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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 4 months

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An Easy Conversation - A Malevolent fic

Parker isn't looking forward to this confrontation.

He knows they'll all come out hurt.

He tells himself if he learns enough, it'll be worth the cost.

He might be wrong.

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis.

AO3

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He couldn’t see a way around it.

It wasn’t ideal. It carried risk. It could go real bad, and the fallout would land on Sunny’s head. But the longer this went on, the more horrifying information they got, the less Parker knew, and those quiet parts (the parts nobody was saying, as if anything could hold more shame or horror than what had been said) felt like traps waiting to spring.

Arthur’s explanations were never great when it was about personal things. The guy could give a court-worthy recitation about anything that didn’t touch his heart, but when it did… fuck. He fell apart and kept repeating the same damn sentences over and over, louder and louder, as if that somehow gave them more meaning.

John didn’t remember. So that was out.

Sunny had no idea, either, since he obviously hadn’t been there (and Parker worried, now that he’d seen more of John and Hastur, that Sunny maybe wasn’t telling him the worst parts with Larson, was leaving painful things out).

Faroe was too young. Parker had grilled kids in the past when necessary, but he hated doing it, and considered it not an option now.

That left Hastur. The King in Yellow. An actual fucking god, who could speak shit into existence and maybe skin Parker for fun while the Court toasted with fine champagne.

This was a dangerous course of action, but he couldn't see another way.

He’d already have gone after his suspect if he didn’t have to bring Sunny with—but there was no way to keep Sunny safe, to keep Sunny out of it, tucked in bed or sitting in a nice diner or, fuck, even on a nearby roof with a sniper rifle.

Sunny had to be face-to-face with whatever the hell Hastur was to him, and had to hear Parker’s questions, and field Hastur’s potential answers.

Sunny was gonna come out of this bruised, and Parker saw no way around that, either. He sighed heavily, rising from his push-ups and walking out onto his balcony, where he leaned, looking down at the lake.

Lake Hali was fun as hell to swim in. Probably because they were getting away with it. Thoughts of skinny-dipping with Sunny (impossible, but so lovely) briefly intruded, and Parker shifted, his body automatically responding.

He shook his head. Distracting himself now from the hard things? Great. That would solve his problems.

Penny for your thoughts? Sunny said, lightly teasing.

“Eh,” said Parker. “Got something to do today that I’m not looking forward to so much.” He kept his tone easy, careful, a little too smooth, because he knew Sunny would pick up on it.

Sounds like something someone with a partner shouldn’t do alone.

Parker smiled. “Yeah. Maybe.” He took a slow breath. “I’m thinking I need to talk to Hastur today. Ask him some questions. But that’s not the kinda thing a partner would do to his partner without discussing it first.”

It’s been almost the two weeks we negotiated. I… I’m going to be honest, Parker, I don’t know that I’m ready, but I don’t know that I will ever be ready. Sunny let out a deep, bone-weary sigh. Is it… Alright, that I’m scared, still?

“Absolutely. I’m scared, too. He’s… this isn’t just some guy who maybe could get a good punch in. He’s got powers, and he ain’t human, and doesn’t work like humans do. My biggest concern is you.” This felt like a last chance: “I try to encourage you not to… you know. Withdraw. And you’ve done so good with that. You’ve stuck it out, no matter how hard it’s been. But Sunny, this is the guy you came from, and the guy you want to become in time. So. If you need to do that… I’ll understand. If it gets messy.”

Sunny’s breath hitched, just once. That means… everything to me, Parker.

“I love you, sunshine,” Parker said softly. “I got a job to do. I care about Arthur, and this whole mess we’re in. But I love you. So. I gotta pursue this, but I don’t see a way through it that keeps you out of it. And maybe I’m just dumb, and there’s a way, but I don’t see it. I’m sorry, bud.”

I love you too. He let out a soft, disquiet rumble. I appreciate the thought you put into this, Parker, I really do. But I also… As much as I don’t want to, and I very much do not want to, I also need to know. We need to know what the fuck is going on with the King and Arthur and everything else if we’re going to keep playing any sort of role in this… whatever it is. And… He let out a soft laugh. Well, I can’t exactly punch out windows for you, but… maybe I can give you a sounding board, or keep the King calm, or… I don’t know.

Parker swallowed. “All right. Fuck, Sunny, you surprise me all the time. Thanks for having my back here.”

You’re my partner, Parker, he said. There’s nowhere else I want to be. And, after hearing about… He paused, letting out a soft groan. We need to know. I need to know. I’m… I’m missing too much, but I can at least… I know you’ll help me through it. Yeah?

“That’s not even a question.” Parker was relieved. He hadn’t been sure how Sunny would respond. This was the best possible result. “Right. Let’s nail down what we want from this bastard. Okay?”

Okay. Arthur’s side left off when John was returned to him, in Addison; that leaves us with nine years unaccounted for. His voice was deliberate, thoughtful. To my knowledge, he disappeared from Earth by most measures about three years after he escaped Addison; that’s probably about when he came to Carcosa. That gives us a rough date.

“So that was nine years… and Faroe’s about that age. Which means while Arthur was running from Larson, Hastur was already digging her up. Am I right?”

John had rejoined him, and then was returned to Arthur within the span of a few earth days. He was almost certainly furious. I imagine Faroe was reborn shortly after, yes.

“Somewhere in there, something bad happened.” Parker’s voice was rough. “Something he hasn’t recovered from. He’s missing something, Sunny. I’m not okay with it, but I want to know what happened.”

Something so serious they needed to invoke an Outer God to try and fix it, Sunny rumbled. We’ll find out, Parker. And we’ll get through it, both of us. I promise.

“Together.” He stroked his jaw. “Right. Court’s about to break. I think we can grab him. If you’re ready.”

Ready as I’ll ever be.

Parker chose to believe him. He went and picked some of their better clothes—nothing court-worthy or overly fancy, but nice enough for church, as folks in Boston used to say.

Parker went to Hastur’s throne room, keeping along the walls, avoiding the flow of beasties and ghoulies and whatever they were, all clanking with weapons and jewels and nonsense. He slipped between the doors, again following the walls, but keeping his eyes on Hastur by the throne.

The King hovered up there in all his glory, tentacles waving in the air as if he hung in deep water, his robe rippling in a non-existent breeze.

That guy had a zillion eyes. Parker knew the guy saw him. Well, important guys had to do things in a way that made them feel in charge, and Parker didn’t care. He settled behind a pillar, in the shadow, leaned against a wall, crossed his arms, and waited.

Hastur, being an important guy, took his time. At least he was thorough, emptying the room before coming their way.

The doors closed with a distinctly ominous clang.

“I see you wish for my attention,” said Hastur, voice rumbling through the floor, the wall, Parker’s bones.

Yeah, yeah, gods and their party tricks. “Got some questions for you, sir, if you got some time.”

Hastur had the gall to sound amused. “I believe I can spare a few minutes for my most honored guests.”

Sunny was quiet. Parker was glad that Sunny was quiet. “They’re picky questions. Might be a little upsetting. You still willing to have it out?”

Hastur laughed.

Parker had to admit it was a damn effective laugh; it was dark, throaty, deep and scary, a sadistic and ancient sound that vibrated all along the souls of mortals like plucking taut strings. It took real effort to stand through that, to fight back the instinctive surety that this sound presaged his death.

It wasn’t the first time Parker had looked down that barrel, and he stood his ground.

“I am willing,” said Hastur finally. “Provided, of course, that your ‘partner’ is in agreement.”

I share many of the same questions, Sunny said, subdued. Questions we need answered, if we are to play our part. Parker and I are in full agreement.

“Then your audience is granted,” said Hastur, gracious and amused.

“What the fuck did you do to my best friend?” said Parker.

Hastur went still.

Parker waited. With humans, silence was a great way to get them talking. With gods, he wasn’t sure, but there were a lot of similarities, so maybe…

Hastur sighed. “Be more specific.”

“You want specific? Sure. We can do specific. What happened to Arthur Lester and John Doe after they left Addison?”

“You’d have to ask them,” said Hastur mildly. “I wasn’t even in that world.” Those tentacles were moving slowly, gracefully, and Parker had decided that particular motion was the same thing as a liar staring too directly into one’s eyes.

“Then how were you involved with them before they were brought into your world?” said Parker.

“Are you so sure I was involved?”

Parker’s look could melt butter. “Yeah.”

Hastur laughed again. “Sunny, you have quite the partner here. You must be constantly entertained.”

Sunny was being very, very carefully neutral. Arthur disappeared about three years after he left Addison, Hastur. Magic could not find him—I would know, because Larson used every scrap of power he could to try. And, I am meant to understand, that appears to line up with when you debuted your new Court Composer. What do you think of that?

“I see,” said Hastur softly. “So what you are truly asking is how much of his current condition is due to my manipulation.”

Parker’s eyes narrowed. This asshole was perceptive. It was a warning not to take lightly. “Yeah. In part.”

“I broke him.”

Sunny made a small noise.

So Sunny knew what that meant, then. Parker didn’t know. Should he show his hand and ask for clarification? Or pretend he knew? Maybe this was a compromise: “How? What’d you do?”

Hastur was silent for just a moment too long.

“The fuckin’ truth,” said Parker, sharp.

“Are you going to start smashing my tableware if I don’t reply?” said Hastur with amusement designed to rankle.

Ooh, Hastur was a tough nut. He knew how to say things to make them dig in, like some kind of chigger.

On one level, Parker was enjoying this; he felt matched for wit, and couldn’t let his guard down for an instant. On another… fuck this guy and the horse he rode in on. It probably had tentacles, too. “The truth,” he repeated, refusing to be distracted.

And apparently, Hastur decided to stop playing. “When I tried to take over his body before, his passion and guilt over his daughter’s untimely death by drowning on his watch while he composed music for her was powerful enough to keep him anchored. I was unable to remove him from his body.”

Parker stared.That was… more detail than he’d known. That was a lot. What the fuck did Hastur mean by keeping him anchored? “Felt that strongly, did he?”

“He did.”

Hastur… Sunny said, his voice stunned and horrified and so, so soft.

Fuck it. “You mean literally remove him. Kill him?”

“Replace him. John was already inside him; once reminded of who he truly was, John reached through the portal to me, and I reached back. We would have joined in Arthur’s body and been free on Earth… if not for that memory.” Hastur’s many limbs approximated a shrug.

John could do that?

This was tilting out of control. Parker fought down the urge to pace, or shout, or just start smashing plates. Not that there were any in here, but he would not fail that easily. “Okay. So that memory kept him anchored.”

“Yes. His guilt. His shame. And he took my piece away from me, convinced him he could be ‘human,’ and fomented a proper little rebellion.” Oh, that tone; so dismissive, so old-anger cruel.

“Yeah,” Parker finally said. “John’s not gonna reach for you now.”

“No,” said Hastur. “Then, however, I decided the way to bring my piece home was to render Arthur’s mind a pile of broken glass. It’s very effective, you know, when you want a human to do something.”

Right. Hastur was looking for a reaction. Goading.

Keep it together, Parker thought, swallowed, and had the dangerous thought that he was glad he wasn’t the one being interrogated by Hastur. “What’d you do?”

Parker, Sunny said, voice trembling.

“Do you wish to tell him?” Hastur said.

You didn’t, Sunny whispered. Please. Please, Hastur, tell me you didn’t.

“Your host wished for the truth,” Hastur said, casually cruel.

Parker steeled his voice. “What did you do?”

“I sought and found his daughter’s soul in the Dark World,” Hastur said, like describing buying ingredients to bake bread. “I took her DNA from her grave. I remade her. Then I raised her. I raised her in love, because immature humans imprint upon such things. I did so with every intent of bringing her to him, happy and delighted, calling me father. She would force him to apologize for murdering her—not that she would know what it was for, but he would—and then, I would tear her to pieces, slowly, while he was helpless to do anything but listen to her cry out to her father and beg him to stop.”

Parker couldn’t breathe. His face felt numb.

“Obviously, that didn’t quite play out,” said Hastur, still so damn casually, and Parker knew his buttons were being pushed, knew this performance was manipulation, but it was too much, over his limit, beyond what he could bear.

Beyond what anyone could bear.

Parker’s throat worked. Nothing came out.

“I realized how special she was,” said Hastur. “So instead of killing her, I kept her. That, as it turns out, was just as effective. Arthur Lester broke. John refused initially to come home, but I would have overcome that in time. Unfortunately, that was when the Outer God—”

Parker twisted at the hip and slammed his fist into Hastur’s nearest tentacle as hard as he humanly could.

It made a rubbery thump, and did not move under the force of the punch at all.

There was one moment of stillness.

“I know that didn’t hurt you,” said Parker, low. “Gets the idea the fuck across, anyway.”

“Do you hate me now, little host?” said Hastur, smooth and honeyed and aggravatingly pleased.

“Yeah. Think I do.”

“That is a shame… given whom you carry.”

Fuck.

Oh, this guy was good. Really good. Came with the territory, probably, god of madness and all, but he’d done it: knocked Parker right the fuck off-balance, ending any chance he had of doing this objectively.

He knew he needed to keep pushing. He needed to find out what broken was, because it was obviously more than depressed, more than kicked while down. There was magic involved, and it had cut something out of Arthur, and he wanted to know how to get it back. Did Hastur have it? Could it be returned?

He needed to do that, but he also knew himself, and knew it was too late. Parker was so angry he couldn’t fucking think. “Proud of yourself?” he said quietly. “Using a kid? Breaking a man who never deserved it? Fucking up everybody’s lives?”

“Yes,” said Hastur mildly.

“You outmaneuvered a little mortal guy. Wow. You’re real special.”

“I am.”

“You didn’t win, though, did you?” said Parker, who knew it was stupid to say. “That Outer God’s got you by the balls, no matter how many you have. You didn’t win.”

“No,” said Hastur. “I did not.”

Oh, now there was humility? Now, Hastur was being vulnerable? Sure. Sure, he was. Parker’s voice rose. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Whatever you want it to mean,” said Hastur the Unspeakable, light and smooth.

Parker… please… said Sunny.

And Parker knew (he really did) that Sunny was afraid Parker was going to get hurt, was going to somehow trigger Hastur into doing damage.

But Parker felt like it was the other way around. Defending Hastur. In any capacity, defending Hastur, because this was the guy Sunny wanted to be at the end of five years.

In that moment, Parker was done. For right now, at least, so very fucking done. “We’re continuing this later,” he managed, turned, and marched back out of the throne room.

Hastur let them go.

Parker?

Parker was silent. I’m sorry, Arthur, he thought, because he’d bailed, because this delayed everything, because he’d underestimated his opponent before going in and got himself a hell of a black eye.

Parker. Talk to me, please.

Parker could not. Not without saying something he knew he’d regret. He could not.

Parker… Sunny sounded like he was going to cry.

“Fresh air,” Parker ground out, and stomped right for the front gate.

#malevolent #malevolent fic #malevolent au #parker yang #sunny | yellow malevolent #hastur malevolent #kiy malevolent

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aresmarked · 2 years

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I liked this event a lot, but it's pretty frustrating how after a whole lot of 'the Inquisition considers itself unaccountable to everyone' 'the Inquisition arrested people from Gran Faro on a purely racial basis, and never released even the ~60 people they couldn't pin any charges on and missing the non-Aegir cult members' 'Carmen thinks SOME Aegir MAYBE being involved in the Silence justifies lynchings', Irene's last word is 'it was justified and a less harsh try wouldn't have worked' (1/2)

(2/2) Girl, your CURRENT METHOD didn't work, the hard-hearted way of doing things made people like Thiago think that no good could possibly come from reporting to the Inquisition! And in her interlude Carmen assumes she's come to question how they assign guilt and she goes 'no that's all fine.' And all that after Granny Petra's speech in UT too. I know it'll probably come back for anniversary 4, and I like characters having to truly learn, but in the meantime, wow do I want to shake her a bit. (3/2, sorry)I admit some of my frustration here is just. The framing of the Inquisition as heroic warriors standing for civilization, Dario's last stand, 'the Inquisition gives people the energy to wipe the dirt from their faces' in Jordi's profile, when the real Spanish Inquisition stole and murdered thousands, tore families apart, and their targets were mainly Jews and Muslims who wanted to keep their faiths after being forced to convert. Even in a fantasy world that doesn't sit right with me.

So! I see how you got that feel from the event, but for me my impression of the event/the game’s presentation of the Inquisition was more, ‘despite the genuine desires for protection/standing for one’s beliefs that do exist in the members of the Inquisition, despite the efforts of this organisation to address threats—the Profound Silence(s), the assimiliation of all life and culture on land into oneness with the life of the Seaborn—that doesn’t justify decisions that disregard ‘the few’ the prevent the worst outcomes, as evinced by Irene’s comments on SN (and presumably also influenced by her experiences in UT) in her 100 Trust file, which is (currently for me, since I don’t yet have the Trust for her operator record) the thing closest to Irene’s ‘last word’ on this event. Plus Kal’tsit’s comments on how both the Hunters and Inquisition are working.

To me many of Arknights stories examine how it is not that the ‘Other’ is inherently dangerous, but danger exists in the instinct, rationalisation, and structuring of acts of ‘Othering’, and I do feel SN is one of those.

Wanting to shake Irene I think Is Incredibly Valid, and I do think that’s on purpose: Irene as she is in SN is akin, IMO, to Greythroat and Ch’en in the Lungmen chapters of the main story, where she’s at a point that she must reconcile personal experiences with the broader societal realities. Yes, the Iberian Scriptures have guided her through, as has her teacher and master Dario, but these are points that do not outweigh the harm that has been shown in UT/SN... and these are things it’s going to take Time for Irene to move through, having only known, really, that sort of perspective until recent.

(A great deal of me seeing it this way is because of who I am of course. Someone who also has had to examine the beliefs I was raised with, that Did teach me to be wider with my love and how to reconcile with others rather than continue cycles of harm, but was also undeniably twined with harm and continues to have effects today. Canadian Catholics baby~)

Mm... I’ll say this in conclusion. HG was, obviously, deliberate in naming the Inquisitors That. And evoking/referring certain acts of national powers—one thing I was reminded of while reading, being Canadian, was the War Measures Act, which was a statute that essentially granted the government special powers to allow for function during war, invasion, insurrection... and has been used to, among many acts, intern Ukrainians and other Eastern Europeans during and after the first WW, the Japanese in the second, and seize their property, much of which was never returned.

Folk like Carmen and Dario... of course they would be the representatives of people who said, ‘we had to do this, we had no choice, how else could we have handled potential threats’. Everyone’s actions are justified in their own minds, after all. But Irene is where we can pin hopes—and again as you said, who we want to shake—because her heart’s not so hardened yet. And we know that.

Her note from other Operators, after all, is her studiousness in Rhodes’ library.

#finally able to sit down tho im still tiering #put this down in and around it #war replies #anonymous #warproduct rambles #arknights #is this focused? have a natural flow? IDK! but my thoughts are naturally more mind-mappy anyway #if people want me to write proper essays they can toss me a kofi XD

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artekai · 9 months

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For the OC ask game, 2, 4, 5, 9 and 29 for both Fross and Kai! And for you, E, F, and H >:)

THANK YOU SM FRIEND!!! :DDD

2. How easy is it for your character to laugh?

Kai - Relatively easy! But not too much I think. It's just that he's already so upbeat and smiling all the time so laughing is like one step over that. You get what I mean?

Fross - Politely? Fairly easy if he respects you just a little and doesn't want to upset you. Genuinely? Not as much. He has to like you a lot for that, but then when that happens he totally becomes a giggly schoolboy with a crush lol.

4. How easy is it to earn their trust?

Kai - Hmmm easy? Kind of. I'm not sure. Because he tends to be optimistic and try to see the good in everyone around him, if it came down to it, he would probably consider you trustworthy until proven untrustworthy. But he's not careless either, he might be an oversharer but he's not gonna trust a stranger with sensitive information unless life itself depended on it or something. So he'd give you a chance but not rush too much into it.

Fross - Extremely hard lmao. I'm convinced it took Stanley at least 80 years to earn his trust and he was even helped by the fact that Fross enjoyed spending time in VR Las Vegas and got extremely lonely because he hated all of the other Zeniths. I guess he "trusted" Ted Faro once, but that was because he was parasocializing hard and the version of Faro he had in his head was deeply romanticized.

5. How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

Kai - Relatively easy if you know where to strike.

Fross - Very easy! I'd argue that mistrust is his default state. See above. Even when he gets really close to someone, he keeps expecting them to have ulterior motives or disappoint him in some other way (e.g. Kai).

9. Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

Kai - Yes on both accounts! I'm not sure what his first swear word would be though? I'm thinking it was one he heard from his Focus and then kept repeating over and over for three weeks, much to his werak's chagrin lol. But I'd have to figure out what kind of holos Takuto would have saved in his Focus... It's not too far-fetched to think he might have learned his first swear word from Akechi himself which is a really funny idea to me.

Fross - Very rarely, I think. I don't think he would say them casually, but only if he really was pissed and trying to insult someone, if that makes sense? So that's very risky considering the circumstances which means he has to either just mutter it so they can't hear it or say them alone lol. Maybe he goes into his VR world and just yells swears for a while, that sounds healing. He definitely doesn't remember his first swear word but if I had to guess it was probably damn.

29. Do they usually live up to their own ideals?

Kai - He tries to, at least! He sticks to them most of the time but sometimes he slips in moments of extreme emotional distress. It's only natural.

Fross - No lol. His moral compass is a roulette wheel anyways so I'm not sure it's possible, haha. And he's also a massive hypocrite, there's that.

E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

Unfortunately they would both really hate my guts :( As for whether I would like them, I don't know about Fross but at least I do wish Kai were real 💔

F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)?

Depends on my mood lol. A lot of the times it's pride or excitement, occasionally it's self-recognition through the other (derogatory) which leads to actual anger and hurt and even hate lol. Sometimes it's [redacted] and sometimes it's love and care and appreciation and warmth and comfort, and sometimes it's even pity lol. When I say they're everything to me, I really mean it, haha. They make me feel the full spectrum of human emotion, even jealousy lmao. But maybe this question wasn't looking for a literal answer but more like an average :?

H) What trait do you admire most?

For Kai, it'd probably be easier to list what I don't admire about him, lol. But I guess it's just what I admire most 🤔 Soooo, probably his determination, his optimism, his can-do attitude. I like how well he plays the role of a hero. He really has the vibes of a leader who's the glue that keeps the team together. And I love that. He really inspires me in so many ways.

I guess this is gonna sound weird, but I really admire Fross's will to live. I always have. At this point I'm convinced that the only reason he survives so much shit he shouldn't be able to survive is because he really wants to (or maybe because evil never dies lol).

But, more importantly, even when everyone hates him, even when he's at his most despairing, even when it seems like he has nothing left to live for, he has this conviction that he deserves to live a good life, no matter how long it takes to find it. He knows it's unfair that the apocalypse happened during his time. And he's so sure that he deserves just as much as anybody else...

Obviously this is a problem for him because he's so ready and willing to step on whoever he needs to make his ideal life happen that it gets in his own way. He's willing to put his own right to live over an entire planet's right to live. But it's so impressive to me because it's like he's constantly drawing from a bottomless well, clinging to life, to his right to exist, even when everyone around him desperately wants him to keel over and die. I have to wonder where he got it from.

Beyond the sentimental stuff, though, this places him in direct opposition to the self-sacrificial characters around him (Aloy, Kai, Lis), which I think is cool.

#ask tag #woolmasterleel #thank you!!! :DDD i really appreciate the ask ❤️❤️❤️ and these were some really good questions!!!#i loved elaborating on these!! :D #oc: artekai #oc: fross #oc tag #deni's stuff #long post

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smilesrobotlover · 1 year

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Bunn Faroe G4 lol

She watched Moon something stupid and learned the hard way what it was like for her sisters who had to deal with her

The thing

#asks #Moon #the hand of farore #bunny farore

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abroadchangedme69 · 1 year

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I’ve been having trouble writing a conclusion to this blog. I’m not sure what to say. It’s hard to give final thoughts about an experience like this. I think the meaning of a major life event is determined over time. Its impact on my life has yet to be seen, and I continue to process the many experiences I’ve had. Nevertheless, I’ll give my thoughts now while it’s still fresh.

The way I feel escapes articulation. When I look back on this trip I feel an amount of nostalgia, but it’s more than that. It feels like there’s a part of me that I’ll never see again. In certain ways it feels like my eyes were opened to the world and I’ll never get to experience that for the first time again. Sort of like losing your virginity, if you’re into that.

This was the first time I traveled in an immersive way. I’m grateful to have been able to experience so many different cultures, places, and fascinating individuals from all over the world. It was humbling to see just how unpredictable life can be.

This trip has given me a new curiosity about the world. It’s revealed how little I know or will ever know, how infinitely complex our reality is. It’s inspired me to keep moving - to see what else is out there, waiting on the other side of uncertainty.

I proved something to myself with this trip. I’m not exactly sure what. That I have follow-through, that I’m not afraid to step away from what seems to be expected of me in favor of what excites me. Now I have this experience, and that can’t be taken away from me. Quitting your job to travel is something that many people (who have the means) talk about but rarely actually do. I did it, it is done.

It’s never been that difficult for me to be different. I am different. I’ve never felt like I belong with those around me, so I spend my time in my own company. I recall a conversation with Victor at about 2am in Faro - he said that if you don’t belong anywhere then you belong everywhere. I feel most comfortable, I feel most free when I can be alone with my thoughts. That could be in my apartment in Boston, the house I grew up in, or in a hostel basement waiting for my laundry to finish.

I’ll accept an amount of loneliness in exchange. When I was speaking to Maria we were talking about this, she said she doesn’t feel lonely when she’s alone. As she sat with the thought I remember she seemed uncertain. People seem to think of loneliness as pathetic, but I think it can be profound and elegant. I long for the intimate connection that comes from someone who deeply understands you, and that is rare. There seems to be a balance to things in life. What is health without illness, pleasure without pain, success without failure, life without death. If loneliness is the counterbalance to the connection I seek, so be it.

That’s why meeting Lily was the highlight of my trip. What stood out to me was her quick and accurate reads of my personality, and her willingness to give direct, blunt feedback. When asked for their impression of me, most of the people I met told me I seem kind, smart and introverted. Lily detected a subtle arrogance that’s been the subject of more than a few therapy sessions. I don’t remember another time I felt the same way as I did meeting her. I only had an evening to get to know her, so I unleashed a barrage of questions as we wandered around Seville at sunset. I had found the person I was looking for, but she was leaving in the morning. I wanted to learn as much as I could in that short window. But eventually I ran out of questions and just sat with the feeling and the moment. There was nowhere else I wanted to be.

So much beauty comes from impermanence. Allowing something good to come to its natural end is difficult but infinitely preferable to the alternative. How many excellent tv series have been ruined by extra seasons? Relationships kept on life support through unworkable circumstances - its participants too enamored by the past to let it die? Sometimes the best thing to do is to let it go.

Which brings me to control. If my trip had a main theme, it was learning how to let go of control. This was put into practice everywhere I went. I was a leaf in the wind, I had no plans, no structure. Everywhere I went I would see beautiful places and meet remarkable individuals, and each time I had to let them go. In the beginning it was painful. My time in Boston has not been filled with an abundance of meaningful social interactions. But quickly it became easy. Although I was saying goodbye, there were new friends and experiences waiting for me wherever I was going next. If you try to hold on too much, it can prevent you from seeing what else life has to offer.

There’s an art to deciding when to hold on and when to let go. Never hold on and let life pass you by, hold on too much and you’ll limit your experience. I think ultimately you’ve got to just play it by ear.

So that’s where I stand now. It was a hell of a trip. I’ll be doing it again, but maybe a different continent next time. More than just travel, it’s instilled in me the value of adventure and spontaneity. And the importance of taking a step away from it all to smell the roses.

A quote by Lester from The Wire: “A life… it’s the shit that happens while you’re waiting for moments that never come.”

Thanks for reading.

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horizonedits · 2 years

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aloy sobeck + natal chart

Aloy is one of three characters in Horizon Zero Dawn that has an actual date of birth. The other two characters are, of course, Elisabet Sobeck and Ted Faro. However, none of them have a time of birth, so I just have to guess their ascendant or rising sign. With Aloy, I started with a birth time of 12PM, and suprisingly, a Cancer ascendant fits her perfectly.

- First of all, wow, look at that 10th house Aries stellium (Sun, Moon, Mars, Uranus, and Neptune)! The 10th house is the house of one's career and public reputation. This girl was born to go places no one else dares to go. She is fiercely independent, daring, relentless, and super competitve. She's definitely an Aries if I ever saw one. - Thankfully she has some water placements to mellow out her fiery Aries energy. Mercury in Pisces isn't the best place for Mercury to be...well actually it's the worst, since it's considered to be in fall AND detriment in Pisces. Mercury is a very logical, rational planet, and conversely, Pisces is one of the most watery and emotional signs. Imagine if you had to try to talk to someone while you're underwater...pretty difficult, right? Fortunately Venus is also in Pisces and is here to help out poor Mercury. This pairing of Mercury and Venus allows her to find creative ways of speaking gently to people...as long as they don't spark that fiery Aries temper of hers. Her Cancer Ascendant gives her a natural desire to protect and help people in need. - Unfortunately her chart is lacking in earth and air energy, as she has a tendency to get emotional and easily frustrated, and has difficulty keeping herself grounded. - As far as aspects go, her chart seems to have a balance between trines/sextiles (positive aspects) and conjunctions (hard aspects), which highlight her 8th, 10th, and 12th houses. - One of the reasons I was so interested in her birth chart was because she was born so far in the future, I thought, "Where would the outer planets be at such a time?" Most of the outer planets (Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto) move very slowly. As a result, they have more impact on generations of people as opposed to individual charts. Uranus and Neptune both being in Aries signifies a period of great change, conflicts, and revolutions. Pluto is in Aquarius, which is the sign of innovation and technology. At this point in time, when Aloy is born, the machines have become aggressive towards humans for unknown reasons, putting the survival of humans into question once again. - It's interesting that Aloy has Saturn and Pluto in her 8th house, which can represent taboos and secrets. Part of Aloy's journey is discovering the dark side of knowledge and technology, and how it caused the fall of civilization. - I think another thing that helps Aloy communicate with others is her Jupiter in Gemini. With Jupiter in the sign of Gemini, she's able to explain certain concepts using the other person's beliefs/religion and how they see the world. This is further reinforced by Jupiter trining Saturn and Pluto in the 8th house. An example of this is when Aloy emerges from the heart of All-Mother mountain and has to explain to Teersa what she learned from GAIA, or "the goddess," as Teersa believes. What Aloy knows about the Old Ones and the machines is hard for most people to process, especially the Nora, which consider such knowledge to blasphemous and taboo. - ALSO she has Jupiter in the 12th house, which is an interesting house. It's often considered to be the house of "the unseen," and sometimes can represent things from past lives. At the beginning of her journey, Aloy doesn't know why she can simply stroll into some of the ruins of the Old Ones when everyone else can't. Well, as it turns out, it's literally because of her "past life" (12th house) as Elisabet Sobeck that she can easily access this forbidden knowledge (8th house). With Jupiter here in Gemini, part of her purpose is to communicate this knowledge to the rest of the world. - She has Chiron in the 11th house of communities and groups of people. Chiron is an asteroid that is known as the "wounded healer." In a natal chart, it represents something that we struggle with our whole life, but it is also something we learn from. Aloy is a perpetual outcast wherever she goes. Of course she makes plenty of friends on her journey, but feeling like she "belongs" to a group of people is one of her biggest challenges. One example of this is when she goes from being cast out by the Nora to suddenly being revered by them after emerging from the heart of All-Mother mountain. Naturally she does not take this well at all. Chiron is also in Taurus, which is the sign of physical and material comforts, another thing Aloy doesn't seem comfortable with, as seen when she spends the night before the Proving in the lodge at Mother's Heart.

#horizon zero dawn #horizonedits #hzdedit #gamingedit #vgedit #aloy #gifs #astrology

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kayr0ss · 3 years

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Hands that Remember Chapter 2 [AO3]

[Horizon Zero Dawn, Elisabet Sobeck Lives, Found Family, Mother-Daughter Feelings, GAIA is recovering, Ereloy]

Summary: Aloy saw the recordings, felt their grief over the death of their culture - the loss of their identity. Ted Faro had blown away the light meant to guide humanity through darkness - but she was willing to risk it all to take it back. To bring APOLLO back. It wasn't the first time that the world asked her for a miracle, but it bargained with a miracle of its own: This time - she didn't have to do it alone.

[Wherein Elisabet Sobeck returns, GAIA is recovering, Erend is done waiting around, and Aloy discovers a family she's never had before to help lift the weight of the world off her shoulders.]

Chapter 2: Re-Calibration

CHAPTER 2

It was such an odd thing to feel dirt again.

When was the last time she felt sediment and rock between her fingertips? A thousand years ago—quite literally. She’d forgotten the feel of it squeezing underneath the overhang of her nails, the discomfort of a pebble pressing on her heel within her shoe.

Little things. Living things.

GAIA Prime and all the other bunkers she had to oversee were exactly that: bunkers. Giant boxes of metal sealed from the world and its mounds of dust, dirt, and rock. But this disconnection wasn’t new: it’s been around since before she was locked away and working on Zero Dawn. It was there even back in Miriam, in FAS—even as far back as Stanford. So much time spent rushing towards the next breakthrough that she never had the time to stop and smell the flowers before they all burned away.

It was hard to wrap her head around the idea that flowers were back—blooming again somewhere out there. But for now she’d settle for the desert sand, riddled with weeds and other small signs of life.

She wondered what Erend might be thinking, seeing her run her fingers along the ground like a toddler. Eager to feel—to learn, no, relearn about a world she was only getting her bearings on. She caught a small blade of grass between her fingers. It’s alive, it’s all… alive again, she stared in wonder at the small miracle of live in her hand. Her return to consciousness was a violent experience. This was a nice change of pace.

The rest of the vanguard gave her and Erend privacy to talk, running errands in the nearby encampment and leaving them in the shade of an open tent. God knows she needed the space. She had questions—so many questions and while Erend tried his best to get her up to speed it seemed like there was always more. His rushed explanation was a disaster. Machines, cultists—whatever the fuck else was out there—and Aloy.

He said he’d try again and break it down slowly this time, sticking to what he knew and leaving the rest ‘to Aloy.’

‘Aloy’ sounded like a big shot. Someone important. Erend spoke about her with both familiarity and fondness—like how the other Alphas sounded when talking about one another. Whatever tangent he flew into—about what they had to fight off and how he believed it was related to herself and the other ‘Old Ones’—it always came back to Aloy. There was an unwavering faith he had in her that she could recognize: the feeling that they’ve fought together, bled together.

Endured something terrible together.

She remembered how he looked a little hurt earlier. “You’re Aloy’s mother, aren’t you?” He said it almost reverently, but unfortunately the answer was a very strong “no.” It must have been a misunderstanding—why would he think that?

“Got some boar roasting in camp.” Erend’s voice carried above the sound of his heavy footsteps. He walked closer, seating himself on a rock across her. “You feelin’ better?”

“I think so,” she admitted. “Alive. Which is better than the alternative when it comes to emerging from cryosleep if you ask me.”

“Good, good.” He crossed his arms. “Not hungry?”

Elisabet shook her head. “I don’t think I can taste anything yet.” She really hoped this side-effect was temporary.

“Well, let’s get you some soup. That’ll help.”

How she was feeling was a can of worms she didn’t want to open quite yet. Her body was on edge, the hairs along her arms standing in attention while she could feel the pace of her heart jog above average. It almost made her wince, the self-awareness of expecting a panic attack at any moment, but if her system had decided to be useful before shutting off completely later on, she was going to make the goddamn most of it.

Deep breaths.

She needed to take deep, long breaths. This was nothing but a jacked-up sympathetic nervous system stress response—there was no real danger. Just hypothetical fear. She needed to relax. She needed to think.

Orientation would be a good start—what, when, and where. And then she needed a plan. Something. Anything to do other than wander aimlessly like a fucking relic out of time. “You okay?”

It almost made her snap. He was asking if she was okay? She looked up, a smart quip loaded at the tip of her tongue but then—he looked so earnest, so concerned. An expression like that didn’t belong on a soldier.

“Not really, no.” She admitted.

“Huh.” Erend sat hunched over with his chin on one hand, looking comically close to that old statue of a thinking man if not for the wider breadth of his knees. He cleared his throat. “So…”

Despite the situation, she chuckled. “I’m glad to see that the most awkward of conversation starters evolved itself back into common use.”

The reference likely flew over his head, but he smiled while rubbing at the back of his neck almost shyly. He seemed… kinder than a hundred pounds of armor and a warhammer would seem like.

“I mean what am I even supposed to say?” He shrugged. “I uh, hit things with my hammer. You—and this predicament—are not things I’m gonna hit with my hammer.”

“That’s reassuring,” Elisabet deadpanned.

“You sure you aren’t Aloy’s mother?” Erend cracked her a lopsided grin.

Elisabet rubbed at her temple. “I think I’d know if I was. Is it wishful thinking to hope you guys have any ibuprofen?”

She had been pointedly ignoring his assertions that she was anyone’s mother. There were more pressing concerns to address, foremost of which was the distinct lack of technology. She’s only been up and about for a few hours but it was enough to notice the rudimentary tools and structures, along with the fact that Erend seemed to be the only other person with access to technology similar to hers.

“I’d check if we do, if I had any idea of what that is.”

“Where are we?”

“The furthest west I’ve ever been, honestly.” Erend shrugged. “I’m not familiar with these lands. We generally call it The Forbidden West—but there isn’t much else we know. Just more… sand, and dust. I’ve heard stories of trees that grew on sand, at the border of an endless lake. Never been there to see it myself.” He paused thoughtfully. “I uh, made a short trek back east from where I found you. About an hour or a little more.”

Elisabet stayed quiet, willing herself not to ask the question prickling at the tip of her tongue.

“Was that your home?” Erend asked quietly. “Where I found you. With the tall, pointed trees and the old stone structure.”

“Pines,” she supplied. “The trees, I meant. I thought you would know this by now.”

He grunted. “I’m a captain. Pretty good darned captain too, but no tree expert.”

“No, no.” She shook her head. “Sorry, I meant you as in people, in general. The kinds of trees and animals, our history and technology—we tried to pass that on.”

Something wasn’t right—a feeling that’s been weighing on her since her awakening.

Erend and the vanguard were outfitted with plate armor and looked to have no means of transportation other than by foot. They had waterskins instead of thermal containers and their basic camping supplies were made of fibers and tanned leather. Nevermind real-time mapping and wireless communication. ‘Battle-ready’ wasn’t exactly what came to mind, and she’d have paid to hear Herres’ take on 31st century military technology. She might have even chuckled, had the implication not been so dire. Something had definitely gone wrong.

“Is the nearby encampment allied with you?”

“It was established by the Carja military as a way station, under the Sundom’s jurisdiction.” Erend beckoned her nearer, shuffling towards the side to leave space on the large, slated rock he was sitting on. “Ever since the Battle at the Spire, the Sun King’s been allowing expeditions towards the west—Aloy’s got a hunch that something is going on over there and you could guess that most of everyone listens to her these days. Whether she likes it or not.”

Carja. Sundom. Factions and nations, most likely?

“Just a minute.” He fumbled a little with his focus, looking up and awkwardly moving his hands in thin air. His frustration was noticeable in the deep set of his brows. “Aloy’s done this before—a map, on scrolls of light. She could share it with me while it, uh, did its floaty thing.”

“Do you have the map open?” Elisabet tapped her focus, hearing the small digital beam alert her of its activity. Technology was a familiar comfort—something to ground her. She whistled lowly while running a system check on the piece of hardware, trying not to wince at the fact that the date read January 14, 3041. The 31st fucking century. Safe to say it’s still working way past warranty declarations. “I think I got it.”

“How did you—its telling me that an external device accessed my display?”

“Hacking it,” she smiled. “This is more or less my area of expertise.”

“Right,” Erend nodded. “So we’re right over here.” He pointed towards a small glowing indicator.

“Outskirts of Carson City.” She had said it so softly it surprised her. She never pegged herself as particularly sentimental but being so close to home… after everything.

“And this,” he moved to the east. “Is the Sundom, and to its eastern border is the Nora’s Sacred Lands.”

Elisabet let herself have a moment of evaluation, eyes moving around the map to absorb as much information as she could. The satellite image let her know that the area’s topography reverted to pre-Faro Plague days: desert and canyons. Forested mountains covered the range to the east, but the northern range where she recalled Yellowstone was seemed erratically cold and glacial.

Information was a valuable resource she was lacking in.

“I need to get to the most developed settlement,” she muttered to herself. “Acclimate to customs and culture before finding a means to find and access ZD bunkers.”

“Bunkers?” Erend blinked.

“I assume that camps similar to this one are interspersed between the border of the Sundom and our location? At distances accessible by foot?”

“Yes, but—”

“I have to account for hostility along the road.” She crossed her arms. “And resources for supplies. What currency do you trade with?”

“Look,” Erend’s tone was firm. “We are going to take care of hostility and resources, because we’re going with you.”

“I—”

“You need to slow down,” Erend rose to his feet. “We don’t even know for sure if you’re okay after getting thawed out a thousand years later.”

“I need to figure out what happened to Zero Dawn. Find GAIA, and then—”

“Elisabet,” his voice was softer again, big and heavy hands settling on her shoulders. “We have time.”

Time? Of course they didn’t! There were a million things left to do and only two weeks until—

“The world isn’t ending anymore.”

He’d finally convinced her to sit down and get something to eat and it wasn’t damn easy. Elisabet was back to the makeshift planning table even before swallowing down her last bite and by the forge it was driving Erend just a little bit crazy.

“This is where we’re headed.”

Erend marked his own map, one that was tangible and inked on parchment instead of light. More reliable, if you asked him. Didn’t flicker in and out of sight—and didn’t make him look like a total jackass in front of his vanguard, waving his fingers around something they couldn’t see.

It was nearing sundown. The vanguard packed up ahead of time; they were leaving at the break of dawn. Erend split the party in two—one was to continue the expedition towards the Western Threshold, and the other, with Erend, was to hurry back to Meridian discreetly. It was a plan forged into metal: Erend needed to talk to Avad, while Elisabet seemed particularly interested in the Spire once he mentioned it.

“Utah and Colorado,” Elisabet whispered in wonder, tapping her focus on likely projecting a light-based rendering of them map on top of his own. “The staging areas for Zero Dawn.”

Erend looked at her with curiosity. “S’that what they used to be called? Before… before the whole thing—”

“Ended?” She punctuated, sensing his discomfort. But then she gave him a slight smile—it was different from Aloy’s. Wiser and wearier. “Though that’d be wrong. We’re still here, somehow.”

He smirked. “Don’t look so surprised. Didn’t you have somethin’ to do with that?”

“I’m just one of many,” she looked back towards the map. Didn’t look ready to talk about that, it seemed. “So what have we got?”

“We’re not in a hurry. We can take the traders’ path on the way back.” He pointed along a red, snaking line etched on the surface of the parchment. It was well-lit, well-guarded, and easy to traverse with enough camps in-between to restock and rest. He tapped twice on a marker at the end of route: it was a black, soaring tower. The good ‘ol Spire.

“That’d take us too long.” Elisabet shook her head. “We could go through these passes through the ridges. Cut straight through and save both time and resources.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“And time—”

“—is something you have now.” Erend stood his ground, arms crossed. “As I keep reiterating to you.”

“I’ve noticed.” Elisabet set her jaw. Then she sighed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I’m still getting used to—” she waved a hand over the map “—this.”

“You mean not being the one in charge?” Erend grinned.

“I didn’t really ask for that,” she smiled back kindly. “But old habits die hard.”

“The long way to Meridian it is, then.”

Sobeck Journal, 1-14-41

We did it.

Even this barren desert looks beautiful. Can’t shake the feeling that I don’t deserve to see it all though.

Not without the rest of ZD. Without the rest of you.

I’m going to forego writing about how I feel because I don’t even know where to begin digging up that can of shit. Exhaustion was always an effective sleeping pill back in the day: now that I’ve got time to think when I lay down everything is so loud. Given the state of things I doubt they’d invented melatonin pills yet either, but who am I to complain? Alive is still better than dead.

Off to sleep now. Something’s wrong with APOLLO. More things to figure out tomorrow.

After all these years, I still don’t get to rest.

[“—someone— … —back to see—“]

“Great timing as usual.” Aloy hissed under her breath. The strider she was on was nearly worn down. She was an hour’s ride away from the forest’s edge—right where the sands of the Barrens began. That’s what she was going to call them anyway: “the Barrens.” Those prissy cartographers up in the mesa have no idea just how large the West was. It wasn’t all sand and tumbleweed: there were forests so different from the Jewel and the Sacred Lands that she didn’t know how to begin describing them! And the lake… the biggest she’s ever seen. A body of water so large it must have cloaked the world’s entirety. She’s seen it on the spherical maps stored in her focus—a depth of blue so imposing she couldn’t even wrap her head around it. The air was different along the lake’s edge—salty and crisp. Both beautiful and foreign and so very unforgiving.

She gently stroked the side of the strider’s neck. She didn’t want to wear him down completely—best to leave enough so that he could carry on and survive another day. Herds of broadheads often wandered around the Barrens anyway, although not found as often as in Meridian and to the East.

She’s been getting scrambled messages from Erend for the better part of a day now. He sounded panicked. He hated using his focus but there was apparently something important enough for him to try. It seemed desperately urgent and the only thing she could make of his messages was that she needed to go back.

Chasing after GAIA and whatever was left of APOLLO was going to have to wait.

Her strider whinnied—Aloy hummed a small apology she hoped it could understand. If she found a charger it’d be better—she could ride through evening on a mount strong enough to discourage smaller machines from engaging them. By next evening she could rest by the ranch.

Aloy bit her lip, a soft feeling of longing at her gut. That’s what Elisabet called it in her journals anyway—Sobeck Ranch. A small speck of life, trees, and flowers on the eastern edge of the Barrens. A small place to rest before another two days’ ride to Meridian.

She remembers how freeing it felt to tell Rost about her misadventures so far. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to take a few minutes for Elisabet and do the same.

She urged the strider to run a little faster, wind whipping at her hair and the tassels of her armor. “Just a bit more, big guy. Just a little more.”

A/N: Thank you once again to Tototops for beta-reading this chapter!

It's been a hot minute but here we go with chapter 2!

#Horizon Zero Dawn #HZD #Fanfic #Elisabet Sobeck #Aloy #Erend Vanguardsman #Erend #Ereloy #Found Family #HZD GAIA #Elisabet is Mom #Brb i'll cry #Aloy x Erend

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sciatu · 3 years

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TRAMONTI - Faro di Favignana, Spiaggia sampieri, Eolie. Erice, Eolie, Alicudi, Lampedusa

Perché le stagioni passano e gli amori muoiono, gli amici appassiscono e le idee, la fede, le certezze scolorisco e di loro resta solo un’ombra, ricordi appassiti nell’angolo delle strade delle tue vite? Perché non si lotta mai abbastanza per quanto si crede e si lascia che l’oscurità cancelli libertà e amori, voglie e desideri? Perché il sapore della vita è la malinconia, le tue tasche restano sempre vuote di esperienze e la tua anima sempre sanguinante come un tramonto infinito?

Ah come vorrei non esser mai cresciuto, non aver mai amato, non aver mai avuto un maestro e non aver mai dovuto giudicare per vivere sulle mie spiagge o sui miei monti, senza sapere di questa croce in cui sarei finito in cui tutto è ormai già stato, già saputo e archiviato. Avrei ancora strade in cui imparare, amori da cercare, sogni da vivere invece di questa malinconia avvelenata, in cui il tempo sono le opportunità che ho perso e la felicità è un’illusione sintetica, fatta di egoismi e indifferenza. Malinconia vestimi di primavera, rendi il mio tramonto un'altra illusione, dammi ancora un sogno in cui credere, un amore per cui morire. La vita è una tavola imbandita e la felicità nasce dal poter apprezzare chi vi è seduto, ma a volte ti senti invitato alla festa sbagliata e dei giorni che vivi non ne senti il sapore.

Why do seasons pass and loves die, friends wither and ideas, faith, certainties fade and only a shadow remains of them, withered memories in the corner of the streets of your lives? Why can't we fight hard enough for what we believe and let darkness erase freedom and love, cravings and desires? Why is the taste of life melancholy, your pockets are always empty of experiences and your soul always bleeding like an infinite sunset?

Ah how I wish I had never grown up, never loved, never had a teacher and never had to judge, living on my beaches or on my mountains, without knowing about this cross in which I would have ended up in which everything is already done, already known and filed. I would still have ways to learn, loves to look for, dreams to live instead of this poisoned melancholy, in which time are the opportunities that I have lost and happiness is a synthetic illusion, made up of selfishness and indifference. Melancholy dress me in spring, make my sunset another illusion, give me one more dream to believe in, a love to die for. Life is a table set and happiness comes from being able to appreciate who is sitting there, but sometimes you feel invited to the wrong party and you don't feel the taste of the days you live.

#Sicilia #Sicily

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phantasmalduelist · 4 years

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Two thousand and sixty five years ago in a distant galaxy

Camélia and Val Ima Astre stepped through the empty corridors of the Faro palace. Tall cogs in the shape of winged chimeras were whirring ever so softly on their right; white light was shining from their left, illuminating the angular faces of the creatures. Camélia's eyes lingered a little too long on the passing sights. Sometimes because of how bizarre the contrast of her presence was to everythingand everyone—around her.

The translucent curtains had no ending or beginning; it was just a constant of formless shimmery veils, beneath them glitter danced around the minimalist archways. The walls and floors were like mirrors, occasionally the pulsating plasma could be seen reflected on the surfaces.

All the colors were comforting. Light cold blues and celestial silvers felt like a home you had forgotten. Even if you had no home at all.

Holographic birds on the windows were the only sound that could be immediately perceived. Like the most pleasant wind chimes on a stormy day. Leaving behind trails of feathers and incandescent dust.

It was both alien and angelic. The silence in-between their heels clicking on the floor—and the delight of a vision almost unreal—made it all feel like a deity's paradise.

And paradise wasn't for Camélia.

"There's no reprieve for people like me. I think I get it now. Or I'm starting to let myself get it." Her voice echoed through the hall. It was weird to hear her words coming back to her.

"Do you think you'd still have done it? If they hadn't forced you to kill your cult." Val Ima Astre's eyes glowed in the dim light.

"No. I would have kept going." Camélia looked at the floor. Her reflection stared at her. A somber judgement. "I'm only here because I was forced to change."

Val Ima Astre hummed at her response. As if dismissing her thoughts.

Camélia sighed to herself.

There was a silver touch everywhere. It wasn't moral purity, but it was the purest world she had ever seen. The seraphim were neat to a point that made Camélia uneasy. She couldn't look anywhere without being reminded of who she was.

Past to present. A grim telltale of the massacres she caused were carved into her very bones.

"I hope you aren't going soft. Still have to kill me at some point," Camélia said matter of factly. A little too matter of factly.

"I dunno." She snorted.

"Archangel. Death is the only punishment for me." Camélia slowed down until she stood still. She never liked when Val Ima Astre didn't seem to get the calamity of what she had done.

"No, it isn't." She stopped a few feet further away from Camélia. "Not if one has been dead for centuries."

"I'm very much alive. Thank you." She rolled her eyes.

"Only technically. Your heart was withered like a dying opal flower." Val Ima Astre turned around. Her gaze was piercing. The seraphim were in their own right terrifying as the all consuming light. "Is death not a comforting embrace then?"

Camélia didn't comment. She stared at the floor again. Between forced destiny and no choice. Maiming for justice. Or was it revenge? She didn't know where the astrals stood in the balance.

Maybe both. Maybe neither. They stopped her for good though.

"Now… life. Life is a much harder challenge. The true atonement comes from living through the misery you created," she said in an almost jokingly tone.

"I'm tired of this." Camélia breathed hard through her nose and turned to face the massive windows. "I bet the astrals are too."

"Zaturnu isn't." Her wings twitched.

"C'mon! Zaturnu is just…" She rubbed her temples. "Just too stubborn."

"I think she just likes you," Val Ima Astre said.

"Astre. Don't." Camélia tensed up.

"Huh uh." She ignored Camélia's tone and continued. "The reeeal question is: If your hex was lifted right now. What would you do?" Irritating, Camélia thought

"Hopefully never talk with you again." She snarled.

"That's not what you said last evening while dancing in the plaza with me." Val Ima Astre waved her left wing in Camélia's face, slapping her playfully with the luminous feathers.

Talking with Val Ima Astre never failed to make Camélia feel too old; even if by all means they were both immortal. Yet, they were facing eternity in completely different ways.

Camélia couldn't help to be a little jealous. She had no idea what was like to indulge in life.

"I didn't have a choice," she finally blurted out while trying to push the wing away.

"You did. You can still choose to be distant. Chaotic. Severe. Unwelcoming." Val Ima Astre reached out for Camélia's hand. Camélia flinched, eyes still stuck on the nothingness of the landscape outside.

The silver desert. Glowing with life despite how harsh the winds could be.

"Do you want to keep relying on the bones beneath your feet? Or do you want to learn to live a little bit?"

Choices while chained. Camélia moved her yellow snake eyes to the corner of her vision. She could see Val Ima Astre's argent hair. And a glimpse of her smile.

Bothersome.

"I think I'm starving now." Camélia finally said.

Val Ima Astre wheezed. "Aight, Dear Camélia. Let's us dine."

"I hope you choke on your food, Astre." She grinned, baring her fangs without a care.

"You wish." Her smile widened.

#under the readmore is a introduction of sorts for the character! i hope you enjoy the story :)#guild wars 2 #gw2 #Val Ima Astre #Seraphim (♢)#seraphim #also featuring in the story:#Camélia Nightingale #my writing #fanlore #stories

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signutai · 2 years

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“I haven’t found a one-hundred-percent accurate way of distinguishing tribes that descended from Cradleborn humans and those that came from survivors of the Faro Plague yet. Naming conventions aren’t always reliable. Cultures that descended from Vault Dwellers may tend towards descriptive names, but not always—the Twisted Hairs, for example, split off from the Utaru some three hundred years ago, give or take a few decades. Conversely, and depending on where my digging leads me, a significant number of the tribe that would become the Banuk may have had their origins in either a Vault or a similar shelter. Going back to earliest tribal histories is rarely helpful, either—metal walls, disembodied voices, strange machines, and being protected from a ‘great evil’ outside feature heavily in the origin stories of Cradleborn and Vault-dwelling communities alike. See: the tragedy of the Twin Mothers, whose known history, cultural values, and religious beliefs were similar enough to the Nora that the two tribes formed an alliance...which soured when the Nora learned that DIANA was not, in fact, the Twin Mothers’ name for the All-Mother, but rather a ZAX supercomputer in charge of Vault 29. It is coming to be common knowledge now that a group of Braves took great offense to this perceived ‘betrayal’ and massacred most of their ‘sister’ tribe. The survivors drifted from their homeland and were absorbed into both the Utaru and the Carja, while the Braves responsible for the killings were exiled from the Sacred Lands and eventually became the infamous Sisterhood of Steel. No, the irony of Maksa and her merry band of misfits railing so violently against a ‘machine of the Metal World’ is not lost on me. I’d have given anything to be a fly on the wall when Aloy explained that little turn of events to ELEUTHIA, to say nothing of ‘only we can be trusted to use ancient technology without being tainted by it’ mentality that the Sisterhood is known for. But I’ve digressed, haven’t I. There’s no surefire, hard-and-fast way to tell whether a culture came from a Vault or a Cradle. But there’s one question I’ve found that gets close enough—that is the most useful way I’ve discovered so far to determine if a tribe’s earliest members were educated by survivors of our great tragedy or by Sobeck’s machine. Ask them if they think the Old Ones brought what happened to them upon themselves. Ask them if they think it was our fault.”

#for future reference

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 11 months

Text

Later - a Malevolent fanfic

Faroe is growing up. It's natural she has questions.

Unfortunately, most of the adults around her have reason to hide the answers.

This will surely end well.

(Takes place in the Surrogate series, after Judgment Day)

AO3

----------

“Uncle Arthur?”

Arthur keeps playing, though her string accompaniment stopped. “Yes, dear?”

“What were my parents like?”

Arthur freezes. Eyes enormous, hands still in the keys.

Told you he’d panic, says Kayne, and Faroe sighs.

She’d been going to ask her dad, but he was in a mood.

Not that he ever, ever responded to her in anger, but still—Hastur was all-powerful, and his emotions rocked the world like waves against a shallow boat, and she didn’t want to increase his wrath.

Carcosa was tense enough as it was.

“It’s the games,” Dis explains, and gets in one light punch on Faroe’s shoulder.

It was a knuckle-punch—hardly that harmful, but it still hurt. “Ow!”

“Don’t let your guard down,” Dis says.

“What are the games?” Faroe says, and blocks the next one.

Dis’ smile is praise. “Showing off. Assholes trying to get your father’s attention.”

“Will dad be competing?”

Dis laughs. “Fuck no. There’d be no competition if he did—unless someone of his caliber showed up, and if they did, it would probably be a declaration of war.”

“Probably?” Faroe tries to pay her back for the shoulder-punch and is blocked.

“Well, there are other possibilities,” says Dis, forcing Faroe to pívot to keep facing her. “But Hastur is ancient, and established; literally one of the Great Old Ones. It could be a proposal for unification and reproduction, that sort of thing, but it’s unlikely. He’s sown his wild oats already.”

Faroe’s eyes widen. She knows what that means. “He has?”

“Sure. Just about all of them did.”

Faroe stares. Her fists lower slightly.

Dis doesn’t take advantage of that opening, which means she’ll take it out of her later.

Faroe’s face is grim. She concentrates again, stepping, thrusting, keeping it light. No magic. Because she has to be able to fight with both, at the same time and independently. She’s human. She knows she is a remarkable human, but the things she may have to fight are more.

She’s distracted, though, because she sees the weird irony of the situation: her questions are all about parentage right now.

Who were her parents?

Does Hastur have children? If so, they had to be like him—deific. Probably immortal. Certainly powerful.

Why had he chosen her?

The thought is a happy one, but also strange. She has no really good answer. Because he loves me, her heart declares, but that doesn’t feel like it satisfies everything.

Dis finally makes up for letting things slip earlier and gets a good one in on Faroe’s ribs.

“Shit!” Faroe says.

Dis cracks right up.

“Don’t tell him!” Faroe says, red, and stomps one foot.

Dis waves a hand, still laughing, and Faroe knows she’s safe. There’s no adult as good at secrets as Dis in the whole kingdom.

Still, this is embarrassing. “Come on. We’re not done.” Faroe gets her fists up again.

“Damn right we’re not.” Dis grins and continues, and does not stop until Faroe is breathing hard.

Dad is still in a bad mood. She tries the eavesdropping spell, and all she gets is red tape—so many discussions of placement and wards and emergency spells. That was absolutely not worth an emergency nap.

At any rate, she doesn’t blame him for being annoyed.

Faroe considers trying to research in the library for Hastur’s other children when Kayne surprises her by speaking up in the middle of the day.

He almost never does when she’s outside her room. Which makes sense. He is secret.

She learned the hard way how secret when she told Nibbles about her secret friend, and his volume cut in half—as if he’d grown distant.

She’d cried. It had done no good.

He’d warned her. She’d learned to trust his warnings.

Hey, Faruffin. You seem a little down.

Oh! Hi. I’m not down.

Pfft, sure you are! What a cute little pouty face you have.

Faroe has yet to figure out how he can see her. She asked, and he’d said, That’s a secret! and never answered.

It’s getting very annoying, the way adults do that.

Well. I have questions, and I can’t find answers, she finally says.

About whaaaat? There is a crunching sound.

Kayne eats things while he talks to her, sometimes. It’s weird. Occasionally, those things squeal.

My parentage. And… my dad’s get.

Kayne tsks. Two very different things, my love. Which one do you want to pursue?

Which one? Faroe frowns. Why would I have to choose?

Because I’m only giving you a clue to one. You have to choose, buttercup.

Ugh. Ugh!

Faroe looks at Nibbles. “Every single adult is insane,” she says. “And annoying. We should never become one.”

Nibbles nods her approval.

Kayne laughs. Careful what you wish for.

She sighs and tries to apply logic. So: she can ask Hastur about his other children. Failing that, there will be records, somewhere, about them. Children of gods can’t possibly slip completely under the radar.

But a couple of humans? She’d never find records on them. She doesn’t even know their names. Fine. My parentage.

An excellent choice. Here’s your clue: Arthur knows.

Faroe blinks. Knows what?

Aaaaall about it. I promise he knows more than he’ll tell you willingly, too, but you know that guy… he’s all crunchy pieces of glass in a bag.

Faroe sighs. Be nice. He’s just sad.

Well, he sure is! Did you ever wonder why?

Arthur has always been sad?

Right, this is a distraction. Kayne does that sometimes. I’m sure there is a reason, but it’s in the past. So Arthur has answers about my parentage?

All of them. Good luck getting them out of the poor thing. Just so you know… when you ask, he’ll panic.

So Faroe goes to Arthur.

And Arthur plays.

Told you he’d panic.

She plays her harp a little while he’s frozen—just fooling around with the ephemeral beauty of music, there and gone, no song ever the same.

Arthur swallows hard. “You… you’re asking me?”

“Dad’s busy. And you’re my uncle. So. It’s logical that you would know.”

She’s got you there, Arthur. John sounds gleeful about this, and that is so damn weird.

Arthur swallows again, still facing the piano, frozen.

Faroe sighs. “I guess I can ask another time.”

“No! No. It… it’s okay.” Arthur swallows. “Just… don’t tell your father you asked me. Okay? Or that I told you anything.”

Yeah. He’ll take it out on Arthur.

“What? Take what out on Arthur?”

He doesn’t want you to know that your—

“John!” Sharp.

Faroe has definitely never heard Arthur talk like that before.

This is beginning to feel uncomfortable. “Do you know them?” she says.

Arthur… slumps. “I did.” He grips his left hand like some kind of liferaft, white-knuckled.

“Are they still alive?”

“No.”

Arthur, for the love of fuck—

“John. Shut up. This is mine to tell.”

John sighs. Fine. But you’re fucking it up.

“Who were they?” says Faroe.

“Nobody.” Arthur laughs weakly. “Absolutely no one. Just… people.”

“What were their names?”

Arthur shakes his head.

Faroe huffs.

Your mother was—

“John!”

Yikes. “John, do you have something you would like to tell me?” says Faroe as primly as she’s able.

No. Sullen.

She will never understand him.

Arthur wipes at his face.

“Oh,” she says. “I’m sorry. I… I didn’t mean to make you sad.” Practically anything does, but still. “I’ll go.”

“No, it’s all right. I… I haven’t talked about this in a while. That’s all.” He turns to face her. “Yes, I knew your parents. Yes, they’re dead. No, I won’t tell you their names.”

This all feels very grown-up and serious. “What were they like?”

Arthur gets a small smile. “You’re a lot like your mother—really clever. Underestimated. Stubborn, but in… a quiet, smart way. Getting what she wanted without throwing tantrums.”

Oh… “Did she look like me?”

“A little. I’m sorry to say you resemble your father more.”

Faroe is quite aware she’s a lovely child, so she takes that as sarcasm. “And what was he like?”

“A fool.”

Arthur…

“He was a fool. He threw away everything good in his life, and only realized too late how foolish he’d been.” Arthur shrugs. “He paid for it. If that helps.”

“My… my dad was evil?”

No, he wasn’t fucking evil. He made mistakes like all people do.

Arthur’s face has gone very hard. “He deserved what happened.”

His left hand rises and lightly chucks him on the chin. Am I going to need to hit you again?

Some of the hardness melts. “No.”

“What happened?” said Faroe.

Your father destroyed him. That’s what happened. Are you happy now?

Faroe stares.

Arthur looks away.

What the actual hell… “If my father destroyed him, he must have been evil,” says Faroe very carefully, because this doesn’t make sense.

“He was.”

No, he was just unlucky!

Arthur sighs. “I didn’t like your father. Your mother was… lovely. She died giving birth to you, Faroe. She died all alone, and she deserved better.”

Arthur…

“I’m done. I’m sorry.” He turns back to the piano. “I’m sorry. I can’t talk about this anymore.”

“Thank you, Uncle Arthur.” She touches his arm. “It’s more than I’ve gotten before. Thank you.”

He takes her hand and lifts it to his cheek.

It’s so tender, the way he loves her. She hasn’t seen anything like it anywhere else.

She leaves him there, wet with tears. Leaves him in John’s metaphorical hands—John, who is fuming, and already beginning to snarl as she exits the doors.

What the fuck was that all about? John demands as she closes them behind her.

Nothing new there.

Thus armed, she goes to see if her dad is still super busy.

He is still super busy. That’s all right. She can wait.

She stands patiently outside the war room. Waits while beings shout in there, while Things Are Declared, and she smiles, imagining their haughty faces (or whatever body parts they speak from) as Hastur… overrides.

He’s so powerful. He just booms, commands, and no one dares gainsay him.

He exemplifies what she’s been taught is good ruling: he listens to all sides, and when he acts, it is with justice, and fairness, and power.

She’s so proud of him.

So proud to be his daughter.

So proud to be chosen as his daughter.

Whatever Hastur declared is clearly law, because all the arguments stop. Moments later, the door opens, and various beings of madness and mayhem come slinking out like reprimanded children.

Now’s her chance. She flits in, avoiding all their tree-trunk limbs and tentacles with ease. “Dad.”

“Hello, darling.” He seems a bit weary. The model on the table is quite smashed; she hadn’t heard that happen, but it must have been quite an event. “I don’t have much time. Did you need something?”

“Yes,” she says, balanced on the precipice of what to ask for all of two seconds. About his other children? About who her parents were? No. She knows exactly what to ask. “Why did you make me your daughter?”

So he clearly hadn’t expected that.

She takes some pride in the way he startles, in the undulation of his tentacles, as if, in water, he would have pushed himself inches away.

She waits. Tries to be patient. But no, the silence is too much. “I’m practically eight, dad.”

“I… I know.” Hastur sounds slightly choked.

She decides to leverage the information she has. “Were my parents evil?”

She didn’t expect the growl.

She’s never liked his growl. She knows it’s not aimed at her, knows she’s in no danger from him, but it’s such a big sound, a primordial sound, a sound that she cannot help responding to, as though it simply bypasses all parts of her brain that reason.

He cuts it off a moment later and strokes her arm. “Your father…” He stops.

“Yes?”

Still, he hesitates. “Your human father…”

“Yes?” It’s so hard not to make a tactical error here. To push further and say she’s old enough, or nearly grown, or any of those things that immediately remind adults that she isn’t fully formed. Mentioning her age was risky enough. Faroe literally bites her tongue.

Hastur sighs. “Your human progenitor was… unworthy.”

“Singular?” She already knows, but wants to test him.

“Your mother died upon your birth.”

Validation. “And my human father was… evil?”

“Yes.”

There we go. “You don’t go around adopting people from evil fathers normally, though.” She smiles.

“Ah… my darling.” He caresses her cheek. “You are worth so much more than he ever was. I had to. I couldn’t… leave you where you were.”

She tilts her face into his touch. “What happened to my human father? How did you come into contact with him, anyway? And me?”

“He took something from me,” says Hastur, “and he would not give it back.”

That is staggering. Her mouth hangs open. She can’t help it; her composure is gone, popped. “Took something? From you?”

“From me.” He strokes her hair. “Darling. I must meet with these fools.”

There are beings outside the door, trying and failing to be secretive in their phlegmy muttering.

She is still staggered. “What could some human take from you?”

“Later.”

Later. So that was the end of this conversation.

She hates to admit to herself that she might be storming out. Just a little.

Later.

Why was it always later? What did they think they had to tell her that she couldn’t handle now? She’d memorized epics! Studied the fall of empires! Analyzed the ending of entire civilizations and species!

He doesn’t want you to know that your—

John had said that much. She guesses the end of it: father is evil.

Well. It is upsetting.

I don’t suppose you know what was taken from my father, Faroe volleys in Kayne’s direction.

He usually doesn’t answer if she reaches out. She hardly expects him to reply now—but he does. I sure do! But you already chose, Faruffin. No take-backsies.

He means that. He always does. Ugh!

She huffs. All the grown-ups were jerks today.

Fine. Well, if Kayne knew, then other people would know, too. It obviously wasn’t a secret.

She’d find out what was taken from her father. And find out what was done to the thief.

It feels weird, honestly, to know that the man who made her was… evil.

Does that make her evil? No. It doesn’t.

It still feels really weird.

At least she no longer needs to wonder why her human progenitor had been destroyed. The foolishness, to steal something from the Feaster from Afar, the Lord of Interstellar Spaces…

Nibbles digs at the floor with her hoof, a clear invitation.

“Yes,” says Faroe, chin up. “Let’s go outside and play.”

Nibbles chews at herself a little and produces a piece of bark, which she lives up to her name by shaping on the way out.

They play the rest of the afternoon, throwing the wooden disc back and forth, and Faroe laughs, and Faroe wears herself out, and Faroe is already sleepy when dinnertime arrives.

Hastur, caught in meetings, does not come to dinner.

Arthur, for unknown reasons, doesn't come to dinner, either.

Faroe feeds half her plate to Nibbles and grows more determined than ever to learn as much as she can… though that might have to wait until the games are done. Responsible gods like her father were often very busy, after all.

Later could not come soon enough.

-------

NOTES:

Don't judge Arthur too harshly. He thinks he's telling the truth. :(

#malevolent #malevolent fic #malevolent pod #malevolent fanfic #surrogate series #faroe lester #kiy malevolent #arthur leser #john malevolent

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fallenrepublick · 3 years

Text

Submission by @danger-xylophones

So, @denimwingsface this is what I got -

There were rumors of a ghost. A spirit that wandered the long winding halls of the Coruscanti opera house in the dead of night. It had never been spotted save for by a few unfortunate souls that happened to chance a glance at the darkened windows when no shows ran. They’d see the flicker of movement, maybe the warping of candlelight, but it would be gone too soon to discern between reality or a truck of the mind brought in by fear of being out so late. But people claimed to have heard it.

The dormitories weren’t located in the opera house as was standard but in a separate building barely down the street that connected to the theatre through a long private garden. It was there, journeying between buildings that many staff claimed to hear the sound of organ music. Dark and devastatingly beautiful that were the hearers not stricken with such immediate fear that they might have stayed to listen to the haunting pieces that poured through the garden.

But, there was one staff member that claimed they heard diffently. They were a dancer for the opera house and it was one night when they were journeying back to the dormitories late and alone (having made the mistake of forgetting one of their belongings in the dressing room and, not wanting to risk the wrath of Madame Pryce for discovering their memory lapse, they rushed back in to fetch it) when they heard what they failed to recognize as singing.

It made them pause, feet away from the door to the dormitories, as the sound drifted out of the Coruscanti Opera House and onto their awaiting ears.

The song hung heavily around them despite being barely audible - it wrapped around the dancer like a vice, freezing their movements completely. They were scared, their mind instantly recalling the tales of the specter that haunted the theatre and they were stricken by the sudden, stabbing thought that this would be the way they died. Lured to the afterlife by a siren they could not see.

The song continued and the dancer dared to turn around thinking that if they were to perish they would at least like to see what led to their downfall. Their eyes trailed up the towering wall of the west end of the theatre, searching for what was going to cause their demise. They were drawn to the third window on the second story, one they had always known to be stuck shut (they should know, once a fellow dancer had played a cruel trick by throwing their ballet slippers off the roof. They had snagged on a light fixture that hung just beside the window they currently looked at. Yet when they tried to open the window to fetch them, they were unable to and they’d been forced to abandon their slippers there to await what would surely be the e most embarrassing conversation of their life with Madame Pryce. But when they returned to the dressing room to confront the madame, they were pleasantly shocked to find their slippers occupying the same bench the dancer always did).

But, they could see it was open. The curtains that frames either side of the window billowed in the chill night breeze which assured the dancer their eyes did not lie. Which was why it was even more startling to discover the silhouette of someone perched in the window. Their shape was hard to identify, cloaked in shadows and hindered by the lack of light beside that which shined from the half-moon overhead. But there was no denying that the figure the dancer saw was indeed human-esque .

The dancer stood frozen once more though for a different reason now. Their eyes remained trained on the figure in the window, not daring to look away lest they vanish or leap from their perch to slay them.

But, how could I creature that sang so enchantedly be something to be feared? Surely, if they sang then they must possess the heart of an artist as the dancer did?

They remained, transfixed as the figure’s mournful singing continued. The words were foreign to them, spoken in some alien tongue (further distressing as non-humans were not allowed to set foot, tentacle, or whatever extremity they may possess near the opera house) yet the dancer knew in their heart that they were beautiful.

They lingered longer, the safety of the dormitories all but forgotten as they remained transfixed.

Suddenly, the figure stopped and silence settled over the garden. The dancer dared not move.

Slowly, as though time itself decreed that this moment be held longer than any one before it, the figure turned their head. And the dancer saw glowing red eyes.

The door slammed open behind the dancer, startling them so thoroughly that the object they’d gone into fetch from the theatre flew from their hands and landed a little ways a ways the dancer snapped their attention towards the door. “Y/n, what are you doing out here? It’s freezing!” Karyn Faro, a fellow dancer spoke in an agitated whisper, an exaggerated shiver emphasizing her annoyance.

“I-I was-“ the dancer stammered, reality slamming into them as their body began to violently shiver. They chances a glance over their shoulder, back to the window which had now been shut - the figure had fled. “I-I saw the phantom!” The dancer gasped out, suddenly feeling very faint. They turned to Karyn once more whose face had gone deathly pale at the revelation. “I saw the phantom.”

“You saw the-...” She couldn’t finish, terror had taken its hold of the young woman as it had the dancer previously. A crash sounded from inside the theatre and both dancers startled. Karyn, thinking on her feet, dove forward to collect the neglected belonging the dancer had gone to fetch and immediately began to pull them inside the dormitories eager to learn about the phantom of the opera.

#oh boy oh boy there it is #all this does is make me regret not pursuing dancing #and make me fall in love obviously #submission

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realityhelixcreates · 3 years

Text

Lasabrjotr Chapter 74: Lessons and Dreams

Chapters: 74/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: G

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent),

Summary: You are troubled by dreams, while Loki seeks ways to make things easier on you. You receive an unexpected visitor.

They day was almost upon you. The decorations were all up, your drum beat and chant were properly memorized. Several Avengers were on route, and parts of the semi-built city had been cleared and cordoned off for the festivities. Buridag was almost here.

You had your cloak and armor. You had your drum, and your parts memorized. You had your beloved prince, and your Valkyrie escort. There were some things missing though.

You wished Nanna Beth could have been here to see this. You wished someone from back home could be here to see this. Someone other than Todd, who damn well didn't deserve it, but would be here anyway. You had the feeling that, if you asked, Loki would have had him barred from attending, but you didn't want to go down that road. You were supposed to be a grand symbol of the integration of humans and Asgardians, and you didn't think you could do that honestly while at the same time excluding people just because you didn't like them, and they were awful people. Which Todd was. Ugh, why hadn't he gone home yet? He hadn't spoken to you, or tried to contact you, and he didn't even seem to be trying to cause trouble. It was weird.

And then there was the issue of the bull...you still didn't know what to do about it. You were coming to the conclusion that you would simply have to endure, and somehow go on with your life. Would it be good for you? To further experience and understand the importance of death? To become a symbolic provider of plenty for the gathered celebrants?

You would just have to clench your teeth and deal with it. It was one of those hard lessons you would have to learn as the lover-and advisor-to royalty.

You'd probably never touch a hamburger again though.

Sleep had been coming to you only reluctantly; the long, stretching moments after closing your eyes for the night were filled with thoughts and questions about Ymir's Dreamscape. You were not permitted access to the artwork-no one was. For all that it was contained within the protective confines of the shield and size-changing devices, it was still considered too precious for informal handling.

But it haunted you. You saw them painting in your dreams, shapes and concepts you had difficulty understanding. Glancing over their shoulder at the workings of a truly alien mind, and hoping not to be noticed, though you were no more than a mote in their eye.

Streaks of color. Clusters of circles. Shapes that were nearly anthropomorphic, yet wrong somehow. They drew and drew, in between millennia long stares of contemplation, watching the asteroids clump up bigger and bigger. Occasionally they had to brush them away from their immense body.

They had more fingers than you did, and each one was stained with color, almost all the way to where they joined with the palm. Crackled veins of colored light pulsed up and down the fingers, from a bright spark on the tip of each; it flashed whenever they dragged their fingertip along the canvas they had created.

You couldn't see the whole thing: it was so big, and so far away, and they weren't done making it yet. You would always wake up before they were finished. You would see the colors more vividly in the daytime; certain hues of red and blue, purple, yellow, orange, and green-they popped out at you. Each of the great beings fingers traced its color into your eyes.

Your lessons had tapered off, to give you time to concentrate on the festival. You weren't though; artwork occupied your mind. You doodled approximations of the things you saw in your dreams, close, but never quite right.

You tapped your drum, and recited your chant, the ancient words spinning back countless aeons, and thought about colors.

******

Loki stood out in the paddock and watched the bull. It was a proud creature; it walked the confines of the fence, confident in its great strength and prowess, munched its hay secure in the knowledge that it could not be bested.

It died tomorrow. He would swing the sword he almost never used, and bring the feast to everyone. It wouldn't be the only one: There were pigs and chickens and sheep, already butchered and ready to go, it was just the bull that was symbolic.

“Magnificent beast, is he not, my liege?” Andsvarr asked. “Shame about the public execution though. I know it's tradition, but it seems a bit gratuitous.”

“You speak very freely today, Alarrson.” Loki said. “You lack guile. Say what you came to say.”

“Er, I apologize your Highness, I did not know how to broach the subject. Have you perhaps spoken with your good lady about the bull sacrifice?”

“Not beyond discussing it as a part of Burdag tradition. Otherwise, she has been rather busy learning her ritual.” He paused, realizing Andsvarr knew something he didn't. “Why? Has she confided something in you?”

“I would say that she has, your Highness.” Andsvarr said. “Has she brought up her discomfort with this sacrifice to you?”

“She has not...Though now that you do, I can't say I'm surprised.” That may have something to do with your increased tension lately. The way your mind had been wandering. There was a great deal of stress on you; perhaps he should have thought more about how the live sacrifice of the bull might effect you.

“Humans used to make such sacrifices very often, from what I've read.” Andsvarr continued. “It's one of the customs we shared. It's much less common now, I hear, but since she came from a smaller farming settlement, I would have thought she'd seen one before.”

Loki shook his head. “Her community is agrarian, and a monoculture at that. While I was there, I saw no livestock at all. Just endless corn.”

“Weird stuff.” Andsvarr commented. “But tasty. And so many applications.”

“It is not, I think, only the sacrifice that troubles her.” Loki said. “It is the sacrifice on top of everything else. If that doomed giant hadn't woken up...”

“If we hadn't been digging in the ice.” Andsvarr pointed out, then withered under Loki's stare.

“Don't think I haven't thought the same.” Loki said severely. “But my brother has been studying the humans effect on their own planet, and he tells me that the melting of the ice may have been inevitable. They will awaken, no matter what. Better now that we are prepared. But it shan't be before Burdag, so now I must think of what to do with him.” He gestured toward the ox. “His fate is sealed, but I wonder if there is some way I might change the presentation? Removing her from the ceremony would reflect poorly on the public, but...”

“If it pleases...” Andsvarr interrupted after the pause. “There was talk in the barracks about something one of the gate guards heard from an islandpostur man, that the bets were on whether the Gävle goat would burn this year, and when. I looked it up because some of us were placing bets. You have a hand phone don't you? If you look, you might have the same idea I did.”

“When did everyone around me decide that cryptic was the way to be?” Loki complained. But he realized that Andsvarr was allowing him to claim credit, rather than trying to dictate to royalty.

Andsvarr went off to his drills, and Loki left the ox to his munching. A quick check showed the Gävle to be a kind of effigy, composed of straw-a stand in for a real goat. This was how human civilizations got around the ritual spilling of blood. By sacrificing in the shape of the original.

He saw instantly what Andsvarr had. But how to make it work? The sacrifice and butchering was to be done right there on the spot; obviously, that couldn't be done with straw.

But a container covered in paper and flour paste, shaped like a cow...

Maybe.

He needed to find Beli.

******

There was a flat, dry area outside of Asgard and Trolerkaerhalla that was reserved for the landing of small planes and other aircrafts. It was cleared of snow, and roped off so that the air travelers could get inside the city as swiftly as possible, but that didn't stop the more die-hard of admirers from putting on their warmest clothing and waiting to catch a glimpse of who was coming to the festival. Some of the arrivals were no one of note to the observers, but a few of them garnered great attention; The Vision, in his bright colors, Maximoff, and Dr. Banner, as uncomfortable as ever with the cheering and applause.

They weren't the only important people to have answered their invitations: representatives and ambassadors from all around the North Atlantic Sea were coming in-from the relatively nearby Faroe, Shetland, and Orkney islands, as well as the Hebrides, whose names you were just learning.

You were at the gates to greet these esteemed visitors, speaking what little Icelandic you had managed to learn. There were a surprising number of representatives; it seemed like everywhere in the North wanted to be there-people from each of the Scandinavian countries and various areas within, to the larger island countries; Scotland, England, Wales, Ireland and North Ireland.

You still didn't quite know the difference, but you knew it was important enough not to ask.

There were also people from such far-flung places as Svalbard, Greenland, Germany and Estonia. In fact, it seemed as though most of Atlantic and Baltic Europe had sent someone. To your surprise, Canada and the United States had also come, even though they didn't recognize Asgard's sovereignty.

And then there were the anthropologists, journalists, even a few 'local' celebrities. Everyone wanted pictures of or with you, and you hoped that none of these people would turn out to be horrible, since pictures of you with them were going to be on the internet forever now.

You couldn't help but side-eye the religious representatives- some Christian, and some Heathen, from all the surrounding countries, and from within Iceland itself. You weren't sure what the Christian leaders were doing here: Asgard, by its very existence, posed a great challenge to their faith, so perhaps they were facing that challenge head on? Or perhaps it was to gather information. You didn't think they would have much success in proselytizing here, as it was hard to convince people to turn to a god that wasn't well known for answering directly, when the Aesir they'd grown up with were just right there. And it was extra hard to force conversion when you didn't have a weapon capable of harming the people you were trying to force.

The Heathens didn't make you any more reassured: speaking to Sofie had taught you that there were definite problems within those communities, racism and authoritarianism chief among them. Though, like any group of people, there were plenty who didn't accept such things. It just wasn't easy to tell by looking.

None of this was anything you'd ever had to think about back home. Diplomacy, poise, professionalism, visibility, navigating complex social and political relations-what use did a simple baker have for such as these?

You hadn't baked in weeks. Your time was mostly sucked up by lessons and political stuff, and though Loki had promised you respite after the ceremonies, you still couldn't help but wonder if that part of you life was simply over.

The cooks had learned your cinnamon roll recipe, and most of Asgard was picking it up. Loki was spoiled for cinnamon rolls these days, and showed no sign of growing tired of them. You wanted to introduce him to cornbread, snickerdoodles, or even no-bake cookies, but there just hadn't been time. Everything was lessons and dreams.

The sun dipped low, and though it was still early in the day, you would be going back inside once darkness fell. It simply got too cold to stay out. Luckily, it seemed that all the visitors had the same idea, and the stream of representatives and celebrities trickled off with the fading light.

Soon there was only one plane left, tiny, even smaller than the flock of already small planes that had come and gone. Only two people disembarked, no bodyguards, and they struggled against the strong winds. At least they were properly dressed in warm coats. Coats that you recognized.

No, there was no way. No possible way. But they were here.

“Daddy!?!” You squealed, and threw yourself into his open arms. Professionalism could be damned.

#lasabrjotr #loki (marvel)#loki x reader

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whatsortofschoolisthis · 3 years

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Rubin ‘Rubi’ Orn

“A tall, redheaded stern faced woman with an ugly curse scar across her face. Wouldn’t fancy meeting her in a dark alley.”

- Chaotic Neutral

- Born September 22, 1948 on the Faroe Islands.

- Asexual.

- Was the result of a fling of Henry’s before he married his first wife. Her mother, Elsa, is a half-blood.

- Alumni of Drumstrang. Recommends attending one of the smaller schools or even a school out of the area when asked about her time there.

- Drumstrang does not have ‘houses’ in the traditional sense but they do have different schools of Magic that students can focus on after their third year. Rubi chose seiðr or Old Norse magic.

- Sees magic as a neutral force, it is only as Light or as Dark as those using it.

- Morally grey.

- sarcastic.

- Worked as a spy during the First Wizarding War. Later hunted Death Eaters for a time before becoming a professional Duellist.

- Hates Grindelwald with a burning passion.

- Blew her cover after Death Eaters targeted her father’s children (Hecate and Jacob.) Brutally killed three of them, two escaped.

- Owns a Kneazle named Sam and speaks with him at length on various subjects. Values his opinion. Hecate, Bryn, and Sean are concerned.

- Moved two houses down from Hecate’s house after the incident with the death eaters

- Her patronus is a wolverine. Has no idea what it is, refers to it as a “Fucked up Badger thing.” Her memory is holding Hecate and Jacob for the first time.

- Practices an older, more traditional form of wandless magic. Uses plants, crystals, and bones in her spells. Does have a wand for duelling.

- Yew Wand, 11 inches, springy flexibility, and a vial of Swooping Evil venom as a core.

Popular in Ireland and Scotland, the European Yew is a wand wood of death and rebirth. The owner values honor highly, and would often prefer to die rather than submit or surrender in extreme cases. They often have a preoccupation with religion, spirituality, spirits, reincarnation, and the after-life.

These witches and wizards are independent, and may refuse the help of others (this may be overcome later in life, but will be especially prominent in their youth). It takes them much time to develop as people, as well as to develop their magic.

The unusual quality about yew wood itself is how flexible the wood is, despite its great hardness and strength (for being a softwood). The owner is similar in that they have strong convictions but are flexible in the manner in which they accomplish goals or uphold their convictions. They have an inner-resilience which allows them to spring back from metaphorical deaths.

They can be exceptionally protective of those they’ve ‘claimed’ as their own, and make for frightening adversaries

A powerful core, swooping evil venom has an odd reputation as it is capable of the most terrifying mind-altering spells as well as the most potent mind-healing magic. This core chooses creative witches and wizards, with great imaginations. Often, this reveals itself in endeavors like stone carving as well as creating the most ingenious and twisted of hexes and jinxes. Their owner’s head in the clouds appearance belies their talents in offensive magic and manipulation. At their worst, they can be a bit sadistic and play head games on other people for their own amusement. There is talent in magic to do with darkness, memory, the mind, hiding, and concealment. This core also possesses a latent soul-based magic, which is activated by specific wand woods (such as camphor). Otherwise, it gravitates towards woods with a darker nature such as blackthorn or snakewood.

(Description courtesy of cloverlywands blog)

Wren Ito (Maiden name: Ames)

“Their older sister, Wren, was a fine student of my house. Quiet, made almost no trouble for anybody. Clearly that must have come from her mother.”

- Lawful Good.

- Born January 1st, 1950 in London, England.

- Pureblood (technically).

- Ravenclaw, the first in the Ames family

- Daughter from her father’s first Marriage to Nancy Ames (Maiden name: White). Her mother was the muggleborn daughter of a Mortician and a housewife.

- Nancy was murdered in 1955, the murder was never solved but was believed to have been committed by an early version of Death Eaters. Wren was with her grandparents at the time of the murder.

- Wren was a good student during her time at Hogwarts but was generally quiet and unassuming. Her favorite class was Ghoul Studies and her best class was Astronomy. Involved in Astronomy Club and Ghoul Club

- Became interested in Ghouls due to her mother sticking around for two years after her death and because Muggle Shades often hung around her grandmother, the daughter of a muggle and a Squib, who had a mild version of second sight.

- Slight build with light brown hair and tiny. Looks nothing like her younger siblings.

- Met her future husband Osamu at the Triwizard Tournament.

- Her patronus is a fox, which is her husbands Animagus form. It was previously a field mouse. Her happy memory is her first date with her husband.

- Really dislikes Rakepick as she went to school with her.

- Still a quiet person but has developed a very wry sense of humor from her husband. Also loves Puns. This causes great pain to her family.

- Lives on Mahoutokoro school grounds with her husband and two children Sara and Mirou. Her husband is the Professor of Transfiguration and she writes books on Ghouls and Shades (Muggle ghosts). Is considered the foremost expert on the subject. Uses a typewriter rather than a quill.

- Her wand is Mahogany, 12 inches, swishy flexibility and a mermaid hair core.

Mahogany wand owners are charismatic, energetic, and possess much curiosity. They have above average magical cores, and great endurance. They like to be intellectually stimulated and become bored very quickly. The lion’s share of their energy goes towards what interests them, and they neglect that which does not. There is a regal air to their mannerisms, and a devil may care attitude in their interactions with others. They care little for others’ opinions, but also care too much on the opinions of those they admire or are close to them.

Most subjects and knowledge comes easily to them, and they can come up with innovative solutions incredibly fast.

Though they can be sweet and protective of their loved ones, these witches and wizards are also jealous and vengeful to those they dislike. Many times,their dislike is arbitrary or due to jealousy. They can be extremely possessive and controlling at their worst.

Merperson hair wands’ reputation varies by the subspecies and by cultural norms. What is shared between people with this core, it that they all are creative and imaginative, and usually have some sort of musical talent. These witches and wizards also have a talent with language, and may learn foreign languages with relative ease. ‘Restless’ describes these people well, and they like to investigate and explore. They are always searching for something, and even they don’t know exactly what it is. They can become irritated by those who try to force a routine on them, or those who try to tell them how to live. Adventurous at heart, they like to try new things or novel approaches. They don’t care for doing something just because it’s “tried and true.” Finding new and better ways is important to them, testing the limits of what is possible and what they can accomplish.

Fiadah O'Faud.

“All O’Faud’s are Blood Traitors. Especially that one.”

- Technically Chaotic Good. Lawful Chaotic would be a better term.

- Born April 1st 1951, in a home for unwed mothers in County Galway Ireland. Was the result of an affair between her mother Brigid O’Faud and Henry Ames.

- Pansexual

- Has a half-Veela partner of seven years named Simon Jones.

- Pureblood.

- O’Faud’s had not been allowed at Hogwarts up until about 1914 due to an ancestor killing the grandson of Salazar Slytherin because he (allegedly) married and then murdered Callum O’Faud’s granddaughter, who was a squib. They were not allowed in Slytherin until 1951.

- Her mother and stepfather immigrated to America when she was 13 years old. They both still currently live in Boston, Massachusetts. She transferred to Ilvermorny and was sorted into Wampus House. Was originally in Slytherin.

- Visits all her half siblings often, especially Hecate, Bryn, and Danny.

- Fiadah works as a magical law Prosecutor in America and takes cases that mostly involve violence against Creatures, Muggles, Squibs, Muggleborns, and foreigners.

- Cunning and extremely bullheaded but surprisingly well spoken. Does not look like she would be well spoken.

- Dry as dead leaves humor.

- Covered in magical tattoos that move around her body. Currently has a snake, a thunderbird, two crows, a raven, a hare, a spray of flowers that bloom in the morning and close at night, and a Thestral.

- Average height with black hair in a pixie cut and black eyes.

- Animagus form is a crow.

- Patronus is an Irish Hare. Her happy memory is introducing Hecate, Sean, Bryn, and Jacob to American rock the day she got her law certification.

- Saw her grandmother die (cancer).

- Lives in rural Georgia. Does not speak to any of her parents, does not like them.

- Plays the fiddle. When she tells someone she played them ‘Like a fiddle’ that’s a compliment, Fiddles are hard to play.

- Her wand is a Redwood wand, 13 inches, slight flexibility, and a dragonheartstring core.

Prized in California and Pacific Northwest, redwood is notorious for its owner’s ability to survive the impossible (Pottermore). Which is fortunate because they seem to be danger magnets. Their personality and natural skill set that this wand is attracted to also make for people who thrive under pressure and against the odds.

These witches and wizards have good reflexes as well as good judgement and foresight. Not much surprises them and what does surprise them, they react and adapt to with ridiculous ease. As Ollivander states, they have a talent for turning disaster into opportunity.

Brave and adventurous, not much intimidates the owner of a redwood wand.

As a rule, dragon heartstrings produce wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Dragon wands tend to learn more quickly than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner.The dragon wand tends to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord. It is also the most prone of the three cores to accidents, being somewhat temperamental.

(Description courtesy of cloverlywands and pottermore

#hphm #harry potter hogwarts mystery #jacob's sibling #fiadah O’Faud #Rubin orn #wren ito

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