#the inherent intimacy of courting death

[serasfanfiction]

CW for Alastor being Alastor, but that's to be expected. This chapter is all from his POV.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3| Part 4 | Part 5| Part 6 | Part 7 - Interlude

Alastor was having what he might call an exceptionally good day, if he did say so himself.

His mobility was almost back to normal, that pesky little parting gift Adam had left him having practically healed itself overnight. Why, he'd even been able to remove the stitches!

He had seen some improvement over the last month, agonizingly slow as it had been. Consuming the flesh and souls of other sinners had certainly sped things up a bit, but only finitely. He had resigned himself to the fact that healing would be a slow process, especially after the first time he pushed too hard and undid all the work he'd done up until that point. It had grated on him, but he could be patient.

If there was anything he was good at, it was being patient and bidding his time.

Getting a taste of angel's blood, though? Not just a taste, but a real go at it? Oh, now that had changed everything.

He hadn't had a chance at the holy feast following the last Extermination. He'd been too busy licking his wounds and trying not to bleed out. By the time he'd been able to pull himself together, figuratively and literally, the bodies were long gone. There had been claims about the rejuvenating effects some had experienced following eating of the flesh and drinking of the blood, but as it hadn't been a process they could readily replicate, it had done him little good.

Then none other than Lucifer Morningstar had offered himself up, willingly placing himself on the menu.

When the little king had done that little trick, the thought had crossed Alastor's mind. He was only human (deceased though he may be) and this was the father of temptation himself. Granted, it was likely Lucifer was used to being sexually desired, but hunger of a carnal nature had never been one of Alastor's sins. His hunger for the flesh had stopped at the actual eating of the flesh.

And Alastor craved nothing more than he craved the flesh of others like him.

The Wendigo that lay beneath the surface, a very real manifestation of his hunger was now a permanent part of his being. In life, he had hungered for the flesh of humans. In death, while he could still enjoy the odd sinner here and there, it was akin to 'empty calories,' he believed they were called. They curbed his hunger, for a little while, but it never quite seemed to hit the spot.

No, nothing quite filled him up the way venison did.

Before the creation of his bayou, he'd had to rely on the odd deer demon that appeared on the rare occasion. He was hardly the only one, but there never seemed to be enough of them. Butcher shops occasionally helped, but it never seemed enough. He'd been near ravenous towards the end there.

All the while she had been laughing at him. She had known this would happen and she hadn't warned him. One of her little games, letting him think she was giving him what he wanted only to chain him further to her. He had never cursed his deal as much as he had then when she had taken pity on him and taught him how to bend reality on a small scale. To create the bayou - a reflection of the very place where he had died - and filled it with the creatures that were not only necessary to keep him alive, but to allow him to thrive.

So he couldn't help but wonder, while Lucifer flashed those ears at him and called the very features that had nearly undone him 'cute,' how deep did the transformation go? Could a mimic sate his hunger as good as the real thing? The possibility that the seraphim blood might have rejuvenate powers didn't hurt, either.

It would have been everything he needed, served to him in a little red and white package.

It had been pipe dream, he'd thought at the time. Nothing to seriously entertain. Despite appearances to the contrary, he did know he had limits. Adam had just been an oversight. His growth in power had never truly been tested and well.

Lesson learned. He wasn't keen to try his luck just yet, especially not injured and his microphone broken, limiting his power.

But then Lucifer had done something so left field, Alastor still wasn't entirely certain he hadn't imagined it: a trade of his blood for some good behavior. In deer form, no less! The opportunity had been so good he'd had to hold onto his eagerness by the skin of his teeth.

Everything about the experience had not been a disappointment. Not only had he'd gotten quite a bit of entertainment out of the exchange, but it turned out the stories had been true. Within a few short hours of consuming Lucifer's blood, the wound indeed showed marked improvement.

The real treat, however, was that the hunger had indeed fallen silent. Oh, it had returned in due time, but how long it had stayed away! His appetite had only just been seriously returning when the first attack on the hotel happened, providing him with quite the meal and even a handful of angel's blood. He'd felt positively spoiled.

Getting to see the little seraphim in his full demonic glory had been interesting, as well. He'd known Lucifer had wiped the floor with Adam, despite Niffty being the one to kill him, but it was always different seeing it.

This was Hell's King. This was the entity the stories had talked about. All that power, right there on display, and all Alastor had wanted in that moment was to have this being underneath him again. Wanted to see how far he could push. To see how much Lucifer would let him take.

(Alastor wasn't certain what had possessed him to reach for Lucifer in that moment. Wasn't certain what he would have done had the little king decided to take him up on his offer. Had he simply wanted to hold that power in his hands? To burn himself on it?)

And oh, how his patience had paid off.

Such a huge gain and all it had cost Alastor was a night of his company and some information. Information Lucifer really should have already known, at that.

Now, Alastor was full and so very near hale and hearty again. Why, he was close to being able to tackling fixing his microphone soon!

Perhaps if he could have another feeding in the future...

Ah, but it wouldn't do to get used to this. Three times was already far more than he could have ever imagined, plus it never paid to put his wellbeing in the hands of others. They were so often unreliable. There were only two people in Heaven or Hell that he trusted, and neither of them resided in the hotel.

So, Alastor put the idea aside and went about his day as normal. If he had an extra skip to his walk, and his smile a touch more sanguine that normal, to the point he was receiving some nervous side glances, well, all the more entertainment for him.

He was feeling so well, in fact, he felt up to taking a little jaunt to visit one of his favorite people.

Cannibal Town was as lively as ever, despite their numbers had seen some reduction during Heaven's assault on the hotel. Rosie's Emporium, always the main attraction, was not lacking for people lined up to see their Overlord. The line was already starting to snake out the door.

Alastor strolled in, not minding the line in the slightest. Rosie always made time for him.

Sure enough, the woman in question looked up at the sound of the door opening, her ever-present smile widening in delight on seeing him. She never paused in whatever affair she was discussing with her current client, but she did make an effort to finish it up a touch bit faster.

He stood off to the side politely, waiting to see if now was a bad time or not. He wasn't bringing her anything other than his company and this was an impromptu visit.

"Alastor!" She greeted, loud and affectionate. "A visit twice in one month! You certainly know how to spoil a girl."

Alastor felt that little black thing that served as his heart warm with the genuine sincerity being shown his way. He matched her smile with an honest one himself. "Only those who deserve it, my dear, and you always do."

Rosie placed a hand to her cheek, bemused. "Oh, you." She waved over to one of the tables. "Now tell little ol' me what brings you here. You haven't gotten yourself into any more trouble, have you?"

He could hear a hint of concern in her voice and resolved to bring her a gift the next time he came over. "Oh, you know me. I'm always up for something exciting." He let her maneuver him into a chair set up at a table for two. "In this case, I was up for a walk and thought I'd indulge in your company, if you'll have me."

The Victorian Overlord's body language eased ever so slightly, adding to the suspicion she might have been worried. "Always, dear." She pressed a seemingly delicate finger to her lips. "Give me 30 minutes to clear this lot out and I'm all yours!"

He nodded, and she gave him a light pat on the shoulder as she went back to her work, pausing only briefly to have one of her workers send over a pot of tea. He spent the next half hour sipping on the latest delightful blend she was offering, watching the cannibals coming and going. Most were asking for the same thing they always did: someone wanting someone else to disappear, usually in a body bag they would of course hand over to Rosie.

After what he was sure was thirty minutes and no more (not that he would have honestly timed her, why, that would have been discourteous), his fellow Overlord was escorting the last of her clients out the door. Business completed, she turned on her guest. "Now that all of that work stuff is out of the way," Rosie said as she came to sit in the chair across from the redhead, "Come now, tell me all the gossip! Surely something juicy happened with how lively you're looking today."

Alastor supposed he shouldn't be surprised that she had seen through his mask the last time he'd been here. He'd needed to get away from hotel, just for a bit, as the strain of hiding his wound was wearing on him. None of his usual acquaintances had suspected a thing, and he had wanted to keep it that way.

But Rosie was hardly an 'acquaintance.'

He supposed since she knew already, it wouldn't hurt to assure her the worst was past. He also supposed he had a gift for her after all. Lowering the cup to the saucer on the table, he assured, "You could say I recently benefited from a rather unexpected deal recently."

Rosie raised an eyebrow expectantly, "Well, don't keep a girl waiting! Details!"

Because he was a little bit of a drama queen, he waiting until she had raised her own cup to her lips before he stated, "It turns out that all the rumors about angel blood is true, even more so for seraphim blood."

It was only because she had perfect control that she did not, if fact, choke on her drink. Rosie started at him for a long moment, trying to see if he was serious. When it became clear he was, she stated, "Well, shit, you certainly don't go small, do you?" She leaned forward, placing her free hand over one of his. "This deal didn't put you in a tough spot, now did it?"

Alastor's smile softened. "None of that, my dear." He didn't like to touch people, anymore than he liked being touched in return, but Rosie had always been kind to him, so he placed his other hand on top of hers and gave it a squeeze. "All that was asked for was a who's who on Pentagram City's current political landscape."

Rosie tilted her head to the side, the feather in her hat swaying with the motion. When she withdrew her hand, Alastor released it. "Our King is showing interest in his kingdom?" She blinked, more than a little surprised. He didn't blame her. "My, what could have brought this little development about?"

Alastor pulled both hands from the table, a subtle cue he had had enough tactile contact for the day, although he wasn't completely closing himself off from it. "Someone has been sending mercenaries to attack the hotel. Drivel, mostly. Little more than snacks on the whole." He hummed in memory of all the free morsels that had been sent his way, lately. "The attacks haven't done anything, really, other than rile his Majesty up." He gave her a look of amusement. "He's begun an investigation into who might be behind the attacks and asked after us Overlords. I gave you a good word, of course."

It was a testament to how quick-witted she was that Rosie barely blinked over the idea that their sovereign had apparently not only crawled out of the wood work, but was also finally taking an interest in his kingdom again. "Oh, of course you did." She flapped a hand at Alastor. "Do tell him if he ever want to visit, he's more than welcome!"

Alastor made a noise of acknowledgement. "He's quite the character, our king. I'm sure you'd find him... amusing." Amongst other things, he thought to himself as he sipped on the last of his tea.

Ever the host, Rosie noticed. "Oh, dear me, let me refill that." She raised the pot of tea to do so, offering, "You know, I just remembered: we got in a fresh body just this morning. Would you like an arm?"

The redhead considered the request, but found himself much too full. Whatever room he'd had available had already been taken up by his drink. "I thank you kindly for the offer, but sadly must pass this time." He placed his now empty cup on its saucer. "Why, I dare say I might have to wait on another cup of this delicious tea."

Rosie didn't have pupils that Alastor had ever been able to track, yet he had the distinct impression he was being looked up and down. "That blood must have been quite the thing to curb an appetite like yours." She shrugged before pulling over a box of ring fingers. Some even still had the rings on them. "Hm, knowing you, a certain someone might have to worry about her seat - if she ever intends to come back."

Alastor paused. Rosie did that sometimes: said things that threw him for a loop. "What now?"

She waved a finger in a circle to indicate the entirety of her guest, her smile all teeth and knowing. "Come now, Alastor, I don't think I've ever seen you in such a state before. I almost think you have intentions towards the king!"

The redhead tilted his head to the side, considering. Did he have intentions towards Lucifer? He certainly wouldn't mind having another go at his blood. Riling him up had yet to get old.

The urge to hunt, sated though it was at the moment, thrummed through his veins. Here was the ultimate prey, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to turn the tides.

The memory of the smell of apples and something he'd come to associate with Lucifer rose to mind. Of warm, pale alabaster skin beneath his lips. The feel of hands that could so easily crush him carding gently, absentmindedly, through his hair.

For the first time since their little games had started, though, Alastor realized that sitting beside the urge to devour was the urge to keep.

He examined the thought. He meant it when he said he delt primarily in favors. There were so few souls that interested him enough to keep long term. They were usually individuals who ranked as powerhouses themselves. Investments first, entertainment second.

This urge resembled that desire, but not quite. He certainly wanted access to the power contained within that tiny little package that called himself the King, but beyond that, he was beginning to think he might want to own Lucifer in every sense of the word.

Well. That was certainly quite the turn.

He turned his attention back to the world outside his own head, finding his fellow Overlord watching him and patiently waiting for him to sort out his thoughts. "I'm afraid, my dear, I don't have an answer to that, but you have given me quite the food for thought."

Rosie, bless her, didn't press. Knowing how perceptive she was on matters of the song and dance that was interpersonal relationships, it was likely she knew more than he did.

He really was thankful he made an ally of her rather than an enemy.

The rest of their chat was turned to less deep conversation. Soon enough, she sent him on his way, but not before warning, "Now be careful, Alastor. Kitten our King may be, I saw how fierce he can be when pressed."

If it didn't mean acquiring one of those silly picture boxes, Alastor might have been inclined break down and watch whatever that voyeur Vox had filmed of the fight on Extermination Day. Incidentally, his pride point blank period refused to allow him to let such a thing anywhere near his person if he didn't have to. "Don't worry, dear. It's all merely a thought. I won't do anything lest I know there's a chance at success."

That seemed to mull her over. They said their goodbyes, and he was off back to the hotel.

The conundrum that was his entanglement with Lucifer followed him all the way back to the hotel, dogging his steps as he went through the rest of his day. He didn't see the blonde at any point before he retired for bed, which was likely for the best, as Alastor was distracted and unlikely to be at the top of his game.

He didn't see him throughout any point of the following day either, not that he was looking for him. He didn't give it a second thought, not until he came upon Hell's princess halfway into a tizzy in the main gathering room.

"But Vaggie! He hasn't come down in almost two days!" Charlie wrang her hands together, glancing at the ceiling in the general direction of her father's room. "What if something's wrong?"

Vaggie had a hand on her girlfriend's shoulder, as much a comfort as it was a restraint. "What did he say when you knocked on the door?"

The hotel's owner bit her lip. "Just that he wanted to stay in for a bit. But that was yesterday. He didn't even respond at all when I knocked this morning."

"And you're sure he's still here? That he didn't leave?"

Charlie nodded. "His door is locked. He doesn't bother to lock it if he's not in."

Well, that's a silly thing to do, Alastor thought to himself. He filed it away for later. Deciding he was curious enough to join the conversation, especially since it seemed he might have been the last to see Lucifer. It would be bothersome if anyone thought he'd done anything to him when he really hadn't yet.

Alastor allowed his corporeal form to dissipate, only to reform right behind Vaggie. "What's this I hear about our esteemed leader disappearing?"

"Shit!" The fallen angel jumped, just as he hoped. Predictably, she spun around, bringing the point of her spear right up to his nose. "Cut it out, asshole. We don't have time for your games right now."

Alastor smiled down at her, as calm as a undisturbed pond, taking hold of the end of the spear and redirecting it away from his face. "And who's playing around? I heard our dear Charlie in distress and just had to see if I could help in anyway."

Vaggie narrowed her eye at him. One day, he was going to drive her to actually attempt to stab him. It would be such an entertaining day when it happened.

Charlie sniffed. She didn't necessarily look relieved to see him becoming involved, which, fair, but he could see something easing in her stance.

It was such a delight to see how much she'd grown to rely on him.

Stepping around the most hostile entity in the room like she wasn't holding a certified deadly weapon, Alastor came up to stand beside Charlie. "Tell me, do you have any reason to believe something might be wrong?"

She searched his face for any hint of falsehood. Any hint that he might use this against them.

She wasn't going to find any. She was learning to be more cautious of him, but she still had a long way to go before she'd see through his carefully constructed persona.

"Well... maybe?" She offered at last. He could see it in her eyes, her drooped shoulders: a certain helplessness. It was different from the kind that had driven her to make a deal with him. This kind was old, the sort that came from a time before the autonomy of adulthood. Likely this issue had roots in her childhood. "Mom used to say that Dad just kind of shut down sometimes. Worse than normal." She glanced at her girlfriend, likely for moral support, and then back at him. "Mom said it wasn't good to leave him alone during those times."

Alastor pushed down the eager swell that might have given up the game. Was it really going to be this easy? "And you think this might be one of those times?"

She mulled over this. Nodded, and then shrugged. "It's possible, but without getting past the lock..."

"I tried to pick the lock," Angel put out from where he was lounging on the couch, feet across Husk's lap. Husk, curiously, didn't appear to mind.

Charlie winced. "Yes, which is really not good! We shouldn't pick people's doors."

Angel shrugged, unbothered by the reprimand. "Didn't matter, either way. Turns out the door's magically locked." He made a handsy gesture with his top set of hands to emphasis his point.

Alastor looked between the two. "Is it warded?"

Everyone turned to look at him in confusion. Charlie blinked. "Warded?"

Oh, how quaint this lot was. "Magically locking the door means no one can unlock the door without breaking the spell. Unless the door is warded, there's nothing to stop someone from going, say, under the door."

Vaggie crossed her arms, posture irritated. "We can't go under the door, Alastor."

If he had his mic, he might have bopped her on the head just to mess with her. As it was, Alastor settled for smiling ever so sweetly at her as he pointed out, "Ah, maybe you can't, but it just so happens, I can."

Charlie shifted, uncertain. "You promise you won't make things worse...?"

She was so close that he could practically taste it.

Alastor placed a hand on her shoulder, softening his expression. "Now now, dear, we both know your father is hardly helpless. If he doesn't want me in there, he's more than capable of kicking me out."

Vaggie snorted, glaring viciously at him. "Yeah, not that that's ever stopped you."

Charlie glanced at her, warningly, before looking back at Alastor. She sighed and placed her hand over his. Feeling generous, he let her. "Alastor, please check on him, just... don't push, okay?"

Nothing but a formal deal was going to guarantee that, but he didn't have to advertise it. "I promise to be on my best behavior."

Her smile really was like sunlight breaking on the horizon when it wasn't being forced. She jerked forward as if she'd wanted to go for a hug but had aborted it at the last minute. Instead, she squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Alastor."

He disappeared into his shadow, partially to avoid her changing her mind and going for that hug, but also to avoid any further stipulations on his task. Between the quality of his last meal and the leaps and bounds in the healing of his wound, traveling by shadow was almost as easy as it had been before his injury. Seraphim blood was a marvel. It was such a pity that there was so little of it in Hell.

Alastor had studied the entirety of the hallway that made up his and Lucifer's floor along with the rest of the hotel the first opportunity he got upon his return. His inspection had stopped at white doors, whose handles were adorned with the same apple accents that littered the rest of the hotel. As he slipped under them, he could smell the magic on the handles. True to his suspicion, the spell was only on the lock itself, with nothing to guard again something like a shadow slipping right under the door.

It seemed Alastor's self-restraint in light of his injury had paid off, because nothing hindered him in anyway as he made his way into the room of the most powerful being Hell.

Alastor stuck to the outskirts of the room, where the darkest shadows gathered. It wasn't difficult, as most of the room was in shadow, the curtains drawn with very little natural light peaking in underneath them. The room was silent in a way that, at first, suggested that no one was in.

Perhaps Lucifer had gone out and failed to tell anyone, after all?

Tentatively, Alastor returned to his corporeal form, keeping to the darkest shadow the room he could find. When nothing and no one came flying at him, he turned his attention to the room at large.

Overall, the room appeared sparsely furnished. There was a rug laid out in front of the door. Chairs surrounding a table big enough for two over on one side of the room. The fireplace didn't appear to have ever been used, but it was there. A couple of bookshelves and a desk were the most lived in, but that was only because they were covered in small, yellow shapes he couldn't quite make out in the dark. A bed took up most of the final wall. It was perhaps the grandest thing about the room, looking every bit fit for the king who slept in it. Two side tables sat on either side of it, both with a lamp of their own.

As for the king himself, now that he was looking for it, Alastor could see the faintest outline of a shape near the left side of the bed. Creeping closer, he could see a pair of familiar boots and coat laying on the floor. A little closer, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room, he could see a pair of mimicked deer ears poking out the top of the nest of blankets.

For a long moment, Alastor simply stood there, looking down at the lump. His ears were strained for the first sign that his presence had been noticed, but so far there had been none. He could feel his grin widening with each beat of his heart that passed. There were so many things he could do in that moment and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.

There was a part of him, the part that was still human and remembered what it was like to be human, that wanted to finish the job he'd started two days ago. When he'd been alive, allowing a victim to live would have been tantamount to a death sentence. A living victim could become a witness who could identify him to the authorities and then the game would be up.

Lucifer wasn't just a potential victim. He was the authorities. He was the highest authority.

After his death, Alastor hadn't had to hide who he was or what he was like. It was simply a kill or be killed world, where one's continued existence depended on brains and reputation.

And oh what a reputation the Radio Demon would gain, if he took out the King of Hell himself?

The chain - noose - around his neck sat heavy and loud, ever grating against his sanity. The memory of Husk's deal held so easily in a dark grey hand brought him back down to himself. Reminded him why he wanted to keep the little king around.

There was no other reason. There could be no other reason.

He admitted to himself that it might be interesting to just stand there, looming as he waited for Lucifer to awaken. The subconscious was a funny thing and people on the whole didn't appreciate being stared at when they slept. The general consensus was that it was creepy. It was half the reason he enjoyed doing it and it always left the victim feeling off balance. When his majesty continued to not respond, Alastor also admitted to himself that while he did normally enjoy such a plan, he wasn't that patient.

Ready to spring away, if necessary, Alastor reached out until those tantalizing ears were just under his hand. Unrepentantly, he flicked one of them.

The ear twitched violently, the lump beneath the blanket shuddered, ear going flat. Grey hands appeared along the edge of the blanket, pulling it down for Lucifer peer up at him.

The sinner waved his fingers by way of greeting at his king, who stared back at him with a pair of tired, dead eyes.

Lucifer blinked at him, once, twice... and then pulled the covers back over his head??

Alastor felt the glitch to his system, spitting static. Did Lucifer think he could just ignore Alastor and he'd go away?

Oh, no. Oh no, that wouldn't do at all.

Time to throw away the preverbal Nice Guy gloves. He clapped his hands once, sharply, one shadow going for the lamp on the side desk while another went for the end of the covers. With vindictive amusement, the covers were ripped clean off the bed, while the flick of a switch bathed the room in light. A third shadow went for the curtains, yanking them aside to let the afternoon light in. Over the low groans of the bed's occupant, Alastor proclaimed at just high enough a volume to be annoying, "Rise and shine, your Majesty! You've nearly slept the day away, but there's still some time left to enjoy it."

The blonde still didn't look like he gave any sort of fuck that someone was standing over his bed harassing him. Alastor took in the rumpled state of his king's clothing - he was still dressed in his suit, sans the pieces on the floor - as Lucifer threw an arm over his eyes in a futile attempt to block out the light. Without a word, he merely rolled over, presenting his back to Alastor, as if he wasn't a concern in the slightest. His tail didn't even so much a flick once.

Alastor narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth. It ground his gears more than a bit to be so blatantly treated as so little a threat, but the more he took in the situation, the more it drove home what Charlie had meant by 'just kind of shut down.' With the absence of the quilt and sheets, the reek of melancholy wafted off Lucifer in waves, nearly overpowering his usual scent. Little things observed over time - the most damning being what was glimpsed during their last encounter - and Alastor recognized what he was looking at.

Lucifer Morningstar, the Devil and King of Hell was depressed. Deeply, truly, very depressed.

This was the potential opportunity he was looking for. Alastor would have to be blind not to see it. Getting close to Charlie had given him influence over Hell's future ruler as well as a possible solution to his ...other problem. It was a long game he'd been more than willing to play for the potential future rewards.

This here was the king, himself, though. As he'd just thought to himself: the highest authority in Hell. Lucifer didn't have much by way of political influence beyond the people's fear of his power. He clearly wasn't willing to use his authority to rule over his kingdom, first advocating it to his much more interested wife, before abandoning it altogether when she left.

On the other hand, who didn't know who he was? The other side of the coin to God himself, Lucifer was one of the most well known beings in all of creation, the originator and father of sin himself. The being who'd given humanity their free will and so neatly interrupted his holy father's plans.

Lucifer's interest in politics may have been nonexistent, but his reputation more than made up for it.

Could he do it, Alastor wondered to himself. Could he force himself into something companion shaped enough to meet the needs another just for power? He'd already debased himself so much already - it was how he landed in his current situation, in every sense of the word - could he do it a little more?

Static emitted from his throat, his desire - his desperation - to be free at war with his pride, tattered though it's remains were. Companionship usually came with other expectations. Expectations that included touching, amongst other things. The mere thought made him want to claw his own skin off and nothing had even happened yet.

He hadn't realized he'd moved until he heard a squeak from the direction of the floor. Attention diverted, Alastor craned his head around, hearing his own neck cracking in the process, as he tried to get a better look at whatever it was he had stepped on. He blinked when he saw the object, unable to resist reaching down to pick up the item to better exam it.

It was... a rubber duckie?

Lips parting in his bafflement, he twisted around to look towards the desk and shelves he remembered seeing earlier. The light of the lamp and the outside world illuminated the yellow objects, revealing them to be a mass pile of what were indeed rubber duckies. Every single one of them was some degree of different from the others, but they were all unmistakably the same thing. There had to be over a hundred of them. Some of them were new, but some of them were old, likely brought over from the palace.

Disgust curled up in his chest like a living thing. Disgust at himself. Disgust at Lucifer for being living proof that power doesn't mean a damn thing in the end. His anger made him reckless, blind to the potential consequences, as Alastor asked, "Is this why they left?"

For the first time since entering the room, he finally gained Lucifer's attention. "What?"

The single word sounded like a warning, but Alastor had already picked up too much momentum. He knew he liked to poke where he shouldn't, that it could be the death of him one day. Perhaps today was going be that day. In that moment, weighted down by everything, he almost didn't care. "While your people were getting slaughtered and your wife's kingdom was being burned to the ground, were you making children's toys?"

Lazily, damningly, like the final nail in his own coffin, he spun around back to the lump that would be his king. He sneered.

"How pathetic."

The only warning he had was the flicking of that silly, ridiculous tail.

Suddenly, the room was spinning. No, he was falling - being pulled? - onto the bed. His back made contact with the mattress and he got a brief glimpse of the ceiling before it was replaced by Lucifer.

Who was livid. Hands like stone pinned Alastor down at the wrists. The rest of Lucifer's body weight rested on the sinner's hips, one leg resting on either side of his body. Every single one of his fangs were visible as he bared his teeth in a snarl mere inches from Alastor's nose. "Who are you to judge me? You dare to speak of things you know nothing about?!"

Eyes void of pupils glared down at him, staring down into his very soul. Feeling exposed, feeling vulnerable, Alastor's flight or fight response kicked in, sending his heart rate through the roof. He tried to dissolve into his shadow, only to find himself unable to do so.

In response to his distress, he shadows rose up, diving in to take out his attacker. Lucifer didn't even acknowledge them. His wings appeared behind him, flooding the room with a bright light that drove away any and all shadows.

Sensing he was caught, the part of Alastor's brain that was every bit the prey animal he worked so hard not to let himself be forced him to go still under a dangerous predator.

"You are nothing more than a rapid dog nipping at my heels." Lucifer growled, the smell of smoke heavy on his breathe. "I should put you out of your misery, once and for all."

Alastor swallowed, forced himself to think through the molasses of his fear. He may be pinned and powerless, but he wasn't completely without weapons. He was never more glad that his smile was fixed in place as he stated, "Ah, there you are, your Majesty. You had Charlie worried about you."

He was almost able to keep the grimace out of his voice. Almost.

Alastor wondered if that had been perhaps the wrong thing to say, as Lucifer tightened his grip until bones began to grind together. Red tipped fingers curled inwards, the only sign of his pain.

Golden pupils appeared between one blink to the next, tracking the movement. As if he actually cared about the pain he could be causing, Lucifer's grip loosened, just enough that they were simply pinning instead of inflicting harm. His voice, on the other hand, held no mercy, as he asked, "What does my daughter have to do with this?"

Growing more confident the longer the king didn't kill him, Alastor explained, "Well, when she didn't hear from you today, Charlie asked me to come check on you, of course!" It wasn't entirely the truth, but it was close enough to hold up under any immediate scrutiny.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, all to happy to bring on the scrutiny. "Why would she send you?"

Alastor shrugged like he wasn't pinned under someone who was just trying to kill him mere moments ago. "Because I was the only one that could get into the room. Perks of being the Hotel Manager!" As his panic began to settle with each passing moment Lucifer was slowly returning to his normal form, the feeling of his skin crawling from every point of contact between them was beginning to rise. He needed to get Lucifer off him and soon. "In fact, she's waiting for word back right at this moment!"

Lucifer's eyes, pupils red and sclera yellow again, searched him, likely to see if he was telling the truth. Upon seeing that he was, he proceeded to finally make a mistake.

He took his eyes off of his captive to glance at the door, hands loosing just that tiny, crucial bit more.

Alastor caught his heels on the edge of the bed, using the leverage to raise his hips up into a bridge. The new position forced Lucifer to either release his wrists to catch himself or face plant as he was thrown forward. Luckily for the redhead, Lucifer went for catching himself, releasing Alastor, who immediately sprung up, catching the blond around the waist. Twisting, the two toppled over.

Within mere seconds, their positions were reversed: Alastor on top and Lucifer pinned to the mattress on his back.

The little king blinked up at him. He almost looked impressed with the move. He glanced at the hands pinning his wrists, flexing them as he tested the strength of the grip. Squirmed a little as the new position was likely putting an uncomfortable weight on his wings.

Good, Alastor thought. At any other time and situation, Alastor might have been fascinated by them. At the moment, his grip on those deceptively dainty wrists and any signs of discomfort were the only thing allowing him to hold onto his sanity.

For a long moment, they simply remained still, both parties regaining control over their frayed nerves. As his heart rate settled, his breathing normalizing, Alastor became aware of something he hadn't noticed over the stench of melancholy: his own scent.

It was becoming stale, but he could still was still there, separate from what he was currently leaving behind. It clung to Lucifer's person like a neon sign to tell anyone with the nose for it that he had let the Radio Demon close enough to him to make a claim.

He hadn't gotten rid of it.

The knowledge awoke a beast of a different kind, possessive and wanting, the scales tipping from Alastor wanting to devour this prize to wanting to keep him, if only he could figure out how. It left him nearly dizzy with whiplash.

Movement pulled him out of the thought. The redhead focused back on the outside world in time to see Lucifer directing his attention down the length of his own body. Alastor, without thinking, did the same.

Something hot and mortified clawed at his throat as he realized that while the blonde had been sitting on his hips in the original hold, the change in position had Alastor pinning Lucifer to a bed while sitting between his legs.

Alastor threw himself off of Lucifer and the bed, feeling like every point of contact had burned him. Lucifer raised himself up on his elbows, raising an eyebrow at him. The redhead didn't know what he saw in his expression before it was all locked away behind his mask, but it resulted in the blonde's own expression growing tired.

Lucifer let himself fall back onto the bed, seemingly heedless of his wings, running a hand down his face. "Message received." He waved a hand at the door. The spell on the door fell away with a light shower of sparks. Task down, the limb fell limp down onto the mattress. "Please tell Charlie I'll be down shortly."

It was a clear dismissal. Usually Alastor would have bristled at such a thing, but considering he did not want to be in that room anymore, he let it go. Forcing everything back into place, despite the ways his edges were feeling frayed, he said faux pleasantly, "As you wish, sire."

He paid little attention to the half assed wave of goodbye he received in response. When he disappeared into his shadow, he refused to look too deeply into how much it felt like he was running.

Again.

tbc

Part 8

[historiaxvanserra]

In Hades I Am With You | Coming Soon

Pairing: Rhys x HewnCIty!Reader

Summary: After the death of his High Lady and following a catastrophic war with a deathless God, Rhysand is urged by the inner circle to take a lover from Hewn City to further unite the warring factions in his own court. Loathed to take a mistress, Rhysand strikes a deal with the daughter of one of his death bringers. Her freedom in exchange for companionship and the allusion of intimacy. But how long can Rhysand run away from the painful truth that fate has big plans for him.

The sound of the high-arching orchestral symphony is cacophonous in the Midsummer air and the voices of the courtiers making merry echoes loudly in your ears. From where you stand near the outskirts of the aching chasm of the Moonstone Palace's grand ballroom you can see the dancing courtiers, like a myriad of technicolor stars that glitter against the black, and the lovers as they steal kisses in the night when the music swells to its heights. Lords and Ladies entangled in the shadowed opal light of the dark palace.

The chandelier hangs above the marble floor like a great quartz stalactite; almost luminescent as it casts the room in an ethereal, silvery hue.

One solitary figure stands out amongst the crowd of courtiers, his skin is of a similar dark hue to the morose Illyrian's that flank the dias, though more golden than carob. Something about the raw power he exhibits; the way his corded arms fold over the broad expanse of his chest, or the sharp cut of his jaw, the aquiline slope of his nose, the clear violet of his gaze. 

His eyes meet yours through the haze of insense smoke and the dancing tide of courtiers and memory comes back to you slowly, and then all at once. With the swiftness of the tide. The distant dreams formed in the folly of youth; some depraved girlhood fantasy as you regard the masked man once more. Only this time you note the dark lines inked into his forearms, and the tell-tale shade of blue-black hair that curls around fine, pointed ears. You would know him by scent alone; jasmine and mandarin, undercut with something inherently masculine. Bergamot and woody-bourbon. 

Your High Lord.

He looks older than you remember him. His face is cast in shadows but even in the low light you can see that the once perfect planes of his face have faint lines etched into them, a testament to his many years ruling The Night Court. He’s softer than you remember but underneath the softness there’s a lingering sense of dark, raw power. You swear its so palpable that you can taste it on the air as he smiles wickedly in your direction. 

Your High Lord, you chastise yourself.

All those years trying to outrun girlhood fantasies and yet, here you are, in the same place, entertaining the same notions that The High Lord might look your way. 

He wears maturity well you think, he carries this world-weary aura paired with his signature dark magnetism that has your heart fluttering wildly in your chest as the dancing sea parts for him as he goes. 

Your thunderous heart almost stops when those violet eyes burn bright against the dark and they’re set on you. The High Lord’s eyes glint in the silver moonglow and something akin to a smirk graces his perfect, parted lips and it’s then you realize he’s approaching you. A slow, stalk as he paces towards you, with all the feline grace of a predator.

And tonight, you are his prey. 

[numinousdread-a]

@heavenlypillars​ // Luo Binghe said: [ GRATIFY ]  sender asking “is that better?” after finally penetrating receiver after teasing them. (( bai li x binghe so true ??? ))

NSFW //

       𝐁𝐀𝐈 𝐋𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓 falling into the demon king’s bed. Even if he felt nothing would come of it, even if he knew this was surely a one time thing -- Why had he even come back here to this court ?

He sucked in a breath as he felt those large hands trailing up the expanse of his lithe back, felt his fangs bare themselves as he looked up at this half-demon whose eyelashes swept and fluttered like feathers, whose shoulders could carry all that oppressive demonic might, whose mouth was pink and irresistible as the strength behind those big hands currently shoving him down into his bed instead of choking him to death.

Heavens, strike me down like you want to, Bai Li thought.

He hadn't given himself to many before. Rather, no one but one ever usually possessed his mind with the urge to. And this ...

Bai Li felt Luo Binghe's fingers lifting his thighs over onto his shoulders and massaging down the backs of them to his behind. He grabbed each cheek in hand, kneaded each one as he bent Bai Li in half this way to lean down and drag those dreadfully weak, too human still fangs against his collar and neck. And despite it, Bai Li felt his his ears twitch and his face warm by the intimacy of it, the inherent arousal it gave him to be touched by another who wasn't scared of him or this body he occupied.

Soon he felt those hands rubbing higher, closer, teasing Bai Li in places he shuddered to think made his cock twitch to life. But he closed his eyes tight, and feeling a thumb brush a particular place, he was unable to withhold the sigh and lift of his hips into it. It proved to be a mistake. 

Luo Binghe, with his pretty waving black hair pooling over his shoulders, leant back and locked eyes with Bai Li the moment he opened them again. 

His thumb stopped there, right at his hole, where Bai Li was loathe to admit he felt he wanted it, tight and wanting.

"You like that ? "

"No." Bai Li answered too quickly. Then, "...It feels nice."

"Against your hole ?" Luo Binghe saw right through him.

"Yes."

"Do you want my finger there ?" He pressed, smirking.

"..." Shame or embarrassment filled the fox yao's head like the sudden appearance of clouds.

"Tell me," Came his soft command, and Bai Li's ears fell back. A growl left him, the muscles of his thighs tightening above him.

"--I want it. "

"Want what ? "

"You to touch me there." He hissed.

"Where ? "

Bai Li, despite his flushed face, glared up at him. He bore daggers into his soft-looking lips. "....On my ass."

"And ? "

"And I want it inside there."

Luo Binghe didn't tease him anymore. At last, he only leaned forward and whispered in his furry ear, "Is that better ? "

Like that, Bai Li felt his finger return, a heavy pressure against that place. He laid still, averting his gaze as he lifted his hips and a moment later felt his fingertip penetrate through.

It was so big, he couldn't fathom what ever else of his could eclipse this -- without thinking, he had relaxed and eagerly took in more of this digit making Luo Binghe laugh softly into his ear. "And you thought this would be me."

His finger soon sunk in deep to the knuckle and with a mewl, Bai Li saw stars for the rest of the night.

[pensivetense]

*vague high pitched noises in the direction of you OG!Elias hot takes*

I love them, if you have any more pls share.

Also; OG!Elias & Jonah friendship/relationship any more thoughts on that???

Ahhh thank you very much!! I Am Not Immune To The Inherent Intimacy Of Bodysharing. I’ve rambled a bit about them here but I always have more thoughts :)

(Okay this took me FOREVER to get to I’m so sorry—the sleep deficit I’ve been running on the week has been insane and the words just didn’t want to word.)

I have a whole backstory for ogElias that lives in my head, and is completely not based in anything canonical, but anyway:

I know that Jonah probably just picks who’s most convenient at the time but Elias accidentally had to go and embody one of my deepest fears and I can’t just let that go so In My Head Jonah picks Elias initially because he’s perfectly suited to the Eye. He’s from a large old family that Jonah actually looks into carefully just in case they’re secretly Lukas-adjacent because they’re just kind of awful. (He might court the Lonely but he’s careful not to invite it in too far—he knows he’s not invulnerable to it.)

But no, the Bouchards are just what they appear to be—a family with too much money and self-importance and history to make up for what they lack in character, and who have as a result become obsessed with public optics, to the detriment of their children. Pulling off the semblance of being a stable, socially presentable family is far more important to them than actual connections, and so Elias and his siblings grow up under the oppressive eye of their parents, who are always scrutinizing how they act, speak, dress, etc. to preserve their public image. Predictably this is hell on everyone involved, but where Elias’s siblings manage to scrape together either the will to pretend or actually absorbing the philosophy, Elias is the family disappointment. Okay so in my head he’s trans, but really there are any number of things that would earn the disappointment of a family obsessed w/ optics. I imagine them as being the unfortunately gaslighty kinds of people who are always going on about how he should just act the way they want him to because ‘they know who he really is better than he does’ or some awfulness like that.

So from this he’s had to actually cultivate a very strongly self-protective sense of identity. He’s going to be him, and he’ll fight to the death to preserve his individuality against a lot of pressure to conform. But on the flipside of that, he’s actually not in a very good place because while he’s cultivated a very definitive self image, he’s terrified of letting anyone actually get close enough to see the real him through the image because the constant judgement has worn on him to the point that he doesn’t want to let anyone have the leverage of being able to dismiss or attack his sense of self.

So this is the perfect combination of traits for Jonah’s purposes—Elias is isolated, terrified of being seen because that makes him vulnerable and equally terrified of not being seen/having his selfhood acknowledged.

What Jonah utterly fails to take into account is just how well they’re suited to each other. Because both of them are incredibly self-protective people but in different directions—Jonah’s willing to sacrifice his identity in order to preserve his life, and Elias is the sort of person who would wouldn’t care about dying if he could be guaranteed an honest eulogy. So in a certain sense they share enough of a personality type and sort of survivalist mentality to fundamentally understand each other, even when they hate each other. Furthermore, Elias is so used to having to defend himself against assaults on his basic sense of self that he’s actually quite resilient in that regard, and though watching his life be stolen without anyone even noticing is literally his most primal terror, Jonah can’t just shove him to the back of their headspace and forget about him, or whatever he’s done with previous hosts. In a sense, Elias has the one rebellion left to him of choosing to remain himself after all of the rest of his choices are taken from him, and this is also partially why he ‘forgets’ to be angry at Jonah—because in a certain sense it’s an assertion of his personality to purposefully maintain all of the parts of himself, and not just what’s filtered through his fear and anger.

Usually when Jonah monologues at his hosts it’s for the purpose of torturing them, but unfortunately he finds that he actually? Enjoys Elias’s company when Elias is forgetting to be angry? And it’s about the most secure relationship he can possibly cultivate because he has total control of the situation, so he lets himself start to like Elias, in the same sort of resigned way that Elias starts to like him. For Elias, his choices have suddenly been narrowed down to nearly none, so he may as well make the best of an objectively awful situation. For Jonah, Elias is absolutely ‘safe’ because he’s powerless to affect the world in any meaningful way, so Jonah may as well indulge himself in all of the socialization he’s missed since his original body. (He has such a wide network of friends and acquaintances in the 1800s that he must be a people person.)

I think that under the right circumstances they could influence each other in positive ways—Elias could make Jonah a little less self-destructive, and having Jonah’s attention and regard would allow Elias to relax his guardedness. So in a sense they both make each other care a little more about the aspects of life that they’ve decided are disposable/unimportant to their survival by seeing those aspects through the other’s eyes, so to speak. This allows them both to actually start enjoying more things about life—Elias wants to know who Jonah is as a person and is disappointed when he finds out that Jonah doesn’t seem to put much thought or effort into himself, and Jonah’s adamant desire to not die starts to infect Elias a little with a willingness to adapt in order to survive, at which point he really starts to examine what he wants out of this relationship.

Unfortunately, this is where the inherent power imbalance rears its head, because if Jonah genuinely starts to care about Elias as a person he’s going to realise just how permanently he fucked their relationship from the start. Quite apart from the whole body-snatching thing, they can’t get the space from each other or the autonomy that a partnership of equals demands, and of course they can’t have a partnership of equals because Jonah’s got literal supernatural powers and centuries of age on Elias and is also effectively his jailer. Whether he can or cannot cede any physical autonomy to Elias if he wants, he also has to choose how much influence he allows Elias to have over him as a person and in terms of decisions.

I think by this point Elias knows absolutely everything about the Mass Ritual, because Jonah overshares because he’s socially starved and also because the Eye likes it, so the way I see it is on one extreme, Elias takes a definitive moral stand and they end up in a really yearn-y relationship where they’re always together but can’t really be together, or on the other he just says fuck it and decides to be evil, too, partially as a way of asserting control over his situation, and they end up being extremely codependent. (And of course any mixture of the two.)

But in particular, because I’m a massive fan of Elias killing Jonah, I like the former scenario because he’d do it if he got the opportunity but it would hurt, but he’d have to because I think that no matter what, if Jonah had complete control, he’d never give that up or turn aside from his immortality quest, in love or not.

More miscellany:

-I like the idea of Elias being the one who’s got the methodical/logical way of thinking, vs Jonah as the imaginative/intuitive one. Jonah’s got his moments of high drama despite the bland bureaucrat persona, and I like the idea of Elias as working as a file clerk on purpose because he likes paperwork and organisation and he could not care less about the degree that his family made him go and get.

(Original post of takes here )

[pudgecuddles]

Fic Recs!

Sorry this took a while to compile, but here you go, just in time for your birthday @chocochub!

I went ahead and tried to describe any triggers or reasons for the rating (sex vs. violence). I’m sorry if I missed anything that makes you uncomfy that‘s the last thing I want!

Also I got really sleepy around the time I was formatting this so sorry if there’s any errors with links, grammar, or trigger warnings. I’ve tried to be as thorough as I can, but many of these I’ve finished over a year ago and can’t recall every theme or possibly upsetting event :(

•

Red Sky in Morning by GinForInk

Rating: E for Sex, Violence and Loss of Limb

Relationships: TaeJoon, YoonKook

Themes: Pirate AU, Curse AU, Adventure, Supernatural, Mystery, Horror

Summary: Captain Namjoon's cursed crew searches the Caribbean for a ship that can save them, and Namjoon's own men have more magic than they let on.

My notes: Even though there’s sex, it’s less smut and more romantic/stress relief than purposefully pornographic. Very heavy on Supernatural and Adventure. Characters are written very well! Definitely a favorite of mine.

•

Hijacker’s Island by Gobi17

Rating: T for semi-graphic violence and attempted sexual assault from a villain.

Relationships: None

Themes: Hijack Gone Wrong, Plane Crash, Island Survival, Befriending the Baddies, Psychological Thriller, Mystery, Action

Summary: Jungkook's flight home ends in disaster as a group of hijackers take over the plane, and events quickly spiral out of control.

My Notes: I really loved this one. It was an interactive story where the audience was able to choose what choices Jungkook (the main character) would make. His survival depended on the answers, and I was on the edge of my seat the entire time. There is a lot of platonic character bonding, so no sex, however there is a bad guy that fixates on Kookie that later attempts to sexually assault him. If this is triggering to you please do not read.

•

Butterfingers by jincherie

Rating: G

Relationships: RM/Reader

Themes: Co-workers, Teachers, Hybrids, Penguin-Hybrid Joon, Heavy Fluff, Penguin Courting uwu

Summary: He had you at the very first pebble he gave you.

My notes: Extremely cute. I’m not usually on for Reader fics as they’re usually rife with unneeded smut and OOC-ness, but I love Namjoon being an awkward, unusual Hybrid and I LOVE cute, animalistic behavior.

•

Do Not Meddle In The Affairs Of Dragons, For You Are Crunchy And Taste Good With Ketchup by Runchrandom

Rating: T

Relationships: OT7, but Namjoon-centric

Themes: Supernatural, Humor, Crack treated seriously, part of a series, Dragon-Joon

Summary: In which Namjoon is a man who doesn't know what he wants, then accidentally figures it out while turning into a very large lizard.

My notes: Part of a very cute and funny series of Supernatural boyband BTS, navigating their inherent differences and similarities. Also lots of protective Dragon Namjoon taking good care of his Treasures UwU

•

you have 1 new message by bazooka

Rating: T

Relationship: NamJin (my OTP)

Themes: Humor, Text Fic, Imbedded Pictures, Suspense/Mystery

Summary:

r u n c h r a n d a.

fuck

this is going to sound like the weirdest shit

okay look i used ur selcas to catfish and this older dude is gonna buy me stuff but i have to send him a selca with a peace sign

~ * ~ pingkeu jin ~ * ~

hahahahahahaha wtf

My notes: As someone who steers clear of text fics, this one I actually loved! Very funny and clever, the developing relationship between NamJin is hilarious. It also turns into a mystery/thriller???

(You can only read it if you have an Ao3 account as it’s locked to users only)

•

Vending Machines and Bad Ideas by smiles

Rating: G

Themes: Blind Dates, Meet Cute, Humor, Rom-Com

Relationships: 2Seok

Summary: Hoseok needed to focus, regroup. He needed to evaluate the situation, weigh his options, and find a solution. He needed to work through this like the capable adult he was. He needed to get his hand out of this stupid vending machine.

My notes: 2Seok is a guilty pleasure of mine lol. This was cute, funny and sweet.

•

Human by SunShineSwag

Rating: E for Graphic Violence, Many Murders, Sex, Mentions of Past Abuse and Temporary Character Death

Themes: Serial Killer/Dexter AU, Suspense/Mystery, Romance, Crime, Fluff, Hobi Teaches Yoongi How To Emotion™

Relationships: SOPE, NamJin, side VMinKook

Summary: During the day, Yoongi works for the police as a forensic expert.

But when night falls, he becomes a nightmare.

A serial killer.

My notes: Just finished this one and wow I’m so in love! It seems really intimidating from the tags and summary, but I swear it is also super ooey gooey soft and mushy. There is lots of angst, suspense and hurt/comfort, but with a very happy ending! I actually avoided this fic for a few months cause I didn’t think I was in the right headspace for something super dark, but it was actually quite fluffy.

•

Jungkook’s House for the Wayward Werewolf by Rivertoforever

Rating: T for Non-Sexual Intimacy

Themes: Supernatural, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, slight Dom/sub dynamics, Werewolfs, Very Non-Traditional ABO, Asexual/Poly Relationship, Roomate AUish

Relationships: OT7 but very Jungkook-centric

Summary: Being the only human in a household of werewolves can lead to strange experiences, mixed signals, weird behaviour and a lap full of fur.

My notes: This is one of my favorite stories of all time! It’s unfortunately unfinished and has been for a while, so if you’re not a fan of WIPs this won’t be for you :( Otherwise, I reread it all the time! I remember loving the relationship and dynamic between the characters and how they were all very respectful of JK not wanting to be physical with them. A year later I discover I’m Ace! Haha! I consider this fic one of the many things that pushed me in the right direction. It’s very cute, fluffy and soft!

•

[And uh... I considered putting this on the list before but thought it was a little too heavy on sex/smut so I took it off, but I’ll leave it here for you to decide. I think that the smut scenes in this fic aren’t necessarily there for “smexy cock fun times” and are more outright statements on gender equality, sociology, informed consent and healthy relationships. Hence why I’ve left it in!]

Mentoring on Marsa by FlyYouFools1

Rating: E for Sex, Firm Dub-Con, Discussion of Non-Con, Violence, Unhealthy Relationships

Themes: ABO, Technically Aliens?, Societal Differences, Culture Shock, Kind of Sugar Baby AU, Viva La Omegan Revolution, Teaching Alphas to Not Be Dicks™, One Big Fat Metaphor for Real Life Gender Discrimination and Systematic Abuse

Relationships: VMinKook, YoonJinNamSeok

Summary: Jungkook comes to the planet Marsa after being promised a full scholarship to Marsa National University. When the scholarship falls through, his academic advisor gives him the number for a mentoring service for newly stranded omegas on Marsa. With rent due, no way home, and no success in finding a job, Jungkook calls the number. The organization sends him Min Yoongi, a fellow omega who's been living on Marsa for 8 years. Yoongi teaches him how to survive. Jungkook's first attempt at survival is alpha couple Jimin and Taehyung.

My notes: This is the really long part one that just finished. It’s 50 chapters of emotional healing, statements on consent, character growth and sneaky omegas. I’m a huge fan of non-traditional ABO fics, and I love when sex is treated not as a “just cause I can”, but as an actual example of gender politics and relationship growth. If anyone is aspec, this might not be the story for you! But if you can mentally push past the idea of sex, I assure you it’s not “porn for the sake of porn”.

[mediaeval-muse]

Book Review

Mirage. By Somaiya Daud. New York: Flatiron Books, 2018.

Rating: 3.5/5 stars

Genre: YA sci fi/fantasy

Part of a Series? Yes, Mirage #1

Summary: In a star system dominated by the brutal Vathek empire, eighteen-year-old Amani is a dreamer. She dreams of what life was like before the occupation; she dreams of writing poetry like the old-world poems she adores; she dreams of receiving a sign from Dihya that one day, she, too, will have adventure, and travel beyond her isolated moon. But when adventure comes for Amani, it is not what she expects: she is kidnapped by the regime and taken in secret to the royal palace, where she discovers that she is nearly identical to the cruel half-Vathek Princess Maram. The princess is so hated by her conquered people that she requires a body double, someone to appear in public as Maram, ready to die in her place. As Amani is forced into her new role, she can’t help but enjoy the palace’s beauty—and her time with the princess’ fiancé, Idris. But the glitter of the royal court belies a world of violence and fear. If Amani ever wishes to see her family again, she must play the princess to perfection...because one wrong move could lead to her death.

***Full review under the cut.***

Content Warnings: violence, blood, political oppression, torture

Overview: As far as debuts go, this is one of the stronger ones I’ve read in some time. While the blurb promises a thrilling saga about survival, Mirage is focused less on characters dodging assassination attempts and more on holding on to one’s identity in the face of cultural suppression. I very much enjoyed Daud’s prose and her way of communicating emotion, which forged meaningful connections between characters and overcame what qualms I had about plot. While I talk about those qualms below, I do think that Mirage is a thoughtful book, and I am looking forward to the next installment in the series.

Writing: Daud’s prose is very descriptive and flows nicely without straying into purple territory. I wouldn’t call it “poetic,” because Daud doesn’t burden the reader with metaphor or lush descriptions of her world, but she does provide enough vivid detail to give the reader a clear picture of what’s going on, and then lets the rhythm and mood sweep the reader away. For example, Daud might leave a description of a palace as having “geometric designs” or a qaftan as “grey with red detailing” but focus more attention on how characters are feeling or interacting with each other.

Daud also has a talent for setting a good pace. While reading, I was worried that we were going to be subject to a lengthy “training session” in which Amani learns the ins and outs of court life, and while we do get some of that, it doesn’t go on for pages and pages. The training isn’t important, and Daud knows that. She describes just enough for the reader to get the idea of what kinds of things Amani has to learn and moves on. She also doesn’t linger in scenes that don’t need it, so we aren’t reading pages and pages of, say, Amani at a party - we get just enough to see Amani accomplish her goal before we’re on to the next thing. It was refreshing and kept the plot moving.

Plot: The premise of this novel is that Amani, an 18-year-old woman living under an oppressive regime, is taken from her home and forced to serve as a body double to Maram, the princess and heir to her oppressor’s empire. Amani’s people inhabit a planet called Andala and its moons - Amani herself lives on a moon called Cadiz - and are ruled over by the Vath, who have partially occupied, partially colonized the area. Though the Vath have a firm grip on power and have suppressed much of Kushaila culture (the Kushaila being one of the cultural/ethnic groups on Andala), rebellion still lingers in various pockets around the star system, threatening the life of Maram, who has made herself despised by the Andalaans through her cruelty.

The plot isn’t so much about Amani encountering life-threatening situations (by posing as Maram) as it is Amani struggling to hang on to her cultural identity. She becomes every bit the Vath princess, but finds comfort in her native language, her religion (or spirituality, or folklore - I’m not sure how to describe it), poetry, culturally-significant tattoos, and so on. As a result, this book is a wonderful exploration of how survival and preservation can be act of rebellion, which Amani herself thinks about this often. The sense is enhanced when we consider that Maram, the princess she is tasked to protect, is half Vath, half Kushaila, and struggles with accepting her Kushaila heritage, while Idris, Maram’s fiance and one of the few living members of a major Kushaila house, longs to connect to his native culture after living under Vath rule for so long.

Despite loving the message about cultural identity and survival, I do with Amani’s body doubling duties had been presented as a bit more risky than they were. The first few times Amani poses as Maram, there seems to be little threat to either Maram’s or Amani’s lives. Amani (as Maram) goes to a couple parties or visits Maram’s relatives or sits in on a political meeting - nothing where an assassination attempt seems to be a real possibility. The only time I got the sense that body doubling was necessary was towards the end, when more public appearances carried more potential for disruption. While I don’t think this book needed more threats of violence or “action adventure” to be considered “good,” I do think more risk could have enhanced the message about survival and sisterhood (which comes to fruition later).

Eventually, Amani does involve herself in riskier scenarios when she agrees to act as a spy, feeding information to the resistance while becoming increasingly more sympathetic towards Maram. While I liked that Amani got more to do, Amani’s efforts at playing politics seemed sloppy. While posing as Maram, she advises her father’s war council on which cities to bomb, which could have been a good subversion (to direct attention away from certain areas), but she advises them to bomb a culturally significant region of the planet and then acts like she had no choice. Moreover, Amani didn’t seem to be enthusiastic about the rebellion; she does her part, but it’s not necessarily a driving force in the decisions she makes. I put this down to her evolving feelings towards Maram, but still, I would have liked to see her be more passionate about the cause so that the conflict between supporting the rebels and supporting a friend is more pronounced.

Characters: Amani, our narrator and protagonist, is easy to connect with because she voices her emotions so much. The reader is always aware of how Amani is feeling, when she’s sad or lonely, when she’s finding comfort, when she’s connecting to others or to her poetry. Being privy to these emotions helped overcome moments when Amani is relatively passive. Throughout much of the book, Amani is obligated to do as she’s told, act as she’s expected, etc. which makes her seem like a mere pawn and just trying to survive the day. Of course, preserving her cultural identity is active, but I think even these moments could have been put into Amani’s hands a bit more. I also think 

Maram, the princess for whom Amani serves a body double, has a very satisfying arc. She starts out cruel and arrogant, mistrusting everyone around her and doing her best to assert that she’s Vath, but over time, the facade begins to break down, and she becomes more sympathetic. I very much enjoyed how her relationship with Amani evolved, and her crisis of cultural identity complimented Amani’s story nicely.

Idris, Maram’s fiance and Amani’s love interest, is compelling in that he embodies a different facet of cultural suppression and identity crisis than Maram or Amani. He was only 10 when his family was wiped out for first rebelling, then surrendering to the Vath, and has primarily grown up in Vath courts ever since. He is engaged to Maram in the attempt to appease the Andalaans, making Vath rule more palatable if the heir to the empire is half-Kushaila and is married to a Kushaila. Idris remembers almost none of his native language, nor does he recognize the cultural significance of certain Kushaila things (like tattoos, etc.). His connection to Amani, then, is partially a connection with his native culture, and he learns more and more about where he came from by talking to her. While I enjoyed the drama inherent in his romance with Amani (how does one overcome the obstacle of being engaged to the princess but falling for her body double?), I did wish more was done to show a connection between them on a personal level. Idris seems to be in love with Amani primarily because of what she can teach him about Kushaila culture; most of the intimacy between them springs from discussions about Idris’ past or his lack of knowledge, with Amani filling in the blanks. Granted, there is a moment when Idris expresses admiration for Amani’s bravery, but I thought it was overshadowed by his draw to her as a representation of what he lost.

Other: The worldbuilding in this story was fairly compelling, combining the realities of cultural suppression with a unique science fiction setting that drew on Middle Eastern/Arabic/Islamic (I’m not sure which, specifically) aesthetics. I liked how the richness of Kushaila culture contrasted with the minimalism and austerity of the Vath because it reminded me of discussions about aesthetics and class or aesthetics and power - the “clean,” conservative tastes of the ruling class are in part an exercise in suppression and conformity, so I thought that worked well in the political environment Daud had created. I do think, however, that there were times when Daud would introduce something and not make full use of it. Maram, for example, has a large bird of prey called a roc, which does Maram’s bidding - but it only shows up once. There are droids roaming around, mostly in combat or violent situations, but I frequently forgot that they existed because they are almost never integral to the scene. I hope that the worldbuilding will continue to grow in subsequent installments in this series, as I really liked what I read in Mirage, but just wanted a bit more.

Recommendations: I would recommend this book if you’re interested in science fiction and fantasy, space operas, questions of cultural identity, poetry, and growing rebellions.

[teacher-lavin]

Strangers in the Global Village: Baldwin & Joyce (Part One)

Beauford Delaney’s portrait of James Baldwin. 

Jimmy Baldwin’s essays and novels, revisited in the recent Hollywood rage, If Beale Street Could Talk, spell out the blues. That’s beautiful. That’s also sad. Baldwin was an esthete. He knew how to find the beauty in a human story. The realities he revisited, of course, were tragic. Like jazz composers’ treatment of African American tone poem and song, Baldwin’s writing is an emotional conversation with the ancestors that has flood into the present. The tales are tortured. 

Lamentably addressing past practices of lynching, African American communities today face the same threats described by Harlem Renaissance founder, Langston Hughes as “A Dream Deferred” and in the literary innovations that James Baldwin later accomplished. The stories are a dream gone bad. They reach further back to Ida B. Wells and Frederick Douglass denouncing arbitrary, senseless executions of Black people. In that tradition, the present moment’s Black Lives Matter movement recalls the more recent  accounts by Baldwin of brutality in the 1960s, and both past and present  resonate in Beale Street’s final scene of protagonist, Fonny and his family living with an innocent Black man’s incarceration. 

Both as novelist and historicist, one of Baldwin’s proclaimed ancestors is the Dubliner, another Jimmy, James Joyce. 

Written in Exile, Baldwin’s essay, “Stranger in the Village,” recounts his realization of the African past by way of Joyce’s character, Stephen Dedalus, a young Irish schoolteacher who comments to his British employer on payday that, “History is the nightmare from which I am trying to awake” (Ulysses). Baldwin quotes this sentence and reworks the scene from the Joyce novel in his essay to recall the anger he felt as school children in a Swiss village follow him pointing and calling out the word for black in German which reminds him of another city, other white children jeering and yelling almost the same word, and his feelings for the peculiarly dehumanizing history that is racism in the United States. 

“James Joyce,” Baldwin told an array of interviewers in Paris, London and New York, “is one of my influences.” Of course, Joyce had a style of continually, like a jazz composer, paying homage to the foremothers and forefathers by weaving into his narratives high allusions to Homer’s epic sagas, as well as Irish ballad and verse, and a proto-Indo-European collage of Sanskrit and countless indigenous oral traditions from across the globe. All configured in Joyce’s writing to awaken us to the nightmares of confusion, loss and injustice that humans seek to give meaning in storytelling. 

Like Baldwin, Joyce did most of this writing in exile, escaping the former colony where he and most of his fictional characters were born. Like Baldwin, Joyce devoted a life to confirming contradictions inherent in his early life as a fervent Christian and, ultimately, unveiled inequality and inequity imposed by patriarchal systems in both Church and Government. Joyce’s women contravene gender norms whose liberation resulted in his Ulysses being censored. Joyce’s Molly Bloom recites a soliloquy expressing her sexuality, her rich sense of desire and her complexity. It was ruled pornographic. On a similar note of censorship and erasure, Baldwin's Giovanni’s Room, gave voice to a gay relationship whose intimacy and interracial tone conveyed a humane turning point of understanding and compassion that homophobic,  Anglo-American courts failed to tolerate and flatly barred from publication. 

Stephan James (depicted above) starred as Alfonzo ‘Fonny’ Hunt in the 2018 Academy Award winning film based upon James Baldwin’s 1974 novel, If Beale Street Could Talk.

A Short Story, Much too too Sadly Short

As his teacher, I remember the assignment our class discussed the Friday prior to Latif’s death (name changed to Latif here, and thus a fiction). 

I have to imagine.

Before he left class that Friday, Latif and I spoke about his college applications and about the essay he was writing. I asked, “So, Latif, what are you thinking about?” and he answered with a curious, cryptic nod, “My dreams.”

Was the question in Latif’s mind when he died on Sunday? 

His dreams? Or, was he remembering the nightmare?

That same Friday, reflecting about our semester’s work, Latif and our class and I had talked about James Joyce’s stories, “Eveline,”  “A Little Cloud” and “Counterparts” and James Baldwin’s Novel, Another Country. I had chosen the excerpt from Baldwin’s essay, “Stranger in the Village,”  where he mentions Joyce’s character Stephen conjecturing that “History is the nightmare” from which he was seeking to awaken. I had asked the class to explain in an essay of their own how authors of fiction struggled to awaken from different kinds of nightmares, --political, cultural, historical. Then, I also asked these students to express the history and the nightmares that they had witnessed and wished to recognize or awaken in their minds and hearts. That was Friday. Sunday, Latif was gunned down.

On Sunday, did the nightmare cross Latif’s mind as he passed away? Joyce’s nightmare and Baldwin’s has been at the core of how I, a white teacher in an African heritage community, recognize the empty chairs left by students whose violent deaths jeopardize surviving students’ capacity to endure the trauma, the disorientation and the despair that threaten them. Sociologist, Maria Kefalas, told me that her research showed that African American men were more likely to die in our neighborhood of Philadelphia than if they were  soldiers enlisted in an active war zone such as Afghanistan. 

On Monday, the young man sitting next to Latif’s empty seat in class repeated like a mantra, “I just don’t have anymore feeling left, I’m numb.” 

At the funeral, I stood over Latif’s coffin, thinking, you still owe me an assignment about your dreams.

[dfroza]

A great deception will befall earth

instigated by the father of lies, the ancient dragon who stands against the True nature of Love that is Sourced in our Creator, the Maker of the heavens and garden earth.

John was given a vision to write down as the book of Revelation with Today’s reading of chapter 13:

Then I saw a wild beast rising from the sea with ten horns and seven heads. On its horns were ten royal crowns, and on its heads were blasphemous names. It was like a leopard with feet like a bear’s, and its mouth like the mouth of a lion. The dragon shared his power, throne, and great authority with the wild beast.

One of the heads of the wild beast seemed to have received a deathly wound, but the wound had been healed. After this, the whole world was filled with fascination and followed the wild beast. They worshiped the dragon because he had given the beast its ruling authority. They also worshiped the wild beast, saying, “Who is like the wild beast? And who is able to make war against him?”

The wild beast was given a mouth to speak boastful and blasphemous words, and he was permitted to exercise authority for forty-two months. So the wild beast began to blaspheme against God, blaspheming his holy name and his dwelling place; that is, those who dwell in heaven. The beast was given the authority to wage war against the holy believers. And he was given authority over every tribe, people, language, and nation. Everyone on earth will worship the wild beast—those who names have not been written from the foundation of the world in the Book of Life of the Lamb who was slain.

If anyone has been given ears to hear, he’d better listen! For the one who leads others into captivity, into captivity he goes. The one who kills others by the sword, by the sword he will be put to death. This is a call for the endurance and faithfulness of the holy believers.

Then I saw another wild beast coming up from the ground. It had two horns like a ram, but it spoke like the dragon. It operated in all the authority of the first beast on its behalf, causing the earth and its inhabitants to worship the first beast, whose mortal wound had been healed. It performed great miracle-signs, even publicly causing fire to fall out of heaven to the earth. And through these startling miracles that he performed on behalf of the first beast, he deceived the world, telling the people to erect a statue in the image of the beast that had been wounded by the sword and yet lived. The beast from the earth was empowered to breathe life into the image of the first beast so that it could speak and kill those who refused to worship its image. It also caused everyone, small and great, rich and poor, free and bound, to be marked on the right hand or on the forehead. This meant no one could buy or sell unless they had the mark; that is, the name of the beast or its number.

This will require wisdom to understand: Let the one with insight interpret the number of the wild beast, for it is humanity’s number—666.

The Book of Revelation, Chapter 13 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 24th chapter of 2nd Chronicles that documents the life & times of a new young king of Judah:

[King Joash]

Joash was seven years old when he became king; he was king for forty years in Jerusalem. His mother’s name was Gazelle (Zibiah). She was from Beersheba.

Taught and trained by Jehoiada the priest, Joash did what pleased God throughout Jehoiada’s lifetime. Jehoiada picked out two wives for him; he had a family of both sons and daughters.

The time came when Joash determined to renovate The Temple of God. He got the priests and Levites together and said, “Circulate through the towns of Judah every year and collect money from the people to repair The Temple of your God. You are in charge of carrying this out.” But the Levites dragged their feet and didn’t do anything.

Then the king called in Jehoiada the chief priest and said, “Why haven’t you made the Levites bring in from Judah and Jerusalem the tax Moses, servant of God and the congregation, set for the upkeep of the place of worship? You can see how bad things are—wicked Queen Athaliah and her sons let The Temple of God go to ruin and took all its sacred artifacts for use in Baal worship.”

Following the king’s orders, they made a chest and placed it at the entrance to The Temple of God. Then they sent out a tax notice throughout Judah and Jerusalem: “Pay the tax that Moses the servant of God set when Israel was in the wilderness.”

The people and their leaders were glad to do it and cheerfully brought their money until the chest was full.

Whenever the Levites brought the chest in for a royal audit and found it to be full, the king’s secretary and the official of the chief priest would empty the chest and put it back in its place. Day after day they did this and collected a lot of money. The king and Jehoiada gave the money to the managers of The Temple project; they in turn paid the masons and carpenters for the repair work on The Temple of God. The construction workers kept at their jobs steadily until the restoration was complete—the house of God as good as new! When they had finished the work, they returned the surplus money to the king and Jehoiada, who used the money for making sacred vessels for Temple worship, vessels for the daily worship, for the Whole-Burnt-Offerings, bowls, and other gold and silver liturgical artifacts.

Whole-Burnt-Offerings were made regularly in The Temple of God throughout Jehoiada’s lifetime. He died at a ripe old age—130 years old! They buried him in the royal cemetery because he had such a distinguished life of service to Israel and God and God’s Temple.

But after the death of Jehoiada things fell apart. The leaders of Judah made a formal presentation to the king and he went along with them. Things went from bad to worse; they deserted The Temple of God and took up with the cult of sex goddesses. An angry cloud hovered over Judah and Jerusalem because of this sin. God sent prophets to straighten them out, warning of judgment. But nobody paid attention.

Then the Spirit of God moved Zechariah son of Jehoiada the priest to speak up: “God’s word: Why have you deliberately walked away from God’s commandments? You can’t live this way! If you walk out on God, he’ll walk out on you.”

But they worked out a plot against Zechariah, and with the complicity of the king—he actually gave the order!—they murdered him, pelting him with rocks, right in the court of The Temple of God. That’s the thanks King Joash showed the loyal Jehoiada, the priest who had made him king. He murdered Jehoiada’s son. Zechariah’s last words were, “Look, God! Make them pay for this!”

A year or so later Aramean troops attacked Joash. They invaded Judah and Jerusalem, massacred the leaders, and shipped all their plunder back to the king in Damascus. The Aramean army was quite small, but God used them to wipe out Joash’s large army—their punishment for deserting God, the God of their ancestors. Arameans implemented God’s judgment against Joash.

They left Joash badly wounded and his own servants finished him off—it was a palace conspiracy, avenging the murder of the son of Jehoiada the priest. They killed him in his bed. Afterward they buried him in the City of David, but he was not honored with a grave in the royal cemetery. The temple conspirators were Zabad, whose mother was Shimeath from Ammon, and Jehozabad, whose mother was Shimrith from Moab. The story of his sons, the many sermons preached to Joash, and the account of his repairs on The Temple of God can be found contained in the commentary on the royal history.

Amaziah, Joash’s son, was the next king.

The Book of 2nd Chronicles, Chapter 24 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Sunday, february 21 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A post by John Parsons about the True fear & wonder of God our Creator:

Recall that before the revelation at Sinai God instructed Moses to set a “boundary” (i.e., hagbalah: הגבּלה) around the mountain with the stern warning that whoever would transgress the imposed limit would die (Exod. 19:12). But why did the LORD command this distance from the people at the time of such intense revelation? Why, for that matter, were God's first words to Moses, "do not come closer" (אַל־תִּקְרַב הֲלֹם) when he encountered the LORD before the burning thornbush (Exod. 3:5)? In response to such questions the sages have said that there is a fundamental “dialectic” or tension at the core of our connection with God. On the one hand God is utterly holy, sacredly separate, infinitely transcendent, and entirely beyond our understanding, while on the other hand God is entirely present within creation, upholding it and providentially sustaining it, and who is near to all who sincerely call upon him (Psalm 145:18). God is both Elohim (אלהִים) - the Master of the universe and ruler of all possible worlds -- the sole Creator (הַבּוֹרֵא) and the only true Judge and moral authority (הֲשֹׁפֵט הָאֲמִתִּית), yet he is also YHVH (יְהוָה), the source of our breath (Gen. 2:7; Num. 16:22), the compassionate Savior (הַמוֹשִׁיעַ), the intercessor (מַפְגִּיעַ), the Redeemer (הַגּוֹאֵל), the Healer (הַמְרַפֵּא), and Lover of our souls (חובב נשמתנו). God is both fully holy (separate) yet his glory pervades and fills the world (Isa. 6:3).

The dialectic between God's transcendence (sacred otherness) and immanence (inherent presence) evoke different existential responses within the heart of faith. The transcendence of God evokes emotions of fear, reverence, respect, honor, and profound awe, while the immanence of God evokes emotions of love, closeness, intimacy, comfort, safety, and so on. The Torah juxtaposes both heart attitudes by saying, "And now, Israel, what does the LORD your God require of you, but to fear (לירוא) the LORD your God, to walk in all his ways, to love (לֶאֱהֹב) him, to serve the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul" (Deut. 10:12). In this summary statement of what the LORD requires of us, the fear of the LORD (i.e., yirat Hashem: יִרְאַת יהוה) is mentioned first. First we must learn to properly fear the LORD and only then will we be able to walk (לָלֶכֶת) in His ways, to love (לְאַהֲבָה) Him, and to serve (לַעֲבד) Him with all our heart and soul. But again, the requirement to fear the LORD your God (לְיִרְאָה אֶת־יהוה) is placed first in this list...

Indeed, “the fear of the LORD is said to be the beginning of wisdom (רֵאשִׁית חָכְמָה).” Without fear of the LORD, you will walk in darkness and be unable to turn away from evil (Psalm 111:10; Prov. 1:7; 9:10; 10:27; 14:27, 15:33; 16:6). The Scriptures plainly declare that “the fear of the LORD leads to life” (see attached graphic for Prov. 19:23).

The word translated “fear” in many versions of the Bible comes from the Hebrew word yirah (יִרְאָה), which has a range of meaning in the Scriptures. Sometimes it refers to the fear we feel in anticipation of some danger or pain, but it can also can mean “awe” or “reverence.” In this latter sense, yirah includes the idea of wonder, amazement, mystery, astonishment, gratitude, admiration, and even worship (like the feeling you get when gazing from the edge of the Grand Canyon). The “fear of the LORD” therefore includes an overwhelming sense of the glory, worth, and beauty of the One True God.

According to the classical sages, there are three “levels” or types of yirat HaShem, or the fear of the LORD. The first level is the fear of unpleasant consequences or punishment (i.e., yirat ha’onesh: יִרְאַת הָענֶשׁ). This is perhaps how we normally think of the word “fear.” We anticipate pain of some kind and (naturally) want to flee from it.

The second type of fear concerns anxiety over breaking God’s law (sometimes called yirat ha-malkhut: יִרְאַת הַמַּלְכוּת). This kind of fear motivates people to do good deeds because they are afraid God will punish them in this life (or in the world to come). This is the foundational concept of karma (i.e., the cycle of moral cause and effect). As such, this kind of fear is founded on self-preservation, though in some cases the heart’s motive may be mixed with a genuine desire to honor God or to avoid God’s righteous wrath for sin (Exod. 1:12, Lev. 19:14; Matt. 10:28; Luke 12:5). God does not wink at evil or injustice, and those who practice wickedness have a genuine reason to be afraid (Matt. 5:29-30; 18:8-9; Gal. 6:7-8). God is our Judge and every deed we have done will be made known: "Every man's work shall be made manifest: for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is" (1 Cor. 3:13). We should tremble before the LORD because we are fully accountable for our lives. We should fear sin within our hearts. Our actions matter, and we should dread the thought of angering God. There will be a final day of reckoning for us all...

The Chofetz Chaim warned that even though the fear of God’s punishment may deter us from sin in the short run, by itself it is insufficient for spiritual life, since it is based on an incomplete idea about God. It sees God in terms of the attributes of justice (אלהִים) but overlooks God as the Compassionate Savior of life (יהוה). After all, if you are avoiding sin only because you fear God’s punishment, you may clean the “outside of the cup” while the inside is still full of corruption... Or you might attempt to find rationalizations to excuse yourself from “legal liability.” You may appear outwardly religious (i.e., “obedient,” “Torah observant,” “righteous”), but inwardly you may be in a state of alienation and rebellion. “The heart is deceitful above all things...” (Jer. 17:9).

The third (and highest) kind of fear is a profound reverence for life that comes from rightly seeing. This level discerns the Presence of God in all things and is sometimes called yirat ha-rommemnut (יִרְאַת הָרוֹמְמוּת), or the “Awe of the Exalted.” Through it we behold God’s glory and majesty in all things. “Fearing” (יִרְאָה) and “seeing” (רָאָה) are linked and united. We are elevated to the level of reverent awareness, holy affection, and genuine communion with God’s Holy Spirit. The love for good creates a spiritual antipathy toward evil, and conversely, hatred of evil is a way of fearing God (Prov. 8:13). "For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his works should be exposed. But whoever does what is true comes to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that his works have been carried out in God" (John 3:20-21). In relation to both good and evil, then, love (אַהֲבָה) draws us near, while fear (יִרְאָה) holds us back.

The complex tension between fearing and loving God expresses both God's distance and nearness -- both relations are expressed in the Scriptures, and therefore both are to be affirmed. We must honor and revere God as our Creator and Judge, conscious of the distance implied in his power, glory, holiness, and perfections, yet we draw close to Him as our Savior, our healer, and our friend...

We encounter this tension when we come to the cross of the Messiah as well, for there we see the severity of God's judgment for sin based on his absolute holiness (transcendence) while simultaneously seeing the incalculable depths of God's love as he offers himself in exchange for our condemnation (immanence). At the cross we see how Yeshua both suffered and died on our behalf, yet the dark cloud covered the place in the most intimate moments of passionate intercession for our deliverance.

We must cultivate awe in our hearts by consciously remembering the LORD’s Presence and salvation. As King David said:"I have set the LORD always before me; because he is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken" (Psalm 16:8). Note the paradoxes involved in this verse. We set the LORD always before us (shiviti Adonai lenegdi tamid) so that we will not be shaken, and yet we are to revere the LORD with fear and trembling (Psalm 2:11, Phil. 2:12). Likewise, we draw near to the LORD God as the Righteous Judge - in fear and trepidation - yet in the full confidence of His love as demonstrated by the Cross of Yeshua. God is a Consuming Fire, but also our Comforter. [Hebrew for Christians]

Note: For more on this topic, see the Hebrew for Christians website.

2.19.21 • Facebook

An email from Glenn Jackson:

February 21st

* Jesus is the "Shiloh". He is the "giver of peace," "rest", the "Sent One", "He whose right it is". Jacob foresaw in a prophetic vision that through Judah would come the Shiloh, the Messiah, the One God would send as King over all peoples. He would enable people to be what God created them to be.

...."Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Do not let your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful".... John 14:27 NASB

...."Do not fret or have any anxiety about anything, but in every circumstance and in everything, by prayer [proclamation] and petition (definite requests), with thanksgiving, continue to make your wants known to God. And God's peace [shall be yours, that tranquil state of a soul assured of its salvation through Christ, and so fearing nothing from God and being content with its earthly lot of whatever sort that is, that peace] which transcends all understanding shall garrison and mount guard over your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus"....Philippians 4:6-7 The Amplified Translation

...."Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ: By whom also we have access by faith into this Grace wherein we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God".... Romans 5:1-2 KJV

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

February 21, 2021

Not This Man

“Then cried they all again, saying, Not this man, but Barabbas. Now Barabbas was a robber.” (John 18:40)

Unfortunately, this is the attitude of every generation toward its Creator and Redeemer. Jesus Christ “was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not. He came unto his own, and his own received him not” (John 1:10-11).

“Not this man!” they cried, and still cry today. “We will not have this man to reign over us” (Luke 19:14). Even in a nation founded as a Christian nation, the name of Jesus Christ is banished from the schools, ignored in the halls of government, and blasphemed on the streets.

And whom did they choose instead of “this man”? They preferred Barabbas, who was not only a robber, but also a revolutionary and murderer (Luke 23:19). Today, they idolize the atheist Darwin, or the robber Lenin, or the revolutionary Mao, or the murderer Hitler, or any one of a thousand antichrists; but they will not have Christ.

What, then, will they do with Christ? “Away with him, away with him, crucify him” (John 19:15) was the cry even of the religious leaders during His life here on Earth, and it is little different today. “Ye denied the Holy One and the Just, and desired a murderer to be granted unto you,” proclaimed Peter (Acts 3:14). “The kings of the earth stood up, and the rulers were gathered together against the Lord, and against his Christ” (Acts 4:26).

The rejection of Christ today is often more subtle, but it is just as real. Rulers, industrialists, scientists, educators, and commentators all say in deed, if not in word, that “[they] will not have this man to reign over [them]” (Luke 19:14). “But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name” (John 1:12). HMM

[angryhausfrau-writes]

You Can’t Cross the Same River Twice - Chapter 10

It's almost the end of November by the time Hawkeye goes up to visit his dad again. He didn't mean to take so long, but things have gotten very busy at the clinic lately. Apparently, being on the board of trustees for a not insignificant endowment is a lot of work. Hawkeye's never been particularly inclined towards administration - and his grasp of financials is a bit rusty after three years in Korea where he had no real expenses but booze and gambling. And Father Mulcahy's orphans fund - but those contributions were usually made at the poker table anyway.

But the clinic is important. He and Letta - goddess of poetic justice and practicality that she is - can do a lot of good for a lot of people with this money. So he'd buckled down and signed endless reams of legal documents that Charles hadn't even really tried to screw them over on. And that alone says something about how much he'd changed over the years in Korea because Hampton and Smythe gape incredulously at any tiny show of human decency in the man.

Finally, finally, the last document is signed - they'd framed and hung the original napkin in the clinic staff room - and Hawkeye can go back to spending his evenings and weekends at home instead of at banks and lawyers' offices. And he can take a weekend to go visit his dad.

Trapper and the girls are coming too, which has Hawkeye feeling both excited and anxious. All his family will be together in one place. He wants them to all like one another so badly it's eating him up at night. He doesn't sleep much that whole week.

But when the girls show up Friday night - all huge grins and excited speculation about the exotic wonders of northern Maine and whether they'd get to go to the beach - Hawkeye relaxes. Judging by the amount of planning and preparation Louise and Trapper have put into this endeavor, they would stand a fair chance on an expedition to the moon. Hell, he and Trapper have been through an entire war that had less well thought out logistics. Hawkeye votes Louise gets put in charge of the next one as it will insure all combatants have plenty of wool socks and know how to share their toys.

In all honesty, Hawkeye thought he might feel jealous watching Trapper and Louise interact. Or feel awkward interacting with her himself. He is the other woman after all, even if Louise doesn't know. But she and Trapper seem to have fallen into an amicable enough relationship post-divorce - even if it's centered around Cathy and Becky. And she chats politely enough with Hawkeye. Though the conversation doubles as an interrogation of him, his father, Crabapple Cove, and the entire state of Maine. But she does leave the kids with them, so he must not have made too bad of an impression.

--

It's nice to see Hawkeye's dad again - and under better circumstances than his last visit. Daniel Pierce seems equally glad to see Trapper - which is a little bit of a surprise given that Hawkeye said he knows about the two of them - and he welcomes Trapper with a warm handshake. Cathy and Becky get handshakes as well and they manage to stay still through the social niceties but it's not long before they tear off to go look at and ask about a million little things around the Pierce homestead. Daniel takes it is stride - and Trapper can see how Hawkeye grew up into the curious, passionate, slightly wild man he became - just laughing and saying he'll keep the girls out of trouble while Trapper and Hawkeye get the luggage stowed away. And that's a distinct benefit of Daniel being in the know - he and Hawk are sharing the guest room rather than one of them being forced to take the couch to preserve some kinda facade of propriety or masculinity or distaste at the idea of sleeping - even platonically - with another man.

That's something Trapper had appreciated about Korea. Everyone was so cold and tired and scared and worried and homesick that they all kinda clung to one another. You could be more physically close with people cuz they all needed that reassurance that there was another warm, breathing, alive person right there with them. It's probably why he and Hawk got away with so much. They weren't always exactly subtle but people were willing to write it off as just a close friendship - just them clinging together to stay sane, same as lots of people did.

And Trapper's always been a touchy-feely kinda guy, surprising as that might be to some people. He grew up in a big family in a crowded apartment building full of other big families. Kids in the neighborhood were always roughhousing together or sitting all crammed together to read a comic book or sleeping in a bed with two brothers and a cousin cuz that's all the room there was when family came to visit. And then Trapper started playing sports and that closeness continued into the locker rooms and team practices. Hell, that was the whole reason he'd started boxing again. That physical intimacy - even if it wasn't inherently sexual - was something he needed.

That's not to say there hadn't been physical intimacy of a sexual nature. Trapper grew up close enough to the South End to run into that kinda thing. And some of the guys on the football team or in the boxing club had been that way too. As had a guy he'd taken anatomy with - and boy had they had a lot of extra curricular study sessions that semester. And he and Hawkeye had gotten each others' numbers pretty much right away in Korea.

But Trapper had married Louise. And he can't bring himself to regret it for an instant cuz it gave him Becky and Cathy. But Louise was so different from him - she dressed classy and she talked educated and she grew up in a neighborhood of houses instead of tenement blocks, a neighborhood where kids didn't grow up all crammed together and crawling all over each other like a litter of puppies. She expected to be courted and held at arms length a little. Not brought into contact with the rough and unpolished and visceral depth of his feelings for her.

At first, he'd liked that about her. She was everything he wasn't in terms of grace and class and money. A kinda representation of the life he was trying to live by going to a prestigious school and studying to be a surgeon. And she was smart and funny and beautiful and a great lay. What more could a guy ask for?

A whole hell of a lot, as it turns out. Cuz Hawkeye's all those things and more. Warm and caring and with a burning need to fight against death and injustice and even just plain old stupidity - and there sure is a lot of that lately. He doesn't care about conformity, doesn't try to pretend he's anyone other than who he is. And that makes it easier for Trapper to be who he is too. He can show Hawkeye the raw, unpolished, unpretty parts of himself - of his love for Hawkeye - and know that Hawk won't turn away.

With Hawkeye, it feels like it's ok for Trapper to live the life he wants, not the life he and everyone else is supposed to want. The life he used to try so hard to live.

Hawkeye nudges his shoulder gently and Trapper realizes he's been staring at the bottom of his empty suitcase for far too long. So he puts the past away and goes outside to his girls. To live the life he has now.

--

Becky and Cathy manage to talk them into going to the beach despite the weather not exactly being summery. Late November in Maine is pretty much the middle of winter and it's been known to snow as early as Halloween. But they hadn't been dissuaded by any logical argument, so they all troop down the road to the public beach. Hawkeye hasn't been to a beach since the fourth of July. And he honestly wasn't sure how it would go, especially with kids. But Maine is different enough from Korea - the foot of snow definitely helps - that he doesn't lose himself in the past at all. Maybe he'll be able to come up in the summer, even. Becky and Cathy have repeatedly expressed their desire to go swimming - even though they're currently wearing parkas and boots and about a sheep's worth of winter woolens each.

But despite not being allowed in the water, the girls have fun rushing between the rocks and tidepools while the adults follow along at a more sedate pace. Becky especially enjoys pointing out all the strange creatures living in the tidepools - and Hawkeye enjoys making up fanciful and completely false stories about them while his dad laughs and Trapper rolls his eyes in good-natured exasperation. Cathy has chosen instead to climb up on the biggest rocks she can find and then leap off them - triumphant - into Trapper's waiting arms. It's a good thing he's been hitting the gym so that he can withstand the force of gravity plus one six-year-old human cannonball.

Eventually, the girls get tired of the beach and it nears dinner time, so they head home in a straggling clump. Cathy's thrown over Trapper's shoulders like a wriggling, giggling sack of potatoes and Becky - damp and salt flecked - bounces between Hawkeye and his dad like a pinball. Hawkeye wonders how the hell his dad did this whole parenting thing all by himself all the time. Because Trapper may have two daughters but they're practically sedate in comparison to how Hawkeye had been at their respective ages. Maybe it explains all the summers he spent in New York with his aunts and uncles.

--

Dinner's great. They're doing a kinda belated Thanksgiving thing with turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce and pie - and it's all delicious. Thanksgiving was never really a big thing in the McIntyre house growing up - it just meant his ma had a lot more work the week before cuz everyone wanted their houses extra clean to impress visiting family - but Hawkeye'd grown up a lot more Norman Rockwell than Trapper had. But the whole thing's relaxed - nothing like the strained, formal dinners with Louise's family - and they spend as much time joking around as eating. It's nice.

And after dinner, they all go into town to look at the Christmas decorations that apparently go up around Crabapple Cove the Friday after Thanksgiving every year like clockwork. This is another Pierce family tradition, another glimpse into Hawkeye's life as a kid. It makes Trapper feel all warm inside that Daniel and Hawkeye are willing to share this with him and his kids. And the girls are clearly having a great time looking at all the lights and window displays - Trapper is sure they'll have lists for Santa half finished by the end of the night - and the big Maine pine decked out with lights and ornaments in the town square. It's fun to experience that sorta small-town celebration that Trapper's never seen outside of movies.

What's less fun is all the people who mob Hawkeye. Old ladies asking why he's been away so long and practically pinching his cheeks. Young women - at least some of whom Hawk'd clearly dated in the past - looking to get to know him again. And Trapper's not really a jealous kinda guy. He and Hawkeye have had their share of other relationships - even while they were sleeping together in Korea. Trapper wouldn't begrudge him a little flirting, wouldn't begrudge him finding another bed for the night, even. But he sure ain't mad when Hawkeye presses a little closer into his side and turns them all down. He does it kindly and with a sense of humor - the girls depart without any ruffled feathers - but Hawkeye makes it plain he ain't on the market anymore. And the sideways glances, the quick brush of their gloved hands, makes it clear to Trapper - if no one else - exactly why that is.

Finally, the girls are all wore out - Trapper has to carry Becky back to the Pierce house, half asleep already - and Hawk stays pressed close the whole way back. He's practically glued to Trapper's side all through getting the girls to bed - with minimal protesting for once, they're dead tired after such an exciting day. And he stays glued to Trapper all through their own getting ready for bed. Sure, Hawkeye's a cuddly guy - but they don't usually brush their teeth standing so close that Trapper almost elbows him in the face a couple times. But Hawk'll talk about it when he's ready so all Trapper does is whisper goodnight and hold him close as they lie in bed.

--

It's strange. He's been living with Trapper for months now - together in every way they could possibly be. Hawkeye's also spent time with Becky and Cathy - everything from helping them with homework to helping Trapper tuck them into bed. He's remained Uncle Hawkeye to the girls. They're family. But it's never felt quite so real, quite so true as it has today.

Maybe it's the holidays. Thanksgiving is for family and even though theirs had been belated, they'd still had it - with all of Hawkeye's family. Maybe it's his dad being there. His easy acceptance of Trapper and the girls into his home, his life, his family. Maybe it's all of those things. But as Hawkeye had walked through Crabapple Cove that evening - watched all the families out together - it had really hit him that he has that too.

Maybe not the way he expected to. Maybe not in a way that would be recognizable to others. But he has it all the same. And he didn't - doesn't - want that feeling of warmth and family and belonging to go away. So he's stayed pressed into Trapper's side, even if it got to be a little silly or inconvenient. And Trapper - easygoing and accepting of all of Hawkeye's strangeness - has taken this too in stride. Sheltering Hawkeye under his arm from all the old busybodies and young paramours. Holding him now as they lay here in bed. Not pressing Hawkeye to do or be or talk about anything. Content to just be.

God, Hawkeye loves him so much.

"I love you, Trap," he breathes into Trapper's chest, not sure how he'll react to that sort of declaration from him.

Trapper shifts around a little so that he can look at Hawkeye. And his eyes are so full of warmth.

"I love you too, Hawk." Said like it's a fundamental truth of the universe, an immutable fact of life. Said like he's been saying it everyday for months.

Hawkeye thinks back to all the touches, all the closeness, all the understanding they've shared over those months and thinks maybe he's been saying it too.

[serasfanfiction]

Future scene from my fic, The Inherent Intimacy of Courting Death. I believe this will be in chapter 20 or 21.

I am posting this a little early as a thank you for 100(+!) people who have decided to follow my silly little story. Please accept my humble offering. 🤗💙

[confrontingdeathpenalty]

Key Terms & other stuff you might need to know

(Otherwise known as the "SPEAK ENGLISH" reference post)

Ideolinguistic

Literally ideology + linguistic(s). At its most basic level, this term refers to ideologies individuals or groups hold about language and its uses. These ideologies are not always easily identifiable; they are usually 'inherently understood' rather than 'expicitly known'. In even simpler terms, you could define this phrase as "stuff people think about words".

Paralinguistic  Usually “paralinguistic ideologies”

Parts of language which are not spoken; things like pitch, intonation, speech speed, etc (p 85). Paralinguistic ideologies may be understood as beliefs people hold about the types of speech that should be used by certain people in certain contexts (in this case, how people in a court of law should communicate, as well as how the law itself should be worded and understood). Body language may be considered as existing in this realm, although it may also be considered extra/non-lingual.

Deixis Alt. “deictic forms”; “deictics”

“Words (or gestures) that require contextual information in order to make sense” (p 121; direct quote used because it’s just so concise!). These include words or phrases such as “this”, “him”, “that person”, etc. Conley asserts that these words may be used to subtly imply the speaker’s relationship to the subject; for example, that using “that guy” denotes less intimacy than “him”, which denotes less intimacy than “James” (p 130).  Speakers may use specific deitic forms to linguistically distance themselves from uncomfortable subjects, and/or to downplay their involvement with/attachment to an individual or action (eg, the vagueness of “that guy got hit by a car” vs the specificity of “Matt was struck by Dave’s car”).

The Court / The Law Referred to as “The Law” for ease of typing in this post; though they are somewhat semantically different, these terms are largely interchangeable

These terms refer largely to an anthropomorphized version of Texas state laws; the judge; Objectivity; lawyers, jurors, and other human-comprised elements of the court system; and/or the sum of these individual parts. The Law is seen as existing apart from its human components, and as having desires it is able to orchestrate the satisfaction of (such “wanting” to put defendants to death). The positioning of The Law as its own entity helps the individual members of the capital trial process disassociate themselves from the potential act of putting someone to death - after all, they’re just doing what The Law dictates.

Objectivity Big-o Objectivity vs small-o objectivity

On its own, “objectivity” refers to the idea of looking at a situation with a critical eye, without allowing allowing your judgement to be clouded by personal opinions, biases, or emotions. It is often seen as the antithesis to “subjectivity”; that is, the personal, the emotional, and that which is open to interpretation. Objectivity is seen as a tool and state of being with which an individual may suss out “the truth” or “the facts” of a matter. In order to wield this tool, individuals must separate themselves from their emotions - something which is, at its core, impossible due to the way humans experience life itself (that is, with their emotional interpretations of the world). However, because objectivity is so closely aligned with Truth, it has become its own powerful social construct. Objectivity (big-o) comes to be known as the way The Law operates. Due to its clinical nature, Objectivity allows jurors to strip away their empathy for defendants as human beings, under the guise of “being objective”, “looking at the facts”, “examining the evidence”, and other such justifications. From here, jurors may find it increasingly easier to dismiss mitigating evidence, as they no longer relate to the defendant emotionally. Because of its strong association with the truth (and therefore “correct”ness), Objectivity becomes an extremely intense social entity which primarily serves to maintain existing (power) structures (lecture, Oct 11).  As individuals become socialized into believing in the merit of ‘being objective’, they become able to detach themselves from their emotional selves and justify any number of things (”everyone knows criminals are likely to reoffend”).

[serasfanfiction]

Summary:

Lucifer goes to enlist Alastor's help with his plans. It goes about how he would expect it to go.

[serasfanfiction]

Summary:

Alastor reflects on things and comes to a few realizations. Rosie does help a little, of course.

Notes:

Oh dear, I fear Lucy's been pushed a little too far. Perhaps Alastor would like to come out to play? :3c CW for Alastor being Alastor, but that's to be expected. This chapter is all from his POV.

[serasfanfiction]

Summary:

Alastor gets his microphone back and Lucifer discovers one of Alastor's little secrets. Only one of them is going to be happy by the end of the day.

[serasfanfiction]

Summary:

The attacks don't seem to be stopping any time soon. Lucifer decides to take matters into his own hands. Alastor is always willing to be helpful. For a price, of course. After all, nothing ever comes for free in Hell.

Notes:

I made some changes to this chapter compared to the original version posted on Tumblr. Both the ao3 and Tumblr version have been altered in a couple places to reflect this new info.

[serasfanfiction]

Summary:

Alastor may be stalking Lucifer. Maybe. Lucifer's having none of that.

Notes:

That blood drinking content warning comes into play in this chapter. No gore, however.