#it consume her nor convince her to use her powers to destroy everything. she saves a world she cares very little about and doesn't even get

[stellarsightz]

“All that I've been taught // And every word I've got // Is foreign to me” — Hozier, Foreigner’s God

Aka "nooo dont grieve the life you spent running away from everything and wish you could go back to that life of uncertainty, where you constantly wonder if you can survive another day, rather than stand in the middle of a civil war which has nothing to do with you, you're so cool and sexy you're literally the mythical hero of a land where everyone detests your kind ahahahh"

A silly drawing of my Bosaltmer Dovahkiin, Baltana :))

I fiddled with her design a little, aka i added a different facial tattoo (which mirrors Lynwallyn's because hehe they're twins)

-> a companion piece to this older drawing of Lynwallyn

(Alternative version under the cut; possible eyestrain warning)

#oh tana we're really in it now #oc: baltana #i love me a reluctant hero <3 so thats what she essentially is #like imagine being a nobody your entire life then later become an assassin whose main deal is to be a silent executor #so she's really used to not being noticed and then bam. the whole province knows about her and she has these weird powers #that can make people explode and stuff. not to mention they all hope she was someone different & keep forcing their dreams and hopes #on her when she literally did not ask for any of it. suddenly her name opens a lot of doors and grants her so many contacts but she sees #through everyone's smile and knows they're full of shit. she's everything they hoped the dovahkiin not to be and yet. #she wants to belong so bad but her entire existence is just contrary yo everyone's beliefs. and it hurts so so much but she doesn't let #it consume her nor convince her to use her powers to destroy everything. she saves a world she cares very little about and doesn't even get #proper recognition for it which makes her so frustrated but yknow. what can you do #in the end it's better for her to be remembered as something entirely different than what she actually was bc ironically it means #the real her becomes forgotten. goes unnoticed #so yeah. no i cant make a normal happy character why do you ask #long tags #digital art #stellar.artz #stellar.ocs #tesblr #skyrim #skyrim tes #skyrim dragonborn #dovahkiin

[bjornthorsson20]

I Regret Everything

Trigger Warnings: suicidal thoughts / implied suicide / implied character death / trauma / nightmares about traumatic events / panic attacks

All seemed well.

Ron had come back, saved his life, destroyed a Horcrux and warned them of the Taboo placed on Voldemort’s name.

Harry had been elated beyond words to know his best friend had been alive and well during his time away, and had forgiven Ron immediately after seeing what the locket had been doing to him whenever he had worn it. Harry reassured him that he and Hermione shared nothing beyond a sibling bond, and that he had been deeply missed by them both, leaving them miserable without him.

While Harry had been quick to forgive Ron’s departure, Hermione had been incensed upon seeing Ron back, immediately unleashing a flurry of punches at whatever vital parts she could hit him on. All the while, Ron had covered his nether regions, hoping to preserve future generations of Weasleys. Thankfully, Harry had Hermione’s wand with him at the time, so Ron’s life had been spared long enough for him to explain how he had found his way back using the Deluminator. Ron’s speech had been so powerful that Harry had to admit that if he were a girl, he’d have pounced on him right then and there.

Hermione hadn’t been convinced by it though, instead turning away and marching back to the tent with furious steps. Harry had offered Ron an apologetic look, which Ron had dismissed muttering under his breath that “he deserved it”. Once inside, Ron had recounted his run-in with a group of Snatchers; how he had managed to fool them with the name Stan Shunpike, how he had learned of the Taboo and his snatching (pun fully intended) of their wands.

Still, Hermione had just cast Ron a murderous look and quickly averted her gaze with a disgruntled twist of her face. His red-haired friend sighed and asked her if they could talk, to which Hermione had seemed to consider for a moment before standing up and stomping her way to a corner of the tent wordlessly, turning to face Ron with an impatient tapping of her foot. Ron had glanced briefly at Harry, cocking his head slightly in his direction, clearly indicating he wanted to take the conversation outside, with Hermione’s only response being a hard glare and a huff that undoubtedly meant she had been within an inch of hexing him if he hadn't moved his arse there.

Defeated, Ron heaved out a bigger sigh, and finally headed over to where Hermione stood. He had been whispering just quietly enough that Harry couldn’t quite make out what he had been saying to her, but judging from the way Hermione’s expression immediately softened - her furrowed brow clearing and her eyes misting over - Harry was pretty sure Ron told her the locket’s destruction, and all the foul things it had fed Ron’s mind.

What happened next caught Harry completely by surprise. Hermione jumped into Ron’s arms and proceeded to kiss him hard, causing Ron to stumble back, no doubt shocked by that, before he started to kiss her back (fuck, more like snog the life out of her). Witnessing that should’ve made Harry smile with the stupidest grin ever, despite how gross they looked sucking each other’s faces like that, happy that they had finally gotten their shit together.

Instead of a grin though, Harry could feel his face set in a deep frown, as his two best friends kept devouring one another, hungry like a tableful of Weasleys, most likely having already forgotten the third wheel getting front row tickets to their show of burning passion. Eventually, they pulled back to catch their breaths, before going right back to it a moment later, this time making their way slowly over to Ron’s bunk, without breaking their ongoing snog. For some demented reason, Harry couldn’t take his eyes off of them, wondering how long they’d go at it until they remembered they weren’t alone in the tent.

Their passionate session of sucking and licking noises, mixed in with moans, whimpers and grunts - had Ron growled? Holy shit, they were animals - hadn’t ceased until Harry heard Hermione gasp and sit up, finally looking in his direction. She buried her face in Ron’s chest, most definitely mortified by what they’d been engaging in while Harry beared witness. Ron turned to him with wide eyes and a face as red as a tomato (Harry never liked tomatoes much), silently mouthing all kinds of apologies while holding Hermione tight and helping her calm down. Harry glared daggers at Ron, who at least had had the decency to look ashamed. Harry felt his frown gradually morph into the biggest grin he could muster without permanently disfiguring his face. Ron’s face had gone pale, most likely alarmed from Harry's sudden shift in mood, and when Hermione finally lifted her head to look at Harry again, her face too had borne an expression of pure shock at him.

They were saying something, but Harry wasn’t listening anymore, not even to his own responses that surely sounded very forced. He was thankful for his best friends’ inability to pick up on nice falsities, and for them not pressing him too much. His feet were dragging him somewhere - he wasn’t sure how long he had kept on walking - as his mind kept replaying the scene of them both attached at the lips, like a broken record of what Ron saw from the locket (as if having Voldemort trying to possess him constantly wasn’t enough mental torture). Harry had tried sorting through his emotions in an attempt to understand why he was feeling so bothered by this turn of events. It couldn’t be jealousy. It hadn’t been anger, nor had it been disapproval.

Eventually, he had come back to Ron and Hermione still on Ron’s bunk - by the looks on their faces, they hadn’t stopped worrying about him for even a second, a fact that made him feel extremely guilty for some reason. They immediately asked if everything was okay. This time, Harry managed to put up a more genuine looking smile for show, because after a quick dismissal of their worries, they seemed to relax and return shy, embarrassed smiles. He had gone to his bunk after a quick goodnight and tried to fall asleep, but as soon as he closed his eyes, that cursed image would reappear on the inside of his eyelids. He could still hear their voices exchanging hushed whispers, until they faded out - good thing he taught them the silencing charm. Merlin only knows what’s going on in there.

The thought caused that unknown, ugly feeling to come back before he finally succumbed to a nightmare-ridden sleep, forced to rewatch their snogfest. Except this time, they didn’t stop. Harry had tried closing his eyes - was that even possible inside a dream? - but found that he couldn’t, and he almost didn’t want to. The more he watched it, the more he felt like the memory was suffocating him from the inside, as if slowly consuming his body.

Sometime during the night, he jolted awake, sweating profusely and scrambling for his glasses. His eyes immediately landed where he knew they were sleeping, but they had the curtains drawn, so he couldn’t see what went inside after they silenced it. Harry thought that was for the best. His nightmare had scarred him for life in every way possible, and the sight of either of them at the time would certainly have made him sick to his stomach. How would he even look at them in the eye after that?

So, he hadn’t. It was now a whole week after that dreadful day, and Harry had yet to make eye contact with either Ron or Hermione. His whole mood and disposition, already tainted by the stress of the hunt, was at an all-time low, especially given how he hadn’t slept more than a half-hour every night, stuck on the same loop of being tortured into watching his two best friends go at it like rabbits in heat, and then jolting awake sweating buckets before giving up on sleep entirely. Even after waking up, he could still hear every sound, and experience that suffocating sensation constricting his chest. As a result, he now had very prominent bags under his eyes, but thankfully he was able to cover them up with charms, so neither Ron nor Hermione noticed anything wrong with him. He didn’t want them to worry; he couldn’t bear the guilt.

The whole week through, Harry continued to watch them have their quality time together. Sometimes, they would remember Harry was there fairly quickly; other times, they would go at it until they were almost undressing. But, at no point did they ever remember to cast a silencing charm, or draw the curtains around them, and Harry never once tore his gaze away from their displays of passion. It wasn’t until today, watching them quietly as usual, that all the pieces fell into place in Harry’s mind about what exactly he felt regarding them.

Envy.

He envied them. They had each other during all of this. They had hope for something after all of this if it ended. And that thought immediately sent him into another state.

Fear.

He was scared. Even if they succeeded in the end, his future didn’t look bright. He ended the one thing that kept him going, kept him hopeful, because he was a fool that always had to do what was right. If he could seize that moment again, he would choose to be selfish and bring her with them. That way he wouldn’t be alone.

That was the reason he couldn’t stop staring at them each and every time. Because he wanted that.

He wished it was him.

At the same time, he felt extremely guilty about the whole thing. He made them worry when they should simply be enjoying themselves and this new phase in their relationship. He made them worry because he dragged them to the middle of nowhere, in the midst of a chaotic war. Ron and Hermione might not come out of this alive, either one of them or both, and now the relationship they just began exploring could be taken away in an instant. Instead of being happy and hopeful for a future for both of them, he felt contempt at their sight, wanting them to be apart again and silently struggling through their unresolved tension. He was a piece of shit. He didn’t deserve the love he was given, the friends he had. He didn’t deserve the life he was given.

After Hermione removed Ron’s shirt and he did the same to her, Harry quietly slipped away out of the tent, putting up a silencing charm on the entrance. He wondered how far they’d go this time, and hoped they enjoyed it the whole way through.

Harry just stood there looking at the sky above the trees, knowing what he wanted to do. What he deserved after all.

All seemed well. But all wasn’t well.

One thought passed by Harry’s mind right before he uttered one single thing. I regret everything…

“Voldemort”

#harry potter #hermione granger #ron weasley #horcrux hunting #hp drabble #romione #ron x hermione #horcrux #trauma #traumatic experience #panic attack #dark drabble #heavy angst #self loathing #implied smut #implied character death #bjornthorsson20

[fanfic-fangirl]

My Little Mortal prologue 1

Because Every Fairy Tail, has to Start with a Tragedy pt 1

A/N: This is the prologue to my “My Little Mortal” series. It’s something I’ve worked very hard on, and one of the story’s I’m most proud of. In this part of chapter, there are no pairings. It’s pretty much, just plot, and setting up the next part of the story. It’s a Little Mermaid AU, featuring our favorite Asgardian Gods! It’s more of a Dark Fairy Tale, & less traditional. So if you’re thinking Disney’s, The Little Mermaid, you will probably be pretty disappointed.

I hope you enjoy!

Words: 1866

Warnings: violence, cheating, magic, dark magic abuse, lying, sexual assault (mention), emotional hurt, multiple character deaths

Welcome to the beginning of our story. A story about a kingdom under the sea and it's youngest prince. A dark prince, consumed by jealousy and grief.  Though, he wasn't always a dark prince. When he was a boy, he was the happiest he had ever been. He had the love of both his mother and father and an older brother to take him on made up adventures throughout the kingdom. Where his brother was favored by their father, Odin, he was favored by their mother, Frigga. There was no one more beautiful than she in all the realms, and no one more loving. She was a very powerful sorceress, loved by all in her kingdom. Where his older brother, Thor, was trained as a warrior by their father, the younger prince, Loki, was trained in the ways of magic, by their mother. He excelled in his studies, taking to the art very quickly. He was always a mischievous child, but as he learned magic, he began to use spells to play tricks, mostly on his older brother. His mother always praised his skills, nurturing and encouraging his natural talent.

With each year, the prince grew more and more powerful in his magic, more powerful than the king, or the queen. The king began to get suspicious of where such power was inherited from, and though the king, himself had magic, it was nothing like what the prince was capable of. The king knew, a child with magic like that, could only be the offspring of two very powerful sorcerers. Needing to have his suspicions confirmed, he confronted the queen about it. He was heartbroken to learn that she had gone to the most powerful sorcerer in all of his kingdom.

The king had been seriously injured in battle, she was told by the healers that they had done everything they could, but it was doubtful he would ever wake up. Distraught, the queen went to a powerful sorcerer, begged him for his help, begged him to use his magic to save her husband. The sorcerer agreed, but for a price. She promised him anything, anything as long as her husband would survive. The sorcerer was not kind, nor generous, he had been banished from the kingdom for his trickery and deceit, but he loved the queen, coveted her beauty. She had always been kind to him when he lived in the palace, when he had been one of the many advisers of the king. Where the others laughed and mocked him for being leaner and not built like a true warrior, she had always shown him kindness and respect. As time went on, he began to fall in love with her, wanted her for himself. He planned to steal her away, fleeing the kingdom, he was going to enchant her, make her fall in love with him. Somehow, the king found out about his plan, so on the night he planned to steal the queen away, the guards were waiting. The sorcerer was banished, never allowed to return to the kingdom again.

The sorcerer vowed revenge. He was finally able to take it when the queen came to him, desperate for him to save her husband's life. He agreed, told her to come back the next day and he would have a potion ready for her. She asked what his price was, he told her he would tell her when she returned. The queen went back to the palace, returning to the king. Before the light of the next day, she left, returning to the sorcerer. He was waiting, a hungry, lust filled smile on his face, a glowing potion in his hand. Upon seeing the smile, the queen knew his price. She also knew, that if she wanted her husband to live, she had no choice. She agreed to the sorcerer's price, gave her body to him willingly, allowed him to touch her, to taste her, to experience what only the king knew. She loved her husband more than anything, was willing to give anything to save him. The younger prince was the result of that price. The king did not blame her, he knew he would be willing to give up anything to save her, therefore could not fault her for her actions.

They agreed to never tell anyone, to never tell the young prince of his true heritage. The king promised he would love him just as much as Thor, would treat him as if he were his own son.

As time went on, the sorcerer became more and more obsessed with the queen. After she willingly gave herself to him, he had convinced himself that she loved him, that she was under some spell cast upon her by Odin. He began to plot a way to free her from the spell, so she could return to him, with their son, the young prince. The sorcerer knew she would bear a child for him, cast an enchantment to make sure of it. When he found out she'd given birth to another son, fair skin and dark hair, he knew the boy was his.

The sorcerer drove himself mad with his obsession, every attempt to break Odin's spell over her, failing. As a last resort, he had her and the young prince kidnapped. The young prince was not in his room and had been in the library studying magic that night, completely unaware that this was the only thing that saved him.

The sorcerer was furious the boy had been left behind, but he had the queen and that mattered more than anything. The young prince had spent his entire life in the palace, growing up believing Odin was his father. The sorcerer had seen the prince a few times, saw how he looked up to Odin, tried to please the king by being a warrior. With the queen, now by his side, the sorcerer knew he would be able to have another child with her.

The sorcerer cast his magic, to break Odin's spell, convinced it had worked, he freed the queen from her bindings. Once free, the queen attacked him and tried to escape, the sorcerer did everything in his power to keep her with him, but she fought back with everything she had.

The sorcerer pleaded with her to break Odin's spell, to look in her heart and see that she was meant to be with him. He knew she loved him as much as he loved her, the young prince was proof of that. The queen lashed back, said she had never, nor could she ever, love such a vile creature. The young prince was not a result of her love for him, but for her love of the only man, her heart had ever yearned for.

The sorcerer became blinded by rage, losing control of his power, in turn, losing the life of the queen as well.  Realizing what he had done, the mistake he had made and knowing that once the king found out, he would loose his own life. Quickly coming up with a solution, he decided to make it look like she had been killed by the Kingdom Above the Sea.

He removed everything from her body and wrapped her in a net, he took her to a place he knew the surface dwellers frequented and he left her. Left her floating in the current, ungraceful and undignified. With one final look, he left. He swam where he knew the king would never find him and he hid. Bidding his time, until he could approach the young prince. His son.

It didn't take long for the king to notice his wife missing. He sent out search parties in all directions to find her. It didn't take long for her body to be found. She was brought back in secret, not wanting to alarm the princes. The young prince had always prided himself on being able see through lies and find out any secret. This was no different. He heard whispers that she had been found, floating in the current. So quietly, he waited and followed the guards who brought her back. They took her body to the king, and the young prince hid, and he listened.  He listened when they said she had been found near the human fishing grounds. Listened when they explained that she had been found tangled in a net, how she had been stripped of everything and left to drift with the current.  Listened when they said it had been the humans.

This infuriated the young prince more than anything ever before. In all the centuries he had been alive, there was nothing that had ever made him feel this blindingly angry. He didn't understand how the humans could commit such an atrocity. His mother had always told him they were understanding, kind, and very fascinating creatures. She had loved them dearly, had even been known to save them during fierce storms. The prince didn't understand how these creatures could kill so recklessly.

Not able to control his rage any longer, he burst into the room and upon seeing the lifeless body of his mother, demanded the king take his revenge on the humans. Demanded he flood their cities, sink all their ships and kill every last one of them. The king looked at his son with nothing but compassion and sorrow in his eyes, as he refused to raise a hand against the Kingdom Above the Sea.

This only enraged the prince even more. The prince vowed that if the king was going to do nothing, then he would take matters into his own hands. He would make the surface dwellers pay for what they had done.  Before the king could stop him and explain himself, the young prince left. He left the kingdom. He remembered hearing whispers of a dark and powerful sorcerer who had been banished from the kingdom. He knew he had to find this sorcerer, plead with the sorcerer to teach him stronger magic that would allow him to destroy all those who lived above the surface.

After many nights, searching for the sorcerer, the prince had finally found him. The creature was weak, broken and quite mad. The prince attributed it to all the centuries of being alone in the open ocean. Leaving the sorcerer to his madness, the prince began to explore the cave he now called home, finding a small library in the back, he began to flip through the books. These were like no books he had ever seen in the palace. Full of dark spells and enchantments. Dark Magic.

“I can teach you.” The sorcerer offered.

The prince spun around, surprised to see the sorcerer behind him, a dark smile gracing his lips, the madness seeming to have completely vanished.

“At what price?” the prince asked, knowing knowledge like this was not given freely.

“Consider it a favor to the queen. A payment for her kindness and a punishment for her murderers.”

The prince examined the sorcerer, looking for the lie, the trick, anything that would suggest he wanted something else. He sensed nothing.

“Then teach me.”

#Loki #little mermaid au #loki x OC #Loki x reader #marvel au #dark fairy tale #the little mermaid #tragedy #dark magic

[madewithonerib]

RE: I’ve Failed GOD Again.. | Off The Kirb Ministries

Have I committed so many habitual sins, repeatedly sinning that I've lost my salvation?

Can a born again Christian lose their salvation or is once saved always saved true?

I've sinned today & feel very guilty like I'm going to Hell & GOD has given up on me.

Message presented by Evangelist Joe

I know I've been there I've got the t-shirt: You've done it again.

You've fallen into the same sin again, & again, & again, & you've made vows to GOD.

You've fasted, you've prayed, you've said: "I'm not gonna do this sin again."

And you've fallen again today, & it's the same sin.

           And you're thinking            how can GOD forgive me?

How can I be forgiven from this sin I have just committed?

       ●  Have I sinned away my salvation?        ●  Is that it, am I like Esau now?

No place for repentance, & let's be really honest right now: You don't even want to watch this video.

      The last thing your flesh wants       to do is watch a video, you want       to think anything but GOD because       you feel so guilty, so dirty.

But I'm going to beg you, I'm going to plead with you right now, please watch all of this video because

      I want to help you, I want to       help you get through this pain.

And I believe that I'm here to tell you one thing & that is this: GOD still loves you, yes you've sinned.

Yes you've messed up, but GOD still loves you.

Let me show it to you: If you've got a BIBLE, turn to Hosea 11.

      Hosea 11:1-12 | When Israel was a child,       I loved him, & out of Egypt I called MY son.

      But the more I called Israel, the farther they       departed from ME. They sacrificed to the       Baals & burned incense to carved images.

      It was I who taught Ephraim to walk, taking       them in MY arms, but they never realized       that it was I who healed them.

      I led them with cords of kindness, with ropes       of love; I lifted the yoke from their necks &       bent down to feed them.

            Will they not return to the land of             Egypt & be ruled by Assyria because             they refused to repent?

      A sword will flash through their cities; it will       destroy the bars of their gates & consume       them in their own plans. MY people are       bent on turning from ME.

      Though they call to the Most High, HE will by       no means exalt them. How could I give you up,       O Ephraim?

      How could I surrender you, O Israel?       How could I make you like Admah?       How could I treat you like Zeboiim?

            MY heart is turned within ME;             MY compassion is stirred!

      I will not execute the full fury of MY anger;       I will not turn back to destroy Ephraim.

            For I am GOD & not man             —the Holy One among you             —& I will not come in wrath.

      They will walk after the LORD; HE will roar like a lion.

            When HE roars, HIS children             will come trembling from the west.

      They will come trembling like birds from Egypt &       like doves from the land of Assyria.

            Then I will settle them in their             homes, declares the LORD.

      Ephraim surrounds me with lies, the house of Israel       with deceit; but Judah still walks with GOD &       is faithful to the Holy One.

And for those of you who don't know, the book of Hosea is all about this man Hosea, who is asked to marry a prostitute called Gomer.

And Gomer was going to be unfaithful, she was definitely going to cheat on Hosea.

And Hosea was asked to marry her anyway, to show a picture of how Israel (GOD's people) were unfaithful to GOD.

And in these verses, GOD is saying even though you've sinned--even though you've messed up..

Even though you've ran away from ME & rebelled, I still love you.

Listen to this Hosea 11:8 says,

      “How can I give you up, O Ephraim?”       “How can I hand you over, O Israel?”

       ●  How can I make you like Admah?        ●  How can I treat you like Zeboiim?

And I remember Admah & Zeboiim, they were towns inside of Sodom & Gomorrah.

And we know what happened there don't we?

      GOD in other words is saying,       "I can't rain fire & brimstone on you.        I can't send you to hell, I love you too much.

       I can't punish you.

       I care about you this much.

Do me a favour, every single one of you, I want you to use your imagination.

Some of you, it might not be hard to do:

      "You're a parent, & here we are, you've       got a child & you remember them when       they were a child in the womb.

      You saw the scan, you loved them to pieces.

      As they grew up,

       ●  you fed them,        ●  you read bedtime stories to them,        ●  you educated them,        ●  you did everything.

      You loved them to pieces. But when they got to       17-18-19 years old, they rebelled against you:

      ●   they began swearing,       ●   they began getting angry,       ●   they were aggressive with you       ●   they had parties,       ●   they went out with different people,       ●   they were sleeping around.

      They did wicked horrible things, & you said,

            "I can't take this anymore, you're             breaking my heart too much.

            I'm sorry you're going to have to move out.             You can't live with me anymore.

      And there you are, you've got your child, & they       have a bag full of clothes, & they walk to the       front door & just as they put their key into the       front door, they turn round & they look at you..

            Then suddenly the heart of GOD             (the GOD-given conscience) which             dwells in us all, cries out:

            "How can I give you up?"

      And you hold your child in your arms; &       you wrap your arms around your child & say:

              I can't give you up,               I love you too much.

      And that is how GOD sees you (believer)       at your very core, in your very epicenter,       you're a child of the Most High GOD.

             You were bought with a price              & GOD has loved you with              an everlasting love.

            You were chosen since the             foundation of the earth, &             HE loves you to pieces.

Even though you rebelled, even though you've done these wicked things..HE loves you because you are cleansed, you are forgiven, & HE will not give you up.

           HE WILL NOT GIVE YOU UP

      You might have lost the joy of your salvation,       but you will not lose your salvation itself.

      GOD still loves you.

There’s a young man & a pastor, and they were walking along a beach. And the young man says:

      I’ve made a mess of life, I’ve sinned       & I’ve wandered so much from GOD       in my life. I’ve ruined it, I’ve lived in sin.

      I’ve not lived like a Christian.

      Pastor, look at these footsteps in the sand,       do you see how they’re all crooked?

      You see how they wander everywhere?

      And there’s no straight line, that’s me!!       I’ve been prone to wander all my life.

As he’s speaking, suddenly a wave comes in, & washes away all of the footprints.

Then the pastor turns & looks at the young man, & says:

      “Yes but remember this young man,       the blood of JESUS CHRIST washes       away all of your sins.”

So what you need to do now:

            You need to call out to HIM, & say             LORD forgive me, I’m sorry             I’ve messed up again.

Then you need to remember:

            In the BIBLE it teaches every day             is a new page; & tomorrow will be             a new page. Yesterday, yes you             failed GOD, but tomorrow is a             new page.

            Rest in the love of GOD.

            Remember even though your             hands may be covered in puss             & muck & filth, you’re filthy.

            But the LORD GOD, in HIS loving             compassion will still wrap HIS arms             around you..

            Even though you are unclean

            You are loved by GOD;             HE loves you dearly:

            Fast, pray, repent of this sin.

            But don't hid from GOD whatever you do.

Romans 8:38-39 | For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor principalities, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of GOD that is in CHRIST JESUS our LORD.

Video: youtube.com/watch?v=hZVSyXZ0ZbM Message presented by Evangelist Joe youtube.com/channel/UC8p6aqja2so3hfQCwaiutow

#Hosea 11 #heartbreak #agape love #Heavenly FATHER #Abba FATHER #How can I give you up #Sodom & Gomorrah #refused to repent #shame #pain of sin #unfaithful to GOD #guilty #feel so dirty #hiding from GOD #Hosea 11:8 #sense of failure #ask for forgiveness #Romans 8 #Romans 8:38 #Romans 8:39

[uraboku-fan-club]

Chapter 61 Summary

#uraboku #betrayal knows my name #manga

[mininky]

Heavy Lies The Crown-15

Summary: (Y/N) has the fate of her people on her shoulders and according to a seer, the only way to save her kingdom from the bloodthirsty wolves is by giving herself to the god of the hunt.

Pairing: werewolf!Namjoon x reader

Warnings: None for this chapter

word count: 2.1K

Prologue Chapter one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve twelve and ½ thirteen fourteen fifteen

You're currently standing outside of Jisoo's house with a deeply unhappy Yoongi. Then again, it's rather rare to see Yoongi in any other state. Right now he's sulking because all intel has led to the same results, Jisoo is a decent vampire. In many ways, it would have been easier for him if she had turned out to be an evil caricature of the night. But life is rarely that simple. And now you and Namjoon stand beside him in the middle of the night, waiting for Jisoo to let all of you enter.

   You've already explained to Yoongi that no matter his choice, everyone will stand beside him. At the same time, you do really hope that he finally puts down his guard and takes this chance. You're about to try to find some semblance of encouraging words for him when the door flings open. "Good, you're here. Come in. Quickly. We have much to discuss, none of it is very good."

   "So I'm not the only one unhappy about the moon choosing this odd pairing, I take it?" Yoongi saunters in slowly, Namjoon and you glancing at each other before following suit.

   "No, no, I assure you I'm rather fond of our possible betrothal. My you're just a ball of fun, aren't you Yoongi? It's a shame I can't turn you. I'd love to see how much more bitter you could become in a few hundred years. Unfortunately, we will have to put all of that at a halt for now. Or at least, on the sidelines. Unless you'd rather just you know, have your way with me right here and now and rather quickly. I'm not opposed to it." Jisoo cackles at the blank look on Yoongi's face before sitting down at her table and motioning for you all to do the same. "That was a joke. I'm sure that somewhere underneath that hardened 'woah is me' exterior you have a sense of humor. At least, I pray you do otherwise I fear this might be far more boring than I hope it will. But I digress from the problems at hand. I do believe that all of you have noticed that...well...we're in more than a bit of a drought. You there, (y/n) was it? I'm sure you can sense the magic in the air more than them."

   "Yes. It's peculiar. Old. Very old, and not something I'm familiar with."

   "Precisely. You're sharp. That's good, very good. Perhaps the legends weren't wrong after all."

   "Legends?" Namjoon pipes in, his arm reflexively curling around you as his eyes narrow on Jisoo.

   "There is a legend that a woman of immense power would set about the world, marry a werewolf, and have very strong pups. Well, vampires tell her story as a bit of a joke you see. Because as the legend goes, she's the one who unites many different magick creatures. I've heard different renditions, the witches are convinced it's an omen of a magick war but that's not exactly right. At least, not as I've heard it. She is a symbol of peace, but there is indeed a war in this legend. A war against the gods with magick beasts united together. I found it just good old fun, an oral tradition meant to make people feel better about their puny existences. Until I met all of you. And then I realized that I've smelled magick of this once before. In the old days, hundreds of years ago when the gods walked amongst us humans. The legend is real. And unfortunately, or perhaps, fortunately, I suppose it depends on how you look at it, the gods put Yoongi and me together so we could meet. So I could tell you, (Y/N), what you are to do. So we could fight this, and expel this ancient magick from this land before it destroys everything. Or you could refuse to believe me, walk away, and let it consume everything."

   "I'm sorry, you want us to believe that you walked amongst gods hundreds of years ago?" Yoongi rolls his eyes as he speaks, but you can see that his interest has been sparked. You glance over to see Namjoon leaning in closer, listening with rapt attention.

   "I bathe in milk and honey and dine off of fresh fucking blood, I look far younger than I am. Don't make me repeat myself. You're free to believe me or not, believe me, that's your choice. But just know, this god will not stay here for much longer. They will sweep across the planes and straight to your village. They will destroy and decay everything around by taking out the central point of all life, fresh water."

   "Why is it that you two can sense this magick but we can't?" Namjoon sits back as he speaks, staring up at the ceiling as he searches for the answers inside his own head.

   "Because we actually use magick. I'm not just a vampire. Long before I was changed I was a shaman. She and I are closely linked to magick, we use it with knowledge. The two of you, and many other great magick beasts, simply are magick. They think not of how to use their magick, they simply do. But she and I? Well, we must think very clearly about it, we must harvest the energy around us. It puts us in tune with nature whereas the two of you simply are nature. If I were any other vampire, I too would not have noticed. And it's why I didn't for so long, it's been far too long since I've actually tried to think about the spirits and the energy and all that other fun stuff." Jisoo takes a long pause, looking over everyone's faces slowly before smiling rather sinisterly. "It's been a very long time since I've been in a fight too. I'm a bit excited about all of this really. But we have a bit of a problem. To drive out a god it's best to know what ceremony to perform. They're elaborate and hard to do correctly. As much as I would love for us to rush in and manhandle this situation, even I can admit that we would most likely lose."

   "In order to know how to perform this ceremony, we'll need to know who or what exactly we're up against. I'm assuming since you were a shaman that you've already divined this information?" You speak slowly, watching her for any reactions. All you get is a wider grin, one that shows off her fangs in an almost sinister fashion. Not that you'd say this to her, but you're very glad she's on your side. You'd hate to see what damage those could do if she wasn't.

   "God, I really do like you. You're sharp. It's a shame really, that the gods didn't pare you up with me. We'd have been great. Not that that could ever stop us from having some fun." She laughs at the glare from both Yoongi and Namjoon. "Relax, relax. It's only a joke. Sort of. Although both of you are rather protective, it's cute. But where was I? Ah, yes I do indeed know what we're up against. Nuba. An ancient eastern goddess sometimes called a demon. It really depends on who you ask. She's a force, that's for sure. But unfortunately, I've never traveled to the regions she came from and as such I'm not sure what all we'll need to do. A rain offering, I'm sure. But which one is the question."

   "I might be able to help with that. I know someone. He's a bit...hard to get in touch with, but I should be able to manage it. How much time will we have before this Nuba sets off into another region?"

   "Well, that's a great question. Unfortunately, I don't have the answer this time. Which means that time is of the utmost importance. I won't ask who you need to contact, but I will tell you to do it quickly. We can meet here again tomorrow. I've some things I can look over to try to help us prepare until then." Jisoo stands up quickly, gliding over to the door and opening it. Well, vampires really can float. That one apparently wasn't just myth.

   Namjoon stands up slowly, taking your hand in his before looking behind him to see Yoongi shake his head. "Are you staying?"

   "I have some things I'd like to ask her. I know the two of you have had a longer day than me. Besides, it's time I stop using the two of you as a shield and face some things on my own. I'll be fine." Namjoon nods, giving a small smile before stepping away.

   You call out behind you, "Best of luck, Yoongi." When you reach the front door, Jisoo is looking off into the distance of the forest.

   "It's grown so pathetic. It was beautiful once. But now everything has withered and died. I was a transient for so long, and I refuse to move my home without good reason. A bitch of a goddess isn't a good reason. I appreciate that the two of you have taken the time to listen to me. It speaks volumes for the kind of people you are to not just cast me off as a monster."

   "Are you? A monster that is?" Namjoon's voice is just above a whisper, his hand still holding yours firmly as he speaks.

   "No. Nor are you. No matter what anyone says, I do believe that other magickal creatures can do great things together. I always have. I never did expect to be a part of a legend though. And here I thought I could just hide away forever, enjoying a life of monotony and peace. Oh well, I suppose it isn't all bad." She gives a fleeting smile before turning to look at you. "Be safe, both of you. And congratulations on the child. I'm sure the two of you will make splendid parents."

   "Thank you." With that, the two of you set back off for Jackson's house. He's already asleep if the snores are anything to go by. So the two of you quietly make your way to the guest bedroom, changing in near silence before Namjoon speaks up.

   "She's a bit odd. But I trust her. I'm assuming that the person you were referring to was Melinda? We might be able to communicate to her by fire, I'm not sure how it's done though."

   "No...no I was actually referring to Merlin, my blood father. There's a way to communicate with him, although I've never tried to do it before. But it'll have to work. I'll make it work. These people need our help, and we need to make sure that this doesn't happen to anyone else as well." You throw your nightshirt over your head before looking back at Namjoon who's already laying in the bed.

   "If anyone can do it, it'll be you. You're amazing. I don't know if I say that enough, but you are." He pauses for a moment before asking quietly, "the gods aren't always very good, are they?"

   "No. No, I suppose not."

   "I've seen the ravages of war from my own people. I've seen countless atrocities from humans and beasts alike. But I've never had to face a god. I don't expect it'll be very pretty when all is said and done."

   "Ceremonies are peaceful. If all goes well, there will be no fight. That's my goal at least."

   "Are you coming to bed?" Namjoon pats the empty spot on the bed, his voice becoming husky and groggy the longer he lays there.

   "No, not just yet. Get some rest, I promise I'll join in a moment." As much as you would love nothing more than to curl up in bed with him, you have other things that you must do first. Namely, you need to speak with Merlin. You knew from the moment you came here that you'd need to speak with him. You just hope that you're able to make it work.

   You sit down on the floor with your back against the bed, closing your eyes as you try to empty everything out. It's not as easy as it sounds, putting oneself into a meditative state. After what feels like hours of nothing, you find yourself in the pitch black room. There's something glowing in the back, a fireplace perhaps. The closer you get, the brighter everything becomes until suddenly the room you're in looks almost exactly like the inside of a run-down hut with a large fire going in the hearth.

   "I knew you'd come. We have much to discuss, have a seat. We don't have much time, so we'll need to be quick." Maybe finding Merlin wasn't actually so hard.

#namjoon smut #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fanfiction #namjoon reader insert #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts werewolf au #namjoon werewolf au #bts smut

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 44

Balefire: the solution to every problem! (Except those it causes)

Chapter 44: Scents Unknown

Huh, with a title like that I’d have expected a Perrin chapter, but we’re back with Rand. This is the Book of Rand and Egwene, it would seem. Which is fitting, given where we are in the story—this is the beginning of the end, and the Dragon and Amyrlin are taking their places, two of the greatest forces on the side of the Light. Of course those storylines parallel each other. In their own particular ways.

Oh wait we’re actually with Nynaeve, but Nynaeve is with Rand so it’s almost the same thing except she feels things like a functional person.

“Tarwin’s Gap,” Rand said, shaking his head. “No. The more I think about it, the more I realise that we don’t want to fight there. Lan is doing me a favour. If I can coordinate an assault alongside his own, I can gain great advantage. But I don’t want to distract my armies with the Gap. It would be a waste of resources.”

He named you friend…

At the same time, this makes sense from a strategic point of view, if we accept that Rand is in fact heading straight for Shayol Ghul. Which comes with its own massive host of strategic…complications…but sure. Fine. I guess we’re doing this.

Does that mean next book is going to be mainly catching up all the other timelines? We’ve touched on a few of them this book but it’s mostly been focused on Rand and Egwene, so it does seem like there’s a fair bit of catching up to do before we’re ready to actually start in on Tarmon Gai’don.

He seemed so emotionless, but she had seen the beast get free and roar at her. It was coiled inside him, and if he didn’t let his emotions out soon, they would devour him from the inside.

Emotions are like dogs: you need to let them out at least twice a day so they can do their business and not wreck the house.

Not that I would know, given that I have neither emotions nor dogs.

(‘But Lia,’ you say, ‘you had an emotion just last chapter, on this very blog.’ Lies and slander).

Each day brought Lan one step closer to a fight he couldn’t win.

Are you sure about that? If there’s one character I’d bet on in that situation, against those odds, it would be Lan Mandragoran. In part because he doesn’t look at it as a fight to be won. It’s a fight he has to fight, but he has always expected it to claim his life; he’s not holding anything back, and he’s not looking for a way out, and he has nothing left to lose.

If Lan was going to fight an impossible battle, then she longed to be at his side. But she stayed. Light take Rand al’Thor, she stayed. What good would it do to help Lan, only to let the world fall into Shadow because of a stubborn sheepherder’s stubborn…stubbornness!

Ah Nynaeve. It’s a quiet sacrifice, but not a small one for her. She has almost the opposite problem to Rand: she cares so deeply about so many people. But she can’t just go where she wishes she could; she knows she can’t go to Lan any more than Rand can. It’s a strategic decision on her part as well, even as it hurts her to have to make it. But she’s right; helping Lan does nothing if the Dragon Reborn fails. And so they come to the same conclusion but from entirely different directions.

This, also, avoids the thing I hate most in fictional romance: when it gets in the way and causes problems by making characters do absurdly stupid things In The Name Of Love. I have many issues with the WoT romances, but on the whole that at least is not one of them. Characters are mostly able to put aside their pants feelings when needed, and I appreciate that. Instead, we mostly see the more…plot-positive sides of those relationships, in how they provide support or an anchor or a source of comfort and strength for those involved.

Well, except for Gawyn. But he’s not in this chapter (yet, anyway) so I don’t have to talk about him.

Don’t worry, Nynaeve; Lan is at least not alone. You did well. If Malkier is to die, it will die thoroughly and finally.

“We cannot let the enemy dictate our battlefield. The last thing we want to do is fight where they want us to, or where they expect us to.” He turned his eyes northward. “Yes, let them gather. They seek me, and I shall not deliver myself. Why fight at Tarwin’s Gap? It makes the best sense to jump most of our armies right to Shayol Ghul.”

Um.

Sorry, run that by me again? You can’t let your enemy dictate the battlefield, and you can’t fight where they expect you to, so you’re going to drop yourself right into the epicentre of the Shadow’s power? That makes sense…how, exactly?

Nynaeve’s still trying to convince him to move on Tarwin’s Gap instead, but it all touches too closely on strategy, and that’s…not going to work. It’s too easy for him to dismiss her arguments, to look at Lan’s possible death and a Trolloc invasion as just part of what must be done, as pieces on the gameboard that he can use. It’s too easy for him to retreat into emotionless analysis of the battlefield. You’re going to need to find a different angle of attack, though I’m still not sure what. But something that can appeal to who he was, to the few things he still cares about, as much as he cares about anything. To something he can’t actually let go, no matter how much he’s convinced himself otherwise.

“Rand,” Nynaeve said, her anger fading to horror. “Lan will die!”

“Then who am I to deny him that?” Rand said. “We all deserve the chance to find peace.”

Oh.

I…the worst part is, Lan would not even disagree. He has been functionally suicidal for…his entire adult life, at least, if not longer. His whole life has been wrapped up in his death, in the death of Malkier, in this war he knows he cannot win and has been bound away from by various means but to which he always, always returns in his thoughts. There is no peace for him until he can meet that destiny. He and Rand share that now, more than ever, but that doesn’t make them right.

(You fell off a roof knowing it would mean imprisonment rather than let go when he looked you in the eye and told you to, Rand. But now…now he understands that desire to just fall. To stop fighting and let gravity and destiny take you where they may, and to know the relief of finally letting it all end…)

He actually believed that! Or he was convincing himself to believe it, at least.

Some of both, really. In part it’s just that he can’t let himself hope, so he has resigned himself to death because that way he can let everything else go; if there’s nothing to save it doesn’t matter what he does. But some of it is just that he’s so tired and in so much pain and has been trying to do far too much for far too long, and just desperately wants it to be over. Prophecied hero jobs should at least come with some serious mental healthcare, is what I’m saying here.

“My duty is to kill the Dark One,” Rand said, as if to himself. “I kill him, then I die. That is all.”

Yeah that…still sounds like a terrible idea in approximately every way I can think of. What of balance? What of choice? What of the Pattern, because surely destroying the Dark One in this Age would break the cycle of the Ages past and to come. This is not the sort of series where killing a god is going to end well.

But it suits his current mindset perfectly. A focus so narrow that this looks like victory, a desperation for an ending, a loss of any sense of why, a willingness to let everything else be destroyed in the service of this one purpose. Ending the cycle forever rather than facing this battle again and again (because like his supposed enemy, he now just wants it all to be over). Destroying the Dark One, just as the Dark One plans to destroy the Pattern. It seems like at some point those come down to more or less the same thing. (A world without entropy is just stasis).

Is it really his own conviction? Or is it born of his strange link with Moridin? A path to an absolute ending, rather than one that preserves the endless cycle of time…’When you are victorious, it only leads to another battle. When he is victorious, all things will end’. Is it true reversed? When all things end, is the Dark One victorious? Even if that ending is brought about with his own destruction?

This should have been a place where farmers didn’t need to turn good lumber into quarterstaffs, nor watch strangers with eyes that expected attack.

But the storm is coming, and they must go north. There isn’t anywhere that can hope to remain truly untouched by what is to come, but that doesn’t stop Nynaeve from hating the thought. They need people like her, just as they need those who can accept that price in the name of victory. It’s a balance, of sorts. Someone has to care, and at least try to preserve what can be preserved, and spare pain where possible, and keep in mind that these are the people and the lives they are fighting for, so what good does it do if all of that is lost? Change is one thing, collateral damage is one thing, sacrifice is one thing. But to be willing to write off everything for a scorched-earth victory that leaves nothing behind to rebuild from is…beyond that. Because who does that victory serve, in the end? Except perhaps the one who wants the destruction of everything, that it can be remade in the image of chaos.

The Dragon is one with the land but the Dragon cares nothing for himself, is using himself up and just waiting to die and so why would he treat the land any differently, but to drag it behind him into this same all-consuming battle, with no hope of survival and nothing to save, to claim victory at the cost of everything?

(Self-care is realising that your wellbeing is literally linked to that of the entire world? Man, this hero business sucks).

Nynaeve is still not pleased with Cadsuane’s secrecy regarding her plan for Rand—she could learn something from Egwene, there—but is still trying to work out where Perrin might be.

Wait, she went back to the Two Rivers? That’s…the first time since EotW, and given how much that once meant to her, and how much it has shaped who she is, I’m kind of surprised we don’t get more than a throwaway line implying a visit. That seems like an important thing, for her. Even if it is just to realise how far she has come from Wisdom of Emond’s Field (and how much of that she still carries with her).

Wow, asking Rand? A character asking another character for information? I’m shocked.

Though to be perfectly honest it didn’t even really occur to me that that might be an easy way to find out. I suppose that says something about these characters and transparency.

Of course, it’s too much to hope that Rand would actually tell her.

“I am worried about him, Rand al’Thor,” she said. “He has a peaceful, unassuming nature—and always did let his friends push him around too much.”

There. Let Rand think about that.

“Unassuming,” Rand said musingly. “Yes, I suppose he is still that. But peaceful? Perrin is no longer too…peaceful.”

Wow okay yeah this is fine. That didn’t hurt unexpectedly or anything.

The way he says it so calmly, like it’s little more than discussing the weather, like the changes in his friend don’t affect him at all. He, who once tried to drive both Perrin and Mat and the rest away to avoid hurting them, and then tried to tell himself he wouldn’t use them, and then smiled like a boy when Perrin found him again in Lord of Chaos despite everything else that was happening and just wanted to talk of home. But now…nothing. No worry, no resignation, not even something like amusement or puzzlement or even self-hating satisfaction. Perrin has a beard now and also is no longer peaceful. Those two things carry approximately equal weight.

The Aiel learned, and adapted, quickly. Surprising, really.

Not at all surprising if you’ve been through the glass columns of Rhuidean. Their entire history is one of change, of adaptation, of becoming at every step something new, something further from what they once were, yet holding all the while to some core of identity to keep from being lost.

(‘Lia, you really cannot deny you have emotions when it comes to Rhuidean at least.’ JUST WATCH ME).

This particular crossroads hadn’t been important in years. If Verin or one of the other Brown sisters had been here, they’d likely have been able to explain exactly why.

TOO SOON.

Yes, go talk to Narishma. We haven’t seen nearly enough of him, given how promising his introduction was.

Also, where is Logain these days? I don’t think we’ve seen him since…Semirhage? Why is he not with this group?

“I was a cobbler’s son, Nynaeve Sedai. I know not the ways of lords and ladies.” He hesitated. “Besides, I’m not a Borderlander anymore.” The implication was clear. He would protect Rand, no matter what other allegiances tugged at him. A very Warder-like way of thought.

A Warder-like way of thought, maybe, but if so it’s one with a distinctly Lan-shaped exception.

Also, at least we’re finally dealing with that whole Borderlander situation. Even Narishma doesn’t get what could possibly have brought them here.

“A Borderlander’s place is guarding the Border,” Narishma said. “I was a cobbler’s son, and yet I was trained with the sword, spear, bow, axe and sling. Even before joining the Asha’man, I could best four of five trained southern soldiers in a duel. We live to defend. And yet they left. Now, of all times.”

SAME, NARISHMA. SAME. Seriously, how much of this current clusterfuck could have been avoided if the Borderland rulers—or at least their armies—had stayed put on the Blight like they’ve been doing for the past several centuries? They’d better have a good reason for this but I cannot for the life of me work out what it might be.

So the Borderlanders were told to bring no more than two hundred and instead they sent…one. Everything about this situation is just bizarre.

Hurin!

On second thought, delete that tone of excitement. Rand is not who he was when Hurin knew him and this seems unlikely to go well.

“Why, Lord Rand!” Hurin called, voice uneven. “It is you! Well, you’ve certainly come up in the world, I must say. Good to—”

Oh man wow that one line brings back such a strong memory of…everything about Rand in TGH. Rand when he was still young and uncertain and trying to find his way, Rand when all he wanted was to protect his friends, and counted Hurin as one of those simply because he was there and looked to Rand for help. Rand who tried to tell Hurin he was no lord, and when Hurin didn’t believe it, did his best to act the way he thought a good lord should. Rand when he joined the hunt because he just wanted to help Mat. Rand, afraid of his power but willing to use it for the sake of those he loved and cared for. Rand when he told Ingtar that to abandon Egwene would be to damn himself. Rand when he offered Ingtar redemption and then calmly defied Ishamael and—

It feels like a different character entirely, and this small reunion is such an effective way of forcing that contrast, by evoking the memory of who and what Rand was then and having to place that alongside who and what he is now.

Hurin still calls him ‘Lord Rand’. At one time, Rand was shocked at the title. Now…how long has it been since he’s been called anything but ‘Lord Dragon’? Now, ‘Lord Rand’ sounds almost informal, almost like an odd sort of endearment. Like an appeal to the person he was.

I think part of what makes this work is how…innocent Hurin’s greeting is. As if he doesn’t know everything that has changed since he last saw Rand—which he probably doesn’t. And so he comes into this scene with the assumption that Rand is the same as he was, which forces the reader to, just for a moment, share that perspective, or at least be jarred out of the present by it.

He cut off as he was raised from the ground.

Well that didn’t last long.

Though I can’t blame Rand for asking him a question only he would know the answer to, to verify his identity. And for treating him with uncertainty until then. After the disaster with Semirhage masquerading as Tuon, that’s only common sense really.

But once that’s been established…well, it would be far too much to expect of Rand, as he is now, to be friendly. To share a moment of simple reunion. Or, apparently, to even treat Hurin with anything resembling civility.

Nynaeve felt a stab of pity for the man. He was absolutely devoted to Rand.

Once, that would have meant something.

Poor Hurin. He was so good, and he didn’t ask for any of this, hasn’t done anything to deserve this, and now the man he came to idolise simply because that man was a good person to him is…well. Not.

And while someone like Nynaeve, who has been with Rand for some of the intervening time, at least has the context to understand what has changed and why, Hurin has none of that. He can’t know why Rand has suddenly become…this, or why his Lord Rand is so cold to him or any of it.

Anyway, it’s all incredibly effective use of basically an NPC to evoke a sense of…pain and loss and an even clearer, almost shocking moment of understanding just how much has changed, and what that means. Well done.

“Now that…that’s strange. Never smelled that before.”

“What?” Rand asked.

Probably just the Eau d’Indifference you’ve taken to wearing lately…

“I don’t know,” Hurin said. “The air…it smells like a lot of death, a lot of violence, only not. It’s darker. More terrible.”

A halo of darkness, a scent of violence and darkness, a ta’veren effect that twists things to the darker side of chance, a warp in the air around him…it’s been perceived and described a number of different ways at this point, but it is undeniably there. This aura of death and violence around him, this darkness, this… ‘death and betrayal. It is HIM.’ I think it’s quite likely this is, at least in large part, an effect of his touching the True Power.

Rand is not distracted by this revelation that he smells like death and violence—why would a hero be bothered about that, after all?—so we just get straight to business. Hurin’s here as a messenger to set up the real meeting, but oh wait nope Rand’s not quite done being disturbing.

“I no longer feel anger, Hurin,” Rand said. “It serves me no useful function.”

That’s…fine and normal.

Oh. They want to meet in Far Madding. Somehow I don’t think that suggestion is going to go over too well, for, oh, about a thousand different reasons.

“Well, last time you were in Far Madding, there was—”

Pain? Pain is the word you’re looking for, Hurin. Lots and lots of pain.

(Also a desire to help Lan, which he seems to have misplaced somewhere along the way, so maybe a trip to Far Madding’s Lost and Found could be of use, actually…)

“You’ll have to come inside the protection of the Guardian, you see, and—” Rand waved a curt hand, cutting off Hurin. A gateway opened immediately.

I have such a very bad feeling about this. He doesn’t even respond. Because that’s right, he doesn’t feel anger anymore. Why waste words arguing when he could be moving? But there’s no way in hell he’s about to walk into Far Madding, so…what exactly is he doing? And that’s where said bad feeling comes in.

(And when I say ‘bad feeling’ I mean…uh…feeling that this could go very badly but in a way that I am anticipating with something that is far closer to excitement than dread because as I’ve said, I like this Rand. Don’t judge me).

Rand stopped Tai’daishar, looking across the open meadow toward the ancient city of Far Madding.

Ah, yes, because Rand looking out on population centres has worked out so well in the recent past. This could go very, very wrong.

“They will know we’ve come,” Rand said softly, eyes narrowed. “They’ll have been waiting for it. They expect me to ride into their box.”

“Box?” Nynaeve asked hesitantly.

I get the feeling Nynaeve is also remembering watching Rand look out on a different city from afar. She’s clearly on edge here, afraid to say the wrong thing but also afraid of what Rand might be thinking, of what Rand could do.

“They want me where they can control me, but they don’t understand. Nobody controls me. Not anymore. I’ve had enough of boxes and prisons, of chains and ropes. Never again will I put myself into the power of another.”

Oh how Moridin would laugh, to look upon where the Fisher piece stands, and which side it currently serves. You can’t just…step out of your context like this, Rand. He sees it as being free, never realising that he is just binding himself more tightly and to all the wrong things, trapping himself, letting himself be manipulated into doing exactly what his enemy wants him to do and all the while believing it his choice. He’s trying to force control; a long time ago, he realised the futility of that, recognised that by accepting his fate and his role he could find some modicum of control. He told Mat, then, to stop running. But now…this is just another form of denial. He tells himself he accepts who he is and what he must do, but still he finds ways to fight it.

It doesn’t help that he has been imprisoned and caged too many times; how could he trust? How could he willingly walk into another’s power, when so many times before it has brought him pain? And yet he has to, somehow.

Is that what this is about? Is that, somehow, what the Borderlanders are trying to force, or test?

Still staring at the city, he reached to its place on his saddle and removed the statuette of a man holding aloft a globe.

No. Oh, no.

“Perhaps they need to be taught,” Rand said. “Given encouragement to do their duty and obey me.”

No no no.

(Yes? Maybe? I am a terrible person).

“Rand…” Nynaeve tried to think. She couldn’t let this happen again!

Oh, Nynaeve. How utterly terrifying it must be to watch this with that horrifying sense of déjà vu, and with the knowledge that if he decides to do it again there is absolutely nothing she can do to stop him. Because she’s seen him do it, she’s seen what he is now willing and able to do, she knows how far this could go and knows how close they are to that edge again, knows there is nothing truly holding him back. And yet she has to stop him, because this cannot be allowed to happen, this cannot happen again, and there is no one else here who stands a chance of talking him down.

The access key began to glow faintly. “They want to capture me,” he said softly. “Hold me. Beat me. They did it once in Far Madding already. They—”

“Rand!” Nynaeve said sharply.

He stopped, looking at her, seeing her as if for the first time.

“These are not slaves with their minds already burned away by Graendal. That is an entire city full of innocent people!”

It’s like watching him cross a line and believing it to truly be the last one, and then realising that no, he could still fall even further. Natrin’s Barrow was an atrocity but it could, just, fall under the category of ‘collateral damage’. This…these aren’t slaves to Compulsion, and they’re not even his enemy. These are his own allies, his own people, and here he stands calmly considering their destruction. Because while there apparently are still some lines he has yet to cross, he doesn’t see it that way, and so there’s nothing holding him back. And so this seems like a perfectly reasonable option—quick, effective, certain to make his point.

To see this through Nynaeve’s eyes, watching almost in slow motion as Rand stares at the city (again) and the access key begins to glow (again) and Rand is cold and unreachable (again) and she is desperate.

And somehow, because she is Nynaeve and because, perhaps, she has always felt so deeply and always worn her heart on her sleeve and never been able to make herself not care, because Rand knows this and has entrusted to her the duty of caring where he cannot…something in that manages to reach him. At least enough to get his attention.

She is his conscience, in a way. One last, tenuous check. Because she does still see those lines he has not yet crossed, those lines he is approaching all too quickly, those lines he no longer sees because in his mind he has already crossed the last and is now just in freefall.

What a position to be in, for her.

“I wouldn’t harm the people of the city,” Rand said, voice emotionless.

You say that like it’s obvious but at this current point, it really is anything but, Rand. And it’s not because he has any…aversion to it. It just wouldn’t serve his purpose.

(I have such a weakness for that in a character—that wholly amoral pragmatism that looks like moral limits purely because there are things that don’t make tactical or strategic senseThings that seem to be off the table because ‘even I would never do such a thing’ but really are just off the table in this particular situation because they bring no advantage).  

(But it’s not how Rand should be).

“That army deserves the demonstration, not the city. A rain of fire upon them, perhaps. Or lightning to strike and bite.”

This from the man who despaired at having to strike some of his own at the gates of Cairhien, to keep the Shaido from reaching the gate. This from the man who all but wept, sitting in the rain and mud, after Callandor caused him to kill his own army and the Seanchan indiscriminately. This from the man who begged Lews Therin, when he was controlling the weaves, to take a few seconds from fighting Trollocs to put out the fires that were killing his soldiers. Hell, this from a man who didn’t even try violence to put down a rebellion. And now he speaks so calmly of what these allies of his ‘deserve’. As a ‘demonstration’.

“They have done nothing other than ask you to meet with them!” Nynaeve said.

She could not get through to him about Lan, not when strategy and Lan’s own choices were against her, but here…this is different and she knows it, and she desperately needs Rand to know it, and to understand. Or at least to listen to her, and to…trust that she understands something even if he doesn’t. He trusts her to feel for him, to dream on his behalf, to care on his behalf. And so he needs to trust her to do that now, trust her to act as a check on his power. To listen to her and hold back, not because he sees any reason to but because she does and he trusts her to feel the things he cannot, and therefore to know that this is something he should not do. It’s an odd sort of dynamic, but it could just work. Maybe.

Most of what she has going on her behalf here, I think, is that she’s not trying for persuasion or ‘reasoned arguments’ or manipulation of any sort. She’s literally just…begging him. She is desperate, and more empathetic than most could tolerate, and it’s just a raw, naked plea born of that desperation and empathy. Not just for those people, but for Rand himself; even if he refuses to acknowledge what this would do to him, she doesn’t.

That ter’angreal sat like a viper in his hand. Once, it had cleansed the Source.

Wow, that was…an unexpectedly impactful line. Okay. Uh. That came out of nowhere. Damn.

“Rand,” she said softly. “If you do this, there will be no turning back.”

“There’s already no turning back for me, Nynaeve,” he said, his eyes intense.

(Okay, fine, I admit it, I have emotions. Maybe one or two. At most four.)

A few things here. The first is the way Nynaeve’s words imply that it’s a simple fact that there is still a way back, as far as she sees it. She doesn’t even bother to make that point, because it doesn’t need to be made; she takes it as a given. Even after what he has done, he has not yet gone too far. There’s a certain…grace, almost, in how she gives him that implication without even thinking about it, without being asked for it. She does not for a moment think he is beyond forgiveness.

Yet.

And then, combined with Rand’s response, it makes the point I was dancing around earlier: she can still see gradations where all he sees is darkness; she can see lines he has not yet crossed, where all he sees is that last one behind him. She fears for him, because he is approaching the truly unforgivable, while he believes he already is.

The ‘freedom’ he has found is the belief that nothing matters now—that there is nothing left for him to hold on to, that he is already beyond forgiveness or redemption, that he can’t make it worse because he’s already crossed over the last line where those gradations matter, so there’s no point holding back because nothing makes a difference.

Except that morality is relative and Nynaeve does not see those lines the same way Rand does, and so Nynaeve is watching him move closer and closer to the edge of the cliff and is trying desperately to keep him from falling, while in Rand’s own view, he already has.

And so the fact that he believes himself past that point is itself what would enable him to truly cross it; it’s a terrifyingly sharp contrast in just two lines of these viewpoints, and of what it really means that Rand sees himself as beyond the point of turning back. That, almost more than what he’s actually done, is the truly frightening part, and I think this is where Nynaeve really sees that.

“My feet started on this path the moment Tam found me crying on that mountain.”

It’s the issue of agency versus destiny again; Rand is now in a place where not only does he think he’s crosssed all the lines and therefore is free to act as he may because he’s damned anyway, but he’s also in this weird place where, for all that he does consider himself damned by his actions, he almost absolves himself of all responsibility for them.

Or, no, that’s not quite it. He just…absolves himself of all agency and all self at all. He has the freedom to do anything he chooses, anything he deems necessary…and he also has no choice at all, no self he is allowed to claim. It’s a paradox and it makes my brain hurt but it also makes perfect sense, from where he’s standing. It’s like he looked at ‘shoulder all the responsibility’ and ‘take no responsibility’ and ‘find the freedom to act as you will’ and ‘chain yourself to destiny’ and somehow managed to find that one central place in the venn diagram of all those circles where it just maximises pain.

Also…the moment Tam found him crying on the mountain. Could that be what ‘stand on his grave and weep’ is about? I suppose it’s possible but that would feel a little…cheap, somehow, given that we’re only getting that line of the (Seanchan versions of the) prophecies now, and there’s so much else pointing at Dragonmount, but…maybe. Or maybe I was right earlier and this is a form of foreshadowing, which would be fitting.

“You don’t have to kill anyone today. Please.”

He turned to look back at the city. Slowly, mercifully, the access key stopped glowing.

A much more accurate use of ‘mercy’, all things considered.

She’s just…all she has is her desperation and the last threads of a connection to him and she’s pulling him back from the edge of a cliff he can’t even let himself see, and the fact that she manages it, that she manages somehow to reach him, is remarkable. She’s not trying to manipulate, here. She’s not even shouting at him or angry at him or scolding him. It’s just stripped-down desperate pleading, and from Nynaeve, the one he trusts to carry his dreams and his caring and to some extent his conscience, it reaches him.

Maybe because she so easily offered him the forgiveness he no longer lets himself seek. Without even saying as much—just by saying that this would make it impossible, thereby implying that as things stand, it is possible. He may not believe her, but perhaps that was enough to reach some part of him, still. Enough to make him go along with her, to let her hold on to that dream a little longer (to let himself, even if he cannot admit it?)

Anyway, the result is that Rand is now using his words rather than his balefire, to dictate his own terms. Terms that amount to ‘go to the Blight like you’re supposed to or else your great-great-great grandchildren will call you cowards’, but still.

Hurin stayed behind. He still looked shaken. His reunion with ‘Lord Rand’ had obviously been far from what he expected.

Poor Hurin. He did absolutely nothing to deserve this (except be Rand’s friend, once. And now he pays the price for that, as Rand always feared his friends would pay the price for his existence and friendship).

So much for that. We still don’t’ know why the Borderlanders are here, and here they still are, and it’s another negotiation or treaty or whatever you want to call it that he’s just…walking away from.

As Nynaeve climbed off of Moonlight and handed the reins to a ruddy-faced stable worker, Rand walked past her. “Look for a statue,” he said.

“What?” she asked with surprise.

He glanced back at her, stopping. “You asked where Perrin was. He’s camped with an army beneath the shade of an enormous fallen statue shaped like a sword stabbing the earth.”

‘Just look for the giant beacon of symbolism and you’ll find him’.

It’s so…surprising, though. And yet it’s very, very Rand. To unexpectedly offer her this, something she asked for a while ago but now feels out of context, freely, because that’s how his sense of honour works.

It reminds me of that scene between him and Egwene in LoC when just about everything else goes straight to hell but then he answers her questions about Travelling, honestly and directly and with no other motive but that she asked and he knows the answer.

Add to that the fact that he didn’t tell Nynaeve this the first time she asked, and it’s as if he’s thanking her, in the only way he really can at this point, for holding him back. He can’t let himself feel, but he has delegated that to her and she’s doing it and this much, he can give her. Maybe it will help.

Mostly though, this just gets to me because it feels so like how Rand used to be, even for just a moment. Trusting. Helpful. She asked him a question and then all kinds of other things happened but he made a point of remembering it and giving her the answer. There are remnants, still, of who he was and they show up at these odd points and it’s…lovely and so very sad.

Ah. She sees it too.

“Why tell me?” she asked, walking alongside him across the yard of packed earth. She hadn’t expected him to give up the information—he had gotten into the habit of holding onto whatever he knew, even if that knowledge was meaningless.

“Because,” he said, striding toward the keep, voice growing almost too soft to hear. “I…have a debt to you for caring when I cannot.”

I’M FINE.

I could have saved myself some words by just turning the page, because Rand straight-up says what I was thinking, but me being pleased with myself is being crowded out by ‘dream on my behalf’ and ‘I have a debt to you for caring when I cannot’ and Rand still having that strange sense of honour and recognising exactly what he’s doing even if he can’t stop it and yet listening to Nynaeve and knowing how deep his debt to her runs because she does care, and it matters to him that she does, and he knows what he’s lost and what he’s become and I am completely okay with all of this. Totally fine. Entirely unaffected.

It hurts.

But in the best way.

There was a wet scent to the air, the smell of new rain, and she could feel that she’d missed a sprinkle. Not enough to clear the air or muddy the ground, but enough to leave wetted sections of stone in shaded corners.

I see what you did there. The Land is one with the Dragon, after all, and Nynaeve’s weather sense has long since moved into the realm of the symbolic.

I really like this particular example, though. Soft and barely enough to make a noticeable change, not enough to ‘clear the air’, but it’s something. Rand telling her where Perrin is, after he’s destroyed one fortress with balefire and nearly destroyed a city and still thinks he is beyond redemption and therefore beyond limits, is…a small step, and perhaps not even a step, but it’s something.

Also, for all that in my head Rand is linked with the wind because that’s what we start every book with, and it is itself linked to the notion of beginnings and endings and something pervasive and all-reaching, we do see Rand linked to rain as well at significant moments. Bringing rain to the Waste as he declared himself, and water to the fountains of Rhuidean before he leaves. Letting the rain fall on him as he recognises his failure outside of Ebou Dar. ‘I am the storm’. But here it’s not a storm, nothing dramatic, just a barely-noticeable fall of new rain.

Time to report to Cadsuane.

Cadsuane herself was speaking quietly to Min, whom she had all but appropriated in recent days. Min herself didn’t seem to mind, perhaps because it wasn’t easy to spend time with Rand these days. Nynaeve felt a stab of sympathy for the girl. Nynaeve only had to deal with Rand as a friend; all of this would be much harsher on the one who shared his heart.

And that Min of all people has reached that point, that even she who has stayed by Rand’s side through just about everything in the last several books is finding it painful to be near him, is telling.

Yet it’s Nynaeve who Rand relies on to care when he cannot. His friend, not his lover. It’s a different sort of bond, and a different sort of anchor, but in this case no less…strong, or valuable. Or maybe that’s just me projecting.

Cadsuane manages the sort of dismissive compliments only she can, and still doesn’t want to talk about her plans. Maybe she and Egwene should have a chat about the values of transparency.

“You’d hold this knowledge back, even if it means the lives of those you hold dear?”

Really, Cadsuane, one could ask you the same thing. But secrecy and evasion are hard habits to break.

“Did he take it well?” Nynaeve repeated flatly. “That depends. Does pulling out that blasted ter’angreal and threatening to rain down fire on the army strike you as ‘Taking it well’?”

Min paled. Cadsuane raised an eyebrow.

“I stopped him,” Nynaeve said. “But just barely. I don’t know. It…it might be getting to late to do anything to change him.”

And what it must cost her to admit that. Nynaeve, who will do anything and everything to protect those she loves, but how can she protect him from himself? And what can she do when it is the world that needs protecting from him? But it’s not in her nature to just give up, and to do so with Rand would mean ceasing to protect him, ceasing to try to Heal him, and she cares too much to do that, but what else can she do? She’s caught in a place where no matter what she tries, there will be pain for someone.

Meanwhile Corele puts way too much stock in prophecies. You’re missing a crucial piece, Corele: for prophecies and visions to work, the world has to exist.

“If Rand loses, there is no Pattern.”

As readers, we know that there is a Fourth Age, at least, from some of the epigraphs. But the point here is something I talked about recently—it’s not so much about whether Light will win against Shadow; it’s not about whether the world will survive or perish, but instead is about what it will take to get there, what it will cost, how they can possibly bring about that success from this point and what it will demand of them. How much farther they can fall and still have a chance of survival. What kind of survival that will be.

To the characters themselves, there is no guarantee. But I think this serves a secondary purpose as a sign to the reader that even if there seems to be evidence that everything will be okay—for a given value of ‘okay’—there is still so  much at stake here, and it’s not a simple path. It’s not going to be easy, and it may not come without a price, and it’s not a simple guarantee.

It’s a focus not on the ‘what will happen’ but on the ‘how’, and it’s a reminder that whatever you think you know about how this ends, it is not so simple.

As far as Nynaeve is concerned, that adds up to needing to tell Cadsuane what she knows of Perrin’s location, even if she’s annoyed at Cadsuane’s secrecy. This is not the time to hold anything back. And yes, that could easily be said of Cadsuane as well, but the point is more that someone has to take the first step. Nynaeve can’t afford a power struggle with Cadsaune over information right now, not with the entire world at stake.

“In answer to your question earlier, child, Perrin actually isn’t important to our plans.”

“He isn’t?” Nynaeve asked. “But—”

Cadsuane raised a finger. “There are people with him who are vital. One in particular.”

TAM?

I’m not sure if that’s in capslock out of excitement or total dread but…let’s just go with both.

Because given Rand’s entire…*waves hands at everything*…it seems all but impossible for this to go well, which means it could go so, so badly, but on the other hand, TAM. AND RAND. IT’S BEEN TWELVE BOOKS.

I HAVE BEEN WANTING THIS REUNION FOR LITERAL YEARS.

But like this?

Next (TGS ch 45) Previous (TGS ch 43)

#few problems cannot be solved with duct tape or a sharp object #but in those cases arson is a good backup #Wheel of Time #neuxue liveblogs WoT #The Gathering Storm

[jmsebastian]

Profundity and Melodrama: The Narrative of NieR: Automata

If melodrama is comprised of characters as stereotype, then it can be a little hard to see NieR: Automata as anything but melodramatic. The game is completely filled with archetypal characters, cheap thrills in the form of fanservice, and emotional exposition that would be laughable (and still might be) if it weren’t so often told through digitized, robotic voices. The game’s first protagonist, 2B, is an impossibly beautiful, no-nonsense warrior dedicated to her mission. Her partner and second protagonist, 9S, is a lovably quirky, inquisitive, and chatty sidekick who warms the heart of 2B. These character tropes are so well worn that it feels suspicious. Through every area you explore, every interaction you have, there is an inescapable feeling that some trick is being played on you, as if what you’re observing isn’t actually what’s happening. Through this lens, the game manages to inform melodrama while simultaneously transcending it.

It’s always important to remember that every single thinking entity in the game is made of artificial intelligence. The androids of YoRHa, the machine lifeforms in all their various incarnations, Adam and Eve, the androids birthed from robots, none of them are made up of biological material. It’s also important to remember that these artificial intelligences were created at the behest of beings that were comprised of biology. The machine lifeforms were created by alien invaders of Earth, while the androids were created by humans to defend themselves from invasion. Neither the aliens nor the humans play an active role in game. It would be difficult for them to since there is very little evidence that either of them have lived or been active around Earth for a very, very long time. The androids and robots continue their war because they were built to do so, but the potential beneficiaries of said war, if you could call them that, have long since abandoned it or simply died out.

The absence of their creators’ guiding hand has led to some interesting results over the long haul. The machine lifeforms have begun to split up into tribes, confused about who their enemy is. Some go to war simply for the sake of being at war. Others find meaning by joining a cult and killing themselves. The extreme nature of the machine lifeforms’ coping mechanisms are most certainly melodramatic. We accept this largely for two reasons: first, the science fiction story acts to distance everything from reality, and second, the artificial intelligence of every single being in the game further distances everything from accurately reflecting how human beings typically deal with conflict.

Melodrama is largely defined by its unambiguous emotional messages. It is never a question as to who is the good guy and who the bad. Instead, the focus is on projecting the emotions of scenes as broadly as possible. In the beginning sequence of the first playthrough, the player is introduced to 9S. 2B, the player character, tolerates him, but attempts to keep him at a distance because she is focused on her job. She is a soldier, and as typical of many military characters, letting emotion creep in is viewed to have negative consequences on their ability to act decisively and with purpose. While 2B is set up as the emotionless officer, she quickly shifts toward extreme emotions when 9S sacrifices his body in an effort to save her.

She goes from zero to ten in about two lines of dialogue.

It’s a major shift in her characterization, and the game hasn’t presented the player with enough information yet to justify it. While the incapacitation of a partner would be an obvious event to get riled up about, 2B’s reaction seems to completely contradict everything that’s been learned about her up until that point. Why is she suddenly so upset about a partner she has so little history with? They had only just met moments before. She’s aware of what the S model androids are and do, but she isn’t familiar with 9S specifically, so far as the player is aware. The time between them meeting and him taking a chainsaw to the back is also quite short, mere minutes. Another betrayal of this characterization is revealed when 2B and 9S discuss their ability to be revived. Androids upload their consciousness to the Bunker, a space satellite that YoRHa operates out of. 2B knows full well that 9S would not be killed. Her gut reaction to repair him when he was clearly beyond repairing feels out of place. Sure, the part of him that didn’t get uploaded between his last upload and his “death” will be gone, but it’s mostly just those few minutes of robot fighting that make up the missing chunk, of which 2B can recount, anyway. Still, she decries the machine lifeforms and her commitment to their eradication is confirmed. They are evil and must be destroyed. The scene ends with 2B and 9S sharing a quiet moment of mutual respect before going out in a blaze of glory. This little story arc is a melodramatic frame, designed less to solicit empathy for the characters, and more to trigger a curiosity in the player about what roles these characters are supposed to be playing. The archetypes that are introduced so specifically at first, end up not so convincing, and this is really before the game even gets going.

Even before you get a chance to care about 2B, let alone 9S, the game tries to crank up the feels.

Perhaps the most melodramatic moment fittingly comes in the form of Simone, a robotic opera singer gone berserk on account of learning she can never earn the love of someone she admired. The player is first introduced to her in the first playthrough where 2B and 9S investigate a theme park. Once they make their way inside, they are ambushed by Simone, her body armored, her theater filled with the corpses of android bodies she has eaten over time. She laughs maniacally and keeps insisting she become more beautiful as she attacks. From the player’s perspective, Simone has clearly gone insane.

The fact that she is a machine lifeform rather than an android allows for a more straightforward retelling of her tragic backstory. Audiences have a long history with characters like this. Erik, whose persona of Phantom of the Opera, is a great example of a character who occupies a space on the fringes of humanity due to his disfigurement and circumstances. Because of his tenuous relationship with societal norms, we can empathize with his twisted view of love toward Christine in a way we couldn’t if he was just a regular jealous suitor. It’s a lot easier to justify kidnapping and murder after learning a tragic backstory filled with mistreatment, after all.

Like Erik, Simone commits horrific acts in her quest to become beautiful. The audience empathizes with her robotic nature and can thus justify those acts since she has no proper guide in understanding the intricacies of human emotions. She tries to understand love through the remnants of a human civilization she couldn’t take part in, never even saw. She learns that the things that make one beautiful are mostly superficial: nice skin, being able to sing. It’s all based on misinterpretation and superstition. She recognizes this fact to some degree, as she doesn’t believe the other robots when she hears that consuming androids can make one beautiful. Still, despite her disbelief, she goes about it, anyway, her desperation is so strong. She eventually becomes a cannibal in an effort to win the affections of another, which is about as heightened as the stakes get considering how low the stakes of dating are by human adult standards. The realization she has is heartbreaking because she is taking on the characteristic of humanity without realizing it, albeit the darkest parts of it. When she finally asks “Why have I done this to myself?”, the player’s empathy is elicited despite the ridiculous emotional heights (or depths, really) reached from a frame as cliched as unrequited love.

To confuse matters further, Simone’s most powerful emotions are conveyed via text.

What’s so frightening about Simone, and 2B’s stoic reaction to killing her, is just how closely this is fundamentally representing humanity. On the one hand, you the darkest expression of human desired realized through Simone. On the other hand, you have 2B, who is not interested in what lead to Simone becoming like this. In fact, the player doesn’t learn anything concrete about Simone’s past in 2B’s playthrough at all. Her backstory comes out as a result of 9S hacking into her, thus, he alone holds this information. 2B’s passionless execution of the opera singer quells the melodrama, and quietly reflects an utter lack of empathy that is also an undeniable part of humanity. Undercutting the player’s empathy in 2B’s playthrough by having the player character insist that machines don’t have feelings, only to reveal in the subsequent playthrough the depths of those feelings, is a novel way to use melodrama to find some actual drama.

NieR: Automata is rich with this cat and mouse game between overwrought exposition dialogue and genuine emotional revelations. The fact that the characters begin as stereotypes, only to have more  and more layers put upon them with each subsequent playthrough, makes the melodrama very real, if somewhat short lived. There is an abstracted layer to the whole thing where the androids of YoRHa are basically acting out their roles. They are performing in a melodrama completely unaware since they have no context for it. They don’t understand human history well enough to know what the concept of melodrama is, they often aren’t self-aware enough to critique their behavior, nor do they have histories long enough to reasonably cope with the existential crises that human beings face constantly. As such, they act on their impulses without realizing how pointless, childish, or downright insane it is to do so. The game is constantly telling the player that robots don’t have emotions, yet demonstrating in as grandiose a way possible that they most certianly do. 

#NieR: Automata #Platinum Games #Yoko Taro

[amunetred]

Black and Blue

A/N: T rating.  I’m writing my seven days in the form of a continuous short story, so here is chapter 1, Black and Blue.

Break down, tears fall to the ground

Tell myself: “Damnit, nothing can be found”

When you’re a fighter

You’re a fighter, fight on baby - Sia, Black and Blue

Chapter 1

Black and Blue

I’d seen dark. If one could say they’d looked into the abyss, into the endless nothing, the obsidian trap where hate could swallow you whole and hold you captive, I’d faced that many times.  That kind of darkness was no stranger to me. I’d looked it in the eye, and fought it with a vengeance, one that threatened to consume me along with it. But Leo’d always been there to pull me back, save me from the brink of any and everything, including myself.  

During the Kraang invasion my mutation was a fresh hell, my life collapsing in upon itself as the world outside appeared to be doing the very same thing.  Most nights in that time I’d spent coiled tight beneath a billboard, wishing the power might be restored that the giant bulbs should illuminate and warm me, lest I learn to self-regulate my serpent body heat. I wasn’t sure I could-- then I did.

This time was different.  Not the body-heat part, I’d had many years to become one with my mutant side.  It was the invasion that was different and it wasn’t the Kraang.  

I dropped to my belly, willing myself to transform enough that my tubular form permit me to slither along the dank, narrow passage. I halted as the last remnants of the sun’s warmth faded from my tail, the darkness swallowing me whole as I looked back to the last slivers of a melancholy blue sky.  How far we’d fallen, each and every one of us.  My heart clenched. Perhaps it was because I’d spent so much time walking the grey line between black and white, right and wrong, good and evil, that when the Unnamed invaded, ripping apart the veil that separated the two worlds, black and white, right and wrong, good and evil, I remained unchanged.  Because, I’d lived my life that way all along.  That and whoever my otherworld counterpart had been, she was dead before they came.

But that blurry high wire I danced upon, that wasn’t so for Leo or his brothers.  They had boundaries they did not cross.  At least they hadn’t at the time.  

Moisture seeped from the ground beneath, water dripping from the low ceiling above.  I should hate tight spaces, but I’d been locked in a cell enough times that I was capable of shutting that part of me off.  The fear of the walls crumbling, collapsing and closing the passage, trapping me along with it, what should be terror was merely a faint whimper inside me. The most prominent emotion I carried, I’d hesitated to name.  It was what drove me forward, kept me searching... kept me breathing. No.  The only fears I bore were either faced or yet to come.  The first had been loving him, for in those moments of peace, true bliss, those fleeting moments we cannot keep and do not last, they leave a burn, something precious covered with the scar you wear after they’ve gone.  The only thing I truly feared was losing him. But, in a sense, I’d lived through that too.  Though I did not fearing dying at his hand, because I would die knowing I’d done all I could to save him.  

“Don’t do this, Karai.  He ain’t the same.  If I can’t save him, you can’t.”

I would’ve laughed at Raph’s warning, were the scar skipping across his upper lip to dash his brow not still sutured, purple and hopefully not infected.  The bruises on his body, black and splotchy, his arm in a sling, his ankle wrapped. He’d almost lost an eye, by his brother’s doing.  I might lose my life.  But if I’m to die at the end of anyone’s sword, let it be Leonardo’s and I’ll die heartbroken but honored.

“If he-- kills you-- and ever comes out of this—if he remembers, he’ll never forgive himself.” Donatello put his hand on my shoulder.  “Think of how April feels, knowing they used her the way they did.” He glanced toward the end of the hall, a full tray of food from the morning still outside the door. “Don’t put this on him, Karai.”

I squeezed deeper along the passage, my forked tongue tasting the air, searching for him.  What had Donatello thought I would do?  Not go for him?  Not fight for him?  The universe and the Unnamed knew his brother’s had tried.  We tried.  One by one we’d saved all that remained from their brainwashing, from the spell they’d used April’s mind to cast over us.  One by one we’d died.  Shini, Jones, and so many others...  Strange how the two worked together, an alien sentient being possessing a psychic half alien human, to unlock a terrible door that left us twisted and broken, facing our polar opposites, left to destroy ourselves… or to struggle to get back to who we were.  

Clumps of mud sprinkled my back like spit before a rain shower.  I should be afraid.  Fear should course through my tepid blood, chilling it with icy pinpricks.  Thought I could not see, though I could feel the instability of the earth surrounding me, I feared nothing, not even the blade of my lover’s sword—should I ever find him.  

“I can’t give up on him, Donatello.  He never gave up on me, and I’ll go for him again and again until I either bring him home or die trying.”  I adjusted the strap on my backpack, stepped out onto the rickety front porch, paint peeling beneath my boots, waved to Raph and left the Hampton’s house.  Without a radio.  Without a phone.  Without back up.  Because there was no power in this hell.  Because there was no one to spare that was not needed elsewhere.  April was a complete mental case, Donatello’s hands full just trying to keep her from starving to death as she recounted all she’d been used to destroy. This left Raphael working to be sure Donatello ate, and that the unconscious Michelangelo didn’t fade away.

The mouth of the tunnel widened as I flicked the air, tasting sediment, mold, something metallic….steel!

Steel and— my heart fluttered— sandalwood!

My body transformed, the starving mouths of my hands dissolving into the curling fingers of my palms.  He was near, I could taste him.  He was near and soon I would look into those hard blue eyes and search for the soul I loved inside him.    

A cold laugh carried along the tunnel running vertical to mine.  A chilling, shrill sound that hurt like a blade to the gut.  Because it was his, and yet it wasn’t.  “You back again?  I thought you would’ve learned.”  

I didn’t need to close my eyes for the darkness enveloping me, not to see, to recall the last time I’d heard this sound…

It, the sentient leader of the Unnamed possessed April, much like that ancient Aeon bitch.  Only this creature didn’t need her for long, using her like a key to unlock the veil between two worlds, us and our polar opposites.  Only not all of us had them.  Or if they’d existed there, in that other world, they were already dead. 

 A white bolt split the sky, one half a brilliant summer blue, the sun bright and shining, though it was muggy and hot, nothing was perfect.  The other a starless, moonless black, with crumbling buildings that looked as though they’d dissolve to ash if one touched them.  And the split remained, even after the battle, both seeming both lost and never-ending.  

The people from the Night, that’s what we’d called the dark side, wanted to live in the Day, our side.  And the war began.  The problem was when Light destroyed Dark or the Dark murdered the Light, the soul left without a vessel was absorbed into the surviving body.  Leo was the first to make that mistake.  We lost him first.  He’d been gone the longest.  And what he’d become was—

Steel cut the air before me and I flinched back into my tunnel.  Transforming again, I coiled as tight as I could in the tight space then sprung forward launching myself at him, returning to my human form as I wrapped my arms and legs around his body.

I’d tasted the rope he dangled from.  Knew he held it, supporting his body with one hand.  It was nothing for him to add me to that burden, but it was unexpected and he flailed.  Though he did not complain, no cry of surprise, not in pain, nor distress. He made no sound at all.  And that terrified me.  

Rather than struggle to be rid of me, he wrestled an arm free and began climbing.  

“What- what are you doing?” I managed, though it was stupid for me to speak to him unprepared.

“Climbing.” His voice was a cool, detached thing, lacking the warmth-dashed-with-arrogance that I enjoyed.  I longed for the voice he used to tease me with when we sparred.  A flash of steel, a bead of sweat glistening his brow, or beading on the bridge of my nose, his reflection and mine blurred and stretched in the cross of our blades.  He’d back me into a wall, I’d drop him to the floor.  A roll.  A twist. A thrust.  My match.

As we ascended my mind caught up to the present, to the scent that was still him, clung to his skin and oozed from his pores, that he could not wash off and I was glad of it.  Though the warm, spicy aroma seeping from his flesh stirred my insides it also brought pressure to my chest for I missed the touch that had always accompanied it.  For right now he was rough as he drove his free hand into the soft tissue surrounding my shoulder blade.  “Gah! Leo, stop! Please, stop!” My arm went numb, dropped limp and useless to my side.

“You came back.” He clucked his tongue as if I’d asked for the pain.  He clipped something to my belt.  Oh no. I struggled with my one arm, desperate to remove the metal binding, though I couldn’t see to understand how the clasp worked. Then he released my shoulder, thrust a hand into my chest, at the same time he lifted his knee and drove his foot out sending me flying into the wall.  I bounced off, tumbling down the shaft, clumps of dirt and loose soil falling into my eyes.  I met the end of the rope, bouncing and dangling beneath him as he hauled us both up.

There was no point talking to him now.  Not until we were on solid ground.  I took a deep breath, clearing my mind on the exhale. I’d planned to find him.  Step one complete.  I’d planned to convince him to take me in.  Step two… in progress.

#leoraiweek #leorai week #chapter1 #tmntfanfic #blackandblue

[edxnwood]

6. BANISHED

( heimdall's observatory, asgard )

HEIMDALL STANDS AT THE OBSERVATORY'S CONTROLS, Odin pulling his sword out of the command panel and throws it to him, making the Gate Keeper back away. "Why did you bring us back?" Thor was furious at his father for not letting him complete his mission, wanting an explanation as to why he did, glaring at him with a fury. "Do you realize what you've done? What you've started?"

"I was protecting my home!"

"You cannot protect your friends. How can you hope to protect a kingdom?" He turns to the others. "Get him to the healing room! Sif, Volstagg, and Hogun hurry to help Fandral out of the room." It wasn't a good enough answer for his son, who just yells back, "There won't be a kingdom to protect if you're afraid to act!" Odin stares at him with his blue eye, a subtle glare in it, Loki standing by awkwardly and watching the commotion going on. "Whatever the cost, the world must know that the new King of Asgard will not be held in contempt."

"That's pride and vanity that talks! Not leadership! Have you forgotten everything I've taught you? What of a warrior's patience, cunning?"

"While you wait and be patient, the Nine Realms laugh at us! The old ways are done. You'd stand giving speeches while Asgard falls!" Thor shouts back, his voice sounding like thunder cracked down from the sky, loud and booming. "You're a vain, greedy, cruel boy!" Odin bellows, and Thor already has something to say. "And you're an old man and a fool!"The whole world seems to stop at Thor's words. Odin falls quiet. When he speaks again, there's something terrifying beneath the calmness of his words. "A fool, yes," he nods down at him. "I was a fool to think you were ready." Loki steps forward, "Father ―"

"Hey!" Odin growls at him, stopping him in his tracks. "Thor Odinson. . . You have disobeyed the express command of your King. Through your arrogance and stupidity, you have opened these peaceful Realms and innocent lives to the horrors of war." The Allfather plunges Gun"gnir into Observatory's control panel. The turret turns, the Bifrost energy building along with Odin's rage, and it fires, as the Bifrost opens at the end of the platform, creating a portal behind Thor. Odin turns angrily to his son. "You are unworthy of this Realm. . ." He rips off a disk from Thor's chest plate. "Unworthy of your title. . ." He rips off the bright crimson cloak. "Unworthy of the loved ones you've betrayed. I hereby take from you your powers." Odin extends his hand towards his son, Mjolnir goes flying from Thor's grasp and into Odin's hand. "In the name of my father. . ." A finger of lightning flies out of the hammer and into Thor's chest, disintegrating the right arm of his armor and part of the chest plate. "And of his father before. . ." Another strike disintegrates the remainder of Thor's armor, including the cape and torn-away disc on the floor. "I cast you out!"

Odin thrusts Mjolnir before him and ― with a crack of thunder ― Thor is hurled back into the open Bifrost and disappears in the vortex. Odin holds Mjolnir in his hand, stares at it bitterly. He closes his eyes, lost in contemplation, whispers something quietly, "Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor." Runes appear on the side of the hammer as if carved into its smooth surface. They linger for but a moment, then disappear. Suddenly, Odin turns and hurls the hammer into the Bifrost.

( daenerys' chambers, qarth )

"If you cross the sea with an army you bought―"

"The Seven Kingdoms are at war with one another," she and Jorah argued, the older man wanting Daenerys to stay here for a little longer until the war over in  Westeros died out, then she could go in with her dragons and a large army to fight for her rightful throne, but the young girl wanted to get it overwith; she waited for fourteen years for her throne. "Four false kings destroying the country."

"To win Westeros you need support from Westeros."

"The Usurper is dead," Dany rolls down the side of one of her dragon's cages, the small creature whining as darkness covered him. "The Starks fight the Lannisters and Baratheons fight each other." She shakes her head, Jorah straightening his back. "According to your new friend who earned your trust by cutting his hand?" He fought back, raising his eyebrows at her. "The time to strike is now," she ties off the covering. "We need to find ships and an army or we'll spend the rest of our lives rotting away at the edge of the world."

"Rich men do not become rich by giving more than they get. They'll give you ships and soldiers and they'll own you forever," he walks forward, using his hands as emphasis. "Moving carefully is the hard way, but it is the right way."

"And if I'd listen to that advice outside the gates of Qarth, we'd all be dead by now." When Jorah sighs, one of the dragons growls, their mother turning her head to him. "I know the opportunity before you seem like the last you'll ever have, but you must ―"

"Do not speak to me like a child," says the fourteen-year-old girl, walking past Jorah, his head following her as she moved to the other side of the room, his body following close after. "I only want ―"

"What do you want?" She whips her head around, "Tell me."

"To see you on the Iron Throne," he answers.

"Why?"

"You have a good claim," he says. "A title. A birthright. But you have something more than that." He steps forward. "You may cover it up and hide it, but you have a gentle heart. You would not only be respected and feared, you would be loved." Dany looks away as she pretends to be annoyed, but she was happy; no one has told her that before, and then turns her head back to her advisor. "Someone who can rule and should rule. Centuries come and go without a person like that coming into the world. There are times when I look at you and I still can't believe you're real." Dany's turns away, a gasp leaving her lips as her eyebrows come closer, tears coming into her eyes. "So what do you have me do, as my advisor?"

"Make your own way," he remarks. "Find your own ship, you only need one. The allies we need are in Westeros, not Qarth." He shakes his head.

"And how do I get this ship?"

"I'll find it for you. A sound ship with a good captain." Dany turns to face him, "I look forward to meeting him." Jorah bows at the waist, "Khaleesi." He walks off, Dany walking back to her dragons after taking a breath out, hearing them let out small whines as they hate their confines, but they must stay there until they get out of Qarth; they don't know if there could be traitors around.

( healing room, asgard )

Sif, Loki, and the Warriors three, battered and shell-shocked, still reeling from the day's events, sit before a roaring central fire. Hogun reaches into the flames, pulls out some fragile healing stones, and neither the fire nor the stones burn him. As he carefully places the stones over the wounds of his comrades, the stones begin to glow. He crushes them to a powder. His comrades' injuries heal up at the glowing powder's touch, Fandral winces in pain asHogun heals his gaping wound, and Volstagg looks at the skin on his arm ― healing, but still blackened from the necrotizing touch of the Frost Giant. Loki watches him, then stares at his own arm, where the Giant's touch turned his skin blue. It's undamaged, back to its normal color. "We never should have let him go," Volstagg shakes his head.

"There was no stopping him," Sif replies, knowing that Thor was prideful and somewhat egotistic. "At least he's only banished, not dead," Fandral said. "Which is what we'd all be if that guard hadn't told Odin where we'd gone." Everyone agreed, but Volstagg was the only one who questioned it. "How did the guard even know?" Loki stares at his arm in silent shock, not wanting the others to see what he was feeling; he was meant to be the God of Mischief and Lies, so he was supposed to be stone-cold. "I told him," he says.

"What?"

"I told him to go to Odin after we'd left. Though he should be flogged for taking so long."

"You told the guard?" Volstagg asks.

"I saved our lives! And Thor's. I had no idea Father would banish him for what he did." He begins picking at the cuticle of one of his fingers, taking it back just enough to keep it looking good and neat; he had an image to uphold to Asgard. Though he may be a man, he had to keep his image fresh, elegant, and smart, even if it was something as minuscule as a cuticle ― the maids could see it if they were to come near him. "Loki," Sif starts, "you're the only one who can help Thor now. You must go to the Allfather and convince him to change his mind!" If Loki were with his wife, she wouldn't be giving him this much shit. "And if I do, then what?" He questions her. "I love Thor more dearly than any of you, but you know what he is. He's arrogant. He's reckless. He's dangerous. You saw how he was today. Is that what Asgard needs from its King?" Everyone looks at each other, torn. Loki had a point. He leaves the room, leaving them all to question who the traitor in the House of Odin was, and they began to think it was Loki; he loved Thor, yes, but he was always jealous of him.

( odin's vault, asgard )

Loki heads into the Vault, sees the Casket of Ancient Winters sitting on its stand, walking over to it slowly, reaches out, lifts it between his forearms off its pedestal. As he does, a blueness spreads from his arms, across his body. The blueness was spreading further, consuming his whole body. Until he was one of them. "Stop!" Loki hears Odin hurrying into the room. Odin eyes Loki with dismay. "Am I cursed?" The god of mischief asks.

"No," Odin denies, shaking his white head. Loki sets the Casket back on its pedestal, "What am I?"

"You're my son," Odin responds, Loki turning around, letting the Allfather see his blue skin and red eyes, the etching of the drawings Jotuns had on their skin. The color recedes back into his collar, "What more than that?" Odin doesn't answer; he looks suddenly weary, burdened. Loki sizes him up, realizing the truth that his apparent father was hiding from him. "The Casket wasn't the only thing you took from Jotunheim that day, was it?"

The Allfather cannot hide it anymore. "No." He pauses, choosing his next words carefully as he looks ready to faint. "In the aftermath of the battle, I went into the Temple, and I found a baby. Small for a giant's offspring ― abandoned, suffering, left to die. Laufey's son." Loki is sent reeling at this information, hating the fact that he was not of Asgard, but of the Giants he was sworn to protect Asgard from; he fought against his real people. "Laufey's son. . ." he repeats softly, struggling to make sense of it. "Why? You were knee-deep in Jotun blood. Why would you take me?"

"You were an innocent child."

"You took me for a purpose, what was it?" Odin doesn't answer. "Tell me!"

"I thought we could unite our kingdoms one day, bring about an alliance, bring about a permanent peace. . . through you." He doesn't want to believe what he's hearing. "What?" He asks softly. "But those plans no longer matter." Odin couldn't bear to see his adopted son crying, the blue eyes he took from Frigga shining with tears, not with whatever adoration he saw only when he was looking at his mother; whenever he looked at his father it was blank, and when he looked at Thor it was full of jealousy and in recent times. . . it looked like he knew he finally had something that his brother didn't. "So I am no more than another stolen relic, locked up here until you might have use of me."

"Why do you twist my words?"

"You could have told me what I was from the beginning. Why didn't you?"

"You are my son," Odin counters, but it wasn't enough for Loki. "I wanted only to protect you from the truth." The Trickster did not want to be saved from the truth; he wanted to have been told many years earlier so all this pain he felt could have been overwith, so he didn't have to have the want, the need, to run into his wife's arms, crying. "Because I. . . I. . . I am the monster parents tell their children about at night?" Loki asks, hearing that Odin's words had no feeling to them, they seemed practiced, like he knew this day was going to come, stood in front of a mirror and said those very lines many times until he had it down perfectly. "It all makes sense now. Why you favored Thor all these years." Odin sits down on the staircase in pain. "Because no matter how much you came to love me,   you could never have a Frost Giant sitting on the Throne of Asgard!" The Allfather's body begins to shake, lifting his hand, moving out of sync temporarily, leaving a trail, the Odinsleep coming into effect. Loki doesn't notice it as he tries to fight it off. His hand drops as he falls asleep.

The God of Mischief gets on his knees, his hands hesitating to even touch Odin, his deft fingers resting atop the old man's hand, his thumb encasing the bottom of it, "Guards! Guards, please help!" The emotional strain of Loki's confrontation made the Odinsleep come faster than normal, and the Einherjar guards come in in their golden armor, beginning to pick their King up to bring him to his chamber.

( spice king's palace, qarth )

"He shouldn't make me wait," Dany paced the floor impatiently, her blue dress switched for a blue tunic, a gold cage-like necklace coming down below her breasts, Dothraki skirts in favor for the fine silk she wore the previous day. "The Spice King is the second wealthiest man in Qarth," Xaro replies, putting an emphasis on second to show that he was the first wealthiest man in Qarth, as he always did. "He makes everyone wait. Of course, you could have avoided this embarrassment if you married the wealthiest man in Qarth."

"I already have a husband," she seethes, already getting annoyed by his constant pushing to marry him; it seemed like he just wanted a woman to bed forever, not someone to love and hold dearly. "Khal Loki is gone, Khaleesi," he adds weight on the word gone, making Dany's heart hurt. It couldn't possibly be, she thought. He's a god. Gods are harder to kill than a simple pillow smothered over their heads. "You are far too young to remain a widow forever and far too beautiful."

"You are far too smart to think that I will succumb to flattery," Dany chuckles dryly, continuing her pace.

"I have traveled very far in my life," Xaro monotoned, "and met many women, but none that are immune to flattery." Well, Dany thought, perhaps when someone compliments you many times and each time they do, they take your weakness and use it against you again, you'll understand. "The Mother of Dragons!" A voice booms from the top of the grand staircase, breathing heavily as he walked down it, his fat body making it hard for him to even take a few steps without tiring himself out. "Forgive me," he bows to her. "I had terrible dreams last night, terrible dreams! I could not sleep until the sun was shining and the birds were singing. Look, what a beauty you are, now that the Red Waste has been washed off you. I am sorry for all that. . . unpleasantness. The silver hair of a true Targaryen! Xaro Xhoan Daxos, she is far too lovely for a glorified dockworker like yourself!"

"Very true!" Xaro mused, pointing up at the heavy man on the stairs. "And yet they say that your grandfather, who sold pepper off the back of a wagon, married a lady far lovelier and higher born than himself." As if Xaro had a chance, Dany fumed in her head. "Every lady alive was lovelier and higher born than my grandfather," the Spice King commented, the people behind him laughing softly while Xaro had a dry laugh, pretending to be enjoying his company. "Did my servants not offer you something to eat, to drink? I'll have them flogged in the square!"

"Thank you, my Lord, you are a gracious host," Dany stops him, stepping up to him, the tips of her boots hitting against the bottom step. "But there is no servant alive that can give me what I want."

"Ah, she has a talent for drama, this one," Xaro gives a sullen nod behind Dany's back, agreeing with the Spice King for once. "So, my little princess, what is it you want?"

"My birthright, the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros."

"I fear I'm no better than a servant in this regard," he shakes his bald head at her, mocking the young Khaleesi. "I cannot give you what I do not have." Dany sighs deeply, "I'm not asking you fo the Kingdoms. I'm asking you for ships. I need to cross the Narrow Sea."

"I need my ships as well," he begins to truly mock Dany as if she were a stupid girl. "I use them, you see, to bring spices from one port to another!"

"Whatever you grant me now, will be repaid three times over when I retake the Iron Throne," Dany stated, and the man's bushy eyebrows come up in the air, ready to say something else. "Retake?" He queried. "Did you once sit on the Iron Throne?"

"My father sat there before he was murdered."

"But if you did not sit on it yourself," the King asks, "would it not be correct to say take the Iron Throne?" Dany's had enough, and she snaps, replying, "I didn't come here to argue grammar!" He shakes his head down at her like a man would to his little puppy, if he ever had one. "Of course not," he piped. "You came to take my ships. So let me explain my position, little princess." He walks down the stairs, hand running down the banister as his left held up his skirts. "Unlike you, I do not have exalted ancestors. I make my living by trade, and I judge every trade on its merits. You ask for ships, you say I shall be repaid triple, I do not doubt your honesty or your intentions, but before you repay your debts, you must seize the Seven Kingdoms! Do you have an army?"

"Not yet."

"You do not have an army. Do you have powerful allies in Westeros?"

"There are many there to support my claim."

"When were you there last?"

"I left when I was a baby."

"So, in truth, you have no allies," he straightens up. "The people will rise to fight for their rightful queen when I return."

"Ah," he juts a fat finger at her, and Dany wants nothing more than to reach over and break it in half, perhaps even rip it off its socket. "Forgive me, little princess, but I cannot make an investment on wishes and dreams! Now, if you'll pardon me." He begins walking up the stairs.

"Do you know Illyrio Mopatis, Magister of Pentos?" This makes him turn around from his walk, "Yes, we've met. A shrewd man."

"For my wedding, he gave me three petrified dragon eggs," Dany begins telling her story when she was just thirteen years old. Now she was a girl of fourteen, her breasts were no longer as full as they were from when she was pregnant and the skin around her nipples dried, cracked, and peeled off to reveal new pink buds. "He believed, the world believed, that the ages have turned them to stone. How many centuries has it been since dragons roamed the skies? But I dreamt that if I carried those eggs into a great fire, they would hatch. When I stepped into the fire, my own people thought I was mad. But when the fire burned out, I was unhurt, the Mother of Dragons." A moment of silence passes before them, Daenerys stepping up onto the staircase, "Do you understand? I'm no ordinary women. My dreams come true."

The Spice King nods at her and steps down, "I admire your passion. But in business, I trust in logic, not passion. I'm sorry, little princess."

"I'm not your little princess. I am Daenerys Stormborn of the blood of the Old Valyria, and I will take what is mine. With fire and blood, I will take it."

"Yes, My Lady! But not with my ships!"

#Loki Laufeyson #loki odinson #loki fanfic #loki (marvel) #loki x daenerys #daenerys targaryen #Daenerys #daenerys stormborn #marvel #game of thrones #targaryen #game of thrones crossover

[vantelieth-blog]

                         Prologue Chapter XI: To the Ruins of Old Halia

With a snap of his fingers, Astot transported himself and Enlenia a dimly lit hallway of a great temple with engraved stone walls and a floor of tiled marble. Not immediately would Enlenia begin to question where she was, for her thoughts remained of Inguis and Constius. Had the Chariots begun to hide themselves from Regnal in her absence?

Two lit candles stood upon respective plinths on opposite sides. Astot delicately held one candle and illuminated the path as he continued forward with Enlenia following closely behind him. “We have Constius to thank for such a fitting abode,” he smiled. “T'was his mercy and convincing tongue that earned us the service of this... prospering human dwelling.”

“You hid amongst humanity all this time?” Enlenia asked.

“Forsooth, we have done so for many a reason, but let us say that the citizens of this city have proven worthy of our study, so that we may better understand how humanity resists us. But I will spare you the details, unnecessary when weighed against our predicament at present.”

The hallway opened up in what seemed to be a wide ceremonial space illuminated with torches of blue flame against the walls. On the opposite side, a single window cast down the fading sunlight of the twilight sky, shining upon a great blood-red pentagram surrounded with four pillars in the center of the space.

“I have not been ignorant of Regnal's disloyalty,” Astot spoke as he stepped in the middle of the pentagram to behold the sunlight, “he is a valuable Chariot I would not wish to lose, but as well, I could not allow him to act as he pleases. Inguis, Constius and I—perhaps you as well—we were all prepared for the moment of his betrayal.”

Whilst Enlenia was yet undecided as to what should have become of Regnal—and indeed, she knew well he placed his own affairs before the Chariots'—she doubtfully pondered what they would stand to gain in opposing him. No matter how long the Chariots could war amongst one another, they were all undying and always would be.

“I wonder, Enlenia, are you the slightest aware of Regnal's powers?” Astot asked as though he had read Enlenia's mind. “Regnal is a creature with no form to call his own, and so he imitates things of his interest.”

“He consumes them,” Enlenia added, recalling Regnal's story of consuming another tainted.

Astot nodded. “Without consuming them, he cannot perfectly imitate them. Living creatures he consumes become ever part of him in both mind and body, and it seems he needn't fear of losing his own mind as a consequence. In a way… the unfortunate creatures die, no matter what they may be. Regnal, I once feared, was the only tainted capable of killing another.”

“And it is Regnal's belief that a true god is one which embodies every living thing,” Enlenia concluded from Regnal's speech.

Astot placed a finger on his chin. “If this is true, I do not understand him,” he murmured. “Life will continue no matter his growth, and he will always find new things to consume as such. Is it his intention to consume everything there is until he is all that remains? No, perhaps...”

As he fell silent, Astot lowered his head in deep contemplation. Suddenly, his laughter echoed throughout the hall. “I see, I see!” he excitedly exclaimed. “Truly, he does believe! 'Tis Regnal's belief that our creator will appear to conquer a being of greater power, and Regnal desires to become that being. So what he seeks is the power of our creator, which means he must not truly doubt his existence. He will still be of some use to us yet.”

Astot clenched the candle in his hand tightly, scattering its form as particles of light. He conjured a bell within that same hand and rang it until a four-legged black figure seated in the corner stepped forward by its sound—Constius. Soon afterward, Inguis emerged in the sky beyond the window, eclipsing the sun.

“Regnal would tell you these two are gone from the Chariots, but he has been deceived,” Astot continued. “Among the Chariots, Regnal yet has Inguis to fear, and so I hid him away to test Regnal's loyalty and observe his actions with no one left to defy him. Whilst Inguis was hidden, Constius assisted me with tasks no less important, one of which I have already explained. Enlenia, you have studied Halians before, have you not?”

Enlenia nodded. “You spoke of them as humans gifted with light.”

“The Halians are strange forsooth. We knew of what they are but not of what they seek, nor how they came to be; but in your absence, we have sought to learn. They seem to know something of the origins of the scourge which we do not. The Halians have warred against the Chariots from the beginning, and their powers have proven enough to banish us from this world, however unlasting. They have grown more restless in the days of your slumber, and it would seem they defy the 'Blade of Humanity' as well, the woman whose existence we have you to thank for.”

Following an uncertain moment of silence, Enlenia turned away from Astot. “So, it is true, then,” she mused quietly, briefly pacing to and fro. “I knew from that look in her eyes we had met before. Forgive me, t'was not my wish to trouble the Chariots so with my actions.”

Astot faced Enlenia with a smile. “You have not troubled us at all, dear Enlenia. Perhaps this, too, was the will of our creator.”

“So I am responsible for all that has happened? Tell me, Astot, what have I done?”

“I spoke before of Regnal's power, that I once believed with it, he was the only tainted who could kill another. But it would seem, Enlenia, that you might possess such a power as well.”

“The 'Blade of Humanity' is titled so because she is a human who wields the scourge against the tainted; her spirit does not waver to it,” Inguis cackled. “To conquer us with the very power which gave us life—such is her own task.”

“The power of the scourge—that and the light of the Halians only—can vanquish even the tainted, although always we are fated to reawaken thereafter,” Astot added. “The scourge is a power humans have unwittingly harnessed in times past, and such folly would oft demand a great price. And so they built weapons derived from the scourge, but for that, too, many sacrifices were made. Then came the Blade of Humanity, a human who wields the scourge as power of their own and does not yield to it. In exchange for her own identity, she had claimed this great power from none other than you, Enlenia. Thus explains your true power—to take the identity of another as your own, no different than Regnal; or to grant power to others. You merely lack the means of controlling it.”

“Do you know this for certain?” Enlenia asked.

“Astot knows only what I have told him,” Inguis answered. “T'was I who witnessed your death by her hands; as well, her rebirth as the Blade of Humanity.”

“Beyond that, I can feel your presence within her,” Astot added, “but that presence is fading—your union is fickle, and she will soon become a tainted. If you wish to save her, we must act quickly.”

“Now let us be done with this wearisome exposition!” Constius spoke impatiently, stamping his foot. “The ruins of Old Halia, once home to the Halians, contains the answers we all seek. To discover this land is the design of us, Regnal, and the sycophants of the Blade of Humanity alike.”

“Old... Halia?” Enlenia asked.

Astot nodded. “In the center of a vast meadow lies a great lake upon which stands Old Halia, so a legend tells,” Astot said. “It is there the Halians might await us as well. That only we knew where this meadow resides...”

But Enlenia knew well this meadow of which Astot spoke—none other than her birthplace, the Garden of Mercy. Perhaps it was there that she would thus further understand her own origins as well. It was the first time since meeting with Astot that Enlenia felt some semblance of excitement. “I know the meadow you speak of, as do I know where to find it.”

Astot's eyes widened. “Could it be the home of this 'Garden of Mercy'?”

“Yes. It was my home as well.”

“Then fortune does smile upon us forsooth!” Astot exclaimed excitedly. “Inguis, Constius, we shall follow Enlenia's lead. Let us be first to step foot upon Old Halia!”

“Regnal and Humanity's Blade might win this race nonetheless,” Inguis laughed. “What then if we encounter them?”

“If Regnal is there, we will make him kneel before Enlenia's power. I leave the Blade of Humanity's fate in her hands as well.”

“If it is her fate to die, then I wish to save her,” Enlenia answered. “Once we have discovered our creator, the scourge must be destroyed. The Blade of Humanity may hold the power to do just that.”

Astot smiled. “As may you, Enlenia. Perhaps one day you, too, will be renowned as Blade of Humanity. But let us be concerned with the scourge another day. Enlenia, Constius, Inguis… let us depart immediately.”

Enlenia's final trial awaited her in the ruins of Old Halia. And she foretold the coming of a great battle. One task yet remained before her journey to the sacred ruins: to revisit the home of her old friend and finally earn his aid.

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