#Until he begins being put into impossible situations surrounding the divine

[willow-p012]

I was making a post about how Odysseus revealing his name is a case of dramatic irony. And then I realised all my tags just became me ranting about how more people need to blame Poseidon for the shit that happens. I do not know how exactly it turned to that.

[i-dont-want-your-hysteria]

Up In the Air (Joe x Reader)

(surprise gift for you guys on Joe's birthday ^_^ I started this almost exactly a year ago, and it's finally done! Someone pointed out that I slightly hinted at the plot of this in my last fic post... you caught me.)

Words: 4,028

Prompt: Spring, 1983. Joe has an opportunity in his sights, but as luck would have it, it does not go his way (or does it...?)

-----

(1983)

"God, it was so embarrassing!" Joe put his palms over his eyes as he whined to Sav. The singer was flat on his back in the middle of their bed, and Sav's back was against the wall opposite him. The bassist had his arms crossed in exasperation.

They were back in a fresh, new hotel room after another flight to another city. They'd been settled in for a while, and- as far as you knew- Joe was physically well. Emotionally, however...

"What are the odds that things were placed so perfectly for me today, and then-?!" he swatted the air above him, "That happens? 'Just my luck!"

Sav didn't consider it as dire of a situation as Joe did. In fact, he seemed rather entertained than sympathetic.

"That was out of your control, mate."

"I know it was, but-" he sat up, "Y/n was right there! How was I supposed to keep it together?!"

"If it were anyone else other than her, you still would've had to keep it together, you know," Sav tilted his head down, but had his eyes looking up.

"Well, you're no help," Joe grumbled, crossing his arms back at the bassist and flopping back down onto the mattress.

"There's nothing to help you with!" Sav took a seat at the foot of the bed, "It's not my fault you got-"

Joe sat up again in a snap, warning with a pointed finger, "Don't say it."

"I was just gonna say that I had nothing to do with you being-"

"Don't say it!" Joe pleaded again.

"Joe, it's not that big of a deal that you-"

"Sav!"

"Alright, fine!" Sav threw up both hands, shaking his head and narrowly fighting off a laugh, "I won't say it!"

A loud sigh came from Joe, his head hanging now. The heat of embarrassment refused to leave his face.

"...do you think she's still hung up on it, too?" his voice went quiet, and his tone adopted a sad air.

Sav raised his hand, rubbed his fingers together, and patted Joe's ankle reassuringly.

"It's hard to say no," he admitted, "I know I wouldn't have liked to be in either of your shoes today."

~(5 hours earlier)~

A hand took a grip on your right forearm without warning. It snapped you from the hypnotic, musical trance you'd been in for most of the flight. Having been placed next to the singer for the first time on an airplane, you knew it was his action without a doubt. You looked down and sure enough, Joe's hand was there- holding onto you just a bit too tightly.

Your free hand took off your headphones and you asked him, "Everything alright?"

The singer wasn't focused on you, or anything, it seemed. "Unfocused" was probably the best word you could think of to describe him. His head was slightly tilted downwards, but his eyes were fixed on the back of the chair in front of him. Despite that, it appeared as if he couldn't see it no matter how hard he tried.

You gathered this impression from a split second of looking at him, but as soon as he heard your question, Joe's hold on you was instantly released. His own trance was snapped as well.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. I thought you were the armrest..."

"You were holding on pretty tight," you pointed out, "Something wrong?"

That same look on his face was back again; unfocused. His hand slowly found its way back to the armrest- now that he knew it wasn't your arm. You saw his hand shaking before he gripped it tightly.

"You don't look so good," you noted, adopting a frown.

He hesitated slightly before going very quiet, his face suddenly appearing pallid.

"Fuck..." Joe cursed himself, "I fucked up, I fucked up..."

You pressed again, "Joe... tell me what's wrong..."

He lied to you in a halting voice when a new blush seemed to form on his face, "Um... it's nothing much. There's just- something I haven't told you, and I should've mentioned it before we got on board. But I..."

He fell quiet.

"Yeah...?" you urged him to go on.

"I get... seasick- airsick... sometimes. Not every time, but... every now and then I do- and..."

He visibly swallowed, his breath trembling when he slowly shut his eyes.

Your eyebrows went up, alarmed, "And you're not feeling so good?"

"No, no, no...!" his inner voice screamed.

"Not really, but I'm fine, don't worry about me. It just happens."

His efforts to shrink the overall worry didn't work, as you instantly knew that if things went south, you were the only nearby acquaintance of his who could help him. You were also trapped with him for 2 more hours until you landed, so you would've had to help him if need be.

"Oh god- are you gonna be sick?" your hand raised up slightly to reach for a sick bag.

"No! No, I'm more dizzy than anything..."

"Well, take this-" you handed him a sick bag, "-and just try not to focus on your surroundings. And if you can't hold it down... well just keep it in the bag and away from me, okay?"

"...okay," he exhaled and took it from you, desperately hoping it wouldn't come to that. For fuck's sake, he was already embarrassed enough. He felt like a child. Even worse; he felt like your child.

Joe shut his eyes again and rested his head back on his seat. His whole body looked drained of energy, and you saw sweat forming on his forehead. It was obvious to you he was trying to make himself appear more okay than he was.

"I can do this," Joe nearly said aloud, "I can get through this without her knowing."

Unfortunately, for him, you already knew.

"The poor guy," you were thinking with sympathy, "Never knew he could look so ill."

You asked, "You've been feeling bad for a while, haven't you?"

"...what?" he squinted under his eyelids, lying to you again, "No, not really. Why, can you tell?"

"I don't wanna sound rude... but yeah, you kind of look like hell."

Joe quietly whined at your declaration.

"I know that look, Elliott- I've been in this position before."

The man next to you was intrigued by what you implied. He was suddenly beginning to think that maybe his situation wasn't as embarrassing as it appeared.

His eyes opened, "Wait, have you ever-?"

"Oh- no, I never get sick on planes, but you're not the first case I've ever seen."

"Great. This means she's stronger than me."

You held up your bottle, "You want some water? Maybe settle your stomach a little?"

Joe felt his stomach turn at the mention of liquid and shook his head, "No, I'll be fine..."

It was another lie, but you decided maybe it was best you just let him be. Perhaps he wasn't that bad.

Joe, on the other hand, was fighting the sickness with all the strength he could muster- hoping you wouldn't see it.

"Don't mess this up," he was telling himself, "She's right there. Keep it together and don't balls it up...!"

Going with your plan, you let him be, and put your headphones back on.

He took a deep breath, "Fuck, if only the seatbelt lock wasn't on... then at least I could hide in the bathroom..."

The Leppard waited in terrified silence for his ailment to subside. With the current turbulence, it was impossible. Every shudder and bump made him want to heave until there was nothing left in his stomach. Worst of all, there was no where he could run to; he was trapped.

Oddly enough, before the sickness hit him, he was actually excited to be trapped there.

It was no secret among the band members that Joe quickly developed a crush on you. What started out as a feeling of preferring you over anyone else in the crew soon turned into a reach for romance. There was no time for him to make a move in the midst of the tour, though, which left him to suffer in his teenage desire alone.

When he heard he would be seated next to you on the next flight, he instantly knew it was an opportunity he couldn't afford to waste. This was the first time he'd sat directly by you on a plane, after all. It was a brilliant time to make a move and bond together. He'd been nervous ever since he sat down, but he never got the chance to make a flirt or decent conversation before his body betrayed him. Yes, it was an optimistic opportunity, but now Joe wished it'd been anywhere except up in the air.

The stress of the situation only made him feel worse- but he wouldn't accept the fact that he was about to lose this divine opening.

Not 4 minutes of your music went by when the plane shook yet again. When it did, you thought you saw Joe suddenly move from the corner of your eye. When your head turned, you saw his fist pressed against his mouth, an arm around his stomach, and a green tint over his pallid face.

"Woah, you alright?" you took your headphones off again.

Joe only nodded, closing his eyes to reassure you (but also to reprimand himself under the surface).

"No, no no!! Stop being sick for fuck's sake! You won't have a chance with her!!"

"I'm good, I'm good," he swallowed again, wiping sweat off his bangs, "Go back to your music."

"Don't lie to me, Joe. You look terrible-! Are you sure you don't need anything?"

"I'm really not that bad, Y/n. Just a little... motion sickness..." his breathing became labored, and he angled his body as far to his right as he could. He began to fidget with something as he swallowed, "Ohh..."

The cabin teetering around him somehow made things even worse.

"Honey, I don't think it's just a little," your concern was peaked, and a hand was hovering over his arm, "You look like you're about to throw up or pass out, so how about we get you some club soda and you can rest, okay? If you want to, you can even-"

Joe was turned completely away from you, and had suddenly lurched forward to vomit into the sick bag you'd given him earlier. You knew that any hope of him holding back his condition was impossible now.

You'd initially flinched at his retching; cringing and holding your breath. Only a second passed until you remembered your duty; you were the only friend nearby.

"Uh oh-" sympathetically, you sighed and reached out to him, your hands holding his hair back, "That's not good..."

***

"I feel so humiliated... I was just- so deathly sick! I threw up twice, Sav- twice! And she was right next to me! I feel awful that she had to put up with it...! I feel like that's on me. She probably thinks I'm disgusting; she probably sees me as this huge fucking pansy who can't keep his lunch down while flying..."

"Mate, getting sick on flights isn't a personality trait, and I'm pretty sure Y/N knows that, too."

Joe, who was laying down again, scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"...I think this situation isn't all that bad, really," Sav shrugged, his voice going up in pitch to take on a suggestive tone.

"What on earth makes you say that?"

"It's quite obvious! I just think you were-" he adopted Joe's voice and air quotes, "-'so deathly sick' that you didn't even realize exactly what was happening...!"

"Really? How so?"

"Oh, don't even get me started, Joe."

*** Joe was laying against you now, exhausted from the physical labor forced on his stomach and throat. He was still pale and shivering, but finally willing to accept your advice and remedies. You'd ordered him some club soda (and some mints from your purse), and suggested he take a rest.

This left you where you were now. He had a hand on his stomach, and another one under your hand to calm him.

To say the least, it felt like having a nice, heavy blanket partially draped on you. You couldn't help but think it was at least a little funny. To most people, they'd be absolutely repulsed by a man with a weak stomach sleeping on them during a flight. You couldn't blame them, as Joe could still hurl at any given moment. However, the instinct to care for him overpowered any repulsion you may have had. To you, Joe was like a sick puppy, and you were the one who found him first. You knew he needed you in that moment, and you were okay with it. It was a nice feeling, to say the least.

Joe moved his head against you in his weary and mostly-asleep state of consciousness. A soft grumble vibrated from his sore throat.

Amid those circumstances that would normally gross you out, you managed to smile at him. That, and you gently squeezed his hand to reassure him that he was safe.

That pale, clammy version of the singer you were trapped with wasn't the form of himself he put on display to just anyone. This was a whole new side of him that you knew he never intended you to see; he was helpless. Joe had given in and finally let himself be helpless around you. You found it was rather sweet, and even somehow softening your heart.

It almost felt like a strange honor that not many people had the privilege of possessing, given that Joe tried so hard to hide it from you.

Him desperately vying to avoid your concern was typical for any one of the guys. Naturally, none of them wanted to appear vulnerable around you, but Joe seemed so hell-bent on keeping up his charade of feeling fine. You wondered what reasons he had for his strict act. Perhaps it was the intimate public setting that drove him to conceal his motion sickness at all costs. Maybe it was in order to save himself from certain embarrassment; you really didn't know.

Whatever reason he had, it didn't dwell in your mind for long. All you knew was that even with a half-dead, cold-sweated Joe on your shoulder, your heart was fluttering in a way that was even more inexplicable than his behavior.

*** "First of all," Sav held up a sassy finger at Joe, "She was the one who suggested she hold your hand, plus she held your hair back, plus she let you sleep on her shoulder and tried to make you feel better. Sounds rather tender, if you ask me. Tenderly intimate."

"I'll tell you what was 'intimate'-" Joe's grumpiness was still prominent, "-her watchin' me regurgitate my fuckin guts from 10 inches away!"

"But those were all girlfriend duties!" Sav bounced in his seat, trying to get the point across.

Joe finally fell silent. He sat up, and Sav could see the blush in his cheeks.

"...girlfriend duties?" he nearly whispered to the bassist.

"I'm right and you know it. Tell me those weren't girlfriend-ly actions! She got affectionate with you!"

Joe let his sight fall, then rise back up after a brief moment of pondering.

"She did, didn't she..."

"She definitely did."

Sav was smirking at him now.

Joe asked him again, "You really think she did...?"

"There's not a doubt in my mind."

"Oh-" Joe made a swatting motion and shook his head. He looked diagonally down at the floor, "She probably would've been affectionate to any one of us in that situation..."

Sav laughed out loud at his friend's comment. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he was back at home, gossiping in Joe's childhood bedroom during a sleepover.

"Mate, when I had food poisoning last month, she didn't wanna get near me! But today, she was touchin' you and strokin' you and whatnot! Now that I mention it, I saw her smile while you were sleeping and holding her hand! Believe me, she wanted to help you. It was like she had an excuse to get close to you, just like you saw the flight as an excuse to get close to her."

Resting his case, Sav crossed his arms, tongue in his cheek.

They both remained quiet while Joe sat in thought. The pieces slowly began to fit together in his head, forming a train of thought he could somewhat follow.

"Suppose you are right; what do you suppose I do about it now?"

Sav could tell his argument was a success. His work there was done.

"That's entirely up to you."

*** You hadn't been awake that long, and were still pretty groggy when dawn began to break the next day. The unfortunate sensation of jet lag was beginning to catch up with you at that time, too. It didn't matter, because it was all part of the business. Your day would begin soon enough, jet lag or not.

After rubbing your eyes and throwing on your robe, you drew back the curtains and peered out at the misty morning. Thinking the hypnotic trance might wake you up more, you began to stare. Just as quickly, your eyes began to flutter shut again. Right before they did, however, there came a gentle knock at your door.

Blinking yourself back awake, you brought yourself to answer the call.

Initially, you found no one outside your room via the door's peephole. However, when you opened the door to search for anyone nearby, there came an unexpected surprise.

Rather than a person standing before you, a colorful bouquet of flowers lay on your doorstep. Of course, it was strange, but it also left you quickly growing bashful. You just hoped it wasn't one of your guy friends playing an early morning joke on you. Even so, your mind would be too cloudy to process that.

Looking around with sleepy confusion and flattery, you crouched down and picked up the bright bundle. You shuffled your fingers through the top of the arrangement to try and find a label or card that would give away the sender's identity. Eventually, you found the exact clue you were looking for; in the form of a small note.

The fresh, awakening scent of the blossoms wafted around you as you made out the handwriting.

"I'm so sorry I almost threw up on you on the plane! 🙁 -Joe"

It couldn't have been any more straightforward if it'd been put up on a neon sign. You chuckled out loud in the empty hallway and peered around to find a trace of the man in question.

Instantly, you found his eyes peeking from around the corner a few yards away. A guilty smile on his lips made him look so shy- in contrast to his average demeanor.

"This was really unnecessary, you know," the bundle was waved teasingly at him.

"I felt it was necessary," Joe's body slowly appeared more from behind the corner, "Considering you had no choice but to put up with disgusting ol' me."

Leaning on your door's frame, your eyes followed him while he strolled forward and leaned his shoulder on the wall in front of you. You both wore humorous smiles aimed at each other. If you could think any more clearly, you'd recognize this as flirting. Maybe it was- but it seemed oddly natural in that moment.

"Despite what you may think," your eyebrows lifted as you raised the bouquet up to your chin, "You weren't as gross as you expect. That, and you weren't any trouble."

"I just feel icky about the whole thing," he scrunched up his face and shrugged in disgust, "I promise it won't happen again- if I'm seated next to you."

"Don't worry about it, Joe. You just had a bad flight; everyone's got them from time to time."

"Not you, apparently."

Joe's smile turned rather bashful when he diverted his eye contact elsewhere. He silently chuckled with a hint of embarrassment. When you'd reassured him, he all of a sudden realized what Sav was trying to make him see. There was something in your eyes and your smile and your voice that just spoke to Joe; something that hit him and made him realize you wanted to be in the position you were in the day before.

You wanted to be affectionate with him.

Out of his daze, Joe spoke up after a brief hesitation, "So- um, I know it's early... but it's the perfect time for breakfast, so would you wanna go downstairs and get something to eat?"

"You mean with disgusting ol' you?"

"Don't worry-" his face almost went red at the cheeks, and his dimple appeared at the corner of his mouth, "You don't have to think about me keeping it down this time."

Your arm holding the flowers dropped down to your side as you broke up into giggles.

"I'm not worried- in fact, I'd love to go."

You couldn't be certain, but you swore you saw Joe's face actually go red that time.

"Cool! Cool. Did you wanna get dressed or-?"

"Well, you don't seem to be dressed either, so why should I?" you reached back into your room to place the bouquet inside. When you shut the door, you joined the singer, "Let's hit it before Mike and Mal take all the good pastries."

Joe showed his teeth in his grin when you came to his side and began walking.

"If they're all taken, I'll steal one for you- considering I owe you a favor after what you did for me yesterday."

"What did I do?"

The answer was simple, but Joe didn't know how to say it without implying his feelings for you.

"You nursed me back to heath- or at least tried to..."

"I told you not to worry about it..."

"Alright, alright, I'll try not to."

"I'll tell you something, Elliott," you giggled as you both got inside the lift, "You've got a strange way of flirting."

Heat rushed to Joe's cheeks, and more threatened to join them at the thought of you noticing.

"Oh yeah?" he laughed.

"You hope I won't notice every tiny effort, yet you keep doing tiny things to make me notice. Even if we're, for example- up in the air..."

"Oh, god..." just like that, Joe thought he'd be the first person on earth to die of embarrassment. He pinched the bridge of his nose, "Fuck- please don't tell me I was that obvious..."

"Calm down, don't make yourself sick again," you laughed and patted his back, "If it makes you feel any better... I did notice what you were trying to do on the flight. And- um... it worked. So..."

You stood on your toes, and lightly planted a kiss on his cheek, "Let's just say- you don't have to be sick if you want to hold my hand next time."

Joe's hand lowered from his face, and he quickly flashed a bashful glance at you before darting his eyes away.

The elevator doors opened, the smell of coffee seeping everywhere. Instead of walking out, Joe reached out to you.

"You said I didn't have to be sick next time, and I'm quite well now..."

A bashful smile of your own made an appearance as you took his hand like you did the previous day. When you did, Joe giggled to himself.

You glanced over, "What?"

With a pause, Joe rolled in his lips, then looked right at you, "Oh nothing. Just- if you get sick on the next flight, I guess we'll be even, then."

"So, you're gonna sit with me on the next flight, then?" you raised an eyebrow.

"If it means getting even with you, then yes."

"And if it doesn't mean getting even with me?"

"Well," Joe said, smiling widely, "Then the answer is still yes."

That answer was more than enough for you.

Strolling out together, hand-in-hand, you and Joe made your way towards the breakfast counter. In the corner of your vision, you noticed him snagging a pastry off of Mike and Mal's table when he passed by.

The end

[eleutheramina]

Michiru & Shirou Thoughts

Binge-watched BNA last night. 

Overall, I enjoyed it. It was cute and fun to watch. Most of all, I really appreciated the development of Michiru and Shirou’s relationship, and I wanted to write a bit a lot (channeling the former English major in me) because I’m sad there isn’t more content about them, and clearly, the relationship is integral both the narrative and each character's growth. Contains spoilers for BNA. 

I want to talk about their relationship in general, but I first want to address what I have perceived as the conventional interpretations of their relationship on the interwebz.  

Shipping? Romance? 

On one hand, I totally understand many people not seeing them romantically - there's not much explicit evidence for it in the show--no random blushing, no side characters teasing them about their feelings, no kisses or anything close. Indeed, I think anything like that in the show would feel uncharacteristic of both Michiru and Shirou as we know them, especially since they don’t really grow closer until 3/4 of the way through the series. And I also understand that Shirou not only looks older than Michiru, but also is technically a thousand years old and immortal regardless of how childish he may sometimes act, so for many people that’s not acceptable or appealing.  

Certain scenes could be construed as having romantic undertones (rather than simply just showing they care for each other, which is pretty incontrovertible)--I’m thinking mostly when Shirou jumps off a building to rescue her in episode 3. While I think this can be also be explained as conveying his general heroism and concern for beastmen, rather than being romantic, I think the inclusion of it in the story and the heightened drama surrounding it adds to an element of romance (I’m reminded of Guts and Casca’s fall in Berserk). Similar things could be said about their confrontation in episode 11.  

I also think it's not beyond the realm of possibility (i.e. fanfiction) for there to be romantic development between them down the line, especially with Michiru staying in Animacity, and I personally do ship them because of my personal tastes (the aloof guy with the cheerful girl trope is v appealing to me) and because I love the development of their understanding of one another (which I elaborate on below).  

Daddy Shirou?  

At the same time, I'm somewhat bewildered by the popular reading of their relationship as one between a father and daughter. I get that it could seem that way from the promotional material, and also that it's cute and maybe mostly a meme (in which case, sorry for taking it seriously), but I honestly think there's not much support in the show for that kind of dynamic in their interactions beyond superficial things, like Shirou being older that Michiru, often protecting her, and giving her food (which happens on-screen, like, once).  

Not only that, I think this label feels unnatural because it undermines Michiru's roles in their relationship and makes her seem like someone Shirou needs to care for. Instead, I'd argue that so often (and more and more as the series goes on), Michiru serves as more of an equal to Shirou, and their relationship is one of mutual trust and respect. 

This doesn't mean that there aren't obvious power imbalances in their relationship--again, Shirou being older and being a super powerful immortal god, him having close ties to the mayor and literally serving as Michiru's social worker at one point, as well as him generally being more savvy about beastmen and Animacity. Significantly, Michiru also just perceives Shirou as older--in episode 3, she refers to him as an "adult," and in episode 10 she calls him a “stubborn geezer,” suggesting that she recognizes his older age. In contrast, Michiru is apparently 18 and still has high school student vibes, and at the beginning of the series, she clearly is ignorant and naive about many aspects of beastmen life and Animacity.  

Despite these things, I think Michiru has power in their relationship because she erodes the dogmatic assumptions that Shirou has about humans and beastmen. This happens as early as episode 2, when Shirou is adamant that it's impossible for Michiru to be a human because "Humans are humans. Beastmen are beastmen." (Indeed, Michiru turns out to be right about most of what she says to him in that scene--her condition is termed as a “disease” later in the series, and there is someone else like her--namely, Nazuna.)  

Not only does Michiru have power in their relationship because of this, but Shirou also recognizes Michiru's independence and agency. In episode 4, when he learns that she has left Animacity, he says she can "do what she wants." When the mayor tells him to get retrieve Nina and Michiru, he ruffles his hair, clearly annoyed, suggesting he doesn't see her as his responsibility (beyond, of course, his general concern for beastman wellbeing). He even doesn't go to the party himself to get the girls, but rather asks Michiru to return Nina--and act of trust that Marie even comments on. They also clearly have no qualms about roasting each other, as evidenced at their interchange of insults at the end of the episode. Here, if anything, their relationship resembles bickering siblings more than a father and daughter.  

Additionally, we see Michiru growing to be able to hold her own with Shirou in the action sequences. Indeed, Michiru begins to be able to actually help Shirou with the enemies they face as her knowledge of her beastman capacities, rather than just needing to be rescued. I’d say we first see this in episode 7, when Michiru sprouts wings that allow her to save the falling Shirou and also help him catch up with the airborne Pinga. Then we see Michiru stepping up to help Shirou take down the rampaging Yaba in episode 8. Not only does she play an integral role in subduing him--it’s her wings that allow him to be transported to a remote place (where Shirou can then go Ginrou-mode), but it’s also here that we see Shirou and Michiru’s partnership really start to kick off. I find their teamwork pretty endearing, as they grow to trust one another--Michiru challenges Shirou’s independence and forces him to rely on her, and Shirou actually allows her to help and gives her directions. This doesn’t mean that Michiru unquestioningly accepts Shirou’s orders (for example, she pushes back when he tells her to drop them in the warehouse), but it’s clear that even when she doesn’t always agree with him, she’s willing to trust him.  

Indeed, rather than their relationship being one of great power difference, I think they actually grow to have a pretty balanced amount of power in their interactions with one another (as much power as is possible given the aforementioned situational differences between them). Just as Michiru challenges Shirou’s conception of humans and the rigidity of the division between the two races, Michiru also recognizes her own lack of understanding about Shirou and of beastmen. More than that, he makes her aware of her own prejudices about him (just as he challenges his prejudices).  

Really, I’d say episode 9 is probably the strongest case for their relationship being something like a father-daughter relationship, but I think the dynamic is ultimately subverted. Shirou comes in with food for Michiru to lift her spirits (classic Asian parenting) while telling her not to go near certain places. Probably the most paternal we’ve seen him. Yet her response to the food she gets is not one of simple gratitude or even ingratitude toward a caregiver, but one that shows she is learning more about him and is willing to tease him (“I was thinking how a thousand year old person is so different.”) And also, because Michiru is her own person, she defies the restrictions he lays out--not out of rebellion against him, but out of her own friendship with Nazuna. Evidently, even when Shirou tries to guide Michiru in a father-like way, she responds in a way that subverts that dynamic.  

Mutual Respect & Understanding (aka in which I gush about them)  

Instead of a father-daughter relationship, Shirou and Michiru grow to have a relationship founded on respect for one another and a burgeoning understanding of each other’s differences. They care for and encourage one another and help each other grow, and I think that’s awesome regardless of whether or not you have hope for a romance between them.  

I love how Michiru, whom Nazuna accuses of rushing into things based on her assumptions and an egocentric sense of justice, humbly recognizes not just her lack of knowledge about Shirou after learning his divine identity, but also the lack of effort she put into trying to know him. Not only that, but in episode 12, she is able to recognize Shirou as one who is “so sad and miserable, but still thinking about others,” rather than the offputting scary crying wolfman she met in the first episode. She knows that there are fundamental differences between her as a human and him as a beastman (in contrast to Nazuna, who says in episode 11 that “Humans and beastmen aren’t all that different”), but she is nonetheless able to understand him. She literally transforms into a wolf in order to track him down, using the acute sense of smell that is his trademark.  

I love how she grows to understand why he turned into Ginrou during the festival. I love how, when she confronts him in episode 11, she starts with an apology for not understanding his feelings about the vaccine, when she should be the one to understand him most. I think basic but important things like these, like apologizing for not paying more attention to how someone else is feeling, is one of the reasons why I really appreciate Michiru as a character.  

Likewise, Shirou learns to humble himself and trust someone else, as well as better understands a human. I love how he eventually just accepts that Michiru will want to help him when he goes off to fight. I love how he apologizes himself when Michiru confronts him in episode 11, and how he explains his intentions to her without holding anything back. I love how he thanks her for saving him from the Nirvasyl syndrome, how he chooses not to kill Alan when reminded of how Michiru does not like killing, how he encouragingly says that she can return to her human form soon (even if that means her leaving Animacity, which it’s implied would sadden him). Even his overlooking of baseball gambling, even if somewhat questionable, is sweet if you read it as him doing it because he knows Michiru enjoys it.

[moonrabbitisgay]

Fuck it, 12:06 a.m. more like time to WRITE

___

Somehow, when Ganon rises, Urbosa isn’t surprised.

It’s just all too cosmically perfect - that the world’s most primordial evil has the perfect timing, to awaken from a slumber of thousands of years at the precise hour at which their hope is lowest. Almost as if it knows.

Almost as if it knows.

That thought nags at her the whole time - as she rides a borrowed steed toward Gerudo Canyon, as she jogs (!) all the way from the stable to Kara Kara Bazaar, as she takes a sand seal the last leg to Gerudo Town, as she boards Vah Naboris. Almost as if it knows - as if it had not, in fact, been as dormant as they had thought, but somehow, had been watching. Planning.

When she activates the terminal and is met with orange light and swirling darkness, she still isn’t surprised. 

The beast is fast, but she is faster. It wields lightning, but hers is stronger.

The fight is a blur, at first. She strikes it down, again and again, dark liquid dripping from her blade, but every time it gets back up, seemingly unaffected. It swings its axe, and it should be as easy to dodge as it was the first ten times but she is beginning to tire and it slams into her shield and there is a horrible crunching sound and Daybreaker cracks, right down the middle. She roars and moves in to strike, abandoning her usual finesse for sheer rage, and the blade sinks in so deep that she nearly loses her grip on it. Then she yanks it out, and the beast screams and it draws back, darkness pouring from the wound like blood. She moves to strike again, but before she can, it retreats inward on itself, a radiant blue glow encompassing its form as it shrinks down into a sphere the size of her fist and flies out of sight.

For one brief, glorious second, she thinks it might be over.

No such luck - she turns around and there it is, hanging in the air, lightning crackling around it - not the lightning she knows and loves, but a sickly green kind, sour and corrupt as the beast itself. Metal stakes appear out of thin air and embed themselves into the platforms and the floor. She almost laughs. It’s too easy. 

As it screeches and raises its arm and the metal stakes begin to spark, she runs. She leaps up the nearest ramp, up until she’s by the terminal again, and she pulls one of the stakes out of the ground. It’s lighter than she expects. She hefts it over her shoulder and throws.

It hits its mark. The beast falls. She snaps her fingers and the lightning answers her call. The beast does not scream again, for it is dead.

The adrenaline wears off, and she collapses.

Burn marks stain her arms. There is blood running down her side. When she tries to stand up, putting weight on her right leg, it protests but does not give out. She grabs at the edge of the terminal and pulls herself upright. Her fingers dance over the stone, and the angry orange fades to a gentle blue.

She makes her way outside, to the control panel situated atop its head. It isn’t until she’s set Naboris’s sights on the castle that she looks up, and her stomach drops.

Ribbons of darkness, streaked through with a deep, purply red, wrap around Hyrule Castle. Beyond, perched on the side of Death Mountain, Vah Rudania is surrounded by the same. 

She looks to her right, towards Zora’s Domain. Vah Ruta is shrouded as well. To her left. Vah Medoh too, although underneath the darkness she can see the brighter red of its shields. As she watches, the red flickers, and then dies.

She doesn’t know how, but in her gut lies a horrible certainty that her fellow Champions have fallen.

Then, she will have to be strong enough for the four of them. She screams, and Vah Naboris fires.

___

It’s not enough.

Days pass. Ganon rages, but leaves Gerudo Town and the surrounding area alone. Zelda visits, wearing the same expression that she had at her mother’s funeral. She tells Urbosa that the Guardians and the other three Divine Beasts are all under Ganon’s control, that her father is dead, that Link is dead, that Purah and Robbie are taking him to the Shrine of Resurrection, that her powers had awakened only once it was far, far too late. She tells her that she is going back to the castle, to try and contain Ganon until Link awakens and regains his strength. Then she cries, and Urbosa wants nothing more than to hold her close and tell her that she loves her and that she has done her mother proud, but the words don’t come, so she just hugs her little bird as tightly as she possibly can and prays that it is enough.

That night, she dreams of a woman made of stone, whose smile is impossibly sad and whose words are impossibly cryptic. She says that she will give Urbosa one more gift - the gift of time. The rest, she will have to do on her own.

Over the next 100 years, Urbosa only cries twice.

___

She hates being old. Some days, she hates it so much that she wishes she too had succumbed to the scourge set upon her Divine Beast a century ago. She hates being bedridden, hates how the simple act of sitting up makes her back ache in twenty different places and gives her a headache to boot. But more than that, she hates how people treat her. She used to command respect. Now all she gets is reverence. People look at her and they see not a person, but a story. 

Some people are still good to her, though. She corresponds with the Sheikah elder, Impa. Riju, the young chieftain, speaks to her regularly, and her determination and maturity well beyond her years reminds Urbosa of her little bird. She almost forgets why she is allowed to remain alive in the first place.

Then Riju tells her of a mysterious tower, with a heart of orange light, that had suddenly risen near the highlands, and of others like it across the land. Two days later, she receives a letter from Impa.

Link has awoken. I have advised him to find his way to you as soon as he is able. His time in the Shrine of Resurrection robbed him of his memories and his strength, but he seems to be regaining the latter quite rapidly. I have done what I can with respect to the former, but you knew him far better than I ever did. I can only hope that seeing you again will help him remember more of his past. I am sure that this is an unnecessary request, but I beseech you to help him in any way you possibly can.

-Impa

Riju tells the guards to allow a Hylian voe by the name of Link to enter, should he come asking for the Lady Urbosa. No such voe arrives, but they do welcome in a Hylian vai who makes a beeline first to the arrow shop and then to the palace. “She” looks exactly as Urbosa remembers.

“You look as lovely as ever, Link,” she tells him, and he blushes. He stands in the doorway, awkward and hesitant, and she beckons him closer.

“You don’t remember me.” It is a statement, not a question, and he nods.

“I remember bits and pieces,” he signs. “You helped me sneak in. Zelda liked you. She spoke to you as if she’d known you her whole life.” 

She nods slowly. “What else do you remember? Of everything.”

“Very little,” he responds. “Voices. I remember voices, but not who they belong to. And...” He rummages in his bag and pulls out a small, familiar assemblage of wood and cloth. “I remember this...a gift. From Revali.”

It is something of a gift, she decides, that he remembers so little. A painful gift, to be sure, but if he remembered everything...even he would crumble under the weight of all that loss, revealed so suddenly, and in such dire circumstances. She tells him what she thinks necessary for him to know - the names of the Champions, where their Divine Beasts are, that the Zora may still remember him but he will be a stranger to the Goron and the Rito. 

She does not tell him about how Mipha would heal his wounds after every battle and gently scold him for his recklessness. She does not tell him about how Daruk would laugh heartily and slap him on the back with a hand almost as tall as he was. She does not tell him about how Revali would braid his hair each night until he leaned back into the Rito’s chest and fell asleep. Those are not her memories to share.

She tells him to visit, sometimes, and he nods uncertainly before leaving. She raises a hand in farewell, then drops it back down to her side, exhausted.

Urbosa knows the line between hope and belief is a thin one. But deep in her heart, she believes that this time, things will turn out differently.

[hoodwinkd1]

Your Eyes Whispered Ch 14

Ch 11-13 here. Ch 15 here.

Chapter 14: you can hear it in the silence

TW for panic attacks, marked at the beginning and end with “XXX”.

Carina Archeron raised one perfect brow as she surveyed the room. Eris held back a sigh at her dramatic entrance and ridiculously poised expression, the entirety of her presence meant to intimidate his guests.

She returned his gaze after a moment with a falsely saccharine smile. “My pleasure.”

Eris waved a hand, gesturing the musicians to start the music back up. He watched as Carina led her mate, a palace guard turned Illyrian ambassador named Bryce, across the floor until they stood a few feet apart.

The eyes of the crowd remained glued to the four of them, but luckily Eris could now place a sound bubble around their little group. “Did you run out of ways to steal attention in the Night Court? Was that entrance some sort of temper tantrum?”

Bryce snorted as Carina let out a low hum. “Maybe. But more importantly, I heard through the grapevine that you have someone to introduce to me.” Eris felt Rhia straighten her posture as the other female turned to face her.

“That would be a prenaturally speedy grapevine,” Eris mused. “Considering we only met several minutes ago.”

Carina ignored him. “It’s so lovely to meet you,” she said sweetly, extending a hand. “You look more than divine tonight; I can’t wait to find out how much better you are than this prick.”

Rhia accepted it gracefully. “Rhiannon Harmony. I’m glad I’m finally able to put a face to the name?”

Carina giggled. “Finally? I thought this..situation was only a few minutes old?” Her tone made it quite clear that she knew the actual timeline of their relationship, but enjoyed playing all nonetheless.

“Forget him,” Rhia tsked. “You’re somewhat of a celebrity, even in my small town.”

Eris cut in. “Don’t even think about flattering yourself, Carina. We only tolerate your presence because of your parents’ heroic efforts.”

“Rude!” Carina gasped. She poked Bryce’s shoulder. “Do something, defend my honor or whatnot.”

Bryce shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m only with you for your generational wealth.”

Rhia laughed at that, a delightful sound that immediately brought a smile to Eris’ face. Damn him, it was nearly impossible to act as anything but a fool in love next to this female, this goddess in gold. Bryce caught his eye with a sympathetic look, surprisingly fraternal for a male that never seemed to like him all that much.

“If you’ll excuse us, I have political allies to threaten and alcohol to drink,” Carina drawled. She leaned in to kiss Rhia’s cheek, ignoring or delighting in the additional attention the action brought on from the crowd. “I’m sure we’ll have the chance to get to know each other better in a less stressful situation.”

“I’d like that,” Rhia replied with a smile.

She turned to face Eris as the other couple disappeared into the crowd, and he took the opportunity to scan her face for some sort of reaction.

“I find it hard to imagine how you two even became friends,” she teased. “I don’t know if most rooms are large enough to hold both of your egos and snark.”

Eris sighed and pulled her back towards him. “The two of you are a terrible combination for my sanity. I would promise she’s less...everything one-on-one, but she’s basically always like that.”

Rhia pouted. “Poor, sensitive High Lord. I should have guessed you’d find a way to complain about having friends.”

He let out a groan, holding back some choice words about how annoying all his friends tended to be. She looked far too perfect in his arms, in his palace, in this moment to think about anyone else. “I’m considering ending all of my friendships so I can focus only on you instead. Speaking of, will Sofi mind if I don’t give you back tonight.”

“We’ve fulfilled all of her romantic fantasies tonight.” She shot him a wink and Eris almost died. “She can live without me for one night.”

“An entire night?” he asked tentatively, hoping he hadn’t misconstrued her demeanor.

They had somehow migrated to the outer edge of the dancing area, further from the noise of the orchestra. Rhia dropped one of his hands to snatch a glass of sparkling wine from a passing tray.

He watched her take a sip. “Let’s think about this,” she mused. “I could go back to my small, lonely house tonight. Or, I could demand a private tour of the palace and spend the night in the largest, most lavish suite in the entire Court.”

Eris’ mouth suddenly felt a bit dry. “My mother has the largest suite, and I’m not sure you could beat her in a fight for it.” He attempted a sarcastic tone, but his words sounded breathlessly hopeful instead.”

Rhia took another sip. “The second-largest suite, then?”

“Wonderful choice. And I’ve heard that the resident is wonderful, too.” He scanned the room for Gerwin, knowing that the male could help them stage a subtle exit.

---

Rhia shoved her hand over her mouth to stifle the laughter threatening to burst. Gerwin had only needed one sentence from Eris to somehow cause a drunken confrontation between two ex-lovers in the front of the room, allowing the two of them to dart out a secret passageway in the back.

Eris strode ahead, never allowing his grip on her hand to falter. He tossed her a smug look over one shoulder, and Rhia was certain no one had ever looked that attractive before.

“I feel like an adolescent again,” he admitted. “I haven’t used this passageway in over a century.”

Rhia scrunched her nose. “Did you have a habit of sneaking females out of parties and into your bedroom?”

Eris snorted. “More like myself. I hate talking to people.”

Her cheeks hurt from grinning at that statement. Something about being his exception, the only new person he had befriended in far too long, warmed her heart. And if she was honest with herself, warmed some other areas of her body too.

“Here we are,” Eris announced, placing one hand on the stone wall. Rhia couldn’t identify a door or any special markings, but the wall caved open at his magic touch. She followed him into a hallway, smaller and cozier than the one she’d entered the ballroom from.

Her last time here had been under duress, and she’d barely noticed any of her surroundings. This time was different. Instead of nerves at their changing relationship or anticipation of what might come next, Rhia felt peace and ease.

The feeling only grew when Eris led her through one of the doorways, pausing just past the threshold. Everything, every piece of artwork and furniture, radiated comfort to her. She dropped his hand and stepped further into the space, taking in every last detail of the gorgeous sitting room. Someone had gotten the blood stains out of the fabric, she noted, well enough that she couldn’t smell the metallic tang.

“What are you thinking about?” Eris asked softly, running one finger down her neck to the top of her dress.

She shivered automatically, and he pulled his hand away immediately. “Sorry, I should have asked-”

“Shut up.” Rhia spun around and grabbed his chin, pulling his face down so she could silence him with a kiss. She shivered again at the taste of his tongue, and this time, Eris couldn’t possibly misinterpret the motion. He ran the same finger down her back again, while the other hand cupped her cheek. Both of their hearts raced in tandem.

He let out a small gasp when she nipped his bottom lip. Eris responded by tilting her face up and pressing light kisses down her jaw. Rhia slid her grip down to his shoulders and pulled him towards her.

“Is this alright?” he whispered against the skin of her neck.

“Yes,” she breathed, eyes fluttering shut as she felt his tongue dart out to taste her skin. They hadn’t explored each other beyond this point, with eager kisses and greedy hands over clothing, but the perfection of the evening spurred Rhia on. Maybe, just once, her body and mind could cooperate long enough for--

“Fuck.” She cursed as Eris’ mouth reached the top of her dress, the upper swell of her cleavage erupting in goosebumps.

He raised his head, reaching one hand up to brush her cheek again. “One word, one breath from you, and I’lll--”

She groaned in impatience. “Yes, yes, you’ll stop and we’ll have a lovely evening of riveting conversation.” Stepping away from him took all of her strength, but Rhia pulled herself out of his embrace and began walking backwards towards the door that led to his bedchamber. “But until then, promise that you’ll treat me normally. That we can try and see what happens, rather than treading so delicately we may never see progress.”

The words came out quiet and fierce. She hadn’t even fully realized it herself, how much she needed this, wanted this opportunity to push them both one step closer to intimacy. Even if that step was miniscule and they never took another step after it, Rhia would find comfort in knowing her own limits.

Most importantly, he looked entirely too irresistible tonight, entirely too fuckable, to give up now.

“I can do that.” Eris approached her slowly, not cautiously, but with predatory intent. His eyes took in her disheveled appearance, his mouth forming a broad grin at his own handiwork. He popped open the top button of his tunic.

Rhia frowned. “Stop that.” When he froze in place, she rolled her eyes. “Not everything. Just that.” She pointed at his fingers, locked around the next button. “I want to do it.”

He was on her in an instant, pressing her against the side of the doorway as he kissed her again, tongue sliding in her mouth immediately. Rhia couldn’t stop giggling as her fingers replaced his, gracelessly yanking open the row of golden knobs until she could finally run her hands down his abdomen. They shared a groan at the physical contact, the warmth of two bodies more than ready for each other.

Rhia spun in his arms, placing one of her hands against the wood frame, the other grabbing his and placing it on the back of her dress.

“Untie me,” she demanded.

Eris pressed a light kiss to the top of her spine. “Yes ma’am.”

Rhia almost cheered when her dress hit the ground and she turned back around to face him, clad only in a short, sleeveless slip. He held her hand as they stepped out of their clothing, his shirt similarly discarded.

“Bed?” Rhia inspected the linens with delight; if nothing else, those sheets would be heavenly to sleep on. She’d rather feel them against her naked body as Eris worshipped her body, though.

They shared one more heated, lingering kiss at the foot of the bed, before Eris pulled her down with him onto the duvet. Her heart sped up as her back hit the softness.

(XXX - begin TW)

And kept speeding up as he pulled her into another embrace.

And kept speeding up until her breath came out in shallow pants.

Eris sat up immediately, scooting backwards to create space between them.

“Rhia.” She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t do anything as she lay there, unmoving except for the rapid rise and fall of her chest. “You’re safe. You’re okay. What should I do?”

She barely heard him. Her vision had started to swim, a sure sign of oxygen deprivation setting in after a full minute of shallow breaths. She slammed her eyes shut and struggled to regain control of her breathing, aiming for deep exhales and slow inhales. Eris somehow caught on to her initial, pathetic attempts and began breathing with her, exaggerating the sound.

Seconds, minutes, or hours later, Rhia opened her eyes and thankfully didn’t see any black spots. She remained silent, quietly taking inventory of her emotions, as she reopened her senses by identifying things she could see, hear, and feel.

The entire time, Eris waited. He also lay on his back, looking straight up at the ceiling and holding his breath steady as he waited for her to come back to her body.

“Okay.” Rhia let the word slip out of her mouth. It didn’t taste like a lie. “I’m okay.”

“Can I get you water? A blanket?” Eris turned his head to face her, but otherwise remained still.

She sat up, pressing her hands against the silk, feeling it slide between her fingers. “Both, I think.” She heard him stand up off the bed and leave the room, keeping her gaze locked on the pattern of the duvet. Were those whirls flowers or flames, or just abstract?

“Here.” Rhia glanced up and saw him standing a few feet away from her, holding a glass of water in his outstretched hand. She hated how much she needed that physical distance between them, and felt nauseous when she had to maneuver her hand around the glass to avoid touching his hand as she took it.

Fucking trauma.

XXX (end TW)

Eris still did not move closer. “I brought this too.” He showed her the long, heavy dressing gown draped over his opposite arm. The fabric would cover her body completely, both physically and visually. She also hated how relieved she was to cover herself up.

“Thank you.” The stiff words did nothing to ease the tension in the room. “Thank you, for all of it.” Rhia let out a humorless laugh. “You can say I told you so now.”

Eris’ jaw dropped, then tightened. “Rhia. That’s not, I wouldn’t even,” he sputtered, arms crossing his chest. “How can you say that?”

“Because you did tell me so,” she pointed out. “Or at the very least, suggested we should stop. It’s my fault, really, for pushing.” She tried, really tried, to keep her tone as light as her words, but self-doubt crept in nonetheless.

“Can I sit?” She nodded, and he joined her on the bed, careful to keep a safe distance. “You wanted to try. I wanted to give you anything and everything. No one’s at fault.”

Rhia groaned and grabbed a pillow to shove over her face. She was feeling much better, but unfortunately the ebbing panic left more room for frustration. “I was doing fine, everything was just fine, until…”

“Until?” Eris prompted her. “Was it something I did?”

“No,” she replied firmly. “No, I think it was the sheets. Or lying on the bed.” Rhia placed the pillow on her lap. She thought back to the moment before the fear set in, carefully parsing her mind without returning to the actual panic itself. “Something about hitting the bed with my back, definitely.”

“Ok. We won’t do that again.” Eris held his hands up, adding hastily, “not that we have to do anything again, of course, but in case we do find ourselves in a similar situation, then, we’ll try something else.”

Rhia threw the pillow at him. “Don’t go soft on me now. We will be trying again.” He caught the pillow and opened his mouth to reply. “And keep whatever lewd joke you’re about to make about going soft to yourself,” she snapped.

“A High Lord is better than ‘hard’ jokes,” he retorted. “How would you like the rest of the night to go?”

Something about the way he kept asking her questions helped ground her, forcing her to remain in the moment. Rhia considered his words, her options, and answered.

“I fear the night’s come to an end. I’m exhausted.”

Eris magicked a shirt and stood. “There’s a guest suite, then, right through-”

“No. I’d like to stay here.”

She could do that, at least. His bed was enormous and his scent was everywhere, reminding her of safety and comfort and protection. Rhia also had no desire to go to some guest suite, a room that probably held a manner of guests she didn’t particularly enjoy thinking about.

She watched him consider her words, running a hand through his tangled hair. “Obviously, I’m fine with that. How can we set that up properly?”

And so, they fell asleep together, in the same bed for the first time. There had to be a pillow barrier between them and one lantern lit in the corner to keep the room from fully succumbing into darkness, but they did it. Rhia liked that, having this small victory to look back on.

Right as she drifted off into a dreamless sleep, she felt something come down the bond. Something shiny, something hopeful, something that told her they’d have endless tomorrows filled with countless small victories.

[sullivanspade]

A Literal Nightmare

The final glorious note of the performance resonated through the packed auditorium and Sullivan, along with everyone else in the audience, launched from their seats into a standing ovation. Many had tears in their eyes from the emotional ending scene as the applause grew deafening, but Sullivan’s sentiment was much deeper than the casual theater-enthusiast. As if on cue, the gorgeous raven-haired man taking his much-deserved bows centerstage, straightened up and looked directly at him. Sullivan’s heart leapt, thankfully kept firmly in place by the considerable knot in his throat. And, being the dramatic that he is, Sunny then raised his hand to his lips, placing a kiss there before theatrically blowing it in his direction.

Heart on the verge of imploding and any and all inner thoughts reduced to keyboard smash literacy, Sullivan stopped clapping only because he needed to verify that his cheeks weren’t actually on fire. It certainly felt like they were. He couldn’t hide his beaming smile though or the adoration that made his dark eyes sparkle. He felt so special in that moment. Adored and cherished and...loved, as Sunny took a moment to appreciate him when they were literally in a room packed with a vast range of Kadeu’s ranked, who were all applauding in appreciation of Sunny.

A strange but familiar buzzing started and gradually began to rival the cacophonous applause echoing in the room. Sullivan’s euphoria began to wear off as the feeling of hundreds of eyes penetrated his happiness. Suddenly, he remembered it was not just he and Sunny in the room. He reluctantly tore his eyes away from Yongsun and instantly regretted it. He’d never seen or felt so many people looking at him. The room felt like it was beginning to spin and from the corner of his eye, Sullivan’s horror increased when he realized Sunny was gesturing for him to come down...and join him on stage.

Sullivan couldn’t even shake his head in protest before he felt himself LEVITATING out of Sunny’s box. He gasped in horror, flailing helplessly before remembering that hundreds of people were now staring at him if they weren’t already before. He went absolutely rigid, silently cursing Ara for taking it upon herself to include him in this involuntary game of ‘light as a feather, stiff as a board.’

Descending helplessly toward the stage and into Sunny’s beckoning arms, Sullivan did his best to hide behind him as soon as he was placed on his feet. He smiled widely and laughed, seeming to misinterpret Sullivan’s discomfort as his usual coyness and dislike of overwhelming attention. The stage was Sunny’s home. A place where he felt comfortable, but it was certainly not the same for Sullivan. There were so many people looking at him. Too many people. He felt exposed, almost violated now that he was trapped centerstage under the scrutinizing gaze of the audience.

Barred by Yongsun’s impossibly strong arms, Sullivan began to look around at the audience members, both incredibly curious as to who was watching him and afraid to see what they thought. He recognized certain faces immediately, his trepidation mounting as he analyzed their expressions and somehow missed glaringly obvious clues that this scenario was the working of his inner fears.

The first person he noticed was Ara in the wings, smiling beautifully and giving him two enthusiastic thumbs up with unmistakable ‘you’re doing amazing, sweetie’ energy. Gaze traveling toward the front of the crowd, he spied Prospero and more notably, Eva, who was repeatedly yanking on the poor man’s arm and shouting ‘What’s happening?! WHAT IS HAPPENING?!’ He realized belatedly that she was much younger than she should be. Eyes moving directly upwards, Sayge catching his attention.

She stood in her box, arms crossed over her chest and looked incredibly disinterested in the situation that was bordering on traumatic for Sullivan. She was unmoving except for her top hand, which was busily rolling a poker chip over and across her knuckles impressively. The lights on the stage brightened, making it increasingly harder to see, but there was no mistaking the figure beside her. Zuihuo Joui...the bloody Ace of Hearts...completely buck-ass nude, long luxurious black hair draped over his body with strategic Lady Godiva style.

Sullivan’s eyes narrowed as he continued to stare against the intensifying lights. Joui smirked impishly, clutching the journal he’d given him for his birthday as he furiously scribbled down onto paper whatever Sullivan might’ve gleaned from a more expressive expression. The deception left Sullivan distinctly annoyed but sensing from the Ace’s movement that a hair flip of scandalous proportion was underway, Sullivan rightfully averted his precious eyes.

Only to have them land in the box below, where Max was sitting on Bestram Beryl’s lap, his cheek bouncing repeatedly against her bosom as she enthusiastically clapped with her arm around his neck. At this point, the lights intensified to a blinding level. Sullivan let go of Sunny’s arm with one hand to try and block the light but it was no use. He was blind.

The light enveloped him completely, warming him from the inside out. The comfortable sensation starkly contrasted the confusing dream nightmare he’d escaped, so he tried not to question the timely rescue.

“Darling boy, you are ill-prepared for the dark times that await you.”

Sullivan can’t hear the sudden voice as much as he immediately understands the light’s intended message. The words and the light are warm, almost like this entity is smiling at him, but there is something else there too, underneath. Something jagged...wild...dangerous.

“I’ve seen your past. Though they were meddling where they had no right, it seems someone has tried to help you once already.”

Sullivan’s trepidation slowly begins to force its way into the sugar-coated scenario at the revelation that this being has ‘seen his past.’ At the mention of meddling and help he’d been given, Sullivan had an immediate influx of candidates as many, many people have offered him help, but there was only two who had aided him on a ‘magical’ level and only one had been unbidden.

“This is the last of the assistance you’ll get. Never say Shukra didn’t help you.”

Sullivan jolted awake, sitting upright in one fluid movement that pulled a mountain of blankets with him. Gradually he regained his bearings, realizing that despite waking up drenched in sweat and with a massive headache, he was in familiar surroundings. Cold morning light painted hazy squares on the floor of his study. The remnants of a fire smoldered in the hearth to his right, a sleeping Adonis at his left.

Relieved that he hadn’t woken him, Sullivan pulled off his saturated pajama top before returning to his rightful place in the crook of Sunny’s arm. He turned toward him this time, laying his cheek on Sunny’s bare chest, comforted by the warmth and the slow rise and fall of his breaths. The headache, nor the dream would leave him as he absently stared at the opposite wall. He spent much of his free time here, especially in the evenings. The room itself was a canvas for Sullivan’s studies. The walls were painted a deep charcoal gray and covered, at most times from floor to ceiling, with Sullivan’s sketches and scribbles. (I shouldn’t say that. Sullivan has never scribbled a day in his life.)

His eyes focus on one particular section of writing, one that he’d painstakingly transcribed from the grimoire the River Witch had given him. One that he was having a particularly difficult time deciphering to the point that he could translate it. One that now looked unequivocally clear from his vantage point.

Sullivan sat up abruptly, this time bumping Sunny in the process and stirring him from sleep. It was only a moment later when he clumsily scrambled over the chiseled torso in between him and the now legible wall. Sullivan put his palms alongside the text, kneeling as he stared in amazement. His eyes were wide as saucers as he looked around wildly, gasping in astonishment as one by one, the mysteries revealed themselves.

Finally, when the realization had sunken in good and well, Sullivan turned to his confused and concerned partner with all the uncontainable excitement and elation welling inside of him.

“I CAN READ!” he exclaimed, almost overcome with gratitude from this unforeseen ‘divine’ intervention.

Wednesday 11 November 2020; Midnight.

You are sleeping. The dream you’re having halts abruptly and you become aware you’re dreaming. A light appears at the edge of your vision, an impossibly bright, golden light. Even as you turn to look at it you see nothing but a light that feels both like it’s searing your eyes as well as gently warming your very soul.

It speaks to you without words, though you understand it all. “Darling boy, you are ill-prepared for the dark times that await you.” You are still blinded by the light, but you feel as though you’re being smiled at. Yet, you can’t shake the feeling the expression is somehow feral. “I’ve seen your past. Though they were meddling where they had no right, it seems someone has tried to help you once already.” The light reaches towards you until all you see, eyes closed or open, is searing golden light that penetrates your brain. As your consciousness fades you hear these departing words, “This is the last of the assistance you’ll get. Never say Shukra didn’t help you.”

You awaken abruptly, drenched in sweat with a blinding headache. Eventually, you realize something’s changed. Acting on instinct, you fetch the tome the River Witch gifted you. You can now read the ancient demonic language.

You have been blessed by Shukra, Guru of the demons, bestower of knowledge.

[libertineangel]

Baron Gaercroft, a minor self-styled noble in High Rock, stared at the map laid out across the great table in his war room, gripping the edges hard enough to whiten his knuckles, before slamming his fist upon it with an exasperated sigh. This was common in recent nights - he had declared a war of conquest against a neighbouring petty landowner, one who commanded no armies and whose property seemed to have little fortification, but in his overconfidence he overlooked a familial connection of his target's that allied them with a far greater power, and the war had turned significantly against him, his standing army on its last legs and the mercenaries he hired threatening desertion over his dwindling coffers.

"Mr Rolain, I brought you to my court for your mind. Is there nothing you can offer?" He asked of the man stood in the corner of the room, clad in worn grey robes.

"My Lord, I am a sorcerer, and not an incapable one, but I am not a miracle worker," Rolain replied, trying to hide his frustration. "I have studied magic for many years and I have studied tactics too, but if I may be frank your options are all but exhausted. Only the gods could grant a victory now."

"Which ones? I'll pray to whoever I have to, burn whatever sacrifice, make whatever offering," Gaercroft was almost shouting now. "What spirit brings victory in battle? Who claims patronage of mercenaries? Are there warriors beyond the world that'll enlist and turn the tide?"

"I doubt the Divines will aid us here, perhaps Akatosh will recognise our perseverance but I have tried to commune with him...perhaps the Daedra may listen, but-"

"Spare me the warnings, I know of their reputation! Just name the Prince and their demand, I'll do it!"

"If you insist my Lord; a deal with Clavicue Vile could save this situation, but the cost...perhaps Dagon would be safer? That says very little of course, I must stress that no deal with the Princes has ever brought anything but ruination, no matter what they offer or promise at first."

Gaercroft turned and rested his head and hands against the wall.

"Clavicus Vile and Mehrunes Dagon...has it truly come to this? Can you think of none others who would aid me, none at all?"

"Well sir," Rolain spoke quietly and hesitantly, "I have read one account of another group, Daedric warriors-"

"Yes?"

"Please Lord, I wouldn't pin your hopes on this, it is but a single piece of writing, unverified, and tangling with Daedra is extremely dangerous even in the well-known ways-"

"I don't care, wizard! I have little to lose, just tell me who they are and how to summon them!"

"A quartet of ancient Daedra sir, it's said they hold no affiliations and fight for whoever they please, they call themselves the Boundless Tetrarchy-"

"They sound perfect, now how do I enlist them?"

"I must stress that only a single mage has ever claimed to have contacted them, this could be a fabrication-"

"Out with it man! What must I do?"

"Assemble four objects under moonlight, sir," Rolain replied in clear discomfort. "A silver shield, upon which rests a silver sword crossed with a silver-tipped crossbow bolt. In front of these a silver candlestick must be placed, with a candle formed around a deathbell flower, its stalk providing the wick."

"Very well then, prepare these things for me! All save the candle are in the armoury, and I'm sure you can work that out yourself. The sky is clear for now, I want this ritual done tonight!" Gaercroft was making no attempt to cover his impatience and desperation, and he felt little relief at being given this slim chance.

Rolain simply nodded and hurried out of the room, his trepidation over his task outweighed by his eagerness to leave.

Just after sunset, Rolain knocked on the door of Gaercroft's chamber, looking no more comfortable than before. Gaercroft opened it, his face tense and grim.

"You have the objects?"

"Yes my Lord, allow me to assemble them before the window here," Rolain said as he entered the room, first pulling a silver buckler out of a sack he held over his shoulder and setting it down on the floor so it reflected the moonlight, and one by one placing the other ritual objects. "When you are ready, light the candle and speak directly into the flame. Do not look away, and do not touch the objects until you have said all you wish to. Though I must stress once again sir, I do not know what the outcome of this may be. Daedric rituals are highly dangerous, especially those poorly documented, and even the recipient of this offering is dreadfully obscure."

"Yes I am aware thank you Rolain, I do believe you have mentioned. That will be all."

With that, Gaercroft closed the door behind the mage and sat before the candlestick. He took a deep breath, pinched the wick and set it aflame. It burned a striking blue, which startled him for a moment, but he did his best to regain his composure as he stared into the fire and began to speak.

"Boundless Tetrarchy, I beseech you for aid. I am at war with a superior foe, my armies falter and I doubt I shall l last to the changing of seasons. I am told you operate as mercenaries, and I am in desperate need of warriors to help turn the tide, and I feel only those of your calibre can help me now. Please, aid me in this fight, great spirits."

Gaercroft could think of nothing else to say, and already his breath was shaking from such uncharacteristic openness, so he put out the flame and sat back in silence. He waited on the floor for a while, before realising he did not know what exactly he was waiting for, and after briefly considering asking Rolain he decided try and sleep, and hope there was a response from the Daedra when he woke.

Gaercroft looked around, confused at his unfamiliar surroundings - seemingly an empty throne room, but of no castle he recognised, and the dais held four thrones - before he heard mail-clad footsteps approach him from behind.

"Kneel," commanded a gravelly voice.

"I am the Baron Gaercroft and I kneel to no-"

"You are the Baron of your spit in this land, mortal, and you will kneel!"

For perhaps the first time in his life Gaercroft found himself cowed, and he bent his knee as a Dremora walked in front of him.

"Are you one of the Boundless Tetrarchy?" Gaercroft asked weakly, barely lifting his head.

"I am Drozhal-Vakh, their Herald. You have requested my masters' services, and now we shall discuss terms. What do you offer?"

"...offer, Herald?" Gaercroft was lost for words - this was far from anything he expected, and he felt deeply out of his depth, so much so that he could barely bring himself to even look at Drozhal-Vakh. He had never seen such an imperious being, clad entirely in jet black mail with blood red detailing, a matching katana at his side that looked sharp enough to slice stone, and his left horn and eye were both of an impossibly gleaming silver.

"Yes, mortal, offer. If you wish to enlist mercenaries you compensate them for their services, do you not? And you shall address me with respect in this land, if you wish to leave it."

"My...my apologies sir. I know not what to offer, I have never communed with Daedra before...what would a mortal usually offer your masters?"

"Very rarely do my masters take notice of mortal affairs, as they so rarely have anything of worth to them, and I hope for your sake that you do." Gaercroft got the impression that that was not entirely true, and that Drozhal-Vakh would in fact just as easily hope never to see him again.

"I'll offer you anything, anything I can! I shall surely die without aid. If no mortal possessions, gold or jewels, are of interest, perhaps my service? I could be your agent in mortal lands, conquer in the name of the Boundless Tetrarchy?" Gaercroft's voice was plainly shaking, a combination of desperation and terror too great for his usual stoic demeanour to hide.

"There is no value in mortal lands, but perhaps service could be acceptable. Lesser beings are often put to work in these lands as payment."

"Very well, I accept, I accept! What work would I do, when may I begin?"

"You are less...durable, than our usual workers, I think your service is best delayed until you are of a more suitable form. You will return here upon your death, and you shall serve."

"...upon my death? How will I serve you if I'm dead?"

"If we are to sign a contract, your soul will travel here upon your demise and here it shall remain, and you shall serve the Boundless Tetrarchy until the end of all things." Drozhal-Vakh's contempt was never hidden through their conversation but now he seemed positively disgusted by Gaercroft's foolishness.

"Until...I have to forfeit my soul forever? Is there no other way?"

"I thought you would offer anything? Unless you have something else to offer, this is the payment required, provided my masters agree."

"What if...what if I traded others? My soldiers who will fight in the coming battles, they won't all survive, what if they served you instead? Would that be enough?" Gaercroft's voice still shook, but he bore the hint of a smile now.

Drozhal-Vakh, on the other hand, reached new heights of revulsion.

"Their lives may be yours to waste, mortal, but their souls are theirs alone. You have no right to offer them, only your own. I am getting tired of this negotiation, I doubt you have anything more to offer, if you do not agree to the discussed terms I will consider our business concluded."

"Yes, yes, very well, alright then! Yes sir, my soul will be yours upon my death, just please have your masters help me!"

"I shall have the contract written, and we shall sign. If my masters read it and agree, you shall have the aid you seek."

[cyogiro]

Christ of Resurrection Seen by His Disciples

No matter how I look at it End.  A life that was not understood by anyone, was abandoned, laughed and ended on the cross. In the meantime, "many disciples have left and are no longer acting with Jesus" (John 6; 66).  From that time many of his disciples went back, and walked no more with him.  The powerless and sad fate that was eventually erased by the antipathy of the people in the Temple of Jerusalem. It might still be saved in the mood if it says whether it is sacrificed or it dedicates the life.  However, it was not able to be said that for the time being.  There is no definite aim. Even more, the cross of Jesus is dying.  However, the disciples were able to see in the figure of the Lord of the resurrection that this was all accepted by Heavenly Father. This is the victory that was shining on the resurrected Christ. " The disciples come to do not spare oneself afterwards. Don't worry about what's going on or what we can do. But again, there is nothing to be proud of. The personal name of who did what it was and what it was gone disappeared, followed only by Christ's church. Each of them pour his life into the mission given by the Lord and sent by the church. So instead of the disciples standing up for themselves, Christ's church  In the death of the resurrection, the disciples saw what could be alive and killed by the mission of. There is nothing regrettable for the kingdom of God, that is, for God and his neighbors. On the contrary, it was "lost my soul" to spare for my neighbors. . It was the same when I saw Christ outside Dimashq's gate. This is often seen in Paul's letters.  Such an experience is not understood only if it is not a person who really took charge of it. Paul writes a letter and tells him the faith that comes from his experience, trying to make him understand. However, there is a frustrating thing that " I cannot describe it as I think ". It is frustrating not to be able to understand the situation that I saw as it is. It is explained in detail. But that's not all about the letters. Even if it is called a resurrection, it is not the only salvation of people and the world that comes out in a form that can be seen and touched by hand. Salvation is the completion of this world. The completion of this world was completed in the spirit of the love of the Son Jesus and the Father in the Passion of the Lord Jesus and the death on the cross, and in Jesus all the humankind of the whole world was accepted into the love. Where it is. The disciples saw this completion in the Lord of the Resurrection.  From now on, when we think of the times of the Apostles, we tend to imagine the early church that burned with love and enthusiasm. But the church that comes out in Paul's letter is not so easy. The Early Church, as a group of humans, could not avoid contradictions and conflicts between humans. There was also persecution. There was a feeling of hopeless failure and a sense of emptiness approaching.  "People will drive you out of the synagogue. And the time will come when you think that everyone who kills you serves God .... I I told you these things so that when their time came, I would remind them of what I said about them (John 16; 1-4).    1) These things have I spoken unto you, that ye should not be offended.  2) They shall put you out of the synagogues: yea, the time cometh, that whosoever killeth you will think that he doeth God service.  3)) And these things will they do unto you, because they have not known the Father, nor me.  4) But these things have I told you, that when the time shall come, ye may remember that I told you of them. And these things I said not unto you at the beginning, because I was with you.    Why is John's Gospel telling these words of the Lord? It was because of the need for it at the end of the first century. This directly refers to persecution. But that's not all. It also refers to the void of life that people always feel deep in their hearts. I can't do it if my life ends like this. I believe in God, so there might be something better.  Against this feeling, the Gospel encourages us to do our best to the end. You're not alone, you're not abandoned, the Lord knows everything, never dead. "When that time comes, remember what I said about them."  But where is the guarantee that it will not lose its meaninglessness and still lose?  That is the foolishness of the cross, in which God became a person and disappeared in the pain of meaninglessness from the world's point of view. God did not pass on any one of the prophets to the death of the cross as his agent. He became a person himself and survived his life as a person until the death of the cross. In other words, Jesus Christ's cross is the only guarantee that what comes from this world's neighbors is nonsensical. In other words, God himself received all the things that seem to be meaningless in this world as the treatment from the surroundings.  The paradox of God's life, in which it is impossible to say that it lives only when it dies in the void. The disciples saw this in the Lord of the Resurrection and experienced it directly. It is also that I have seen the bottom of the world.  God is the end of the world. I can't go deeper than that. All the things that come to the point of hitting God are halfway. Most of the happiness of this world is called pleasure in some sense after all. It's like an excited state of nerves. Depending on what causes that stimulus, what makes you happy will make a difference. However, no matter what the stimulus is, the fact that it causes the reaction of satisfaction does not change much. Such happiness is not yet the final depth of this world. It is halfway. However, on the contrary, some people think that they are great because they do not seek such happiness. This is still halfway. As long as people are standing in this halfway spot, they wonder if there are still better things besides what they have now. "Should I still wait for someone else?" (Luke 7; 20). This was the mess of John the Washer. Everyone has more or less the same hesitation. If you think about it, billions of people live on this earth. Everyone peeks around them, overlooks something good, and lives with a frustrating feeling that they may be losing. There are many billions. It is unavoidable to compare them with each other and to consider whether they are good or bad. It's much better for everyone to do what they have right now, as much as possible. 

That is the only way humanity can live. But at that time, people can't stand what they are doing, what they have right now. I feel impatient that I have better things and better roles. It is a hesitation in this world. 

The world was created from God. But this world is not God. There is a limit. There is no change in that half way. Everyone's halfway through, so no matter which one you try, there's not much difference. God took the closest one of them. Moreover, no matter how you think of suffering and death on the cross, at least 

That is not what Jesus Christ, the Son of God given to us from the side of the world, that is, from God and our neighbors. The Lord received it as it was, without leaving it all. Thus when Jesus Christ collapsed on the cross, the whole of Jesus was presented to Heavenly Father, who received it. What the disciples saw in the Lord of the Resurrection is the reality of this love. But the disciples see another thing on it. The decisive fact that the world is accepted and received from God in its own right, in its neighbours. It is an extension of the genius of self-esteem that in the Lord Jesus, one of the human natures born in the world was totally accepted by the Son of God, Persona. In order for a person to be saved, he must enter into this extensional connection. There is no other way for a person to be accepted from God than to believe in Jesus Christ and be baptized, and to take part in the body and blood that were passed in his suffering. Christ wasn't just a model for other people. It's not just that Christ follows Christ hard and does his best for his neighbor, and that God can show it. The relationship of love between God and man is accomplished and perfected in the Lord Jesus. It wasn't that Jesus did it first, although others could have done it. What the human being could not do as a result of the original sin was fulfilled when Christ's human nature became completely that of the Son of God. This fulfillment manifested itself in the life and death of Jesus the Savior as one life in the world. Lord Jesus Life and Death, Passion and Death on the Cross. This is by no means an unfortunate consequence. The Bible repeatedly teaches that this should have been the case. No one can be saved more than to take part in this dead life of suffering. In order to participate in this divine life, we must believe in the death and resurrection of the Lord Jesus and be willing to take part in its suffering and death. People no longer live for themselves as long as they participate in this salvation. The only thing left is to die and live for God and neighbors. In other words, if one really wants to live, he has to die for Jesus Christ by faith and baptism, and only live to that death. As Paul says, there is nothing that believes in Jesus and cannot be saved. The saved person no longer lives for himself. If you live, you only have to die. The only way to live is to live with God and neighbors. The life of Christ, the Son of God, continues to live in each person. One just has to leave him there. Indeed, the disciples were allowed to see the reality of this life in the resurrected Lord. In Christ's death and resurrection, God revealed the last meaning of this world and life and was revealed to his disciples.

[ace01taro]

🌟☃️Monthly reading - All Zodiac Signs!❄️🌟

🎄 December 1st to  31st 🎄

♈️ Aries: Aries! This month you will be doing your best to keep yourself stabilize and balanced, also know that your ships are now coming in! if you find yourself stressing over a multitude of tasks and projects, do your best to ground yourself and find a place of “temperance”, keep track of both your “physical and emotional needs”. Go with the flow of the universe and remember that wealth and abundance can come in a variety of forms.

♉️ Taurus:Taurus! You could be taking on a lot this month, so much that it could end up becoming a “burden” to you! Whatever is is that comes to mind, know that you are only just begging, So pace yourself, there is no need to rush! Now that you will come out successful as long as you keep determined and keep focused on what it is that you want, but also allow yourself to rest and be “in the moment”.

 ♊️ Gemini: Gemini, December could be a month of “reflection” for many of you, this will be in regards to “disappointment” when it came to love and being in the “unknown” when it comes to your financial stability.You could find yourself loosing track of tie and even getting distracted a lot more this month.In December to keep yourself grounded and keep your “vibration” high.While in your time of “reflection” you will became aware of the things that must be “released” in order for you to get to where you want to be.

♋️ Cancer: Cancer, the month of December could be a “test” for you, not only will you be experiencing a grate transformation, but something from the past could come up to challenge you? Cancer you will have to be strong and stand your ground, do not be afraid to show them your true capabilities and strengths. While it is always a great thing to be “compassion” and have understanding for all people and situation, that does not mean that we have to become someone else foot stool or let ourselves be treated like a rug. Chose only the best and loyal to follow  you into the years of 2019! it will be an extremely promising year!

♌️ Leo: Leo in the month of December, you will need to show others who you truly are! And just who might that be? Well, you are The king! You will have to take up the energy of your Zodiac sign, the Lion, and one that holds the element of fire! Leo you have been hard at work at something for the past couple of month, maybe even years, and now you are just begging to see its “fruition”.You will need to stand your ground, and let others know here they can stand with you, let them know that you are going places, and if they are trying to slow you down, then they will have to get out of the way. Stand firm in what is in your heart and know that you will be alright. Pace yourself and don’t forget to ask for assistance when it is needed.

♍️ Virgo: Virgo, in the month of December many of you will make a choice that will change you life forever! You will be looking and seeking for what some might call “unconditioned love”, while this form of love can come from another person, it will most likely be coming from “yourself”. This will not be something that happens over night, it will be a process that will lead into 2019 and even into 2020 if that is what has to happen. Maybe you might be asking yourself, why now? Why suddenly change now? The answer can come in a multitude of answers, and yet there is a base for all of it. You are changing Virgo, something inside of you is growing bigger, and your “human limitations”are beginning to feel tight because your “soul” cannot be caged and boxed because it is simply impossible to do so.

♎️ Libra: Libra, you are aware that something has come full circle. The wheel has already turned and what is meant to be “played out” will be done even if it is something we are not looking forward to. Some of you could end up feeling quite lost in December, many endings will occur. While this could have you feeling “fear” Libra, know that this was not meant for “nothing”, there were lessons that needed to be learned and experienced . This was for your overall growth as a “soul”, and also for a nice amount of “Karma” to be cleared up. Libra have compassion for yourself, and for everyone involved, you will get to see the sun again. Till then you will just have to rely on the moon and the stars. You will come to understand the reasons for this “transformation” with time.

♏️ Scorpio: Scorpio! This December clarity will come to you about a situation, and one that could have had you feeling “turned upside down” for some time. Spirit will be showing you frame by frame just why it was meant to play out, and how the situation and circumstance could change within the blink of an eye.There are still pieces to this puzzle and story that you do not have, they are being placed away and hidden until you are ready to realize and go find what they are! If you find yourself hitting a road block, that is a a good thing! It means you have been moving forward and making progress! Even if you are unaware of just where you will end up. Now that at this time, you will be growing sensitive to many things, avoid anything that could cause you to be “triggered”, give yourself that peace of mind keep moving forward.

♐️ Sagittarius: Sagittarius! Happy birthday! This month will feel like a deep “transformation”, old wounds will be coming up so what you can clear them away once again. These wounds and triggers will not affect you in any big way, they are small and be dealt with easily. Sagittarius, there is something that you had to release and let go of many months ago, and while it might sting a little to “acknowledge” it, there could still be healing that needs to be taken place. This healing process will be looked after by the divine and your guides, so know that assistance is always within an arms length if things get to heavy or intense for you to bare. Also Know that you will be just fine, you are a natural at healing not only others, but also oneself. Give yourself some time to morn if it is needed, but don’t forget to remember that the “worst” has already passed.

♑️ Capricorn: Capricorn December will be a month of swift but also gradual movement. Wherever it is that you want to be by the end of December or at the begging of 2019, you will reach your goal or destination. You will have to be “decisive” about what steps and action you are going to make, do not let others or outside influence deter you from where it is you want to be.You must be strong. Spirit is also going to show you the”importance” of every relationship you could have had, this could be both from a romance to even a family type bond. They want to show you how it is meant to help you “grow” as a soul and individual. If your year has been a difficult one, the are going to show you just “why” it was so challenging and confusing. Everything happens for a reason Capricorn, even the smallest action and situation have a “bigger” reason as to why they play out. It will be as if spirit is showing you the “answers” to the year of 2018, and maybe even for the years previous( up to 2014). Remember this Capricorn, For a soul to become strong, it must experience difficult and grueling trials.

♒️ Aquarius: Aquarius December will have you feeling extremely spontaneous! You will be feeling that Holiday Spirit! So much good things could be going on, that you could actually lose track of where you are ad what you are doing. Just be sure that you are somewhere around “trusting” People when this happens. Some of you could be feeling a bit of “pressure” do to having so much to get finished and yet having so little time. But you but have to rush or put unnecessary troubles on yourself Aquarius! Its the Holidays! So let yourself relax and know that everything will work out just fine, enjoy the last of 2018. 2019 is bound to happen, so just go with the flow. For now, surround yourself with family, do the things that make you feel at ease, know that everything will work out just fine. Let out your “inner child” and just be.

♓️ Pisces: Pisces December could be super busy for you! Not only will the holidays be on your mind, but your own personal goals and projects will be on your mind. You will need to find your footing this month Pisces, if your aim is to get anything done, create a schedule and stick with it! There will be a long on you mind, the universe is asking that you “reflect” on the things that mean”most” to you at this time. Some of you could be thinking of moving locations and some of you will even be staring new business s and projects. While all of this could be overwhelming at first, the quicker you can “organize” all of your thoughts and goals, the easier the month will move by. This is not just for peroration of December Pisces, this is also preparation for the upcoming months of 2019! Know that at this time, spirit is now trying to make you feel “healed back” in any ways, they are actually trying to do the opposite! The universe wishes for you to feel free of any burdens and pains of the past. They want to build something stable with you, but in older for that to happen, an old foundation must fall apart. You are going to make something much stronger, one that can stand even when there is a thunder storm.

[ofkoroksandgreatfairies]

She Sleeps Pt. 1

In which the princess with goddess blood takes a well deserved nap, and the champion with a hero's destiny needs to touch her just to feel okay.

—-

Link never considered himself to be needy. Never considered himself to be anything really; besides hopelessly attached to the girl before him, of course. But as he found himself tracing the lines of her upturned palm, reveling in the sound of her deep breathing, and trying to restrain from joining her on the bed, he found very soon that he was indeed needy.

He felt guilty for even thinking of himself, but he needed to see her awake. He needed to see her move to assure himself she was alive. He needed to feel her corporeal touch on his skin; if only just to convince himself she wasn't turning sea-glass colored and fading away from him like the champions. 

His eyes were burning, tired beyond belief, and fighting against a brain that refused to rest. Link didn't remember much; but watching over Zelda as she slept was instinct. He'd found himself doing it because if felt natural; regardless of how tired he was.

He retracted his fingers from where they were tracing figures into her palm, tucking his hands back in his lap. He didn't want his own need of physical sensation to disturb her slumber. Link didn't know if he could forgive himself if he awoke her from her well-deserved rest. After all, she spent the last century in constant battle with the greatest evil they'd ever known; all he did was wake up in a shrine six months ago, and travel until he could help her finish the job.

He finished the job only six hours ago, but the last six hours had felt like lifetimes. The strangest part about it all, was that he really didn't remember all that much about Gannon's end. All he could remember was when she appeared to him again, and anything not in Link's peripheral vision when looking at her was lost to him. She was a visual magnet. He felt physically incapable of letting her out of his sight. It felt wrong; like betrayal almost. Maybe it was the guilt of dying on her in the first place, or of wasting 100 years, but he needed to keep her safe now.

His chest ached, his arm burned, and his ankle screamed when he put any weight on it. The adrenaline had kept it relatively painless for him when surrounded by Hyrule Castle's countless dangers, but he was resting in a quiet stable right now. The only distraction from the pain was Zelda's -thankfully- rhythmic breathing, and even though it was a great comfort, it wasn't a painkiller.

Link supposed he should grab the sheika slate currently strapped to his hip and scroll through it for an item with healing effects. He also supposed maybe he should change from his guardian-singed armour into something less charred. But that would require his attention be elsewhere other than the currently sleeping princess, and he couldn't have that. After everything she sacrificed, Link figured he could deal with a bit of discomfort.

Lost in his thoughts, he found himself grabbing her hand again. It was cold to the touch and covered in a light layer of ash. He wanted to clean the offending dust off her hands, wanted to scrub every last bit of Gannon's presence off of her. The deplorable beast didn't deserve to stain someone as frankly...divine as her, Link thought, but then again neither did he.

Zelda gave a sleepy sigh, and rolled from her back onto her side towards him. She was facing him in full now, and he could finally commit an expression of her's other than sorrow into his memory. Her face was serene, eyebrows relieved of tension, mouth curled very faintly upward into the tiniest of smiles as she breathed in and out.

Link felt a fond smile forming, and alone in this stable's back room, he let himself break composure. He was her ever-so-stoic appointed knight when Gannon was still wrecking havoc, but Gannon was gone now; here in this quiet room Link was just a boy. A wildly grinning boy, absolutely giddy with how much he couldn't believe his own luck.

That morning, as Link set off to finally vanquish Calamity Gannon, he had no doubt in his mind the princess would be saved. He pledged his life, his soul, his very being to her as a boy, and as an amnesiac that potent feeling persisted. He knew nothing but his unbridled devotion to her, and he let that resolute truth carry him in his journey. He would save her; but he had no expectations of living to see the aftermath. Link figured he would be killed in his fight against Calamity Gannon, but hoped with everything he had that his death would be enough of a distraction for Gannon. Maybe then she'd be able to take the opening and end his reign of terror.

Link left that morning already resigned to the idea that his life would end in Hyrule Castle that day. He decided that saving her was worth it; she was the only thing that made sense to him.

Link felt the soft skin of her hand beneath his, and thanked every god, goddess, and unrelated deity he knew of that they let him survive long enough to experience this.

Zelda collapsed immediately after finally defeating the great evil; her body hitting the ground before Link could catch her, the very sound a catalyst for a new bout of anxiety for him. He vaguely remembered sprinting over to her body, praying that it wasn't lifeless. When he reached her, he tucked two of his own calloused fingers under her chin, finding a pulse. and breathing a boundless sigh of relief. With shaking, adrenaline fueled arms, Link scooped her up and assessed his surroundings. The ruins of castle town stood tall around him; just as cold, dull, and desolate as they were before Calamity's defeat. He heard metallic clicking, and the whirring of a guardian behind him. His heart lept in his chest.

He laid Zelda down gently, and stood over her like the protector he knew he should've been over 100 years ago. Link knew in the back of his mind that this encounter might be it for him. The crest on the guardian's head signified it as a high-level scout, and the three arms holding glowing blades signified it as Link's grave. He could feel the exhaustion settling in his bones. He was teetering on the very brink of a black out. Link instead took a breath, determined and resolute in his quest to defeat the scout before him; no matter the cost. His life was unimportant, Zelda had to be saved. All of Hyrule would thank him.

Link grabbed the master sword from his back, brandishing it gravely. He charged forward with the last of his strength, driving the sword straight into it's metallic, glowing blue eye. The machine stuttered, jumping back, as electricity visibly flowed through the now opened hull of the machine. Link braced himself on the ground, on hand on his knee. His breath was short and labored, he could feel the beginning of his own end. He tried with everything he had to get up, but found getting to his feet impossible. The guardian had recovered and was now approaching fast, it's legs becoming arachnid-like appendages sealing the distance between Link and his death. It reached him in seconds, looming tall and mechanical over Link, aiming a bright red laser into his temple. Before he knew it, Link heard the signature ding of an incoming laser barrage and huddled behind his shield. He looked over at the princess, mentally apologizing to her unconscious form for this second death.

Only, the laser never came.

Link peered over the edge of his ancient shield cautiously, seeing the guardian still very much standing dangerously close. The blue of it's torn eye was fading, and the Calamity's red hue encircling it was falling away. The electrical whirring started again, but this time sending electric sparks into every direction. The guardian shook like it was possessed for a brief moment, before giving a final shutter. With that, it was done. With that, Link was allowed to live.

Link, not one to waste a good opportunity, saw his chance clearly. The guardians were lifeless, having been released of Gannon's influence. But the bokoblins, lizalfoes, and moblins waiting in the fields just beyond Castle town were still very much alive. He had to move, and find a way to move Zelda. Quick.

Trying to stand and failing, Link popped a stamina potion from the bag strapped to his back. It gave him an immediate energy boost, but he knew it wouldn't last long. Thinking quickly, Link grabbed the claymore tucked behind the master sword currently slung across his back. He limped over to Zelda's collapsed body a few feet away, and slid the claymore beneath her like a makeshift stretcher. The limp way her body responded to his pushing and prodding made him sick, but Link pushed the frightening thoughts down. They certainly weren't helping the situation.

Link took a few tired steps back, before taking the sheika slate back up and selecting the magnesis rune. The claymore under Zelda's body glowed yellow within the slate's interface as he sent a magnetic beam towards it. He wanted to scream with joy as he saw his plan come to fruition; the sword was lifted with the rune's power, and Zelda by default because of her position on top of it. Thus began the slow walk back to Link's horse waiting just beyond the remains of Castle Town. Link found he couldn't remember putting Zelda on his horse, or riding to the Riverside Stable. But he supposed it didn't matter much, as they had arrived in one piece.

There was a large of part of him that wished she'd wake up soon; she was sleeping so deeply it almost seemed to him that she'd be out for another hundred years. The thought alone made his blood freeze. But the other part of him dreaded when she'd finally awaken. What if she was mad at him? Or even worse, disappointed? It took him over 100 years to come back and help her. Anyone would be angry to have to wait that long.

His anxiety got the better of him, and he took solace in the blonde locks currently splayed around her head like a halo. Her hair was soft, and felt almost velvety to the touch. Link twirled a strand between his fingers, trying to calm himself down.

Zelda was here, he tried to reassure himself. She wasn't going to fade away. She was alive. They had made it.

The upturned palm he had been tracing patterns into before was closed up now into a fist. Zelda must've been having a dream, because it was clenched now; going white from the pressure. Before he knew it, Link found himself grabbing her fist, and gently pulling her fingers away from each other. She resisted a bit at first, before instead clasping his hand in hers.

She still wasn't awake, and he still wished to hear her voice more than anything, but the pressure of her hand in his was enough. In her sleep, she'd squeeze every now and again, eliciting a rare, soft smile from her knight.

Try as he might to resist it, Link found his eyes drooping. His head fell forward onto the mattress he was sitting in front of, his hand still locked in Zelda's. He told himself 'just a few minutes' but even in the very back of his mind knew that was a lie.

—-

The hylian pair slept for two straight days. Many people came and went from the stable but they all seemed to notice the two passed out on the back bed.

Link had drifted to the floor somehow, covered with a blanket, and laying on a pillow the stable's owners had slid under his head while he slept. Zelda had drifted to the very edge of the bed, one arm dangling over it. Her outstretched arm met one of his own, and they kept their hands connected for the entire duration of their sleep. Their general postures looked very similar with the way they both seemed to curl up around where their hands met.

To most travelers passing through, it was idly cute. But the stable's owner's knew of Link's real identity, along with the princesses's own. That's why they would shoo people out who made too much noise, or tried to disturb the pair of them.

The stable was a good place for them to take their much needed rest. Aside from the odd traveller here and there, all was quiet and calm. The atmosphere was warm; everything baked in the soft yellow of the shining sun during the day.

When Zelda first woke up, she had what felt like a major heart attack. She sat up, throwing her head around wildly. Zelda awoke completely disoriented. She was desperately trying to decipher where exactly she was. Her anxiety only increased as the worst thought came to mind: Did she finally lose her battle? Was this heaven?

She couldn't remember defeating Calamity Gannon. What other explanation could there be?

A slight pressure on her left hand drew her attention to the person still sound asleep on the floor. Her breath caught. Link looked just the same as she remembered him; serious, even in sleep, but boyish and kind if you really looked.

With shaking legs, Zelda slid off the bed and stood up. It was a little awkward seeing as Link refused to release his grip on her hand, but she managed just the same. She walked around his sleeping form on the floor, until she reached his head.

His bangs had fallen into his eyes, being disturbed slightly by his soft breathing as he slept. It was a familiar sight to Zelda, but one she'd never thought she'd see again. She sat down, falling gracefully to her knees; just a few inches away from where he slept.

—-

Link could feel an entire planet's worth of gravity in his bones that morning; it was especially apparent the second he began to wake up. Even opening his eyes seemed like an astronomical task, so he mentally excused the irritated groan he accidentally emitted when he did so. He blinked blearily, sitting up much to the dismay of his sore muscles. The bright rays of early morning sunlight flooded his vision and he groaned again. Link felt that even the sun was fighting him, and as a result the battle-weary champion threw his head back into the pillow with a tired sigh.

As Link's head hit the pillow, he heard a soft giggle just behind his head.

She appeared like an angel when he finally opened his eyes; all silhouetted yellow light, soft smiles, and slowly falling tears.  Zelda leaned over him, backdropped by the rising sun, dripping in gold and fresh air.

"Princess...." Link uttered the word like a prayer, bringing a hand up to catch the tears falling from her eyes.

She broke into a watery smile. All white teeth and tears, and bittersweet sadness lurking in her expression. "It's Zelda, to you. Or have you forgotten, hero?" She phrased the question like a gentle reprimand, but he could see the anxiety and doubt behind it.

"I-I remember." His voice was rough; quiet from months without use, but laced with sincerity. "Not.. all. But enough."

A shuddering breath passed through her. It looked like a shiver, but the way a strangled sob seemed to escape showed it was something more. Zelda dropped her forehead to his as she cried. Bringing both her hands to the sides of his head, she laced her fingers into his hair. He could feel her tears, thick and unrelenting against his skin.

His heart broke. Link could understand the tears, but somewhere in the back of his mind he hoped for happiness. In his best dream of this reunion, they escaped all the angst and the 100 years and their forever intertwined fates. It was just them, together again; with the Calamity in rearview, and nothing but relief and rest on the horizon. In his worst dreams- which more often then not are his reality- this reunion was nothing but a reminder of all that was lost. It looked much the like the scene now; all heartache, mourning, and cacophonous cries.

Link cradled Zelda as he slowly sat up. His hands around her sides, guiding her head to rest on his shoulder. She clutched at him like he was her only truth, fingers digging into the charred fabric of his blue tunic. Her open-mouthed sobs had subsided in favor of silent tears, and Link couldn’t figure out which was worse.

“I was stuck..” Her voice caught again; failing to crest over the mountain of tears cascading. “For so long. I-I didn’t know if you’d wake up.”

Guilt shot through him, knocking the air out of his body. Link felt helpless; it was his worst nightmare that their reunion would be marred by her anger. He knew his absence had been extended. Link didn’t mean for it to be that long, but he only had one life and one shot at Gannon. He had to become strong enough to save her. Nothing else mattered.

[thetrashbang]

PlayerUnknown’s Battlegrounds Needs A God

No multiplayer game gets to live in a void for long. No matter how hard you may try to bleed yourself of troublesome concepts like context, or backstory, the reality is that people like to speculate. People like to tell stories. Doesn’t matter how goofy or outlandish; the creeping tendrils of narrative eventually wrap around the foundations of even the purest, most context-free experiences. Why are we bombing these crates? Why are we stealing that flag? Why are we fighting? Why are we here?

Somebody will come up with an answer. It’s the human thing to do.

But for PlayerUnknown’s Battlegrounds, it feels like that answer has yet to come. One hundred players parachute onto a deserted island, where the average density of firearms per square meter exceeds even the most deranged fanatical NRA wet dream, and a slowly constricting hemisphere of crackling blue energy forces them to mercilessly gun each other down until only one is left standing. It’s an absurd, nightmarish premise; a theoretical scenario seemingly engineered to turn people into rabid beasts, fighting tooth and nail merely for the privilege of living a few minutes longer. Who would orchestrate such a competition, and for what purpose? Is it an experiment? A ritual? A blood sport? Is some Silicon Valley bazillionaire sitting in a darkened room somewhere, surrounded by monitors, cranking his sad rubbery hog to every rifle crack and arterial splatter? Nobody seems to know, or care.

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t either; PUBG is fun enough without framing. And yet, tonight’s winds bring an uneasy chill, carrying whispers of restlessness, indignance and fury. You feel it, don’t you? There’s a philosophical schism in how we approach Pubguh—the very concept of ‘battle royale’, even—and the hairline fractures are beginning to show. Players whine and gnash their teeth at the red zone, esports organisers desperately attempt to harness the format for views, and the proverbial chicken dinner seems to attain a more and more mythical, trophy-like status by the day; a reference to back-alley gambling now ironically viewed as a badge of ultimate prowess. This isn’t a healthy relationship. This isn’t a healthy attitude.

What Plunkbat needs, friends, is a god.

Well, okay, not necessarily a god god. Divine power is optional. I’m not asking Brendan Greene to start wearing a white toga and chiselling his patch notes into stone tablets, as much as it would set an entertaining precedent. The job requirements are flexible: I’m simply asking for someone vengeful and capricious, with unfathomable intentions, inscrutable thoughts, and—at least within the bounds of the playable space—immense, unassailable power. Like any god, you need not supply scientific proof of their presence; you merely have to attribute sufficient existing phenomena to them, and change people’s collective perception of the world. Ooh, got’em.

See, battle royale games represent an important shift to me. I’m a competitive person by nature. It’s etched into my mind, irreversibly chiseled by years of test scores and parental praise and all the other ego-stroking bullshit that you were subjected to if you were a certain kind of ‘gifted’ child. “You’re the best. You should be the best. You should be winning. Why aren’t you winning, what the heck is wrong with you?” So it bleeds over, into hobbies, work, and of course, online shooters, in which I regularly demonstrate that I have an innate… whatever the opposite of aptitude is. I react slowly, I zone out, I bean myself on the head with my own grenades, and if you exert the slightest bit of pressure, I’ll empty half the magazine into a wall and drop my weapon through a gap in the floorboards. I’m not good, and yet some unreachable, fundamental part of my conscious will never be satisfied with that knowledge.

You would think, then, that Pubby-G would only serve to exacerbate this mindset. And yet, in a world of delicately tuned esports that are built from the ground up to be pure, unfiltered tests of skill, it feels like the only game to grant a genuine absolution of responsibility; a kind of freeing fatalism. There’s a sense in a lot of classic multiplayer experiences—like, say, Counter-Strike—that every outcome is more or less deterministic; a product of a series of controlled variables and actions. With every failure comes the overwhelming impression that it could have been averted, given enough competence, foresight, and concentrated guarana. By contrast, a porridgey cocktail of chaos flows through the veins of battle royales, surrounding you with factors that are not only impossible to influence, but—in many cases—impossible to know at all. You are swept up by the gusts of a hundred butterflies’ wings, tossed to and fro by the whims of the random number generator, bombarded with unavoidable risks and squeezed into unmanageable situations. It’s easier to go with the flow, accept that at any given moment you may have your head unceremoniously taken off—by somebody lying flat on a distant hill, or hiding behind one of the game’s ten thousand trees, or concealed in a shrub on the far side of the Moon—and concentrate on all the minute actions you can make to ever-so-slightly nudge the odds in your favour.

But it’s not always clear that this is the reality of Puhburger. With its vast scale and often languid pacing, encounters can feel like isolated incidents, detached from the cascading series of events that led up to them, despite being anything but. Anyone can parse the map for circles of safety and non-safety, and understand that their arbitrary placement gives certain players an advantage; it’s less apparent that the figure in that upstairs window might have had their sights trained on the area, or seen you first, shot first, picked up a better weapon, obtained a better vantage point, or some other action, because of a dizzying permutation of astral alignments that neither of you could even begin to grasp. So we get futile attempts to establish a level playing field, find meaning in accomplishment, divine fair elements from unfair, and generally make things needlessly stressful for everybody involved. Except the infuriatingly smug yours truly, of course.

How do you make that clear, though? How do you concisely impress upon people that their fate is almost entirely out of their hands, in such a way that they adopt an attitude of acceptance? Blaming the roll of the dice doesn’t come to mind as swiftly when you never see them rattling around, nor the way their innumerable ripples propagate across the map. Furthermore, as current events have taught us all too well, it’s a lot easier to ascribe fault to individuals than to an invisible, fundamentally hostile system. So what do you do?

You give the system a name. And, if you can, a face.

Allow me to momentarily slam us into reverse. When Valve released Left 4 Dead way back in 2008 (oh god, it’s going to be ten years old this year?) they made quite a song and dance about the game’s AI Director; an invisible, unknowable entity that would dynamically dole out items and zombies in a manner consistent with the tenets of dramatic tension, ensuring players were subjected to a “fast-paced, but not overwhelming, Hollywood horror movie”. While the opacity of the AI Director’s machinations always made me a tad sceptical of its mechanical effectiveness, giving people a name to pin the blame for all their earthly woes on was a masterstroke. Notorious video game jokesman Yahtzee Croshaw—the one with the hat and that trendy 00s cynicism, remember?—reported that he once witnessed someone praying to the AI Director, and I bet you all the pipe bombs in the world that players’ personification of it didn’t stop there. Short of making a catastrophic error, I never saw anyone get chewed out for not pulling their weight, and when tones got heated—as they inevitably do, when you’re throwing yourself against the frigid slopes of the higher difficulties—they were directed in the vague direction of the director: for its expectations, for its lack of pity, for being unfair. Awareness of our lurking orchestrator changed our perception of the experience, even though we couldn’t entirely prove it wasn’t just somebody sitting in a black box, disinterestedly flipping a coin over and over.

So, why not do the same for a game that does? Put a face on the system that holds a fundamental grip on who lives and who dies. You don’t need to change a thing under the hood; you need only introduce the vague implication that the evolving state of the battlefield is a consequence of a thinking, feeling, mysterious overseer. A bloodthirsty oligarch watching from their lavish observation zeppelin, a dystopian TV network broadcasting a deadly future sport, an amoral team of government agents sealed away in a bunker control room, an inexplicably sapient Shiba playing with a selection of levers, or indeed, a literal deity. People will take the faintest contextual cues and run amok with them, ascribing everything they can to the will of the one who set this conflict in motion: item drops, circle position, all the way down to the subtle spread of their bullets as they sail through the air. Yeah, maybe it’ll start off as a running joke; an ironic indulgence, the “thanks Obama” of Puddlebounds. But that’s the thing about ironic behaviour: get enough people doing it at once, and you’ll cultivate sincere participants without even realising it. We will learn to absolve ourselves of responsibility, and engage in the unhinged pandemonium of battle royale with the mentality that befits it.

There’s just one problem: you need to be able to keep a secret.

I’m still working on that part.

[huberleo]

Once upon a time there was a strange man standing in front of a strange house

Lenny finds himself in Vienna, dislocated, dispossessed, lost. There is no flock to lead anymore, no divinity to represent. Lenny needs this feeling of power, this machinery around him that listens to his every whim. Lenny is obsessed with legacy, with power made real. I wish to remain an eternal enigma to myself and to others.[1] Lenny needs to rule over someone. Something. Lenny doesn’t fit in what he perceives as the rest of society. Lenny stands in front of the house. Ludwig is a kingdom. A realm complete in itself, surrounded by a wall. What king did not seat him at his table [2].

Prepare for Battle

Lenny stands in front of Ludwig. I'm ready to wage a war without end against you.[3] He sees himself as a being of greater glory and importance than his fellow men. He was of so great ability, even as a private citizen, that one who writes of him says he wanted nothing but a kingdom to be a king.[4] Lenny wants to build himself a monument, he wants to become immortal.

Ludwig likes rationality, Ludwig likes a good encyclopaedia that defines the world and its inhabitants and divides them into categories. Ludwig likes do divide the world into right an wrong, black and white. Ludwig knows his truth and how it is superior to earlier truths. Ludwig is a house.

Lenny likes to place himself in the pantheon of emperors, conquerors, military geniuses and deities. For he is not man, but legend. Humans are mortal; their glory may escape death. [5]

Do they fight to the death? [6] That's the fate of power.[7]  Lenny wants to conquer Ludwig and make him his subject, make Ludwig a representation of his divine glory. Ludwig prepares for war.

Siege

In the eyes of contemporaries, siege warfare unfolds like a classical drama.[8] You hesitate before entering a new world as an intruder, and becoming an alien. The anticipation of the moment may be more than you bargained for. Or it might be less. The city lives suspended in history, always waiting for someone or something, condemned to remain in precarious balance, always on the verge of resurrection but also a step back from the brink, exaltations following depressions.[9].

A dog believes his master is at the door.[10] Ludwig is no dog. Ludwig is well read in the art of battle. Ludwig knows what to do, for when the battle begins: here we are plunged into a world entirely mechanical. [11] In extreme conditions, when he was under siege, the gates were closed, the battlements were manned, and the house became the city became self contained for the duration.[12] It is the way Ludwig relates to his surroundings and their history, as a place that withstood siege. Ludwig has a high wall all around him. Ludwig is a fortress.

War What is it good for?[13]

The Threshold

A gate. A door. A void. A place between worlds. Between the two, there is threshold and fiber, symbiosis of or passage between heterogeneities. [14]  It is the momentary realization of leaving and entering at the same time. In a fraction of a certain time that cannot be measured you are both at once, past and future simultaneously without a present. Then you step into another world as another self and leave the alien in its pure form on the threshold, only to assume its form again once you step back into the past.

A gate in a wall. Lenny had expected something massive with at least one portcullis, something he would have to fight his way through. This is why fairy tales often had medieval architectural environments – to house their battles where good triumphs over evil, in a land far away, once upon a medieval time. [15] But it was only a simple door, almost hidden in the fabric of the wall. So devoid of ornament Lenny almost doesn’t notice. Almost.

Lenny stands on the threshold, he has breached the wall and the house is his. Ludwig is ready, the door behind Lenny falls shut, becoming part of the wall again. And though he, as the house is the most precise product of modern processes there will be entrenched within it this ancient loyalty invulnerable against the siege of our machines. [16] Every part of Ludwig is ready to fight. To defend itself with a selflessness that inspires legends. These assurances produced a degree of calm. [17] It was a dangerous calm, the one that makes you uneasy and dying to leave. Yet both fear the moment of truth when they have to confront each other not only in mind but in body. Lenny takes a step. Leaving any roots he had behind, for this step completely unearths him. The structure of reality has been fragmented, for the abolition of the mythical horizon has destroyed the divine mystery that lies beyond it. [18]

After the breach

The Garden surrounding the house in front of him feels strangely calm, almost surreal.  The garden was somehow baroque in geometry, but devoid of anything Lenny would have perceived as baroque ornamentation. In front of him, a door. His next objective. It too, was devoid of ornament of any kind, which made it appear more intimidating than the last.

Ludwig studies the strange form in front of him, intrigued by this strange creature staring at him from his garden.  The unfamiliarity of their situation made both of them uncomfortable, very much so. Both wanted to escape this weird stalemate. It felt wrong and yet there was a fascination with a pull that was impossible to ignore.

Entering the house

Lenny enters the house, the door seemed to carry the weight of the entire building.[19] His moment has come, the door was meant only for him.[20] Right behind that door: Hell.[21] Lenny stands on a threshold once again, determined to make this house a home, by any means necessary —a Modification of general features [22]  for a start. He needs everything to be about him. He finds himself in a room, completely bare yet decorated with a variety of doors to go through next. The apparent lack of ornament disturbs Lenny, he wants Ludwig to become this bastion of his personal power far away from Rome, a temple to enshrine himself in, like the emperors of old. A new Vatican. The object of a cult, subjected to varying interpretations, the bearer of many different values, this house will become a memorial, a monument to the glory of Lenny and of his immortal self.[23] No reasoning power, no commandment, no force can override his inclination or his choice.[24] The throne admits not two. [25]

Ludwig is intrigued by Lenny. But Ludwig detests what Lenny perceives as vital for representing power. He thinks it a crime. How dare he change proportions Ludwig sees as a product of perfection, how dare he disguise the truth Ludwig represents in each little detail with meaningless follies.

As bare as the house appeared to Lenny, he quickly realizes it is a maze. Absent were the features Lenny usually used to distinguish antechambers. For him every room needed a theme, be it in colour or allegory.  But when Lenny goes about the house, his manoeuvre was accompanied by another change. [26] With every threshold Lenny passes the alienation of a new room, a new world is like a blow to him. With every threshold Lenny leaves something behind. A trail consisting of fragments. Like an animal shedding fur, Lenny sheds parts of himself.

Lenny gets fully immersed in the labyrinth. Ludwig watches Lenny rummage through his rooms, rearrange his features. With every new room Lenny enters, his presence becomes more familiar to Ludwig. Room for room Ludwig becomes less himself, he thinks the outside finally caught up with him, for Lenny must represent the world outside Ludwig’s little universe.

The core of the labyrinth is Ludwig’s brain, his heart, his archive. As Lenny enters it he feels as if he just entered a holy place. Before him Ludwig’s identity is revealed. The vast archives containing all the knowledge of the past. In the middle Ludwig’s own thoughts are positioned like the sun, everything revolves around. The hierarchy of truth is clear to Lenny. He feels a sudden respect and unease, as if he had seen something he shouldn’t have. To rule completely he must put himself in that place. But that would mean to bare himself to Ludwig, his enemy. Or his host, he wasn’t sure anymore. For a moment Lenny questions his true purpose. Somewhere in the labyrinth he had lost any track of time, he entered the timeless plane of existence Ludwig had existed in until now. A sudden burst of fear drives Lenny away from this room, gripping the sleek handle he crosses another threshold. Hoping the unfamiliarity of the next room will make him forget.

Ludwig watches in astonishment as the intruder leaves this vital part of him intact, yet how could he connect his thoughts to his features anymore? His features had been dressed up, distorted. And so there would be neither accord nor conflict here,[27] just two lost souls questioning their conviction.

Lenny stands on a threshold, before him a room as grand in proportion as he once imagined, a throne room. It is a room suitable to act as a monument to him. It would have been for another Lenny. Ludwig watches Lenny wander around the full extent of the space. Ludwig doesn’t know where this room came from, it feels wrong yet it is there. It feels like a part of him. Ludwig questions his truth. The design of the History was very much an expression of his mind; he hopes it may stand, not unworthily, as a monument to his work. [28] Lenny stands in the room, his room. He has won. The thought crosses his mind. But what has he won. He has found just another room in a maze of rooms. He has gone from epic invader to ghost endlessly wandering beyond time. Lenny is lost. Ludwig is numb. He tears a rip into his wall, a door for Lenny.

Standing at the threshold of the house he looks over the whole garden.[29] Neither the parterre nor the surrounding groves show any original features.[30] Change is evident. [31] Lenny stands in the garden. He doesn’t remember there being a garden in the first place. He studies the massive wall encompassing the garden as he puts out his cigarette. Just another room in the labyrinth. A cage for his Pyrrhic victory.

Hortus conclusus

Enclosed space, a walled world, a wall around your own mind – eternal state. Every time the being that occupies this safe space ventures into another, it is as if it travelled to another realm of reality. As soon as it enters the new space it becomes alien from the old one. Therefore the hortus conclusus has to adapt to accommodate the changed needs of its resident every time they come back to what they perceive as home. It is a place of personal refuge. A place of dreams, longing and desires made real.

Standing in the garden Lenny looks at the house. It appeared calm and serene to him, but then it was a house. Even to the most prosaic it always holds something of a promise of the peaceful and pleasant place that lies within. [32]

A door in a wall

He didn’t go out through a door? [33] Once you leave your creation there is need to revert back to what you were before. Your own universe has become strange to you and the process of making it yours has to begin again. Now the same thing can’t be both known and unknown. [34] A perpetual state of rebirth on the threshold. They eagerly seek the agent of this metamorphosis, and hasten to his door. [35]

Lenny stands in front of a threshold, he still has to build himself a monument, he still needs to make these rooms fit for a god. Ludwig feels someone disturbing his peace, always crossing thresholds, always ripping him out of his eternal rest. Thus the struggle goes on. [36]

Here we go again. [37]

 [1] Ludwig II [2] Cervantes, Don Quixote [3] The Young Pope [4] Machiavelli, The Prince [5] Acocella, Stone Architecture Ancient and Modern Construction Skills [6] Seneca, Complete Works [7] The Young Pope [8] Alder, Engineering the Revolution [9] Payne, Renaissance and Baroque Architecture [10] Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations [11] Serres, History of Scientific Thought [12] Mitchell, Me The Cyborg Self and the Networked City [13] Strong Whitfield, War [14] Deleuze Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus [15] Rudolph, A Companion to Medieval Art Romanesque and Gothic [16] Ockmann, Architecture Culture 1943 1968 [17] Wollstonecraft, Complete Works [18] Voegelin, Order and History 4 [19] Sudjic, The Edifice Complex [20] Zizek, Less Than Nothing [21] The Young Pope [22] Kerr, The Gentlemans House [23] Serres, History of Scientific Thought [24] de Montaigne, The Complete Essays [25] Seneca, Complete Works [26] Summerson, Architecture in Britain 1530 1830 [27] Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations [28] Schmitt, The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy [29] Gothein, A History of Garden Art [30] Gothein, A History of Garden Art [31] Leatherbarrow Eisenschmidt, Twentieth Century Architecture [32] Stickley, Gustav Stickley s Craftsman Homes and Bungalows [33] Schumacher, The Autopoiesis of Architecture Vol 1 [34] Eco, The Name of the Rose [35] Aquinas, Selected Philosophical Writings [36] Sloterdijk, Critique of Cynical Reason [37] Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology

[sincognito]

Royal Seduction 4 | Papgore

Pairing: Papyrus x Asgore

Universe: Underfell

Warnings: Previous and Future chapters will have NSWF content, mentions of rape

Overview: The chapter in which brotherly fluff and foreshadowing occurs >:3

A/N: Late fic update is late

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Read it on AO3: HERE

Papyrus refused to raise his head from its position buried firmly into one of the pillows at the head of the bed. He clutched a second pillow tightly to his chest, contorting his whole body to curl around it, hanging from it as though it were the only lifeline he possessed.

The whole day seemed to simply dissolve into nothing but a hazed mixture of pain and exhaustion, oblivious to anything and everything happening around him. He had missed at least two meals, the food growing cold and tasteless as it sat abandoned on one of the nearby tables. One of the maids had attempted to rouse his interest in some of the food items, or at least a glass of water, to no avail. He simply pulled the pillow closer to himself and fought harder to tune out the rest of the world, refusing to speak a word.

He had begun to fall in and out of consciousness, his body aching and tired, yet unable to sleep for such a long period. The part of him that had not quite resigned itself to simply drifting away, was urgently trying to tell him to get up, to simply stay alive, and not allow himself to chance falling down. He was better than that, he deserved better than such a pathetic fate.

It was late in the afternoon when Papyrus finally managed to sit himself up, glaring out of the window at the monsters visible below with no small amount of scorn. It took every ounce of his strength to not fall back onto the bed again, and it took an even greater level of forced motivation to physically remove himself from it, standing on legs that were so weak a soft gust of wind may very well have toppled him over.

On top of the dresser Papyrus found a new set of clothes. He inspected each expertly made piece thoroughly, rather impressed by the promptness with which he had received the clothing items. He managed to dress himself slowly, and he had almost finished when there was a knock on the door, momentarily snapping him from his rather bleak mindset. A guard entered, one of the ones Papyrus had encountered the day before.

The monster stood silently in the doorway, waiting patiently for the skeleton to finish his rudimentary task. Papyrus couldn’t quite piece together why the guardsman had decided to come at that time; he was certain it was too early for the King to have sent for him.

Fortunately, he had near enough finished, taking only a moment to quickly position his scarf back in its rightful place. Reluctant as he might have been to leave the room and brave the rest of the castle, he had little further say in the matter with the rather large reptile obviously beginning to grow impatient, signaled by its rather loud, over-dramatic sighing.

“Where am I meant to be going?” Papyrus still couldn’t quite muster the stamina required to make his voice sound anything but monotone and disinterested. His sockets were still drooped, barely able to remain open, as his expression remained cold and unwelcoming.

“I have been informed that I will be your escort for the rest of the day. You are free to roam around the castle at your leisure, but I must accompany you.” The guard sounded just as unimpressed and irritated by the situation as Papyrus had, the monster crossing his arms over his chest, likely frowning behind his helmet.

“I suppose I should look around,” Papyrus breathed, hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his new slim pants. It was an old habit, one he didn’t care to break - it helped to curb any feelings of anxiousness, giving his hands something to play with without appearing odd, and assisted in feigning a relaxed demeanor.

Only monsters who were completely confident with their strength and abilities ever allowed themselves to appear calm. It was a means of proving to other monsters that they were powerful enough to have no fear. This, however, did not mean they had their guard lowered, it was merely a facade of placidity, used to lure in unwitting monsters and keep at bay stronger ones.

The castle walls were dreary as always, their dull grey cobbled surface having very little features of attraction, and the severe lacking of any form of decor only worsened the deeper they went. The palace was, put simply, mind-numbingly boring. Papyrus couldn’t stand the aimless wandering, the bare walls and the overall emptiness.

He eventually came across the castle’s kitchen and decided it would be far more interesting than stalking the halls for hours upon hours.  

The kitchen was perhaps the homeliest area throughout the entire palace. It was warmed by the heat of open flames on stoves and the multiple ovens that produced the simply divine aroma of freshly cooked bread. The counter tops were each coated in a thick layer of flour where some monsters set about kneading more dough, while others were combining various ingredients to make other pastries.

They were all rushing about, carrying trays of food from one place to another, snouting numerous instructions to other monsters as they went. There was a great deal of mess; pots and pans filled with unknown chard meats, and crumbs and spilt liquids making the floor rather hazardous to anyone seeking to remain clean. Worst of all were the piles of dishes that simply sat in the empty sinks, food already firmly crusted onto the utensils and plates.

Oddly enough, the chaotic mess felt somewhat familiar, reminding him of the state Undyne and himself would leave the Royal Guard Captain’s kitchen in after an attempt at cooking.

A wooden bench off to the corner stood out stark against the rest of the metallic appliances and stainless steel workbenches, and Papyrus found himself gravitating towards it. There were a number of drawers below the bench, and when he pulled out one he found it was filled with paper and books.

On closer inspection he found that they were all old recipe books. The papers were all yellowed and the print was faded on the vast majority of them, but the wording was still discernible. He began to browse through them, glancing momentarily at the name of each food, finding nothing of much interest.

It wasn’t until he had reached the final recipe that his interest was piqued. It seemed simple enough to make, especially with Papyrus’ spectacular culinary skills. He wondered briefly why the document had been hidden all the way at the back of the pile as he folded the paper, saving it for later use.

Seeing nothing of further interest he began to silently slink out of the kitchen, taking with him the new recipe. It sounded quite fun to try and create a Butterscotch and Cinnamon pie.

Papyrus and the guard following him continued on their course through the castle. They passed no other rooms of significance and the lanky skeleton quickly began to grow bored with the quiet surrounds. “Is there anything to do here?” he grumbled softly, coming to a stop and glancing back towards the guard.

The other monster thought for an embarrassingly long moment. It was rather poor that even a palace guard couldn’t come up with anything of even the slightest interest. “There’s the Royal Library,” he suggested slowly, evidently still trying to rack his brain for anything he might have missed.

Papyrus, unfortunately, was more of a tactile learner - while he had no doubt about the importance of books, having a fair collection of them himself, he couldn’t exactly imagine himself spending his days cooped up in a small dusty room reading. “Would I be able to see the courtyard?” he was beginning to realise just how desperate he was for the feeling of fresh air on his bones, and while the courtyard was not inside, it was technically still a part of the castle.

They had stopped nearby to the palace entrance; the idea of being so temptingly close to freedom was cruel. Papyrus was positive that if he truly tried he’d be able to escape, although making it all the way back to Snowdin would be an impossibility. Asgore would never let him get that far.

He crossed his arms, mentally cursing as he felt his anger slowly begin to rear its ugly head once again. He wanted to shout at someone, break something, do anything just to let out his spitefully outraged emotions. In truth, Papyrus knew that deep down he was just scared, but he covered it up with anger, with pure unrelenting hatred. It was easier for him to accept being angry.

Before the guard could respond to him there was the distant sound of shouting, and Papyrus immediately forgot about his bad mood. He was quick to move, practically leaping down the hallway, and near enough skidding around the corner in his haste.

“Sans?”

There was a sweeping silence that had immediately taken the place of the monsters’ boisterous bickering. The two tall monsters who had been guarding the the palace reception each spared Papyrus only a fleeting glance, before returning their focus to the small monster who was evidently the cause of the scuffle.

Sans, who had seemed just about ready to tear at the two guards snapped his attention towards his brother, his face changing between anger, relief and mild confusion within a matter of seconds. He moved to step past the larger monsters, only to have his path blocked by a pair of large metal staves. He growled, scowling up at the staves’ owners, his phalanges twitching in anticipation, readying to attack at any given moment.

“No, let him pass,” Papyrus tried to growl in his firmest tone, his voice holding steadfast, refusing to quiver in uncertainty “He’s with me.”  

Despite what he thought a reasonable request, the guards still hesitated, glancing to one another and then between the two skeleton brothers. While Papyrus did not hold a rank of great seniority, he was certain that he still outranked a handful of common palace guards. Unless, perhaps, when Asgore had ‘warned’ them of him he had also been stripped of all previous power from his role as guardsman. The thought alone was enough to sour his already bitter mood.

The guard that had been tailing Papyrus stood silently behind him, observing the scene with great caution. He gave a slow nod to the other two armoured monsters, an obvious signal of approval.

Sans simply continued to scowl up at the guards, even as they stepped aside to allow him passage. He shoved his hands back into the pockets of his furred jacket, beginning to stomp towards Papyrus. Once he had stopped before the younger sibling his ire was no longer directed at the other monsters, rather at the taller skeleton.

“Where the fuck’ve you been?”

Papyrus couldn’t help developing his own glare, sighing at his brother’s lack of subtlety and the rather demanding nature of his question. Discussing his whereabouts in front of the numerous monsters surrounding them was far from what he desired. “Come with me,” he growled, ensuring to provide a scowl sufficient enough to ensure his brother knew there was no argument to be made about it. He pivoted around, beginning to stalk away without another word, trusting that if Sans wanted answers he would follow without complaint.

Fortunately, he did as told, following after and quickly falling into step at Papyrus' side. He seemed less than impressed, and rather impatient for answers, furrowing his non-existent brows at him and eying him skeptically as they walked.

The whole journey was made in a almost painful silence, Papyrus reluctant to speak a word - lest his stoic appearance crack - and Sans ensuring to make sure his annoyance was well known through the use of irritated facial expressions, emphasized by his overly dramatic sighs and quiet grumbles. Papyrus couldn’t have been more relieved when they finally reached his room.

He held open the door, allowing his older brother to enter before closing it once more behind them.

The moment the door closed he was assaulted by Sans’ harsh voice, “You’d better have a real good excuse for this one Pap-” he snapped, catching the other off guard with his anger, “I was callin’ ya all day yesterday, so unless your deaf you’ve been ignoring me.”

Papyrus took a moment to contemplate his response. He had long since lost his nonchalant facade, his whole body slouched tiredly and his face scrunched up guiltily. He was certain Sans would have been worrying himself sick over his rather abrupt disappearance. “Look, I’m sorry if I worried you, but there wasn’t much I could do,” before he had the chance to continue he was cut off.

“Sorry? That’s seriously all you can say?” Sans was beyond angry, throwing wide his previously crossed arms “You can’t just say ‘oh I’m going to go to talk to the King’. Y’know, the guy who dusts monsters for fun? Then just decide to fuckin’ vanish into thin air.” He had begun pacing, his hands coming up to rub his skull. “Do you have any idea how stressed I’ve been? You could have been dead for all I knew! Did you not even take the time to consider how I’ve been feeling these past few days?”

Papyrus felt his own anger begin to boil. It seemed as though Sans had come for no reason other than to complain of his own woes, not even sparing a moment to even ask if he was alright.

“No, Sans,” His phalanges were bundled up into closed fists, trembling with how tightly he was clenching them; the pointed tips of his fingers digging harshly into his palms, “I haven’t taken the time to consider how you have been feeling.”

Sans seemed to hesitate in making a response upon hearing the younger’s scathing tone, “But you know what? You’re not the only person who has been living through hell these past through days,” he was hard pressed to keep his voice from cracking, his tone involuntarily wavering from its harshness, “If I could have contacted you I would have, but I’m being held here like some God-forsaken prisoner!” he practically shrieked, “I can’t leave, I can’t talk to anyone outside of the palace, I can’t even walk around without being followed by some guard - and the King - t-the King, h-he,”

Papyrus was forced to pause his rant, his every breath ragged and uneven as his bones shook and his sockets burned with unshed tears. He couldn’t say it aloud, no matter how hard he tried he simply stood there with his mouth agape, choking on the very words. “H-He raped me.” He forced out, looking away, unable to look his brother in the eyes. How weak he must have looked, shaking and on the verge of tears, confessing he’d been forced to mate with another monster against his will, “How selfish of me to be worried about my own life and not consider how you felt about all this.”

“Papyrus, I-” Sans seemed at a loss for words, his expression that of complete devastation and utter pity. Papyrus hated it with ever fiber of his being, despised how pitiful he obviously was, even to a measly one HP monster, “I’m so sorry, i-if I’d known…”

Sans reached forward, gently grasping at his Radius, caressing the bone uncertainly with his thumb in a weak attempt at keeping them both calm. “Shit,” he cursed through clenched teeth, “I’m so, so sorry Pap, I-I shouldn’t’ve shouted at you like that.”

The tall skeleton ignored his rather hypocritical attempt at an apology, a quiet sob escaping him, “I’m s-so scared Sans,” he hiccuped, “I-I don’t know wh-what to do.” Warm crimson drops fell freely from the corner of his sockets; he no longer possessed the pride to hold them back. He tried to move away, but Sans simply tugged at his arm, directing him towards the bed where he promptly pulled the larger skeleton into his embrace.

“It’s okay Pap, you’re okay, we’re going to be okay,” he began to whisper soft words of encouragement, his hand moving from its position on the other’s arm and down to his spine, beginning to rub soothing circles into the sensitive vertebrae.

Papyrus cried, sobbing grossly into his brother’s shoulder as he desperately clung to him, no longer able to show even the slightest degree of restraint over his emotions. Everything hurt, his body, his head, and most of all his soul. It felt good to finally let loose his pent up fear and anger, and it felt even better to have someone so familiar, so trustworthy to share the burden.

When he finally managed to regain some form of composure, Papyrus was once more completely drained, his throat raw and hoarse from what felt like hours of endless bawling. It was hard for him to think straight, his mind stewed by tiredness and melancholy.

He eventually pried himself from his brother’s arms, glancing away rather awkwardly, suddenly feeling rather sheepish after such an embarrassing display of emotions. “Sorry,” he breathed, “I’d hoped to have had a little more self-control than that.” He brushed any rogue patches of watery magic from his face, praying there were no red stains left behind.

Sans simply fell backwards, landing on the mattress of the bed with a soft thump, “Don’t say that,” he sighed, closing his eyes tiredly, “It’s not your fault.” His hand loosely held Papyrus’ arm, lazily playing with the limp appendage.

Papyrus grumbled to himself before joining his brother led on the bed. He rolled over onto his side, facing the smaller skeleton, before pulling his legs closer to his chest and loosely curling his arms around himself. They led in silence, both monsters lost in their respective thoughts. Even as darkness began to creep into the small room they were reluctant to speak, or even move.

“What should we do?” Sans finally asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He couldn’t help chuckling at the question, he had spent countless hours musing over the question in his lonesome. He had no answer that hadn’t already crossed both their minds - there was nothing to do but wait until a better opportunity crossed their path - until then, Papyrus would have to play along, be the good little bitch the King desired. “I’m not sure,” he mumbled back, “But I’ll tell you what-” He stretched out, crawling further onto the bed so he could lay outstretched, “I could do with a good nap.” He was completely worn, and now that his attention no longer dwelled on such a depressing topic, he noticed just how utterly ravenous he was.

“Who are you, and what’ve you done with my little bro,” The shorter skeleton snickered, pointing a finger in mock accusation.

Papyrus rolled his eyes, “Shut up, Sans.”

“Whatever you say, Boss,”  he smirked, a certain mischievous glint in his eyes, trying not to laugh a little too obviously, “But, I guess you could say...” Papyrus narrowed his eyes in warning, “… you’re royally fucked-”

Sans only laughed when he was ferociously attacked with a pillow.  

[danvssomethingorother]

@llamaneesama 

The past: Judgement 

meaning:

“ The card originally known as Judgement Day derives from Christian scripture, but in most religions and cultures there is the concept of spiritual rebirth after the end of the world.  This is another card of transition, like Death and the Tower, but its energy is neither violent nor catastrophic despite the fact that its power is far greater.  This is the energy of creation without destruction, impossible on the material plane but certainly possible in the world of the spirit.  There is rebirth not through discarding negativity, but through integration of all parts of the self.  The spirit is cleansed and restored without loss or addition.  It remains the same, but different. Traditionally, Judgement Day is a day of reckoning, where you must answer for your actions and your inactions.  The tie to Justice cannot be missed, and in a sense, Judgement is an elaboration on cause and effect, and on the notion of cosmic justice.  In the light of Judgement the effects of your actions and inactions do not exact a toll or give a reward on the physical plane, but on the spiritual level.  Where you have been determines where you are going, and what you have done plays a role in what you still must do. The cycle can never really end because the spirit never dies, but lies on in an eternal existence that we may never fully comprehend. As the Judgement Day represents the union of the material and spiritual world into a single unit of manifestation, so too can Judgement show the union or reconciliation of the different parts of yourself.  The three human figures found on most versions of the card allude to this.  The man represents the renewal of the conscious mind, the woman is the rebirth of the subconscious, and the child is the boy from the Sun, the eternal child in us all.  United into one voice, they praise the angel that appears in the sky.  After the non-destructive cleansing and restoration of Judgement, matter, mind and spirit are one - now and forever. The Rider-Waite symbolism is particularly interesting.  In the background are the mountains that first appeared on the Fool.  The ocean is the termination of the river that flows through the Major Arcana, starting with the Empress. Gabriel's banner is red on white, the same as the Magician's robes.  As with everything in life, the beginning is woven irrevocably into the end and the end will eventually lead to a new beginning.  At its core, Judgement is not a card of endings, but of beginnings.  This journey is over but the next, a journey on a higher plane of existence, is approaching.  Judgement is the preparation for that journey; the last stop before eternity. Judgement's appearance in a reading often signals that a major change is heading your way, but unlike Death and the Tower, the change will not be a destructive one.  The change is under your control, and in fact you can even turn your back on it if you wish.  In time, however, you will likely regret doing so - this is another lesson of Judgement.  Decisions such as the one it offers are necessary to growth and spiritual development, and you cannot run from them forever.  The day of reckoning will come someday, and you will have to admit where you have gone wrong in order to receive rewards you deserve. Judgement is also a card of cleansing, representing a time where your slate is wiped clean and you can start over, with all your debts taken care of and with nothing to worry about.  This may seem too good to be true, and for a lot of people it is, because they ruin their new chance with thoughts of the mistakes they made in the past.  Judgement teaches that while you must be aware of the past and the lessons you have learned, you must not degrade yourself because of mistakes - mistakes are just part of learning!  Put the past behind you and look to the future, ready to begin again.  Now is time for a definite step, so don't let the shadows of the past hold you back.”

The Present: The World  

“ After every obstacle has been faced and surmounted, after every path has been travelled and charted, there remains only the last step to the next level of existence - the World, the final gateway.  After the union of the conscious and unconscious, the mind and the body, in Judgement, all that can remain is union with the Divine in whatever form it appears to you.  This journey is over and the next is only beginning.  The cycle is complete as last, with the vindication of the traveler and the immortality he has gained through development of the self.  It would seem that the Fool's Journey may not have been so foolish after all. This card, as befits its nature, has the same basic symbolism in almost all of its myriad version.  There are the four cherubs embodying their domains; The bull for matter, the lion for energy, the eagle for time and the man for space.  Together they represent the unifed creation and control of all things in the Universe.  Another common motif is the dancer in the centre, with her twin wands.  The wand is that of the Magician, but it has now multiplied, and the need to ground its magical power has vanished because it has become one with its source of power. Positive and negative can be seen as two parts of the same whole.  One is many.  Many are one. The World could be thought of as a time of rest, the time between death and life where the soul awaits reincarnation in the material world and - for the briefest of periods - becomes one with the universe from which it came.  All the lessons learned have been put to use.  All the tasks accomplished have born fruit and brought prosperity.  Every cause has had its effects and all of the diverse threads of effects have been woven into a tapestry of your life as you have lived it.  Now is a time to enjoy your wisdom, savour your prosperity and admire the personal artwork you have created, for soon you will start it all over again. The journey may have stopped for the moment, and it may have transcended the plane on which you started, but the journey of the soul never ends.  A new beginning is found in the end, the pieces are in place for a new journey to start, and after that one is completed, another will surely commence.  After a glimpse of the Divine you return to manifestation, sure of your convictions and in your ability to someday see the face of God again.  The cycle is as endless as the wreath that surrounds the scene, tied together by the ribbons of Divine force, and spiraling around the universe until the end of time. The World card marks a time in your life in which one cycle is over and the next is just beginning.  It represents the final achievement of all your worldly expectations and desires, and the immenent approach of new desires to follow and new goals to puruse.  The World itself remains the ultimate goal, because it is an affirmation of life and an arrival at a perfect state of harmony and bliss.  This is the confirmation of success and the reward for all your trials and ordeals.  With the coming of the World comes assured success and material well-being, as well as emotional fulfillment, and growth in the spiritual sense. In the material world, this card's energy often manifests as a promotion to a higher position or an initiation to a new level of knowledge that was only dreamed of before.  But this time of rejoicing and happiness, this peak of ecstasy, merely gives us a glimpse of the next mountain on the horizon.  So once again you must step up ot the cliff and leap off, ready to start a new Fool's journey and find what secrets lie in this new level of existence.  The cycle of the Major Arcana begins where it ends and ends where it begins; start and finish are no longer the ends of straight line, but coincident points on the circumference of a circle that encapsulates your life.  The present is now.  The future is now.  Eternity is now.”

The future: Wheel of Fortune

“The Wheel of Fortune is a type of energy that stands beyond the realm of our understanding and control.  Certainly you can experience its effects in life, like you feel the pull of gravity on your body.  But just as you can see the apple falling but not the gravity pulling on it, so too are the works of Fate and Destiny invisible to us.  Only their results can be seen, and even then, only when Destny itself decrees that the time is right for its effects to be manifested.  Unlike the majority of the Major Arcana, the Wheel of Fortune hovers in the clouds, showing that you can try to reach it, but that you can never fully understand it.

The wheel is an apt symbol for the forces of Destiny and Fate because it shows how everything is connected in a cycle; some might call it the circle of life.  Everything happens in cycles; we rise and fall just as a spot on the perimeter of a wheel travels from the highest point, through all the possible points on the wheel, and then back to the apex.  However changes will affect you depends on where you are on the wheel.  If you are at the top then any change could throw you off, but if you are the bottom then a change could start you back up to the top.  And for one person to rise another must fall - everyone is connected.

Destiny seems to strike without warning, but often its effects can be seen coming if you know where and how to look for them.  This is the principle of the Tarot and divinatory systems in general; to see things coming before they happen so you can prepare.  Obviously if you see a wheel with the Sphinx on the top, Typhon the snake on the left, and Hermanubis on the lower right, and you know which way the wheel is turning, you can tell where each of the three figures is going - and you can also tell where they've been.  Through careful extrapolation the effects of Destiny become less mysterious, and someday everyone may grasp this idea.

This cyclical structure of Fate is perhaps the only way to really understand how Fate manifests.  The conclusion of a situation is found in its beginning, just as the number 10 of the Wheel of Fortune reduces to 1 by the addition of its digits.  When you can realize that each beginning leads to an ending, and that each ending is both the results of one beginning and the freshly planted seed of another, then you will have grasped the essential notion of the Wheel of Fortune.  And once that notion is grasped, the universe opens up to you, because you are ready to learn all its wisdom.  The first hurdle has been passed and greater lessons lie ahead.

The appearance of the Wheel of Fortune shows that change is not only likely to happen, it is certain to happen, and soon.  The nature of that change and the effects it has really depend on how much you understand the concepts of Fate, and whether or not you can prepare for it.  Generally the change shown in the Wheel of Fortune is a dramatic change from the established order.  So if you have been scraping along for a while, expect big changes in your favor within a few days.  But if you've been feeling on top of the world for a long time, batten down the hatches and keep an eye out for storms - one is bound to hit you sooner or later.

No matter which way the Wheel of Fortune throws you, it's impossible to try and change it, so you might as well try to live with it.  If a crisis seems inevitable, recall that in every crisis lies opportunity.  When you've been swept in new direction, know that every path leads somewhere, even if you don't know where it is.  When times are bad, or when times are good, always keep in mind that they won't last forever.  Such events are just out of your control, and if you can accept that then the ride gets a lot easier.  If you struggle against the Wheel it will crush you.  So roll along with it”

Card meanings from here

[centtaura]

Day Fifteen (In His Image)

The last thing he remembered was twisted metal and smoke, a gray haze that clouded his vision, and a eerie muteness that surrounded the scene, where all he actually heard was muffled yelling behind an all-encompassing ringing in his ears. Like tinnitus, only he thought his ears might actually be bleeding. Later, he'd learn that they probably were.

But that was not where he stood now. His eyes fell shut like steel traps when the fire reached him, opened again to see people hovering -very- close to his face, then rolled back once more into darkness and silence.

And then he was in a cave.

Sure, that made sense, he figured, as much sense as anything else that had happened that day. He took a tentative step forward, and found the ground solid beneath his feet, and even though he couldn't see a damn thing in front of him, he decided there was no reason to -not- keep walking. He moved simply because he could, and because his steps echoed satisfyingly, and because he -swore- he heard a rasping whisper somewhere deep within this system.

The first steps were the easiest.

Over the course of a year, Ash would be thrust back into this domain, again and again, in the name of recovery, or so he was told. He was already a miracle case, a medical marvel, and he still didn't understand -why-. No one told him what happened until they were certain he'd live, or so he deduced, and only then did he realize the severity of his situation.

No wonder his head hurt. His brain swelled and ached, his skin cracked and bled, and the migraines became unbearable until the doctors discovered just how badly his eyes degraded from the damage they'd sustained and started leaving the lights on a dim setting. He couldn't move his left arm more than a few inches, but he was supposed to believe that just the fact he could tap a finger was a sign of miraculous improvement. Sure. Good thing he was right-handed, because his left was basically useless to him now.

But when he fell asleep and dreamed of the cave, all the pain vanished. A hip that had been shattered carried him with ease, as if it -wasn't- held together by pins and rods. He used his left arm to run a hand along a damp wall, jerking it back when he felt something squishy and slimy wriggle beneath his fingers. He still couldn't see, but not because his eyes were sore. Every now and again he caught a glimpse of a dim light somewhere in the distance, the impossible distance, and he walked forever toward it.

The rasping grew louder.

His room in the hospital never felt any warmer. There were no flowers, no cards, no sympathy. Sometimes, he had visitors. They were always his family, and 90% of the time it was his mother and his oldest brother. The one that put him in the hospital did not come by so often. Io said it was because Loki was wracked with guilt every time he witnessed what he'd done, but Ash didn't really believe that. It was all for the best, anyway. Ash did not wish to see -anyone-, particularly not his brother, and he knew he had no friends, he'd made sure of it his entire school career. Still, it would have been nice to see a color other than sterile white in all directions. He only found solace in sleep, and dreams.

To think that a musty, creepy cave in his unconscious brain would feel more welcoming than his hospital room. Figured.

They brought him his laptop, and for a while he entertained himself alone in his room, just like he'd done at home anyway. Turned out that typing was a little harder when you only have one usable hand, and soon Ash grew too frustrated and angry to keep trying, every moment spent on his previous favorite platform serving as a grim reminder that he was broken.

Sometimes, to keep his limbs from deteriorating, the nurses tried to help him talk a walk down the hall and back. It was hard, and distressing, and his legs only ever wanted to shuffle painfully while he leaned with his good arm on another human, and he knew he'd have to live the rest of his pathetic life relying on other people from here on out.

Until he was in the caves, alone, on his own, capable and tireless and determined to get to the end of it, or out of it, or at least to that faded light that never seemed to get any closer.

He heard his name in the whispers.

They toyed with the idea of letting him go home for short bursts before being carted back to the hospital, in an attempt to help him feel more comfortable and independent. This ended up causing too much hassle for everyone involved, and thus Ash was right back to being bound to a stiff bed 24/7, though at least here the IV and other garbage he was stuck with on a regular basis wasn't in the way or awkwardly placed around his bedroom. His notebooks gathered dust. He wanted to write.

Almost a year passed in a torturously slow crawl, his waking moments filled with despair and pain and a lot of medical babbling that he didn't understand nor had any desire to learn, while his sleeping life gave him a strange sense of purpose that he never questioned. Did he ever wake up feeling rested? He didn't know. He'd forgotten what it felt like to be well-rested, and even if he didn't spend his induced comas walking endlessly toward some unreachable goal, being awake was to taxing that it wouldn't have lasted anyway.

The winding system of narrow halls carved through rock and densely packed dirt opened into a clearing, a room wide enough that he could stretch both arms out to his sides and still not touch the walls. The light that always felt so far away, so small and distant that he wasn't sure if it was just his busted eyes playing tricks on him even in his sleep, suddenly washed over him, and cast an eerie glow around the room. It looked just like he'd expected it to - glistening walls and an uneven ground and plenty of weird and unnatural creatures writhing around and in between cracks. There seemed to be a heap of something against a rock pillar in the center of the room, a heap that had attracted a lot of...bugs, he thought they probably were. Worms and millipedes and spiders and other revolting things that even he, king of the unpleasant, found himself recoiling from.

The heap stared at him, and he realized the source of the light was somewhere far beyond its hollow eye sockets. A body leaned against the stone, evacuated of its organs and entrails, viscera piled at its side on the ground. Leathery skin stretched and pulled back across dry bones. It was motionless, but he could sense a soul somewhere inside of it, and just as he was trying to come to terms with what he was seeing, the corpse rasped his name.

"Ah, so we finally meet, eh Sonny Jim?"

Ash sneered, already more annoyed than afraid of the literal talking carcass. "My name isn't Jim."

"Right, right...Ashley. Isn't that a girl's name?"

"Hey, fuck you?"

Ash was met with laughter, though the skull didn't move or show any signs of possession, even its jaw remaining frozen in its silent grin. The sound came from somewhere deep within it. He wished it would shut up.

It did not shut up, though, and instead informed him that he was in the presence of a god. Well, weirder shit has happened, why the fuck not, right? He was already a repeat coma patient, dead once for several minutes, suffering from so much physical and mental damage that he really should have just stayed dead. And if there was a god, or gods, it was not a benevolent entity. It was unsurprising, to say the least, to come face to face with a god of death in the form of a talking goddamn cadaver.

Mictlantecuhtli made Ash an offer that day, one that he snapped up readily as soon as he heard the magic word: power. Work for him, this god of death and decay, do his bidding, and receive untold power in return. Ash would have had a hard time declining even before he was bedridden, but now, with his broken body struggling to regain even a fraction of its strength, there was no other choice. The god even informed the teenager that he was of divine lineage to begin with - but like everyone else in his life, his true father abandoned hoim as soon as he stopped being useful to him. When he died, that was it. Worthless, as usual. Story of Ash's life. But now another deity had come before him, offering to fill that void and awaken his ichor once and for all. He'd just have to deal with the catch.

As his father now, by divine adoption, not bonded by blood but by Fate itself, Mictlantecuhtli had the power to restore Ash's strength to full and beyond, but he was not willing to restore Ash's -appearance-, no. His children were not to be beautiful, as Ash once was, as he'd taken after his true divine father before this. He was to remain ugly, disfigured, ruined. Not all of his ails were to be healed. He was to suffer for his gifts.

It was better than being a cripple for the rest of his life.

When he woke up, he didn't hesitate. He slid out of bed, stood straight-backed and stretched, lifting his left arm above his head casually, like nothing had ever happened. He climbed on a chair to reach his relics, mysteriously hidden inside a ceiling tile, proving that his dreams were never just dreams after all, and that the gods were real, and that he was chosen by them, and by Fate. He always knew he was better than everyone else, he just had to die to prove it.

The light still bothered his eyes. The headaches and the nightmares never really ceased, though they became less frequent; they remained as a reminder of to whom he was bound and to whom he owed his life and power. His hair never grew back. His skin never fused back together until it hardened and left deep scars where the heat had cracked and split his flesh. He thinned, parts of his body growing sharp and long and unnatural. As the years marched on, and he distanced himself from his father, he became more grotesque, with an emotional state to match.

No matter how much space he put between himself and Mictlantecuhtli, Ash could never escape their bond. He would always be immediately associated with that god of the Aztec underworld. He would always be the son of Santa Muerte.

Like father, like son - in body, and in mind, and in spirit. He didn't regret it, though. After all, he had power. And more than power...he had control over his own life.

And that was totally worth it.

[huberleo]

Once upon a time there was a strange man stranded in a strange city

Visitors must adapt for they are complete aliens, even if they were kinsmen in a previous life. The host does not feel comfortable with all these aliens and makes them adapt by force. Unless the intruder secures himself by flight, they seldom fail at last to kill or to take him prisoner[1] and make him subject to this new world.

Lenny finds himself in Vienna, dislocated, dispossessed, lost. There is no flock to lead anymore, no divinity to represent. Lenny needs this feeling of power, this machinery around him that listens to his every whim. He craves the fear with which people approach him. He likes to toy with these people. They are not his equal and will never be. Lenny is obsessed with legacy, with power made real. I wish to remain an eternal enigma to myself and to others.[2] Lenny needs to rule over someone. Something. Lenny stands in front of the house. Ludwig is a kingdom. A realm complete in itself, surrounded by a wall. What king did not seat him at his table [3].

Prepare for battle

With him, Lenny has a chair, a throne, the last remnant of his time as god’s representative on earth. A souvenir onto which he projects his ideas of rule. Lenny stands in front of Ludwig. I'm ready to wage a war without end against you.[4] He sees himself as a being of greater glory and importance than his fellow men. He was of so great ability, even as a private citizen, that one who writes of him says he wanted nothing but a kingdom to be a king.[5]

Ludwig likes rationality, Ludwig likes a good encyclopaedia that defines the world and its inhabitants and divides them into categories. Ludwig likes the absolute truth, Ludwig does not want to acknowledge the fact that there might be another absolute truth than his. Ludwig is a house.

But Ludwig cannot explain Lenny. Lenny is an intruder. Lenny sees himself as a conqueror of worlds and Ludwig is his target. Ludwig is Vienna and Lenny is Suleiman the magnificent. Lenny is self- indulgent and he is willing to ignore the fact that history already provided a likely outcome for his quest. Lenny sees himself as beyond the realm of man, he is Genghis Khan and therefore what he invades, he conquers. Lenny likes to place himself in the pantheon of emperors, conquerors, military geniuses and deities. For he is not man, but legend. Humans are mortal; their glory may escape death. [6]

 Lenny is about to enter Ludwig clad in the armour of his extreme perception of himself and his idea of a perfect world. Do they fight to the death? [7] While shutting the enemy in with his siege works he drove them to fall on their own swords.[8] That's the fate of power.[9]  He wants to conquer Ludwig and make him his subject, a being that exists for nothing but to serve its master in his glory. That master being Lenny. Of course. Ludwig prepares for war.

Siege

In the eyes of contemporaries, siege warfare unfolds like a classical drama.[10] You hesitate before entering a new world as an intruder, and becoming an alien. The anticipation of the moment may be more than you bargained for. Or it might be less. The city lives suspended in history, always waiting for someone or something, condemned to remain in precarious balance, always on the verge of resurrection but also a step back from the brink, exaltations following depressions.[11]. Nevertheless, a siege took tremendous organizational skill.[12]

A dog believes his master is at the door.[13] Ludwig is no dog. Ludwig is well read in the art of battle. Ludwig knows what to do, for when the battle begins: here we are plunged into a world entirely mechanical. [14] In extreme conditions, when he was under siege, the gates were closed, the battlements were manned, and the house became the city became self contained for the duration.[15] It is the way Ludwig relates to his surroundings and their history, as a place that withstood siege. Ludwig has a high wall all around him. Ludwig is a fortress. Ludwig has one way in and when Lenny makes use of it he will strike back. Ludwig is armed neutrality, but you shall not escape. [16] Away, run, haste, speed! [17]

War What is it good for?[18]

The threshold

A gate. A door. A void. A place between worlds. Between the two, there is threshold and fiber, symbiosis of or passage between heterogeneities. [19]  It is the momentary realization of leaving and entering at the same time. In a fraction of a certain time that cannot be measured you are both at once, past and future simultaneously without a present. Then you step into another world as another self and leave the alien in its pure form on the threshold, only to assume its form again once you step back into the past.

The first door. A gate in a wall. Lenny had expected something massive with at least one portcullis, something he would have to fight his way through. This is why fairy tales often had medieval architectural environments – to house their battles where good triumphs over evil, in a land far away, once upon a medieval time. [20] But it was only a simple door, almost hidden in the fabric of the wall. There was no handle but when he pushed it gave way.

Lenny stands on the threshold, he has breached the wall and the house is his. He will take hold of it, fly his flag and overwrite its mind and being. Ludwig is ready, the door behind Lenny falls shut, stranding possible reinforcements outside. And though he, as the house is the most precise product of modern processes there will be entrenched within it this ancient loyalty invulnerable against the siege of our machines. [21] Every part of Ludwig is ready to fight. To defend itself with a selflessness that creates legends. These assurances produced a degree of calm. [22] It was a dangerous calm, the one that makes you uneasy and dying to leave. Yet both fear the moment of truth when they have to confront each other not only in mind but in body. Lenny takes a step. Leaving any roots he had behind, for this step completely unearths him. The structure of reality has been fragmented, for the abolition of the mythical horizon has destroyed the divine mystery that lies beyond it. [23]

After the breach

The Garden surrounding the house in front of him feels strangely calm, almost surreal. Definitely not what Lenny expected, in his mind the battle to come had amassed to epic proportion but there were no raging hordes here was just a house, surrounded by a garden as calm as the house appeared minimalist to Lenny’s taste. The garden was baroque in geometry, but devoid of anything Lenny would have perceived as an ornament. In front of him, a door. His next objective. It too, was devoid of ornament but appeared more intimidating than the last.

Ludwig studied the strange form in front of him. Ludwig had not expected this. This was not how invading armies presented themselves, just standing in the garden and staring. The unfamiliarity of their situation made both of them uncomfortable, very much so. Both wanted to escape this weird stalemate. It felt wrong and yet there was a fascination with a pull that was impossible to ignore. Ludwig opened his front door.

Entering the house

Lenny enters the house, the door seemed to carry the weight of the entire building.[24] His moment has come, the door was meant only for him.[25] Right behind that door: Hell.[26] Lenny stands on a threshold once again, determined to make this house a home, by any means necessary —a Modification of general features [27]  for a start. Lenny comes from a world where everything revolved around him, he needs everything to be about him. He finds himself in a room, completely bare yet decorated with a variety of doors to go through next. The apparent lack of ornament disturbs Lenny, he wants Ludwig to become this bastion of his personal power far away from Rome, a temple to enshrine himself in, like the emperors of old. The room was not small, neither was it the size Lenny wanted it to be. Lenny wants a room where to put his chair. A throne room. The object of a cult, subjected to varying interpretations, the bearer of many different values, this throne is a memorial, a monument to the glory of Lenny and of his immortal self.[28] No reasoning power, no commandment, no force can override his inclination or his choice.[29] The throne admits not two. [30] Still, Ludwig is a force to be reckoned with.

Ludwig is intrigued by Lenny. That was until Lenny, deeming the present room to small, opens a next door to check the room behind. Ludwig watches in astonishment as Lenny proceeds to tear down the wall separating those rooms. How dare he change proportions Ludwig sees as a product of perfection. But when Lenny goes about the house, his manoeuvre was accompanied by another change. [31] His demeanour evolved from invasive force to reluctant explorer. He opens another door finding himself face to face with a wall. Ludwig’s initial interest in this strange creature has turned into anger. He put the wall there. Retaliation for this act of vandalism. Annoyed, Lenny turns to the next door, only to find it locked. Telling himself, he will have to break it down to show his dominance, his victory over Ludwig, he notices the intricate mechanism that barred him from opening that particular door. A thing of beauty, not comparable with the crude machinery Lenny expected.

Ludwig, suddenly full with pride, unlocks the door for Lenny. Once again interest surfaces. He starts to feel more at ease now that this alien shows a basic appreciation for him. But Ludwig knows he is a labyrinth, and Lenny will get lost.

Dragging his chair with him Lenny gets fully immersed in the labyrinth. With each room Lenny goes through the needed changes are becoming less, becoming smaller, the rooms becoming bigger. If the features change slightly, we can speak of a corresponding change in the fear.[32] Ludwig watches Lenny rummage through his rooms, rearrange his features. With every new room Lenny enters, his presence becomes more familiar to Ludwig.

All the hostility built up over the course of the siege slowly disappears until there is none left. Their intricate battle plans, strategies reliant upon battles past, become obsolete. With every threshold Lenny passes the alienation of a new room, a new world is like a blow to him. With every threshold Lenny leaves something behind. A trail consisting of fragments. Like an animal shedding fur, Lenny sheds hostility. Ludwig develops the need to accommodate Lenny, not as a guest but as an integral part of himself. For Lenny did not just leave parts of himself behind, he also infused Ludwig with them. And so there would be neither accord nor conflict here,[33] but growth. With every new room Lenny enters while Ludwig watches they grow closer, they get to know each other. They lay bare their soul completely.

Lenny stands on a threshold, before him a room as grand in proportion as he imagined, a throne room. He places the chair in the middle of the room. Ludwig watches Lenny wander around the full extent of the space. Ludwig doesn’t know where this room came from, it just felt as if it belonged there. It feels like an essential part of him. Ludwig watches as Lenny starts to move towards the wall nearest to him. There is no fear of destruction only wonder as Lenny starts to paint the walls, telling of a mythical battle of great proportion, a mighty hero, banished and dispossessed, conquering a new realm and installing himself as the divine ruler. The design of the History was very much an expression of his mind; he hopes it may stand, not unworthily, as a monument to his work. [34] The story sounds familiar to Ludwig. Life and growth went on.[35]

Lenny, absorbed in his retelling only notices the door when it gives way once he starts painting on it. Like a hidden servants door in a palace it appears completely invisible. Standing at the threshold of the house he looks over the whole garden.[36] Neither the parterre nor the surrounding groves show any original features.[37] yet they do not feel different, they merely feel just as they should be.

Change is evident. [38] But not in the individual. There is no winner because there was no battle.

Hortus conclusus

Enclosed space, a walled world, a wall around your own paradise/ hell/ purgatory – eternal state. Every time the being that occupies this safe space ventures into another, it is as if it travelled to another realm of reality. As soon as it enters the new space it becomes alien from the old one. Therefore the hortus conclusus has to adapt to accommodate the changed needs of its resident every time they come back to what they perceive as home. It is a place of personal refuge. A place of dreams, longing and desires made real.

Lenny steps into the garden. It is his garden. It is also Ludwig’s garden. A perfect refuge with no need for change whatsoever. It is neither the geometrical, minimalist place it was not is it the heavily ornamented representation of power and fame Lenny wanted it to be. Still, to both it is just like paradise. Even to the most prosaic it always holds something of a promise of the peaceful and pleasant place that lies within. [39] Together they walked toward the garden.[34] And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.[40] Their very own hortus conclusus.

How great a resemblance of a holy and virtuous soul is a calm, serene day. [41] Lenny has become Ludwig. Ludwig has become Lenny. The one cannot be without the other for they have achieved symbiosis. Their need for the familiarization of the unknown has merged them into a single being. Together they have become god of their own universe. Both have become new versions of themselves. Same but different. And for this reason, whatever was uncertain among the ancients has now attained the most assured calm, and no source of indecision has been left. [42]  they are blessed, serene, and rejoice in their splendour.[43] The evening was extremely calm and beautiful.[44]

A door in a wall

Lenny opens his eyes and sees a single door in the wall. What lies beyond that door is the alien of Lenny’s former self. The outside world. Waiting for his former occupant to step over the threshold and resume his old life, but Lenny is no longer familiar with that, what used to be. He has become completely alien to the world outside of the garden walls, his garden walls. Still, he takes the step. Thus a door has been opened to invent ‘design worlds’. [45] These worlds were once Lenny’s. Not anymore.

He didn’t go out through a door? [46] Once you leave your creation there is need to revert back to what you were before. Your own universe has become strange to you and the process of making it yours has to begin again. Now the same thing can’t be both known and unknown. [47] A perpetual state of rebirth on the threshold. They eagerly seek the agent of this metamorphosis, and hasten to his door. [48]

Lenny stands in front of a wall, he is ready to make whatever lies beyond his. Ludwig sees a possible intruder standing in front of his wall. How, indeed, was it possible for it always to fight and struggle against new enemies? [49] Ludwig prepares for invasion. Thus the struggle goes on. [50]

Here we go again. [51]

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