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I’ve been slowly playing through BG3 lately in my free time (good soup) and everyone I’ve talked to about it is convinced I’ll romance Astarion or Karlach. I’m not saying that’s not a possibility, however, Gale is giving me major Alistair from Dragon Age vibes so far and I’m not mad about it
#I’m not super far into the story I don’t think so I could be wildly off#I’m digging several of the characters so nothing is set in stone yet and I’ll likely do multiple playthroughs if I know anything about me#but if gale is Alistair 2 electric boogaloo then I’ll be pleased#my bf and his friend have a bet on who I’ll go for and I’m dying to know#balders gate 3#bg3#gaming#rtpm#tbd
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hi lol this is totally random but based on a harry potter post you just reblogged and you can completely ignore me if you want, but do you think snape deserved better, or are you a quote unquote "snape apologist"? I'm genuinely curious cuz I've come across a lot of different opinions on severus. Again, feel free to ignore :)
This ended up way longer than it needed to be, and I apologize for that lmao.
Hi! Hmmm I have many mixed opinions on this. First we have to talk about which Snape. Book!Snape is actually kind of an asshole, and not in the fun way. (Way more than I remembered.) But but but Alan Rickman!Snape I like a lot.
And no I'm not mentioning Snape from TCC. That was not Snape and that world was not Harry Potter.
Snape is an interesting character because of how flawed and layered he is.
(Putting a cut because it's so long, and tw for non-detailed mentions/reference to abuse, as well as both trauma and death.)
He wasn't born in a very good household, which I can definitely see as being a reason for why he is who he is. (A reason, not an excuse. Those are two extremely different things.) You look at Sirius, who also came from a horrible household, yet he managed to dig himself out of the mud and make his own path for himself. (Though I have many angsty headcanons for the thoughts he has and being afraid of what he will do and in turn his own mind. WolfStar solidarity. Neither one of them know what they are truly capable of, and both are completely afraid to find out.
Ahem sorry I got a little distracted there.
During the Marauder's era, Snape wasn't a good person in general, but he tried to be nice to Lily. (One of the only exceptions he made.) That being said, (sorry, going on a tangent again), it does not excuse what the Marauders did. As much as they are, in my humble opinion, JK's greatest creation, they should be held accountable for both the prank, and dangling Snape upside down. (Though Remus does make a few good points in their defense later, it's still not an excuse.) Two wrongs never make a right.
Snape doesn't deny Lily's claims at him wanting to join a supremacy group, nor does he say he isn't friends with Death Eaters.
It's clear through the flashbacks we're given that Snape is apathetic in the face of innocent people dying, but once again Lily is the exception.
Dumbledore defends Snape by saying it wasn't his fault that Harry's parents are dead. I actually semi-agree with this. On one hand, he was directly at fault, but on the other hand he had no way of knowing. As a severe Loki apologist, I do not blame Loki for Frigga's death. He may have led the dark elves to her, but he didn't know it was her she was sending them to. That's the comparison I make in my mind, and so I don't completely blame him like other people do. (One could also make the argument that Sirius is to blame. Sirius, who is 100% my favorite character in the entire franchise, gave the secret keeper job to Peter, thinking it would be safer with him. However, he had no ill will or malicious intentions towards Lily, James, and Harry, so I don't blame him.)
All that being said, Snape not only would have been fine with random people dying, he also didn't care whether or not James and Harry lived.
For context:
(Dumbledore is speaking, right after Snape comes to him for help.)
"You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child?" They can die, as long as you have what you want?"
Snape said nothing, but merely looked up at Dumbledore.
He has a strange relationship with Lily. He obviously loves her, but not enough to want to stop Voldemort from killing the two things that bring her the most amount of happiness. It's clear he doesn't care about anyone except for Lily. Which on some level, I can understand why. When people have traumatic childhoods, they tend to hold on to a person that was there for them. Sometimes it can be the hands of the person who caused them pain in the first place, but other times it is another person who was there for him. He holds Lily's opinions of himself higher than anybody else, and he holds Lily above anybody else, and I think this can be attributed to some sort of trauma response, which is why his love for her is so unusual. That doesn't mean I think he should be fine with killing innocent people.
On the topic of trauma, I think joining the Death Eaters was another response to this, as well as a result of what kind of family he had.
Similar to both Harry and Voldemort, Snape much preferred Hogwarts to where he lived, and such the castle became his home more than his house ever was.
The Death Eaters could offer him something he had never been offered before. He belonged to something. In his own, twisted, traumatic mindset, he might have even almost seen the Death Eaters as a family. Not consciously of course, but there was definitely a feeling of belonging they gave him.
And there's something to be said about the fact that many serial killers in real life come from an abusive family. I don't pretend to understand the minds of someone who can do something so vile, but I have watched enough Criminal Minds episodes to know what they long for is control.
So being apart of this supremacy group, even though he was a half-blood himself and undoubtedly didn't entirely share Voldermort's racist beliefs, gave him both control and something he belonged to.
It's not an excuse, but it's a reason.
Alternatively, you can look at it through a quote from the most recent episode of Loki.
"It's part of the illusion. It's a cruel, elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear."
So it's also possible that when he was a kid, he thought being a villain was the only way to prevent others from being one to him.
Ok sorry, back on the chronological track.
So he agrees to change sides and work with Dumbledore. (Who must see just how distraught Snape was over Lily's death, to trust him immediately.)
Snape spends most of Harry's time at Hogwarts humiliating his own students. He particularly calls out Harry and his friends a lot, but I can definitely see this being a defence mechanism. He assumes Harry is James and reverts back to what we talked about earlier. (Becoming the villain so nobody else has a chance.)
But but but, he does a lot of good throughout the books. Snape mutters the countercurse, saving Harry from Quirrell during the Quidditch match. He then actually referees at the next match, preventing anything from happening altogether.
In retrospective, we see that he spends most of the first book helping Dumbledore by protecting the stone, and helping Lily by protecting Harry.
Now I could go through and list the goods and the bads of Snape throughout the entire series, but I have neither the time nor the patience, and I think you get the point.
(Except I would like the mention that Snape becomes a double agent for Dumbledore in book four, and risks his life every single day by constantly betraying Voldermort, and never once does he use this as a way to double cross Dumbledore. This was actually probably really hard on him. You can assume that having to pretend to be a Death Eater means he had to do some despicable things just so he didn't blow his cover. If he really has changed by this time, which I would like to think he has, is a lot of added guilt to live with.)
(I would also mention that he tried to save Sirius in book five, but... *falls on floor dramatically* I don't want to think about it.)
Severus Snape's time comes to the end in book seven. At the hands of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, his death is a valiant act of sacrifice. Protecting the living and defending the honour of the fallen.
So, he has done a lot of bad in his lifetime, but by the time we as readers get to know him, his fundamental set of beliefs have begun to change. Through the eyes of what started as an eleven year old boy, you can definitely see that even after this he wasn't necessarily a good person.
And that's because his good is behind the scenes. He's good on a larger scale. He's chosen the light over darkness, but in his everyday life he's still the scared, traumatized little kid he's always been.
And him being this way has reasons, but these reasons are not excuses.
Sorry anon, this kind of turned into a long winded review of the entire character. I know that's not really what you asked, so I'll sum it up in a final few sentences sentence.
Yes. I wish Snape had gotten to live. Not because I'm necessarily a "Snape apologist", but because I find his character interesting, and seeing his reaction to his sacrifice could have been a really good read. Also Harry coming up and thanking him would have been really touching, and as a cherry on top maybe we could have gotten to read Harry apologizing for his father. Maybe even Snape sharing memories of Lily?! (Sorry that might have gotten a little to fanfic-y.)
That being said, his death being a final sacrifice towards the good of everyone, and a final testimony to his change of heart, was -- and I'll give JK credit just this once -- good storytelling, and a good way to end it.
Also I like movie!Snape because fuck yeah he's just so awesome.
If anyone has anything to add/take away, or they just want to discuss the wonder that was Alan Rickman, let me know! (Ask/Comment/Reblog/Etc.)
#ESPECIALLY you anon#I never get HP asks so this was a treat#Harry Potter#Severus Snape#Character analysis#Maybe?!#Lampswered#*Spongebob Imagination Rainbow
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Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #2
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Daily Life of Etranger: Professor Kunz and Morgan
Saturdays were long at Jewelry Etranger. We had a client scheduled to come by at four today. It was three-thirty in the afternoon. While on stand-by together with the shop manager, I felt like we still had a long wait ahead of us.
“Hey, Boss, why do stones always end with ‘nite’?”
Mr. Richard, the Englishman, reflected silently on the meaning of my question for a moment. Deep in thought, he had an elegant facial expression.
A few seconds later, Richard nodded with an “aah”. “What you are referring to is the naming of alexandrite, tanzanite, kunzite and others?”
“Yeah, yeah, that.”
“It is because of the ‘ITE’ suffix, right? Not that the names of all gemstones have it, but it is widely used to denote minerals. From the title of honor of the Romanov royal family, ‘Alexander’s Stone’, we have ‘alexandrite’. From ‘Tanzania’s Stone’, we have ‘tanzanite’. The latter is a commercial name given by a jewelry company, though.”
I get it; seems to be something like an alias.
“Then is kunzite also the name of a place called Kunz?”
“That one is the name of a person. It is named after a famous gemologist, Professor Kunz.”
So this one also received the suffix and became “kunzite”. I see; it’s pretty simple.
“Is that like the ‘sandwich’ in ‘Earl of Sandwich’? Was this Professor Kunz the person who discovered it?”
“Exactly. Good guess.”
Putting your own name on a stone. What was this feeling that someone could randomly stir up a romance with it? I did know that when people were granted naming rights when finding new stars or animals, but I see, that’s also valid for gems.
“So if I found one, it would be a nakatanite...?”
“Are you going to aim for the discovery of a new type of mineral?”
“Might be good! I could write in my resume that I’m ‘the Nakata who discovered the nakatanite’.”
“Pathetic. To think that your reason to be happy about discovering a new stone would be filling up a blank space on your resume...”
After that, Richard discussed that a new discovery meant expanding the scopes of science. That knowing about the existence of a stone that had a different structure from the already known minerals meant broadening the ranges of the world. Of course, an expansion of the jewelry world could also be useful for the development of the latest technology. The world of stones was unfathomable.
Since it was about a time where it wouldn’t be weird if the client showed up, I went to make today’s second serving of royal milk tea, and as I returned from the kitchenette to the reception room, Richard had opened his treasure box. There were two beautiful gemstones cozily lined up inside the large velvet box. One of the pink stones was tinged with a faint shade of lavender, while the other had a trace of orange. Both were very light colors.
“Those are pretty stones. What’re they called?”
“This is a kunzite. I was just stocking up on it.”
So that was the rumored one. With square-faceted cuts, both stones were about the size of half a pinky fingernail, emanating a shiny glow as they reflected the light.
“It is not very suitable to wear as everyday jewelry since it is a delicate stone, but it allows you to enjoy your day plenty enough. Collectors of rare stones are fond of it.”
“Is that kinda orange-ish one the same stone too?”
“This one is called morganite. They have a similar color but are different stones.”
“I’ll guess so don’t say it. Don’t say it no matter what. If kunzite is named after Professor Kunz, then this one... is named after Morgan-san?”
“Correct.”
I heard Richard’s “good for you” for the first time in a while. He spoke such an unfaltering Japanese that you could only think he was an actual Japanese man if you talked to him with your eyes closed, but his nationality was British and he was a blue-eyed blond. Just from his tongue-tying name, Richard Ranashinha de Vulpian, it didn’t seem like his origins were from England alone, but I didn’t know the details. Not yet.
“Aah, so this one was Professor Morgan’s discovery?”
“You were in the faculty of economics, right? Do you know the name and the bank J.P. Morgan?”
“Eh? I do. He was an American billionaire and founder of a big bank... Eh?”
A billionaire had been the discoverer of a mineral? Really?
As my eyes widened, Richard shook his head. “He was one of the world’s leading jewelry collectors. He was also a sponsor of the organization that Professor Kunz belonged to, and there was a deep liaison between the two. Kunzite was named after Professor Kunz, so for this one, they used Mr. Morgan’s name.”
“Heeh...”
Kunzite and morganite.
On one hand, there was the name of a gemologist who worked in the USA. He was surely famous in the world of stones, but if I hadn’t seen that gem, I likely wouldn’t have known his name for the rest of my life.
On the other hand, there was a financial king who had founded a huge company. Even I knew his name. But stones were stones.
Looking at them lined up on a velvet cushion like this, it sort of felt like I was also looking at two friends with similar tastes standing beside each other. Unlike stones, human beings had many kinds of titles clinging to them stickily, but in the end, we were all the same once we were stripped of them. Like “financial king”. “University student”. “Jeweler”. “English”.
“Hey, if I find two new types of stones in the future, I’ll name one ‘nakatanite’, but I’ll give the second one your name.”
Richard made an indescribable face. He did not take me seriously at all. That was expected. It was probably like discovering a new type of vegetable or fish. But there was no way that it didn’t exist.
“But how do you look for a new type of stone? Should I go find a mine that nobody knows about and get to digging it or something?”
“Unknown mines should still exist here and there even nowadays, but the planet called Earth is just one. Even in a place that has never been dug, if you analyze the soil of the area, you can have a rough idea of what kinds of stones are likely to come out of it. Rather than this, there have been several cases where people ‘discovered’ stones by proving that something people had been handling until recently as a different type of stone was actually a new type with a differing composition. Either way, a discernment backed by the knowledge of minerals and an analysis made through the required equipment is indispensable.”
“That’d turn into a pretty chemistry-centered story, huh?”
“Exactly. And of course, it would take time and money.”
“What a fleeting dream~”
“Great to see that you woke up from that dream. If you could find something by thinking of looking for it, nothing would ever be difficult.”
As Richard told me to put away the tea set, he took the flat jewelry box and returned to the backroom. It was 3:45 PM. The client had still not arrived. I washed the glasses in the kitchenette, somewhat unsatisfied, then went back again to the reception room. While the shopkeeper stood by the windowsill and stared down at the street, I called to him with a “hey”.
“Serious talk: between ‘richardite’, ‘ranashinhite’ and ‘devulpianite’, which do you prefer?”
Richard had good looks and was smart. The languages he spoke as if they were his mother tongue were not limited to Japanese. At the very least, speaking five to six idioms was a piece of cake for him. He knew about everything very well. He acted by thinking about ten times more thoroughly than me with a perspicacity more than ten times sharper than mine, so he didn’t make any imprudent blunders. I believed he could be working leisurely in a more secure, more advantageous and easier job. But he was working as a jeweler alone in Japan.
Which was why there was no mistake that the one behind that calm and composed face was quite a romanticist.
As I laughed with a “take it like I won the lottery”, Richard made a face of losing focus. “You mean to say I am your Morgan?”
“Now that you mentioned it, yeah. You’re the one paying my salary.”
“As for you, I think seiginite is better than nakatanite.”
“Eh?”
“If you were to name a stone,” Richard said. “Names are the only ‘garments’ that gemstones wear. I know that Nakata is quite a splendid name, but Seigi is more like you. I also feel that the benefits of wearing it would be easier to distinguish.”
“‘Benefits’, you say... like wanting to help people at random? That benefit’s a bit of a bother.”
“Not bad, is it?” saying so as he turned around, Richard smiled softly.
I wondered if that guy wasn’t actually doing minute calculations on when and in what way to smile, with a clear understanding of how to make the people around him feel good. I had a simple character, so I would end up getting extremely happy when I was told things like that. As I held back from grinning smugly, the beautiful storekeeper furrowed his brows.
“Anything wrong?”
“N-No, no, nothing.”
Shortly thereafter, the shop’s intercom rang. It was the scheduled appointment. The one who came in was a female costumer carrying several store bags – a collector of rare gems. She picked the loose kunzite and morganite, as well as two more rare stones, and went home highly satisfied. Richard had probably laid those stones in stock because he could predict that she was going to purchase them.
After closing the shop at five as usual and bidding goodbye to Richard at Sotobori Street, I remembered the talk we had left unfinished. It wasn’t because his smile was destructively beautiful or anything like that. Thinking logically, finding two new types of gemstone would be hard no matter how lucky I could be – no, one was already absurd –, so in any case, I wondered if “Richard and the Stone of Justice” would do. Dream stories were good, but if an English jeweler was saved by a Japanese university student and hired him to work part time for some reason, despite the low chances of something like that happening, I thought it would be great if I could do something of that level to surprise him. I was pretty serious about it.
#housekishou richard shi no nazo kantei#the case files of jeweler richard#jeweler richard#richard ranashinha de vulpian#nakata seigi#tsujimura nanako#richard#yukihiro utako#novel#my translation#jr short story collection
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Homecoming
(( Co-written with Vandrir’s player <3 Tagging @darkestfable and @brent-sunborn / @thefugitivemango for character mention.))
~*~*~
Raetos stretched out once he set hoof down on the stone platform. The gryphon ride from Darkshire to Stormwind had gone smoothly and uneventfully, but these weeks of work had left him tired and sore; nothing a good bath and some time spent with his mate wouldn’t fix. That, and some much needed sleep as well. He hadn’t told Fable about the early leave he’d gotten. Things in Duskwood had settled down in the past week, enough so that he was able to take a bit of time off. Of course, the Lightforged had decided that the best way to announce the good news to his lover was by surprising him!
He wondered how Fable would react to the surprise. The Blood Hunter was probably hard at work, updating some old map at this time of the day. Surely, he wouldn’t mind being led away for an evening. Raetos tail swayed happily behind him as he made his way down the stone streets and into the forest, his heart pounding as he went up the trail and their nice little cabin came into view. Everything appeared how he’d left it, at least from the outside. It had only been a few weeks, but it felt like much much longer. Light, it felt so good to be home!
As he approached the door, he’d already started unstrapping his armor. It wouldn’t be staying on much longer, that much was for certain!
“Babe, I’m home!” he called as he walked in.
Vandrir’s ear perked up at the sudden voice, then eyes darting back down as the green feathered fluff darted out of his arms toward the sound of hooves. He pushed his hair back behind one relatively short ear as he got to his feet with a slight frown.
“I will venture a guess that you are Raetos then…” His voice was calm but not unfriendly. He stood in the doorway glancing down at the excited ground parrot as the little creature told his other daddy aaaalll about it while making circles around the Draenei.
“--Uhhh…. Yeah?”
Raetos’ head tilted to the side in confusion as a complete stranger greeted him… but not as enthusiastically as Obligation. The flightless bird looked well and happy, not at all frazzled by this new person, which brought the Draenei to conclude that this must be a friend of his partner’s.
He shook off the confusion and knelt down, allowing his small pal to climb up his arm and onto his shoulder as he looked around for any sign of his lover. Finding none, he eyed the other man. Reatos was terrible at telling the different elves apart, but he was guessing this one was a Night Elf from the size of him..
“Sorry uh… we haven’t met yet, right? Who are you?”
“Ah, no, we have not. I am Vandrir, and your um... companion asked me to look after the two little ones while he was away.” Concern flashed briefly across his face before he resumed his calm facade.
Reaching a hand down to touch the sleepy head of the tiny doe who had joined them at the sound of voices he continued, “He said that there was a small job, a dig, in Feralas and that he would be gone only a few days...three weeks ago.”
The Draenei visibly relaxed as the stranger finally identified himself. He didn’t want to assume, but finding another man in his house had been… more than a little alarming.
--but not as alarming as the news that came next.
“Wait what…? Three weeks?!”
It wasn’t unusual for Fable to go off on a dig, or to lose track of time. Raetos was actually happy that he’d found something to occupy his time with… but to be away for that long without a word to anyone. Raetos tried not to worry, but three weeks to complete a dig that should only take a few days was… rather extensive.
“Bah… I’m sure he’s fine,” he said, though it was hard to tell who he was trying to convince, Vendrir or himself. Worry was evident in his tone, “I mean… he’s always getting distracted by his work, so like… Maybe he found something else at the dig site that led him elsewhere?
He didn’t really wait for an answer, already making his way over to the Blood Hunter’s work area and looking over maps and journals he’d been studying before leaving.
“Still uh… probably best I go check up on him. Feralas, you said?”
Vandrir gave an unseen nod as he drifted after the other, the sound of tiny doe hooves and birdy feet the only steps that made a walking sound.
“Yes, Feralas. He did not mention exactly where or what sort of items he was searching for.” The night elf gave a heavy sigh, “I suppose you would like me to continue to watch the two little ones then?”
He gave the doe a little push to send her off to play as he hurried on, “Not that I mind of course. It is just that I hadn’t expected to be in someone’s home for this long. Maybe your boyfriend just got lost or something?”
“Fable doesn’t get lost,” Raetos mumbled as he continued to scan through the notes, his finger traced the area mentioned in the notes. Tearing a blank page out, he began to scribble down coordinates and markers to look out for.
He glanced up at the Kal’dorei, however, an apologetic look on his features.
“--Ah… yeah. I need someone to watch these two while I go find him. You have a place of your own you wanna take them, where you’d be more comfortable? Maybe your place? You have a place, right? I mean, you can stay here, it doesn’t bother me. Whatever’s easier for you, I mean…--Oh shit! What happened to you? Did Obligation set something on fire?!”
That last part was added as he finally took notice of the terrible burn scars on Vandrir. In his panic over Fable, he hadn’t noticed the wounds that took up at least half of the Night Elf’s face… and probably more.
Vandrir took several seconds to just blink slowly at Raetos as the draenei seemed to be getting his ramble into full gear. A frown twisted as the verbal brakes were slammed and he reached up to push his hair back again, the eye on the side with the burns clearly dimmer than the other. His voice was almost harsh as he blurted out his reply, the words somewhat clipped, “No, he...he’s been a pretty good bird, a little unhappy that I won’t let him jump off the roof. I’ll just stay here if you don’t mind, Responsibility and Obligation will do better in a familiar setting I think, not to mention I can keep an eye out for the two foxes.”
The frown didn’t leave his face but his tone did soften, although it was clearly with effort, “This happened when the tree burned. Some things just don’t heal well I suppose.”
“Oh shit, you’re -that- kind of elf!” Raetos winced as he realized his verbal misstep, “Man, I can never remember which elves live where. Sorry about your tree. It looked really nice… from far away, anyway. I never really got to visit and see it for myself before… you know… Whoosh!”
He used his hands to motion the ignition of a fire, as though the visual was needed. There was a rather awkward silence for a moment, before he cleared his throat.
“Yes...I’m that kind of elf. Uh glad you liked how it looked from afar?” He gave one sharp shake of his head, like an animal tossing off a fly buzzing near their face, even letting out a soft huff at the same time.
“Yeah… uh. You can totally stay here. Our home is your home… until we come back. But hey, if there’s anything you need after all this, you let us know, okay? We owe you for taking care of the animals.”
As he said that, Obligation attempted to fly off the desk, promptly falling to the ground.
“Especially him.” “Do what you need to do. I only met Fable once briefly, but he...made an impression, a good one. I look forward to your return. We’ll laugh about how he got stuck in a cave or something.” He gave a ghost of a smile, “Don’t worry about paying me back or anything, I’m happy to help out people that I would like to think could be friends.”
“Dude, trust me, you’re already a good friend doing this for us,” the Draenei went about packing up a larger backpack. He hoped to be able to fly in close to the dig site with a gryphon, but he didn’t know for certain. He’d only been there once before, and Fable had been the one leading. Raetos had mostly just been admiring the scenery and taking in all the tidbits of information he was being fed. He made certain to bring enough for a good hike, if required. And of course, he couldn’t forget the first aid supplies, just in case.
“We’ll all have a good drink and laugh together soon enough. You’re right though… getting caught in a cave makes sense… I’m sure he’s fine… Yeah… he’s fine.”
Again, it was hard to tell who he was trying to convince. Worry was clear on his features as he kneeled down to welcome the feathery ball of energy into his arms, giving Obligation a final cuddle before handing him back to Vandrir.
“Thanks again. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
Vandrir got a gentle but firm grip on the feathery terror, knowing the parrot was likely going to try something any moment, “You are welcome. I’ll take care of things here, just stay safe yourself.”
His voice was calm again, confident and somehow soothing. The kind of tone that said everything would be fine. “I’ll keep the kids out of too much trouble.”
Raetos would have naturally gone in for a hug. Light knew he needed one… but his interactions with Brent had left him weary about embracing strangers. And while he trusted Vandrir, he didn’t know the man’s boundaries yet. He swallowed hard, and with a final nod, turned and left, closing the door behind him.
There, he paused, his tail flickering behind him, the backpack feeling horribly heavy. He wanted to get to Feralas fast, but at the same time, he was afraid. It had been a long time since Raetos had felt like this, and there was a sense of dread that he couldn’t quite shake off. He had no idea what he would find at that digsite. And while he hoped for the best, something told him to prepare for the worse…
With a heavy sigh, he set the first hoof forward on his venture towards finding his mate.
~*~*~
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Burn it down AU // on AO3 // extras on AO3
Things do not go as planned in Nightless City. Lan Wangji worries. Nie Huaisang plots.
warning for some violence (canon typical levels I’d say?)
Nightless City had never been Lan Wangji’s favourite place to travel to, but after years of abandonment, it had become truly ghoulish. In certain places, the lingering resentment was so strong it became nearly impossible to breathe. In the bitter wind, Lan Wangji thought he could still hear the shrill notes of Chenqing playing a deadly melody. In every shadow, he half saw the shape of Wei Wuxian, fractured by too many losses, on the verge of shattering beyond repair, taking hundreds down with him.
Lan Wangji could have happily lived to immortality and never set foot again in this cursed city. It must have shown. Several times, Nie Huaisang tried to order him away, saying he was perfectly capable of handling his brother’s body, even if Nie Mingjue really had turned into a fierce corpse and needed to be subdued.
“I’m not much of a cultivator, but even I can take care of a fierce corpse,” he boasted again and again with an empty smile. “Go wait for me in the nearest town, Wangji. It’s a family problem anyway, and I’ve made you help enough already.”
“We’re family,” Lan Wangji said at last, when he grew tired of his husband trying to send him away.
After this, Nie Huaisang grew quiet and stopped insisting that he could do this alone.
It wasn’t until they arrived to the spot marked on the map that Lan Wangji understood where, exactly, his brother-in-law’s remains had been hidden. He felt nauseous at being once more in front of Wen Ruohan’s palace, where the remains of the Wen siblings had been scattered to the winds, Wei Wuxian’s last friends, the last people he had cared about.
The place where the entire cultivation had united together, just as tightly as they had during the Sunshot Campaign, and announced that they had decided who their next enemy would be. The place where Wei Wuxian’s death had been decided, where he had lost what little he still had and snapped over the bloodied corpse of his sister. The place where…
“Hey, stay with me,” Nie Huaisang called to him, grabbing his sleeve and pulling lightly, the way A-Yuan did sometimes. “So, this is the right place, uh? Heavens, it looks even worse than in my memories. Remember that archery contest, at that last conference the Wens held? Damn, I remember the party after, it was so awful. The alcohol was so cheap. Talk about disrespecting your guests! Ah, not that it’d matter to you, of course. I wonder how the tea was?”
“Bad,” Lan Wangji managed to answer, taking one shaky breath after another. “Cheap.”
“I knew it! And the food was awful as well. There was that weird dessert… did you have any of the desserts?”
Lan Wangji dived under more recents memories and tried to remember that conference. It felt a lifetime ago. It was, in a way. They had all been different before the war. Sometimes, it all felt like a dream. And in that dream, he could not remember whether he’d eaten the dreadful desserts Nie Huaisang apparently recalled with such clarity. Thinking about it helped a little, though, forcing him to focus on something other than his last visit to Nightless City.
“No desserts,” he still said, since that seemed likely. He took a deep breath. Now was not the moment to break. He could do that later, when they had recovered Nie Mingue’s body and Nie Huaisang no longer needed his help. “Give me a moment. Then I will see if his soul can be reached.”
“Should I be silent, or keep talking?”
“Hm. Tell me more about the desserts,” Lan Wangji ordered, looking around for a place where he might sit without covering himself in filth.
With Nie Huaisang still clinging to his sleeve, he found a spot at last, not far from where his brother and the other sect leaders had stood to… but no. Lan Wangji pushed away that memory, and forced himself to listen to Nie Huaisang’s graphic description of what he claimed were the worst tanghulu he’d ever eaten in his life. The mindless chatter only stopped when he took out his guqin and played a few notes, bringing him if not peace, then at least clarity.
"I will try Inquiry," he announced.
"You think it will work on Da-ge?"
"No," Lan Wangji admitted, and immediately something crumbled in Nie Huaisang. "There are other spirits lingering here. One might help."
Lan Wangji played the notes that commanded souls to come talk to him. In an instant he found himself surrounded with the screams and rage of all those who had perished in this cursed city. Several ceremonies had been performed to put them to rest, but with so many having died, and in such a violent manner, it had not yet been enough to calm them.
In vain, Lan Wangji tried to call forth the soul of Nie Mingjue. All that brought him was a dissonant mass of spirits trying to seize his guqin, either praising or cursing his brother-in-law for his actions in Nightless City. Lan Wangji played a few more notes to calm them before trying a different question. Had they seen Jin Guangyao come to this place in the past year?
Less spirits rushed to him this time, and Lan Wangji was able to select the strongest one among them to answer, one single word.
Yes.
The spirit, a fallen Nie disciple, had trained alongside Jin Guangyao during his time in Qinghe Nie and thus knew him very well. He had no doubt that it was him, having caught a glimpse of his face. After further interrogation, it revealed that Jin Guangyao had come there to bury something, and it was able to give the precise location, hidden under a large paving stone. Lan Wangji thanked the spirit, promised to see what could be done about another calming ceremony, and turned to his husband to share the news.
"Let me guess, he hid Da-ge's body under the spot where they took the oath, didn't he?"
"Hm."
"Theatrical bastard," Nie Huaisang hissed. "Wangji, if you want, I'll handle the rest alone. I can manage."
Lan Wangji shook his head.
"A fierce corpse is not a person. What we find might attack you."
"But still…"
"I won't let A-Yuan be orphaned again."
That cut short to all of Nie Huaisang’s protests, as Lan Wangji expected it would.
Together, and with both of them equally uneasy though for different reasons, they went to the spot indicated by the spirit. It was barely visible if one did not look for it, but among the paving stones there was one that appeared to have been unsealed.
Without saying it, Lan Wangji knew that Nie Huaisang and him were thinking the same thing: that stone did not look large enough to cover a body, let alone that of a man as tall as Nie Mingjue. Still they knelt on the ground and got to work, carefully lifting the stone, then digging the soil under until they found a box.
That box itself was nothing special. It was made of black wood and carried no particular mark. And yet powerful dark energies surrounded it, barely contained by a great number of peculiar talismans drawn in blood.
"I've never seen those talismans before," Nie Huaisang commented in a weak voice, clearly trying to ignore the more glaring issue. That box that was little more than the length of Lan Wangji's arm.
"I have," Lan Wangji announced, though he could not quite remember where he might have seen them. "It will come to me."
Nie Huaisang nodded weakly. He brought one hand toward the box, as if to brush his fingers against the wood, but stopped short of touching it.
"Wangji… That box… It's really too small, isn't it?" he whispered. “Do you think… do you think he cremated him?”
“Hm.”
It was a likely possibility. It would have eliminated any traces of the crime, and made it far more difficult to summon Nie Mingjue’s soul to testify regarding his own death.
It would definitely have required an accomplice though, because the fierce corpse of such a man would not have allowed itself to be destroyed so easily, and Jin Guangyao’s cultivation was what it was. Besides, the talismans on the box did not look like ordinary ones. There were few methods that called for the characters to be drawn in blood, and currently the most famous one was Wei Wuxian’s demonic path. Considering that Lanling Jin had been the one to get its hands on most of Wei Wuxian’s notes, that they had infamously hired a person such as Xue Yang to make sense of those…
“That talisman, isn’t it different from the others?” Nie Huaisang suddenly pointed out. “Look, it has one stroke less than the others.”
Before Lan Wangji could stop him, Nie Huaisang reached for the faulty talisman. As soon as he touched the paper it consumed itself, allowing an intense burst of resentful energy to be released from the box. Nie Huaisang cried out in surprise or pain, while Lan Wangji, acting on sheer instinct, jumped to his feet and drew his sword. Before Bichen was fully out of its sheath, the box’s lid was shattered as a lone arm burst out of its confinement.
In the split second it took Lan Wangji to comprehend what was happening, the arm launched itself at Nie Huaisang’s throat since he was closest, and alternated between trying to strangle him and clawing at his skin. It did not stop its assault until Lan Wangji slashed at it with his sword, distracting it from its victim. For a moment the arm, as if enraged, tried to attack Lan Wangji, blindly clawing in his direction and narrowly avoiding being cut to pieces by Bichen. Quickly though, it lost interest in that fight. Twice Lan Wangji managed to stop it, but in the end the arm avoided his attacks and returned to assault Nie Huaisang who was still kneeling on the ground, trying to stop the gashes on his throat from bleeding out.
Nie Huaisang screamed in terror and pain when that ghoulish arm seized his own, digging its claws into his flesh.
The arm was not merely tearing at him now, but instead dug its fingers into the skin of Nie Huaisang as if it sought to get under it. With each passing second, the poor man fought a little more weakly, his skin growing paler until Lan Wangji took his guqin again and hurriedly played a song to calm the arm. It took effort, and a few tries, but after a few minutes he managed to pacify the arm. It fell to the ground, as did Nie Huaisang, pale and whimpering in pain but still alive.
Keeping an eye on the now immobile arm, Lan Wangji hurried to Nie Huaisang’s side and used every bit of spiritual energy he could spare to stop the bleeding. Even when he was done, Nie Huaisang would not stop trembling and crying.
When his eyes fell on the arm, he screamed in rage and horror, the noises resonating in those vast, empty spaces.
“I have to get him back,” Nie Huaisang hissed in a broken voice when he calmed down. “And then I’m killing every single Jin in Lanling.”
“You won’t.”
“I certainly want to! They butchered him! No, not even butchered,” He corrected with a hysterical laugh. “Butchering, that calls for skill. I could cut a body better than that and I will when I get my hands on Guangyao! I’ll dig up his mother and father and show him how it’s done, I will...”
“Huaisang, calm down.”
“My brother! They took my brother and did this to him, and you want me to calm down? If it were Xichen, if it were A-Yuan, would you be calm? I’ll make them pay! Every single one of them, I’ll make them pay!”
Unsure what to do when faced with such desperate rage, Lan Wangji forced himself to put a hand on his husband’s shoulder, hoping to provide some comfort. His hand was slapped away. Nie Huaisang had too little strength left at the moment for it to sting, but the message was clear. Comfort, for now, was not welcome.
Instead, Lan Wangji turned his attention back to the box and, having seen its content, he realised where he had seen those talismans before. They were eerily similar to those Wei Wuxian had used to contain Wen Ning before his conscience was returned to him. They were not quite as neat as the ones he had seen during his brief visit to the Burial Mounds, and if anything, they seemed to have been traced by someone who had only the vaguest idea of the proper way to write characters, but they were still the same ones.
“Demonic cultivation,” he announced to Nie Huaisang, hoping to distract him from his rage. “To contain and conceal.”
Nie Huaisang did not answer, his eyes fixed on the arm. He reached out for it and, with some hesitation, picked it up to hold it against his chest, cradling it as if it were a child.
“We can try the spell again,” Lan Wangji offered. “We might find the rest of him. Even if we do not, this is proof something evil was done to him.”
“He got rid of Xue Yang,” Nie Huaisang mumbled, tightening his hold on his brother’s arm.
“Hm?”
“Guangyao. He got rid of Xue Yang. You say this is demonic cultivation, and Xue Yang was the only person they’d found who was able to make sense of Wei Wuxian’s work. He wasn’t purging his sect and starting anew, he was getting rid of witnesses.”
“It is still proof.”
Nie Huaisang laughed. “Proof of what? The spell we used to find it is a secret Nie technique, it’d be easy to say we lied about its effects, or that I tricked you and used you for my nefarious plans. This arm could be anyone’s. I know it is my brother’s, I know it, but it’ll be my word against Guangyao’s. People don’t like him, but I think they like me even less.”
An unfair statement, in Lan Wangji’s opinion. Lan Xichen believed and trusted them. Jiang Wanying probably had more sympathy for and trust in Nie Huaisang than in his brother-in-law’s half brother who had just usurped his nephew’s inheritance. The older Madam Jin might share that sentiment.
But all that, of course, was on a personal level. Lan Wangji was starting to accept that natural inclination, and things as unquantifiable as honesty and truth, did not matter as much as his sect’s rules had led him to believe.
“We find the rest of his body,” Lan Wangji insisted. “When we are away from this place, I will try Inquiry again. We will find proof.”
Nie Huaisang appeared unconvinced by that promise, for which Lan Wangji could not blame him. After a shock such as this, hope would have been difficult to muster even for a man not already as close to despair as Nie Huaisang was.
--
They left Nightless City after carefully replacing the paving stone where it belonged and taking great pains to hide that it had been moved. The box they took with them, so they could inspect it later at their leisure to look for clues. The arm, of course, came as well.
It took Lan Wangji great efforts to persuade Nie Huaisang to put the arm back in its box, and to put that box in a qiankun bag so it would be easier to transport. Even then, Nie Huaisang insisted to be the one to carry it, clinging to it as tightly as he had done with the arm itself.
Nie Huaisang did not speak on their way out of the city. He did not speak when they stopped for the night at a small, struggling inn that still survived on the outskirts of Nightless City. He did not speak when Lan Wangji used the different Nie spells he had been taught in a fruitless attempt to locate the rest of the body. The rest of Nie Mingjue must have been better sealed. If not for that mistake with one of the talismans, it was likely that they would never have found even this much.
As promised, Lan Wangji attempted to play Inquiry for the arm. It was all in vain, and Nie Huaisang remained eerily silent. The only sound he made all evening happened when the arm, which had stood perfectly still so far, started moving its fingers of its own accord and appeared to point in his direction. Nie Huaisang cried out and nearly fell down in fear, but before anything could happen Lan Wangji quickly calmed the arm once more, this time putting more power into it so that hopefully it would not trouble them again until the next evening.
When Nie Huaisang went to bed, he took with him the qiankun bag, as if scared that someone might take his brother from him again. In the morning, he looked somehow more tired than when he had gone to sleep, and remained uncharacteristically quiet.
That silence remained as they made their way to the Cloud Recesses where they needed to see Lan Xichen and announce that their plan was not going quite as smoothly as they had all expected. It was unsettling to see Nie Huaisang so quiet when Lan Wangji had never known him as anything but loud and animated both at the heights of his joy and in the depths of his pain. And yet, Lan Wangji did not know how to comfort his friend. All he could do was offer his presence, and be ready to help, should it be asked.
--
When they arrived in the Cloud Recesses, their first stop was to pick up their son. There was no shyness this time, but a lot of tears as A-Yuan left Hou Tianjian's side and ran into his father’s arms. He wrapped his arms around Lan Wangji’s neck nearly tight enough to choke him. It was good, after those difficult weeks, to be home and have his son with him again. Nightless City had reminded him bitterly of his errors, but at least A-Yuan was proof that he had not entirely failed Wei Wuxian.
When A-Yuan noticed that Nie Huaisang was there as well, he made it clear that he wanted to be in the other man’s arms now. Nie Huaisang indulged him but made a great show of complaining and lamenting that the little boy was starting to get too heavy for him. A-Yuan appeared very amused by those protests, but grew serious when his eyes fell on Nie Huaisang’s neck where he still bore marks of the arm's attack.
“Nie-ge is hurt?”
Nie Huaisang laughed awkwardly, and balanced A-Yuan against his hip so he could free one hand and pull his collar tighter against his skin.
“That's nothing,” he said with a too wide smile. “Your Nie-ge is clumsy and fell into some bushes. Let's not talk about it, right? It's very embarrassing for poor Nie-ge.”
“Does it hurt?” A-Yuan insisted, reaching out towards some of the scabs that couldn't quite be covered by the fabric. Nie Huaisang grasped his wrist and stopped him before he could touch.
“The worst wound is to my pride,” he replied with false assurance. “A-Yuan, I love you but you're too heavy. Go back with your dad now.”
“Nie-ge looks tired,” A-Yuan commented as he was handed back to Lan Wangji. “Did Nie-ge and Father work a lot?”
What little cheerfulness Nie Huaisang had managed to muster thus far appeared on the verge of collapsing, and so Lan Wangji took it upon himself to come to his rescue.
“We were busy,” he explained. “We flew from very far and for many days. It can be tiring.”
None of it was a lie, even if it was far from the entire truth. It seemed to satisfy A-Yuan who even took it as his chance to ask whether he too would soon learn to fly on his sword. Lan Wangji thanked Hou Tianjian for her help, gave in to her request that Lan Jingyi come play in the Jingshi someday, and then the three of them left together. The rest of the day passed not unpleasantly, with A-Yuan detailing everything he had done since Lan Wangji had last seen him. It was painful to know that he had missed several weeks of his son's life, but A-Yuan did not appear to resent his absence too much this time. Somehow, that made it worse, as if the child had just grown to accept that it was normal for him to be left behind.
As the bell of curfew rang, there was a knock on the Jingshi's door. Lan Wangji, after checking that A-Yuan had truly fallen asleep, went to welcome his visitor. It was no surprise to find his brother on his doorstep. In truth, they probably should have gone to see him as soon as they had arrived in Cloud Recesses, but without ever saying it, Nie Huaisang and Lan Wangji had agreed that being with A-Yuan was more important. Their quest had met little success, but their son needed to know they hadn't abandoned him.
Lan Xichen took one look at the both of them, and his face hardened.
“I gather that things did not go as we had hoped?”
Nie Huaisang, who had been sitting at the table, a fan in one hand and a book in the other, flinched at the question. He dropped the book and immediately grasped to the qiakun bag that he still refused to be parted from, except for when Lan Wangji was forced to calm the resentful arm it contained.
“The situation is more complicated than expected,” Lan Wangji stated, inviting his brother to sit before launching himself into a short explanation of what had happened, wanting to spare Nie Huaisang from having to recount those events. Even just hearing an account of what had happened seemed nearly too much for his husband who grew paler and more closed off as the explanation reached its end.
Lan Xichen hardly fared any better.
“I cannot believe Jin Guangyao would go so far,” he whispered in a trembling voice. “Doing something so horrific to a man he once called his brother...”
Sitting next to him, Lan Wangji patted his brother's shoulder. After days of dealing with Nie Huaisang's worsening mood, it was almost shocking when the comforting gesture was not rejected.
“Maybe we can act even with this alone,” Lan Xichen suggested with a sigh. “It is not the strongest case we could be making, but...”
“I am not taking risks,” Nie Huaisang hissed, grasping his fan tightly. “This isn't enough proof. I cannot... I will not take the risk of accusing him now. He'll just find some new lies to throw around and look for ways to destroy the rest of Da-ge's body and then he'll have won. I can let him gloat a little longer with his perfect sect, his perfect wife and his perfect son. I'm patient. I'll find my brother's body, and that will be proof, and then nothing will stop me from avenging Da-ge.”
“Huaisang, it might take a long time,” Lan Xichen objected. “And you will have to interact with him frequently. Can you manage that?”
“Of course. Er-ge should know better than anyone that I'm quite good at not showing when things affect me.”
There was something nearly cruel to Nie Huaisang's smile as he said that, and he appeared to enjoy the way Lan Xichen tensed at the veiled accusation.
“We must use that other corpse finding spell,” Lan Wangji intervened to ease the tension and get them back on track. “If Huaisang is willing to teach me, I will go to Qinghe with A-Yuan and...”
“That won't be necessary,” Nie Huaisang cut him. “Not yet, anyway. That last spell is... cumbersome, it requires a lot of preparation and certain... elements to be gathered.” He snickered. “Actually, that spell is almost outright demonic cultivation, if I'm honest. I'd rather you not be there as I get it started, although I will need your high cultivation to really get it going when the time comes. But until then, I'd prefer if you stayed in the Cloud Recesses. It's A-Yuan's home, and yours as well.”
“You should not be left alone,” Lan Wangji objected.
Nie Huaisang shrugged, but did not try to deny that statement. That only served to worry Lan Wangji even further and judging by the look on his face, Lan Xichen felt similarly.
“Huaisang, we are on your side,” he said softly, reaching out to take his brother-in-law's hand. “Let us help you.”
Lan Xichen's hand was slapped away.
“This isn't your problem. Da-ge was my brother, my family, my responsibility,” Nie Huaisang snapped, before taking a deep breath and forcing himself to smile as he fanned himself. “I hope that didn't sound ungrateful. I am so, so thankful for your help, especially Wangji. But I have asked so much already, and this spell... it really is too much, considering Lan rules. I'd rather not bother you with the details, since they would displease you. Honestly, they displease me as well, and I know Da-ge disliked this spell, as did our father. But sometimes, there is no choice, is there?” Nie Huaisang chuckled lightly, his smile turning vicious again. “It's not like I can grab San-ge or Xue Yang and shake them until they tell me what they did to my brother.”
“Some of the purged demonic cultivators have been exiled, not killed,” Lan Xichen remarked. “Perhaps one of them might know something. Mo Xuanyu lives not far from Gusu, I could visit him.”
Nie Huaisang appeared to give that idea some thought, his fan stilling in his hand.
“Anyone who knew anything useful will have been killed,” he eventually remarked, hiding behind his fan. “And San-ge always said Mo Xuanyu was an idiot, so I'd be surprised if he had really dealt with any demonic cultivation. More likely, it's just a convenient excuse to get rid of another candidate to leadership of Lanling Jin. I'm ready to bet that stupid kid has been accused of every crime under the sun in Carp Tower. It is useless for Er-ge to go meet him, he will not have anything interesting to tell us. No, the spell is our only chance. It will find Da-ge... in time.”
Lan Xichen nodded, but appeared disappointed that his attempt to help had been so quickly rejected. Considering how little else he could do due to his position and the guilt he held regarding his part in the murder, Lan Wangji imagined his brother would have been glad to do anything to help in any way. Ultimately though, Nie Huaisang was right: Nie Mingjue had been his brother, and it was his duty to avenge him. They could offer their help, but he had to accept it.
Besides, although Lan Wangji was asked to continue living in the Cloud Recesses, so far Nie Huaisang had said nothing against visiting Qinghe. Even if he later objected to the idea, Lan Wangji would simply ignore him and go anyway. A-Yuan would surely start missing his Nie-ge too much otherwise, and Nie Huaisang loved the boy so much that he would not be able to protest once they were there.
Lan Wangji had made mistakes in the past, but he would not allow another friend of his to self destroy in the name of righteousness.
#xisang#nie huaisang#lan xichen#lan wangji#mo dao zu shi#burn it down au#jau writes#this is another long chapter oops#but hey on the plus side we're definitely getting closer to wwx's return#which all things considered is only mildly to be counted as good news
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Movement: Pausa
Time Frame: Post current canon (Shadowbringers)
Notes: Established relationship Alphinaud/Wol ship over 21+. Aged up characters due to time being treated as it passes instead of MMO time bubbles.
It's domestic fluff for these troubling times.
I continue to refer to Alphinaud as a Scholar instead of Academician for no reason but laziness and bad habits.
Cross posted to Ao3.
-
Life between grand adventurers is made up of quieter moments. Or in one Alvaar Aldaviir's case, occasionally breaking up brief respites of ‘normal life’ with fussing and looking after one of his chronically overworked lovers… and most everything else in sight.
-
“Still at it I see.”
Alphinaud doesn’t look up, hunched over his desk and pen working away furiously for a long moment. There’s a brief pause as he glances at a document that’s been pinned down with a tome and a closed ink pot before he goes back to writing.
Alvaar doesn’t bother to say anything more, simply ruffling Carbi’s fur as the carbuncle squeaks softly and purrs from where it’s draped over the Bard’s shoulders, letting himself into the room and leaning against the back of the desk chair patiently. It isn’t the first time he’s known those who are married to their work and it’s far from the first time he’s dated one.
He glances over what the Scholar is currently drafting, noting yet another appeal on behalf of the latest band of refugees to wash up on Eorzea’s shores, before fixing his attention to the colorful perpetual calendar on the corner of the desk. Frowning a moment as he notes the numbered blocks wedged between the two carbuncle figures are wrong and automatically moving to adjust it. The trailing ivy-like plant next to it has also seen better days, and he mentally takes a note to saturate the dried-out soil.
There still hasn’t been a word from the snowy haired Elezen still scratching away at the parchment, but Alvaar doesn’t mind. He simply pats gently at tensed shoulders and gives a firm, “Ten minutes,” before taking his leave at the delayed nod. Pausing for a moment, he grabs the potted plant in his retreat as well. He could take a little longer with making tea, Alphinaud wouldn’t notice anyway and the poor thing needed a proper soak.
There’s the firm press of a soft furred face against his jaw, the moonstone carbuncle making an annoyed chirp.
“I know,” he murmurs, ruffling thick fur. “I’ll come back and drag him away from his work I promise. Thank you for telling me.”
-
Alphinaud was still writing when Alvaar came back a quarter of a bell later. This time he doesn’t announce himself, simply sets the tall mug of tea down on the desk before moving to the window and opening it with one hand before setting the potted plant down on the sill.
“That’s a bit better yea?” he commented aloud, studying the still damp leaves a moment before draping them outside where they could dry in the midday sun. “I bet so. You could hardly breathe with all that dust. Dreadful.”
Pausing where he was leaned out the second story window, he watched the steady bustle of Mor Dhona below. The constant stream of adventurers through the aetheryte plaza to visit the Adventurers Guild or off to Rowena’s House of Splendors. The movement and murmur of the crowd carried up on warm winds.
It was a far cry from when they had first arrived those many years ago. The frontier settlement having rested firmer into its stones with the many contributions from its visitors. The beginnings of a more peaceful town in the brighter colors and fabrics to entice buyers at its market square and the easy gait of wandering tradesmen navigating the crowds.
Pulling himself back inside as something bumped against his leg, he blinked at the glowing white carbuncle that stared up at him expectantly with a soft chirp.
“What? You want a look too? Alright. Come on up,” Alvaar replied, stepping to the side and patting the sill before bracing the pot as the carbuncle leapt up and settled itself on its rear haunches, sniffing at the air and closing its eyes in the sun. “You’re like a signal mirror you pest. Don’t knock over that plant. It’s lived through three wars it’d be a damn shame if it ended in ‘Death from Healing Carbuncle,’” he chided, ruffling long ears gently after the answering chirp before turning and halting at Alphinaud’s stare.
“Bard nonsense,” the Scholar commented tiredly, but the touch of fondness and faint smile was still clear even behind the mug. He was finally leaned back from his work, hands wrapped around the cup for warmth and taking another grateful drink.
“Oh hush. I was neither waxing poetic nor singing. No Bard nonsense to be had,” Alvaar returned.
“You’re talking to inanimate nonmagical plants, and aetheric automatons again,” he murmured.
“Yea? Well, I talk to you too. Some days I’d swear you were inanimate,” Alvaar bitched before gesturing back at the carbuncle. “And don’t start. Carbi answers.”
A disbelieving hum answered as the Scholar finished drinking his tea.
“How is it,” Alvaar huffed, pausing as he stepped over and leaned his elbows against the back of the chair, settling his jaw against white strands, “That I seem to think more highly of your summons than you do?”
“Because you don’t study arcanima.”
“Well if that’s the case you’d think you would appreciate Bardsong more,” Alvaar joked, pressing a firm kiss to pale strands before shifting his stance and weight so he could loop arms around Alphinaud’s shoulders and neck for a hug.
“I do appreciate Bardsong,” he reminded gently, reaching up to grip one of the Bards arms and up further to grasp at a shoulder in a slight returned embrace. “I’ve always appreciated your outstanding capacity to force consistent results out of nonsense with sheer willpower alone.”
It got a single snort of amusement as Alvaar buried his face against soft hair, leaning into the contact. “Brat. You’re lucky you’re cute or I’d be more offended. Maybe even stop making those scones you like...”
“You know I jest. I’m willing to tolerate any amount of your nonsense for your baking.”
It earned a full out laugh and a brief tighter squeeze of the arms around him. “Good to know diligent overworking and lack of sleep hasn’t curbed your sass,” Alvaar murmured, pressing another kiss to the back of a long ear. “And nice to have you for five minutes.”
A soft sigh slipped from the Scholar, unconsciously sinking further into the Bard’s grasp and fingers flexing minutely. “Truthfully, it is good to be had for five minutes... I’m sorry to be ignoring you so much.”
A dismissive grunt left Alvaar’s throat. “You know I’ll never fault you for it. Scion work was always part of the agreement. Besides, I’m into hard working men. Makes taking them to pieces in bed later more fun.” He pauses for a moment then, an audible smirk in his words. “You get the loveliest shade of red too...”
“Pest,” the Scholar grumbled, swatting at Alvaar’s arms even as he flushed deeper.
A bright chuckle left the Bard, patting a shoulder comfortingly. “I know. But someone has to make sure you take care of yourself. And a little motivation keeps it interesting, no? But yes, I understand. No frisky interruptions. I have things in the oven anyway. So come on, sit up, I’ve got work to do keeping you in one happy piece so the world might know better tomorrows.”
Despite still being a bit flustered, the Scholar complied and even removed his coat as Alvaar rose to his full height. A low quick tune hummed in that clear tenor before aether shifted and his hands warmed noticeably, putting them against the tense slope of his lover’s shoulders. The blissful sigh that escaped was light but didn’t miss Alvaar’s notice, digging strong fingers into worn muscle and ears perked to each sound as he worked. Listening for what spots hurt the most and adjusting his technique accordingly. It didn’t take long to have a very relaxed Elezen on his hands making quiet contented noises.
He could comment, but then Alphinaud usually got self-conscious and stopped. Instead he slipped his hands along the smooth curve of his jaw, thumbs working in at the base of his skull and trying not to chuckle at the sighing happy huffs that followed.
It was endearing in a way Alvaar didn’t think he’d ever get bored with. The complete faith and trust as Alphinaud leaned further into him and rested more of his weight in calloused and worn hands as he relaxed. For the Bard, it was a simple pleasure, to be able to provide comfort and support in ways that didn’t hinge on life and death but were still important and meaningful. Such small but impactful tasks had always been what grounded his endeavors after all, the dose of reality that curbed the heady heights of heroism.
All the Scions worked hard in their own given fields and talents. And while the Warrior of Light’s burden was heavy indeed, dramatic, and often a change of the tides, the diplomatic work and arrangements made in pen were no less great nor taxing on their de facto leader. The many late nights spent researching and drafting, the constant meetings and councils, social events and networking, consulting and mediating peaceable relations...
It was all work Alvaar was woefully unprepared for but always crucial in the wake of his campaigns and efforts. There could be nothing gained from his impressive feats on the battlefield if there was no home nor safety for the living to return to. As inspiring of a motif he might be, the standard raised to rally unity and purpose, it was the details and social relations that kept continued peace on course. Surely he had grown more adept at assistance that didn’t rely on killing, but the resources needed in the minutiae, the moving and building and reconstruction efforts, those had to come from somewhere. Supplies and the routes that brought them had always been orchestrated with diplomacy and a pen to strengthen ties a sword would only sever.
Pulling Alphinaud’s writing hand into his own, he massaged carefully over joints and tendons. This time he couldn’t help but grin at the unconscious purr it earned. In its own way it was poetic and always would be to him. The scarred hands of a skilled archer, that knew the feel of warbow and string more than anything else, holding the ink-stained hands that orchestrated and pushed for diplomacy and peace with equal amounts of the fervor and heroism as Alvaar brought to the frontlines.
A crucial component he’d respected long before they had earned their names in the Dragonsong War. When a haughty and naive noble had wielded Alvaar’s strength as his own, and he had sworn to do his best to protect him regardless. Because Alvaar had always known there would be no lasting peace wrought from violence no matter how necessary. And however selfish Alphinaud’s reasons may have been at the time, the heart behind them had spoken true in its aims. Where others had been baffled at his patience, the Bard had always known the truth.
Titles and legacy didn’t mean anything to him. He’d always stood firm at Alphinaud’s side because he’d seen what few else had shining in those eyes. The fierce drive of an idealist, the honest truth and hope for a better future.
If he could claim no other good choice in his life, it was staying loyal at this man’s side.
“What’s on your mind my friend?” Alphinaud asks softly, making the Bard finally notice the quiet depths of blue studying him.
Tightening his fingers over his lover’s, he stays quiet a moment. It was too much to say, too many embarrassing things for someone that had work to yet attend. Later perhaps, but not right now.
“A song,” Alvaar says instead. Not because it’s a lie, but because he can already hear the lilting notes in his periphery. A melody yet unwritten but waiting patiently for him to claim.
“Something new?”
“Yes and no. A new composition, but not something new. Something years in the making, I think. Steady and patient. Something quiet and kind. Loyal and passionate and altruistic to a fault. Hopeful and bright,” Alvaar mused aloud.
“That’s too many ideas for one song,” the Scholar remarked with amusement.
“Maybe. It might have to be something long. It might take years to pen,” he replied lightly, hands cupping along the stronger line of his lover’s jaw, leaning down to press a brief kiss to his nose affectionately.
“You’ll have to let me know when it’s finished,” Alphinaud murmured. “I’d like to hear it.”
It made the depths of the Bard’s scarred heart warm, a quiet smile slipping to his face before he pressed another soft kiss to the Scholar’s brow.
“You’ll be the first to know. I think it will be one of my masterpieces.”
He had, after all, promised he’d write songs of the Leveilleur’s legacy to outlast even the Warrior of Light’s.
#wol#alvaar aldaviir#alphinaud#alphinaud leveilleur#alphinaud x wol#domestic fluff#sfw#writing#oc#mywriting#FFXIV#ff14#final fantasy xiv#final fantasy 14#still feels like a tuesday
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Pieces of April [4/?]
AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099044/chapters/50202530
Summary: On the anniversary of his death, Jason’s second life takes an abrupt new turn and he’s faced with a challenge that neither Batman nor the All-Caste prepared him for.
Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)
Warning(s): Past Jason/Isabel, kidfic, minor canon character death (pretty sure you can guess who, not either of our boys!), I’ll add more warnings/tags as I think of them.
Canon-Compliance: Takes place in between the two RHATO series, so after Roy and Kori and before Artemis and Bizarro.
Author’s Note: In which panicking Jason needs someone to help ground him...
First Chapter
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Jason only just makes it to the nearest bathroom and upchucks everything he’s consumed in the past five and a half hours.
He is left with only the same sweaty, stomach-warbling panic he remembers from the most frightening moments in his life.
Finding his mother’s limp body in a piss-stained back alley. Making a run from Batman and being unable to escape that heavy, gauntleted hand clamping down on his shoulder. The first time he jumped off Wayne Tower with only a reinforced grapple line to hold him up. The first time he got shot. The first time he watched Bruce break down in front of him.
His first and last moments looking at a too-wide smile and the gleam of a bloodied crowbar. A timer ticking down to zero.
It doesn’t make sense.
In the vast procession of frightening and dangerous screw-ups that litter his life, the news that he has a kid shouldn’t fill him with so much dread. But right now, he feels paralyzed and can’t even sort through his spinning thoughts long enough to figure out why.
Jason wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stumbles out of the bathroom, ignoring wary looks sent his way by several hospital staff. His stomach is still flip-flopping, but he doesn’t think he’s doing to puke again, so now…he just needs to move.
Once he escapes the maternity ward, he has no idea where he’s supposed to do next. The largest part of himself wants to leave the hospital—and the situation—as fast as possible and not look back.
It’s what he does, isn’t it? Get into a jam, leave a trail of fire and debris, and then move on to the next job so as the avoid the consequences as long as possible.
But that’s just it, isn’t it? Can’t avoid consequences forever.
He planned an entire vengeful crusade around that premise and as for himself, he’s never been one to try to avoid what’s coming to him. It’s just usually when he throws himself headlong into complicated situations, he has a pretty accurate idea of what the outcome will look like.
Not this time, though.
This time, his wandering is as aimless as he thoughts, having no direction and no destination in mind. Doors and stairwells and different hospital wards pass him but he barely registers.
“I’ll be back with your daughter.”
Daughter.
This—now—a daughter—a baby: it’s too much. Too much information or implication or whatever it is blocking the part of his brain that thinks ahead. There’s just too much.
Sometimes when things get to be too much, you need to take a step back, chum.
Bruce’s voice echoes in his head somewhere, rising above the gibbering panic.
Most of the time you’ll have too little information to go on—but very occasionally, you’ll have too much. In either case, there are drawbacks, but you still take the same approach. Focus on one aspect at a time. Move through your process as slowly, methodically as possible. You must have all the facts before you can formulate a cohesive plan of attack.
Jason snorts, shaking his head and the thought away with it.
Because Bruce was clearly slow and methodical when the demon brat appeared on the scene. The way Jason’s heard, the kid shows up and the same night he’s living at the manor.
B’s biggest problem has always been how quick he is to go down the accidental-kid-acquisition route.
Which makes him about the last person Jason wants to be thinking about right now. Even just thinking about what his reaction would be if he found out about Jason’s situation makes his skin crawl. All he needs on top of things is judgement and disappointment the way only Batman can get just right, especially when it comes to Jason.
(Not least of all because Bruce was the one to make him sit through a painful and—what Jason believed, up until now, to be—completely unnecessary talk about safe sex back when Jason met his first girlfriend.)
Except.
As messed up as Bruce and his methods sometimes were, more often than not it’s those early lessons that kept Jason alive. Especially after he died.
So…okay.
Facts.
Isabel is dead.
That’s a fact.
Something solid, something he can deal with, as shitty as it feels to do so.
Jason knows how to deal with the dead—hell, he was the dead. It doesn’t get any closer than that. There’s a routine to it, expectations and procedure—
He can start with that.
Destination finally in mind, he sets off.
Hospitals are the same everywhere, really. If you look like you know where you’re going and walk with enough confidence in your stride, people don’t question you or your presence.
Jason finds the hospital mortuary with relative ease, orchestrates a distraction for the morgue attendant with the same, and heads inside. A cold chill creeps up his spine at the familiar, ever-present lingering stench of formaldehyde. He’s had nightmares of that smell ever since he woke up from his coma, and he doesn’t know why since he was stone-dead before he went anywhere near a morgue.
He snags the attendant’s discarded tablet on his way past the empty desk and scans down the list of names, teeth clenching when he recognizes what he’s looking for.
Maria Isabela Ardila, 25. Preliminary cause of death, contingent on full postmortem: pulmonary abruption.
So she hasn’t been autopsied yet, which means she’s not in a drawer. It’s only been about two hours…
Jason ducks into the adjacent lab, glancing at several gurneys with body bags on them. He doesn’t even need to check the identifying tags; only one of them contains a body of Isabel’s height and build.
He approaches the body bag slowly, is barely aware of his arm reaching out, of carefully unzipping it over her face.
And there she is.
Pale now, no more color in her cheeks, hair limp with dried sweat. Her jaw is slack, expression devoid of the light and spark that drew her to him in the first place.
He’ll never see it again.
Jason swallows.
It’s not like he was in love with her or anything, but it was a close thing—if given the chance, he might have one day felt for her the way he felt for Essence. The knowledge that he’s lost yet another potential human connection is another blow he wasn’t expecting today.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he murmurs, fists balling.
He’s angry, but not at her for being dead. Well, okay, he is a little. Not completely because from what he understands, what killed her is something that could happen to anyone.
No, what he’s angry about is the fact she was pregnant and didn’t tell him. That she both kept and kept secret the fact she was having his kid, never gave him a chance to know about it or to try to convince her why it would be a bad idea.
And now she’s dead and if it hadn’t been for him—if he hadn’t met her—she’d still be alive right now.
The skin over his knuckles is pulled painfully tight now, and he forces himself to loosen his fist and shake it off. Slowly, he reaches out and lays his palm across Isabel’s forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “This is all my fault.”
He backs away, threading his fingers through his hair in an effort to keep himself from lashing out with fists.
This is so messed up. This is so…too much.
And sitting in the morgue is probably not helping.
He paces back and forth a minute longer, before digging into his pocket for his phone. It’s time to contact the one person who can usually knock him out of his own head.
Roy has gone through this. Hell, Jason watched him go through it, he was there when Jade told him that he was a father. Roy knows what it’s like to have something like this dropped on you out of the blue.
It takes longer than normal to get through, but Roy answers all the same.
“…Jaybird?”
He sounds rough, but not strained in the way Jason would associate with imminent explosions. He can only hope his own voice is a little stronger. It takes a bit, mouth opening and closing soundlessly as he tries to figure out what to say.
“I’m in a mess,” he manages. “And I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do.”
“Gotham style mess, or alien mess?” Roy asks warily.
“I…have a kid.”
There’s nothing but the sound of static for several breaths, and then, “…Say again?”
“A kid. A…baby, technically. She’s…I just…found out. An hour ago? Seems like longer—”
He’s pacing again.
“Whoa, hold on, slow the hell down, what do you mean you have a kid? How—?”
“Do I really need to paint a picture?” Jason hisses.
“Nah, I’m good—but shit, Jay, this is—whoa.” Pause. “Are you okay?”
It’s the first time anyone’s out and out asked him. Drake sort of did, but that was buried under the guise of assessing if he was injured.
“Not really,” he admits. Then, “Isabel’s dead.”
“What? No—how is that related to—?”
“She’s the mother. Was the mother. She bled out delivering the…”
The baby.
His daughter.
“Shit.” Roy groans, exhaling harshly. And again, “Shit. Jay. I’m sorry, man. I know things didn’t work out, but…she was cool.”
“Yeah…” Jason swallows. “Roy, I have no fucking clue what I’m supposed to do.”
“No kidding. Okay. I hear ya buddy. First of all, take a breath. Or five hundred.” Somehow it’s less irksome being told to breathe by Roy than his replacement. “This is big. You’re allowed to freak out, but not so much where you lose your head, okay? And look at it this way, at least Isabel wasn’t an internationally renowned assassin that more often than not wanted to kill you.”
Jason coughs out an unexpected, manic chuckle at that.
“Where are you right now?”
“Hospital. Technically, the morgue.”
A pained exhale at that. “Isabel, right?”
“Right.”
“And the kid?”
“Up in the maternity ward still.” Jason pauses. “Drake’s keeping an eye on her.”
“Drake? As in Tim Drake?”
“Don’t sound so surprised, you’re the one who picked up the damn phone and sent him to babysit me.”
“Yeah, but that was before...”
“Before it turned out there was actual babysitting involved?”
“Right.”
Jason swallows back another wave of mounting hysteria.
“He’s as weirded out by this as I am, and I don’t know how long it’s going to be before he tattles to the Bat cavalry. Could really use someone in my corner on this one.”
“It sounds to me like you already do,” Roy points out, “at least in the short term.”
“Yeah, well, he’s never been in this situation, unless Wayne’s PR-team is a lot better at their jobs than I thought.”
Roy sighs heavily, in a way that immediately has Jason’s shoulders tense.
“You know I’d be there in a second if I could. But right now, I’m kinda…tied up.”
Jason frowns. “Literally or metaphorically?”
“Little bit of both?”
“Do you need me to—?”
“No! No, you have your own issues to deal with right now. The kind that trump mine, and your first instinct can’t be to leave Gotham in your rear-view instead of dealing with this.”
Why not? Jason wants to ask but doesn’t.
“Look, Jay…” Roy sighs, weary. “This sort of thing…there’s nothing I can tell you that to give you an easy answer here. Kids…every kid is different. It’s always different, so…you gotta go with your gut. Ain’t nothing anyone else can tell you to do. And as messed up as you are right now, it’s not about you. It’s about what’s best for her.”
Jason nods at this even though Roy can’t see him. Maybe if he focusses on that—distances himself from the situation, thinks about the baby like it belongs to someone else. Needs to think about it like some Crime Alley orphan he’s rescued and needs to take care of.
Temporarily.
Until he figures it all out.
“Listen, whatever you decide, I’m with you man. Ride or die, even if I’m not there right this second. Soon as I can, I’m there,” Roy goes on. “Until then, whatever you do, don’t try to go it alone. I know from experience trying to deal with a tiny human on your own is asking for trouble.”
Jason inhales slowly, scowling at the sharp smell in the air and forces an exhale. “So don’t run Drake off.”
“Or try to kill him.”
“Again.”
“Again.”
Jason glances back to Isabel’s body on the gurney, stares at the lifeless face that will never smile again. Thinks of the infant upstairs who may or may not look like her, but who is definitely his.
“I have to get back upstairs,” he says. “Got some decisions to make.”
And that’s putting it lightly…
He starts to hang up, but then Roy speaks again. “Hey, Jaybird?”
“Yeah?”
“Bouncing baby girl, that’s…” his best friend swallows so heavily it’s audible across the line. “That’s something.”
Jason knows he’s thinking about Lian.
“Yeah, man, it’s…it’s definitely something.”
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Hm, I think next chapter we'll check in with Tim's POV, just to switch things up...
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Next Chapter
#violetsmoak#Violet writes#jaytim#jaytim fanfiction#babyfic#accidental baby acquisition#enemies to lovers#eventual slash#jason todd#roy harper#coping with big news
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Sand and Gold (Chapter 2)
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Characters/Ships: Atem, Thief King Bakura, Mahad, Priest Seto, Priestess Isis, more to be added~ Rating: T Length: Chapter 2 / ?; 3200 words
Summary:
Prince Atem once found a small thief, and hid him for a time in the palace courtyard. The thief promised to return; to explain his hatred, and to have his vengeance.
The Pharaoh and the King of Thieves were supposed to be enemies, but neither is willing to abandon the tenuous bond they forged as children. Now the Royal Priests, Seto foremost among them, try to recover their kidnapped Pharaoh, unaware that Atem left with the Thief King of his own accord. Bakura has declared war in the name of his beloved Kul Elna, and yet wears the Millennium Ring that Pharaoh willingly gave him.
Read on AO3 Previous Chapter – Next Chapter (Coming Soon!)
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The Thief King gazed out across the royal city; grinned.
It had been nearly ten years since he had been to the palace. He had kept his promise, and returned.
“I’m back...” he murmured, relishing the feel of the wind in his long red robe. It doesn’t matter if you remember me... I remember you. I’ll have my vengeance... and I’ll keep you beside me.
It had occurred to the Thief King, during his endless ruminations on the subject, that the boy from the palace may not be merely a servant—the more the thief thought about it, the more sense that made. But it didn’t matter. If the palace child was a nobleman’s son, now grown into a noble himself, or a royal magician, or even one of the pharaoh’s high priests, it didn’t matter.
You may hate me... when I take my vengeance... but I won’t let you perish along with your pharaoh. I won’t let you die with your kingdom, because you didn’t let me die, that lifetime ago. The Thief King clenched his fists; felt his heart begin to beat almost uncomfortably fast. I’ll keep you with me, after I take the Millennium Items... after I claim the dark powers that I seek. I’ll have vengeance, for my beloved Kul Elna... and I’ll save you, keep you beside me, to repay your kindness...
I’ve come back.
... ... ...
Pharaoh Atem sat on his throne, listless. He hadn’t slept well, the night before; each time he’d drifted off, he’d started awake as if in answer to a call of his name.
He could hear Siamun, beside him, talking about something that was probably important, and that kept him awake—barely. There was a petty thief being judged; his priests, Seto in the lead, were bringing about the pathetic man’s punishment.
This thief... is nothing like...
Atem often wondered if the small thief was still alive. If Atem looked at things from a strictly analytical viewpoint, the chances were rather slim. The thief may have recovered some of his strength, under Atem’s watch, but he’d still been precious more than bones and spite when he’d left. The wound on his face had been healing well, but it could have easily torn open again and started festering. He could have gotten sick. He could have starved. He could have been killed.
When Atem really thought about it, though, he found it hard to believe the thief was dead.
Priest Seto was advocating for having the petty criminal drawn and quartered; Atem spared a moment to be irritated by the priest’s overzealous approach. Akhenaden didn’t let things go too far, however, and announced a sentence of hard labor for attempting to rob the tomb of the previous pharaoh—of Atem’s father, Akhenamkhanen.
“Great Pharaoh!” That was Seto again, and Atem started. “I request permission to enlist more troops to strengthen the guards at the Valley of Kings!”
“Er, yes...” Atem replied, trying to hide his lapse of attention. “I leave it to you...!”
Then Siamun began chattering about secret preparations for Atem’s own tomb—a subject the Pharaoh had no real desire to discuss. He was disturbed by the attempt at robbery of his father’s tomb, of course, but was too preoccupied with matters of the living to be concerned about his own inevitable death. He trusted Siamun with that task, and wished his valued adviser didn’t feel the need to talk to him about it in excess.
“What is it, Isis?!”
Atem looked up at Akhenaden’s shout; watched as Isis announced, “My Millennium Tauk has picked up a... disturbing... future. An evil shadow approaches this palace... someone with incredible powers of heka!”
Atem shook off the last of his weariness as Mahad, too, said, “My Millennium Ring has detected a great shadow power...”
Several guards rushed in, then, one shouting, “Your highness!” and another calling, “A grave robber calling himself Bakura, King of Thieves, is heading toward the pharaoh’s chamber!”
As his priests expressed disbelief and indignation, Atem sat up straighter. Grave robber? King of Thieves? Coming here?!
And then, from the darkness of the entryway, the grand hallway that lead to the pharaoh’s chamber, a shape became visible. Guards closed in and were knocked aside as gnats; the priests, instinctively, closed ranks around their pharaoh.
“At last... the throne room...”
Atem stiffened; there was something about the voice, deeper though it had grown, that stirred an old memory in him. The thief was clothed in a grand red robe and decadent gold—funerary gold. He wore a maize hood that all but hid his gray hair.
“Lose something?” the grave-robber continued. “Here!” He let an array of funerary relics fall with a clatter. “These are the treasures I just removed from Akhenamkhanen’s tomb! I even brought this thing I found in the coffin! Can’t you set better traps than that?!”
The grave-robber’s words were clearly meant for the pharaoh, but he was scanning the other people in the room intently; searching for something or someone, clearly. Atem’s heart leaped up into his throat, then stopped altogether as he stared at the thief—the so called King of Thieves, who had come dragging the mummified body of Atem's beloved father, the previous pharaoh.
“I’ve come for the Millennium Items...” the thief continued, and at last turned toward Atem. Then he, too, stalled; seemed to lose his line of thought, for a moment, as their eyes met.
Atem saw the scar—the deep slash down the right side of the thief’s face. His first feeling was near-overpowering relief that it had healed so well, after all.
“To step unbidden before the throne of the pharaoh is a serious crime!” Shada’s voice broke in. “You will not be forgiven!”
The thief seemed to give himself a shake; averted his gaze, staring up toward the ceiling.
“There’s something I want,” he growled, his voice far less manic than before. “Your Millennium Items—I’ll ask you once nicely... will you give all seven to me? Well?”
Atem gripped the armrests of his throne; started to rise, and then stalled. Millennium Items... His eyes flicked from the thief to his father—his poor father’s battered mummy.
“Heh heh... For a miserable thief, to stand before the six priests takes courage... We’ll make sure the canopic jar for your guts is a somewhat largerone,” Priest Seto said, a nasty little smile on his face.
Then Akhenaden was off about the Millennium Items, but Atem couldn’t listen; could only watch as the thief’s eyes flicked from the ceiling to the priests and then to him, Pharaoh Atem, and then back to the ceiling. The King of Thieves took one shifting step backwards.
“If a person like you,” Akhenaden was saying, “with a heart of evil, were to touch a Millennium Item, your very soul would burn away.”
No... Atem thought. No... but your heart isn’t evil... tell them they’re wrong...
“You excite me,” was the thief’s reply, with a slightly strained smile. “Now I want them even more! I’ll take on all of you priests at once!”
“There’s nothing to worry about, Pharaoh,” Siamun said softly, misinterpreting the Pharaoh’s tension. “The thief should be the one to worry... No sane person could stand against the heka of the six priests!”
No sane person... Atem’s eyes remained fixed on the thief. No sane person would try to dig up those scraps to eat... but you were desperate. You were dying. Something pushed you... What’s pushing you to act this way now?!
A blank stone slab stood at the ready; Siamun said solemnly, “His ka is likely low-level... it will soon show its evil form... and be sealed into the stone by the heka of the priests!”
But as the thief—as Bakura, self-proclaimed King of Thieves—braced himself, his eyes fell once again onto Atem. The Pharaoh saw confusion there, conflict... but also conviction, unshakable.
“I hate your stinking pharaoh. I stand by that. I’ll kill him, one day.”
“I’ll come back, one day, I swear it. Then you’ll understand.”
You kept your promise...
The priests stirred, clearly distressed; Shada recoiled with a shout, upon looking into the thief’s soul. And then Bakura, King of Thieves, summoned his ka.
“Stop it!” Atem yelled, rising from the throne despite Siamun’s shout of objection. His voice was drowned by the roar of the thief’s ka—of Diabound, the god-spirit. While the priests were in disarray, questioning how that could be, the thief once again met Atem’s gaze.
A god-type ka... was all the Pharaoh could think, his heartbeat quickening with awe. The glimmering silver serpent opened its jaws wide, the ka's humanoid figure staring down at the court in stoic judgement. I should be surprised. I’m not surprised, though, not at all... A god-type ka which rises to stand against the pharaoh and his priests... What grievance have you, Bakura, that a god dwells within you?!
Priest Seto attempted to seal the thief’s ka, but the sealing stone shattered after a few heartbeats. It seemed the thief should shout something mocking or triumphant, but his face was grim; he kept his silence as Priest Seto stepped forward to challenge him.
Stop... stop this...! Atem nearly cried it out once again, but couldn’t think of a way to explain the order. Stop... please...
When Priest Seto‘s servant was defeated, all the priests moved to attack at once; Diabound, and its master the Thief King, stood unflinchingly against them.
Someone will die...! Atem thought, his heart pounding as the priests and the thief clashed. He’ll kill one of my priests... or they’ll kill him... but either way... someone is going to die...! It was that thought that drove him forward, despite the wild grab that Siamun made for him, toward the raging battle.
“Stop this! Stop!” he shouted, and the thief spun sharply toward him. The ground beneath Atem’s feet lurched as one of the priest’s attacks flew wide, narrowly missing him, and he stumbled.
“Pharaoh!” Priest Seto’s voice rose, horrified and furious. “Look out! Get down!”
Atem had no time to dodge the next attack, clearly aimed for the King of Thieves. But before it could strike him, a wall of white scales rose up; knocked him violently forward, onto his hands and knees. The blast of heka hit Diabound’s flank instead of the Pharaoh, and the serpent-ka gave a deafening shriek of pain. Atem, on the ground, stared fixedly at the thing lying inches from him—at his beloved father’s mummy, tattered and beaten with a humiliating rope tied about its neck and the foot of the Thief King planted firmly between its shoulder blades. The noise of battle faded, even the priests’ frantic shouting muffled as Diabound coiled tighter around the three figures, encompassing them in an artificial little cave.
The King of Thieves stepped down from the old pharaoh’s body; crouched, on one knee, to level their heights.
“It is you...” he murmured, with such tenderness that Atem’s throat ached as if with coming tears. “By the gods...”
“And it’s you...” the Pharaoh replied, pushing himself up onto his knees. He met the thief’s bright eyes, and said, “You kept your promise.”
The Thief King’s eyes widened. “You remembered.”
“How could I forget?” the Pharaoh asked, honestly. And the Thief King chuckled.
A sudden explosion rocked their enclosed little world, and the Thief King pitched forward; the two of them grasped one another spontaneously, for balance, and then immediately sprang apart. Atem scrambled to his feet, eyes wild.
“I can’t...” he murmured, and glanced over as the Thief King rose beside him. The thief’s gaze had a hostile edge to it, once again—a feral gleam, like the look he’d had that very first night. “You have to...”
“I’ll do what I came here to do,” the thief growled, and another barrage of attacks made Diabound scream.
“No!” Atem snapped, and for a second the thief looked over at him, surprised. “You can’t win against them. I’ll handle this.”
“You underestimate me, Pharaoh,” the Thief King growled.
Atem felt panic spike his blood; the powerful heka building up just outside of Diabound’s coils made his skin prickle. “Don’t—I’m not! I mean... trust me! Trust me, please!”
“Trust you?!” the thief snarled, and then bore his teeth. “Why should I? You’re the Pharaoh!”
And Atem replied, his voice steady, “I have never lied to you.”
The thief’s hostility melted, suddenly; his shoulders dropped, and his expression eased. He still said, “A lot can change in ten years.”
“But you kept your promise,” Atem replied. “Let me show myself to be just as dependable.”
The Thief King hesitated for a moment longer, then reached back; touched the trembling flank of his ka, Diabound.
“Come back, Diabound. You’ve done enough. Thanks.” There was a rumble of uncertainty from the great serpent, and the Thief King glanced over at Atem. He took a deep breath that rattled in his narrow chest, and said, “I trust you.”
Atem nodded; braced himself.
Diabound dissipated in a great gust of wind; the priests were buffeted, and Siamun actually skidded several steps backwards. Then they leaped forward, servant monsters poised to strike from a dozen different angles.
“Don’t hit the Pharaoh!” Priest Seto’s shout rose, just faintly, above the cacophony. “Aim only for the thief!”
The Thief King crouched low, eyes wild; defenseless, suddenly. The sight made Atem’s heart lurch, and he raised his hands.
“Stop! Don’t attack!”
The priests hesitated, even as Atem moved physically in front of the Thief King; paced, slightly, to make himself harder to aim around.
“Dismiss your servants!” Atem shouted, summoning every scrap of authority he possessed in his voice. “He’s surrendered! Do you hear me?! Dismiss your servants!”
Mahad stepped slightly forward, and his Magus of Illusion drifted backwards—didn’t vanish, but at least distanced itself. “Pharaoh... are you certain? We could—“
“No!” Atem called, sweeping out one hand to further create a barrier; he felt the thief shift behind him, and prayed, Oh gods, don’t jump, Thief... don’t make a move... they’ll kill you... they’ll really kill you...! Trust me...! “This is my order—dismiss your servants!”
“The Pharaoh’s speaking nonsense!” Priest Seto shouted. “That thief must have done something to him, just now!”
“He did no such thing!” Atem’s voice rose, desperate. “Seto! Do not question me so! Not now of all times!”
“Lord Pharaoh, to take such a man prisoner would mean...” Siamun began.
Priest Akhenaden took a step forward. “Pharaoh, I would advise—“
“Noted, Akhenaden, and dismissed!” Atem shouted; his priest stalled. “My order stands! Dismiss your servants!”
“Shada?” Mahad asked, turning. “Can the Key detect any evil that might be influencing the Pharaoh?”
Shada shook his head. “No... there’s nothing unusual within the Pharaoh’s soul...”
“Isis?” Mahad asked.
The priestess cupped the Millennium Tauk in both palms; closed her eyes. Her breath quickened, head tipping back for a moment. Mahad, alarmed, moved towards her, but she recovered a moment later.
“I see...” Isis breathed, and then met Atem’s gaze. She lowered her head. “I see the thief in chains. He has surrendered.”
Mahad let out a long sigh of relief; dismissed his ka. Siamun rushed forward, and Atem moved subtly to keep himself between the Thief King and his adviser.
“Are you truly uninjured, Lord?” Siamun asked, and Atem nodded.
“I am.” He turned towards the Thief King—Bakura, by name. Please... please trust me... just a bit longer...
Bakura held his gaze; gave a nearly imperceptible nod.
“See this so-called King of Thieves taken down to the dungeons. I must tend to my poor father.”
... ... ...
Thief King Bakura made no trouble being led down to the dungeons. Pharaoh Atem scooped his father’s bartered body from the ground; held it close, and wept briefly when the trauma caught up with him. He apologized, in furtive whispers, to his father—apologized for the heinous dishonor, and for the fact that he had no intention to take vengeance for what had been done, as a good son should. Then he handed the mummy over to Siamun and Mahad, with the utmost faith that his father would be laid properly to rest once more. He told the other priests that he was going to rest; they bade him go—they would tend to everything, of course. Atem felt a stab of guilt regarding his deception.
When he reached the dungeons, the guards were surprised to see him—without any entourage, no less. But Pharaoh Atem informed them, calmly and with all the authority of his title, that he’d come to question the prisoner, the King of Thieves. They asked him if he’d like assistance; he thanked them, and assured them it wouldn’t be necessary.
“Please,” he added, “there’s no need for my priests to know about this. They worry over me so much already, I hate to give them more reason to do so.”
And the guards, awed by their kind Pharaoh’s intentions, agreed.
The Pharaoh arrived at the cell of the Thief King; let himself in.
“Gods damn... I told them not to...” he muttered, leaning up to unlock the chains that held the Thief King’s hands high above his head.
Bakura sighed with relief as his arms dropped, then rubbed at his wrists. “I wasn’t surprised. I killed quite a few of your guys, after all, even before I brought Diabound out.”
Atem’s eyes narrowed; he was on his knees, now, freeing Bakura’s ankles from their shackles as well. “I am a little cross about that.”
“I told you you might hate me, when I came back.”
Atem sighed. “I don’t hate you. I’m a little cross, that’s all.”
Bakura chuckled. “What a guy... So, you were the pharaoh’s son all along, huh?”
Atem nodded; sat beside him, on the cell floor. “I was.”
“Fancy that.” Bakura chuckled; rubbed his ankles, as he had his wrists.
Atem took the opportunity to examine the thief in more detail—while recognizable by his scar and ratty grey hair, he was far from the half-dead foundling that Atem had once sheltered. His muscles were well-defined, but wiry; there wasn’t an ounce of extra flesh between them to soften the lines, and he had a look of chronic hunger about him. He was slightly taller than Atem, now, but perhaps not as tall as he should have been, under ideal conditions; his eyes were bright, keen, but ringed with shadows of fatigue. His skin was calloused, worn rough by wind and sand. He had the look of an outlaw—a wild beast.
Despite that, he ducked his head for Atem; looked at the Pharaoh with due wariness, but without hostility. “What now?”
Atem sighed. “I don’t know... I’m just glad no one else died, today... if you’d killed one of my priests, I doubt I would’ve been able to stop the others.”
“You talk like I was going to lose,” Bakura said, with humor. “I wasn’t, you know. Diabound could’ve beaten them all.”
“I’ve no doubt,” Atem said, although he couldn’t say for certain who he thought would have won.
“You’re just glad no one died,” the Thief King guessed, with a sneer. “No one except a couple of those weaklings you had posted out-front, of course.”
“Don’t!” Atem’s voice was sharp, and the Thief King stiffened. “Those were my men. I understand, in times of violence, that such things happen. But those were my loyal men that I must now bury, and they died defending me. You won’t speak so lightly of their lives, which you took.”
Bakura’s lip drew back, and for a moment it looked as if he might argue. Then he let out a breath; smiled. “Sorry. My bad.”
Atem, too, breathed out heavily; said, “I know. It’s fine.”
There was a moment of silence—comfortable silence, even after so many years. The dimness of the dungeons evoked memories of the little cave beneath the pharaoh’s statue, and with that came a warm rush of familiarity.
“Are you eating alright?” Atem asked, and Bakura smiled.
“I’ve never eaten anything that compares to palace food.”
“I’ll bring you some, later.”
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Time Well Spent
For @pillarspromptsweekly: Afterword. I kinda stretched it a little, since most of my Watchers got endings to everything I’m pretty happy to leave alone. (There’s always Derrin, but I’ve written that fix-it fic before) So this is me “fixing” the fact that the Watcher always stays in Caed Nua at the end. (Really I just wanted an excuse to write Adi and Kana buddyfic /cough)
Ah-CHOO! It was a big sneeze for a tiny person, and the acoustics of the stone chamber made it echo even louder. Adela sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve.
“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, picking up the lantern she’d dropped. “Gods, it’s dusty in here.”
Kana’s chuckle echoed much lower than her sneeze had. “Adi, it’s a crypt. No one’s been down here for six or seven hundred years at least. I’d be more surprised if it wasn’t dusty.”
“That would portend some advancement in burial procedures we’ve not yet encountered,” she agreed with a laugh. “I’ve never met a culture that knew how to completely seal a crypt. Coffins and caskets, yes; crypts, no.” She ran her finger through the dust on the wall, revealing a thin line of the colors painted underneath. “Most kith are more worried about grave robbers than a little dust...”
“Which accounts for all the traps,” he muttered, absently rubbing one shoulder.
“I told you to wait,” Adela said fondly. “You’re lucky your reflexes have gotten better and I can yell louder than one would think.”
Kana nodded acknowledgement. “That I am. I’ll be more careful in the future.”
“No, you, won’t,” she laughed. “I’ve heard that promise three times in the span of six months. You forget about it every time you get excited about something.”
He wiped the dust off a larger section of the wall. “I do try. But some of the things we’ve found since you joined me... They’re so fantastic I can’t help but get excited.”
“I know. And I’d never ask you to change. I will, however, tease occasionally.” Adela winked at him before studying the door they needed to get through. “And this is heaps more fun than being Roadwarden. I just don’t wanna watch my best friend die or get hurt ‘cause he was too caught up to properly check for traps.”
She squinted at the characters carved into the door frame. They looked almost familiar, as if from something studied long ago and half forgotten. With a little more concentration, she realized that was exactly what they were. But that only brought more questions. Chiefly, why the blazes there was a dead Ixamitl dialect in a crypt on an island so small it wasn’t even on the map.
But mysteries like this was exactly why Adela had jumped to accept when Kana invited her along on his explorations once he’d made his report to the lore college. She didn’t have anything against being Lady of Caed Nua, but this was type of puzzle she liked to solve. Not how to fund restorations without raising taxes, or work out trade disputes between two groups with equally low opinions of orlans, and thus her.
“Adi?” Kana prompted, dragging her from her reverie.
“Sorry. This is Katl, a dead language, and one I’m rusty on, so it’s taking longer to translate.” She brushed her fingers over the stone, nails catching briefly on the carven words. “This is the way we want, but it has the typical ‘only the worthy’ rhetoric, so...”
“Take it slow?” he finished with a meaningful look. “Look out for traps?”
“Exactly.” Adela grabbed the pulley chain next to the door and hauled on it. Even digging in her heels, it barely moved.
Kana chuckled and reached one big hand over her shoulder to wrap around the handle. It opened easily for him, with the rough grinding of ancient stone they’d become all too accustomed to over the past several months. “There we go.”
“Thanks.” Shaking out stiff fingers, she peered suspiciously down the hall they’d revealed. “Y’know, for a crypt built in an overwhelmingly aumaua region, that looks awfully small.” She looked up at Kana. “Are you gonna fit?”
He took a moment to examine the passage. “I may have to duck in a couple spots, but I believe so.”
“I’m more worried about traps,” Adela said pointedly. “If you don’t have much--if any--extra room, Wael forbid we set anything off. You wouldn’t be able to dodge.”
“Well, then I’ll just have to keep a sharp eye out, won’t I?” Kana said with a reassuring smile. “I’m as curious about this place as you are, Adi. I’ll not be turned back by close quarters.”
Part of her wanted to protest further, but Adela bit her tongue. Risky as it might have been in the close confines of the crypt, it made sense for Kana to go first. He’d always had a better eyes for picking out traps than she did. (Didn’t stop him from triggering them if he was sufficiently distracted by some tantalizing discovery)
So she fell in step behind him and drank in the beautiful--if faded--frescoes that decorated the walls. She was so lost in that she almost missed the faint shink as Kana’s shoulder grazed the wall despite his best efforts. At first, nothing seemed to have happened. Then she noticed some of the floor tiles, scattered in a seemingly-random order, had sunk fractionally further in their settings. Including the one she was standing on.
Oh, no. Adela tensed. Something clicked in the wall and she flung herself forward, rolling past Kana as the tile dropped away completely. “Wael’s eyes, whoever built this crypt really didn’t want aumaua getting in.”
“They picked a bad location for a grave they didn’t want my people visiting,” Kana said with a wry chuckle. “Are you alright?”
She nodded and twirled the end of her braid. “Is this worth it, Kana? I’m just worried you’re going to wind up with more than a bruised shoulder if we keep going...”
“I appreciate your concern, Adi, but we’re almost there.” He gestured at the doorway ahead, flanked by statues indicative of the crypt’s central chamber. “We came looking for something, I’d much rather find it. And we have some questions that need answers, do we not?”
She was rather desperately curious why there was a crypt with Katl inscriptions two days’ sail from Rauatai. “Alright, you have a point. Just be careful, yeah? This hallway turned into a minefield of trigger tiles when you bumped the wall just now.”
Kana glanced at the remaining distance and frowned. “It looks the same to me...”
“Must be ‘cause you’re so tall,” Adela teased. “You can’t see the difference from up there. I’ll have to tell you which ones are safe to step on, then. Follow me.”
Now she took the position of guide, stepping--and occasionally hopping--from one safe tile to the next. Kana followed behind her, laughing that this reminded him of some of the Engwithan ruins they’d explored more than any other culture.
“One more thing to add to the mystery of this place,” Adela rejoined with a chuckle. “Dead Ixamitl language, built near Rauatai but practically designed to keep aumaua out... let’s toss elements of Engwithan design into the pot as well. Why not? It makes as much sense as everything else here.” She paused by the dark doorway, chewing her lip in thought. “Unless... what if our contradictory dead friend was Leaden Key?” Adela curled the tail of her braid around her thumb as she tested the theory. “We know they were... widespread, to vastly understate things, which explains the Katl. That they were missionary, which explains why this kith is here. They were Engwithan, giving the mixed design styles. And they’re blazing secretive, which explains why this place is not designed to accommodate the locals. But they clearly wanted access to what’s in here--hopefully the writings we’re after--hence there being a way around all the traps for kith who know what to do.” She snapped her fingers. “Those who are worthy to find it, as in, other Leaden Key members.”
Kana looked thoughtful, trying to peer through the darkness of the room ahead. “A sound theory, my friend. But if it was of such import, why does this place look to have been abandoned for several hundred years?”
Adela shrugged. “Whoever was responsible for passing down the location died unexpectedly. Or they decided the writings or whatever’s here were no longer important, so they just sealed it up. But with the number of traps in this place, it must’ve been really important.” She glanced at him slyly. “Perhaps the sort of knowledge someone dogged enough to hunt down the Tanvii ora Toa would look for?”
Kana laughed and shook his head. “Dogged is a kind way to put it, Adi. It’s a sound theory, though, far as I can tell. I suppose you appreciate the irony of being unable to avoid the Leaden Key if you’re correct?”
Adela nodded. “That and us finding something that might be ancient Key activity when Aloth’s busy hunting down the more modern branches.” She sighed. “I wish the records pointing this way had been just a little more clear. Knowing what we’re walking into would be nice.”
“It would, but we can manage,” Kana said encouragingly. He gestured toward the doorway. “Shall we?”
Adela gave her braid one last tug and scanned the doorway for any sign of traps. She didn’t see anything. “Might as well.”
The two entered the central chamber cautiously, lanterns held high. Even with the illumination, they couldn’t see more than a fraction of the huge room. Unlike the hallways and entry chamber, the walls here were plain. Not a fresco or inscription in sight.
“Huh.” Adela chewed her lower lip in thought as she examined what she could see. Kana followed as she walked closer to the sealed sarcophagus on the far side of the room, both keeping an eye out for things that might set off traps.
When they reached the sarcophagus, it was plain save a short inscription in Katl along the rim facing the door: Given to the gods and their service.
Adela ran her fingers over the words as she murmured the translation for Kana. He pursed his lips in thought and surveyed the room thoughtfully once more.
“Sadly lacking in iconography if this is truly the final resting place for one of their own,” he commented.
She shrugged. “They are all about secrecy. And maybe they figure everything out there”--a gesture back the way they’d come--”was sufficient.”
Kana chuckled. “Perhaps. What next?”
“Since there’s no writing or decoration on the walls, I’m pretty sure there aren’t any secret compartments...” Adela said under her breath, more thinking out loud then talking to him. She looked at the sarcophagus, eyes narrowing. “Which means the writing we’re after, if it’s here, is probably in with our nameless dead friend.” She tentatively rested one hand against the stone. No enchantments or traps that she could sense. “Help me open it.”
Kana shot her a skeptical look. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
“C’mon, Kana,” she wheedled, flashing him a wide smile. “It’s just a box. No harm ever ever came from opening a box.”
He made a noise of not-quite-disagreement and raised an eyebrow. “I seem to recall hearing that one before, shortly preceding a battle with several walking skeletons.”
“That only happened once,” Adela protested, rolling her eyes. “And I hadn’t checked that tomb for enchantments. This one I did.” She pushed against the stone lid, but her slight frame wasn’t even enough to make it rattle. “Come on, we’ve made it this for and we’re so close.”
“If you’re right,” Kana pointed out, then shook his head. “Ondra’s teeth, you know how to use a man’s curiosity against him...” He smiled fondly. “Though I suppose I did know what I was getting myself into when I invited you to join me. Very well, then.”
He swung his pack down from his shoulder to the floor, produced a prybar, and in short order had created enough of a gap they could slide aside the sarcophagus lid. Adela barely had time to register the partitioned inside--one compartment holding the occupants’ bones, the other a set of beautifully preserved scrolls--before a shimmering bluish-white spirit rose between her and Kana and their prize. It paused a moment, as if to get its bearings, before deigning to notice its company.
When it did, Adela felt an icy wave of suspicion radiate out from the spectral form as it spoke imperiously. “You stand before the Keeper of the Book. State your name and purpose.”
Caught off-guard by its presence and manner both, all she managed was a confused, “Huh?”
It was clearly not the answer the spirit had sought. It let out an angry screech and dove toward her. Adela yelped and batted it away with her grimoire.
Knew there was a reason I brought that, she thought with a grim smile as she dropped her lantern to pull out her sceptre.
It was, unsurprisingly, not much of a fight. There were two of them to the one spirit, and they’d been fighting together long enough to make quite a deadly pair when they needed to. Sure, by the end of their scrap Adela’s hair was singed and Kana had a lightning burn along his forearm from the one nasty spell it managed to cast, but they’d beaten the spirit back to a more... charitable disposition.
It still bore an air of supremely ruffled feathers as it resumed its position between them and the sarcophagus, but there was trace more respect in its voice. “Tell me of your labors.”
That’s when it clicked--even though it skipped a question--and Adela couldn’t stop herself from slapping one hand to her face and letting out a heavy sigh. I’m. An. Idiot. It had been her damned theory and she hadn’t connected those dots. “To see that the craft of kith and wilder does not disturb what bones the gods have buried,” she replied.
The spirit flickered approvingly. “And how is your oath guarded?”
“It is sealed by the Leaden Key.” So she’d been right. Galawain’s beard, why couldn’t she get away from these people?
Another approving flicker as the spirit swayed to the side. “And why have you come here, young acolyte?”
“I seek the centuries-guarded knowledge,” Adela said, reaching back to grab the side of Kana’s hand and squeeze as he started to interject. Shhh. “I wish to share in the knowledge and protect it.” By taking it away from here.
The spirit flickered a few more times as it deliberated, then bobbed in assent. “Very well, child. You are worthy to share my knowledge. Treat it with the respect it deserves.”
“I will,” she promised. She waited for the spirit to dissipate before approaching the sarcophagus. Now with time to look, she could see the skeleton that occupied most of the space. It looked to be either a tall elf or short folk from the stature. Any clothing they’d been wearing had long since turned to dust, leaving only the jewelry at hands and neck to show their importance.
Satisfied on that score, Adela turned to the scrolls. Dark green seals on all of them gave off a faint aura of magic, explaining how they were still in such good condition after centuries. She ran a finger along the one on top and felt the preservation spell shiver at her touch. Such a shame most enchantment methods like this have been lost...
“Adi.” Kana nudged her shoulder. When she glanced over, he was holding out one of the extra shoulder bags they brought on expeditions for exactly this purpose.
“Oh, thank you.” She eyed the number of scrolls. “If I hold the bag, can you put them in? I don’t wanna drop any.”
He chuckled and handed it over. “Of course.”
In short order, the two of them had all the scrolls--fourteen, total--in the bag, which Adela shouldered. (It was only fair; Kana was carrying everything else, plus he’d gotten the worst of the fight.)
“Ready to be on our way?” Kana asked, already turning toward the exit. His arm probably hurt like the blazes, Adela mused. She couldn’t blame him for being in a hurry. But just as she was about to agree and lead the way back up that infernal hallway, a flash of pink caught her eye inside the sarcophagus.
“One second,” she said instead. Upon closer inspection, it was a ring on the skeleton’s little finger; silver band with a round, inset pink gem. She briefly battled the little voice screaming grave robber! before giving in to temptation and scooping up the ring.
The crypt didn’t collapse on their heads, and no angry spirits rose to call her a thief, so she took that as a sign she was safe. It’s my favorite color, I’ll appreciate it more than a skeleton can, it’s not like I’m planning to sell it....
Rolling her eyes at the rambling justifications, Adela turned back to Kana and smiled brightly as she slipped the ring on her thumb. “Now I’m ready.” She nodded toward his arm. “Let’s get back to the ship so you can get patched up.”
“I would appreciate that, yes,” Kana said with a sheepish smile. “Hopefully the way out will go more smoothly than the way in, since we know where all the dangers lie.”
“Hopefully,” Adela agreed with a laugh.
It did. The trapped hallway was still tricky to navigate, but she had a good memory and they made it out without triggering anything. After that, it was a short walk back to the beach and an uneventful ride out to the Seeker with a waiting crewman.
“Don’t start without me,” Kana said, tone teasing but eyes serious as he nodded toward the scrolls before heading down to see the ship’s doctor.
“Cross my heart,” Adela promised and headed to his cabin to wait. It was hard--she was so very curious--but Kana had put just as much time and effort into finding the scrolls. It was only fair they read them together. So she waited, all but vibrating with excitement as she perched on the edge of Kana’s bunk, until he showed up. “All taken care of?”
Kana nodded. “It wasn’t as bad as it looked.” He ran his fingers over the bandages. “Carinna said it should be fine, so long as I don’t try to do too much the next few days.”
“I don’t think she has anything to worry about.” Adela grinned and handed him a scroll. “We have a lot of reading to do.”
He laughed and carefully broke the seal. “Indeed we do. Let’s get started on that, shall we?”
So they did. And both considered the next several days time well spent.
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The Magnus Archives ‘We All Ignore the Pit’ (S03E17) Analysis
Hoooo … for those of you who listen to these on public transit, fair warning: this one was, for me, the scariest episode in a long damn time. The statement is phenomenal, and got a real gut reaction out of me at one point. And there’s a character who … you know what? Just listen to it. Because this? This is the good stuff. Come on in to hear what I have to say about ‘We All Ignore the Pit.’
It’s nice to get a proper statement read from Sims after so many either shortened ones or ones that are directly related to the larger story. Sometimes it’s great to get something just a little more distant from the action, make everything feel less driven toward a single point. And acting as a departure from the primary action, I couldn’t have asked for better. It’s classic horror fare of a guy moving into a small town with a dark secret, but with a very TMA twist. Plus it ended up bulking out the feel of the horror landscape of America in this universe, which was a lot of fun.
Honestly, my only minor quibble with the episode was how obviously British the narrator was. Trying to write in another cultural dialect is seriously hard, and usually requires a dedicated editor to go through the script and make phrasing suggestions, so I get why that might not have been feasible. And honestly, as a native American, nothing was ever bad enough to drag me out of the flow of the story.
And what a story it was. The feel of Bucoda was perfect, and really managed to capture the sense of a small town when you’re from the outside. I also really appreciated how often the narrator mentioned that he might be blowing details out of proportion after the fact. It lends the whole story a nice sense of the concrete. This is a guy who had a weird thing happen to him, but he couldn’t say how much of it was weird and how much he invented to correlate with the weirdness.
I also liked how well this story set up, in a thousand subtle ways, that the horror landscape, the powers in control, and the feel of the terror in America is decidedly different to that in Britain in this universe. Having the Vast and the Below (which is what I’ll be calling it until I get a more official name) be the main focus of American horror works well, particularly given the sense that a lot of this horror plays out in the more rural portions of America (the majority of the North American landmass is rural), and calls to mind miners and clear and empty plains. If Britain of the TMA universe feels like Robert Chambers and MR James got together and had a horror baby, America is unapologetically the purview of Ambrose Bierce. And I really like the sense of contrast hinted at in these two horror landscapes.
I also have to say that, of all the entities, the Below is starting to scare me the most. Maybe it’s the creeping sort of scary it exudes. Maybe it’s because we know so little about it or what it does or what its motivations might be. It’s the most unknown of the major entities, at least to Sims and to the audience, and that makes it worrisome. It also helps that the Below has had consistently fantastic stories. Building on the strong foundations of ‘Dig’ and the absolute bedrock of this series that was ‘Lost Johns’ Cave’, this episode approaches the latter in terms of horror and narrative tightness. The story told here is a classic horror tale, yes, but no less strong because of it. Hell, the dream with the teeth and the tongue? I actually started grinning like an idiot because it was so perfectly creepy. I haven’t felt creeped out like this by one of TMA’s statements since some of the best episodes of season 1. I know I don’t often dig into the statements during these analyses, since I focus on meta, but I just had to take the time to sing this statement’s praises. Strong doesn’t begin to cover it. It cracked my top 5 statements from this show easily, and has lingered with me for days.
And really, topping what was an utterly glorious horror story off with the introduction of Nikola Orsinov (and even explaining why she has a male patronymic!), played to eerie, horrific perfection by Jessica Law? Oh, it was good. She’s an utterly delicious villain, and deeply frightening on a fundamental level. I’ve always found that cheery monsters were by far creepier than ones that seemed entirely serious. The decision to make her as alien as Michael, but far more threatening was brilliant, and her entire approach to coming after Jon was a breath of fresh air.
I love that, instead of killing one of his assistants or menacing him, she basically pops by to ask him if he wouldn’t be so kind as to find that skin for her. Sure, there are threats, but the line ‘that would be lovely!’ when he asked her if she expected him to just hand the skin over was fantastic. And I also love the notion that she needs the skin to wear. It’s so simple, but makes perfect sense for a plastic being that requires the skin of others to perform basic tasks.
And of course, we find out in this episode what exactly happened to Gregor Orsinov. Apparently, having created a monstrous daughter, she got bored one day and repurposed all his bits. Nikola not only accepts that she’s a monster, she embraces it. She has a fantastic sense of self-confidence and cheer which makes her horrific actions all the more powerful. I loved her instantly.
Another note that I think is relevant on a meta level is her use of darkness to hide herself from Jon. I don’t know about anyone else, but I was more than a little convinced that when Jon stepped into that darkness, he was no longer in Georgie’s place, but in the same strange stone cathedral described in ‘Growing Dark’, a location that only seems to exist when you can’t see it. Likewise, I think that this is yet more evidence that the darkness and the People’s Church are different extensions of the Stranger
Oh, and it wouldn’t be an episode of TMA in season 3 without Jon being a complete moron, apparently. Who was still at Georgie’s place despite insisting that he should leave before she was endangered? Jon. Whose home is now known to the Stranger, and has been invaded by Nikola? Georgie. I swear to god, if Jon gets Georgie’s skin stolen because he was too stupid to move back into his own place once he got his job back, I’m going to smack him one. And a flayed and undead Georgie, now fully claimed by the End, might well smack him too.
Seriously, Jon, get the hell back to your own damn apartment, and keep your problems safely in your wheelhouse.
The final interesting tidbit that I found myself thinking about during this exchange was Nikola’s statement that she wanted to wear the skin when she ‘danced the world anew’. What I realized was how much creation and art seem to be a focus of the Stranger. Nikola wants to wear a taxidermy skin, the definition of turning death into art. She plans to dance, creating a story with her body and a world with her movements. Even Nikola herself is a deliberately crafted plastic being who creates other plastic beings like her.
I think that the Desolation might actually stand as opposed to the Stranger as the Beholding does. As the Desolation destroys all, consumes all, the Stranger creates. It remakes. Nothing, from the victims of the Anglerfish to the bits remaining of Gregor Orsinov, are wasted.
Everything can be reworked. The world won’t end with the Unknowing; it will be made. Hell, it might have already been made several times. For all Jon knows, the world he’s living in could be the result of previous Unknowings. With a soft apocalypse in which everything changes but very few die, how would you know hundreds of years after the fact that it had happened at all? The change has become reality. The vagueness of the concept of the Unknowing, the delicacy and the art of it, is fascinating. I love the notion that everything about the Unknowing is actually cloaked in creation.
The Stranger is beautiful, and active, and alive. And that makes Nikola all the more terrifying as a villain.
Conclusions
I’m thrilled that, after last week’s disappointment, this show is very much back on top in my eyes. This is a cracking statement and a hell of an introduction for Nikola, very nearly as chilling as the introduction to Michael last season. Nikola feels infinitely strange and infinitely threatening in the most genial way possible. Jessica Law completely nailed the delivery (I also love that TMA is quietly drawing on all the Mechanisms one by one). She’s uncanny and terrifying, but also has a beauty and a joy to her voice. Nikola, I think, believes herself to be the heroine to this story. She’s taking a boring world and creating something far more beautiful out of it. She’s wresting control of it from the staid hands of the Beholding, and she’s actually DOING something with it.
And I love her. I’m thrilled that season 3 (and possibly more) has a villain this rivetingly unhinged. Jon’s now stuck having to either acquiesce to her request, knowing he’s letting her get closer to the Unknowing, or to try and stop her. I’m interested, honestly, to see if Elias can see in her darkness (I would bet he can’t, and that keeping out his prying eye was a big reason why Nikola wouldn’t let Jon turn on the light). If he can, I want to know how he’ll react to all this. If he can’t, how insistent is he going to be that Jon fill him in?
I’m interested in Elias’ reaction mostly because we can basically be guaranteed that Jon is going to do whatever seems stupidest at the time. I love him, but the man is a complete and total disaster. I despair that he’ll do something sensible like get away from Georgie before her skin gets repurposed, or talk to his assistants about anything of substance. Could I at least suggest that he start small and try bringing them tea? Maybe give them all spa days or something. God knows they’ll deserve it after all this shit hits the fan.
#The Magnus Archives#analysis#I haven't been this creeped out by a statement in a while#it was lovely
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Avengers Infinity War Review
I went into Avengers: Infinity War completely bored with the drawn-out Infinity Stones plot (it’s been going on for 6 or 7 years—since First Avenger or Avengers—depending on how you want to call it and Guardians of the Galaxy devalued the Stones by calling them meaningless McGuffins), uninterested in Thanos (Josh Brolin) as a villain, and not at all ready to say goodbye to original Avengers like Captain America (Chris Evans) and Black Widow (Scarlett Johansson). However, the movie definitely dispelled the vast majority of my doubts! It was very well-made, expertly wove a huge amount of characters together, and absolutely felt like an epic event movie. That said, while I didn't dislike it by any means, there also weren't any moments that really wowed me; I liked it a lot, but didn’t love it.
However, it’s obvious the creators did. It’s clear this movie isn’t a cash grab, but a celebration of the universe Kevin Feige and his numerous writers, directors, and actors have crafted over the past 10 years (which is a bit odd to say, given this movie gets dark). Infinity War never feels cynical or forgets to treat its heroes as heroes, despite their imperfections. Gone are the days of severe hero infighting; when a universe-threatening enemy shows up, everyone puts their differences aside to save the day (even if they bicker from time to time). I love that writers Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely changed the source material (Infinity Gauntlet) to make the Avengers the main characters out to stop Thanos instead of cosmic characters we haven’t met in the movies. It would’ve been extremely disappointing to have an entirely new group of characters come out of nowhere to steal our heroes’ thunder. Script-wise, this movie feels like meeting old friends again, as the writers captured the various heroes' voices well. While less-skilled writers might have washed out nuances between characters due to the similarity of trademark MCU snark, everyone still felt distinct here and there were plenty of standout comedy moments balancing the dramatic beats perfectly. Even though I haven’t previously been invested in some of these characters, everyone came off as likable. I do wish we’d gotten more character moments out of more of the heroes: all of them (somewhat necessarily, given the scope) come in as we left them in their last adventure, even though for about half of them, two years (or more, in the case of the Guardians) have passed since we last saw them. This lack of development wouldn’t be as much a problem for me if there were more solo films coming, but given we know whose contracts are expiring, it seems several Avengers have run their course in the MCU and are leaving interesting stories on the table. I have no problem with a universe-threatening villain in a sprawling adventure, but given the choice between that and digging into the characters more, I’d prefer solo films. Still, there’s only so much screentime the acting was strong across the board; even when the script didn’t give some actors a lot to work with, they were able to play to their characters’ iconic true north really well. The writers and the Russo Brothers brought everyone together seamlessly, creating several fun new dynamics. Tony (Robert Downey, Jr.), Doctor Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch), and Star-Lord’s (Chris Pratt) similar attitudes irked each other perfectly while Thor (Chris Hemsworth), Rocket (Bradley Cooper), and Teen Groot (Vin Diesel) came together organically and Captain America’s crew mixing with the heroes of Wakanda felt totally natural.
Full Spoilers...
There are a lot of character beats I loved. Black Widow consistently being the deadliest of the Avengers was great (and I’d love to see these skills put to the test as her enemies come after her in a solo film, allowing her to finally clear her Red Ledger), and her kickass team-up with Okoye (Danai Gurira) and Scarlet Witch (Elizabeth Olsen) was a great (if brief) showcase of the MCU’s heroic women. Likewise, I loved that Shuri (Letitia Wright) was the obvious person to turn to when it came to super-science, and her reaction to Stark and Banner’s (Mark Ruffalo) construction of Vision (Paul Bettany) made it absolutely clear that her tech abilities far outstrip theirs. I’ll take any Shuri appearance I can get and I wonder if she'll get to be the Black Panther in her brother's (Chadwick Boseman) absence like in the comics. I do wish she could’ve met Peter Parker (Tom Holland) and that they could’ve become science besties. Spidey’s enthusiasm for superheroics and his drive to protect his neighborhood was a breath of fresh air, particularly when played against the more cynical characters. I do think his willingness to come up with a plan to kill a villain was a little alarming morally, but otherwise I love his youthful energy. I wish we could’ve seen the fallout of Aunt May (Marisa Tomei) discovering Peter is Spider-man at the end of Homecoming as part of Peter’s introduction here, because that certainly needs to be dealt with onscreen. Maybe he could’ve finally said “with great power comes great responsibility” and mentioned Ben in that moment, which would also fuel his decision not to leave when Tony tells him to get off the ship. I get the urgency of giving Peter the Iron Spider suit (which looks much better than in the comics), but I was kinda bummed that we’re yet again having Tony hand all these toys to Peter instead of Peter developing them himself (I prefer a self-sufficient Spidey using homemade tech). Speaking of Tony, it was great to see him come up against egos as big as his, particularly when Star-Lord threw his plan away outright and came up with a better one. His reaction to Strange’s magic was what you’d expect from Stark encountering the supernatural and I wish they’d had time to dig into a science/mysticism dichotomy between them a bit more. Tony’s arc of telling Pepper (Gwyneth Paltrow) about wanting to have kids to losing his surrogate son Peter at the end was much more emotional than the “last man standing” fear vision he had in Age of Ultron. I thought his reluctance to call Steve as the crisis started was a fine—if underwhelming—continuation of their rift from Civil War, though I think it’s worth noting that he kept the flip phone on him for use at a moment’s notice (even if he didn’t end up calling Rogers personally).
Steve's "We don't trade lives" is a great motto and, like others have noted, it’s the answer to Thanos’ argument. I just hope it's not reversed in the next installment by the original Avengers sacrificing themselves for Thanos' victims. I also liked that they dealt with the potential dissonance with Cap sacrificing himself at the end of First Avenger, though Banner's justification was essentially that Steve didn't have a choice. I worry that Cap and the others will be forced into a place where they don't have a choice in Avengers 4. It would’ve been nice to dig into Cap’s thoughts on having become a nomadic vigilante after the events of Civil War and to at least hear what he and his crew have been facing in that time. I’m glad he hasn’t lost his upstanding personality, but he, Nat, and Sam (Anthony Mackie) don’t seem very changed by their time on the run, which felt like a missed opportunity: you’d think losing the Avengers’ insulation would be the perfect time to expose Steve to how the common people’s ideals and dreams have changed, which would be a fantastic conflict for him. I really wish we were getting one more solo Cap film to deal with just that: are his ideals outdated? What kind of symbol does America want now, and does he need to remind us of what we should be aiming for? What of citizens who spout hate and call it patriotism? Maybe they can persuade Evans to come back for a Logan-scale solo film set before Infinity War to explore this kind of thing. Still, it was good to see Steve and Bucky (Sebastian Stan) reunite, but I wish we (and Rogers) had gotten an idea of Bucky's newfound peace. I like the idea of Bucky finding his place as White Wolf in Wakanda instead of taking over as Captain America, so some idea of what he's been doing beyond recovering would've been nice. I wish that Cap's other bestie, Sam, had gotten more than an extended cameo here; at the very least, both he and Rhodey (Don Cheadle) should've have something to say upon seeing Wakanda for the first time (as pointed out here). I guess the writers wanted to focus on the characters who'd be vanishing so their loss would hit harder—and the original heroes are said to get the spotlight in the next film before we say goodbye—but small moments like that would've added a lot (especially as Sam vanished). However, I was glad to hear Rhodey had turned on the Sokovia Accords in the time since Civil War; it seems all the heroes on Tony’s side have realized how bad an idea it is, which is a nice vindication for Cap (Spidey hasn't signed or commented on them at all, perhaps because he's a minor and isn't thinking about the big picture).
It would've been nice to see more of how Wakanda had begun opening itself to the world beyond staging the final battle there. Does T’Challa have a specific plan for his outreach centers? Okoye's comment about imagining Wakanda taking part in the Olympics or getting a Starbucks was funny, but I wanted more. More pointedly, how do the people view T'Challa's decision? Is there any dissension, especially when his choice immediately brings a war to their doorstep? I really would’ve liked to see T’Challa convincing the people to take on this struggle (at the very least, Black Panther 2 needs to discuss this). If nothing else, his role as King could’ve made him a starker contrast to the other heroes. It seems T’Challa and Cap’s strategy held off Thanos’ forces long enough for Shuri to copy Vision’s AI, so even though his body was destroyed he could come back though honestly I'm not sure he's necessary. I don't really get Vision, so it could just be me, but his story seems to have come to an end. I appreciate that he isn't written like a cliché robot seeking humanity (or seeking to eliminate it), but his purely analytical outlook from Age of Ultron and Civil War seems to have largely faded, he isn't protecting the world like Stark created him to at all (as a friend of mine pointed out), he seems potentially too powerful to fully use his abilities, and I don't really see what he adds to the overall universe at this point. I do buy his love for Wanda (and hers for him) as well as their connection over the mysteriousness of their origins, though. Given all she's been through and the incident that sparked the Sokovia Accords, I don't blame Wanda for wanting a normal life with Vision. However, it would've been nice to get a glimpse of her view on the world post-Civil War and how she felt about being tied to a cosmic force like the Infinity Stones that already mutated her and her brother and now threatened her love. I liked the twist that Wanda could destroy the Mind Stone since it was used to create her powers and that she was perhaps the most powerful Avenger. One of the other most powerful, Hulk, got an unexpected arc that didn't fully land for me. I'm all for Hulk having his own character development, but if his refusal to show himself really was fear after his beating from Thanos (as fans have speculated), that wasn't clear. Instead, it felt like they played Banner's inability to transform as a joke. I was also underwhelmed by the moment touching on the Bruce/Nat relationship. I'm not a fan of that relationship in general—she doesn't need to date anyone, but if she were going to, she and Cap had the best chemistry and "opposites attract" spark—but this is what we've got and they need to deal with it. The awkwardness of their reunion didn't cut it for me.
As far as reunions go, it was a bummer that Thor and Loki’s (Tom HIddleston) peace after Ragnarok was immediately cut short here. While I felt it was time for Loki’s death—too many wishy-washy alliances and betrayals over the years wore out his welcome for me and Ragnarok established that he was aiming to be a lazy king, defanging his villainy—I’m glad he finished his arc and found real peace with Thor. I thought telling Thanos to kill his brother felt a little off at first, but I suppose making it seem like he’d put up a fight to keep the Tesseract was part of his elaborate plan to try to kill Thanos (as was bringing up that he’d worked for him before). It was also a little disappointing that the Asgardians took another huge hit to their population here and are apparently just left floating in space. I certainly hope Valkyrie (Tessa Thompson) survived and can join the fight to get revenge on Thanos; losing so many of her people again has got to have an impact and I'd love to see the lessons about heroism Thor imparted to her inspire her to stand up rather than run away this time. Maybe she could become something of a queen of Asgard and lead the survivors to a new home! Even beyond losing half of his people, Thor going over all the family and friends he’d lost with Rocket was a somber moment and Rocket’s attempts at consolation were a nice gesture. I felt like Infinity War found a perfect balance of Thor’s humorous and serious sides, and I hope it sticks around. The bond Thor and Rocket developed was a highlight of the film, even if their quest to get Thor a new weapon a movie after establishing he didn’t need one was a little odd (as others have noted). I can’t wait to see how Rocket grows after losing all his family, especially now that we know Teen Groot’s last word to him was “Dad…” That’s heartbreaking! Moody Teen Groot was a very entertaining addition to the Guardians and they got a lot of mileage out of making the Guardians his “parents.” Mantis (Pom Klementieff) is another strong addition who gelled well with the rest of her crew thanks to her enthusiasm for “kicking names and taking ass!” I’m glad she stuck around after Guardians 2. I was impressed that she got to play such an important and powerful role against Thanos when they tried getting his glove off. I still prefer Drax’s (Dave Bautista) original “takes everything literally” personality from the first Guardians, but I liked his humor here a lot better than in the second film (where it seemed to settle on “states the obvious” instead). “Perfecting” invisibility by standing totally still was hilarious! I’m glad he got a chance to avenge his family, even if it didn’t work out and nearly cost them everything. If only Quill had learned a lesson from that failure! I don't think the movies should follow the comics in having Thanos see the error of his ways while Nebula (Karen Gillan) becomes the real villain. It's a cliché that a woman achieves ultimate power only to become evil, so I’d be much more interested in seeing her interact with Tony (maybe they make something of their biology-infused tech similarities?) than going off the deep end. True Thanos' torture of her was horrific, but I'd like to see her take a healthier path instead of spiraling into insanity after all the pain she's had to endure.
I was wary of Gamora (Zoe Saldana) making Quill promise to kill her if things went bad in their attempt to stop Thanos from collecting all the Stones because she knew where the Soul Stone was hidden, as it seemed like that could lead to fridging her. Ultimately, though, that request being her choice and the fact that she was killed for more than fueling Quill's angst avoided that (though she does fuel Thanos’). I don't have a problem with him getting emotional and punching Thanos when he found out about Gamora, but I wish that scene had been staged differently. I thought we got a good amount of range from Pratt in the film, from that sadness to his romance with Gamora to bickering with Stark to the comedy surrounding his confidence issues around Thor. Star-Lord copying Thor's accent was unexpectedly fun and it was great to see Stark's dismissive attitude thrown back in his face. The similarities between Stark and Strange were also fun, and I enjoyed Strange's completely different point of view from everyone else when it came to saving the day: he had no problem sacrificing anyone. That perspective is one I would've thought would belong to someone with universal experience like Thor or who’s coldly calculating like Vision, but it was nice to see a human thinking beyond their planet, even if I agree with Cap's "we don't trade lives" philosophy and not Strange's "sacrifice whoever it takes" outlook. I thought he'd given Thanos something other than the Time Stone when he traded it "to save Tony," and like a friend of mine suggested, he probably rigged it in some way to give the heroes a chance.
I thought it was incredible that, despite some iffy CGI in a couple of wide shots, Josh Brolin was able to emote so clearly as Thanos. I'm not sure I've seen a CGI villain in a live-action movie done this well technically, and it certainly helped that the writers let Thanos experience loss and remorse. I was impressed they included his emotional side and gave him an arc, but I do have an issue with that remorse: despite Brolin selling the feeling of a man who thought he was giving up what he loved most, Gamora is right and what he's framed as love is anything but. It's abuse and as others have pointed out, I'm not sure why he loved Gamora in the first place. His "adoption"/kidnapping of her felt a little random and turning her face away from the murder of half her people did nothing to convince me he was a caring parent (I'm also unclear as to why she was so transfixed by a knife he gave her that she forgot about her missing mom), nor do the facts that he turned her into an assassin and later killed her. As a friend pointed out, I wish we’d seen more focus on Gamora's view of being raised by Thanos in Guardians 2 to increase the complexity of their relationship. Even if we had (and her laughing in his face when she finds out he has to sacrifice something he loves gives us a good indication of it), I still wouldn’t sympathize with Thanos…if he really loved her, he would’ve let her live and would’ve abandoned his plan when it came down to choosing between them. The more I think about it, the more troubled I am by the implications of the Soul Stone trade. Since Thanos' task is to sacrifice something he loves and he's successful, it implies that whatever cosmic judgment holds the Stone agrees that what he felt for Gamora is love. Unless the Young Gamora (Ariana Greenblatt) in the Stone at the end is a punishment to torture him for an impure trade (which I'd be fine with)—I imagine she’s actually adult Gamora using a form that will turn the screws on Thanos harder, and her Soul enduring there will allow her to come back to life—this is a pretty messed-up message and it’s my biggest issue with the movie.
I would've preferred keeping Thanos' comic motivation of becoming the universe's greatest killer to impress the physical embodiment of Death by showing what an awesome guy he is (to which she shrugs, having done better herself); playing the galaxy's greatest scourge as a Nice Guy would've been an unexpected way to make him relatable and of the moment without really having to modernize him at all. That said, trying to kill half the universe to save it from overpopulation is a fine egomaniacal supervillain motivation (no, internet thinkpieces, he is not a hero), even if I wish the heroes had pointed out the flaws in his logic (as others have pointed out online) and how foolish this plan is. For example, unless he also makes the survivors immortal and sterile, people will still breed and kill each other, throwing his precious balance out of whack within a generation or two (and his sunset retirement at the end doesn't imply he thinks he’ll have to conduct regular cullings). He also gives no consideration to how the resources he's "saved" will be used on each planet, leading me to think that things are going to immediately descend into chaos as the survivors try to take all they can (especially if the majority of any given people's governments survived to maintain their status quo). And as I've seen elsewhere, what if a people were already using resources responsibly and he killed them without bothering to check? Better yet, why doesn't he just create an infinite set of resources with his all-powerful glove? Forcing him to confront flaws in his plan would give us more insight into his thought process, or at least the justification he's sold himself. If the Gauntlet can only destroy and not create for some reason, explaining that would've served to make Thanos seem more backed into a corner and desperate, making his thought process seem slightly more "necessary." Instead, he comes off as a lunatic (yes, he’s known as the Mad Titan) who couldn't get over his one terrible idea because he confused the mismanagement of Titan's resources with proof he was right and not crazy. I've seen comments suggesting he be seen as a conservative politician, only concerned with fawning over his ideology instead of seeing the detrimental effects it has on the people, and that's not a bad take: looking at him as an outdated fringe "visionary" who won't learn/evolve his thinking or question his way of doing things helps quite a bit. I feel like these questions and the sheer outlandishness of his plot ranks him far below the best MCU villains like Killmonger (Michael B. Jordan), Vulture (Michael Keaton), and Hela (Cate Blanchett), who all went to terrible extremes, but at least had motivations that were somewhat understandable and tethered to reality. He was still a powerful threat who truly required all the heroes working together, though.
Thanos' "children" (Terry Notary, Tom Vaughan-Lawlor, Carrie Coon, Michael James Shaw, Monique Ganderton) were fine as lackeys, which is all they needed to be. I wish X-men Apocalypse had taken a similar tack with the Horsemen instead of using famous mutants: we don't need to know characters who are essentially zealot thugs. I did appreciate how warped they were to Thanos' way of thinking, though. They also proved to be worthy matches for the heroes before facing the Mad Titan himself.
Infinity War has an incredible sense of scope, giving the impression that the Marvel cosmos are vast, but it was odd they were largely devoid of people (even on Earth). Showing more than just wreckage would've upped the stakes and impact of Thanos' climactic actions while also showing the overpopulation “problem” he seeks to solve. The pacing moves the film along really well, even with the film being as packed as it is (though it doesn’t feel overstuffed). I loved that they were willing to have imaginative fun with the Infinity Gauntlet's powers, like turning laser blasts into bubbles, throwing a moon at our heroes, literally unraveling Mantis, and turning Drax into blocks. I’m all for more weirdness like that! The action is thrilling and moves very well for the vast majority of the film, with one major exception. A pivotal battle with Thanos on Titan has Iron Man, Spidey, Strange, and several Guardians struggling to hold him long enough to steal his Gauntlet. They almost succeed, but Star-Lord messes up his own plan (when it's revealed Gamora is dead) by punching Thanos in the face, knocking Mantis (who's psychically subduing him) away and freeing Thanos. I don't have a problem with Quill reacting to the news emotionally, but the staging of the scene offers at least two ways the heroes could've won right there: Nebula does nothing when she could've been stabbing Thanos in the face, and either she or Strange could’ve cut off his arm to free the Gauntlet. I know the movie can't end there, so knock Nebula out or otherwise busy her and Strange before writing yourself into a situation that raises these questions. Or they could've let Thanos lose his arm, yet still regain the glove through brute force or cunning before the heroes could get a handle on how to use it: showing him as a scrappy underdog for a moment would make him look more dangerous (and more appealing to the audience).
Despite an ad campaign suggesting a culmination of the MCU, Infinity War feels more like a seamless continuation of it. I'm glad they hit the ground running and didn't take the time to re-introduce everyone, except when it made sense, like the Guardians and Thor meeting for the first time. This will be detrimental for anyone coming into the film having missed earlier entries, but I think it works for this series. Reveals of familiar characters and locations, like Cap and Wakanda, made me smile. It was also great to finally get an answer to a dangling question about Red Skull's (recast with Ross Marquand) whereabouts in a completely unexpected way! I understand why they ended the movie on the beat they did, but part of me wishes this hadn't been a two-parter: I'd like there to be more adventures than just Thanos Round Two. I don't have a problem with the MCU going on indefinitely, but I do want them to take the time to continually develop and change the characters, and disparate threats would be a great way to challenge them differently. Between changes, we also need to spend time in their status quos to see how they react to each new normal. That's the weakness of movies vs. shows, though, and it seems highly unlikely the MCU is willing to give that much time to its movie heroes.
Infinity War felt like a true comic book crossover and that's the direction I want the Avengers films to take: they should be the crossovers with MCU-altering events while the solo franchises are just that, exploring the worlds of each character while focusing on character development. However, like the revolving door of death in the comics, a lot of the impact of this finale is going to come down to how the fallout is handled. I feel there are three necessary components to making the ending of Infinity War matter: the survivors need to be changed by losing their friends and half the general populace, the victims need to be changed by their experience as well, and we need to see what happened to the world in the wake of Thanos' Snap. Regardless of how the Snap is undone, everyone should remember what happened to give the events weight. Since I don't think Infinity War 2 will have time to deal with (and say a final goodbye to) the original Avengers, let everyone have a moment to shine, chase down Thanos, undo what he did, and really explore the state of the post-Snap world (one scene of Cap and Co. stopping a riot or something and saying "it's gotten crazy out here" would be deeply unsatisfying IMO), the world-building should be mostly left to the MCU offerings that are coming out next. Ant-Man & the Wasp and Captain Marvel are coming out before Infinity War 2, but Ant-Man is supposedly happening concurrently with/just before Infinity War and Captain Marvel is set in the 1990s. However, Luke Cage Season 2, Cloak & Dagger, and possibly The Runaways Season 2 would all fall into this range and could explore the world from several different angles. I thought the mass vanishing would've been the perfect chance to finally let the TV characters join the Avengers in a unified universe, but I'll settle for the shows handling the fallout.
There's so much potential with this scenario that it would be a massive wasted opportunity not to do anything with it. With the world losing half its population, there are plenty of opportunities for supervillains (or just regular people) to exploit the problem. Do people stop caring about values and basic decency in a world where half the planet can vanish? Are they all hoarding resources and killing each other over them, fearing another culling? Are there others who find their inner, everyday hero and help their fellow people? Maybe superheroes are forced to take extreme measures to defend their local turf. What happens to religion? Do some people think this is the Rapture (a critic referred to it as "the Snapture," which might be perfect)? Are there new religious beliefs rising out of this; perhaps a cult that believes in what the Snap "accomplished?" Society as we know it could crumble and every nation could be in danger of falling. This is the perfect time for superheroes to step up and for SHIELD to finally reclaim its position as a global force for good. It’s a shame Agents of SHIELD isn’t coming back until the summer after Infinity War 2, since it would’ve been the ideal vehicle to explore this world. Even when Infinity War 2 undoes this, it'll only have weight if everyone remembers what happened, so SHIELD and other heroes working to save everyone from themselves wouldn't be in vain even if the Avengers are the ones who actually save the world. No matter what happens, half the population vanishing is a fascinating premise fraught with drama, and something in the MCU needs to explore it; if they gloss over all that, this will have been truly empty.
That emptiness is a problem I had with a lot of the deaths. It's not just that it's clear these heroes will be brought back—if they remember what happened and it changes them, it won't be pointless—but they didn't die for anything. They were slaughtered for nothing, which left a bad taste in my mouth; if they'd at least chosen to go out fighting or if Thanos cared about who he was killing instead of being randomly "fair" about it, I feel like I would've felt them more. I was disappointed to see a few of them go, like T'Challa, but it was Tom Holland who really got me with his "I don't wanna go." That was heartbreaking and nearly made me cry!
It would be nice if the Defenders who survived the Snap got promoted to Avengers status in the interim, but I doubt that will happen. I've seen suggestions elsewhere that the heroes who got Snapped could form a "New Avengers" within the Soul Stone to fight their way out and that could be cool, but I hope the focus of Infinity War 2 is on the original six Avengers since it will probably be their last mission. They can deal with what the Snapped heroes went through in their future solo films.
I think it'd be cool if Nick Fury's (Samuel L. Jackson) beeper actually contacted Carol Danvers (Brie Larson) in the 90s (just chalk the time zone difference up to Kree or Skrull tech). This could be why he chose to summon her for help: being in the past, she wouldn't be affected by the disintegration wave.
In terms of the longer-term plans, I don't want another long build-up to something; I hope Infinity War 2 is the end of long-form plotting in the MCU, at least for the next few phases. We don't need a years-long build-up to Secret Wars or something, and not every threat has to spring from the previous one in some manner.
Infinity War is big, fun, and action-packed with plenty of crowd-pleasing moments (and some that truly pull at your heartstrings), but it's not one of my favorite MCU films. I think it falls somewhere in the middle, but in terms of spectacle it's one of their finest outings. It's definitely worth a trip to the theater!
Check out more of my reviews, opinions, theories, and original short stories here!
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HV Serial Obidiah Part 2
Word Count: 2523 Themes: 18+, medieval, dark fantasy, demon/edritch being x human, general sexual content, D/s, relatively vanilla, m/m, trans character, trans male, talking about dysphoria and bad trans feelings like insecurity
General Info: This is a side story not continuous with the main plot revolving around a character named Obidiah. It’s rather loose in form, please excuse the unpolished writing.
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The summer sun was slow to set, the light lingering long after the oranges and yellows had given way to a luminous twilight in indigo. At the end of an old cobbled road leading down from the building that used to be the silversmith’s guild before they found a place in the more prosperous sectors of the city, the stones began to break up, sprouts of grass finding their way in the gaps, until, at last, the last house marked the edge of the town. There was a lantern set out, the merchant himself leaned up against the outside.
He had his arms crossed, head down. His hat left in the house, he had made some effort to gather back up his hair but it always seemed to slip from the knot. The coat he wore had quilted padding and numerous pockets, hiding his relatively slim figure, and he wore yet more numerous layers underneath. It made sure his shoulders were pointed, exaggerated the length of his arms, and well hid the curve of his hips.
Obie hardly noticed when the knight approached, catching only movement in his periphery, then turned fully to look up. “Oh. You came,” he said. “Ah,” but was slow to find his footing. “Good, good. I’m glad for your enthusiasm.”
“You did not attend the service either it seems,” said James with a sly look about him.
“Ah?”
“It is not yet over.”
“Oh. Oh, yes. You are right. No. No, I am,” he then pushed a gulp of air through his lips and turned back up to the man. “Not quite the sort for it, I admit. Let’s go inside, shall we?”
The knight raised his brow and nodded to the door.
“Tell me,” Obie said, taking them inside. “You are a noble knight, my friend. Have you been east to Timpan?”
“Yes,” James said, taking a look around the room. It was well-lit with several oil lanterns and a couple of cases were laid out on a table, facing away from them. A door at the back opened up to the rest of the house. The wood was warped, in poor condition, and the door barely fit in the frame. “I was there with the forces the Count of Martom sent to aid in the crusade.”
“Oh, you are a crusader? You should know, then. The demons of Timpan are far fiercer than any here in the west.”
James let out a laugh, “So they say.”
Obie took a place besides the cases, “I have just the thing to show you. You may even recognize them. After all, in such a land beset by forces most demonic, there yet remains good, God-fearing people who have survived only through the most stalwart of protections.”
He procured a set of copper bowls, setting them out on the table. Along their inside rims was an inscription, a spell of protection, and James watched him as he did so, focusing more on the man’s hands, his wrists, the way his fingers grasped them so gingerly. Stepping closer, he saw in the cases items of the like he had never witnessed: red-dyed scrolls tied with string made of reeds, strange cylindrical metal chimes set with a small mallet, numerous small bottles of powders and gels, and a square of embroidered silk.
James listened to the merchant’s stories and tales, at one point making his greetings to the owner of the house—the old lady Weirol who brought each a sip of wine—but quickly their discussion fell from trinkets and coin to more personal matters.
“Have you been to Timpan?” James asked, holding up one of the bowls to the light.
“Ah. Yes. I am. Well, actually, I am from there originally,” Obie said, feeling the late hour grow on him. But then he sat up, realizing quickly such a fact could cast doubt upon him. “I mean. My. Uh. Well. I’m not a heathen like the most of them, I’ll have you know. But it does lend itself to certain connections, I’m sure you understand.”
James put it back down on the table, turning to him and saying with a smile, “My father was from Timpan. And he was quite the heathen.”
“You,” Obie said, his brow knotting, taking note of James’ long, dark hair that curved around the left side of his face. “How did a son of Timpan find placement in the Count’s army?”
James gave him a smile, “My mother was the Count’s sister.”
“Oh. Oh!” Obie stood up with a start. “My lord! I-I did not realize.”
“Ah,” James sighed. “Like I said, I have not been back there in many years.”
Obie’s face fell back into a scowl.
“James,” the demon whispered into his head from places unknown.
“Yes, Nyn?”
“It appears I do, in fact, have an interest in him,” she said. “There is a small, silver statue within his care, of the kind found even further to the east. It is not with this set. Ask about it.”
“Do you, uh. Have any items from further east?” James asked.
“Well! Funny you ask! This fabric—”
“More than that?”
“Uh. Yes, I do. They are with my wagon.”
“May I see them?”
“Yes, of course,” Obie said, but was forced to sort out his thoughts again. “Yes. Okay,” he said again, then exited out the side door and James followed behind.
The moment they turned the corner, Obidiah whipped himself around, a piercing dagger hidden in his robes pointed at James stomach. “What is your game, knight?” he hissed.
“I, uh,” James stammered, raising his hands. “I mean no harm.”
“No harm? When we both know you’ve seen so clearly through me? You seem so barely interested in a purchase. You just mean to make small talk? Ply me with wine then lead me out into the dark to take advantage of me?”
“I don’t—”
“I know your like. And I’ll have none of it. The moment men like you realize the truth of me, it always turns like this.”
“The. I’m.”
“James,” said the demon.
“Are you just going to let me be accosted, Nyn?” he thought back.
“You’ve gotten yourself into a predicament. Take care to get yourself out of it.”
“The. Truth of you?” James stuttered, feeling the bite of the blade dig under his armor with a winch. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, don’t play dumb!” Obie hissed in a whisper.
“I admit, I find you attractive but—”
“That is exactly what I mean!”
“You were. Cute,” he stuttered, biting down into a grimace as he felt the tip in his gut.
“Oh, of course,” Obie hissed. “The cute little woman pretending she’s a proper merchant.”
“Wo—” James started with dismay.
“Don’t say it,” Nyn chided him. “Don’t make me waste my magic on keeping you alive when you’ve so insisted on playing a fool. We’ve talked about this before and still you learn nothing.”
“What are you talking about?” he said instead. “I believed us. Both men. Of the same cut. Admittedly—well—you know. Given to certain. Indiscretions.”
The grip on the dagger relaxed and he could feel it loosen its hold on his stomach. Obie stepped back, staring at him with a scowl. “You’re matri.”
“Yes,” he said, holding onto his wince. “You aren’t?”
Barely lit by the light from inside the house, Obidiah turned his head to the side, looking into the darkness of the treeline, the pale light only grazing the outline of his head. “I’m something worse,” he said.
James let out a small, self-effacing laugh, finally letting his joints relax, “Being matri is not even the half of it. I’m a witch too. No need for protection from demons when I’ve already pledged myself to one.”
Obie turned back, his face catching the light again and making his scowl clear. He then let out a small laugh as well, saying, “Heh. I guess we both ought to be burned at the stake.”
James chuckled again.
But then he saw Obidiah collapse onto his knees, the coat billowing around him as he fell and put his hands over his face to claw into his hair.
“Obie. I’m sorry,” said James, taking a step forward.
“I’m so tired,” he said, his voice shaking.
The knight found himself taking a knee by Obidiah, struggling to think of what to say.
“Nyn?” he thought to the demon.
But there was no reply from her. And he looked up to Obidiah, breathing shallow as he took in the sight of the man’s naked anguish. His shoulders were tensed, bunching up the heavy coat around his neck, back heaving though he was trying not to cry.
“I try so hard to play a man and still, they always find out,” he said, letting his hands fall to his lap. “I always fail. It’s a fool’s errand, but I’m the fool. I don’t know why I do it. People assume and then. It suits me. But it never lasts. Because it’s a lie.”
“I could really use your help, Nyn,” the witch pleaded in his mind.
“James,” her voice came back. “Have I not said that Harrah is cruel?”
“So, you have. But am I just to tell him that his god is cruel?”
“But James. You know very well why he is distraught,” she said.
“You must think me such the charlatan,” Obidiah said, setting his palms out in front of him. “And here I am, wailing like the girl I am. What’s the point, when it all comes unravelled in the end?”
“I,” stammered James. “The demon my fate is cast in with is the god of secrets. Those of us that serve her,” he said, waiting to see if she would object to his reveal. But she said nothing, so he continued, “We all have secrets.”
“I’m sure it does you good,” Obidiah said, a tear clearly falling down his face where it was caught in the light.
“But they’re. I was the Count’s nephew, I spent so many years in a life of piety and repentance. In part just because of the nature of my ancestry. But.”
“I have no mind to sell my soul. If it is an offer you are preparing to make, witch,” he said, a glower upon his face.
“No. Of course not,” James said, his gaze falling to the grass and clovers beneath them. “I just meant that your secret is safe with me.”
He could see Obie’s hands rubbing at each other, turning to look up at the stars. His voice came back, still despondent, “You know what the worst part is? I. I know I am a liar. Because I knew what you were doing, yet something in me wanted it. And I let myself think of it without thinking of the consequences. And that fact is a splinter in my heart. Because I know it comes from the part of me that makes me into a liar.”
“Heh,” James scoffed, suddenly reminded of his earlier thoughts. “If something like that makes you into a liar, then it makes me into a liar too. The men of Matrea are not famous for taking each other to bed because of any love for womanhood. It is quite the opposite.”
“No,” Obie said quietly. “You don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand?” James asked.
“My flesh is a betrayer. It knows what it wants and what it is despite my best efforts to deny it.”
James raised his brow, “I am no stranger to that, either. And neither am I a woman.”
“It’s not the same,” Obie protested.
“I am consort to a demon. She is capable of much beyond most mortals’ imaginations. There is little I am a stranger to.”
Obidiah fell silent, staring pointedly at the witch of a man sitting next to him. His rugged face, the braids tied into his temple, the dark eyebrows and soulful eyes. “Why have interest in mortal men if she can grant you anything you wish?” he asked.
“Ah,” he said, a bashful smile crossing his face. “She is a thing far beyond me. Sometimes I. Hm. It is complicated. But suffice to say, she is not a man, no matter how convincingly she plays one for my sake. It’s not quite the antidote for my particular brand of poison.”
“Why would I be any different?” Obie said.
“I. Ah—”
“I believe you should stop, James,” the demon said to him. “As much as I appreciate you speaking good of my name and deeds. He gives voice to the doubts because he has need to hear himself say it and for someone to listen. It is not on you to convince him of something he already knows well enough. Though you are of the same sex and similar inclination, he is right. It is not the same. And trying to force your perspective will do nothing to ease his misery.”
Looking back up to Obie, James said aloud, “I believe you. That you are more man than woman.”
“You do?” Obidiah said, holding his hands in fists against his thighs now.
“It is not so strange,” James said. “That is all I meant to say. I have even met others like you in the past.”
“You have?”
“On occasion.”
“I just hate it,” Obie said, turning his face into the darkness again. “I don’t even know if. If something like your demon could change me. Would I do it? I don’t know. I’ve thought about it before. There are legends of tinctures. And magic. And pacts with spirits and fairies. But. It’s. I’m fine before people found out. It’s nice coming to a new place, where no one knows. Where it doesn’t matter. But, then, I can never get close to anyone. I can never. And then I find myself wanting so desperately to be speared by men like you. There is such a fire in me sometimes. And I don’t know what to do with myself.”
Night had fully set, leaving them in darkness with only the lanterns from inside to light their forms. The crickets and frogs of the distant brush sang in the sinking humidity, blanketing them in a warm summer night. James breathed in deeply, content to let the silence between them pass as though it said more than he ever could. Obidiah sat on his shins, rubbing at his knuckles. After moments passed, a shadow crossed through the light.
“Are you boys okay out there?”
It was the old woman.
“Yes, everything is fine,” Obidiah shouted back.
“Alright. Don’t stay up too late, Obie. You’ll miss your chance to claim your spot at the markets,” she said.
“I know,” Obidiah said, his head falling as he tried to stop himself from smiling. He then looked back up to James, saying, “You wanted to see the far eastern items?”
“Well,” he said, lifting himself to standing. “My Master did.”
“Oh,” Obie said, losing his expression though it had just dawned on him. “I think I know what it is, too.”
“She said there was a statue.”
“Yes. Yes, I know it.”
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#m/m#m/m fantasy#trans character#writeblr#writers on tumblr#overall story is smut#original fiction#original writing#serial obidiah#potion seller obi#Ser James of Martom#SHarvester
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ROOM ZERO
[directory]
it’s been so long.
[source] [triggers]
It's been a while since I've written anything related to the Disney Corporation, and I'm sure you can understand why.
A lot has been going on since my last post. I've received a lot of questions and concerns from folks who read my first-hand account of Mowgli's Palace... a resort that was built and abandoned by Disney.
I want to thank everyone who mirrored my post. It's been taken down from a few places, mostly corporate sites that were easily leaned on by a larger power. However, for every nuked topic or disappearing blog post, it seems like a hundred more have popped up.
This is something they'll have to face. There's no turning back for them... none for me, either...
I'm definitely being followed. For the first month or two, I chalked it up to paranoia. Any casual glance or half-smile in my direction set me off. Hairs standing on the back of the neck and everything.
The first one, or rather, the first one I was actually able to spot, was a telephone worker milling around my apartment complex.
He was middle-aged, doughy, dressed just as you'd expect, but something just seemed off about him. I couldn't place it, but I knew this wasn't just my imagination acting up. He was awkward and out of place, not somebody who was comfortable doing his routine job.
I followed him around a corner, only to lose him there. When I turned back to go home, there he was. Staring directly at me, about ten feet behind me. Expressionless and cold.
"Exploring?" he asked. That was all he said, and there was an accusing tone to his voice.
Tell me, what blue collar phone jockey does that?
I guess that's the worst part. Never feeling safe. Never feeling alone. That, and the occasional Disney merchandise left somewhere for me to find. Little rubber Mickeys in the mailbox, a Disney Adventures magazine on my bookshelf.
They hide little Mickeys everywhere. Three circles, one big, two small, in the silhouette of the famous mouse's head.
I've started keeping a running list of Mickeys I've found.
Coffee cup rings on my coffee table. One big, two small. Colored glass bottles left on the doorstep, viewed from the top down. (All red.) Graffiti on the wall on my way to work; a huge Earth, small Sun and Moon in the proper locations.
They're everywhere.
People have emailed me about this as well. If you repost anything I have to say, you're going to start finding those son of a bitch outlines. I guarantee it.
The best one by far, one that actually made me laugh because of the horror of it all, was a drawing in chalk next my car. I was taken aback at first, walking through the parking garage, keeping an eye out for people following me.
The outline seemed a perfect match for... well, a "murder victim" you're probably familiar with if you've read my past posts.
Written in yellow... paint, I'm sure... was a single word.
"RETRACT"
The only good thing that has come out of all this is that I know I'm not the only one who's seen something they shouldn't have.
I'm not going to give their names, because... well, if I have to tell you why, you haven't been paying attention.
"Researcher" goes to Disney parks whenever he can, all throughout the year. He's not going to have fun, enjoy the rides, etc.
He's looking for the Gascots.
There's been a long tradition, apparently, of people reporting strange patrons throughout the park. Silent, motionless, staring patrons of every age, shape, and size. Men and women, adults, children, and teens.
All wearing Disney-themed gas masks.
Way back when, Disney would get tons of complaints about "oddly dressed" folks following others around the park. Folks who would then merge into crowds and disappear.
Later on, the gas masks caused folks to draw other conclusions, and reports of "possible terrorists" and "bombers" started flowing.
All of those reports most likely went straight into the trash can. I know I can't find any sign of any such occasions reported on by the media. (Although you should be aware of the fact Disney can pretty much control its press like no other.)
Researcher goes to the parks, talks to a few people, and tries not to draw any attention to himself. He'll just ask three or four families if they've seen "his friend", who's wearing a "funny mask".
He has yet to see a gascot for himself... though on one occasion, a child pointed him toward Frontier town. As he raced through the crowd, he heard a single voice ahead cry out "Mommy! I want a Goofy air-mask too!"
A fellow I'll call "Lifeguard" worked in a Disney water park from 2001 through 2003. He stood at the top of a huge water slide and made sure none of the kids got too rowdy. He passed the kids through, one at a time, telling them over and over again to be safe, keep their arms in, and so on.
One day, as he tells it, this fat kid goes down the tube and doesn't come out the other end.
He's sent two or three kids after, the whole thing moves at a steady clip, so naturally you'd expect that if fatty got stuck, the kids that followed him were stuck, too.
Not so. Only the big kid disappears. Everyone else comes out the other end, cheering and splashing like nothing's wrong.
Lifeguard shuts down the slide, much to the aggravation of the kids waiting. Before he can go through any of Disney's strict procedures... SPLASH... fatty finally comes out.
Staff members pulled the kid out of the water. He sank like a stone when he hit, his skin already blue and his eyes wide. All he would say was "No-face Kids" and "Stop squeezing".
The kid was okay, in case you're wondering. He got carted right off to the medical center. When Lifeguard was told to open the slide back up, he made a big stink about how it clearly wasn't safe. Despite his complaints, he was threatened with firing and begrudgingly opened the slide again.
From that point on, he kept a closer eye on the kids. Every so often, they'd come out in the wrong order... never as stunned as the fat kid, but always with a vague look of concern... a dreamy half-stupor that seemed as if they were trying to figure out what was reality.
They'd take on some water and choke a bit... and they'd never come back up to ride again.
I read his emails with the same sort of unease you might be feeling right now. I wanted him to share his own story, but in the end he didn't want to expose himself that way. I can't say I blame him.
"Snow White", which wasn't the actual role she played, was a "character" in the park. She had a nice little tidbit for me. You know what happens when a costumed employee drops dead in his suit?
Like, one second he's taking a picture with little Jimmy, and the next he's had a fatal stroke?
A second costumed mascot in the area has to sit with the corpse on a curb or bench and wait for a designated "Dry Cleaner" to arrive and cart the body away in a discrete manner. All the while, patrons have no idea they're sitting with a dead body for photo ops.
Feel free to check your photo albums at this point.
That was bad, but another fellow, "Janitor", went completely off the creepy charts.
Disney World (and probably others) is built with a series of underground tunnels just below your feet. Three stories' worth. Anything and everything you can imagine is down there, for use of the employees.
They're called Utilidors. Utility Corridors.
Basically, that's the reason you don't see characters out of place or Janitors wandering through the park. They pop in and out of hidden doors, and travel a concealed town you're walking on.
Janitor told me something that might be common knowledge, but was nonetheless news to me.
Walt Disney had several apartments built into his parks. There's one above Cinderella's Castle... there's one in the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. They're all over the place.
More than that, there are night clubs, a movie theater, a bowling alley, and much more. All behind doors built right into the whimsical facades you passed by without a second look.
Club 22 is one such hidden area. If you have the cash to join the exclusive club (you don't) then you'll have access to it and much more.
Club 22 is a place where anything goes. Disney Co. calls these places "Dark Zones". Spots where the squeaky-clean visage of Mickey Mouse gives way to drinking, drugs, and, yes, sex.
Conversely, the rest of the park is the "Bright Zone", with a few "Gray Zone" utilidors between.
As far as Janitor has said, it wasn't always that way. It was more of a slow decline and the gradual relaxation of social norms within that elite group.
The reason he knows all of this? You may have already guessed - He's cleaned it.
After a lengthy background check and a non-disclosure form, Janitor moved up from a park attendant to one of the Dark Zone cleaning crew.
Now, before you get some Satanic "human sacrifice" vision in your head, Janitor saw nothing of the sort. Lots of empty alcohol bottles? Yes. Used condoms scattered like deflated New Years balloons? Oh, yeah. He cleaned up his share of blood, piss, and vomit, but it was all down to the unrestricted behavior of patrons as opposed to any sort of cult behavior.
At least that's how he sees it in retrospect.
All that trash, that profane shit, went into a furnace and mingled with the smoke of a quaint cottage's chimney.
If you've been to Disney World, you've breathed ultra-condensed sin.
Backing up this information was "Hammer". Hammer mailed me the old-fashioned way, though I don't know how he got my home address. He sent me photocopies of work papers proving his employment, with the instruction to burn them when I was convinced.
Which I did gladly.
Hammer worked around the Disney World park, doing demolition and construction. At one point, he approached a superior regarding some strange construction plans.
There was wide, rectangular area marked off on the blueprints, about the size of a supermarket. The area was left unnamed, and only bore the words "DO NOT DIG".
Not only was his superior in the dark, but he was super-fucking-purposefully in the dark. He didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to know about it, and ended the conversation with "this space intentionally left blank".
Hammer didn't get it. The area seemed a waste of space, and it was directly conflicting with the work his team had been given. He started poking around the area on his off-time, finding only a derelict steel door, and a great span of concrete just beyond.
It was a "supermarket's worth" of blank, gray floor.
Soon after, Hammer started picking gascots out of the crowds.
Unlike all other reports, the people... the things... would stand in full view of the guy. They'd cluster together in the distance, or they'd just be pressed against a wall when he turned a corner.
He said they "moved weird", like they were weak or injured... like a deer that's been run down by a hunter and can't flee anymore.
The gasmasks... the Disney character faces with filters jammed in... he noted that they seemed wet on the inside, like condensation on a car window. Tiny beads of water glimmered behind the glass, making it impossible for any of them to actually see.
Probing further, Hammer started asking questions of anyone and everyone who had been working in the park for a decade or more.
He hit dead ends throughout, until he was directed to Ida, an elderly woman who worked in a restaurant on Main Street. She'd been there since way back, and though nobody had the balls to ask directly, everyone KNEW she had plenty of terrible stories to tell.
Hammer asked about the empty space, then about the gas-masked customers, and at first he thought he would receive the same non-answers he'd gotten so far. She was quiet. Eerily quiet.
"Room Zero." She croaked, a single, shaking hand placed to her cheek as if she were a little girl fearing a Father's punishment.
She didn't meet the man's gaze for the entire conversation.
Room Zero, as it turned out, was yet another hidden room just like the apartments and Club 22. However, its sheer size and its spot deep beneath the park set it apart from any of the "fun" dark zones.
It was a bomb shelter.
Room Zero was built to withstand a massive attack, be it conducted by foreign or domestic enemies.
Room Zero was to be stocked with enough rations to feed the entire park's average number of patrons at any given moment, and housed a smaller yet lavish "panic room" of sorts for Disney higher-ups.
During World War II, official Disney gas masks were actually produced for children to wear in the event of an attack. The idea was that it would be less scary for kids if Mickey's face was emblazoned on the wartime safety device.
Yes, I know the obvious problems with that.
During the Cold War scare of the 60s, when Disney World was constructed, Room Zero was stocked with similar masks, as well. Whether they cared about the fears of children, or just callous branding, the things found their way down there.
What's more, some genius decided that kids would THEN be frightened by the gas masks their parents wore... and so all masks, adult and child, were made to comply to this insane standard.
Ida described it as "Treating a wound with lemon juice."
None of this explained what Hammer had been seeing, though. Not only the seemingly supernatural appearances, but the emptied out room as well.
"I've been in there," he explained, "There's nothing but a cement floor and four walls."
"No," Ida shook her head and covered her mouth, stifling a sob, "You've been on top of it."
Someone or something sounded the alarm one day, when the park was at full capacity. The warning was clear. It was supposedly an air attack.
Security ushered everyone down, down, down into the tremendous shelter. There, they were ordered to put on their masks and hunker down for the duration of the assault.
Everything was quiet for about thirty minutes, save for the crying children and the frightened whispers. No one wanted to die, and so they were thankful in a way for this strange measure of safety.
Then, the first scream rang out.
"Hey!" a man shouted, "Quit pinching!"
Waves of shrieks and yelps rippled through the crowd, from one wall to the other, back and forth.
"Who's running around? Settle down!" Someone hollered.
"Who's laughing? This isn't funny!"
"Ow! Who stepped on my foot?!"
Despite security guards' urging to calm down and keep their cool, the crowd became more and more agitated until, finally, after nearly an hour of madness...
The lights flickered...
Then died.
What followed could only be described as utter chaos. In the dark, only the wails of the young and the anguished cries of adults could be heard in a massive, swelling din that bloodied the ears of all within that black echo chamber.
A group of staff members and a select few patrons made it out of the door, ready to face the War above rather than the insanity below. What they found, of course, was a desolate, yet untouched theme park. The music continued to play, echoing through silent storybook towns.
Upon returning to Room Zero, the few who stood at the top of the steel staircase that lead down into the pitch blackness heard no sign of the previous fray. There was only silence.
Ida herself descended that staircase despite the begging of those she left above.
She reached the reinforced doors, herself now awash in darkness and hearing only the buzzing in her ears.
A single voice came out of the darkness. The echo made it impossible to tell whether the mocking, raspy voice was at the back of the bomb shelter, or if it was right in front of her face.
"Shut the door, dear. You're letting out the cold."
Gripped by terror, she did just that. Within days, the entire thing... shelter, staircase, all of it... was covered with feet upon feet of cement. Air systems and generators above its ceiling were removed, creating the large, empty space.
"They're all still down there." Ida told Hammer, "Down there with whoever that was."
You might notice I've used Ida's name.
Unfortunately, she passed away soon after telling her story. Accidental fall, supposedly, after getting out of bed to turn on a light.
"Such a company devotee," the paper reported, "that her entire bedroom was covered with Mickey silhouettes."
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Fool’s Quest: Fitz and the Fool Rundown
And now we wait together @sonnetscrewdriver!
Plot/Setting/Narrative
I’m so embarrassed for my son Rap-a-taskal.
Getting ahead of myself here but take a chill pill kid.
Calm your Tellator tits.
Actually, screw it! lets start at “the end”:
I’m officially caught up now and I’ve been digging around the internet lurking on forums trying to soak up art/discussions/opinions I’ve been avoiding for months.
And the most interesting fannish thing I’ve uncovered is how lots of people are treating Tellator and Rap as two different people - I’ve read several discussions and threads where Tellator was being thought of and referred to as almost like a parasite or something.
I personally didn’t get that vibe when reading Rain Wilds.
I don’t view Rapskal as an innocent bystander taken over by an insidious and other entity, but I can totally see how folks can see it that way so power to them I suppose.
Time and Parenting really come to a point at the end of this book, bounded tight within the thrill of having these two Realm of the Elderlings character axis’ finally meeting!:
And we the reader are, now, FAR more knowledgeable about the magics and histories of the Realm than any one character present! Funny how time and managing our narrative children will do that, huh? ;D
I’m of the personal opinion that the Elderlings are going to be too thankful and indebted to Fitz to really head the level of retribution Rapskal will demand - but that doesn’t mean Fitz won’t make matters worse with his paranoia and how he expects to be treated (Fitz’s “I-deserve-to-suffer” self loathing really reeks in this book and I have no doubt it will harm more than help in the early stages of Assassin’s Fate)
But oh! I can’t wait to see my Elderling darlings and Six Duchies nerds mingle more!
And yes, I do think Rapskal will continue to be an asshole.
I’m invested in Rapskal though and I can’t wait to see what his deal is and how he’ll affect the story.
I don’t know about y’all but I feel Rap is being set up to have some big part to play - but I’ve no clue if it’ll be direct or indirect lol. TIME WILL TELL!
If I had to guess right now (and I’m going to because why not) I’d guess that at the moment Rapskal probably struggles, that he is antagonistic, because he is outside of the narrative’s “Reflection & Parenting as Change” theme and may never fold into that current because of his choice to skip adolescence via-memory stones.
Rapskal doesn’t have a lot to reflect back on, or maybe the issue is he has too much memory or doesn’t reflect at all and only looks forward forward forward. And we know he isn’t a parent as Nortel told us.
Frankly I hope Rapskal can learn from Fitz and/or Amber, I’d like to see him fold back into the narrative flow rather than swim decidedly against it (not that he isn’t uninteresting for doing so, quite the opposite really).
Maybe Rapskal will find something to reflect back on? Maybe he’ll refuse?
But enough about Rapskal!
THYMARA’S WINGS ARE SO BIG NOW. *gasp* I love her.
Do you think when our Six Duchies party leaves Kelsingra they’ll ride down the Rain Wilds River on Tarman?!
*muffled screeching*
Okay okay okay I’m sorry, back into a Fitz and the Fool Rundown not Kristie has deep love for Rain Wilders Giggling.
Fitz
This dummy.
Don’t get me wrong; temperament wise this older Fitz is still my favorite but he’s also so full of grief and self loathing he’s practically useless mid-book.
And that’s fine, Hobb as always does a great job with making me understand Fitz.
But still - OH MY GOD.
You’ve done a lot wackier and intensely strange stuff than admit your daughter is the result of your BFF, your wolf-brother, and yourself’s souls mingling Fitz!
You even come to terms with that fact, even if simply choosing to ignore it for the most part that still means you’ve acknowledged it - you’re willing to painstakingly mine information from any and everyone but you don’t tell Beloved about your daughter’s dream journal?
Um??? WHAT???
Wake up dude.
Just poor decisions left and right.
Needless to say I was very frustrated with Fitz for a while but we worked through it.
Oh my god I friggin’ cried when Starling sung her Epic and Fitz was recognized by the court though, oh man that was so satisfying and mystifying and wondrous.
I’m glad Fitz has for the most part gotten over his issues with Amber and the Fool’s various identities and seems very accepting of Ash and Spark.
Bee
Nooooo!
I mean, “No” to Bee still being on her own but mostly “No” about Bee slowly being blocked out of the narrative perspective!
NOOOO
I’d be fascinated to find out how long she was in the Pillar. Based on the narrative we read and assume she’s wandering about around the same time Fitz and company are but we’ve been given nothing in evidence of that.
INTERESTING
Stay safe my little piglet!
The Fool
Yes.
YES.
I’m very intrigued to learn more about Beloved’s dragon blood transformation and what knowledge will come with it.
What will happen if the dragon is truly dead, who will guide their transformation?
ME THINKS FITZ
But, uh, yeah.
While it was uncomfortable I was rather happy that Fool got angry at Fitz and had no trouble telling him to step off.
I wasn’t very pleased with Fitz myself at the time, I was a bit smug about him getting a tray full of food plopped in his lap.
Well done.
I really hope to witness more of Ash and Spark and The Fool’s bond!
Beloved has been alone for so long, has had the opposite later life to Fitz and his massive family.
And what better than taking in and giving shelter to a son and a daughter?
Good stuff.
Shun AKA Shine
CALLED IT.
Oh Shine, you poor dear.
Shine will become an asset to Nettle, I imagine, and I desperately hope she heals and that Kettricken can guide her well and that court does Shine good.
I’m livid and just overall done with Chade, I’m serious.
I feel as though I’ve given Chade benefit of the doubt over and over again and it isn’t like he is an evil person or claims to be something he isn’t - but uuugh what the hell?
If you’re mister cloak and dagger spider web master maybe reel in some goddamn self control and think ahead on the consequences of your personal actions instead of just those of your King and various eyes within the kingdom, come the fuck on dude.
What an idiot sending both his children to a grieving Fitz and for not following up with any information for his children OR for Fitz.
I’d be so upset if I were Shine, I would’t be surprised if she drugs him.
It’d be poetic in a twisted away.
Why did Chade hide Shine from others as well as from herself? What was he thinking, that she’d have to become less shallow, vain, and self-centered before he’d bestow upon her the depths of her lineage?
Chade moans about being denied learning to Skill because he was a bastard but zip! he seals up his bastard daughter’s power because ???
????!!!!!
ANYWAY
I’m glad Shine is safe and that she and Bee came to a functioning relationship even if not one ripe with mutual meaning and growth.
Lant
Chade-light 2.0 and I aren’t hitting it off so well but I’m trying to keep a level head about this sassy lost child.
His biggest sin is that he is boring.
Or, well, I think my real issue with Lant is that he’s young.
So young.
Oddly young.
Older than Per or Ash or Spark yes but younger than them somehow; he doesn’t see, he doesn’t listen, he doesn’t seem to even think for himself.
Rolling about in his self pity that he can’t bang his sister doesn’t help endure him to me either but you know, I’ll take Riddle’s advice and let time and space do it’s thing so maybe by the time the third book comes out I’ll have cooled on Lant.
Ash/Spark
OH SHIT.
I love themmmmmm.
Oh my god.
I’m really really really hoping that Ash, Spark, Per, and Bee are going to be Gen 2 of Elderling mayhem and stories.
That’d be golden.
Smart as a whip and willing to make their own choices, that’s Ash and Spark.
Brilliant.
Perseverance
Talk about stickin’ to your name!
Per is a sweetie and I really need to stop but I can’t help but see him as my son Charlie.
Which is amazing - but gutting at the same time lol.
What have I done?!
Per is perfection and I really hope Fitz does right by him and of everyone traveling now I feel like Per will help Fitz the most as far as his inner space goes.
Per has a understanding and relationship with Bee outside of Fitz’s understanding of his daughter and I think Fitz’ll need to hear about that and mine Per’s perseverance as their quest wears on.
Highlighted Passages
I smiled as the royal family passed, tears of pride stinging my eyes. Our doing, the Fool’s and mine.
“Vengeance?” I asked quietly. “It’s a poor motive for doing anything. Vengeance doesn’t undo what they did. Doesn’t restore whatever they destroyed.”
“Sometimes thanking someone is more important to the person giving the thanks than the one who receives it.”
“I thought you had come here in fury over what I did to you as we passed through the Skill-pillars.” He stepped back from me. “Oh, I’ll leave that to Nettle. If she hasn’t blasted the skin from your flesh with her words yet, you’ve that to look forward to.
I could not think about it at the moment. I tried so hard, but there was just not enough time or enough of me. And trying was not doing.
Safe. As if “safe” were more important than anything else.
With the instincts of all bullies, they knew that eventually she would have to emerge. Then, in the way of their kind, they would peck her to death for being different.
“Ah, Fitz. I can always trust you to have some sort of bizarre problem that breaks my ennui.”
She breathed as if she had run over nine hills. I stared at her. She had been a stranger, a lover, a nemesis, and a betrayer to me. And now she was my historian.
“Why does understanding come so late to us?”
War and hardship had hardened them; I understood that, but it did not mean that I wished to see my own folk mocked or disdained that they were not likewise hardened.
But all fires, of wood or grief, burn down to ashes eventually.
“Doing something stupid and reckless is not a better proof of your love than doing something measured and powerful.”
“Keeping a child from harm is not the same as rearing one.”
“Steady, I’m pregnant, not ill.”
Both logic and love anchored me where I was and doomed me to the suffocation of waiting.
“Every one of them has witnessed what the Servants have done to their fellows. And each has chosen to serve them rather than defy them. Every one of them is more treacherous than you can imagine.”
Once one knows what heartless people can do, it cannot be entirely forgotten. It always remains among the possible things that can befall you.
“Put it behind you, and think about it again in twenty years. Whatever it was, you can’t change it. So stop clinging to it, and let time and distance do their work.”
“I always fail the people I love the most.” “Say rather that you judge yourself more harshly than anyone else ever has.”
“No soup! Anything I can bite and chew. Or crunch! Is there anything crunchy?”
“That I guessed,” Malta said knowingly. “When first I saw him, I felt as if I already knew him.” She smiled at me as if we shared a jest. I smiled back, without understanding.
“Worrying doesn’t solve anything. I know that. In one way I know it but in another it seems wrong. It seems that if I don’t think about all the things that hurt, all the things I’ve done wrong, then I don’t really care.”
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