#befleckt

Activity check;

The following players are over 1 week activity, please make a post to the dash within 48 hours or contact the mods for hiatus;

Stefan Salvatore

Godric

Zaphkiel

Damon/Klaus

People who have requested hiatus or let us know they might be a little slower posting - 

Addison

Anna/Nate

If you told Eric Northman a week ago that he’d be standing in front of his maker in a few days time, he’d have grabbed you by the throat and broken your neck for even speaking of his maker like that.

Godric was dead.  There was no way in hell or heaven that he could be back, flesh and bone, real and solid beneath his fingers but here he was, ethereal and otherworldly, like an angel on high.  A fucking Christmas miracle.

Eric couldn’t tell you how it happened.  

He falls to his knees in a trance, pupils blown wide, blood tears streaming down his face, humanity creeping up on every nerve ending in his body.  There is no other explanation other than Godric is mesmerizing.  He’s mesmerized, endlessly, by this young child who transcends every dream and nightmare Eric has ever had.  He's an angel, a god.  

When Eric was first turned, way back when, and Eric thought he was too good for respect and when Eric thought he could do this by himself, Godric would force him to his knees, sire bond wrapping right around his spine and forcing him into the submissive position.  Eric had a height advantage, Eric had a build advantage, but not to Godric.  ”On your knees,” would come the lightning fast, molten lava command from his maker’s perfect lips and Eric would bend at will, and soon thereafter, Godric stopped having to command him.  Eric was pliable, putty beneath strong fingers and knowing hands.  

Submit.  Submit to the will of Heaven.

It’s like that now, in this moment.  Godric no longer has a sire bond over him, and yet he falls without having to be told.  He doesn’t move, won’t move until Godric moves him, until Godric touches him, won’t open his eyes, won’t even fucking breathe without his maker’s permission to do so.  

He won’t move until he knows that Godric is real, and that this isn’t some fever dream on his death bed.  He asks as much.

"Are you death?" he says, and the words fall easily from his lips, easier than the first time they were spoken.  He’s not sure if he means them this time or if he really is asking if this is death come to take him away.  He feels angry for a moment—he hadn’t wanted it to end like this.  He never got to tell Pam that he’s proud of her, tell Sam he loves him, to thank Dean for his endless mercy, to thank this camp for giving him a chance, but something in the back of his mind tells him that he’s not dead and no, he isn’t really dying.