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animatorweirdo · 1 year

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Imagine getting possessed by False Gabriel

(I hope this will be to your liking. I tried to make it creepy and kinda gory in a way and I can sense writer’s block creeping in so sorry if the text is not the best. Male reader by the way)

Requested by @weird-addiction

Warnings: kidnapping, cult stuff, demonic possession, animals being scared, violence, blood, gore, some nice moments, Gabriel is a douche and wants you to take the ring and kill Sauron.

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- You didn't know how it started. One day, you were riding on your horse to return home, then you were hit in the head by something.

-You remember being dragged into a place and laid on something. You saw strange symbols and these people wearing dark hoods to cover their faces. They were chanting something then you recall the pain.

-It was painful. It was like something crawled into your mouth, going inside your body, and then it was nothing but darkness.

-You woke up on a table, covered in blood, and the people who took you lay dead on the floor, severed and slaughtered like it was a beast that attacked them. It was horrifying, especially when it seemed it was you who attacked them.

-You didn't know what to do, so you grabbed your belongings and left the place.

-You managed to find your beloved horse in the forest, and you were glad to see no harm done to him. However, you were confused when he started acting frightened when he saw you. He almost refused to come to you. It took everything to calm him down.

-It was your first sign something was wrong with you.

-You took a bath in the river to clean yourself up and tried to continue your journey, which was difficult because your companion still seemed frightened by you. It was strange because you had him for years, and he had never been afraid of you before, and now he was walking like he was at the edge of a cliff.

-You considered stopping at Rivendell and asking for lord Elrond's help to find out what those people did to you. It wasn't just your horse who was afraid of you. Every animal you saw and encountered fled or made threatening noises when they saw you. It was like you were one of the most dangerous predators on earth.

-You made a camp when the night came and tried to rest, hoping everything that happened so far was just a bad dream.

-You then began to dream about strange things. You dreamed about the birth of the christ, the antichrist, angels, the god, and the devil, and you saw never-ending darkness that covered the sky and the land. It was like the sun, moon, and stars had ceased from existence, and the people looked frightened when there was a voice– telling them not to be afraid.

-You then saw what seemed to be your banishment. You woke up screaming and sweating like you had been running for hours, breathing frantically.

-You didn't know what to make of the dream, which felt like a nightmare. Strangely, it felt real, and now you know things that don't exist or have never happened in Middle Earth.

-The war between the god and the devil, the birth of Jesus, false Gabriel. None of it made sense to you.

-You tried to stop thinking about the horrible dream, but then you noticed your companion was gone. You tried to look for him and call out his name, but there were no traces of him, and he didn't return.

-Now you knew something was terribly wrong with you. First, animals are afraid of you, second, you dream strange things, and now your faithful companion has left you. He would always stay somewhere near, so there had to be something wrong with you for him to abandon you like that.

-As a result, you had to continue your journey on foot.

-You tried to make sense of everything, but it only made your head ache in pain since you had no idea who Jesus was or this false Gabriel. All you knew from the dream was that he looked like a divine spirit with brilliant white wings and a kind smile.

-You remember his voice and how he told the people not to be afraid and that their savior had arrived. He sounded convincing, and the people looked at him with hope before the sky suddenly turned black, and there was nothing but darkness.

-He lied to them.

-He was the devil in disguise. It reminded you of the incident in Eregion where Sauron had disguised himself as an emissary of the Valar, and the city fell when he attacked and killed its lord. The two felt quite similar, but there was something more sinister about Gabriel.

-You couldn't figure out what was going on, but when you noticed orcs following you, you had your answer.

-You tried to escape them since there were too many of them for you to take them on your own. However, your luck seemed to get worse because you got cornered.

-They surrounded you with vicious grins and prepared to skin you alive. You couldn't find another way out till you felt the pain, and something began to crawl inside you, making you stand still and twitch uncontrollably.

-You then felt a pair of hands coming from behind you and covering your eyes from the sun and the sky. You then heard a gentle hush, and everything turned dark.

-The next time you woke up, you were covered in orc blood, and all the orcs lay dead around you like those people in the cave. You stared at them horrifically while holding your bloodied blade because the way their innards and blood dressed the ground made it look like they faced a savage beast. It was carnage.

-You were frightened because there was no way you could have done that all by yourself. You then remembered something or rather– someone, covered your eyes, and made you black out.

-You were confused beyond words.

-You were startled when you heard someone behind you and saw another one of your kind looking at you with a disturbed and concerned look on his face.

-He asked if you were alright, but you didn't know how to answer. You were still in shock from what happened.

-The elf introduced himself as Legolas and offered to take you to see his companions.

-You remembered what happened and almost refused his offer, fearing you would put him and his companions in danger, but you were too tired and wanted some peace of mind, so you accepted, and he took you away from the bloody scene.

-He helped you clean up from the orc blood so you wouldn't scare his companions, then introduced you to them. You did not expect to meet two human men, one dwarf, four little creatures, and a wizard. You certainly haven't met a company like that before.

-They helped you out, even though some of them were suspicious of you. You found the little creatures 'the hobbits' pleasant company. The food they made was excellent, and the little rascals Merry and Pippin were humorous.

-You honestly felt better after such maddening days.

-When they questioned you and your journey, you felt reluctant to tell what had been happening to you. You didn't know what was wrong with you and felt fearful, so you lied and told them you got lost, which wasn't precisely a lie.

-Soon, however, you began to hear strange whispers.

-They were quiet and spoke in a strange language. They oddly became stronger whenever you stood beside Frodo. You didn't know why, so you were afraid that you were losing your mind.

-You decided to confess to the wizard what had happened to you and what you went through before meeting them. You even told him about the whispers and how they always became stronger when you were around Frodo.

-Gandalf heeded your concerns and asked you to give him your hand. You cooperated and gave him your hand, allowing him to feel your fea and mind. He then let go with a troubled face.

-There was an evil presence deep within you, he explained, and that is why you are most likely hearing one ring, the purpose of their journey.

-You felt shocked hearing the news, but you finally understood why those things had been happening to you. When you told Gandalf about the strange dreams, he was a bit baffled since even he had never heard of concepts such as Christ or false Gabriel.

-He advised you to watch your condition and stay clear of Frodo to avoid getting affected by the one ring. He then said you should come with them to Lothlorien and seek aid from the lady of light, who might be able to help you.

-You heeded his advice and stayed clear of Frodo, keeping it a secret that you knew about the one ring like Gandalf promised to keep your condition secret to ensure the fellowship won't be frightened.

-You tried to avoid Frodo indirectly so he wouldn't notice. He was sweet and kind, so you didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Although you enjoyed being around him, you had to do it for his sake as well as yours.

-You joined on their journey since they were going for Lothlorien. Everything was going quite well. You managed to become somewhat friends with Gimli, the dwarf. He was rough-tongued but funny. Legolas teased you sometimes, and you became friends with him fairly quickly.

-You watched over your condition and tried to observe if anything else was going to happen to you. Knowing there was an evil spirit inside you made you feel a bit on edge. Surprisingly, nothing happened so far until you went to sleep.

-" They can't help you..." You heard a voice say and found yourself in the familiar world of endless darkness. You were frightened till you came face to face with Gabriel or false Gabriel.

-He looked like the ethereal angel, but there was a dark shadow behind his eyes, and the way he smiled at you made shivers run across your spine. You somehow knew in your guts that this was the devil, the creature that tricked the people and plunged the sky into darkness.

-" What do you want from me?" You asked, your body shaking with fear as he towered over you with his ominous presence.

-He didn't say anything till he tilted his head and grinned. "You..." he said, and you woke up with fright.

-Frodo was startled by your sudden awakening since he was awake and didn't expect you to wake up with sweat running down your skin. He helped you calm down after waking up, and you two talked with each other, talking about homes and your family members.

-It was comforting, and you felt much better. However, your nightmare didn't seem to be over since you began to hear Gabriel's whispers in your ears, telling you to take the ring.

-You ignored him and tried to push his voice away, feeling unsettled that he was now talking to you when you were awake. You had a bad feeling. Your condition might get worse and worse, especially when the one ring was whispering to you too.

-The journey became difficult. You went through the path of Moria. You tried to keep the hobbits safe from the goblins, but when you sensed the balrog – Gabriel awakened and tried to take control of you.

-You tried to resist him, but your internal struggle separated you from your companions. They tried to call out to you, but you didn’t hear them and ended up surrounded by the goblins.

-When Gabriel covered your eyes, he again made you fall into a dreamless sleep.

-The goblins surrounded you, but when you clapped your hands with a wicked smile– everything fell into darkness. The fellowship couldn't see anything. They heard the goblins scream in pain and terror, making sounds they had never heard from a goblin before. It was enough to make them all shiver with fear.

-They were worried when you disappeared into the darkness. But, since the goblins and the balrog were after them. They had to leave you behind.

-Frodo mourned for you and Gandalf. He saw you as a good friend because you were kind, and it felt like there was something connecting you, so he did only lose one friend but two.

-Time passed, and he and his companions reached Lothlorien, meeting the lady of the light.

-Frodo felt tired after everything he went through but kept going since he chose to do it, and he felt like he owed it to you and Gandalf since it was he– who chose the path through Moria, and you gave your lives for him to live.

-His departure from Lothlorien was smooth, but then the orcs attacked, and he made the decision to continue the journey on his own along with Sam.

-The two wandered through the woods until they felt a menacing presence. Frodo could feel the ring reacting to it. It was so strong he could feel it vibrate against his chest. Against better judgment, they decided to investigate and follow where the ring was taking them.

-They came to a lonely forest opening and were shocked to find you hovering in the air with haunting eyes. Leaves and stones floating around you. You had a terrified expression on your face, and all the green around you had either turned grey or withered.

-The air felt heavy in the hobbit’s lungs. The one ring reacted strongly to your presence, and they felt like there was less light in the world, just growing darkness.

-Frodo called out to you, and his voice reached your mind, waking you up from slumber and making you drop down to the earth.

-You laid there, dizzy and confused. Frodo and Sam had to walk over to see if you were alright, and when they saw you conscious, they bombarded you with questions.

-You knew you couldn't hide it from them, so you told them the truth about Gabriel, who has been taking control of your body and doing unimaginable things. You had been trying to avoid spending too much time around Frodo since the one ring seemed to affect you and Gabriel, who seemed interested in its power.

-You expected the hobbits to fear you and push you away, but they comforted you and told you how glad they were to see you alive. They told you about Gandalf's fall and their departure from Lothlorien.

-You were baffled by the news and saddened to hear Gandalf fell with the Balrog. You should have considered going to Lothlorien and seeking lady Galadriel's aid, but you couldn't bring yourself to leave the hobbits do their journey alone, so you asked if you could join them to keep them safe.

-Frodo and Sam felt reluctant to let you come and told you how you should find help to deal with Gabriel. You insisted, saying it wouldn't feel right for you to let them go alone. You might even find use in Gabriel's abilities to keep them safe from Sauron.

-They allowed you to come, and you three started your journey together toward Mordor. They felt comforted since you were an experienced warrior and a friend.

-However, Gabriel started whispering relentlessly into your ears to take the one ring, kill Sauron and become the new dark lord. He tried to tempt you with these horrible ideals, and you tried to resist him, ignoring his honeyed words and promises.

-He didn't make it easy. He started haunting you in your dreams, trying to tempt you, yelling at you angrily, and showing you terrible visions of flames and darkness. It was an endless charade of nightmares.

-You started suffering from fatigue because you didn't want to sleep anymore. It got so bad that there were bags under your eyes, and the lack of rest began to catch up with your body.

-One day, Gabriel showed you the most terrible nightmare ever, and you woke up screaming. Your fatigue and the constant whispering, possession, and dreaming drove you mad. You took out your dagger, intending to end it by killing yourself.

-Sam and Frodo were fast enough to stop you, holding you down and taking your dagger away from your hand. You struggled, but when they managed to calm you down, you cried and apologized hundred times.

-They didn’t know what else to do, so they only comforted you, making you some calming tea to help you clear your mind.

-You struggled to keep yourself going after that. Gabriel's hold on you only grew stronger, making you worry about what would happen to you and Middle Earth if Gabriel was to set free upon it. You couldn't make yourself leave Frodo and Sam to make the dangerous journey, so you only had each other to keep yourself sane.

#lotr x reader #lotr #tolkien #lotr headcanon #angels #false gabriel #middle earth x reader #middle earth #lord of the rings

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animeyanderelover · 3 years

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Whoo, requests are open! Can I get Azusa Mukami, Ash Launders, Lau, and Grell Sutcliff with a darling who's a ghost, or something akin to one? Thank you, please take your time with this and remember to take breaks when you need to!

I recently talked about this with my friend, but both of us are amazed with how popular Ash actually is. He suddenly became so beloved in here. Not that I complain😏.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, paranoia, self-harming behavior, kidnapping, killing

Ghost s/o

Grell Sutcliff

🟥Grell is a grim reaper and for that probably met ghosts quite a few times ago. Ghosts are souls from people who didn’t find peace yet and whilst humans can’t see ghosts most of the time, other supernatural creatures can. Grell feels sometimes a bit sorry for ghosts whose souls are tight to this world until whatever doesn’t allow them to Rest In Peace is solved. There are exceptions though, it isn’t unheard that even after the issue was solved, ghosts decided to stay, mainly because they started enjoying life as an undead once again. So at one point such examples were counted in the supernatural community as well.

🟥If her darling should be a pure ghost, it depends on whether they still try to find a way out of this world or are one of those who decided to live forever as a ghost. If it’s the first one, she would definitely try to make her darling enjoy life once again since she doesn’t want them to leave. She wants to give them happiness once again and would try about everything to make them feel joy again. If it’s the latter case, she would switch from a worried mother mode in a totally fascinated one. She did meet ghosts before, but normally they are more of loners since they grief over whatever they couldn’t finish during life. So having a darling as ghost makes her more interested since ghosts aren’t that known to other magical beings.

🟥Hopefully you know how to manifest yourself or else Grell will get really pouty since she’s clingy. A ghost can learn to materialize their body so others can touch them even though that takes practice. Girl loves you just very much to the extent where she often wants to jump on you and tackle you in a hug after a boring day of work...which ends with her being met with the ground of you don’t know how to control it or did it on purpose. It also tends to scare her a bit if you suddenly pop somewhere up without her knowing since you can just walk through objects. There was this one time where you were looking for her, ending with your head popping up through the ground right in front of her. And Grell might be able to handle, blood, zombies and other gore stuff, but not this. It ended with her screaming startled.

🟥If you’re not dead, but just possess the possibilities of a ghost, the whole walking through walls and turning invisible stuff, you’re most likely a hybrid because believe it or not, in materialized form ghosts can create or bear children too. And half breeds have been since the earliest days always been a more risky topic. Many creatures are still lacking the openness to accept persons from two different kinds since many are still in the classic belief that only the same species should have children together. It leads her to being more overprotective over you since she doesn’t want you to endure hatred and racism from others. She’s fiercely overprotective in that regard.

Lau

🚢He has a weird fascination with such things, at least in my opinion. He might only be human, but he has awareness of the more otherworldly creatures on this planet and his assistant, Ran Mao, herself appears to be some sort of superhuman as well. He has probably heard a lot of ghost stories before, either from his own country or here, in England. And he is somewhat good in telling when a story was just made up so the person could suddenly gain attention or if there is a spark of truth in it. He has a nose for stuff like this and actually likes listening to such stories.

🚢So expect his obsession to very quickly grow if his darling should be a ghost even though he would hold himself back if they are unhappy due to their unfinished business. He is manipulative and is also, despite being good in hiding it from his darling, very greedy and mercenary. He might not show it, but he has every intention to make his darling stay with him, even if that means ensuring that whatever they need to do in this world will never be finished. If you are that kind of ghost who’s happy with their new life, he would be much more open with his curiosity, expressing his interest in your abilities and also backstory. Especially if you should be a lot more older than your appearance gives away, he would be keen on your story. If it should happen that you were murdered and the killer is still alive, that guy will join your kind maybe very soon if they have regrets in their life.

🚢He’s also interested in how your anatomy works since he’s an expert in it. He of course wouldn’t use you like some test subject, but he is just kind of interested how you are able to turn your whole body in one moment in something thinner than air and in the next moment into something that appears to be flesh and blood again. He also kind of likes it to touch through you since your transparent body has a certain coldness around it which gives him goosebumps. It’s a great contrast to when you have materialized and are in possession of a warm body which leads him to being even more touchy than usual. Lau finds it also always very amusing whenever you suddenly appear out of thin air, your abilities are such a breath of fresh air for him. He tends to be a bit surprised, but is good in hiding it with his usual mysterious smile.

🚢He can only guess that a half-ghost like you are one isn’t very beloved in this world. Lau of course doesn’t think you, he finds it highly interesting that you are a mix from two different species, he never thought ghosts could actually create babies. If there’s the possibility, he would like to meet your parents and talk with them, especially the parent who’s the ghost. It kind of leads him to wanting to isolate you a bit since he doesn’t want some other creature trying to kill you since different from a normal ghost you can get hurt by weapons and die like a normal human even though it’s harder to do.

Ash Landers

▫️Whilst he definitely is informed about all the other magical beings existing in this world, he stays away from pretty much everyone, even his own kind. Ash is just embossed from his obsession with purity and doesn’t think of anyone as really worth living since everyone is tainted by greed, lust, sloth and other unspeakable sins. He even hates his own kind since many angels protect the exact lowlife he wants to get rid off, believing that every life deserves living and given a chance. He is somewhat alone with his crazy goals, but he doesn’t mind.

▫️I think Ash with a ghost darling isn’t a very good mix, a horrible if I’m being honest. For the simple reason that you already died and merely your soul remains on this planet, either because of your own free will or because you carry a burden with you. You’re dead. That should say everything to why Ash is experiencing the true deepness of madness and terror someone could never possibly begin to imagine. He failed, he pathetically and utterly failed to protect the only person who actually deserved a happy and good life. It makes his whole life shatter, next to his already screwed up sanity. It does not matter if you were killed, died in an accident or because of a deadly sickness. The village you lived in will be blamed and slaughtered by him.

▫️He’s horrible to act with this because I have this terrible thought that he will not only not allow you to leave, but also desperately try to search for ways to somehow get your soul back into your body or will find a vessel in which you can live. He does not care if you want it or not, he doesn’t even really care if you’re happy or not. Dead is dead and he wants you alive. He would get incredibly prone and torn apart if you yell and cry at him that you don’t want it, that you want to die finally in peace or like being a ghost. You just don’t understand!! HE HAS TO MAKE SURE YOU’RE ALIVE AGAIN!!!

▫️With you being only something akin to a ghost, a hybrid in here, the situation would still be very tangled, but a bit less than with you being an actual ghost. I see Ash as someone who usually despises hybrids, but you are made the only exception from this. It isn’t worth saying that he isolates you since he would do this in all scenarios, even though he also does it in here due to fearing that someone might talk down to you because of your unidentified species. He kind of thinks he’s the only one who can truly cherish you for your whole beauty. You might have an advantage since you can just sneak past him whilst invisible, question is if you’re heartless enough to let innocents suffer under this because Ash can and will burn whole cities down if it leads him to getting you back.

Azusa Mukami

🔪I don’t think he ever met ghosts or other otherworldly creatures before even though he lived a pretty long life. It stands even open to question if he is aware of the existence such other creatures. Whilst he does know that vampires exist, he himself is a half-blooded one, he is not really too informed about other creatures and might even not really cared about it anyways before meeting his s/o. His brothers on the other hand considered the fact of other magical beings on this planet.

🔪He is saddened that you are already dead, it doesn’t matter since how long you’ve already been. It’s still very upsetting for him, especially if you should be mourning over something you couldn’t do in your life as well. I do see him as someone who might actually possess the selflessness to let you go if you’re really desperate despite knowing he’ll die without you. So it’s up to his brothers to find ways to bind you to this earth because they’re scared what Azusa will do if you should ever disappear and leave him alone for eternity. With a darling who likes their current body and is satisfied with themselves, Azusa will be happy as well and be in love with you and your fascinating powers.

🔪But please let him touch you. He is clingy and likes having physical contact with you and if you aren’t able to manifest yourself and hurt him, he will become overtime more desperate. His brother also realize the problem with you being able to escape anytime you want from them except if you make this place your new place to haunt for eternity which all of them hope. Whilst he does like feeling your actual warmth and body, he still finds your ghostly form appearing, the feeling of cold and lingering touches everywhere and yet nowhere at the same time. I do not know if ghosts possess blood or anything like this, I doubt it. So that means at least you don’t have to worry about him eventually giving in to temptation.

🔪He will never be able to understand if someone should dislike his s/o if they should be somewhat of a half breed. As I mentioned, I don’t think he really cared much about the possibility of other beings existing and certainly not a mix made from more than one species. It does add up to his worshipper tendencies since apparently people like you are not very common. He thinks you’re wonderful. As a half-ghost you might have blood inside of you, if it’s from a human is another thing to discuss. But Azusa is from all vampires the one who wouldn’t want to suck your blood, even if it drives him crazy. And even if his brothers try to force him, you can abandon your materialized form anytime for your ghost body. You give Azusa’s brothers honestly a bit of a hard time with your abilities, it’s mocking for them in a way.

#yandere black butler #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere grell #yandere grell sutcliff #yandere lau #yandere ash #yandere ash landers #yandere diabolik lovers #yandere azusa #yandere azusa mukami

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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 3 years

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Hi! I love everything that you write and heh I am a fan! 😄 tbh this is my first time requesting something on Tumblr! If you don't mind and if I am not being a bother...can you write about how the guys would react If MC suddenly starts making meme references? I don't know how I got the idea but I am REALLY curious. And love you! :D

Hiya! Tyvm for the kind words, and apologies that this took a while! I hope you have the chance to enjoy it regardless ❤️❤️❤️ Love you too, sweet pea! I promise to get to the next request you’ve sent ASAP~

Aight but this would be hilarious because the range of the reactions is just ungodly. I will be putting this under a cut after Napoleon so I don’t clog up everyone’s dash, but all the suitors are included below otherwise!

Comte is the one that recognizes a few, but didn’t really stay in modern times long enough to be as well-versed as a Gen Z kid might. Regardless he finds the wittiness and absolute chaotic fuckery to be delightful, and will 100% support the harmless nonsense. It never fails to get a laugh out of him

Mozart that first day be like: “Buzz off MC I hate you” MC, because she likes swinging bats at wasps’ nests: “Well that’s not very cash money of you” Mozart: ?????????? Comte, giggling in the bg like the secret fae he is This one’s just because I’m petty, but after the events of Comte rt I just imagine them encountering Vlad again and MC’s just “I lived bitch.” while Comte is flipping him off behind her lkjahgkjhdsg

Comte @ Leo when he finds the latter under his desk: Had it not been for the laws of this land, I would have slaughtered you. MC: wheezing from the hallway as she’s about to give him his letters

MC: So how was your day, honey? Comte: Good, good--briefly had to go beastmode upon the punk that pilfered my lint roller MC, biting her lip to keep from laughing: So does Leo still have his kneecaps? Comte: for now.

Comte, @ literally anyone upsetting the MC: I won’t hesitate, bitch

Comte: Be careful with my emotional baggage, it’s designer

MC: What if I was evil and ran towards you at very fast speeds Comte: My arms are strong, I would catch and hug you

Leo and Dazai are the ones that don’t have a single reference point but are filled with so much dumbass chaos energy that they just. Understand immediately???? Nobody knows how or why, but they just catch on so fast--adapt the language in a matter of weeks. Never underestimate the power of combined boredom, depression, and humor

I swear to god I just see MC taking them their Blanc/Rouge and being like “here you go sir, one enslaved moisture” and they just go fucking hog wild from day one. MC starts impersonating Theo when he leaves the room around Dazai, like fake deep voice “you all only hate me because you do not like me and I am mean to you. grow up.” Or like the MC meets a baby on her travels with Leo around town and she holds them and says v seriously and sagely “So you are Baby? I have heard tales of your exploits.” and Leo about loses his shit right there. They both think MC is the funniest person alive--they’ve never been more eager to throw a ring at someone in their entire life.

Also a bonus for my beloved Dazai: MC, facing even the slightest inconvenience (like dropping her fork) in the most dramtic voice possible: Life is not daijoubu. Dazai: wheezing

MC, after watching Theo turn down a woman at the bar in the meanest way possible: bro quit letting the darkness consume you u r scaring the hoes Dazai, literally rolling around on the ground, half-drunk and dying:

MC, walking alongside Dazai and stopping to stare at her reflection in the River Seine. Dazai’s expecting some sad or twisted shit, since people often feel comfortable talking about those things around him, but instead she just: “Oh, it’s you. The source of all my problems.” And he about falls into the river from shock HAHAHA

At this point don’t be surprised if his next book is about an absolute madlad woman similar to MC

Napoleon finds it to be a delightful quirk more than anything? He doesn’t really understand it, but he finds it funny when they change their voice for effect or speak in exaggerated tones. If it’s just comprehensible enough for an outsider to understand--or Sebas gives him context--chances are it’ll send him into a laughing fit

For this one I just imagine MC singing that Ratatouille meme song obnoxiously bad while cooking, and Napoleon and Comte are just so wildly amused by it bc it makes zero sense and it’s only vaguely French at this point

MC @ Napoleon while they’re cooking brunch: Can I offer you a nice egg in these trying times?

MC, conflicted because she’s tired and wanted to sleep in but also got to see Napo’s cute sleeping face for a few hours: For my next stunt, I’ll wake up at 5AM on the day I can sleep in. Sebas: Early to bed and early to rise makes a person healthy, wealthy, and wise MC: early to bed and early to rise makes me a massive bitch Napoleon: laughing in agreement

Isaac is the type to be bewildered and concerned at first (especially when he hears the more nihilistic ones hoOOOoooOO BOY) but eventually begins to understand it’s some bizarre attempt at humor (that hurts Zack baby). While some part of him laments that it reminds him of Dazai and he’s secretly jealous of how she and Dazai bond over it, he will sometimes join in the chaos when the mood strikes him and he’s feeling mischievous

Isaac: How are you feeling? MC: Oh, I’m not Isaac: seconds from dialing 911 Isaac: Are you okay? MC: Oh yeah dw I just suffer from that syndrome where your neutral expression makes you look like you’re an angry serial killer Isaac: say sike rn

Isaac, tutoring MC and correcting something: MC, muttering while redoing it: The risk I took was calculated, but man am I bad at math. Isaac: unable to help a laugh

One time MC was avoiding Isaac for fear of hurting his feelings and he just confronts her like: Isaac: back by unpopular demand, me! What’s wrong, MC pls MC was so hecking proud of him

Isaac, telling MC about a recent discovery he learned at uni from another professor: bones typically heal stronger after they’ve been broken--so long as they’re set properly, of course MC, looking him dead in the eyes: So what you’re saying is that I should break every bone in my body until I become superhumanly powerful? Isaac: please do not, no

Mozart and Jeanne are just. Totally lost. Why are you talking like that??? Why are you making “crab hands”???? They don’t understand. Maybe never will. They reach a point where they just kind of laugh and shake their heads, endeared by the oddity after they’re used to it and have determined it isn’t a threat/insult.

MC: It’s a cold and it’s a brooooken, Waluigi. Waaaaluigiiiii...waaaahluigi..... Mozart: surprised, then starts snickering and playing along on the piano

Arthur, asking MC very personal questions out loud because he is an idiot sometimes: Soooo MC, are you a top or a bottom? MC: I’m a threat. (If he asks a second time, the response will be “Wouldn’t you like to know, weatherboy.”) Jeanne, fighting a smile:

MC, about to punch an asshole: Your free trial of being alive has ended Jeanne, seconds from laughing for the first time in 100 years:

Also, because I genuinely can’t help myself. You know that knight meme like “Parry this you fucking casual.” I cannot stress enough that it is literally the personification of Jeanne’s entire character. I’m not even joking.

Arthur and Shakespeare are utterly fascinated by the rapid evolution of wordplay and the sheer hilarity. They will ask all about these so-called “memes” and ask for examples of them if MC can show them (either somehow accessing her phone or drawing them). MC draws Arthur the knife cat meme and he about a s c e n d s at the hilarity of it all, points and yells THEO IS HOLDING THE KNIFE. He is correct. They will be delighted and follow along eagerly, and--god forbid--will make their own based on late 19th century struggles.

Is this where Shakespeare got the idea for “What, you egg? stabs him” and “You are a saucy boy.”? I’m too scared to ask. Don’t even get me started on “The Fool jingled miserably across the floor.” That one is just too on the nose...

I can’t even imagine what would happen to Shakespeare if MC like translated vines and memes into Ye Olde English around him. Imagine she’s at one of those noble balls and hears rumors of these two guys living together and they’re so obviously gay and he says “And those gents w’re roommates.” And in the most false surprised tone ever MC just replies “oh mine own god, those gents w’re roommates.” Imagine having a wife that’s just as hilarious as you are and hits you with all the force of a bag of wet mice every time you speak in retaliation, he’s going into palpitations.

Every time Arthur does smth stupid MC just: “I Pretend I Do Not See It.”

Vincent is tickled pink by MC’s penchant for finding joy and/or amusement in nearly everything they do, and he smiles gently when he sees them muttering and laughing to themselves. He wants to be able to join them in what they love, but he has a harder time following along and understanding the darker humor sometimes. Mostly gets confused??? Please give him the easier ones to mimic and laugh when he tries--or just include him in your jokes MC. He’s babie your honor...

But he also. Will not. Stand any kind of self-deprecation or borderline verbal self-harm. He’s usually very easygoing and calm, but for whatever reason that stuff makes him go deathly quiet and upset.

MC, after something goes horribly wrong, hugging Vincent: Oh Vince, we really in it now Vincent: giggling a little despite his worries, relaxing

MC: Theo stop simping for Vincent that’s my job

MC, when Theo leaves the room and she gets Vincent all to herself: The evil is defeated.

MC: And this is where I would put my will to live...if I h a d one! Vincent: ;-; MC: oh shit, oh fuck, I was only kidding Vincent wait (MC was subsequently lectured and loved on for many hours)

Theo is conflicted because on the one hand, he loves to see you smiling and having fun. On the other, you’re clowning as hard as Dazai and Arthur and he can only handle so many monkeys in his circus. Most of the time he will roll his eyes and be the straight man of this comedy, but you might find him cracking a smile--or accidentally letting a chuckle slip past his lips now and again.

MC, after meeting Theo: I’m a nice person, but I’m about to start throwing rocks at people.

Theo, those first days: Oh? You’re approaching me? Instead of running away, you’re coming right to me? MC: I can’t beat the shit out of you without getting closer.

Theo: Every time I ask MC to explain “vibe check” to me she hits me with some kind of improvised weapon

MC, after the “incident” (you know the one): This year, I lost my dear lover Theo Theo, in the distance: QUIT TELLING EVERYONE I’M DEAD! MC: ;-; sometimes I can still hear his voice...

Sebastian is last because oh boy. OH BOYYYYY I LOVE HIM. Okay so the way I see this happening with Sebastian is just. So wild. Because at first he’s t r y i n g so hard to be the proper butler man. He does not meme. But then he starts to drift closer to what Niles from The Nanny was, where he’ll quip and joke in private or when the situation is just beyond the amount of absurdity he can handle without making a snarky comment. Everyone in the house can’t fathom how Sebas and MC got so close so fast, but there are points where they’re just “Are they even speaking English anymore???” It’s 11 times funnier than normal because Sebas almost never smiles or laughs when memeing, the deadpan quality of his playing along sends MC every time

Has ABSOLUTELY said “HEY. PANINI HEAD. ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME???” jokingly when MC made a mistake in the kitchen. They laugh about it for y e a r s

MC: I can’t date someone who keeps a lamb as a pet, that’s so weird Sebas, brushing Lotte in front of MC: MC: MC: Okay, I will make an exception because she looks very polite

MC and Sebas, fully aware of the fame some of the men will reach in modern times: We will watch your career with great interest. (I s2g that’s like half of Sebas’ rt right there I’m crying)

Sebas rt with Lotte be like that 500 dollar Mareep meme: “sometimes a family can be just a boy, his gf, and their 500 dollar two foot tall Lotte”

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quazartranslates · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH66

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 66: The Queen’s Inheritance (V)

When Qi Leren was held in Ning Zhou's arms, he couldn't stop loving this person.

He thought that he could never give Ning Zhou up. If he couldn’t stand beside Ning Zhou, he would be terribly lonely and desperate.

"Power comes at a price," Ning Zhou whispered in his ear. "If I finally lose myself and become the devil I fear and hate most... If one day that happens, you must... kill me."

Qi Leren's chest seemed to be struck hard by a heavy hammer, making him breathless and pained. His bitter tears burst out at once. He put his forehead on Ning Zhou's shoulder and shook his head hard. At this moment, he knew clearly that he couldn't do it.

He was not the saint Maria. He couldn't kill his most important person in order to protect humanity. He was just an ordinary selfish person. He could only try his best to prevent Ning Zhou from falling, even if he has to sacrifice his own life to do it. But if one day the world and his lover were placed at opposite ends of the same scale, the scale would only sway and tilt towards his lover.

Qi Leren, who was driven to despair by this cruel fate, even thought, what did world peace have to do with him? Who would be grateful to a saint who had fallen into evil? If Ning Zhou really did this, would he have to kill Ning Zhou for the sake of "justice"?

"If there is such a day, I will accompany you." Qi Leren choked and said, "You must, you must not leave me."

Qi Leren knew what kind of person Ning Zhou was. He had long been aware of Ning Zhou's personality of self-sacrifice and dedication. After suffering from demonization, this personality had even tilted in the direction of self-destruction.

Ning Zhou could sacrifice himself for others, but he didn't want others to do this for him. He regarded giving as God's reward, and never considered getting a reward. He doesn't want to drag anyone down. If one day he really fell down, he would definitely let go of his hand before falling into hell, and let the person he loved stay in the world.

Because he firmly believed that this was better for Qi Leren, but for Qi Leren, he wanted to be with the person he loved more, and he didn't care whether he was human or a devil, and whether this was the world or hell.

Ning Zhou didn't answer. Just like when they had talked on the balcony that night, he didn't answer.

But this time, Qi Leren couldn't bear it anymore.

"I'm telling you seriously that I don't accept your self-righteous decision." Qi Leren broke free from Ning Zhou's hug and said to him with anger for the first time, "You think it’s good for me, but have you ever thought about how I feel?"

Ning Zhou was silent for a long time. After a long time, he sighed and said to Qi Leren, "Look at your feet."

Qi Leren turned his head and looked down at the altar. More than half of the temple of this cult ceremony had collapsed: the had dome collapsed, the columns had collapsed, and everything had collapsed slowly and inexorably. After the time for the Prophet's Heart ended, the white flowers all over the ground changed back to their original appearance—the broken arms and limbs and dripping blood were all over the place, which were bloodier and more horrible than the slaughtered Valentine tribe.

The blood foaming from the corpses’ mouths made the acid in his stomach churn. Under the tense environment just now, Qi Leren hadn't noticed this, but now when he carefully looked at this piece of hell on earth, he still couldn't bear to look closely and averted his eyes.

Ning Zhou was not surprised.

He hadn't been with Qi Leren for a long time. Most of the time, they had still been far away from each other. There were only the few days since he had really confessed his heart. But he knew what kind of person Qi Leren was. He is brave and strong. Most of the good qualities of human beings could be found in him, but this couldn’t hide that he was a naive young man who had grown up sheltered.

He must have had a warm family, parents who loved him, mentors and friends along the way, and he had lived happily for the first half of his life, so he learned how to love others generously.

Beloved children would become excellent people when they grew up. Their view of the world was gentle, and they had a childlike innocence towards cruelty. Their love for the world was selfish. They loved easily and hated easily. Once they were hit, it was too easy for them to turn good love into deep hate.

Qi Leren had seen the cruelty of the Nightmare World. He had not seen the real terror, and he had not defeated the evil in his heart, so he would not know what it was like to still love the world after suffering.

He felt that he couldn't kill Ning Zhou, and would rather go down with him, but he also hadn't seen a Ning Zhou who had lost himself in his original force, killed innocent people, and even destroyed the world. His determination was just naive self-motivation at this moment.

"You see this ceremony. Such things happen every day in the hell of the underworld, ones more cruel than this. Everything you can imagine, what you can't imagine... is happening. You will never like all this," Ning Zhou said.

He would only slowly collapse in disgust, or become evil himself.

Qi Leren choked. He forced himself to stare at the blood on the ground and a tentacle at his feet that had not been burned away. Every raised lesion on it was filled with disgusting mucus. As Ning Zhou said, he would never like it.

Just like he could strive to be strong in order to survive, and even learn to kill people, but he didn't like it.

The life he liked was the life he had once had, not the daily bloodshed in the Nightmare World. In the dead of night, he would also think of his parents. They only had one child. If he died here, he would never go back...

"Let’s go back. These things can be thought about slowly, and this half-field is about to collapse." Ning Zhou wiped off the blood on his hands and pulled Qi Leren down the damaged steps of the altar.

Qi Leren was silent, with his head down, and his boots stepped on the blood that splashed like a pool of water, making him hold his breath subconsciously. In this dim temple, everything was destroyed and ruined. When going out of the temple, Qi Leren suddenly remembered the mysterious sacrifice that had destroyed the ceremony before, and immediately went back to look for him.

"He left," Ning Zhou said, as if he knew what he was thinking.

"Left? Can you leave here?" Qi Leren asked in a low voice.

"I need to find out who this person is," Ning Zhou said. Taking Qi Leren forward, there were traces of a violent breakthrough at the edge of the half-field. The passerby had hit this half-field with his own half-field—this simple and crude method was very dangerous, because the half-field was very fragile before it was completely condensed. It was like two eggs colliding with each other. No one can be sure which one would be broken, or if the two would break together.

"That man just now... was very strange," Qi Leren said. "Did he intentionally mix into the cult sacrifice group to stop the ceremony and save them?"

Ning Zhou shook his head: "He was not here to save anyone."

That man had had no kindness or pity for the innocent people here. He was like a tiger who challenged the hunting tiger king in order to overthrow the position of the king of the jungle. It was not his original intention to save the goats who had escaped from danger. It was just a coincidence.

Qi Leren also felt the difference in that man, and he grinned: "He’s a strange person, but I saw his weapon... Is he the one who fought against Ashley before?"

"It's him," Ning Zhou said with certainty.

Qi Leren had a hunch that he would meet this person again.

The two men went out from the broken part of the half-field that was about to collapse, instantly returned to the sloped building, and then walked towards the Trials Court’s headquarters.

　　&&&

"The worshippers of Utopia are getting more and more rampant," Celia said with a frown after hearing Qi Leren’s retelling of this cult sacrifice.

"Utopia is the Devil of Power’s field? What method did she use to sway the worshippers?" Qi Leren asked curiously.

He knew that with the Slaughter Secret Society of the Devil of Slaughter, by joining the organization and gaining recognition, members would have the opportunity to be given a powerful seed of slaughter, and could even be transformed into a demon. This was very attractive to ordinary people, so there were countless players and aborigines who joined in wave upon wave. However, Qi Leren still had little knowledge of what Utopia was.

"It’s said that as long as the monster guarding the gate of Utopia is summoned and given a good meal, it will generously open the door and let worshippers enter Utopia, where there is no death, no worry, no fear, and people can live a happy eternal life from now on," Celia said.

Qi Leren turned his head silently and complained to Ning Zhou, who was silent on the side: "They must be out of their minds?"

"...Hmm," Ning Zhou said.

"How can they believe that they can get what they want through this wicked ceremony? If nothing else, is the Devil of Power a kind person? Is she doing this to do good deeds?" Towards these idiotic fanatical worshippers, Qi Leren couldn't help but feel like he had a higher IQ.

Celia looked at the ripples in the cup of black coffee she held, and sighed lightly: "If you’re just an ordinary person, have no talent, and aren’t very brave, you don't know if you’ll still be alive tomorrow. You watch your relatives and friends die one by one, but there’s nothing you can do. Where do you want to pin your soul so it can breathe? People always have to believe something in order to forget the pain and suffering in front of them."

Qi Leren opened his mouth, but swallowed his words back.

He wanted to ask why they didn't work hard, but he felt that the question was like "why don't you eat more meat." Would hard work definitely have results? Even Qi Leren himself wasn’t sure. But if you didn't work hard...

Qi Leren tensed his face slightly. He looked at Ning Zhou, who had taken on too much burden, and thought: If you don't work hard, you will only sink forever into your destiny.

One day he would untie Ning Zhou and make him happy. Happy and free.

He believed that someday, this day would come.

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 3 years

Note

For the “everyone who died is able to wake up” sdra2 au, could you do headcanons of the characters who died reuniting with their s/o who made it to the end? If all the dead characters is too much, you can choose who to do, but if you decide to do Shinji, since he has teenage children, maybe you could include them being there too?

I can do all of them! I think the Void members are the same age outside the simulation so I’ll just leave them at that.

Obvious major spoilers! This took forever to write whew

.........

Yuri

Realizing that you saw each other as high schoolers was quite strange. But now you remembered why Yuri became so attached to you the moment you met on the island.

Everyone who woke up was shook upon seeing how tall and muscular he actually was. But you were just happy to see your boyfriend alive and well.

You tell him everything that’s happened, and he’s understandably bitter about Hajime killing him (you had to distract him with a kiss so he didn’t actually punch him).

In time he decides to forgive the boxer...but only because you asked him to.

He feels guilty about letting Monocrow be used for the killing game. So to ensure his work didn’t hurt anyone else, he destroyed all the data and blueprints associated with the bird.

The simulation reminded you of how short he was back then--and you’d tease him about it often (much to his embarrassment).

Hajime

Wakes up disoriented and confused, until he realizes he’s alive and back in the real world. Though he’s got a bit of a headache.

Then he sees you and smiles. “Were you waiting long?”

“Almost too long, you dumbass.” You just hug him tightly, grateful that his brain wasn’t fried to mush like you feared.

He has genuine regrets about siding with Mikado and offers to let you punch him if you wanted to. But you only give him a kiss and reassure him that’s all in the past.

Despite everything, he manages to joke about being turned into a doll, claiming it could be good merchandise to sell in the future. Though for now you both just wanna go home and recuperate from what happened.

Yep, he’s still got his healthy habits so he’ll be sure to take care of himself (and you, of course, since your mental health is just as important as your physical health).

Kokoro

Has the most nonchalant reaction.

She feels unusually cold, but quickly claims it’s just an “after-effect” of the death she experienced in the program.

If anyone else was her s/o, they would’ve been angry and confused at her neutral reaction. But you’ve known her long enough to know she’s like this all the time.

So you just smile and welcome her back, telling her you survived--like her younger self anticipated.

With both versions of Mikado gone, she isn’t exactly sure where to go with her research from here. But you convinced her to take a long break from her work.

She thought you’d be angry or at least disappointed that she contributed to the simulation’s creation, but you aren’t.

You didn’t have the heart to hate her, even though before that you resented her for using her daughter for human experiments.

Emma

Surprisingly calm...at first. She just acts like she woke up from a nap, relieved “this bad dream” was finally over.

But then she sees her hands--realizing she’s whole again and not some disgusting mess of flesh trapped in limbo--as you hold them and smile softly at her. “Welcome back to the land of the living, darling.”

Everything hits her all at once, and before you knew it, she was hugging you tightly and sobbing into your chest as she apologized for everything she did.

She was scared she’d never see you again, worrying if you’d survive to the end (imagine her relief when you did).

You spend a bit of time comforting her, rubbing her back and reassuring her she was finally free of Mikado’s influence.

You’re close to tears yourself--seeing her slaughtered by horror movie monsters was a grim execution you wouldn’t forget easily.

And after coming home that’s one movie genre you both avoid for a while.

Setsuka

She wakes up feeling disappointed and some back/joint pain that she didn’t see through her mission till the end, but she’s happy to be back with you.

You practically throw yourself into her arms, relieved she was whole again and not just limbs scattered across a haunted house attraction.

If you decide to tell her about the circumstances regarding her death, she might be quite unnerved, at first, though she doesn’t resent Hibiki once you mention how she was basically a puppet during that time.

Her quick forgiveness would’ve been surprising, but you only expected that from her and just smile, giving her a kiss.

“You’re taking a few days off of work. I don’t care what Tsurugi says--you need it.”

“Alright, alright..fair enough...by the way, I’m still as cute as I was back then, right?” She chuckles.

Yep, that’s your sweetheart of a former billiards player alright.

Hibiki/Kanade

(I hc that Kanade’s serial killer backstory was all fabricated, and her obsession over Hibiki isn’t as extreme irl, but she still has some overprotectiveness).

When the twins wake up at the same time, they...honestly aren’t sure what to say to you--or each other for that matter.

Kanade was staring off into space, fully aware of the horrible things she said and did. Meanwhile Hibiki looked ready to yell at her as soon as she spoke. And you were just watching them nervously.

But then you’re surprised when the younger sister reaches over to hug you, starting to cry and apologize for everything. She could never see herself doing any of those things in real life...but she doesn’t expect any forgiveness right away.

To her shock, you forgave her--knowing that the Kanade in that simulation wasn’t your sweet and shy sweetheart. The real one you’ve known since forever was right here, feeling truly remorseful for things she never did.

It’s not long before Hibiki burst into tears too and oops now both of them are crying into your arms.

But you didn’t care. What mattered was that the nightmare was finally over.

Shinji

Your teenage kids were brought to the location of the pods by the KF (as other living relatives of the kidnapped participants were), and they anxiously waited for you and Shinji to awaken.

The relief and joy you felt upon seeing their smiling, tearful faces was immensurable as they practically tackle-hugged you. But when they ask about their father, you decide they’re mature enough to know what happened--and so you explain that he made a sacrifice to protect everyone, including you.

They promise to wait for him, as they did for you...and man is that wait worth it when he awakens to see his beloved family.

It’s a very, very tearful reunion, but it was especially overwhelming for you, considering you still have the image of your husband’s burnt corpse fresh in your mind.

Shinji’s optimism never wavers, even after everything. He points out that the way you two have interacted in the simulation was similar to how you both met in real life during high school (minus the killings, of course).

You regrettably tell him what became of Yuki, but he just hopes the kid’s doing alright, wherever he may be.

Nikei

The moment he wakes up, he takes a few seconds to register three things: he’s alive, you’re alive, and his right hand is back.

But before you can ask him how he’s feeling, a billion and one questions fly out of his mouth.

“Is it all over?? Is Mikado gone?!! What about Utsuro--??"

You do your best to calm him down and catch him up to speed, reassuring him Mikado is gone and won’t hurt him ever again.

Though now that he sees everyone alive and well--including Shinji and Void--he feels tense and awkward, wondering what the future holds now. But you take his right hand to divert his attention back to you.

He gets pretty choked up, realizing that he’s finally free and isn’t doomed forever and can actually go home with you. You just smile and hug him, repeating those reassurances.

Considering his breakdown in the trial where he got executed, you decide you’ll have a long chat about his insecurities when you two get home--with him being the interviewee.

Teruya

Rei and Tsurugi are with you when Teruya finally awakens. Though before he can even properly get out of the pod, you throw your arms around him and he doesn’t hesitate to embrace you back.

He’s already in tears himself, relieved when you tell him you survived.

“That’s good..I’m..I-I’m glad you made it out.”

“I would’ve liked to make it out with you, too, idiot.” You huff, remembering how he refused the antidote you tried giving him for the poison.

He told you why he needed to die so you could escape with everyone. And it hurt him a lot to do that, but you forgive him..though only if he promises to never make a stupid sacrifice like that again.

You decide to leave out how you almost got executed by an incorrect vote. For a while you thought you could never avenge your boyfriend, but with Mikado finally gone..you were now satisfied.

He’ll need a few days off of work after what he’s been through. You already chewed out Tsurugi for calling Teruya a “diversion”, so he begrudgingly allows it.

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shannygoatgruff · 4 years

Text

The World Over - Part II

Genre: Vikings/GOT Crossover Fan Fiction

Overall Rating: MA – violence, language, strong sexual content

Summary: Ivar the Boneless and Daenerys Targaryen find themselves unlikely allies. But each has something that the other needs to get them what they want. He has the tactical skill to take her all the way to Kings Landing. She has the dragon army that will give him all of England, possibly Norway. Will they be each other’s savior or demise?

A/N: Neither show’s timeline is cannon. They aren’t meant to be - I’d have to do a lot of finessing to make everything work if I kept to the script!

Little Orphan Dany

Thoughts weighed heavily on the young woman's mind. How was she, a mere 19-year-old, one of the most feared women on this side of the Narrow Sea? She didn't want to be feared. She wanted to be loved – by her brother, by the people, by her khalasar…by her sun and her stars; her beloved Drogo.

Turning over in her bed, Daenerys Targaryen let out an audible sigh. This was not the life she had imagined. Her brother, Viserys, was the one that wanted to reclaim the Iron Throne, not her. She just wanted to go home. Only, where was home? She was a bastard without a country, driven out by the usurper Robert Baratheon during the slaughter of her family.

Looking out at the rooftops of Meereen, Dany thought back to where her home could be. When she was younger, she used to believe that her home was somewhere in Westeros – though she wasn't sure where. She never felt apart of Westeros.

At one point in time, she believed her home was the island of Dragonstone - the ancestral home of the Targaryens, and where she was born. Her mother had still been heavy with Daenerys in her belly when she escaped with Viserys after King Robert put himself on the Iron Throne. Her mother died giving birth to Dany in that place.

Viserys had tried to convince Dany that their home was in King’s Landing. Dany was sure if they ever made it there that he would have spent most of his time parading her around at court like she was a slave on sale at auction. He had filled her head with so many stories about the Red Keep, that she often wondered how he could remember what it looked like seeing as he was so young when they fled. There was no doubt in her mind that he would have tried to use her to gain every favor with every lord and nobleman in all of King’s Landing. The thought made her shutter.

Would she really be connected to King’s Landing? That was where her father had ruled. So much blood had been spilled there. So many people changed allegiances, like the ebbing of the tide. Not knowing who to trust, who was on your side...

Plus she had heard they kept the remains of the dragons of the Kings of Old within the Red Keep. What kind of horrible place was that? She would probably be as much a stranger there as she would be on the Wall.

The more she thought about it, the more she knew that her only home had ever been with Drogo. Khal Drogo. How she missed her Drogo. He had been her everything.

She was been totally against it when Viserys had Magister Illyrio arrange the marriage. She only dared to say something one time to her brother and the look in his eyes was enough for her to never utter any other words about the match again. Viserys had beat her before, but she had never angered him enough to 'wake the dragon' which he always threatened to do. She did not really know what that meant, nor did she want to find out.

Being the dutiful sister, Dany prepared to marry a complete and total stranger. Not only did she not know this man who was almost 10 years her senior, but they were from two different worlds. They did not speak the same language or share the same customs. She literally did not have any idea what or how to do as a married woman, let alone as a wife of a Khal.

The day Daenerys first saw Drogo, she was petrified. She could not will her feet to move toward him as she stood on the balcony for his inspection. She was just a girl. She had just barely had her blood for a full lunar season, and she was expected to have sex with this man. And that's what he was – a man. Khal Drogo was a huge man, full of muscles and stood at a full 6'4" tall. His hair was the deepest shade of black she had ever seen and hung in a long ponytail that landed on his horse when he sat astride it.

They were each other's polar opposite. He had the most exotic toffee-colored skin and chocolate eyes, compared to Dany's boring pale skin, towhead and blue eyes. Where he was tall and hard, she was just above 5 feet and soft. He was dark and brooding, she was pale and childlike. She could see callouses on his hands as he gripped the reins of his horse. Her hands were as smooth as silk reminding her that she had never done a day's labor in her life. He smelled like sweat, oil, and sand. She smelled like rose water. He spoke in a guttural language that she did not understand. She spoke the common tongue and Old Valyrian, which to him sounded like gibberish. There were no two things that they had in common.

She had no mother or sister to explain to her what was supposed to happen on her wedding night. Only a brother who told her to make sure she pleased him. And that advice was only because Viserys wanted, no needed something from her betrothed. Daenerys didn't even know the first things about the Dothraki, except they were violent, nomadic horse lords who probably mounted their women like a steed mounted a mare.

She knew nothing about the man she was to marry and even less than that about sex. And when he took her, she had been afraid and cried. She cried for weeks after that night – every time he took her. She knew people found it pleasurable. The Dothraki were not shy about sex, they had it out in the open for the entire horde to see. But she didn't know what she was doing and couldn't communicate with her husband to ask him to show her.

She longed for the passion that the bards and poets spoke of, so she sought the help of her slave. She learned to talk to her husband, and how to love him.

Drogo and Dany worked. Somehow, they fit together like a hand and glove. Drogo became the air that Daenerys breathed. He taught her love and confidence in herself that she did not know she possessed. She taught him patience and that a Khal did not always have to be ruthless during the quiet times between a husband and wife. There's was a match brought together by the old gods and the new.

And Rhaego…her sweet Rhaego. He was promised to be the Stallion Who Mounts the World, if only he had lived. The thought of the son that she and Drogo created was a memory that was too hard for her to bear. She lost her son and her husband in rapid succession. She went from being a wife and a mother for all of those months to now this...

Losing her two great loves had changed her. She went into the flames as Daenerys Targaryen and came out Daenerys Stormborn – The Mother of Dragons. Rhaegal, Viserion, and Drogon were now her children – her young dragons were so much like children. She cared for them and protected them, and in return they loved her. Her three sons were going to avenge their family name in Westeros.

The Lannisters did not deserve her father's throne and she would reclaim it for her husband and son.

Now she was here. A Khaleesi, with her own khalasar, an army of Unsullied soldiers and the Second Sons at her command. Not to mention, she had the entire country of Meereen to liberate from slavers. No wonder she was having trouble sleeping. If only Drogo were here to put his strong arms around her and pull her into his embrace. She would easily be able to drift off into a deep slumber. He would help her strategize a plan to free the slaves, help the merchants, and punish the masters. Then maybe she could concentrate on a way to recruit more soldiers for her army and plan how to get their horde across the Narrow Sea.

"This is impossible," Dany huffed, sitting up to lift the pitcher of cool water next to her bed. She filled an empty goblet, sat down the pitcher and placed the glass to her lips. Breathing in deeply, she closed her eyes and said a silent prayer that the water had not been poisoned before she took a large gulp. "I am no war strategist.”

Looking over to her bed, she turned up her lip and shook her head. Daario meant well, but he was not what she needed. He wasn't Drogo. He did not even come close. Why was she allowing him to take company in her bed? She barely enjoyed his company during the waking hours, let alone at night. This had to stop. Loneliness was no cause for desperation.

Carefully, she swung her feet over the side of the bed and place them into awaiting slippers. She stood, grabbing the pale blue silk robe. She slipped the fabric over her arms, transporting the goblet from one hand to the other, as not to spill the liquid inside. She continued to drink, as she made her way out of her chamber.

As Dany walked the dimly lit hallways, she pondered where to go. She could see who was in the council room, and perhaps talk strategy on how to get the slavers of Yunkai back under control. Or perhaps, since the night was so nice, she would take a walk to the clearing and visit with her dragons.

She continued to walk down the hall until she heard voices and the soft flutter of laughter. The light lilt made her stop and smile. As quickly as the laughing started it stopped. Dany slowly rounded the corner and tried to stop the corners of her mouth from turning up.

Grey Worm stood at attention, arching his back and holding his head at up, "My Queen."

"Torgo Nudho," Dany nodded at Grey Worm, "Missandei." She turned and looked at her most trusted advisor, then back to Grey Worm. "If you will excuse me for a moment, I need to discuss some things with Missandei," she noticed the lightning-quick flicker of disappointment that flashed across Grey Worm's face and how it disappeared almost as quickly.

Clenching his jaws, he bowed to Daenerys, before stealing a look at Missandei and exiting the room.

A huge smile split Dany's face in two. Grabbing the darker woman by the arm, she ushered Missandei over to the window bench aligned with soft pillows and sat her down beside her. "So…tell me. Are there new developments between you and Grey Worm?" Dany held her goblet in both hands and guided it to her lips. She kept her eyes eagerly trained on her friend.

Missandei was thoughtful in her answer, but as usual, kept her face very neutral and her voice calm, "No developments as of yet. But, I have noticed the way he watches me. It is no longer like is protecting me. There is another look in his gaze, now." Playing with the hem of her gown, she furrowed her brows. "I am starting to feel differently toward him. But, I don't know that I should. I don't know that I can…that he can…if we could ever…"

Dany put her hand on her friend's arm to quiet her questions, "In this uncertain time, I know one thing to be true. We all must find love when and where we can. We don't know if tomorrow is promised to us. Stop worrying about if you or he or you both can, whatever. Think about what you can do, and what you enjoy doing, together." She let her gaze go to the other side of the room, "While we are in Meereen, we have it easy. When we cross the Narrow Sea, things will change. Steal away as much time with him as you can. These times may not be afforded to you, later."

"Is that what you are doing with Daario?" Missandei looked at her lap, then up at Dany's face, afraid she had overstepped her bounds. "I mean no harm, but I do not understand why you share your bed with him. You barely tolerate him."

Dany let out a hearty laugh, "I know!" She sat her goblet on the floor beside her and took Missandei's hand in hers. "I grow bored here. I can listen to the quarrels of farmers all day and think of how to get to King’s Landing. The truth is being here," she motioned around the room, "bores me. We are building a great army that grows stronger by the day. My dragons are growing big and strong. Soon, there will be nothing standing in the way of me taking back the Iron Throne. I have the army to do it, but not the plan. That's why I spend time with Daario. I keep hoping one day something brilliant will come out of his pretty mouth, but nothing ever does."

"What about Ser Jorah? He must have a plan." Missandei chimed in.

"Nothing that will not cause me to lose more than half of the Dothraki, Unsullied and Second Sons. I am not prepared to sacrifice them." Dany stood up and walked over to the large table, picking up one of the war pieces on the map and turned it over in her hand. "I need a tactician. Someone to beat them at their own game. When our army comes, we will give them a fight like they have never seen before." Turning back to her friend, she smiled softly, "So I say again, go, find your man. Enjoy him now. Soon, we will rain fire upon Westeros."

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lilacmoon83 · 4 years

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Dashing Rose: A Finding You Always Vignette

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 4: The Resistance

What ensued that night, beneath the stars, cemented the bonds of true love between Rose Red and Fandral of Asgard, as they made love for the first time. Clothing was divested slowly, amid hot, passion filled kisses, until they were both bare.

"You are so beautiful…" he uttered, as he stared at her bare form, but he wasn't the only one doing the admiring. Her love was a strikingly handsome man; she had known that from the moment she lay eyes on him. But to see him bare like this ignited the desire in her even more. He was gorgeous, from head to toe, and everything in between. She didn't have much to compare his anatomy to, but she was positive that he was far above most men. His strong, powerful arms held her tightly, as he kissed her throat and she thrilled at the feel of his hard body against her. She explored his chiseled chest and carved abs with her hands and their eyes met, as he settled between her legs. She gazed below his waist and had to bite her bottom lip to keep a moan at bay. He was very aroused and she was as well and she knew it was time for the part that came next.

"Are you ready?" he asked in a husky voice.

"Yes…" she breathed, as he gently kissed her and then slowly pushed inside her. A sharp moan escaped her lips, as there was a bit of pain and he stilled to let her adjust to the feeling.

"Don't stop…" she urged and he began to move, slowly building a rhythm and gliding into her. Rose was soon beside herself in pleasure, as the pain faded quickly and was replaced by pure pleasure. It only got better from there, as she was soon writhing beneath her beloved and her first climax hit her. Whatever she thought it might be like was exceeded ten times over at that moment.

"Oh...ohhhhhh…" she cried loudly, as it hit her and she thrashed passionately amid his surging thrusts. He was beside himself as well and only his enhanced stamina kept him from losing control prematurely, for she felt incredible around him, so slick and tight that it was mind blowing.

He held her through her orgasm and finally reached his own, coming inside her, before they collapsed in a tangled heap. He gently covered their bare forms with a blanket and they cuddled together, exchanging soft kisses in the afterglow.

"Oh Fandral...that was...far beyond anything I could imagine," she admitted.

"For me as well…" he confessed and she blinked up at him.

"But...you have been with others," she said.

"But I have never truly been with someone I love with every fiber of my being. It truly makes all the difference," he replied.

"I love you, my handsome warrior…" she breathed.

"And I you, my sweet Rose," he said, as they melted into each other once again.

~*~

Screams of terror echoed into the night sky, as King John's army ravaged the small village and it burned brightly in the night sky. The carnage was enough to make anyone retch and bodies were strewn about, as the King took his revenge on his wayward niece. By morning, nothing but smoking cinders remained and soldiers awaited to ambush Rose Red and her love, for they knew they would hear and soon come.

~*~

After waking that morning, they ate the game they caught together and cleaned up in the creek, rather amorously, before dressing and moving on. An hour into their journey, an anxious bluebird found them and relayed his message to her.

"What is it?" he asked, as he saw the horror that was now stricken on his love's beautiful face.

"It's the village nearest the castle...it's gone. He has burned it and slain everyone!" she cried, as she collapsed into his arms, sobbing in grief.

"Oh my angel...I am so sorry…" he said, feeling helpless that there was nothing he could do to take her pain away.

"I need to see it…" she confessed.

"My love...that is likely a horrible trap," he said.

"I know...but they are my people. I must see it...I must let the other villages know that this will not stand! That I will never let my Uncle slaughter more of my people!" she cried.

"Then we will go...and we will fight," he promised, as he mounted the horse and reached down to lift her onto the animal as well. She held onto him tightly, as he took the reins and urged the horse to take them there as fast as he could.

"Is the ambush ready, Sir Hiss?" King John questioned, as he slithering adviser slipped into his Throne room.

"It is Sire...but our attack has angered the people, rather than beat them into submission. If Rose Red rallies them...then our objective could backfire," Hiss warned.

"I will not be usurped by that stupid girl and her Asgardian brute!" John snapped, as he stood up.

"This is my Kingdom!" he ranted.

"Send word to the other allied Kingdoms. Promise them whatever you have to for their assistance in our cause!" he demanded. Hiss bowed.

"Ye...yes Sire," he stammered, as he scurried away. Even if he couldn't get support from allied Kingdoms, he still had the dwarf working on something that he was certain would eliminate the problem of his niece and her Asgardian lover.

~*~

When they arrived at the village, Rose choked back tears, as she gazed at the devastation before them. The village was still smoldering and the air was filled with acrid smoke. She walked slowly into the rubble and felt something under her boot. She lifted her foot and noticed that it was part of a stuffed toy. The damn broke at that point, as she doubled over and cried. Fandral held her tightly in his arms and she sobbed against his chest.

"I'm so sorry, my angel," he whispered to her, feeling helpless since not even with all his strength and skill as a warrior could he have stopped this. She looked up at him with a tear-stained face and his reflexes were quicker than lightning, as they heard a twig snap. He unsheathed his blade and held her tightly around the waist with his other arm.

"Fandral…" she whispered, as soldiers emerged from the woods all around them.

"An ambush…" he realized, as he guarded her.

"Your time is at an end, Princess. King John has ordered your capture and the execution of your lover," one of the soldiers said.

"That will not be easy to accomplish at all," Fandral warned.

"You cannot duel us all and protect the Princess too," he goaded.

"Who says I need protecting?" Rose hissed, as she unsheathed her own sword and stood ready beside her beloved. The men charged them and they fought fiercely, taking over half of them down on their own. But the remaining soldiers slowly surrounded them.

"Surrender Rose Red...and we will spare you the pain of executing him in your presence. I am sure King John would enjoy witnessing his demise anyway," the lead soldier said.

"Fandral…" she uttered, as she realized their escape might not be possible.

"Stay close, my angel...this isn't over just yet," he assured, as he surprised the lead soldier and charged him, swiftly cutting him down. The other soldiers practically mauled him, but that was his plan.

"Run Rose!" he called, as a few of them tried to subdue her, but she picked them off with her arrows.

"I will not leave you, my love," she refuted, as she charged toward the soldiers and screamed, as one of them speared her beloved through his shoulder. It was a weak spot. He had told her of his injury in the same spot with a frost giant, during a foolhardy mission with the mighty Thor.

"FANDRAL!" she cried, as she hurried toward him, cutting down any that tried to stop her. He looked at her in awe, as she reached him and she examined his wound.

"It's minor…" he said, through the pain and she caressed his face, as the remaining soldiers surrounded them.

"Surrender now, Princess and make this easier on yourself," a soldier warned, but there was a thwacking sound, as he took an arrow to the chest and fell dead to the ground. Rose and Fandral looked at each other in confusion, as the remaining soldiers were taken down. They looked around and were ready to fight again if needed, as there would be rescuers emerged from the woods. Many of them looked to be commoners, armed with daggers, bows, and arrows. But their leader certainly stood out and Rose recognized him from stories she had heard in neighboring Kingdoms. He wore all black and was armed with a blade, but most noticeably, he wore a black eye mask over his eyes.

"Your Highness…" he said, addressing her with respect.

"I've heard of you...I didn't know if you were real. My library has many stories about you," she replied, earning a smirk from him.

"Rose...who is this?" Fandral asked.

"I am known simply as Zorro, a vigilante and fighter for the people, much like yourselves and I can no longer ignore King John's tyranny after he slaughtered this village," Zorro replied, as he and the other ragtag band of villagers bowed to her.

"I have gathered the able bodied and those willing to fight. It will not be easy, but you are the rightful Queen of this land and the people are more than fed up with your greedy Uncle," he continued.

"Fandral and I wish to take back the Kingdom from him...but it's a massive undertaking. I'm not sure I can ask my people to put their lives on the line for me," she said with uncertainty.

"You do not have to, Princess. King John must be dethroned and the people are ready to form a resistance," one of the villagers said.

"We just need your leadership," Zorro added. Fandral smirked.

"And you shall have it, for Rose is the rightful Queen and John must be dethroned," he said in agreement.

"My love...how can I be Queen? I...I am no Queen," she said dejectedly.

"That is your Uncle talking, because you, my angel, are the Queen that this Kingdom deserves," he replied, as he turned to Zorro and the makeshift band of rebels.

"And together, we will take back this Kingdom!" he announced.

"Excellent...the nearest village to here has rations waiting for us and first aid to take care of that shoulder," Zorro said, as they followed him and the other men.

"Are you sure about this? I do not know the first thing about being Queen," Rose whispered to her beloved, as they trekked along, hand in hand.

"You are kind and wise, far more than you realize. You knew who he was from your books," he pointed out, making her think for a moment.

"You rushed headlong into battle to avenge your people and when I was in peril, you let none of them stand in your way," he continued.

"You love your people and they love you. They want you as their Queen and I, for one, know that they have made the correct choice. You are willing to fight for them, which means they are willing to fight for you," he added.

"Your quiet, gentle patience and your knowledge reminds me of Queen Frigga," he said.

"Queen of Asgard," she recalled. He nodded.

"She was a great Queen...and you will be too," he said, as he kissed her tenderly and her heart fluttered. The heat rose to her cheeks, as they had arrived in the village and her romance had quickly become a popular topic. Many of the other women gave her knowing smiles and the younger girls seemed enamored by their love story. Word about them had certainly traveled fast and somehow, their love had inspired hope in her people, just as it had in her.

"Come...we need to look at that wound, my love," she urged, as she led him along to the cabin belonging to the local healer. The fight to take back the Kingdom had begun and King John's days on the Throne were numbered...

#Snowing #Snowing parallel #Rose Red #Fandral of Asgard #AU #romance #adventure #family #Dashing Rose #a Finding You Always vignette

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daughter-of-the-prophet · 5 years

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Bethany Hawke (TV Tropes)

All Women Love Shoes: Makes no less than three comments about shoes when prompted.

Angsty Surviving Twin: Downplayed, but Bethany is certainly affected by the loss of Carver. Her first party banter with Varric after they meet him is about how much she misses her twin. She also admits to Areida Hawke how jealous Carver was that the dog chose their older sister instead of him to be his master. It's particularly telling that, seven years after he died, she says that the one thing in her life she truly regrets is that she couldn't stop him from charging that Ogre.

Awesome Mc Coolname: Despite it being a Fan Nickname for Areida Hawke, Bethany is the one that gets called Lady Hawke.

The Baby of the Bunch: Bethany is the youngest of the three Hawke siblings, if only by a few minutes, and the entire family is extremely protective of her, even Carver. She later becomes a little sister to the entire party.

Badass Adorable: Capable of kicking lots of ass, though there is much emphasis placed on her cute demeanor and vulnerability as an apostate.

Badass Bookworm: At the circle, Bethany is held in high regard by both the Templars (by Meredith herself, no less) and her own students as an exemplary mage, despite being a former apostate and the daughter of an apostate.

Badass Teacher/Cool Teacher: Despite being only 23 by Act 2, Bethany still ends up becoming a senior member of the Circle and in charge of teaching apprentices. It's mentioned that they completely adore her.

Beauty, Brains and Brawn: In a trio with Areida and Aveline, Bethany is The Beauty - she has the sweetest disposition and the kindest heart, and several characters (Fenris and Varric among them) remark on how pretty she is.

Beware the Nice Ones: Bethany is quite possibly the nicest, most approachable, least-morally-compromised of Areida's companion. This doesn't mean she's any less capable of destroying you.

Big Sister Instinct:

Invokes this frequently . Do not threaten her when Areida is around.

Also on the receiving end of this. When the Templars come to take Bethany, Areida calmly informs them that they will have to go through her first before Bethany begs her sister to stand down and tells the Templars she will go quietly.

Big Sister Worship: She idolizes her big sister and is constantly supportive of her during her time in the party.

Birds of a Feather: This is a factor in her relationship with Varric, which is one of the healthiest in the franchise. They are the two companions who get along with everyone, they both like helping people, and they are the most content of the entire group to live and let live.

Breast Expansion: For a short time, during Varric's exaggerated prologue sequence you might notice something besides Bethany's magic prowess being enhanced. Afterwards she has the normal female model.

Broken Bird: Downplayed, since she doesn't like to air her grievances, but it becomes more and more apparent that she sees herself as a burden to her family. She feels guilty that Areida goes through so much effort to protect her secret. This is why she surrenders when the Templars come and take her to the Circle at the end of Act 1.

Character Development:

She retains her 'Sunshine' persona and instead grows both more proficient as a mage and also deeper in her faith in the Maker, finding meaning in her own existence.

Either way, she tells Areida that she wouldn't change anything about the events that brought her and her sister to this point, other than stopping Carver's Heroic Sacrifice

Child of Forbidden Love: Like her siblings.

Color-Coded Eyes: Bethany has brown eyes, indicating that she has a warm and down-to-earth personality.

Comes Great Responsibility: Like father, like daughter.

Cool Aunt: She's seen as this by her nephews and niece.

Corrupt the Cutie: Courtesy of Isabela; Isabela delights in trying to remove some of Bethany's innocence, much to Areida's distress.

On learning she is a virgin, Isabela offers to buy her a night at the Blooming Rose. It's unknown whether this ever actually happens.

Isabela apparently sends her a lot of suggestive books to get her through the night while in the circle.

Country Mouse: She comments that she misses the fields of Lothering, compared to the cramped streets of Kirkwall.

Covert Pervert: As noted above, she's grateful to Isabela for sending her suggestive books.

The Cutie: She has a fair few of the trope's requisites, including being incredibly sweet, kind to everyone, and demonstrably affectionate. She's also subjected to Corrupt the Cutie, as noted above.

Daddy's Girl: Strongly implied after the end of Legacy. Malcolm justifiably spent a lot more time with Bethany than with either Areida or Carver since Bethany is the family's only mage child. This may also explain why Bethany looks up to her older sister so much, since Areida is a whole lot like their father in both looks and personality.

Dead Guy Junior: According to The World of Thedas, Bethany is named after her maternal grandmother, Bethann Amell, who died sometime during the year before the twins were born. Leandra only learned of her mother's death shortly before giving birth.

Deadpan Snarker: Occasionally, though less than most of the rest of the companions.

Some of her banter with Anders in Legacy delves into snark, especially when he tries to scold her for voluntarily joining the Circle.

Dysfunction Junction: Initially, she is the sole exception, with the rest of the party having dark pasts and personalities to match them. She isn't nicknamed "Sunshine" for nothing.

Earn Your Happy Ending: In Act 3, Bethany has spent the past six years locked in the Gallows, but by the end of the story, she's free, her friends are alive, she has reunited with her beloved older sister, and the mages are uniting to fight for their freedom. Even though it doesn't go as smoothly as everyone would have hoped, and there's much hard fighting in store for the mages, her fate could have been much worse and she hopes that good will come out of the impending revolution.

Belated Happy Ending: It goes even further, offscreen, at the end of Trespasser in Inquisition. Varric has become Viscount of Kirkwall, and Areida is back in Kirkwall, helping him run the city; the two most powerful people in Kirkwall both love Bethany dearly, and the captain of the guard is her old friend Aveline. Furthermore, after Leliana is made Divine. She dissolves all the Circles of Magi - meaning that Bethany is now free and, one would imagine, enjoying her rightful place at the Hawke estate with her adored older sister, her sister's love interest, and her nephews and neice. It may take a long time for her to get there, but Bethany does eventually earn a very happy ending.

Everyone's Baby Sister: Older than most examples, but still fits. It comes with being both the youngest companion and the only one (besides Varric) that everyone likes. Being Areida's actual little sister also contributes to the role.

Fantastic Racism: Bethany hates Qunari, though she has more justification than most; she had a friend in the family that Sten murdered. This leads to a horribly ironic moment in the prologue: Her twin brother is killed by an ogre while fleeing Lothering. Ogres are Kossith-based darkspawn.

The Friend Nobody Likes: Inverted; as noted above, she and Varric are the only ones of Areida's companions that everyone likes.

God Is Good: Her view of the Maker; of the story's three mage companions, she is the most devout Andrastian. Her faith gets stronger throughout the story.

Gravity Master: By Legacy, she has become a Force Mage.

Hot-Blooded: She has no fear charging into any situation with her magic, even as she tries to hide it.

I Just Want to Be Normal: Her biggest wish is to be normal, as revealed in party banter with Merrill, and she resents all of the hardships brought upon her family in order to keep her safe. The World of Thedas, vol. 2 contains a report, written by someone who met the family in Lothering and was somehow privy to young Bethany's apostate status, which talks about how much the girl clearly would rather not have magic.

Subverted in Legacy. She realizes being "normal" would require an entirely different family. She admits, despite the hardship of being an apostate, she wouldn't have it any other way.

Indifferent Beauty: Multiple characters, as noted above, remark on how attractive Bethany is. She herself seems entirely unconcerned with it, though she clearly appreciates the compliments.

The Ingenue She starts the story and spends the first act as this; she grows into Silk Hiding Steel and a Lady of War.

Leeroy Jenkins: At the end of Act 2, she gathers a cadre of mages to help Orsino fight the Qunari, despite his orders for them to pull back. Her entire group gets slaughtered, but much to Areida's relief, Orsino is able to revive Bethany.

Meaningful Name: "Sunshine" is Varric's nickname for her; Isabela's is "Sweetness." They're both very accurate.

"Sunshine" may be a particularly Meaningful Name. Varric has a number of lines, in party banter and cutscenes, in which he mentions that part of the reason he prefers being a surface dwarf is because he enjoys being in the sunlight. Unlike the more superficial or sarcastic names he gives most of the other companions, he named Bethany after something he loves, and his interactions with her are some of the warmest he has in any story where he appears.

Nice Girl: It says something that, for all the varying views and tempers of the companions, Bethany gets along with all of them; even Fenris, who otherwise despises mages, likes Bethany.

Nice, Mean, and In-Between: Among the three Hawke siblings, she's the In Between to Areida's Nice and Carver's Mean.

Platonic Declaration of Love: She gives one to Areida before the final battle at the end of the story.

"If we don't survive this, sister, I just want you to know that I love you."

Playing with Fire: Bethany definitely qualifies, as she's first seen using fire spells; she has a staff that shoots fire and uses fire spells in cutscenes when she attacks.

Plucky Girl: Bethany refuses to allow her time spent in the Gallows to harden her, and she hopes the mages' rebellion will change how they live among others for the better.

Put on a Bus: Bethany is forced to join the Circle at the end of Act 1.

The Bus Came Back: She rejoins the party in Legacy, during the battle with the Qunari at the end of Act 2, and during the final battle at the end of the story.

In Inquisition, Bethany is sent away by Areida in order to keep her as far as possible from the mage-Templar conflict.

The Red Mage: Bethany doesn't have the party heals or revives of Anders, or the hell-raising blood magic of Merrill, but has access to a great deal of offensive and defensive magic, plus healing, which Merrill lacks. Properly built, she is one of the most versatile mages in the story, subverting the Master of None stigma associated with them. As an Elemental/Force Mage, this becomes even more apparent.

Red Oni, Blue Oni: Blue to Carver's Red.

The Revolution Will Not Be Vilified: She believes that this should be true of the Mage rebellion, and she stands as an example of a good free mage.

Scarf Of Asskicking: Like the other female mage, Merrill. It's probably there to hide the black seam between the head and body in character models, but that doesn't mean Bethany doesn't look stylish in her vibrant red scarf.

Ship Tease: A very sweet one exists between her and Varric, of all people; their relationship is examined in detail on the Heartwarming page. He sometimes calls her "my lady," "Milady Sunshine," or "my Sunshine," which makes her giggle, and he has a number of party banter lines in which he compliments her beauty. She's also the only party member to whom he is absolutely never snarky. There's a lot of affection in their interactions, and their relationship continues to receive mention in Inquisition - he has some lines which indicate that he writes to her frequently.

Sibling Rivalry: Party banter includes hints that this was her relationship with Carver.

Sibling Yin-Yang: With her twin, Carver.

Strong Family Resemblance: Facially, at least, she seems to take after her mother a good deal.

Token Good Teammate: One of the few party members that is not one of the many darker shades of grey found throughout the story.

Token Religious Teammate: The most religious party member. She struggles to reconcile her faith in the Maker with her life as an apostate. By the endgame, Bethany has mostly managed to do so.

Tomboy and Girly Girl: Bethany is the girly-girl to Areida's tomboy.

The Unfavorite: Discussed in Legacy. Learning that Malcolm didn't want to pass on his magic shocks Bethany, who was the only one of the three children to inherit his power. She wonders if Malcolm secretly resented her, which Areida is very quick to shut down; the only thing Malcolm resented was that Bethany had to carry a burden the rest of their family couldn't comprehend.

We Help the Helpless: In Inquisition, when Inquisitor Rosabelle Trevelyan asks him about his companions' whereabouts, Varric says that Bethany is helping refugees in the Free Marches.

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #bethany hawke #TV Tropes

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mint-yooxgi · 6 years

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Under His Influence - Yandere!Vampire!Minseok X Reader

Yandere AU - Part of the Yandere!EXO X Reader Series

Genre: Horror, Angst, Mature, Smut (Masturbation - let’s just say someone has a very active imagination)

Pairing: Minseok X Reader

Words: 10,036

Warning: This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: It’s here! Finally! The next part of the Monster Series you’ve all been patiently waiting for! Yay! I really hope you guys like this one, I'm pretty happy with the way it turned out. I kind of took the vampire ideas from The Vampire Diaries and also mixed in my own interpretations for the story. As always, this is my take on this AU. I do not believe Minseok, nor any of the members, past or present, of EXO would act like this. This is just my interpretation of the song and this archetype. Feedback is greatly appreciated!

A small smile makes its way onto Minseok’s face as he stares into your room, watching you move back and forth as you get ready for bed. He feels calm knowing you are near, especially when he can check up on you. He sees you pull out a change of clothes for sleeping and licks his lips as he sees you reach down to take off your shirt.

“Are you spying on her, again?” A voice says from below his perched location on your balcony, making his head turn towards the sound. By the time he turns back around to look at you, you’ve already changed. He sighs.

“Shut up, Yixing, you know I’m only making sure she’s safe,” Minseok replies, jumping down to meet him on the ground.

“Hmm, okay, if you say so,” Yixing replies sceptically. “You seem to do a lot of that considering she’s only your friend.”

“Exactly,” Minseok replies with a roll of his eyes. “She’s my friend whom I love and worry about.”

“Seems to me that you love her as much more than a friend,” Yixing teases as they make their way down the street and away from your house. “One might say you’re almost obsessed.”

“So what if I do?” Minseok rounds on him, ignoring the second half of Yixing’s statement and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I know she’ll never love me the way I love her.”

“You never know until you try, my friend,” Yixing replies, shaking his head at Minseok as they continue to make their way down the street.

Once they arrive back at their shared house, Minseok makes his way immediately to his room. Shutting the door behind him, he moves to his dresser and picks up the picture he has of the two of you smiling at the beach during the annual bonfire. He remembers that night like it was yesterday, the way you smiled at him the entire time during the festival.

He wishes he could go back to a much simpler time. Before any of this happened to him, before he was changed. Maybe if he was still human he’d allow himself to be with you, but the constant fear of hurting you if the two of you are together is always in the back of his mind ever since he met you.

He was only 26 when he was turned. He didn’t know it at the time, but he had come down with the plague, a horrible disease that he knew he wouldn’t survive from, but his wife back then couldn’t live without him. She payed the ultimate price, seeking out a healer of the time, not aware of the danger she had invited into her house in order to save her husband’s life.

The healer had come that night, shrouded in a dark grey cloak with hair as black as night, and eyes even darker. He made Minseok drink a certain liquid, claiming it had healing properties, and it most certainly did. Minseok would later come to learn of the healing properties of his own blood after he turned, but back then, he thought it was a miracle.

Just as Minseok felt his strength returning to him, the healer had snapped his neck. His wife, too busy making tea for the guest had no idea what was going on, and when she came into the room a few minutes later, the healer informed her that Minseok was just sleeping. The healer told her that he would need to stay until Minseok woke up just to make sure the antidote was working properly.

A few hours later, in the very early hours of the morning, Minseok wakes up with a great pain in his neck. Sitting up in bed, he rolls it from side to side, allowing it to crack.

“Good, you’re awake,” the healer had said.

“What happened?” Minseok questioned, now noticing the burn slowly making itself apparent in his throat. “What’s going on?”

“You’re in transition,” the healer had replied.

“Transition?” Minseok inquired.

“To becoming a full vampire,” the man replied, smirking down at Minseok. “That burning you feel in your throat is the desire to feed, and you’ll need to feed soon, or else you will die for real this time.”

“No, this isn’t real. Vampires do not exist,” Minseok tries to reason, throwing the covers off of his body and trying to stand from the bed.

Minseok takes a look around his room, and it is only then that he realizes there is no light, yet he can see everything clearly. He can also hear faint breaths coming from the next room over, as well as a consistent thumping that makes his mouth salivate. He licks his lips and feels his tongue brush against something sharp. His eyes widen and he rushes over to the old mirror in his room, opening his mouth to see his canines have extended. He looks up into his own fear filled eyes and sees them flash red. He stumbles back, tripping over his own feet, and landing on the floor, making a loud thumping sound.

He hears the breathing in the other room pick up and the shuffling of feet getting closer until his wife arrives at the doorway, oil lamp in hand. He squints at the sudden brightness, his eyes not used to the change in atmosphere, and hears a gasp fall from her lips. She quickly places down the lamp on the side dresser and runs over to him, throwing her arms around his neck and falling into his embrace.

“Minseok, you’re okay! Thank goodness,” she cries, pulling his face closer into her neck. “I thought you were going to die!” A chuckle is heard from the healer, making his wife look towards where the healer is standing. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done. You’ve saved my beloved Minseok!”

“Don’t thank me just yet, ma’am,” the healer chuckles once again, noticing how Minseok tenses with having his wife so close to him.

“Minseok, what’s wrong?” His wife asks, noticing how tense he is in her arms. She pulls away from him only to let out a gasp when she sees how his irises have changed from their usual warm brown, to a deep red. She lets out a shriek when she notices his elongated canines peaking out from his parted lips.

“Run,” He can barely get out, doing his best to resist every instinct of his that’s telling him to rip out her throat and drink her blood.

Luckily, she immediately stumbles out the door, sprinting down the stairs only to bump into a firm chest as she reaches the bottom. She shrieks again as the healer grabs her by the arms and holds her in place.

Minseok sways as he stands, feeling dizzy. He goes to run out the room, only to bang into the doorframe and then the walls multiple times, not used to his newfound speed yet. However, at the first smell of blood, he finds himself in front of his wife who is still being held by the healer. He notices that she’s bleeding from her neck, and he can feel the burning in his throat grow more intense with every breath he takes.

Suddenly, his wife is thrust at him and he can’t comprehend what is happening. His fangs are now in her neck and warm blood travels down his throat, soothing the burn. He can’t find it in himself to stop despite his wife’s pleas and whimpers. He doesn’t stop until she has no more blood to offer him, but his throat is still burning, and his eyes have turned an even darker shade of red.

Minseok lived in a small village of about 50 people. No one survived the night.

It isn’t until the first rays of dawn hit him in the face that he is pulled out of whatever murderous rampage he was in. Looking around, he sees the bodies strewn upon the ground, blood covering himself all over, especially his hands and all over his face. He looks up to see the healer approaching him.

“You’ve got quite the appetite,” he says, smirking.

“Why?” Minseok asks. “Why did you do this to me?”

“Why?” The healer repeats. “Because I need an army for war.”

Minseok lets the meaning of those words sink in as a tear escapes his eye. He stares down at his blood stained hands which start to shake as the reality of his situation sinks in. He’s just slaughtered his entire village. Men, women, and children, none spared from his wrath of hunger, of his desire to kill.

Minseok sits on his bed, staring once again at his shaking hands as the memories of that night haunt him. He lets out a shaky breath, running his hands through his hair. He glances towards his dresser, where the picture sits, almost mockingly.

“Besides, who could ever love a monster like me?” He mutters to himself sadly.

Minseok lays in bed that night, unable to get any rest. Every time he closes his eyes, he’s faced with the gruesome images of his massacre, his bloodstained hands, and the look of fear forever engraved on the faces of his victims.

Eventually the sun starts to peak over the horizon, signalling the start of the day. Minseok sighs as he throws off his covers and sits on the edge of his bed. He’s used to not sleeping, but sometimes it is nice to actually get a few hours during the night. A few minutes pass by and Minseok decides he’s done feeling sorry for himself. He’s come to terms with his past, and he cannot change what has happened. If he could go back in time and prevent it, he would, but then he would have never gotten the chance to meet you.

He stands up and makes his way over to his bathroom to get ready for the day, as he plans to spend it with you. The two of you are going to go out for lunch, then go to the art museum, possibly catch a movie, and then go out for drinks to end the night. He can’t wait to spend the entire day with you and be surrounded in your scent.

One of his many favourite things about you is your scent. How you manage to always smell like lavender and mint, he’ll never know. Sometimes he swears that he gets lost in your intoxicating aroma, and how it’s so uniquely you. Not to mention the sweet smell of your blood, which he longs to taste but knows he could never do that to you.

Considering how sweet your blood smells, he can’t help but wonder what your arousal smells like. What you taste like, in more ways than one. He’s constantly imagining scenarios in which you return his feelings and he makes love to your body all through the night, getting you to moan his name while coming over and over again.

A shiver of pleasure makes its way down his spine as his eyes close and he envisions one of these scenarios now. A low growl escapes his throat and he opens his eyes to see his reflection staring back at him with red eyes. After a minute, they return to their normal colour.

Stripping himself of his clothes, Minseok steps into the shower, turning on the warm water and letting it cascade down his back. This gives him time to think about things, especially the situation with you.

He decides that he’s finally done feeling sorry for himself, and that he’s going to take Yixing’s advice and actually try with you. No more being afraid. No more hiding his feelings. He’s going to win your heart no matter what it takes starting today, but first, he needs to take care of his ‘little friend’ who’s made himself known thanks to that all too real vision he’s had of you.

About ten minutes later, Minseok is out of the shower and is currently drying the excess water from his hair with a towel. He changes quickly and checks the time on his phone. He still has a good few hours before he’s supposed to meet you at your house to go to the restaurant together. He sighs as he makes his way down the stairs and into the kitchen to grab something to eat. He wishes time could go faster, he just wants to be with you already.

“You’re up early,” Yixing comments as soon as he sees Minseok walk into the kitchen.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Minseok replies, opening the fridge and moving things around until he finds what he’s looking for. His eyes light up as they find the hidden blood bags, pulling one out in the process. “Besides, I’m spending the day with (Y/n).”

“Of course you are,” Yixing smiles, taking a sip of his own drink. “Going to continue admiring her from afar then?”

“No,” Minseok immediately answers. “I’m done with that.”

Yixing chokes on his drink. “What?”

“I’ve decided to actually take your advice and go for it,” Minseok shrugs, sitting across from Yixing at the kitchen table.

“Are you serious? Minseok, are you feeling okay?” Yixing asks sceptically, not believing his friend’s words.

“I’m feeling fine, Yixing,” Minseok sends a glare towards his friend.

“I’m just teasing you,” Yixing jokes, chuckling while raising his arms in a defensive manner. “I just thought I wouldn’t see the day where you actually would take my advice.”

Minseok just rolls his eyes in response, sipping on his blood. A sort of calm silence settles between the two as they each check their phones. The scraping of a chair is heard as Yixing stands up and goes to put his glass in the sink.

“I’m assuming you wont be back until late then,” he says, turning to face Minseok who is still seated at the table.

“Don’t wait up,” Minseok replies.

“I wasn’t planning too,” Yixing smirks while walking out of the kitchen, but not before calling over his shoulder. “Don’t fuck up!”

Before Minseok can react, Yixing has left the house. Minseok rolls his eyes and sighs, getting up to clean up the dishes. He takes one final look around the kitchen before returning to his room. He still has some time to kill before he has to meet up with you, so he decides to read a book. Might as well take his mind off things for a while until he has to deal with how he’s going to confess to you.

A few hours later, Minseok stands outside your door. His dead heart is racing and his palms are sweaty. He has no idea how this day is going to go, but he keeps reminding himself that it’s just like any other day he spends out with you, not a date.

He raises his hand and gently knocks on your door. He can hear the soft sound of your footsteps coming towards the door, and a few seconds later, he’s greeted by your smiling face.

“Hey, right on time, as usual,” you comment, opening the door wider so he can step inside.

“I’ll never be late, if it’s you,” he replies honestly, looking into your eyes as he steps inside.

You just smile back at him and shake your head while letting out a small chuckle. You close the door once he’s inside your house.

“Let me just grab my jacket and we can get going,” you say, not even waiting for an answer and instead going to grab your jacket from the living room. “The Thai place, right?”

“Yep!” Minseok replies with a smile, holding the door open for you once you have your shoes on.

You thank him as you step outside and he waits as you lock your front door. You both walk to the bus stop and wait for the appropriate bus to come pick the two of you up to take you both downtown for the day. Eventually, it arrives and you both take a seat near the back. It’s about a 45 minute bus ride into the city, but neither of you mind. Besides, who wants to waste money on a cab?

Minseok is glad for these days that he gets to spend with you where you both go out and do something for the entire day. He loves getting to watch how excited you get over all the little things, it makes him feel human again and forget, for a time, what he really is. Another perk would definitely be getting to be so close to you all day. Like now, for instance, sitting beside you so close on the bus he’s able to breath in your scent deeply, and god, do you smell good.

He feels you rest your head against his shoulder and he tenses ever so slightly. He’s used to you being affectionate towards him, that’s how you are with all your friends, but today he cant help but read into it a bit more. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, you want him just as much as he wants you. He smiles to himself and leans his head on top of yours, allowing himself to enjoy the moment while it lasts.

The bus periodically stops to let more people on and off, but one man in particular catches Minseok’s eye. He had gotten on a few stops ago and now he doesn’t seem to want to take his eyes off of you. Minseok stares down this man with his almost predatory gaze he has towards you.

Sensing he is being stared at, the man makes eye contact with Minseok and Minseok narrows his own eyes at the man. Flashing red for the briefest of moments, the man’s eyes widen and he, almost robotically, gets off at the next stop, making Minseok smirk in victory. No one should look at you like that, no one but him.

About twenty minutes later, the two of you find yourselves in your favourite Thai restaurant ordering your favourite meals. You both tell each other about your week and Minseok can’t keep the smile off his face as he watches you recount the past events of your week. Your happiness makes him happy.

Eventually, your food arrives and the two of you eat in somewhat silence, enjoying the food too much to talk. It’s times like these that Minseok wishes could last forever.

Once the two of you are done, you walk the few blocks there is to the Art Museum down the street. The whole time, you have a smile plastered on your face, practically dragging Minseok down the street by his hand.

“Come on! I really want to see this exhibit,” you say, getting in line once you arrive at the entrance.

You can barely keep still, bouncing on the balls of your feet the entire time while waiting in line. Minseok thinks you look adorable, especially with the way your cheeks puff out in impatience. He smiles at your antics as the line moves forward slowly.

Eventually, the two of you make it inside to the exhibit, you immediately running off to the piece you’re most excited to see first. Minseok follows you around the exhibit like a puppy, paying more attention to you then to the artwork surrounding him. To him, you are the most beautiful piece of art he has ever seen, and he’s been around for a while.

A few hours pass by and you’ve both made your way through the gallery, taking your time to admire the artwork. Minseok spends the majority of the time just watching you, the way your eyes light up when you study a piece of art, the small smile that tugs at your lips as you read the inscriptions. He finds he can’t take his eyes off of you despite being surrounded by these works of art that hold your undivided attention.

You’re so engrossed in the painting you’re currently looking at that you almost miss Minseok’s ‘I’ll be right back’. You nod your head absentmindedly regardless, eyes never leaving the painting. An unfamiliar voice startles you out of your thoughts about a minute later.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A male says from beside you. “It’s almost as beautiful as you.”

You simply raise an eyebrow in a ‘really’ manner at the guy standing beside you. You roll your eyes and choose to ignore him, bringing your attention back to the piece of art in front of you.

“Okay, you’re right, that was really cheesy, I’m sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously with one of his hands. “I’m just not used to talking to girls. Especially not pretty ones, and normally I wouldn’t have bothered you but I figured life’s too short to not take risks, so here I am.”

“Here you are,” you repeat, still not giving the guy your full attention and instead moving onto the next piece of art which happens to be a sculpture near the centre of the room.

“My name’s Greg, by the way,” he says, following your movements.

“(Y/n),” you reply, deciding to give this guy a chance, being the nice person you are.

Meanwhile, Minseok fixes his hair in the bathroom. He feels like today is going great so far, he gets to spend time with you and watch you without you noticing. He thinks the way you observe the art is the cutest thing ever. He could watch you all day if you’d let him. Well, he usually does anyways, not that you’d know.

His hand pauses in the middle of fixing his hair when he hears a laugh, but not just any laugh, your laugh. His eyes narrow questioningly at what on earth you could possibly find so funny here in the Art Museum. That is, until he hears a male voice and then you replying to said male voice.

As quickly as humanly possible, Minseok is by your side wrapping an arm around your shoulder. He glares at the guy the entire time.

“Oh, there you are Minseok,” you say happily, grin never leaving your face.

“Yep, here I am,” Minseok replies, almost bitterly.

“Well, anyways, we should probably get going now,” you say. “It was nice talking with you Greg!”

With that, Minseok leads you rather swiftly out of the Art Museum and away from this ‘Greg’ guy. He left you alone for five minutes and already you were laughing with another guy like the two of you were old friends. Minseok needs to hurry up and make his move, before it’s too late.

“So, who was that?” Minseok asks as the two of you walk down the street, his arm still tightly wrapped around your shoulder.

“No one important,” you reply nonchalantly, shrugging. “Just a guy.”

Minseok hums in response, his face set in a hard expression. He lets it go for now, but he still doesn’t like how close the two of you were. One might say he is getting jealous.

“There’s time to go catch a movie if you want,” you says, checking your watch for the time and seeing that it’s only 4:30 pm.

“Sure, anything in particular you want to go see?” Minseok asks.

“Yeah, actually, there’s this really cheesy chick flick that just came out,” you tease, knowing how much Minseok can’t stand cheesy romance movies.

“Action movie it is!” He cheers, dragging you along with him down the street, his arm still firmly wrapped around you. You giggle at his antics and he smiles, glad to know he was the cause for your laugh this time and not this ‘Greg’ guy.

You both make it to the theatre and grab your tickets. Minseok grabs the snacks while you grab the seats. You choose a row near the centre since the majority of the seats were taken near the top. You sit down and get settled, waiting for Minseok to come with the snacks.

A few minutes later Minseok walks into the theatre, food in hand and spots you almost immediately. He hands you your stuff with you quietly thanking him, and sits beside you, his ears picking up on all the conversations around the two of you. One in particular catches his interest.

“You think that’s her boyfriend?” A male voice says.

“I hope not, she’s way too hot for him,” Another replies.

“They look awfully close,” the first voice says.

“They could just be good friends, relax. Besides, you should still go up to her and talk to her, you’re so much better than him anyways,” a separate voice says.

Minseok can feel the anger rising in his chest, yet he remains calm on the outside. This is the third time today something like this has happened, and he doesn’t know how much more he can take.

He’s always noticed you’ve been somewhat popular with boys, even with girls at times, but this is the first time it’s really bothered him. He usually just shrugs it off, but since he’s now decided to confess to you how he really feels, he can’t help but feel jealous at everyone who interacts with you. He wants you all for himself.

Throughout the movie, he overhears those boys whispering about you and him, so just to spite them, he casually wraps his arm around your shoulder. You lean into his embrace, making him smirk in victory not only at your action, but the reactions of the guys sitting behind the two of you. That makes them shut up for the rest of the movie.

After the movie is over, the two of you stand just outside the theatre, deciding where you want to go next. You’re just in the middle of making a decision when you feel a small tap on your shoulder, causing you to turn around and come face to face with the three boys that were sitting a few rows behind you. Minseok narrows his eyes in annoyance at the three boys, his eyes flashing red for the briefest of moments.

“Um, sorry to bother you on your date, but um, my friends and I think you’re really pretty and we just wanted to let you know,” one of the unnamed boys says, blushing and looking away shyly while the other two nod their heads behind him.

Minseok scoffs and you elbow him quickly to shut him up.

“That’s very sweet of you three, but we’re not-“ before you can finish your sentence, Minseok cuts you off.

“As you can see, she’s happily taken. So if you’ll excuse us, we have a date to get back too,” He says, grabbing your hand and pulling you down the street and away from the three boys.

You roll your eyes and after about a block or so, plant your feet firmly on the ground and pull your hand out of Minseok’s grip.

“Minseok, what the fuck was that?” You say, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Nothing,” He replies gruffly, looking straight ahead.

“That was not nothing,” you reply with a scoff.

“Can we please just drop it?” He asks, pleading with his eyes.

“Fine,” you sigh. “But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook that easily, you have to buy me a drink then.”

“Okay, I was planning to do that anyways,” he says as the two of you continue walking down the street.

“Two drinks!” You say, holding up two fingers to get your point across.

“Fine by me, now, let’s go eat dinner,” Minseok answers, leading the way to the restaurant.

The two of you eat dinner in an uncomfortable silence with you trying to figure out what exactly is going on with Minseok today. He’s been acting strange all day and he almost seems, jealous? There’s no way he could be jealous though, he’s just a friend, right? Well, there’s one way to test that theory.

After dinner, the two of you head to the bar. You figure alcohol will help solve your issues for the day. While at the bar, you ignore Minseok somewhat, which makes him upset. He’s angry at himself because he knows he did this to himself, but also sad that you would choose to ignore him and blatantly flirt with this fuck of a guy sitting beside you. He needs to do something, and fast.

Luckily, the guy you’re talking to gets up to use the restroom, so Minseok takes this opportunity to follow him. Not that you would notice, you’re too busy smiling to yourself.

In the restroom, Minseok pins the guy to the wall with his arm across the guy’s chest. His red eyes glare into the brown eyes of the guy, his teeth bared in a snarl.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing with my girl?” Minseok growls, his eyes compelling the truth out of the unsuspecting victim.

“Trying to get laid, what’s your deal dude? I didn’t even know she was your girl,” the guy replies, trying, and failing, to shove Minseok off of him.

“Why her?” Minseok pushes even harder against the struggling man.

“She looked easy! Plus she’s fucking hot, who wouldn’t want to get in her pants?” The man answers, not knowing why he’s saying these things out loud.

Minseok’s rage comes to a boiling point, yet he manages to stop himself from ripping out this guy’s throat. Instead, he comes up with a better idea.

“You’re going to march right back out there and tell her the real reason’s why you’re talking to her. You’re going to be the biggest asshole possible and get her to hate you,” Minseok compels the man who blinks a few times in confusion as Minseok releases his hold on him.

The man slowly exits the restroom and makes his way back over to where you’re sitting at the bar, Minseok following shortly behind with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. You turn around when you sense a presence beside you and smile slightly when you realize it’s the kind man you were talking to before.

“Alright, listen babe, I’m going to be honest with you, the only reason I’ve been talking with you for the past hour and a half is because you looked like you’d be easy. Plus you’re fucking hot. I just want a good fuck and you fit the bill, so if you wouldn’t mind being a good girl and hurrying things along so I can get in your pants already, that’d be great,” the man says, eyes roaming over your figure hungrily.

Instead of giving the man an answer, you smile politely while standing up, drink in hand. Your smile morphs into a face full of anger and disgust, throwing the rest of the contents of your drink all over the man who looks stunned, to say the least.

“C’mon babe, don’t be like that,” the man whines.

“Minseok, let’s go,” you state emotionlessly, looking straight past the man. You start to walk towards the exit while muttering an ‘asshole’ towards the man who is left standing dumbfounded alone at the bar.

Minseok smirks to himself as he follows you out, quickly wrapping his arm around you in a sort of comforting motion. He can’t believe how well that worked.

You quickly call a cab, figuring you have no patience for the bus. Minseok keeps you wrapped in his arms the entire ride back to your house, letting you cry into his shoulder. It pains him to see you get so worked up over a guy you just met, but he did what had to be done. The next words that come out of your mouth break his heart.

“Am I just that unlovable? Is all I’m good for just a quick fuck and dump?” You sob, voice cracking.

“No, you’re so much better than that. You’re worth so much more,” he coos, gently running his fingers through your hair in a comforting manner.

The rest of the ride is spent in silence with the occasional sob coming from you as Minseok comforts you the best way he can. When the cab arrives at your house, Minseok ushers you inside after insisting to pay for everything. He guides you to your couch and gets you to sit while he goes to get you a drink.

A minute later, Minseok reappears with a glass of water in his hand. He hands it to you as he sits beside you on the couch. You once again, curl into his embrace, grateful to have him with you.

By now, your crying has stopped and the two of you sit in a comfortable silence. Your head rests on his shoulder and your hands play with his own. Minseok feels at peace and lets this moment sink in, basking in the feeling of you next to him, intertwining your fingers with his over and over again. He wishes that this moment could last forever.

He figures now is the best time to confess to you, seeing as you’ve calmed down and there’s no time like the present. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he prepares to tell you what he’s wanted to tell you since the first time he’s met you.

“(Y/n),” he whispers your name, successfully grabbing your attention. You turn your head to look at him with curious eyes, and he can’t help but stare into them. “I love you.”

You stare at him for good thirty seconds, occasionally blinking up at him before a smile breaks out on your face. A relieved sort of expression takes over Minseok’s own face when he sees your smile, but it immediately falls when he hears the words that come out of your mouth.

“I love you, too, Minseok. You’re my best friend, and I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you reply, hoping he didn’t mean what you’ve already realized throughout the day.

“No, (Y/n), I don’t think you understand,” Minseok grips your face in his hands gently, whispering the words you don’t want to hear come from your best friend’s lips. “I’m in love with you.”

With those words, he closes the short distance between the two of you and places his lips upon yours. To Minseok, your lips feel like heaven, a sort of bliss he can never get enough of. To you, you don’t know what to feel, but all you know is that your best friend is kissing you and you don’t know how to react.

After a moment, Minseok realizes that you’re not kissing him back. He opens his eyes to see you’re already staring into his own, an unreadable expression in them. Inside, Minseok is conflicted, this is all he’s ever wanted, but you’re not reacting the way he’d hoped you’d react. He wants you to want him as much as he wants you, as much as he needs you. A spark of anger flashes through him and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s speaking.

“Kiss me back,” he demands, eyes flashing red for the briefest of moments. So quick that you swear you imagine it, but at his words, you feel yourself doing just that. Kissing him back.

Of all the sensations he’s felt throughout his entire life, kissing you has to be the very best. God, if kissing you feels this good, he can only imagine what tasting you is like, and how your lips would feel wrapped around his cock, how your walls would feel clenching around him as he brings you to orgasm after orgasm. He feels his whole body shudder in bliss as he pulls away from you with his eyes closed.

Opening them, he’s greeted by your beautiful face, morphed into an expression of confusion, shock, and, is that fear in your eyes?

“Minseok, what was-“ you take a deep breath. “What the hell was that?”

“Me finally working up the courage to tell you how I really feel about you,” Minseok replies, stroking your face with his thumb lovingly.

“No, Minseok, that’s not what I meant,” you say, brushing his hand off your face, to which he frowns at. “The confession I can deal with, but your eyes, they turned red. Not just once, but twice!”

“Oh,” Minseok sighs, looking away from you. So that’s why you looked at him with a bit of fear in your eyes.

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ So care to explain to me what the fuck is going on, and why the fuck your eyes turned red?” You’re standing by now, pacing in front of your couch, not being able to comprehend the situation.

Minseok stands up and grips your arms, holding you in front of him. You refuse to look him in the eyes and he can hear your heartbeat speed up. The fear alone that he can smell coming from your body makes him let go of your arms.

“There’s not really any easy way to put this, so here goes…” he trails off, a nervous smile taking over his features as you stare at him, waiting of him to continue. “You see, I’m a, uh, I’m a vampire.”

“Right, and I’m the queen of Narnia,” you look at him sceptically. “Minseok, vampires aren’t real. Now would you be so kind as to tell me what the fuck kind of drug you’re on so I can take you to the hospital and get you the proper treatment for it?”

“I’m serious, (Y/n), just listen to me,” he follows after you as you go to put your shoes on and grab you coat.

“No, you listen to me Minseok-“ your words get caught in your throat as you are no longer staring at your front door, but are now back in your living room on the opposite side of your house in the blink of an eye. Minseok kneels in front of your form sitting on your couch. “How- how did-“

“I told you, I’m a vampire. Super speed and all,” Minseok replies, nervously smiling at you.

“I still don’t really believe you,” you narrow your eyes at him, calming your racing heart.

“Well, for starters, I can hear your heart pounding in your chest and smell the fear coming off you,” Minseok explains, and before you have a chance to protest, he continues. “Oh, and also I can do this,” as he says that, he vanishes from the room and reappears seconds later with your favourite stuffed animal from when you were a kid that you keep hidden in your closet in your room upstairs. “And if you’re still not convinced,” at this he’s back to crouching in front of you. He bares his teeth and you notice how elongated his canines look, and watch as his eyes flash red once more.

Your heart skips a beat as you watch him change right before your very eyes. Instead of feeling the regular fear you normally would, you feel calm.

Minseok slowly looks into your eyes, sure that all he’s going to see now is fear and disgust in your eyes, but instead he’s met with wonder and amazement. The fear is slowly being replaced by a sense of awe.

“So, you mean to tell me, this whole time, vampires are real?” You say, a sense of wonder in your voice. Minseok just nods his head in response. “Wow.”

“You’re not scared of me now?” He asks, curious about your answer.

“No, not really. More shocked is all,” you reply honestly.

“I could kill you, though,” he replies.

“Yeah, well, so could another human. So could a car. I could choke or drown. Besides, I have a feeling that if you wanted to kill me, you would have done so already. I’ve known you for how many years now, and I know you wouldn’t hurt me. Besides…” you trail off, shrugging your shoulders, and then biting your lip.

A silence settles between the two of you as the information settles. You refuse to meet his gaze, but not because of the news of him being a vampire. You’re more concerned about what your relationship is going to be like now that he’s confessed to you.

Minseok chews on his bottom lip. He can tell you’re concerned about what he’s confessed to you, but he’s dying to know your answer. He wants to know how you really feel, and he’s starting to get a little impatient. Before he can say anything, you beat him to it.

“I know what you’re going to say, Minseok, and honestly, I don’t know myself. I just need some time,” you tell him truthfully.

“Okay,” he whispers, standing up. You follow him to the front door and watch as he puts on his shoes. There’s an unreadable expression on his face as you stare at each other in silence. “Take all the time you need.”

Before he takes one step out the door, his lips are on yours once again in an instant. He needs to feel them against his own one more time tonight. He pulls away and looks deeply into your eyes, his own flashing red.

“Forget that,” he commands, and within an instant, he’s gone, leaving you alone with nothing but a faint tingling sensation on you lips. You don’t even remembering him leaving.

Meanwhile, Minseok’s dead heart is racing as he enters his room. After compelling you to forget the second kiss, he sprinted home. His head is spinning and he feels like a little kid again. That went better than he could have ever imagined. Well, he would have preferred if you reacted differently to his confession, but you’re not scared of him. You’re not scared of what he is.

He lays on his bed with a stupid smile on his face. He’s never felt better. He feels like he could conquer the world, as long as you’re by his side. His emotions are all over the place.

A knock comes from his bedroom door, and after mumbling a quick ‘come in’, he’s greeted by Yixing’s face in his doorway.

“I’m assuming since you’re acting like a giddy little school girl, things went well?” Yixing teases, leaning against the doorframe.

“They went great, actually,” Minseok replies, smile ever present on his face.

“That’s great man, I’m happy for you!” Yixing says, smiling himself. “Anyways, I’m going to bed, don’t stay up too late, man.”

“I won’t,” Minseok replies as Yixing exits his room and closes the door behind him.

Minseok lays in the darkness of his room, staring at his ceiling. He can still feel the softness of your lips on his own, still taste you on his lips. He brings his hand up and touches his lips, running a finger over them gently. God, how he wishes he could kiss you again.

He falls asleep that night, dreams filled with images of you. Your smile, your laugh, everything you. He dreams of a life where the two of you are together, where he spends every day showing you just how much he loves and cares for you. He dreams of taking his time to map out every curve of your body, of pleasing you in every way he possibly can, making you whimper and moan for him, and only him.

He wakes up the next day with a smile on his face. For once he wasn’t haunted by visions of his past for the night, and instead he was filled with images of you. He feels a sense of bliss wash over him, and he checks his phone to see if he has any new messages from you.

His smile drops slightly as he sees that you haven’t sent him any new messages yet. He sighs, but almost immediately his smile is back on his face. Nothing could bring down his mood.

The day continues with him constantly checking his phone for any new messages from you, and him continuously being let down. He knows he said he’d give you time and space, but he really wants you now. He’s never been one to believe in the whole concept of soulmates, but with you, he’s positive you’re his. You’re all he can think about.

The next few days pass by with him hearing nothing from you. He’s starting to get impatient. All he wants is to be with you, to be able to spend time with you, but he can’t. Each night when he closes his eyes, you’re all that he sees, and he can feel his love growing for you even more.

About a week after his confession he remembers some things that his creator told him when he was a new born vamp. One, that vampires can mate if they choose to, but they have to be careful. If a vampire mates with a human, they have to mark them in order to protect them. Two, falling in love with a mortal can be painful, especially since they do not live long. Three, be careful when dealing with mates, for if you’re sure that they’re the one, you can no longer love another.

Minseok is sure that you’re the one for him. He just needs you in his life and everything will be okay, he’s sure of it. He knows he loves you, and he know’s he wants to be with you for the rest of his immortal life. You just have to say yes and that would make him the happiest person to have ever walked this earth.

The next day comes and still no word from you. Minseok decides that by the end of the week if he doesn’t hear from you he’s going to go check on you. He sent you a text the other day asking how you’re doing, but you just replied with minimal answers. Neither of you even mentioned his confession and he’s starting to worry.

Doubt clouds his mind, filling his thoughts with uncertainty. He doesn’t know what you’re doing, who you’re with, what you’re thinking. Normally, he would go check on you, but he feels like he’ll get caught now that you know what he is. Besides, he doesn’t want to break your trust now, not when he’s so close to having you all to himself.

That night, Minseok has the house to himself as Yixing went to go visit some friends for a few days. Once again, his mind is filled with images of you. Everything about you drives him crazy, he can feel his want growing more and more each day. He wants to feel your lips again, against his own. He wants to run his hands all over your body and find out what drives you crazy, do whatever he can to please you in ways you never thought possible.

More than all of that, he wants to make love to you, and show you just how much he appreciates you. He wants to taste your blood as you come undone for him, letting him mark you as his and his alone. He lets his imagination run wild and he can tell his eyes have turned red in hunger and lust for you.

His mind creates an image of you so real, he swears he can almost smell your intoxicating scent. He watches as his vision of you slowly walks into his room, closing the door behind you, and crawls over him to straddle his lap.

“I’m sorry for not coming to you sooner,” he hears your silky voice purr from above him. “I just didn’t realize how much I wanted you before, how much I need you.”

Minseok lets out a low moan. Those words are everything he’s ever wanted to hear from you. He knows this is just a vision, something that his mind has created that only he can experience, but he can’t help but to hope it’s real, that it becomes real. He’s always had an overactive imagination when it comes to you, but this time it feels different.

He watches you lean down and kiss him, recalling the feel of your actual lips placed upon his own. He feels a tingling sensation wherever the vision of you touches him, his body remembering everything about your real touch, making this situation that much more realistic.

He quickly throws off his shirt, watching as you kiss down his chest. His head is thrown back, red eyes closing as he palms himself through his sweats, but instead of it being his hand, he envisions your hand instead. You’re doing this, not him.

He watches you tug down his sweats, throwing them to the side once they’ve come off, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. You go back to stroking his member over his boxers, and he lets out another low groan.

He watches the vision of you smirk before taking off his boxers, his hard length springing free, and almost immediately your hand is wrapped around him. You lick your lips before biting them and he groans, wanting nothing more than to feel them again.

He feels your hand start to move along his cock until he pictures you running your tongue against the underside and against his protruding vein. He swears he can almost feel the wetness of your mouth as he sees you take the tip of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip. He watches as you slowly take all of him into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down.

His hand follows the rhythm of the vision, making sure to adjust his grip accordingly to every action he sees you make. He can’t help but moan louder the closer he gets to release, but just before he can, he stops himself, making the vision of you pull away as well.

You stare at him with half lidded eyes, licking your lips once again. God, how he wishes this was the real thing, the real you so he could have you moaning beneath him from his tongue, his fingers, his cock. Anything to hear you moan his name over and over again, to get you to come for him until you’re so sensitive from his touch that the slightest of movements have you trembling in ecstasy.

“Make love to me, Minseok,” he hears the vision say with your voice, and he feels a shiver go down his spine, his eyes turning an ever darker shade of red. That’s one of the many things he’s always wanted to hear you say to him, and he’d happily oblige.

In an instant, he has the vision pinned beneath him. He can only imagine what this would actually feel like, and he knows for a fact that if your lips felt like heaven, then actually being inside you will feel like paradise itself.

He imagines just that, slowly pushing into you and letting your walls envelope him. He starts off slowly, making sure you’d feel every thrust of his hips, every inch of his length buried in you. He picks up his pace, moving his hand quicker as he hears your voice ringing through his ears.

He flips himself back over, imagining you riding him now, how you would look like on top. He bites his lip as visions of you throwing your head back in pleasure fill his mind. He feels himself getting closer and closer to the edge, letting out low growls every now and then.

Your name continuously falls from his lips in whines as well as one other word, repeated over and over again as the pressure finally becomes too much for him to handle, and he’s releasing all over his stomach. He calms himself down while whimpering your name and the other word repeatedly. Mate.

Minseok’s breathing is heavy as he drags himself to his bathroom to clean himself up. He flicks on the lights, grabs a towel, wets it, then looks at his reflection in the mirror as he cleans himself up. His eyes are the darkest red he’s ever seen them, and usually they don’t stay this red for long.

He stares at his reflection for a few minutes, just watching his eyes. Eventually, the red fades back into his usual brown, but there’s still a vibrance to them that wasn’t there before. He blinks a few times and shakes his head.

He makes the decision that tomorrow he’s going to go visit you, whether you want to see him or not. He needs to see you, to be with you. He needs to know your answer, after all, you’re his mate.

The next morning Minseok wakes up feeling a bit nervous. How will you react when he tells you you’re his mate? What will be your answer to his original confession? Thoughts race through his mind at lightning speed, making him shake his head to try and clear them. One thing’s for sure, he’s going to get an answer from you and make you his.

Around ten o’clock he makes his way over to your house, gently knocking on your front door once he arrives. He breathes deeply, inhaling your familiar, comforting scent as well as an unfamiliar one. He also notices there’s the stench of hormones in the air, and it seems to be coming from your house.

His eyes narrow into slits when he sees an unfamiliar man open the door to your house, the stench hitting his nostrils full force once the door is opened. A growl sounds at the back of his throat as he realizes what has happened. This man has touched his mate.

“Babe, there’s someone at the door for you,” he hears the man call over his shoulder.

Rage begins to cloud Minseok’s vision and he can feel his eyes starting to turn red. He walks past the man standing in the doorway to be greeted by you standing in the hallway in nothing but a tank top and shorts. He takes in your messy hair and notices the bruises lining your neck and collarbones.

“Minseok, what are you doing here?” You ask him, but he completely ignores your question, instead turning on the guy still standing near the door.

“How dare you touch my mate,” Minseok growls, pinning the man to the wall, ready to kill. His eyes are blood red and deadly.

“Minseok, what the fuck!” You exclaim, staying where you are in fear of getting between them. Minseok chooses to ignore you at the moment.

“You’re going to march right out of this house and forget all about this, and her. You’re going to go on with your everyday life like normal before I rip your throat out,” Minseok snarls, finally letting go of the man after compelling him to leave.

The man immediately does as told, grabbing his coat and shoes and heading out the door without a glance in your direction. You stand there shocked at Minseok’s actions.

“Minseok, again, what the fuck!” You repeat.

He turns around and looks at you and you feel your heart stop in your chest. His look is nothing but predatory, making you feel small and weak under his intense gaze. He slowly advances towards you, backing you into the wall. He doesn’t say anything as he presses his entire body against yours, successfully trapping you between himself and the wall.

“God, his scent is all over you,” Minseok snarls, breathing in deeply. He bares his teeth in disgust. “How dare he touch you.”

“Minseok, what are you talking about, you’re scaring me,” you reply, bringing your hands up to his chest to try and push him off of you, but he doesn’t budge.

“Do you know how long I’ve watched you, how long I’ve waited for you to notice me? For you to see me as something more than just your friend? I’ve always loved you, (Y/n), and I’ll always love you,” Minseok says, nuzzling his face into your neck and breathing in your scent. His hands grip your waist tightly, but not tight enough to hurt you. “I used to never believe in mates, but I’ve come to realize that you’re mine, and nothing can change that.”

“Wait, what? Minseok, what the fuck are you talking about? I’m not your mate!” You exclaim, trying once again to push him off of you. Words of denial spill out of your mouth which just makes Minseok more upset.

“Shut up!” He commands, looking straight into your eyes as his own flash red. Immediately, you comply, ceasing your struggling as well. “Now listen to me, that thing, has tainted you all over,” he says, bringing his wrist up to his mouth. “His marks need to go,” with those words, he bites his wrist, feeling his blood starting to trickle down his arm.

“Minseok, what are you doing?” You barely have time to finish your sentence before his wrist is on you mouth. Your eyes widen in surprise and fear, making sure to keep your mouth closed.

“Drink,” Minseok growls, looking straight into your eyes, and immediately you obey, feeling the warm liquid run down your throat. Minseok smiles at this, watching as the bruises fade from your skin, his own scent mixing with your own.

Eventually, he pulls his wrist away and you watch him with fearful eyes, unsure of what he’ll do next. You no longer recognize the person standing in front of you. He’s no longer the best friend you know and love, now, he’s someone, something completely different. Something unrecognizable.

A little bit of his blood is still on the corner of your lips and he takes this opportunity to do what he’s been wanting to do for the past week and a half. He kisses you, and to him, it feels so much better then the first times he kissed you. You make sure to keep your lips sealed tight and not kiss him back. He growls and pulls away.

“Kiss me back,” he snaps, but you don’t look into his eyes this time.

“No, Minseok! Stop this! What has gotten into you?” You ask, once again fighting to get free, making him chuckle at your weak attempts to free yourself.

“I’ve just come to realize a few things over the past few days. You know they weren’t lying when they said that absence makes the heart grow fonder. You’re my mate and nothing can change that. I love you, so much,” he tells you, trailing kisses up and down your neck.

“I don’t love you. At least, not it the way you want me to,” you reply. “And what’s with this mate nonsense? I am not your mate!”

Minseok growls once again at your words. He grips your chin in his hand and forces you to look at him, making you stare deeply into his eyes, which are blood red and darkening with each passing second.

“I didn’t want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice,” he sighs, eyes staring deeply into your own. “You are my mate and you always will be. You love me just as much as I love you, and you will never think about leaving me or running away. You will accept my love and stay by my side for the rest of eternity.”

You freeze for a moment as his words sink in. You feel your body start to calm down, and a sense of comfort coming over you. You continue to stare into Minseok’s eyes as they start to change back into their regular colour. Your hand comes up to caress his cheek lovingly and he moves into your touch.

“Minseok,” you whisper his name affectionately and he feels a shiver run down his spine. He looks into your eyes and sees nothing but love and want, which are reflected back in his own.

“(Y/n),” he whispers your name just as affectionately, his hand coming up to cover your own.

“I love you, Minseok,” you say, throwing your arms around him in an embrace which makes him smile in victory.

“I love you,” he replies. “My mate.”

#part of the exo monster series #yandere au #yandere kpop #yandere exo #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop scenario #exo scenarios #exo au #minseok scenario #kim minseok #xiumin scenario #yandere xiumin #yandere minseok #vampire minseok #vampire xiumin #exo #vampire au #kpop smut

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dfroza · 3 years

Text

we don’t hear an audible call to the heart of Love asking to be invited in.

although we can read of it in the Scriptures and hear it from others who speak of it from the space of the heart. simply because we as daughters & sons of Light have become the voice of the Spirit here on garden earth to illuminate the spiritual truth of the Son.

A set of lines from Today’s reading of the closing chapter of the Letter of First Thessalonians that points to His coming:

I don’t think, friends, that I need to deal with the question of when all this is going to happen. You know as well as I that the day of the Master’s coming can’t be posted on our calendars. He won’t call ahead and make an appointment any more than a burglar would. About the time everybody’s walking around complacently, congratulating each other—“We’ve sure got it made! Now we can take it easy!”—suddenly everything will fall apart. It’s going to come as suddenly and inescapably as birth pangs to a pregnant woman.

But friends, you’re not in the dark, so how could you be taken off guard by any of this? You’re sons of Light, daughters of Day. We live under wide open skies and know where we stand.

The Letter of First Thessalonians, Chapter 5:1-5 (The Message)

And the whole chapter in The Passion Translation:

Now, beloved brothers and sisters, concerning the question of God’s precise times and specific seasons, you don’t need me to write anything to you. For you already know quite well that the day of the Lord will come unexpectedly and as a complete surprise. For while some are saying, “Finally we have peace and security,” sudden destruction will arrive at their doorstep, like labor pains seizing a pregnant woman—and with no chance of escape!

But you, beloved brothers and sisters, are not living in the dark, allowing that day to creep up on you like a thief coming to steal. For you are all children of the light and children of the day. We don’t belong to the night nor to darkness. This is why we must not fall asleep, as the rest do, but keep wide awake and clearheaded. For those who are asleep sleep the night away, and drunkards get drunk at night. But since we belong to the day, we must stay alert and clearheaded by placing the breastplate of faith and love over our hearts, and a helmet of the hope of salvation over our thoughts. For God has not destined us for wrath but to possess salvation through our Lord Jesus, the Anointed One. He gave his life for us so that we may share in resurrection life in union with him—whether we’re awake or asleep. Because of this, encourage the hearts of your fellow believers and support one another, just as you have already been doing.

Dear brothers and sisters, make sure that you show your deep appreciation for those who cherish you and diligently work as ministers among you. For they are your leaders who care for you, teach you, and stand before the Lord on your behalf. They value you with great love. Because of their service to you, let peace reign among yourselves.

We appeal to you, dear brothers and sisters, to instruct those who are not in their place of battle. Be skilled at gently encouraging those who feel themselves inadequate. Be faithful to stand your ground. Help the weak to stand again. Be quick to demonstrate patience with everyone. Resist revenge, and make sure that no one pays back evil in place of evil but always pursue doing what is beautiful to one another and to all the unbelievers.

Let joy be your continual feast. Make your life a prayer. And in the midst of everything be always giving thanks, for this is God’s perfect plan for you in Christ Jesus.

Never restrain or put out the fire of the Holy Spirit. And don’t be one who scorns prophecies, but be faithful to examine them by putting them to the test, and afterward hold tightly to what has proven to be right. Avoid every appearance of evil.

Now, may the God of peace and harmony set you apart, making you completely holy. And may your entire being—spirit, soul, and body—be kept completely flawless in the appearing of our Lord Jesus, the Anointed One. The one who calls you by name is trustworthy and will thoroughly complete his work in you.

Now, beloved ones, pray for us.

Greet every brother and sister with a sacred kiss.

I solemnly plead with you before the Lord to make sure that every holy believer among you has the opportunity to hear this letter read to them.

May grace from our Lord Jesus Christ be with you. Amen!

The Letter of First Thessalonians, Chapter 5 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 23rd chapter of the book of Jeremiah that warns the people who share lying dreams as read in these lines:

“I know what they’re saying, all these prophets who preach lies using me as their text, saying ‘I had this dream! I had this dream!’ How long do I have to put up with this? Do these prophets give two cents about me as they preach their lies and spew out their grandiose delusions? They swap dreams with one another, feed on each other’s delusive dreams, trying to distract my people from me just as their ancestors were distracted by the no-god Baal.

“You prophets who do nothing but dream—

go ahead and tell your silly dreams.

But you prophets who have a message from me—

tell it truly and faithfully.

The Book of Jeremiah, Chapter 23:25-28 (The Message)

And the whole chapter in The Voice:

Eternal One: Woe to the shepherds who slaughter and scatter the sheep of My pasture! This is what I, the Eternal God of Israel, have to say about the shepherds tending My people:

You have scattered My flock, driven them far away, and failed miserably at being their caregivers. So look! I will punish you for your negligence, for the careless evil you’ve done. I will personally gather the remnant of My sheep from the lands where I have driven them. I will bring them back to their home pasture where they will be fruitful and multiply. I will appoint new, responsible shepherds to take care of them, and My sheep will no longer have to be afraid. These new, responsible shepherds will make sure that none of My sheep go missing.

Watch! The days are coming when I will raise up a righteous Branch of David—an heir of his royal line—who will rule justly, act wisely and make things right again in the land. During His reign, Judah will be redeemed and Israel will be a safe place again. The name he is called will tell the story: The Eternal Is Our Righteousness!

So be ready and watch carefully. The days are coming when no one will say any longer, “As the Eternal lives, who brought the people of Israel out of slavery in the land of Egypt.” Instead, they will say, “As the Eternal lives, who brought the people of Israel out of exile in the lands of the north and out of all other countries where He had scattered them.” Then the Israelites will live securely in their own land.

As for the false prophets:

Deep in my chest, my heart is broken.

I am shaken to the core, like a man who is drunk,

overcome by too much wine

All because of the Eternal,

all because of His holy words.

Eternal One: The land is full of adulterers;

surely the curse is in effect and the land mourns.

The pastures in the wilderness are all dried up,

for they have set an evil course,

and their might is not right.

For even the prophets and priests are ungodly;

I have witnessed them perform wicked acts in My temple.

Now this path they are on will become treacherous, and they will slip and slide;

they will stumble and fall into the darkness, driven into the gloom.

For in the year of their punishment,

I will bring them to ruin.

I saw something repulsive

among the prophets of Samaria:

They prophesied in the name of Baal

and led My people, Israel, away from Me.

I have seen something horrible among the prophets of Jerusalem:

worship that is adulterous and deceitful.

They inspire and encourage people to even more evil;

now no one turns back from his sin.

The citizens of Jerusalem remind Me of the wicked people

who once lived in Sodom and Gomorrah.

So this is what the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies, has to say about those prophets:

Eternal One: Watch, I will give them bitter food to eat and poisoned water to drink,

because the prophets of Jerusalem have released their ungodliness

And it has spread into all the land.

These are the words of the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies.

Eternal One: When these prophets “prophesy” to you, filling you with empty hopes, do not listen to one word! They do not speak for Me. They speak of visions they have only imagined. They keep saying to those who openly reject My word, “Don’t worry, the Eternal has promised you peace.” And to those stubborn souls who go their own way, they say, “Don’t worry, nothing bad will happen to you.”

Which one of these false prophets has stood in the presence of the Eternal

and heard His voice or seen His plan?

Who of them has paid attention to His word and truly listened?

Behold, the storm of the Eternal’s wrath will now break open,

swirling down out of the sky like a whirlwind onto the heads of the wicked.

The Eternal’s anger will not relent until He has carried out His most fervent plans.

You will understand all of this in the days to come.

Eternal One: I did not send these so-called prophets,

but they have run to you with their empty words.

I did not speak to them,

but they claim to speak for Me.

If only they had stood in My presence and heard My voice,

then they would have spoken My words to My people!

They would have turned this nation back from its evil ways and evil deeds.

Am I only a God who is close by, and not a God of the farthest reaches? Am I a God anyone can hide from? Do I not see what happens in secret? Am I not everywhere, filling heaven and earth? I have heard these prophets who speak lies in My name. They say, “I had a dream, I had a dream,” and claim it was Me speaking to them! How long will this go on? Will the hearts of these lying prophets ever change? How long will they deceive themselves and all who listen to them? They think they can make My people forget My name with all this talk of dreams—just as their ancestors forgot My name as they worshiped Baal. If a prophet has a dream, he should tell others of that dream. But the one who has My word should speak it with unshakable faith. For what is straw worth, when compared to grain? Does not My word burn like fire? Does it not shatter rock like a strong hammer? Look, this is why I oppose the prophets who steal My word from others and offer it as their own. I oppose the prophets whose tongues “declare” something, as if I, the Eternal, have declared it. I oppose the prophets who prophesy with lying dreams. They lead My people astray with their reckless lies. But I did not send these prophets or direct them to speak in My name, so they are of no use to My people.

This is what the Eternal declares.

Eternal One (to Jeremiah): When someone, some prophet or some priest, asks, “What is the message the Eternal burdened you with today, Jeremiah?” Simply answer, “[You are the burden, and] the Eternal declares, ‘I will cast you aside.’” If a prophet or priest or any of these people claim, “This is the burden of the Eternal,” let them be warned, I will punish that person and his family.

(to the people) Instead of making light of My declarations, from now on you should say to your friends and family, “What is the Eternal’s answer to you?” or “What is the Eternal saying to us?” Do not use the phrase “the burden of the Eternal” again. It means nothing to you. All people say they have a message from Me when they don’t. You are twisting the words of the living God, our God, the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies. You should say to the prophet, “What answer is the Eternal giving to you?” or “What is the Eternal saying to us?” But if you keep saying, “This is the burden of the Eternal,” expect Me to declare this: “You continued to use the phrase ‘the burden of the Eternal,’ even though I warned you not to use it. That is why I will forget you and cast you out of My presence, both you and the city I gave you and your ancestors. I will bring endless disgrace upon you—an enduring shame that no one will forget.”

The Book of Jeremiah, Chapter 23 (The Voice)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Sunday, September 5 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about the living “book” of who we are each becoming:

The central theme of Rosh Hashanah is to recall that God is our Creator, our King, and therefore our righteous Judge. Since our souls were created by God, we have the duty to serve Him as our King and live before Him as our Judge. Since the LORD is the God of Truth (יהוה אֵל אֱמֶת) who cannot attest to a lie, every person who has ever lived will necessarily face judgment one day (Heb. 9:27).

There is a midrash about a dialog between Adam and God after Adam's banishment from the Garden of Eden. Adam feared that all humans would later blame him for their mortality, but God replied, "Don't worry about the others. From now on, each soul will be responsible for giving account of his or her life. Each person is required to write his or her own 'Book of Life.' On the Day of Judgment, I simply ratify what has been written."

Indeed, the Scriptures reveal that there are heavenly “books” that contain detailed records of all that we did (or did not do) during our time here on earth: “And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Then another book was opened, which is the Book of Life (סֵפֶר הַחַיִּים). And the dead were judged by what was written in the books, according to what they had done” (Rev. 20:12).

Today you are writing the "Book of your Life." Every action you make - every thought, every decision, every deed - is being “recorded” in the archives of Heaven itself. When your soul returns to account for itself before God one day, this “book” will be opened before the Judge of the Universe. As Yeshua said, “on the Day of Judgment (יוֹם הַדִּין) people will give account (ἀποδίδωμι, lit. “give back”) every idle word they speak (Matt 12:36). The story of your life will be replayed before all of heaven itself...

There are actually several different judgments described in the Scriptures. For instance, there is: 1) the judgment of believers, sometimes called the “judgment seat of Messiah” (2 Cor. 5:10; Rom. 14:10); 2) the “sheep and goats” judgment at the end of the Great Tribulation period (Matt. 25:31-36), and 3) the “Great White Throne” judgment at the end of the Millennial Kingdom period (Rev. 20:11-15). Common to each of these judgments is the inevitability that all men, both living and dead, saved and unsaved, will ultimately give an account of their lives before Yeshua as the true Judge (John 5:22,27; Rom. 14:11-12; Phil. 2:10-11, cp. Isa. 45:22-23).

Some Christians tend to think that they will not face judgment for their lives here on earth because they are “saved.” And while it is gloriously true that Christians will not face condemnation with the world, nonetheless each follower of Yeshua will be required to give account for how he “walked out” his salvation in this world. “For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Messiah (τοῦ βήματος τοῦ Χριστου) so that each one may receive what is due for what he has done in the body, whether good or worthless” (2 Cor. 5:10). It’s important to understand that this future judgment is not for the sins of a believer, since the sacrificial death of Yeshua paid the full price for all our sins at the cross (Col. 2:13-14). There is no condemnation to those who belong to Yeshua (Rom. 4:7-8; 8:1; John 5:24). We are justified by faith and now have peace with God because of what Yeshua has done for us (Rom. 5:1). Instead of a judgment regarding our identity (and security) as a child of God, the future judgment of Messiah concerns “giving what is due,” or rewarding acts of service done during our allotted time here on earth (i.e., in our mortal state).

To illustrate what this judgment will be like, Paul used the analogy of an elevated platform (or “bema,” βῆμα) that held a judge’s seat in an ancient Greek sports arena. Athletes would stand before the bema to receive awards based on how well they ran the race. All those who finished the race would pass before the bema, but only those who ran well would receive an award (often an honorary crown or victory wreath). In other words, the believer’s judgment will resemble an “awards ceremony” where those who ran the race well would be honored (1 Cor. 9:24-26). The Bema of Messiah is a place where rewards will be given - or lost - depending on how well we have walked out our faith in this life... While some Christians “shall suffer loss” (of rewards), nevertheless, each person attending this judgment “shall be saved” (1 Cor. 3:14-15). Again, this is a believer’s judgment before the Messiah based on his or her personal surrender to His will...

Yeshua taught that "everyone who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock” (Matt. 7:24). Though the house will be tested by storm and by flood, it will not fall because it had been founded upon the rock... Likewise the Apostle Paul warned us to construct our lives on the solid foundation of the sacrificial work of Yeshua our Messiah (1 Cor. 3:11-15). “Let each one take care how he builds upon it.” Choose your building materials wisely. “Wood, hay, and stubble” represent all the “worthless” efforts we make, including those based on self-effort or “religion.” Gold, silver, and precious stones represent the work of the Holy Spirit in our hearts. But every believer’s works will be tested: “Each one's work (ἔργον) will become manifest, for the Day will disclose it, because it will be revealed by fire, and the fire will test (δοκιμάσει) what sort of work each one has done” (1 Cor. 3:13). Notice that Paul likened the believer’s judgment to a fire that tests the quality of materials used to build a house. Good deeds will survive through the fire, whereas worthless (φαῦλος) deeds will be burned up. Again, it’s important to understand that the “testing fire” mentioned here is not one of eternal judgment, but rather pictures the burning away of the “worthless matters” (φαῦλος) of this life to reveal what is eternally abiding...

But understand that this “testing fire” is not something we will experience in the far off future. It is not some sort of “purgatory” experience. Today you are in the midst of testing, writing the "Book of your Life," and that includes your refinement for receiving future rewards... The Apostle Peter speaks about the present sorrow we may face through "various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith -- more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire -- may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Yeshua the Messiah" (1 Pet. 1:6-7). The suffering we sometimes experience in this life is therefore a refining fire, intended to strengthen our faith and bring glory to the Lord. “For it is time for judgment to begin at the household of God; and if it begins with us, what will be the outcome for those who do not obey the gospel of God?” (1 Pet. 4:17). God tests our hearts so that we will be able to stand before Him without shame on the day of our judgment. “Just as we have borne the image of the man of dust, we shall also bear the image of the man of heaven” (1 Cor. 15:49).

Every one of us will give account of our lives. In Matthew 25:14-30, Yeshua used a parable to indicate what this reckoning will be like. After distributing “talents” to three different servants, a certain “employer” left on a long journey. When he finally returned, he wanted his servants to account for the use of their talents, so he called them to “settle accounts with them” (Matt. 25:19). This phrase “settle accounts” (συναίρει λόγον) means to compare things, to look closely at the records to determine profit or loss to a business, and is therefore similar to the idea of a financial audit. In the parable, the employer considered the state of his business and then called each of his servants in to stand before him for a summary review. Likewise, each of us will be called to stand before the Lord to give account for his or her life. Those who used their talent for the promotion of the Kingdom will be rewarded, but those who wasted their opportunities will not (1 Cor. 3:12-15).

Ultimately each of us will have to confess the truth (ὁμολογέω - "say the same thing") about who we are and what we’ve become. We can begin that process now through confession of our sins: “For if we would judge ourselves, we should not be judged” (1 Cor. 11:31). If we refuse to do this, we may be “chastened” (παιδευόμεθα) so that we may not be condemned along with the world (1 Cor. 11:32; Heb. 12:5). The image of “testing fire” is a symbol of the examination of our lives by the LORD Himself. “For we shall all stand before the judgment seat of God (τῷ βήματι τοῦ θεοῦ); for it is written, 'As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall confess to God.' So each of us shall give account of himself to God” (Rom. 14:10-12). Ultimately, this confession of the truth is not optional for anyone. For the follower of the Messiah, such confession produces salvation: "for with the mouth one confesses and is saved" (Rom. 10:10). But for those who refuse to undergo self-examination and therefore refuse to confess the truth about their need for salvation, there is the Lord's own reciprocal confession: "Then I will confess to them (ὁμολογήσω αὐτοῖς), 'I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness' (Matt. 7:23).

That is why we are commanded: “Examine (πειράζω) yourselves to see whether you are in the faith. Test yourselves (ἑαυτοὺς δοκιμάζετε). Or do you not realize that Yeshua the Messiah is in you, unless indeed you are proved to be rejected (ἀδόκιμος)” (2 Cor. 13:5). This, of course, is the critical test, since without the life of Messiah living within us, we will have no “works of righteousness” that will stand the test. After all, good works are an outflow of the Holy Spirit, and never the result of human effort. However, it is up to us whether we will "be filled with the Spirit" and yield to God’s guidance in our lives (Eph. 5:18). Note that the verb "be filled" (πληροῦσθε) is: 1) present tense (i.e., denoting continuous action), 2) imperative ("you must...), and 3) passive voice (i.e., "you must let yourself be filled"). In other words, you must continually let yourself be filled by the Holy Spirit. This is the test of faith, to let Messiah reign within your heart... “Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you...” (Phil. 2:12-13). [Hebrew for Christians]

9.3.21 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

September 5, 2021

Sacrifice and Service

“Yea, and if I be offered upon the sacrifice and service of your faith, I joy, and rejoice with you all.” (Philippians 2:17)

Paul saw himself as “poured out” as an offering (Greek spendo) on the “sacrifice and service” of these precious friends. This special word is used only one other time, when Paul was “ready to be offered” at his death (2 Timothy 4:6).

Paul’s ministry among the Philippians resulted in the godly lifestyle of the church. They became sacrifices (Greek thusia) much like the Lord Jesus “hath given himself for us” (Ephesians 5:2) and as we are all told to “present [our] bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is [our] reasonable service” (Romans 12:1).

The service that is commended of the Philippians is a public service undertaken at one’s own expense (Greek leitourgia). Several men in the church at Antioch were noted for their ministry (Acts 13:2 uses the same word), and some in Macedonia and Achaia were also acknowledged for giving contributions to the saints at Jerusalem (Romans 15:26-27).

Paul’s joy and rejoicing at the godly activity of the faithful saints at Philippi are the key to understanding the tone of the entire book. He had “poured out” himself, even being “shamefully entreated” during his ministry there (1 Thessalonians 2:2). Yet while writing this poignant letter back to the church, he gives joyful greetings to them at the certain knowledge that his ministry among them has resulted in their sacrifice and service.

Would God that all of us could see our offerings for the sake of others with the same passionate expectation. Often our Lord calls on us to give of ourselves in selfless ways so that others may learn from our example. Sometimes, we must even pour out our own souls (1 Thessalonians 2:8) for the sake of the gospel. HMM III

A tweet by illumiNations:

@IlluminationsBT: This language from India has 9,810,000 speakers. Although speakers of this language currently have the New Testament, they are still waiting for the entire Bible.

Do you know what language this is? Comment below with your guesses.

9.4.21 • 8:00pm • Twitter

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unsettlingshortstories · 3 years

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The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas

Ursula K. Le Guin (1973)

With a clamor of bells that set the swallows soaring, the Festival of Summer came to the city Omelas, bright-towered by the sea. The rigging of the boats in harbor sparkled with flags. In the streets between houses with red roofs and painted walls, between old moss-grown gardens and under avenues of trees, past great parks and public buildings, processions moved. Some were decorous: old people in long stiff robes of mauve and grey, grave master workmen, quiet, merry women carrying their babies and chatting as they walked. In other streets the music beat faster, a shimmering of gong and tambourine, and the people went dancing, the procession was a dance. Children dodged in and out, their high calls rising like the swallows’ crossing flights over the music and the singing. All the processions wound towards the north side of the city, where on the great water-meadow called the Green Fields boys and girls, naked in the bright air, with mud-stained feet and ankles and long, lithe arms, exercised their restive horses before the race. The horses wore no gear at all but a halter without bit. Their manes were braided with streamers of silver, gold, and green. They flared their nostrils and pranced and boasted to one another; they were vastly excited, the horse being the only animal who has adopted our ceremonies as his own. Far off to the north and west the mountains stood up half encircling Omelas on her bay. The air of morning was so clear that the snow still crowning the Eighteen Peaks burned with white-gold fire across the miles of sunlit air, under the dark blue of the sky. There was just enough wind to make the banners that marked the racecourse snap and flutter now and then. In the silence of the broad green meadows one could hear the music winding through the city streets, farther and nearer and ever approaching, a cheerful faint sweetness of the air that from time to time trembled and gathered together and broke out into the great joyous clanging of the bells.

Joyous! How is one to tell about joy? How describe the citizens of Omelas?

They were not simple folk, you see, though they were happy. But we do not say the words of cheer much any more. All smiles have become archaic. Given a description such as this one tends to make certain assumptions. Given a description such as this one tends to look next for the King, mounted on a splendid stallion and surrounded by his noble knights, or perhaps in a golden litter borne by great-muscled slaves. But there was no king. They did not use swords, or keep slaves. They were not barbarians. I do not know the rules and laws of their society, but I suspect that they were singularly few. As they did without monarchy and slavery, so they also got on without the stock exchange, the advertisement, the secret police, and the bomb. Yet I repeat that these were not simple folk, not dulcet shepherds, noble savages, bland utopians. They were not less complex than us. The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain. If you can’t lick ‘em, join ‘em. If it hurts, repeat it. But to praise despair is to condemn delight, to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else. We have almost lost hold; we can no longer describe a happy man, nor make any celebration of joy. How can I tell you about the people of Omelas? They were not naive and happy children— though their children were, in fact, happy. They were mature, intelligent, passionate adults whose lives were not wretched. O miracle! but I wish I could describe it better. I wish I could convince you. Omelas sounds in my words like a city in a fairy tale, long ago and far away, once upon a time. Perhaps it would be best if you imagined it as your own fancy bids, assuming it will rise to the occasion, for certainly I cannot suit you all. For instance, how about technology? I think that there would be no cars or helicopters in and above the streets; this follows from the fact that the people of Omelas are happy people. Happiness is based on a just discrimination of what is necessary, what is neither necessary nor destructive, and what is destructive. In the middle category, however—that of the unnecessary but undestructive, that of comfort, luxury, exuberance, etc.—they could perfectly well have central heating, subway trains, washing machines, and all kinds of marvelous devices not yet invented here, floating light-sources, fuelless power, a cure for the common cold. Or they could have none of that; it doesn’t matter.

As you like it. I incline to think that people from towns up and down the coast have been coming in to Omelas during the last days before the Festival on very fast little trains and double-decked trams, and that the train station of Omelas is actually the handsomest building in town, though plainer than the magnificent Farmers’ Market. But even granted trains, I fear that Omelas so far strikes some of you as goody-goody. Smiles, bells, parades, horses, bleh. If so, please add an orgy. If an orgy would help, don’t hesitate. Let us not, however, have temples from which issue beautiful nude priests and priestesses already half in ecstasy and ready to copulate with any man or woman, lover or stranger, who desires union with the deep godhead of the blood, although that was my first idea. But really it would be better not to have any temples in Omelas—at least, not manned temples. Religion yes, clergy no. Surely the beautiful nudes can just wander about, offering themselves like divine souffles to the hunger of the needy and the rapture of the flesh. Let them join the processions. Let tambourines be struck above the copulations, and the glory of desire be proclaimed upon the gongs, and (a not unimportant point) let the offspring of these delightful rituals be beloved and looked after by all. One thing I know there is none of in Omelas is guilt. But what else should there be? I thought at first there were not drugs, but that is puritanical. For those who like it, the faint insistent sweetness of drooz may perfume the ways of the city, drooz which first brings a great lightness and brilliance to the mind and limbs, and then after some hours a dreamy languor, and wonderful visions at last of the very arcana and inmost secrets of the Universe, as well as exciting the pleasure of sex beyond belief; and it is not habit-forming. For more modest tastes I think there ought to be beer. What else, what else belongs in the joyous city? The sense of victory, surely, the celebration of courage. But as we did without clergy, let us do without soldiers. The joy built upon successful slaughter is not the right kind of joy; it will not do; it is fearful and it is trivial. A boundless and generous contentment, a magnanimous triumph felt not against some outer enemy but in communion with the finest and fairest in the souls of all men everywhere and the splendor of the world’s summer: this is what swells the hearts of the people of Omelas, and the victory they celebrate is that of life. I really don’t think many of them need to take drooz.

Most of the procession have reached the Green Fields by now. A marvelous smell of cooking goes forth from the red and blue tents of the provisioners. The faces of small children are amiably sticky; in the benign grey beard of a man a couple of crumbs of rich pastry are entangled. The youths and girls have mounted their horses and are beginning to group around the starting line of the course. An old women, small, fat, and laughing, is passing out flowers from a basket, and tall young men wear her flowers in their shining hair. A child of nine or ten sits at the edge of the crowd, alone, playing on a wooden flute. People pause to listen, and they smile, but they do not speak to him, for he never ceases playing and never sees them, his dark eyes wholly rapt in the sweet, thin magic of the tune.

He finishes, and slowly lowers his hands holding the wooden flute.

As if that little private silence were the signal, all at once a trumpet sounds from the pavilion near the starting line: imperious, melancholy, piercing. The horses rear on their slender legs, and some of them neigh in answer. Sober-faced, the young riders stroke the horses’ necks and soothe them, whispering, “Quiet, quiet, there my beauty, my hope....” They begin to form in rank along the starting line. The crowds along the racecourse are like a field of grass and flowers in the wind. The Festival of Summer has begun.

Do you believe? Do you accept the festival, the city, the joy? No? Then let me describe one more thing.

In a basement under one of the beautiful public buildings of Omelas, or perhaps in the cellar of one of its spacious private homes, there is a room. It has one locked door, and no window. A little light seeps in dustily between cracks in the boards, secondhand from a cobwebbed window somewhere across the cellar. In one corner of the little room a couple of mops, with stiff, clotted, foul-smelling heads stand near a rusty bucket. The floor is dirt, a little damp to the touch, as cellar dirt usually is. The room is about three paces long and two wide: a mere broom closet or disused tool room. In the room a child is sitting. It could be a boy or a girl. It looks about six, but actually is nearly ten. It is feeble-minded. Perhaps it was born defective, or perhaps it has become imbecile through fear, malnutrition, and neglect. It picks its nose and occasionally fumbles vaguely with its toes or genitals, as it sits hunched in the corner farthest from the bucket and the two mops. It is afraid of the mops. It finds them horrible. It shuts its eyes, but it knows the mops are still standing there; and the door is locked; and nobody will come. The door is always locked; and nobody ever comes, except that sometimes—the child has no understanding of time or interval—sometimes the door rattles terribly and opens, and a person, or several people, are there. One of them may come in and kick the child to make it stand up. The others never come close, but peer in at it with frightened, disgusted eyes. The food bowl and the water jug are hastily filled, the door is locked, the eyes disappear. The people at the door never say anything, but the child, who has not always lived in the tool room, and can remember sunlight and its mother’s voice, sometimes speaks. “I will be good,” it says. “Please let me out. I will be good!” They never answer. The child used to scream for help at night, and cry a good deal, but now it only makes a kind of whining, “eh-haa, eh-haa,” and it speaks less and less often. It is so thin there are no calves to its legs; its belly protrudes; it lives on a halfbowl of corn meal and grease a day. It is naked. Its buttocks and thighs are a mass of festered sores, as it sits in its own excrement continually.

They all know it is there, all the people of Omelas. Some of them have come to see it, others are content merely to know it is there. They all know that it has to be there. Some of them understand why, and some do not, but they all understand that their happiness, the beauty of their city, the tenderness of their friendships, the health of their children, the wisdom of their scholars, the skill of their makers, even the abundance of their harvest and the kindly weathers of their skies, depend wholly on this child’s abominable misery.

This is usually explained to children when they are between eight and twelve, whenever they seem capable of understanding; and most of those who come to see the child are young people, though often enough an adult comes, or comes back, to see the child. No matter how well the matter has been explained to them, these young spectators are always shocked and sickened at the sight. They feel disgust, which they had thought themselves superior to. They feel anger, outrage, impotence, despite all the explanations. They would like to do something for the child. But there is nothing they can do. If the child were brought up into the sunlight out of that vile place, if it were cleaned and fed and comforted, that would be a good thing indeed; but if it were done, in that day and hour all the prosperity and beauty and delight of Omelas would wither and be destroyed. Those are the terms. To exchange all the goodness and grace of every life in Omelas for that single, small improvement: to throw away the happiness of thousands for the chance of the happiness of one: that would be to let guilt within the walls indeed.

The terms are strict and absolute; there may not even be a kind word spoken to the child.

Often the young people go home in tears, or in a tearless rage, when they have seen the child and faced this terrible paradox. They may brood over it for weeks or years. But as time goes on they begin to realize that even if the child could be released, it would not get much good of its freedom: a little vague pleasure of warmth and food, no doubt, but little more. It is too degraded and imbecile to know any real joy. It has been afraid too long ever to be free of fear. Its habits are too uncouth for it to respond to humane treatment. Indeed, after so long it would probably be wretched without walls about it to protect it, and darkness for its eyes, and its own excrement to sit in. Their tears at the bitter injustice dry when they begin to perceive the terrible justice of reality, and to accept it. Yet it is their tears and anger, the trying of their generosity and the acceptance of their helplessness, which are perhaps the true source of the splendor of their lives. Theirs is no vapid, irresponsible happiness. They know that they, like the child, are not free. They know compassion. It is the existence of the child, and their knowledge of its existence, that makes possible the nobility of their architecture, the poignancy of their music, the profundity of their science. It is because of the child that they are so gentle with children. They know that if the wretched one were not there sniveling in the dark, the other one, the fluteplayer, could make no joyful music as the young riders line up in their beauty for the race in the sunlight of the first morning of summer.

Now do you believe in them? Are they not more credible? But there is one more thing to tell, and this is quite incredible.

At times one of the adolescent girls or boys who go to see the child does not go home to weep or rage, does not, in fact, go home at all. Sometimes also a man or woman much older falls silent for a day or two, and then leaves home. These people go out into the street, and walk down the street alone. They keep walking, and walk straight out of the city of Omelas, through the beautiful gates. They keep walking across the farmlands of Omelas. Each one goes alone, youth or girl, man or woman. Night falls; the traveler must pass down village streets, between the houses with yellow-lit windows, and on out into the darkness of the fields. Each alone, they go west or north, towards the mountains. They go on. They leave Omelas, they walk ahead into the darkness, and they do not come back. The place they go towards is a place even less imaginable to most of us than the city of happiness. I cannot describe it at all. It is possible that it does not exist. But they seem to know where they are going, the ones who walk away from Omelas.

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elvellonath · 7 years

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In Defense of Earendil - Meta

Okay, so I’ve written this rant in response to some things I’ve seen concerning Earendil, and considering I play an Earendil I can’t exactly leave it unspoken. It’s long as fuck, so please know that before you click the read more, but as a long story short I will say this:

Earendil is a complex character who should not be so simply looked at. He’s not a villain, and the fact that everyone seems to have little compassion or consideration for him as a character should be thought over twice. Now to each his own, but do not expect me to sway on this without a well thought out explanation from any haters. Don’t bother if you haven’t looked at Earendil from his point of view.

Before we begin, I would like to say a few words concerning Earendil. I know the fandom is split between two factions: Those who believe that the Feanorians were wrong to adopt Elrond & Elros, and those who believe that Earendil was a shit father to begin with and have no respect for him whatsoever. Both of these, I might add, are completely and totally biased, and are far too one dimensional for me to give any credence to. While I will not disagree that Earendil could have done better, I would like to point out a few things in both arguments that are amiss.

Namely:

Think out side the box

Now, let's start with facts and counterpoint that second statement of Earendil being a shit father.

Earendil's Heritage.

This is a factor that gets so often overlooked when those who have this argument look at Earendil. For starters, he is of the house of Finwe. The house of Finwe was --clearly-- a house of those who were incredibly familycentric. More specifically, the house of Fingolfin is from where he hails, and just by the interactions of all the rest of the family with each other it's clear that no matter what family always came first. Always. That being said, Earendil was raised by Idril, daughter of Turgon, and frankly I doubt Idril would have raised her son to be the prick so many seem to think. Here's further proof of the family itself: Fingon.

Fingon, who when everyone was angry with the Feanorians and wanted nothing to do with them went into enemy territory to save his cousin. Fingon, who was so greatly loved, who had his own faults, but it's clear he was admired etc. You see where I'm going with this? Shall I list all of Earendil's family who by proxy would have affected him with the stories of them, who show the very grain of how Finweians think of family? No? I'll go on then.

Secondly, the house of the Edain-- fucks sake, just look at every single person from these houses from Turin to Haleth --there is a line of loyalty and family honor which is so deeply ingrained in these houses there's no way that Tuor didn't put that same family value in his son in any way, shape, or form.

Proof of this in Earendil himself? Mom and dad sail off, and Earendil builds a ship to find them because it's his parents, and for whatever reason he's trying to get them back. Now this has a drawback: frankly he married a woman who was nowhere near his equal in family ties, probably because her own family was slaughtered when she was a small child. Now Earendil had his faults, I'll give anyone that, spending so much time away from growing children is something that can harm them. HOWEVER, let us consider things from his point of view.

He marries Elwing, he has a wife, his parents sail to the west and NO FURTHER WORD IS HEARD FROM THEM. His family and therefore his upbringing would demand that he has answers, that he makes sure everything is alright, etc, etc. Now, he has kids, kids who he worries about and doesn't abandon, he leaves them with his wife. I repeat: he didn't abandon them. It would be against his very grain. His very upbringing. He left his children with someone he loved and trusted, with someone who he believed would do what was best, and I'm sure he visited in between months at sea.

My own father was in the navy when I was very young, and he was gone for almost a year at a time, I won't lie and say it didn't affect me --it did-- but that didn't mean he was a bad father. There's plenty of people who can say the same I'm sure, who were raised with men who weren't around much. Men who didn't have a choice. But that doesn't mean the father's don't love them, and in turn just because Earendil would sail away and come back, and sail away doesn't mean he didn't love Elrond and Elros. Furthermore, he left Elwing with them, which for all intents and purposes is something that every single military man does with his family. And yet no one blames them.

Here's another aspect that should go into his character and should be understood. Think for a few seconds one specific character that is mentioned by name that Earendil looked up to and loved.

Ecthelion.

Now we don't know much about Ecthelion, but in general it's clear what sort of elf he was. He was the type of elf that was looked up to greatly, the type of elf who was willing to lay down his life for the lives of everyone around him. The type of elf who stood in front of a balrog and died so that others could live.

But moving on.

The Opinion of Others on Earendil

Now this is something which should be noted for all those who condemn him: when Tolkien created Earendil as the first part of his legendarium. Earendil's mythology was his first written part, and thereby sets the tone for the entire mythology. Entire. Mythology.

Earendil is clearly in high regard in Middle Earth, from Galadriel to the Valar themselves. The Phial of Galadriel is made from the light of the Silmaril which Earendil carried through the sky, he was known as Gil-Estel ...the star of hope. Now tell me this: if Earendil was the ass that he is seen as, just why would anyone give him such high honors? Furthermore, why would Tolkien who clearly knows what a son of a bitch is like (i.e., look at Eol please), make Earendil such a centerpiece of his writing if he was as horrible as people seem to think him?

'The light of Earendil, our most beloved star'

Either Galadriel is supporting a man who was atrocious to his own kids, calls him 'our most beloved star' in complete lies, or he wasn't atrocious to his own kids. Just Saying.

Earendils fate

This is something that boggles my mind so seriously. If Earendil gains anything, it is my compassion. Now to do this, I'm going to need you to open your mind just a fraction and look at things from Earendils perspective. Now, some might say this is conjecture, but I'm looking at the personality of Earendil as given in canon, plus some logic.

Earendil's parents leave, they sail west, and no word of them ever returns. So, he sets out to find them, which is completely reasonable given the ban on the Noldori to return to Aman. He builds a ship, and he sails off, scouring the sea as best as he can in hopes that either he'll find his parents, or if he doesn't at least he'll find some word of what might have happened to them. He leaves his wife and children for months at a time, though comes back because he loves and misses them (because he would, people), though he's driven to have this one last loose thread closed.

He sails off one time, and he is completely cut off from the mainland, and the next thing he knows a swan lands on his ship, and the next morning this swan turns into his wife. Naturally he asks what happened, and naturally she answers him with her side of the tale of what happened in Sirion. Given his drive over his parents disappearance, I doubt he'd take a "oh I left when the feanorians (who were provoked by Elwing, don't forget) were going to kill me"

"What happened to our sons?" he probably asks, as would be normal. And here is where it's questionable just what the answer was, but based on his reaction I think we can probably guess that somehow he got an idea that their sons were no longer alive for him to rescue. Why do I say this? because he immediately sets sail for Valinor, not caring for the ban, and intending to plead to the Valar to intervene because this is getting out of hand.

Is this the reaction of a father who doesn't give a shit about his kids and abandoned them? No. this is the reaction of a father who is so grieved by what he probably believes is the death of his kids, that it gives him a mission, it gives him a purpose beyond his parents, and whether or not he'll succeed he's gonna die trying. He sails west, and he begs the Valar to intervene, and they do.

Things happen, yadda yadda, war of wrath etc. The Valar then give Earendil a choice: immortality or mortality. Earendil wanted mortality, which would mean he'd be sent back to middle earth. Elwing wished for immortality, and due to his love of her he chose immortality himself.

And here is where I wonder how the fuck nobody has any compassion for him.

What happened to Earendil? Was his ending a happily ever after? Hell. No. Earendil was given a fate that in many ways sucks. Think about it. His immortal life is spent alone, sailing the sky with the silmaril which he's given custody over, he gets to look down on everything that happens, and who knows how he responded when when he first found out his kids were alive. He gives hope to others, but has anyone ever considered what it must be like for him? He sails the skies, a hero to so many-- but to quote The Song of Achilles 'give me one hero who was happy'.

Then consider thousands of years pass, his one son is forever parted from him because he chose mortality, his other son eventually sails to Valinor, imagine all that time that they had lost that now must be caught up on. Like he should incite your compassion, people, not your contempt.

The Feanorians

Something that frustrates me is the idea that to support Earendil must mean that one cannot like Maedhros and Maglor for what they did. This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. I adore what the Feanorians did for Elrond and Elros, the adopting of the twins when I read it actually helped me to fall in love with them so much. It was beautiful how admidst this blood and terror there was a moment that they took, and they did some good. The fact that Elrond is the way he is in later installments because of them is beautiful.

In addition, the Feanorians had the same family oriented thinking that Earendil might have had people. Just something of note.

But to villainize either the Feanorians OR Earendil as if to say one had to be wrong because the other was right is absolutely absurd. Tolkien didn't do it, so why does anyone else? There's a complex situation here, people, there's a situation that should be thought of from all sides. Earendil is no villain. The Feanorians are not villains. They all played their parts, and when their part was over it was passed to someone else.

Conclusion:

Do not look at Earendil so simple minded, or we will have issues. He is as complex of a character as any other character in Silmarillion, and should be treated with the same respect anyone might give Sauron, or Finwe, or Feanor, or Fingolfin etc. etc. etc.

Therefore, think. Just think. Take yourself out of your shoes and put yourself in his for a moment. If you can't do that, then I'm sorry, I don't know what else to say to you. Hate is an immature response, and born from not taking in enough facts. That’s all I have to say on it.

#earendil #this is long as fuck #but it had to be said #(( ♫ — The Eels Don't Get Her :: Metas ))#this being said I have this to say #do not take him one dimensionally if you write with me #because I will not tolerate any hate toward him #to me it's a show that there is an immaturity if you can't' think from both sides #and I take characters being looked at complexly very very seriously

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kimdaily · 7 years

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The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas

From The Wind’s Twelve Quarters: Short Stories by Ursula Le Guin

With a clamor of bells that set the swallows soaring, the Festival of Summer came to the city Omelas, bright-towered by the sea. The rigging of the boats in harbor sparkled with flags. In the streets between houses with red roofs and painted walls, between old moss-grown gardens and under avenues of trees, past great parks and public buildings, processions moved. Some were decorous: old people in long stiff robes of mauve and grey, grave master workmen, quiet, merry women carrying their babies and chatting as they walked. In other streets the music beat faster, a shimmering of gong and tambourine, and the people went dancing, the procession was a dance. Children dodged in and out, their high calls rising like the swallows’ crossing flights, over the music and the singing. All the processions wound towards the north side of the city, where on the great water-meadow called the Green’ Fields boys and girls, naked in the bright air, with mudstained feet and ankles and long, lithe arms, exercised their restive horses before the race. The horses wore no gear at all but a halter without bit. Their manes were braided with streamers of silver, gold, and green. They flared their nostrils and pranced and boasted to one another; they were vastly excited, the horse being the only animal who has adopted our ceremonies as his own. Far off to the north and west the mountains stood up half encircling Omelas on her bay. The air of morning was so clear that the snow still crowning the Eighteen Peaks burned with white-gold fire across the miles of sunlit air, under the dark blue of the sky. There was just enough wind to make the banners that marked the racecourse snap and flutter now and then. In the silence of the broad green meadows one could hear the music winding through the city streets, farther and nearer and ever approaching, a cheerful faint sweetness of the air that from time to time trembled and gathered together and broke out into the great joyous clanging of the bells.

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Joyous! How is one to tell about joy? How describe the citizens of Omelas?

Omelas sounds in my words like a city in a fairy tale, long ago and far away, once upon a time. Perhaps it would be best if you imagined it as your own fancy bids, assuming it will rise to the occasion, for certainly I cannot suit you all. For instance, how about technology? I think that there would be no cars or helicopters in and above the streets; this follows from the fact that the people of Omelas are happy people. Happiness is based on a just discrimination of what is necessary, what is neither necessary nor destructive, and what is destructive. In the middle category, however – that of the unnecessary but undestructive, that of comfort, luxury, exuberance, etc. – they could perfectly well have central heating, subway trains,. washing machines, and all kinds of marvelous devices not yet invented here, floating light-sources, fuelless power, a cure for the common cold. Or they could have none of that: it doesn’t matter. As you like it. I incline to think that people from towns up and down the coast have been coming in to Omelas during the last days before the Festival on very fast little trains and double-decked trams, and that the train station of Omelas is actually the handsomest building in town, though plainer than the magnificent Farmers’ Market. But even granted trains, I fear that Omelas so far strikes some of you as goody-goody. Smiles, bells, parades, horses, bleh. If so, please add an orgy. If an orgy would help, don’t hesitate. Let us not, however, have temples from which issue beautiful nude priests and priestesses already half in ecstasy and ready to copulate with any man or woman, lover or stranger who desires union with the deep godhead of the blood, although that was my first idea. But really it would be better not to have any temples in Omelas – at least, not manned temples. Religion yes, clergy no. Surely the beautiful nudes can just wander about, offering themselves like divine souffles to the hunger of the needy and the rapture of the flesh. Let them join the processions. Let tambourines be struck above the copulations, and the glory of desire be proclaimed upon the gongs, and (a not unimportant point) let the offspring of these delightful rituals be beloved and looked after by all. One thing I know there is none of in Omelas is guilt. But what else should there be? I thought at first there were no drugs, but that is puritanical. For those who like it, the faint insistent sweetness of drooz may perfume the ways of the city, drooz which first brings a great lightness and brilliance to the mind and limbs, and then after some hours a dreamy languor, and wonderful visions at last of the very arcana and inmost secrets of the Universe, as well as exciting the pleasure of sex beyond all belief; and it is not habit-forming. For more modest tastes I think there ought to be beer. What else, what else belongs in the joyous city? The sense of victory, surely, the celebration of courage. But as we did without clergy, let us do without soldiers. The joy built upon successful slaughter is not the right kind of joy; it will not do; it is fearful and it is trivial. A boundless and generous contentment, a magnanimous triumph felt not against some outer enemy but in communion with the finest and fairest in the souls of all men everywhere and the splendor of the world’s summer; this is what swells the hearts of the people of Omelas, and the victory they celebrate is that of life. I really don’t think many of them need to take drooz.

Most of the processions have reached the Green Fields by now. A marvelous smell of cooking goes forth from the red and blue tents of the provisioners. The faces of small children are amiably sticky; in the benign grey beard of a man a couple of crumbs of rich pastry are entangled. The youths and girls have mounted their horses and are beginning to group around the starting line of the course. An old woman, small, fat, and laughing, is passing out flowers from a basket, and tall young men, wear her flowers in their shining hair. A child of nine or ten sits at the edge of the crowd, alone, playing on a wooden flute. People pause to listen, and they smile, but they do not speak to him, for he never ceases playing and never sees them, his dark eyes wholly rapt in the sweet, thin magic of the tune.

He finishes, and slowly lowers his hands holding the wooden flute.

As if that little private silence were the signal, all at once a trumpet sounds from the pavilion near the starting line: imperious, melancholy, piercing. The horses rear on their slender legs, and some of them neigh in answer. Sober-faced, the young riders stroke the horses’ necks and soothe them, whispering, “Quiet, quiet, there my beauty, my hope… .” They begin to form in rank along the starting line. The crowds along the racecourse are like a field of grass and flowers in the wind. The Festival of Summer has begun. Do you believe?

Do you accept the festival, the city, the joy? No? Then let me describe one more thing.

In a basement under one of the beautiful public buildings of Omelas, or perhaps in the cellar of one of its spacious private homes, there is a room. It has one locked door, and no window. A little light seeps in dustily between cracks in the boards, secondhand from a cobwebbed window somewhere across the cellar. In one corner of the little room a couple of mops, with stiff, clotted, foul-smelling heads, stand near a rusty bucket. The floor is dirt, a little damp to the touch, as cellar dirt usually is. The room is about three paces long and two wide: a mere broom closet or disused tool room. In the room a child is sitting. It could be a boy or a girl. It looks about six, but actually is nearly ten. It is feeble-minded. Perhaps it was born defective or perhaps it has become imbecile through fear, malnutrition, and neglect. It picks its nose and occasionally fumbles vaguely with its toes or genitals, as it sits haunched in the corner farthest from the bucket and the two mops. It is afraid of the mops. It finds them horrible. It shuts its eyes, but it knows the mops are still standing there; and the door is locked; and nobody will come. The door is always locked; and nobody ever comes, except that sometimes-the child has no understanding of time or interval – sometimes the door rattles terribly and opens, and a person, or several people, are there. One of them may come and kick the child to make it stand up. The others never come close, but peer in at it with frightened, disgusted eyes. The food bowl and the water jug are hastily filled, the door is locked, the eyes disappear. The people at the door never say anything, but the child, who has not always lived in the tool room, and can remember sunlight and its mother’s voice, sometimes speaks. “I will be good,” it says. “Please let me out. I will be good!” They never answer. The child used to scream for help at night, and cry a good deal, but now it only makes a kind of whining, “eh-haa, eh-haa,” and it speaks less and less often. It is so thin there are no calves to its legs; its belly protrudes; it lives on a half-bowl of corn meal and grease a day. It is naked. Its buttocks and thighs are a mass of festered sores, as it sits in its own excrement continually.

This is usually explained to children when they are between eight and twelve, whenever they seem capable of understanding; and most of those who come to see the child are young people, though often enough an adult comes, or comes back, to see the child. No matter how well the matter has been explained to them, these young spectators are always shocked and sickened at the sight. They feel disgust, which they had thought themselves superior to. They feel anger, outrage, impotence, despite all the explanations. They would like to do something for the child. But there is nothing they can do. If the child were brought up into the sunlight out of that vile place, if it were cleaned and fed and comforted, that would be a good thing, indeed; but if it were done, in that day and hour all the prosperity and beauty and delight of Omelas would wither and be destroyed. Those are the terms. To exchange all the goodness and grace of every life in Omelas for that single, small improvement: to throw away the happiness of thousands for the chance of the happiness of one: that would be to let guilt within the walls indeed.

The terms are strict and absolute; there may not even be a kind word spoken to the child.

Often the young people go home in tears, or in a tearless rage, when they have seen the child and faced this terrible paradox. They may brood over it for weeks or years. But as time goes on they begin to realize that even if the child could be released, it would not get much good of its freedom: a little vague pleasure of warmth and food, no doubt, but little more. It is too degraded and imbecile to know any real joy. It has been afraid too long ever to be free of fear. Its habits are too uncouth for it to respond to humane treatment. Indeed, after so long it would probably be wretched without walls about it to protect it, and darkness for its eyes, and its own excrement to sit in. Their tears at the bitter injustice dry when they begin to perceive the terrible justice of reality, and to accept it. Yet it is their tears and anger, the trying of their generosity and the acceptance of their helplessness, which are perhaps the true source of the splendor of their lives. Theirs is no vapid, irresponsible happiness. They know that they, like the child, are not free. They know compassion. It is the existence of the child, and their knowledge of its existence, that makes possible the nobility of their architecture, the poignancy of their music, the profundity of their science. It is because of the child that they are so gentle with children. They know that if the wretched one were not there snivelling in the dark, the other one, the flute-player, could make no joyful music as the young riders line up in their beauty for the race in the sunlight of the first morning of summer.

Now do you believe in them? Are they not more credible? But there is one more thing to tell, and this is quite incredible.

At times one of the adolescent girls or boys who go to see the child does not go home to weep or rage, does not, in fact, go home at all. Sometimes also a man or woman much older falls silent for a day or two, and then leaves home. These people go out into the street, and walk down the street alone. They keep walking, and walk straight out of the city of Omelas, through the beautiful gates. They keep walking across the farmlands of Omelas. Each one goes alone, youth or girl man or woman. Night falls; the traveler must pass down village streets, between the houses with yellow-lit windows, and on out into the darkness of the fields. Each alone, they go west or north, towards the mountains. They go on. They leave Omelas, they walk ahead into the darkness, and they do not come back. The place they go towards is a place even less imaginable to most of us than the city of happiness. I cannot describe it at all. It is possible that it does not exist. But they seem to know where they are going, the ones who walk away from Omelas.

#mine #bts #bangtan #the ones who walk away from omelas #you never walk alone #bts ynwa #ynwa

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yulnabi · 6 years

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Day 100

Thursday: Busy! Always Busy!

This morning I skipped practice since I needed to speak with Selim. He informed me his beloved was in Earth, at the Mergen Embassy in Moscow due to a visit from the King to our planet. I was confused as to what to say, until he said he wanted me to help him break her out.

I told him such things took planning, that we couldn’t just storm in and extract her. He said he had thought everything through, that all he needed was a team of 4, and that we had to move as fast as we could.

There’s no way I could possibly get a team together in just a couple of hours, and I told him this. He then introduced me to Leticia, a Mergenese woman who had been fighting for women’s rights for years. She had become an expert sniper, and was also gifted in hand to hand combat. She simply waved at me, and Selim told me she is mute.

Something took over me, and I closed my eyes. A few seconds later I heard it, a female voice I had not heard before. When I opened my eyes, it was her, Leticia. She was talking, as surprised as the rest of us. Selim then grabbed my arm, looked at me pleadingly, and asked if I could make him “whole” again.

I shoot my head, but ended up closing my eyes, only to feel him hug me a few seconds afterwards, telling me “thank you,” and kissing my forehead. He then asked if I knew of anyone that would be willing to join us, which made me think of a single person. . .Senior Lieutenant Stroeva.

S.L. Stroeva did not take much talking to get her on board. She rubbed Selim and Leticia the wrong way when she said she’d enjoy killing Mergen scum. Anyways, when Selim ran the plan through her, she had her own suggestions. She decided she could have the Russians escorting the King look the other way while they made their way towards the Kremlin. Selim agreed, and we then proceeded to plan our attire.

Selim suggested we dress as separatist rebels, and Vladya was quick to agree, thinking in the long-term.

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At 11:00 am our time, 6:00 pm in Moscow, we launched our operation. Though we successfully extracted the objective, it resulted in the deaths of many, including the King himself. Vladya was merciless, to the point where it frightened me. I have seen people getting murdered before, I have seen the most awful of deaths in my visions, but this was live, I was right there watching this happen. The effects of concentrated electricity on a biological body are horrifying. The bleeding from various orifices followed by exploding eyes and skin are something that is still haunting my mind.

After the operation, we teleported to the moon base. Vladya informed them that they could not stay, for they were now wanted people by Mergen. Not for the murder of the King, but because they had opted to become dissidents, and would thus be hunted down by their government.

Before they left, Selim thanked me once more, and told me he would help me was I ever to need his aid.

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In the afternoon, I was still shaken by the images of those Mergenese guards getting murdered by Vladya. She seemed so remorseless, as if it was a natural thing to do, like sleeping or breathing. The images were so horrible that I skipped lunch, and cried alone in one of MC’s parks for a while. Afterwards, I just began flying up. I wanted to feel something, anything to remind me I am not a monster, to wash away the feeling of taking part in such gruesome murders.

So I kept flying up. When the air began to thin, I kept flying. When I began to feel all oxygen leaving my body, I kept going up. Even when my skin felt like it began to melt off, I just kept going, my natural healing stabilizing so that the atmosphere had no effect on me. I kept going up when I found myself surrounded by the vacuum of space. That did not stop me. I kept going up and up, my clothing having long melted off.

I must have done that for a few hours, for I could see the entire globe by the time I actually looked down. I stayed up there, letting myself be moved by the motion of the earth, but remaining above the atmosphere. After a few hours, I was consumed by darkness. I knew night had come, but I cared little. The darkness was the most comforting thing I had felt all day.

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Later in the evening, I finally returned to the moon base, got dressed, and headed to Caprice. There, I saw Dustin in his toga and purple hair. Walking over to the bar area, I couldn’t help but smile at Vladya’s take on him. Still, I was interested to know more about his people, and he was fairly open to talk about them.

I did not get the name of either species, but it seems they were both fairly technologically advanced and capable of FTL travel. They were bred to be natural warrior, their bodies hardened to the point they did not use armor. Still, it strikes me odd these creatures still fought their land battles in hand to hand combat or in exchanges of power. Such primitive methods are archaic even by modern human standards. He seemed really proud of this, and unable to comprehend how simplistic and primitive such methods would appear to truly superior species.

Dustin told me that not everyone in his societies chose the path of a warrior. That many chose other pursuits, but that when the great war between them had happened, those who did not follow the warrior path had been slaughtered. I found it weird he somehow implied the warrior path was better, because at the end of the day, they too fought each other to extinction.

I questioned what those societies would think of earth, and he unequivocally said they would wipe out humanity and take earth for themselves. He then informed me that thankfully, there were enough well-meaning of his extinct species to prevent such a thing from happening.

Since he strikes me as one easily prone to violence, and the last thing I want is for the bouncers at Caprice to give him a reality check, I let such claims go unchallenged. My one correction is that they would “try” to conquer earth. It is common for many alien species to underestimate humanity and our resilience. It is a common idea that we are just a helpless species here for the taking. However, for all their boisterous attitude, every species that has tried has met defeat.

We did have a discussion on humanity, and our nature. He was dismissive towards them and towards me, when I told him I did not understand why such emphasis on pride. You see, he informed me that physical strength and being the “best” warrior were the only things of value to his people. That pride in these things was all that mattered, and that us simple humans could not possibly understand.

My counter would be advanced civilizations. Why would a hyper advanced civilization care about physical strength when they have reached the point where they do not even need a physical body? What does hand-to-hand combat ability matter when they can blink you and your entire galaxy out of existence? More importantly, the “best?” To me, the best is not a civilization that is good at destroying others, but one that can provide for all its citizens, one where everyone has a voice and has a very high standard of living thanks to the technological progress they have achieved. Not one that focuses on physical strength, but rather one that emphasizes a healthy populace.

Anyways, things kept going downhill from there, but it is in my nature to avoid hostilities as much as possible. It’s not like I can actually fight anyone, but also, many of the younger hero types do not understand how powerful the bouncers at Caprice are. Was I to anger someone and provoke an attack, they’d find themselves in more trouble than they could ever imagine.

So I just continued to nod in agreement, until I just felt like I couldn’t stomach anymore. At which point I excused myself and left.

------------------------------------

When I got home, it then hit me. The King of Mergen was dead, Osman’s brother was about to take over, and Osman was about to openly revolt against him. The King’s Guard were not the only fatalities of our actions today. Untold numbers of people were about to die because I had blindly offered to help a friend.

That’s why Vladya didn’t think twice about helping. She knew what we were about to set in motion.

Then, as I layed down, terrible chills ran through my body. My eyes opened wide and the worst feeling of fear just overtook me. . . I realized I was late.

#champions online rp #Yuliya Kardasheva

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observationsfromomelas-blog · 6 years

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The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas (From The Wind's Twelve Quarters: Short Stories by Ursula Le Guin )

Children dodged in and out, their high calls rising like the swallows' crossing flights, over the music and the singing. All the processions wound towards the north side of the city, where on the great water-meadow called the Green' Fields boys and girls, naked in the bright air, with mudstained feet and ankles and long, lithe arms, exercised their restive horses before the race. The horses wore no gear at all but a halter without bit. Their manes were braided with streamers of silver, gold, and green. They flared their nostrils and pranced and boasted to one another; they were vastly excited, the horse being the only animal who has adopted our ceremonies as his own.

Far off to the north and west the mountains stood up half encircling Omelas on her bay. The air of morning was so clear that the snow still crowning the Eighteen Peaks burned with white-gold fire across the miles of sunlit air, under the dark blue of the sky. There was just enough wind to make the banners that marked the racecourse snap and flutter now and then. In the silence of the broad green meadows one could hear the music winding through the city streets, farther and nearer and ever approaching, a cheerful faint sweetness of the air that from time to time trembled and gathered together and broke out into the great joyous clanging of the bells. Joyous! How is one to tell about joy?

How describe the citizens of Omelas? They were not simple folk, you see, though they were happy. But we do not say the words of cheer much any more. All smiles have become archaic. Given a description such as this one tends to make certain assumptions. Given a description such as this one tends to look next for the King, mounted on a splendid stallion and surrounded by his noble knights, or perhaps in a golden litter borne by great-muscled slaves. But there was no king. They did not use swords, or keep slaves. They were not barbarians. I do not know the rules and laws of their society, but I suspect that they were singularly few. As they did without monarchy and slavery, so they also got on without the stock exchange, the advertisement, the secret police, and the bomb. Yet I repeat that these were not simple folk, not dulcet shepherds, noble savages, bland utopians. They were not less complex than us. The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain. If you can't lick 'em, join 'em. If it hurts, repeat it.

But to praise despair is to condemn delight, to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else. We have almost lost hold; we can no longer describe a happy man, nor make any celebration of joy. How can I tell you about the people of Omelas? They were not naive and happy children – though their children were, in fact, happy. They were mature, intelligent, passionate adults whose lives were not wretched. O miracle! but I wish I could describe it better. I wish I could convince you. Omelas sounds in my words like a city in a fairy tale, long ago and far away, once upon a time. Perhaps it would be best if you imagined it as your own fancy bids, assuming it will rise to the occasion, for certainly I cannot suit you all. For instance, how about technology? I think that there would be no cars or helicopters in and above the streets; this follows from the fact that the people of Omelas are happy people. Happiness is based on a just discrimination of what is necessary, what is neither necessary nor destructive, and what is destructive. In the middle category, however – that of the unnecessary but undestructive, that of comfort, luxury, exuberance, etc. -- they could perfectly well have central heating, subway trains,. washing machines, and all kinds of marvelous devices not yet invented here, floating light-sources, fuelless power, a cure for the common cold. Or they could have none of that: it doesn't matter. As you like it. I incline to think that people from towns up and down the coast have been coming in to Omelas during the last days before the Festival on very fast little trains and double-decked trams, and that the train station of Omelas is actually the handsomest building in town, though plainer than the magnificent Farmers' Market. But even granted trains, I fear that Omelas so far strikes some of you as goody-goody. Smiles, bells, parades, horses, bleh. If so, please add an orgy. If an orgy would help, don't hesitate. Let us not, however, have temples from which issue beautiful nude priests and priestesses already half in ecstasy and ready to copulate with any man or woman, lover or stranger who desires union with the deep godhead of the blood, although that was my first idea. But really it would be better not to have any temples in Omelas – at least, not manned temples. Religion yes, clergy no. Surely the beautiful nudes can just wander about, offering themselves like divine souffles to the hunger of the needy and the rapture of the flesh. Let them join the processions. Let tambourines be struck above the copulations, and the glory of desire be proclaimed upon the gongs, and (a not unimportant point) let the offspring of these delightful rituals be beloved and looked after by all.

One thing I know there is none of in Omelas is guilt. But what else should there be? I thought at first there were no drugs, but that is puritanical. For those who like it, the faint insistent sweetness of drooz may perfume the ways of the city, drooz which first brings a great lightness and brilliance to the mind and limbs, and then after some hours a dreamy languor, and wonderful visions at last of the very arcana and inmost secrets of the Universe, as well as exciting the pleasure of sex beyond all belief; and it is not habit-forming. For more modest tastes I think there ought to be beer. What else, what else belongs in the joyous city? The sense of victory, surely, the celebration of courage. But as we did without clergy, let us do without soldiers. The joy built upon successful slaughter is not the right kind of joy; it will not do; it is fearful and it is trivial. A boundless and generous contentment, a magnanimous triumph felt not against some outer enemy but in communion with the finest and fairest in the souls of all men everywhere and the splendor of the world's summer; this is what swells the hearts of the people of Omelas, and the victory they celebrate is that of life. I really don't think many of them need to take drooz. Most of the processions have reached the Green Fields by now. A marvelous smell of cooking goes forth from the red and blue tents of the provisioners. The faces of small children are amiably sticky; in the benign grey beard of a man a couple of crumbs of rich pastry are entangled.

The youths and girls have mounted their horses and are beginning to group around the starting line of the course. An old woman, small, fat, and laughing, is passing out flowers from a basket, and tall young men, wear her flowers in their shining hair. A child of nine or ten sits at the edge of the crowd, alone, playing on a wooden flute. People pause to listen, and they smile, but they do not speak to him, for he never ceases playing and never sees them, his dark eyes wholly rapt in the sweet, thin magic of the tune. He finishes, and slowly lowers his hands holding the wooden flute. As if that little private silence were the signal, all at once a trumpet sounds from the pavilion near the starting line: imperious, melancholy, piercing. The horses rear on their slender legs, and some of them neigh in answer. Sober-faced, the young riders stroke the horses' necks and soothe them, whispering, "Quiet, quiet, there my beauty, my hope. . . ." They begin to form in rank along the starting line. The crowds along the racecourse are like a field of grass and flowers in the wind.

The Festival of Summer has begun. Do you believe? Do you accept the festival, the city, the joy? No? Then let me describe one more thing. In a basement under one of the beautiful public buildings of Omelas, or perhaps in the cellar of one of its spacious private homes, there is a room. It has one locked door, and no window. A little light seeps in dustily between cracks in the boards, secondhand from a cobwebbed window somewhere across the cellar. In one corner of the little room a couple of mops, with stiff, clotted, foul-smelling heads, stand near a rusty bucket. The floor is dirt, a little damp to the touch, as cellar dirt usually is. The room is about three paces long and two wide: a mere broom closet or disused tool room. In the room a child is sitting. It could be a boy or a girl. It looks about six, but actually is nearly ten. It is feeble-minded. Perhaps it was born defective or perhaps it has become imbecile through fear, malnutrition, and neglect. It picks its nose and occasionally fumbles vaguely with its toes or genitals, as it sits haunched in the corner farthest from the bucket and the two mops. It is afraid of the mops. It finds them horrible. It shuts its eyes, but it knows the mops are still standing there; and the door is locked; and nobody will come. The door is always locked; and nobody ever comes, except that sometimes-the child has no understanding of time or interval – sometimes the door rattles terribly and opens, and a person, or several people, are there. One of them may come and kick the child to make it stand up. The others never come close, but peer in at it with frightened, disgusted eyes. The food bowl and the water jug are hastily filled, the door is locked, the eyes disappear. The people at the door never say anything, but the child, who has not always lived in the tool room, and can remember sunlight and its mother's voice, sometimes speaks. "I will be good," it says. "Please let me out. I will be good!" They never answer.

The child used to scream for help at night, and cry a good deal, but now it only makes a kind of whining, "eh-haa, eh-haa," and it speaks less and less often. It is so thin there are no calves to its legs; its belly protrudes; it lives on a half-bowl of corn meal and grease a day. It is naked. Its buttocks and thighs are a mass of festered sores, as it sits in its own excrement continually. They all know it is there, all the people of Omelas. Some of them have come to see it, others are content merely to know it is there. They all know that it has to be there. Some of them understand why, and some do not, but they all understand that their happiness, the beauty of their city, the tenderness of their friendships, the health of their children, the wisdom of their scholars, the skill of their makers, even the abundance of their harvest and the kindly weathers of their skies, depend wholly on this child's abominable misery. This is usually explained to children when they are between eight and twelve, whenever they seem capable of understanding; and most of those who come to see the child are young people, though often enough an adult comes, or comes back, to see the child. No matter how well the matter has been explained to them, these young spectators are always shocked and sickened at the sight. They feel disgust, which they had thought themselves superior to. They feel anger, outrage, impotence, despite all the explanations. They would like to do something for the child. But there is nothing they can do. If the child were brought up into the sunlight out of that vile place, if it were cleaned and fed and comforted, that would be a good thing, indeed; but if it were done, in that day and hour all the prosperity and beauty and delight of Omelas would wither and be destroyed.

Those are the terms. To exchange all the goodness and grace of every life in Omelas for that single, small improvement: to throw away the happiness of thousands for the chance of the happiness of one: that would be to let guilt within the walls indeed. The terms are strict and absolute; there may not even be a kind word spoken to the child. Often the young people go home in tears, or in a tearless rage, when they have seen the child and faced this terrible paradox. They may brood over it for weeks or years. But as time goes on they begin to realize that even if the child could be released, it would not get much good of its freedom: a little vague pleasure of warmth and food, no doubt, but little more. It is too degraded and imbecile to know any real joy. It has been afraid too long ever to be free of fear. Its habits are too uncouth for it to respond to humane treatment. Indeed, after so long it would probably be wretched without walls about it to protect it, and darkness for its eyes, and its own excrement to sit in. Their tears at the bitter injustice dry when they begin to perceive the terrible justice of reality, and to accept it. Yet it is their tears and anger, the trying of their generosity and the acceptance of their helplessness, which are perhaps the true source of the splendour of their lives. Theirs is no vapid, irresponsible happiness. They know that they, like the child, are not free. They know compassion. It is the existence of the child, and their knowledge of its existence, that makes possible the nobility of their architecture, the poignancy of their music, the profundity of their science. It is because of the child that they are so gentle with children. They know that if the wretched one were not there snivelling in the dark, the other one, the flute-player, could make no joyful music as the young riders line up in their beauty for the race in the sunlight of the first morning of summer. Now do you believe in them? Are they not more credible? But there is one more thing to tell, and this is quite incredible.

At times one of the adolescent girls or boys who go to see the child does not go home to weep or rage, does not, in fact, go home at all. Sometimes also a man or woman much older falls silent for a day or two, and then leaves home. These people go out into the street, and walk down the street alone. They keep walking, and walk straight out of the city of Omelas, through the beautiful gates. They keep walking across the farmlands of Omelas. Each one goes alone, youth or girl man or woman. Night falls; the traveler must pass down village streets, between the houses with yellow-lit windows, and on out into the darkness of the fields. Each alone, they go west or north, towards the mountains. They go on. They leave Omelas, they walk ahead into the darkness, and they do not come back. The place they go towards is a place even less imaginable to most of us than the city of happiness. I cannot describe it at all. It is possible that it does not exist. But they seem to know where they are going, the ones who walk away from Omelas.

#ursula le guin

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