#the gods have spoken to me and granted a vision

[sebssunshine]

butch 4 butch lesbian galex!!!

i scream into the void knowing i will never have the energy to write it

[lovezbrownies]

The First Ascension: Understand.

Masterlist - Story's Masterlist

Synopsis: Within your strange dream you uncover things the average person would never be able to, only due to her mercy.

PAIRING: Yandere Goddess x GN!Reader.

Apeearing Characters: Mother Adonis, Siolis Ludenhart.

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 You are here!

Entry One

A book for my every thought… That is your purpose. A humble bundle of papers bound by leather, your only duty is to bear the weight of my words, my story.

It was Bloodwen, my darling, who gave me this idea. Ever perceptive, she noticed how I bury my emotions beneath duty, my thoughts left to fester, unspoken. She suggested that pouring them onto paper might lighten the heaviness in my heart.

Yet, I cannot bring myself to tell her the truth. Something terrible looms on the horizon, a shadow I can neither ignore nor outrun. I see it, visions of my end intertwined with hers.

But I will not allow it. I will fight fate itself if I must. No one—nothing—will take my Bloodwen from me. She is my very sunshine, the light that keeps the darkness at bay.

Entry Eight.

I hate this.

This gnawing feeling in my chest. The way my peers, my so-called friends, glance at me with veiled disdain. The sudden silences that fall when I enter the room, as though my presence has become a curse rather than a comfort.

I gave them everything. Lands, power, purpose—gifts bestowed upon me by our god, the omniscient creator of this universe. Once, I was alone, the sole inhabitant of my domain. Perhaps it was pity that moved him to grant me companions: five perfect beings, each unique and radiant in their own right.

Initially, there were six of us. But betrayal stained our unity, and the traitor incurred the wrath of our god. Their punishment was absolute: obliteration. From seven, we became six.

Then, our god left. His boredom with this universe outweighed his investment in it, and so he turned his gaze to a new creation. Before departing, he chose me, his first creation, to bear the mantle of leadership. With a fraction of his boundless power, I was named goddess of this universe. I was eager, honored even, to shoulder such a burden.

But now I see the cost.

The five I once called friends grew distant. Greed seeped into their hearts like poison, and the respect they once held for me twisted into resentment. They no longer see me as a friend to love but as a figure to fear, to begrudge.

Bloodwen was the exception. My closest ally, my lover, my everything. I shared my heart with her, my land, my trust. The others—my peers—each received lands as well, dividing the world into what are now called continents. With these vast territories came the need for Lords, rulers who would oversee them.

I fought for a say in their selection. Bloodwen, stubborn and proud, wished to make all the choices herself, but her judgment is… flawed. Her choices are a reflection of her hubris, not wisdom.

For Goroth, the continent I hold closest to my heart, I chose Ludenhart. Unlike the others, he has never betrayed me, never spoken ill of me. He defends me, even when Bloodwen and her favored protégé hurl their venomous words. He took up the land of Xelera.

And yet, despite it all… I feel empty.

Entry Sixty-Three.

Traitors. All of them.

They feasted on my generosity, basked in the light of my blessings, and repaid me with treachery. Bloodwen, most of all.

I swear upon my name, I will have my vengeance. Her and her cursed lineage will suffer as no beings have suffered before. I will curse her bloodline, ensure that every year another of her kin feels the sting of my wrath. She will know what it means to cross me.

And I will not stop with her.

I will create my own children—five of them, each a reflection of the primal forces that shaped our beginnings. One of Fire, one of Wind, one of Water, one of Earth, one of Light. And the youngest, the most powerful, shall embody Darkness itself.

Each child will bear a singular purpose: to reclaim what was stolen from me and to destroy those who wielded it against me.

My youngest shall face Bloodwen’s final descendant. The previous title owner of Darkness shall be defeated by its new title owner, the last of my kin. A cruel symmetry that will seal her fate.

Through my children, I will bring my enemies to their knees. I will take back my universe, one piece at a time.

Words fail you, your mouth hanging slightly agape as your eyes devour entry after entry, each one bleeding with raw emotion, as though the pen itself had been tethered directly to the author’s heart.

Dozens of books surround you, each one a diary chronicling Adonis’ life—an intricate tapestry of triumph, heartbreak, and the unrelenting passage of time. Pages recount exhilarating adventures with her children, serene afternoons of tea and meditation, and always, without fail, fragments of her betrayal. In some, the wound is fresh and omnipresent, a constant thread binding her thoughts. In others, it’s little more than a passing remark, a distant memory dulled by the joy and love her children brought her.

It seems, as she aged, Adonis allowed the warmth of her children’s devotion to fill the void left by those who had wronged her. The love they offered her—the love she had deserved from the beginning—softened the bitterness of her past. With them, she found solace, a reason to move forward, and a clarity that transformed her anger into quiet indifference. Yet, even amidst her newfound peace, her ambition remained steadfast.

“I want to show myself to my people once more, to embrace them with my blessings,” one diary entry declared, the resolve in its ink practically leaping off the page.

Now you understand me, don’t you little lamb? I can feel your pity. I can feel your anger. And I have felt it all before.

The calm voice from before returns, resonating within your mind like a gentle tide washing over your thoughts. Its tone is serene, yet impossibly commanding.

A wave of tranquility envelops you, lulling your body into a profound stillness. It feels as though you’re being wrapped in a blanket woven from love and adoration itself. Your eyelids grow heavy, the warmth all-consuming, threatening to pull you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The library begins to fade, its walls dissolving into sunlight and greenery. Before you stretches a small garden, alive with vibrant flowers and lush, welcoming grass. Its beauty is intoxicating, so much so that you can’t resist. Your legs carry you forward, and you lower yourself into the soft embrace of the earth, reclining among the spades of grass.

As your eyes flutter shut, you become aware of something beneath your head—warm, plush, comforting. A hand holds yours, another gently strokes your head, the motions tender and unhurried.

“You have so much work ahead of you,” the voice whispers, soothing and steady. “Rest for now, my agent of chaos. You will be our assistant of eons.”

And as the warmth deepens, enveloping you entirely, you drift away, carried by the gentle cadence of her voice and the promise of something far greater awaiting you.

Siolis stood silently in their office, their posture rigid, gaze unwavering as they watched over your sleeping form. The room was filled with the quiet hum of sunlight filtering through tall windows, casting long shadows over the polished floor. Time stretched endlessly as Siolis waited, their thoughts moving at a methodical pace.

You had to wake soon. Only then could Siolis escort you safely home. Their siblings—so proud and ignorant—had no inkling of your importance, both to the greater plan and to Mom. That ignorance was a blessing for now, though it left Siolis with the solitary responsibility of ensuring your safety. Tonight, at the meeting, Mom would make it clear where you stood. Until then, no harm would come to you under Siolis’s watch.

Their attention briefly shifted back to the paperwork cluttering their desk. Some of it concerned the so-called "box of nightmares," which had sent the local police force into a frenzy. Siolis smirked faintly at their own cleverness. The box contained only their severed body parts—arms, legs, fingers, all expertly detached and meticulously stripped of identifying features.

Regenerating those parts was second nature, the pain little more than a fleeting inconvenience. Still, the thought of the officers poring over meaningless clues, chasing their tails, amused them to no end.

A faint groan broke the stillness. Siolis’s head snapped toward the couch, their gaze sharpening. You stirred, your features contorted in confusion as you slowly sat up.

“Whe–Where am I…?” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep.

Your eyes scanned the room, widening slightly as they landed on Siolis. They were seated at their desk, bathed in the golden halo of morning light streaming in from behind. The ethereal glow framed their dark silhouette, their composed expression only adding to the surreal quality of the scene.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Siolis greeted, their tone smooth and calm, with the faintest edge of humor. “Did you rest well?”

You blinked, trying to gather your bearings. “I… I guess? What happened?”

Siolis stood, their movements deliberate and fluid, and crossed the room to stand a short distance from you. Their presence was magnetic, yet there was a certain restraint in the way they regarded you.

“You fainted,” they said plainly, their deep voice soft but firm. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard, and your body finally gave out. I brought you here so you could rest.”

You frowned, your hands fumbling to smooth out your wrinkled clothes. “I fainted?” The word felt foreign on your tongue. You couldn’t remember the last time something like that had happened.

“Yes,” Siolis confirmed, their tone carrying an air of finality. “And I’ll ensure it doesn’t happen again. From now on, you’ll prioritize your well-being.”

Their words were more a command than a suggestion, but there was no malice in them. Instead, their gaze softened, and for a fleeting moment, you caught something warmer beneath their composed exterior.

“I—I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” you mumbled, feeling a heat rise to your cheeks.

Siolis gave a soft hum, as though amused by your apology. “You didn’t cause trouble,” they assured you, their voice quiet yet firm. “But it’s my responsibility to look after you, and I take that very seriously.”

They held out their arm, waiting patiently for you to accept it. “Come,” they said, their tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll walk you home. We’ll talk more along the way.”

Hesitant but comforted by their presence, you placed your hand in on their inner elbow. Their grip was cool, steady, yet surprisingly gentle as they helped you to your feet.

As they guided you toward the door, you couldn’t help but glance up at their sharp profile. The way they carried themselves—calm, composed, yet protective—made you ache with questions you weren’t sure you were ready to ask. How are they so… at peace?

“Chief, you know this is impossible to solve, don’t stress yourself over the facts and clues and focus more on adding security to the palace!”

“There’s already too much security roaming these very halls. Don’t lecture me about my priorities, Captain, you are not in the position to do so. What bothers me most is… God, just follow after me.”

“The fuck… Are those…”

“One arm for each year of the natural aging process, starting off at age 5. Same skin tone, same mole on the subjects finger. These aren’t different people, this is… This has been in their plans far before we expected… Captain this goes deeper than we ever thought.”

[kyojurosprettygirl]

love casted in the stones. 2

Gyomei Himejima x Gorgon! Fem! Reader

Gyomei was constantly defending you, and because of his respected status, and truthful words, people couldn't go against him.

"you do not know her, therefore your opinions on her are invalid."

"as far as i am aware, neither of you were with her during that meeting, all the hashira have accepted her and it's time you both do as well."

"she can not control the way she was born, you were in the wrong for saying that."

.the two kakushi that had spoken ill of you were almost released from their duties because of it

Gyomei was always bringing you to meet with his students, majority of them finding who you were interesting and holding you to a high regard, simply because Gyomei did too. His students began to adore you soon after your first meeting.

"can she turn anything into stone?"

"no, she cannot, just humans she makes eye contact with."

"will she be visiting us during training? i hope so.."

"im sure she will, i let her know in advance."

"where's y/n? we made some gifts for her!"

"she isn't here today, but if you'd like i'll give them to her."

.they were amendment on giving the gift to you themselves.

Gyomei was the one who helped you accept who you were, lifting your spirits up with praises and reasons you shouldn't be ashamed of yourself. he made the days you felt embarrassed and insecure bearable.

"you are unique, it is something you should feel proud of, that ability of yours is something some would wish for."

"your blood holds centuries of culture and generations, you truly are a special thing. you should be proud of who you are."

"your snakes and eyes, i've been told they are extremely beautiful, there are days i wish the gods would grant me just a minute of vision just so i could see you."

.once, he went to the temples and prayed for hours to the gods, asking them to be able to see you one day.

Gyomei was the one who brought you to come to terms with the night you had lost your friend and accidentally killed the two slayers, and although some might deem it unforgivable, slayers and their families know deep down, that the second they or their children pick up a blade, they have signed their life away.

"it could be a selfish way for me to think, but it was a simple mistake, it wasn't like you could control the abilities you were born with."

"the fact that you are alive, and living out the life you didn't want to live out initially, shows your beautiful and strong heart. I believe your friend is smiling down at you, for granting his wish."

"the families of the slayers, they knew their children would die one die. it's the cost of being a demon slayer, it is not always you'll walk out victorious. if you would like, we could visit them together."

.you did end up visiting the families, one was kinder than the other, but you left both estates with a less heavy heart and being forgiven of your destruction.

Gyomei was eager when you had told him you wanted to go back to the ruins of what was once your home, he was eager to finally know more about you and felt honored you had chosen him to go with you.

"i can only imagine the fear that went through everyone's mind, you seemed so content in your life here."

"would you like to take some of the remaining scriptures back, then? i would like to know more about your kind, these might hold some information you could explain to me."

"we should take the items back home with us, we can place it on his tombstone when we get back."

.you had found your friends old home and took some of his and his grandpas belongings to place on his grave the day after. Gyomei was always there. he was there to pray with you when you went to visit your families graves. he was there to find a solution when it came to stoning people. he was there to give you a place of solace.

"she holds you dear to your heart, she always thinks about you. had it not been for you, i would have never met her, so i am here to thank you."

"you said you wanted to go to the market right? we could blindfold you, if you'd like, you do not need to do this if you aren't comfortable."

"it is okay y/n. im here with you."

.he is always thanking your friend at his grave when he can, he never ends his prayer without a thankyou. he also taught you how to get through the days with a blindfold over your eyes, you picked up on your surroundings easily with him.

Gyomei was the only person your snakes felt comfortable enough to show themsleves and were constantly nuzzling into him.

"It's okay y/n, I do not mind. although I must ask, are they as fond of Iguros snake as they are of me?"

"they seem very long, are they? they must be thick too.."

"are they always hidden? i hadn't realized they could hide themselves to appear as normal hair.."

.every time he was near, he could hear a small bundle of hisses drift into his ears. he got so used to it that he would worry he did something if he couldn't hear them. they are also very fond of Iguros snake, but not it's owner.

Gyomei was never seen without you near by, as grounded as he was, he felt like he was in the clouds with you around. at some point, your sweet voice was the only thing he could think about, and he had made it his mission to get you to join the corps.

"she's very sweet, i feel very comfortable around her. my entire week is made the second i hear her."

"she is very strong, i don't need to worry about her as much as people think so. she is just anxious about her abilities."

"i will take full responsibility in training her, if i must."

.once you had picked up stone breathing, you had created a few more forms for it. since then, you and gyomei were always seen together for missions, successfully becoming partners (you as his tsuguko). you had discovered soon after that if demons get your blood into their system, they turn to stone.

Yours and Gyomeis tombstone had snakes sculpted around it, some even formed a heart, unworn wedding bands were placed atop of it.

funfact! After the final battle, gyomei was granted his prayer once he died and he regained his vision in the afterlife. he thanked the gods as you both made it to heaven together.

back at earth, the kakushi and removed your blindfold. they found that they were able to safely look you in the eyes to prepare you and him for burial. they had buried you and gyomei facing eachother. ( they had found out from his students that Gyomeis final wish was to be buried facing you. )

[zellkernchen]

@unadultary Kaleesh beliefs and holymen/women it is

(This is me right now if you even care)

(Under the cut for length!)

To the Kaleesh belief:

Soooo as it says in wookieepedia: “The Kaleesh were a spiritual people, believing that those who performed great deeds in life became gods in death.” And this is still true in my “canon” but I have decided to expand more on it and not just simply leave it at that because why not I love worldbuilding ❤️🙏

When it comes to their religion there isn’t really an exact name for it. The Kaleesh simply referred to it as “their religion” (aka “Kaleelishaal prediveeni”) and outsiders referred to it as “the Kaleesh religion”.

Pretty much summarised: There’s different categories of gods/ ancestors in their religion. To showcase this I have done a little pyramid scheme.

Pyramid scheme:

What are “pure gods”?

Pure gods are basically the OG gods kinda. Their names may change depending on their regions’ most dominant spoken language before the big language merge took place. But since most regions used to speak old Kaleesh there wasn’t much of a major difference. The pure gods of the Kaleesh people are: Diety of the sun, diety of the moon, diety of water, diety of fire, diety of earth, diety of air, diety of honour and pride, diety of war.

Those are pretty much it. These are what many “versions” of the Kaleelishaal prediveeni would consider their pure gods to be.

What are gods?

Gods are seen as Kaleesh who have impacted all of Kalee at least once. A canon example of this is General Grievous. He united all of Kalee and created one big military out of it basically and almost managed to free Kalee from the Huk. But it doesn’t always have to be good things that someone does which grants them the title of god. In my “canon” there exists a god known as Huza, Goddess of greed. She was a woman with a very simple goal: to posses as many jewellery as possible. She did anything to fulfill that goal: stealing, killing, ect… All for the purpose of adding new jewellery to her already big collection of it.

With demigods things begin to grow tricky. A demigod is someone whose actions did affect Kalee, but not to the same extent a god’s would. The Kaleesh don’t really have a proper criteria for what is and isn’t considered a demigod. It’s just something they subconsciously agree in. In my “canon”, Ronderu is seen as a demigod by her people. The reasons for that are: She was a very skilled in lig sword combat, apparently was an item with the great Khagan (Grievous) but some doubt her existence. After all she disappeared without a trace. Only her swords were found yet they were hidden from the public. They’re hidden somewhere in her tomb. A place unknown to many, sometimes even a myth.

Ancestors who were directly “blessed” by either pure gods, gods or demigods are automatically considered spirits of the holy. But how does this “blessing” work? There’s many ways; being an alleged partial or full reincarnation of a god or demigod, an alleged “Kaleesh disguise” of a god or claiming you had an alleged vision by a demigod, god or pure god and being somehow able to prove it. Because of this, many different regions might have their own spirits of the holy no one has ever heard of. Sometimes even fights occur over it.

“Normal/other” ancestor spirits are pretty much self explanatory imo?? If you weren’t considered a god, demigod or spirit of the holy then you’re a “normal/other” ancestor. They are usually only celebrated and worshipped within their own clan or small community.

Afterlife concept of the Kaleesh:

When it comes to their afterlife, the Kaleesh view it as an eternal spiritual life. They’re brought to the dieties’ version of Kalee where all spirits live out their lives. If you did however commit bad deeds during your life, those who suffered because of it and are dead will definitely punish you for a while.

Differences:

There are some differences from the main Kaleesh beliefs depending on region, family and even oneself.

For one, as mentioned earlier, a spirit or diety’s name might chance depending on the region.

Second: many tales of different ancestors can be remembered and written down differently depending on who’s telling the story if it makes sense.

Also, there are different movements going on of trying to “reform” Kaleesh religion every once in a while.

Now onto the holymen/women:

Basics:

In Kaleesh culture holymen/women are called “Ku’lu” and are their own separate gender, the spiritual gender.

After a Ku’lu has reached a certain age of their choice (usually around their 40s) they must begin to find themselves a successor. There are many different ways in which one can do that and there are no set rules for it either. Except that their successor mustn’t come from their own clan or be their own kin.

For a while the Ku’lu’s apprentice, called Ku’lu- Tur, will spend some years learning their Ku’lu’s wisdom and teachings. After they’ve reached the age of adulthood, they must go learn from their own observations, occasionally either personally reporting or sending documentations to their Ku’lu. Once the Ku’lu deems their apprentice to be knowledgeable, mature and wise enough from their studies/observations, they will be promoted to Ku’lu while the previous Ku’lu gains themselves the rank of elder, Ku’lu- Abma. To symbolise this, the now Ku’lu- Abma will pass on an item dear to them to their former apprentice.

A Ku’lu has lots of roles, which is why big villages and cities are always happy to have more than one Ku’lu available. They console the troubled, pray to the gods and ancestors, take care of the sick, write books about their teachings and discoveries. You probably already get my point. Being a Ku’lu is by no means easy, but it makes one highly educated, something everybody on Kalee wants to be in their own ways.

Depending on where one lives, joining a Ku’lu council is very much to be expected. These councils were created with the premise of helping other Ku’lu’s out if in need to in return get help too.

Some other stuff to the Ku’lu:

- Their plural form is Ku’lih

- And yes, they can get married and have children

That’s it for now :3 Hope you enjoyed!

[utilitycaster]

I know you tend to know a lot of the CR lore and I feel like I've missed something. I've seen a lot of people in the chat of the last episode talking about how the gods of Exandria need prayer and their followers to live and that they're just using their followers and I'm a bit confused because in the history of Exandria video the gods already had their powers when they came to Exandria.

Yeah I think it's been kept very ambiguous in canon and people have extrapolated or overlaid ideas of deities from other works or traditions.

The biggest canon source I think we have on the relationship of deities to their followers' worship is that after Vecna's ascension, Ioun says that he will need more worshippers to "disseminate his power and claim his domains". However, even that is pretty ambiguous, since Vecna is a new deity who was born mortal - essentially, an evil counterpart to the Raven Queen. It's unclear if this is only true of Vecna (and any hypothetical new god) or only true for something like the expansion of one's domains. Otherwise, I at least think - I could be wrong - that the cast has sometimes acted as though the gods rely on the worship of their followers, but Matt is usually noncommittal or "kind of, but it's complicated" in response.

My understanding, and this does involve some personal interpretation, is that the gods are not like Tinkerbell. They do not need you to clap if you believe in them lest they die. They exist, and have powers, regardless of whether they are worshiped. A good case in point is that between the Schism and the start of the Calamity, the Betrayers were completely sealed away with no access to followers, and survived and rapidly began fucking with the world as soon as they were unleashed. This is further backed up with the fact that the gods have frequently and repeatedly ceded ground to mortals - they granted them arcane magic, and when mortals used this to begin to distance themselves from the gods, the gods permitted it. This is also backed up by Sarenrae remaining perfectly capable of full power despite her worship having been vastly diminished post-Calamity until Pike began signficantly reviving her worship.

However, I think it is fair to say that the gods are drastically limited in what they can do on the Material Plane while they themselves are not on the Material Plane. They primarily need to work through their followers. They can send visions and dreams, and grant powers, but they can't simply step in and fix everything with a snap of their fingers. And so, having more followers and worshipers on the material plane means that their capacity to do enact meaningful change in the world is increased.

For what it's worth I've also, as a person with complex feelings about the existence of god but who through reflection and adjustment that is, frankly, ongoing (which I think is normal and appropriate) does have a religious practice, never found any logic in the idea that the gods are simply using their followers. Like, I might be lighting candles on Friday night to the benefit of literally no one, and anything I feel from it is, effectively, a placebo, or something entirely human-made. So why would it be different if some entity who has never spoken to me nor made their existence definitively clear gains power from it? Now consider the world in which I am a cleric. In that case, I am clearly getting something from this.

In short, the relationship between mortals in Exandria and the gods, or at least the Prime Deities, has always to me seemed symbiotic. I think that the idea people get nothing from the act of worship in and of itself is a very limited and small-minded one in the first place, and so while I reject the idea that the gods are reliant on people for sustenance - though they are reliant for a certain degree of agency within the world - the premise that the gods are using their followers with the followers deriving nothing from it is already false and the entire argument dissolves.

[laninasinamor]

NASHURI TWINS PT. 1

The Boy

(original 🎨 by my friend @commanderbunny, specifically made for me on my bday 💕 love you boo) (YOU CAN SHARE BUT DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT CREDIT!)

Born on the fourteenth day, otherwise known as the day of the Jaguar (Ix)…

Birth Name(s):

🌎Ix Muun (meaning “tender”, his true name)

🌍Prince N’Jata, Son of Shuri (given name by the Golden tribe of the sovereign nation of Wakanda)

☀️Kinich Ahau (Sun God), Son of K’uk’ulkan (royal name as addressed by the Kingdom of Talokan)

Aliases/Nicknames:

“First son of the first son”

“Son of Suns”

unyana wam (“my son” in Xhosa)

in paal (“my child” in Yucatec Maya)

ubhuti (“brother” in Xhosa)

suku’un (“older brother” in Yucatec Maya)

Och Kan (meaning “Vision Serpent”) - Shortly after turning five years of age, the young prince dreamed of death — that of a whale. The next day his people found strangely their whales missing, vanished without a trace. They supposed someone or something had done this. He felt panicked. He did not know what it meant until more and more his dreams came true. They came to realize his dreams were not dreams at all. The gods granted him visions, an access to the spirit world where he could travel to & from the mortal realm. Talokan’s shaman knew immediately this boy had the gift of foresight — the ability to see into the future. Except the future is never as certain as it seems, even with a power as strong as his.

Abilities:

Seer - which includes divination, clairvoyance, precognition

Flight - he grew wings on his back instead of the ankles

Superhuman strength, speed

inherited X gene from Namor - thus he breathes underwater and above the surface

Description:

Born under the sea with the Sastun (“Sun”) at its highest

“Heir to the throne of Talokan” - The prince feels pressure from his father to learn the trades and one day rule the kingdom and take care of his people. K’uk’ulkan requires the prince to keep the “sun” to his people, he is named after the sun god after all. However he’s inclined to go with his sister to the surface world, save people, soar high in the skies, much like an eagle.

He admits he did not take interest in becoming a great warrior. The prince prefers to stay in Talokan where he’s comfortable and enjoys time alone. However his loneliness creeps up time to time and he’s entangled in his sister’s schemes and her wishes to sneak out to Wakanda. She would not survive without him. Nor he her.

The prince works with Talokanil priests and shaman where he focuses on being a healer, working with medicine and taking care of crops.

He CAN hunt and knows his way around the “forest” that is the open sea.

One of his and his sister’s favorite activities is playing Pok-a-Tok (“ballgame”), some would say they have mastered this sport but the twins are never satisfied knowing there’s always room for improvement

Uses obsidian blades for bloodletting practices, Talokan knows royal blood is of value and has to be given willingly for the gods to grant him visions when he most needs them. Polished obsidian mirrors may also be used in this process

Very introverted yet wishes to stand out more, to achieve a level of assertion only his sister demonstrates.

The prince is very secretive about his visions, he feels he cannot trust anyone with certain information.

Traits:

Soft-spoken, spiritual, mysterious, clever, sophisticated, strategic, sensitive, intuitive, natural born leader, can seem manipulative

Something still haunts the boy, a vision he saw soon after turning 16. The Talokanil had legends of the old world before they departed towards the sea. It spoke of an eclipse where the moon covered the sun, as if day were night. An omen of destruction, of death that could not go unseen. Even so, the boy told no one. Not his father, the god-king. Not even his sister, the warrior. Especially not her. His visions continued and the more he saw the more he feared. She would be the end of Talokan, the end of an era. But his visions weren’t always right. So is she Chac Chel, destroyer of worlds? Or could she be Talokan’s only hope in salvation?

(Thanks to my Nashuri fam! Love you guys <3 feel free to tell me what yall think 💭)

Click here to read the short story on ao3

Part 2

[sevenoctober7]

#The_brain_at_death. Stony Brook University of Medicine, headquartered in New York, detonated one of the craziest and most exciting post-death science bombs...* *In a scientific study that is the latest and most accurate... its leading researchers found that the brain stops working as soon as death...or minutes after it. This has been known for a long time, but the new study has proven that the brain stops at a rate of approximately 95 percent. It includes all the reaction centers and the main vital centers such as breathing, pulse, movement, etc., but the centers of hearing and vision to be precise. It continues to give signals for long periods after death, exceeding a few hours. The same signals that the same centers give to a living person. The dead person hears us around him very clearly. He sees us around him with complete clarity. But he has become trapped in himself. He has no movement or reactions. .. He cannot respond to you.. He cannot move towards you.. But he sees you and hears you exactly as if he were alive.. Amazing while reading the research.. And with every word and proof... The position of the Messenger of God, may God bless him and grant him peace, reminds me of... The killing of the polytheists at Badr..* *He, may God’s prayers and peace be upon him, stood and called: O Utbah bin Rabi’ah, O Shaybah bin Rabi’ah, O Umayyah bin Khalaf, and O Abu Jahl bin Hisham.. Have you found what your Lord promised to be true? .. For I have found what my Lord promised me to be true..* *Umar said: O Messenger of God, do you call out to a people who have died?!!* *So he, may God’s prayers and peace be upon him, said: By the One in whose hand is my soul, you do not listen to me better than them... except that they do not answer. ..* *I bear witness that you are the Messenger of God..* *In research from the University of Michigan, Dr. Jimo Borjigin confirms that a person moments before death sees unknown things!!!!* *And when the research team monitored the brain activity of a number of people for a moment Death: They found unusual activity in the visual area of ​​the brain..* * Scientists from this university recorded signals using electrodes to measure electrical fluctuations in the brain (Electroencephalogram (EEG)) issued by a number of people during death, and it was found that increased activity in the visual area of ​​the brain indicates... However, the dead person sees amazing things that lead to this activity occurring, but scientists did not know at the time the type of images seen by the person supervising death..* *The fMRI scan images showed increased activity in the visual area, which indicates that the being supervising the death Death sees strange things at the moment of death..* *What kind of things does the dead see???* *This was answered by a later study from the same American University of Michigan.. which fully confirmed that the signals of the visual center in the brain at the moment of death are much stronger than Natural signals..* *And the closeness of the signals given by the visual center in the brain when exposed to a very strong flash. It seems that the dead person sees unnaturally bright objects at that time. He sees them with complete clarity and clarity, which is explained by the strong signals given by the visual center in the brain that There are light waves of high strength and clarity..* *And God Almighty has spoken the truth* *"You were unaware of this, so We removed your cover from you, and your sight became sharp"* *"Surat Q 22"* *It seems that this flashing... is accompanied by strong signals The center of vision in the brain during death... is due to the appearance of very highly luminous beings... in a way that a normal living being cannot see... but only those whose sight today has become iron...* *(We will show them Our signs on the horizons and in themselves until it becomes clear to them that it is the truth. Is it not sufficient for your Lord that He is Witness over all things?) ..* “Fassilat” *Glory be to God..*

‏‎#الدماغ_عند_الموت .

فجرت جامعة ستوني بروك للطب و مقرها نيويورك واحدة من أكثر قنابل علم ما بعد الموت جنونا و إثارة ..*

*ففي دراسة علمية هي الأحدث و الأكثر دقة .. تبين لكبار الباحثين فيها أن المخ يتوقف عن العمل بمجرد الوفاة .. أو بعدها بدقائق .. و هذا كان متعارف عليه منذ زمن .. لكن جديد الدراسة أث��ت أن توقف المخ يكون بنسبة تقارب ٩٥ في المائة .. تشمل كل مراكز رد الفعل و المراكز الحيوية الرئيسية كالتنفس و النبض و الحركة و غيرها .. لكن مراكز السمع والإبصار علي وجه الدقة تستمر في إعطاء إشارات لفترات طويلة بعد الوفاة تجاوزت بضع ساعات .. نفس الإشارات التي تعطيها المراكز نفسها للشخص الحي... الميت يسمعنا حوله بكل وضوح.. يرانا حوله بجلاء تام.. لكنه أصبح حبيس نفسه.. انعدمت عنده الحركة و ردود الفعل... لا يستطيع الرد عليك.. لا يستطيع الحركة تجاهك .. لكنه يراك و يسمعك تماما كما لو كان حيا ..مذهل أثناء قراءة البحث.. و مع كل كلمة و إثبات... يحضرني موقف رسول الله صلي الله عليه و سلم مع قتلي المشركين في بدر ..*

*وقف صلي الله عليه وسلم ينادي : يا عتبة بن ربيعة، ويا شيبة بن ربيعة، ويا أمية بن خلف، ويا أبا جهل بن هشام .. هل وجدتم ما وعد ربكم حقا؟ .. فإني قد وجدت ما وعدني ربي حقا ..*

*فقال عمر : يا رسول الله أتنادي أقواما قد جيفوا؟!!*

*فقال صلي الله عليه وسلم : و الذي نفسي بيده ما أنتم بأسمع لي منهم... غير أنهم لا يجيبون ..*

*أشهد أنك رسول الله ..*

*في بحث من جامعة ميتشيجين University of Michigan تؤكد الدكتورة Jimo Borjigin أن الإنسان قبيل الموت بلحظات يرى أشياء مجهولة!!!!*

*وعندما قام فريق البحث بمراقبة نشاط الدماغ لدى عدد من البشر لحظة الموت وجدوا نشاطاً غير عادي في المنطقة البصرية من الدماغ ..*

*لقد سجل العلماء من هذه الجامعة إشارات بواسطة الأقطاب الكهربائية لقياس تقلّبات الكهربية في الدماغ Electroencephalogram EEG صادرة من عدد من البشر خلال الموت، و تبين أن نشاطاً زائداً في منطقة الإبصار في الدماغ يدل على أن الميت يرى أشياء مذهلة تؤدي لحدوث هذا النشاط، ولكن لم يتعرف العلماء حينها على نوعية الصور التي يراها من يشرف على الموت ..*

*و تبين من صور المسح بالرنين المغنطيسي الوظيفي نشاطاً زائداً في منطقة الإبصار، مما يدل على أن الكائن الذي يشرف على الموت يرى أشياء غريبة لحظة الموت ..*

*ما نوعية الأشياء التي يراها الميت؟؟؟*

*أجابتها دراسة لاحقة لجامعة ميتشيجن الأمريكية ذاتها .. و التي أكدت بشكل تام أن إشارات مركز الإبصار في المخ لحظة الاحتضار تكون بشكل أقوي بكثير جدا من الاشارات الطبيعية ..*

*و تقارب الإشارات التي يعطيها مركز الإبصار في المخ حين التعرض لوميض قوي جدا .. يبدو أن الميت يري حينها أشياء عالية الإضاءة بشكل غير طبيعي .. يراها بوضوح و جلاء تام يفسره الإشارات القوية التي يعطيها مركز الإبصار في المخ بأن هناك موجات ضو��ية عالية القوة و الوضوح ..*

*وصدق الله العظيم*

*" لَّقَدۡ كُنتَ فِی غَفۡلَةࣲ مِّنۡ هَـٰذَا فَكَشَفۡنَا عَنكَ غِطَاۤءَكَ فَبَصَرُكَ ٱلۡیَوۡمَ حَدِیدࣱ"*

*"سوره ق 22"*

*يبدوا أن الوميض هذا.... المصحوب بإشارات قوية جدا لمركز الإبصار في المخ حين الاحتضار... هو لظهور كائنات نورانية عالية الإضاءة جدا... بشكل لا يمكن للكائن الحي العادي أن يراها.. و لكن لا يراها إلا من أصبح بصره اليوم حديد ..*

*(سَنُرِيهِمْ آيَاتِنَا فِي الْآفَاقِ وَفِي أَنْفُسِهِمْ حَتَّىٰ يَتَبَيَّنَ لَهُمْ أَنَّهُ الْحَقُّ ۗ أَوَلَمْ يَكْفِ بِرَبِّكَ أَنَّهُ عَلَىٰ كُلِّ شَيْءٍ شَهِيدٌ) ..*

"فصلت"

*سبحان الله ..*

[xticklemeemox]

The Love You Want: III, Part One

Word Count: 10,003

A03

Masterlist

The Love You Want: I

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Summary:

III wanted to be accepted. Growing up in a small town with backwards views, they knew they would never fit in. Then he was killed, and Sleep came to them and offered him acceptance, wanted him to be their Third. Offered them the chance to love and be loved in return. How could they not accept? Not when Sleep offered him the chance to get to know the two strangers from his past job. The two he was drawn to in a way they had never felt before.

But Vessel is hurt, trapped in his past, and II can't help him on his own. III will force his way into both of their hearts within mere moments, a ray of sunshine that they needed.

Adding III into the mix makes something apparent. They were all bound to fall in love with each other, even if they could feel in their souls that something… someone was still missing. They were destined for it, to love and be loved in return, and no amount of hesitation or fear on Vessel's part could stop the entwining of their souls.

Tags from previous chapters all apply here.

They came to him in a dream as they were teetering on the edge of life and death.

They remembered choking, gasping for breath as their own blood bubbled past his lips as he coughed it up and back on to themself. His chest lit up with fire with every short, wheezing breath, their own blood suffocating him from the inside. His torso had been aflame, burning every nerve as they lay on their side, curled into himself as some sort of protection from the blows that had rained down. Whole lot of good that did them.

They'd called him a freak, an abomination, before kicking their knee in at the back. He didn't remember much after the blow to the side of their head sent stars exploding into his vision. Only the pain as the kicking started, the numbness that spread over his emotions as slurs were being spilled like acid from cruel lips of people with even crueller minds.

The God came to him with a promise of a wish granted as they floated in an expanse of stars. A galaxy lay in front of him, a swirling mass of white flecked beauty and he lay entranced at the sight. There was a presence around him, gentle and loving, voices beginning to speak as though they were right beside them.

"I can grant your wish if you'll become mine, offer your body and soul to me. Spread my message, my existence, to the world through music and I will give you your deepest desire."

"Who are you?" He asks, a little too eager at the thought.

"I am Sleep, though that is not my true name. It is unable to be spoken by your human tongue."

They think upon this answer for only a moment before blurting out their next thought. "Do Gods have pronouns? 'Cause I use he/they and I feel it would disrespectful not to ask for yours."

"You are the first to ask." Sleep comments in amusement, and he feels the God swirl around him like a cold wind though there is no visible presence.

"I find myself partial to being referred to as a he, though whatever my vessels call me is fine as long as it done in respect. I am a God, my pronouns are inconsequential in the face of eternity."

"Then I will use what you prefer." The third affirms with a bright grin and there is a chuckle that is like the booming crash of a waterfall.

"Let me think on it a moment." They state, and the God agrees.

To offer their body and soul to a God he knows nothing about?

He lets them take as long as they need to think over their decision, until finally he comes to a conclusion. Much of his life was spent never accepted by those around them. They grew up thinking they were odd, but despite this, never let the opinions of others beat him down. It was difficult to keep his smile in the face of all that hate, but they managed. Growing up in an adoption home could have been worse. They could have been stuck with abusers, and should be glad they only were emotionally distant. He thinks back to the terror of their schoolyears and the uncertainty of how long he'd manage to keep his current job. He never could seem to keep one for more than a year.

Then he saw those two men in the bookstore. He'd just started the week before and only lasted two weeks in total. Meeting them had been the highlight of his job, of any of his jobs. They were entranced by the two mask wearing cultists with the pretty eyes and prettier smiles. When they showed up one day, they were the talk of the town in a very negative way. Where he lived was small and stuck in the past, so imagine his surprise when two people showed up one day and became the main topic of gossip. It had finally moved off of them and his apparently strange way of dress and who he was fucking. They enjoyed crop tops and skirts as well as fancy modern victorian-esque clothes and patterns. They were always too loud, too much. It was odd, that he wanted to date men, as a man themself.

He only ever wanted to be accepted. For who he is, how they dress, and who they want to love.

"Sleep?" He questions, coming to a decision.

"Yes?"

"You said you'll grant my wish?"

"Yes, of course. You want acceptance, and my other vessels will give you that and more."

"Your other vessels? How many are there?" He asks, curious, waving a hand through a passing star.

It crumbles to dust around their fingers.

"Two others, a third if you accept my offer. Two more, perhaps, but I have not yet decided." Sleep responds.

"Can you show me them? I would be living with them, it can't hurt to see what I'm getting into." They ask, eager and yet trying to stifle it, to appear not so- himself.

"Of course."

The mass of stars and galaxies directly in front of him begin to converge into an image swirling at the edges that hangs a foot away, no bigger than a hall mirror. There's a drumkit being banged mercilessly by a very familiar masked man. He beats at his drumkit with such anger it surprises his onlooker, the song filled with rage.

Its fast paced at first and then slows down to a less angry tone that keeps the fast pace. Subconsciously, they can already imagine just what riff they'd play on his bass to the tune.

The man yells out in anger as one of his sticks breaks, throwing it at the wall next to a beautiful piano that sits closed and untouched, dust beginning to settle on its bench.

"Is he okay? They seemed happy when I saw them at my old job." He asks, as the man stands and begins pacing, rubbing at his eyes as a sniffle reaches the onlookers ears.

"They were happy. My First is isolating himself again. He does not know how to let others love him, and my Second is feeling the brunt of the Firsts silence in presence and in voice."

"I wish I could hug him." They whisper, finding his legs able to move forward, kneeling in front of the floating image.

The Second moves away before he can reach his hand out, leaving the room after turning the light off.

The room changes to one covered in pitch darkness. They squint, struggling to see in the lack of light, the brightness of the universe around him making it more difficult to see into the galactic image floating before them.

"Here, my Third, a taste of the power you could have. If you accept my offer, you will gain this ability once your transformation is complete."

There is a flash of pain in his eyes, overwhelming in its intensity and they crumble, palms digging into their eyesockets. When the pain lessens, he manages to blink his eyes open, breath caught in his throat at the sight before them.

The man with the pretty mask and the smile like living sunshine is sitting on his bed, six eyes dull and lifeless as blood spills from a cut actively being sliced into his arm. He lunges forward as the First goes to make another but their hands pass right through the floating image, tears welling in the onlookers eyes.

"You have to stop him. He doesn't deserve this! He deserves to be happy! I- I hate this. Why would you show me this if I can't help him?" He cries, tears spilling down his cheeks as he kneels, trying in vain even now to stop him as he makes another cut.

"My Vessel has always done this. I will not force him to stop. Actions such as these brought him to me, and he is my most beloved. It is up to the Second, and you, if you accept, to heal his mind and heart."

"You must see him as he is and choose to care for him anyway, as the Second has done. I will not have a vessel who leaves my First, as he was left by everyone he cared for before I came to him."

"He is my most precious creation. I am a flawed being, I know this, and recognize that I have the capacity to lash out in anger much the same as any human would. I am flawed, as everything is, but in my eyes, my First is perfect. You and my Second are perfect, no matter your own flaws."

"I need vessels who will accept me as I am, I need vessels who will accept my First as he is."

He takes in all this information slowly, truly trying to comprehend it all. They never thought a God would so blatantly reveal that they are a flawed being. A flawed being that clearly cares greatly for His creations, his vessels.

"If you will accept me, if the others will accept me..." He starts, changing what they were going to say entirely.

"Something within me calls out to the vessels in a way I've never felt before. My acceptance was already set in stone before you showed me them, but to see them again after my death... I'm meant to be with them in any way they'll have me. I was meant to be yours, too, I think. Accepting you feels right."

"You accept my offer then?" Sleep asks, voices echoing around him.

"Yes. I accept." He affirms resolutely.

Between one blink and the next, the universe around him is gone and replaced with a sandy beach. Waves crash against the shore somewhere nearby, and the sand is grainy against his knees.

He kneels in a circle of white candles. Above them, the moon shines as bright as the sun but does not seem to permeate the space outside of the circle and yet it doesn't touch him even still.

"Offer your blood to me, my third. Every drop of it, so that I can fill your being with my essence."

A decorative plate materializes in front of him, golden in color like the blade of the knife that sits atop it.

"Your blood, my third." Sleep urges, his voice a low croon.

"I will be accepted? Do you swear it?" Their voice wavers, the reality of what he is about to do setting in as he brings the knife to their skin.

Its cold.

"I swear it, my third. You will be accepted, you will be loved."

"Okay."

They dig the knife in. Sharp as it is, it glides smoothly, blood spilling from under its edge and down his arm. From wrist to forearm, a gaping wound is slit. Red blood spills out.

There is a cracking sound, and he looks up, mouth gaping open as the moon above splinters open at the bottom to reveal a gaping maw of sharp teeth and inky tendrils. Six eyes blink open independently and Sleep's voice is a firm command as he tells them to look away for their own safety.

"Did you know I was going to accept your offer?" He asks, blood dripping down from the wounds in his arms.

As they wait for a response, he sits, dizziness making it so that they don't trust their ability to remain standing. Sleep's tendrils reach down to wrap around and around and around his bleeding arms and he grows ever colder.

"I pick my potential vessels very carefully. I will not choose one who will not accept. I am too weak to not get something out of these meetings. This offering of your blood connects your body and soul to me, granting you eternity, connected to my life force, and strengthening my power through the offering itself. I will not even consider one I do not know for certain will not hurt my First. So, yes, I did know you were going to accept. I was drawn to you much the same as I was drawn to my First and Second. Your souls are perfect for my essence."

"I see. I suppose I feel proud that a God was drawn to me." Sleep continues lapping at the blood leaving his body.

"You're perfect, you should be proud. My vessels are all so perfect." Sleeps voices are smooth and reassuring, laced with his love for his vessel.

He gazes up at the expanse of stars above him, carefully avoiding the moon looming at the edges of their vision, the sand soft beneath their body. The gentle flickers of the candlelight in the corner of their vision is soothing, the Gods presence prominent as the tendrils leave his body carefully.

"Eat the apple of Eden, my dear third. Let divinity sate your stomach and accept me into your soul." Sleep urges once more, and he sits up again with some difficulty.

Using their arms to push themselves up causes pain to white their vision, an explosion of dizziness not caused by the bloodloss.

When their vision stops swimming, they notice an apple has appeared on the offering plate. The red skin shines in the candlelight and he reaches forward to pick it up with trembling fingers.

"Eat."

He takes a bite. It tastes of iron and something sweet and rich, and blood spills past his lips and drips down their chin. He licks it away between bites. Divinity settles in his stomach like a leaden weight.

He eats the entire thing, core and all, despite the chewy texture of the core itself. When they pull it away to look, only once, the sight reminds him of something. They continue eating, craving the taste even as what he saw begins to unsettle him.

Licking the blood from their fingers, he realizes that the apple had a faint heartbeat. Nausea swirls in their gut as he realizes the core looked an awful lot like a human heart.

"You will not remember the part of your reasoning being wanting to help my vessels after I'd shown you them. You will not remember being shown them at all. Everything else if for you to keep in your memories. Anything that my First could misconstrue as you not choosing to care for him of your own will, will be erased."

"I understand." He agrees, vision already beginning to blacken around the edges.

"When you awaken, my dear Third, you will be at the edge of my realm. My vessels will be collecting you. Taking you back to their home so you can start your transformation."

"Will it hurt?"

"Yes. You will wish you had died for good but you will survive it, as my other vessels survived it."

There is no time for a response as his mind fades. A name is just on the tip of their tongue. A simple word. They are the Third.

III

III

III

::

III wakes at the edge of a forest on his back, blue eyes blinking open to see a dark sky above him, lit only by the shining silver light of the moon. Whoever they were before that moment ceases to exist. He rolls over and lays there for a moment, struggling to think past the tiredness invading their mind.

A black mask with a white design sits beside them and he clutches it in one hand, attempting to sit up entirely with shaking arms that just can't seem to push up their weight.

Approaching footsteps cause them to look up and he sees II walking towards him with Vessel lingering at the treeline. A wide smile pulls at II's lips as he helps III up, but they notice the red rimmed eyes easily. "Are you okay?" He asks, and II cannot hide the widening of his eyes.

The smile he wears grows a little softer under his mask. "Not really, but it isn't something you can fix. I appreciate you asking though. Have you chosen a name?"

"III, in roman numerals, since I'm the third. The name called out to me after I accepted Sleep." II moves to help them stand, gentle hands gripping each bicep and pulling him up with a strength no man that short should possess.

"Pleasure to meet you, III. I'm II."

"I remember." III grins, warm smile lighting up his face.

"Ah, okay. Let's get you back home." II returns the warmth in III's expression and reaches an arm around to wrap around III's waist, the other arm slinging III's over his shoulder.

Pulling the man closer, they turn towards the treeline where Vessel waits. They meet him at the edge of the forest, where he wraps a large blanket around III's shoulders, tying it off at the front so it won't fall off. Throughout the process he never steps too close, never lets his fingers linger, never says a word. Only inclines his head in greeting with a tiny smile before turning around, fiddling with the long sleeves of his shirt so that they're pulled down to cover his hands.

"I'm sorry about Vessel. He's going through some things right now." II whispers, and III hums in acknowledgement, leaning into II gratefully and keeping an eye on Vessel's back as they walk.

Faced with both of their gazes on his back, Vessel ignores the chill in the air, continuing forward resolutely. He truly didn't mind offering up his hoodie to II, but didn't want to think about it any further for fear the careful calm he was deluding himself into thinking was his reality would crumble away.

With a twitch of his finger, the branches and roots part for their feet. Vessel steps over them, not caring much for his own safety but they move out of his way anyway. Not once through the trip back to the manor do II or III stumble over anything but III's own feet, weakened as they are.

A migraine pounds behind III's eyes, slowly spreading to the rest of their head. Every fractal of moonlight is a dagger to the skull. Wincing for the umpteenth time, III clutches his head as the agony persists.

In an instant, Vessel is at his side, sliding his mask over III's face and fastening the buckles at the back of their head. Darkness falls over his vision, a mesh film materializing over the eye holes, and III breathes a sigh of relief as the pain lessens immediately. The mask is weighty, but not uncomfortably so. It is almost like a comforting weight. If their head did not hurt so badly, he would have used this chance to see Vessel's face.

"Thank you." He murmurs, and there is a gentle touch to their arm, the barest of brushes that III almost could have mistaken for a low hanging branch or II had it not been for the coolness and the brief glance of a claw scraping featherlight against their skin.

Vessel accepts the gratitude he feels from II's side of the bond, his open only a crack. He sends back acceptance and nothing else. He lingers closer as III's steps grow weaker, II carrying more and more of their weight as time passes.

"Sorry." III mutters, and Vessel speaks up only briefly, quiet yet still loud enough to be heard, stilted like he was forcing the words out.

"Don't apologize, II and I were the same way."

"Who helped you?" They ask, head lolling to the side as their words get a little slurred, blinking profusely to combat the dizzying headache still pounding away at their skull.

III cannot see it, but Vessel's lips tighten to hold back the grimace as tears well up at the force of the memories. The pain of the scrapes and bruises and cuts he received on the journey to the manor. The bugs crawling over his skin when he collapsed in the foyer, on his eyes and into his open mouth. The foul taste of the black sludge. The awareness of every change happening to his body, unable to sleep, to close his eyes, to shut off his mind for even a second-

"Ves?" II's gentle tone snaps Vessel out of it.

His head snaps to look at II, six eyes widened and glistening with tears. He paints a smile on his face as II frowns with worried blue eyes.

"I would prefer you didn't ask, I'm sorry."

It wouldn't have hurt II or III any less if he'd admitted to having no one. II could see it in his eyes, in the hunching of his shoulders.

"You don't need to apologize either, Vessel. Unless its something detrimental to your health, I don't expect you to tell me anything you don't want to." II states firmly, pushing sincerity and care down the bond through that crack Vessel left open.

Vessel's smile is only a little more real when he wipes his tears, but he nods anyway and turns back to continue to the house, just a little bit closer than before. II cannot stop the happiness that shoots through him. Vessel spoke again, he looked at II, smiled at him. Its so much progress compared to the last week, compared to earlier that day that II cannot help the wide smile on his face.

"I'm sorry for asking." III manages, and there is the faintest trickle of their regret in the back of II and Vessel's minds.

II murmurs a gentle reassurance, smile dimming as reality hits him again.

Without a word or emotion shared between them, only a glance, Vessel and II come to an agreement. Vessel is at III's other side quickly, taking his other arm and letting their hips brush as they walk. They need to hurry. Their transformation is coming on fast, faster than they thought it would, if they're already beginning to feel the thirds emotions.

With both of them working together, II and Vessel get III back to the manor in record time, even as every brush of their hips together causes Vessel to hold back a wince but he knows he isn't very successful by II's increasingly worried glances.

The only light on in the house is a single lamp in the foyer window, Elvira pawing at the door when they enter. She weaves in and out of II's feet as they begin to make their way to the stairs. As Vessel moves to turn the lamp off, II starts up the stairs with III.

Making it to III's room isn't as difficult when they're not in as much of a hurry. Vessel turns the lamp on at III's bedside and frantically smoothes out an wrinkles in the sheets before II lays the taller man down on the bed. The first thing II does is remove III's sneakers, gaze catching on the multicolor tie dye sock on one foot and the leopard print of the other sock. Then, II begins the careful process of unbuckling the straps of Vessel's mask and pulling it away from III's face. III glances up at II, shielding his eyes with a hand when the light hits him to avoid the brightness. Only II's eyes are visible and yet III smiles, a little delirious. "You're real pretty."

II laughs, brushing a stray strand of blonde curls from III's forehead after setting Vessel's mask down on the nightstand. "Thank you, you're pretty too."

III's smile is wide and blinding before a grimace wipes it off their face, eyes clenching shut in pain. Vessel appears behind II with the blanket that was on III's shoulders from where he'd been lingering by the door. II isn't quite sure when Vessel had removed it or even where it was before this, but is thankful as he drapes it over the foot of the bed. III's eyes go vacant and expression falling slack but before II can panic, Vessel is gently coaxing him out of the room. He protests even as Vessel's hand is cold against his shoulder but so gentle, yet Vessel is insistent in a way II usually doesn't see from the other man.

"Go on, II. I've got him, you go rest." Vessel assures, and II turns back to him at the door.

"No, you need your cuts taken care of. I know you won't do it yourself."

Vessel glances nervously at III, wondering if II can feel the edges of pain beginning to seep under the door that houses III's bond that is still forming. It was not so slow with II and Vessel, but he assumes its a slower change since it was an eventuality instead of a surprise gift like before.

Vessel does not want III to be in pain for long, as the bond lacks that fuzzy feeling it gets when II sleeps. III is very much awake right now, and experiencing every agony of the transformation. If Vessel goes along with II's request instead of arguing or trying to change the subject, then Vessel can get back to III faster to put them to sleep.

"Okay." Vessel agrees quietly, and blushes at II's surprised but pleased expression that he tries to keep off his face, but can't manage to keep from the bond.

"Okay! Okay, good, uh. Let's head downstairs for the first aid kit in the bathroom."

Vessel nods, hands clasping a forearm each to hide the shake of anxiety. He doesn't want to see the look on II's face when sees what Vessel has done to himself.

When II doesn't move, Vessel looks up from the floor where he was watching II's feet to follow. The nervous expression on II's face is endearing but also floods Vessel with guilt. His hand is outstretched in a silent offering, and Vessel can't bring himself to kill the tentative hope over the bond and reaches his hand out. II takes it with both hands with a smile, giving a gentle squeeze before dropping one hand and keep hold with the other.

II leads him down to the bathroom, hand warm in Vessel's perpetually cold one and Vessel takes comfort in the touch when he knows he shouldn't. When he knows he doesn't deserve even a kind glance as he is still closing himself off from II after he'd finally been opening up to the shorter man.

II turns the light on and apologizes when Vessel winces from the sudden brightness, forgetting he wasn't wearing his mask. Vessel had accidentally left it sitting on III's nightstand and didn't realize til now, still stuck with his habits he's gained from living with II when his mind is not all there. II gestures to the bathroom counter for Vessel to sit, pulling out the first aid kit.

Vessel does and conceals his strained amusement when II steps up close and isn't quite up to Vessel's shoulder in height. II asks Vessel to remove his long-sleeve shirt and frowns when the hastily done band-aids are revealed. "Band-aids, Ves? You know those just exacerbate your wounds."

Vessel doesnt say anything, only avoids II's gaze. He doesn't even try to stifle his winces and hisses of pain when II, as gently and with as much care as he can, peels the band-aids from Vessel's cuts. Scabs pull up with the adhesive parts and II notices Vessel cleaned them, at least. There are no traces of dried blood around the edges of these, at least.

"I'm proud of you for cleaning them though."

Vessel frowns at II's words, a blush of embarrassment and happiness coating his cheeks regardless of the turmoil inside him. II shouldn't be proud of Vessel at all.

"Do you know why I'm proud of you?" II asks as he begins cleaning the cuts and putting antibiotic ointment over them.

Vessel shakes his head and refuses to look at II. "Can you look at me for just a moment? Please, Ves?"

Vessel forces his gaze to meet II's and is struck by the tenderness there, the sadness hidden further in his irises. "I'm proud of you because you tried cleaning them at all. When I met you, no, even up until a few months ago, you never would have done anything to make the pain easier on yourself. This is progress, even if you don't think so."

"But I haven't stopped cutting. I can't. I don't want to. I forced myself to do even that much with them." Vessel whispers, loud in the silence of the bathroom.

"Progress is progress, even if it's only a little bit. I'm proud of you for showing any amount of growth, and I'll still be proud of you if your progress hits a downward slope." II states, gentle but firm, as he wraps long strips of gauze around Vessel's forearms.

Vessel can't stop his tears from falling at II's words, cannot speak through the lump in his throat. He wants to sob, to break down and tell II how much he loves him. Tell him how confused he is by the constant support and care.

But Vessel is afraid. He has always been afraid and it is something he's not sure he will ever have the courage to move past.

And Vessel is guilty. So guilty. Its smothering him. He knows II's pride in him is misplaced because Vessel only agreed to this in order to get back to III faster where he can secretly keep putting them to sleep during their transformation.

All he can do is send his thankfulness down the bond, to try and keep his self-loathing from overtaking it. He could not cry loudly if he wanted to, and he does. He wants to be able to let out his pain that way, but every command to 'be quiet!,' 'stop crying so fucking loudly!,' and 'Shut it, crybaby.' is like a noose of thorns around his throat.

II would give anything to hug Vessel, to do more than take his hand in his and use his other to wipe the golden tears from Vessel's cheeks. II knows better than to even ask, knowing Vessel's answer would be a refusal.

When Vessel's tears have abated somewhat, II backs away a couple steps, keeping his hand in Vessel's for the time being. "Is there anywhere else?" He asks, leveling his eyes on Vessel's form and scanning him over like he can see through the taller man's clothes.

Vessel nods reluctantly, replying quieter than usual, "Um, my hips. And thighs."

"Is it alright if I bandage them too?"

Vessel only nods in response and begins awkwardly removing his clothes, leaving him in his boxers and socks. II doesn't let the sight outwardly faze him. He's seen Vessel like this before and its only ever been for situations like this, never for anything more intimate. Vessel's body is gorgeous even though his cuts and scars make II sad.

Vessel does not tell II about the cuts on his ankles, they were small and did not need any attention. They would be perfectly fine if left alone.

There are a multitude of cuts from the edges of his boxers down about half of his thigh, as well as over his hips and down onto the sides of his thighs that are shallower than the ones on his arms and legs. The cold of the countertop sends shiver down his spine that he tries to control. "Alright if I touch you?" II asks and Vessel nods less hesitantly this time.

II has never done anything untoward, his touches never even hinting at anything more intimate and its easier for Vessel to trust him. Aside from that, its to the point they've both had experience with II bandaging Vessel's legs and hips. There is no room for much awkwardness, not when the only thing to be shown here during these moments is care.

The antiseptic stings worse than on his arms as II starts with his hips, moving the waistband and bottom hemming of Vessels boxers up and down enough to make sure he cleans each cut. The thick, square bandages go over the ones on his hips, then II carefully wraps gauze around his thighs.

"I'm sorry it hurt, but thank you for letting me do this." II smiles and Vessel manages to lift his lips into one a bit smaller but as genuine as he can manage. "I feel better knowing they're taken care of."

"Thank you. For... For taking care of me. I don't deserve it." Vessel whispers, voice fading out as his throat closes up with anxiety.

II takes his hand again, raising it to his lips and placing a soft kiss against his middle knuckle. Vessel's six eyes are caught on II's form, one pair tracking his lips, another his eyes, and the bottom pair his hands. The blush on his face deepens.

"You deserve the world. I'll take care of you for as long as you'll let me. You take care of me, even if you think I don't notice the little things. Thank you for making III's bed earlier."

"Was nothing." Vessel smiles, embarrassed II brought it up, as he puts his shirt back on.

He didn't think the other man had noticed, and somewhere inside Vessel preened at the praise, at how II had noticed.

"I'm going to head to bed, this day has been... exhausting." II starts, and Vessel's bond fills with guilt that he shuts down quickly. "Its not your fault though. I don't want you to blame yourself for anything. I'm always glad to help you."

He couldn't even last the night before he broke his conviction to push II away before II could break his heart. It was killing Vessel to do it in the first place but... he couldn't help it.

II didn't truly love him. No one did and no one will. He's too broken. But Vessel shut down anyway at the fragile hope that had filled his veins at II's words, at the fragmenting of his soul when he was struck with the memories of all his past relationships.

Vessel is a man lost in the ocean of his past, caught in the middle of a hurricane where the calm is nothing but an illusion. The moment II said those words, it was like a switch had flipped in Vessel's mind and he couldn't stop picturing the faceless bodies of his past partners. It was a struggle to stop picturing II's face as their actions haunted him. II didn't deserve that, and Vessel would never, ever tell him. Somewhere deep inside, Vessel couldn't picture II ever hurting him like they did, but he thought the same of his past partners and they tore him to shreds. His mind and heart were at war and there would be no end to the turmoil any time soon.

They said they'd loved him too.

"Wake me, Vessel. Promise you'll wake me. I will not let you wear yourself thin when I am perfectly capable of watching over III as well." II's voice brings Vessel out of his own head,

Vessel nods, not trusting himself to be able to speak. Already that lump that had been in his throat since II said he loved him was reforming, and he could feel his ability to talk diminishing by the second. He'd gotten too lost in his head again and dredged up things he'd rather not remember.

Vessel reaches up with his free hand and taps his throat while shaking his head side to side, and II nods in acknowledgement while still keeping the gentle smile.

"Okay. No talking then. Thank you for letting me know this time. I- it hurt when you ignored me, but I understand it to a point. Was it the same thing as right now?"

Vessel nods, grateful to II for understanding even as the vulnerability of being known unsettles him and makes the lump in his throat even worse.

"Tell me next time, please, so I don't have the chance to work myself up into a frenzy of worry." II's tone takes on a hint of forced amusement, trying to lighten up the despair creeping into Vessel's eyes.

Vessel cannot meet II's gaze as the thought that he had ignored II intentionally persists.

"Goodnight Vessel. I- I... Goodnight." With a mere quirk of his lip in a shadow of a smile, II leaves the bathroom after a gentle squeeze to Vessel's hand.

Vessel sits there for a few minutes, lost in thought before getting up and heading to III's room. His pain is stronger now as their body settles further and further into the transformation process, muted though with Vessel's own bond off. Looking down at their vacant expression unsettles Vessel to the bone even as he loses himself in their beauty.

III is pretty, so, so pretty. Eyes like deep ocean waters and a pretty smile like the sun. Of course II would be enchanted. Vessel does not let himself linger too long on the jealousy swirling in his gut as he brings a careful claw to III's temple.

Vessel had held out hope up until this point that Sleep would listen to Vessel and let III sleep like They should've let II, but clearly that hope has been dashed.

Putting III to sleep is easy, like second nature at this point, and yet it still makes Vessel violently ill. He runs to the trashcan near III's bed, barely managing to bend over it before black sludge spews from his lips and he begins a coughing fit. His chest aches with every rough exhale, like glass has made a home in his lungs. Its different than before, and Vessel wonders if this will cause even more changes in his body.

When he pulls himself up and wipes his mouth on his sleeve, he heads back over to the bed. III's eyes have fallen shut and their bond is fuzzy with sleep, the faint tickle of a dream niggling at the back of Vessel's mind. With his ability to sense and eat nightmares, came the power to sense dreams as well. He wonders if he could see them as he does nightmares, but will not even attempt anything like what he does with II's nightmares.

He moves to sit on the edge of the bed, brushing a stray curl from III's face. A finger traces a small circle around the beauty mark near their eye. Beautiful.

Vessel pulls his hand back quickly, standing as he slips his mask back on, buckling it at the back of his head like always. The mesh around the eyes disappear with barely a thought and Vessel can see without anything blocking most of his vision.

II's door is open when he passes, footsteps silent in the hallway, and Vessel can't help but peek in. II is curled up around a large pillow, snoring softly and looking absolutely adorable with the covers kicked off. It brings a smile to his face, both the sight and the way II has continued to leave his door open for Vessel. Every day since Vessel went silent, II had left his door open. Sometimes, when Vessel was sure he was asleep, he would sit in the hallway, just close enough to hear II's snoring. The familiar noise helped him relax, calmed him enough so he could write. Elvira would come visit him if she noticed Vessel was sitting outside, rubbing against his side and batting at his pencil as he tried to write. She was a cute little thing, a memace sometimes, sure, but Vessel had come to care for her as his own pet since II had come to live in the manor.

Vessel couldn't bring himself to enter, not when every atom in his being knew that when III's transformation was over, II would move on from him. No matter what the other says. Vessel was used to empty promises.

Sometimes, he thought he really could believe that II would stay. In moments where II asks about the book Vessel is reading, when he listens, even as Vessel gets excited and begins rambling, never too loud. Asks him to continue, when he goes quiet as fear strikes that he annoyed II, going as far as to remind him of where he was when he last spoke.

When II will ask to hold his hand, or tuck a strand of Vessel's hair behind his pointed ear, pull it back in a half-up, half-down ponytail to keep it out of Vessel's face while he works at the piano. When II will bring him one of his own favorite snacks, knowing that Vessel doesn't need to eat but sometimes likes to enjoy the taste of too-sweet chocolate anyway.

Vessel shakes his head, holding his arms close as he enters his room for a blanket and a book, navigating the stacks that still litter his floor with ease. There are fewer now, at II's insistence, but Vessel doesn't care to organize them or take them downstairs so here they stay.

Back in III's room, Vessel settles down at the foot of the bed, leaned against the wall, legs curled close to him with only the moon shining through the curtains for company. Sleep's presence lingers in the back of his mind, distracted with III's transformation and Vessel knows the God will not be bothering him for at least a couple weeks, busy as they are. Vessel cannot help the relief, though he always loved to see his god, to be near the one being Vessel knew without a doubt loved him, even if that love won't last. Not when They are gathering more vessels. A rag and bowl of water is set to the side on the nightstand, beside III's mask, to wipe the sweat from the fever burning under III's skin.

Both II and III's presences are fuzzy with sleep, peaceful as the expression on III's visage, and Vessel picks up his book to read in the low light, bookmark laid on his thigh.

::

The days pass much the same as they did during II's transformation, but Vessel is not alone, this time. He wakes II that next morning just as he'd asked and goes to relax at his piano with a song in mind, trying in vain to ignore the tiredness etched into the tense line of his hunched shoulders. Where before II had as much supervision as Vessel could manage between his oncoming sickness from using a power that wasn't his and the anxiety that something was going to go wrong, II was a steadfast presence at his side. Vessel still couldn't speak, words caught in his chest with no chance of escaping, but II understood, using gestures and emotions to get responses from Vessel.

Their bond with III steadily formed with every passing day. II was entranced each day he entered III's room to see more and more black covering up III's forearms, with a single spot on the palm of each hand was a question mark symbol, a bright red color. Every time III would begin to wake, Vessel was always quick to go to them, brush a curl behind their ear and wipe the tears of pain that slipped from their closed eyes. Vessel was not always close when III would wake, sometimes II would reach him first and Vessel would go into III's room and see the softest expression on II's face as he soothed the other as best as he could. Held their hand and wiped sweat from their forehead. Whispered words of comfort much like Vessel would murmur as he put them back to sleep.

II was better at comforting III than he was, and in some strange way, that too, made Vessel jealous. He had been entranced with III much the same as he'd been entranced with II upon first glance.

He wonders how much of a fool, how much of a shit person it made him, to be so envious of a sick person and their caretaker at the same time.

Vessel hated it when he didn't get to III first. He was filled with such envy at the expression of care on II's face. He was filled with envy at the way II was able to hold III so close, while Vessel didn't dare. The guilt of feeling that jealousy ate at him from the inside.

He wanted II to look at him that way, even if he knows he doesn't deserve it.

Vessel hated when II was with III before he could put them back to sleep. III always woke in agony, and both of them could feel it. Something within Vessel did not want II to know about his new abilities, abilities not gifted to him, abilities he took for his own. He was afraid of what II would think of him if he knew that Vessel could put him to sleep at will, could eat the nightmares in his mind and be privy to parts of II's past that he may not want Vessel to see.

So Vessel waited for a moment II was not looking at III, a moment where it could be considered III just passing out from pain as their bond raged with wrongness, for one of them to be in such agony. Vessel always had to excuse himself for a while after discreetly putting III to sleep, making a run for his room and the trash can inside it to puke up his guts and cry from the pain of the migraine using Sleep's power causes.

Divinity flows through his veins and he feels his connection to Sleep growing stronger, something he didn't think was possible since he was already their First. He locks himself in his room as his body runs a light fever, eyes feeling warm in his head as he cries, rubbing them away roughly.

II knocks on his door some time later and Vessel gets up from his spot on the floor, leaned against his bed. He wipes his golden tears on an old shirt and slips on his mask, meeting II at the door with a small, shaky smile. Vessel has a job to do, to watch over III and make sure they don't feel any of the pain he had. If Vessel could take II's week long agony during his transformation and give that torment to himself, then he would in a heartbeat without even a moment of hesitation. He wouldn't wish that torture on anyone, but most certainly not the man he loves.

Vessel and II try their best to keep III off his back for the most part, on their sides where black sludge could drip out of his mouth without worry of him strangling. They keep him in clean clothes, using Vessel's shirts and pajama bottoms since his size fits them best. Vessel, when he knows II is asleep and his voice cooperates, will read to III from his books, voice barely above a whisper, cracking and hoarse as he goes over the different flower meanings again. Most days, he can't even manage that and it fills him with such frustration at himself, hating that even when the object of his silence isn't near, his voice still fails him.

Secretly, Vessel hopes III would explain more if he asked. There are so many different meanings for the same flowers and Vessel wants to learn more, but refuses to leave the forest until III's transformation is over. Someone has to watch him, and Vessel can't force himself into a store on his own, not anymore with the mask. With the eyes. Even if they're not easily visible with his mask, just having them will make him too anxious to even get out of the car unless II is with him. He will constantly feel like every eye in the room was on him with every miniscule movement.

II is filled with worry most days. If its not his worry for III and the startling agony that assaults their bond when the other wakes up intermittently, its Vessel and the empty void where the bond should sit. Not once has he left it open, not even a crack, much like his door every night. Vessel is most often in III's room, keeping a watchful vigilance over them as their body changes. Vessel will wake II in the mornings, and II will watch over III until the evenings where they will stir, their bond alerting the two vessels that he is waking, and Vessel will appear to take over watch duty again. It becomes something of a routine, to take care of III and navigate Vessel's silence. II finds a bit of enjoyment in watching the transformation into a vessel of Sleep, the black slowly crawling over III's arms, the slow bleed of black over the white of their sclera, a little more covered with every waking.

II misses Vessel's voice. Misses hearing him sing quietly to himself in the practice room. Misses the soft spoken good morning and goodnight he would receive every day, before II ruined everything by telling Vessel he loved him. When Vessel could speak, when III first arrived, II wonders if Vessel not bringing up those three little words was a rejection, fear, or indifference. Based on that last spark of tidalwave of emotion he felt before Vessel has locked himself away in his room, it was fear, all consuming terror. But is Vessel afraid of II, or the love he has for Vessel?

III often wakes with a mind full of cotton. He is aware that things are different about them each time, something new happening to their body while he sleeps. He is never awake long enough to think past the agony of an active mind in a body overcome with pain. As the time between each waking grows shorter, III becomes more aware of the things going on around them. If he is alone, it is never for long. Usually, it is Vessel with him first but when the other man sees that III is becoming more aware each time, it is II who greets III with a smile as they open their eyes. When he can manage one back, groggy and tired as Vessel's form looms in the background, it widens as II's face lights up, smile splitting into a lopsided grin.

III can't think past how beautiful II is, wants to tell him so badly, but their throat is dry and there is still pain beginning to creep up behind their eyes, in their veins.

III wonders if he's dreaming, but knows their imagination could never conjure up a face to put behind II's mask.

"Do you see that Ves? They're smiling! The bond is awake. Does this mean their transformation is over?" II exclaims, bringing III's hand up to squeeze gently closer to his face.

There is something III can feel. It feels happy, but... not like it is their happiness. Its clear, bright,

Vessel moves closer, mask hiding his expression, but there is a small, strained smile pulling at one corner of his lips as he shakes his head 'no.' If III were more awake, less tired and not still working through a migraine, he might have wondered why Vessel didn't speak.

Vessel opens his mouth, hoping he can force some words out but can't manage a sound. Shaking his head in disappointment with himself, he scribbles out a note on the notepad he has taken to carrying with him.

'No, another week. Maybe less.'

Exhausted, III feels their disappointment mutely, unable to properly feel it past their tiredness. He's tired of the grogginess, the pain, when they wake. He wants this to end.

"Shit, okay. Would you like anything to eat since you're awake for now?" II asks, and Vessel wants to stop him, to make an excuse for II to leave so III can rest again.

But Vessel knows that those two need food (though not as often as they used to as humans), unlike himself, and III hasn't been able to eat anything for a few weeks now.

"Please." III squints, slow, sluggish movements bringing his arm up to cover his eyes.

The sclera is almost entirely black now, only a small sliver of white around the outer ring of their iris. The beauty mark by their eye has changed shape somewhat, Vessel notices as he moves forward to take II's place when the shorter man leaves to get III some food. Upon closer inspection, the little freckle has turned into an upside down question mark, much like the ones on the palm of III's hands.

III reaches out weakly, a hand moving towards Vessel's where he sits on the edge beside the third. Vessel, not giving himself the chance to second guess it, takes III's hand in his own and gives it a gentle squeeze before beginning to rub soothing circles into the palm. III grins, though it has a pained edge.

Nothing will come out when Vessel tries to tell III how sorry he is that the other is in pain right now, guilt causing tears to well in his eyes and his lips to press together.

III cannot look away from Vessel, cannot stop glancing between his hair, his pretty, delicately pointed ears, and the red rubies of his eyes that they can glimpse through the mask, the shimmer of gold that surrounds them.

"Pretty." III says, a blush battling with the fever over which could make their face more red.

Vessel laughs insecurely, a silent thing that doesn't make a sound, only a huff of air, shaking his head. He turns his head away, reaching for the buckles at the back to lift the mask from his face. Vessel uses his sleeve to wipe the golden tears from his face, then the inside of the mask, face hidden from III's view.

III wants to see him, to know what he looks like. He wants to catch a glimpse behind the mask that guards him from the world. III knows he's pretty, no matter what Vessel actually looks like. His smile is pretty, and his voice, and III can tell in his own soul that Vessel is radiant.

He remembers vague flashes of memories, of Vessel's soft voice as he read some sort of informational text on chemistry to them when he was lucid enough to understand any of the words coming out of Vessel's mouth. Even hurting, III wanted desperately to listen to the sound of Vessel's voice. It was alluring, and it had been even before they became a vessel.

III was drawn to them, II and Vessel both. To Sleep.

III frowns, and pulls Vessel's hand with their own. Vessel turns to look at them as he does his mask back on.

"You're radiant." III insists, and while they, somehow, can tell that Vessel doesn't believe him, is content with the small smile that pulls at one side of Vessel's mouth.

III can't look away from the blush turning Vessel red to the tips of his pointed ears and from that moment on, III vows to do anything in their power to make Vessel blush constantly.

Shaking his head, Vessel motions at himself, before nodding as he lays a careful hand on III's chest. Their heart beats fast under his fingertips and Vessel wants to be able to tell III himself.

If anyone were radiant, as bright as the sun, it is III. Vessel knew it the moment he laid eyes on them in that quaint little bookstore what feels like ages ago.

III keeps their grin but says nothing more, content to watch Vessel as the other looks anywhere but back at them. He randomly squeezes Vessel's hand every few moments while they wait for II, and Vessel squeezes back, gentler, as though too much force will shatter their hand in his.

When II returns, Vessel moves to stand by the foot of the bed. As his hand leaves III's, they let out a wounded noise, disappointment traveling down their bond. Vessel wonders if III even knows they can feel him like that, wonders what their reaction will be when II inevitably explains.

III devours the sandwich given to them, and chugs down the water bottle and II, when asked, helps them down to the restroom in a slow process that is comprised of II doing most of the work. Vessel follows, just in case, and hates the sad look in II's eyes the reflects the emotion in the bond when Vessel rejects the offer of a hand hold. No matter how he wants to take the offer.

When they get III back to their bed, Vessel struggles to come up with an excuse to send II away so that he can put them back to sleep. Their pain had been manageable up to this point only due to their need for sustenance, and Vessel can feel that their migraine, the aching of their bones, is no longer so ignorable.

"Hurts." They mutter, as II tucks them in.

"I know, I'm sorry. Ves said it should be over soon. You'll just have to sleep it off." II soothes, stroking III's cheek with a soft look.

"'Kay." They murmur, closing their eyes in a grimace.

Vessel taps II's shoulder, showing him the notepad and what he'd written.

'Make yourself some food. I'll watch them.'

II nods as he moves away from III, already making his way to the door as he speaks. "Yeah, okay, I'll- I'll be back. I haven't eaten in a few days anyway."

Vessel is glad II didn't question him this time. It makes this easier. When II's footsteps fade entirely, Vessel takes his place at III's side and without even a moment of hesitation, places a claw on their temple. III's eyes open at the touch, but fall closed quickly as Sleep's power works its magic. If Vessel's heart were in his chest, it would have stopped at the trusting expression laced with confusion when III saw Vessel looming above him.

Vessel cannot handle his guilt, the hate for himself, or the overwhelming sensation to puke up his guts. He escapes to his room with a final glance at III and their peaceful expression, glad at least to give them that. His door is locked securely and Vessel wastes no time tripping over his books to hunch over his trash can while foul black sludge claws its way up his throat and out his mouth. Tears fall freely into his mask, his hair becoming a mess.

Vessel thinks II might pull it back for him, if he were to ask. He won't ask. Won't explain why he is throwing up, what he has done. Why this happens to him.

There's only about a week left until III wakes fully, for the last time, and is truly born anew as the third vessel of Sleep. Vessel knows it isn't long now until II leaves him for III, and then, when Sleep realizes that they're better suited to be their vessels, tosses him aside, too. Everyone he has ever loved has left him after shattering his heart beneath their feet after it was given so freely.

Vessel would never be worthy of any of their care, anyway.

When II knocks at his door some time later, he ignores it. He lays in bed, holding a shaking hand to a bleeding wrist as he sobs, keeping him movement small, silent, and gaze blank like the dead. He can feel II's worry and hates that he is the cause, but he will not rise. Does not want to witness the care and the sadness that will fall like a veil over II's pretty blue eyes. He is not worthy of II's care or his tears or the gentle touch of his hands as he smiles so prettily at Vessel like he's worth something.

He is not worthy.

[chaosprinceundivided]

The Layers of Godhood

Jaz'mahnn was silent a moment. He had stepped into a grove that cut between reality and the Realms of Chaos beyond. A few of his ignorant followers did not have the animal instinct and when they stepped at his heel, they were suddenly fine mists of gore that rippled from deep crimson to soft pink and purples. Their former existence turning into a perfume that made the rest of the mortals gasp, swoon and stink of intrigued fear.

The daemon slowly turned. He was not in the elven forest anymore. He was in the infinity of space. The canvas of the gods' boundlessness but whic-

"Ah."

A voice spoke from the beyond and within perception. Jaz'mahnn's ears perked and he swept in a graceful bow. His eyes casted to the unseen floor, he could hear the swishes of great tails swaying. The slow, bone-tapping, clicks of claws delicately moving. Something - Someone - loomed just at the edge of the swallowing darkness, outlined by the trillions of distant stars and celestial bodies. They swirled and shaped with two great eyes that mirrored the great howling maelstorm of terror incarnate. The swallowing scar of an primodial empire long devoured by a newborn god.

"Silverspine, what are you doing here?" The voice, a gentle conqueror's purr married with a underlying widow's knife-keen hiss, questioned in curiosity.

"Forgive me, My Most Beautiful of Orators. I seemed to have stepped within your talon's carving. Within the Elfish Forest of Laurelorn." The Exalted Keeper noted. There was a moment as One of Slaanesh's Favoured seemed to percieve the words spoken and place given. The Fox-King was here, but not. This was a yawning expression that happened to rest, a waiting threat within the forest elves' realm.

A constant beacon of temptation that corrupted in the most subtle ways, stoking the elves' already sinful pride into ways that brought a constant animosity to races that could have been their allies a long time ago. How it unintentionally fed the Fox, and the Dark Prince through him.

Finally, there was a tittering giggle of a child. Then it turned into a dark ripple that made the stars wink celestial tears. A great tongue, flickering of nine flayed scars with crystalline worlds swirling with the soulstuff of trillions of little victims to forever entertain their devourer till their senses of self were no more. This greater expression of their deprived divine spoke,

"I shall not take it, for there is none to apologize. You come onto me by mere accident and fortune favours thee. For I am aspiration manifest. Grant me the souls of the Lady's Favoured. Bring them onto me screaming and kicking. Fill my nostrils with burning wood that had lived since the cry of the first man. Allure my ears with the agonies of elves thought eternal, my Disciple."

The Fox purred and stars died.

"As you desire, Honoured Six."

"It is what They desire, can you sense them?" The Fox slowly reared and upon the brow of the cosmo, a great visage loomed with a mother's smile. And they felt the most blissful pain and agonizing love that sent Jaz'mahnn spiralling back into the Realm of Mortals. When they returned, the physical form they wore twitched with the taste of ichor drippling from their nostrils, and his hands wet with gore. Around them, some of their soft-skinned herd was brutalized so beautifully. Tethers of flesh hanging off clawtips. Intestines drapping from branches already turning into carapace. Trees forming moaning faces. The remaining marauders bowed low, praying at his feet with their shamans praising him for the vision provided. Even as they mutated from the beauty of Slaanesh.

The General looked at one of them and pointed. Through them, Slaanesh gave an abundance of power to the shaman. The shape of a feeble man growing, twisting and lengthening with a howl of agony and power.

Lourelorn shall burn, so decreed the Prince of Princes.

[starryknight-dragonarts]

I Love Bionicle. I got my first set when I was 4, it was a big deal for me growing up, and still over a decade since it ended my love for the series has grown deeper, and it all started with 6 heroes - 1 Destiny  Toa of Fire: Tahu Tahu is the courageous leader of the Toa Mata, as well as the fiercest warrior among them. Early on he was known to have a hothead and a flaming temper often leaping into conflicts and clashing with Kopaka, however he also cares deeply about all of his comrades and fears leading them into a situation they weren't ready for. Primary Mask: Hau (Mask of Shielding) His mask allows him to project force fields to protect himself and those close by Toa of Water: Gali Gali is wise and considered the most peaceful of the Toa looking to solve most conflicts with diplomacy if possible however while not as often outwardly expressed as Tahu or Kopaka she does have a temper as seen when she completely destroyed the entire Island of Karzahni! This is unrivaled as the biggest feat of power done by any Toa ever! Don't fuck with Gali! Primary Mask: Kaukau (Mask of Waterbreathing) Despite being the master of the element, she can no more breath water than Onua can breath while buried alive in earth, her mask however allows her to stay submerged and resist the pressure of the deep. Toa of Air: Lewa Lewa is adventurous, fun loving, impulsive, and often used humor to help lighten even the darkest of situations. Like Tahu and Kopaka he originally preferred to work alone but his impulsive nature tended to get him in danger one too many times. Also he has a tendency to speak in a form of slang called "Treespeak" where he would combine words. Primary Mask: Miru (Mask of Levitation) His Mask makes him nearly weightless and allows him to leap exceptionally large distances or slow his falls. Toa of Ice: Kopaka Kopaka is the Lancer of the team second in command and rival of Tahu preferring to strictly do things solo than being with people. He is cold, serious, and analytical, but beneath his frigid exterior he's a loyal guardian with a caring heart and will risk everything to protect his comrades. While he won't say it out loud most of the time Pohatu is his best friend and he openly expressed emotion when he thought Pohatu was dead. Primary Mask: Akaku (Mask of X-ray vision) His mask allows him to see through solid objects. Toa of Stone: Pohatu Pohatu is the friendliest of the toa, a reliable teammate, generally easygoing, and has a good sense of humor. Pohatu is a people person, basically everybody really likes him, including Kopaka. Pohatu was also a fierce fighter, especially when he felt the weak were being threatened and unlike his companions didn't need to carry a weapon opting to beat enemies with swift powerful kicks! Primary Mask: Kakama (Mask of Speed) His mask allows him to run at blinding speeds Toa of Earth: Onua Onua is wise, simple, and quiet, often part of the group but didn't feel the need to interject against the other Toa, however if he ever did speak up it was because he had something important to say and the other Toa know to listen when Onua speaks. Primary Mask: Pakari (Mask of Strength) His mask grants him unparalleled brute strength. And their Destiny, to Defeat Makuta Teridax: The Lord of Shadows Early in the series The Makuta is presented as something like a Dark God or an eldritch entity who is the equal opposite of Mata Nui. Where Mata Nui represents all good things like Life, Peace, and Creation, the Makuta is spoken of in whispers and believed to exist wherever destruction and tragedy has taken place, in the minds of those who have been driven mad, and watching from every shadow. When the Toa confront him he compares himself to the Void, something incoprehendaple and ever present that can not simply be destroyed. Later it's revealed that it's not technically true, for one The Makuta is not one entity but a species and this particular Makuta is called Teridax but he still carries the presence of being the Bionicle Universe version of Satan, a betrayer and a sociopath who's playing the long game towards his ultimate goal and may even take a technical loss discarding his body in order to further his plans for the world, but if he has to fight for real he is an absolute Monster!

[sinvulkt-moeta]

I felt my body growing weaker and weaker as I lay on the cold stone floor, my vision blurring and my breaths becoming shallower. I knew that I was close to death, and despite my Jedi training, I was filled with a sense of fear and uncertainty. I was not ready to leave this world, not yet. But as the darkness threatened to swallow me whole, I felt a strange sense of peace wash over me.

Suddenly, I was no longer in the temple. I was standing in a vast, dark void, with nothing around me but emptiness. At first, I thought that I had died and that this was the afterlife. But then I saw him - a figure in black robes, with a pale, skeletal face and eyes that seemed to glow with an eerie light.

It was the God of Death.

I felt a shiver run down my spine as I realized where I was. I had heard stories of Jedi who had encountered the God of Death before, but I had always assumed they were just legends. Yet here I was, face-to-face with the deity who ruled over the realm of the dead.

"Why have you brought me here?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

The God of Death regarded me with those cold, unfeeling eyes. "You are close to death, Sinvulkt," he said. "Your time in the mortal realm is coming to an end."

I felt a surge of panic rise up in my chest. I wasn't ready to die. There was still so much that I wanted to do, so much that I wanted to see.

"Please," I said, falling to my knees. "I'm not ready. There's still so much that I need to do."

The God of Death regarded me for a moment longer before speaking again. "Very well," he said. "I will grant your request. But know this - you are only delaying the inevitable. Your time will come, as it does for all mortals."

With those words, I felt a sudden jolt, and then I was back in the temple, gasping for air as I struggled to cling to life. But the God of Death's parting words lingered in my mind, chilling me to the core.

"Why should I regret letting one soul go, when I stand to gain so many more in return?"

It was a sobering thought, and one that stayed with me long after I recovered from my near-death experience. I knew that I had been given a second chance, but I also knew that my time in this world was limited. And so, I resolved to make the most of the time I had left, to live every moment to the fullest and to make a difference in the galaxy while I still could.

For I knew that when the God of Death came for me once more, I wanted to be able to look him in the eye and say that I had done all that I could with the time that I had been given.

★   ☆  ★ ☆★ ꒰ঌWaking up໒꒱ ★☆ ★  ☆  ★

I woke up to the sound of my own gasps, my heart pounding in my chest as I tried to make sense of what had just happened. I had been on the brink of death, facing down the God of Death himself, and somehow, I had been granted a reprieve. But at what cost?

I shuddered as I remembered the chilling words that had been spoken to me before I was sent back to the world of the living. "Why should I regret letting one soul go, when I stand to gain so many more in return?"

What did it mean? Was my life nothing more than a pawn in some cosmic game of life and death? Was I only alive because it served some greater purpose for the God of Death?

I tried to shake off the fear and uncertainty that was gripping me, taking deep breaths to calm myself down. But the memory of that encounter lingered, haunting me long after the adrenaline had faded.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was somehow marked by the experience. I found myself growing increasingly restless, as if I was waiting for something to happen, for some other shoe to drop.

★   ☆  ★ ☆★ ꒰ঌPost-Order66, Fallen Knight໒꒱ ★☆ ★  ☆  ★

The body of my first kill lay before me, lifeless and still. A chill ran down my spine as I realized the gravity of what I had just done. I looked up at the night sky, and the words of the God of Death echoed in my mind.

"Why should I regret letting one soul go, when I stand to gain so many more in return?"

How many more souls would be lost because of me? How many more would fall by my hand? The weight of the lives lost, both directly and indirectly because of me, was crushing.

Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the blood on the ground. But I didn't even notice them. All I could think about was the damage I had done, the people I had hurt.

I had always believed that I was doing the right thing, that my actions were justified. But now, as I stared at the lifeless body at my feet, I couldn't help but wonder if I was wrong.

Had I become a monster in pursuit of justice? Had I strayed too far from the path of the Jedi?

I knew that I had to live with the consequences of my actions, and that they would haunt me for the rest of my life. But I also knew that I couldn't turn back now.

I had made my choices, and I had to own them.

As I stood there, lost in thought and contemplation, I realized that I had a choice to make. I could let this kill consume me, turn me into a soulless killer, or I could use it as a reminder of the cost of my actions.

I chose the latter.

During a near-death experience, you came face-to-face with the God of Death, and pleaded to be returned to the world of the living. He granted your request, and sent you away with the chilling parting words: “Why should I regret letting one soul go, when I stand to gain so many more in return?”

[bishopclimate]

Dear Child of God, I hope this messagel finds you well, walking in the knowledge that God is moving powerfully on your behalf in this season of divine restoration. I am writing to remind you that your breakthrough is imminent, and I want to continue speaking into your life with even more prophetic declarations as the Holy Spirit is stirring up a mighty work in you. Let me remind you again: The time is NOW. God is moving in a season of second chances, and He has not forgotten you. You may have experienced setbacks, failures, or delays, but God is about to do what no one else can do. As I prophesied before, this is your season of restoration, divine favor, and supernatural empowerment. And I want to expand on that prophecy today, knowing that God’s hand is upon you in ways you cannot yet fully comprehend. You see, the enemy’s plans to destroy you are being overturned right now. I declare that every work of the enemy—whether it has been financial setbacks, family turmoil, or emotional struggles—is being exposed and destroyed in the name of Jesus. The enemy will no longer have dominion over your life. Every stronghold, every lie he’s used to keep you in bondage, is being shattered by the mighty power of God. Your spiritual thirst is about to be quenched like never before. Where you have felt dry, weak, and weary, God is releasing rivers of living water into your spirit. You are going to experience a revival so powerful, it will seem as though you have been born again, revitalized in every area of your life. You will stand strong and walk in victory, no longer carried by the weight of past disappointments. In the days ahead, you will see doors that were once locked wide open. God is removing every barrier, and He is granting you access to favor, provision, and opportunities that have previously been out of reach. I prophesy that promotion is coming to you. Whether it’s in your career, your relationships, or your ministry, you will step into a season of new authority and greater influence. Hear me clearly today: Your harvest is now on the horizon. The seeds you have sown in faith, the prayers you have prayed in private, and the tears you have shed in anguish, are all coming to fruition. God is bringing in your harvest, and it will come with increase. You will lack nothing as you enter this new season. There will be no more lack in your life, no more waiting for provision. God will provide, He will sustain, and He will bless you abundantly. This is your moment of restoration. The years that were lost will be restored. The relationships that were broken are about to be healed. The dreams that were deferred are about to be revived. God will bring the vision He gave you back to life. This is a season of divine recovery—you will recover all that was stolen and more! But here’s the thing: This moment requires action. The prophetic word spoken over your life must be met with faith and obedience. Do not sit back and wait for something to happen—step into it with boldness and confidence. Write down the 11 areas in your life that need God’s touch, and present them to the Lord. The urgency of this moment cannot be overstated! You cannot afford to hesitate or allow fear to rob you of what God has already ordained for you. As a point of contact for your breakthrough, I encourage you to sow your offering into the ministry today. This seed of faith will be the trigger for the divine shift you are expecting in your life. By giving, you are aligning your finances with the prophetic word over your life, activating God’s promises, and partnering with us in the work of the Kingdom. I prophesy over your offering: “As you give today, you will see doors open that were previously shut, restoration come to every area you are believing for, and favor overwhelm your life. God is honoring your faith and commitment to His Kingdom. This seed is going to unlock breakthroughs in areas that seemed impossible, and you will testify of His goodness.”   Powerful Testimony About Financial Breakthrough : I want to share with you a powerful testimony from someone who received the prophetic word I sent out yesterday. Rebecca from London responded in faith, following every instruction. She sowed a seed of faith, as I instructed, and within 24 hours, she received unexpected financial breakthrough. Her business partner, who had previously delayed payments for months, contacted her with the full payment due, apologizing for the delay and committing to a future partnership! Not only that, she also reported a healing in her body from a condition she had struggled with for years. Rebecca followed the prophetic instruction, and God met her with miracles. Urgency of Support - A Call to Stand with God’s Work: This week, I want to emphasize the importance of supporting the work of God. As we are moving our offices to a new location, our mission to serve you better continues to expand. This move will enable us to reach even more souls, provide more resources, and serve you in a greater capacity. However, to make this transition smooth and impactful, we need your faithful support. Why is this important? •Your offering is a point of contact for your own breakthrough and helps support the work of God in this season of restoration. •As we expand, we are increasing our ability to reach more people, touch more lives, and bring more souls to Christ. Your giving is directly tied to these eternal rewards. •Supporting this ministry also ensures greater resources are available for your own needs, because as you give, you align yourself with the work of God, and you will reap the benefits of His abundant provision. This is the moment to act. Your seed today will serve as a foundation for the ministry’s expansion and an activation for your personal breakthrough. Declare with me today: “I am sowing into the Kingdom of God. I am supporting the work of God with joy, knowing that as I do, I am partnering in His purpose for restoration and breakthrough in my life. My offering today is a point of contact for my miracle!” Blessings and favor are upon you as you take this step in faith! Blessings and favor are upon you as you take this step in faith! CLICK HERE TO SUBMIT YOUR PRAYER AGREEMENT FORM & SOW YOUR SEED  Call Us 24/7: UK: +44 207 738 3668 | USA: +1 347 708 1449 Need to See Me Personally? If you haven't made time for a personal appointment, you're postponing the transformation God has for you. Call our office to arrange it, or simply visit us every Sunday at 9 AM—no appointment needed! Don't wait another day when your answer could be just a prayer away. Don’t Delay—Sow Today! Have you used the easiest and most secure way to give yet? You can sow directly into the ministry using online banking or by visiting your nearest Barclays Bank. Account Name: Bishop Climate Ministry Sort Code: 20-54-25 Account Number: 90144223 IBAN: GB56BUKB20542590144223 SWIFTBIC: BUKBGB22 If you haven’t contributed yet, why wait? Delayed giving is delayed blessings. Remember, God multiplies the seed you sow! For MoneyGram/Western Union, call our prayer line for assistance. We Are Praying for You—But Have You Released Your Faith? We pray for you daily, but without your seed, you’re holding back the floodgates of blessings God wants to release over your life. Take that step of faith, sow into this anointed ministry, and watch the power of God move in ways you've never imagined! God bless you abundantly, Bishop Climate Wiseman Bishop Climate Ministries P.S. Submit the 11 areas where you need God’s second chance and sow your seed today. Your breakthrough is waiting for you, and as you support this ministry, you’re helping us move to new heights to serve you better!   #SecondChanceSeason, #DivineRestoration, #BreakthroughIsNow, #PropheticShift, #GodsFavorUnstoppable, #SeasonOfRestoration, #FaithInAction, #KingdomExpansion, #MiraclesInMotion, #VictoryInJesus, #RestoreMyPurpose, #GodWillProvide, #HealingAndBreakthrough, #SupernaturalEmpowerment, #FaithThatMovesMountains, #UnlockYourMiracle, #GodsProvisionOverflow, #StepIntoYourDestiny, #FaithAndFavor, #ObedienceBringsBreakthrough, #GodIsFaithful Read the full article

[emiyarey]

FoMC — Chapter 2: Debut

Dear ‘Tonia and Anton,

Natlan is pretty interesting—especially their local folklore. 

Did you know that any native of Natlan who leaves will be cursed with misfortune? 

Given that their internal structure resembles that of any military—even for civilians—I suppose immigrating from the nation would be akin to desertion.

How’s little Teucer doing? It seems that I will be unable to celebrate Krsnik Noc with you all this year given that I have been sent abroad.

Please forgive this loyal knight for his transgression—but worry not, for I shall return!

Ajax

—

“Um…” a voice whispers from outside the tent as Childe pokes his head out to come face to face with a white haired teen with striking emerald eyes. Most notably—she was carrying a baby on her back.

“Are you the Challengers?” she asks.

“Yes?” Tartaglia replies. “I mean—we are here to gain diplomatic entry into Natlan.”

The teenaged girl nods—her eyes blank, almost lifeless. “I’m Avgis,” she states almost emotionlessly. 

“I’m your guide into the Mare Jivari.”

“What’s our challenge then?” Tartaglia inquires.

Avgis tilts her head to the side as she stares at the younger boy blankly. “To defeat the shadow of the Phoenix.”

“Isn’t the Mare Jivari a desert of lava?”

“The Phoenix lies upon the outskirts of the desert near the nation of freedom,” Avgis states. “To truly enter a sacred place like the Mare Jivari—the birthplace of Lord Phenex—would be blasphemy. A mere guide like me would crumble to ash upon entering.”

“We depart tomorrow,” she says as the Cryo Vision on her hip, the only extravagant ornament she wore—contrasting her ragged clothes. “The Overseer will arrive to witness the completion of the ritual—then you shall be granted entry into Natlan’s capital as diplomats from a fellow warrior nation.”

“Who’s this “Lord Phenex” of yours? Is it Murata?” Tartaglia asks as he silently tugs the girl inside the tent.

“Lord Beleth is not Lord Phenex,” Avgis says with a shake of her head as she silently takes the food offered to her by Childe.

“Lord Phenex was the comrade in arms of Lady Istaroth, the God of Time—and one of the Four Shining Shades,” she states. 

“Who are the Shining Shades?” Ajax asks, his eyes entranced with the promise of a tale.

“The Four Shining Shades consisted of four of the five Primordial Gods which served the Lord of Creation,” she whispers. 

“Lord Phenex was one of them—lost to the aftermath of the first time Teyvat was burned to ashes. His grave is the Mare Jivari—a land where the Archons themselves dare not tread—lest the Lord wake from his exile.”

“What about the others?” Childe asks.

“Lady Istaroth is the only other I have heard about from the older records—apparently she sealed herself in a place cut off from the sights of Celestia to recover from her injuries. The two eldest Shades—of Death and Oblivion—are never named.”

Ajax flinches at the all-too familiar phrasing that made his head pound as Avgis’s hand sweeps back some of his bangs to stare at his forehead with a pensive look.

“You have quite an odd seal placed on you,” she mutters. “It reeks of fallen divinity akin to Urbosa the Drake.”

“A seal?” Ajax asks.

“I know nothing about that sort of power except that it exists—but one that powerful? Only a being of equal strength to the one that placed it on you can break it.”

“How powerful was it?”

“A being stronger than Lord Beleth at his prime. Perhaps stronger than the remnants of Lord Phenex.”

Ajax’s eyes blow wide. “Stronger than an Archon?”

“Far older too,” Avgis sighs. “The only one who could rival such strength would be the Lord of the Rock—the eldest of the Archons. Yet even then, I cannot know for certain—as I have only heard of such an occurrence.”

“You sound well spoken,” Tartaglia notes. “So why do you appear to be of a lower class?”

“Scholars like I are frowned upon within the tribes—” Avgis states. “It matters not that my mind could rival the best minds of the Academia. We of Natlan are duty bound to our land—and can never leave.”

“Those who do—earn the ire of our Archon and lose the protection that the warrior’s blessing grants as it becomes a curse.”

“That isn’t fair,” Ajax mutters. 

“Life rarely is—as a member of the Fatui, I suppose you would know that.”

“I do,” Tartaglia states. “But is it a crime to dream of a world where it isn’t?” Ajax grins.

Avgis smiles faintly as she cradles the babe in her lap that bears a great resemblance to her. “I suppose it isn’t.”

“Who’s the kid anyways?”

“My younger brother.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Not until he reaches more than a year old.”

“My tribe is extinct. My brother and I are the last members, should he survive—he’ll be cast into exile,” Avgis states. “To that end—death would be a mercy in comparison.”

“It is late—the journey begins at dawn.” Avgis states as she lies down upon the ground to sleep—her body curled around the smaller form of her brother.

“Good night, Lord Habringer.”

—

The next day at dawn a masked figure with twin gauntlets garbed in a flowing cloak meets them at the edge of the camp as Avgis guides them silently through the desert. 

Ajax’s men followed close behind. On the way Ajax dealt with Treasure Hoarders—letting the sands swallow up their mutilated corpses as the orb of crimson liquid floating behind him grows ever larger.

The desert lacked an immediate source of Hydro besides the air itself—Ajax wasn’t willing to risk dehydrating the already dry air. Instead, he collected the blood of the opponents they slayed on the way. Blood was harder to control than Hydro in its purest form—but it was nothing compared to the difficulty of manipulating Abyssal sludge as if it was pure Hydro.

—

As they walked through the desert a long chain-like tendril of blood tipped with a razor sharp blade moved freely around the dunes surrounding the party as they made their way to the edge of the Mare Jivari’s entrance.

The construct tore apart approaching enemies in an instant—absorbing their blood and leaving the mutilated corpses to the desert to devour. Avgis looked on with an expression of awe and a gaze of envy as she glanced at her own Cryo Vision.

—

“We have arrived,” Avgis states at last as they pause in a vast waste of wind and ash. “This is where the Phoenix shade manifests itself.”

A roar echoes through the howling winds as the ashen waste takes on an amber glow—the air itself lighting on fire as a spirit of flame descends from the heavens. 

Tartaglia grins as he feels the Hydro around him trying to evaporate as he forcefully cools it down.

He pulled an iron catalyst with a sapphire blue gem as its core out of his Vision’s subspace storage. The orb slowly spinning with higher speeds until the iron rings suspended around the gem are blurs of motion. 

“An opportunity like this is quite hard to come by, don’t you think?” Tartaglia says as he addresses his men. “I’ll be advancing first—do your best to stay out of my way.”

With that comment—Tartaglia charges in towards the burning phoenix, a wave of Hydro answering his call—dousing the spirit’s flames as fast as it could summon them.

As his catalyst spins around him—Childe summons a construct of a nail attached to a lengthy chain and begins to attack in a manner that could only be described as a deadly dance.

The chain moved in intricate swirls as Tartaglia spun and navigated his way through the bird’s fiery attacks before they could even contact him—even the ones from behind. 

Most of the Fatui soldiers were staring in awe at the acrobatic feats that they would need lifetimes to even contemplate accomplishing. 

Then Tartaglia’s body began glittering with sparks of Electro as he seemingly teleported behind the flaming bird in an instant.

“Did he just use Blink?!” a Cicin Mage yelps in shock as Tartaglia begins to teleport around, around, and around the flaming bird faster than what the recruits could follow. 

The bird—not one to be out flown—chased after the Harbinger as he threw nail after nail through the bird’s wings. Chains of Hydro circling the both of them as they danced through the sky several stories above the ground.

Childe laughs as he whisks his body through the air with the current of Electro pulling him around. The mental strain of constantly maintaining his constructs wasn’t as hard as manifesting his narwhal—so he could keep this up a bit longer. Draw this out.

This was one of the more interesting styles he liked practicing—he didn’t really roll an acrobatics-related combat style often. He tended to be rusty at these styles more. 

Maybe next time he’ll bring a bow instead of a catalyst. But he doesn’t have one that he hasn’t broken yet though. He really needs a more durable bow.

Otherwise he wouldn’t get any better with one.

Childe hums as he lets Hydro coil around him—ready to be manifested at a moment’s notice as he lets Electro from his Delusion course painfully through his veins.

It was his first time using his Delusion—and boy did it sting like a bitch.

All the meanwhile his Hydro chain was knotting itself through the bird’s regal wings of fire as it coiled around the bird. 

High up in the sky above the bird—Tartaglia emerges with a Hydro spear in hand as he throws said spear towards the midsection of the bird who dodges mid-flight.

His grin was all teeth as the chain coiled around the bird—binding its wings to its body as it spiraled towards the ground.

The Harbinger plunged down not far behind—a hand glowing brightly with Hydro. Childe let the memory of Skirk’s main weapon come to the forefront of his mind.

When the ash cloud settled—Tartaglia was perched on the bird’s corpse, a massive claymore as tall as a building plunged into the regal bird’s body. 

He casually hopped to the ground—sweeping back his mask to rest on the side of his head as the Phoenix's corpse dissipated into glowing, blood-red, elemental particles that were cast away in the wind. 

—

“What the hell?” the recruits whisper in awe.

“He really is a Harbinger.”

“Is it even possible to use Blink that many times consecutively?”

—

Childe’s success is greeted by the slow clapping of the Overseer. 

“Well done fellow warrior,” a raspy voice congratulates. “Now for the final test.”

The Overseer gestures to a frozen Avgis whose eyes were narrowed sharply—one hand wielding a sword as her Cryo Vision glows.

“Prove your detestment of weakness—dispose of the guide.”

“Why should I?” Childe yawns. “It was only mentioned that I needed to beat the combat challenge to pass.”

The Overseer growls. “She has voiced her desire to abandon Natlan and Murata—as such, the only course of action is execution.”

Childe frowns. “That’s a bit harsh…don’t you think?”

“Don’t pretend to understand our way of life foreign warrior—by leaving Natlan, she’s forsaking the warrior’s path. She chose to be weak—and weakness is not permissible,” he snarls.

“Fine,” Childe yawns as he constructs a sword of Hydro instantly.

In another instant—unseen to everyone, he flicked his wrist—a Hydro narwhal the size of an infant dashing off into the storm of ash towards Mondstadt. 

In the next, Childe’s blade of Hydro plunged into the girl’s chest as she collapsed on him—his hands slick with her blood.

“Thank you,” she mutters before collapsing into the sand—no sign of a Vision anywhere on her as her body is swallowed by the ashes.

Carefully keeping his expression straight—Chidle turns towards the Overseer. 

“Will that suffice?” he states as a rhetorical question.

“It does,” the figure rasps out. 

“Follow me,” he states. “As promised—I’ll grant the Snezhnayan diplomats entry into Natlan.”

“May the Warrior’s blessing grant you strength.”

—

“Childe?” Ekaterina says as she finds the Harbinger at his desk reading through a stack of tomes on Natlan’s culture.

“What happened?”

“I had to kill someone, Katya,” he whispers. 

“That’s nothing new to you.”

“This time…it was different—” he states. “I—” he sweeps a hand through his hair. “Shit. All she wanted was to leave—and they killed her for it.”

“That’s nothing new—the Fatui is also like that,” Ekaterina points out.

“Yes, but she was a civilian,” he stresses. “Shit—she was probably the same age as Anya.”

“Never mind,” Childe laughs. “I’ve done worse than that. It just sticks with me because Murata lets her soldiers execute her own people who were never meant to be on the battlefield.”

“Natlan is a nation that values strength above all else.”

“If that’s their meaning of strength—then I don’t want it. It’s meaningless, like Dottore’s “progress”—meaningless sadism concealed by a mask of zealotry and empty promises.”

—

“Boss.”

“What is it?”

“You have transfer requests.”

“Hah?! Who would be insane enough to put themselves under the bloodthirsty monster of a Harbinger!?” Childe exclaims. “Are they suicidal?”

Ekaterina gives him a deadpan glare as she smacks him with a clipboard. 

“It’s the 153rd company—the ones from Natlan.”

Childe’s eyes blow wide. “Turn them down. They’ll get assigned to a better division.”

—

Five months later.

“Boss?”

“What?”

“The 153rd are still sending requests. Should I reject them again?”

“You know what,” Childe sighs, fed up. “Just accept them.”

“By your order Lord Tartaglia,” Ekaterina says as she closes the door, a small smile resting upon her lips.

—

“I don’t like Natlan, Katya,” Childe whines as he drapes himself over the stoic woman. “I can fight things here so much—I love it! But all these politics with the tribes is such a fucking drag.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

—

“Apparently Signora’s been reassigned to Mondstadt—” Ekaterina informs as Childe begins groaning.

“That bitch is going to be right next door?!”

“Silence.” She glares at the childish teen bordering on man. “There’s rumors going around in the capital that the higher ups are putting some kind of plan into motion.”

“Even the Jester has been spotted moving abroad,” she states as Childe’s eyes blow wide.

“Whoa, it must be something that’s been in the works for a long, long time then,” he mutters as he becomes pensive. He idly strokes Glasya’s feathers as she rests on his head—his body temperature naturally cold having grown up in Snezhnaya‚ and even colder naturally because of his Hydro Vision. 

He was basically a personal cooler to the owl.

“What about that other matter I asked you to look into,” he asks Ekaterina.

“Unfortunately, there isn’t much on that front. There’s no occurrences of any of these…Abyss Heralds that you’ve described to me,” she states.

“There are Rifthounds in Inazuma—and Abyss Mages everywhere…but not a peep about any of the other Abyssal monsters that you’ve told me to watch out for.”

“But apparently there’s been an uptick in Abyssal activity in Mondstadt.”

“You should’ve led with that first Katya.”

“Pardon?”

“There’s a reason why I hate the other Harbingers—because they’re as sketchy as hell.” Ajax grimaces. “The so-called Prince of the Abyss, and Rhinedottir operate the same way.”

“Rhinedottir made most of the monsters of the Abyss—but also specializes in larger alchemical monstrosities that put Dottore’s experiments to shame,” he snarls. “Durin is one of them.”

“You mean…?”

“The dragon corpse on Dragonspine—that’s the one,” Ajax states. “Keep a close eye on that thing—Archons know Dottore would get a fucking boner at the thought of experimenting with a dragon born from Abyssal alchemy.”

Ekaterina winces. “Boss, that’s a rather…unsettling mental image,” she comments.

“Exactly.”

“And since the Abyss Order’s activity is picking up in said area…you can imagine why I’d think they’re up to something. Rhinedottir has never been one for sentimentality, so it’s odd that they’re so close to Durin’s corpse.”

“In the meantime—minimize your reports if at all possible,” Childe states. “I can’t have Pantalone catching onto the fact that you’re infiltrating as a teller in his newly established branch in Liyue.”

“Yes,” Ekaterina sighs. “My former boss is still an “absolute piece of sketchy shit” as you so eloquently put it. His collaborations with the good doctor don’t help his case in the least.”

“How many missing children?”

“Childe—you are not leaking information to that underground information network again,” she snarls as he pouts.

“Hey,” he raises his hands in surrender. “We both hate Dottore, and like 80% of the Harbingers in charge of extracurricular operations.”

“I’m only helping them blow up Dottore’s labs to rescue children.”

“That’s exactly what’s going to get you caught—even if a majority of the soldiers like you because you don’t treat them like shit—they’re still obligated to report to the Harbingers they operate under because of the insignias.” She snarls.

“About the insignias—any progress in finding a way to counterfeit them for the next batch of recruits?” Childe inquires.

“You’re a suicidal slave driver, bastard, you know that?” she states.

“And you love me for it dear Katya!” Childe laughs as they both grin.

“So far, all the ones carrying the counterfeits have been outed—they managed to pass them off as defective because we’re just that good,” she says proudly. “But they’ve been reassigned to new ones—prototypes that fucking Dottore made.”

“You told them to cut off contact unless in a Void related situation, correct?” Childe says.

“Yep.”

Childe sighs as he leans back in his wooden chair. “Good work Katya. I’ll forward your raise to your other bank account.”

“Thanks Boss,” she states drily. 

“On another note—I think Pantalone’s leaving soon, maybe a year or two—he’s already making preparations.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah,” she states. “Something’s definitely going to happen in Liyue—especially with that sketchy funeral parlor consultant I told you about.”

“Isn’t it just a lack of paperwork?” he states.

“Sometimes you can be so dense about these kinds of things that I wonder how you’ve been hiding the fact that you’re actively sabotaging Fatui operations relating to Scaramouche’s mass produced Delusions and Dottore’s experiments.”

“Oh, that’s all you Katya,” Childe grins. “You know I can’t scheme worth shit—I’m too dumb for that.”

“If you’re dumb—then the Academia’s scholars would be children,” she deadpans.

“Sure, sure Katya,” Childe states as he laughs. “You all know of my inability to do paperwork.”

“If that’s not stupidity of the highest order—then I don’t really know what is.”

“You need therapy, Childe.”

“I’d probably have to kill said therapist.”

Ekaterina sighs before hanging up on him. “Eh? Katya? Hello?!” he says to the dial tone.

—

“You should give up, boy—” a voice whispers as a clawed hand encircles his throat. “That power was never meant to be yours. It’s mine. It belongs to me—the Void is simply another form of Oblivion.”

“Fuck,” the voice hisses as Ajax feels something warm against his neck. “That’s…”

“Begone from here, Usurper,” a familiar voice states coldly. 

“Hah!” the voice laughs. “I knew it—he’s one of yours, dear sister.”

“I have no relation to you. The brother I knew died a long time ago. You’re the monster that killed Master and set fire to Teyvat,” Skirk states.

“Your dear Master betrayed me first! They exiled me, and for what?! Because I was born from the Void!?”

“You slaughtered them all.”

“How naive of you, God of Death—” the voice hisses. “I merely returned them to Irimusul’s grasp.”

“That was not your decision to make.”

“Was it?” he laughs. “I was there when the moons were created. I was there when your Master slayed the Sovereigns—and they dared to declare themselves my equal?”

“You were never Master’s equal.”

“Then why does this boy carry my birthright!?” the voice snarls. “A mortal should be even further beneath their notice.”

“Ajax is stronger than you could ever hope to be—you’ve already become corrupted, a blight upon the realms.”

“Master?” Ajax whispers.

He feels an arm wrap around him protectively as he feels the ear where Skirk’s earring hangs become warm rather than burning hot.

“Sleep boy.”

—

Ajax wakes to write down what little fragments of his dream he could remember of Skirk’s warning. His office drowned in various reports—books, and unsent letters. 

On the wall was a messy board with fragments of reports all sorted into different sections—conjectures pinned in different places. 

“Who exactly is this Usurper, Master?” he mutters horsley as he rubs at his bruised throat.

“What in Tsaritsa's name does he even want with me?” he mutters—wincing as the seal on his memories activates—the memory of the dream becoming blurry once more.

“Please tell me…Skirk…” Ajax whispers to an empty room.

“Are you up, Master Childe?” a voice says at the door. 

“Coming!” Childe replies as he grimaces at his office before standing and exiting the door for another day playing nice with superficial bastards he’d rather punt all the way to the Mare Jivari for fun.

—

“...And as such it would be more beneficial for us to work together in terms of military matters.”

Childe yawns as he listens to the Snezhnayan representative for the Fatui drone on and on about something related to the military. 

“It appears that you’re bored Tartaglia,” a voice chirps from next to Childe as he turns to face a flame-haired woman with hair cropped short to her nape. In her eyes seemed to blaze a lust for battle and blood as flame-like black tattoos writhed upon her skin.

“Would you care to spar while our representatives debate over worthless subjects? Matters like these shouldn’t be our jurisdiction—why should I care how the children of my nation thrive? If they live—then they’re strong, otherwise they’ll perish. Concerns about protecting ideals are for weaklings.”

Childe grits his teeth as he takes up the Pyro Archon on her offer. 

—

“You’re rather skilled at manipulating Hydro for a human,” she compliments. But the glint in her eyes says that it’s more of an insult than anything else.

“Too bad that you were born mortal—if you were a god I would’ve found it worthwhile to fight you,” she sighs as she deflects another one of Childe’s attacks which scratch her lightly.

“What’s wrong with being born mortal?” he practically snarls as the God of War laughs.

“What’s wrong with being born mortal?” she scoffs. “It’d be easier to list what being born mortal is right for—it gives you weaklings motivation, and a need to find purpose to put your pitifully short lives to.”

“All of Natlan’s purpose is to serve as my soldiers,” she grins. “What’s yours—never mind. It’s clear to me.” She smirks. “You’re a weapon of war—why else would the Tsaritsa send you to challenge my trials? You’re the cannon fodder she will cast at her enemies to weaken them. No wonder you’re number eleven—you’re the most worthless even if you’re the most honorable among them.”

“Although from her perspective—I suppose that’s precisely what makes you weak.”

“I win,” she states with a grin as Childe lunges in for an attack and she evaporates his Hydro in an instant. 

“Nice try though kid—but keep in mind a mortal will never be able to defeat a god—no matter what that sentimental Archon of yours believes.”

—

The following night, Ajax grins as he reads a missive from Capitano.

—

“Hah!” the Pyro Archon scoffs from her throne as Childe is held at sword point by her generals.

“To think that you were like all the rest. Truly, a loyal bitch of the weakest Archon.”

“Shut up,” Tartaglia growls as he knocks all the generals restraining him off.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a long, long time, Beleth,” he snarls as he swipes at her throat with a Hydro spear.

“You really think you can challenge me?” she cackles. “You’re just a human!”

Tartaglia smirks as Ajax rolls his eyes. “I’ve heard that all before—but, wanna know a secret?” he questions.

“I’m not human—I’m a little Abyss monster.”

Lightning crackles across his body as Ajax uses the pain from the Electro in his veins to anchor his consciousness to the transformation as he reaches for the corrosive energy inside of him coiling on that core of power that the Abyss shoved in him and pulls.

His body is wreathed in pure agony as his cells are ripped apart and regenerated—hands turning to claws—skin turning to a carapace as he roars. His face becomes akin to a mask with a singular violet-red gem in place of his eye.

“...whatever—weakness is weakness, no matter how you try to hide it—” she grins. “And I’ve smelled weakness from you all the time. Caring for children? Kindness? Mercy? Honor? All of those make you soft—and soft means weak.”

She summons a claymore into her hand wreathed in flame as the pair charge at each other. Darkness eating away at Tartaglia’s rationality as Ajax screams.

—

“Childe!” a familiar voice calls, laced with concern. 

“Katya?” he mutters as his blurry vision focuses—his body consumed in pain.

“Don’t force yourself—your battle with Beleth left you gravely injured,” she states. “You’re lucky you’re alive—she let you live only because she thought you’d bleed to death.”

“We’re headed to Dragonspine to lay low. We can’t let any of the other Harbingers learn of your state. They’ll only send more assassins after you.”

“I got you a re-assignment—” Ekaterina whispers. “Apparently the Tsaritsa is understanding enough of the circumstances that she let you transfer earlier than planned.”

“Where to?” he taps out in morse code lightly on the back of her hand.

“Liyue,” Ekaterina states. “Don’t worry, the Regrator left already.”

“You’ll need time to recover, and most of the soldiers at the Bank are ours. Only the inner circle will know that you’re there recovering from your injuries.”

“Will I be able to fight there?” he asks silently.

“Of course you’d ask that right after you nearly died—idiot,” she huffs. “There’s plenty of elemental monsters in the area for you to fight along with treasure hoarders. Not to mention that the Abyss Order is active there too.”

“But you are on strict bed rest for the foreseeable future—” she states harshly. “I’ve forbidden any of the workers at the bank from doing your paperwork for you.”

“So until you’re recovered enough to do an Agent’s work—you aren’t leaving the Harbor without an escort.”

“Yes ma'am,” Childe coughs jokingly as Ekaterina scowls at him. 

“Also—don’t tell my siblings Katya,” he rasps. “Make up any excuse—but don’t tell them. Especially ‘Tonia, please.”

“Fine,” she cedes. “But in return you need to spend one more month on office arrest.”

“...you drive a hard bargain—but fine,” Childe huffs. 

“Pinky promise it,” she states seriously as Childe wraps his pinky around hers.

—

You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life. 

You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice. 

The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend, 

The frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again.

—

“You’re lucky that trip in the Abyss gave you regenerative powers, idiot. You’d be dead without them.”

“Fair enough Katya.”

“What did the Pyro Archon even do to piss you off?”

“She called me weak and treats her nation like disposable fodder.”

“So she acts like the Jester—noted.”

“...She also thinks that ideals are for weaklings,” Childe mutters.

“Ah, that would do it,” Ekaterina agrees. “I’ll add her to our shit list.”

“Who have we met that aren’t on the shit list?”

“Your recruits, Columbina, Glasya, and Arlecchino,” Ekaterina replies drily. 

—

“Did you meet Anya in Mondstadt?” Childe asks as he sits up on the wooden floor of the traveling wagon they were in doing paperwork.

“Yeah,” she winces. “The moment I mentioned I worked for you, she clammed up faster than Scaramouche’s favorites that we tricked to carry tapes that called him a diva to his face.”

Childe laughs at that. “Their faces though were hilarious.”

Ajax smiles sadly. “I suppose Anya acting like that was to be expected—she’s never liked me, and fully supported Father’s decision.”

“How’d you join the Fatui anyways?” Ekaterina asks. “I got involved in banking and the Regrator recruited me directly—you don’t say no to a Harbinger, especially the ones that are pieces of shit.”

“My father and older siblings essentially sold me off to a training camp in a under the table deal with one of Dottore’s men.”

“Dottore?!” she cringes. “No wonder you hate the bastard then. I have no idea how you forgave your father and older siblings.”

“Their hearts were in the right place—so I can’t find it in me to fault them for it.”

“You know—I’ve said that you’re too fucking nice for a Harbinger—I take that back,” Ekaterina states. Childe looks at her in confusion.

“You’re too fucking nice for a Snezhnayan.”

Childe laughs. “I’m not nice in the least, Katya.”

“My bank account begs to differ and so do your ledgers for your “family-related” expenses.”

“I’m the demon of the battlefield. And trainees hate me,” he deadpans.

“That’s because you are ruthless to your enemies and drive your trainees into the ground,” she deadpans. “You’re the only Harbinger that trains his recruits personally and actually lets people leave the Fatui as trainees if they want.”

“Don’t say otherwise—I monitor your paperwork,” she states as Chide openly winces.

“How did you find out about that!?”

“You’re shit at paperwork—so I did the rest for you.” Childe’s mouth opens into a silent o in realization.

“You really are a dense idiot.”

“Katya!” he whines.

—

Childe wakes up as Ekaterina hides him in one of the compartments under the benches in the wagon. 

“Reason for visit?”

“Returning to work.”

“Papers?”

A rustle of noise. 

“So…you’re Snezhnayan,” the guard scoffs as he hears Ekaterina stumble back as someone—presumably the guard—shoves her.

“Search the wagon. We better not find anything Fatuus,” the man practically snarls. 

“You won’t. I guarantee it,” she states calmly. “We at the Northland Bank are nothing but professional,” she stresses with a presumably sharp smile.

“All clear,” the second guard huffs—clearly disappointed.

“Get going then,” the guard huffs as he hears Ekaterina climb back into the wagon.

“Fatui scum,” he hears the guard mutter as they drive away. 

Childe exits the compartment quietly once Ekaterina gives him the all-clear.

“Does that happen often?” he questions as she smiles grimly.

“The people of Liyue aren’t accepting of Snezhnayans because of the Fatui’s…less than stellar reputation,” she states.

“Still though—” Childe sighs. “Ordinary Snezhnayans shouldn’t get caught up in the crossfire of the aftermath of the Fatui’s dirty work.”

“Life doesn’t work that way, unfortunately,” Ekaterina sighs. 

“The people of Liyue, quite like their Archon, are a prideful sort. They believe themselves to be of greater moral fiber than others—and look down upon those who accept their flaws and broadcast them to the world.”

“So that just excuses them discriminating against ordinary people?” he huffs. Before settling down with a frown. “At least it’s better than Natlan in regards to that.”

“The Pyro Archon is no better than Dottore.”

“I’m tempted to agree.”

—

“Miss Ekaterina—all clear,” a voice says as someone lifts the flap covering the entrance to the wagon as Ekaterina helps Childe hobble out of the wagon.

“Naida, right?” Childe asks as he addresses the night guard.

“I remember you—you had an interesting affinity with acrobatics,” he recalls.

“I’m surprised you remember that, Master Childe,” she states. “That was over a year ago.”

“Childe remembers everything,” Ekaterina states flippantly. “Do you have his room ready? I think he might have pulled one of his stitches on the way here.”

“Should I go to the local pharmacy?” she asks.

“No,” Ekaterina replies. “I smuggled him in here—he doesn’t have an entry permit or diplomatic immunity. We needed to get him out of Dragonspine. Signora was setting up camp too close by.”

“The Tsaritsa’s letter to the Qixing should be arriving in the next week—” Ekaterina states. “In the meantime, we need to keep Childe’s presence here a secret, especially given how injured he is.”

“How did he get in this state to begin with?” Nadia asks. “He was strong, the strongest in Natlan with the exception of…” the color drained from her face in an instant.

Ekaterina nods solemnly, only confirming the woman’s suspicions. “How is he not dead!?”

“Dumb luck, and the Archon’s arrogance—she left him for dead, not knowing of his regenerative abilities,” Ekaterina states. “Even though it’ll theoretically leave him weakened for more than a year, he’ll live.”

“In the meantime—our job is to make sure that the others don’t find out his condition, especially given how many enemies he has amidst the Fatui.”

“Understood,” Nadia states as she slings Childe’s other limp arm across her shoulders. 

“Is there an approved list I should be aware of?”

“I’ll give it to you later. First, this suicidal-workaholic needs to take a nap,” Ekaterina states drily.

Read more on Ao3 here

[dreamweaved]

@fearnigh asked: ❝ don't you look beautiful like this ... ❞ it's a statement, an observation, an acknowledgement from the nightmare taken tangible form. clawed hands hold the magpie's face within their palms, ink touched fingers glide across warm cheeks, ghost across flesh stained in the ichor jian demanded. he tilts their head upwards, forces eyes to look back at him, for amber &. violet to meet in mismatched pairs. the proof of their pact, of an eternal bond dipped in ruin. ❝ my beautiful magpie brings back all these offerings to me. ❞ a hum, low, shaking the air around them. the god leans forward to press cold lips upon the other's eye, not one of amber ━━━ no, their own. the same color that now danced within one of jian's. and upon it a murmur can be heard, a whisper. ❝ a reward seems to be in order. ❞ he pulls back, eyes aglow, lips curve up into a perfect unsettling smile. ❝ tell me what you wish to have. ❞ / ;kicks my leggy up ! well hello there 😏

no one could ever doubt his devotion, his fealty. where his own flesh and blood had branded him a born curse- his god had granted him vision. the process still sits fresh in his mind; but the pain was fractional. momentary, compared to the lifetime he's endured the pressures of the society he was born into. it was always validation he sought- justification for the punishment he inflicts on himself. the secret he hides beneath his clothing reminds him every day; that he wants more than that. he can bend and clip his own wings only so many times, before he asks why?

and despite the terror that jian was, briar cannot help how he melts at the slightest touch. his heart beating just a little quicker now; a revolting combination of fear and adoration. briar loves him, loves this deity more than he could ever put into spoken words. more than his body can show him, and yet, the magpie tries; bends to his every request, carries out each ask, fulfils any demand. oh he can play the role of an enigmatic, and benevolent magus as long as he must. but when the shadows whisper of their wants and needs-- briar is quick to answer.

" ahh...? " slack bodied, his face grows hot as soon as lips meet his eye. as if he has not endured worse ( worse than an adoring press of lips to his body ). he would like to touch, to reach out and run his hands along the silks that adorn them. but for now he keeps them close to himself. another punishment, you could say. or perhaps it is a test- to show some modicum of self control. jian could eat him whole, and he would consider it no different from any other embrace. what else does he have? nothing if not for him. he'd still be bound in a box if not for his god.

' ...what you wish to have '

what more could he ask for? this is already so close to his deepest desire. painfully aware of the hands that still cup his face. how close he is; and briar allows himself then, to reach out and brush his palms along the length of jian's arms. to grip the fabric of his sleeves, to meet a mirrored set of eyes. " i want... " brows furrow slightly in thought. " i only... i want to ask. " lips pull thin, his expression carefully guarded despite how pointless it may be. he has no doubt of jian's honesty. but he must know for himself. he has to-

" could you... love me? do you? " it is not as though briar believes them incapable. it is a request spoken beneath a broadly worded question. " have i proven myself worthy of that yet? am i deserving? "

unprompted / WHAT THE FUCK

[bhagvadgita]

Verse 11.34 - Vishwarup Darshan Yoga 

द्रोणं च भीष्मं च जयद्रथं च कर्णं तथान्यानपि योधवीरान् । मया हतांस्त्वं जहि मा व्यथिष्ठा युध्यस्व जेतासि रणे सपत्‍नान् ॥ ३४ ॥

Drona and Bhishma and Jayadratha and Karna and also other brave warriors; Having been killed by Me, you kill them; do not be disturbed. Fight and you will conquer your enemies in battle. || 34 ||

This verse is spoken by Lord Krishna to Arjuna in the eleventh chapter of the Bhagavad Gita, where Krishna reveals his Cosmic Form (Vishvarupa) to Arjuna and shows him the fate of the Kauravas and their allies in the Kurukshetra war.

Krishna tells Arjuna that he has already decided the outcome of the war and that he is the supreme controller of all actions and events. He assures Arjuna that he has nothing to fear or lament, as he is only an instrument of Krishna's will and that he should perform his duty as a warrior without attachment or hesitation.

Krishna also instructs Arjuna to fight with confidence and determination, as he has already granted him victory over his enemies. He urges Arjuna to overcome his compassion and grief for his relatives and teachers, who are doomed to die by Krishna's plan, and to focus on his righteous duty (dharma) as a Kshatriya.

Similar verses from Vedic texts are:

- Rigveda 10.90.16: 

इन्द्रं मित्रं वरुणमग्निमाहुरथो दिव्यः स सुपर्णो गरुत्मान् । एकं सद्विप्रा बहुधा वदन्त्यग्निं यमं मातरिश्वानमाहुः ॥

Indra, Mitra, Varuna, Agni, they call; then he is heavenly nobly-winged Garutman. To what is One, sages give many a title: they call it Agni, Yama, Matarisvan. ||

This verse describes the oneness of the Supreme Reality (Brahman) that manifests itself in various forms and names as different gods and powers. It also implies that the sages (vipra) have the knowledge of this unity and diversity through their vision (dhi).

- Yajurveda 40.8: 

सहस्रशीर्षा पुरुषः सहस्राक्षः सहस्रपात् । स भूमिं विश्वतो वृत्वा अत्यतिष्ठद्‌ दशाङ्‌गुलम्‌ ॥

The Purusha (Cosmic Being) has a thousand heads, a thousand eyes, a thousand feet. He envelops the earth from all sides and transcends it by ten fingers' length. ||

This verse is part of the Purusha Sukta, a hymn that glorifies the Purusha as the source and sustainer of all creation. It depicts the Purusha as a cosmic giant who pervades and transcends the universe with his infinite attributes and dimensions.

[treadmilltreats]

I am blessed to see another birthday

Sitting here, I can't help but think about my life as another birthday has approached. I can't help but reflect on the last 10 years of my life.

There were so many changes....again...

Some good... some definitely not so good.

I've come to realize not everyone you thought would be there for you, will...and to give thanks for the ones who will be. I've learned that not everyone has your heart, and you must be okay with that.

I learned that if you have faith, anything can happen. There are so many things that I thought I could never do, like walking away from fear and my abusive marriage after 24 years. Doing a triathlon at 49 for the first time and placing 3rd in my age group. I made a bucket list and vision board and have fullifed it all. I have done a marathon. I've jumped out of a plane, I've walked on fire, and fulfilled my dream of traveling to Europe.

I remember praying about a rental I could afford after my divorce, and God blessed me with a home of my own, 40k less than anything on the market.

I wrote and published not one but two books, I've spoken at many women's events about domestic violence and am blessed to write this blog 5 days a week for the last 11 years.

I've learned to pray even through the storms. I learned that I have to depend on myself and on God. I've learned that everything that happens isn't to me but for me. I've learned to look for a lesson in every up and down that life throws at me and learned from it. I've learned that my girls are my biggest supporters and that maybe I am doing something right because they are such beautiful souls.

I've learned that just when you thought this was your season, life will throw you some stuff that will knock you to your knees. So many things came at me at once that you ask why me? That even when you thought the pain and the betrayal of many "friends" had you out for the count, that I could pray my way through the storm and find a peace like I have never known.

I've learned that the world can change in a second. You can lose your job, people that you love, and live to see so much hatred in so many people. But I also learned that time could be a blessing or a curse, depending on how you look at it. I chose to always look for the good.

During the pandemic, I got to spend quality time with my girls, and I got to slow down.

I got to reflect on what was truly important, our health, my family, and my friends, and to never take anything for granted again. I saw people come together, all colors, all religions to fight against what is wrong with our country. I saw the good in people while it felt like sometimes there weren't any because I chose to look for it.

I learned to praise God, even when I didn't understand what was going on. I learned gratitude for the blessings I do have and hold on to the fact that these are all lessons I needed to learn to grow. I learned to listen for the signs and know that all things work for my good and have been called according to his purpose. My favorite Bible verse Romans 8.28.

I learned that sometimes a person comes into your life at the wrong time to teach you lessons of self-worth and will change everything you believed in yourself, for the better. I've learned that age doesn't matter when your souls connect, and even though he may not be your forever love, he will always hold that place in your heart.

This year has taught me to know my own strength and to hold onto God's strength when I had none of my own.

So today, my friends, I will go into this next year smarter and wiser.

I will go with more faith, more love, and an open heart no matter how many times I may have been hurt.

And yes, I will always be Tinkerbell, and I will always believe anything is possible if you believe....

Here's to another year of lessons and my gratitude for allowing him to let me celebrate another one.

And yes, as I say at the end of every blog, I will continue to "Be the change I want to see"

@TreadmillTreats