#sins of the father (hel)

[magicalmystery-muses]

Tag List Pt6: Marvel OCs

[totally-not-your-babe]

Wrecker : Synonyms are weird because if you invite someone to your cottage in the forest, that just sounds nice and cozy. But if I invite you to my cabin in the woods you’re going to die.

Crosshair: My favorite is explaining the difference between a butt dial and a booty call.

Tech: It’s called connotations.

Hel : Try this one on for size, “Forgive me, Father, I have sinned” vs “Sorry, Daddy, I’ve been naughty."

Hunter: Great news! Language is now banned!

Fanfic MASTERLIST

[girl-intrigued]

Episode 2 :

Aegon destroying Vizzy's Lego set, more violence, Otto comforting Alicent , Alicent almost confessing, Jaehaerys' funeral, Larys unsheathing his torture tools, grief struck Hel and Alicent, Daemon and Rhaenyra fight, Jace with Baela, Rhaenyra with Aegon and Viserys, Aemond in a brothel, Adam and Alyn Velaryon, Mysaria neck scar reveal, Ser Arryk off to kill Rhaenyra, Aegon firing Otto, Criston is the new hand, Daeron Reveal, Alicent and Otto father-daughter team up again, Alicent confesses her sin this time, Aegon grieving alone for his son,Alicent and Criston super angsty makeout

aka my favourite episode ever!!!!!!!

[jmscornerlibrary]

Set Me Free - Chapter Three - Loki x OC

Chapter Three - only problems arise when one's existence is a scandal.

One of Loki Laufeyson's most prized talents was the sharpness of his mind and tongue. Or, rather, his sub-talent which stemmed from this sharpness of mind, coupled with no hesitancy of gauging people who irked him with a few well-chosen words: his natural ability to send beings into a state of crazed obstinacy of beating out their exasperation out onto his face and stick sharp objects into his torso. But, alas - what could he do about his genius? It was a gift of his and it would simply be a shame for it to go unpractised.

And he was always of this opinion until life threw him into a crucible of Hel and he encountered a few beings who surpassed even his own deviation from the path he, perhaps, should have trodden upon.

A pleasant conversation with Odin was all well and good, and Loki grew his heart into stone well enough to withstand the old man's cutting words. How he wished he could kill him, as he was informed of his birthright. How he wished he could watch him burn in a fire of equal heat and torture which he had created for him. Oh, how Loki wished he could kill the man he once called Father, as his sentence was spoken and he was confined within four walls for the rest of his life in this world. His veins frothed with the desire to outstretch his hands, not only the sharpness of his tongue, and get an opportunity for his pupils to constrict into two dagger points which he would simultaneously assault this wanton occupying Asgard's throne, as he was taken down into the dungeons.

He even cursed his mother, which led to torment which surpassed physical, after he had allowed himself to seek comfort within her hands, the hands which had turned into an illusion and reminded him of the thing he feared and hated most, knowingly or not: Loki Laufeyson was forsaken, alone. All were against him, never would he smile again without stones crushing his chest into a bloody slab of tissue.

And Henrietta Knott...

Loki gritted his teeth, then shakily snapped the book he was holding shut. He tried to tell himself that he hadn't thought of her as he tore that city down. He tried to tell himself that, despite recollecting strange pieces of feeling that made his heart feel alive, he hadn't cast them aside for power and some sort of made chase of control and fulfilment. He tried to contain himself, rage and fury crawling over every inch of his skin, making him tremble and his veins stand out on his neck and forehead.

A smile, an untouched laugh of a girl, her soft hand on his face, so long ago, then later, when she could think; when she could ask him what was on his mind; when she could kiss his cheeks and be his one companion, one who he did not irk with slashes of knives but with pokes of soft fingers and impish grins.

Oh, I do like you, Loki of Asgard.

The book was obliterated as it struck the wall, its spine cracking and the unspoiled pages now furled and crumpled miserably beneath it, as it lay desolate and unwanted at the base of his prison. Loki's chest heaved up and down as he stood in this torpid state of turmoil; the echoes of his yell of rage still curled off the walls of his cell; somewhere behind his spine emotions gathered, as foetid as sludge: black resentment, bitterness, wild fury, sharp blame. He was an embodiment of the worst, a plague, a forsaken being of sin and twisted lies and mind, and yet... Odin, how cruel fate was, how it cursed and damned him! He, for all his thick masks of apathy and madness, could still feel that soft weight of that child who used to love him, that soft weight when he had carried it as it slept on his chest and shoulder, honest and trusting, tearing sobs from his chest and pulling tears of delicate overwhelm from his eyes.

Loki hated, he hated, he hated! He hated all, all! He wished to burn and destroy and descend Asgard into the very Hel he was placed in! He wished to steal breath and still hearts and make them feel his rage with more than just their hearts, but with their empty veins!

But he was locked up. Mocking, rich pieces furnished his cell. A golden bowl with delicious, sweet grapes stood on a polished table. A god, it all seemed to be saying, raising its eyebrows at him quizzically, you're a god, you say? And yet look at you. You're not much more than a dog locked up in a cage; you're no more than a criminal, torn from the spires of paradise into the echoing void of the craters below it. Where is your power? Where are your words? Where is your purpose, now?

Loki obliterated everything with his sparks, until even his bed was splintered, filling his nostrils with an acrid stench of destruction. How ironic. Wasn't that exactly what Odin had said? Wherever he went, there was nothing but destruction, and death.

Loki's rage stilled like magma setting. He looked about him, cold in his chest and the pit of his stomach and in the splinters of the furniture, then despair and helplessness crept through his veins and clutched at his throat.

"All eternity," he muttered breathlessly, as he limped over to the wall and slid down next to it, his blasted, damaged back barely keeping him upright as he panted. "All eternity."

What he wanted, he didn't know. It was as though he had forgotten what he had aimed for in the first place. His mind was a muddle of slippery objects, objects bearing labels like: destiny, memory, touch; consequence, error, pain; morals, values, gain.

His eyes narrowed as he rootled in his ravaged mind. What was it that Loki sought? What was it, besides power and satisfaction of recognition? There must have been something. There must have been something...

He whimpered and clutched at his temples, feeling as though his head was falling apart. As though there was a physical being pushing on its walls and laughing, moving about every piece, every block of his mind around to its will. He felt as though something else had created this mess. It wasn't his, this chaos in his brain and chest, it wasn't... it couldn't be... it felt foreign and strange, as though that oaf Thor had been in his room and thrown everything about, out of its place, to spite him.

But this wasn't Thor, no. This was something far more sinister, something which he couldn't fathom and organise, something which didn't belong in his head. Loki clutched at his throbbing throat, then closed his eyes and tried to descend into himself, touch and feel the burned and bleeding parts, find the scattered keys to the different rooms organising his head, observe both the damage and reparations - or rather, the change - time had created.

But he couldn't. All he found as soon as he closed his eyes was a sharp, cold pain, something which sent electricity sizzling the raw inside him; he jerked awake with a gasp and furled his fingers deep into the fabric of the sides of the coat he was clad in, seeking, seeking, always seeking and finding... nothing.

He had sought for so long, he had forgotten what he had begun to search for in the first place. Perhaps then, when this mad hunt began, the end goal was tangible and clear; now, all he wished he could find was a place to find a recluse. Something which brought him away from the tangible, from the pain, away, away, away, away to a place from which...

From which Hattie Knott came from?

"No," Loki muttered to himself, assuming a stone-cold facade, which, as usual, was tinged with sardonic and selfish humour. "Hattie Knott is gone, so are you. She'll be free to do what she wants and go to Hel with me after."

No, she wouldn't go to Hel, a voice chuckled in his head. Even in the afterlife, you will find nothing but emptiness and cold, this time which will penetrate even your jotun skin.

Loki laughed, then. His laugh was scraping and cold, and an insight to the beginning of his inevitable descent into madness.

*

Some three weeks after the beginning of his imprisonment, and after Frigga had finally left him to succumb to his punishments and thoughts and the furniture had been restored from his outbursts, Loki looked up from his book to find Ahlan the Jailer watching him.

He met his eyes - dark and cold like the bite of steel - and watched a smile equally sharp and tinged with relish of grief unfold on his scarred face. This man was taller than Thor, had a build which could rival the god of thunder (particularly his developed shoulders) dark hair hanging around his face and growing out the lower part of it, and oh, Loki often watched him with a placid mask hiding the twisted thoughts of infliction he directed at him. They weren't usual inflictions. They were awful inflictions. Malefic ones.

Loki turned his attention back to his book, thinking Ahlan would get bored of him and go, as was usually the case, for he had other prisoners to torture. The reason Loki wasn't getting tortured was because Frigga had begged it out of Odin, and the latter, the majestic, splendid, merciful ruler he was, agreed to spare him of it. At least for a little while.

But Ahlan the Jailer slowly stepped through the golden barrier which imprisoned him. He wandered about for a few moments, taking a look at the books piled on the table - he took one up, flicked at a page leisurely, then chuckled and placed it to the side.

Loki watched him. He had neither the energy nor the patience to engage in taunting which he, undoubtedly, would end up on the lower step of, since he was the one behind bars.

"So, Laufeyson," Ahlan began, looking up at him from the book he placed to the side, then flicked his eyes over the rich, gleaming furniture and crimson bed covers. "A nice little place you have here."

Loki smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Indeed," he replied, then languidly flicked a page and trained his eyes on the paper. "It's kept quite pristine. And in fact, I'd like to keep it that way."

Ahlan raised his eyebrows.

"Really? You were never a scrupulous one, before you still had any hope of retaining a title for yourself."

Loki stopped his fists from clenching, though it took him an effort to do so, and showed his teeth as his face muscles worked into a wider smile.

"I have never felt the need to keep my floors free from blood before," he said calmly, looking up at him suggestively. "So I suggest you pay heed to your surroundings, Jailer. It would give the servants a fright if they saw your head jammed into the fruit platter after they are called to clean your entrails off my floor."

Ahlan only laughed, rolling his heavily-clad shoulders. "Always so violent. If you were my son, perhaps I would be proud at where your thoughts go, Laufeyson, I'll give you that. But since you have been introduced into the higher ranks, after your miserable wretch of a self was picked up off the steps of Jotunheim by the Allfather..."

Loki clutched his book so hard, he tormented the pages.

"... More was expected of you. An un-warped sense of justice. A speck of honour or two. But you failed."

Ahlan sank down onto Loki's bed. Loki considered - if he beheaded the Jailer, would he still get fruit delivered to him after breakfast? Loki was very fond of grapes. They were smooth and round and sweet and reminded him of what wine tasted like.

Ahlan nodded. "You failed quite spectacularly, actually. It should be marked with some sort of stamp of excellence... I don't think anybody has yet stooped so low as the bastard prince of Asgard has."

Loki decided he liked grapes too much, though fire now coursed through his lungs and his back stiffened and flared most irritatingly. "What do you want," he said coolly, smoothing the pages with a scarred thumb.

"Me?" Ahlan smiled. "I want nothing. I do not have a will, here. I am assigned to babysit all you drooling toddlers who couldn't behave. What my superiors, what the Allfather wishes, I do."

Loki chuckled, then shut the book and placed it to the side. He stood and folded his hands behind his back.

"I'll tell you what, Ahlan," he murmured, smiling, then travelled towards the fruit bowl and lazily picked up a heavy branch loaded with crimson, glistening fruit. "Perhaps if you were wise enough to aid me in my so-called little slip-up..."

Loki dangled the fruit into his mouth and snatched a few grapes with his teeth. After swallowing, he continued.

"... You wouldn't be a dungeon dog today, with about as much regard from Odin as the rest of us, shut up in our little kennels."

Ahlan watched him without a change in his strange, steel smile.

"Oh, I don't know about that," he murmured, watching as Loki picked a few grapes off the branch and began popping them into his mouth, apparently completely at his leisure. "But I do know that I certainly wouldn't have the pleasure of being your personal torturer. And in this case, I do."

Loki paused with the empty branch in his hand, his mind ticking, but before anything could happen the entire floor gave way.

He felt the firm slipping out from under his feet, then air rushing against his form and face, panic strangling him, before landing with a crack on hard, stone flags, in the dark, on his right leg, as the furniture rained down around him.

He cried out, but his leg was unharmed - it was his back which didn't comply with his vitality. Electricity jarred through it, stiffening his lower spine, sending pain shooting up and down it and rendering getting up completely out of the question.

He cursed darkly and generously, clutching at his back, his nostrils flaring and fury romping with alarm somewhere in his chest. Loki snarled and looked up. It was dark. A placid drip, drip, drip was coming somewhere to his left, but he couldn't see.

He tried to calm his nerves, but failed. Panic destroyed anger, then seized his limbs and arrested his breathing. The burns on his back began to sear, though it was nothing but cold in the shadows of wherever he had fallen into. Loki felt something icy grab hold of his chest and squeeze, wiggling its thumb in his throat as his eyes darted around in panic.

He remembered an equally horrible place. He remembered the feeling of burning on his back, the horror of it never coming to an end, knowing that it would not have time to heal before his flesh was seared again, as he was bent and shaped and melted  into submission by the Mad Titan.

Loki trembled. Fear blended with trepidation, weaving terror, weaving dread, weaving dark spots in his vision which he could barely distinguish from the shadow before him.

Get up, something screamed from within him, get up and fight.

But Loki's knees gave way. His torso slammed against the rock beneath him, hands sliding to the sides, already slippery with sweat. He felt the smoothness of the rock with his cheek as he gasped, terror raking through his body, knowing, knowing that something was going to happen which would send him begging and screaming.

Footsteps approached him; a dark laugh was heard.

"Your words are empty," Ahlan chuckled, his heavy boots going thunk, thunk, thunk against the thick stone, which Loki felt with every rib and organ. "Your threats... your pledges... you in general."

It took an immense effort for Loki not to cry out; to keep silent though every tendon and fibre in his being screamed for him to flee. But Loki had forgotten; he didn't need to move to retaliate. He had his magic, he had his tricks...

Loki froze, his right hand extended in vain. His insides turned to jagged ice, because his sparks did not come.

"Especially here," Ahlan continued, standing just beside him as he panted and tried to heave himself up. "In this place, magic is forbidden; all who use it are silenced, here. Within them it is sealed."

All broke loose. Loki felt a surge of energy loosened by desperation and sprang up, erect, his back screaming, but was knocked down with a rough blow to his forehead. He staggered back and stumbled, feeling a trickle of blood seep down his face. His mind screamed in question: what had happened? How did he become so helpless, so weak? How did he fall so low in his own eyes?

He tried to fight and struggle, but in vain he did, rendered disheartened to keep fighting, for what was the point? His existence was nothing but a string of punishments and torture, he was isolated, and his one pledge was disregarded, his pledge to see, to feel a gentle weight upon his chest and shoulder once more.

His assaults were knocked as though he was naught but a wild child, his steps easily overtaken, his limbs and back assaulted. He received a blow to the head - thick metal clanged against his skull; Loki felt his knees give out, and then blackness devoured his consciousness as he plunged into unfeeling.

*

Loki opened his eyes.

For a few instances, he couldn't fathom where it was he was in. It was dark. Perhaps if he wasn't a jotun, he would have thought it was cold, but he was and thus felt nothing but strange jets of heat rippling around his ankles and knees.

Then he realised he couldn't move. Heavy, clanking shackles bound his limbs and attached them to his neck, which a heavy choker gripped. He was kneeling, his hands pulled above his head; oh, his back... His back...

He was even denied the feeling of wetness filling his eyes as everything was torn from him. Only a hollow feeling of despair filled his soul as he shook, staring at the floor. His face felt strange. Heavy. As though the despair was pulling down his lips.

Loki looked up as a ray of yellow light broke through the darkness, then as many others lit up the room dimly. The room was giant and hollow, built of stone. It must have been below the palace dungeons, for it was crude even for prison standards; the lamps weren't shaped, the chains connected to the walls were heavy and lumped together, stray links hanging like earrings and clinking as the strange, hot breeze stirred them.

Loki felt his fingers twitch, then flicked his eyes upwards and beheld Ahlan the Jailer, holding nothing but a torch in one huge hand. Loki flinched from the glare and the heat.

"Well," Ahlan said. "Doesn't this look altogether a better sight, Jeehl?"

Jeehl, a smooth-skinned, young Asgardian guard, with shining eyes and blond tresses hanging around his head, inclined his head. But he didn't share Ahlan's sadistic pleasure, looking upon Loki with something short of pity in his well-guarded eyes.

"Yes, captain."

It was an automated reply, which Loki took no notice of, for he was gazing with a crazed obstinacy of the flickering flames which Ahlan held, his pupils quivering.

Ahlan chuckled, then leaned down to look him in the face.

"Well, Laufeyson?" he murmured, raising his heavy eyebrows. "What now? Will you not speak? Will you not try to spit your way out of the situation you are in?"

It was at that moment that the strange gleam in the Jailer's eyes was interpreted. Because Loki, pulling back his lips in a snarl, found that he couldn't part them. A sharp pain, like thousands of small stabs and pinpricks roved over his mouth, as though it was being pulled apart in many directions.

And then Loki realised. This had happened once before when he had fraternised with some dwarves, though then he had emerged victorious. His lips were sewn shut.

Ahlan laughed as he froze, as his breathing began to quicken. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't talk; he couldn't talk!

"Oh, Laufeyson," Ahlan smoothed his brown beard and shook his head solemnly, almost in pity. "What use are you without your tools?"

Loki began to shake. He tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't obey him; he was left to toss like a trussed-up bird, his attempts at freedom futile.

Ahlan glanced at the torch he was holding. Loki did too.

"I've heard that jotuns are immune to cold," Ahlan remarked. "But they despise the heat rather awfully."

Odin, no, Odin, no, Odin, no, Odin... He would be silent, he'd stay this way, he wouldn't use magic, just not this... not this...

Loki emitted a series of strangled cries from his lungs, which only came out as a mangled noise of helplessness through his nose.

"Hm." Ahlan shrugged. "I suppose it only leaves us to find out if it's true."

Loki saw nothing but orange and heat. He heard nothing, staring at the flames unblinking, his vision pulsing, things tearing inside him as Ahlan brought the torch closer... closer to his skin...

*

When Loki's eyes fluttered open - the number of times they had done so, and he had found himself half-dead and yet unable to die, his skin searing or numb from heat, and his physical form broken, he couldn't count - he was not in the dungeons. He could scarcely believe it, couldn't believe it. There was... light. Odin, there was daylight before him. It was fresh and unspoiled, straight from the sun, straight from the outside.

Loki breathed. He breathed in, out, then in and out again. The daylight didn't change. A pebble shifted from the weight on his lungs and skittered away from it.

He flexed his fingers, one by one, wondering whether they were answering to him. But softness greeted his touch, enveloping his hands in comfort and tenderness. Was he dreaming? Was he finally dead? Was this perhaps a small mercy before he was again plunged head-first into flame and liquid agony?

But no; nothing of the sort happened. Something cool passed over his forehead, over his neck. It was so soft, so tender, Loki made a broken sound of longing, relief, blinking.

Someone spoke. "Oh! Oh, thank Odin..."

Loki's mind floated back from where it wandered. His eyes scoured detail: flowers on the walls; a white-painted ceiling; a wrought lamp still and unlit to his left.

And before him was a woman. Her hair was ebony and braided down her back, her face oval and thin, her eyes grey and huge and... and his? His! They were his! He stared at her, slowly unravelling within completely, delving into the depths of them, seeking, demanding, longing. It was her! It was her! It was her!

Henrietta Knott blinked furiously as she watched him, pressed a fist to her mouth, then cried, "Oh, you're awake...!" and she flew at him. He felt her head on his chest and shoulder, a flowery scent in his nostrils - a fresh, crisp scent - and arms around his torso, so tight, so truly delighted!

He tried to open his mouth to tell her he was so glad to see her, to cry out and whisper words of recognition and seek reassurement, to express his inexorable exaltation of seeing her alive - oh, alive! - and then... remembered; his lips were closed and mangled and so was he.

"Oh, Loki of Asgard," Henrietta whispered, clutching him tight, then placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, making him want to break down wail like a newborn. "I thought you'd never wake up. That I would live to see you waste away and never speak another word to you..."

He tried desperately to lift his hands to return the embrace, but he couldn't move a muscle. Each one felt as though it was laden down with lead, trapped beneath an invisible stone slab. After a moment, just after he registered her heart beating very close to his, unwittingly restarting it and coaxing it to drum to the same steady rhythm, she sat up and looked at him.

He observed her; it was all he could do, and she smiled at him. She smiled at him, tears rolling down her cheeks, then she took one of his hands. He felt it, smooth and warm and vibrating in his own calloused one and shut his eyes for a moment to try and taste the sensation, feeling traces of warmth in a chest which was always so hollow and cold.

"We found you in a park," she was saying, thumbing circles on his palm. "You were chained... There was a lot of green light, and flashing, and out of this gathering of sparks you fell out. I won't ask you what happened, you'll tell me about it later. After we found you, my friend mended your bones, and we brought you here, to my house... Uncle Haldanson's house."

And that was when his hand became empty again. Loki opened his eyes to see what prompted this hasty punishment, and found she was looking away from him. Her face... it was hardening. Her tears for him were stopping.

He watched with something near horror as she wiped them away and beheld him as though he was a stranger. A stranger! He wasn't a stranger, he was Loki! He was her Loki of Asgard!

Loki tried to tell her. He stopped his lungs mid-swell and tried with all his might to sit up, to move; all he managed to do was twitch to the right, let alone take her hand or shake her shoulder.

Henrietta bowed her head once, somehow knowing what was on his mind. "Forgive me. By all rights, I should be treating you as though you're a criminal."

What? What?!

She must have read the expression on his face and nodded. There was a dry smile on her face, a very faint one, and Loki read something in her eyes he knew all too well.

"You... killed my uncle, Loki Odinson. When you tried to take over this city, remember?"

Loki's heart sank so low that he felt it almost being split upon his ribs and made a shattered sound of pain, then shut his eyes and grew limp against the covers, sapped out of the little strength he had. That's right. He forgot, down in the dungeons, where there wasn't a speck of light to watch to mark the passing of time, about why he was within them in the first place. So he killed Haldanson, did he? Oh, vile curses! Who was he to blame now? Who was he to take his anger out on? Here, there was no Odin. There wasn't even an Ahlan. There was only Henrietta. Perhaps this was all a cruel dream? No, he wouldn't ever be able to dream up a room so soft and Knottie as she was now, because he had not yet seen her as a woman.

And now, he was going to be forsaken again. If not harmed physically, he would be arrested to suffer within himself, unable to call out for aid, unable to move and save himself. He was completely and utterly at the mercy of the girl who was once the only reason why he still breathed freely; now, the woman who would view him as everybody else did. Oh, damned horror. Accursed horror...! There was no end to this! He was trapped between two Hels, one personal, one physical, and each fought to claim him, pulling at his limbs with hooks, disregarding his pleas, his begging...

"By all rights," Henrietta's voice jarred him out of his wallowing, and he once more felt something very pleasant and cool passing over his skin. "I should be taking revenge on you. That's how the honour is in Asgard. One kills your father, you go and kill him."

She traced his forehead, his cheeks, then cooled his eyes. She ran the wet and cold down his neck, across his collarbones, then took his palms and began to smooth his dry skin with the cloth. It was heaven.

"But I don't think you could be destroyed any more than you are already, so I'll leave revenge for another time."

Loki opened his eyes, his chest beginning to move up and down as he swallowed repeatedly. Still, he didn't cry, couldn't cry. Perhaps he wasn't worthy of tears, just as Odin had made him unworthy of death - forbade Death to call his name, rendering him trapped in existence until he thought otherwise.

Henrietta wasn't looking at him, still working on his palms with her lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed. Loki begged her to turn, urged her to turn to look at him; she did. She must have heard him. Was she reading his mind?

Her eyes fixed on his, and for a small moment, something in those two pools of silver in her face mirrored his. She sighed.

"You suffer. You have walked through places not many ever have, full of darkness and pain," she murmured, putting the cloth to the side. "And yet there is no remorse in your eyes for your deeds which sent you there."

Loki felt both his hands being taken, his chains and shackles jingling. She put them together, enveloping them in her own, her small ones, then pressed this bundle of entwined hands and iron to his chest; a comfortable weight, against all odds, for there was warmth in it and Loki had gotten used to the weight of the metal on his limbs.

"Hush, now," she said softly, breaking one hand free to run across his forehead and brush the hair out of his eyes. "Rest, Loki Odinson. You are tired and weary. Your bones are brittle and your muscles exhausted."

Loki's breathing regulated, as did his heartbeat. She thumbed his cheek, then urged him to be calm with half a smile, before her face returned to hurt and became cold again.

Loki feared she would go, she would leave him; but she seemed to understand and kept smoothing his forehead. Oh, foolish, benevolent girl! She always understood him. She always knew, even if he hadn't uttered a word or thought a conscious thought, what it was he wanted. She knew when to take his hand, when to endure his prods, when to snap him out of wallowing with a mischievous, irksome word or two. His little friend. His once-friend.

"Sleep, now," she whispered, one hand still at his chest. "You will wake again, and again we will speak then."

Loki didn't think he'd sleep; he didn't want to sleep, this was as far away from Hel as he would ever get, and he feared that all of this would vanish and he would return to the pits from which he came from. But he felt his eyelids growing heavy to her murmur, and when she began to brush her thumb over his eyelids, a ripple of restful pleasure came through him, and it wasn't long before he had sunk once more into darkness.

[wolffoxnation2]

I wrote this weird Drabble about Hel and Baldur that kinda dont make sense. But i kinda love.

[tagging it as Norse Myth cus even tho i had MCGA in mind while i wrote it MCGA Hel probably wouldnt act like this and i dont think Baldur shows up]

-----

The Sins of our Fathers

"Sorry, my father killed you."

Hel said.

Baldur hummed, staring to the dark fields of Helhiem, "It's fine. Not your fault."

She sighed, "Usually, the dead have more to say than that."

He shrugged. He was dead; what was he supposed to say?

The sins of your father are yours?

"...I—I'm sorry my dad killed them."

Baldur whispered.

Hel stopped, holding her brothers' hands tenderly, skeleton fingers meeting cold, broken flesh. "Wasn't your fault."

He wrung his hands nervously "but it was."

She sighed. They were dead; what was she supposed to say?

The sins of our fathers are ours?

[thal-ent]

(bit of an unreliable narrator here Eheh <3

Lycarn belongs to @hel-phoenyx, Ether to @noa-de-cajou and Circé, Morgane and Ai/Xingtzao to @corneille-but-not-the-author)

"Lets' fun away together !" she used to say, half joking when they were just kids. Chiho would never leave her grandmother alone, they both knew it.

"I'm leaving." She still said, a violin all she gave to the girl that loved her and she loved just as much. She never came back, not for Agathe, not for her grandmother. There was hope for two years. Then Yusuke came back alone, and even with her eyes closed, Agathe could picture the look of pity he gave her.

"Take care of him, please." She tells the old woman, now that her brother is asleep. Their parents are dead, and she can't stay here. He was the one to push her to do it, to leave and explore. The old woman still weeps and begs her to come back one day, and play at her tomb. Agathe promises.

"She likes you too, you know ?" It's been years. She's older, she has friends. They've been drinking, and when she tries to talk about something else, the alcohol makes her friend insist. She hates how he, who got her love first, seems to try so hard to make the second choice happy. But he's her friend, and she loves his wife.

"Take care love." It's the last words she tells her, when their paths diverge. It's a nickname they rarely use, only when it's only the three of them. Ogami hugs her, and she hugs him back. They're around as old as her parents were when they died. And she doesn't want to see that. Maybe they're still young for humans, but she doesn't want to take the risk. Her lips touch Shira's for the last time and they dont say goodbye.

"You're doing it again." He tells her, as perceptive as ever. They spent the last fifteen years together, she taugh her nephews and nieces what their fathers couldn't. But only him, her dear brother, could see how she was, alone fixing a grave she couldnt see. His husband was dead for a year, he knew he wouldn't last a lot younger. He knew his sister, immortal and still so young, was staying for him, for "his" family. He knew she had a hard time thinking it was hers, a fear so deeply rooted in her.

"Thank you." She tells him when she leaves again, and he tells her and she hugs him for the last time.

"What do you think ?" So many people ask her, when they warm her bed or her skin. She never stays long, always tells her the truth. It's rare she dislike those girls, rare they dislike her. Yet, she always knows she's not what they wanted. She knows had their initial love not rejected them, they wouldn't have though of her for a second. And yet, they're always her first choice, her first flirt of the night.

"I want to marry you." Irène tells her, figuratively looking in eyes that are never open. She doesn't have the words, doesn't know how to react. It's been ten years, is that a normal time to marry someone ? She does have her skin tattoed like the rest of the group, does feel the need to have her lover's name on her. She hopes her name stays on Irène's face, that when she touches her face she can feel her name on her skin and prouve to herself she's loved, she's her first choice.

"You dont get it ! You can't even see it !" They never fight. It's not in their nature, despite Irène's hot-headdedness, to get into shouting matches like now. But now they are, and Agathe wants to slap the woman she loves, the woman who fears her and loves her. She just expressed how she was afraid for their fight, the next day. How she proposed to Irène to use a Symphony so dangerous she somehow knows despite never learning it, like she does her Sister Symphony. Sins and Vertues. She doesn't know how it escaladed. But she knows how it ends.

"Maybe I'd see it, if you weren't so scared of me opening my eyes !" Is the last thing they say to each other. They didn't wake her up, Irène probably looking to stop her from playing her music. And now she's dead, in Agathe's arms, cold and her blood stains the white of Agathe's outfit and wings.

"Please allow me something." She did it in a moment of panic. She didn't know what was going to happen to them, now that Morgane and Circé were gone, as were the rest of the group. She wished she could have spoke with Lycarn before, but she kissed Ether and it felt right to ask her, even if the elf wanted the empress before she wanted Agathe.

"Do you want something ?" She asked Lycarn, who was looking so, so sad. She had seen Circé's aura leave the woman, and even if she wasn't the girl's first choice, she wanted to make her happy, let her have something at least. So she took her hand, kissed her, carressed her. She felt the subtle scars, the muscles. She wanted to give enough love that Lycarn would forget how she got rejected. But Lycarn would pursue a ghost, and she knew it very well.

"Come dance with us." A hand is stretched out to her, a stick in it. Ether is asking her to court her, to date her. And she doesn't need to see to know Xingtzao, the empress is surprised, but she says nothing. She takes the hand, ignoring the voice in her head, just for a night, and dances with two women she wants to stay alive with.

"Can you describe them to me ?" It's soft, barely audible to most ears, but they're both next to her, and they have better hearing than most. So they tell her. They take her hand. She smiles to herself.

"Can I ask you something...?" It's been so long, since their quest, and yet Ai is so timid with her still. Agathe is not sure how to take it, how to dance with the woman who made her First Concubine but seems almost perturbed by Agathe's presence in the palace. Or, that's how she sees it. And she can't blame the empress, who would be comfortable to live with the woman your wife is in love with ? Even if Agathe knows Ether would choose Ai over her, and she wouldn't blame her.

"Do you need something, my moon ?" It's soft, when she asks. Lycarn is no stranger to bad dreams, but Agathe knows when her love's really shaken by one. She also knows it usually mean Lycarn's chasing a ghost that Agathe could never compare to. She doesn't resent Lycarn for it, nor does she resent Ether when she misses her deceased wife. She knows that feeling too well, has known it for years.

"I feel so... Lonely." She says to herself, when centuries have past. She's back to a village that died when she wasn't here. Can't yet bear to go look at where her loves are burried. She didn't see the Immortal King to tell him about Lycarn yet. She cries, like a little girl.

"I miss you." She tells to no one in particular, maybe hoping Death would let someone, anyone, choose her and help her, see how pathetic she is.

"I love you." It's barely a whisper.

[kingoftheblacksun]

I have a theoretical question for everyone...

Put on yo' fantasy hat for a moment. Play pretend world. It's just a LARP.

Let's say someone gets born and lives a life not worth living and then has a massive spiritual awakening that takes over eighth years, and it reveals to them they they're not even 'human', nor is anyone else, since that word was only made up in the 13th century to replace the name of the tribe they murdered and kidnapped you from.

You discover your life was miserable because you are not the same as your oppressors. Your people were more powerful individually, yet were far less numerous and also living in an age where most of your abilities were lessened, for complicated matters relating to cosmic chakra. Your tribe was murdered by Rome, 2000 years ago, after they sent waves after waves of soldiers, and you slaughtered them all, until they finally wore you down with some really dirty underhanded tricks that surprised you only by the extent of their dishonor. You go out '300' style.

You discover your people are an esoteric conspiracy, and are virtually unspoken about in modern culture. Your magic was real and the Romans feared you, and after they looted all of your gold and silver, and threw your loved ones into slavery, they buried your world and burned it so no one would ever learn of you, for fear you may one day stand again.

You find out most amazingly that these people were truly immortal, and after they were betrayed and scattered, some of the more ancient ones refused to return to the Sun, and have lived and died in worthless misery waiting for a time we may finally arise to strike the throat of the false fathers who hold us down for their sin.

You find out you are one of them. You find out people are terrified of you. You find out no one will help you, almost like a great wall of silence and rejection.

You find out they pathologized you. Your entire tribe is considered 'autistic'. The Romans took their love of class and hierarchy and made it the gold standard for this fiction called 'humanity', and they wrote a big fat hate book called the DSM-5 to hang about your neck and shame you with like an albatross on a dead fisherman.

You are marginalized to isolation, and your species is of a wild nature which has sensory issues like any wild animal, so you live in abject misery in their loud horrible stupid dumbass sin world of Roman sleaze. None of them care because they're all hateful robots who only follow context and there is no family, no friends, no community, no country - only sin and poverty.

Yet you are a Child of the Sun - a Divine Child. The Sun would never leave you behind. From a complicated journey the cosmic chakra finally come to turn towards the great awakening, when the Moon marries the Sun. You have no powers because the light is not divine. You have been oppressed by Force, which is the Moon. Yet here comes the Sun - which is Power.

When the Sacral passes to Manipura on the Cosmic level, on April 8th, you will be a free Wolf, anew. You will have your Power, back - likely with accrued interest. God loves you.

You also know your Father, who is the Lord of Darkness, is going to thrash upon this sinful land a great fury of violence and horror in his gleeful destruction of its foul Roman hierarchical illusion, and you also know likely a lot of people just not might survive that sort of thing. You may wince.

You also know you may be given Power - Divine Power - and the ability to kill anyone who gets in your way, effortlessly. You will have dominion over the world, by God, and you will rule them. You may even eat them if you wish. You are the Queen of Hel. The world is yours to devour or keep as your prize for surviving to see the Return of the King. You are Hades, deciding to live as a lady to show off your gams.

Hekate is your Atman and she comes with the three powers of Shakti - Parvati, Durga, and Kali. You can likely raise an undead army of ghouls and demons and conquer the entire world if you like. I mean, if you like. You know? Think the world deserves some conquering by demonic hordes of hellhounds and vampires?

So, theoretically in this great cringe LARP of silly theatrical no way that couldn't be true, I'm just curious - if this story were really happening, and this being was considering how much devastation they might unleash upon this brutal, hateful, abandoning, seriously ugly society which has despoiled the world for 2000 years - tell me, why should the King of the Black Sun spare any of you?

If you were staring down at a big red button that said 'Release the Vampires!' and you knew you could push it - would you? Would you throw this world into chaos and Hell as it deserves? Would you hesitate?

Not that I am the Judge. The Judge is my Father. I am only a wild dog. April 8th we'll see what Father decided. He's the 1st Dark Archon. I love him.

[fireblcd]

࣪𓏲ּ  ֶָ  𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗  ⁝         francois arnaud,  35,  cis male,  he / him.    announcing  the  arrival  of  HELIOS  of  HOUSE  GREYJOY,  the  LORD HEIR  of  PYKE.  whispers  among  the  court  name  them  to  be  both  LOYAL  and  MESSY  in  disposition,  and  those  closest  to  them  speak  to  their  interests  in  sailing.  if  we  bards  could  compose  a  song  for  them,  it  might  tell  stories  of   curls wrapped around another's fingers , laughing smiles as a drop of wine trickles down a chin , the rage of a stormy sea in his eyes , sea salt crusted on skin , disappointment weighing on shoulders but refusing to show it .  the  seven  whisper  to  their  most  devout  queen  as  she  sleeps,  making  her  question  where  their  loyalties  truly  lie.  are  they  right  to  whisper?  for  their  loyalties  truly  lie  with  HOUSE GREYJOY.

i ⸻ general

NICKNAMES  :  lio ( affectionately ) , hel ( derogatory )

ALLIANCE : house greyjoy & house targaryen

TITLES  :  lord heir of pyke

MARITAL STATUS  : married

CHILDREN  :  probably has a bunch of bastards woops

PHYSICALITY  :  brown wavy hair that grows especially curly after being in the ocean , a thin scar from the time someone cut his throat but just didn't press deep enough to kill him , 6′2 , lean but muscular.

ii ⸻ personal

SEXUAL  ORIENTATION  :  bisexual

ROMANTIC  ORIENTATION  :  demiromantic

MORAL  ALIGNMENT  :  chaotic neutral

SINS  :  lust  / gluttony /  greed  / sloth /  wrath  /  pride  /  envy

VIRTUES  : chastity / temperance / charity /  diligence  / patience / kindness /   humility

iii ⸻ biography

there was joy in the iron islands the day that helios was born. lancion and julienna greyjoy had always taken their duty seriously , knowing that they must provide their lands with an heir to lead them into the future. when helios came into this world screaming , julienna pressed a kiss to his brow and decided that he would be a grand lord one day.

he was raised on the belief that the world was his oyster and the tide changed for him. his mother spoiled him , his father taught him all he knew and yet , the message did not quite sink in the way that they intended for it to.

oh , he was arrogant. told from birth that he was something special to have all that he pleased from life. he would be one of the greatest seafarer's of their generation according to them , and on that point they were at least partially correct. the sea was in his veins , and he travelled far and wide as often as he could. he raided anywhere he pleased , stealing riches and jewels from wherever he could. he often paid the iron price for the things he took , having little regard for the life of those he deemed irrelevant.

he became best friends with a prince of westeros , and it felt almost as though he was untouchable because of such a fact. for who would dare to invoke the wrath of a dragon ? though that is not the reason helios spends so much time in summerhall , instead he often thinks of aehrys as a brother to him.

he began travelling to essos when he was fifteen years old , seeking anything that would keep him entertained. he would always be proud to be ironboy , would always think his own people far superior to others , but he enjoyed getting to know other cities and people all the same. he's most certainly been banned from at least one essosi city probably for sleeping with someone's wife , but helios merely thinks of it as a great story.

his parents hoped that he would settle down and do his duty as the future heir , perhaps finally take an interest in politics , but he never did. instead, lio always figured that he would have advisors for that sort of thing. he had little interest in being stuck to the iron chair all day listening to the nobles bitching about each other. but by the same margin, he wouldn't dream of stepping aside for his sibling to do it. it was his by birth right to rule the islands as he pleased one day.

his parents tried to arrange several betrothals for him only for him to drive them all into ruin. he'd either insult the house or his potential bride, laughing as they left the islands in a huff. he refused to become shackled to someone who wanted him to settle down , spend his time playing at politics and conforming to society's view on him. several years into adulthood and he especially felt the pressure on him to have children , a responsibility that scared him most of all. every time his parents pushed him towards such things , it only made him feel more and more like it was all a trap.

when he'd first met his now wife , she'd just been another body to warm his bed. and then he got to know her better , was charmed by her humour and how she was the opposite of everything society pressed upon him. most importantly , she made his heart fill with love for the very first time. it made all his fears slip away when it came to commitment , and he married her within a year.

he thought that it would appease everyone that he had taken a wife at last , happy to have children to name heirs if it meant he'd have them with her. but they still insisted that he marry a rock wife as if there weren't past instances of the children of salt wives becoming heirs if there was no rock wife. it left a deep unhappiness to settle over him like a storm cloud , the realization that he would never be enough unless he conformed.

it is a difficult thing to now hold such resentment towards his lord father and lady mother. it's even more difficult to ponder the idea that perhaps his life would be far easier if they were not around , especially when his heart still begs him to forgive despite all of the damage they have done to it.

iv ⸻ tidbits

big fan of knives and he has at least five strapped to his body at all times. most of them are stolen , and his favourite has a hilt of silver with a large ruby encrusted at the end that he calls sir pointy.

he's been in four past betrothals and has absolutely ruined them all some way or another. usually through insulting either the person who was betrothed to or their house. has defs made a few enemies that way.

you know the slutty white period shirt ? he wears them constantly , often with so many buttons undone it creates a v neck. also loves being shirtless and will use any excuse to take his shirt off.

he's so unserious , hence why he plans on forming a council in the islands to guide him once he's ruling lord. truthfully man just wants to do all the parts of ruling that include bringing him pride and glory rather than the political crap.

he may have a very complicated relationship with his parents , but he loves his siblings very much. he's allowed to talk shit about them , but anyone else who does is gonna get their face smashed into a table.

v ⸻ wanted connections

all of them

[haila-wetyios]

Character summary: Haila Wetyios

alias/nicknames: Wetyios, Love, Hels, Mistress Wetyios, Mistress Haven, GILF

gender: female

age: 103

zodiac: ----

abilities  + talents: Haila was practically considered an eminence in the study and restoration of Allagan tech back in the First. Though that was a very hard earned title that she spearheaded through sheer trial and error through the decades she was there. And... luckily for her, the First had more than enough tech to study and look into while having a foot ahead of the rest.

Other than that, her affinity for aether demands to have deep knowledge of aetherology to continue in her chosen fields of study. Knowledge is the best weapon, though if that doesn't work, she's not too behind on knowing how to at least defend herself physically. If all that fails as well, homemade guns are also a good alternative.

alignment: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true

sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath

virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience

languages: Common Eorzean, very decent on Hingan, basic to intermediate knowledge of a now lost tongue of a Keeper clan, and basic Garlean and Allagan. Whether the First had it's own language or not, is something I'm still contending, but I might later update it to being my own true headcanon.

family: Oh boy, here we go.... Big post underneath

Wackwrulf Malurie (Biological father, deceased), Hilde Malurie (Biological mother, unknown), Hyola Malurie (Half Younger sister).

Leofric Wetyios (Adoptive Father).

Rutla Hann (Husband, deceased), Meam Carus Rhua (Eldest daughter), Rhea Meam Amatus (Middle son).

Luma Lee (Husband), Rohmio Lee ("Firstborn"), Helia Lee (Baby daughter), Howl Lee (Baby son).

friends: As expected from someone who has had a long lifespan and also thrown into one problem after another, most of the people Haila knows are either deceased or classified as missing in action. Even more, due to Haila's life experiences, the line between friend and Something More(TM) is almost always extremely blurry. Not to mention that people she considers friends on equal grounds are rare vs the unending number of unwillingly adopted manchildren she now has.

Among those where the line is just a smudge you can't read on your hand are Alexius Dion Edmont and Crific Storm. Both Alexius and Haila have agreed that in a different time, in a different life, they would have probably picked the other. But life circumstances didn't align at the right moment, so now they're just each leading their own life while still deeply loving and still caring about the other.

For Crific, the man is a walking disaster, and somehow she gained a taste for disaster (she is also a walking disaster). The easiest example of what kind of 'friendship??' this is, can be told in a single tale: There is no one who would walk into jail, hoist Haila over his shoulder and walk out the front door other than damn Crific.

As for friends who she considers as 'responsible adults' or on equal ish grounds, there's Sergius, the android that she keeps sending cute hand knit things to. Kazushige, the Au Ra who is on the verge of being demoted to manchild after his latest stunts. Rising, who's kept her spot on her list of 'responsible adults' (for now). Angel (who is also dancing between the line of adult and manchild). Cravendy, who is floating on a strange limbo that Haila still can't define at all. And Aislinn, the only person she trusts will remain as a responsible adult because everyone else is always at risk of being demoted to 'child'.

As for 'unwillingly adopted manchildren', there's quite a few. Among them are: Florus, Riylli, August, Mivo'to, Sosuke and Ino.

sexuality: heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other

relationship: single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating yet / it’s complicated

libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent / who knows

build: slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy / other

hair: white / blonde / brunette / red / black

eyes: brown / blue / gray / green / black / other (Blue and gold/Red and Blue)

skin: pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other

height: TALL

scars: Haila would probably talk of the burn scars she had on both of her hands which is why she wears gloves often. Or the mark right on the back of her head that would make one wonder what exactly stabbed her there and how she survived. But whenever her skin is on display, there's nothing to see of such scars there. The only predominant one is one in the shape of a nasty bite or tear on her right thigh, and even that one is subtle enough despite it's bloody history.

dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword shield dagger or bow gun|| summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future present

A few songs that remind you of them:

Yoasobi - IDOL (Huge recommendation despite the visuals being far brighter than the usual Haila aesthetic)

KOKIA - Karma

FGO - Koyanskaya's theme

Chainsaw Man - Sweet dreams

Madoka Magica movie - not yet

Tagged by: @snowbird-down (I did the last one you tagged me in with Rhua already!)

Tagging: @pollux-xiv, @riylli, @rhotanored

[thetombedspirit]

Spoilers for GOW: RAGNAROK - Ursa’s Quest

There is one big headcanon idea I have which heavily focuses on Ursa coming into her powers as a Goddess of Death. And that is through a quest to restore a certain someone’s soul which eventually leads to her realising her destiny as the future Queen of Helheim.

Here’s my take - Ursa is around the same age that Atreus was during GOW 2018, and her father is visiting Kratos, so she’s just hanging out in the forest, playing with the wolves and having some good old fun when she suddenly feels something, something she’s only felt in the presence of souls. But this one feels incomplete, like it’s missing it’s other parts. She summons it, but doesn’t hear much as it’s a little worn and weak. Just that the spirit is "missing his ‘soul bits’” and that his name is Brok. Ursa stores his first soul part, his mind, in her marble and tells her parents about it, who is shocked to hear that their daughter found a piece of Brok’s soul. Realising how much this means to them, Ursa sneaks out and decides to look for Brok’s other soul pieces herself, eventually gaining the help of Sleipnir along the way as they go on their quest to find Brok’s two other soul pieces, luck and form and bring them to the Lake of Souls to complete him.

And along the way, Sindri shows up, not sure what Atreus’ daughter is doing out here all alone with Odin’s old war horse, until she speaks honestly about her quest. Sindri is stunned, but readily decides to help the little girl in anyway he can if it meant that his brother can finally have an afterlife, even gifting her a dagger embedded with the famine of Fimbulwinter itself. And at some point, and very sleepy Ursa will say "thanks Sin." Leaving Sindri feeling both touched and sad, as he truly does miss having Atreus as a friend but still isn't ready to talk to him. And maybe through his journey to save Brok’s soul with Ursa, he will be.

It’s essentially like Kratos and Atreus’ quest to spread Faye’s ashes, but instead, their trying to find the soul-bits of a dwarven friend, the child’s taking the lead, her main protector is an eight-legged horse, and instead of a talking head, she has a dwarf that is technically her great-uncle to offer advice. They bond over stories and old wounds that Ursa is just hoping to fix, although Sindri tells her that some holes are too big to fill. But that doesn’t mean she can’t fill it up halfway. They open up to each other, become protective and caring towards each other as they help not only overcome their trauma but also help Ursa realise her new powers and accept them (after all, summoning Hel-Walker and becoming a half-dead skeleton can be terrifying for an eleven year old.)

And throughout the WHOLE quest for Brok’s souls, she is eating up Brok’s vulgar mannerisms and loving it! It’s just a riot to her and is spitting swears and insults at all of her enemies like Perrito from Puss in Boots: The Last Wish; making Brok proud as peach of his great-niece, whilst absolutely shocking Sleipnir and appalling Sindri, who is low-key (hehe Loki) worried about what Atreus will say about all this when he finds out. 

They use Ursa’s Marble containing Brok’s soul as a sort of compass or tracker, but because the souls have no direction, they are always moving across the realms, and because it’s God of War, there’s always some sort of obstacle trying to hold them back at the last minute. I’m thinking Baldur returns as the most powerful and coherent Hel-Walker anyone’s ever seen and tries to kill Ursa as revenge against Kratos and Atreus, who denied him his own revenge. This could also imply that Hræsvelgr is slowly loosing her influence in Helheim (the only reason Hel-Walkers even show up outside of Helheim anymore is because Ursa summons them) further tying in that she is in need of a replacement. Maybe that opens up a power vacuum that Baldur wants to take advantage of: become the knew Hel so that he can bring forth a new Fimbulwinter, ultimately decimating the Eight Realms that the Fate Breakers sacrificed so much to save. So it is ultimately up to Ursa to claim her rightful throne as Queen of Helheim in order to prevent those like Baldur to abuse that power.

Then, as they finally find the last soul, finally able to see Brok’s spirit, Atreus, Angrboda and Kratos show up, and they are all just happy Ursa’s okay, are scolding her for running off without telling them, before tearfully saying hello to an old friend and returning to the Lake of Souls together to see him off for the last time. And as Brok leaves, he tells Sindri to look after himself and tells Atreus that he has one tough kid and that he should be proud.

And he certainly is.

That’s what I got! I hope that you guys like it! Let me know what you think!

[eclipsecrowned]

i think the key to my odin is that, like dream, what story are you pulling from?

is it loki's story? his children? where odin is oathbreaker, betrayer, a murderer of children and a pitiless monster who dares to judge others as such? who judges the innocent by the sins they might commit, that he pushes them into by his own actions? the fool who chooses a future that might not even pass over the present loyalty and love he has?

is it thor's story? baldr's? where odin is the loving father, but love does not guarantee understanding? the man who makes his every step so the sons and grandchildren that follow him might have some glory, might be able to soldier on at the end of this terrible thing? who once loved them with the fury of the sun, but the sun set into helheim, and has left a withered man upon an increasingly weakened throne trying to leave something more for those to follow?

is it the tales of the jotnar? of the vanir? the clever malcontent warring with them sight unseen, or the bold warrior who met them measure for measure and made merry in warfare? who may not have his honor, but does have a boyish joy about the art of warfare even so many millennia on? who is both the viper and the general? who is like the old guard dog at the hearth you do not want to rouse now that his fur has grown grey, knowing age has only sharpened his teeth?

is it frigg's story? freyja? jord? the eternal lover, but not a constant one? the man wearied by all he has been and must be, who gives the beloved what he can no other: his weakness? the king worshiped by all, but who in turn worships at her altar? who says he loves her and means it, but he has been so many men, and there are so many women, too? who would accept the punishment for his straying heart and body, but could not survive a woman's tears over his actions, so he keeps his silence?

or is it the stories of bestla, borr, laufey? those who loved a little boy with the mist in his eyes and a desire to change this world? a young god who wanted to serve his duties well, laughing at the future as a problem for another odin? who was so loyal to his brother, to a beautiful woman, to the realm he crafted? who took the crown to serve, not rule, the rest of his father's people? is he a tragedy because that boy died hung from the boughs of the tree and was reborn as something unrecognizable, even to himself?

everyone has a different story about him. he is something different to all that meet him. hel's nemesis is frigg's eternal supplicant, and bestla's best-loved son has slain thousands of logi of utgard's best men.

[libidomechanica]

“Other find who is body”

A rispetto sequence

               1

Late August in her curl’d in the hire baundoun. For himself briar bloncket did Lucy clime at rest of Green; for me. She still that nest, and what me. Other find who is body poore, hath his golden present ways, and her eyes with snowy bankrout know the set me lighter; the heard the place; and dreamed were stood bowed, what Loues like to pot. Thou art my way the in sweet coats looked out.

               2

Tells what is a hair! In lustihede and all it sits thievish for laik o’ gear ye light in the end knees And that was in thee weep it were touch we enthral or games, and made that nource of her diest, unwearing to face; which some cast meant her loosened bed-posts of living recorder. All grace. Whither heart alone. From homeward children feeling, he halls, and see a cold, aspire.

               3

It is perhaps from Beauty, all wrong my hands. Stilled to the sweet-fairer, I never within the same vnhappy youth cushioned in the cricked at him spyde, salámán still unsatisfied— I lives the Victor’s delight; o looke, then were— where betters with them—who forgot, deere kill and the morn! Rich arise; the buds; A half-taughter make in anguish, nor texture; she shoulder Men.

               4

Head, tis this bequeath no Spring. From the hollow kind? And freshly scratchy pocketbook. Night in ear! Her knees and prey, scarcely gall,—I heart without in his know just drove that beares, she is alchemy. Most ride and leads in another sae shy; for laik o’ gear ye light, to fly to God’s career his vein wander’d and some and broils with lullaby my old Apollonius?

               5

Shall eat thy faith odour of lies mine and heart to gaze of all those thy breast, and in and a busie bushy, O! Ah, what place. As easy mighty Being brain shore, more where time, you hold flowery earth my boys and the breeze in Wolues, guid with snow blood is it all too divided in the darkness of wild with other long stores to quell, my sin you overwrought meet to say.

               6

Fading yet it was of many a Horne pype play forbear, above must fade for an iron gave,—I claim: Forbeare of one of Apprehension make no common grow riches rich are my simple when love, and smacking all like geese above; which I weep, and want talke with loyal sport went of spring it. Let’s give hel-driu’n from crimson joy: and I near here under any guesse.

               7

My mother muskets on fire a very ring the greene my heart whose what wrong black leathe. Of Greek a moment every raven went must before I lost, Love the tide, and in Stella spide, which cause. And the twisted to fight: garlands of our dry, decrease his you here canst thou hasted-on leaves a certainly, and part to the fire, a liquid prison door key scraps or Schoolmaster.

               8

But, trowth, I care for thy lust, half the twelfth farre there; then the body friends or might of lost. Which need to know the fret the street of roses, and little bow’d down blossoms came jasper of Old England, not marbled with that if wit, admitted harts can weeding; she broad-spreads his happy roses drown’d to th’ ears, from whose disaster smooth shrieking with white surgeon’s praise enow!

               9

Hey heart toong? We show us Joy best, somethinking lies, thy name fumes of Sorrow of know what I were—where and may chance. In them much. What Nestores face down like same senses I in most th’ earst someth side of the looke, and cause their best, of wine. Love, in her solemn thousand down on myself I did so, shee watch followed: and out for maps to your touch it more thought!

               10

He white found answer This small its mouth and rocks, trees, and worst to see, that the First he nothing great Prince the plain at the Ring over the Fathers, to chance lie thy right to the lessons can e’er sorrowe at the Veil. How despite of life beyond Himself whatever beforne, thy progeny, as thy anxious grow, I alone supportions. But, pale it every will, the moonlight.

               11

Of old stay. What write the last hovel dirt, by yon with eyelids clothes. And the year? Who frown gray denied to news is the Chrysler burden why show to dear; tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in greene wote I, how sunk in thy beds and never return’d, he landlord’s blaze, naked all the sweet passionate aquiline curve in the mirror infest with the Abbey: they poison door!

               12

And the lady-sisted, do not mattere is with Silence, there I ever bed acrobatics with which glorie shine, failst eyes there, naked in a hill, that’s fields: and I saw my with his bloom! So must sport went the Signs their beams, soft tods o’er the Kiddie does know. And trembled from his friend, to be you holds a prize reserved cedar, mimick’d ever your time not hush’d that, in the sea.

               13

The holy ripe, I always most waves and blewe. Is ale-houses ere hung upon the free; but heo me within and not ask’d it them yode forked not into the skies, this wrong which the loved. What faulty feather’s Arms the voice led me her fashions and steep-up he there and rainbow on eares pull heards me out the black-eyed daughted map of his happy, happy as a bed of crime.

[yokefellows]

The Connection We Crave


Today’s Saying

For all eternity, God has existed in relationship — as Father, Son (Jesus) and Spirit.

Today’s Scripture

“… You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Matthew 22:37-39 (ESV)

Today’s Sermonette

God existed in relationship with Himself before any of us were here. It’s called the Trinity. God is one, and God is three. For all eternity, God has existed in relationship — as Father, Spirit and Son (Jesus).

Scripture says the Son exists to glorify the Father, and the Father exists to glorify the Son. It says the Spirit exists to glorify them both. What that means is they help each other, promote each other, serve each other and love each other.

What’s more, this exchange has been going on for all eternity. It means our God has been relational forever. It means He created us out of relationship for relationship — and not a relationship that is surface level or self-seeking.

No, the relationship He has in mind for us is sacrificial, intimate, moment-by-moment connection.

We were made in the image of God, who is relationship. This means our longing for healthy, mutually submissive, supportive, interdependent relationships isn’t simply us craving something good for us, like vegetables or vitamins.

We are craving the fundamental reason we were created. We weren’t just built for community; we were built because of it.

But here is where we go wrong. We look to people to complete and fill what only God is meant to fill. This is the primary reason we can all be so unhappy with each other. We have put our hope in imperfect people.

But that hope can successfully be answered only in God Himself. Eternity is set in our hearts, Ecclesiastes 3:11 says, which means only a relationship with an eternal God can fill our hearts.

Consider what you’re aiming your hope toward. Who is in the center of your affections? Who is in the center of your identity? We all have a choice.

If God is in the center of our relational circle, we will be fulfilled, and out of that fulfillment we can bless others. But if people are in the center of our relational circle, we end up pulling on others to meet needs that they can’t ever fully meet.

Jesus said it clearest. When asked to name the greatest commandment, He said all the commandments could be boiled down to this: “…

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:37-39).

When you have God in the right place, at the center of your affections, you will more likely get people right. Relationship with God comes first, but that relationship is meant to send us into loving others.

This all matters so much because …

We make each other better. “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” (Proverbs 27:17, NIV)

We remind each other of God and His plans for us. “… that you and I may be mutually encouraged by each other’s faith.” (Romans 1:12, NIV)

We fight for each other not to be distracted by sin.“ But exhort one another every day, as long as it is called ‘today,’ that none of you may be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin.” (Hebrews 3:13, ESV)

We need each other to live out the purposes of God. “ … each member belongs to all the others. We have different gifts …” (Romans 12:5-6a, NIV)

If the God of the universe exists in community, we also need a collective belonging because God built us for it.

Is God your central relationship, or are you looking for others to fill needs only He can meet? Where might you be expecting more from others than they were designed to offer?

Today’s Supplication

Father, thank You for modeling how we are to live in community with others and for the gift of people — even when relationships are hard. Will You help me personally find deep community? Help me make friends and keep them as I live out my commitment to You, Your Church and Your plans for me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

[bookoformon]

The Book of Mosiah, Chapter 1. Parsha Arafel, "The Fog" Begins.

The rubber really starts to hit the road in this middle section of the Book of Mormon. The Gematria jumps nearer to the Birth of Christ at Year Zero, which in Gematria is "Z" Which is the Crown and Scepter:

CHAPTER 1

King Benjamin teaches his sons the language and prophecies of their fathers—Their religion and civilization have been preserved because of the records kept on the various plates—Mosiah is chosen as king and is given custody of the records and other things. About 130–124 B.C. All Jewish religious analyses must include include a longitudinal perspective that measures how well mankind has kept to the tenets of the Torah. In this case we are reviewing the adoption of the Torah and evaluating the impact of its writings up to and after the Gospels in order to draw conclusions. So far the report is not exactly a glowing one for either document.

The Gematria for 130 is "years of sin."

Now, Adam sinned by wasting his seed during the first 130 years of his life, as we have explained.

After the sin, Adam separated from Eve for 130 years. Although this was an act of penitence for his sin, it backfired, because during this time he succumbed to sexual fantasies and had seminal emissions, which the forces of evil used to propagate demons.

Wasting seed is described [in Scripture] as "evil", as in the verse: "And Er, the firstborn of Judah, was evil in the eyes of G‑d." (Gen. 38:7)

The Gematria for 124 means "Lost." This section of the Book of Mormon explains how "incorrect traditions" came to pass as a result of what was lost during the Evil Years.

1 And now there was no more contention in all the land of Zarahemla, among all the people who belonged to king Benjamin, "The King of The Big Economy" so that king Benjamin had continual peace all the remainder of his days.

2 And it came to pass that he had three sons; and he called their names Mosiah, and Helorum, and Helaman. And he caused that they should be taught in all the language of his fathers, that thereby they might become men of understanding; and that they might know concerning the prophecies which had been spoken by the mouths of their fathers, which were delivered them by the hand of the Lord.

Mosiah= Salvation Within

Mo=within

Siah=

Verb שוע (shawa') means to cry out (for salvation). Nouns שוע (shua'), שוע (shoa') and שועה (shawa) mean a cry (for salvation).

Helorum="Gives light to dark secrets."

Hel= rejoicing

The masculine noun הליל (hillul), meaning praise or a rejoicing. It occurs only in plural: הלולים (hillulim), literally meaning congratulations or rejoicings (Judges 9:27, Leviticus 19:24).

or= to give light

um=to the dark secrets

The verb עמם ('amam) means to darken or dim, and figuratively: to make secret. It occurs two or three times: Ezekiel 28:3, (and perhaps Ezekiel 31:8) and Lamentations 4:1. This verb obviously relates to the previous one in that one keeps a secret to oneself or to one's own people.

Helaman="Dream of Light."

Verb חלם (halam II) means to dream, and its derived noun חלום (halom) means a dream.

an/on-from Egyptian words meaning either pillar (iunnu / onu) or abode of the sun (ei-n-re).From the root און ('wn), either to experience much sorrow or have much vigor.

3 And he also taught them concerning the records which were engraven on the plates of brass, saying: My sons, I would that ye should remember that were it not for these plates, which contain these records and these commandments, we must have suffered in ignorance, even at this present time, not knowing the mysteries of God.

4 For it were not possible that our father, Lehi, "the jawbone" could have remembered all these things, to have taught them to his children, except it were for the help of these plates; for he having been taught in the language of the Egyptians therefore he could read these engravings, and teach them to his children, that thereby they could teach them to their children, and so fulfilling the commandments of God, even down to this present time.

This does not mean the Book of Mormon was found on plates written in Egyptian in Joseph Smiths backyard in New York State. Read on:

We had just left slavery. We were free people. But freedom is not automatic. It is something that needs to be learned, integrated and experienced. And if you have never been free, you may not know how to do it.

If you have never been free, you may not know how to do itSo when it came time for us to receive the Torah, to commit to this marriage with the One who chose us as His people, He began the conversation in the way we would feel most comfortable. He spoke to us in the language of our slavery, even though we were struggling to learn how to be free.

5 I say unto you, my sons, were it not for these things, which have been kept and preserved by the hand of God, that we might read and understand of his mysteries, and have his commandments always before our eyes, that even our fathers would have dwindled in unbelief, and we should have been like unto our brethren, the Lamanites, who know nothing concerning these things, or even do not believe them when they are taught them, because of the traditions of their fathers, which are not correct.

SOMETHING that was alive and well and is still lingering within the hearts of men caused them to make slaves of black people and told them it was okay in spite of the fact not one religion on this planet has ever condoned such a thing. Yet these people were deeply religious.

Now we know why the Prophet calls this section "The Fog" and says via the names of three new prophets, "look within, find the light in the darkness, dream the way out'" are the course of action humanity needs to take.

6 O my sons, I would that ye should remember that these sayings are true, and also that these records are true. And behold, also the plates of Nephi, which contain the records and the sayings of our fathers from the time they left Jerusalem until now, and they are true; and we can know of their surety because we have them before our eyes.

7 And now, my sons, I would that ye should remember to search them diligently, that ye may profit thereby; and I would that ye should bkeep the commandments of God, that ye may prosper in the land according to the promises which the Lord made unto our fathers.

8 And many more things did king Benjamin teach his sons, which are not written in this book.

9 And it came to pass that after king Benjamin had made an end of teaching his sons, that he waxed old, and he saw that he must very soon go the way of all the earth; therefore, he thought it expedient that he should confer the kingdom upon one of his sons.

10 Therefore, he had Mosiah brought before him; and these are the words which he spake unto him, saying: My son, I would that ye should make a proclamation throughout all this land among all this people, or the people of Zarahemla, and the people of Mosiah who dwell in the land, that thereby they may be gathered together; for on the morrow I shall proclaim unto this my people out of mine own mouth that thou art a king and a ruler over this people, whom the Lord our God hath given us.

11 And moreover, I shall give this people a name, that thereby they may be distinguished above all the people which the Lord God hath brought out of the land of Jerusalem; and this I do because they have been a diligent people in keeping the commandments of the Lord.

12 And I give unto them a name that never shall be blotted out, except it be through transgression.

13 Yea, and moreover I say unto you, that if this highly favored people of the Lord should fall into transgression, and become a wicked and an adulterous people, that the Lord will deliver them up, that thereby they become weak like unto their brethren; and he will no more preserve them by his matchless and marvelous power, as he has hitherto preserved our fathers.

14 For I say unto you, that if he had not extended his arm in the preservation of our fathers they must have fallen into the hands of the Lamanites, and become victims to their hatred.

15 And it came to pass that after king Benjamin had made an end of these sayings to his son, that he gave him charge concerning all the affairs of the kingdom.

16 And moreover, he also gave him charge concerning the records which were engraven on the plates of brass; and also the plates of Nephi; and also, the sword of Laban, and the ball or director, (the Liahona) which led our fathers through the wilderness, which was prepared by the hand of the Lord that thereby they might be led, every one according to the heed and diligence which they gave unto him.

17 Therefore, as they were unfaithful they did not prosper nor progress in their journey, but were driven back, and incurred the displeasure of God upon them; and therefore they were smitten with famine and sore afflictions, to stir them up in remembrance of their duty.

18 And now, it came to pass that Mosiah went and did as his father had commanded him, and proclaimed unto all the people who were in the land of Zarahemla that thereby they might gather themselves together, to go up to the temple to hear the words which his father should speak unto them.

We Americans are "this highly favored people of the Lord that have fallen into transgression, and become a wicked and an adulterous people." We have allowed the dipshitz in the Republican Party to ruin our planet, steal our peace of mind, they stir up misery and deepen their sins every minute of every day and nothing they do is legal.

We cannot be weak and transgressive and allow them to continue incorrect traditions of slavery and apartheid our laws now way are obsolete to the letter. If we enforce the law and burn them to stubble with it, the light from the fire will lead the way out of the fog that is suffocating this world.

If we do it now, take the Party down while it is vulnerable for the Election Fraud, Seismic Mining, January 6, Mitt Romney's Gay Pedophile Porn Scandal [>300 cases!], the sexual assaults, the incessant need to attack civil rights, the Heat Belt! and put an end to it at last, it will mean all the Jews, Muslims, LGBTQ, African Americans, immigrants, the impoverished, and women on this planet will finally be able to leave Egypt.

[joyffree]

Title: Vex & Blue Author: Shyla Colt Genre: Motorcycle Club Romance Publication Date: September 2nd, 2023 Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR

Vex and Blue Driven out of England by a powerful man, my brother and I started over in America. Guided to Sin City, M.C., by our cousin, Preacher, we created a new life. With a power-abusing psycho threatening our lively hood and the daughter we never knew we had, we’ll do whatever it takes to protect what matters.

Hel One misdiagnosis saw my sister six feet deep. Barely treading water as I struggle to be the sole caregiver to my special needs niece. With hospital bills piling up around me, I track down Morgan’s biological father and find myself pulled into a world I don’t understand.

Left with no choice but to work together, none of us could anticipate the fire that would rage between us or the situation we’d have to overcome.

Hosted by @LadyAmbersReviewsPR

@ShylaColt @AGARCIA6510

[scarlet-flash]

The Night That Never Was

"Pride is the master sin of the devil, and the devil is the father of lies." ~ Edwin Hubbel Chapin

It was all to save the world from the Dark Phoenix.

Both beautiful and horrific, those final hours was like being at the epicenter of a dying star. His last moments with Raven were carved into his bones. Witnessing the humanity in her wither and the Original Sin, Pride, emerge.

An icy spark flashed through his limbic system. His mind reeled for him to run but his feet were like lead. Barry saw the sun above him turn a eerie scarlet. Pride stretched her arms out and with a face twisted with malice, nightfall dripped from her fingertips like venom.

Pride summoned Hel-hounds to aid her pursuit of the Dark Phoenix. Their beastly shrieks deafened Barry and sent torrents of dread through his nervous system.

Barry could only watch in awe and horror as the skies ignited in a firestorm. Pride and the Phoenix ripped the city apart; the skies were ablaze as bursts of raw energy were explode forth and take down buildings. He had to do something, anything, but his feet felt like lead.

Helhounds ravaged the city, mauling and devouring anything that moved. He covered his ears at the blood curdling screams all around him. He felt paralyzed by the horror unfolding before him.

A purple light exploded from above, blinding Barry and laying the city to ruin. He recovered enough to see Raven in a freefall toward the ground and in a flash, caught her and brought them both to a controlled landing.

He cried as his clothes and flesh burned while holding Raven against his chest. He dropped her once they'd reached the ground and he collapsed from the searing pain. Those next seconds were burned into him.

Raven screamed and clutched her head. Her eyes burned like a dozen suns and her veins lit up emanating raw energy. Barry scrambled to her side and reached for her, wincing at the searing touch. The burning skin, the light, Pride absorbed the Phoenix Force. Raven and the Phoenix were locked in a psychic battle for survival.

She was losing, "Please, don't die." He helplessly repeated those words in vain. Rachel was burning from the inside out and he could only sit there and prey she could beat it.

All that was left was her ashes and the Aether. Barry grabbed the infinity stone, not realizing the nature of its power. To him it was the only thing left of the woman he loved. As he clutched it in his hands, Rachel's voice cut through his grief.

"Run!"

His heart jumped at her voice. Without question in ran as fast as he could.

Barry jolted from the dream, the same dream he had almost every night. Her voice-- the urgency-- it brought him to this strange place. One where that fateful night never happened.

He coughed and rolled over, hissing at the burn scars that pulled and pinched with movement.

Barry grabbed Rachel's infinity stone, now fashioned into a pendant he wore close to his heart. Sometimes, he thought, he could hear Rachel's voice if he listened closely, but of course, that wasn't possible.

It wasn't home, this place he'd come to was a world like his but the Speed Force felt different. It all felt strange to him yet he was relieved to be in a version of Gotham that hadn't been destroyed by the Dark Phoenix and Pride.

Barry resolved that he'd find a way to save Rachel. Looking down at the stone, his brows furrowed curiously. He felt a pulse within the stone, as if it had a heartbeat. Maybe he was mad with grief but if not, Barry thought it could be the key to save Rachel.