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abyssalpriest · 1 year

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Leviathan: What Makes a God, 31/7/23

An essay channelled from Leviathan on what is biologically or physically at play when a spirit acts or "becomes" a "god", which he distills into your ability to connect with the world around you.

Leviathan said:

In my humble opinion, “a god” isn't something you can definitively define. It's similar to the issues with the word "religion" though not as complex, but a rough idea of what I mean when I use the word is as follows: A god is a spirit that responds to requests and petitions, rules over a certain aspect or aspects of the world - note the words "rules over" as a comparison to politics, not an inherent complete synchronisation like "is" would imply - and interacts with a set of people who elevate the spirit to a point of revering them in a working relationship. It’s a relationship-based title. We can look anywhere to get an understanding of what the relationship is on the half of the people worshiping, case studies are all around us waiting to be carried out and classified, but the active side of what it looks like to the deity's body and self is what I want to discuss. What makes a god on the side of the god, as opposed to the elevation by those he works with?

It’s worth noting that the word “god” is arbitrary. Powerful beings can be called a god in one culture and a demon in the next, that's why people like the Void's consciousnesses can be considered a god or an ancestor depending on where you go, "god" is an arbitrary set of letters and is used often just to denote a powerful worshiped being in good standing with the culture the speaker is a part of. I however am using it as a catch-all for beings that are deified in whatever individual sense they are. For now the word "god" is just a stand-in for "spirit who is the subject of what I am talking about", really.

Becoming a god is a continual and active process done every moment a god is active as a god, and there is no moment where they become a god and stay it forever since there are no major biological changes in the way of transmuting species, only in the way of gathering fat on or growing in a human body. Something absolutely happens, though, if we’re talking biology.

Godhood (the state and act of being a god) will always be about acting as a medium for a set of people to connect with reality in ways they themselves alone cannot. Something is needed for a spirit to act as that medium, though. Power and connection are necessary here on the half of the god, people don't worship beings that they don't either believe or want to believe are more powerful than them, but since powers amongst gods is an individual thing… Well, we cant say a god is a god because they control the weather, or move wealth, or guard royalty, and so on, because any one of those would exclude many other legitimate gods, so what exactly is this power a god has? What is it at the base of the issue that almost all gods have that serves as the basis for their godhood?

The common denominator in my opinion is a connection to reality and an ability to alter it specifically without tools (or amplified by them), through consciousness and Self alone. A god generally becomes so in touch with and fluent in specific parts of reality that they almost become one with them (or do become one, depending on how you look), which is a function nigh on all consciousnesses are capable of doing. I would say that if a new god is seen as a god but they haven't efficiently threaded themselves into and aren't puppeting reality based on a network of strings and resonances and learning to be conscious as reality themselves - if they have been elevated to godhood without the connection to reality I’m talking about - then they sure as Hell are going to learn a few years later how to do it when the phone calls won't stop and they completely obscure a normal life and sense of self.

Godhood almost always comes back to this connection as its crux of power, because people revere it and if they don’t revere you for it then you’ll need to learn to use it in order to interact with the people below your chain of command, to live up to the expectations they provide which inform whether they worship you or not. Hence: Connection to reality is the answer to my prompt of "What makes a god?" And it is going to be the focus of this discussion.

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The connection between mind and body is a little different on other planes compared to this one, allowing for example the inhabiting of multiple bodies split from your main one, or people to split into multiple separate people, or allowing possession of the dead to puppet around, but it goes the opposite way too where we are very able to spread singular selves outwards to an extent that you on this plane… can also do as consciousnesses, yes, but when you do this it will be your Astral bodies doing it. Physical bodies are uniquely isolated even from themselves. Like a physical plane body accumulates fat from food, we are all able to accumulate energy and inhabit it by right of the coding and rules of reality itself, but the way in which physical plane beings do it is different.

What are these connections to reality, though? Let’s look at the subset of reality alteration often classified as “magic” around parts of this plane the Priest frequents, for a moment.

“Magic” is a word for a narrow identification of a part of a large spectrum of Self-Other influences. Saying "magic" is like saying "red" when there's an entire spectrum of visible light, and what specific colours "red" denotes is going to be different from culture to culture… Magic is a subset of interactions between your mind and the external world that occurs through the creation of a body, magic generally creates an energy body or system of energy bodies which do one of a few things in order to communicate and influence whatever the target is through the gateway of the subtle substances of the world.

Creation of a physical body is another "colour" in this colour spectrum metaphor, like green instead of magic as red, we'll say. Magic creates energetic add-ons to the practitioners energetic body and overall self (or creates new energetic bodies), inhabits them, and either dissipates them, propelling the practitioner's will into subtler and subtler forms until it is rippling and influencing the causal laws and coding and such of reality, like burned sigils, or sustains it as an autonomous gateway of transformation like a plant-based ward. Either way - whether the body is dissipated or sustained or what-have-you - magic is a subset of creating a body through which to influence the workings of the world and it has an emphasis on doing so by going back to the programming (Causal and coding-based abstract parts of reality). Magic is Self going through the gateway of programming to then be released as something Other than you, as opposed to Other going through programming to create a body that is a Self like what happens when a being is created or incarnates.

Effectively, in order to influence the Material and Objective and physical worlds as a Mental thing, a consciousness, you need a gateway and a vessel which are one and the same thing. The creation of a physical body is the accumulation of Reality's substances in accordance with DNA and coding in the subtle substances to coalesce and form a direct sort of robot to pilot around in order to heavily influence the Material, which, as a gateway, means that it in turn simultaneously allows the Material to heavily influence you. Likewise, magic is consciousness creating energy bodies to inhabit to interact with the world in accordance with Mental programming and coding in general in the subtle substances, but the key here is that magic is employed to alter the Causal and so on parts of reality (that which I am calling “subtle substance”) which then disperse changes into reality in the Other... Dispersion is a complex and not always present thing, but magic is often used to change things that you don't want to be - for instance altering probability of rain instead of possessing the weather system - and when you want to change something that isn't you, you have to do the paradoxical act of ritual self-suffocation until you die and become the Other by becoming nothing. Subtracting part of yourself to add on to the Other. This is best done in an energy body instead of sacrificing your physical one, best done with raised energies you temporarily claim rather than your core energies...

Anyway. Magic details I can get into another time and I can afford to have inaccuracies due to oversimplification here, this isn't the place to learn about magic. What you need to know is this: The common denominator in magic, incarnation, and godhood is all about types of body creation in order to influence the part of reality you want to influence, creating a body of that type (or nearest to it as you can) to play with it. Magic - or the Priest's understanding of what is classed under that word - is very relevant and begins to explain what a god does and is, which is basically a constantly sustained and expansive set of spells or what is tapped into when doing spells that reaches out into reality.

Energy bodies and altered states allow will to be slowly translated from conscious into subtler and subtler states and threaded into subtler and subtler places, because the conscious mind alone and by itself cannot pilot into these places with any accuracy. Note: "pilot into". You always are in all of these places and are doing all these things, every single person in existence alters the weather and causation lines and everything else to varying degrees, it just depends on the force of locality. But to consciously go and interact with something distant to you whether physically distant or conceptually, you need to take up a form that interacts more strongly with your intended target.

Different parts of yourself have different bodies and/or attach to different bodies easier; energy bodies house or are influenced by emotional consciousness pretty easy for one example, and subtle energy bodies allow a medium between subtle substances and the self in the way that physical bodies allow a medium between self and physical reality. Therefore, if you want to influence Causal substances... Get closer and closer through increasingly more subtle energy bodies. If you want to control the oceans...

Godhood, at least in my opinion, experience, so on, is directly tied to a spirit’s ability to create energetic bodies/expand their energetic bodies and interact with the world through them. However, it's not just as simple as "they do magic". In order to discuss that, let's look at what the act of calling a god is like - godhood is an active and working practice of being a medium, remember.

There’s a multitude of ways to call on a deity or more so a multitude of things to connect with when you call them. People invoke energies, consciousnesses, Causal influence, physical concepts like the sky - and evoke these things too, many people don't see a difference between a god's persona self and the world itself, seeing, say, Poseidon as all oceans and permeating all water that they relate to him, and it isn't a case that either everyone is misguided and he's not involved when they call the water or they all get his utmost attention making him always have to show up, listen, make choices, change the world's functioning, leave. That would be exhausting for him, right? There's not just two options of either "he doesn't show up when he's called because he isn't the water" and "he has to show up every time all the time because his persona is tied to the water".

We who are worshiped need to cultivate all sorts of consciousnesses and ways of being conscious, and thread our consciousness through various energies in order to have a presence that can be called upon both through evocation and invocation. The more things you are threaded into, the more resources you have, and the more resources you have the more people will either purposely or accidentally work with you, meaning you will get more energy. Godhood cannot be sustained purely selflessly, it is certainly always self-centred and often selfish to a certain degree. Anyway, this is an art that extends into many parts of reality. It isn’t enough to just be conscious of things such as watery energies and the energies of specific places, nor is it a matter of constantly consciously being called and then doing spells to alter the water when you're asked to because that would be exhausting. You need to be able to paradoxically be conscious of things the conscious mind cannot be conscious of, including things like names and causation - the very subtle strings of reality - to a point where you learn to inhabit those themselves. You need to become the reality you want to be seen as.

It is enough for a small god to be able to pilot the clouds around a fair amount of the time. But a key to being a big god is to understand how to inhabit causation and subtle substances like energy bodies, become them, which is especially delicate given that moving an energy body around and causing damage with it is one thing, but accidentally twanging a thread of reality… You have to - or at least I have to, there’s no manual on this written by God - sustain subtle consciousness levels and remain in a meditative state in certain parts of your subtle self now, because you have become microscopic tendrils wrapped around reality’s strings. You need to be conscious in a myriad of different ways and woven, often through energy bodies that get subtler and subtler, into all that you want control over. You need to make the Other the Self.

Really, this stems back to nondualist ideas, because nothing I teach can stray too far from that for long. Godhood and awakening to being Shiva is a process of learning to, well, wake up, expanding your awareness as opposed to taking things that aren't you and tacking them arbitrarily on to yourself. If you are tacking things on, you are sleeping in them and they are not you. If you understand them as you regardless of whether they're physically attached to your physical body or not, then you're getting it. When you get that, you need to understand how to slip through the subtle substances to alter this new part of yourself in the myriad of ways you can alter it, all decided by the varying languages of reality you need to speak to get results.

For example you may see the branch of a tree just like your arm. Now, how do you influence it? Telepathy is not a language here that will physically move that branch, so what about going through the language of the weather or possessing an animal to move it? Really, your physical body getting up and moving it is equally a "mystical" language of creation and "telepathic" influence, but I want to illustrate that controlling reality isn't about becoming conscious of reality and then you just think very very hard and attempt to move it with your mind. You have to move it through gates, take detours, hop your consciousness from one body to another to another and take a myriad of forms to get to the result you want. But I digress, the how-to's of this cannot be taught through words on a screen unless you already understand me, so let's get back to acknowledging this is theory and not attempting to look like we're teaching practicals.

To be a god you need to become parts of reality, which is possible because you already are within them as a sleeping Other - reality is compatible with your mind because it is like an extensive brain waiting for signals to pass through it - and you need to be aware of your presence and recognise the strings of Causation between you and everything around you. Creating energy bodies and becoming reality happens through the expansive nature of awakening consciousness.

So, we all get that godhood is about bodies and stretching your consciousness and Self into varying levels of subtlety and substances such as energies, but it's important to understand even things like thoughts, names, vibrations, places, awarenesses, and so on, are possessable concepts. Everything in reality is partly conscious and everything in awareness can be conceptualised - and when consciousness and reality meet, reality can be altered. Everything is code, which means on a certain playing field everything from linear time to movements to atoms to people to thoughts to planes are all the same substances, just different encoded arrangements of the same base elements, meaning when you understand how to possess coding, you can worm your way into many things. Coding can be possessed by its nature and if all is code, all can be possessed.

This does have its limits and of course this is much easier with things you resonate with, for myself connecting with and becoming fire is possible but it's not the most comfortable body for me, I would rather be the sky... And the limits are largely based on both resonance and whether you can decode what you're trying to access. Reality is encoded things, things are gateways, if you unlock the code you get access to the gateway.

When you know the languages of reality and how to decode and encode things, you can possess and become and exist in many things. This goes for anything from the weather to eye movements, to changes in emotion, and so on. It also allows you to bypass spatial confines - locality is a globally enforced rule I will talk about in my essays on magic, effectively it is just my word for the underlying law that while everything influences everything it has to be to differing degrees, and what is "local" to you isn't based on spacetime but instead the influence it has on you and you have on it, but locality is yet another manifestation of the same underlying code that can be decoded and inhabited and so on.

Effectively, a god is generally a spirit that has a high connection to reality, who has done the work to spread their "mycelium network" as the Priest put it through reality, effectively wearing reality like a set of clothing, and who is worshiped for this. This connecting can often only be done to this scale when supported by worship, because in order to do this you need a network of supporting energy which often comes best from worship. You cannot simply spread yourself thinly into an entire town, the very concepts of water itself, certain vibrational frequencies, names, times, etc, without having the energy to support your body as it extends, as well as the awareness and practice and so on. It’s also a case where worshipers asserting your position in energies and workings of the world helps in its own way to anchor you in them, decreasing the territorial fight. Nigh on no one challenges me for rule of the oceans at this point.

It's very akin to kingship where yes, the king has unequal power over the masses, but the masses are the ones that give a lot of that power - and just because people give that power, that doesn’t mean that they can easily take back the king’s power once his rule is established. The king has millions in taxes because millions gave him taxes, but, of course, when he has millions in taxes he can fund expeditions to gather more funds from elsewhere and likewise a god is not only sustained by their worshipers. If a practitioner of magic can gather energy and power without worship, so can a god. Archetypal energy fonts are also available to nigh on everyone in existence, meaning gods are also able to tap into them, but archetype tapping is archetype possession which numbs and takes over the personalised individual and, as I said earlier, godhood is seldom a selfless act, very often tied to gaining personal I suppose "ego"-based support and feeding. No point wanting to be a god, being possessed by an archetype to have the energy to do so, and then becoming just another face of that archetype.

It takes practice and action on the part of the god to reroute and assign certain calls to certain parts of himself and levels of his conscious awareness, which is hard to explain. A god is itself even when it is a part of nature, or maybe it’s better to word it that even when a god is inhabiting nature, he is still a person, and there is a need to cultivate an ability to understand which part is being called upon and automatically tie it to a reaction. Just like a mother may be on autopilot as she attends to her kids being rowdy's needs but a bad scream will catch a different more central part of her consciousness, one can relax into godhood and their extended body in reality and easily interact with practitioners without having to show up as their central consciousness. This is also adjacent to what's involved in a god rerouting energy he gains from certain sources to other beings…

The bigger and older you are, the easier it is to make this entire process of being summoned and acting as a medium automatic, or close to it for a number of reasons. First, you need to shut off your curiosity and wariness about new people, very much easier when you have practice and are too big to be heavily negatively affected by anyone who calls you respectively. Second, you're more used to being everywhere anyway and much more aware of what happens when you influence reality, so you don’t need to drag your main consciousness around everywhere you’re being called upon to make sure you're providing the right reaction.

This process of shutting off, however, allows a god to… Well, we’ll put it this way: There’s a reason that to some people Poseidon is a man who appears in person, old and stern, and to others he is an expansive ocean devoid of any recognisable self, and to others he is a mix of both, or something high energy and unrecognisable to practitioners who know his more traditional appearances… Or to others still he is unrecognisable as Poseidon instead being an expansive Day Sky god under a different name, or the physical wind itself, or an ancient primordial archetype, and so on.

The process of not allowing your main conscious body to go around sniffing all new pluckings of its Self-strings allows other parts of you to reply to people, and it also, in line with what I have been saying thus far, means that often when people call to you and you let your energy bodies and the consciousness you’ve threaded through concepts reply, these people will get these energies and these concepts on call instead of your main persona and self.

To wrap up the discussion, let's have a little look at what calling a god looks like to a practitioner and discuss the interplay of that calling with inhabited energies and concepts. I think I've belaboured the rest of the discussion enough, but to make sure it's clear... This isn't really something that I can really illustrate accurately, but let me try.

Take this image below to be a representation of a specific god's entire self at time of calling, spread out as he is into all the workings of reality he's woken up to, all the energies and concepts he embodies, though obviously the picture is missing much more than it shows. The dots are representations of presences of consciousness in its various forms (the type of which is tied to the categories on the left), but they're not dots for a reason other than ease of visualisation - large swathes of colours would blend and create new colours. I want the colours separate. Hence: Dots. It's also worth mentioning that the positions and patterns I'll be showing you are just examples, if you were to map the god's consciousness to colours and dot positions accurately it would be millions of colours changing by the moment and reliant on many factors. It's for simplified visualisation only.

This, above, would be a representation of the entire god as said, but a map of where his consciousness might be if you had the ability to call him as an entire whole being and attract the attention of every part of him in every bit of reality he exists. In this case, his consciousness, threaded through every part of him equally on conscious, subconscious, and unconscious levels would be aware and present. Each colour represents a specific designation of his consciousness to specific parts of reality - or parts that parts of his consciousness naturally inhabit. To explain the short list here:

Conscious Self:

The being, the person, able to be confined to a moving body, the personality… The spirit equivalent to your conscious self, your individual being. This really is a grouping of all masks and personas, but we'll keep it simple. Red is the consciousness designated to being this Conscious Self, that aligns itself with this persona and energy.

Ocean Body:

The part of this definitely arbitrary and made-up god that has tied itself to the depths of the ocean, present in the energy of oceans as a thing that has tied itself to the coding of the Universe that manifests as ocean water and related phenomena. Orange dots represent the consciousness tied to this energy, that will react when the god is invoked as oceanic or the ocean is invoked as this god, the consciousness that threads itself through oceanic energies.

Ruling Energy:

Like the Ocean Body, but a more abstract and internalised concept example to help illustrate that it’s not just spatially-bound things that can be inhabited. This is less a where and more a what, the part of the soul that embodies rulership. This could be engaged by calling upon this imaginary deity as a king, or by calling on him as the ocean as a ruling fortress, or in the general energy of this god when asking for him to do something with authority. Green represents, again, the consciousness of the overall Self assigned to and that resonates with this concept.

Weather Ties:

Like the Ocean Body, again, but this time tied to an action of a thing (like being tied to waves and not the ocean as a whole), to a translation of things from one place to another, the actions of change - preservation, creation, destruction - the energy tied to a place and a concept and a set of actions. Blue is the representation of consciousness tied to this.

Spell-Work Designation:

It's not rare for gods to designate a portion of their energy and self to be called upon when practitioners want to work with nature or the god itself, a low-consciousness set of energies or a mass of energy, however you want to see it, that is submissive and allows itself to be moulded and directed largely by the practitioner. Of course, any energy attached to us can attract the rest of our attention, but when you are a big energy and are used to being called on for every little thing it's easier to just allow part of yourself to be played with so you don't have to be more present. Pink is the colour for the consciousness tied to this.

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Calling upon the Conscious Self - for example using an ocean related name (say, Poseidon) in a mantra to keep yelling at the god until he shows up in person, please don't - would look like this:

There's no part of a self that isn't present in everything else, and every part of the self is tied to other parts of the self. You would be mostly calling their conscious level of consciousness in the persona-based area of Self, but that consciousness would be tied to everything else. In calling the god this way - looking for his conscious persona - you’d likely feel a much bigger personal and relatable presence in that area than, say, feeling the lifeless ocean itself show up at your door, but it depends on if the god answers the call you put out with the energy you want or not.

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If you called, however, to the weather using a name that happens to be tied to him, not even understanding or knowing or caring there is a person connected to said name, what you'd called upon might look more like this:

A completely different energy, a completely different type of consciousness. Keeping in mind that the colour positions are just a possible example and can change moment-to-moment, in this example you'd have a recognisable haze of a self, a presence we'll say, but mostly you would have the experience of a swathe of "being" unlike yours, a presence without a conscious, persona-based mind, primal energies, something recognisable yet entirely wild. Not operating on the same level you are. Maybe you won't even spot the conscious presence and instead will just be greeted with autonomous changes in the weather because again, at these levels, a god of this much experience knows how to shut off and act like the parts of reality he's inhabiting.

You’ll see I included a large amount in the Ruling Energy areas because if you call on a part of nature in any specific way, which, well, why call upon the weather in a neutral way, that will likely drag up the energies of the part of nature as they manifest in certain mindsets and such. For example: Calling a name of mine as a representation of the weather as being the only thing that can alter itself, then you could end up causing the weather to inhabit the sovereign-based parts of the self.

This example is the same god as addressed in the repetitive persona-calling mantra, only you've dug into some part of him that isn't like your conscious mind. A part of nature self-sovereign, likely tapped into archetypal and primordial forces - or very close to them. If he cares to respond how you want him too, that's what you'll get - and you may go your entire life working with him without ever being aware that there is a part of him that can appear human and have a face-to-face conversation with you... Likewise, that which I present here to talk here is just one face of millions and one tiny outreaching reaction to the environment I've been called to teach in now.

Anyway, on that note about the god likely being tapped into the archetypes: Archetypes are in a way are the parts of reality tied centrally to everyone (and therefore no one), or energies that are so widely compatible with consciousnesses and selves, and there ends up being a sort of scale between a god's central persona consciousness, a god's offshoot consciousness in reality, and the archetype of that part of reality. By that I mean that gods generally tie themselves to archetypes as sources of power but remain separate from them to some degree so that they can feed on your energy you offer rather than it going to the archetypes, and in a practical sense for a practitioner that means that it's very easy to go too far into an archetype thinking you're interacting with a deity, and vice versa. Calling on Poseidon as the sea itself tied to your area specifically, if he hasn’t tied himself to it, will likely bring up local spirits to answer your calls who will pretend to be Poseidon - but if you approach calling "Poseidon" in the way that this name is synonymous with archetypal concepts, you may just end up calling the archetype to you under his name. Especially if he has blurred himself with said archetypes, meaning that his names are their names. They very easily mimic real beings and take on appearances that you expect them to take on, just by nature of their non-conscious heightened consciousnesses.

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Now, say you were calling on this god for spell work, something involving oceans, and you may or may not realise you're calling on a god since, as above, a lot of people believe they're calling on gods when they call on archetypes and vice versa:

Since, as I said in the above about what this Spell-Work Designation section is, gods can designate a part of themselves to be used and played with for individual workings, this part tends to not tug too much at the persona of the god. By that I mean the part exists because the god has chosen to sacrifice consciousness in certain areas that can then be used by practitioners. However, it does allow a door (as many doors, including a lack thereof) into other energies and parts of the god to be designated to the spell.

Attracting too much conscious persona attention entirely defeats the purpose of an unconscious part to be worked with, so these parts - though it varies from god to god - may act as conscious persona stand-ins, making decisions based around an autopilot-esque system of sorting and reacting to engagements and requests in a similar way to how one can shut off their brain in work and yet not make many mistakes. It can act as a doorway to call other energies and parts of the self, basically guiding other energies like if the conscious persona mind was awake and deciding how to help practitioners. Really all energies can engage other energies, but generally a more conscious sorting system is more effective in shutting off one energy to allow another to come through, hence creating a non-persona-based sorter self.

This isn't really a common thing, though, this second brain of sorts. Well, it's common, all people have this function but to such a degree as... the imaginary god in this example... would be rare. Mostly it is rare to dole out energetic presences without actually sorting out who and what is addressing you and why, but I've come to not care. Or should I say this example god doesn't care. When you take the role of king you agree to serve all of your people to some degree whether you morally agree with them or not, whether you like their actions or what they do with your resources or not, so gods like this tend to be rather uniquely used to being called for ridiculous things and to make ridiculous decisions to the point where deciding to help or not can be more autonomous than having to consciously dissect and work with each person. A god like this has agreed that many of those who tap into him, that he's agreed to help, can use his body like a sort of conscious extension of reality around them... To a certain degree.

I suppose the natural rhythm of this essay would be to go into how to do this. No. I’m done. Bye.

Just kidding, but that can be addressed when we talk about magic. Instead, have this note I wrote to the Priest as a curiousity and a "what if" as a final note:

"I showed you before before a representation of my outermost energies, which would be heavy and nearly unconscious or "dreaming" tentacles threaded through things I control and resting in and around the Earth. That's not unique to me. I also showed you this in relation to interacting with and directing my energy as a "Priest". Gods get so big that we can't possibly be conscious in all of our body at once, or, well, we can, but then horrific things happen and reality suffers because of it.

When Ahi and I show up full and in control, especially in close proximity where we blur again, or any other big entity in its near-entire body, that begins to cause issues. You may have noticed when you've joined Ahi in the Garden of Stars as you call it that reality doesn't even just bend to Ahi, it is liquefied around him and his aura becomes reality itself, no longer having its full autonomy like a hivemind of rats around the pied piper, and this is because gods blur with reality.

Like Ive been saying: a god inhabits a large energy body through which they will pass intent and conscious programming between themselves and reality, which leads to issues when those wires are kicked into overdrive - and also, mostly, regarding the whole "bad consequences for reality's autonomy"... there's things I can't quite explain to your brain yet, but it's similar. It's about what is inhabited in-between a spirit and reality being engaged and pushed into overdrive, similar to how the more energy a witch picks up and pushes into the energy bodies they create, the higher the impact on reality a spell usually has. Imagine that but to a very conscious extent in an energy body that has been collecting and understanding itself since before this plane's creation.

You've seen it to a certain degree once before, an evening Ahi was circling close to the Earth. Strange rain, liminal skies, liquefied warbled ramblings from electronics, two friends overseas individually talking about how liminal everything was that day, one without any input from you. Ahi is generally found in states of consciousness and self-awareness - a true Shiva - that does not shy away from inherent destruction by force of proximity to his consciousness as it's thread into reality around him. A true gateway to the skies.

But I digress. Overdriven workings aside, extrapolate from reality-crushing intensity when a god is fully conscious of his entire body down to a general awareness level, and you'll start to see what I'm talking about with what a god is."

#NOT GONNA READ THROUGH THIS AGAIN TO CHECK GOD THIS IS GFDJXKBKJBVFD IS LONG THANK YOU LEV #ramblings //#channellings //#divinity //#consciousness //#energy //

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unfortunately-i-exist · 9 months

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This is totally random but for some reason it’s been weighing on me to share my thanks for Rick Riordan, Markiplier, and SHSLBlaze (originally a Danganronpa YouTuber, they do more diverse content now) mostly as well as Danganronpa in general and share the story of why I’m so grateful, because without those things I think I would have spiraled into a much, much worse mental state in the 8th grade.

At that point in my life, it was nearly the end of the school year, and I was questioning my sexual identity. As I learned that more and more of the people I had grown to care for over the years came to terms with their own sexualities and shared them with me, I decided to learn more and more about the LGBTQ community. I live in a very conservative Christian household, and I myself am definitely Christian, but I do not agree with my mom’s beliefs on homosexuality and the LGBTQ as a whole. My mom is a firm believer in “love the sinner, hate the sin”. (She has said to me multiple times “I’m friends with gay people!” And she doesn’t actively persecute them, but still. She talks bad about LGBTQ as a whole.)

As I was questioning myself, and unlearning my internalized homophobia (I was perfectly fine with others being LGBTQ but I felt that it would be taboo to be it myself), I had a conversation with a trusted lesbian friend of mine who was out. For the past two years since then, I have I believed that a teacher and close family friend of mine was the one who overheard and told my mom that I was talking about potentially being LGBTQ. I only recently found out that she did not, and instead there were rumors going around that I was Bi (I was questioning if I was, I now identify as Aroace [but I still adore the idea of romance and smut]). Another student’s mother told my mom about these rumors. Instead of coming to me gently and asking me about it, my mom took me aside in the car one day at my older brothers’ tennis match with my stepdad and proceeded to yell—maybe not yell, but in my house, a raised voice is yelling—at me to convince me that I wasn’t. Eventually I just relented and agreed that I wasn’t gay. (Her main point was the sexual attraction to girls part, which legitimately made me uncomfortable to think about, but when I actually thought about doing it with someone with male genitals I was also uncomfortable with the idea.) The next day, she made me text my two closest friends, who I was already starting to drift away from as my personality began to change and I began to have stronger hyperfixations on certain things, and break ties with them because they were both LGBTQ. After that, it was the same story with most of my friends. I was almost alone going in to high school.

I was already well into the Percy Jackson fandom and I’m pretty sure I had read all the way through Trials of Apollo by that point.

I had had some points of depression before, but a change began after those few days. I started searching and looking for any kind of escape from the world where I didn’t feel so alone. I wasn’t actually allowed to watch YouTube, but I needed some way to escape. I had heard of Markiplier and I knew he was famous, so I started checking out his content, and his demeanor and his love for his fans and content kept me from thinking too dark in those days. I was also searching for danganronpa content because I wanted to get to know that series because I had seen the anime and one youtuber’s playthrough of the games, but I needed to fill the void of content, and somehow I stumbled across one of SHSLBlaze’s Fangan reactions. I watched, and I was hooked. They were funny, and they always had this air of excitement around them. They made me smile when it felt too hard to do so.

So I wanted to thank these creators, even if they never see this, because I honestly might have been driven too far back then without them.

There are a million more things I feel like I want to say, but I’ll leave it at this:

Thank you. Thank you to the creators who didn’t know it, but kept a kid alive.

#rick riordan #markiplier #shslblaze #deep talks #mental health #childhood trauma #thank you

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menagerie-of-monsters · 2 years

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Find the Word Tag

Thanks @lynnedwardswrites for the tag! I'll leave an open tag for peeps since I'm feeling particularly lazy today~

My words were: combination, employer, error, mom, intention

Your words can be: photo, pain, edge, mark, noise

Snippets below the cut!

Combination

From The Changeling and the Dragon, which is Book 2 in Echoes of the Void, slated for publication July 2023. This scene is from Qavan's POV, and naudin is a shameless copy of buck euchre.

"So you… count?" Sersha asked Esva. The dragon nodded vigorously while I leaned forward on my knees. "All the different ways you can get points! If you miss some, we can take them as forfeits, which means you have to do something silly we tell you afterwards." "I have to do what you tell me already," Sersha said, with what sounded like great amusement. "So that does not seem like much of a forfeit." "Since Sersha doesn't know how to play yet, let's only count forfeits, yes?" I said, smiling at Esva. "We want her to actually enjoy naudin." "A kindness, surely," Sersha murmured, as she examined the sheet of paper that held the various card combinations and their scores.

Employer

I don't have this one - too modern of a word, I suppose... I had to dig deep to even find a near-match. This pulled from Sacrificed to the Goddess, the first in my draft reverse harem monster romance. Who knows when this'll ever see the light of day!!

He squeezed my hands. "Will you write to me? My battalion leaves in a week for the Eighth Sword, and I want to hear all about your adventures while I'm on the next tour. Well," he added, looking thoughtful. "Perhaps not all of them. Spare your father from the details of your bedroom, please." Laughter burst out of me, startled into flight from the joy heating my chest. "I won't give you any sordid details," I assured him, an irrepressible smile starting to spread across my face. "But could I… I mean, would you like to meet Arellath? My--my lover." "That handsome daemon hetaira you've had by your side this past month?" I nodded, feeling shy. I'd never been in a position to introduce a man to my father before, and Arellath was everything he would have frowned on before: non-human, promiscuous, and without honorable employment. I'd always agreed with such assessments, wanting children, loyalty, and security, but my life was so much different now. The things I needed from a partner had changed the moment the imperial haruspex had chosen me as the Incarnation.

Error

Legitimately couldn't find this one :(

Mom

I used "mom" in Captured by the Fae Beast but that's published, so here's another near-miss from the sequel coming out in April, In the Claws of the Raven Prince.

"I haven't made a study of it, but I know it happens from time to time. All the soulmate pairings I know of are fae and fae, though, save for you, and I really only know one pair personally. They're in a harmonized familial relationship, mother and daughter." Ulahana gave me another very sharp smile. "Given the circumstances, I doubt that's where you'll land." That made me laugh out loud, enough that I got a couple glances in our direction. "Oh?" I asked, trying and failing to sound innocently curious. "You don't think the Chimera wants me to be his Momma?" Ulahana snickered, her eyes dancing with amusement. "He's young, but I suspect it's in the way of a young buck and not a fawn," she said. "His actions in the past few years have been quite… aggressive. Nobody thought much of the youngest Raven Prince until he turned himself into a chimera, built the Furies, and started turning the tide of the war." I choked on my whiskey, sputtering at that. "The Raven Prince?!"

Intention

A fun one, from The Serpent's Bride, the first half of a duology I'm dabbling at. I love Talazen.

My serpent husband barked out a harsh laugh. "Do you honestly think I eat breakfast?" "If you have any intention of claiming your position, you'll pretend to it," I said, eyeing him. "Even if you swallow waterbuck whole before sleeping for days, people are inclined to cling to the familiar. The less strange you behave, the easier it will be." Talazen moved again, sudden and as swift as a striking viper. Before I could so much as jerk away, he loomed over me, gripping me by the chin and staring down into my face with all the anger of the night before twisting his face again, his void-black eyes fierce. "Do you think I care about easy, princssessss?" he said, hissing so much on the last word that I could barely make it out. His breath smelled oddly of spices, like the desert breeze sweeping through the markets. "I never intended to become a prince."

#tag game #find the word game #the changeling and the dragon #echoes of the void #sacrificed to the goddess #the incarnation of veskaia #in the claws of the raven prince #monsters of faery #the serpent's bride #the blue kingdom #snipperdoodle

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sallow-graves · 2 years

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The Prettiest Star

Chapter 2- though it might as well be

CW: mention of child abuse, PTSD

As the moon passes, the beast retreats.

It’s never truly gone, always lingering in his soul and jumping out amidst bursts of anger or passion, but it grows dim with time. Remus keeps himself locked behind the curtains of his four poster till the next day, and decides to just skip classes then, too. If he gets detention, so be it. He could care less.

With everything sorted, and Snape’s surprisingly kind promise to keep his secret, Remus has had no distraction from the crippling reality of Sirius’ betrayal.

It aches, hollowing out his flesh until he is nothing but a husk. Empty, useless, clinging to his sheets desperately as though he’s nothing else to live for.

Days pass, possibly. Remus isn’t actually sure.

He can hear his roommates come in and out, but they don’t dare disturb the safety net of his bed, leaving the curtains unrustled and their voices low. Remus can hear Peter chat about school, about Quidditch. His guesses for next year’s Head Boy and Girl.

Remus can tell Peter is trying desperately to fill the void of silence, gauged by the cavernous rift torn between James and Sirius. He was actually surprised James cared so much, when Sirius appears to care so little. Without leaving the bed, he can’t really tell if they’ve had a chance to speak yet, separately, though, if Remus were to take a guess, he could assume why James stays quiet.

He will be mad until Remus isn’t. It’s flattering, in a way, but still painful. Remus doesn’t even want to trust him anymore, either.

Vaguely, Remus wonders if James feels the same way. If his anger towards Sirius is legitimately because of the betrayal, and not just picking sides. Maybe he’s upset in his own right.

It is late in the evening when Remus hears him speak at a normal volume. He knows it’s late from the lack of light shining past his curtains.

“You’ve got my Transfiguration textbook, again.” James’ voice is just above a whisper. “Can I have it back?”

“Yeah.” Sirius.

Remus’ heart aches at the sound of it, not wanting to be present if he speaks another word. So, he tries to slip away as delicately as possible, not surprised when the wooden floors creak beneath his bare feet. The others hush in an instant, so Remus quickly moves to the door, making his way to the common room well past curfew.

He plops onto one of the plush couches, curling his feet up underneath him. After lighting a few candles with the wave of his wand, he lays his head back onto the cushions, breathing in the air.

Just hearing Sirius speak was already too much for him, which Remus thinks does not bode well for the state of his time left here. He’s already set on leaving, once he’s in a good enough headspace to talk to Dumbledore again. But, if there’s really no chance of rekindling their fire, there’s genuinely no reason for Remus to stay.

Maybe for James, he would consider it. But he knows that James would be much better off without a monster like Remus in his life.

He used to think Sirius would be better off, too, despite everything.

That’s what aches the most about this. Remus truly laid himself bare. He let Sirius in, further than the others, trusting the pureblood with deep seeded fears, unrealistic aspirations. Descriptive, tear-filled recounts of torture sobbed openly into Sirius’ shoulder.

The memory of his delicate hands against jagged scars, and the warm press of his lips gives Remus a migraine.

Even Sirius, someone so cocky and proud, had been open about so much. He trusted Remus with so much. His transition, surviving curses, mumbled, frantic apologies in a bout of lapsed stress. The twisted vines of his family’s horrors slipping through the cracks and swallowing him whole, forcing him to forget the safety of Remus’ arms and the love anchored between them.

Remus was so certain before, that through everything, Sirius would be there. After every fight, after every full moon, after every putrid, ugly, horrifying truth.

And yet, when he woke from the most recent moon, Sirius wasn’t there. And he had used Remus’ most vulnerable secret as some joke.

In truth, Remus isn’t sure what hurts worse: if Sirius did it intentionally to harm Remus, too, or if he, in his arrogance, forgot to consider how his actions would make Remus feel. On one hand, being betrayed intentionally seems like the terrible option. But, on the other, completely forgetting about someone he claims to love?

Remus shivers. Then, wipes tears from his eyes.

He truly does not give a shit that Snape knows he is a werewolf. Remus has known of everyone’s hatred, muggle and wizard alike, and always knew that it was only a matter of time before the world hated him, too. Snape could run his mouth, tell the whole school, ruin Remus’ chance of getting a job and having a normal life for good.

And that doesn’t compare to losing Sirius.

But Remus doesn’t know how to forgive him.

A part of him knows that he should. He should accept that it was a joke, and move on. But the ache is all-consuming, even by himself, days later. It does not go away.

Eventually, he gives up on crying and goes back to bed. In the morning, he dresses for class.

Walking into the dining hall for breakfast is painfully awkward. The rush of students quiets, dozens of eyes landing on him as he enters. He intentionally doesn’t look for any of his roommates, though he knows he’ll surely spot them soon.

After nearly six full years of spending every possible meal sitting by them, Remus looks for Lily Evans, and sinks to sit beside her.

Her circle of girl friends are astonished, but Lily beams, practically buzzing with excitement. She is soft around her edges, short and chubby-cheeked, green eyes lighting up as she holds Remus’ gaze. Every inch of her pale skin is covered in dark red and orange freckles, her auburn hair cascading over each shoulder, delicately framing her Gryffindor Prefect badge.

The badge matches Remus’, pinned to the left side of his robes.

“Hi!” She says, the second he reaches for a glass as it appears before him.

Remus glances at her. “Hi.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Alright.” Remus says. He avoids saying better, in case she can tell he is lying.

“Great!” Lily passes him a plate of sausage. “You’ve missed some mental drama.”

“Oh?” Remus chuckles. “Do tell.”

Apparently, missing a prefect meeting was not a good idea on Remus’ part. He’s grateful Lily relays the information to him, though he struggles to follow along with her bubbly excitement.

Lily, like Remus’ other roommates, is a very good friend of his. Sure, he doubts he’ll ever make the mistake of trusting someone the way he trusted Sirius again, but Lily is kind, and funny. Especially after what happened with Snape and James the previous year, they had bonded over the shared awkwardness within their separate circles of friends, and just clicked.

Her other friends keep up a conversation without them, which Remus doesn’t mind. He likes talking to Lily.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Snape, glaring from the Slytherin table. Vaguely, Remus wonders if he’ll tell Lily the truth, despite his promise not to.

The thought dampens his mood a bit, so he lets Lily do the talking, focusing on her fingers brushing through her red curls.

“So,” Lily says eventually, leaning on her elbow. She drops her voice to a whisper. “What’s going on with the Marauders lately? You’re all acting like you hate each other.” Remus’ smile falls immediately, so she backtracks. “I mean- not that I want to pry, or anything, or gossip, I’m just surprised. I mean, I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Maybe later.” Remus says, glancing past her shoulder at the others. They sit together, but don’t speak. Sirius barely eats.

He looks up from his empty plate, blue eyes meeting green.

Remus looks away, quickly. “Yeah, later.” He repeats. “Maybe I’ll get your advice on it.”

Lily grins. The rest of breakfast is quiet.

The school day goes fine. It is Tuesday, which Remus found shocking, but he follows Lily through the foggy morning to the courtyard, then out to the greenhouses. She chatters, as usual, her smile wide and her tone light. She fills Remus in on everything, practically, the rumors he’s missed, the classes he skipped.

Remus’ heart practically skips a beat when she tells him she’s jotted down the homework for him to catch up on. Lines for Ancient Runes, and a long list of research for Potions.

Hearing Lily serves as a very good distraction from the way Remus has been feeling. He’s very grateful to call her a friend, wary as he may be to trust anyone right now. He can definitely tell she is trying to fill the space on his behalf, so he tries to seem more invested and in a better mood so she’ll stop worrying.

But, it is quite nice to listen to her. She tells him in such depth about a duel she watched between fourth years over the weekend, that Professor Sprout has to hover over their garden box and monitor them. Lily promises to be quiet, and zips a mimed zipper over her plump lips, only to unzip them and giggle the second Sprout’s back is turned.

Remus is elbow deep in the soil, digging for an escaped mole when Lily’s laughter stops, drawing his attention. He glances at her from his hunched place in the dirt, her own robes discarded and the sleeves of her button down shoved all the way up to her biceps. There is dirt on her nose, and up both arms, but she stares ahead, watching someone approach.

Slowly, Remus follows her line of sight.

Sirius stops a few inches from the front of their garden box, his own attire free of dirt and mess. His skin is pale, of course, the open buttons on his shirt showing the small, black, tattoo of a constellation on his chest, the stars twinkling as bright as ever. Even his hair, despite the grunt, brutish nature of the lesson, is perfectly curled and hanging loosely over his shoulders.

He hesitates before he speaks. Agitated, Remus returns to his digging.

“Hey.” Sirius says, clearing his throat a little. “Hard work, finding these things, huh?”

Remus doesn’t answer, but Lily stands from her hunched position, placing muddy hands on the small of her back to crack it amidst a stretch. “Yeah. You got Potter clearing yours, then?”

“Mm.” Sirius nods, and Remus glances back at James and Peter, at two boxes at the back of the greenhouse. James pulls a mole from the dirt with a triumphant pump of his muddy fist, and Peter jumps up to congratulate him, mud coating his entire face and the front of his uniform. Sirius holds out his hand for Lily to see. “She wants us to catch bloody moles- with these nails? She’s mental.”

Still not finding the mole, Remus huffs, really jamming his hand down into the box after it. Lily, sweet, wonderful Lily, catches on to his cold shoulder, diving back into the box herself. “Well, not everyone can get off that easily, Black, so let us get on with it.”

Inwardly, Remus makes a note to thank her. Covering for him is definitely enough for him to want to fill her in on everything that’s happened, sparing some lycanthropic details, of course.

“Right.” Sirius says, straightening. “Um,”

He pauses, drumming his fingers on the wooden edge of the box.

“Remus.”

His tone is very blunt, but Remus does not look up at him.

“It’s good to see you. Can we talk after this? Before Charms?”

It is dreadfully quiet. Remus has almost trapped the mole, he can feel its slick fur wriggling beneath the dirt.

“It’s just…” Sirius sighs, lowering his voice and leaning in, away from Lily. “I miss you? We need to talk about it, sometime.”

Finally, Remus wraps his fingers around the mole, gripping it delicately in his fist and pulling it free from the box. The mud drips onto his shoes, but Lily applauds him politely, seemingly forgetting there’s a few more moles to find.

“I’m busy then.” Remus says, not looking to Sirius as he brushes mud and dirt from the mole’s tiny back, before setting it gently in the tub beneath the raised box, filled with treats and low lights for the moles to be comfortable.

“Oh.” Sirius doesn’t leave. “Maybe later tonight, then?” He asks, flinching away when Remus begins digging through the dirt again.

Remus is fully prepared to ignore him, really not ready to talk about it, yet, when Lily gasps, smacking a muddy hand to her forehead and leaving a stain. “Can’t! Oh Remus, I’m sorry for forgetting, we’re signed on for patrol tonight!” She turns to Sirius, apologetic. “Sorry, Black. We can’t miss it.”

“Yeah.” Remus agrees, knowing full well that patrol is voluntary . “Can’t miss it.”

Sirius lingers a bit, but retreats when Lily finds the second mole. Remus stoops to help her get it comfortably inside the tub.

“Thanks.” He mumbles.

“Sure.” Lily grins, devious. “But you have to tell me everything, now.”

Remus chuckles, just a little, quiet enough so no one hears. “I will, I promise.”

Talking about it out loud is quite difficult, but Lily is patient with him, sitting together in the library on one of the plush couches. She sits with her flats kicked off, stocking covered legs tucked neatly to the side of her, while Remus lounges on her right, limbs outstretched and his head braced against the cushions.

He is careful to keep the full moon from his tongue, though it surely leaves a few holes from his story. As far as Lily needs to know, Remus has a secret that he trusted Sirius with, that Sirius told Snape as a joke and now they have docked points and several detentions.

“So.” Lily says, nodding. Her wand is tucked behind her ear, her hands nursing a cup of tea. “He betrayed your trust.”

Remus nods, too. “Yeah.”

“That’s shitty.” Lily furrows her brow. “You’re a very reserved person, I can’t imagine why he would need to gossip about you that way.”

It’s not completely that, but Remus nods again anyway. She gets the gist of it.

“I’d be upset with him, too.” She says, sipping at her tea. “But, I have to tell you something. As your friend.”

“Please.” Remus waves his hand, vaguely. “Any advice of yours is definitely welcome.”

Lily leans to her left, setting the teacup on the table beside her. She gets up onto her knees, turning fully to face Remus and take his hands, though he stays with his head slumped on the couch.

“Who gives a single fuck what Snape thinks?”

Remus snorts. “I don’t.”

“Mm.” Lily frowns. “Severus Snape is a snot-nosed bigot, and it took me a long time to realize that, but he is possibly the worst person currently alive. Not the worst wizard, not the worst pureblood, the worst person.”

“Yeah, agreed.”

“Remus,” Lily squeezes his hands. “If Snape is the only person he told, if that’s the only opinion you have to worry about, it might be worth at least hearing Sirius out. If he truly meant something malicious, he would’ve told someone smarter, or someone more popular.”

Of course, Remus realizes that's the downside to keeping the lycanthropy a secret. Lily can’t understand the gravity of Sirius' betrayal because he can’t tell her that Sirius’ betrayal could’ve killed the poor kid. Remus almost killed him.

“It might be more complicated than that.” He says. “It just… hurts that Sirius would tell anyone at all.”

Lily nods, still keeping his hands in her own. “You don’t have to tell me what that is, but if it’s that important to you, he can’t have just done that on a whim. I think that talking to him, getting the full story, would help you a lot. Even if you don’t forgive him, at least you’ll know why he did it.”

Remus sighs, knowing she is probably right.

“I miss him.” He says quietly. “I just don’t know how or… if I’ll be able to get over this. I gave everything to him, every part of myself, even my deepest, darkest secret, and now it feels like all of that is gone. I’m worried that even if we talk, if I try to see things from his perspective, if I forgive him, there will always be a little nagging feeling about it. That even if we’re friends again, I won’t be able to forget this, and I won’t be able to like him the same way I did ever again.”

Lily doesn’t have an answer for this, but she rubs the back of his hands with her thumbs. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“You’ve no reason to be.” She says, smiling softly. “I can’t tell you for sure if it will go away completely, or even if it will get better. But if you don’t talk to him, and if you don’t try to understand him, you’ll just feel angry forever. For the rest of your life. If you’re so close with him, don’t you want to just… try to mend things?”

Remus blinks at her, dwelling on her words. He swallows them, trying to commit them to memory.

He is very grateful for her friendship indeed.

They talk a bit more, and it’s actually quite helpful. For the first time in days, Remus doesn’t feel so angry. Maybe he could talk to Sirius.

Maybe that would help.

When he climbs the stairs to their dorm, late at night, he runs his hand along the wallpaper, feeling the smoothness with the pads of his fingers. It is grounding, reminding him of the years he climbed the tower with his mates, Sirius always by his side.

In the dorm, Peter is sleeping, snoring loudly with his curtains open while Sirius and James speak quietly to each other on Sirius’ bed. The sight is jarring, considering the way things have been between all three of them, but they quiet instantly when they spot Remus.

He’s ready to collapse into his own bed, robes already gathered in his arms when James points at it. “Someone left that for you, by the way. We haven’t opened it.”

Confused, Remus walks to the end of his four poster, eyeing the little crate set atop his trunk. He sets down his robes and his wand, kicking off his shoes and reaching for the crate, curious.

It is wooden, with metal latches on the back, with a note on top that reads, very plainly: Lupin.

He opens the lid, steadily, surprised when the crate is filled with twelve separate compartments, each holding a shimmering vial of an unmarked potion. The contents of each glass bottle are blue, swirling a pale lilac mist through the center.

Slowly, he holds up one of the bottles for his roommates to see, and flips over the card with his name on it.

On the backside, in the same tiny scrawl, is a message. Short, simple, and horrendously threatening.

This brew is not poisonous.

#harry potter #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #peter pettigrew #severus snape #lily evans #marauders #marauders era

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the-desolated-quill · 4 years

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WandaVision: ‘Subverting’ Good Television - Quill’s Scribbles

(Spoilers for the first five episodes)

Hey everyone! Well... it’s been a while, hasn’t it? The last time I wrote a proper review or Scribble, people still thought the COVID crisis would be over within a month. The poor saps. But I thought that as a special way to mark this year’s Valentines Day, we could take a closer look at the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s shittiest power couple in their new Disney+ show WandaVision.

The first of many MCU spin-off shows that nobody asked for, broadcast exclusively on Disney’s totally unnecessary streaming platform, WandaVision is about everybody’s favourite whitewashed Nazi experiment and her red sexbot boyfriend as they try to fit into a suburban sitcom neighbourhood without arousing suspicion.

Yes, you read that correctly. The MCU has a sitcom now. My life is now complete.

Sarcasm aside, I was legitimately curious about WandaVision because of its unusual setting. And considering one of my most common criticisms of the MCU is its total lack of creativity, anything that’s even a little bit subversive is bound to attract my attention. Of course ‘subversive’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘good.’ I could hand you a canvas smeared with my own shit and call it subversive. That doesn’t necessarily make it good art. And that’s exactly what WandaVision is. A canvas smeared with shit.

So lets split this critical analysis/review/angry bitter rant into two distinct chapters. The first focusing on the plot and setting, and the second focusing on the characters. Okay? Okay.

Chapter 1: Bewitched

Critics seem to be utterly enamoured with the whole sitcom gimmick, and it is a gimmick. As far as I can tell from the episodes I’ve seen, the sitcom setting serves no real purpose whatsoever other than to make the show ‘quirky.’ Which I wouldn’t mind, believe it or not, if the show was actually funny. There’s just one problem. It’s not.

Now in some ways describing why a sitcom doesn’t work is often futile because comedy is largely subjective. What I find funny, you won’t necessarily find funny and vice versa. With WandaVision, however, I won’t have that problem. I can demonstrate to you precisely why WandaVision, objectively, isn’t funny. And it all comes down to one simple thing. The stakes. Or rather the complete and total absence of stakes.

The show makes it very clear from the beginning that none of what we’re seeing is real. The cheesy theme song, the era appropriate special effects (mostly. It’s actually very inconsistent), the joke commercials, and, in the case of the first two episodes, which are in black and white, the appearance of red lights and objects in Scarlet Witch’s general vicinity. (Gee, what a mystery this is).

Basically Wanda has brought Vision back from the dead and created this sitcom world for them to inhabit. I’ll explain the stupidity of this in Chapter 2. The point is none of this is real, and that has a negative effect on the comedy because the very nature of comedy is suffering. Take the plot of the first episode. Wanda and Vision have to prepare a dinner to impress Vision’s boss. If they fail, Vision could lose his job and the couple could be exposed as superheroes. If this were a normal sitcom, it would work. The stakes are clear and it would be satisfying to see the two struggle and overcome the odds. But here, we know it’s not real. If it’s not real, it means there’s no stakes. If there’s no stakes, it means there’s no suffering. If there’s no suffering, there’s no comedy.

It would be one thing if the unfunny sitcom stuff lasted for like the first ten minutes or so before making way for the actual plot, but it doesn’t. Oh no. It doesn’t even last for the first episode. Out of the five episodes I’ve watched, four of them are almost entirely about these unfunny, objectively flawed sitcom homages, each set in a different time period. The fifties, the sixties, and so on. And what’s worse is that nothing that happens in them is plot-relevant. That gets relegated to the last five minutes of an episode. So you’re forced to sit through twenty five minutes of boring slapstick and puns in order to catch even a whiff of actual story. Which begs the question... who is this for exactly? It can’t be entertaining to Marvel fans, who have to slog through all this pointless shit so they can figure out what the fuck is going on. Comedy fans may get a kick out of the sitcom pastiche at first, but after four episodes, surely the joke would wear thin. So why is it in here? Clearly someone in the writer’s room absolutely fell in love with the idea of doing a Marvel sitcom, but nobody put in any time or effort to figure out how it would work in context.

I cannot stress enough how bad the plotting of this series is. As I said, the vast majority of a thirty minute episode is about shitty sitcom plots that aren’t funny and don’t have any impact on the story, only to then tease you with a crumb of actual plot in order to keep you coming back for the next instalment. Admittedly it’s an effective strategy. I was more than ready to quit after Episode 2 until that beekeeper showed up out of the sewer (don’t ask. It’s not important). WandaVision essentially follows the Steven Moffat school of bad writing. String your audience along with the promise that things might get more interesting later on and that all the bullshit that came before will retroactively make sense by the end. Except, as demonstrated with BBC’s Sherlock, that doesn’t work. And even if it did, it wouldn’t justify wasting the audience’s fucking time. And that’s what the majority of WandaVision is. A waste of time.

The only episode that doesn’t follow the sitcom format is the fourth episode. Instead it basically exists to explain all the shit that happened before. The shit that the audience, frankly, are smart enough to figure out for themselves. Wanda created the sitcom world as a way of coping with the loss of Vision, blah, blah, blah. Yeah, we got it. Thanks. It doesn’t advance the plot or anything. It’s just a massive info-dump. But by far the lowest point was when Darcy (by far the most annoying character in the first Thor film and is just as obnoxious here) was sat in front of the TV, watching the sitcom and asking the same questions we were. Not even attempting to look for answers. Just reiterating what the audience is thinking. Like this is an episode of fucking Gogglebox.

In the end it becomes apparent why the series is structured the way that it is. It’s to hoodwink people into subscribing to Disney’s stupid streaming service. If you think about it, there was no reason for WandaVision to be a TV series other than to lure gullible fans in with a piece-meal story buried in a mountain of crap. This isn’t a TV show. It’s what is cynically known in the world of big business executives as ‘content.’ They’re not interested in entertaining the audience. Instead they crave ‘engagement’, which isn’t the same thing. Watching WandaVision is like staring into the void, waiting for something to happen, while Disney charge you for the privilege.

Chapter 2: I Love Lucy

So the plot sucks balls. What about the characters? Surely if Wanda and Vision are likeable at least, it’ll give us something to cling onto.

Well as I was watching the first episode, it suddenly hit me that I couldn’t remember anything that happened to them in previous films. I knew Vision died, but other than that, I couldn’t tell you significant plot details or their personalities or anything. Not a great start.

See, up until now, Vision and Scarlet Witch have been little more than background characters. So already there’s an uphill struggle to get us invested in their relationship, especially considering we haven’t actually seen that relationship develop. In Avengers: Age Of Ultron, Scarlet Witch is killing people because she’s pissed off about Tony Stark killing people (you work that one out) until all of a sudden she stops and joins the good guys because the script said so. Vision meanwhile is introduced as a convenient deus ex machina to beat Ultron and gets no real personality other than he’s a robot. Captain America: Civil War comes the closest to giving Wanda a story and personality of her own as it’s her actions that cause the Sokovia Accords to come into effect, but she never gets any real growth or payoff as the film is heavily focused on Cap and Iron Man’s penis measuring contest. And as for Vision, all he does in the film is accidentally cripple War Machine. No real character or arc there as such. And then we have Avengers: Infinity War, where Wanda and Vision are now sporadically in love and on the run until that pesky Josh Brolin, looking like a CGI cross between Joss Whedon and a grumpy grape, comes along and rips out Vision’s Infinity Stone to power up his golden glove of doom, and the film treats this like a tragic moment, except... it isn’t. Because we haven’t really had the time to properly get to know these characters and see their romance blossom. So instead it just comes off as hollow and forced.

WandaVision has the exact same problem. Apparently Wanda was so distraught about Vision’s death that she broke into a SWORD base, stole his corpse, brought it back from the dead... somehow, and then enslaved an entire town of people to create an idyllic lifestyle for her and her hubby while broadcasting it as a sitcom to the outside world... for some reason. Putting aside the dubious morality of it all, it’s impossible to really sympathise with Wanda or her supposed grief because we’ve barely spent any time with her. Had the Marvel movies taken the time to properly explore the characters and show us their relationship grow and develop, this might have had more emotional resonance. But no, it just happens. In one film they barely speak to each other and in the next they’re a couple. No effort to explore how they feel about each other or any of the problems that may arise trying to date a robot. It just happens and we’re just supposed to care. Well I’m sorry, but I don’t care. You’re going to have to try a little bit harder than that I’m afraid. What’s worse is that, thanks to the whole fake sitcom thing, it’s impossible to really become invested in Wanda and her plight because the show has to constantly keep us at arms length at all times in order to keep up the pretence that this bullshit is somehow mysterious.

Looking through the WandaVision tag, it amuses me how many people say that she’s acting out of character. And yeah, her actions are a bit of a head scratcher. Why would an Eastern European’s ideal life be an American sitcom? Why a sitcom? Why kidnap an entire town? Why keep changing the decade? None of it makes sense, but you’re wrong for thinking that Wanda is behaving out of character for the simple reason that Wanda has never actually had a character. In fact, ironically, Wanda mind controlling an entire town and forcing them to do her bidding is probably the one consistent thing about her as she did this in Age Of Ultron. In interviews, Elizabeth Olsen and Paul Bettany described how they used actors like Elizabeth Montgomery and Dick Van Dyke as influences, which is really funny because they’re straight up admitting they don’t have characters and even now they’re still not playing the characters, instead emulating the work of far better actors.

As I was watching the show, it became abundantly clear that not only do Marvel not have the faintest idea what they wanted to do with these characters, but they also straight up don’t give a shit about these characters. Wanda in particular has had a rough time under the tyrannical regime of the House of Mouse. First they cast Elizabeth Olsen, a white woman, to play a Romani character, then systematically erasing her Jewish roots, even going so far as to put a cross in her bedroom in Civil War, and now the character is being butchered even more by forcing her into an American sitcom housewife role that she apparently willingly chose for herself, which is laughable. I mean say what you like about Magneto in the X-Men films, at least they actually depicted his Jewish culture. At least they recognised his Jewish background was important (though not important enough to cast a Jewish actor apparently). Wanda’s steady cultural erasure over the years is incredibly insidious and judging by Olsen’s comments in interviews, where she called Wanda’s comic book outfit a quote ‘gypsy thing’ unquote, it seems nobody has an ounce of fucking respect for the character or the culture she’s supposed to be representing. (and to all those kissing her arse saying it was a slip of the tongue, she has been repeatedly called out for using the slur in the past, so at this point I’d describe her behaviour as wilful ignorance)

If you want further proof of how much Marvel doesn’t seem to care about Wanda, look no further than her brother Pietro, aka Quicksilver. At the end of Episode 5, Wanda brings Pietro back from the dead, except it’s not Pietro. It’s Peter Maximoff, the Quicksilver from the X-Men films played by Peter Evans, who coincidentally is not Jewish or Romani either. So Quicksilver has the dubious honour of not only being whitewashed three times, but also twice within the same franchise. But should we really be surprised at this point? It’s Marvel after all. The same company that whitewashed the Ancient One in Doctor Yellowface and claimed it wasn’t racist because Tilda Swinton is ‘Celtic’. But now I’m going off topic. My point is that this isn’t a simple case of recasting an actor like Mark Ruffalo replacing Edward Norton as the Hulk. WandaVision actually acknowledges the recast in-universe, which makes no sense. Why would Wanda bring back her brother, only to make him look like a different person? We the audience may be familiar with this version of Quicksilver, but she isn’t. That would be like me bringing my Grandad back to life and making him look like Ian McKellen. He’d be perfectly charming, I’m sure, but he wouldn’t be my Grandad.

If Marvel really cared about the characters or narrative consistency, they would have brought Aaron Taylor Johnson back. Instead, now they have absorbed 20th Century Fox into the hellish Disney abyss, they use X-Men’s Quicksilver as a means to keep viewers from switching off and so that people will write stupid articles and think pieces about whether the rest of the X-Men will show up in the MCU. It’s like dangling your keys in front of a toddler’s face to distract them from the rotting corpse of a raccoon lying face down in the corner of the room.

And it’s here where I decided to stop watching the show because fuck Disney.

Epilogue: One Foot In The Grave

You know, I am sick and tired of the so called ‘professional’ critics bending over backwards to praise these god awful films and shows when it’s so clear to anyone with a functioning brain cell how bad they truly are. WandaVision is without a doubt one of the most cynically produced and poorly structured TV shows I’ve ever seen. Its riffs on classic sitcoms are pointless and self-indulgent, the writing is terrible, the characters are unlikable and unsympathetic, and it’s entirely emblematic of what the entire MCU has become of late. And it’s only going to get worse as Disney drowns us with more ‘content’ to keep the plebs ‘engaged’. In short; pathetic.

#anti wandavision #anti marvel #anti mcu #anti disney #quill's scribbles

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elitespacefreak · 3 years

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Where The Heck Have I Been?

Hello my good bitches! I said something about making this post forever ago lmao but I was waiting on this LOVELY ART BY @izzydrawsforfun of myself and a friend of mine that I have made! Well, technically we were always friends, I just didn’t know that until recently, but I’ll get to that in a minute.

Firstly, my tumblr presence has been minimal because I sometimes go through these phases of hyperfixating on other things not on the internet. But for the past two months or so I’ve been having a lot of irl enigmatic and high strangeness experiences.

I made a post or two a few years ago about a strange “alien abduction” experience I had, which may be lost to the void now because the search function on this website is broken. But to make a long story short, that one experience turned into an ongoing interaction between myself and this entity that’s been semi regular for the past 4 years or so. I’ve had some vague memories of being taken and brought back without knowing what happened during, I’ve had an intense telepathic experience, a few astral memories where this entity and myself were in the same room together, a couple dreams where I saw him, and one really profound hypnagogic experience where we were sitting face to face in close quarters and I felt actual physical contact.

So now that I’ve moved through this vague fear of this being and am now actively trying to build (or rebuild?) this relationship, I’m finding myself on social media less and less. I don’t post to most of my other accounts anymore, some I’ve completely deleted, and other than tumblr I’ve been a bit of a ghost everywhere else. He takes a lot of energy out of me lol, so I’m having to be more careful about how and where I spend my energy, which is a good practice in mindfulness anyway. But while you all know me as the resident fandom alien fucker, I also have legitimate real life experiences with extraterrestrials — which has even started to inform the way I write Shape of Stardust. If anyone cared to know what Joon looks like it’s that (^^^ but like rail thin and less soft looking lol).

Hopefully in the near future I’ll be working somewhere that allows me to use these experiences to help others, and I’m incredibly excited about the potential opportunity. I won’t give much away because I don’t want to jinx it or anything, and it’s not a large company so I’d be easy to find and I don’t want that to be public information anyway. But the application process is more involved than I’ve ever dealt with for any other job, so that’ll likely take up some time in the coming weeks, and then I’ll be resigning from my current job and moving cross country so the next couple of months are going to be really busy for me in general.

I’m not shy about any of my experiences, I’m not in any kind of danger from this being, he’s been very kind and patient with me and I’m full of gratitude every single day. I’m not writing this for attention or anything, but I’m also tired of it being something that people don’t know about me, because it’s a hugely important part of my life and I do take it very seriously. It’s not a woo woo thing to me and it deserves more respect than that, so I’ve decided to throw it out there for everyone to see, and you all can come to your own conclusions.

If you ever want to ask about my experiences please do, I love talking about this stuff and what I’ve read and some of the things I’ve pieced together over the years, it’ll always be a huge special interest. You can do this through asks, but if you’re more comfortable with DMs I’m cool with that too. If you’ve had your own experiences and need someone to talk to please reach out, it’s something I’m trying to learn to help with so I can one day be supportive on a larger scale and reach those who need it.

Anyway, that’s all, I hope you all are well and even if I don’t post for a while that doesn’t mean I’m not lurking… 👀

#the freak speaks #extraterrestrial #alien contact #those tags are usually ghost towns on here but just in case lol #BUT REALLY JUST LOOK AT WHAT IZZY DREW ME HES SO CUTE AND SOMFT LOOKING #I’m putting this up on my mirror where I leave messages for him and I hope he likes it #no read more on mobile so we scroll like barbarians

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something-very-special · 3 years

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Call Her Back

Probably already a post with this title from the Let’s Play but it’s appropriate.

Thoughts on Replicant up to Ending A (and change):

This game is pretty. I guess it didn’t really hit me because I’ve always thought that the original NIER was pretty, but this game can be very pretty.

This in particular just kind of struck me as I was going across the Northern Plains. It had been dominantly gray, overcast skies up to that point because Part II of the game is meant to be. You know. Bleak. But I walked out onto a bright, sunny day with an expanse of blues skies, the mountains in the backgrounds, the ivy a burst of green growing up the rusted sides of the train tracks and it just kind of hit me that the game can be very pretty.

(Then I got punched out by a Shade.)

It’s definitely not a matter of massive graphical overhaul. The models look much better (getting a good look at the Twins during the finale, they really are beautiful) and I’m sure the environmental poly count is much higher and just overall smoother, and there are little touches here and there and just the capacity for better atmospheric lighting... I mean it all helps. But NIER is a game that’s always had fantastic art direction, making the most out of its budget through atmospheric tuning. There’s something uniquely beautiful about its muted palette and the way it uses its spaces that elevates it beyond the its actual technical limitations. It doesn’t look like an end-of-generation PS4 game, but that’s not an insult; it looks very much like itself from ten years ago, with its solid art direction, but touched up where it matters.

Does the sidequest grind seem... better...? I haven’t really dug into the BEST part of the game (spending 30 hours grinding out weapon upgrades) but I mentioned before my theory about how the sidequest grind is supposed to be carried out across multiple playthroughs and that’s why it sucks. To my surprise I finished Ending A missing only one sidequest (your friend and mine, Life in the Sands), with all of the other ones being more or less... pretty natural? The only thing I really needed to go out of my way for was Memory Alloy but all the other components didn’t really give me the kind of grief I remember from my playthroughs of the original. ‘Grief’ of course being relative to getting the platinum trophy, but my first time through the game I gave up finishing a few outstanding sidequests (specifically, fixing the lighthouse broke me-- I could not find 10 Mysterious Switches!)

Maybe I just got lucky, especially with the Machine Oils. Maybe some weird muscle memory kicked in. I feel like there were a few purchasing options that weren’t open originally, too, to ameliorate some of the grind, but it might also be a case of those options being cost-prohibitive so I just didn’t really acknowledge them... whatever the case the sidequest grind felt overall pretty painless. I dunno!

I really need to know how to manipulate events. For literally seven playthroughs straight of the latter half of the game I always did the keystone quest as Junk Heap (start) - Forest of Myth - Junk Heap (end) - Facade - Aerie. It wasn’t until I did a run with my college roommates and Popola gave me the Aerie letter before the Facade in invite that I realized the Aerie wasn’t actually programmed to be the last event.

Absolutely blew my mind, and ever since I became aware of it, it feels like the game goes out of its way to make sure the Aerie always comes before Facade. When I did my Let’s Play of NIER I kept a save file from the start of the kystone collection so I could re-do the events in case they went ‘out of order’ (according to my headcanon)... which they did. I replayed the latter half of the game again in order to get things the way I wanted them to be, same order, and fortunately it cooperated the second time, but I still don’t understand what the trigger is, if there’s a way to manipulate it, or when the determination is even made.

And then they throw the Little Mermaid into the mix, which I wasn’t expecting (that is, I knew it was added, but I’ve been mostly avoiding spoilers -- and happily, the changes have largely been a delight, I’m so excited for the subsequent playthroughs -- but the way it was posted about made it seem like it would happen after and apart from the keystone quest. Not so, my friends).

The reason for this is just the emotional escalation of each factor of the quest. The Forest of Myth is weird and little else (at this juncture, of course). The Junk Heap is a personal tragedy, but the actual tragedy has already occurred and you’re just experiencing the fallout. Facade is a powerful and personal tragedy that deserves to be experienced later on. The Aerie is a terrible place and nobody misses it it’s an enormous loss and profoundly traumatic for the party, and it feels like the appropriate apex to basically force them to go to the Castle and finish the fight, having already lost far too much.

Also it’s just super weird to me that they see that devastation, they literally wipe an entire settlement off the map, and then the next day everybody’s super excited to go to a wedding.

It also becomes even weirder that you go to Popola post-Aerie and nobody mentions ‘yeah that didn’t go so well’ but coming out of Seafront they have a legitimate conversation about the loss of the ferryman and the people they’re never getting back. I guess that guy had a personality but I still think maybe somebody should mention the smoking crater where people used to be.

Then again it’s legitimately funny to me how basically everybody is just agreed the world is better off without it.

This might also just be an issue of familiarity. Maybe if I’d always ended on Facade, or actually known that they could be swapped out as they are, it wouldn’t feel so weird. I definitely got used to the pacing with the Aerie at the end and I feel like I got into a debate with somebody about how it’s more appropriate for Facade to come last so this might just be a personal thing. But it’s still a personal thing and I’m still vaguely irritated I can’t figure out how it works.

Anyway I blew up the Aerie So that’s that problem taken care of.

I feel like the ambiance surrounding Wendy was a little creepier this time. I swear I heard that good stock creepy child laughter in the background.

Then the ferryman left This was a nice bit of foreshadowing; following the Aerie events I wanted to hop over to Seafront to take care of an extant sidequest only to find the ferry dock in the Northern Plains empty. I thought that maybe this was just a weird way of railroading you to make sure you went through the Village first, even though there were no scenes that would trigger just by being in the Village.

Alas.

Not gonna lie, when the couple was first introduced I thought for SURE it was going to be the wife who wound up dead. I guess it’s because the guy had a purpose as an NPC so yeah, I was tricked. Good design decision; the ferryman is talkative and bright and definitely difficult to forget and even though he was kinda obnoxious there’s a definite void where his dialogue was. It’s clever too that you’re forced to use the ferry at least once so you can’t escape the dialogue that you’re presented with, meaning that even if you don’t really make use of the ferry you’ll always have that contrast between him at the start of Part II and the other guy (his brother, maybe?) taking over the job and just not really talking to you afterward.

Episode Mermaid First of all, to be clear, I’ve not done the Route B playthrough yet. All I know about the Little Mermaid is what’s presented on the surface, what can be gleaned from there, what I remember reading in the Grimoire NieR short story. This is very much just an impression and reaction to the first encounter and it’s pretty cool.

I like that they managed to go into yet another genre style aping a point-and-click adventure.

I like the atmosphere of the wrecked ship. It really brought me back to the ‘ghost ship’ level archetype with its little hints of spookiness.

I appreciate that it ties subtly in to the Haunted Manor (technically the Part I Seafront dungeon) with Weiss’ utterly irrational fear of ghosts.

I love every excuse they find to get Kaine and Emil (and especially Kaine) out of a situation. It’s almost a running gag that Kaine keeps getting knocked out of dungeons and boss fights. None of them are quite as great as her getting Rules Lawyer’d in the Barren Temple, but there’s something delightful about “Let’s get you some fresh air, we’ll be right outside, be careful!” and then bookending it with Kaine and Emil just chilling at the end like “Well yeah there are a lot of holes in the hull we just popped in.”

(I forgot to go backward to see what happens if you try to take them into Seafront proper, gotta remember that next time.)

Interesting thing when you find some of the dropped apples is that Nier and Weiss talk about the dinner they had with the couple. This was actually a really sweet and oddly emotional conclusion to the added sidequest between the bickering couple-- entirely missable. I would assume the dialogue just doesn’t trigger if you didn’t do the quest but it was a nice touch.

I appreciate the use of dead bodies in the hold.

(That’s a sentence.)

But for the game’s focus on violence and excess of blood it’s very selective in how it uses actual corpses. Any time you see a dead body it really emphasizes the seriousness of the situation. The corpses in the hold and the blood spatter -- especially compared to how bright and clean Seafront as a whole is -- was surprisingly effective. Again, just good atmospheric buildup.

Bit of an anticlimax as a boss, though. It is a really cool boss, between the environmental buildup to the fight and then actually unveiling her, but for how big and scary she is the fight itself went by fairly quick, and the actual finale (the postman whacking her hand telling her to go away she’s groooooss) felt a bit weird in comparison to the way the boss fights in the rest of the game usually play out. Of course, I don’t have context of her dialogue (I can take my guesses, her holding out her hand to Hans as he freaks out and attacks her is already a palpable tragedy) and by the way the scene was framed I suspect the Route B reveal is where the most important part of the scenario lies.

And the seals came back! It’s the little things.

“I wish I was Fyra.” So in the original Replicant the conversation between Emil and Nier before Sech’s wedding was apparently an implication that Emil had a crush on Nier and wanted to marry him. It was ambiguous enough that people had to ask for clarification and some players interpreted it as a weird, childish expression of looking up to and respecting Brother Nier. It was clarified in the Grimoire NieR that Emil is gay and crushing hard on Brother Nier, and this line of dialogue here seems to have been... not made explicit, but changed even between RepliCant and ver. 1.22 to make the implication a little clearer, at least insofar as he isn’t interested in girls. (It winds up missing the implication that he’s into Nier specifically, though.)

...which is funny, because it colors his introduction to the King of Facade somewhat differently. These two meeting is honestly really sweet on a few levels (Sechs recognizing him from Nier’s descriptions, which implies that Nier’s been visiting Sechs regularly and so proud of his interactions with Emil he told the king of another nation all about him, and the King is legit excited to meet him) but then a couple of minutes later Emil is all ‘I’m so jealous of Fyra’. He isn’t crushing on Nier, but he is totally crushing on Sechs.

Endgame At this point in the game the distinction between Brother and Father has become mostly lost and the final charge is pretty much the same as

wait what’s up with the music in the Lost Shrine? This is Snow in Summer.

Or an arrangement thereof. That particular track level from Snow in Summer winds up getting used in a few new places and it has this kind of weird, vague sense of dread that makes it work pretty well. Utterly threw me off in the Lost Shrine, though (I think it’s appropriate given its connection to the Shadowlord/Gestalt Nier so slowly re-introducing it in the climb is pretty cool). It also builds insanely as you climb, which is a very cool effect but, um, I’m just here to pick up some sidequest items right now this feels like a little much.

There isn’t much to say regarding any impact or differences in the large part of this area of the game. It’s a good final dungeon, it carries good momentum, it works as well as it ever did (that is to say, rather well). The emotional beats are great and translate equally well between the protagonists, although I have to give the nod to Papa Nier during a lot of this just for the imagery of such a big, powerful man becoming so broken the further he goes in (and Kaine being strong enough to toss him around like a rag doll anyway).

The final flashback with Nier and Yonah also feels better with Papa Nier. I always read it as, of course, Papa Nier having his moment with Yonah, giving her the flower, and as he lays back down Yonah does the same big sigh like she’s trying to emulate her dad and it’s really sweet. This is another one of those moments where it’s not something that feels wrong in Replicant, but just having that comparison in the back of my head is something that I just can’t help.

Is Papa Nier still Best Neir? Yes.

But there’s room in my heart for Brother. I’m glad the bizarre marketing decision happened and both of these characters can exist.

...and then we reload the save. Okay, okay, so-- so here’s the thing-- I figured that’s a good place to conclude a session, right? Get to the ending, prepare for the next run. But I also know that Route B starts with Kaine’s unskippable novel segments. I’ve read them, of course, so I figure I’ll just reload into Route B so I can make a save after the novel sections, really get into the meat of Route B when I’m fresh.

So skim through those--

Beat up the Knave--

Skim through the rest--

Educated Warrior... didn’t pop...?--

Wait what’s this camera angle--

Why am I outs--

oh my god

KAINE AND EMIL HAVING GIGGLY GIRL TALK AROUND THE CAMPFIRE OH MY GOD WHAT IS HAPPENING

THERE’S MORE.

THERE’S. MORE.

I legit short-circuited. Going in I knew they added the Little Mermaid. I knew they added Ending E. Those were things I suspected would be added and went out to specifically confirm; beyond that I’ve been keeping myself completely spoiler free.

I had no idea there was more. I had no idea this was happening.

I’m so excited.

And a goofy thought for the road

“I polished you with a special cloth, I poured warm water on you--”

“Wait, you poured water on me?”

/imagines Emil running blindfolded eight hours across the Southern Plains with an 8oz plastic water cup, getting to the library, splashing it on Kaine, waiting expectantly

/nothing happens

/walks dejectedly eight hours all the way back to the Manor

#NieR #NieR Replicant #Musings #Ramblings #OH MY GOD WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME ABOUT THIS #I AM SO GLAD NOBODY TOLD ME ABOUT THIS

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thecandywrites · 3 years

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Blood For Gold Chapter 15

Oooh, Audra's deepest darkest secret becomes known and puts her that much closer to danger of entrapment while the Voyambi's have to admit the ugly truth of their current view of their own heritage vs their station in English society.

@punkhorse96 GURL. Buckle up Buttercup because we are almost getting to the peak of this roller coaster. Because the Komoba battle will be the peak, the court case- the fall and then it's the throws and twists and lurches to follow.

Also Stregabor from the Witcher? Who else could play the most devious of mages? Who else I ask you? Who?

Blood For Gold

Chapter 15

“Oh there you are Axal, I need you for just a moment.” Yalin insisted as she saw him leave his rooms, having waited outside of them for the last half hour for him to emerge since she had gotten up extra early to catch Axal at the earliest moment possible.

“Is everything alright?” He asked as she grabbed ahold of his hand and drug him down the hallway.

“Yes, yes, of course, it’s fine, I just need a private word with you.” She did her best to reassure him but Axal could sense her panic before she pulled him into a spare room and dismissed the servants in the hall so their ears could not eavesdrop.

“Do you have any affection for Ramsey? I need you to be completely honest and transparent.” Yalin pressed.

“I do.” Axal slowly nodded as he frowned deeply in confusion at her, not knowing where she was going to go with such a line of questioning.

“Then I need your help to find him a wife as soon as possible.” Yalin insisted.

“Uh, I don’t..quite..” Axal frowned deeper.

“Axal, I will be perfectly frank and honest with you, Gregori has long had his eye on your sister Audra for Ramsey ever since Ramsey said that she was the only one for him at her wedding to Count Edward Morrigan of all places.” Yalin began. “And it is clear that Audra has no interest in him and I have already given Audra my word to protect her from a marriage of convenience but little love and I fully intend to keep my word, but before Gregori has a chance to pressure her into a match she will find no joy or happiness in, I need to find another for Ramsey. Do you know of anyone, anywhere, in any court who could both be a lady of good wealth, breeding and most of all availability?” Yalin pressed him as Axal simply blinked in surprise at her as realization seemed to dawn on him.

“I must be clear, I have no issue with you having affection or attachment or romantic entanglements with Ramsey. And Audra seems happy for your happiness. And I know she must love you. And I know she would rather much leave Ramsey’s heart to your care than her own. But Gregori has his mind made up and I need someone who will satisfy Gregori’s need for an heir from Ramsey, so that leaves your sister free to pursue a union with another who can give her the love and care she deserves without the expectation of an heir because such endeavors would endanger her life, but...you see what bind we are in.” Yalin expressed.

“Yes, I’m aware. That’s why I have already reached out to Lady Octavia Lafronze, she’s only 27, she can still bear a child or a few even, she has a companion who can pose as my own wife if we need to keep a ruse going for the public. She will be here only the day before the Komoba battle. She’s on her way already. Audra knows of my attachment to Ramsey and until Octavia can get here, she has agreed to “play along” until then and even Ramsey has agreed to switch his “interest” when she does arrive. And Lady Octavia will fill our need. We just need to be patient.” Axal revealed.

“Oh thank the heavens.” Yalin breathed in relief as she leaned against a nearby table and clutched her middle.

“Ok, so here is the other thing. Audra’s case against the Morrigans, I don’t know if it would be best to go forward. I fear it may be more troublesome than it’s worth and whatever justice that Audra has already gotten, I fear that is all she may ever receive.” Yalin hinted.

“Audra prizes her peace. She may not want to revisit the past and rehash and open up old wounds. I will feel her out on this.” Axal reassured her.

“Thank you.” Yalin nodded as she blew out another breath of relief before Yalin gave him a reassuring squeeze to his hand before she hastily made it out of the room and quickly went down to breakfast before an attendant came and handed Axal a note, instructions to him written by his grandmother as Axal nodded and quickly asked for directions to where he had just been instructed to meet with the rest of his family before he went back into his room to get redressed in the approrpriate attire.

By the time Yalin got down to breakfast, hardly anyone was there.

“Where is everyone?” Yalin asked as it seemed that only the Voyambi’s and the Raymonds were at breakfast before Jane came into breakfast and sat down next to Charlotte.

“Jane dear, do you know where Audra and her family are this morning?” Yalin inquired.

“Yes, Audra’s grandmother got her up quite early this morning and they asked for breakfast to be brought to the gardens, they are all preparing for the kamoba battle. Apparently they all plan on participating.” Jane answered.

“Ah, that...that does explain it.” Yalin realized as she sat down as she noticed all the Voyambi youngsters seem to eagerly inhale their food before excusing themselves from the table, Ramsey and Charlotte included, leaving just Jane with the Duke and Duchess Voyambi and Gregori and Yalin.

“Do you not wish to see the training yourself?” Duchess Voyambi asked her curiously once Jane was invited to sit closer to them towards the head of the table.

“No, for the last two years I have watched Audra continue her training in private, although my parents forbade her from actually wielding any weapons, she was able to practice with sticks in the gardens and practice the drills in her room after waking up and before going to bed. Mouras take physical fitness to an extreme, even the women are trained like soldiers.” Jane explained.

“Like the orcish shield maidens of old.” Duchess Voyambi noted to her husband with a grin which he soon mirrored.

"And warchieftesses too." Duke Voyambi grinned.

“It is quite the spectacle. I remember watching my Dearest train for hours before the battle, even the exercises are quite intense.” Gregori noted with a sweet adoring smile to his wife that she did her best to return but Gregori could see something in her eyes and that her smile did not reach them as he gave her a curious look before she quickly looked away and blushed just a little under his scrutiny.

“Well it’s been ages since I even tried the exercises, I think it would do me good just to try to see how much I still remember.” Yalin said as she excused herself from the table after eating only a few bites, to get redressed into the more appropriate attire as Gregori got up and followed his wife before Jane excused herself from the table as well, leaving the Duke and Duchess Voyambi to sit in bewilderment.

“What is troubling you Dearest?” Gregori asked as he helped loosen the ties of her corset and untie her dress from her body.

“You are.” Yalin confessed.

“How do I trouble you?” Gregori asked before Yalin turned around and faced him.

“Audra drank a gallon of mourkatili. A gallon of it Gregori. With such a dosage, it is a miracle she is even alive. She is tainted and poisoned beyond repair. She can not bear Ramsey heirs and Ramsey needs a legitimate heir and woman of good breeding and nobility to give it to him. Likewise, Audra deserves a mate who can be loyal and faithful to her and I know her well enough that she will not put up with disloyalty in her marriage mate. She deserves faithfulness and devotion in all things. She has suffered more than enough as it is and before the ball at Havenfield, she came to me at the Gold Finch and asked me to guide her to a match who would treat her with kindness, respect, reverence, loyalty, devotion and faithfulness.” Yalin insisted.

“Do you think Ramsey incapable of giving such things to her?” Gregori posed.

“Yes, because he is already giving those things to her brother, which Audra is actually happy about. It would make her miserable to know that Ramsey would have to choose between Axal and herself and she would much rather have Axal be with Ramsey privately. But publicly, she can not be expected to act the perfect wife in public but in secret to know that she would share her husband with her brother of all people. And separating Axal from Ramsey would hurt all three of them. You and Ramsey both need to give up on the idea of Audra being Ramsey’s future wife and we need to consider other possibilities and I gave Audra my word that I would guard her against a marriage such as that and I have every intention of keeping my word. She is not the same woman who her master makes her out to be. She has suffered and changed too much at the hands of the Morrigans and she can not produce heirs. She is of no use to us, she is a dear girl but she is a lost cause.” Yalin maintained, choosing her words carefully.

“Oh I disagree, I think this palace is the perfect place for her and she’s plenty useful still, I think she’s finding her stride here and just because she can’t have heirs, doesn’t mean she can’t mother Ramsey’s illegitimate heirs to adopt them and make them legitimate and Axal is free to stay and keep Ramsey company as long as Audra plays her part publicly. She can have whatever affairs she wishes to have, because such seed taking root is obviously null and void.” Gregori readily shook his head no in friendly disagreement.

“How?! How in the world, is she still of use to us?” Yalin demanded.

“Dear, did you not get enough sleep last night? You aren’t thinking this through or not seeing this clearly then. We can use her treatment from the Morrigan’s hand to win over all of their fortune to her in court. You read the letter from the Mage, we have more than enough proof to string them up in the town square. She’s still an heiress of a great fortune and breeding.” Gregori insisted.

“But what of Jane? Of young Count Edward the third Morrigan? Jane is only a teenager and the young count is still a child. What would become of them?” Yalin asked.

“Audra has a good heart, she has affection for Jane, she will make sure Jane is taken care of and of course Jane, by Audra’s insistence is innocent. Besides Audra’s brother seems to like her enough. I’m sure he could always play the hero and take her and her little brat of a brother with him back to Dorierra to live happily ever after and save her from her monstrous parents and the Morrigans can be made an example of. Think of all the gossip papers you will sell telling everyone all about it.” Gregori incited.

“But what if Audra does not want that? Doesn’t want to be in our family? We can not force her to marry Ramsey just because you want her wealth and the court may not do as you say, we can’t afford to buy off every judge and juror to win it in Audra’s favor and the Morrigans have enough wealth to appeal it to the highest of courts where such measures are forbidden.” Yalin pressed anxiously.

“Oh once she sees all the benefits of being in the second most powerful family in England, no woman can resist. A life of lavish luxury with only having to smile and wave and play the tiniest of parts to enjoy it. The komoba battle will reawaken every moura instinct she has, she will see reason and see that our family is the only family she needs or should want to be a part of.” Gregori insisted as he kissed his wife’s knuckles sweetly before he called for her attendants to help her get dressed as she stood there in only her shift, her clothes long since fallen off to the floor.

“I’ll see you down in the gardens Dearest. Don’t worry about a thing, I have it all under control.” Gregori reassured his wife sweetly as Yalin just stared in thinly veiled horror at his back. She knew her husband well, he was not going to be easily swayed and she feared of what other measures he had already taken in the endeavour.

Gregori left and immediately went down to see you in particular as Demsey and his own brothers had gotten changed into appropriate fencing attire so that they could participate as well since Demsey and his siblings, his brothers especially had done nothing but gawk at you and the other mouras in small, very form fitting white work out clothes and bits of white leather armour in places in the outfit.

Demsey had thought he had walked into a fevered dream, watching you wield a sword and a small shield like a true shield maiden and every orc instinct had been screaming at him that at last, he had found a true warchieftess and he needed to show off to you his own fighting ability, as limited as it was compared to the other fighting styles you were clearly displaying. Being in high society, he was used to fencing and shooting, but that was the extent of it. Some of the common orcs still held brawling battles with the weapons of wars of old, like battle axes and broadswords and the like in the clan halls, but such things were seen as unseemly to the orcs in higher society and seen as barbaric and Demsey and his family as well as the other orcs in high society had made efforts to distance themselves from the “common” orcs in such things in order to be accepted by the rest of the gentry.

But now- seeing the style of which mouras fought- the style similarities were clear and perfectly natural. However the manner of the komoba fighting was much more aggressive and meant for a battlefield, meant to actually slay and kill your opponent, with the match only ending when it was clear that the opponent would be one pass from a weapon away from decapitating or dismembering the opponent with blows that would kill the other in quick succession. It was both beautiful in it’s violence, devastating in efficiency but yet had a dramatic flair that was impossible to resist being drawn in to see how each match would play out, where fencing played out on a thin strip of space, this was set in an octagon shape. The spaces lined out with paint in the grass itself.

One had to have a keen eye and lightning fast reflexes to strike and counter strike and the weapons, although these were made of wood or very dull metals, they were dipped in paint to show all the blows and strikes and “kills” that shown up on the white leather armour of the participants with barrels of water and cloths to wipe away the paint after each match with buckets and buckets of paint for the weapons to be painted in- in every color of the rainbow and then some.

Your paint color of choice was a brilliant turquoise and Demsey had watched with eager anticipation how when sparring with your grandmother- whose color was a brilliant copper orange- how your grandmother who was clearly the master and teacher of the group, all others taking instruction from her.

At first she had simply gone over the drills with you, all of you sitting in grid pattern, doing the exercises and drills with your grandmother staying close to you, using surprising gentleness in her critique, offering just as much praise as she did censure about your form of the various stretching poses and fighting poses as she was the first to spar with you, seeing how much you had remembered and how much your body remembered and how much you had lost over the last two years of neglecting the practice.

At one point she had blindfolded you and had short staff and a longer one in each hand and walked around you and occasionally would gently tap at your body to signify attacks, some of them light, some of them more forceful, to see how you reacted, evaded and counterattacked, leaning on your other senses besides sight to do so and Demsey had never seen anything more captivating and it made him ache and yearn to be a part of it, thus, the fencing attire, he and his brothers now sported.

Not even boxing fighters in a ring had so much contact with their opponents as this style of fighting did. Sometimes the key was to keep the enemy at a distance, other times it was to get as close as physically possible to deliver the devastating blow, sometimes it even involved grappling and pinning the other to the ground first. It struck Demsey to see the methods and philosophy behind each move and style of fighting and how it seemed to encompass everything and style and way of thinking and how there was clearly an array and a scale to it. Some of the styles were very simple, others- much more complicated but when blended made something awe inspiring.

Gregori had watched the match with your grandmother until she noticed that Gregori seemed to be waiting to speak with you and ended the session for the moment so that you could speak with him in private.

“Yes?” You asked Gregori as he pulled you aside and took your arm into the crook of his elbow after you had wiped off all the copper paint from your body so that none would get on Gregori or his clothes.

“How are you liking things here at the palace?” Gregori asked.

“It’s a palace, everything is exquisite.” You answered pleasantly, already on guard as you could tell Gregori was about to try his best to sell his son to you as a husband.

“Has everything been to your liking so far?” Gregori asked.

“Yes,” you nodded as you smiled politely.

“Could I speak candidly with you?” He asked politely.

“Please do, I thoroughly enjoy honest and candid conversation.” You encouraged him.

“I understand that from partaking in mourkatili, even with as high of a dose as you have been forced to partake in, that your reproductive abilities are hindered.” He began.

“That...is true.” You nodded, even though in truth you had tried to take pains to use eastern medicine to recapture it. But you could not be sure of your results.

“I want you to know that if you and Ramsey were to ever enter into a romantic attachment that you should know that we would never, ever, expect you to mother heirs. Your life is worth more than any hiers you would risk your life trying to bear.” Gregori assured you.

“...ok.” You blinked in surprise as you frowned in confusion, which was utterly adorable.

“You see Ramsey has had several lovers and already has many illegitimate heirs and if you were to ever marry, you could always save those illegitimate heirs and make them legitimate by adopting them. It would bring them out of poverty and give them the lives they rightly deserve but yet, Yalin and I, our hands are tied so to speak to do any better for them than we already have.” Gregori explained.

“And I understand that your brother and Ramsey have already become attached and it would only be right that he should remain by your side, to live out his days to make sure that you never again suffer and both of you could live perfectly comfortably and happily here with us.” Gregori offered.

“But such a life...it would not be honest,” you began to softly and gently counter.

“But it would be fair. So far the investigation with the Morrigans have found solid evidence and proof of their attempts to murder you. The courts will surely award all that they have to you for recompense. We have the power to make that happen. We can elevate you to that of Dauphine in English society and as a Dowager among the stables. We can get you justice and revenge for what you’ve suffered. We had a mage help with the investigation. He found your scene catcher spell, with the password, we can have all we need on Agnes and Richard.” Gregori revealed as you blinked in surprise as fear seemed to bloom in your chest. If they had already broken the password, you could be finished.

“But Jane and I corrupted some of the feed. The moment of Edward’s death, he was in the act of…” Your voice broke as even now tears came to your eyes at the horror and violence of the moment came flooding back to your mind. “He was in the act...of raping me and he had….he had a heart attack and died. It was so horrific. I had Jane help me strike it from the record. So just by that alone, it’s corrupted and it’s been tampered with. It won’t hold up in court.” You confessed lowly as your big gold eyes welled with tears.

“Just that admittance alone is enough to justify why that isn’t in the record, the judge will allow it and allow the rest of it to stand on its own and it will be taken as gospel and if there is anything else that you would like to keep from it to preserve your own integrity and dignity. That will be allowed as well. You are a lady after all. Not everyone needs to see every little thing, this investigation is to expose the Morrigans, not you.” Gregori reassured you.

“But what about Jane and little Eddie?” You asked.

“It is clear that you wish to protect them, that is truly amiable despite their parent’s treatment of you. I believe your brother Ocearian can save Jane from the shame of what her parents have done. She is, as you say, innocent. Ocearian I’m sure will happily take Jane home to Dorierra and with her- little Edward.”

“What if I want Jane to have her fair share of her family’s wealth? I don’t want to leave her or her brother with nothing and no choice but to flee to Dorierra. What if they wish to stay here in England. Could I at least leave Broadcove to Jane and Edward?” You asked.

“If that is your wish. Of course, it will be all available to you do as you wish with it.” Gregori agreed.

“Do you need my answer now, or can I think it over?” You asked him.

“Think on it as long as you need to, no rash decisions need to be made today.” Gregori reassured you gently which you greatly appreciated.

“Then do you have a piece of paper?” You asked him before he produced a small notebook and a small pencil.

“This is the password to most of it, it should give everyone all they need for the court case.” You said.

“Excellent, I shall get my best men on this, you will get justice and your just rewards for your pain and suffering, I swear and promise you.” Gregori grinned victoriously as he kissed your temple the same way his own daughter before he left again and you returned to the others.

“What was that about?” Axal asked you.

“Gregori asked for one of the keys to my ace. I gave a small one to him.” You hinted as you dabbed at your eyes as you steeled yourself for what was to come, both in the battle and in the court case afterwards.

“So you’re going through with the court case? What about your precious peace?” Axal asked.

“I’ve had a year of it. After this court case, I’ll have a lifetime of it.” You said as you got your wooden weapons redipped in your preferred paint.

“But what was his price for it?” Axal asked.

“That IF Ramsey and I were to ever get married, that I would consider adopting his illegitimate heirs and share Ramsey with you, whereas you would get to live with me and “protect” me from further abuse here. I didn’t give an answer one way or another and all I told him was that I would carefully consider it.” You reassured him before you got into sparring positions with Axal.

“And when Octavia comes, I’m sure she’ll happily comply with those terms as well.” You offered as you blocked his attack and counter attacked with ease. “Just make sure Ramsey knows to put on a good show of being captivated by her and wanting her and only her when she does come so I can get off clean.” You insisted as you dipped and dodged his attack and struck a gut blow with your shorter “dagger” on his middle.

“I will.” Axal reassured you.

“And what will you do with your hundreds of thousands of pounds?” Axal asked.

“Share them with Jane so that she is taken care of as well, hell I’ll even give Octavia a share of it, if it means I don’t have to marry Ramsey and you for that matter so that you can care for Octavia’s lover as your own wife.” You readily offered.

“Because I’m sure Yalin and Gregori only wish to see Ramsey happy, and once they see that I can not make him so and that you and Octavia can in all respects, then that can settle the matter.” You insisted.

“But what about Duke Demsey, won’t he need an heir?” Axal questioned as he used his shoulder to knock you away and off balance before you regained it.

“He does, that is what gives me pause. I do not think his affection for me may outweigh his own obligations and duty to his family. But we are still only friends. He may not wish for anything more from me. There may be another he has his eye on anyway, I will just have to wait and see. For all I know, I’m offending him even now. Proper English ladies do not participate in hunting or fencing or anything like that. It’s unladylike. So the fact that I know swordsmanship may be turning him off of me as we speak, look, even his own sisters sit by the side and only watch and do not participate themselves.” You mused as Axal and yourself finished your own sparring to rest and take a breath of air as you sat in the shade of a nearby tree and watched the others spar as you sat side by side.

“He’s an orc, his orcish heritage means shieldmaidens and warchieftesses are coveted. If anything I think you’re turning him onto you now more than any other. You were too focused on sparring with Grandma to notice how he was practically drooling and because of that, he was the first to insist that he dress in fencing attire to properly take part in all of this. He’s a decent swordsman, but that is all he is. He has no other skills, at least any that I can see.” Axal mused as he watched Demsey and Sierge fence each other in the very English style.

“In this society, he doesn’t need any other skills besides those, and even though they have that past, clearly they don’t embrace it in the present.” You shrugged as you again nodded over to where Amara, Kiera and little Callie watched on.

“Do you like English society?” Axal asked.

“It has its quirks and moments, rules of etiquette are extensive and date back to the medieval period for most of it and they like to pride themselves for having “polite, civilized and polished society”. But with industrialization, their business practices can be barbaric and ruthless, some men make or lose their fortunes in weeks or months, bask in the sunlight one moment or be shattered on the rocks the next with the tides. There are terms like “old money” and “new money”. The Morrigans have the old noble heritage even though most of their wealth has been amassed fairly recently, just in the last two generations. But the Morrigans are considered “old money” and the Voyambi’s are considered “new money” only because they’ve had their noble title and wealth within the last three generations. Their classed society makes movement restricted and women are property of their fathers then their husbands and I’ve seen women in this society choose peace over their dignity because while they are expected to be at home and run the home, their husbands are expected to bring income yet can splurge most of that income into gambling or whores or misstresses of plenty, even Richard has several whores, his favorite lives in Broadcove and his little bastards are being trained as stable boys and game keepers or gardeners, he keeps her to her appartment of rooms like a parrot to it's cage and his illegitamate daughters are being brought up to be ladies maids in the house in fact my first paid companion was his eldest illegetimate daughter came with me to Mirador as my own maid because I felt sorry for the way Agnes always treated her, in fact most of Richard's bastards followed me to Mirador because I treated them like people. Who had no power over who their father was. It is wholly barbaric in of itself. But because that is the norm, it makes competition to find a gentlemen in both name, status and breeding important, but of character- with how polite society and it’s customs dictate, it’s a gamble and true happiness in marriage is a chance. Not a given,. And what a man may be like in public may not be the same kind of man in private. Yalin and Gregori seem to be the exception, not the rule.” You admitted as Axal blinked in surprise at your revelation.

“Do you think you’d be happy with Demsey though?” Axal pressed.

“I honestly don’t know, we get along and we are friends and we have moments where possibilities threaten to ignite but something keeps it from actually doing so. I tried feeling him out last night to see if he would be open to anything and he...he was withdrawn and wouldn’t...he would not make himself available in spirit, he was...he was closed off to me, even with drink in hand, I could feel it in his energy, he was missing someone. He really had to push himself to stay with me mentally- in the moment. Which makes me think that there might be someone else that has caught his mind and heart, who is not Kate Whitesale, or me. But someone else, someone in the past. Maybe one of his workers, maybe one of his secretaries, maybe his favorite maid at Whydah. But polite society means I can not ask him about any of it or even his sisters who would be offended at me implying anything by asking while being none the wiser and completely unaware of their brother’s private lives and are purposefully kept in the dark about almost all of it." You sighed in defeat as Axal just stared in bittersweet fondness at you.

"And who am I to demand answers to such questions from him? He has made no declaration of intent towards me other than friendship. He has only stated that he wishes to be my friend. That is all he has said. And that is all his actions have said as well, at least so far. And I have no choice but to take him at his word. But the longer Demsey and his brothers participate but his sisters do not, makes me think that the same applies even in their family, even with them being orcs, notorious the world over for their proficiency and fierceness in battle even evenly among the sexes, which again leads to be believe that I offend him in the knowledge that I can fend for myself physically.” You confessed lowly to Axal before Demsey approached.

“You fence well Demsey.” You praised as you noticed he was drenched in sweat already and smelled wholly delicious as the very inappropriate thought of licking some of that sweat off of him popped into your head before you tried to swish it away mentally as you damned your own body for it's natural physical reaction to him.

“Thank you, I didn’t know if you had noticed, I know my skill can hardly compete with your own.” He praised which surprised you.

“Well you could always spar with her. See for yourself.” Axal suggested as you turned and looked at Axal incredulously.

“I would be honored.” Demsey readily agreed.

“Are you sure?” You asked Demsey.

“Yes, I’m sure I could learn several, if not dozens or even hundreds of things from you, if you would be willing to teach me.” Demsey insisted as you blinked in surprise as your jaw fell, leaving your mouth just slightly agape, just a little as your mouth ran dry as your brain once again was eager to supply all of the things you’d like to teach him, like making love to you right for starters, before Axal practically pushed you towards Demsey who offered his hand to you to help you up off the ground before you took his hand and let him help you to your feet.

“You would not feel emasculated or embarrassed if I bested you?” You asked. “I do not wish to embarrass you, especially in front of your family or mine.” You whispered to him as you walked with him back to the group.

“Not at all. You are granddaughter to the Great Saharan Viper, and her most prized pupil, how could I possibly be embarrassed to lose to such a champion?” He flattered you as you blushed and smiled bashfully and had the ground had the slightest bit of unevenness, you probably would have tripped and fallen straight onto your face.

“But my skills are rusty, I have not held a sword in two years. I may have forgotten most of it.” You tried to excuse.

“Audra, you will not hurt my pride, do not disparage yourself. I was watching you, you have retained more skill than I think you give yourself credit for. It’s like riding a horse, once you learn, you never fully forget and the style is most intriguing to say the least, so what color should my weapons be dipped in?” He encouraged you as he stood with you in front of the other buckets of bright color paints.

“Whichever strikes your fancy, and whichever you like best.” You shrugged before he chose a wonderful purple color that was a nice contrast to your own turquoise.

“Are you sure you want to try this? The rules of komoba are wholly different from the fencing you are used to. Because all those rules that fencing prides itself on- get thrown out and no longer apply, the object is to strike down your opponent by any means necessary, using everything you have to your own advantage and what can get you disqualified in fencing get you a win in komoba.” You gently warned him.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life, komoba is...everything a proper fighting sport should be, realistic with real battlefield applications, fencing is pointless on a real battlefield.” Demsey reassured you and once again those butterflies started fluttering in your stomach as your heart fluttered delightfully as your smile turned bashful once again and your cheeks flushed beautifully. It seemed Demsey’s own reserve the night before- had seemed to vanish now as a new boldness seemed to take hold of him and you adored it.

“Then why don’t you use the battle axes that orcs are supposed to be so fond of?” You questioned only to see him falter slightly.

“Um, well, I’ve...never had an opportunity or reason to wield one before. My grandfather’s from the war- they along with his armor hang on the wall, and the late king gifted my grandfather a golden enamelled set but they are strictly decorative.” He revealed.

“So...you have no experience with any other weapons besides the swords of the fencing variety?” You asked him.

“Not even broadswords or longswords or…” You asked him in confusion as Demsey’s shoulders sagged in shame as his head dropped a bit as he had to shake his head no.

“No, the commoner orcs still practice such things in the clan halls and of course soldiers do. But since my family and others who are in the gentry, we do not partake in such things and take pains to distance ourselves from such things for fear of others in the gentry to view us as “barbaric” too.” Demsey confessed lowly.

“But do you think such things are barbaric?” You asked worriedly because if Demsey thought komoba was “barbaric” you were going to force yourself to lose interest in him because you were sick of having to divorce yourself from your own moura heritage, you had done it enough with the Morrigans, never again would you do it, you had sworn yourself an oath.

“No. I think it’s part of our history that we should be proud of. In fact I insisted that Whydah have a proper gymnasium to take up the practices again, granted in private because to do so publicly would damage our reputation.” Demsey tried to explain as his cheeks flushed into a deep pine green.

“But komoba is by far the most elevated form of fighting in the world. And it’s a sport I wish I had much more experience with and I wish I could build a proper komoba battle ground at Whydah so that we could take up the sport there too.” Demsey offered, trying his best to not to sound as hypocritical as he felt.

“Well, I’m biased but I feel the same way, that komoba is the best form of fighting however I can understand the need to protect one’s reputation. The Morrigans forbade me from holding any kind of weapon, often instructing the chefs to serve my dinner to me precut so that I would not wield so much as a dinner knife because they thought my komoba training was unladylike and uncouth and would tarnish the Morrigan name and wished to divorce me from it and any other parts of my moura heritage that didn’t fit the more proper “English” lifestyle.” You explained.

“And such measures are an egregious sin, no one should be so divorced from their own heritage, especially when such a heritage is so rich in tradition and color and splendor.” Demsey tried to praise as you just shook your head because clearly Demsey had done the same to himself and his own heritage.

“So, obviously, you clearly resent their efforts in thus.” Demsey realized from your tone since it had sounded pretty resentful to him which gave him hope that he could seperate himself in your mind and make himself as appealing as possible because he wanted to accept you and your heritage with open arms.

“I do. Which is why I’m surprised you asked to spar with me.” You noted.

“Why?” He asked curiously.

“Because while you are eager to learn the komoba style from me, I see that your sisters sit on the side lines, watching with eager eyes and jealousy to watch Benny and Calla and their siblings as well as myself and my own siblings of both genders take part in the komoba training. And it makes me wonder if you or your parents would be taking the same stance with them learning it as well. Orcs are known to have shield maidens and warcheiftesses do they not? Or does your family also wish to distance itself from that history in order to embrace the more proper “English” ways? Especially in it's womenfolk?” You questioned as Demsy looked at you in shock yet realization as he looked from you to his sisters and back to you again as once again, shame and embarrassment began to eat at him.

“Audra, please, please forgive me, I didn’t even think...or consider...any of that. If you will excuse me for just a moment, I need to rectify this, immediately.” Demsey realized as he put his weapons down in the grass and immediately left and went over to his sisters who were sitting under a canopy to protect them from the morning sun.

“What’s wrong? I thought you looked to be just about to get your wish and get a chance to spar with Audra?” Amara asked curiously.

“I was...until she brought it to my attention of how unfair it is that Sierge, Tzane and I are trying to partake and participate but that you and Kiera and Callie are being excluded and it isn’t right. You all should feel just as welcome and just as included to participate in this as we are.” Demsey insisted to his eldest sister.

“Thank you! Finally!” Kiera exclaimed exasperated before she got up and went over to Benny and asked if Benny had an extra set of komoba clothes as Amara smiled happily and did the same with Calla as Callie bravely went up to you as you readily agreed to let her borrow your own spares as all of you re-entered the castle to get redressed just as the Duke and Duchess Voyambi left the palace to join everyone in the gardens as Yalin also emerged wearing her own day komoba battle clothes from her youth, although she did have to be squeezed and cinched into them because her body had changed a fair bit since her youth.

“So where are you ladies off to?” Yalin asked.

“Oh the Voyambi ladies wish to also try to learn komoba with us, we were going to be lending them our spare day clothes for it.” You readily offered as the Duke and Duchess were surprisingly pleasant with the news.

“Oh of course. With such masters of the sport here, it would be a shame to not take advantage of such an opportunity.” Duke Voyambi reassured his daughters who practically squealed in delight.

“Thank you Papa,” they thanked their father with a kiss to his cheek before you all eagerly went back to your room to change.

“Thank you for saying something to Demsey.” Kiera thanked you as you finished with Callie’s suit and then turned your attention to Amara.

“You’re welcome. Whenever I see injustice and unfairness, if I can equalize it, I like to try.” You answered her.

“Women in English society are restricted enough just in the wearing of our corsets and being “polite” in society, especially on the train to gentlemen who feel entitled to converse with you and invade your space. No need for much more than that is there?” You giggled as you laced up the covers over Amara’s forearms.

“No truer words have ever been spoken. That’s why we never go anywhere without our brothers for that very reason.” Amara confessed.

“So in Dorierra, how young are you when you first learn komoba?” Callie asked.

“Three. As soon as we learn to walk and don’t fall over just trying to walk from one end of the house to the other as young toddlers do.” You answered her.

“Three?! That’s when orcs of old used to learn to fight too!” Callie offered.

“Speaking of, have any of you ever learned any of the old ways?” You asked them as Kiera, Amara and Callie all shook their heads no.

“No, once grandfather got the Duchy, he forbade our father from ever learning any of the old ways. Because the gentry turned their noses up at us and the other orcs, trolls and the like who had gotten into the nobility at the same time were our only society. But at the same time, the common orcs who fought side by side with him in the war, would not socialize with us either, thinking that because we had the duchy, that we were too good for the likes of them. And they wouldn’t even let us go to the clan halls, thinking that we would take them over with just our nobility instead of honoring the old ways of tradition. They would allow father and grandfather into the fencing houses but as soon as they would enter, the other patrons would quickly leave. It wasn’t until Demsey and Sierge were born and were brought to the fencing places that others found that they had no skills whatsoever, and would lose almost every match that they accepted Demsey and Sierge and then Tzane until they got to be proficient. But the moment any of them use their full strength, they get disqualified for “overpowering” their opponents. It pushes them to walk almost impossibly fine lines and it’s only when Demsey championed for the unions that we got welcomed back into the clan halls again, but only for meetings to discuss clan affairs, never for the fighting or anything like that.” Amara explained.

“Oooh, that, that explains it then. I know what that is like. The Morrigans forbade me from even wielding a dinner knife, much less any other kind of weapon. Because they didn’t want any parts of my moura heritage to tarnish their Morrigan name and proper English sensibilities. And I know what it’s like to divorce yoruself from your own heritage to survive. So your family has my sympathy and empathy in this matter.” You offered before you left the room.

“Yeah, that’s probably why I’ll never settle on English soil then.” Benny confessed to you and Calla as you left the room and locked the door behind you.

“Oh poor Sierge, he’ll be so heartbroken to hear that.” You cooed to her sarcastically which got her to snort a laugh.

“When I had said something to Sierge about how it wasn’t fair for him to participate but his sisters were simply watching, he insisted that proper English ladies never should be allowed to participate, and no lady worth her honor in English society would even want to because it should serve as a distinction between the sexes’.” Benny confessed which made you and Calla gasp.

“But yet one word from you and Demsey had the opposite reaction.” Calla realized.

“What I’m curious about is, how you responded to Sierge’s comment.” You put to Benny since the Voyambi sisters had practically jogged down the hallway to get to the courtyard as quickly as possible.

“He couldn’t say much around the mouthful of golden yellow paint I put in his mouth with the short dagger stick before I put him into the ground so hard all the air got knocked out of his lungs, I think he’s probably still throwing up from having swallowed so much paint.” Benny proudly beamed which got you and Calla to bust up laughing.

“Put him in his place, I like it.” You offered with a mischievous smile.

“If he thought that way about proper English ladies, what did he think of us then?” Calla asked Benny.

“Oh he thought we were the exception because we were moura and would continue to be the exception because of it.” Benny answered.

“Double standards at it best I suppose.” Calla sighed tiredly.

“Well then let’s not waste this opportunity to show off how truly amazing mouras can be.” You insisted.

Meanwhile Bellfast, the Mage came to the Palace of Windsor to see Gregori personally, as he watched from a safe distance to see you and the other moura’s leave the palace for the gardens.

“Ah, Bellfast, my good fellow, Lady Audravienne has given me the password to the scene catchers.” Gregori happily said as he showed Bellfast the password.

“Yes, I already have divined it and the second and the third.” Bellfast reported with a meaningful look to Gregori before Gregori quickly led the way to a private office.

“And?” Gregori prompted.

“You need to see this.” Bellfast insisted as Gregori had ushered Ballfast into a private office as Bellfast cast the moment of Edward’s death onto a small mirror in the office as Gregori watched on intently. Frowning in disgust at the scene before a loud crash boomed through the room and Gregori gasped as his eyes went wide as he covered his mouth with his own hand and watched as the scene unfolded before Gregori’s own servants knocked on the door to make sure he was alight and safe which Gregori quickly reassured them and ordered them to leave immediately and to not say a word of the sound to anyone or they would be whipped and then dismissed immediately.

“Who else has seen this?” Gregori demanded of Bellfast.

“Only you, myself, Audravienne- because she lived through it, and Miss Jane Morrigan who came up with the third password to help Audravienne destroy it. It was completely struck from all the records so that even the sound of the crash was gone, the Morrigans were out to dinner and little Edward was asleep, but even the other servants heard it down into the basements. But Jane bribed them to keep quiet about it and old Edward’s doctor simply said he died of a heart attack and the bed was quickly set to be burned and was ash by the time the Morrigans got home. I can recreate the bed if need be.” Bellfast offered.

“No need right now. Do not let on that you know of any of this. I have my own uses for this. For now, only use the first password that Lady Audravienne has provided and compile all you can in a case against the Morrigans for time’s sake and make the second and the third passwords appear invisible and all that they contain inaccessable for now and do not use anything that is protected behind those other two. String everything else together in such a way that the poisoning of Edward is hung on the Count and Countess Morrigan so that they could fully inherit the estate sooner but make it so that it looks like they are framing Audra for it, which they clearly feel she did, and obviously their poisoning of Audra and all abuses to her by them and by the old Edward, I want any judge and jury to find Audra as innocent as the white dove she is and will continue to be and appear so, but also, if Lady Audravienne will not cooperate further, do your best to hang the Wolf Eye on her and obviously the murder.” Gregori instructed.

“That won’t be difficult to do. Also I have recreated all of Lady Audravienne’s mail and all four postmen are currently in prison and their confessions are on the record, as are all the servants who were involved in Lady Audravienne’s poisoning. But all the others who were involved with covering up Edward’s true cause of death are still free and Lady Audravienne's servants at Mirador that followed her from Broadcove are most intriguing." Bellfast said as he handed the latest report to Gregori who took it and read it over, almost giggling in his chuckle as he read it over.

"The Morrigans are of course panicked but claim they have the proof of the Wolf Eye coming from Audra, which other than coercing their own remaining servants to say so, the scene catchers clearly contradict which means we can pin insanity onto them and Dr. Rickets is simply awaiting instruction and of course is eager to say either way in order to keep his liscence to continue to practice his medicine, he claims he did something to the mourkatili to make it less lethal and less damaging to Lady Audravienne's person, claiming to the Morrigans that such measures were to "intensify" it's effect but in all actuallity it was only to protect your interests and claims that he can cure Lady Audravienne so that she can bear heirs without any ill effects and reverse the mourkatili, even at such a dose as was given to her.” Bellfast offered.

“Excellent.” Gregori beamed proudly. “How much is owed to you for such services?” Gregori asked as he went into his own box of funds in the room.

“Oh, for now my bill is with the Morrigans, but I will still happily take my agreed payment from you, however when Lady Audravienne wins her case, I’ll ask for a tip from her in her preference.” Bellfast began to chuckle darkly which Gregori soon mirrored as Gregori handed over a thousand pounds in a stack of bills.

“Yes, she will. I can’t wait to see what she is truly capable of. For now though she is hesitant and weary, let us win her trust and confidence first and only if she becomes uncooperative, then we can use this as leverage, but otherwise she has been a dream to work with and responds best with a gentle guiding hand and kindness, which considering the abuse- is no wonder to anyone. Yes, tender loving care will be all that is needed to pacify her and keep her happy and content. After the komoba battle, every moura instinct in her will be truly awakened and she will come to all of her senses that the Morrigans tried to dull. Oh and if I may request one more favor, just incase Dr. Rickets can not provide what he has offered, find the best mourkatili antidote you can with the added benefit that Lady Audravienne’s womb will be restored to her and her full health that she enjoyed when she left from Dorierra, just in case Dr. Rickets is not to be trusted.” Gregori requested before Bellfast simply took a very fancy glass bottle, wrapped in silk cloth to keep it safe, out of his coat pocket and unwrapped it before he put it on the desk in front of Gregori with a smug grin before handing over the silk itself.

“Only have her drink it after the court case, for now the mourkatili will still show up in her hair under blacklight, since it will purple, if it is still strong within her, it will also show up in her eyes under black light as well.” Bellfast instructed.

“Excellent.” Gregori beamed before he took it and rewrapped it and put it into his own pocket.

“Good work Bellfast, as always, you are the best Mage in all of Europa and I’m so happy that you answered my invitation.” Gregori praised him.

“Thank you for the invitation in the first place. I will happily use these funds to further my own research.” Bellfast grinned as he took his payment and tucked it away into the pocket the antidote had previously been put into before Gregori saw his guest out before he called his servants over.

"Do not let the Dauphine or anyone else know that the Mage Bellfast was here today, this report was sent by a messenger and there was no sound of a crash in the study, was there?" Gregori practically snarled at his servants who nodded yes as their knees had to be locked to keep from knocking together in fear.

"Yes your Grace." They answered obediantly before Gregori smiled victoriously and straightened up and returned to the gardens where your grandmother was now teaching all the Voyambi's, the Duke and Duchess included the basics of Komoba along with Yalin who he took aside and slipped the report into her hands.

"Just delivered just now from the Mage from a messenger." Gregori told his wife as she read it as her eyes got as large as saucers.

"Oh my, this is the scandal of the century." Yalin had to admit.

"And I can't wait to read all about it in the gossip collumns when the matter is brought up in court." Gregori incited with a scheming smile to his wife that she was powerless to resist from mirroring.

"Yes it will." She agreed before she got back into the grid to finish her own refresher course in kamoba.

#Blood For Gold #Blood For Gold Chapter 15 #regency era orc drama #regency era orc #it's getting hot in here #so take off all your corsets #mouras #orc x reader #orc romance #monster boyfriend #exo #exophillia #woooooooo

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nemo1230 · 4 years

Text

About dying stars and second chances

This is a second part to this fic !

The dark night sky had finally settled over Derry and a strange, eerie even, calm came with it.

Richie hadn't been able to sleep, for obvious reasons, so he had decided to go out for some fresh air. The night was quite cold, causing goosebumps rise on his skin and cheeks go pink. But it felt good. To feel something real, - everything else surely didn't.

He felt like the world had come to an abrupt stop - everything was moving so fast - the call from Mike, returning to Derry, Pennywise, all of it. And now, it was somehow, over.

The cigarette he had lit was hanging loosely in between his lips, the smoke rising above him in a big cloud. He had actually stopped smoking at one point, turning to alcohol instead, so the smell was giving him nostalgia stronger than the effect of the cigarette.

This, however, definitely was an occasion for a smoke, at least in Richie's understanding. They had defeated IT, quite successfully so, and he couldn't be more grateful. Yet he couldn't help but to feel there were some unfinished businesses which did leave a bittersweet taste on his tongue. The memory of that one life changing night lingered at the back of his mind every time he looked at Eddie, rubbing more salt into the wound each time.

He was standing on the porch, right outside the hotel they all were staying in for one last night, before leaving as fast they could the next morning. None of them wanted to stay here, and reasonably so.

And don't get Richie wrong, he more than anything wanted to get the hell out of here and never return, the trauma this place caused, the old wounds that it had ripped open once again upon returning; all of it was driving him mad.

Yet that one drunken night, that forsaken night, that had changed the whole track of Richie’s life forever. Nothing after was the same, and even if both of them refused to acknowledge it, it didn’t make it less true. Like you can’t unbreak a shattered plate, you can’t ever unmake the cracks in their perfectly established, polished and carefully, without a doubt selected position: “friends” and nothing more, put on a pedestal, like a fragile, fragile china, the smallest of nudges against it pushing it closer to the edge. And god forbid it met the hard floor of reality, that none of them seemed to be able to face.

Back then even thinking of that night seemed dirty and just plain wrong, Richie felt like it didn’t even belong in this time and space, the memory, as his drunken mind had helpfully supplied that night, buried somewhere between always and never, making it impossible to trace back to this life, this Richie and this Eddie, even trying to string it together with this life felt disrespectful to it. It was far, far out of reach, only allowed to watch from afar, because the closer he got, the more it faded away into nothingness. It might as well could have been those stupid stars Eddie was blabbering about with the help of heavy dose of wine.

However now some things have changed. Now, they weren’t stupid teenagers with their whole lives right in front of them, not a care in the world. Richie had forced himself to think it was quite ridiculous to think of memories that way, to bury them in dumb metaphors, as an excuse to hide the painful parts. He just got blackout drunk to ease the ache these days, and it seemed to do the work quite as well.

But something about this one particular memory didn’t allow him to do that now. Everything in him screamed to drown it in a bottle, but he, perhaps for the first time ever, screamed back, that he wants to keep it to himself, he wants to remember it, he wants the memory to live on, in which ever plane of existence it was on, in whichever time it was hidden in. And for some weird reason he wanted that for Eddie too.

As dumb as it sounded to his own ears, he wanted Eddie to know how he felt that night and how he still feels now. That the night is long gone, but the feeling is burned in his mind, skin, bones and heart, each step, each breath, each beat reminding him of its presence. Of course it could be the rush of adrenaline that was still flowing in his veins like a live wire, the images he saw in the deadlights were suffocating him, forever now engraved in his mind to supply his nightmares later but perhaps it was the beer he had earlier, but all in all, Richie had never wanted Eddie to just know, to understand, and to just acknowledge the memory as real this much. Because maybe he was tired of flying around in space all by himself. Because maybe was tired of screaming in the void, only ever hearing the hollow echo of his own aching heart. But yet whenever he tried, the words just got more and more tangled even before they left his mouth.

Richie leaned against the railing with his back, and let out a big puff of smoke. He thought about the fact that he, literally a grown man, couldn’t just say, hey, man that kiss? Yeah well it meant something to me. Maybe he was too much of a coward to do so, or maybe the world had made him into one. He didn't know for sure, but he did know that having a crush on one person all his life and not confessing once was, in fact, quite pathetic.

So deep in thought, he didn't hear the hotel door opening and somebody stepping out behind him.

“You know I've always hated those things.” A voice made him jump out of surprise and turn his head in their direction, instincts kicking in to instantly fight whatever’s caused the sound.

But it was only Eddie. 'Only' being an understatement, of course, because Eddie had never been 'only Eddie'.

Eddie was pointing at his cigarette. Richie chuckled. “If you're here to talk me out of it, you can go back in, cause that ain't happening.” He said, looking ahead, something stopped him from looking directly at Eddie. Maybe it was the general idea of the person he liked just being there, how ever pitiful that sounded, and he was afraid of accidentally saying something and crossing a line. Or maybe he couldn't look at Eddie because he couldn't bear the thought that Eddie was, in fact, married, straight and quite frankly, soon returning to his wife and probably didn’t even remember that one night that has legitimately moved into his mind like a god damn apartment. Either way, it all circled back to Richie being pathetically, utterly whipped for Eddie Kaspbrak, a straight, married man, who kissed him once while being drunk. Honestly, how unlucky Richie had to be to get into a mess like this.

“No, not here to judge you,” Eddie replied simply, and walked over to where Richie was perched against the railing and stood next to him. “Actually, pass me that shit.”

And that finally made Richie turn his head to look at Eddie, eyes wide with shock. He raised one eyebrow, “What am I hearing, Eddie-Spaghetti, Mr. I-worry-about-everything-and-anything, the person who probably has signed like at least 15 different petitions to ban all cigarettes, wants to take a drag? Did I die and get sent to an alternative universe or what?”

Eddie shook his head and looked Richie in the eyes, and while there was uncertainty glistening within them, his gaze never faltered and the determination most certainly overtook as he said, “Give me the damn cigarette, Richie, I think it’s clear we all need one after all of this bullshit.” He looked like a man fighting for one last resort, the only thing that'd give him satisfaction after years of searching.

Something in that look made Richie take the right cigarette out of his mouth instantly and pass it to Eddie, who had already extended his hand, two fingers raised, “Jesus, okay, okay dude, chill the fuck out, here is the fucking cigarette.”

Richie watched as Eddie slowly raised it to his lips and took a hesitant smoke. He instantly started coughing violently, clasping his hand over his chest and then at his pant pockets, no doubt looking for his inhaler out of habit.

Richie laughed, “You smoke like a beginner, dude.”

“Fuck you, better a beginner, than 40 year old rotting lungs.” Eddie wheezed, still not entirely getting used to the cigarette. He still hasn’t given it back though.

“Actually I stopped smoking; it's my liver that's getting rotten.” Richie replied when Eddie finally had stopped wheezing and his breathing was back to normal. Also, he felt his cheeks getting a bit warm, and not from the cold, - he couldn't deny that seeing Eddie perched against the railing, holding the cigarette between his fingers was doing things to him. Even after all these years it still felt kind of dirty to look at a man in that way, and he almost turned his gaze away but then Eddie looked at him with a questioning look. Richie signed; he really didn't want to get into it as it did pull a painful string in his heart. But then again, what didn't.

“Come on, Tozier, it can't be worse than me marrying the literal clone of my mother.” Eddie said, looking Richie deeply in the eyes, as if challenging him. Those god dammed eyes that had never once had failed to make his brain to malfunction.

Richie laughed, but it came out strained, “And here I thought out of us two, I'd be the one marrying your mother.”

Eddie shoved him not so lightly with his shoulder, making Richie almost stumble. For a man his height, he had quite the strength, Richie had to admit. Kind of hot in his option, but whatever.

“Dude, you already know about my shitty life, I want to know about yours.” Eddie once again pressed his shoulder to Richie's, this time not showing, but simply touching, comforting. Richie barely held in a shiver.

After overcoming the small breakdown about them being this close, he finally registered Eddie's words. Shitty life? What about it was shitty? Sure, he poked fun at Eddie marrying a woman twice his size and having the most boring job in human history, but he hadn't actually thought that Eddie didn't enjoy those things.

Maybe his brain was ever so desperately trying to hide such this in plain sight, completely making him deny even the smallest of chances that maybe Eddie might not be so far away from him as he seemed.

Noticing Richie's silence, Eddie nudged his shoulder and passed him back his cigarette. Richie nodded thanks and took a deep drag and slowly blew out the smoke, both of them watching as it faded into the air.

After taking another drag he finally gathered his thoughts and spoke, feeling strange saying such things out loud. “First of all, there's nothing much to say. I'm just a sad excuse of an adult, living half comedian, half loner life and drowning my sorrows with alcohol. There, my whole life explained in a few words,” He tapped his cigarette with this finger, the ashes falling to the ground, “Second of all, no, I didn't know your life is shitty.” He added, looking back at Eddie with the same questioning look he had previously.

Eddie raised an eyebrow at him, “I thought that was made clear when I said that I married a woman that pretty much is my mother. But if your thick skull needs it spelled out, then, yes, my life is shitty because I am in a fucked up, unhappy marriage that I didn't even want to get into in the first place.”

Richie felt guilty for the rush of excitement that ran trough him upon hearing that. Not that he was happy that Eddies life was shit, but at least it meant that Richie wasn’t entirely alone as well as that meant his marriage probably was only temporary commitment. That didn’t change the obvious being straight obstacle, but still. “Then why the fuck aren't you divorcing her?” He asked, hoping his voice didn't sound as thrilled about the idea as he felt.

“I've been thinking about it,” Eddie then raised his left hand showing that it didn't bear a ring, “but it's not that easy.” He dropped the hand, it hitting the railing lightly. He signed and looked ahead, a dark shadow of aching heaviness glooming over his face. Richie felt that feeling deep in his bones.

He took another drag from the cigarette, and signed as well. This place had really ruined them for good.

They settled in a hesitant type of silence, the heaviness of their lives vivid in the air. Hesitant because while wanting to talk, the topics seemed to always circle back to the same dept, the same old painful wounds that had never seemed to have closed.

Richie took one last drag out of the cigarette and then turned and rubbed the butt against the railing, putting out the lit part and then leaned over to throw it in the trash can. Then he settled back where he was, still pressed against Eddie.

Being this close certainly did things to him, just feeling Eddie's warm body, his whole being, so entirely him, right next to him was calming and pretty much lit Richie's insides on fire at the same time. Richie longed this feeling to go on forever. Like a spoiled child this heart screamed for more, please more, and with everything he had he tried to tame it, but you know how they are, children and hearts, they want what they want, and no amount of silencing them will settle them down. Once again, the memory of that night rang like an alarm trough his mind, making him remember the way it had felt to let his heart to just feel instead if trying to tie it up in barbed wire to forever keep it from escaping.

“You know, Eddie, do you..do you remember..” Richie started, but once again the words just seemed to be flowing away the second he thought he had a grip on them. He felt his throat do dry and hands tremble, the memory finally shaping its self into reality, finally finding a real place where to anchor its self down. It felt raw and exposed, so many years had it been wrapped in a safety blanket of simply being ignored or forgotten.

He was about to dismiss it, to just say it’s nothing, to leave it be, to let he sharp edges of it dig into his heart painfully for the rest of his time, but the way Eddie was looking at him, genuine, eyes gentle and honestly curious and maybe a little concerned, made him rethink it.

He took a deep breath. If he could fight a killer clown, twice, then he could do it. He thought of Eddie being one of the bravest god damn people he’s ever known, and knew, that maybe, just maybe he could borrow some of that strength too.

“Do you remember that night on my rooftop, when we got drunk as hell?”

He heard Eddie take a sudden, sharp intake of breath and then nothing. Talk about pin being able to be heard being dropped. So, Eddie does remember, at least that’s out of the way, it sure would be quite awkward to explain.

Richie couldn’t look at Eddie, too afraid what he might see, so since Eddie hadn’t spoken, and Richie, always needing to fill the silence, continued, “So after that second bottle of wine you know how we..how we..”

“Kissed?”

Here is the pin being dropped again, because now Richie was robbed of words to say. Instead he nodded dumbly, still not looking at Eddie, not being sure if he even saw.

But turns out he did see, because Eddie, in a whisper so quiet Riche barely heard, uttered, “Yeah, Richie. I remember.”

Richie took a shuddering breath. This was it then. He’s going to say it, face a polite, perfectly packaged rejection on silver platter, Eddie-style, meant to cause the least harm, as if saying it nicer would be like blowing on a wound. Well, blowing on a wound my ass, everyone knows that only lessens the pain for a few seconds max until it’s right back at the start. “Well, the kiss, it actual-”

But Richie didn’t get to finish, because it looked like Eddie had adapted Richie’s ever running, awkward mouth as words fell out of his mouth mile a minute, “Shit, Richie, I’m sorry for what I’m about to say, but I can’t hold it in anymore. That night, I know you only saw it as a one time thing, so I panicked and said that it didn’t mean anything, but god Richie, when I say to you, it did, it so did, and it..still does, and I can’t stop thinking ab-”

“Eddie,” Richie interrupted quietly.

Eddie took a shaky breath, then in a panicked voice replied, “Yeah?”

Richie felt like his heart is going to fucking explode and with all his will he tried to keep calm. “I thought you wanted it to be one time thing.”

Eddie seemed to be a bit out if it as he asked, “What?”

“You said it yourself dude!” Richie exclaimed, maybe a bit too loud, this nerves taking the toll on him.

“Yeah only because I panicked because as we pulled away you frowned, and I thought you were about to call me disgusting or something!” Eddie, matching Richie’s tone, yelled back.

Richie run his hand trough his hair, approximately one second away to totally losing it, “Dude I was legitimately about to confess to you!”

“Shit.”Eddie looked truly at loss of words. Richie could practically feel his thoughts running marathons in his mind. “Shit, oh god, Richie, fuck. I fucked it all up. I-I am so sorry, I just thought, I just panicked I was so scared I-”

Richie didn’t yet know whether he would touch Eddie but he desperately wanted to comfort him, to calm him, anything, so he tried the best he could with words, “No, no, Eddie please breathe, it’s okay, its fine, I wanted to say something afterwards but then-”

“Why didn’t you?”

“You didn’t either!”

“True, fuck but I still can’t believe I fucked up our chances to.. to you know..” He gestured vaguely between them as if to represent their mess of an almost-relationship.

Richie chuckled nervously, “Eds, seriously, it’s okay. Better late than never right?”

They both looked at each other and in that exact moment the reality if the situation truly hit, - they just confessed that they both as dumb teenagers had been scared and lost and in love with each other. And now they’re still scared and lost, but with each step towards each other a little less. But the love had not wavered at all.

“We’re fucking stupid, aren’t we?” Richie breathed, heart beating out of his chest.

“Yeah, real fucking stupid,” Eddie agreed.

And like glass shatters the wall between them, so carefully built, each brick made to keep them apart, to hide the obvious in plain sight.

And then they are diving in, taking that one last step before the leap.

They met each other halfway, desperate lips meeting each other after years of separation. And this time it isn’t any less desperate and uncoordinated, however now for entirely different reasons. Good to know Eddie hadn’t lost his flame, Richie thought, because he was not holding back whatsoever, kissing with the same burning passion he did that night. The overwhelming feeling was making him dizzy, so he put his hands around Eddie's face as Eddie’s wrapped around his waist.

Eddie turned out to be quite bold, leading the kiss, leaving Richie to follow, which he was only glad to do. Eddie pushed his tongue against Riches lips, asking for permission, Richie granting it immediately. Fat chance he'd let the opportunity of having Eddie Kaspbrak’s tongue down his throat pass.

They easily found a rhythm, their whole bodies falling into sync, pushing and pulling, becoming one. Richie didn't want to seem that desperate, but he couldn't help himself, he pulled Eddie as close as he could, but soon learned that Eddie shared the same desperation as he did the same.

They pulled apart and panted into each other’s mouths, foreheads still pressed tightly together. Richie's emotions were going off the charts, tears threatening to spill out any second now. He willed them to stop; it would be quite embarrassing to cry while the love of your life just kissed the shit out of you.

And just like all those years ago an overwhelming urge to just declare his feelings for Eddie overcomes him, but this time it’s not liquid courage making him speak and this time Eddie is not scared either, so he’s not stopping Richie from saying,

“I’m in love with you, Eddie.”

And because nothings stopping Eddie this time either, he smiles a smile that transfers years and years or regret and longing mixed with pure relief, and says it back, “I’m in love with you too, Richie.”

And this time it’s not hurt what Richie feels when he lets Eddie kiss him senseless, its happiness. And no stars are involved this time because who needs old rocks in the sky when you have the person you love in your arms. With each swipe of lips two lonely, trembling and scared hearts found the home they've been searching for their whole life, the broken pieces slowly threading together.

Eventually they had to pull apart for breath. And then Richie couldn't stop the tears, a small sob escaping him. It felt like being finally being able to breathe again, nothing but pure relief passing through his whole body, knocking the breath out of his lungs.

He never, in any world, had thought that anything like this would be able to happen. He closed his eyes and lifted his head against the sky, a tear running down his face. "Fuck.." he whispered, scrunching his eyes tightly together.

Eddie put both of his hands on Richie's face, wiping at the tears. "Hey, Rich, it's okay, I've got you.."

That only made Richie sob harder, so Eddie pulled him into a bone crushing hug, starting to rock them from side to side, quietly murmuring words of comfort, repeating that he’s sorry over and over again and gently petting his back with one hand, and his hair with the other.

He did that until Richie had somewhat calmed down. When he felt like he could breathe again, he pulled back and saw Eddie looking at him with those big, beautiful eyes; there were tear tracks on his face too. Still he put his hands back on Richie’s face and gently fixed his glasses that had gotten crooked while hugging and kissing. This man is going to be the death of him, Richie thought.

Eddie then all of a sudden stepped back and coughed, "Fuck, I'm never smoking again, and you aren't either, this is so disgusting," he exclaimed, and cleared his throat repeatedly, pretending to gag.

That made Richie chuckle. He then finally allowed himself to look at Eddie, really look at him, to see him, not only in stolen glances that felt dirty and wrong, but in the way he deserved to be seen. His eyes mapped his face, looking at each and every line and crook the time had created, how life had treated Eddie, and he will ask him about it all, he will talk with him till his voice is gone, and he will trace every one of those lines with his hands and he will try to never again feel dirty for doing it, he will be proud and not ashamed, because he is free and so is his heart, its healing, its mending the broken parts and drying the tears and no longer guarded harder than fucking Mona Lisa or something, because has finally let his feeling to exist here and now and tomorrow and for the rest of days. They are no longer just dying stars, untouchable and hidden away, now they are real, they are limitless, they could be the whole god damn universe for all he cared, because fuck it, he will not be masking them anymore. He loved Eddie Kaspbrak, a man, always has and always will; he’s no longer alone in space, he’s in the arms of a man he loves. Though, for now he has only one question.

“Hey, where did your piercing go?”

Eddie snorted at that and subconsciously traced the place on his nose that once beared the little silver ring with his thumb, “Myra, my wife, hated it and made me take it out. It’s long gone, Rich.”

Richie frowned, pictures of young Eddie with that piercing flooding his mind, “Damn, that sucks, it looked so hot on you, those punk vibes really suited you.”

Eddie smirked at that, leaned in and whispered while pretending to fix the collar of Richie’s jacket, “Well, then wait till you see my tattoos.”

Richie’s eyes instantly widened, cheeks turning pink, “Wait what? What tattoos?

But Eddie’s smirk only grew bigger as he winked and turned to walk back into the hotel.

“Eddie, seriously what tattoos??”

Thank you for reading!

#reddie #reddie fic #reddie fix-it #eddie kaspbrak x richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #IT movie #it 2017 #it 2019 #it chapter one #it chapter two #the clown gays are at it again #its me im the clown gay #nemo writes

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