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generallynerdy · 4 years

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To Lose Control (Loki X Shifter!Reader)

Summary: Loki, Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three are on another hunting expedition, where they find themselves hunting down a wolf-like beast terrorizing a local village. Left behind once again, Loki’s wounds are tended to by a mysterious figure.

Requested by Anon: Can you write a fic where an injured Loki is tended to by an also injured reader? The reader is bleeding a bit worse than Loki though, and refuses to rest bc they know who he is an don’t trust him to not slit their throat while they sleep lol. Bonus if they’ve got the power to shift into a giant wolf?

Key: (Y/N) - your name Warnings: minor injuries, magic curses, mentions of death, mentions of mind control, mentions of committing a lot of murder Word Count: 1,139

Note: funny enough i already had a concept for a shifter!reader when i got this request lol. This is kind of shitty but oh well!

“There it is!”

“Over there!”

“Quick, after it!”

Loki, Prince of Asgard, chased after his older brother and his four comrades. Through the trees they weaved, following a shadow through the forest. The shadow was far faster than they were, but Loki’s magic saw to it that a faint green trail of massive footprints was there to lead the way.

This-- this was the very reason Loki didn’t enjoy hunting expeditions.

They were savage ordeals; pursuing a beast to hunt down, skin, and bring home wasn’t exactly his idea of a good day. However, Thor would never take no for an answer.

So, Loki went along with it this time, though he didn’t refrain from complaining about it.

This hunt was a little different. They had been summoned by a small village on a planet he didn’t care to remember the name of. The people there were being terrorized by a vile, wolf-like beast, which they could not catch, no matter how many men they had. They hoped, rather foolishly, that a pair of godly brothers and their friends would have better luck.

It had been 3 days. This was the first time they were even seeing the beast.

The creature was a mess of dark grey fur, streaking through the forest faster than any human could move. Unfortunately for it, gods were stubborn.

With a wave of his hand, Loki found himself running just as quickly as the creature.

He matched its pace, coming up behind it as it attempted to speed up.

“Loki! Be careful!”

Loki ignored his brother’s exclamation, not realising that he was speaking of something other than the creature.

The trickster god tumbled into a camouflaged ditch, one that sank into the very depths of the earth. It broke open into a deep cavern with a thundering stream.

Loki barely got a look at his surroundings before the world started to fade away. He could only watch helplessly as the shadows of his brother and his friends passed over the cavern, leaving him behind-- again.

Loki awoke to find that he wasn’t alone.

He tried to jump up, to defend himself, but even sitting up made a pained gasp leave his throat. All he could manage was to back up against the cold wall of the cavern he’d quite literally tripped into.

On the other side of the cavern was not what he expected.

It was...a person.

A person with an arrow sticking out of their thigh.

You winced as you pulled the offending object out, though you bit your lip to keep from making any obvious noise. As soon as it was gone, you took to dressing the wound, sparing a sharp glance at the man across the cavern.

Loki eyed you with a frown, gaze drifting from your face to the arrow.

He gaped a little when he recognised it. That was one of Sif’s-- he’d bet his life on it. But as to why one of Sif’s arrows was in a human’s leg…

“Your friends have good aim,” you hissed at him.

He blinked a few times. “They’re not my friends.” Then, he frowned. “But I’ve never known Sif to fire on an innocent.”

“Far from innocent,” you snorted, settling back onto the wall.

For a long moment, he simply stared. You waited for him to put two and two together. It wasn’t as if there were many things his friends-- or his not friends, you supposed-- were hunting in these woods. And apparently Sif didn’t miss.

“You’re the beast,” he finally said.

You rolled your eyes. “Took you long enough. You should rest, your highness. You hit your head rather hard.”

“You…” he tilted his head. “You’ve been cursed?”

“I don’t know. I’ve always been like this,” you said with a shrug.

Loki shook his head. “You know who I am. How?”

“Everyone knows the Asgardians around here. They practically still worship you lot,” was your answer. You grimaced. “Except me. I know about Midgard. What happened there.”

He flinched visibly, which made you raise an eyebrow. “Don’t remind me.”

“Not fond of getting your ass kicked?” you asked.

“It wasn’t my choice,” he spat.

It was your turn to frown. “Wasn’t your choice? How many people died on that planet because of what you did?”

“You don’t know what happened,” he growled. “You don’t know half of it.”

You paused, thinking. “Someone forced you to do it then? Had you at sword-point? Took control of you?”

He crossed his arms and sunk deeper into himself. “Twisted my mind. Forced me to do the unspeakable. Not unlike you’ve done to the people of this world.”

“Touché,” you muttered.

“You don’t have any control over it, do you?” he asked.

You snarled at that. “What do you care? You came here to kill me.”

“I was forced to come here to hunt-- it’s my brother’s favourite hobby,” Loki drawled, irritated. “And I know what it looks like.”

You shook off his comments. “You need sleep.”

“So do you and I don’t see you settling in for the night.”

“I’m not fond of getting my throat slit while I sleep,” you shot back with a fierce glare. “No offense, but I don’t exactly trust you.”

He snorted. “Then we can agree on something.”

For the better part of an hour, the cavern was washed in silence again. He would spare a few wary glances, but you hardly looked at him. You only looked toward the entrance, cautious as ever. The hunters would come back around soon, if they were smart, and they’d likely be looking for Loki, too. Maybe. He didn’t seem too sure about that fact, if his attitude about his brother and company was anything to go by.

“I could help you.”

You nearly jumped at the sound, instead focusing your shock into turning to look at him incredulously. “What?”

“Magic is where my strength lies,” he clarified half-heartedly. “I could find a way to break the curse, you could get me out of here, and then we’re even.”

You squinted at him. “I already helped you. You don’t have to stay. You could leave whenever you want. Why would you help me?”

Loki simply shrugged, as if he didn’t have an answer. But the both of you knew perfectly well what his answer was. He knew what it was like. He knew what it was like and he hated to watch someone else lose control of their life. He hated having to watch them commit the atrocities that were all too familiar to him.

“Okay,” you said eventually, in a whisper. “If you can do it-- I’ll take it.”

Despite himself, Loki smiled. “What’s your name?”

“(Y/N),” you told him. “But if you start using it, I reserve the right to use yours.”

He scoffed. “Fair enough.”

Nova Tags: @hahaboop

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emersonmanandnature · 3 years

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July 6, 2021

Jesus, Mary, Joseph and Mary Magdalene, a son, a mother, a step dad and a wife.

It wasn’t an affair of priestly delights it was a love at first sight.

Do you think an all powerful loving god would demand that anyone who is androgynous be condemned to hell not only in the afterlife but now on this planet of corruption, vice and hate of individuality.

For god is our creator and he blesses all of his children equally!

Our god is supposedly the god of everyone not a selected few with narrow blinded sight praying for the end of days.

God’s money flows upward as the people wait for their salvation living in poverty and hate from the so called christians of our lord who seems to be never present and yet he is adored for what his apostles wrote after he was sacrificed on the cross for our sins.

Does this mean from now on we would be born free of sin? Are you kidding without sin and finger pointing and priests insisting they are the only intermediary in order to find your real salvation, how would these thieves of guilt, hypocrisy and hate ever make a living if we could pray directly to god ourselves and ask for his forgiveness. The only problem is you have to be a ventriloquist in order to talk to an invisible, silent god through your own voice and hear his response with your moving lips.

And yet millions of people pray directly to their god without the money men demanding payment for their words of repetitive wisdom.

All is an illusion of ones single mindedness, to think doesn’t mean your alive what makes you alive is how you spend your time helping or stealing from others.

But if jesus came down from the heavens in his father’s place and died on the cross for our sins why would anyone in their right mind still believe that man, woman and child are still filled with the devils sin because an apple was taken when people were hungry.

What super godly power would use such a flimsy excuse to pour hate and sin on innocence and then like the landlords of today boot them out of the garden. What kind of a god does this, well it is not a true god it is mankind’s invented god. Made to keep people placated and remain frightened of their future and their only escape is to die and be lifted up into a heavenly paradise where this holy place is a guessing game but the true effect of these words in a bible made to control the forces of individuality is to believe in an afterlife and ignore the paradise you have let the wealthy dismantle and pollute without a fight.

And now as the earth dies quicker your so called paradise is an allusion to keep you contained and to follow orders given by the true reason we see no light at the end of our tunnel, for the powerful own the people and make them their little worker ants just getting by without any hope of a better life.

Having a demanding god directing souls to repent and praise a mysterious, invisible master of the universe is incomprehensible. Man judges man period.

Man looks for any excuse to demean, accuse and destroy others not only because mankind is incapable of living a life without violence, as we did when we began to stand upright and make weapons to kill animals and each other but also because our lord, god is also violent and murderous destroying life, his supposed creations, what father would think of extinction as a means toward salvation and then handpicking a few that are obedient to his every word, where was our freedom of thought our choice of how we want to live our lives the good, the bad and the ugly, does our holy father enjoy the suffering of the masses, his creations, by these small minded thieves with only one goal more and more power and money over people.

And that explains our godly maker for why live if you don’t have power over others. Yes, that seems selfish but if god can be selfish in his anger then we can be selfish in our killing fields, our disrespect toward other human beings, treating them as if they were nonexistent, just something to exploit and then let die.

What we worship is our greedy selves, especially when we can make big profits off the backs of the working force.

Worship is not external, worship is internal and the more you own other lives the more you feel godlike. The more you become addicted to your god given power therefore you must be special and your voice must be obeyed.

It wasn’t a women’s forceful voice evicting them from eden it was a deep voice, a man’s voice from the clouds that told them to get lost but not totally lost but lost in this world alone without mercy, to be evicted from eden, your home by a mean old landlord their innocence destroyed having now to fight for their very lives, all this brought on by a supreme being, a child playing with human toys, it seems he has been doing this for thousands of years up to our present catastrophe of criminal wealth.

A silent boss, demanding a special payment to himself, it seems he loves suffering, why send your only son to be nailed to a cross if you didn’t enjoy his suffering, his cries to his father up in his heavenly paradise, acting like some sort of sociopath drooling with sweat as his only son is murdered for his creation of himself in all beings, who also love to see the suffering of others because it gives them that flash of power of being saved through their selfish prayers.

And lets not forget that we are continually under the thumb of a god that cares more of his beautiful image, portraits of man’s egos, than making changes that could stop his flock of criminal minds that continue to do more harm than good and lets face it god, jesus and the holy ghost have been shut-ins afraid it seems to step out into the universe they made.

God has been on vacation now for twenty centuries since he saved mankind well jesus at any rate, we are not sure where god was or is and we never see the holy ghost but we know all three must be in the universe somewhere doing their godly thing, gaining respect from outer planets, doing his egotistical spellbinding worship of himself to help others pray for their own salvation for why should an all powerful god, faceless, invisible and silent reach out and finally present himself to his fan base!

The big question is do they really care or need his approval because the wealthy seem to be doing what god did and that is take from the people what is rightfully theirs.

Religion is an ugly affair, a pretend faith but if you feel the undercurrents of mankind’s need to blame others for their problems then you will begin to see the phony impostor of religious fever, hatred of self. For we are a jealous race to think we can’t begin to measure up to our triple gods of power.

How could a god who we have never heard personally speak to his flock, allow human beings to continue living in squalor with wars necessary violence unless you seek profits from the weapons sold to foreign countries creating their own personal killing fields?

Doesn’t weapons of mass destruction allow the elites eyes to widen with the possibilities of the end of this speck of dust and these men of narrow beliefs will gladly push the final button for it is god’s will that we all die in fear and pain. For we are just worthless sinners and I always wonder about these evangelical worshipers of self-loathing how they can look themselves in the mirror and believe they are the chosen ones to lead a massacre for god, jesus and the holy ghost of the very people that worship a fairy tale.

All of this brought to you in prime time by the catholic, protestant, evangelical, mormon, latter day saints, episcopal, lutheran, baptist, the word of life, risen hope, mega churches, methodist, christ the king, presbyterian, seventh day adventist, pentecostal, trinity bible church, and more and more sprouting up to confuse the true purpose of religion, control of the people to placate them into believing that their lives mean something to an invisible persona, who else but us our imaginative nature finally revealed.

The wisdom of the ages came up with a nauseating bluff of fear to keep people afraid of life and the wealth that rule us, and then they wrote in a religious relic, a book of peoples fears created centuries ago and to keep fear, hate and sorrow in their lives by creating a reality of poverty ruled not by a missing god but by our man god his hatred toward themselves and all people of unbelief, stating the ultimate lie and that is the only way to find or rise up to heaven is death.

How silly it is that to keep human beings occupied for centuries by religions controlling force, abusing innocence as their whipping post and making sure that no one returns to this planet of greed for that is only for the wealthy to rule generation after generation not as real gods but these men of criminal minds and you will never return to this once paradise destroyed by the rich but by dying you are freed from the brutality of this world and will be able to return to god’s paradise somewhere in space, maybe in his minds eye for isn’t god the almighty link to death and resurrection and we can be in heavenly peace but certainly not until were dead by fire or soil in a box.

So the people can’t just skip ahead to a paradise that is seemly invisible to the poor human population but yet it exists and is waiting for you to die and how you die doesn’t really matter for not all can leave this retched place like jesus did by being nailed to a cross.

It must not be that important to god how we get to his heaven for we have to pass the time here on this criminal planet being robbed of our dignity, our home, our life just so we can work for pennies on the dollar by being servants to the new order of religious zealots, it is called profit worship. Let us all kneel in silent prayer, their will be no giggling at the amount of money we just stole, oh I mean made off the sweat of those hard workers that just gave us a year end bonus plus we were not indicted this year so all is well here in the money pit of new homes, yachts and travel and oh yay our new homes guarded by military personal.

Why in gods name would you wait to die and not stand up to these men and women of greed that have exploited this earth and its inhabitants since the beginning of man walking upright.

Heaven is an illusion a prefabricated cage, a con game, a piece of candy given to a child to keep them from crying and going berserk in public. We are given just enough fake power to keep us placated in doing the dirty work for the elites of crime.

Death is an illusion of power given to others taken by the fear of revelation, the real truth that god is only a symbol to keep the populace in chains, surrendering their hope of eternal peace which is of course death, by doing the work for the true powerful men and women that own this planet, and not mother earth our true goddess.

God’s power from above is a lightning strike of death. If god can kill without regret so can mankind.

God is our example and in the bible god has murdered innocence to make a point and to control the necessary egos of his people. God wipes out the entire planet in a flood without blinking an eye and noah begins a new life as his family populates the world to once again worship a god that isn’t present in our reality but in our minds riddled with fear of his anger.

I guess his anger would be toward those crooks of wall street that didn’t meet their billion dollar bonus by cheating the people of their hard earned pay check.

Gods wars are our wars for we were made in his likeness? Amen

#zealots #power #crooks #cross #greed #destruction #religion #cjcorwinoriginal

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alphawave-writes · 4 years

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Requiem for the Apostle Chapter 2: Birthright

Synopsis: Harry and Kim retrace their steps to learn more about the victim of their latest case.

Read it here or find it on AO3. You guys can also find me on twitter @alphawave13.

If you like my writing, please do support me by buying me a ko-fi, or by becoming a patron on Patreon. Any little bit helps me out a lot during this pandemic to live and study.

I am opening up fanfic commissions. I’ll write $5USD for every 500 words. Will write anything except gore. If you’re interested, send me a private message!

YOU — It's exactly 08:00 in the morning when you enter Precinct 41. Compared to your previous workplace, Precinct 57, it's almost exactly the same. The building is faded and chipping away, with the office and its workers running on fumes. It's hot and humid and sticky, with paperwork piling up everywhere. The only empty space is right next to the molds growing on the wall like vines on a trellis. There's still the daydrinkers, the cops that sleep all day, the racist bullies that want a chance to flex their muscles, and the lustful perverts ogling at scantily clad women in magazines. By now you've learned not to judge your fellow half-brothers. They're all coping mechanisms for what is essentially under appreciated, underpaid, and unsatisfying work. That's not to say it's completely the same. At least Precinct 57 had a decent few Mesquites and Seolites in their ranks—whether born and raised in their home isolas or Revacholieres in all but appearance such as yourself—and that gave a bit of variety with your coworkers. Precinct 41 however consists almost purely of true blue Revacholieres, with the odd individual from Graad. Just because Precinct 57 is more diverse doesn't mean the people there can't be racists, it's just that the people who worked there were encouraged to be racist behind closed doors. In Precinct 41, not so much.

REACTION SPEED [Formidable: Success] — As you walk to your desk you hear a Patrol cop whisper "Fucking Seolite" under their breath.

LOGIC [Trivial: Success] — There's only one 'Seolite' in Precinct 41, or at least one half-Seolite. They can only be talking about you.

COMPOSURE [Trivial: Success] — You've heard it too many times before, these racist remarks behind your back. It won't affect you today, just like it won't affect you ever.

AUTHORITY [Trivial: Success] — It's still so stupid though. You're a proud Revacholiere, just like the rest of them, you only look like a Seolite. You should storm in there and tell them so. You're a detective and they're just a cop. You have the upper hand. They will bend to your will.

VOLITION [Easy: Success] — Do you want to get us kicked out of the RCM? Just take it like a man. Like you've always taken it.

YOU — You take a seat at your old, hand-me-down desk opposite Harry's. Despite being the exact same make and colour, it's impossible to mistaken your desk for his. Your desk is clean and tidy, with all your paperwork sorted into a neat pile. Harry's desk is surprisingly not the messiest in the precinct, but compared to yours it looks like a dumpster. Papers are strewn all over in no discernible fashion. Handwritten notes are pinned on a corkboard which takes up way too much room, the rambling handwriting difficult for all but Harry and Jean to read (it's only through experience that you are now able to decipher Harry's script). There is a system in his mess, just like there’s a system to the insane logic inside Harry’s bizarre yet brilliant mind, but very few have had the opportunity (and patience) to see the patterns.

In that regard, you're one of the lucky ones. Or unlucky ones, depending on who you ask.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] — This desk actually used to belong to Satellite-Officer Jean Vicquemare. Your original desk, the one you were supposed to be assigned to, is much further away at the end of the room and is much more cramped and much less nice than this one. However, Jean was only too happy to let you take his desk and move all his stuff as far away from Harry as humanly possible. Even if you didn't see Jean move all his stuff away from here, you would be able to tell this desk once belonged to him by the scent of powerful medication emanating from a single locked drawer to your right, which you refuse to touch.

PERCEPTION [Easy: Success] — You hear a yawn, then a groan, as Lieutenant double-Yefreitor Harry du Bois plops his way down onto his seat.

LOGIC [Medium: Success] — Judging by the humongous kebab in his hands and the obnoxious level of sauce on his face, it's safe to say that this is his breakfast.

SAVOIR FAIRE [Medium: Success] — Could he at least try to eat with his mouth and not his beard? They're not called mutton chops because there's food in those locks.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Formidable: Success] — Though they are rather luscious locks. Wonder if they're as soft to the touch as they look.

YOU — "Harry…" You say, voice rising slightly in warning. You point at the little bit of orange marring his face.

HARRY DU BOIS — "Huh? Oh, sorry." He fishes out a handkerchief from his jacket and wipes his face messily before licking the sauce away from the handkerchief.

REACTION SPEED [Formidable: Success] — It's definitely the handkerchief you gave him all the way back from the Hanged Man case. You'd recognise those initials anywhere. You forgot to ask it back.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Medium: Success] — Before Harry wiped his face with it, it was completely clean. He's been washing it, caring for it. He treasures it.

VOLITION [Legendary: Success] — There's still a stain on the edge of his lip that Harry keeps missing. It takes all your willpower not to reach over and wipe it off yourself.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] — Are we not going to talk about Harry's tongue, because whoo boy, it's long. Just the way we like it.

YOU — "You kept the handkerchief?"

HARRY DU BOIS — "Why not? It's pretty nice and I like it." His lips dip into a half-frown. "Oh, do you want it back?"

YOU — "Just…keep it," you shake your head. "Consider it a present."

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry relaxes and neatly folds the handkerchief back into his jacket.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] — He looks like a child that's been told they can have a cookie. Or a hand embroidered handkerchief.

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] — Does Harry even know you hand embroidered it yourself?

HARRY DU BOIS — "So Jean’s officially assigned me as your partner for this case. Our number one objective is to find Lucky at the moment. If we solve the murders, that's a bonus as far as they're concerned."

YOU — You nod grimly. "I assume these are the Captain’s words, not Satellite-Officer Vicquemare’s."

HARRY DU BOIS — "It totally sucks, I know, but that’s our orders."

YOU — "And do they know about my…medical condition?"

RHETORIC [Medium: Failure] — You can’t help but wince at your own words.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT [Godly: Success] — You better thank me the only sign of injury on you is a light bruise on your head, completely obscured by your hair.

HARRY DU BOIS — "I almost did, but I decided not to. Can’t let them know they now have two amnesiac cops in their precinct."

YOU — "It’s different. You’ve literally forgotten everything. I’ve only forgotten the last week."

LOGIC [Trivial: Success] — The most important week.

HARRY DU BOIS — He shakes his head forlornly. "Still. Don’t need another reason for Jean to separate me from you."

RHETORIC [Formidable: Success] — There’s deeper meaning to his words. He fears separation. Not just physical separation, but a spiritual one. A bond he hopes will never break or slip away.

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success]— A bond you will perfectly curate. The perfect distance. No further. No closer.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] — No weaker, but no stronger. You won’t push him away, but you won’t let him closer either, even though it hurts.

HARRY DU BOIS — "So. I'm assuming you read up your case notes. Fill me in?"

YOU — You take your notebook out, just so you can refer back just in case.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — It's easier for you to read than hear your thoughts. Even now you give us life not through voices but with type-written words flashing before your eyes. Text flying across your vision as though it comes from a world-class computer.

YOU — "The corpse was found in Villalobos, near but not on Mesque gang grounds. For the first few days of my investigation, it was just known as Corpse#1, but later I found out the corpse was named Santiago Velez, an immigrant from Mesque. Medium height and build, no unusual features except for these ritualistic cuts all throughout his torso. Throughout the investigation we found out that these cuts were performed while he was alive. Cause of death was blunt force trauma."

You flip your notebook to the next page where a rough diagram of the corpse's markings is on full display. You slide the notebook over to Harry so he can take a look. He does not take it, just peers over the low boundary between your desks. He winces.

HARRY DU BOIS — "Nasty shit. Also, did I mention you cannot draw?"

HAND/EYE COORDINATION [Medium: Failure] — What are you expecting me to say? You can't draw shit. You haven't even mastered the fine art of the humble stickman.

AUTHORITY [Medium: Success] — But he doesn't need to know that.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Medium: Success] — He also doesn't need to know that this is not your handiwork. Your previous attempts at drawing are far worse than this. These drawings were ripped out from someone else's notebook and added to yours. This was Lucky's handiwork.

YOU — "Drawing skills were never a prerequisite for becoming an officer of the RCM. And anyway, I have a photograph as well from the initial autopsy." You hand that also to Harry, who takes one glance and grimaces.

ENDURANCE [Easy: Success] — The green on his face is a bit too close to the colour of his shoes, but at least he does not vomit.

HARRY DU BOIS — "These markings. They look like Mesque iconography. Like the brands they would put on criminals that were sent out into the community."

YOU — "A dead end according to my notes. This body has been cut by two different blades. The Mesque iconography was just to throw us off the scent, to pin it on one of the gangs."

You flip over to the next page and show two more drawings Lucky had made, this time of the cuts on the body separated by which blade made them. They're slightly better in quality, and therefore slightly more horrifying.

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry glances at your notebook and groans. "Fuck, can I at least finish my kebab before you show me this?"

YOU — "Wouldn't that give you more room to savour what's left of your food?" You raise an eyebrow.

HARRY DU BOIS — "Kim, please."

YOU — "What is it that the Satellite-Officer says? Toughen up, shitkid?"

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Medium: Success] — Somewhere behind you, you hear Satellite-Officer Jean Vicquemare shout "Damn fucking straight!" before disappearing out of sight.

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry buries his free hand into his greasy hair. "I fear the day you two work together and gang up on me."

YOU — "I'll be sure to let him know you're so eager to get rid of me."

HARRY DU BOIS — "That's not what I mean, I…" He huffs, his red cheeks getting redder. "Just tell me about the drawings already."

YOUR NOTEBOOK — You look down at the two drawings. Of the two, the first picture is the more interesting one. There are swirling shapes within these cuts, not angular and straight as you'd expect from a knife. The marks don't make much sense. There are two ovals on both sides of the victim's chest, a spiral near the stomach, and a few other intricate marks that don't make much sense to you. Whoever made these markings had plenty of experience cutting skin into these intricate shapes. They had to be an artist, or someone who's used to cutting meat, like a butcher. It's possible the murderer learned this skill from cutting animals. You don't discredit the possibility however that there's been many more victims before this one, each a new canvas to practice on.

The second picture is less interesting, but has its own story to tell. On its own it looks like a random jumble of tiny cuts. The blade used for this one is wielded by someone else with less artistic skill, making the more normal straight cuts. The person who made the second set of cuts must have been Mesque or involved with Mesque gangs, because of the use of certain lesser-known Mesque gang iconographies such as the old Franconigerian motto for Mesque: en mis dominios no se pone el sol.

HARRY DU BOIS — He points at the phrase. "What does that mean?"

YOU — "In my domains, the sun does not set. It was once attributed to Franconegro when he incited his citizens to fight back against the Army of Humanity led by Dolores Dei. It did not go well."

HARRY DU BOIS — "And what is it attributed to now?"

YOU — "The Mazda. If you think about it, it's clever. They did close off a street in Villalobos. If you look at The Mazda as the sun, then the sun truly does not set in their domain. If you've been working for the RCM as long as you have, you would have encountered this phrase eventually. A lot of Mesquites involved in the gangs have this as a tattoo."

HARRY DU BOIS — "Until I forgot literally everything."

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] — There's a bit of sadness in his voice, but also acceptance. He tries not to think too much about the things he's forgotten. If they haven't come back by now, they never will.

YOU — "Does the phrase ring a bell?"

HARRY DU BOIS — He shakes his head. "Don't remember it, and I haven't heard it either. Is it commonly known?"

YOU — "Amongst Precincts 41 and 57? Yes. Amongst the populace? No. Most people try to avoid the Mesque gangs. They certainly wouldn't want to get close enough to know what their mottos are."

HARRY DU BOIS — "So if it's not that common, doesn't that mean the second guy who carved it was involved with The Mazda?"

LOGIC [Medium: Success] — You must have considered it at one point judging by your notes. But there's nothing else to confirm or deny that theory, and you didn’t seem to pursue that lead later on.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Formidable: Success] — You would have pursued it, but something stopped you. A piece of evidence you didn’t write down. A certain trainee detective meddling with your affairs.

YOU — "It’s possible, I admit, but we don’t have any evidence. Either way, forensic analysis did confirm that these two different cuts were both made within an hour of each other. At least two people are involved in this murder, if not more."

HARRY DU BOIS — He strokes his chin thoughtfully. "Interesting, interesting."

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] — He has no idea what to make of all this so far.

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] — You don't either. Not that Harry knows.

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry snaps his fingers. "You must have processed the body, right? It’s barely been a week, there’s a chance it’s still in the Morgue."

YOU — "Probably, but it’s unlikely. We go through a lot of corpses in a week's time. It might not be there."

LOGIC [Easy: Success] — Although you do have the corpse’s processing ID number. You can always ask.

INLAND EMPIRE [Medium: Success] — Good thing you have the amnesiac by your side again.

HARRY DU BOIS — He taps your notebook. "You have the ID number. We can check it out, I can always pretend to forget everything."

YOU — "But you really don't know anything about it."

HARRY DU BOIS — "Then my dazzling performance will be all the more believable then." He winks.

EMPATHY [Formidable: Success] — Even if he did know something, he likes pretending not to know anything if it gets him what he wants.

SUGGESTION [Medium: Success] — And what he wants, apparently, is to spend time with you.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Legendary: Success] — He wants you bad.

YOU — He does not want me badly. You guys are just saying stuff because you're part of my imagination or something.

REACTION SPEED — Have you been imagining about Harry recently?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Easy: Success] — It's probably easier to ask when have you not been imagining about Harry?

INLAND EMPIRE [Legendary: Success] — Harry is on his back. You're crouched on top of him. Your hands are on his throat and the sun's light is behind you. You are the sun and he is the moon, reflecting your brilliance back. You're stronger than him, could burn him into a crisp, but you can't and you won't. His skin is pale and full of craters, but kissed by the sun's light, it would light up brilliantly. He can eclipse you perfectly. Together, you can make a true spectacle.

YOU — I'll make a spectacle of myself if I did that.

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] — You probably will.

AUTHORITY [Heroic: Success] — But you won't.

YOU — You stand up from your seat, pocketing your notebook into your jacket. "Come on. Let's go then and check up this lead."

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Godly: Success] — He smiles a bit to himself, relishing in the knowledge that you two are partners working a case again. He misses this. Misses the distraction. The camaraderie.

VOLITION [Godly: Success] — Harry's hand lies prone by his side, but you do not take it. You walk side by side, a comfortable distance away from each other.

PATH TO THE MORGUE — For many logical and logistical reasons the RCM morgue is at the completely opposite end of Precinct 41. It's a long, winding path to the Morgue, such that only the local RCM officers are able to navigate.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] — All morgues within RCM precincts are built this way to prevent the theft of corpses. It doesn't stop thieves from attempting, but if they are able to grab the body they want and get out without being spotted, it's almost seen as an accomplishment. It also doesn't make it easy to put the dead bodies into the Morgue in the first place, which is why it often takes a long time to process a corpse.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Formidable: Success] — It's a common hazing ritual for most new RCM hires to make them do errands between the bullpen and the morgue. You spent days before the transfer documents got officially processed remembering all the routes for the Precinct 41 building so you would be well-prepared if they tried to do the same to you.

To your relief, they didn't. Though they did plan it.

HARRY DU BOIS — He whistles a song you don't know for half of the journey. When he stops whistling, he asks the question you've been dreading.

"What's up with you and Lucky?"

COMPOSURE [Medium: Failure] — You can't help but grit your teeth at the name.

HARRY DU BOIS — "That bad, huh?"

YOU — You sigh a little and adjust your glasses. "Lars Langley is the son of one of the founders of the RCM, Luc Langley. He's not a bad kid. Smart, good with people. Wouldn't hurt a fly. I believe so far in his entire career as a young detective, he's only had to use his gun once, which is pretty impressive when he has to work in the Greater Revachol Industrial Harbour."

HARRY DU BOIS — "But you don't like him."

YOU — "He may have started from the same position as everybody else does, but that doesn't mean he doesn't get some additional 'help'. He's called Lucky in Precinct 57 because he always solves a case. Always. When he doesn't, daddy comes in to sweep everything under the rug or declare it solved anyway. He's the only officer in the RCM so far to have a perfect record. That's how you rise up the ranks, don't you?"

HARRY DU BOIS — "So his father plays favourites and that's why you hate him?"

YOU — "It'd be one thing if he knew, but Lucky is so naïve that he doesn't even realise what his father's doing. He just thinks he's lucky. Thinks it's all his hard work that got him to where he is, that he deserves a higher rank."

HARRY DU BOIS — "You're jealous that he got to the same rank as you in far shorter a time than you."

COMPOSURE [Impossible: Failure] — Your face cracks. A grimace escapes your lips, your fists balled up by your side. Anger ripples through your veins.

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] — But you stop and pause. A cool breath is sucked in. Your frustrations are breathed out. You calm down, slowly but surely.

HALF LIGHT [Formidable: Success] — You don't want to say it out loud. You don't want to say you're jealous. Admitting it out loud will just give Harry another weakness to exploit.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] — But Harry already knows.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Easy: Success] — It's far from the worst secret you have. He won't judge you for it.

YOU — "Year after year I'm pushed aside so others may rise up the ranks. And year after year my friends and comrades die a gruesome, early death because they were not capable. They claim my eyesight is the reason why I can't go any higher. I doubt it's the only reason." You can't hide the venom in your voice.

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry nods slowly. "They push you aside. Meanwhile, here I am. Lieutenant double-Yefreitor, and an absolute mess unworthy of my status."

EMPATHY [Heroic: Success] — His tone is somber and dejected. He thinks you deserve to be a higher rank than him.

DRAMA [Legendary: Success] — Of all the people in the world, he holds you in the highest regard, bixia. That includes himself.

YOU — You shake your head at him. "You've worked incredibly hard for so many years. It was inevitable that you'd fall for something to cope. But you're getting better."

HARRY DU BOIS — "And how would you know that?"

YOU — "You're taking it easier—well, relative to your previous workload, if your ledger is to be believed. And you don't stink of Magnesium and alcohol anymore."

PERCEPTION (Smell) [Easy: Success] — He smells quite nice actually. A combination of lemon-scented soap and kebab meat.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] — It'd be even more intoxicating if you got closer. Draw yourself in, get lost in the prismatic disco lights, get wild and boogie down. You know you want to.

HARRY DU BOIS — "I’m trying to cut the habit when I can. And I'm taking it easy because Jean's looking for an excuse to kick my ass to the curb. Doesn't stop me from being a massive screwup."

He breathes out a plume of air. He’s silent for a while. Then, quietly, "You deserve better, Kim."

RHETORIC [Formidable: Success] — He's not just talking about a promotion.

YOU — "I don't deserve better," you say, barely louder than a whisper. "We get what we deserve. That's why I'm here."

HARRY DU BOIS — He turns to stare at you, his piercing gaze taking you apart layer by layer. With his eyes alone he finds the hidden latch to your chest and opens it, holding your lungs with his sweaty, clammy hands. With just a look he has you where he wants you. And what he wants is to know more about you. He has another question on his lips. Another probing question you don't want to answer.

AUTHORITY [Godly: Success] — You turn your head and raise one eyebrow at him. A warning shot. The question burns in his throat and is swallowed down like the disgusting bile it is.

PATH TO THE MORGUE — The two of you walk down the empty path, alone but never truly alone, together but not together, silent but not truly silent. Unspoken words dangle in the air, so crisp and legible you won't need your glasses to help you pluck them out of the sky. It's not an entirely comfortable silence, but it's the most comfortable silence you can have with another person.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Medium: Success] — Harry begins to whistle again, low and melancholic and quiet. The same song he whistled on the swing during the Hanged Man case, or something close enough to it.

YOU — Your puckered lips join in with his melody, and together you create the strangest duet known to mankind.

SHIVERS [Impossible: Success] — The Precinct disappears. The world disappears. All that is left is you and Harry and the song filling the distance between your souls and the whispers of Revachol flowing through your veins.

MORGUE — The morgue, like the rest of the Precinct, has seen better days. It stinks of decay and herbs, no doubt to hide the scent of rotting corpses but it only makes it worse. Once upon a time the room would be white, but the drains near the floors are caked with an unknown substance, and the off-white is more off than white by a number of unknown substances. In other words, an almost spitting replica of the morgue back at Precinct 57.

HARRY DU BOIS — He takes his handkerchief out and retches into it, but does not vomit.

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Success] — It's an ungodly stench, to the point that even you feel the urge to gag, but you swallow tightly and the feeling fades.

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry is not so lucky. He's only able to suppress so much, but a tiny bit of regurgitated kebab spills down his lips. He groans as he wipes it away before it hits the floor, but he does not retch anymore. Miraculously, he's able to stomach it.

YOU — Still, you shake your head at him. "Keep your shit together."

DIENER — "This is Lieutenant du Bois we're talking about. I don't think that's possible."

You turn to observe the only other person in the room. They wear the standard white apron and black garb of a Diener, a mortuary assistant. Their face is sharp and narrow like a blade, and you get the inexplicable feeling that their mind is just as sharp as their face. There's a badge on their lapel with their face and name on it.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Formidable: Failure] — Try as you might, there is no decoding the indecipherable handwriting. You can only assume it's a name.

SAVOIR FAIRE [Medium: Success] — You're also barely able to decode gender from the person's face. You're unsure if that's a deliberate choice, or if they were born with such an androgynous face and body.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Godly: Success] — It’s becoming a bit of a fashion trend in recent times for the counter culture youth to fight back at the hypersexualisation of women. The more you confuse people about your gender, the better.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Godly: Success] — Highly doubt it’s a fashion statement for the diener though. They've tailored their appearance very carefully to maintain this image. They've done this for years, turned it into an artform.

DIENER — "Lieutenant du Bois, Lieutenant Kitsuragi, I see you two have been partnered up again."

REACTION SPEED [Medium: Success] — They almost say "good for you" but stop themselves.

DRAMA [Formidable: Success] — They know it would be such an obvious lie, bixia.

YOU — For formality's sake, you flash your badge long enough for the diener to read it. "Lieutenant Kitsuragi and Lieutenant Du Bois. We are here to inquire about a body for a case I’ve been investigating."

DIENER — "Body? What’s the identification number?"

YOU — You look back at your notebook to check. "ID number 248765900."

DIENER — "That one rings a bell. Haven’t you already looked at it twice now?" They raise a skeptical eye at you, then at Harry.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] — Even they have heard about Harry’s infamous amnesia episode. They’re a little envious Harry’s able to forget just like that. And also worried how he’s going to react this time.

HARRY DU BOIS — Before you can reply, Harry cuts in. "I’ve been recently reassigned as Kim’s partner for this case. Need to see it myself."

DIENER — "Just don’t stick your fingers into their ass again," they raise their eyebrows at Harry before heading for the records room, closing the door behind them.

YOU — You slowly turn your head to Harry. "You stuck your fingers inside someone’s ass?"

HARRY DU BOIS — "It was for a case, honest."

RHETORIC [Legendary: Success] — The way he phrases it suggests he’s put his fingers up someone’s ass outside of cases as well. Or even his own.

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Failure] — You can feel the sweat drip down your forehead, your ears burning up in surprise and maybe even shame.

ELECTROCHEMISTY [Trivial: Success] — You’ve seen him without his pants before. Those delectable jeans of his don't leave much to the imagination. You fill in the blanks.

YOU — "S-sure, Harry," you say, hoping to steer the conversation somewhere else

HARRY DU BOIS — But he’s already moved on to the next topic, head turned to where the Diener disappeared to.

His voice lowers conspiratorially. Barely a whisper. You already know what he's going to say based on that curious look in his eyes. "You think they’re part of the homosexual underground?"

YOU — "I thought I told you to stop obsessing over other people’s sexualities," you whisper back.

HARRY DU BOIS — "I mean…y-yeah, but…"

YOU — "But nothing. It’s not just heterosexuals and homosexuals, you know. There are people who feel no attraction, or only feel a certain type of attraction. There are some people who think beyond the binary of men and women, who change themselves to be more true to how they see themselves." You straighten your back. "As members of the RCM, it is not our place to judge."

HARRY DU BOIS — "And people in the middle?"

YOU — "The middle." Your voice rises slightly in tone but it’s still a statement, not a question.

INLAND EMPIRE — Could it be the great Lieutenant has finally figured out what he is? Or rather, what type of people he’s attracted to?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Trivial: Success] — And are we on that list?

HARRY DU BOIS — "You know. People in the middle. Not heterosexual, but not fully a member of the homosexual underground. Like Miss Oranje Disco Dancer."

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] — He’s trying to not-so-subtly hint he’s bisexual.

AUTHORITY [Formidable: Success] — About time.

YOU — "They’re the same. Heterosexual, homosexual, people stuck in the middle, it does not, and should not, change the RCM’s opinion about them." You raise one eyebrow at him.

HARRY DU BOIS — "And what if they’re not exactly right down the middle? What if they’re tipped towards one end but not completely? More towards the heterosexual side."

EMPATHY [Trivial: Success] — He’s not asking about the RCM’s opinion. He’s asking for your personal opinion. Whether you would accept him.

YOU — "As I mentioned, the RCM would not judge. But if you’re asking for my personal opinion?"

You pause, carefully deliberating your words. You look him in the eyes and feel dizzy from the glittering disco lights staring right back at you. You have no choice but to look away.

"Khm. I suppose I don’t mind at all."

HARRY DU BOIS — His pale but ruddy face breaks into a grin. It’s a kind, warm smile. A puppy smile. And then, because he has to rub it in, he gives you a wink and some finger guns.

INLAND EMPIRE [Formidable: Success] — Finger guns should be the intersolary symbol for bisexuals, honestly.

DIENER — They promptly return from their office with two folders under each arm, none the wiser of your conversation. A fresh pair of gloves has been placed on their hands.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Formidable: Success] — Why two folders? You only asked for the records of one body.

HARRY DU BOIS — "Hold on, we only asked for the records of one body."

DIENER — "Knowing you, you'd ask me to get the records for both victims." They roll their eyes, as if it's obvious.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] — They're well aware of Harry's insistence of following every lead, no matter how ridiculous.

YOU — You turn to Harry, who has already turned his head to you. The words escape your lips in chorus with one another.

YOU AND HARRY DU BOIS — "Both victims?" You say in unison.

DIENER — They ignore you as they head over to the freezer section, where dead bodies sit in cheap caskets. Each of these corpses are blanketed from their head to their ankles, with only their feet sticking out. Each one has a tag on their pinkie toe of their identification number, as well as the person who checked them, their names and age, and any other important details.

The diener leads you through, past corpse after corpse, until they come to a stop between two corpses. With dramatic gusto, they take the ends of both blankets and pulls them down.

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] — They may have been practicing that move for a while.

CORPSE #1 — On your left is the corpse you've written notes about. Corpse #1: Santiago Velez. There's a bit of decomposition on his body, mostly at his hands and feet, but the markings on his chest are identical to the photograph. They're even more gruesome up close.

CORPSE #2 — On your right is a different corpse. A woman, approximately the same age as Corpse #1. There's a gunshot wound to her temple, and similar markings on her chest carved by a knife, except this time there's no second blade to disguise it as Mesque gang iconography. Her tag gives her the name of Sasha Drugova.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Easy: Success] — Apart from their age, they do not resemble each other at all. Corpse #2 has blonde hair and blue eyes and pale skin, but Corpse #1 has tan skin and dark hair and pitch black eyes. The tags suggests they lived in completely different neighbourhoods.

INLAND EMPIRE [Medium: Success] — You remember thinking this before. You looked into this. They are completely different from each other. The only thing they have in common are the identical cuts on their chest…

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Impossible: Success] — …and a lung-shaped birthmark at the centre of their chest, untouched by the blades.

SHIVERS [Impossible: Success] — You need to remember those birthmarks. You know it's important somehow. A critical clue in this case.

HARRY DU BOIS — He follows your gaze to the birthmark, recognition sparking before his eyes. He puts on a pair of gloves and presses his fingers to the birthmark of Corpse #1, then Corpse #2. He inhales deeply, as if in a trance. His eyes grow pale.

"Where was this body found again?" He points at Corpse #2.

DIENER — They flip through one of the folders. "The burnt-out quarter. On the shore."

HARRY DU BOIS — He points at Corpse #1. "And this one?"

DIENER — They consult the other folder. "Villalobos. At the South."

HARRY DU BOIS — "Near the shore as well?"

DIENER — "Yes, actually. Why do you say that?"

HARRY DU BOIS — "These bodies were supposed to be dumped in the water, to be washed away by the waters, but they didn't stay in the water long. There's water in their lungs still, but it got frozen because of the freezer. And the blade. It had their DNA, but also the DNA of many more people. People we haven't identified yet."

DIENER — They look up at Harry, surpised. "They did, actually."

HALF LIGHT [Formidable: Success] — You know what he's going to say. You're dreading it.

HARRY DU BOIS — "These weren't the only victims, just the most recent two we've found."

YOU — "Which means…"

HARRY DU BOIS — He nods grimly. "We're dealing with serial killings. And if that's the case? I don't think Lucky is alive."

PAIN THRESHOLD [Formidable: Failure] — Your chest hurts. You're seeing blood. You've failed, and this is all your fault.

YOU — You try not to show the shock and fear that strikes you when you're weakest.

COMPOSURE [Impossible: Failure] — But your lips quiver slightly, but pathetically.

YOU — Lucky, wherever you are, I may hate your guts, but…

…I'm sorry for failing you.

#Disco Elysium #Harry du bois #Harrier du bois #Kim Kitsuragi #Requiem for the Apostle #I swear to god it was a coincidence about the whole racism in the police thing #I mean...police have been racist for a long time so uh. The timing just makes it better #Also Harry slowing coming to terms with his bisexual side #And wait until Kim gets drawn in to the chaos. He's gonna have it tough

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imdoingthismspaintadventure · 5 years

Text

Worm Interlude 1 - In which we talk about “descendants” and “progenitors”

Huh? Interlude 1? What is this, some sort of bonus between sagas? Hmmm.

“We don’t know how long he had been there. Suspended in the air above the Atlantic Ocean. On May twentieth, 1982, an ocean liner was crossing from Plymouth to Boston when a passenger spotted him. He was naked, his arms to his sides, his long hair blowing in the wind as he stood in the sky, nearly a hundred feet above the gently cresting waves. His skin and hair can only be described as a burnished gold. With neither body hair nor clothes to cover him, it is said, he seemed almost artificial.

Oooh is this like backstory?? On the world itself?? This is all the way back to 1982!! It sounds like a documentary of important events of the past! Is this what the interludes are going to be? Lore bombs?. I’m game for that : D

So floating in the middle of the ocean was a man with long hair, no clothes, and his skin with the apearance of gold. That makes for an incredible mental image. Holy shit powers are awesome

He’s giving me strong Dr Manhattan vibes, but this one has hair and is yellow instead of blue.

“After a discussion including passenger and crew, the liner detoured to get closer. It was a sunny day, and passengers crowded to the railings to get a better look. As if sharing their curiosity, the figure drew closer as well. His expression was unchanging, but witnesses at the scene reported that he appeared deeply sad.

People getting closer to something that could be dangerous to record it and/or touch it is such a staple of humanity. That would 100% happen in our world

He looks deeply sad....Maybe it’s because of the Manhattan vibes, but this screams deep, profound loneliness to me. Or detachment from the world. Where did this golden man even come from? He was suddently spotted one day all radiant and sorrowfull...

“‘I thought he was going to crack his facade and cry any moment’, said Grace Lands, ‘But when I reached out and touched his fingertips, I was the one who burst into tears.’

Damn, they make him sound majestic. Holy shit.

Also this is totally a documentary! I love the format of this.

“‘That boat trip was a final journey for me. I had cancer, and I wasn’t brave enough to face it. Can’t believe I’m admitting this in front of a camera, but I was going back to Boston, where I was born, to end things myself. After I met him, I changed my mind. Didn’t matter anyways. I went to a doctor, and he said there was no sign I ever had the disease.’

!!!!!

The golden man can cure cancer! Is his power omni-healing? A universal cure? He basically did a miracle there!

He has this amazing healing power and was just floating idly over the sea... He still gives me massive Manhattan vibes..

“‘My brother, Andrew Hawke, was the last passenger to make any sort of contact with him, I remember. He climbed up onto the railing, and, almost falling off, he clasped the hand of the golden man. The rest of us had to grab onto him to keep him from falling. Whatever happened left him with a quiet awe. When the man with the golden skin flew away, my brother stayed silent. The rest of the way to Boston, my brother didn’t say a word. When we docked, and the spell finally broke, my brother babbled his excitement to reporters like a child.’

Were superheroes less common at that time? I mean, golden man here still seems amazing even with that we have seen, but they are acting like it happened in our world!

“The golden man would reappear several more times in the coming months and years. At some point, he donned clothing. At first, a sheet worn over one shoulder and pinned at either side of the waist, then more conventional clothes. In 1999, he donned the white bodysuit he still wears today. For more than a decade, we have wondered, where did our golden man get these things? Who was he in contact with?

So he has a contact! Who gives him clothes and maybe equipment? And no one in the world knows? He seems as much a mystery to them as to us!

“Periodically at first, then with an increasing frequency, the golden man started to intervene in times of crisis. For events as small as a car accident, as great as natural disasters, he has arrived and used his abilities to save us. A flash of light to freeze water reinforcing a levee stressed by a hurricane. A terrorist act averted. A serial murderer caught. A volcano quelled. Miracles, it was said.

H-Holy shit.

This makes Lung seem like nothing. What is even his power??

Curing diseases, freezing water, calming volcanoes....He performs actual miracles! Is his power just... all the powers??? Or a power that does everything???

How high in the hierarchy is this guy??

“His pace increased, perhaps because he was still learning what he could do, perhaps because he was getting a greater sense of where he was needed. By the middle of the 1990s, he was traveling from crisis to crisis, flying faster than the speed of sound. In fifteen years, he has not rested.

Oh my god....

He has been saving people and doing good deeds for over fifteen years, EVERY SINGLE MOMENT OF EVERY DAY.

Holy fucking shit.

Is this the #1 hero?? The “All Might” of this world?? But this....this is even more insane. He’s like the ultimate good!

“He has been known to speak just once in thirty years. After extinguishing widespread fire in Alexandrovsk, he paused to survey the scene and be sure no blazes remained. A reporter spoke to him, and asked, ‘Kto vy?’ – what are you?

“Shocking the world, caught on camera in a scene replayed innumerable times, he answered in a voice that sounded as though it might never have uttered a sound before. Barely audible, he told her, ‘Scion’.

!!!!!!

This is giving me all of the chills, ever.

Scion

Descendant?? What does that even mean?? Why are you so mysterious and amazing at the same time, golden man????

“It became the name we used for him. Ironic, because we took a word that meant descendant, and used it to name the first of many superpowered individuals – parahumans – to appear across Earth.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WAIT HOLD THE FUCK UP

He’s just not the best, he’s the first!!!!

The first superhero ever!!!!

Oh my god, he’s superman! Both in meta and in-story!!

Godly do-everything powers, ultimate good, first ever superhero....

He’s the man of tomorrow!!! But without like the secret identity part. This is who Superman would be if he never stopped saving people, ever. If he was a hero all the time!!

THIS IS SO COOL.

“Just five years after Scion’s first appearance, the superheroes emerged from the cover of rumor and secrecy to show themselves to the public. Though the villains followed soon after, it was the heroes who shattered any illusions of the parahumans being divine figures. In 1989, attempting to quell a riot over a basketball game in Michigan, the superhero known to the public as Vikare stepped in, only to be clubbed over the head. He died not long after of a brain embolism. Later, he would be revealed to be Andrew Hawke.

WAIT AND NOW YOU DROP THIS ON ME.

One of the first superheroes was the man who touched him at the boat!!! Did he give him his power??? DId touching him grant him powers??? What???

But then what about all the other people who got powers afterwards??. I’m sure he wasn’t there for them all??? WHAT IS GOING ON?? Was that just a coincidence??

“The golden age of the parahumans was thus short lived. They were not the deific figures they had appeared to be. Parahumans were, after all, people with powers, and people are flawed at their core. Government agencies took a firmer hand, and state-”

Can I just say that I fucking love how despite all their powers and grace, parahumans are just human, with all their virtues and flaws, and it was this that made people realize that they were not gods, just men?? That one of the superheroes of the golden age died from a simple hit to the head??

God, this is so great.

The television flicked off, and the screen went black, cutting the documentary off mid sentence. Danny Hebert sighed and sat down on the bed, only to stand just a moment later and resume pacing.

It was three fifteen in the morning, and his daughter Taylor was not in her bedroom.

WHAT. It was indeed a documentary! A documentary that Taylor’s dad was watching! While waiting for his daughter to come home (and her being presumably dealing with the fire demon situation)

What a way to link this to the main story

For the twentieth time, he felt the urge to ask his wife for help, for advice, for support. But her side of the bed was empty and it had been for some time. Daily, it seemed, he was struck by the urge to call her cell phone. He knew it was stupid – she wouldn’t pick up – and if he dwelt on that for too long, he became angry at her, which just made him feel worse.

Oh so Taylor doesn’t have a mom? ):

Poor Taylor and poor Danny... He seems to have regrets... I would say they broke up but the “she wouldn’t pick up” line makes me think she’s dead..

He wondered, even as he knew the answer, why he hadn’t gotten Taylor a cell phone. Danny didn’t know what his daughter was doing, what would drive her to go out at night. She wasn’t the type. He could tell himself that most fathers felt that way about their daughters, but at the same time, he knew. Taylor wasn’t social. She didn’t go to parties, she wouldn’t drink, she wasn’t even that interested in champagne when they celebrated the New Year together.

Hmm, Taylor doesn’t have a cellphone? Danny seems to have an issue with them..

Also damn. Taylor did this to free herself from her troubles and start her dreams but didn’t account for how she would make his father feel.... Probably didn’t even think on the possibility that he would wake up and she wouldn’t be there.

Two ominous possibilities kept nagging at him, both too believable. The first was that Taylor had gone out for fresh air, or even for a run. She wasn’t happy, especially at school, he knew, and exercise was her way of working through it. He could see her doing it on a Sunday night, with a fresh week at school looming. He liked that her running made her feel better about herself, that she seemed to be doing it in a reasonable, healthy way. He just hated that she had to do it here, in this neighborhood. Because here, a skinny girl in her mid-teens was an easy target for attack. A mugging or worse – he couldn’t even articulate the worst of the possibilities in his own thoughts without feeling physically sick. If she had gone out at eleven in the evening for a run and hadn’t come back by three in the morning, then it meant something had happened.

Damn, I feel the adult fear Danny is expierencing. Having a daughter to take care of, worring about horrible things happening to her, about her general happiness ...

This is very well written.

He glanced out the window again, at that corner of the house where the pool of illumination beneath the streetlight would let him see her approaching. Nothing.

Checking out over and over again to see if she has come back, knowing that each time you look and it isn’t so, it is yet another weight of worry over your weary shoulders....

The second possibility wasn’t much better. He knew Taylor was being bullied. Danny had found that out in January, when his little girl had been pulled out of school and taken to the hospital. Not the emergency room, but the psychiatric ward. She wouldn’t say by whom, but under the influence of the drugs they had given her to calm down, she had admitted she was being victimized by bullies, using the plural to give him a clue that it was a they and not a he or a she. She hadn’t mentioned it – the incident or the bullying – since. If he pushed, she only tensed up and grew more withdrawn. He had resigned himself to letting her reveal the details in her own time, but months had passed without any hints or clues being offered.

Oh god, they bullied her so bad she went to the phychiatric ward??? What the hell!??

Oh my god those three fucking monsters. And Danny has been tormenting himself over all this since! Wanting to help but not wanting to intrude in such personal matters...

There was precious little Danny could do on the subject, either. He had threatened to sue the school after his daughter had been taken to the hospital, and the school board had responded by settling, paying her hospital bills and promising they would look out for her to prevent such events from occurring in the future. It was a feeble promise made by a chronically overworked staff and it didn’t do a thing to ease his worries. His efforts to have her change schools had been stubbornly countered with rules and regulations about the maximum travel times a student was allowed to have between home and a given school. The only other school within a reasonable distance of Taylor’s place of residence was Arcadia High, and it was already desperately overcrowded with more than two hundred students on a list requesting admittance.

Ugh schools being so useless is also very realistic, sadly....

It sucks and everyone refuses to help.

With all that in mind, when his daughter disappeared until the middle of the night, he couldn’t shake the idea that the bullies might have lured her out with blackmail, threats or empty promises. He only knew about the one incident, the one that had landed her in the hospital, but it had been grotesque. It had been implied, but never elaborated on, that more had been going on. He could imagine these boys or girls that were tormenting his daughter, egging one another on as they came up with more creative ways to humiliate or harm her. Taylor hadn’t said as much aloud, but whatever had been going on had been mean, persistent and threatening enough that Emma, Taylor’s closest friend for years, had stopped spending time with her. It galled him.

Aaaaaa, if you only knew!!! This is so sadly ironic, Emma’s got more to do with this than you are even aware of...

And what the hell did they do that time???

Impotent. Danny was helpless where it counted. There was no action he could take – his one call to the police at two in the morning had only earned him a tired explanation that the police couldn’t act or look for her without something more to go on. If his daughter was still gone after twelve hours, he’d been told, he should call them again. All he could do was wait and pray with his heart in his throat that the phone wouldn’t ring, a police officer or nurse on the other end ready to tell him what had happened to his daughter.

Ugh, what he is living though is just... awful.

He’s completely helpless to her daughter when she might be in need (or at least that’s what he thinks) and he’s waiting for a phone call telling him that something terrible has happened, and for his life to stop making sense.

Fuck

The slightest of vibrations in the house marked the escape of the warm air in the house to the cold outdoors, and there was a muffled whoosh as the kitchen door shut again. Danny Hebert felt a thrill of relief coupled with abject fear. If he went downstairs to find his daughter, would he find her hurting or hurt? Or would his presence make things worse, her own father seeing her at her most vulnerable after humiliation at the hands of bullies? She had told him, in every way except articulating it aloud, that she didn’t want that. She had pleaded with him, with body language and averted eye contact, unfinished sentences and things left unsaid, not to ask, not to push, not to see, when it came to the bullying. He couldn’t say why, exactly. Home was an escape from that, he’d suspected, and if he recognized the bullying, made it a reality here, maybe she wouldn’t have that relief from it. Perhaps it was shame, that his daughter didn’t want him to see her like that, didn’t want to be that weak in front of him. He really hoped that wasn’t the case.

Oh Taylor has returned after the Armsmaster talk!! Yess

And now Danny doesn’t know if to approach her for if he sees her in her weakest moment, he thinks it would break his daughter even more

Damn being Danny is suffering, at least today! Worse thing is, Taylor must be feeling realtively happy after being owed a favour by a famous hero and helping stop a villain...

So he ran his fingers through his hair once more and sat down on the corner of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands on his head, and stared at his closed bedroom door. His ears were peeled for the slightest clue. The house was old, and it hadn’t been a high quality building when it had been new, so the walls were thin and the structure prone to making noise at every opportunity. There was the faintest sound of a door closing downstairs. The bathroom? It wouldn’t be the basement door, with no reason for her to go down there, and he couldn’t imagine it was a closet, because after two or three minutes, the same door opened and closed again.

It was probably the basement, to hide her costume again.

After something banged on the kitchen counter, there was little but the occasional groan of floorboards. Five or ten minutes after she had come in, there was the rhythmic creak of the stairs as she ascended. Danny thought about clearing his throat to let her know he was awake and available should she knock on his door, but decided against it. He was being cowardly, he thought, as if his clearing of his throat would give reality to his fears.

Her door shut carefully, almost inaudibly, with the slightest tap of door on doorframe. Danny stood, abruptly, opening his door, ready to cross the hall and knock on her door. To verify that his daughter was okay.

Aaaaaa this hurts! If only you could talk to each other! The worse part is I know Taylor would be distressed if Danny tried to talk with her! She would worry about her cover being blown, about having to explain herself or even just about making her father worry!

He was stopped by the smell of jam and toast. She had made a late night snack. It filled him with relief. He couldn’t imagine his daughter, after being mugged, tormented or humiliated, coming home to have toast with jam as a snack. Taylor was okay, or at least, okay enough to be left alone.

He let out a shuddering sigh of relief and retreated to his room to sit on the bed.

Yes!! At least now he has some proof that things are somewhat ok : D

Relief became anger. He was angry at Taylor, for making him worry, and then not even going out of her way to let him know she was okay. He felt a smouldering resentment towards the city, for having neighborhoods and people he couldn’t trust his daughter to. He hated the bullies that preyed on his daughter. Underlying it all was frustration with himself. Danny Hebert was the one person he could control in all of this, and Danny Hebert had failed to do anything that mattered. He hadn’t gotten answers, hadn’t stopped the bullies, hadn’t protected his daughter. Worst of all was the idea that this might have happened before, with him simply sleeping through it rather than laying awake.

Damn, this still hurts.

Danny you are a good father, you worry about your daughter so much. Don’t hate yourself for feeling useless. It’s a bad situation overall.

He stopped himself from walking into his daughter’s room, from shouting at her and demanding answers, even if it was what he wanted, more than anything. Where had she been, what had she been doing? Was she hurt? Who were these people that were tormenting her? He knew that by confronting her and getting angry at her, he would do more harm than good, would threaten to sever any bond of trust they had forged between them.

He wants to be more of a father, to demand answers and try to protect her, to see if she’s doing something self-destructive or dangerous, but he’s afraid that he’ll lose her if he does that. That their bond will be irreparably damaged...

Danny’s father had been a powerful, heavyset man, and Danny hadn’t gotten any of those genes. Danny had been a nerd when the term was still young in popular culture, stick thin, awkward, short sighted, glasses, bad fashion sense. What he had inherited was his father’s famous temper. It was quick to rise and startling in its intensity. Unlike his father, Danny had only ever hit someone in anger twice, both times when he was much younger. That said, just like his father, he could and would go off on tirades that would leave people shaking. Danny had long viewed the moment he’d started to see himself as a man, an adult, to be the point in time where he had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t ever lose his temper with his family. He wouldn’t pass that on to his child the way his father had to him.

“Unlike his father”... Oh

Oh no.

Danny you are not him, you are better than him. You seem like a wonderful man!

Seems Taylor inherited her tall, thin physique from him.

He had never broken that oath with Taylor, and knowing that was what kept him contained in his room, pacing back and forth, red in the face and wanting to punch something. While he’d never gotten angry at her, never screamed at her, he knew Taylor had seen him angry. Once, he had been at work, talking to a mayor’s aide. The man had told Danny that the revival projects for the Docks were being cancelled and that, contrary to promises, there were to be layoffs rather than new jobs for the already beleaguered Dockworkers. Taylor had been spending the morning in his office on the promise that they would go out for the afternoon, and had been in a position to see him fly off the handle in the worst way with the man. Four years ago, he had lost his temper with Annette for the first time, breaking his oath to himself. That had been the last time he had seen her. Taylor hadn’t been there to see him shouting at her mother, but he was fairly certain she’d heard some of it. It shamed him.

This makes it seem like they broke up. but.. if she really is dead... what a final conversation to have, angry with each other. No wonder he seems to have a lot of regrets with all of that. And with Taylor seeing him like he saw his father as well...

The third and last time that he had lost his temper where Taylor had been in a position to know had been when she had been hospitalized following the incident in January. He’d screamed at the school’s principal, who had deserved it, and at Taylor’s then-Biology teacher, who probably hadn’t. It had been bad enough that a nurse had threatened to call for a police officer, and Danny, barely mollified, had stomped from the hallway to the hospital room to find his daughter more or less conscious and wide eyed in reaction. Danny harbored a deep fear that the reason Taylor hadn’t offered any details on the bullying was out of fear he would, in blind rage, do something about it. It made him feel sick, the notion that he might have contributed something to his daughter’s self imposed isolation in how she was dealing with her problems.

He’s probably right about that, that Taylor doesn’t want his father involved...

January seemed a horrific month for them both.

It took Danny a long time to calm down, helped by telling himself over and over that Taylor was okay, that she was home, that she was safe. It was something of a blessing that, as the anger faded, he felt drained. He climbed into the left side of the bed, leaving the right side empty out of a habit he’d yet to break, and pulled the covers up around himself.

He would talk to Taylor in the morning. Get an answer of some sort.

The space he leaves for Taylor’s mom )):

Things will be better in the morning, sleep it off for now...

Also I wonder how Taylor will explain herself. Maybe she’s thinking about that.

He dreamed of the ocean.

We started this chapter with the ocean, and we seem to end on it, how poetic.

One ocean the scenery for a sight that would change the world forever, and the other a moment of peace in a storm of anxiety.

This interlude was incredibly good.

#Worm #worm liveblog #worm parahumans #parahumans liveblog #wildbow #parahumans #arc 1 #Worm int1

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photobombingcryptid · 6 years

Note

Monsterformer AU or Godformers AU {{ OR BOTH }}

The answer? BOTH

Monsterformer AU

His appearance would be like a chimerian combination of a raccoon, bird and something resembling a reptile, mixed with some vaguely anthromorphic proportions. There’s wings on his back that allow him to fly in any direction wanted as well as allowing him to fly long distances. Of course, there’s the classical “mask” pattern on his face.

He might seem quite intimidating or dangerous looking with his tall height but he absolutely means no harm. He’s naturally curious and simply dwells the place in search of loot - anything from ancient rubble to someone’s old trash. Cautious, he will defend himself if heavily provoked. But honestly, he is probably aware of what many consider a “cryptid” and thus only loves to be one and scare the crap out of those cryptid hunters or superstitious campers.

He can pride in having a literal cryptid status. Nobody really saw his real form, besides from some very blurry smudgy videos of him taking some scrap material in his strong limbs and flying into the skies with them to whereever he lives.

He’s super intelligent, perhaps a bit too much. Dexterious fingers, excellent observatory skills and excellent strategic thinking make him a monster who can: unlock anything he comes in the path, punch in the number codes, pick lock, use tools, etc. Give him enough time and he will learn how to use a goddamn computer.

With his quick learning skills, he could learn the sign language and speak to others. It would turn out he’s just a chill, maybe a bit skittish monster, nothing less, nothing more. He just wants to live his own life.

Godformers AU

Because I suck at god names, his name would be something like The Forger/The Sorcerer. Anyway, the Sorcerer/Forger would be one of the most powerful gods imaginable, with the ability to create and materialize anything he wishes for just by manipulating light alone. However, there’s a major catch - he’s way too lazy for his own good to use those powers for the greater good and is often criticized because of it by other gods. But he doesn’t care what they think.

He really despises the publicity and the mortal praying to him to do some miracle. Most of the time it’s those morally incorrigible ones who want the Sorcerer/Forger to help them build or give items they so desperately needs. Though he royally ignores their prayers which makes other gods complain to him like neighbors complaining about some noise complaint. Because they can probably hear those unanswered prayers.

When he does help the mortal it’s usually done in the most casual style. He’s not trying to act divine or superior, he’ll just come like someone arriving late to some house party, ask what’s up and then help out as best as he can. He keeps trying to tell those mortals to stop falling on their knees when he appears and some get it. The other times they do not. All this attention makes him feel really awkward and trapped and whenever he sees that those damn mortals are making another statue of him, god forbid they do it. He’ll run down like a soccer mom desperately trying to tell her Timmy he’s forgotten his bicycle helm. So once down, he’ll just try to tell ‘em to take it down, he doesn’t want it. He does appreciates the attention, but NO, please don’t go this extra mile.

So what’s the point in having such a god? The Sorcerer/Forger doesn’t answer to the prayers of those who need him when they’ve stumbled upon a slight inconvenience. He goes helping others in disguise as a mortal, blending in the crowd and looking for those who need some aid, Like fixing some important bridge, creating a whole new home for some poor family whose old home got burnt down, leaving surprises in forms of money for those who struggle daily but do their best even without prayers. Truly, it’s not the prayers that summon the Sorcer/Forger. It’s rather your dedication that makes him appear and help you out secretely.

In any case of a god war, he is the first one to pack his God Things in his God Suitcases, put those Godly Sunglasses on and kick his incredibly complex God Mansion (which he built with his own powers) that floats on God Clouds into the horizon, flying away from the God War. He doesn’t want to choose sides, knowing that his powers could truly get abused to the worst case possible.

Bonus: Imagine the entire village is taking that extra mile and preparing a blood sacrifice to summon the Sorcerer/Forger. They have sheep, goats, prisoners and some volunteers ready at some shrine. They need the sacrifice to help summon the bridge that has been broken and trapping them from any other city, making the village starve. They’re about to sacrifice the first goat, the knife barely hovering over its neck when all of the sudden, you have this God busting in, panting like he’s just run a galaxy-length marathon. He’s shouting “STOP STOP” and all people around gasp, drop to their knees or faint that the Forger/Sorcerer has appeared - even though he’s literally wearing something akin to Godly Pyjamas. He’s telling them “NO NO YOU DON’T NEED TO DO THIS” and then he finally blurts out “DON’T SACRIFICE THEM, DAMN IT, I’LL GIVE YOU THIS DAMN BRIDGE.” And thus the village has a new bridge and they are then scolded by the Sorcerer/Forger himself for going straight to such measures to bring him in. “BLOOD AND MURDER IS ONLY GOING TO MAKE ME NOT WANT TO HELP YOU.” And then he nearly trips as he ventures back to his Cloud Home.

#ooc #headcanons #monsterformer au #godformer au #the god one was so much fun to write #asks #stainedredhunter

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dfroza · 3 years

Text

Today’s reading from the ancient book of Proverbs and book of Psalms

for may 28 of 2021 with Proverbs 28 and Psalm 28, accompanied by Psalm 70 for the 70th day of Spring and Psalm 148 for day 148 of the year

[Proverbs 28]

The wicked run away even when no one is chasing them;

the right-living, however, stand their ground as boldly as lions.

Where there is rebellion in a land,

there are many petty and contending rulers;

But where there is a wise and intelligent leader,

peace and order endure.

A poor person who oppresses others who are poor

is like a driving rain that destroys the crops and leaves no food.

Those who turn their backs on God’s teaching applaud the wicked,

while those who observe His instruction oppose them at every turn.

Evil people are not able to understand justice,

but those who pursue the Eternal understand it completely.

It is better to be a pauper walking in integrity

than a dishonest man, even if he is rich.

Whoever follows God’s teaching is a wise child,

but the one who spends time with gluttons and drunks disgraces his parents.

Anyone who increases his wealth by charging a high rate of interest

is only collecting it for another who will deal more liberally with the poor.

The one who turns his ear from hearing God’s instruction

will find that even his prayers are detestable to God.

Whoever tries to deceive a good person into taking the path of evil

will fall into the pit he himself made,

but the truly honest shall be the heirs of all that is good.

A rich man may be wise in his own sight,

but a perceptive pauper will see right through him.

There is much glory when just men celebrate;

but when the wicked gain power, people take cover.

Whoever tries to hide his sins will not succeed,

but the one who confesses his sins and leaves them behind will find mercy.

Happy is the one who always fears the Lord,

but the person who hardens his heart to God falls into misfortune.

Like a roaring lion or a charging bear,

so is a wicked man ruling over an impoverished people.

A leader who lacks intelligence cruelly oppresses the people,

but one who hates corruption will prosper and live a long life.

A man guilty of murder is a fugitive,

fleeing to the nearest hole in the ground but not escaping death’s cold pit.

Don’t do anything to save him.

Whoever walks in honesty will be safe,

but whoever travels the crooked path will suddenly fall.

Whoever cultivates his land will have plenty of food in the harvest,

but whoever cultivates worthless ventures will have poverty in abundance.

A reliable person will not escape blessings,

but one who wants to get rich quick will not escape trouble.

Showing favoritism is not good;

some will desert the truth for a measly crust of bread.

A greedy person is in a hurry to get rich,

but he is ignorant of the loss that is about to overtake him.

A person who offers constructive criticism will, in the end, be appreciated more

than a person who engages in empty flattery.

One who robs his father or his mother

and says, “There’s nothing wrong with that! I had it coming!”

walks in the company of murderers.

When the greedy want more, they stir up trouble;

but when a person trusts in the Eternal, he’s sure to prosper.

Anyone who puts confidence only in himself is a fool,

but the person who follows wisdom will be kept safe.

Whoever gives to the poor will have what he needs,

but the one who shuts his eyes to their plight will face curse after curse.

When the wicked have the upper hand, people go into hiding;

but when they perish, the good folk will begin to increase.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 28 (The Voice)

[Psalm 28]

Don’t turn a deaf ear

when I call you, God.

If all I get from you is

deafening silence,

I’d be better off

in the Black Hole.

I’m letting you know what I need,

calling out for help

And lifting my arms

toward your inner sanctuary.

Don’t shove me into

the same jail cell with those crooks,

With those who are

full-time employees of evil.

They talk a good line of “peace,”

then moonlight for the Devil.

Pay them back for what they’ve done,

for how bad they’ve been.

Pay them back for their long hours

in the Devil’s workshop;

Then cap it with a huge bonus.

Because they have no idea how God works

or what he is up to,

God will smash them to smithereens

and walk away from the ruins.

Blessed be God—

he heard me praying.

He proved he’s on my side;

I’ve thrown my lot in with him.

Now I’m jumping for joy,

and shouting and singing my thanks to him.

God is all strength for his people,

ample refuge for his chosen leader;

Save your people

and bless your heritage.

Care for them;

carry them like a good shepherd.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 28 (The Message)

[Psalm 70]

A Cry for Help

To the Pure and Shining One

David’s poetic lament to always remember

Please, Lord! Come quickly and rescue me!

God, show me your favor and restore me.

Let all who seek my life be humiliated and confused.

God, send them sprawling, all who wish me evil;

they just want me dead.

Scoff at every scoffer and cause them all to be utter failures!

Let them be ashamed and horrified over their complete defeat.

But let all who passionately seek you erupt with excitement and joy

over what you’ve done!

Let all your devoted lovers, who continually rejoice in the Savior,

say aloud, “How great and glorious is our God!”

Lord, in my place of weakness and need,

won’t you turn your heart toward me and hurry to help me?

For you are my Savior, and I’m always in your thoughts.

So don’t delay to deliver me now, for you are my God.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 70 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 148]

The Cosmic Chorus of Praise

Hallelujah! Praise the Lord! Let the skies be filled with praise

and the highest heavens with the shouts of glory!

Go ahead—praise him, all you his messengers!

Praise him some more, all you heavenly hosts!

Keep it up, sun and moon!

Don’t stop now, all you twinkling stars of light!

Take it up even higher—up to the highest heavens,

until the cosmic chorus thunders his praise!

Let the entire universe erupt with praise to God.

He spoke and created it all—from nothing to something.

He established the cosmos to last forever,

and he stands behind his commands

so his orders will never be revoked.

Let the earth join in with this parade of praise!

You mighty creatures of the ocean’s depths,

echo in exaltation!

Lightning, hail, snow, clouds,

and the stormy winds that fulfill his word—

bring your melody, O mountains and hills;

trees of the forest and field, harmonize your praise!

Praise him, all beasts and birds, mice and men,

kings, queens, princes, and princesses,

young men and maidens, children and babes,

old and young alike, everyone everywhere!

Let them all join in with this orchestra of praise.

For the name of the Lord is the only name we raise!

His stunning splendor ascends higher than the heavens.

He anoints his people with strength and authority,

showing his great favor to all his godly lovers,

even to his princely people, Israel,

who are so close to his heart.

Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 148 (The Passion Translation)

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dfroza · 4 years

Text

Today’s reading in the ancient book of Proverbs and Psalms

for Thursday, may 28 of 2020 with Proverbs 28 and Psalm 28 accompanied by Psalm 71 for the 71st day of Spring and Psalm 149 for day 149 of the year

beginning with this line from The Voice:

The wicked run away even when no one is chasing them;

the right-living, however, stand their ground as boldly as lions.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 28:1 (The Voice)

[Proverbs 28]

Guilty criminals experience paranoia

even though no one threatens them.

But the innocent lovers of God,

because of righteousness,

will have the boldness of a young, ferocious lion!

A rebellious nation is thrown into chaos,

but leaders anointed with wisdom will restore law and order.

When a pauper oppresses the destitute,

it’s like a flash flood that sweeps away their last hope.

Those who turn their backs on what they know is right

will no longer be able to tell right from wrong.

But those who love the truth strengthen their souls.

Justice never makes sense to men devoted to darkness,

but those tenderly devoted to the Lord

can understand justice perfectly.

It’s more respectable to be poor and pure than rich and perverse.

To be obedient to what you’ve been taught

proves you’re an honorable child,

but to socialize with the lawless brings shame to your parents.

Go ahead and get rich on the backs of the poor,

but all the wealth you gather will one day be given

to those who are kind to the needy.

If you close your heart and refuse to listen to God’s instruction,

even your prayer will be despised.

Those who tempt the lovers of God with an evil scheme

will fall into their own trap.

But the innocent who resist temptation will experience reward.

The wealthy in their conceit presume to be wise,

but a poor person with discernment can see right through them.

The triumphant joy of God’s lovers releases great glory.

But when the wicked rise to power, everyone goes into hiding.

If you cover up your sin you’ll never do well.

But if you confess your sins and forsake them,

you will be kissed by mercy.

Overjoyed is the one who with tender heart trembles before God,

but the stubborn, unyielding heart will experience even greater evil.

Ruthless rulers can only be compared

to raging lions and roaming bears.

Abusive leaders fail to employ wisdom,

but leaders who despise corruption

will enjoy a long and full life.

A murderer’s conscience will torment him—

a fugitive haunted by guilt all the way to the grave

with no one to support him.

The pure will be rescued from failure,

but the perverse will suddenly fall into ruin.

Work hard and you’ll have all you desire,

but chase a fantasy and you could end up with nothing.

Life’s blessings drench the honest and faithful person,

but punishment rains down upon the greedy and dishonest.

Giving favoritism to the rich and powerful is disgusting,

and this is the type of judge who would betray a man for a bribe.

A greedy man is in a race to get rich,

but he forgets that he could lose what’s most important

and end up with nothing.

If you correct someone with constructive criticism,

in the end he will appreciate it more than flattery.

A person who would reject his own parents and say,

“What’s wrong with that?” is as bad as a murderer.

To make rash, hasty decisions

shows that you are not trusting the Lord.

But when you rely totally on God,

you will still act carefully and prudently.

Self-confident know-it-alls will prove to be fools.

But when you lean on the wisdom from above,

you will have a way to escape the troubles of your own making.

You will never go without if you give to the poor.

But if you’re heartless, stingy, and selfish,

you invite curses upon yourself.

When wicked leaders rise to power,

good people go into hiding.

But when they fall from power,

the godly take their place.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 28 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 28]

A David Psalm

Don’t turn a deaf ear

when I call you, God.

If all I get from you is

deafening silence,

I’d be better off

in the Black Hole.

I’m letting you know what I need,

calling out for help

And lifting my arms

toward your inner sanctum.

Don’t shove me into

the same jail cell with those crooks,

With those who are

full-time employees of evil.

They talk a good line of “peace,”

then moonlight for the Devil.

Pay them back for what they’ve done,

for how bad they’ve been.

Pay them back for their long hours

in the Devil’s workshop;

Then cap it with a huge bonus.

Because they have no idea how God works

or what he is up to,

God will smash them to smithereens

and walk away from the ruins.

Blessed be God—

he heard me praying.

He proved he’s on my side;

I’ve thrown my lot in with him.

Now I’m jumping for joy,

and shouting and singing my thanks to him.

God is all strength for his people,

ample refuge for his chosen leader;

Save your people

and bless your heritage.

Care for them;

carry them like a good shepherd.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 28 (The Message)

[Psalm 71]

I run for dear life to God,

I’ll never live to regret it.

Do what you do so well:

get me out of this mess and up on my feet.

Put your ear to the ground and listen,

give me space for salvation.

Be a guest room where I can retreat;

you said your door was always open!

You’re my salvation—my vast, granite fortress.

My God, free me from the grip of Wicked,

from the clutch of Bad and Bully.

You keep me going when times are tough—

my bedrock, God, since my childhood.

I’ve hung on you from the day of my birth,

the day you took me from the cradle;

I’ll never run out of praise.

Many gasp in alarm when they see me,

but you take me in stride.

Just as each day brims with your beauty,

my mouth brims with praise.

But don’t turn me out to pasture when I’m old

or put me on the shelf when I can’t pull my weight.

My enemies are talking behind my back,

watching for their chance to knife me.

The gossip is: “God has abandoned him.

Pounce on him now; no one will help him.”

God, don’t just watch from the sidelines.

Come on! Run to my side!

My accusers—make them lose face.

Those out to get me—make them look

Like idiots, while I stretch out, reaching for you,

and daily add praise to praise.

I’ll write the book on your righteousness,

talk up your salvation the livelong day,

never run out of good things to write or say.

I come in the power of the Lord God,

I post signs marking his right-of-way.

You got me when I was an unformed youth,

God, and taught me everything I know.

Now I’m telling the world your wonders;

I’ll keep at it until I’m old and gray.

God, don’t walk off and leave me

until I get out the news

Of your strong right arm to this world,

news of your power to the world yet to come,

Your famous and righteous

ways, O God.

God, you’ve done it all!

Who is quite like you?

You, who made me stare trouble in the face,

Turn me around;

Now let me look life in the face.

I’ve been to the bottom;

Bring me up, streaming with honors;

turn to me, be tender to me,

And I’ll take up the lute and thank you

to the tune of your faithfulness, God.

I’ll make music for you on a harp,

Holy One of Israel.

When I open up in song to you,

I let out lungsful of praise,

my rescued life a song.

All day long I’m chanting

about you and your righteous ways,

While those who tried to do me in

slink off looking ashamed.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 71 (The Message)

with these lines mirrored in The Passion Translation:

Lord, you are my secure shelter. Don’t ever let me down!

Let your justice be my breakthrough.

Bend low to my whispered cry

and save me from all my enemies!

You’re the only place of protection for me.

I keep coming back to hide myself in you,

for you are like a mountain-cliff fortress where I’m kept safe.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 71:1-3 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 149]

Triumphant Praise

Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!

It’s time to sing to God a brand-new song

so that all his holy people will hear how wonderful he is!

May Israel be enthused with joy because of him,

and may the sons of Zion pour out

their joyful praises to their King.

Break forth with dancing!

Make music and sing God’s praises with the rhythm of drums!

For he enjoys his faithful lovers.

He adorns the humble with his beauty

and he loves to give them the victory.

His godly lovers triumph in the glory of God,

and their joyful praises will rise even while others sleep.

God’s high and holy praises fill their mouths,

for their shouted praises are their weapons of war!

These warring weapons will bring vengeance

on every opposing force and every resistant power—

to bind kings with chains and rulers with iron shackles.

Praise-filled warriors will enforce

the judgment-doom decreed against their enemies.

This is the glorious honor he gives to all his godly lovers.

Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 149 (The Passion Translation)

with this line mirrored in The Voice:

Let all of Israel celebrate their Maker, their God, their friend;

let the children of Zion find great joy in their true King.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 149:2 (The Voice)

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