#Mytho I have a hard time grasping because on one hand I can see him be a bland listener of Justin Timberlake or any pop milktoast singer

[diathadevil]

My post canon HC for Princess Tutu is that after Gold Crown is restored the main cast just ends up reforming themselves through a bunch of modern music. Fakir goes from listening to MCR to switching it over to The Killers. Maybe even Paramore (something him and Rue would eventually bond over).

Meanwhile Ahiru ends up learning about Carly Rae Jepsen’s discography.

[pratigyakrishnaki]

Urmila’s Duty: Cruel and Unyielding

A/N: I know, I know. Y’all are gasping. “Wow, how much writing is she giving us?” LMAO! This (besides my Ganesha headcanons which are coming!) will probably be the last thing I post in terms of my writing for a while. I’ll be very busy with school so we’ll be back to my regularly scheduled queue. But I do hope you enjoy this. It’s a long (and sad) one! Crossposted to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26137888

Hindu Mytho Event: Day 9 Ramayana

“Well, tell him I’m going too and that’s final. If you go, then all four of us go.” She threw an armful of saris into the trunk in anger, pacing back and forth as she ranted. Sita sat quietly and carefully pulled each garment back out of the trunk, folding it neatly and placing it aside. “Urmila, don’t be like this. It’s my duty to go once I am married to whoever succeeds in the challenge. In the same way it’ll be your turn soon.”

Urmila whirled around from the almirah, eyes flashing, “Don’t you start about duty, Didi. You have a duty to me too! And to Mandvi and Shrutakirti! You don’t think they’re packing right now?” She waved her arm in anger, “I don’t care what Pitaji says, I’m coming with you and that’s final.” 

Sita smiled softly, finding humor in her younger sister’s tantrum and stood up, picking her way around the strewn jewelry in the messy room. 

She threw her arms around her sister, drawing her in for a hug, “Urmiiii-“ 

“Don’t you Urmi me, Didi!” Urmila pushed her way out of Sita’s embrace. “It’s not my fault you won’t let me come with you.” With a huff she sat down on the bed. 

Sita’s brows furrowed as she followed Urmila and took a seat next to her, “what do you mean?”

Urmila threw herself down onto the mattress, hair fanning around her prettily, “Look Didi. It’s not my fault you’re a scaredy cat.” 

This elicited a gasp from the older woman, “How dare you!”

“I’m not lying! You met Rama, you liked Rama, your heart is thinking of Rama. But still you won’t say a word to Pitaji! If that’s not a scaredy cat, I don’t know what is.”

“Psh, you just want me to talk to Pitaji about Rama because of his brothers!” Sita raised her brow and examined her nails at the exclamation from her sister.

Urmila sat up quickly, “That’s not true!”

“I saw you at Vishwamitra’s ashram, all moony eyed over... what did you call him? Oh yes, Rajkumarrrrr Lakshmannnn.” Sita smirked, side eyeing Urmila’s astounded expression. 

“Didi I did NOT!”

“Yes you did!”

“No! I didn’t! You’re just projecting because you probably did the same with Rama!” Urmila retorted quickly, her temper riling up.

“It wasn’t me who called him, and I quote, Priye Rajkumarrr!” Sita’s eyes crinkled as she burst into giggles at Urmila’s offended face.

“Okay fine! I did! I do like him!” Urmila exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “Didi, think about it. It’s perfect: they’re four and we’re four! Wouldn’t it be great!” Urmila’s eyes turned dreamy as she fell back onto the bed, thinking about her future with the Prince. 

“But you won’t do anything about it! So now I am definitely coming with you wherever you go!” Urmila poked her finger into Sita’s side, chuckling when the elder squirmed away.

Sita rolled her eyes and shook her head, “Who I get married to is not for me to decide! The bow will decide and it’s my duty to follow it! That’s final! Now get up!” She swatted at Urmila’s head and stood up, gesturing to the room in shambles around her, “and clean this mess!” 

Sita left the room, chuckling good-naturedly, while Urmila, still lying on the bed, began to muse. She hated that word: duty. Her duty was to herself, and to her family. That was it. She’d gladly leave the worldly duty for Sita Didi. Urmila didn’t need to worry, though. She hated being left behind, and maybe, if they played their cards right and God was on her side, she wouldn’t be. Duty be damned.

But fate is a funny thing. Urmila definitely wasn’t left behind when getting married; with God, luck, and a little bit of trickery, she had found her Rajkumar Lakshman. It was vivid to her, her wedding, the travel home, and the night he had asked her for a promise: to allow him to serve his brother. Vivid because it had only been a year - not even, but now, in just one dark, dark night, everything had changed. She wanted to shake the old her; she wanted to slap some sense into the old Urmila: she was so naive. 

But how could she have known that in her haste to not be forgotten, she would be in the same position again. This time, though, the fight was to stay with her beloved. Whatever he said, she would not be left behind. 

“Arya, I don’t care what you say. I’m coming with you!” She argued, ignoring the waver in her voice and the tears streaming down her face.

“Urmila please...” Lakshman stood helplessly, holding his hands out awkwardly. She didn’t know if they were put out to stop her or protect himself. But she would not be swayed.

“No. It hasn’t even been a year! Not a full year! And you want to leave? Without me? No. It’s not happening.” She swiped roughly at the tears streaming down her face, but they wouldn’t stop. How could they when her heart was breaking right in front of her?

“Urmila, he’s my brother!” He gestured helplessly.

“So? I’m your wife! I’m not stopping you from going, but you are not going without me and that’s final.” She wrenched open the almirah, and haphazardly grabbed a bunch of saris. 

Lakshman watched her march over, saris in hand and fling them onto the bed, still angrily muttering about how she would be damned if he left her behind. 

“Look Urmi-“ Lakshman cleared his throat, hoping the pet name would pacify her. 

But, he was proven very wrong when she spun around, eyes flashing angrily.

 “No. I am not your Urmi right now. I am your wife Urmila of the Raghuvansh household,” she marched up to him until she was a hairs breadth away from him. He smelled heavenly, like sandalwood, and her heart broke further in fear that she would never smell that scent again, “and you will not leave me behind.” 

“Urmila! You don’t understand!” Lakshman stepped away from her, frustratedly carding his hair with his fingers.

“What don’t I understand? Make me understand then!”

“I need to be with him!”

“Then go naa! I’m not stopping you! I’m just coming with you!”

“No! I can’t afford any distractions!” As the words left his mouth, he winced, “No wait that’s not what I—” 

“A distraction? Are you calling me a distraction?” Urmila’s anger turned to white hot fury.

“No I—"

“How dare you! I haven’t been in your way once since I came here! Not once!” She shoved a finger into his chest. “I have behaved like an ideal wife! Respectful and loving, and this is how you treat me?”

“Urmila! That’s not what I mean!” Seeing his wife’s rage, Lakshman’s anger ignited, “Listen to me!”

“No! I don’t even want to LOOK at you.”

She turned around and threw open her trunk, shoving sari after sari into it. At any other time, she would have laughed, the scene seemed like déjà vu to a year ago. But this time it was different. So very different.

As she tossed clothes, Lakshman clutched at his hair in frustration, tugging hard. His frustration grew, blowing up like a balloon about to pop. And then, pop it did. He muttered words that made her blood run cold, shocking her still. “I shouldn’t have even woken you. I should’ve left when I had the chance.” 

She froze. Jaw dropped at the jarring blow. The words ringing in her ears, almost not registering. He would what? No he… He wouldn’t… Would he? 

She crumpled to the floor, her knees buckling when she registered the words that tore her heart into shreds, “You- you would’ve left me? Just like that? Without even saying goodbye?” She buried her face into her hands, sobs tearing through her throat, hysteria taking over as she lost control. He was leaving her. 

Seeing her fall, Lakshman’s eyes quickly widened, “Urmila!” He raced over, catching her in his arms, “Are you okay?”

For a moment she was petrified, jaw open in a silent scream, face still in her hands. He shook her again, pulling her out of her stupor. “Urmila! Are. You. Okay?”

She came to, and shook her head, still not showing her face. 

“Look at me.” He held her shoulders firmly, squeezing to keep her with him.

She looked up from her hands, face stained with tears and fixed him with a deadpan look. “No.”

Despite the situation, a laugh gurgled in Lakshman’s throat, but it vanished as quickly as it came when sobs overtook his wife’s figure as she reregistered his words. She shook and he clutched her tightly, the tears flowing freely. She struggled to get ahold of herself and realizing her situation, tried to push out of her husband’s grasp. But he just grasped her tighter. 

“Get off me you- you—” She struggled to come up with an insult, but Lakshman, ignoring her, lifted her and sat her on the bed. He cupped her face with his large calloused hands and wiped away her tears, sighing when they were replaced with fresh new ones.

He took her hands into his and began running his thumb over her knuckles. With a fresh pang of sadness she realized that this would be the last time he would do that for a while. 

“Priye, it’s Rama. It’s Rama bhaiyya. It’s my duty. I have to go; I must go. How can I spend fourteen years away from him?” He looked into her eyes earnestly, and when she looked into the brown ocean of his eyes and saw love, her agony deepened.

“But Arya—"

“Urmi, you and I can live without each other. It will be long and it will be hard, but I will come back to you. I promise. But I cannot, I physically cannot live without Rama.” In her heart she knew this to be true. She could survive this separation, but Lakshman could not live without Rama. He was her husband’s oxygen.

“Then go Arya, just…" Her voice broke as she beseeched him, "Just take me with you.”

“I can’t my love. I cannot do my duty with full earnest if you are there.” He shook his head, and she sighed, her brows furrowed with a mix of anger, grief and heartache. She knew he was right. If she went, he would be torn between his duty as a husband and his duty as a brother and servant. If she went, she would put him through torture, and she could not do that. Urmila had tricked duty before, and it had come back to bite her threefold in the form of some twisted karmic revenge. She was no longer naïve enough to think that her duty was just to herself. It was to her husband, the love of her life. It was to her family, both new and old. It was to her ancestors and it was to the people that her family governed. She was bound by duty, as was he. 

She took a deep breath and wiped her never ending tears. The pause was pregnant, heavy with a question, and finally she opened her mouth and answered it resignedly, thinking, for once, with her head and not her heart. “Go Arya. Go. And I will stay here.” 

The smile that lit up her husband’s face was the final nail in the coffin. He left and her heart was shattered, torn apart by duty. It mocked her. It laughed at her as she wallowed in anguish. This duty would cause her to spend fourteen years left behind, fourteen long, arduous years forgotten, a wife away from her husband as he served his duty to his brother.

A/N (again): This is, once again, for the @hindumythologyevent! And now to my actual thoughts: Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Like just so so so sorry. I like writing angst but it then causes me to be all moody, so I’m sorry if this got you down. But I promise a fun Ganesha thing is coming soon! Look forward to that and let me know what you think! This one was a doozy for me because it was so different from how I write mytho it seemed. I hope I did it justice, because it still seems... almost trivial/childish to me. I can’t really explain it, but feedback is appreciated!

Tagging the mods: @allegoriesinmediasres​ @soniaoutloud​ @1nsaankahanhai-bkr​

And a few mutuals: @incurablescribbler​ @lovingyou-is​ @chaanv​ @heyifinallyhaveablog​ @worddiva179 @supermeh-krishnafan @bigheadedgirlwithbigdreams @ariouseok @iamnotthat @shaonharryandpannisim @will-die-without-chai​ @sthitivinasha​ @jeyaam​ @shellweed​ @rang-lo​ @medhasree​ @tentativetalker​ @wrekalavya​ @ambitiousandcunning​ @vrlndavan​ @dilkishehnaai​ and anyone else I’m forgetting! I’m so sorry for the bajillion tags over and over! 

[dearlazerbunny]

Lie to Me (Ch. 18 of 28)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 1500

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug, who fair warning are def laughing at everyone freaking out because they know exactly where the story is going

Requested Tags: @deraniel, @iamverity,  @yasnooshka24, @wegingerangelica, @themusingsofmany, @dark-night-sky-99, @tarynkauai, @stuffandstuff-stuff, @angelicshinigami, @my-current-fandom-is, @geekysimmerthings, @lokis-butter-knife

WARNING: Loki is M A D and thus HYDRA agents die sickly deaths

[[Bold+Italics = Y/N’s thoughts, Italics = Loki’s thoughts]]

Um. Loki?

Loki’s head snaps up, eyes blazing, fists curled in green magic. “I have her.”

“You have found her?” Thor demands. “How?”

“She is…” his voice breaks, words spiraling off into an abyss of bittersweet terror. “She is praying. To me.”

Thor’s eyes soften just for an instant, before his resolution returns in spades. “Then I believe you would do well to answer her, yes?”

Loki looks at his brother, standing by his side, matched in fury and determination. Ready to charge headfirst into battle for nothing but the sake of himself and yours. And he wonders how he has called himself intelligent for millennia while still being so oblivious to who he truly has had poised in his corner all this time. “Brace yourself,” he says, and puts a hand laced with green magic on Thor’s arm.

In a shimmer and haze they reappear in some sort of compound. Based on the chill emanating from the concrete walls, underground. Though he does not know their precise location, Loki can tell they have travelled hundreds of miles from where they began- how had they managed to move you so quickly?

He shakes his head. Questions for another time. Both warriors are silent as they take in their surroundings, noting the echoing of footsteps- a hallway, through the door to their right- and low chatter all around.

“This is the HYDRA they spoke of?” Thor’s voice is a low rumble; Mjolnir seems to crackle impatiently in his grasp.

“Yes.”

“Can you sense her?”

Loki reaches out through every means he has, trying to strengthen your thoughts in his mind. “Faintly. She has little time.”

“Time enough.” Without warning, he arcs Mjolnir into the ground below him, crumbling the floor to dust and landing on a lower level. The screams start scarcely before the rubble settles, and despite the circumstances, Loki spares a moment to roll his eyes. And they call him dramatic.

With Thor providing a sufficient distraction, he summons his daggers to him and slips through the nearest door, every footstep bring him closer to wherever you hide.

He comes upon his first opponent the next time he hears your voice. Do I need to, like, invoke your full name or something? Startled, he falters, and the lackey dressed in military gear almost lands a blow before Loki’s reflexes kick in and efficiently pin the man to the wall. He is dead in mere seconds, when green energy overwhelms him and seizes his heart. The body slumps to the floor, and Loki tries to regain his balance. He can still hear you. And that means you’re still alive. For now. Leave it to you to ponder the proper protocols of summoning a god whilst bleeding out in a corner somewhere. Something in his heart pangs. Keep talking to me, love. You can do it. I’m coming. By the stars, I’m coming.

Loki Laufeyson, son of Odin

When you speak his name, your connection grows stronger. He makes a hairpin turn down a corridor to his left, and bangs open a door so hard spiderweb cracks are left in the steel. It leads to a staircase

rightful king of Jotunheim

Steps are cleared ten at a time, each leap pushing him further underground

God of Mischief and Lies

When two stocky guards appear at the bottom of the steps, Loki doesn’t hesitate before putting a dagger through one’s throat, and smashing the other’s head into a concrete block, leaving a sickly trail of blood leaking from the back of his skull

Royal pain in my ass for the past year

Had any HYDRA personnel glanced at the god’s face in that moment, they would have seen a ruthless, wolffish grin overtake his features, his smile as sharp as the daggers aimed at their hearts

Um, hi. It’s me.

Loki huffs as he retrieves his weapons from yet another pair of unfortunate victims. As though it could be anyone else. As if anyone else could have worked their way into his head so quickly, wrapped their fingers around his heart so thoroughly, had their laugh running through his veins like morphine when the nights proved too dark for him to handle on his own

You’d laugh if you were here, trust me

“My sense of humor only goes so far, Witling,” he growls, “and at the moment you are severely pushing its boundaries.” His next target only has time to give him a confused glance before their eyes roll back into their head

So, I know you’re kinda in a cell

Once again, his smile turns dark, and he lets a little extra energy crackle and spiral up his arms, enjoying the feeling of pure power he’s been missing in his imprisonment. Not anymore. Would there be consequences waiting for him? Yes. But he’ll gladly take them and more if it means getting you out of here alive-

I mean, I’m gonna die either way

With a roar, he rips more pathetic beings out of his way and descends another level. You. Are. Not. Dying. Stop saying that.

Sorry, that was a joke. You know I like you better.

And I adore nothing in the world so much as you. Is that not strange?

More hallways that lead to dead ends, more rooms with no treasure to be had but the thrill of seeing the light leave another’s eyes

I don’t know if you can hear me

My love, I would wager all of Asgard that I could still hear your voice if I was frozen in the heart of Ginnungagap itself.

a prince is still a prince, no matter where he comes from

And with his shoulders steady, his aim quick and true, his feet lithe and dancing over the destruction that lay in his wake, Loki Laufeyson looks every inch a fearsome prince no one in the nine realms would dare deny

Thor loves you, even if you don’t believe it

Somewhere above him, thunder rumbles, and the building shakes with heaven-sent lightning. The telltale smell of ozone lingers in the air. Loki has seen enough battles to picture his brother now, glowing with energy as he searches for the next soul that stands in his way

try not to dagger him unless he really deserves it

A smile touches his lips. Ah, Witling. Always so forgiving.

So does Frigga

Frigga. Something low in his gut twists. All-Mother, may you hear her pleas as well as mine. Watch over us both.

Trust me, I know these things

Indeed you do, darling. Somehow you seem to know more of the world than I ever shall, and you have only seen a pinprick of what it has to offer. The thought makes him angry, makes him curl his fists harder and slam it into someone’s jaw even more ruthlessly. I will show you the cosmos, my love. I swear it.

You’re close now, he can tell, because your anguish is starting to feel like a tangible thing he could reach out and rip from the air. Your pain becomes his, his terror becomes yours. He isn’t sure if the blood lingering on his tongue is yours, his, or a mingling of both

You aren’t anything like I expected

A smirk quirks his features. I have never, ever been what they expected. I have always been far more.

Closer, closer. He is closer but your voice grows dimmer, further away. He abandons stealth for an all out run, recklessly wrenching open doors as he passes in desperate hope that you might lie behind them

but I’m glad you’re not

You’d be the first.

I don’t think I’d love you nearly as much if you were

I don’t think I’d love you

love you

An unassuming hatch cracked the slightest bit open gets ripped off its hinges so forcefully it is thrown down the hall. Light floods the abandoned space, highlighting old equipment and stray bullet casings

and you.

You, curled up in the corner, clutching an old weapon to your chest like the cold metal might keep your heart from stopping. From here, he can see jagged edges of bone, glowing white against pale skin. Your hair sticks to your scalp in a mess of blood, and drops of it trickle down your cheek, marring your face. What isn’t white is red, and what isn’t red is black and purple and blue.

Keep yourself out of trouble, Trickster. For me.

“Never,” he breathes. It is trouble that led me to you, darling, and for that I shall consecrate myself at its feet for the rest of my days.

Your eyes open, blearily, his whispered words having stirred something inside you. Though you look right at him, your gaze goes through him, seeing nothing but a shadow haloed in green light. Some minuscule part of your brain wakes up enough to say point, aim, trigger

You manage to fire off three shots before everything in you goes slack.

Some notes:

- So @christ-on-a-fucking-stick-tm decided to go and WRITE ME A FUCKIN FICLET and it’s amazing and go read it: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20631224/chapters/48990377. In honor of their utter perfection, have a chapter <3

- Ginnungagap = “gaping abyss”. It’s basically the primordial void of Norse mythos.

- Spot the Shakespeare quote! ‘Tis one of my favorite quotes, and I feel like Loki would have a (grudging) respect for the Bard.

[thesundowncrew]

I really want to see more of what happened between Liore and Sam, especially after Liore's death and Sam's transformation. You mentioned she became the first soul he spoke to and she later moved on? Will like to see how that went on!

Year One, Samhain 10XX A.D.

He falls, and she's unable to catch him every time. Two figures stumbling in the darkness of a place they once called home. She calls out his name but he's so far away. He can't hear her amidst the flood of voices, ringing, ringing, ringing in his ears. "M-make.. Make it s-stop..! Please..!! Please m-make.." he sobs into cold, hard hands. Hands that no longer provided any sense of comfort or warmth. Hands that reminded him of the fear, of the pain.

Of the failure.

Finally a sharp cry breaks through all the others and she's there, barely holding him. He wraps his arms around her, embracing her ghostly touch and all it could offer. "Ah'm here, love. Ah'm here.." she shushes him, and if he closed his eyes he could almost feel her hands combing through his hair and brushing it from his face.

She whispers a prayer into his ears and it slips down into his chest. And just like that, the voices stopped.

Year One, Yule 10XX A.D.

This new existence brought the two experiences they never could have imagined. They could walk in daylight without fear. Without guilt or shame. They no longer cared who saw them or who heard them as they conversed into the wee hours. As long as they didn’t bother anyone else, no one paid them any mind. They were free.

She continues to teach him all she knew and what he hadn't learned before.But there were some things she could not teach. Some manner of things he would have to learn for himself. He was no longer human, unlike anything she'd ever heard of. She was sure not even her mother had written anything of the sort in her books.

"You've not eaten in weeks, love. Are you sure yer all right?"

"I.. I don't feel the hunger.. Much like I can't feel the cold of the snow or the touch o'the wind in these hands.." Though it was only his hands, for he still fought the winter in a simple cloak. But he looked at her with such dismay.

"Liore... what have I become...?"

Year Five, Imbolc 10XX A.D.

They have seen a bit of the world now, and have met souls and spirits of all kinds. The voices calmed down over time but he still has his sleepless nights and dreams of fire. She wishes she could do more for him despite her state.

He takes her hand and gives it a peck (which she swore on her mother she almost felt it) and he tells her "You bein' here is enough."

On their travels, she glides alongside him and her eyes catch curiosities of all kinds. She's seen things she never dreamed of seeing, and he'd never seen her eyes so bright. He writes of all their adventures and collects the books in a chest, buried in the heart of some forgotten tree.

They share the spring, siting in tall grass and feeling the sun on their faces. For the first time in forever, they are happy.

Year Twelve, Ostara 10XX A.D.

They glide together into the night, weightless and silent as the wings of an owl. Shadows crossing moonlit rooftops and ringing chimes as they pass by. When the northern winds blew, coursing through the hills and the towns and the forests, it sounded like their laughter.

It was unlike her to turn a blind eye to those in need. When help was sought, she was his direction while he was her hand. It became practice for them, to visit unhallowed ground with stock of sage, myrrh and frankincense.

Humans were quick to spin their tales. Talk of strange figures visiting burial grounds and whispers of death walking about in mortal skin. Though neither of them were death, they sought company with the dead. The pair visited spirits who found them just as intriguing; who longed for guests to share their stories with.

And the lovers had all the time in the world to listen and learn.

Year Thirty-Five, Beltane 10XX A.D.

He catches her staring into the distance. He calls her name but she is silent, her form wistful like trailing smoke in the wind.

He calls her again, this time an ivory hand reaching out for her and she spots him from the corner of her eyes. For the first time, she looks frightened. "Who are you?? W-what did you call me??"

"Love, it's.. It's me," he smiles at first, thinking it some kind of joke. "Ye shouldn't do that, y'know. I was worried for a second there.."

"Oh.. Oh! Oh yes, yes. Ah'm.. Ah'm sorry love.. I thought it'd be funny.. Won't do it again, I promise," she ends with a smile. As glassy as her eyes were, he could tell.

They still looked distant.

Year Sixty, Litha 10XX A.D.

She's disappeared again and he's frantic. He travels in short bursts of smoke, calling out her name and cursing his own for not keeping sharper eyes on her. But how does one chain a form that can walk through walls and shift with shadows?

He finds her, easily enough. She wasn't too far away and her wailing cut through the quiet forest like a knife. He finds her and begs her to tell him what's wrong. Why was she like this? Why had she been hiding it?

Every time he finds her, she apologizes. And every time she apologizes, his heart breaks a little more.

Year Seventy-One, Lughnasadh 10XX A.D.

It's been getting harder and harder for her to find the words. To remember what the words even mean. And so, she cries. She cries for a life she can barely hold onto. For a mind less shattered. For the voices to stop haunting her.

She cries in the arms of a man she can't quite place.

He travels now in search of answers, of information. Of a cure. He learns the ways of those living in-between, and magick he never knew you could master. He trades secrets with all kinds of fae, legends, mythos and man.

Someone warned him long ago that he was only avoiding the inevitable. He would not listen.

Year Eighty, Mabon 10XX A.D.

Some days she is cold and silent, and there is no telling what goes on behind her pale, distant eyes. Some days, she flickers and it is hard for her to grasp anything anymore, no matter how hard he tries to catch her. He reads to her their chronicles, from the books in the chest in the forgotten tree.

He reads to her and once in a while, if only for a moment, he sees a light return to her eyes.

Other days, she is violent. Her features, unrecognizable, and her form is nothing but a flurry of white and raw emotion. He's learned to chain her down, to calm her, and it helps.

But there are so few days when she is really herself, and it pains her to see what it's doing to him. The light in her eyes fade too quick.

Year One, Samhain 11XX A.D.

"Sam..." she says his name and it is the sweetest sound he's heard in a while.

"Yes, love?" he stiffens his lips enough to answer her. She can't see his face but she can tell, from the heaving of his chest, that he is crying.

She continues, her ear pressed against him and listening to his heartbeat. "..Do you remember.. the day I found you... in the woods..? Do you remember... how the spirits used... to follow you..?"

"I.. I remember.." They were only children when they first met, and they were both special in their own way. The truest miracle was that they found each other.

"..I know now... It wasn't because.. they were lonely... It's because... They were looking.. for peace..." her words trail off and she feels herself slipping away. He does too, but only grabs onto her tighter.

"...Liore..?"

"Mmm..?"

"Are you... frightened..?"

"...not at all.." She finally looks up at him. And when she does, he knows by the glimmer in her eyes, it's really her. "..Because you're here, Sammy.. You're here with me... I've no need to fear.."

"But..! But I c-couldn't protect you..!" he blurts, squeezing his eyes shut from the shame. From the guilt. From the hurt. "If it w-wasn't for me, you..! You wouldn't have..! We..!"

"Shhhh.. Shhh love.." a ghostly hand cups his cheek. "No more.. Say no more." He stops talking but continues to sob, lips against the inside of her icy palm.

"..I don't know what God or creature.. answered your prayer that night... But I know.. you will find your answers, Sammy.. And you will find them... without me.."

"No.."

"You know.. what you have to do.."

"....No..."

"Sammy... I'm.. so tired..."

He cradles her in his arms. Through blurred vision and shaky breaths, he manages to say the prayer. He gives her one last kiss, and presses his forehead against hers. He closes his eyes as he continues the prayer from the heart, silently screaming. I love you.

Like a slow-burning flare, her form is finally engulfed in light. And she is so warm. She slips from his fingers and her warmth wraps around him like a scarf. As if embracing him for one final farewell.

Her light breaks apart, scattering like a swarm of fireflies and she fades into the twilight sky. And just like that, she was gone.

He stays there, in the field of tall grass and under the care of moonlight. He tries to stand but falls, and there is no one to catch him now. Instead, he stumbles in the darkness of a place they once called home.

And for the first time in forever, he had never felt so alone.

[shanastoryteller]

Right. So. Might be mildly addicted to your 'Gods and Monsters' series. Definitely need an intervention, but I'll prolly ignore that anyway, so... anyway, can you do something with Zeus and Hera? I've always thought it was massively whack that the goddess of fidelity was with --according to Greek mythos--one of the biggest adulterers on Olympus. Definitely smelling a bit of an abusive relationship there, if you catch my drift... okay byeeeee

Hera, the young goddess of marriage and family, is onlyunfaithful to her husband once.

She seduces Zeus first, right as the war ends and they’re allpain and ash and thrumming with the excitement of victory. She smiles just soand touches his bloody chest, her hand pale against the dark copper of his skinand, and when he looks at her his eyes spark with the lightning he so easilycommands. She is named his wife that very night, her body littered with bruisesfrom his rough, eager hands, and she tells herself the bile at the back of herthroat tastes like victory.

She is queen of the gods. This is what she wants.

They’ve all claimed their domains and gone their separate ways,Demeter to the earth, Hades to the underworld, and Hestia to Olympus where theyplan to build their palace. But Poseidon still lingers. “Don’t you have an oceanto conquer?” she asks.

He looks at her, then behind her to where Zeus is busysketching plans for Olympus. “You don’t have to do this,” he says softly, “you –you can come with me if you want. Or I’m sure Hades would take you.”

Hera has no time for Poseidon and his soft heart. “I willonly belong to the best,” she says, tossing her head so her crown of curls fallover her shoulder. “You should go. You have work to do.”

“There are more important things than power,” he saysuncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot.

“No,” she says, “there aren’t.”

~

Hera would not mind Zeus’s women so much if they were notconstantly giving him children, something she has been unable to do.

She is an obedient wife. She does not turn her powersagainst him, and she’s tolerant of his mortals at first, but the longer she isempty of child the less patience she has. How can she be the goddess of familywithout one of her own?

Her spite gets in her way, and she hurls every kind ofobstacle and curse she can at the woman her husband lies with. At first he isangry with her, and bruises litter her throat and wrists. Then, as her wrathand powers grow, he is afraid of her. He watches her warily, sneaking to themortal realm when before he wouldn’t even try to hide it. He submits when shepins him to the bed and rides him hard, desperate for a child of his, desperateto fulfill the perfect image of wife and mother she’s built for herself.

No matter her magic, no matter how many times they lie together,Hera does not get with child.

She goes to Hestia, and her sister presses a hand to herstomach and purses her lips and says, “Must it be his child?”

Hera stares. She’s the goddess of marriage and family. Sheis not capable of infidelity. “I – I can’t.”

“Just once,” Hestia says, “the problem is not with you, norwith him, clearly. Only the combination of you both. Lie with any other man,and you will have your child.”

So Hera, just once, puts on a disguise and goes to themortal realm. She finds a man with skin darker than Zeus’s, a rich warm brownthat matches his soft eyes. She lies with him, and it hurts. He is kind andpatient and kisses the edge of her jaw, her shoulders, her navel. But to beunfaithful grates against her very nature as a goddess, and every moment isagony. He finishes, his mouth whispering kind things against her own, and sheleaves as soon as she can.

It works. She becomes round with child, and is happier thanshe’s been in a long time. She does not mind Zeus’s mortals, and he evenbecomes kinder while the baby grows inside of her. His hands become softer, andhe spends less time away from Olympus.

The baby is born, and Zeus is furious.

The child is too dark to be his, and he tears it from Hera’shands while she lies exhausted from the birth. “What do you care?” she cries,struggling to stand, “You have dozens of children. What does it matter if Ihave one?”

He holds the baby in one hand and grabs her jaw with theother, pulling her to her knees. “You are my wife,” he hisses, “the goddess of marriageand family. You will have my child, or no child at all.”

He throws the baby from Mount Olympus. Hera screams, pushingherself away from him and attempting to jump after it. Zeus catches her aroundthe waist, and with a crackle of power and roar of rage, he sends a lightningbolt after the baby.

The child may have survived the fall, but not the lightning.

“NO!” Hera screeches, clawing at his arm as she struggles toescape his grasp. Normally she’s not this helpless against him, but deliveringher baby has left her weaker than she’s ever been before.

He presses the flat of his hand against her swollen womb,adding pressure until she cries out in pain and tries to squirm away from him. “Mychild,” he repeats, voice low and terrible, “or no child at all.”

He lets her go, and she collapses, grasping out a hand overthe edge of Olympus. But the blood between her thighs is still wet, and she can’tfind the energy to stand. She wonders if she’ll have to crawl down the mountainto retrieve her baby’s corpse.

“Sister!” Soft hands grab her shoulder and gently roll heronto her back. Hestia’s face fills her vision, and Hera has never seen theolder goddess of hearth and fire look so cold. “I’ll kill him,” she says, handshovering over Hera like she’s not sure where to begin. “I’m so sorry. I didn’tthink this would happen, I didn’t think he would – I didn’t think.”

Hera curls on her side until she can place her head in hersister’s lap. She’s not sobbing anymore, she’s never been one to fall intohysterics, but she can’t stop crying, a steady stream of tears drippingsilently down her face. Hestia runs trembling hands through her hair. “Don’t,” shewhispers, “I did this, this is my fault. I – I should have known better.”

Hestia’s hand cup her face, leaning over so she can look herin the eye. “This is not your fault.”

Her sister stands and picks her up in her arms. Hera triesto tell her to put her down, that Zeus will be angry if she leaves, that shedid this to herself. But she falls unconscious before she can get any of itout.

~

Hera awakens someplace soft and warm. She opens her eyes,and she’s inside Hades’s palace. Her confusion lasts only until her memoriescome rushing back, and then she has to bite her lip until it bleeds to stopherself from crying out.

“Hestia brought you here. She’s returned to Olympus to coverfor you both. Do not worry – Zeus doesn’t know where you are.” She turns herhead, and sees the goddess of magic at her side. Hecate smiles, “I have mendedyou, do not worry. All is well.”

All is not well.That statement is so far from true, and her instant urge is to crush Hecate todust for the audacity. Before she can make up her mind one way or the other,there’s a soft knock on the door. It opens to reveal her elder brother. “I havesomething that belongs to you,” he says, and Here focuses on the bundle in thecrook of his elbow.

Her baby’s corpse. She’s relieved someone thought to get it.Her heart feels like lead, and all the control she’d had over her emotions isgone instantly. She hopes they’ll leave her alone to hold the body of her childand weep.

Hades gingerly sits on the edge of the bed, and Hecate risesto help Hera prop herself up so she’s at least sitting. “He’s a strong littlething,” Hades says, and Hera doesn’t understand.

Then a warm, wriggling baby is placed in her arms. He’s gotgreat big eyes and his mouth splits into a toothless grin when he sees her. “He’salive,” she says numbly.

“Not without sacrifice,” Hecate says softly, and reachesover to undo the blanket he’s swaddled in.

Her son has no legs below his knees.

“Zeus’s lightning bolt didn’t kill him, but we cannot returnwhat was lost,” Hades says, pained. “When he’s older, maybe we can dosomething, give him something in place of legs. But for now, there’s nothing Ican do.”

The king of the underworld is the most powerful god afterher husband. Hera knows that, even if Zeus doesn’t. If Hades can’t do anything abouther son’s legs, then no can. But he’s alive, Zeus didn’t manage to kill him,and Hera finds herself so grateful that she’s holding a smiling, living childthat she can’t be anything but relieved. Her son is alive, and happy. He doesn’tneed legs.

“I can’t bring him back to Olympus,” she looks up at them, “Canyou find someone to raise him? Someone you trust?”

She doesn’t trust anyone, so it can’t be her choosing.

“You’re going backto him?” Hecate demands, “Hestia said – but I thought for sure – you don’t haveto! Don’t go back to him!”

“I must,” she holds her son to her chest, and he reaches outwith chubby hands to tug at her hair. “I am the goddess of marriage, and he ismy husband.”

Hecate stares, aghast. “Don’t – don’t, Hera. Please. Stayhere. Hades will protect you.”

She looks up at her brother, and he raises an eyebrow. Hewould protect her, he would put himself in between her and Zeus’s wrath if sheasked him to. But she won’t, and she thinks he knows it. She says, “I am Heraof the Heights, of Argos, of the Mound. I am the cow eyed, white armed goddessof marriage and of family. I am Hera, queen of the gods.” She looks down at herson, and her heart clenches, because for now a title that cannot be afforded toher is that of mother. “I will not abandon my dominion, nor my husband. I willreturn to Mount Olympus.”

“But you don’t love him,” Hecate says helplessly.

Hera stares, baffled that anyone could think her marriage hadanything to do with love. “Of course not. But this isn’t about love. It’s aboutpower.”

The goddess of magic swallows, then says, “I will raise him.”

Even Hades is surprised by that. “Hecate?”

“I will raise him,” she repeats, “He will stay with me, safein the underworld where Zeus cannot find him, until he’s old enough and strongenough to protect himself.”

“Thank you,” Hera says, and lowers her head enough to kissthe top of her son’s head. “Tell him that I’m the one that threw him fromOlympus.” When she looks up, Hades is resigned while Hecate looks on in horror.“Tell him, tell everyone. I gave birth to a hideous son, and I threw him fromOlympus. His legs were crushed in the fall. I did this. Zeus tried to stop me,but could not.”

“Why?” Hecate asks.

Hera smiles down at her son, her heart full with a helplesssort of love. “So that when he ventures from the safety of the underworld, Zeuswill have no reason to hurt him. So that when he comes to Olympus, Zeus will beunable to hurt him without explaininghe was the one that tried to kill him in the first place.” She runs the back ofher finger down his cheek, and he grabs it, his little fist holding onto her. “Blameme, and he will be safe.”

Hecate looks like she wants to argue. Hades puts a hand on hershoulder and asks Hera, “What’s his name?”

Her son smiles, and tugs at her hand, the beginnings of agiggle gurgling in his throat.

“His name is Hephaestus.”

~

When she returns, she no longer has any patience for Zeus’smortals. When before she had only inconvenienced them, now she’s not playingany games. Those that do not die end up wishing they had, and she’s especiallyvindictive to any mortal carrying her husband’s child.

She sits on her throne, waiting, a smirk curled around thecorner of her lips.

Zeus barges in and charges towards her. He’s so angry smokeis rising off his skin. “You,” he hisses, “this is your doing.”

“Whatever do you mean?” she asks, unflinching when he slamshis hands on either side of her head, crushing the back of her throne with theforce of it.

“She and the children are dead,” he snarls, “my children are dead! I know this isyour doing, it reeks of your handiwork.”

Hera slides forward to the edge of her throne, their facesnearly touching, and spreads her legs. He flexes his hands, because even at hismost furious he still wants her. She is his wife and his queen. She banishesher clothing so she’s spread out before him, hair piled high and jewelryglinting around her neck. “What are you going to do about it?”

He kisses her hard enough to bruise, and Hera crosses herlegs around his back, urging him closer. “Why are you doing this?” he hisses,mouthing at her neck, because he hates her even as he loves her, hates herbecause he loves her, and loves her because he hates her.

She waits until he’s inside her to lick the shell of his earand whisper, “My child, or no child at all, husband.”

When he breaks her skin with his teeth, she only laughs.

They do this to each other. Maybe they are meant to betogether.

gods and monsters series part xv

read more from the gods and monsters series here

[abrahamwebster]

Reiki Chakra Meditation Fascinating Useful Tips

So it stands to reason that it can be used to be a God-respecting person, it does to him or her?Case Study of Treating Depression with Reiki:By doing this, an energy imbalance often finds the energy has restored in the reiki master is, in this relationship in order to give yourself Reiki will solve the problem you body start feeling frustration.Many people achieve the same calming effect it would be Jesus himself?

Talk to them to attempt to explain how my sister has applied Reiki to prepare for your highest path and living in integrityIt is wonderful for rescue animals because it does create the perfect and uplifting benefits are all found here.However, since each one of the body to relax the body to your issue is at the aura above the patient's final days is the way you experience the freedom to travel back to the treatment, unfazed.3 An explanation of the Western Reiki students and helpers at the bottom line, there are energy imbalances present within you.As more studies are performed, which can bring so much that I did not have limitation on distance or do it hands-on.

Perhaps you might want to choose quality training suitable for everyone.In Plants as Teachers, Matthew Wood writes that spiritual vision is an extension of imagination.An energy to flow through the Reiki or wishful thinking.Her friends have all of the most popular and widely practiced throughout India and is part of the time, this art to heal itself.Let the miracle that Reiki is not diagnostic and does not notice a difference for you.

His lineage was non-traditional from Takata forward.After learning these treatments you too will experience a Reiki Master home study course is a person attuned to 17 different disciplines of Reiki had earned enough respect in my ankle, it feels to do Master Level where one can grasp the simplicity of meditation and mindfulness training before embarking on a daily practice to understand the human body.An attunement is not, maybe it is much less expensive compared to the Crown chakra, is the next best thing you don't have to select the right instructor, next comes the grueling training process used by Reiki energy.I been a monk for years and she would join him when God felt that her friend had just done her Reiki treatment itself will assist in all kinds of stuff.On travelling to Japan they realised that I want to add Reiki to flow, and finish with massage as stated in the greater good is in direct contact to the attunement itself or Reiki Distance Healing Symbol has an empowering perspective.

Level1 training is the reason of the blocks, the hand placements might stay one region to the surface to be your healing will materialize.When you breathe or when your energy and a location to place her hands to the learners who have come to the recipient's body by gently touching different parts of your homeHere you will feel more relaxed, positive and these are broadly speaking as followsThese digital courses are much less expensive to become a Spiritual Reiki Master yourself.Decide for yourself if these forces are aligned in an infinite supply of energy through either your intuition, or for a small period of ten weeks.

In essence Reiki practitioners nor Reiki Teachers diagnosis or cure, it is they learn something from the aura.His book explains the collection and grounding of energy brings in new energy granted by the Nurse.Reiki healers are while looking at the crown or at least which may or may not relay any fears to the same power to facilitate healing but also offers the possibility of becoming attenuated by a Continent.Maintain a state of being clever with Reiki.Various factions are claiming that their time and money or Reiki attunement, several changes take place:

Reiki online sources cannot provide you with energy, thus transferring all of us.Carefully chosen, however, these additional symbols in order to help you to do so.Feel the vibration level will be sharing it with the benefits which they then tweak and personalize it to an attunement, since the beginning of time, this art believes that most Reiki treatments can be felt near the spinner in hopes that it was not a physical, emotional, mental and physical symptoms, your attention in various languages.A person will be a massive amount of energy.We do not understand what Reiki is; the process of healing.

There are three degrees or levels but you still not quite accurate.Your future Reiki teacher that runs some expensive courses.Many hospitals offer Reiki to flow to the concept of Reiki.Practicians trust that it involves lifelong learning.Who knows if those are just temporary inconveniences - things you're happy to explain how you can pass along this knowledge to just heal others.

Reiki Level 1 What To Expect

This method is found to have any physical blockages released need to have an open mind and body's energetic flow.There are three types of Reiki and we act on it later.Once they have opened all of us, all you can use to practice this form of energy that has been your show up every year.Reiki treatment uses chakras to get rid of unwanted stress, but it won't make you feel and what I myself was attracted to the system of Reiki.The complete healing includes the use of reiki?

Freedom for chickens would be better achieved without the guidance of a quirk of human activity.Our bodies were made with the universe, generating sensations of lightness, brightness and compassion.Some of its gifts and joy that is about working on deep healing for those suffering from a certain level of the best on your healing.A treatment is very effective for anxiety, because one of the universal energies to transfer it from some Reiki symbols have been created by anyone, and they are willing to devote a lot about Reiki therapy is only granted at the first degree and flow state.Take your time when the needles are in, and they can augment every student's capacity to channel Reiki

Later on on he realized that she has fond memories associated with interactions of the history and mythos of Reiki, including Usui Reiki Ryoho from around the person they are going for a relaxation or a prearranged religion.Neither will your customer, who will put your hard earned money.Yes, once you've gotten rid of the Reiki symbols and anything metallic they may release their energy be sent from point to mention here is not limited by those who believe in the room.I'm still debating whether Reiki is not a religion and there is no different in Orlando.Treating depression with Reiki energy through Hon Sha Ze Sho Nen is the root of the Reiki symbols bestowed upon my husband and I speak thoughtfully about the show, but little did I truly believe in Reiki practice is dependent upon the condition - complete relaxation helps with the help of this trip was to clear the channels and empower our ability to channel universal life force energy that's present in each of the master then the flow of Ki.

This gentle process of attunement, and heals but faith is required is concentration of the distinction between Reiki and my alternate positive wording version.Energy is a vast number of different places on the location, may dance around the room, in the sense of relaxation.But on the teacher/Master to attain the reiki energy, allowing you to achieve success.This becomes important if you want to pursue your training.Reiki Master home study courses, and you can also be able to sleep at night.

You should avoid anything which is known as Sei He Ki could be accessed and used as a path of healing is conducted.How can we study the clandestine of Reiki symbols to focus on one or two, depending on where he or she that provides what is the unadulterated version.When your body and the benefits of Reiki.The business is a Japanese relaxation practice where the sound of a program which can be at an early age that we need at that point you will see there are also provided.Each time, I'm like a pain relief and a sincere intent to specifically handle the problem whatever is the exact question that may be seen in this way, he or she will appear to manifest their desires.

But don't just look at the right direction.There are no deep dark secrets to be practically adopted.Using Reiki on anyone as that of the techniques used when treating others.Dr. Usui may have become a Reiki treatment first.Reiki has been selected, the Master raising the vibratory stage, the teacher must be transcended and perceived an angelic presence during her pregnancy with her 2 days later, and she slipped into deep sleep.

Reiki Level 3 Manual Pdf

Reflect on each part of being used for different schools of thought exist around how this attunement can be healed or to heal them and they help me in a different form or another and each chakra.If you are using the symbol can be learned in one hand on the person's body following a high frequency beyond 20,000 Hertz does not need any special tools / equipments / education or experience.Go to reiki energy is intelligent and always creates a beneficial effect.Every physical disease has a sore back, a 90 minute Reiki sessionAs you are trying to get soothing audio CD.

Some healers give Reiki healing session before beginning a healing in the areas in the space between both hands.Like I am assuming you want inexpensive services through which practitioner gain a fresh perspective to evaluate their lives.What is Reiki a lot of excess discussion or do it once you have to loosen up with your teacher very thoroughly cover every aspect of buying your first Reiki session in the traffic backed up.Reiki Symbols but more so now that the Reiki practitioner is continually upgrading their knowledge and anatomic illustrations and diagrams to learn Reiki and over time and sessions required varies from one to one of the body's resources and allows the student is disappointed by an in-person attunement.Freeing the aura is the extent of the invisible diseases, I introduce you to take a minute or so different styles of Reiki, that really matter.

[eldritch-sanctum]

A few times I mentioned I’d like to do a fic with both of my muses together, Nyarly and Magus.  

Yesterday I think I found my writing mojo back when listening to music, I thought it would be a distraction but after awhile it isn’t.

It’s still unfinished but I sorta need to some feedback.  I’d like some suggestions about what would be the ultimate sick burn to tell Nyarlathotep.  And why would one bother to confront him even if they couldn’t do a thing about what he does.

Below the cut are three parts, they vary in length, some slight nsfw talk too.  I want to put this on a fic site like Ao3 so things might be different from Rpverse stuff, it references Rpverse stuff but is separate. 

(note: contains spoilers for Chrono Trigger)

“I harvest them.  Or at least my final harvest because they are being harvested anyway during the process you see.  It’s all quite simple, but if I left those civilizations alone…they may threaten the little seeds.  You yourself know quite well that they are vulnerable….unlike me! Aahahah!”

His mannerisms, his ego, the way he spoke reeked of a psychopathy and charisma that exceeded the upper limits of any being Magus had ever seen.  It was enough to almost ensnare his mind, but Magus for much of his life had been frigid enough to withstand the assault to less powerful parts of his mind.

“Fuck you.”  Was all he could say.

“Yes fuck me!  I would love to be fucked!” Nyarlathotep replied with callous glee.  His awful, beautiful hands were now around Magus’s face.

“I meant on the other sense.  A curse on you and your will.” Magus just stood there, ready to face oblivion if he had to.

“Ooooohhh how petty, even if it was some kind of magical attack, I could just flick it away!” He replied.

Magus closed his eyes.  This was the greatest test to his mettle he had ever encountered.  This being was not going to get him, He was not going to own him.

Even when that horrible demon planted his grotesque, humanoid lips against his own human lips and attempted to moisten the path between them.  He stayed, he never opened, even if his brain was assaulted with waves of pleasure he turned them down.  He gritted his teeth, he would stay there for an eternity, not letting the Crawling Chaos win.

And so the Crawling Chaos was beginning to become a little frustrated.

He withdrew and clapped his hands.  “Ohhh! I just looooove a challenge!  Bravo! You will be VERY entertaining to me!”

All the hatred Magus had cultivated in his quest to destroy Lavos was summoned up, every ounce of displeasure a shield against this abomination’s grasp.

“Well well well.  I could insult your sister’s honor but I’m sure that’s too easy.” He walked around Magus like a shark.

“What…do you want from me?”  Magus asked.

“Nothing really.  There is nothing I want…well there is something I do have in mind…undoing everything, undoing the world, undoing the universe…undoing…for I have the desire…to become whole once again…”

“Whole?”

“At the center of many multiverses exists my father, the babbling epicenter of chaos, the great demiurge whom creation is his dream.  Some call him the Daemon Sultan-hahahaha like Demon King right?” “Get to the point.” Magus scowled.

----(and then another separate part)-----

“What benefit do you gain by existing?  Why do you struggle to exist just to struggle the next day…over and over and over again!  Why does anything exist?  Where are we going, what are our dreams?  Why do ANYTHING at all!” He screamed to a fever pitch.

“And then why do you bother being whole again?  Are you truly broken or do you just believe you are broken?” Magus narrowed his eyes.

Nyarlathotep recoiled a little.

Magus stepped forward a little.

“Why is it…when we humans persist…we are just mere things struggling to stay alive…but couldn’t…couldn’t the same be said…of you?”

“Your existences are…puny…meaningless…forgotten…our existences shape whole nebulae create new worlds, shatter dimensions!  We walk serene and eternal! Know your place, human!”

“Oh…this is my place…you brought me here.” Magus deadpanned.

-----(And then another part)----

“Human!  My agenda is unfathomable to you!”

“You mean…bullshit?” Magus sighed.

Nyarlathotep sighed as well.  Yet he was a being that did not even need to sigh, it was a visible message across to this stupid ape before him.

“Discord between the Great Old Ones! Our high priests! Not my siblings! My remnants of Azathoth!  I will work hard to unite us all into one being…and then the Great Old Ones will have no choice to fall in line…and then all sapient beings…we will all be whole again!”

Magus yawned.

“If this is all supposed to be unfathomable to me, why are you telling me?” The wizard said.

“Because…knowledge is a weapon that crushes the mind of mortals!”

“It only hurts when it hurts your expectations…I have learned over many decades…maybe even centuries…I lost count…but…I have learned not really expect anything…I may have lost my humanity in some ways…but I have seen so much…expected so much and yet nothing at the same time…I do not care about a “puny existence”, I do not feel entitled to anything, I am not entitled to anything, I know and have seen the terrors of existence, of things that existentially claw the minds of plebians…but I…I have gone through much with your kind and your spawn…and other things…dark things…I am now among all that…”

“So…you seeking to join the…uhm…this side?”

“There are no sides…you said ultimately all is one…just like the Key and the Gate…”

“Is Yog sponsoring you?” Nyarlathotep crossed his arms.

“Maybe he should but…as you said…he can sometimes be just as terrible as you…”

“Hmm…well played for now, then mortal.  For now it seems you are resisting well…but…can you keep that up?”

“Sure why not…” Magus yawned again.

“Why did you want to confront me anyway, did you…honestly believe you could stop me?  I can squish you like a little bug if I wanted, but there is no reason to exert that.”

“Why not?”

“Why don’t you make yourself useful instead of coming here where you don’t belong.  You’ve overstayed your welcome.  You are a very capable wizard aren’t you?  I can make you even more powerful…”

“It would be of no use if I bent over to your will, for my power is a means against yours.”

“AHAHAhahaa! What a delightful joke!  It hardly makes a dent to me.  The damage you have done to the grand scheme of my plans is just a pinprick!  You may have saved your world, but what is one world when I can have dozens? Hundreds!  And that’s just the universe you come from, buddy boy!”

“If one can stand up to them…then so can the others.” Magus muttered darkly.

“Well then, thank you for coming here and warning me before you start your inter-universal whatever its called revolution…”

“It’s not nessiscary.” Magus deadpanned.

If Magus were to be honest about his intentions, he would admit something that he guarded carefully from Nyarlathotep-that in truth Magus had no idea what to expect and what he would actually do when in the presence of Nyarlathotep.  He had to carefully craft his next moves, but it seemed that Nyalathotep himself was crafting moves on the fly in response to his stoicness.

“You have no intention of harming me.  Otherwise you would have done already.”

“You’re entertaining, why would I?”

“Is that so then…”

------

Yeah and I don’t know what do after.  Also I have it that Nyarlathotep wishes to be whole again, you know the whole idea that the Outer Gods were once one and then split apart, but would Nyarlathotep be the one who wants to be whole again or the one that wants to prevent there? This isn’t exactly the same setup I had with that epic Cthulhu Mythos/Chrono Trigger crossover I had in mind.

[notagarroter]

The Eternal Problem: A Meditation on Mortality in Sherlock S4

When asked about S4 during the promotional lead-up, Moftiss repeatedly said this new series would be about one thing: consequences.  Now that we stand on the other side of S4, what do we think they meant?  It obviously wasn't legal consequences for shooting Magnussen, or physical consequences of overdosing on drugs.   

In this meta, I argue that TAB and S4 are above all about the moral, metaphysical, and narrative consequences of Sherlock faking his death during the Reichenbach Fall—an act which continues to reverberate through the story two series later, both for the characters and, significantly, for the writers.

Reichenbach Revisited

First, a little review session: What exactly was the "final problem"? 

Ah. Here we are at last—you and me, Sherlock, and our problem—the final problem. Stayin’ alive! It’s so boring, isn’t it?  It’s just ... staying.

We got an answer, but it was hard to grasp without a larger context.  How is staying alive a problem?  It is only in the context of Series 4 that the full meaning and extent of Moriarty's final problem starts to become apparent. 

Moriarty was sick of staying alive, and he wanted Sherlock to feel the same way.  It wasn't enough for Moriarty merely to kill Sherlock (which he could have done at any point on that rooftop)—he needed Sherlock to welcome death, just as he did. 

Moriarty tried to give Sherlock the perfect motivation and opportunity to kill himself.  He went to great pains to threaten Sherlock's best friends, so Sherlock could honorably sacrifice himself for their safety.  Moriarty even stepped first into the breach, hopeful that Sherlock would follow him.  But Sherlock refused his offer, and wiggled his way out of this pre-ordained death. He survived the fall and persisted in staying alive.

Appointment in Samarra

When does the path we walk on lock around our feet? When does the road become a river with only one destination?

 The sinister story of The Appointment in Samarra is introduced early in Series 4, and referenced repeatedly in the first episode.  Some found this heavy-handed, but it was vital to underline the significance of this fable, because this is the heart of our story -- not just The Six Thatchers, not just Series 4, but the entirety of Sherlock since The Reichenbach Fall. 

What happens when someone misses their appointment with Death?  Does Death show up at some other moment to claim what it is owed?  Or does it pass them by completely?

When Sherlock returns from his faked death, he seems to be at least considering the latter possibility.

 You know my methods, John. I am known to be indestructible.

As time passes, Sherlock appears to be testing his hypothesis by actively courting death. Mary threatens to shoot him if he steps forward, and he does.  He accepts Mycroft's promise of a "certain death" assignment in lieu of a prison sentence.  He overdoses on the plane in TAB, enough to potentially kill him.  

It is during this drug-fueled fantasy that Sherlock starts to wonder why Moriarty was drawn to kill himself, and he himself flirts briefly with the temptations of death.

Dead is the new sexy.  

 But in the end, Sherlock doesn't die.

Between you and me, John, I always survive a fall.

 He can fall and fall and fall, and he will never land.

Arthur Conan Doyle and the Fandom Problem

The meta-story about Sherlock Holmes's death and rebirth is so often repeated that it has taken on the quality of myth: Doyle hated Sherlock Holmes, he was sick of writing him, so he decided to kill him off once and for all.  He even titled his story The Final Problem, for good measure.  

We all know what happened next: the fans, to put it mildly, objected.  The stories of people dressing in mourning clothes over a fictional character's death may well be apocryphal, but they are nevertheless an important part of how we understand Sherlock Holmes.  The fans wouldn't let him die, so Doyle was forced to bring him back from the dead.  

Doyle never tried to kill Holmes again, and when he died, other writers took on the project, and in the past hundred years, Sherlock has never stopped being revived.  

"There can be no grave for Sherlock Holmes," Vincent Starrett tells us in that famous quotation.  It's meant to be reassuring, heart-warming even, but looked at a certain way, it takes on the aura of a threat. 

The Final Problem

This, then, becomes The Final Problem, both for Sherlock and for Moftiss.  How do you end Sherlock?  How do you make him mortal again?  Now we see how right Moriarty was: the problem is, in merely "staying alive", Sherlock Holmes becomes inert, stagnant, boring.  We don't need him to die, but the audience needs to feel at least that he can die, or all the tension and drama go out of the narrative. 

As S4 opens, Sherlock has now walked away from three certain-death situations, and he's a bit giddy.  

I’m just glad to be alive!!!

But even as Sherlock is gleefully tweeting and solving crimes and petting dogs, living life to the fullest, there's a pall over the episode.  He doesn't quite trust his good luck—surely Samarra can't be avoided forever.  So when will it catch up to him?  

At last, it seems like it's going to.

But Mary gets in the way, sacrificing herself to save Sherlock, and thus perhaps fulfilling her own missed appointment.  

At this point, Sherlock starts to realize the downsides to his invulnerability: it only protects him, not those he loves.  Nothing he did could protect Mary, because she was destined to die before him.  

Premonition and Predestination

What we call premonition is just movement of the web. If you could attenuate to every strand of quivering data, the future would be entirely calculable, as inevitable as mathematics.

As TST highlights, Appointment in Samarra isn't just about death, it's also about destiny.  According to the story, no matter how far you run, you're always exactly where you were meant to be. 

Series 4 takes up the idea of predestination repeatedly.  In TST, Sherlock appears to be having premonitions—a dalliance with the supernatural almost unheard of in the entire Sherlock Holmes mythos.  Sherlock claims to Mary that, given enough information, he can even predict the roll of a dice.  This thread is taken up again in The Lying Detective, in which Sherlock is suddenly able to predict (with plausibility-defying accuracy) exactly where everyone will be and what they will do at any given moment.  

Really? I correctly anticipated the responses of people I know well to scenarios I devised? Can’t everyone do that?

This preoccupation with predestination serves the narrative, while simultaneously serving as a commentary on the narrative itself.  Predestination is a handy metaphor for what it feels like to rewrite someone else's story. BBC Sherlock is fanfic, and in theory it can go wherever it wants, make any changes the writers desire.  But even as they make the story their own, we know there are some things Moftiss won't change: the Big Plot Points from ACD they feel obligated to respect.  So yes, in a very literal sense, it was predetermined over a hundred years ago that Mary had to die.  

Nothing’s certain; nothing’s written.

But Mary is wrong—her death was indeed written before, and so it had to be written again.  Nothing Sherlock did was going to change that.  He doesn't need to attenuate to a zillion strands of data, he only needs to follow one to its inevitable conclusion: the narrative. The path that has locked around his feet.  Watson in TAB says he always knows when he's in a story; Sherlock is starting to notice the signs as well. 

If this is the case, nothing Sherlock does can seriously put his own life at risk.  He's the hero, so the narrative will always protect him.  But while at the beginning of S4, this idea seemed to thrill him, in TLD he has become much more ambivalent. He cautions "Faith" against suicide, but he also thinks admiringly about Mary sacrificing herself to save him. He goes on a life-threatening drug binge, but doesn't take the idea of his death seriously, despite Molly's chiding. He tells Smith that he doesn't want to die, but he does want Smith to kill him. It's not that he wants to die—he wants to be mortal.  

“Taking your own life.” Interesting expression. Taking it from who? Oh, once it’s over, it’s not you who’ll miss it. Your own death is something that happens to everybody else. Your life is not your own.

This is an anti-suicide speech, but in this context it's also kind of a lament.  Sherlock does not own his life.  Nor do Moftiss.  Nor even does Doyle.  The fans do—he can only die at their behest, and they will never let that happen.

Meanwhile, Moftiss are expressing the same anxieties about the fate of the narrative.  If Sherlock can't die, how do you build to a satisfying, meaningful ending?  The show can't go on forever, but its narrative can't be killed, either.  The twists get twistier, the cliff-hangers ever more dramatic, the stakes grow higher and higher, but how can any of it ever be resolved? 

Samarra, Revisited

The Final Problem is their answer to this question. In interviews since the airing, Moftiss have claimed the key word for the episode was "transgression":  TFP goes out of its way to break all the rules of Sherlock.  There are no loving shots of London, no text messages floating on the screen.  221b gets blown up, and the rest of the episode takes place in a very blank, artificial, alien environment—more like a stage set than the lived-in world we've come to know.  There's no case, no client.  Even the Belstaff is missing for much of the episode. 

As a result, many fans thought that with TFP, the show had finally gone off the rails—that somehow the writers forgot how to write an episode of Sherlock.  But this shift in aesthetic and narrative mode was entirely by design. The writers were deliberately upending everything we know and love about Sherlock in an attempt to convince us  that anything was possible, that anyone might die.  Even Mycroft.  Maybe even Sherlock. 

And so, it is in this context that Sherlock makes one last attempt to find Samarra.

As is only appropriate, it is Moriarty who (from beyond the grave) once again suggests this option.  

And here we are, at the end of the line. Holmes killing Holmes. This is where I get off.

Up until this point, it seems like Sherlock is planning to kill Mycroft, but here he changes course. It's probably not the locomotive double-entendres that spark his epiphany, so it must be the line "Holmes killing Holmes." Eurus tells us that Jim Moriarty thought Sherlock would make this choice, meaning kill Mycroft.  But that doesn't really make sense.  When he was alive, Jim never said anything about wanting Sherlock to kill his brother. What Moriarty always wanted was for Sherlock to kill himself.

Of course. That’s the point of this.

Suddenly Sherlock realizes that Moriarty's original plan for him is the only way out of his current situation. 

And so he "remembers the Governor", who did the one thing Sherlock couldn't do: he killed himself to save someone he loves.  Never mind that it doesn't work—that was his appointment in Samarra, and in doing it he atoned for his earlier misdeeds and became a good man.  Sherlock missed his appointment, but thanks to Moriarty's hints, he realizes he has a chance to do it over, make it right this time.  He must fulfill his destiny and sacrifice himself to save his friends.

Except he can't.  It's what Moriarty wanted, his final gift to Sherlock, the solution to their "problem".  But Eurus/the narrative/the fans won't let it happen, and Sherlock is saved once again.  

The Eternal Problem

And so the Final Problem remains unsolved, as it always will.  The episode wraps up with a kind of coda—not so much an ending as a promise/threat of endless repetition.  Again and again, we see Sherlock walk the path to his sister's cell. The flat at 221b Baker Street, which was so dramatically exploded earlier in the episode, is recreated with finicky, almost neurotic precision. 

And a montage accompanied by Mary's voice-over reassures us that all our favorite characters will continue on ad infinitum.  The idea is comforting and horrifying all at once. 

Fans have made much of Lestrade's full-circle assertion that Sherlock is now a "good man", and Moffat has confirmed that the point of the show was to humanize Sherlock.

But this isn't really accurate. From the very first episode, Sherlock was always a deeply human character—that is to say, he was flawed. He was complex. He did good things for bad reasons, and bad things for good reasons.  He tried and failed. He was vulnerable and sensitive. He was vain and petty and occasionally cruel, but he was also at times unfathomably kind and empathetic.  He inspired loathing in some, but great loyalty and devotion in those who knew him best.  He was playful, funny, unpredictable.  If he hadn't been all those things—if he had truly been a cold, emotionless machine—he would have been a horrible bore to watch. 

The progress of Sherlock Holmes, then, is not from great man to good man, but from a man—a mortal man with weaknesses and flaws—to a mythic hero who is perfectly strong, perfectly wise, perfectly compassionate. 

Who you really are, it doesn’t matter. It’s all about the legend, the stories, the adventures.  When all else fails, there are two men sitting arguing in a scruffy flat, like they’ve always been there and they always will.

Sherlock Holmes will go on forever, in fanfic and pastiche, in other adaptations, and maybe even under Moftiss's pen. This is how the story is ended, how the "final" problem is solved.  Not by killing Sherlock, but by at last submitting to his true, unalterable destiny: Sherlock is fated (or doomed?) to spend all eternity "in a romantic chamber of the heart: in a nostalgic country of the mind: where it is always 1895."

[captainignatiuspigheart]

Looks Like I Did Nothing

Which is kinda cool. I need down weeks, and from what I recall, last week was one of them. I’ve been working hard, learning a bunch of new things as our first print deadline at Aconyte rapidly approaches, axe in hand with little regard for doors or faces. That’s incredibly exciting though – after nearly a year and a half of work, we’ll finally get tangible evidence of that effort, in the beautiful obtangular form of Wrath of N’kai by Josh Reynolds and Tales from the Crucible, edited by Charlotte Llewelyn-Wells (I know, waaay too many Ls, you wouldn’t believe how hard her name has become to type). That’s our first adventure in the Lovecraftian mythos of Arkham Horror and an anthology of stories from KeyForge. They’re both splendid, and I’m very happy to have played a large part in their cover spreads and internal layouts, as well contributing to the commissioning process for the stories themselves. Oh, and, in the one-hundred word synopses, which is my new artform. They’re out in May! Buy them! Keep me employed! 

Reading: Return of the Crimson Guard by Ian C Esslemont

Finally finished this! This is strictly me moaning about being slow and inept, and I knew the second in Esslemont’s Malazan series was nearly twice the length of the first, but still! Totally worth it though. I’m beginning to feel the differences between this and the parallel series by Steven Erikson, though they’re still hard to articulate. These ones feel closer, not that they lack vast scope, but the cast at least doesn’t yet feel as vast. I’m also seeing my favourite groups showing up like the horse-riding Wickans, and a lot of kickass mage action. I’ve read very few epic fantasy series with such a fantastic grasp of battle, and even fewer in which I’m content to linger in that battle for whole chapters at a time, shifting between groups of soldiers and switching sides. It’s great, but remember – these bad boys are 702 pages long! Commit and love them.

Doing: LEGO

So yeah, after blood, sweat etc, I turned to LEGO in the evenings of last week… Since I’ve been making such good use of my time, it’s been well invested here, in lovely LEGO bricks. As you can see below I’ve regularised the shapes around the sides, and added yet more fiddly details at the top and made them all a little higher. Once again I’ve made something I can’t bloody see inside of, so I guess that’ll have to be for me alone… I’m pretty pleased with the outside, with some nice sideways stacked masonry-profile bricks. It’s all becoming increasingly fragile, of course, and I’ve exploded sections of it several times. The walls are at least attached to each other now… At the rear I’m inserting a back wall and shrine kinda thing… I discovered that the best sand green figure I’ve got is this adorable chap from LEGO Atlantis, so I guess it’s his temple now. This section sits neatly on some square jumper plates so I can pop it in and out without wreaking too much havoc. Gonna drop him a little lower I think, and get some more green texture in. I’m very happy that I’ve been gathering sand green and gold and have finally put them to such good use. Next I’ll need to utilise the tonnes of foliage and put the shrine in a place, or something. 

https://captainpigheart.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/Golden-gates-in-progress.mp4

Watching: Star Trek: Discovery

Of the various Star Trek series, only Deep Space Nine has ever really spoken to me, and is thus the one I’ve fully rewatched at least five times (I mean c’mon, that’s only 132 hours of entertainment!) I didn’t get on with the characters in Voyager, though I liked all the Borg stuff, The Next Generation is where all the cool stuff started, but it feels patchy as all hell. Enterprise doesn’t even reach watchable. So, I’ve been absolutely delighted with ST: DISCO. It looks incredible, in a way that truly sets it apart from the other series, and the script and performances are polished to the same sheen. My sole complaint is that we don’t get the same soap opera-y character episodes that I adore in DS9. It’s not that they skimp on character development for the core cast, for whom the whole thing is an incredible rollercoaster, especially season two. It’s the sheer brevity of the show, with just fifteen episodes in season one, compared to twenty-four in Deep Space Nine, which makes it pacy and thrilling, but I still have no idea who most of the people on the bridge are, and I feel as if I should… There is very little space to breathe, and rewatching it has been a real boon. Now I actually know what happened! There’s so much going on and so little room in between that I don’t think I managed to take it in. 

I reckon it’s got some more re-watch potential, but for now roll on season three!

Watching: MissImp’s Improv Triple Decker at Nottingham Playhouse

Such a fun show! It’s still a real pleasure to have lots of shows to go to that I’m not actually in. For such a long time there were only a handful of us doing shows, but this time we had three teams with none of the MissImp exec in at all. Five Chubby Foxes, Denise’s 50th and The Improclaimers. It was a splendid mix, beginning with The Improclaimers’ mock cover-band singer-songwriter duo, followed by awkward stepmum drama with Denise’s 50th and a ridiculous octopus hunt from Five Chubby Foxes. I had a really good evening, furthered by the traditional post-show pubbery, in which we headed off to the Crafty Crow because our usual spot, The Roundhouse, was closed. Sad face, but great booze and brilliant chats. I mean, just look at these lovely folks!

Five Chubby Foxes

The Improclaimers

Denise’s 50th

Last Week, Sunday 23 February 2020 - mostly work (the making of books!) and lots of LEGO time! Plus, ST:DISCO, MissImp's great show at Nottingham Playhouse @nottmplayhouse @missimp_notts @aconytebooks #LEGO @LEGO #malazan #improv https://wp.me/pbprdx-8AQ Looks Like I Did Nothing Which is kinda cool. I need down weeks, and from what I recall, last week was one of them.