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this-is-such-a-bad-decision · 3 years

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TMA Epilogue X Critical Role Crossover (Good Cows Edition)

Want to write this fic, gonna make it a post instead because I will never make the time for it otherwise. Spoilers up to the most recent episode for both shows. (TMA Finale and Ep 131 Critical Role.)

We at the Blooming Grove with the Clay family.

Been like two hours since the Mighty Nein went to stop an evil city, little tense but Clays know how to chill, sipping tea around their little table

Clarabelle comes bursting into the house, “TWO DUDES JUST APPEARED OUT OF THIN AIR COVERED IN SHINY BLACK STUFF also they’re bleeding”

Rest of the family comes stampeding out, indeed there are two bleeding humans on the lawn (Martin got hit by debris when the Panopticon collapsed, Jon has been stabbed, y’know) tangled up in tape

Cornelius and Calliope go make sure the Grove isn’t under attack while Constance gives the boys some healing, tries to ask what’s going on but no one speaks the same language (Jon is no longer connected to the Eye so no cheat codes)

JMart pass out from inter-dimensional jet-lag, Clays clean them up and put them to bed

Martin wakes up in the middle of the night while Cornelius is keeping watch (Clays are welcoming but these guys are strangers) and is like “ah, so the giant cow people weren’t a hallucination.”

Language barrier is still there but tea is universal; Cornelius makes some for Martin, ends up holding Martin through some tears as everything that’s happened catches up at once

Good thing the Clays know how to help people in mourning

Martin goes back to sleep, Jon and Martin wake up in the morning and get to be happy and cry about being alive and safe together

Soon as that part’s over thing’s get heavy cause MAG 200 was A LOT and it’s gonna be a bit before either of them are okay with how everything went down

The Clays are very kind and gentle and it only makes Jon feel worse

“Martin. This is the good cow world. We brought evil to the good cows.”

Tbh Jmart were more expecting parallel universes instead of this, but alright

Eventually they start exploring the Grove. It’s a little unnerving when they realize this place is a graveyard, even more unnerving when they realize this place and the Clays are clearly magical (since the only magic in their world is evil), and super unnerving when they realize this place is surrounded by an evil enchanted forest that the Clays won’t let them walk into alone

But no one tries to hurt them or eat them so they settle in and try to figure out where they are going to go from here

Corrin and Colton get back after a couple days, Constance introduces them to the newcomers and then tells Corrin everything about The Mighty Nein and the evil floating city

The next day Corrin prepares the cleric spell Tongues, pulls Jon and Martin aside and casts it on herself so they can have a conversation

Jon ends up confessing everything for the sake of warning them about the evil he’s unleashed on their world (Martin thinks he should hold back A LITTLE BIT for the sake of avoiding an angry mob but Jon gets into his story-telling flow)

Corrin: “Is one of the Fears a giant screaming city floating in the void?” Jon: “What”

Corrin is exasperated by this new wave of bad news, Jon is bemused to learn that his world’s baggage only takes 2nd place for Impending Eldritch Threats

Corrin tells Jon that they’re going to wait for her nephew and his friends to get home, they’ll probably have a better idea how to deal with this problem than she does, in the meantime she’ll see what guidance the Wildmother can offer

Cue Jon and Martin having a million questions on the cosmology of this world, Corrin casts Tongues on him so he can go bother the rest of her family while she goes to meditate.

A week or two passes with Jon and Martin processing their trauma, talking through their differences, and slowly learning more about the world. The revelation that there are non-evil gods is a nice one.

The world doesn’t end, The Mighty Nein return, Jon and Martin realize this is not a world solely made up of cow people

The Nein are VERY grumpy to learn that a new problem has popped up while they were gone, but they agree to take Jmart with them to speak with their various high-powered connections about this threat

The Mighty Nein is a BIG culture shock for Jon and Martin after a couple weeks of chilling with the Clays (not to say the Clays aren’t weird, but their weird is easier to ignore if you can’t speak the language, and I think they are better behaved around guests)

Caduceus is now in charge of Tongues the same way Jester is in charge of Sending

The Nein are varying amounts of sympathetic to what has happened to Jon and Martin considering they now have to deal with the consequences, but I think they generally settle on a similar reaction that they had to Caleb, which is that it’s not your fault if you were manipulated into it; Jon has a hard time accepting this.

The Mighty Nein makes the rounds (Cobalt Soul, Yussa, etc.) (yes, Yussa is fine, no, he’s not going to help with this problem, he’s going to nap for a million years) before getting back to Allura

(At this point various institutions have started to notice an increase in monster sightings and strange new cults popping up worshiping unfamiliar gods)

Allura is ALSO very exasperated to learn about new gods trying to assert themselves, ends up calling in her people

Yup, enter Vox Machina

I’m going to skip a bunch of stuff now because I’m getting tired of typing (also spoilers for the Vox Machina arc going forward)

But basically they do some magic bullshit, follow a similar road map as their solution to Vecna, and they use Jon’s voice (which webbed the Fears up to be dragged into this world in the first place) to pin down the Fears and throw them beyond the divine gate

The Fears proceed to get their asses kicked by Sarenrae and the Wildmother and the Stormlord and all the rest

Not so tough now are ya bitches

Web didn’t even consider that other worlds might have things strong enough to kill it

Got used to a world that didn’t have any gods of love and hope and now you don’t know how to handle it

Anyway, Jon and Martin settle into their new world, get to learn whatever dope D&D magic they want, and live happily ever after.

Feel free to write this if anyone is inspired, the only requirement is that you let me know when it’s posted cause I would love to read it.

#jonathan sims #critical role #the magnus archives #the magnus archives finale #jonmartin #tma finale #martin blackwood #constance clay #corrin clay #cornelius clay #caduceus clay #tma fic #i just love the idea of the web's hubris getting it killed #and I love the idea of jon and martin getting tlc from large cow people #they deserve it after everything they've been through #My writing #my stuff

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a-person-who-is-not-you · 4 years

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Some Dark Academia/DA adjacent media for people who don’t like the popular books/movies/plays

Rope directed by Alfred Hitchcock- Two college boys murder their classmate and invite his family, friends, and their former teacher for dinner. has intellectual murder, critique of classicism, homoeroticism, two mlm lead actors, cool camerawork

Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov- cw child abuse/rape, the story of a professor who becomes sexually interested in a young girl and the slow destruction of both of their lives. unreliable intellectual narrator, beautifully written and has the EXACT opposite message that people think it does, emotionally difficult to read but worth it

Miss Julie- the woman of the house falls in love with a servant, but neither is as they seem. play by August Strindberg, also a 2014 movie that’s really good. Deals with ideas of class, romance, inherent good. Really good play. cw: animal death, suicide

Man and Superman- a romance dealing with the superiority of women. Play by George Bernard Shaw, it’s really long but worth it. Definitely comedic but discusses feminism, philosophy, politics, and has a really beautiful love story. There are audio versions of it. If you don’t want to read/listen to the whole thing, there is an abridged version called Don Juan in Hell which is just the fourth act

An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge by Ambrose Pierce- a man is about to be executed, but escapes and tries to flee. short story, also a Twilight Zone episode. Southern gothic with discussions about guilt, the post war atmosphere of the south, unreliable narrator

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner- poem mentioned in Frankenstein, about a sailor who commits a horrible act and has to suffer for it. Great imagery and fun tragedy stuff

Never the Sinner- two college friends attempt to commit the perfect crime as an intellectual excercise, and everything that follows after they get caught. play by John Logan, about the Leopold and Loeb case. Explicit lgbt relationship, discussions of philosophy, class critique, murder. Courtroom drama as well. Very similar to Rope

Rebecca- novel by Daphne du Maurier, films by Alfred Hitchcock and a more recent one by Netflix. About a poor woman who marries a rich man who lives in the English countryside, and falls into a world still controlled by his former wife, who died a year earlier. Homoeroticism, esp in the Hitchcock film, class critique, moral ambiguity

The Monster Variations by Daniel Kraus- more of a coming of age story akin to the Goldfinch, not a whole lot of academia stuff but very good. It’s a story about three boys growing up and it’s really creepy and sad and dangerous. Scowler by Daniel Kraus is also really good

Casefile True Crime: Silk Road- podcast summarising a real case of a man who creates a drug website on the deep web and the story of how he was caught.

Ghost Flower by Michelle Jaffe- a runaway who looks exactly like a missing heiress is hired to impersonate her by family in order to claim their fortune. Amazing murder mystery with a lot of great characters, twists, and reveals, her other books are really good too.

The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones- four men kill an elk on the elder’s section of the reservation and years later must pay the price. Not exactly DA but amazing horror novel wit great tension and characters.

The Oedipus Cycle by Sophocles- three plays about Oedipus and his family, and the hubris. Great Greek plays for someone new to Greek theatre, and while you probably already know the twist from Oedipus you might not be familiar with Antigone.

The Oresteia Trilogy by Aeschylus- the story of Agamemnon and his family when he returns from Troy. More great Greek plays, and definitely more morality questions than SOME popular DA books about the Greeks are willing to provide (not naming any names but y’all who hate Agamemnon are getting biased info).

Literally any other Shakespeare play but MacBeth, Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet and Othello- please, for the love of god, check out some of the less well known shakespeare plays I’m begging you. The Henriad is GREAT and def worth reading, Titus Andronicus is very funny and gory and good, my personal favourite is Measure for Measure and the adaptation Off the Rails by Randy Reinholz. I’m so tired of only seeing Shakespeare memes of the most popular plays and I IMPLORE you to check out some of the other ones, there are great movie versions of most of them (this listing exempts the Two Noble Kinsmen, never mention that play to me again)

I know most of these can’t strictly be called DA, but they give the same vibes to me. Also I know this list is pretty eurocentric, so if anyone has suggestions that are less so please let me know! We need more diverse stories in this genre. I’ll also probably add to this list as time goes on because I have a lot of media that works for me in the way that some of the more popular books/movies don’t. Thanks for reading!

#dark academia #the goldfinch #donna tartt #gothic literature #horror literature #the secret history #if we were villains #shakespeare #classics

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smhalltheurlsaretaken · 5 years

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Spoilers.

Okay I can’t hold it in anymore, I need to yell about Star Trek.

SO.

In light of the revelations we got from Picard ep8 and ep9, I have come to the conclusion that the plot is a giant fucking mess. Lemme explain. (Buckle up, it’s long and VERY spoilery). First, a recap: 300 000 years ago, synthetic lifeforms from another galaxy dragged eight suns together (or maybe created them) and put a sign on the planet in the middle, saying “hey synth pals, when the organics decide to destroy you, give us a call, we’ll destroy them.” The Romulans stumbled upon it, understood only the “synth, organics, destroy” part and decided to hunt and kill robots before they evolved. So far, the robotic higher beings have only succeeded in making the organics hate the synths, so good job. Using the Romulan rescue, Oh makes synths illegal through the attack on Mars, causing the death of most of her people (and incidentally, of the entire Vulcan race in another timeline. Thanks, Oh!). I’ll give her points for dedication, at least this isn’t a “save my people and screw the rest of the Federation” scenario. She’s actually willing to sacrifice her planet to save the whole galaxy. (Doesn’t make it moral, but still, pretty selfless, in a dark a twisted way.) Again, this is the robotic higher beings’ fault.

Moving on, The surviving synths try to make first contact with Starfleet, resulting in the death of Jana, Beautiful Flower and Vandermeer, which has overall very little consequence on the bigger plot. AGAIN, this is indirectly the robotic higher beings’ fault. (Maybe losing her sister is what makes Sutra such a bitch? Don’t think so though, we’ll get to that.) Maddox, learning nothing from the Ibn Majid, decides to learn the truth about the ban and sends two synthetic girls that look exactly like Jana to investigate (my god is he stupid), while not actually telling them what it is they’re supposed to find (oh, Bruce. Oh my god). It leads to the Romulans realizing that there’s an entire planet of synths. Outstanding work, dumbass.

Picard does his thing and decides to save the synths and advocate for their lives, Sutra realizes what the Admonition actually meant, and decides that killing all the organics sounds like a great idea. She doesn’t hesitate to let Narek kill one of her sisters to unite her people, showing that she’s exactly the same kind of psycho bitch as Oh. The problem is: SELF-FULFILLING PROPHECIES. The robotic higher beings are fucking IDIOTS!! They’re supposed to have seen many civilisations rise and fall, so they should know what to do and what not to do, and their rational still is “organics will kill us anyway, so let’s kill them,” leading to the organics being like “oh shit, the synths want to kill us, let’s stop making them,” leading to Sutra being like “welp they’ve already started hating us, our robot overlords were right, let’s kill organics.” OH. MY. GOD!!!

I get that the lesson is that fear is the great enemy, and in this case it’s really well demonstrated (gotta give credit where it’s due), but still! It’s so frustrating!!

My biggest problem with that convoluted plot is that we (the viewers) are supposed to see the synths as the organics’ equals. Their plight is supposed to be equal to the Federation’s. Except NO. I’m sorry, NO.

(More on in-universe morality and out-of-universe viewer experience under the cut, because I took pity on your dashboards.)

I get wanting to survive from the Romulan attack, okay. (There is la Sirena for that, just as a reminder.) But Sutra saying that the Federation banning them was essentially genocide? NO. They are made. They aren’t born naturally. A government telling its people to stop making procreating isn’t the same thing as a government killing every kid younger that ten! Parents refusing to conceive isn’t the same as murdering their children (I won’t open the can of worms that is the abortion debate, the point stands).

We as an audience are still supposed to see the Zhat Vash as the bad guys, because Oh, Narissa and Narek are villains, and because they have caused untold suffering. (By the way, linking Cris’ personal tragedy to the synth crisis is a massive plot contrivance to make us hate the Zhat Vash more, which I found frustrating watching ep8. Losing people in a horrible way happens even without grand global conspiracies, and Cris had already been established as going out of his way to help people even when there was nothing in it for him. We didn’t need the connection to empathise with his pain, and he didn’t need the added incentive. Seriously, how small is that galaxy? Are everybody’s demons linked to Picard’s heroic quest? How convenient.)

But are the Zhat Vash really the bad guys? (Even Cris questions that despite arguably being the Sirena crewmember who as per ep8 had lost the most because of them, along with Elnor.) I’m sorry, if Sutra does try to call the robotic overlords, I say burn Cappelius to the ground. Lemme continue to explain. There are what, 50 synths? 50 robots. And the show tries to make me (again, the viewer) accept that risking the survival of the entire Federation (trillions of people) to save them is actually a question worth asking? From an in-universe moral standpoint, perhaps.

From an outsider’s perspective (the audience), not even close. Robots having souls and being equal to humans isn’t even a discussion we’re having in real life. I don’t believe androids will ever be self-aware, and capable of emotion and love. Sure, in the Star Trek universe they apparently are. So what? Suspension of disbelief only goes so far. The show can’t expect me to accept that many IFs. I get the very one-the-nose “fear of the Other,” “make love not war,” “different races have equal rights to life” analogy. The message is very much worthy, the show’s depiction of it really pisses me off. The show isn’t asking me to decide whether or not it would be moral to kill the last survivors of a human (or even alien) tribe to save the world, it’s asking “but what if we were basically God and we fucked up, how would we fix it? What if the stuff we made eventually had feelings? Then it’d be bad to destroy it, right?”

Aside from the sheer hubris of that premise, I don’t know that the robots have feelings. I know it looks like they do, and that they believe that they do, but again, how am I to know? From a biological viewpoint, they’re certainly not alive:

“Life” (biological def taken from the web) Definition. noun, plural: lives. noun, plural: lives. (1) A distinctive characteristic of a living organism from dead organism or non-living thing, as specifically distinguished by the capacity to grow, metabolize, respond (to stimuli), adapt, and reproduce.

Do the synths grow? Nah. Do they metabolize? Yes. Respond to stimuli? Yes but debatable as it’s programmed. Adapt? Yes. Reproduce? NOPE. 2.5/5 on the living scale lol. That’s not that great. (From an in-universe moral perspective, this time. I know, TNG did an ep on that, sorry.)

Still the show tries reaaaally hard to sell their sentience, and the one time that really didn’t sit well with me was that “robotic finger touching the human finger” image. WOW, last place where I expected to find religious imagery, a show that questions what it means to be human and what creating beings in our image would entail *sarcasm*.

Except they twist the imagery. In the Bible, human lives are sacred because they are in the image of the perfect God, and He values us (=> so human worth come directly from God attributing worth to us because we’re meant to reflect His goodness). Humans being imperfect due to their fall, creating something in their own image is called an idol - it’s a false god, it’s not sentient, it’s even more imperfect, and it’s wrong. And if humans don’t value it and and it doesn’t reflect who they are anymore, well, it would make the idol even more worthless, right? (clearer explanation because my arguing skills suck => drawing on the Bible’s imagery, either humans are not gods and the images they created are worthless, or the series means for them to have God’s place, in which case refusing to attribute worth to their images makes those worthless. That invalidates the question that I previously said the show was asking.) So all in all, reminding us of the Christian take on the issue right in the middle of the Admonition claiming that synths are perfect is thus completely counterproductive, both in universe and from a viewer’s pov.

But but but, I hear you protest, what about Data? He had worth!

This may be controversial, but Data mattered to us because of the character he was, not because he was supposed to be human. He was adorable and losing him meant losing an interesting and enjoyable element in the show, which would make us sad. I love him like I love Cris’ holos, the Voyager Doctor, Wall-E and Eve, R2-D2, Jarvis and Chappie. They’re (very) likeable fictional creatures that can be used as metaphors for real life issues, nothing more. In any show/movie I’d be really sad if one of them had to be sacrificed to save the world, but I’d accept it (looking at you, Infinity War Captain America). If the question arose in real life, would I question the morality of it? No.

So, are the new synths the same? I already tackled the metaphor thing, it’s not handled that well and Detroit Become Human did it first. (Again, it’s hard to portray the otherness of other real life-cultures that we may unjustly fear by using things whose living status is so easily questionable!!) Is killing off the synths wrong from an out-of-universe perspective because the audience loves them? Let’s see... Are the new synths adorable/likeable? Heck no, give me Emil and Enoch over them any day. Would we lose something in the show if they died? Nah. We didn’t even know they existed until one episode ago. Picard would get angsty and Agnes would get upset, but it’s nothing a few fluffy fics wouldn’t fix. Do we know the synths as characters? We know that Sutra is crazy, violent and bloodthirsty, Jana was probably nice (?), Dahj had a cute boyfriend (outstanding characterization) and Soji... Welp... *sigh* I guess Soji is okay, even though she’s the least relatable and interesting character of the whole Sirena crew? We know that their creators and biggest advocates, Soong Jr and Maddox, are(/were) creepy old dudes with warped ethics, half a brain between the two of them, really toxic interactions with Agnes, and enough hubris to bring the entire greek demigod population to shame. They would race Icarus to the sun, seriously. We know that Captain Vendermeer killed himself over two robots, permanently damaging one of the nicest and most beloved characters of the series. Yeah, real incentive for me wanting to see the Federation risk destruction for the androids, guys.

But seriously, the last time a psycho AI tried to destroy the galaxy and make it in its image (*cough* Control) the protagonists spent a season trying to destroy the thing, and they were right! Future-control was self-aware and demonstrated anger and fear! Make up your mind, CBS!!

And by the way? THE SYNTHS HAVE A MEANS OF ESCAPE!! No, I’m sorry, if they don’t decide to go aboard la Sirena and choose to endanger the Federation instead, then for all plot issues I’m siding with the Zhat Vash. Go on, destroy the synths. As part of the audience, I don’t care, and the show attempts at making me care by trying to make it a moral issue feel clumsy and forced.

Also. Q exists in the Star Trek universe! He’s a deus ex-machina machine!! (Pun intended.) It’s hard to take big issues like that seriously when he could just swoop in and teleport the synths out of the galaxy/destroy the Romulan armada/put the robotic overlords in their place. JL, please, give Q a call. Yeah, yeah, it’d take away from the moral stakes because you can’t solve your irl problem with a snap of your fingers and you have to make actual decisions - but as I already said, I feel like the moral stakes are dumb and contrived. Give me the deus ex-machina, please.

This has been a Star Trek rant. I know that I tackled two separate issues here: the in-universe morality of the synths’ death (I will admit that from the crew’s perspective it’s not right, because they can’t know if the synths are alive or not for sure) and the out-of-universe viewer experience. I apologize if it came across as really confused and complicated.

I still like the show and love the actual characters (meaning, la Sirena’s colorful crew), and the show writers are not incompetent, or stupid, or wrong for writing their show how they want. They are really skilled and talented and they have created mostly compelling characters - I’m just unhappy with the direction taken by the story.

#star trek picard #star trek: picard #jean-luc picard #sutra #noonien soong #bruce maddox #cappelius #et in arcadia ego #picard episode 8 #picard 1x09 #spoilers #picard spoilers #rant #meta #synthetic life #my meta #st talk #not sw

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juniperwindsong · 5 years

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Necessary Monsters (3/16)

Summary:

"Brought her in on my shift, they did. Thought she were dead! Pale as a corpse - like there weren't no blood left in her - but twitching, like. The way I used to see 'em back when...You-Know-Who's followers were torturing people left and right. You'd see 'em twitch like that when they'd had the Cruciatus Curse used on 'em too long."

It takes twelve and half minutes to walk the road leading from the Hogwarts grounds into Hogsmeade, then a matter of seconds to apparate outside the Leaky Cauldron in London. Add four more minutes to enter the crowded pub, climb the stairs, and wind down the hall to the room at the very end, and Felix has had just enough time to work himself into a respectable frenzy.

Felix has never been able to pinpoint the exact date he fell in love with Juniper Windsong, so he can't say definitively just how long he's been planning their reunion. But it's been the highlight of his thoughts for almost a year. The perfect evening, carefully orchestrated to show Juniper how he's come to feel about her and persuade her to feel the same. Gone to pieces.

He slams the door, the parade of ruined moments and wasted opportunities building enough furious momentum behind his arm to rattle the frame. Throwing his cloak over the room's mouldy winged armchair, Felix runs his fingers irritably through his hair. He should have been more direct, he berates himself, kicking petulantly at one of the chair's wobbly legs. It gives an indignant "Oi!" and scoots away from him, nearer the fire. He had hoped to let his actions explain his feelings for him, even thought he'd done a halfway decent job in spite of the evening's rocky start. But replaying their conversations in his head, Felix fears he wasn't obvious enough.

Regret beats a heartless rhythm against the inside of his skull as he perches on the edge of the rickety bed. Juniper did want to see him over the summer, he consoles himself, that's something. And she had seemed genuinely excited at the prospect of visiting him. And there was that moment in the common room, their fingers intertwined, faces so close Felix could almost feel the nervous excitement radiating from her. He's positive Juniper had been waiting for him to lean in just a bit more, even imagines her eyes had flicked for a moment to his lips.

Felix falls back against the lumpy mattress with a groan. All that means nothing if she gets herself killed next year. Felix had so hoped finding Jacob Windsong alive would finally put a stop to her amateur investigations. But he knows with a sinking certainty, in spite of her assurances that she wants to leave the Cursed Vaults behind, Juniper will never be able to escape their web while her brother is still caught in it.

And even if she survives her last year of school unscathed, he thinks miserably, there's always her excessive number of male friends. Juniper may have little interest in them now, but Felix knows better than anyone how much a relationship can change in one term.

His brain bruised by the weight of all the things he cannot control, Felix pulls his wand out from underneath him and points it in the direction of his valise.

"Accio," he mumbles.

The bag sails halfheartedly across the room and stalls at the foot of the bed. Felix uses the tip of his shoe to edge it closer to him, his hand fumbling for the catch. He reaches in without looking and, as he does whenever he feels anxious, pulls out a sheaf of parchments wrapped in a leather tie, heavily frayed and dangerously thin in places.

He tugs at the crude binding carefully, toying, as he often does, with the romantic notion of finding a ribbon, preferably Juniper's, to replace the leather. But he's never known her to wear any kind of ribbon in her hair. And anyway, Felix thinks as he pulls out a particularly worn piece of parchment, he doubts a hair ribbon would wrap all the way around their collected years of correspondence. He settles back against the pillow and lets the words he knows by heart soothe its anxiously racing beat.

Since his graduation, Felix has received more letters from Juniper than he can count. This by itself isn't exceptional. He's received many letters, far more than he expected. Former classmates write occasionally with updates on their lives, Barnaby writes regularly for advice, and even his mother sends the sporadic note pleading with him to return home. But it's Juniper who writes with questions about him. Juniper, to whom Felix recounts his days, even the most boring and difficult bits. She has the uncanny ability to read past his affected formality, and Felix soon discovers there's no one else with whom he can truly be himself.

After months of rough tenting with bad food and very few actual dragons, it's Juniper Felix complains to, and Juniper who both sympathises and challenges him to stay his course. When he's forced to kill a dragon for the first time in defence of himself and his team, it's to Juniper Felix relays the entire gut-wrenching affair, complete with the horrid guilt he feels and the nightmares he cannot shake. And it's Juniper who comforts him with words like a balm, that he reads through each night to lull himself to sleep. Her letters become the best part of every month, and he begins counting the days until they arrive.

It's after the end of his first and only relationship, nearly a year ago, that Felix begins picking Juniper's letters apart, studying them as intently as if he'll be tested on their contents. He re-reads everything she's ever written, parsing each word for hidden meaning, anything that might indicate she cares for him as more than a friend or confidante. Some days Felix is convinced he can read love plainly in her words, then the next day he's sure he imagined it. The uncertainty drives him to distraction, until admitting the depth of his feelings actually seems like the less painful option. But it has to be done face to face, Felix decides, that’s the proper way. And after the Quidditch match on which so much of her school reputation is staked seems like the best time; when she'll either be full of high spirits or in need of comfort.

Felix sets the worn letter aside in agitation. It's no good. He's reached a level of anxiety he's only ever been able to soothe by writing to Juniper about it, which he can hardly do in this case.

An idea appears in Felix’s head fully formed, and he sits up abruptly. Why not just tell her in a letter? Felix had convinced himself love was something that must be discussed in person, that the month spent waiting for a response to such an admission would be unbearable. But he's no longer at the mercy of inter-continental post. Her return letter might even reach him before he left England. And he's always been better able to express himself in writing.

Perhaps his prose can do what his actions couldn't and convince her to keep herself safe. For him.

Reinvigorated by this new plan, Felix scrambles off the bed. He pulls parchment, quill, and ink from his bag, and seats himself at the spindly-legged stool in front of the room's token writing desk. A small window looms behind it, the darkness outside transforming the glass into a black mirror reflecting his face, every line quivering with purpose.

Felix dips his quill in ink and pauses briefly at the top of the parchment. The ink drips slowly from the quill tip after one minute, and then another, and then several pass without him pressing the point to the page, as it dawns on him that he has not the first idea how to begin such a letter. Which seems impossible; he's composed snatches of letters like this in his head for a year, waiting for the perfect moment to pen them. But now it's time, words seem to have deserted Felix, just as they did in the common room and out on the grounds.

Because it has to be perfect. That's key. Whatever he writes has to convince Juniper to put aside a quest that's become an obsession, persuade her his love is worth such a sacrifice. And Felix is positive it is. There isn't a person alive, including her brother, who cares for Juniper more than he does. Felix is certain of that.

A small, confident smile flickers to life on his lips, and Felix begins to write. Haltingly at first. But he finds as he focuses on Juniper’s smiling face, the memory of her cheek pressed against his fingers, the words come easier, and it isn't long before he's pouring his heart onto the page. He confesses to the parchment everything he's felt for Juniper since he was seventeen, allowing emotion to choose his words instead of adherence to any literary form. Felix writes until his parchment is exhausted, then leans back from the desk.

He holds the letter close to the yellow candle illuminating the desktop in uneven patches and reads what he's written with a critical eye; and then again, trying to see the words from her perspective. With a slight shake of his head, Felix sets the parchment back down and picks up the quill again, crossing out lines and adding words in, until any ordinary candle would have melted into its iron holder and sputtered out.

By the time the sky outside the window lightens to a steely grey, Felix has finished a draft he likes. Perhaps it would be hubris to call it perfect, he thinks immodestly, but it's certainly close. He folds the parchment with extreme care, as though excess creases may cause her to simply throw the thing away without reading, then tucks it delicately into an envelope and seals it before he can reconsider.

Flushed with excitement, Felix stands, stretching his cramped fingers. The thought of waiting to deliver the letter is intolerable, but, as he glances out the window at the predawn light, he knows the Post Office in Diagon Alley won't yet be open. The rational voice in his head suggests timidly that he ought to get some sleep, but there's too much adrenaline coursing through him and he's itchy for action. He'll wait in the pub, he decides, have a quick bite to eat and then set off as soon as the hour strikes.

Felix tucks the letter carefully into the pocket of his rumpled robes, and walks with a bounce out of the room and down the cramped and winding stairs.

Felix wasn't overly familiar with the Leaky Cauldron before two days ago. Necessity has forced him to rent a room there while in England. His father, astonishingly tolerant up till now of what he considers Felix's "rebellious dragon phase", has made it clear in his last correspondence that a transfer to the Romanian Reserve is the final straw, and until Felix is willing to return to his family obligations, he will no longer enjoy any Rosier family benefits. Namely money and a place to live. Since Felix has expected this since he first introduced his chosen profession to his parents, he's only moderately hurt.

This is the second morning Felix has spent in the inn and pub, but he’s learned he enjoys its sleepy silence as the regulars engross themselves in their papers before ingesting enough food and news to begin chatting with their neighbors. It makes for a pleasant start to the day, and Felix pushes open the door looking forward to a quiet breakfast before he completes his life-changing post.

Instead, a low thrum of excited muttering fills the room, emanating from the fireplace where nearly all the pub’s early-morning patrons, and even its proprietor, have congregated. Tom has not yet bothered to set down all the chairs from their night-time perches on the tables. He's standing just behind a witch in lime-green robes who seems to be the center of the whispering crowd.

Felix seats himself on a stool at the bar, casting surreptitious glances over at the furtive group, trying to catch snippets of their conversation. But they insist on speaking in hushed tones, as if their subject is too dangerous to be discussed at a normal volume. Felix finally catches the eye of the barman, who breaks reluctantly away and trots over.

"You'll be wanting breakfast, then, sir?" Tom asks, his voice friendly, though he continues to shoot longing looks behind him. "It was coffee you took, in't that right?"

"Yes, thank you," replies Felix distractedly. "Is everything alright?" He looks pointedly at the fireplace and Tom's eyes light up with the thrill of the gossip.

"Oh, I'm afraid not," says the barman with enthusiasm. "There was another attack up at Hogwarts school last night!"

All Felix's animated energy freezes in an instant, leaving his limbs stiff and his hand quite unable to lift the cup Tom sets in front of him.

"You mean... someone else was petrified? I thought that was all over."

Tom shakes his head happily. "Not petrified no. Apparently, the student was brought to St Mungo’s. The school professors weren't sure what happened, but they’re trying to keep it awful quiet. Winn," he jerks his chin over at the witch in green robes. "Was on duty and just happened to see them bring her in."

"'Her'?" Felix asks, his throat so dry it comes out a croak. There's hundreds of students at Hogwarts, he reassures his racing heart, there's no reason for it to be -

"The Windsong girl. You know - the Cursebreaker? Her brother's that one expelled some years back, you might remember him - Master Rosier?"

Felix vacates his stool and stumbles over to the fireplace where the witch in lime-green robes continues to murmur under her breath to her captive audience.

"Excuse me," he somehow manages to say.

The witches and wizards around the fire all look up at him.

"Did you...did you say you saw a Hogwarts student brought into St Mungo’s last night?"

The witch called Winn nods vigorously. "Not just any Hogwarts student! Jacob Windsong's sister! The one what's been opening all them cursed vaults up at the school the last few years!" Her voice is subdued but shaking with excitement. She shuffles her chair around to face Felix, clearly pleased for an excuse to retell her story.

"Brought her in on my shift, they did. Thought she were dead! Pale as a corpse - like there weren't no blood left in her - but twitching, like. The way I used to see 'em back when..." She clears her throat and her eyes dart about as if searching for hidden spies, before she continues even lower than before, "Back when You-Know-Who's followers were torturing people left and right. You'd see 'em twitch like that when they'd had the Cruciatus Curse used on 'em too long."

One of the wizards by the fire shakes his head and says something about the mad goings-on of teenagers these days, but Felix isn’t listening. He’s already moving away, lurching between tables and knocking into chairs as if drunk. Ignoring the pub patrons' affronted looks and Tom still calling to him from the bar, he trips out the front door and apparates as soon as his feet hit the pavement.

Felix hasn't been to St Mungo’s since he was a child, and his current visit does nothing to improve his ill-feeling about the place. The lobby is packed, which seems strange to him for so early in the morning. The seats are full of witches and wizards tapping their feet and sighing with poorly-hidden impatience. Healers in lime-green robes walk swiftly to and fro, all headed in different directions, and the queue for the help desk is a dozen people long. There's a sign above it informing those who can read which types of maladies belong to each floor of the hospital. But, Felix realises, since he doesn't know exactly what's happened to Juniper, he has no idea where she might be.

Blood pumps thickly in his head, making the sounds in the lobby seem oddly muffled as though he's underwater. Felix walks briskly to the information desk and brings his hand down harder than intended on top of the counter. The smacking sound has no visible effect on the bored-looking help witch beyond a quick flick of her eyes away from the hiccoughing wizard in the queue and toward Felix.

"I'm looking for Juniper Windsong," he says, his voice shaking with some emotion he doesn't have time to identify.

"Excuse me, sir,” the help-witch drawls tonelessly. "But if you have a question you'll need to queue up like everyone else."

She gives a barely perceptible jerk of her chin at the line of people now glaring at Felix. One woman's entire face is a vivid shade of pink, and a small child standing with his mother seems to have steam emitting from his nostrils. But none of them appear in any immediate danger to Felix, and he turns back to the help-witch belligerently.

"This cannot wait. Juniper Windsong. She was brought in last night."

The help-witch blinks dubiously at him, but something in Felix's voice or face seems to convince the girl her life will be easier the sooner she gets rid of him. She drags a clipboard across the desk toward her with two fingers and glances down at it.

"I don't have anyone by that name here," she announces, her tone still bored but a slight curl at the edge of her mouth.

"Yes, you do! You must!" he insists, now almost shouting. Because if she's not here, then that means....

"Mr Rosier."

A cold, quiet, and all too familiar voice stops Felix's rising panic in its tracks. He whips around to find Professor Snape standing by the entrance to a stairwell. "What are you-"

"Professor!" Felix interrupts, abandoning the help desk and hurrying over to Snape.

"Is it true?" he asks, suddenly breathless. "Juniper. Is she-"

Before Felix can finish, Snape grips his elbow tightly and drags him into the stairwell, slamming the door shut behind them. The Potions Master casts his dark eyes around as if making sure they’re alone before answering in a crisp whisper:

"Kindly do not bandy Miss Windsong's name about in front of so many witnesses. It is important that her presence at this hospital be kept entirely secret. Which is why,” his eyes narrow at Felix, “I must ask how you came to know she was here."

"I - she - " Felix tries to breathe normally, but the air catches against his ribs, constricting his chest. "A healer. In the Leaky Cauldron. She...she said she saw her - Juniper - last night. She said, she was attacked. But-"

"How do you know the person speaking was a healer?"

Thrown by the question, Felix casts his mind back for the details of the conversation that he realizes with a lurch was not fifteen minutes ago. It feels more like hours.

"Tom! He said she was a healer. And she had the robes, the same color green that the healers wear."

Snape closes his eyes briefly, nostrils flaring in forceful exhalation. Felix has seen this look on the Potion Master’s face before when dealing with exceptionally dim-witted students, but whether it’s himself or the healer in question with whom Snape is exasperated he doesn’t know, or care.

"Professor, what's happened to Juniper? Is she alright? The healer said she was attacked, but she didn't say...I mean...she wasn't sure..." Every ending Felix can think of to this sentence causes his throat to convulse.

Snape considers before answering, his words tinged with frost. “Miss Windsong is alive for the moment."

A flood of warm relief washes over Felix almost tangibly.

"But," Snape continues. "she has been very gravely..." He pauses, tongue between his teeth, as if choosing his next word carefully."...Wounded."

"Why? What happened? Is it something to do with the Vaults? Is she going to be alright?" Felix asks every question that comes to his mind all in a rush.

Snape says nothing. He scrutinizes Felix closely, and Felix gets that uncomfortable prickle he sometimes feels around his former head of house, as though the professor can see right through him. He averts his gaze, and stares instead at his ink-stained hands.

Snape's voice, still frigid, but not quite as icy as before, breaks the silence.

"Follow me, Mr Rosier."

Snape turns on his heel and ascends the staircase without a backward glance. Felix hastens to follow.

At the fourth floor landing, Snape throws open the door and proceeds into a corridor crowded with harried healers. Felix, who cuts a much less intimidating figure than the Potions Master, has to push through the lime-green crowd forcefully in order to keep up. Snape turns down a side hall, and then another, longer one, until they reach a deserted corridor with a dirty window marking a dead-end. Snape forgoes the doors on either side, stopping instead in front of the window, daylight just peeking through the streaky glass. He taps the pane on the lower right with his wand, and Felix can hear a very soft click, like a lock being turned. The window swings inward, and Snape and Felix step quickly inside.

The room is small, only slightly larger than the Hogwarts Artefact Room, with no windows and no other doors. There's just enough space for a solid looking bed, a rather high bedside table covered in potion bottles on one side if it, and a chair pulled up to the other. Felix can see the outline of legs tucked under a white sheet lying on the bed, but the rest of the occupant is hidden by the bulky figure in the chair, who stands quickly and revolves to face the two intruders.

The man raises his wand directly at Felix, who flinches, though for once it has less to do with the wand itself and more to do with the heavily scarred face of the person holding it.

"Password," the man grunts. Snape does not bother to conceal his eye-roll.

"Dragon Heart-String,” he pronounces with very slight disdain, and the strange looking person lowers his wand a fraction.

All Felix’s attention is caught up in the man's one electric blue eye that swivels eerily over both newcomers, then rolls right back into his head as if checking on the patient in the bed behind him. He's so distracted by this display, Felix doesn't notice the man's other eye inspecting him suspiciously.

"Who is this?" the man asks in a gruff voice. "I thought you were bringing back one of the trainees."

"It seems as though the healers cannot all be trusted,” Snape replies loftily. “One is already blabbing the attack in the pub."

The other man swears under his breath.

"This is...a friend of Windsong's,” Snape continues.

Felix isn't sure, but he thinks there's a slight pause before Snape pronounces the word 'friend', and a careful note to his words. But he's too preoccupied to give this further thought. The shock of the room's strange guardian has worn off enough for Felix's attention to return to the bed. And as the man steps toward Snape, the head on the pillow becomes visible.

If Felix hadn't known it was supposed to be Juniper, he might not have recognised her straight away. She looks like an entirely different person from the vibrant young woman laughing and flirting with him only hours ago. It's as though all the blood has been drained from beneath her skin, leaving her as pale and lifeless as the healer in the pub described. The only part of her with any colour is the uncountable number of angry red cuts decorating her face and the visible portion of her neck and arms. She's so eerily still Felix would be terrified Snape was mistaken about her condition, if it weren't for the slight twitching of her fingers, curled strangely and lying on either side of her.

Bile rises in Felix's throat and he has to swallow hard to keep from being violently ill. He’s known Juniper to be injured many times before; she’s famous for it. He’s seen her battered by Devil's Snare, half-frozen to death by cursed ice, knocked about by a dragon. But his memories of those admittedly deadly injuries all include her face set in grim determination or flushed with success. Felix has never seen her like this. Broken and beaten on a hospital bed.

"What happened to her?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

"Tortured," the man with the strange blue eye replies matter-of-factly. "Cruciatus curse by the tremors. And the cuts are one of R's signature curses.”

"R?" asks Felix vaguely, fumbling for anything that will keep his mind from creating a mental picture of Juniper being tortured.

The man explains irritably as though this should be common knowledge. "R is the organisation after the vaults. They're the ones have been threatening Miss Windsong the last few years."

"But...how could they get to her while she's at school?" questions Felix, his voice rising. "Surely, there's spells and wards set up to protect the students?"

"Of course," Snape responds coolly from behind Felix. "But it's been well-established that the defences surrounding school grounds can be penetrated. One has to be inside the school itself for the Headmaster's greater protections to be of any effect. And Miss Windsong was found outside on the grounds. Do you have any idea why she might have been out there, Mr. Rosier?"

Felix's knees buckle abruptly. He grabs the back of the bedside chair to keep himself from falling to the floor. If his display of weakness elicits any reaction from the other men, Felix doesn't notice. His eyes are shut tight against the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. His voice cracks as he rasps:

"It's my fault."

"Excuse me?" The man with the swiveling blue eye whips around to face Felix again, normal eye narrowed. His wand is still pointed aggressively, and Felix half wishes the man would just curse him.

"I - she - was with me," Felix tries to explain, nausea churning his stomach sickly. The chair is now the only thing keeping him upright.

"You were with her on the grounds?" the man demands, his blue eye now fixed on Felix as well. "What happened? What did you see? Who else was there?"

"There wasn't anyone. There was...it was...just us. "

The weight of the guilt causes something in Felix to snap. He cranes his neck around searching for the eyes of his former head of house, desperate for assurance that this isn't his fault; that Juniper isn't half-dead because of him.

"I told her not to, Professor, I swear! She wouldn't listen, I couldn't stop her! But...everything was normal. There wasn't anything strange or-or suspicious on the grounds. I didn't - I mean, I - I thought..."

Snape wrenches his gaze away from Felix, as if his pleading is something painful to watch. But Felix is beyond embarrassment for the moment.

"Mr. Rosier," Snape responds, still looking decidedly anywhere but at Felix. “I am all too familiar with Miss Windsong's particularly obdurate determination to do whatever she pleases. However, I think we both know you exerted little effort to dissuade her. And it cannot be denied that you are the reason Miss Windsong was out on the grounds alone last night."

Each of Snape’s words cuts deeply into Felix, like a mirror of the wounds decorating Juniper’s arms. All his defensiveness bleeds slowly out of him, and he sags further against the chair.

"If," Snape continues, "you would like to make amends for your foolishness, then perhaps you would be willing to help us now."

"I - Yes! Of course, anything, what-"

"At the moment, Miss Windsong appears to be under an enchantment of some kind. Discovering what exactly happened to her and who attacked her may enable us to wake her. We need to investigate, but we also need to keep a guard over her. It is not unlikely that whoever did this may return when they realize their work is unfinished."

"I'll stay," Felix answers, a semblance of strength returning to his voice. The idea that he'll be allowed to help is entirely unexpected, but a set task goes a long way to reasserting his focus.

The strange-eyed man looks from Felix to Snape, his face, a map of scars and craters, alight with skepticism.

"You sure he's up to it?"

Snape stares hard at Felix until that uncomfortable prickling begins to resurface, but Felix is determined to keep his gaze, to prove he can be trusted.

"I believe so," Snape answers. The other man gives Snape a disparaging look before lowering his wand to his side.

"Fine. If anything happens to her, it'll be on your heads then." He crosses the small room in two long strides and looks back at Felix as he reaches the door.

"You. No one is to enter this room without the password. The healers assigned to her know it, and they're the only ones I trust. Anyone else tries to get in, stun them and call for backup. Do you understand?"

Felix nods in affirmation, not trusting himself to speak.

"Do not take this lightly, boy. Miss Windsong's life may depend on your vigilance."

Felix straightens with as much fortitude as he can muster. He directs his words to the man in front of him, but they’re really a promise to himself.

"I won’t let anything happen to her."

Read Chapter 4 | View all stories on the Masterpost

#felix rosier #felix rosier x mc #felix rosier x jacob's sibling #jacob's sibling #hphm mc #hphm #hphm fanfiction #felix rosier fanfiction #hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery mc #hogwarts mystery fanfic #necessary monsters #dragonology 101 #dragons #mad-eye moody #severus snape #leaky cauldron #st mungos

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absolxguardian · 5 years

Text

T H E F E A R S

I mean what I said. These things, these forces, they are our fear. Deep fears. Primordial. Always looking for ways to grow and spread.

I always think it helps to imagine them like colours. The edges bleed together, and you can talk about little differences: “oh, that’s indigo, that’s more lilac”, but they’re both purple. I mean, I guess there are technically infinite colours, but you group them together into a few big ones. A lot of it’s kind of arbitrary. I mean, why are navy blue and sky blue both called blue, when pink’s an entirely different colour from red? Y’know? I don’t know, that’s just how it works.

And like colours, some of these powers, they feed into or balance each other. Some really clash, and you just can’t put them together. I mean, you could see them all as just one thing, I guess, but it would be pretty much meaningless, y’know, like… like trying to describe a… shirt by talking about the concept of colour.

Of course, with these things it’s not a simple spectrum, y’know, it’s more like -

An infinite amorphous blob of terror bleeding out in every direction at once.

Sometimes you impulse buy a kid’s rock painting set from Micheal's of all places and end up using it to make sigils for all of the Fears.

Close ups under the cut (also poetic descriptions drawing from my headcanons about the Fears).

The End. Death. Terminus.

The oldest of all the fears. All other Fears are simply layers separating the fear from it’s source- the fear of death. It was created because of fear, and fear was created because of it. It is the end, the stopping of it all, the force we fight against every day with every breath.

Primary Avatars: The Reapers/Death, The Sybil (Oliver Banks), and The Speaker (”Jane Doe”)

Ritual: It has no need of one, all threads must be cut one day.

Allies: They are all its children.

The Hunt.

The End’s firstborn. It was born in the time before sapience, when fear was simpler. But that was still enough. It is a fear for animals, of being hunted down and killed, of being prey.

Primary Avatars: The Hunters and predators [mundane].

Ritual: The Everchase

Allies: The Flesh, The Slaughter, The Desolation, and The Eye.

Enemies: The Vast and The Buried.

The Vast. The Falling Titian.

The child of The End and the twin of The Buried. It began as an animal’s fear, of the fall that shatters your bones of the sea you cannot cross for it is not yours. But with sapience, it evolved. It is falling, heights, lighting, and the Not Yours that surrounds Yours. But also a human’s own insignificance and the true emptiness of the world. It is too much space.

Primary Avatars: The Fairchild family and The Lightning’s (Michael Crew).

Ritual: The Awful Deep

Allies: The Lonely, The Flesh, The Eye, and The Dark.

Enemies: The Buried.

The Buried. The Center. Choke. Too Close I Cannot Breathe

The child of The End and the twin of The Vast. It did not evolve as much as its despised sibling. It is suffocation, and the dirt that fills lungs. But with humans, it became more complex, more existential, as it always does. Those brains can find more in caves than suffocation or the dark. While even an animal fears a small space in case they get trapped and fall to a hunter, only humans could create constructs to bind and crush each other with. It is when there is too little space.

Primary Avatars: The Pit and The Gravedigger (Hezekiah Wakely)

Ritual: The Sunken Sky.

Allies: The Lonely, The Dark and the Web.

Enemies: The Vast, The Flesh, The Eye, and The Slaughter.

The Dark. Mister Pitch. The Forever Blind.

A direct child of The End. The fear of the dark- for it is scary because we cannot know. We cannot see the threats that may hid in its embrace. With the life-giver being a star, it has come to oppose all life and heat. It wishes for blind eyes.

Primary Avatars: The Church of the Divine Host, The Rayner, and the Black Star.

Ritual: The Extinguished Sun.

Allies: The Vast, The Buried, The Stranger, The Spiral, and The Dark.

Enemies: The Eye.

The Desolation. The Lightless Flame. The Devastation. Blackened Earth.

The End’s child. While it sure does love the destruction aspects of fire, it is not just fear of burning. It is the fear of pain and the fear of loss- of power, possessions, or loved ones. It lacks the motivation of The Hunt or the Flesh and destroys more than just lives, unlike The Slaughter.

Primary Avatars: The Church of the Lightless Flame, The Flame’s Messiah (Agnes Montague), and natural disasters [mundane]

Ritual: The Scoured Earth.

Allies: The Slaughter, The Hunt, and the Buried.

Enemies: The Flesh and The Corruption.

The Lonely. Forsaken. The One Alone.

The End’s youngest solo child and a fear for humans alone. It is the complex webs of society on top of a simple fact- you need the pack to survive. Not to mention that the simple physical brains of humans abhor isolation as well. Isolation, both emotional and physical, strip away one’s mental and physical wellbeing and often driving them to drugs. And simple physical isolation will strip away one’s connection to reality itself, so The Lonely feasts on that unraveling mind just aware enough to fear the fall.

Primary Avatars: The Luckas family.

Ritual: The Forsaken.

Allies: The Buried, The Vast, and The Spiral.

The Flesh. The Meat.

The child of The Hunt and its successor. It is a fear for animals, but those that never know freedom or a game to try to escape. Their path is set, they are the animals raised and slaughtered by humans for meat, with no risk to themselves. They are to be eaten their flesh in a form unconnected to their own appearance, consumed by those who know not how to prepare them. While humans are not raised like that, their separation from The Hunt makes them quiver at the idea of being consumed in any form. With all their knowledge in this era, humans are coming to understand that they may be no different than animals- just organic molecules animated by electricity. The Flesh also feasts on that philosophizing.

Primary Avatars: The Eurachist [mundane] and slaughterhouse workers [mundane].

Ritual: The Last Feast.

Allies: The Hunt, The Corruption, The Desolation, The Stranger, and The Spiral.

Enemies: The Slaughter and The Buried.

The Slaughter. Violence. War

The child of The Desolation and The Hunter. It the anticipation of uncertain violence. It is violence that isn’t committed for the direct benefit of the murder and/or specifically because of the victim. It is found in both frenzied killers and in the steely, impersonal murder of armies. It rules over all the fear that comes from war, and eats heartily from all the conflicts humans keep creating all by themselves.

Primary Avatars: War Ghosts, The Piper/War, and soldiers [mundane].

Ritual: The Risen War.

Allies: The Desolation, The Hunter, and The Web.

Enemies: The Flesh and the Buried.

The Eye. The Beholding. Ceaseless Watching.

The Hunter’s least favorite child. An animal fears being watched because it means a predator may be observing, but humans have taken that fear as an end onto itself. It is watching, recording, and servailing. It feasts on the scraps of other Fears, reliving the trauma of their victims.

Primary Avatars: The Archive (The Magnus Institute), The Archivist (Jonathan Sims), and The Heart (Elias Bouchard)

Ritual: The Watcher’s Crown

Allies: The Web and The Hunt.

Enemies: The Dark, The Stranger, and The Spiral.

The Stranger. I Do Not Know You.

The child of The Dark, sapience extending the unknown to the other. It is the fear of what is not quite human. But the fear of the humans that are not quite you? Humans spend so much time creating reasons and convincing others to fear eachother. So much mundane fear of the other exists that The Stranger could survive on that alone.

Primary Avatars: The NotThem/dopplegangers, The Circus of the Other, The Deliverers, and bigots [mundane].

Ritual: The Unknowing.

Allies: The Dark and The Spiral.

Enemies: The Eye.

The Spiral. The Twisting Deceit, Esmentiaras, It Is Not What It Is.

The Dark’s other child, for one cannot know if one cannot trust their senses. It is the fear of madness, of unreality. It induces this fear by warping reality, leading its victims to believe they are the ones at fault.

Primary Avatars: The Distortion (once Micheal, now Helen Richardson) and The Worker in Clay (”Gabriel”).

Ritual: Our Great Twisting.

Allies: The Dark, The Stranger, The Web and The Flesh.

Enemies: The Eye.

The Corruption. Filth. Crawling Rot.

The child of The Flesh (but born before The Flesh) and The End. It is a collection of things that are unrelated in reality (bugs, rotten food, poison, mold, decay, and disease), but are associated in the mind of humans lacking knowledge- death without a clear cause and corpses.

Primary Avatars: The Hive (Jane Prentiss) and Pestilence (John Amherst).

Ritual: Unknown.

Allies: The Flesh and The Web.

Enemies: The Desolation.

The Web. The Spider. Mother of Puppets.

The child of The Corruption and The Buried. It is the fear of being restrained, but in a more metaphorical sense than The Buried. It is the fear of manipulation, being controlled, and that your will is not your own. And, from its other parent, spiders.

Primary Avatars: The Binding Table, The Spider Horde, and The Patriarch (Raymond Fielding).

Ritual: This world is almost identical to the Web’s, so why bother?

Allies: The Corruption, The Spiral, The Eye, and The Slaughter, The Lonely, The Buried, and The Dark.

Enemies: The Flesh and The Lonely (their relationship is complicated).

The Extinction. The Terrible Change. The Future-Without-Us.

The child of The Stranger and The End, this Fear is still emerging. It developing as humans confront their old hubris about the end times. It is the end of the world, but with no holy rapture. It is an end that isn’t the end of all life, just the end of them. It is the fear of being replaced by another species. It is the fear of how they will ruin themselves. It is the collapse or radical change of society. It is taking all forms of change from the dominions of the other Fears and bringing it into its own.

Primary Avatars: The emergence of true AI [mundane], climate change [mundane], and nuclear weapons [mundane].

Ritual: Many theorize that it seeks to end the world as it is known and replace humans with another sapient species to begin the cycle again.

Allies: The Stranger and The Desolation.

Enemies: Many avatars seek to disrupt its emergence as it would shatter the balance between the powers. They also fear the possibility that The Extinction wouldn’t repopulate the world with a new sapience species right away, setting them back eons.

#tma #the magnus archives #the fears #my art #my writings #rock art

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words-writ-in-starlight · 5 years

Note

For the dark powers ask meme: either the animorphs or the leverage crew?also hope your day gets better, youll make it through this

@enbiecrowley asked:

I started listening to MAG bc of you and it's been consuming my life for the past week, but I watched an episode of Leverage today and now I was wondering, if you're up for it, who you think the Leverage crew would belong to? I'm pretty sure Nate belongs to the Web, and Eliot maybe to Slaughter, Sophie to the Spiral or the Stranger...?

Well it’s been a minute since this ask meme, but! Animorphs was already answered here!

Nate is, I’d say, actually the Eye--he’s not a puppeteer, he’s a chessmaster, his game isn’t manipulation of reality but rather making reality work for him. The reason he’s a good mastermind is because he watches everything and creates a dozen plans for every minute deviation, and then switches easily and fluidly from one to another when needed. He’s very much the kind of man who would have the hubris and determination to wrestle an eldritch fear power into being part of his schemes not by manipulation but by out and out coercion, and that hollers “Eye” at jet plane decibels. He was narrowly rescued (if that’s the right word) from a fast descent into the Lonely by Victor Dubenich, who has no idea that he is literally solely responsible for spiking Nate back into his old investigator’s habits and the smug grip of Beholding. Honestly Dubenich is the architect of his own suffering in any universe. Nate gets slammed into full avatarship when he gets shot much more fatally than in the show, gets saved by the Eye, and starts gaining real Beholding powers in prison, which is just. Such a great time for him.

(Relatedly, Nate and Elias would fuuuuucking hate each other, someone please write me an AU where they meet up and snipe nastily at each other over drinks or something. [theotherdog.jpeg] here.)

Sophie is the Stranger all the fucking way, and no one knows when she became a full avatar, they just know that she is. If she doesn’t want to be known, she won’t be. She’s every nationality and no nationality, she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen and you’ll never be able to remember the color of her eyes. When she’s upset, her features blur and harden like wax cooling into a mold, and she has to blink hard and force a smile that seems like it’ll crack her mannequin-still cheeks. This also preserves some of the cat-and-mouse vibe in her and Nate’s relationship much longer than in Leverage canon, as the Eye and the Stranger are somewhat antithetical to each other. Nate doesn’t Know Sophie and works to keep it that way, and Sophie doesn’t make Nate Not Know her and works to keep it that way. It’s a balance.

Hardison is Web. Age of the geek, baby, and the geek can get into any computer, any camera, any cell phone. The whole world hums with a web of wireless signals and fiber optics, and Hardison is the spider at the heart of it, tugging his threads to bring the Leverage crew the juiciest flies. He’s not a full avatar, but no one would dream of questioning the Web’s claim on him. There’s a website that’s only there when you need it, and all it has is a phone number to a phone that doesn’t exist except when Hardison says it does, and if you call it, it’ll solve your problems. Hardison’s cons might always be a bit rough around the edges, because--well, why would he need to be convincing? He’s the Web’s favorite toy. He doesn’t need to convince anyone of anything.

Eliot was almost Desolation for his ruthlessness, then almost Slaughter for his love of the fight, and then he chased another Slaughter avatar across Myanmar and got shot and put a knife through their hand before demanding to know how to escape the thing that told him to rip people apart with his bare hands. The Hunt was on him before sunset. Eliot Spencer had always had a good reputation as a force to be reckoned with, but now...well. Not even avatars are safe. He clings to his humanity until the hunt for Moreau, when the gunfight in the warehouse finally kills him straight into proper avatarship. He tells Nate, all-seeing Nate, not to tell the others--not yet. Moreau spots the change immediately, and calls Eliot a hound, nothing more than a dog sent to savage the prey before his master comes in for the kill, and Eliot smiles. “I know I am,” he says softly, and watches Damian Moreau swallow without hiding the lock of his gaze. “That’s why you’re afraid of me.”

(You can still hear a bit of the Slaughter, when Eliot sings.)

Parker had a brush with the End when she was just seven years old. She doesn’t feel fear anymore--she learns how to watch without fearing the watcher, learns how to fall without fearing the sky, learns how to be trapped without fearing burial. With a country-killing virus in hand, all Parker knows is the laser focus of finishing a task. Parker can feel grief and joy and rage, but fear is simply...gone. It makes her the best candidate in the world to mastermind a crew of avatars in the war against the Extinction.

#leverage #the magnus archives #tma #ask meme #starlight writes stuff #am i implying that billionaires are collectively an agent of the extinction?#yes #yes i am #ummmmmm what else #sterling is a lonely avatar and has been for a long long time #that's part of why he's so obsessed with nate he wanted to net him for the lonely #maggie is Normal thanks and plans to fucking well keep it that way #she watched her husband tell ian blackpoole his own life's story and it terrified her #tara is actually also normal that's why sophie likes her #sophie finds it impressive that tara has held out this long #quinn is an avatar of the slaughter though and he and eliot have done the do #(that's just universally what i believe but it's also true in this universe)#but honestly listen #'WHY WON'T YOU GO DOWN'//*smiles with bloody teeth* is the MOST slaughter/hunt conversation #um....olivia sterling is the eye.#she's her father's pride and joy and his patron's greatest disappointment #someday sterling will send her to nate #a queue we shall keep and our honor someday avenge #lotheben #asked and answered

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aneilert · 5 years

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The One With Everything [MAG158: Panopticon]

This episode was delayed almost 20 hours, sending the whole early-access-community into a gradually deafening frenzy even before it launched. And then it took off for real.

The rest of the day has been a bit of a blur, to be honest, and if I’ve done anything not connected to relistening and speculating, then at least I can guarantee that neither my brain nor my heart was involved in it.

It’s hard to be eloquent when faced with this much content. I have raved elsewhere about the quality as well as the sheer quantity of content this episode can boast, but I’d like at least to post my List of Things We Had Expected, Hoped For and/or Dreaded and that happened, were confirmed or who returned in this episode:

1. Tim mention and grief

The fandom has never stopped grieving Tim Stoker, and every once in a while, someone will sigh about how they miss him and how much they wish his death would be at least mentioned on the show. Did he have no impact? Have they forgotten him? Well, canon has spoken: They have not.

2. Not!Sasha coming back

I can honestly say I never spent much time on the theories that muttered about how she had been enclosed in the tunnels and probably still was there. My bad. I will certainly never again forget the old rule that if someone (or something) doesn’t die on camera (as it were), they’re not dead. (And fuck were those amazing voice distortions!)

3. Leitner’s book coming back

Don’t forget where you put your evil book. It might not be there anymore when you come back for it a year or two later. (The blood on it, btw? Also Leitner. That bit was hilarious. I despise Peter, but he has brought some of the funniest lines this season; «In my defence, it’s still quite funny» is my personal favourite.)

4. Elias escaping prison

We didn’t think anything was keeping him there longer than he wanted to, and we were right; it was just a matter of timing. He would never want to come sneaking back if he could be making an Entrance.

5. Jonah!Elias

Probably the most popular fan theory (apart from those concerning various ships) is canon. And what a deliciously disturbing visual it is; Jonah Magnus’ eyeless body aging in the Panopticon while his eyes do what they have always done: watch over his Institute. Never has Elias sounded more smug and delighted with himself than in this episode, and you know what? Much as I hate him, I’d say he’s earned it.

6. Elias/Peter meeting

Trust fandoms to make feverish ships built out of characters who have never interacted in canon. And boy, do the LonelyEyes shippers feel vindicated today! Not only did the two horrible old men finally interact, but their dynamic was revealed to be exactly that of an old, dysfunctional and probably multiple times divorced couple. Even Jonny said so.

7. Martin having A Plan / having played Peter

We love Martin and worry about Martin, and we have been extremely worried about his latest signs of being fully on board (sic) with Peter’s nebulous plan. Is he that naïve? Is he that far gone? Or … is he playing Peter? Is he weaving his own little web, like in the previous season, when he managed to play Elias?

The truth, as so often, is a place in between. He has been playing Peter (and God was that an amazing reveal and a heart-rending speech! And Christ was Elias gleeful when he reminded Peter that he had been warned not to underestimate Martin, but that he still did it!), but he has also been joining the Lonely. There is something to be said for being able to keep distance, I guess. Even though it makes me heartsick.

8. Tape with Gertrude’s death and last confrontation with Elias

This is something I have been wanted for some time now. Gertrude is awesome and marvellous and badass and truly scary, and I have been wondering: did her hubris kill her? How did Elias take her down? What happened?

Well, now we know. Or … we know part of it. Gertrude’s body had three shots fired in it, but the tape only contained one. And the tape was numbered #0182509-A, hinting at possibly a B existing somewhere. Maybe we haven’t heard the last from Gertrude yet?

Also: How very satisfying it was to see that Gertrude had basically the same plan as Martin: Burn some Institute stuff to keep Elias from seeing the real threat! I love what this says about Elias’ complacency and underestimation when it comes to Martin (but I worry what yet another parallel with Gertrude might bode for his future …).

9. Peter taking Martin into the Lonely

The premise of a lot of fics. Can’t wait to see how it plays out in canon.

10. Hunters returning at an inopportune moment

We all, including Jon and the gang, knew they were out there and that it was just a matter of time. Still fun! (Particularly Trevor yelling JONNY BOY!)

11. Daisy going feral

Oh, this is hard; she wanted so much to be free of the Hunt. But honestly: this is why she was brought back, whether she (or Jon) knew it or not: To reconnect with her humanity, and then to give it up willingly to save her friends. And, why not, to have the savage joy of ripping out a few more throats while she’s at it.

Will Basira honour their promise? Well, that’s a tale for another day, as the story says. For now, let’s just enjoy the amazing sound distortion on Daisy’s breath, her voice and finally her growl. Daisy scared fucking Julia Montouk, and not many can boast that.

12. Jon and Elias talk

It’s been a long time coming. It was not at all what I had expected in any way, but it was amazing. And Jon hardly even noted what Elias was saying or how he gloated, because he was 100 % focused on …

13. Jon following Martin into the Lonely

Of course he did. Of course. He went into the Buried to get Daisy, and he didn’t even like Daisy, and she tried to kill him. Of course there’s no limit anymore to how much he will risk himself for a tiny sliver of hope that he might save Martin.

I worry so for them, though. Martin has refused Peter’s plans, true enough, but he has not refused the Lonely. He has been sliding into Forsaken for Jon’s sake, but he has still been sliding into Forsaken! And Jon’s journey into monsterdom is if anything even more worrying and harder to reverse.They have both been trying desperately and without any real clue as to how to save the world for each other’s sake, but what have they given up along the way?

Still. Jon clawed his way out of the Buried fuelled by Martin and by the signal from his rib. Who’s to say it might not work a second time?

Also: the one person we didn’t meet who I almost had expected, was Annabelle. Someone must have put this last tape on Jon’s desk – and someone must also, long ago, have given him that lighter that he never can focus on long enough to remember he has. Is there a silvery Web thread connected to it, where it lies in his pocket? Could he be able to follow that thread out again?

I have no idea. I also have no idea how I am supposed to wait for the next two episodes. Or how my head felt before this podcast ate my entire brain.

#the magnus archives #tma 158 #The Magnus Archives spoilers #panopticon #popular theories #text #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #Elias Bouchard #peter lukas #gertrude robinson #holy crap this show #have I mentioned lately that I love this show #«are you scared?» «yes.» «perfect»#only two episodes to go #oh fuck

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otomeshistarlight-blog · 7 years

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Okay, so. This is a thing. I knew as soon as I saw the dark yokai set last night that I needed to write for all one of them and I got the idea for this scenario from a friend. It features slightly dubious consent, but not really, and just generally extreme sexual imagery so tread with caution. If the Supernatural fandom can write about human dicks knotting then so can I, dammit. <_<;

Yokai Ichimatsu x reader smut below!

The old, decaying wood splintered and groaned in protest as I forced the door open and sunlight poured into the temple for the first time in many years. Poking my head inside, I cautiously glanced around before taking a tentative step over the threshold. I immediately had to duck under an unusually large spider web hanging down from the rafters and I blanched, surreptitiously swiping a hand over my clothes. There was no telling how many bugs and assorted creepy crawlies I was disturbing but I'd come too far to back out now.

I usually wasn't one to fall for haunted destination hoaxes but this shrine in particular had piqued my interest after stumbling upon multiple accounts regarding its authenticity on the internet. It seemed that gender, age, race, ethnicity and religious background, or lack thereof, played no part in determining who experienced unusual phenomena within these walls. Apparently whatever spirits were haunting the area were equal opportunists and I would have immediately ruled the whole thing out as a fake if it weren't for the veritable goldmines of evidence I'd found in abundance. Audio recordings, photographs, even full on video footage was floating around in the ether for anyone who searched hard enough for it and, to my chagrin, it all looked to be genuine. I'd decided in a moment of hubris to track the place down and see for myself whether the stories were true but so far I was getting a whole lot of nothing.

Waving some of the swirling dust away from my face, I squinted through the murky shroud of darkness to regard the bronze cast Buddha statue on the far wall. It was covered in a thick layer of grime and filth, effectively tarnishing whatever brilliance it may have once possessed. Frowning, I turned away from the idol and glanced up towards the ceiling to see if I could catch a glimpse of anything hiding in the rafters. Every blurry image of the apparition in question seemed to capture a fluffy tail of sorts which I was keeping a watchful eye for. I didn't see anything though, and I heaved a sigh as I stepped further into the temple.

The floorboards creaked loudly under my footsteps and I felt a noted spike in anxiety when I realized it almost sounded like someone was trailing behind me. I laughed at myself for being so jumpy as I paused in the center of the room to glance back at the open doorway, somewhat relieved to see that I was completely alone. All those stories were getting to me, amping up my expectations, and I silently scolded myself for being so impressionable. I'd allow myself to be scared when something really happened but until that time, I was determined to remain calm and level headed. A true sign of a serious paranormal investigator.

Feeling quite snobbish in my resolve, I turned my nose to the air and began making my way towards the back wall. There was a door tucked off to one side and I made a bee line for it, hopeful that I'd find what I was looking for in the next room. I was halfway to my destination when a cool breeze blew in from the doorway, carrying with it the smell of spring, and I shivered as it washed over my body like a bucket of ice water. I didn't remember it being that cold outside but, I tried to reason, it was quite a bit more chilly within the abandoned shrine so it really wasn't -

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

I nearly jumped right out of my skin at the sound of an unexpected voice and my camera fell onto the floor with a loud clatter as I spun around. Wide eyed, I searched for the source but I didn't see anyone. No matter which dark corner I looked at, there was no doubt in my mind that I was alone. Unless …

Heart pounding wildly inside my chest, I lift my head to regard the ceiling and dread settles within my stomach when I realized that I still didn't see anyone. Was I completely losing my mind? I know I'd heard someone else's voice, rich and smooth in its taunting lilt, but where was he?

“You're not too bright are you?”

Whipping around, my breath caught in my throat when I found the mysterious man casually lounging across the Buddha's shoulder like some sort of deranged parrot. But maybe calling him a man would be incorrect, as the ears standing upright out of his mess of dark hair and the multiple tails sprouting out of his backside would seem to imply. Perhaps more alarming was the unnatural red of his eyes and I felt my pulse flat line for a split second. It was obvious what I was looking at, the extra furry appendages were a dead give away, but now that I'd found what I was looking for I just couldn't seem to comprehend it. Was this really an evil spirit – and a powerful fox demon at that? He just looked like an overly dramatic cosplayer for crying out loud!

A tense moment of silence claimed the room as I stared at him in outright shock and, scoffing at my reaction, he shook his head. “How do you expect to find any ghosts if you're too stupid to even hold onto your camera? Isn't that what you came here for?”

I involuntarily jerked at the bark in his voice and darted my gaze down at the floor, only giving myself a brief moment to consider my next move. Diving onto the ground, my trembling hands fumbled with the fallen piece of technology which I nearly dropped in my sweat slicked haste before pointing it up at the statue. My finger was already wildly mashing the button and the sound of the shutter seemed incredibly loud inside the ancient building but, much to my surprise, he was no longer there. A cold sweat erupted across my skin as I wildly searched for him, twisting my head this way and that.

“W-where are you?” I demanded, standing upright and cursing myself for the falter in my voice. This couldn't be happening, dammit!

The sharp pinprick of claws suddenly danced across my jaw, as if materializing right out of thin air, and my heart leaped up into my throat with a start. I barely dared to breathe let alone move as the elegant hand traced an almost loving line across my neck before long fingers curled underneath my chin. Tilting my head back at a vulnerable angle, he set his sights just a pinch lower and the sensation of him squeezing my throat in a barely concealed threat made me gasp. It was only then that I felt his body press up behind me out of the darkness with a soft, barely there flutter of his robes.

“Don't worry,” He purred as he nuzzled the side of my head in some fallacious show of affection. “I'm not going anywhere until I've had my fun with you.”

A shudder raced down my spine, lighting every nerve on fire, but I forced myself to remain still. I had a sneaking suspicion that those talons of his were real and I didn't want to think about how easily he could tear my throat out with them. “What do you mean?” I asked in a quiet voice.

Humming almost thoughtfully, the kitsune pressed even closer so I could feel the hard weight of his body molding over mine before he delivered a punishing nip to the outer shell of my ear. I yelped in response, heat rushing to my face, but he merely laughed and almost casually docked his chin over my shoulder.

“I just think that this could end up being mutually beneficial for the both of us. After all, its not every day that such a cute ghost hunter wanders into my home.”

He lived here? In this dilapidated shrine?

Brows furrowing, I mentally chastised myself for focusing on the wrong things and took a breath with every intention of telling him exactly where he could shove that offer. But then his hand on my neck took an abrupt turn south, grabbing my breast in a tight grip, and all that came out was a startled mewl. I jumped in surprise and dropped my camera so I could snatch at his wrist but the unmistakable strength in just his forearm gave me pause. There was no longer any doubt in my mind concerning what this man was and I found it surprisingly difficult to comprehend that.

“What do you say? If you have some fun with me, I'll let you take as many pictures as you want. I'll even pose for you if you'd like.” He said, the sultry tone in his words sending an unexpected wave of heat crashing down to pool within the pit of my stomach.

Despite my trepidation regarding the entire situation, I couldn't seem to deny the way my body was reacting to him and apparently he noticed it as well. With a breathy little laugh, he started to grope me through my shirt with an undisguised confidence that left me a little weak in the knees. Something in the back of my mind, something primal, was screaming at me to give in to his desires but I somehow managed to retain just enough wherewithal to keep my wits about me. I was wary and I didn't hide that in my body language or in my tone.

“Do I have a choice?” I asked with evident suspicion.

“Of course.” He breathed against my neck. “I'm not some vulgar oni who would take you against your will. You can say no, but you won't get any photographs.”

My fingers tightened around his wrist in a fruitless attempt to ground myself. I was falling under his spell faster than I could register and my reservations were slipping away just as quickly. “You won't kill me? Or maim me? Just sex?”

His body shook against mine with laughter as he abandoned my breast in favor of curling his fingers under my chin again, dragging my powerless hand along for the ride. “I wont hurt you. Not like that,” He assured me, almost sickeningly sweet and it sounded wrong in his deep voice. “But I can't promise that by the end of this you won't be a desperate little cock slut. You've never experienced anything like what I have to give and I can't deny that I've broken a few girls in my time. Mentally, that is.”

The dangerous whisper of his last few words left me trembling in his arms and I was entirely complacent when he turned my head to look back at him over my shoulder. Mischievous crimson eyes found mine, practically boring into my very soul, and I inadvertently found myself melting against him. I wanted – needed that dark promise he was offering me and I wordlessly nodded my head as if in a stupor.

A menacing smirk curled his lips, stretching from almost ear to ear and showing off a gleaming glint of razor sharp teeth. My pulse pounded wildly as he slowly turned me around to face him, giving me ample opportunity to change my mind. I didn't want to though. I knew that without a doubt when both of his hands settled on my shoulders. Maybe it was a trick, some sort of kitsune magic that he was using to alter my perception of reality, but in that moment I honestly did not care. Even if it was only a small taste, I craved the sweet oblivion of release that he was offering me.

“Have you ever worshiped a god before?” He asked me lightly, almost casually, and when I shook my head he snickered with fiendish delight. His fingers tightened on my shoulders, exerting just enough pressure to drop me down onto my knees without resistance. “Then allow me to demonstrate, and do pay attention. I have a feeling that this wont be the only time you'll need this particular set of skills.”

Confusion danced through my mind for a mere second but that all vanished without a trace when he reached up to shrug out of his black cloak. The multitude of tails protruding out of his backside twitched and bristled as he threw the garment onto the floor carelessly, looking for all the world like palms swaying in the wind. The milky white flesh of his shoulders seemed to glow in the dim light and the jet black color of his clothes only accentuated his translucent pallor. I stared at him from my spot on the floor, completely transfixed by his ethereal beauty which was not at all diminished by the aura of danger radiating off of him. The paradox was almost sensual in its own way and I gulped dryly when he reached to undo the sash around his waist.

“We'll start with the basics.” He said conversationally and the sadistic amusement of his expression was not lost on me.

I couldn't bring myself to really care though and when the obi came away entirely, allowing his pants to slide down around his thighs in a rumpled mess, I leaned forward eagerly. His cock was mostly soft but a faint twitch from the hardening organ told me without words that he was looking forward to this just as much as I suddenly was. Scooting closer, I practically thrummed with excitement and my tongue darted out to wet my lips as I braced my hands on the floorboards. My eyes were dilated and trained on his genitals with a laser precision and he didn't seem to miss that as he snickered in amusement.

“Good girl,” He said on a slow exhale, the anticipation in his voice ringing inside my ears. “Now show me what you're capable of.”

That was all the prompting I needed and I swooped in to catch the head between my lips. He twitched inside my mouth, growing just that little bit more firm as I suckled on the tip and the salty taste of precum nearly drove me right over the edge into madness. Hastily worrying the meat of his foreskin with my teeth, I tried to suck yet more of that delicious fluid out of him and I opened my mouth wide to gulp down the rest of him when none was forthcoming. My thoughts were consumed with white noise as I hungrily slobbered all over his cock until it was standing to full attention against my tongue. Electricity consumed my core, setting everything ablaze, when I realized just how thick it was now that he'd grown completely erect and I came up off him with a flustered gasp.

I immediately ducked down and latched my lips around his ballsack, greedily sucking his testes and swirling them with my tongue. A pleased sound filtered through the air as his hand found the top of my head, sharp nails scraping against my scalp in a deceptively soothing touch. I didn't need his encouragement though and I brought my hands up to brace against his meaty legs as I released his balls with an audible pop. Tilting my head back at an almost uncomfortable angle, I pressed my face up into the space between his thighs so I could lap voraciously at his taint before stretching my tongue out to tease his asshole.

The demon tensed slightly in response but he immediately shifted his feet further apart, spreading his legs for me so I could really get up in there. A desperate groan rolled off my tongue as I shoved my mouth up against him and his balls pressed heavy against my nose, threatening to suffocate me with their silky soft weight. I took a gasping breath and flicked my tongue over the tight ring of muscle again, circling it with a taunting slowness before giving it a good suck.

“My, my, you're even more eager than I'd given you credit for.” He groaned as he titled his pelvis so that he was practically sitting on my face, his hand shoving me up against his ass a little tighter. “I wasn't expecting such a perverted little thing to wander into my clutches of her own free will. How does that taste?”

When I tried to answer him, all that came out was some muffled sounds and he gave my head a jostle to further prompt me. I tried again but it was no use with his thighs smothering me and the coppery taste of his asshole overwhelming my tongue. Realizing that it was useless in this position, he pulled me back with a grunt and fisted my hair in a tight grip so he could give me a demanding jerk.

“Well?”

“Good!” I blurted out, gasping in the fresh air as I stared blearily up at his face. “It tastes good, sir!”

Expression twisting up in vicious glee, he brought his free hand down to caress my cheek in a mockingly sweet gesture which I found myself gratefully leaning into. “I'm so glad to hear that, my pet. Since you're doing so well, I'll tell you my name but you have to promise that you wont stop screaming it until your throat is raw. Deal ~?”

I quickly nodded at that, squirming against the overwhelming liquid desire drenching my cunt. “I will! I promise!”

He laughed cruelly at my eager response before standing upright, slowly releasing me so that his fingers tangled and knotted my hair as they slid through it. “Excellent. Then you may call me 'Ichimatsu-sama' to your hearts content. Now turn around and present yourself to me.”

My mind stuttered over itself for a brief moment while I tried to figure out what he wanted me to do but then the demon lifted a single finger to draw a lazy circle in the air, and I immediately understood. Practically tripping over myself in my haste, I spun around so that my back was to him and jerkily yanked my pants down around my knees before fumbling with my shirt. I only managed to get the top and my bra bunched up under my chin when the need became too great to bear any longer and I left it like that, dropping down into a prone position on the floorboards. My chest pressed flush against the grimy wood, I bent my legs and arched my back so that I was completely exposed to his devious gaze and I immediately caught the sound of a bemused chuckle over the pounding blood in my ears.

“What a perfect little pussy you have,” He murmured seconds before I felt a single clawed finger trace a taunting path down the length of my slit. Breath catching, I went ramrod stiff as anticipation rocked me down to the very core and I jutted my ass up a little higher in response. “And look at how wet you already are. Are you really enjoy this that much?”

“Yes, Ichimatsu-sama! I am!” Very nearly wailing, I started to squirm in desperation. All I could think about was that thick cock of his breaking me in half and I could hardly stand the wait any longer. If he didn't follow through on his earlier promise soon I was going to lose my mind.

The sound of rustling caught my attention and I jumped when he reached out to take two big handfuls of my ass, kneading it for a moment before spreading me wide. A needy moan tore out of my throat as I squirmed towards him, blindly seeking out the delicious friction I so badly needed at that moment. Ichimatsu snickered, apparently quite amused with this turn of events, and I felt him lean closer to nuzzle my slick labia with his nose. A short moment later, his tongue flicked out to worm its way between my folds and draw tight circles around my clit, making me jerk at the sensation, but it wasn't enough. Something like that could never be enough.

“Please!” I cried out, practically sobbing as I dug my nails into the floor. “Please, Ichimatsu-sama! I can't! I need it right now – I need you!”

Suddenly sounding incredibly tense, he groaned against me and rose up to finally position himself. I felt delirious with relief as I braced myself, spreading my knees a little further apart to give him better access and the first push against my entrance made me choke in overwhelming need. Ichimatsu seemed intent on drawing this out for as long as possible though and he took his time swiping the head up and down along my slit, pausing just long enough to tease my twitching hole before aiming a little lower and applying an exquisite amount of pressure to my clitoris. I could barely see straight let alone think clearly while he drew my aching need to the very breaking point and when, at last, he started to slowly slide up into me I had to blink away the grateful tears.

“O-oh, god!”

The intense burn of his cock spreading me wide left me shaking like a leaf as he worked his way inside one excruciating inch at a time. I could barely breathe by the time he bottomed out inside of me, settling for a short moment so my straining walls could accommodate the unexpected girth. Ichimatsu leaned over me then, draping his body over mine so that his clawed hands were planted firmly on either side of my head and the pressure from this position made me writhe under him. A dark, throaty chuckle shifted my hair as he dipped his mouth close to my ear and traced a taunting path over the cartilage with his tongue.

“I already told you my name,” He whispered hotly and I groaned when his cock twitched inside me with a quick flex of muscle. “Don't forget to use it, unless you want to irritate me that is.”

I nodded numbly as my body clenched down around him and a soft, keening moan rolled off my tongue. Snickering, Ichimatsu arched his pelvis away from me so he could pull out until just the tip remained sitting heavy within my body. I felt him tense above me, the muscles in his arms straining against the skin as he readied himself to slam back in, and all I could manage was a trembling inhale before he brutally sheathed himself right down to the hilt. A strangled grunt forced its way up my throat and for a split second all I could see was stars while my body heaved at the rough intrusion. But he was apparently done with the slow and steady technique before it had even begun, wildly thrusting at a breakneck pace that jostled me. My wailing voice rose in the air to join the deafening sound of skin slapping skin as he pounded me with wild abandon, grunting softly from the effort.

“Come on. Say it.” He said between thrusts, punctuating his words with a particularly hard snap of his hips. “Say my name. Let me hear you, little human. Tell me how good it feels!”

“Uwaa – aah! I-it feels … nngh, aah-amazing, Ichimatsu-sama! Thank you!”

Breathless, chortling laughter filtered down from above to reverberate inside my ears. I was so lost in the moment, screaming out meaningless gibberish while he continued to mercilessly ram his cock into my pussy, that at first I didn't even notice a tickling sensation on my thigh. I couldn't ignore it any longer when it became more demanding and I realized it was the soft fur of one of his tails brushing over my hip. It was such a drastically different feeling compared to the rough fucking he was giving me that I squirmed, trying to escape it, but he was relentless. The fluffy appendage snaked its way up the length of my body and wiggled itself under my breast where it traced feather light touches around my areola. I gasped in shock at the strangely delicate gesture and arched against the floor, nearly snapping my back in half from how hard I was rutting up into him.

“Hiii- Ichimatsu-sama!”

“Keep going,” He groaned when I clenched tight around his cock and he immediately doubled down on his efforts. “Don't even think about finishing before me! You'll get your reward soon enough!”

Choking in ecstasy, my fingers scrabbled uselessly against the wood floorboards but he just kept going. Over and over again, his dick slammed down right to the base and I could feel the quickly mounting pleasure becoming unbearable. I was vaguely aware of hot drool dribbling down my chin to splatter on the ground but I didn't care. I was far too lost within the euphoric daze of ecstasy to even wipe it away and it was almost too much for my body to handle. He was going to completely ruin me at this rate and somehow I just didn't see a problem with that.

“I … I -aaah! I'm gonna' cuuuum!”

“No you're not!” Ichimatsu snarled, suddenly viciously aggressive as he shoved his face against the side of my neck to take a warning nip at my pulse. My eyes widened in blind surprise and I shook when my impending orgasm inched even closer to the edge, threatening to shove me over at any given second.

Biting my lip, I tried to focus my mind on stopping the inevitable even though I knew it was a fight I'd lose soon enough. But I was determined to ride this out to the very end and I squeezed my contracting muscles in a last ditch effort to stave it off, desperately gasping at the effort. Then, as if out of nowhere, something decidedly bulbous slammed into my pussy from behind and I cried out as it forced its way inside of me. Ichimatsu didn't so much as pause though and, if I wasn't imagining things, he seemed to actually put more force into his thrusts so that he was slamming into me with all of his body weight. The force rocked both of us and on some level I realized that he was forcing that swelling muscle into me despite my body groaning in protest and trying to keep it out.

“Wah-what … I-Ichima – aaah!”

The demon snorted in amusement and pressed the flat of his tongue against my cheek, swiping a sizzling hot line up to my brow in a taunting manner. “Heh. Are you surprised? I am a fox, you know?”

I stammered helplessly underneath him, completely at his mercy while Ichimatsu continued to shove that pulsating knot into my aching cunt regardless of how big it seemed to grow. And it felt massive from my perspective, threatening to rip me right in two but it toed the line between pleasure and pain so well that I found myself screaming out for more. My brain was quickly shutting down and the only thing I could focus on was the overwhelming heat of my squelching pussy as he plunged into it relentlessly.

Suddenly gasping on a stuttering inhale, Ichimatsu let out a wild, animalistic snarl and rammed into me so hard that I collapsed against the floor with a helpless squawk. He immediately fell on top of me not even a second later and the force of his weight was the last push he needed to squeeze his pounding knot into my cunt, effectively locking us together for the foreseeable future. White hot flames erupted throughout every single nerve ending as it settled inside of me and all the hair on my body stood on end when it shoved up against my g-spot so tightly that my heart skipped a beat. I managed to drag in one final, haggard breath that shifted the tight bundle of nerves just right and a hoarse scream erupted from my mouth as an uncontrollable orgasm rocked me. I twitched and writhed below him, wildly crying out in pleasure, but every little movement just made that burning hot knot press up into me even harder. It was practically milking me as one orgasm bled seamlessly into the next, my muscles contracting frantically around Ichimatsu's thick cock. The sensation of him spilling wave after wave of semen against my cervix only helped draw it out even longer and my eyes rolled back into my head in pure, unadulterated ecstasy.

It seemed like many minutes had passed before the endless shock waves finally started to ebb into something less mind numbing but I was too far gone to notice. He shifted above me, the action rubbing his pulsating cock against my g-spot once again, and I devolved into a fresh spasm of wild twitching on the floor. My pussy had never felt so incredibly stuffed in all my life and the only thing keeping the copious amounts of semen inside was that knot plugging me up. Which, I guessed was sort of the point, but it felt like I would burst at any given second and I groaned weakly in response.

“Well?” Ichimatsu gently prodded, lifting his hand to pat my hair in an almost demeaning manner. “How was that? Think it was worth holding out for?”

Slowly nodding, I sucked in a shuddering breath only to wince when it almost threw me into another convulsing orgasm. I couldn't seem to find my voice but I was certain it would be raspy and unintelligible anyway so I merely left it at that, growing still under him once again. Ichimatsu clicked his tongue in response and settled against my back with his chin tucked over my head.

“You know,” He said slowly, almost thoughtfully. “It'll be dark out if you don't recover soon and you'll never be able to find your way back down the mountain. You're welcome to stay the night with me if you'd like -”

“Yes.” I croaked, surprising both of us.

I hesitated before continuing, trying in vain to clear my throat while I reconsidered this decision. There was no going back though, I already knew that. I'd tasted some forbidden fruit, a taboo indulgence that I'd certainly never forget, and everything else would only pale in comparison. I'd made a mistake by agreeing to this but it was too late to think about that now. I just knew without a doubt that nothing could ever come close to bringing me the amount of pleasure he had and I was resigned to that fate. It was the only option, really.

So, with a weak smile, I turned to glance at him over my shoulder and his ears swiveled forward with undisguised interested. “Please, Ichimatsu-sama … won't you fuck me again?”

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