamed the forest and the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – watched over all.

It is said the creature possesses the body of a stag, a coat of lustrous Raven’s feathers and a thicket of antler’s that are larger a normal stag’s antlers.

But that is only myth told from the Ancient Text as no-one has ever seen this creature described and yet, it is what Mason fears for some reason.

You ask me why?

It is believed because of Prophesy told to him by a mysterious cloaked figure wearing robes of sea bluish-green and holding a stuff, bearing the carving of Raven that is why. And hear is thus:

Neither Human or even a man

When the Crescent moon doth shine and become full

Turning crimson like spilled blood in the inky, black sky

Come will something that will tear and ravage you asunder

It will break your stone you surround yourself with

Bellow out it’s war cry like the horn of a Carnyx

And pierce you to the very throne you defiled

Beware the golden eyes in the night.

Now that I have started off this Tale, let’s us travel to another place – the Northern Land where we will shall find out what happened to the young man from the Wolftrap Legacy that many had believed had faded into the histories of time to be forgotten for eternity.

  PART 1

A multitude of stars shines brightly in the night-sky, while under the canopy of tall coniferous trees bearing on their fir branches white, undisturbed snow and on a perch of a half-destroyed old tree – that had been hit by lightning – sweeps off into the night on silent wings.

A ghostly white shadow among the inky blackness, while slowly golden eyes appear from the gloom as they step slowly into the moonlight now streaming through the canopy above – a pack of wolves, a family.

There is a difference – on the back of one of the Mother Alpha Wolf – last of the remaining Ancient Beasts of the Wolf Clan – is a young man, gripping her fur mixed with silvery highlights.

While in front, keeping an eye out for dangers are his wolf-brother’s – three of them – and his Wolf-sister, who walks close by. Their names in Ancient are stated thus: Murasaki Kushina – the Alpha Mother, remaining Ancient Beast of the Wolf Clan; daughter Murasaki Chiyoh; and the three sons Murasaki Ashisaki, Keito and Hiharo.

They are Will’s family, after his mother Lady Cassia - Othelia who had given birth to him in this forest one heavy winter night soon afterwards weakened by hunger and trying to survive while grieving the loss of her husband – Lord Orilivano – who unknown to her at the time of when he been a small child had been bitten by rogue Wolf – so passing on the curse onto his only son – Will.

Will knows nothing of his heritage or even where he comes from. He believes his real mother is Murasaki Kushina and knows nothing of what the birthmark on his shoulder means.

“O’kaasan, where are we going?” He asks her in the language of the Wolves – that she had taught him, and she answers in her deep soft voice. “It’s a surprise, my dear little one.”

Will smiles at that. Being with his Wolf-mother, brothers and sisters he knows nothing of the Human beyond the forest he was born in and has not seen another human ever in his life.

His real mother unbeknownst to him is buried in wooden glade, where only the Spirit of the Forest – The Ravenstag – knows where. He remembers one autumn with the leaves spiralling and dancing down onto the forest floor he seen the beautiful creature with a lustrous coat of raven’s feathers ruffling gently in the breeze as it grazed with some deer then it was gone.

Chiyoh, who had gone off soon comes up beside and hands him a branch bearing some succulent edible berries from a winter food storage hole that been made last winter and taking it with one hand, scratches her behind her ear to thank her for it.

Keito – the second youngest of Murasaki Kushina’s Wolf cubs about the same age as Will – comes up, nipping her ear playfully soon making them both bound forwards in front of the others, making Will laugh happily at the sight in front of him.

If only he knew at the time in the Kingdom of Mason Verger, a Hunter would soon be arriving in the forest he lived in and would change his life forever.

  The mountain-passes that separate the Kingdom of Mason Verger from the Northern Forest, where the Ravenstag is to dwell is a Border pass patrolled by four guards – Tobias Budge, Matthew Brown, Abel Gideon and the reluctant Frederick Chilton – who control who goes through to the other side.

Coming up the carved path in the mountainside, while heavy rain falls down causing some parts of the cliff-face to become waterfalls of murky water that tumble down into the misty abyss below, he sees a Raven flying overhead – it’s beady gaze looking down at him – and continuing head up the path, soon sees a groove hollowed by years of intense weathering going over it until it finally hollowed out a pass.

During King Crawford’s reign with his kind permission people could come and go often escorted by himself and the Queen to show the beautiful land beyond the pass then it all changed when King Mason Verger took control and changed the rule so that only a handle of people he chose could enter the pass if they were acceptable and reliable in the tasks he gave them.

Slipping off the horse, he heads to stone-carved hut shaped like large dome to within, where Frederick Chilton – one of the four Border Pass Guards who rather be somewhere else – lifts his head up from making notes to see who has come in then takes the Sealed Pass signed by King Mason from Hannibal.

Hannibal lowering his hood of his long cloak, heads back over to his horse to check she is alright at the sametime the other three Border Pass guards appear, coming into the large stone-carved dome wearing hides of animals to disguise their scent from when they go through the pass and hunt in the land beyond it.

“Chilton, who is this Silver-fox of a foreigner?” One of them – Abel Gideon – a rude, boorish brute of man wishing like Chilton to be somewhere else – like for example the whorehouses of sin, greed and lust rumoured to be run by Lady Bedelia Du Maurier.

“A Hunter, dear Gideon. He has been given a Border Pass by King Verger to enter that accursed land.” Another man speaks – Tobias Budge, once a former member of the Hunter’s Guild until leaving for unknown reasons – who know considered Hunters like Hannibal to be just worthless scum in it for the money they would get from the job.

Hannibal notices the third Border Pass guard is a young man, with his hands crossed over his chest while leaning nonchantly against the stone-carved dome wall with one leg up on it watching him with certain look. He would have to keep an eye out on this one. Something about the gaze indicated a hidden personality the other three men didn’t know about and was something Hannibal had experience with

Having a hidden personality of his own.

  It is in the middle of the night, the rain has ceased outside until leaving only pools of water on the ground in some places as Hannibal silently leaves behind the four sleeping Border Pass Guards and heads quietly to the Pass, where for the moment he soon swears he sees ghostly figure of a child – looking almost like his darling sister Mischa – then getting up into the saddle of his horse, indicates with soft click of his tongue for it to start going through the pass.

It is eerily quiet, with the wind-weathered pass looking like it is leaning in towards any travellers who come into the Pass then finally he reaches the other side to come upon a sight that has been untouched ever since Mason’s reign: large swathes of coniferous and deciduous trees spreading outwards towards towering mountains that jut out like sharp ragged teeth in the clouds of mist that surround them.

A strange sense of calm descends on Hannibal. Never has he seen such a pristine, beautiful place where Humans who once remember King Crawford’s gentle rule now fear to tread in case they incur the wrath of the now King Mason.

Slowly he begins to descend the carved path leading to the very bottom of the valley where the Ancient Beasts were still rumoured to roam and the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – was said to dwell.

  “O’kaasan, what’s wrong?” Will asks, when Murasaki Kushina comes to halt at the large river – Kahaku – where glacial boulders covered in moss, lichen and tiny moths lay within the refreshing water that comes from the mountains in the far distance.

“Man!!!? We must leave!!!?” Come my children.” She replies to him, while Will finds himself gripping her fur more tightly and looks around at the trees that cover both sides of the large flowing river that goes through the forest and out towards the ocean.

Listening attentively, Will uses his special skill he had to block out all other noises and slips his eyes close to immerse himself fully. He soon hears a steady heartbeat coming from the “Man” as the strange creature his O’kaasan had called the strange creature.

He wondered:

Why had they come here to where he lived?

What purpose had brought them here?

Warning growls - bring him out of those internal questions - coming from his other siblings, making him shoot his eyes open seeing watching through some gaps of broken trees that have fallen into the large river at some point.

Until it managed to build a dam of sorts. The “Man” who soon moves from his watching point, gets up onto the broken branches and clambering over them begins to wade through the water towards them until stopping in the middle of the large river.

“Speak Human. You have come into our Forest with some purpose. Why?” Will hears his O’kaasan growling with her fangs bared in warning, while he slips off her back and keeps close to her.

Noticing how the strange “Man’s” maroon eyes stare at him – like they could stare deeply into his soul – and before he even is thinking he is front of them, while they stay still as he starts to pad around them.

Inhaling every mixture of scent coming from the strange “Man” - all unrecognisable and unidentifiable – then bringing his hands up to their shoulders, pushes the strange creature to kneel on both knees so their eye-level.

  Hannibal now kneeling on both his knees in the water of the large river, stays still when the young man – no doubt in his mind the remaining heir of the Wolftrap Legacy – leans close to his cheek inhaling deeply with curiosity at what is he to them.

He knows if he makes a wrong move, four wolves and a one of them an Ancient Beast described in Ancient Texts saying to have existed in this forest, could easily tear him to a bloodied mess.

Keeping his hands still by resting them on his lap, Hannibal doesn’t even flinch when a moist, warm tongue licks his ear to test his reaction and moves to the other – almost like the young man is starting to scent-mark him – then pulls back slightly giving him a look that means he must reciprocate.

Leaning close to the young man’s ear, he brings out his tongue to lick softly – wishing deep also he could take hold of the young man, but he doesn’t – and when finishes scent-marking the other in the way he been indicated then goes back to staying still to feel his cheeks grabbed hold of.

This forces him to tilt his head backwards, where soon sharp teeth or fangs – he can’t tell just yet – bite into his skin – not tearing but marking – drawing some blood as the action of it makes him gasp breathlessly.

Feeling his eyes flutter close, his hands come nearly up to take hold of the young man when a twig snapping underfoot breaks the gentle peace and calm and lowering his head after feeling he is suddenly his now alone sees the young man and the Wolves have left.

Another presence though makes him turn his face to look down the large river, seeing a sight he would never forget even until his and the young man’s tale had faded into history.

A lustrous coat made of Raven’s feathers, gleaming in the soft moonlight from above and antlers that seem to Hannibal’s mind extend to the very heavens then it tilts it’s head backwards bellowing heavily. It’s breath rising like fine mist into the cold, night air.

 PART 2

After finding a large hollow of a giant tree that has managed over years of growing in cliff-face until it’s large roots within have hollowed out some form of cave, Hannibal now sits up against one of large roots, twisted slightly as the tree which had been growing searched for water and nutrients.

On the cave wall are Ancient Markings of Forebearers who once in Ancient Times had lived in the forest with harmony with the Ancient Beasts illuminated by the makeshift fire he has made, while on makeshift some meat – rabbit – is being slowly roasted on a makeshift spit made from twigs.

He is calmly sketching with some charcoal a drawing of the young man with the wolves he had met – paying attention to the soft details of the youthful face and soft kissable lips – into an old drawing paper sketchpad and smiles softly when he senses a presence entering the cave.

Hannibal knows who it is and finishing off the final touches, gently closes the sketchpad to place it to one side then reaching forwards turns the makeshift spit so the meat is thoroughly cooked hearing the young man pad up to him.

Lowering his hands to his lap, after doing that task he turns slightly to face the young man with sea bluish-green eyes – deep pools of that colour that remind him of clear pools of water with sunlight filtering down from canopy of trees to shine down on them – curious and intrigued in what will happen next.

The young man still on his hands and knees, while wearing a lace white tunic of sorts and black breeches – which must have been stolen to make what he wears now – reaches for one of Hannibal’s hands. Taking hold of it, while he forgets how to breathe at the feel of tempting kissable lips brush against his wrist’s pulse followed by hint of fangs.

“Something wrong, my Love?”  He asks, before he can correct himself because they’re not Lovers and yet, he couldn’t deny the attraction he was starting to develop for this feral Wolf-Child with curly-brown locks and something else within him he just couldn’t explain what.

“No, just the way you look at me.” The young man replies to him, lifting his head with his eyes closed at first, while stilling holding Hannibal’s wrist as Hannibal finds himself stroking the young man’s delicate cheekbone with feather light touches.

This makes the young man flutter his eyes open, revealing those beautiful eyes when he goes to move his hand away to sort the makeshift spit, so the meat doesn’t burn scorching him with such heat from that look, Hannibal can feel himself slowly becoming aroused then composes himself only just, asks the question.

“How do I look to you?” making the young man smile at him, replying with “As if you were deciding whether or not to eat me. Not that I’m adverse to the idea.” then goes back to nuzzling Hannibal’s wrist as Hannibal starts to feel conflicted by what has been said to him.

It was true, he had a darker side to after tortured in his own homeland by the rogue General – Vladimir Grutas – who overthrown his father and in front of his very young eyes at 17 years of age had taken his little baby sister away, while Gruta’s men took great relish and pleasure in violating his body again and again until he been forced to accept he would starve if he did not eat the food they gave him.

Then to his ultimate horror happened to him, they brought him food and due to his weakened state Hannibal had eaten it then afterwards had discovered the food had been his own sister – slaughtered for meat.

Anger had risen in him, while he soon killed the men who had murdered his sister and as the years went by when he travelled to the land King Mason owned after overthrowing King Crawford in the shadows of alleyways and underground caverns he was given another name “The Chesapeake Ripper” - based on the mythological monster the Wendigo from Ancient Texts who ate the flesh of man.

Coming out of the harsh, cold memory he locks it away in the oubliettes of his Mind Palace and slips his hand away to check the meat on the makeshift spit – finding it is ready to eat – then taking it off the holder, rips some of the meat off and holds it out to the young man.

Sea bluish-green eyes flick to the meat and to him than back to the meat, while Hannibal sighs softly and states. “It’s not poisoned. See.” tearing the meat piece in two then eating it to show to the young man it is only rabbit meat with some wild rosemary he found growing near the cave sprinkled on top.

The young man leans upwards though taking the other half of the meat from his fingers and placing it in his mouth soon presses his lips against Hannibal’s causing him to stiffen slightly then fully relaxing, opens his mouth as the meat is soon shared between them through their mouth’s.

He finds himself starting to breathe heavily through both his nostrils, changing position each time when a warm, moist tongue laps against his and starts to entwine as they keep on eating the rabbit meat between themselves then before he is even thinking of what he is doing, Hannibal has soon pinned the feral Wolf-child to the cave floor on his blanket – he had laid out from his traveling kit - and yet, keeps his hands either side of the young man’s head.

Both are breathing heavily, while he can feel soft hands start to unlace his clothes and pulls back heavily only to soon arch slightly with a breathless hitched gasp when feels the young man leans up to bite one of his nipples through the fabric of his crème-white tunic at the sametime twisting the other nipple, so it rises and peaks under those ministrations.

His hands begin to scar into the cave floor slightly as he un-arches his back and leans over the young man still gasping breathlessly as between his thighs in the confines of breeches, Hannibal can feel the tightening pressure indicating he is slowly becoming aroused and needs to release it one way or another then moves his head back down to kiss the young man again, needing to distract himself from it.

A hand clawing down his shoulder – sharp and lethal feeling to his skin – causes him to groan heavily in machoistic pleasure as it draws some blood in the process, while a sly soft hand soon slips between his thighs to cup him through his breeches heavily and starts to unlace him teasingly slow it makes move his lips away to pant heavily in the young man’s ear.

“If…. you don’t hurry. I won’t last much longer.”

“Don’t worry….I plan to extend this for very long indeed, Hunter.”

“Not….haaa….You wee minx!!!?....not Hunter, but Hannibal.”

“Hannibal….….hmm…then evidently I should tell you mine.”

“Yes…. ahhh!!...Oh, there, you wee minx!!!”

“Will, my name is Will.”

Hannibal wonders how long he can last, while Will now slips downwards, and he find himself flinging his head backwards crying out heavily when he finds himself swallowed down into moist, hot mouth then slipping his hands downwards grips the young man’s head to hold it closer to his groin, watching the sleek curly brown head start to bob back and forth between his thighs.

His mouth agape, he finds himself fisting his hands into the blanket for support as slick, slurp noises and breathless moans, gasps, pants and whimpers fill the cave then he tenses heavily, heart pounding heavily against ribcage feeling himself cup the young man’s cheek to stroke it as the sinful moist, hot mouth swallows down his release.

Soon Hannibal falls backwards to land slightly on the tree root and his travelling pack then whimpers from overstimulation when he is forced to experience another orgasm, while the young man has managed to slip his clothes off fully leaving him only in his crème-white tunic and lace breeches wide open to fully expose him.

“Enough…. Will…Enough!!!......I…want you!!” He gasps out, chest heaving heavily with laboured gasps making the young man raise his head, some remnants of Hannibal’s seed still on his lips and crawls up to him to look at him.

“You want….me?”

“Is that so much to ask of you?”

“No…..I want you as well, Hannibal. I want you…..as my….Mate.”

  “No…...I want you as well, Hannibal. I want you…...as my….Mate.”

Those words echo and re-echo in Hannibal’s mind, while hands begin to peel of clothes until both are free of them as maroon eyes soon look downwards at a beautiful unblemished and un-marked body then the young man rolls into his back, getting up onto his hands and knees.

Dipping his spine in such a way, it shows the perfect curve of it and willing his heart to stop thudding against his ribcage gets over Will to fully mount him at the sametime slipping his hands down the young man’s sides to grip his hips then bends his head down to gently kiss the nape of his soon-to-be-lover.

Inhaling the natural scent of him, making Will turn to nuzzle his nose against his affectionally and stroking his cheek with one hand whispering to him. “Did you just smell me?” as Hannibal, finds himself reaching into his traveling pack to get out the glass bottle of oil – which will just have to do for what was going to happen next.

“Difficult to avoid, Myilamis, when you tempt me so much with your beautiful eyes, lips and body.” He replies in husky whisper, uncorking the bottle of healing oil with one hand and thoroughly coating his fingers in it.

“Hurry…...I want you, Hannibal.” Will whimpers, making Hannibal snarl slightly, biting down on the young man’s nape for his impatience hearing it cause a breathless moan as those fine hips push back into his groin and slipping hand down with fingers coated in the oil, cups between those fine cheeks.

He rubs his oil-coated fingers over the puckered entrance, hearing the soft breathless moans coming from the young man as he starts to spread the oil on it then slips a finger within into tight, warm insides.

Hearing Will soon give a pleasured cry and arch against him slightly, followed by the young man turning his flushed face to look at Hannibal with mouth agape in breathless pants and gasps over his shoulder.

“Please…...Hannibal?”

Kissing Will’s nape, he coats himself enough with the oil and leaning over his soon-to-be-lover or Mate has he been called pushes his hips forwards until finally become fully sheathed within tight, warm insides as he trembles heavily over Will, feeling himself arching slightly when inner muscles choose to clench around his cock in such a way it is exquisite.

“Will…. if you squeeze me like that, I’ll……cum before we even mated properly.” Hannibal pants out, feeling Will relax his inner muscles around him and yet, only start to undulate his hips back and forth into his – the urge to Mate becoming strong.

Breathless moans, harsh pants and gasps followed by skin slapping against skin fills the cave, while the scent of Mating rises into the air then a guttural cry, followed by gasping of “Oh…god!!!…. Will!!!.” and finally silence as both succumb to what they just experienced together.

 PART 3

The dawn chorus of birds singing makes Will gently curled up against his now Mate’s or Hannibal’s warm, muscular with the blanket over both their bodies, flutter his eyes open only to shoot them open as he suddenly realises what he has done and panicking heavily, wriggles free out of the older man’s grip.

“Myilamis, what’s wrong?” Hannibal asks him, reaching out for him as he flinches away from it, moving back on his and knees at the sametime a shadow covers the cave entrance to reveal the sight of his Wolf-mother – Murasaki Kushina – who flicks her gaze over to Hannibal, who he can see is now kneeling with his head bowed low.

Blondish hair falling in front of his bowed head, which nearly touches the cave floor, and something is said to his Mate. But he doesn’t understand what is said, so just watches as Hannibal reaches for his strange clothes to slip back on.

  “SILENCE, HUMAN!!!”

Hannibal standing in front of Murasaki Kushina – the Wolf Goddess, last of the Ancient Beasts of the Wolf Clan – as she rests on top of a large boulder that juts out from large precipe carved strangely in the shape of a wolf, with it’s mouth bared open, while waterfall falls out of the mouth to tumble down into the abyss below knows he shouldn’t have angered her.

But he had to tell her at some point that Will is going to figure out he is Human of sorts and he came from the land on the other side of Border Pass, while she was not his actual Mother.

“I apologise, Murasaki Kushina-san. But you must understand King Mason wishes me to rid you of the son you have raised as though he was your own and give him the head of the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – because he believes it can cure whatever is affecting the people of his what are not his lands.”  Hannibal apologises to her, remembering when he had seen the beautiful creature at night looking straight at him.

Like it could see deep into his soul. And maybe it could see deep into his soul – see the deep secret he was keeping hidden from other humans around him, about the mark on his arm shaped as golden ferns with black flowers growing on them that if people saw it they would think he had the strange Plague that was spreading through the land of King Mason.

“You must leave, Human. If you came back here to this land, I will rip of your head. Do you understand?” She snarls at him, causing him to lift his head up to stare into those eyes of her’s and finds himself replying. “And leave Will behind. He is Human and Heir of the Wolf-trap Legacy.” Then shouts the rest of the words at her, feeling the anger rising in him.

“HOW LONG DO YOU THINK YOU KEEP HIM LIKE THIS!!! EYES UNCLOUDED FROM WHAT IS STARTING TO HAPPEN!!!”

“ENOUGH, YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I HAVE DONE TO PROTECT HIM!!! HIS MOTHER DIED GIVING BIRTH TO HIM AND IF I LEFT HIM HE WOULD HAVE DIED HIMSELF AS A BABE!!!!”

A snarl escapes from Murasaki Kushina, bearing her fangs with dripping saliva and getting up from her perch, jumps down to lunge towards him biting straight down into his shoulder with them – going through muscle and bone.

Blood soon spurts upwards into the air, covering the ground with crimson petals as Hannibal feels himself being pushed backwards to the edge of carved precipe. This forces him to brace his feet apart and place his hands on her muzzle trying to make her see some sense of reason when he suddenly feels he is right at the edge of the precipe of the carved stone wolf’s snout.

“O’KAASAN!!!? NO!!!!?

A shout – Will shouting – makes Murasaki Kushina immediately still in nearly pushing Hannibal off the edge, while he feels himself soon being turned and flung heavily down the jutted precipe causing the blood from his shoulder to smear down the stone.

Covering it slightly in gleaming path of crimson, while he rolls down the arched stone-carved neck of the stone Wolf coming to the bottom where he finds himself hitting a tree branch that had fallen over at some point – a long time ago – with a sickening thud.

He goes to get up, seeing Will has gotten in front of him on his hands and knees looking different from before – his hands have become sharp claws and fangs have unsheathed – and hearing snarling coming from his Lover.

Murasaki Kushina, her muzzle still covered in his own blood looks between them both – to her own adopted son and to Hannibal – making him lower his head slightly, wishing it hadn’t been in this kind of way as she says to him. “What have you done!!!!?”

She pads close, only for Will to get in front of him as the young man’s voice starts to come out in warning snarls for her to back off and hackles raised, while sea bluish-green eyes have become like swirling tempest then something glinting out of the corner of his eye, makes Hannibal try and get up - even though he is deeply wounded.

He watches the iron bullet - that come from a rifle – in slow motion impact into her shoulder, shattering it to an explosion of bone, muscle and blood making Murasaki Kushina stumble backwards only slightly as he manages to hold Will back for his own safety then a loud bang echoes in the air around them, one Hannibal recognises as a fire-cannon – lit by a piece of charcoal causing a reaction to allow the iron ball to explode out towards whoever the weapon had been pointed at.

It slams into the Wolf-Goddess with such force, her large body falls off the precipe of the stone-carved wolf into the raging white-frothed waters of the waterfall that tumbles out of the open mouth down into the rising mist that comes up from the abyss.

Will manages to wriggle out of his grasp, rushing over to edge to look down at the sametime Hannibal – who had taken his crossbow with him, when Murasaki Kushina had asked to talk to him – sensing the person hiding in the foliage of the bushes and trees, kneels up bringing it up then quickly fires an iron arrow to where he can see the hidden Hunter hiding.

It causes a cry to become half-choked one, when it hits and blood spurts up slightly to land on the ground illuminated slightly to indicate he got whoever they had been then immediately drops it when the pain in his shredded wound reminds him he must get to his traveling pack – where healing herbs where in it.

At the sametime, he suddenly hears Will emit a blood-curdling howl – head tilted backwards to expose his throat – of such pure grief, pain and anguish it penetrates deeply into Hannibal’s soul.

Emotions he had locked away after Mischa’s death to become released from the confines of the oubliettes he put them in and allows for single solitary tear to run down his cheek then because of the blood-loss he is experiencing, he feels himself falling to one side with a muffled thump.

His breathing starts to come in laboured gasps, while Will who is still in his Wolf-like state comes over to him starting to nudge him to try make him keep his eyes open as he hears his Lover whining heavily – not able to speak – at him.

“It’s alright, Will. I want…leave…. you…...It’s alright….”

Hannibal manages to say, before darkness sweeps in like raven’s wings and covers his vision as he sinks into unconscious state.

  In the centre of the forest, where the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – dwells, is a large island with giant sequoia growing on it as the roots of the large tree reach beneath the earth and into the lake, while it is the island that Will now leads Hannibal’s horse – Cersai – with Hannibal on her bare back, until they finally both reach it.

Reaching up with his hands, Will pulls Hannibal off her bare back into the water pulling his Mate over to soft bed of moss, where wildflowers – rare and unknown to any Human eye – grow then sunlight soon filters down from through the large gap of the ring of trees to shine down on the three figures – a horse, a young man with Wolf-blood running through his veins and Hunter who was now his Mate and had captured his heart.

  Blackness like ink from inkwell surrounds Hannibal Lecter as the man lays calmly on the bed of moss, surrounded by wildflowers as little Kodoma start to appear curious and intrigued by him then sit around him – some on the moss-covered rocks and others on the roots of the Great Sequoia.

A tinkling noise echoes in the air, followed by leaf from way above starting to float gently downwards swaying and dancing in the soft breeze until finally it lands in the clear lake water to be blown gently across as the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag.

The Kodoma seeing their Lord, head away and up the tree in trail of white until finally disappearing leaving the area empty of them.

It begins to walk, bringing down it’s cloven each-time onto the lake water causing golden ripples to spread outwards on the water until it finally comes up to Hannibal, looking down at him.

Black eyes seeming to show a multitude of a field of stars in them, while it soon bends its fine head down to touch it’s snout to the ragged shoulder wound allowing for golden ripple to spread outwards over it then pulls back, seeing the Curse mark from an Ancient Beast turned into a Daemon on the Hunter’s wrist whispering into the man’s mind:

You must find a way to heal that yourself, Lord Hannibal Lecter of the Dvaras Line.

Then finished with the task it has done of healing the ragged shoulder wound made by the fangs of Murasaki Kushina – Ancient Beast and Last of the Wolf Clan – tilts it’s head upwards to the canopy of ringed trees as it body starts to change.

 In the canopy of the ringed trees, little white Kodama begin to appear watching their Lord, who has now become the Spirit-Walker of Moon – who is also known as the Ravenstag when it is day – and slowly one by one their heads begin to click back and forth, while Spirit-Walker of the Moon starts to walk making the gentle breeze become a strong wind.

This moves the tops of the large swathes of the trees all around in the forest back and forth like waves going back and forth on the sea-shore, while the little white Kodoma move with the wind as Spirit-Walker begins its nightly vigil.

   You must find a way to heal that yourself, Lord Hannibal Lecter of the Dvaras Line.”

Weakly fluttering his eyes open, Hannibal hears that phrase that been whispered to him in the dream or had it been a dream echo until dissipating like it never existed as laughter – child-like – fills his ears, followed by a voice saying his name. “Hannebae.”  then finds himself hoarsely whispering the spirit's name "Mischa" 

 She giggles softly, her laughter soft and light. Just like it had been when she been alive, while he goes to get up only to wince heavily when his wounded shoulder protests making him place a hand to it. Only to feel where there had been a ragged wound is now healed flesh - like Murasaki Kushina had never sunk her fangs - then lays back down, while Mischa comes up to sit in front of him.

He tries to understand:

Why had the Spirit of the Forest - the Ravenstag - healed him in this way?

But why?

And for what purpose?

Soft, little hands cupping his cheeks makes him look at the spirit of his sister Mischa and smiling softly, rests his forehead against her's - like he used do when they were children then understand he was been given a chance to say goodbye to her.

As he hadn’t had when she had been murdered by the rogue General – Vladimir Grutas – and pulling back, strokes her cheek lightly with the back of his knuckles as her beautiful eyes inherited from their mother seem to sparkle with happiness at being allowed before she moves onto the Spirit World that she can say goodbye to him and Hannibal to her.

“Goodbye, sweet little Mischa.”

He whispers hearing her whispered reply of “Hannebae.” allowing for the tear that has formed to run down his cheek to plip onto the grass where her Spirit had been then lowering his hands down to his lap, senses his mare – Cersai – come up to from where she had been grazing.

Nudging his head lightly with her snout, making him bring his hand up to go and cup her cheek, when he stiffens at the sight of the mark on his wrist making him lower it to unlace his tunic sleeve seeing as he un-wraps the bandage that covers it – seeing the gold ferns with black flowers on them has spread more.

The Curse Mark came from an Ancient Boar God who due to iron bullet made by Mason’s Blacksmith Francis Dolerhyde – the man not knowing the weapons he made would be used to get rid of the Ancient Beasts in the Northern Lands – become a Plague Monster – a seething mass of hatred, rage and anger.

It had nearly destroyed the village he been staying in, before traveling to Baltimore, Maryland and knowing the cost of becoming permanently cursed if he allowed it to gore him in any way Hannibal had killed it – severing its life.

But it had managed to wound and curse by stabbing one of it’s tusks into his lower abdomen before he had done so, spreading the Curse it carried into his bloodstream and so creating within him The Chesapeake Ripper.

The Wise Woman of the village in the Western Land, who had experienced a vision of this event happening had told him he must leave before he affects the whole village by mindlessly slaughtering them in a bloodlust fury.

Leaving the village behind he had also left his betrothed-to-be Miriam Lass – the Village Chief’s daughter – and remembers how she was always curious and investigating into things she really shouldn’t have.

She had given him just before he left, both of her curved crystal daggers forcing him to not break his promise that if he found a cure he would return to her because she was his Betrothed.

The daggers were made from crystal mined from the caves near the Village in the Western Land – sharp and deadly, while glinting with many hues of dark purple, emerald and purple.

Deciding not to dwell on those memories, he lays back down feeling still drained of energy and sorting the bandage rolls his sleeve back down then just stares up at the canopy of the ringed trees, seeing the wispy white clouds spreading outwards in the light blue sky.

  Sunlight streams down through the canopies of the mixed trees, illuminating certain patches of ground as Will comes to the edge of large lake occupied by a large island with a Giant Sequoia.

He heads over to some moss-covered stones jutting out of the water gently bounding across them leaving only a light footprint in his wake.  It soon disappears as the moss springs back.

His Mate Hannibal is awake, resting on a moss-bed surrounded by wildflowers as Cersai – his dappled grey white mare is lying beside him on his left-hand side. Hannibal must have sensed him or heard him in some way, because the man rises slightly up on his elbows giving a smile – a weak one, but still a smile – then getting on his hands and knees, pads up to the man.

  Rising slightly up onto his elbows, Hannibal sits up instead when Will indicates the Scent-marking Ritual so tilting his head backwards exposes his neck to allow himself to be scent-mark it then when that is done, does the same to his young lover.

“Are you hungry?” I brought some food.” Will asks him – after they have affectionally nuzzled against each-other – reaching into a makeshift pouch-bag made from rabbit skins – dried and tanned in the sun – to bring out some dry-cured meat.

He watches place it in his own mouth, chewing it and placing his hands-on Hannibal’s shoulders leans towards him to feed him this way - the meat transferred by mouth to mouth, until he feels his strength slowly starting to return then notices Will has slid one hand down to place it on his abdomen.

"Will, what's wrong? Is your stomach hurting?" Hannibal asks, going to reach when a warning growl coming from Will's Wolf-sister makes him lower his hand and look over to her.

"Do not touch. Unless you are willing to submit by exposing your belly." She says, making him look to his young lover for confirmation if he should and Will silently nods to him.

Managing to move, he lays on his side to expose his belly like he has been asked and waits for Will to indicate to him he has passed the… test… tasked him with then his hand is taken hold of and placed on his young lover’s abdomen.

“Hannibal, I’m pregnant. I’ve conceived your child as it seems when we mated the Crescent moon was in the sky. It means for Wolves that it is Mating Season.” Will tells him, with tear-filled eyes filled with tears of happiness, joy and gladness they were having a family.

Will was bearing. His young lover with Wolf-blood in his veins was pregnant with his child or children and find himself trembling heavily because he knows he must tell Will also about the Curse-mark he bears.

“Will….” He begins to say, when Will’s three Wolf-brothers suddenly appear from the other side of the shoreline and after bounding across the stones, surround them as Hannibal sees they are looking over to the densest part of the shoreline.

Great hulking shadows move into the sunlight streaming down to reveal thousands of boars being led by one who could be a leader of some kind.

“Boars from the Western Lands.” One of Will’s Wolf-brother’s – Hiharo – says and asks a question, which even Hannibal can’t answer now. “Why have they come here?”

Had the Strange Plague reached the Western lands without his knowledge?

Hannibal feels concerned now at seeing the sight of Boars that knew roamed the forests of the Western lands and notices one is looking at him.

 “I am Will of the Murasaki Kushina Clan. Why have you come to here?”

Hannibal standing close to his young lover, who has introduced himself to the Boar Leader, who stands with a large herd of thousand strong Warrior Boars – whispering among themselves as why a Human was in the Northern Lands, home of the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag.

“I am Ouras, second-in-command of Lord Jakkoto’s Boar Clan.” The Boar – Ouras - replies, followed looking over to Hannibal and back to Will, asking the young man a question. “Why is a Human here than…in this forest?”

“Hannibal is my….Mate. He was badly wounded, so the Spirit of the Forest healed him” Will replies, causing Ouras to stare at him with widened eyes and turns his gaze back to Hannibal saying the next words in sneering tone, so his young lover can hear them.

“Then why didn’t the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – save the Queen of our Clan. Because your…..Mate….murdered her in cold blood without mercy.”

“HOW DARE YOU, PIG!!!!”

Hannibal hears his young lover’s Wolf-sister – Chiyoh – snarling with fangs bared, making him step in front of her and rolling his tunic sleeve down then unwraps the bandage to reveal to Ouras and everyone else – including Will – the Curse-mark.

“YOUR LYING!!!! THAT DID NOT HAPPEN TO OUR QUEEN!!!”

“OURAS, ENOUGH. SILENCE YOUR TONGUE THIS INSTANT!!!”

Everything goes still. All the Boars bowing their heads low as Ouras – now ashamed of his actions – does the same and pads back so not incur the wrath of the Great Boar God, last of his kind and one of the Ancient Beasts mentioned in Ancient times – the Lord Jakkoto.

The large Boar towers above all other Boars and a normal-sized Human, while coming up to Hannibal who soon notices Lord Jakkoto is blind in both eyes.

Placing his hand on the Boar’s snout, he stays still as Lord Jakkoto deeply inhales to read everything from the Curse-mark then satisfied the large Boar steps back from him, while Hannibal now waits.

“The…Human did not kill her Queen.” Lord Jakkoto says to his Clan-members, while Will comes over to Hannibal and wraps his arms around his waist then taking a deep breath, Hannibal begins to tell the story.

He tells of the Tribal Village in the Western Lands where he stayed during his travels, which had suddenly become attacked one by an Ancient Beasts who had become a Plague Beast – a seething mass of anger, rage and hate – and would have destroyed everything in it’s path of Hannibal hadn’t killed it.

It was only afterwards, he found out that it had been a female Boar Goddess affected by an Iron bullet used by King Mason’s men. The weapons he found out were used to kill Ancient Beasts.

“Lord Jakkoto, I am sorry for taking the life of your Mate and Queen of your Clan.” He apologises, hearing many of the Boars of the Clan start to cry heavily at the fact their Queen had succumbed to something they had heard only rumours about.

[olderjustneverwiser]

My Heart and Home (Spencer Reid) - Chapter Five

Read previous chapters here

Warnings; canon-typical discussions of violence, hostage situation

When she woke up this morning, she never would have thought that she would end up on her knees on her living room floor with her hands bound behind her back, yet here she was. After running into Jason McCoy on her walk home from work, she invited him over for drinks and good conversation. She felt bad for the guy; he was never quite the same after losing his sister. Though they had lost touch, his family still held a special place in her heart. She figured that being with Jason would be better than being alone anyway, with Spencer most likely working late on his case. 

However, as he held a gun to her back and tied her hands, she quickly learned that her old friend was the person Spencer was looking for.

"Jason, why are you doing this?" she asked, trying to put on a brave face despite the tears running down her cheeks. He paced the living room, waving his gun like a madman.

"Because no one cared! No one gave a shit about Anna. They ruined her life, and now they get to have careers and husbands and wives and happiness!" he screamed.

She sniffled, "But I wanted to help her! I tried, Jason. I was her friend, I tried to make her go to therapy. I loved her too, you know."

"No, you took her to that stupid party. If you hadn't made her go, none of this would have happened!"

The tears came harder now at his words. She spent years feeling guilty about that night. Jason was probably the only person that could hate her more for this than she hated herself, and he had every right to. No matter how much guilt she carried, it could never erase the truth of what he’d just said.

"Jason, I'm so sorry," she croaked. “I never wanted that to happen to her."

"Shut up! Just stop talking! If you really were her friend, you would have been there for her!" He screamed, sitting on the recliner next to her, running his empty hand through his hair. This was it, she thought, this was how her life would end. She wished she’d had the chance to tell Spencer how much he’d meant to her, but she was grateful for the time she’d been given with him. Especially since she never deserved him. Not after what happened to Anna.

Just as she made peace with her fate, she heard a bang and her front door slammed open, revealing Spencer and two other agents. Before they could even announce themselves, Jason got down on his knees behind her and held the gun to her head; the metal cold on her skin. 

--

Spencer could barely breathe when he walked into her apartment and saw her. It was his worst nightmare, to see her like this. He faintly registered JJ ordering Jason to drop his weapon; all he could focus on was her. It broke his heart to see her cry; it wasn't something he had seen many times before. Normally, he saw her cry because of a sad movie they would watch together, but to see tears of terror and pain shook him to his core. The only relief he found was that she was still in her work clothes. He was eternally thankful that he hadn't defiled her like the others.

"Put the gun down, Jason. It's over," Morgan said, his gun trained on Jason. Jason only tightened his grip on her, causing more tears to fall down her face.

"I'm not gonna say it again, man. Drop your weapon."

"No, she deserves to die, just like the other ones. I'm taking from them what they took from Anna."

Spencer knew he had to do something. Though he trusted his friend's negotiation skills, he couldn't just stand there while the woman he loved was at risk. Not again.

Spencer spoke up, "Jason, do you want to know why you haven't assaulted her like you did the others? The people you hurt, you know they deserved it. They hurt Anna, and they deserved to be punished, right? So you hurt them. You made them feel the pain they made your sister feel. But you know, deep down that she didn't hurt her. You're just looking for someone to blame, and I understand that, but it's not her. That's why you didn't make her undress. That's why you haven't killed her yet, Jason." Spencer paused.

"You're a good person, and you know she is, too."

“If she’s so good, then why did she let it happen? Anna was all I had left, and she is the reason Anna left” he barked, his finger wrapping tightly around the trigger.

“There was nothing anyone could have done. Deep down, you know that, but is this how she would have wanted you to remember her? Killing people in her name?”

Spencer held his breath as he waited for Jason's decision. The look of anger on Jason's face turned to one of despair as he processed the agent's words.

"It's just not fair," Jason whispered, his voice cracking as he spoke. He slowly put his gun onto the floor, finally surrendering for the things he had done.

Barely waiting for Morgan to put Jason in handcuffs, Spencer put his gun back in its holster and went to her. He didn't care that his friends were there, all he cared about was holding her, touching her. Making sure that she was okay.

He knelt in front of her, cupping her face in his hands, "Hey, you're okay?"

She struggled against the rope binding her wrists behind her back, "Get this off of me," she sobbed.

Spencer quickly ran to her kitchen and grabbed a pair of shears to release her. Once her arms were free, they were around Spencer's neck, holding him tightly to her.

“Hey, it's okay,” he whispered. “You're okay. He can't hurt you, you're okay.” He repeated the phrase again and again, partiality to bring her some form of comfort but also to comfort himself; to remind himself that she was alive.

The two of them were so wrapped up in each other, they didn't notice JJ watching them or Morgan re enter the apartment after putting McCoy into a police car. The two of them watched silently, not wanting to ruin the moment.

“Did you know about this?” JJ asked Morgan quietly.

He chuckled. “I had a hunch.”

--

After she managed to calm down and the crime techs were finished with whatever they had to do, her and Spencer sat on her couch, sitting as close as they could to one another without being on top of each other.

“Why didn't you ever tell me about that?” Spencer asked.

She shrugged, “I don't know. I spent a lot of time feeling guilty about it. I know what happened to her wasn't my fault, I didn't rape her, you know. I just felt so bad about it all.”

“Please don't feel guilty about that,” Spencer pleaded. “Those guys were bad people who did a horrible thing. The things they did aren't on you.

“I don't care about what happened, I just care about you. I'm so glad you're okay.” He added. The two of them locked eyes, and Spencer swore he never seen so much love in another person's eyes.

"I love you, Spencer Reid," she said suddenly.

Spencer was stunned, speechless even, which made her nervous.

"I know this is a weird time to say it, but I've felt it for a while now. I guess I was, I don't know, scared or nervous to tell you, but life is short and it's fleeting. And I was so scared to die without you knowing how I felt about you." she added, trying to justify herself. There was no need for that, though.

"I-I love you too," he stammered. It was the first time he had said it out loud, but he knew it was true. It felt so good to say it, so he said it again, more confidently this time, and it was completely worth it to see the way her face lit up at his words.

Bringing a gentle hand up to his jaw, she kissed him, and he reveled in the feeling of her lips against his,the feeling that only hours ago he was terrified he would never experience again.

She pulled away, much to Spencer's dismay, and looked around her living room, "I don't really feel like being here tonight. Could I maybe stay with you?"

Spencer understood; there's no way she'd feel safe there for a while. He was more than happy to have her with him for the night, or the week, or the month if that’s what she wanted.

Spencer smiled and gave her another kiss, this one on her head. "Sure, let's pack a bag and then we’ll go home."

[hieromonkcharbel]

If a tree is known by its fruit, and a good tree bears good fruit (cf. Mt. 7:17; Lk. 6:44), then is not the Mother of Goodness Itself, She who bore the Eternal Beauty, incomparably more excellent than every good, whether in this world or the world above? Therefore, the coeternal and identical Image of goodness, Preeternal, transcending all being, He Who is the preexisting and good Word of the Father, moved by His unutterable love for mankind and compassion for us, put on our image, that He might reclaim for Himself our nature which had been dragged down to uttermost Hades, so as to renew this corrupted nature and raise it to the heights of Heaven. For this purpose, He had to assume a flesh that was both new and ours, that He might refashion us from out of ourselves. Now He finds a Handmaiden perfectly suited to these needs, the supplier of Her own unsullied nature, the Ever-Virgin now hymned by us, and Whose miraculous Entrance into the Temple, into the Holy of Holies, we now celebrate. God predestined Her before the ages for the salvation and reclaiming of our kind. She was chosen, not just from the crowd, but from the ranks of the chosen of all ages, renowned for piety and understanding, and for their God-pleasing words and deeds. In the beginning, there was one who rose up against us: the author of evil, the serpent, who dragged us into the abyss. Many reasons impelled him to rise up against us, and there are many ways by which he enslaved our nature: envy, rivalry, hatred, injustice, treachery, slyness, etc. In addition to all this,he also has within him the power of bringing death, which he himself engendered, being the first to fall away from true life. The author of evil was jealous of Adam, when he saw him being led from earth to Heaven, from which he was justly cast down. Filled with envy, he pounced upon Adam with a terrible ferocity, and even wished to clothe him with the garb of death.Envy is not only the begetter of hatred, but also of murder, which this truly man-hating serpent brought about in us. For he wanted to be master over the earth-born for the ruin of that which was created in the image and likeness of God. Since he was not bold enough to make a face to face attack, he resorted to cunning and deceit. This truly terrible and malicious plotter pretended to be a friend and useful adviser by assuming the physical form of a serpent, and stealthily took their position. By his God-opposing advice, he instills in man his own death-bearing power, like a venomous poison. If Adam had been sufficiently strong to keep the divine commandment, then he would have shown himself the vanquisher of his enemy, and withstood his deathly attack. But since he voluntarily gave in to sin, he was defeated and was made a sinner. Since he is the root of our race, he has produced us as death-bearing shoots. So, it was necessary for us, if he were to fight back against his defeat and to claim victory, to rid himself of the death-bearing venomous poison in his soul and body, and to absorb life, eternal and indestructible life. It was necessary for us to have a new root for our race, a new Adam, not just one Who would be sinless and invincible, but one Who also would be able to forgive sins and set free from punishment those subject to it. And not only would He have life in Himself, but also the capacity to restore to life, so that He could grant to those who cleave to Him and are related to Him by race both life and the forgiveness of their sins, restoring to life not only those who came after Him, but also those who already had died before Him. Therefore, St. Paul, that great trumpet of the Holy Spirit, exclaims, The first man Adam was made a living soul, the last Adam was made a quickening spirit (1 Cor. 15:45). Except for God, there is no one who is without sin, or life-creating, or able to remit sin. Therefore, the new Adam must be not only Man, but also God. He is at the same time life, wisdom, truth, love, and mercy, and every other good thing, so that He might renew the old Adam and restore him to life through mercy, wisdom and righteousness. These are the opposites of the things which the author of evil used to bring about our aging and death. As the slayer of mankind raised himself against us with envy and hatred, so the Source of life was lifted up [on the Cross] because of His immeasurable goodness and love for mankind. He intensely desired the salvation of His creature, i.e., that His creature would be restored by Himself. In contrast to this, the author of evil wanted to bring God's creature to ruin, and thereby put mankind under his own power, and tyrannically to afflict us. And just as he achieved the conquest and the fall of mankind by means of injustice and cunning, by deceit and his trickery, so has the Liberator brought about the defeat of the author of evil, and the restoration of His own creature with truth, justice and wisdom. It was a deed of perfect justice that our nature, which was voluntarily enslaved and struck down, should again enter the struggle for victory and cast off its voluntary enslavement. Therefore, God deigned to receive our nature from us, hypostatically uniting with it in a marvellous way. But it was impossible to unite that Most High Nature,Whose purity is incomprehensible for human reason, to a sinful nature before it had been purified. Therefore, for the conception and birth of the Bestower of purity, a perfectly spotless and Most Pure Virgin was required. Today we celebrate the memory of those things that contributed, if only once, to the Incarnation. He Who is God by nature, the Co-unoriginate and Coeternal Word and Son of the Transcendent Father, becomes the Son of Man, the Son of the Ever-Virgin. Jesus Christ the same yesterday and today, and forever (Heb. 13:8), immutable in His divinity and blameless in His humanity, He alone, as the Prophet Isaiah prophesied, Practiced no iniquity, nor deceit with His lips (Is. 53: 9). He alone was not brought forth in iniquity, nor was He conceived in sin, in contrast to what the Prophet David says concerning himself and every other man (Ps. 50/51: 5). Even in what He assumes, He is perfectly pure and has no need to be cleansed Himself. But for our sake, He accepted purification, suffering, death and resurrection, that He might transmit them to us. God is born of the spotless and Holy Virgin, or better to say, of the Most Pure and All-Holy Virgin. She is above every fleshly defilement, and even above every impure thought. Her conceiving resulted not from fleshly lust, but by the overshadowing of the Most Holy Spirit. Such desire being utterly alien to Her, it is through prayer and spiritual readiness that She declared to the angel: Behold the handmaiden of the Lord; be it unto Me according to thy word (Lk. 1:38), and that She conceived and gave birth. So, in order to render the Virgin worthy of this sublime purpose, God marked this ever-virgin Daughter now praised by us, from before the ages, and from eternity, choosing Her from out of His elect. Turn your attention then, to where this choice began. From the sons of Adam God chose the wondrous Seth, who showed himself a living heaven through his becoming behavior, and through the beauty of his virtues. That is why he was chosen, and from whom the Virgin would blossom as the divinely fitting chariot of God. She was needed to give birth and to summon the earth-born to heavenly sonship. For this reason also all the lineage of Seth were called sons of God, because from this lineage a son of man would be born the Son of God. The name Seth signifies a rising or resurrection, or more specifically, it signifies the Lord, Who promises and gives immortal life to all who believe in Him. And how precisely exact is this parallel! Seth was born of Eve, as she herself said, in place of Abel, whom Cain killed through jealousy (cf. Gen. 4:25); and Christ, the Son of the Virgin, was born for us in place of Adam, whom the author of evil also killed through jealousy. But Seth did not resurrect Abel, since he was only a foretype of the resurrection. But our Lord Jesus Christ resurrected Adam, since He is the very Life and the Resurrection of the earth-born, for whose sake the descendants of Seth are granted divine adoption through hope, and are called the children of God. It was because of this hope that they were called sons of God, as is evident from the one who was first called so, the successor in the choice.This was Enos, the son of Seth, who as Moses wrote, first hoped to call on the Name of the Lord (Gen. 4:26). In this manner, the choice of the future Mother of God, beginning with the very sons of Adam and proceeding through all the generations of time, through the Providence of God, passes to the Prophet-king David and the successors of his kingdom and lineage. When the chosen time had come, then from the house and posterity of David, Joachim and Anna are chosen by God. Though they were childless, they were by their virtuous life and good disposition the finest of all those descended from the line of David.And when in prayer they besought God to deliver them from their childlessness, and promised to dedicate their child to God from its infancy. By God Himself, the Mother of God was proclaimed and given to them as a child, so that from such virtuous parents the all-virtuous child would be raised.So in this manner, chastity joined with prayer came to fruition by producing the Mother of virginity, giving birth in the flesh to Him Who was born of God the Father before the ages. Now, when Righteous Joachim and Anna saw that they had been granted their wish, and that the divine promise to them was realized in fact, then they on their part, as true lovers of God, hastened to fulfill their vow given to God as soon as the child had been weaned from milk. They have now led this truly sanctified child of God, now the Mother of God, this Virgin into the Temple of God. And She, being filled with Divine gifts even at such a tender age, ... She, rather than others, determined what was being done over Her. In Her manner She showed that She was not so much presented into the Temple, but that She Herself entered into the service of God of her own accord, as if she had wings, striving towards this sacred and divine love. She considered it desirable and fitting that she should enter into the Temple and dwell in the Holy of Holies. Therefore, the High Priest, seeing that this child, more than anyone else, had divine grace within Her, wished to set Her within the Holy of Holies. He convinced everyone present to welcome this, since God had advanced it and approved it. Through His angel, God assisted the Virgin and sent Her mystical food, with which She was strengthened in nature, while in body She was brought to maturity and was made purer and more exalted than the angels, having the Heavenly spirits as servants. She was led into the Holy of Holies not just once, but was accepted by God to dwell there with Him during Her youth, so that through Her, the Heavenly Abodes might be opened and given for an eternal habitation to those who believe in Her miraculous birthgiving. So it is, and this is why She, from the beginning of time, was chosen from among the chosen. She Who is manifest as the Holy of Holies, Who has a body even purer than the spirits purified by virtue, is capable of receiving ... the Hypostatic Word of the Unoriginate Father.Today the Ever-Virgin Mary, like a Treasure of God, is stored in the Holy of Holies, so that in due time, (as it later came to pass) She would serve for the enrichment of, and an ornament for, all the world. Therefore, Christ God also glorifies His Mother, both before birth, and also after birth. We who understand the salvation begun for our sake through the Most Holy Virgin, give Her thanks and praise according to our ability. And truly, if the grateful woman (of whom the Gospel tells us), after hearing the saving words of the Lord, blessed and thanked His Mother, raising her voice above the din of the crowd and saying to Christ, Blessed is the womb that bore Thee, and the paps Thou hast sucked (Lk. 11:27), then we who have the words of eternal life written out for us, and not only the words, but also the miracles and the Passion, and the raising of our nature from death, and its ascent from earth to Heaven, and the promise of immortal life and unfailing salvation, then how shall we not unceasingly hymn and bless the Mother of the Author of our Salvation and the Giver of Life, celebrating Her conception and birth, and now Her Entry into the Holy of Holies? Now, brethren, let us remove ourselves from earthly to celestial things. Let us change our path from the flesh to the spirit. Let us change our desire from temporal things to those that endure. Let us scorn fleshly delights, which serve as allurements for the soul and soon pass away. Let us desire spiritual gifts, which remain undiminished. Let us turn our reason and our attention from earthly concerns and raise them to the inaccessible places of Heaven, to the Holy of Holies, where the Mother of God now resides. Therefore, in such manner our songs and prayers to Her will gain entry, and thus through her mediation, we shall be heirs of the everlasting blessings to come, through the grace and love for mankind of Him Who was born of Her for our sake, our Lord Jesus Christ, to Whom be glory, honor and worship, together with His Unoriginate Father and His Coeternal and Life-Creating Spirit, now and ever and unto ages of ages. Amen. St. Gregory Palamas