#alex shouts to the void

[alex-multiverse]

Ranking arr class quests from lamest to coolest

Ff14 has a lot of jobs. And we all love them for different reasons. One of said reasons often includes the job quests, which help with contextualizing the flavor and place they have on the land of eorzea as a whole.

But what about the first step before achieving said job?

Today, im going to rank all the class quest plots in a realm reborn, from what i consider to be the most poorly executed, to the best story in this batch of content. This includes every starter combat job from levels 1 through 30. So no hw jobs who start in arr territory nor crafters or gatherers.

9.- Gladiator

The most boring of the class quests by a mile. The whole guild feels like a bunch of wannabee heroes who stick out their heads in places they shouldnt, and aldin, the focus character, kinda steals all the spotlight from the guild and the wol, even in the final lvl 30 duty. Mylla is cool otherwise and seeing every single gladiator sent to do plot things being near death in an obvious trap is something hilarious to me. And the plot to poison the sultana is funny on hindsight cause its not going to be the first time it happens.

Overall kinda boring, and still, it was better than dealing with paladin after hw

8.- Archer

Xenophobia: the class quest. While it is a good story that contextualizes the systemic issues thst gridania has, the main conflict between Silvairre and Leih isn't entertaining to watch. And the fact that the elezen's shittiness isn't really adressed and leih just kinda puts up with so they get along. And the whole "subduing the vil poachers" feels off when you consider the lore of the keepers of the moon in the twelveswood and their whole "actually living in peace with the elementals and being branded as poachers by the gridanians" all ends up leaving a bad aftertaste in ones mouth.

7.-Lancer

Drk isnt edgy as Dragoon is, and its predecessor is also quite edgy at times. Lancer quest focus character is Folques, who is yet another victim of gridania's aggressive culture towards outsiders, except he is a murderous bastard who thinks that getting stronger via murder is cool. So we prove he's wrong as we become stronger by killing him instead.

Overall kinda meh story about a rude rival that foreshadows some of the themes of revenge to occur in heavensward and stormblood.

6.- Conjurer

Weird how all gridanian class quests are relatively low.

However, conjurer is one i genuinely enjoy. Sylphie is sn amazing character and the explanation of the way conjury works is so good. Reason of it being a tad low, is because e sumi yan is a bad teacher, and sylphie is a terrible student. Other than that, im happy they returned for sb whm quest, closing a book on conjurer in a really good way that ill speak about later.

5.- Arcanist

Our favorite custom officers are a fun quest for beginners, fitting as summoner is the easiest job in the game. I particularly love k'lyhia's energy, as well as how the job includes aspects of its future job incarnations and its own core with her. The power of the summoner and the strategic might of the scholar.

Only complain is that i miss k'lyhia, and i need to see her in dawntrail.

4.- Marauder

You kinda just break rocks and chase after a big animal for 30 levels. Which is to say, they make work with what they had, and had to set in the conflict between beast and man to follow up with Gorge in warrior. Its not terrible, but its obviously just there for the warrior set dressing.

3.- Pugilist

Slapstick plot. The most hilarious class quest solely because hamon is such a riot to be with, abd his solo duty when you kicks his ass and he starts to level up is the best gag in all of a realm reborn. Besides that, the quest isnt particularly memorable besides the average ul'dahn crime sindicate plot.

2.- Thaumaturge

The cocogang is just shadow wizard money gang if it was real. I really love their whole "evil priest that do shady things in the shadows" except the shadows are 2 feet away from the place they do burials and stuff. basically they are all chunnibyious and im all here for it. Plotwise is really cool; it introduces voidsent and also adds some fun conflict in the form of the youngest -and magically deficient- of the coco brothers, and it ends with all of them broadening their horizons. whats not to love about this gang of arsonists?

1.- Rogue

The last addition to the basic classes, also is my personal favorite class plotwise. The rogues guild is full of character and so fun to have around. The whole concept of them being the actual people who punish pirates for their heinous crimes is genius, and the dumb rivalry they have with the yellowjacket captain is hilarious in the same way that lupin the 3rd does with inspector zenigata, and that one gag of Jacke being hanged in the hooks upstairs because he ate a sandwich is hysterical. couldnt expect less from ishikawa.

if i had to nitpick, is that the job loses me a lot aesthetics wise when it becomes ninja instead.

Will make a ranking of the arr job quests later when i feel like it. hope yall understood the weird ramblings of my mind

[a-bucket-in-the-void]

this is gonna kill me, what’s that song with the album cover that’s like looking out a car (or maybe it’s a train?) window and it’s sort of left heavy? like the edge of the window is on the left. and there’s a sign outside the window and in like the middle of it there’s like a. tiktok audio (idk)

i only remember vibes and it’s gonna kill me if i don’t figure this out

[conanssummerchild]

its honestly kind of crazy to me how much my sister just doesnt like me as a person. I would kill to have a younger sister, i saw my cousins this week and they're all younger than me, one's one and a half years younger and we always have fun together, we both love to draw and we both like taylor swift, spending time with her is always nice, the other is four years younger and despite the fact that she's a little shit and i barely ever see her, i feel that instinct to protect her and keep her safe that my sister's never seemed to feel with me. i'm barely three years younger than my sister, we could have fun, she could be there for me and give me advice but in nearly 16 years i haven't met her standards and in over 18 she's never wanted a sister, or maybe she has, just not me.

[actual-changeling]

nothing better than sitting on the floor of an ugly, dirty train station for an hour. germany at its best

[alexisarchived]

what i didn't expect from my second round of dracula daily is how quickly i would miss the entries in the gaps. the first time around i didn't mind the breaks between updates until we got to droughtula (aka the week long break at the climax of the story), but this time around even one day passes without an update and i'm gnawing on every tumblr post i can find like "sir i need my emotional support solicitor"

i don't know whether this is partly the added effect provided by #re:dracula or whether these early scenes are just so much more significant to me because i know now where this is all going, but i've been consuming every update the moment it lands on my phone and i'm so excited to see this through to the end

[justagaycryptid]

Watched American Psycho and this man wants to be Alex DeLarge sooo fucking bad its unreal

[whatabeautifulmindforreading]

THE ACTUAL FACT THAT JUNE WHO IS ONE OF THE SINGLE MOST IMPORTANT PEOPLE IN ALEX’S LIFE IS NOT IN THIS MOVIE MAKES IT LOSE TWO POINTS AUTOMATICALLY AND IS COMPLETELY UNFORGIVABLE!!!

[theverytiredghost]

i’m with prince henry. if i saw alex claremont-diaz, son of the president of the united states, at a party standing there with his perfect teeth, pretty brown eyes, and big wispy eyelashes then i too would need to leave immediately.

[mumrikhenry]

Listen party people

I am a strong boy. I will survive this.

But i swear to god. If we loose Breggie AND the Dodgers poach Soto, im gonna start maiming motherfuckers.

[fall0utmind]

Rosquez medical leak au ch8

Hi guys, long time no post (it has taken too long)

Chapter 8: Fall out

ao3 here, check the medical leak au tag (below) for the other parts

We are officially past the worst of the angst - hope you enjoy this, it's a bit of a filler but it is going to get better. Thanks for all the love.

Silence falls for a brief second after Valentino has left. Marc is standing alone in the middle of the room, staring at where he had been. He feels the shattered pieces of his heart in his chest, and he begins to cry. Once he starts, he can’t stop, wretched sobs pulled out of him as he gasps for breath. Underneath the misery and despair, the deep roots of his anger pull at him. Enraged that Valentino still treats him like a stray dog that he can continue to kick down, knowing that he will return with his tail wagging at the first hint of affection. He’s furious that Vale can pretend that he didn’t know. How can he stand in Marc’s home and plead when he has ruined everything? It leaves a sour taste in Marc’s mouth, yet his treacherous heart flutters with hope that maybe Valentino didn’t know. Maybe there is a chance.

He can barely see Alex's panicked face through his swimming vision as he frantically tries to inhale, his breath catching in his chest.

He feels the room bearing down on him, the walls contracting, pushing him from all sides. His heart races as black spots appear in his sight like stars in the night sky. His chest aches and his lungs burn, it is as if someone has sucked the oxygen out of the room. He is shaking; someone has tipped his life upside down and he no longer knows which way is up. He cannot help but feel like something bad will happen, an impending sense of doom clawing from his chest. The irony isn’t lost on him.

Alex is clutching at him now, shouting at the others in the room, who break out of their ghost-like trance and spring into action. Dovi slots himself behind Marc, strong arms wrapping around him, supporting his weight as his knees buckle. He gently manoeuvres them towards the sofa, both collapsing onto it. There is a gentle rumbling from behind him – the Italian whispering softly in Marc’s ear, and although he can’t hear anything but a static buzz, the gentleness lulls him slightly. He squeezes his eyes shut, more tears leaking down his face. When he opens his eyes, Alex is kneeling in front of him, Marc’s hands clasped in his own. He watches Alex’s lips move with no sound. He still can’t catch his breath. Violent sobs and gasps fill the air; it takes him a second to realise the broken noises are coming from him, filtering through the static.

This is what Valentino Rossi does to him. He takes Marc’s heart in his hands, brutally ripped out from his chest, and he smashes it like glass. He turns his back and leaves Marc with no blood, no oxygen, and no way to keep on living. And yet Marc still loves him. The name Marc Marquez is rarely spoken without a mention of Valentino Rossi. They are intrinsically linked, their names smeared together in an artistic rendition of pain and betrayal. Marc does not believe there will ever be a day he can live without it. They are destined to destroy each other until the end of time. Nothing will be left of his fragile heart by the time Valentino is done with it.

He thinks back to 2015. He thinks he is falling apart, shattering into a million tiny shards. The world stops spinning as he stares into the void and realises this is his fate. The man he loves willingly betrays him again and again, but despite it all, Marc cannot help but need him. A visceral, all-consuming need to consume each other until only one survives. Every time he thinks he has moved on Valentino sinks his claws back in, tearing another part of Marc apart. The backslide is always the worst part; having climbed the whole way up only to slip back down again. Pain becomes welcome in the never-ending sea of numbness. He is frantically swimming up to a surface which will never come. Choking, suffocating, sinking deeper into the murky depths. He is lost in the endless darkness, trying to find his way to a home that doesn’t exist. He feels so alone. He has shut every door trying to block it out and has numbed himself into apathy. Now the world has turned its back on him.

Alex shakes him. Hard. Unwilling to let the darkness take hold once more. Marc pulls towards the surface, pushing his head above the waves and gasping for air. He inhales. Alex’s words filter into his awareness.

“Marc, breathe with me. You’re ok, it’s okay”

Marc tries desperately to match the breathing demonstrated to him, focusing on the steady rise and fall of Dovi’s chest behind him as he gasps around his tears. He clutches onto the feeling like a lifeline, breathing in time with him. He is distantly aware of Alex talking soothingly, his hands still grasping Marc’s. Marc feels guilt wash over him; he has always tried hard to prevent his brother from seeing these panic attacks. He has tried to be strong, reluctant to let Alex feel more responsibility for Marc’s wellbeing. He failed. Another round of tears builds, leaving him sobbing wretchedly once more. The Dovi continues to whisper comforting praise, his low register rumbling against where they are flush together.

“That’s it, you’re doing so well, keep breathing for me, baby”

The pet name sinks into his chest and settles like a blanket of warmth; he feels his cheeks flush slightly. Dovi chuckles lightly, noting Marc’s reaction before he goes back to coaching the younger to breathe deeply. The world slowly filters back in, like the tide has pulled back, retreating to sea. Dovi is wrapped around him, grounding him in reality. Alex’s face is still in front of him; his eyes soft as he comes back into focus. Marc blinks slowly, squeezing his brother’s hand, and Alex exhales.

“Jöder, Marc. You scared the life out of me. God…”, Alex frets.

Water is pressed into his hands by a concerned-looking Dani. Marc tries to muster a reassuring smile, he’s not sure if he succeeds. A bone-deep exhaustion washes over him, and he sinks back into Dovi, eyes shutting against his will. Jorge and Dani watch on, concern evident from their identical worried frowns.

“Are you okay, Mijo?”, asks Dani.

Marc hums non-committedly, he wants to tell them everything is fine, but that’s a lie, and he doesn’t think he could talk right now if he tried. He could sleep for a year. It’s getting late; the sun had long since set and really it is about time that they all headed to bed. Dani and Jorge share a look, communicating without words, and announce that they will head back to their hotels to let Marc rest. He considers this for a second, and upon second thought, it might be hotel singular given how domesticated the pair are. He must ask about that, maybe tomorrow. They confer quietly with Alex before they leave, gently touching Marc and reassuring him that they will return tomorrow. Affection rises within him at his friend's kindness. Despite this, he is somewhat glad they are leaving, exhaustion weighing down on him. He feels washed out, managing a small wave as his eyes begin to droop again. Dovi shuffles out from underneath Marc, standing up and stretch leisurely.

“Let’s get you to sleep, Cariño”

He shoots a questioning look towards Alex, who shrugs a little before pointing towards the bedrooms. It makes Dovi roll his eyes in exasperation. He’s not an idiot, he knows what the others are doing - giving him and Marc space. He knows he has a soft spot for the Spaniard that you can see from space, but he also knows about Marc’s unwavering affection for Valentino. Dovi is perfectly content to be his friend without a need to act on his attraction, and if Marc ever decides otherwise then that’s something they can explore another day. Certainly not now.

He scoops Marc up off the sofa, gesturing at Alex to lead the way and following him with Marc tucked securely in his arms. Once they reach the bedroom, Dovi gently deposits him on the bed. Between Alex and himself, they manage to wrangle him out of most of his clothes and get him under the covers. He’s still sniffling weakly when he turns towards them.

“Why does he hate me? I don't understand”

Dovi's heart shatters a little at that, sadly looking back at the Spaniard tucked into bed like a child.

“I don’t know Corazón,but hopefully today’s given him a much-needed kick up the backside”

He gives Marc a weak smile, despaired that he can’t do more, and steps back to let Alex wrap him in a hug. Alex murmurs something in Catalan which prompts Marc to shove his face into his brother’s shirt. Marc’s eyes are unfocused and drooping by the time they leave, his soft goodnight echoing down the hallway as they shut the door behind them. Alex lets out a deep sigh, thanking Dovi and giving him a light hug before he shows him out. They all need their sleep tonight, with tomorrow promising to be a hectic day. Alex will stay close to his brother, unable to shake the lingering concern, but Dovi heads back to his hotel room, in dire need of some rest and time to think. He just hopes tomorrow will bring more positivity.

*

Marc wakes up with the sun, feeling well rested despite the events of the day before. He is determined to put yesterday behind him, reminding himself that he can always fight, even if the world is against him.

Marc pulls himself out of bed, putting on his comfiest outfit before he heads onto the track, hoping to get an early morning walk in to clear his head before the rest of the paddock arrives. The morning light is beautiful, and the air is warm but not uncomfortable. It reminds him why he loves racing – walking the track. He can almost imagine the smell of burnt rubber and the purr of an engine below him. He can feel the breeze on his face and imagines the feeling as he takes a corner. Marc allows himself a moment to stand and take it in, the sun warming his face and making him golden in the early morning sunshine. He has overcome a lot to be here, he might as well appreciate that. He stays out for another half an hour, leisurely walking the track and appreciating the quiet, before he heads back to the motorhome.

Someone is lingering outside the door- a figure clad in red. At first, he thinks it’s Pecco, but as he draws closer, he realises that his hair is too long. Fear momentarily grips him as he considers who might be loitering outside his motorhome, and why. But before the panic can fully set in, the figure turns, and Marc is face to face with Enea. He’s surprised the younger Italian has sought him out. He’s been avoiding most of the grid for the whole weekend, unwilling to confront their pitying faces.

 Enea greets him with a fond ciao and a warm hug as Marc invites him inside. There’s a worried frown that creases his eyebrows, it’s terribly cute. His eyes are scanning Marc as if checking to see if he’s okay.

“You areokay?”, he asks.

Marc smiles gently, the warmth from earlier returning. It makes him surprisingly honest.

“I’ve been worse. Rough night. It’ll get better”, Marc replies.

He knocks their shoulders together, enjoying the way it makes Enea flush slightly and smile in a quiet, pleased sort of way. Enea has always been one of the few Italians on the grid that Marc gets on with. Probably because he has never been associated with Vale’s posse of students. Enea is funny and kind, as well as a talented rider. It endears Marc to him.

Enea stays for coffee. The soothing sounds of quiet Italian fill the motorhome as they talk about the weekend and their plans after the race. Alex wanders into the room not long after, eyebrows raising at the sight of the two of them. Enea takes Alex arriving as his cue, standing up to leave. As Marc walks him out, the Italian tugs him into a tight hug, head buried into Marc’s shoulder.

“You scared me. At the press conference. And then yesterday. I’m glad you are okay.”, he mumbles, rawness bleeding into his voice. Marc simply pulls Enea in tighter, pressing his face against the other man’s hair, before he lets him go. He grins at the younger man, ruffling his hair good-naturedly.

“I will see you later, good luck today!”, Marc calls out as Enea leaves

“You too, Marc. Be safe”, Enea answers.

Marc grins a little manically,

“Always.”

*

The rest of the morning passes in a blur. The others are meeting them in the garage today, leaving the brothers to get ready together before heading out into the pit lane.

It is getting busier now; the paddock swells with media, team personnel, and fans. Marc and Alex try their best to swerve around the masses, taking alternative routes where possible. Usually, Marc adores meeting fans; he loves seeing their enthusiasm and passion for his sport. But the idea sets him on edge after this weekend. He has been avoiding social media, terrified by the juxtaposing reaction of the fans. He knows there is no shortage of hatred online. He found out the hard way that it translates into real life too.

Eventually, their luck runs out. Marc darts a terrified look at Alex as a group of fans spot them and begin to approach. Some of them are wearing his merch, some not. Anxiety is clawing at him, but he steals himself with a deep breath. He can’t escape without looking like an asshole and that’s the last thing he needs this weekend. A young woman approaches first, perhaps in her later teenage years; she looks about as nervous as Marc feels. All he can imagine is the man who shouted abuse at his most vulnerable moment, it scares him more than he wants to admit. He pastes a fake smile onto his face whilst mentally bracing himself for the worst.

It never comes.

The girl is sweet, asking for a photo and an autograph. It’s a relatively normal fan interaction until she pulls away from the selfie and looks directly into Marc’s eyes. He’s slightly shaken by the fierce honesty he sees there.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry about all the crap from this weekend.”, she starts, compassion and outrage evident in her voice.

“It sucks that you didn’t get to say it on your own terms. You will inspire many people with your success. Thank you for staying alive so that we can see you continue to thrive in the face of adversity. You’re very brave.”

She smiles at him after, before turning on her heel and walking away with a slight skip in her step. It leaves Marc gasping for air; his face is slack from shock. The fans continue to be quietly supportive and praise Marc’s strength. Quite a few of them are bad-mouthing the press. It makes him reconsider everything. It makes him feel brave rather than weak. It makes him consider all the people who have suffered through similar, just like Pecco had said last night. He smiles for real this time, his eyes slightly damp.

The final fan loitering is an older man wearing a faded 46 shirt. Marc gulps, fighting the recurring panic. Each step feels like a blow as the man approaches. He stops in front of Marc, who is suspended in time, tensing in anticipation.

The man speaks quickly, his voice low but sincere.

“You are a good man.”, he announces. That alone shocks Marc.

He continues, “People can see that, no matter who we support. Despite everything you have kept going, you should be proud of that.”

Marc feels hope and warmth welling up within him. It feels good, knowing that even Valentino’s fans could be kind. He wants to cry, but in a good way for once. He watches the man as he walks away, rooted to the spot, leaving Alex to drag Marc the last few hundred meters towards the garage.

He enters the garage feeling lighter than he has all weekend, a sunny smile on his face. The team reflect his positivity almost immediately; he loves them more than life. Dovi is already waiting for Marc and Alex, his eyebrows raised at their entrance.

“What’s got you smiling like that?”, he questions.

Marc grins cheekily as he replies, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He winks at Dovi and laughs at the dirty smirk he receives in response, followed by Alex’s weary groan. Dani and Jorge join them, prompting Marc to launch into a retelling of the fan interactions. He beams the whole way through.

By the time he heads out for practice, he feels on top of the world. It’s reflected in his riding, and he puts in lap after lap at a blazing pace.  By the time he pulls back into the pits, there is a wicked smile on his face.

Fuck the world, he thinks. He has proved to himself capable of handling anything. He has overcome what should have been a career-ending injury. He will get through this too; he has already done the hardest bit. Bring it on.

[alexandria-thornton]

A recounting of events preceding my return:

--- I ---

Flurries of snow cascaded around the Countess’ robes. Any surface upward-facing enough to catch the falling flakes was covered in it, stark, blotchy patches of white striped across her scarlet folds. This blizzard would soon have taken any mortal who dared brave the treacherous conditions, but it is very hard to kill someone who is already dead.

Her heavy-lidded eyes, pupils arterial red against the blanket of white narrowed in an effort to pierce through it. Any shape, no matter how faint it was, could be a sign of her beloved, and time was of the essence. She winced, thinking of Alexandria and her stubbornness, how her beloved would grit her teeth and bear anything, and recoiled at the thought of those teeth bared in a permanent, frozen grimace in some backwater Arctic forest.

The vampire glanced down at her phone again, reading and rereading the coordinates slowly. Her slender finger, cold as the grave, flicked trails of ice from the dim screen.

“This should be the place.” Sybil worriedly told herself, in a hollow, discomforting confirmation. “She has to be here.”

“Alex!” poured out of her lungs like a dam bursting. Tears formed in her eyes, froze, and sparkled briefly as they fell into anonymity in the blizzard.

“Please! I'm here! I'm right here! Alex!”

Her voice was trembling now. The snow yielded no response, the wind indifferent as it continued howling. It wasn't supposed to end like this. She had thirty, maybe forty years to prepare for this. To love a mortal was to accept this eventuality. The unthinkable reality unfolding before her burrowed deep into her soul like a parasite.

“It can't end this way”, she mourned silently to herself as her voice continued to bellow the name of her beloved into the endless white.

“It can't. I won't let it. I have to find her. It doesn't end like this.”

She shouted again. The elements ignored her. There was nothing there to listen, no one there to hold her gently, offer warm blood to soothe her hoarse voice. The cold wouldn't take her. The wind would pay no heed, and the snow would muffle her distant scream. The tragedy standing before her gnawed at her soul, its hot breath irradiating her core and chilling her deeper than any winter ever could. Its eyes glared into hers, through her eyelids and into the very core of her being.

She couldn't look away. The painful truth her sire beat into her all those years ago replayed in her mind’s eye like an unwanted guest entering uninvited.

“Obsession, not sunlight or the stake and crucifix, is the end of every Kindred.”

She pondered lying down on the snow and not getting up. Letting the sun take its course would be quick and leave behind no evidence. Another, more stubborn part of her scorned this notion, noting with indignance that similar actions led to the tragic end of Romeo and Juliet.

She fell to her knees; the snow cushioned the impact but provided no comfort. As the sobs heaved her body, her tears froze and joined the surrounding snowfall. It was all she could do, or think to do. The seconds became minutes, which felt like hours, for the Countess had eternity to grieve.

She knelt there, weeping, widowed before she could even give her beloved the ring.

--- II ---

Had hours passed by now? Her hands were frozen solid to her face. She wrenched them off, uncaring for potential damage. The pain, a vague suggestion from a dead body long overdue for cremation, barely meant anything now. Soon the sun would be up, and her life extinguished.

Heat washed over her back in waves. Sybil closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath. She could be free now, join Alex in the void beyond death, that mysterious sleep from which none wake. Warmth beyond warmth covered the nape of her neck, as pressure wrapped its way around her torso and held her firmly…

The sun wasn't furry.

Her eyes darted downward. Two heavy trunks of white fur squeezed her loose robes around her waist, clawed hands gently rested on either side. She turned around, albeit with difficulty in the embrace, and buried her face in the wolf’s chest. The rhythm of her sobs escalated to a full crescendo of gasping wails. Alexandria’s arms squeezed her tighter. The wolf was trembling, which only seemed to worsen as she pulled Sybil closer.

“Alex… I'm here, love.” she choked between sobs.

“You were cold.” the wolf growled in response.

“The cold doesn't -”

“You are cold. I will warm you up.”

"Alex! You're going to die out here!”

The wolf was shivering. She felt the heaving beast’s body quiver and stiffen against cold gusts of wind.

“Darling, please! You have to worry about yourself!” the Countess wailed over the wind. “I can't lose you!”

--- III ---

Sybil slipped out of her robes. The vampire's bare, pale flesh was nearly the color of the snow. Her fingers found purchase on Alex's chest fur, and she pulled the beast down with no tact whatsoever, wrapping the oversized crimson garment around the werewolf’s trembling bulk. She took Alex's enormous clawed hand.

“Let's go home, darling.”

“I can't.”

“You must.” she softly said, gazing back at her scarlet-clad wolf.

“After what I've done? They had families.”

“So did the people they killed.”

“And that justifies this?”

Sybil paused for a moment, then pulled Alexandria down to eye level. “No, but I'm telling you that it's not your fault.”

“I killed all of them, Sybil.”

“And if you hadn't? The kids wouldn't be here. Ambrose wouldn't have lost.”

“They died for no reason.”

“They died for what they believed in and who they chose to ally themselves with. What's done is done. They knew the risks that came with their devotion to Ambrose.”

The beast snarled and broke free of Sybil's grip. The snow parted for her large, clawed feet, leaving prints as she stepped back from the Countess, bringing her full height to bear.

“Would they say the same of us?” Alexandria roared. “Would they admit wrongdoing? Or did fifty-seven of their own family get slaughtered in cold blood?”

“They were willing to fight and die for him.’

“The kids would have fought and died for their friends, too.” Alex growled. “The bloodshed was unnecessary. I should have stopped them.”

“You were willing to fight and die for those kids, too.”

“They shouldn't have risked their lives that way. It should have been me.”

Sybil's hand softly stroked the wolf's fur, fingers digging thin rows in the snow that had settled there.

“Darling, I've been on this earth for years. Far longer than you. I've seen multiple wars, and what it does to those who fight them. Wondering if you made the right decision will never compare to forgiving yourself for the choice you made, no matter how flawed.”

“How could I? After all that has occurred?”

“Because, Alexandria, my love,” she said, smiling, “despite your insistence to the contrary, you're only human.”

[annaelizabethhenry1]

Echoes from the Past - Chapter 2

Summary: River visits his grandfather post season 4 at the care home. The visits conjure memories of River’s childhood and teen years as he grapples with his grandfather’s declining mental health and how once he’s gone he’ll have no one left. Warning – spoilers for all four seasons.

A big thank you to my coven and our endless discussions about this fic and scenarios for Little River and the tough discussions around dementia. Writing may seem like a solitary endeavor, but its always a group effort - hugs and kisses to Alex @cillmequick and Dot @coffeeflavored <3

CHAPTER ONE

Chapter Two

As it was a long bank holiday weekend, River decided he’d stay at his grandfather’s house to make visiting him daily for the next few days simpler. The light was going down rapidly along the garden’s treeline and River hurried inside, clutching his bag of curry take-away. He flipped on the lights in the study and the kitchen. He also switched on the heating as it was freezing in the house. He missed the days when he would visit and the house was lit, warm with the fireplace crackling. Now the house was just an empty shell of its former self. It sat cold and dark, no life stirring from within it. 

As the radiators banged and hissed to life, River took out the curry, pulled a fork from a drawer and was about to sit down at the empty kitchen table and sighed. “God, how pathetic,” he muttered. Was this going to be his existence going forward, sad take away meals alone in a drafty house? He never realized how much he enjoyed his grandfather’s company until it had been taken from him. He took for granted the camaraderie they shared over the years. 

River walked back to the study with his curry and sat down in his usual chair as he couldn’t bring himself to sit in grandad’s as it would always be his even after he was gone. Mind you the chair River sat in used to belong to his Nan, but after she passed grandad told him it was his spot from now on which made it different. 

It was so quiet in the country compared to his noisy flat in London where there were always sirens, cars rushing by and people shouting. Just like when he first arrived here when he was almost seven, the silence made him feel lonely and isolated, like you’d survived some dystopian horror and only you were left. The silence hadn’t scared him for ages, but now it suddenly did because before even with the silence there was the chatter of his grandfather to fill the void and that was now missing.

River thought back to one of his first nights in the house. When everything seemed new and rather frightening. He’d never lived outside of London before nor had he ever stayed somewhere so fancy. It reminded him of how people on the telly lived. 

On the third night with his grandparents, River lay awake in his bed in what his grandparents called the guest room, but there was talk of making it more comfortable for him.  He wondered if that meant it would his room. He’d never had his own room before – usually he slept on a pull-out sofa or in a sleeping bag. He couldn’t fathom having a whole room that was just for him. Grabbing his bunny, he shuffled from under the cosy comforter and went to the window to look out.

River could not understand his grandparents yet. He always made a point to figure out how his mum’s latest boyfriend worked. What would upset them, what would make them happy or at least indifferent to him. With Nan especially, nothing seemed to trouble her. 

River whispered to Mr. Hoppinheimer, “I don’t get how they haven’t yelled at me yet. It’s been three whole days…I thought for sure when I spilled the milk today Nan would yell, but she didn’t.”

His grandparents were obviously older, but did this mean they yelled less or was it something else? An owl hooted in the tree near his window and River jumped. “What was that? A monster?”

The wind tossed the branches outside and one was close enough to scrap the house, scaring River further. He clutched his bunny while another sound echoed in the night sky and River shuddered as tears ran down his cheek.

River’s door creaked opened and light from the hallway poured in as his grandfather appeared, smiling. River quickly wiped the tears away, his mum hated it when he cried.

“River are you all right, lad?”

He shook his head no because he was scared and confused. River worried what his grandfather would do next. Best case he’d ignore him, worst he’d yell.

“Well we can’t have that,” David said coming into the room and turning a little lamp on that cast a soft glow about the room. 

His grandfather sat down at the edge of the bed closest to River, “Come sit next to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

River looked at this grandfather who smiled and patted the spot next to him. River hesitated, but went over and sat down. Grandad wrapped an arm around him, “Are you scared?”

“Yes, but I promised mum I wouldn’t be any trouble…”

“Oh, River my boy being scared isn’t causing trouble. You don’t have to worry anymore because I’m here to protect you, so is your Nan. We want you to be happy and we can’t do that if you don’t tell us how you feel, all right?”

Grandad pulled River closer and kissed the top of his head.

River didn’t know what to do. He felt so different. Like for the first time someone didn’t mind him being there. It was almost like they were happy he was here with them, especially his Nan.

“It’s so quiet here…but when I hear things…they scare me,” As if on cue the owl hooted. “Like that!” River snuggled into his grandfather’s sweater hoping he wouldn’t mind.

“Oh, that’s an owl. Tomorrow we’ll go out and investigate the garden and I’ll show you where the owls live and maybe if we’re lucky enough we’ll see an owl in the daylight as they usually hunt at night.”

“What’s investigate mean?”

“Explore. There’s so much to see around here. I can take you down the road to where the neighbours keep their horses. You’d like to see that, right?”

River brightened up. Someone wanted to do something especially for him. He didn’t understand it but he was glad his mum left him here. Mind you, he didn’t trust it yet, but this felt so different than what he was used to. 

“I like it here even if it’s scary at night.”

“It won’t be scary for long. You’ll get used to the different sounds. But you can always come to us if you’re scared. You don’t have to stay here afraid.”

“Won’t you be cross if I wake you?” River asked afraid he pushed too far.

“Cross? No, never.”

Grandad soothed River, tucked him back in, bunny and all and shut the light, but left the door open so he wouldn’t feel alone.

River thought wistfully on that moment, it was the first time he felt truly safe and loved. He knew recapturing that now was impossible given his grandfather’s condition. It also made him wonder if his grandfather was afraid when he was lucid, that he knew he was slipping away and couldn’t do anything about it. What could River do to soothe him? He had to find a way to comfort him after everything he had done for him. River knew his grandfather was flawed – more than ever now after finding out who his father was and what lay behind it. But still he owed him and deep down he knew his grandad had done his best for River all those years ago. 

River started as his mobile rang in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw Catherine’s name appearing on the screen. He thought it odd she’d call this late. He hoped everything was all right. “Hi Catherine. Is everything okay?” 

“Oh, hi River, yes. Just wanted to check in with you. I knew you said you were visiting David this weekend. I wondered if you had gone down.”

“Yeah, I did. He wasn’t so good today…he wanted to go home and then later he didn’t know who I was…”

“Oh, River…I’m so sorry. Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day. Why don’t you try bringing some photos over with you? Remember the article I sent you mentioned that often helps them as their minds often live in the past, so seeing photos of you when you’re younger might bring him around,” Catherine urged from the other end of the line.

“Right. I forgot about that. I’ll go find some when I finish my curry.”

“Take away again, honestly,” Catherine huffed.

River chuckled. “It’s not like I’m in the mood to cook.”

“My offer still stands.”

“I know. I’ll see how tomorrow goes,” River said.

Catherine Standish had offered to come by for the day and visit David as he was familiar with her from their “adventure” together after River left David with her when they perused by both the Park and an assassin.  

After River finished his curry and tidied the kitchen, he went upstairs to his grandparents’ room. The door creaked as it opened, turning the light on the room came to life. He looked around, everything was tidy. The bed made, the curtains closed, the furniture recently polished. He wished he could take credit for it, but right after he left his grandfather at the care home, Catherine came by to help organize things with River, which included a weekend of tidying-up the house as it was long overdue for some sprucing up. 

River opened the closet door, staring at the sparse contents as half of it was in the care home with his grandfather and the other space belonged to his Nan who’s clothes had been donated long ago. A box caught his eye on an upper shelf. It looked like a hat box that would’ve belong to his grandmother. Reaching up he removed it and was surprised by its weight. Placing it down on the bed, River opened the lid, “Oh, wow…” It contained cards, drawings and other ephemera River had made growing up. He had no idea his grandparents had saved these. They were bundled neatly unlike his own memory box. 

As he shifted the piles and removed them to the bed, he saw the weathered rocks he decorated for the garden when he seven or eight. Then there was the ‘Best Grandad’ pin River bought for him one Father’s Day. He held it for a moment remembering trying to pin it on his grandad’s sweater with his little fingers and being pricked by it. River smiled. Digging further he found a child sized watch with the face scratched. 

“He kept this?” River muttered feeling his face flush as he looked up at the ceiling blinking back tears. The battered watch held a special memory for River, it was the catalyst in his bonding early on with his grandad. 

River had been with his grandparents almost a month when they presented him with a very cool digital watch that had a special little button that made it light up in the dark. He’d only taken it off to have baths since he received it, but one Sunday evening he realized it was missing from his wrist. He was seized by panic - his grandparents would be so disappointed in him if he already lost the watch. 

While he was still trying to understand his grandparents, River knew this was definitely the type of thing that would lead to yelling – it had to. He lost far less precious things when he was with his mum and she got so cross, calling him careless. It was no wonder that she left him here. Now where would he go if his grandparents got tired of him losing things or being clumsy? But with no father, who would take him in next? River remembered watching Oliver on the telly a while ago and thought how horrible it would be to live on the streets being a thief. Would Fagan be nice to him? River doubted it as no one seemed to like him. He’d not be able to keep Mr. Hoppinheimer or his new bear Benjamin who had a very smart bowtie. 

“Wait! Maybe it’s in the bathroom!” River darted across the hallway into the loo. 

River looked on the floor, under the rugs, by the sink, and under the towels that were neatly stacked. It wasn’t anywhere. He was so crestfallen and slumped to sit on the cold, tile floor, scared to tell them he lost the watch. Near tears, River tried to take a breath, but could feel his chest tighten as he was near hyperventilating. He breathed in and out harder. He had to think, where had he gone today? The kitchen, dining room and study – oh the garden! 

Earlier before dinner he and his grandad went into the garden to check on the pots to see if anything sprouted up yet. Grandad even gave him gloves to put on that were too big for him. Maybe the watch fell off then.

Darting back across the hallway, River went into his room to put his shoes on and then realized how would he get out of the house without explaining to his grandparents why he was going outside? The house was very creaky, but he already knew which steps made the most noise as he liked playing a game where he avoided them hopping around.

Tip-toeing in the hall and down the stairs avoiding the creaky spots, River edged around the wall and poked his head into the study and spied his grandparents involved in their books while the fire crackled. Seeing they were occupied, he made a dash to the kitchen. River peered out the kitchen door noticing the light was fading fast. He went into what his Nan called the jumble drawer where random things like screwdrivers, tape measures and a small torch were kept. He slid it from the drawer noiselessly as possible. The doorhandle was an odd lever River hadn’t completely remembered how to use and it squeaked a little when he turned it the wrong way. His heart pounded as he froze. All he heard was ticking from the clock in the entry hall and a tiny throat clearing from his grandad. River sighed. He pulled the door open just enough for him to get out. He immediately dove out of sigh against the chilly stone wall. 

“Whew, okay that was close,” River mumbled as he turned the torch on and began his search around the clay pots.

Just as he looked between the last batch of flower pots with the torch he heard the kitchen door squeak shut. “NO!” River whispered turning quickly and arcing the torch beam into one of the windows. He hastily turned it off less to draw attention to the garden. River went on his hands and knees in the damp grass to hide when he noticed his missing watch in a tuft of high grass around one of the larger planters. 

River wrapped the watch around his wrist and proceeded to crawl back to the house to stay out of sight till he reached the back door. Slowly, he got up and peered through the metal and glass panes. The kitchen was dark, so no one was there. River turned the lever but met resistance. “It’s locked,” River whispered in a panic. Now what? He pushed on the door to see if it was stuck, but it didn’t budge. “Wait…the key under the yellow pot.” Nan told him about it in case he ever got locked out in the garden. He retrieved the key and ever so slowly turned it, hearing the click he breathed a sigh of relief and quickly returned the key under the pot and slinked back into the dark kitchen.

Just as he was about to make a dash to the stairs light flooded the room as his grandfather appeared from the pantry area, “River whatever have you been doing out in the garden in the dark?”

Grandad walked towards him and took the torch from a stunned River’s hand. “Well?”

This was it, he was done for, off to an orphanage for him or worse. “I…I…umm…” 

“David is everything all right, who are you talking to?” Nan shouted from the study.

“River, he came down for a glass of water,” Grandad coolly replied.

River was surprised his grandfather lied given he caught him sneaking around.

“River love, do you want a snack?”

“No, Nan, I’m not hungry, thanks!” River shouted back.

“So, what were you up to?”

River felt like he could trust being honest since his grandad just lied for him. “I lost my watch, Grandad. I went into the garden thinking it was there and it was,” River held up his wrist.

“Why didn’t you just ask? We would’ve looked with you, River.”

“Mum always said I was careless and I didn’t want you to be cross,” River said looking up at his grandad with those sad blue eyes. 

“My boy, we all lose stuff, wait till you’re my age, I misplace things all the time!”

Impulsively, River hugged his grandad around the waist, tight, which took David by surprise and he wrapped his arms around his grandson. “I have to say I’m impressed as I didn’t realize you left the house. I came to put my mug in the sink and noticed the door was open a little and closed it. Only when I saw the light did I realize you were outside. Always remember if you hear noise when sneaking about with a torch to turn it off immediately and then hide.”

River pulled away and looked up curiously at his grandfather, “What? You didn’t mind I did that then?”

“Well, best not tell your grandmother, she wouldn’t approve, but I see you’ve got potential,” he replied with a warm smile.

“What’s potential?” 

“Ah, in this case it means,” Grandad leaned in and whispered, “I think you could be a good spy one day.”

“Wow,” River managed.

“That’s between us, remember,” his grandad winked.

River tried to wink back but only achieved an awkward form a blinking which made his grandad chuckle.

The memory in retrospect was even more bittersweet than River liked to admit. The irony of him ending up in Slough House, being the biggest disappointment anyone could ever be to a grandfather who had been first desk. Maybe it was a good thing Grandad couldn’t remember things anymore, it saved him the embarrassment. 

**************************

David Cartwright shambled through the hallway that led back to his room. All the chatter from the dining room became too much for him. He was used to his home and the quiet, not constant yammering. Turning the knob to his room he heard his name called and twisted to find the small lady who always seemed happy coming at him. 

“Did you not want to play bingo?”

“Bingo’s for old people,” he responded turning back to his room and pushing the door open.

Orla chuckled. “Yes, of course and you’re clearly too young for that kind of thing. Would you like to play chess or checkers with me?”

David plunked down in the leather chair. “I hate all the noise, so no thank you.”

A lightbulb went off, he hated the dining room and rec room because it was too much for him. “We could play in here where it’s quiet. And maybe you’d like cup of tea, too?”

“Maybe…I used to play with River. I taught him to play chess. He never got very good at it, always was an impulsive player. Where is my boy?”

“He was here earlier at lunch, Mr. Cartwright.”

“I don’t remember. He hates me anyway. He only comes because of Rose.”

Orla was beginning to see the picture more clearly now. Not only was it just the dementia at play, but a family rift or misunderstanding. There wasn’t much time to repair this either given how quickly the dementia seemed to be progressing. “No, I spoke to him earlier, we had tea and cake together. He cares about you very much, I can tell. I think it’s hard for him to deal with his feelings. Let me get that chess set and come back, okay?” 

“Yes, whatever,” David mumbled.

Orla returned a short while later with a boxed chess set and Sylvie bearing a small tea tray. The two women set everything up near where David sat.

Finally sitting down across from David, Orla began to put the chess pieces on the board. “I’ve had a long day, it’s nice to sit down quietly here to be honest, I can see why you wanted to as well.” She knew that many dementia and Alzheimer’s patients became frazzled from too much stimulation depending on what stage their condition was in, but she did wonder about David as he seemed so sharp sometimes. She’d have to chat with River further about his thoughts as he was the best judge.

“Yes, well I’d rather be in my own quiet home.”

“Where would you be right now if you were home?”

“My study with my books and some whiskey.”

“Avid reader?”

“Yes.”

“I love Dickens. My favourite is the Pickwick Papers.” 

“That’s a terrible choice. Why not Bleak House or at least David Copperfield?

Orla smiled and continued to place the chess pieces down. “I like to be different. It’s his only truly humorous work and I do so love to laugh.”

David cracked a shadow of a smile. “I see you know how to set the board up. Let’s see how well you play.” 

“I’ wager you’ll route me in no time,” Orla said with a cheeky wink.

Orla knew she was far from a chess champion, but David Cartwright despite his age and mental health was still quite the chess player as within the hour she had been corned into checkmate. 

“Checkmate!” David said triumphantly.

“Ooo! Damn!” Orla said. “Sorry…”

“No, you’re within your right to swear. You weren’t paying attention to your bishop earlier hence you’re in this mess now. I always told River not underestimate the power of your bishops. Not that he ever listened either.”

“You love River very much, don’t you?”

“Of course, he’s my boy.”

Orla sat quiet for moment. She wanted to say that his grandson was his son in every way that truly mattered and I’m sure River felt he same way. She decided to push a little. “Yes, I can tell. You’re very proud of him I’m sure. Though I do wonder why you think he doesn’t care for you.”

David’s face changed, Orla saw it immediately. She lost him. Damn!

“Yes, well he left me here to die,” David said gruffly, pushing the little card table with the chess set towards Orla.

“He did that to keep you safe. I know it’s not easy to admit, but sometimes we need help.”

“Help? This is what you call this hotel hospital environment? We’ve all been left here to die because someone who loved us just can’t be bothered.” He crossed his arms and turned his face away.

Orla did hate to admit that she had seen many people left at care homes who had no visitors and it always broke her heart. But this wasn’t the case for David Cartwright. His grandson cared a great deal. “May I call you David?” he shrugged in response. “David, your grandson is a busy man with a career and no doubt a personal life and he just can’t quit his job and stay with you as you do really need constant support to ensure you don’t get hurt.”

“I’d rather die than be here.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. Maybe when River comes by tomorrow it’ll make you feel better about all of this. I’ll get Sylvie to help you to bed if you’re ready. Maybe you can watch some telly or I can get you a book from the library.”

“Just leave me alone!” He said much louder than he intended.

“Okay, have a goodnight and I’ll see you tomorrow,” Orla said with a sad smile and tiny wave.

Two steps forward and one step back she thought. Tomorrow was indeed another day and she’d make the most of it.

[conanssummerchild]

im sorry to bring this back up but i was listening to long story short and i remembered why i was so upset when taylor and joe broke up, its not because i have some 'parasocial relationship' with taylor swift, it was because i really related to what taylor sang in songs like peace, afterglow and the great war, but if taylor felt like that and was still loved, maybe some day i could be too. i get NOW that taylor and joe just probably werent right for eachother and i sincerely hope she and travis are happy together and stay together for a long time, im just being pessimistic and i know that but i guess being unlovable is just a recurring and painful theme in my life and it scares me

[actual-changeling]

the funniest thing about academia is the infighting.

and i don't just mean between the different sciences, i mean the highly specific infighting between two topics that to an outsider are one and the same.

my professors will be dropping the absolute WILDEST insults about another dude's speciality and if you don't have like ten different levels of knowledge and a wizard spellbook on hand it will sound like "that bastard guy is stupid he uses the colour pink - unlike me, a genius, who uses the colour pink".

fascinating.

and then there's the very obvious stuff like the organic chem guys finding several letter long abbreviations for a compound because it's "too long" meanwhile you have one look at the "easy" nomenclature examples for complexes in inorganic chem and have three strokes at once.

also there's physics. no one likes physics except for the people who do like physics. most physicists don't like physics. it's that one roommate everyone cannot fucking stand but you can't get rid of them because they pay the rent and keep the house clean.

[kayssweetdreams]

The Perfect Finale Ch30

"WHAT?!"

At that, everyone in the room was now shouting at her, some in joy (Balan and the costumes, some in anger(Lance, her parents and the Negati), But it was mostly shock. "How?! How did you find it?!" An X-Ray Ape asked. "There was something calling me back in Wonderworld. I was just following it, until I was in this white void. And there was a statue, and then I found the heart, and it told me to take it." The pink haired girl explained.

"When were you going to tell us?" Bruce asked. "I was TRYING to." Kaylo shot back, rolling her eyes. Lora's eyes got a sparkle in them "Well then that means that we may have a chance! Because Yin doesn't know that you have it right now, maybe you can make another entrance to Wonderworld, or give Balan and Lance their powers back!!" She said. "But I don't know how. I don't even know how I did that in the first place." She admitted.

"Well. Given our circumstances, maybe it's best that you start small. The less that Yin knows that you have the heart, the better." Trisha Jane said. "But Lora has a point though. If you do have the heart, you probably can make another entrance to Wonderworld." Haoyu said "Well what good will that do? If I do that then Yin is gonna come after me again. And now that he had Prim, he's a maestro again..." Kaylo said.

"Wait...Prim was there as well?!" Yuri quivered. Balan and Lance nodded. "And that's not all...She's a maestro now. She became Yang's replacement, which let Yin return from his banishment..." Lance said. The humans gave a collective gulp. Not only was Yin, a crazed maestro hellbent on controlling everything back in Wonderworld, but now he had a catatonic former headmistress who was hellbent on perfection at his side...this was bad.

That's when Cal had an idea. A pretty risky, and probably dangerous but it could very much work idea. "Well...Why don't we expose Prim to the Wonderworld?" He said. The humans looked at him "What are you saying darling?" Lucy asked. "The only reason Wonderworld itself bought Prim being Yang, was because she was under the effect of that drug. What if we cured Prim, so that Wonderworld would take her "maestros status" away?" He said.

The group pondered over his words. It was risky, considering she was now a maestro as well...but if exposing her to the Wonderworld could make her and Yin's powers disappear, then they had to try. "Alright...Let's do it." Balan said. "First things first. We need keep the heart hidden from Yin, and find a way back into Wonderworld..." Lance said, glancing at Kaylo as her eyes gained the rainbow music notes again

"We also need a way keep Yin at bay, since our powers are...unavailable..." Balan said. Mei then gave a smile "I have an idea..." she said.

Mei belongs to @sundove88

Rebecca belongs to @thehyperrequiem

Trisha Jane belongs to @lovelyteng

Aria belongs to @shadowqueen402

Lora Jade belongs to @alex-frostwalker

[theenemyod]

so I made this

Aaron stood in front of Alex, staring straight into his eyes, his face contorted in pure rage as his hands burn and scar themselves with the constant sparks of chaos that move between his fingers. He barely notices the pain they cause. He’s been through pain already, he’s used to it. 

“You,” He growls, barely stopping himself from launching an explosion of chaos at the devoured. That wouldn’t do anything. It wouldn’t kill him. 

“What about me,” Alex sounds almost amused, like he thinks Aaron, could never hurt him. Has he already forgotten what Aaron can do?

“You!” Aaron starts to shriek, pure rage and anger clouding his thoughts, “You killed my counterweight you- you kill him- you killed me!” He can barely string his words together. This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t the plan at all. But he doesn’t care. 

Alex laughs. A cruel, almost menacing laugh. Almost. But Aaron knows better than to be scared. Because it’s all calculated. An act, an illusion as fake as the air magic he used to specialise in. And Aaron isn’t threatened by it anymore. 

“Aaron…” Tamara starts to slowly try to approach him, looking as scared as he hopes Alex feels. Aaron ignores her. 

“You killed my counterweight!” He shrieks again at Alex, “You killed Call!” Tears fall from his eyes, but he doesn’t care. Chaos is spinning around him, one wrong move from someone and he could send this tower and everyone in it straight into the void. 

“Aaron please! Stop!” Tamara starts to run towards him. “Please!

He turns around to face her, black fire burning in the palms of his hands. 

She reaches out towards him, but before she even touches her the inky black chaos explodes from his hands, sucking the light from the world for several minutes. The noise. The sound. Every sense Aaron has goes numb. 

This must be what it’s like in the void.

For a minute it’s calm. But then his senses start to come back. 

Screaming. At first he thinks it might be Tamara or Jasper, but he doubts that either of them could have survived the explosion. Only a Makar would even have a chance. 

No. The mages. The Masters. The Assembly. Everyone who was watching from outside, who would’ve seen the explosion. Who did they think caused it? Did they hear Aaron’s shouts? The tower is probably sound proof. 

Then he starts to see again, the walls broken open and everything that’s not in the void now has chunks taken out of it or darkness sticking to it and slowly eating away at it, he can see Tamara’s body on the floor with chunks of her skin missing and probably in the void somewhere, revealing blood and guts and organs that are only kept in her body because of the chaos still in the air. Jaspers isn’t far away, but Aaron can’t get a close look at him. Alex looks shocked and slightly disgusted, his mouth slightly open and eyes wide.

Why? He wanted them dead too, didn’t he? Well, maybe not wanted them dead, but he definitely didn’t care about them. 

It takes a minute for Aaron to regain all his senses. A minute he never had. 

A blast of chaos hits him in the side of the face, sending him stumbling backwards as he tries to gather himself. 

He starts to summon chaos again, pulling back the bits of it lingering on places and summoning more out of the air. His body is shaking, but he’s not scared. Blind rage fuels him as his magic is launched at Alex with faster speeds than the devoured can keep up with, black fire incasing both of them in a ring and forcing them both closer as Aaron knows even the devoured could be hurt by this much uncontrolled chaos, raw power being thrown at him. 

Aaron steps through the flames and out of the ring, not caring about the pain it causes wherever the chaos touches his body. Alex is slowly incased in more and more of it, as it pulls the energy of the chaos out of this body, slowly destroying him. 

Aaron watches him with silence, the chaos still ebbing from his fingers to attack Alex, but it doesn’t feel like he’s in control of it anymore. It doesn’t feel like he ever was.

As suddenly as it started, it stops. He stops hearing Alex screaming or seeing any struggling against the chaos. Aaron smiles. 

Suddenly, again something happens. The chaos starts to come back towards him, surrounding him in darkness at it attempts to retreat back into the void through a Makar’s body. Aaron can only watch, feeling the pain at first, but eventually his body goes numb. He can tell he’s not dead. This isn’t what dying felt like the first time. 

He gains control of it easily after he goes numb, bending the chaos like he’s part of it, letting his body absorb it and everything goes back where it came from. 

He walks to where Alex died, and for a second just stares at the spot. Alex deserved what he got. Alex deserved to die and deserved to stay dead. 

Without thinking, Aaron picks up the mask that had been left on the ground, the one thing left of Alex. Ironic. The one thing left when Alex was killed, and it’d never been his in the first place. The make made from silver, the one made and worn by Constantine Madden, The Enemy Of Death, and then Master Joseph pretending to be Constantine, tricking the world into thinking The Enemy was still alive. Then Alex, trying to be something he’s not. Trying to be Constantine, for whatever reason he had. Aaron doesn’t care about his reason. 

He examines the mask. The only one of the three he’d ever felt bad for was Constantine. 

He puts the mask on his face. It seems to click on perfectly, his body accepts it as part of him and almost seems to absorb it, the mask becoming a part of his face and body. He laughs. 

His hands are shaking, his eyes are wide, no longer a steady green but thousands of colours, all swirling at once, tears fall from that and hit the ground, coloured ink black but when he looks more closely it’s a pulled made to look like a kaleidoscope of all the colours that have ever existed and more that don’t yet. His hands are pure ink white but look like they have cracks, filled sits the same colour as his eyes. And he can only laugh and laugh and laugh with his friends body’s lay on the ground next to him and the assembly stares at him in horror from the outside. 

They don’t care about him. 

They don’t care about anyone.They stood back when Jericho Madden was slowly dying from the experiments, and watched silently when Callum Hunt was quickly dying from his own chaos. They drove Constantine Madden to near insanity then attacked him, and sent Verity Torres to get herself killed fighting him.  And they didn’t care. They don’t care about counterweights. They don’t care about Maker’s. They only care about power. 

And the new devoured can take just that from them.