#-and still at the core wanting nothing more but to keep protecting and helping mortals- to fight the gods for them more than for himself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ghostinthepepper · 7 months

Text

Day 13: Immortal

⚠️Content warnings: Slight implied cannibalism (dust eating), and character deaths⚠️

Ink by comyet, Dream by jokublog, Error by loverofpiggies, and Underswap sans (who is only briefly mentioned) by p0pcornpr1nce

______________________________________________________________

The first time it happened, Ink had been returning to the Omega Timeline from helping a Creator who'd been having trouble deciding between two different plot points. He'd written on his scarf that he'd found a snack he'd thought Blue would love, and wanted to give it to him. "Where's Blue?" Ink started immediately, hoping to move fast enough that he wouldn't forget.

"He's gone Ink," Core Frisk had answered, trace amounts of sorrow visible on their face.

"What do you mean he's gone? Did something happen to him?"

"He was old. Nothing happened, it was just his time." Their answer had startled him. He had no idea what they were talking about, did Blue have somewhere to be?

"What exactly do you mean 'just his time'? And what exactly does being old have to do with leaving?"

"No Ink." Frisk started looking like they were about to cry, but Ink knew full well they couldn't. Had he made them sad again? "Blue is dead. He's gone."

Ink was only more confused, "Blue died?! Who hurt him?"

"No one did, Ink. He died of old age..." they finally trailed off, distracted. Ink knew he wouldn't get a further explanation from them, so he looked for Dream.

---

Dream had looked so tired back then. Ink supposed he must have been sad, too, but Dream had still taken the time to explain it to him. They'd sat there sipping at tea that quickly went cold, and Ink had come away from it with a deeper understanding of Blue and mortals in general. Or so he had thought.

When Error began to slow down in their constant battles for the fate of the AUs, Ink hadn't immediately realized why. His first assumptions were that Error had been recovering from an injury, or no longer wanted to fight. That didn't mean Ink had been willing to go easing on him. Perhaps that made it his fault, when Error had fallen ill from the strain. It was only when he'd found Error sick and dying, alone in the antivoid that he'd realized his mistake.

But Error was still the destroyer. Ink couldn't lose the opportunity to rid the multiverse of the Destroyer for good. Just as Ink was about to bring down his brush on Error's skull, he hesitated. He didn't want to do this, not really. He and Error may be enemies, but the two understood each other in ways no one else would.

Error suddenly groaned, and Ink startled back, expecting it all to have been a ruse to get back at him. When no attacks came, Ink brushed his phalanges against Error's cheek. He was burning up. The protector deliberated between leaving the Destroyer here or not, eventually landing on caring for Error in the Doodlesphere. Of course, he took plenty of precautions to make sure Error couldn't take advantage of any opportunities he might have in there, including moving the AUs and applying a barrier between them and his house.

Eventually, it was safe to bring even the Destroyer. Of course, this wasn't a prison and Error could leave when he was better, but at least he couldn't do any damage from the inside.

___

Caring for Error had been a slow process. At first it'd been easy enough. All he needed to do was keep Error alive and get the fever down, but when that was over Ink had to deal with the Destroyer's nonstop beratement and insults thrown at him while he cared for Error's every need. It was very exhausting, but after a while there Error stopped yelling at him and instead quietly watched him work.

When Error finally spoke up, it caught Ink off guard, "Why are you even helping me."

Ink didn't really have an answer to that, or perhaps he had too many. He shrugged, "Because I'm the Protector. What else am I supposed to do but protect."

Error mulled over that quietly for a while before drifting back to sleep.

---

"You really want that?"

"Why else would I suggest it if I hadn't wanted it, idiot!"

Ink hadn't hesitated at the opportunity, jotting it down on his scarf. "Okay! No protecting, and no destroying."

"And..."

"What is it, Error?" Ink's head tilted slightly.

"I'm staying here." Error blushed, before realizing his mistake and correcting himself, "Only to keep an eye socket on you, of course!"

Ink couldn't contain his joy at that. The resulting mess took a while to clean.

---

After that they started to do everything together. Not necessarily the same things, of course, but whatever they did, they did in each other's company. When Ink would cook, Error would be in the kitchen watching Undernovela through a small portal, when Ink would draw, Error would crochet (and wasn't that a surprise to the artist, that Error liked some AUs and that he could create). They even shared a bed, not that they had to sleep, but Error had discovered he'd have far more energy when he slept.

Then Error started to slow down more and more. At first Ink thought he was sick again, but the glitch just rolled his eyes and insisted he was just a bit tired.

One night they went to sleep together. But when Ink woke up, the bed was no longer warm. Ink's presumption was that Error had gotten up early (a rarity those days), but when he rolled to get up, he'd found himself in a pile of dust.

Ink felt so cold, he wanted to deny the reality in front of him, but he knew from the trace of Error's magic in the dust whose it was.

The of bittersweet taste dust and sugar mixed together on his tongue. Ink knew he should probably be ashamed for what he had done, but he had wanted to keep Error with him. Still he knew it was selfish to keep Error entirely to himself, and so scattered parts of him in Outertale and Undernovela.

Ink needed to talk to Dream about what had happened. He was lost, and Dream had always been willing to help him work through his emotions, even after their friendship had ended.

When he arrived back in the Omega Timeline, the first thing he did was track down Dream.

---

Dream looked tired, so tired, hadn't moved much from his chair. Ink finally recognized the tiredness for what it was this time: age. "Don't leave me, not you too..."

Dream's sad smile didn't brought no reassurances.

---

Ink was alone. He understood now, what mortality was. He also knew it was something he lacked. He'd never once felt slowed down by anything, and now he knew he never would. Ink stayed isolated, not in the Doodlesphere (too many memories of Error) nor in the Omega Timeline (too many memories of Blue and Dream), he instead just went with the flow, staying away from forming more attachments knowing full well how much it would hurt him again.

___

"D-Dream?"

"How do you know my name mister?" The young guardian cocked his head slightly to the side.

"Dream, you're here!" Ink felt for the first time in a long time what felt like hope.

(Words: 1197)

#ghost writes #inktobertale #inktobertale2023 #ink fanfic #ink sans #ink!sans #inktale #ink!tale #I tried to end this on a happy note where it's implied ink lived long enough to see his friends reincarnate hehe #anyways. i did not edit this at all. sorry if it's bad.

4 notes · View notes

dream-meister-translations · 6 months

Text

THE TALE OF FOOD

MOONLIT CONFESSIONS - PART 10

━

MOON CAKE : 'The plan to use mechanisms to blow the moon up into pieces must be brought to fruition within five days. Should there be any difficulty in adhering to this timeline, you may request aid from Boneless Carp.'

MOON CAKE : 'The survival of our sect depends on you. You must not fail. Good luck.'

OSMANTHUS WINE : ...

MOON CAKE : The letter was signed...Twenty-five years ago.

MOON CAKE : No wonder the rabbit couldn't find any records on the current Guanghan Palace...

MOON CAKE : The Guanghan Palace I lived in, protected with my life, my home...

MOON CAKE : What did you do to it!!

Moon Cake jumps onto the control panel, channeling all of his soul power into the rock. Could he mean to...!

OSMANTHUS WINE : Moon Cake, what are you doing!

MOON CAKE : Don't you understand, Osmanthus Wine? Your Guanghan Palace is gone. It doesn't exist anymore! You'll never pass your trials and become an immortal!

MOON CAKE : It's all because of this fake Guanghan Palace that my home...My heroes' squad has...Nothing left to defend!

His sobs pierce my heart but...Once Guanghan Palace is blown up and collapses, everyone will be in danger. We must stop him...

I see blood flying out in an arc as Osmanthus Wine breaks free of his rope restraints. He has spent all his energy just to prevent Moon Cake from issuing the final self-destruct command to all the robots.

OSMANTHUS WINE : This place is very important to me. It has been my residence for the last centuries and millennium.

OSMANTHUS WINE : No matter how many times the wind barrier gets in my way, or the clicking bunnies...

OSMANTHUS WINE : Everything that is strange to you has become part of my recollections. This...Has already become the Guanghan Palace I want to protect!

OSMANTHUS WINE : Well my little reuniting hero, you still have things to do. There are many people out there waiting for you to protect them. Please don't give up...Please help me protect this place, protect Guanghan Palace!

MOON CAKE : Boohoo, boohoohoohoo...

Taking advantage of this moment, I hastily loosen my restraints and hand the small blade to the robo-bunny.

But Yipin Pot is far sharper than I am. He frowns and hits the mechanism to trigger a change in the lay of the land, as though to make us drop straight into the Universal Formation.

TGII, being furthest away, begins to slide slowly toward the gaping chasm. The rock that he used repeatedly in the core zone appears to have taken over his mind and trapped him in a trance he is unable to break free from.

TGII is adrift on a tiny piece of driftwood, staring motionlessly at the mortal realms.

ROBO BUNNY : What are you staring at? They've already forgotten you.

TGII : ...

ROBO BUNNY : Looks like your memory component took a blow when detonating the digital bomb.

ROBO BUNNY : We cannot survive like this and will eventually become space debris. Do you understand me?

TGII : Then let me start from the beginning...To build a Guanghan Palace out of robots. When they notice me through the telescope, they'll come to bring me back.

TGII : Boneless Carp says Guanghan Palace is beautiful and that I'm letting it go to waste. Then..Let me recreate one...Exactly like it.

TGII : No one. No one's come.

TGII : My memory component is slowly getting old, the memories it contains hazier and hazier.

TGII : But the memory that I destroyed Guanghan Palace with my own hands always remained intact. No matter how good a replica the fake Guanghan Palace is, I cannot erase the stains of the past.

TGII : No wonder I could do this. I'm not human after all.

MASTER : But this doesn't matter.

TGII : This voice? Is this the person who woke me? ...Where are you?

When he opens his eyes once more, what he sees shocks him. He is suspended midair above the chasm, only his hand...Only his palm feels uninterrupted warmth.

TGII : Master, your center of gravity's off. If you keep this up, we'll both fall into the chasm!

TGII : Let go! Don't waste your life over a robot!

MASTER : Be it robots or humans...Doesn't matter what you are, I just want to save you!

MASTER : I know what's inside your heart and that's more than enough for me!

The sound of heaven and earth recede, as though muffled. All he can hear is the howling of the wind and Osmanthus Wine's cheers.

The robo-bunny manages to take over the core control panel in time and prevents all the restraints from coming completely undone.

YIPIN POT : Just...As I expected.

ROBO BUNNY : Click.

The robo-bunny has cancelled the self-destruct protocols programmed into the control panel for Guanghan Palace. It's jumping up and down waving its paws. Then, it removes the core stone, shining with spiritual force, and places it on his own chest.

#The Tale Of Food #ttof #ttof story #ttof script #Otome #食物语 #食物語 #食物语新马版 #tof-confessions10

2 notes · View notes

owlbloop · 2 years

Text

Tw: Mention of sexual assault

I do believe all life is sacred, but a fetus lacks awareness or thought and a total ban of abortion ignores medical nessesicty anyways.

Even if you consider a fetus alive there's no sane point to make towards preventing things like aborting a stillborn or bringing a child into the world that will survive a few days and then die painfully. You aren't pro life if you're signing death warrants for birth givers.

I do believe all peoples lives are important. So I don't believe the government can stop them from making choices about their own body, that the government can force a person with a uterus to surrender their bodily anatomy, particularly with the consequences.

One in five babies miscarries, we have an incredibly high childbirth mortality rate, we don't provide services to take care of these children, we don't run the foster care system well enough for the overloaded thing to handle even more youth, we aren't paying for these peoples medical care and them giving birth in the first place, we aren't giving them good sex ed, abuse and rape are massive issues.. I believe that people with uteruses have important lives that they deserve to live unburdened or crippled by something they never asked for. I don't believe a fetus' possible eventual life outways destroying the lives of innocent people.

Guess what, ace and sex repulsed, still could get pregnant one day, even as a teen. I'm afab and could be sexually assaulted. Maybe I wouldn't have access to resources in time. Maybe they'd fail. Maybe I wouldn't be able to bear bringing it up and might end up hiding it happened, only to discover even worse luck later. That theoretical pregnancy could wreck my body, potentially kill me, the psychological consequences could be devastating, there'd be a kid I'd probably want nothing to do with, my sensory issues make it a struggle to even be around very small children, the stigma id have attached to me could be life altering. Don't have sex? I'd never voluntarily have sex, and even if for some reason I did later in life my partner would be extremely unlikely to be male if I consented to it. So you can't begin to say something like that would be my fault, that I should risk death, permanent damage, and the complete alteration of my life, potentially as a minor, for something I never intentionally risked or asked for.

Yeah, I'm christian. Last I checked the Bible says to love everyone, to be a good Samaritan, to treat others like decent human beings. Didn't Jesus tell a guy he was better off amputating his hand than groping a lady? I'm obviously not him, but I severely doubt this person would blame sexual assault on the victim.

I'm not going to hurt anyone, punish anyone, or threaten anyone because they were scared or unprepared for a child. We should be trying to improve the system instead of hurting those already harmed by it. Nobody is getting an abortion for funzies, they're getting it because they aren't ready for a kid or that kid will end up being the literal death of them. People are more than their ability to give birth.

I don't have it in me to hate anyone, to wish permanent harm or death on anyone, and I mean anyone. The core of Christianity should be love and acceptance, we say Jesus died on the cross to help us, protect us, so we could live even with our flaws. Even if you think God would be against homosexuality, aren't we taught he loves all of his creations, no matter what we do? That he forgives our transgressions? Do you think he'd send LGBTQ people to heck? That he'd approve of mistreating people for something beyond their control? That he'd hate someone for making such a difficult choice about their future and the life that could form inside them?

I don't believe in a God that hates anyone, and I strive to keep sympathy for and recognize the decency and beauty in even the cruelest most difficult people. Of course I don't like everyone. Some people are awful horrible people. But inside they have thought, a life, and a mind. They are aware, they can suffer, and they deserve to live and be treated humanely, even if they wouldn't do the same. Please stop hurting people for your beliefs. I can't stop you from thinking what you do, but don't force it or take it out on others.

Religion shouldn't be used to justify pain. It's something fascinating and valuable to many people, it's something that effects so many lives and perspectives, but it should not be a thing of harm. Religion is not a weapon. It's a lense and aspect of life not everyone takes part in, and no one is wrong for their participation or lack thereof. When we use our beliefs to hurt people we are taking a part of so many people's lives and smashing it to shards, just to justify something that it rarely even justifies in the first place.

I miss being able to take pride in church, and everyday it gets harder to find the good parts. But it's still something important to how I grew up, and it's still important to me now, so please stop twisting it into something so destructive

#Sorry about how many political posts I've been making. The world is a really frustrating place right now.#lgbtq #lgbtq+#roe vs. wade #roe v wade #roe vs wade #abortion #child care #politics #Christianity #Asexual #lesbian #religion #woman's rights #abortion rights #reproductive rights

2 notes · View notes

ambermanages · 1 year

Text

Today There Was Rain

The smell of rain is dearly missed, like a missing or empty space on my shelf of sensory experiences. The way all the smells of earth are brought up to join the sky in those moments are comforting. I'm reminded of mossy trees, shiny boulders, and low morning fog.

All of this is so confusing to me. At the same time, finally things make sense. When I started looking at my fractured selves and how they help or what their jobs are, it makes things easier. I still get tripped up sometimes. I'll say "I" or "me" and then sometimes I say "we" or "us". And some people take that as i'm faking because i'm not consistent in how I talk about myself. When sometimes I am just talking about me, Amber, who doesn't even really run this blog. This is Ravens. She's dark and spooky. I think she helps me with my fear of the unknown and my own mortality. She loves the concept of death. She wants nothing more than to be a young beautiful ghost haunting a victorian mansion. I'm thinking of starting blogs for each of the alters because they're all so different and love different things. There's one who loves cottage core stuff, and just wants to live on a farm. There's another who loves everyone and everything. She's a total hippy chick. She protects me from sadness and helps me connect with other people. I really need to speak to a therapist. It's so tough to find one who specializes in dissociative disorders.

Today there are a few things that need to get done. I have work for my business that needs to get done and also a date this afternoon. I'm hoping that i'm the one that stays out for it. Because I've been the one talking with her. But Saturn comes out when I leave the house. They are just like an armoured tank or something. They just protect me and the body. And I just kinda sit in the passenger seat. And once I feel comfortable, I start to come out a bit and then take the wheel again.

I have to find a part-time job. And little miss hippy chick (I only know two names out of the 4 of them that are in there, except for the little me. Since that's just little Amber) will be the best at doing that since she disarms people really well. So she's kind of assigned to that.

Yesterday, I spoke to my old roommate about it all, and her partner was listening. Their partner said "can I ask like a philosophical question? You say "I" and "me" but then there's "we" so like who is "I"? who are YOU?" and I know what they meant because I was tempted to ask my friend that question until I understood it. All of us are "I" but we're also "we". There's multiple in here that are all ME. And whoever is speaking and referring to themselves specifically will say "I". Raven will say "I love the concept of death and darkness" but the others don't feel that way. But WE collectively love our dad. He's really wonderful. We love Finn, our dog. Granted, cottage core girly prefers cats and doesn't know how to handle him.

Learning how to manage the system has been really interesting, and also extremely fulfilling to keep everyone separate for now. Because I tried so hard to bring them together and I always felt so weird and strange. I couldn't feel RIGHT with people.

That's why I started this blog, and all the blogs for the others. They need their own space for their brains to run wild and love the things that they love.

0 notes

silver-tongued-bby · 3 years

Text

Devotion - Part I

Pairing: Dark!Loki x Nun!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!! This is a Dark!Loki fic and it explores sexual and dark religious (catholic) themes, including mind control (paralysis), loss of faith, oral sex (m and f receiving), loss of virginity, knife play, blood play, dirty talk, a dom/sub relationship, and general blasphemy. Read at your own risk!!

Words: 3,668

Summary: You chose to devout yourself to God. But did you choose the right one?

A/N: If there is a hell, I think I'll be going straight to it for this one. Please remember this is a work of fiction- if you take issue with the themes mentioned above, please do not interact.

...

It was late when you finished your prayers- much later than usual. You’d stayed by the chancel, kneeling on the soft velvet of the hassock well beyond the sunset, your Sisters excusing themselves one by one. The votive candles were mostly out by the time you stood on shaky legs, the feeling slowly coming back to them as you extinguished the remaining flames.

You sighed, hoping that the twelve hours of prayer today would be enough to rid yourself of the dream. Walking behind the altar, you turned off the lights. Things were still somewhat illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight coming through the stained glass.

Moving back around the altar towards the nave you stopped, seeing the outline of a figure before you, your heartbeat in your ears as you held a palm to your chest. You tilted your head, blinking furiously in the darkness, attempting to make sense of the form. It looked like a person- a man, standing by the open doors. Must be a trick of the light, you thought as you squinted in an attempt to make out the tall shadow.

Sighing, you gingerly stepped down the altar’s carpeted stairs to slowly approach the form, keeping your eyes on it. Suddenly, you stopped, the hairs standing on end at the back of your neck. This was how the dream started. A figure- a dark figure is what you’d see before it would float towards you, wrapping you up in its darkness and consuming you whole. You’d wake gasping for air, your eyes wet with tears.

You took a deep breath, chastising yourself for your foolishness. You were awake, and the dark mass in front of you was likely a shadow from outside, or the coat rack, or the monstrance- Sister Anne always left the monstrance out after she buffed it.

Shaking your head, you stepped down onto the cold stone floor. Then you thought you saw the figure move. Your heartbeat was loud in your ears as you stopped once more, trying to make out the shapes in the shadow. You attempted to calm yourself down- you were awake, this wasn’t a dream. Besides, in the dream you always heard that laugh- the dark, velvety laugh ringing out in the silence. There was no laugh now.

You pinched yourself for good measure, nodding when you felt the pain, ensuring that this was not a dream. Huffing, you decided to speed-walk down the nave, your steps ringing out as you approached the shadow.

You were about four paces away when you finally saw the glint of two eyes in the moonlight. You gasped and scrambled backwards, the figure before you now clear.

“At last.” A voice- the voice from your dream. It was deep, dark velvet ringing out through the silence. A sliver of moonlight was hitting two green eyes, illuminating pale skin and a dark brow. You could see the inky, black hair that fell around his face in waves.

You were stunned, and wanted so desperately to turn and run but you couldn’t bring your body to move. You opened your mouth to scream but no sound came out, just like the dream. You began reciting The Apostles Creed in your mind, attempting to calm yourself and awake from whatever this was.

The familiar deep chuckle hit your ears. “Your prayer falls on deaf ears, little one. As they always have.” He stepped closer, then slowly circled your paralysed form.

Undeterred, you kept praying, shouting each word within your mind at the presence before you.

A hand came to grip your face firmly, long fingers digging into your delicate skin. “No more of that, little one.” With that, your thoughts were silenced. Held in place like the rest of you.

Your breath was loud against the silence, shaky puffs coming in and out as the entity observed you. You were struck by the beauty of this presence, his chiseled face more breathtaking than the paintings of Christ. He stood tall, before you, lithe figure covered in a crisp black suit.

“Your god has long since abandoned you. All of you, worshipping an entity who simply flicked the switch to humanity, who left once the beginnings had been set in motion.” He let his hand fall from your face and circled you once more.

“Yet you continue to pray, to worship, to adore him. And this Jesus Christ you vow yourself to,” he laughed pitifully, “a mortal. Long gone.”

“So much work, so much devotion, to an absent god. A god who cannot solve your problems, empower you, or answer your prayers.” He stopped in front of you and reached to pull at the veil covering your head, letting it drop to the floor. Tears were welling up in your eyes, obscuring your vision.

“Beautiful,” he breathed against your ear, “what god would ask for such beauty to be hidden away, like a dirty, little secret? What god would tell their most devout followers to vow themselves to never be touched,” he lightly traced your cheekbone with his knuckle, “be pleasured by another?”

His eyes searched yours for a moment, and you felt the hold on you release. “You may answer,” he watched you as you blinked and shivered, a tear falling down either of your heated cheeks.

“You can’t know that- that He isn’t with us,” you frowned at him, your voice small.

He gave you a pitying look, his head tilting slightly. “Oh but I do, little one. And so do you.” He clasped his hands behind his back, regarding you darkly. “You prayed to your god for twelve hours this day, ten hours each day before. I heard you. I watched you.”

Your eyes widened. How could he have known? How long has he been watching you?

“A long time, little one. I heard you praying to your god to take away the dream I sent you. The dream foretelling you of my arrival.” He circled you again, leaning in to speak close- so close to your ear. You shivered. He could read your thoughts.

His mouth quirked upwards in acknowledgement before he continued. “If your god is with you, why did he not answer your prayers and protect you from me?”

“I- He must be testing me,” you said, the tears still falling.

“If your god is here with us, why is he not striking me down for standing on his ground? Speaking such blasphemy, in his own house?”

“I- I don’t know,” you said, a quiet sob shaking you. You felt alone, scared, and lost. If He was not with you, how could you carry on devoting yourself to Him? Was any of this His will? Or were all the rituals, the sacraments, fabricated by man?

You’d been having doubts for a while- since the dreams started. Instead of opening up to your sisters about it you held your tongue. Saying it out loud would have made it all so real. As it is now.

“Hush now, little one. Tears won’t do a thing.” He touched under your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

You felt defeated and betrayed by the cause you’d so devoted yourself to. Pointless. What were you to do now? Without your faith you had nothing, no one.

“You started down the wrong path.” His eyes were locked with yours, a glint of something beneath the blue-green. “I can help you correct it. Worship me, and I’ll hear your prayers. Devote yourself to me, and I’ll answer them. Adore me,” he brushed his finger tips across your lips, “and I’ll empower you.”

You felt a thrill with his words, his actions, and his darkening stare. “What must I do?” You asked, your heart racing.

“Get on your knees.”

You knelt in front of him, bowing your head to his towering form, your hands clasped together in your lap.

“Eyes on me. Always.” He said, and you brought your face up to meet his stare. Before you were fully aware of what was happening he’d taken himself out, his hardened member before you.

Your eyes widened at it- you’d never seen a phallus up close in person. The vow you took promised yourself to your lord. You weren’t even supposed to touch a man, and had stuck to that for the majority of your life. You were nervous, unsure of what to do, how to please this dark entity before you. You also realised you’d never even asked him his name.

He chuckled darkly. “I am known to many as Loki, but you may call me Master. Now, bring yourself closer to me.” You leant forward. “Good. Open your mouth, little one.”

You did as you were told and he laid his thick member over your tongue, the taste of his skin salty, his heady scent enveloping you.

“Use your lips and tongue to worship me. Show me your devotion,” he angled his hips forward so more of his length filled your mouth.

You kept your eyes on his as you started to run your tongue along him, pursing your lips slightly. You took him deeper until he hit the back of your throat, which made you gag, tears springing to your eyes.

“Relax, little one. Breathe through your nose,” you did as you were told, consciously relaxing the muscle at the back of your throat. You found you could take him further, more of him pressing into you as your saliva dribbled around your lips.

“Good,” his voice sounded deeper, a small edge to it. He grasped your head, his nails lightly scraping against your scalp, bringing a little hum from you at the sensation. He twitched at that, and you took note, humming and groaning around him as he began to move you back and forth over his length.

His lips were apart as he moved you over him, his eyes running over your features. The lustful approval of his gaze made your heart flutter, and your core ache. You were so pleased to serve him, to have a God you could so tangibly show your devotion to. You wanted him to use you, use your body and soul for his pleasure.

He grunted, teeth clenched as his grip against your scalp became harsher. His hips stuttered and he groaned, his warm essence spilling into your mouth and down your throat. You were filled with pride to receive his seed, eagerly swallowing and revelling in the taste. You cleaned him off, his length remaining hard as he watched you work below him.

“Very good, little one.” He removed his hands from your scalp, gently brushing the hollows of your cheeks as you continued to suck his length. “What do you say after such a gift?” He asked.

You let him fall from your mouth, licking your lips. “Thank you, Master.” You said breathlessly.

He nodded at you in approval then motioned you to stand from the cool stone floors. You stood on shaky legs and he held up one hand, palm upwards. You tentatively put your hand in his and he gripped it lightly as he guided you towards the altar.

Once up the steps, he turned to you and in a flash of green he held a dagger. He hooked the blade into your tunic, tearing the fabric as he brought it downwards. The linen opened to expose the virginal white of your underwear. He pushed the cloth off your shoulders, letting the tunic fall to the ground. He did the same with your underwear, tearing the soft white fabric of your bra and panties to shreds, leaving you naked before the altar. He flipped the knife in his hand, catching it before disappearing it in another flash of green.

“Present yourself to me,” his eyes were busy running over your exposed skin.

“Yes Master,” you said, moving up against the altar before settling upon it and spreading your legs, exposing yourself to the cool air. You laid back, looking up at him from heavy-lidded eyes. Remembering all the times you’d prayed staring up at this altar made you ache for your new Master, needing him to feel your worship.

“So wet and needy for me,” he brushed a knuckle over your heat, forcing a shudder from you. “Though since it’s your first time, I will ready your body to take me.”

“Thank you Master,” you said again, resting on your elbow so you could maintain his gaze.

He smirked at you and bent a knee to bring his face closer to your heat. Your muscles twitched in anticipation as he lowered his gaze to your wet heat, his hands sliding up from your calves to your thighs, stopping so they could grip your tightly.

“Have you ever been touched here by another, little one? Kissed?” He asked, his breath ghosting over your heat.

You swallowed, shaking your head. “No, Master. N-never.”

“So pure,” his eyes ran over you before capturing your gaze once more. “Have you ever touched yourself here?”

You cast your eyes downwards, “yes, Master.” You whispered, feeling shame bubble within you, your face hot.

His hands tightened around your thighs. “Look at me,” he commanded, and you quickly met his gaze. “Never feel ashamed for taking your pleasure. Worship me through it. Give into your pleasure, give into me.” He licked a slow stripe up your folds, and you cried out, your back arching against the hard wood of the altar.

From the angle of your gaze you could see the crucifix, inverted at your position. Blinking your eyes up at the sculpture of Christ, you felt your Master’s tongue swirl over your bundle of nerves and you moaned, still gazing up at the crucifix, as if you were expecting it to come to life.

You heard a low chuckle. “I told you. He’s long gone, little one.” Your brow furrowed- you still felt your Master’s tongue over your centre, hot and wet. How could you hear him?

“Look at me,” you heard his voice once more and pulled yourself up on your elbows to meet his icy gaze as he dipped a finger within you, causing you to shudder. “Do not question. Surrender,” he curled the finger on a spot that had you seeing stars, “surrender to me.”

You nodded, licking your dry lips as you panted. You were close. His hand was pressing hard into your thigh, while the other was quickly moving in and out of you, his tongue moving in tandem. “Let me feel your euphoria, little one. Let me drink it from your very soul.”

It was all so much, the feel of his fingers within you, the flick of his tongue against your most sensitive part. You were lightly moaning, the sound of your voice and his ministrations echoing off the stone of the church. His eyes were cold steel, demanding your gaze as he steadily stoked the fire within you, the flames licking at your skin.

“Oh! Oh my…” you trailed off, “God.” He finished darkly, and you came undone, writhing against the altar. As you rode out the waves of your high you whispered, “thank you Master,” over and over in prayer, your eyes slipping to those of blue-green below.

“Very good, little one. You’re ready to take me now. To feel me deep within you.” He pulled his fingers from you and stood, eyes roaming over your naked form. He ran one finger, wet with your excitement down from the hollow of your throat to the soft tufts of hair between your legs and you shivered, the cool air kissing the trail he’d left.

Smirking down at you he gripped himself, coming closer to run the head of his length up against your dripping core. You inhaled sharply, your hand gripping the wood of the altar below.

“You were built for worship. Body and soul,” he spoke, his voice rough. He slowly pushed in an inch, your channel tight around him. You squirmed, feeling a sharp pain as he continued to push in.

“Relax. Deep breath, little one.” You did as you were told, filling your lungs with air and he slid the rest of the way in on your exhale. The pain turned sharper still, and you whined, your breaths quick and pained.

“That’s it. Don’t cry,” he brushed a stray tear from your cheek. “It will feel better soon. But I need you to feel the pain. I need you to feel me stretch you, to feel me break you.” His eyes went to the skin where your bodies met, where he was stretching you, holding still while you desperately tried to relax your muscles, your nails digging into the wood of the altar.

He brought his hand down, swiping around your folds. Bringing his fingers before you, you could see they were wet with slick and bright red with your blood. He brought his fingers to your lips and swiped them over your tender skin. He bent to kiss you, his tongue running along your lips. He hummed at the taste before kissing you deeply, the metallic-tinged taste lingering in your mouth.

He started to move his hips, pulling back out of you before coming forward. Your back arched, the pain mingling with some deep sort of pleasure as he began setting a pace. He moved to whisper foreign words over the shell of your ear.

You felt a warmth wash over you, the pain slipping away with it, leaving the pleasure. He came away from you, standing back up to his full height as he looked at you, his head tilted. “Does that feel better, little one?”

“Yes, Master,” you moaned, your hips moving in time with his thrusts. His hands gripped either side of your waist, long fingers pressing into the skin as he continued to move with you.

“That’s it little one, worship me as I fuck you. Worship me as I taint you.” He continued to thrust into you, the stained glass windows of the church framing his dark figure. He gave a little flick with his fingers in the air and you felt a pressure on you- similar to finger tips, gently rubbing at your clitoris. You cried out, and he bent forward to clasp his fingers over your wrists, pulling them upwards to hold them firmly on the altar over your head as he continued to thrust within you.

You were writhing against him, the soft, woven material of his suit rubbing up against your sensitive skin, the phantom touch still continuing below. He was grinning at you, the glint in his eyes that of pure sin as he watched you lose control. You came fully undone beneath him, giving in to the pleasure he was wringing from your body, every nerve alit with it. Your vision blurred slightly but you kept your eyes open, his smirk taunting you as you came thanking him at the top of your lungs.

The touch below had continued as you rode out your orgasm, coming back in full force once your breath settled. He moved to grip your wrists with one hand, the other coming to firmly grasp your jaw, pushing your face to the side. You felt his tongue against the shell of your ear and you cried out at the sensation. He chuckled lowly before taking your earlobe between his teeth, marring the flesh then running his tongue over the heated skin. Your breaths were quick puffs, your chest rising against his as he continued to nip, bite and lick at your skin.

“You will cum once more, little one. Cum for your Master and I will reward you,” he nipped at your earlobe once more, “I’ll fill you little one. Would you like that?” His voice was divine, the dark tone of it bending you to his every will.

“Y-yes please, Master, please fill me,” you stuttered, your hips arching towards his thrusts, angling you slightly off the altar.

He chuckled once more, “good. Now, little one,” he licked the skin beneath your earlobe, “cum now.” With that he bit you- you could feel his teeth break the skin of your neck as you moaned, the pain mingling with the pleasure sharply bringing your release. The pleasure electrified you, you couldn’t keep your body still as it fully overtook your every sense, clouding your vision.

As if it were far away you heard your Master moan. His muscles tensed against you, and you felt him twitch within you. As your breath returned he pulled out of you, stepping backwards to admire your form.

He smirked and brought two fingers to your dripping hole, swirling them in the wet there. Removing them, he traced a line down your chest in the slick, forcing a shudder from you.

He connected the vertical line with one horizontal, painting a cross over your breasts. You flinched when his fingers skimmed across your nipples, your body still overstimulated.

“Perfect,” he breathed, his hand moving to close his trousers.

His eyes falling back to you, he held a hand out towards you. You took it and he guided you to stand, the cum dripping down the insides of your thigh.

He snapped his fingers and suddenly you were clothed in a tight fitting tunic, the neckline low and the colour a rich emerald green. A golden pendant hung between your breasts, a small, detailed snake on the end with emeralds for eyes. You could still feel the cold wet slick on your chest and between your legs- he hadn’t given you any underwear. “That will do,” he nodded, “very fitting of a high priestess.”

He swiftly turned on his heel, heading down the steps and down the nave. Your heart beat loud and fast in your ears as you watched him walk away, unsure if he wanted you to follow. Stopping at the final pew he turned, long fingers of one hand beckoning you.

“Come along. You have work to do, little one.”

Part II here.

End Notes: There will be a part 2! Keep your eyes peeled- let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list.

I apologise if I got some aspects of the church wrong- I spent some time researching but I am in no way an expert.

Want to read more Loki fics of mine? My masterlist is here.

And as always, thank you for reading!

#dark!loki x you #dark!loki x reader #dark!loki x you smut #dark!loki x reader smut #dom!loki x you #dom!loki x reader #dom!loki x you smut #dark!loki x nun!reader #bd/sm fic #dom!loki x sub!reader #loki smut #loki fic #bd/sm smut

493 notes · View notes

thefools-journey · 3 years

Text

So. Some of you may be wondering why we haven’t written a whole ton about the secondaries or what have you. Here’s the reason: we were waiting for them to end before we really dug into the problems we were noticing. We felt that it was only fair to wait for the routes to finish so that we had an understanding of the writers’ vision. Who knew, we thought, maybe they would see the problems themselves and course correct, maybe they are building to something we can’t quite see yet and these issues will have actual payoff, maybe-

In light of Muriel and Lucio’s endings, and the general mess that has dominated Portia’s route for a year plus now, we are breaking our silence. We are actually going to talk about this shit show.

The fandom at large has talked about a bunch of issues with the secondaries but for me, the cardinal sin, the thing that really all the issues lead back to, is this: the writers lost sight of the tarot themes which so strongly defined and held together the primary routes. Let me explain.

The primary routes each center around three thematic cores:

The Love Interest’s Major Arcana and its Reversed/Upright meanings

The MC’s Fool’s Journey, both how it can go right and how it can go wrong

A question about the MC’s identity and their relationship to said identity

Asra’s route asks: Who was the MC? How does the MC navigate a past they cannot and will not remember? What do they owe a past they cannot remember? How do they handle the revelations of what Asra, Nadia, Julian, etc did? How do you right the past? Can you?

Nadia’s route asks: Who is the MC? The MC has no past. Are they the Fool only? Are they actually the same person they were? How can they tell? Who are they, really? Are they an imposter? No one can answer these questions for them.

Julian’s route asks: Who will the MC become? How does the MC see their future? Is there anything worth fighting for for that future? What will become of them and their loved ones?

Now, if you notice, these themes are expertly woven throughout the primaries. Asra’s past dominates his route, Nadia is also missing memories and trying to construct her identity both with her family and with Vesuvia, and Julian’s fear of the future drives his flailing for control. Asra has to learn to take a broader view of his actions to get his Upright Ending, Nadia has to learn to trust herself and those around her for hers, and Julian has to learn how to let go for his. These lessons are the issues their cards stand for. The primaries are so dang elegant and delicate in their handlings of theme it is honestly awe-inspiring.

Thematically, the secondary routes have completely lost their hearts. First of all, the MC does not have strong, core questions which need to be answered. They just don’t. I suppose the writers did not want to retread old territory (which is weird considering how tightly bound the primaries are; it really tricks you into thinking you’re living the same events but from different angles depending on your route) but they did not replace the old with anything new. Muriel’s route is, on the surface, about discovering and owning his past, the good and the bad. Why not tie MC’s self-discovery to that story? Or they could have taken the angle that Muriel’s route is about convincing him to be present and active in the world while MC builds an identity for themself outside of Asra, the shop, and the memories they cannot retrieve. Why not tie the investigation themes running through Portia’s early route back to MC and their past? Portia has the unique angle of being as in the dark as MC about all of this, why not discover the past together? And for goodness’ sake, Lucio has no future when his route begins, why not tie that to his need for growth, responsibility, and MC’s own future between the Fool, the Devil, or something mortal and in between?

Secondly, the routes lost their tarot backbone. We have a primer on how to get specific endings for each LI and it still holds, but the writers did not follow through on the thematic coherence of each secondary. The Hermit is looking for something, be it perspective, insight, a solution to a problem, whatever. The key here is that the Hermit must find or learn what they are searching for, this thing must change their understanding of the world, and finally, they must bring this lesson back to the world from which they retreated. Can someone please enlighten me as what exactly Muriel learns then teaches the world around him? Nothing Muriel learns from Morga, MC, or even the Hermit ties back into anything. The Devil warns that you are out of control and exerting a lot of manipulative, destructive behavior on the world around you. It asks you to take responsibility for yourself and your actions. So can someone tell me why Lucio’s route actively avoids any interaction or reflection on two of Lucio’s biggest victims: Muriel and Julian? Why does the route only try to make amends with the “easier” of his victims in the cast? The Star is first and foremost the card of clarity, the light at the end of the tunnel. Perseverance, if you will. Yet Portia’s route has been the muddiest of the trio; the writers drop the investigation aspect of her route in favor just handing her and MC information they could have easily found and muddying the waters with Tasya (she blows up the palace but it’s all okay bc she has a secret daughter Julian never thought to bring up or mention) and the complete removal of the Devil as antagonist.

So that leaves just the Fool’s Journey trying to hold this stool up with only one leg. And well...it doesn’t go well. At best, the secondary route books pay the barest surface level homage to the themes of the individual cards. At worst, they ignore the cards completely. Muriel's Moon book has nothing to do with illusions or delusions or lies or even an Alice in the Looking Glass upside down world. Portia's back half is a complete and utter mess, starting with her Temperance book being so badly mangled that Muriel's aftermath book does it better. Lucio's route too bungles the Tower and the Star. There just isn't enough here to carry the routes alone.

Add to the core loss the loss of intertextuality. The primary routes are very good, even great but they too do have their moments and mistakes. What helps strengthen them when the cores stumble is how the trio is woven together. Things you learn in Asra's route can inform the way you play Nadia's, for example. Julian's route informs what is going on in Asra's route and slots some missing puzzle pieces together. Nadia's route tells you of the power struggles she is facing and informs the other two routes' handling of Julian and his trial. On and on, the three routes support each other because they are built out of the same basic plot beats, just tackled in very different ways. Now, the writers are allowed to try and write whatever they want. They apparently wanted to be more experimental and less tied down to an overarching plot with the three secondaries. Okay, fine, they are allowed to do that. The problem is that they sacrificed one of the key strengths of the primary trio and didn't replace said strength with anything else. They also, on some level, harmed the very premise of the game, which is that only the player's choices and route selected change the overall plot. Instead of feeling like legitimate possibilities or offshoots of the same timeline/plot, the secondaries feel almost like Arcana AUs. The secondaries throw out all relations to the primaries and each other as quickly as possible and for what?

It is probably the height of arrogance to suggest fixes for works whose behind the scenes I do not know. At the same time, some small, obvious changes could have salvaged Muriel and maybe Lucio's endings (rip Portia). Instead of having the Hermit appear as a disappointing cameo, why not have him say something cryptic to Muriel, then have MC start trying to seal the Devil. Then let Muriel use his forget me mark to cloak MC and hide them from the Devil's attacks. Protecting MC by hiding them from Lucio, keeping him focused on Muriel, seems to me a simple third solution between Muriel's desire to run and his desire to never fight again. It lets him stand up to Lucio and let him have it while holding onto who Muriel has become. The Reversed End would have MC try to draw Lucio's attention at some point, disrupting the sealing, and eventually leading to Muriel killing the Devil. With Lucio's Upright End, I just have to ask: why doesn't MC fully claim the power of the Fool instead of the Devil? We don't need the other Arcana involved in this fight; we have three routes that demonstrate that. Just have MC pull Scout into the conflict, then have Lucio tell MC he believes in them, then add his power to the mix. You got yourself a full Fool who leaves Scout guarding the realm until they and Lucio's mortal bodies fail and they return to the realm to be together forever. Boom, you're done, you can even add some ambiguous lines so that players can decide how happy their MC is with this arrangement, send me the check.

Here is the bottom line. Our group is full of aroace, and several combinations therein, individuals. We are the last group who should have gotten into a dating sim of all things. But the Arcana did something with the primaries that was special; they wrote a compelling plot with dazzling lore, complex characters, and strong themes wrapped up in a dating sim bow. The writers know better and we know they know better. I do not know what happened with the secondaries, especially around books 10-11, which is where minor issues slowly start spiraling into major ones, but it is clear that Nix Hydra needed some more planning before they released these routes. Hopefully they will learn.

TL;DR: Nix Hydra fired their tarot consultants about eighteen months ago and it has wrecked their secondary routes until they were just embarrassments. They never intended for the secondary routes to even exist and once they had to make them, they scrambled and threw out everything that made the primaries work.

- Mod Telos

#the arcana #The Arcana Game #arcana game #arcana game meta #arcana meta #arcana discourse #the arcana lucio #Lucio route #the arcana muriel #muriel route #the arcana portia #portia route #lucio morgasson #lucio montag #muriel #portia devorak #The Wheel Turns

432 notes · View notes

redrobin-detective · 3 years

Text

Starlit Vigil

Dannymay Day 4: Stars _____________________________

Everything has a story to it, a tale interwoven into it’s very being from it’s birth to it’s death. Sometimes the mystery of the story is as much a story in and of itself.

Scientists and researchers can’t say when the constellation first appeared in the night sky. It could be seen above Antarctica, near where the edge of the continent meets the Indian Ocean. It confounded a great many people as stars simply didn’t appear out of nowhere. But these did, slowly over the course of several decades sometimes years apart but two appeared within hours of each other. Each new star, eight in total, had a glistening, almost unnatural twinkle to them. The constellation was named Mnemosyne after the Grecian goddess of memory and the stars eight of her nine daughters, better known as the Muses.

You’ve always had your eyes turned towards the stars and Mnemosyne in particular had always captured your attention. You can’t really explain what it is about those stars that speak to you. Maybe it’s sheer impossibility of their existence. Perhaps it’s the particular beauty of these stars, sometimes appearing to shift in shape and change colors. Or it could be the story behind the stars, the mystery that couldn’t be solved and so imagination filled in the holes left behind.

They say there was a great king, hundreds of years ago. A king who was powerful and kind and helped create the world as we know it. The land of the dead exists and certain people can interact with those beyond it. Technology and understanding have advanced dramatically and, while no life would ever be perfect, there was a general sense of peace that could felt in this world and the next. This king loved our world so much it’s said he plucked the greatest jewels he could find and placed them in the stars where he could watch over and cherish them forever. It’s a sentiment you can understand.

You study astronomy in school and when you’re given a chance to travel to the Antarctic Circle to study Mnemosyne, you can’t say yes fast enough. The bitter cold and isolation is a small price to pay to see your favorite constellation up close. Maybe when you see it with your own eyes, you can unravel some of the questions people have been asking over the years. Why the goddess of Memory? Why are the stars named after the Muses but missing the muse of astronomy, Urania? What is the true story behind the supernaturally bright stars that appeared out of nowhere?

It’s hard to sleep during the day, partially because it goes against your normal circadian rhythm but you’re also too excited for night to come. For the stars to come out. You bundle up in the warmest clothes, pack your cameras and notebooks and throw the highest quality telescope you can carry over your shoulder. Arriving at the best site for star gazing, you are so delighted by the clear skies and sparkling stars that it takes you an extra moment to realize that you’re not alone.

At first, you think it’s one of the many researchers conducting studies at the pole but it’s soon apparent that this is someone new. Their hair is stark white, almost appearing one with the blustering wind as it’s blown around. You can’t see what they’re wearing because a thick white cape covers them entirely; it has the consistency of freshly fallen snow. Atop their head floats a crown made of pure, crystalline ice. Your eyes widen behind your protective goggles. The existence of ghosts was common knowledge by now but it’s another thing to see one up close. You turn to leave, before the spirit notices you.

“Don’t leave,” he says quietly but despite the roaring of the wind, you can hear him perfectly clear. “You came to watch the stars too, I don’t mind. Mnemosyne is my favorite.”

“Mine too,” you say back without even thinking. “I would love to know their stories.” The ghost turns to smile at you and his eyes are a bright, glowing green without any pupils or sclera.

“Come, I’ll tell you about them.” You know you shouldn’t. While most spirits aren’t malicious, this one exudes a power you can’t even imagine. But you find yourself stepping closer anyway. You want to hear the stories of the stars and his smile is the warmest thing you’ll find for miles. Somehow you know this ghost won’t harm you. He points up at Mnemosyne and your twin gazes stare up in wonder.

“They say souls and stars are made of the same ingredients. When I was a boy, I loved this thought. There was something comforting in knowing that, no matter where I went, that I could carry the stars within me,” the ghost explains, looking at you joyfully.

“But unlike stars, souls are mortal, impermanent,” he says, his smile turning sad. “So I thought, why not put a soul into a star? Then it could last for eons.” He turns back to the stars with a melancholic expression. “Danielle was the first, my little sister. She was always fragile and after only a decade of life, one day she just broke. Her core was too damaged to become a full ghost so I offered her another way to live on. I took the brightness of her smile and made it into a star, into Euterpe. She was the muse of lyrics and poetry, they say she was the ‘bringer of delight’. It suited Danielle.”

“My enemy died next,” the ghost continues. “He hurt me and, moreover, hurt the ones I loved. But he was the only one who truly understood me. His existence comforted me no matter how much bad blood existed between us. His life was full of misfortune, most of it self-inflicted but his fear of death pulled on my heart. My last move in our battle was to make him a star as well, Melpomene, the muse of tragedy. I put him far away from Danielle, I think he’d hurt her.”

“My parents passed a few decades later,” the ghost whispers. “Mom went first, in her sleep. Dad always followed her example so it wasn’t a surprise when Dad followed her in death before the day was done. They were scientists, I think but they loved me very much. Things were tense, I remember being afraid for some reason but their deaths pained me. They were too fulfilled to become ghosts. I grabbed bits of their essence before it dissipated and made the stars Polyhymnia and Terpsichore, the muses of hymns and dance respectively. They were a perfect couple, partners in everything. A song and a dance, always in time with each other.”

The wind rustles the ghost’s cape, he clutches it as if he is cold. You cannot tear your eyes from the the soft grief on his face.

“Valerie went next, some sort of illness; I can’t remember the details,” the ghost frowned. “She had no desire to become a ghost, no matter how much I asked her to stay. I am King of All Ghosts and yet I got on my knees and begged for some part of her to keep with me. In the end, I stole a bit of her fading spirit and crafted Calliope, the assertive muse, the author of epic poetry. She shines so brightly up there like she had in life.”

“Jasmine died peacefully in her sleep like our mother. She was always protecting me, even in death. Her devotion to knowledge and my wellbeing kept her by my side for many years but it wasn’t enough to last forever. When her spirit was nothing more than wisps, I took her core and placed Clio with the rest of our family. The muse of history, the proclaimer of great deeds fit my older sister well.”

“Tucker and Sam stayed with me the longest. Tucker went first, a quick death from an aged body followed by years as the playful spirit I always knew him as. Sam, my life and my love, passed the same and was my queen in death as she’d been in life. But love can delay death but not deny it and their spirits needed to move on. I kissed them both, my soulmates and made them into stars. Thalia, the muse of comedy and idyllic poems for the light Tucker brought to me. Erato for Sam, muse of love and its poetry for all that she inspired and gave me.”

You see glowing tears running down his face, he holds his hands out to the night sky. His fingers are curved as if wanting to reach and tenderly brush the faces of people long gone. Only they’re not gone completely. You look at the stars with a newfound appreciation. They are no longer pinpricks of long dead light but people who lived and died and yet still lived on in such beauty. If you look closely, you can almost see them. Brushes of red hair, dark rugged skin, the glint of glasses, a flash of amethyst eyes.

“There’s no Urania,” you say quietly, the wind tossing them.

“Not yet,” he says longingly, “but soon. The Zone and the Earth are at peace, they won’t need my protection for much longer. When that happens, my spirit will leave this world and join my loved ones in the stars as Urania.” This ghost has been dead for longer than you’ve been alive, longer than many of your most recent ancestors. But his love can still be felt, still burns high above in the sky for everyone to see. What better eternity is there?

“May I tell their story?” You ask and he only nods in response, not taking his eyes off Mnemosyne. You get the feeling he has forgotten about you, caught up in the light of his loved ones shining down on him, waiting. All at once, you realize how late it is, how cold. You leave to return to the research shelter, to write the history of the miracle constellation.

The stars made out of souls, crafted by love.

Twelve years later, you are not surprised when you look up and see a ninth star in the constellation of Mnemosyne. It glows brightly, twinkling with the other muses as if in conversation. You can only smile through your tears, so profoundly happy that Urania’s lonely vigil is finally over and they have assumed their rightful place among the stars.

#dannymay2021 #danny phantom #i'm not crying you're crying #this came to me last night in the bath #the idea that Danny takes pieces of his loved ones soul and made them into stars #so that they can stay with him while he finishes his duty as Ghost King #I want to stress they all DID move on #these are just pieces of them #stars are echoes of light long gone and same for these stars #they're the memory of friends and family and enemies #people who meant so much to Danny that he blazed their souls across the sky so they could watch over him #while he finished he duty and waited to join them #Danny Fenton never went to the stars #but because of Phantom he was able to finally walk among them #arm and arm with the family of his soul #thats not a bad afterlife shining in the sky softly watching over the earth you spent so long protecting #dont fucking touch me #wanted to play with second person pov lmk if it sux #its danny fucking may now open up and eat your soft tender angst

128 notes · View notes

huntingofbeasts · 2 years

Text

RO Route Details, Spoilers Edition

Another post! Only this time, it's the spoiler version of the RO Route detail I did before. This is where the Routes are actually explained for a few characters. So if you want to be blind, best not hit the "Keep Reading":

Alia

The reality of his route is that he's easily the most possessive and manipulative of the ROs. He loves the Scion to a fault, and is willing to do anything in his power to make them happy. He genuinely believes he knows best, not helped due to them being functionally raised together.

He's not above twisting people's words, using violence--even murder, and deceit to get the golden ending he feels the Scion is deserving of. He sees absolutely nothing wrong with what he's doing, as it's for the "greater good". Everyone but the Scion is expendable. Including himself.

He's half the reason for the warnings in the Features page.

Akio

She's incredibly straightforward, especially compared to the others. She doesn't hide anything from the Scion, preferring that they're both on equal grounds. However, she's very protective of them, as she is with all her friends.

If the Scion is doing something they don't want to, or is being manipulated, she'll fight tooth and nail to regain their freedom. She's not keen on the deal the Scion made with the God of Death, feeling that they didn't truly have a choice in the matter.

Jin-Li

As an immortal, her route is more a reminiscing and things that once were and those she's lost. While not as straight forward as Akio, she isn't quite friendly. She still holds a lot of animosity towards the Scion for having many of her allies die in their ill-fated rebellion against the monarchy. While she grows past her anger, much of it isn't quelled until she gets the full picture from the subject of her anger in the first place.

She's easily the most loving and doting of the Routes, as once she finds herself again, she finds peace. By no means does she still believe in the mercy she had in her youth, but that doesn't mean she has to consider punching her way to victory. She's a gentle soul that was tarnished by her world, but finds a way to bloom nonetheless.

Lament

Unsurprisingly, he's the one that killed the Scion in the very beginning. His Route depends on which of the Core Routes the Scion takes.

He holds a heavy grudge against them in the Wrath Route, feeling they were a tyrant and abusing their power. While he wasn't keen on killing them, he still loathed their deeds, and is determined to make sure, in this new chance, they don't repeat themselves. He doesn't mind that the curse will kill him eventually--so long as that wrath the Scion has is gone.

For Acceptance, he's depressed. He killed the one person he loved beyond everything else, even if it wasn't reciprocated. He lives on a constant brink of just leaving the Mortal Realm, but finds a reason to go on when the Scion returns. Entirely willing to sacrifice himself for them, as a twisted idea of redemption.

In Neutral, he's more the typical knight, ever loyal, but rife with guilt about what he's done. He's not fragile as he is in the Acceptance route, but he doesn't hate the Scion for what they've done like in Wrath. He wants to protect them and steer them on the right path, but not be a force of pressure like their family was before their death.

11 notes · View notes

kittypryde-bipride · 3 years

Text

five times percy leaned on his friends, and the one time he stood alone

Percy stands with Jason at what might’ve been the end of the world and his hands tremble.

He feels so much – the sea roiling in pain, responding to his inner fury; the earth lying dormant, having just lost its master – but when he looks at his friend, he just feels numb. Jason’s uncertain, afraid to touch him, as frail as he is still after Tartarus and this last fight, but too kind to leave him alone.

“Are you alright?” He murmurs, putting his arm around Percy’s shoulder and slowly lowering them to the ground together.

Percy’s bare hands touch the ground and his fingers dig into the dirt. He’d unmake the world if he could undo the last hour. He’d let Gaea win.

He doesn’t say this though- there’s too many gods lingering on the scene for honesty. “She’s dead,” is what he settles for. He thinks Jason gets the message.

“Leo’s gone, too.”

Percy looks to his friend and frowns. There are unshed tears in both their eyes- Percy thinks heroes shouldn’t cry, not after a battle they’ve survived, and wonders what he could’ve done better. “I don’t think we won.”

“No,” Jason agrees. “I don’t think we did. The gods did, though.”

Percy snorts, his throat burning at the movement, and he shakes his head. “What will you do next?”

“Keep fighting their battles, I suppose. Pretend like this meant something.”

“You think it didn’t?” Percy asks, his tone cautious- wary of those who might be listening, judging their all too mortal saviors.

Jason just stares at the scene around them. The Parthenon is burning. Neither of them have moved to put it out, with either the sea or rain, and it’s clear the gods themselves couldn’t be bothered.

“We were already the children of prophecy,” he says. “This shouldn’t have happened. I think we chose wrong.”

Percy thinks the brief time all seven of them were together on the ship. Some of them – Hazel, Frank, Leo, Piper – were too young to know better. But him and Jason? Annabeth? They were old enough to know these gods are not just. They were old enough to survive- would’ve survived, if things had been a little different.

He thinks to how no gods stepped forward to save Annabeth when she fell, and wonders if they sensed their disillusionment.

If this is a warning, it’s a dangerous one.

“This did mean something,” Percy replies, closing his eyes. He can feel every drop of water for miles- the sea, the ocean, the sweat on his fellow heroes. He digs his fingers into the earth until they bleed, feels his blood mix deep in the soil, can sense miles underground to its now broken core. He inhales and can practically taste the stench of blood in the air, can hear the pulse of every living being left on the battlefield, can see the golden ichor coursing through the veins of the gods. “This proved that we can fight side by side with the gods, and come out stronger.”

He leans his head against Jason and they gather clouds in the sky, summoning a storm. Rain pours down on them and Percy doesn’t feel weak anymore.

---

“I couldn’t protect her,” Percy confesses darkly to Grover, staring at a burnt shroud. The rest of the crowd has long-dispersed.

Most of the campers they’d been close to died in the Battle of New York. Piper and Jason are on a quest. Hazel, Frank, Nico, and Reyna are back in New Rome. Chiron is too weary to stay.

“It’s not your fault, Perce,” Grover says quietly, not making eye contact.

Percy shakes his head. His fist tightens and he has to consciously stop the earth from shaking in response. “I could’ve stopped it if I’d been paying attention. I’m strong enough.”

“If the gods couldn’t save her, there was nothing you could’ve done-” Grover tries to assuage him, but Percy knows better than to trust false reassurances.

“You don’t know what I can do.” The sky darkens at his cockiness and he grins up at it, all bared teeth and no joy. He wishes they’d throw the first punch. He thinks maybe they already have.

Grover grabs ahold of his arm, then tugs him into a close hug. “I can still tell when you’re upset, Perce. What’s wrong?” Percy stares at his friend incredulously and Grover sighs. “You’re right, that was kind of dumb of me, but you know what I meant. What you’re feeling isn’t normal grief.”

“What happened wasn’t normal,” Percy retorts harshly. His friend flinches and his resolve weakens- he doesn’t want to hurt what’s left of his loved ones. He just also can’t tell them the truth. “I’m sorry, I just- I could’ve saved her. They could’ve saved her. It- they were sending me a warning. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“Fixating on the dead isn’t healthy,” Grover says solemnly, eyes downcast. “She wouldn’t have wanted this for you.”

“Yeah, well,” Percy laughs bitterly and turns away. The earth grabs at him every time he takes a step, longing to be closer to their new master. He’s taken to walking barefoot. “I don’t think she would’ve wanted a lot of what happened. I doubt she liked either prophecy. Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“Perce,” Grover warns, but Percy continues.

“Doesn’t mean she didn’t die. Doesn’t mean the gods haven’t fucked us over every time they got the chance.” The mud beneath them is sliding towards his ankles and he lets the cool earth calm him- not yet, it seems to caution. It can’t lose another master so soon.

Grover is too focused on Percy to notice the slow-moving ground beneath them. “No one angry with the gods ever wins,” he reminds his friend. “The combined Titans couldn’t beat them. Gaea, a primordial, couldn’t defeat them. Luke died fighting them.”

“I wouldn’t die, if I challenged them,” Percy says quietly and his old friend freezes, panicked. The sky rumbles and Percy forces himself to laugh- wildly, freely, like he would’ve before his anchor to this world was ripped away.

“Ah, man, don’t joke about things like that,” Grover says nervously, eyeing the still angry sky. “No need to tempt fate.”

Percy grins bitterly and pushes down the empathy link- there’s no need for Grover to get caught up in further conflict. He doesn’t need to know what side his friend would choose, after so much time apart. “Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

---

Tyson walks with him on the bottom of the ocean floor towards their dad’s palace and Percy keeps his posture relaxed- he’s just visiting family, after all, no deeper motive.

“Father’s made all kinds of improvements to the castle since Gaea was defeated,” his brother says enthusiastically. “He’s locked the foundation in deeper to the seabed, cementing our stability, and he’s uncovered a whole new kind of rock under the surface. We’re mining it for new weapons.”

“Weapons for gods?” Percy asks curiously. “Is it that strong?”

Tyson nods. “Oh, yes. And it can only be forged in our deepest caves, with lava taken directly from the center of the earth.”

Percy fights down a surge of protective anger – he felt when they reached that deep, felt them steal from the already aching, unrecovered earth, though he hadn’t known what the interference was then – and smiles brightly instead. “Wow, that’s super cool! Have you been helping with any of that?”

“I’m the General of Father’s army,” Tyson responds proudly. “Of course I’m involved in the new weapon. We have to be careful of how much we touch it, though- it hurts anything not strong enough to handle it. I touched it and it burned my hand.” He rubs his arm, visibly remembering it- it must’ve been something terrible for that visceral of a response.

Percy grabs Tyson, then sends water to wrap around the scar, cooling and healing it. When he’s done, there’s not even a mark left.

Tyson gasps and looks at it excitedly, then pulls Percy into a bear hug. “Even Father couldn’t do that!” He bursts out. “You’ve grown very strong. Thank you.”

“It’s not problem,” Percy replies easily. They step through the pearly gates of Poseidon’s castle and Percy starts feeling out the terrain, paying attention to how the castle fits into the earth and how the sea feels protective over its inhabitants. “Damn, this does look impressive.”

Tyson looks at him confused. “You can’t even see most of our changes yet!”

“Guess I’m just so confident in what you can do,” Percy easily side-steps his question and keeps walking through the halls.

The whole castle is well-reinforced and surrounded in its element, but even the best-made structures can tumble down- look at the last couple hundred years of the Olympian’s influence, after all. It’s strong, but Percy’s willing to bet he’s stronger. Even if he can’t control more of the sea than his father, he can use the ocean floor and direct line to the earth’s core to wreak havoc- and that new weapon sounds like it was made for him to yield.

Poseidon’s always been a critical part of the gods’ offense and defense. Percy’s prepared to destroy him first, when the time comes.

He turns to his brother and high-fives him. “You’ll have to show me when you finish that weapon- I bet it’s gonna look so cool. Show me your room?”

Tyson cheerfully guides him to the housing part of the palace and Percy pushes down his guilt. This has to be done, and he’s resigned to be the one to do it- he’s got nothing left to lose, thanks to the gods.

---

Percy grabs the half-full bottle out of Thalia’s hands and pours it onto the ground.

“Hey,” she slurs, angry. “That’s a waste of some perfectly good whiskey.”

“And you’re fifteen,” Percy says smugly. “You’re a little young to be drinking that much.”

She glares at him and crosses her arms. “I’m older than you and you know it!”

Percy snorts. “You don’t look it. Don’t tell me Artemis lets the twelve-year-olds on the Hunt drink like that?”

She looks down and some of her defiance melts into repressed pain. “Yeah, well. Special circumstances and all that. Guess there’s some benefit to a dead kid brother.”

Percy’s casual combativeness crumbles alongside her own- he can sense the tears welling in her eyes and he decides not to mention it. “What happened?” He asks quietly- respectfully.

Thalia clenches her fists- she hasn’t stopped trying to mask her grief with rage. Percy knows the feeling far too well. “Apollo dragged him on a quest. Something about a prophecy. Helping him while he’s mortal. Jason didn’t make it back.”

“I’m not surprised he went,” Percy says. “It’s hard to find rest, when you’ve been at war that long.”

She laughs bitterly and shakes her head. “He shouldn’t have been on that quest. Artemis told me- he wasn’t named in it. He wasn’t needed for it. Why couldn’t they leave him be?”

“They knew he’d say yes,” Percy offers, shrugging. “They asked me and I said that I don’t do that kind of thing anymore.”

Thalia whips around to glare at him, practically snarling. Her tears are falling now. “You’re the reason he was on that quest? You’re the reason he died?”

Percy frowns at her- he must’ve gotten scarier sometime recently, because it’s enough to make her falter. “The gods are the reason he died. They shouldn’t have asked him to do that. But Jason wanted all those prophecies to mean something, in the end. He would’ve died on some quest, sooner or later.”

“Sometimes-,” Thalia starts, her voice thick with some pained emotion. “Sometimes, I want to tear apart the whole system. I- I want to leave the Hunters and march up to Olympus and murder my father with my own bare hands.” Percy raises his eyebrows and she lets out a sob. “How dare they take my brother from me and all I get for it is a measly bottle of booze? This isn’t fair, Perce, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it-”

The sky thunders and Percy smiles carefully at her. The ground beneath them is hollow, aching, craving- he pushes down the urge to act. “I’d be wary of who listens, if I were you. Jason wasn’t. I wasn’t.” Her eyes go wide and he hushes her. “Don’t fight the gods unless you’re sure you can win. Are you sure?” She hesitates, just for a moment, and he grins knowingly. “Right. I don’t want to lose another friend- don’t make me, okay?”

She looks up at him and sniffs- this is the most broken down he’s ever seen her. It’s a sign of how few of their friends are left, if she’s letting him see her this weak.

“You said Jason said yes because he didn’t remember how to rest,” Thalia says finally, slowly. “But you said no. How- how did you find a way to rest?”

He looks her in the eye carefully and thinks- if he’s ever wanted an ally, now’s his chance. But he won’t drag someone innocent down with him in this crusade, can’t brand someone else as a villain, not until he’s sure he can protect them too. He’s loyal to his friends and his ideals and to the dead, so he’ll save them all in every way he can.

Sea green eyes meet electric blue and when he smiles, it’s all sharp teeth. “Who says I have?”

---

He and Clarisse fight back-to-back against the latest rush of monsters trying to invade Camp Half-Blood- they’re the only ones of their caliber left here, since everyone who could moved to the Roman camp to try and start their lives in peace.

He and Clarisse are too independent, too angry, too restless to be happy there.

In another life, Percy and Annabeth could’ve thrived in a domestic town in New Rome, but it’s too late for him now.

When it’s over, they sit outside the camp border listlessly. Threats like this barely faze them anymore.

Percy’s back at the camp for the first time in a few months and he’s been happy to catch up with Clarisse- she’s had to rise up in the absence of other camp leadership, and she’s done an admirable job. Even so, he’s not here without an agenda: he’s desperately searching for one reason not to carry out his plan; for something to stop him before he can’t take it back.

“How’s it been, sticking around here so long?” Percy breaks the silence finally. She knocks elbows with him and shrugs.

“Same old, same old. Young kids come in and need guidance. Mr. D’s gone and Chiron’s struggling, after everything that’s been happening, so I’ve been picking up some of that slack.” She grins at him, loose and familiar in a nostalgic way, and Percy’s reminded of camp meetings with Katie and Travis, Lee and Castor, Beckendorf and Silena. Annabeth. It’s just the two of them left now. “You could help out with it all too, if you wanted to come back. Getting sick of being a city-slicker again, Jackson?”

Percy smiles tightly at her. “I don’t know if the camp life is for me, anymore. I don’t think there’s a lot holding me here these days.”

“That’s fair,” Clarisse concedes. “But I see all these new faces in Ares cabin, each and every year, and I feel like I’m making a difference. Showing those suckers how to survive, how to go back home like I never could.”

“There’s no one in my cabin,” Percy says. “Would I really make a difference here?” And if he could, he’ll stay- he’ll stop all his plans, turn back on every heretical idea he’s had in the past year, dive headfirst into whatever will best help his fellow demigods. He and Jason are the same in more ways than one: they’ve played the hero so long that all they know is to be selfless for their people.

It’s just- Percy doesn’t think playing the good demigod will help anyone but the gods; and he hasn’t been loyal to them for a long time.

“Of course, you would,” Clarisse answers. “You’re practically a legend around here, you know- everyone hears about your quests and want to be the next to get a prophecy, to meet the gods.”

Percy feels the ground beneath them and he frowns. He’s in so, so deep, and he’s so, so broken, just like the earth. “I don’t want them to be blindly loyal to the gods, Clarisse.”

“Alright,” she mutters, clearly surprised by his intensity. “Well, you wouldn’t have to do that, I guess- maybe just show them how to have a life outside here? Tell them about how you’ve kept up with your family, how Sally’s doing-”

“My mother’s dead,” Percy interjects. It’s the one secret he’s kept for too a long time and now that he’s let it out, he’s made his decision on the fate of the gods- it feels real. “I went to their apartment after everything was over and a monster got her and Paul. She’s been dead since before we beat the Giants. While I was missing.”

Clarisse freezes, stunned and unsure of what to do. “Jackson, I-”

He stands and brushes off his jeans, then turns to face her. “It’s been good catching up.”

“No, wait, I-”

“I’ll see you again soon, probably,” he smirks and then starts laughing- it’s the first genuine one in a while and it tears out unbidden. He can’t stop it. He starts walking away and his feet sink deeper with each step, the earth swallowing him- protecting him. “May the best side win?”

---

Percy meets his friends on the battlefield and they all know he’s unbeatable, even alone. And he is alone, even with the sea and the earth and the blessing of the Styx and the blood in their veins- he can tell they think he’s gone as mad as Luke.

He lets them attack, the demigods who’ve been called up out of their retirement like he knew they would be – Frank and Clarisse’s blades reflect off his invulnerable skin, the earth won’t respond to Hazel’s commands, Nico’s skeletal armies are crumbling, Piper’s words can’t sway him, Grover’s plants can’t breach the ground to touch him – and

He lets them attack, the demigods who’ve been called abruptly out of their retirement like he knew they would be. Frank and Clarisse’s swords bounce off his invulnerable skin, unable to find his weak point. Grover presents a call to arms to the trees, but they can’t breach the ground to come near him. Nico’s skeletal armies crumble to dust as the water in the air erodes them. Hazel sinks into the earth with Piper by her side, trying to sneak up on him, but the earth protects him and traps them, half-buried.

He weathers it all until the gods arrive.

Tyson stands behind their father, face drawn in betrayal and horror, the newly forged weapon in his gloved hand. Percy holds out his arm – senses the earth in it, the metal mined from the ground and the lava it was bathed in – and summons it to him. He hefts the monumental longsword in his hand and even if the rest of the gods don’t know what this is, there’s fear in Poseidon’s eyes- he wonders what his dad would look like if he knew his precious castle has already crumbled, eaten by the ravenous earth.

He surveys the battlefield now that the demigods have fallen back, behind the gods, and sees Thalia standing behind Artemis. She looks conflicted, but too tired to make a stand- he’d known she wouldn’t stand up for him if it came to blows, not after everyone she’s lost in a fight. He thinks she’ll support him once he wins.

Percy closes his eyes, breathes in the stink of the fight, and he can sense everything: the ground beneath their feet, vapor in the sky, the sweat on their skin. The ichor in the veins of the gods.

He opens his eyes, sees them rushing towards him to try and defeat him, and clenches his fists. The ichor bursts and the gods fall- it was a great show of hubris from them, to even believe they could stand a chance against him.

He stares at his friend’s terrified expressions and laughs brightly, one last time. He’d been willing to martyr himself for this cause and he doesn’t quite care what happens now- he’s more than done his part to save the world. It’s up to them.

He sinks deep into the earth, letting it take him, and decides whoever wants to find him can come to him. Until then, he can finally rest.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28535157

#pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson #bamf percy jackson #dark percy #ao3

215 notes · View notes

gakkubi · 3 years

Text

Ame Trio's Personalities: Nagato

I want to share some thoughts on the Ame Trio/Ame Orphans because I do think they have one of the most complex, interesting and beautiful arcs in the Narutoverse.

I will discuss their personalities and thoughts. This post is about Nagato, there are also Yahiko and Konan. (2/3): Although Nagato is the main character of the trio, he's the second one to be analysed because he's influenced by Yahiko's death while his own death shifts the direction of Konan's life.

NAGATO:

Also available in Russian: ссылка на русский перевод

Nagato is an extremely complex character; he is both the first and the last to appear in the trio. The first, because the first time he appears is as Tendo Pain (Divine Path) - the last, because he is the last one to be shown in his original form. For a brief while, we are led to believe Yahiko is Pain until we are shown the shy red-headed boy was the one who had the rinnegan all along.

The complexity of his personality, in my opinion, comes not from his act as "Pain", or from the heavy traumas which he was inflicted, but from the fact that Nagato was not built as a "classic protagonist", but he was given that role by the other characters in the story, and eventually took the role when the situation left him no other choice.

It's important to consider the original Akatsuki's/Ame Trio's dynamic to understand Nagato. In their original form, Yahiko was the leader; he was the one that inspired the others, especially Nagato. We are never shown any kind of dispute or conflict between Yahiko and him; Kishimoto doesn't even pull the classic "love triangle" on them - doing, in fact, the very opposite by making it clear Nagato knew about their relationship and supported it.

Nagato lacked one of the most important characteristics of villains; ambition - the very personality trait Yahiko had in abundance. Of course Nagato had ambitions of his own (wanting to find the peace and breaking the curse of hatred), but having great goals does not make him an ambitious person. We are never shown Nagato actively pursuing being the best in the trio, the most powerful shinobi in the world, we are never shown any desire of him ruling Amegakure on his own - he never had the desire of being in the spotlight.

Although Nagato wanted to find peace for the world- he even told Jiraiya that he would be the one to break the curse of the never ending wars -, we're shown that later on he believed Yahiko was the one more fit for the power. This is very opposite to the personalities we are shown of Madara and Obito, who both competed against their "friendly rivals" and had high personal ambitions (very much like Naruto also did). If there was any kind of competition among the Ame Trio, it was mostly Yahiko against himself - Nagato never saw him as a rival or opponent of any nature.

The story - with the intent of confusing us by not making it clear if Pain is Yahiko or Nagato - shows us Nagato is the owner of the immense power, but lacks the personality to act on it enough to become a villain. Although it's true Jiraiya proceeds most of the fight believing he is fighting against Nagato himself, the story is still built in such a way to make us wonder how could power-hungry Yahiko die and how on Earth did passive, quiet Nagato become a megalomaniac pseudo-God.

Nagato is an extremely realistic character when it comes to his relationship with the rinnegan; it's not logical to think every person who possesses immense power has the desire to use them just because it's available.

In the situations where Nagato is not dealing with violence or his powers, he is shown to be a shy, kind-hearted person. Physically, his appearance is fragile, which only highlights other aspects of his personality such as his quietness and passiveness - traits he shares with Konan - and his sensitivity, a core trait he shares with Yahiko. Jiraiya's memories of them as children, as well as Konan's memories of them at different ages, show Nagato hardly ever speaking, barely dragging attention to himself - introspective, but also curious and determined.

Nagato, prior to Yahiko's death, is always shown having a complicated relationship with his powers; he is partly afraid of them, he doesn't completely understand them and in turn he doesn't completely trust himself - this inability to build a proper self-confidence also leads him to be more quiet and hesitant than he would naturally be. An example of this is his first interaction with Obito, where Nagato is clearly shown being affected and unsure of what he should think about "Madara's" proposal (Chapter 607, further explored on the mixed canon-filler anime episodes of that same arc).

Despite the mixed feelings he has towards the rinnegan, he also expects a lot from himself; both because he is powerful, and also because a lot of expectation is put on him to by others.

Following the death of his parents (which is an extremely heart-wrenching trauma on its own), Nagato slowly stopped being fully human and was put in a odd pedestal of Reincarnated God; he was still a mere mortal like the other two children, but expectations were extremely high. He had the eyes of God, he was eventually going to figure out the answer for peace. He had to.

If he had been chosen by the divine to possess the eyes of God, naturally it also meant he was the one who would eventually find the answer to peace.

It's easy to see evil Nagato with his God Complex and blame it solely on his own arrogance, but it's important to understand the circumstances in which Nagato started dehumanizing himself actually began with Jiraiya and continued later on with Yahiko, especially on his death. Jiraiya may not have had the intention of dehumanizing him by telling him the divine status of his powers, but, by placing on him the responsibility of finding an answer because of his eyes, he lead Nagato to start seeing his life as something that obligatory needed to have meaning; of course, this didn't fit well with his preference for following instead of commanding and overall lack of self-trust - it only generated him more stress and suffering.

Although those feelings were planted in Nagato during Jiraiya's training, they remained dormant because of the Ame Trio's dynamic. Yahiko was the one who had the abilities of a natural leader and he was the one to develop a philosophy to find peace in the world. We see that Nagato was content to support him, and mutual support was a characteristic of all the Ame Orphans.

Nagato loved Yahiko deeply; Yahiko had not indirectly saved his life (by helping Konan to keep alive) and maintained him alive by giving him food and shelter, but he had also given Nagato reasons to stay alive. Pursuing the dream of achieving peace, creating a better life - Yahiko gave Nagato a sense of purpose, a direction to move forward, something he could fight for after he had lost everything.

It's implied that during their time together, Nagato believed his divine purpose was to support Yahiko on his quest to find peace - we are shown many times Nagato never questioned Yahiko. They had a healthy and friendly dynamic; Nagato's natural passiveness never clashed against Yahiko's dominance, and Yahiko offered him the emotional and existencial stability he desperately needed. By seeing in his life the purpose of following and supporting Yahiko, Nagato's philosophical suffering was eased by having some answers to many of the questions regarding the reason he was gifted with his powers.

Nagato was never shown to be dissatisfied with the path he was walking with the Akatsuki; the meaning of his life was clear - helping the Akatsuki achieve peace. We have much evidence to believe Nagato was a happy person, content with the life he had built for himself, which also sets him apart from many of the other Naruto villains who had a deep desire to take matters on their own hands and change the world around them; he was not a naturally ambitious person who wanted more than he already had.

Nagato's happiness and hope in life being taken away from him twice is what sets a fundamental change in his personality.

Yahiko's death meant the purpose he had for his life had been destroyed. There was no perspective of the future without Yahiko's guidance, and even Yahiko's ideals could not work in a world that ultimately took advantage of his philosophy.

Nagato was stripped away from all remaining happiness and motivation he had gathered again from dust. Everything he had built with Yahiko and Konan and the original Akatsuki was ultimately meaningless because it didn't protect him against being a victim of the same situation twice.

The meaning of everything had been destroyed. The one person who had kept him alive all this time was dead - all their efforts were in vain. His life was pointless; he had nowhere to go, nothing to fight for, no ideal to believe in - no one but Konan, feeling just as lost and empty as he was. The person who had always provided them with hope and meaning was gone.

It's important to highlight how Yahiko sacrificed himself to save Nagato and Konan. It was not Yahiko's intention when he decided to take such action, but by giving up his life for Nagato and telling him he was "the savior of the world", Yahiko ended up creating an enormous pressure on Nagato to not let his death be pointless. Jiraiya had already put the pressure of finding peace on Nagato's shoulders - Yahiko's last words and actions ended up making it nearly impossible for Nagato to ignore the divine role he was put in.

The divine role given by two figures he respected and followed was the only thing (despite Konan) that Nagato had left after Yahiko's death (and Akatsuki's massacre, according to the anime); being the God that could save the world was the only purpose left in his life by the people who had previously guided him.

I see many people regarding Nagato as simply arrogant and/or narcissistic and I think they are not giving much attention at just how dangerous it can be to put people in labels, because more often than not people will grow and change to attend the expectations others have of them - especially if they are going through a desperately painful existential crisis like Nagato goes after Yahiko's death.

This kind of existential suffering also leads people to grasp onto every little thing they can that makes them remotely happy; visually, this is shown with Nagato and Konan never letting go of Yahiko's body, maintaining him symbolically alive.

Nagato's philosophy is simply a more cynical version of Yahiko's cycle of hatred - the fundamental change was in the core ideal; the possibility of people ever being able to understand each other. Nagato knew from personal experience how the everlasting cycle of pain worked, and if he truly was Divine as he was told by other characters, then he would force people into finding understanding in shared pain and fear.

Dissociation is a defense mechanism both Nagato and Konan relied on to survive situations that were near-impossible to recover from given their context; neither had any sort of physiological support and were also unsafe, hunted by the enemy who had just killed a person they loved. The vendetta against Hanzo was also an action of self-defense and survival - a survival Yahiko had always told them to pursue no matter what the cost was. The situation didn't allow Nagato a safe situation for him to breath; he had to act and keep himself and Konan alive.

Taking the role of God - and even being called by a different name, "Pain" - Nagato could distance himself from his actions and rationalize them; eventually, being able to turn every one of his actions into being the undisputable will of God turned him into the narcissist Jiraiya encounters in Amegakure. This type of rationalization that involves the taking of a role given by others as well as a change in name and appearance keep a person from confronting the reality of their actions; another extremely famous example of this is Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader.

Nagato takes it a step further by blurring the lines between his own feelings and the divine label given by others with Yahiko's dreams and his own feelings regarding Yahiko. By using Yahiko's body as vessel and keeping him symbolically alive, Nagato not only prolonged his own suffering but also incorporated some of Yahiko's personality - unlike his shy original self, Nagato as Pain became stoic and confident; his demeanor is like that of an adult dealing with children - a God who deals with mortals who are incapable of understanding his divine enlightenment, as he explains to Jiraiya. When Naruto confronts him personally, Nagato displays a more cynical, sarcastic self by letting go of his divine persona.

Nagato becomes the narcissistic villain with a God complex because this is the only thing that he has left after everything is stripped away from him, in ways more painful than he can endure without help; Konan cannot help him, being herself in the exact same situation as he is. Even so, it's important to understand Nagato doesn't really believe he is a God - his divine status extends only to the point where they can justify his actions and explain why he is the one who must establish this new peace. This is clear when he talks to Naruto and he shows how he, in many ways, sees himself and still being the same person he was when Yahiko was still alive - a peacemaker. In his own words, they were all "ordinary men" (Chapter 436).

Nagato, at that point in his life, has nothing to lose; he knows, in the event of his failure in capturing Naruto, Konan or "Madara" will continue on the pursuit of creating the ultimate weapon for peace. Nagato has already lost so much, and he's not building a future for himself to enjoy - rather, the peace he means to create is both a way to give his own life meaning and also make Yahiko's death not be pointless. It's important to understand that peace is Nagato's ultimate goal, and his own ideas were never something he valued above anyone else's - after all, he spent half of his life following Yahiko and the other half in the effort of continuing his (their) goal.

So, although Naruto's "talk no jutsu" is perceived as weak from part of the fandom, I personally don't see Nagato as the combative, ambitious type of person; the actions he lead on his own were heavily supported by Konan and influenced by "Madara'', because his original nature was much more passive than the one he displays as a villain. Not wishing to lead or not being truly comfortable with creating a revolution is not a flaw - that simply is not Nagato's nature; if he wasn't like that, he would have probably clashed against Yahiko at least once, which he never came close to do.

Given that, it's not outrageous that Nagato decides to believe Naruto after hearing Naruto repeat his own words; Nagato, like Konan, is a person who supports others, they spend half their lives following one and the other half being influenced by another. This time, Nagato finds someone who actually pursues his original goal, a person who attempts to understand him, who faces a suffering similar to which he endured and was still able to maintain faith. In that sense, Naruto's philosophy is much more attractive than "Madara's" plan, as it alligns with what the original Akatsuki was all about.

Naruto was a person worth believing, worth sacrificing himself for as Yahiko had previously done for him; Yahiko's life, the original Akatsuki's efforts, all of their actions wouldn't be pointless if Naruto succeeded.

(Edit: I can't believe I forgot to write about one of Nagato's personality traits which I like the most. Although I have previously mentioned that Nagato is quite a shy person, he can also be incredibly sarcastic and teasing. I'll highlight a few moments such as: in the Pain Arc, he tells Naruto they can expect to understand each other for having the same teacher - which later on he explains was a joke; his unimpressed reaction upon meeting Naruto himself in chapter 443 as shown in the image; in the Edo Tensei arc, chapter 549, he makes quite a light-hearted remark about being able to move using the Animal Path summonings and even Naruto is surprised to see him making jokes; In the mixed filler-canon episodes of Obito's memories in the anime, Nagato notices Yahiko is jealous of Konan and teases him for it).

Nagato was not a "classic protagonist"; he wasn't a person who wanted to prove his value to everyone, he didn't want to change the world with his own hands and ideals all by himself - he was forced into the role of protagonist to survive in a context that lead him to take the path of becoming a villain. When Nagato felt he could finally abdicate the position of protagonist, he did.

This is not to justify Nagato's actions; he lacked the emotional intelligence that made Yahiko so different from him. If he had such a trait, he wouldn't be able to carry on much long with rationalizing his feelings and dissociating into the role of God without confronting himself - Nagato did get lost in his own arrogance and megalomania, but it's important to consider the context of his actions. Nagato didn't only have to survive physically, he had to survive mentally as well - it's hard to think how he could deal with the situation in a different way without having any external help.

Nagato's dilemma with peace and the answer were present from the beginning; when he finally had a satisfying answer, he found peace.

#nagato #meta #mymeta #naruto #uzumaki nagato #analysis #character study #character analysis #naruto meta #amegakure

103 notes · View notes

itsclydebitches · 3 years

Note

While I agree that Oz shouldn't have to tell people about his history with Salem and trauma, not telling them she's inmortal is just stupid. Yes, people have betrayed him, but better weed out the Ravens and Lionhearts early on and have less allies but all in the same page, than Salem breaking them like she did with Hazel or his allies making bad decisions based on their faulty knowledge. (1/2)

It's a stance I'd definitely agree with if the show had done anything to show us that, as you say, the characters were making "bad decisions based on their faulty knowledge." But have we ever seen that? What mistakes have the heroes made because they didn't know about Salem's immortality? The closest thing I can think of is Ironwood believing that he can amass an army, but the core task there — supposedly uniting the world by telling everyone about Salem — is still presented as an unambiguously good thing because Ruby does that despite knowing no army will defeat her and despite not having Atlas' support in combating the inevitable grimm attacks. So clearly, "Telling people about Salem" is not (according to the story) some big mistake that people would likely refrain from making once they know of her immortality. Ruby still did that.

And what other choices have people made? To join the fight at all? That's the go-to answer within the fandom, that it's considered manipulative to coax our heroes into this war without providing them with a full knowledge of their enemy. It's another argument I buy on the surface, but not within RWBY's context, because everyone is already neck deep in this battle, entirely by choice. Everyone chose to become huntsmen and defend the people in an incredibly dangerous career. Everyone chose to fight in the Battle of Beacon when it was clear that human enemies were set against them — regardless of who might be giving them orders. Ruby, Ren, Nora, and Jaune all chose to go hunt down a Maiden themselves. It's only when they're halfway through this hunt that they realize, for the first time, that Ruby herself is also hunted. But that has never informed their decisions. It was never a story, from their perspective, about them being forced into this war, it's the story of them choosing it again and again despite knowing they didn't understand wtf was going on. The group didn’t get involved in dangerous stuff because they lacked knowledge, they got involved in dangerous stuff despite lacking knowledge. Knowledge was never a requirement for them to throw themselves into the fight. So I always found the argument that the group was maneuvered into this war because they thought Salem was killable to be pretty lacking. Ruby was determined to fight no matter what, right from the start, and everyone is quite literally just following Ruby. Yang says it the most overtly: wherever her sister goes, she goes. Salem's mortality or lack thereof was never the driving force.

Did they still deserve to know out of some generic respect towards all fighters in this war? Arguably yeah, but the story has done incredibly little — really nothing at all imo — to prove that from a practical perspective that's worth the damage knowing about Salem causes. As said, I think the closest we get to seeing the ramifications of not telling someone about Salem’s immortality is with Ironwood, yet the story (as you say) argues that lying to him was a GOOD thing, not telling Mantle about Salem's immortality was okay, and the one choice made under the belief that she was mortal — telling the world — is still their ultimate goal. So where are these mistakes everyone is making from not knowing about Salem immortality? It’s not when Raven left the fight. Or decided to murder a young woman to seize more power to protect herself. Or when Lionheart helped orchestrate the Fall of Beacon and the death of most of Mistral’s huntsmen. Or when Hazel decided that serving the immortal being was preferable to opposing her. Or when Tyrian came to believe that she was a God to worship. Or when Qrow decided that everything he’s done up until this point was useless and he sunk so deep into his alcoholism that his niece basically had to tell him to shape up or she’d ditch him. That’s a whole lot of bad attached to learning the secret, the tinniest timeframe within a multi-generation war, and none of the characters are positioned as making mistakes as a result of not knowing about her immortality. Everyone’s mistakes come as a result of knowing.

Meanwhile, the knowledge of Salem’s immortality hasn’t benefited the heroes in any way. They haven’t theorized over how to contain her instead of killing her; it hasn’t changed their approach to the fight. They didn’t even take that knowledge and use it as a means of survival, concluding that they must outrun her if they can’t defeat her. Remember, that plan, Ironwood’s, was unanimously rejected. So what benefit has the story shown us for knowing Salem’s biggest secret? And what detriment has come as a result of not knowing it? As far as I can see, it’s all bad in one category, no good in the other, and no evidence of successfully weeding out a core group who can weather the secret and are made stronger by it. Which makes that generic, “But keeping secrets is wrong” pretty flimsy imo. I think it’s very easy to assume that not having such a crucial piece of information would be detrimental to the cast and that having it would radically change their approach to this war... but RWBY didn’t write that. Instead we’re given a story where only bad things happen when this secret comes out and learning the secret has not yet assisted the few heroes who had the willpower to stay, yet simultaneously we’re told that spilling this secret is unambiguously The Right Thing To Do (unless Ruby decides against that, of course). As is so often the case in RWBY, the thematic message they want to impart doesn’t at all match up with what’s actually written because, as you say, anon, everything we get is basically done at the roll of a dice. Yeah, it could have been a great plotline. It would have been staggeringly easy to make it a great plotline simply by virtue of having the characters benefit somehow from learning this secret and pulling back a little on the extent of the damage done from other who’d learned it... but yeah, we didn’t get that. It’s only our real world beliefs that lying is bad, secrets are bad, and having all knowledge is automatically a good thing that causes this instinctual flinch away from these choices. The problem is, no secret like this exists in our world. We’ve never had to test the golden rule of truth against a secret that causes this much harm against so little reward. In the same way we’ve never had to test the justification of having an army against a world overrun with endless, evil monsters — so viewers tend to just work from their real life knowledge of, “Well, armies are bad” and assume the same must be true of this fictional world. But it’s not. My own upbringing indeed loudly says, “Yes. Such massive secrets are bad. Ozpin should have at least trusted his inner circle with this,” yet the story hasn’t done anything to validate that viewpoint. The vast majority of the series’ horrors stem from those who did learn of Salem’s immortality, the one inner circle member who took it in a stride was painted as the cartoon bad guy, and the group who overcame their feelings of hopelessness immediately copied Ozpin’s decisions and have yet to benefit from knowing this secret, three volumes later. So what in all that says that keeping this secret, in this world, was a bad thing?

#rwby #mymetas

45 notes · View notes

thecagedsong · 3 years

Text

Forgotten Light Chapter 16: Djinni

A/N: Posting this now so I don’t accidentally go back on my word and post the Tess chapter. Seth is up to Shenanagains of the life-threatening sort, just as he ought to be. Baby tries so hard.

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16

Chapter 15: Djinni

Unfortunately, they could not leave that afternoon to investigate the poisoned pool like was planned, as the Triclops didn’t give them an opportunity. It spent the whole afternoon and evening swinging an uprooted tree back and forth around the confines of their little sanctuary.

“All right,” Seth said, that night, “Need a new plan.”

“The plan is to get some sleep and try again in the morning. This island is big, he’ll go somewhere else eventually,” Warren said, rubbing his eyes, “You’re on Fablehaven’s timezone, right? No way you aren’t exhausted.”

“But the longer we wait to get a good look at the pool, the more likely we lose our clues,” Seth pleaded.

“Believe us Seth,” Vanessa said, “We know and we don’t like this. If it is still there in the morning, we’ll change the plan so that Warren and I act as decoys, luring the triclops away so your group can investigate. Preserves are too dangerous at night if it can be avoided.”

“Maybe too dangerous for you,” Seth scoffed.

“I understand your frustration,” Vanessa said, “I love Kendra too, and at least she knows that you are her brother. I will not face her having lost her brother, the only one she knows even a little bit, to preventable dangers. Sleep. I have potions for you if you need it.”

Seth looked behind her to Warren, who gave him a warning look that his arguing was at an end. He looked back at Vanessa’s dark eyes and firm set features.

“Fine,” Seth said. “I’ll take a sleeping potion, but not one that knocks me out completely.”

“More of a drowsy solution, I promise,” Vanessa said, going to her dufflebag. She mixed some powders and fruit juice, and held it out, “It will not work right away, so you can get back to your room, even if you drink it now.”

Seth tilted his head, “Hey, if you controlled me in my sleep, could you use my shadowcharmer abilities? Shadewalking, speaking to the undead, that kind of stuff?”

Vanessa didn’t answer until he drank the potion, then said, “I do not know. I have controlled wizards and felt their magical cores, but without their knowledge of spellcraft, I was unable to use their magic. Magic is not for the use of mortals. The best comparison would have been controlling Kendra, but her mind was protected, and I could not seize her. I would have to re-bite you and attempt, as Bracken broke off our previous connection. I could not attempt to guess, Seth, and I won’t experiment with you. If your abilities are needed, I trust you to use them well, as I hope you trust me to keep you safe during the attempt.”

“That’s actually really touching, I’m touched Vanessa,” Seth said, holding a hand over his heart, “I must be the most unique thing you aren’t interested in biting.”

Vanessa rolled her eyes, “I have bitten creatures of the dark, and they all taste nasty. Creature of the shadows, and teenage boy? That is a very easy pass.”

“You actually taste people when you bite them?” Seth asked, “Who tasted the best? Was it Kendra? I bet it was Kendra. I bit her once when we were kids.”

“And we’re done with that conversation,” Warren said, stopping Vanessa from answering. “Forever. Off to bed before the drowsy hits, scoot.”

“What? You don’t want to know if you tasted better or worse than—” Vanessa started teasing, and Seth was quick to back out of that conversation. Fourteen years old, and he did not need to know biting preferences for Vanessa, and how her boyfriend ranked.

Seth fell asleep, and woke up to the moon hitting his face, almost blinding. He felt refreshed and awake, not a hint of drowsy. It was rare he woke up like this, normally Kendra was awake first. Seth sat up. Or, he tried too, but sleeping in a hammock made sitting up a test of abdominal muscles. He rolled out of his hammock, took note that Tanu was sleeping across from him, Calvin wrapped up in a handkerchief for a blanket on the windowsill, and Seth quietly made his way out of the hut.

He wandered until he realized that the whispers of the undead were getting louder. Then he walked with a purpose up spiral stairs and across rope bridges he stopped before a door carved into what had to be the biggest tree in existence. It felt like the Blackwell, though a little less desperate. Instead of suffering pleas, there were questions about directions.

Left here, and again…or was it right?

A thousand repetitions of this circle should get me out…

Does wandering endlessly truly break up the monotony of eternal existence?

“I see…this is what it means to be a shadow charmer,” Savani’s voice broke his listening, and he saw the woman step onto the platform behind him.

“Yep, walking around in the middle of the night to figure out where the undead are,” Seth said. “And your excuse?”

Savani held up a bracelet of three large shells and several smaller shells, “We have three caretaker homes at this preserve, each designed to better weather certain seasons. This is the winter quarter, even though I should have welcomed you in the spring mansion. This bracelet alerts me whenever someone or something approaches one of the prisons at any of the homes, and will transport me to interfere. I assume you were not planning on releasing these entities.”

“No, just wanted to know where they are,” Seth said, looking back at the door, “They sound different than most of the undead. Like they’re…wandering. They think they are going somewhere.”

“The spirits here are trapped by a maze, just as much as they are by the barrier,” Savani said. “My people learned how to draw unwanted entities into certain designs, tricking them into wandering those corridors rather than through the village. It is a complicated magic, but one that does not require a wizard if you have the right blood and soul.”

“So like, at least they get puzzle books with their prison sentence, I approve,” Seth said, “They sound a little less miserable than the undead usually do.”

“Are you familiar with Djinni?” Savani asked.

“Genies?” Seth said, the name sounding familiar, “A little. My other Grandma tried to make a deal with one, it got to ask her three questions she had to answer truthfully. When she refused to answer one, the Genie turned her into a chicken.”

“I lost one of my staff to similar circumstances concerning the Djinni that rests just inside this door. A spirit that wandered here from the mainland; they were not so easily trapped by our mazes, but fell remarkably easily to four walls,” she said, thinking, “My sister, Alma, engaged in the question game, three for three, taking turns, and learned that the sunset pearl had been taken off the preserve before Djinni asked how to unweave spirit mazes and she refused to answer.”

“They only know about stuff inside the preserve right?” Seth asked.

“Only when asked can she gain access to her sight, which extends to past and a little into the future,” Savani said. “My sister’s remaining questions that she could not ask were about who took the sunset pearl, and the location of the Weki flute that soothes the triclops.”

“I can go in and ask her,” Seth volunteered.

Savani laughed, “I could never ask you to go in with so little preparation!”

“Seems to me everyone fails at the game because they had too much preparation,” Seth said. “You need to let your non-local idiot walk in with absolutely no preparation. I don’t know anything about this preserve or what might free her. Sure I know some secrets, but nothing that would help her get free. And it’s just information. She can’t ask me to do things for her, right?”

“The young always risk their lives for so little,” Savani said, shaking her with a quiet laugh. “Even if I were willing to lose another ally to that monster after losing my sister, something I’m sure you understand, none of your protectors would let you go over them.”

“That’s why we do it here and now,” Seth said, “I’ve negotiated with tougher customers than this. I’ve talked down both the Totem Wall and the Singing Sisters. And I convinced a centaur to let me ride on his back. I’m pretty talented at walking away from these things.”

“That is impressive,” Savani said, “But even with those dangerous consultations in your past, our situation is not so risky. And wandering towards the most secure prison at night alone does not convince me that you have the discipline to converse with this creature. Any word out of your mouth that is not the answer the answer to her question after you enter her chamber is a lie and gives her freedom to leave. You strike me as the sarcastic sort, and that will get you killed.”

“Yeah, some of my wraith friends didn’t get my jokes either,” Seth said, remembering Whiner. “I suppose knock-knock jokes are out?”

“Most definitely,” Savani said, “You are refreshing to speak to. Much like Warren, but less burdened. Does the chill of this dungeon not bother you?”

“Chill?” Seth asked, looking around, “It’s been ridiculously hot since we got here. It finally feels nice.”

“The unnatural dread make many fail to converse with the Djinni,” Savani said thoughtfully. “After speaking, I am a bit more inclined to let you try with the Djinni, and hold back my assent almost solely on the rifts I do not wish to cause with the rest of our allies. Should the triclops still haunt us when they awake, I will allow you to present this plan as an option to them.”

“Sounds like permission to me,” Seth said. He spun and grasped the door handle. In that touch, he found himself on the opposite side of door. Apparently just touching the doorknob was enough to get a mortal inside the prison, though he was willing to bet it would take the caretaker to get out. There was a single door to his right, and beyond that a spiral staircase covered with woven mats of crazy designs. He felt the presence of wraiths and the undead just before him, and it took a bit to figure out that they were trapped inside the mats.

Then a phantom stumbled up the stairs, and he realized not all of them were trapped in mats. Just to his left was a door with another handle and no hinges.

Expecting it this time, Seth reached out and grasped the handle.

“Oh? Two visitors so close together after a century of silence,” the Djinni said. “A baby shadow charmer, no less. I assume you are here to play my riddle game like that last one.”

The Djinni was surprisingly pretty. Usually Kendra got the pretty ones, and he got the cool ones who were half skeleton half putrid guts. The flowing pink dress threw him for a second. But she had white skin, red eyes, and choppy blue hair. Her skin was smooth, except for the bags under her eyes, and her hair looked like it could use a good washing.

Seth nodded to the Djinni’s question.

Then he breathed in, and a hand came up over his mouth to stop him from gagging. His eyes left the Djinni to the ground next to her, covered partially by her cloak. For some reason, when Savani said her sister had been killed by the Djinni, he had never imagined what had happened to her sister’s body. This wasn’t like the zombie farm, or even when Coulter died in his arms. The body was weeks decayed. Skin and organs were liquifying and leeking over the floor, bones starting to jut out on the ribcage and he could only be glad he couldn’t see Savanni’s sister’s face.

“I have a fondness for little adventurers,” the Djinni said with a rosy smile, watching him watch the body. She even threw in a casual caress of her last victim. “I will recite the rules for you if you nod now.”

Seth nodded, suddenly regretting everything. He made himself focus on the Djinni.

“Very well, my rules are simple,” she said, standing up but still leaning against the wall of her prison cell, “You may only speak the answers to my questions and questions of your own. You have as much time as you need to answer. Should you speak else, I may extract a price from you for disturbing me, and as you can see, it includes killing you. Should you speak a lie, I am freed from my prison and will enjoy wrecking the meager protections left to this house on my way out. My sight it limited to this preserve, but it extends to everywhere in this preserve and all the way through the past, and twenty-eight days into the future. You may indicate you are unsatisfied with my answer, but may not ask follow-up questions, I can do the same. Upon being satisfied with my final answer, you will be teleported out of my diminutive abode. Nod if you are ready to begin, little adventurer.”

Simple rules. Follow the rules, and they can’t touch you. He would just have to think through his answers before speaking. Despite what Kendra says, he can think before talking. At least, that’s what Kendra used to say, and probably wouldn’t take long to say again. Seth nodded and made himself remove his hands and accept the smell. The smell wasn’t worse than the zombie farm, even if the body was.

“Then I, Skamboli, ask this for my first question: what are the ways out of my confinement that you know about?” she asked.

Seth thought for a minute, going over each way he thought might work.

“I only know a few,” Seth said slowly, “if I tell a lie, you are free. I assume that if the caretaker released you, you could go free. I don’t know for sure, but I assume if someone busted down your door from the outside, you would probably be freed. Burned the tree prison down, though you might die that way. And…a trained shadow charmer, not me, could probably unlock your door. People have told me that once I learn control over my powers, I can undo locks, but I don’t know how yet.”

Skamboli waited, but nothing happened. “Very honest, I approve. Though a wiser adventurer would not volunteer information about their weaknesses. You may ask your first question.”

Better ask Savani’s questions first. “Who took the sunset pearl?”

Her red eyes flashed white for a second then went back to red. “The dark unicorn goes by many names, but you know him as Ronodin. He stole the pearl on his first visit to this sanctuary.”

That was bad and good. Bad, because Ronodin likely put it where he was keeping Kendra, on the Phantom Island, but good because it narrowed their goals and they were already working on getting to the Phantom Isle anyway. Maybe he could use the horn to send a message to Bracken to pick up the pearl on his way out with Kendra?

Seth nodded at the Djinni, hopefully indicating he was satisfied with her answer. Not looking at the body. She never said he could verbally say if he was satisfied, just dis-satisfied, and didn’t want to risk it. He didn’t want to talk more than he had to.

“Is there any questions I could ask that you would be unwilling to answer?” Skamboli said. This was the question that left grandma laying eggs for months.

Again, Seth thought carefully.

“Plenty of things I wouldn’t want to answer,” Seth decided, “Embarrassing moments, secrets about our plans against the dragons in the upcoming dragon war that I promised not to share, too much information about my friends and family. Secrets that would result in my death if I shared them with you due to other promises I have made. Really don’t want to share that one, it wouldn’t benefit you at all and would end up with me dead. That one is about my dealings with the Singing Sisters, and wouldn’t interest you at all, so please don’t ask that one. But I would share any of it, if you asked, because I need to take the answers to my questions back to my friends.”

Skamboli waited, then nodded at Seth. Seth hesitated for a moment, because the name of the flute Savani mentioned five minutes ago was already lost from his head. He needed a minute to carefully pick his words.

“Where is the magic flute that can soothe the currently rampaging triclops?” Seth asked at last.

Again, her eyes flashed a blinding white.

“The Weki flute is buried amongst the treasure of the Fairy Queen’s shrine on this island,” Skamboli said.

Uggh, normally they left the fairy shrine stuff to Kendra, though the Fairy King might let him take something from there. Or maybe getting Fairy Struck Tess to ask would be better. Still, much better news than the flute being lost forever. Seth nodded.

“What would convince you to free me from my prison, little adventurer?” she asked, sounding tired.

Seth had not expected that question. What would convince him to free a dangerous being? He took longer to think through his answer to this one than any other. The smell and taste of the last life she had taken all around him, so much worse than the zombie farm.

“A sincere and binding promise to never hurt another sentient being again,” Seth said, at last, and his eyes finally went back to the body. He saw the swollen, distorted face of Savani’s sister, and knew he wouldn’t ever forget it. “But from everything I know, that is against your very nature and an impossible promise to keep.” He looked away and back at her, “Still, if you were able to convince me you’d do that? I’d do my best to help you. I would do my best to convince Savani that you won’t attack her, help find a nice new lair for you somewhere on this preserve. You could have been a lot meaner, a lot stricter and done more to trip me up, but you didn’t, which makes me like you. I have been double crossed a lot in my life though, so I refuse to free you on anything less than a perfect, binding promise.”

Skamboli waited, then nodded, a small smile on her lips. Now it was time for the real reason he had jumped into this encounter, the information that would make it all worth it. He thought over his question a couple of times, looking for loopholes or ways to get more information out of it, and asked.

“Where will my sister Kendra be on the preserve in the next twenty-eight days?”

Again, her eyes flashed white, though this time they softened slowly back to their red. “The future is not certain, but many futures show Kendra at this preserve in 77 hours and making her way to the sacred pool. She will venture into the domain of a wraith, then leave. It grows hazier, but Kendra will also visit the Bridge Cove, then Baga Lao sometime after that. Leaving Baga Lao, she does not return within the time of my sight.”

Kendra. Here. Seth almost said something, almost said thank you, then stopped himself with a snap of his jaw. He nodded.

“That concludes my little game. Congrats, you are the first to pass without retribution in a while. You are right, I cannot promise not to harm in exchange for my freedom. Still, this has been quite entertaining, and in Jighandi even. You have goodness in you, little adventurer, try not to die too quickly on this preserve.”

Seth was transported out. Savani was standing in the little hallway, arms folded, when he appeared. She grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him towards the exit

Savani forcibly shoved him out of the prison, where Grandma was waiting for him.

“So, good news, I wisely used my resources and found out vital information on where Kendra is going to be, as well as the sunset pearl and the flute to stop the triclops” Seth said. “Bad news, I’m going to throw up.”

Seth rushed to the edge of the platform and started heaving, losing the dinner he had eaten.

“I understand now what Ruth and Stan warned me when letting you out of my sight,” Grandma Larsen said, putting a hand on his back. “Of all the trouble I was watching out for, you purposefully going to chat up a djinni never even crossed my mind.”

Tears leaked out of his eyes as he threw up some more. It was horrible, he’d thought that after everything, after regularly conversing with the undead for years, after seeing so many people die, he would never loose his stomach over something like a dead body. But the smell…

…he gagged some more, even though there was nothing left. He was sticky and gross and the humidity made it feel like the vomit was sticking to him more than he knew it was. Eventually a glass of water was offered, and he used it to rinse his mouth. He nodded his thanks at Savani, and accepted the wet towel as well.

His breathing evened out and he said, “For Kendra. I did it for Kendra.”

“Seth, you are part of a team now,” Grandma said, “And you aren’t leading things here like you were back at Wyrmroost. We work together, or not at all. Savani told you she didn’t want you to speak to the Djinni, and you disregarded her. This is her home, hers to protect, and you violated that trust. How is what you did any different than Knox going into the dungeons with Tess to check out the barrel?”

“Savani said the only reason she didn’t want me to talk to the Djinni was that she worried about setting off everyone’s ‘protect Seth’ sensors,” Seth said, not looking her in the eye, “I thought I figured it out, but you’re right, I didn’t know, I wasn’t ready. It’s what I thought I had to do, and I’m sorry.” Savani’s sister’s body flashed in his mind again, the way Skamboli stroked sagging flesh, and he pressed his face into the towel.

He was stronger and braver than this. He was. He had proved it over and over, and he’d seen people die. He’d seen his sister poison herself into a frothing, empty shell. He’d seen battle wounds from the battle of Zzyzx.

This shouldn’t be worse than that, but it was.

Grandma sighed and rubbed his back. “What happened? Tell me.”

“It’s nothing,” Seth said, pulling himself to his feet. “Nothing I haven’t seen before. It just…I wasn’t prepared. I promise I won’t act on my own again.”

“That is not the answer to my question,” Grandma scolded, standing as well, “I don’t care about how Ruth and Stan let you run about and keep secrets, and I don’t care about what you’ve seen before. We are going to confront a demon for training tomorrow, and you have been unsettled and you have been reckless, so we are going to talk until I trust that you can handle what’s going to happen.”

“It doesn’t matter if I talk about it or not,” Seth said, “We need to get me trained so I can get to the Phantom Isle, and we need to do it fast. I can handle a demon, I won’t lose it like that again.”

“Seth, Honey,” Grandma said, and she pulled him into a hug he resisted, “Even those of us who have done dangerous missions on magical preserves our entire lives need people to talk to. People to trust. Time to break down. Mortals aren’t meant for the kind of exposure you and your sister have been through. Special abilities or not. Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing, I mean it,” Seth said, and his eyes found Savani over Grandma’s shoulders, who had been watching patiently the entire time. “It wasn’t worse than seeing Kendra’s stingbulb kill herself, and I got through that, so I’m okay.”

“Shadow charmers have a reputation,” Savani said quietly, “Of moving and operating in the dark, with demons who seal their secrets sworn in blood. I would recommend letting things come to light, if you can. If you are trying to spare me, I think I have guessed what unsettled you. I had hoped this Djinni to favor the clean and quick kill, but we knew the consequences.”

“I’m sorry,” Seth said, hoping she understood the extent of his apology.

“Ahh,” Grandma said releasing him, “Death. You have dealt far too much with loved ones and friends dying for your age, and you have dealt much with those long dead, the process in between is…unpleasant, unsettling.”

“It smelled really bad,” Seth admitted, closing his eyes and seeing the body all over again. “Worse than the zombie farm. I don’t know how I breathed, much less talked. It was just…everywhere in that small cell. I won’t try something like that again, not without a lot more preparation and talking it out with everyone.”

Savani said nothing for a long moment, “You make raising my own son look easy, Seth Sorenson. I believe your sincere desires, though it will take a while for me to trust your restraint. Gloria, remain by Seth’s side for the remainder of his stay here. He does not understand our magic, and while that saved him from knowing anything that could help the Djinni, it also made him dangerous to the integrity of the Woven Prison.”

“That is acceptable,” Grandma said.

Savani sighed, and shook her head, “That being said, the information you gathered is invaluable and I am also in your debt for asking. I was listening at the door and recorded everything. We will work on securing the flute, preparing for Ronodin’s return, and locating the Sunset Pearl. We will have much to discuss when the rest of our companions awake.”

Grandma nodded, “I agree, come Seth. There is still three hours until dawn, and we need what rest we can, even if sleep is gone. You will be sleeping in my room from now on.”

Seth winced, but it was hardly the worst punishment he could have gotten. Probably better than he should have gotten. The women turned to leave.

Seth went to the room his Grandmother had been using, to laid down in the second bed, while Grandma Larsen curled up in hers. No more hammock after tonight. He thought he had been past his impulse issues. He had been careful at Wyrmroost to not take unnecessary risks, to consult Kendra in most things, and he had felt good. Like he had learned his lesson and finally grown into someone worth trusting with important stuff.

Now it felt like he was back to square one. Back to being the dumb kid that captured fairies overnight and trusted demons.

Seth missed his sister.

#Forgotten Light #Fablehaven #Dragonwatch #Seth Sorenson #Finally I don't start a chapter with a handwritten note #baby seth #tw: gore #I guess #graphic description of a decaying body

17 notes · View notes

ibijau · 3 years

Note

I saw a post about, not sure where god!lxc fic goes next? I assume nhs insists on going back to the cave to make a proper offering. Lxc accompanies b/c nhs is still a little sick and nmj is busy. Nhs continues panicking about this uber-powerful god. Lxc enjoys the offering, it's nice, but not the panicking, and hey he committed to being honest? so he tells nhs he's the god. This does not have the calming effect he was hoping for --the anon who got super excited about god!lxc can't read sideplot

ok so, didn’t quite use all of that, but big thanks anon for giving me a way to at least write a little more on that AU which is very dear to me

Price of Wishes on AO3 (can’t remember my tumblr tag for it... orz)

Lan Xichen stares at the altar.

It is a small one, hurriedly installed among others inside the Unclean Realm. Its only decoration is a bolt of pale embroidered fabric from which Nie Huaisang apparently once wanted to have a robe made, and a portrait of Lan Xichen that Nie Huaisang personally painted, as promised in the temple. It doesn’t look like Lan Xichen does in this mortal form, and it probably doesn’t look the way he once did as a god, but the main attributes of his last remaining statue are there.

How long has it been since he was granted a new altar? Not since before this Nie sect even came to be, he thinks.

And now not only was he given this altar, but there are offerings on it. Nie Huaisang put incense to burn and offered flowers and rice, yes, but surprisingly others did the same, and thanked Lan Xichen for keeping their young master safe when he ran away. Even the stern Nie Mingjue, who clearly didn’t share his brother’s certainty about a godly intervention, still lit up some incense and bowed before the altar, simply because he realised how much it mattered to Nie Huaisang.

It had been a flight of fancy to help that boy and get him into the temple, just a sudden impulse to feel like a real god again, but Lan Xichen finds himself more than rewarded for this kindness. If he can keep this up, if they continue honouring him, he might well survive a century more.

Lan Xichen had forgotten what hope feels like.

But hope or not, Lan Xichen knows to whom he owes this. As days pass, he sticks close to Nie Huaisang, who is currently his strongest believer. Even the old lady, dear to Lan Xichen as she is, never had such unwavering faith in his power. She prays to him mostly out of habit, while Nie Huaisang does so out of conviction. Being near him feels like stepping into the sun after an eternity in darkness, and Lan Xichen cannot get enough of the sensation.

Besides, if they are to be married, he needs to know more about the young man whose life he will share.

Nie Huaisang is an interesting person, Lan Xichen thinks. He acts a little spoiled, but of course he is young, and Lan Xichen vaguely understands that the Nie family has gone through rough times in the recent past, and Nie Huaisang’s childishness might be how he dealt with it. At his core, Nie Huaisang is more serious than he lets on. For example, he is determined to fully repay the debt he contracted toward Lan Xichen. The altar he set up is but a first step. In spite of his brother’s warnings, Nie Huaisang has inquired what it would cost to have a safe road to the mountain temple, just as he promised to do. In fact, he goes beyond his promise, determined to find every possible detail about Lan Xichen so that he may be worshipped properly. To that end, he spends day after day in Qinghe Nie’s immensely rich library, reading through books with a speed which astonishes Lan Xichen, writing letters to make inquiries as if it is the easiest thing in the world.

Lan Xichen thinks Nie Huaisang might just be the cleverest person he has ever met, and the most stubborn as well. Both are qualities he appreciates in a follower, and in a person.

It’s quite funny to Lan Xichen to realise that Nie Huaisang is considered lazy. Perhaps he only puts efforts into things that interest him. Lan Xichen, of course, is glad to be one of those things.

In general, he’s just glad to be around Nie Huaisang. The steady warmth of belief is quite nice, of course, but that’s not the only reason. Nie Huaisang, although he apparently realises to some degree that Lan Xichen shouldn’t exist as a mortal, still tries hard to be kind to him. He gives him delicious foods, and tries to find subtle ways to look for gaps in Lan Xichen’s knowledge of the mortal world so he can fill him in and help him fit in better. He is a pleasant person to talk to, a pleasant person to silently spend time with, a pleasant person to look at even, his youthful face showing every sign that he will develop into a handsome man someday.

In just this little time, Lan Xichen finds himself quite fond of this little mortal. It won’t be unpleasant to marry him as agreed.

First, though, Nie Huaisang must mature. And part of that means heading out toward the Cloud Recesses, where Lan Xichen himself is supposed to come from, according to the narrative Nie Huaisang demanded in his prayer. It is a stressful perspective, since Lan Xichen isn’t sure he is quite strong enough to shift reality around people who have much stronger reasons to refuse his intrusion into their life, but he will try his best. It is the deal he made with Nie Huaisang, and he will see it through.

To Lan Xichen’s relief, just before they are set to head south toward Gusu, Nie Huaisang begs his brother for a full ceremony at the mountain temple, with incense and prayers and everything that can be done to honour Lan Xichen. Nie Mingjue grumbles and complains and even gets angry, but he eventually gives in, as seems to be common for him when his brother makes a request. Nie Mingjue is a wise man, and he apparently understands that little can be done when Nie Huaisang is in a mood to be stubborn about something.

So the three of them head out into the mountain, followed by a few Nie disciples who carry food offerings and some tools to clean the temple.

The temple’s floors are swiped clean. Rubbles are removed. The nearly faceless statue has its layers of dust carefully cleaned away by Nie Huaisang who climbed on its pedestal so he can reach every part, revealing details that Lan Xichen himself had forgotten. There are even some traces of colour here and there.

“I’ll have to make another portrait,” Nie Huaisang notes. “Mine isn’t accurate at all after all.”

“I’m sure this god is already more than happy with what you have given him,” Lan Xichen says, lifting his gaze from the altar he’s wiping clean. It is a struggle to keep himself from crying from joy, and his voice comes out a little strangled, but Nie Huaisang doesn’t appear to notice.

“I need to do better,” Nie Huaisang says with a shiver. “I cannot risk offending him.”

He sounds almost afraid, and his hands tremble slightly as he carefully dusts the statue. Lan Xichen stares at him a moment more, and sighs.

However pleasant everything else has been, this is one thing that doesn’t sit right with him. For whatever reason, Nie Huaisang seems to be afraid of his god self, and it taints his every prayer. This doesn’t change the value of those prayers, it doesn’t make his belief any less strong and valuable, but Lan Xichen can feel that fear almost constantly and he doesn’t enjoy it. He is too used to the old lady’s belief, simple and companionable. She treats him like an old friend to whom she can make requests, and he wishes Nie Huaisang would do the same. They are set to be married, it is the deal, and Lan Xichen doesn’t like the idea of a union set in fear.

“I am sure that god would not be offended,” Lan Xichen quietly insists. “You haven’t found anything about him in all your books and your letters, have you? So he must not be a very important god, and your efforts are sure to have been noticed and appreciated.”

“But it’s not enough,” Nie Huaisang retorts, gritting his teeth. “It can’t be enough. Nothing I do is ever enough, there’s got to be more I could do!”

Lan Xichen frowns, and looks around until his eyes land on Nie Mingjue. He heard this, and is staring at his brother with some concern.

From what Lan Xichen understands, the reason Nie Huaisang took refuge in his temple a few weeks ago was because of a great argument with Nie Mingjue regarding his capacity to do… nearly anything, really. Nie Mingjue, taking Lan Xichen as the confident Nie Huaisang asked that he be, admitted to him one day that he is terribly worried for his brother’s future. There might be a war, he said, and Nie Mingjue could die in it and leave Nie Huaisang alone to lead their sect before his time. Nie Mingjue confessed he is terrified that the elders of their clan won’t respect Nie Huaisang because his mother was of lesser birth, that some of their cousins will attempt to rob him of his birthright, that even if he becomes sect leader he will not be respected and some people will try to take advantage of his inexperience. So Nie Mingjue pushes his brother as hard as he can, demanding more efforts, more results, but it is all in vain because Nie Huaisang has stubbornly decided he isn’t good at anything that matters, and refuses to try anymore.

It was a terrible argument they had that day, Nie Mingjue said. And then, proving all his fears right, Nie Huaisang nearly died after running away and catching a fever, showing to all his future enemies how vulnerable a target he would be without Nie Mingjue to protect him. At the same time, that Nie Huaisang was ready to run away showed that he took it to heart every time he was scolded for not doing more, and now Nie Mingjue doesn’t know how to handle him anymore.

After Nie Mingjue confided in him this way, Lan Xichen promised he would look after Nie Huaisang, no matter what. It is part of the deal, as far as he’s concerned, because spouses must support one another, but also…

Lan Xichen is quickly becoming quite fond of this pair of brothers. Having been lonely for so long, he finds joy in the closeness they share, no matter how strained it might be at times. It is clear to him that Nie Mingjue loves his brother, though he struggles to show it when he has so much on his mind, and Nie Huaisang feels the same, to the point it was inconceivable for him to marry someone who wouldn’t be friendly with Nie Mingjue.

“Nie gongzi, you’ve done all you could for that statue,” Lan Xichen says, grabbing Nie Huaisang by the waist and pulling him down from the pedestal.

Nie Huaisang squeaks in surprise, fighting for a second before going rigid with fear as Lan Xichen puts him down. His face is a bright crimson when he looks up at Lan Xichen, who wonders whether that’s anger at being manhandled this way, but the other Nie just start laughing at his expression.

“Don’t seduce my brother like that, Xichen,” Nie Mingjue scolds, more of a joke than a real warning. “Look at him, he’s two heartbeat from asking for your hand now.”

Amazingly, Nie Huaisang manages to blush an even brighter colour, and leaps away from Lan Xichen. Nie Mingjue laughs again, apparently content with his brother’s perceived crush. Perceived, or real. Lan Xichen isn’t really sure what goes on in Nie Huaisang’s mind. He can feel is never ending flood of belief, the undercurrent of fear, but no particular affection so far. Then again, with fear that strong, it would be hard for any other emotion to flourish. Lan Xichen hasn’t wanted to talk directly about their situation yet, assuming that Nie Huaisang might want the illusion that this is all perfectly normal, but he’s rethinking that strategy. It is clear that Nie Huaisang, for whatever reason, is immune to the narrative that Lan Xichen created for his sake, so why not talk about it openly? If it can make Nie Huaisang any less afraid…

That is a problem for later. Right now, the temple is as clean as can be achieved with what little time they have available, so Nie Mingjue conducts the ceremonies necessary to consecrate the temple again, and invites Lan Xichen to inhabit again this place dedicated to him. Incense is put to burn for him, offerings are left on the altar, thanks and prayers are presented to him. Even Nie Mingjue, so openly reluctant to believe that there was any divine intervention to help his brother survive in the mountain, does provide a small stream of belief, hinting at a mind just as strong as his brother’s. Lan Xichen hopes that they can truly become friends over time, though he is unsure that’s possible with the lies he’s had to weave so he could fulfill Nie Huaisang’s request.

Still, there’s no harm in trying. If Lan Xichen is to spend one lifetime as a mortal, he wants to make the best of it, not only as a god in need of believers, but also as a person left alone far too long.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #that's not the tag I've used before but it'll do until I can find the right one again #Anonymous #xisang wishes au

48 notes · View notes

bitch-for-a-rainbow · 3 years

Note

So there's a blanddcheadcanons post that says that "Kara is the mortal avatar of Rao" and I really don't like it, especially in the context of SG 3x04 (The Faithful). At best, as was pointed out to me by a friend with whom I discussed this post, the House of El is likely blessed and somewhat sponsored by Rao, which probably doesn't do much but produce Krypton's greatest heroes, given what the word "El" **means** in Kryptonian. I'm interested in your thoughts on this (pls post your answer).

I reject the headcannon solely because if it were true it would mean Coville was right and I fucking hate that bitch.

In all seriousness, though, this is an idea I've seen a lot and I'm not a huge fan of. I don't know much about Raoism beyond what appears in the show and that which can be inferred off of the show. One thing I would point out though is that El in Kryptonian (while obviously being intended to mean God by the original comic writers) can mean Sun or Stars, and since the Kryptonians in the show are, as far as I can tell, monotheistic, and worshipped only one particular star, the El family is not necessarily named God. It would, however, signify their enormous prestige on Krypton and contribute to the famous El pride (or rather, arrogance). I’m not sure it would necessarily have to mean anything more than that-- that the Els are a respected house who have produced a variety of successful politicians, civil servants, and scientists. And (this time reaching a little bit) that they are perhaps so old and respected that their house name was once a title.

There is a certain allure to the theory, for sure. Kara is a paragon character. She always, always does what she thinks is right, regardless of the cost, personal or global, and regardless of what other people might think of it. She has a very direct moral compass, and there are only a handful of times when she doesn’t follow it, all of which involve saving Lena. Ship who you want, but it is notable that Kara routinely prioritzes Lena’s life over that of others given the rarity of that happening otherwise. She never even considered breaking Rick Thompson’s father out of prison when he kidnapped Alex, and all he’d committed was bank robbery. Kara has lines she does not cross (though murder is clearly not one of them). She is a character that has seen some of the worst that sentient life is capable of, has seen more death and suffering than most people could imagine, and she came out of it with an all-encompassing desire to protect others. She lives to give people hope. Plus, the humor of having Kara-- the one person most offended by the idea of being an Avatar of Rao-- turn out to be an Avatar of Rao is great.

But, I would also say that having Kara want to do good because she is the avatar of a benevolent god is reductive and not particularly true to her character. It is true that helping and protecting people is a large part of the core of who Kara is. But there is a difference between altruism and the self-destructive, bordering of suicidal desperation to save absolutely everyone that Kara practices. And to anyone who doubts the suicidal bit, I direct you to the season 1 finale where Kara literally goes on a goodbye tour because she thinks if she goes out to fight Non she’ll die. She still goes because she has hope, but that hope is that she can at least save Earth with her life. She doesn’t fight because she is certain in the ultimate victory of good and justice. She does it because she more afraid to lose another family than she is to die. Kara doesn’t become Supergirl and risk her own life because she believes in good, she does it because she can’t stand to listen to people suffer-- because she has suffered. To use Alex’s words in 1x13 “You fight everyday to keep people from struggling like you have.” Notably also in 1x13, Kara wakes up from the Black Mercy and her first words are “Who did this to me?” and then she goes after Non in what could arguably be described as a homicidal rage-- a rage that is fueled entirely for personal reasons, not the greater good of Earth (though that comes as an added benefit), which is.... not very befitting the avatar of a benevolent god.

A major part of season 1 is Kara dealing with grief and rage. She nearly breaks a guy's arm in episode 6 because he screamed at her for damaging his car, to hell with the children he'd almost hit with it. In season 3's Midvale flashbacks we see her first put both hands through a lunch table, then attack Jake when she suspects him for Kenny's death. She gets better at controlling it as the seasons progress, but during Crisis she very nearly melts Lex. Also not particularly godly of her.

Then there is the fact that so much of who Kara is is shaped by fear: fear of the government, fear of humanity, fear of abandonment, and fear of herself. In her civilian life, Kara is, for the most part, unnoticeable. She's polite, soft-spoken, doesn't wear a lot of bold colors or styles, and is often a pushover. As shown by her encounter with Red Kryptonite, Kara would not dress or speak the same way to people without the pressure of hiding her identity (though much of her dialogue is purely the loss of her "don't be an asshole" filter, some of it is stuff she had every right to say before and just didn't). I have always found that episode to be very interesting purely for the fact that Kara doesn't actually seem to be seeking harm on others so much as seeking their attention. Her argument with Alex is almost entirely about how much she hates having to hide and pretend to be less than she is. Kara drops Cat off the balcony and then catches her. She attacks the police when they point weapons at her but doesn't kill or even hurt them that badly, instead of destroying the car they're using as shelter. Red-K removed her inhibitions, made her angrier, yes, but if her goal was to actually hurt people, she could have done so-- would have done so, and with great ease. She goes to a public bar and uses super strength to smash bottles by flicking peanuts. Why do that at a crowded bar? Why not just flick potato chips at the windows in her own apartment?

This is Kara at her absolute worst-- but does she seek out the DEO agents who shot her out of the sky? Does she go after Maxwell Lord or Non? No. She tries to make people pay attention to her. Her most shameful and hideous desire is for people to give her respect. (Admittedly, respect gained through fear, but still.). Kara's a nice person-- much, much nicer than average-- but a lot of that "nice" is just her avoiding conflict to avoid attention.

Kara is a good person. Kara inspires people. But that is because Kara gets up every day and chooses to be good and to inspire. It's one of the reasons I enjoy Non as a villain so much-- he and Astra are Kara's narrative foils. They also remember Krypton and grieve its loss. They also were trapped in the Phantom Zone. But where Kara had the Danvers to convince her that some good people existed and would risk themselves just to help others, Non and Astra had Alura sentencing them to eternal suffering rather than helping them save their planet (through the means they thought necessary) and then landed on Earth and found it headed on the same path as the planet they'd just lost. Kara had people to help her grieve. Non and Astra were surrounded by misery. They lost hope. Kara discovered it.

Kara is the Paragon of Hope because she has been hopeless. Because she has suffered so much, seen so much, and because she chooses to believe in a better future. She didn't have hope her first time in the Phantom Zone. She didn't even have hope for a while on earth. From what we can gather, Kara's choice to start actually believing in the future was a gradual shift that occurred sometime after Kenny's death and has lasted her ever since. For Kara, hope is learned. She chose to hope and she won't let it go, and to assign that incredible victory off to her being a God is an insult to her growth and to her character.

Now I personally thought “The Faithful” handled this concept very well. 3x04 is one of my favorite episodes of television in general, let alone in Supergirl. Season 3 is my second favorite season, and that says a lot for its good episodes when the bad of season 3 is so, so very bad (To say nothing of the episode to episode production value, we have the waste of Argo, Mon El’s return as obviously he’s grown he has a beard Mon El, and whatever the hell was going on with Kryptonian genetic engineering eclipse causing witches). To this day I don’t know why Kara had magic dreams. The show did nothing to explain it and I can’t imagine up a reason.

But “The Faithful” works because it highlights the whole paragon part of who Kara is. When you realize that every person in the room of Coville’s cult is a person she has personally saved-- that hits hard. Especially since only a fraction of the people she’s saved would ever set foot inside that building with the totally not-creepy, entirely wholesome way they deliver the invitations. (“Your daughter is special. She has been chosen. As have you.”) It works because it focuses on how the average human must view Kara, the ones who don’t see her argue with her sister over potstickers and crush her phone when she gets mad. It works because of how desperately hard Kara tries to be a human. It works because the writers know that we, the audience, do not see Kara as anything but a regular person with irregular abilities: a kind and remarkably devoted person, but not a god.

#I didnt discuss it above. but Kara gets REALLY mad about Covilles whole deal #I really love watching her reaction to kryptonian artifacts #girl goes suspicion first and anger second #and it highlights her humanity #even as it puts her on a pedastal #Kara saved all these people but she will still tear her holy book from your hands #and scream at you for daring to quote it #Supergirl 3x04 #Supergirl 1x13 #Supergirl 1x20 #Supergirl #Kara Danvers #Supergirl meta #Kara Zor el #Raoism

16 notes · View notes