#Black Sun is the one I've been side-eyeing since the trailers

[mel-addams]

Aevum's SOLe Braincell

[Image ID: a greyscale illustrated two-panel comic, fanart for the game Redfall. In the first panel, Devinder is holding a tape recorder, making a skeptical expression as he listens to the recording, which is saying (with names redacted with static for spoilers): "I am E K and I think P A was SO SMART about covering his tracks by forgetting everything and instead keeping recordings and evidence of his misdeeds and medical malpractice so now I am also recording all my thoughts on"

In the second panel, Dev can be seen standing in a ravine, surrounded by multiple other highlighted tape recorders, all lying near corpses of cultists and Bellwether mercenaries. Dev is staring up toward the eclipse, talking to the Black Sun: D: "But I just had to stop the folks K hired to burn—" BS: "I know." D: "And you told A NOT to reco—" BS: "I KNOW." D: "But then why did you also start to—" BS: "SHUT UP"

End Image ID]

Dev, muttering as he walks away: "This is why I work digital; one press of a button and all the embarrassing bits disappear."

I was gonna try to wait until I finish the game before I doodled anything (and I'm still only halfway through), but this tape was too funny. What the hell "tracks" did you think were "covered," sir??

[theold-ultraviolence]

HC'S: Origin's of Eddie's music taste part I

This is something that I've thought about CONSTANTLY since Eddie's introduction! part of the reasons why I fell so hard for him is because it's taken me back to my classic rock/80's metal phase from when I was a pre-teen/sad & lonely teen, and this is why I relate to him so much. I'm always referencing songs in my fics but now I really wanted to break down his own music taste and how he came to it! 🤘 Acording to tumblr my hc's were too long so I'll post these in two separate parts.

Influenced by his uncle definitely!!

His parents listened to whatever was on the radio and it wasn’t a healthy environment overall, so Eddie didn’t have any exposure or interest in creative outlets or art in general 

Moving with Wayne restarted his life in the most positive way; I headcanon Wayne took him in around 8 or 9 years old. 

On his first days living with Wayne he was glued to his uncle by the hip, always nearby.

If Wayne was doing some work or just chores on the trailer, Eddie would trail close behind him like a little puppy. 

One time Wayne was fixing some pipes in the kitchen and he wanted to distract Eddie with something so he wouldn’t get bored just waiting around for him, so he asked Eddie to choose a record to play while he worked. 

Eddie was immediately curious about all the colors and the textures of his uncle's vinyl collection.

But one record that caught his eye because of the design was Dark Side Of The Moon (1973) by Pink Floyd: a black background with a prism on the center with its refracted rainbow colors on the right side. 

Gingerly he placed the vinyl on the turntable and was completely hypnotized by the sounds that engulfed the trailer as soon as the needle grazed the record: a ticking clock, droplets of water, the sound of a cash register, a muffled voice speaking and laughing and a singer violently screeching and howling.

Where was the music??? Eddie was super confused. 

But then the sounds merged seamlessly into the easy guitar and soothing percussion of the song that came next, titled ‘Breathe’.

Eddie was compelled to just sit on the living room carpet in a trance, getting lost in the album artwork while listening to the absolute musical journey that that record was.

He literally felt like he had been taken into a trip around the galaxy; each song took him on its own little journey, as its own cinematic experience happening inside his head. 

His favorite songs from that album are Time because of all the clock sound effects and the eerie percussion at the intro; The Great Gig In The Sky because of the absolute power of the vocalist; Money because of the deep bass riff that drives the song (as well as all the sound effects) and Eclipse because it’s short but it’s heavier and ends on a very epic note. 

He was also super perplexed but curious about the lyrics of that one; at the time he didn't understand but they somehow spoke to him deeply:

And all that is now // And all that is gone // And all that's to come // And everything under the sun is in tune // But the sun is eclipsed by the moon

Wayne laughed when he went to check up on him, seeing him all wide eyed with his curls sprawled on the rug, looking up at the ceiling with a dopey grin on his face. 

“You liked that?” Eddie could only nod and replied, “what was that?” 

Wayne proceeded to explain a bit about Pink Floyd and how they were this new movement in music they were calling ‘prog-rock’ which was more experimental than bands he's played around the trailer before, like The Rolling Stones.

After that Eddie’s newfound love for music bloomed and he began his own journey into figuring out what he liked.

Of course The Wall (1979) is another one of Eddie’s favorites from Pink Floyd; it speaks to him more as he grows older because the concept is the ultimate anti-establishment album. Another Brick In The Wall PT. 2 would definitely be his favorite song from that one:

“We don't need no education / We don't need no thought control / No dark sarcasm in the classroom / Teacher, leave them kids alone”

Other bands that he picked up from Wayne: Blue Öyster Cult, Fleetwood Mac, The Stooges, The Rolling Stones, Cream and Deep Purple. 

But a band that he discovered by himself around that time, which introduced him to heavier music, was Led Zeppelin. 

Eddie began hanging around at the record store all the time, always browsing the rows and rows of albums in his own little daze in a sea of graphic illustrations and photographs and colors, imagining the different universes that each record held within. Would they be as magical as that first experience that Pink Floyd brought him?

And such a place could be overwhelming, like, where do you even start? There are so many choices. 

Until one day, after he had saved up his allowances, he headed straight to the record store, ready to buy his first album on his own. 

🤘🤘🤘 to be continued... 🤘🤘🤘

[thewidowsghost]

The Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 5

(Y/n)'s POV

I have weird dreams full of barnyard animals. Most of them wanted to kill me. The rest wanted food.

I must've woken up several times, but what I hear and see makes no sense, so I just pass out again. I remember lying in a soft bed and spoon-fed something that tasted like (Favorite/Food), only it's like pudding. The girl with curly blond hair hovers over me, smirking as she scrapes drips off my chin with the spoon.

When she sees my eyes open, she asks, "What will happen at the summer solstice?"

"What?" I manage to croak.

She looks around, as is afraid someone would overhear. "What's going on? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!"

"I'm sorry," I slur, "I don't . . ."

Somebody knocks on the door, and the girl quickly fills my mouth with the pudding.

. . .

The next time I wake up, the girl is gone.

A husky blond dude, like a surfer, stands in the corner of the bedroom keeping watch over me. He has blue eyes - at least a dozen of them - on his cheeks, his forehead, the backs of his hands.

When I come around for good, there is nothing weird about my surroundings, except they are nicer than I am used to. I am sitting in a deck chair next to Percy - who was looking at me with concern - on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in the distance. The breeze smells like strawberries. There is a blanket over my legs, a pillow behind my neck. All that is great, but my mouth feels like a scorpion had been using it for a nest. My tongue is dry and nasty and every one of my teeth hurt.

On the table next to me is a tall drink. It looks like iced apple juice, with a green straw and a paper parasol sticks through a maraschino cherry.

My hand is so weak I almost drop the glass once I get my fingers around it.

"Careful," says a voice.

Grover is leaning against the porch railing, looking as though he hadn't slept in a week. Under one arm, he cradles a shoebox. He is wearing blue jeans, Converse hi-tops, and a bright orange t-shirt that says CAMP HALF-BLOOD.

"You two saved my life," Grover says. "I...well, the least I could do...I went back to the hill. I thought you might want this."

Reverently, he places the shoebox in Percy's lap.

Inside is a black-and-white bull's horn, the base jagged from being broken off, the tip splattered with dried blood.

It hadn't been a nightmare. My mother was gone.

"The Minotaur," Percy asks.

"Um, Percy, it isn't a good idea -" Grover gets cut off.

"That's what they call him in the Greek myths, isn't it?" Percy demands. "The Minotaur. Half man, half bull."

Grover shifts uncomfortably. "You two have been out for two days. How much do you remember?"

"Mom," I say softly. "Is she really . . ."

Grover looks down.

I stare across the meadow. There is a grove of trees, a winding stream, acres of strawberries spread out under the blue sky. The valley is surrounded by rolling hills, and the tallest one, directly in front of us, is the one with the huge pine tree on top. Even that looks beautiful in the sunlight.

My mother is gone . . .

Nothing should look beautiful. The whole world should be black and cold.

"I'm sorry," Grover sniffs. "I'm a failure. I'm - I'm the worst satyr in the world." He groans, stomping his food so hard it comes off. I mean, the Converse hi-top comes off. The inside is filled with Styrofoam, except for a hoof-shaped hole. "Oh, Styx!" he mumbles.

Thunder rolls across the clear sky.

Mom had really had been squeezed into nothingness, dissolved into yellow light.

Percy and I are alone. Orphans. We would have to live with . . . Smelly Gabe? No. I'd live on the streets first.

Grover is still sniffling.

Percy says, "It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was. I was supposed to protect you."

"Did our mother ask you to protect me?"

"No. But that's my job. I'm a keeper. At least . . . I was."

"But why . . ." Percy begins and I suddenly feel dizzy, my vision swimming.

"Don't strain yourself," Grover says. "Here."

He helps me hold my glass and puts the straw to my lips.

I recoil at the taste because I was expecting apple juice. It isn't that at all. It's chocolate-chip cookies. Liquid cookies. But not just any cookies - Mom's homemade blue chocolate-chip cookies, buttery and hot, with the chips still melting. Drinking it, my whole body feels warm and good, full of energy. My grief doesn't go away, but I feel as if Mom had just brushed her hand lovingly against my cheek, given me a cookie the way she used to when I was upset and told me everything was going to be okay.

Before I know it, I'd drained the glass. I stare into it, sure I'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted.

"Was it good?" Grover asks.

I nod.

"What did it taste like?"

"Chocolate-chip cookies," I reply and Percy looks at me knowingly. "Mom's. Homemade."

He takes the empty glass from me gingerly, as if it's dynamite, and sets it back on the table. "Come on. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting.

3rd Person POV

The porch wraps all the way around the farmhouse.

Percy's legs feel wobbly, trying to walk that far, and (Y/n), though her legs feel like Jello, had moved to support her brother. Grover offers to carry the Minotaur horn, but Percy holds onto it. I'd paid for that souvenir the hard way. I'm not going to let it go.

As the trio comes around the opposite end of the house, (Y/n) catches her breath.

Percy's POV

We must be on the north shore of Long Island because on this side of the house, the valley marches all the way up to the water, which glitters about a mile in the distance. Between here and there, I simply can't process everything I'm seeing. The landscape is dotted with buildings that look like ancient Greek architecture—an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena—except that they all look brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school–age kids and satyrs play volleyball. Canoes glide across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts like Grover's are chasing each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some shoot targets at an archery range. Others ride horses down a wooded trail, and, unless I'm hallucinating, some of their horses have wings.

Down at the end of the porch, two men sit across from each other at a card table. The blond-haired girl who'd spoonfed (Y/n) is leaning on the porch rail next to them.

The man facing me is small, but porky. He has a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it's almost poker. He looks like those painting of baby angles - cherubs. He looks like a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park. He is wearing a tiger-patterned Hawaiian shirt, and he would fit right in at one of Gabe's poker parties, except I get the feeling that this guy could out-gamble even my step-father.

"That's Mr. D," Grover mutters to me and (Y/n). "He's the camp director. Be polite. That girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than just about anybody. And you already know Chiron . . . "

He points at the guy whose back is to me.

First, I realize he's sitting in the wheelchair. Then I recognize the tweed jacket, the thinning brown hair, and the scraggly beard.

"Mr. Brunner!" I cry.

The Latin teacher turns and smiles at me, then looks curiously at (Y/n), who is still supporting some of my weight. His eyes have that mischievous glint they sometimes got in class when he pulls a pop quiz and made all the multiple choice answers B.

"Ah, good, Percy," he says. "Now we have four for pinochle."

He offers me a chair to the right of Mr. D, who looks at me, then (Y/n), who is leaning against my chair, with bloodshot eyes, and heaves a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don't expect me to the glad to see you."

"Percy, why don't you introduce me?" Mr. Burnner says, sending a soft smile towards (Y/n).

"Oh, this is my twin sister, (Y/n)," Percy says.

(Y/n)'s POV

I smile and wave shyly.

"It's nice to meet you, sir," I say. "Percy's told me a lot about you. Even said you were his favorite teacher."

A warmer smile spreads across Mr. Brunner's face and then he turns. "Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner calls to the blond girl.

She comes forward and Mr. Brunner introduces us. "This young lady nursed you back to health, (Y/n). Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Percy and (Y/n)'s bunks? We'll be putting them in Cabin Eleven for now."

"Sure, Chiron," Annabeth replies.

She's probably about my age, maybe an inch or two taller, and a whole more athletic looking. With her deep tan and her curly blond hair, she is almost exactly when I think a stereotypical California girl would look like, except her eyes ruin the image. They are startling gray, like storm clouds; pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she's analyzing the best way to take me down in a fight.

She glances down at the Minotaur horn in Percy's hands then looks back up at me. She says, "You drool when you sleep." My cheeks take on a slight red tinge as she sprints off down the lawn, her blond hair flying behind her.

"So," Percy says, looking anxious to change the subject. "You, uh, work here, Mr. Brunner?"

"Not Mr. Brunner," not Mr. Brunner says. "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron."

"Okay," Percy says, looking totally confused, then looking at the director. "And Mr. D . . . does that stand for something?"

Mr. D stops shuffling the cars. He looks at Percy like he'd just belched loudly. "Young man, names are powerful things. You don't just go around using them for no reason.

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

"I must say, Percy," Chiron - Brunner breaks in, "I'm glad to see you alive, and the chance to meet your sister. It's been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate to think I've wasted my time."

"House call?" I ask, interested.

"My year at Yancy Academy, to instruct Percy. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping a lookout. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met him. He sensed he was something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to...ah, take a leave of absence."

"You came to Yancy just to teach me?" Percy asks.

Chiron nods. "Honestly, I wasn't sure about you at first. We contacted your mother, let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood, and then we learned of Miss (Y/n), here." He nods to me. "But you still had so much to learn, Percy. Nevertheless, you made it here alive, and that's always the first test."

"Grover," Mr. D says impatiently, "are you playing or not?"

Percy's POV

"Yes, sir!" Grover trembles as he takes the fourth chair, though I didn't know why he should be so afraid of a pudgy little man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt.

"You do know how to play pinochle?" Mr. D eyes me suspiciously.

"I'm afraid not," I answer.

"I'm afraid not, sir," he corrects.

"Sir," I repeat, liking the camp director less and less.

"Well," he tells me, "it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilized young men to know the rules"

"I'm sure the boy can learn," Chiron says.

"Please," I plead, "what is this place? What are we doing here? Mr. Brun— Chiron—why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach me?"

Mr. D snorts. "I asked the same question."

The camp director deals the cards; Grover flinches every time one lands in his pile.

Chiron smiles at me sympathetically, the way he used to in Latin class, as if to let me know that no matter what my average was, I was his star student. He expected me to have the right answer.

"Percy," Chiron prompts. "Did your mother tell you nothing?"

"She said . . ." (Y/n) begins and I remember her sad eyes, looking out over the sea. "She told us she was afraid to send us here, even though our father had wanted her to. She said that once we were here, we probably couldn't leave. She wanted to keep us close to her."

"Typical," Mr. D says. "That's how they usually get killed. Young man, are you bidding or not?"

"What?" I ask.

He explains, impatiently, how you bid in pinochle, and so I did.

"I'm afraid there's too much to tell," Chiron says. "I'm afraid our usual orientation film won't be sufficient.

"Orientation film?" (Y/n) asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"No," Chiron decides. "Well, Percy, (Y/n). You know your friend Grover is a satyr. You know -" he points to the horn in the shoebox - "that you have killed the Minotaur. No small feat, either. What you may not know is that the great powers are at work. Gods - the forces you call the Greek gods - are very much alive."

I stare at the others around the table.

I wait for somebody to yell, Not! but all I get is Mr. D yelling, "Oh, a royal marriage. Trick! Trick!" He cackles as he tallies up his points.

"Mr. D," Grover asks timidly, "if you're not going to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?"

"Eh? Oh, all right."

Grover bites a huge shard out of the empty aluminum can and chews it.

"Wait," I tell Chiron as (Y/n) sits down on the edge of my chair. "You're telling me there's such a thing as God."

"Well, now," Chiron says. "God—capital G, God. That's a different matter altogether. We shan't deal with the metaphysical."

"Metaphysical? But you were just talking about—"

"Ah, gods, plural, as in, great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavors: the immortal gods of Olympus. That's a smaller matter."

"Smaller?"

"Yes, quite. The gods we discussed in Latin class.

"Zeus," I say. "Hera. Apollo. You mean them."

And there it was again—distant thunder on a cloudless day.

"Young man," says Mr. D, "I would really be less casual about throwing those names around if I were you."

"But they're stories," I say. "They're—myths, to explain lightning and the seasons and stuff. They're what people believed before there was science."

"Science!" Mr. D scoff. "And tell me, Perseus Jackson"—I flinch when he says my real name, which I never told anybody—"what will people think of your 'science' two thousand years from now?" Mr. D continues. "Hmm? They will call it primitive mumbo jumbo. That's what. Oh, I love mortals—they have absolutely no sense of perspective. They think they've come so-o-o far. And have they, Chiron? Look at this boy and tell me."

"Percy," Chiron says, "you may choose to believe or not, but the fact is that immortal means immortal. Can you imagine that for a moment, never dying? Never fading? Existing, just as you are, for all time?"

"You mean, whether people believed in you or not," (Y/n) says.

"Exactly," Chiron agrees. "If you were a god, how would you like being called a myth, an old story to explain lightning? What if I told you Perseus and (Y/n) Jackson, that someday people would call you a myth, just created to explain how children can get over losing their mothers."

My heart pounds. He's trying to make me angry for some reason, but I wasn't going to let him. I say, "I wouldn't like it. But I don't believe in gods."

"Oh, you'd better," Mr. D murmurs. "Before one of them incinerates you."

Grover pleads, "P-please, sir. He's just lost his mother. He's in shock."

"A lucky thing, too," Mr. D grumbles, playing a card. "Bad enough I'm confined to this miserable job, working with boys who don't even believe!" He waves his hand and a goblet appears on the table, as if the sunlight had bent, momentarily, and woven the air into glass. The goblet fills itself with red wine.

"You're Dionysus," (Y/n) says and Mr. D looks at her. "The god of wine."

Mr. D nods then stares at me as I say, "You're a god."

"Yes, child."

"A god. You."

He turns to look at me straight on, and I see a kind of purplish fire in his eyes, a hint that this whiny, plump little man is only showing me the tiniest bit of his true nature. I see visions of grapevines choking unbelievers to death, drunken warriors insane with battle lust, sailors screaming as their hands turn to flippers, their faces elongating into dolphin snouts. I know that if I push him, Mr. D would show me worse things. He would plant a disease in my brain that would leave me wearing a straitjacket in a rubber room for the rest of my life.

"Would you like to test me, child?" he says quietly.

"No. No, sir."

The fire dies a little; he turns back to his card game. "I believe I win."

"Not quite, Mr. D," Chiron says. He sets down a straight, tallies the points, and says, "The game goes to me."

I think Mr. D is going to vaporize Chiron right out of his wheelchair, but he just sighs through his nose, as if he were used to being beaten by the Latin teacher. He gets up, and Grover rises, too.

"I'm tired," Mr. D says. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment."

Grover's face beads with sweat. "Y-yes, sir."

Mr. D turned to me. "Cabin eleven, Percy Jackson. And mind your manners." He sweeps into the farmhouse, Grover following miserably.

"Will Grover be okay?" I ask Chiron.

Chiron nods, though he looks a little troubled. "Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been . . . ah, grounded, I guess you would say, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus."

"Mount Olympus," I say. "You're telling me there is really a palace there?"

"Well now, there's Mount Olympus in Greece. And then there's the home of the gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways, but the palace moves, Percy, just as the gods do."

"You mean the Greek gods are here? Like...in America?"

"The what?"

"Western civilization?" (Y/n) guesses and Chiron nods for her to continue. "It started in Greece, then spread to Rome, right?"

"That's correct, Miss (Y/n)," Chiron says.

"And then they died?" I ask, looking between my Latin teacher and my sister.

"Died? No. Did the West die? The gods simply moved, to Germany, to France, to Spain, for a while. Wherever the flame was brightest, the gods were there. They spent several centuries in England. All you need to do is look at the architecture. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for the last three thousand years, you can see them in paintings, in statues, on the most important buildings. And yes, Percy, of course, they are now in your United States. Look at your symbol, the eagle of Zeus. Look at the statue of Prometheus in Rockefeller Center, the Greek facades of your government buildings in Washington. I defy you to find any American city where the Olympians are not prominently displayed in multiple places. Like it or not—and believe me, plenty of people weren't very fond of Rome, either —America is now the heart of the flame. It is the great power of the West. And so Olympus is here. And we are here."

"Who are you, Chiron? Who . . . who am I? Who . . . who are we?"

Chiron smiles. He shifts his weight as if he was going to get up out of his wheelchair, but I know that was impossible. He's paralyzed from the waist down.

"Who are you?" he muses. "Well, that's the question we all want answered, isn't it? But for now, we should get you a bunk in cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate."

And then he does rise from his wheelchair. But there's something odd about the way he did it. His blanket falls away from his legs, but the legs don't move. His waist keeps getting longer, rising above his belt. At first, I think he's was wearing very long, white velvet underwear, but as he keeps rising out of the chair, taller than any man, I realize that the velvet underwear wasn't underwear; it was the front of an animal, muscle and sinew under coarse white fur. And the wheelchair isn't a chair. It was some kind of container, an enormous box on wheels, and it must've been magic, because there's no way it could've held all of him. A leg comes out, long and knobby-kneed, with a huge polished hoof. Then another front leg, then hindquarters, and then the box was empty, nothing but a metal shell with a couple of fake human legs attached.

I stare at the horse who had just sprung from the wheelchair: a huge white stallion. But where its neck should be was the upper body of my Latin teacher, smoothly grafted to the horse's trunk.

"You're a centaur!" (Y/n) says in awe, and Chiron's eyes sparkle with amusement as he nods.

"What a relief," the centaur says. "I'd been cooped up in there so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, Percy and (Y/n) Jackson. Let's meet the other campers."

Word Count: 3702 words

[atowncalledmalec]

That's actually really sweet

A small breakdown of the trailer that we got before 3B started. I wrote this a couple of months ago but still wanted to post it here.

Angst, a glimpse of Magnus' mental health after losing his magic.

Magnus sighed, blinking in the dim light of predawn as he rolled over, after exactly no hours of sleep. He studied Alec's sleeping form in the meager light, listening to the soft snores that emanated from his boyfriend, trying to use the sound to block out the whirling mess in his head.

With another sigh, a deeper one, Magnus rolled back over. Sitting up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and dropped his head into his hands, scrubbing at his face as if he could wipe all of the loneliness, the hurt and anger and confusion away with the motion.

One last look over his shoulder at Alec's sleeping form had Magnus standing, as graceful as ever, even if his body felt odd, foreign to him.

That will be the loss of your magic dear.

Shying away from that thought, Magnus stumbled into his closet, decidedly not thinking about the fact that he would have to search by hand through rack upon rack of clothes, to find something to wear.

Magnus simply grabbed the first things his hands landed on and snapped his fingers to remove his silk pyjamas before the memories of what he had lost stabbed him in the gut. The wound went deeper than any he had suffered over the centuries he had already endured.

Allowing one solitary tear to fall before pushing it away, Magnus shrugged out of his clothing, forgoing the shower he didn't have the energy to take, and started pulling his chosen outfit on.

Red shirt, black pinstripe slacks, suspenders. You've worn this one before bane!

Who cares, it's just clothes. Alexander doesn't care if I've worn them before.

With that thought running through his head, Magnus gave his appearance a cursory glance in the full length mirror in his closet before wandering out into his bedroom.

With eyes lingering on Alec, watching his Shadowhunter in the vanity mirror, Magnus took a seat and started pulling his war paint out. He swiped a dusting of eyeshadow over each lid before staring critically at his work.

“It's been far too long since you've done this by hand and you look ridiculous,” Magnus muttered to himself, grabbing a wipe and scrubbing it off.

Stars sparkled in his eyes when he emerged from the wipe, having dug into them just that little bit too hard. Blinking helped take his mind off of the fact that he had to wipe it off in the first place.

Magnus grabbed his eyeliner, the one part of his makeup routine that he always did by hand, and pulled his lower lids down, ignoring how bloodshot his eyes looked, to line his eyes before he closed them and ran the pencil through his scrunched lids once more, coating the waterline of his top lids too.

With a final smudge at the excess, Magnus studied his face in the mirror once more. I'll just say that I was going for a new look if anyone asks.

Swiping his hand over his face once more, Magnus’ gaze caught on the chipped polish on his nails. He grabbed the bottle of nail polish remover and swiped it over the leftover fragments of polish on his nails, trying not to think on how closely the fragments resembled his life. Cracked, chipped, faded… lacking.

That thought sapped the last of Magnus’ will to pretty himself up. Leaving his nails polish free, he swung his legs, blinking as he wondered what to do now. He had to keep busy, lest he crumble like the polish that had blemished his nails.

“Breakfast, yes, I'm sure Alexander will need some breakfast after all of the energy he lost during battle.”

The words came softly, softer than his voice usually came out but they were Magnus’ salvation. A purpose. A distraction. A way to make some use of his now useless body.

Without a minute to lose, Magnus strode from the room, walking quickly to the kitchen to cook up a feast.

Of course, he didn't actually know how to use any of the modern contraptions his kitchen was filled with. Of course, he didn't know how to un-magically whip up a breakfast that was fit for a king… or a recovering Shadowhunter. And, of course, there was no actual food in his refrigerator.

The market! The farmers market three blocks away. I'll find something there!

Rushing for the front door, grateful to have something to do, Magnus just about managed to catch the door on its backswing, a split second before it closed, with a thudding heart.

Keys. Phone. Money. Your fucking sanity!

They were all things he had never had to worry about before. A snap of his fingers, a flick of his wrist, hell, one elegant swirl of his fingers was usually all Magnus needed to shop or get in touch with people or to let himself to into his own fucking home!

A stuttering, ragged, torment filled breath ripped from him as he clutched the door frame for support, allowing the moment of weakness when there was nobody to see it. He was unsure of what was worse, the churning of his stomach or the thundering, swirling shit storm, running through his head.

Magnus took one, two, three deep breaths in before he straightened, spine erect, and stomped back into his apartment to snatch his keys and some money up. The image of having to press his buzzer and wait out in the cold for Alec to let him in because he had left his keys went as quickly as it came.

Squaring his shoulders once more, Magnus shoved his things into the pockets of his pants and strode out of the door, head held high as he made his way through the building, riding the elevator in quiet contemplation.

A chill breeze was the first indication to Magnus that he had made it outside. He barely paid attention to the cold wind and the barley rising sun as he started towards the farmers market, running through the list of ingredients in his head.

A momentary smile graced Magnus’ lips as he recalled the one time, just a couple of short weeks ago, when Alec had made his stew, calling the ingredient list his “instructions”. Is that all it is, just a couple of weeks? He wondered to himself, it feels like centuries.

A tiredness washed through him in that moment as every single one of the years that he had existed crept up on him, all at once. They almost had him falling to his knees, the weight of those years too much to bear. Centuries.

I've been alive centuries and in all of that time, I've never faced something of this magnitude, Magnus thought.

Never once had Magnus had to think about those countries dwindling to decades, to a handful of years. His life hd always been endless, inevitable, permanent, his immortality unbending to the passage of time. Those concerns are for mortals, beings with shorter lifespans, right? Not for him. Not for the son of a demon.

His feet started moving again, the harsh wind making him snap his fingers to conjure a jacket before he could catch himself. It would be easy to pull a scowl onto his face. To snarl at the cruelty of his father's demand but his face just went slack as he wandered down the street, not one of the thousand emotions that swirled through him able to find purchase on his face.

Magnus blinked when his legs almost went from beneath him, from the uneven ground he had stumbled on. Looking up as he righted his steps, he found the reason that the ground had changed beneath his feet, maybe not metaphorically, but certainly physically. The edge of the sidewalk.

Magnus turned left and started wandering through the stalls, listening to the calling of vendors, allowing their crass shouts to drown out the thoughts that were parading through his mind on a never ending loop.

There was something soothing about it, about witnessing life going on around him when it felt like his own had come to an end. If these mundanes can exist without magic, then I can too. Right?

A stall that sold breakfast food snagged Magnus' attention, forcing him to focus rather than sink into his own head once more. He ran his fingers over the soft eggshells, thinking of their fragility and relating to them all too easily, silently wondering how many he would need.

Scooping up half a dozen, hoping they would be enough, Magnus held them carefully to his chest, pulling on a tight smile for the woman watching him. He juggled the eggs as he searched through the pastries that were on offer, selecting a couple of the largest croissants and adding them to the pile of precious eggs.

A crate of oranges snagged Magnus’ attention next. Freshly squeezed juice, that will be a nice addition. How many though? Three? Four? There's only two of us.

Picking up two plump oranges, Magnus added them to pile that he was now juggling, cursing his lack of ability to simply snap up a basket to carry them in. That lack of magical skill had him giving up. He smiled at the woman, waiting to serve him, and managed to juggle his haul into her hands.

Barely paying attention to the woman, Magnus scooped his wallet out of his pocket and handed a twenty over, thinking that it should be enough. He felt no shame in admitting to himself that it had been a long while since he had had to worry about something as mundane as paying for croissants and eggs.

Accepting the bag that the lady handed him, and completely missing the expression on her face… not that he would have been able to decipher it if he had, Magnus made his way back to his building, deciding to buy a rose on a whim as he passed a flower stall on his way out of the market.

Magnus meandered back to his building, standing uncertainty outside of the door for a moment before he remembered he would have to dig his keys out. He pulled them from his pocket, staring at the keys and the little fob before he remembered when the mundane had showed him around the apartment.

Magnus held the fob to he small panel above the buttons, starting when the door clicked open. He grabbed the handle and pulled, slightly impressed with the technology that the mundanes had come up with, in place of magic. His mind wandered again when he ducked into the elevator and rode it up to his floor.

Knowing that he would have to actually face Alec at some point, Magnus tried to run through what expressions he would put on his face, already hoping that his voice wouldn't crack when they had to speak.

A tiny part of Magnus’ brain thought of the Shadowhunters part in the loss of his magic. It had been his decision, one he knew that he would make again, in an instant, but it still hurt that he had had to make the decision in the first place, especially in light of the fact that the reason he had lost his magic hadn't been seen since they had discovered Clarys death.

Jace had run away as soon as he had announced the news, leaving him to try and get in touch with Cat to move Alec back to the loft, and to deal with the loss of his magic and Clary all in the same breath.

With straining lungs, as the implications of what that meant rolled through him, Magnus looked around his kitchen, desperately pushing thoughts of Clary's death aside, the questions he had been trying to banish over the last thirty hours surfaced once more. Do I blame him? Do I blame them all?

But Magnus couldn't deal with that now, he had to prepare Alec's breakfast, keep busy, ignore the implications and the consequences of his lost magic. It was the best way, the only way to get through the coming days.

Humming a tune under his breath, because he was fine and it kept his mind busy, Magnus emptied his groceries out onto the kitchen side, forgetting the fact that he couldn't remember getting out of the elevator.

Magnus stared at the croissants, eyeing them as one would eye a confusing puzzle before his gaze slid to the microwave that he had never used. He opened the door and tossed the pastries inside, staring at the control pad as though the instructions would light up and show him the way.

With a shrug, Magnus started pressing buttons, jabbing harder and harder at them until the infernal contraption lit up and the food started turning before he turned his attention to the eggs.

“A simple omelette should suffice,” Magnus muttered, rifling through the cupboards and drawers for a bowl and fork, it was a much more successful endeavour than the microwave. At least I know how to work the hob, even if the damn oven evades me.

Magnus soon had the eggs whipped up and cooking in a frying pan, his eyes glued to the eggs because it was easier to pour all of his attention into ensuring the food didn't burn than it was to let his mind wander.

The pinging of the microwave had Magnus dropping the wooden spoon and dashing towards the machine. He pulled the door open and grabbed hold of the red hot pastries, muttering a string of curses under his breath as he yanked his hand back and blew on it.

Snatching a dishcloth up, Magnus yanked the pastries out and slammed them down on a plate, wishing with everything inside of him that he could portal himself to Paris and pick some fresh, already warm pastries up and offer them to Alec. He even contemplated trying it in his desperation.

But, before he could raise his hand, a crackling sound rang out through the kitchen. That was almost the moment he lost it, turning around to see the eggs on their way to burning.

Dashing across the kitchen before the pan could catch fire, Magnus snatched the pan up off the hob and slammed it down on the countertop before his legs gave way.

Sliding down the side of the cupboard, onto the floor, Magnus crumpled. Knees to his chest, his arms wrapping around them, he raked his hands through his hair as the tears started gathering in the corners of his eyes.

Can't even get through making one breakfast the mundane way. How the fuck am I supposed to make it the rest of the way? How am I going to survive however long I'm allotted now, if I can't even cook a fucking omelette?

Knowing that his breathing was picking up, his stomach somewhere back at the farmers market, back where he had found Alec, filled with arrows and trying to make jokes, back in Edom. Take your pick. Magnus tried to regulate his reactions.

Magnus tried to fight the empty, lonely, powerless feeling that wanted to swamp him every other second, to take him over and drag him down the hole that he was unsure he would be able to climb out of but it felt like a losing battle. It was too much, everything fighting for ground and trying to take precedence at the forefront of his mind.

Magnus didn't want to feel, he wanted to be numb, to fall asleep and wake up to Alec telling him it had all been a nightmare or not wake up at all. He wanted to hide from the world that always demanded too much but never gave back a fraction of what his sacrifices were worth.

But I can't, because I'm Magnus Bane, High War…

Magnus Bane, friend, confident, boyfriend. I'm the one that solves problems, the one everyone turns to, every time. I'm the dependable one, not the man who gets to have a day off from the demands placed upon him.

Scrubbing the tears from his face and taking a deep breath, Magnus stood and looked down at his “creation”. It wasn't horrendous, maybe a dark spot, here and there but it looked edible… perhaps. Sighing a deep breath out, he flipped it onto the plate with the croissants, cutting any dark bits off and turned to his oranges, pushing his self pity to the back of his mind.

“I should have got more,” Magnus muttered to himself, staring at the ridiculously small amount of juice in the glass when he had squeezed the two solitary oranges out. Pursing his lips, he placed it on a tray with the plate, placed the rose in a milk jug and picked it up, taking deep breaths on his way to his bedroom.

The soft snores Alec was making had Magnus’ stomach settling a fraction, a small amount of the weight he was carrying sliding from his shoulders at the adorable sounds. He had spent the night listening to them, unable to sleep, and still he ached to hear more but he needed to keep busy, not wallow.

So carrying the tray towards his vanity, Magnus set it down and pondered the best way to wake Alec. He knew from experience that a gentle shake and soft words wouldn't cut it so he decided the simplest approach was the best and strode over to the curtains.

“Come on, Pup, time rise and face the day,” Magnus said as he shoved the curtains open, a bright shaft of light brightening the room in an instant. There, that's normal, right? He asked himself before turning to find Alec, cringing back from the light.

“Pup?” Alec asked when he was so rudely awoken, trying to cover his eyes from the burning sensation of the sunlight. Is he trying out a nickname?

“Panda?” Magnus asked, wondering if Alec would like that one better.

“No!” Alec said, racking his brain for a cell that was working.

“Okay,” Magnus said quietly, returning to the vanity to collect Alec's breakfast as he fixed his best smile in place. I can do this, I can do normal. For him, for his sake. I. Can. Do. Normal.

Even if it was actually for his own sake.

“Why is it so early?” Alec groaned, rolling into his side to bury his face in the pillows, hoping for more sleep.

The next words out of Magnus’ mouth had Alec sitting up. He tried to adjust to the light and being awake and the way Magnus was moving across the room, his boyfriend's spine semi erect and an easy look on his face. Huh?

“Oh, with everything going on, sleep has been a bit of a struggle,” Magnus allowed himself to share as he returned with Alec's breakfast.

Alec looked up at Magnus properly as he fully sat up, taking his outfit in.

“Why are you dressed?” Alec asked when Magnus slid a tray of food onto the end of the bed..

“Oh, I had to get up early to go to the farmers market before dawn, for the ingredients for our breakfast. Which… admittedly, is less than… perfect. But do you know how many oranges are required to make a glass of juice…?” Magnus asked, picking up the half empty glass.

Alec picked up a croissant inspecting it as Magnus raised the glass and inspected the contents at eye level.

“...More than I bought. I used to have magic to do all of these little errands but, I have to admit, there's a certain… charm to doing things the mundane way,” Magnus said casually, smiling his best smile. He did his best not to notice Alec's expression, ploughing on as though everything was fine.

“Is today a special occasion?” Alec asked, squinting up at Magnus, seeing all of the truths Magnus was attempting to hide behind his smiles and his casual movements.

“Well, today is your day off and I want to make the most of it,” Magnus said softly, sliding the tray closer to Alec with a smile.

Alec's stared at Magnus, his eyes narrowing at his boyfriend's blase attitude as the tray was pushed forward. Magnus still hadn't talked to him, about losing his magic or his trip to Edom. He desperately wanted Magnus to open up, to scream or yell, to rightfully blame him because it was his Parabatai Magnus had saved. To do anything other than what Magnus was doing now, pretending.

But Alec also recognised the defence mechanism, it was one he employed himself. Smile, show the world that it doesn't affect you. Pretend that you aren't falling apart and pray that nobody looks too closely. He understood those reactions all too well and still fell back on them now.

Alec had two options , he could force the issue, force Magnus to talk before he was ready to, while the wounds where still to fresh… or he could let Magnus come round. He could let Magnus come to the conclusion that he was pushing him away, and wait until Magnus had gotten it together in his own head.

“That's actually really sweet,” Alec said with a small smile of his own, trying not to purse his lips. He wanted Magnus to open up but knew it had to be in his own time, at his own pace. And it was sweet, that Magnus wanted to look after him, even if Magnus’ hurt was worse than his own and he didn't really deserve it.

“Uhm, I thought so,” Magnus said with a small shrug and another smile.

Alec leaned in for a kiss, wanting to let Magnus know, even if he didn't say the words, that he was there, ready to listen when Magnus was ready to talk or scream or fight. He almost fell on his face when Magnus broke the kiss that was barely a brush.

Magnus didn't have a choice, he couldn't wrap himself up in Alec and sink into the kiss, couldn't allow Alec to comfort him. He knew that if he held on too long, he would break, he wouldn't be able to hold it all inside and be strong in front of his boyfriend. So he pulled back after a few seconds and scooped the glass of juice up.

“Drink up, time for our morning exercise,” Magnus said, fighting every emotion with a centuries long practiced pretension that he had perfected, pretending that nothing could hurt him. Try as he might though, he couldn't do it. Not with Alec. So he stood, jumping to his feet far too quickly, even to him, and dashed from the room.

Alec accepted the glass and watched Magnus go, his face dropping. He clutched the glass, his resolve almost breaking, almost jumping up and demanding Magnus talk to him.

Alec stood, pacing the floor. He understood, to a certain degree. Not about Magnus losing his magic, he would never understand that, couldn't even begin to imagine it. But he understood what it was to feel vulnerable, to feel weak and out of control in front of those who always saw you as strong.

A thought rolled into Alec's brain as he turned on his heel once more, a way for Magnus to take some control back.

“If Magnus wants exercise, I know exactly how to give it to him.” Alec muttered, throwing some boxers on and following Magnus into the living room.

“Magnus, get your stuff, you're coming training with me,” Alec said, squeezing Magnus’ hand when he saw the red rims of his boyfriend's eyes.

Alec could give Magnus the time he needed to come around and make sure he could protect himself at the same time.

[la-appel-du-vide]

Lake Powell 2021 🌊

Ohhhhh Lake Powell. What a PLACE!

After we had such a blast last year, we wanted to do another trip this year - especially because now Brady has a Jeep that can tow! We figured it would be cheaper to rent a pair of waverunners in Utah and then drive them down ourselves. Plus, Brayden had NEVER SEEN Lake Powell, which is both crazy and not acceptable. (;

As the summer went on, and the lake levels kept dropping (they're currently the lowest they've been since the lake was originally filled up), we were getting nervous that our trip wouldn't happen. Ramps at Wahweap and Bullfrog were closed and auxiliary ramps had to be used instead - the photos of the ramps so far out of the water are absolutely crazy! Houseboats were encouraged to pull out of the water. Things weren't looking super good. But when the time came to pull the trigger, we took the risk and hoped things would work out. And they did!

We rented two waverunners from a guy in Provo, and that was a horrible experience. We told him we'd be picking them up on Thursday night between 7:30 and 8:30, and he said to give him a 45-minute heads up. We texted him when we were about 35 minutes out, and he didn't even leave until 40 minutes later. He literally did not get there until 9:15. I was livid - we still had a 5-hour drive to Page. On top of that, the waverunners were NOT in good shape. Deep gashes covered in paint/duct tape, one that was missing its registration sticker (literally illegal), one that had no mirrors, neither of them had dry box lids (he tried to tell me that was normal, that they ALWAYS break off on every machine he's ever seen - BS, and I called him on that), they had a tiny amount of storage space, and they were already low on fuel. Perfect. He insisted that we take 6 life jackets, even though we only needed three, so he didn't have to put a special note on the reservation. Annoying. He talked to us about useless information for almost an hour, so we left SO much later than we wanted to, and didn't get to Page until almost 3 AM. Good start to the trip, right?

We stayed in a little townhome Airbnb - it was fine, but a bit outdated (the green carpet was a clear giveaway haha). We got a quick four hours of sleep before we were up again, exhausted, to hit the lake. We stopped by the place Beach and I rented from last year to see if they wouldn't mind giving us a map - we LOVED the map they gave us last year. Clear, helpful, and plastic so getting wet doesn't hurt it. It was awkward though, when I explained we weren't renting from them this year, but certainly would again in the future because we were having a very bad time, but that we'd really love a map again. She gave us one, but didn't seem happy about it. Yikes. Then we stopped at the store to get some snacks for the day, and finally stopped at Maverik to fill the stupid things up. That's where the next sign of trouble occurred - Beach took the turn too sharp and rammed the trailer right into the bollard in front of the gas pump. It was SO loud and shook us all. And yep, it left quite a dent in the trailer. It was still functional, but that's no way to start a day. Morale was quite low for a bit.

But then we finally got to the lake. Much needed. The line wasn't long at all - I think many people are afraid to launch after hearing the things we'd heard. We launched like pros and hit the lake! I was really conscious of enjoying the sun on my skin, the sound of the water, and the way it felt to cruise around the lake. I get so sad at the end of summer, because the warm weather really keeps me going. We went to see the dam, and took an inaugural dip. We LOVE our little dips - always refreshing, and never too cold. Plus, you dry almost immediately when you get out! We drove the channel (insane, of course) down to Antelope Canyon, and then hit a no-wake zone up until we got to a spot to park. Because the lake levels are so low, there's a ton of muck in the water (I'm not sure how that correlates, but it must, because it wasn't like this last year) when you get to the ends of canyons. There was a THICK layer of sticks/debris coming into the Antelope Canyon parking area. Brayden and Beach had to swim us in so we didn't get the machines full of that crap and ruin the engine.

It's amazing how much less crowded it was this year than last year. We only saw a handful of people while we were hiking Antelope - last year, it was pretty packed and we had to do a lot of waiting to get photos. I liked this part of the change haha. It's such a stunning canyon and hike - the beautiful wave patterns along the red rocks are just unreal. It doesn't feel like it's something that could have happened naturally, and it's absolutely mind boggling. We are so lucky to have something like this so close to home, so we can experience the magic so easily. Ugh, I love it. I got a little nauseous on the hike back, because I always do when I don't sleep and then physically exert myself. BUT I didn't throw up, so W! We took a small break to eat an apple, drink some water, and rest in the shade before swimming the waverunners back out through the muck hahah (poor B and Beach - I got a ride). We did have to do some serious work to ensure that the engines were clean and clear of debris before we started them up again, and that was a little stressful, but it all turned out fine.

Then I hopped on with Beach and we drove Navajo Canyon, which is really just one of my favorite things to do. By the time you get to the end (it's pretty long) it smoothes out so nicely, and there is NOTHING better than absolutely cruising on glass water on a waverunner. We were gliding so fast, taking smooth, wide turns through the canyon... gave me absolute life. At one point, Beach hopped on with Brayden and they took a video of me riding side-by-side with them, and it's so great.

Then trouble hit us yet again. My waverunner alarm started going off to alert us of low fuel. We knew it was time to head back to the marina anyway, so we could load them up before it got dark. We started heading out and just decided to take the fastest path back to the marina, because we obviously weren't familiar with these machines and didn't know how far we could get once the gas light was on. We took a right out of Navajo Canyon to go look for the small channel that leads from Warm Creek Bay back to the marina - which we used quite a bit last year. But..... we couldn't find it. I was pretty sure I was losing my mind. We drove that whole bay up and down a couple of times, and I was getting so frustrated by how I could possibly be missing it. Eventually, we stopped by a houseboat to ask where it was, and apparently it's LITERALLY GONE. The entire channel DRIED UP. In the span of a few months. That is WILD. And we'd wasted all the gas I probably even had left looking for something that doesn't exist anymore. So the bad news was, now we'd have to go ALL THE WAY AROUND to get back to the marina. Their gas light was on too now (by the way, the alarm would scare us so bad when it went off, and it lasted like 3 minutes before it would turn off - so annoying) and we figured we would run out of gas before we made it that far. We ended up stopping by another houseboat (a SUPER nice one) to ask if they'd be willing to let us borrow a couple of gallons of gas. They were super nice about it and let us have some. Then we went guns ablazing to try and get back to the marina before it got dark. Going the long way, though, you hit THREE wakeless zones, so it just takes forever. We ended up completely forgoing the rules and flying through them. The sun was setting FAST and it was getting SO DARK. It's definitely not safe to be out there in the "pitch night" hahaha as Beach said. By the time we dropped Beach off to go get the car and trailer, it was literally black outside. I could hardly see anything. Some of the buoys had lights on, which was so helpful, but we still had to be so careful. Our only saving grace was a broken down boat at the bottom of the auxiliary ramp that had a light on, so we could find the ramp in the dark. Loading was difficult, especially once we realized that the roller poles on our trailer were SO LOOSE. We texted the rental guy about what to do and his response was "Lol, guess those need to be tightened." And he suggested we try to tie them on with a rope. SO helpful. All of his stuff was shotty.

But we DID IT. What an adventure. We stopped for dinner at Denny's on the way home, because we looked like hell and hadn't eaten all day. And then we were so exhausted, I'm pretty sure I've never slept deeper. I couldn't even keep my eyes open for a minute.

To be continued...