#Sulphur -> Air and Fire

[ragnar0c]

Even worse. I thought about him some more and he's probably a noble's illegitimate son. So his actual name isn't anything fancy. It's just. Clay.

I imagine by 3rd stratum he'd tell Kenji and Hai and they'd squint and go. "Ough.... Why don't we keep calling you Aer?"

Back at it again with giving my guild members silly names.

Ragna lore: for some reason I never select landsknechts for my guild. I can't really say why. I just dont use them and favor the gimmick classes.

But there's always a quest requiring a lvl xyz landy WJSJSJ Eo2 I picked one. Named him "Aer".

Aer sounds like Air. WHICH SOUNDS LIKE HEIR.

So just now decided he's some noble and he goes "I'm HEIR!!" Angrily before realizing he's not supposed to say that and claims that "Yeah uhmm... that's my name HAHAHAH. I'm Aer. " *Sweats profusely*

[pegasusdrawnchariots]

24/01/2025 🌬

big blue beautiful train ride today 🚞 everything was windswept & radiant

[helpallthenamesaretaken]

ok but the health effects of tartarus on percy and annabeth are SO underplayed? according to house of hades, their skin was full of blisters and rashes. they had extremely high fevers. the air was SULPHUR. probably extreme a lot of physical trauma. covered in dirt and grime and blood. completely starved and dehydrated. and they came out of tartarus, and their friends only reaction was "omg hi guys 🤩😍hugssss🥰 welcome back from deepest darkest of hells 💪💪 let's have lunch 🤪😋" and they all have lunch together laughing. and then percy had a minor wheezing problem once in blood of olympus and that's it?? no one bothered to treat (or bring up) their skin conditions....and respiratory problems ..or high fever? how was their body adjusted to food and water after eating only monster soup and hell fire for days and weeks? wait we won't know because there were no percabeth povs in BOO--

[magnus-marmot]

Transmutations in TMAGP

Since most of the incidents deal with change and transformation, I'd like to collect my thoughts on their nature in one post. So I'll be explaining some ideas on the alchemical processes taking place. First I'll explain a (relatively) simple Tria Prima model, and then I'll try to break down some processes and symbolism we see in the show. This will be really long, like excessively long. Look, I'll throw in some nice alchemy pictures to make it more palatable. Feel free to skip the Tria Prima part if you've been reading my previous theories, I'm not really covering anything new in that.

Transmutations broken down with the Tria Prima

I think the most simple way to view it would be with the Tria Prima. Many of you are probably aware of the Body/Mind/Soul division, and while it's extremely simplistic, it actually works for us here.

From Alchymia complementum (1630)

We have the Body, or the Salt 🜔, which is the core, the physical shell, the metaphorical earth that the change is inflicted upon. In an alchemical transmutation, Salt must first be separated from the volatile components by burning or decomposition, and in the end they are brought back together. In TMAGP, Salt would be the physical, grounded part, such as a human body, a Bonzo suit or a creepy toy. You can think of it as a vessel.

Then we have the Mind, or the Mercury ☿. This is trickier to break down because the alchemists saw it as so many different things, but you can think of it as the essence. Not just the essence of the subject, but of everything. It's the malleable and volatile part of the subject, but it's also the intangible thoughts, concepts and archetypes in the collective unconscious, the metaphorical water or air that flows through everything. It's both the prima materia and the dissolving principle. In TMAGP, this would be the the changing ideas and beliefs around a concept, most recently demonstrated in how Henrich Unheimlich came to be, but you can see it in a lot of the cases. It's why all the supernatural phenomena reflect not only fears but also expectations and other strong feelings. Why the lack of clocks and purpose creates timeless liminal spaces, why the fear and reverence given to Bonzo made him what he is. It's what the Archivist uses as a fuel for its human transmutations and what the Magnus Institute tried to tap into for their Magnum Opus.

And finally we have the Soul, or the Sulphur 🜍, which seems to confuse people the most because of what we usually think of as the "soul". It's not the entirety of a human psyche, just the active, conscious and feeling part. But it's also the soul of all matter, in that it gives them life and allows active change. It's the metaphorical fire. Alchemists thought that Sulphur can be used to coagulate Mercury, to give it form. In TMAGP, Sulphur would be the catalyst that initiates the transmutation. It can be literal fire (like what possibly created Heinrich Unheimlich), or just a metaphorical fire, such as the violent act that gave birth to Bonzo.

From Hermaphroditic Child

There are also clearly two types of transmutations in the show. First we have the active ones, caused by fire or intent. Then we have the passive ones, caused by slow dissolution and characterised by coldness. These mirror the active (Celestial Nitre or Sol) and passive (Celestial Salt or Luna) principles of alchemy. It also evokes solve et coagula, where all matter is constantly dissolved and coagulated. As alluded to before, Mercury is what dissolves and Sulphur is what coagulates, and their purified counterparts in Luna and Sol form a harmonious unity when brought together. Which brings them back to their Salt.

A lot of the cases can be broken down into Salt/Mecury/Sulphur, but it's not an entirely clean model because many of the transmutations go wrong or are incomplete. Next I'll try to break down the actual processes based on some common symbolism and what we're given in the show.

Transmutation stages and common symbolism

For this I'll assume the most basic version of the Great Work, which consists of three stages: nigredo, albedo and rubedo. There are loads of different stages and processes, but they generally fall under these three. The cases in TMAGP rarely involve the entire process, and some are clearer than others.

From Pretiosissimum Donum Dei (1475)

Sealed vessels

First of all, I've noticed that a lot of these transmutations take place in a sealed vessel of some kind, much like they do in alchemy. This can be anything from a Bonzo suit to a closed Victorian carriage, a coffin, a locked room (such as a prison cell, a lock museum, a room in a reptile emporium, a virtually made zoom call room, the Archivist's office), a closed off liminal space (like a secret garden with no exit, a pier enveloped in fog, a brutalist building trapped in a void), or even a human body (like in Alice's dream, like alnewman's thigh, or like Herr Schmidt's brain).

Nigredo (blackening)

The stage where matter is broken down, burned or decomposed. Transformation can only occur once the old has been reduced to ashes so that something new can be born from it. Spiritually it involves ego death, stripping down the conscious thought and dissolving into the unconscious. Common symbolism/imagery include death, corpses, skeletons, dismemberment, rot, toads (ie. the decomposing prima materia), crows, ravens, Saturn/lead, darkness/night, indistinguishable black mass (massa confusa), flooding, drowning (especially of the king), eclipse, the green lion (=mercury) swallowing the sun.

From Philosophia Reformata (1622), coloured by Adam McLean

Here are some examples I've found in TMAGP:

Calcination or decomposing matter with heat (either open fire or a more subdued, natural heat). While there are cases with proper fire, heat seems to be the important factor here. In her dream, Alice describes the unbearable heat that envelops her when she's stuck inside her heart. We also get the exterminator at the reptile shop complaining about the heat when she's stuck in the room with an infection (=decomposing flesh), Lady Mowbray's caterer is cooking with high heat when his experience begins, Magnus mentions the unreasonably warm weather when he encounters the carriage, Menke was "sweating buckets" in the Bonzo suit, Mrs. Locke keeps forgetting to get someone to turn the heater off, and so on. Heat is what begins the transmutation process in these cases.

Dissolution into the mercurial waters. This is usually what drowning signifies in the alchemical imagery, and also what I think it signifies in TMAGP. Especially the drowning of the old king, which we're straight up given in the lock museum. Bonus points to the pest control lady who was about to be drowned in snakes, an extremely common symbol for Mercury. We also have the tech review guy speaking about the screen dissolving, and one of the transcripts has an instance of the Archivist dissolving into the wind. (No one can convince me that these word choices are coincidental.) And then we get some dissolving egos. The guy with his cursed dice seems to be losing his identity and starts seeing himself only as an archetype of a stranger who tricks people into rolling the dice, and poor Kyla's ego was dissolved into the emergent mind of Liverpool. We also have several cases of people who get lost in liminal spaces (such as the pier or the service station, even the custodian at Hilltop) and then get their identities dissolved. I don't think it's a coincidence that this happens at liminal locations, which are very aligned with the concept of Mercury. Especially if there's an element of water present. These themes are also usually accompanied by mentions of coldness, which tracks with Mercury's properties being wet and cold.

From Splendor solis, coloured by Adam McLean

Descending or entering a dark space, both of which align with the idea of descending into the collective unconscious or the "dark night of the soul". The darkness is pretty straight-forward. It's the violinist getting lost in the dark woods, Doctor Webber entering the dark garden, Patricia repeatedly talking about being in a dark space/world with her baby. The descent is more incidental, but I'm keeping an eye out for patterns. For example, the old couple had to descend to enter the lock museum, the food critic descended the alleyway to Hungry Man's Grill, a lot of descending into basements. It's a recurring theme but could be meaningless.

Infections or putrefaction, or the literal decomposition of living matter. We've got our fair share on the account of this being a horror podcast, but this should be seen as a transitory stage in a transformation. Some good examples include Dr. Webber's body breaking down and decomposing to give way to his new plant self, or Alesis's body becoming paralysed and moldy to allow the coral to grow. Magnus's colleague being ingested in the carriage, Bonzo's victims putrefying inside the suit, Alice/Sam's rotting corpse in her dream, the rotting food in Hungry Man's Grill (this one seems interesting, because the restaurant seems to be stuck in the putrefaction stage and the food refuses to decompose even when the guy leaves).

Sunset as a manifestation of the green lion devouring the sun (gold dissolving into mercury), which symbolises the onset of ego death or the beginning of the blackening (or the night). This has been emphasised in two cases. Firstly, the crypto bro from ep. 13 looks at the sun setting behind the sea (=Mercury) twice when making decisions on the trading app, and secondly, Lady Mowbray's hunt begins when the sunset colours everything crimson. Both of which are pivotal moments for these characters' personal transformation.

From the Rosarium Philosophorum

Albedo (whitening)

This stage marks the purification of matter through repeated washing, distillation and the like. It's where we begin to see the true essence of the prima materia and will be able to separate it from the rest. This stage is often associated with Luna, silver, or the White Elixir/Tincture. In psychology, it's where you discover and reconcile with your Shadow (or Animus/Anima) in the unconscious. Common symbolism includes doves, swans, lilies, whiteness, vibrant colours and eyes (known as the peacock's tail stage, though it's technically the transitional stage between nigredo and albedo), water of life, bathing, dawn (as in "always darkest before"), light emerging from the darkness, the queen, the moon (Luna), Anima (in the Jungian sense).

From the Mellon Collection

Some examples in TMAGP:

Purification or washing as an intentional attempt at removing impurities. Daria making adjustments to her painting in an attempt to perfect her own body. The violinist washing his hungry violin with blood in order to purify the music it produces. Alesis attempting to rid herself of her own impurities by growing a new self out of a coral (a lot of water and moonlight in that one, which fortifies the connection for me). Since purification is also often attributed to mercurial water, a lot of the water symbolism fits here too.

Colours, as seen in Daria's vibrant tattoo. Also the colours rushing into the liminal service station and the odd colours seen in the fog surrounding the pier. It's fitting, but not a very prevalent theme. Unless you count all ink, in which case it's very prevalent.

Encountering one's Shadow, which is a big theme in both TMA and here. Coming to terms with your inner darkness, fears and desires is what purification is about in spiritual alchemy. I think this is what the Archivist is doing. It's an embodiment of the Shadow, covered in eyes, here to distill and purify your fear and then project it back to you (killing you in the process). Although it's up to debate whether it feeds on the purified, distilled fear or the impurities left behind, it does leave something to be coagulated into the physical manifestation. (It's also worth noting that the compulsion has a lot of water imagery attached to it in the transcripts, things like "the dam breaks", "words gush out", "pouring out of her unstoppably like a river". And just to be extra clear, rain, dew, seas and rivers are all common symbols for Mercury.) Other than that, there are plenty of doubles or reflections in the show. We've got Darrien and his alternate darker self, the Millenium Dome construction worker's clone, Herr Schmidt's actual Anima crying to be let out of his brain, the horror blogger seeing his traumatic memories projected onto the big screen, Dr. Webber encountering his late wife in the garden, Alesis meeting her Piece in a dream, the list goes on. The important part for purification is the acceptance or healthy integration of the Shadow, which usually takes a twisted turn in TMAGP.

Dreams are often attributed to Luna, and they function as a link to the subconscious. In TMAGP, many of the dreams are linked to an epiphany, though it's not always a purifying one. Especially on the TMA side. Though I think the tech reviewer's meditation in the locked room could be seen as a form of purification. I think dreams and meditation have a wider metaphysical effect that I won't go into here.

The queen or the mother would go more into discussions on characters than processes, but I'll mention it here anyway since the albedo stage is most often equated with Luna and the emergence of the queen. We've got a couple of mothers, most notably Patricia (probably not Rupey's real mother but anyway) who's feeding her baby with her own blood (this is often symbolised by a pelican which were believed to bite their own chests to feed their young). Alesis is also very nurturing, and her entire case screams lunar symbolism. And the most obvious queen would be Lady Mowbray, who's described as a matriarch. But the most interesting one of all is our very own Celia, who fits the lunar archetypes of motherhood, secrets and deception to a T.

From the Ulrich Ruosch Manuscript

Light in the dark is pretty straightforward. Patricia describes Rupey as bringing light to her dark world, in the Hilltop custodian's memories there's a sudden light coming from one of the shops in the dark shopping centre, the computer monitor sheds light into the dark zoom room, the ritual Sam witnessed radiates yellow light into the dark. (Though the yellow makes it more in line with the citrinitas or yellowing stage, which is specifically the solar light shining through instead of the lunar reflection. It's a frequently forgotten stage with little direct symbolism so I thought it would make more sense to omit it, but just know that depictions of sunrise or yellow light might lean towards the citrinitas stage between albedo and rubedo.)

Rubedo (reddening)

The final stage marks the completion of the Work and the emergence of the Philosopher's Stone. It includes the conjunction of the opposites and the coagulation of the ultima materia. In psychology, it involves the integration of the unconscious and the ego into a singular self. Common symbolism for the reddening includes a phoenix, the king, a crown, the sun (Sol), gold, red or purple dye, red roses or poppies, blood, trees (specifically the Philosopher's tree) and lions. The union of the opposites (Sulphur and Mercury, silver and gold, Animus and Anima etc.) is symbolised by a marriage of the king and queen, sun and moon, red and white flower, two lions fighting, a lion (sun) devouring a serpent (moon), procreation, and so on.

From The Twelve Keys of Basil Valentine

Examples in TMAGP:

The union of opposites is a continuation of encountering one's Shadow, and sometimes this part is counted into albedo (or citrinitas) as well. But the conjunction can only happen once you've separated and purified the components, or made peace with them. Dr. Webber is unified with his late wife (queen) in the garden, and the two are coagulated into one tree. In Alice's dream, she's also unified with her late husband (king) into the same body, though the process is incomplete and has to begin again (probably because she's not able to perform the separation, which is thematically fitting and painful for my soul). The conjunction is also present in the union of Sulphur and Mercury (or their purified versions Sol and Luna), which I discussed in the Tria Prima section. And I currently think it's also what Fr3-d1 or the entity inhabiting it is trying to do with the data it's collecting.

Blood and dye, which are symbolic of the liquids that give the Stone its crimson color. Lots of blood to go around, but the most relevant case would once again be the violin and the blood that purifies it. Purple dye reminds me of one case alone, and it's notable that the more purple paint there was on Bonzo's cards, the more present he became. It's not entirely clear to me when Bonzo actualised into what he is now, so it's difficult to say whether that was intentional. Though the episode was written by Alex, which means I'm much more willing to read intentional alchemy symbolism into it.

Devouring is big in alchemical iconography, and it's big in TMAGP too. We've got masses of people biting into each other (the violinist's audience and the hungry non-people in the service station), obviously Bonzo eating people (and letters), Lady Mowbray's cannibal party, little German kid eating a mum sandwich, demon baby eating his "mum" just cause (bringing us back to purification with blood), and Hungry Man's Grill which we can't prove isn't serving human meat. Either way, it's often used as a metaphor for the conjunction.

Trees have also only popped up twice (as far as I recall), but in compelling cases. First is Dr. Webber, who by now has gone through all the stages. Second is Newton's Arbor Philosophorum, which is usually formed with Mercury or Silver. He feeds its fruit to his dog (another act of devouring and union), who begins to grow into a tree itself. Newton truly was on the precipice of something.

From the Twelve Keys of Basil Valentine

Conclusion

Whew, I'm never writing something like this again [bzzt]. If you read this far, wow. I'm impressed, and I appreciate you. Did the pictures help? Or make it worse? Let me know.

PS. I recognise that I might be drawing parallels where there are none, but that's what I do. I hope you got something out of it. Also do not ask me what's up with Needles. I have no idea what to make of him.

[masochist-marmot]

TMAGP Theory: Tria Prima

Spoiler alert/disclaimer: Written after The Magnus Protocol episode 34; also spoilers for The Magnus Archives

I don't know if this idea has been properly explored yet, but I have had a weeklong hyperfixation where I've delved into alchemy and tried to figure out the inner workings of TMAGP universe. This theory is half-boiled at best, and I apologise if I've misunderstood any of the basic concepts. It seems like even alchemists never fully agreed on them, so they're contradicting each other a lot. That being said, let's get into it.

Perspective Reset

First of all, I think we are collectively still too hung up on the Fears as entities or powers. It's very tempting to classify things with the same framework we're familiar with (and conditioned to), but I think it's preventing us from seeing the bigger picture. Prior to the end of TMA, it's possible that no entities ever even existed in this universe, but the incidents have been taking place for a long time. The creators have also explicitly said that they wanted to create a new rule set, and I doubt that they'd build it with the same blocks. Because of this, I set out to find a set of rules that has nothing to do with the fears.

Classical Elements (Very Briefly)

I will oversimplify this for my sanity and yours. We have the four classical elements: fire, air, water and earth. In the classical worldview, these make up everything on Earth. Each element has two corresponding properties, as you can see in the figure below (fire is hot and dry etc). The elements are in a constant process of circulating and flowing, breaking apart and coming together (sand into water, water into stone, stone into wood...), but fire and air are considered more active and volatile while water and earth are more passive and stable. The rest of the universe is filled with the fifth element, quintessence or aether. It is considered heavenly and perfect and completely unchangeable.

The Three Principles (Tria Prima)

Later alchemists made the addition of (first two and then) three principles that work on the elements and in conjunction with them. These principles were used to describe the alchemical process and its parts, but they also had more metaphysical implications. These are the foundation of my theory.

Salt 🜔: Aka. Corpus or The Body. Things that are solid and stable but also corruptible. The dust that's left behind after something is burned. Associated with earth, water and the property of coldness. In humans, associated with the physical body and therefore physical health. Salt is also associated with preservation and sometimes even rebirth. It's what's left behind after the alchemical stage of putrefication, and therefore what undergoes purification.

Mercury ��: Aka. Spiritus or The Mind. Things that are volatile and soluble. The alchemical solvent or the smoke that rises from a fire. Considered the perfect agent because it demonstrates properties of both a liquid and a solid. The principle of flowing freely between elements and perhaps even heaven and earth. Associated with air, water and the property of wetness. In humans, it's the mind, or the intellect, knowledge and rationality of a person. Some seem to consider it the universal, platonic idea of thought, as mercury wouldn't be restricted by an individual body.

Sulphur 🜍: Aka. Anima or The Soul. Things that combust, but also the principle of combustibility. The flame that manifests when something is burned. Associated with fire, air and the property of hotness. With fire and air being the most active elements, sulphur is also the catalyst for change. In humans, associated with the soul, or the consciousness that links the body to the mind. It's the emotions, ambitions and desires that animate the body.

Why have I given you the symbols? Because they're all there on the OIAR logo:

(I also circled aether because I thought I'd talk about it later but decided not to, so you're free to make your own conclusions)

I currently believe that these three principles are omnipresent in the Magnus Protocol universe. They're just part of the makeup of the universe, causing no one harm. At least, when they're in balance.

The Theory - It's All About Balance

There's been a lot of talk about balance by now.

"The institute, alchemy, all of it. "It’s all about balance. Dua prima, four elements, seven planets, it’s all the same. You’ve got to keep things balanced. And if something is missing, if someone is misplaced, the equation doesn’t balance… and that’s when things get bad…" (Celia, episode 30)

Here Celia mentions dua prima, which (as I alluded to before) is an earlier theory surrounding Sulphur and Mercury. Salt was proposed as the third principle in a later theory, but by now the tria prima seem to be more widely accepted.

"Not that anyone cares as long as it all balances, right? Not too much mercury or the world ends, not too much sulfur or we all go mad…" (Colin, episode 19)

Huh.

So, let me lay out the actual theory.

The principles usually strive for balance, because it's their natural state. However, sometimes the balance is skewed by human action or some other unexpected force. This imbalance can happen on an individual level or it can affect objects (which then become "cursed") or locations (which then become "poisoned"). In fact, the Magnus Institute calls such poisoned locations loci (singular "locus"). I also hypothesise that this is how the OIAR categorises their incidents (1. individuals - 2. locations - 3. objects).

When there is an imbalance, the affected person/area/object starts to display an unnatural amount or lack of one principle. For example, if there's an abundance of salt, we may see people or things slow down, become passive, even crystallise. Bodies preserved despite obvious corrosion, infections that putrefy and then purify flesh into a "perfect" form. The clearest example I can think of would be episode 3, where the character quite literally transmutes into a tree. Or episode 23 where a character inserts a piece of coral under her skin and begins to paralyse as it grows out of her. If you absolutely have to compare to TMA, I'd say a lot of Flesh, Corruption or Buried statements would fit under salt. It is associated with earth, water and literal bodies, after all.

Abundance in mercury would manifest as things getting a little weird, unstable and volatile, but in a subtle, flowy way. Changing architecture, people seeming odd, things dissolving into others, time or dimensions being unstable, perhaps the limits of a human psyche being broken. I'm thinking of the liminal spaces from episode 8 or the pier from episode 33. The fog is an especially fitting link, what with fog being a manifestation of air and water. I also think the entire Hill Top Centre has been affected. And now that I started, you could easily make connections to the Stranger, the Lonely, the Spiral and the Eye. Which brings an ironic twist to Colin's statement. Too much "mercury" already ended the world once.

Abundance of sulphur would bring out more abrupt changes, it would twist people's passions into unhealthy obsessions, drive people to anger and senseless bloodlust, give consciousness to the unconscious and animate the inanimate. In fact, in episode 19, the character says of Newton's dog: "such a creature must by all natural law lack that essential and ephemeral anima." Another case of an unexpectedly conscious thing would be Liverpool (episode 32), who is coincidentally also incredibly angry. I also think Ink5oul's tattoos have an element of sulphur, not only because their first stolen design (sun with a dot in the middle) evokes the alchemical symbol for sun. In TMA sulphur would probably be attributed to the Slaughter, the Hunt, the Desolation or the like.

I have noticed that a lot of TMAGP incidents involve an unhealthy desire, passion, obsession or (literal and metaphorical) hunger. It's also noticeable that the symbol for sulphur appears on the OIAR logo four times (once in each corner of the square representing the elements). I don't know if this is a stylistic choice or if it has deeper implications. But it's there. And as Colin implies, it could be bad.

The beautiful part about this framework is that it doesn't set any clear limits between the categories, because the balance can be disrupted in many ways. Lack of salt means abundance of sulphur and mercury, and their distribution may also vary greatly. I also don't know if the OIAR ranks their incidents in these terms. They probably have some needlessly complicated system that's practically undecipherable. (I took a long time trying to figure out the DPHW and I'm no closer to solving it.)

End note

I have some thoughts about what the goals of the OIAR and the Magnus Institute are based on this theory, but this post is too long now. May make a follow-up eventually. Or procrastinate until they just tell us.

Edit: I have now written my theory posts on the OIAR and the Magnus Institute. Go read if you're so inclined.

[lyucky]

You all were so kind about the snippet i said i’d been writing, and I would love to have some external motivation to write more.

So, please leave feedback if you enjoyed it. 😁

Snippet 1: Into Flame

Tracking down Wade is no easy task. Despite his bright red armour, the man knows all too well how to blend into an environment. A corrupted Wade tells a different story, one written in blood. Paths of massacred townspeople, burning houses, and the siren-like shrieking of terrified civilians were like a booming beacon to Logan’s keen sense of hearing. Galloping through the terror-stricken town, Logan notices a change in scent. The previous trail of ash and iron turns sour. Wade is close.

To the typical nose, magic is undetectable, but Logan can smell syphilis on a man two towns over. He sure as shit can smell magic. Having worked for the king for so many years Logan had been exposed to myriad spells and charms. The few good charms he’s come across are faint and fresh, reminding Logan of his homestead and land surrounded by lush forest. Though through his line of work, the spells are more often putrid.

Logan's stomach churns recalling a girl cursed to never experience skin on skin contact, the memory of the smell lingering like a faded scar. He’s met many souls that spewed sour sulphuric odours into the air, and Wade reeks.

“WADE! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YA!”

Logan knows expecting a response is pointless; Wade never spoke under the witch’s control. Still, he persists.

“FOR FUCKS SAKE, MAN.”

Exhaustion pulling at his horse, he slows it to a stop. Frantically whipping his head from left to right, eyes darting to any small movement or a flash of bright red.

Just as Logan’s hope dwindles, a shrill scream is caught and silenced by a gargled noise. Wade is still on his rampage, and Lo and his steed leap into action once again with a second wind of desperation.

A sharp right turn throws him face to face with the cursed knight, who stands surrounded by roaring flames and burning remains. The corpse of the woman whose cry he heard lying at his feet, still bleeding out.

“WADE!” He pulls the reins so tight the horse skids to a stop in the muddy road “C’MON!” Tearing his helmet off so quickly the clasp slices his eyebrow.

“STOP!” The small wound repairs just as quickly as it appeared but not without leaving a tear track of blood down his cheek.

Wade raises his swords and rests them on his shoulders. His movements are laboured, visibly fighting the curse to turn and see his friend out the corner of his eye.

“THIS AIN’T YOU!”

Logan's cries fall short as he realises Wade has no control over his actions.

A crack from a nearby house fire sends a burning structural beam crashing between the two knights. Logan’s horse rears in terror, pulling his focus for a brief moment. He loses his balance on his horse falling backwards and landing flat on his back, winding himself. Stunned and wheezing, Logan pushes himself off the floor, shaking his eyes back into focus. He snaps back to Wade only to see him disappear into the flames.

⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆

This bit is written to accompany this artwork 🫶

[frostedclock-writes]

Angelic Radio

Chapter 3

Warnings: rated M , Angel! Reader , Cannibalism mentioned

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Chapter 2

" I feel as this is a bit much ..."

" Oh! Nonsense, " Alastor laughed as he dusted your shoulders off and straightened the button up blouse he had gotten you.

It was odd wearing something other than the robe you had worn for centuries. Though the ankle length skirt made you feel a bit more like your old clothes, the colors on the other hand- well you weren't opposed to them. The soft unsaturated pink and maroon of the outfit was nice, but the little black shoes made your feet ache a little. The skirt came up to right under your breasts, and he little sench belt was black as well with little embroidery of vines along it in a rich red.

" It would be impractical of you to remain in those filthy rags, they are nearly tatters. " He tutted.

You chuckle. " It's not as if I go outside. "

Alastor shook his head and he leaned over close to you. " That is no excuse. " He looked you over as if he was appraising an item. It made your stomach do a few flips, like something was twisting inside you. " This look suits you, I think. Lovely."

You felt warmth in your cheeks. " Oh, thank you?"

He sat back up straight and hummed as he looked at a small clock sitting on the mantle, green fire flickered and illuminated most of the room. " Ah, nearly time for my tea with Rosie. " He made a small hum and tapped his red tipped hoof on the ground lightly, clearly thinking. " Perhaps an outing would be good for you. You have been cooped up for two weeks, I think it's high time you venture out a little. Rosie is a trusted friend, you have no need to worry on that part. And even more reassuring , you will be with me!"

You felt anxiety ripple through you, some of your feathers on your wings stuck out. " O-oh yeah so reassuring. "

He seemed to sidestep the source of your anxiety as he placed a hand on your shoulder and began to scoot you along. " Yes indeed-y! That seems perfect, you need a touch of sulphur air my dear. "

" Oh! Uh! Have you already started drinking? Won't people notice an angel walking around down here? My halo and wings kind of give me away!" You dug your heels in a bit, but the slick bottom flat of the new shoes just made you slide along.

Alastor paused for a moment and you looked straight up and back at him. Your halo bobbed a bit above your head. " Simple, the wings aren't the true issue. " He reached a hand from your shoulder to your glowing halo. " I think it's best I hang onto this during your stay. "

" Whoa! Wait ! Wait- " you had a small panic rise through you.

You moved away from Alastor in a twist of your body so you were facing him. Your own fingers barely touched the warm material that made your halo, like touching a light bulb that has been on for a long time and left to cool just a bit. He made a tut under his breath.

" I uh don't mind being stuck in this shack, really! I think I've found it kinda homey actually and uh..."

" Absurd. Just yesterday morning you were beside yourself because you couldn't go roaming the streets willy-nilly. " Alastor approached a few more steps.

" I changed my mind! I was just bored! "

" You are being ridiculous. "

" Alastor!" You squeaked out his name as you ducked under a swipe of a hand.

He made a chuckle and you saw a glow putter out. You blinked and looked quickly over at him. He held between two fingers, a simple golden ring with a whitish glow fading from it. He looked at it at different angles before and looked to you with a large smile.

" Now that wasn't so hard was it?"

You felt above your head. Nothing. You looked at the halo in his hand. A little shadow creature that reminded you of a twisted imp came and held his little hands above his head for his master to give him the boon. You blinked. Alastor placed your halo in the awaiting creatures hands and it melted away with it like an oil slick.

" I... Oh..." You don't know why you were expecting something to feel different. But really it didn't. And it looked like such a simple little thing in his hand.

" Not to worry, you can have it returned to you when we come home. " Alastor spoke and walked over to you and dusted your shoulders and flattened the few out of place hairs. He tapped his knuckle under your chin and his neck cracked as he tilted it. "Little Lwa? Does it trouble you that much? "

You let a breath of a laugh escape. " No... Nothing. And I told you, I'm not one of those. Guardian Angel. Or was. Then I got downgraded. "

" Hmm, still upset about that?" Alastor chuckled and he placed his hand on your shoulder and lead you towards the front door.

" Oh, I expect it to be a stick in my craw for a while. "

Alastor made a bark of a laugh. He settled as the two of you stepped outside. " Now, keep close, my Lwa. I wouldn't want you getting left behind!"

You took your step outside and your wings ruffled as the actual loudness of the mayhem in the air returned. Oh, pearly gates. "Wouldn't dream of it. "

Alastor didn't give any warning as he began down the street, you had to skuttle a few steps to catch up with him. He twirled his microphone cane a few times before tucking it under his arm that didn't get extended towards you. You look at it for a moment and then you slowly linked your arm with his. Alastor had this air about him, you quickly realized. He walked like these streets were the streets of New Orleans - nothing could bother him. Somehow, though, it seemed to work. Sinners and hellborn alike moved to the other side of the street, go quickly down another one completely, or you swore you even saw one man get on his knees and tear his own guts out with the large claws he was given in his demonself. You made a squeak under your breath and look away from that gruesomeness.

Alastor hummed a jaunty tune, treating the symphony of hell as his own personal concert. How could he enjoy such a place? " Now, Cannibal town is just right over here! Yes, I do believe you will find yourself right at home here. Lovely people, always a smile on their faces. "

" A town.... For cannibals? Don't they eat other people?" You asked and looked at him with a tilt of your head.

Alastor made a hum, his smile softened and he looked at you. " Well, yes. "

"O-oh. " You nodded and looked back ahead of you. The streets were slowly looking more - clean?

People were well dressed, large smiles on their faces. They said pleasantries with a bow of the head or a wave, and children even ran past the two of you playing with a hoop and a stick. You were.... Pleasently surprised. Despite the sharp teeth, black eyes and the faint stains of red on the corner of people's lips, this place seemed wonderful compared to the rest of Hell. Cute little shops filled with goodies of all sorts lined the street and the smell of baked bread and pastries permeated through the filthy sulphur air. It made you a tad hungry, actually.

Alastor escorted you to a large building that held a sign in handpainted script. ' Franklin and Rosie's '. People bustled in and out of the door, a little bell sounded off as the door closed and opened. Alastor held the door open for you as you both made your way inside. The smell of baking whafts. Meat pies? They used to be a popular human dish as you recalled. You had to remind yourself to be wary of the meat, especially in a place called Cannibal Town. It likely earns its name.

As the two of you approached the glass display counter, it was confirmed. The delicious smells came from freshly baked and powdered Lady Fingers, eye-balls dipped in chocolate, shredded meat pies, a baker's dozen jam coated toes, candied tongues and a variety of other foods. It was like a twisted version of the bakery's back in heaven. Behind the counter was a beautiful woman. Tall like the seraphim, her beautiful white hair was curled just a little and framed her face. Pale skin that looked soft even from this distance, onyx black eyes, a sharp tooth grin with thin black lipstick. Like her shop, she was like a twisted version of an angel. She laughed and patted the hand of the customer in front of her.

" Now don't you worry. Two cups of brown sugar and some honey, you won't even taste the bitterness. Come back in the morning if you need more, dear. " Her face shifted towards the direction of Alastor and you. " Oh! Alastor! Sweetie, is it already that time? " She grabbed a towel from the counter and wiped her hands up as she came over towards the two of you.

" Rosie! " Alastor let Rosie grab a hold of his shoulders and kiss each cheek.

" Mwah! Now, who is this little dove? " Rosie said as she let go of Alastor and turned her attention to you.

You put on a smile, but your nerves were wrecked right now. Alastor placed a hand around you and it rested on your other shoulder. " Rosie, this is Y/N . Y/N, meet Rosie!" He extended his other hand out and gestures at Rosie with a large smile. " She runs this little corner of Hell. If you need anyone cut up and cooked to a delicious perfection, she is the woman to go to. " Alastor laughed.

Rosie looked at you for a moment. Glanced between you and Alastor, her completely black eyes seemed to sparkle a bit. " Oh come now, Alastor, you know I do more than just cook and bake. " She took ahold of one of your hands in both of hers and patted the top. " Let's get you in the back. You look like a sweet tea kind of gal. Am I right?"

" Oh uh, I suppose. Hot or cold?"

" I have both, darling. " She began to lead you and Alastor in the back part of the shop, which seemed to be like a small home attached.

" Is Franklin out and about again?" Alastor asked as you and he fell instep behind Rosie.

Her home smelled like allspice and nutmeg, surprising for what she possibly had in her fridge. The soft pinks and reds that enveloped the home made you feel kinda fuzzy and warm with the inviting smells. Rosie smiled and laughed gently as she glanced back and looked at you. You looked to her for a moment and tilted your head. She shook her own and took the two of you into the very back of the home, and out a small door. A small walled off garden with a gazebo, roses of such vibrant red littered the flowerbeds and almost overgrew a few spots of the cobblestone walkway to the gazebo.

In the center of the gazebo was an ash wood table carved with little rose stems along the base and the support holders of the table. The four chairs matched with black plush cushions, red embroidered roses littered the cushions with little green leaves. On it was a very nice array of little sandwiches, cookies, cakes and biscuits with a cute little teapot and matching cups. The three of you approached the table and you began to catch more of the conversation that Alastor and Rosie had become engrossed in.

" That new casino is sure making a splash. "

" A single overlord runs it?"

" Yes, such a large amount of souls already under his belt too. Prime time to slip in and make a stir. I know you have been keeping your ear to the ground for more pickings. " Rosie cooed the words out, like a mother would asking a child if they wanted some ice cream.

" Oh?" Alastor pulled a chair out and looked at you with a smile.

You took the seat he offered and made a small noise as he pushed you in closer to the table. He was stronger than he appeared, you almost forgotten. " Thank you." You managed out as the other two took their seats.

" Mhmm, some cat with a pencent for taking a few risky bets. " Rosie continued, she picked up the cups and passed them out before filling them with a rich black tea.

" I might have to take a look into that. " Alastor hummed as he picked up his cup and brought it to his lips.

You placed your hands around the warm porcelain. You took a small sip and it was actually a bit pleasant compared to the black coffee and 'water' you have been imbibing in since your stay at Alastor's. You heard your name and you blinked, not expecting to be brought into the conversation as it had taken a turn you had no experience or advice in. " Hmm?"

Alastor smiled and chuckled. " Would you like to accompany me that day? "

" Oh! Where? "

" A casino. I could use a... Good luck charm so to speak. "

A casino. A den of greed and gluttony.

" Oh.... I uh, I wouldn't be much help. " You make a small laugh.

Alastor waved his hand. " Nonsense. "

Rosie cocked an eyebrow and smiled as she looked at you then to Alastor. " Alastor, just who is this little lady to you? You don't often take people out to hunts. Let alone bring someone here. "

" My Lwa." " A Friend!" The two of you spoke at the same time and then you gave each other a hard look.

His smile pulled thin and eyes narrowed. You puffed out your cheeks.

Rosie on the other hand. Laughed. She brought a soft red handkerchief up to her black eyes and dotted the corners. " Oh. I see, " she smiled, " I think I understand. Even if you two don't. " She gave a other laugh and sipped her tea.

What did she mean by that?

Taglist: @l3rittany @ari-hatake24 @michi-keinz @alastorsgirl48

[fandom-fun-for-sluts]

I am incredibly normal about Baldur's Gate 3. I spend a normal amount of time thinking about these characters.

Below the cut is a organized list of perfumes/scents for the characters, including all the origin characters and several side characters

Perfume note rundown:

Notes are defined by how long they last in the fragrance; short, middle, and long.

Top notes: What you smell immediately after perfume touches skin, evaporates first

Heart notes: ties together the top and base notes, while being the main note during most of the wear

Base notes: What lasts the longest, usually the underlying scent that runs underneath all the other notes

skin scent: the stage of perfume where it's died down to the point it's only detectable right at the skin

TOP HEART BASE

Wyll: Jasmine cedarwood suede

skin scent: vanilla

Astarion: Bergamot rosemary brandy

If ascended: dark chocolate

skin scent: blood

Gale: parchment old books ash

rosewater velvet gunpowder

Shadowheart: saffron milk(<-selunite->)lavender

osmanthus red wine(<-sharran->)truffle

skin scent: makeup powder

Karlach: smoke magnolia leather

fire safraleine myrrh

gasoline sweat

skin scent: motor oil

Lae’zel: kumquat lapsang souchong timur

neroli mate amyris

Leather

skin scent: sweat

Halsin: fern oak oakmoss

ambrette haitian vetiver animal fur

sage tobacco benzoin

skin scent: musk

Jaehira: Incense desert sagebrush guaiac wood

tea tree soap raspberry leaf andiroba

skin scent: cat fur

Minsc: mountain air leather (hamster) fur

Minthara: incense pomegranate labdanum

coffee bitter orange

Mizora: heliotrope tuberose lipstick

jasmine lilac metallic notes

Dried roses

skin scent: sulphur

Raphael: peppercorn bordeaux cherry balsamic

vinegar

reduction

palmarosa mahogany

Dame Aylin: cold metal milk cashmeran

oolong tea ginger candle wax

Isobel: milk sandalwood flower linen

honey driftwood suede

skin scent: dust

Orin: blood salt dragon blood resin

Gortash: japanese vetiver whiskey peat

motor oil

Ketheric: dust ebony wood stone

Withers: dust parchment moss

Ink buddha wood

Dammon: hot iron almond japanese vetiver

motor oil tonka bean

Rolan: ink pressed cotton ozone

Omeluum: lemongrass driftwood mushroom

sea water pu’er tea

Blurg: pu’er tea coffee dirt

mushroom

Volo: black sapote praline cedarwood

amaretto shea butter

Alfira: powdered sugar fresh cream waffle cone

honeysuckle

Ethel: cherry blossom marmalade sour milk

candied lemon dirt

Drow Twins: yuzu raspberry dark chocolate

rose alba amber sweat

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

i'm also a big fan of both! maybe tav will get the whip this time? i'm a sucker for raphael in traditional devil setting, it scratches something in my brain. for the rest, whatever you want is fine with me

Tav tested her restraints. Not looking for weakness, no. She expected none. The chains around her wrists were heavy-duty and clinched tight, biting into her skin. She wanted some leeway. She’d been strung up and dangled like a prime cut of meat, just high enough that her feet lifted off the ground without supporting her entire weight, leaving her strained and uncomfortable. That she was nude only made things worse. Avernus’ air was dry and hot, yet Tav shivered; she was waiting for him, and the dread, the anticipation, chilled her to the bone. She had no way to know how long he kept her waiting. An hour, an eternity, it was all the same. When she finally sensed him enter the room, each of his footfalls causing tight spasms in her belly as he approached her, she was already breathless.

“My, my,” purred Raphael, clear delight in his hellish eyes as he observed his prisoner. “So well-behaved…not even a squeak from you. I almost forgot you were in here.” He reached out one big and warm red paw and cupped her chin, lightly dragging the claw of his thumb across Tav’s bottom lip. “Unfortunately, no one leaves the Room of Shame without submitting to their punishment, but that’s a rule you know intimately…isn’t it?”

“I…” Tav hesitated. Raphael’s expression did not change, but he traced her lip again, this time pressing just hard enough to make a thin scratch. Tav winced at the sting, a taste of what was to come. “Yes, I know,” she murmured.

“Of course you do. And you know exactly why you’re here, hanging so…precariously…yes? Remind me.” The way he curled his smoky words with such sweetly sinister intent never failed to heat Tav’s cheeks, or moisten her sex. Apart from his grip on her face, Raphael was keeping himself out of reach. Reminding her of the distance, metaphorical and physical, between them. He was untouchable and she, a wriggling morsel for him to play with.

“I’m being punished because I…because…” Tav didn’t want to admit her transgression aloud. Raphael hummed throatily, his black and fire eyes glittering with dark delight.

“Every second you hesitate is another lash, dear…”

“I’m being punished because I played with the incubus without permission,” she blurted. She wasn’t sorry and he knew it.

“Indeed you did. You took advantage of my previous generosity and indulged in my unruly pet’s attention. How many lashes do you think you deserve for that, audacious little mouse?”

“Ah…um…t-ten?”

“Ten?” Raphael barked; laughed. “Ohhh, audacious and foolish, aren’t you? Were I not in such a good mood, I might’ve decided you deserved flaying instead for that.”

Tav shuddered. She was both lucky and unlucky as a warlock, with such a temperamental patron. She was too useful to be disposed of. There was the sound of infernal displacement and a whiff of fire and sulphur, and Raphael’s unruly pet himself swaggered into the room.

“Oh, excellent! You haven’t started yet,” Haarlep crooned.

“You weren’t invited,” Raphael growled. “Go back to the boudoir where you belong.”

“And miss a good old fashioned whipping? I think not.” The incubus clicked his fingers and summoned a chair that he, sensual and over the top, folded himself into, ready to watch.

“Fine.” The master of the house decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. “But be quiet and keep your hands to yourself.”

“Not a problem.” Haarlep winked at Tav. She couldn’t hold his lust-laden gaze, dropping her eyes to his bare feet – long, clawed toes that he deliberately wriggled, rubbed the arch of one foot with, reminding Tav of when she, out of her mind on spit and pheromones, eagerly gagged on them to the sound of the demon’s twisted laughter. He made her experience shame and humiliation beyond anything even Raphael was capable of. Haarlep smirked when Tav looked away.

Disregarding the exchange, Raphael cleared his throat. He was, after all, the most important person in this room. “What delightful instrument shall I use on you…”

“Cat O’ nine tails,” Haarlep offered helpfully. His suggestion was ignored.

“How about one of my old favourites?” The devil clicked his fingers and a long, thin whip with a flared tip appeared in his hands. “Yes…this will do. Simple, but effective. Sometimes a bit of simplicity is all you need.” He petted the weapon, fondled the black leather, testing its weight in his hands. Tav watched with baited breath. Raphael grinned, making a show of rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. He was enjoying drawing it out, knowing Tav’s racing thoughts, her growing dread, would only make her suffering taste better. She knew better than to beg for clemency. Begging excited him, meaning he was inclined to strike her far more times than he promised. All she could do was wait. In a way, that was worse than the whipping itself.

Get on with it, please, she thought, on the chance that he might be peering into her mind, hit me already.

Raphael prowled around her, a lion circling his prey. Tav tensed, jolting when he stroked the length of her spine with one claw. “Such a pretty canvas waiting to be painted…where shall I make the first stroke?”

Deafening silence. Tav’s own heavy breathing. Then a mighty crack – the whip split the air, and Tav’s skin. For a brief, merciful moment she didn’t feel it, but the agony wouldn’t be denied. Sharp, burning. Tears sprang up in Tav’s eyes. Her body arched, her mouth open but her scream silent, shock and pain stopping her from making a sound. Good, because Raphael preferred it if she fought just a little, if she refused to give him what he wanted until he broke her. Haarlep shifted where he sat, eager and lascivious.

“How was that, sweet mouse?” Raphael cooed.

“F-fine,” Tav managed through grit teeth.

“Hmm…perhaps I need to make the next one harder.”

She could picture him raising his arm up higher, bending into the strike. He grunted as he swung. Tav couldn’t keep quiet this time, making a strangled noise as the whip ripped her flesh. Her mouth filled with blood; she’d bitten through the meat of her cheek.

“How about that one?” Tav struggled to speak, fought to push words through her copper-wet mouth. The devil chuckled. “Surely you’re not done in already…we’re only on the second…”

“No…I’m f – it’s f-fine.”

“Good girl.”

Tav briefly whited out with the third, calculated strike. He’d got her across her lower back. She could only imagine the expression on her face, tears streaming down her cheeks, because when her vision returned she saw Haarlep avidly watching her, feasting on her torture, his thighs spread. He squeezed and rubbed his fattening cock still in his harness. His forked and fraudulent tongue licked his thin lips that were pulled into a serpentine smile. Raphael released a quiet groan from behind. Arousal and frustration went into his next strike, and the next, and the next. Again and again and again. No break between, no leering in her ears.

Someone was screaming, guttural and wheezing. Tav realised it was her. She could feel her warm blood dripping down her back, over the swell of her ass. Raphael was shredding her raw; Haarlep had freed his red, ridged prick and was stroking it leisurely, enjoying the fruits of his impish, infernal misbehaviour. Never punished, always rewarded, but Tav just couldn’t hate him for it.

“There, now,” Raphael crooned, sounding a mite breathless, awed by his work. He rounded her. Through blurry eyes Tav saw a bead of sweat trickle down his temple, a lock of black hair unkempt from his effort. The whip was soaked crimson. The devil’s erection strained in his trousers and he was alight with fiendish frenzy. His tail swayed to and fro. He spoke with pride. “Quite the piece I’ve made of you this time, I must say.”

“It looked good from the front, too,” sighed Haarlep dreamily. “Choke her on your cock and you’ll complete it, I think.”

Raphael hummed, loosening his belt. His dick, hard and veined and heavy, its thick head leaking hot cum, sprang free. He clicked his fingers and Tav lowered to the ground, collapsing onto her knees – perfect height for Raphael to feed that fat dick between her slick and bloodied lips, into her warm and slack mouth. He groaned deep in his throat when his precum-sticky tip touched the back of her throat and Tav gagged. “For once, Haarlep, you’re right about something.”

[hermitsdump]

Sukuna's milk: rewriting the shibuya incident

status: complete [also on ao3]

word count: 8,238

tags: reader is not a sorcerer, fix-it fic, Sukuna & you, pov 1st person (I tried to rewrite in 2nd but it just wasn't as funny that way, we need the idiot narration)

contains: cannibalism, drinking Sukuna's milk, crack taken seriously, maybe technically sfw(?).... violence, but nothing worse than canon, vomit, some character death but it's different than canon, no manga spoilers (I wrote this before reading it).

a/n: the chapters were so short i decided to make 1 post instead of 10. This is the funniest thing I've ever written, I read it several times a year. But not today, I would not have the courage to post it.

Chapter 1

Maybe at first, I forgot to eat. But as the deadline grew nearer, I became too anxious to consider food. And now, it's Halloween in shibuya. I wanted to go out. To do something fun and dress up. Or at least make it home, before the streets were crowded with drunk people. My coworkers have plans, costumes and now distance from this place... 

It's just until I'm not the newest hire. Hazing is only temporary. 

I blast nightcore music in my headphones, pushing away how creepy the Empty office is. Even during peak hours with sunlight, I swear the place is haunted. 

But then again, stress and sleep deprivation can convince anyone of hallucinations. And they'd never speak coherently, anyway. Just lurking, And no one else seemed to notice.

I stretch out of my chair. It's gotten late. And I am desperate to get out of here. I put my headphones away. And i stumble to the first floor. 

As fast as I can. The empty building echoes with. Some strange noise. Like it wants to collapse on me or something. Outside, the air is thick with sulphur and smoke. Are they doing fireworks now?

 No, that's not right. I collapse on the edge of  an alley. The streets are empty too. But there are two creatures very much alive. Attacking each other with flames, like some bizarre night demons. Are they flying? The shorter one keeps getting thrown into buildings. So maybe it is safer to be outside. At least whatever this is has scared the drunk people away and I won't have to worry about stepping in vomit. I'll get out of here soon. Stop being so lightheaded.

 The fight draws nearer. And I can see them closer. The one who is clearly winning this fight… Has four arms. Human? The other one has one large eye and a volcano on his head. I haven't really seen anyone like that before. But if I still have my job after this, I might see him lurking around the corridors or in my peripheral.

They're far enough away that I can't hear what they're saying to each other. But it seems that it's coming to an end. The taller, more humanoid figure stands across from what looks like a pile of ashes on fire. It has the same slumped shape, now only recognizable by silhouette. 

{Why was a curse spirit crying like that, anyway? Sukuna wonders, bored after killing Jogo.}

“Yo, that was sick. Nice,” i say from my spot against a wall, not expecting to be heard by anyone. 

“Yes, thank you. It's good to be acknowledged.” he steps nearer. ���But why are you so weak? It's like you haven't eaten.”

“Yeah, maybe that's it.”  my voice is tired and careless, almost completely monotone.

“Well, why dont we cook up some of these arms? It would be a shame to let malevolent kitchen burn empty.”

I shoot him a weird look, uncertain how serious or funny he meant to be.

“Oh, come on. It could make you stronger! Or kill you," his voice sounds like it came from someone else on that last part, then returns to its usual growl. "And I can regenerate. Watch.”

He removes one of his 4 arms, somehow sliced smoothly without a weapon, then tosses it into a fire. “See? There.” it grows back as if he were putting on a sweatshirt and the sleeve had been rolled inside itself. I look down, feeling sicker.

 “Oh well, i tried.” he paces away, glancing up at what's left of the city.

I stare when he steps through flames, reaches for something, and comes out unmarked. He then eats his old arm like a giant turkey's leg at a renaissance fair. 

It actually smells pretty good... at least among the stench of burning rubble. its charred skin even looks edible, inanimate.

“Change your mind? Here,” he rips off a finger and throws it precisely into my hand. I am hungry and in need of food- that could be enough on its own to explain the nausea.  the finger is wrinkled, crispy, and ethically sourced. I try to eat it like a chicken wing. 

It isn't bad, the texture is pretty good and no spices were available. Maybe better if i close my eyes.

Maybe not. My teeth touch bone thicker than a chicken wing would have. I flinch and it slips away. When i catch it the long black fingernail presses against my hand. The feeling of that took it too far. 

my palms collide with the ground, vomit spills between them. When it's done I turn away from the mess, slump into the wall like an alcoholic, the tremors of sickness setting in. i feel so much weaker than before. That isn't good. No one human is here now. only those who are dangerous had the capacity to stay behind. And me. Why me? 

Tears begin to slide down my face. Pathetic. No easy death and no strength for me now. 

“Aww, feeling dehydrated now, are we?” the demon's voice still rough and playful. “Oh, whats this? It seems my chest is crying too. Well, that's odd.”

he picks his half-eaten finger off the blacktop and flicks it away. Then he lifts me up, and when my vision focuses,  I'm on top of a tall, mostly intact building. The orange glows from below outshine the stars tonight. Smoke obscures the distance, blowing least of all where we are.

“Come on now, help me with this.”

“What?”

He sighs and gestures to his chest.  “You'll have to drink this out of me.” he sounds slightly defeated. drops of milk are dripping down from his nipples. 

“That's weird,” i whisper through a painfully dry throat.

He sits with his legs crossed in and pulls me up to sit in that nest. Something about the scent, or pheromones, draws me in, something sweet and promising. Or maybe desperation for a drink. I begin to lick the drops away. 

“I'm guessing it had something to do with you crying. that makes mommy tiddies cry too, right? And maybe you're like my child now from eating that finger… hmm…”

I'm a little surprised that a cannibal’s breastmilk could taste the way it does. Not strong, but sweet and cozy, like some spiced holiday drink. It's good, so i latch on, beginning to suck desperately at his nipple. 

His arms seem to form a cradle, the way they support me. The heat from his body radiates onto my skin and filters down my throat.

“I guess i'll tell you how this works. So I was alive during the Heian era, just as I am now. Ryoumen Sukuna. When that life ended, i had a choice: to have my 20 fingers preserved and hope that some mortal would consume them, and then i could live on in their body. Which is i guess doable, but not ideal.

Option 2 was to become a curse womb, and essentially reincarnate when enough chaos and blood would have spilled in my name. Which, as you can see, is what happened here tonight.

Although I did just kill the curse that seemed to want me here the most.”

i let go of his nipple, and give it one last wide lick.

“Good, now get the other one dry too.” 

i wrap my arms around him and reach for the next nipple. He only has 2 of them, but 4 arms and 2 faces. my mind wanders… what if they were different flavors… but it tastes the same.

Chapter 2

“Well. How do you feel?” Sukuna looks down on me, one of his big hands still spread out, supporting my head.

“Do you think it's also poison?” i ask, remembering that his finger could have given me strength or death, but i threw it up.

He sighs. “Ah, well, who knows? I'm sort of a human-curse hybrid now, so it might not have the same effect as some old relics. But even then, I was the king of poisons as well as curses. So… Poison or immunity to poison? ah, who’s to say.”

“It was…spicy, sweet and warm. I don't seem to be allergic.”

 “I didn't ask for a review. Spicy, sweet and warm? What the hell is this,” his voice trails into a mutter. 

“Oh, uh, i feel better than before.”

“Well, that much is clear.” he stands up. my tremors had faded, but now the autumn night air replaces his body heat, and i fight a shiver.

“Oh! something interesting is happening. Let’s go.” two arms hold my body to his. a blur of black, grey, and orange passes by. It feels like we're flying and falling erratically, changing direction without slowing down. He drops me off next to some guy with spikes of bloody black hair, his head seems pinned to the dented metal door or wall behind him. 

“You stay there,” Sukuna orders, holding a glowing white aura to the unconscious dude, keeping his back to the wall as well. “Watch over him. And don't either of you move from that spot.” 

i sink down next to the guy who's crushed like a bug, afraid to look toward whatever sukuna was keeping in his sight. What could have thrown someone like this? Something worse than the volcano creature…  His clothes are also bloody. No sign of awareness. i reach out and rest my hand on the top of his shoe, then look toward the figures in my peripheral. 

Something like an ancient god, tall and broad, pale and naked with wings for eyes... its attention on someone small, dressed like a caveman with a high blond ponytail and an aura like the stench of dried blood. He tries to run away without grace. A car slams into the ground to block his path. 

“Coward! You've clearly brought this on yourself,” Sukuna scolds.

 i can't tell whether that guy is a curse or a human, the way he's so small and perfectly humanoid, but no less vile. The type that tortures for fun, but can't handle any pain himself. He crawls under the car. 

Sukunas pins the vehicle down with another, then takes the godly fight away from the area.

 i keep my eyes on the cars he threw. No pool of blood spilling beneath them. What if he comes back to kill me, or worse? If i start crying, sukuna might get the signal. Though he went through the effort to not have me ruin his fun with milk-leaking nipples. i feel stronger now, but without concept of what kind of strength, or how to channel it.

Noise from their battle reverberates through what is becoming a wasteland. He's clearly having fun, offering a display of great destruction and power….but also showing distance. 

And speed.

Sukuna returns with a forceful fall, undeniably ending the evil kid with a modern Giles Corey type of death.

 “Hehe,” he grins widely in a squat on the car that's been crushed like an aluminum can. No sign of his godly opponent. 

“What happened?” i ask, remaining in place like he told me to.

“I killed that shikigami. The guy next to you had summoned it. But no one ever subjugated Mahoraga, so…. I'll teach him someday.” Sukuna's explanation sounds vague to someone new to this language, but i get the idea.

My muscles begin to relax. I take two deep breaths.

That's all that Shibuya grants me.

Something percussive and rhythmic knocks against the ground, slow with impending doom, and definitely approaching.

Chapter 3

“Oh, my. What's this?” A slow sultry voice steps in. “Ryoumen Sukuna, king of curses?” Her hips sway obnoxiously in a black evening dress, propelling a single white braid to swing from the middle of her face to either side.  an identical braid down  the back of her head. 

Her heels continue that slow click, that fills me with dread. I try to stop feeling so frozen in place, looking for validation or dismissal from the sorcerer next to me. He offers neither, but looks peacefully asleep. I'm happy for him. Maybe even jealous.

“ If you know who I am, then say it with reverence,” Sukuna quickly responds, looking down on the tall woman, differently than the way he looked down at me. 

“Big sis recognized you! you should be grateful!” A young boy in suspenders follows the woman with a more composed walk, holding his head higher, posture rigidly vertical. Are they performing for each other? So gross.

“Wow, that gave me the ick,” sukuna sounds surprised by his own discomfort.

“Mei Mei,” the woman introduces herself, as if anyone asked. ”Let's say that you and I play a little game. If I win-”

“you'll live. And I win, I'll live.” Sukuna interrupts.

“Fine then,” she accepts, still carrying herself like a thirst trap. "I look forward to the bonus pay."

“Big sis! You don't have to accept someone else's…” The kid whines. They're definitely related. His hair no less white, his clothing oddly formal, like it was chosen for a piano recital.

“Ui Ui. You wait here. Are you ready and willing to die for me?” The boy nods, loudly mumbling “mm-hmm.”

 i feel violently ill. 

“Jesus, I'm going to throw up,” i put my face to the sky. It's hazy and doesn't offer much relief. 

“Well, I can't have my baby crying. Let's make this fast.” Sukuna's voice is still a bit rushed. He can't wait for this to end either. 

Please don't let them notice me. I look to him, but some unusual motion catches my eye instead. The woman collapses as a pile of cubes. Was Sukuna's weapon just a violent look? 

“Noo! Big sis! Come back!” 

“Hey, brat. You should be grateful. She was clearly using you.”

Ui Ui isn't grateful, but demands the same fate as Mei Mei, stomping his foot like a child who wants an expensive toy. 

“Fine, equally annoying brat. Join your sister.” Sukuna's speech slowed to its usual pace. more cubes fall on the pavement, blood pooling under the piles. “What a waste. Can't believe I hope that doesn't happen again.” 

he turns to me, still sat against the dented building. His gaze moves to the body next to mine, beginning to look awake. Sukuna's face lights up. I take my hand off of his brown leather shoe  and fidget with my own.

 “Finally! Show us what you've got!” is impatience contagious? Sukuna sounds excited. Awaiting something as interesting as mahoraga, I guess.

“What the hell is this?” The voice beside me comes out flat, like a telepathic exhale.

Sukuna looks rejected. “I healed you. you owe me that much.”

“Get lost.”  not a morning person.

Sukuna sighs, “i should have made a pact. But you were already half-dead, so it wasn't an option.”

“Oh, wait. it's coming back to me now.” He sits up on his own.  “You've already seen my trump card. So, what's the big deal then?”

“Well… it's kind of a waste of your talents. Don't you think?” 

Bruhhhhh, i throw my own head back into the wall. Why does he want to fight everyone? Dudes barely awake. Grow up. 

“okay. Let's move on.” He's talking to me now. “Shibuya is crawling with the strongest of curses and sorcerers- or, what's left of them, anyway. At this rate, to find a better fight than that volcano spirit, I'll have to heal them all first.” 

The soles on my shoes scrape loudly when i stand up, leaving the now-conscious one space to recover on his own. We didn't say a word to each other. Should I introduce myself? Would I even remember his name? 

It doesn't matter. I've never been or fought a sorcerer or a curse. I'm just a random office worker, just a milk baby. The only reason I'm even in this city... and alive.

 {Megumi goes to find shoko, who was nearby.}

Chapter 4

Walking through the city feels wrong. any of these buildings might collapse and crush me into the street like a fly. 

Sukuna flinches at nothing. no reaction to stepping over a body lying in the street. Blood poured from the side of his head around a sharpened rod. this feels like a suicide.

Maybe he was a normal person like me. It doesn't seem like anyone left alive in shibuya tonight would be caught dead in a stretched out white sweater. 

“Catch up already. We're going underground.” Sukuna says that as if I'm a child watching bugs in a field. His child. 

Our shoes slap against the clean white steps to the station. It's an eerie contrast to be engulfed in the bright light. That's funny. A few hours ago I would have thought nothing of it. Just another late night escaping the office.

And just a few hours ago, the way these walls are cut up, the floors so neatly cut out, would have been a shock. I'll just avoid those big open circles... And whatever made them. 

Someone is here, stumbling away from the wall. Their black hair is styled with thin bangs and spiky space buns. Chains rattle against their heavy black boots, his heavy breath fades, his eyes focus into a determined…almost kubrik stare. 

“I need help for my brother who is dying.” his voice is kind of deep. maybe it's the black line across his nose like a bandaid, but this guy is insanely cute.

Don't stare. I turn to sukuna for an answer. His pointed black nails move like hungry fangs. 

“Oh, really? What would you do for him? Would you risk your own life for a brother?”

“I would.” this dude’s stare could not be any more intense.

“Excellent. Show me what you've got, and maybe I'll heal him!”

“if that's what it takes. Fine then.” 

I grab one of Sukuna's arms, “do you REALLY think we have time for that?” But his squinted smile is so full of teeth that I doubt whether he can hear me. 

The other guy brings his palms together, arms outstretched at eye level. A laser cuts into the stairs above my head and follows Sukuna. 

No, that isn't a beam of light. It's blood. 

“Get back,” the blood manipulator breathes into my ear as he runs past. 

“Where?” I ask, stupidly glancing around. 

He rushes me to the corner he crawled out from, like a shallow closet built into the wall. 

“Wait!” I hold him back and stand in front. Like a mother hitting the brakes of a car. Accomplishing nothing but being annoying.

“What is the meaning of this?” Sukuna growls.

“it means grow the fuck up! You think someone owes you a fight for wasting time and letting their brother die? You make me sick, sometimes!”

He sighs. “Alright, take me to him.”

Chapter 5

I follow, no point in running to keep up with them. We turn by the hall to the elevator and restrooms.

“Who are you?” The blood master asks with no expression, more like a command.

Two teen girls are kneeling on the floor. They don't answer him, but bow to Sukuna instead. The one with light spiraling hair holds a dehydrated finger out like an offering.

“Please,” her voice shakes but not as much as their bodies, “take this finger. We didn't know you were alive already. We can get you one more, too, so please, don't kill us.”

“Get up. You're not worth my time.”

“Huh?” The girl hardly breathes.

“Killing you kids would be like stepping on ants. Save those old relics for someone who cares.” 

They manage to crawl to the wall and hold onto each other. I slide down between them and the others. 

“So that volcano spirit wasn't lying. I didn't emerge from this kid's body because I was already a curse womb… But I will, if someone manages to kill this body! 

Wonderful. But who would have saved my fingers…” Sukuna’s monologue is lost on these guys. 

“Yuuji Itadori. It's your big brother, Choso Kamo. I'm sorry for what happened.” 

“The residuals tell me you did this.” Sukuna reaches out with a white aura, ignoring Choso’s glare. 

Yuuji Itadori looks at least half dead. Covered in blood, head hanging. I turn away to face the girls.

“So… What were you doing here?”

“We were told that when he eats enough fingers, Sukuna would come out. But he never did.”

“Still, it was our only hope to save Geto. We had to try.” the girl with straight, dark hair continues.

“What do you mean, to save Geto?” Choso demands.

“The man in Geto’s body is not him. He lied to us.” 

“With stitches in his forehead?” 

“Yes.”

“He deceived me, as well. And he will pay for making me try to kill my little brother.”

“The stitches man. He's powerful?” sukuna’s priorities remain. 

“He took Geto's body for the technique. Curse manipulation.” 

“take me to him.” 

“let me attack him. Can we wait until my brother wakes up?” 

“I'm awake. Todo?” Yuuji mumbles, “when did you get here?”

“Not Todo, it's Choso. Our parent pit us against each other. And for that, I will kill him.”

“Hm… You're not really making sense. But I'm going after patchface.”

“Mahito? He's below us with a stock of transfigured humans.”

“I know…what i have to do,” yuuji's arm, limp at his side, draws into a fist.

“I'll stay here. you guys don't have to wait around.” I can see they're impatient and I'm over it. 

“please! Kill the man inside Geto, but bring him back.” the blonde girl calls after Choso and Sukuna. 

“So… Who are you?” Yuuji's words slur. 

I give him my name. Not sure what else to say. 

“That's weird, we haven't heard about you.”

“I'm only here by coincidence.” 

“I'm nanako, and this is mímiko. But I'm not sure if I believe you. Coincidentally walking by his side? That doesn't happen.”

“I don't get it, either. It's like some weird biological tie…” Please god let this turn into a gossip session, I cannot tell anyone that I've been drinking cursed tiddy milk after throwing up a cannibalized hand…. But I'd do it again. 

“So…what did those fingers taste like?” 

“Just like soap.” Yuji answers with no hesitation.

“Oh dude, I'm sorry. Soap is disgusting.”

“Why the hell are you guys eating soap?”

Mission accomplished. I can admit to eating soap as a child and finding that honey scented soap is somehow bitter. That's normal. 

But the chest milk… I hope I get to drink that again. It was like a baptism. Like it brought me back to life. 

Maybe that's what sukuna is - a walking baptism. He healed me without looking for a fight. Or maybe my fight was to survive his finger… And the rest was out of his hands. 

But it got he into his hands, and that... Was worth it.

Too bad for him though.

Chapter 6

To descend the stairs is to enter a deeper level of hell. But I can't put it off forever. 

Mimiko and Nanako asked for my help in seeing that Geto comes back. So I have to try. No one else has the balls or the luck to influence Sukuna's whims.

Yuuji leads us down. His confidence is convincing- the only traces of his brush with death are stains and holes in his school uniform. 

When the three of us are in the safest, most hidden spot with a view, I nod to Yuuji. He mirrors me with a serious expression. I almost pity the curse he's jumping the stairs to beat.

No one paid him attention - though I have a feeling that Choso noticed. He's facing away from us, pinning someone against the wall- a man with long hair in monk's robes. That must be Geto… I  can't see the stitches from here. 

Sukuna sits high on a pile of debris, looking down on them with his head resting on one arm. Amused and unbothered. 

A muffled choking reverberates around, with no movement to match it. 

“Where is that coming from?” I barely whisper.

Mimiko points at Geto's head. His body seems to be turning off.

Choso gathers blood into a small blade and cuts away the stitches. 

A brain jumps against the top of the skull, desperate to eject as soon as the gap is big enough to let it through. 

Geto's body slumps to the floor. Choso watches the grey blob run with homicide in his eyes. The brain has a foul mouth of long flat teeth, and limbs grown out of it. Arms or legs, they splash against the floor with dripping brain fluid. 

“That is so gross,” i mutter. 

Choso stalks it with hovering orbs of blood. I think they're going to catch up with Itadori.

Nanako and Mimiko run out, stopping a couple of meters away from Geto's body.

“What's happened to him?” Nanako asks, nervous to confront Sukuna, nervous about the green and purple spidery lines that splinter over Geto's head and spread down his neck.

I close the distance and they hover behind me. 

“I had him grow a brain. But it's disappointing.

Sorcerers in this era not building immunity to poison.”

“You poisoned him?” Nanako almost yells through her shaking voice.

“I don't recall you having a better idea to remove the parasite,” Sukuna counters quickly. “But I suppose we could try a remedy. Think you can find some ingredients?” 

The twins run outside. I find a stack of clean napkins and a paper cup of water, then stay with Geto, as if I know how to treat superhuman illness. He seems to be in some kind of fever dream. Breathing, rapid eye movement, that's good right? Though his skin is clammy and damp with sweat and brain fluid. I pour the water on some napkins and clean off his face. 

“So… Does he have a chance?” I ask, afraid that Sukuna just sent them out to be left alone. 

He sighs. Glances off like he's bored.

“Hey. Poison me the same way.”

“What, are you suicidal?”

“I just want to see if it works.”

“Hm… Fine.” 

Sukuna pulls my chin up, away from watching Geto's skin and trying to determine whether the effects are spreading or receding. He drags a nail down the side of my face. I feel a warm drop of blood slide down. Sukuna watches me intently, his grasp on my jaw won't let me turn away.

Maybe it's the stare of his extra eyes, but my blood runs cold. Skin like a pond frozen over in winter, alive underneath but wintering. The feeling sinks stranger and deeper, stranger and deeper, then disintegrates to memory. 

The blood in my veins is no longer hollow, but warm, normal - although the contrast makes me appreciate the sensation of normalcy.

My vision focuses before I realize it had been taken away. His eyes are still on me. He looks intrigued, satisfied, and finally he lets me go. 

“So that's it?”

“Yes. it seems I've granted you immunity to poisons.”

Suddenly it feels like I've asked for too much. It was lucky that for whatever reason, the heightened emotions or risk to my life, Sukuna's chest is ready for the harvest. 

He sits next to Geto with his legs like a nest, his four arms waiting to take me in. 

I really…I don't know how boobs work. I hold the cup close to his nipple and grab around it.  

My head twitches and eyes squeeze shut on their own. A few stray drops came out, but not in the right place. I wipe the milk out from my eyelashes and try again, spreading my hand over his tiddy and massaging toward the center. 

“This is going nowhere. Just use your mouth.” 

He's right. Even if we had a breastmilk pump, i wouldn't know how to use it.

So I reach out with my mouth, taking two euphoric swallows without remembering why I'm here. It takes a conscious effort to keep Sukuna's milk in my mouth, then drop it into the cup.  

I reach over to share it carefully with Geto. 

Sukuna takes it in his spare arm. We fall into a system where I suck on him, he brings the cup back, and I fill it. 

“Go meet those kids,” he puts the cup down. I keep the last mouthful for myself and get up. 

The twins race over, gasping for air. “Is this enough?” 

“Yeah, it's good,” i tell them. 

Sukuna begins to crush and flame herbs before dropping them into the cup or placing them across Geto's forehead. I think he's playing pretend with them.

“You spilled some on yourself,” mimiko blurts out and covers her mouth as fast as possible.

Sukuna and I make eye contact. His face tells me not to dare. 

I hold back a laugh, as if I would anyway. 

“Hey, I'll get you some drinks. What do you like?” 

“i like peach or mango,” Nanako answers first. 

“Um, watermelon or pear... But anything's fine.” mimiko’s face is a bit red.

“Hey. What about you?” I ask Sukuna.

“You decide,” he glares up at me. I'll look for a black tea then. It feels the safest.

I run off to the vending machines and totally forget who said what. So I come back with all 4 of their choices.

“Ryoumen Sukuna? Well, this is a surprise. Though I seem to have access to kenjaku's memories as well as my own, so more sense will be made with time.” a weak voice rambles.

“Geto!”

“You're okay!” The girls hug him. 

I set down their drinks. 

Sukuna looks relieved. I imagine he's ready to see what lurks below us. 

“Alright, what's next?” I hold out the tea and invite him away.

To give them privacy, to see that Yuuji and Choso are alive, or emboldened by the milk - I turn back and wave to the twins, but have no reservations about continuing to the next level of hell.

Chapter 7

The sorcerer from before glances into my eye as he runs past us up the stairs. He's with an electrified bird and a giant frog. They carry burn victims that I don't recognize. 

Sukuna lets out a single laugh with a slight, closed smile. We continue ahead, toward ashes and scorch marks. 

“Oh, how polite. They left me a snack.” Sukuna approaches the biggest charred form- it looks like nothing to me, an eroded statue after a volcanic eruption. I continue on without hesitating to leave him behind.

From a different angle it occurs to me that that was a man, with an arm severed before the fire. 

“Jogo! Thank you for the meal,” Sukuna growls as I pass by. 

Not my circus, not my monkeys. 

Milk blood gets me stupid reckless. Maybe I should compensate for that. Take my time and be observant. 

The patter of grey matter, the slicing and splashing of blood. Only two audible entities on this floor. 

Choso has been taking his time with the brain. It's clearly a personal grudge, but…how is that thing a parent? Either I'm misunderstanding the whole thing, or Yuuji equally lost. He's not even here. Neither is a patchface. But some dreadful feeling seems to rise like smoke from below the floor. 

“Hey, you! What did I miss?” Sukuna jumps over the railing, his kimono flowing gracefully in the descent.

“Oh, what took you so long?” I ask as his feet land in perfect balance.

“No one tastes as good as me!”

I stare up into his four eyes blankly. What.

“I had to start another fire just to get the taste out. Old men are disgusting.” 

“yeah,” i agree, and turn back to Choso and Kenjaku. This time I won't get in his way. Not like I even have the chance to.

He has it cornered, pinned to the wall with a long pole of blood. Then over and over with more needles, like a dart board. Bloody grey bits gradually crumble to the floor. I pass by quietly, giving him space and time to sort that out.

It's funny how seeing Choso in that state, I'd still feel safe with him. Maybe it's a shallow attraction to the way he dresses. Or that he took a risk to protect me.

But I get a really bad feeling about floor B5. Anything feels safe compared to that.

Sukuna wraps two arms around my shoulders. “Aw, come on. You scared now?” he teases. But I take what I can get and pull him in by the waist. But we don't stop walking.

Chapter 8

Sukuna looks down with a grimace. My fingers are tightly intertwined in his. Fuck. How did that happen? I release him and back up into the wall. 

Yuuji and Mahito are insane. It sounds like a horror circus down here, faces stretched into giant clay blobs of green, blue, pink, yellow, teal, etc etc. I don't like it.

I consider retreating to infringe on Choso's emotional breakdown. 

The noise dies down, the patchface laughter cutting through, an identical copy of that sound drifting down the stairs. There are two of them, running toward each other. 

A girl with strong eyes and copper hair chases after the second patchface. She has to be crazy strong. fearless. 

“Kugisaki! Run!” Yuuji's voice strains in desperation. 

The curse Yuuji was fighting runs toward her. Both laugh maniacally.

I pull up a piece of clay off the ground by my feet. it's heavy like a person. I swing it around in a throw at the spirit. A voice seems to slip out of it, the mass slips from my grasp and doesn't reach as far as I meant to. But the humanoid does trip with its face skidding onto the floor, and Kugisaki uses this chance to run off. 

“YOU!!” Mahito growls, his face of madness piercing mine. I freeze and death glare at him, the only action I can will my body to take. 

“Resonance!” Kugisaki’s voice drives across B5, followed by the collision of hammer and nails. 

The curse in front of me spurts blood, fighting to stumble and take me down. It's enough to break the trance.

I run past a clay train with open faces. anywhere to put distance between us. But that instinct is trapping me on the lowest level.

Mahito's clone is riddled with nails. She goes at him with a wide smile that could rival Sukuna's.

“Kugisaki!” Yuuji calls, “keep doing that! No one else's technique works on him. We have to hurt the shape of his soul.”

“Yeah, I know! And don't let him touch you with his hands. Anything else?” metallic clashes over her words.

“Um, no! I don't think so.” Itadori takes a guardian stance.

I look behind us. The main body is rising with demonic contortion, and arms grow in its open mouth. Am I…seeing that right from here?

“Domain expansion… Self-embodiment of perfection!” Mahito strains to pour out his remaining strength into something that cannot be good. 

Darkness and grey giant hands swell around us. Don't touch the hands?? They're bigger than all of us! 

In the dim void, Sukuna's white kimono, eyes and teeth reflect light with no source. He's elated. he makes a simple hand sign.

“Domain expansion. Malevolent shrine.”

A red light filters over the grey. Fires light the hands like candles and melt them down to ash. The clone body twitches and stays lying down. 

Sukuna steps closer to the main body, savoring the moment, keeping his gaze steady.  unaffected by the way that Mahito is still coughing up blood. 

“Hey, Itadori… What did I miss?” Kugisaki's voice wavers for the first time. 

“Oh, Um… You know, I'm not really sure either.” He scratches his fluffy pink hair that took on a bright, slime-like glow from Sukuna's domain. How does this guy sound so casual? 

Sukuna looms over Mahito and tries to provoke him into a better fight. The curse whimpers and splits into snakes, slithering away from each other and toward us. 

“Hey, itadori… We're okay as long as he doesn't have hands, right?” I ask.

“Yeah. only his main body should be able to distort the shape of a soul.” the three of us keep our eyes on the approaching snakes, or maybe they're more like worms... Ugly, with stupid faces, no scales, fluffs of hair for whatever reason. It's enough to trigger my fear of puppets. 

Sukuna flicks his fingers and they slice down the middle, with effortless symmetry. Like an arcade game he's beat on every level, and is no longer fun except to show off. 

The ones that remain squirm away faster. 

I have a suspicion that he knows where the main body is, and is saving it for last. 

Several of them burst into flames. Two at a time, until one remains.

“God, you're so boring, Sukuna groans. “I'll let you touch me one time. So give it your best.”

The last puppet worm shifts and grows into Mahito's usual humanoid shape. “Idle transfiguration!” He reaches out to Sukuna, and freezes on contact. 

“no way! I can't…” he shifts into a sort of bird, stuttering and crying, thrashing ashes at Sukuna, who just watches and chuckles. Letting this drag on is some psychological torture.

“so, this means you aren't Sukuna's vessel, right?” Kugisaki asks.

“I guess not,” yuuji answers. 

“Good to know.”

“Um, sorry but, you could be.” I realize he wasn't alive enough to hear us earlier.

“Huh?”

“The fingers didn't activate because his curse womb was already functionally a body. But if he dies, then he'll become you, you know?” God I hope that makes sense. I don't know basic shit about sorcery.

“Oh! So they're just cursed energy power-ups.” Yuuji seems to understand more than me. 

“Yeah, when they're dormant.   but if his current form is destroyed, then we lose you, too. So best to keep him alive.” I get the impression that Kugisaki scolds him a lot.

“It's not like anyone could take him down, right? Except for Gojo.” yuuji turns to me. “How is Gojo?”

“I haven't heard anything.” 

“I guess he's still sealed, then.”

“Ugh. Annoying.” Sukuna waves his hand and Mahito's body splits into cubes. The domain recedes, and purple goo puddles around his grey remains on the station’s lowest floor.

Chapter 9

Kugisaki and Itadori want to free Gojo from the prison realm. I'm not sure what that means, and at this point I'm too afraid to ask.

If Geto had it last, then that's enough to work with.

Sukuna sulks over how pathetic the human / death cursed spirit was. I guess some part of him blames Nobara for taking him down so hard, blames himself for letting her wreck Mahito so badly. But if she's strong enough to defeat that thing, then she has to be on his list of sorcerers to battle. 

As we climb out of the station, Choso's words replay in my head. Mahito? He's below us with a stock of transfigured humans. That explains the awful wriggling feeling, the ghost voices, the tortured faces stretched around those figures that were never clay. If I'd realized that before, would Nobara have become like that? The thought scares me. 

Some leftovers from Sukuna's arm remain on the burnt floor. Its scent lingers with temptation. I could probably handle it now. But that's no way to make friends. I rush up the steps before it can pull me back.

On B3, there is no sign of Choso. A pile of brain dust in that corner, and some prints from his shoes trailing away from it. A pit sinks in my heart. What if I never see him again? Am I simping so pathetically…

B2. I feel relieved to see that none of the drinks remain. So they're fine, just… Somewhere else. 

B1 is empty. The floor hasn't crumbled beyond the clean cut circle. I wonder if Choso is an artist? Engravings, into anything…

“Yuuji. You've eliminated the patchface?” He stands above the entrance like a gargoyle guarding us from outside threats. Relief flows through me at the sight I should have expected. 

“Yeah. Well, no. I gave him some black flashes but it didn't affect his soul. Kugisaki and Sukuna finished him off." Yuuji's voice hangs limp in the night. “I need the prison realm. Have you seen Geto?”

“They went to look for a bakery with crepes. I'll help you find it.” 

Choso and Yuuji walk in front. I fall in line next to Nobara. Sukuna follows like my chaperone. He's been unusually quiet, reduced to quietly observing. Not the god of chaos I first saw him as.

The street is pretty lifeless. A fresh ghost town. The occasional transfigured human wanders aimlessly. Sukuna puts them out of their misery with the slightest finger twitch. He feels like a gentle protector.

“Over there,” Choso directs us to the only business with a glow of intentional light and the movement of human life inside. He opens the door and we follow through it.

 “Suguruu! Try it like this,” a tall man with chaotic white bedhead assembles some cavity-inducing dessert and offers it to Geto with pride. Actually, they're the same height. Geto's baggy clothes make him look short. And I hadn't seen him stand before.

“Gojo! You're okay!!” Yuuji throws his arms around his neck, and they laugh together.

I realize that Gojo isn't bandaged, but wearing a tight black blindfold. Not a single, slight injury on him.

“He's fine, but going for the world's biggest sugar crash,” Nanako comments, hardly looking up from her phone. Its bright green case with bunny ears sticks out. Mimiko curiously samples their creations. A plush doll hangs across her shoulders. 

Geto meets my gaze with soft dark eyes from behind the counter. “Thank you for looking after my daughters,” he says with an even softer voice. I wonder what Kenjaku sounded like from inside his body. “We're just warming up and assembling their leftovers. Can I make you something?”

“Um, whatever is good,” I accept, “just… Not as much sugar as that guy.” 

“Huh?” Gojo's mouth hangs open like a square.

Geto laughs lightly, “I understand,” and steps away. 

“Truly…I love pastries as much as the next bitch, but you take it too far,” Nobara remarks in her chest voice.

“I agree with her.” Someone adds from a dark corner. The guy from before, with the shikigami, at a booth alone with black coffee. 

“Fushiguro! I missed you!” Yuuji slides in next to him.

Sukuna was looking forward to meeting this guy again… Where is he? I look out the front door. He's nowhere.

“Sukuna's sitting on the roof, sniping curses,” Gojo tells me casually.

“Oh… You're psychic?” I guess.

“I can see better than you, even through this,” he pulls the blindfold away and lets it snap back to his face. 

I trade my name for a plate from Geto and sink into an empty booth. The air is warm and smells of sugar. Does he know that he drank milk that was in my mouth? It's like...a violation...but he was dying.

“Hey,” Choso slides in across the table. 

I look up and smile at him. 

“I think… My brother wants to be with his friends right now.” His brows close together as he looks down at the crepe before him.

Choso wants to get closer to yuuji, and I'm trying to chase Choso. I rub my forehead and look past his shoulder. 

“Satoru! Look what you've done,” Geto's voice drifts like a pastel sky, impossibly light and gentle. 

“Oh, my deepest apologies, your majesty,” Gojo jokes, bowing to clean Geto's fingers with his mouth, raising his head to make seductive eye contact with him. 

They're like chaotic high school besties and gentle lovers at the same time. It kind of melts my heart.

“I should go,” Choso states.

“No!” I grab his forearm before he can stand, then pull back. Don't be aggressive.

“Sorry, I spaced out there… It's been a weird night,” i make the stupidest excuse. Like tonight was normal for anyone. 

The door opens. A fluffy black dog leads more people inside. 

“Aww, who's a good boy?” Yuuji calls him over.

“Are you done yet?” Megumi asks flatly, but his dark eyes sparkle. 

Yuuji hugs and pets the dog until it melts down to a black shadow in the floor.

“Aw, come on. You know I don't like you just for them, right?” 

Strange plushies with tufts of hair and uncanny faces stagger through the aisle.

I turn back to Choso. “Um, do you want to sit in that corner?” I nod to the farthest seats. 

There, we sit on the table, my back to everyone else. “Sorry for being so distracted. How are you feeling?”

Chapter 10

“i feel… More alive than before. My parent is dead. I have a living brother. I think I'm connecting more to my human side than to my cursed.” His dark eyes stare into a distance. The darkened skin around them spreads like decades of tear stains.

“Hee-hee,” a childlike giggle jumps onto the bench, the toy's vacant face stares into mine. 

I flinch so hard, my heart practically ejects. The edges of my vision pulse white and aggressive.

I try to orient myself. Focus on breathing. A strong arm holds me back from falling off the table.

“You're okay,” Choso says softly. I'm not sure if it was intended to be a question or a comfort.

“Thank you,” I blush and avert my clearing gaze, “you're always protecting me.”

“Yaga! Contain your corpses!” Gojo yells, throwing that thing to the front of the café.

Then he leans on the table across from ours.

“Sorry about those. Creepy, right?” He asks, leaning his head down like he'd be peering over the fabric but it has no gaps. 

I nod. Choso's hand moves along my shoulder and I lean into him.

“Almost as creepy as this.” Gojo holds a cube up on his fingertips. I can tell my face is as blank as my mind here. He puts it away.

“So… What were you two doing in Shibuya?”

I am relieved to get by with the half-true narrative that I ate a finger. They can think I'm normal like Yuuji.

“Ah. that explains the unregulated cursed energy.” He leans forward. “how would you like a career change?”

“if it means I don't have to work in the same cramped, haunted office every day - yeah, please sign me up.”

“Okay! Good to hear.” He smiles and leans back into the table.

“Choso. I respect your decision, but are you willing to make a pact in order to get in? Our old ass higher-ups might require it.”

“I have no ties to the curses or my father except for my cursed technique and my brother. I would have saved my mother from myself if I could.”

“I see. You have a pure heart. It was pretty funny when Jogo yelled at you for not attacking anyone,” Gojo chuckles. I haven't seen his eyes, but I can feel the eye contact.

“Since you've already graduated, and you aren't even a registered human… We can forge some documents, if you'd like. Anyway, there's an abandoned dorm we’ll set up for you and anyone else in a similar situation. 

Also , I know it's a pain , but try to document anything relevant to tonight's events before it's forgotten. Frankly, I'm just covering my ass to say that. I can't wait for these stupid reports to be over.” I think Nanako’s prophecy is hitting. The sugar crash.

“The cars will be here soon to drive us to jujutsu high. Can I see your phones?”

“I don't have one.” I look up at Choso's face. He isn't upset about it, just stating a fact.

I feel my pockets. I don't have my bag either. Where is my stuff? Burned, cut to shreds, or cast aside in that dreadful groaning building when I clocked out?

“Don't worry! We can get them later,” Gojo says like it's nothing serious. The blood returns to my face.

“Um, what's a pact?” I whisper to Choso.

“It's like a promise with cursed energy, and consequences for breaking.”

“Oh. I'm…not sure how to use cursed energy,” i shift so my legs dangle off the edge.

“It's okay. I can help you.” Something warm in Choso's voice, in his steady hand that never left my arm. 

Headlights on black cars line up outside. A man with short dark hair and small dark glasses stands across from Sukuna, who stands out like a bride in his white kimono. They shake hands while people in black suits stand in front of their cars, recording the event on their phones.

“I believe the pact they agreed to,” Gojo comments behind us, "is that he can go wherever he wants to, but not harm for the sake of it.” 

One of his lower red eyes flicks over and smiles at me.

I wonder if it weren't Halloween night, and if the average population hadn't evacuated, what kind of life Sukuna could have here. Societies tend to group together and judge idiosyncrasies so harshly. He'd be outcast as a monster, no doubt. Unless it's pulled off as a performance art… 

No. He'll get bored anywhere else. 

“Okay, team! Gojo is ready for bed! Let's hit those cars.”

edit to add a/n: there is a sequel which begins immediately after this scene. you can find that through the ao3 link above.

[lynns-bonkle-blog]

Redid my Bionicle primary-element palettes! They all use official colours that are available by default in Studio, so they can be used in digital MOCing.

List of all colours below.

Fire:

Volcanic - Black, Dark Red, Red, Orange, Yellow

Ash Cloud - Dark Grey, Dark Tan, Sand Red, Bright Light Orange, Light Yellow

Swamp - Dark Blue, Dark Red, Reddish Orange, Light Blue, Light Yellow

Spectral - Purple, Rust, Red, Light Purple, Dark Pink

Forest - Dark Brown, Dark Red, Reddish Orange, Medium orange, Yellow

Gas Field - Maersk Blue, Sky Blue, Light Orange, Bright Light Orange, Light Yellow

Water:

Coastal - Dark Blue, Blue, Sand Blue, Medium Blue, Lime

Polluted - Black, Dark Blue, Dark Purple, Lilac, Blue-Violet

Tropical - Dark Turquoise, Light Turquoise, Maersk Blue, Sky Blue, Light Blue

Sulphuric - Bright Light Orange, Dark Turquoise, Dark Azure, Medium Azure, Medium Green

Aquifer - Dark Blue, Dark Bluish Grey, Sand Blue, Dark Azure, Medium Blue

Swamp - Medium Brown, Dark Turquoise, Dark Azure, Medium Azure, Sand Green

Earth:

Cavern - Black, Dark Grey, Purple, Orange, Tan

Desert - Black, Dark Grey, Dark Tan, Light Grey, Tan

Diamond Mine - Dark Bluish Grey, Dark Grey, Dark Tan, Light Grey, Dark Azure

Jungle - Dark Bluish Grey, Olive Green, Light Grey, Sand Green, Very Light Grey

Bog - Black, Brown, Light Brown, Medium Brown, Olive Green

Magma - Black, Dark Red, Dark Grey, Reddish Orange, Light Grey

Air

Jungle - Dark Green, Green, Dark Turquoise, Light Green, Lime

Polluted - Dark Grey, Sand Purple, Olive Green, Sand Green, Light Green

Fog - Dark Grey, Dark Tan, Olive Green, Medium Lime, Light Lime

Coastal - Sand Blue, Dark Turquoise, Medium Green, Sand Green, White

Swamp - Black, Dark Green, Green, Olive Green, Light Lime

Desert - Dark Tan, Medium Lime, Light Lime, Tan, Yellowish Green

Stone

Desert - Black, Brown, Dark Grey, Medium Brown, Tan

Sulphuric - Dark Bluish Grey, Dark Grey, Orange, Bright Light Orange, Light Bluish Grey

Mesa - Dark Brown, Light Brown, Dark Orange, Reddish Orange, Salmon

Mountain - Light Brown, Dark Gray, Olive Green, Medium Tan, Very Light Grey

Coastal - Sand Blue, Dark Tan, Light Grey, Tan, Light Blue

Geode - Purple, Magenta, Dark Grey, Light Bluish Grey, Very Light Bluish Grey

Ice

Mountain - Sand Blue, Dark Grey, Light Grey, Light Blue, White

Glacial - Dark Blue, Dark Blue-Violet, Dark Azure, Bright Light Blue, Light Blue

Iron Oxide - Dark Red, Red, Sand Red, Very Light Grey, White

Tundra - Dark Green, Brown, ???, Bright Light Blue, White

Cavern - Dark Turquoise, Dark Azure, Bright Light Blue, Light Blue, Light Aqua

Auroral - Medium Violet, Dark Azure, Light Turquoise, Medium Azure, Light Blue

[bl00dlight]

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC niece Targaryen. | SERIES

All NSFW warnings apply in future chapters.

Word Count ~ 3.5k+

Index

i ● ii ● iii ● iv ● v ● vi ● vii ● viii ●ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

vii ~ 'Lord of the Tides'

129 AC

VISENYA - DRAGONSTONE

The sky above was grey, as it always was upon Dragonstone. The air thick and cloying, the inescapable stench of salt, smoke and brimstone filled the lungs of all who dared cross upon its stormy threshold. It was always warm here, clammy - even when it rained.

I oft found solace, riding high over the plains of ashen volcanic rock. The sulphuric steam stinging my skin as I let my dragon take me high upon Dragonmount. There I let myself venture upon its edges, discarding my boots and feeling the jagged stone beneath my feet. I enjoy feeling how it cuts and presses into my skin, sometimes I leave bloodied and limping. Though it feels good, feels righteous to have my blood dried upon its rocks, ritualistic. Just as I claimed Silverwing, I shall claim this island as my own one day.

I watch as Silverwing scurries into the large cavern etched into the side of the mountain. She oft goes there, for that is why Vermithor can be found lazing. It is a strange sight, seeing two beasts which strike such fear into the hearts of men, so affectionate with each other. I too have found comfort in their embrace, often falling asleep aside the two beasts as a child, usually as they coiled. My father, Daemon would be the one to find me, to scoop me in his arms and return me to Dragonstone.

Vermithor had taken a liking to me, he was an aloof beast - distant. Yet it was my bond with Silverwing which softened his gaze upon me, allowing me to sit by them both under the torch light, reading. Silverwing had always been the most gentle of the elder dragons, tentative to my thoughts and whims. I needn't say many commands, for she already knows my desires. Many found it odd I had claimed her over Vermithor, thinking his temperament was more aligned with my own. In some ways, I wish I had. There was something terribly revealing about claiming such a docile dragon. Something vulnerable, as though it revealed my own heart to others without any need for confession.

This was my home, not King's Landing - city of piss and rotting teeth. Dragonstone was a place of magic; I can feel it simmering in the air and ground. Sense it when I place my palm on the rocks. That low humming of the hearth of Valyria, of the Targaryen's. Many find it to be a grim place, akin with Harrenhal - though mystified with blood magic instead of a curse.

But it is that which drives me to it, my heart doesn't fear it's darkness nor its danger. For I know within it, for those truly of the blood of the dragon - its darkness is merely there so that our fire may burn brightly. A cocoon of warmth. It is not like the emptied and sullen corpse of Harrenhal, no, Dragonstone is full - it is alive. So, it came as no shock to my mother that I had forfeited my claim to the throne, opting to rule Dragonstone instead and allow my brother, Jacaerys to be her heir.

The realm deserves a King of a kind and just nature; that is not me. My temper burns too hot, and I have no desire to be pulled as a puppet on a string. I have no taste for politics, nor can bear the burden of pleasing the faith. In that regard, I am much like my father, and he was not meant for the throne either.

Daemon, of course was outraged by this notion and doubled down, claiming my willingness to give up the throne proved I was fair enough to sit upon it. But I know that is not true, for if it were - my mother would have refused me. At first, of course she protested but came to see that my heart lies here, not in court. And I shall continue our line, where our House belongs and I shall raise my brothers Viserys, Aegon iii and any child I might have here - amidst the ash and warmth.

My mother has been generous in her patience of me, and my father overjoyed with the notion that I have not wed yet. They are letting me decide who is worthy, and I still have made no choice. Marriage is to be political yes, but I cannot bare marrying and laying with a man I feel little for. I wish to have what my mother and father have, but there is an unlikely chance it seems.

The most promising match's hail from House Stark and Blackwood. Though neither of which please me greatly. In truth, I had wished to marry as mother did, to a Targaryen, to have an ancestral wedding too. Though it seems the God's did not write such a thing within my fate. So, in turn, I wait. I wait to see just where this path of what has felt like endless girlhood shall end. I am but eight and ten, still no marriage or children to speak - some have suggested that I shall take after my great Aunt Saera Targaryen. In truth such a life sounds rather pleasing; fucking lovers then taking off to Lys, pretending to be a maiden to exploit patrons of pleasure houses. Only difference being I would not have to pretend at first.

As I made my way across the stones, I noted the sky dimming slowly, twas time I return home. Even for a Targaryen, nights on Dragonmount can be treacherous. It was no surprise to me that upon my return, more news of dramatics at King's Landing filled my ears. Luke's legitimacy was being called into question as heir to Driftmark by Vaemond Velaryon, on account of Lord Corlys' sudden illness. Of course, we were to be dragged to the capital for his trial. Despite the matter being settled already, it seemed those sniveling Hightower’s were to reconsider claims that had already been declared by King Viserys, though it was no surprise either to hear how my grandsire had deteriorated in years passing. A part of me longed to visit from time to time, though I knew why mother had to leave. Why it was impossible to stay amongst those dens of vipers.

I sat in Lucerys room, my hand entwined with his as he sat upon his bed. The both of us watching as Jace paced back and forth, ranting and muttering.

"Tis an outrage... how can Grandsire let this stand!" Jace paused and turned to us, his face curdled.

"I... do not know." I say softly, contemplating his words.

Jace's face hardens, he scoffs and turns to where Lucerys and I both sit. His finger pointed directly at me," We should not have spent such time away from King's Landing. Mother ought to have trusted us to face them!"

"She has been rather busy brother, rearing us. Tis not her job to entertain the Hightower’s wicked lies and let us spend our lives defending ourselves against them." I can only shake my head at my younger brother's fierce words. For I know he is brave and true, at times Jace can be too stern for his own good.

Jace purses his lips and turns to look upon the view of the bay. I can tell he has no argument against me, so I smile softly and turn my attention to my other brother, who nestles himself upon my shoulder.

"They aren’t lies though... are they?  Even the Velaryon’s think it so. " The silence is broken as Luke's soft voice fills his chamber. His head rising from my shoulder as Jace turns once more.

“Ser Vaemond does not speak for the Sea Snake, brother…” I said, gently brushing his dark hair from his eye.

“But he speaks the opinion many seem to share.” Luke mutters lowly.

 I turn my head to Jace, and both our gazes interlock as we struggle to confirm what our younger brother already knows. The silence continues, and then, Jace steps forward, his tone proud and measured.

"It matters not what they say. The only relevant truth is the fact we are Targaryen's and that Grandsire, and the Sea Snake supports yours and all our claims." Jace beckons, giving Luke a small smile. We both exchange another look before I watch as Jace turns, making his way towards the window once more.

In the corner of my eye, I can see how Luke’s face curdles with discomfort, I turn my head and give him a gentle nod, “You worry too much. All will be well in time.”

“There is much to worry about. I… I do not feel I am right to rule Driftmark, mayhap they are right to challenge me. I know nothing of commanding a fleet.” His dark eyes lower themselves to the ground, Lucerys frowns softly and I can’t help but pull his chin up so that he might look into my eyes once more.

“What do any of us know of our future duties, brother? What does Jace know about protecting the realm, or I about ruling Dragonstone? That is for us to uncover in time. Fuck the treacherous webs our enemies spin, they have their own wants… desires that tempt them. We need not listen, for once we sit upon our thrones their voices shall be too quiet to even hear.” As I let go of his chin, I found the excitement in my tone again. Lucerys face shifts to chuckle quietly and I do the same, he nods giving me a soft glare before rising to his feet to speak with Jace.

I take a moment to gaze upon my two brothers, to see them now growing into men… when it felt like only a moment ago they were mere boys before me. To see how their temperaments became more distinct by the day, gave me a sense of relief for our futures. They were good and brave, it seemed such were rare traits in times such as these. Their dark hair gleamed bronze in the sunlight for a moment, and I was filled with a warmth, a love that I couldn’t quite explain. Though yes, they were my mother’s sons – at times it felt like they were just as much my baby’s as they were hers. How I had held each one upon their birth and ran my fingers across their fat cheeks when they were babes. How, now as they grew into men it was the hard bone of their jaws my fingers would feel beneath them. Such sentiments made my stomach coil with a grief for our youth, for the innocence I felt was being chipped away at by the day. Yet now, seeing them before me, they still appear as the small boys I once held so close, and I knew it would not be very long until I had to let them go.  

●

The trip to King’s Landing was but a short one on dragonback and the Princess Visenya indeed watched her earthly surroundings go from smoky wonders of Dragonstone to the dust filled haze of the capital. She practically felt her stomach reel from the mere thought of the familiar stench, and after leaving Silverwing in the Dragonpits it came as a surprise to all her family that upon their arrival to the Red Keep, none from their own House were there to greet them. Only Lord Caswell appeared before Princess Rhaenyra, approaching her with an understanding gaze. Of course, Alicent and her peculiar spawn would not show the decency of kin, for they weren’t. Not truly. Perhaps by blood, but it seemed that made matters worse given the context of the Blacks return. Still, Visenya thought, it had been six years since last they saw the rest of their family. Six years since the night on Driftmark which led to an even greater rift… six years since he had lost his-

“Sister!” Jacaerys snapped his finger before her face, snickering at the dazed Princess.

Visenya looked up from her entranced gaze, realising she had been staring at the ground below, she looked around to see the bustling of carriages and servants around her. The Princess shifted to her two half-brothers, Jace and Luke standing before her. The glimmer of Rhaenyra and Daemon’s silver hair disappearing into the darkness as they made their way into the keep.

“Mother and Daemon are to have an audience with Alicent, and it seems none of the Hightower’s have made time in their day to greet us. We are on our own.” Jace scoffed, folding his arms as he cocked his head.

Visenya raised her brow, nodding as she began to walk, “Tis a blessing really. I do not wish to ruin such a beautiful day with the look of their sullen faces.” Her head turned as Jace and Luke followed alongside her.

“They did all seem rather grey didn’t they?” Jace jested, chuckling to himself.

The three young Targaryen’s continued forth, making their way up the stairs from the middle bailey and into the halls of the Keep. Visenya spoke once more.

“I’d imagine all the years of conspiring and prayer has meant for little time in the sun. They likely appear as corpses now.” The Princess hollowed her cheeks as she gave a wink to Luke, winning a small giggle from him.

Once they had reached Maegor’s Holdfast, the siblings had branched off, returning to settle in to their childhood chambers. As Visenya reached hers a wave of bitter nostalgia washed over her, she let her fingers glide upon the stone walls observing how it had been kept so similar yet… different to how she had left it. Naturally, she had taken her belongings with her but the furniture and the deep crimson bedding. Yes, it had been left just as it was. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the freshly lit candles, the small dish of water and soap which sat in a silver tray upon her vanity, a small rag draping over the chair. Visenya smiled, knowing the servants had remembered such preferences of hers. Near her bed, sat the small trunk of the few belongings she’d brought from Dragonstone. Upon the mattress itself, lay the scarlet gown and matching slippers.

She sat upon her bed, taking in the smell of damp and mildew. The air around her was quite cold, though a fire crackled. It was likely her chambers had not been used since her departure, from the smell of it – it seemed to not have been cleaned very often either. She settled in, and soon found herself sitting at her old vanity. Admiring how she had grown, how the last time she gazed into this mirror she was but a girl.

The princess had indeed grown vigorously as the years passed. Much like her parents it seemed she had inherited both the mind and body of a dragonrider. Imposing, her body had become – not only to others but to herself. Her form Junoesque, unyielding in its femininity as her hips and breasts were among the first thing to develop suddenly. It seemed almost overnight she had no longer fit into the clothing she once freely adorned, her body changing, aching even. The first time she had gotten her moonblood felt like a life sentence for Visenya, as no more did she feel the same kind of unawareness of her body. The princess had felt like she was now very much a prisoner to her newly found womanhood, she seldom understood why such changes were needed. Why every moon her belly would swell, growing heavy and coil with pain, how she would have to crawl to her mother’s quarters and lay by her side simply to reassure such things were normal. Though, as the years had gone by, she adjusted to such feeling, relished that the pain she felt at times was proof of her fortitude. That no man could endure such sufferance so frequently.

Visenya marveled at her sun-kissed skin, the way her silver hair gleamed now that it had grown even longer than her mothers. She kept it loose, unbound; for she relished in letting her body grow as it pleased, there was no use in taming herself; her hair included. Indeed, did the Princess enjoy herself – for no matter how beautiful a man thought her to be, it was herself which she wished to appease the most. The Princess was strict regarding her standards, unwavering that she would be dressed in the finest gowns, and smell of the richest scents the realm had to offer. Whether it was silk from Dorne or perfumed oil from Lys – she simply refused to lead a life without such beauty within it. Some may think it shallow or indulgent, but Visenya knew it was merely her lust for life which drove her towards such luxuries. She wished to experience everything, wished for a life of sensuality and passion. There was no grey cloud in her sky that was without a silver lining, for she would not accept much less than satisfaction. After all, there was so much suffering in the realm, so much ugliness and brutality. She owed it to every poor soul who died so terribly, to live life as it ought to be lived. Indulging and embracing pleasure and beauty in every way, for so few had the opportunity to.

Such mentality, did however, lead her at times to indulge in the filtrations of men and despite Visenya’s bravado, she was gentle at heart - oft stringing men along rather than shatter their dreams of winning her favor. Such is exactly what her father had told her worried him before their arrival to King’s Landing. He spoke of how difficult it was stopping his inclinations to assault the few men he might find leering at her at Dragonstone. King’s Landing, however, was a different beast and Prince Daemon had no doubt he would be combatting an endless sea of men who might have more lecherous ideas. He had spoken sternly about keeping to herself, not drawing attention to herself beyond what would already be given. That if any man were to approach her, she would deny him.

The Princess of course, found her father’s worry amusing, the few times she had entertained men had only ever ended up with innocent mischief being made, and at times drunken affections… which were oft less innocent in nature.  But she was no fool as to lose her virtue before marriage, for she knew how such a thing impacted her mother and she had promised herself that her virtue was a pleasure in itself. That there is beauty in saving herself for the truest, purest of loves, as there is beauty in indulging in fleshly pleasure. Visenya was positive no man would attempt to accost her in such a manner, for if they did they would face the wrath of her mother and of course the looming threat of her rumoured father, Prince Daemon.

As she prepared herself to leave, she peeled the thick, black riding leathers from her frame, cringing at the particular scent of sweat and dragon that ruminated from them.  Visenya then doused the rag in the bowl of water, using the soap to scrub at any and all places which eluded to such a scent. Soon, she had changed her undergarments, and drew the scarlet shaded gown over her frame; it’s sleeves long and elaborate, intwining string which laced across her structured shoulders. Visenya then pulled a small vile of perfumed oil, from her trunk, dabbing it upon her skin and threading it through her hair. The contents of which filled the room with the smell of heady jasmine and musk, a recent gift from a nobleman in Lys.

As she left her chamber, she was accosted by Jace and Luke. Who swiftly grabbed her wrist pulling her along the corridors as they babbled about going back to the middle bailey to re visit where they trained as children.

 Once they reached those fateful steps, they let go and waved for her to join them in a busy yard below..

“Come. You can watch.” Jace beckoned, Luke stopping upon the steps to look up towards her.

Visenya shook her head, leaning against stone banister upon the mezzanine which overlooked the commotion below. The Princess cocked her head to the side, “I’ve just changed… I have little intention of getting myself filthy once more.”

“Of course…” Jacaerys shook his head, rolling his eyes as he let out an amused scoff, “Suit yourself then.”

With that, the two boys trotted down the steps, and Visenya looked upon the bustling yard below.  She watched with a hearty smile as her brothers made their way towards the wooden weaponry stand, Jace playfully swinging one of the swords at Lucerys. However, she noted the few people who glared at her brothers and the whispering that occurred in their presence. A slight anger rose in her belly, do these fat old Lord’s and Lady’s have little else to do but gossip?

She waited until a pair had noticed Visenya’s scowling from above, and smiled smugly when swiftly they turned their heads and went about their business. A small gathering had distracted the Princess, as it seemed there to be an on going sparring session in the far corner of the yard. The whipping of long silver hair catching her attention, and she noticed how her brothers had soon caught wind of the action, joining the crowd below.

The silver haired figure was lithe with lean thew and a tall frame all tightly contained in black leathers. He swiftly jostled the sword in his hand with a fine precision, but her eyes caught a familiar sight, that it was Ser Criston whom the figure dueled against. A cunt, though he may be, but a talented fighter indeed.

Criston swung his Morningstar, shattering the figure’s shield. He’s done for. Visenya thought. However, she raised her brow in intrigue as the figure discarded his shield with fierce aggression and then began striking. Perhaps not. She thought again, impressed by his fortitude. One after the other, a flash of steel and light locks before he ducked and turned – it was then when she felt her heart practically fall into her chest. The figures face sharp and aquiline, his skin pale… too pale. That familiar grey.

It was the black eye patch which was tightly fastened over his right eye which gave it away.

Aemond.

He continued on, fighting harshly and fiercely against Cole before finally, winning the duel. Visenya looked at her brothers below, hearing Aemond’s voice mutter something to them both as he had finally acknowledged the two young Princes’. Though something had told her, Aemond was well aware of their presence. Jace looked up at Visenya pleadingly, and it came as no surprise then when she looked back, she noticed Aemond’s gaze follow her brothers upwards.

For what could have only had been a second, they clocked each other. The Princess felt her eyes widen, shock, fear, anger, intrguie, digust; any and all emotion flooding through her in those fateful seconds. He noticed her, he took her in. He knew it was her. She tussled her hair back and looked away, pretending as though she hadn't recognized him.

Aemond narrowed his eye upon the Princess, scanning her briefly. He had only gazed upon her for a second, he tilted his head as if he was contemplating something before his attention was drawn to the incoming drawing of the heavy gates.

Visenya steadied her breath and watched as the gates opened with a heavy moan. If only to make matters worse, the arriving party was another headache in itself... Vaemond Velaryon.

○viii○

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Push the Sky Away - Part One

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original female character (Lorra Stark) Chapter warnings: Angst. Canon typical violence. Mention of loss of virginity. Smut. Word count: ~6.5k

Summary: We are getting to know Aemond in this chapter. Some scene setting and world building, not much to be found of our OC until she is introduced towards the end. Laying the groundwork for what's to come later.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Fire and Blood, the infamous words of House Targaryen. It is a phrase that both haunts and eludes Aemond Targaryen from an early age, with its promise of greatness and constant reminder of all he will never be. 

The Targaryen name is the only thing of any value that Viserys has ever bestowed upon his sons. Aemond ponders whether his father’s disinterest in him is a result of the illness that weakens his body by the day, or if he simply has no room in his heart for the children borne of his second marriage. When he watches him interact with Rhaenyra, how he lights up in her presence in a way that he does not for him or his other siblings, he knows it is the latter.

The fireplace warms his skin, uncomfortably so, and despite the septa’s caution that he not sit so close, he refuses to budge. Sweat prickles the back of his neck, dampening and curling the ends of the hair that sticks to it. His discomfort is of little importance to him, he needs to remain within this proximity to the hearth in order to keep his egg warm, to ensure it hatches. It is a vigil he has kept for as long as he can remember, not moving until he is forced to bed with aching joints and soot covered hands. Unable to understand why it had never hatched in his cradle, he is certain that if he does his due diligence then soon he will have a dragon of his own.

His mother is alerted of his disobedience, and Alicent regards him with sadness in her large brown eyes, as she reaches for him.

“Come away, my dearest love, you will have a dragon of your own one day.”

He simply shakes his head. She could not understand. He does not want just any dragon, he wants his. There must be a reason why this particular egg was imparted upon him, otherwise it is all for nothing.

Despite this, day after day the hardened scales remain cool to the touch, little more than a rock between his tiny fingers. Perhaps placing it within the flames themselves will yield the result he hopes for?

He leans forward into the fireplace, heat blazing against his pale cheeks, and an acrid stench fills his nostrils. It is not until he is pulled forcefully back by the firm grasp of the septa that he realises the ends of his long, fair hair have singed, charred and blackened by the heat of the fire.

The egg is taken away after that, and Aemond weeps bitterly at the unfairness of it. It is his birthright, his only birthright, and now his sole purpose for being has been snatched from him; it seems there is little point to his existence now. He never sees the egg again, but he often wonders what would have happened if he had been left uninterrupted to place it upon the flames.

When Aemond is a little older, he begins to frequent the Dragonpit, for what is a Targaryen without their dragon? If he no longer has his own egg then he will find another, or perhaps claim a riderless mount of his own.

The warmth beneath the Grand Sept is different from that of the fireplace. It is dank and humid within the pit, the odour of droppings hangs heavy in the air, mixed with sulphur and ash. The smell sticks to his clothes when he returns to the Keep each evening, and momentarily he feels his chest swell with pride as his mother winkles her nose in disgust at the scent. It is the same look of distaste that she bestows upon both Helaena and Aegon when they return from flying, and for the briefest of moments he can pretend that he has too.

Yet still he goes to bed each evening dragonless, and begins each day anew with the bitter taste of jealousy in his mouth as he watches his nephews, Jacaerys and Lucerys, interact with their dragons, Vermax and Arrax. Targaryens are considered to be closer to gods than men, so it feels like a cruel twist of fate that his half sister’s bastard offspring should be blessed with eggs that hatched in their cradles when his did not. Rhaenyra’s children have the favour of the Seven, whereas they seem to have turned a blind eye to him.

Aemond’s heart soars with hope when the dragonkeepers reveal to his sister that Dreamfyre is gravid. If she produces a healthy clutch of eggs then he can claim one, one that will actually hatch. In spite of the warnings that the she-dragon be left in peace during this sensitive time, and Helaena’s frustrated and repeated requests to stop disturbing her, he cannot resist the pull towards where she roosts within her darkened cave. If she is to lay an egg, then he wants to be the first to see it, to ensure he can take one for himself.

The blistering heat of the flames that Dreamfyre expels with her mighty roar of anger as he approaches yet again causes him to stagger backwards, wide eyed and slack jawed. But Aemond feels no fear as gazes into her fiery maw, his only thoughts are that one day soon a beast of his own will do much the same.

When Aegon claps a heavy hand upon his shoulder, steering him forward, and claiming a dragon has been found for him, he does his best to remain calm. He is used to his brother and nephews’ cruel japes at his expense. But as he stands at the top of the slope to the Dragonpit, he cannot help the way his heart races with excitement at the possibility that it might be true.

His hopes are dashed when a pig is led out to him, trussed up in wings, having been jokingly named “the pink dread”. He bows his head at the raucous laughter of Aegon, Jace and Luke around him, humiliation flushing his cheeks for having dared to believe it could be true.

The echoes of Aegon’s mocking pig grunts ring in his ears all the way home, and he stands dejectedly as Alicent delivers yet another scolding for him having dared to disturb Dreamfyre. He is usually silently accepting of her scorn, confident he knows better, and prepared to defy her all over again the next day. However, this time he can no longer bear the injustice of it all.

“They gave me a pig!” He cries, feeling the prickle of tears in his eyes. “They laughed, they all laughed.”

The warmth of his mother’s embrace does little to comfort the inferno that blazes inside of him. Today is proof of the fact that his own brother does not view him as equal - how could he? Aemond is a second born son and has no dragon. He is worth nothing.

If he is not destined to be a dragonrider, then Aemond decides he will give his all to becoming a fearsome warrior instead. He excels in the training yard with each daily practice, every strike of his wooden sword against the straw stuffed target more ferocious than the last. The proud glint in the eye of Ser Criston Cole as he watches diligently, offering guidance on both stance and technique, serves to spur him on. He will be the best at this, he has to be.

Much to his displeasure, the allotted time for sparring is shared with his nephews. Though they learn under the watchful eye of Ser Harwin Strong, there is still a competitive element, and an underlying sense of animosity between Criston and Harwin that he does not quite understand.

Aegon later tells him it is because Ser Harwin is the true father of Rhaenyra’s children. He feels a smug sense of satisfaction at being privy to this information, and it brings him and his older brother closer together. The two of them share rare moments of comradery each time they don their armour and pick up their practice blades. It’s the only time that Aemond ever genuinely laughs or smiles.

There is an obvious divide from that point onwards, Targaryens uniting against Strongs, and as the tension grows between the boys, it does between their mentors too, until one day it reaches a boiling point.

At first Aemond titters along with his brother as they watch Criston scuffle with Harwin, but his smile quickly fades upon seeing how valiantly their father fights for them, knowing his own would never do the same for him. As he looks up into the solemn features of Aegon, he knows the sentiment is shared. It is yet another privilege that Rhaenyra’s children possess that he does not have; the love of their father.

They journey to Driftmark when they receive the news that Laena Velaryon has passed away in childbirth. The icy, coastal winds that whip Aemond’s hair around his face as the stone coffin is committed to the sea are as bleak as the mood that envelopes them all. He seeks warmth near the brazier, attempting to catch the eye of Jace, who stands on the opposite side. Despite the tension between them, he hopes to offer condolences, knowing the loss of both Ser Harwin and his aunt play heavily upon his nephew’s mind.

He realises it is a futile gesture the moment that Jace turns away in disgust, and once more Aemond is reminded of how alone he truly is, that he has nothing. Luke will inherit Driftmark, and their mother has betrothed Helaena to Aegon. Luke snivels at what he is offered, claiming that when Driftmark passes to him it means everyone will have died. Aegon scoffs at the notion of being married to Helaena, claiming they have nothing in common.

It angers Aemond, to be overlooked in favour of those who are so ungrateful for all they have. If he were set to inherit anything, he would do everything in his power to prove he is worthy of it and bear the title with honour. If his mother had betrothed his sister to him, he would do his duty and ensure the match produces heirs that would make House Targaryen proud.

His attention is drawn to the clifftop when he sees the spread of enormous wings and hears the mighty rumble of the creature atop it. Vhagar. Laena Velaryon’s dragon is now riderless, and the pull he feels towards her is one he simply cannot ignore. At last, he has found his purpose and his desire to claim a dragon is reinvigorated with new strength.

Aemond waits until nightfall. Sea spray has made the rocks slippery beneath his feet, and he ascends carefully, though determined, towards the top of the cliff where Vhagar roosts. Windswept and breathless by the time he reaches the top, he stands awestruck at the sleeping dragon. Even partially submerged in sand, she is a magnificent sight to behold. She had appeared massive when looking at her from above, but it does nothing to prepare him for the sheer scale of her up close. She is gargantuan.

For a moment, icy fingers of fear grip Aemond’s heart, and he considers simply turning back, he has made a dangerous mistake. He shakes the thought from his mind the moment it presents itself.

I am no craven.

His approach is tentative, palms outstretched to communicate that he does not present a threat, as the elderly beast grumbles and shakes sand from her back. He stares transfixed as she opens her jaws, the white hot inferno that swirls within their depths makes that of Dreamfyre’s seem like a mere campfire. He feels as though he is looking into the very mouth of the Seven Hells themselves, but instead of fear Aemond feels kinship. Vhagar is without purpose, as is he, until now.

“Lykirī,” he calls out, the wind carrying half the sound away with it. Yet she hears, and she stills, eyeing the child before her with keen curiosity. Be calm.

Emboldened by her calmness at his command, Aemond steps closer, fingertips ghosting against the heat that radiates from her scales.

“Dohaerās, Vhagar,” he tells her, voice trembling. This is the same dragon ridden by the great warrior, Visenya, the conqueror’s wife. She is battle hardened, and with the smallest of movements could snuff out his short life. Serve.

The faintest sound of displeasure reverberates through Vhagar’s body, yet she remains still. Aemond’s heart beats wildly in his chest as he grips the ropes attached to her saddle and begins to pull himself up. If he had thought the climb to the top of the cliff difficult, it proves nothing compared to this. His arms ache with exertion, the expanse of the great beast he is attempting to summit is vaster than anything he has ever climbed before.

By the time he pulls himself into the saddle, Aemond’s palms are red raw with rope burn and his skin is damp with perspiration. There is barely time for him to catch his breath though, as the moment Vhagar feels him settle on her back, she rises to her feet, vast quantities of sand slipping from her back and wings in drifts.

The movement startles Aemond, and he fears he will fall. His sore hands cling tightly to her reins as he shouts his final command to her. 

“Sōvēs.” Fly.

As she rises into the air with an effortless flap of her wings, he feels as though he has left his stomach on the ground below. The rush upwards is dizzying, frightening and exhilarating all at once. Aemond begins to laugh as he grows used to the weightless sensation of every ebb and flow through the air as it whistles past his ears, and chills his skin to the bone. He is finally complete, he has his dragon, and for the first time in his life he is genuinely happy.

That happiness is short-lived.

The moment he reaches solid ground, his cousins, Baela and Rhaena, are waiting for him, alongside Jace and Luke. He had anticipated this, and is well prepared.

“It’s him!” Rhaena shouts as soon as she sees him.

“It’s me,” he responds calmly, confident there is nothing to be done now that Vhagar is his.

“Vhagar is my mother’s dragon!”

“Your mother is dead, and Vhagar has a new rider now.”

“She was mine to claim!”

“Then you should have claimed her. Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride? It would suit you.”

He is startled when Rhaena angrily charges towards him, though he is bigger than her and pushes her to the ground with ease. A punch from her sister, Baela, catches him off guard, the pain in his face enraging him and causing him to hit back so hard she falls over.

“Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!” He snarls angrily.

Jace and Luke rush at him, and in a moment of confidence Aemond thinks he has bested the both of them, until all four children knock him down and begin to rain their fists down upon him.

He is the rider of the world’s largest dragon, and his new found confidence coupled with the surge of adrenaline allows him to fight them all back. He grasps a rock, holding it above Luke’s head as he grasps him tightly by the collar.

“You will die screaming in flames, just as your father did. Bastards!” He hisses.

“My father is still alive!” Luke wails.

Aemond smirks, rock still held above his sobbing nephew, and he glances to Jace. “He does not know, does he, Lord Strong?”

Jace unsheathes a dagger, to the protestations of both Rhaena and Baela, and the distraction is enough for Aemond to knock it from his hand. His dedication in the training yard has paid off and he quickly gets the better of Jace, snatching up the rock once more, prepared to bring it down upon his skull should he try to attack him again.

In Aemond’s mind, the matter is settled, they should accept what has happened and retire to bed.

Unfortunately, his nephews do not share the sentiment. He winces, staggering backwards as Jace throws sand in his face, and before he has had time to fully recover, Luke is racing towards him, Jace’s dagger in hand.

The pain is excruciating as his nephew slashes upwards, and suddenly his vision shows blackness on one side, instead of his surroundings. He falls to his knees, a shriek of agony leaving him as blood seeps through the fingers of the hand he clasps to one side of his face.

His only focus is the searing, torturous pain he feels, waves of nausea rippling through his prone body, until a clamour of armour alerts him to the presence of the Kingsguard. As a knight kneels beside him, coaxing his hand away, his pale, horrified expression and exclamation of “Gods be good” are all Aemond needs to know that his face is ruined forever.

The fire in the hall of Driftmark is warm against his skin, and he does his best to focus on that sensation instead of that of the Maester extracting his eye from his skull. Though he has been dosed with milk of the poppy, he still feels every cut, every tug, and the pierce of the needle as it’s pulled through his skin repeatedly to stitch up the wound.

Aemond is unsure if it is the milk of the poppy that dulls his senses, or the satisfaction he feels at having claimed the world’s largest dragon, but he does not feel anger or sadness as he expects he would have when he is told his eye is lost forever.

When his mother snatches a knife and charges towards Rhaenyra, he is certain she has more blood of the dragon coursing through her veins than his coward of a father does. She is willing to risk everything to avenge his disfigurement, while Viserys makes excuses and appears more affronted at his eldest daughter’s children being called bastards. The loss of Aemond’s eye seems of little importance to him.

It is in that moment that Aemond feels the tiny semblance of respect he had for his father wither and die. As he takes in the harrowed expressions of Alicent, Aegon and Helaena, he knows they are all he has left.

“Do not mourn me, mother,” he says softly, rising to comfort her, though unsteady on his feet as he adjusts to his partial sightedness. “I may have lost an eye, but I have gained a dragon.”

A scar mars the flesh of Aemond’s face, but also ravages its way through the Targaryen family. Rhaenyra and her children leave King’s Landing, settling upon Dragonstone with Daemon and his daughters. Meanwhile, the health of Viserys continues to decline and the instances he is not bedridden grow fewer. Aemond does not miss his presence.

Worry hangs over his mother, a permanent shroud of anxiety, while Aegon becomes more debaucherous, sinking further into his cups with each passing day. Helaena retreats deeper into herself, rarely speaking unless spoken to, and bristles at any initiation of physical touch.

Slowly, Aemond heals, though it is not without struggle. He must learn to do everything anew. His favourite books become a chore to read, no longer able to pore over their pages for as long without suffering a terrible ache in his head.

Criston has to begin his training with the sword all over again. There is a newfound blind spot to account for when he fights. Not only does he have to learn how to balance, pivot and wield his weapon with accuracy, he also has to develop hyper vigilance and an acute awareness of where his opponent is at all times, to prevent them from drifting to the side from which he cannot see, and besting him.

Even flying on dragonback is difficult, though he only has one flight to compare it to. He learns fast, and is grateful that Vhagar’s advanced age makes her placid and more forgiving than a younger mount might be. When Aemond is airborne he can almost forget his disfigurement entirely, until he returns to the ground and the world is half blackness once more.

It is enough to make Aemond want to scream in frustration and give up at times. However, he is accustomed to a life of feeling out of place, of having to work harder than everyone else to prove his worth. There is nothing to be gained from a defeatist attitude, so he hardens himself to the challenges he faces, determined to be better with one eye than he was with two.

If his vision of the world is now limited, then he will simply expand his mind beyond that. He loses himself in tomes of history and philosophy, ignoring the dull pain that plagues his skull as he reads into the small hours.

In the training yard, he is quick to learn to keep Criston within his line of sight at all times, and wields his sword viciously, relentlessly, always striving to be faster, stronger, more precise. The proud look upon the Knight’s face means little to him now. The only person he means to prove anything to is himself. 

He reasons that a warrior must appear as fearsome as they fight, and takes to wearing a sapphire in the empty socket of his eye, when it is not covered by a patch.

The single matter that Aemond is never able to quite grasp is that of the fairer sex. Aegon has always seemed to have an overly indulgent interest in women, moreso what lies between their legs, but he has never understood his brother’s obsession with fornication. He has read about the mechanics of it in books, and the idea makes his lip curl in disgust. However, he reasons that Aegon is older, and perhaps his own appetite will develop in much the same way as he ages.

Aegon reasons that women’s skin is soft, they smell nice, and when you find one that has the perfect pair of tits and legs then there is little else that matters. While it is agreeable to Aemond that women are indeed more pleasant to look upon than men, he questions why he should not take an interest in their education or how they like to pass the time. His brother argues that once you are sheathed inside a woman, it is not what is in their mind that matters in the slightest.

Upon Aemond’s thirteenth name day, Aegon slaps him on the back and informs him that it is “time to get it wet”. The very idea makes his guts churn with unease, yet he dons the clothes of common folk just the same, pulling a hood over his head, and allows his brother to guide him to the Street of Silk.

The walk through Flea Bottom reeks of urine, with men staggering half drunk through the narrow cobbled streets, while women in varying states of undress beckon them forward into darkened hovels. Aemond keeps his head bowed, dreading what is to come, and is thankful when the establishment that his older brother guides him to looks slightly more respectable than the half a dozen they have passed by already.

The pleasure house is dimly lit and the heady scent of cheap perfume burns his nostrils, though it barely covers the smell of another undesirable stench that he assumes is the byproduct of what goes on here. He half wonders if it will stick to his clothing, much like the smell of sulphur and ash does when he returns from dragonback. He sincerely hopes not. 

His throat runs dry when Aegon staggers away with a busty woman, full of giggles, leaving him alone. The brothel’s madame has a kind smile, though it does not meet her eyes, and when she places her hand upon his shoulder it makes him shudder. He feels her touch there like a brand long after she has taken it away.

“Choose any of my girls that you like,” she tells him.

Timidly he eyes all of them. He wants none of them, but how can he say that?

When he hesitates, she chooses for him, pushing him towards a room with a girl that cannot be much older than he is. Her hair is the colour of straw, her skin reeks of the same perfume that lingers thick within the air, and there is wine upon her breath.

The fireplace burns low in the room as he lays upon the bed, and he keeps his eye fixed upon it until it is over. He has enjoyed none of it, the finish feeling little more to him than the satisfaction he experiences when scratching an itch. He cannot understand why Aegon makes such a fuss about it, if that is all there is to it then he never wants to partake in such an act of vulgarity ever again.

He leaves without saying a word, and walks as quickly as his legs will carry him back to the Red Keep. In the bathtub that evening, he scrubs until his skin is red raw, wanting nothing more than to erase every trace of what he has endured that day.

When he is served his favourite meal for his name day feast, roasted haunch of venison, he finds he has no appetite. Sickly perfume fills his nose and turns his stomach, and he leaves his plate untouched.

From that day forth, Aemond decides that he has no taste for depravity, and dedicates his time to reading, training with the sword and taking flight on Vhagar. Despite the nagging ache at the back of his mind that Aegon is set to succeed their father when he passes away, despite neither wanting nor deserving it, he feels a sense of fulfillment in knowing that he is making both their mother and House Targaryen proud.

There are few books in the Keep’s library he has not read at least twice, and he trains daily in the yard with Criston, now at a point where he is the victor in almost every sparring match.

The years pass, and Aemond is content with solitude, assuming that is his lot in life. Fire and blood course hotly in his veins, and in spite of his disfigurement he feels every inch a true Targaryen.

Viserys deteriorates to the point that Aemond’s grandsire and Hand of the King, Otto, now oversees most of the royal duties, and he has begun in earnest to plan with Alicent for Aegon’s eventual coronation. It comes as no shock to Aemond the day that he is beckoned to the Small Council Chamber, though he is surprised to find it is just his grandsire that sits at the table, there is not even a cup bearer present.

“I trust you are aware of the plans to crown Aegon once your father passes?” Otto asks, once Aemond is seated in the chair nearest to him.

Aemond sits up straight against the backrest, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, as he regards Otto impassively. “I am.”

“Good,” Otto nods, clasping his hands in front of him on the table. “Then I am sure you must know of your own duty to the realm.”

Aemond purses his lips, eyeing the older man carefully. “I will do what I must to ensure Aegon’s claim to the throne goes unchallenged.”

Otto sighs, leaning back and regarding Aemond with a twinkle of amusement in his eye. “Rhaenyra is sure to challenge your brother’s birthright, as your father foolishly named her heir, but there are means to remedy that.”

Aemond says nothing, waiting for Otto to say what he means. He watches as he fills both their wine cups, before setting the jug down. He takes a deep drink from his own, but Aemond leaves his untouched, wishing his grandsire would just get to the point.

Otto clicks his tongue before continuing. “To strengthen Aegon’s claim, we must curry favour with the other Great Houses of the realm.”

Aemond lowers his gaze, fingers drumming absentmindedly on the armrests of his chair. “You wish for me to marry.”

“Yes, Aemond, you are to be betrothed.”

The tone of voice in which Otto says this has such finality, it sounds as though a match has already been decided. His eye flickers upwards to meet the unyielding gaze of his grandsire.

“To who?”

“Your mother and I thought it best not to present you with suitors, we know you would not enjoy such a spectacle.”

You know all of them would take one look at me and be horrified by the very notion of being married to me.

Otto continues, “So we have chosen for you. The daughter of Lord Rickon Stark, Lorra. She is a pretty girl, and having the allegiance of a Great House of the North will weaken Rhaenyra’s claim.”

Aemond stays silent as his mind races.

House Stark. Their sigil is a dire wolf, their words are Winter is Coming.

Beyond that, he knows nothing of Northerners, what could he possibly learn about his betrothed from a book anyway?

He wets his lips, resigned to his fate. “When?”

“She will arrive in King’s Landing in two weeks, so that you can begin your courtship of her.”

“I will do my duty.”

“I trust that you will.”

Aemond retires to his chambers for the remainder of the day. He had anticipated that he would have to marry to form a political alliance at some point, however, the thought rattles him all the same. 

He is a solitary creature by nature, what on earth will he do with a wife? He supposes life will stay much the same, if his mother and father and Aegon and Helaena are to be used as examples - both couples married, yet living entirely separate lives. It is a mere formality. He will not be expected to spend time with her.

They will be expected to produce heirs, however. Nervousness swirls in his gut at the thought. He does not want to endure what happened to him at the brothel each time he couples with his wife, yet he cannot leave her childless either.

Lorra is a highborn lady, however, not a common whore, so perhaps he will be able to find pleasure in the act. Doubt niggles in his mind as he ponders his inexperience. A Prince must know what he is doing if he is to produce children, and Aemond possesses neither experience nor interest in the act of procreation. He will need to prepare if he is to perform his marital duties as anticipated without embarrassing himself or his wife.

The thought of returning to Flea Bottom makes him shiver in revulsion. He has no desire to part with coin for an act that sickens him. He will need to find an alternative.

There are plenty of maidservants around the Keep who are pretty enough, and of a similar age to him. He does not wish to be like his brother, however, and will not take what is not freely given. He has observed the way that Aegon expresses interest in the women that attend to them during mealtimes and decides to deploy some of the same tactics, though in a much more subtle manner.

At supper the following evening, he spots a young woman who is pleasing to him. She has a slender neck and pretty face, her large eyes framed by thick lashes. He watches her carefully as she rounds the table, filling each cup with wine, and when finally she approaches him, he deliberately reaches forward, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her wrist as she pours from the jug she holds. She glances down at him and he looks up, holding her gaze, the faintest of smirks on his face. A slight blush creeps up her neck, dusting its way across her cheekbones and he knows she is interested.

He spends the rest of the meal catching her eye whenever he can, and when the evening draws to a close, he lingers in the doorway, beckoning her with the slightest tip of his head when she looks at him, before walking back to his bedchamber. Aemond does not have to wait long for the knock at his door.

“Your grace, will you be needing anything else this evening?” She asks with a polite smile.

He closes the door behind them, steeling himself before turning to face her. “You understand why you are here?”

She nods, reaching up to cup his face as she leans in. He turns away, pulling back slightly.

“I have no need for you to kiss me.”

She nods in understanding and moves towards the bed, slipping out of her clothes. Aemond stands in silence as he watches her disrobe. She is attractive to look at, much more desirable than the girl he had coupled with in Flea Bottom. Smooth skinned, with subtle curves and firm breasts. He wonders how many others have looked upon her in the same manner that he has.

“Lay down,” he instructs her, once she is fully bare before him.

She moves to position herself face down, but Aemond steps forward, halting her actions.

“Let me look at you.”

“As you wish, your grace,” she whispers, blushing again, and repositions onto her back.

Aemond stands over her, his eye raking over her form as he takes in the way her chest rises and falls with every breath, the way the narrowness of her waist expands outwards towards her hips.

Tentatively, he reaches forward, fingers trailing lightly over the plush flesh of her inner thigh, tugging gently.

Obediently, she spreads her legs and he sucks in a breath at what glistens between them, curiosity guiding his actions as he spreads his fingers through the slick folds. She sighs in pleasure, and he looks back up at her face. Her lips are parted, eyes hooded with desire. Admittedly, though this is a much better experience than what he’d endured when he was thirteen, he still feels little in the way of excitement. Aemond appreciates that she lays there quietly, however, allowing him to take things at his own pace, and he feels his body respond to her regardless of his lack of emotion.

When his cock strains almost painfully against the lacings of his breeches, he unfastens them, crawling over the maidservant to cage her body in with his. She feels better against him than the whore had, her skin is more supple and her scent not quite so overpowering. He grunts as he pushes himself inside of her, her tight, wet heat gripping every inch of him as he slides forward.

The inside of her is different from the grasp of his own hand. Aemond is no stranger to the act of self pleasure, using it as a means to clear his mind or lull himself to sleep on nights when rest evades him. It is not a carnal act for him though, he simply focuses on the sensation, guiding himself to release. Despite the pleasant warmth of her body, he does not feel driven to desperate passion as he had anticipated, as he has so often heard Aegon describe.

As he rocks his hips into hers, back and forth, the growing ache he experiences is nice enough, but it does not light a fire within him. He is simply rutting against another person. The dulcet sounds that fall from her lips as he pistons into her sound too performative, and he feels resentment as he looks upon her face, just wanting to put an end to it.

He speeds up, and her sounds grow louder. Annoyance prickles at his skin.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses.

She falls silent and the room fills with the sound of the slap of his skin against hers, until finally he spills inside of her with a quiet gasp. He is quick to withdraw from her, standing and tucking himself away.

“You can go now,” he tells her, turning away.

He doesn’t watch as she dresses and quietly leaves his chamber. Aemond feels disappointment that he is unable to derive pleasure from such a carnal act. He has read that it is supposed to evoke excitement within a person, and from the way Aegon behaves he knows it is certainly true. So why does such a feeling evade him?

It matters not, he supposes. He will treat his wife in the same way he has the maidservant this evening. He will not take her by force, and he will be gentle with her. The act will be for the sole purpose of producing heirs, besides that they will live their lives as they please. He did not choose her, and she did not choose him, so he is confident that this will be an arrangement she finds satisfactory.

The next two weeks pass by without incident. Aemond reads, he trains and he flies, and thoughts of his betrothal scarcely enter his mind.

Upon the day of Lorra’s arrival to the Red Keep, he gathers in the Great Hall, with Alicent, Otto, Aegon and Helaena to greet her upon her arrival. He stands straight, hands clasped firmly behind his back, eye scanning the room impatiently. He hates the formality of it all, and wonders what could possibly be taking such a long time.

He will, of course, be dutiful and stand here for as long as necessary, but irritability simmers within him as he exhales heavily through his nose, wishing to be anywhere else right now, the library, the training yard, on dragonback. Such a display seems wholly unnecessary for an arrangement that is a mere formality.

When finally the doors open to the steps that ascend into the Hall, he faces forward, eye fixed upon the Kingsguard that file in. Until he sees her.

Draped in a cerulean cloak, trimmed with grey fur, she seems as though she is floating, rather than walking as she approaches. Her ivory skin is tinged with the faintest of pink against her cheeks and the curls of her ebony hair are braided down her back.

Aemond’s throat runs dry, his heart pounding quickly against his ribcage, and he realises he is holding his breath. The last time he felt such a powerful combination of fear, awe and longing had been the night he had first laid eyes upon Vhagar. It unsettles him, and he is grateful that his hands remain behind his back, otherwise he is certain that she would be able to see how they tremble.

“Lady Lorra of House Stark,” comes the announcement to the Hall, but it sounds distant and far away to Aemond as he stands, transfixed by her.

His blood pumps like liquid fire through his veins. Her eyes, so blue they could almost be sapphires, meet his and he feels a shiver run through him. After a lifetime of resonating in the warmth of flames, he is chilled by the ice that is reflected back at him.

Chapter two || Series masterlist

[thatgaymerguyb]

Work In Progress Wednesday

A preview of the next part of my series with Rook and Davrin.

                 Rook could feel the crackle of magic in the air, barely having enough time to pull up a barrier around them as the man before them threw a huge ball of lightning at them.  He could tell the blast was targeted at the Inquisitor.  This was Hawke and his magic had become unchecked after being in the fade for so long, the attack took down Rook’s barrier with little effort. 

                 “Hawke stop! We’re here to take you back!” yelled Cadash as they jumped up from the table.

                 “There’s nothing left to go back to!”  The building around them seemed to flicker to whatever their true surroundings were as Hawke walked toward them a fireball forming in his hand. 

                 “Look out!” Rook warned just before the attack was let loose.  Rook and Davrin jumped out of the way of the attack but the Inquisitor pulled his greatsword quickly using the blade to block the flame.  Rook could see the fire singe the bits of cloth that hung from the Inquisitor's armour.

                 “Hawke don’t make us do this, we can get you out of here!” Cadash patted at the fire with his prosthetic.  “You have to trust us we need your help!” 

                 “Convenient,” growled Hawke.  Again the house around them changed briefly back to the fade, Rook catching a brief whiff of the sulphur that had plagued them when they arrived.  Hawke slammed his staff to the ground and a burst of fire travelled along the ground at Cadash.  Davrin dove and knocked him out of the way before dodging the attack. 

“It’s no use, he won’t listen,” said Rook taking his staff in hand. 

“Then we’ll just have to beat it into him,” said Davrin holding up his shield.

“That may not be as easy as you think,” said Cadash getting to his feet. 

Hawke narrowed his eyes and flipped his staff around like a baton, it began to glow red as he spoke as did his eyes.  “It most certainly will not.”  Rook pulled at the cold of the fade and sent a blast of ice hurling at Hawke along the ground when he held out a hand and made a fist stopping it several feet before it hit him.  Davrin ran in and Rook began pelting the man with bolts of fire from his staff as a distraction.  Cadash followed Davrin into melee just as Davrin engaged Hawke hand-to-hand, starting with trying to bash his staff from his hand.  Cadash tried a leg sweep with his greatsword trying to knock down his opponent but he was too aware easily jumping the blade while still engaging with Davrin. 

“If you could just get it through your head,” grunted Davrin.  “We’re trying to help you!”  Davrin pressed with everything he could his shield clanged to Hawke’s staff as they stared each other down.

Link to the most recent part is here!

If you wanna start from the beginning start here!

If you prefer Wattpad that's here!

What's everyone else got goin on?

@master-of-the-elements @gingervitus @mythals-whore @serstolas @gaysebastianvael @biowaredisasterbisexual @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @becausedragonage @hyperions-light @davrinsleftpectoral @thedissonantverses @imrowanartist @megaeratheefury @rooks-dagger soft tags of course :)

[magnus-marmot]

Needed a sideblog

Spoiler warning: You can generally expect spoilers for all of the Magnus Archives and however much of the Magnus Protocol is out at the time of writing. Each post will be tagged with "written after TMAGP[xx]" to give context for the general timeframe.

I have also started to tag posts with #tmagp salt, #tmagp mercury, #tmagp sulphur, #tmagp luna and #tmagp sol to mark which principles are relevant to the post.

Some of my working theories are summarised under the cut.

My original Tria Prima theory in a nutshell

(original post here, but the ideas are ever-changing)

The metaphysics of TMAGP aren't based on fears but on the three principles: Salt, Sulphur and Mercury. When balanced, it's business as usual. If unbalanced, weird things start to happen.

Salt 🜔 (Corpus, Body): The principle of stability, rigidity and stagnation. The physical, concrete body of a human or any matter. It's what remains after putrefaction. Vulnerable to corruption. Too much salt could lead to both literal and metaphorical stagnation, rigidity or crystallisation. Getting stuck or locked in place. Infectious corruptions, decomposition, death and preservation of bodies. TMA connections: Buried, Flesh, Corruption, End, maybe Dark (as per nigredo or the putrefying stage).

Mercury ☿ (Spiritus, Mind): The principle of volatility, solubility, dissolution, liminality and dualities. Water, air and things that flow. The human mind, or thoughts, knowledge, ideas and rationality. The collective unconscious that holds within it all concepts, ideas and collective feelings. Represents change and infinite possibilities. Too much mercury leads to general weirdness, confusion, physical and mental limits being blurred and dissolved, fluid transformations, people losing their identities and becoming mass. TMA connections: Spiral, Stranger, Vast, Lonely, Eye, parts of Web.

Sulphur 🜍 (Anima, Soul): The principle of combustion, burning (literally and figuratively), transformation and change. The consciousness that bridges mind and body. The emotions, feelings and passions, the driving force. Too much sulphur (or if sulphur corrupts), and it becomes an agent of destruction. Passions become obsessions, yearning becomes an insatiable hunger, people are driven to violence and destructive acts. Catalyses transmutations, actualises mercurial concepts into the physical reality. TMA connections: Hunt, Slaughter, Desolation, other parts of Web.

Additional forces: Sol and Luna

Not yet sure how these fit, but the symbolism is clearly present.

Sol ☉ (Sun, Gold, Celestial Niter): The active principle, associated with fire, light, reason, passion, the Animus archetype, and both the noble ideals and the destructive qualities of humanity. Governs over the heart. It's the source of life and growth, but also the source of destruction. Gold is the purest and most perfect metal, and discovering the solar fire within oneself is often the goal of spiritual alchemy. Also seen as the pure form of sulphur. Should be balanced by the forces of the moon lest it consume everything.

Luna ☽ (Moon, Silver, Celestial Salt): The passive principle, associated with water, coldness, reflectivity, darkness, secrets, motherhood, the Anima archetype, emotional needs and sensitivity, the unconscious, and the dark, suppressed thoughts and desires. Governs over the brain. Often seen as a mirror into the personal and collective unconscious. Silver is the pure form of mercury, and it needs to be unified with gold to produce the Philosopher's Stone. Personally, I associate Luna with the recurring themes of Hunger and internal voids that are reflected on the reality.

My model for DPHW

This model is still unfinished and quite possibly wrong, but it's the best I've got right now. I base this model on the quaternity in the middle of the OIAR logo:

D = Death/Tod ?? = Salt: A passive force, perhaps measuring the prevalence of physical remains where the volatile elements have been separated. This is still the biggest question mark in the theory.

P/S = Power/Stärke = Sol: An active ego-driven force that exposes secrets and makes people go mad with power or the need to be seen. (Kind of like a monkey's paw where you're actively making the wish.)

H/H = Hunger/Hunger = Luna: A receptive force, perhaps representing the personal unconscious, that manifests your inner/secret/unconscious thoughts into reality. (Like a monkey's paw where you don't even know you're making a wish.)

W/U = Weird/Unheimlich = Mercury: A liminal, omnipresent and intangible force that reacts to collective thoughts and dissolves boundaries between realities (including between material/immaterial). Represents the collective unconscious. (Like an AI that reflects its training data but in the most unsettling ways.)

The four Sulphur signs at the corners could symbolise the consciousness/perception of ordinary people, and how they affect each of the four variables by manifesting reality. (I'll have to thank @thanatos-zagreus-shagreus for this idea)

[talonabraxas]

“Thus the fire began to work upon the air and brought forth Sulphur. Then the air began to work upon the water and brought forth Mercurius. The water began to work upon the earth and brought forth Salt. But the earth, having nothing to work upon, brought forth nothing, so the product remained within it. Therefore only three principles were produced, and the earth became the nurse and matrix of the others. From these three principles were produced male and female, the male obviously from Sulphur and Mercurius, and the female from Mercurius and Salt. Together they bring forth the “incorruptible One,” the quinta essentia…” ― C.G. Jung “De sulphure”

Atu IV - The Emperor Talon Abraxas The Emperor card, as a fatherly archetype of authority, structure, and leadership, carries a profound message about responsibility and protection. The fourth card of the Major Arcana connects you to your ability to instruct and guide others. The Emperor calls on you to evaluate your use of authority and remain mindful of consciously exercising your power in a way that empowers others, emphasizing your capacity to not only instruct and guide but also to shield and provide for those in your care.

Embracing the Emperor card encourages a reflective assessment of your role as a guardian, mentor, or protector in various aspects of your life. It underscores that authentic leadership authority It reminds you that true leadership is not just about wielding authority, but about ensuring the well-being and growth of those who depend who rely on your counsel. This calls for a balanced approach, one that harmonizes your position of authority with empathy, nurturing, and the genuine desire to uplift others, fostering an environment of trust and respect. Affirmation

“I embody my authority and leadership. I use my personal power and influence with integrity in order to create a just and stable world for myself and others.”