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morihaus · 4 years ago

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Domina

cw for a vampire talking about mortals like cattle and mentions of molag bal (just his name)

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Atop a balcony of the Imperial Palace, the young emperor casts her gaze westward, over the canopy of the great forest, off to the dark horizon laid over the Colovian highlands. Past the borders of Cyrodiil, there lays the outlying province of the Empire, Craglorn, home to the distant Nedes never chained. Cities of stone and high towers, traditions older than the Empire of Man, faith older than Saint Alessia herself; Hestra was born to these lands, to the Cyrodiils who came from Colovia to lend aid to their kin, to enlighten them, to fasten and secure their ties to the Empire, and to keep wary watch of the expanding dominion of Verkarth, whose king had spent a century splitting the land in two, harrowing the Nedic allies of the Empire, unopposed in the distant and foreign borderland.

It was this that brought her to power. She became warrior to the faith as many in her family had been before her, as was the Colovian style of the priesthood, and she worked to stymie the tide of this burgeoning power henceforth unknown- as well as the dark creatures who cavorted within its borders, fanning out to the neighboring realms to terrorize the populace. Vampires, werebeasts, monsters of all sorts became the scourge of Craglorn in those days, and the Empire of Cyrodiil did nothing, for what was their concern for the fate of provincials? Nedes who knew nothing of Paravant, or Pelinal, or the One, whose degenerate practices ostracized them from polite Imperial society.

Hestra was one of many in Craglorn and Cyrodiil who saw need for action, but alas, small militias could do nothing but root out loose ends, small cells of the fiends who dogged the western reaches. A coven here, a pack there, but this was to treat the symptoms rather than the sickness, and without organized action against Styriche and his Gray Host itself, nothing would be done.

And for all the dire circumstances, this is why she stands here, amulet of dragon-fire around her neck, looking west with purpose. She has been emperor for but two years, and the Empire is more united than it has been in some time. She is what Cyrodiil needs, a decisive emperor, to cut through the internal bickering of the Order; a conquering emperor, to show no quarter to the enemies of mankind; a common emperor, who understands the plight of her subjects and refuses to rest until justice is done.

With the Empire whole, it prepares for a full-scale invasion of Verkarth, to sunder and destroy the foul abominations commanded by its king.

Something approaches silently from behind her. She is without guard, but not alone, for tonight she is entertaining a particular guest.

"Second thoughts, Emperor?" The pale woman clad in deep red silks asks her with a playful tone. Playful as a cat toys with a mouse, but decidedly playful nonetheless.

Hestra turns to face her, Exarch of the Gray Council, undying vampire, a mistress of the dark forces she plans to destroy. She faces her and sees her ever-so-smug grin, her round face, pale like the moon with dark shadows and painted colors framing her scarlet-orange eyes. She sees her jewelry reflect the light of the night sky, a shimmer along the chain of her belt as her eyes trace her waist, a shine around the swirling ringlets of her arm, up to the clasp of her dress on her shoulder, even a sparkle from the jewel earrings when her long black hair fell just so to make way for the light. "I consider my actions more often than you think. This is why I'm here, Vem."

Vem moves forward to press up against the other woman, lifting a manicured hand to trace her jawline. She is without reverence for the Emperor, but not without admiration, and often she shows her appreciation with touch. "This is why I see such potential in you, fair Hestra." The mortal woman doesn't flinch- but might shiver- at the vampire's chilling touch, and allows it to happen. This close she can see the subtle scaly texture speckling Vem's skin, around her eyes and her bare neck and arms, her eyes fix to this instead of Vem's hypnotic gaze- she wouldn't dare attempt to bewitch the warrior emperor, but she does much without noticing it. "We have more in common than you do with your councilors. They fill their heads with petty concerns, worthless mortal vanity- you and I, we focus on what's truly important: power."

Hestra, for as steely as her countenance is, lets her head droop to one side, warm cheek pressed against Vem's cold hand. She raises one of her own to Vem's waist, closing her eyes. "I have power, Vem. I'm the Emperor, blessed by Akatosh, anointed before the One." She doesn't need sight to picture the frown grow on Vem's face as she speaks.

She hears a sigh, and the cold hand moves down from cradling her head, sliding across her bare neck and stopping at her shoulder. Hestra opens her eyes again to see the predictable sight. She'd call the expression on Vem's face perplexed, as she is always baffled by her refusal. "Have I not explained to you the difference in magnitude hundreds of time?" She scoffs. "You are a Queen, a mortal Queen, you command great armies and rule over all of your citizenry. But I could make you more. As vampire, you would never age, never die, you would be indomitable."

"Indomitable," Hestra repeats. "But dominated by the foul machinations of your master."

Vem furrows her brow, twitching her nose. "Lord Bal is our master in name alone. He holds no true sway over us- we only need make one pact, but one ritual, and we may reap the rewards of his gift as we serve ourselves. You cannot tell me you would not desire such a power."

"Power at a price." Hestra lets her hand fall back, and now furrows her own brow as she looks back at Vem, somewhat yearning for the years she hadn't known of her true nature, or for a time where they could spend time ignoring the doom that surrounds them, before this decision had to be reached. "I do not want to join your Gray Host."

"You would not have to." Vem retracts her hand as well, folding her arms over her chest. "As immortal Emperor of Cyrodiil, you would be of much greater use as an ally to the Gray Host, to relinquish your power over this land would be foolish."

"Imagine I disagree with what your Host does, terrorizing innocent people, drinking of their blood and eating of their flesh."

Vem tisks, she almost seems to roll her luminous eyes at that. "This is because you are clinging to mortal notions of morality. You do not weep for the butchered cow, do you? For us, it is no different than hunting simple animals."

"And if I care for these animals?" Hestra asks.

She receives a raised brow. "Do you really care for these people, Emperor? These people who are not yours, who you do not know- how much would you sacrifice for their lives?" After a pointed silence, she adds: "If you could trade your life for theirs, right now, would you?"

Hestra answers honestly. "No."

"If," Vem begins. "The inverse were true, and you could sacrifice the lives of many to achieve greater power, greater dominion, wouldn't you?"

Hestra considers. "...I might." She gazes off to the side, looking behind Vem into the palace's quarters. "But what you speak of, this is the truth of politics, of warfare, of the life of an Emperor. These ugly decisions are mine to make, and I must."

"This is what holds you back," Vem turns and begins to pace, steps silent as she does. "You deny what you truly want: power. You claim it out of responsibility, you make these excuses for yourself..." She looks over her shoulder, Hestra meets her piercing eyes. "Why do you let yourself be ruled by such foolish thoughts?" She approaches again, so gently as though gliding through the air. A fanged smile plays on her lips. "You are Emperor. I am offering you power, it is in your very nature to accept it. Do not deny your true calling."

Hestra looks to her vacantly. She wonders how often she has been tempted, how close she's come before now. "You talk of offering me power- power of my own- and yet you speak as though to dominate me yourself."

At this, Vem laughs. It breaks the tension somewhat, and she takes Hestra's hand in her own, rubbing circles on the back with her cold thumb. She looks at her with half-lidded eyes. "You would not like to belong to me, dear Hestra?"

And at this, Hestra is pulled two ways, and such a grave conversation becomes very silly, and for the first time tonight, the Emperor smiles. "You speak in circles, love, like a turning wheel." She leans in and very easily presses her lips against Vem's; a shallow kiss, undercoated with some feeling of fleeting passion and intimacy, something that feels like a last chance, a final moment in which they can both pretend they share the same future. Vem puts her arms around Hestra's head, the mortal reciprocates with a hold on her waist. Hestra pulls back to breathe and laugh. "Sometimes, I still can't tell- do you want me a vampire, or a thrall-" Vem interrupts her by kissing her cheek, laughing along.

They embrace and they laugh for awhile, standing on the balcony, nipped at by the chilly night air. Eventually they stop laughing and just hold each other. Vem tucks her head into the crook of Hestra's neck, and Hestra lets her, and runs a hand through her silky dark hair.

"...You know," Vem softly breaks the silence. "That of course I want you to join me as I am- a vampire, the rightful rulers of the unliving. Because you are a ruler, Hestra, and this drew me to you, for I recognized how great you could be if you could only see what lies beyond your mortality..." One of her pale hands turns to run across the close-cut hair on Hestra's head, and Vem turns to look her in the eye, one side of her head still pressed against her shoulder. Her expression is warm, and not regal. "I do not doubt how far you will go as a mortal. You will be remembered for centuries, for a hundred centuries, your death will be something glorious, remembered in song, you will be indelible... but you will die. And it breaks my heart-" A laugh- or maybe a sob- spills out between words. "I know you could never understand, you are mortal, impermanence is everywhere in your life, to be everlasting is... difficult, to communicate. It's something you need to feel for yourself. I ask... that you allow me to grant you this, Hestra. Please."

She'd never seen Vem posture in such a way. They have been intimate with one another, they've spoken of sadness before, but never has she been so melancholy, so sorrowful as to look up to her with those eyes, dry but full of sadness. "...My love, you know I can't-"

"Why?" Vem asks immediately.

"Because- Because I am Emperor first, divine regent of the One, descendant of the Ascended Saint Alessia, defender of Cyrodiil and the Faith. I am dutybound to destroy the Gray Host... and I cannot accept your power, it would render me an abomination in the eyes of the Order, and all I've worked for would be for naught."

Vem pulls back, Hestra lets open her arms to give her space. She looks at Hestra, fear in her face, steeled by frustration. "They would not have to know. There are ways- many of us disguise our true nature, some get away with it for a century or more. You yourself had no idea before I revealed to you my nature."

"You're right. I didn't," Hestra admits. "But this is because I was young and stupid. The pelates of the Order are older, wiser, many of them savvy to the affronts to the divine. And in any case, I would still need to invade Verkarth."

"No, no you don't. We could- if you'd postpone, delay, we could destroy this Alessian Order-"

"Destroy the Order?" Hestra's brows fly up at this, almost more shocked than insulted.

Vem clenches her fists at her sides. "They are just mortals, Hestra. Mortals can be manipulated, they can be herded and culled by their true masters. If all of the threats to your power were turned, were on our side, would you still deny this?"

"You're speaking in fantasies." The Emperor says, colder than she meant to. She is just as frustrated, not only by Vem's assertions, but by how her mind meanders and considers them.

"Answer me, Hestra!"

"I could not- I could not disgrace my line, my ancestors-"

"Your ancestors were nothing more than cattle!" Vem shouts.

"Your family is nothing but a pack of monsters!" Hestra replies.

Vem, incensed, points a sharp finger at Hestra as she bares her fangs. "We are NOT monsters!" She growls, throwing a hand up. "'Monsters', 'daimons', 'abominations', these are all the labels feeble-minded sheep apply to us, the true masters of Tamriel! And here you are- so different from them, so close to us, and you refuse your rightful place on our Council, your rightful taste of our blood, all because of these vapid mortal commitments to the lives and deeds of mortals, the ways of people who lived and died as nothing more than stupid animals- you let them limit you, hold you back, drag you down to their level!" Snarling, there is a quivering to her frame and face that belies her nerves. "You do not deserve to be another pile of bones in a pasture! You deserve to be Domina, High Emperor of All Tamriel, Immortal Ruler of the weak and impermanent!!"

Hestra stands stock still, shadows cast on her creased face. "I cannot do this. I will not take knee before your king."

"You would not have to! Do you know how few of us respect King Styriche? How fewer revere Lord Bal? To depose him, to usurp him, it would not be difficult, you would only have to delay your invasion!" Vem's composure is all but faded as she pleads for what she wants, the safety of her family, an immortal paramour, and all that she wills be made real, as in true domination of the world. The fact that she screams this hoarsely and with such desperation- the desperation of someone not in control- is not lost on her.

The Emperor hangs her head, heavy with troubles. She grits her teeth as she speaks with attempted finality. "I cannot, Vem, and I'm sorry that I cannot." Her own eyes, still living, well up as she speaks. "It does not mean I don't love you- I do, I give you my word and I mean it: I do, and if I were anyone different... you need to know how much I want to be forever beside you, I truly want this, but..."

Vem suddenly darts forward, pressing herself against her, looking up at her with pleading eyes. "If you want it, you can have it. Let me turn you, forget the Empire, let it fall under someone else's rule- we could make of it that you died in battle, that you were- you were betrayed somehow, sow dissent in the Empire, let it rot and fall. Leave my family alone, let us go together into a new life." Her plan is flimsy, her voice is quickened and shaking, but she bears her soul to Hestra like never before. "Take what you want, Hestra."

She bows her head. Hestra leans down to press her forehead against hers. She wants to take her into her arms, as they used to, like lovers would, but she doesn't.

#mori writing #oc: hestra #oc: alessians #hi. this is about emperor hestra and exarch vem from that one eso dlc #shout out to that background character for saying one nice thing about another woman so i could write this entire thing

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ayuuria · 4 years ago

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Inuyasha Translation: Animage Magazine February 2010 Issue

Please do not repost this translation without my consent! This includes screenshots of any type and amount. If you wish to share this translation, simply link to this post.

For more information regarding the use of my translations, click here.

This was a translation request from @officialinuyasha. This article was published back when “Inuyasha the Final Act” was still airing.

Proof of the Successor

Tenseiga was a sword that was cut off from Tessaiga along with Meidōzangetsuha. Then is Inuyasha worthy of wielding the Tessaiga? Sesshōmaru has finally gone into serious mode. The unprecedented brother showdown is about to begin!

Sesshōmaru in “Inuyasha The Final Act” gave off the impression that he developed a compassionate heart in comparison to before. Not only did he have a soft gaze when he attended Kagura’s death but he also put himself at risk to save Rin who fell into the underworld.

However, on the one hand, he continued to hold a heart that stoically yearned for insatiable power. The one offensive technique that Tenseiga, “The sword of healing”, obtained: “Meidōzangetsuha”. At first, it could only open a small meidō in the shape of a crescent moon, but after several ordeals, it matures to the point that it can open a gigantic meidō close to the shape of a circle. All of this came about from Sesshōmaru’s ability.

However, no matter how much of a powerful sword Tenseiga becomes, Sesshōmaru was unable to throw away his obsession with Tessaiga. It was then that he learned through his battle with Shishinki that Tenseiga was a sword that was cut off from Tessaiga. Did his father give him Tessaiga’s unneeded aspect? Sesshōmaru, whose pride has been hurt, purposely goes along with Naraku’s trap.

Inuyasha vs Sesshōmaru. The not so long-ago clash between the brothers over Tessaiga is about to begin. Who is the rightful successor!?

Brothers with the Same Father

A full-fledged demon and half-demon but the two resemble each other somehow.

While they both have the same father, there’s a big difference in ability and thought process towards humans between Sesshōmaru, a full-fledged demon, and Inuyasha, a half-demon with a human mother. Inuyasha previously loved Kikyō and desperately protects Kagome. Sesshōmaru on the other hand, had no interest in humans. However, Rin’s existence has brought about change within his heart. Just as his mother said, did Sesshōmaru perhaps inherit his attachment to humans from his father?

A Strengthened Tessaiga

From numerous past battles, Tessaiga has become the most powerful weapon.

Tessaiga was originally a fang of Inuyasha’s greater demon father. Tōtōsai forged it into a sword and it became Inuyasha’s weapon. Afterwards, Inuyasha mastered various techniques such as the Wind Scar, Backlash Wave, and Adamant Barrage. In addition, Tessaiga has the ability to transform itself as well as becoming the barrier breaking red Tessaiga and the demon vortex cutting dragon-scaled Tessaiga. Furthermore, from the clash with Sesshōmaru, Tessaiga will climb to new heights.

Tessaiga and Tenseiga

The powerful weapon Tessaiga and the dead reviving Tenseiga

Inuyasha’s father entrusted him with Tessaiga. Meanwhile, Sesshōmaru was entrusted with “Tenseiga”, a sword that can revive the dead. Sesshōmaru exasperates dissatisfaction with Tenseiga as it cannot be used in battle. However, from obtaining Meidōzangetsuha, Tenseiga has become a powerful weapon. Sesshōmaru raised Tensaiga from only being able to open a small, crescent moon shaped meidō at the beginning, to being able to open a gigantic meidō in the shape of a near circle. However…

The Truth Behind Meidōzangetsuha

In order to strengthen Tessiaga, father used Sesshōmaru and Tenseiga?

Meidōzangetsuha was technique that their father stole from Shishinki. According to Shishinki, their father did not know what to do with Meidōzangetsuha and thus had Tenseiga created in order to cast it off of Tessaiga. Perhaps their father entrusted Sesshōmaru with Tenseiga in order to complete Meidōzangetsuha which a half-demon like Inuyasha couldn’t handle and then have (the technique) entrusted to Inuyasha someday? This gave birth to doubt within Sesshōmaru.

Naraku’s Trap

While realizing it is a trap set up by Naraku, Sesshōmaru purposely goes along with it.

Through Shishinki’s words, Sesshōmaru’s attachment to Tessaiga strengthened. There was no way Naraku would overlook the movement in his heart. The mirror fragment that Kanna (who died) left behind. While it was only a small piece, it did not lose the ability to take and duplicate an enemy’s technique. Sesshōmaru, who receives the fragment from Byakuya of the Mirage, puts it on Tenseiga while knowing it’s one of Naraku’s traps and challenges Inuyasha to a battle.

The Role of Sesshōmaru, Narita Ken

— Episode 15 “The Rightful Successor” depicts a fierce battle with Inuyasha. What were your thoughts when you enacted (that episode)?

Narita: I felt very tense through the whole thing and it was as though the content was reminding me of the movie. (translator’s note: He’s referring to the 3rd Inuyasha movie, Swords of the Honorable Ruler)

— Sesshōmaru says to Inuyasha “Show me Inuyasha. Proof that you are Tessaiga’s successor and not I.” and commences battle with him. Narita-san, how do you comprehend his feelings towards his father regarding Tenseiga and his anger towards Inuyasha?

Narita: I believe all of it is hatred. Only one with power should have a perfect sword. I think that natural thought is the sole source of his anger towards Inuyasha.

— In episode 15, do you think Sesshōmaru was truly trying to kill Inuyasha? Or was he merely testing him?

Narita: I believe it was both. Those without power die. There is no love or sympathy in that.

— In a previous conversation with Yamaguchi-san, he stated that Inuyasha and Sesshōmaru are jealous of each other. Having acted in “The Final Act” up to the midway point, how do you once again perceive Sesshōmaru’s relationship to Inuyasha?

Narita: I think there was jealousy at the beginning. However now, it’s not something that petty but rather, who’s stronger. I think it’s this single point.

— Sesshōmaru relinquishes Meidōzangetsuha. What do you think this will bring about for him?

Narita: Growth. More strength.

— I would like to ask regarding the two in Sesshōmaru’s team. What sort of feelings do you think Sesshōmaru has for Rin?

Narita: A part within his heart. Like a nostalgic part that he lacks.

— In episode 9, Sesshōmaru saved Rin who had fallen into the underworld. In that episode, which scene left an impression on you?

Narita: The last scene where Sesshōmaru says, “You’re alright now”

— In addition, in episode 9, Sesshōmaru’s mother appears. What is your impression of her? What do you think mother and son have in common and what in way are they different?

Narita: That coldness. Indifference. She also had a comical aspect which I did not expect.

— Regarding the fussy Jaken, what do you think is the reason Sesshōmaru moves with him despite everything?

Narita: I think it’s because it can’t be helped. Like someday he might be useful for something.

— Jaken has a lot of funny lines. If there is a line that left a lasting impression on you, please tell us.

Narita: There’s so many that I can’t say just one.

— The amount of people that Sesshōmaru has connections with is gradually increasing. What sort of growth do you think he will achieve going foward?

Narita: I wish that Sesshōmaru himself never changes. I want him to maintain his sublime aloofness.

— In addition to giving the fans a message, please tell us how you will prepare to act Sesshōmaru in the second half of the series.

Narita: Thank you for always supporting me. In my mind, he has not changed. Any sort of love or kindness has nothing to do with his solitary world. Even if he becomes able to understand the hearts of humans, his heart will never be like the others. Please continue to watch over us.

Our Beloved Lord Sesshōmaru!?

From the point of view of Inuyasha’s party, Sesshōmaru is unsociable and completely does his own thing. But to Jaken and Rin, his existence is precious. Here we have a special feature regarding the two’s “love” for Lord Sesshōmaru!

The very powerful Lord Sesshōmaru. Why someone like him who has lived his life without relying on anyone, purposely moving together with Jaken and Rin? If you were to say it, I think it’s because the two of them are very cute. At first glance, Jaken is a middle-aged small demon with an underhanded personality that makes unnecessary comments and lies. However, you truly cannot hate that sense of restlessness. Rin, on the other hand, is a genuinely cute girl. Sesshōmaru listens to their arguments without the slightest change of expression but in reality, could he perhaps be biting down that amusement in his heart?

Finally, the best part about the two of them is their overflowing “love” for Lord Sesshōmaru. Sesshōmaru is of the strongest class within the “Inuyasha” world but when you see the two of them getting close to him, you can’t help but think the 3 of them are having fun in spite of it all.

Character Bios

Sesshōmaru As an aloof existence, Sesshōmaru has lived his life as he pleases. However, the existence of Tessaiga and Tensaiga leads his heart astray. And now to the brother’s showdown!

Jaken A small demon who serves as Sesshōmaru’s servant. While he makes blatant lies, he’s an existence that one can’t hate. He does not intend to lose to anyone when it comes to loyalty to Lord Sesshōmaru.

Rin A girl who lost her life after being attacked by man-eating wolves but was revived by Sesshōmaru’s “Healing Tenseiga”. Innocent and cheerful, she bares a carefree personality. Her special trait is her severe jabs at Jaken’s remarks.

The One in Charge of Reactions

The extremely cool Sesshōmaru does not break his facial expression easily, no matter what kind of enemy appears or what the enemy says to him. It is there that Jaken fulfills that important role. It is when Jaken is surprised and talks back to the enemy that the (conversational) exchange between Sesshōmaru’s party and the enemy begins to proceed. In other words, Jaken is in charge of reactions within Sesshōmaru’s party. There are times where he unintentionally goes overboard though…

The Life That Was Saved Twice

In episode 9, Rin is kidnapped and taken into the underworld. Sesshōmaru struggles hard to save Rin but Tenseiga can only revive a person once. Without the aid of Sesshōmaru’s mother, Rin would have remained dead. Sesshōmaru looks at Rin softly as she slowly opens her eyes. It was a scene that made you wonder what Sesshōmaru would do when Rin grows up.

You See, the Greatest Combination Within “Inuyasha” is the Silliness and Jabs of Jaken x Rin.

Jaken makes exaggerated and underhanded remarks and Rin jabs at them. There are some periodic gags that are sharp within “Inuyasha the Final Act” but the combination of these two is superb. For example, in episode 3

Jaken “Lord Sesshōmaru’s heart is perfect!”

Rin “He’s strong and kind~”

Jaken *teary eyed* “I don’t know anything about kindness.”

After that, there’s episode 14 that made the voice actor for Jaken, Chō-san, roar with laughter.

Jaken “I’m included with the small people?”

Rin “Master Jaken, you’re small in a lot of ways. Your height, heart, and personality.”

I wonder which dialogue between Jaken x Rin made all of you laugh the most?

The Role of Jaken, Chō

— Episode 15 “The Rightful Successor” depicts a fierce battle between Inuyasha and Sesshōmaru. How was the recording?

Chō: It was terrific. Especially Inuyasha’s yelling as there was a high amount of enthusiasm.

— Jaken appears to be the spokesperson for Sesshōmaru’s emotions (sometimes he gets it wrong though). What sort of feelings do you think he has towards Sesshōmaru?

Chō: Love itself. There’s something there that’s not just a master-servant relationship.

— Jaken has many humorous lines but having acted up to episode 15, which scene left an impression on you?

Chō: I love his reaction when Rin told him “Master Jaken, your personality and heart are small”

— There is silliness and jabs with Rin and they make a good combo. What is your impression of the dialogues with Noto-san? What is the fun part about acting?

Chō: Rin makes some pretty sadistic jabs. Jaken, who’s a masochist, is surprisingly happy with them.

— Jaken sometimes makes obvious lies. It is a refreshing level of falsehood but why does he do that?

Chō: He’s childish.

— What do you think is Jaken’s happiness?

Chō: Lord Sesshōmaru’s happiness.

— In addition to giving the fans a message, please tell us how you will prepare to act Jaken in the second half of the series.

Chō: I will play around while focusing!

The Role of Rin, Noto Mamiko

— Episode 15 “The Rightful Successor” depicts a fierce battle between Inuyasha and Sesshōmaru. How was the recording?

Noto: It had quite a tense feeling, and it pulled me deeper into the story.

— In episode 9, Rin fell into the underworld and was saved by Sesshōmaru. How did you feel seeing Sesshōmaru doing his utmost at the time?

Noto: I once again felt that Rin was truly precious to Sesshōmaru.

— Among the Rin scenes up to episode 15, which one left an impression on you?

Noto: I like the scene in episode 9 where after she’s saved by Sesshōmaru and opens her eyes, she says “Lord Sesshōmaru……” with a feeling of relief. There are a lot of other impressionable scenes so it’s hard to narrow it down (laughs).

— There is silliness and jabs with Jaken and they make a good combo. What is your impression of the dialogues with Chō-san? What is the fun part about acting?

Noto: Chō-san’s Jaken is the best!! Just the fact that I can dialogue with him makes me happy! Rin is quite harsh so acting that part is fun (laughs).

— What sort of feelings do you think Rin has for Sesshōmaru? Also, if Rin becomes an adult as is, how do you think those feelings will change?

Noto: It might be a little different from family, but I think she considers him as someone who is irreplaceably precious. When she becomes an adult…… I can’t really imagine it (laughs). It would be wonderful if she comes to (romantically) love him (laughs). However, I have a feeling (her feelings) won’t change. With Rin as she is now.

— What do you think is Rin’s happiness?

Noto: I think it’s being together with Sesshōmaru and Jaken.

— In addition to giving the fans a message, please tell us how you will prepare to act Rin in the second half of the series.

Noto: “Inuyasha the Final Act” is a truly passionate drama!!!! I plan to act with everything I’ve got alongside everyone until the end so please treat me well!!

#Inuyasha #Inuyasha The Final Act #translation

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star-maiden · 5 years ago

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Weekly Tarot Forecast 10/26/20 - 10/30/20

Hello and welcome! This is a general outlook tarot reading for the collective, by zodiac sign. This week, I have channeled in some guidance from Spirit regarding what you need to know in the coming week in order to find the most success and happiness. If you happened upon this reading, then there is a message here that is meant for you! As with all of my readings for the collective, these messages are meant for a wide range of people, life paths and situations. It is general outlook advice. As such, you may find that not everything resonates with you completely, and that is ok. Please take only what resonates and leave the rest. You will also want to check your sun, moon and rising signs for the message or messages that are meant for you. I sincerely hope that these messages will serve your highest and greatest good, and assist you in making wise, informed decisions. Best wishes and many blessings!

♈ - Aries: Two of Wands - This coming week, Aries, you are entering a planning phase. There is a situation coming, or that has already been set into motion, that requires your careful consideration. This card brings you the message that you need some time to think in order to move forward with your plans, or to bring something into being. This is likely going to be a highly creative process for you, and your thoughts and ideas should be flowing well. As the moon is currently in her waxing phase, it is a good time to work on bringing your goals to fruition. There is an abundance of free moving, creative energy around you at this time.

♉ - Taurus: Page of Wands - This week, you are being called to rekindle your curiosity and perhaps discover a sense of adventure. The page of wands asks us to embody the archetype of the Free Spirit, and go with the flow. In this way, we will discover new opportunities, and be able to find our joy and happiness again. This message is especially about rediscovering your joy if you have recently been going through some tough times. You are being called back to yourself, and your creative potential. Spirit wants you to know that it’s time to move forward again. At the same time, the card carries a precautionary note. When working within your creativity and going with the flow, take care not to lose all sense of foundation and stability. You’ll need to keep your feet firmly planted on the ground, or all of your inspirations will sputter out like a dying candle flame.

♊ - Gemini: 10 of Pentacles - This week you are reminded to stay close to home. Some attention and care is needed in areas of your personal home life and familial or close relationships. If things have seemed to be rushing by lately, with no chance to rest or slow down, then this card is asking you to take a pause. Things should be pretty stable right now. You have done and accomplished much. It’s time to slow down and relax in the comforts that you have secured for yourself. Someone from your family, or a close friend is missing you.

♋ - Cancer: Ace of Swords - The most important thing you will find yourself needing this week is clarity. There is a situation on the horizon that will require your absolute, honest truth and attention to details. Honor your truth in all situations, and be sure to recognize the truth in others. When we allow our judgement to become clouded by fear, projections or strong preconceived notions, we miss opportunities to understand and build relationships. Sometimes, the truth is not very pleasant to here, but it is only by standing in the truth that true healing and growth can occur.

♌ - Leo: The High Priestess - This week, you are being called to explore the depth of your spirit. Go deep, connect with something that you hold sacred. This may be your higher self, divine source energy, love or even taking a moment to pause and check in with how you have been feeling lately. At this time, there is some higher wisdom that has been trying to catch your attention. It wishes to make itself known to you at this time. This week, you may find contemplative and restorative practices helpful. Mediation, breathing exercises, taking a walk and self care are all great ways to connect. Be sure to make some time for yourself this week, and listen to any insights or reflections that you receive.

♍ - Virgo: 2 of Pentacles - You have been trying to maintain a balancing act for so long now, that it is beginning to feel like your natural state of being. There is too much energy around you, too many things to focus on and your attention has been divided. In such a state, it is difficult to do anything well and a strong focus and purpose cannot be maintained. If you feel as though you have needed to do a million things at once, or that you have been unable to make up your mind, it’s time to take a step back. Balance between action and inaction is needed at this time. You are strong and capable of maintaining the work for a while yet, but it is wise to take a step back and evaluate your current situation before you burn yourself out.

♎ - Libra: The Lovers - Libra, this card heralds in a sacred connection of some sort. The most popular thing that comes to mind when this card appears in a reading is a romantic connection. For some of you, this will be true. There is the potential for a strong romantic partnership on the horizon. However, in essence The Lovers card speaks of the blending or merging of two opposite ideas or forces. This could mean that you will find a way to integrate two sides of yourself into something harmonious and supportive. The relationship of give and take is well balanced, and greatly serves your highest good at this time. If you are not currently looking for a romantic connection, consider this week which areas of your life could be better integrated. How do they relate to each other? How can you create flow?

♏ - Scorpio: Death - This week, there is a prominent theme of change. Something in your life is ready to be let go, transformed and used to bring about a new direction in your life. You will recognize what needs to change in anything that feels stagnant, decayed or no longer useful. This week, Spirit is saying to you that it’s time to let it go. Right now, you still have some control over the situation, but this won’t be the case for long. This week, take some time to identify anything in your life that could be shifted to better serve your health and happiness. This does not have to be anything negative. Consider the changes that happen in the natural world at the turning of the season. Leaves change colors, fall and decay. Summer crops wither away to make room for new growth. This is not a terrible thing! In fact, if we think of the natural world as a metaphor for life, we can see how some things need to decay and be let go in order to make room for new life and growth. Without the stages of decay and rest, the soil would become depleted of nutrients, and nothing would grow. What do you need to let go of, Scorpio?

♐ - Sagittarius: The Magician - This week you are being reminded to stay in your power. There is a situation in your life or that will be coming in soon in which you will need to remember your autonomy and agency. In this case, it is very true that you create your reality with your words and actions. If something is not to you liking, change it. Maintaining control and moving toward the outcome you desire is sometimes as simple as believing you have the power to do so. Don’t let anyone take these decisions from you.

♑ - Capricorn: Queen of Cups - This week, you may find yourself needing to connect to a situation from a place of empathy in order to understand. You are usually quite logical and precise, but there is something coming into your life in which a more emotional-based perspective will serve you better. Consider your own emotions, as well as the emotions of others. Are all parties feeling heard and respected? If not, a different approach is needed. Take care not to project your perspective onto that of others. Try to see a different side. You will gain greater awareness and clarity if you listen, rather than trying to solve or control right away.

♒ - Aquarius: Queen of Swords - This card speaks of the perfect blending of empathy, compassion and logic. You will be asked to use your discernment this week, and to not immediately trust anything you hear. It is not that others around you are dishonest, but rather that the situation at hand would better be served by careful, and logical consideration. You’ll want to be careful not to leap into any situations without first carefully examining all angles. You’ll also want to pair your sense of discernment with wise words and clear communication. Remember, we are still under the effects of the Mercury retrograde, and anything you say is more likely to be taken completely out of context and misconstrued if you do not take care to express your thoughts and ideas as clearly as possible. A good rule of thumb is to communicate only with the truth, but act from a place of empathy and compassion. This week, you may also find yourself needing to set some boundaries. It may be uncomfortable, but in the end this is what is needed to move forward.

♓ - Pisces: The Knight of Swords - There is a situation in your life right now in which, thus far, you have only engaged with in an intellectual way. You have perhaps considered, imagined, debated and reasoned, but now is the time to act. Consider carefully what the situation is, and what it would entail for you if you move forward. If you feel certain that this is the direction you want to take, then act on it. Nothing will happen by itself. If you don’t take action, the opportunity will slip away. Sometimes action can be difficult for you, Pisces, because you are happiest when exploring the realm of imagination and dreams. However, in order to make our dreams into a reality, we must pursue them on the physical plane of existence. We must go after what we want not only in thought, but also in body. This week, consider: What action steps are needed at this time? How can you move forward logically and with precise steps?

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sweeneyxlaura · 6 years ago

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"#can you feel the poison? #and laura's sorta the antidote to that" I AM SUING. She really is!!! They're both totally and completely in denial about it but you can see from the pilot to s2 how much she's changed him just from spending time with him -- I had more thoughts to go along with this but now I'm blanking so I'LL JUST SCREAM

GURL, you can sue Pablo for that because that tag was actually inspired by his quote from way back when!

Pablo Schreiber says that “antagonist and ally” relationship between Mad Sweeney and Laura Moon will be tested big time by his allegiance to Mr. Wednesday when the Starz drama returns for Season 2. The leprechaun’s destiny “is tied to Wednesday, no matter what, but it’s also very thoroughly tied to her,” the actor says. “So Sweeney is walking the line, balancing what he owes Wednesday and what he’s realizing he feels in other places.”

I love this idea of Laura coming into the picture and just throwing everything off-kilter, especially when it comes to Sweeney…like instead of worrying about Laura upsetting his plans for Shadow, maybe Wednesday shouldn’t have underestimated the kind of influence Laura would have on Sweeney, right?

The thing is, I think Wednesday KNOWS Laura is partly the reason for Sweeney’s evident “softness”. And I might be wrong, but I kinda think him demanding Sweeney kill Laura all over again was a test to see how much Sweeney was willing to fuck everything for his battle. I mean…because, at this point, why is Laura even a real threat to Wednesday? He knows she’s a corpse rotting by the minute, so all he really has to do is sit back, keep Shadow away from her and she’ll eventually stop being a problem for him. And it’s not like Shadow’s been vying to be by Laura’s side either, so what other purpose does killing Laura really achieve here except to test Sweeney’s loyalty, to cruelly put him in this impossible situation where he has to choose between his battle and, as Wednesday implies, the woman he fell in love with?

And since you’ve noted the change from the pilot to S2, specifically 2.07, I love this idea of Laura being sort of this catalyst to help Sweeney shift his priorities the other way - instead of seeking war and being a collaborator of death, he ultimately chooses to love and bestow life. And the more he does so, I think the more confident he becomes in realizing that that is the right path.

And that confidence is never more apparent when you compare Sweeney in S1 vs. S2. There are quite a few overt examples, but I especially love the subtler details of how we see that, notably in Sweeney’s general vibe and body language. For example! In the pilot episode, there’s this constant acidic undertone laced into Sweeney’s words in that first scene at the Crocodile Bar. You can hear it whenever he interacts with Shadow/Wednesday, and it’s like you get the sense that this dude’s just angry all the time - like he sleeps angry, gets dressed angry, eats his breakfast angry, etc. But that anger is contained, you know? It’s passive-aggressive, and there’s this key moment where he’s asking Shadow whether he knows who Wednesday really is. And it’s all secret-like, and then Wednesday pops out with drinks and Sweeney’s all, “oh shit…shhh…“ like he was afraid of getting caught:

Then throws him this resentful look, but says nothing and looks away, like he wants to stab Wednesday through his good eye, but knows he can’t.

When they meet again in the morgue’s kitchen in 2.07, the sharpness in his voice is gone. No more snide, backhanded comments…instead, there’s exhaustion and a sense of tired resignation, even as he tries to quit and demand for his battle, it seems almost half-hearted. Or maybe he’s just tired of asking for it. Either way, it’s kinda telling, right? He knows Wednesday isn’t going to give it to him that easily, and it’s also this realization of what it’s going to cost him to get that battle. Maybe in the past, the circumstances in his life made it easy for him to do shitty things for Wednesday - he didn’t have much to live or fight for. But now? It’s Laura he’s fighting for (and his own (sorta newfound) sense of integrity), to the surprise of Wednesday and probably even himself.

You ever hear of that thing where an idea or belief can hold greater power and truth, just from the sheer act of you speaking it into existence? I feel like that’s kinda what’s going on here.Like, he was never really all that conscious of what Laura means to him until that ^ moment, and you can tell from his subsequent conversations about Laura with Salim and then Shadow how much Laura does play a role in how much he cares about her, and possibly more so than his battle. And indeed, by the time we get to the big dinner/death scene, the battle he’s long angled for feels less prominent. Like Laura, he recognizes that the “root fucking cause” is Wednesday, that Wednesday was “always his battle”…which is quite the change from what he told Laura once, of how “gods fuck with us, that’s just what they do…” he now shares the same anarchist spirit as her…see, they’re perfect for each other!

And back to body language, look at his swag during the dinner scene in 2.07…it’s a nice contrast to ^ that S1 scene – the way he disrupts the dinner and keeps all eyes on him vs. him doing anything but be intrusive at Jack’s, e.g. playing darts; how he openly tries to upend Wednesday’s plans in front of Shadow and anyone else sitting blithely in Wednesday’s corner vs. clamming up about Wednesday’s true nature to Shadow; and finally, the physical confidence he throws around, the eye contact, the irreverence of his tone challenging Wednesday:

*SPLOOSH* Amirite?

I think some might say that Sweeney would’ve eventually come to blows with Wednesday, that maybe Laura wasn’t as intrinsic of an influence on him, but to me, I think his actions in 2.07 only confirm how important the Laura Factor is, given how little power he actually has. Because at the end of the day, Sweeney doesn’t have much power at all, if any, really, and I think that’s the most important aspect of why Sweeney does what he does. Why he agrees to be Wednesday’s bag man for centuries on end, why he kills Laura when he knows it’s wrong, and why he longs for a glorious death in battle that’ll restore his sense of honor…but then Laura comes along, and suddenly, he has this weird power to affect things - it’s not godlike power like Odin’s, it’s these little things that work to reverse how much Sweeney held importance in things that made him miserable. I’m talking about the #soft movies he made like how he can refused to kill her again for Wednesday, yelled at her for rotting too fast, how he let Laura and his coin go after their big blunder in Nola, and how he tried to ensure Laura’s safety by warning Shadow to keep her away from Wednesday…these are choices that, to me, illustrate how much it’s purely about Laura and her well-being and not necessarily about his battle, his coin or anything else that’s self-serving. That maybe he can’t change his own destiny much, or really sever his ties with Wednesday, but he can, at least, do something to change Laura’s for the better. And that’s quite the change from the guy who was planning watching her liquefy so he grab his gem.

Ok, what a ramble, jeez. Also, thank you for being patient - I had to take a bit of a hiatus from tumblring. :)

#madwife #mad sweeney #laura moon #meta #ask #koortega #don't know how there's #so much complexity with #what are secondary characters #but there just is

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officialtrashbin · 6 years ago

Text

To Begin Again

The thing is, Corvus and Hela do have a history, and it isn’t pretty.

Backstory and some events leading up to GotG 2019 #1. Birthday gift for @senpoiypul <3

Rating: M, smut and dark themes Contains Corvus/Proxima and Corvus/Hela

* * * * *

He was not the first person to reject Death, nor will he be the last. Hela thought that strange, and intriguing, and sad—Death was pathetic, always pining for the ones that desired her the least, but unlike all things in the universe, she gave meaning, and it came as no immediate surprise that the quality of her love came with the quantity of gifts bestowed by those most affectionate of her.

Corvus did not love Death, but he was no exception.

* * *

He did pine for her, though. As all immortals did, at one point or another, as Hela herself once had. In the beginning he wasted his unending days trying to find meaning, trying to find purpose, trying to find Death. Even apart, the glaive healed him slowly, refusing its master the forbearance of eternal rest. He tried to find mercy.

He found Hela instead.

* * *

Technically, she’d found him, a shell of a beast, heir to a throne of a collapsing kingdom, with his claws desperately clutching the weapon of a dead god. He splayed across the rubble of the charred throne room in a tattered cloak, gasping for breath, returning from unlife for the first of what would become many times, and terrified.

What manner of chaos has befallen this place?

He looked at her, eyes blown wide open with adrenaline and fear. The kind of a cornered animal, one subtle movement away from explosive violence. He did not answer her.

What is your name?

He swallowed the rock in his throat. “I—I am Sevan.”

Sevan.

“It means bringer.”

Hela crossed the floor of blackened bodies to reach him. She kneeled, and learned; her hands read the sharp edges of his face like braille, partaking in the intense warmth of his flesh, in the otherworldly scent that emanated from the ruined earth beneath the castle, and relished in the understanding that he was now something else, undying.

Do you fear death, Sevan?

He choked out a sob, and then, a cruel, triumphant laugh. “No, My Lady. Never before and never again.” His claws lanced her skin as he grabbed her arms, anchoring her in place. There was such a delicious desperation to how he held her. In an instant, he’d become someone who needed something to lose. “And who are you, if not her servant?”

I serve only myself.

“Will you show her to me? Show her to me over and over and over again, so that I may finally know her terror.”

Hela’s tongue darted out to wet her lips. Death does not fear the immortal, glaive-wielder.

“She does,” he said. “She does, and she is beautiful.”

* * *

Their companionship was accidental, though not coincidental. She lingered to relish in the violence he’d caused by obtaining the glaive, and taunted Death a little when she systematically appeared to usher their souls to judgment. Sevan remained in the shadow of a-now-dead god; he piqued Hela’s curiosity the way little else did, so she followed his wake.

He retreated to a secluded area of the mountains which overlooked the valley of his people’s kingdom, and she found him on the edge of a plateau, where he considered the distance to the bottom, and the mist made nothing below them distinct.

“I don’t care if you remain,” he said to her, “but will you at least tell me what you’re playing at?”

Why do you assume I want anything from the likes of you?

“You are unlike anyone I have met before. It must have been the scent of death that brought you here, across the great void—though I suppose it is unfair of me to assume you are associated with any of what transpired today.”

She grinned, baring her teeth at him. A mortal killed a god on this day. That is cause for celebration, or perhaps enthusiastic admiration. Dare I miss such an occasion?

“I see,” he uttered, “though, I am no longer mortal, and there will be no celebration. Yet you remain.”

Tis my curiosity which keeps me bound to this world. I wish to observe what you choose to do with your newfound immortality. What is the first lesson you will learn?

He faced her, so suddenly that she almost thought he might strike her with his glaive. Instead, he perched up on a lonely boulder, and asked her, “What was your first lesson?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line. Everything is without meaning. The immeasurable emptiness of which lives and empires and stories are built upon is rendered illegitimate by time, and it can all be filled, quite helplessly, and quite desperately, though it will always amount to nothing.

Sevan’s claws curled tight around the neck of his glaive. “I will have to see if this is true.”

You call me a liar?

“No. I call you beautiful, and sinister.” He smiled, or smirked; it was difficult to distinguish between the two with his mouth crammed full to bursting with sharp, horrifying fangs. “You gain nothing from lying, now that I am no longer bound to mortal restrictions.”

Then it is time for your first lesson.

She reached out to him, her palms cradling his rough, warm face. It was not intimacy she supplied. He took it as such though, and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

You are meaningless.

* * *

Sevan was pleading for death again, the sole survivor of a battle between his family’s kingdom and the rebellion that sought to overtake it, when Hela finally returned to him. It had been months, perhaps years; she couldn’t tell. The mountains were no longer covered in a veil of frost, and the water that ran down from it formed the deep river which he kneeled by. This was not the first time she’d heard him. This was, however, the first time she’d entertained his wish, and appeared in a flourish of theatrical green mist.

“Mercy,” he cried to the water, as though it would carry his voice to Death Herself. “Mercy, I say! Have you no shame?”

It is you who requires a humbling touch, Sevan.

“But it is you who told me I am meaningless.” He rose from the grass, and he seemed taller, more menacing than when they’d last spoken. “If I cannot be something, and if I cannot be nothing, then what am I to do?”

She considered him. Personally, I do whatever I deem more entertaining in the moment. Fulfill your heart’s desire.

“I desire death.”

Do you truly?

It was his turn to consider her. “I want to leave this place,” he admitted, turning his gaze up to the sky, where the planet their moon orbited rose into view. “I have the means, but no direction.” Then, quite absurdly, he asked her, “What did you do first, when you realized you could become anything?”

I became the Queen of Hel.

“Did it give you meaning?”

She frowned, and found his terrifying visage became less intense the more she gazed upon him. He was handsome, in a way, composed of gnarled curves akin to that of a feline, a creature evolved to exist at the top of the food chain. He was quite fascinating, unfortunately for her.

Hela canted her hip, and snarled.

Yes…I suppose it did.

* * *

They weren’t in love, not now, but maybe they had been. Hela figured that’s what this had to be. When he called, she answered, beckoned forth by his uncanny resolve to experience death or kill everything else trying. How could she possibly deny him her presence when such cunning should be rewarded?

At first, she called it curiosity. In due time, he began to come to her. Sometimes they found each other by mere coincidence in this vast and empty void and it all felt planned, somehow, in some way, by powers greater than their own. They became the opposite of amnesia. Bound to togetherness.

She learned that eternity is a long time to get to know someone.

* * *

What are you doing, Sevan?

“That is no longer my name,” he said. “My people have crowned me Corvus. They believe I am the god I slayed, absurdly reincarnated, as if I did not kill Him with my own two hands.”

Answer my question.

Blood spooled into the dirt. A laceration cleaved his face in two, along the right side, and for whatever reason he’d deemed it logical to leave his glaive, which would heal him instantly, abandoned, where it was ceremoniously impaled through the chest of a T’Varah militant.

She didn’t know what forces compelled her so, but she took ahold of his glaive, and yanked it free. Corvus went to her as if summoned. He put his hand over hers. The proximity to his ethereal weapon became enough—the flesh on his face amended, seamlessly, between two heartbeats.

“I am finding meaning.”

Why bother? This all amounts to nothing in the end.

“So you keep saying.” His other hand went boldly to her waist, pulling her close. “The rebels send swarms to kill me. I meet them alone, and I return victorious. They tell stories of me. Is that not meaningful?”

Whatever eases the ache of immortality. Tis a long way down to where the earth grows cold.

Maybe it was the way she said it, or their close proximity, shortened by the long years of knowing each other, or a culmination of both these things—either way, he took her by her waist and pressed his mouth to hers. She reciprocated the kiss, gnashing tongues and teeth, the blood of a split lip filling both their senses. They didn’t know which of them was bleeding. It didn’t matter.

Corvus, she whispered between breaths. God of battle and ravens and death. Glaive-wielder, war-bringer, world-ender.

My love.

* * *

In the bedchambers within a dark corner of the castle, a prince and a goddess made love until it hurt. The air was filled with violent tendencies: he bit her shoulder, leaving the impression of his teeth; she clawed up his back, drawing blood; their groans and gasps ascended through the room.

Harder. Corvus, give it to me.

“I don’t know if I—”

Had enough already?

“No,” he growled against her neck, and pinned her down on the bed, “I will never have enough of you.”

Those are dangerous words.

“You are a dangerous woman,” he said, “and I find myself drawn to your apathy. When did this all go so horribly wrong?”

I’m unsure. You are quite…different.

“Different?” he echoed, sucking a bruise into her waist. Of all the things he was, with his lithe proportions and sharp edges, she hadn’t expected him to be the sensual type. Hela didn’t know if she liked that about him—nor how completely loved he made her feel.

Only the old gods know how I cannot figure you out. Do you feel the same?

He kissed her chest in worship. Flicked one of her nipples with his tongue.

“Who’s to say I feel any particular way? As you’ve told me before, everything will eventually amount to nothing. Stars, souls, us… Do my feelings make a difference?”

Sometimes, things are more complex than they should be.

He kissed her cheek. Her lips. “We are cursed, and that is that.”

I do not remember cursing you. Not recently.

He snorted, and put his mouth fully on hers. The taste of her still lingered there; she groaned into him as he complimented her flesh with his again, filling her full. His tongue lapped at her sternum, then trailed up in one, unbroken path to the valley of her shoulder, where he found the flutter of her pulse, and bit. She groaned out a swear in her native tongue.

“Cursed,” he said, “to be sentient forever. Is that so meaningless?”

Move.

He grabbed her hips and slammed into her, fucking her rough and fast against threadbare sheets. Her homeworld’s language filled the air amongst the cacophony of moans and grunts and primal snarls. She got louder. More desperate. Her nails raked over his back, digging up curls of warm, gray skin.

“I love you, My Lady Death.”

She gazed up at him through slotted eyelids.

“Is that meaningless, too?”

She took his face in her hands.

No, she said, and she meant every word. No, it isn’t, but you will regret this.

“I doubt that.”

You shouldn’t. When it is all over—she rolled them both over and pinned him down by his neck, her nails cutting into his flesh, drawing blood—you will plead for Death’s mercy, and receive only Her eternal silence.

* * *

Complicated. It was always so complicated, to be close to someone. Hela knew Corvus’ life—war, ambition, meaning—wasn’t self-sustaining. He listened to her, somewhat, about her objections to his approach to immortality but his stubbornness frequently outlasted his other whims.

Hela liked that about him, though it meant nothing in the end.

* * *

The creature came with a name, Czazer, which meant peace. Hela gazed down at the beast with contempt, for he too was a prince, and painfully unaware of the irony of his name. From what she understood, the conjoining of Corvus and Czazer’s parents meant an uneasy alliance between the races; the kingdom had been unsettled by Sevan, king-heir, obtaining the weapon of the late god of death, so Czazer stood as a…remedy to that situation.

Czazer was so young he was barely hip-height, a lanky thing, half-grown bones and off-kilter from the rapid growth of his species; he grasped Corvus’ cloak as they made their way across the courtyard, through the ceremonious passage of servants and soldiers.

Hela appeared later to Corvus, in the shadow at the corner of his study, and said, Does he know what you are?

“He will.”

Do you believe he can love you then? Your people do not care for you, knowing you have killed their god. Some resent you. A tightly wound cord, ready to snap.

Corvus went to her and stroked her cheek. “Why do you speak this way?”

Do you love me, Corvus of the Glaive?

“Of course. Have I done something that warrants your concern otherwise?”

She slid her hand along his shoulder, under his chin, and tilted his gaze up to hers like a coin flip. It is time for your next lesson, Sevan—the love of Death comes with a price. Break the cord.

“The cord?”

Your brother. Take his life. Throw this pathetic world into the chaos it’s been brewing for generations. Appease Death. Appease me, and I will make you the ruler of a worthy kingdom that bestows upon you all the love you deserve.”

There was no hesitation. “I will not.”

I beg your pardon?

“You ask me to kill my own blood. No, absolutely not.”

Hela felt a blade lance through her chest, and for a moment thought Corvus had struck her, only to realize it was deep, horrible sadness. Don’t you love me, Corvus of the Glaive?

“I do.”

Then why do you refuse to prove it?

“You do not love me, for if you did you would never ask me to spill the blood of my own kin. If I must live for all eternity, I will not do so with that guilt bearing down upon my shoulders.”

Devotion, Sevan. Það er sterkara en blóð.

“That is not my name!” He cast his glaive down and it struck through the floor, ripping up the sheetrock and wood.

Hela’s own anger reflected his, though hers was less imposing; she whipped away from him, knowing her control over death would not aid her against an immortal. Then you have learned nothing! Someday, whether you appreciate the sentiment or not, you will be forced to make a choice. One of chance. Of devotion. It is the sacrifice of life which earns Death’s desire.

“Then I will find someone else to devote myself to!”

The silence in the room was deafening. Hela slowly closed their distance, half-anticipating him to cast her out, but he stood his ground. She framed his face with her hands.

Oh, Corvus.

She pressed her frigid lips to his, committing the sense of his closeness to her memory for all eternity, and then stepped backwards and away from him, into the deep shadows.

It will never be enough to begin again.

* * *

They called her Proxima Midnight. Corvus had her name spoken to him by the council’s messenger as the Mad Titan’s legion descended upon their kingdom, fore-fronted by a woman of black lightning who crashed through their front doors only minutes after the messenger’s arrival.

Corvus felt tilted in her presence.

He thought of Hela.

She declared herself Proxima Midnight of the Black Order, and told his parents, with a dramatic gesture of her spear, “Your world will bow to Thanos!”

Corvus stood from his seat to his father’s side. He gave them a sideways glance, a knowing nod, and then ventured across the hall to meet with her.

“Mercy, Proxima Midnight,” he said. “We do not wish to bend to this—Thanos, but we are not beyond negotiation. Clearly, you are a formidable army, and you must certainly bring with you a great force.”

She stood above him. “You speak for this planet?”

“I do. I am Corvus, heir to the throne.”

“Then come with me to my Master.”

He did. Later that night, after agreeing to join with Thanos and spare his people, he was alone, working his stress out in the dark of his chambers—he’d try to conjure up the image of Hela grinding herself down on his hips, but in her place was Proxima Midnight, and he didn’t think he was opposed to such an idea.

* * *

Hela learned of Corvus’ whereabouts many years later. Though there was an ache she felt when she considered the empty place in her bed, she found something else: he’d taken to a master, a Titan named Thanos, who served Death.

She went to the kingdom to find that it’d been totally eradicated. Those few that remained lived now in tents and shacks upon the grounds of an old, mighty kingdom, and one whispered to her of the story, of Corvus Glaive and his brother Black Dwarf, who’d tricked their people into going to war, and slaughtered everyone.

Hela’s fingers curled into her palms, sharp nails biting her skin.

He listened to me after all. What kind of deity did he devote himself to, one which could convince him to cause such annihilation?

Hela thought she heard Corvus’ voice in the back of her mind, speaking of purpose, and decided she would pay this Mad Titan a visit.

* * *

Another lifetime later, Corvus thought of Hela for the first time. The memory of her started to the front of his mind when the light of a blue supergiant refracted through their bedroom window and through Proxima’s hair, giving the silver an almost greenish hue. He trembled by reason of traumatic corollary. He’d been naïve, back then, to allow Hela a place in his life, simply because she felt, at the time, like the only other person who understood him.

Proxima noticed his sudden hesitation, and closed the distance between them to put her hand on his cheek. “My love, what is it?”

“Ah, forgive me. I remembered, quite suddenly, a woman I used to know.”

“An old lover?”

He rolled his shoulders. “A goddess to those on her world,” he said. “She appeared to me the day I obtained my…affliction, and at the time, it seemed she was merely seeking the warmth of another who understood her endlessness.” He thought of their final moment, in his study. “We were not compatible.”

“Did you worship her?”

There was something about how she said it. Corvus tilted his head quizzically, and Proxima stepped backwards towards the bed. She undid her helmet, her armor, letting the pieces tumble to the floor. Corvus grasped the neck of his glaive mercilessly.

“Midnight—”

“Will you worship me?” she asked him.

She unzipped her suit. Dragged the thick material away from her skin and pushed it down until it spilled off her body and pooled at her feet.

He set his glaive against the wall, then unclasped his cloak and rolled it free from his shoulders.

“It would be an honor,” he said. “May I worship you until the end of our days?”

“Yes,” she uttered breathlessly, and kissed him. “Yes.”

* * *

The past had a way of bringing things back.

Hela knew it would be a matter of time before they collided again, and oh, how they did, right there on the rock flats of her outpost, where she summoned the Black Order to assist with her mission. She’d theatrically pulled herself out of the shadow to greet them, and in the same moment was forced to conjure a blade to deflect Corvus’ glaive.

“You dare approach the Black Order?” he snarled, and lashed out at her again.

She considered crucifying him, parried his strike, and sent him sliding back with a burst of energy from her opposing fist. He recovered quickly. The other members of the Order readied themselves to join the fight, but it was, much to Hela’s surprise, Proxima Midnight who gave the command to stand down.

“We will hear your offer,” she said.

Corvus looked at her, blew out a winded breath, and went to be at her side.

Hela gritted her teeth. You should be overjoyed to see me. I plan to resurrect your beloved Master—

“Thanos,” Corvus said, “is no longer our Master. We will not serve him, and we will not serve you.”

You owe me—

He slammed the rear blade of his glaive into the ground. “I owe you nothing, wretched witch!”

Sevan. Af hverju hegðarðu þér eins og við séum óvinir? Þú sagðir að þú elskaðir mig.

He seemed taken aback, for a moment; he hadn’t heard that name in such a long time. It tasted like death in the air. A forgotten lifetime. “That was then,” he hissed, “and I was wrong. You killed two members of the Black Order. For that, I have no other desire to do anything but cut your head from your shoulders.”

Do you think so little of me?

“On the contrary, My Lady Death. I think far too much of you.”

“We should leave, my love,” Proxima said to him.

Hela tried again.

Corvus. Ég mun láta þig í friði að eilífu.

His eyes darted up, and met her frigid stare.

“Swear it.”

You have my word. I am bound to it.

After another moment, Corvus sighed. “Fine, but when this is done, you will uphold your end of the deal.”

Of course.

She closed the distance between them, and put her hand on his face. He’d thought she remembered him, by the way she touched him so tenderly. It was not a comforting embrace. He learned long ago that she was the opposite of familiarity.

And now, we begin again.

#corvus glaive #corvus x proxima #corvus x hela #proxima midnight #black dwarf #hela #the black order

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rabbitttart · 6 years ago

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My Love - Cat and Lili

Chapter 1. Intro Where does a Vampire meet a Succubi? In the dark muddled streets of course. Cat, a soft outcast seeking out life sustaining blood under the veil of night. Lili, a hardened tool serving her only purpose leading humans to folly after folly. Many times they would almost meet, passing through the same streets again and again. After finding Lili's easy prey they would become a steady diet for Cat, no messy fights. Peeks and glances at one another turned into long distance crushes; "who are they really?" Lili picks up on marks as if knowingly taking care of Cat; "what do they stand to gain?" "What's up?" Lili waited this time to Cat's surprise; "You're a vampire aren't you? - I just kinda guessed since you're not in it for the wallets and jewelry and stuff." Lili remarks "Yeah..." Cat replies shamefully. "I...Um, is there a chance you wanna go get some coffee? - ...Like, after you're done here. Obviously." Lili asks. "...Okay..." Cat says rather confused. Not that Cat can taste coffee but the mutual interest should take care of that...right? Chapter 2. Coffee Seated at a center table for two in a dim red neon lit diner, the server saunters over comfortably "What can I get'cha today?" they ask, "I'll have my usual and um...they'll have a stuck coffee?" Lili responds "Heh, yeah I think we can handle that. I'll go get started." they reply before tapping the table and walking off. Lili breaks the silence "I'm Lili, what uh- what's your name?" "Cat." "Cat...Cat. Have you ever met one of my kind?" "No." Cat replies. "Well we aren't so different, we just suck souls to make a living so it's still survival in a way." Cat leans in and whispers "...What's a stuck coffee?" "I don't know, but it's all I've ever heard your people order." "My people?" Cat replies sharply before noticing the server returns with a plate and two cups "Alright, you two enjoy." "Thank you." Lili says before grabbing a large plate full of a fluffy white substance and scraping it all off into her cup. Catching Cat staring Lili responds "Oh come on, don't look at me like some kind of freak. It's just whipped cream - it's kinda my thing, half hot cocoa half coffee. They have shitty coffee but the best cocoa you can get 24/7 so I deal." Cat arches back in her chair staring at her cup then slow leans in as if about to pounce it. "Gonna kill it?" Lili teases Picking it up Cat takes a large sip of the Smokey Topaz liquid before...letting it all fall back out "Blehhh. It's pig. It's pig!" Grossed out and surprised Lili starts laughing terribly, Cat growing visibly embarrassed squeaks "I can't stand pig's blood..." "I'll remember that for the future haha." Lili responds, "Hey don't worry about it, it's not like can control what you like." "Look I...I should just go." Cat says before standing up. Lili stutters "W-Wait! Please...don't. I just wanted to get to know you. - We...don't exactly make many acquaintances in our profession...I know you're probably used to your kind but I want to try." Cat, now shouting "What kind!? I don't know how it was for you but I was shat out and left to fend on my own no "my kind" - just me, in the forest, doing whatever I had to to survive!" Lili confused asks "What about your teacher or school or kin?" "What school? In case you haven't noticed I don't exactly 'fit in' with humans. The library is it, once I finally got to the city - Books, movies, games, they're all I've had" Cat trails off. "I'm sorry...I was told your kind went to a special school..." Lili replies. Lili stands, offering her open hands to Cat "Hey...It's okay you know? There's nothing wrong, you had it rough but you're okay." Cat accepts and places their hands in Lili's. "We can work this all out, at our own pace. Give me a chance." Lili reassures. "Awwww. That was so cute. Are you two a couple?" The server says before a cup full of Smokey Topaz liquid crashes beside them. Chapter 3. Burn "Stop it." "I'm not." "Stop it." "I'm not! I'm just looking in your direction while thinking, that's totally different." Cat and Lili argue Cat laughs "Okay sure you are. What are you thinking about?" "Just...how different everything is becoming." Lili puzzles "It must be super to be able to get high, but for those of us that /can't/, you're just driving me crazy." Cat says playfully "No I mean...who we are, what we are, it's so different than we when we met and...Cat let's just go. I have a nest egg let's use it - let's not pay for the apartment and just go like get in my car and go on a journey. This city is just killing us and no one cares." "Lili...Lili what the hell are you talking about? Are you going Jack Torrance on me? Say no to the crazy!" Cat says shaking Lili's hair. "No I-" Lili chokes and spits repeatedly pulling back hairs "I just think we need to run away to face our problems. We're too comfy here." "What's wrong with comfy?" Cat says stretching out across their sofa, "This is the best it's ever been for both of us, why throw it away?" "You make a terrible partner, give me that ring back." Lili slurs, "Hey hey I don't think so, till death motherfucker we in this now." Cat replies Cat holding their ring finger up high wiggling it, Lili flops over half-heartedly trying to take the ring before giving up slumped over Cat. Lili sighs, "If that's true then do this with me, let's stop being society's bitch and go take what's ours. Our freedom, our rights, eggtoast." "Eggtoast?" Cat asks, "You just...You just don't understand the sensation of egg white in the middle of toasted bread it's so smooth and-" "Okay, okay...I don't because I can't but I'm just gonna take your word for it Method Man...You really think we should just leave?" Lili jumps up, falls down and stands back up again, "We need to do this because...you need this. I am tired of holding you back." Cats scratches their head frantically before standing up, "...Okay sweetheart, let's sleep a bit and talk about it in the evening okay?" Cat tries Lili nods wrapping her arms around Cat as they head off to bed. "You're kinda cute for someone that's dead. You smell nice..." Lili mumbles The sun setting, the soft dark washes over the city as a bright full moon now lingers on the horizon. Suddenly, an old Chevrolet sparks alive. "Wow! I honestly had no idea this thing still worked. I guess I really did luck out; don't ever play cards with a demon by the way." Lili remarks Cat laughs gleefully "I can't believe we're doing this. Where are we going? Hollywood?" Lili laughs, putting the car in drive and pulling away "Somehow I don't think we'd get along with greater demons, let's just start running. I've already got some place in mind anyway." Hours and miles pass before suddenly they're in unfamiliar lands racing without end. "So uh...Did you bring the stuff?" Cat asks nodding "The weed?", "No!" "Downers or uppers?", "Come on, the pig's blood! How am I gonna survive?" Lili grabs something from under her seat "Oh, yeah here ya' go. Whole back floorboard is full of it.", "Loose!?" Cat yells, "Ew no, what? No! In thermoses ya' sicko." Lili says rolling her eyes. Cat wanders off staring at the sprawling mountains...Are they familiar or do all mountains just look the same? Cat sits silently thinking it over. "Cat...I know you aren't gonna like this but please just do this.", "You're gonna break my leg aren't you? I always knew you were Annie." Cat jokes Lili turns on to a dirt road heading towards a forest, "I kinda got the feeling the place you described growing up was a little too familiar - when I was still getting shipped around to be fucking destroyed mentally as a child I got ended up in this little craphole town in the mountains." Lili lights another rolled paper, swerving just in time to avoid hitting an opossum "Damn adorable trash cats.", "Lili-", "Shhh let me tell you." Lili cuts in "Okay so I'm pretty sure this is us- We both came to this forest and we both lost any chance of being normal here and I think it owes us." "Lili, what happened to us is fucked up but it's just a forest, it's not like the forest itself hurt us. Well, maybe me...Fuck that tree." Cat replies Lili shakes her head "We're going, we're gonna stand in it, we're gonna think about it and we're gonna decide then. I already have the lighter fluid." "That's why you brought that? I thought that was for the grill...Why the fuck did we take a cooler full of steaks then?", "Oh shit I forgot about that - Wait...Think, WAIT! We throw the steaks /in/ the forest fire and we can have steak and justice.", "Lili I'm not burning down a forest.", "Just wait." Now deep in the hilly forest Lili stops the car, "So...This look like your forest?", "I don't know it's a forest, how the hell should I remember?" "Well get out and see!" Lili commands. Cat begrudgingly hops out before concluding...this probably isn't the forest. "I don't think so.", "Seriously? - Go look at that tree over there, that's totally not the one you ran into thinking you could fly?" Cat inspects the tree and finds gashes in the bark. "Maybe..." Cat mumbles, "What!?" Lili yells, refusing to leave the car. "What if it is huh!? What good would killing all these animals and their home do!?" Lili grabs some cans of lighter fluid and jumps out the car before walking up to Cat, "I don't recall that mountain lion asking that before trying to eat you." "That's nature, it's dumb, that doesn't mean we /have/ to kill nature for being dumb!" Cat shouts angrily, "Well I am." Lili says throwing lighter fluid around. "Stop it, what the fuck?" Cat grabs for the can of fluid, Lili being taller just holds it out of reach prompting Cat to wrestle Lili for the can, and losing. "Cat...Cat. Okay you're a lover not a fighter calm down baby.", "No!" Cat bats Lili a few more times to no effect, "...Okay...But you can't just do this." "We didn't deserve anything that happened here and I don't want to keep living knowing more might be getting hurt here Cat.", "People did this to us - not a forest, not these animals except that mountain lion I would kill that fucker if I saw it, but not the other animals. Just other people Lili." "...Yeah maybe...I just wanted this to be something we conquered together...Something that brought us closer and let us move on you know?" "Lili, you're the reason I have moved on from all this. I finally came to grips with the fact I don't have to be alone or live in the dark...mentally anyway." "Sigh...I think I might have- What the fuck is that sound?" A huge stampede of animals come out of the nearby thick running away from it, some on fire. The fire catches up to the edge of the forest near the road, "Hey, fuck you I was gonna burn this down!" Lili yells, "What? I thought you were over that!?" "Uh...yeah.", "Maybe we can still save it?" A deafening guttural growl escapes the forest causing Cat to jump back, "Fuck it!" Cat exclaims before running away. "Wait Cat, the car! THE CAR!" Lili says before giving up and laughing. Another heavy shaking growl from the forest "Eep!" Lili finally runs off to follow Cat. This? This is either an epoch or my fall right here. Five days nearly wholly dedicated to this, hours upon hours spent listening to The 69 Eyes, writing, thinking about and working on this. I fell madly in love with these two, I expect no one will appreciate this very much but this is a feeling I haven't ever had working on an art project...ever. I wanted to write! I like writing but not character making, but somehow I just wanted to be in the presence of these two and tell their story and just...yeah. Fuck mountain lions. Bad writing? Maybe. Fun? YES YES YES. See you in hack writer hell, fuckers. Writing and pretty much everything else practice. Stocks: https://pxhere.com/en/photo/1286870 https://pxhere.com/en/photo/1015826 https://pxhere.com/en/photo/233 https://pxhere.com/en/photo/81485 https://pxhere.com/en/photo/942487 https://pxhere.com/en/photo/876687 https://pxhere.com/en/photo/748395 https://pxhere.com/en/photo/71774 https://pxhere.com/en/photo/1173 https://pixabay.com/en/portrait-girl-glasses-eyes-face-1152472/ http://fav.me/d1o6rih http://fav.me/db26jfs (Mine) Brushes: http://fav.me/d1j7fpk by https://falln-stock.deviantart.com/ Credits and copyrights go to original artists/owners.

#my art #rabbitt art #original #photo manipulations

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peaches-of-1 · 6 years ago

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(BTS) Golden Lover: Chapter 4

Namjoon x Black!Reader

High Fantasy, Magic, spells, gods and goddesses

Mstrlst in bio!

Everyone was dressed up for the festival today. The stage had been built and tested all day yesterday. You, Jimin, and Hoseok were dressed in the traditional wear of both your cultures. What you wore was a stylized hanbok as did they. The word felt fun on your tongue. Hanbok. The fabric was heavier than you had expected, but you’d change into your regular celebratory clothing soon after the performance.

It was a stunning display of flexibility and skill from the three of you. Every once in a while there would be a collective “ooooo” or “ahhhh” from the audience. Bare feet moved to every perfect rhythm and every beat. You smiled with every turn and every leap. Your heart started to pound with the drums. Then it was over with a solid pose, a grin, and heavy breathing.

There was applause as the three of you bowed. That was just the opening of the festival, so your father announced in his regalia that it had officially begun after all the ritual rites had been completed. There hadn’t been much joy in the kingdom for what has felt like years.

Your hair had been taken down from their twisted state and had shrunk to its usual size. You put on your more free flowing outfit and your crown which featured cat ears. Your people tended to call you by your middle name, and you smiled at them as they did. Even as your eyes searched for one prince in particular.

They had all dressed so nicely today. Of course they would have.

“Princess!” An overactive voice called you. Prince Jin bowed. “May I have the honor of spending this evening with you?”

“Maybe not the whole evening, but you shall have my attention for the next hour. I have an important decision to make.”

He smiled, “Then I hope to be a part of it.” The oldest prince offered you his arm.

Jin took you to a stall where the two of you were served large mahshi alongside koshary. The two of you shared the meal while he described each bite in detail. He told you about the Korean dishes these would go great with and that he would love to make it for you sometime, perhaps have it served at your wedding.

“Wedding. Jin--” You started.

He looked up at you with cheeks full and an eager glint in his eyes. You had to tell him the truth.

“Prince Seokjin, my heart is not with you. I refuse to marry someone for the simple purpose of financial gains and protection.”

The disheartened prince swallowed, “I see. Is it with my brother Namjoon, then?”

You looked at the plate in front of you, “...I believe so.”

“Then I shall make sure you have his, too. Let’s finish our meal, Princess.” He smiled at you kindly.

Jin became more of himself than an heir, telling you jokes every chance he got. Sometimes it got lost in translation, but the way he told them made you laugh along with the goofy prince nonetheless. Once the meal was over with, you two walked. Seokjin told you several childhood stories about Namjoon.

If you were being completely honest with yourself, you were grateful the prince was being more open. It made you feel closer to him. Still, your heart was not with him as much as you tried. And you wanted it to be for your people. How much would it hurt your heart, though? To be married to the brother of the one you truly loved?

It’d be a pain greater than death.

Yoongi approached with a lion cub in his arms. He had visited earlier, and Muharib had placed this little girl in his lap. Seemed so very small, perhaps the runt of the litter. The prince asked for information in taking care of the tiny beast in order to let her grow up nice and strong.

“Please excuse me, Prince Jin.” You bowed to him.

He did the same, “By all means. I know how much these cats mean to you.”

You and Yoongi spoke in a hushed tone as to not wake the sleeping lion cub. He asked if these things extended to real children which made you laugh.

“It seems as though you’ve heard about my reputation here.”

“Healthy babies and less maternal deaths. I’m sure whoever gets to wed you will be most grateful for those gifts having come from you.”

You smiled, “I have an odd question.”

“What about?”

You bit your lip, “I am simply curious, but has Prince Namjoon ever been involved with anyone before?”

“Once, but she married a rival nation in order for there to be peace among their nations. They wrote until she ended contact with him. It’s been nearly 6 years, but he knew his love didn’t lie in someone so close to him. It would’ve been the smart marriage. Not the right one.”

“You speak as though you know what the right one would be for him.”

He grinned and his eyes did that silver gleam, “I have an informed notion.” Then Yoongi bowed. “I am glad that the black cat made it back safe with Namjoon the other day.” and he left to prepare proper transportation for his pet.

Your dance partners soon met up with you once more and spoke of the praise they had been receiving from the performance. There had been such words said to you throughout the night, but most knew what this night meant and let you be courted in peace. You asked about Prince Namjoon’s whereabouts.

Hoseok spoke, “Not sure where he went, but I saw him earlier. He said you looked quite beautiful in our traditional garb.”

Despite you knowing better, you let yourself blush, “Did he now? I hope I someday get to see him in mine.” You covered your mouth. “By that, I mean that I think he’d fit the look quite well or that he’d...oh my.”

Jimin laughed, “You’re quite adorable, Princess. A part of me does wish that we were a better fit for one another, but my eye does tend to wander from time to time.”

The three of you passed a group of young men with their dark chests bared to the outside and covered in sweat to the unending heat. White skirts were clasped at the hips in gold. Prince Jimin made unwavering eye contact with them as he brushed his hair back and licked his lips, unable to hide the smile they formed.

“This seems like the place where they do it the most, Jimin.” Hobi laughed. “Or what was the nickname that man from earlier gave you?”

“The one at the river?” The smaller man asked.

Hoseok nodded, and you listened with intrigue.

“Chim Chim.” Speaking of which. He waved at a tall man with cleancut curls.

A past suitor of yours.

“Tony!” He called out and left you two to join him.

Hoseok and you then saw Taehyung who showed you his painting that he began of the boat and the river. The three of you sat with each other and watched Jungkook sing a song he had prepared for today. Again you asked the location of Kim Namjoon. Your heart cried out for him so much more than your mouth did.

His younger brother replied, “He’s performing next, so I’m guessing he’s behind the curtain there.”

You looked for the outline of the tall gats the princes wore but could not see it. Namjoon was not behind that curtain. He couldn’t have been. You ate your words as he walked onto the stage in outfit similar to what your father wore. Many men wore this type of outfit. Shirtless with heavy jewels imbedded into a wide golden collar, but this was the first time you ever truly enjoyed the person wearing it. You swallowed.

His eyes darted across the audience, “I was asked by the Princess herself to prepare something for this night of festivity. I truly hope this pleases her…” He made eye contact with you. “I hope this pleases you, Princess (Y/N).”

He unrolled a piece of parchment and began to recite the words in a rhythm your ears did not know but loved all the same.

Is this love? Is this love? Sometimes I know Sometimes I don’t The next line What should I write? So many words are circling me But I don’t like a single one I just feel it Like the moon always rising after the sun Like nails growing, like trees shedding their leaves When winter comes You’re the one To turn my recollections into memories Before I knew you My heart was only in linear motion I’m just a person, person, person You erode all my sharp edges You make me Into love, love, love We’re people, people, people Among all of those countless linear lines My love, love, love When you sit on top, you become a heart I live so I love I live so I love Live & love, live & love Live & love, live & love I live so I love I live so I love Live & love, live & love If it’s love, I will love you You make I to an O I to an O I found out because of you Why “person” and “love” sound similar You make live to a love Live to a love I found out because of you Why a person must love as they live The distance between I and U is far but Forget JKLMNOPQRST I went past all those letters and reached you See, “me” and “you” are the same too Though that doesn’t mean I am you I want to be a part of your page I want to interfere in your story As your lover I’m just a person, person, person You erode all my sharp edges You make me Into love, love, love We’re people, people, people Among all of those countless linear lines My love, love, love When you sit on top, you become a heart I live so I love I live so I love Live & love, live & love Live & love, live & love I live so I love I live so I love Live & love, live & love If it’s love, I will love you What if I went away, what would it be like? If I leave, would you be sad? What if I wasn’t me, what would I be? Would you leave me? A blowing breeze, breeze, breeze Hoping it’s not like that A passerby person, person, person Hoping it’s not like that I feel so blue, blue, blue Do you know how much I How much I You’re my person, person, person You’re my breeze, breeze, breeze You’re my pride, pride, pride You’re my love My only love You’re my person, person, person You’re my breeze, breeze, breeze You’re my pride, pride, pride You’re my love My only love

He had confessed his feelings for you in his poem, his spoken song. You knew for sure this was the truth. The pounding of your heart and the shortness of breath at this reveal made if hard for you to think. Your feet were moving before your mind. To him. You took the ankh necklace you wore for this occasion and put it around his neck.

“Kim Namjoon, will you be my King?”

“Of course, my Queen.”

You felt so happy that you could cry. Instead you got on your tip-toes and kissed your future husband on the lips as he held you around the waist and cupped your face at the same time. There were cheers all around. Iset and Asir hugged each other, glad for their friend. You’d be marrying for love. You’d be marrying the one you loved.

And so would he. It was as if he’d hadn’t loved anyone before.

#BTS #Bangtan #Kim Namjoon #RM #RM x Reader #Reader x Namjoon #Black!Reader #ambw #bwam #bts ambw #Ancient Egypt #Trivia: Love

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theonyxpath · 6 years ago

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Hi all, it’s Matthew Dawkins here with some content from Shunned by the Moon, the upcoming Night Horrors book for Werewolf: The Forsaken. What I particularly love about this book is how it can act as an excellent bestiary for all the Chronicles of Darkness lines, though the Bale Hounds are a strong competitor for biggest thorn in the Forsakens’ sides in this book. Here’s some extracts for you relating to these infernal bastards.

The Corrupted

Corrupted are Bale Hounds fully inducted into the Maeljin’s service. These true Bale Hounds have sworn their oaths to Soulless Wolf. When a Corrupted swears her oath she marks two Renown categories she will use to injure the world. The first comes from her Maeljin, as each one despises some element of the world, and the second she chooses herself, to demonstrate her own path to corruption and misery. For the rest of her existence, she can empower herself, weaken others, and subvert abilities through these Renown.

As they grow in experience and power, many Corrupted develop strange and unique powers from their master’s domain. In addition to these, all Corrupted Bale Hounds gain the following powers:

Channel Darkness: The Bale Hound may flavor her powers with her master’s domain. When using a Gift or other power that uses her chosen Renown, the Asah Gadar may double the Essence cost and channel the Maeljin. The player and Storyteller decide how this manifests. An attacking power may become more gruesomely effective through the influence of Igsh’ma, or weak-minded may blurt out embarrassing secrets when confronted by Bhal’ma’s influence. At minimum, using any power this way infests the area surrounding the Bale Hound with Resonance pleasing to the Maeljin for the remainder of the scene.

Dark Power: The Bale Hound can’t use Dark Power on herself but can offer it to others. The character need not reveal herself as the Maeljin whispers its temptation to the victim. Recipients must accept the offer of their own free will but need not understand its ultimate source.

Subvert Power: Bale Hounds make Uratha question their pack and their ideals. They can even cause a werewolf to question his own abilities. When a power associated with the Bale Hound’s chosen Renown is used within (Primal Urge x 10) yards of the character, or the Bale Hound is the direct target of a power regardless of what Renown it uses, she may spend the same amount of Essence as the Uratha used and generate a Clash of Wills (Werewolf: The Forsaken, p. 115) to subvert its use. Thy Master’s Pleasure (below) can apply to this roll, especially if the challenged power is of the Maeljin’s chosen Renown. If the Hound wins this clash, she may alter it in one of the following ways:

Cancel the power so it doesn’t manifest any effect. Any Essence used by both sides is lost.

Change the target of the power to anyone within the Bale Hound’s sight, including herself or the originator of the power. This even works on Gifts that normally only target the Uratha himself. If applicable, the new target may resist as per the power’s description.

Channel the Maeljin’s domain though the power. Similar to Channel Darkness, but the Maeljin need only spend an additional Essence to have the Maeljin infect another Uratha’s power. The Storyteller describes how this manifests, but anyone who can identify the source of the putrid effect and Resonance will be led to the Uratha who originated the subverted power.

Thy Master’s Pleasure: Corrupted Bale Hounds are empowered in places that resonate with their master’s domain. When in the presence of activities compatible with their Maeljin, or areas subject to an appropriate Resonance, the character doubles her chosen Renown when building dice pools.

Soulless Wolf

Viruhk-Ur, the Eyes of the Maeljin, radiates power and authority. It appears as a wolf-shaped hole in the world, absent of detail except the shark-like eyes. It possesses a stillness and disdain for its surroundings. It doesn’t watch the world around it, or indeed appear to have any awareness that the wider world exists. Its eyes remain fixed on the werewolf, following any move she makes.

Soulless Wolf will speak with those who would speak with it, answering questions in a soundless voice that drives dead silence through the listener’s ears and resolves into words. It claims to be Firstborn, forgotten sibling to the tribal totems but a true heir to Father Wolf. It claims it always stood apart from its siblings, so unnoticed they forgot it existed. It claims the other Firstborn were so awed and afraid they swore unbreakable oaths to never speak its name or breathe of its existence again. It claims to have found the Maeljin in the darkness and followed them to victory over the world. It claims to have birthed the Maeljin in the silence of its existence, giving rise to aspects of itself that would spread and reveal the world’s true reflection. It claims to be a servant to the Maeljin, forever a slave to their darkness. It claims to be the master of the Maeljin, greater than even their darkness could ever hope to be. Soulless Wolf claims many things, most of them contradictory.

Regardless of truth, all Bale Hounds learn that Viruhk-Ur conveys their messages to the Maeljin. No Asah Gadar speaks directly with the Maeljin; if such a thing is even possible. They feel their master’s presence within their soul and can try and divine purpose from it, but they must speak with Soulless Wolf to carry their questions or seek direction. When Soulless Wolf returns with answers, the Bale Hound’s brands burn with the clarity of her Maeljin master’s words.

Soulless Wolf is central to the Bale Hounds. Viruhk-Ur cannot leave the Shadow’s Wounds, but it can spread shadow wolves where the Asah Gadar hunt, to serve as scouts and alert the Bale Hounds of opportunities. The shadow wolves watch for those who may be open to the Maeljin’s message, almost invisible and unnoticed, and offer temptation where needed. The presence of shadow wolves is a certain sign of Bale Hounds in an area. Very few non- Bale Hounds know this, and the Asah Gadar are motivated to destroy anyone with such knowledge.

The shadow wolves also report on the Bale Hounds to Soulless Wolf. The great spirit watches for signs of Asah Gadar compromise and reacts swiftly to minimize exposure. It may alert other Hounds to eliminate the threat, dispatch shadow wolves to destroy the offenders, or summon ignorant fools to its presence where it can delight in consuming their bodies and souls for itself.

Viruhk-Ur‘s most important role is taking a prospective Bale Hound’s oath to whichever Maeljin she chooses to serve. The spirit describes the different masters as asked, giving names, focus and purpose, and ask questions to guide the Uratha. It makes no decision for her but displays a false patience of timelessness and inevitability. Many reluctant werewolves discovered too late that Soulless Wolf does have a deadline. If the Uratha has not sworn her oath by the time the sun next sets or rises, Viruhk-Ur will tear her asunder and devour her Essence. Soulless Wolf does not advertise this, but it will disclose the fact without hesitation if the Uratha thinks to ask.

The Uratha makes her choice and swears her oath. The exact wording is unimportant, what matters is intent and free will. While many Bale Hounds are coerced by fear of discovery, they still make the choice to flee rather than face justice. The oath feels much like swearing the oath to a Firstborn tribal patron or pack totem, and settles into a similar place as the totem bond, worming its way alongside and beneath any bonds she already has. The Maeljin enforce the spirit of the oath much like a tribal or lodge ban, expecting the Bale Hound to carry out her master’s will, identify opportunities to spread the Maeljin’s influence, and to always work towards bringing the world closer to darkness.

Once the Uratha swears her oath, Soulless Wolf departs to convey the words to her new master. When Viruhk-Ur returns it reveals if the servant is acceptable to the Maeljin. Most are, if the Uratha has given the oath freely and of her own will, but occasionally the Maeljin take offense and give leave to Soulless Wolf to make their displeasure known. Such ministrations may be so fast that the werewolf never knows she wasn’t accepted, or agonizingly slow as the spirit tortures her to death, feeding her agony to the Wound. The choice depends on which Maeljin is unhappy, and whether the Uratha has also irritated Soulless Wolf with her conduct.

If accepted, Soulless Wolf teaches the new Asah Gadar the Rite of the Shroud (p. XX). This hides the Bale Hound’s presence from detection by her false Firstborn, pack totem, and other spirits within her territory. As she performs this rite for the first time, the tarnish lifts from her spiritual brands, making her appear pristine again.

#Onyx Path Publishing

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bulletandsophia · 8 years ago

Text

One Night, One Morning (3)

part one | part two | read it in AO3

xi .

The smooth feel of the silk in his hand does not belong here, Jon decides.

As well as the memories that flood his mind as he keeps hold of the thin material; for the silk reminds him only of the sweet kind of comfort that floats and fights its way around the dark snowy cliffs. Directionless—swirling around and just weightless—as if only to envelope him with the faintest traces of her memories, her touch, her scent, the vision of her red hair.

Jon holds the favor tightly as another gush of cold wind brushes past, threatening to distinguish the small bonfire. Behind him, he hears the tent flap noisily.

It is almost the time of the wolf, the moon high up above, barely even visible behind the cloudy skies, and yet, he finds no sleep.

They’ve seen the ice dragon yesterday, also barely escaping its wrath and of the first wave of the Night King’s army with luck to only take credit when they were able to get away. The Gift is vast enough to give a wide berth from where they’ve attacked the enemy but it is flat and open, disabling the Northern army and those pledged to their cause the advantage of hills and mountains that could act as their initial defensive shield.

Brothers from the Watch now traverse the northwest, as Edd’s last letter states. Eastwatch has crumbled and with them on the journey to Winterfell are those that almost perished too at the onslaught of the Night King—Tormund and some wildlings, Beric Dondarrion and his men.

The battle is lost. The dead has come.

But Jon does not want to believe it. Jon does not want to think that it is over for even while around him the certain hopelessness devours the camp wholly, he knows he cannot stop fighting. Not now when his lost purpose is once again glaring so brightly at him—in the forms and figures of his siblings, in the lovely face of Sansa who is waiting for him back in Winterfell. Jon does not know if he can ever find the will to stop now.

The crunch of boots on snow disrupts his thoughts.

“May I, your grace?”

Jon looks up to the tall figure of the Kingslayer, clad in black and brown leather and cloak and with no trace of any Lannister colors except for his golden hand and golden hair. Jon studies him carefully, knowing fully that on the night he arrived at Winterfell, his first request was to see Sansa and then his first act was to swear as her shield. He could not comprehend why the Kingslayer was here in the far North rather than in Winterfell but Jon can only guess that Sansa would rather he—Jon—is armed with all the men who can fight with him on the Wall rather than let those qualified simply stand guard outside her chambers.

Jaime quirks an eyebrow at his now lengthy stare so Jon finally nods, despite his quiet hesitations.

The golden-haired knight sits on the nearby boulder and offers a leather flask of ale but Jon shakes his head and refuses, deciding that he needs his head clear if all of his men are getting warm—and drunk—on this night. They’re both quiet with only the continuous bellowing of the wind and the hurried crackles of the fire. Jamie sips on his flask once in a while.

The night has not compelled him to, for it should bother on far greater and more threatening thoughts, but Jon can’t help but feel the slight irony of the situation.

Jamie Lannister was once the arrogant Kingsguard who has mocked him in the courtyard of Winterfell all those years ago, japing at his desire to serve the Night’s Watch. But then here, in the middle of the frozen flat lands, both cold and hungry and tired, with no titles and thrones to save their pride, he merely becomes the silhouette of a disgraced and fallen golden boy of the South, fighting alongside the most rugged of men against enemies Tywin Lannister could not and would not even dream of fighting and winning against.

He serves me now, Jon thinks. Pledging his allegiance to my cause.

His presence amongst the Northernmen is still a discerning reality despite the doomed situation. But Jaime’s desperation is oozing and palpable. His only hope for redemption is this pledge to fight against the dead.

Honor, Jon realizes once again, can make a man move mountains if he so chooses to do so, in its name.

Jon glances at the Kingslayer who pensively stares at the fire.

He chose to serve the North, the words flood his mind easily, peculiarly feeling like some sort of a betrayal.

He chose to serve Sansa. If I perish here, she’d still have him. They could run South if all else fails. He could deliver Sansa to safety in the Riverlands. She would be safer with him.

Then worse, He could do for her what I cannot.

At this moment, where his certain weakness takes over, even that thought of Sansa in the far South and away from the cold is not comforting. His selfishness and idiocy only overpowers any other logical thought. It only prods and awaken a darkness in him that wants to sate this certain and intense jealousy in the idea of the Kingslayer fulfilling the image of dawn over at Winterfell, suddenly obliterating any other need to firstly ensure the safety of the woman he loves.

Then, the sour memory of Alliser Thorne right before Jon submits him to his death flashes in his mind, like an old wound—or a curse.

You would be fighting their battles forever.

Instantly, Jon feels that any which way, he is never going to win in any of it.

“Have you always been this broody?”

Jon squints as he hears the words. The certain irritation bubbles in his chest and finds the blonde man frowning curiously at him.

“I mean, really?” Jamie continues in a lighter, teasing voice. “I’ve seen that look on you all those years ago in Winterfell and to find you still looking exactly like that boy, it’s unnerving to be quite honest with you.”

Jon grimaces and shakes his head. “The way I look—or my disposition, for that matter—is not something that greatly concerns me.”

“Not the way it concerns the Queen, I’m sure.”

“The Dragon Queen can—“

“I’m talking about Sansa, of course.” Jaime cuts him off and raises an eyebrow. “Your Queen in the North?”

Surprised, Jon stares at the Kingslayer.

“That is her favor you are holding, is it not?” he points to the silky cloth Jon is indeed still grasping in his hand. “Gray and silvery… with a direwolf emblem on the corner? It surely can’t be the Dragon Queen’s.”

“And it surely is none of your business, Ser.”

Jaime laughs loudly against the wind. “Of course, it’s not. But if only I have not seen Sansa work tirelessly day and night for it, hoping to be able to finish before we leave Winterfell, then I would not even take a second glance at you now.”

The Kingslayer sighs at his silence and then appraises him like he is the biggest idiot in the world.

“Why do you think she sent me here, Jon Snow, if not to look after you? Why do you think she did not allow Brienne of Tarth, a splendid warrior, to fight with us here if not to look after your sister Arya and your brother, Bran? She worries over the lot of you more than I’ve seen Cersei worry about the throne.”

Jaime shakes his head and takes a swig of his ale. Solemnly, he confesses. “I live my life now not only to fight against the dead but mostly, I do it for your sister. I do it as her sworn shield.”

As your last hope for honor, the words rivet again in Jon’s mind.

“I will not force you to believe me or even like me, Snow, as I think you’d rather face the Night King than trust me.”

Jon huffs his agreement.

“But you and I, in time past,” Jaime continues as if unhearing of Jon’s irritation. “We also did not think of these wights as something real. But here we are, both waiting for our deaths from their rotting hands.”

“We do not need to die fighting the Night King and his army.” Jon declares. “I intend to destroy them once and for all.”

For Sansa. For the Stark name.

“Then we are not so much different, your grace.” Jaime nods. “I, too, do intend to return to the safety of your sister in one piece.”

A nerve jumps, his finger twitches, and when Jon stares back at the Kingslayer where the low fire barely lights up his features, he can barely notice the light squint on the knight’s expression—more so, he cannot decipher and see the curiosity in it nor the challenge that awaits to be proven.

Only, the truth has yet to be divulged for in this moment of crises, estranging the Dragon Queen and her armies with his parentage is not the way to win the war. So in this scenario where judgement is another thing Jon fears most, he cannot exactly embody and exercise yet the nature of who he truly is in Sansa’s life the instant chambers doors have closed and fires have been extinguished.

So begrudgingly, Jon draws another point from the Kingslayer’s statement instead.

“Stop calling me ‘your grace’.” he excuses. “I’m no King.”

“Then tell Sansa to ask me to stop calling you that. You are her King, as she so used to remind me daily when you irritate me at council.”

“I’m no King if she is queen—and she is Queen.”

“Then don’t you want to be her King?”

Jon takes a sharp glance at the relentless bouts.

The earlier teasing tone of Jaime’s voice is no longer there albeit the arrogance emanates still quite fully from those wide, knowing green eyes that appear to exactly see right through him. Irritated, Jon feels that Jaime is on a mission to make him admit this one other certain truth that glares even on this dark night; the one in the form of a gray favor he now safely tucks inside his pocket as if it is under threat.

Jon wonders, how long did it take for him to comprehend it all? Was it during those nights after council meetings and he—Jon—insists on leading Sansa back to her chambers? Was it because of those moments he’d uninterestedly pass him by while standing guard at the godswood, almost desperate in his pace, just so he could quickly reach Sansa as she prays at the Heart Tree?

Were it those nights? Those days, those careless glances as she walks the courtyard, the halls? While he sits on the dais and she on the low tables?

For plainly and obviously, Jaime Lannister has already seen exactly a circumstance he knows too well.

But his slight insistence unnerves Jon. Does the Kingslayer see him as threat to Sansa’s rule? Or does he see Jon as a threat to his own intentions?

Jon’s blood boils just at the thought.

A lion and a wolf.

A Stark and a Lannister.

“I can take your disrespect for me, Ser,” he speaks finally, trying his might to keep his voice from shaking and from strangling the knight from his seat. The image of Sansa in the arms of another Lannister swallows Jon fully and he does not want to spend the night with this kind of torment. The wind bellows even harsher as if to reflect his anger. “But you dare to question my loyalty to Sansa—”

But Jaime disregards him instantly like he is some child.

“You think I do not presume you loyal to Sansa?” the knight exclaims in disbelief. “Then, my boy, you are more foolish than I think you are.”

“Aye, I am foolish!” Jon retaliates. “For even acknowledging this conversation with you!”

But Jamie only laughs and shakes his head, turning away and gazing into the darkened night of the frozen flatlands.

“Sansa has warned me about your temper. You easily sway and act rashly upon what your feelings tell you so. Now, I see what she finally means.” Jaime drinks from his flask. And then after another contemplative and empathetic glance, “But like I said, we’re not so much different, your grace.”

There it is again.

Jon tries not to let the words of the man both revered and dishonored, saved merely by the legacy of his manipulative and appalling family name, get to him. And yet even in that thought and aspect, where Jon for a moment sees himself finally greater than the Jaime Lannister—who once upon a time served a king, killed a king, and infamously bedded and loved and cared for his own twin sister—he still realizes grimly that they are indeed (and the truth penetrates deeply he feels some physical pain in it), in the eyes of the realm, not so much different after all.

A bastard. A traitor. A king who sold the North.

A boy who loved his sister.

“There’s no point in fearing anymore, Snow.” Jaime voices as he stares up above the dark clouds. “When death is imminent, when death is a few days—a few minutes from now—will you not be able to find the courage to declare your love for Sansa Stark? Your real love for her, the way a man truly loves a woman?”

Then quirking an eyebrow at him, Jaime releases another. “Tell me, Jon. Would you let death take that chance away from you?”

The blow to his chest this time is harder to take for whatever judgment he holds for the Kingslayer cannot, or will it ever, cover up the truth in what he just uttered for simply and truly, there is not much time. And then instantly, Jon feels the probability of seeing Sansa once again becomes slimmer; it suddenly feels impossible to go back home to her.

Jon fists his hands, restraining himself again despite his screaming and protesting muscles to finally lunge at Jaime for his sudden and very uncalled for reasoning. This panic he’s planting on Jon’s mind is unnecessary in this already cold and desperate night. But just the realization that Jaime Lannister knows the truth—about his feelings, about his fears—weighs Jon down and petrifies him. The ache and the longing he feels for Sansa, the immense gravity of it right in this instant where it hangs completely and carelessly now over his and the Kingslayer’s head, compels Jon to acknowledge it finally.

Fully.

For despite the randomness of the situation and the randomness of the person who has asked him of this truth, Jon knows now that he can never, in any circumstance or judgement, deny his feelings for Sansa any longer.

“You haven’t spoken.” he hears a faint snigger beside him. “It only means I’ve singled out the truth. You do love her.”

Something inside Jon lightens and releases like a sigh, a resignation that indeed Jaime has caught him red handed; as if he has been waiting for this heaviness, this puzzle, to be lifted and to be answered, as if he has been longing for someone to notice, for someone to finally urge him say it because this secret, this overwhelming feeling he has for Sansa that consumes day and night, does not deserve to be hidden and spoken of just like some afterthought. It’s not something he wants to keep for himself anymore, not when nothing else should matter but her and of how he longs to come back to her arms.

So while odd that Jaime Lannister need be the first to hear of this confession apart from Sansa, Jon still states simply and determinedly for there is nothing else that should matter except for this.

“Aye, I do love her. In ways, perhaps, I should not.”

Greatly, wholly, almost sinfully.

But how easy was it to say it finally? How fittingly and how uninhibited it makes him feel? The declaration flows through his every nerve ending then into the winds, echoing and finding its way back to Winterfell like a charging wolf unafraid of any aftermath or repercussion; of how this wolf threatens to overpower creatures that breathe fire. But saying it out loud only makes it even more powerful, makes it even more real.

He loves her.

And the Old Gods help those who’ll make him say it back.

“Good.” Jamie only replies. “I was afraid that you did not. And all that she’s worked hard for—sacrificed for—for you, is all just for naught.”

“You seem to know Sansa well.” Jon cannot help but to bitterly ask, slightly feeling like a child again for the certain jealousy in knowing that Jaime holds Sansa in high regard, as if he admires her, creeps up again.

“No, I don’t.” Jaime shakes his head. “But only a fool would be able to deny what she’s done. And I am no Northern fool. I see the way she looks at you—and you at her.”

He then offers his flask and raises an eyebrow. “And they say the Lannisters are the only wicked ones.”

But we are not wicked ones, Jon so desperately wants to argue as he accepts the flask. We will never be like you or Cersei.

If only he could say it, if only he could say it now and tell the Kingslayer of the truth about Rhaegar and Lyanna, if only he could keep Jaime Lannister from tainting his feelings for Sansa as if a sin in the world, if only he could prove to him now that there is nothing wrong in loving her, Jon would do it. He would do say it. But Sansa’s last solemn reminder back in her chambers as they bid their farewells run through his head like some chant.

Patience, he remembers. Patience, patience.

“How easy would it be if you have fallen in love with Daenerys Targaryen instead?” Jaime then asks. “You’ll have her dragons, you’ll have her army, you can wed peacefully, lawfully… combine the North and the South—“

Jon disregards whatever else Jaime is saying for it is only another tempting opportunity to correct his words and tell him how far worse it is to marry the dragon queen; of how his parentage eliminates entirely all the advantages of a union with her for in the first place, everything that she claims is already rightfully his. But in this instance where Jon cannot entirely blame and contend further with Jaime’s reasonable case where it is based solely on the version of the truth that the realm acknowledges, deep in his heart, he knows that not even his lineage becomes his biggest argument against that scenario. For even without the Targaryen blood that flows through his veins, there’s only this one unquestionable fact that remains to him.

For simply, in whatever world or circumstance, the dragon queen can never be Sansa Stark.

Not in temperament, not in her silver hair, not in her jealous wrath that threatens to extinguish her kind heart.

“It does not matter,” Jon only says then. “I am willing to accept whatever and however little my situation with Sansa allows.”

“How noble.”

“You speak as if you’ve never lived your life the same way.”

Jaime laughs and shakes his head, looking as if thousands and thousands of regrets flash in his head in that instant. Faintly, he only says, “But no, your grace. I never lived that way.”

Jon swirls the flask. “It’s never too late.”

“Is it?” then Jaime rubs a hand over his face. “I’ve done horrible things.”

“I know.” Then Jon gives back the ale without taking a sip. “But you’re here, aren’t you? You chose to leave Cersei, the woman that you love, only to ally with her enemies.”

Then after, “Would you not consider that to be the noblest thing?”

Jaime turns to look at him with a new wonder on his face as if Jon barely comprehends the situation again. “I’ve never said I still loved Cersei, your grace. I did not turn north to spite her.”

“Then why do it?”

With a small smile, Jaime holds Widow’s Wail’s pommel so similar to its sister sword.

“I’ve found a new purpose.”

xii.

The darkness envelopes the keep and yet the flow of men, women, and children entering the gates of Winterfell carry on like a procession.

We can’t keep them all, Sansa fears as she continues to watch. Winterfell is starving now as it is, with some of the granaries and produce packed and wheeled with the army to go North. She cannot fathom how else they can feed the people looking for shelter. But Sansa knows they could not turn them away.

She turns her view from the window and strides her chambers to the small desk. There in the middle sits a scroll that arrived not too long ago. Sansa even thinks she could smell the salty seas in it. She takes the letter. Wax torn hastily, its roll blocking the faint words and the visible water blotches; the seal is evident, the seal was unexpected.

She reads the letter again.

… this finds you before winter comes. I have discovered of The Golden Company sailing to Westeros in the name of Cersei Lannister…

... I would rather fight alongside you but the threat from the South lingers... I need to find my sister.

... I will come back to you and Jon soon.

Sansa clenches the parchment again and deeply sighs, fondly reading the lone signature at the bottom of the letter. No claims, no titles. Just a name.

Theon.

“Do you think he’d really return?” someone says behind her.

Sansa watches as Arya enters her room and sits lazily on her bed. She doesn’t speak, only watching too as Sansa places the letter back on the desk.

“Why haven’t you returned to the Lady’s chambers?” but Arya then randomly asks. “The Targaryen Queen is gone.”

Sansa turns away and then back to the window to view the still oncoming people. Arya’s question floats in between them for it’s true, she could have retreated back to the chamber that is already rightfully hers to begin with. But while it is comforting to realize the notion of the Targaryen Queen gone from the keep, it cannot eliminate the fact that somewhere and sometime in that room, she has branded Jon to be hers.

Their quiet truce that night in the Great Hall cannot disintegrate that past scenario, even. Sansa thinks herself foolish for in a way, Daenerys has already seen and recognized her loss in that aspect of battle—that truly, Jon belongs to the North, to Sansa—and yet, the remnants of her passions with him seems palpable enough to let Sansa feel wretched in just the simple thought of going inside the Lady’s chamber and sleep on the bed where they have once—many times?—have coupled.

She does have the strength to face it yet.

“Do you want to burn it?”

Sansa turns to Arya, now lying on the bed comfortably and staring at the canopy, looking almost lethargic.

“What?” Sansa asks absently.

“The bed.” her little sister shrugs and then glances at her. “In the Lady’s chambers. Do you want to burn it?”

Sansa frowns for surely, she cannot mean that. Arya cannot read her thoughts exactly for while things have changed and they were not those once innocent children of Ned Stark but instead, they are daughters shaped and molded by the unfairness of their world, Arya can’t still know that.

But she sits up and stares at Sansa—that languid, almost visceral look she wears now—and insists.

“We could burn it. Then you can go back to the Lady’s chambers.”

“Maybe I want to stay in these chambers.”

“No.” Then slowly, Arya’s little face contorts in some form of disgust. “This is where he hurt you.”

Sansa stiffens for that is another pain she keeps for herself despite almost everyone in the keep knowing this truth. When the dragon queen had settled in the Lady's chambers and Sansa has once again had to endure the pain, they all kept quiet—because that was what she did. But at this moment, she can even hear now from her memories the hounds barking and growling in the courtyard; then of his hot breath on her neck, his heavy weight on her body, his sharp knives on her skin.

She doesn’t respond only when she feels Arya standing beside her, looking out the window, does Sansa realizes she was holding her breath.

She exhales loudly.

“I can burn it for you, the bed. I know it’s mother and father’s but you and Jon are not mother and father anyway. We can have someone build a new bed, sew new furs…”

Sansa’s breath hitches as she glances down.

“Arya…”

Her sister is looking faraway to the darkened and frozen fields that surround the keep. Her expression is unfathomable but the shock of her words still seeps in on Sansa.

“Do you remember when I told you about my time in Braavos?” Arya speaks again. “About what I can do? It terrifies you, I know, and I am sorry. But you’ve already seen my work, didn’t you? All those faces under my bed?”

“You don’t need to explain any more than you already have, Arya. We can deal with our pain the way we know—“

“No, no.” Arya shakes her head and looks at her. “You misunderstand me, Sansa. Wearing their faces is only just one of the things I had to learn. Because even before I could even get to do that, I have to master the first step in the process.”

Sansa shudders even now, at hearing again of Arya’s time with the Faceless Men, of this process. It almost seems surreal despite their situation, despite the existence of dragons and undead mean. Surreal simply because it is Arya who dwells in the act. It is Arya, her sister Arya, who becomes the mystery herself.

“The first step,” Arya turns away again, almost nonchalant to Sansa’s obvious struggle, and stares back to view the courtyard. “… is to observe.”

Sansa takes a deep breath and closes her eyes upon hearing the word, feeling its weight rest on her shoulders for surely, Arya uttered it so purposefully. They don’t speak for a while, as if letting the word simmer, letting it make sense of all the other unexplainable things that has happened since Jon returned from the South—since Jon stood dead center in this very chamber on that fateful night and waited for her; since he lovingly kissed her—and as she kissed him back just as much.

“I see you,” Arya whispers then. Her back straight, her hands resting on the window pane, her eyes still glued to the vast, blank darkness. “I see you—and I see him.”

Then she turns to look at Sansa. And while Sansa expects an expression angry and disappointed, disgusted and appalled, when Arya faces her, Sansa can only see her gray eyes blank and confused.

“I thought I knew things.” Arya mutters. “I thought I’ve seen worse things.”

Sansa’s chest heaves.

“But this… whatever this is with you and Jon.” she shakes her head. “…I do not understand it.”

Sansa feels her lips tremble and the tears threaten to roll from her eyes. The pain is familiar but it is nevertheless still sharp and unyielding.

“I thought you hated him,” Arya continues. “Then to see you now so tender, so caring… and to see him react the same way… it makes me feel… betrayed.”

“Arya,”

“Have you both forgotten about me, Sansa?”

“Arya, no—!”

“Or Bran?”

“Please stop, Arya—”

“What do you think Robb would say?”

Sansa shakes and sobs. She leans unto the window and receives Arya’s words agonizingly, blow by blow, like some arrow; like a whip that slashes through her skin.

“And mother, Sansa!” Arya now shouts, “What would she say? How would Catelyn Stark fathom the thought of her precious, darling Sansa in the arms of Jon Snow—“

“That’s enough, Arya.”

A solemn voice interrupts Arya’s tirade. Sansa turns to see Bran by the door, wheeled by Brienne who is looking down, unable to meet any of the Stark children’s gaze.

Has she heard everything?

Sansa feels shame building inside her chest for while she and Jon can be unbothered to their selfishness against Daenerys, were they too careless to have not even considered how their siblings would feel? It is difficult to comprehend, the complexity of this scenario where she and Jon are able to see and care for Arya and Bran in that same familial manner and yet see each other in an entirely different way.

Have the horrors of the past consumed only to spit them back to become the monsters they are now?

“Just tell me,” Arya almost pleads, her voice shaking. “Tell me how did this happen? Tell me how!”

Sansa feels another tear roll down her cheek and shakes her head.

“I don’t know.” she faintly whispers. “I don’t know, Arya.”

“You don’t know?”

“No, I don’t!” Sansa retaliates. But then she cowers, feeling weak for there is no other explanation only that it happened; that it is happening. “I don’t know… I don’t know why I feel this way the same way I don’t know why father had to die. Why Robb, why mother, why Rickon. Do you not think I do not wonder? When perhaps, it should have been me below the grave. It should have been me dead long ago.

“But I am here,” she shudders. “And so is Jon—and maybe this is the work of the gods to further torment me or punish me but it is right here, consuming me day and night for I do, Arya. I love him.”

Arya grimaces but Sansa lets on, unable now to stop.

“Do you not think that Jon and I did not struggle with our demons long before we knew of the truth? Do you not think we didn’t see this as wrong and terrifying? Because we did. We both tried to get away but where else is there to go? Who else is there? In all those moments that I deny Jon, I knew I was only lying to myself.

“For so long, I believed this simply must be the consequences of my mistakes when we were younger. To finally love a man truly but only, he is kin—your brother still. In the darkest of days, I even feel as if it is the filth of Ramsey Bolton that has grown in me that made me this way; that maybe this is all because I do not anymore deserve any great form of love, not in the rightful ways it should have grown. Only it has to be twisted, that it has to be revolting to most.

“But Arya,” Sansa now asks despairingly. “Is it truly wrong to love Jon? Do I truly not deserve him? In this world where we’ve dealt with so much and gained almost nothing at all, can I not have this one reprieve to freely love him now that he is not my brother?

“He is good and he is kind. He is all those that I remember dreaming about when we were little girls. I know we are not those people anymore and how foolish of me to even think it possible. But it is also exactly in those reasons that I find strength in truthfully voicing what I feel for him for we are not those children anymore. It breaks my heart to know that this displeases you but I will not argue. You are my sister and I love you and I will not lie to you. But I want you to know that there is no longer a path where I see Jon the way that you see him. You can tell me that I should not proclaim this to the world but I beg you not to tell me to stop loving him for I cannot bear it.

“Arya,” Sansa now moves closer, her tears blinding but she wills herself to say it, this one last salvation. “Arya, I will not survive it.”

But Arya only stares at her, unblinking as if in a trance, as if she is unseeing her.

Does she hate me? Can she truly hate me because of this?

The silence consumes the room and Sansa more than anything else just wants to have Arya in her arms and assure her, beg her forgiveness, her approval—anything and everything if only to stop her from looking at her as if she is a stranger.

Sansa takes another step but Arya moves away.

“I need to go,” she whispers hurriedly, taking her glance away from Sansa then strides the room and out to the hallway, passing by the stoic figures of Bran and Brienne.

“Let her,” says Bran. “Running away is her only method to cope.”

But Sansa is looking now too at her honorable knight, realizing finally of all the secrets she has divulged for her ears to hear. Sansa knows Arya can take it, but Brienne, noble Brienne. What does she think now?

“My lady,” Sansa murmurs. But the knight cuts her off.

“My duty is to protect you and your siblings, Sansa.” Brienne explains, standing taller, as if truly unbothered. “Whatever I have learned in this room shall stay with me to the grave.”

Sansa nods and offers a small, appreciative smile. She knows this is far from over and that soon, Brienne would have her own questions. But the only other person that truly matters in this moment of revelation remains seated stoically in his chair. She turns to him then, to the young boy she so desperately still tries to think of as the young child who once loved to climb walls and towers. Sansa knows that person is now long gone, like her own old self. But a moment of pretend would not hurt her any more than the rest of the world had already done so.

So, she imagines him the way she fondly remembers that little boy.

“And you, Bran?” Sansa whispers then softly, timidly. “Do you hate me too?”

He is passive, with barely a shift on his feature to reveal what he truly feels; not on his brows, or lips, or his eyes that seem thousands of years older than he truly is.

“No,” he croaks. “I do not hate you, Sansa.”

The relief does not come.

But for now, Sansa hopes Bran’s words would be enough.

part one | part 2 | read it in AO3

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jonsafic #mine #one night one morning #jonsa fanfiction #jon x sansa #jon and sansa

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badsithnocookie · 8 years ago

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au: where eirn is a sith warrior, not the sith warrior

the moment of change is on korriban. still angry with her parents, still regretting her short-sighted application to dreshdae, still smarting from the wounds inflicted on her by tremel's pet. she did a slightly better job of clearing up after herself here, though; got away without being so much as suspected, and thus was passed over by the likes of vemrin and baras entirely.

she avenges her fallen bunkmate, as she always did, and comes into contact, not long after, with that bunkmate's overseer. a slightly odd man by the name of emmoridg, who claims - to eirn's irritation - to have an unspeakable thing or two in common with her.

it takes her a while to work out why and what, and when she does, she's as afraid as she is angry. how did he puzzle her out so easily - how dare he accuse her of heresy - and how does he get away with this, right under the inquisition's nose-?

but he does, somehow, and he connects eirn with a heretic looking for an apprentice; who takes one look at eirn and disapproves, in part because the shell she wears is far too perfect, and in part because the chinks where light shines through are far too obvious, simultaneously far too sith for one so humble, and far too gentle for one so sith.

her master, like all masters, teaches harshly, sending eirn around the empire and its territories as a messenger - as a message. still, eirn enjoys the opportunity for travel, and makes the most of her freedom, no matter how limited it may be. her temper and her lightsaber get her into trouble as much as out of it, but such was always going to be the way, for her. her master finds her temper entertaining - finds it a relief, telling eirn on at least one occasion that the likes of them are proof that jedi do not have a monopoly on the light. it's a rare moment of explicit acknowledgement of the path they walk: of its utter contradiction, rejection of the darkness and embracing of the light; rejection of the jedi, and embracing of the sith.

she meets, in passing, a strangely calm once-jedi, who introduces herself as willsaam and who claims to know the light in eirn's heart. for a moment, eirn is terrified beyond measure - convinced that willsaam is with the inquisition, here to demonstrate the reasons that her mother kept so much to herself - but willsaam is on her side, or so she says, and offers only company and companionship. they spend a long night talking in hushed tones - exchanging ideas and comparing Force techniques. eirn teaches willsaam the shell she hides her light beneath, the near-impenetrable cloak she perfected beneath the inquisition's gaze in dreshdae; willsaam teaches eirn a meditation, stolen from jedi and given new purpose by sith. when they part ways, eirn supposes she'll likely never see this sith again, and lights an extra candle the next ancestral day she commemorates.

like many heretics and agitators for reform in the empire, eirn's master - and by extension, eirn - receive an overture from malgus. not in person, not explicitly, but the signs are there and eirn pretends she cannot read them. the empire, for all its faults, is home; regardless of whether or not the republic have lied, of whether the emperor yet lives or has indeed fallen to a jedi blade, now is not the time to splinter imperial forces with civil war. her master disagrees; their last argument is a heated one, with eirn accused of selfish cowardice and accusing her master, in turn, of short-sighted ambition.

in the wake of malgus's execution, eirn finds herself among the accused - the apprentice, guilty of the sins of the master, even if eirn attempts - feebly - to argue she had nothing to do with malgus's coup. in an attempt to prove herself - her loyalty, her status as sith - she finds herself on makeb, working alongside another disgraced sith - this one more directly than she. cytharat is a guarded, wary sith - but so is she, acutely aware as she is of both her heresies and the irony of those same heresies being what prevented her from acting against the empire to begin with. they find a common purpose, though, and claim makeb for the Empire - parting ways on good terms, despite the feeling that eirn can never shake that he is a far more orthodox sith than she.

makeb garners her attention from the dark council, and not the sort she'd like - not, really, that she prizes any kind of scrutiny from such powerful sith. eirn has no idea if marr can tell where her loyalties and sympathies lie - but when he offers her a place under his command, she's not stupid enough to turn it down. for one thing, it's a great honour; for another, it would be a great insult to refuse, and eirn has no desire to get on the bad side of someone who obscures himself so visibly in Darkness that would drown out even dreshdae.

she's serving on his fleet over rishi, assigned to an imperial boarding party - and then, abruptly, to chasing down and weeding out the traitors among their number. there's an irony in her familiarity with revanite doctrine; one heresy among hundreds that her long-dead master had entertained, even if eirn's not certain she's not equally long blacklisted by the traitors. on the yavin moon, she glares defensively at passing republic patrols and itches to steal conversation with the few jedi there who look at her and hers without the sort of murderous intent she's learned to mimic in kind. she gets her chance on a foray into massassi territory, cutting a path for greater sith than she to reach the temple's peak and put a stop to the growing madness. there's not much that can be said with observers present, but they manage - two Force users, who should be diametrically opposed, working in a kind of synergy that feels more right than all the orthodoxy she has ever tried to fake.

she's still under marr's command when ziost crumbles; when all she can do is watch the news feeds with numb, uncomprehending grief, and when all she wants to do is scream-

and when the once-wrath stands at marr's side, eirn cannot help but look at the other sith with mistrust. the emperor's own executioner, swearing fealty to those abandoned and turned on by their master? why should any of them believe - even for an instant - that this could end any other way than poorly?

but marr and the once-wrath fall in battle, and that question is one that never has to be answered - and eirn, in the republic's custody, snatched from the jaws of death by the enemy, can only reflect that marr supposed the chance was worth the risk. he must have known what she was, after all, and yet still allowed her to serve him; and, for all their poor choice in masters, the once-wrath defended the empire to their very end. that, if nothing else, must be worth some kind of honour.

(she lights a candle for them, next ancestral day; meditates on it until she falls asleep and dreams of carbonite and wonders, on waking, if this could all have ever ended any other way)

#swtor #sith warrior #oc: eirnhaya #my writing #pointless au of the day

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linkspooky · 8 years ago

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Did Chap. 125 really need an entire chapter?

This is a tricky question to answer in light of the fandom’s turbulent reaction to the chapter, a toukennado if you will.

Just remember that nothing I say here is indicative of whether or not I think Touken is a good or a bad relationship. I’m not trying to talk about shipping. Let’s continue this under the cut. A lot of this is also taken from a discussion with @hysyartmaskstudio who I’m sure at some point will reblog this post and add more onto it so look forward to that.

Then onto your question, as I previously discussed there are two forms of criticism. Mine was more abstract, criticizing the good or bad qualities of a work, or trying to figure out what they mean. Let’s use a more basic metaphor, there are two ways to answer this the writing class vs the english class approach.

That is, from a writing standpoint if Ishida brought you this idea and asked for your opinion would you say it was a good choice to spend this much panel time on one scene vs the english class approach which is assuming the choice was a good one, either reflecting the core message of a text or in the case of death of the author reflecting a way in which the events of the text can be aligned to speak for themselves, what purpose does this serve for the work?

From a writing class standpoint, meh? That’s not the academic term for it but pacing has always been Ishida’s weakpoint. It is a little frustrating to see things move to basically a snail’s pace in terms of things getting done from chapter to chapter, but to be honest this chapter was more substantive than the Saiko vs Urie chapter that everybody was applauding.

Mainly because Touka and Kaneki are both characters with arcs, choosing to indulge for an entire chapter. Whereas Saiko is a character without an arc, that basically at this point exists as a prop for which Urie’s arc moves forward. This is once again, not a reflection on my opinion of Saiko, I want Saiko to have an arc, but she just doesn’t. Therefore spending an entire chapter on her having amazing kagune abilities seems kind of out of nowhere for me. It’s not the result of Saiko’s struggle to overcome something, she just has them because she needed to save Urie in that moment to advance Urie’s arc so it might as well have been magic. The Saiko from the beginning of Tokyo Ghoul Re: would have made the exact same choice to save Urie, that she does nearly 120 chapters in.

You can’t say the same of Touka and Kaneki from even the beginning of Re. Knowing Touka’s want to keep away from Kaneki for his own good initially, and Kaneki’s near constant running away from any kind of intimacy in relationships for fear of losing it, you can’t really say that they would have been at a place where they could have mutual sex in Chapter 125 of Tokyo Ghoul Re, in Chapter 1 of Tokyo Ghoul Re.

So on a purely pacing standpoint, yes it’s bad when there are like a million other plot threads to zoom in and focus on this one thing for an entire chapter especially when sex doesn’t really demand that. However it’s not the worst pacing decision Ishida has ever made, because it does indicate some kind of movement or progression on the characters part, whether forward or backwards.

Now the question of what does this mean to the whole narrative, the english class approach is that this focusing of two people nakedly holding onto each other ignoring the greater context of the whole narrative is reflective of Touka and Kaneki’s mindsets and hangups.

If the goal of the moon arc is to show that there is a difference between the actual motivations and desires of these characters and the role they are meant to play, and the gap between these two things casts a dark shadow which can turn ugly. That in between Amon’s genuinely despairing traumatized state and his need to act as a person who saves others, he lashes out and becomes genuinely violent because he has no other outlet for those emotions. That in between Akira’s role as a mother mentor figure, and a victim of parental loss and trauma she becomes selfish and entitled. That in between Takizawa’s also genuine trauma suffered at the hands of Kanou, and his aspirations to genuinely do good and be a hero, he will always see himself as inferior and retreat tot he shadows.

The thesis of the moon arc is that these characters no matter how much changes about them, will always fall back on these coping mechanisms. That Amon will always be violent, that Akira will always be selfish, that Takizawa will always be inferior. This is just a small example though, if you want a thesis statement on the moon arc look at the character in who it is the most obvious right now Mutsuki. Who flips haphazardly between the person they present themselves as strong, independent ghoul investigator, and the person they are, needy, weak in need of human connection.

Mutsuki is merely an extreme, a red flag to show the result of these characters so haphazardly attempting to repress and replace their shadow selves. So therefore it makes a great sense that Mutsuki is the trigger for Kaneki and Touka’s indulgence, something that might have caused them and Kaneki to reevaluate their entire situation and how they, especially Kaneki, treat the others around them and how those actions have consequences, but isntead causes them to only try to find further solace by hiding themselves in the nooks and the crannies of each other.

This is once again, not a criticism of Touka and Kaneki’s decision to have sex and whether or not it was a good thing for their relationship. However Kaneki gets asked two important questions, “Are ghouls more important to you than the Q’s?” and “Did you want to see Hide after you abandoned him?” both of those things having to do with Kaneki’s fundamental flaw of abandoning others, and both of them Kaneki has no answer for at all.

Ignoring the bad timing of deciding to have sex while both of them are on the run, their entire operation is in jeapordy, and they need clear feelings in order to stay safe and have their allies stay safe, in a narrative when a character is asked a very specific question like that, especially in tragedies when they decide to do nothing or think nothing about it, it’s usually not a good idea.

It’s like Romeo and Juliet’s decision to get married and then have sex all night, instead of trying to think about what they should do with their families conflict, and Juliet’s upcoming marriage to Prince. It’s a selfish decision on the character’s part yes, but it’s not narratively a bad decision because it fits into the bigger scenario and also reflects the characters own priorities. Why is Romeo and Juliet such a flowery play if it’s primarily about two stupid teenagers falling in love and getting everybody murdered? It’s because the two teenagers themselves don’t see themselves that way, for what it’s wroth they do genuinely see thesmselves in love and thus the prose reflects that.

I’m not drawing a direct parallel here, it’s just an example of how a characters mindset and decisions impact the pacing and presentation, the framing so to speak of the work, and how the most logical decision isn’t always the best storytelling decision.

Therefore, this entire chapter could be a demonstration of Touka and Kaneki’s own mindsets and hangups, of their actual motivations and desires vs the role they are meant to play on a larger stage. Their desire for closeness and intimacy, as we have seen in the last ten or so chapters is their actual driving motivations, and that is part of why we see them do absolutely nothing to address the larger plot around them, Furuta and Eto, and the revolution, the near extinction of ghouls being threatened, is because it’s not what they actually care about.

So spending an entire chapter ignoring that and focusing on them getting that closeness, which in both cases is what the characters actually care about and think will the the solution to all their problems, is very much reflecting the way both of them are thinking - how they are ignoring Furuta, the Oggai, Mutsuki, Hide and Yoriko to fulfill that need. Quite literally while three out of five of those people are still chasing them for the most part with the intention of murdering them (I can’t stress this enough really, really bad timing). In the way that Touka and Kaneki’s mindset ignores the entire world, now we too as the audience ignore the entire world to focus only on Touka and Kaneki’s closeness in this chapter. We’re trning our eyes away because this is Kaneki and Touka’s expression of their own shadows, at their lowest points they only care about being close to others

#Anonymous #tokyo ghoul re #metasks #touka #kaneki #mutsuki

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muthur9000 · 8 years ago

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Alien: Engineers vs Prometheus

As you’ll already know if you’ve followed the progress of Prometheus through its production, Jon Spaihts was the screenwriter from its early stages, back when it was still described as a true Alien prequel. After turning in successive drafts, screenwriter Damon Lindelof was brought in to rework Spaihts’ script and incorporate director Ridley Scott’s ideas.

By this point, the project was no longer a prequel, but a less direct predecessor - a directive, we later learned, which was handed down from the people in suits at Fox. This origin story immediately begs the question: what was Prometheus like before it was Prometheus, and prior to Damon Lindelof’s involvement? Was Spaihts’s script a superior piece of work that became sullied and muddled in the process of its rewriting, as some had hinted?

November 2012, those questions could finally be answered, as a leaked copy of a Spaihts draft appeared online. Although there were initial doubts over its provenance, Spaihts later confirmed that it was genuine. Titled Alien: Engineers, it’s unclear exactly which of the writer’s drafts it is, but one things for certain: it was written before the project mutated into what we now know as Prometheus.

So what’s it like? Old gods Initially, it appears to be markedly similar. The story opens in Earth’s prehistory, and we see an Engineer descend from a shadowy spacecraft, and in a ritualistic fashion, sacrifice himself to further life on our planet.

Moving forward in history, we meet our two central characters, a pair of archaeologists hunting for clues of alien visitations in ancient art. In this draft, the duo are rather different; the one played by Noomi Rapace in the movie is called Jocelyn Watts in this version of the script, and not Elizabeth Shaw.

Although roughly the same age (early 30s), Watts is less overtly religious than Shaw, and no reference is made to her being unable to conceive (a fairly major plot point which was clearly introduced in later draft. Her fellow academic and lover is still named Charles Holloway, but he’s a much older (48 years old) and erudite chap than the bullish, somewhat unsympathetic character played by Logan Marshall-Green.

This version of Holloway does, however, have an annoying habit of quoting the Bible all the time in the second half of the film. Broadly speaking, the spine of Spaihts’ script is entirely recognisable. Piecing together a star map from ancient art, Watts and Holloway lead an expedition to a distant moon, all funded by the unfeasibly rich Peter Weyland.

A refined and faintly sinister robot butler named David is sent along to assist, as is Vickers, Weyland’s corporate attack dog with a heart of ice. Some of the character motivations, meanwhile, are somewhat different. For one thing, Weyland isn’t obsessed with the pursuit of eternal life, but with further lining his pockets with new technology.

Buying into Watts’ and Holloway’s theory that the alien Engineers have the ability to terraform planets, Weyland bankrolls the expedition in order to acquire that ability for himself. Naturally, things go awry when the ship touches down on that distant moon, which, in this draft, is LV-426: the site of those nightmarish events in Alien.

After a brief search, Janek - the ship’s captain, who still plays an accordion as Idris Elba did - brings the craft down near the entrance of an alien pyramid. Within lurk long-dead Engineers, scuttling, centipede-like creatures, and leathery pods containing some very familiar parasites. It’s at this point - roughly around page 40 - that the Alien: Engineers script diverges more obviously from the events in Prometheus.

Yet even here, there are two comically hapless chaps named Fifield and Milburn, and they still end up spending a stormy night in the alien pyramid. Milburn is still attacked by something weird that wraps around his arm, and Fifield still mutates into a big, fleshy monster with an elongated head.

One thing is missing, though: alien goo. It’s a relatively minor detail, but the goo of Prometheus - a substance that could both create life and mutate it into new, aggressive forms - is described as a cloud of tiny black insects, whose bites cause those savage mutations.

Its presence is also far more limited here, and the insect cloud only shows up twice in the entire script: once to devour that luckless sacrificial Engineer at the start of the movie, and again to turn Fifield into a rampaging beast. Instead, Spaihts concentrates on gradually reintroducing the acid-spitting xenomorph immortalised by HR Giger in 1979.

As he does so, it’s notable how some of the events which seemed so mystifying in Prometheus make far more sense in this early draft. Watts and Holloway still find a severed Engineer’s head (pulled off aeons ago by a xenomorph here) and take it back to the ship, but this time, it simply dissolves in the ship’s atmosphere. It doesn’t explode like a pumpkin with a firecracker inside it, and it doesn’t start peering around and curling its lip like Elvis before it goes pop.

Moreover, the kidnapped head actually serves a dramatic (if rather peculiar) purpose. In her scientific probings, Watts discovers that the Engineers wear goggles that allow them to see rays of light invisible to the naked eye - rays that David already knows an awful lot about. Ah yes, David. An android with murky agendas in Prometheus, he’s the outright villain in Alien: Engineers.

While Vickers and her minions begin to saw sections of the pyramid apart to work out how the alien terraforming tech works, David’s sneaking around other parts of the ancient structure with mischief in mind… Impregnation As in Alien and Aliens, Spaihts’ prequel takes its time before letting the acid spitters loose. It’s at the mid point where the true horror begins; Holloway, while exploring the alien pyramid, falls down a shaft and disappears.

He’s found later, dazed, without his space helmet and unable to remember where he’s been or what happened. A tell-tale mark on his neck - like the bruise left from a stranglehold - is a clear wink to the audience: he’s doomed. It’s during a sweaty love-making session with Watts that Holloway goes into labour; the infant starbeast erupts from his chest, spattering Watts in blood before scuttling off into the bowels of the ship.

It’s a shocking, blackly comic scene even on paper, and while it’s difficult to imagine Fox allowing this nexus of sex and death to be committed to film - they were, after all, still toying with making the movie a PG-13 at the time - it’s difficult to fault the grim power of Spaihts’ imagination. Nor can we fault the brilliance of a later incident, which ranks alongside Vincent Ward’s abandoned wooden planet idea as one of the greatest Alien franchise moments never filmed.

In it, David reveals his true villainy. Dragging Watts into an alien egg chamber, he teases open one of the leathery pods, and coaxes out the facehugger within. The creature, he explains, isn’t interested in the cogs of an android. But Watts’ body, on the other hand, is a far more enticing prospect.

David handles the facehugger like a kitten before he deposits it onto Watts’ screaming face. Here, then, is the genesis of not only the med-pod scene - perhaps the most convincing moment in Prometheus - but also the whole idea of David spiking Holloway’s drink with a spec of goo, Holloway’s impregnation of Shaw, and her later caesarian section at the clanking hands of an automated machine.

These moments in the script exemplify the difference between earlier drafts and what ended up on the large screen. Many of the same elements ended up in Prometheus, albeit in distorted form. Holloway is still ‘infected’ and dies, yet the process bears more dramatic weight in the script. This isn’t to say, however, that Alien: Engineers is perfect.

The earlier introduction of the med-pod is just as clunky and pointed as it is in the finished movie, and the Fifield monster still reads like an extraneous addition to a story already overflowing with monsters of all sizes. And, as was the case in Prometheus, it’s sometimes difficult to tell the various secondary characters apart, or even keep track of how many are alive or dead. For the most part, they’re screaming alien fodder.

What’s most notable about Spaihts’ draft, though, is what it lacks when compared to Prometheus. Peter Weyland is introduced at the beginning of the script, and never returns. He doesn’t make a dramatic last-act appearance on the ship, and there isn’t the rather tepid late revelation that Vickers is Pete’s daughter. Although an Engineer is still prodded from his slumber, and still pulls David’s head off like a champagne cork, the old gods are less of a presence in Spaihts’ script, and the story feels leaner and more focused as a result.

There’s a greater sense that events are building inexorably to a climax, in which David, in his eagerness to speak to an intellectual superior, kicks back into action the Engineers’ plan to wipe out humanity. Admittedly, the motivation for that extermination is still obscure.

The Engineers wanted to “destroy their wayward children” is David’s somewhat glib explanation, before launching into another of the script’s quotes from scripture: “I will destroy man whom I have created from the face of the earth… for it repenteth me that I have made them.”

In an early scene, one character makes the suggestion that Jesus may have been an Engineer - an echo of Ridley Scott’s frankly worrying idea that the Engineers’ facehugger Armageddon was intended as punishment for crucifying one of their representatives. Reading Alien: Engineers is a bittersweet experience.

On one hand, it’s a gripping read, rattling along like an express train full of ghosts and monsters. On the other, it’s frustrating that what’s on these pages was never filmed. Had Fox not insisted on downplaying the presence of aliens, chestbursters and facehuggers, it’s likely that what we’d have seen in cinemas this year would have been fairly close to this draft.

Ridley Scott clearly liked it, because, for all the curious choices made afterwards - the thawed-out old men, the exploding head, the flutes - Scott worked hard at keeping most of its salvageable elements in, even though they didn’t quite make as much sense in their amended form.

Although some have been quick to point an accusatory finger at Damon Lindelof for Prometheus’ faults, it’s arguable that he faced a thankless task: taking what was an Alien movie and dreaming up ways of writing all those xenomorphs back out again. Sadly, we’ll never know for sure what Alien: Engineers would have been like. We can only read the script’s final confrontation - a battle between Watts and an alien freshly emerged from the corpse of an Engineer among the debris of the crashed ship - and imagine what might have been…

#prometheus #jon spaihts #Alien: Engineers #yutani assets

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nemesis-nexus · 6 years ago

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Full Bloody Wolf Moon and Lunar Eclips 2019

AVE NINHURSAG, Gracious Goddess, Blessed Lady of the Hearth and Divine Mother Earth, we call to you on this Full Bloody Wolf Moon! As you have in the beginning created all things on this Earth to sustain its myriad of living beings we too have strived to protect and defend your other children, unfortunately not all humans have risen to the occasion, in fact several of them electively chose to either go back to sleep or remain asleep and the results of their ignorance is coming full circle back to the point of global destruction that is reaching catastrophic levels! These humans think (in a manner of speaking as many of them DON’T think and that right there is the underlying problem) that they can do whatever they want and there will never be any consequences either in this lifetime or their next Plane of existence but they are severely mistaken!

The reality is that the Wolves are at the Gate and they are NOT the ones that humanity is used to dealing with, these particular wolves make no distinction between what we consider to be “good” or “evil” nor do they care what we claim to be “necessary” for OUR survival when those claims are conjuring up any and every excuse as to WHY the forests are being cut down, why WHALES are choking to death on plastic bags and car parts or why the air cannot be breathed due to smog! They are not interested in what we think we “need” when those “needs” are stripping mountains of their minerals which are in turn causing landslides, when they are sending sonic booms into the ocean floor looking for underwater oil deposits which results in marine life being deafened and killed from the impact, when the medications being flushed are mutating the fish and killing the coral they rely on to hide from predators, when land animals are being slaughtered for their ivory and hides - not to fashion spearheads or arrows for hunting or clothing to stay warm but to create petty useless trinkets to be sold to tourists and a rug for the floor! They don’t want to hear about what we call “progress” when all of it hinges on the electronic technology that is causing the EMP (Electromagnetic Pulse) of the planet to become unbalanced resulting in radiation waves of such intensity that it is literally MICROWAVING everything it touches!

These particular Wolves serve a greater purpose and that is to keep the Natural World in working order and they cannot do this if we continue to run interference! This is why they can be very aggressive, because they HAVE to be! When dealing with a predator that is as sophisticated and weaponized as the human race, you have to use every instinct you have to neutralize them before they can cause any more damage. This is not done with reckless disregard; in fact it is done with regard to ALL other living species so they too can continue to thrive! The human race has taken it upon itself to place itself on the top of the food chain when the reality is that we are really nothing more than just another link in the Circle! When this arrogance boils over, it is up to the Wolves to remind them where they stand whether the human or humans they are dealing with ever sees them coming!

It is my opinion that these Wolves would rather go about their business and not harm anyone, but we humans have made that nearly impossible and have at this point done so much damage and caused so much chaos that there is a very real possibility that there is no fixing it. I do however continue to hold out hope as we have seen a shift in recent years and even though many humans again are still asleep, either because they never woke up or they couldn’t handle reality so they went back to sleep, I believe that many more have in fact woken up and are making it a point to help others especially the younger generation to wake up and rise up like a slow tide against things such as greed and pride! Now there’s nothing wrong with pride or being proud generally speaking, but when it gets to the point that one no longer sees ANYTHING wrong with what they do no matter how many problems arise from their actions OR they DO know it but REFUSE to change course regardless, that’s when it becomes a serious issue!

There is an old Native story regarding an Elder and a young Warrior discussing Life and personal responsibility. The Elder explains that we all have 2 wolves fighting for control of our Path inside of us, one represents anger, hate, violence etc; the other represents joy, love, peace ect... The young Warrior asks the Elder who will win the battle to which the Elder simply says, “The one we feed.” This is true on many levels because people tend to act without thinking especially when they are mad about something and say things that are divisive and hurtful, not because that’s how they feel about the person they are talking to, but because they are so riled up they can’t control their rage. This is something we have ALL done in our lives whether we realize or care to admit to it or not.

This is something that can actually turn deadly when a large crowd of people are allowing the Wolf of Death to control their action rather than the Wolf of Life. The Wolf of Death does not care who gets hurt or why so long as it continues to be fed through people’s fear, envy, hate, malice, greed, jealousy and selfishness; it’s only purpose is to destroy everything around it. All too often people who fall into this trap don’t see just how severe their actions are until it’s too late, though the worse situation is when they do and they continue it intentionally. We have seen this happen all throughout history from the Roman Empire to the Ottoman Empire to recent events regarding Jerusalem, everyone wants everything for themselves and to Hell with everyone else!

NINHURSAG it would seem that for all its self proclaimed progress that the human race has in fact DEvolved where it matters most, where they have become connected and interconnected by cell phones, computers and (anti)social media they have become all but completely DISconnected from themselves and the Spiritual aspect of existence overall. They seem to think they are now above not only the Animal Kingdom and Natural World, but above the highest forms of intelligence existing beyond their borders of comprehension! They seem to think they can confirm or deny the existence of life everywhere else on a whim based ONLY on the fact that they have not (to their knowledge) made contact with it. The truth is they cannot determine the content of other galaxies, planets or planes they have not been to so for them to be so self-righteous as to outright claim it isn’t there is yet another glimpse into their ego and their constant need to be in control of everything, even when they don’t know anything!

What’s worse is that other humans oftentimes clamor to their sides and uphold their foolish proclamations, sometimes with VIOLENT conviction; even if there is PROOF that what was said is not true! The best example of this are the “Flat Earthers” who not only insist that the planet is flat but that we never went to the moon; that the landing, the pictures taken by space craft AND the Lunar Space Station are all fabricated and WHERE are they making these claims? On WIRELESS televisions, computers and cellular phones! This is the kind of thing that would make a great SNL skit if it weren’t for the fact that this mentality, the refusal to research facts and the arrogance to assume that Nature will always provide even when she is being ravaged by the very people who are supposed to be tending to her needs are exactly what is putting the human race and everything else in jeopardy of extinction!

What many humans don’t seem to understand is that “we rise, we fall, we sink, we swim, we meet our fate TOGETHER” (quote from ‘Lean On Me’) so regardless of who is doing what in the end there WILL be a price to be paid and the ones who will foot the brunt of that cost will be the ones who were fighting against the wave of destruction that is the human ego trying to set things right or at least turn the tide to begin a global healing. The fact of the matter is we are indeed in dire times and the more we allow ourselves to be divided by hate, anger and violence, the more we are feeding the Wolf of Death! This Bloody Wolf Moon and Lunar Eclipse serves as a precursor to coming events and unless we start feeding the Wolf of Life more, the blood that spills over the land will be ALL of ours and the ONLY ones to blame for it will be US because we KNOW what we were put here to do and instead of doing it decided that personal gain and instant gratification were more important!

Glorious Lady of Earth and Creation we know that you too had cause to cast out even your most beloved because he took leave of his senses, but in the end, when he was at his highest point of suffering, you returned and healed him completely. It is because of this that I know there is still time, there is still hope. Our Great Mother is not going to simply give up on us but as broad and enduring as her love and patience are, there is a limit and when that limit is reached it will no longer be game on but game over! No one should have to endure the kind of abuse our Mother has especially when it’s done so egregiously that she is EXPECTED to tolerate it indefinitely as though she were obligated! This is why when China sent those cotton seeds up in their Lunar Module I was more than a little concerned because I wasn’t buying their claim that it was to give astronauts on the Space Station or those exploring a place to get more supplies, I honestly believe they were ‘testing the waters’ so to speak and had those plants NOT died they would have started looking at Lunar colonization. Plants need oxygen to live, so do humans, so if it were possible to grow cotton, it would also be possible to set up a larger module to accommodate humans. I could be wrong about that but if I know my humans, nobody would deliberately try to farm the dark side of the moon instead of the light side in full view of everyone, unless they were planning more than a cotton harvest. Humans don’t seem to understand that the Multiverse was created the way it was for a reason and EVERYTHING in it serves a purpose. In the end this was really just another example of human ego trying to put itself above everything else and you Dear Lady were not having it!

The news isn’t all bad though, because just as the Wolf of Death is snarling and tearing at the fabric of existence so too is the Wolf of Life biting and clawing back! When Life is under siege, there is no time to be nice, only to fight with every fiber of one’s being to keep from being overpowered! We see this every time a massive earthquake rearranges the face of the Earth and as bad as it is the Earth still remains! When a hurricane blasts through such as Maria did with Puerto Rico and as severe as the damage was Puerto Rico and her people still stand! When horrific flooding consumed New Orleans and though much of the city is STILL in disrepair even 14 years later, they are rebuilding! When there are tornadoes leveling cities that are not used to getting them such as Revere, MA and yet the city still stands! When humans put their ego and presumptions aside and work together there is no limit to what we can do or overcome but ONLY if we acknowledge that we are a PART of the Circle of Existence, not above it!

AS BAD AS THINGS ARE WE CAN PERSEVERE IF WE CHOOSE TO AS RESILENCE IS IN OUR SPIRITUAL COMPOSITION! Our Lord and Lady created us this way so as to be able to withstand natural disasters and learn how to coexist with Nature even at its most destructive! Sometimes natural disasters are not what they seem, what I mean is that sometimes they occur because the elements are just right and sometimes they occur to serve as a warning to humans that what they are doing is triggering even LARGER scale events down the road, unfortunately that road is NOT as long as it used to be and every day that the Water, Air and Earth are compromised, is a day we are moving ourselves that much closer to a MAJOR global Volcanic event that will bury us all the way it did back in Pompeii! This however can be stopped if people stop going to pointless war after pointless war (which only serves to exacerbate the destruction) with each other and start cleaning up their mess! It sounds like a long shot and very well could be but I still believe that the Ninhursag, Enki, Ningizheda and the rest of the Grand Council want us to live, otherwise why would they have fought so hard for our existence and subsequently been so lenient with us for all these years?

We owe them all not just our gratitude and our cooperation; we owe them our lives and our very Spiritual existence! I think (and I don’t presume to speak for any of them) but I think they would be satisfied with us getting our stuff together and start showing the planet and everything else that we collectively take for granted the respect it all damn well deserves! They say you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone but we DO know what we have, our problem is we take for granted that it will always be there no matter what we do to it OR that it will be repaired for us and we can just continue to act irresponsibly! The fact is that we are about to find out just how accurate that assumption is and I for one would rather not! I for one would rather that all ethnicities of the Human Race would cast aside their judgements and learn how to respect one another so as to realize that what we might have thought could in fact, and oftentimes IS in fact, wrong and that many times these lies are perpetuated for a reason! The reason is usually because someone has allowed the Wolf of Death to overpower them to seize control and the only way to maintain that control is to ensure enough people are willing to support their agenda!

Again there is still time and there is still hope, but we have to ask ourselves just how badly we WANT it! We need to do serious personal introspection to determine what internal parts of our psyche need to be worked on because none of us are perfect, I know I certainly am not! I don’t think I would ever want to be because through our stumbles and falls we learn to be humble, we also learn more about ourselves and the world around us. We are capable of doing great things both creative and destructive but we are stymied by our own egos when we spend all our time pointing out how everyone BUT us could improve! Now it is true that sometimes we need someone to point things out to us especially when we get so ensnared in any task that we lose sight of what’s happening around us, however, this does not exempt us from keeping track of which Wolf we are feeding moreso when we are run down, worn out and over stressed because it is during these times we don’t realize how unreasonable we can be to one another! Again I am not innocent of this, neither is anyone else, but together we can move forward and make real progress that not only advances the human race, but keeps everything including us in Balance!

“Bloody Wolf

The Wind goes quite, the Water is still,

A low growl is heard, sounding quite shrill!

The Full Moon hangs high, its shade a red hue,

The Wolves advance on the ones they pursue!

Survival is the only thing that matters this night,

The Pack will not go down without a HELL of a fight!

The human race could stand to learn from our Lupine brethren,

That Loyalty and Honor should run much deeper than skin!

Any outsider that acts aggressively towards the Family,

Will be worthy of retaliation, it will be their calamity!

When push comes to shove and there is no other choice,

It will be known by the howl that is our unified voice!

For the Family we will always go above and beyond,

There is almost nothing that can ever break that bond!

The only exception would be dishonor and betrayal,

But the strength of the Pack will always prevail!

So during the Darkness of the Wolf Moons Eclipse,

Raise your vibration up high and give thanks to bear witness!

Blessed Lady Ninhursag and Blessed Lord Enki,

Earth and Water together grant us double indemnity!

Their Beauty, Strength, Compassion, and Love is ours,

We are born of the Earth but we come from the Stars!

This does not exempt us from doing our part,

Remember our EARTH is also their HEART!

So raise your chalice and give a toast to the Family,

And remember always we are ONE even though we are MANY!”

ZI ANA KANPA! ZI KIA KANPA!

MAY THE DEAD RISE AND SMELL THE INCENSE!

Etiamsi MULTA Et Nos UNUM Sumus Nos Sto Validus Ut Nos Sto Una!

Semper Veritas, Semper Fideles, In NINGIZHEDA Nomen Nos Fides! AVE NINGIZHEDA!

(We Are ONE Even Though We Are MANY And We Stand STRONGEST When We Stand TOGETHER!

Always TRUTHFUL, Always FAITHFUL, In NINGIZHEDA'S Name We Trust! HAIL NINGIZHEDA!)

AVÉ URURU! AVÉ ENKI/EA!

AVÉ NINGIZHEDA! AVÉ NINHURSAG!

AVÉ ININNI! AVÉ DIMUZI!

AVÉ IGGIGI! AVÉ ANUNNA!

AVÉ DRACONIS! HAIL THE GREAT SERPENT!

HPS Meg “Nemesis Nexus” Prentiss

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