#She sees no value in mortal lives because she’s never known kindness. Her plan to end the world comes from feeling out of place in it.

[msfcatlover]

Seeing posts about forbidding Evil characters at the dnd table again.

MAYBE I WANT A REDEMPTION ARC, GUYS! MAYBE THIS BASTARD JUST NEEDS SOMEONE TO SHOW THEM SOME LOVE & UNDERSTANDING FOR THEM TO DECIDE THEY DON’T NEED TO DESTROY ALL LIFE AS WE KNOW IT!

[tvandenneagram]

The Mortal Instruments Enneagram Types - Type Descriptions and Tri-types under the cut

Clary Fray: 4w5 - 6w5 - 1w2

Clary is brave, creative and stubborn. She will always try to do what she believes is right and will follow her heart when she makes decisions.

Clary is very artistic and has a talent for creating runes. She expresses herself through her art and and carries her sketchbook with her everywhere she goes, using it like a diary.

Clary will fight for what she believes in and will often put herself in danger if it means protecting those she cares about. She is stubborn and it is difficult to change her mind once she has made a decision

Clary is very romantic and is preoccupied with her relationship with Jace. She has extremely strong feelings for Jace and somewhat idealises their relationship. Type 4s are often very attached to their romantic partners and search for an ideal partner, which I think is what we see Clary doing with Jace.

I considered typing Clary as a 6 because she is very loyal, however I think that she is more preoccupied with finding out who she is in the world than her safety. I also think she does not make her decisions based on fear and that she doesn’t really plan out her actions very much. While this could indicate that she is counterphobic I think it is more likely that she is a type 4.

Clary has a wing 5 because she is more introverted and withdrawn than a wing 3 would be.

Jace Herondale/Wayland/Morgenstern/Lightwood/whatever name he has this week: - 6w7 (cp) - 8w7 - 3w4

Jace is independent, headstrong and sarcastic. He presents himself as haughty and arrogant, but uses this attitude as a defense mechanism for his insecurites.

Despite Jace’s flippant attitude he has a strong moral core and is very dutiful. He is a very skilled fighter and takes his training seriously. Underneath his pompus exterior, Jace is hiding distinct feelings of inferiority. He is extremely self-loathing in the original trilogy and often purports things to be his fault when they are not. Jace believes that he has been fed demon blood and attributes his conflicts with this. He hates the feelings he has for Clary and blames it on being part demon. Even when all this is disproven, Jace still carries his mistakes like a burden and believes that he is defective. Some type 6s (especially counterphobic 6s, like Jace) feel like the world is ‘against’ them and I think this attitude comes across from Jace, especially earlier in the series.

Jace has very complicated feelings towards Valentine. While Valentine was abusive and is known to be evil, he is also the man who raised Jace. Jace holds onto his positive memories of Valentine, despite all the lies and abuse he suffered upon him. 6s often have complex relationships with their parental figures and they seek their support. 

Jace will fight for his issues head on and often runs straight into battle to protect the people he cares about. I think Jace is the counterphobic variant of 6, as he is more likely to show his aggression and put themselves in dangerous situations. Counterphobic 6s are also often rebellious and defiant to authority (because they don’t trust it), which is something we see in Jace. 

I considered typing Jace as an 8 because he is very assertive and values strength. However I believe that Jace is assertive and acerbic because he doesn’t trust easily. He puts walls up because he is scared of letting people in because he doesn’t want his trust to be broken. When Jace lets someone in he is very loyal and will do anything for them. 

Jace has a wing 7 becomes he is more emotionally expressive and more likely to react than a wing 5 would be.

Alec Lightwood: 1w9 - 2w1 - 6w5

Alec is principled, caring and brave. He is straightforward and doesn’t care much for pretenses.

Alec is serious and responsible. As the oldest member of his family, Alec put it upon himself to be the protector of his family. He felt that he had to be the most responsible and as a result became very dependable. Alec is extremely compliant and concerned with the rules of the Clave. 

Alec is very concerned with what others think of him. He is so scared of what his parents and friends would think of him if they found out he were gay so he kept it secret from everyone except Izzy. Alec knew since a young age he was gay, but bottled his feelings up, because the Clave said it was wrong. He was scared to go against the Clave’s laws and was worried of losing his family’s respect. 

Alec can sometimes come across as judgmental, rigid and condescending, which are common flaws of Type 1s. Underneath all that, Alec is the harshest critic on himself and he holds himself to impossible standards. Despite being very accomplished, he never thought he was good enough and would discount his successes. Alec is often afraid to make a mistake, which results in him being very careful and practical when making his decisions. 

Alec initially had a snobbish attitude and prejudice towards Downworlders, but opens up more as he interacts with them. In his relationship with Magnus, Alec becomes more carefree and loosens up a bit. He still shows insecurities within this relationship, but is able to overcome them. 

Alec has a wing 9 as he is more guarded with his emotions than a wing 2 would be. 

Magnus Bane: 7w6 - 4w3 - 9w8

Magnus is eccentric, worldly and kind. He really wants to find love and acceptance in the world.

Magnus is very flamboyant and whimsical. His personality contrasts quite distinctly with Alec’s more serious and reserved demeanour. Magnus is very open and does not compromise himself for anyone. He is inclusive and accepting of all people, having friends of all different walks of life.

Magnus enjoys a good party and seeks out experiences. As an immortal, he has had quite a storied life and has been all over the world. At times, it can seem like he doesn’t take situations very seriously and will make snarky jokes about them.

Deep down, Magnus yearns for the love and acceptance he never got from his parents. He had a difficult childhood and was not accepted by his family because he was a Downworlder. Due to this trauma, Magnus tries to repress his negative feelings and numb them with more ‘fun’ experiences. While he appears to be very open, he is actually deceptively guarded and is very hesitant to share deep and honest experiences with others. Magnus appears lively and jovial but is hiding a jaded and cynical worldview.

In his relationship with Alec, Magnus is initally the much more active party. 7s are assertive types and if they want to do something they will do it. We often see Magnus being the one to act first whereas Alec was too scared to act on his feelings for a long time. However, as time passes and their relationship becomes more public we see issues begin to form and Magnus is the one to pull away. When Magnus hears about Alec’s idea to turn him mortal, Magnus feels betrayed and breaks up with him. After their break up, Magnus is very avoidant of Alec and ignores him. This is quite typical of 7s, who hate to confront feelings. 

Magnus has a wing 6 as he is more relationship focused and personable than a 7w8.

Isabelle Lightwood: 3w2 - 6w7 - 1w2

Izzy is fierce, passionate and confident. She can come across as vain or narcissistic, but is actually very insecure and vulnerable.

Izzy is charming and magnetic. She has a quality about her which draws people in. Izzy is comfortable with her looks and will often use them as a means to get what she wants. Despite her outgoing demeanour, she is actually very distrustful and fragile. Izzy is guarded with her true feelings and is hesitant to let people know the real her. 

Izzy has a bit of an image that she has crafted of being rebellious and promiscuous to protect herself. She dated a lot and many of these dates were people her parents wouldn’t approve of. Izzy would form meaningless relationships so that she wouldn’t have to worry about forming real feelings or being hurt. She also did this in part to detract attention from Alec so her parents wouldn’t be suspicious of him.

Izzy is very protective and loyal to her friends. She loves them very deeply and is devastated whenever something bad happens to them. Izzy always tries to be there for her family and defends them with everything she has. She is particularly depressed when her brother Max dies as she blames herself for the death. She thinks that she failed him because she didn’t listen to him when he tried to tell her something was wrong. Izzy holds onto this guilt and even skipped the funeral because she felt she did not deserve to be there.

Izzy desperately wants love, but is hesitant to trust any man. Her mother confided in her when she was younger about her father’s infidelities and told her never to trust a man. As a result, Izzy is the character who takes the longest to open herself up to love. She is passionate about Simon, but is scared to love him because she thinks it will only bring her pain. 

Izzy has a wing 2 because she is more grandiose and showy than a wing 4 would be. 3w2s are generally more concerned with their outward appearances and appearing desirable compared to 3w4s.

Simon Lewis: 9w1 - 4w5 - 6w5

Simon is calm, nerdy and accepting. He is a great friend and is courageous when he needs to be.

Type 9s look for normalcy and struggle with change, which is something we see in spades with Simon. When we first meet Simon he is the only mundane character. He is the ‘normal’ one surrounded by all the magical creatures in the TMI universe. Later on, Simon is transformed into a vampire (well first he’s a rat, then he’s a Daylighter and then he’s a Shadowhunter) and longs to be normal. He resists his vampiric urges and refuses to drink from humans for an extremely long time. Simon struggled for a long time to accept this change and was worried about how it would affect his relationships with his loved ones. He desperately craved a normal life and once he became a Daylighter he tried as best as he could to lead as normal a life as possible.

Simon is non-confrontational and is afraid to share his true feelings for the fear that it might change his relationships. At the beginning of the series, he had been in love with Clary for years but never mustered up the courage to say so. He is initially very jealous of Jace and tries to get Clary not to like him. When he is dating Clary he realises her true feelings lie with Jace and ends the relationship. At his core, Simon truly cares for his friends and just wants them to be happy.

Simon is a great listener and genuinely cares about his friends feelings. He is something of a sounding board and both Clary and Izzy with both feeling very comfortable talking about their problems with him. When Max died, Izzy was able to find comfort in Simon. He listened to her and was able to give her solace and understanding. 

Simon is a people pleaser and is scared to hurt other’s feelings. Sometimes, this can lead to him making some mistakes. 9s fear conflict and will try to avoid it at all costs. They avoid saying negative things because they don’t want people to react badly or hurt their feelings. We see this in the whole mess with Maia and Izzy. I actually hate this storyline but I feel it is a good example of Simon’s general 9-ness. When Simon was dating both girls he showed the 9s indecisiveness, people-pleasing and fear of conflict. I feel that Simon wasn’t honest with either girl because he was scared of their reaction and scared of hurting their feelings. I also feel like Simon was confused in his feelings and couldn’t decide which girl was actually the one for him. 

Simon has a wing 1 because he is more repressed and uptight than a 9w8 would be. His 1 wing also influences him to want to be a ‘good’ person, which is part of why he is so upset when he becomes a vampire (which he feels is turning him into a ‘monster’). 

_________________________________________________

Images adapted from Google

The Infernal Devices Types (x)

[dropintomanga]

A Look at “I Sold My Life for 10K Yen Per Year”

We all have kinds of taboo topics that reinforce what’s appropriate to talk about. Religion, money, politics, sex, etc. While these are reasonable topics to avoid addressing in many cases, there’s one taboo topic that really affects everyone. It’s death. In modern urban society, we all avoid any mention of it with good reason. Yet we live our lives to a point where we may feel that death is an appropriate way to escape.

What if you felt that way? What if you realized that life is mostly meaningless and then try to get rid of your future? A manga adaptation of a well-known Japanese novel takes a look at that possibility and how it can lead to an unexpected and profound experience for the better.

This manga, “I Sold My Life for 10,000 Yen Per Year” by Shoichi Taguchi, made me wonder about how much people matter in living a life well lived.

The series, based off a novel called “3 Days of Happiness” by Sugaru Miaki,  is about a 30-year man named Kusunoki, whose life hasn’t turned out the way it expected for him. While he was an ace student in his younger days, Kusunoki has no direction in life. He spends his days living off of part-time work. One day, while selling old books and DVDs to a secondhand shop, the owner of the shop tells Kusunoki about a place that buys your lifespan for a set price depending on how much value your life has accumulated. Kusunoki finds the place, gets a quota and sells off the 30 years of his life for 300,000 yen. He only has 3 months to live. Kusunoki is assigned an observer, a girl by the name of Miyagi, whose job is to chronicle the rest of his existence. The two would find a connection through shared experiences and the story becomes a sad and beautiful story about love in the face of certain death.

Death is scary to talk about and it makes us feel alive. When confronted with their own mortality, people tend to live life differently. They may focus more on helping other people as they want to be remembered well by those that love them. Of course, there’s a flip side where people aware of their death start to become more protective of themselves and lash out at anyone different from them. A big key to this is anxiety without any sense of reflection. The more anxious you are, the less reflective you become. Self-reflection isn’t something that’s taught very well to many people (and arguably a major reason why therapy exists).

Kusunoki starts to develop a sense of self-reflection when it comes to his past relationships. A big theme of this manga is relationships and how easy it is to lose them. 

In the first chapter, there’s a flashback of Kusunoki and a girl he liked named Himeno. Both got along with each other during elementary school as they were smart and disliked by their classmates. They made a promise to get together as a couple after their ‘20s if they couldn’t find a partner by then. One of Kusunoki’s bucket list wishes was to reunite with Himeno, which Miyagi protests. Kusunoki wants to tell Himeno how he feels and goes through a makeover. The two do reunite out of chance, but their reunion turned out to be sour. It’s later revealed that Himeno was planning to kill herself in front of Kusunoki as she wrote him a letter back in high school asking for his help, but he never responded. This ties to how Kusunoki felt about life after school. He never kept in touch with his friends from those days due to him looking down on others.

However, Kusunoki’s connection to Miyagi becomes something more than observer and subject. They both fall in love with each other. Kusunoki wanted someone to acknowledge him even if the person may not always agree with his way of thinking. Miyagi later reveals that she lost a childhood friend like Kusunoki. She empathizes with Kusunoki because of their desire for closure involving their childhood friends. Plus Miyagi loved that Kusunoki made her feel important by dragging her around to do his activities with him.

When people talk about what it means to live, they think about factors involving only the self. Get a high-paying job, getting a nice house, buying a fancy car, etc. There’s no emphasis on helping someone in need, donating money to a good cause, having an enlightening conversation, and/or making someone’s day better. Stuff that involves being around other human beings that feel insecure as much as you do.

Speaking of human beings, Kusunoki’s connection with Miyagi makes him frowned upon by his local community members. That’s because Miyagi is literally invisible to other people. When he talks to her, other people see him as talking to air. They start to think he’s insane and/or delusional. Kusunoki doesn’t care since he’s accepted his circumstances. The fun part is near the end of the series is that his neighbors start to accept Miyagi is there with him. They start to feel more optimistic and happy because they see how happy Kusunoki is. He’s enjoying life more than they are.

It made me think about someone with a serious mental illness and has delusions. They are avoided because no one understands them. More often than not, they’re labeled as dangerous to talk to. But once you’re able to talk to them and not feed too much into their delusions, you start to find how lonely they are. You realize that they’re trying to live their lives as much as you are. You realize they want some kind of connection (there’s a movie about this which covers how the mentally ill may need some kind of community acceptance to manage life). I see this with Kusunoki finally getting love from his neighbors as he deep down wanted some kind of connection that makes his life meaningful after seeing how hollow he became without the lack of emotional support. 

Kusunoki’s desire for meaningful connection can be reflective of how hard it is for adults to make friends/relationships of any kind as they get older. Asking someone to be friends feels “childish” as it doesn’t always lead to external outcomes that mark “success.” I read an article from someone who believes wanting friends in contexts outside of socializing is considered shameful. Kusunoki feels like an all-too-real example of someone who was taught that you can wing it with relationships since materialism will solve all your emotional needs.

The ending to the manga (and the original novel) isn’t exactly a happy one and it teaches some great lessons. Death comes for everyone at some point and all we can do is live life in a way that matters. However, we need acceptance of one another in order to do so. When you see how the relationship between Kusunoki and Miyagi blossomed until the end, it will make you wonder if what we really need in life is someone who’s willing to embrace our emotional vulnerabilities and continue to love us despite them. It may not be the ultimate solution, but it’s an important one to consider as there’s still am alarming amount of people who want to die because no one truly hears them.

If the world realizes how having an accepting person/community can lead to better outcomes, maybe we can go beyond just a few days of happiness into a lifetime of joy. 

[kdtheghostwriter]

SNK #128 - Seeing Shadows

That’s bad, right?

There were some semantic debates regarding what exactly Hange meant when they said, “Humanity is out of time!” I think it’s clear now that humanity has no more time for them to be indecisive. Eren is on the march, and even if he settles for destroying everything on the Marley continent, that’s a massive loss of civilization and one you simply can’t live with if you think of yourself as a hero. The look on their faces tells the story. It’s no longer about saving the world; it’s about saving what’s left.

How much is left depends on how quickly they move, but it’s not as easy as mounting up the troops. Eren and his Colossal Army are across the ocean now. They’ve had at least one full day to march and probably more since the previous chapter’s events around the campfire. Think about how long it takes for a plane to cross an ocean. Not a full day. Their best bet is commandeering Miss Kiyomi’s special aircraft powered by the mysterious Iceburst Stone. Before they do that, we have to pause for another episode of the worst show in the world: This Floching Guy.

As much I have advocated for Eren to be accepted as the new villain – praising Isayama for turning the Face/Heel dichotomy upside down as it pertains to Reiner – those two, even in their most vile moments, still have their fans. There is no guesswork with Floch Forster. He’s predatory, conniving, authoritarian and mean-spirited. Above all of that, he’s a cocky little shit in a way that even Kenny Ackerman would have scoffed at. He’s the antagonist to the characters we’ve followed for ten years now, but in his own mind they brazenly oppose him, which is where the title of this chapter ‘Traitor’ becomes important.

 For the last four years, Eldia has been ruled by deft slight of hand. In spirit, Historia Reiss, the rightful heir to the throne, has reclaimed her birthright. In reality, she retired to run an orphanage while the three branches of military have taken control of the government and all proceedings. Eren’s mission to Liberio as well as the counterattack from Marley’s Warrior Unit caused a vacuum to appear that was quickly occupied by the Jaegerist Faction. They now control the government and in extension all facets of Paradisian society. So what do you call a group of AWOL soldiers that are conspiring to sabotage your one method of security?

Traitors. Villains. Monsters.

They’re killing your friends and attacking your home. They’ve infiltrated your ranks and betrayed your trust. Thousands of innocent people dead just for the sake of completing their mission.

This week I learned that many people viewed Bertolt’s death as karmic in some way. I never saw it like that at all. His death at Armin’s hands was a necessary evil. Necessary certainly, but it was evil. It doesn’t make the 104th evil for carrying out the deed. It just happened to be the most brutal death in the series even if it wasn’t the most graphic. Bert is left defenseless as his powers are forcibly taken from him. He calls for his former comrades only to realize none of them will help. Then he calls for Reiner, his best friend who barely escaped with his own life. He dies a lonely, agonizing death.

“Who the hell wants to kill innocent people?!”

Who knows how long this question has been haunting Armin’s waking thoughts? There is evidence to suggest that the once bold Survey Corps veteran who was willing to sacrifice his life to help Eren take down the Colossal has been hampered by his successor’s timid nature. Ever since he acquired his powers, he’s always attempted to seek non-violent resolution. I don’t see this as simple naivety.

If you were given a power as destructive as his, where you are capable of destroying a town by simply calling upon it, why would you ever use it? Why would you ever want to? I grow uncomfortable with the amount of voices in the fandom concern trolling the 104th and their refusal to spill the blood of their neighbors. They’ve fought alongside or trained with most of these people. Why should they be expected to kill them like nameless drones? Even if it is necessary, why are they not allowed to mourn the choice?

Characters like these that we’ve known from almost the beginning. They know nothing of the outside world other than it’s filled with people that want them dead. Eren Jaeger is their best chance at keeping their society alive and these people they lived and fought and suffered with want to impede that and doom them. Samuel and Daz are soldiers, too. Forget for a moment that they’re opposing the main characters. Why would they let this happen?

 I digress, though. This point is more about Bert and his exit from the story. It came at the end of a fierce battle that saw the SC expend all of their resources and most of their man power. The fact that they came away with even one shifter’s power is a small miracle. The characters can be excused then for watching, unfeeling, as their former teammate is eaten alive. Now the shoe is on the other foot. Armin has been mortally wounded and the one vehicle that can get them to Marley in time is about to be destroyed. Before Daz can do this, he is stopped by Armin who is delirious but regenerating. Before he can deal the fatal blow, Connie wrestles the gun away from Samuel and shoots them both.

The mission continues.

One could say that it’s overkill perhaps. How many times must the 104th learn the hard lesson? Even Annie made reference to the fact that the Warriors plan was being criticized with no alternative. If they spot them, the mission fails. If the ship is blown, the mission fails. If they Azumabito clan is destroyed, the mission fails. All of these facts are true and the current best way to keep any of that from happening is to fight and kill the Jaegerists. It’s remarkably easy to say, but then they are the ones who have to live with choices made.

 No one should ever have to “get used to” the idea of killing…well anyone but especially not people you partnered with. Bert’s inclusion in this moment was no accident. It isn’t just because Armin inherited his mental likeness. This is the closest they have come to understanding the impossible position he was forced into four long years ago. Only this time, it’s Samuel who is scared and confused.

You can disagree with Samuel’s point of view but what Connie does next is by definition an act of treason. He shoots two members of his own combat unit and defies a direct order from a commanding officer. We know that the commanding officer is a sociopath and we know that following orders means being an accessory to genocide. But that genocide is the only thing keeping that island alive. That island has been the only home Samuel and Daz have ever known. They deserve as much as anyone, an explanation instead of a bullet to the face. But this is what happens isn’t it?

I love Metal Gear Solid for a number of reasons, but chief above them is the series protagonist, Solid Snake. In the flagship game, he is introduced to us as a super soldier engineered for battle that is pulled out of retirement to thwart his twin brother’s plans of nuclear destruction. This game is one of the few of its kind that can be completed without killing a single enemy. You are rewarded for your stealth. Because, you see, Snake the character is a pacifist at heart. He doesn’t want to do this, but he’s the only one who can. It’s a solo mission, so running and gunning almost always fails and if you kill too many people, the action hero main character becomes sick.

You see, because, these choices aren’t made lightly. They ripple and they matter. The 104th kids aren’t acting high and mighty, lording their moral values over the heads of those that betrayed them. They genuinely hate doing this. From your mouth you say, “We have to save the world,” but when you arrive you are told, “We have to kill these people.” For once they would like to preserve peace without additional death and I don’t think they should be scolded for that wish.

  Stray Thoughts

- Wasn’t all that impressed by Magath’s little speech, especially considering what came before it. It’s a change of heart, yes, but not from a genuine place. When faced with the reality of his homeland being flattened, and the futility of his current position, he immediately goes back to torture. Yelena is callous in her own right but she did nothing to warrant the violence. He’s lashing out and I don’t shed tears for him.

- Onyankapon on the other hand. What a guy. He resets the joint in Yelena’s arm and crafts a splint to keep it in place. He has no powers, but you would want this guy on your team during the end of the world.

- Reiner finally puts the pieces together here. “I’m just like you,” Eren says and like Eren, Reiner moves to protect his former teammates from making this impossible choice. It’s a noble gesture and one I respect. There’s no going back for him. He has far too much blood on his hands. That he recognizes that is a strong moment for the character.

- Armin and Connie’s plan wasn’t a bad one. If nothing else, it bought time enough for Annie and Reiner to get into position. If they had attacked outright, the plane likely would have been destroyed. Some people are frustrated with them but honestly, go read Berserk if that’s the case.

- East Sea Gang rise up! Mikasa in combat is still an absolute treat. And Floch gives us an example of this faction’s greatest flaw. You know; besides the nationalist framework they are founded upon. Floch is the most experienced soldier they have and when Floch Forster is your best fighter, your team sucks. Mikasa Ackerman was worth 100 soldiers as rookie. As an adult soldier, she is easily worth two Jaegerist groups put together. Kiyomi is clearly capable, but she also took advantage of Floch’s arrogance in the moment.

- Credit to Reiner and Annie for hitting their cue. I wondered what it would be like having them in this group but it seems like for the purposes it should work.

[bi-outta-cordonia]

Takeshi and the Five

I got my tin foil hat on backwards and I’m ready to fucking party. This is gonna be a long one so most of it is gonna be stuck under a read more. So let’s begin:

BB today, amirite?? Shit got fucked and got fucked fast but the only person I’m really worried about is Jax and everyone closest to him. And by everyone, I mean there might be some really interesting things that could potentially explain his mentor, Takeshi Watanabe’s backstory. In today’s chapter, Jax reveals a piece of information that Takeshi told him long ago and made him swear not to say anything about: Kano, a 500 year old psychic vampire was in Japan and, despite his efforts to respect his mentor’s wishes, Jax tells the group about Kano hoping he might be able to help unlock MC’s powers to help them stop Rheya. 

What we know about Takeshi is that 700 years ago, he served a powerful woman in the middle of feudal Japan. This woman was Aiko Nakamura:

She was a powerful clan head that somehow came into contact with Gauis and Kamilah during this era. They seemed to provide services to her clan, slaughtering her enemies and helping her clan gain control of various territories. In the midst of this, her father wound up passing away, passing on the title to her and leaving her in control of her clan. She developed a relationship with Kamilah but was able to determine that Gauis and Kamilah were not exactly who they said they were, that they weren't human. 

After a particularly hard fought battle, Aiko summoned her soldiers and had Gaius and Kamilah divulge the truth under threat of death. They revealed to her that they were immortal and only sought to build a home for creatures like them. Sensing an opportunity, the two of them promised Aiko power beyond imagining. She could become immortal, unkillable to her enemies and conquer those that would stand against her. She took that deal. 

And it seems that Takeshi did as well. 

The one thing that seems to be evading us at this moment is how Takeshi went from this:

To this:

He was a samurai that served a distinguished lady and powerful family. More importantly, he was a vampire that was originally from Japan who somehow wound up in America and started a revolution of sorts with the hopes of killing the New York Council. So how did this happen? What led from point A to point B?

My theory is this: Takeshi may have served Aiko for some time but when he accepted the gift of vampirism, later down the road things changed as society changed and he was given power he had not possessed while living in service of Clan Nakamura as a human. He was given power and prestige, control that his mortal self had not known. He was given a spot on that led to him becoming one of the Five of Japan.

What we know of the Big Five comes from Jameson’s notes on them and, what Jameson did know was not a whole lot. The Big Five were secretive and did not find themselves getting involved in global affairs all that much:

They built a vampire kingdom that predates the American kingdom’s level of freedom. They also seem to have relatively powerful vampires within their midst: 

I think Takeshi was given a place amongst these vampires, possessing power as an elder and holding reign over vampires that flocked to the Five and adhered to their demands. Aiko seems a woman who is ambitious and desires power for herself and the Five seemed content with having their kingdom without outside interference messing with their kingdom. I think a big part of how they were able to set up their kingdom came with Kamilah and Gaius’s help. The two of them sought to build homes in places outside of Europe, where vampires were subjected to attacks from the Order of the Dawn on a constant basis. The Five were likely among one of the first shadow kingdoms that were able to establish themselves having power in the same sectors that the Order held power in Europe--politics, infrastructure, and the like. 

I think Takeshi was a part of this. I think he may have been immersed in it for some time. He could partake in the same pleasures that many of the wealthy vampires we’ve come across can. As much blood as he wants, all the flesh he could indulge in but a mere snap of a finger away--I think he may have enjoyed the power he had for some time or at least reveled in it.

But given his personality? The kind of person we come to know him as? I don’t think he’s always seen it as something that should be so easily given. 

I think the Five of Japan could be as terrible as the New York Council. I think that they held power over life and death itself. I think that vampires within their shadow kingdom had to essentially grovel for mercy and prostrate on hands and knees for the right to keep their lives to some of the most powerful creatures in all of Japan. I think it may have disgusted him after a time. I think Takeshi has always been a man that was not afraid of shedding blood and fighting, but the obsession with power? The need for it? It was never in his heart the way it was for the others. 

I think he may have had a falling out with the Five, but most especially Aiko. He likely served her clan out of honor. He likely joined her amongst the Five to honor his bond with her. But I don’t think he was built to be as ruthless as she was. As willing to do what it takes to obtain power of all things. 

He was a man that focused on justice above all. Doing the right thing may not have come easy but he endeavored to do it when he could. 

I think this falling out led to him leaving Japan and leaving the Five. I think he crossed the seas and found himself in New York City. He likely knew of Gaius setting up a shadow kingdom in America. He likely knew of Gaius’s temperament and the kind of person that he was. He would’ve heard about Gaius being killed by his progeny and a council sitting place rather than a king as Gaius intended. 

I think when he arrived, he heard of the New York Council and had hope that things would be better. 

When he arrived he found out that things were not. 

The six clans of New York were divvied up between all of Gaius’s progeny, people who found themselves drowning in wealth beyond imagining and who held control in various sectors of power within America. Priya LaCroix, entertainment head and mistress of the night; Adam Vega, political prodigy; Lester Castellanos, head of industry; Cecil Romano IV, the “Baron,” and king of the criminal element; Adrian Raines, former soldier and technological lifeline of the New York Council; and Kamilah Sayeed, Gaius’s former queen and butcher--

Their rule was tight and their decisions were final. Only a handful of vampires were given the honor of making up their clans, around 30 between each of them. But Takeshi would’ve seen the masses that made up the unaccounted for. The ignored. 

While the Council held reign, their vampires held everything but self-control. Members of their clans would feed on unwilling humans, often times draining them of all their blood and murdering them outright. In the streets, those that survive may find themselves returning to life as Clanless. Vampires with no brand and no one to support them during such a trying time. Worse yet, while these Clanless vampires walked about, their very existence is deemed a threat to the greater community. Takeshi would’ve known about the ferals. He would’ve seen firsthand what happens to vampires who exist without a proper brand and what must be done with them. 

He would’ve come to America and seen the way the New York Council turns a blind eye to the atrocities their branded vampires commit and how they would condemn those that were unfortunate enough to become their victims to brutal deaths. He would’ve been in America during the last clan war that rocked the city. He would’ve seen all the helpless Clanless victims that the Council’s vampires left behind. He would’ve Turned many of them in the hopes of saving their lives. And in the hopes of forcing violent change. 

It was just like with the Five. Power remained everything and those that held it abused it gleefully. Takeshi was a man of honor, a man who valued justice and had seen enough bloodshed in his life that it would’ve boiled his blood to see these things happening and know that the New York Council was fine with doing absolutely nothing. 

He would’ve formulated a plan. He would’ve sought to undo the damage that the pursuit of power had done to those living back home in Japan. 

Along the way, he saved a young man’s life, another victim of the Council’s indifference:

And he finds himself mentoring this young man. He teaches him how to defend himself. He nurtures the man’s background of justice and freedom at any cost. He guides him when he has nothing left. He essentially takes the young man on as a student, as a son. 

Takeshi tells the young man about his past, though not all of it. He talks about a powerful woman he once knew:

And the gift he received for his loyalty. He speaks about the influence of the group that eventually came to be in Japan:

And a psychic with power beyond anything he had ever come to know:

But most importantly, Takeshi tells him that no matter what happens, the young man needs to remember the reason for why they are fighting. For why they are doing this. He tells him it’s because no one deserves to live a life under the boot heel of those that ascribe themselves superficial power. He tells him it’s because everyone deserves the chance to live a life of their own choosing. 

But what he doesn’t say? Is that they do this because he refuses to let his past mistakes reflect in a blossoming kingdom that could truly be a place of complete freedom for vampires.

I think Takeshi was a part of the Five of Japan and I so look forward to seeing his history laid before us. I look forward to seeing Jax tell us about Takeshi and for us to learn the truths that Takeshi could not reveal to Jax. I look forward to seeing the conclusion of Jax’s story and hope that it will be delivered in a manner deserving of him. 

Takeshi Watanabe and the Five of Japan. Jax Matsuo and perhaps the end of his story. I’m terribly excited.

[bytheangell]

I Don’t Regret It If You Don’t Regret It

(Read on AO3) Square Filled: Seelie!Alec for @shadowhunterbingo Pairing: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood Rating: Teen and Up  -- Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: With their realms at odds, Seelie Knight Alexander Lightwood and Prince of Edom Magnus Bane know that what they have between them can’t last forever... but that doesn't make it any easier when the consequences of their love fall upon them.  -----------------------------------------------  

Looking at Magnus behind the bars of his cell, arms and legs bound tightly with unbreakable vines covered in razor-sharp thorns which cut into his skin with the slightest movement, Alec finds he isn’t surprised, only full of sorrow and regret. This is where they were always meant to end, isn’t it? He sees the same resignation in Magnus’ eyes - hurt and frustrated, but not angry, not at Alec.

There isn’t much time. Alec takes a moment to close his eyes, remembering the moments that brought them here, the ones leading up to the decision he has to make. He needs to take one last moment to be absolutely certain he’s making the right decision.

---

Alec knew from the start that what he had with Magnus couldn’t last. It shouldn’t have lasted as long as it did, and he needed to cut his losses before they pushed things too far. After all, Alexander Lightwood was a Knight of the Seelie realm, sworn to protect and serve his Queen; and his Queen loathed Lilith and Asmodeus, the rulers of Edom the warlock Magnus Bane was sworn to protect and serve. They couldn’t have what both of them so clearly wanted, and they both knew it. With their realms on the constant brink of war, their dalliances could’ve been considered an act of treason.

But every time they crossed paths it always ended the same.

It was easiest for them to meet in the mortal realm when they were sent to represent their people at summits and meetings with the other Downworlders and members of the Shadow World. They were tracked less closely there, often the only ones of their kind, and could sneak away for a few minutes, maybe even hours if they got lucky. They’d been doing this long enough to know the tricks to not getting caught, able to pinpoint the perfect circumstances and orchestrated them whenever possible.

They swore it was a one-time thing until it wasn’t. Each time after that ended with the promise it was over. It had to be, for both of their safety. And it was just a fling, wasn’t it? Surely they wouldn’t continue to risk their lives over a few casual hookups?

It didn’t take long for them to realize it was so much more than that. When it happened, Alec couldn’t say. But at some point, it became less of a physical connection and more of an emotional one. They spoke as much as they didn’t during their time together, learning of the other’s family and friends, their hopes and dreams.

A bond formed between them that Alec insisted connected their very souls with how deep it ran, begging his sister when she discovered them just outside one of the entrances to the Seelie Realm one day and Alec had to beg her to keep his secret.

To his surprise, she didn’t even try to talk him out of seeing Magnus again. In fact, seeing how happy the warlock made him Izzy actually encouraged it, going so far as to help cover for him on the rare occasion he slipped up and needed an alibi.

There was an attack. The number of dead Downworlders was too high to think about without making him sick, but Alec only cared about one. When he saw Magnus alive and well it nearly killed him to not be able to run over and embrace him, but they were in public and there were too many eyes. When they found a moment in private later and Alec admitted that he loved Magnus, Magnus knew Alec meant it, and not just because he couldn’t lie. Magnus could lie, of course, but Alec believed the words as they were returned to him with all of his heart just the same.

They never brought up the idea of abandoning their lives and running off together; Alec knew as well as Magnus that their sense of duty and allegiance was too strong for either of them to abandon entirely. They had family and friends in their realms to protect, after all.

So they kept meeting in secret. Sometimes Raphael arranged for the Dumort to be a safe haven for a short period of time when there were too many eyes at the Institute. His friendship with Magnus and their history together meant his assurances that the clan would never speak of seeing them together there were accepted, no questions asked. Sometimes it was a quick kiss stolen in the depths of the woods in the Seelie realm, or a moment of passion taken too far in the dry sand or against a warm rock in Edom. Sometimes all Alec had was the graze of Magnus’ hand on his lower back as he turned to leave a meeting to hold him over for weeks, sometimes months, before an excuse arose to bring them back to the same place again.

In a stroke of genius, Magnus had started to bribe many Downworlders to throw more parties than usual with an open invitation to all of the Shadow World - a risk for prying eyes but a perfect excuse for them to be around one another more often, but soon even that wasn’t enough. Magnus wanted more, and Alec agreed. They began to meet in secret, not just when they happened to be in the same place for a meeting or party, but actively sneaking away to steal anywhere from moments to entire nights together.

The longer they went without being caught the more they hoped that maybe, just maybe, they could have this for themselves. Magnus and Alec were as careful as they could be without taking that final step to end things between them.

They weren’t careful enough.

Someone saw them. Alec wasn’t sure who, or when. He didn’t know if it was something they could’ve avoided, maybe one of those ‘innocent’ touches at a party was seen for what it truly was, or maybe some nosy Shadowhunter glamoured themselves and followed them one night after they left the Institute. Maybe no one sold them out and it was simply the Seelie Queen and her annoying habit of knowing more than she should.

Magnus was summoned to the Seelie Court. The moment Alec heard he knew something was wrong - there was no reason for any warlock to be called to see the Queen today, certainly not Magnus specifically, and especially not alone. Except he wasn’t alone, because the Seelie who came to tell Alec was sent by the Queen herself to make sure he was in attendance.

Alec knew what was about to happen, and no sooner had he arrived did the Queen announce that Magnus had broken Seelie Law. Magnus, appearing far calmer than he had any right to, demanded to know on what grounds he was being arrested.

The Seelie Queen stated cryptically that he took something that belonged to her without permission, shifting her gaze behind the warlock to look directly at Alec. Magnus turned his head as well and the moment he turned to confirm his suspicions Magnus gave Alec the best half-smile he could muster and mouthed ‘sorry’.

As if somehow Alec would be mad at him for this. As if he had anything to apologize for.

And then he was gone, taken away by knights who were very specifically not Alec. The Queen intentionally left so that she crossed his path, stopping to say just low enough for only him to hear that he and Magnus would never be together again and if he valued his own freedom he would choose wisely, whatever that meant.

Alec spent the entire day waiting for his own summoning to speak with the Queen but it never came. Then he spent half the night asking around to find out exactly where Magnus had been taken. He had a plan. It wasn’t a good one, hell, it was probably the most foolish thing he’d done in his entire life, and that included the months spent sneaking around with a warlock, but his mind was made up as he made his way to Magnus’ cell. Izzy helped him distract the guard to get access to Magnus, telling her he just wanted to speak with him again. If she knew what he truly planned she never would’ve agreed to help him so easily - there’s no way he would come back from helping Magnus escape, the Queen would either kill him or he would spend his life exiled and on the run.

But it was the only option he had, the only thing he could do now; no other option felt right, no other path acceptable in his heart.

When Alec arrived outside of Magnus’ cell, it was to make himself a proper traitor to the Queen.

---

Thinking back on it feels like his life flashing before his eyes. He’s only known Magnus for about a year but nothing before meeting Magnus seems to matter, and neither will anything after should Magnus be left to die here because of him.

“Alexander…” Magnus says softly.

Alec shakes his head. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. This isn’t your fault. I should’ve been more careful. The odds that this is because someone spotted me leaving and-”

“Hey,” Magnus cuts him off. “If I don’t get to be sorry then neither do you.”

That makes Alec smile in spite of everything. Running a hand along the cell door in front of him he can feel the magic within the bars and reaffirms that the Queen expected him to try and free Magnus. He knows because he can feel the Seelie magic tied to this particular cell and what it means - he felt it the moment he walked in. The possibility that he cannot simply let Magnus go should’ve been one he anticipated - the Queen warned him they couldn’t be together, that he had to choose his own freedom. She planned for this, of course she did.

Alec hits his fist against the bars in frustration. This changes everything… but it changes nothing. He still plans on freeing Magnus but decides to ask one last question to be certain it’s worth the sacrifice.

“Would you take it back, if you knew how it would end?” Alec asks him. Magnus has no reason to lie, imprisoned and facing certain death. Alec wouldn’t blame him for saying yes, for wishing he kept himself out of Alec’s life, or at least that they’d ended things sooner.

“Not a second of it,” Magnus promises, and Alec’s mind is made up.

“Me either.”

Alec places his hand upon the lock and closes his eyes, making his intention clearly known to the magic held there. He waits with bated breath when nothing happens at first, and then the door swings open. Magnus’ eyes widen in shock.

“How did you-”

“I know what you said earlier, but I am sorry for this.” Alec knows it isn’t what Magnus would choose, which is why Alec doesn’t give him the option. He reaches a hand out to grab the vines wrapped around Magnus’ body. The moment he does they react to his touch, sliding off of Magnus and snaking their way around him instead, binding his arms and legs together painfully.

Alec fell to his knees, and though free now Magnus made no motion to stand or flee, eyes trained on Alec and hands already reaching out to try and free him from the vines.

“Don’t,” Alec warns. “They won’t react to your magic, and you’ll only make them pull tighter.” This froze Magnus in place, not wanting to be the reason the thorns dug deeper than they already were.

“Alexander, what have you done?” Magnus whispers sadly.

“I made an equal exchange. She knew I’d come, and instead of leaving guards she left me a choice. The cell is bound to the crime, not the criminal. It must hold one guilty of the crime-” Alec explains.

“-and we’re guilty of the same crime,” Magnus realizes. “I can’t let you do this. Please, put them back. I’d never ask for you to trade your life for mine,” Magnus insists, holding his hands out in offering.

“I know you wouldn’t. I also know if our roles were reversed you wouldn’t hesitate to do the same for me.”

Magnus opens his mouth but closes it again without a word, unable to argue.

“She’ll be kinder to me, if only because I’m one of her own. She certainly won’t kill me.” That alone makes this exchange the only option in Alec’s mind. If Magnus remained a prisoner it would only be a matter of time before the Queen grew bored and killed him. Alec is fairly certain she wouldn’t do the same to him, and he’ll take those odds over the alternative.

“If it makes you feel any more at ease, I don’t think this cell was ever meant for you. She knew if she threw me in it as an order there would’ve been an uproar. This way she can keep her favor and claim she tried to allow me my freedom while we both know this was always meant to be my fate for betraying her.” Alec would do anything to guarantee Magnus’ safety, to ensure the Queen won’t go after him again, and she knows it. She has Alec wrapped around her pinky finger for the rest of his life. She never truly wanted either of them dead - she only wanted her favorite Knight back under her thumb where he belongs.

And here he is, bound and waiting.

“I’m not certain anything could make me feel at ease right now” Magnus admits, voice wavering with emotion.

“Not even a kiss goodbye?” Alec asks. They’re sat close enough to touch if only Alec’s arm weren’t bound behind his back. Magnus shifts towards him, tears now spilling silently from his eyes, hands moving to carefully come to rest in small spaces of Alec’s sides not already occupied by the vines.

For all the pain he’s in, both physically and emotionally, it all seems to settle the moment Magnus’ lips are pressed gently against his own. It’s slow and deep, and Alec can feel every emotion conveyed they don’t have time to say aloud.

“Now leave,” Alec breathes out the moment their lips part, Magnus’ face still close enough that he can feel his breath warm in the space between them. “You know the way out. Be careful, but something tells me she isn’t going to stop you. I’ll never agree to serve her again if she hurts you, and she knows it. She needs me too much to risk it.”

There’s a small, sad smile on Alec’s face, relief over knowing Magnus would be able to live out the rest of his life mixed with pride over being the reason why he’ll be safe and unspeakable heartache over the fact that it means he may never see him again.

“Take care of yourself, Magnus.”

“I’ll come back for you,” Magnus promises. Alec knows he means it - he’s going to try, at least, probably longer than he should. Alec doesn’t have the heart to tell him not to bother. “I’ll find a way. I love you, Alexander.”

“I love you too.”

It’s the only truth Alec can afford him because he doesn’t share in Magnus’ optimism.

Watching Magnus leave Alec catalogs every curve of his body, every sway of his hair in the breeze certain it’ll be the last image of him he’ll have to hold on to.

As his Queen appears shortly thereafter, tisk-ing and shaking her head at him through the bars in unsurprised disappointment, Alec can only hope the memories will be enough to carry him through.

[florafaunaandeldritchhorrors]

so @sicklyscribe tagged me in a challenge to share the last 7 sentences of my WIP, and i went “oh no! i have added sentences here and there to you can never go home again but i can’t remember when or where i last wrote seven sentences in a row”

and then i realized that i actually have TWO wips, one of them is just my emotional support wip that i’m actively planning not to finish, but i just finished draft 2 of the prologue. it’s a fairytale mashup where goldilocks, the miller’s daughter from rumplestiltskin, cinderella (well, this version is named ye xian but pulls just as much from perrault), and sleeping beauty all have their stories going on in the same kingdom.

beneath the cut is the prologue in it’s entirety, because i like it and it will probably never see the light of day as a complete story. the names of every named character are temporary, and i’m still working on using epithets in a way that references ancient epics while sounding natural-ish in english.

Once upon a time, a princess married a young king, and before the year was oft she gave birth to a son.

The royal family invited every noble family in the realm to his naming, and many of them came, though not nearly as many who had attended their wedding. They raffled tickets to the common folk, and those that won got to borrow fine clothing for the evening. And they invited every fairy known to live within a hundred miles, although they expected none to come.

Why seven fairies accepted the invitation, when none had attended a royal naming in a hundred years, is not known to any mortal. Perhaps it was simply that exactly one hundred years had passed, and the fair folk are drawn to such patterns. Perhaps each fairy came to prove some sort of point to the other six. Or perhaps it was the silver glint in the young queen's eyes, which marked her as fae-touched herself, that drew them in.

Whatever it was, five fairies were immune to its pull: Carabosse on her thorny throne, sunset-gold Ilia, moonlight-silver Aylin, sweet-voiced Canachante, and Sycorax of the sapphire-blue sea all politely declined the king's invitation, citing other commitments.

And so, on the night of the naming, the king set out seven plates of solid gold for the guests of honor, and the young prince received seven gifts.

Adamante gave him a diamond crown, almost as cold and beautiful as the fairy herself.

Veiled Candor of the crystal fountain gave him the ability to tell when others were lying, so that he might be the greatest king the realm would ever have.

Farine of the wheat-flowers kissed the babe's forehead and gifted him beauty. When she pulled away his hair was fuller, and his eyes had the faintest hint of silver. Freshwater-spring Coulante followed Farine, as she always did, and gave the prince grace to match his new beauty.

Violente, in her golden armor, promised that the prince would win every battle he fought. As she did, she looked scornfully at Farine and Coulante, making it clear what she thought of their gifts.

Generous Miette--who unlike the others, took a form no larger than a hummingbird--flew up to the crib on gossamer wings, and gave him a golden coin, though she did not say what it was for.

And then it was the Last Fairy's turn. She had no other name, no other epithets. Her face was impassive and her clothes were plain, though made of satin and velvet. When you listed the fairies, you listed her last, and so she was known as the Last Fairy.

She addressed her gift to the parents, not the child: when the prince first saw the woman who was meant to be his queen, he would know at once who she was.

Not long after that, the festivities ended, and each fairy took home the golden plate she'd eaten off of.

Four years later, the queen had another son, and even less of the invitees showed up, and even fewer commoners signed up for the raffle. The king, of course, invited every fairy once again. Diamond-carved Adamante refused this time, but Canachante and her lovely voice accepted, as well as all the others who had come before.

This time, the fairies ate off plates of platinum, and had been thinking about gifts for four years.

Veiled Candor went first, and gave back the plate she had taken the last time, enchanted to always provide whatever food was asked of it.

Freshwater Coulante, four years wiser, gave him wit and intelligence. Powdered Farine again gave beauty, and the babe's eyes glinted silver to match his mother and brother.

Canachante, in her soft, melodic voice, gifted the young prince with a music box that sang a different tune every time.

Miette, blesser of crops, repeated her gift of a mysterious coin, and bloody-minded Violente again promised that he would win any battle.

The Last Fairy promised that the first time he saw a person he could love absolutely, and would love him in return, he would know at a glance.

They took home their platinum plates and judged each other's gifts harshly.

The queen loved her sons very much, but decided to risk another pregnancy for a chance at a daughter. Two years later, one was born. The birth of a daughter was less momentus than a son to everyone but her, and so the king only invited those who had shown up for his second son's naming. The courtier in charge of sending the invites was not insightful enough to realize the fair folk should not be included in that order.

Sea-dwelling Sycorax did not notice that she was not invited, nor silver Aylin, nor golden Ilia. Glittering Adamante felt slighted—was the gift she had given his first son not good enough?—but other matters distracted her.

Carabosse noticed, from her thorny palace. She was not happy.

All of the fairies who were invited arrived, and ate from polished silver.

Candor of the crystal fountain gave back the platinum plate, reshaped into a beautiful mirror that showed the true face of all reflected in it.

Joyful Farine repeated her gift of beauty, and tender Coulante gave the princess wit to match. Violente of the golden vine again decreed the princes would win any battle she fought.

Gossamer-winged Miette broke her pattern, and gave the princess gracefullness.

Melodic Canachante blessed the girl with the most beautiful voice a mortal could have.

And then slighted Carabosse arrived, in a gust of wind and flame. All eyes turned to her, the fairies more surprised than all the mortals combined. "My invitation did not arrive, Your Majesty. Am I not welcome?"

The king paled, trying to guess which univited fairy this was. "Of course you are. Let my servants fetch you a plate, my lady."

"I have not come to eat." Carabosse looked at the cradle. Now that she had been offered hospitality, it was unthinkable that she curse the babe. But that was not her only option. "I have a gift for the princess. On her sixteenth birthday, she shall die, pricked a tip of a spindle, and be freed from this cruel world forever."

"No!" cried the queen, forgetting herself.

Carabosse sneered. "If you were a wiser woman, you would see the value in my gift."

"I am not wise. I am just a mother!"

Canachante whispered in her lovely voice: "Once a gift is given, it is unthinkable to revoke it."

The queen sobbed.

"I am done here," said Carabosse, disappearing as suddenly as she had arrived, leaving the smell of burning wood behind.

The Last Fairy tilted her head thoughtfully. "Cry not, Your Majesty. I still have a gift to give."

The queen did not stop crying.

"The princess will indeed be freed from this cruel world by a spindle on her birthday—but not forever. She shall sleep unbothered for a hundred years, then be awakened by a kind prince. This I promise."

"Thank you," said the king, though what he wanted to do was scream at her for not doing more.

The fairies took their leave then, leaving their silver plates behind.

And that was that, until the king decided to burn every spindle in the land.

[jofabray]

Setting the Scene || Jolia 07.20

Tagging: DJ Berry (@submissivedjberry) & Jo Fabray

Date: July 20

Location: Jo’s suite

Classes: Basic bondage, Sub 101

Summary: Suspension and Denial

Jo

Jo was excited.  She was always excited to see DJ again, but the chance to scene together - and for points, no less - made the whole prospect even better.  It would likely be her only scene for the week, and she was determined to enjoy herself.  Doing a quick check of the equipment she'd prepared, Jo checked her watch and poured herself a glass of ice water.  She was ready too early, and DJ would arrive on the exact moment she'd been requested - that was how the submissive worked, and punctuality was something she valued highly.  Taking a seat on the couch, which had been moved away from the center of the room and toward the door, she crossed her legs and checked her email as she waited.

DJ

Spending time with Jo was the highlight of every week, of every day that she was able to spend with her. Each time they scened, DJ felt their connection grow even further; and every time they simply spent time together, DJ felt the way that she was feeling get reinforced by how comfortable she was with the Domme. She made her way over to Jo's so that she would be completely on top, wearing a simple pair of shorts and a simple t-shirt as she had been ordered to wear something comfortable; not that she believed she would be wearing her clothing for very long. Arriving, she knelt down (having never made the mistake that she had on their first day spent together again), and then knocked on the door.

Jo

Jo took a breath when she heard the knock, mainly to keep herself from leaping off the couch and running to the door like an overeager teenager.  Every time she opened her door to see DJ on her knees it got better, and felt more right.  They were building something, she knew, and she was eager to see what it looked like when it was complete.  Shutting her computer, she set it aside and answered the door with a smile.  "Good to see you again, Darlin'.  Stand up, and come on in for me.  Y'all can kneel by the couch while we go over what's gonna happen today - but first I'm going to kiss y'all senseless, if there's no objections."

DJ

DJ waited patiently for Jo to open the door. She would have waited forever if she had to, willing to go through whatever tests the Domme put in her way. She wanted this and she was going to prove that she deserved the attention that Jo was giving her. "Never any objections to that Miss Jo. Kiss away. For as long as you want." The submissive expressed, a cheeky smile on her face. Jo's words had caused her heart to flutter and she was so excited for the time that they would spend together. She had no doubt that their scene would go well and that Jo would take very good care of her afterwards, just as she always did.

Jo

"Thank ya, gorgeous.  That's what I like to hear."  Leading her gently inside, Jo closed the door - she had no issue with people knowing that she was going to kiss DJ, but she also didn't feel like putting on a show in the middle of scene week.  As soon as it was closed, though, she shoved DJ gently against the door and pinned her there before planting a kiss on her that made Jo's own toes curl.  These, more than scenes or points, were the moments she savored.  When DJ could be hers, and hers alone.

DJ

She gasped as she was pressed up against the door. It was such a simple movement, but one that turned her on more than she could express. It was exactly what she wanted, to be pushed around however Jo wanted, while also knowing that Jo would never go too far. That she was safe and cared for whenever she was in the presence of the Dominant. As lips found her own, her eyes fell shut and she moaned into the kiss. It was a kiss, that if DJ wasn't reading it wrong, was a show of possessiveness and DJ was more than willing to allow it to go on for as long as she wanted.

Jo

The moan released into her mouth told Jo everything that she needed to know - that DJ was into what she was doing, that it hadn't been a step too far, and that should she want to do it again or for longer there wouldn't be any objections.  Only when she had to stop to breathe did Jo pull away, panting softly in her quiet room.  "Good girl," she murmured.  "Y'all are one hell of a kisser.  Now, if you please, head on over to the couch.  I'll join you in just a second."  All she really needed to do was lock the door, but she wanted to give DJ a chance to get in position before she joined her.

DJ

"Yes, my Miss." She very badly wanted the kissing to continue and she had found it very hard to not pout when Jo had pulled away from her lips, but she didn't want to be too much of a brat. Yet. And she also didn't want to disappoint Jo before the Domme had even had the chance to tell her what the plan for the day was. She moved into the living room area and knelt down, linking her hands in front of her and resting them on her lap.

Jo

"Good girl," Jo repeated.  "Always so good for me."  She knew that the kissing was something they'd both rather have continued, but they did have a scene to complete and if she gave in to more kissing now then they'd never get there and they did each need the points.  Locking the door, Jo grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen before she took a seat, legs crossed over each other.  "Now.  You know the basics of what we've planned today.  Suspension, and some denial - which I imagine will be much more fun for me than it will be for y'all.  But if you're good for me then maybe we'll discuss letting y'all have some fun when we're finished.  Does that all sound okay to you?"

DJ

The words of praise caused her to light up. Each time she did something that made Jo proud, even something this simple, it felt like she had won an award. But it was so much better than that. DJ didn't look around when Jo didn't immediately follow her over to the couch. The blonde had given her the order and she had followed it and now it was back to being patient. Patience was just something that she was going to have to get better at. Luckily for her though, Jo didn't force her to wait for too long before the Domme had returned. She listened closely to her words and hummed softly before nodding. "That all sounds perfect, Miss."

Jo

Jo nodded.  "I'm pleased to hear it, Darlin'.  We'll just need a couple things before we get started.  I'll need to hear safeword and limits," she knew that it was repetitive to ask for them every time, but Jo had one cardinal rule as a Domme: keep her submissive safe.  And if that meant asking for limits and safeword in every single scene, she'd do that.  "And then I'll need y'all to stand and strip down for me.  Everything off but panties, please."  It was an odd request, but she had her reasons.

DJ

"My safeword is rutabaga, Miss My limits are watersports, scat, age play, needle play, and permanent marks." She expressed, happy to let Jo know whenever the blonde asked for them. She knew that Jo knew them, but it was a nice reminder that Jo cared every time she asked for clarification. She then stood up and without shame, began to remove her clothing. She had been completely naked in front of Jo numerous times now and the way that Jo looked at her only served to stoke the fire within her. Jo made her feel beautiful, sexy, wanted.

Jo

"Good girl."  She sat back, watching playfully and sipping at her water as DJ stripped for her.  They had seen each other naked many times, and seen each other more vulnerable than that sometimes as well, so it wasn't unusual.  But every time Jo got to see it, she felt special and blessed.  The fact that the submissive was so trusting, so willing to put herself in Jo's hands, meant the world to her.  "Gosh, y'all are beautiful," she smiled.  "I'm just gonna admire all of that for a sec, darlin'.  Somehow you're more beautiful every time ya walk in my door, and I'd love to know your secret."

DJ

There were those two words again, the words that she wanted to hear coming from Jo for forever if she was okay with that. "You can enjoy the view whenever you want for however long you want, Miss. After all...it's all yours." She blushed and shuffled slightly at Jo's next words and she shrugged. "It's how wonderful you treat me that makes me more beautiful, Miss. I'm cared for...that does a lot, you know?" She replied, biting down on her bottom lip and shrugging her shoulders slightly.

Jo

"And y'all have no idea how good it is knowin' that, darlin'.  Because I wouldn't want it to be anyone else's.  I'm content to have to share, at least for now, but it feels so much better when you're just mine."  DJ's sweetness really did know no bounds, and Jo never minded hearing it.  "If that's the case, sweetheart, then by the time you're properly mine y'all will be so beautiful that mere mortals can't lay eyes on you.  Because I will care for you like you've never known."

DJ

"I like it better when I'm just yours too." DJ said softly. It wasn't possible at that point in time to only ever scene with Jo, but she looked forward to the day when she needed to ask permission to do so...even if that was an odd thing to look forward to. "Miss Jo? Can I just have one more kiss before we get started? Because you're kind of making me want to cry from happiness right now. And I just really need another kiss. Please?" DJ pleaded, feeling the emotion well up within her. It might have been a silly thing, but she could tell that Jo meant the words that she was saying and it just caused something within her to break open.

Jo

Jo's own eyes shone a little, and she nodded.  Setting her water glass down, she took a step closer and pulled DJ into her.  "I will never deny y'all a kiss, Dalia.  Not ever.  Sometimes it might have to be delayed, but it will never be denied.  Now c'mere."  The kiss was less frantic than the one at the door, but it was filled with love and affection and everything Jo wanted her to feel.  Only when she pulled back a little did she breathe once more.  "Good?"

DJ

Hearing that a kiss would never be denied, just possibly delayed, DJ nodded. She would just have to remind herself of that if the time ever came where a kiss was delayed...to not let herself take it as a rejection. But to know that a kiss was coming soon. "Good. So very good." She agreed, bottom lip wobbling for just a moment before she cleared her throat. "I'm ready whenever you are, my Miss."

Jo

"Good girl.  My good girl.  Let's begin.  I'm going to guide y'all to a spot on the floor, so just follow me."  The suspension gear was set up under the strongest beam in the suite, and Jo had tested it multiple times to find the perfect spot.  As DJ followed, she moved slowly until the submissive had reached just where she needed to be.  "Stop there.  Good.  The first thing y'all need are the suspension cuffs.  They're a little thick, a little heavy, but they'll keep your hands safe."

DJ

DJ kept it to herself, but she would follow Jo anywhere. It was still early, but she couldn't deny the way that she was feeling. At all. She wanted this and she wanted a future with her. She knew where Jo was heading after the institute and DJ was so very ready to make sure that she ended up there with her. She walked through the suite until Jo told her to stop, wriggling slightly in the spot where she was standing. "Okay, Miss. That sounds good." She trusted Jo to know how to keep her safe.

Jo

"That's my girl."  Jo picked up the first of the cuffs, showing it to DJ.  "Your fingers go here," she indicated one side of the glove.  "And your thumb here.  In between there's a metal rod, that's for y'all to hold onto once you're in the air.  Keeps the strain off your wrists."  She slid the glove onto DJ's right hand, buckling it firmly in place and giving it a few tugs to be sure it was secure.  The left glove followed, and she smiled.  "Squeeze the grips for me, DJ, and make sure that your fingers are movin' okay?"

DJ

"Yours." She repeated, more to herself than anything else. It was a nice reminder. And she loved that Jo didn't shy away from saying those sweet things and calling her hers. It meant more to DJ than she could possibly describe. She watched, intently focused, as Jo explained the cuffs to her, nodding her head in understanding and then letting Jo slip them on her, one at a time. It was a weighted feeling, different, but not altogether bad. She gripped the rod in each hand, then let go, and then grabbed again before nodding. "It doesn't feel like anything is pinching or stopping my hands from grabbing, Miss."

Jo

"Mine.  Right now, all mine," Jo confirmed.  She was happy about that fact, and she didn't mind showing it.  Until her orders ran out, no one could take DJ from her.  "Thank you for being thorough.  That's very good, and that's what I needed to know.  Our next step," she explained, "is to take these ropes here and secure them to your cuffs.  They're tied to a pulley system on the other end, and that's what we'll use to get y'all off the ground."  With that explained, Jo carefully knotted a rope around the ring at the end of the first glove, testing it obsessively before moving on.  The second glove followed, and soon DJ was firmly attached.  "Everythin' still feeling okay?"

DJ

She stayed still and quiet as Jo went about ensuring that the ropes were safely secured to the cuffs. She didn't want to say or do something that would distract the Domme and somehow, maybe, cause an issue. Not only because she didn't want to end up harmed, but she knew that Jo would beat herself up for so long if something happened. She watched as Jo tested the rope and then tested it again, her heart swelling, because Jo just cared about her so much and it was so apparent. And she adored it. "Everything still feels good, Miss. Nothing hurts, nothing pulling uncomfortably."

Jo

"Thank you, Darlin'," Jo beamed.  Without the cooperation of a submissive, D/s didn't work.  And DJ was the perfect submissive for her, pliable and willing to try new things, but unafraid to stand up for herself if the situation called for it.  "Then we're at the fun part.  I'm gonna pull these ropes over here, and they're going to lift y'all right off the floor.  We're not going far, especially at first, just enough that ya can't put your feet down.  And then we'll play a little.  If anything, even for one second doesn't feel right, you safeword.  We'll examine the rig, see what the issue is, and we'll fix it.  This stuff is dangerous, so don't try and be brave and tough it out for me."

DJ

"Thank you for taking such good care of me." She returned when Jo thanked her. She wasn't sure what it was going to feel like, simply hanging there with no way to get down on her own without safewording, but she believed that Jo wouldn't have chosen this if she thought it would be completely terribly for the submissive. "No being brave...got it." She expressed with a sharp nod of her head. She wanted Jo to know that she was taking this seriously, but one couldn't blame her for also having a little bit of fun. Especially not when Jo was so lovely and so caring.

Jo

Jo smiled.  "That's my job, darlin'.  Not about to let anythin' happen to y'all on my watch."  Or ever, if she had anything to say about it.  DJ's response, a little flippant, made her quirk a brow.  It wasn't enough to warrant a stern word, but she did want the submissive to know she'd heard it and was amused.  "Here we go."  The pulleys she'd set up did their job well and the rope pulled smoothly through them.  Watching carefully as DJ was raised from the floor, Jo waited until her toes could just skim the ground before locking the ropes in place.  "How does that feel?  Having fun hangin' out for me?"

DJ

She let out a slow breath as Jo began to use the pulley system to pull her off of the ground. It was an odd sensation, one that would definitely require getting used to. But she was, at this moment, willing to do this again to get to that point. She couldn't help but giggle at Jo's teasing question and she glanced down at her body before looking up at the Domme again. "It's different, Miss."

Jo

"Different can be fun," Jo smiled.  DJ's giggle might be the most adorable sound on Earth, she was sure, and it was always nice to hear it.  "Not to worry; soon y'all will have all sorts of distractions, and it'll slip your mind that you're hangin' in the air."  Jo double checked the pulley, making sure everything was secure, before walking slowly toward the suspended submissive.  "Looks gorgeous, though.  You always do."  She reached up and began to touch - everywhere, without focusing on any one spot.  "Tell me, darlin', did we ever talk about clamps?  How you might feel about 'em?"

DJ

"You in general are quite the distraction, my Miss " DJ uttered, watching as Jo moved towards her, her body shivering with eagerness as she began to touch  Her breath caught in her throat and she shook her head. "No, Miss. We haven't talked about clamps. I don't...know what I think of them, but I'm willing to try." Like most things, DJ was willing to at least go about things once to see what they were like and what they did for her...and for Jo. She would much sooner go through something again if Jo had enjoyed it, even if DJ wasn't the biggest fan.

Jo

"In a pleasant way, I should hope."  Jo's hands never stopped moving - from shoulders to hair to breasts and skimming DJ's waist.  "Thank you for your honesty, my good girl.  I'm going to get a couple of options, then, and we'll see whether y'all enjoy them or not."  There was a small chest of toys in the living room that she searched, emerging with two pairs of clamps.  "These little friends are clover clamps," she held them up for DJ to see.  "Heavy, and if you pull the chain they get tighter.  These, though," she held up a smaller set, "are probably better for today.  They slide on and tighten up with these little screws.  Better for a first time, I think.  Unless y'all would rather go big."

DJ

"Very pleasant." She agreed, body responding to the blonde. Her heart thundered when Jo brought out two different sets of clamps and explained both of them. She looked between them and then back up at Jo's face. She didn't want to let her down. DJ so very badly wanted to be good. She glanced between the clamps again then then let out a short puff of air. "I can go big, Miss." She finally said, determined to prove herself.

Jo

Jo waited patiently, letting DJ make her own decision.  For a first experience she didn't plan on forcing anything that the other girl wasn't comfortable with.  "As long as you're sure, sweetheart.  If they're too much, that won't disappoint me.  You, your safety and your comfort always come first when y'all are in this room.  Let's start with one, and y'all can tell me how it feels."  Crouching slightly, Jo breathed over her nipple and pulled it gently between her teeth.  Only when it was stiff enough did she lift one of the clamps, scissoring it open and closing it again on DJ's nipple.  She was keyed up, watching for any sort of negative reaction.

DJ

"I want to try for you, Miss." It was a challenge, to not be able to run her fingers through Jo's hair as the blonde paid attention to one of her nipples. It stiffened under the watchful eye and mouth of the Domme and she whimpered softly. As the clamp was put onto her nipple, she winced. It tugged her nipple and the weight of it meant that it was pulling downwards causing a slight hiss to escape. DJ took a few deep breaths and then nodded her head. "It's okay. I can do it, Miss."

Jo

"Then you may try, Darlin'."  She would never take that chance from DJ, the chance to be brave and try something new.  Her little moans and whimpers were lovely, but Jo's attention was firmly fixed on DJ as she closed the clamp on her.  The hiss, the wince, all of it, she took it all in and kept a watchful eye.  "Alright, my brave girl.  Then let's do it one more time."  She lavished the same attention on DJ's other breast, settling the clamp on her nipple and pulling away once more.  "God, y'all look good with those on," she beamed.  "Just gorgeous, darlin'."

DJ

Anytime Jo said anything that somehow claimed DJ, it caused her heart to flutter. And she never wanted that feeling to end. It was too good. She just hoped that she could offer Jo even half of the good feelings that Jo gave her. As the second clamp was put on, she hissed once again, breathing through the suddenness of it and then allowing the consistency to keep her in the moment. "I'm happy it pleases you, my Miss."

Jo

"Most everythin' you do pleases me, my girl.  But most of all the way that you're willin' to try.  To do things that are new, that you might not like.  Because I know you'll be safe, and that you'll tell me if somethin's wrong."  Jo toyed carefully with the clamps, wanting DJ to experience the sensations that came along with that.  "Now, do you think you can guess why I left your panties on?"

DJ

"I'm happy to hear that, Miss. And I know that I'm safe with you...it's why I'm so willing to try new things even if I'm nervous about it." DJ explained, wanting her to know it was because of her. As Jo toyed with the clamps, she gasped and moaned, her body arching as best as it could in the air. At the question, she bit down on her bottom lip, glancing down at the panties that were still on. "Because they're so pretty?" She questioned, glancing back up at the Domme.

Jo

"Y'all have no idea how good that is to hear, darlin'.  Because I always want you to know that you are.  That nothin' is ever going to happen to you to make you unsafe as long as you're with me."  The reaction from DJ when she played with the clamps was a nice encouragement to keep going.  "Mmm, that's a good guess.  They are very pretty, and even better because they're on you.  But that's not why."  As she flicked one of the clamps, Jo leaned in to whisper in her ear.  "Because by the time they come off they're going to be soaked.  And I want to enjoy the visual."

DJ

"I know. I know that here in thsi room...in this town...in any other town we may venture to, that I am so safe with you. I have never questioned that." She whined as Jo whispered in her ear, her body rushing to help Jo's words become a reality. "Fuck...Miss. I have no doubt. You always make me...so...very wet. Even when you're not around." DJ breathed out slowly. She wanted to at least give back some of what she got in the teasing department.

Jo

Jo came close to tearing up then, which would have put a damper on the scene, but it made her heart swell in her chest to know that she was trusted so completely.  "I'm glad, my girl.  So glad."  DJ's words sent a hot shiver through her, and she chuckled in a low voice.  "Someone's a little feisty today, huh?  That's alright, I like that.  I like all the parts of you."  She brought her hand down in a slap across DJ's ass, not hard but enough to be felt.  "I like that part a lot."

DJ

She giggled when Jo called her out on being feisty. It was nice that she was seemingly enjoying the tiny bit of attitude she had put on. It wasn't much but it was something. Hearing Jo say that she liked all parts of her, she blushed slightly. She adored her so much. She gasped at the slap to her ass, causing her to swing just a touch and causing the clamps to pull on her nipples a little bit more. "Fuck...my ass likes you back, Miss."

Jo

"I should hope so," Jo teased.  "It's turning a bit red already, so it must like me."  She delivered a few more slaps, still firm but not painful.  "It's really convenient the way y'all swing out and then right back to me.  Should keep you like this more often."  There was a smile in her voice, and shew knew Jo would hear it.  "I'm goin' to grab a little battery powered friend of mine.  Before we get started, a little reminder of the rules - you don't cum unless and until I say so.  You're allowed to beg - heck, y'all are encouraged to beg - but if it happens without my permission there'll be consequences.  Understood?"

DJ

She giggled at Jo's words. "You can keep me however you want me." Part of DJ wanted to ask what the consequences would be, but she didn't. She held back, showing some restraint. She didn't need to know what it was to know that she didn't want it, simply because a consequence meant that she had disappointed Jo. "I understand, Miss. I will do my best to be good."

Jo

Jo's eyes widened playfully.  "Oh, don't make promises like that, darlin'.  Otherwise you're liable to find yourself tied to my bed all day and bein' used every time the mood strikes me."  Which actually sounded like a hell of a day, come to think of it.  "I don't want ya to think of it in those terms," Jo shook her head, voice softening.  "Y'all are always good.  Because I know that if you slip up you'll take your punishment like a good girl.  Mistakes don't mean y'all aren't good."

DJ

She shook her head slightly. "I meant what I said, Miss. You said that you wanted me to be yours. I want to be yours. So I am yours to use and place wherever you want, whenever you want...as long as I'm not under other orders. I want to be that for you." It would reinforce the fact that she was Jo's if she was treated that way. She furrowed her eyebrows, confused and a little chastised when Jo said she didn't want her to think of it that way. She listened closely to what Jo had to say and then nodded. "Okay, Miss."

Jo

Jo shivered, a tremble running up her spine at the thought of spending a day like that, having DJ completely under her power to use any way that she liked.  "Y'all have no idea what you do to me, darlin' girl.  How you make me feel things that I...I don't even know how to explain.  But I promise you, one weekend when I can have y'all to myself for 48 hours we're gonna make something like that happen."  She was glad to see DJ really listen to what she was saying, taking it in.  "Good girl.  Now, let's get to the fun part." Taking the magic wand in hand, Jo turned it on low and began to run it in slow paths up and down DJ's body.  Starting at the back of her neck, running it slowly down her spine until it buzzed against the cloth covering her ass and then back up again, covering her sides and then her front - where she stopped to press the toy against heavy nipple clamps and send vibrations right through them into DJ's breasts.

DJ

She bit down lightly at the sight of the magic wand, a slow sigh pulling from her lips as Jo began to move the toy along her body. It caused a pleasant buzz throughout her body, the small hairs along her body standing to attention with every swipe of the toy. Her eyes fluttered shut, enjoying the touch along her body and because her eyes were closed, the touch against her nipples cause a jerk and a startled gasp. "Oh..fuck."

Jo

"That's my girl.  Just hang there, take it all in, and know that I've got y'all.  I'll get ya where ya need to go...almost.  Tell me how it feels.  Hanging there, can't put your feet down, can't stop anything that's going to happen."  She pressed the wand to each clamp in turn, a little more firmly, wanting to see how it would affect DJ.  "I like that, those clamps are a fun addition."

DJ

Hearing that Jo wanted her to tell her how it felt,  she paused and bit down on her bottom lip. "It feels good, Miss. Better than I thought it would. I think what I like the most is the fact that I can't stop anything physically. I just have to take whatever you give me and be grateful for it." The end of the sentence was forced out as the wand pressed against the clamps again, harder, causing her body to shake with a whine.

Jo

DJ's description was exactly what Jo wanted to hear.  The suspension was designed to be a little bit difficult, but not unpleasant - a loss of control, a way to give in and just accept whatever a Dominant had in mind.  "That's what I like about it too," Jo confessed, grinning at the whine that the toy produced.  "If I want to play with those clamps y'all have to take it, or if I wanna do this..." she pushed the head of the toy between DJ's legs and held it tightly against her, "then y'all have to take that too."

DJ

She yelped as the toy pressed into the sensitive flesh of her sex, her body jerking at the press. It was almost too much to handle, wetness somehow enhancing the feeling. "F-fuck, Miss." If this was how Jo was going to play the entire time, she was going to have a terribly difficult time not falling over the edge.

Jo

"That's the idea, darlin' girl.  In my own particular way, at at least.  I'm going to take you right up to the edge, and then I'm going to let y'all fall down again.  Until those cute panties are soaked through and you're a blubbering mess for me."  She moved the toy, running it up and down DJ's legs and over the soles of her feet.  "And it'll be beautiful."

DJ

"I'm already soaked, Miss." Her toes curled and her body fought against the ticklish sensation on her feet. She may have to add that to her limits at some point, because it did nothing for her other than make her try to get away. It was an uncomfortable feeling that churned her stomach a little bit.

Jo

"Mmm, not enough for my taste," Jo shook her head.  The look on DJ's face wasn't quite what Jo had expected, and she held the toy away from her body for a moment.  "Was that not alright, darlin'?  I can stay away from your feet if y'all would rather."

DJ

It wasn't a surprise that Jo had noticed the look on her face and she thought it over. "I...I think I might have something to add to my limits, Miss. It...that wasn't nice." She breathed out, trying to shrug off the weird feeling. "I'm sorry."

Jo

"Nothing to apologize for.  That's a good girl for letting me know, and we'll make sure that we stay away from that kinda thing in the future.  Take a few deep breaths for me, in and out, and let me know if we need to pause, please."

DJ

She took a slow deep breath as she was ordered to, closing her eyes for a moment to gather herself before they opened again. "Can um...can I just please have a kiss?" She questioned, feeling a bit vulnerable and silly and needing something to ground her. She didn't know if Jo would accept, but she had to ask.

Jo

Jo waited patiently, toggling the toy into the off position as DJ did what she'd been ordered to.  "You may, darlin'.  Thank you for asking for what you need."  Stepping closer, she wrapped an arm around DJ's waist and pulled her in for a long, slow kiss.  Jo let it linger, keeping their lips pressed together as long as possible.

DJ

"Thank you, Miss." She breathed out slowly, eyes closing again when the Domme's arm wrapped around her. Her body slowly lost is tension as Jo's lips pressed against her own, whining softly and taking advantage of whatever she could get. The kiss was a balm and the uncomfortable feeling within her stomach slowly gave way to the comfort of being with Jo once more.

Jo

"You're welcome, Dalia," Jo smiled, running a hand through dark hair.  "I'm so glad that ya told me it wasn't workin' for you so we could reset.  That's what I'd want, every time."  She kissed DJ again, on the cheek, and patted her gently on the back.  "Are y'all ready to start again?"

DJ

"I like when you call me that." It was different. Having someone that wasn't family call her by her name like that. But..if things kept the way that they were going, Jo would be family, and so...it was nice. A wonderful stop to the beautiful possibly future that awaited them if they kept on the same track. "I'm ready, Miss."

Jo

"Yeah?" Jo's smile turned a little bit bashful.  "I like calling you that - not all the time, but sometimes it just feels right.  So I'm glad it's somethin' you enjoy."  When DJ confirmed she was ready to begin, Jo turned the toy on once again and began to trace circular patterns on the skin of DJ's abdomen.

DJ

"Mhm. It feels really good with you, my Miss. I'll...explain to you why another time. When I'm not hung up for you. Just...hung up on you." She said with a giggle, breathing out slowly when Jo turned the wand back on. The wand against her stomach felt so much better then on her feet.

Jo

Jo's sudden laugh was undignified and if they'd been doing a final or something it probably would have gotten their grade knocked down.  But they weren't, they were doing a scene together in private and she could laugh at the joke if she wanted to.  "Sounds like a fair deal, darlin'."  With that behind them she began to move the wand around again, down to DJ's hips and up to the clamps before once more pressing it against her clit.

DJ

The laugh from the Domme caused a bright smile to form on her lips and she giggled in return. She adored her. So very much. And these feelings just continued to grow as time moved forward. "I'm very glad that you think so, Miss." She whined as the wand pressed against her clit, her body rocking into it as it fell into the rhythm it had been in before the touch to her feet. "So...so fucking good."

Jo

"That's my girl," Jo smirked, reaching around to place one hand on DJ's back to be sure she didn't swing away as they were enjoying the moment.  "You sound so good when you're needy.  And we're going to make you very needy."  She moved the head of the wand back and forth, side to side, but never took the pressure away from DJ's clit even for a second.  "Just gorgeous."

DJ

Her hands clenched against the rods that she was holding onto, her body shaking as the continued pressure against her clit caused pressure to coil within her. "F-fuck, Miss Jo..please." She breathed out, her toes curling, for a good reason this time. She was no fool, she had no true belief that Jo would let her cum this early; but the blonde had asked for begging, and DJ wasn't one that liked to disappoint. "Please, Miss Jo. Pl-please let me cum. I'm so wet. For you and only you. Always you. Please...fuck...it's so fucking good, Miss. I need...please."

Jo

DJ's begging was indescribably good, and Jo felt desire coursing through her.  But that didn't change her plans, and after a moment or two of it she pulled the toy away with a smirk.  "No, darlin', you can't.  See, y'all don't need yet.  Ya want.  That's a very different thing.  But don't worry, we'll get to need in time."  She leaned in for a kiss, flicking the clamps still dangling from her nipples.  The toy, buzzing in her hand, traced another loop around DJ's body.  "I'm sure it's hard to think right now, but I've got a game.  I'm goin' to press this toy to your clit for ten seconds at a time., and stop for ten seconds, and then go again.  If you can make it to sixty seconds on without cummin' y'all can have a treat.  If not, then you'll have to earn one.  How's that?"

DJ

She whimpered when Jo pulled the wand away and denied her from cumming, her body shaking. When she heard Jo express what would be needed in order for DJ to be able to get a reward, she clenched her jaw. Orgasm denial was still something that she was working on, mostly with Jo, and it felt like a big ask. But she didn't want to not try. "I'll try to be g---." She cut herself off when she remembered the Domme's words from earlier. "I'll do my best."

Jo

"Good girl," Jo praised very clearly when DJ cut off a sentence that she would have disagreed with.  "That's all I ever ask from y'all, darlin'.  No more, and no less.  I'm not going to be mad or upset if you slip up.  Take a deep breath with me, in and out," she demonstrated.  "And we'll begin."  She stood behind DJ now, reaching around to press the toy against her clit and counting to ten.

DJ

Her bottom lip trembled when Jo said that she wouldn't be upset or mad and she let out a shaky breath. "Okay, Miss. Okay." She still didn't want to disappoint the Domme and was going to do her best not to. As she wand pressed back against her, her toes curled and her eyes shut, fighting against the pleasure.

Jo

"That's my girl.  You're so brave, and so special, and y'all are gonna do great for me.  Whatever happens."  She pulled off the toy at the ten second mark, taking a break.  "Ten second break.  Take a breath, darlin'.  You're a sixth of the way there."

DJ

Her bottom lip trembled again and she tried to think of anything that would keep her from falling over the edge. She needed to do this. Needed to keep herself from falling over the edge.

Jo

"Breathe," Jo reminded her.  "And if y'all can't do this, DJ, if you can't hold on and it's going to bother you to give in, then safeword for me please.  There's no harm in it.  We'll pause, we'll reevaluate, and we'll see if there's somethin' else that we both might enjoy.  That is okay, that's what a scene is all about, okay?"

DJ

She breathed in deeply, letting Jo's words wash over her. "I don't need to safeword. I'm okay." She expressed, swallowing harshly. Of course it would bug her if she failed, but she could continue. She needed to prove this to herself in some way or another.

Jo

"All right," Jo agreed.  "It's on the table if y'all need it, darlin'."  Jo pressed the toy to her once more, counting to ten and pulling away once more.  "A third of the way there, darlin' girl.  You're gonna do this.  I know it.  I've got faith in you."  After a ten second break she pressed the toy to DJ again.

DJ

Hearing that Jo had faith in her made her want to succeed so very badly. Her eyes were still closed as she tried to keep her breathing steady and her body from falling over the edge. Each touch became more and more difficult, her body trying desperately to pull away but being completely at the mercy of the Domme.

Jo

Jo was keeping a careful eye on DJ as they played, knowing that there was a risk of subdrop if she were to fail and cum too soon.  So there was no lingering with the toy, no teasing past the ten second mark, and it was crucial that each ten second break was exactly ten seconds.  After the third and fourth times she leaned in closer to murmur in DJ's ear.  "Twenty seconds left, my girl.  Just twenty seconds.  You can do this."

DJ

Her body was tense, was aching. Her hands felt like they would never unwrap from the rod she was holding on to, due to how tight she was gripping it. When Jo told her that there was twenty seconds left, she whimpered and nodded her head. Jo said that she could do it and she was going to make sure that she did.

Jo

"You're doing so great, my darlin'.  So great.  You're almost there."  She counted out ten more seconds, and took a final break.  She didn't wait or hesitate, nothing that would make it more difficult for DJ to succeed.  "Ten...nine...eight...seven..." she counted down, the toy pressed tightly against DJ's clit.  "Three...two...one...done!" she pulled the wand way, turning it off and tossing it onto the couch.  "Y'all did it!" she cheered.  "My girl, I'm so damn proud of you!"

DJ

Her body loosened when Jo said that she was all done, every nerve ending feeling like it was going to explode. She was sore and she was wet. So very, very wet. She whimpered and nodded when the Domme said she was proud, smiling softly. "Happy that I could make you proud." DJ expressed honestly, biting down on her bottom lip.

Jo

"You always make me proud, my girl.  I'm goin' to let you down now, very slowly.  You won't fall, I'll take care of you.  Just keep your hands on those bars and I'll make sure y'all don't fall."  Once she was sure that DJ was ready, she unhooked the rope from the pulley and lowered her until DJ could sit down on the floor.  "Breathe for me, sweetheart.  Do y'all need a drink while I get you untied?"

DJ

She had no doubt that Jo would keep her safe, but her feet meeting the floor again was still an eextremely odd feeling. When she met the ground, she swallowed deeply. "Please." She breathed out when the Domme asked if she needed a drink.

Jo

"Of course, darlin'."  She dipped into the kitchen for a cold bottle of water.  Taking a seat beside DJ, Jo unbuckled one of her hands and pressed the opened water into it.  "I've got ya, my girl.  I'm so proud of you for not cummin' without permission, no matter how much I teased you."

DJ

When her one hand was unbuckled it took a moment for her to feel confident enough to grab the bottle, but once she was she lifted it to her lips and took a long sip, letting it soothe her. Water was something her fathers had always used as a means of helping their children relax.

Jo

Jo unbuckled the other cuff, setting it aside and gently rubbing DJ's wrist.  "I think those panties are appropriately soaked now," she murmured, resting her head against DJ's.  "My darlin' girl.  You've earned yourself such a reward.  So why don't you finish that bottle, take a minute, and decide how you'd like to cum.  Because you're going to cum."

DJ

The submissive shivered when Jo said that she was going to cum, breathing out slowly. She was almost too sore to even think about actually cumming. But she paused and drank as she was told to do so, thinking about what might be best. "Your mouth please, Miss Jo?"

Jo

"My mouth it is," Jo agreed easily.  She reached up and pushed damp hair back from DJ's eyes.  "Y'all did so good for me.  I know how worried you were, and how much it took out of you, but when it came to it you made it through.  How did denial feel?  Is it somethin' you liked, or somethin' we should take off the list for next time?"

DJ

"I think I need practice with it, Miss. I don't want to take it off the table. I want to get better." DJ admitted, glancing at the Domme and leaning her head against the hand with a soft breath.

Jo

"Then that's what we'll do.  I know I pushed y'all really hard today, and maybe we should have started off a little smaller."  That was a mistake as a Dominant, and one that she'd fix for the next time.  "But you will get better.  Before you know it, it'll be second nature.  But we did find a new limit for y'all today, and that's good - the more we can learn about what's good for you and what isn't, the more fun we can have."

DJ

"It's okay, Miss. I don't mind being pushed. I'll get cuddles after this right?" She didn't think she could handle being alone after that scene. Not that she really wanted to be alone after any scene. Hearing Jo say that she was sure she would get better  she smiled softly. "Willing to help me get better, Miss?" She knew the answer, but it would be nice to hear.

Jo

It was difficult to imagine as perfect a submissive as DJ.  Jo had nearly given up on the whole idea of being a Domme after the wide, but DJ had brought that part of her back to life.  She was energetic, brave, and willing, and helped fill the gaps in what Jo knew and wanted.  "Darlin', you will have all the cuddles you can stand."  Smoothing her damp hair back again, Jo kissed her forehead.  "Always.  Every day.  If y'all will have me, I will help you in any way I can."

DJ

She smiled at the thought of getting all of the cuddles and sighed at the kiss. Jo was perfect. Not in that she was a perfect person, because no one was, but as in she hit every box that DJ wanted in a Domme...in someone to spend forever with. She was patient, strong, genuine, open, willing to help. She was just amazing. "Every day." She repeated, a small little promise that meant everything.

Jo

Jo's smile lit up the room at that.  She knew what that word meant, the thousands of words it didn't say, and it made her heart race and her mind draw elaborate fantasies of a future that they would have to work toward together.  There was one more kiss, and then Jo pressed her hand to DJ's cheek.  "Are you ready for your reward, darlin' girl?"

DJ

"I am, Miss." She agreed with a nod and a bright smile. She was still aching, but not in the same painful way as earlier. And knowing she was going to be allowed to cum made all the difference in how she felt about continuing. Especially because it was a reward for pleasing Jo.

Jo

"That's my girl.  Lie down for me, please."  She cleared the ropes and cuffs away, giving DJ room to lie comfortably on her back.  "I'm afraid these are very ruined," she indicated the sopping panties that DJ was still clad in.  "But I also admit I'm not sorry."  Jo peeled them off slowly, setting the sodden fabric aside with a smile.  "Cum when the urge hits you, DJ, you don't need my permission."  She took up position between long legs, kissing her way upward until she could run her tongue the length of DJ's slit and hummed at the taste of her.

DJ

DJ rested on her back, the coolness shocking her for just a moment before she relaxed once again. She giggled at Jo's words, shaking her head. "I don't believe you're sorry for a second." When Jo continued, she bodded. "That's more like it, my Miss." She lifted her hips slightly to allow for Jo to pull off her completely ruined panties. "Thank you, Miss Jo." DJ breathed as the Domme told her that she didn't need permission to cum. She hummed as Jo kissed up her legs, enjoying the feeling of her lips on her skin. As Jo's tongue brushed through her folds, her hips arched and she moaned loudly.

Jo

Jo could have happily taken her time, tasting DJ until she was a sobbing mess - and another day, she would.  The fact was, though, she had pushed her submissive far enough for one day.  So rather than lingering, she traced another quick path up through the girl's soaked folds until Jo could take her clit between her lips.  She was gentle and soft, but the determined licks of her tongue and the way her lips squeezed the stiff bundle of nerves were designed to help DJ over the line without too much of a delay.

DJ

Her toes curled and her hands fought against the urge to curl in Jo's hair. She hadn't asked for that, didn't know if she had permission, and she didn't want to ruin this. And she also wasn't sure that she could get the words out, especially not as the Domme's full focus moved to her clit. She was soaked, needy, aching, and each flick and suck drew her closer to the edge until she fell over. Jo's name and title were ripped from her lips as her body shook through the intensity of her orgasm.

Jo

If her mouth hadn't been otherwise occupied, Jo would have smiled as she felt (and heard) DJ cum.  It was an incredibly well-deserved orgasm, and Jo was happy to have provided it.  Her tongue never stopped its attentions until she was sure she'd wrung every drop of pleasure from DJ's body.  Only then did she pull away, licking her lips and lying down beside the submissive.  "Such a wonderful good girl for me.  I hope that reward felt worth it for y'all."

DJ

"So worth it, my Miss." Her breathing was heavy, her body covered in a light sheen of sweat, and her thighs were covered with the evidence of her arousal and her orgasm. "Thank you, my Miss. You are always so, so wonderful to me." DJ expressed, a dazed smile forming on her lips as she looked up at the Domme.

Jo

"I'm glad to hear it.  That's the most important thing, after all, that the reward is suitable for the effort put in.  Y'all put in a lot of effort today."  She stole a quick kiss.  "You're so very welcome, my darlin' girl.  I'm only as wonderful as you deserve from me. "  Jo smiled.  "Why don't you tell me what y'all need right now?  Everything's on the table - food, water, a nice bath complete with cuddles.  And we'll get to all those things, just tell me where you'd like to start."

DJ

The kiss caused a warmth throughout her and she grinned widely. "A bath and cuddles sounds really nice right now, please, Miss. But I think I might be a little bit wobbly on my feet still." DJ said honestly, wanting the Domme to know what was going on with her.

Jo

"A bath and cuddles you shall have then, darlin'.  And don't you worry about that, I'll take care of you."  She moved into a kneeling position, scooping up Dalia in her arms and carrying her toward the bathroom in a bridal carry.  "Going to sit you on the edge of the tub here, to wait.  If you feel dizzy, you tell me."

DJ

She gasped softly when Jo picked her up, her arms winding around the Domme's neck. DJ was lanky, felt like she was oddly proportioned and she hadn't thought anyone would lift her like this. It was nice. The coldness of the edge of the tub was a shock, but she breathed through it. "I'm okay, Miss."

Jo

Jo stole another kiss - something that she just couldn't seem to help doing with DJ.  She was so damned kissable, so damned attractive, and such a perfect submissive for her.  She ran a warm bath, liberally adding bubbles and bath salts until the resulting concoction would be sure to relax them both, and offered DJ a hand up.  "I'll let y'all step in first, okay?  I've got a hold of you, so you won't fall.  I'd never let you."

DJ

The kiss caused a smile to form on her face and she watched with adoration as the Domme went about preparing the bath for the both of them, humming softly as the smell of bubbles and bathsalts filtered through her nose. She grasped Jo's hand when the Domme offered it and then carefully stepped into the bath. She trusted that Jo wouldn't let her fall as she took a seat.

Jo

Once DJ was seated, Jo stripped off and climbed into the tub behind her, placing her legs around DJ and letting her lean back.  "Perfect," she murmured, the warm water surrounding her and the warm body against her own combining to fill her with bliss.  "How are you feelin' now, darlin' girl?  You comin' back to me?"  She would keep a very close eye on any possible subdrop, especially after such an intense scene.

DJ

When Jo settled behind her and had her lean back, she smiled. She felt so good wrapped up in Jo's arms. She felt safe and happy. She turned her head so that she could nuzzle into Jo's neck and she sighed softly. "My legs still feel a little bit like jello and my hands are a bit sore. But I'm okay other than that, my Miss. You have taken very good care of me. Thank you...for being so amazing."

Jo

Jo felt the soft nuzzle and smiled, reaching up to play with DJ's hair.  "You don't ever have to thank me for takin' care of you, sweetheart.  That's my whole job.  One that I plan on doin' for a really long time."  She breathed in happily, picturing what such a thing might look like.  "We'll keep a close eye on your hands and make sure they don't blister or anything, and I'm sure you'll get your legs back under you soon.  Until then we're goin' to lay right here and relax."

DJ

When Jo began to play with her hair, she whimpered softly. The feeling was so nice and so calming, and she didn't want it to stop. She was happy to stay there against her Domme until the water went cold. She kissed her neck gently. "You do your job very well, my Miss. And I am so excited to spend a very long time with you as you continue to be amazing."

Jo

"And you do yours just as well, darlin' girl.  I want you to always know that, to know how good a submissive you are for me.  You're willing to grow, to learn, to push yourself and to speak up when something isn't for you.  You're so good for me, and I'm excited to see just how much more perfect y'all can get."

DJ

She sighed and smiled at the words that Jo was speaking. It helped ease some of the worries and insecurities that DJ carried with her. She knew that there was still plenty of time for Jo to find something and someone better for her than DJ, but right now Jo thought that she was the right one and she would sit in that for as long as she could.

Jo

"My girl," Jo breathed, holding her close.  "For as long as you'll have me."  She wasn't foolish enough to think that the road would always be smooth, or that DJ wouldn't have all kinds of suitors who wanted to claim her, but for now they both agreed on where they were going.  "Tell me.  If we move to Bay, how do ya picture a typical day?"

DJ

She hummed softly at the Domme's words. "I'll wake up first. I'll shower and get ready and then start on breakfast while you get up and ready for the day. We'll eat and clean up and then head to work. You'll be kicking all sorts of butt running the hotel. And I could be helping too? But if not then I'll have my own job somewhere maybe." She expressed softly, thinking things over. "When work is done, we will spend some time with one another and then have dinner. I'll cook or we'll order. Somewhere in there I'll do whatever chores you have for me. And then at the end of the night...I'll curl up with you and be so very happy to be yours."

Jo

Jo's smile could not have been any bigger.  "You will absolutely be helpin' at the hotel.  Not going to let that degree of yours go to waste, and you're much too smart to take a lesser job.  That sounds like an absolutely perfect life, my girl.  And a few times a week we're going to go down to the beach and just watch the water for a little while.  And it'll be the most peaceful thing that I've ever known.  Just me and my girl."

DJ

She grinned and nodded. "That sounds perfect." She breathed out slowly, the idea of that future leaving all sorts of pleasure in the pit of her body. "Miss Jo?" She questioned, "Do you see a future with or without children?"

Jo

Jo bit down on her lip for a moment, thinking over the question.  "I'm not sure, darlin'.  Me and Ry and Q, we...didn't have the best parents.  And it makes me worry about bein' the same as them.  But that's also what I worried about in terms of being a Dominant, and I think I've avoided being anything like him so far.  So I'd be open to the idea.  Are kids somethin' you picture going forward?"

DJ

"I'm not sure either." She uttered gently, biting down on her bottom lip. "When I was younger, I didn't want them because I was convinced that I would be too busy with my siblings and helping them. I don't know why I thought that way  but I did." She paused and then cleared her throat. "But I think I might be open to it as well. And I don't think you would be anything like your own parents."

Jo

"Because that's the kind of person y'all are.  You'd put them first, want them to be taken care of.  But you know now that they'll be able to take care of themselves."  At least that was how Jo read it.  "I'm glad ya think so, Dalia.  It's always scared me, because I'd never want a child to live with parents like mine.  But I know how good a Mom you'd be, and I know that they'd be so happy to have one like you."

DJ

She bit down on her bottom lip. "What do...what do you think would happen if you found another submissive that you wanted to claim? Or...if you found another Dom or Switch that you wanted to date?" DJ questioned, glancing up at the Domme. "Like...would kids in the family still be considered mine or?"

Jo

Jo leaned forward a little, wanting to make sure that she could make good eye contact with DJ.  "Whatever may happen in the distant future with a possible second submissive, or someone I may want to date, any of that, you're my first.  You will be my first claim, and the family that we may have will be ours.  Anyone else who might become a part of our family, those kids wouldn't be theirs.  They'd be ours, yours and mine."

DJ

It wasn't completely what she was asking, especially if the second claim happened before they left the institute and if Jo found someone she wanted to date before they graduated. But she nodded her head and offered a slight smile. "Okay, Miss." She curled up and nuzzled back into the Domme's neck with a slight huff of breath.

Jo

It seemed apparent that it wasn't a satisfying answer, and Jo ran her fingers through dark locks once more.  "Was there somethin' else you wanted to ask, darlin' girl?  The floor is all yours, anything that's on your mind.  I never want you to feel like you can't talk to me."

DJ

She shook her head at Jo's words. "It's okay, Miss. It's all more or less things that we'll just have to figure out if someone else comes into the picture. It's okay. I don't know why my brain went in that direction." DJ mused, closing her eyes and sighing softly.

Jo

"Brains are funny things, aren't they?  I can promise you this right now, though, if it helps: I want you to be mine.  If we ever have anyone else with us, they will be treated equally to you - no exceptions.  You would never be loved less, you would never be asked for more.  But honestly, DJ, I'm not in the market right now.  Y'all are my focus, and my priority.  If anyone else were to ever come along we could both live with, we'll have that talk when the time comes."

DJ

She nodded in agreement and let out a slow breath. "Very weird things. Not always enjoyable things." DJ replied, swallowing harshly. As Jo began to make her promise, DJ felt emotion welling up within her as she listened closely. It was important that she heard this, necessary to help settle things and she smiled. "You are my focus and my priority too, Miss."

Jo

Jo softly kissed the crown of her head.  "When your brain is bein' mean, DJ, you come to me.  Doesn't matter if you're not under orders, doesn't matter what else is happening that day.  Y'all come to me, and we'll work out whatever bad things it's tryin' to tell you."  She smiled, always relieved to hear that.  "That's all I want to know, darlin'."

DJ

"I will, Miss." She said softly. But she knew that there would be times when she needed Jo and she was busy with someone else. And she was going to have to deal with that. They couldn't change it. She was happy when Jo seemed pleased by her considering the Domme, because it was true.

Jo

"Good girl.  Anytime means just that," she reminded her.  She pulled DJ more tightly against her, inhaling the sweet smell of her shampoo combined with the scents she'd used in the bath.  Jo felt at home, right there in the tub with DJ in her arms, and looked forward to many days and nights just like it.  "Feelin' coming back to your legs?" Jo checked with a smile.  "Not so wobbly now?"

DJ

"Okay." She agreed. "Not so wobbly, Miss. And my hands haven't been hurting very much." She smiled and kissed the Domme's neck. She didn't want to leave the safety and comfort of this bubble, even though she knew that she would need to eventually.

Jo

The little kiss was enough to make her heart beat faster, just another reminder of the power that DJ seemed to have over her - power that Jo didn't mind giving up at all.  "We'll make sure we put some lotion on it after the bath, just in case they got rubbed a little raw.  I know you were hangin' on there pretty tight, after all."  She let out a contented sigh.  "I think we order in dinner.  Somethin' fatty and full of calories, to replace all those ones you burned.  And then I cuddle you in front of the tv and we watch a movie.  How does that sound?"

DJ

"That sounds good, my Miss. I think that will help a lot." DJ breathed, a smile forming on her lips. "That sounds perfect, Miss Jo. I'm very excited to spend the rest of the night with you." So far, she hadn't had to do a scene with Jo and then not spend the night with her and she was grateful for that fact.

Jo

"We'll keep a close eye on 'em, too, just in case."  If bruises had formed or anything, Jo would stay on top of it.  "My nights are a million times better with you here, DJ, so I'm always going to want y'all to stay with me."

[magaprima]

Part 2 Episode 3 Thoughts (post 3/?)

When we first see the cottage, from Lilith’s point of view, we see that Adam has gone home to literally cover the entire place in romantic lighting, with red candles everywhere, and then there’s all these bouquets of red roses (which he obviously went out and bought after leaving the office), and has put on some romantic-dinner sounding music, he has cleaned and tidied, and basically he has tried to make the place look amazing and romantic for her arrival and, quite frankly, seems to have gone overboard. In other posts, including my previous episode post, I said how I believe Adam suspected Mary had had an affair, and that’s why she looked so different and seemed so surprised and reluctant to see him (it’s a more much likely conclusion than Mary has been killed and this in fact the Mother of Demons who is now pretending to be her). And so he is going overboard in trying to rekindle everything, to make up for being gone so long (he does constantly reference that as if he blames himself for anything that happened due to being away), and to remind ‘Mary’ of their love for each other. Adam is clearly trying to be Mr Romantic and I think, for someone in a long term relationship with him and being a mortal, would see this room of candles and flowers and music and feel very touched, and even swept of her feet.

But we have Lilith. Who walks into this room of romance like a wild cat who is suspicious of the plate of food that has been left out for them. She calls out ‘hello?’ in a way reminiscent of victims in horror movies, and is clearly very much on guard and on edge. She’s keeping to the perimeter of the room, her back against the wall, nervous, wary and suspicious. She looks like she expects Adam to suddenly attack and I think it’s very revealing of all her previous experiences with men. Lilith remembers the first Adam (the man we all presume she’s referring to when she says ‘he was only ever cruel’) and his behaviour and the way he treated her, and we also know her ‘relationship’ with Lucifer is a violent and abusive one, and odds are most men, warlock, mortal or demon, have treated her, or at least tried, to treat her in the same abusive, dismissive way. 

I mean Lilith is extremely powerful, she’s strong, she’s commanding, and yet here she is acting hesitant, defensive, all because of the sudden presence of a man being forced into her life. She has all the markers of someone who has experiences emotional, physical or sexual abuse at the hand of a man, and so is immediately like a frightened, guarded animal when dealing with any of them. 

She instinctively tries to keep a distance from him, but Adam, both in believing her to be his fiancee, and also trying to rekindle a romance he fears has not grown fonder with distance, just goes over to her with the same over-eagerness he had in decorating the cottage, and kisses her almost...urgently. He seems so nervous and tense, and it all goes to support he fears he’s losing her, so he’s trying his best to remind her of their love, to hopefully win her over again. Like, hi, I love you, I tidied up, I made you dinner, please love me too. 

Lilith, obviously, does not reciprocate, but the way she also doesn’t entirely fight back again tells you a lot about her experiences, how, with men, especially First Adam and Lucifer, she has learned not to fight back openly and physically as that always ends up worse. I think her experiences with violent, cruel men are part of the reason why Lilith values the subtle approach so much, because it’s also the tactic that has helped her survive and defeat so much in the past. 

“Why don’t you sit down, honey, and...I’ll give you a neckrub?”

The way she suggests this, the ‘pretty wife’ voice she puts on, the expression on her face; this is exactly what she believes all men expect of the women in their lives, because over the thousands of years, that’s all she’s ever experienced herself and seen for herself. And, sure enough, Adam does agree ‘sure, we’ve got a little time to kill’, which, at this point, only proves to Lilith that Adam is just like the rest and therefore definitely needs to be killed off before she does anything else for the night. 

The way she says his name, her mouth actually contorts into hate. We saw earlier how horrified she was to discover that his name was Adam, and now we’re seeing the disgust the mere mention of it makes her feel. Her memories of her time with the First Adam in the Garden are so violently horrid to her that she can’t even bear the name. 

Also, as she’s massaging him, you can hear she is thinking up a cover story for his sudden disappearance ‘and you’re often out of town travelling’ she declares as she reaches down for the knitting needle she plans to stab him in the neck with. I do love how high she lifts her arm in order to thrust it into his neck, and then he gets up and she just looks so annoyed by this sudden turn of events. She is the embodiment of ‘ffs’ in that moment and I do love it. Especially when she very prettily puts the needle back.

But when Adam says ‘I’ve brought you a gift’, she doesn’t look at him wide-eyed, she doesn’t pretend to be interested, she doesn’t even roll her eyes or sigh or anything; she literally just stares solemnly. Because how often has Lucifer given her ‘gifts’ and how often have they been something that wasn’t a gift at all. Even his gift of returning Stolas to her is tainted (though she doesn’t know that yet) so I imagine it’s not the first time he has used gifts to manipulate her, in the way of, ‘i’ve got you a gift...but you can have it, once you’ve done this task’. And so she doesn’t anticipate this moment with any false excitement or honest boredom. She is just solemn. Because again, this is her learned behaviour from her experiences with men, or more specifically in this case, Lucifer. 

And then to her great surprise Adam produces something she, Lilith, actually likes. She’s immediately interested, and it’s as he’s holding up this doll, that Lilith, for the very first time, is the one to close the distance between them. This is the first time we don’t see her pull back from Adam, but in fact go towards him, because, unexpectedly, he is giving her the exact kind of gift she loves. Something ‘disturbing...but also beautiful’. 

She’s stood close to him and she takes the gift from him carefully, considerately, and we see the very first marks of something indefinable between them as she looks at this doll, and actually speaks entirely honestly to Adam ‘I must admit...I really love it’. She even looks at him to say it, she makes eye contact, smiles; she’s being open here, and we can physically see that, and we have never seen her be open with anyone else so far.  She has known this person five minutes, and already he has done something no one else has; given her a gift she actually loves and without asking something in return. And when Adam replies ‘well I really love you’ and kisses her, she doesn’t tense up or immediately pull back like before. Her eyes do remain open, but as before they were filled with wide eyed surprise and mild horror, now they’re filled with confusion and just a hint of curiosity. 

She seems to be lost in that confusion and curiosity when Adam mentions the Sweetheart’s Dance, because she’s all breathless and ‘oh, well, oh, yes’, and I think she is thinking a thousand thoughts right now; primary of them being how the hell does a mortal man turn up suddenly and manage to get her a gift she actually likes? And I do sort of headcanon, that as this is the first little moment between them, their might even be the hints of thoughts and feelings Lilith had instinctively in reaction to all this that she doesn’t quite understand, which is just adding to her confusion. 

But then she realises she has a way to escape this entirely weird moment; she has to chaperone the dance. She gives the excuse of ‘I’m afraid I’m chaperoning so...’ like ah dang, guess we can’t have this night together. Because I genuinely don’t think Lilith would know what to do. She either kills him or goes through with the dinner, but killing him isn’t quite as appealing anymore, but going through the dinner means acting like Mary and doing mortal romance things, and she’s not sure she can do that either. So yay, high school dance to the rescue. Only Adam, in more of his romantic efforts, seems to think this is the perfect opportunity for them to spend time together, to dance and talk and take a walk down memory lane. 

Lilith’s whole face as she stands there while he walks off, almost looks like Aurora in Sleeping Beauty when she’s told she’s actually a princess; she basically cannot believe what is fucking happening right now. She then turns to look at him and her face is literally ‘are you seriously kidding me? a high school dance is fun??’. Her eyes go back down to the doll, and we see that consideration again but then...she remembers her plans for mass murder, and that is a nice familiar feeling for Lilith, and so we see that old menacing smile. Clearly thinking that murdering half the student body will be a fun way to get her right back on track. 

[whtisholy]

Introducing Mina Harker

── the high council is prepared to hear the story of {  WILHELMINA MURRAY HARKER  }, however, in myth they were once known as {  MINA HARKER  } !  we might of mistaken them as {  MELISA ASLI PAMUK  } . they’re known as a {  VAMPIRE  } while noted as a {  WANDERER  }. appearances may be deceiving, with immortality being so common among supernaturals. this being has walked the earth for { 150+ } years, and their face reflects an age of {  TWENTY FOUR  }. they’re a {  VISITOR  } of estonia and will be residing in {  NARVA  } during their stay of the harvest they shall work by day as a {  SCHOLAR  } to blend in with the mortal crowd. however, at night you might find them {  participating in A SEARCH FOR HER LATE HUSBANDS SHADOW GRACED DESCENDANTS  }. they’re { UNHAPPY } about the harvest, however, they plan to please the high council.

Background

Mina is the adopted daughter of the english scholar Malcolm Murray. Dr. Murray had found her in his travels to eastern Europe, barely a few weeks old and left abandoned, he’d picked her up with every intention to just help her to safety making it to an orphanage even before he had a change of heart and decided to take her back with him when, though after making some attempt to track down her birth parents.

The question of where she’d come from wasn’t often brought up again from then on, she lived a very happy childhood, even though it was always just her and her father, as he had never married.

Dr. Murray brought her up to be as inquisitive as he was, Mina was taught to always question the unknown and dig deeper to be able to find more accuracies in all things. She grew up well educated, and perhaps a little more liberated than other woman of the time due to not having a mother figure in her life, and a father who wasn’t as concerned in the lady like values a woman were expected to have. Though she was kind and compassionate she never hesitated to question societal norms, if they conflicted with her own self worth.

Mina met Jonathan when she was about nineteen, and attending university, he was a tow years ahead of her and though they became friends easily it took some time for him to become endearing to her. They were engaged two years later having settled into a comfortable rhythm. And though their courtship hadn’t been full of passion, she adored him. And the conflict they soon faced together further strengthened their relationship.

Just a few short months away from their wedding, Jonathan had to leave to travel for work. This was the trip that introduced Dracula into their lives. A series of events would lead Jonathan to meeting and taking up residence with the Vampire, during which he would show him by happenstance a picture of her. Only for the Vampire to recognize her face as that of his first wife Elisabetha. 

Unaware of the torment and trauma her fiancé was facing at the hands of the Vampire, Mina continues on living with her best friend Lucy with both her father and fiancé away.

Needing to see her for himself, Vlad arrives to London he begin to keep tabs on her through her friend while he plans for a ‘chance’ run in with her. 

Upon first meeting the Vampire she was actually quite enamored by him, though the feeling as inexplicable to her, and would only grow stronger as she began to recall memories of her past life as Elisabetha.

However, any progress in her recalling the full truth is halted when she gets news of Jonathan’s condition she leaves to be with him right away. Once nursed back to health he reveals to her all that had happened with Dracula. Before they return to London they decide to not wait and get married.

When they do return they learn of all that had happened to Lucy. The vampire hunter Van Helsing enters here and lends them aid along with his men.

However not before he is able to influence her and bite her starting her transition to becoming a vampire. During this time she begins to remember more of her past life, growing incredibly conflicted on what to feel. 

Her husband and Van Helsing however are able to bring her back, Jonathan the anchor that reminds her to remember who she is in this life, and all the reasons she has to hate the man her past self may have loved. 

Soon after she along with the men attempt to end the plight of the count once and for all. It was during this attack that Johnathan was gravely injured. Mina in her grief infused her energy to save his life, leaving him shadow graced and connected to her.

They remained together for sometime after this until she felt her husband pulling away and slowly spiraling into melancholy, the trauma of everything that had happened in that time unable to leave his mind. Realizing things between them could not be the same as before, and perhaps the only way he may recover and life a normal life is if she were to put some distance between them, she leaves him.

Though not completely, she spent much of his lifetime watching over him and lending him aid where she could from afar. When he finally passed she was left hollow and emptier than ever. She spent many years from this point on wandering from place to place, becoming a scholar like her father had been, indulging her fascination with the study of history, and different cultures.

When the harvest was announced she wasn’t too happy to be going to the place where supernatural beings are in power, as she’s always had some disdain for what she’s become, and the idea of being surrounded by so many others isn’t one that particularly excites her. She however recently learned some of her husbands descendants may reside in the city. It was learning of this that ultimately lead her making the trip to Estonia.

Wanted Plots/Connections

Shadow graced mortals whom are descendants of Jonathan Harker. After being apart from him for so many years, it was when he was on his deathbed that she finally met with him after she’d left him. And there sensing his distress of leaving his young children, she promised him she would always look after them, so that he may find peace in the afterlife. Though as the decades fell away she did eventually loose track of them. Having learned one or more of them reside in Estonia she wants to just know they are doing well. Seeing how his line has gone on also brings her some comfort.

Though she’s never quite been able to give her heart to anyone after Jonathan, she has taken some lovers. One plot stemming from that could be someone she met when Jonathan was still alive, who genuinely cared for her whom she could’ve really loved but couldn’t because she was holding herself back.

Friends she’s made in her travels. Perhaps one she could be staying with while visiting Estonia?

Additional Notes

If anyone is interesting in applying for Jonathan Harker I’d be happy to discuss a work around where some events happened differently and Mina only has believes all this time that he died.

character graphic psd credit goes to kstewrpc

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 38: Desiderium

Chapters: 38/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: None Relationships: Loki x Reader (Someday) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Reader, Thor Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Life Comes At You Fast, Loki Has Never Been Known To Keep His Head In A Crisis, Old Ways Die Hard, But You, You Die Easy Summary:  Loki is forced to face the fear of loss.

Medics rushed toward the infirmary, your unconscious body prone on a stretcher between them. Loki cleared a path ahead, barking orders and sometimes physically shoving people out of his way. He didn't know how much time you had. He didn't know if it wasn't already too late.

Panic stole all but a few starkly solid thoughts. The horrible sounds of a fist impacting your delicate flesh, and the startled little squeak you'd made. The thud of your head against the stone floor. Your silence thereafter.

Alarr was a dead man. Loki was going to kill him. Kill him, and dump his body in the river with no memorial. Let him wash ashore downstream, so that the animals might have him.

He hadn't felt this kind of hate, this swirling fury, for years now. He had almost let himself believe that he was past it.

But the part of him that could be driven to murder was still very much alive.

                                                                       *****

It was promising to be a lovely day. His sleep had been blissfully nightmare free, and breakfast had been delicious. You had allowed him to eat with you in your room, while you arranged the new houseplants, planted your new seeds in their little starter pots, and put your new books on your new bookshelf. The space mural had been finished while you were gone: a sparkling star field, sprinkled with nebulae, star clusters, and distant galaxies. It had surprised and pleased you, and Loki had utterly basked in your delight.

He had planned on giving you a lesson in the Asgardian language later that afternoon, but first, there were a handful of petitions to see to; meeting with the Buridag planners, yet more Icelandic environmental specialists, authorities concerned with the growth of the human encampments outside the city, and Alarr wanted something as well. His missive had been addressed to Thor, but it involved Loki, and was apparently of 'utmost importance to keeping peace and order in Asgard', whatever he meant by that. It was probably just another complaint about all the humans outside.

Thor wouldn't be in the throne room today, so Loki had taken you there, to observe more examples of courtly business. And also perhaps just to show off a little what he looked like, sitting upon a throne. But before he could get you seated, Alarr had barged in ahead of everyone, though he was scheduled last. He had barreled into you heedlessly, and you had grabbed him by the arm to keep your balance.

“Pardon me.” You had said, in stilted Asgardian. But Loki had seen Alarr's face twist in disgust, and hadn't moved fast enough. Alarr had struck you across the face so hard that you had spun from the force of it. He hadn't been fast enough to catch you either, as you collapsed, unconscious, to the ground, cracking your head against the hard stone floor.

“Sully not my person with your filth, lowly creature!” Alarr had snarled, though it was obvious you couldn't hear. Then he choked as Loki grabbed him by the throat and flung him to the ground.

“You dare lay hands on my seidkona?” Loki shouted, alerting the guards, one of whom scrambled to the nearest medical station. “I'll see you stretched between horses for this Alarr!”

“You are acting the fool, Laufeyson, can you truly not see?” Alarr roared back, compelled not to rise by the point of a spear leveled at his torso. “You parade this opportunistic hussie around while humans take photos and make mockery of your nobility! You thumb your nose at the traditions that keep order, and do insult to all the noble ladies of Asgard by removing my son from his proper place, and installing your mortal whore in his stead! What does this say to your people? That both of our rulers are so easily seduced, so ready to abandon our own women for these pathetic mortals? She is not worthy, even of you, and yet, you debase yourself with a mortal no more important than a farm animal. How do you dare demand respect?”

The medics had arrived by then, carefully transferring your motionless body to a stretcher.

“Alarr.” Loki growled, rage blossoming like frost inside his ribs. “Were it not for my affections for Andsvarr, I would lay a curse upon your household that would see the Garprlings each wither away in failure and death, sparing you only until the last of your fold was gone, and then, finally, coming for you. Instead, I will settle with you on the field of challenge, two days hence. If you prove craven, I will remove Andsvarr from your family permanently, and set one of your cousins as the head of your household. Go back to your home and prepare yourself. I must away.”

And so he had left, a mere hair away from snapping and murdering Alarr right then and there. If you died, nothing would save the man.

He burst into the infirmary, bellowing for Bjarkhild, who had taken over the situation immediately, and so efficiently that Loki found himself expertly steered into the waiting room and coerced to stay there, upon pain of the lead healer's displeasure.

How did she do that?

Loki paced the room, fury and fear tearing at him. Somehow, he had never expected Alarr to take his displeasure this far. Whether he accepted you or not, perpetuating violence against a member of the royal entourage was an act of treason. Alarr knew that-the man was absolutely steeped in rules and traditions: he had to know the severity of his actions. How had he been allowed to lose respect to the point that he was willing to flout the laws he so valued?

She is not worthy, even of you. Of course. It was because Alarr did not respect him as a true prince of Asgard. His Jotun ancestry was known to the nobles now, to everyone, and some had severe issues with seeing him living up to his title. Even after all he had done for them, their traditions were more important than their experiences.

They would be reminded soon though, that he was no lesser. In two days, he would do his utmost to make sure that this never happened again.

But it wouldn't matter if you weren't there to brag to. What meaning did any accomplishment have if he could only whisper his stories to your memorial? What would he tell your father? If you died in his care, would it start a war?

Alarr, that thoughtless, brainless cur...

The rage bloomed again, drowning out the fear and pain of possible bereavement. Why didn't the man just think? Was this what Odin had gone through, when he had put an end to Asgardian expansion? What Bor had dealt with, when he abolished slavery? Thick-headed, short-sighted idiots unwilling to bend a single synapse towards growing and developing as a people?

This was so much more personal though. Alarr would never have touched Dr. Foster. The 'True Son of Odin' could be allowed his little dalliances with mortals, but when he did it he was a no-good, trouble making, Jotun foundling who was disrespecting his upbringing by spending time with lesser beings.

Thor burst in on his pacing. “Loki what in the frozen Hel is going on?” He demanded. “You got into a fight? You're going to perform a formal duel with Alarr?”

“Of course not.” Loki snapped, and Thor relaxed slightly. “I am going to execute Alarr.”

“Loki, you cannot-”

“He struck _____, and called her a whore!”

“...Oh.” Thor said. “Carry on then.”

Loki crossed his arms over his chest and continued pacing, a deep scowl on his face.

“Is she-”

“I don't know!”

Loki's pacing sped up considerably.

Finally, Ulfrun entered the waiting room, interrupting the royal brooding. Loki was on her in the blink of an eye.

“How is she?” He hounded. “Tell me! Now!”

Ulfrun cowered back from him. “I-I'm sorry, your highness. I have bad news.”

All color, all warmth drained from his face, drained from his body. He stumbled backwards, collapsing into a chair, with Thor's help.

What was he going to do without you?

“Loki...” Thor said quietly, but Loki's throat was so tight, he couldn't speak. He just shook his head. You'd lived through so much, and then this...it was all his fault. He should have sent you somewhere else as soon as he had seen Alarrs name. Would your spirit ever forgive his failure?

“Ulfrun, you little fool.” Bjarkhild griped. “You are as bad at speaking to people as you are good at healing them. Go back inside.”

The junior healer hurried back out of the waiting room, followed by Bjarkhild's impatient sigh.

“My Prince...” She knelt before him. “Please listen...”

“Don't fear.” Loki said weakly. “I don't blame you. I know you tried.”

“Listen...She is going to have to stay here for quite some time. The healing process will be long, and she will not be able to attend to her duties at all while she is here.”

Thor's hand tightened on his shoulder, and Loki, who had buried his face in his hands, parted his fingers so that one eye was visible.

“What?”

“Her skull has been cracked in several places, and one of her zygomatics crushed. Fixing this will take time; you must be patient.”

“She lives.” He whispered. Bjarkhild nodded, and Loki stood so abruptly that he nearly bowled her over. But Bjarkhild was the faster, and beat his rush to bar the door with her body.

“You cannot!” She said firmly. “You must be patient, my Prince.”

“I...I just want to confirm...” He said. The lead healer noticed the tears rimming his eyes, and relented with a long-suffering sigh.

“You must not be loud.” She instructed. “You must not disturb the equipment, nor try to rouse her. You must not touch her, especially not her head.”

“Agreed.” He said quickly. “Just let me see her!” He needed to know, he needed to see you breathe with his own eyes.

Bjarkhild stepped aside, and the brothers entered quickly, but quietly. Loki stifled a worried moan at the sight of you, your head swathed in bandages, your body hooked up to what seemed like a dozen different apparatuses. The golden glow of their mini Soul Forge blanketed your bed.

He wasn't allowed to touch you? He couldn't see how he could even get close! But from here, he could see your chest rising and falling, hear the soft chime of your heartbeat being monitored. You lived.

“Is it all right if he stays here?” Thor asked Bjarkhild. “It might be better if he were to remain. Perhaps it's possible that he could be allowed to hold her hand? We already know that his magic can help keep her strong; his presence should help her heal.”

“I suppose I could get him a chair...” Bjarkhild said. “But just the hand. No more than that. She must not be jostled. I cannot stress this enough: Her skull is broken. If you value her life, you must heed me.”

Thor stole up behind Loki and patted him on the shoulder. “You should take today to stay here, brother.” He said. “Stay with your love; I will take care of everything else.”

“She's not-”

Norns below, you were.

Loki took the seat the healer brought him, and twined his fingers carefully with yours. There he remained for the rest of the day.

[whetstonefires]

fictober prompt #8: “I know you do.”

There had not been elves openly in Minas Tirith in much longer than the city’s living memory, and their presence seemed to strike many of the people of Gondor as just as much a sign of the vanquishing of the Dark that had for so long seemed it must consume them all, as was the shattering of orcish armies, or the restoration of the monarchy.

Elrond’s people and especially Elrond himself had been very patient with them, of course—“let them have the joy of if while they may,” Erestor had told Aragorn when he sought to apologize for how ceaselessly the elves found themselves importuned on streetcorners by Men as guileless as Samwise Gamgee, and some a little less so. But today Elrond had been very little in evidence—he was not lord here, to have any role in making decisions and setting people to order, and Aragorn feared he might have little heart for the general festivity.

The wedding was today, and too soon after it Arwen’s father must depart to the West and never see her more, for the strength he had expended these last three thousand years had left him weary almost beyond recovering, with the waning-away of the Ring he had used to reach beyond what should have been his limits for so long.

Elladan and Elrohir meant to linger, but the first knowing sundering of the bride from all her kin forever still loomed, and leant a bittersweetness to the joy of the occasion.

It was only the same one that touched every joy of the new Age, every hope and new-built thing flavored at least a little with the passing-away of the world as it had been, but deeper and more personal because what was lost to the king and queen of Gondor was not simply the beauty and glory of a former time but the love and company of those dear to them. And there was no doubt in Aragorn’s mind that whatever pain it caused him could only be a flicker of what it was to Arwen, who had lived so long believing that she need never be wholly parted from those she loved, as long as the world should last.

The king of Gondor found Elrond in the library, standing near Faramir’s preferred chair and paging through a dusty history not a fraction his own age, that dealt with the affairs of his youth. It was less inaccurate than it might have been. The Dunedain did try their best to hold onto the past.

“Thank you for the copies of your library,” Aragorn said, lingering in the doorway—it was a princely gift, for Elrond was the greatest loremaster of Middle-Earth, and had been for some time. The new books had not yet been shelved, for a major expansion of the library was required to make space for them. Fortunately, this was precisely the sort of task he could entrust to his steward.

Elrond dismissed this reiteration. “I would have given you more of the originals,” he said. “But new copies should last longer.” The elvish skill at making things to last preserved their books for a very long time, but eventually ink would fade and parchment crack. That Elrond was concerned that his gifts would still be usable in two thousand years was a gesture of faith in the kingdom now being rebuilt.

Aragorn planned to have a great many more copies made, and circulated, of everything of value—the preservation of memory, though none remained who could tell the tales as they had lived them, was to be one of the foremost duties of the leaders of Men, he felt, in the Age to come when there would be no one else to rely upon, to remember for them.

Elrond set the book aside on the nearby lectern, still open, and Aragorn could see it dealt almost entirely with the founding of Numenor—a matter of great personal interest both to Gondor and to Elrond Peredhel, though for somewhat different reasons.

Tar-Minyatur, read the top of the page in heavily embellished script, and it was suddenly in his thought that Elrond had not been reading the book at all.

It was in silence the recently-crowned king came in, and closed the door behind, and crossed the stone floor to bring him closer to his foster-father. They knew one another well enough to have spent much time in silence together, for there was not always need for words.

Sometimes, however, there was.

“You still miss him, don’t you,” Aragorn asked, voice soft and all but penitent. They had never spoken of this so directly. “Even now. My ancestor—your brother, Elros.”

Elrond flicked his fingers as though he could chase the subject away. Drily, “It does neither of us good, I think, to remind me of the detail that my daughter is marrying my nephew.”

Somewhat surprisingly, Aragorn’s face gained a smile. “You can’t throw me off like that, Elrond! Your great-grandfather Turgon was Galadriel’s first cousin, and your great-great-grandfather Thingol Celeborn’s second, twice removed.”

Elrond laughed. “I should have expected you would know that!”

“You did set my childhood curriculum.”

“One rather has to know how everyone was related, to make any real sense of the histories of the First Age,” replied Elrond. “And yes, you’re quite right, by any reasonable measure Celebrían and I are much closer kin than you are to Arwen. Though I believe,” he added, dry again, “you sought out that information about Celeborn specifically. That he is a kinsman of Elu Thingol is relevant to his role in the world since the Second Age, but the precise degree…”

“I did consult a genealogy,” Aragorn admitted freely.

“The hobbits would approve.”

Aragorn Elessar grinned, because they would. There was something so comfortingly predictable about hobbits, once you had gotten to know them—for all they had been the unexpected arrow on whose shot had turned the whole War of the Ring, that was as much due to their general obscurity as their hidden virtues, and it was pleasant to be able to rely on things like the fact that nearly any hobbit would take a great, friendly, critical, and vaguely proprietary interest in anyone’s family tree.

He had spent several hours once with Bilbo Baggins, years ago, reviewing some of the complexities of his own, and come away feeling he possessed an honestly better understanding of his lineage than he had had before. Hobbits had a certain eye for detail that could breathe life into someone who was otherwise merely a name and collection of lines on a page.

His smile faded. “You do still grieve,” he said, though Elrond had deflected the question once already. He would hardly have another chance to ask, and for a moment his chest seemed it would burst with a lifetime of things left unsaid for another day. A day he had naively supposed would always come, as long as he lived.

Elrond let go a breath. He looked no older than he ever had, most of his venerable years conveyed only in a certain solemn majesty, and yet time seemed in some inexplicable way to have caught up with him, as it had with Bilbo when he let go the One. A weariness clung to him even as he laughed or sang, and not one untutored soul in Gondor had mistaken him for one of Arwen’s brothers, as used to happen from time to time with mortal guests at Imladris. “Always.”

Aragorn had always known this, it seemed, and yet it pressed upon him to hear it aloud as a fact. “That seems hard.” A hard fate to bear, a hard choice to have been faced with so long ago. Elves might expect to be reunited in the West, Men might hope to see their lost ones in whatever came to them beyond death, but for the peredhel there was the certain promise of parting, and nothing more. Not while Arda lasted.

“It was the price of my own choice as much as of his.” Elrond turned to face Aragorn fully at last, and said with an unearned kindness, “I have never blamed him for it.”

Aragorn’s chest weighed heavy with words he had not spoken. “I am sorry,” he said.

Elrond’s face was troubled, yet very still. “Are you?” he asked softly.

“Not…that I love, or am loved. I could never regret that,” Aragorn said, and some of the trouble faded from Elrond’s brow. “But that our happiness together should come at such pain to you, who have granted me such kindness always, and of whom I can say no ill and whom I would never wish sorrow…this grieves me. I wish there were any other path, where none I loved might bear a burden.”

“That is not a road a king may walk,” Elrond told his foster-son, and sighed. “Indeed I do not think it is a road one in ten thousand among the living may even hope to find. It is well, Estel. If it is forgiveness you seek, you have it. Arwen’s path was always her own to choose, and I can bear this. I am practiced at partings. Always there has been at least one whom I waited to see again, beyond the breaking of the world.”

Aragorn’s tears had begun to flow just after Elrond called him by his childhood name, and now at these final words he nearly leapt forward across the small space left between them, and drew Elrond close against his breast.

They were of a height, for Aragorn Elessar was in form very like his ancestor Elros Tar-Minyatur, but he had ducked his head as he embraced the only father he had ever known, and so Elrond’s tears fell into his dark hair as he returned the gesture in a whisper of silken sleeves.

“I am sorry,” repeated the young king, who was not so young—years older than Elros had been when he chose the same destiny, and old enough by the count of ordinary Men that his grandchildren might have children of their own.

But by the measure of elves he would be still a child, and he had spent enough of his life amongst elvenkind that he would probably count himself young until his hair grew white with time. “I do regret…”

“I know you do,” said Elrond. “You would not be the man my daughter loves if you did not. But do not let my grief be a shadow on your heart. I am glad for your happiness together, and that is a greater thing than my loss.

“Live wisely and in joy, and wring the fullest measure of sweetness from your count of days. That is all I would ask.” He hesitated over his next words, but then said softly, “I am not Gilraen. I have given those I loved to the Dúnedain before, and it did not break me. I will be well, and you must not fear for me.”

Aragorn’s grasp strengthened, so that it was briefly obvious that under the fine embroidered robes of his new office he had not yet lost the hard, lean shape of a Ranger, and then he withdrew to arm’s length, with only the least undignified catch to his breath. “If ever I am told there has ever been one greater among the Eldar,” he said, a hand still on Elrond’s shoulder, “I shall not believe it.”

Elrond laughed a little, though the tears were still upon his face, and patted the arm reaching out to him. “Some partiality is allowed to family.”

“I would argue it to the foot of Manwe’s throne if need be,” Aragorn said firmly, but his mouth was curling easily, and it was as much joke as oath in earnest.

“I certainly hope there never shall be!” replied Elrond, letting his hand fall, and Aragorn’s after it. “But come, you can waste no more time here in the dust, amongst the relics. Today you wed!”

[darlingseraa]

The Immortal Journey Headcanons || Ideas by SojaOkita

Alright, so, since my post about my headcanon for Irelia / Talon seems to be pretty popular with you guys, I’ve come up with some more interesting ideas I thought could be an addition to it. Feel free to comment if you have any ideas that you would like to see included / developed / mentioned in this post ! I’m trying to develop a more expansive headcanon / fan lore (for lack of a better term) for a possible story I’d like to write for this skin line (If you liked this, I may try to imagine some headcanons for the other champs of the Immortal Journey, aka Fiora, Janna and Yi)~ THIS IS A FAIRLY LONG POST, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Immortal Journey - Irelia

Personality:

Humble - Kind - Loyal - Affectionate - Strong - Born Leader - Fair - Just - Steadfast - Accepting - Patient - Calm - Selfless - Somewhat prone to slight anger when faced with enemies.

Backstory:

Irelia is a demigoddess, meaning she was born from a pair of beings in which one was divine (aka, a literal god) and the other was mortal. In her case, I believe she would be born to a human mother who was of humble birth, meaning that she had no riches whatsoever except for the few coins she would get by selling the produce from her gardens or working on her family’s farm. Irelia grew up aware of her divine ascendance, but never truly acknowledged it since her mother had always made it known that divinity didn’t mean she was superior to anyone in this world in any way. That is why she grew up valueing humility and making it the one value / quality she has centered her life around. 

She grew up with her mother’s family, who were either merchants or farmers. She soon learned to value family just as much as humility, and recognized that, often enough, the ones who do so are the happiest. Others who value wealth over all things are often the loneliest of souls.

At age ten, Irelia experienced true violence for the first time. Brigands ransacked her family’s farm and the adjacent village in search of valuables. They killed her mother that night. The demigoddess swore to live by the teachings that her mother had taught her.

Two years after her mother’s death, Irelia began training in combat at the local temple, amongst future warriors of Ionia. She showed exceptional talent and technique -especially when wielding her magical blades-, so much so that by the end of her eight years of training and her joining Ionia’s top warriors, she was one of the nation’s most respected figures. She was twenty years old.

Immortal Journey - Talon

Personality:

Arrogant - Prideful - Confident - Impatient - Reserved - Secretive - Strong - Ambitious - Somewhat entitled - Somewhat curious - Anger issues (sometimes) - Can be friendly - Loyal.

Backstory: 

Talon is a dragon born centuries ago, in the seas south of Valoran, to the King and Queen of the seabound kingdom, thus making him a prince. He was quickly used to palace life and, as such, developed a strong sense of entitlement that faded slightly over the years. He aged like any youngling would, quite fast, and then stopped aging completely when he turned about fourty years old.

Very early on, Talon was taught to consider himself as the leader of his people, for he would one day replace his father at the head of the lands he reigned over. He also discovered the powers his family has bestowed upon him at his birth; control over the tides and the sea, as well as transformation, allowing him to shift from dragon to human forms as he pleased.

Curious by nature, Talon soon was out and about, exploring the seas surrounding his kingdom and going as far as venturing on land. His adventures outside the palace lead him to encounter the creatures his second form was inspired from, the humans, and he immediately felt quite superior to them.

Talon was often told by his father that humans were easily impressed creatures, although quite deadly if they weren’t careful. He was never to return to the human lands.

When his parents passed, the burden of ruling over the seabound kingdom of the dragons fell unto him. Now being free of his father’s decisions, he decided to return to the human lands in the hopes of conquering them, out of ambition, pride and arrogance, meaning to prove his superiority over all creatures of the landbound world.

COMMON STORY (applicable to both Talon and Irelia):

When Talon returned for the first time in centuries, much had changed in Ionia (which is the land he had visited before, unbeknownst to him). He touched shore on a beach, alone and in human form, and on this beach he met a young woman with hair a pure black color and eyes of ocean blue, whose name he hadn’t asked. He had immediately known she was different from other humans, but never knew why he had sensed that about her. They spoke for a bit, he decided to be friendly to this girl, as she was intriguing to him. When she left, he had a new desire to find her again.

A month or two later, he returns to shore, this time venturing into the dense forests not too far from the beach he had come to. In human form, he discovered a village where, to his surprise, he found her. Seemingly happy to have found her, he walked up to her, introduced himself again. She remembered him. And he finally asked for her name. Irelia. 

Growing ever more curious about this woman, Talon spent more and more time on land, even forgetting why he was there in the first place. He spent his days either exploring this place the mysterious Irelia lived in, or he spent his time with her. They quickly became friends, and soon enough, they had both fallen in love with each other.

Talon still often returned to his people in the sea, to be sure they were faring well. Every time he returned, he was reminded of his objective, and swore that he would one day rule over both land and sea. 

About a century passed when he finally decided it was time to act on that promise he had made himself. Over the years, the thirst for more power, for dominion over Valoran and its people had become impossible to quench by remaining by his beautiful companion’s side. It wasn’t enough to have acquired Irelia’s love; the dragon wanted more. So one day, lying to his beloved about his intentions, he set out to conquer the nations of Valoran, setting cities ablaze and terrorizing most of the peaceful kingdoms of the land.

When Irelia finally heard of Talon’s actions, she set out to stop him. Hurt that she would dare try to foil his plan, he returned to his people in the sea, to whom he bragged ceaselessly of his supposed ‘victories’ in the landbound kingdoms. Irked by his behaviour, Irelia ventured into the seas and marched into the underwater palace, where she found the dragons’ court assembled around their king, her former lover. 

Irelia thought a lesson was to be learned here. She was not doing this out of spite or because of a desire for revenge, no. She challenged Talon to a duel. Knowing that she was the most feared duelist in all of the human lands, Talon thought this was an opportunity to prove to his court that his words rang with truth, that humans truly were inferior to them. Although the battle was violent, it ended with Irelia’s victory. She sealed away his powers within her six divinde blades and bound Talon to his human form, tasking him with learning humilty amongst the mortals he so brutally assaulted.

Humiliated in front of his entire court, the dragon king Talon exiled himself to the human world, spending decades roaming Valoran’s lands in an attempt to learn to be humble, and trying to regain Irelia’s love, to be pardoned by the demigoddess for the senseless actions he had comitted. He had hopes that she still loved him, just as he still loves her. 

[vitavitale]

drabble IV  —  Nightmare (At His Core)

It took me over a year to write about V’s encounter with Nightmare and I will genuinely not understand why. In any case, I’ve finally gotten around to it. Remember that this is all headcanon-based since my V isn’t, you know, canon. Except in my heart. Beware of 13,038 words, whew. I tagged it as “coming of age” because that’s how I interpret this event even if it may not play out that way. For easier reading, find this on AO3.

Trial after trial, failure after failure were not sufficient deterrents to a man driven by a greed that was unbecoming of him. He had never been so fixated, so stubbornly determined, so mad while he dedicated almost all of his time to the study and practice of necromancy. To resurrect life from death was a risk, and a business few had the guts or the aptitude for. This was a craft better left untouched, but he trifled with tests and from each failure he learned, improved, and tried again. The cycle continued for many nights; between jobs he would make the time for study, and of time he had plenty to dedicate to his obsession. A desire for strength was born in him from his apparent lack thereof. To have tasted power, however, in the aid of his familiars was almost like poison to the mind, for he had seen within his new means a potential for invulnerability. The illusion of becoming untouchable, undaunted, and subsequently intimidating and dangerous was too powerful for him to dismiss. Rather, he indulged in fantasy. Griffon and Shadow protected him as they attacked for him, and while he loathed his reliance on others he saw the opportunities such help would yield for him, and he saw value in becoming as threatening to others as others had been to him. There was something like revenge in his fixation on power.

It was not only his familiars he'd gained from, but he had conjured demons in the space of a couple of years from whom he would make further gains, draining their diabolical energies to amplify his own. Rite after rite he performed, drawing a demon to the mortal plane only to take from it before returning it to its Hell—or to slay it entirely. This really did appear to work, and every success tainted his expectations for himself. He saw his potential grow, day by day, until an idea was born—and this, he thought, would be the thing to make him more frightening than any demon alive in Red Grave City. This he sought not out of malice, but for self-esteem. Pride, worth, a need to be useful and effective when he believed himself useless and weak.

Perhaps Griffon had been at fault for the decision his master made. Indeed, it was from Griffon's mouth that V had learned of the demons dwelling in the underworld, those that lived and even those that had died. Among the deceased was one so destructive, so terrifying that even its name told of the menace it posed: Nightmare. Once in service to a devil of an emperor, the beast was slain by a man with only half the blood of demons in him. But it was this creature that haunted the warlock's mind for many a night, so it might have been only inevitable that the idea was spawned to return to it life, to conjure it for his own, and to his body bind it as he did Shadow and Griffon. V was only a child when he first heard of Nightmare, and then took only superficial interest in it. Years down the road brought it back to memory, for better or worse, and it was at the age of one-and-twenty that he'd decided to resurrect the demon. Necromancy was necessary for this, a skill not known yet enthusiastically learned while upon the idea the young man brewed.

So it was many nights, many tries and many failures later when it seemed a breakthrough was at hand.

Neither Griffon nor Shadow held very much esteem for their master's plan. His descent into obsession concerned them, but it was his decision to conjure so formidable a demon that worried them above all. While V may not have noticed, his familiars certainly had: the forces with which he surrounded himself had been detrimental to his body. He was far more human than anything, and his human body could only take so much that was well beyond its capabilities. Forces of a supernatural nature were hard on any human's body and mind, but V had gone a step further with his exposure to them. He would have more than enough on him, only now he sought to add too much to the load all too quickly. He was already frail of health, but he saw fit to weaken his bones and muscles as well. He had begun tiring as of late, and he tended to chalk it up to overwork, sleeplessness, and an almost nonexistent diet. But his demons knew better, and ultimately so did he. Or, at the very least, he had a hunch—one he didn't heed. That was his first mistake, but V insisted on making another. Griffon let him know as much, arguing that V had no need to take pointless risks, but men like him were not easily swayed. There was some kind of art to stubbornness like his.

Oh, but to be so young and foolhardy! The boy knew so little of the world, yet he'd known that it was rife with all manner of peril. Two familiars were not enough. He would head out into the desolate country under the cover of night to practice his black craft. A sigil was drawn up for the purpose of conjuring, a symbol of the demon he hoped to bring forth. Night after night, he tried. Tried and failed. But a step he'd been missing for weeks became clear to him. Infernal or otherwise, the soul was intangible. Its body had been destroyed completely, and V would not have been content to conjure a ghost. With magics old and new would he craft a body, and it would be with or without his demons' help that he would conceive of a form he hoped the soul, if in existence at all, would inhabit. Born in the mind's eye, but taken form in the flesh. V would resurrect the demon he sought, believing firmly in strength of will and the blending of techniques.

“I think I have it,” he said when he had his next epiphany. He was all enthusiasm, eager in the eyes, jotting instructions down in a notepad in an effort to preserve what he'd learned before memory would lose it. These would be looked over and memorized. It was late into the night, and he had the audacity to wake his slumbering familiars for the news. “I've finally figured out how to reconstruct the body!”

Griffon awoke with a start, though held on to his perch on the sofa's backrest. “Huh? What?” Barely gotten his eyes open and already V strode to his side, pad in hands, noticeably excited given the tone of his voice. “The what now...?”

“Nightmare's body, for its soul.” It'd been all V would talk about the past several days. It surprised him that Griffon had forgotten so readily, but that was like him. V had left the lights on through the night for his work, and the yellow glow to the sitting room was bothersome enough for his drowsy familiar. Nevertheless, the warlock would pester him to open his eyes. “I've been going about it the wrong way, but I think I now know what I must do.” His eyes fell upon the page he'd scribbled on. “I have to create it, shape it, with my hands. You know how Jewish folklore tells of mystics imbuing golems with life? Think of it that way, only I'd be...borrowing that part of the process. Then...I should channel the soul to the new vessel during a rite of resurrection. If I'm right, the demon should accept it.”

“Never heard of that part before,” the demon mumbled.

“I'll be improvising.”

“Oh, so that's your big discovery? That you've gotta make it up as you go?” Griffon was being sarcastic with him, likely because he was chafed that he'd been woken up for no good reason.

“I'm at least one step closer.” V was resolute when he countered, frowning his disapproval at the demon who'd appeared to think so little of V's ambition. “You could be a little optimistic.”

“I don't see why I've gotta go along with this utter fuckery. You're only hurting yourself.”

V didn't want to hear that. It was fortunate that he'd stepped beside Shadow, who was not dead to them but ignored their discussion while she rested on the floor, with his back to Griffon by the time the criticism was delivered. He would not acknowledge it, not even Griffon, and it was to his detriment that he kept silent. Though he did not agree, he also did not argue, and that must have been the plainest evidence of his conscience weighing more heavily than he'd let on. But he did think of something to say, and with it stepped into his own bedroom after turning off the lights. “Good night.”

V would sleep as peacefully as his subconscious allowed, for the few hours that were left of the night. But the sun was set to rise before long, and soon he would resume his practice until night again would fall.

He'd fallen asleep fast, curled on his side as was his habit. His study had exhausted him, both physically and mentally, but that didn't stop memories from reshaping themselves, painting themselves in fresh colors, and stitching together pictures that the sleeper had no desire to see. Still, they would appear to his mind's eye and wrench his heart from its boney confinement and wring it dry. There suddenly was the face of a demon with rows of pointed teeth, a short, stout abomination snapping mad like a rabid piranha. He fled from it, the white of his hair blurring his vision as he scrambled from its wrath. He saw a broom closet, hid in it and held on to the door knob for dear life. In his panic he could not grip it firmly, and his soul quaked from the snarling and the thrashing and the clawing against the door. His whimpering barred any screams for help, but all the same he heard his mother's voice outside. A great dread sickened him but fear left him petrified. He could not understand her. The door was left alone, he heard part of his name called and the sounds of flesh tearing and a thud on the floor—and he awoke with so violent a start that his heart raced, he cried out when he shot right up, and he caught the first light of the morn peeking through his window. His chest heaved with every labored breath, and he felt his eyes wet with sorrow. Just like it'd been the first time, like it was new, like he didn't see it coming.

But with the memory he was intimately acquainted, frequently re-introduced to it, and was fast to realize that it was yet again a dream. One of several nightmares.

A nightmare.

It almost seemed a calling at this point, to obsess over a demon so appropriately named. V hated to cry, but here his psyche took advantage of his helplessness to draw the tears forth. He wiped them away, sniffled through a stuffed nose, and sat silently as sleep was as good as forgotten. No use in trying again; he preferred to set to work, do whatever he could to forget that which haunted him for seven years going. But loneliness was not his safe harbor now, for a shadow had crept into his room to observe. To find that he had suffered no physical harm, the demon took form and joined his side on the bed. Like a cat she purred her concern, her inquiry and her comfort. V was not surprised to see her, he knew this was her way. Like a pitiful child he pouted and shed his tears, looking at her with some reassurance behind a curtain of grief. Guilt was too strong for so wretched a youth, and here he was sick with it. Seven years was virtually the same as seven months. With Shadow offering her comfort like a parent, V could not help but appreciate her—and feed his misery with memories of feelings he'd had once before, before even the seven years. It was a double-edged blade but, all the same, he ran his fingers through her crown to comfort her in turn. He whimpered, “I'm fine,” sniffling still. And she knew he would be: she'd seen this too often to assume different.

V would get up after all and give himself a good wash. He didn't care for breakfast but forced himself to eat a single slice of toasted bread. Over his routine, thought of his nightmare and his mistakes diminished, and while they remained present, they'd at least lost enough intensity to allow him to get on with his work. He could think about his goal, his rite, his approach to it all and how he'd shape the demon's vessel. By noon, he was all but absorbed in his crafting of the thing. A very simple shape was drawn among his notes, which would serve as the foundation for the model he sought to shape from earth. So, he would go outside, look for mud or deliberately make it, and wear down his haunches as he crouched from his secret labor. No devil-hunting or charm-making today. As desperately as he needed income, he seemed to need a new familiar even more. But he was wise to hide himself from his neighbors and had gone a distance to where no man should eye him and peg him as an unstable eccentric. V did very well wear the look of a youth who was touched, his hands deep in wet soil and incidentally rubbing some on his face whenever he had an itch to scratch.

Now, it didn't take long to make mud. To craft from it, however, was the tricky bit. V had never played in the stuff before, he'd never known what it was like. He thought he hated it the moment his hands mixed water with soil; the sensation was cause for repulsion. He should have brought a pair of gloves with him... Alas, he wasn't the sort to think things through, though that didn't stop him from pushing on. He was quick to learn how much water to use for the softness of soil he required. Once he'd gotten the hang of it, he knelt on the grass to alleviate the aches in his joints, more or less settling to mold the form that would be his golem.

Griffon had peeled from his master's body to observe him, sat almost right beside him beneath the canopy of a thin tree. If he had any criticisms or advice, V would largely ignore them. The frown on his brow was hard and it drew clear shadows beneath the deeper wrinkles on a face too youthful for any grimace. V didn't need his notes to begin forming the soil; he'd had the image clear and ever present in his mind's eye, and guided by little else but that and his drive he pressed and pinched and rolled chunks of dampened soil, and dunked his hands into the pond he'd knelt beside to wet the earth even more. He needed it all to stick, and if it wouldn't then he'd spend the entire day, possibly even night, out on the desolate field. Fortunate that the week had been so rainy, but if showers should fall in the middle of his work he would be foiled. But, weather notwithstanding, he'd gotten his pieces to stick. Very nearly mud, the consistency, while solid enough to hold form. V's fingers would easily become difficult, caking in dirt as long as he'd work over the forming vessel. Bits would come off and others would stick where they shouldn't, and V had constantly to dip his hands in the water.

“V, why the hell are you going to all this trouble?” Griffon watched him toil away, unimpressed by the boy's wasted effort. He couldn't approve of the way that warlock was tiring himself out, testing the limits of his own patience, and running headlong toward ruin. Because that was all the good Griffon saw coming out of this wild goose chase: a pained, miserable, defeated V.

The young man on his knees saw different. He spared Griffon a sharp glance to communicate his feelings. However, when his eyes settled upon the amorphous lump in his hands, he felt his confidence shaken. He stood to relax his legs, staring at the unfinished vessel that was crumbling in places, losing form beneath the pressure of his fingers in others; and though his snowy-white hair fell to conceal one half of his face, he felt Griffon's several eyes on him anyway. He knew what that bird was thinking. Still, he stepped back and took a seat very near the trunk of the tree to shade himself beneath its leaves. Against it would his back rest as over the muddy object his eyes would rake. It was half formed, the top molded more completely than the bottom; legs were harder to build than he thought, and the arms...were not quite separate from the body yet. Frustration suddenly dawned on him as he realized this may well go nowhere. But he'd lost hope so fast, after only a few minutes at work.

He had one deep frown come upon his countenance before getting up from the grass. “This is stupid,” he relented at last, exhaling irritably as he stepped toward the pond to set aside his craft and rinse off his hands. Griffon must have believed he'd finally gotten through, because he'd begun assuaging V's concerns with useless, likely hollow words of solace. V was perhaps cruel to ignore him, but something like the devil was in him and he knew that, one way or another, he had to have the one called Nightmare.

With his hands soaked and as clean as he could get them, he shook the excess water away to grab the shapeless figure of dirt—but not before he stilled where he stood, examining the thing and thinking a little more about it. While his hands dripped, Griffon watched him, blinking his golden irises at the perplexity of man.

“Uh, V? You're awfully quiet.”

He was thinking.

“Don't tell me you're mad.”

Mad? Funny. He'd certainly felt mad, at times, and he supposed he was. A madman. But even a mind gone beyond earthly bounds had its plans to complete and successes to achieve. V was not finished here, not by any stretch. When gray began to creep beneath the sun to steal away the blue of the sky, he knew his dirt doll would turn to pure mud. He'd have no use for it if it could not keep its shape. Time was, however, still his to act upon, the heavens clear and peaceful, affording him the chance to make refinements. His own impatience would not best him. To be so young and pressed for time—an oxymoron in the flesh.

“V, come on, you're gonna get soaked out here. That lump of dirt ain't worth it. You don't even really know what you're doing.”

The warlock had picked it up after all. “I think,” he answered while rounding out the form, “it's worse if I don't try. If I fail, it should be because...this simply isn't the way. I...don't want to have put in so little and that be the reason for failure.”

“Why don't you not look for this demon? There are about a zillion others—”

“That,” he snapped to cut off his friend, “is not an option.” At least, not for now. V frowned at Griffon, but any inkling of anger was a hollow one. The boy was determined, not angry, and he'd made that plain with a wistful sort of tone and some distant, far-off pain in his eyes. Griffon had no further argument. The pair descended into silence; but nature would not leave well alone. More gray crawled overhead, eventually ushering in the first droplets of another summer shower. When they tapped on V's nape and sent a chill through his paper-thin body, he shivered instantly. The decision to retreat had come and Griffon was returned to the warlock's skin. With his prize, however misshapen and incomplete, in his hands he abandoned the little pond to hasten home. Maybe to build there.

It was only a drizzle that speckled his clothes and hair on his walk back. But upon returning to the sanctuary of his flat, a proper shower broke that kept him homebound. He had mud on his face, on the ends of his hair, stuck to the soles of his shoes, and entirely in his hands. With his familiars retiring to the small living space, V set about a thorough cleansing of his person. Before he'd known it, he spent his day at home when he should have been out in the field; but the day was gray, even with the rain having cleared, and it matched his mood. Somber, morose. He'd gotten a dish on which to place his vessel and stored it in the refrigerator to keep fresh. Meanwhile, his bedroom was where he isolated himself, well cut off from the raptor and the jaguar lazing the afternoon away. He supposed they could afford it: what else had they to do? They could be so much like pets, obligated to nothing and owing no one.

The grimoire had been opened to the last page, where the original content of the book ended and his own notes began. Several sheets and scraps of paper, that's all they were; but on each were written spells, instructions, all manner of information he would have needed on call. Among these were his latest notes, the ones on Nightmare, on necromancy, and on golems. It should have made sense, yet here was his brain revolving around things anyway. With the book laid out before him, his legs folded on the bed and his knuckles to his cheek, he thought about failure. He thought about what it would mean, since his vessel was shit, and he'd never conjured life from death, if he couldn't claim the demon he sought. It wasn't only a matter of principle—he could get over botching a rite. It had more to do with what it would entail, the fact that he'd have dashed his hopes for acquiring the power he believed he needed: the power to protect himself, to turn the tables and prove that he was not all prey but predator, too. He was easily intimidated, easy pickings, and he loathed that with a bitter passion. It was why he needed another demon. He needed the strength, he needed the confidence, even if it came from beyond himself, but he needed it. And he loathed also to be as needy as this. He loathed his weakness, his appearance to others and how he was regularly perceived by them. If he wasn't a freak for his white hair, he was effeminate for his body, childlike for his behavior, stupid—

Weak to demons. But...if he had a familiar like Nightmare, he didn't have to be any of those things anymore. Didn't he? Quarry and foe alike could no more undervalue him or judge him a creature too meek to take them on, or to take from them: because one of their own made of seemingly unstoppable force, a weapon of mass destruction itself, would be doubtlessly perceived by them; and, if necessary, would annihilate them. According to what V had heard, Nightmare was beyond any lesser demon he'd known of. Incomparable to even Griffon and Shadow, combined.

How he would ever subdue and tame such a beast was rightly beyond his imagining. The boy had gall to think that he could dare at all. Or maybe it was that he didn't think.

He still didn't, even poring over his notes and mentally constructing the outcomes on his bed, he didn't think far enough ahead. But if he did, he would only shake himself up at the size of the task, and he didn't need that. He had to enter the rite undaunted, possessed by conviction, and wrench the demon from its lifelessness with that same vigor he'd conjured Griffon and Shadow. So he mulled over other things, and briefly considered going out tonight if the weather permitted. Frankly, he wanted to. To delay was pointless. Ready or not, his vessel was finished—and so was he. To live this kind of life, in the kind of shape he was in, was not something he'd been looking forward to for however many years remained for him. Even if he would die by the conjured colossus' retaliation upon resurrection, he would at least go out in a way that would not leave him feeling unfulfilled. If lightning was to strike him squarely, in a month, it wouldn't happen until he'd had Nightmare spread across his body. It may have been more a matter of life and death than even the warlock realized. Regardless of the circumstances or the consequences, V was a man of a settled mind. Sitting as idly as he did, boring himself over the information that'd become monotonous to read so repeatedly—well, he supposed he'd made up his mind at some point.

Grays and yellows colored the sky when V bothered to peek out the window of his sitting room. He'd had a whole two of them, one by the front door and another in his bedroom; but the blinds to the latter were always kept shut. Privacy concerns, as he lived on the bottom level of his building where his neighbors and his absent landlord would walk about. Birds drawn by the rainfall called out on the rooftops, among the trees beyond the property, and on the street. While the bulk of the shower had passed, still heard was the pitter-patter of rain drops just beyond the glass. The weather was clearing, the sun shining like a hunk of polished citrine behind the scattered cloud cover, bidding its radiant goodbye to the day that closed. The moon chased it not far behind, nightfall near.

Griffon and Shadow were at as much peace as afforded by the event-free afternoon, and they appeared dead to their master's arrival. When he turned from the window to get a look at them, he could only think that they were sweet to snooze on the sofa—one taking up all the seat, the other perched atop the backrest cushions. Such a shame that they were so against his endeavor.

V had his supper early and offered to his familiars scraps of old cold cuts he didn't want. It was clear to them that he'd intended to do something, because he was all astir in his bedroom as he'd dressed himself for the night. Only, he was donning not sleeping clothes but something else entirely. On his legs were a pair of utility pants, slim, and a belt around the waistband; a wallet chain consisting of skulls of a silver tone; on his feet were gladiator sandals with straps that were thin along the length of his feet, and bore buckles at the ankles; leather cuffs adorned his left wrist, an unconventionally long, silver-plated signet ring the middle finger; a fingerless leather glove covered his right hand; and, in a daring move, he chose to garb the upper half of his body with a sleeveless, knee-length coat held together only by laces affixed to the garment's inner lining across the abdomen. No shirt, no nothing underneath all that leather: only his skin and the tattoos that adorned it. It was brave of him, to cover so little of himself—he partly regretted it already, looking himself over in the bathroom mirror—but people would change, and tastes would evolve, and V was just another one of the many young adults on the Earth who would experiment with fashion. Still, he'd never before worn anything so revealing, and his chosen outfit was quite modest in that as it stood, but it felt comfortable and that had to be the most important thing when it came to clothing. His qualms notwithstanding, he thought he liked the way he looked. His signature choker remained where he'd always worn it. His hair was the only contrast to all the black he'd dressed himself in. Every single article was black, as was the string of his choker, but his hair seemed to...set things askew, a little. So white like freshly fallen snow while all the rest of him could easily blend into shadow. Well, that wouldn't be a great issue tonight: he sought to walk out the door under the cover of darkness. He wasn't sure he'd wear such a get-up during the day.

When he emerged from the bathroom and walked into the sitting room, Griffon was the first (and, in fact, only) to voice his impression of the night-clad youth.

“Whoa-ho! What the hell is all that?” For the sake of a better look, the hellion descended from the sofa to hop right up to V, and eyed him up and down in a very rare moment of silence. “You gonna go out slumming or what? You look like hell in those rags.”

“Don't we already live in one?” V reminded, bored with his critique. He was messing with his collar, undecided whether to flatten it down or wear it upturned.

“Not only that, but don't you think you're gonna catch a cold walking around with your, uh, chest out?”

“It–it is not,” V argued bashfully, suddenly tugging on his lapels. “You can hardly see it.”

“No, I see it. Think I see your nipples too—”

“No you don't!”

“Oh! So I guess all six of my eyes are wrong. Am I wrong about that thing being too big on you, too? I think you gotta tighten those laces, kid.”

“Are you finished?” V was completely flustered when he had no need to be. Suddenly, the styling of his collar was unimportant. He had a blush he fought hard to suppress tinting his face, and he thought he would resent Griffon for the rest of his life for spoiling what little confidence he'd managed to scrounge. If Griffon could see such unflattering things, others were likely to see the same. But V wasn't about to change his clothes. Night had fallen, he had no time to waste now before the sun was up again.

Out of sheer defiance, the warlock marched to the kitchenette. His treasure of dirt had been taken from the fridge and given some water to keep from crumbling some little while ago. He hadn't needed the thing too fresh; he would water it like a plant, only with drizzles and drops intermittently. To little effect, however, as it would, as if out of spite, continually chip away regardless of his efforts. Looking at it again made his subconscious frown. He still hated it. Maybe he hated it more than he did at the start. He hated himself for being impatient enough to hasten his work on it. It could have turned out better if he'd learned, gone through trial and error, in due time; but he felt he didn't have that same time to lose. The impetuousness of youth, the desire for instant gratification—it ruined him thus far. But he needed supplies, and he at least had the wisdom to gather them beforehand. Even if Griffon had utter shit to say, V would walk all around him and dodge his bullets.

Thankfully, the raptor did not moan for long. He was left to loiter in the center of the room, watching V dart in and out. Shadow couldn't have cared one way or another; or, perhaps, she was wiser to simply let the boy be. Lounging on the sofa suited her. Ruby-red eyes blinked every so often. V had made a little pile of materials by the front door: a lantern, a canister of salt, five wax candles, a matchbox, a vial of ritual oil, an athame, and of course the grimoire.

Oh, and the vessel in its dish. It was the final item V had retrieved, and with it collected he was prepared to head out. Ultimately, he didn't give a damn about the state he was in, his appearance to demons either allies or foes. It was not his dress that would determine his success but himself: spirit, drive, skill, smarts. All materials minus the dish were placed in a rucksack. V slung it over his shoulder and carried the dish in both hands the minute he'd locked the door to his flat, familiars dissolving into soot-like particles and attaching to the warlock's body as if ink. He wore his coat's collar upturned after all.

A terribly long walk would see him to his destination. It was the same spot he'd been going to for the past fortnight, every night he wanted to try to conjure Nightmare. He'd memorized the path by now, and he would always go in shadow, at night. The poor, unfit thing would have to trek from beyond property grounds to a hilly area backed by a meager woodland out onto the fringes of town. The border, as it were, between named places. Red Grave City was one, to which V lived closest, but the means to move cities were not his. It was always a long walk anywhere for him. Tonight, he would benefit from clear skies and quiet townsfolk. While midnight had not yet struck, the residents around here were generally of mild manner and disinterested in goings on. They would be in their homes, doing as country families do. If they should spy a lanky young man traversing beyond their overgrown yards and vacant lots, they wouldn't give it a second thought. V realized he went through a lot of trouble for a whim, but what was one more night to try?

It might not have been midnight when he set off, but once he'd arrived at the designated spot he was certain that it could not have been earlier than eleven. The exertion tired him out, so all he took was a short breather with his eyes full on the patch of dirt and grass on which he'd made his previous attempts at summoning. He could certainly recognize it under the cover of night; but of course he'd been here countless times already. He remembered where, upon the hill, he would stand, and where the forested wall opened to the east. He remembered the trampled grass underfoot made by his coming and going, and the placement of lit windows in the town in the far distance.

Surrounded by such perfect seclusion, Griffon and Shadow could emerge from their hideaway. Of Griffon this was expected, but not so of Shadow: she was not in the habit of being present during her master's rites, and for her to suddenly sit beside her infernal comrade was a genuine surprise to the young warlock. Her reason was understood, however, and it filled him with some palpable regret. Shadow may not have been as vehement in opposition as Griffon was toward his goal, but her feelings were the same, and still she would let him know with scarcity and subtlety. As evidenced by his being here, he was not swayed by their shared concerns. For her, more so than for Griffon, V had a look of nigh-unreadable apology. In the darkness, her eyes were almost luminous rubies. A contrast to his dimmed peridots.

The dish was placed on the ground by his own trodden path. He fetched the lantern from the sack and switched it on—nothing quite so archaic as an oil lamp, but battery-powered for ease. The rest of his materials were laid out before him; and taking the dagger and lantern, he stepped carefully about the area to find the precise spot where he'd cast his prior circles. They were not hard to find, the etching in the soil still visible even after days of rainfall. V cleared away any debris that'd fallen during the day before setting the lantern between both the circle of summons and the circle of protection. He didn't want to think about the potential pitfalls he'd encounter once the rite would begin, but he would call himself a liar if he'd ever claim he wasn't nervous. He had never before practiced necromancy and there were about a dozen ways his inexperience—along with his deliberate improvisations—would foil him. This was not merely a game of chance he was playing, but one that involved real risk to his flesh and soul. He may not have anticipated failure, but he did fear from it nevertheless.

All those other instances when he'd failed to conjure the demon were failures only because the demon was deceased, and had no physical form with which to manifest. But now V would provide one for the spirit to inhabit, and that was entirely new to him. What's more, he hadn't bothered to practice at any point prior to tonight. His first shot at necromancy would also come as the real thing.

He didn't think about much, as a matter of fact, apart from the steps he was to take and the outcome he so desired. It was his intent that he should, and would, focus on, with nothing more to distract him. So, he cast his circle with salt before casting that of the demon, using his athame to carve the circle in the soil, its blade lightly coated with the necessary oil. It also carved an inverse pentagram within the circle, and the five candles were then arranged to sit on each point of the pentagram. The wax was dabbed with oil as well, and the candles were thus lit. Before the young sorcerer would enter his circle, he set what he'd need within it, and his familiars were wise to sit by the rest that was unnecessary so as not to interfere with the rite and its air. A strange stillness came upon the three, the wind dead and not one of them uttering a sound. Perhaps they knew it: what was about to take place would either ruin him or free him from his obsession.

It was also possible that such freedom could ruin him. Maybe he didn't consider that, but the raptor and the shapeshifter did. They watched their master outfit his circle, blade and oil left of center, grimoire and dish right. The vessel he'd prepared was taken into his hands, its dish abandoned beyond the circles as he had every intention of needing the molded dirt no longer after tonight. If the rite didn't work, he'd try another way. He was already decided on that.

Before V would step into his circle, he gave the lump of soil his final attentions. It wasn't like mud anymore, and it hadn't ever been since he'd brought it home; he knew that was the first mistake, remembering that golems took life from mud or clay—but both came of the Earth, were earth, and V would believe that plain soil would serve its intended purpose. So, he was satisfied before long with what little he'd managed to do with it and gently placed it in the middle of the inverted pentagram. Hands were wiped off, he took in a long breath, and entered his own circle at last.

“V.” Griffon.

“What?”

“Just... Watch yourself with all that, all right? We're right here if shit goes to shit.”

Gratitude needn't come across verbally. V felt it, his familiars knew it without knowing it, and nothing else was said between them. Eyes closed and incantation in mind, palms turned upward at his sides, he steeled himself and spoke words which were new. The candle flames did not waver, and neither did V. “To the lords of Hell and its kings and masters, I ask that a soul stripped of form and life hear my voice, and I implore unto thee, most fair and wise and powerful, with all of my humility, to send unto me thy lost and lifeless kin: that which is singularly named and so bears the name of Nightmare, once brought into being and commanded also by thine banished emperor-kin Mundus; and to this soul I offer life from death, death to rebirth, all powers and wisdom restored, and a vessel for its material form, and every liberty to refuse my supplication.”

His voice was loud and clear, firm and mature; he thought he felt electricity round his fingers. The young man did not yet open his eyes as he honed on the name, the image of the demon in his mind's eye, and the essence of the very thing he wished to will into being. His body was numb to the world around him, his mind ignorant of all things in existence apart from himself and the vessel, and the demon to inhabit it. Not a draft caused the grass to stir or the trees to wave their limbs, not a part of his body seemed alive but the easy rise and fall of his chest. But something had changed, something between the circles, and V felt it like a great oppressive eye, watchful from above. He did not lose his nerve to it but remained focused, knowing and feeling the adjudicators who had come to assess the sorcerer. From the very outset he sought permission to restore one of their fallen. He'd come to learn that it was sound practice to offer every respect to the forces he'd bargained with, and to resurrect an infernal spirit was no different. If V should open his eyes, he would find the flames twitching in the deadened night. But with his body so faintly tingling now, shoulders to waist, he knew it right, only then, to put into sweet, soothing words more of his modest, magic, flattering intent; and for this, he spoke gently as a poet recites to one who is beloved.

“How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot! From the morn to the evening he strays; He shall follow his sheep all the day, And his tongue shall be fillèd with praise.

“For he hears the lamb's innocent call, And he hears the ewe's tender reply; He is watchful while they are in peace, For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.”

He meant himself the shepherd, the demon he sought his flock—or a member of it, and while he was aware of the religious symbolism loaded into Blake's poem, he hadn't a fear of dashing his hopes as he had used these very words to summon in his presence a score of other, lesser demons. He needn't his grimoire to check his memory: he remembered every line, every foot, syllable for syllable. In this, V was experienced. He had come to learn that infernal creatures quite enjoyed poetry, often as much as he.

If the demons were decided in his favor, the spirit of the deceased should find its way to the proposed vessel. But V need only open his eyes if he wished to spy weird, dark miasma twist and dance about the earthen offering; and if he had, he'd have disrupted the flow of things and his concentration would break. That which went unseen was surely felt, however. In the subconscious were sensations translated into images before the mind's eye, sufficient communication that informed the sorcerer of what went on around him. He could feel the darkness, the infernal curiosity and diabolical greed filling the space within the summoning circle. While it was all aware of him, he'd protected himself expertly to allow no evil thing any passage through his barrier. The anticipation was beginning to find room in his mind, and that was a flaw to be entirely avoided. But while he tamed his own spirit, focusing on his intent and his breathing, the energies swirling above the dirt vessel were joined by another. A faintly thing to V's tuned senses, and when left alone it was far weaker than anything he'd sensed before. Lifelessness!

“The demon, Nightmare,” he acknowledged politely, “I bid thee come.” Truthfully, he couldn't have known what it was. The boy clearly was not beyond taking such liberties; but if he should be welcoming, peaceable, and respectful, the spirit should take to his voice—his vessel most importantly. His will remained strong, his intent clear, and with both combined he visualized with all of his psychic prowess the soul pouring into the desired golem. This, too, was new to him, but he sensed it came without challenge. Through mental murmurs he invited the soul to find its comfort and refuge within the earthen form. His hands had begun to move toward one another, palm to face palm but never joining when they hovered before the warlock's center. Calm as he could manage to be, now was when he opened his eyes. To his surprise, a diluted mist hovered above the crafted soil, black like smog but flecked as if with glitter of a violet hue. That was his own magic at work. A heartening sign.

His power, small as it was, had a color to it.

There was more to V's work than will. The closing of his hands was not plain pantomime. Envisioned between them was the soul and its designated vessel, and by drawing his palms closer together he suggested he'd been helping merge the two. The power of suggestion, backed by the power of will, could have been an unstoppable force if executed correctly. If V were any master sorcerer, he'd have doubtlessly infused the vessel with all of the demon's soul in less time than this. He could be patient when it mattered, however, and in this instance he was collected and determined not to fail. The oppressive air that'd permeated the environment amplified the nearer V's hands drew to one another, and there came a point when wind began to stir and blow against the warlock, pushing his hair from his face and disturbing his garments. This tipped him off against pushing any further: he remembered he had to be respectful, to allow the soul a chance to refuse him. He'd never forced his will upon the demons he wished for familiars, never felt it right, and he would not make that mistake now. Griffon and Shadow were his by choice, by mutual agreement, and they'd become friends, even like family for it. V remembered this, knew said friends' eyes were on him all through the rite, and he was prompt to correct himself—and thus the pressure was eased off the miserable spirit, as yet undecided about the offering of renewed life. Perhaps it wasn't impressed with its gifts, with him. That...had to be all right, to the conjurer. He'd have to accept that and let the spirit return to its plane, free.

With the slow separation of his hands, a curious shift in air tickled at his consciousness. He hadn't realized he'd been frowning, but the moment he did he softened immediately. The phantasmal wisps before his eyes, along with their violet glow, had begun to bleed into the misshapen vessel.

So...it had accepted! But of course, the allure of life was irresistible. V did not think for a moment, instead focused entirely on his work. He was absorbed by the sight of the soul feeding into the lump of earth, to fatten it up with life and grant it the gift of sentience. V's hands would come together only when the last of the entity entered the vessel, and this he did to signify the finalization of the first phase. He'd eased off on his psychic influence only for this step so that it would be Nightmare's decision to enter the vessel, not his. Once that was done, however, V would wait. To observe the outcome, to see what would go wrong. His hands rejoined his sides as he watched with, now, apprehension, the vessel illuminated only by the dancing candle light. As he understood it, he was not to engage yet, not until the demon was fully formed and in control of itself. Only then could he attempt to tame the beast, and then bind it to him through the awaited rite of bondage. His heart was as strong as he could have made it, but it still alarmed him to watch movement within the inverted pentagram. The soil once lifeless stirred and shifted, and before his very eyes began to deform itself. It was abrupt, violent, and it had stricken V with genuine nervousness with every motion across the ground, fidgeting left and jerking right, and sometimes nearly flipping itself over—and all the while changing shape, gaining mass, growing. The flames snapped wickedly in the air, and even V could feel it, a sudden explosion of demonic energy that flooded the circles and the area surrounding. It was smothering, but V held fast. He fought it like an ocean, as if wave after wave crashed down. If he'd lose his footing, he'd be pulled into the sea of darkness and potential malevolence, and forced to suffer the torment of a likely vengeful spirit. How was he to know that it was not already at peace, and that he'd come only to disturb its eternal slumber?

Uselessly, he put his arms up like a shield in front of his face as if that would have any effect over the whipping winds. Griffon and Shadow could only watch while on pins and needles, but they were in agreement that the second things turned south, they would charge in to his aid. That young man could get himself into such messes, but he hadn't quite learned to learn from that. One could call him stupid for it, but he preferred to think of it as drive. The grit to stand firm and unflinching was necessary in the face of adversity, and it was proven to him now that such a necessity came twice as strongly when dealing with a demon of so much size and power. Based on what he knew, Nightmare was built like a tank and commanded like one, an annihilating force V should have been wiser not to play with. And when he saw just how large it'd grown, taking on an amorphous form that exceeded even that of the vessel it claimed and turned inside-out to make it unlike any useless heap of anything he'd seen before—and when he realized it hadn't stopped expanding—he understood, finally, that he'd bitten off more than he could chew. And he paled a little at the sight of it now, beyond the obfuscation of his arms, stretching to a height far beyond his own and eclipsing the circle it should have fit into.

Large and bulbous, glossy and flowing as if wet, black as tar, no more resembling the dirt in which it was reborn. It claimed a human shape, as much of one as V could have crafted out of earth, but appeared to re-imagine itself of its own accord. Parts of it were not as V had built, but he didn't have a care for the shape. He supposed he never really did. He simply needed the thing alive, and here he'd achieved it. His golem, his golem, alive! And in the center, toward the top of its...whatever V would think was a head, glowed an orb like a great violet eye, and like an eye it darted in all directions as if it saw for the very first time. Like a human it stood upright on two legs, two disproportionately large arms hanging at its sides. No digits, but broad, round ends like clubs for “hands.” By the candle light, he could note several hooked claws protruding from the thing's arms. Parts of its body looked craggy, almost unnatural, as if shrapnel or rocks had wedged into its hide. This was the demon he'd brought to life from eternal death. This titan called Nightmare, a thing of destruction. It towered above the sorcerer, a dark and hulking thing that could easily snuff him out with its weight alone. His heart was fast in his chest.

It jumped at the sight of the demon's sudden movement and V felt he'd almost folded to the instinct to step back. Ungainly on its smaller legs, slow and heavy, the beast lumbered with every dragging step forward it took. Forward, unto the protective circle!

With its restless eye it perceived him, his body language and the demons not far from him. All things were new to it, like it had the whole of life to relearn. When V's arms came down and his eyes pierced the dark, it was perceived that there was no defense, no offense, and full attention. Ah, but here it seemed to remember—some memories had not gone, and with them had also come the memory of mercy. If Nightmare had remembered any more, it would have likely tried to kill him for his intent. But the demon was almost like a newborn: it knew too little of others, and itself, and regarded the black-clad warlock beneath it just as an infant would fix its indeterminable gaze on a thing of interest.

If V had had the opportunity to savor the success of his first resurrection, he might have. He might have patted himself on the back for once, admired the golem as a thing of beauty, but as he was uncertain and on high alert, he could not think of anything but the very real chance that the demon might retaliate after all—or go berserk. But he remained in the circle, watched the demon hesitate before the uppermost grains of salt on the ground, and felt his heart skip a beat. The demon stalled, right outside the protective circle, and stood motionless as its eye looked in all directions. Perhaps it wondered what stood in its way. V needed to find his nerve or he'd lose the demon to its untamed instincts: he could not afford complacency now that he'd gotten so close, with work still needing to be done in order to claim the demon for his own. So, he would appeal to it, with a voice that came across more meekly than he'd intended. “Nightmare...?”

His voice surely caught its attention. If only he knew it was perceived as only noise.

“Do you understand me?” he probed. “You are alive. You've come back from death.” That stirred nothing. “It was my voice you heard that guided you here. To me.” He was gentle with his words, cautious as he assessed how they'd affected the golem—but no indication of its awareness, of its comprehension, gave him next to no encouragement. He wondered if Nightmare had ever understood spoken language. But, if that hadn't gotten through to the demon, then he supposed something physical might. Much to the horror of his watchful familiars, V pushed himself forward to extend an arm, to reach out his bare hand, to...touch.

“V, what're you doin'?!” The raptor could not have left well enough alone.

Violet pulsated.

The small warlock had stepped beyond the perimeter of salt. He broke his protection and exposed his vulnerable soul to infernal powers for the sake of connection. And he sensed it. At the back of his mind, a tingle; at his fingertips, something sentient and...perceiving, at least, cool to the feather-light touch but so very warm with devil's blood at its core. The silence might have unnerved him, but to know that he was not dismissed gave him heart. “You can feel me?” he wondered with his eyes cast up, searching that deep and indecipherable purple for his answer. Whether or not it was a product of psychic communication, a sense of calm ran through his fingers, and comfort grazed at the very door to his mind. That dark and obsessive demon within him smothered itself the instant man touched demon, demon touched man, and in its place was born a tender affection. His hand was soft over Nightmare's arm and free from its claws.

Now...he admired it, just a little.

But if he could get inside that titan's mind, he'd know what he looked like to it. And to be acknowledged by the thing that gave it new life was new, also, in this way: because it was novel to feel warmth, respect, and to sense that no subjugation would come from the pale little hand that seemed also to lay claim. And it was a strange contradiction. Nightmare seemed to remember something familiar, something like dominion and disregard that came with a claim of its own over the newborn. But these impressions were faint and centuries distant, and Nightmare was not roused to belligerence by a perceived wrong but remained placid and curious before the human boy it almost, almost could have known as a father. It felt, it understood, in its own innocent way, and therefore it sought. But why, why did the black-and-white figure that so kindly welcomed it suddenly peel away in retreat? The demon only wanted to know him, experience him, and mimic his gesture with an arm of its own. It tried to graze him with the claws on its arm, but the human stepped back with a change in his demeanor. Was this rejection? Was this human false?

V's circle was breached by inhuman hands and feet, its protectiveness nullified when V had broken it. He found that his salt did not burn when the demon walked through it. He was swift in collecting his grimoire and scrambled out of the circle entirely, ignoring one familiar's calls to cease and desist as he still so stubbornly held his ground to win favor he didn't know he already had. “Nightmare!” he called with firmness, attempting to command its attention. He was so sure he'd angered it. The grimoire was opened to the page he needed and he, in utter darkness, recited more from memory than from print. “How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot! / From the morn to the evening he strays; / He shall follow his sheep all the day, / And his tongue shall be fillèd with praise.” He glanced to find Nightmare had stilled before him, within his broken circle. That's good. He inhaled a breath to steady himself, to soften, to finish. “For he hears the lamb's innocent call, / And he hears the ewe's tender reply; / He is watchful while they are in peace, / For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.” In a maddening mix of apprehension and anticipation, V watched the violet orb spin: the demon was thinking. Even if such a creature could not understand the human, artful tongue, he knew that a creature could still sense emotion, and from within words so delicately crafted and sweetly delivered, emotion was the only intent he'd meant to convey. Like music soothed savage beasts, poetry soothed soured demons.

Nightmare appeared to like the sound of those words. Its confusion was dashed for a moment, and now only watched V with its same curiosity. When a fleeting moment of broad silence passed, Nightmare wanted to inch closer to him—and was again stilled when another string of pretty words touched its consciousness. Was it meant to stand still when the human talked so affectionately? It decided not to move again.

And this, V determined, was a sign of domestication. He thought he'd tamed the beast, at least halfway, so quickly!

“V,” the raptor persisted, “I don't like this! That thing's an accident waiting to happen!”

“Quiet! I know...it knows.”

“It knows you're a chump—!”

“Shhh!” V pressed a finger to his lips when he'd turned to Griffon but donned a friendly, inviting air when again he faced the colossal golem. He smiled, his eyes glimmered, and he approached it with calm. “Nightmare,” he said quietly, intimately, “will you...be my demon? Will you bind to me?” Predictably, no response, so V reached his hand out again to connect—and tried again, focusing on intent rather than speech with a harder, genuine look over his countenance. “I need you, and I...hope...you need me, too. Will you be my familiar?” His palm was firmer on the demon's flesh this time, but not at all merciless or pressuring.

V never believed he was telepathic, but with Nightmare on the other end of the communication, he could have sworn his feelings had been answered. The demon stood still, as did he, and here he would perform the rite of bondage. His technique evolved, every time, and he'd come upon the simplest form of claiming a familiar to date. If magic was all about intent, then for ceremony there was little need. Through incantation and intent, and mutual agreement, the warlock would bind the demon to himself as effectively as he'd ever done. Griffon swallowed every last complaint to let his master be; Shadow had been wise from the start to observe.

Nightmare was still as it watched the little creature who'd given it life. His words it understood vaguely, but his touch was the easiest language it'd ever known. The golem it came to be was nothing at all like the machine of chaos in its previous life. Whether or not that had something to do with the man who'd willed it into being would ever be a mystery. But it, like him, was calm and patient, and listened to a language it largely heard as noise. He uttered words on and on, and some were pretty while others were fair, and some were soft while others were hard; and when he would speak the same word, “Nightmare,” he was warm with his intonation. And the demon, within, felt a warmth as well that had come upon it quite suddenly. A whole change in the air confused it. But so long as the giver of life held his touch and gave it comfort, the golem would be peaceful in its trust.

Magic leaked into the air from his lips, every syllable of incantation imbuing the forces of life and nature, Earth and Hell, those that were human and diabolical—all, combined, alive with the distinctive violet hue of his art, would grant the warlock that which he sought in all fairness of practice. There was power in the atmosphere, a presence of miasma that was inherent in all demonic dealings, but V was no stranger to the forces whirling about his body or the sensations bouncing and dancing all across his skin. This was a power only he could wield, which only he understood in the way that was so personal and individual, his and his alone. His eyes had been closed for concentration; and as he felt the demon's spirit closer to his own, he bridged the gap by granting the demon knowledge of his sacred name. “My name is Vitale.”

Vitale, not V, who he really was, whom he would always be. All his familiars knew it, and now, too, did Nightmare. He'd forbidden anyone else the privilege—to such an extent that he would forget a moniker was only a moniker.

And maybe, with the bond formed and the final pledges made, he could be less of V, more of Vitale.

“Come, on wings of joy we’ll fly To where my bower hangs on high; Come, and make thy calm retreat, Among green leaves and blossoms sweet.”

It shot through him—power, life, trust, a connection. All of Nightmare, all at once, vanishing from sight as the finest black particles to join with its master on his body, new markings alongside those previous, fitting snugly between each one to fill more of his skin, claiming him for itself in so doing. But this demon took more than the warlock had counted on. It cloaked hair so white in its embrace and painted it black, a deep, true ebony that could have contested even the darkest of shadows. It startled him when his eyes opened, and he grabbed at the strands and his scalp as if to make sense of what had just happened. With the demon finally bound to him, the air fell flat. Magic, left; power, absorbed; spirits, gone. Only V now, and his familiars.

The changes in him were not only skin-deep. Somehow, in some way, he felt Nightmare's weight on him. He felt its strength, too, albeit faintly in his psyche; and he felt his strength, greater than it had been minutes ago, spiritually, but still quite subtle materially, in presence. It was like Griffon's or Shadow's, but Nightmare was a demon on an entirely elevated level. And it must have been for that sole reason that V could feel his body suddenly so tired—and this to such a degree that he slouched a little as a result. His two familiars neared him, relieved to see that he'd survived his experiment.

That's right... He'd succeeded. He hadn't even remembered what hell he'd put himself through for the past several weeks. It all paid off. But he didn't think of it. He used his foot to clear away the casting on the ground, the salt spread in all directions as it was rendered ineffective anyway. When he took one solitary step forward to pet his doting shapeshifter, he felt a weakness in the knees that nearly downed him. It was a stumble, that was all...! No one pointed it out to him, and he was thankful for that.

He'd never felt that before, not even when he'd run himself ragged.

“I gotta hand it to you, kid,” Griffon praised, “you stuck to your idiot guns and got what you wanted. You've gotta be feeling so good about yourself.”

V couldn't help answering distractedly. “Yeah.” He ran his hands through Shadow's fur all the while she circled him, offering fond nudges as though to comfort him. “It's...kind of strange.” He did not eye Griffon.

“What? Too much power for you?”

Was that it?

The answer had to wait as V spent a moment collecting the candles, pouring salt over the area, and defacing the inverted pentagram. This circle, too, was cleared away. But his silence often spoken volumes, so he did not doubt that his demons were already forming conclusions in their dark minds. Their eyes were certainly fixed on him as he had his back turned. When he should have been feeling joyous and fulfilled, he found that, instead, he was...undecided with his feelings, ultimately.

“What about your hair, anyway? I've never seen that happen before.”

“It's strange. I don't know if I'll get used to it,” the warlock admitted, knitting his brows as he caught sight of a strand of black hair falling in front of his eye. What a change—and now he was as if a perfect shadow, black on the bottom and black on top. God, that must have screamed something about him.

“It's not that bad on you, actually,” the chatty demon observed, his tone impressed. But he wanted to know about Nightmare, and he wanted to know that V was satisfied and had finally gotten over his obsession with it. “But we're avoiding the subject, aren't we? Tell us how you feel. I mean, after everything you went through, was it worth it after all? Sure, the big lummox agreed to entering the rite and all—and I'm still shocked it didn't go berserk on us—but it didn't exactly strike me as the intelligent kind. I'm not saying you gotta talk to be smart, but—”

“Sometimes talking less masks stupidity.” V flashed a fleeting smirk. “I guess...I feel all right. Exhausted, but...all right. I think the pressure's just finally catching up to me.” A soft breeze rustled the canopies some feet away. What time had it been? He packed up his materials as Griffon continued to talk his ear off. V blocked him out for the most part, concerned by the strange sensation in his legs. It wasn't tiredness, it wasn't pain. He knew the difference. Lacking a better idea, all he could compare it to was weakness; and all he could figure was that it was his fault in the end, because he'd been so desperate and power-starved that he threw all caution to the four winds for the sake of summoning a demon that was potentially out of his league. Maybe what Griffon had said, about “too much power,” was right. Maybe it had been too much for V, but he'd never given that the kind of thought it deserved. All he wanted was some semblance of self-reliance, the knowledge that he could really hold his own and fold in fear to no one, not man nor demon. It was all he wanted and he'd found it. He had it. Nightmare was his. A demon once under the command of an emperor was now in V's bony hands, and it should have gratified him more.

If anything, he came to realize that he was in error for believing that he could just take from demons as much as he'd wanted, without repercussions. The essence that was Nightmare's which he'd felt through his touch was felt in the back of his mind, only now it was perpetual, and he thought that demon might read what he was thinking, might even influence him if he was not careful.

Because he did, he did feel different. Physically and psychologically. He felt the weight on and the weakness in his body. He felt an intangible strength, and with it an unusual sway to his psyche. While his thoughts remained his own, and he felt himself his own man, he too sensed that there was suddenly more to him. In heart and mind where his inner demon dwelt, he felt it with more clarity than ever. All that was demonic in him, purely of him and from which he was born, seemed more alive now, so suddenly, after Nightmare joined with him to serve him as intended. But it was not Nightmare's doing: V knew, with every familiar claimed, that the demonic blood in him which was so diluted had gained some amplification; and after every demon bound to his skin, more and more of the devil liked to play. It was no wonder that he'd gotten so much more impertinent and stubborn and dark-humored, and that he more and more enjoyed slaying the infernal interlopers who had no place upon the Earth so long as they posed as threats to it. It was no wonder that V was more and more a devil in his own right. Puberty had brought that on, but surrounding himself with demons helped it along. And even that was no such concern for him, because he still believed he could stand a change in character. He hated his meekness.

Maybe there was something more to it all. A change in character would suit the change in his fashion—he'd forgotten he'd been wearing something new, and only when he slung his filled rucksack over his shoulder had he remembered that he'd not worn sleeves. He felt good in what he wore, and comfortable, and he liked that the loneliness of the field afforded him a peace of mind with which to walk freely. No one around to judge him, watch him, or try to break the ice with him. And even if there had been, he liked to believe that the devil inside shouldn't have to care anymore. When he used to be a boy who'd been too frightened to make decisions and take first steps, tonight he'd proven that he was dauntless and relentless, and impossible to sway when he'd had his mind set; and though he showed recklessness, he often paired that with a quick resourcefulness and the ability to rebound. In his teenage years he was too shy to function, but the coming of age brought about a kind of daring that was, more than anything, born from his own distaste toward himself and a desire to mature, evolve, improve. And he had. Every year that passed, he grew up a little more, learned better of the adult world, and adapted more nimbly to things that were outside of his control. And though he had still a ways to go, he was getting there. He was only twenty-one, still too naive and fresh-faced, inept and awkward with people, and continually healed where his trauma was concerned. Emotional scars ran deeply, and they hadn't quite closed. They didn't. That's why the young man, though still a boy for all intents and purposes, bled from his hidden wounds to the present day.

Perhaps there was something more to be gained from Nightmare than simply its alliance. V had finally realized that he'd met his goal—probably his hardest one to reach yet. He'd resurrected a demon from death! He formed a vessel for the spirit to inhabit, to use as its own body and reshape it as it pleased. He tamed the demon with the art of the spoken word, nothing more, and successfully bound it to him, himself to it. Things that he had not even practiced before had all worked on his very first attempt, and if that in itself was not a sign of growth and experience, then nothing else could be. Before his own eyes he improved upon his craft, gained a new skill while mastering older ones, and granted a second chance to a soul which, in its previous life, had been used as a tool only to be slain by its master's foe. That couldn't have been any kind of life to live and it certainly wasn't any kind of afterlife. Here, V showed he was merciful, too; and it may have been by sheer coincidence that things had turned out that way, his intent originally to bind the most powerful demon he could host on his body, but ever since he'd laid eyes on the thing—touched it with heart and soul—he felt differently. He wanted more than what he bargained for, and in several ways he'd gotten it. Nightmare was to be as much a friend to him as Griffon and Shadow, as much a part of their small family unit as anyone else in it. More than power and bravado, he wanted connection, and comfort, and someone more to trust, and someone to trust in him, to need him, to value him as he'd value them. And he found it in Nightmare. He found a lot in Nightmare. When the demon joined with his body and the cloud of maddened obsession lifted from his psyche, the warlock could finally see it all: his mistake, mistakes, his flaws and talents, his honest needs, what he was and who he thought he wanted to be, should be, and how he ought to be it. There was a truth revealed to him in bonding with Nightmare and in everything he'd done to get there in the first place. Everything from his devotion to his dress, from his guts to his tenderness.

V thought he'd found himself, through this. He'd found at least a part of Vitale—and he'd chip away at himself to find even more until he was all out in the open. Still so young, he had so much time for it.

As he walked back the path he'd taken, Shadow had melted to darken his form along with Griffon shortly after. There was no conversation to be had between man and devil; and V got away with leaving many of Griffons' questions unanswered. Fatigue, he'd explained. Partly true. Already was he tiring himself out, pushing more than he was used to just to keep on the path. If he expected to stand on his own two feet with his head held high, confidence on his brow and the steadfast backing of his infernal friends, he wouldn't do it looking and feeling so tuckered out. But he'd done wrong to reflect on it now. V had inevitably seen himself home.

Griffon and Shadow were freed to sleep where they pleased the moment V locked the door. Sleep was not often something that he looked forward to. Given the frequency of his nightmares, he would start in the middle of the night with his traumas and insecurities brought to the forefront of his mind as if he'd lived through every painful experience all over again. But he was too tired to care when he flung himself on his bed, and he likewise did not fight the fading of his consciousness when he slipped right off to sleep. He always would, and horror would reliably wake him. Only, tonight, it didn't. He didn't wake. He'd slept in unintentionally when dawn broke. It was strange to him that he'd felt mildly rested in the morning, when he would oft feel sleepy. He didn't remember any disturbance in his sleep. But the black of his hair made him wonder; and, still, the tiredness in his body hadn't left him. He would go to the same field that night in an attempt to call Nightmare from its hideaway for the first time, but the demon did not come. Try as he did, driven to worry and exasperation, thinking even that he'd betrayed his new friend in some irreversible manner, the familiar would not emerge. Griffon suggested a thousand things to try, and those that were sensible resulted in failure.

But...V did think of one thing before quitting for the night. He thought to be playful, as if coaxing a child from its hiding place, when he poured his will and his warmth into a snap of his fingers. From the sky came crashing down a meteorite, V's hair suddenly white.

Ah, so that's how it is.

[bintaeran]

Interview with Charlotte Bell about Yoga, Mindfulness Meditation, and Breast Cancer

Interview with Charlotte Bell about Yoga, Mindfulness Meditation, and Breast Cancer Nina Zolotow by Nina

Beautiful World by Rene Magritte

I've been admiring Charlotte Bell, yoga teacher, author, and editor, from afar for quite a long time. I especially love the posts she has written for the Hugger Mugger blog over the years. Recently, because I wanted to learn more about mindfulness meditation and I knew that Charlotte was a long-time practitioner of mindfulness meditation as well as a long-time yoga teacher, I gathered up my courage and asked her if she wanted to talk sometime! To my delight, she agreed, and after a very stimulating conversation, I asked her if she would do written interview with me about how her long-time experience with meditation helped support her through a recent bout of breast cancer. I'm leaving it unedited because, as always, Charlotte has many important things to say.

Nina: Tell us a bit about yourself and what your life was like before your breast cancer diagnosis.

Charlotte: Before my cancer diagnosis, my life was extremely busy. I managed Mindful Yoga Collective, taught weekly yoga classes, wrote a monthly column for Catalyst Magazine, worked a part-time job doing social media and writing Hugger Mugger Yoga Products’ blog, and edited all the content on Yoga U Online. I also play oboe and English horn in the Salt Lake Symphony and at the time, played in a chamber folk sextet called Red Rock Rondo, which is still technically together, but is currently dormant because of all our other projects.

Nina: Why did you decide to study Buddhist style mindfulness meditation in addition to yoga, and what role did your meditation play in your life?

Charlotte: I was first introduced to vipassana meditation at a yoga retreat at The Last Resort in the Cedar Breaks area of Southern Utah. At the retreat, we practiced vipassana three times a day. After the retreat, the teachers, Pujari and Abhilasha Keays, felt I was ready for one of their five-day silent vipassana retreats. I couldn’t attend that year, but decided to take a deep dive the following year and attended a retreat in January of 1988. 

I definitely didn’t take to meditation immediately on that first retreat. In fact, I spent the first three days plotting my escape. (The Last Resort was only accessible by snowmobile in the winter, so my plans had to be somewhat elaborate!) 

On the evening of the third day, I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and to prepare for bed, still feeling enormous frustration, but still trying to be mindful. As I reached for the doorknob to the bathroom, I felt the movement of my arm; the cool smoothness of the knob; the process of turning it; my biceps flexing as I pulled the knob toward me; and the intricate movements of my body as I walked through the door. The experience was exquisite. It was as if I was turning a doorknob for the first time in my life. 

It made me realize the richness—and the importance—of being mindful, of even the most pedestrian of life tasks. The next day, I fell into a state of peace that I couldn’t have previously imagined. Of course, that gave way to the usual monkey mind later on, but a seed of possibility had been planted that made me see the value of practice.

Since then, mindfulness has been an essential part of my daily practice. I’ve gone through periods of practicing 20 to 30 minutes, and currently practice 60 minutes a day.

Nina: What happened when you were diagnosed with breast cancer? How were you feeling? 

Charlotte: I received my breast cancer diagnosis on the first day of an 18-day metta (kindness)/vipassana (mindfulness) retreat at Spirit Rock Meditation Center in 2016. I had had my annual mammogram 12 days before the retreat. A week later, the clinic called me back because they wanted to check something that they thought could be suspicious. I had an ultrasound and needle biopsy two days before leaving on retreat, and the timing worked out that the first day of the retreat would be the day they got the biopsy results back. When I first heard the words “invasive ductal carcinoma” I felt an immediate shot of adrenaline. This lasted through the day. My partner was on the retreat with me. Since the retreat was silent, we had decided beforehand on a thumbs-up or thumbs-down signal for me to let him know the results. I gave him the signal when we were in the meditation hall, preparing to sit in the afternoon. I remember being more concerned about his response than my own during that meditation. 

Nina: You told me that your long-time meditation practice was really helpful during this time. Can you let us know how? And what did you practice during this period?

Charlotte: The day of my diagnosis was the first day of the nine-day metta portion of the retreat. I consider this to be fortuitous. I had practiced metta regularly and on long retreats for years, so I was aware of the way that metta can soften the edges around pain and difficulty. But a cancer diagnosis was completely new territory for me. Fortunately, the retreat managers allowed me to use the phone in the office to make the necessary appointments for after the retreat so that I could hit the ground running when I got home, and I could be confident that I’d done all I could. That way, I could let go of worrying about details and focus on practice.

After 28 years of practicing metta, this retreat was the first time I felt compelled to do a lot of kindness practice for myself. In metta practice, you traditionally start with yourself and expand your metta outward to mentors, friends and family, and others. But metta to myself had always been a challenge, probably due to growing up in a family that rated selfishness as practically a mortal sin. So it took a cancer diagnosis for me to finally feel compelled to practice for myself. I practiced for others as well, but I spent more time with myself than I had in the past. When I returned home, I noticed that my usual habit of berating myself was no longer my first response when I made some sort of mistake. The self-metta practice had changed a longstanding unhealthy pattern. 

Throughout the retreat, I was pleased and surprised to notice that my mind never went into any drama about the diagnosis. While it was not the diagnosis I had hoped for, my mind never descended into “why me?” or “poor me” or “what did I do to deserve this?” or any other such machinations. I saw the diagnosis simply as a new context for me, and I felt so grateful to be in a place where I could integrate this new context without distractions. I felt a profound sense of equanimity throughout the entire retreat. In a practice meeting with Joseph Goldstein during the second half of the retreat, I told him about this. I said, “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop [to start to freak out about the diagnosis], but it just isn’t happening.” He replied, “This is why we practice.”

I’ve known this and taught this many times to my yoga and meditation students: We can’t control what happens in our lives, but we can moderate our response to it. The equanimity I maintained throughout cancer experience was a testament to 28 years of mindfulness practice. Throughout the retreat and beyond, I’ve reflected many times on how grateful I am to have found this practice, and that I’ve put in the time and effort to be consistent with it. It has truly been transformative.

Nina: How about your yoga practice? Did yoga help support you during this time? If so, how? And which practices and/or philosophy in particular?

Charlotte: Yoga practice has supported me in much the same way as the meditation practice. In the past 20 years or so, I’ve been practicing from the perspective of the three yoga sutras that are concerned with asana: 

2.46: The physical posture should be steady and comfortable. 2.47: It is mastered when all effort is relaxed and the mind is absorbed in the Infinite. 2.48: Then we are no longer upset by the play of opposites. Having been born in a flexible body, I focused for years on doing extreme poses, largely for my own ego satisfaction. My dad was a gymnast, so I inherited some of his physical abilities. But in the early 2000s, I shifted my intention more fully to the sutras’ version of mastery—relaxing all effort and letting my mind be absorbed solely in the present physical experience of the pose. This has helped me develop equanimity in practice and beyond.

I initially learned how satisfying it is to combine mindfulness with asana practice on retreats at The Last Resort. Pujari and Abhilasha were students of B.K.S. Iyengar in the 1970s and ’80s, so there was a slow, mindful yoga practice each morning on their retreats. These sessions not only helped make the long days of sitting and walking meditation more comfortable, but they also allowed me to experience the joys of focusing inward in my practice rather than focusing on how I might push my body even further. So really, asana practice before, during and after my cancer diagnosis has been mostly another avenue for practicing mindfulness. 

Since long before I was diagnosed, I’ve taught yoga for cancer patients. Currently, I teach at Huntsman Cancer Institute. Think about the language we use around cancer—“battling cancer,” “war on cancer,” etc. I feel that this sets up an antagonistic relationship with our bodies. Practicing simple asana from a more internal, and less forceful, perspective can remind us of all we can still enjoy about being in a living body. I feel grateful that I had the opportunity to explore this in my own body while going through the cancer experience.

Nina: What was the treatment and recovery period like for you? How did your meditation practice support you during treatment and recovery? And how about your yoga practice?

Charlotte: I was fortunate that my cancer was diagnosed at a very early stage (1A). It was an invasive type of cancer, triple negative, but the tumor was only 7mm. My oncologist said that chemo was an option, but she didn’t feel strongly about it in my case. I chose to have a lumpectomy and targeted radiation. I really felt pretty good throughout the process, although I experienced some fatigue a week or so after the radiation. 

I continued both yoga and meditation practice, and stayed at a pretty even keel the entire time. In many ways, the process felt like a continuation of the retreat. I left the retreat so inspired by the equanimity I’d felt that there was a renewed sense of commitment that hasn’t faded. 

It was also helpful to return to my yoga class sangha. Most of my students have been practicing with me for decades. There’s a cohesive, supportive culture that has formed among my students. Karma yoga is very much alive in my students, whenever anyone is going through challenging times. They stepped forward to help with tasks such as yard work and studio maintenance while I was going through treatment. Practicing metta for the supportive sangha was an important dimension of my yoga and meditation practice during that time.

Nina: Did you feel changed by this whole experience? If so, in what ways? 

Charlotte: Of course. I’ve enjoyed a low-maintenance body for most of my life. I took good health for granted for a very long time. However, the year before my cancer diagnosis, I had to have my left hip replaced due to hip dysplasia. Three months after my lumpectomy, and two months after radiation, the right one was replaced. Having so many major health events in a span of less than two years definitely drove home the impermanent nature of these bodies. Yet, through all of it, I never felt that any of these issues were somehow a mistake. There’s a history of hip replacements and breast cancer on my mother’s side of the family. These things are written into my DNA. 

What shifted—or maybe deepened is a better word—is my commitment to practice. While I’ve had a relatively peaceful four years in this body since my last hip replacement, I know that other things are going to come up. This is just the truth of living in impermanent, aging bodies. I’m immensely grateful for the years of practice that will help me navigate these challenges with grace. 

Nina: Do you have anything else you’d like to tell our readers?

Charlotte: I can’t overemphasize the importance of regular practice. Even if you can commit to as little as five minutes a day, practice those five minutes. Consistency is the most important thing. As a classically trained musician, I’m intimately aware of how practicing scales and arpeggios can be mind-numbingly boring. But practicing musical exercises give you the skills to approach the music you want to play with confidence and ease. It’s the same with meditation. Over years of practice, you will hit plateaus, times when it seems nothing is really happening. But trust the process and continue to practice. In my own practice, I’ve realized that the plateaus are often times of integration, when the benefits of practice sink in deeper. When your practice integrates more deeply, it becomes your foundation, a state that you come from while negotiating the ups and downs of your life. And that’s the point of practice.

Charlotte Bell began practicing yoga in 1982, and started teaching in 1986 and has taught yoga continuously since then. Certified by B.K.S. Iyengar, she teaches classes, workshops and teacher trainings. In 1988, she began practicing Insight meditation. She is currently finishing the Mindfulness Meditation Teacher Certification Program with Jack Kornfield and Tara Brach. Author of three books, Mindful Yoga, Mindful Life: A Guide for Everyday Practice, Yoga for Meditators, and Hip-Healthy Asana: A Yoga Practitioner’s Guide to Protecting the Hips and Avoiding SI Joint Pain. Charlotte has written for Yoga Journal, Yoga International, CATALYST Magazine, Yoga U Online and the Hugger Mugger Yoga Blog. For more information visit charlottebellyoga.com.

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[renegadesrpg]

Dark Angel : Creation. Battle Plans Part 6

Sin: *With a nod at Sean I acknowledge he is correct and take my seat at the table. Now that we have method, we need means, so let us see what we resources we have available. Thoughtfully, I begin…*

Once the Inguz rune is removed the Horseman will immediately become aware of my location. In that instance I will begin to pull power from him through the open link and I believe that will cause him to attack. But as we surmise he will try to wear me down we can assume he will send in those he considers cannon fodder. How many are in this “fifth column” Bryn speaks of?

Zav: My estimate is near 300.

--growling a little as I set my jaw --  

All are fighters and completely loyal to the Horseman. These souls were bound for the Hells and he offered them an out by being his personal Brown Shirts. They don’t take the names the Fates send to us. We’ve given up even trying to direct them. Instead, they act as assassins and soul thieves, killing innocents that the Horseman has consigned to Lucifer.

Sin: *I feel my countenance grow as hard as my heart at this. There is no greater betrayal of our purpose. That the one to whom the Fates entrusted this responsibility has not only personally betrayed it, but has enlisted an entire battery of minions to fulfill his betrayal only heightens my resolve to end this. Coldly I ask*

There are thousands of reapers across the world. How many will be loyal to you and are capable of fighting?

Sean: Uneasily Bryn, Adrian and Zav all look at one another and then at me. Clearing my throat,

“Loyal to us beyond question? Of the 5000 reapers not part of his storm troopers? I’d say four thousand. Able to do more than defend themselves? A thousand. Capable of fighting against this crew? Maybe two hundred.

Sin: *I raised my eyebrow at Sean*

I thought you said you had initiated training for the recruits he brought in after I left.

Sean: Ouch. That stung, but dammit we did the best we could with what we were given.

“I said we put ‘em through boot camp and rode ‘em hard. But the majority of them weren’t capable of the mindset it takes to be a soldier, so the best we could do for them was make sure they could take care of themselves in a pinch until help could get there. For the most part, that’s been enough. The ones we can’t count on to be loyal to us are weak and indecisive. They should have never been recruited but after you the Horseman wasn’t interested in having reapers with strong ethics.  We’ve tried to keep them to creampuff assignments and in a mass casualty event they’re paired with ones we know we can trust. Look,” running my hand through my hair in frustration, “I know it sucks there’s that many that just don’t have the loyalty or ability in them, but hey /we/ didn’t pick ‘em. We just tried to get them into the best shape we could.”

 Zav: --Sean looks as frustrated as the rest of us feel. The truth is reapers shouldn’t have to be warriors, at least not all of them. The system was set up to comfort and assist souls in moving on, not fighting off asshole demons. Unfortunately, the Horseman has screwed with the plan so much that now reapers need to be able to fight. Maybe one day Sin can set that to rights, but I’m not betting on it. A little taste of power is intoxicating and Lucifer was fucking drunk on it. —

Sean’s right, Sin. The ones that we can count on learned as much as they were able. Some of it comes down to sheer physicality. They don’t have the muscle or athleticism or they just don’t have the cojones to do more than defend themselves. Some have the balls but not the ability. That leaves us with about 200 that have both.”

 Adrian: -- My lips set in a thin line. Failure wasn’t something Spartans dealt with well and it had irked me when we were given basically nothing to work with.—

We did what we could with what we had Sin. None of us have ever been happy about it but we held it together the best we could.

 Sin: *Elbows on the table, I tent my hands and rest my forehead against them for a moment. This is my fault and I am aware of it. I left them to do the best they could. Given the circumstances, I could not have done other without becoming as big of a monster as the Horseman had become, but I still will not excuse myself. Finally, I look up*

Indeed you did and I am sorry my friends. The responsibility for this state of affairs lies with me. I should have returned to you much sooner.

*Heaving a determined sigh, I focus on the situation as it stands.*  

Since we will not have superior numbers we must focus on giving ourselves other tactical advantages. The first should be terrain. And we need to keep mortal races away from this. There would be casualties among them and I will not re-enact the crime that has brought us to this place.

 Bryn: “We need more than the high ground. We need a place I can ward.” At their questioning looks I add, “I was Boudicca’s strategist for more than my magic back in the day. We kept the Romans not only at bay, but on the run for as long as we did because she let me select battlegrounds that my sisters and I could lay the traps in. If Boudicca had listened to me after Mags and Aeryn were killed and given me more time, the entire history of the UK and western Europe might have been re-written. And I’ve got some ideas here.”

Sin: *Interesting. Whereas I would have thought Adrian might be the strategist of this group, it seems our quick-thinking witch is taking point.*

Have you a specific location in mind, Bryn, or are you generalizing?

 Bryn: “Both. We need somewhere that has places I can put wards and traps without them being obvious. Once we agree on location, we can get specific about what kind of magick we need. And I have a place I mind that might work.”

Raising my hands above the table, I close my eyes and murmur “Callanish a ’nochdadh.” In an instant an image of a 13 enormous stones standing in a circle on a grassy plain hovers over the table.

“The Standing Stones of Callanish on the Isle of Lewis. It’s a place of power.” Raising my eyes to Sin’s, “Power I can use to reinforce wards, or traps. And power you can use if you need it. The center stone, the monolith here in the center is the reservoir. Just behind it is the tomb of a powerful druid priest. It’s his power that’s in the megalith.”

Sin: *tilting my head as I look at the image and thinking…*

Yes, I remember this place and the souls there. But there were two, as I recall. I took them to Elysia some 5000 years ago, give or take. Their mortal souls did not return to this plain. They ascended. I had wondered if beings of power took such things with them upon ascension, but it seems he, at least, did not.

Sean: I had been a druid priest as well as a warrior in my last life, and likely in all the lives I’d had before it. In that last life it had grown to a specific manifestation…empathy I could wield to help, to heal, or to harm. If when I’d died in that last life I’d ascended, it would have returned to the earth to eventually be given to another. Now, we would be the channel that funneled that priest’s power to another. But there’s no way to know who. Sin? It seemed likely, but the power itself would choose. 

Quietly…. “Druids take it with them from life to life until they ascend. We have no need of it on that plane. His power is there, sealed into the stone with his blood. But once we tap that, it’s loose and it will look for its next host.”

Sin: *looking sharply at Sean*

The power chooses? Would it choose one of our enemies, Sean? Does it seek a vacuum of power to fill or simply a host?

Sean: Shaking my head, “It will seek a host with characteristics similar to its last host. The priest ascended, which says there was no darkness in him, so this power will also be looking for a soul filled with light. To go to one with any darkness in it would weaken it, and it seeks to maintain its balance in the universe. That lets out both Death and the rogue reapers, but it doesn’t clue us in as to who it will go to once it’s free again.”

Sin: *slowly I nod my head, filing this information away for future analysis. Tilting my head I focus on the stone circle, analyzing its value in the type of battle we will fight* There are stones leading to the circle in lines from all four directions. Is there power there as well? 

Sean: I need to take a deep breath before I can go on. Bryn couldn’t have known, but this place is very personal to me. 

“I know Callanish very well. There is power in all the stones. See, when a high priest or priestess, a prophet or prophetess, died at least one of their circle would have volunteered as sacrifice so their blood could be used to seal spells into the surrounding stones to protect the high priest’s power from being stolen by the unworthy. We already understood that the life we were in wasn’t the last we were destined to live so it was seen as an honor. In this case, it was his wife. She wanted their souls to travel together. She was sacrificed in front of the monolith, her blood drained to seal the approach stones and then her body buried in a cairn below the ground just at the northeast edge, symbolically guarding the perimeter. It’s her power in the stones outside the circle.” 

Sin: *Intently, I gaze at Sean. There is more here…* If you knew of this place why was it Bryn brought it to us? You were a warrior as well as a druid priest. Why did you not think of this place?

Sean: And here’s the rub of it. My face sets in stone as immobile as the monolith at the circle’s center. There’s a long story behind this, but a simple answer is all I can give right now.

“Because I never thought of it as a place of power. I always thought of it as my parents’ grave.” 

#TBC