#void thy test | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reliquiaen · 23 days

Text

Okay, my Dragon's Dogma 2 thoughts. This is not a review, this is me figuring out the story and its meanings, how it connects to the first game, what it answers, and what questions I still want to know answers to.

'Ware of spoilers 'neath the divide.

“Abandon all illusions of control.” – Grigori

First: some words from our original Seneschal, Savan.

“Show that you’ve the strength to break the yoke that binds you.” – Savan encourages the Arisen to challenge him and rise above the role asigned them to become Seneschal. It always comes back to this idea of willpower being the driving factor of power and accomplishment.

“I command all life into existence.” – He creates a copy of the Arisen, demonstrating that he creates life.

“The world thirsts for the will to live.” – The world requires a strong will to hold it together and give it order, give it purpose and life. It’s the will of an Arisen that drives the world and all existence. With a weak will, nothing happens and nothing is overcome. Which is why all the tests are in place: to ensure only an Arisen of exceptional will can become Seneschal.

“Show that your will is fit to bind the fraying circle of this world and hold it fast.”

“Will you claim your right as Arisen, or shrug the burden and seek peace in oblivion.”

“The forge of my heart grows cold, and the world shivers for it.” – Over time – an eternity of it – even the most steadfast and determined Arisen grow weary and falter in their duty. Savan was Seneschal for so long that he’s become tired (he’s experiencing burnout, as you would if you were caretaker of an entire world for millennia), hence his search for a replacement.

“May you guide the world ever justly.” – These words are interesting specifically because they give insight to Savan’s character and I’m going to come back to these in relation to the Pathfinder.

The assumption I'm working with: The Pathfinder is Seneschal.

On the left, Savan from the first game; on the right, Pathfinder from DD2. They are wearing similar robes. There are colour differences, yes, but I put those down to graphics and mood/disposition. The 'world beyond the rift' looks very similar in both cases, but no screenshots because it's essentially just a big empty void with a thin layer of water for a floor. (The Brine lives in the water. I'll come back to that.)

Things about the Unnamed Sequel Dragon:

“If thou seekest to behold this world in its true aspect, abandon thy reason. Cast aside thine heart and thy life both.” – Unnamed Dragon (at the start of the game)

“Naught but thine ambition can alter the course of the rivers of fate.” – Heard at the start of the game and then again at the end if you refuse to sit on the throne, implying that the opening of the game in first person is actually your Arisen being crowned at the end but without the context of the events of the game.

Upon being defeated the dragon says, “perhaps thine will is strong enough to put an end to it,” which is interesting because it suggests that the dragon IS an agent of chaos and wants the destruction of the cycle which would lead to the unravelling of reality and all existence as we know it. But the dragon is merely a failed Arisen (which we learn in the first game, unless that’s no longer the case in the sequel) fulfilling the duty given them. Not a villain in the typical sense, but an obstacle to be overcome for the good of the world.

Who was this dragon before they were a dragon? That's always what I want to know. Why are they unnamed? (I do like to imagine they might be our Arisen from the first game in a dimension where they failed to beat Savan, but I doubt that would work in a timeline.) How long have they been the dragon? At the end, it looks like the Pathfinder can simply summon a dragon from nothing, so are the rules about failed Arisen becoming dragons different in this game? Where are the wyverns and wyrms from the first game, also, we only have drakes and lesser dragons in this. (I would sincerely love to see those big worm things from the post-game in the main world in NG+ and also proper two-legged wyverns, that would be awesome.)

Things about the Pathfinder:

“You must jump. That is the only path forward.” – The Pathfinder helps you escape the prison camp at the start, encourages you to ‘fulfil your destiny’. The griffin might have even been put there by him for this purpose. Since we see Savan create a copy of the Arisen in the first game, and there are several examples of the Pathfinder creating situations to benefit their goals (presumably*) it makes sense that they could have created the circumstances to ensure a griffin would be there to carry the Arisen to safety. The is especially compelling when taking into account that the griffin didn’t attack the people on the cliffside, it just left, which makes it seem like it, too, was simply fulfilling its duty.

*When the Pathfinder appears in Ambrosius’ study, Ambrosius can’t see him but you can. Then he changes Ambrosius’ mind, demonstrating control over someone, which is what Savan was doing in the first game. We also see the Pathfinder rewind time at least once, by putting you back onto the dragon’s back so you can godsbane it.

“Learn aught you can of this world you must protect.” – Pathfinder wants you to fulfil your role within the cycle, but not to challenge the ‘natural order’, which is counter to Savan encouraging you to challenge him in the first game.

“It is my wish that you should live out that life of purpose.” – This, too, suggests that the Pathfinder doesn’t want you to take their place as Seneschal, but to do what an Arisen is intended to do. This is why we don’t get a chance to fight them, why they show us the world without a Seneschal to safeguard life. Perhaps this is different because this Pathfinder is more vindictive and selfish, more ambitious, more inclined to defend what they see as their ‘right’ to godhood than Savan was. Or perhaps they are simply a newly instated Seneschal (comparative to Savan), someone who hasn’t spent thousands of years as custodian of reality and so doesn’t need to be replaced yet. Their will, then, would keep them in power because they would WANT it. This creates an interesting concept for me, in that a Seneschal doesn’t have to step down if someone of stronger will challenges them, they can simply rewrite the world to change the situation.

While Savan came across as a benevolent god-ruler, the Pathfinder strikes me as far more spiteful. He doesn't seem as if he really cares all that much about things generally, but more that he simply likes being in control and will do anything to keep that power. Savan said, "May you guide the world ever justly," and stepped down as Seneschal gracefully. But when you pursue this Pathfinder (on the assumption that you'll get to challenge him the same as you could challenge Savan), you instead get him saying that you are stepping out of bounds.

Now, I personally play a character I like to consider neutral-evil in disposition, and bumping up against the Pathfinder felt like meeting someone very similar. Someone who acquired this position and simply refuses to give it up because no one else can be trusted to do their job. This is such an interesting contrast to Savan, and I do love the possibility that this Seneschal still has the will to keep the world going, keep the cycle spinning, as it were.

Things about Rothais:

“Time and again have you sent unto me your minions. Yet repel them I have, and so I shall anew, till I might claim the true world as mine own.” – Rothais and the Pathfinder clearly hate each other, but neither has been able to defeat the other completely. Perhaps Rothais was a proper challenger for the position of Seneschal and was punished in a different way because the Pathfinder couldn’t defeat him? (This does not make much sense, but you never know.) Rothais sits on a throne the same as the one Savan sat on in the first game, the Seneschal’s throne. He appears not dead nor alive, but the same wispy sort of spirit image as the Pathfinder, but darker.

“The flesh may rot; the soul fragment. Yet power – power endures.” – This implies that Rothais was an Arisen of such will that time couldn’t kill him – he simply refused to die.

He seems to know more about the cycle than most, but not the entire story. He says, “could ne’er hope to fell the dragon, let alone the watching one,” which suggests that he is aware the dragon is a pawn of the Seneschal.

The godsway are made of broken Arisen souls. The godsbane blade is made of a pure Arisen soul. He pulls a godsbane from his chest, same as Savan does in the first game. Rothais was an Arisen, but he turns his soul into a godsbane, which is something we have only ever seen Savan do as Seneschal. But he’s NOT the Seneschal because he is wary of ‘the watching one’. He says, “the ages have taken their toll; ‘tis as withered as mine own flesh,” so perhaps the ability to create a godsbane from one’s soul is a skill only for the Arisen and time wears away at an Arisen's soul regardless of whether they become Seneschal. Is the purpose of the godsbane for one Arisen to kill another? Is it meant only as a physical manifestation of their unbreakable will? We use Savan’s soul to kill him in the first game, but our own soul remains intact, which is perhaps important to the bestowal of spirit? But in this game, we use Rothais’ soul to kill ??? Ourself? The dragon?? The Pathfinder??? Unclear.

In the post-game: He says he defeated a dragon once and created Vermund afterwards. So he was a successful Arisen in that respect. He says he “ruled the world entire” and that’s how he “came to know of the watching one” which suggests to me that he was a mortal Arisen with very lofty ambitions. It also suggests that this particular Seneschal (the Pathfinder) was in the role before Rothais became Arisen. (So how long ago was that? How ‘new’ are these nations? What happened to Gransys? Anyway.) He forged a mortal empire and ruled it, but because he wanted more power, more everything, he maybe encroached onto the Seneschal’s territory as ruler of the world. He wanted to challenge the Seneschal but was denied the opportunity. Then a new Arisen must have cursed him somehow with the Seneschal’s blessing because he says the watching one sent an Arisen to imprison him in the Seafloor Shrine. So, if he's not the Seneschal, he must be cursed, but why would the Pathfinder want him around?

I do so wish we had a nice little trail of breadcrumbs to piece a timeline together. Because Lamond's there too, being an ex-Arisen, and we know nothing about him. We don't see him in the little collection of character epilogues at the end, so I assume he died when his heart was returned to him, but we don't know for sure and I would really like to know.

General concluding thoughts:

The post-game, then, is a glimpse of what a world would look like with the cycle broken: no Seneschal to keep the world whole and sensible, everything falls apart. Without a guide, all falls to ruin. This properly answers the question left at the end of the first game: What happens if you break the cycle? The end of days happens, good to know.

OR was this simply what the Pathfinder wants you to think? Did they show this vision of the world to the dragon we fight to get him to back down? Were they an Arisen also who gave in and were turned into a dragon by the Pathfinder? Or are the rules different here?

Right at the end, in the final cutscene, the Pathfinder claims that the dragon is meant to embody all the chaos and destruction that we witnessed in the unmoored world. That instead of constant chaos and disaster all the time threatening to destroy all life, we get a single great dragon to ravage the land once every few years (or however long) in order to keep the world whole. A single cycling and defeatable calamity instead of an unending deluge of them that cannot be stopped. And the Arisen, selected to defeat the calamity – the dragon – and grant the world safety and peace for a time afterwards. With the Pathfinder – the Seneschal – to guide and watch and safeguard (?).

“A new world comes. A new tale is set to unfold. Yet it seems I will not be there to watch it.” – So did we kill the Pathfinder (Seneschal) after all? Guess I’ll find out when I do NG+. But it does seem as though the Pathfinder was killed alongside that giant dragon we stabbed with the godsbane at the end. And also that our Arisen vanished, the state of the world is restored and people seem to remember our actions but we - the Arisen - are no longer there. Perhaps we became the new Seneschal? I do so hope that when you get to endgame in NG+ that it's the same as in the first one, with your previous Arisen acting as the Pathfinder, but I doubt it.

Perhaps unrelated: when the Gigantus is powered back up in the post-game, your pawn is sucked into it through the empty eye socket and when that happens, they get the glowing red eyes and writhing purple/red aura that happens when they have the dragonsplague and they get drawn in by tentacles like the brine. So what is the significance of the dragonsplague? Is the brine the dragonsplague infecting pawns to create more chaos and destruction? Is the brine the destructive force the Pathfinder is keeping in check? And what was the Gigantus originally created for? Is it powered by the brine? Are the dragons/wyrms in the post-game that glow and pulse like that (and the lesser dragons also) infected with the dragonsplague? Are the enemies with glowing eyes?

Was the infection taking hold of our pawn at the end a final attempt to break the cycle? Is the brine using the “empty vessels” of the pawns to try and create that apocalyptic version of the world the Pathfinder showed us? Was the will of our pawn – as imbued by us – enough to fight the infection off? Is that why they tried to kill the dragon?

So good to know this game has left me with as many existential questions as the first!

#dragon's dogma #dragon's dogma 2 #reliviews #personal #it's very good to know i'm going to be mentally unwell about this game #for at least a decade #the same as i was about the first #i will be playing the game at least five more times #just to really absorb all the details #and i can't wait to see if i missed any foreshadowing #or other details that will make more sense #now that i've finished the story once #thanks capcom #this was everything i wanted #story dlc when

4 notes · View notes

twisted-wonderland-but-gayer · 2 years

Note

Big post incoming

When Azul was a child, he stumbled upon a very big and dark hole. It was so giant, that he would not be able to cross it. It was so deep he could only see void.

Even though he was crying from sadness before, he was wiping from the scare he got. But, to make it worse.

A little giggle was heard. A very mischievous giggle from the darkness below.

Paralyzed in fear, he could only tremble and hiccup.

And then before his very eyes, a figure startes to swim up.

It's eyes appeared ginormous, red pupils making Ashengrotto shiver from the cold gaze.

A crown made of horns was shining in the rare sun beams.

He thought it was so big it could crush an entire island with it's mere presence, and yet

It was an octomer? It was bigger than him, and a bit strange in colour, not to mention the crown and

"Hi"

The sharp teeth.

//excuseme//coughing//its3amwtfamIdoing//

I was scrolling the monster Yuu/mc tag and was surprised by absence of Kraken monsters(maybe I'm becoming blind like my doctor said)

So I decided to test my storytelling skills and the Wikipedia power and make dis

That one "butter lover"animatic

The description of the cracken was fully taken from wiki.

I like to think that these two met with 1-2 years gap and during childhood. But maybe a Yuu/mc from another world can be our world's monster

While Azul is a regular size octomer, his Kraken friend keeps on growing (the tentacles are like twice Azul's size rn). I prefer the option of only octo part to grow abnormaly large, while human part while stays big is still considered ok big

Kraken might've been abandoned/decided not to talk about their relatives even after Azul taught the language(the idea of murderous giant octopuses keeps him awake at night)

I like to think these two, despite the fact they come from the same sea, have lilo and stich dynamic

Kraken can and will try to crush your house if decides you have yummies and don't want to share.

Unique magic can be creating a whirlpool or it's just a thing created from thy bigness.

Just imagine a 3+ meters kraken visiting Zuzu and of all shoes to choose from picking 12 inch high heels(tweels and Vil approve). The crown should stay in hooman form.

Thats it, good time of day. Hope you are feeling better

Hey if u like krakens... check out some of @mint-leaves-in-coffee aus...

#not writing #not requests #hopefulsalad #monster mc

106 notes · View notes

digitaltalesworld · 2 months

Text

Email Automation : An effective successful campaign

So, you want to run an email automation campaign that's not just effective but downright successful? Well, you've come to the right place. As someone who eats, sleeps, and breathes lead generation, let me walk you through the key ingredients for a campaign that'll have your audience hitting that "reply" button faster than you can say "automation." 1. Know Thy Audience: Before you even think about hitting send, take a moment to get to know your audience inside and out. What makes them tick? What are their pain points? The more you understand your audience, the better you tailor your messages to resonate with them personally. 2. Craft Compelling Content: Now that you know who you're talking to, it's time to craft some killer content. Your emails should be engaging, informative, and – most importantly – valuable to your audience. Whether it's a helpful tip, an industry insight, or a sneak peek at your latest product, give them a reason to open that email. 3. Timing is Everything: Have you ever heard the phrase "timing is everything"? Well, it couldn't be more true regarding email automation. Pay attention to when your audience is most active and schedule your emails accordingly. A well-timed message can make all the difference between landing in the inbox or getting lost in the void. 4. Personalization FTW: Gone are the days of one-size-fits-all messaging. With email automation, you can personalize your messages based on various factors – from name and company to past interactions and interests. Take advantage of this and watch your engagement rates soar. 5. Test, Test, Test: Last but not least, never underestimate the power of testing. Experiment with different subject lines, calls-to-action, and sending frequencies to see what resonates best with your audience. A/B testing is your best friend when optimizing your email campaigns for success. And here's a little secret weapon to supercharge your email automation efforts: We-Connect. Its intuitive interface, powerful segmentation capabilities, and seamless integration with popular email platforms, it's the ultimate tool for running successful email automation campaigns. So, there you have it – the roadmap to an email automation campaign that's effective and downright successful. Follow these tips, harness the power of automation, and watch your engagement and conversion rates soar to new heights. Happy emailing!

0 notes

tabooafrica2024 · 6 months

Text

The Burial

I don't think I would have known of this movies availability... I'm a no body of course but the esteem is this movie not me. Jamie Foxx the actor the business man and the person that teeters between the reality of everyday person and someone with a job to do. Is what we see and amidst the fact that he had this year's biggest health endangeements of his life effecting his career is amazing in that we members of society didn't recognize that overworked was nothing but cowardly wording.

It's not color of skin when it comes to immortal supernatural events that manifest it's now about what THIS SAYS GOD. Check the long time record of facts GOD SPOKE IT CAME TO BE. 6 DAYS OF HIM SPEAKING AND IT CAME TO BE. Manifestation in the Providence of area mortal realities could be best said that's our job to ensure we do not mimic mock not stand in the way to oppose.

GOD has a, name in book I call HIM SACRED A AS IN ALPHA AND THE E AS IN OMEGA... I GUESS I don't use Omega along as it is more than enough to suffice. Because the Omega means the End but after this based on situation I'm motivated to use it accordingly because this is the End. Rather we want it to be or not. Sometimes I understand why they are against female vaginal health because in business to have thrive you demolish the competition. Babies born THY Kingdom come are legacies of our Creators Kingdom of victors of beguile.

Men like Jamie Foxx are born hearted driven passionate bout their direction, the course of their future and when you are born the minority they don't expect you to win. They don't expect much of you. But let's be sure we understand that blk brown caramel hues to our Creator GOD Father Sacred was never a minority.

History of factor Africa tribes are full of color the effort of which stands tested in time of the great flood to the days known as The New Beginning in lakes and markets dwellings of common folk. With dreams just the same. Suffering attacks of those who opposed the words of Sacred manifesting in their lives. Experiencing attacks was it because he needed to be delivered of evil some vile actor who profanity spoke against the truth seeking his own greed vane Glory or was it because he suffered attacks of they who opposed the manifestation of what was spoken in the life of Jamie Foxx?

Does it appear that he is seeking after self to even ensure that a movie such as The Burial would have place think about that for a moment. The best thing it offers is ethnic diversity trivial moments of the lesser grade to separate colorism from factoids. Does Jamie Foxx seem to be the one who is, seeking his own glory serving a case that wins based on ethics as opposed to colorism. Most movies of this nature offer the actors recognition in award academies....

Time for our reality that we don't discuss to now table talk because we the purposed African are suffering humiliation sicknesses as we are for nought. In the fact world of manifestion theilre is no option but compliance. By way we regardless of color of pigment are winners standing in agreement not opposition mocking hindering spreading sicknesses. But gifting life healing ensuring blessings and persecution is not make the win.

All of which this movie represents so good call to both Jamie Foxx and fail to mention Tommie Lee Jones but this is bout the health of Jamie Foxx as well. I'mma need you to get to use to the fact that although you call it white power your agreement with Babylon the Great Adulterer is void of color and while your skin gets red at moments of emotional upheaval. It has nothing to do with why it's called white power. You void of truth in manifesting repentance void leaving it white.

If I could I would separate all African people from this country to include Canada remove all Caucasian Anglo Saxon now traditional African people from Africa to ensure that they had 300 + plus years to know the power of their compliance an additional 300 + plus years for the legacies that were robbed of them to experience the fullness of being free of the curse of beguile and add to that the progression of experiencing manifestation without anyone who opposed the, spoken word of GOD being brought into fruition acting out against African people.

Meanwhile you can hold to your tactics against each other happily speak against fulfillment offer your transfer of energy from one person to another never using truth that nothing lost nor destroyed is the opposite of what happens transferring energy from one person to another person. All you would like to. Privly on your own slab section.

We got work to do and dare not make you feel someone has the time voice to speak against you. Leave you to your devices as we love on each other. That's what The Burial represents families legacies protecting the wealth health of future generations. Good job

0 notes

redorich · 2 years

Note

I keep thinking about the Boatem crew falling through the void. I keep thinking about how the Boatem Hole was really just a lot of strategically applied tnt to bedrock. I keep thinking about how L'Manhole is just the Boatem Hole missing a step or two. I keep thinking about how nice it would be to have Mumbo punt Dream into the sun.

Techno sighs, halfheartedly rings his bell. The heat from the lava wafts ever near, and though it's a welcome Nether-y change from living in the tundra, his company is not nearly such a welcome change.

"Ring that bell one more time..." Dream threatens. His orange prison jumpsuit, ratty hair, and cracked mask make for a not-so-threatening picture.

Just to be a spiteful dick, which Techno feels is one of his best qualities, he hits the bell again and leaps into the most obnoxious prayer he can come up with. "O blood god, ruler and vanquisher, slaughterer and conqueror, grant unto me your divine power. Thy enemies shall fall upon my blade, and enemies mine shall be thine, and fall upon thy might."

"You sound like a sycophant," Dream says disgustedly.

Techno pretends he doesn't hear Dream, and becomes even more melodramatic in a sincere attempt to entice Dream into violence. "I entreat thee, o god of carnage and death, rain thy fury upon this my foe: Dream of origins unknown is a wicked fiend not only in flesh but in power, and I, your humble servant--"

"Shut the fuck up!"

Rolling his eyes, Techno bangs his bell again, then freezes when he hears something unusual.

A voice without form says, "Right, one moment mate, gotta take this--"

Techno blinks. "You... heard that, right?"

Dream scowls. "You're shitting me. Hear what?"

"Don't gaslight me, Dream," Techno says uneasily, "that's not very girlboss of you."

Before either prisoner can continue arguing, a fine red mist materializes in the air between them. Inky blackness like the eyes of dead men coalesces around it; in one moment there is mist and decay, the next there is a man with well-kept black hair and a crash test dummy suit, of all things.

The man looks around, goes to rub his eyes, bangs his hand against his fishbowl space helmet, then takes the helmet off.

"Oof," the man says, "'S a bit hot in here, innit?"

Casually, he shrugs off the crash test dummy suit, revealing the tailored dress suit underneath, and tugs at his collar and tie.

"Are you... the blood god?" Techno asks slowly.

"Oh, was it your prayer that brought me here?" the man says brightly. "Yes, my name is Mumbo Jumbo, my friends and I have been in the void for a bit to escape our exploding planet-- I'll just bring them here, if you don't mind."

Without waiting to see if anyone actually minds, Mumbo sticks his hand out into the air, and it simply disappears up to his shoulder. With substantial effort, he pulls a chain of people through, all holding onto each other's hands so as not to be left behind. Four more people in crash test dummy suits come clattering onto the floor of Dream's prison cell.

Mumbo dusts himself off as his friends lie in a groaning heap. "You said you needed someone smited?"

"Uh," Techno says intelligently.

"Is it this fella?" Mumbo points over his shoulder at Dream. "I already broke my kill streak with Grian, I'd really love to kill someone right about now."

"I knew your middle name was Kills-A-Lot for a reason," a man in the pile complains.

Mumbo waves his hand disinterestedly. "Hush Grian, there's murder to be had."

Techno weighs his options. "I mean, sure you can kill Dream, but I'd be able to do a lot more murdering on your behalf if you could get me out of this prison."

"How did you end up here in the first place, Technology Blade?" Mumbo says.

"I was just visiting--"

Klaxons resound throughout the prison. The intercom screeches as it blares to life, then Sam's voice pipes through it, tinny and staticky.

"Intruders, do not move. You will be dealt with momentarily."

The only woman of the group crawls her way out from the bottom of the person-pile. "We should probably get out of here, I'm guessing? I'll do it, since Grian's too jetlagged to be useful, nerd," she says, poking the man in question with her foot while he lies there like a dead fish.

The woman shuts her eyes, and a purple mask with a crescent moon on the forehead shimmers into existence on her face. Her eyes are completely covered, but the bottom of the mask rests on the bridge of her nose while the edges of her mask are far more elongated, curving downward to her collarbones like sharp teeth.

/gamemode creative PearlescentMoon

She floats into the air unnaturally, not standing on glass or gliding with elytra but truly flying. Without further ado, she simply punches a hole in the obsidian wall and frowns at the sight that greets her: even more lava.

/fill ~-8 ~-4 ~32 ~8 ~32 ~-8 air replace lava

The lava simply evaporates into nothing in a gigantic chunk, and as the woman walks forward cobblestone blocks spring into being beneath her feet as a bridge. She walks without looking back, punching holes in walls that stand in her path.

Dream looks at the Watcher. He looks at Techno, then at the blood god, then at the pile of random people in his cell. He looks back at the Watcher and the path of destruction she's left in his prison.

"Fuck this, I'm out," he says, and takes off in a sprint following the Watcher woman's path to freedom.

#this was honestly so fun to write #mcyt #hc x dsmp #boatem #boatem crew #mumbo jumbo #grian #pearlescentmoon #technoblade #dreamwastaken #me.cpp

703 notes · View notes

lorei-writes · 3 years

Text

The Domain

Kennyo x OC Fluff (dominant; angst along the way)

Written for: Dice be Nice Event Request: @nyktoon-in-otomeland Roll: Kennyo + Gods AU + Jealousy

Word estimate: 5.5k

Huh, I went from enjoying this idea, to hating it, to being neutral, to liking it... I HOPE it is not a dumpster fire.

The OC was put in place, as I did not think MC would be a good fit here with her personality.

Also, given the warnings and the rating I put above, I do think a word of explanation is due. This works deals a lot with a concept of death. However, the death does not end the plot. I marked the - in my opinion - most upsetting part by putting the first word of the paragraph where it starts in bold. The next time you see a paragraph starting in bold, it should be safe (or at least safer) to read. So: Word in bold.

[MAJOR ANGST]

Word in bold. [end of the major angst]

Content Warnings: major character death, themes of death, deadly illness, grieving

A book having closed shut in her lap, a heavy sigh spilled out of her lungs, her fingers stroking the cover gently, almost lovingly. Thou shalt not crave, for all will be rewarded accordingly, she thought to herself, a strand of black hair escaping from behind her ear. Elisa anchored her gaze in the floor, seemingly studying the grain over the dark wood. Yet what if one were jealous of god? Would that be a step too far? Her lips pressed into a thin line.

Thou shalt not fear, for the god is the embodiment of selflessness, all envy evaporating in his presence.

Thou shalt not hold grudges, for thy spirit embodies his will.

Thou shalt be merciful, for thy mind was blessed with his mercy.

Thou shalt not envy, for all will be enlightened.

Thou shalt…

There were several matters Elisa could not discuss openly. First was her mother, the woman having been taken away by poor health long before Elisa could even form any memories of her face, thus being left with nothing but portraits to fill the void; second was her affliction, each minor resemblance to her late mother’s despair sending her elderly father into the state of deep contemplation, the man’s heart appearing to weaken with every day tiredness overtook her; third, and most important, was her faith. Although similar to the belief held by most, it took little time for Elisa to realise they were in fact different, her eyes seeing more than those of her friends and scholars of the word alike. Was she possessed? Cursed, perhaps? She could not tell – yet she spoke of it to nobody, too anxious of what the answer could mean to her, to her father, and to their entire estate. To her best knowledge, she was born this way, her only offence being her bad luck. Nevertheless, Elisa always believed everything happened for a reason, and that each test was measured to fit the one put before it. As such, she strove to study the word and understand it, wholeheartedly trusting he would not betray her… Even if that is where her condition began, for she never saw any “he”, only a plethora of them – women, men, people who seemed neither, humans of all kinds, of all appearances, as if coming from any place a person could inhabit. At first she was confused, those ghost-like, or perhaps made of light itself, figures being seemingly unseen by all around her. She did not understand why nobody thanked them when their helping hands prevented somebody from falling, when they led lost children back to their homes, looked after stalls and protected the wares from common thieves, or simply listened to the pained wails of the mourners, uttering words of support. Weren’t it a basic courtesy to express gratitude for those? It was only once she saw a certain figure that is passed through her thoughts – perhaps, they all were their ‘god’. It scared her, however, and she scolded herself for ever daring to consider the possibility. Was she a heretic? No, no, she would never dare to speak of it, not even if she truly did silently start to equate one of those spirits with the benevolent face of their…

The door to the study opened, her father’s head peaking inside, his face lighting up in relief. “The doctor came, Lisa,” he informed. “I see. Could you please ask him to come see me here? I am afraid the stairs may be a bit much for today,” Elisa chuckled weakly in an attempt to disperse the sour mood. “Of course. Would you like me to keep you company during the examination? I still remember when you were little and…” he trailed off, confused by the genuine laughter shaking her shoulders. “What is it, my little duckling?” “My dear father-drake, your little duckling is proud to announce she grew into a hefty duck. Thank you, but I’m at least twenty five springs too old for even a mid-sized duck.”

Elisa set the book down, still giggling to herself.

***

Internal decay.

Elisa expected the diagnosis, perhaps even somewhat anticipated it – after all, the words only served to describe her state, the decline of which she was made very aware of in the past few years. What truly crushed her was her father’s face, the man reaching to rip the last few grey hairs out of his head, despair twisting his usually gentle features. He did not cry, however, not then, occasional sobs seeping through the cracks below the door to his bedroom only as she passed by it. Supporting herself with one hand against the wall, Elisa opted to rest for the day, first dropping by the study to pick up the books discarded there. Her knees felt heavy.

Her bed offered little comfort on that day, the volume in her hands being both too heavy and too thin, pages being turned one after another until none remained left, her mind having retained little of the story. Displeased, Elisa shook her head and blew off the candle, her eyes pricking in a rather odd way, her nose burning while no tears dared to spill. She tensed, something beginning to tremble deep within her, propelled by what appeared to be a mixture of anger, betrayal and fear itself. No words left her lips, however, no coherent sentences having been formed within her thoughts, a violent cough shaking her until no energy was left to spare. Defeated, Elisa lay on her stomach, one arm outstretched to her left, cold sheets gradually warming up. Annoyed, nervous, yet also empty, terrified in a strange sort of acceptance, she only hid her head below the pillow, as if hoping all unseen would disappear.

Death. Nothing more would await her at the end of this road, she knew, she knew from the very beginning. She thought she had come to terms with it, with her body gradually turning into a sort of prison, keeping her locked within the walls of their estate – and although the ceilings were tall, although the windows would never disregard any batch of fresh sunlight, although she could feel the rain on her skin if she stepped out onto the balcony, it was all nothing compared to the overwhelming vastness of the sky. Nothing compared to the days of her childhood she remembered quite well, nothing compared to the seemingly ever-lasting and ever-seeing trees, to the rivers and meadows, market places, colourful displays of fabric in the town. Some things even the most beautiful paintings could not replicate. Elisa clenched her jaw, her eyes beginning to burn as well. For all those years she convinced herself she would be completely indifferent to the message, that she would be able to cope well – and yet, in the very moment it happened, this primal desire within her shouted for at least few more breaths of life, of any life she could have. Should she beg? Thou shalt not crave, she bitterly reminded herself. A sour curse spilled over her tongue, politely asking her to release it, to let go of all her inhibitions – their gods would not save her either way…

Peace overtook her, an odd calm conquering the stormy sea inside of her, the clouds being chased away on behalf of the sun. Warmth spread through her body, prompting her muscles to relax and allow her to rest for the day, her lungs seemingly accepting air with more gratitude than usually. Somewhat surprised, Elisa turned her head to look to her side, a ghostly figure sitting at the edge of her bed and holding her hand. She raised her eyebrows, his thumb stroking her palm gently, each minor touch further easing her anxiety. Curious, she strained her eyes to see him better, his form growing mildly familiar: a rather wide frame, black hair and equally dark eyes, even when set aglow by the light form within; the most noticeable scar she had ever seen. His lips twitched, her guest beginning to whisper – and yet she heard no words, only the hum of the sea, the rustle of leaves cradled by the warm summer wind, the buzzing of bees, and few things she never heard before, the sound of the flower nectar, songs of drifting dandelion seeds, all composing the most soothing melody. With surprise, Elisa noted her eyelids began to grow heavy, webs of tangled thoughts separating into neat threads, unable to disturb her mind. With one last effort, she looked at the face of the man, her throat letting out the quietest sound it could produce. “Thank you,” Elisa whispered, her world gradually turning to naught. The last thing she saw were his eyes, as their gazes locked for a second, so fearful and… She could not describe the emotion well.

***

The days which followed welcomed Elisa with an influx of energy, her feet carrying her up and down the stairs the way they hadn’t in months. Thrilled, she chirped to the staff, thanking them for each minor favour and apologising for every inconvenience she had caused. The atmosphere seemed to loosen up, the rustle of her skirt appearing to bring faith back into the various rooms. Somewhat curious, she took walks through their residence, coursing from the library to the kitchen, occasionally dropping by various studies and staff rooms, curious to observe the gods at work. Yet any time she spotted this one particular man, be it helping others or travelling from one deed to another, as soon as he caught her staring – he turned his face away. Perhaps he was shy? That could be it, indeed, Elisa reckoned, thus attempting to keep her nosiness to herself.

In the following month Elisa grew to realise the man avoided her specifically, no matter how understanding she attempted to be. Perhaps she would have let it go, had his care not prevailed their confrontation either – and yet, of all things, it did, her eyes having caught him delivering the items she had lost to her study, moving the books of interest to her to the lower shelves, the ghost going even as far as to invite nightingales to nest over her balcony. Elisa pressed her lips into a thin line, a stream of thoughts rushing through her mind. Why avoid her specifically? Because she could see them? For all she gathered, the message seemed to have spread among the remaining gods visiting their household – and she never got anything but a smile! A sort of anger rising within her, she hurried down the corridor, propelled forward by a feeling she’d rather not name. Was it infantile of her to wish he’d tend to her more openly? To wish to see his face, to perhaps even wish to… Touch it? Her heart beat faster – and she scolded it, the silly thing! Oh no, she would not accept her state, for such things to happen to a woman her age, truly. She thought she was better than to get giddy, much less over true-ghost sightings, no matter how fine the ghost in question was. Her mind suggesting her few more things it wished would be done only to her, she opened the door to the library, putting perhaps a little too much force into the motion.

Elisa froze, the very person in question sitting at the windowsill and reading a book. She frowned, hiding between the rows of shelves, too aware any sign of her presence would shy him away – if only she had never thanked him, truly! Somewhat lost as to what to do then, both pressed by the need to find a volume to read before sleep and by the desire not to disturb the – seemingly one of few sparse moments of – leisure the man had. She bit onto her lip and turned around. Would it be silly of her to change her plans for the night and pick a different genre? Although...Who was she, a fledgeling? Ah, to hell with indecisiveness, I am overthinking the matter, I swear, Elisa thought to herself, turning yet once again and marching to the section of interest to her. She blinked in surprise – the god was not there anymore, few books having disappeared. On that night, she would find them waiting at her bedside table.

***

Just as her health flew towards the skies, it took a deep dive, leaving her bed-bound within days. Her face became even more so square, her cheeks thinning as she lost weight, the hair falling over her shoulders contrasting with her skin and giving her even more of a sickly appearance. Sitting up in her bed, Elisa coughed into her hand, her father sitting in the chair to her right, his brows furrowed in a deep frown. “Oh, duckling,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Duck, father-drake, duck. Or perhaps a hen?” she wondered, tapping her chin with her finger. “Why hen, of all birds?” “Because I sit so much I could very well hatch an egg,” Elisa laughed. “Thank you for the books, they were quite a lovely read,” she changed the subject. “I only wish I could help you more with managing the company and the estate. I may not be able to walk and see things are tended to for myself, but perhaps there are some papers I could get in order for you? Some bookkeeping needing to be done?” “Sweetheart, you should rest…” he opposed weakly. “I’ve been resting from work for past two months and see, it does not seem to change much. Please, father-drake, I have so much stories to read I may drown in them.” Her father nodded in a sad sort of acceptance.

The truth was, Elisa was hardly managing to read through the books delivered to her by her father, the ghostly caretaker leaving her few volumes to look through every few days – some seemingly tailored to what he observed to be her taste, some mildly foreign, as if inspecting whether their reading preferences would align. Much to her surprise, she found them generally rather interesting, perhaps a little melancholic at times, touching onto matters more so pressing for the common folk. At times she’d see some descriptions being underlined, as if to point out the god enjoyed them – and quite honestly, she felt compelled to mark her own, perhaps hoping he’d see them too. Eventually, Elisa composed two piles of books – one yet to be read, and one titled “For the god”, the little note with said words being left over it for a few days, until the first volume disappeared from it. Said collection was created strictly out of books brought to her by her father, the ones she considered rather entertaining. Working from the bed, she grew to always have a pencil at hand – and so, she marked the parts she deemed most entertaining, as to mimic the habit she considered so endearing.

The days passed, her thoughts becoming cloudier, less cohesive. Elisa glanced at the volume in her lap. She blinked slowly. ‘What is your name?’ the words rang in her head. ‘I go by E…” Elisa, she finished in her thoughts, far too removed from the novel to notice the letters would not in fact construct her name. Tired, and perhaps a little resigned, she underlined the sentence with a red pencil – save for the hero’s alias, instead opting to chose separate letters to make up her own. She set the book on the very top of the pile for the ghost, not even bothering to read it to the very end. Her eyelids being too heavy, she rested her head over on the pillow, soon drifting off into the dreams. Perhaps he’d understand. She left no other markings over the pages.

***

In the following days Elisa found herself unable to read, much less to work. Nevertheless, she reached for the volume, as if to convince herself she was still capable of spending her time comfortably. Mildly confused, she glanced at the first page, few letters being underlined in green. K E N N Y O, they read when put together – and although it might have been infantile, she felt her heart pang inside of her chest. Hurriedly, she rushed through the first chapter, marking what words she deemed suitable to convey her message.

“H E R E. Welcome, K E N N Y O. I’ve seen you before. I’m happy. Why those B O O K S? were mine interested I N G? E L I S A. the end.”

Her condition would not improve in the months to come.

***

“H E R E. You seam E D alone. read I N G made good friend. Were they kind. I loves E D your S. need anything. K E N N Y O” “HERE. were great. I missed A N N I E F O G I E L read. could you. I’m not A L O N E. thanks. ELISA”

***

“E E. The spring came rather early that year, all flora basking in warm sunlight eagerly. few trees having began to bloom and sprout fresh leaves,. snowdrops. Saffron. T O D A Y. O U T. ? . KEN” “ E E. N O. sickle Y. sleep. I’m fine N O W. E L I”

***

“E E. I dead accepts E D. fear no. E L I ” “E E. D E A T H no scar Y. promise. a no the R S T A T E. K E N ” “ E E. tell me larger. believed N O. S E E I. pleading. E L I”

Elisa shook her head, another cough escaping her lungs. Metallic taste of blood spread over her tongue again. She closed her eyes, the volume with the message still unsent hitting the floor.

***

“Elisa,” somebody called her, the voice being unfamiliar at best. “Elisa.” Her lungs seemed frozen. She could not move. “Elisa,” somebody tried again. “Wake up, Elisa.” She struggled – and suddenly, she felt air circulate through her. She pushed herself up, unrestrained, the man with a scar on his face gazing down at her. She blinked fast. “Kennyo..?” she asked, mildly confused as to how she could hear him. “Forgive me. I could not make it in time...” Kennyo trailed off, a volume she had put her message in resting in his hands. Elisa shot up, her legs feeling surprisingly steady. Still in a state of utter disbelief, she turned around – and covered her lips with her hand, Elisa she used to be lying in bed lifelessly, her mouth bruised, her chest still, her lungs having given up in their fight for breath.

The door opened, closing just as fast if not even faster, a panicked steps sounding off through the corridor. Elisa watched in horror, a rapid stream of humans rushing in and out of her room, until the one she feared seeing the most appeared. Her father pushed the door open, barely able to catch his breath, and yet he deprived himself of it once more, getting to the side of her bed. “Lisa!” he bellowed, his knees buckling below him. Feverishly, his hands found hers, clutching onto cold fingers with what might he had. “A… A doctor! Call for a doctor!” he demanded, too stunned to realise nothing could be done anymore. Elisa sunk to the floor. “Sir… Miss Elisa passed away,” one of the maids spoke softly. “Prayer is…” she stopped, the father pressing his forehead against the mattress, his shoulders shaking violently. The staff exchanged knowing looks, the door to the room opening quietly. They left.

Her throat felt tight, although she was not sure whether she could call it hers. “My little duckling,” her father cried. “My little Lisa. Lisa, please, wake up,” he pleaded, his calls being left unheard. “Please. Please, lord, give her back.” No reply, any and all words refusing to leave her lips. As if in a trance, Elisa crawled on all fours towards him, something hot streaming down her face, although not marking the floor. “Lord, have mercy. She was too young. First her mother and now… Mercy, lord, I –” he stopped abruptly, Elisa embracing him tightly from behind. “Papa…” she forced out of herself, her voice choked and weak, completely silent for the living. Her father raised his head. “Elisa?” he asked shakily, as if sensing her in some odd way. “Oh Lisa, if that is you… My poor little duck, I –” his voice broke, his face twisting, eyes closing as sobs demanded the presence of sour tears. He frowned, yet another expression abusing the face she had only ever known as gentle, turning it into a mask of sorrow and despair. “Curses, if only I gave you a stronger body. I wish you could have flown like starlings. I – I would – I would have – Everything, Lisa, my everything, if only I could…!” Cry overtook him again, the man cradling his head in his arms – and she stayed, invisible yet still there, completely petrified.

Elisa blinked her eyes free of tears, a warm hand having found itself on her shoulder. She looked to the side, Kennyo kneeling on the ground besides them, an apologetic expression on his face. She nodded silently, not quite sure as to what she had agreed to. “Sir, your daughter left you only temporarily,” he spoke softly. “Have mercy for yourself too. She loves you, and does not hold any grudges…” “How could I ever… My poor father-drake…” “So, please, stand. You will meet again,” Kennyo finished, the words working like a soothing spell. Although too weak to heal the broken heart of a father, they appeared calming enough to hold its pieces together, the sobs eventually quieting down. The man straightened his back and got up. “Oh, Lisa,” he sobbed again, walking up to the door as to leave the room, at least for the time being. Elisa followed him with her gaze, still in a state of utter shock. She turned her attention towards Kennyo, the god looking away. “I apologize. You were not supposed to see any of this. You should have passed onto the other side by now.” “Passed…?” Elisa echoed after him. “When a soul is released from the body, it cannot exist for long in the mortal realm. Most souls pass into the one where they can exist infinitely. The few who remain here were granted the ability to access both of the realms. The responsibility of gods is to take care of humans while they are still alive, and to ensure they can pass safely.”

Elisa stared at him, seemingly too lost to comprehend a single word. She rubbed onto her eyes feverishly, however, warding the sadness off to the best of her ability. “I don’t want to pass,” she spoke in a decisive voice. “Make me one of you.” Kennyo raised a surprised eyebrow, his gaze snapping to meet hers. “This… This is a commitment you cannot easily erase.” “There are matters I was unable to attend to before my death. I am willing to put a gamble on it and pay the price if necessary.”

***

The years passed, Elisa having been performing her duty as one of the gods tending to her household. The first few months were rather harsh on her, her father being a mere shadow of himself. Yet, as time passed, he appeared to regain some of his old vigour, as if sensing his daughter was looking after him the entire time. Perhaps he truly suspected it was her – perhaps he even knew it for a fact – some deity seemingly having taken liking to making sure his books were handled correctly, no errors or intentional misconducts being safe from their eyes. Elisa’s responsibilities stretched way passed that, however, the number of the living turning out to be greater than the gods who were to make sure they were cared for appropriately.

In an odd way, she felt more alive than when she was truly living, freed from the restraint of her body, no mortal shackles keeping her from forging new relationships with the spirits around her. As she learnt, the more experienced gods had their own domains of expertise, tending only to matters falling within their boundaries – as such, there were gods specialised in aiding the politicians, few scattering clues for historians, entertaining the elderly and caring for their health, almost all domains of life being divided into pieces small enough for a single person to accomplish mastery in. In regards to Elisa… Her place was among the lesser spirits, too little time having passed for the greater souls to grant her her own field. Perhaps she did not want one either just yet…

The thing about domains was that, although seemingly being a most simple concept, they still were a bit of a mystery to her, all spirits working within one appearing to have some sort of deeper, personal connection to it. Uli protecting the kitchen died in the fire at the bakery, Nina and Hiro, the patrons of lost children, had taken care of the little ones in their living days as well, shadows of doubt sweeping over their faces whenever the fact was mentioned, Sean the bookkeeper never let anybody access one particular book, always holding it in his hands. Was the experience the only factor in consideration? Elisa could not tell, another piece of information – or much rather, lack thereof – prompting her to believe something could have been at play. Namely, despite having his own assigned field, Kennyo never revealed it to her nor anybody else, the deeds it entailed being of much too great variety for anybody to form any relevant connections.

Elisa found herself troubled by another thing as well, the silly heart, although seemingly left behind, refusing to give her any peace of mind, her – metaphorical – pulse still quickening whenever a certain god asked her for help. Ridiculous, she’d scold herself, refusing to stop believing in the golden standards of no relationships between work partners, even if the contract was to be eternal. Strict as ever, she chose to ignore the attraction, periodically alternating between writing it off as a mere physical – well, as physical as it could be for a spirit – reaction, and rationalising it as a natural approach to any person as kind as Kennyo. Were his looks not pleasing?, she’d ask herself at times, already replying that indeed, he was quite fine, observing the word with the gentlest eyes she had ever witnessed. Was it not natural for a person to crave the company of those kind in their ways and caring of all?, she’d continue down her list, eventually convincing herself that, indeed, there was nothing meaningful or telling about well, everything regarding her state. Too preoccupied with her own mind, however, she chose to ignore the reality, another feeling she was not quite proud of having found a home for itself within her. He does not belong to anybody, Elisa would repeat in her thoughts, her jaw still tensing whenever she found herself wishing to be in somebody else’s place – at his side, instead of them. Were her competences not broad enough to be of any help? Perhaps he found out of her new affliction and chose not to encourage her? Those and alike clouded her mind, Elisa fighting against the increasingly annoying remarks of her psyche with all her might. At times she wished she was not aware of her own, in her eyes utterly disgraceful, state.

Perhaps she felt a bit more sour on that day, the anniversary of her death never being an easy date to bear, her father seemingly losing a part of his spark with each visit to her grave. Nevertheless, she felt obliged to accompany him there, talking to him as if he could truly hear her words – a reunion of sorts, she’d call it.

She arrived early, a curious sighting causing her to raise her eyebrows. There, among flowers surrounding her resting place, stood Kennyo, a watering can in his hand. Perhaps a little wilted, the petals screamed of a disease – and yet, ever as careful, he still cradled them, whispering healing spells to the best of his ability. “I think they will not make it,” Elisa noted absent-mindedly. “They may not, indeed,” Kennyo agreed, never once stopping in his ministrations. “Then why spend time on them? You’re always under overwhelming amount of assignments…” “This is my assignment,” he explained, getting up and cleaning his hands over his trousers. Elisa frowned, an odd thought appearing in her mind. She hesitated for a moment, the words leaving her lips before she fully realised: “Kennyo, if you don’t mind, as I do know you never speak of it… But by any chance, is your domain somehow connected to the passing?”

The atmosphere changed, a shadow of surprise sweeping across the uneven scar over his face. Seemingly taken aback, he opened his mouth, only to close it a moment later, wind scattering the petals from the blooming trees. His expression grew sadder, perhaps slightly resigned, although in a sympathetic way. “Yes, I presume you could say that. One fitting of a demon, isn’t it?”

***

If there was one thing Elisa regretted, it was not opposing Kennyo on that day, his remark leaving her speechless in the worst possible way – and just as that, he left too, disappearing completely for few months, none of the gods in the estate being able to tell her anything regarding the matter. ‘Kennyo prefers to keep to himself,’ they all repeated, the words soon becoming a chant, endlessly circulating inside of her head. Was it a test she failed? Highly improbable, she scolded herself, her brows knitting together. Perhaps he needed time? Moved to another place? A sigh spilling from her lips, Elisa looked down on her hands, instantly pushing any sorrows eating at the border of her thoughts just there – to the very corner of her mind.

A smell of incense caught her attention, the scent being rather unheard of in the residence – although allegedly, her mother loved it, the notion being sometimes mentioned by her father. Curious, and perhaps propelled by her intrinsic nosiness, Elisa lifted her head, sniffling deeply like the most expert hound, following the path she deemed could lead her to the source of the smell. Soon, she stood before a door, a familiar voice sounding from the inside of the room. Elisa froze, listening closely to each word. “… Lord, I beg your for mercy, do not smite this woman with her own domain,” Kennyo spoke. “It is my failure she did not pass as intended. I beg of you, allow me to shoulder the burdens she accepted due to my incompetence…” She did not understand. “… I am aware, my lord, indeed…” Elisa frowned. “… I, Kennyo, the god of death…”

That was enough – Elisa stepped through the door decisively, the last few brick falling in their rightful place. “Do not think you are allowed to make any agreements in my stead,” she spat out, her fists clenched. Kennyo looked up at her from his place over the floor. Smell of incense ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them behind. “I –” “You do not get to speak now, dear,” she scoffed, putting her hands on her hips. Her anger mellowed fast, however, a heavy sigh leaving her lips. “None of you do, honestly.” Taken aback, he looked at her, the woman kneeling on the ground in front of him, long skirt spreading over the floor. “It appears I do know my domain, Kennyo. I have for quite some time. I am the goddess of untold words and jealousy. Quite a long title, don’t you think?” she continued, the man staring at her with wide eyes. “I presume nosiness would have been a second choice, although I never hated nor despised the quality, however troublesome and inconvenient it may be… Or, perhaps, wilful ignorance? Truly, eh...” “You do not know what it entails,” Kennyo opposed, a sorrowful look in his eyes. Elisa cupped his face. “And you do not either. I… May have a theory to test. However, I am afraid it may require some time…” she trailed off, lowering her face.“This is utterly selfish of me. All of my choices were. But, if by any chance… If you were… I…” She let her hands fall, all courage seemingly having melted away. “Yes?” “Would you perhaps consider… Forming a sort of close acquaintanceship with a goddess of jealousy, of all people? And then… We could see – We – We could see where that would lead,” Elisa stuttered.

***

Decades passed, the estate they looked after having changed tremendously. As all people do, her father passed away, hot tears streaming down his face upon seeing her again, the stream only growing faster after learning she could not accompany him yet. The reunion turned into another goodbye, Elisa walking him to the very gate as to ensure his safe passing. Nevertheless, she promised to see him on the other side eventually, fully intending to keep her word – although then, perhaps, in a different state.

Kennyo holding her hand, they walked to the groove, the field of flowers having long consumed her grave. Elisa looked behind once – and never again, the man in front of her tugging at her lightly, prompting her to follow his steps. She let him, tall grass eventually taking over their path, a hum of river sounding off in the distance. A few more steps, the ground beginning to curve upwards. Seemingly content with the location, Kennyo seated himself comfortably, Elisa taking the place right by his side. A sigh leaving her lips, she shook her head. “What is it?” “Nothing… I… Something, perhaps,” she stuttered, playing with his fingers. “It may serve no purpose, but… By any chance… Do you think you could love me longer? Perhaps… Into the eternity?” His head turning to face her, she lowered her gaze, her entire ears growing bright red. Kennyo cupped her face with his free hand, guiding her to look at him again. “Only if – Only if you could bear loving a sinner,” he whispered in reply, leaning down. “I presume it could be arranged… But only if the sinner could bear to love himself,” Elisa continued with another condition, his forehead touching hers. “Then I shall strive to do my best.” His lips having brushed against the tip of her nose, the man straightened his back, turning his gaze away as to give her a moment to calm down, her face burning bright.

Elisa did not let herself be overwhelmed, however, shyly reaching to entwine their fingers. Her palm sitting in his lap, she spoke again: “Kennyo, I… I think… I think there may be some things I’ve learnt to accept by now. And although it is still hard to speak openly, I – I think I am learning to do so as well,” she confessed, the both of them having taken the first steps to breaking out of their godly duty.

Tag list: @datenoriko, @nad-zeta, @tsubaki3192, @missjudge-me, @ikemencrossedmyth, @nuttytani, @thesirenwashere, @milas-imaginarium, @kisara-16, @yukas-clover, @alerialumina , @cheese-ception , @iamryxx, @cottonfluffballofdoom, @ozziegrl71, @rikumorimachisgirl, @bestbryn, @kink-rabbithole @nyktoon-in-otomeland @silhouette-of-a-dream If you want to be tagged under my future works, let me know (any way works)! ^^ Also, if you have some preferences (for example: you’d rather not be tagged under some series, etc.), please, tell me. If you don’t want to be tagged anymore - please, do not feel bad about it, just say so :)

#kennyo #ikesen kennyo #ikemen sengoku kennyo #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikemen series #my ff #my writing

37 notes · View notes

ofdragonsdeep · 3 years

Text

15: Thunderous

The loudest sound to a mind used to song is silence.

(spoilers up to 5.4, and for coils raids)

The whirr of the airship’s fans powering down greeted Ar’telan’s return to Azys Lla. Beyond the dock, half-crazed robots running on broken programs tottered about the rock-and-metal structures of the Alpha Quadrant, heading to do the Twelve only knew what. Ardashir’s workstation was still set up near Helix, though Gerolt had long since departed the area, machines humming and shelves piled high with notes as he continued his research on the concept of anima. He waved at Ar’telan as he passed, Ar’telan nodding back a cheerful greeting as he carefully sidestepped a spinner-rook hurtling past at a dangerous angle.

He had been back to Azys Lla more times than he might have expected, the first time he had come here. The memories of the chase Thordan and his Knights had set them on were still fresh, despite the many moons that had passed since. The buildings and ships still hummed with empty purpose, the dock where the Gration had touched down was empty, but the spaces where the garleans had spilled out of it still bore their mark. So many had died here, and not only for the Allagan’s sake.

He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. The noise was a pathetic one, given his damaged throat and lack of voice, but it was enough to call his chocobo from the airship hangar and to his side. The aether currents were strong in Azys Lla, the artificial confluence at the Flagship forcing them to be so, and it was easy to navigate them between the floating islands, over the heads of the monstrosities and broken machines, sailing across the void to his destination.

The Delta Quadrant was an odd place. He had studied the maps of Azys Lla that G’raha had pulled from the terminals as part of his search of the archives, and the place seemed as though it was named in Dragonspeak, but something seemed off. In times past, he would have asked for Midgardsormr’s opinion, but the events with Omega left him able to do little more than pilot his tiny vessel on automatic, his great mind slumbering in the aether to recharge. Tiamat still waited in her self-imposed exile, her songless children - cloned, not born - wandering the isle in desperate sadness.

Ar’telan was here to pay a special visit.

When he and Alisaie had fought their way through the ruins of Dalamud, a mad dash to put a stop to Bahamut’s reconstitution, they had encountered any number of threats. More allagan robots, these ones still functional but with no order but ‘kill’. Biological monstrosities that were gibberingly insane. Tempered creatures - Nael’s face contorted into a wicked snarl, the hot flames of the phoenix. But more than anything, what had hurt were the dragons.

They had gone back for them, after Bahamut had been fully discorporated. One by one they had released the locks on the stasis chambers, and what had tumbled out was ooze and the stench of death. Most of the dragons were alive only by the strictest definition, and perished shortly after being freed. Some of them stabilised, then turned around in madness, Tempered and broken. Some of these they had subdued, horrified at what they had done, and returned them to the stasis chambers, disconnected now from Dalamud and its prayer-siphoning. All but one.

The wyvern that they had taken to calling Twintania was an unusual creature. Leashed by allagan technology, though it had been badly damaged in the fight, she was filled with a burning, single-minded hatred for those who had enslaved her - mortals which looked, to her, like the people who were trying to save her. Cid had jimmied together a repair mechanism after examining Tiamat’s chains, and they had made the heartbreaking decision to leash the wyvern in the Delta Quadrant, in one of the ruined buildings near the Pappus Tree.

Ar’telan walked, feet crunching through the overgrown grass, listening to the babble of water on its wending way through the quadrant. The roiling aether of the sky cast a sickly light over the area as he gave his chocobo strict instructions to wait outside, and ducked into their makeshift prison.

Twintania bellowed in anger as he approached where she was penned, though the bindings let her do little else. She watched him with the single-minded hatred of the Tempered in her eyes as he set down his supplies - a tiny magitek battery charged with aether, a key to unlock her chains - and summoned forth the anchor that Alisaie had conjured for him before he left.

He had never done this on his own before. He had watched it done more than once, by now, but he was still a little nervous. The dragons were different to the races native to Hydaelyn - who could say it would work? Would he do it right? Would it make any difference to Twintania, freed but knowing full well what he and his had done?

Still, he had come this far, so he was not going to turn back now. He channeled aether into the focus, a combination of his own and a little from Alisaie and Alphinaud, stored in the battery. G’raha had offered, but Ar’telan had been wary of taking the aether of someone connected to Allag, even by proxy, so this was all he had. The porxie snorted happily, flapping its ears to indicate that it was fully charged, and the two of them set to work.

The flash of aether was blinding to behold, the bright white of the life-energy he had poured into the casting meeting the angry blue-gold hiss of Bahamut’s Tempering. There was a crackle, a flash, and Ar’telan staggered with the wave of lethargy that washed over him as the spell finally hit home, draining him of his energy in one swift burst. He fell backwards to the floor, hands flying out to steady himself, and blinked back in the bright light show that played across his eyes, flickering afterimages of light.

There was a moment of silence.

“...The screaming doth stop, and I am alone in a Songless current. What brings thee to this place, child of man? What compels thee to save the lost?”

It had worked.

“Because you deserve the chance,” he replied, getting to his feet. He took the tomestone in his his hand and poked at it until it released the restraints - perhaps it was a feint, but he would weather the consequences of being too trusting if that were so. The wyvern watched as they fell to the floor at her feet, unholy amalgamation of magitek and allagan cruelty, and did not move to strike.

“My sire is dead, his Song forever silenced. My siblings lost in a quiet void. I am alone.” Her head swiveled to look at the sickened sky, filtering through the gaps in the ruined masonry. Beyond it, Tiamat sat in her silent vigil, and the wyvern would almost certainly know. “The world has turned as I stayed lost in my madness. Tell me why.” Ar’telan followed her gaze, wondering what he could even say, why he had thought this might even work - why she might have wanted it at all. Was it fair? Was it right?

The choice should have been hers, not one made through Tempered necessity.

“You are not alone,” he said. “Some of your brethren yet live, sealed within the stasis prisons the Allagans locked them in. We have the means to save them now, from the madness the Ascians gifted your brood with, if you wish it.” He shook his head slowly. “I know it is a cruel and empty world that your eyes are opened to, but if you would choose to look away from it, you can do so with eyes unclouded.”

The wyvern was quiet for a long time, settling down into the sitting position that Ar’telan had seen in Vedrfolnir a handful of times before. She was smaller than him, just, but still large enough that Ar’telan thought she had been close in clutch to her Brood’s sire. She was larger than any of the other dragons they had found within Dalamud’s core, for certain.

“Once before did we make a decision drowned in sadness and despair. We shall not do so a second time,” she decided. “Though it hurts, the discordant notes of our primal Sire were no true Song. This I see now. No magic shall ever return him to us, nor those lost to the madness that followed.” She stretched out wings that had gone long unused, muscles tensing and releasing as she tested their mettle. “No longer shall we blindly trust the children of man, but nor shall I turn away from thy kindness. If but a handful of our kin live, we shall persist. In honour of our Sire, we shall carry his Song through the ages. Can thee and thine do this for us, mortal child?” Ar’telan nodded.

“It will take us time - the energy needed to charge the magic that cleanses the effect comes from our own life’s aether, and we are few who can do it. But we shall, if that is what you wish of us.” He took a cautious step towards her, and was not immediately repelled. “Allag’s sins are not ours, but the Empire is broken and lost. If we can make amends for the sins of the dead, in whatever small way we can, then we shall.” Twintania rumbled in agreement, acquiescing to his request by stepping forwards and touching her chin to the top of his head.

“Take me to thy compatriots, and to my brood-mates. I shall see what is left in the silence.”

---

Returning to the airship with a wyvern in tow raised a not-inconsiderable alarm among the Ishgardians who piloted it, but a space on the deck was cleared for her after a small amount of hemming and hawing by the pilots. She flapped her wings irritably as they flew, clearly wishing that she could fly herself rather than rely upon the contraptions of man, but she raised no verbal complaint.

Ar’telan, for his part, activated his Linkpearl and communicated through series of half-formed noises to Alisaie that he needed her help. She was already in Ishgard, waiting in case things went badly, so it was simple enough to arrange to meet her at the airship landing.

---

“It worked!” Alisaie exclaimed as Ar’telan and Twintania dismounted from the airship. “Oh, I’m so glad. Not that I doubted you for a minute, of course.”

“I am told that my kin are under thy protection,” Twintania said, having no time for pleasantries. Alisaie grimaced, but nodded in agreement.

“I suppose you could call it that. It’s not pleasant, though,” she confirmed. “We can take you there, if you’d like, but it will be a long time before we manage to cure them all.” She paused then, sighing softly, and shook her head. “We stopped releasing the locks on the stasis chambers once it became clear we couldn’t do anything for those who were still… alive. I can’t guarantee that even half of them will be saveable.” Twintania inclined her head in acknowledgement.

“I understand. The extent of the corruption hath been revealed to me by thy companion,” she assured Alisaie. “I would stand guard over their resting place. I have lived many of thy lifetimes, and will live many more yet. When the last of my brood-mates is free, whatever form that doth take, then we shall decide what we must do as one.” Alisaie looked to Ar’telan, and he inclined his head in agreement.

“...Well, alright,” she said. “I’ll need to make sure everyone we need is there, and see if we can’t find someone to assign in a more permanent capacity to trying to cure the Tempering. It’s still an inexact science, even in mortals like us. Never mind dragons.” She turned away, one hand on her ear to active her Linkpearl, and began contacting people in earnest. Twintania looked at her surroundings properly, taking in the cold stone of Ishgard and the people walking nervously past the gathering at the airship landing.

“Ishgard has a troubled history with dragons,” Ar’telan said, regret colouring his every movement. Twintania simply inclined her head.

“Thy kind and mine are too different to avoid such troubles, it seems.”

---

Ar’telan went with Twintania on their trek across Eorzea. The majority of the stasis pods that they had found initially had been in the shard of Dalamud embedded in the Broken Wall, in Thanalan, and they had repurposed the area for their desperate attempts to sustain the dying. From Ishgard, the walk took them across the Black Shroud, a journey of several days on its own. Ar’telan deflected the more human of their problems - concerned Wood Wailers, poachers who were not aware of how much they had attempted to bite, and a few Ixal angry at the encroachment on ‘their’ territory. Twintania spent her time idly snapping at the forest creatures which tried to impede their crossing, the elementals thankfully allowing them passage. She had spent many moons in her bindings, and though her reflexes were dulled, she was more than capable of snapping up an errant squirrel or a diremite or two.

The Shroud broke on a part of Thanalan close to their destination, for a mercy. The few scattered Amalj’aa that still made a scouting camp in the area were easily chased off by the sight of a dragon in the flesh, and the phurbles and snurbles - Ar’telan still could not tell the difference - were easy prey for Twintania’s jaws. Ar’telan was glad that the allagan monstrosities that had once joined them on the path had died down to near-invisibility since the primal had been quelled, for the reminder would likely not be a pleasant one.

“These places are cold and cruel,” Twintania said as they approached the door, flapping her wings in disdain for it. Ar’telan nodded in agreement, breaking the seal on the the entryway.

“They are. It was the only place we could safely keep them where they would not be prey for bandits, but I wish there were other options,” he said.

---

They walked down the smooth walkways, allagan lights glowing at their passage. Deep within the engine of the Ragnarok, the engine that had borne Dalamud to space and then served to keep it there, the cluster of the remaining stasis pods sat. Alisaie was already there, assembled with her crew of ‘people who could teleport’, a space remaining for, presumably, Ironworks engineers who had been too busy to arrive immediately.

“Glad you’ve arrived in one piece,” she said by way of greeting. “We’re going over the diagnostics at the moment. The short version is that there’s thirty-some pods which are likely to hold dragons we can save, and too many others which likely… don’t. I’ve taught the cure for Tempering to these two here.” She gestured behind her to a hyur and an elezen that Ar’telan didn’t recognise, who waved sheepishly at the greeting. “We can get one or two out each moon, maybe. But you probably don’t want to push it.” Twintania rumbled in acknowledgement.

“Greetings, children of man,” she said, inclining her head. “Time is of no issue. My vigil shall last as long as it must, and I have much to learn of this world still as I wait.” Alisaie cleared her throat, clearly still a little nervous.

“Right. And we’ve got some people from the Ironworks coming in - they’re the people who can get your brood-mates out of the pods to begin with. They might change a little bit for the first few weeks, but eventually we’d like to have a small, permanent team here until everyone’s out. Is that alright?” Twintania nodded her head again.

“It shall serve. You have my thanks, child. It is good to see that menfolk of the sort that my Sire once aided still walk the earth, despite what the Allagans desired.”

“We will do everything in our power to ensure that none like them ever rise again,” Ar’telan said. “There is never any way to guarantee such things, but we will try.” Twintania made a noise that sounded almost like a laugh.

“Our memory is eternal, child of Light. We shall not forget the betrayal, nor the love. And we shall never let rest the memory of the Ascians and their lies. We shall not be fooled a second time.” Ar’telan smiled.

“I hope so,” he said. “I will come and make sure all is well whenever I can. Good luck.” The ancient wyvern inclined her head, respect in her calm eyes.

“To you as well, child of Light.”

#revs up the crackfic because why the hell not #ffxivwrite2021 #This was actually really fun!#I might put this in Art's canon just because I mean #it's so nice #and I feel bad for riding my Twintania mount around given recent developments #ff14 #Warrior of Light (solo story)

1 note · View note

horselessjockey · 4 years

Text

The Manufacturer of Dreams

Whereof void cometh light Therein the realm of whispers stretching vast By what great somnolence fore-takes the night Unto the mind’s recoupled, last

By speckled sand in burgeoned storm Whose weaving deems thy make In nebulous, unstructured form Til brinks, again, daybreak

Whence shrouded depths bestow thy name O Maker of the Lands Estranged O Dark Unbridled Taskmaster What mirth beguiles thy claim?

For in the harbored bow of day To eat of such abound Remade in Night's shadow'd parlay As we, remade from ground What, by thy gazing over land Should bring immortal what is man? Where through the reaching unto nought Shall future's stake, our hearts allot?

Where dreams be dreamt in wake and rest Your hand to ours, there, to caress To guide our minds and move our breaths To breathe for life's unending test

As is the mount to he who hikes A place to chase the peak Should we, who in nature alike See ours and wish our keep

#poetry #poem #poets on tumblr #poetsontumblr #writersontumblr #writers on tumblr #creativewriting #creative #writing #My writing #mywriting

48 notes · View notes

minaa-munch · 4 years

Note

Did Minato suffer abuse during the war to make him turn out that way? Did Kushina?

Abuse hm? Ano, I’m no expert, and I can’t exactly speak for Kushina because I haven’t explored her character [feel free to ask @himekushinada and @fox-mother for this one] but I have a few theories where Minato is concerned. Brace thy browser, anon.

Disclaimer: know that I am no authority on abuse - I know what I know with regards to the very little that I’ve read and the...people I’ve bugged [I owe a certain copy nin and a drunk blonde thingus enough cookies to fill our basket of ideas]. Moreover, this pertains to my interpretation of Flake Sensei. To each their own, ne?

Before I begin rambling, I’d like you to keep a few things in mind: Minato, along with the rest of his generation grew up in hostile times. They didn’t have the luxury of being soft and squishy for long, and their actions in the manga reflect the nuance. As such, what could be considered as ‘emotional abuse’ didn’t necessarily translate as abuse, and therefore, was hardly a priority.

That being said, it depends on how you identify ‘abuse’ because back then, in the midst of wars and dwindling resources, a lot of things were swept under the rug as expectations. As the militia of Hi no Kuni, shinobi were expected to prioritise missions over sentiments, their client’s safety over their own and -- basically, murder because they were getting paid for it.

With regards to Minato; I headcanon him being an orphan who had none sans a grandmother to rely on. He loses said grandmother when he graduates the academy, and the void left by her is eventually filled by Jiraiya sensei. Brief history lesson aside, his grounding isn’t as...stable as most other’s [and they aren’t stable themselves to begin with] - the problems associated with that manifest in his need to be perfect. Demo, since he was an asset to the village that way, ‘twas hardly a matter worth pondering on, ne? That’s a sort of neglect everyone faced. Not just him.

ANYWAYS on to abuse. From what I’ve gleaned from the manga so far, there exists a few...possibilities of the sort of abuse he could have suffered during the wars. I’m going to tackle physical and emotional in a certain context because my limited reading covers those. If you’d like to talk about something specific, let me know. I love such discussions.

Emotional: Already covered a bit of this earlier on, but I’ll elaborate a little. Konoha lost precious manpower in the form of generations prior to Minato due to the wars. As such, the pressure on his bunch to be able to fill certain...voids, be it in the form of military, or as part of the driving force of their economy. Hidden villages procured funds through missions/Daimyō’s assistance, ne? They probably had a lot of expectations riding on their shoulders, which means little room for friendly socialising important for cognitive growth and more ‘must be an asset rather than a liability’.

For Minato in particular, he was quite keen on maintaining a certain... appearance because of his reputation as a genius born once every decade. He could not allow that to dull for any reason, and went to certain lengths in order to achieve it. You can tell because of how quickly he became Hokage; charm, skill and all. As his generation’s new ‘legendary’, he was supposed to appear invincible and he kinda did, didn’t he? This is further enunciated by the fact that when he became Yondaime, the ‘legendaries’ of the previous generation, i.e., Densetsu Sanin had flown the coop - and don’t forget the Daimyō approved of Jiraiya [a major reason why he approved of Minato’s ascension as Yondaime, by the by - and this is besides the overwhelming Jōnin vote]. The system needed their sparkly new hope and he was it; the youngest Hokage in history with a Jinchuriki wife [-shoves conspiracy no jutsu in a closet-]

Oh, and PTSD? Given the wars, every shinobi suffered from it in one way or form [it’s a given - enough to be considered a ‘norm’]. Minato does too, but his sparkles are very distracting. Gives the allusion that he actually cares, ne? Given the background I consider for him, there are very little things he truly cares about. He will use an individual if he has to. [Kakashi was his Jinchuriki wife’s bodyguard - the same Kakashi who only had Minato left in the world, and a sharingan that could potentially control a biju if the need so arose. Creative speculation, ne? I need to explore this conspiracy some time]

Random note: There’s this nice little resource shared by the amazing ultimumspes on writing PTSD. Your question reminded me of it, and the writer and I thought I’d place it here in case anyone would like to consider it. _

Physical: As a reputed genius, Minato had a certain image that was often blown out of proportion by rumours and the fact that he was an apprentice to Jiraiya of the Sanin. Couple that with breaking Hiruzen’s record at the ninja academy, and you have a scary ninja child you don’t want to mess with. However, considering the incessant need for maintaining honour/dominance and the thread of - excuse my French - consistent male ego in the manga, it’s very possible that a fellow cadet could have challenged him at an outpost in order to test their own mettle, or establish a certain hierarchy over a scrawny little midget who suddenly thought of himself as good enough to participate in the war [whereas there are people who have been posted at the same outpost since forever].

Traditional Shinobi Sparring [Dentōteki no Shinobi Kumite] was a thing, ne? War brings out the worst in people, and with dwindling resources and massacred forces [the Densetsu Sanin’s generation and the ones before that], it’s unrealistic to imagine that everyone would still be all...fuzzy wuzzy with each other. Likewise, it is in the realm of possibility to suggest that Minato probably lost a match or two [not more, mind. Ego gotta come from somewhere]. Said losses, coupled with subsequent experiences in the Second Shinobi War, were probably enough to not only fuel his paranoia, but also to justify the lengths he has gone to with regards to evolving his fighting style so that he would be unbeatable.

Attack regardless of the opponent being ready? Yep. Kill for sheer numbers? Absolutely. Steal intel/ninjutsu/informative scrolls from other territories if he found them interesting enough? You bet. Theirs wasn’t a profession or a system that fostered honourable means, despite Sakumo’s example persisting otherwise [Honour is more of a samurai thing, methinks]. A shinobi must look underneath the underneath and Minato dug deep. You can imagine a lot of characters from his generation went down similar routes - theirs is an interesting little rabbit hole one could explore for ages. Minato simply happened to be a lot sneakier.

At the end of the day, you could say ‘abuse’ played a part...demo, but as much for him as it did for others. All of them suffered but said nuances didn’t register as ‘abuse’ because for them, it was probably the norm. Thinking along those lines, I can’t help but imagine that kunoichi - especially the foreign sort such as Kushina, or the common, non-special-clan-affiliated sort such as Anko [maybe?] - probably had it a lot worse.

I digress. Hope this answered your question. Ano, unless by ‘that way’ you were referring to the heartless thingus I tend to write at times - that’s been explored here.

#Flake Sensei [Minato]#Namikaze Minato #Konoha #the System #shinobi aesthetic #triggers: emotional abuse #triggers: physical abuse #thanks for sending this in anon #funnily enough I was reading Miller when I got it #sidenote: I'm sorry if the read more option doesn't work #Its not me ;;#I can't with this website/app anymore

7 notes · View notes

officialyourdailyinspiration · 4 years

Text

Watching With Christ

by Joseph A. Alexander

"Then He came the third time and said to them, 'Are you still sleeping and resting? It is enough! The hour has come; behold, the Son of Man is being betrayed into the hands of sinners.' " - Mark 14:41

I am afraid that there are men--and Christian men!--who can allow themselves the pitiable luxury of weeping over fiction but who have no tears to shed with Jesus in Gethsemane. They regard it as a waste of time to dwell upon the circumstantial statements of the gospel, which cannot be reduced to abstract, systematic form. Or, at best, they are contented with a cold, dry knowledge of the facts related. They do not regard it as a matter of feeling; they would be ashamed to do so. I speak the experience of some who hear me. But ought this so to be? We must go back to the simple faith and feelings of our childhood. We must, at least in this respect, become little children. Those same imaginations, which have so often been the ministers of sin, must be used for better purposes. By their aid we must stand on Olivet and Gethsemane, mix with the rabble which surrounds the master, hear the deep imprecation of the Roman soldier and the louder curses of the Jewish mob, follow them to the house of the High Priest and the Pretorium, look at the false Procurator as he dooms the innocent and vainly tries to wash the blood away with water. But I need not go further. Fix your thoughts, I pray you, on these scenes as real scenes, and try to see and hear as if the sights and sounds were present to your senses. Having so done, let us gather from this night scene in Gethsemane the lessons which it teaches for our own instruction.

The first is, that the Son of Man may even now be betrayed into the hands of sinners. Men are apt to imagine that had they lived in the time of Christ, they would not thus and thus have treated him. This is, for the most part, mere illusion. They who hate Christ now would have hated him then. They who despise him unseen would have spurned him to his face. They who now maltreat his members would have persecuted him. This is a test proposed by Christ himself. That which is done to the humblest of his followers, as such, is done to him. The interests of Christ's church are the interests of Christ. The enemies of Christ's church are the enemies of Christ. Even in our own day Christ may be betrayed. He may be betrayed by his own disciples. He may be betrayed with a kiss. For such treason the ungodly world is waiting. There are always sinners to receive him at the traitor's hands and pay the traitor's wages.

He can no longer be betrayed by the delivery of his person into hostile hands. But the disposition to surrender him to enemies may still exist--a disposition to procure the favor of the world at his expense. In short, the same state of feeling may now operate in various directions and in various forms which, if the Saviour were now present upon earth, would cause him to be first forsaken, then betrayed.

In this sense, for example, it may well be said that the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners when the truth respecting him is given up to errorists, or cavillers [quibblers], or infidels; when his divinity is called in question; when his eternal Sonship is degraded or denied; when the sinless perfection of his human nature is tainted by the breath of dubious speculation; when his atonement is disfigured and perverted; when the value of his cross and bloody passion is depreciated; when his place in the system of free grace is taken from him and bestowed on something else; when the purchase of his agonies is made to be the purchase of our own good works; when faith in him as a means of salvation is exchanged for mere submission to the government of God; when his present existence, as a man, is forgotten; when his personal presence, as a God, is overlooked; when his exaltation and his future coming are lost sight of by his people. By conceding so much to the unbeliever we betray the Saviour to him, to be buffeted and spit upon.

To mention only one other example: Christ is betrayed into the hands of sinners when his gospel is perverted, his example dishonored, and himself represented as the minister of sin. The honor of the Saviour is in some sense committed to the care of his disciples. And this sacred trust is shamefully betrayed when they give the world occasion, in despising them, to treat their master with contempt. O Christian! Have you ever thought that every inconsistent and unworthy act of yours is one step towards betraying Him whom you profess to love? And if, while you thus habitually act, you hold fast your profession, it is only adding the betrayer's kiss to the betrayer's perfidy. My first remark, then, is that even now the Son of Man may be betrayed into the hands of sinners.

Another thought which I suggest is, that when the cause of Christ is about to be betrayed into the hands of sinners, his disciples are to watch--to watch unto prayer--lest they enter into temptation. This is incumbent upon all disciples, but especially on some. And among those there is many a bold, self-trusting Peter, and many a Boanerges. Those who are office-bearers in the Church are the honored but responsible companions of their Master in the day of trial. He asks not for the exertion of their strength in his behalf. He asks not for their sympathy. He asks not for their prayers. But he does demand their vigilance. When he looks upon the purchase of his blood spoiled and ravaged by the enemy, his little flock pursued and torn by wolves, his vineyard spoiled and trodden by wild beasts, the great Intercessor pours out his own cries and tears before the Father. And although he says no more "My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death," he does say to you and me, "Tarry ye here and watch with me."

Another thought, and that a melancholy one, is that when Christ's disciples are thus left to watch while he is interceding with the Father, they too often fall asleep. Some, in the touching language of the gospel, may be "sleeping for sorrow." But oh, how many others sleep for sloth and sheer indifference! And if any sleep for sorrow, they do wrong. For when our Saviour found his chosen friends asleep upon their post, he aroused them and reproached them with that mild expostulation, "Could ye not watch with me one hour?" He said, indeed, as if to extenuate their guilt, that the spirit was willing though the flesh was weak. But even admitting what is commonly supposed--that flesh and spirit here mean soul and body--it does not follow that their slumber was excusable. Christ would not repeatedly have roused them from an innocent and necessary slumber. Much less was it excusable if, as some excellent interpreters have thought, spirit here means the better principle, the new heart, and flesh the remnant of indwelling sin. If this be so, it was hardness of heart and spiritual sloth that made them sleep for sorrow.

Oh, my brethren! If your hearts are full of sorrow because men make void God's law, it is no time for you to sleep! The Church, Christ's weeping bride, and the dying souls of men are at your pillow, shrieking in your ears, like the shipmaster in the ears of Jonah, "What meanest thou, O sleeper? Arise, call upon thy God, if so be that God will think upon us, that we perish not." But alas! This warning voice is often heard in vain. Amidst a world lying in wickedness, amidst the untold miseries produced by sin, amidst the dying agonies of unsaved souls as they go down to their perdition, amidst the fierce attacks of open enemies upon the Son of Man and the devices of false followers to betray him to those enemies, his friends--his chosen friends--sleep on.

#Watching With Christ #Mark 14:41 #Joseph A. Alexander #devotional reading

3 notes · View notes

iicewitch · 4 years

Text

☀️ cult of dionysus

a playlist for my friend caz link to playlist: here tracklist and favorite lyrics below

1. only as good as my god - everything everything And on the steps of my church There, I'm chasing down a red girl with my hooves upon a- Ooh - Wild Ooh - Child If they crawl out of the mud Wash them away in a flood I'm only as good as my god Burnt hair and more money 2. disciples - captain murphy Don't you want devoted followers? Who leave their families for you Give their money to you Give their bodies to you Give up their lives for you Consider you God, and will kill for you Don't you want to become a cult leader? Since the death of God there has been a vacancy open You can fill that void, here is how 3. dionysus - bts Just get drunk like Dionysus Drink in one hand, Thyrsus on the other Art splashing inside this clear crystal cup Art is alcohol too, if you can drink it, you'll get drunk fool I'm now in front of the door to the world The cheers I hear when I get up on stage Can’t you see my stacked broken thyrsus At last I’m reborn 4. good hand - turbowolf And I say No pain, no gain That's the mantra I'm repeating No sun, no rain That's the mantra I'm repeating No pain, no gain, no sun, no No pain, no gain, no sun, no rain 5. addicted to love - robert palmer Your lights are on, but you're not home Your will is not your own You're heart sweats and teeth grind Another kiss and you'll be mine 6. cult of dionysus - the orion experience Or start a secret society for the wild and free Our ideology is "You can do what you want Too much is never enough" We are the Life, we are the light We are the envy of the Gods above 7. hitting on all sevens - lyndon smith Make of me a subject caste Pressed and kept beneath thy glass Every heart thy sent in heaven Always hitting on all sevens One by one as ordered Flank to flank and facing forward Hanging by the word In chapter, verse and sentence heard 8. touch tone telephone - lemon demon Don't hang up yet, I'm not done I'm an expert, I'm the one The one who was right all along Better to be laughed at than wrong I'm an expert in my field UFOlogy, yes, it's all real Ancient aliens, it's all true I'm an expert just like you 9. sundial - lemon demon Don't mind me, I've just got some problems to work out I'm only passing through or maybe just right out Somehow something set my sundial backwards tilted and upside-down Now the shadow hand is pointing time right out of town I don't remember what it is that I just said to you I've got Anubis on my back and something in my shoe 10. mother’s talk - tears for fears It's not that you're not good enough It's just that we can make you better Given that you pay the price We can keep you young and tender Following in the footsteps of a funeral pyre You were paid not to listen now your house is on fire 11. light up the night - the protomen There is a city that this darkness can't hide. There are the embers of a fire that's gone out, But I can still feel the heat on my skin. This mess we're in, well you and I, Maybe you and I, We can light up the night. 12. pure morning - placebo A friend in need's a friend indeed, A friend who'll tease is better, Our thoughts compressed, Which makes us blessed, And makes for stormy weather, 13. aspiring fires - mother mother Baby, so you think you know crazy I think you know what you know, But what you know you don't know for sure A little advice for aspiring fires You'll get put out if you don't get a little wild Try again, try again, it ain't right You don't got the due diligence to lose your mind You're not getting it right 14. oh ana - mother mother I'll play god I'll play god I'll play god I'll play god today Ante up and play that god a poker game Walk away with all our little God's spare change Playing this god it can't be good for— Ana's safety, Ana hear me ! 15. this devil’s workday - modest mouse So I ate the wedding cake 'til the whole damn thing was gone. And I'm gonna drown the ocean. Now ain't none o' that so wrong? I could buy myself a reason. I could sell myself a job. I could hang myself on treason. Oh I am my own damn god. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha 16. kiss me son of god - they might be giants I look like Jesus, so they say But Mr. Jesus is very far away Now you're the only one here who can tell me if it's true That you love me and I love me And a world screams, "Kiss me, Son of God" Yes a world screams, "Kiss me, Son of God" 17. personal jesus - depeche mode Take second best Put me to the test Things on your chest You need to confess I will deliver You know I'm a forgiver 18. charlie’s inferno - that handsome devil Catch you later, I'm off to see the man upstairs They all look like ants from here Stars and crystal chandeliers Excuse me, sir! There must be someone you've confused me for If I could see someone who knew me or someone in uniform I go to church on sunday, truly, usually more! Screaming at the angels while they pushed him through the door! 19. old 45s - chromeo Don't wanna settle Or didn't you get the memo You only get a date if you're walking in stilettos This is enough to drive you mad If you think romance is dead and gone Find an old jukebox full of 45's Pop a nickel in it and it all comes back 20. down at the midnight rectory - ted neeley Down, down, down at the midnight rectory! With jiggle juice frisking under the marquee! The peacocks are strutting behind velvet ropes, Sipping away on their heavenly dope. Gimme two alleluia's and an amen! 21. elevate - dj khalil Can't stop me, can't break me (can't break) What don't kill me, gon' make me (gon' make) Shoot for the stars, no safety (no safety) And now I see clear in HD 'Cause I win, over and over again Battlin' evil, I'm hopin' to win Fightin' my demons, I'm nice for a reason Enticed with the bleedin', I'm showin' my sins 22. come along - cosmo sheldrake We'll dance and sing 'til sundown And feast with abandon We'll sleep when the morning comes And we'll rise by the sound of the birdsongs We'll be here when the world slows down And the sunbeams fade away Keeping time by a pendulum As the fabric starts to fray 23. just one yesterday - fall out boy I thought of angels Choking on their halos Get them drunk on rose water See how dirty I can get them Pulling out their fragile teeth And clip their tiny wings If heaven's grief brings hell's rain Then I'd trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday 24. church - fall out boy And if death is the last appointment Then we're all just sitting in the waiting room I am just a human trying to avoid my certain doom If you were church, yeah I'd get on my knees Confess my love, I'd know where to be My sanctuary, you're holy to me 25. beast dance - kurage p Cast aside your humanity, before you have to grovel on the ground, being at the bottom of society. You want to be loved? In that case, come on. ”Roar roar roar roar roar roar” Inside the cage, ‘kay? 26. black and white - MASA Pour the gospel echoing through the world into your glass. Black&White! Practice your faith through shots and prayers. Open the bottle. Black&White! 27. sister’s mercy - hitoshizuku-p Jesus!! Pray and pray Believer, if you demand for salvation Oh Yeah!! Then pay up more and more for this Bright Red, now! Cheers!! Pour and pour When you’ve filled your stomach with this bright Red, Aa! All your wishes will come true 28. inferno pt. 2 - the buttress The depth of my breadth is unmet I'm becoming unraveled on the road less traveled I know Jesus wept But I abhor the Lord Fell on my sword Forever slept 29. let’s just live - casey lee williams Let's just live Just one day Let's forget about our problems Let's fall in love with life And just be free The sun will never fade The night won't steal our day Let's dance and laugh and love And let's just live 30. ignite - casey lee williams Fool, you shouldn't stare into these eyes of fire You're goin' to regret this little fight You don't wanna mess with me, I'm something higher You'll watch yourself suffer You'll watch me ignite 31. god’s gonna cut you down - johnny cash Well you may throw your rock and hide your hand Workin' in the dark against your fellow man But as sure as God made black and white What's down in the dark will be brought to the light 32. royals - lorde Let me be your ruler (Ruler) You can call me queen bee And baby, I'll rule (I'll rule, I'll rule, I'll rule) Let me live that fantasy 33. you should see me in a crown - billie eilish Count my cards, watch them fall Blood on a marble wall I'm gonna run this nothing town Watch me make 'em bow One by one by, one One by one by You should see me in a crown 34. rev 22:20 - puscifer Pray til I go blind (Pray) Pray cause no one ever survives Prayin' to stay in her arms just to die longer Satyrs and saints, devils and heathens and lies 35. this must be the place - talking heads Home, is where I want to be But I guess I'm already there I come home, she lifted up her wings I guess that this must be the place I'm just an animal looking for a home and Share the same space for a minute or two And you love me till my heart stops Love me till I'm dead 36. razzle dazzle - richard gere Give 'em the old razzle dazzle Razzle Dazzle 'em Give 'em an act with lots of flash in it And the reaction will be passionate Give 'em the old hocus pocus Bead and feather 'em How can they see with sequins in their eyes? 37. you’ll be back - jonathan groff You say our love is draining and you can't go on You'll be the one complaining when I am gone And no, don't change the subject 'Cause you're my favorite subject My sweet, submissive subject My loyal, royal subject Forever and ever and ever and ever and ever 38. no light, no light - florence and the machine No light, no light in your bright blue eyes I never knew daylight could be so violent A revelation in the light of day You can't choose what stays and what fades away 'Cause it's so easy, To say it to a crowd But it's so hard, my love, To say it to you out loud 39. shiny happy people - r.e.m Meet me in the crowd, people, people Throw your love around, love me, love me Take it into town, happy, happy Put it in the ground where the flowers grow Gold and silver shine Shiny happy people holding hands Shiny happy people holding hands Shiny happy people laughing 40. a good song never dies - saint motel There was a moment, a hole opened in the sky A chance to join that pantheon For all the times they never heard your battle cry Now be an angel, sing along 'Cause a good song never dies It just reminds you of where you were The first time it made you cry The first time you felt alive 41. king of the clouds - panic at the disco Some only live to die, I'm alive to fly higher Than angels in outfields inside of my mind I'm ascendin' these ladders, I'm climbin', say goodbye This old world, this old world I don't trust anything Or anyone, below the sun I don't feel anything At all 42. battle for the sun - placebo I, I, I will battle for the sun, sun, sun, sun And I, I, I, I am the bones you couldn't break Break, break, break, break, break, break, break 43. walk like an egyptian - the bangles All the school kids so sick of books They like the punk and the metal band When the buzzer rings (oh whey oh) They're walking like an Egyptian All the school kids so sick of books They like the punk and the metal band When the buzzer rings (oh whey oh) They're walking like an Egyptian 44. credens justitiam - yuriko kaida and eri itoh Free, they are With no malice they sing quietly And they told me that my song was louder/lighter Their song Releases the day of all malice I want to be like them And my mind (their minds are) Free 45. 99.9 - mob choir The protagonist of this stage is me Cryin' my life, cryin' my psyche Cryin' my heart in such commonplaces Is this my ideal? Is this my mind? Ahh, I’m looking for the answer ! 46. cruel angels thesis - yoko takahasi But someday you will notice On those shoulders of yours There are strong wings To guide you to the far future. If there is any meaning In the fate that pulled us together, Then I am, yes, the Bible That teaches you of freedom. A cruel angel's thesis And then sorrow comes forth 47. peace and love on the planet earth - zach callison I guess we're already here I guess we already know We've all got something to fear We've all got nowhere to go I think you're all insane! But I guess I am too Is there anything that's worth more? Is there anything that's worth more? Is there anything that's worth more Than peace and love on the planet Earth? 48. now we can see - the thermals We were born in the desert We were reared in a cave We conquered in the sun but we lived in the shade We were born on an island we grew out of the sand Never saw another creature never knew another man 49. love today - mika I said Everybody's gonna love today Gonna love today, gonna love today I said Everybody's gonna love today Gonna love today Anyway you want to, anyway you've got to Love, love me, love, love me, love, love 50. where is my mind? - the pixies With your feet on the air and your head on the ground Try this trick and spin it, yeah Your head will collapse If there's nothing in it And you'll ask yourself .. Where is my mind? Where is my mind?

#gene's playlists

5 notes · View notes

maladaptive-ninja-returns · 4 years

Text

Without Question (12)

Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Content: the...walking dead? Like in a good way.

Warnings: …yes Steve!

Word Count: I wasn’t kidding when I said I want to live in a quiet town with my one cat and one dog and oh so fucking hopefully my lover. Lover! Wherefore art thou, lover? What seas must I cross to have ye look for stars in mine eyes and rest thy head in bosom? Huh, Lover?

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

The peace that comes with the silence of the compound is not as comfortable as the residence had measured it would be in the past. The battles have been won. The deeds have been done. The ones who are lost have been mourned and the ones who have survived have walked past their guilt. The ones who keep the threads together now sit under the trees in the garden, looking into nothing, waiting for news- any news- that might stir them in some way that makes them figure out for themselves whether they're alive. But none comes in through the gate whatsoever.

Yet Natasha sits in the garden, her hands mingling with each other because they're not sure what else to do for now. She considers it a true miracle to have survived this much inactivity, still feeling herself jolt up in the seating under the tree when she sees Loki walk into the garden towards her.

"Any updates?" No one does it better than the Balck Widow bringing her composure to a still when required. Even Loki admires this of the redhead. You don't find such humans. You don't find such creatures anywhere for that matter who can replicate a perfectly functioning life form even when they’re broken to smithereens inside. Loki’s knows it all too well.

"I contacted Rocket and Danvers. The entire species has been annihilated throughout space. No sign of survivors. Even if there are," he mentions matter-of-factly, permitting himself to sit at a decent distance beside her, "they won't be enough to go about destroying planets."

She breathes. Her hands have paused the torture on each other, the fingers nearly running red from all the unwanted pressing and rubbing onto each other. Loki notices it too. Not that she’s trying to hide it.

“How is he?”

Natasha blinks, looking at the horizon- or maybe even further than that.

“He thinks it’s his fault,” she nearly croaks, “again. He thinks he could have stopped it. Even though he knows she would have still found a way. The fact that she turned to dust makes it worse.”

“And she did not want to lose any more of the love,” he mumbled in deep thought, making Natasha turn towards him.

He read her mind, she remembers the God’s ability before passing a soft smile. Loki sighs and looks out at the compound. The sunny weather with clearest of skies is bringing in birds on their road to migration, travelling by in perfect sync in the sky. The breeze carries with it the fresh and sweet scent of spring.

“I’m guessing he is keeping his promise?”

Natasha silently chuckles, the back of her index finger wiping something off the corner of her eye. “Yes,” she nods, turning to Loki with a tender smirk on her lips, “yes, he is.”

Both of them sit there for some more time, enjoying the silent yet fulfilling company, watching nature heal itself like it always does, while wondering what the future holds for them now.

The last bit of loose soil is patted by gloved hands into place. Untamed drops of sweat drip over the very ground, mixing in with the dirt before the hands break contact with the freshly prepared field, standing up to finally take a breather after a long day’s work.

The sun reflects sharply over Steve’s face as he watches the cherry blossom tree stand in its full glory right where it was always supposed to be. The breeze is already playmates with it in their playground, making it swing and dance under the bright yet soothing sun.

She’s beautiful. Steve chuckles to himself, if only so faintly in comparison.

“It’s stunning, I must say.”

Steve turns to find Loki standing a few feet away from him, admiring the little cherry blossoms tree, giving him a nod. “It is,” he acknowledges.

“How are you doing, Captain?”

Right to the concern. I like him. Steve gives a faint smile, removing his gloves, throwing them into the toolbox before keeping his hands on his hips. “I’m fine, Loki. What’re you doing here?”

Loki shrugs. “Just making sure you’re not wallowing in survivor’s guilt.”

Even though he is sharp and straight to the point- which pricks, really- Steve can’t help but find a shade of honest concern in his eyes. “As I said, I’m fine,” his words are nearly a whisper as he bends to gather the tools in the box, “and I’m sorry.”

Loki’s brows crinkle. “For what?”

Steve stands back up with the toolbox in his hand. “Sorry, there was no one when you were suffering through survivor’s guilt.”

The breeze passes between them, running an invisible hand through their hair, caressing their unspoken wounds and winding around their allyship, doing all that deemed it not necessary now to be spoken in words.

Steve walks back towards the house and a bark makes Loki turn to look in the direction of the forest. Stacie comes running through the wild field towards the God, barking her happy bark before coming to a halt at the tree, sniffing it to her heart’s content. He can hear a low whimper from her throat when she smells something familiar off the tree. Her paw scratches the trunk a little, her head snuggling with it for a few moments before coming to stand by Loki and sniff him.

“You miss her too,” he states, down on one knee to pet her, an involuntary smile finding its way on his lips. “I think she left you in charge of that one. Make sure he’s okay.”

Stacie huffs and wags her tail, happy to receive a scratch behind the ear when suddenly both she and Loki pause where they stand before standing in high alert.

Steve comes out with Stacie’s bowl and two beers, pausing at the porch on seeing both Loki and Stacie in defensive stances.

“What is it?” the Captain is curious now.

Loki is still looking at the forest while Stacie has started to growl. All he does is raise his hand for Steve to stop. “Stay here,” Loki declares before vanishing into a light of gold and green.

Steve, reasonably, is left shocked and confused, walking to Stacie’s side, who is growing agitated, jumping and barking at something in the direction of the forest that he cannot see.

“What is it, Stace?” he asks softly, not peeling his eyes from the trees in front of him till a brilliant streak of gold and green out of space has Loki standing in front of him with another figure supported by his left arm.

A gasp escapes Steve when he recognises the long dark hair and metal that bounces the light off its surface, finding it hard to believe what his eyes are seeing.

“Bucky!”

At first, it is a microscopic sensation which slowly turns into a coherent vibration. It is not comfortable until it is an unnecessary shiver running up and down your skin, forcing you to go into the fetal position. Still, the cold does not stop bothering you, gnawing at your skin, your flesh, every corner of your insides, even your heart.

Heart.

But it was not supposed to be cold in the void.

The shiver forces you to draw your limbs closer and makes you feel this unspoken rage at not being able to feel any heat.

Why?

Y/N.

I’m dead. I’m not supposed to feel cold.

Y/N?

Sleep. I am supposed to sleep now.

Y/N! Wake up!

No, let me sleep for a w-

“Y/N!”

A scream escapes your lungs at the jerk as your eyes jerk wide open at the sun way too bright for the shocked pupils before being blocked by a familiar face.

“Loki?”

You look at the God in question. Is he dead too?

“Yes,” he answers with a careful nod. “Can you get up?”

“Why?” As soon as the question escapes you, you know it does not make sense except for the fact that maybe your body just doesn’t want to. “Wait. Where are w-”

You stop yourself short when you notice the forest clearing- looking somewhat brighter and less murder-y under the spring sun.

“You’re home.”

Home.

But I was supposed to be…

“Oh no!” The sudden panic confuses Loki. “No no no! I am supposed to be dead!”

Loki tilts his head at you.

“I’m supposed to be dead! She promised she’ll bring Bucky back! Bucky’s the one who’s supposed to be alive.”

And suddenly it all makes sense. Love- makes us do the most outlandish things.

“I think we should go home,” he mentions gently, grabbing your full attention before inhaling a lungful and unclasping his cape, “and not to mention you are stark naked right in the middle of the forest, darling.”

You look down at your figure that is letting the sunlight dance all over it before feeling the heat rush to your cheeks as Loki covers you up.

“Oh.”

Natasha, Clint and Sam are already here as soon as Loki informs them of the news- never telling Steve they were already on their way to see how he was doing- not believing their eyes when they see Bucky sitting on your porch, taking in the sun and sounds like a newborn man. The hows and whats are set back for future interrogation, for right now, tight hugs and misty eyes take the room.

The smile on Steve’s face is incurable. How many people can say their best friend gets to live even after death. Twice! What more could he want?

His heart knows.

So does some mysterious force in the universe, testing his emotions, when another streak of gold and green rips the space apart by the cherry blossom to give place to Loki and you resting all your weight on the former, wrapped in green.

Everything stops.

Every sound is on mute, every change is on pause, every inch of his skin that the breeze touches is numb. Nothing is sensed in the way of him taking you in. The y/h/c hair strands float in the breeze while your eyes glimmer in the direct light, looking at Steve. Only Steve. The hitch in your breath gives him hope that you are real when he starts to walk towards you. The movement of your feet towards him raises it even more. The lone tear escaping your eye sets the truth in stone, forcing him to take two long steps to cover the distance and have you in his arms. “Y/N,” he nearly sobs your name, finally making it a reality for himself.

His arms. You wrap your arms around his torso as tightly as you can, breathing in the familiar scent. His scent. This is real. The heartbeat. The relieved breaths and deep kisses in your hair. Real. You are back. You are home.

“Steve,” your voice softly reverberated through each other’s existence, making them hold on to each other tighter, bringing everything that was on pause- majorly his entire life- back to normalcy.

His arms break the hold they have on you to take your face in them while yours try to keep the cape in place, something that doesn’t miss his eyes.

“Are you-” he lowers his broken voice when his eyes see it- “are you naked under there?”

You nod, smiling sheepishly through the tears. “I love you,” you don’t waste any time. Not this time, getting on your toes to get closer to his lips.

He reciprocates with a deep kiss, letting go of your jaw from one hand to secure his arm around your waist. His lips, soft and supple, tasting of apples and cinnamon, slowly turn a little rough to push his tongue through your chapped yet tender lips. His hand goes into your tousled hair to bring you closer when the tongues discover each other once again with a need to declare their love for each other, only letting go when there is no more room for air.

“I love you too,” Steve breathes as soon as your lips part, his calm ocean gazing directly into your eyes. “God,” he closes his eyes and rests his forehead on yours, never letting go of you- not this time- “I love you so much. Please don’t leave me like this. Ever.”

You chuckle, the tears never stopping. “I won’t,” you sniffle, “I promise.”

You wrap your arms- this time with the cape- around him, closing your eyes to rest your head on his chest.

Home.

“Not this time.”

The rest of the gang sits on the porch appreciating the relief you have brought them and their Captain and yet looking everywhere else with stretched smiles on their faces, holding a very excited Stacie in place.

“So, she’s the reason I’m alive?” a very curious Bucky asks the rest of the group.

“Yup,” Clint answers, opening the beer bottle Steve left on the ground, “she’s the one. The reason all of us are alive, I guess.”

“She’s the reason he’s alive,” Natasha hums, sharing a knowing look with Loki- who simpers in return, “again.”

39 notes · View notes

chessrushcheats-blog · 5 years

Text

Chess Rush Guide

Chess Rush Guide is a guide for a popular new game. Auto Chess is the newest trend for mobile gaming at the moment. Everyone is jumping on the bandwagon, from Drodo Games, creator of the original Auto Chess, to Valve, and now, Tencent with Chess Rush. Chess Rush basically popped up out of the blue, without any major announcement or tease leading up to its release. It provides a fairly customary Auto Chess expertise with 2 notable exceptions: a Turbo Mode that can condense the normal long battles into 10-minute affairs and co-op for people who prefer to play with their partners. It doesn't require some investment and now you can appreciate playing Chess Rush on PC easily and serenely. Each auto-chess game offers a comparable ongoing interaction component. The accompanying instructional exercise will kick you off rapidly and it covers the essential of how to play Chess Rush. Ideally this will give you enough information to bounce in. Chess Rush is a methodology autobattler game where players fabricate a development by picking among more than 50 legends and go up against 7 others. The fight happens on a chess leading group of eight squares by eight squares. With this, the tanks or if nothing else the tankier saints should be deliberately situated at the cutting edges. Run legends, regardless of whether toxophilite or mages are commonly great harm sellers yet come up short on the barrier esteems to endure a ton of harm. Thusly they ought to commonly be arranged at the back however not excessively a long ways behind the front liners so they can add to arrangement harm to the foe's cutting edge legends. With various saints that can cause AoE harm just as monstrous status impacts, you ought to likewise avoid lumping each one so near one another. Much the same as the Chinese precept which generally meant "Know thy foe, know thyself, and in each fight you will be triumphant", it is very pivotal to find out about the qualities and shortcomings of the considerable number of pieces. Chess Rush as of now sports an enormous list of more than 50 saints, you can find out about their capacities, class and race cooperative energies by essentially tapping the legends symbol at the lower left half of the principle menu, and you will have the whole library for you to process. He is Gurru and he is exceptionally adorable and "peaceful". All in all, what use would he be able to be to players? Well, he is exceptionally valuable as he acts like a trump card. You can utilize him to redesign legends. In the event that you have two indistinguishable legends and you can't locate the third one, yet you have Gurru, at that point you can utilize him as the third saint to update that character. Continuously recruit Gurru whenever you see him on the enlistment screen. Alongside developments, Chess Rush likewise prescribes different lineups. There're 8 Elf pieces altogether. The "blend" in this technique alludes to the way that it's anything but difficult to branch into different Combos. It's anything but difficult to the point that two of the Elf pieces would already be able to actuate Druid. Two others would already be able to give you 2 out of 3 pieces required for the Assassin Combo. The Moonlight Dragon can be your begin for having the Dragon Combo. The Unicorn Cavalier can be your begin for having the Rider Combo. The Stinger and Sword Dancer pieces are 2 out of 3 to pick up the Assassin Combo. The summoner's strategy is particularly viable on the off chance that you confronting adversaries with relatively few AOE units. To exceed expectations in this system, beside social event the proper pieces is that do you have Spellbane Staffs? The gear quickens the gathering as it adds extra mana to the summoners dependent on the harm they do. What's more, you need to organize equiping units like Werewolf and Nightowl. In case you're meaning to be the ace Summoner, you ought to likewise work in the 4-piece Beast reward, so as to amplify harm yield for all partners (counting your request). (Trolls) or Hunters is by all accounts an extraordinary thought at this moment. Chess Rush appears to have cleaned looks and great creation quality generally speaking, which isn't amazing thinking about the assets of Tencent. It is put intensely into the anime/manga-motivated cartoony visual style run of the mill of Asian titles. The primary disadvantage is that some unit plans begin to mix together particularly on high star levels. Basically each of the three-star units have bright sparkling molecule impacts. Joined with conspicuous spells, this makes the front line somewhat jumbled and difficult to understand: Above you can see the visual mess - spells, sparkling units, and stars. It's four groups of two all duking it out in exceptional, vital fight to be pronounced the best of the pack. There are more than 50 legends accessible at dispatch for you to pick and look over. Figuring a definitive group is the genuine test here, however you'll additionally need to choose when precisely to utilize every legend. On the off chance that you need to get strategic, consolidating three of a similar legend will trigger fondness rewards that enable them to take amazing, detail boosting things into the combat zone. Try not to stress, Chess Rush's Goblins are something very similar. There are a couple of new thoughts to a great extent. Enthusiasts of Dota Auto Chess' Beast units may appreciate a comparable class in Chess Rush. It can gather token Pet units and is called... Brute. There is additionally a Furry unit class. That is all I am going to state about that. Things are a thing in this game as well, and they work in a manner like things in Teamfight Tactics. Units can prepare various things each, and joining duplicates of a similar one makes a more grounded thing. With the Auto Chess showcase rapidly going to a point of sarutation, a game needs to do its best so as to stick out, and truly, what Chess Rush has is about on a par with it can get. Toward the day's end, how much time you spend on this game will rely upon the amount you like the Auto Chess classification all in all. Chess Rush doesn't do anything momentous, however it offers a fair option with its cleaned visuals and new game modes. The outcome is an a lot quicker paced experience that doesn't really settle on the ongoing interaction. It's precisely the same experience, simply quicker. So the majority of the procedures you've grown so far will at present work. At that point there's the center mode, Tencent's other commitment to the class. Once more, this is a flash of brilliance as Tencent comprehends that portable is a social stage. Portable gamers love playing with others - just take a look at any of the top diagrams and you'll see multiplayer titles like Clash Royale, PUBG Mobile, and Brawl Stars sitting at the top. It is frequently successful to have a semi-tanky unit to be put at the far back, this is to counter contradicting professional killers where they can hop over your cutting edge and go directly to the throat of your squishy DPS units. When confronting adversaries with AOE strat, it is likewise savvy to spread out your development. Along these lines, make sure to consistently focus on rivals' sheets, realize what they're up to and adjust appropriately. That is it for the time being yet make certain to return later, as we will be refreshing this guide with future Chess Rush updates and fixes. Created by the Chinese gaming mammoth, Tencent Games, Chess Rush versatile game effectively accumulated a monstrous number of players. On Google Play, it currently outperformed 14 thousand votes and stands at 3.8 stars. On the iTunes App Store, the game likewise has 3.8 stars and is #33 in Card sort, however being in a card type isn't exactly a precise method to retire this title. On the off chance that this is the first occasion when you are catching wind of it, Auto Chess kind jumped up in mid 2019 from a mod players made in DOTA 2. Fundamentally, the decision is to either spend it on a saint or spare it for later as better ones may end up accessible on the following round. It might appear as though the decision would rely upon the underlying arrangements of decisions spread out for you, yet then there are general principles to pursue to raise your odds of improving at some point or another inside the match. First of all, put your focus on a restricted assortment of legends that has combos because of their classes or races. Managing 400/550/700 enchantment harm to close-by adversaries inside 3 matrix and dazzling them for 1.4 second. Void Doom is astonishing warlock. Since When you send various voids, 2 voids abatements arbitrary's foes wellbeing by half. Additionally Deal genuine harm equivalent to 5-7-9 percent of their maximum wellbeing consistently. General Puffer Fires planes of water a 2 arbitrary foes and managing 150/225/300 harm and lessening objective's protective layer by 75/150/225 for 20 sec. Sword is helpful hero.If you have Level 1 sword artist then it work DECENT.

#Chess Rush cheats #Chess Rush guide #Chess Rush guides #Chess Rush vauchers #Chess Rush gold #Chess Rush cheat tool

2 notes · View notes

dominushq · 5 years

Photo

Hello everyone! Below the cut will be a sample application to act as a sort-of guide for all of you. Please take note that this is only a guide and that we, in no way, shape, or form, expect everyone’s application to look like this. This is only provided as an example!

Congratulations, HENRY! You have been accepted for the role of MARCUS with the character JOHN MARCUS ELLIS. Please head over to the checklist page for any final reminders and send in your blog within twenty-four hours. Congratulations on your acceptance and we can’t wait to have you with us!

OOC.

Name/Alias: henry Pronouns: they/them or he/him Age: nineteen Timezone: gmt+1 Activity Level: i’m one of the two admins of the roleplay, so i’ll probably be around a lot! the exchange program will probably be an issue, though i promise to still try and pull my own weight. weekends will probably see me more active more often than not. for a numerical rating, i’d say 7/10. Triggers: removed for privacy. Anything else? removed for privacy.

IC.

Name: John Marcus Ellis

— JOHN: The name of an Evangelist, the Beloved Disciple, the only one who stood with Mary the Theotokos at the foot of the cross as Christ hung crucified—your father named you John in great anticipation of the works of faith he hoped you’ll come to exemplify and you’ve somewhat followed much of the example your namesake set. Even now, the words of the Gospel of John is still seared onto your brain, a piece that you memorised once when you were bored that your mind never quite let go of.

— MARCUS: How convenient that your name in Sodalitas has already been, in some respects, your name. The Stoic Roman Emperor had never held your regard but you can somewhat see the respect people had or him. When the society gave you that name, you began using it in your daily life as well, seeing no point in keeping John when all the people you knew called you Ellis or Marcus already. Sometimes, when you’re with your parents at Lambeth, the sound of your own first name feels like a stranger’s now.

— ELLIS: Your last name has never really been that notable until your father became the Archbishop of Canterbury. It was noble, to be sure, but it was a minor noble family, one that accorded no mention in history books. In fact, it had been your mother’s family that was the more notable when you were younger, the Grosvenor family one of the few who share the privilege of being close to the Queen and her family. With the passage of time, the star of your father’s rise began to shine brighter and it is his name that draws attention now. When you introduce yourself, it only takes a second for them to realise that you’re that child of the Archbishop, and you realise that there’s a possibility that you will remain forever in the shadow of your father.

Age: Nineteen Faceclaim: Niels Trispel Gender ID: Nonbinary Pronouns: They/them Field of Study: Theology and Religion College: St. John’s College

Biography.

trigger warnings: stillbirth

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. ( John 1:1)

These words spill out of your lips, over and over again, as if you’re a broken record. Your father asks you to continue and you try to recite the next verse from memory alone, the Bible in front of you only ever to be consulted if strictly necessary. This could almost be a vigil, except you’re far too young to know what the words really mean, and so it ends up meaning nothing, the words just remaining words instead of whatever phenomenon your father had hoped to conjure up. It’s not that you’re stupid—you could, if you concentrate hard enough, conceptualise of a word given Being (and, even now, you know it’s with a capital B)—but the concept of divinity itself is foreign to you, even as your father exemplifies it with his very being and your mother takes great care to ensure that you’re brought up in the faith.

You know he’s an important man and that you are, in some ways, blessed for having such a man for a father but his title means nothing to you—at least not for now. It will in the future, but the future’s a long way away still. For now, you are a child.

( But were you ever really a child? )

This is an account of the heavens and the earth. ( Genesis 2:4 )

This is how your life starts: you are born to The Right Reverend Thomas Weatherby Ellis and a schoolteacher named Lady Margaret Anne Grosvenor. You are their only child, after complications from a birth after yours resulted into a stillbirth and the inviability of your mother’s womb to ever bear fruit again. The years of your childhood pass by without consequence, and you are hard-pressed to remember the details that surround your early life. If you concentrate hard enough, you can think of the feel of leather under your cheek as you dozed off while studying, the way you thought that gilding at the edges of the Bible would rub off on your fingertip and the disappointment when it didn’t, and the way expectation always seemed right around the corner, a familiar and dark thing that has been your nurturer more than either of your parents.

Beyond these, however, there is nothing much else—not for the reasons of tragedy or great harm, but because you’ve always been mature for your age: an adult in a kid’s body was what they called you, and you’ve realised through the passage of the years that you were never really a child in the conventional way other children were. In a way, you’re more mature than any of your other peers. (In another, this repression has made you capable of a childishness that shocks even you, resulting in a fearful wanting that only children are capable of—a wanting that you deny exists but continues to do so nonetheless.)

You do not remember much of your childhood because it blends from this day and the next and so on, an almost stunning replica of your life right now that it feels as if you have stood unchanging since the dawn of time. However hard you try, you can’t ever remember a time when you haven’t always been like this, as if the void has always been inside of you, swallowing any vestiges of real emotion, sapping you of the vitality that you keenly feel is so present in other people but not you, never you.

( Have you always been wanting? )

Pray, then, like this: our Father in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. ( Matthew 6:9 )

There is a great bustling in your life one day, a great rupture in the routine schedule of your day-to-day living. People tell you your father is a great man—no, a good man, a holy man—and they say this as if it should mean something to you. They hail your family as a paragon of virtue and they think that the knowledge you have is proof of your father’s upstanding virtue. His titles change and you move into a new place called Lambeth, a veritable palace in comparison to your former residence, which you are quick to forget. (Some days you forget even its name, until it hits you suddenly: Bishopthorpe.) It’s a stretch to say you’ve flourished in your new residence, but the library at Lambeth does become your home, for whatever it’s worth, and your mother often found you passed out in between stacks of books.

You stay for only a couple of years or so at most before you get shipped out to boarding school. It’s a tradition, after all, and that is what your family has stood for ever since time immemorial. The decision is not without its detractors—for how, some say, can a man who profess to follow the example of Jesus Christ justify the use of so much money?—but then you test as a Queen’s Scholar and the news of the extravagance of your tuition fees is swept away by news of your precociousness. They begin whispering that you will be like your father some day, a scholar in the service of Christ, knowledge pursued and discovered for the greater glory of God.

You don’t know what to think about that.

( And so it goes, and so it goes, and so it goes— )

Let no one be found among you who sacrifices his son or daughter in the fire, practices divination or conjury, interprets omens, practices sorcery, casts spells, consults a medium or familiar spirit, or inquires of the dead. ( Deuteronomy 18:10-11)

Your father tells you the history of your family one night when you are home after Michaelmas term.

It is a long and proud history, he says, one in which he and your mother took part in, and which you will take part in one day soon. Oxford’s secrets will be laid bare before you, as well as the secrets of the universe and the meaning of life, but—perhaps most importantly—you will come to know the most important people who will undoubtedly make changes in the history of your nation, if not the world. The preparations have already been made, he tells you. A boy should have come up in Eton to befriend you and tell you all about it, but he’s just making sure.

The last statement confuses you. You have no friends. It’s the first fact anyone at your school knows about you. You’re the student that always keeps to themself with their books, distinguished academically but not much else. Your father frowns when you tell him this and tells you a name, while in the same breath asking if nobody has truly come to you before he said all this.

You recognise the name as a boy who you’ve ignored all throughout the year. You realise that your father probably won’t like it if you tell him you’ve ignored who was supposed to be your... mentor, you supposed (for lack of better term), so you tell him nothing and just shrug, saying you’ll follow it up when you get back for HT.

You never do. In fact, you don’t acknowledge the boy as someone who exists at all, and he does the same to you. You take your A-Levels and get into Oxford to read Theology and Religion and you expect nothing to come out of the heritage you inherited from both of your parents—but then comes the invitation and the initiation. You don’t refuse but neither do you really accept it: you just went along with everything, an almost fatalistic and nihilistic apathy tinging your actions. They give you the name Marcus not knowing that it already is your middle name, purely because of your reputation as an academic, never mind the fact that you don’t really follow the philosophical code championed by Marcus Aurelius. You say nothing about it: you don’t think they’re the sort of crowd to care much for historical accuracy, anyway.

Your membership is one that is at the sidelines. You are an audience member to the theatricality of the whole thing, knowing as you do that every words is blasphemy and realising that your father and mother (holy folk, people called them) have committed idolatry several times over—and that now you will follow in their footsteps: singing hymns to a pantheon that’s now defunct, toasting to spirits that aren’t even there, and committing cruelties that would make the hunting sessions some of your father’s friends go to look tame.

You take part in it, but you don’t believe in it. You believe in nothing, really, and perhaps that’s been your most fatal flaw. You’ve been oversaturated with holiness, with sacredness, with belief—so much that you must have gotten sick of it over time without your knowing, and now you’re condemned to a life half-lived as punishment for a sin you didn’t even know you committed.

It has always been like this, and it always will be like this.

( So it has been, and so it shall be, forever and ever. )

Interview.

What is your name and what was your relationship like with the deceased?

the silence that greeted the first question is almost deafening in its suddenness, but marcus has grown used to long silences from long reading sessions in the library with nothing but books to keep them company. they regarded the officer in front of them and blinked slowly, owlishly, almost boorishly. “my name’s john marcus ellis,” they say finally, “but people either call me marcus or ellis.” there was a short pause, as if they were waiting for an acknowledgement of their statement from the officer, but there was no answer forthcoming and they were left to continue their thread of conversation. in the silence that filled the empy space, marcus became all too aware of the soft ticking of their wristwatch—a quick look at the device and they realised that they were going to be late in handing in their old testament paper. “i suppose people will call hardwicke and i friends,” they said at long last, their tone a smidge distracted by their realisation, “but we’re not that close really.” although perhaps some would also say shared membership in a secret society was close enough. then again, marcus didn’t really care what other people thought. “i knew him since we were kids, and he was an associate of mine in eton as well as in oxford, but there’s nothing else to tell you beyond that.”

Can you tell us a little bit about yourself before we start?

they knew, almost detachedly, that they could say a lot of things as an answer to this question, but their mind came up blank. usually, marcus introduced themself simply with their name and, if some odd people still needed clarification, announced their link to their father. it would almost be a proud claiming of a heritage, but the words just fell flat with their deliverance, and it sounded more like a shameful thing rather than a point of pride to be the child of the archbishop of canterbury.

somehow, they realised that such a performance would not be welcome now, and so they struggled to fill the silence. “there’s nothing much to tell,” they say. “i’m just a student at oxford. i don’t really know how i can help you in this investigation of yours, honestly.”

Do you possess a reason we should know about for having murdered the deceased?

"of course not,” they said quickly, and it was true. edward hardwicke never posed a threat to them and whatever political machination that caligula and agrippina tried to wrought upon their group didn’t really interest marcus. they were apathetic in most things, the politics of their secret society simply being but one of the many things that just existed for them but nothing more than that. “hardwicke and i were at the very least amicable.” and this, too, was true, for edward did treat them civilly enough, a behaviour which they mirrored right back until the fateful night that they didn’t.

then again, that was what the authorities would kill to know, wouldn’t they? logically speaking, a profile of a killer must have already been written up by them somehow, and they could just imagine the profile they have right now: esoteric, highly intelligent, familiar with religious symbols, and possessing a connection to edward hardwicke—traits which marcus knew they fulfilled to the letter.

how amusing to know that the law could be so wrong yet so right at the same time. “i don’t know what to tell you,” they said. “i’ve said all that i can say: i have no reason to kill hardwicke, and that’s it.” this, too, was true; but having no reason didn’t stop them from plunging that knife into his chest anyway.

Did the victim have any enemies? Was anybody threatening the victim?

marcus shrugged, an easy motion of the shoulders that didn’t really come easily to them as much as they like to think it did. “maybe?” they said. “hardwicke’s very well-known in oxford. they’re very active socially and i think they’re in all the political clubs.” a false lead would work well in their favour now, especially when such a lead was likely in the eyes of the authorities. “he can be a bit abrasive and forceful, but i don’t know anyone specifically whom he offended.” they could, of course, drop caligula’s name—and a small part of them did want to, merely to see what repercussions it could hold—but a threat to caligula was a threat to the society, which will ultimately result in a threat against marcus themself. as much as they were curious to see how that potential chain of events might unfold, they had to be smart too.

Can you give us any information that might help the investigation?

"i don’t know,” they said, their voice feigning sheepishness. “as i said, i don’t really know how i can help you, because i really know nothing about the whole thing.” this has been, they realised, the most impassioned they’d been in quite a while. it was a pity, then, that this was in the end just another fabrication, a simulation designed to keep what needs to be secret secret. “in fact, the last time i saw him, it was in a lecture last term about the poetic elements present in the prophetic books. he told me we should catch up during the summer, but i never had time to take him up on his offer.” a pause. “it’s a pity, really.”

Where were you on Sunday morning?

removed to keep the mystery alive.

Extras.

I have a Pinterest board here.

A playlist here.

And a mockblog here.

Their character tag can also be found here.

And a general tag for Dominus as a whole can be found here.

#lsrp #lsrpg #skeleton rp #new rp #rpg #sample #accepted

1 note · View note

lore-a-lie · 5 years

Text

Chapter 3, Act 11: Divining Revolutions

CLASS TRIAL- RESUME

As Kaede gave her silent approval Angie took the moment to meditate before responding in kind. Not that she wouldn’t be willing to lead the cross-examination thingies, even if she wasn’t as familiar with how to really do so.

And it was comforting to see Kaede’s earlier attempt to give up her position of authority was genuine. Or if not, that it was able to become genuine for this moment at the very least.

But still, it wasn’t Angie’s place to make such a call just yet. There was a reason she tried not to be so compelling during these debates. If Atua saw no need for her to act, who was she to act against Him?

Awwright Sugah, ‘Tis the Time to Start Speaking Thy Piece. Ain’t None of Thy Allies Willin’ an’ Able to Surpass the Impasse as Thy art to Bring this Shindig to its Most Unrighteous of Conclusions.

And with that command His Prophet gave the pitiful pianist the acknowledgement she sought. She gave a bright and possibly too eager (or too quick) nod in reply, as Angie tried to see what He needed of her.

The most obvious thing to do is make Kiyo stop being stupid. But Kiyo really liked being stupid, and has never not wanted to talk this much, so that will be tough. Second most obvious is to get Tenko to shed more light on how she could have possibly missed the demon’s attempt to attack him or what happened.

I don’t think my involvement there matters until we clear that up, I only saw the tail end of it. So me talking about it now might just make things even more messy, and harder for everyone else to follow.

But maybe being so obvious was the problem. Maybe Kaede was right to try and bring things back to Ryoma.

“Hey-hey, Tenko? You said Ryoma was okay with you and Sissy-Cersei’s “replace Kiyo” plan right?” Angie asked, with a vague sketch in her mind of what she needed to do.

“Y-yeah. What about it?”

“Was he really okay with you being involved with it?” Angie tilted herself at an angle, to see if it would help her catch any small details or help catch Tenko off-guard. Not that it ever really worked on Tenko (or anyone here really) before, but it was also just fun to see if anyone would react period.

“Why wouldn’t he be?” Tenko tried to ask, to brush Angie’s oddities off as if it was just her being silly. But Kokichi saw through it, like the ridiculous over-thinker was prone to doing even if he was wrong.

“Well gee Tenko, I don’t know.” Kokichi drawled, and Tenko immediately started to cringe. And not in her normal “Ew-why-is-this-pest-known-as-a-male-trying-to-speak-to-me-can-I-kill-it” Tenko cringe-face. The “Oh-no-I-didn’t-think-this-through” type of cringey-face as he tauntly pulled apart her bluff. “Why on earth would the guy who offered to die immediately when put in a murder game to help buy the rest of us time have a problem with a strong, justice-loving, “innocent” girl like yourself trying to get away with “technically” murdering a man? As opposed to say… Offering to take your place in this plan?”

“Wait. What would Tenko’s place in the plan even have been?” Kaito asked.

“Well, it doesn’t make sense for Cersei to use Kiyo’s avatar, since hers and his look so similar.” Kaede started to explain in her teacher-y sorta way she’d do sometimes. “So maybe the plan was for Tenko to use the outdated Kiyo avatar? Like if they were supposed to switch so it was actually his sister who was the “Tenko” Gonta was with when looking for “Cersei”?”

“WHAT?! But that unpossible! Gonta make super sure it was Mini-Tenko that Mini-Gonta was with!”

“Try to think of it like why I was a suspect in the first trial, Gonta. Remember how I was accused because I’m good at dressing up as people? Kaede thinks that they wanted to dress up as each other to trick you.” Tsumugi simplified the situation as best she could, even hand talking to a degree in hopes of helping for once. “But they didn’t! So it IS impossible in that it didn’t happen. But Kokichi’s trying to say that maybe when you and Tenko were looking for “sister” in the woods, that was really Ryoma. Or something like that, I think?”

“So the body by the river could have been Ryoma’s? And we just didn’t see Kiyo’s sister at all before we left?”

“I mean, it’s not like we thought to check if saying anyone’s names would have logged that body out. So it could have been, since we assumed Ryoma was last seen headed to the mansion to leave the sim. Kibo could have seen him heading to the wardrobe instead or something like that.” Kaito suggested.

“Kiyo’s sister would need to be alive then right?” Kibo asked with concern, and hissed at Kokichi to shut it when he started being technical about her “living” status again to continue. But in a twist he looked to their judge. “Monokuma, would it be possible to bring up the simulation’s log? It’s not really “fair” you didn’t give me a chance to check it before the trial in hindsight. I want to see if Kiyo had to log his sister out before he could leave.”

“What, and make this mystery easier for you? Not a chance, this is waaay more interesting! I believe in you~” The bear mocked him with a laugh, and Angie amazed herself once again at her ability to refrain from flipping him off. Even if it meant no one would, with Kokichi not being the right sort of vulgar and Kaito being the wrong sort of immature to fill the void Miu would have gladly filled.

One of many voids Miu would have gladly filled come to think of it! Nya-ha-ha~ I hope she’s watching us with a smile and sassy commentary, wherever she is. And giving this bear the bird he’s asking for. No matter how much it would make Shuichi squirm or Kirumi needed to chide her for it.

I wonder if Rantaro and Himiko are getting along? They’re both laid back people. Or the way we knew them they were. I’m sure no matter what state Ryoma’s in from this that Maki’s already by his side!

I wonder if they appreciate seeing me pray for them so often, even if I was mean to them when they were still with us? Or I’m making them laugh, seeing what I do as being silly or stupid despite my intentions?

… Prophet, the Trials Ya’ll are Still Facing are a Bit Mo’ Important at Present, Are They Not?

RIGHT. Whoopsie-daisy~ Thank you, O’ great and wise Atua for Your divine inspiration!

Snapping out of her trance that was most definitely not a nap, Angie made sure she looked as attentive as she could as she checked to see where the conversation was at.

“-So you think Ryoma wanted to get Kiyo and Angie out of the church to give them an opportunity to perform a kill-and-switch?” She heard Kaito say.

“No, he didn’t want me involved at all. And Ryoma didn’t seem too keen on actually seeing if Cerci would be safe on her own. You know how he can get. The only switching he would have wanted to try was using Kiyo’s appearance to get close to either sibling to see if they could be killed, and then pretend to be the dead one to repeat the process on whoever was left.”

“So you think he was just trying to take a chance to go after either of them?” Kaede asked Tenko.

“Yeah, but it’s not like it sounds like he made contact if Cerci never died! I mean Kiyo said his sister spoke to him when she attacked him, and avatar switching wouldn’t change Ryoma’s voice, right?”

“Right. If they could, we never would have realized Kiyo’s sister was a person instead of an illness.” Kibo agreed.

“We don’t know that she isn’t-” Tsumugi tried to point out, only to be cut off by an offended Tenko trying to keep the point of discussion to the forefront.

“That doesn’t change the core point here!”

“The point that relies on Kiyo being honest? ‘Cause that’s a pretty shitty one to bet our lives on.” Kokichi prodded again, trying and failing to get Kiyo to lash out.

And that was still a problem Angie wasn’t sure how to solve yet.

She knew his sister was still in there, and she thought everyone else did too enough for him to stop being so cagey about her presence. But for once that “edgy” zipper on his face suited how tight lipped he was.

He must have noticed how she kept looking at it too, as Kiyo narrowed his eyes at her and leaned more to Tsumugi’s side. Like he half-expected Angie to try and leap over the boundary between them to yank it open. Which probably would get him to at least say something, but Angie figured getting a human reaction out of him probably wouldn’t lead to a useful one. (But it’s something I can try later I guess!)

So she was left trying to sort out how Ryoma fit in. “Tenko, how do you know Ryoma wasn’t just going to go along with your plan?” Angie slapped her hands to her cheeks in shock, “Could it be Tenko already knew it wouldn’t work because Kore is evil? How mature of you!”

“Hey!” The whine came as expected, “I’m already plenty mature! I know because Ryoma told me so. He thought it’d be safer to kill both of them, but even if he didn’t-” Tenko cut herself off as she started to rub at her arm while looking down with a look of shocked realization.

“If he didn’t?” Kaito anxiously repeated to urge her on.

“If he didn’t get them both then he said he’d still confess if there was a trial.” She numbly repeated, barely blinking despite the tears Angie could see starting to well at the corners of her eyes. But when Tenko got ahold of herself she shook them off and desperately looked to Kaito. “But he wouldn’t have actually meant that, right?! He… I thought you and Kaede were helping him through that stuff! And this couldn’t have been… THAT, right? So we wouldn’t be forced to watch him suffer for my stupid idea?”

“Of course not!” Kaede said seemingly in spite of herself. Perhaps more a reflection of her hopes than their reality. “If he did that wouldn’t explain his cause of death or being found in the pool. We already established that!” (Ah, good point. That does reflect our reality pretty well… Maybe that’s the problem!)

We’re focusing on our reality, when we should be testing Kibo’s reality! He should have some idea of what could “kill” in the sim, even if he hasn't said so yet. And he was there for the wardrobe stuff to some extent from the sounds of things. But I don’t want to spook him, so he doesn’t get stage fright.

“Wait… Kibo, how much of this did you know?” Angie asked with a cutesy and quirky tilt of her head with her hands in place as if to tighten screws to help her think straighter. “If she and Ryoma talked about this in the virtual world near your wardrobe thingy are you suuure you didn’t overhear something about it?”

“... Enough?” Kibo said, avoiding eye contact with everyone as he twiddled his fingers. “I mean I didn’t know Miss Shinguji was involved in this! And I thought Ryoma’s plan was what Tenko had intended…”

Kibo turned to bow to Kiyo in a near panic, voice shaky and air puffing as if his throat was closing up even though he didn’t breath. “I’m very sorry! I knowingly conspired to help murder your sister, and there’s no excuse for that! I completely understand if you can never forgive me for that. Or if none of you can.”

“I… I was worried she was going to kill someone. I had no idea who or how, so I didn’t know what to do! So I thought that since she was your original motive, that getting rid of her could be to your benefit.

“Seeing how you two were fighting, I wasn’t sure if she was going to kill you and use my program to hide it! I didn’t know Tenko was trying to HELP her do something like that!” He shouted, nearly hysterical. “So when I found that avatar by the river I… I panicked. I got out of the sim, to make sure everyone was okay, and while Kiyo was okay, Ryoma… Ryoma wasn’t.

“I thought he succeeded in killing Miss Shinguji and then chose to kill himself rather than risk being executed or making Kiyo worse. If there was no trial for a “murder” like this Kiyo might have done something drastic to avenge her, or hurt himself so I thought it made sense! And I did something stupid.

“I… moved Ryoma’s body, hoping it’d help make what happened clearer.” Kibo confessed at last, staring so hard at the floor it was like he was testing out a new laser vision feature. “Maybe it was also just me being selfish, trying to hide how people could physically die in my simulation despite my best efforts. I took him to his lab and tossed him into the pool from his window, since I thought paralleling the other murder would make his intentions clearer. I’m so so sorry everyone. I didn’t intend to hurt anyone…”

“And what if you were wrong, huh?!” Kaito snapped at him, making Kibo flinch. “You don’t have proof that’s what happened, and you messing with the crime scene doesn’t help anything! Do you even know how Ryoma “killed himself” in your scenario?!”

“Uhhh…”

“Back off Kaito, Kibo said he panicked so it’s plainly obvious he wasn’t thinking straight! I mean who could in a situation like that?” Tsumugi snapped back, taking some pressure off of the robotic boy.

“How exactly did he “die” in your Oh-so-safe virtual world anyway, Keeboy?” Kokichi drawled, but there was a vindictive glint to his eyes and his smug smile was all teeth. “You know something we don’t?”

“I… I mean, he could have taken one of Shuichi’s poisons-”

“BBBZT! Wrong, try again!” Kokichi interrupted with a raspberry in place of an incorrect buzzer, getting more manic in his malice. “Kaito and I were in Shuichi’s lab when the Monokuma file says he died, and I made sure all those poisons are accounted for every time I visit! If he swiped one earlier I’d know.”

The Child Panics, Guilt Turns To Fury, Fanned by Failure and Fear. The One with False Leadership Would Claim Responsibility for This Crime an’ all Crimes Previous if They Only Could. Thy Needst No Reminder of Where They Fall Short. Each Night the Denied Truths Return, The Worst Plague of All.

Ummm, I think you used “Thy” wrong there?

An uncanny echo of silence resounded in Angie’s head, the type that would normally mean Atua had fallen asleep again. But it turned out to be but a pause as she heard His wondrous words return to her.

Ah... My B. I Grant Thee My Most Sincerest of Apologies, Sunspot. Perhaps ‘tis the Sound of Sleep Beckoning Me to Her Bodacious Bosom Once More that Distractith Me So.

“Distractith”? Now you’re just teasing me, there’s no way you used that right!

“Fine! Yes, he died in the simulation but I don’t know how!” Kibo broke down. “There shouldn’t have been any way for him to prematurally sever the connection between his mind and his body. But he was brain dead so it must have happened somehow. I’m not sure if he did it on purpose, or if he had help-”

“Wait,” Kaito said to pause the panicking robot. “Let’s just narrow down what could cause that then, okay? I mean we know where his avatar was found in the simulation, so that can help. Just because he died in there doesn’t make you the killer, so no need to freak out. Just be honest with us! No more lies.”

“So you think the river might be part of it? But he didn’t drown or suffocate.” Kaede pointed out.

“Maybe it like how Mini-Gonta gets scared at the Low-ding Point? Is that what being “brain dead” like? Like sleeping without dreams?” Gonta suggested with a shutter at the thought.

“Maybe!” Tsumugi replied, and put her nerdy knowledge to good use. “Video games would often have water act as boundaries by making you die or respawn if you touch it. Were there any rules like that, Kibo?”

“I… I don’t know.” He quietly said. “I never checked, I never considered anyone going for a swim. I mean even when we have a pool no one really uses it, so I didn’t think there would be any interest.”

… Oh. I get it now. That’s what You’re sorry about.

It’s not Your fault! You were asleep at the time.

But her words sounded like they fell on deaf ears as the void Atua used to be in gave her no comfort.

Angie wasn’t sure if she should share her findings just yet though. It’d be more convincing if she could get Kiyo to lead the others to it first, since he also saw what happened, but she wasn’t sure how to get him to work with her. He seemed far too content with taking the blame for this case, and it rattled her.

They both knew if he was found guilty it would only get him and everyone else who was innocent killed.

If he still wanted to die there were easier ways to do it! Ways that wouldn’t hurt anyone else physically.

I’m not really sure how I would take it emotionally though. I mean, am I to blame for this any? I don’t think I am, I think he enjoys making me mad and how I try to get back at him. He’s annoying like that.

Still, Kaito wants us to help him and Atua agrees with that! Even if Kiyo’s such an ignorant know-it-all.

Is he trying to die like this to save the blackened? To repay them for interfering in Ryoma’s attempt to kill him? Or is this just so he makes sure that even though his “Sister” isn’t real he still makes 100 friends for her? I mean it sounds like he’s close enough that three “admirable” girls would more than met his goal.

Assuming the mastermind isn’t a girl I mean. Technically they’d survive in that case too, wouldn’t they?

If our lives are in real danger, despite what we’ve seen before, how can he accept letting THEM survive?!

Maybe I can use that to talk some sense into him!

“Kiyo, are you sure you heard your sis speak to you when you saw her on the bridge?” Angie tried as a direct question, one he might be more open to answering now. “Or any chance that was Ryoma who was trying to harass you? Or someone else? ‘Cause I know what I saw, but I didn’t hear anyone say anything.”

“... I hardly see why it would change anything,” he muttered. “Even if she didn’t say them aloud we’ve proven her intent and that of my assaulter is one and the same, yes?”

“What happened after the fight?” Kokichi prodded and Angie winced at how blunt he was being. She could tell he was trying to use his tell-y trick again, but with Kiyo like this what good would it be?

But despite her concerns he did confirm some of their friends’ assumptions. Just not in a helpful way.

“She fell in the river. Clearly that much should seem obvious at this point.”

“Did she now? Or was she pushed?” Kokichi pushed again, before Angie could butt in.

This time Kiyo acted more like she was expecting, and only gave a bitter shrug. “Who can say?”

“Come on, out with it!” Kaito snapped.

“And why should I? To what benefit is there? Is it not enough to merely narrow down suspects?”

“Have you really lost it?!” Tenko shouted. “We’ll all die if we get this wrong!”

“As will we all, in due time-”

“Well, what are you being so cagey for then?” Angie asked with a forced brightness in hopes of putting him off guard and cut to the chase. “Do you really want the mastermind to win?”

And while it didn’t work he had no answer for her, which gave her enough satisfaction.

“That’s what’ll happen, won’t it? We all die but the blackened and the mastermind? The killing game will only ever end with two survivors, right?” She continued to needle, and Monokuma began to act like he was getting hot under the collar at her questioning. Despite the whole not having a collar thing.

“No comment!”

“Huh, huh? Who asked you? I was obviously talking to Kiyo, silly!”

Tsumugi giggled a bit at that, probably a case of nerves giving her the flutterbugs, which got some others to laugh between her ensuing embarrassment and Monokuma’s indignation. Still, the levity helped raise Angie’s spirit a little, in light of what Kiyo was showing she would need to reveal.

But Tenko cut in before she had the chance.

“Stop trying to deny what you did then, you degenerate! We know you killed him, and we know that while you want to die, She doesn’t! It doesn’t matter if it was self-defense, or mistaken identity, or anything else! You’re not going to go sliding on another loophole, you murderer!” Her ranting was so non-stop that even Kaede couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

And as she watched her friend try to make her case against Kiyo, without any regard to the other voices trying to be heard in her misplaced fury, Angie felt something not unlike Atua’s artistic urges.

The Ultimate Artist could see it. A lovely set of armor that could reflect the soul of the Ultimate Aikido Master, as ill fitting and out of place such a garment was for the martial art. But for Neo-Aikido it’d work just fine, and invoking the style of the Samurai would be done in the spirit of the great Tomoe.

Such a warrioress deserved nothing less than an armor that would reflect her heart of hearts. And Tenko herself warranted feeling not like a princess as Tsumugi had tried, but a queen ever at the ready to strike.

Layers of lacquered wood and pristine porcelain, woven with leather into skirts for the light flexibility western metal armor could never match. Each strip made the shade of sweet sakura petals so light that the girlish pink would be nearly wedding white under the rising sun. An ill omen for any man who tried to wed her, but their foolish blood would turn it a lucky and evil-banishing crimson soon enough.

Not that it was like the martial artist to seek marital bliss. Her bliss came in simpler, smaller forms daily. But if Angie could make this even half as beautiful as what Atua was proposing, Tenko would adore it.

Still, she tried to will the beautiful image away, before she could get lost in details she would never be able to bring to life. If she didn’t stop now, before the issues of a masked helm could arise, she might not manage to later. It hurt to ignore such god-given artistry that could bring such joy to one close to her.

It was one of many things she’d never be able to do with Tenko again when all was said and done.

There’s only one way to stop this. This must be why Atua’s been so quiet aside from this last vision.

He must be so ashamed of me. I should have realized it sooner.

“So how can you say for sure the degenerate isn’t our real culprit Angie?!”

Four little words is all it should take.

“BECAUSE”

But it’s okay!

“I”

I can do this!

“PUSHED”

I’m sorry Tenko.

“HIM!”

Angie had to take a moment to regain control of her breathing after making that dreaded confession. But at least all of her friends should be safe now. If only from the fate she needs to face for the time being.

“I saw him try to attack Kiyo on the bridge. I didn’t know it was Ryoma, I just saw Kiyo’s Sister picking on him so I wanted to help and it looked like things were getting dangerous! So I snuck up on her, err him, and poked not-Kore’s back to pause them. But Kiyo wouldn’t move, he musta been in shock or somethin’, and I couldn’t move Kiyo off of the dumb narrow bridge to somewhere safer and keep Kore paused!”

“So you pushed her off the bridge, to keep her away from Kiyo?” Kaede pressed, but thankfully her eyes were understanding. There were no bitter feelings to be found in them, only the pain of true sympathy.

“Yeah! I thought the river’s current would make sure whatever shore she swam to would be far enough away to either get help or snap Kiyo out of it! It’s not like she hurt him yet as far as I could tell, but still...”

“You didn’t know we can’t swim in Kibo’s world.” Kaito numbly supplied as his features at last softened with this final closure. “Ryoma fell out of bounds, breaking the mental connection, and you had no idea.”

“Yes! Angie thought it was harmless! Everyone where she’s from are super good swimmers, she didn’t-” Angie caught herself and tried to slow herself so she could be as clear as possible. So there was no doubts about her words, and her reasons wouldn’t change the truth they had all suffered for. “I didn’t think there was any reason why a river that narrow would be dangerous. Kibo did such a divine job making everything there safe! Atua thought he covered everything. I forgot it could be deadly.”

And with the painful truth laid bare Angie took another look to her friends, trying to gauge their reactions. It didn’t surprise her to see Kokichi held no pity for her, only frustration. She knew his qualms with murder, and he had heard her suggest reviving the dead as sacrifices, firmly setting him against her.

It’s surprising how much more hollow this feels than what I expected getting someone killed would be back then. Maybe this is meant to be a sign Ryoma really isn��t dead! Or maybe that’s wishful thinking.

The others looked at her with different levels of somber airs and hurt understanding. Though Kiyo seemed shocked enough by her willingness to confess that even with his mask he appeared slack-jawed.

And that slack was all the give his mental parasite needed to claw the mask away, giving Angie a second witness if any wanted to argue against her unwitting guilt. Because while Kiyo may have still had a death wish, setting his objective against their own, Kore made it clear she was a very different story.

“It’s true! I’m sick of being considered “dead” or accused of things I know nothing about!” The banshee screeched. “I never saw Kiyo on any bridge, and I only spoke to him after he logged us both out!

“I wasn’t even in the mansion when he did it! It was extremely rude of him, not like my Korekiyo at all.” She snorted as she crossed her arms and gave Ryoma’s portrait a glare, trying to reclaim her usual frozen facade. “Even more so for him to try and drag us all down with him over such minor grievances.

“Honestly, you all you should be ashamed of yourselves! After all that progress, all our work to get him past these frivolous urges, what do you cretins do? You drag my brother’s spirit low enough to relapse, despite all the flimsy excuses he gives to defend you people!” The haughty haunting hussy huffed.

“Huh~ Since when did he need us for that? You seemed to be doing that fine enough on your own.” Angie called, leaning over the railing of her podium as she taunted so she could better aggravate the monster beside her. It’s not like she had anything left to lose anymore with her Lord’s silence, and if she didn’t shut this bitch up herself no one might.

“EXCUSE ME?!” (I can definitely feel Atua’s desire to make an ice sculpture of her, if only to curse her. Not that He can now. It’s probably just out of habit He let me feel this at all. Unless He feels my guilt is lacking and is trying to make me more repentant?)

“That’s why you wanted him to go after Kaede, isn’t it? Somebody was jealous~ Ya meanie.”

“Nonsense, that was his choice-”

“Liar, Liar, pants on fire~” Angie sang over the false specter. She could feel her anger seep over into her smile as she laid her rage bare. “If that were true, Kiyo would have asked me to be the medium before. And Angie probably would have said “yes” like a real dummy! Atua was too busy rage napping to give Angie his divine protection and I wanted Kiyo to mess it up! ‘Cause he acts like Atua isn’t the only true god. But Kiyo didn’t! And then mean ol’ missy sissy got all hissy over him just wanting her to make normal friends with us. Because you don’t want “friends”. You didn’t want him to have any, yes?”

At least Angie wasn’t the only one pissed off any more. Even if she had to quickly swing herself back to avoid the monster’s attempt to slap her, which nearly caused Angie to stumble back over the opposite railing. (Maybe copying Kiyo’s obnoxious way of talking was a biiit much. But that look on her face tho!)

“How dare you accuse me of something like that?!” She seethed, as if letting out steam to reveal how shallow her cold “cool” demeanor still was, no matter how fitting it was for her heartlessness.

“You’re only mad ‘cause she’s right, aren’t you?” Kaede challenged with an accusing point. “You chose the “friends” you wanted, not him. No point backtracking on that, with how you keep pointing out how much lower his “standards” are than yours. And if he got too close to others, he wouldn’t need you anymore, right? You don’t want to risk him moving on with his life, so you’d have to move on too.”

And that was all it took to make Kore really snap. Kinda sad how easy that really was, now that they could fairly safely gang up on her. (But not much more pushing than it takes to set me off either, is it?)

“I won’t let you take him away from me! He’s not allowed to abandon me now! I won’t let him throw me away again, to ignore me while I rot alone like everyone else did! I won’t forgive him. I won’t forgive anyone, no matter how many apologies I hear! Apologize all you want, but I won’t. I won’t. I won’t!”

An’ Thus His Parasyche Shows Her True Nature. The Ghost of a Broken Memory, a Revenant Remnant of a Dying Girl. Desperate to Forget She Was Not But a Child’s Guilt an’ Self Loathing Made Manifest, Grown Willful an’ Proud Feeding from Every Bit of Bitter Bile of His Soul He Thought Suppressed.

Angie was taken aback by His voice, but she knew it best not to question it. If He graced her with His assurances of conclusions she suspected, that was His choice. She had no right to address Him anymore.

She failed Him as His prophet, and everyone He wanted to help by acting through her.

As Angie shook off her brief shock she heard Kaede quelling the sins of Shinguji, with all others quiet. And with discussion settled Monokuma declared it was time for the votes to be cast one last time.

Well, last for her anyway. Though Angie felt no real need to condemn herself to her fate, she did so nonetheless. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to fear if they thought a third soul would be lost tonight. A glance to her side eased her own concerns, as Kore was quick to vote in her brother’s stead.

The last thing I want is for Kiyo to throw his life away after Ryoma died from my attempt to protect him. O’ Atua, I’m really going to die for HIS sake aren’t I? Please show mercy upon me my Lord, I messed up baaad this time. That prick isn’t worth all this harm and heartache! … I mean Kiyo, not Ryoma. Oh well.

Please watch over them all, okay Atua? Even if I wasn’t able to convince them of Your blessings. Amen.

Again, she felt only a sense of emptiness that equalled only the resounding silence where Atua once watched over her as the results were shown. No matter how much guilt Tenko may have felt for her role in setting the tragedy into motion, it was Angie’s face that was lit up in the end.

She tried to handle herself with as much dignity as she could, now that her end was before her. But she had one last thing to do before her execution began.

“Ah. Oh well. I guess I’m going to need to go on ahead. Sorry everyone, but it’s been fun!” Angie said with as much energy as she could, and twirled to give everyone one last looksie. “May Atua protect you all, and may you live long happy lives when the smoke clears,” she offered as a final prayer.

“Whatta bunch of bullshit,” She heard Kaito hiss to himself, and he looked far more conflicted now than he had in previous trials. He was a fair bit paler too, and hearing the way he coughed concerned her.

But before she could draw attention to the ill-boding red flecks she saw on his hand, Tenko drew her into one of the tightest bear hugs she’d ever been given. And considering Tenko’s previous hugs that’s saying a lot.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It was stupid! If I hadn’t-”

“Hey, hey~ It’s okay, it’s okay! You couldn’t have known, and I don’t blame you or Ryoma! It was my mistake.” Angie rubbed at Tenko’s back, not wanting to make anyone’s stress worse just yet. She knew Kaede also saw the proof of Kaito’s injury, wherever it was. So they’ll be able to settle that later.

For now, Angie needed to try and lessen the damage she was about to do.

And a bit of tradition felt fitting in that moment, so Angie wiggled out of her raincoat and plopped it on Tenko’s shoulders, using the sleeve to uselessly wipe at Tenko’s mucky face. Tenko quickly caught onto what she was doing, as the waterproof material only moved the tears and gross boogers around rather than wipe them up, which got some very wet laughs from those around them as Tenko shooed her away.

“There! You look like you need it more than me, just look at how much rain you have on your faces already!” Angie stuck her tongue out at them in faux-mockery, hoping her own tears wouldn’t be brought up at her tease. “So take good care of it, m’kay? It’s important to keep parts of a person alive, and objects can hold memories just like brains do. So even if it stops being a raincoat, don’t get rid of it!”

With her parting piece said, there was no reason to postpone things any longer. Before Monokuma could snatch her away to meet Atua, and how he would try to break her spirit as he did, she squared her shoulders and gave everyone one last wave.

It was only then it occurred to her that blackeneds didn’t know what their executions were called.

Somehow not knowing made what was to come all the more nerve wracking than the anticipation a title left for those on the other side of the curtain. But she would never let that weakness show. If Monokuma wanted to make her frown or scream in “despair” she’d make that as difficult for him as she could.

That made the setting set before her all the more anticlimactic.

It was a snowy field, with a river nearby much like how the Virtual World’s setting was, and the sky above looked stormy. Angie wasn’t sure if lightning was possible during snow storms, but regardless of it was possible or artistic license that’s the direction it looked like things were going.

And as snake-like ropes bound her struggling form to a post like a lowercase t at the center of a pile of kindling she felt like she was ready to vomit, seeing the blasphemy he was going for.

Around her christianity based cross-of-a-lightning rod she saw ruined depictions of other faiths too. Everything from wooden sculptures like totem heads or scrolls of pagan gods were ready to burn.

Her thoughts were torn between Himiko’s lifeless corpse and the words her other self spoke before:

I’d rather avoid something witchy if I can.

So Monokuma made her take on the role of Joan of Arc (Joan d’arc? I don’t do french! Sorry Kaede) and was going to make the heavens “smite” her for her insolence. The crimes born out of best intentions and poor judgement, including those that happened long before Ryoma may have come to harm.

While there was no true being supporting Monokuma’s murder, Angie took a breath and prepared to accept it nonetheless. She felt an odd calmness within her as she saw the lightning flashes and resulting flames draw near her. As if it was Atua protecting her from the full brunt of her torture.

But when an all too human weight tackled into her, if this was His doing she wished he had forsaken her.

As kind as it is to keep her from dying alone, it was cruel to do so at the expense of one of her friends. But as her would-be savior tried to untie her, urging her to escape the stage, she couldn’t bring herself to voice those feelings. She simply tried to smother the pure gratitude that welled in her chest, and prayed for both of their souls as the thunder kept crashing down.

----

Tenko could only watch in silent horror as Kaito shoved Angie out of the way of the first strike. She watched as he struggled to untie their most innocent murderer, but as hard as she tried Tenko couldn’t hear anything over the sound of Monokuma’s thunder at this point.

But shouldn’t I be the one trying to save her? Or at least be helping him now? There’s only one Exisal left, so this would be as good a time as any to strikeback, wouldn’t it? I promised to protect Angie, didn’t I?!

Would she have ever done the same thing for you?

Tenko could only clench her eyes and teeth as shut as she was able to and looked away in frustration at that insidious thought. But only because she knew the answer.

She knew Angie wouldn’t even have considered saving her had their positions were switched. So in a way it was for the best that Tenko did the same thing, wasn’t it?

Unlike Kaito she had things she could still lose. Opening her eyes gave her a harsh reminder of that.

Gonta was beside her looking as torn and lost as she felt, standing on the sidelines as a “degenerate male” did what she couldn’t bring herself to do. And she knew that if she lept in to help Gonta would have followed her without question, because like Kaito that was the sort of man he was. A noble one.

And Kaito only had to die to prove it to you, didn’t he? Just like Ryoma did. Just like everyone kept saying. But you never wanted to listen, did you Tenko? This is all your fault. You failed Angie, and you’ll fail Kaito.

Her head felt like a mountain as she lifted it and shook her head at Gonta. The heartbreak and failure on his face would be forever ingrained in her memory. Because failing Kaito was the best they could do.

If we try to save him now we both might just end up dying out there with them, even without the Exisal. There’s nowhere for us to run to and he knew that going in. And if we all died who’d protect Kaede or Tsumugi!? Kibo? Even if he could, who’d protect him? He can’t save everyone on his own! He needs us.

Both she and Gonta could do nothing but weep as they saw Kaito try to pull Angie to a safety that didn’t exist. He couldn’t even see where the others were standing in all the chaos of the execution’s set. It was only a matter of time before the cruel god of this hell struck them down, as it gave up on avoiding him.

She almost thought Kaede and some others even began cheering him on, trying to help lead him back to them. But since even standing closer to the stage was enough to nearly drown them out, if that hadn’t been Tenko projecting her own feelings, there was no real point to it all.

So instead of joining in, or risk starting this chant of false hope if her mind was playing tricks, she just went close enough to hug Gonta as the watched. But with the way he held her she figured he was the one really doing most of the comforting. She could only hope she was helping him back in some way.

A part of her hoped the thunder would help mask her own wailing as the inevitable happened, only belatedly realizing a lot of that noise was now her other friends making similar screams. (But not Angie.)

It was only when she felt Gonta lift her that she noticed both of her knees had given out at some point. He still held her protectively, like this was still just a clingy two way hug to him, and carried her back to the group as she shoved her face into his chest to keep him from hearing her babble and whimper.

Not that any of it stopped when he cautiously put her back down, but she thought it would be better than hearing her incoherently try to blame herself for everything that happened. (Keeping him from correcting you for telling the truth was just another selfish benefit. You were just too scared to help.)

As he set her down Tsumugi was the first to cling to her as they sobbed together. A glance to Kaede quickly answered the question of why she wasn’t joining them.

The pianists eyes looked glossy with unshed tears as she blankly stared at the spot they could last make out Kaito and Angie, lost to the flames. She was on her knees, but looked broken in a way the previous trials hadn’t managed.

No one had expected Kaito to interfere, least of all her. Unlike Shuichi, his death wasn’t one Monokuma’s vile rules had forced upon them. He just threw his life away at the last minute.

But why did he do that?! He even cast a vote like the rest of us did, Angie’s guilt was unanimous. Was it just to spite Monokuma, dying in a way he didn’t want? He didn't even like Angie that much! So why-

“What the hell was that moron thinking?” She heard Kokichi cuss to himself, but he made no attempt to snap Kaede out of her traumatized trance. So Tenko decided to do what he didn’t think he could.

Tenko left Tsumugi’s embrace with a pitiful hiccup of an attempt to reassure her, and stretched Angie’s raincoat over Kaede’s far shoulder like it was a blanket for them both. (Is that how shock blankets work?)

Kaede made no indication she noticed, but with how much both girls were sobbing at this point Tenko didn’t mind. And Tenko took notice of how little the dying flames left behind of either of their friends.

It’s not fair! How can a person just… disappear, like that? Like if I didn’t have Angie’s coat it could be like she never existed at all. And everyone else who died in a trial left something behind, so why didn’t Kaito?

Maybe I should try making a momento for him? Like how Angie made her wax memorial figures.

Kaito never went without that printed jacket of his. I could try making the inside of Angie’s coat look like that. It’d be a lot of work, but I think it’d be worth it. Maybe it could help some of the others too...

Tenko distantly heard Kokichi try to stir the pot, something accusatory at either Kibo or Kiyo. She couldn’t be sure which. Whatever it was, she focused on trying to bring Kaede back to them mentally instead.

The two only moved when Gonta helped get them to their feet, so everyone could leave this cursed place in the elevator. But the ride up was deathly silent and as tense as a taught bow-string.

Kibo was the first to go and took off running, with Tsumugi’s lighter footsteps following after him. But the farthest Kaede could get was five paces before crumbling back to the ground and screaming loud enough for the stars to hear her. So Tenko did the same, rather than leave her like this alone and in so much pain.

Tenko looked up to see what Gonta intended to do, and assure him he could go if he wanted to, but the words caught in her throat. He looked to Kokichi, but the boy made it clear he wanted nothing to do with the misguided gentleman. Seeing the heartbreak on Gonta’s face as the small boy swatted a hand away and stomped off in the direction of their dorms, she chose to keep out of it. She’d probably just make more problems otherwise.

Hopefully Kokichi’s not going to hold this against him for long! Kokichi has more reason to hate me for planning a murder than Gonta. Mine got farther than his did, and Gonta deserves better than this.

She turned to see where the cause of all of their misery went off to, but as it turned out Korekiyo stood at the edge of the restored fountain as if he had barely moved since exiting the elevator. He kept… twitching, in a way that definitely wasn’t natural and his eyes were scrunched tight.

When they opened it was Shinguji who looked back at her, and when she removed the mask she was scowling at both of them. As if Kaede and Tenko had played any role in her own mistakes, much less her brother’s mental state.

She strode forward, trying to keep her distance from Gonta showing she was still wary of him, but couldn’t bring herself to leave the area. And not just in a figurative sense.

The hand that reached for the exit instead turned and pulled the mask back into place, and Korekiyo stood idle by the door as he faced them.

“My apologies if I am mistaken, but I am still not to be roaming about campus unsupervised, yes?”

Gonta startled at first, and guiltily looked at the floor before nodding his agreement. “It be better, yes. Gonta not know if Tsumugi go with Kibo or go to her room, so Kiyo could be threat to her.”

“Understood,” Korekiyo replied with a short nod of his own. “If it is not too problematic, should I help you escort our fair companions back to their dorms?”

“We can stand!” Tenko snapped at him after wiping away what tears she could, and refused to feel any guilt at seeing him flinch away. She tried to pull Kaede to her feet alongside her to prove her point, but Kaede’s legs were far less stable.

“Sorry, I-”

“It okay!” Gonta assured Kaede, flushed with humiliation as much as it was from her crying. “Kaede want piggy back? If Tenko can walk, Gonta can carry Kaede easy!”

“O-oh. Sure? I mean I don’t really remember the last time I got carried like tha-AAAAT” Kaede panicked at the end seeing as he was quick to prove true to her word. But even after she got herself situated her embarrassed blush didn’t die down. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome!” Gonta smiled as brightly as anyone could after their hell of a night. “So we back to dorms now?”

“By all means, lead the way.” Korekiyo agreed, holding the door for the other three, as much as Tenko was loath to accept any “help” from him after all the confusion and death he’d caused.

Sniffling aside, the walk back was quiet, and there were no signs of any of their other friends. But that may have been for the best, as it encouraged going straight to bed if nothing else.

Not even she was ready to offer a “sleep over” after this. Tenko just wanted to sleep and hope this was all a stupid dream her mind cooked up out of guilt over her conspiring with Shinguji.

But it wasn’t. It never was in this horrible place that Angie had wanted them all to consider “home”.

Hell, she couldn’t even remember having a single dream in this prison. But thinking of dreams brought her mind back to her key. It felt like it was so long ago now, but it couldn’t’ve been more than three days. The thought and memories made her stomach do a flip without her in grief, but she held herself firm.

She had to try to appear strong. To help Kaede. To protect Gonta. To keep Korekiyo at bay.

Speaking of that bastard...

“Hey, Gonta, can we talk real fast? I know we all need some shut eye but I have a question first.”

Gonta gave a nervous glance to Korekiyo, who merely nodded and headed for his room for the entomologist’s peace of mind. But while her friend went off to the side so Tenko could hopefully keep Kaede from overhearing and make her worried, the murderer didn’t close his door all the way.

She tried not to think about it too much when she saw Kaede notice that too, and had a few quiet words with the unstable man which netted a nod to whatever she asked of him. Likely just to make sure he would still be breathing when the morning announcement sounded, knowing Kaede.

It would be wasteful for him to die now, wouldn’t it? I don’t know how to handle this. He doesn’t DESERVE to be forgiven! But at the same time… Maybe I should try, to make up for trying to kill him?

Is that what Angie would have wanted? Or would Ryoma rather I not leave the job unfinished?

Since when have you cared about what either of them really thought? Stupid selfish Tenko!

She shook her head to clear her thoughts as she made her offer. “Do you think it’ll be okay for me to help keep an eye on Kiyo? Since without Ryoma and Kaito, we…” The words caught for a moment in her tightened throat. “I don’t want you need to feel like you have to handle him all by yourself.”

“But it not safe! Kiyo sneaky person, could try to hurt Tenko without noticing.”

“I know. But if things with his “sister” really are different now, like if she’s all in his head, we don’t know how that could change things! He could try to hurt you too! Or maybe he won’t be killing anyone else-”

“Gonta can handle Kiyo! Tenko worry about Tenko, okay?” Gonta asked with a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and it took a lot of willpower to keep herself from trying to toss him on reflex. (Though tossing a guy THIS big could be hard even for me. He’s real good about keeping himself grounded and balanced.)

“But-!”

“Ladies shouldn’t talk about butts!” Gonta laughed at his attempt at a pun to try easing her worries. “If Gonta need help, Gonta ask for help. Gonta promise.” He swore as he crossed his heart with his hand.

“Alright. And I will be one of the people you can ask for help, whatever you need, okay?” Tenko reaffirmed, and didn’t allow him to break eye contact with her until he nodded his understanding. “Good! So, I guess that’s settled for now. We can work things out in the morning.”

“Okay. Goodnight Tenko! Don’t worry about bed bugs biting, Gonta already checked and no one has signs of those! Hope you sleep good.” (GAH, WAIT ARE BED BUGS REALLY REAL?! I DIDN’T KNOW THAT!)

“I-... Thank you? Sorry if you were hoping to find some I guess.” She nervously laughed as she headed for her door. “Goodnight!”

Tenko didn’t open her eyes once she entered that room, relying on muscle memory to reach her bed unimpeded. Anything to keep from seeing things that would make what happened that night harder.

But try as she might, the memories came to plague her all the same. And despite her best efforts, sleep refused to come easily. It was only until after her pillow was soaked from her futile fury and endless replays going over everything she could have done differently to avoid her current reality did it take her.

And it would feel like no time had passed at all when the next morning came, unrested and longing for just one night to allow her to dream and escape this hell on earth. Or wherever it was they were.

Not that the truth would help us any. Even if we were in space, Kaito wouldn’t have wanted it this way.

End of Chapter 3: We Lived and Let Them All Die Young

Surviving Members: 7

2 notes · View notes