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divineluce · 3 years

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And from the Ashes || Leah, Luce, Morgan, Nell, & Rio

Timing: Late at Night May 26th, 2021

Location: A burnt out clearing in the Outskirts

Tagging: @phoenixleah, @divineluce, @mor-beck-more-problems, @nelllraiser, @3starsquinn, and featuring Bernard Burnie the Phoenix

Description: The time has come to try and save the phoenix.

Running a hand through her hair, Luce looked at the clearing that she’d led the others to. It was a wide-open space, already charred and covered in ash- she’d first spotted the burnt-out area when she and Adam had posted up in the burnt out shell of a building on Scorch Street. She’d ventured out here on her own a few days before, dragging as many branches she could manage into the center of the neat circle of blackened soil. They needed a pyre, a central place for the magic to be channeled, to catch the energy they poured into the spell. They. That assumed that she’d be able to do something, that she’d be able to… summon the flames.

Luce dropped the gas can she’d hauled into the woods with a heavy, sloshing thud. There were already a few cans lying at the edge of the clearing, a contingency plan courtesy of Adam. He’d been game to help with the setup, loaning her what equipment he had to help. Nell knew how to pick ‘em. Even if he was some kinda doomsday prepper. “Here we go. Rio, you’ve been looking at the wards, right?” She said, gesturing to the area around them. “I’m not sure how big we need to go… Would you know anything about the scope?” Luce asked, glancing over at Morgan with a tentative gaze. The scratches that ran along her body were still scabbed over and angry to the touch, even with the help of Nell’s poultices. “Nell, do you want to get started with the herbs? Leah should be out looking for the phoenix, hopefully we have some time before she radios us that they’re on the move.” Luce said as she unzipped her backpack and began to pull out the various ingredients the ritual required. A silver mortar and pestle, courtesy of Bea, the Bloodroot, the jar of corrupted resurrection dirt, another glass with the phoenix’s still smoldering ashes, and bundles upon bundles of sage and lavender. Pulling the last vial from her pocket, Luce stared at the small bottle of phoenix tears. This had to work. It had to work.

Leah Ramirez was not an improviser. Not by any means. For an event like the one they were attempting to go as smoothly as possible, it was incredibly important to plan out every detail down to the second, and then establish a plan B, C, D… all the way to ZZ in case things didn’t go as planned. It was admirable how determined Luce was to save this poor soul. Leah always knew she had a huge heart, but for whatever reason, she wasn’t always a big fan of showing it. This needed to go well- if not for the phoenix, for Luce. For her to know it was okay to openly care about something and to ask for help.

Her job was simple enough. Find the corrupted phoenix, entice him to chase her, run to the clearing, help with the ritual. It wasn’t hard to find him, either. He’d been leaving a path of destruction for weeks now, and she followed the path of ash and char that he left behind until she found an area that was still very much on fire. The flames didn’t scare Leah- they couldn’t hurt her. And she hoped if what she’d heard about corrupted phoenixes was true, he’d get frustrated at the lack of damage he was doing to her and chase after her. If not, there was always plan ZZ. But when she finally laid eyes on him, it felt like a punch to her gut. She’d seen plenty of phoenixes in their flame state before, but her family was always so careful to be controlled and calm in their flame presentation. They had the privilege of years of training, not to mention the ability to change back if it all became too much. The corrupted phoenix, on the other hand, was raging, stuck in an eternal flame state with no way of connecting with anyone or anything. Of course he was destroying the world- it was the only way he could get its attention. She radio’d the group from her safe distance, watching the phoenix to see if he’d noticed her. “Found him. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Orion had stayed up half the night drawing the runes that Luce had sent him. He wasn’t sure how much the group would need, so he figured he should do as many as he possibly could. He kept his bag full of them, weighing on his back as he followed the group to the clearing Luce had prepared. From the looks of it, Luce had been hard at work to get things ready for the spell. While the rest of the group was probably used to stuff like this, Rio hadn’t taken part in many spells. He was equal parts excited and nervous. Something like this was an entirely new experience to learn about. It was every scribe’s dream. On the other hand, Luce had already warned him how much energy this would take. This wasn’t going to be a simple spell, one thing gone wrong could screw everything up. Rio just wanted to make sure he wasn’t the cause of any mess ups.

Once they were together in the clearing, Rio dropped his back and pulled the stack of paper with the wards drawn on them. “Yeah, I’ve got a bunch. Just tell me what to do with them. I’ll follow everyone else’s lead. I think I’m the newbie here.”

Morgan double checked the notes she’d made on her phone. “Bigger might be safer,” she said. “Wider net, easier catch.” But not too big, or else the energy needed to power the space might increase to dangerous proportions. She came over to Rio and showed him the diagram she’d made. “If we give ourselves a twenty foot diameter, you should be able to put down the runes in intervals of two feet. Move clockwise and make sure they’re all oriented the right way, okay?”

That done she went over to Luce, who was looking a little uneasy. “Hey. This’ll work if you let it, okay? You can help him.”

Nell was tired. But that seemed to be the beginning of every thought she has of late. It was getting to the point of being exhausted from the constant state of emotional tiredness, which often left her feeling either drained, irritable, or both. As she bent over her densely packed sticks of herbs, she did her best to banish the sensation of lethargy seeping into her bones, shaking herself out of its grabby hands to gather the strength she’d need for the coming ceremony. If there was one thing that could spark her massive reservoirs of determination, it was a sister in need— and as Nell let her gaze wash over Luce, and all the physical as well as emotional cuts and scrapes it’d taken her to get here, it was obvious Luce was certainly in need.

She didn’t have fire like her sisters, so when she lit the herbs to cleanse and purify it was with the lighter from her pocket. Blowing softly over the end of it, she let the flame peter out until a steady trail of smoke was rising from the end of the bundle before handing it off to Rio. “Take this with you, too.” Did he have enough hands for it? MAybe he could stick it in his pocket or something. Or- “I can walk with you if you need it.” Then she was on to lighting the next stick of herbs, keeping this one for herself.

Rummaging around in her pockets, Luce pulled out the shitty little Zippo lighter she kept on her. She’d never had to actually use it, but now might be the time. If her flames didn’t come, she’d find a way to make sure that this worked. One way or another, she’d get fire to burn and to hopefully, hopefully put an end to this person’s nightmare. After all this time, the weeks of work trying to gather the ingredients she needed for the ritual, she hadn’t paused to think about how they must be feeling in the middle of all this. Were they still in there? Or were they lost to the fire, like she had been? The walkie talkie on her belt buzzed and she heard Leah’s staticky confirmation. “Sounds good. We need a bit more time, but I’ll give you the signal when we’re ready.”

“Bigger is better, I’ll take your word on that. Thanks for drawing those up, Rio.” Luce said, looking closely at the runes he’d drawn. Damn. For a Scribe who claimed like he didn’t know what he was doing, they looked damn good. Like, really fucking good. And Morgan knew what she was doing, she could guide him as they set the perimeter of the ritual site. Sucking in a deep breath, she cast Nell a tense grimace of a smile before staring at the silver mortar in front of her. The ingredients were all here. She just had to… tap into the magic. Flexing her hands, she unstoppered the bottles and began to mix them together “The corrupted earth with tears to mend,” She muttered quietly to herself, trying to reach for the magic that lived within her. Fear gripped at her heart as she tried to feel the connection and found… nothing.

Leah couldn’t have taken her eyes off the corrupted phoenix if she tried. The way he moved and raged through the forest, his path clear but his goal unsolidified, it fascinated her. She wanted to take it all in, write it down and warn family members about the dangers of changing their ways. She took another step forward toward him, and suddenly, he whipped around to stare at her, flames angry and dark. For a while, there seemed to be nothing else, just two phoenixes, born of very different circumstances, staring at each other and waiting for the other to make a move. Could he sense what she was? Was he confused by her lack of fear? She took another step forward, right into the charred remnants of a tree that were still on fire. We’re the same, she was trying to tell him. We can be the same. In her time observing him, this was the first time she’d seen the phoenix still. “We want to help you”, she said, quietly. Would he hear her? Could he understand? But as quickly as it had seemed to pause, his rage picked up again, and soon, he was barreling toward her. The radio secured at her shoulder buzzed, with Luce indicating they weren’t ready. Shit. As he ran toward her, she thought quickly, switching into her flame state.

Now they were really the same.

With the two phoenixes both engulfed by their flames, there was no solid body for the corrupted one to ram into, no destruction he could cause. He whipped around again to look at her, and for another moment, as if there were a second of clarity. But again, it didn’t last. Leah switched back, and began running toward where the phoenix had come from, into the fiery destruction he’d been wallowing in. “We want to help you” she cried as she heard him begin to run after her.

Morgan watched Nell and Rio get to work laying the circle and burning their bundles. There was another one for her, but she hesitated to reach for it. This wasn’t an afternoon in her studio or a hopeful exercise for her peace of mind. Someone’s life was hanging in the balance. All of theirs, really, if you factored in the risks of this going sideways. What good was the energy of a dead woman with no direction? And yet. She felt useless, just standing there. Sure, she’d helped Luce work out the magic maths for the circle and organize a delegated plan, but that was theory, that was cozy. She wanted to help, if only to prove that she still could. That she hadn’t given up yet. So she picked up the last bundle and lit it up. She could smell none of the smoke that rose from the black and orange crackling ends, but she remembered her own rituals in the woods when she was trying to learn blood magic. She remembered her fear of being shut down by the universe, of being turned away by her friends, and the way her hope trembled as the smoke cleansed the hurt from her space. As she did the last thing, the only thing she could, she prayed to the earth below them that this phoenix would have his hurt wiped away too.

“I think that’s about it. Everyone ready?”

Orion had a stack of papers in his mouth, hanging on by the corner of the paper as he moved along the path, more paper in one hand and the burning herbs that Nell had passed to him in the other. He had assured Nell that he was fine, but one misstep and he would tumble. He followed Morgan’s directions, placing the runes around in a large circle and watching the other group carefully. Everyone looked incredibly focused. Just another hint that this was serious. Stuff like this must be second nature to them, yet there was a lot of care and detail put into every single step. It made sense, from what Rio knew about spells, the devil was in the details. Sometimes literally he supposed. But the smallest inaccuracy could cause horrible side effects. His chest tightened at the thought of what backlash could come if something go wrong, but he shook it off quickly. He had been injured trying to help others. It had never changed his mind before, he wasn’t about to let today freak him out.

Once the circle was complete he gave a thumbs up towards the group just in time for Morgan to ask if they were ready. Honestly, Rio had no idea if they things were ready, but he eyed the gas cans around the circle. He figured those would come into play once the spell started. “All set” Rio confirmed, moving in the circle to join with the others.

None of them were wholly fireproof anymore despite having taken their own footsteps through the flames of their existence, and Nell was no exception. Each one of those present had all weathered their own firestorms, walking straight into infernos that had every right to have felled them where they stood. But still they persisted, like the embers of a life refusing to be snuffed out despite all the gusts buffeting them from sometimes all sides. Fire was life and death, as cyclical as anything else in the magic. That’s what Nisa had tried to teach her daughters while they’d grown amongst the trees of the forest. It could steal life in a moment, burning a person out of existence until they were no more than ash on the wind, but as was the way with everything in the world it had the other face of its coin. Warmth, cauterizing, cleansing. In and of itself fire was the most alive of the elements, flickering with a spirit and will of its own. And yet that same life was so good at snuffing out others.

Nell didn’t have the fire her sisters had once wielded, so she’d thought the lessons didn’t apply to her. But she had her own flame living in her chest, the same heat that had told her to kill Montgomery and to make it hurt. The searing anger that had her digging a knife into Frank’s side, and poised to smother his own fire. Maybe they all had flames living within them, dangerous if left unchecked. Luce had left her flames to themselves since nearly a year ago to the day, or maybe it had been even longer. Nell had too. But she was watching in real time as her sister tried to reign them in, reignite them in a way that didn’t end with screams and acrid stench of burning flesh. It was enough to make Nell wonder what the peace on the other side might be like, whether she might one day give up the things fueling her flames to try her own hand at seizing it. Today wasn’t about her, though. That much she knew as she came out of the circle she’d walked to slip her hand into Luce’s for a squeeze. “We’ll make this work.” Luce wasn’t alone, and she’d be sure to remind her sister of that. Gathering her magic, she searched the corners of herself to pick up every scrap of it, knowing this spell was no small feat. She and Luce would be lucky if they didn’t pass out, let alone leave with skinned arms and a heart attack later. “You’re ready?”

Luce couldn’t help the way angry tears prickled at the corner of her eyes, helpless, unable to feel the flames that lived within her. This had to work, it had to fucking work. She needed it to work, she needed to save this person but… The words Adam had told her, when they’d posted up in the burnt out husk of a building on Scorch Street, they echoed in the back of her mind. Either I accept the dude in the mirror or I keep doing stuff that hurts everybody I care about. One of the most dude-bro things she’d heard from him, but it was true. She’d been mulling over their conversation for days now, trying to reconcile what he’d told her with the things she felt. And she’d thought… She’d thought she had this. She thought she could do this. But what if she was wrong? What if she couldn’t? What if he was wrong, what if Rio and Nell and Morgan—who had given her this second chance to change—had misplaced their faith? Her hands trembled slightly as she uncorked the bottle of ash, muttering a quiet Turkish chant over the still smoldering remains as she mixed it in. The Bloodroot followed and she mixed it all together with the pestle, the mixture crackling and sparking as she did her best to guide the magical properties of the ingredients into what she wanted, what she needed it to be. A cure. A way to end the nightmare. Redemption. Though her flames lay stubbornly still within her, Luce poured intention into the mixture until the chalice was full of a thick, smoking liquid.

Swallowing, Luce glanced up to see that Morgan and Rio had already drawn the wards, laid out the runes in their prescribed spaces around the large pyre. The bundles of herbs were smoking, filling the air with a heady scent, and all of them were waiting on… her. Luce felt Nell slip her hand into her own and she offered a nod. She wasn’t ready but she had to do this. She had to see this through. “Whatever it takes.” She said quietly as she stood up in the circle. Holding tightly onto her sister’s hand, the silver cup on the ground before them, Luce brought the walkie talkie to her mouth with her free hand. “Send him our way. We’re ready.” Now or never.

Leah ran and ran, waiting for the fuzzy confirmation that she could bring the phoenix to the clearing. She didn’t know how long they played cat and mouse, Leah switching back and forth between flame state to keep him occupied. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep this up. As she ran, exhaustion began to over take every part of her- her bones, her heart, her lungs- but she had to keep going. They had to help. And suddenly, when it felt that maybe she couldn’t go anymore, she heard the telltale buzz from Luce that they were ready, and without warning, she switched her path and began to run toward the clearing. The phoenix, in his effort to catch up with her, seemed to leave less of a trail of destruction than he had been in the last week or so, and she had to breath a sigh of relief at that.

It seemed like it took forever, but she finally broke through the clearing with the group of her friends, all ready and expectant to start the ritual that could end this. The phoenix seemed to pay them no mind. As they reached the center, she turned around and watched him stop and finally take in his surroundings. At least, that’s what she assumed he was doing- if he was even aware of what was going on. Regardless, with him distracted, Leah switched back into her flame state one last time, wrapping herself around the corrupted phoenix and engulfing him with her own flames. “We’re the same”, she whispered, hushed and smoky. “You’re not alone.”

Nell’s first reaction upon seeing Leah and the corrupted phoenix was one of ‘fight’, muscles tensing as she prepared to dodge a fireball that may or may not be coming her way, and dive in headlong to try and subdue the phoenix. But that’s not why they were here. They weren’t fighting today, they were cleansing, purifying— and violence could never truly grant either of those. Killing a problem wasn’t the same as healing from it, and wasn’t that obvious in the way her past choices seemed to never let her be? Maybe Luce should have asked Bea to help with the phoenix. Bea could be warm in the way the flip side of fire was meant to be, she’d know how to burn out the bad without incinerating the whole. Sure— Nell knew her plants and practical magic, but what good were those when she was home to an unsteady heart? If her intentions wavered, if she didn’t focus on the right things...would the phoenix simply rise to an even bigger and angrier inferno than it was now?

Thankfully Nell’s sister by her side, and Leah’s embrace of the other phoenix served as a reminder that she wasn’t all sharp edges and bloody hands. She had a family. And even though a bulk of it had left in the form of the coven, friends that had needed to find their own way beyond the town lines of White Crest, and even Bex who had fled in a fear Nell was still struggling to process— she could see her family reflected in the faces present. Luce by blood, Morgan by choice, Leah by upbringing, even Rio at times with the way he was ready and willing to help anyone who so much as glanced in his direction. Surely anyone who had a family was worth something? To have people who loved you was no easy feat. Did the phoenix have people that had loved him before? Leah loved him even now as he tried to burn the world to ash, caught in between her arms. Maybe there was another choice that could be made. As cliche as it may be, love was a cleanser, a healer, a purifier. And Nell knew how to do that even if she wasn’t always adept at it. That would be her focus point for the spell.

With a smattering of her own Turkish words Nell fueled the wards to life, letting her magic blaze through them so that the area was safely contained. Nowadays, she most often used Latin for her spellcasting, skipping the extra step of translation when she could. But if this were to be a spell of love she’d used the tongue her sister had used, the one her father had told stories in. Taking Luce’s other hand in her own, she placed their joined hands on the outside of the chalice, folding her palms over Luce’s while they cradled the silver between them. Leah had said it best, and she borrowed the words from the phoenix to lend to Luce, the soft Tukish private between them while she let her magic and intentions flow. “We’re the same.” They’d both been lost. Both desperately trying to claw their way out of the prisons they’d made for themselves out of their past deeds. But maybe with this, with the cleansing of the phoenix- at least Luce could be found. It was hard to remember that there were hands waiting on the other side of one’s self-made bars, people simply waiting for you to reach out and hold on tight. Nell wasn’t sure which of them was raising the other from perdition anymore, but she knew it was as one. “You’re not alone.”

The phoenix looked even worse than the first time Luce and Adam had seen them. Him, she realized. The phoenix was a man wreathed in brilliant, unnatural flames that seemed to flare around him in a malevolent glow. He stared at the clearing-- perhaps a moment of recognition for a place he’d already brought ruin upon, perhaps trying to puzzle out what the ritual space was for. Either way, Leah took advantage of the distraction and, cloaked in her own flames, she held onto him tightly. Her brilliant flames clashed against the ominous vermillion fire that surrounded the other phoenix. Luce felt Nell’s fingers tighten around her own and together they picked up the chalice, the magic coursing between them.

Luce could feel the wards glow, the paper Rio had drawn them on smoldering away to nothing until the burning runes were etched into the earth. And as Nell’s magic funneled into the chalice, Luce nearly let out a gasp as… the embers within her began to stir. The flames were weak, nonexistent. But the connection, the magic, it was there. For the first time in six months, she could feel the magic that had forsaken her. She reached for it cautiously, her spirit fanning the flame as carefully as she could to try and coax the spark back to life. “We’re the same.” Luce echoed as she stared at the phoenix held by Leah’s flames. She could see the fear in his eyes, the fear that was seared into his soul. As he strained against Leah, she knew she had been right. He wasn’t afraid of them, but of himself.

“You’re not alone.” Luce said, her voice rising as she let the magic flow through her fingertips into the chalice. The mixture continued to smoke and smolder and she knew that fire should be burning from the cup. But the flames wouldn’t come. No matter how hard she tried. “You’re not alone! We just want to help. Please, let us help you!” She called to the phoenix. Take our help, let me help, do what I never did, please.

Pain ran through Bernard’s body as the flames that weren’t his own burned around him-- frustration, rage, fear, they mixed together within him, the only thing he’d known for the past… how long? How long had he been like this? Days? Weeks? Months? He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. He remembered erupting from the earth, tearing away from that cursed echoing place as fast as he could. It was a blur of fire and flames and pain and blood. And the voice, the voice, it followed him everywhere he ran. Whispering sometimes, shouting at others. All it wanted was for the world to burn. And he was powerless to it. People, animals, all who were caught in his path, they… crumbled to nothing. And all he could do was shriek in agony as his own cursed flames continued to burn. He couldn’t stop them, was powerless to the darkness that ran rampant within his body. The voice that wasn’t his own rang in his mind through all hours of the day, screaming at him to burn this place to the ground. It was the voice he’d fled from when he’d first awoken in this new body, the voice that still chased him.

And even now, it was shrieking at him. Burn the girl, burn them all, cast their bones to ash, let the flames consume this town. Let all become fire, let all become ruin.

But, a different voice-- the first voice he’d heard that wasn’t a strangled scream-- it made its way to his ear. “We’re the same.” A soft voice, whispering, pleading, “You’re not alone.” Fighting every instinct in his body, Bernard was able to tilt his head in the barest of nods. He did his best to regain control over the fire that raged around his body, to fight the voice within him. “Help me, help me.” He whispered to the woman whose arms were wrapped around him, “End-- end this.”

As the man struggled and strained against Leah’s hold, it began to feel hopeless. Already exhausted from their run through the forest, she knew she couldn’t hold onto him for much longer. And with no one else there able to withstand the flames, she wondered, briefly, if it had been a mistake for Luce to ask her for help, at least with this part. She was never strong- always swift and agile and smart. Perhaps Alfie would have been better for something like this. But then, he seemed to respond. A hint of a nod was all it took for Leah to gain her confidence back. This was working, and they were going to fix this. Together. She was not alone. Carefully, she unwrapped her arms around his body, instead, choosing to hold his forearms for guidance. Gently, she guided him onto the pyre. Though he still seemed to struggle, it was a lot easier to guide him up than it had been to hold him in place. She wondered if he was fighting too, now. Somewhere deep inside. She noticed the chalice shared between Nell and Luce, smoking and smoldering and beckoning to help. “I know it’s hard”, she said again, more firm this time. “But we think this will fix it. You have to try and drink this, okay? Drinking it will help. We’re going to help you get better, but first you have to drink it.” She continued to whisper these affirmations in his ear, willing him to continue to fight through the flames. “We’re all here to help you.”

Nell could feel the moment her sister’s magic sputtered into existence. She’d be able to recognize her sister’s magic anywhere. Such was the bond of countless spells done as one in their youth, and the few they’d done together in the last year and a half. It felt like someone waving her home from the front porch, far more comforting than something as tangible as physical touch could ever achieve. This was the two of them truly coming together as one for the sake of another. For the sake of her sister. For the sake of the phoenix in Leah’s arms. “We’re gonna make it,” Nell told Luce, giving her the words she too needed to hear the most. There was an end, and they’d found it. They were so close. So close to that win. So close to doing something good. Just let the past die, and then Luce could be free.

Luce watched as the phoenix allowed himself to be brought towards the pyre she’d built in the center of the glowing runes. His flames licked at the wood, straining to ignite the wooden structure. She could feel the heat of it from here-- she couldn’t let Nell get any closer, not when the flames were this hot. Nell didn’t have the same resilience she did. “We’re gonna do this. But I’m not letting you get hurt.” Luce said. “Step back, Nellie, please.I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you-- without any of you,” She said looking to Rio, to Morgan, even to Leah. “But I’ve gotta do this.” With that, she pulled the chalice gently from Nell’s hands, and followed Leah and the phoenix up the pyre. And as the phoenix’s cursed flames began to consume the wood, Luce took a deep breath and followed.

“Leah, you should back up. I don’t know what the wards might do if there are two phoenixes here.” Luce said as she held the chalice up, hands shaking slightly. The silver cup was still smoking, but she could feel the energy thrumming inside her. She could feel her magic lying in wait, but for what? She was trying so hard, the need to draw upon the magic was almost overwhelming. The flames were searing, painful in a way that fire had never felt for her. Not since she was a child, before she’d fully gained control of her magic. Luce swallowed as she stood next to the phoenix and, as she lifted the silver cup to his mouth, she saw him for the first time. Dark black eyes stared at her in desperation, the irises ringed in glowing red flames like the sun during an eclipse. Those eyes stared at her, consumed by fear and anguish and then-- a flicker, something dark flashed over his face. A tongue of flame shot from the phoenix’s body and curled around her left arm and Luce let out a scream of pain as the fire sizzled against her flesh. Agony shot up through her and her grip on the chalice loosened as she stumbled backwards, the flame retreating back to the phoenix’s body.

“We’re going to help you.” Luce panted, her fingers wrapping around the cup once more. “You’re not alone. This isn’t you and this,” She gasped in pain, the searing sensation still present within her, “This isn’t the end. You’re not alone.” Luce said. As she spoke, the burning heat grew within her. And that was when it hit her. The warmth was familiar. “Benim alevlerim.” She breathed and watched as the chalice blossomed with blue flames. “Drink. Please, drink.” Luce said and pressed the cup against the phoenix’s lips, tipping it back before staggering down the burning pyre. She retreated to where the others stood safely at the edge of the wards to wait and to watch.

Bernard drank. And for a moment, nothing changed. These people they’d tried, they’d failed. And he would be-- his eyes flicked open as the pain mounted to new, unimaginable heights. It felt as though he’d swallowed the sun, that the light was burning him from the inside out. The voice that had shouted at him, it was screaming again. But now, it screamed in pain, agony, as the sun continued to burn. His mouth opened to scream but all that escaped was a plume of blue flame. Instinctively, he shut his mouth and curled in on himself, hugging his burning body. Meanwhile, the blue flames crawling over his skin, over the pyre, overwhelming the cursed red flames. For a long moment, pain was all that filled Bernard’s mind. And then, there was nothing at all.

Things seemed to be going to plan. At least, Orion hoped that they were. None of the actual spell experts seemed to be freaking out, so Rio had mostly taken that as a good sign and held back. He silently observed, a worried line drawn across his face. The concern only grew as the Leah showed up with the Phoenix. Up until now, everything that Rio had witnessed had just been preparation. With the phoenix here, the true spell began. He stood just on the edge of the wards they had constructed, nervously fiddling with his fingers to keep himself still. But he couldn’t take his eyes off of Luce and the phoenix. Even from back here, Rio could feel the rise in temperature associated with the phoenixes flames. He pressed against his skin, warning of the heat. How could Luce handle being that close to it? His entire body tensed as the flame surged towards Luce. He almost jolted forward, but stopped himself at the last second. She was trying to get away. He needed to trust that Luce knew better for this than he did and let her do what needed to be done.Flames seemed to be consuming him, a bright, glowing red that made Rio clench at his heart. It looked so incredibly painful. “Oh my god.” He muttered, mostly to himself. If tears poured down Rio’s face he did nothing to stop them, he could only stare at the scene as the man screamed, only for blue flames to erupt. That blue soon took over the red, covering every inch of the man and becoming too bright for Rio to stare at any longer. He covered his eyes, glancing away from the scene in fear that he would go blind completely.

Luce was right, and Leah stepped out of the circle, toward Rio and Morgan. She switched out of her flame state in the process, and found a safe space behind her friends while still holding a good view of the action at the pyre. She couldn’t take her eyes off of everything that was going on, not even if she tried. She could see the pain inside the phoenix, almost as if she were sensing it within her heart. His flames, red and unnatural, looked like an illness that needed to be cured. How she wished she could run back in and hold him again. The flames seemed never ending but not at all stable; all encompassing but not all warm. And with the eruption of more and more of them, Leah was worried if too much damage had already been done. She couldn’t look away, but her heart was begging her to.

For a while, it seemed as though the fire would never end. It looked as though the flames would continue to spiral and battle against one another, locked in a continuous battle until the pyre that fueled the blaze crumpled to ash. But, Luce watched as her blue flames over took the phoenix’s own iridescent fire and then… She let out a gasp as the man sank to his knees and then crumpled to the ground. The fire continued to rage around him, consuming the wooden pyre. Meanwhile, the runes that formed the wards continued to glow, the lines brilliant and blue. Just the same shade as her flames. And then, almost as quickly as it had started-- the flames burnt out. In their place was nothing but a pile of ash.

Blinking in the sudden darkness, Luce held up her uninjured hand and reached tentatively for the magic. But her fears were unfounded, as vibrant blue flame jumped to the palm of her hand. “Is he… Do you think he’s alright?” She asked the others, voice hoarse from the smoke she’d inhaled.

There was little Nell could do as she watched her sister dive into the flames along with the phoenix, and she couldn’t help the protective step she made towards the center of the circle while the fire sizzled around Luce’s arm. It wasn’t unheard of for the Vurals to throw themselves into the center of an inferno for their sisters, but the more rational voice in her head quelled the emotional response, reminding her that she wouldn’t so much as get within a few feet of Luce before burning to a crisp. And what help would that be? Nell would be incinerated, the wards would fall, and Luce and the phoenix would be worse off than when this had started. Nell filled her now empty hand with Leah’s no longer flaming one, the familiar warmth of a fire being granting her another form of comfort.

The wards stayed strong as Nell kept the flow of her magic constant, using her worry of Luce to fuel the glowing runes. After all, that stemmed from love as well, and thus it would rightly serve the spell. Finally the flames subsided, and Nell was free to move forwards after watching the phoenix fall to ash on the ground. Just as any phoenix would at the end of their lifecycle. It had killed him? This was the cleansing that he’d needed? Death? Surely there were less permanent ways to purify? But death was anything but permanent for a phoenix. Or at least...it was meant to be. They hadn’t actually killed him, had they? “I…” This couldn’t be the result of all their efforts— all of Luce’s efforts. She’d needed to do something good, something that helped the phoenix, not end its cycle. “Wait- I think- is it moving?” Or had it only been her hopeful eye that thought she spotted a sign of life beneath the gray?

While the explosion of bright blue and radioactive red flames was all encompassing, the silence and emptiness that followed their burnout was even more-so. Leah looked between her friends, first to Nell, who’s hand she gave a tight squeeze back, then to Rio and Morgan, and finally to Luce. Luce, who had worked so hard to save the phoenix- ...she didn’t want to disappoint her. But in Leah’s experience, a pile of ash only meant one thing. She looked down at what was left of the phoenix, his ashes still and unmoving. Perhaps this was what was meant to happen all along. The ritual was meant to get rid of the illness- did it presume that the only way to rid one of corruption was through… death? It seemed too morbid. Too unfair. Tears filled her eyes as she looked back to Luce, ready to break the news to her. It wouldn’t be fair to get her hopes up if there was none to have. “I think...he might be d-”, but she stopped, interrupted by Nell’s observation. Her eyes shot back to the pile of ashes, sensing the tiniest pile of movement for herself. “Wait, -what?”

The scent of ash filled Bernard’s lungs as he shifted among the dust and debris. His fingers curled around the fine grains of dust and he began to crawl out from under the pile, his head emerging. He was covered in soot, his body ached, and he felt so, so cold. But, the world was blissfully, wonderfully silent. His mind was silent. The voice that had echoed in his head had been burned clean and now… Now he was whole again. Exhaustion and relief washed over him in equal measure and Bernard was able to lift his head up for a brief moment to take in the small cluster of people staring at him. He offered a weak smile before his eyes rolled back up into his head and he collapsed, unconscious once more.

Morgan had watched the proceedings in petrified silence. She understood how badly Luce needed this and as she huddled closer between Leah and Rio, she started to accept that she might need this too. There was so much suffering on this miserable rock of a planet and so much that couldn’t be helped no matter how much money or good vibes you threw out there. But maybe this could be different. Maybe this one witch and this one broken bird could do better for a little while. She stared at the clump of ash on the ground, bracing herself for the worst. “Leah, don’t…” she whispered. If this was another cosmic fuck you, Luce wouldn’t need to be told. And then he moved.

“Shit, Nell’s right. He’s moving, she’s right!” She grabbed Leah, squeezing tight and looked at Luce. Whatever she was holding against the witch didn’t matter just then. There was only relief and understanding. “Guess you’re better than you thought after all,” she said. “So, who’s helping to carry Mr. Firebird? I don’t think he’ll like his feet dragging on the ground if I lift him by myself.”

Seeing the shift in the pile of ashes finally let Orion take a breath of relief that seemed to be shared by everyone in the group. This hasn’t been in vain. It had been dangerous, and exhausting and at times even seemed a bit hopeless. But when the pile of ashes shifted and everyone’s gone shifted from solemn to overwhelming relief, it all seemed worth it. “Holy crap.” Rio breathed, too giddy to stay still. He bounced on his feet, still a bit apprehensive to move anywhere in case the spell wasn’t completely finished. But Morgan spoke first, suggesting they carry the man away from the spell site and back towards civilization. If she was confirming it, then that meant that it was done. “We really did it.” Rio spoke again aloud, not trying to hide the surprise. “You really did it.” He repeated, directed towards Luce this time. Maybe it had been a time effort, but she had gotten the ball rolling. And from the looks of it, she had paid a price. “I’ll help carry him. Someone should help Luce too.”

Time seemed to slow as Luce stared at the pile of ash, unblinking. Waiting. Had she killed someone else? Had all of her effort and time and energy and intention meant nothing? Had she taken another life, an innocent life? An eternity stretched on as she stared at the pile. And then. Relief. Luce felt her legs buckle as the man lifted his head from the ashes and stared at them, his face illuminated in the glowing flames that rose from her hand. Normal eyes, no longer ringed in fire. Her blue flames sputtered and went out as Luce sank to the ground next to Nell, her hand still clutched in her sisters. She let out a shaking, shuddering breath as she sat on the ground. They’d done it. The ritual had worked. He was okay. And somehow, in the midst of it all, her magic was back.

“Holy shit. We did it.” She breathed as she glanced up at the others. “Thank you… All of you guys. This wouldn’t… None of it could have happened without you. Thank you.” She murmured. Her entire body ached, she felt absolutely drained, and her arm was filled with a burning pain she hadn’t felt since she was a little girl, but none of it mattered right now. She’d done it. They’d done it.

#p: afta #wickedswriting #chatzy #p: leah ramirez #p: nell vural #p: morgan beck #p: orion quinn

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draven-imani · 3 years

Text

Journal 2

Everything’s gone to hell. Or the abyss. Whatever. Semantics. It doesn’t fucking matter. The wardstone’s been destroyed. I’m stuck underground with Auriel, the Butcher of Balestreet—who is actually a middle-aged woman who claims to have never actually murdered anyone—a Shelynite inquisitor who came here following a bird, a blind elf wizard, a very angry merchant noble, and Anevia Tirabade—the wife of Irabeth Tirabade, leader of the Eagle Watch, former member of the Raven Corps who rose from the muck when she stopped a conspiracy to break the wardstone—

Which doesn’t matter much now because the wardstone is fucking broken and demons swarmed the city and everyone is dead. It happened again. It happened again. It always—

Let me start from the top. A lot happened. I need to get my thoughts straight. If anyone survived, if we get up top and there’s people to report back to, I need to have a record of what happened.

This morning, Auriel and I went to patrol the Kite as we’d originally been assigned. Inheritor be praised for what happened next…if we’d been there when the attack happened, we would both be dead now. Commander Spriggans stopped us during our rounds, just in front of the wardstone, and informed us that two of the members of the color guard had drank themselves into a stupor the night before and were not in fit state to take part in their duties guiding the parade. He gave us an easy choice. We could remain here in our usual duties walking the walls, or we could fill in for the missing color guard. Auriel left the choice to me, much to both my and the Commander’s displeasure. I don’t particularly like taking responsibility for others, having Auriel look to me as the one to make decisions was…uncomfortable, to say the least. Bad things already happen around me, adding me being the one making our choices to the mix surely won’t help.

Regardless, the choice was obvious in this case. We were to be joining with the color guard, and assisting with the parade.

So, we made our way to where preparations were being set up. However, we couldn’t find the captain who Commander Spriggans had told us to meet with for further commands. After waiting a few minutes, Auriel decided he wanted to check out a platform that was being built for the ceremony. I followed along, incase things went tits up due to his…lack of social knowledge.

Auriel ended up ‘getting a quest’ from the gnome builder, who needed more nails from the storehouse in the temple. Seeing as we couldn’t find who we were supposed to meet, and this seemed like a quick errand that would help with the parade, we went ahead and did so.

It was not a quick errand. The priest who had the key to the storehouse was in the middle of talking to someone else, and that took several very long minutes. Several. Like fifteen. Maybe twenty. Maybe even thirty. I don’t know. It was a long ass time. Long enough that by the time we had it and opened the door, we saw that the parade had just begun. There was no way to get into place without being spotted. We would just have to sit it out and face the music later. Or so we thought. Obviously, much worse happened later and that all ended up being a rather minor blip in regards to the ‘shitty things to happen on this day’ chart by the end of it.

As we were watching the parade, I heard a noise. Coming from the storehouse. A scraping scratching noise and footfalls. I told Auriel, and we ran into the storehouse. The first thing I noticed, the first thing my brain registered, was that Deskari’s damnable symbol was carved into the floor.

The second was that above us, at the top of the stairs, we saw an imposing figure, a single red eye staring down at us and impossible muscles bulging out of ‘his’ clothes. It was the Butcher of Balestreet, an infamous serial killer who’d been avoiding capture for fifteen years. As I already said above, it turns out that ‘he’ was actually a middle-aged woman, who has never actually murdered anyone, and the ‘bulging muscles’ were oranges stuffed into her clothes. The red eye is real though. I haven’t asked. I know about why someone wouldn’t want to answer questions about something like that.

But at the time she cut a rather imposing figure.

The Butcher—whose name I’ve since learned is Luna but for the sake for drama I’ll continue to call her the Butcher for this part—spoke in a deep false male voice. “That was here when I got here. You should be more interested in what’s in the metal box.”

Then ‘he’ made a running leap across the rooftops.

I didn’t have enough information and I was incensed by the symbol of Deskari being right there so unexpectedly. I wanted answers. I told Auriel to investigate the box. At the same time, I charged up the stairs and after the Butcher, leaping across the rooftop after ‘him’.

The Butcher climbed up a wall with a grace completely unexpected of ‘his’ bulk, and I couldn’t keep up, my armor weighing me down. I was forced to find another way around. However, at the same time, the Butcher was slowed when ‘he’ came upon a bridge that he would have to lower to get farther.

Then Auriel showed up with a Shelynite Inquititor I’d never seen before in my life, who used magic to command the Butcher to stop on ‘his’ tracks. This gave me the opportunity to call on a blessing of Iomedae to enhance my swiftness in battle, and I was able to catch up. Unfortunately, the Butcher had only been commanded not to move—not to not throw me off the blasted roof. The Butcher caught me with the blunt of ‘his’ axe and threw me backwards. I managed to use my shield against a nearby wall to slow my descent somewhat. One of the color guard broke away from the parade and healed me a bit and asked what happened, so I explained what we’d found in the storehouse, and that the Butcher of Balestreet was on the rooftops fleeing.

A moment later the Shelynite fell beside me in a similar position to where I’d been. She introduced herself as Melody, and told me that she didn’t believe this person was the Butcher, or at least that ‘he’ wasn’t a murderer. I didn’t know this woman well enough to know her intentions or to judge her actions, for now all I knew was what I’d seen with my own eyes: the Butcher in the room with a symbol of Deskari, leaving with some sort of box after warning us that something in another box might be of interest. Which meant right then I wanted answers from the Butcher, murderer or not.

I ran for the other storehouse, intent to cut the Butcher off. Unfortunately, the Eagle Watch had gotten the same idea, and the Butcher saw their attempt at a blockade and turned around. ‘He’ jumped from the bridge instead, and tried to make a run for it down the alley.

Then the Butcher was stopped in ‘his’ tracks by a hold person spell, cast by a high-ranking member of the crusades: Lady Salzara. Some of her men came to collect the Butcher, and she said that myself, Auriel, and Melody needed to come with her as well. I had a foreboding feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Lady Salzara led us to where High Commander Hol Rune had been making his speech. She began speaking to the crowd about how this was an auspicious day, in which a ‘lost lamb’ had returned to its flock. As she spoke, there was a horrific cracking noise. And then the Kite, and the Wardstone within it, exploded in fire. And the sky above began to crack like glass. Rifts began to open around us as demons began to pour into the city. High Commander Hol Rune was ripped apart in an instant when a portal opened behind him and a powerful demon tore through him with ease. All around us there was nothing but fire and bloodshed and death. My arm was bleeding like never before, and it hurt, it hurt so much, and this time I was so sure both me and an entire city were going to die together.

Instead, in a flash of silver Terendalev, the city’s defender, appeared before the four of us—Auriel, myself, Melody, and Luna. He asked us to trust him, and that fate had plans for us. Then with a sweep of his tail he knocked us into a great chasm that opened in the earth, and cast a spell so that we float gently into the earth, along with three others. The last we saw of the city’s protector, Terendelev, the silver dragon paladin of Iomedae, he was facing down The Storm King Khorramzadeh, one of Deskari’s generals. And then everything went black.

We woke…who knows how much later. We were under ground, with no way to know how much time had passed. At first our memories of events were jumbled, but they came back quickly enough. We made proper introductions, including Luna removing her hood to reveal the fact that the Butcher was a middle-aged woman yada yada I’ve already covered this. Point is, we decided to trust her for now. For one thing, Terendelev trusted her enough to send her down here with us. For another, I prefer to see someone’s actions for myself than to judge based on the words of others, and already things weren’t adding up with the stories I’d heard, so it was time to wipe the rumors from my mind and judge her based on her actions alone.

We also formally met Melody, the tiny lil inquisitor of Shelyn with a glaive longer than she is tall, that she carefully balanced so it never touched the ground, who travelled to the edge of the Worldwound following a bird sent by her goddess. So clearly this is where she was meant to be, for better or worse.

There were also three new faces. Two were unfortunately injured. One woman appeared to be a crusader scout whose leg was caught under a rock. Luna and I managed to get her leg free, and I healed as much of the damage as I could, although my magic was not enough to mend broken bones. After that I got a good look at her and realized she was Anevia Tirabade, the wife of Irabeth Tirabade, the commander of the Eagle Watch.

Once I knew she was as okay as she could be given the circumstances, I went to join Melody checking on the other injured individual, an elven spellcaster by the name of Aravashnial. Unfortunately, I knew from experience there was nothing I could do for him—his eyes had been slashed through by a demon, much like my own useless left eye. We spoke to him, and managed to calm him and convince him not to do anything rash, as initially he was going to try charging ahead eyes or no, stubbornly determined that he had to be of use. I could understand, but I tried to reason with him that while I did believe he could do everything he’d once been able to with time, it would *take time*, as relearning to sword fight with one eye had for me. For now, he needed to remain in the back with Anevia and the nobleman where it was safe. And Melody pointed out that he was far from useless, as none of the rest of us knew anything about the arcane, which was very true.

The third and least pleasant of the trio was Horgus Gwerm, a merchant. He caused a bit of a fuss, before Luna took matters into her own hands. Literally into her own hands, with a hand on his throat. He pulled her aside to talk to her in private. Melody, Auriel, and I spoke while he waited, Auriel and I more formally introducing ourselves and explaining the Raven Corps to Melody, and Melody explaining her recent arrival into town following a little birdie. We explained in a bit more detail how we’d ended up chasing Luna over the rooftops, and Auriel told me what he’d found in the metal box. It had been an armless mummified locust demon, in a box emblazoned with more Deskari symbology.

As we spoke about this disturbing discovery, there was a bit of a commotion. Luna had opened the box she’d stolen from the store room, and from within removed a book. Auriel informed me and Melody that the box had picked up as evil when he’d tried to smite Luna before and failed while on the roofs after I’d…tumbled. Gwerm took the book and tried to light it ablaze with a flint and tinder, but when the flames died down it did nothing. When they returned to the group, Melody asked to look over the book, which Horgus grumpily pressed into her hands before storming off. Aravashnial laughed at his attempt at burning an evil magical tome, commenting that of course it hadn’t worked. There was a clear tension in the cavern between our three companions. Melody told the rest of us that she believed she could identify more about this book if she had access to a library. Assuming the libraries up on the surface haven’t all been destroyed…

With nothing else to do but try to find a way out, we made our way deeper into the caverns. Melody uncovered four of Terendelev’s scales as we explored. When we held them we knew in our hearts the magic they held. Each granted a boon to the holder, and Melody believed Terendalev wanted us to have them.

We…also fear the worst for the guardian of the city. One of the scales, the one Auriel took, was coated in blood. I would love to be optimistic. Really. I would. But he was facing down one of Deskari’s generals. That’s…a big task, even for a dragon.

We haven’t really had time to think about it, though. We need to find a way out of this cave. We continued forward, through caverns where we fought disgusting vermin, and found an unexpected campsite. Aravashnial commented that there were a group of peoples who were rumored to live hidden below the city, The First Descendants. People descended from the first crusaders, who had been tainted by the demons’ influence and twisted into monstrous forms, and had been forced into hiding underground. Auriel may have made some comment at this point about how anyone tainted by the demons’ touch must be eliminated, to which I *may* have snipped at him a bit about tieflings being fine and that we ought to judge them by their actions. Besides, their existence was mere rumor.

Whether it’s true or not, I can’t possibly say. We didn’t find any proof in the campsite of whether the owner had been human, elven, or perhaps a member of these first descendants. All we found was a pendant whose design none of us recognized, which Luna took because it looked expensive and she did the most work clearing out the creatures in the room to actually get to it. Which I could not argue, much as I could use the gold. So far observing Luna, I can say without a doubt she is a fierce combatant. Without a doubt the most competent of us all.

Which became a problem when we arrived to the temple of Torag where we’ve stopped to bed down.

See, Gwerm decided he didn’t want to stop. Gwerm decided that Anevia and Aravashnial were slowing us down, and that we should go on without them. Gwerm tried to pay the rest of us off to leave them behind, and when we refused, he decided that fine, he’d go with just Luna—who he’d apparently already hired to be his bodyguard. Gwerm was being a shortsighted selfish idiot.

Luna managed to sweet talk him, explaining that while the injured might slow us down, we had strength in numbers. She was extremely capable, but he would still be much safer with all of us protecting him rather than just her, and we’d made our stance clear that we wouldn’t be leaving the injured behind.

In all honesty, I think she was trying to protect Anevia and Aravashnial more than Gwerm in doing this. I sincerely believe she could have protected Gwerm by herself, from what I’ve seen, and I think she knows that. She’s pretty confident in her abilities. But me, Melody, and Auriel protecting the injured without Luna? That could have ended in a massacre.

With that settled, Auriel wanted to look into Torag’s temple, as he was an ally to Iomedae, to see if there was anything he could do to help repair it and make sure nothing had been desecrated. I was in agreement, even if I didn’t feel as strongly about it as he seemed to. We opened the sealed temple and went inside.

Within, we found an undead monster, a huecuva. Once upon a time a priest of Torag built a grand temple of his god deep under Kenabres, using all his wealth to make it the most impressive structure he possibly could. When he finished, he received no sign of his god’s pleasure. And so, he sealed the temple, desecrated it, left behind one final letter, and died speaking heresies against torag, only to rise again as an undead monster.

We feared a difficult fight, as such creatures are hardy, difficult to hurt, carry diseases, and hit hard. With this in mind Auriel smote the former priest and went on the offensive, but the undead dodged out of the way. Luna attacked and struck true, her axe slicing through the undead with no care for its resistances against physical damage. Melody used her judgement, her weapon glowing the colors of the rainbow, and attacked as well, but the creature dodged again. I called upon Iomedae’s blessings and approached, intent to assist with the kill. The creature continued to dodge around Auriel, but only for a moment longer before Luna’s axe cleaved clean through its neck.

I…am uncertain how to feel about the situation. Certainly it proves the point I was making earlier about us needing Luna more than she needs us. It feels bad that to clear out a creature desecrating a holy place it took the only person who…has had some very vocal things to say about the gods in general, and Iomedae in particular. The three of us should have had so much going for us against that creature and yet Luna was the only effective member of our group.

Well. There’s no point moping about it. What’s done is done. She’s a powerful combatant. And she surprisingly did not rub it in our faces. Which I did take note of. Despite her grudge against crusaders, she’s not petty about it. Not all the time, at least. She certainly takes every chance she can to take pot shots at the Raven Corps. and how we’re the lowest of the low, so there’s that. Apparently, many of the reports of her ‘murders’ were cover ups for embarrassed Raven Corps members who fell into her traps, things like stringing them up from lamp posts or…well, tossing them off rooftops, as I learned firsthand. Some people don’t have a sense of humor. And too much pride. But starting rumors that someone’s a murderer to save face over a prank? That’s excessive. There’s definitely more to it than that.

One thing’s for sure, from her actions today, I believe “the Butcher” that she’s no murderer. She could have taken Horgus’ money and left us for dead with the injured. Yet she did not, despite her distaste for travelling with people of the cloth. Perhaps not for our sake, but certainly I suspect for the sake of our injured duo.

If the city is in any state for rumors to still matter when we get back up top, I’ll do what I can to clear her name. Which…unfortunately isn’t much, truth be told. A Raven Corps member isn’t exactly someone with any sway. But at least if some people are countering the rumors, maybe something can change. I hate to see a good person’s name being dragged through the mud.

Anyways. It’s getting late. Auriel’s off cleaning up the temple. He said it was something he had to do on his own. I’d think he was just being his usual overly diligent self, if I didn’t know enough about Torag’s teachings to know that a certain sense of personal responsibility in one’s work is probably appreciated by this particular god. In the mean time we had a ‘chat’ with Aravashnial and Anevia. By which I mean Melody had a chat with them and did her inquisitor thing. Found out that Aravashnial is a member of a secret group called the Riftwardens, and that Irabeth trying to get the Riftwardens to join the crusaders’ cause directly led to he and his partner’s messy breakup. So, ouch.

Then she learned from Anevia that Aravashnial had once accused Gwerm of being a Baphomet cultist to Irabeth. Irabeth asked Anevia to subtly look into it. Anevia did, and found that Gwerm was clean, and also that he’d been secretly donating large sums to the crusades—despite it being against his religion as a worshipper of Abadar. Unfortunately, her break in had not been as subtle as she’d thought, someone had seen her, and that someone broke in and cleared Gwerm out of a large sum of his funds as a result, not to mention the public embarrassment of the entire affair.

Luna, Melody, and I told Anevia in no uncertain terms that the three of them needed to be adults and talk to each other and apologize and work things out first thing in the morning. We were in a shitty situation and we needed them to be able to work together if we were going to get out of this, and quite frankly it sounded like Horgus had some pretty good reasons to be upset with Aravashnial and Anevia, even if leaving them for dead was still a selfish overreaction. Anevia said that sounded more painful than having a broken leg, but agreed to do so despite some pouting. This is Irabeth’s wife, huh? Not quite what I expected to be honest. It’s bad when I’m the mature adult in the conversation. Ew. Terrible.

#journal entry #pathfinder #pathfinder wotr #pathfinder wotr spoilers #Draven Imani

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sixinsultsago · 5 years

Text

and you're jumping into the middle of it

Andrew as Medusa & Neil as... Neil

* * *

Imagine:

Someone's pulling a gun, and you're jumping into the middle of it.

You didn't think you'd feel this way.

* * *

The sun sunk low, a purple darkness steadily shaving away at whatever light remained. Neil was running out of time. He'd blown through the only town for miles; after discovering statues of several gods in the middle of town square, Neil knew he couldn't linger. The devout couldn't be trusted, his mother taught him that much.

His feet felt raw. Every step felt like the absolute last he could endure, but rest wasn't an option. If he sat down to catch his breath or rest his bloody soles, the sun would wink it's farewell and Neil would…

Well.

There was a temple at the crest of a hill, bathed in the orange light of sunset like an invitation. As if it was wished there. Mary's cold presence in the back of Neil's head screamed louder — the faithful were puppets, they couldn't help. His chances of surviving were better gambled against the dark.

Neil blocked her out. She wasn't here to see what he saw. The temple was in ruins: moss and vines grew from cracks in the marble and stone, scaling up the walls. Greenery swallowed the large owl carved at the front — the mark of Athena, and the final push for Neil. No one who worshipped Athena would allow that.

This temple was empty.

Neil pushed himself up the hill using willpower alone. Closer, the temple looked even worse. It was definitely in ruins. Neil wasn't sure if it was safe to sleep in, as the roof was cobwebbed with gaps and the heavy stone door was firmly shut.

No, humans couldn't live here, or pray here, or sacrifice here, and no god would lower themselves to walk on the wet, mossy floors.

Neil set his shoulder against the door, pushing until it dragged open. In the silence, the high-pitched groaning of the stone was painfully loud. Inside was empty — no one to disturb out of sleep, this was obvious from the outside. Neil couldn't rest yet. He used flint and steel from his pockets to light every candle he could see, taking paranoid glances out windows to check on the sun, but they were so dirty it was impossible to see out of them. Neil relied on his internal clock and worked faster.

He opened a cut on his arm and wrote protective sigils on the walls to guarantee nothing could come in while he slept. He barely finished when his arm was twisted, and someone slammed Neil into the wall.

“Oh, a visitor! You people never learn."

Neil grunted, trying to throw the person off. They didn't budge an inch. He had to be a demigod, then, or worse — like Lola.

But whoever this was, Neil didn't recognize them. A new lackey? That didn't sound like his father. After all, he kept things in the family, resenting strangers who tried to interfere.

The hissing made Neil freeze. It sounded like… snakes. A lot of snakes.

A puff of breath brushed past him, a facsimile of a laugh. “They did not tell you everything, I see, for the snakes to surprise you. Or did you forget about them? Such stupidity wouldn't be new,"

Neil gritted his teeth. His arm was still bleeding. He could — could — use magic, but his connection to Hecate was diluted. His mother was the witch. Neil's powers were subtler, and useless with the candles lit up and the sunlight runes scattered on the walls. This person spoke as if Neil should know him. So did he?

No. No, he didn't.

“Get off me,” Neil snarled, attempting to jerk his shoulder away.

His nose ground against the stone as he was shoved harder. “Who sent you?”

“What? No one sent me!”

“I am not so stupid to believe you. I said, who sent you?”

“Why would anyone send me? I'm nothing, I was just looking for somewhere to— shit!”

Neil's arm was twisted further. The voice still sounded bored. “I've heard this one before. I am not so generous as to let a stranger sleep in my home only for him to try and kill me in the night. You should give up while you're ahead.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Neil snapped, blindly kicking out his leg. Sadly, he missed. “And I don't know why people keep trying to kill you, but if this is how you greet strangers I'm beginning to understand the urge, asshole!”

A small forked tongue flicked against his cheek. Neil froze, reminded of the snakes. Were they around this man's shoulders? So close? He wouldn't let venomous snakes near his face, would he?

“If you're so confident you don't know who I am,” said the man, mocking, “why not face me?”

Before Neil could comment on the impossibility, he was released. Neil whirled around instantly, eyes cutting to the exit — the heavy door. The windows were covered in vines. Usually his divine blood gave Neil an edge over others, but this person was stronger than him: who knew what else was up his sleeves?

Reminded of the primary threat, Neil looked at his attacker. He was smaller than Neil — a novelty by itself — wearing a chiton made out of dark fabric. He was pale, probably from all the skulking around in the dark he did, Neil thought uncharitably, and had a full head of writhing black-and-yellow tree snakes.

The man stood a safe distance from Neil, arms crossed over his chest. One hand stroked along the leather gauntlets he wore. They looked full. Weapons? Was he armed? Neil's chances of surviving suddenly tasted bitter.

“I told you to face me,” said the man.

“You have — snakes,” said Neil, before viciously biting down on his tongue.

“What about them?” He replied flatly. The snakes let out a discordant cry. “I notice you have not looked me in the eye. Is there a reason? A lack of manners? An awareness?”

An awareness? Neil put that aside to judge later. For now, his sheer need to be contrary won out over self-preservation, and he lifted his chin and stared his attacker in the eyes. They were hazel. Nothing special, but still more striking than Neil's purposeful brown. A gift from his mother: a sheen of magic that covered Neil's real color.

The man flinched back. The snakes grew louder. Neil's question if the man was armed was answered when he found a knife at his throat.

The man peeled his lips back from his teeth, completely feral, yet his voice was controlled when he asked, “Who the fuck are you.”

“No one,” Neil tried, only to try again when the knife cut into him, “Neil! I'm Neil Josten!”

“Which kingdom do you belong to?”

“What — a kingdom?” Neil spluttered, “I've never even seen a castle before.”

“Then you're a pawn of the gods. That makes sense. Who else could be responsible for…” Their eyes met again. Neil couldn't read the flurry of emotions passing through them, but he was wary nonetheless. “You're a demigod, which is obvious. You would have to be just to open the door. Tell me your parent.”

“I'm not a—”

“Would you lie to me with a knife on your jugular?”

Neil would. Lying was something of a bad habit of his. If this man lived in this temple only to let it fall into disrepair, he couldn't be fond of the pantheon. This was Athena's place, one of the sacred. Neil couldn't tell him the truth and hope he'd be intimidated into letting Neil go. In fact, honesty seemed like the surefire way to get his throat sliced open.

So, Neil said, “Momus! My father is — that's him, it's Momus.”

“God of mockery,” he said thoughtfully, “It makes a certain amount of sense. What better way to mock me than to send his curiously immune son to my home?”

“What exactly do you think I'm immune to?” Neil asked, smiling thinly. “Your shitty attitude?”

The man blinked. “I believe you,” He said. The knife slipped back into his gauntlets. Neil couldn't resist. He said, “Do you have sheaths in there, or are you trying to kill yourself?”

“There is no need to convince me further of your parentage.”

“I'm not. I am just pointing it out. So — you aren't going to kill me?”

“That depends. Are you going to kill me?”

Neil shot him a look. “Do I need to in order to get a moment of peace? Because I'd rather avoid it.”

That seemed to do it. The man stepped back again, his body still rigid with tension but not a worrying amount of violence. Neil wasn't in danger unless he put himself there. He jerked his chin over Neil's shoulder, asking, “And what's the story behind your crafts project?”

Neil considered his words carefully. “They are protection runes. To keep people out.”

“You have a need for it?’

“I'm not fond of being hassled, no.”

“Hm. Okay." He tilted his head. Neil didn't enjoy the silhouette. With the snakes and all. "Andrew.”

Neil blinked owlishly. “What?”

“My name, fool. I do have one.”

“Obviously. I just wasn't—” Neil sighed frustratedly. He didn't know what this guy's problem was, but if it meant he could stay the night, Neil could put up with it. He met Andrew’s eyes challengingly. “Nice to meet you, Andrew.”

Andrew's lips curled up. Even that had an edge. The snakes were knotted up, docile, or presenting themselves as such. Neil didn't trust it. Neil didn't trust any of this.

“I have a feeling that you are a pathological liar, Neil Josten.”

Neil, unwilling to risk it, stared emptily back at him. Andrew looked away first, something complicated flashing through his face. “Be out by morning light,” Andrew told him, and stormed into the secluded priest's room, slamming the wooden door behind him. The lock clicking into place echoed.

Nothing more to be done, Neil laid down beneath a bench, and settled in for a restless night's sleep.

#aftg #tfc #andrew minyard #neil josten #mine #idk??#medusa au #ngl it feels like a betrayal to write a medusa au when andrew is a boy and medusa is my good old female rage icon #but also it fits his narrative #also i love them #the foxhole court #andreil fic #my fic

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takaraphoenix · 6 years

Note

“And for the first time that he could remember, he felt fucking safe” Jagnus Ps: I love your fics

Magnus heaved a deep sigh as he slowly sat down on his favorite armchair, using his magic to summon a very strong cocktail. He had earned it, after the night he had had.

“It’s not even noon.”

At first, Magnus startled. He hadn’t lived with someone in so long, he wasn’t used to this anymore. Constantly having someone around his loft. Opening his eyes again, Magnus turned to look at his roommate. His eyes darkened in appreciation as he saw that Jace was only wearing low-riding sweat-pants, hair slick with sweat and messy as Jace had brushed it out of his face.

“I could just open a portal and go to wherever it is evening by now, but quite frankly, I am exhausted”, countered Magnus unimpressed, glaring at him. “And if you plan on lecturing me on my alcohol consume, you will come to regret it, little Shadowhunter.”

“Lecturing?”, huffed Jace and flopped down next to Magnus. “Hand me a glass too.”

Raising one curious eyebrow, Magnus summoned a glass of whiskey for Jace, handing it to the blonde. “Well then, that is far less sad than drinking alone. What are we drinking to?”

“I’m drinking to my little brother telling me to my face I’m not actually his brother. Because the woman I’ve been thinking of as a mother has spent the past weeks implementing that thought in his mind”, snarled Jace with a self-reprimanding smile, lifting his glass. “What about you?”

“I’m drinking to one of your sisters getting my son addicted to her blood”, drawled Magnus.

Jace raised both his eyebrows at that and stared blankly, while Magnus clanked their glasses together. “W—What did you just…”

Magnus shrugged and tilted his head. “It’s most likely not my place to tell you, then again your dear parabatai threw a fuss that I didn’t notice it sooner and didn’t tell him sooner, so I suppose you deserve to know it too. Apparently, dear Isabelle has developed an addiction to yin fen and she started getting Raphael hooked. My boy… I haven’t seen him this broken in a long time.”

Somehow, Jace felt even more hollow at that. Alec knew? And neither Alec nor Izzy had told him? Considering how shitty he had been feeling since Max’s runing party at the Institute… This only made him feel even less like he was a part of the family. Maryse’s half-assed apology hadn’t really helped either. A personal crisis should not make you abandon your family. If they actually were your family. But Alec had told Jace what Maryse had said to him while Jace had been held captive on the Morning Star. He had told Jace after the runing party.

“Robert cheated on Maryse”, stated Jace, eyes unfocused as he took a slow drink.

“Somehow, I can’t find it in myself to be surprised”, drawled Magnus sarcastically. “The woman has been nothing but cold and frigid every time I met her. And from what Isabelle has told me about her childhood and the emotional neglect…”

Jace huffed at that, a bitter expression on his face. It was not comparable to what Michael – Valentine – had put Jace through during his childhood, but he knew that Maryse’s way or treating Isabelle had crippled Isabelle emotionally. Half the time, Jace was pretty sure that it was at fault for the strings of one-night-stands, the lack of friends, the… inability to form genuine human bonds. Though Isabelle and Magnus, they had grown close ever since the warlock had first offered them their help. Both Isabelle and Alec had befriended the warlock. Jace, he wasn’t quite so sure. From day one, he had the feeling that Magnus didn’t really like him. Then again, on day one, it looked like Magnus would persuade Alec – just to in the end give up on it when he noticed just how deep in the closet Alec really was. By now, Alec had come out, taking things at his own pace.

“Guess Alec blaming you for not telling him puts a damper on whatever you have?”, asked Jace.

“We don’t have anything”, huffed Magnus amused. “Your parabatai is delectable and very impressive, but I’m too old to chase after someone in the closet. Me trying to forcibly push him out of the closet and forcing him to go public with something he, only weeks ago, hadn’t even been able to say aloud. No… I truly am too old for that cat and mouse game.”

Jace hummed in acknowledgment at that, emptying his drink. He made an appreciative sound when his glass filled up again, blue magic floating between the glass and Magnus’ hand.

“Handy”, grinned Jace pleased. “So, you and Raphael…? I didn’t realize you were that close.”

“I took him in when he was a fledgling vampire”, sighed Magnus, emptying his own drink. “He is… the closest I have to a son. The closest I’ll ever have to a son. Seeing him like this…”

“How… How is he?”, asked Jace slowly, frowning.

Sighing again, Magnus shook his head. “Not very good. And that Isabelle continues trying to come back for more, tempting him… it’s not helping…”

Jace slumped down on the couch, emptying his second drink. A welcomed silence fell between them as they continued drinking. It was nice. Companionable. And it definitely felt less pathetic than Magnus’ usual daytime drinking all on his own.

/break\

The next time they drank together before noon, neither of them spoke. Not even when Jace sat down next to Magnus. Magnus just immediately summoned a hard drink for him. They didn’t even attempt to banter about reasons for day-drinking. Jace had just tried to sacrifice himself to save the Downworld, just for it to backfire. Innocent Downworlders – warlocks, vampires, werewolves and Seelies alike. They had died and Magnus knew Jace blamed himself. A part of Magnus wanted to encourage the blonde, tell him that it was not his fault. After all, Magnus had been there when Jace had made the decision. The decision that his own life was worth giving for the Downworld. If there was anyone who knew that Jace’s intentions had been pure and selfless. Maybe a bit – lot – suicidal. But Magnus knew that Jace had never meant for anyone to be hurt.

A part of Magnus wanted to tell Jace all of this. The bigger part of Magnus was just so tired of losing his own people to Valentine’s vile genocidal attempts. The warlocks at his old place. The warlocks on the Morning Star. Now the warlocks in the Institute. Magnus was just bone-tired. Grief-struck and tired. He emptied another drink, filling Jace’s glass up too.

/break\

Magnus startled when someone refilled his glass. He looked up bleary-eyed to see his roommate sitting down next to him after taking a swig from the bottle. Blinking slowly, Magnus took a drink.

“Got another bottle?”, asked Jace as he finished this one.

Huffing, Magnus summoned another bottle, as well as a glass for Jace. Today had been hard on them both. Having been hijacked by Valentine of all people. Being tortured. The memories… Memories he had been suppressing for centuries now. His hand shook as he took another slow, deep drink. The day hadn’t exactly been rosy for Jace either though. Having been captured by Valentine, hurt by his father once again. Magnus was the one who had found Jace, beaten, knocked out in the bedroom. The warlock still remembered the state – physical and mental – Jace had been in when he had first moved in, after the Morning Star. Reaching out, Magnus cupped Jace’s face, hand glowing blue as he used his magic to heal the injuries Valentine had caused.

“The physical part can be healed”, sighed Magnus lowly.

“True”, grunted Jace, downing another glass of whiskey. “…How are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m perfectly fine, sweetheart”, drawled Magnus.

“Yeah, I’m not buying that shit”, snorted Jace, both eyebrows raised. “I’ve been playing this game for years, Bane. Lying that you’re fine when you’re trying to suppress memories.”

“You’re better than expected”, hummed Magnus, cocking one eyebrow.

“Like I said, I’ve been playing that game for years”, huffed Jace. “I know what it looks like when you’re haunted by flashbacks of the past. That far-off, empty stare you had on when I walked in.”

“I’m impressed”, admitted Magnus, running his fingers along the glass.

“You don’t have to talk about it”, whispered Jace with a shrug. “Just… if you want to, I’ll listen. I know a thing or two about being held captive and tortured, you know.”

Magnus smiled thinly and shook his head. It wasn’t even the torture itself, it were the memories of how his parents had died. But then again, if there was one thing Jace knew about too, it was watching your parent die. That was the moment it hit him how much the two had in common.

Magnus’ eyes darkened as he looked at Jace, watching the way Jace swallowed his drink and ran his fingers through his hair, making the golden hair fall down around his face. He was gorgeous. Leaning over toward Jace, Magnus reached a hand out to rest on Jace’s thigh.

“You know, I don’t want to talk about it, but there is… something else you could do.”

“Are you… coming onto me, Bane?”, asked Jace surprised, one eyebrow raised.

“Depends on your reaction”, hummed Magnus, slowly slipping his his hand down Jace’s thigh.

The next moment, Jace surged forward, grabbing Magnus by the collar and pulling him into a slightly bruising kiss. Magnus smirked as his teeth nicked Jace’s lips. Wrapping an arm around Jace’s waist, he pulled the blonde closer and closer, until Jace was literally sitting on his lap. When they parted, the blonde was panting and looking at Magnus from half-lid eyes, pupils blown and lips swollen. Oh, this was a very good look on the Shadowhunter. Smirking, Magnus allowed his hand to slip from Jace’s waist to cup the blonde’s ass, making him gasp in surprise.

“Interesting”, whispered Magnus curiously, eyes dark as he squeezed again and made Jace mewl.

“Shut up”, growled the Shadowhunter, cheeks red in embarrassment.

“How about… you make me shut up, in the bedroom?”, suggested Magnus, voice like velvet.

Jace shuddered and arched into Magnus’ touch. The warlock reached out to grab Jace by the thighs, right below the swell of his ass, hoisting him up. A gasp escaped Jace as he was manhandled around like that, lifted up and carried like he weighed nothing. Magnus smirked wickedly, knowing exactly what he was doing to Jace. Once in the bedroom, Magnus essentially threw Jace onto the bed, making the blonde gasp. Reaching out, Jace pulled Magnus down with him, into a deep kiss. Both started tugging on each other’s clothes rather harshly, a couple buttons coming off when unbuttoning Magnus’ shirt proved to be too complicated.

“Impatient much, little Shadowhunter?”, growled Magnus amused.

“It’s been a while”, countered Jace irritated, kicking off his pants.

Magnus hummed amused and reached down to cup the blonde’s cock, palming it a couple of times, making Jace groan in pleasure. Though then Jace grabbed Magnus by the shoulders and pushed him down. It was a gentle push, but it told Magnus exactly where the blonde wanted him.

“What? You said I should shut you up in the bedroom. This is a suggestion on how to shut you up”, smirked Jace with a wink, spreading his legs in invitation.

Chuckling, Magnus obeyed and opened up wide, engulfing Jace’s cock with his mouth. Jace moaned in a drawn-out way and bucked up. Humming around the cock in his mouth, Magnus pinned Jace by the waist and started sucking him off. After a while, with Jace’s melodic moaning accompanying him, Magnus used magic to coat his fingers in lube and slowly breached Jace’s puckered entrance. Jace gasped in a strangled way as one of Magnus’ fingers slipped in.

“Fu—uck, Bane w… what are d… o—oh…”, moaned Jace, eyes closed in bliss.

Magnus smirked around Jace’s cock as he added a second finger, digging for Jace’s prostate and rubbing it teasingly while sucking the blonde off. Slowly, Jace seemed to melt beneath him, mewling and whining, fingers clawed into the sheets. It was actually rather endearing.

“Ma—ag…”, drawled Jace out as he orgasmed.

Magnus swallowed most of the cum, licking his lips as he scissored Jace throughout his orgasm. The blonde was boneless as he sprawled out on the bed, sweat glistering on his sun-kissed skin. Kissing the inside of Jace’s thigh, Magnus started nibbling it, leaving a hickey. When he pulled his fingers out of Jace, he started kissing up Jace’s six-pack, wrapping his lips around one of Jace’s nipples. Jace was looking at him with hooded eyes, looking sated.

“Spread your legs some more, blondie”, prompted Magnus, slapping Jace’s flank once.

Raising his eyebrows, Jace slowly spread his legs in invitation, wrapping them around Magnus’ waist and pulling him closer. With magic, Magnus lubed his cock up before slowly slipping it into the loosened hole. Still Jace was so tight. Magnus closed his eyes and groaned as more and more of his cock found its way into that tight, hot hole. Jace’s fingers dug into Magnus’ shoulders, scratching him as he was desperately trying to pull Magnus closer and deeper into himself.

“Fu—uck, how are you so thick?”, asked Jace with gritted teeth.

Laughing, Magnus pushed deeper into Jace. “You’re rather endearing, little Shadowhunter.”

“Shut up, Bane”, growled Jace, biting Magnus’ neck.

Magnus gasped at that, picking up the speed and fucking Jace harder. The blonde beneath him made the hottest sounds every time Magnus hit his prostate. Closing his eyes, Magnus buried his face in Jace’s neck as he came deep inside the blonde. Both were panting and trying to catch their breaths. After a few moments, Magnus rolled off Jace, wrapping one arm around Jace’s shoulders.

“This was… exactly what I needed”, sighed Jace contently, eyes closed.

“Agreed”, hummed Magnus with a pleased and sated look, closing his eyes.

/break\

Occasions to drink before evening seemed to keep piling up and while Magnus was getting the disappointed looks and lectures from Catarina, Raphael and Luke, he could always count on Jace needing a drink just as much as he did. When Valentine escaped, Magnus and Jace got so drunk, they just passed out on the couch together. Every day seemed to call for at least a quick drink. Often, they’d end up in Magnus’ bedroom. Drinking and fucking meant they’d just be too exhausted to think of all the pain, everything that had happened in the past months.

The weird thing was when they started opening up to each other. When Jace had found out he was actually a Herondale, when he found out about his mother’s suicide, Magnus found it in himself to tell Jace about his own mother’s suicide. Hearing about Jace’s childhood of abuse at Valentine’s hand made Magnus feel just a little understood about his time with Asmodeus. It wasn’t the same, but it was somehow closer than Magnus had ever been able to feel with someone.

“I just… Being the High Warlock, it’s… all I was for too long now”, sighed Magnus, gently running his fingers along Jace’s arm as the blonde was curled against him. “It was what defined me for so long. I don’t know what to do. Yes, I have my clients still, but… Lorenzo! He comes in here, taking my position. If it were Catarina, or someone else who has been a part of this community for decades, but Lorenzo just… comes in here, taking everything from me.”

“You’ll get it back”, hummed Jace distracted, nuzzling into Magnus’ neck.

“Really?”, drawled Magnus, playing with Jace’s hair. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Yeah”, shrugged Jace, tilting his head some. “You’re Magnus Bane. This dude’s got nothing on you. Everyone in the community loves you. And sure, siding with the Seelie Queen was the singularly dumbest thing you have ever done, but your intention was to protect your people, so… not really sure why they would punish you for it? You’re benched. But you’ll get back out there. Look at me. I was treated like the local leper after the reveal that I’m a Morgenstern. But I bounced back and now I’m vice-head for the Institute, supporting Alec. If I can do that, damned if you can’t.”

A faint, soft smile found its way onto Magnus’ face at that and he leaned down to kiss Jace gently. “Thank you, sweetheart. I suppose… you’re right. I’ve pushed through worse.” Pausing for a moment, Magnus looked more closely at the blonde, noting the bags beneath his eyes. “How are you doing, little angel? You… haven’t been sleeping a lot lately.”

There was a long stretch of silence in which the naked blonde just buried himself deeper in Magnus’ side. Magnus had learned over the past months that it was best to just give Jace time to open up on his own account. Jace nuzzled into Magnus’ neck, Magnus playing with his hair.

“I think… I’m losing my mind”, whispered Jace, voice barely a breath. “Izzy and Clary are convinced that the Jonathan I’m seeing isn’t real. Alec… he talked to Imogen and I… talked to Luke and… My mother’s suicide wasn’t just one incident. She’s… been ill. And… I might have… inherited it from her. I know they’re all worried about me and they mean well, but… I… What if I go to the Silent Brothers and they can’t help me and I… I will be removed from field work. I… would be nothing if I can’t be a Shadowhunter, Mag…”

“Says the boy who just told me I’d bounce back from not being High Warlock anymore?”, teased Magnus, both eyebrows raised. “Even if you won’t be allowed to go out anymore as a Shadowhunter, you will find something else. You’ll be fine. And the far greater chance is that they will be able to help you, sweetheart.”

“Urgh. Is that what I sound like when I’m trying to encourage you?”, huffed Jace.

Magnus chuckled and shook his head. “Listen. There is a Silent Brother I’d like you to meet. I trust him. He’ll be able to help you. I know he will. Please give it a try, Jace.”

Jace frowned at that. It was untypical for Magnus to call him by his name. Most of the time, Magnus just used a vast variety of nicknames for him. Jace? That meant he was serious. And the edge in his eyes also showed just how serious the warlock was.

“But…”, drawled Jace unsure, laying back down on Magnus’ chest.

“I know”, sighed Magnus, carding his fingers through Jace’s hair. “I know.”

Sighing, Jace closed his eyes and cuddled more up to the warlock. Those were his favorite moments, being curled together after sex. Over the past weeks, their dynamic had changed. They had started out as just roommates. Jace and his Samaritan who had offered him a roof over the head.

But then… they became friends. They had started day-drinking together. At first, just drinking. No talking. Then, slowly, they started to share. To talk. To bond. Now, Jace would actually consider them friends. Magnus might know as much about him as Alec at this point.

Somewhere along the way, the sex had started. On a day when both just needed to forget. Needed a distraction. And it continued happening. Usually when the need to be distracted won out, but sometimes also just out of boredom – and then even just out of horniness. And ‘even’, because Jace used to pick up strangers at the Hunter’s Moon for a one-night-stand. Now, he just walked over to the next room to ask Magnus for a hook-up. Even sober.

The part after sex started to become a problem though. At first, it had just been the part where both passed out from exhaustion and alcohol, waking up in the morning and just parting for the day. By now, they would cuddle up, talk softly about their feelings. Confiding in each other. It was their greatest bonding moment. Most of the time sober too. It had started to change things.

Jace’s feelings had started to change. The appreciation and friendship he had started to feel for Magnus, somehow it had become more than that. Seeing Magnus talk to the kittens made Jace’s heart flutter, Jace had started cooking, in particular Magnus’ favorite meals, he’d seek Magnus out for attention whenever he needed to not be alone. He had started considering Magnus his.

/break\

Magnus had no idea what was going on. He had introduced Jace to Jem Carstairs, had seen him off before Jace went to the Silent Brothers. Then Jem had contacted him again, had requested Magnus’ help – because Jace was possessed. Of course he had helped, rallying up other warlocks willing to help. That was, Alec had put in a word with Lorenzo there, about how the warlocks kind of owed them one for siding with the Seelie Queen and that Alec had kept the Clave from hunting down the individual warlocks who had done so, putting enough pressure on to make Lorenzo cave and ‘show his good will for a healthy and helpful relationship with the Institute’. It worked out for everyone.

But… now it was two months later and Jace, freed from his possession and also having been healed and counseled by Jem, was released from the City of Bones. And yet, he hadn’t come home. No, instead, Magnus had to find out from Alec that Jace had just… moved back to the Institute.

For a couple of days, Magnus just left it at that. It was Jace’s decision and if the blonde decided to be coward enough not to even tell Magnus in person, then Magnus did not need this. Only when Catarina told him that she was not going to listen to him complaining about his boyfriend dumping him any more and that if Magnus did not go and talk to Jace himself, then she would or so help her god. Firstly, he had to correct her about the ‘boyfriend’ part. Then, he had to promise to go and talk to the blonde. Boyfriend or not, Magnus was hurt by Jace just cutting him out like that.

They had been friends. Magnus hadn’t felt this close to someone in a very long time. And if he was being perfectly honest, he had been thinking about how it could be more. Being friends with Jace was good. The sex was also good. And Magnus had come to wonder what maybe going on dates with Jace might be like. Especially after Jace had left for the Silent City, because Magnus had started to realize that he was truly missing the blonde. That the loft suddenly felt too empty and too quiet. Having Jace with him – drinking with him, talking with him, fucking with him, eating with him – it felt so good. It felt good and for the first time in a long, long time, he had someone right there to confide in, someone to trust and hold, to make him feel warm and not alone.

If Jace wanted to call their little friends with benefits deal off, fine. But if Jace thought he could get away with calling their friendship off like that, then he had another thing coming.

/break\

Jace was exhausted from a long mission by the time he returned to his room. It was a nice room. A bell-tower. Large, moody, aesthetically pleasing. Empty, cold and nothing like home. Nothing like the loft. He missed coming home. He missed coming home to his warlock.

“Mag, I’m home”, sighed Jace to himself, with a small sarcastic smile on his lips.

“Wonderful. I’ve been waiting for over an hour now.”

Jace yelped in surprise, staring startled at the warlock, who was sprawled out on Jace’s bed like an over-sized cat claiming his territory. The fact that his eyes were unglamoured helped with that impression. All Jace could do was stare at Magnus, wondering what was going on.

“You know”, started Magnus and heaved a sigh, the look on his face less than impressed. “If you wanted to call it quits on our little… mutually beneficial agreement, you could have just said so.”

“I didn’t… That’s not…”, started Jace with a frustrated frown. “Just go, Mag.”

“No”, hummed Magnus, shaking his head a little. “Not without an explanation.”

Gritting his teeth, Jace sat down next to Magnus. “I… I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you. I like our friendship. I don’t wanna mess it up. But I also don’t know how to… go back to how things were without messing it up. So I just… put seeing you off until I’d find a solution.”

“But you haven’t yet”, concluded Magnus, inspecting his nails. “So, what exactly is the problem that you can’t find a solution to, little Shadowhunter?”

“…The possession”, whispered Jace, not looking at Magnus. “Lilith’s grip on me. Jem was amazed that it hadn’t taken a full hold over me. That I had been able to break it on my own.”

“It’s your special angelic blood that enabled you to, wasn’t it?”, asked Magnus confused.

“No”, muttered Jace, shaking his head. “Lilith used those she had possessed to kill… those they loved. And it wasn’t… It was the strength of my love that gave me the ability to break the possession. Shadowhunters only love once in their life. Fiercely, with their all.”

“Okay…”, nodded Magnus slowly, having a feeling where this was going.

“I can’t be in love with you”, stated Jace as he looked up at Magnus, eyes wide and vulnerable, frightened. “You’re… the first friend I made outside my siblings. And what we had worked. I can’t ruin that by being in love with you and getting my heart broken by you. I can’t-”

“And here I thought”, started Magnus lowly, voice deep like velvet. “Your self-esteem would have had you walk right up to me with a cocky grin, telling me you made reservations for a first date.”

“I’m not…”, started Jace with a glare. “You’re… different. You’re not some one-night-stand. Your opinion matters to me. Your feelings matter to me. I… I’m sorry I hurt them by ignoring you, I just… didn’t know what to say to you. Because I’m not… not ready to be 'let down gently’. Or, well, not so gently now considering I was being a dick, huh?”

“You were”, confirmed Magnus, one eyebrow cocked as he reached out to cup Jace’s cheek. “And you can make it up to me by planning the perfect first date for us, mh?”

“Don’t make fun of me, Bane”, warned Jace with a glare.

“I’m not making fun of you, angel”, assured Magnus as he leaned down and very slowly kissed Jace. “I like you. A lot. I care about you, not just as a friend. I like what we had, but… it could be more than what it is. I want more, Jace. I want you. I want to go on a date with you.”

“Really?”, asked Jace in awe, leaning after Magnus as Magnus leaned away.

Magnus smiled at the gesture, curling his fingers around Jace’s neck and pulling him into a second kiss. “Don’t ever do that again. Don’t shut me out when you don’t know how to deal with your feelings. You and I… The reason we work is because we came to trust each other and talk about the feelings we don’t know how to talk about with anyone else. Okay?”

Nodding slowly, Jace crawled closer to Magnus so he could curl against the warlock. Smiling softly, Magnus wrapped his arms around the blonde, pulling him so close that the Shadowhunter was essentially sitting on his lap, leaning against Magnus’ chest.

“I love you”, mumbled Jace, nose pressed against Magnus’ collarbone. “I love you. I am… in love with you. You did this. You just… with all of your… you… I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart”, smiled Magnus amused, kissing the top of Jace’s head.

Hearing that made Jace’s heart flutter. “I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have avoided you. I’m sorry.”

Closing his eyes, Jace buried his face in Magnus’ chest. The warlock was warm and comfortable and… And for the first time that he could remember, he felt fucking safe.

~*~ The End ~*~

Read this here on FFNet & here on AO3!

#jagnus #jace herondale #magnus bane #shadowhunters #fanficiton #Naughty List #bottom jace #top magnus #phoe's tumblr drabbles #otp: keep it in your pants

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jcmorgenstern · 6 years

Note

please rant about the second half of COLS and COHF

this ask opened pandora’s box, consume at your own peril

Basically…my biggest problems with the second half of COLS and COHF as a whole is really just…Jonathan as a character really, truly, utterly, and absolutely makes no sense on a very fundamental level. Like I really don’t say this lightly, I spent almost all of last summer trying to piece together a coherent characterization and eventually came to the conclusion that…there wasn’t one, at least that I could see.

(Readmore for length, heavy criticism of the work (obviously), and mention of canonical attempted rape).

So before I jump right in to providing evidence for that uhh slightly bold claim, I do want to acknowledge that Jonathan in COG totally makes sense, even if certain uhh incestuous aspects of his character do make my eyes roll back into my skull. To me, it always seemed a bit evident that the series was meant to end at COG, and the second half of the trilogy was sort of an ad hoc thing that happened after the series kept building popularity and there was demand from the fandom (and the publisher) for content. If taken alone, Jonathan’s character in COG is relatively self-consistent, and I’ve posted before (also at length….lol) about how Jonathan’s character in COG alone is actually a bit tragic, and it’s not until COLS that he truly makes a villainous turn off a cliff. Though the incest is, from the start, #a bit much, we all know that that’s just how CC novels go and, to some extent, ya just gotta roll with it.

The first half of COLS continues to be pretty exciting from a Sebastian Enthusiast perspective–in fact, for me, it’s really what made me fall in love/hate with the character and his portrayal to begin with. And some of the character work in the first half of COLS is actually pretty good!! We have the moral ambiguity of the Jace/Seb bond, Clary being unable to tell to what degree Sebastian in lying, the slightly random, wild, and jumbled snips of his character coming through (vampire threesome, vampire fetish, wearing Jace’s cologne??, fashion whore, messy bitch, shitty poetry writer?? it’s all free real estate) and then he lays out what could have been such an interesting plot!!

All the mentions of the increasing number of demons coming through to Earth is finally being used after being mentioned ad nausea for three whole books!! We’re set up for an interesting, shades of grey antagonist who thinks the ends justify the means and that sometimes a Wee Murder is needed to end an unjust regime (the Clave) without realizing that removing the Clave violently without any real and just alternative will create a power vacuum that invites even worse outcomes!! And the protagonists have to navigate slightly more complex moral issues than “genocide is bad, really!!”

And then…er, no. Like, really no. The entire book does a complete 180 and says no, all that (questionable) character development was a complete lie, all the human motivations you could possibly ascribe to the villain are bunk, he just wants to destroy the world. And not only that, he tries to rape Clary and….yeah no. (I’ll talk more about that later…I have a lot to say).

And for me that was really a massive disappointment. Like, to be clear: it wasn’t that I wanted Jonathan to be a pure uwu soft boi who did nothing wrong ™, or that he would be anything other than an antagonist. But like….a) rape. no. and b) I did sort of want his motivations OR his goal to sort of make sense and follow any sort of reason but honestly…they don’t.

The rationale CC tries to offer is that Jonathan doesn’t understand the meaning of love and wants to bend the world to his will so that it will love him instead. And like….that works to an extent, but then she also very clumsily attempts to make him a psychopath and…

Look.

If you’ve followed my blog for a while you know my feelings on poorly-written psychopath characters but…I’m gonna be real honest with ya here….a true psychopath is, with a very few fine exceptions like the entire population of high-security prisons, super fucking boring. They’re emotionally shallow, both internally and externally, and are usually driven by very grounded and unemotional goals. Winning a promotion. Attaining a position of power. Becoming a neurosurgeon. Having the best lawn in the zip code. “The psychopath next door” isn’t Hannibal Lecter, it’s your shitty boss or that one prick who calls the HOA on you for having your lawn one (1) millimeter over regulation.

And you know what? I’d take a story about Hannibal Lecter, lawn fascist. I’d maybe even take a story about Jonathan Morgenstern, shitty CEO, though honestly that sounds dangerously close to 50SOG so maybe not. Because if written well, the sensational serial-killer psychopath can be genuinely thrilling in fiction.

But honestly in this case?? It doesn’t work. Not even getting into the issue of “are signs and symptoms of psychopathy diagnostic in a child soldier” issue (pro tip: almost definitely not), why does he want to burn down the world? Why does he want to kill downworlders if he is basically one? How does he react to his father’s ideology? Does he even have a consistent ideology? Why doesn’t he stay at home playing Mario Kart?? If you can’t answer any of these questions, psychopath or no, anything he does is literally just not convincing and falls flat.

And now I’m going to segue into my “demon blood as a metaphor for child abuse” rant, which will hopefully segue into my “the demon army and ending of COHF is bullshit” rant, and maybe round it all up with my “you don’t have to have your villain graphically try to rape his sister to convince your audience of teenagers he’s a Bad Dude” rant.

So! Demon blood. So full disclosure, the scene in question is probably my actual favorite scene in COLS and the series at large, god knows why really, but it was actually pretty well-written as a hook for a thread that was totally dropped and never ever ever mentioned again. I’m talking about the scene where Jonathan asks Clary for a strength rune, and he tells her Valentine whipped him as a child with demon metal. His wounds will never heal, and serve as a reminder of the “perils of obedience” which is, quite possibly, the most chilling and interesting turn of phrase in the entire series.

And if you think about it, “wounds that will never heal but hurt constantly” are a pretty canny metaphor for the emotional abuse that shapes Jonathan and his ability (or lack thereof) to relate to others. Valentine never particularly loved or even cared for Jonathan, and used him as a child solider (drop me another ask if you want to know the rationale behind that one, kind of not a lot of space for that here) in his genocidal crusade, complete with brainwashing and pretty obvious physical and emotional abuse. That stays with him, twists the way he views love and truth, and leaves him with a permanently negative view of self and worldview that he doesn’t seem to put much effort into overcoming. To be clear: being abused doesn’t make you evil. But in the absence of love and support and positive role models to help you unlearn things, anger and pain can twist even good motives into bad actions, and lbr, Jonathan doesn’t have an over-abundance of good motives. The real peril of obedience is never questioning what you’re told.

But of course it’s never mentioned again, so like, fuck me or whatever.

The show does a better job of it, and almost directly links Jonathan being Like That to what Valentine, Jocelyn, and Lilith did to him and…does a pretty good job of not woobifying him or dismissing his pain. Him having demon blood is almost completely uncoupled from him being “evil” (or, more accurately, doing evil or cruel things) and is instead his responsibility. What makes him “incapable of love” is that he was never shown love, and what makes him violent and cruel is that he was only ever taught violence and cruelty.

But in the books demon blood is definitely intended a metaphor for psychopathy. “He had the humanity burned out of him because of his demon blood” “he’s incapable of love because of his demon blood”…you get the picture. But considering she honestly doesn’t really hit psychopathy and (to me) pings in more at ASPD (antisocial personality disorder, the DSM-V approved version of psychopathy, with some MAJOR and important differences in diagnostic criteria) or NPD (narcissistic personality disorder), I sort of…don’t like how demon blood is directly used as a metaphor for mental illness. And once the demon blood is gone…poof! so is his “evil” so uhh yall read between the lines with me on that one.

(If you want a rant on why I think book Jonathan fits better with ASPD or NPD than psychopathy, drop me an ask, but god please consider the consequences. Also, I generally don’t feel comfortable “”diagnosing”” villains for the hell of it, but in this case since the canon itself has already Gone There and I’d be operating mostly off the DSM, I’d feel slightly less shitty about it).

Anyway. So what I deeply, passionately, truly hate about COHF is the ending, when the demon blood is burned out of Poor Green-Eyed Jonathan and There Is Not Enough Good In Him So He McFucking Dies. What fucking enrages me about this is like…the ENTIRE series is about how “blood doesn’t equal morality” EXCEPT in the case of this one guy apparently because fuck him and fuck consistency!! Also on a slightly different tack it completely erases all culpability of him as a person and like….what, “the demon blood made me do it” is now a viable excuse?? what the fuck. no. what the fuck. also what does “not enough good in him” even MEAN in the context of someone who LITERALLY DESCENDED HIS MOTHER’S BIRTH CANAL THAT WAY oh my god its??? so fucking stupid and the philosophical implications ENRaGE me especially like.,,,as a geneticist….we kind of had a wee run-in with that kind of thinking….it was called “eugenics” you may have heard of it….G OD !!!

Also that doesn’t even get into the contradictory nature of Jonathan’s actual characterization (I use the term loosely) itself like…sometimes his dialogue reads almost like Jace’s, but by the end of COHF he literally quotes Jesus Christ (render unto Caesar’s what is Caesar’s), says “FOOLS!!11!!1!” like….literally once a page, I think at some point dips into vaguely Shakespearean English while violently whiplashing into whatever “ ‘You’re insane,’ said Simon. ‘You’re dead,’ said Sebastian” is?? and is overall an editor’s literal worst nightmare. There is NOTHING driving this character other than pure, unrestrained literary chaos, and absolutely nothing he does or says seems to make a hell of a lot of sense and is designed purely #4 the evulz. It’s just so painfully cartoonish that it physically pains me to read it and yet, here I am, holding the physical (hardback) copy that I own, reading it, and physically shuddering jesus CHRIST

(You did uh, definitely ask for a rant, right?)

OH yeah uhh and to round it all off…the “you don’t have to have your villain graphically try to rape his sister to convince your audience of teenagers he’s a Bad Dude” rant:

Look my friends there’s nothing wrong with Clebastian but there is definitely something wrong with rape and lbr: there’s a lot of it written into this character and his relationship with his SISTER and fuckign thanks!! I absolutely hate it. Apparently, when asked why she chose to include the graphic attempted rape scene in COLS, CC apparently said she “wanted to make sure the audience knew he was beyond saving.”

Look.

When a guy builds a demon army to obliterate the world and everyone in it, I generally get bad vibes. Worse vibes, in fact, than from a guy who tried to rape his sister, though that’s pretty fuCKING bad. The point is, there is absolutely no fucking reason to do that. Seriously, there’s not. And when your entire NYT bestselling fanfic series is based on the incest fetish HP fanfiction, it’s?? proBABly not the best idea to like…include an attempted rape scene between two siblings in a work that already has a lot of UST between presumed or actual siblings because people WILL talk and.,,,can u blame them lol

On a more serious note…female protagonists are so often forced to undergo rape or sexual humiliation as part of a narrative (or worse, for titillation of the viewers–looking at you, GOT and also yeah lbr COLS). Even in the show, which has definitely improved on some weaknesses in the original narrative, Clary is nearly raped by a demon in order to awaken her rune powers. That’s disgusting, honestly, and unnecessary, and you know what? Luke Skywalker didn’t have to face a rape threat to get his powers, and neither should a female counterpart. The show didn’t even ADDRESS this later, or even bring it up at all, and that’s even more upsetting, and part of why I don’t have faith in the WR to bring the concept of a Jonathan-Clary bond in 3b to life in a way that doesn’t make me want to curl up into my epidermis like a chrysalis and never emerge again. (See also: Lilith’s unaddressed sexual assault of Jace, and Camille’s equally unaddressed assault of Simon).

And what bothers me almost more than all this is…it’s not like Jonathan’s creepiness is subtle. He constantly invades Clary’s personal space, makes comments she’s uncomfortable with, puts her in situations she doesn’t like. You could leave it there and I guarantee most of your readership (especially your female/female-aligned readers) will INSTANTLY pick up on the fact that this guy is Bad News and you know what?? Clary isn’t subjected to that bs for….the heck of it?? Not that subtlety is ever the strong point of this series but like…that’s a huge glaring issue and one I can never overlook, and why I’ve honestly chosen to basically Ignore Canon And Do Whatever The Fuck I Want.

In summary: Jonathan was basically shoed in as a) a half-assed foil to Jace and b) a plot device/fix and c) fodder for more incest after Jace and Clary were no longer brother and sister and tbh?? Not entirely here for it.

tldr: jonathan morgenstern is a dumb bitch and no one is valid, more at 9.

#i love a crispy boy #i CANNOT put ths in the tag there is way too much hate #anti tmi #anti cc #like honestly for safety but also bc i do sort of rip into it #YALL ASKED #obvs this is just my personal onion but y e a hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #anyway!!!! i love how i said hiatus and post a like. 2.5k ask a few hours later #but thats them breaks folks #rape tw #rape mention

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mystarsforanempire · 6 years

Text

Excerpt from My Stars For An Empire, Chapter Four. Loki’s meditations on his empire and his children.

“Inner peace is for monks and old ladies, Loki. Not for guys like us. All we can do is keep working.”

“Thank you,” Svensson murmurs. The word is full of emotion, thick with it. He sighs, leaning forwards and putting his chin on his hands. “Do you have any children, Tony?”

“Children? No,” Tony says, a little taken aback by the sudden change in topic. Tony’s never given much thought to the idea of having kids himself, except to occasionally freak out over a pregnancy scare, but Svensson asks the question with a sort of wistfulness on his face. “Do you?” Svensson takes in a breath that hitches in his throat, and in the last glimpse Tony gets of his face, he sees that his eyes are shining.

“No,” he says softly as he stands, turning away from Tony. “Perhaps one day. Thank you for coming – I shall— I shall see you this evening, at the fundraiser.” Tony could stand his ground. He could stay right here, tell Svensson it was shitty of him to call him out here just for a five minute conversation… But he doesn’t mind. And this shit, the tears… Maybe the guy used to have kids. What does Tony know?

“This time, we keep in touch, right?” Svensson’s laugh is soft, and slightly hoarse.

“Yes. Yes, indeed. I’ll see you tonight.”

“See you,” Tony says, and he steps back into the elevator. The copper doors click shut behind him, and as the lift rises, he thinks of Svensson in his softly-lit, empty room, alone with a half-made machine. I dwell happily in my solitude. What a thing to say – no wonder the guy gets on with Maximoff. “JARVIS,” Tony murmurs, and he hears the soft whir of the phone in his pocket, a quiet noise just to let him know he’s being heard. “Get me an Isaz I.”

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS says, and when the elevator opens, Tony steps out and begins to walk out.

✯ ⇜ ♕ ♔ ♕ ⇝ ✯ MY STARS FOR AN EMPIRE ✯ ⇜ ♕ ♔ ♕ ⇝ ✯

Loki remains completely still, with his back to the elevator, until he hears the doors shut entirely and hears the elevator rise on its cables up and away from his laboratory. Reaching up, he brushes the pads of his fingers over his cheek, feeling the warm wetness of the tears there, the tears that drip down to wet his beard and drip down from his chin.

He hadn’t intended to cry. Of course, he hadn’t intended to ask as to Stark’s plans for children, either, and yet…

What is wrong with him? What is wrong with him?

Loki feels a crawling, desperate monster inside him, feels the desperate urge to run, to run and run from his planet until there is nothing but open space beneath his feet, so he is walking on the sky itself: dropping to his knees, he lets out a low groan that gives way to a ragged sob, his palms spread on the blessedly cool ground.

“I can’t,” he bites at the air, and with naught but the second’s thought, a second Loki appears before him. This Loki wears the old skin of Asgard, with black hair and blue eyes and pale skin. Looking at himself in this old form reminds him of Hel, and he feels tears brim anew as he turns his face away. It is pathetic enough that he should conjure a double of himself, but to grieve his daughter in the process! That is entirely mad.

“Talking to ourselves, are we? Have we regressed so far?” The Asgard-Loki asks, his silver tongue flicking over his lip, and Loki feels nothing but desperate rage, rage and— “Impotence! Irrelevance! Uselessness!” The Asgard-Loki declares, with glee. He laughs, tipping back his head and letting his laughter ring through the room: he speaks unencumbered by the accent Loki feigns with this form, his words coming cleanly and harshly against the copper walls. The copper, carved with a great many careful runes hidden in design after design, redirects his magic, making it as untraceable as that which he uses in his laboratory at home. But is it enough? Is it enough?

Loki launches a metal chair, which had been folded against the wall in the corner, against the far wall: it hits the copper with a loud clatter, then falls to the ground. The act of anger brings Loki’s desperate fury no salvation, but instead makes him feel like a scornful child. And children! Children! Why does he keep thinking of them, again and again?

With everyone he has met today, he has thought of what their children might look like. With Darcy, he imagines monstrous young toddlers, each more dangerously intelligent than the last, with manipulative laughs and dirty chins; he had an image in his mind of Pietro Maximoff holding his daughter in his arms, crooning to her the lullabies of his homeland; he thought, no less than five times in the course of his conversation with Stark, how lovely the children between him and Pepper Potts might be, if they chose to have them. How red-headed, how brilliant!

“What more do you expect?” The Asgard-Loki says, his tone flippant and superior. His chin high, his hands behind his back, he stands before Loki in armour, and Loki feels the misery of his situation in his very bones. Staring down at the stone floor, he suppresses the urge to scream. “Did you expect to be happy here? On Earth?”

“Yes,” Loki whispers. “Yes, of course I did!” His rage raises the volume in his voice, and he clenches his fists at his sides. “Churros did nothing! Speaking with Stark did nothing! I want an empire!”

“You must work for an empire,” The Asgard-Loki’s voice echoes in the room – echoes like Odin’s once had. “There is nothing for you to inherit here: you will build it yourself, and it will take years. You must be patient.”

“I don’t want to be patient,” Loki snaps, and when he stamps his foot on the ground, he must use his seiðr to keep the concrete from cracking beneath the force. “I have wanted for so, so long, and having worked for six years upon this planet, what have I to show for it? A computer? A fridge?”

“You knew when you began that this would take time,” the Asgard-Loki reminds him, suddenly on Loki’s left side. He speaks directly into the shell of Loki’s year, his breath soothingly cold. “You knew.”

“But I didn’t!” Loki argues. “I didn’t think about how little freedom it would afford me! Here I am, in this false skin, this false life, unable to use even my seiðr outside a copper-plated room, and unable to Skywalk.” The Asgard-Loki’s hand is on his chin, forcing Loki’s head up, and Loki leans into the coolness of his fingers.

“You have Skywalked since you were a child,” the Asgard-Loki whispers. “Why not leave this planet behind? Why not travel to another – to one of those many planets on which you are worshiped as god or goddess? On the planet Tamaril, you are worshiped as the emperor of the skies. Why not go there? Rule that people? Why not the Fon system? Where your name is written in the stars? Why not—”

“I’ve begun here,” Loki interrupts. “This company… Within a hundred years, I might rule the star-system. This is modern, this is how it is done in these times: the Midgardians have dispensed entirely with monarchs, but like this, my influence could stretch the stars. The people will admire me. Not merely obey me.”

“Then why complain? What is it about this wondrous world that makes you ache?” Not for the first time, Loki curses the tendency of his Asgardian form to seem so seductive. It was not a flaw he often noticed of himself with strangers, but when he is alone with himself, he notices it each time, and yet he seems to lack the strength to nip it in the bud.

“Boredom,” Loki says. “Boredom. I can do nothing! Nothing!”

“I don’t believe you,” the Asgard-Loki says, his eyes shining with mischief, and his mouth curved in a clever line.

“It matters not whether you believe me, I cannot—”

“You misunderstand me, dear reflection,” the Asgard-Loki says, and his hands cup Loki’s face, thumbs brushing slowly over his cheeks. The Asgard-Loki is taller than Loki himself, in the form he now inhabits, and it oughtn’t make him feel inferior – this is merely a conjuration, intended to whip him into shape, nothing more – but he hates how he must look up into his own face. “It isn’t truly boredom. Deep down, you know why you have never pursued an empire before now. You know why you fled Asgard, and why you wish to flee Midgard now.”

“Oh?” Loki asks, arching his eyebrows. “Then please, tell me why.” The Asgard-Loki laughs cruelly, his teeth brightly white in the lantern light.

“Do you want me to?” the Asgard-Loki asks in a stage-whisper, leaning in. His cool breath ghosts over Loki’s lips, and Loki feels his skin tingle at the sensation. Stark is available to him, and would certainly be a better candidate to work out Loki’s frustrations upon than Darcy, so close as she is to Loki’s day-to-day life, but now Stark is gone, and Loki’s double remains right here…

“Yes,” Loki murmurs. The very assent feels like a contract with some distant demon, although he knows this merely a seiðr-animated element of his own psyche, given voice and form and attitude.

“You don’t want an empire,” the Asgard-Loki murmurs back, as if speaking to a lover. Despite the sweetness in his double’s voice, Loki feels the tingling sensation turn to a crawling one, and he takes a step back. “because you are alone.” Smirking, the Asgard-Loki takes a step forward, closing the little gap Loki had made between them and continuing: “You are alone, and will always be alone, because your children are either dead, or they despise you. Fenrir would rip you to shreds; Hel would slit your throat at a moment’s notice, and Jormungandr and Sleipnir, why, they bear not thinking of.” Loki feels his breath hitch in his throat – what good does it do, he wonders, to repeat to himself that which he knows? That which he knows all too well? “And of Narfi and Valí, what could they rule? Unless they ruled from their unmarked graves, bloody and in pieces—”

“No,” Loki protests, but his reflection’s hand closes tight over his mouth, pressing so hard against the flesh that he feels the outlines of his teeth behind his lips. When he attempts to draw away, the Asgard-Loki’s fingernails dig into the flesh, and Loki is reminded of the needle that once ran through these very lips, spelling them silent with a painful golden thread. Loki is still, and silent, but his eyes are desperate. His skin is alive with heat and an itching discomfort, and he feels the disgust, the bile, rise within him as he stares at the face he once wore. The Asgard-Loki leans in, and Loki’s fingers twitch at his side: what would Thor say, to look at him now, half-disgraced by his very own double? Loki feels his eyes sting, but he is determined to cry no more. “If you build an empire, Loki, who will you pass it onto? What is the point of an empire with no line of succession?” He’s right – the Asgard-Loki is right. He feels himself flinch, as if physically struck, and the humiliation of the moment sparks his instinct. The conjuration of the dagger is nothing to him, but by the time Loki strikes, his mirror-self has disappeared, fading from view. Loki’s dagger strikes nothing but plain air.

Loki Liesmith’s own honesty astonishes him, and he drops to his knees in the middle of the room, staring forwards, the dagger still clasped loosely in his hand. And isn’t he right? Is his double not correct? Is this why the boredom has struck him so fiercely of a sudden? Ought he abandon his empire here and now, knowing it shall fall as soon as he is forced to leave it behind?

Loki thinks of those children he has left – Sleipnir, a horse with the wit of a man but no more; Hel, his daughter condemned to her rule of the underworld; Fenrir, his desperate son, savage, with gnashing teeth; and Jormungandr, that great serpent. Who of his children would take his empire from him, and rule it? Who of his children would love him?

Looking to the dagger, Loki considers its fine, silver blade, the sharpness of it, the beautiful craftsmanship of the bronzed hilt. What a fine blade it would be to die by.

The sound of the intercom shocks him, and Loki lets out a shuddering breath as he tilts his head in the intercom’s direction to listen. “Mr Svensson, it’s five o’clock. You told me to remind you when it was two hours to the party.”

“Yes,” Loki says, cursing the weakness in his own voice. “My thanks, Ms Thomson, I shall ready myself tout de suite.” Loki’s glance falls once more to the dagger, and he tilts it. The polished steel reflects Loki’s gaze, and he stares into the depths of his own eyes. Their sea-green colour has been lightened by tears, and in the dim light, their colour seems somehow ambiguous, as if Loki’s eyes might once have been darker. Banishing the dagger to the ether, Loki stands shakily upon his feet.

As he combs his hair with trembling hands, pulling the blond locks into a tight bun. The problem with running, he thinks, is that if he runs now, he cannot come back. To Skywalk from this planet would be to reveal himself, and might even prompt a chase – either from Midgardian authorities or Asgardian ones – and he should rather be peaceful on this planet than miserable on his own. Once upon a time, he might have relished the thought of fighting such guards and enforcers hand-to-hand, but he knows that now, facing such soldiers would only tire him, and he is so tired already.

Conjuring for himself a basin and mirror, he begins to wash his face, relishing the coolness of the water upon his heated skin. It offers him scant distraction, however, and he sighs, looking at his reflection. This face, with its light brown skin, its thick blond hair, its light beard, is so very different to the face he has left behind him, and yet he feels he sees the ghost of Narfi in his nose, and Fenrir’s slavering teeth in his own.

Setting his hands on the sides of the basin, Loki stares down into the sink’s drain. There shall yet be years before he has his empire – he ought not worry yet about who it shall be passed onto, not when he has yet to build it.

“You know,” Loki glances up, and he meets the gaze of the Asgard-Loki, who now looks out from the mirror. “There is nothing stopping you from having more children.” The voice is soft – it reminds Loki of his mother’s voice, although he recognizes it as his own.

“Perhaps not,” Loki murmurs. The mirror and basin vanish. The party, he hopes, will be distraction enough.

#c; superior self | loki #t; fanfic #v; shifted priorities #v; my stars for an empire #t; ooc

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brynne-lagaao · 7 years

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(Fanfic) Set in Stone - Chapter Three

Title: Set in Stone

Pairing: Sarumi

Chapter: 3/18

Rating: M

Mirrors: AO3 | Website

Summary: Yata wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he performed a summon on his own in a fit of drunken loneliness. It definitely wasn’t some asshole demon with a bad attitude, even if that demon happened to be frustratingly hot. But breaking their contract was going to mean working together, and he wasn’t sure how much of that he could take before he snapped… one way or another.

Note: Thank you to @dropletons for being my beta and to @chromekins for helping with the magic aspect. This fic is not entirely accurate in terms of modern magic and the demon lore was basically made up to suit the story, but I tried to keep somewhat of an authentic feel, so hopefully that succeeded.

It was cloudy outside, which wasn’t unusual, and there was a mid-Spring chill in the air still. Yata threw a hoodie on over his T-shirt before they left the apartment, but Fushimi seemed more or less indifferent to the weather.

“Aren’t you cold like that?” Yata asked him as they turned off the walkway leading from the apartment complex onto the sidewalk.

“I don’t have the same body temperature as a human,” Fushimi responded blandly. He was walking with slightly hunched shoulders, hands in his pockets. It made him look even more like a regular person, which made the previous night feel even more like some kind of weird dream and not an actual thing that had happened and potentially fucked up Yata’s life. “Or a changeling, apparently.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Yata glanced around just to be sure, but nobody seemed to be paying them the slightest attention. Not that they’d be taken seriously even if someone heard… “I’m not that much different from a regular human. Just the aging thing and – ” He stopped there, abruptly unsure how much he wanted to give away.

Fushimi gave him a sidelong look. “And…?”

“Never mind.” Yata shook his head slightly. Better not to reveal all his secrets. If they had to stay together long enough, he’d find out pretty quick, but that didn’t mean there was any reason to tell him now. “I’m not that different, s’all.” He managed a bit of a smirk. “I don’t have horns or anything.”

The typical click of Fushimi’s tongue answered him. “I could fix that for you pretty easily.”

“Hah! No thanks.” Yata shook his head, smirk widening as he turned back. “Y’know, I’m not totally ignorant about this summoning business. I’m the one who summoned you, right? I know you can’t do anything to me that I don’t want.”

The expression on Fushimi’s face turned sour; Yata couldn’t help but huff out a laugh. “You don’t like losing much, do ya?”

“That’s a stupid thing to say,” Fushimi muttered back. “Nobody enjoys losing.”

Yata’s spirits were buoyed enough by the small victory that he let that one pass. “Anyway, we got a few blocks to go to get to the station. Usually I’d use my skateboard or – ” He caught himself in time, and cleared his throat instead of continuing. “Well, you’re slowing me down, but whatever.”

Fushimi raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “Would you rather I followed you from the air?”

That… actually wouldn’t have been a bad idea, if it wasn’t shitty timing. “We’re in public, dumbass!” Yata reached up to scratch the back of his head, annoyed that he hadn’t thought of it sooner. “Look, if you’re still around later, I’ll find some place to cast invisibility and – wait.” He squinted at Fushimi, realizing belatedly that he really had no idea how demon magic worked. “Can you make yourself invisible?”

“No. Unfortunately.” The answer came with another almost petulant click of Fushimi’s tongue; he frowned. “If I could, I’d have done it already and not have to deal with navigating your world in the first place.”

“Right, right.” Made sense; no point doing things the hard way if you didn’t have to. “Anyway, I can do it for you later and then you can race me if you really want.” He couldn’t help a smirk at that. “I’m pretty fast, though – just sayin’.”

Almost reluctantly, the corners of Fushimi’s mouth edged up in response. There was a flicker of something like interest in his eyes. “Is that so?”

“Better believe it is!”

“Hm.” Without losing the tiny smirk, Fushimi shut his eyes, letting out a small, amused huff. “We’ll see.”

The exchange was oddly enjoyable – and the prospect of a challenge had Yata feeling fired up. “All right!” He folded one hand into a fist, raising it with enthusiasm. “Let’s get this shit done and I’ll show you!”

“So noisy,” Fushimi muttered, but it lacked most of the frustration of earlier.

They walked in silence for a bit. It was an uneasy silence – like a temporary truce had been called – but it wasn’t horribly uncomfortable. Yata wasn’t sure if it was more of a relief not to have to defend himself from constant verbal attacks or… kind of a disappointment. For all he’d been an asshole, Fushimi was strangely fascinating. Or maybe not so strangely. He was a demon, after all – that was kinda cool, and it was something Yata didn’t know a heck of a lot about. If they’d been on better terms, he might’ve asked about what that was like.

Where did Fushimi live when he wasn’t being summoned? What did he do all the time? Did he have a family? Friends? Hobbies?

Yata stole a glance sideways at the man walking next to him. He looked perfectly normal – well-structured features, yeah, but not a vision of perfection by any stretch. His clothing, posture, habits, and general appearance were all that of any regular guy. He didn’t seem phased by the apartment or city. Did that mean he lived somewhere like this? Was the place demons lived another whole plane of existence, like the fae that Homra dealt with?

Fushimi seemed to notice he was being scrutinized, because he tilted his head slightly and met Yata’s gaze. “What?”

“Huh?” Yata blinked, caught off-guard, and shifted his eyes forward instead, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Oh. Nothing. My bad.”

He could almost hear the frown in Fushimi’s response. “If you say so.”

The feeling of eyes on him made his skin prickle in a way that wasn’t… totally unpleasant. Yata made an attempt to shrug it off, letting his hand drop and deliberately increasing his pace. “S’not much farther. C’mon.”

The subway station was crowded as usual – it wasn’t too bad with it being past noon on a weekday, but rush hour would start in an hour or so, and if they weren’t quick, it might be hell coming back. At the moment, the traffic was just a steady stream, which meant there’d be more than enough standing space in the trains, but having to pack in like sardines wasn’t fun, even if he could be sure Fushimi wouldn’t do anything if he got annoyed enough.

Yata frowned, considering it. I might end up having to show him after all…

“Are we going in?” Fushimi’s voice cut into his thoughts. He’d slowed to a stop when Yata had, and was studying him with that inscrutable expression.

“Uh – yeah.” Except… tickets. Which was no problem for Yata, since he had a transit pass, but… “Shit. I forgot I’ll have to buy you a ticket.” He pulled out his wallet, checking the meager supply of cash he kept on him.

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Don’t bother.” Before Yata could react to that, he turned, stepping into the path of a random man. “Hey. You.”

What the hell is he doing? Yata stared after him, momentarily stunned into inaction.

The man who’d just been accosted blinked, openly startled. “Uh… me?”

“That’s right.” Fushimi indicated to the paper in his hand. “Did you just buy that ticket?”

“Uh…” The man lifted the ticket and looked at it, as if needing to confirm, and then squinting dubiously at Fushimi. “Yes?”

“Good. Which way is the ticket station?”

“Oh!” The more innocuous question seemed to relieve the man, who turned with much more confidence to wave in the direction he’d come from. “Just back there – you can’t miss ’em!”

“Thanks.” Stepping around the man – who seemed happy enough to scurry off without a backward glance, Fushimi made his way back towards Yata.

“What the hell was that ab – ?” The protest died in his throat as he watched Fushimi hold his hand in front of his body, fingers curling as a small square of paper appeared from thin air within them.

“Let’s go then,” Fushimi drawled, deftly turning the paper to reveal the ticket information printed on it.

Yata gaped at him, unable to help. “You – hold up – how’d you do that?”

Fushimi’s answering look was flat. “Magic.”

“I never saw magic like that.” He was used to components – incantations – runes – channeling… Not just making things appear out of thin air. Who did that?

Well, okay, demons – but still!

Fushimi sighed, sounding long-suffering. “You’re going to be tiresome about it, huh?” He held the ticket between two fingers and slid them apart slowly. The paper dissipated between them, leaving no trace behind. “It’s illusion. The ticket isn’t really here.” He brought his fingers back together, and the ticket manifested again between them. “Demonic magic is all about fooling the senses. Starting with mine and ending with everyone else around me.”

“Really?” It sounded so simple. Yata reached out automatically towards the ticket, and felt his fingers brush the paper. It felt real. “I can touch it, though.”

“I said your senses, not just your sight.” Fushimi clicked his tongue, withdrawing his hand. “Shouldn’t we go? We’re going to look suspicious just standing around here.”

That was true – a glance around showed a few people giving them curious looks. Yata frowned back at them, and they quickly looked away. “Yeah, yeah, fine,” he gave in grudgingly, tearing his eyes from the ticket in Fushimi’s hand to pull his pass out. “Let’s go.”

There was a small line-up at the ticket gate, so Yata took the opportunity to continue his line of inquiry in an undertone. “Hey. So why’d you have to stop that guy back there?”

“I needed to see what a ticket looked like.” Fushimi’s voice was almost a mumble – barely audible over the chatter around them. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to make one, would I?”

“Huh.” That kind of brought up an alarming thought, though. “Wait, you didn’t just copy his ticket, did you? Because – ”

“Keep your voice down, will you?” Fushimi cut him off sharply. He frowned. “Of course I didn’t – I’m not an idiot. The barcode is based on a time stamp.” His tone was flat and matter-of-fact. “Once I saw what his looked like, I calculated mine based on a different time stamp.” He reached up to push his glasses higher on his nose. “It’s unlikely that anyone here will have an exact duplicate, but even if that happens, I can pretend it didn’t scan properly and change it to a different one.”

Yata stared at him, astonished. “You figured that out in your head?”

Fushimi shrugged. “It’s not that hard.”

“Seriously? It’s fucking amazing!” The grin spreading on his face was almost involuntary. Damn, this was actually cool. Fushimi was a damn genius. “All you did was glance at his ticket, and you figured that all out in like – what – thirty seconds? Not even!” It was impressive as hell; he couldn’t help the admiration flooding through him. “That’s awesome!”

For a moment, Fushimi just blinked at him, clearly taken off-guard. It was almost charming. He recovered quickly, though, clicking his tongue and turning his gaze to the side. “Don’t be so loud,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, right.” Yata shrugged that off, stepping forward again as the line advanced. He eyed the gate. “Even if it’s an illusion, it’ll still go through okay, right?”

“If I can fool a person, I should be able to fool a machine,” Fushimi responded drily.

He ended up being right about that – the ticket scanned with no problems, allowing them to pass through to the platform and then the train without incident. Yata bit back the storm of questions raging around inside his brain while they boarded and rode the subway, waiting impatiently for them to be in the open where there was less chance of being overheard.

Unfortunately, the aisle where they stood side-by-side on the train car had them facing a group of four girls who looked like they should’ve been in school at that time of day. Yata did his best not to look at them, growing increasingly uncomfortable. Every time he happened to glance down at where they were sitting, at least one of them quickly averted her eyes and the whole group giggled nervously. It was a stressful experience.

“You’re not very good with women, are you?” Fushimi commented blandly as they – finally – stepped off the train.

“Shut up,” Yata grumbled in response, trying to shrug off the tension that had collected in that cramped space. He’d never managed to figure out where that discomfort came from – it was just something to do with the way it felt when women were looking at him. Like they could see through him, in a way that men couldn’t somehow. He was old enough now to know it was irrational, and he seriously was getting better at dealing with it, but his feelings didn’t always cooperate. “What’s it to you?”

The question was ignored. “Is that why you prefer men, maybe?”

“Not so loud!” Yata glanced around furtively as they pushed through the doors leading out of the station, but it didn’t seem like their conversation had attracted any attention. Good. He wasn’t particularly ashamed of his preferences – not any more, anyway – but it pissed him off when people gave him those judgy looks. It was none of their fucking business.

Actually, it wasn’t Fushimi’s business either, but hell if he was gonna let that stupid misconception go. “I like guys because I like guys. That’s it.” Automatically, he reached up to scratch at the back of his head, letting out a frustrated breath. “Dunno if I’d be bi or something if it wasn’t for the… women thing, but that’s how it is.”

He could feel Fushimi’s eyes on him. It was unnerving, like his thoughts were being read right through his skull. The part he hadn’t admitted – and wasn’t going to admit – was that there were things he’d found he liked in bed that he wasn’t likely to get from a woman, at least not without having to bring it up in a really awkward way. Things he didn’t really feel like doing without, honestly. It made any speculation on that subject moot, more or less; he could safely consider himself exclusively gay.

That was going way too personal for a conversation with someone he barely knew and didn’t even particularly like that much. Yata hastily changed the subject, picking up his pace just enough to lead them in the right direction onto the sidewalk outside. “Anyway, you said demon magic was illusions, right? Can you put illusions on anything? Like, make things look like something else, and all?”

“More or less.” Thankfully, Fushimi picked up the new topic without any fuss. “There are rules, though. I can only make things seem like they’ve changed – or that they exist in the first place, when they don’t already.” He held up the ticket again between his index and middle finger before giving them a wriggle and brushing off the illusion as if it were dust. “I can’t make things disappear if they exist in reality. But you know…” At that he smirked a little, glancing sideways at Yata again. “The things I make are real enough. An illusionary knife will still cut.”

Yata frowned back at him, shaking off the involuntary shudder that came with the statement. “You’re creepy as hell, y’know that?”

“Demon,” Fushimi drawled in response, without losing an inch of the smirk.

“Yeah, yeah,” Yata grumbled, vaguely annoyed by the tone. “If your magic is all illusion, doesn’t that mean you could just make yourself look like a bird or something instead of going invisible when you fly?”

“I can’t use illusions on myself.” At that, the smirk did lessen, shifting toward a frown. “It’s awkward, but sometimes you can work around it. External things like clothing work, for example.”

“Huh.” The word was barely out of his mouth before an outrageous possibility entered his head. Yata turned to stare, vaguely alarmed. “Hey, wait – does that mean – those clothes you’re wearing now – ?”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “I don’t exactly bring a wardrobe with me when I respond to a summon.”

Yata tripped over his own feet and just about fell, stumbling a few steps as he stared at Fushimi incredulously. “The hell? Doesn’t that mean you’re walking around” – He felt his cheeks flare up as outrage mounted within him, and lowered his voice, glancing around furtively for any possible eavesdroppers – “naked?”

“Would you like me to?” That smirk was edging up on Fushimi’s face again, slow and wicked. “It seemed like you were trying not to attract attention earlier, but it makes no difference to me.” His voice had shifted back to a mocking drawl, but there was an undercurrent of interest in the lazy gaze he shot Yata’s way. “By the way… that’s an awfully strong reaction for someone who can’t tell the difference. What are you imagining?”

The blurred image of a pale-skinned bare torso flashed to the front of Yata’s mind, and he nearly choked, the warmth on his face intensifying. “I-I’m not imagining anything!” Setting his mouth into a scowl to cover his embarrassment, he deliberately increased his pace to put a little space between them. “It’s weird to think about, okay? That’s all!”

“Is it?” The response was light and unaffected. “Because your emotions say otherwise.”

That was irritating enough that Yata shot him a glare over his shoulder. “Shut up, asshole,” he gritted out, before turning back deliberately. “Can’t wait to get you out of my head and out of my life already!”

Fushimi clicked his tongue again, the drawl giving way to irritation. “You’re not the only one.”

There was no point justifying that with a response. Yata distracted himself by turning his attention to his surroundings, despite having come this way often enough to more or less know the place by heart. This was part of the city’s business district, so they were surrounded by high rise buildings. The streets were wide and well-kept, crowded with cars even at this hour, and the sidewalks were mostly occupied by professionally dressed men and women. There was a feeling of cool efficiency in the way that people moved briskly about, both the steady traffic of the road and the confident pace of the pedestrians on the walkways.

At one point he’d been uncomfortable coming to this part of town, but he was more or less used to it by now. Barely anyone gave him more than a half-interested glance, too absorbed in their own business to pay attention to random punks. The attitude used to piss him off when he figured they were all looking down on him, but a certain amount of experience made it pretty clear that most people just didn’t pay attention to anyone; it wasn’t really anything personal.

Hell, sometimes it made things easier for him. He couldn’t complain.

“Here.” Yata paused at the ramp leading up to their destination so that Fushimi could cross the couple of steps worth of distance between them. The building they were in front of was sandwiched between two high-rises, which made it look a bit odd, considering that it was a fairly modest height compared to some of the others in the area. The design was sleek and symmetrical, the majority of the exterior made up of thick-paned one-sided glass. There were two thin marble planters on either side of the double doors that the ramp led up to, with neatly cut plants growing in an elegant arrangement.

As usual, it was sickeningly perfect. “Let’s go.”

The inside of the building was no less orderly than the outside, the cleanly tiled floor shining in the light that poured in through the windows from all sides. There was a large crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling that scattered tiny refractions across the room. On the wall opposite the entrance was an elevator and a listing of the floors and offices in the building – nothing particularly unusual.

Yata pressed the ‘up’ button without bothering to look, tucking his hands into his pockets and watching the elevator door idly as he waited.

“Is this really an office building?” Fushimi asked him; when Yata glanced at him, he was looking around the room, eyes lingering on the ornate light fixture above them.

“No idea.” Yata shrugged, turning away as the elevator pinged at them. “I only ever go to one place here.”

“Hm.” Fushimi didn’t appear satisfied with that answer, but he let the matter drop without comment and followed Yata onto the elevator.

Once the doors closed, Yata hit the emergency stop button, paused for a second to make sure the lighting on the numbers changed from white to red, and then hit a few of them in the sequence that Kusanagi had painstakingly drilled into his head. The panel beneath the number pad popped open and a thin keypad slid out, which he dutifully typed his personal access code onto.

There was a click, and the lighting changed from red to green. The keypad receded.

Into the following silence, Fushimi commented blandly, “’Yatagarasu’?”

Goddamn, he was good at catching things. Yata shot him a frown. “Nickname with my coven.” The reminder had his frown shifting even further into a scowl. “Dunno how this guy figured that out, but – ”

He was cut off as the elevator whirred to life, and the ground abruptly seemed to drop from beneath them as it began its rapid descent.

Even though he’d done this countless times already, it was still jarring. Yata grit his teeth, holding steady as the disorientation passed. Sometimes it felt like that pause between entering the code and the elevator starting to move was just for the building owner’s amusement value. Seriously wouldn’t put it past that guy…

Fushimi clicked his tongue; when Yata glanced at him, he looked irritated. “What is this, an amusement park attraction?”

Yata couldn't help but snort in response. “You’re telling me. I have to come here almost every day for this asshole. It’s not something you get used to.”

There was no real chance for a response, even if Fushimi would have offered it; the elevator slowed and came to a halt almost as jarringly as it had started up, sounding off an obnoxious ‘ding’ as it did. The doors slid open.

The hall they revealed was similar in elegance to the lobby above, but the decor was not as plain. The ceiling was vaulted, and both it and the walls were ornately carved with delicate lines and simple patterns, soft off-white with little traces of silver and gold. The floor was slick, polished grey, and the lighting, cool and faintly tinted with blue, seemed to reflect off of it and cause a myriad of colors to echo through the room.

Yata let out a soft ‘ch’, already a little irritated just from the sight of it. Show off. He started out from the elevator, deliberately letting his sneakers skid on the spotless floor.

At the end of the hall was a familiar set of double doors, large and black with golden handles and an elaborate knocker with the Roman numeral “four” engraved on its surface. Yata ignored the knocker, reaching for the handle without hesitance or ceremony – the guy behind the door knew they were there already, so why bother?

Behind him, Fushimi let out a strangely resigned-sounding sigh. “The fourth, huh? I thought so.”

Yata paused with his hand on the handle, turning to frown at him. “Huh?”

“Never mind.” Fushimi shook his head. “Let’s just go in.”

For a moment, Yata squinted suspiciously at him – but hell, he wasn't going to get answers by standing there arguing with this guy. “Yeah, yeah.” He pressed down on the handle and opened the door, stepping in without waiting.

“Oh?” A deeper-toned voice greeted him with mildly. The man it belonged to sat opposite the door behind a broad wooden desk, which was surprisingly bare in contrast to the overdone ornate decor on the walls and flooring. The structure of the hall extended into this room as well, but somehow the light within felt like daylight seeping through open windows. Which was stupid, considering they were underground, but there it was. Several display stands with various items – most of which were probably rare, and way more than he could afford anyway – flanked the desk. On the surface in front of the man, a half-finished puzzle was laid out.

This was Yata’s current employer, a man he knew very little about beyond his name – Munakata – and the vague nature of his underground business. Which was... something to do with providing rare and valuable components for some of the more extensive spells Kusanagi cast on the Homra bar to keep their doings under wraps. Whatever. As long as Kusanagi vouched for him, Yata was fine with it too. And since he was getting paid well enough, the rest wasn’t too important.

The smile offered up in response to his entry held the usual annoying mix of knowing and amused. “How unusual that you would return today, Yatagarasu-kun.” Munakata rested his elbows on the desk, creating a bridge with his hands and somehow managing to avoid brushing aside the tiny puzzle pieces with his heavy, ceremonial black robes. “I seem to recall being informed that your intent was to have the day ‘off’.”

“Yeah, well, shit happened.” Yata scowled at him in response, even more irritated than usual by the formal speech. “And quit calling me that! It’s not my real name, goddamnit!”

“My apologies.” There wasn’t a trace of real apology in the statement. “I admit to being quite charmed by the fitting nature of the nickname. But that aside...” His gaze shifted away from Yata. “You appear to have gained a most interesting companion.”

“What ‘gain’?” Yata muttered, glancing back.

Fushimi clicked his tongue, cutting off any further complaint. His was looking past Yata to where Munakata sat, gaze wary. “What are you doing here, Captain?”

“Eh?” For a moment, Yata was too stunned to do more than look back and forth between them, caught completely off-guard. “Wait – what do you – ?”

Munakata leaned back in his seat, leaving his fingers interlaced in front of him. “This is merely a side venture, Fushimi-kun,” he responded, without acknowledging Yata's stuttered attempts at questioning them. “Please rest assured that I have no intention of neglecting my more pressing duties.”

Fushimi frowned at him. “And what do you call giving out a collection of our summoning circles to a civilian?”

“Yata-kun is a most competent witch – not to mention an exceptionally strong being.” Munakata's gaze flickered very briefly to Yata, and his smile widened marginally. “I had every confidence that he would not misuse such a gift.”

That earned another click of Fushimi’s tongue. “Your confidence is misplaced, then. This guy performed a summoning while drunk, and didn’t bother to include a timeframe.”

“Is that so?” Munakata leaned forward again, keen interest lighting in his gaze. “And you responded even so.” He tilted his head. “How very unlike you, Fushimi-kun.”

Fushimi caught his breath sharply; when Yata looked over at him, he caught only a brief glimpse of those blue-grey eyes widening before their owner was turning his gaze aside, scowling. “You didn’t have to say that much...”

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Yata demanded – and then abruptly remembered there were more pressing questions. “And – wait – how the hell do you guys know each other? What are you even talking about, anyway?”

“Haven’t you guessed yet?” Fushimi muttered, sounding out of sorts. “This guy is my boss.”

“Huh?” Yata gaped at him for a moment, then spun around again. “Wait, wait, wait…” He thrust a finger in front of him, pointing directly at Munakata. “You’re telling me this guy’s a fucking demon? Like, a demon lord, even?”

“Lord of the fourth region of hell’s influence.” Fushimi's tone was drawling, almost bored. “Not that it means as much as you'd think.” He looked up again to fix Munakata with a steady gaze, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “But he does have jurisdiction over any contracts formed in my sector.”

The word ‘contracts’ somehow managed to snap him out of his shock. Yata lowered his finger, directing his own glare at Munakata, who smiled pleasantly in return. “So you’re the guy who can get us out of this.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re the fucker who got me into this, so you’d better fix it!”

“A most unjust accusation, Yata-kun.” Munakata seemed unbothered by the attention. “I merely gifted you with the book – there was no coercion on my part regarding how you chose to make use of it.” He tipped his head towards his interlaced fingers, glasses catching the light in a way that made them seem to glitter. “However, if you are in need of my assistance, I can certainly provide it – in exchange for an appropriate price, of course.”

This fucking guy... Yata’s hands curled into fists at his side, scowl deepening. “‘Appropriate price’, my ass, you – !”

“What price?” Fushimi cut him off, voice sharp and dripping with suspicion.

Munakata made a small noise of approval. “How practical of you to ask, Fushimi-kun.” He finally unclasped his hands, reaching down to open one of the drawers of his desk. “As it happens, I do have a task that will suitably employee both of your unique talents.” When he straightened again, the hand he extended toward them held two small stones.

They looked like ordinary stones, Yata noted, squinting suspiciously at them. Both were small and oval-shaped with smooth surfaces. One was orange and crystaline, with sharp angles and tiny specs of contrasting shades within, like ashes rising from a flame. The other was soft blue with splintering white highlights, looking as though a blizzard had been frozen and contained within.

“Sunstone and moonstone,” Munakata identified them without being asked. “In reality, two different offshoots of a mineral known as feldspar. Their potency for use in magic is almost entirely dependent on the amount and quality of sunlight or moonlight they have absorbed.” He paused very briefly, and then added, “At present, that potency rests at zero.”

“So? You want us to charge ’em?” That didn't sound difficult. Yata frowned in response. “Gotta be more to it than that...”

“Most perceptive of you, Yata-kun.” Munakata set the stones delicately on his desk in front of the half-finished puzzle. “In point of fact, an ordinary charge would not be sufficient for the purpose I intend to turn these to.”

Fushimi let out a short sigh. “Is it necessary to be so cryptic?”

“My apologies. The intended purpose need not concern you.” Munakata leaned back in his seat, this time crossing his legs and clasping his hands in front of him. “Yata-kun, your aspect is the sun – and Fushimi-kun’s, the moon. That makes the two of you ideal for this... unusual venture.” Without waiting for comments or questions, he went on. “In this instance, I need to have the moonstone charged with sunlight and the sunstone charged with moonlight.” He studied them both intently. “Further, the charges need to be exceptionally strong – and completed within a lunar cycle of one another.”

“Huh?” Yata blurted, even as he heard Fushimi’s flat, “What,” from beside him. He stared at his employer, flabbergasted.

To charge the stones in the opposite element... What the hell’s the point? Also, because of the incompatibility, it was going to be hard to get a decent charge – much less an ‘exceptionally strong’ one. And how were those charges going to last long enough to be of any goddamn use? The stones wouldn’t hold them for all that long.

In short, none of it made any damn sense at all.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Fushimi echoed his thought out loud, an edge of thinly contained impatience in his voice. He frowned suspiciously at Munakata. “What are you up to, Captain?”

Munakata returned the frown with an untroubled smile. “Have faith, Fushimi-kun – my actions will surely line up with the logical order in time, as always.” He glanced at Yata, and made a small, self-satisfied hum. “It would be wise if Yata-kun were to take charge of the moonstone and you the sunstone, for now. I can sense the presence of twelve points in the city ideal for the collection of either moonlight or sunlight – if you can endeavor to locate each one and determine its properties, I have confidence in your ability to collect a full charge in each stone before long.” His gaze lingered almost uncomfortably. “Yata-kun has an uncanny knack for determining precisely when exposure would hinder rather than help; I suggest you make use of that.”

The unexpected compliment brought an odd blend of disgruntled acknowledgement and reluctant pride; Yata stared back at him, nonplussed and not sure how to respond. “Yeah, right,” he muttered, reaching up to scratch at the back of his head awkwardly.

Instinct, again – he’d always been good at finding just the right quantity and quality of what he needed, without bothering with measurements or anything. Kusanagi had gotten him to charge things in the past, though Yata more often made use of that talent in the kitchen where he did most of his casting.

It was something that rarely failed him – except when it came to his love life. And demon summoning circles, apparently.

The reminder fired up his determination. Yata reached out and snatched the blue stone from the table, letting out a frustrated ‘ch’ as he did. “Whatever. I’ll do what it takes to get this asshole out of my goddamn life. The sooner the better!”

Fushimi clicked his tongue as well, extending his hand to pluck the orange stone with far less enthusiasm. “What a troublesome job.”

Munakata chucked. “I have every confidence in you both.”

That wasn’t even worth answering. Yata snorted, pocketing his stone and turning to head for the door. “This doesn't change the fact that I’m off today,” he said irritably, reaching for the handle. “I’m not doing any deliveries until tomorrow.”

“Of course.” Munakata's response was perfectly calm and even. “I had no intention of allowing these... unusual circumstances... to interfere with our regular business arrangement.”

Naturally he wouldn't. Yata huffed a frustrated breath, swinging the door open with force and stalking through it, leaving Fushimi to close it behind them.

“Take care,” Munakata's voice followed them, and then the door shut firmly, cutting off any remaining connection.

#k #sarumi #yata misaki #fushimi saruhiko #fanfic #fanfic:mine

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dany36 · 7 years

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SIGH so i’m done playing breath of the wild. i beat it about two weeks ago but i just now completed all shrines and sidequests. i thought about hating myself even more by trying to collect all 900 korok seeds but it’s not worth it just to have that 100% in the map screen (plus korok seeds stopped being useful a long time ago). i have 100%d all zelda games i own (except OoX) but i just can’t be bothered for this one.

having replayed all zelda games at least twice, i can’t say i will be doing the same for botw. here are my [long] thoughts about it (spoiler-free):

i can’t say i loved it. i think i was just playing just for the sake of playing it because....duh, it’s a zelda game (plus i sort of spent a crapload of money on the game+console). as a long-time zelda fan, it just...didn’t feel like a zelda game to me. i’m not opposed to change, in fact i was extremely excited to finally play this game, but the overall product just didn’t satisfy me at all. it just felt like a very dull and unfulfilling experience.

- the overworld. i kept saying it over and over in my head while playing this game: it’s just too damn fucking huge for its own good. and it’s boring as hell to traverse. there aren’t really that many interesting things to do other than look for shrines. oh cool you can climb that mountain way over there? for what? oh haha a korok seed. most of the time, nothing. good job. it just felt tiring and bothersome to explore huge empty spaces of nothing. horses aren’t very useful since most of the time i was warping to try to not bore myself from wandering around empty spaces. i replayed the original loz at least like 5 or 6 times and i absolutely adored exploring every corner of the overworld. botw’s? yawn snore zzzz.

- weapon durability. i mentioned it in an earlier post but i hope this is something that never comes back to a zelda game. it’s especially shitty when you beat a shrine and your reward is a weapon. oh, a weapon that will break after 20 hits or less. so your reward disappears instead of it being something useful that you can actually keep for the rest of the game. this might just be a personal preference but i just hated the weapon system, especially when you find out that the master sword and the hylian shield can actually also break instead of being able to use them infinite number of times (and don’t tell me “oh it’s because otherwise you would never have used any other weapon!” bc idgaf, frost weapons and spears are cool and i would have used them either way)

- the story. oh my god. i know this is supposed to be a throwback to the original zelda, where you can go straight and kill ganon, but my goodness....it’s 2017. how is it that we got such a barebones story?? when i finally got to zora’s domain i was excited. i was finally getting to the story. boy i was wrong. the game gave me zero reason to care about saving the world and its inhabitants (except the gorons, which i think were the greatest in this game). i fucking hate that the story is mostly told through memories. the worst part is, the story told through the memories is more exciting than the one you play through the game. i hate that we are told from the start “you have to save hyrule and the princess because um....you’re a hero, you just don’t remember haha! so GO!!!!” instead of showing me actual, emotional reasons to want to save these people. through the memories we just become spectators, instead of the story actually making us bond and feel something for the people we are saving (except, again, yunobo, who i will save 1000 times if i have to). not even princess zelda’s incredible character growth (which, once again, HAPPENS IN THE MEMORIES and NOT in the present) can save the story from being lackluster. i would talk more about this but then it’d take up the whole post.

- the music. i’ve also complained about it before, but it’s a fucking joke, especially since it’s a zelda game, which are mostly known from having really good soundtracks. for me, there are zero memorable soundtracks. i think i only liked two, the one where you are near a Tower and when you are near a shrine. even minecraft, a freaking indie game, had better ambient music than botw. exploring the overworld becomes 3600% more BORING because as you’re walking, all you hear is link’s footsteps and clanky armor. so the overworld becomes twice as empty because 90% of the time, there is no music. except the five random ass piano keys you hear from time to time. it’s just bad and it makes me sad. people seemed to have hated SS’s OST, but at least it gave us Fi’s Theme and the magnificence that is the Lanayru Sand Sea theme. now THAT’S music that truly takes you into the game and gives it the proper ambiance that the overworld tries to portray. botw? a sad, sad attempt. i’m honestly wondering what they will play during botw’s section at the symphony of the goddess’s tour.

- the sidequests. 90% of the sidequests are boring fetch quests and “kill this type of enemy plz”. it’s just boring and tedious and the rewards are a joke (mostly, rupees, materials which you can easily find ANYWHERE, or food). it’s time for zelda to step up in the sidequests department and give me good, engaging, emotional-investing sidequests that tell me more about a certain character, or which tell me more about the world, or overall just make me CARE about its inhabitans that i’m trying to save. MM is the king of sidequests and botw once again pales in comparison.

- the dungeons. the first one (Vah Ruta) was cool. then it got boring and repetitive, really fast. all the dungeons look identical. the dungeons are for the most part short. there are no enemies inside the dungeons except these flying skeletons that die with one hit. oh yeah and maybe a robot here and there. so there’s some enemies but nothing tough. the premise revolves around manipulating the dungeon by rotating it to discover new areas. so it’s like playing four Stone Towers from MM. Except i guess the Gerudo dungeon, which added an element of electricity (that was cool). but other than that, all of the dungeons are pretty much the same and after you’ve played one, you’ve pretty much played them all, which is sad because it takes away the element of surprise and “oh man i wonder what the theme of the next dungeon will be?”

- the enemies. the lack of variety is a joke. there’s like 4 or 5 types of bokoblins, which just differ in their color and strength. oh and that’s the same for octoroks, moblins, lizalfos, chuchus, lynels, and wizzrobes (which are a fucking joke in this game. remember when wizzrobes were actually tough in the original game?). oh crap, i’ve actually mentioned 90% of the enemies you will face in the game... i think in total there might be 10 or 11, which is PATHETIC when you consider how fucking huge the overworld is. sad sad sad.

- stamina is stupid and so is climbing. stamina was tolerable in SS because of those silent realms you had to beat: you had to be careful of running and climbing and wearing out your stamina because of those crazy-ass guardians. so it made sense because it adds a challenge to the silent realms. in botw, for a game that focuses so much on exploring and climbing, stamina becomes a hindrance that actually makes it annoying to explore the world. you better not run out of stamina while trying to climb that mountain over there lest you run out and have to start all over!!! joy.

- the graphics. can nintendo please try something else with zelda graphics now. don’t get me wrong, i loved TWW and SS, but....these cel-shading graphics (or whatever they’re called) are getting tiresome. i didn’t like how most of the time the game looks bloom-y and blurry af (it’s especially bad when it’s raining or snowing). people complained about TP’s bloom effects but i feel like botw’s light effect (or whatever the hell that causes it to look like someone just put 200% of brightness on an image using photoshop) really takes away from trying to enjoy the scenery and view that the game tries to offer. for the next game can we try something like hyrule warriors or tp or hell even mm 3d? thx.

- the rain. it. rains. so. fucking. much.

haha oh man i never realized how many things i didn’t like about this game. i think i’ll stop here and talk about the things i did like:

- the shrines. although i didn’t like how all of them had the exact same design, the puzzles in them were cool and very zelda-ish.

- the warping system. thank god there are so many warp points to traverse the overworld because otherwise i would have never finished this game.

- the clothes system. i really liked all of the costume options the game gives you, and the fact that you can change the color of the clothes. it takes me back to the OoT days except with more variety. very nice.

- the runes. i loved not having to worry about running out of bombs and the ice rune was very cool and useful: it’s like having infinite ice arrows from MM to make platforms on the water! also the puzzles that involved stopping time with the statis rune were awesome. oh and grabbing treasure from underwater with magnesis never gets old.

- yunobo. yunobo is pure and great and needs to be protected at all costs.

- lynels. for once, a deadly enemy you actually have to be careful with and prepare yourself with good strategy to beat. i remember when i saw my first lynel i was so scared to approach it. they gave lynels such a great treatment and it’s the same one that wizzrobes should have gotten.

- the variety of the weapons.

- revali’s gale. saved me from having to climb so many mountains with its gust that elevates you so high. also after 3 it re-generates in 5 minutes. a blessing.

- the towns. i loved how lively they look. it’s like clock town from mm and it’s great.

- princess zelda. great character development and she has become my second favorite zelda (behind ST Zelda which will always be the best [while oot zelda continues to be the worst])

summary: while i enjoyed some aspects of the game, overall it just was very tiresome and unfulfilling. for a game that boasted about being open world, the world itself was just so barren of interesting things to do and explore. exploring the world of Xenoblade Chronicles, a fucking Wii game, was way more exciting because the environment, story, and music had more to offer. if there’s one thing i can thank botw for, is that it re-awoke my love for zelda games such as TWW, TP, and SS, which i will probably re-play next. i’m all for evolving the zelda series, and i thank botw for trying, but i honestly hope this game will not be the new zelda formula to follow. PEACE OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#zelda #botw #junk #wow i didn't expect this to be so long #but it just had to be done #this was very therapeutic :y #sigh #botw criticism

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nanostuffs · 7 years

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Quotes 3/12/17 - 3/18/17

Be warned: Only the first quote is undertale fanficiton, and there’s a lot of alien shit in this one.

3/12/17 - True Courage Is Knowing... When To Spare A Life (Undertale Fanfiction)

Frisks favorite book in the whole world (and believe them, there were a lot of books) was The Hobbit. And sure, it was a very violent book, with a surprising amount of death for something considered a children’s novel, but there were some better points to it. Frisk loved that Bilbo learnt new things about himself, and yet at the end of the day was still the slightly fussy, and well put together hobbit he started as. Frisk liked that Bilbo didn’t know how to fight at the start of the journey, and used his wits to keep himself safe. Frisk saw a lot of themselves in Bilbo.

Gandalf said to Bilbo, true courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one. Frisk took that to heart, even when they ended up all the way down in the pit of monsters known as The Underground.

3/13/17 - It is Possible to Commit no Mistakes and Still Lose. That is Life.

I’mork watched the dark haired human curse and pull on the yarn she was working with, before reinserting her hook and fiddling with the yarn once again.

“Is it possible to not make a mistake?” the blue blob asked.

“Mistakes are a human thing,” Jane half shrugged, focusing on looping yarn around hook and pulling it though stitches to make more stitches.

“I meant more would it be possible to make a machine that does the same thing you do, and not have to worry about there being errors?” the blob slid in front of the couch where Jane was crocheting, leaving it’s slime trail behind it.

“Perhaps,” Jane replied, “But you realize it’s possible to end up with a bad product even if the designer made absolutely no mistakes, right? That’s just how life is sometimes.”

“Are you trying to be philosophical?” I’mork asked, “I don’t appreciate your attempts to dodge the question.”

“Well, I actually wasn’t,” the brunette shook her head, “But I guess that did sound kind of deeper than I meant it to. To answer your question, probably, but one would still need to know the basics of crochet in order to use it and have a nice result.”

3/14/17 - I’m a Doctor, not A…

“Khrelen, something’s wrong with the human!” I’mork shouted at the giant doctor.

“What’s the matter? Is she bleeding?” Krelen was quick to put their book down and stand.

“She’s crying, but shows no physical reason for it,” I’mork stayed close to the door, knowing better than to trail slime into the medical ward.

“Did she complain about being in pain?” Khrelen reached into a cabnet filled with vials of liquids.

“She said it’s not a physical pain like cramps,” I’mork said, “She said it’s psychological.”

“Well I don’t think there’s anything I can do then,” Khrelen shrugged and returned to her book.

“But you’re a doctor! You have to help!” I’mork cried.

“I’m a doctor, not a psychologist,” Khrelen glared at I’mork, “Now stop wasting my time and make sure the human doesn’t act out.”

“Her name’s Jane,” I’mork’s tentacles began to flail, “She’s 25 human years old. She likes to read, write, crochet, and watch movies. She plays human video games and has a soft spot for Boxe because he is reminiscent of a furry mammal.”

“So?” Khrelen asked, “These are all facts about her. Another fact is that she is in emotional pain, and I do not know how to treat that. Now go cheer her up or something.”

“Fine!” I’mork left an extra large puddle of slime behind them.

3/15/17 - We Successfully Rescued You. You are Refusing to be Rescued. I Wanna Make That Clear.

“Hey, wait,” Jane dragged her feet as one of the three men dragged her towards the air lock.

“No time for waiting sweetheart,” the guy dragging her said, “If we don’t move quickly your captors are gonna wake up and we really don’t want that.”

“And I don’t think I want to go anywhere with you,” Jane attempted to free her arm from the man’s gasp by punching his hand, be he refused to release her. Thankfully her being dragged along was ended by the leader of the group stopping.

“Let me get this straight, you don’t want to leave?” He asked.

“They might have ‘captured’ me, but I feel safe here,” Jane growled, “Thank you for trying to rescue me, but it’s not needed.”

“We successfully rescued you! You are refusing to be rescued. I wanna make that clear.” The leader glared back at her.

“Well then we’re all clear,” Jane shrugged, “Tell whoever you report to that Jane Crow is happier in the company of aliens than humans.”

Her am was immediately released, and she was pushed away from the group of three. She watched as they escaped the ship through the air lock. She knew she’d have to get back to the room her aliens had kept her locked in, but for now she could watch her last thought of returning to humanity drift away from the ship.

3/16/17 - Maybe you've heard of it: Foodfight! is the worst movie ever made! (The Flop House, Episode 138)

Jane found that she had a soft spot for listening to podcasts while crocheting. It was soothing to listen to two guys make fun of a bad movie while she did her own thing. It reminded her of home, and while it did make her feel more homesick, it also made the pain of not being able to go home dissipate.

3/17/18 - “... They Lost My Luggage, It’s the One Thing I Lost on This Trip!”

“You’ve been doing pretty well,” Thalia watched as her much shorter friend slice a sword through a dummy.

“I should hope so,” Canica stabbed the dummy again, “I placed first in every event here. I placed first in that sprinting session, first in the eating contest, first in the singing contest, and first in the spell casting contest.”

“Is there anything you haven’t won?” Camila asked her teammate.

“The carriage with my luggage got lost on the way up here. They lost my luggage; it’s the one thing I lost on this trip.”

3/18/17 - “Does Anyone Know A Good Plumber?” (Inspired by the Creepy Pasta)

Does anyone know a good plumber? Inspection’s tomorrow and I, like, have a leaky tub from a fucked up ritual, and like, several dead things scattered around the house, and I think the washer machine is, like, trying to eat me.

It all started a few days ago. I was chatting to this super hot guy on tinder (at least I think it was a guy) and he, like, asked me if I could like, do a ritual to summon a demon/ghost/demi-god thing. And I was all like, sure I can bby. And then he was like, try to summon a water spirit thing for me and then I’ll come over to your house, exorcise it for you, and then we can fuck. That was, like, his actual message.

I decided that, like, it sounded like a fantastic idea, so long as he also brought drugs. Cause, ya know, if I’m gonna, like, do a shitty ritual for sex, there better also be drugs. Also my dealer’s in a holding cell for buying a whore. Like, I know sex is fun and all, but like, how the hell did you not get caught for drugs?

Anyway, he agreed to bring drugs, but like, it’d have to wait a couple of days for him to get the drugs. We decided that like, we should do this on a wednesday, cuase apparently that’s when drugs from his “hommie” are like, super cheap or something. So I set my alarm to go off at like, midnight on Wednesday so that, like, I could get the ritual done before having to go to work and some fun that night.

My alarm didn’t go off until 1 in the morning because I’m an idiot. So like, I had to do everything super quickly. I didn’t bother getting dressed, and just went into my bathroom, to like, do the ritual. So I went into bathroom, and lit, like five candles and arranged them in a pentagon. I then used some string to like, outline the pentagon and make some, like, super special runes to keep me from summoning something that would, like, actually kill me. I was supposed to do a, like, hour long chant at half-past midnight, but since I was late anyway, I just did a quick little, please come forth deadly water thingie so that I can like, get a good dicking.

It sort of worked? A pipe burst through my bathroom wall. I like, realized at that moment that inspections is supposed to be on Sunday. Fuck. So I packed everything up and got dressed, since I was up anyway, I may as well have like, started early. I found out that all of my business clothes were, like, dirty and shit. So I picked everything up and walked my bra and underwear clad ass to the laundry room to do laundry.

There was this, like, super creepy dude in there though. He was, white, lacked a face, and was super twiggy. He was also in a, like, tux or some shit. He just calmly waved a hand at me. I guess that slut in 4b has a goddamn gentleman as a booty call now. Anyway, I waved back and tried to flirt with the guy. He like, beat a hasty retreat from the room. Actually, now that I think about it, he like, didn’t have a face. Fuckin’ weirdo.

So, like, I started to put my laundry into the washing machine, but like, I thought I heard screaming from inisde the machine. I took a look, but there was nothing in there. So I just put in my load and set the machine to delicate so it wouldn’t rip any of my nice shirts. When I turned around, the pipes seemed to slither across the floor and were starting to take up the room. I booked it for the door and didn’t pass go.

Long story short, I’m locked up in my apartment with a pipe hanging out of the wall and leaking water into the tub. Also there’s some dead things around the apartment, mostly rodents because mouse traps. Does anyone know a good plumber in Maricopa County who won’t ask any questions?

#writing #the first thing is undertale fanficiton #so um #undertale #I guess?#The last one is p messed up.#But I think it's funny

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omgdicks1 · 7 years

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Shitty samus returns review

i feel obligated to talk about how there hasnt been a new metroid game in 6 years, partly because its sad and i wanted more metroid, but mostly because every review ive seen started like this. 6 years is like 4 zeldas, 6 marios, 2 pokemons and 2 failed attempts at college. Yes technically metroid prime : chibi space marines + soccer came out in that time but if you couldnt tell by the (totally accurate title) that shit doesnt count. the world needed samus genociding aliens and promising strip teases if you do it fast enough. why not just do that by remaking the second worst metroid game(return of samus) with all the fixins of super, fusion, and zero mission. so yeah they did that something something transition story After defeating space pirates, destroying mother brain and the metroids in the first game, samus is on the galactic federations speed dial for anytime they fuck something up. This time, they find the metroid homeworld of SR388 and decide to go there without samus. 5 minutes later everyone is dead and they want samus to kill everything left on the planet. yay genocide. the story is basicly a setup to show off and kill a bunch of new metroid evolutions. its a pretty straightfoward story for a pretty straightfoward metroid game. they even got some beautiful artwork to show off these plot points as well as some chozo backstory. its some good shit. gameplay samus returns has built apon the tried and true formula of runing around, shooting aliens, and collecting shit that makes it easier to run around and shoot aliens. expect lots of caverns, hidden power ups bombable walls etc. if youve played a 2d metriod game super or after you have a pretty good idea what youre getting into. that being said there is enough new stuff here too to keep shit interesting. you have all the standard beams, missiles and bombs as well as the screw attack, morphball, spiderball, and grapple beam. the only thing missing is the shinespark, the lack of which makes back tracking a bit more tedious. most of the weapons function exactly the same althought the ice beam doesnt stack on the other beams which is kind of annoying / the grapple beam and powerbombs can pull off some new tricks. tbh im a spoiled brat and i wont be happy with the grapple beam until it has the same versatility as smash bros. as for new shit, you got a melee counter to deflect rush down enemies and set up for a quick kill or just push away critters that get to close. you have the 360 aim which makes it way easier to shoot down enemies at the cost of being locked into a standstill or jumping in place. and you got the aeion abilities that all deplete from a meter you can increase buy collecting upgrades. these abilities let you slow down time, shoot rapid fire, have a lightning armor that negates damage as well as increase the range of your mellee counter, and the scan pulse which can fill out chunks of your map and help find secrets. These new abilities are all really well implemented into the game, especially the 360 aim and the counter, i found myself using those very consistantly. they arent withought faults, the button used for the 360 takes up any space that could be used for a free running diagonal aim, something that is incredibly usefull but still doable by holding diagonal on the controll stick. the melee counter doesnt do any damage by itself which is kind of dissapointing to my fantasy of samus punching her foes to death. regardless the mechanic is still really fun even if i wish it was more damaging and could be used while running. the aeion abilities are great even if i only really used the rapid fire and slowmo when i was required. im too paranoid about running out of meter to ever use them outside of necesity or experimenting on how to kill a boss the fastest way possible. youll have plenty of time to experiment because you fight each form of metroid anywhere between 1 and 12 times. the metroids are fun, the melee counter quick time events and fighting the them in different arenas help keep shit interesting but at the end of the day youre still fighting some of these guys 10+ times. the 3 non metroid bosses are fun too, except maybe diggernaught, beating him was a little too criptic/trial and error -y. id say the bosses in this game are overall significantly harder than most of the other 2d games and im split on how to feel about it. on the one hand i like a challenge but on the other im an unstopable intergalctic genociding bounty hunter so i dont want to die 3 times on a digger robot FUCK YOU DIGGERNAUGHT. but yeah anyway i think the map is a little 2 linear for my taste. its set up in isolated levels with very little intersecting paths and almost no backtracking. for me it makes it feel less like a complete world and more like a series of stages seperated by elevators. it's a left over design from the original game that isnt exactly my cup of tea but also doesnt ruin the experience by any means. at least there are teleporters to make end game collecting easier. presentation i dont like the graphics in this game. all the edges are blocky but not really in a stylized way and the screan always seems blurry like there is to much light coming from the environment for the camera to get a crisp view. even the artwork has this overly lense flare thing going on. to be clear, the graphics in no way inhibit the gameplay. i think they get in way of the atmosphere of the game. for me id say about 50 percent of the metroid experience comes from the imursion and atmosphere that the games have. shit like big ass slugs, krysal caverns, waterfall and statues in the background go a long way to help in this department for SR but it feels like for every area there is with a great background or soundtrack there is another area with little to no soundtrack and the only background is blue or brown rocks. thats not to say this hasnt been the case in other metroid games but many of those had you spend more time running through each respective area. for me this familiarity with each area made each game feel like its own world. i remember traveling through talon IV swampy service because it was interesting, i did it a lot, and the music was great. i remember pendara drifts and norfair and kraid for all the same reasons, the seamed like part of a world. samus returns is a big circle of sometimes pretty caves and ruins connected by elevators . combine that with the less than stellar graphics (id take sprites any day) and you have a rather underwelming planet, at least on the whole. it probably doesnt help that i spent most of my time looking at the touch screen map instead of the actual game. i guess i could always just pause the game and and plan out my route on the map like i used to but meh. something i will praise about the presentation are the added cutscenes and semi quick time events. if you counter a certain bosses youll get a cutscene where you mash the missile button and beat the shit out of the bosses in spectacular ways. you fling some around by their tails, ride using there horns and all sorts of other crazy shit. these all give make samus seem as baddass as ever and really show off how strong she is. it might just be my favorite new feature in the game. i only recall 2 new/ remixed songs from metroid 2, the rest are recycled from other famous metroid games. whats there is great but id always love more. conclusion gameplay wise this might be the most refined and excessable entry in the series, at least in terms of being user friendly. controls are tight, responsive, customizable and the touch screen makes flippin through shit a breaze. the touch screen map combine with the aeion map pulse make exploring easier than ever(i haved mixed feeling but i also dont have to use it so whatever). the bosses are challenging and rarely unfair. the overall presentation is passable but not stellar. the map is pretty linear which could turn off some but does streamline the experience. overall i really enjoyed this game for what it was, as much as i harped on about things that i think have been done better in other entries in the series. i guess for a rating uh, i think i like it better than fusion but not as much as zero mission or super. lemme know if you guys want more ramblings in the future

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grosserfluss · 7 years

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30 days of suikoden challenge , day 5 ——

favorite star of destiny from suikoden iv

here we gooo the original shitty poncy noble turned antag turned redemption arc also known as my favorite character in s4 and the hands down best unit you can’t tell me otherwise drumrooolll.......... snowe vingerhut!

to be perfectly honest, snowe has one of the best narrative arcs not only in s4, but in my opinion in all of suikoden overall. it’s not only realistic and suitably solemn, but executed in a fashion that makes it believable. considering he’s just about one of the only characters in s4 who experiences any character development whatsoever ( i’m kind of tempted to say the only one...... ), it’s like the development team just put literally all their energy into making his story fantastic and then forgot about everyone else. perks: snowe is fucking amazing. cons: everything else kinda sucks character-wise. not that i’m saying the other characters are exceedingly dry and boring; there are definitely still good eggs in the cast. but none of them get character development; they pretty much stay static throughout the game. nor are they particularly dynamic in and of themselves. snowe is pretty much the only one who doesn’t feel like a trope.

he starts out the game winning trophies in the World’s Worst Best Friend contest left and right. though he’s lazlo’s best friend, it’s pretty much a given that he considers him more of a shadow than how one would really treat their friends. he’s so spoiled and self-absorbed that he never gives a thought to what lazlo thinks or wants — it’s pretty much all about himself and how lazlo can make him look good. he’s not mean to him, perse, but he clearly walks all over him and one gets the impression that he hangs out with him because he likes him, yes, but also because lazlo lets him have his way and because snowe looks good next to him. not surprisingly, he’s also an extremely shallow and immature individual, only allowed to take charge of missions and be in command because his daddy dearest has direct influence on the navy.

of course, he lets his privileges go to his head — he believes he should be in charge, that everyone should think the best of him, and is just brimming with poncy young nobleman bravado. of course all the other trainees are going to listen to him and support him, because he’s clearly qualified and they’re his friends! the game sets him up wonderfully as a character, and then comes the brilliant moment at the beginning when he drastically fucks up a simple delivery mission when their ship gets attacked by pirates.

here, we find out ( we’d gotten inklings before, but it never really showed itself until this point ) that snowe is a Coward with a capital c. the moment pirates attack, he’s paralyzed by fear and inaction. when people ask him for orders, he totally blanks. and then when lazlo takes over command, snowe is appalled that he “shows him up”. realizing that no one is listening to him ( while he fucking complains about his arm not being able to move, once again showcasing how self-centered he is ) he decides to just abandon ship in a dinghy by himself. later, the player gets satisfaction in watching the commander chew him the fuck out for abandoning ship when he was captain, and praise lazlo for actually getting shit done and fending off the pirates. this moment, of course, becomes the catalyst for all of snowe’s feelings of jealousy as the commander begins to place more trust in lazlo’s abilities ( rightfully, because snowe is a fucking weenis. )

it’s little surprise, then, that when commander glen dies and the rune of punishment transfers over to lazlo, that snowe, not knowing what happened, blames the commander’s death on his friend, resulting in lazlo’s exile. while snowe seems to express some kind of guilt over causing his friend’s exile in what had been a moment of blind panic, he also seems to selfishly realize that this is also the perfect opportunity for him to regain his former esteem with lazlo gone.

however, no one is surprised when snowe continuously proves himself incompetent over and over again. he gets ousted from the razril and ends up hopping around to a bunch of different places, trying to make a name for himself and get back some of the prestige he once had, joining up with pirates and even the kooluk empire in an attempt to make something out of himself and continue to compete with lazlo. over and over, lazlo and his army encounter him, and each time snowe expresses envy that his best friend is able to be so successful, raising up and leading a unified army, while he continues to fail. he asks “why you?” to which the player doesn’t really have an answer other than snowe’s a fucking immature jackass, but he tries so hard and fails so pathetically because of his lack of understanding that you can’t help but feel sorry for him at the same time, because he just doesn’t get it. he refuses to join you each time out of resentment and jealousy, and you can either kill him or let him go.

if you choose to let him go each time, sending him away in a sad little dinghy after sparing his life, and recruit all the other 107 stars, snowe is your 108th star. i think this is really fitting and symbolic because it’s like your reward for uniting all these people is the chance to give your best friend an opportunity to redeem himself, the one who has clearly thought little of you and sabotaged you since the beginning of the game. the suikoden games focus a lot on the theme of forgiveness — riou and jowy in s2, most notably — but s4′s forgiveness is done so well because, unlike jowy, the player probably doesn’t want to forgive snowe for what he’s done. he was so awful in the beginning, and is the reason lazlo was cast out of razril. he’s been so jealous of you the whole game. but if you choose to be sympathetic to him, you get what becomes a truly equal friendship. the game doesn’t just depict forgiveness for an otherwise sympathetic character, it asks for it from the player for a character who 100% doesn’t deserve it.

and the moment is a truly pitiful one. after you’ve gotten all 107 stars, you’re given the chance to find snowe literally floating on some driftwood in torn up rags for clothing. you’re the leader of a strong, unified army, and he’s hit rock fucking bottom, and when he stands before you and all the people he’s wronged, he knows how low he’s fallen and he’s clearly humbled. he has nothing to say other than “i’m at your mercy”, and when you choose to forgive him and let him join you, he says “i have no choice but to acknowledge how powerless i am. i knew it...i knew it all along”, indicating that he is finally mature enough to realize that everything he’s been doing was out of inferiority complex, and he realizes his mistakes. he thanks you ( for possibly the first time?? ), which shows he’s finally not taking things for granted anymore. the knights surround him in a show of acceptance, and it’s so emotional jfc my heart.

my favorite thing is that his growth comes across in lazlo’s co-op attack with him too. at the beginning of the game, your “friendship” co-op animation consists of lazlo going in and doing all the work, and then snowe coming in and delivering the showy final blow. when you get him again at the end, the co-op has changed to “true friends” and the animation is also different — the two of you are now working together, each pulling his own weight. ( it’s legit one of the best co-ops honestly the dmg output is cray ). i’ve always enjoyed this subtle indication of not only his character development, but also the development of lazlo’s friendship with him to something far more healthy and equal than it used to be.

plus, the fact that you can fish for his alternate outfits that he’s worn throughout the game and dress him up differently is fun. i always put him in his kooluk outfit cause he looks so spiffy and i feel so bad leaving him in those rags haha. he’s also an outstanding unit in my opinion, easily one of the best by end-game. he’s not versatile, but he’s a really powerful melee fighter, and i always stick a fury rune on him and have him doing upwards of 800-1000 dmg per hit, easy. for my play style ( aka. make each unit unto their own one-man army ) snowe is like. the bomb diggity.

so basically, snowe is euram barows but about 20x better. euram was clearly trying to follow the same narrative path as snowe — underdog nobleman who obviously doesn’t have much talent and is trying to sabotage the protag but realizes his mistakes in the end and learns humility. the difference is that snowe, while certainly pathetic and worthy of scorn from the player, is never reduced to farce the same way that euram is. while the player has a hard time taking euram’s bombastic personality and slapstick actions seriously, snowe's repeatedly failed attempts to make something of himself are 100% serious. thus, his endgame redemption feels much more believable than euram’s, which felt really shoehorned in. snowe also shows more inklings of development throughout the game — though he continues to be resentful and envious each time you encounter him, he slowly loses the hubris of early game and starts to visibly question himself well before you get to recruit him, setting up for the moment of his recruitment very nicely. it doesn’t feel sudden or forced at all, unlike euram where it was sort of like you hit a switch and suddenly he got a lobotomy or smth and is now redeemed.

i’ve already written way too much but basically snowe is, in my opinion, the best example of character development and personal narrative in the suikoden series. his early-game self is infuriating, but believable, and his progression through the game is organic and equally well-executed. his redemption is really a redemption — unlike jowy and sialeeds, he didn’t have good intentions for his bad actions. he straight up did awful things and was a pretty awful person. there’s no reason we or lazlo should forgive him. but the point of real forgiveness isn’t to forgive someone you already want to forgive. unlike any other suikoden game, s4 presents us with a character who didn’t have any good, ethical, grey-area reasons for doing what he did, and asks us to forgive him anyway. and when we do, he truly learns from his mistakes and becomes a better person. yells into the void i love snowe!!!

honorable mentions: kika, elenor silverberg, nalkul, ted, helmut

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