#the point is the fields were barren and while there certainly has been WAY more wlw content in recent years

[jrhughes]

God Will Surely Have His Will Done

Merry Christmas 

Sunday December 24th 2023AD 

Genesis 27:1-46 

Golden Text:       “And Isaac intreated the LORD for his wife, because she was barren: and the LORD was intreated of him, and Rebekah his wife conceived. And the children struggled together within her; and she said, If it be so, why am I thus? And she went to enquire of the LORD. And the LORD said unto her, Two nations are in thy womb, and two manner of people shall be separated from thy bowels; and the one people shall be stronger than the other people; and the elder shall serve the younger.” Genesis 25:21-23  

It is interesting to note that we find several lessons applicable to chapter 26 in chapter 25. When his wife is unable to bear children, Jacob prays for her and she becomes pregnant. While she is pregnant, she feels great struggles within her body. And she cries out to the Lord and asks Him what’s going on. And the Lord speaks to her and tells her the truth of the matter is that there are two nations struggling within her, and affirms to her that the elder shall serve the younger. This is the word of the Lord for the family given to the wife of the family. Certainly this was known to both Isaac and his wife.   

Many men under the false impression that God speaks only to the man, and thinks that what the wife hears is suspect. However it is clear here that God makes His desires and wishes known to Rebekah. Those who think that’s not possible should resolve in their mind the fact that it is possible and here is a prime example of God speaking to the family though the wife.  

In the normal happy family, the husband and wife are of the same accord and support one another. However, in this situation, there is obvious strife between husband and wife and the wife is the one that heard from God. Despite what God had said Isaac has decided he has some authority. This is kind of a dysfunctional family a this point in time. And despite the clear word if the Lord, Isaac is in rebellion but not for the right reasons. Remember, Esau was given the opportunity to sell his birthright to his younger brother for a bowl of pottage.  And he despised his birthright and sold it to him. So now by agreement Jacob has received the blessing that would have been due the firstborn. This was known to both parties, Isaac and Rebekah.  

Message Text: Genesis 27: 1-46 

1. And it came to pass, that when Isaac was old, and his eyes were dim, so that he could not see, he called Esau his eldest son, and said unto him, My son: and he said unto him, Behold, here am I. 2. And he said, Behold now, I am old, I know not the day of my death: 3. Now therefore take, I pray thee, thy weapons, thy quiver and thy bow, and go out to the field, and take me some venison; 4. And make me savoury meat, such as I love, and bring it to me, that I may eat; that my soul may bless thee before I die. 

Now it came to pass, when Isaac was old: perhaps Isaac believed his time had come to die, and this was his way of settling his affairs, sort of a last will and testament. His old age was evident in his weakened eyesight (his eyes were so dim that he could not see). 

Isaac was old, but perhaps not near death. Martin Luther calculated Isaac’s age to be 137 at this point; he lived to be 180. Isaac lived 43 more years. 

That my soul may bless you before I die: Strangely, Isaac insisted on giving the blessing to Esau, the one whom God did not choose (Genesis 25:23), who despised his birthright, and who married pagan wives. It seems Isaac rejected godly thinking and spiritual wisdom, and instead thought only of food and common, man-centered ideas of might. 

Isaac was older and suffering from not being able to see and was relying upon his other senses. However there is no excuse for his behavior since he knew the clear words of God that came to the family through his wife. Yet he took it upon himself to bestow a blessing upon his son Esau who did not deserve it and was not entitled to it, all because Isaac favored his outdoor hunting macho son over what appeared to be a Momma’s boy in Jacob. And no matter what God had said, Isaac was determined to pass th blessing on to him. 

He asked Esau to go hunt, bring back some venison and feed it to him so that he would now have a reason to bestow a blessing upon him. This was all totally out of God’s will. 

Warning - Men, God can and will speak to you through your wife. God will speak to the entire family through the wife of the family. God has clearly spoken. But here we find Isaac refused to obey God.  

5. And Rebekah heard when Isaac spake to Esau his son. And Esau went to the field to hunt for venison, and to bring it. 6. And Rebekah spake unto Jacob her son, saying, Behold, I heard thy father speak unto Esau thy brother, saying, 7. Bring me venison, and make me savoury meat, that I may eat, and bless thee before the LORD before my death. 

Do you suppose Rebekah overhear this by chance? I do not. I believe it was the plan of God. I suppose Rebekah could have gone to her husband and reminded him of the promise of God and urged him to not go against the will of God, but she did not. She chose rather to join in a deception against her husband who was in rebellion against the will of God. She heard what he wanted to do and knew that she had a duty to help perform the will of God. She reveals to her son Jacob that his father Isaac intends to attempt to thwart the will of God. And she wants to use Jacob an a deceptive manner to have God’s will done. Interesting? Why God puts up with all this nonsense we are not certain, however we are sure of one thing: God’s will shall be done.  

Rebekah was listening when Isaac spoke to Esau: The account here does not specifically tell us that Rebekah spied upon Isaac and Esau in some inappropriate sense. The feeling that this was scheming and spying is here, but it is possible that she casually overheard this important conversation. When Esau went to the field to hunt, Rebekah was ready with her plan. 

8. Now therefore, my son, obey my voice according to that which I command thee. 9. Go now to the flock, and fetch me from thence two good kids of the goats; and I will make them savoury meat for thy father, such as he loveth: 10. And thou shalt bring it to thy father, that he may eat, and that he may bless thee before his death. 

Now therefore, my son, obey my voice according to what I command you: Instead of trusting God to fulfill what He had promised in Genesis 25:23, Rebekah used manipulative scheming to accomplish what she knew to be the plan of God. 

The plot of Rebekah is set. She will deceive her husband and she will use Jacob to deceive Isaac so that Jacob might receive the blessing God intended him to receive. 

So we know that Isaac could not see and now we see that he may have trouble discerning between kids of the flock prepared to taste like venison and the real deal venison. Jacob is fully involved in the plot to deceive Isaac.  

11. And Jacob said to Rebekah his mother, Behold, Esau my brother is a hairy man, and I am a smooth man: 12. My father peradventure will feel me, and I shall seem to him as a deceiver; and I shall bring a curse upon me, and not a blessing. 13. And his mother said unto him, Upon me be thy curse, my son: only obey my voice, and go fetch me them. 

Clearly, Jacob was in on the plot fully willing to participate His only fear was, what if I’m caught. My father will be upset with me. The deception was fine. His concern was getting caught. 

14. And he went, and fetched, and brought them to his mother: and his mother made savoury meat, such as his father loved. 15. And Rebekah took goodly raiment of her eldest son Esau, which were with her in the house, and put them upon Jacob her younger son: 16. And she put the skins of the kids of the goats upon his hands, and upon the smooth of his neck: 17. And she gave the savoury meat and the bread, which she had prepared, into the hand of her son Jacob. 

The deception was complete. Jacob would pretend to be Esau to get the blessing his father promised to Esau, even though it was clearly God’s will that blessing belonged to the younger Jacob. Once Jacob overcame his fear of getting caught in his deception, he was ready to carry it out. Rebekah manipulated both Isaac and Jacob, but Jacob was willing to be manipulated. 

Even Esau, in agreeing to Isaac’s plan to give him the birthright, disregarded his previous promise to allow Jacob to have the birthright. 

All four of them — Isaac, Rebekah, Jacob, and Esau — did not trust each other. Worse yet, they did not trust the Lord. Each one of them schemed and plotted against each other and against God. 

The worst aspect of this all is they seem to regard the blessing as magical, as something detached from God’s wisdom and will. But in giving the blessing, the most Isaac could do was to recognize God’s call and blessing on Jacob. Only God could truly bestow the blessing. Esau could receive the blessing from Isaac a hundred times, but it only mattered if God in heaven honored it. 

18. And he came unto his father, and said, My father: and he said, Here am I; who art thou, my son? 19. And Jacob said unto his father, I am Esau thy firstborn; I have done according as thou badest me: arise, I pray thee, sit and eat of my venison, that thy soul may bless me. 20. And Isaac said unto his son, How is it that thou hast found it so quickly, my son? And he said, Because the LORD thy God brought it to me. 

Here we see the ultimate deception even to the extent of using God as part of the lie. There is no excuse for this much deception. We know that God’s will is that Jacob receive the blessing, but he sure is acting very undeserving at this point in time. I wouldn’t have been surprised if God said, “That’s it! You’ve gone too far!” But God did not, He allowed all this so that God’s will would surely be done. 

21. And Isaac said unto Jacob, Come near, I pray thee, that I may feel thee, my son, whether thou be my very son Esau or not. 22. And Jacob went near unto Isaac his father; and he felt him, and said, The voice is Jacob's voice, but the hands are the hands of Esau. 23. And he discerned him not, because his hands were hairy, as his brother Esau's hands: so he blessed him. 24. And he said, Art thou my very son Esau? And he said, I am. 

Isaac becomes suspicious and wants reassurance. He finally convinces himself that this is his son because of the character of the skin and the smell but he still asks are you my son Esau? And Jacob again lies to his father.  

What a mess! Husband and wife striving one against the other, lies and deceptions flying all over the place. God watching, but again, God’s will shall be done. 

25. And he said, Bring it near to me, and I will eat of my son's venison, that my soul may bless thee. And he brought it near to him, and he did eat: and he brought him wine, and he drank. 26. And his father Isaac said unto him, Come near now, and kiss me, my son. 27. And he came near, and kissed him: and he smelled the smell of his raiment, and blessed him, and said, See, the smell of my son is as the smell of a field which the LORD hath blessed:  

So, Jacob gave him the prepared deceiving meat so that he could receive a blessing from God and his father, which was due to him. However, why God put up with all this deception is puzzling, but His will is being done. 

28. Therefore God give thee of the dew of heaven, and the fatness of the earth, and plenty of corn and wine: 29. Let people serve thee, and nations bow down to thee: be lord over thy brethren, and let thy mother's sons bow down to thee: cursed be every one that curseth thee, and blessed be he that blesseth thee. 

Here Isaac embodies the blessing intended for Jacob all along by God. He will be the pre-eminent of the two sons now, it is settled. And so apparently Jacob quickly leaves his father and goes back to be with his mother. They have pulled it off. 

30. And it came to pass, as soon as Isaac had made an end of blessing Jacob, and Jacob was yet scarce gone out from the presence of Isaac his father, that Esau his brother came in from his hunting. 31. And he also had made savoury meat, and brought it unto his father, and said unto his father, Let my father arise, and eat of his son's venison, that thy soul may bless me. 32. And Isaac his father said unto him, Who art thou? And he said, I am thy son, thy firstborn Esau. 33. And Isaac trembled very exceedingly, and said, Who? where is he that hath taken venison, and brought it me, and I have eaten of all before thou camest, and have blessed him? yea, and he shall be blessed. 

In comes Esau, seeking a blessing which rightly belonged to his brother Jacob. He knows it and he has despised his own birthright. But he is willing to receive a blessing which does not belong to him. However Isaac informs him that this will not be because he has given that blessing to Jacob.  

34. And when Esau heard the words of his father, he cried with a great and exceeding bitter cry, and said unto his father, Bless me, even me also, O my father. 35. And he said, Thy brother came with subtilty, and hath taken away thy blessing. 36. And he said, Is not he rightly named Jacob? for he hath supplanted me these two times: he took away my birthright; and, behold, now he hath taken away my blessing. And he said, Hast thou not reserved a blessing for me? 37. And Isaac answered and said unto Esau, Behold, I have made him thy lord, and all his brethren have I given to him for servants; and with corn and wine have I sustained him: and what shall I do now unto thee, my son? 38. And Esau said unto his father, Hast thou but one blessing, my father? bless me, even me also, O my father. And Esau lifted up his voice, and wept. 

Esau freely admits that he has given up his birthright and thus forfeited the right of blessing of the firstborn. But somehow, he wants to have done all these things which disqualified himself and still claim that blessing that always was intended for his brother Jacob according to the word of God. We will see to what depths of despair this takes him as we continue reading. 

39. And Isaac his father answered and said unto him, Behold, thy dwelling shall be the fatness of the earth, and of the dew of heaven from above; 40. And by thy sword shalt thou live, and shalt serve thy brother; and it shall come to pass when thou shalt have the dominion, that thou shalt break his yoke from off thy neck. 41. And Esau hated Jacob because of the blessing wherewith his father blessed him: and Esau said in his heart, The days of mourning for my father are at hand; then will I slay my brother Jacob. 

“Give me the same blessing, aren’t they just words?” Of course they are not. We read in Hebrews, “Looking diligently lest any man fail of the grace of God; lest any root of bitterness springing up trouble you, and thereby many be defiled; Lest there be any fornicator, or profane person, as Esau, who for one morsel of meat sold his birthright. For ye know how that afterward, when he would have inherited the blessing, he was rejected: for he found no place of repentance, though he sought it carefully with tears.” (Hebrews 12:15-17) 

This is a puzzling blessing, although it clearly indicates Esau shall serve Jacob he also talks about some kind of dominion.; I am not sure what he meant because we never see Esau taking dominion over Jacob at any time. However, we see the murder in the heart of Esau and hearken in our minds back to Cain and Abel. Clearly Esau will have some blessing but not to the level to which God blesses his son Jacob. 

42. And these words of Esau her elder son were told to Rebekah: and she sent and called Jacob her younger son, and said unto him, Behold, thy brother Esau, as touching thee, doth comfort himself, purposing to kill thee. 43. Now therefore, my son, obey my voice; and arise, flee thou to Laban my brother to Haran; 44. And tarry with him a few days, until thy brother's fury turn away; 45. Until thy brother's anger turn away from thee, and he forget that which thou hast done to him: then I will send, and fetch thee from thence: why should I be deprived also of you both in one day? 46. And Rebekah said to Isaac, I am weary of my life because of the daughters of Heth: if Jacob take a wife of the daughters of Heth, such as these which are of the daughters of the land, what good shall my life do me? 

Rebekah is going to save Jacob from the wrath of Esau. She does it by sending him away to her brother Laban. She apparently believes Esau feels wronged and will carry out his threats to kill Jacob. Why Esau does not act now, is it out of some sort of respect to his father? Or, more likely because the plan of God shall be carried out. 

Rebekah next says to her husband, “I came all the way to this land to marry you and fulfill God’s will. And all that I have lived for will be taken away if Jacob breaks the covenant by improperly marrying a pagan woman.” Apparently Isaac agrees and they send Jacob away to Laban. 

PRAYER: Heavenly Father, I know that You love me and each one of Your Creation since the beginning of time. Here You have shown that no matter what man may try to do to violate Your Will, You will surely have Your Will followed. Thus we should seek Your Will which is revealed in the Bible, Your word. Then we should follow You and be an instrument of You to and for others. Here there is a great strife between these two twin brothers. And You allow must nonsense to take place, but always so that Thy Will be done.  We yield to You in all that we do. Help us (me) to be a vessel fit for Your use in this lost and dying world without Jesus. Use us (me) I pray to further Your kingdom and purpose. Help me to seek it out, find it and be a co worker with You. Please save all those who do not know and understand. Please make me a fit vessel for You to use, I pray in the Mighty Name of Jesus Christ, God the Son. Amen and amen. 

May God bless you in all that you do for Him, Brother J.R. Soul winner, Bible teacher, Defender of the Faith

#bible study #genesis #Isaac

[pencilscratchins]

sorry this is kinda random i just wanted to say thank you for making so much wlw content!! :)

thank you ♥️ my ultimate goal online is to double the amount of wlw content on this platform from the amount that was available when i first joined. i am prometheus and sapphics are my fire

#our-ever-expanding-universe #not a difficult task as there was barely any in 2010 LMAOO #or 2013 i can’t remember when i joined tbh #the point is the fields were barren and while there certainly has been WAY more wlw content in recent years #there’s still a very noticeable fewer that mlm content #*than #for a few reasons i’m sure one being internalized misogyny #one being the vast difference in availability of complex interesting male characters v female #(which itself is misogyny) #the amount of str8 fetishization of gay men (which is gross don’t do that mlm are not your objects to enjoy) #and several others i’m sure #but as a lesbian i clearly hve a vested interest in spreading my gospel #and letting ppl know that if you follow me for mlm #you have to also consume my wlw work 😔🏳️‍🌈♥️ #LMAO SORRY FOR THE NOVEL IN THE TAGS #ask #anon #not art

[ratcandy]

Subcon Forest Analysis

Hi everyone I'm here to spill my aggressive overflowing thoughts on Subcon Forest and what it represents because it's been driving me insane since I finished the Sleepy Subcon time rift. Okay let's go. Obvious spoilers for AHIT ahead so proceed with caution.

This is also very, very long.

Disclaimer/warning: I will be discussing abusive/unhealthy relationships in this analysis. I mean. Vanessa. Come on. Also, there is a section on the nooses, and that delves, of course, into mentions of suicide. It will be sectioned off and easily skipped, but if you'd rather be safe and skip the entire post, that's completely understandable! Please stay safe. <3

Alright. Main point to be had here:

Subcon Forest is a giant extended metaphor for Snatcher's mind and character.

You all get to now listen to me spout nonsense about metaphors and symbolism because I'm a sucker for analysis and I'm given an opportunity to go ham. So perish.

The Ice

Let's start with the most obvious and most glaring thing in Subcon. The ice. It's everywhere. Not just outside Vanessa's manor, either; no, it's throughout the village, too. Shows up in the well and in random locations sprinkled about. When it comes to literal plot, we know that ice is just what lingers after Vanessa's wintery curse on Subcon. But going deeper and analyzing the meaning behind it?

Well, let's look at this from the perspective I've suggested. Subcon Forest being an extended metaphor for Snatcher's mind and character. A symbol for Vanessa then litters his mind, enough where it's certainly noticeable at first but blends in more easily once more of Subcon is unlocked to Hat Kid. This is clearly meant to be his lingering trauma, whether or not he wants to acknowledge it. Which he doesn't, as he never mentions it directly in his forest (that I can recall). Her influence plagues him, as to be expected with the traumatic experiences he went through with her. Breaking the ice is something Hat Kid must do in order to fulfill the wishes of the Fire Spirits (another subject I'll get into shortly), which, if self-indulgently playing with the found family idea, could mean that Hat Kid is helping him heal; if indirectly. Even if fulfilling the Fire Spirits' wish to die is... counterproductive, in that measure, which I'm now getting ahead of myself so hold on a sec!!

Vanessa. Ice. Everywhere. Traces of it all over his forest. That's the effects of an abusive relationship! Especially in a worst-case scenario where... yknow! One party in the relationship dies! So of course ice would be everywhere.

In and of itself, ice is a common symbol in literature and other forms of media. In this case, it's presented as an antagonistic force; emphasis is placed upon freezing and the harm that comes with it. The cold is unwelcoming, threatening, merciless. Snow can act as an insulating force, at least, but ice cannot. It can only make things colder.

A slight stretch: Seeing as this game deals a lot with time shenaniganry, I'm not sure if it'd be too out of left field to connect "freezing" with the theme of time. Yknow. Frozen in time. Both parties here, Snatcher and Vanessa, would be in this frozen state. One largely repressing it and never fully moving on, and the other doomed to her isolation ever since the event in question. They never moved past that moment after the Prince and florist's interaction.

The Fire Spirits (& the Portraits)

I'll put a slight warning here for suicidal ideation, if only because... it's the Fire Spirits we're talking about. It's not as grossly in-detail as the noose discussion will be, though, so make of that what you will.

To me, the Fire Spirits are a very interesting case. After all, they're fire. They're a direct contrast to the ice, thus being the only thing we're shown that could potentially melt it. The Fire Spirits, in my opinion, represent hope or a strength to continue. A strength to move on after troubles of the past.

...And that hope wants to die.

The Fire Spirits wish to burn out, to leave this mortal coil and abandon the forest to the cold. They make no effort to melt the ice, they simply dance, blissfully ignorant towards their surroundings. This being a metaphor for Snatcher's own hope for moving on is made all the more obvious by the fact he wants them gone. The first contract is to kill the Fire Spirits, to kill the hope. Perhaps he believes that sort of thing to be fruitless or naïve, so it only clutters his mind or has him foolishly optimistic at points. So, get rid of it. And the hope is happy to oblige.

(That, or their willingness to leave the forest to its own suffering and not aid in the ice's thaw angers him. Besides the whole "bark bark growl I can't get to parts of my forest because of them!!" which... also could represent a naïve hope clouding his judgement, not allowing him to see a bigger picture. But hope can't all be lost if one wants to move forward...)

A little side-tangent now on the portraits! And it's another slight stretch but the idea is in my head and I can't let it go. Portraits are another common symbol, usually being a physical representation of a memory or idea. For our purposes, let's say they're memories. I know in canon they appear to just hold souls captive or something but for now we're just Ignoring That(tm). The Fire Spirits have to burn the portraits to disappear. See where I'm going with this, maybe?

Instead of handling bad memories (or perhaps memories of the past in general) in any healthy manner, Snatcher chooses to forget/repress them, which just allows his hope to progressively die out.

I'm really hoping this is making sense because it makes a lot of sense to me but I might be insane rn

The Fact that this is a Forest

Forest symbolism breakdown! What's a forest usually mean in literature? "Traditionally, the forest has come to represent being lost, exploration and potential danger as well as mystery and 'other worldliness'." Okay. Yeah. Fair enough. That certainly works with the whole aesthetic we've got going on. Wood usually is life, growth and strength. But the trees of subcon are all dead. So what about that? It stands for death, big whoop, very spooky, we know Snatcher's dead and so are the children, yadda yadda wowie wowie. But. :) The trees in Subcon look a lot like trees that were scorched in a forest fire. Don't believe me?

(You could also argue they're just regular marsh/swamp trees bUT SSHHSUUHSH HANG ON HEAR ME OUT LOOK LOOK,)

What I believe to have happened was a controlled fire to rid the forest of the majority of its ice and snow. Likely done by Snatcher. It leaves behind a very desolate, depressing, barren scene... but. What else do dead/burnt trees symbolize? Rebirth. After all, controlled fires happen to make way for new trees to take the place of old ones. Some trees only drop seeds in fires/hot temperatures, so new ones take root and begin anew. Weird. It's almost like... I dunno. Snatcher was given some sorta second chance, given he's not just a corpse in Vanessa's cellar. So were the subconites. Another life given then by Snatcher. All connected I tell ya!!

Generally, aside from that, forests have many connotations. Mystery, isolation, claustrophobia; a place to dwell on regrets, or the past; to worry over one's future; to seek escape from or escape inside of... hmgmrnmm!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- T / W -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The Nooses

The t/w is given at the top and another cut-off point will follow the bottom of this, for those that would like to skip. This will delve into talk of suicide and abusive tactics used by abusers. Please don't read if it will upset you or make you feel unsafe!!!

Personally, I cannot stand the nooses, but that's just due to my own triggers. Were there a way to hide those from the game or replace the damned talking ones with anything else. I would take it. In a heartbeat. But I can still appreciate the potential analysis to be had with them. So now i'm gonna talk about it despite how uncomfortable it will make me to do so. yEa

So, what about 'em? There are three types of nooses seen in Subcon. At least that I remember but I didn't really go looking for them. Empty ones, ones containing empty subconites, and the talking ones.

Nooses in general obviously can hint towards suicidal thoughts or behaviors of the characters that interact with them. If saying Subcon is Snatcher's mind, it could suggest that he suffered from some sort of suicidal thoughts in life (or currently, if second death is possible... or if he never truly died... or maybe he's trying to figure that out...which has given me... a separate idea...uh oh). But. And hear me out. Different perspective.

A talking noose. I hate them with a fiery passion that is unmatched. But think of the packed symbolism of a noose that talks. And think more about what it says. "I wouldn't mind being strapped around a cute neck like yours." "Be careful now, I don't want to see you meet a miserable end anywhere, but with me." Oddly, a lot of what the noose says seems almost... endearing? One could argue it's a way of luring someone to put it around their necks, which in and of itself is a whole lot to unpack when it comes to suicidal thoughts beckoning one forward; painting itself as something romantic, almost. But. Here's a wild idea, now. What if the nooses, at least the talking ones, are another symbol for Vanessa?

They're tinted blue, after all. While Vanessa's scheme is more red, one could argue two things: One, ice. Blue. Ice. yeah. Or two, the fact that Snatcher's scheme is more purple. Blue and red... make... purple. So, for all we know, Snatcher's current state was a compound effort between suicidal thoughts and Vanessa's treatment of him. Perhaps he even found a way to put himself out of his misery before freezing/starving to death. (I know he has dialogue that argues against that, but... are we certain Snatcher would be the kind to admit suicide over freezing to death?... I don't think so.)

At any rate, a common threat by those in "control" of an abusive relationship is that of killing themselves should the other person not do as they desire. It's a cruel form of emotional manipulation to get their way, worse off if the other party is an empathetic individual. As a person who has been the empathetic individual in relationships like this... I would know. I've been here, unfortunately So, it's not completely out of the question to say Vanessa could've used some tactic like that, even before the whole... cellar ordeal. Did she? I dunno. I'm tossing ideas around. But if she did, the threats of such would sit around in the Prince's mind easily. Even if she has a reputation of not going through with it. It doesn't matter. That shit sticks with you forever, that scare, the potential of it ever being true, is horrifying and it ruins you. I'm projecting, Squirtle.

Still. A noose cannot hang itself. It has to have a victim.

...yea.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- T / W PASSED -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Misc. Ideas

- The spiders: Aside from the usual things spiders can be chalked up to symbolizing - toxicity, alluring danger, just... general pain - I like the potential wordplay that can happen here. Yknow. A black widow. Say the Prince and Vanessa were married when one died. What would that leave Vanessa? A widow. ...She's red and black, too. Yknow. Like a black widow. HA wordplay is fun isn't it?

- Snatcher's tree: Love this place, love sitting in here. But not the point! The inside of Snatcher's tree is such a harsh juxtaposition to the rest of Subcon that it kinda throws ya off guard. After all, the dark, purples and blues then contrasted with the bright warm colors of the inside. Even the music switches over. The thorns outside aren't present indoors. Ohh yeah this is gonna be on the nose as hell but the Tree(tm) is 100% representing Snatcher's appearance/put-on personality vs. his truer nature. Spooky outside with thorns, foreboding, unwelcoming. Then the more comfortable interior. VULnerable. Have I even mentioned that the tree is HOLLOW I mean COME ON. The sturdiness of that tree? Nonexistent. He's not a sturdy guy at all no matter how he fronts

- Intrusions are unwelcome: Snatcher does not like the fact that Hat Kid sticks around in his forest. His personal space. His mind. In fact he tries desperately to get rid of her after their fight, not wanting her presence in his forest at all. He has no problem providing more contracts later on with the Death Wish thing, and he finds great entertainment in messing around with Hat Kid, so it's not just a weird sudden hatred he has for her; it's the fact that. After she's finished being useful, he no longer wants her around, lest she find some things she shouldn't find. Now he's just uncomfortable with her in his personal boundaries. Could just be a denial that she's helped him heal (breaking ice, stealing from Vanessa, being something interesting for his kids to interact with) or just not really wanting a child to get wrapped up in. All that. Most likely the former. Considering the amount of joke-hints he drops regarding his background during his Death Wish dialogue. I see you funny man, making jokes out of your trauma as a coping mechanism. Punts him

Annnd I think that's all I got, for now! I'll make an update post if I get any more sporadic ideas. If you read this whole thing, thank you!! and also!! Wow that was a lot!! Hell world. Please feel free to elaborate on any of my points or debate with me on em!! I'm always open to other ideas, just be aware that if I disagree I am not shy when it comes to debate hehehe, tho I won't be aggressive to any extent I prommy!!

Alrighty. goes to sleep goodnight

#clamtalk #VERY long ramble #a hat in time #snatcher #ahit snatcher #subcon forest #vanessa ahit #ahit #analysis #the prince ahit #goes crazy. goes insane #ask to tag #i'm frazzled I can't add more tags I'll do so later

[something-very-special]

In the original Nier, Weiss and Papa muse about how the shades are slowly "becoming smarter" and better organized. Through the lore, we learn that some Gestalts have relapsed into mindless monsters, while others retain their sentience. Of the bosses, field enemies and sidequest shades, which Shades do you see as being sentient and which ones have relapsed?

According to the lore, all Gestalts before the Shadowlord underwent relapse, so there was actually quite a broad swath of mindless monsters out there (the ones that attack during the prologue are all therefore relapsed). After he pacts with Noir he’s the first stable Gestalt, and his body is harvested for the maso particles that he generates, which are somehow distributed to the other Gestalts as they are made in order to stabilize them. There are still a lot of Gestalts that aren’t given this treatment and thus result in the ‘feral’ Shades, but I believe that by the time the game happens most of them have gone extinct. The stable Gestalts were put into stasis to wait out the destruction of the Legion and Red Eyes monsters, to be carried out by the Replicants. The feral Gestalts were still out and about during this time, presumably also engaged in an incidental war with Legion (that is, they’re mindless and violent and these other things are mindless and violent, let’s you and him fight). The prequel game long ago proposed by Yoko Taro involved specifically a small squad of Replicants led by their android overseer going in the kill Red Eyes and end the scourge once and for all. This was basically a sentence-long pitch but my read on the full context was that Legion was the monster du jour and whatever relapsed Shades were out there had largely been eradicated already. There are, of course, still relapsed Gestalts in present day. It’s fairly clear before the game starts that Shades are considered very dangerous, to the point that settlements must be kept small and far apart and walled for their own protection... but they’re still pretty uncommon. That rarity is in part what leads to them being so feared, and that fear is probably stemmed from the main encounters with Shades being with violent, relapsed Gestalts that would randomly attack humans. The stable Gestalts mostly kept holed up in their homes waiting for the promised conclusion of Project Gestalt. There are indications of Shades that are just seen wandering around minding their own business and people retreat and shutter up in fear, but active attacks from Shades are uncommon enough that all of the settlements leave their gates wide open and, other than the Aerie, and there are plenty of conversations about how Seafront and the Village in particular are pretty much untouched by them-- even the three hanging out at the northern entrance are considered ‘concerning’. All that said, I think, over the course of the game, you don’t actually encounter any relapsed Gestalts. The violence in the game starts with an attack on the three child Shades outside the Village. The attack on the bridge crew the next day is likely in retaliation for this act. The next level of Shade activity comes after you free Weiss from the Lost Shrine and indicates that unification will be occurring soon. Some Shades start appearing in the Northern Plains-- they’re hostile but not significantly aggressive unless you attack back (or you’re carrying a fragile package); contrast to later in the game where your appearance on the map basically causes any currently-spawned Shade to start charging your position. The ones in the Aerie are doing their own thing but under a unified goal of trying to forcibly reunite with their bodies-- violent, but still sentient. There are a few out on the Southern Plains as the game progresses, including that big guy who’s killing the deer and is pretty much guaranteed to one-shot you the first time you see him, but if my theory about the sheep killing transfers over this is also a resource deprivation tactic. Seafront has significantly greater resources than anywhere else with its direct access to the ocean, but even they by the second half of the game are talking about the difficulty in getting food. There are a few Shades mentioned in specific sidequests that seem to be acting in peculiarly violent ways, but the two I’ve re-encountered so far -- the bridge Shade and the Seafront postman-eating Shade -- are positioned at choke points where they can easily disrupt trade and correspondence. Their methods are noted as being peculiar, but they’re still intelligent tactics, not random violence. I admit I might simply not be remembering other Shades from sidequests, but by and large, I don’t think so. There are some random Shades just chilling in some weird locations like the Barren Temple-- not really accomplishing anything there-- but if relapsed Gestalts are inclined toward violence it wouldn’t really make sense for them to stay somewhere that nobody actually goes. It’s certainly a possibility, but their behavior is overall consistent with the aggression we see from Shades in the second part of the game, where the Shades are acting under orders and organizing their attacks. The bosses are pretty well confirmed to be stable given the revelations of the Route B, with the only possible exception being Hook-- and I think Hook would be less ‘relapsed’ and more -- to use the scientific vernacular -- ‘bugfuck nuts’. (Tyrann isn’t relapsed -- although he’s kind of a weird case overall -- and he just really likes killin’ people so it’s not out of the realm of possibility for certain Shades to just really like killin’ people.) It has the intelligence to try and trick Kaine into embracing death, and carries out an active conversation to that end so it’s not just mindlessly parroting words even at that point. The only other consideration I might make is the Shades in the weapons facility, less because of their tactics and more because it feels like that would be one of the few places in the game where relapsed Gestalts could theoretically survive. But that also could have been a major location for Gestalt stasis, and either read leaves them all understandably pissed that nobody could figure out how to open the front door, so the difference between ‘relapsed’ and ‘stir crazy’ is negligible at best. So overall, while I believe there are still relapsed Gestalts in the world, I think the game only ever has you fight against any during the prologue (and, technically, during the flashback dream with the fortune teller).

#NieR #NieR Replicant #NieR Gestalt #Lore discussion #Spoilers

[dansnaturepictures]

7/8/21-Return to Blashford Lakes

Today we went somewhere we hadn’t been for seventeen months and five days. A place that with its splendidly varied habitats which hosts a huge variety of birds throughout the year rare and common, and is strong for butterflies, moths, dragonflies and mammals too and was one of our most crucial and one of my favourite nature reserves in my late childhood and teenage years as I got hooked on birdwatching, wildlife generally and photography and I have always loved it since. Over the years there tended to be a barren spell of us going there over the summer as we maybe focused on more butterfly and other insect dominated locations this pattern developing into my working days a bit as we did come during summer holidays in my school/college days but all year throughout the winter especially this hub for wildlife has been a regular haunt for us for so long. But after that last visit on 1st March 2020 obviously Covid hit and the you could say main feature of seeing wildlife at this reserve is the hides, so it is a reserve good for piling into hides with lots of people looking at birds so obviously not good during Covid times. I have to say the team did work very hard to get the reserve open safely without the hides post lockdown 1 and we did explore the idea of coming back to enjoy this at a stage but due to one thing and another we sadly never quite managed it. But following 19th July the hides now are open with the welcome precautions still in place of masks to be worn and every window that can be opened.

A Black-necked Grebe that had been reported on Ibsley Water attracted us here especially today which we needed to see, and it allowed for this sweet reunion with a place I hold dear. During all the discussions of things you will do when lockdown eases or when we find our way to some kind of normal I felt extremely lucky as I have been able to do my main hobby still just because of what it is. But this was one thing on my list of things I wanted to get back to, getting back to places like these so hide dominated reserves. Prior to today since Covid hit it was only Sculthorpe Moor in Norfolk last September and an open screen/hide type area at Newborough Forest in Anglesey this June that I’d been to hides at.

As I walked in at the visitor centre side of the road entrance it was great to be back and one difference from when I last came here is obviously how vastly more interested I am in flowers now and other areas of insects too. And on the verge at the entrance was a lovely moth mullein which I took a photo of and tweeted on Dans_Pictues tonight one I learnt today. St. John’s-wort and yarrow adorned this patch of grass too and there was a lovely little deraeocoris ruber insect on the yarrow a new one for me which was delightful to see. A big thing about my deeper delves into flowers and other insects over the months has obviously been learning so much and it was the sign of the times back at one of my favourite nature reserves that I was only stood on a grass verge beside a road entrance to the site for two minutes or so and I’d learnt two new species!

I then proceeded across the grassy area to get to ivy north hide the first hide I went into in Hampshire since March 2020 and it was stunning to see the fields carpeted in St. John’s-wort, ragowrt and catsear/hawksbeard type flowers making it look deliciously yellow with thistle, black mullein, self-heal and others looking very pretty too. I took the first picture in this photoset of this area. I also liked seeing one of my favourite flowers foxgloves, purple loosestrife, centaury, wild parsnip, dock and Wood avens and Herb-Robert great woodland species that I hadn’t seen for a while still going strong with shadows of cow parnsnip as well throughout the reserve today. On the field area I noticed a beautiful moth flitting around which I got great views of landed on vegetation a smashing Treble-bar a new moth for me today which I also tweeted a photo fo. A welcome life and year tick for my moths and as my eighteenth identified moth species seen this year it levels (whilst I didn’t do a year list then, I worked this out recently) the amount of moths I saw and knew what they were in 2020 which I am pleased with. And whilst I might not ever be able to know every moth I see its more than justified me reinstating my moth year lists recently as I’ve seen more identified moths than dragon/damselflies and mammals two more year lists I keep beside birds and butterflies the main ones this year so far. I also did here today maybe my penultimate Big Butterfly Count this year with the survey ending tomorrow I had never done one here before and I saw three Gatekeepers and one Small White and Speckled Wood between the showers. A splendid Southern Hawker paraded over this area which I saw on the way out and back. 

I reached ivy north hide and among other things I came away impressed with how Covid secure the reserve is to visit as to save going into the hide if one wishes they have added a little open air viewing screen next to the hide which is interesting. As well as lovely views of ivy lake decent numbers of Sand Martins and a Common Tern parading over the water welcomed me back as key Blashford birds at this time of year and I’d not seen either for a few weeks now whilst having a really good year for them both. By the visitor centre I liked seeing some elecampane and mint in a very colourful flower bed area which I took the second picture in this photoset of seeing a nice bee on it too. Before spending some time at ivy south hide and seeing much the same wildlife wise to ivy north with Common Tern flying very nicely over and young Black-headed Gulls among the gulls out there and taking in some nice views I went in the woodland hide.

At this hide one of my absolute favourites with such intimate views available of feeding birds behind the glass where you can see them but they can’t see you as a shower came and went and some brightness emerged I liked seeing the memorable species of this area come one by one. Firstly a Robin one of some seen across the reserve today a fitting one as on that 1st March 2020 visit I took one of my favourite ever pictures I’ve taken of this iconic species. Then the commoner tits were there with Dunnock, soon to be followed by Marsh Tit coming to feed. Coal Tit and Chaffinch would soon follow as wood delicious looking Nuthatch. And I was stunned and got some very exciting moments when a dominant and large flash of red, cream and black arrived in the form of a Great Spotted Woodpecker (GSW). You can’t come to Blashford and the woodland hide and not see these, one of the species that has captivated me most at this reserve right from when we very first visited the bird of Blashford for me for so long with so many times waiting, watching and hoping and loving seeing and trying for photos of. I took and tweeted a photo of this bird, not the best in an awkward angle a little with it more so on the other side of the feeder than my side but having not been here for nearly a year and a half and how important the GSW is to our Blashford visits I was inclined to take whatever I could get if in the summer days when less birds come to the feeders with food available naturally I was lucky enough to see one. And whilst I’ve been so lucky to see and hear these birds a lot elsewhere since last March it was probably my best chances for pictures since this a species I did photograph from this hide on 1st March 2020 too so it felt so good to be back getting such a prolonged view of it. I rarely see many species on a feeder at the same time as the woodpecker they are that dominant but Great Tit and others did stand up to it and be on the feeder at the same time today. 

It was exhilirating to see a Jay and then another fly in displacing the dominant woodpecker and seeing a shaggy looking Jay especially dash past the window getting a striking view I thought it was going to crash into the window at one point. A spectacular moment and I loved getting pictures of them again this year today including the third picture in this photoset I have had a good year for them. Two standout moments on this trip today with two of my favourite birds. I took the fourth and fifth pictures in this photoset of the body of water on the way to ivy south hide and a lovely view of ivy lake there. 

I then met up with my Mum who had returned from a dog walk at nearby Rockford Common with Missy to end the day in the tern hide. There was no sign of the Black-necked Grebe for us as I arrived after a shower but I did see a lot else. This included an early Goosander, a key staple of a Blashford winter this female was something of an early one and we got a pleasant view of this distinguished duck I took the sixth picture in this photoset of this with my bridge camera which came to life in this hide alongside my DSLR for photos I certainly in summer days where maybe it happens less felt I got my fill of bird photos at this top bird spot. I loved seeing the young speckled Lapwing in the seventh picture in this photoset of a nice intimate view I got of this wonderful wader. There were many Egyptian Geese around too I got some stunning views of these including the one in the tenth picture in this photoset. This was my bogey bird this year one I struggled to see quickly which I usually see without too much trouble due to not coming to Blashford we didn’t see any until Fishlake Meadows and then Petersfield Heath Pond in June seeing an extraordinary amount at the latter with Ruddy Shelduck too. Seeing them all here today it was as though we never needed to worry about seeing one this year. There were top views and more photo opportunities of another of my favourite birds with Great Crested Grebe, and I enjoyed seeing gulls including Lesser Black-backed Gulls well. Another pick of the bunch on Ibsley Water was a sweet little Common Sandpiper a key bird for this spot, a third seen this year by me which has been great after RSPB Lodmoor and Stour Vallye nature reserve in Dorset over two days in our April week off of day trips. The top bird moments were set nicely to dramatic scenes as a further showers moved in and their were touches of sun as well looking over the smashing Ibsley water and I was so glad to be back at Blashford. Its interesting sat in the tern hide on Ibsely Water an area overlooked by the further along Goosander hide and Lapwing hide too, I saw Common Tern some more as well as Lapwing and Goosander. With the Goosanders mostly in over winter any terns the spring and summer migrants you would not see them together so this must be the first time I saw all three in a day which I found very interesting. I took the eighth and ninth pictures in this photoset of the views here.

An always likely sight in the woodland hide at Blashford greeted us when home this evening when a Sparrowhawk flew up from the garden and over the other gardens, appearing to have had a kill with some feathers left in the garden. This was so exciting to see. I had seen probably this Sparrowhawk hovering over the area recently and with the noise and numbers from the Starlings coming in lately this was maybe only a matter of time. Its another glorious Sparrowhawk in the garden experience which I feel over the moon to have a little collection going for here and my Dad’s house where I grew up. I liked seeing some new pretty flowers the bright red chrysanthemums in the back garden too and alongside nice other bird and sky views at home today it was special to see some Goldfinches including a young bird on the balcony feeders once more. What a brilliant Saturday, I hope you all had a good one.

Wildlife Sightings Summary for Blashford Lakes: My first ever deraeocoris ruber and Treble-bar moth, three of my favourite birds the Great Spotted Woodpecker, Jay and Great Crested Grbee, one of my favourite dragonflies the Southern Hawker, Cormorant, Lesser Black-backed Gull, Herring Gull, Black-headed Gull, Common Tern, Coot, lots of Tufted Duck, Mallard, Goosander, lots of Mute Swans, Egyptian Goose, Lapwing, Common Sandpiper, Sand Martin, lots of Woodpigeons, Blue Tit, Great Tit, Coal Tit, Marsh Tit, Nuthatch, Robin, Dunnock, Chaffinch, Gatekeeper, Speckled Wood, Small White, cranefly just inside the window of ivy south hide and bee.

#bee #gatekeeper #speckled wood #small white #crane fly #nuthatch #dunnock #great spotted woodpecker #chaffinch #common snadpiper #woodpigeon #robin #dragonfly #dragonflies #uk #southern hawker #deraeocoris ruber #moth mullein #photography #new forest #blashford #blashford lakes #ringwood #fordingbridge #world #beautiful #happy #wildlife #nature #ragwort

[imaginethatneathuh]

Winter is Beautiful: Technical Boy - American Gods

I had to cut this in half because Tumblr wouldn't let me post it all as one.

Partially inspired by one of @random-imagines-blog Technical Boy posts.

Done for @atomicdetectivehideout‘s December challenge (yes, I know I’m a day late, shut up).

I’m not good at romance.

Fluff.

Word count: 4.4K+

Second Part

You smiled at the trees, barren and lifeless, all except the pines.

The pines were strong and sturdy. That beautiful pine green, even in the dead of winter. A faint hint of brown spiked the otherwise green needles. A sign of Death and Disease knocking on the trees' door.

The faint sound of Winter-ready birds hung in the air. Their song, even compared to the sunset, was something to behold. The rustle of the trees as the birds flew between the branches reminded you of days long past.

You inhaled the cold, country, Winter air. As you breathed out, a puff of smoke spread out. The warmth of your breath soon dissipated as the frozen air overtook it. dissipating. You smiled, satisfied.

The cool, pale yellows, blues, and pinks of the sunset waltzed across the sky. Not even the chilly air, which was sure to get worse, could dissuade you from spending time that night under the stars, especially on a night like tonight.

While the alignment of Jupiter and Saturn was not the main focus, it certainly helped to convince Technical Boy to come along. It was a "Once every 800 years" kind of event. Something that he would never get the chance to see again.

It had taken forever to get the tech god to agree. You hadn't expected anything less. He was him, but you were also you. Both equally stubborn in your own ways.

Speaking of the devil, the young god stood beside you, wrapped in far too many layers.

A beanie donned his head, along with a scarf, gloves, a Winter coat with two sweaters underneath (both of which you hadn’t the chance to see), a pair of jeans, snow pants, and winter boots.

It was beyond excessive in your eyes.

"You don't need all of those, T," you said. "You'll be fine."

He scoffed. Both of his hands wrapped around his upper arms, rubbing them.

"Like Hell," he mumbled teeth chattering.

How he could still be cold with all those layers was a mystery to you.

A blanket hung over your shoulder as you looked back at him.

"Let's just go."

"Home?" He asked, perking up a little.

"No, to the meadow."

Technical Boy groaned as he walked after you stiffly, following as closely behind as he could. The thick snow pants on top of jeans were hard to walk with.

Sure, the snow was a little high, but no higher than it usually was here around the Solstice.

A part of you wanted to grab his hand, just to hold it, but you thought better of it.

It wouldn’t be like it was the first time you’d held hands. The two of you had done it a thousand times. Okay, maybe that’s an over-exaggeration, but the point still remains; it wasn’t a big deal. Well, it shouldn’t be a big deal.

So, why not just take his hand?

Maybe because in the last few months, how you felt about him changed. When he smiled at you; or even just looked in your direction, it was like the world stopped moving. Your heart raced when he touched you. At times, you thought he could hear your heart pounding in your chest, especially when the two of you would lie together and cuddle. When he’d ‘Hmm?’ when you said something to him, your heart would turn to goop.  When he joked with you, you laughed harder than usual. Even just being around him made you feel this warmth deep inside. This feeling of being known without thinking he’d shame you for anything. It was slightly addicting but in a good way.

And as much as there had been a change in you, maybe there had been a slight change in him, too. Sometimes, when you stayed over at his place, he’d offer you his clothes if you wanted to take a shower. That way you wouldn’t have to wear dirty clothes after getting clean. That’s the excuse he always used anyway. There were times when he stayed at your place where he’d get all nervous about sleeping in the same bed together, even though you’d done it before, and he hadn’t had a problem then. He showed you affection and kindness and rarely said anything bad or rude about/to your family. He was kinder and sweeter now, less of a cat, more of a dog.

You also noticed things about him that you hadn’t before. Like the way he’d look at you with that big, goofy, adorable smile and how his eyes would shine brighter than the sun, the moon, and all of the stars when he saw you. Or how any time he hugged you, he would nuzzle into your neck and hang on for a little longer than most people. There were the times when Technical Boy would get hyper-focused on something and zone out. He looked adorable every time.

But there were also things you think you looked too much into. Like the little surprise visits and gifts he gave felt like more than what a friend would do. Before, you’d never noticed how much he’d look at you or how much more playful he was around you than most people. Of course, you’d never let yourself hope for more. He was a god, after all.

•

The two of you trudged through the snow as the sun set ahead of you. The pale colours of the evening gave way to the rich, dark blue of the night. Stars twinkling like diamonds suspended high in the sky.

For a moment, you thought you'd have to start pulling Technical Boy along. Thankfully, he kept up, even with all the layers.

"I was not built for the cold, Y/N,” he said.

You forged ahead. Trying (and failing) to suppress a smile, you looked behind you before turning back front.

"You're not used to the cold, that's all."

He whimpered, dashing to get back to your side. It was warmer than when he was by himself.

"How 'bout we just go back, yeah? Go back to the cabin? Where it's warm."

Stopping in the snow, letting it soak into your jeans, you faced him.

"If it bothers you that much, you can go back, but I'm not."

You didn't want him to go. He was the reason you wanted to come out here tonight in the first place. It wouldn't be right without him. Besides, two bodies are warmer than one.

Technical Boy looked between the warmth of the cabin that he so badly craved and you, the reason he was willingly out here, freezing his arse off.

Eventually, he chose to follow you, stepping to your side.

The snow flew up with every step. Some of it was packed beneath his boots, other bits stuck on them, but at least he wasn’t being drenched by it.

•

As you got to a fenced-in field, a smile spread across your face.

It was almost entirely dark now. The last vestiges of light from the sun were blinking out, disappearing behind the horizon. The stars and the half-moon became your only guide.

You giggled and looked behind you, still smiling widely.

"Come on," you said, offering your hand to Technical Boy.

He stayed where he was, a worried look on his face.

Your hand fell as you sighed.

"Really, T?"

The god shuffled backwards.

The low, barbed-wire fencing stood between you and your favourite place in the world. Besides maybe with Technical Boy.

Near an old, what you assumed to be, power box lay a dip in the fencing. The fencing had been bent and broken years ago, long before you ever came to the meadow.

Using one of the old, wooden posts the wire was wrapped around, you hopped over.

Breathing deeply, you face away from the dirt road and to the pure, untouched snow of the pasture. Your eyes closed as the wind whipped by.

Technical Boy whined behind you, reminding you of a puppy who wanted attention.

You turned to face him, a renewed light inside you.

"Come on, don't be a wuss," you said. "It's just a fence."

He looked at the fencing, then at you, bouncing side to side.

"Fine, be a wuss, but I'm going to enjoy the pasture."

You twisted back to the snowy, rolling hills far away.

"I'm not a wuss," he said.

You looked over your shoulder with a smirk and said, "Prove it then."

Technical Boy, scowling, glared at the fencing and stepped forward.

“Do we really have to do this? I mean, it’s fucking freezing out here. Not to mention, it’s really stupid. There are apps made for stargazing for crying out loud! We can stargaze where it’s warm, believe it or not,” he complained.

While his point about the apps was fair, the app could never capture the beauty of watching the stars with the naked eye.

"T," you tease in a singsong voice.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm coming." Technical Boy gripped the post you did when you hopped over. "Don't rush me."

"The sun has already set. We don't have time for this."

That wasn’t true. The stars would be there for hours to come, but you had to get him moving somehow.

With another small whine and some mental encouragement, the god hopped over. Now on the same side as you, he backed away from the fence, facing it.

He turned to you lethargically like he was bored, and glared at you.

“Great, I’m over here. Now what?”

Unable to resist, you snickered.

“What?”

You shrugged.

“Nothing, you just sound really fucking bored. I can’t combine that with the shivering you. It just doesn’t work in my head.”

He rolled his eyes and walked toward you.

“Whatever,” he said before rubbing his hands together and breathing into them.

You wiped your freezing nose with your equally cold hand, sniffing.

Eyebrows furrowed, Technical Boy took off one of his gloves and pressed a hand to your cheek.

You tried to bat it away, but he ignored it.

"Jesus Christ, Y/N, you're freezing," he worries. "Why didn't you say anything?"

You pushed him away slightly, his hands drifting to your upper arms.

"It's nothing I haven't handled before."

"Come here," he said.

He shed his coat and wrapped it around your shoulders. Taking his scarf off, he coiled it around your neck, tucking it over your nose sweetly. You giggled as he moved his hands to grasp yours.

"You feel like ice," he comments.

You shook your head, a smile plastered on your face.

"I'm fine, T. Let's just enjoy the night."

"What if you get sick!"

You sighed.

"I'm not going to get sick."

"That's what they all say," he said, pulling you close. "But then starts the sniffling and the coughing and sneezing. Not to mention the fever!"

You laughed at him. Pushing away, you took off and wrapped the scarf back around Technical Boy's neck. You glanced down to hide your giggles, but you’re greeted by a peculiar sight.

Covering your mouth, you stared at his chest.

He looked down at his sweater.

"What?"

"I can't believe you're wearing that."

He pulled it down, pouting.

"Your mother gave it to me. Plus, it's also almost Christmas. I thought it was festive."

You burst out laughing.

The ugly Rudolph the Reindeer sweater looked so stupid on him, you just couldn't help it.

"Y/N, don't be mean. I'm sure it took her forever to find one this ugly."

You kept laughing and pulled him into a hug, burying your head into his neck.

"I love you, you dumbass," you said, pushing away.

He smiled at you.

"I love you, too."

It may have been from the cold and wind, but you could have sworn there was a hint of pink on his cheeks.

You handed him back his coat.

"No, Y/N, you need it."

Instead of taking no for an answer, you tossed it onto his face.

As it fell off, Technical Boy caught it and gave you a look. The "done with your bullshit" look he often gave.

You just smiled over your shoulder and laid down the blanket over the snow.

•

The two of you stared up at the sky. For the first time since you managed to pull Technical Boy out here, it was quiet. Save for the wind rustling the branches and the coyotes howling far off in the distance. Some might be afraid of them, but not you. They were comforting. Familiar really.

Taking a deep breath, you could smell the clean snow. It was like water but cooler. As you'd expect from ice.

So enraptured by the peace, you hadn't noticed Tech staring at you with one of those rare, soft smiles on his face.

"Why'd you bring me out here," he asked.

Breaking from the serenity, you turned to look at him. His face fairer than usual because of the light reflecting off the snow from the half-moon.

"I wanted to stargaze with you."

Technical Boy nodded, seemingly satisfied with your answer. Keyword is "seemingly".

"Okay," he said, turning back to the sky, a pink hint to his cold cheeks. "But you never bring anyone out here. Not home, not to the cabin, and definitely not here. You only ever talk about this place like it’s a far-off memory. You don't even take the animals out here."

You sighed.

The stars glittered with the glowing moon.

"It's my quiet place," you said. "Where I go when I'm not really there. When all else fails, I can always come here." Looking at the sky, you smiled. "It's the most important place in the world to me. I guess, I just wanted to share that with you." You looked down and rubbed your arm.

Technical Boy let a smile spread across his face.

Cupping your cheek, he guided you to face him.

"Thank you, Y/N," he said. "I mean it."

You smiled back.

Technical Boy wrapped an arm around you and laid his head on your shoulder.

You watched the stars, Jupiter and Saturn's alignment shining amongst them.

#american gods december challenge #technical boy #american gods #fanfiction #bruce langley #american gods fanfiction #god of technology #god of the internet #new gods #tech boy #romantic #technical boy x reader

[write-a-bad-romance]

Holy Woman pt. 2

(A continuation of Holy Woman. Part 1 can be found here)

Ao3 link: Here

Words: 2939

This work features mild spoilers for Jean’s route and a genderbent (female) version of Jean d’Arc.

In this chapter: MC and another suitor appears!

pallida mors aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas regumque turres 

"Whatever you're thinking, don't." Vlad spoke.

"Whatever I'm thinking?"

The living room was blissfully silent, save for the intermittent crackles from the fireplace. Spring was soon upon them, and most of the snow had thawed from the mountainsides, giving way to lush greens and light-hued bronze.

Charles found the warmer air pleasant. He pictured trekking the sunlit path leading to the field where Sister Joanna cultivated her lilies. Charles wondered if she'd ever invite him to help her till the soil and plant the bulbs.

Damn, I can never get her out of my head, can I?

"What else?" Vlad examined the dainty jar full of homemade strawberry jam in his hand. "I know you've been showing considerable interest in our resident handywoman."

Charles nearly lurched forward straight into the fireplace. He stopped poking the logs and turned to his landlord. "How did you—"

"Ah, so easy to read." He pointed at Charles with a carving knife. His eyes returned to focus on his handiwork, not completely rid of their mischievous glint. "Not only do I see her with you all the time, but tongues have been wagging all over town. Rumors spread fast, you see."

Before Charles could reply, in came a snow-coated vulpine with what appeared to be a corpse in its mouth. Between its teeth was a squirrel, its fur an identical shade of white.

"Oh, no." Charles moaned quietly. "You murdered my best friend."

Vlad chuckled as the fox crept under its master's chair with no care for the grieving youth. The little devil proceeded to devour its prey with its back turned, oblivious to Charles' dismay at the loss of his companion-turned-fox-fodder.

Charles nearly forgot their previous exchange until Vlad called the young man back to attention. "So, I take it you intend to woo Sister Joanna?"

Charles gave no reply as his green eyes stared at the flickering ember.

"I don't think that's entirely right," He wiped a hand over his sunken face. "There's just...something about Sister Joanna that makes you curious about her. But she seems to be very secretive of her circumstances, and I'm not sure if tailing her around is the right thing to do."

"You're blushing," Vlad observed. "Ah, to be young and full of love."

Charles let out a sigh at his insistence.

"Well, no." Charles defended himself. "She's a charming woman, a capable one too. But I'm leaving just before the end of spring, and Sister Joanna... well, she doesn't strike me as someone interested in men or any sort of close companionship. Faust said she wasn't part of the convent, but the way she conducts herself convinces me otherwise."

"Awfully blunt, aren't you." Vlad drawled. "Well, she must have said the same."

Charles's cheeks turned beet red. He contemplated excusing himself and leaving for his room to avoid further questioning from the kibitzing innkeeper.

"But to answer your question, yes and no." Vlad set aside his handiwork as he welcomed the cold-blooded beast onto his lap. "You'd think she's the sort to devote her services in the name of God. I don't blame you. You see her praying by the statue all the time."

"But to my knowledge, nobody has ever seen her step into the church, and if Faust's words are anything to go by," He scratched the yawning animal between its ears. "She was apparently married at some point."

"Married?" Charles's shock stifled an oncoming yawn. Now, this was news. "So she has a family? Where are they now?"

Vlad's ruby-colored eyes were solemn as he watched his pet blithely gnawing his fingers.

"Who knows?" the pale-haired man murmured. "The doctor and the nuns mentioned that her husband died because of war."

A widow. Charles swallowed as he remembered their first exchange at the town square. She was praying for her own departed husband.

" But that matters little to us now, yes? You know what they say about her. Sister Joanna does what she likes " Vlad declared merrily. "If I were you, I'd respect her wishes and keep my nose out of her business too."

While freely putting your nose in mine, Charles thought. It was a shame. Although he'd suspected from the start that no woman of Sister Joanna's age and standing would deign herself to his company, a doctor from the Capital still wet behind the ears.

She must have witnessed enough of the world through that eye.

But Charles was a straightforward, insistent young man. Nothing would stop him from approaching the inscrutable dame, not as a suitor, but as a friend. Sister Joanna seemed to need one —someone other than the morose town doctor and the erratic innkeeper ex-possible fugitive.

An exhilarating warmth bloomed inside Charles's heart as he pondered on the countless outcomes his little project would bring.

"It matters very little whoever resides in her heart, husband, or God," Vlad concluded. "A woman is as good as holy by merit of her own virtue and devotion to her role."

True to Vlad and Faust's words, Charles never saw Sister Joanna within the church's halls on the rare occasion he did join the congregation.

It made Charles all the more surprised when he looked down to see her sitting in the abbey's courtyard one balmy afternoon. She was accompanied by two other people, whose faces were unfamiliar to Charles.

Their attire suggested they were aristocrats. Charles guessed the guests — a man with pearly hair and a woman with long strawberry blond waves — must have arrived from the Capital or another distant city.

Sister Joanna laughed with ease as she chatted with her companions. It sounded wonderfully pleasant and foreign to the young doctor's ears.

This is the first time I've seen her look so chipper. Charles decided to observe the trio, admiring the changes in Sister Joanna's marred features.

It took a while before the trio finally parted. Then the gentlemen shoved a rectangular object into Sister Joanna's hand, and she fell apart.

She enveloped him in a tight embrace, and the man cradled her head as she buried her face in his neck. The other woman didn't seem to be bothered. Just as gently, she approached the hugging couple and caressed Sister Joanna's mauve locks.

Charles felt indecent for spying at their affectionate display. He distanced himself from the stone balusters and went on his way. He needed to look for Doctor Faust.

Charles couldn't banish the image of Sister Joanna, smiling and weaving her fingers with the woman. How often did the nuns in this abbey see her in such a state?

Well, whatever. Charles brushed his face with the sleeves of his coat. It doesn't concern me.

Vlad's words continued to echo as Charles struggled to locate the ill-mannered doctor's whereabouts and resume his business.

They went together in early March. Charles had already been drained of his initial excitement when Sister Joanna suggested he accompany her on her annual flower painting.

He went anyway, unanswered questions and the image of Sister Joanna with the two strangers still fresh and lingering on his mind.

"Poppies? " Charles exclaimed, as Sister Joanna handed him a bag of black and brown seeds. "Not lilies?"

"I thought of doing something different this time around." She quipped. "They should yield magnificent red blossoms come August."

The couple spoke no more until midday. Sister Joanna invited Charles to sit with her under the shade of a nearby tree. They shared between them a bundle filled with sourdough bread and cheese.

"But I'm honestly surprised. I didn't think that I'd be here, planting poppies. With you, I mean," Charles spoke between bites. "I was expecting it to be lilies or roses. If you were going for red, I imagined that you'd be going for roses."

Roses fit you better nearly slipped out of Charles' mouth if not for Joanna's trenchant eye silencing him.

"No particular reason," she whispered, her gaze turning to that of the fields they had just cultivated. "But, maybe, it was our encounter at the statue that led me."

"I beg your pardon?"

Sister Joanna sighed and wiped away the beads of sweat gathering on her brow. Even as perspiration drenched her entire face, she still refused to part with the damned eyepatch.

"Red poppies are often considered a symbol of remembrance for the war dead," she began. "There are tales of blood-red flowers growing near the bodies of fallen soldiers."

A breeze tousled her chopped locks, and Charles marveled at how they shone under the sunlight trickling through the foliage.

"Even on what were once barren wastelands such as these," Charles followed her gaze, "Now they name it the Lily Hills."

How apt. "If it wasn't for your hard work planting those lilies every year, it wouldn't have reached this state. On your own, no less!"

"I'm humbled," Charles could see the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "It's the least an old woman like me can do."

"You're not that old." Charles blabbed. "Wait, are you?"

Ah, again with the inane questions. Rein it in, can't you, Charles?

But Sister Joanna merely smiled, as if it was an overzealous puppy she was dealing with and not a grown man.

"I don't believe I've ever told you," she answered wistfully. "I'm turning thirty-six this year."

Oh.

"Well," Charles hoped Sister Joanna was looking elsewhere for fear of her noticing his embarrassment. "You certainly don't look that old."

Charles prayed that the Earth would swallow him right then and there. No wonder Vlad's assuming I'm courting her. What is it about her that has me unraveled so effortlessly? She —

"I'm flattered." Her answer was curt if a bit hesitant. "Most would take me for a gnarled hag."

Charles willed the exchange to die as he diverted all his attention back to his meal. Most of their work was finished. They could return to town soon. And Charles would be allowed reprieve in the sanctuary of his room.

Sanctuary. Charles' mind flashed back to that day in the abbey, to an image of Faust, the nuns, to Sister Joanna and her elegant companions.

And then, there was the gold-plated cameo locket dangling from Sister Joanna's neck by a long chain. It made quite the sight, nestling against the fabric of Sister Joanna's sable robe.

He began noticing the locket's existence after the spectacle in the courtyard. A parting gift from her friends, perhaps?

"That's a beautiful locket. My mother sometimes wears them back at home on special occasions," Charles dared himself to ask.  "Although hers usually have profiles of beautiful ladies on them. This is the first time I've seen one adorned with a flower."

On the surface of Joanna's locket were ivory roses against an obsidian background.

"I'm not one for icons and such," She sheepishly ran a thumb over the carvings. "I thought my husband would think my preference to be nonsense, but he listened anyhow."

This is the first time I've heard Sister Joanna's mention her husband. "Not lilies?' He joked.

"My husband preferred roses. Not that I complained," Sister Joanna replied matter-of-factly. "He did as he liked."

There was not a hint of sentiment in her voice. Maybe Charles was wrong. Maybe Sister Joanna just didn't think much of her deceased husband. Charles was a fool, for thinking Sister Joanna regarded him enough as a close friend that she was willing to divulge her secrets.

"Was it given to you by your friends in the courtyard?" Charles clutched his sister's handkerchief. How the question had possessed him for so long!

Charles thought that his candidness would earn him her retaliation. Instead, Sister Joanna slumped back against the bark and closed her eye.

"So you saw me," she sighed dolefully. "They're....old friends from Belvedere. The woman was my subordinate in the Order of the Maid, and her husband was a musician I came to know in the capital. I was the one to first introduce them to each other, in fact."

"Oh, that's so sweet." Charles was reminded of how affectionate the couple was to the old widow. "Wait! Did you say the Order of the Maid? You never told me you're a Maid!"

The Order of the Maid was an all-female military unit said to have been formed during the middle ages. Its members, consisting strictly of unmarried young women, were mostly drafted from the peasantry and nobility alike. Under the aegis of the Church, it grew to nearly five thousand strong. 

Charles had listened to his mother's tales of women on stallions defending her village's borders and riding out to meet invaders sent forth by the neighboring Monarchy.

It was a shame their nation never considered letting them serve alongside the men beyond the Empire's borders. We can't have our country's most exquisite treasures meeting their early doom, Charles once heard a grizzled colonel remark.

He was the very few who wished the Emperor's appraisal towards the Order during their debut at the Capital's annual military parade was more than empty praise.

Then again...

"You seem rather excited," Charles nearly lost himself to his thoughts that he didn't realize Joanna had shuffled closer. "What of the Maids?"

Charles could feel his childhood fantasies coming to life, free of the malaise brought upon by years of warring and adulthood. "My mother adores and admires them greatly. I grew up listening to her stories about the Maids of her youth and how she wished she could join their ranks."

"I used to admire them. And I still do now," Charles beamed. "Very much so. No wonder you could carry all those boxes the first time we met. And your knowledge of weapons? That's spectacular. I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting any other woman with such skills."

"You just haven't met with enough women," she deadpanned.

Ouch. "Anyway, I'm glad I met you. I never once dreamed that I'd be talking to a Maid, in the flesh! My mother would be ecstatic. I can't wait to write to her about our encounter!"

"Fiery, aren't you." Sister Joanna huffed. "There's not much you can glean from an old maid like me."

Charles wasn't entirely sure if Sister Joanna was intending to joke or if she realized she'd made a pun at all. Either way, Charles poured himself another glass of water and downed it in one gulp.

"So, how long did you serve within the Order?"

Sister Joanna removed her gloves, revealing lithe fingers with burn scars coiling around each of them. She pocketed the gloves, and Charles couldn't decide whether it was deliberate on her part.

"For long as I can remember," she answered. "There was a time when I thought there was no more to life beyond God and the Order."

"And now?"

"I betrayed both," she ran her bare fingers down the cold comfort of her chain. "And gave in to a man and his fantastic pursuits."

Charles nodded. She doesn't sound too different from Mother.

"Was it as they say?" he went off with his curiosity. "Did they teach you to shoot guns on horseback? Did you help victims of floods and landslides? Ride with the Emperor in the Anniversary parade?"

Her eyes widened in overwhelm. "One at a time," she admonished. "I never thought you'd be this eager."

Charles settled against the bark with arms crossed behind his head. "Of course! I was in the Capital when they joined the Emperor's parade. How old was I? 12? 13?" He grinned like a schoolboy as he did that fateful morning. "I saw the Empress!”

"The Empress," Sister Joanna curled her lips, her leer indecipherable. Her strange turn in countenance subdued Charles.

Am I imagining things? “I mean, that was before she became Empress.” He smiled bashfully despite his discomfiture. “I never missed seeing her at the Parades. I believe I was 10 when I started watching her, way before she became High Commander and began riding at the front just behind the Emperor's carriage.”

"High Commander...." Sister Joanna murmured. "A sumptuous name for what is merely a decorative pawn."

"No, it isn't!" Charles whirled around to face his elder companion. Had he not realized Sister Joanna was a woman of different standing, Charles would have launched upon her and grabbed hold of her shoulders. "Whatever other people say about her, I think she's incredible! She'd been working hard to reach that position, and not a single soul can diminish that fact!"

"That so," Sister Joanna chuckled. Chuckled? "I take it you were one of the broken-hearted lads who cried upon hearing her marriage to the Emperor?"

"I didn't," Charles' flushed face burned a deeper shade of scarlet. "Okay, so I did. But I'm positive I'm not the only one!"

A satisfied smile graced Sister Joanna's lips. It was such a rare sight that Charles wished he could draw well that he could forever commit it on solid paper and not just his fleeting memory.

In that very brief moment, Charles could see the traces of Sister Joanna's younger self, a gallant soldier in the Maids' sleek white uniform, to be yet unsullied by the corrupted realities of the Empire.

Maybe she wasn't too far off about the horrors of leaving the Order and getting married. Ordinary life isn't as peachy compared to their glittering adventure-filled lives, come to think of it.

But neither is facing real battles and not knowing when or where you're going to die. These women DID face enemies even from a very young age.

Sister Joanna gingerly patted a cloth against her damp forehead.  “The Empress,” she repeated. "She turned into quite the monster didn't she?"

#ikevam fanfic #ikevam jean #ikevam charles #ikevam vlad #ikevam mozart #riri tries ikevam

[ultramarcypan]

tradition

Arlo x Female Builder

It’s just a short little drabble I did for a friend, but I figured I could share!  I’ve played like 5 mines of My Time at Portia so I did have to do some research for this; warning that it may be OOC lmao.

It's been a strange year.   Good, all things considered she thinks, especially since she'd sailed to Portia on a whim to take over the decrepit workshop Pa had left her.  And workshop was also a generous term for the plot of land and shack she'd found upon her arrival; it had taken weeks of hacking and sawing at twigs and trees to save up enough lumber to patch the MANY holes in the house and slap together rudimentary machines for building anything more complex than a simple fishing pole.  She distinctly remembers how for the first month or so, every night she'd stumbled to bed with aching limbs and blistered, raw hands, and had to fight not to cry over the pain and the unfamiliarity of it all.  In her weakest moments, she'd even considered leaving.  Barnarock was only one boat ride away, and there was still a life waiting for her there.  She owed nothing to the sleepy little town of Portia, really.

But the townspeople had helped. They were a colorful bunch, the lot of them.  Barnarock was so different; people there minded their business and it was a miracle to get more than a curt nod from someone when you passed them in the street.  There was no mayor who had a good heart even if his business sense was questionable.  There wasn't just one restaurant, where people would call out to you as you passed by, invite you to chat and sit, buy you lunch because you looked tired, and then walk back with you to your house just because they could.  No one popped by unannounced at your house with a home-cooked meal because they'd made too much and were wondering if maybe she'd like some?  There were no rivals that---well, no, that wasn't being fair, Higgins was a unique person all the way around she figured, but it didn't make him any less crucial to the town all his.....eccentricities aside.   And there certainly wasn't any Civil Corp in Barnarock.  The people there scoffed at the notion of danger, living protected in high walls and isolated from the rest of the world.  The notion of animals and monsters roaming just in fields a stones throw from the town would've rocked them to their very core. The thought crosses her mind that her old friends would be shocked and possibly repulsed if she told them that she spent a good chunk of her time now spelunking in nearby caverns and sewers for precious ore and materials to support the town and the people that have become her new home and family. She's paid richly for her services, though she keeps insisting it's entirely too much.  It's not much different to how every shares their food, their clothes, their yarn, their tools with her---she has crafting materials to spare and the machines to turn them into things, so why shouldn't she give back to those who helped her start? Arlo had laughed when she told him as much.  "Well," he'd said around a grin.  "I imagine what you build has a lot more impact than just a homemade pie, no matter how nice it may be."  To emphasize his point, he'd gestured at his hip, where the gleaming sword she'd forged for him the month prior was strapped. Arlo was another thing that Barnarock didn't have.  That was the difference she was most acutely aware of. She remembers the first time she'd met him.  It had been two weeks, maybe, into her residency at Portia.  The fields around her home were relatively safe but also barren of any lumber, long since stripped bear due to her efforts to fix the place up.  And the colorful llamas that grazed just beyond had seemed so tame from far away. Turns out, the rainbow colors were the only nice things about them. She'd been on the ground, out of breath and bleeding from a nasty scrape on her forehead, dealing with the fact that a rainbow llama may actually be her cause of death when there had been a terrible shout from behind her.  Startled, the llama had reared and she closed her eyes waiting for pain that never came.  When she finally dared to open them, the animal was on the ground motionless, and someone, a stranger, was standing over her, leaning down. To her shame, she'd passed out then. She woke up in a building that she was able to identify as the Civil Corp headquarters in town, a place she'd passed by a few times but never actually bothered to go near.  She'd met them all that day, cheerful Sam who'd been the one to explain to her just what had happened, Remington who'd offered her a cup of team and a friendly pat on the shoulder while he'd looked over her cut once more, and Arlo, who'd lingered by the door watching her with sharp eyes and the hint of a frown.  Without the threat of dying to distract her, she'd been able to properly take in how broad his shoulders were, how sturdy his stance was, how comforting his very presence was. He'd shown up on her doorstep a week after she'd slunk out of their headquarters, apologizing profusely for her foolishness and thanking them over and over for their kindness.  She'd had all of 30 seconds to stammer out a hello and one more thank you for good measure before a wooden training sword was tossed at her. When she'd expressed confusion, Arlo had shifted his weight just a bit, looking her up and down.  "Training," he offered as explanation, and she'd blinked.  He had heaved a sigh, shoving his hands into his pockets.  "If you're going to be hard headed enough to wander straight into a herd of monsters," he'd said (which was a little RUDE, even if it was true) "Then I'm at the very least going to make sure you know how to defend yourself.  You can't count on me to protect you every time." "Can't I?" She'd mouthed off before she could stop herself, and then clamped a hand over her mouth.  There was silence for a moment where she was gearing herself up to apologizing once again to him when he'd laughed---a deep belly laugh, loud and proud and actually pretty nice to hear. "Flattered as I am that you think I'm that talented, let's err on the side of caution."  He'd spun around to walk over to an empty spot on her land and it hadn't even occurred to her not to follow. So yeah, it's been a strange year.  Learning how to sword fight, how to build, how to be part of such a tight knit community hadn't exactly been on her agenda, but she's not upset at how it's turned out at all.  And now, the year is almost over. Celebrations in Portia are just one more difference between it and Barnarock.  The town goes all out on holidays, and New Year's Eve isn't an exception to this rule.  She's never seen the plaza look so full of life, so bright.  The amount of candles lit all over is so high she's pretty sure it could count as a fire hazard, and there are streamers and ribbons and balloons of every color no matter where she looks.  The tables from The Round Table have all been dragged outside and not a single towns-person is missing, all crammed around them, sitting and mingling together and watching the clock tower tick down as a new year approaches them. She's huddled against the wall of Town Hall, preferring to leave the seats to some of the older folks who need them or to some of the kids who are struggling to stay up, slumped over onto the table with their heads pillowed on their arms.  There's movement out of the corner of her eye and she tenses for just a moment before she sees a flash of bright red.  "Hey Arlo." "Well, fancy seeing you here."  He drawls.  She rolls her eyes--where else would she be on the night of a festival?  "Mind if I join you?" "Not at all."  He slides closer, pressing against the wall with her, letting their shoulders brush against each other.  "Kinda shocked to see you here," she tells him casually, ignoring the way her heart is beating against her ribcage.  "Figured you'd be out in the wilds playing hero or something equally as noble." He huffs a quiet laugh, bumping against her lightly.  "Not tonight," he says.  "Even heroes have to rest now and again." There's a lot of ways she could answer that.  She could tease him for his constant need to serve and protect---one of his more admirable qualities, even if it worried her and the rest of the Civil Corp to no end.  She could accept it for the simple statement of truth it is, grunt and let the comfortable silence that is so common between them take over. Or she could be more daring.  More forward.  More honest with the feelings that the two of them have been dancing around for an eternity now.  Say something like 'Well, who am I to turn away a hero in need?' as she leaned more heavily into him, let her hand brush against his, let her thumb stroke over the calluses on his palm that she knows are there from years of training and hard work. She doesn't have to choose any of those options though, because a sudden shout goes up from the plaza and both of them turn, startled.  Gale has both of his hands in the air, and a RIDICULOUS party hat on his head, pointing up at the clock tower.  "10 seconds left!" The people of Portia cheer loudly, and she doesn't even bother to fight the fond smile that finds its way onto her face.  They count as one, loud and happy even in the cold night.  "10!  9!" "Hey."  It's the urgency in Arlo's voice that has her turning towards him.  It's rare for him to sound so serious without any immediate danger present.  He's fiddling with the hilt of his sword, a nervous habit he doesn't seem to be aware he has. "Yeah?" "8! 7! 6!" Arlo takes a deep breath in and it would be FUNNY that he looks so nervous because it is so wildly out of character, but instead it just makes her anxious as well.  "I'm gonna do something that may be stupid."   "What?" "5! 4! 3!" He takes a step towards her and then another, and even if she wanted to back up, the brick wall of Town Center is behind her, stopping any possible retreat.  "It's tradition?"  It's half a question, half a justification she hears from him.  "So I'm really sorry in advance if you get mad at me, but I've also really wanted to do this for months now." "Do WHAT Arlo?"  She's blinking rapidly up at him, at how close he is, praying that he can't hear the drumbeat of her heart over the shouts of the crowd. "2! 1!" Instead of a verbal answer, he swoops down on her and she has maybe a millisecond to process the sound of party poppers from the crowd as the countdown ends, the smell of his earthy cologne that's right there, the feel of his hands on her shoulder, before his lips are on hers and he's kissing her, right there in the plaza like it's the most natural thing in the world. "HAPPY NEW YEARS!" Her arms flail at her side and a distant part of her mind is shocked that she's made it as long as she has fighting monsters and mining if she's taken out by something as simple as a kiss.  That tiny voice gets shoved far to the side as she realizes that Arlo is pulling away, most likely because she's doing a wonderful impression of a stone statue right now.  Panic overwhelms all her higher functions and she latches onto his shoulders, tugging him closer again and finally, FINALLY getting the sense to respond to the kiss properly. It's nothing special.  It's barely more than the brush of lips against each other, chaste and shy and shorty really.  She pulls away after a few seconds and the first thing she manages to process is that Arlo is blushing, which is funny because the red of his face clashes horribly with the orange of his hair.  She giggles, overwhelmed by the whole situation, and burrows her face into the crook of his neck shoulders shaking slightly. "Well that's not very nice."  He sounds just as shaky as she feels, which is nice.  "A man kisses you on New Year's Eve and you laugh at him?  Don't know how things work where you're from, but a kiss on New Year's Eve is pretty traditional."  One of his hands has wandered to the small of her back and is hovering just above it, like he's afraid to touch her fully.  "Didn't take you for the bullying sort." "You misunderstand."  She mumbles into his neck, lips brushing against the soft flesh there.  She leans back just enough to grin at him, all teeth and promise.   "I'm just a stickler for tradition." And she pulls him down for another kiss.

#my time at portia #arlo #arlo x female builder

[judgmentofcorruption]

Episode 3–He Dies in the Snow Field; Scene 5

Judgment of Corruption, pages 98-104

Kayo living in Pixie had been a complete lie.

“I’m not so foolishly honest as to write down where I live in documents like that.”

Gallerian had protested that this was an illegal act, but Kayo didn’t pay any mind to that at all.

“If you’re going to prosecute me for it, do as you like.”

It was a provocation done with the knowledge that Gallerian was in no position to do that right now.

Naturally, even if he wasn’t in this situation, Gallerian would never have taken legal action against her. It was for the purpose of making her his collaborator that he had declared her innocent, after all.

--To give the main points of the explanation Kayo gave after that, this was the gist of it:

This facility, “Lunaca Labora”, was one of the places where she could rest. Only one of them—Kayo’s place of residence was not set in stone. Given her position, she apparently had several hiding places prepared in every region.

Just as Hel said, Lunaca Labora was an artifact of the old era. Kayo didn’t say how it was that she found this place, but she did explain in brief regarding its origins.

In the old era there had been the Magic Kingdom. In it was a researcher by the name of Seth Twiright, and supposedly “Lunaca Labora” was a research facility that he had created, established secretly under the barren snow field. As it was belowground it sustained very little damage from the “Great Catastrophe” that destroyed the Magic Kingdom, and remained on until the present day in its current state.

She said that here they were able to conduct medical procedures that surpassed modern science. It was proof that the Magic Kingdom had possessed incredibly advanced technology that defied what was normally possible, and it made sense that Hel’s father Heaven Jaakko had been searching for it so desperately.

After the “Great Catastrophe”, Seth had created a sorceress here.

“’The Red Cat Sorceress’—Are you familiar with that name?” Kayo asked Gallerian.

“…That figure has popped up several times, historically. There’s ‘IR’, who was said to be involved with the Venomania Event, ‘AB-CIR’ who was the owner of the Heartbeat Clocktower, and ‘Abyss IR’ who worked behind the scenes before and after the Lucifenian Revolution—"

“I’m impressed. That’s quite extensive knowledge you have.”

“I learned that during my course on violations of the special laws on magic. Any student of Levin University’s law school would know it.”

“This place was where that ‘Red Cat Sorceress’ was born. Seth put the soul of a girl on the verge of death inside a red cat plushy. The red cat became immortal with magical powers, and had the power to bend people to her will—”

“Where did you get this information? That wasn’t written anywhere in my textbook, at the very least.”

Kayo only gave a thin smile, not answering the question.

“…Well, whatever. If nothing else, it’s clear that you have a very detailed knowledge of magic. That is what I was seeking.”

Gallerian told her of his idea that he needed someone with knowledge on “witches” to reform the witch trials.

“—I see. So that’s why you declared me innocent.”

“Please work with me. You must know yourself, don’t you? Who I am the son of.”

“…Yes. Of course.”

“If you revere Elluka, then—”

“Wait a moment. We have something that takes priority over that right now, don’t you think? …I will give the matter some thought. However—first we must take care of Loki.”

“I have one more question on that. You—all of you, seem to have some grudge against Loki, but why is that? He himself is little more than a mere judge, like me.”

“Rather than Loki—it’s more his family…Really, it’s the Freezis Conglomerate we want to do something about. Though, well, all of our views on that do differ slightly.”

And then Kayo began to talk about her own motives.

“Elluka Ma Clockworker had received the patronage of the Freezis Conglomerate. The people who led it were trying to use the considerable magical power that she possessed to grant their fondest wish.”

“Their ‘fondest wish’?”

“Immortality… This, at least, is not something that one can gain so easily no matter how much money you have. This is something that started in the era of Shaw Freezis, the founder of the conglomerate’s previous incarnation, the Freezis Foundation. In actuality, Shaw had been able to secure an extremely long lifespan through the use of magical power. …Think this absurd, do you?”

“…I’ll hold back on voicing my opinion for now. Please continue.”

“That is why by all rights Elluka should never have been captured by the World Police, and even if she had she should have been judged innocent at the trial. It was known at the time that Hanma, the Dark Star Courthouse director, would change the verdict. But things didn’t play out that way. –She was betrayed. By the conglomerate,” Kayo said, her expression twisting.

“Are you sure of that? Or is it just your theory?”

“It’s fact. I heard all this from internal members of the Freezis Conglomerate.”

Kayo looked around at all the people around them.

“Beginning with Bruno, and excluding you and I, everyone here works for them—publicly, at least.”

“Everyone--Even…even that tiger-looking person there?”

“You mean Feng? I hear he’s kept on as a pet.”

The tiger—Feng--made a small groan. “…Though extremely reluctantly. It’s the only way I can afford my food.”

Gallerian closed his eyes. He appeared to be sorting through Kayo’s story just then in his head.

“—If what you say is true…Then the mastermind responsible for killing my mother—”

“Is the Freezis Conglomerate. They realized that they could not attain immortality even through Elluka’s magic. And so, to exterminate Elluka and her allies who stood as obstacles for them, they started a certain ‘hoax’. They took the bizarre events that were beginning to happen all over the world, and created the public idea that it was the work of ‘sorceresses’—or rather, ‘witches’.”

“I feel like you’ve gotten a little ahead of yourself there. You haven’t explained why the ‘witch hunts’ are still going on now that my mother is gone.”

“The conglomerate wishes to destroy all the sorcerers and sorceresses in this world. If they cannot be useful to them, then those who can use ‘magic’ that exceeds the scope of human knowledge are nothing more than a threat. Think this sounds crazy? It is crazy. The Freezis family has become a band of madmen who have forgotten the noble spirit that their ancestor once held.”

“…And Loki? Does he know all of this?”

“Who knows? But I’d wager he doesn’t. He was a child barely come into his own awareness when Elluka was executed. It is certain however that he is a member of the crazed Freezis Family. …You’ve had experience with that yourself, yes?”

“…I had always thought that Loki was a purely good person.”

“Perhaps he is that. But purity isn’t necessarily the right thing. There is ‘pure evil’ too—those who are called ‘HER’, in the old language. That is the true nature of the Freezis family as they are now.”

“…”

Gallerian appeared to be struggling to decide on what he should say.

Understandable. Kayo’s story had been a long procession of statements that were hard to grasp for the average person. Ordinarily it wouldn’t be out of turn for him to laugh it off as some ridiculous fantasy.

--Appearing to steady his nerve, Gallerian replied, fist clenched, “I still can’t trust you all. Everything you’ve told me is a bit hard to swallow. –But I am sure that you all have the intention to go against Loki. That means that our interests are aligned. …And it’s certainly true that right now I need people to work with me.”

“…I’m glad you can see reason.” Kayo put a hand on his chest. “I didn’t want to have to do anything untoward towards you if I could help it.”

“’Untoward’? Were you planning to torture me or something?”

“Rather than torture…More like ‘brainwashing’.”

“Don’t make me shiver. Cut it out. I’ve no wish to have my head be tampered with by some ancient device,” Gallerian said, holding out his right hand to Kayo. “Well…While I can’t see us becoming friendly, I do hope we work well together, Miss Kayo.”

“No need for formalities. –And I don’t much care for being called by my proper name. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d prefer you call me by my pen name, ‘Ma’.”

“Very well—Then, to our partnership, ‘Ma’.”

As a strange crew of many secrets watched on—

The two of them shook hands.

.

--Life, or rather fate, is a progression of crossroads.

So then, I wonder if Gallerian’s choice will ultimately have been the correct one.

That will probably become clear through some more observation.

.

…Though I’m betting that he’s made a mistake!

<<prev------directory------next>>

[witharsenicsauce]

Chosen Stories From the War #34: All Quiet on the Western Front

(Content Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of gore, minor character death, and trauma)

For a moment, Jane happily lay in her state of half consciousness, reveling in the warmth of the unfamiliar bed. The blankets were surprisingly comfortable for being so rough, and the mat she relaxed upon was soft and warm. She turned over, for a moment entertaining the idea that sleep might return to her.

“Jx habet los Exletos.”

Jane threw an arm over her head, attempting to drown out the sound of talking but...it caught her attention. While she didn’t know the meaning of the words spoken, she knew the voice all too well.

“Jx habet onx botu, onx erinye, ‘n lau lophndia.” A moment of silence, but Jane could hear gentle murmur in the background. She sat up slowly, as her partner that evening, Althaea, said one more thing. “Jx deluge.” She broke off, slamming something metallic down on the desk as she saw Jane was awake. “You’re up.”

“Calling your side pieces?” Jane chuckled. “Or am I the side piece, and you’re calling your wife?”

“You? Sweetheart, you’re a diamond in the rough.” Althaea slithered back towards her and curled up in the pillows again. Jane scooted closer, trapping Althaea’s tail between her legs, and the Viper wrapped her tail around her waist.

“Who were you talking to?” Jane asked. 

Althaea was strangely quiet for a moment, and when she spoke there was a bit of hesitation in her voice. “My sisters at another haven.”

“Didn’t know they had phones.”

“If you can build it, you can keep it.” Althaea assured her. “And eventually I banged rocks together long enough to make the thing work.”

“Hm. Then you’re a woman of many talents.” Jane chuckled, winking.

Althaea rolled her eyes and straightened up. “I should be charging you for this.”

“Okay. How much?”

“I said I should.” Althaea stuck out her tongue in a long hiss. “Not that I will~”

“Isn’t that a bit unfair?” Jane rolled onto her back, eager to drift back off to sleep, but something still felt...off. “What language was that?”

Althaea didn’t say anything, just curled her long tail around Jane’s waist once again.

.

.

“What do you mean, you lost the rat?!”

“I didn’t lose him!” Gur-Rai protested. “I left him on this bench right here!” He pointed to the sunny stone bench, parked right by the oasis’ edge.

“And you expected him not to walk off?” Kon-Mai ran a hand through her hair in exasperation. “Gur-Rai! He’s an animal!”

“I know he is!” He snapped at her. “But he’s important to me! God, he’s probably really scared right now...” 

Her face softened a bit. “He is most likely fine.” She said calmly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “He is probably hungry, and went off to catch bugs somewhere.”

Gur-Rai, chewing on the nail of his little finger, seemed not to hear her. He was just staring at the empty bench in despair when Dhar-Mon finally spoke up.

“There is plenty of food in this haven...” He said. “I say that is the first place we check.”

“I swear if that thing got into the food stores…” Nazira grumbled, picking at her cuticles in a way similar to Gur-Rai when he was nervous. She stood towards the back of the Chosen, isolated at this time. Her own brother was nowhere to be seen.

“The sooner we find him, the sooner we can ensure that is not the case.” Kon-Mai said. “Nazira, where is it that you store the supplies?”

Nazira looked around, pointing to a square building that resembled a stone warehouse. “Well over there is where we keep most of the raw materials. Grain that hasn’t been made into flour, dried fruits, salted meats, stuff that keeps. There are a couple of refrigeration units in the Generator room but I don’t think he could get in there.”

“What of farmland? Do you have any fields or gardens?” Dhar-Mon asked.

“Most of it has been harvested already.” Nazira shrugged. “But the dandelions are in bloom right now. He might be hunting for bugs in the grass.”

“Okay.” Kon-Mai stood up tall. “We shall split up, then, cover more ground.”

“I shall search the storage units.” Dhar-Mon said.

“Wonderful. Gur-Rai.” Kon-Mai turned to her brother. “Will you help me search the fields? My eyes are lacking compared to yours.”

That seemed to at least shake him from his trance. “Sure thing.” He nodded, looking over at Nazira. “You’ll be okay?”

“This is my house, Gur-Rai.” She giggled. “I’ll be fine without you.”

He faltered at her words, but Kon-Mai dragged him off quickly. Nazira lifted her hand in a wave, then sighed and turned towards the generator room. 

As much as she hated going in there, if this possum was as important to Gur-Rai as it seemed to be, she’d brave it for him.

.

.

“Of all the people I thought I would see again.” Zafar looked over his cup of tea, meeting Verge’s black eyes. “I’ll admit I never expected it would be you.”

“And I would have agreed.” Verge admitted, a slight smile on his face. “I could barely talk last time we worked together.”

“And you certainly wouldn’t hear talk of disobeying the Elders.” Zafar’s gaze turned cold. “You’re lucky Nazira forgives you, after what you said to her last time.”

“I know.” Verge hung his head. “I’ll admit that for someone who was supposed to be her comrade, I was...far too spiteful. Aggressive. I did not know how my actions, and my words, hurt her so.”

Zafar held the silence for a moment. “She does not seem to hold a grudge.” He admitted. “And she is excited that you are here.” He put his tea down. “But I need to know, Verge. What changed?”

“Everything. Slowly.” Verge said. “Interrogations gone awry. When you’re inside someone’s head while they’re being probed for information, you feel everything…”

Zafar took a deep breath. “That’s one thing I never had to suffer.” He pinched his own brown skin, smooth and hairless but otherwise so human. “These human ‘suits’ gave me the illusion of being a man, but I never had to gaze into the mind of one.”

“So what you’re saying is, you can make a snake into a Thin Man-”

“But you can’t get rid of the reptile brain.” Zafar smiled. “You get it.”

Verge leaned on his hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever read a Viper’s mind.”

“I’m sure it’s not a unique experience.” Zafar parted his black hair along the side and tied up half of it. “...How much smarter are humans, anyway?”

“Jealous?”

“No. Curious.” Zafar was lying, he stunk of it, but Verge just smiled and did not insist on antagonizing that point.

“Truth be told, actual intelligence isn’t exactly what they excel at.” He admitted.

“Oh?” Zafar raised a brow. “Emotional intelligence then?”

“Some learn it quickly, but it doesn’t come naturally.” Verge shrugged. “But that’s something they have to practice. What they do excel in is creativity.”

“Creativity?”

“Humans have a tendency to jump to conclusions.” Verge continued. “And in doing so they are...inspired to try something, even if it might not work. Because to them, if there’s a chance it will work, then it will work.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Zafar crossed his arms. “Do they not get discouraged?”

“Surprisingly, no. And if they do, not for long. It’s as if their brains don’t let them rest until a problem is solved.” Verge chuckled. “And it’s beautiful. Because with it, they’re inspired to not just spread their wings, but to glide and dive and reach for the stars. Quite literally.”

“They must be careful then.” Zafar said. “Overzealousness is what led the Elders to their rapid decline.”

Verge almost questioned what Zafar meant by decline, but part of him already knew.

.

.

“Phoibos, Savitr, Calliope, Murillo, Diodor.” Prata Mox called out, and the officers stepped forward. “You are to patrol the Western Front, along the established road. Avoid the sands.” He said with a great amount of emphasis in his voice.

“What if we see something?” Phoibos called out.

Mox seemed to think for a moment. “...Come back and report it immediately. Do not investigate. I do not wish to risk a soldier’s capture.”

Calliope looked over to Savitr, who seemed lost in thought as he stared into the golden sand. “Ux ezom okay?”

Savitr looked up at her, blinking for a moment before giving her a warm smile and nodding. “Thinking about something, don’t mind me.”

She smiled, and then looked around. “I bet you can slip away and find her before we leave~”

“Move out!” Mox called, and the five of them began the march toward the Western Front.

“Well, it’s too late for that now...” He chuckled, as he and the rest of his platoon began the march down the sandy road.. “And even so…” He trailed off.

“Even so?” She nudged him. “That is no excuse.”

He kept silent, his usually sunny disposition strangely overcast. The once well maintained black asphalt had crumbled under years of neglect, and he had to hop the major cracks to avoid tripping.

“Maybe she feels the same way.” Calliope insisted. “It never hurts to ask, and after that mission you went on together-”

“I don’t want to be presumptuous.” He insisted. “She hasn’t had the experiences I have, and I don’t want to force her into something she isn’t ready for.”

“You wouldn’t be forcing her into anything.” Calliope rested her hand on her hip as she walked, the sand in the road crunching under her feet.

Still, Savitr shook his head. “It’s not something I feel confident in.”

“No one ever does.” Calliope giggled. “Don’t tell me you’re intimidated by her.” She thought for a moment. “Actually that’s a pretty normal reaction, with that skull face of hers-”

“Hey.” Savitr snapped, actually scowling at her. “That’s uncalled for.”

Calliope shrank back. “...Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He grumbled. “We’re not exactly the apex of beauty, Calliope. Please, take care of what you say…” He blushed a bit. “I happen to like her face very much.”

Calliope sighed. “You’re hopeless, Savi-” She broke off, craning her neck and covering her eyes with one hand. “Phoibos?!”

Savitr looked up, and saw his brother-in-arms waving to them frantically, pointing to something off the trail.

.

.

It was still surprising to Gur-Rai that within this dry and barren desert, just along the edges of the lake, lay such a fertile and promising land. Of course, such promise didn’t hold much hope for him if he couldn’t find his lost possum.

As he pushed the brush aside, he looked over his shoulder to his sister, who was kneeling in the weeds, making clicking noises to call Pangu towards her on the off chance that the possum was listening. It had been quite the day for her, and in the late afternoon sun, she turned briefly towards him and he saw the faint outline of the acid burn along her lip.

He watched her work for a moment, then stood up. “Hey. Sister.”

“Hm?” She looked up, breaking her concentration for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak but in that moment, she sighed and cut him off. “No. Do not apologize.”

“Huh?” He blinked.

“I know what you are about to say: that you are sorry for snapping at me.” She smiled. “It seems as though in this heat, we have spent the majority of our time offending one another and then apologizing for it. I shall save you the trouble, Gur-Rai: I forgive you.”

Gur-Rai crossed his arms. “I didn’t tell you I was sorry, yet. Can’t forgive me if I don’t.”

“Yes I can.” She straightened up, brushing the bits of dandelion fluff off her leggings. “Did I not just tell you yesterday I will love you until the day I die?”

He looked away. “...You did.”

She approached him and stretched her arms out, beckoning him closer with her hands. “So come on.”

He stepped forward, and she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. He waited a moment, then embraced her as well, burying his face in her shoulder. She may have been his little sister, but she had a calming strength in her grasp that made him feel so secure; something he’d never been able to replicate.

“I’m sorry I pointed my gun at you that one time.”

“That was nearly six years ago, ‘nweghị.” She chuckled and rubbed her hand over his back. “I’d long forgotten about that. And I knew you would never actually shoot me.”

“How do you know?” He muttered. “I seem to remember you responding with a knife to my throat.”

“How else was I to get you to cease your little games?” She chuckled. “You are very annoying, Brother, but I trust that you would not hurt me on purpose.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t on accident…”

She pulled away and patted his sunken cheek. “What makes you think you would?”

He sighed. “I don’t actually think it, just...” He admitted. “It’s more the principle of the matter.”

“Principle?” She furrowed her brow.

“Yeah.” He went back to wading in the weeds. “I do something to upset you, or accidentally cause you harm, that’s pretty similar to shooting you, isn’t it?”

“Oh, where is all this coming from?!” Kon-Mai grabbed his arm.

“From trauma.” He laughed, but it was dry and humorless and carried hurt with it. “We all have open wounds, Kon-Mai, and I pulled at one of yours this morning.”

“Do you mean-” She reached up and touched her lip, where the acid burn scar was still healing.. “...No, no Gur-Rai, you did not. You were trying to help.”

“Intention doesn’t mean dick. You were still in pain.”

“You were right to try and help.” She said. “I...have my demons…” She hugged herself, looking down at her body. “I have the remnants of what Abyzou gave me. But that is not for you to try and tiptoe around.” She approached him again. “Camazotz left you something similar, did he not?”

Gur-Rai froze. He didn’t move a muscle for a long moment, before kneeling in the weeds, pulling away from her grasp. “...The Elders had fucked up ways of showing love.” He admitted. “But I don’t think Camazotz even liked me.”

Kon-Mai sat cross-legged in the grass and pulled him down beside her, holding him silently in her arms, and letting the silence carry forth his words. Her strategy worked, and Gur-Rai kept talking.

“I’ve fucked up so many relationships, Sister. There’s a reason I leave before the sun rises.”

She held the silence, waiting for him to continue, but he just pulled away from her embrace and curled his knees up to his chin.

“Maybe Pangu wanted to go.”

“No.” She pressed her hand to the top of his head, pulling off his hood in the process. “Do not think such things.”

“Konnie. How much do you think the Elders care about losing me?” He looked her in the eye. “I was just their punching bag, anyway. How many of my exes do you think cared enough to actually stay in contact? Even Nazira disappeared; she straight up left ADVENT territory all together.”

“That did not have to do with you.” Kon-Mai assured him. “I am sure she had her reasons.”

“She did but…” He sat back. “What if one of those was me?”

“You stop this right now!” Kon-Mai stood. “You matter, Brother, to many people. You matter to me. Did you forget that I demanded XCOM spare you?! If I truly held a grudge, would I not have let you die?”

He thought about that for a moment. “...I suppose.”

“Suppose nothing, for it is the truth.” She held out her hand to him. “Stand now, my brother, for we are bound in blood, and when I say I love you, I mean it.”

He looked up at her hand, and slowly reached up, his fingers curling around her wrist.

.

.

The generator room was always cold, and Nazira hated the cold.

Part of what she loved so much about her darling Gur-Rai was that he was always hot. Not in looks, although that was certainly true, too. His natural temperature sat a good three degrees higher than a human man’s, making his body infinitely warmer than hers. She did not know the cause of it (the Elders had always seemed so cold to her), but either way, she wished she had a bit of that touch now.

She tried to contain her shiver as she stepped into that dark, cold room. Shaking her head to rid it of the fog that was quickly covering her thoughts, she looked around. “Pangu?”

There was no answer, so she blew a short whistle through her teeth and clapped. “Here, little possum!”

All Nazira heard was the chattering of her own teeth. If he was in here, chances are he was probably frozen dead by now. She hoped not; the idea of taking his little pet’s freeze dried corpse back to her lover did not make her excited in the least.

She looked back at the semi-open door to the room and wondered if she should just leave, but something compelled her deeper into the metal maze.

There was a shuffling noise nearby, and Nazira turned her head hopefully, the action suddenly making her lightheaded and dizzy. She stumbled a bit, and as she reached down to steady herself, the sleeve of her suit pulled up, revealing her cuffs.

She froze, eyes half closed, the room around her now stark white. People in lab coats swarmed her and suddenly, before her eyes, Vox Camazotz’s acidic gaze cut into her very bones. She heard screaming, but though she could feel her mouth open and her vocal cords vibrate, it was detached from her, as though someone was screaming for her.

“I like this much better.” He reached one gnarled hand towards her. “Much, much better.”

Nazira shoved the heavy metal door open with her shoulder and sprinted back out into the sun.

.

.

Savitr followed Calliope as she sprinted down the road after Phoibos, who had taken off into the dunes and disappeared behind a wall of sand. He called out to her, but she was so far ahead of him at this point that she either couldn’t hear him, or pretended not to.

“Calliope!” He shouted again. “Wait! We shouldn’t go into the sand!”

His sister-in-arms turned to him, indicating she had heard this time, but she just gave him a look of excitement and gestured for him to follow.

Savitr hung back slightly as she climbed a dune and disappeared over the ridge. The only human in the group, Murillo, stood beside him, hands clasped and thumbs twiddling.

“What did Phoibos see?” Savitr turned to him.

Murillo shook his head. “We saw a great purple flash over the dunes. Phoibos wanted to investigate.”

Savitr grimaced and gathered a cloud of psionic energy at his fingertips. “Stay here.”

“Wait!” Murillo called after him. “Don’t you go, too!”

“I’m not going to cross the dune.” Savitr tried to assure him by offering a smile. “I’m just going to see if everyone’s alright.”

There was a whizzing scream as something flew past his head and landed in the sand beside them. Savitr acted on instinct, grabbing Murillo and throwing up a stasis shield as the grenade exploded, sending them both flying into the dunes and cracking the damaged road even more.

Murillo lay moaning in the sand, and Savitr stumbled to his feet, ignoring the pain from his own injuries. He scanned the area, trying to locate where the grenade had come from, before he heard Calliope scream.

.

.

Nazira took a deep breath, trying to shake the last shiver from her body, and pushed aside the door flap, stretching as she walked inside. “Good afternoon, boys~” 

Her brother and old friend looked up from their tea at the sound of her arrival. Verge seemed to shift uncomfortably at her comment, but relaxed as she plopped down on the cushions beside him.

“Finally decided we were worth your time?” Zafar chuckled. “I expected you to be all over Gur-Rai.”

“He’s looking for his possum.” She sighed. “It waddled off while he was busy fawning over Kon-Mai this morning. I swear, he loves that animal more than he loves me.” She laughed.

Verge set his empty teacup down, and Zafar stood up to refill it at the kettle that was now whistling on the stove. “Why do you say that?” The Sectoid inquired.

Nazira blinked. “Oh...it was a joke.” She chuckled. “I know he doesn’t really, it’s just a bit silly to get all worked up over.” She wrapped her arm around his neck. “You’re awfully nosy for someone with no nose~”

Verge nodded. “I’m...just not really clear on the status of your relationship, is he-”

“Are you jealous?” Nazira giggled. “I don’t blame you~”

“No!” Verge’s pale pink skin turned orange with blush. “I just...I’m just curious.”

“I’m sure. And fair enough, I am too.” She took the teacup that her brother handed to her. “Black Cranberry?”

“Lots of sugar, no cream, just how you like it.” Zafar handed the other cup back to Verge and sat down.

Nazira smiled warmly and stared into her cup. “Well, to answer your question Verge, I suppose he’s technically my ex-boyfriend.” She sighed. “But as you have seen, the ‘ex’ part can be left up to interpretation.”

“Did you end on bad terms?” Verge asked.

“Not exactly.” Nazira stuck her pinky into her tea and swirled it a bit. “It was just something that was a long time coming.”

Verge looked at Zafar, who was leaning on his hand, his long nail tapping his temple.

“I didn’t want to be part of ADVENT anymore.” Nazira shook her head. “No, maybe that’s wrong. I couldn’t be part of ADVENT anymore. I couldn’t stand living my life as something I was not.” She put her cup down. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to touch a suit again, and not to mention a plasma gun...”

Verge slid his hand across the table. “I didn’t know why you left. I do not think anybody did.”

“I kept it very quiet.” She said. “I just couldn’t do that anymore. And in the end, I had to make a choice between my love for Gur-Rai and my love for myself. And I couldn’t love him when I wasn’t even...me.” She looked past them, staring into nothingness. “I wanted him to come with me but...he wouldn’t. Even after everything the Elders did, he still hoped beyond hope that one day, they might love him. Just a little.”

“Perhaps we all hoped for that.” Zafar cut in. “Just a little.”

“Not me.” Nazira sneered. “They lost my love when they meddled in my genes, made me into something that only suited them.”

Verge stared at his hand on the table, his fingers long and clawed, but his skin pink instead of grey like his predecessors. He stood tall in comparison to the Sectoids that came before him. His heart was very nearly human itself.

Zafar looked up at Verge, who met his gaze with his own black eyes. “I, um…”

“It’s alright to be confused.” Zafar assured him. “It is a curse many ADVENT escapees bear. There is much I still need to decide for myself as well, but I cannot be burdened with those thoughts now.” He sighed. “Not when our people-”

“Our people are ex-ADVENT.” Nazira said. “If push comes to shove, many can fight. You spend so much time worrying about them, Zafar, I think you forget that.”

“Can they fight like you?” He raised a brow. “I am not trying to insult you, Sister. But many are scarred from their time under the Elders’ thumbs, just like yourself. And we saw the effects of that this morning.”

“I have to agree with Nazira, actually…” Verge cut in. “I know you want to, but you can’t protect your people if you’re running yourself ragged.”

Zafar rolled his eyes. “I am not ragged, Verge.”

“You yourself admit you barely sleep at night.”

It was then that Zafar stood and took a deep breath. “Speaking of our people, I need to consult Althaea about the grain stores. She wanted a portion to turn into beer.”

“You’re avoiding the situation!” Nazira called after her brother as he disappeared out the door. “Damn him.”

Verge chuckled. “I almost wish I had a sibling like that.”

“Oh what are you talking about?” Nazira put an arm around his shoulder once again, squeezing him close. “You have me.”

.

.

“Do not go off the path” should have been a simple instruction. But considering that the remains of the path were now lying in shards throughout the sand, Savitr figured Mox would probably forgive him for this.

He clenched his fingers as he pulled a shield of energy from the air around him, deflecting the rain of bullets from the trooper that stood before. The distorted voice of his brethren shouted for him to stand down, but Savitr responded by condensing his shield into a beam that cut through the armor of his foe and sent him flying back into the sand.

Murillo was still in the dirt, groaning from the injuries he’d sustained from the grenade, and it was now a choice: get Murillo to safety, or cross the ridge and gather what was left of his brothers and sisters.

He looked back at his fallen compatriot, and that short hesitation left him open for what happened next. 

A black shadow darted out from behind the dunes, wielding a weapon that was glowing purple. Savitr barely managed to duck under it, and even then it struck him along his brow, shattering something and leaving a long gash. He fell into the sand and rolled away, getting back to his feet and raising a shield just as the purple lance came down again. His shield bent noticeably, and the purple sparks erupting from the contact sent shivers down his spine.

He looked into the eyes of his adversary and saw a foe he barely recognized: a crested woman with skin burnt red, her eyes glowing with psionic power, her face carved with shimmering runes. As she pushed forward and he fell back, he felt her own energy lancing into his, and with horror he realized she was so much more powerful than he was.

There was the sound of audible gunfire, and suddenly the pressure lifted. Savitr stumbled back, the hybrid woman turning from him towards where Diodor stood, rifle in hand. The bullet wounds in the woman’s back leaked dark blue, nearly black ichor that sizzled as it dripped onto the sand.

Savitr drew his own pistol and cocked it, but as soon as he pointed it toward her head she had already vanished from his immediate view. He glanced around frantically, and with a spark of fear he noticed Murrillo was gone.

Diordor began limping across the sand, and Savitr approached the younger hybrid and took him by the shoulders. “What happened?” He demanded.

Diodor shook his head, mouthing words, but his voice seemed to fail him.

“Calm down.” Savitr said coolly. “What happened? What’s out there?”

“So many…” Diodor threw himself into Savitr’s embrace. “There were too many! I think Phoibos is dead!”

Savitr looked around, still wary as he tried to search for the woman, and any sign of Murillo. “Where is he? Where are the others?”

Diodor clung to him closer, and Savitr felt the younger man’s tears fall on his own armor. He hated to push him away, but they were very much in danger. He gently shoved him back, helping him down onto his knees on the sand before stood up again.

Closing his eyes, Savitr reached out with his mind, feeling for any signs of life. And a sign of life was what he got: in fact the feedback of energy was so incredible that he nearly seized right there, but taking a deep breath, he pushed past it’s intense waves of light and heat.

There were at least two signatures he could feel, one he recognized as Calliope, and the other much stronger and stinking of rot. He focused on Calliope, trying to call out to her, and that was when the lance buried itself in his shoulder.

The connection severed immediately, and he tore away from the weapon, the hybrid woman standing dumbfounded behind him. Diodor had fallen in a puddle of his own blood, and with the fading of his life, Savitr saw red.

He lifted his hands, energy pulsing in his grasp, but as he was about to release it all, blowing up this woman and himself in a final act of retribution, she sheathed her sword.

*“Your sister is safe for now.”* She said in Etheric that was even smoother than his. *“It is not you I want. Return to your village. Tell them what is coming.”*

*“...And what is coming?”* He growled. *“Who are you?”*

*“I am an instrument of justice.”* She said as she stepped backwards into the sand. *“We are coming. Be ready.”*

*“No.”* He hissed, his shoulder throbbing. *“Stand and fight me.”*

*“I have no time for such tomfoolery.”* Her voice was cool and emotionless, and her eyes were nearly empty. *“You are not what I seek. There is only one I need.”*

Before he could stand to say another word, the woman jumped backwards into the dunes and disappeared.

.

.

Zafar arrived at the door of Althae’s Ban just as Kon-Mai and Gur-Rai stepped up to the door. The former bowed in greeting and he returned it, bowing lower than she had in respect to his “teacher.”

“You would not have happened to see a possum anywhere?” Was the first thing out of Kon-Mai’s mouth.

“No, I haven’t.” He chuckled. “Nazira informed me you were looking for it. Any luck?”

“Nope.” Gur-Rai sighed, looking downtrodden, but he picked up a bit as Kon-Mai put her hand on his back. 

“We’ve decided to take a break from the heat. A drink, something clear our heads.”

“In that case.” Zafar held open the door for her. “After you, my lady.”

Kon-Mai rolled her eyes but stepped inside, pulling her brother along with her. They stopped to dust the sand off their shoes before stepping onto the freshly swept floor, while Althaea the Viper stared at them with watchful eyes.

“Well, I was wondering when the famed Chosen would show up.” She grabbed two glasses and poured two drinks stinking of alcohol in preparation for them. Kon-Mai seemed to grimace at the sight of it as she sat down, but she took a sip anyway. Gur-Rai chugged half of his right then and there.

“Well, you two haven't changed.” Althaea chuckled, looking across the bar briefly as Jane emerged from the back.

“So that’s where you took off to!” Gur-Rai grinned happily and beckoned the ranger over. “Thought you’d left with the Commander.”

“I may be one of her many hands.” Jane said, leaning against the bar beside the two of them. “But I still like to relax from time to time. And Althaea is very relaxing.”

“Nice~” Gur-Rai nodded, turning back to the Viper woman “Hey, you didn’t happen to see a possum, did you?”

Althaea raised a brow. “A what?”

“It resembles a large rat.” Kon-Mai said.

“We get rats every now and again.” Althaea admitted, looking behind her towards the back rooms. “Do they eat rats?”

“They eat scraps.” Gur-Rai said. “Mostly he’ll eat whatever's in front of him, if it’s edible.”

“Oh that’s just great. Really, that’s what I need.” Althaea threw her rag down onto the counter.” Nobody touch the bar. I’ll be back.”

“I can look for you.” Jane said, beginning to stand up.

“No!” Althaea snapped, so harshly that Jane froze in her tracks. Even Zafar seemed startled by the snake’s outburst.

“Why?” Jane asked as she sat back down. “I’ve been in there all morning.”

“I...have a way I like things organized.” Althaea said quickly, slithering to the back. “Don’t touch the bar!” She slipped behind the curtain, disappearing into the stone walls again.

“Okay…” Jane sighed, slumping into a seat with her head in her hands. “There I go again, falling for emotionally unavailable women.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Gur-Rai tapped his glass to Jane’s.

Kon-Mai stood from her own seat and picked up her glass, watching the brown liquid slosh around in the cup. “Does anyone want this?” She asked. “I cannot stand the taste.”

“You can pour it out.” Zafar assured her. “I won’t tell Althaea.”

“I do not want to be wasteful.” She protested.

“We have more alcohol than we know what to do with.” Zafar chuckled. “In fact we may have a bit too much; we were supposed to start repairs on the roads a week ago, I’ll give you one guess where all the workers are.” He turned around to the group of human men in the corner table. “Isn’t that right, Ali?”

“We’re on break!” The man responded, his comrades raising their voices in agreement. “I’ll take that drink though!”

“On second thought.” Kon-Mai walked around behind the bar, looking around. “Is there a sink?”

“No running water.” Zafar said. “But I believe there’s a bucket under the bar that Althaea dumps poorly mixed drinks into.”

“Oh, here-” Kon-Mai reached for the blue bucket and hauled it from the cubby, noting that it was heavy for only containing liquids. “Does she pour out this much?” As she dumped her drink into the bucket, something squealed.

Gur-Rai jumped up. “What the hell?!”

“Indeed!” Kon-Mai exclaimed, reaching into the slop of discarded alcohol and pulling out a thoroughly soaked Pangu, who blinked at them in confusion. “What on EARTH were you doing in there, little one?!”

Gur-Rai ran around the counter. “That’s where you were?!” He shook his head, taking Pangu from his sister and hugging him, not minding the foul smelling cocktail soaking his clothes. “Deglu ux, you lil scamp!”

Kon-Mai shook her head. “We have been looking for you all day!” She lifted a finger and scratched Pangu on the top of his head. The possum seemed to barely register it. “And now you are drunk, you little rascal! I hope you are proud of yourself!”

“Alcohol won’t hurt him, will it?” Gur-Rai kissed the top of Pangu’s head, then spat on the ground. “That’s nasty. You need a bath, lil guy.”

Zafar laughed, his grin shining in the low light. “And they all lived happily ever after.”

.

.

Dhar-Mon stepped out into the heat once again, sighing in disappointment. His brother’s beloved pet was nowhere to be found, and it brought him great worry to think of how young Gur-Rai would take losing the animal. 

He drew a small line in the sand with his foot, staring aimlessly into the shimmering distance. Staying completely still for a moment, lost in his own thoughts, he only moved his head slightly when he noticed a black, humanoid shape cut through the mirage in the distance. For a moment, Dhar-Mon kept his eyes trained on it, still not moving as he watched it draw closer. It was only when he recognized the black lumps as Skirmisher armor that he snapped from his trance and began to step forward.

The Skirmisher limped towards him, and as he got closer, Dhar-Mon recognized his face, albeit vaguely. “Savitr?” He called, waving him over. “Savitr Vallinor!”

Savitr looked up, his eyes wide, and began to drag himself towards the Hieromonk faster. His progress was slow and his gait was uneven, and Dhar-Mon rushed out into the heat of the sand, meeting the Skirmisher halfway. “What has happened?!” He cried, as he came face to face with the man’s extensive injuries. 

The worst wound was in Savitr’s left shoulder, a gash through which he could see meat and muscle and veins sticking through the armor. But as he stepped closer, hands raised and ready to heal him, he noticed his entire body was riddled with deep cuts and burnt shrapnel.

“We were ambushed.” Savitr said, pushing Dhar-Mon’s hands away. “No, not now, there is no time. Where’s Zafar?!”

“I do not know.” Dhar-Mon admitted. “You must be healed-”

“No time.” Savitr coughed. “Will you help me find him? I can hardly walk!”

“Of course.” Savitr may have expected Dhar-Mon to simply help him stand, but the Hieromonk scooped up the smaller man into his arms. “He rarely ever leaves his home residence, let us check there.”

“Go, please.” Savitr was breathless. “We have no time.”

.

.

This time, Kon-Mai held the door open for Zafar and her now alcohol-soaked brother. “Age before beauty.”

Zafar grumbled and Gur-Rai snickered as he stepped inside, into the cool air of the stone home. Nazira got to her feet, a smile on her face. “You found him!”

“Yep!” Gur-Rai chuckled. “He was getting drunk off of the wasted alcohol. I think I’ve been a bad influence on him.”

“So, you could say he was wasted on waste...” Verge quipped, which earned a snicker from the Darkstrider and a sigh from the Shrinemaiden.

“If you are comfortable here, Gur-Rai, I shall go locate our eldest brother.” Kon-Mai folded her hands in front of her. “No sense in leaving him in the heat of the blazing sun, when we have already accomplished our mission.”

“You sure you want to be out there?” Nazira asked. “You’re supposed to keep your burn out of the heat, right?”

“I have been inside for a while.” Kon-Mai assured her. “A bit of sunlight will not hurt me.” She turned around, reaching for the tapestry just as it flew aside, and in stepped Dhar-Mon with a very bloody Savitr cradled in his arms.

Kon-Mai looked between the two in horror. “Nalla itzar…” She helped Savitr down from Dhar-Mon’s arms and led him towards the loveseat. “What has happened here?!”

“We were ambushed…” Savitr coughed, his skin pale and his voice weak. “On the Western Front, about 3 miles down the pre-war road…”

“Ambushed by what?” Zafar demanded, stepping around the table. “Ambushed by WHAT?!”

“ADVENT.” Savitr choked out, blood on his lips. “They were led by a hybrid I’ve never seen before: a woman with a crested head and red skin...her power was almost as great as the Wa-as Dhar-Mon’s.” Savitr corrected himself quickly, his voice faltering. “She killed my entire platoon, except for one. I believe she’s captured…” He pressed a hand to his injured shoulder just as Kon-Mai was reaching up to peel the torn Kevlar away from the wound.

Zavar went pale, stumbling back into the table. “We have no defenses. Barely any weapons. We can’t...we can’t defend ourselves.”

“Then we run.” Nazira said quickly. “We hide in the mountains! There are caves in there”

“We can’t move everyone that quickly!” He snapped. “It will take an hour at least to round everyone up! Half a day to get to the mountains!”

“Then just get on the intercom and tell everyone to scram!” Gur-Rai leaned forward, urgency in his voice. “At least give them a running start!”

“And let them run headfirst into the enemy, like cows to a slaughter.” Kon-Mai growled. “No, that is no solution. We ourselves have weapons, do we not? Let us stand and fight!”

“I’m going to make myself useful.” Verge stood. “I’m radioing the Avenger. Maybe they’re close enough that they can turn around.”

“What if they don’t have enough soldiers?” Zafar asked. “We don’t know how many troops ADVENT brought.”

“It’s our best option.” Verge said. “If anyone can help us, it’s them.”

“Place a call to the Templars…” Savitr winced as Dhar-Mon pushed the edges of his wound together to expedite the healing. “They’re nearer to us than the Avenger, with any luck they may already be on their way.”

“In the meanwhile.” Kon-Mai stood and pulled her sword off her back. “Gur-Rai, get your armor on and follow me.”

He nodded, not daring to argue with his sister, and handed Pangu to Savitr. “Watch this one for me.”

“You can’t.” Savitr reached out, grabbing Kon-Mai’s hand weakly. “It...She’s powerful. Too powerful.”

“I am the child of gods.” She curled her lip at his words. “Do not underestimate me.”

“I’ll try not to…” He pulled away. “Just do not die.”

“Rest, my friend.” She nodded. “I do not intend to die this day.” She turned as Gur-Rai clipped on the rest of his armor and pulled his gun off his back.

“Let’s move.”

.

.

The west road was empty, but Kon-Mai could see in the distance the remnants of a battle. From within the fading heat lines and the vaporous mirage, pieces of armor and abandoned bodies lay like heaps of trash in the sand, discarded and forgotten.

Her brother knelt low on the roof they stood upon, his sniper rifle trained in the direction of the bodies, where vultures were already circling.

“How much do you wanna bet it was just pirates?” He muttered.

“Did you see the wound?” Kon-Mai closed her eyes, keeping her ears trained on the sounds around her, waiting for any signs of movement. “That kind of gash had to be made with a sword.”

“Pirates can use swords.” Gur-Rai scoffed in response, learning forward a bit. “...Hey. What do you hear, Sister?”

“You, currently.”

“No, listen closer.” He hissed. “I see something.”

Kon-Mai lifted her chin and closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the oasis carry on the breeze towards her, and in that moment, an ear-splitting boom rocked the very foundation they stood on.

As Kon-Mai stumbled, in her peripheral vision she saw a great flash of purple light. The sky suddenly went dark, deep black clouds circling the small village, and Gur-Rai dove to the ground and grabbed her, holding her under him.

“What are you doing?!” She tried to shove him off of her.

“Keep down!” He hissed, but the crackling noise was so loud that he had to nearly scream.

“What is that?!” She struggled under him. “Let me up!”

“No!” He shifted, and for a moment she saw intense terror in his eyes. “Do not go up there! Konnie!”

Kon-Mai wrenched herself away for just a moment, long enough to sit up and gaze directly into the violet portal that had opened outside of the Dakhla Oasis. Dark-clad psionic warriors, the likes of which she had never seen, poured from it’s murky mouth onto the sand, lances drawn and weapons ready.

Right before her brother grabbed her hand once again, a tall grey figure emerged into the light, it’s four arms raised as it called upon the kind of power only a god could use.

“Humans and Traitors.” Vox Imdugud’s voice cut its way into her very soul. “We know who hides among you. Return unto us the Chosen, and no harm will come to you. Refuse, and you shall die.”

.

.

.

.

.

Summary: The chapter begins with Jane waking up in Althaea the Viper’s bedroom, where she hears her speaking in a language she doesn’t recognize to someone on the phone. When asked about it, Althaea says she is speaking to her sisters, but avoids any further questions. Outside, the Chosen and Nazira begin a search for Pangu the Possum, who wandered off when Gur-Rai left to check on his sister. The group splits up to cover more ground, searching in the places where food is commonly stored. Nazira searches the generator room and has a flashback to her days in ADVENT, and as Kon-Mai helps her brother search, he confesses to her he feels guilty about how he treated her before. Outside of the oasis, Savitr and his brothers and sisters-in-arms are sent to patrol the western front.

Nazira, after abandoning the search, returns home and talks to Verge and Zafar about their days in ADVENT. Upon the other two questioning him about his health, Zafar leaves and goes to the bar, where he meets up with Kon-Mai and Gur-Rai, who have taken a break from the search. It is here they finally find Pangu, hiding in the bucket of wasted alcohol.

Savitr and his party are attacked by a mysterious hybrid woman, unlike any he has ever seen and with incredible psionic power. The woman, seen previously as Dua-Zoar, kills all of his friends except one, and tells Savitr to warn the village of an upcoming attack. As Savitr returns, Kon-Mai and Gur-Rai go out to meet their assailants, upon which a great psionic portal opens, and Vox Imdugud emerges, demanding the Chosen reveal themselves.

(We’re in the thick of it now, pals! Next two chapters or so will be the big fight! We’re almost at the end of what I like to consider “season 1″ of Chosen Stories, and I really hope you enjoyed!)

Archive: https://chosenstories.tumblr.com/chapterlist

#xcom #xcom 2 #xcom the chosen #xcom thin men #chosen stories

[sepublic]

Xia

           A ‘cursed’ land, the original home of the Skull Raiders, countless miles across the ocean from Okoto, and obscured by massive hurricanes, waves, and storms… This dark island, a counterpart to Okoto in some ways, is the polar opposite of that land. While Okoto is an island of life, of nature, and of spirits, Xia is the opposite- It is of cold machinery, of pollution and smog, and has no sacredness. Its population is cutthroat, greedy, and selfish, both out of a natural inclination towards such attributes, but also because the cruel environment of Xia necessitates such attitudes.

           Believe it or not, Xia was not always the industrial land it is now, every square inch of land choked by either factories or urban cities, or clogged with polluted and razed rivers. Before its skies were darkened by the stench of smog and haze, it was once not too unlike Okoto.

           In those older days, the tribes and kingdoms of Xia engaged in brutal warfare and conquest, lacking the ready resources and abundance of life that Okoto was blessed with. Perhaps if they had their own Elemental Deities, or a Great Forge to carve Masks of Power with, this wouldn’t have happened- Regardless, it was a horrific time. Tribes were taught to be selfish, to use every dirty trick imaginable. Massacres of innocent civilians were normalized, as was poisoning others during banquets and so forth.

           But then out of nowhere, Xia began to take a new turn. As kingdoms clashed and battled, a new city emerged, wielding advanced technology in the form of factories and machinery. A new industrial age, a revolution of technology was introduced, one not necessarily powered by Life energy like the automatons of the Okotans. This industrial revolution favored maximum output, at minimal costs, and would do anything required to harvest the necessary materials. In particular, this industrial age produced weapons- So many of them, in order to profit off of the wars between nations.

           Other kingdoms and tribes saw the advantages of this industrial nation, and learned its trade secrets before inevitably adopting them. Attention turned towards colonization, of harvesting natural resources in bulk and producing large quantities of products. And while this industrial revolution was certainly helpful for many, the greed and heartlessness of many Xians took it to unnatural steps. Labor and workers were exploited in horrific factory conditions, deemed replaceable and switched out after collapsing from exhaustion like yet another cog in the machine. Smog was pumped out into the air, turning it toxic, while pollution funneled into rivers and poisoned the surrounding nature. Forests and fields were burned down to make room for new machines, and the very land itself was over-turned to access its precious metal veins underneath- Metals such as the valuable Exsidian, or the indestructible Bohrok.

           Several more centuries of this process happened, spreading across the island of Xia, until it became the brutal, technological industry it is today. Ruled by various corporations, dictators, oligarchs, and criminals, the highest class of Xia, those who control the stock market and own the higest shares, are known as the Powers that Be. They pass the laws, influence policy, broker between nations and take advantage of conflict, all in order to stockpile maximum amounts of capital in their insatiable hunger and greed.

           Weapons are the go-to market for many Xian industries, and warfare is a natural facet of existence. Crime rates are high and rampant, as is poverty and ghettos. A major chasm is only widening between the rich and the poor, who enforce their dystopia with the help of the robotic Vahki, controlled by the dictatorial Turaga Dume. To survive, many have resorted to crime, mercenary work, and assassinations to make a living, with many criminals joining the infamous Dark Hunters, situated in the allegedly haunted Odina Fortress. Organizations such as Vortixx Industries, or the fabled Nynrah Ghosts exploit lives and meddle with them for material gain and/or knowledge, and a cruel cynicism has overtaken the Xians in order to ensure their survival. Attempts at revolution are pointless, fruitless, and futile.

           Xia is divided into six districts, each serving a major purpose in its economy and the way life is organized. They are, as follows;

           The Stelt District, where the Xian market is located and the vast majority of its population lives. The Stelt District is where shops, stock markets, banks, super-markets, and other ludicrous ventures take place. Ghettos are rampant here, and materials, products, and even slaves regularly pass through Stelt. The district is the center for all transport and commerce, with packages frequently shipped through the electro-magnetic chutes scattered throughout the cities. Stelt is the preferred homeland of crime lords and gangs, with the ludicrous black market and its smuggling rooted firmly here, and is the location of the infamous Odina Fortress. Land and real estate in Stelt comes at incredibly high prices, forcing most to live either on the streets or in crowded tenements. The primary bulk of Xia’s agriculture and livestock is grown and processed within air-filtered buildings to prevent smog contamination, although food and cleaning regulations are nevertheless suspiciously lax. Crops are almost entirely lab-grown within cramped, mechanical confines, with the only exceptions reserved for wealthy aristocrats at exorbitant prices. Stelt’s food production is intensely guarded, and many have died trying to break in to steal something to feed themselves and/or loved ones.

           The Tametru District is the industrial, mass-manufacturing heart of all of Xia. Here is where the vast majority of mechanization and production takes place, with factories constantly active 24/7, grinding and smelting materials. Mechanical parts used in just about anything all come from Tametru. The temperatures are high from the massive furnaces constantly molten-metal being processed and refined into products, to later be shipped and distributed throughout Stelt. Weapons are frequently made, tested, and exported. While machinery has replaced many workers in Tametru, engineers are still prized and welcomed, as are individual guilds and blacksmiths. Smog is a constant presence in Tametru, even amongst other districts, and workplace conditions are especially hazardous thanks to the threat of heatstroke, factory accidents, and molten materials accidentally being let loose. While some factories are cold and abandoned, others have been reactivated by illegal bootleg operations.

           The Voymari District is where most of Xia’s raw materials comes from. The lowest district topographically, this has enabled Voymari to be constantly washed over by a high-and-low tide, which over the centuries has contributed to the softening and eroding of the land. Combined with massive mining operations, Voymari is now a rocky, barren land that is regularly flooded by the high tides. Once the water recedes, miners flock in to harvest precious veins of Exsidian, Bohrok, and other ludicrous metals to be shipped to Tametru. A large population of orphans lives here, and salt-lung is a real and common ailment. The constant floods and tides make Voymari ideal for establishing shipyards, and many Xian nobles own extravagant, if impractical, ships and yachts from which they sail out of Voymari and into the oceans surrounding Xia for lavish parties.

           The Zakaz District is where warfare and conflict truly shine. While the rest of Xia naturally flourished and developed, the desert conditions of Zakaz made it unprofitable and unwanted, resulting in the area lagging behind in terms of development and technological advancement. Zakaz is essentially where the ‘third-world countries’ of Xia exist, constantly fighting in open warfare and ruled by dictators who hope to join the Powers that Be. Machines of warfare and weaponry are constantly shipped here and utilized. The one truly neutral and safe place in Zakaz is Lake Tajun, the primary source of clean water in Xia. Zakaz is also home to Xia’s ‘entertainment’ sector, with gladiator matches being common. Disputes are often settled in these matches, as well as within brutal races and other competitions. Theaters and movies are produced within certain locations of Zakaz, most of them owned by the charismatic and unusual Kratakal, Xia’s top celebrity.

           The Nynrah District was once the center of the fishing market, as well as the sector education, research, engineering, and science. Headed by the Nynrah Ghosts, an elusive organization of Xia’s most brilliant minds and researchers, it was at one point a prosperous district. But one day, a mutagen was leaked into the water supply, spreading rapidly throughout Nynrah and infecting the population, killing many and mutating others into horrific creatures dubbed as Vorox. Infrastructure collapsed in this outbreak, and as the Vahki scrambled to contain the chaos, destruction ensued that released horrific Xian bioweapons into the area. With the situation rapidly deteriorating and falling apart, Turaga Dume ordered a complete and total quarantine of the district, erecting massive walls around Nynrah to seal it off from the rest of Xia. Countless citizens and Vorox were trapped inside, and now the district is a post-apocalyptic wasteland of mutants and rejects. The Nynrah Ghosts continue to operate here from within the shadows, releasing experiments, testing them, and gathering test subjects from the unfortunate population as bands of Vorox war over resources and supplies.

           The Artidax District is the AI mind of Xia. Here, massive servers, computers, broadcasting towards, and satellites are situated and launched regularly. A cold, sterile environment, Artidax is the very heart of programming, where code is sorted, machines are programmed, and the primary location of the Vahki Hives. Cameras are ever-present, turning Artidax into a Surveillance State underneath Dume’s command. Just about all internet and communication passes through the massive towers and satellite dishes present. Due to the massive heat expenditures of Artidax’s computers, the district was established in the frozen north, which eventually melted due to the massive heat pollution. In Artidax, computers sort through algorithms and calculate stocks, while Vahki and Exo-Toa gain sentience. Massive data-banks store precious information. Workers are constantly suited to prevent dust contamination of computer chips, and the district, while deemed ‘safer’ than the rest, is highly oppressive and quiet with eyes watching every step.

           For your average Xian and more, Xia is a hopeless, heartless land. It is a cursed land, the soil awash long ago and even now by the blood of innocents- Perhaps this is the reason for Xia’s horrible conditions? Is the land haunted by massacres and bloodshed? No one can say for sure. All anybody knows for certain is that Xia is a horrible, unhealthy land, a disheartening fact that leaves many yearning for more. And to get more, most Xians will do anything to escape their horrific, squalid conditions.

           For most, Xia is hell, and for the Okotans, it is even worse.

#bionicle #Bionicle RaE #xia #worldbuilding #lore #stelt #nynrah #zakaz #tametru #voymari #artidax #vahki

[caddy-whump-us]

I need to whump Nikolai more. I love him and therefore want to whump him. But he’s a little harder to write than Etienne because he’s not as rebellious and difficult. Etienne’s just like “Come at me, bro!” and gets whumped for it whereas Nikolai reasons that being a little more agreeable means a little less pain. So while he hates his situation, he’s not about to cause himself more trouble. Now the aftermath of his captivity… But I digress. 

As requested here’s some angst with a soft fluffy middle.

(Honestly, I think the saddest thing here is realizing how puckish Nikolai used to be and how cowed and fragile and subservient he is now.)

---

There were voices coming from the room when Nikolai approached it. A postulant had brought him a message from Adrastos as soon as evening began to come on. And so, Nikolai had answered it.

The doors were shut. Nikolai slipped up to the door and pressed his ear against it. His master was almost certain to hear him (there were times when he felt sure his master could hear his heartbeat wherever he was in the house), but he still listened for a moment before he opened the door. 

There was a stranger in the room.

“Is the young man your son?” the stranger said.

“My ward. He came to me because he needed a firmer hand, given his age.”

“I see.”

“The house where he was raised--well, he was left to run a little wild,” Adrastos said. There was the sound of paper tearing; he was reading his letters. “I try to endure it, but he pushes me beyond my limits sometimes.”

Nikolai stood still, holding the doorknob. Do I?

There was the sound of metal against metal--not weapons, but more like tools, instruments, something small. Medical instruments--and the phrase floated up in Nikolai’s mind and his stomach tightened.

“Sir, excuse my saying so, but I would have preferred to have come somewhat earlier in the day--” the stranger was saying until Adrastos interrupted.

“Yes, but with my obligations, there was no other choice.”

There was a breath of silence. Then:

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

“And you needn’t worry about the trouble of coming all this way. I’ll be certain to--”

Nikolai opened the door and stepped into the room, quiet, humble, head held low.

“--ah, there he is,” Adrastos said.

Nikolai bowed--first to his master, then to the stranger--and shook his hair out of his eyes as he stood up.

“He doesn’t seem as wild as I expected,” the stranger said, smiling. He wore a white smock and shiny buttoned boots. “Well, come here and sit down.” And he patted a stool set up in front of a dresser and mirrors.

Nikolai looked towards Adrastos, who waved him on and went back to reading his letter. Nikolai sat down and set his feet up on the rungs of the stool.

The room reflected in the triple mirrors was new, unfamiliar, more a dressing room than anything, and better suited for a lady, all soft colors and high windows and mirrors. This was a lady’s vanity, not a commonplace dresser. And certainly, up to now, the room and the furniture were unused (but that was nigh-undetectable: the whole room was cleaned and newly done too; there was still a faint smell of lemon and vinegar in the air). Though there was a sheet laid out on the floor under the stool. 

Nikolai raked his hair back again after looking down at the sheet and tried to look anywhere but at the mirror.

“There, that,” Adrastos said, pointing at him with the corner of the letter; he caught Nikolai with his hand still in the air. “It’s unbecoming. He looks like an urchin or a farmboy when he does that.”

Nikolai dropped his gaze and brought his hand down again, resting his knuckles against his mouth. He saw now that there was a cloth or a towel on the dresser with shears and combs and scissors and a razor laid out on it and he closed his eyes.

“We’ve been invited to the home of one of my relations and I just can’t take him when he looks like a street urchin.”

The barber scruffed Nikolai’s hair. “Well, I’ll tidy him up for you,” he said and took up the scissors. 

“Better you do it than I do it,” Adrastos said, looking at the letter in his hand.

The barber draped a towel around Nikolai’s shoulders and Nikolai looked down at his feet in their thin leather slipper-shoes and waited.

He’d never bothered with his hair particularly. He’d have it cut, then let it grow as it pleased (he kept it off his shirt collar at least), until his uncle scolded him for it. And Nikolai would roll his eyes, have it cut again, and then let it grow until his uncle scolded him again. It was as regular as any farming season: harvest, growth, harvest again. Though perhaps it was more like keeping sheep.

And perhaps he had been a little wild, running around in the woods and fields as he had. His aunt and uncle ignored him as often as not until they were appalled with him over something. Then he’d be punished until they tired of punishing him and he’d be overlooked again and he’d go back out to the woods and fields--which was how he had met Jonathan anyway.

Jonathan had liked his hair, though Nikolai disagreed: Jonathan was the one with the coppery-bronze hair that shimmered in the sunlight and Nikolai said his own hair was just black. Although when Jonathan had called him “funny little blackbird,” perhaps he’d not minded it quite so much.

That had been that autumn, before they gave each other their rings in the summer after.

Later in that same autumn, he’d set off of an afternoon to Jonathan’s house, down through the woods rather than by the lanes and roads--hardly a distance, only a few miles, though longer by the lanes.

He still walked the distance going the long way around, looking for rabbit snares along the way, snapping a fox trap shut with a rotten branch like a gamekeeper (the sight of a fox in a trap still rose up in his nightmares). The fields were mown and barren for the moment, all the late-summer work done. The smoke from the cottagers’ fires was blue against the trees until it turned gray against the sky. Someone was shooting in the distance--grouse, geese. He tramped through the leaves, turning them over and smelling mixed mold and spice.

Jonathan’s house (his family’s house, really) flashed gray and grand through the trees as the woods gave on to the parkland around the house. The grass wasn’t quite brown with frost on the rise up to the house, but stones of the house looked cold and the ivy along the back arbors was red from the frost.

Nikolai tripped up the hill on the grass rather than the path and slipped around to the back of the house, jumped the stone wall and trotted up the steps to the windows that looked onto the gardens. He passed them, low, crouched, but peering up into each one to see who, if anyone, was there. And, at last, in the library windows, he saw Jonathan. Propped up against the sill and balanced on the tips of his toes, he tapped at the window.

Jonathan started at seeing him there; Nikolai waved at him through the glass, grinning. Jonathan draped his book over the arm of his chair and came to push open the window. Nikolai set his elbows on the sill and pulled himself up a little closer.

“Let me in.”

Jonathan looked around the garden: empty, quiet. Gardeners weren’t needed for fading flowers. He took hold of Nikolai’s arms and Nikolai scrambled into the room. 

He hopped from the windowsill and into Jonathan’s arms and they stood there together for a moment.

Jonathan kissed him at his temple, then leaned back in close again. Smoke, cold, the spice of leaves. “I can smell the autumn in your hair.”

Nikolai caught his hand and held it; his fingers were cold and Jonathan’s hand was warm. “Come out with me. It’s chill, but it’s wonderful.”

“My mother has company.”

Nikolai looked around the room, then back at Jonathan. “You’re not with them now. Take your coat. Come out with me.”

Jonathan looked aside for a moment, then down into Nikolai’s eyes (bright, sparkling from the cold air). He sighed and smiled. “All right. Wait for me outside.”

He helped Nikolai back out the window again, looked over his shoulder for a moment, and closed the window again.

Nikolai leaned against the wall of the house--which was warmer than he had expected but then the sun had been beating on it all afternoon. He pulled his cap a little lower over his eyes, leaned against the wall, and waited.

Jonathan came back to the window, now wrapped up in a jacket and scarf and cap, and clambered down. He pushed the window as shut as he could from the outside.

“It’s hardly fair that you’re tall enough to climb in and out without help,” Nikolai said.

Jonathan pulled up the brim of Nikolai’s cap. “You have your ways of getting out and I have mine.”

Nikolai grinned again and took Jonathan’s hand in both of his. “Come to the woods with me. I don’t have anything to talk about. But come walk with me. There might be stags or a fox.”

They hurried down the hill and into the woods again, Nikolai sliding a few steps ahead of Jonathan. The house at their backs, they passed through the orderly parkland near the house and into the real woods. 

It was all well and good to carry on a romance with whomever one chose when one was young. But here, they were both going to university in a year--less than a year now. And that was quite old enough to have outgrown those freewheeling affairs. So it was only when they were in the woods, shuffling and crunching across the dead leaves, in between fading ferns, that they took one another’s hand and walked together. 

A hawk passed over, calling, and Nikolai pointed--

“Sir? How does this suit you?”

Adrastos answered, “Perhaps a bit…” He trailed off. He must have gestured.

Nikolai opened his eyes to see clots of his hair scattered on the sheet under the stool. The barber tipped his chin up with a comb and Nikolai closed his eyes before he could see himself in the mirrors.

--Evening came on fast in those cold days. They had toyed with the idea of starting a small fire, perhaps on the stones on the banks of the stream, but instead kept walking. 

They stopped at the top of a ridge and sat down under an oak. It kept its dead leaves for the winter and would lose them only in early spring and the dead leaves rattled. A crow called and another answered. They leaned against each other and held to each other’s hand. 

As evening came on, the light poured down from behind them and down into the hollow below them and fell golden on the next rise across the hollow. The trees cast shadows on each other, but the leaves below them were all caught in that gold light. 

Their shadows stretched out before them and down into the hollow and across to the other rise. Nikolai stood up and stretched his arms over his head, watching his shadow. It disappeared in the dark of the hollow, but stretched up the rise.

“I might be able to climb in that window if I were as tall as this.”

“You might be able to climb in my bedroom window if you were as tall as that.”

“And I would too, you know,” Nikolai said, turning to him. “I couldn’t stand up in your room, but I’d still come to your window. Every night.”

“And every morning?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” He sat down again. “And every afternoon.”

They looked across the hollow at the golden, liquid light. Nikolai turned to Jonathan and Jonathan leaned in to kiss him, once, softly. The tip of his nose was cold, but his lips were warm. 

Nikolai put his hands around Jonathan’s face and kissed him in return. And one kiss led to two, to three, to four. 

Jonathan tucked a lock of Nikolai’s hair behind his ear. “We should go back before it’s fully dark.”

--There was something cold on the back of Nikolai’s neck--no, that hadn’t happened that afternoon. That was the razor, that was the razor scraping on the back of his neck--

“I know. But just a moment more. It’s not dark yet.” And he smiled, crooked and sly.

The golden light rose up the trunks of the trees, turning from gold to rose. And only when it had slipped from the tops of the trees did they stand up and turn back towards the house--

“Oh yes, that’s far preferable,” Adrastos said. “He actually looks civilized and respectable now.”

Nikolai still kept his head low, hiding from the mirrors. The barber was shaking the towel out and brushing Nikolai’s shoulders off. 

“See the footman at the door on your way out,” Adrastos went on. “He should have something for you.”

“Thank you, sir.” The barber collected his tools and rolled them into a leather kit. At the door he turned back and gave a fussy bow before leaving.

The door shut. Adrastos came over and set his hands on Nikolai’s shoulders. “Look at yourself,” he said.

Nikolai kept his eyes turned down. Clumps and strands of his hair were scattered on the sheet. Some postulant would collect it and shake it out a window, perhaps. 

And then, perhaps, birds would find it and make nest of it. 

And, perhaps, Jonathan would find one and know where Nikolai was and find him--but that was fantastical nonsense.

“Look at yourself,” he said again, an order, a command.

Nikolai looked up to find himself reflected around the three mirrors. At least he’d not cried. Where his hair had once fallen as it pleased on either side of his face and down between his eyes, now it was cropped short around his ears (mercifully not scraped bald) with a rough forelock hanging over just to his eyebrows. He tugged at it, then touched the back of his neck: that was shorn.

(Jonathan’s hands in his hair. “Funny little blackbird.”)

“I like you looking the way I choose. That is how it should be, don’t you think?”

#whump #vampires #traumatic haircut #fluffy angst #angsty fluff #Nikolai #jonathan #adrastos #control #dehumanization #memories #nostalgia

[yarti]

[ Fanar ] - [The Carriage of Life ]

Click anywhere for Imgur link with full set and captions.

Story Below:

"Three days yet by foot. We probably should have taken a carriage. This road is a fair bit less scenic than most we've put behind us."

I took a puff from my pipe, eyes set far out into the fields for even in that vastness, I knew precisely where to look.

"Unless horse and carriage were to leap out from behind a boulder, we'd best grow accustomed to walking."

Gili strode ahead of me, darting behind a roadside stone. "It could happen. A carriage, that is. It could? Could it not? More perplexing things have happened." She yelled, skipping to the next largest rock and peering behind it. "No horse here!"

It had became something of a game. A way to pass the time on such a walk. We had long-since exhausted the easy conversations. "Things that were and those yet to be." We had discussed those at-length. We neared Blackmore, but would not stray that far south just yet. Our path was to be a more direct one. The lights of Whiterun could be seen on the horizon on those darker nights. As fireflies over distant fields, signs above, ever honest, or the freckles on her then wind-whipped cheeks. It was just a matter of closing the distance.

The day we left town, Gili took it upon herself to part with some of her hair. I offered to trim it for her, but she is as thickheaded as ever. With one wrong snip of her scissors, half of her hair was gone in an instant. What remained hung off to one side, nearly covering an eye. Distracting at times, I'm certain, but it fit her. This style was something of a rebellious look. Not quite the image she had wished to project. She often worried that Mother and Father would disapprove of her in one way or another, her new hairstyle being another worry to add to the list. Each day brought about another worry. At times I wondered if I should have kept our destination a secret. We had discussed it earlier that morning in fact. "They are good folk, as good as they come. Once they see that you are likewise good company, they will welcome you with open arms. Father will be easy to win over, just be yourself. He is a man of Mara, a family man despite his work. You will see a great deal of me in him. Mother will be difficult. We can only hope that she will be too busy with Fiolette to give you much ire. Though, if she were to turn her wrath on you, I could do little to help. Especially if Fannah has visited or been in touch lately. Fannah thinks you to be a witch. That you've bewitched me and that this journey is some complex nefarious plot." I let out a hearty chuckle then shut my eyes as warm memories flowed over me. "They certainly have a..." I stopped myself to have another draw of the elves ears. "Most peculiar view of women." I burst out, half between a cough and a laugh. Far from a new topic, this. She knew to expect interrogation, harsh words, perhaps harsher looks. But I assured her, she would warm up to her. She had my word on that.

Boredom begat boredom, the long road tiring and draining. Sore soles and pained souls, with every step, I felt my tone grew more annoyed and hers more desperate for stimulation. She never stops talking. At times, quiet can do a man good. I can see why Father would set aside time for mead or the lake. Idle-chatter and stress do not play well with budding relationships. Rather than have one of us eventually lose our temper, I elected that we surrender to the road. A serious campsite would be fine medicine. We set up camp at the nearest opportunity, a Nordic ruin, or what was left of one. No interior to speak of but flat stone floors would do plenty. The following two days were spent in camp. We found much time to mend body and soul, and time aside to write. It was good to put quill to paper and get some of this off of my chest. The result became a letter to Fannah. As much distaste as I may seem to have for Gili on paper, in truth, I do love her. Most dearly. I would have her no other way.

The next night, we were beset upon by the most terrible of storms. The heavens would glow like the broad of day for but a moment, then crash into blackest night. I feared the wind might carry Gili away if not for the urgency with which her fingers dug into my cloak and about my arm. She looked to my grimacing face as the sharp beads pelted my jaw and brow, hair drenched and dripping beneath a hood long darkened by the downpour. She would find no solace there, so my cloak and embrace would have to suffice. My hood did little more than dull the wet arrows as they came swift and many from all directions. The road was likened to a warzone with us in the crossfire.

The flashes of lightning silhouetted a high house, a manor just off the road. These were empty lands, naught more than fields barren and unkempt road. A house was a welcome sight, be it owned or abandoned. I envisioned a porch or awning above the doorway, the mere thought of it made me smile. If it were abandoned, we would make it our own until the storm passed. Lay out a bedroll and enjoy our time while the world above poured itself dry. If it were owned by unsavory folk, even the briefest respite under an awning would have done well to soothe our troubles. Best yet, I envisioned us met with the open arms of some kind strangers, an elderly couple. An old Nord lady, clutching at her shawl, lurching around the barely-opened door, extending a rusted lantern to illuminate our downtrodden faces. The relief on those faces as she welcomed us inside to warm ourselves by the fire and partake of a meal far past dinner-time. At the dinner table we would meet her husband, a Dunmer noble, a face untouched by his years but obviously of similar age to his mate. The table was long with many chairs. They would regale us of their sire, little ones come and gone and of their adventures in places and ages long since passed. Gili and I would sit together, my arm across her shoulder, listening to their tales until the coming morn. I shook myself from my thoughts, only to find Gili peaking at me from beneath her hood. She nodded, acknowledging my daydreaming or nightdreaming as it were and nestled against my chest. Knowing her as I do, we likely shared that dream. The amulet of Mara around her neck jingled loudly as we quickened our pace.

In an hour's time, we came upon the once-majestic outline of our shelter to-be. Rotted and disheveled, a shade of what it may once have been. I cleared my throat and stepped up to the door, a hand curling into a loose fist. It rose then fell upon the door softly as Gili brought about some light. Far too soft, given the intensity of the storm. "Louder." She urged with her palm on my back. My fist rose again, this time coming down much harder. The door boomed and splintered, echoing through what lay beyond it.

"Hello?" I called out. "I know it is dreadfully late, but this storm. It came out of nowhere and nearly blew us away." Gili added, with hardened voice.

Aside from the storm and our sighs, we were met with silence. Again, harder still, a fist met the door. With that, the bolt gave way, allowing the door to roll open. It squealed on hinges long since oiled as a cloud of dust struck our faces. Inside, a long dark abyss.

"Is there anyone inside?"

No reply. Wind howled through the doorway, slicing at our exposed faces and hands. The house snored like a long-slumbered beast. "We're coming inside." Once inside, we tried to fasten the door behind us but the lock had crumbled from the impact. Gili held it shut by light of palm then inched a small table in front of it to keep the storm out.

"Well, either our hosts are sound sleepers, or the house is to be ours." she mumbled, following me into the unknown.

Hastily, we cleared each room, settling into a comfortable bedroom once all was deemed safe. A fireplace, some wine. There will of course be no written record of our private time, it was intended to be ours and ours alone but someone felt otherwise. In the midst of it all, a peculiar sound caught my long ears. I grew still, listening. Eyes scouting the room between hush breaths. On the other side of the door, boards bowed under the strain of someone or something. I rose and eased my way over, wrapping a sheet around my bareness. Taking sword, my crimson eyes seared through the slit of the door, scanning low to high. Without moment's notice, I drove the sword through the door to it's hilt. A curdled cry, like that of a dying animal, it shrieked then bolted down the hall. The sword groaned sickly as I pulled it from it's splintered sheathe, blackened blood clinging to the edge. "Vampire", I whispered, taking Gili by the hand. We burst through the door, sliding to a stop in the slickness behind it.

The path of upturned tables and clutter lead through halls we had already cleared, with a blood trail ending at the opening to a once-lit room. The monster had snuffed out the candles. I pointed to a candle, my voice but a notion in the air. "Berne." In the mists and moonlight beaming through those stained glass windows, we could make out a figure just head and above and to our right, a shuffling high along the cathedral wall. The hiss of a beast on the attack. Before Gili could turn toward the sound, I had already smote it with fire. A cloaked figure howled and fell to the floor, writhing as another stirred at our backs. I spun, giving it unto the flames likewise. As they passed, the hall fell silent but for the pains of the now lone figure.

"I apologize for your comrades, but I know what you are. Berne. By holding to the shadows, they left me no choice. I could not risk it. But you. You may have intruded on our intimacies, but you have yet made no move. Am I assume that you are to be civil? " I lowered my sword and quelled the warmth in my palm.

The monster fidgeted just out of the light but said naught. It turned to face us slowly. A flowing dark robe, a thin and tall man. Beneath his hood, two hot coals surrounded by pitch black paint. Paint flowed like waterfalls from his eye sockets, down his cheeks and out from his mouth like bile. Where paint lied not, his skin was as old milk, leaning toward the green hue of decay, he clutched at his wound and stared on. Black lips firmly shut.

Gili brushed past me. "Is this your home? You have surely heard this storm and I pray that you had not the misfortune of being caught out in it. We came inside to take shelter from it, not to disturb you and your ilk."

Putting myself between her and the Berne, I began again.

"Regardless, I am in no mood to fight further." I sighed, leaning against a nearby pew.

"Must you feed or perish tonight? Look to your clan." I gestured toward those that still sizzled in the dark.

"Can there be no third option? What if we come to an agreement. You let us be, we let you be. Tend to your wound, perhaps speak with us, if you are capable. I have need of information and perhaps you have what I seek. Come morn, we part ways. I ask only that you remember the mercy we would give you, and to give it in return in the future. Seek cure for that which ails you. It is an offer few would extend." In the soft moonglow, a smile raced across my cheeks, eyes shut to envision the words.

"I see a future in which we may again cross paths. A bright summer day. I with my wife, children in tow. I introduce you to little ones as an acquaintance from some near-forgotten night. Friends. Living Man and living Mer sharing a handshake, with warm palms under warm skies. This life will be but a nightmare eagerly forgotten. This could very-well be. Can you see it so clearly as I?"

"Thank you", the cloaked figure groaned.

"Ah, I feared you too far gone for speech. Honor my words, friend. Tell me, what brings three Berne to Skyrim?"

The monster trudged over to one of his fallen companions, kneeling before it as he spoke. His voice was deep, Cyrodyllic, with the accent of native Dunmer. It was obvious that he had not spoken in common tongue for quite some time. Centuries perhaps.

"There is no place for ours in Morrowind. Others make public their takings and if they find one of us, we are taken as well. Blame falls on ours. Every street, every home, every eye seeks ours. Suspicious," he hissed the word. "Suspicious glances and suspicious thoughts. We were chased from our homes and now we go hungry." The word "hungry" trailed off, the depths from which he pulled the word gave truth to it.

"And why so far west, if I may?"

"They are here too. It is hard to seek prey as prey."

"Yours have been growing in number as of late. I came across a band of Aundae some weeks ago. In Solitude itself no less. A regrettable meeting. A couple, I assumed. I slew them, then laid them together under Mara. I thought it the right thing to do." Pausing, I peered down to my feet in condolence.

"Regrettable" the Berne whispered, turning his attention to the other comrade.

"Who are these others?" I chimed in.

"They are as us, but not of us. They are like..." He paused, seemingly searching for the proper term. "Dwemeri, but in our skin. Brass bones."

"We came across one of those. You speak true, friend." I hesitated, unsure how much I should share with a stranger. Grandfather was always careful to speak of him, as though mere mention could bring him back.

"I thought them to be of Assut, or rather, leftovers of his plights. Perhaps imitations of it? Mingling Dwemeri machinations with illusion was his craft. Though that all ended some time ago as far as I know. My grandfather had many a dealing with him. Do you know the name?"

The thing fell hush, pondering deeply.

"No."

Not of Assut. An imitator then. Certainly Grandfather will know more. Knowing him, I doubt he has sat idle these long years. If Assut still lives, I can be certain that he knows his whereabouts by now. My thoughts turned to the owners of this manor.

"Did you kill the owners of this fine house or were you likewise uninvited guests?"

"I do not kill. I feed on cattle, not kill. I have not killed since before. Before this life." He gestured to his still-bleeding chest as he spoke. "My brothers, they found this place and sent for the rest. We were to stay here. They may have killed the owners. I do not know. They cannot speak as I."

"Could not, speak as I." The Berne corrected himself.

The conversation slowed to a crawl. The three of us sat in near-silence, Gili traced her fingers through my hair as she often does, coming to rest upon my chiseled brow. At once her fingers stopped, suspicious. "Is something the matter?"

She fired off with one of her spur of the moment questions. "Do Dunmer men always have such a brow? Or is it because of your father? Not the ridge, yours is not too noticeable. But the sheer size of it. You have a massive forehead. Muscular, bulbous even. I have not had many dealing with your kind, much less had them at my fingertips. So I am genuinely curious." As the words left her mouth, she recoiled. I suppose she thought I would be offended by her choice of words, though no harm was done. I was well accustomed and enamored by to her to-the-point word choice.

"Hmm."

I drew long of mind, eyes shut, lost to all but myself. The good, the bad. I swam through the waters of my life in search of a related story. Finding the words, I spoke loudly enough that our guest could hear.

"In days long past, as golden days lay at my back heel and new horizons at my toes. As twins grew into their own. Near-mirrored forms twisted by the peculiarities of this world The fairer side of the coin, my sister, she grew into her beauties, elegant and graceful as the night. But I? I tumbled awkwardly into lanky ruggedness. Adulthood is rough on Dunmer men. As children, we are much alike in face and form. Our brows are light, though heavier than you would see on a Nord child, certainly. But as boys become men, our features diverge so heavily. The blood of my Father and Grandfather made my awkward years a bit more awkward in comparison, I am sure, as I so swiftly grew muscular and bold featured. Forested, top to bottom. The body of a true Nord. I shed my childhood like a cocoon. Sparring had left me lean but toned. My face long, chin and brow more prominent. The jaws and nose of my Father, as though you had molded the likeness by hand."

Her question answered, I saw fit to stop there, but my thoughts would not yield.

"We had lived a sheltered life, Fannah and I. Though we had traveled with our parents on many occasions and received an education fit for kings or queens, we were kept well out of danger. Blind to the more interesting parts of the world. Now for an ordinary Dunmer, he might be content to stay at home, enjoy childhood until it's true end, until work, love, or power finds him and whisks him away. But a Dunmer with Nord blood burning strong in his veins, it was not for me. I left home at twelve or perhaps thirteen. At first, visits were quite common. I would spend more time at home than on the road, but over time, I came to crave that road. Every second spent idle felt as though I was wasting away. In those days the bulk of my journeys lead to simple odd jobs, being of use in whatever way that I could. Be that farm work, errands, courier work, or things even more mundane. Then, as now, I rarely take pay unless forced upon me. A warm meal and place to sleep for the night, those are just rewards. A man's coin is his own, I will not deprive him of it. One thing lead to another and I became something of a local monster hunter. Not a full fledged mercenary or bountyman by any means, but I felled many a troll or intruding sabrecat. I knew of my fathers trade and saw that as my likely conclusion, my path was his. This was in the budding days of Fannah's devotion of Mara. She would often accompany me and could more than hold her own as well. The benefits of being a Snakestone did not fall to me alone. She is every bit as capable as I, just in a smaller, feistier package."

My grin slowly crumbled away, leaving a solemn frown.

"By sixteen, I had killed my first man. A Bosmer bandit. I did not take it well. At times I wake to the sounds of the battle, some seven or eight years later. For a time, I carried his hammer with me. It felt right. When my sword heft him nearly in twain, there was no thought of justice, no thought of success. I felt as though I had failed him. There should always be another option. I grieved for him. For a family he could have had or left behind, for a life he could have had if he had been on a different path. I should not have been the one to give finality to his situation. I found tht in all aspects of life, there is a lesson to be learned. If I need kill, I had best take something from it. Let that life not go in waste. If I was more persuasive, perhaps I could have talked him down. Made him atone for his ill deeds, face prison and come out a better man. I am no perfect man, nor would I ever claim to be, but I am aware of my deeds and their consequences. The what-ifs. He was the first, but he was not the last. I have tried to do things the right way but still, there is a line of ghosts at my back. Two more added this very night. They are with me. But this is not the story for today."

With the final word, I settled back against Gili's bosom and began the actual tale.

"I see myself in Dawnstar, as a painting behind my eyes. Fall of the same year I believe. Near sunset, I sought refuge from a dreadful storm. With the passing of this great storm, a beast rose from the northern waters and slowly crept upshore. A Grahl. Washed up from the northern lands I presumed. Be in in search of food or new territory, it had chosen a poor path. Cries from the shore had shaken me from a daydream. I stepped outside just in time to see the haggard form pierce the waves. It stood five men tall with tusks like spears, no, like masts. From matted white hair dripped ocean brine and foam, and from his three-clawed hands came death for any that may cross him. The fishermen fled and lawmen shuffled about in fear. With little hesitation, I darted up the hill and stared down at it. Palms aglow, I loosed a single fireball. The impact knocked him clear off of his feet and with a mighty splash he fell back-first into the tide. As he rose, angered but unharmed, his claws gave chase. Slicing the sand as my sword so did to his flesh. At the end of my lunge, the blade carved out a chunk of his thumb. It cut true and he bled into the foam. On scurrying feet I rounded his back, leaping as I lobbed another fireball at his feet. He roared and looked down at me as though I were an ant to be crushed. A bellowing cry shook the shoreline but I had no fear. He moved clumsily through the soft clay just off shore, his weight was too much for it I imagined. Seeing this, I fled into the waves myself, with a steady stream of flames ensuring that he would give chase. And so he did, and in doing so, lodged himself in the soft clay. Dodging a blow, I took hold of his gnarled fingers and hoisted myself atop them. Darting from muscle to muscle, gripping his white fur to steady myself, I moved ever higher. Until I could see a many-veined neck beneath that dripping beard. With each beat of his gargantuan heart, his neck pulsated. I had found my target. I drove the sword into the hump of his back, sending him reeling. His hulking mass fell back, exposing his engorged neck. At once I leapt from atop his back, mind racing, my perception of time came to a halt. I recall my breath, the beat of my heart dwarfed by the beat of his. The crash of waves. I found footing atop his breast and with precision, made my cut. With a torrent of blue blood, he tumbled into the mud, throwing me clear onto the shoreline. There was no cheering crowd, no boons, no feeling of greatness. I stood just off to the side, warming my hands by magick as blue blood trickled down my brow and fell from my hair. Wiping it away, I think this was the first time that I took notice of how my face had changed. This is the moment that had wormed it's way into my mind. I looked into that pearly water. Peering deep and long into my reflection, taking note of my features. As my face had grown long, forehead bulbous, the eyes were the same. In my eyes, I was the same boy that once cowered from levitating rats or mudcrabs. Now a man, felling mountains in the name of greater good. I again felt great regret in what I had done. The world is without one Grahl, and in it's place, perhaps tens of people are yet still living. Most would consider that a worthwhile trade. But the world is still without that Grahl. It continues on giving it not a thought. As it is to continue on without these two." I gestured to the fallen Berne. "As it would continue on without you." An ashen finger darted toward our guest. "As it would continue on without I, or mine. Not every life lost is taken, but in situations like these, it falls upon each of us to decide who stays on this carriage and who shall disembark early.

"If I had been more knowledgeable of Grahl back then, perhaps I could have lead it away. They have their likes or dislikes as do we all. For every beast there is a working lure. And by all of the gods above, he is a heavy beast. Now that you've been introduced to him, perhaps the both of you could help me carry him?

My tale finished, I searched his hooded face for a sign that I had struck a cord, though found none. We spent the better part of the next hour diving from one subject to another. It was pleasant conversation, considering the guest. Shortly before morning, we retreated to our room to reconvene and find some rest before the long road. With sunrise, we found the house empty. Our acquaintance had fled, taken his fallen with him, and held true to his word.

"May he find his way."

I was quiet the next few days. Lost in thought as is to be expected of me. Gili probed for answers and feelings but received little reply. I felt sorry for her, to see her try so hard, only to be met by this wall. I found peace in my pipe, mind and in our closeness, as one-sided as it were. Quiet days make for boring days and no amount of endless chatter on her part could sway the mood. Before long, roadside rocks again became the center of attention.

To our left, she spotted a large boulder. "The game continues", she mouthed the words. With amber eye glued to the far edge of it as we made our way past, the sudden neigh of the horse startled her. Behind the stone sat a horse and carriage, as though she had willed them into existence. "Oh ello there." A voice beckoned from its backside. A little man stepped into view and tossed an overflowing sack of mushrooms into the back. "I never thought to bump into anybody else out here. Where ya heading?"

With rested feet, the following day passed quickly and as I put this quill to paper, the family homestead has came into view. As majestic a sight as ever. We near the end of this ride, with another to soon begin. My thoughts collected, I opened up. With but minutes left on the road, I gave Gili a brief lesson on the varieties of vampire and how best to deal with each. How one could likely discern the clan within seconds as they all behave differently. I spoke more of my Grandfather and of Assut. Of stories that Grandfather had told Fannah and I, and of where and how we met him. How as a boy, my extended family was scattered across Skryim and Morrowind. How under the grace of Mara, acquaintances from long forgotten days were rejoined in the end. Of the paths that brought us together, and of our long journey home.

#elder scrolls #skyrim #fanar #gili #snakestone_family #dunmer #nord #waifu #husbando #otp #couple #love #romance #story #writing #adventure #vampire #combat #storytime #modding

[fraink5-writes]

Blue Ceiling - Tablet III

Anyone else crying in the club about today’s Babylonia episode? Read this chapter to see good things happen to Kingu.

Of course, thanks a whole lot to my fantastic editor, @leio13

Summary: Expecting to become king of the merpeople as son of Tiamat, Kingu is suddenly forced to give up his tail and to go the surface to restore humanity’s disregarded respect for the Goddess of the Sea. However, he severely underestimates the Uruks’ willpower, especially that of their stubborn king, Gilgamesh.

This chapter can also be found on Ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!

Kingu woke up to an unfamiliar ceiling. There was neither the privacy of Gorgon’s home nor the warmth of Shamhat’s. Once again, Kingu was without a home. The room was nearly empty save an overbearing silence.

Kingu’s legs cried out in pain as they did on the first day. They had brought him nothing but suffering. He wanted to cut them off. 

Even then, he could not be a merman again. He was stuck in a useless human body, but even the humans wouldn’t accept him. He had always been an outsider. Maybe he would live as a monster like Gorgon. Gorgon was strange company, but he found himself missing her in his isolation. They had been outcasts together, but now they were just alone.

At least, Kingu thought staring at the apathetic ceiling, he had Tiamat. He hazily recalled her sorrowful song; was she lonely like him? Certainly, she understood him better than anyone else, and that’s why she chose him. Tiamat trusted him with this mission, so he would carry it out for her. Whether he was a merman, a human, or neither, he was Tiamat’s son. That knowledge warmed his cold loneliness.

Kingu watched the shadow cast by the window as it moved across the floor until his meditation was interrupted by footsteps. A woman’s voice appeared in the doorway, “Oh good! He’s awake.”

Two people entered the room: the distraught brunette woman from the other day and Gilgamesh. Kingu closed his eyes and turned away; he had no business with Gilgamesh, but curiosity forced him to peak and see what they were up to.

The intruders had approached Kingu’s bed, and then the woman elbowed the king, an action certainly warranting the death penalty.

But Gilgamesh just grumbled to himself then spoke aloud, “Siduri requested that I apologize for yesterday.” The king seemed to struggle between his lack of desire to apologize and the appearance of his authority. 

“Ahem.” Siduri forced a cough. 

“Yesterday, I invited you to my home, but you were met with hostility instead of hospitality. That was unacceptable.” Gilgamesh’s curt “apology” was accompanied by rolled eyes.

Siduri sighed then turned her attention to Kingu. “I hope you are feeling better today.”

“No,” Kingu mumbled, not in the mood for playing at courtesy.

Gilgamesh opened his mouth, but he was preemptively silenced by a sharp glare from Siduri.

“We’re truly, deeply sorry for what happened yesterday,” Siduri continued, bowing her head. “And, we also are here to inform you that you’ll be living here from now on.”

“Huh?” Kingu snapped out of his fake sleep.

“We’re sorry it’s not much,” Siduri bowed her head again, “but Shamhat is busy with her work, and so it would be more convenient for you to live here. We hope you understand.”

Shamhat’s job… Shamhat had been so generous with Kingu; it never occurred to him that he was inconveniencing her. Shame floated up to his cheeks.

“If there’s anything you need, King Gilgamesh would be more than willing to provide. It’s the least he could do after what happened yesterday.”

If the glower on Gilgamesh’s face was any indicator, he was not ‘more than willing,’ but Siduri seemed to have some influence over him, so maybe it wasn’t out of the question. 

“Let’s see…” Kingu shot Gilgamesh a smug look while running through the possibilities. He wanted to ask for something outrageous.

“Oh yes, one last thing,” Siduri interrupted. “To make up for yesterday, King Gilgamesh has offered to show you around Uruk, since you are still new here.”

Somehow Siduri’s offer was more outrageous than anything Kingu had come up with himself, yet he definitely wasn’t interested. Unfortunately, it did not seem like declining was an option. 

“We will be back in a few days when you are feeling better.” Siduri spared Kingu, if only temporarily.

“Don’t make me wait too long, mongrel.” Gilgamesh muttered and left.

“Please rest well!” Siduri called before chasing Gilgamesh with a look of embarrassment.

***

After a few days, Kingu was capable of walking around his barren home although not without pain. But there was not much else to do besides wander in circles—“pacing,” as the humans would call it. So when an unfamiliar knock sounded against the door, he bounded to answer it. Finally free from his boredom. “Hel—… lo.” 

Gilgamesh stared silently at him.

“Where’s Siduri?” Kingu demanded.

“She’s busy—is that a proper way to greet a king?”

“You didn’t even say ‘hello,’” Kingu grumbled. “Anyway, what do you want?”

“I’m going to give you a tour of Uruk.”

He meant that? Kingu studied the king for any tells. Surely, this was a joke.

“Don’t be ungrateful, mongrel. Who do you think has been providing your food and medicine every day?”

Well, the one who had been checking up on him, bringing food and medicine, was “Sidu… ri?”

“IDIOT! She’s only been delivering them!”

Kingu paled. To think he had fallen so low as to depend on the arrogant, human king!

“What’s wrong? Has your brain finally stopped working entirely?” Gilgamesh wore a surprising grin. “Hurry up. I don’t have that much time to waste.”

Kingu took Gilgamesh’s cue and turned back into the house to match his presentation to the king’s standards, taking the opportunity to regain his scattered composure. 

“Oh? I didn’t think you could do it,” Gilgamesh remarked as Kingu stepped out the door.

“Do what?”

“Put together a look that’s worthy of standing by my side.”

The king continued on, but the rest was lost on Kingu, who was shocked by the double-edged compliment. His face flushed a deep red.

“Anyway, let us begin.” Gilgamesh paid Kingu’s embarrassment no heed as he started his tour. “This house is on the outskirts of town, so we will head inwards, towards the center, and then back out.”

Kingu had not once left his home, so everything was new to him. It did not matter what direction they went in.

“That,” Gilgamesh pointed down the road, “is one of Uruk’s greatest prides.”

A brick wall. But it didn’t suffice to call it simply a wall. The wall was thick enough for tiny people to patrol on top. It was tall enough to cast a shadow over the nearby buildings. And it was long enough to extend indefinitely past Kingu’s field of vision.

“It is the great wall which protects all of Uruk.”

“Protects?” The giant wall was an enigma to Kingu. There was no wall which surrounded Atargata, only the endless sea. To Kingu, the wall was just a cage.

“Yes, protects. From beasts and enemy peoples.”

So the humans weren’t united? This was another shock for Kingu. To think they would fight and kill each other… How savage. Kingu could not hide his displeasure from his face.

“What’s with that face? We haven’t had a war in years. So long as that wall exists, the people of Uruk can live in peace.”

Then the wall was anything but a cage; it really was a shelter.

“Anyway, we’re heading in the other direction. There’s no point in leaving the city so soon. Come on.” Gilgamesh called Kingu and led him towards the center of Uruk.

The city of Uruk was organized very simply. Its residents were sorted into districts by occupation, which surrounded the central districts. Most remarkably, the city was crisscrossed with artificial waterways. Kingu scoffed at the sight; the humans had left the sea only to bring it right to their doorsteps. The other merfolk would have been offended by the canals—“how dare the insolent humans try to control the blessings of Tiamat!”—but Kingu was a bit grateful. He missed the sea.

Kingu would have been content to study at the man-made flow of water throughout the entire tour, but circumstances wouldn’t allow it.

“Oh, is that King Gilgamesh?”

“Your majesty!”

“What an honor!”

As Gilgamesh passed through each district, he created a commotion each time. Laborers stopped working, housewives and children appeared in the doorways of their homes, and people from anywhere and everywhere poured into the streets to greet their king. Kingu expected Gilgamesh to swat them all away, but instead, he turned towards Kingu, grinning, and proclaimed, "Look at all the diligent, loyal citizens of Uruk!" He turned back to the crowd, occasionally calling out to one person or another by name (and not the expected "mongrel")  and asking about business. By the time they reached the central districts, Kingu, as much as he learned about Uruk, was even less certain of the king's character.

While surely big enough to qualify as districts, the central districts would be more aptly called monuments. One was an enormous, terraced pyramid built from clay. At the top of the sky-reaching steps sat a white, stone building. The other was a bigger mystery, for all Kingu could see were the stone walls. The white face of the wall was covered in imagery and statues, suggesting something even grander lay inside. Simple but tall, ostentatious but flat; the two structures balanced each other.

"Are those temples?" Kingu wondered aloud.

"Relics," Gilgamesh snapped. "Relics of when people cowered before mere fantasies.” He inspected them with irritation. “They serve no purpose in my Uruk. They would be more useful torn down and rebuilt as new districts for the working population."

If these temples were really built for Tiamat, it would only advance her rage to tear them down. Then, she would mercilessly re-establish her authority. "I wouldn't do that—"

"Would you shut up about that?” Gilgamesh turned his contemptuous gaze to Kingu. “It's annoying. What were you—a priest?—before you hit your head?"

Why did Kingu even bother? The man next to him epitomized human arrogance, the reason Kingu was sent to the surface in the first place. He doubted humanity could ever get saved. 

Kingu didn’t say anything; he didn’t want to entertain Gilgamesh’s hubris anymore. It was annoying enough that he predicted what Kingu was going to say. He’s aware of the voice of reason, but he willfully chooses to ignore it—how foolish. 

“Stop gawking and come with me. Let me show you something more impressive.” After demanding Kingu to follow him, Gilgamesh headed outwards once again. They marched in silence until they had reached the base of the wall. “We’re going up.”

Although there was no practical value to this part of the tour, so long as Gilgamesh was his guide, Kingu could make no objections, so he followed the king up the stairs. Instead of looking outward, Gilgamesh pointed Kingu to the city which they had spent all day walking through. The sun, still high in the sky, was now shining down from the west. The sprawl of brick buildings radiated under its light. From above, Kingu could make out hundreds of tiny gardens which had been hidden from the street. He identified each district by their unique characteristics. With Gilgamesh out of the way, the people had returned to their work, but there were plenty on the streets: vendors, errand-runners, playing children. Tiny, swift, and graceful, the busy Uruks reminded Kingu of the fish in Atargata. 

Gilgamesh beamed as he watched his city. Without sparing even a glance for Kingu, he declared with exaggerated gestures, as though giving a speech to the people down below, "Look at the great city of Uruk! Its protective walls, its sturdy buildings! Its prosperity and its peace! Did any goddess build that? No, it was the Uruks who built this marvelous city. Look at how the little people work, content and undeterred. They don't need any goddess. They are working towards the future. Don't you see? Trembling in fear of the Goddess is the past; the future is the path upon which humanity walks, and Uruk is at the forefront.”

So that was the nature of the golden king Gilgamesh—a man overflowing with pride. His pride exceeded himself, stretching even beyond the walls of Uruk to its fertile plains, and, from it, his authority as king was born. Kingu had mistaken his remarks for selfish hubris, but it was the pride of his people. 

Kingu stared in awe at the golden king besides him. His radiance seemed to eclipse the sun. 

Finally, Gilgamesh acknowledged Kingu. "To suggest otherwise is an insult to the hardworking citizens, past and present. Don't do it again."

Kingu could only nod.

***

Something about Uruk changed for the remaining duration of the tour; the wall seemed grander, the people working harder, the farms more bountiful. Gilgamesh and Kingu had left the walled city, explored the farmland which surrounded it, and were drifting along the river which gave Uruk its vitality: the Euphrates. The water’s surface was remarkably different than its depths. The small ripples glistened under the sun’s rays. On top of it all floated an image of Kingu’s face. His reflection wore a small grin, which was unfamiliar to even Kingu. How he had missed the water. He reached his hand, stroked the waves, then dipped his fingers into the cool current. His fingers seemed to bend—Kingu recoiled his hand. He was sure he held them straight in the water (which was confirmed when he pulled them out), so why did they appear to bend under the water?

Gilgamesh threw back his head with laughter. “What happened? Afraid of your own reflection?!”

“No-no way!” Unable to directly fight the accusation, Kingu turned away and stared back into the water. Gilgamesh couldn’t call him a coward like this. He plunged his fingers back into the water and watched them bend again. He was determined to figure out the mystery. He repeated this several times, but while the phenomenon continued, there was no suggestion as to why. 

“Now what? Are you fighting?”

“N-no! I’m just studying it.” Kingu did not look up from his “study;” instead, he just leaned closer to the water, trying to ignore Gilgamesh’s ridicule. From such a close distance, maybe he could see the river’s contents. 

Kingu hit the water with a splash before he could realize what had happened. His body had completely submerged, and for a moment, it was tranquil, surrounded by the sea’s nostalgic embrace.

Then Kingu opened his mouth, and the scorching water flooded in. It weighed in his lungs like a bunch of bricks, smothering them.

Why? Why?! Why?! He was a merman. He was the son of Tiamat.

No, he was just a human.

The water, cold and unforgiving, crushed him like a pest to be disposed of.

Kingu needed to be free. On land. He thrashed, again, again, again. 

Then a wave of darkness.

***

Something warm wrapped around Kingu’s wrist, jolting energy into him, and yanked him out of the water. "I didn't permit you to die yet." Kingu knew that voice. Golden hair. Red eyes. ...Gil…?

Before he could fully make sense of his surroundings, Kingu doubled over, retching out the water which sat in the bottomless well of his lungs. Each draw of water was more painful than the last. 

When the coughing fit finally subsided, he fully registered Gilgamesh sitting across from him, a slight scowl on his face.

"… Why did you save me?" Kingu croaked.

"You're too entertaining to let die yet," Gilgamesh responded offhandedly, then muttered. "...besides, now you can't say that you saved my life."

"Huh?” Kingu gaped. “Are you really that petty?!"

"A king can't be in a mongrel's debt."

"But you do admit that I saved you.” Kingu would not live this down. “You know, normal people say 'thank you.'"

"Are you really that petty?” Gilgamesh gibed. “And I haven't heard you say 'thank you' yet either."

Kingu was not going to say that—not until Gilgamesh owned up to his own gratitude. 

Gilgamesh just sighed. “You got a closer look at Euphrates than expected,” he snickered, “But it can’t be helped. We should head back now.”

Kingu nodded. He couldn’t wait to be free. But then a group of men on boats caught his eye. “Wait. Are those fishermen?”

“Oh, we didn’t see them before.” Gilgamesh remarked, uninterested.

“Can I try?”

“What?” Gilgamesh stared at Kingu. “Do you want to go for another ‘swim?’”

“No. I want to try.”

“Fine.” Gilgamesh waved his hands apathetically. “But if you fall in again, you better hope one of those men is going to rescue you.” Despite his griping, Gilgamesh talked to the nearby fisherman and procured a spear for Kingu. “Show me what you can do, mongrel.”

Although incensed, Kingu pretended to ignore Gilgamesh’s provokation. He dipped the spear into the water, and as he expected, it seemed to bend upon entering the water. Nothing he couldn’t work with. He watched a decently sized fish, a barbel, swim towards him, closer, closer, closer, and then, he skewered it. 

“Aha!” Pulling the spear from the water, he beamed (somewhat maliciously) at Gilgamesh. “Hungry?”

For a few seconds, the king’s chin hung agape, and that was enough to transform Kingu’s ordinary feat into a great triumph.

“You got lucky,” Gilgamesh mumbled.

But within minutes, Kingu had pulled another barbel from the river. Then another, and another, and another. 

“Alright, enough!” Gilgamesh groaned. “I get it.”

Content with the king’s surrender, Kingu sat back down. “Here, you can give it back.”

Gilgamesh rolled his eyes. “Keep it.”

“Huh?”

“From now on, you’re going to join them.”

Kingu’s face lit up. Then he smirked. “So, I’m good, right?” Gilgamesh would have no choice but to acknowledge Kingu’s talents.

“As long as you’re living in Uruk, you need to be a productive member of society.”

Gilgamesh’s disregard of Kingu’s showing off was more crushing than Kingu wanted it to be. Not wanting to linger on it, he hastily moved on. “Man, these look good. I could eat one right now.” 

And he would have if Gilgamesh hadn’t raised an eyebrow. “Right now?”

“Why?” Kingu was bewildered.

“You don’t want to smoke them at least?”

“Oh.” So that’s what the humans did. Kingu’s face went red with the realization. “Yes, of course, I do!” He bluffed. “It was just an exaggeration.”

“Well, if you don’t know how to cook them, ask someone.” Gilgamesh muttered. “You should also learn how to swim soon.” Without another word, he began rowing back towards the city. They continued in a peaceful silence all the way to Kingu’s door. 

“Mongrel,” Gilgamesh called out before leaving.

Oh, how Kingu wished he didn’t respond to that. But it was too late. “What?”

“You weren’t half bad today.”

Kingu’s heart stopped for several endless moments.

“If you want to learn how to use that spear, I will teach you.”

Kingu only half-processed the words, but they threw him into a greater panic. 

“Don’t just stand there like an idiot!” Gilgamesh barked. “Or I’ll take the offer back.”

“Yes! I would like to!” Kingu blurted out.

“Excellent. Then I will send for you when I have time.” With that, Gilgamesh left.

...What? Did Gilgamesh just praise Kingu? And did Kingu just agree to meet him again? Kingu was undeniably an idiot—an idiot for making plans with Gilgamesh of all people, and an even bigger one for getting so worked up in the first place. 

No, Kingu tried to reassure himself, he needed to be on the king’s good side to carry out his mission. But before he worried about Gilgamesh, he needed to shape up.

***

Kingu did not find the idea of raw fish to be so objectionable (he ate them all the time in Atargata), but, in an effort to blend in, he tried smoking them as Gilgamesh had suggested. They usually ended up charred. Fortunately for him, Shamhat paid Kingu a visit one evening, volunteering to cook dinner: a one-night reprieve. As expected, Shamhat’s cooking was leagues above Kingu’s. The savory flavor brought back memories of Kingu’s first few days in Uruk, staying in Shamhat’s home. 

“Um, Shamhat,” Kingu began, confidence disappearing by the millisecond. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Oh, you’re welcome!” Shamhat smiled. “It was my pleasure.”

“I’ve been an interruption to your job and routine, so… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be!” Shamhat replied as though the words Kingu had struggled to say were a simple matter. “I can take days off sometimes, you know? Besides, I have something I should be apologizing about.”

“Huh? Why?”

“About the other day…” Shamhat maintained eye contact as she spoke. “While I really appreciate you standing up for me, you were put in danger because of me. I’m sorry to have—”

“Don’t apologize!” Why did she have to apologize for what that pompous egoist did? “Someone had to stand up to that narcissist!”

“I see.” Shamhat laughed. “If you feel that way, I’m glad. Thank you.”

“Besides, I’m better now. Nothing to worry about!”

“You know, I’m glad that you and King Gilgamesh are getting along now.”

Kingu blinked. “We are?”

“Yes, he said good things about you.”

“He did?”

“Let’s see.” Shamhat tilted her head. “That you can’t swim… that you have an absurd fear of fantasies… that you have a serious attitude problem…”

“Which of those are good things?”

“Well, he said them all smiling.” Shamhat conveyed no doubt in her theory. “I think he likes you.”

“Great.”

Shamhat would have certainly known more about Gilgamesh than Kingu, but perhaps, just this once, she was wrong.

“Besides, he invited you to see him again, didn’t he?”

“...Yeah…” Kingu didn’t want to think about that incident again. 

“See? I’m sure he’s fond of you! Oh, come on! Don’t be like that. It’s a rare honor to make acquaintances with the king like this.”

Shamhat had a point. Kingu should have appreciated that the circumstances were now in his favor, but, at the moment, his mind was caught up with other things. “About Tiamat,” Kingu posed the question hesitantly, “Do you believe in the goddess?”

“Tiamat?” Shamhat pondered over the question. “I guess she could exist. It’s possible that a goddess created us people and put us on land. But you see, even if she does exist, she hasn’t done anything for us in a long time. Our ancestors built this city, and we work hard to keep advancing under the guidance of our king. We built our fortunes ourselves. So, it’s hard for me to believe.”

Gilgamesh had said the same thing the other day. The Uruks had long been independent. It was no surprise then that they couldn’t remember anything Tiamat had done for them. More than that, the Uruks were proud. They believed in their capabilities as humans and that they could advance through those abilities and willpower alone. There was no room for a distant entity like Tiamat in their tale of success.

“You’re a believer, right?” Shamhat continued. “I don’t think it’s wrong to believe. But just, maybe don’t mention it in front of Gilgamesh.” She winked.

That was for certain. The king took pride to a whole new level. 

“But King Gilgamesh is right. There’s something weird about you.”

“What do you mean?” Kingu demanded.

“Well, you appeared suddenly without memories and without basic knowledge. You couldn’t even walk. But nevertheless, you have strangely specific beliefs, skills, and knowledge. Just who were you before?”

Kingu frowned. Maybe Shamhat would believe him. No, he couldn’t tell her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you!” Shamhat rapidly changed tones. “Don’t worry about it, okay? There’s no use in fretting over what you can’t remember. What’s important is that you’re here now and what you do with that. You know, people don’t have a lot of time on this land, so we must make the most of it!”

Kingu had not given a single thought to the human lifespan, but it truly was short—lamentably so. Nevertheless, they were undeterred. The humans must have done more work in their lives than any of the complacent merpeople had done in the past two hundred years. They built Uruk, which must have taken generations to reach its current state (the founders were certainly dead). In fact, they were still working on it, even if they would die so soon. So that was the future they worked for, not only for themselves, but for their offspring too. It all seemed so foreign to Kingu, yet he felt deeply ashamed for not having realized it.

“Kingu?” Shamhat had inched forward to inspect Kingu’s hidden face.

“I’m sorry,” Kingu mumbled.

“Huh? No, no, I am the one who’s sorry. I really didn’t mean to make you upset.”

Kingu curbed his regret before looking up. “No, it’s fine. You’re right, Shamhat. It’s good to keep moving forward.”

#Fate series #Fate/Grand Order #Gilkingu #Kingu #Gilgamesh #Siduri #Shamhat

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic, chapter four

Story summary: Through all the struggles and triumphs of the Noldor, Angrod and Edhellos hold on to their love and their faith in each other.

Despite the title, there is more than romance in this fic.

Chapter length: ~2,200 words; Rating: Teenage audiences

Some keywords for the whole fic: romance, family, some fluff and angst, mild sexual content, the Noldor and their fall and their triumphs, canon compliant

AO3 link (first chapter here)

*

Chapter IV //  The land of pines

From the northern slopes of Dorthonion Angrod and Aegnor, sons of Finarfin, looked out over the fields of Ard-galen, and were the vassals of their brother Finrod, lord of Nargothrond; their people were few, for the land was barren, and the great highlands behind were deemed to be a bulwark that Morgoth would not lightly seek to cross. – The Silmarillion: Of Beleriand and Its Realms

The first few years in Beleriand are hard though nothing alike in hardness to the treacherous ice that Eldalótë still walks on many nights, only to rouse within the warm hold of Angaráto's arms. His bare skin against hers is a blessing that quickly grounds her in the moment.

She breathes in the smell of him and lets herself fall to rest again, in search of better dreams.

*

There is little need for a gilder in the first, hard years and decades. Eldalótë instead makes use of the spinning and weaving skills that her mother-in-law taught her. It is good to be of use, and like all of her family, she lost long ago any notion of being above hard work because of royal status.

 Working at her loom that they purchased from the Sindar for one of the treasures Findaráto brought with him, Eldalótë cannot help thinking of Eärwen weaving white sails for her father's fleet of white ships. For her sake, and for Elenwë's who became as close a friend to her as their husbands are, she stays as far away from Fëanáro's sons as she can. She is glad, though, that Findekáno saved Maitimo from his torment and that the fractured Noldor are working together towards shared goals again. Under the leadership of Nolofinwë, she believes they can prosper in this new land.

 But though she is as polite with everyone as she always is, she will not forget the particular part that Fëanáro and his sons played in their coming here. There will always be a shard of the Ice in her heart for them.

*

 She stays behind when Angaráto goes to the kingdom of Doriath as Findaráto's messenger.

 'I assume it is best that you do not flaunt your Noldorin wife in case he would count that against you', she says. 'But do take Artaresto with you. He looks more like you than me, and speaks Valinorean Telerin as well as if it was his only tongue.'

 'I am loath to leave you behind when I journey to lands unknown to us', Angaráto replies.

 She rummages in her trunk. 'The grey-elves and our own scouts say that the way is safe', she says over her shoulder. 'And I shall not be lonely, or if I shall, Aikanáro shall be equally lonely, the constant companion that he is to you, and he and I can keep each other company.' She finds what she was looking for, a golden ribbon for his golden hair.

 Angaráto snorts. 'I will never stop wondering how you did not grow tired of his 'constant companionship' decades and decades ago. I feared it at the beginning of our marriage.'

 Eldalótë smiles, and tells him to stay still. 'I could not have married you if I didn't like him too. And –' she ties his hair neatly back so it will stay off his face when he rides '– he is my brother too. For many years now.'

 Angaráto turns and kisses her. 'I am glad. When the time comes to decide where we will settle, Aikanáro and I would like to share lordship of a realm.'

 'Of course.' She pokes him in the chest. 'But do not kiss me while we talk of him!'

*

 Angaráto is angrier than she has seen him since the betrayal of Fëanáro when he storms back into their tent from the council of lords, much earlier than she expected to see him.

 He paces around the tent, furious, fuming, but silent. Eldalótë asks whether it would make him feel better to shout and he replies bluntly, 'I shall not, or I'll be no better than the thrice-accursed sons of Fëanáro.'

 Eldalótë understands. 'Which one was it this time?'

 'Carnistir, again.' Angaráto sighs, and sits down next to her. 'He insulted his brother who agreed to me being sent to Elwë as messenger, and me, and my mother all in one short angry rant.' He tells her what exactly was said, and adds, 'It stings my honour and pride that he should insult my parentage so when I and my brothers and sister have fought through all the same hardships as Nolofinwë and his children, and indeed through more than he has!'

 Eldalótë shakes her head. 'Maitimo will no doubt rebuke him as always, but how we shall settle these lands and fight our battles together with Carnistir and his brothers who are more like him than Maitimo, I do not know.'

 With the help of great distances, it turns out. Maitimo sends Carnistir to settle in the eastern land that lies at the feet of Ered Luin, and Angaráto's land is to be much more westward.

*

 They ride to their new realm with eager hearts, and a few hundred eager followers of Arafinwë who have chosen to come to the highlands of Dorthonion to live under Angaráto and Aikanáro's rule. Most of them are bold warriors who acquitted themselves well in battle and prefer staying closer to the threat of Morgoth should he send his troops forth in battle again to going further south with Findaráto. A smaller part of them are grey-elves who want to leave the land of Mithrim where they had loss and sorrow.

 Eldalótë would have preferred a land more to the south and west, close to the people of Círdan who look favourable upon the kin of Olwë. But Findaráto will keep all that land, for Angaráto and Aikanáro volunteered to take on the watch in the northern highlands.

 As they ride there, this time it is Aikanáro who carries their father's banner in honour of Angaráto as the older brother, though they have agreed to be equal lords.

 Eldalótë keeps a tight hold on her new horse's bridle. Like their other horses, she was a gift from Maitimo, or Maedhros as he has quickly taken to calling himself. In amends, he gave many of the horses he brought over on the swan-ships to Nolofinwë – Fingolfin, now – and Nolofinwë distributed them among his lords.

 Eldalótë's horse is a young mare. She is a little skittish but manageable and shows promise, and Eldalótë certainly wasn't too proud to accept a noble beast of Valinor. It has been wonderful, one of the most wonderful things since their arrival here, to ride out with her husband and son and feel the wind on her face and the power and speed of her horse under her.

 It is even better to be riding to their new home. The scouts and grey-elves have told them that the highlands east of Mithrim and south of the green plain of Ard-Galen are rather barren, growing mainly pine, and rainy like Hithlum. It will be home, nonetheless, their first home after a long time of journeying. It will be the realm that Angaráto dreamed of, long ago in a different land, and Aikanáro too.

*

 Once they are settled in the place of their new home and begun building their citadel, Minas Avras, Eldalótë and Angaráto decide to give each other new names rather than deciding the forms of their names themselves.

 They both want to keep their most-used names and only translate them but in the language of the grey-elves, there are alternative word-forms as well as binding sounds in the place where two elements join together to choose from.

 'Edhellos', Angaráto whispers against the heated skin of her neck one night, and lowers his head to kiss her breast. 'It flows soft and sweet on my tongue, like you do.'

 'Ah.' She arches under his exploring tongue. 'Ang - oh - Angrod.' He pauses his ministrations of her for a moment, and she explains. 'It sounds as much like Angaráto as possible and I want it to, because despite everything that has changed, with me you are as you always were. Strong and sure and oh,  oh   –' He has continued his way down her body and she can hardly stay still and certainly not speak apart from gasping out his names, old and new.

 She tries to tangle her fingers deep in his hair like she loves to do but it is harder to do these days. He cut it short on the Ice and has kept that way ever since. It doesn't even reach his shoulders.

 Edhellos misses the abundant golden fall of it, but she understands. The long cold road changed them all, and that is all right. She has hardened too. Besides finding it more difficult to forgive and acceptable not to, she raises her voice more often now and joins in conversations where she may have stayed still and silent before. Angaráto still sometimes speaks for her like he always has, but only when they have spoken of it beforehand in the quiet of their own chambers, in their own private moments that become ever more precious year after year.

 She is more protective of what she has now, being aware of all that she can lose.

*

 Edhellos did not see her husband or other family members fight in the first battle at the Lammoth that took place soon after their arrival in Beleriand. She stayed at the rear of the host at Finrod's request, put by him in charge of the others who weren't fighters of first rank and would only engage in battle if necessary. It turned out to be necessary, and she fought as well as she could; well enough to survive while some in the van who were more valiant at arms perished, including the fearless youngest son of Fingolfin.

 Even in Dorthonion Edhellos doesn't become as adept at fighting as her family, though she keeps practising. She can defend herself but not well enough that it would make any sense, still, for her to take part in battles by her husband's side, in the sharp front point of the attack.

 She has always prided herself on her common sense. The price of it is accepting things she rather wouldn't, like letting Angrod ride to face possible death so far ahead of her.

 She sees her family fight later, from horseback on the side of a battlefield with her bow in hand, on a hill high enough to see everything that happens. It is a revelation. Aegnor, her gentle-hearted brother, roars like a lion and his eyes shine bright with battle-rage. It leaves no doubt in the hearts of the enemy that this is a child of the Light that they abhor; and they quiver before him, and Aegnor with his spirit of wrath cleaves them with his sword that soon no longer shines, dripping with gore.

 Angrod and Orodreth fight side by side, father and son working violence together efficiently and mercilessly, their moves as graceful and coordinated as any dance performance and as strong and precise as a smith's strike on the anvil. The golden rays on their shields catch the light of the sun and strike the eyes of the enemy half-blind.

 When it is Edhellos' contingent's turn to fire, she with her fellow archers shoots arrow after arrow until their fingers go numb. The enemy falters and fails under the rain of arrows and the swift blows from the long swords of the Noldor.

 The singers will call it the Glorious Battle, soon, during more peaceful years when there is plenty of time for songs.

*

 Dorthonion makes Edhellos happy in peacetime.

 The crags and the pines remind her a little of the times when she was young and newly married and Angrod took her along on the long wanderings he and his brothers went on in the summers in the north of Aman, north of Formenos even, where the treelight was weaker and the nature barren at the rocky foothills of the Pelóri.

 The wanderings took place in the summer because it was warmer even there then, and they made long treks because it was before any of them had children or any responsibilities that they couldn't abandon for weeks.

 In Dorthonion, Edhellos once climbs one of the highest pines on the highest tor that still supports growing trees. It is a clear day.

 She looks to the north and sees the dark shape of the great peaks of Thangorodrim that hides the fortress of Angband, ever pouring forth smoke that forms a stain on the wide blue sky.

 Between that place of abhoration and Edhellos' land lie the grassy plains of Ard-Galen. The sight of the green land always warms her heart. The grass there grows tall and strong despite the proximity of Morgoth's stronghold, and it feeds the growing horse herds of the Noldor. Fingolfin has sent many young horses to Dorthonion, too, valiant war-steeds descended from the horses brought over from Valinor.

 She looks to the south and sees the land that Angrod and Aegnor and she rule: encircled by mountain peaks, craggy and wooded, and dear, with its fair, tall trees and clear lakes that reflect the full beauty of midday and night skies alike. She and Angrod have many times ridden to such a lake and spent a night there, enjoying starlight and each other.

 As she looks over it all, breathing in the lovely scent of pine needles, she can understand a little of the desire for conquest and exploration that drove her husband and brothers and sister-in-law. This is her land, and she is its lady.

* A/N: The fifth and last chapter will be posted on Sunday.

#silmarillion fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction #silmarillion #angrod #angrod's wife #edhellos #eldalótë #eldalotë #eldalote #noldor #my fics #everbeloved #dorthonion #elesianne's fics

[frederickwiddowson]

Exodus 23:20-33 comments: a comparison between ancient Hebrews and modern Christians

Exodus 23:20 ¶  Behold, I send an Angel before thee, to keep thee in the way, and to bring thee into the place which I have prepared. 21  Beware of him, and obey his voice, provoke him not; for he will not pardon your transgressions: for my name is in him. 22  But if thou shalt indeed obey his voice, and do all that I speak; then I will be an enemy unto thine enemies, and an adversary unto thine adversaries. 23  For mine Angel shall go before thee, and bring thee in unto the Amorites, and the Hittites, and the Perizzites, and the Canaanites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites: and I will cut them off. 24  Thou shalt not bow down to their gods, nor serve them, nor do after their works: but thou shalt utterly overthrow them, and quite break down their images. 25 And ye shall serve the LORD your God, and he shall bless thy bread, and thy water; and I will take sickness away from the midst of thee. 26  There shall nothing cast their young, nor be barren, in thy land: the number of thy days I will fulfil. 27  I will send my fear before thee, and will destroy all the people to whom thou shalt come, and I will make all thine enemies turn their backs unto thee. 28 And I will send hornets before thee, which shall drive out the Hivite, the Canaanite, and the Hittite, from before thee. 29  I will not drive them out from before thee in one year; lest the land become desolate, and the beast of the field multiply against thee. 30  By little and little I will drive them out from before thee, until thou be increased, and inherit the land. 31  And I will set thy bounds from the Red sea even unto the sea of the Philistines, and from the desert unto the river: for I will deliver the inhabitants of the land into your hand; and thou shalt drive them out before thee. 32 Thou shalt make no covenant with them, nor with their gods. 33  They shall not dwell in thy land, lest they make thee sin against me: for if thou serve their gods, it will surely be a snare unto thee.

Here is an important doctrine regarding what an angel is, a spiritual representative, the presence of someone, in this case God. God’s name is in the angel.

Isaiah 63:9  In all their affliction he was afflicted, and the angel of his presence saved them: in his love and in his pity he redeemed them; and he bare them, and carried them all the days of old.

Judges 2:1  And an angel of the LORD came up from Gilgal to Bochim, and said, I made you to go up out of Egypt, and have brought you unto the land which I sware unto your fathers; and I said, I will never break my covenant with you.

Verse 24 reinforces God’s disgust with worshipping gods, little g, and idols. They are either figments of man’s imagination or devils.

Deuteronomy 32:17  They sacrificed unto devils, not to God; to gods whom they knew not, to new gods that came newly up, whom your fathers feared not.

Do not think that because you don’t worship Thor or Kali that you are not worshipping a false god. Any time you think, “an education will make me successful,” or, “having that man or woman will make me happy,” or, just constantly wanting something other than what you have you are creating idols, not much differently than ancient people. You are one step away from giving your dependence on education, sex, or material possessions a name, an identity to worship.  Anything we place as more important than obedience to God and faithfulness to Him is an idol. We are to do right, to do our best, and to trust God only for our success and happiness. Education is a good thing, intimacy between a husband and wife is an honorable thing, and we need food and shelter but we must not depend on them rather than God.

For instance, in regard to wealth, Paul warns Christians;

1Timothy 6:6 ¶  But godliness with contentment is great gain. 7  For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. 8  And having food and raiment let us be therewith content. 9  But they that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition. 10  For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.

And Jesus admonished His disciples using the Syriac word for the personification of money.

Luke 16:13  No servant can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.

With regard to sex as an idol the ancients had goddesses like Ishtar, the goddess of immigrants and prostitutes, a version of which we have in the harbor of New York City also called the goddess Liberty, popular among the Enlightenment thinkers like James Madison, the so-called Father of the Constitution, along with Providence, a reference to a vague universal power but certainly not the God of the Bible. The Greeks and Romans of Paul’s time had Venus and Aphrodite, goddesses of sex, who were worshipped in temples like those of Acrocorinth in Greece with short-haired priestesses, the reason why the Corinthian Christians demanded that their women have long hair which Paul approved while stating that it was not an issue in other churches. See 1Corinthians 11.

Idolatry is and has been one of the prime sins of man against God throughout history. This has been the cause of the perverted, sexualized religion of the ancient world and the decadence of mankind. Idolatry results in sexual perversion and it is the byproduct and result of idolatry.

Romans 1:19 ¶  Because that which may be known of God is manifest in them; for God hath shewed it unto them. 20  For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse: 21  Because that, when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, neither were thankful; but became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened. 22  Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools, 23  And changed the glory of the uncorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible man, and to birds, and fourfooted beasts, and creeping things. 24 Wherefore God also gave them up to uncleanness through the lusts of their own hearts, to dishonour their own bodies between themselves: 25  Who changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed for ever. Amen. 26  For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature: 27  And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; men with men working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompence of their error which was meet. 28  And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient; 29  Being filled with all unrighteousness, fornication, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness; full of envy, murder, debate, deceit, malignity; whisperers, 30  Backbiters, haters of God, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents, 31  Without understanding, covenantbreakers, without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful: 32  Who knowing the judgment of God, that they which commit such things are worthy of death, not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them.

In that passage we can see why society decays and who is responsible for its decay. God gives delusions and permits our more decadent natures to take preeminence.

Whether our idol is the flag or Constitution, which Mormon Joseph Smith convinced patriots was divinely inspired by God, or whether it is money, sex, or education idolatry is one of the prime reasons that American Christianity is so powerless to impact a dying world in any way other than providing humanistic drivel to control a congregation under the guise of fundamentalist, right-wing or liberal, left-wing preaching.

Thou shalt not bow down to their gods, nor serve them, nor do after their works: but thou shalt utterly overthrow them, and quite break down their images.

God is promising these physical, literal Hebrews coming into a physical, literal land blessings and prosperity and protection and the written words of God are a vital part of those blessings. By the way, don’t let some wicked preacher tell you that if you attend church whenever the doors are open you won’t ever get sick or have trouble in your life. We cannot apply literal, physical promises to the Jews before Christ to the Christian as they are not promises made to us under this dispensation. For all of your slavish devotion to a fundamentalist preacher’s will and whims you will have trouble in your life and you will get sick at some point and you will probably have a child that goes astray, etc. etc.

Joshua 1:8  This book of the law shall not depart out of thy mouth; but thou shalt meditate therein day and night, that thou mayest observe to do according to all that is written therein: for then thou shalt make thy way prosperous, and then thou shalt have good success.

While Christians were not promised an earthly country we would do well in life to honor these admonitions and warnings that God has given. Idolatry will destroy your walk with God and make you a caricature of a person of faith to the unsaved, a cartoon, a joke. You cannot uplift an idol in one hand and God in the other without looking stupid, a hypocrite, or just plain evil.

Even though Christians do not have a country on this earth the historical principle laid down in Romans, chapter one, applies to nations as we know them. Let me give you a brief religious history of America to show you how idolatry can be poison. America’s self-worship as idolatry has its roots in the country’s earliest times. The good thing, which was the belief and faith that this new land was to be a nation set apart by God for a divine purpose was a common thread preached throughout. However, a specific millennial belief, that Christ would set up a kingdom on earth without being present Himself to last for literally a thousand years or with the millennium as just representing a long time was the standard, evangelical Christian view until the 20th century. This is called Postmillennialism, with Christ returning at the end of the thousand years. With a few exceptions it was believed that Christ would rule through His church. But there was no doubt that America would be the location where this period would begin. Men like John Cotton, Ephraim Huit, Increase Mather, John Davenport, John Eliot, Samuel Sewall, Cotton Mather, and Joseph Morgan preached an imminent millennium and Eliot, combining the fervor of what was called Fifth Kingdom Monarchyism prevalent in England, was especially hopeful that the New Jerusalem of the Book of Revelation would descend upon America itself.[1] Sermons were preached before Congress that said that America was the Promised Land and that the events of Revelation would take place here before we converted the world and established Christ’s kingdom for Him.[2]

An actual, historical Kingdom of God was expected, with the millennium, a thousand years of Christ’s reign through His church, coming soon.[3] Jonathan Edwards, the Congregationalist preacher so important to the series of revivals in 1700s America called The First Great Awakening, viewed the millennium not as Christ physically returning to save a ruined world, but a gradual process where righteousness and the control of Godly men became prevalent as Christ ruled through His church.[4]

Millennial ideals were also preached during the time of and after the American Revolution pointing more and more to America’s God-chosen role in the bringing in of Christ’s Kingdom, linked to evolutionary progress. President of Yale College Ezra Stiles said;

It may have been of the Lord that Christianity is to be found in such greater purity in this church exiled into the wilderness of America, and that its purest body should be evidently advancing forward, by an augmented natural increase and spiritual edification, into a singular superiority, with the ultimate subserviency to the glory of God to converting the world.[5]

The nineteenth century was an era in secular and religious thought of a progress that was inevitable.[6] In Protestant evangelical faith, Postmillennialism, that mankind would create a millennial kingdom without Christ’s physical presence, was, “the commonly received doctrine,” of the century.[7] The documents, the speeches, the sermons are available for you to read, mostly free. Don’t take my word for it. During this period this doctrine was the intellectual compromise between the devastation of God’s judgment on the world portrayed in the book of Revelation in the Bible and the evolutionary theory of constant movement upward to better and better times, and a utopia.[8] Liberal religious thought in collusion with the growing atheism of science brought about a weakening of the hopeful, religious viewpoint of a coming golden age created by Christians dependent upon their own righteousness but it was the nightmare of the Civil War and the calamity of World War One that drove the nail into the coffin and, “it became a relic of a lost world.”[9]

But, at the time of the Civil War’s commencement most evangelical Christians in America believed that the United States was God’s Promised Land and white, Anglo-Saxon Americans His chosen people, destined to bring in a ‘golden age’ of peace, prosperity, and righteousness as Christ ruled the earth for either a literal thousand years or for just a long period of time, represented by the word millennium, through His church. Lincoln himself referred to America, not Christ, as the last best hope of earth.[10]

It was not unusual for nations with a state church to view themselves as God’s chosen people. England, Russia, and Germany were notorious for this view. German sermons during World War One even likened the German Army to the Holy Spirit moving in the world and ‘God With Us’ in German was on the belt buckles of soldiers. Glorification and even deification of the state was one prime motivator in the half-century of war.

President Woodrow Wilson’s mentor at Johns Hopkins University, Richard Ely, put the thought of the elite and great planners whose government was God’s agent on earth or His replacement even like this;

Now, it may rationally be maintained that, if there is anything divine on earth, it is the State, the product of the same God-given instincts which led to the establishment of the Church and of the Family. It was once held that kings ruled by right divine, and in any widely accepted belief, though it be afterwards discredited, there is generally found a kernel of truth. In this case it was the divine right of the state.[11]

But worshipping the state as a “Christnation,” as the Redeemer Nation of the world, was America’s undoing. With the leadership making government God’s agent on earth rather than God’s people and with the common Christian expecting that we could create a perfect world without Christ physically present we had this great religious expectation that was blatantly false.

That’s why today so many think that they are electing a pastor or a messiah when they vote for a president and then try to Christianize their candidate if elected to make him look like something he is not. It all boils down to state-worship.

           World War One, the Jazz Age, the automobile, the sexual revolt of the 1920s, the triumph of evolution in science, the growing importance of the Entertainment industry all figured in to God’s judgment on the nation for its idolatry. As an example, where women who wore makeup were derided as ‘painted city women’ before the war, with strong suggestions of immorality, the demands by boys returning home that their women look like French girls has resulted in the fact that Christian women wouldn’t dare leave home without makeup on today. In addition, the lax morals produced by boys and girls being able to go off alone in a car and listening to Ragtime and Jazz watching Hollywood movies glorifying decadence was a chilling reminder that something was very wrong in America. We had the Great Depression, remember? Then, another devastating war and a so-called Cold War for 50 years pounded away at our families and our institutions. Look at today. Do you not doubt we are under God’s judgment? Look at Israel in Kings and Chronicles. Don’t you see America in every page? Ancient Israelites, like Americans, believed that they were special and by virtue of their exceptional place in God’s ordained world they deserved peace and prosperity, both of which were taken away over time for their idolatry.

Fundamentalism came about in the early 1900s because America, under God’s judgment, appeared to be descending into chaos and darkness. The King James-only movement came about in 1964 because fundamentalism had gone crazy with regard to its denial of the Bible we had in front of us. The problem, fundamentalists wrongly assumed, was non-Christians polluting God’s country. The actual problem was Christian idolatry and not venerating God’s word above our ambitions. This is how idolatry, in this case, worship of one’s country as a god on earth, can do horrible damage.

We are held to the same standard as everyone else and we have been found wanting. I refer you to the passage I quoted earlier from Romans, chapter one, again to find out why things are the way they are.

But, it must be said, unlike the Hebrews assuming control over an area of land the promise to Christians is an eternal inheritance. We don’t get a utopia here, a millennium without Christ’s physical presence, but we can get an awful mess.

It is interesting in Verse 28 how God promises to use creatures to drive out the inhabitants of the land He has promised to the Hebrews slowly. God has used many naturally occurring events as weapons. Remember the plagues of Egypt?

Compare what ancient Israel was to be with what America was to be to see a difference dispensationally. Israel was not to permit idolatry in its borders and was to drive out the idol-worshippers lest they pollute the Hebrew religion, which their existence did, as we can see by reading the Bible. America is a pluralistic nation with many different religious traditions or no religion at all. We cannot remove everyone from the land who does not believe exactly what we believe or how we believe, no matter how much you would like to do that. The Hebrews didn’t do that either, but it was their apostasy that garnered them God’s wrath.

I think it is important to realize that every Christian now is a type of the nation of Israel then, as the children of Israel then were a type of every Christian today. Our land is a spiritual land and our Canaanites are our sins. God promises us that He will drive out our sins if we obey Him as He promised the Hebrews He would drive out the wicked, child-sacrificing, bestiality practicing, temple-prostitute patronizing Canaanites if the Hebrews obeyed.

But, having said all that, I would go on to say that if Christians themselves would repent and turn from their sins and obey God in the best way they know how, believing His word, they would not be deceived by lying, gutless, and corrupt politicians and their land would not be given over to the perversion, violence, and decay that is so prevalent. God honors obedience, not obedience as defined by some fundamentalist whack-job preacher or evangelist who just wants to control them but obedience and righteousness as defined by the Bible. The problem with America is not homosexuals, left-wing demagogues, drug-dealers, or liberal judges. The problem with America is the faithlessness of Christians who regard the Bible as a type of Emily Post’s book on etiquette to be observed if convenient and who regard God as more of a concept or idea than a real, living entity who controls every aspect of reality from their living room to the edges of the universe.

[1] David E. Smith, “Millenarian Scholarship in America,” American Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 3 (Autumn, 1965), 539. http://www.jstor.org/stable/2710907. (accessed 10.28.2015), 539.

[2] Fountain E. Pitts, A Defence of Armageddon or Our Great Country Foretold in the Holy Scriptures In two discourses, Delivered in the Capitol of the United States, at the request of several members of Congress, on the anniversary of Washington's birthday, 1857, (Baltimore: J.W. Bull Publishers, 1859), 90.

[3] Ernest Lee Tuveson, Redeemer Nation: The Idea of America’s Millennial Role (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1968), 29.

[4] Ibid., 30.

[5] Ezra Stiles, “The United States Elevated to Glory and Honor,” in The Pulpit of the American Revolution, or, The Political Sermons of the Period of 1776, John Wingate Thornton, ed., (Boston: D. Lothrop & Publishers, 1876), 405, 472.

[6] Tuveson, Redeemer Nation, 52.

[7] Henry Boynton Smith,”History of Opinions Respecting the Millennium,” The American Theological Review (Boston: Charles Scribner & Son, 1859), 642. https://books.google.com/books?id=hWrUAAAAMAAJ&vq=millennium&pg=PA642#v=snippet&q=millennium&f=false (accessed 11.14.2015).

[8] James H. Moorhead, “The Erosion of Postmillennialism in American Religious Thought, 1865-1925,” Church History Vol. 53, No. 1 (Mar. 1984), 61. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3165956 (accessed 11.14.2015).

[9] Ibid., 77.

[10] Jean H. Baker, “Lincoln’s Narrative of American Exceptionalism,” in We Cannot Escape History: Lincoln and the Last Best Hope of Earth, James McPherson, ed., (Champaign, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1995), 42.

                      [11] Gary M. Pequet and Clifford M. Thies, “The Shaping of a Future President’s Economic Thought: Richard T. Ely and Woodrow Wilson at “The Hopkins,” The Independent Review: A Journal of Political Economy 15, no. 2 (Fall 2010): 262, 266.