#damnable alchemy

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

Is anyone else unable to cook with miso without thinking of Asirpa from Golden Kamuy or is just me? Anyway, bear witness: duck soup.

[dr-demi-bee]

Day 10--------------------Read on AO3--------------------------

Pairing: Rolan/Tav Prompt: Little touches Cute shit, fluff, mutual pining, first kiss, SFW

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After the fall of the Absolute and the Netherbrain, Rolan had taken over as the master of Ramazith tower and the shopkeeper of Sorcerous Sundries. It was challenging work, but rewarding. To finally have a place the he and Cal and Lia could call home, and Rolan could put his skills to good use.

Tav had joined Sorcerous Sundries after the aftermath of the Absolute - at first to help in recovery efforts. And after that, because she was a talented alchemist and it was useful to have her on staff.

She’s good company, usually. For an alchemist she keeps her bench remarkably clean and organized. And she’s quiet while she works. Mostly. Occasionally she hums, which can be irritating, and occasionally there’s smoke or swearing. But given how much gold her work brings in Rolan’s willing to overlook it.

It’s a bit more difficult to overlook her other qualities. For one, she’s a smartass - infuriatingly sarcastic and seemingly endlessly full of atrocious jokes. Puns especially. Eugh.

But on top of that, she’s infuriatingly pretty. Rolan had noticed it when they first met in the grove of course. He had noticed it again in Last Light. And when she saved him from himself in the shadow curse. And when she saved his siblings. But she had never been more beautiful than when she helped grind Lorroakan into the dust.

The last few days, though, Tav has been exceptionally irritating. Rolan can’t make sense of it.

She’s run into him numerous times. Several times she’s gotten tangled up with his tail somehow while they’re both at the counter. Or he’ll turn from shelving a tome and she’ll be right there and they collide together. Or he’ll be working in the tower store-rooms and she’ll find some reason to need something on the shelf right in front of him. She’ll put a hand on his arm and lean in - giving him a jolt from the touch and the proximity, but also from her scent. She smelled lovely - like a bakery and flowers -

But it was irritating! Honestly, how’s he supposed to get work done when she’s so distracting?

He’s trying to read ledgers when she comes strolling through the portal from the shop. Humming, of course. And wearing that damnable shirt. Rolan’s brows furrow and his tail flicks with irritation.

Tav’s halfway across the rotunda, when they make eye contact. She must see something in his expression because she stops entirely.

"What's that look for?"

With a heavy, exaggerated sigh, Rolan closes the ledger and sets aside on the desk before looking back at her, his tail flicking from side to side with his displeasure.

"We need to talk about you," Rolan says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Tav raises a hand to point at her self, expression perplexed. "About me?"

Rolan lets out another frustrated sigh, his tail flicking again. "Yes. You."

He leans back in his chair, his sharp yellow eyes narrowing as he watches her. Tav changes her path from the store room to move to stand before him with an exasperated sigh. She crosses her arms across her chest in kind. The way she so manages to do everything so gracefully. The very infuriating presence of her is a distraction.

"You've been a rather... valuable asset to Sorcerer's Sundries, in terms of your alchemy expertise. However, I have some concerns about you."

"Concerns?" Tav arches a brow, the twist of her lips suggesting concern of her own.

Rolan gives a slight hum before standing up from his desk, and walking around it to face her more directly. His tail continues it’s irritated motions as he looks down at her sternly.

"Yes. Concerns. More like annoyances, in all honestly," Rolan says almost in a scoff. "Your attitude and behavior."

"Care to be more specific?" Tav, of course, seems completely unfazed. All the confidence of the Hero of Baldur’s Gate.

"Your sarcasm for one." Rolan does scoff this time, rolling his eyes. "And the way you always find a way of getting under my skin."

"Not exactly hard to do," Tav replies with a wry expression. Rolan lets out a grumble with a scowl.

"And you're a smart ass too," he adds, his fingers squeezing against his biceps. "Do you know why I keep you around?"

"Presumably because I make the shop a lot of money."

"Precisely." Rolan says with a slight nod. His eyes narrow as he looks down at her - completely unbothered, as usual. And all he can think about is the infuriating way she’s been bumping into him and leaning against him and -

"Are you even grateful to have a job here?" He snarks.

"Yes, I am," Tav replies genially, lifting one hand in an airy gesture. "I'd be terrifically bored, otherwise."

Rolan rolls his eyes in response.

"Right, because making potions in silence all day is just the thrill of the century," he says sarcastically. He lets out a sigh before continuing. "Can you, for once, try and be... I don't know... pleasant to be around for more than five seconds?"

"I think I'm great fun," she returns with a grin. "And I think, secretly, you do too."

Rolan stares at her incredulously before he can manage an answer. He dismisses the very notion with another scoff of annoyance.

"Oh please." He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. Rolan makes a rolling gesture with both hands as he continues, "If by 'fun' you mean utterly annoying, then yes - you're just a joy to have around."

He crosses his arms against his chest again.

"And if thinking that I supposedly find your irritating behavior secretly enjoyable makes you sleep better at night," he adds sarcastically, "then by all means, continue to believe that."

"I'm glad you condone it," she returns with a cheeky grin. That same infuriatingly attractive, sly little grin. And of course it’s paired with another of her grating displays of ‘wit.’

"You're insufferable, you know that?" Rolan schools his expression to remain the annoyed he should be, and biting back the wave of amusement the threatens his lips.

"Oh, I know. I'll try and keep it to a minimum," Tav returns. He can’t help the amused huff that bubbles free at her agreement. And then she reaches out and pats him on the arm. The simple touch sends a jolt through him.

"Oh, you're just trying to get on my nerves now." Rolan accuses, narrowing his eyes as he looks down at her. He scrutinizes her for a moment, taking in that cocky expression. She’s just so gods damned confident.

"One of these days... I'm going to find a way to make you shut up," he murmurs in a low tone, a hint of challenge in his voice. Maybe he can finally shake some of that bravado.

Put her on the backfoot for once. Rolan can’t always be the one flustered and stammering. Two can play at this game.

Tav raises her brows and her lips twist with a mischevious smile. "Is that so?"

Rolan smirks back at the clear challenge in her expression and takes a few steps closer to her.

"Yes, that's so." With yellow eyes blazing as he stares at her, he adds lowly, "And I would be happy to demonstrate right this moment how."

"Come up with your solution that quickly, did you?"

Rolan’s smirk widens as she takes the bait.

"Of course I have," he returns with full-throated confidence, taking another slow step closer and puffing out his chest. "It only takes me a few seconds to come up with a solution to any problem. Even you being an insufferable smart ass."

"Ever so clever, that master of Ramazith tower," Tav returns with a grin, leaning back against the desk.

He can’t help but feel a wave of warmth wash over him at her compliment. His tail flicks slightly with satisfaction. But he knows she’s trying to get under his skin again. And he won’t let that happen. No, Rolan is going to have the last laugh this time.

"Oh, I know I am," Rolan says in a low, cocky tone. "Clever, powerful, and handsome, too."

"And humble," she adds, smirking up at him, "The whole package."

Rolan scoffs out a laugh, the sharp smirk still on his face. He leans forward, putting a hand on the desk beside her and caging her in.

"Humble, too," he agrees softly. "I know a number of uses for that smart mouth of yours besides making sarcastic remarks."

"Go ahead, then," Tav challenges with a soft smirk. And gods dammit if that isn’t maddeningly attractive.

"You're just begging me to, aren't you?" Rolan lowers his voice, bringing his face closer to hers.

He lets out a quiet hum as he stares down at her, taking in her features as he contemplates what he's about to do. His free hand lifts to grab her chin, gently turning her face up to look at him. She looks up at him with that soft smile like she’s waiting for him to make a move. But he still hesitates.

"Very wise, but not very observant," Tav teases him softly.

Rolan scoffs, his brow furrowing with mock indignation. He can’t help but feel a bit put-off by that. He’s perfectly observant.

"Oh, I'm very observant," Rolan counters sternly, holding her face still before his. "I've noticed a lot of things about you. How you bite your tongue when you're concentrating on making a potion, how you hum when you think no one's around, and how your hair always falls a certain way when you're working in the shop."

"Oh, interesting," she returns playfully, tilting her head just slightly, "Yet you miss all the times I flirt with you..."

Rolan's smirk falters slightly. Flirting with him? With him? The look in his eyes shifts - disbelief morphing to surprise before finally giving way to realization. All those little touches - those teasing comments and words. Were they...?

"You... you flirt with me?" Rolan’s grip on her chin loosens in surprise. But he won’t let go. Not now that he’s finally got her so close.

"Now who's infuriating?" She shakes her head softly before grasping the front of his robes and tugging him in the rest of the way for a kiss.

Rolan's eyes widen in surprise, his mind momentarily going blank. But once his mind catches up it quickly turns to a rush of excitement. His arms wrap around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

He kisses her back, fiercely, and he can feel her smiling against his lips. Smiling.

Tav’s hands find their way to his cheeks, cupping him like something precious. His tail winds it’s way around her leg, coiling possessively. Tav lets out a soft, almost moaning sound and Rolan’s heart stutters. His mind is reeling - what an unparalleled delight.

He pulls her flush against him, his arms wrapping even tighter around her waist, needing her closer. Closer. The firm muscle of her thigh beneath his tail, her strong body in his arms. Gods above and hells below.

Rolan deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping out to run across her bottom lip. And his stomach flips when she breathes a soft moan in response. The sound barrels straight through him. Hearing the affect he's having on her only makes him want to pull her closer. He wants more. Needs more.

He bites gently at her bottom lip before slipping his tongue past their soft plush - exploring, tasting, wanting more. This time Tav lets out a gasp of surprise, likely not expecting the bite of his sharp teeth or the fork of his tongue. But she must like it, because she slides her hands back to cup his neck and pull him closer. Rolan smirks against her lips, loving the way she reacts to his touch.

He breaks the kiss after another long moment, pulling away just enough to speak past gasping breaths.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that..." Rolan breathes.

"You have a funny way of showing it," Tav pants back, her cheeks flushed.

Rolan lets out a huff against your cheek, his own cheeks flushed as well.

"I'll admit, I... didn't quite realize you were flirting with me," he murmurs, "I thought you were just being your snarky, irritating self."

"It's both," she returns with a smirk, "But I've been flirting with you since that party in camp."

"The party?” Rolan lets out a huff in disbelief, gently pulling back so he can look at her. He glances back and forth between her eyes, looking for signs she’s just messing with him again.

“You mean the party over a year ago?" Rolan guffaws incredulously, his tone a mix of surprise and amusement. "And all this time I thought you didn't like me!"

Tav rolls her eyes with a huff, though her lips are still twisted in a wry smile.

"Like I said, not very observant," she teases. Rolan lets out a huff of annoyance - she never lets him have the last word. Never lets anything go.

"I am extremely observant, thank you very much. You're just... deceptively sneaky with your flirting."

"Very sneaky," she returns with a grin, before stealing a quick kiss. "I’m a rogue, it's kind of my thing."

"I suppose I'll have to start being more observant then," he retorts. Emboldened, he squeezes his arms around her a little tighter and steals a little kiss himself. "But then I suppose that means I'll be receiving more of those little kisses from you?"

"Would you like that?" Tav toys with the hair at the nape of his neck with the fingers of one hand. The feeling sends a pleasant tingle through him, and he lets out a soft hum of pleasure.

"Yes - very much yes,” Rolan answers, leaning in slightly closer. "And I'm also going to expect much more than that now, you know."

"Not content with just shutting me up?" She arches a brow at him with a grin. Rolan lets out a chuckle, his smile spreading wider.

"Oh, I'm very content with shutting you up," he answers slyly, "But now that I know you've been secretly ogling me, I'm going to demand much more from you than just a kiss to shut you up."

Tav lets out a soft laugh. "You think I don't notice the way you look at me?"

Rolan feels his cheeks grow warmer from both chagrin at being caught and an effusive feeling from her soft laugh. He looks away for a moment, trying to hide his shame.

"Oh, you've noticed, have you?" He tries to retain his cocky attitude as his bright eyes slide back to hers, but even he can hear how he fails to hide the slight embarrassment in his tone. A bit shyly, he adds, "I... didn't think I was being that obvious about it."

"I'm something of a professional observer," Tav teases. To which Rolan groans and rolls his eyes. He tsks his tongue against his teeth disapprovingly.

"You're just so full of yourself, you know that?" Rolan gives her leg a squeeze with his tail.

"It's well-earned confidence." Tav grins back at him. She moves one hand to lay over this tail where it grips her, slowly running her fingers along the appendage. Rolan lets out a soft hum, a shudder running down his spine.

"Careful now, that's... sensitive," Rolan says, trying to sound confident. But he can’t stop the slight gasp that escapes his lips as she continues that teasing touch.

Her grin shifts to a mischievous smirk and her brows raise high at his response. She very deliberately runs her fingers feather light over the expanse of his tail where it's coiled around her thigh. Rolan lets out another gasp, his grip tightening involuntarily as he shudders.

"I-I said that's... sensitive," Rolan grits, his voice slightly higher in pitch as he shivers under her light, teasing touch. His trousers feel, quite suddenly, much too tight.

"You did, yes," Tav returns with that same smug expression. Her fingers find the spade at the end of his tail and stroke the length of it experimentally between thumb and forefinger. "What about this?"

Rolan lets out another shuddering gasp, his body tensing as sensation rocks through him like a whipcrack. His arms tighten against her and he lets out a low groan, trying to speak through the jolt of pleasure running through him.

"Tav- You- y-you need to stop, that's-"

"Ohhh." Tav's lips tip up with a wicked smile, clearly delighted by the discovery. She strokes over the spade once more, applying a slightly firmer pressure. Rolan's tail reflexively squeezes tighter around her thigh and a shuddering gasp leaves him as the feeling shoots through him like wildfire.

"You- p-please," he manages to gasp, his voice weak as he tries to maintain some semblance of composure. But that maddening touch makes it immensely difficult.

"Please?" Tav tilts her head slightly, gazing up at him with a wicked, delighted smile. Rolan lets out a low, shaky breath, his body trembling under her touch. “Please what, Rolan?”

"Please- nh- just-" He tries to speak again, but is cut off by another shiver as her fingers dance with over the spade again. That annoyingly light touch that feels like she’s running her fingers through his spine and straight to his groin. If she doesn’t stop-

"Zurgan! I- I need you to... stop for a moment, please." He stammers, his expression a mix of pleasure and vulnerability.

Relenting, Tav holds up both hands in a gesture of surrender, and Rolan lets out a soft sigh of relief as her hands pull away. He leans in, resting his forehead against hers for a moment, panting softly as the overwhelming feeling of her touch subside.

"That— I..." He starts, trying to find the words, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "I... had no idea my tail was that sensitive."

"Maybe I'm just very good," she returns playfully.

Rolan rolls his eyes, even as a smirk appear spreads as he regains some of his composure. He levels a soft glare at her.

"You are so annoying," Rolan returns without bite behind it, "You just love finding buttons to push, don't you?"

"Absolutely," Tav agrees with a grin.

Rolan lets out a huff with a bemused smile. "You're insufferable. I don't know why I even like you."

"But you do like me," she returns a bit smugly. She runs one finger down the length of his jaw. Rolan's smirk falters a fraction at her touch, involuntarily tilting into it.

"I suppose I do, against my better judgement," he mutters, his pride masking most of his feelings. He won’t admit to there being anything more substantial. "I could use a few more of your... kisses to... convince me though."

"I suppose I could be amenable," she murmurs softly, leaning in closer and sliding her hand back to cup his neck. Rolan's smirk widens, a thrill running through him.

"You suppose you could?" Rolan muses in a low tone, "How gracious of you."

He loops his arms around her once more, one hand coming up to gently rest on the side of her neck, and his thumb brushes gently along her jawline.

"Just... a few more kisses, then?" His voice is low and soft when he asks. Still hardly daring to believe it possible. Tav, here, wanting to kiss him. His eyes flick down to her lips and back as their faces inch closer together.

"However many it takes to convince you," Tav murmurs back with a soft smile.

"We might be here all night, then," Rolan murmurs in return, his voice slightly more gruff, his gaze flickering down to her lips again. "I can be very stubborn, you know."

The wizard grins back at Tav’s knowing smile. He leans in, brushing his nose against hers, their breath mingling.

"And I'm going to need plenty of convincing."

@lanafofana @lastlight-inn @waterdeep-weavemoss

@crimson-and-lavender @feedthepheasants @spooky-lil-bee

[italicized-oh]

more ritual shatterstar wedding snippet for y'all. my condolences. (part 1 here) this is mindfucky and body horrory on purpose, but nothing beyond what we see in canon.

Jace comes to in the Aguefort parking lot. Fucking hell. Where the fuck was Porter’s sense of–

Large hands at his waist. Porter’s hair, loose, making the already intimate cave somehow closer, more secret. Just them. Jace reaches up, up, always up. Not seeking the sun, but something better. More enduring. Hotter. Magnesium-bright and all-encompassing. Justice, he thinks. Justice and righteousness. Finally.

Jace comes to clutching his chest. He rolls onto his side, drawing his knees up into the fetal position. Opens his eyes. Stares at the temple-cave walls, and—

Porter’s gentle grip on his chin, on the eyeliner pencil, brow furrowed, jaw clenched in concentration as he traces the runes Jace has outlined with Minor Image on his own forehead, neck, and spine. Porter’s looking at Jace’s skin with more care than he’s ever looked at Jace, so Jace closes his eyes and counts back through the steps of Ceremony.

Jace screams, burning. There’s only fire around him, endless magma and burning sulfur and phosphorus. It feels like Porter. Wave after wave of undying heat, dry and mercury-slick all at once. He feels like Porter. Jace screams, and scream, and screams, and–

He steps into the linen robe Porter holds out for him. Makes a stupid joke about lingerie. Porter doesn’t laugh. Jace turns around with a huff and cocks his hip, frowning up at Porter. Porter takes his face in both hands, calloused and dry and dusty with chalk, smoothing his thumbs over Jace’s cheekbones, his ears, his neck, his shoulder blades. Cataloging. Memorizing. As if Jace is leaving.

--------

The shatterstar in his chest pulses, and Jace drops to his knees in the cave, dry heaving. 

“So that’s just pure rage, then? And you’re going to put it inside my chest, and it’s going to–become me? What about my–”

“Shhh, sweetheart, no. It’s gonna become your blood. You’ll still be you.”

Jace arches a brow. “And why do I have to be the one to try this?”

“Would you rather I found somebody else?”

--------

Jace vomits bile onto the asphalt in Porter’s parking spot. Where’s–

“So my blood is going to transform into rage, and rage will become my blood, and neither of us knows shit about alchemy, and I’m supposed to trust you?!” 

“There. You’re getting the hang of it already, sweetheart.” Porter’s smile is damnably condescending and so fucking attractive it makes Jace’s head spin.

“Why does this have to happen in me, can’t we, like, find a lab, or–”

Porter tsks lightly, brushing his hands down Jace’s sides. “Where better for me to come into godhood, baby?”

--------

Porter’s truck is gone. All the cars are gone. It’s nighttime, but it’s been nighttime for a while now. Jace tries to stand, stumbles, and–

“So I’m just a vessel for your transformation, then?”

“Aw, sweetheart, don’t be like that. You’re hardly just anything, as you’re well aware. Have I not been paying you enough attention?”

Jace endures the kiss Porter draws him into, turns it filthy right when he’s supposed to, arches his back, presses himself against Porter’s chest. Says, panting, “You– ha, fuck– you never pay me enough attention, you asshole.”

Porter’s laugh rumbles through him. “Mmm, but I’m your asshole. You like me.” And god help him, but Jace does.

--------

Where’s his wand? Jace gropes around amid the rubble til he hits something wooden, familiar, and– broken. Fuck. He’s going to kill Porter, these things are fucking expensive, but– where’s Porter?

Where’s his crystal? Fucking hell, but Jace is going to make Porter pay for this if it’s the last thing he does, godfuckingdamnit. First, though, he has to– where’s Porter?

Where’re his fucking clothes? Sonofabitch can’t even be bothered with aftercare for his own godhood-ritual, I’m not fucking surprised, goddamnit. I’m going to– where’s Porter?

(part 3 here)

[astrxlfinale]

There comes a day where he feels like someone is after him.

No, not someone, Caelus is fully damn aware of the wrath he awakened. Except who would've considered the fact that it'd have such an incredible scent tied to it. Just one singular whiff and it felt like that fragrance was exploding fireworks in the back of his mind. A dopey smile almost flourished upon his face, that is, until he becomes fully damn aware of who's behind such damn activity! His time in the Alchemy Commission is drawn to not a pause, but an abrupt, challenging realization.

For before his eyes would be the brand new head of operations. An almost, unpredictable glint within her eyes as she shares the boons of her studies. That in itself becomes the issue as it leads to his eyes squinting, but it was certainly due to no manner of burning. No, for that guiding hand that's entrenched in a lively ruby glow would be part of the slickly drawn net against him. A cursed intonation has led to this moment, where thoughts left the mouth without any filter.

And right now? It wasn't the incense that led to the burn of his eyes, it was a very conscious, very palpable struggle.

Down.. Down.. D-

NO CAELUS STOP!

Immediately did his self training allow his gaze to abruptly tear away from the Cauldron master's heavenly valley. That earlier shower thought being ignited within his mind all over again. Did that color match? Would it be a one stop shot to the abundance of delectable sweets that would run in a strawberry laden stream? He has no damn clue, and in truth, it's this damnable unknown despite the earlier given facts that keeps knocking at the forefront of his mind.

This wasn't professionalism! Right now was an act of communitive bonding, allowing him to access a touch of her wares, to see their utility as they'd be important in the future struggles to come. "Ling.. Lingsha! This scent.."

DAMN YOU. YOU KNOW FULL WELL WHAT YOU'RE DOING.

The mere idea, the constant struggle of not letting his eyes tilt towards that sweet oblivion was making his eyes begin to water. This was simply passion for her craft! Definitely not a path towards where she could make icy brand delicacies!

"It's so lavish.. L.. Like.." No. None of that Caelus.

"Like you own your own strawberry farm.." What?

@shrineofprophecy

[jayahult]

You Forgot

The problem is that you think she came back wrong. You're forgetting so, so many things. The first thing you forgot, of course, was that this was a bad idea - that desecrating a body, tapping into these dark rites, opening the way to the unknown and hidden things of the earth is not a work for a person so weak-willed as to not accept the one thing all people are born to do. That didn't stop you of course. Far harder to part with was your dignity. Nobody can have dignity when in the dead of night they six feet down to unearth the corpse, stinking, infested with maggots and certainly no one can have any dignity when they've yelped at the sight of a centipede emerging from someone's mouth. You forgot all sensible religion and turned to the blackest, foulest alchemy one could imagine, the black stitches, the pale and bloodless skin graft, the yellowed teeth of dogs and babes, the fresh blood which rolled down your arm. Oh, yes, you forgot it for her.

And you forgot the law, too, to provide for her eyes, her hair, her joints. Animals could do for some but not for all - you wanted only the best for her. You forgot the common morality to provide for her toes and her tendons and joints, those sayings of common sense about killing five men to save just one. That didn't matter. What her family wanted didn't matter. The work mattered.

And then she woke after all your months of work. Oh, yes, then she woke, and you were so, so afraid. She breathed in through long-empty lungs, and her chest flexed around the scars of autopsy and replacement, and her breast heaved with that first gasp - and oh, you nearly screamed if it weren't for the fact that you had forgotten to breathe out of shock. As the damnable, contemptible man you are you became disgusted as she sighed out, spindly catsgut strings of her arms springing to life as she grasped the table and let out a great howl, a demoniac wolf-noise that must have been from the depths of Hell itself. You damn well forgot that the dead must keep their lips sealed for a reason; that the tombs out stay well shut, the corpses kept deeper, locked far away from the places of the living. Having forgotten your common sense you swallowed your bile and your fear, but not the disgust that sat in your head. You could never rid of that even when she was alive, not wholly. You thought that was the way love went sometimes, and so it seemed natural to you.

Foolish man you are, you clumsily tried to commune with her. She took well to talking, and still you seemed so disgusted with her. She said the same words. She took to the same mannerisms with only some new flesh, with freshly sharp canines and thirty-four more to spare - you'd forgotten how many she ought to have, but that was a small mistake considering everything else. But something was wrong, something was off - she was always needling you, irking you, trying to frustrate you or asking you too many questions. More and more that same disgust grew in you from the moment you first met. It occurred to you that perhaps something entirely different than the woman you knew was now inhabiting her body, and you quickly became certain in that determination, that sweet Vanya was gone and some daemon had truly come back that night and not her.

Of course, you were wrong. How could you ever be more wrong? A foolish little boy you were, skinning cats and sticking his nose where it ought not to be, you forgot so many things - the little things, like how she stirred coffee with her left hand, how she loved her meat rare, how she would delight in singing, how she would make cruel jokes and liked to poke herself with silverware, and how her arrangement with you left her bored and sad most days. No daemon-figure could imitate her mannerisms and her memories so exactly. But when you could not have her anymore, when Death snatched her up from you, when you lost the one person in your life you could control most, you forgot all of that. You say she came back wrong, that she isn't who she was. Deep down, you must know that you are lying, you sad fool. You forgot who you were bringing back.

[poeticandchaotic]

What is written is what is true. Words and their meanings have weight in the world of matter, shaping and reshaping realities through a most ancient alchemy. Even my own writings — so damnably powerless — may have just enough power to reach the right person and to tell the right truth, and change the nature of things.

Alix E. Harrow, The Ten Thousand Doors of January

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 144: Hermione's Helping Hand

The room was a very dangerous landing, each of them got a book to the head no matter where they landed. Frank was on a flaming red comforter on the bed with a dog eared copy, the title so faded he hadn't a hope of recognizing it until he flipped through a few pages, and even then did not follow the Muggle story.* Alice had a heavy tomb smash so hard against her forehead she saw stars, and it was over a copy of some muggle thing to do with the human anatomy a Healer would struggle to follow.

Lily groaned miserably as she removed a book on alchemy from her face, and Potter's glasses had broken where he'd faced planted a window with an interesting view of a Muggle neighborhood and still had a book on the windowsill crack a lens he couldn't even read the title of now.

Peter had to pull himself out from a whole pile of books, on top of which was Defensive Magical Theory, by Wilbert Slinkhard, and Regulus even found one on teeth he had to dislodge from his own.

Remus landed painfully on a desk, the book losing its place as the bookmark toppled out of sight he felt bad for, and Sirius even found a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages to his distaste for the first time in his life as he pulled it from where it had whacked his ear.

The silver book itself they were all supposed to be here for sat in the middle of the room with the air of innocence. For once.

"As if we haven't been traumatized by enough books already," James sighed as he tapped his glasses to fix them.

"If this room isn't Hermione's, then I'll kiss a centaur," Sirius happily informed the room at large.

"Brilliant deduction there," Lily rolled her eyes, but there was only amusement in her voice. "Did you figure that out before or after this?" She was holding a picture of Hermione in this very room, a still image of her sitting at this very desk with Crookshank's in her lap, the sun just visible on the horizon from the window.

The walls didn't house much decoration, it was simple yet charming to see so much of her personality packed into the comfortably sized room.

"The best part is, I bet this is only a quarter of the ones she owns," James grinned. "She takes most of them with her to school!"

Sirius laughed and Lily found herself smiling in agreement as Lupin tried the door, which mercifully opened. The others scattered about the house, some for the loo, some for the kitchen. Sirius made to do the latter, but lingered in the door jam to watch in fascination as Prongs hesitated, and then turned back to Evans.

There was a reluctance in him he'd seen a few times now, and he had a very good guess why James was suddenly so hesitant to engage with her. He'd been devastated by the news of Sirius' death, arguably more than him even, and it wasn't hard to follow his logic if he had to change something to keep it from happening it would be taking Harry out of the equation via her. He wished his brother wouldn't think like that, but he'd never liked Evans much himself to understand his fascination with her and so wasn't even sure how to urge him back.

When James turned back holding in whatever he'd been about to say though, Lily startled them both by asking, "so, do you know what a dentist is?" The tone was mild, maybe a little mocking, but she was now holding the book Regulus had spat out with a curious smile.

He would have expected James, as usual, to not actually know how to respond to her when she spoke like a normal human being. Instead he hesitated with an odd smile in place and said casually, "not really, but I got the idea. Teeth and such, Muggles need them cared for without a spell."

Prongs hesitated again, some torn expression lingering, before he softly asked as if speaking of her ill coming death, "how come you never took Care of Magical Creatures?"

Sirius snorted fantastically, earning a dirty look from both of them. He raised his hands in surrender and took a step back into the hall, where Remus came up and pulled on him out of sight. James turned back to watching her, still unsure if he should have asked. She'd gotten assurances on their first day from McGonagall, Flitwick, and Slughorn all the creatures came to no harm for their classes to commence. He'd watched her love of animals long after that, she'd taken to cuddling with every cat in the common room and watched the birds deliver post every morning despite receiving none of her own long after other Muggle-borns grew used to it, but that look of awe and longing lingered in her.

Just because he'd given up on the idea of her didn't mean he couldn't still learn more about her, right? It was something he'd wanted to know for years but obviously she'd never have answered before. Maybe if he tried without the flirting he'd get a better result.

And, it worked. She went a little red, but answered casually, "I was trying to prove something, to my parents, to Snape, myself. Taking Arithmancy and Runes, the harder and more difficult classes. I regret it a bit now."

Potter watched her, absolutely fascinated by her little speech it seemed. She kept waiting for that to wear off now that she was actually trying to talk to him on a regular basis, but it didn't seem to be happening.

"You can take it come NEWT year if you want," he told her, that damnable cheerful smile creeping back now as they managed the first casual conversation of their life. "Remus will lend you his notes for the OWL's next week if you want."

She laughed in surprise, then realized he wasn't joking. He really thought she was that smart she could take a class she hadn't been in for two years? "I'll, ah, take that into consideration," she tried to shrug.

He hesitated, seemed to decide he'd pushed her enough, and then finally left. He'd gotten her to laugh, that was more of an accomplishment he'd managed in his life already! He glanced the way two of his friends went, rolled his eyes, and called towards the kitchen, "hey Alice, want to show me how a muggle stove works!"

Lily blanched in fear of him burning the house down and snatched up the actual needed book, not bothering to pretend to herself she was smiling as she followed along and cracked it open, but paused to take in the rest.

The hallway was littered with cheerful hallmark signs such as 'Love, Life, Live,' and several more of Hermione through the years, but Lily kept watching the muggle photos despite the fact that they weren't moving in mild curiosity for several moments before it occurred to her why they seemed a little odd. Hermione was alone in each of them, smiling brightly, but the only one in focus. Not only no friends hanging off her arm in her primary years as she held up spelling awards and science fair projects, but her parents didn't seem in any of them either. One particularly telling one was a candid shot of a very young Hermione sitting in an empty waiting room, reading a book far too big for her lap. Only when she got to the very end of most recent photos hinted at who could have been there all these years, and it was an extremely elder lady, possibly her grandmother or even a nanny, the photo at such an angle it was clearly taken by her as well as she stood shoulder to shoulder with Hermione. The tender look of love in the older woman's eyes only leveled with the weary exhaustion in the folds of her skin. Beneath that was a hand drawn calligraphy plaque with the year and date, but no other sort of explanation except her socially awkward behavior from back at the first book.

The kitchen seemed to double as a study, there were heavy journals on multiple surfaces, Frank was flipping curiously through one that was ear marked with dates, names, and what the appointment was going to be for, another that Regulus was prodding his wand along curiously through every page seemed to house lots of studies and practices on how Hermione's parents could improve their work. She doubted he followed a word, even she probably couldn't.

The chapter title itself was unsurprising, and she went through it still laughing it was all about Harry's first act as Captain sorting out members of his team, indeed with Hermione's help. Wasn't this just a day of surprises.

Potter continued to rank highest of all in that regards. The look on his face when he found out what Hermione did was priceless.

The reason behind it she misunderstood.

"She cheated? On Quidditch! I'd expect this girl to snog Snape before I heard her do something like this!"

"She did set Snape on fire once during a game." Alice happily reminded as she swatted his hand away from the hot surface, again. He seemed to keep forgetting despite the red light and heat waves coming up from the innocent black circle. "Guess her bar goes out the window during sports," she finished with a giggle.

His flummoxed expression still seemed at war if he should be impressed or agitated at this, while Regulus was snickering relentlessly for the show as well as he said, "I thought it was brilliant, as if I want to sit around hearing about that McLaggen's temper for the games, he'll ruin what little fun we've been getting out of these."

His eyes tracked curiously as he seemed to realize his brother wasn't in here to give his opinion, but seemed distracted enough when Peter spoke, "think of it this way, you or Padfoot would have done it to some arse in the hallway if he was really saying half that shite. Does the location matter that much?"

"I mean, yes," he pouted, but if anything he looked more confused. "Quidditch shouldn't be trifled with," he finished with a hint of defiance, but eventually sighed and turned back to turning the stove on and off with the odd switch and all the numbers while she finished.

Remus let his fingers brush against Sirius' and subtly pulled his fingers before letting go. Sirius needed no further prompting before following him out of the room into what must be Hermione's parents room. Remus didn't care as he locked the door and then hugged Sirius.

He laughed in delight, immediately returning it as he said quietly into his neck, "I'm getting whiplash from you."

"I just wanted to make sure you know I'm grateful," Remus told him as he pulled back, having to remind himself not to let his hands linger. "For not beating Frank's face into a pulp, back in the apothecary," he elaborated.

The fact that Sirius never held his mood swings against him or even ever accused him of being moody because of the full moon made him wish he could snog his face off right about now. Merlin, James had barely been involved and he'd called him on being an emotional ass!

"Oh," Sirius' face did not settle into a promising expression, barely concealed anger still there, but he made such a valiant effort to push it back away Remus had to fight back the urge to kiss him again. "Right, you're welcome. If he had done it on purpose though, I can't say I'd have been able to stop myself." Moony and Prongs had made a valid point, better Longbottom occasionally forget the dangers than continue being a racist arse, but his point still stood there was a middle ground that wouldn't put Remus in pain! The Marauders all knew it, couldn't he?!

Remus really couldn't resist and let his hand brush along his cheek and settle down on his neck as he gazed into his eyes. Sirius hummed as always at the physical affection. Remus could have hugged him back in the apothecary and not been an arse about this too! This really would just have to be enough for him, he could never ask for better friends. He reluctantly let his hand drop back away with one more whispered thanks.

Sirius looked hurt though, to Remus' confusion. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what?" He denied, he really hadn't thought Sirius would realize he was starting to back off yet, as much else as he was dealing with.

"Remus, you've barely looked at me since the polyjuice prank," Sirius finally called his crap. "So if you're not mad at me, would you please say so?"

"I'm not," Remus instantly promised. Merlin if he was mad at Sirius for every stupid prank he'd never not be enraged at this one. "I'm, mad at myself." He finally reluctantly admitted.

Sirius' face clouded with concern. Even on top of dealing with James, Peter, and Regulus at once Padfoot hadn't once tried to cope a field on him for some fun away from them while in this room, and a traitorous bubble of hope still lingered in Remus' chest this could mean more to Sirius. They were just friends with benefits, he instantly reminded himself. Friends! Of course he cares, you know he does.

"Anything I can do to help?" Sirius was even the one to reach for his hand, their fingers naturally intertwining.

"It's, Harry," he finally gave a half truth, which was still a truth that the book provided. He couldn't believe he'd only been back in Prongs's kids life once so far this year with Sirius out of the picture. "Not even writing to him, I'm just, this future- I don't want to stop-" He stopped himself quickly before something stupid came out. 'Being there for you,' probably sounded way too intimate to Padfoot. Maybe if he'd actually been around Sirius during that awful Ministry fight he would have come back out of it and none of this would be thrown in their face so repeatedly!

What kind of heartless monster couldn't do the bare minimum to look after one of his best friends kids anyways? And he was complaining Sirius wasn't ready for more, he clearly wasn't capable of it either.

Sirius had such a beautiful smile, and one he so rarely showed anyone. A smirk, his teasing grin were all anyone but the Marauders ever got to see, and Remus drank his fill in now as Padfoot squeezed his fingers while mimicking as well, tracing his cheek before letting his hand rest on his neck as they naturally mirrored each other. Remus wouldn't dream of denying he instantly felt warm and assured as he leaned into the touch even before Sirius told, "this future's a mess Moony. Don't kick yourself about this poor kids life we have no control over. We'll find a way to fix this."

He spoke with such assurance it's like they should have heard the very words Evans was reading change to match. Remus was convinced Sirius could hypnotize the moon to never be full again in that moment as he leaned in and kissed him.

It was just sweet, and gentle. There was no randiness in either of them, just a silent promise as Remus leaned back that no matter what, his words would be true.

HPHPHPHP

*Let me know what you think Hermione's favorite book is. I personally always thought it was Sherlock Holmes.

[ofgraveconcern]

27th January 1591, Scottish schoolmaster Dr. John Fian is burned for witchcraft during the North Berwick witch trials. Lasting two years, during which 100 people were accused and tortured, the trials were the first major Scottish witchcraft persecution. They had begun after the Scottish King James VI, had sailed to Copenhagen to marry the Danish Princess Anne. Upon their return to Scotland the ship faced strange storms, that convinced the Danish Admiral that the storms were unnatural, and had been summoned into existence by witchcraft. Fian was accused of sorcery and confesed after torture of having a compact with the devil. He was then strangled and burnt on this day. The case was reported in a pamphlet published in 1591, called ‘Newes from Scotland, Declaring the Damnable Life of Dr. Fian, a Notable Sorcerer’. The pamphlet was further published in 1597, as part of King James VI’s dissertation on necromancy titled ‘Daemonologie’. It has been estimated that in Scotland between 1560 to 1707, 3,000 to 4,000 accused witches may have been killed. 29th January 1594, Scottish mathematician, physicist, and astronomer John Napier dedicates his work "Plaine Discovery of the Whole Revelation of St. John" to King James VI. It is ironic therefore due to the fact that Napier himself was accused by his neighbours of alchemy, and necromancy, the same dark arts that James VI’s work Daemonologie’ would highlight. Napier it was said would travel with a black spider he kept in a box, and also a rooster he had covered in soot to colour it black. In his work of this year, Napier predicted that the end of the world would occur in 1688 or 1700. Continued in the comments. #witchart #witchartwork #historymysteries #weirdhistory #macabrehistory #hiddenhistory #historicalmysteries #darkhistory #oddhistory #historicalstories #historicalstory #witchcrafthistory #witchyhistory #witchcraft #witchtrials #scottishhistory #houseofstuart #scottishwitches #witchhistory #jamesvi #16thcentury #17thcentury #witchcraftblog #historyofwitchcraft #witchcrafthistory #darkacademia #seventeenthcentury #kingjames #stuarts #witchcraft https://www.instagram.com/p/CKrNBdoHXAZ/?igshid=1ljw1cy2o9jhx

[alchemic-elric]

You could have revived your mom. You just did it wrong.

Elicit a strong emotional response from my muse || Accepting 

“Shut the fuck up.” He snaps with a growl in his voice. “Don’t talk like you know goddamn thing ‘bout it.”  

It’s not possible. It’s not possible. It can’t be done. 

He’s seen the proof of it with his own eyes. Life only flows in one direction. People don’t come back from the dead. Once we’re gone, we’re gone. People don’t come back. People never come back. 

The tension in his jaw is visible as he locks it. What did they know about it? Nothing. They couldn’t know the truth of it all. They couldn’t have seen the failures. They couldn’t have seen the hell they walked through - fought through just to survive. 

Just did it wrong.  

They’re right. He did. He never should have touched that damnable alchemy in the first place. Some things are supposed to stay forbidden.  

[ofglories]

"Medical staff rarely has anything interesting to discuss with patients. But they're always gossipping about patients like you with each other."

Did Mingze know that from experience?

Perhaps.

Still he watched Lu Zhi drink the tea with a careful eye over the fan, humming softly. The tea seller knew, of course, that the other Foxian disliked bitter tastes. In fact he knew the other man's preferences almost a little too well for someone who insisted they were simply a business relationship. But unfortunately even with honey there was little to be done to mask the horrid tastes of the medicinal herbs that would help Lu Zhi's healing along.

The fact that the pilot drank the entire cup with only a grimace made pride surge in him for a moment.

Just a single moment where painted lips raised into a smile behind the screen of silk, before they dropped again at the change in topic.

"You're a pilot of the Sky-Faring Commission, yes, I'm aware. A dangerous job I've often insisted you retire from as soon as you are able." An insistence that was always met with a laugh and Lu Zhi waving it away. Not that Mingze expected any differently, really. Some people were born for the skies. And the man before him was one of those people, even if it grated on him. How many times had he lost people he had considered friends to the dangers of working for the Sky-Faring Commission, to the orders of the damnable Ten Lords? It made the former alchemist scowl, eyes dropping to stare at the stark white bandages against Lu Zhi's skin. With the herbs in the tea and the expertise of the medical staff, at least, there would be no major permanent reminders once those were gone.

A blessing the pilot's friends were not able to share.

His ears drooped slightly, a sympathetic hum slipping past his lips as the other man spoke of the battle. The ambush. What was the Divination Commission doing to not have forewarned the pilots so they wouldn't suffer such loss? So that Lu Zhi would not need to have lost his friends and very nearly his life?

Mingze hated it.

This was the very sort of incompetence and poor planning that had driven him from the Alchemy Commission. Incompetence that bordered on the sort of casual cruelty a child would inflict on an insect from lack of care.

As tempting as it was to storm up there, to yell at both the General and the Head Diviner... There would be no point. So instead he inhaled slowly, calming the fury boiling in his veins. And instead picked up a piece of the soft, fluffy candy on his plate to offer to Lu Zhi instead. Not exactly what he would have normally allowed but... He had almost lost him.

And Lu Zhi had lost so much.

"Keep their memories always in your heart, but do not let the loss drive you to despair." With that said, Mingze flicked his tail imperiously. "Here, try these. For drinking your tea without complaint. They're a new recipe some of the shops nearer the port developed once the Alley started to get more busy. An entire mess of a tale I must tell you. You simply would be appalled at the nerve of those IPC idiots." The Foxian sighed dramatically, fanning himself lightly as he gestured in disgust. Not at all feigned. It had been a near disaster and the only good thing was the revival of the Alley.

   there's the briefest glimpse of a face that he longed since wished to witness, before it would disappear behind a wave of hair in his view, then a shoulder as mingze came into for a tight hug.

   lu zhi responded in kind, wrapping his arms into the warmth of the other man, the best reassurance that this wasn't some drug induced dream again but also support for the tragedy he'd been both a witness and part in, all the while struggling to ignore the rush of pain that spread throughout him. embarrassingly, lu zhi groaned about it, feeling all the more like an old man about it when in foxian terms he's on the younger side of things but being passed out in a coma and on bed rest for months would do that. adding along with that is the tiny peals of laughter at every insult thrown his way without argument, as he deserved it.

   "i can't say that the medical staff had the most interesting things to talk about, mingze," he replied, leaning forward to try to get another peek at the older man's face, pouting at his failure, as medical speak about his health and arguing with him that he should try eating all that herbal junk for the sake of his health was 'good for him, quit spitting it out.' besides that, they were busy people, that he'd rather not take from their job when there were others to check too.

   but he's content with the comfort of taking a seat at his regular spot, waiting patiently for whatever it is that mingze deemed to feed him. it would be infinitely better than hospital food, he thought, until lu zhi caught the whiff of very familiar herbs used in medicine wafting from his tea.

   man.

   it's at least sweetened, but the natural bitterness had him pull a face while swallowing it down. free is free, provided by mingze, so for both their sake the pilot didn't complain; mostly because he had to heal faster if he wanted anything sweeter than fruit and testing mingze's patience could mean it being delayed longer.

   he swirled his spoon through his soup, partially to allow it to cool and to delay just a little bit longer to give himself time to think. "well, you already know what i do for a living," lu zhi began, considering in comparison to mingze, his own life wasn't a secret. the busy life of a pilot for the luofu, how expected. though he could've lived life across the road from the tea parlor like one of those cheesy stories that keep getting passed around, lu zhi typically enjoyed what he did, as it gave him a sense of purpose, thinking he could save so many lives.

   an ideal that's challenged when his friends had died around him.

   swallowing his grief down, lu zhi explained it as simply as he could: "we were attacked, which isn't entirely new in this line of work, but this time we were too reckless. we were outnumbered. it's probably with the blessing of the reignbow arbiter that i'm still alive—" he stared down at his murky reflection in his soup, for a moment, then peered up towards the man with a wry smile. "but my friends weren't and i think i'm still trying to process that."

   such loss was merely expected. didn't mean it didn't make it any easier, because what could he do once he went back to that life and find the spots that were taken by his friends were simply replaced by others, just like that? more lives to throw out into the fray? and the sad part is is that lu zhi would continue to line up, because he knew that he's at least keeping someone else from having their lives taken if he remained in the fight.

   "...so that's what happened," the pilot continued with a sigh, plainly as there's no way he could sugarcoat it since he'd keep these memories close to him now. "mingze, unless you want to hear about the poor meals they kept serving me at the medical bay, there's not much else besides the coma, i suppose. maybe we should move onto the gossip to lighten things up."

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

Today for lunch I tried making @inneskeeper's Scientifically Proven Grilled Cheese, and holy shit is it good. This is, I think, the first time I've actually made a recipe I found on Tumblr, and if they're all going to go this well then I gotta do it more.

(My particular build: pre-sliced Sara Lee "brioche," Cabot Seriously Sharp cheddar cheese, honey, red pepper flakes, oregano, parsley, minced garlic since I don't think we have any fresh cloves at the moment, and a slice of thick-cut bacon leftover from last night's dinner. All ingredients portioned out using the ancient and venerated measurement known as "some.")

[peaceinpandemonium]

"Words and their meanings have weight in the world of matter, shaping and reshaping realities through a most ancient alchemy. Even my own writings - so damnably powerless - may have just enough power to reach the right person and to tell the right truth, and change the nature of things."

From The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix E. Harrow

[voidsentprinces]

Rain

The Rain.

Always with the rain. The forsaken rain. The torrent of cloud’s mercy. The heavens open and the skies weep. How it scorned her. How it mocked her. Oh how those droplets fell with embittered servitude. Remind her that all that which laid before her was to fall. To drown in its own desperate struggles to make amends. As the very foundations of the world crumbled beneath its weight.

“How long?” She thought, “How long before the greed the Monetarists bleed Ul’dah dry? How long before the nobility of Doma burns itself? How long does Ala Mhigo stand on ground paved on the blood of its children? How long does the iron spires of Garlemald remain unshattered by Emet-Selch’s grand farce? How long before Gridania drowns in its own self-satisfaction as the very elements, they work to defend bend against them. How long before the Admiral goes down with her ship and Limsa Lominsa falls into that deep, deep chasm? How long will Ishgard suffer the ideals of a young Knight Commander?”

The heavens held no answer. Like her gods, the Twelve that watched over Eorzea. Remained silent, all it could do was rain. Rain the tears of an unseen Goddess. Pleading with the realm to continue existence in a bid to prolong her already crumbling existence. My how those Ascians cling. Cling to that God who flies in the night sky. Cling to the hope that all with return whence it came. Mocking those who summon lesser gods to the realm while expecting their own god to yield better results. Oh blackened night how it will swallow that misbegotten Emissary and his woeful kin. Even the Voice of the Mother is now silenced after being rejected by a child eons apart from this realm.

The corrosion of acid biting away at the foundations. Seven kin. Seven spiteful, intoxicating, ravenous, wanton, indolent, abhorrent, and vain kin. Conscious blights upon this realm. Conscious of their corrosive to the blind mortals. Who pay them lip service with every action or inaction. How delightful it must be for them never to know. The depths of their depravity. To feed them all and wonder why the well is poisoned.

How long had she slept? How long had she dreamed. Dreamed of wishes long since past. Of bonds long since broken. How long had it been the blackened rain poured upon her home land and her Gods gave her no answer as she burned in the void, since that poor soul defended her from the dark, gifted his shining armor whose light had long since snuffed out? How long has the abhorrent kin taken her arm and leg? How long had the indolent kin replace it with metal and forbidden alchemy? How long had it been since she repaid them all in kind by tearing their beating corrupted hearts from their chest?

Oh how they must of enjoyed their vacation. Lounging across the realm. Prancing about in false sense of freedom. How she would remind them. Remind them of all they took from her. How she would enjoy making the spiteful kneel before her, the intoxicated break, the ravenous starve. Oh how delightful to see the wanton suffer, for of the indolent knowledge to fall short, for the abhorrent to become an ember once more. And to see the vain’s face again fallen before her. How heavy the seven hearts were. How heavy her task was.

She would make them sink into the dark and remember the dark shadow. How they would remember the words she cut them with all that time ago. When she first bound them and brought them low.

“Look upon me and know, despair. For the eighth sin arrives to drown all in the black shadow of melancholy,” She would recite as she drove her blade through her backs, which they will be made to provide in tribute. Too long had these voidsent princes since run rampant in mortal court. She would ensure their place set right to her beckon call.

But, first she needed to escape this damnable rain.

[alvaar-aldaviir]

Movement: Furia

Time Frame: Early Heavensward.

Notes: I said I would dig it out and fix it up and damnit I keep my word. Alvaar's first fight with Ilberd doesn't quite go the way of canon, but it was way more cathartic this way.

 -

The 'White Wolf of the Shroud' was a moniker Alvaar had earned for a few reasons. To the Gridanians and the Scions, it seemed a nickname based on his skills in one pivotal skirmish with the Ixal. But to the Ixal that had given him that name, it meant something else entirely.

 -

“If you think you still fight for justice, lad, you’d best wake up. The truth is, you fight for whoever bloody tells you to. Can you not see you’re being used!? By the Scions, the city-states, even the Crystal Braves. They none of ‘em care a whit what you want-only what you can do for them.

And how do I know this? Because I’m the same-a pawn to be used as my masters see fit. All I ever wanted was to liberate my home land, and I ate dirt to make it happen. But what have I achieved after all these years in servitude? Nothing! Not a bloody thing.

If we ourselves are not free-free to think and to act-how are we ever to reclaim our home land? Know this: there is nothing I would not give to take back Ala Mhigo! NOTHING!”

  Those words scratched across his brain, the screech of an iron nail on metal plate. It was only thanks to the fact he’d ducked his chin and shut his eyes even shielded behind the thick brim of the Choral Chapeau he wasn’t blinded by the ensuing flash. The last distraction needed for Ilberd and his two companions to escape.

With lungs still stinging from the poison and muscles burning from exertion, Alvaar nocked another arrow to his bow, instead half blind in anger and deaf to anything but the smug challenge in Ilberd’s grin as he made his retreat. No. No there would be no chase this time. There would be no stalking these prints...

This man had threatened his friends. He had betrayed them. He had sold them out and LAUGHED ABOUT IT.

There was a reason he had been known as the “White Wolf” long before he’d clashed with Gaius, with the fabled Black Wolf of Garlemald. And with rage filling his veins, teeth bared in a furious snarl, it was apparently time to remind them, allies and foes alike.

The arrow had barely sunk into the former Marshall’s calf before Alvaar was sprinting after him through the smoke and dust, his bow slipping into a two handed swing that connected and shattered into the Ala Mhigans face in a rain of splinters.

“Alvaar!” Alphinaud cried after him.

He didn’t hear it. Not through the blood thundering in his ears and the fury burning his veins. There was nothing but the resigned expressions on his comrades faces, running from their pursuers in Ul’dah. The fearful look in Tataru’s eyes as the trio tried to make sense of their new position. The defeated slump of a young Elezen’s shoulders with nothing but haunted thoughts.

And all he’d been able to do was stand there feeling helpless. The emptiness in his chest where Midgardsormr had ripped out the blessing of Hydaelyn like a gaping wound. The final insult after a bloody campaign to wrest Eorzea free from Garleans tyranny...

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!” he screamed, voice aching and raw and impossibly foreign to his companions as they jerked at the angry howl.

Dropping his broken bow, he grabbed the cloth at the dazed and fallen man’s throat, slamming him back into the ground and grabbing the nearest stone to bash into Ilberd’s face. He didn’t remember hitting him with that rock again. Or the additional blows that followed without opposition.

“I’M NOT LIKE YOU! I NEVER FORGOT MY LOYALTIES!”

There was so much red. So much of it...

“I NEVER FORGOT THE PEOPLE I WAS FIGHTING TO PROTECT!”

Staining his hands and splattering his clothes.

“Alvaar!”

“I’M MORE THAN A PUPPET ON A STRING!”

If all this bloodshed...

“I’M NOT JUST A BLIND SOLDIER!”

All this hardship...

“I’M NOT LIKE YOU!”

Was not shouldered of his own volition...

“I’M NOT LIKE YOU!”

Faced with his own merit and strength...

“I’M NOT LIKE YOU!”

Then why would he have ever become the Warrior of Light?

-

Lost to his rage he didn’t see his other attackers until an alchemical orb slammed into his chest, burning against his skin even through the Choral Shirt as it shattered in a hiss of white smoke before bouncing away. And half blind, throat aching further from the gas he’d inhaled, he could only see a haze of a silhouette before a spear thrust out at him.

In retrospect, it probably would have killed him if his fellow Scion hadn’t slammed into him and knocked him over. Instead the spearhead sunk hard into his shoulder, twisting the Bard almost sideways from the force before wrenching free and retreating into the mist.

“Forget it! Grab Ilberd and let’s go!”

Coughing wetly, he pushed himself up to follow those voices even with the extra weight dragging at him.

“Alvaar stop it!” Alphinaud yelled, scrambling for a better grip on the furious Elezen and digging his heels into the dirt as the Bard lurched after their fleeing assailants like a man possessed. “Let it go! We’ll deal with them later!”

There. Through the white fog he could see them, a hulking shadow but they’d be moving too slow with their fallen companion. He could catch up. He’d break that fucking spear off in that blasted Elezen’s guts and let him bleed out on his own damned treachery! Let him have his second chances if he could keep his entrails in place!

“Alvaar please! You need to stop!”

He just needed to shake this extra weight off. If his bow arm was responding better then it should have been easy. If it didn’t feel so damnably hot and his shoulder didn’t burn, he could have grabbed his bow and...

There was a faint vibration over his chest, a sequence of pops before that weight was abruptly gone and he overbalanced face first into the dirt. A rush of cold against his chest and back before weight settled on him again with a thud through the static in his brain.

Shifting enough to watch the three traitors scurry around some distant corner, he tried again to get up but couldn’t with his left arm pinned under him and his right arm refusing to answer.

“ALVAR STOP IT DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND YOU’RE BLEEDING OUT?!” a panicked voice screamed in his ear, voice cracking on the pitch.

Ah, he knew that voice. It was enough to make him pause, sides heaving and the sound of his own pained coughs starting to reach through the rush of blood in his ears.

“They’re getting away,” he wheezed, or tried to when he only seemed able to speak with hacking wet coughs.

The weight at his back finally moved, scrambling up and making his ribs protest before warm aether was soothing through him, focusing into his chest and soothing a bit of the acid in his throat that still felt raw.

Another flicker of a spell in his senses and his arm stopped being numb, bursting back into feeling with a bright angry pain that sent sparks through his skull.

A shriek of agony tore partway out of his throat before it went silent in an aching wheeze, slamming his forehead into the dirt as he tried to curl in on himself from the pain. Distantly he heard muffled footfalls before another pair of hands were soothing along his back.

He didn’t know how many spells and potions it took to repair the damage but when he could finally think straight he noticed Yugiri was helping to brace Alphinaud up so he wouldn’t collapse on top of him.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen a healer park themselves on someone’s back to heal them, but it was a little unnerving to find he’d needed such measures. He could almost feel Rosa slapping him on the back of the head and admonishing him...

“S-sorry...” he managed out, throat still aching and raw. He’d meant for more words but got little more than a rasp after that.

“You are lucky Alvaar. I think if not for Alphinaud that spear would have found its mark in your chest,” Yugiri murmured softly. “I don’t know that we could have saved you from that.”

  —-

  Alvaar had lost his voice. It would be temporary, thankfully, but the damage from the poison and subsequent trauma had left him little more than squeaking rasps and a new fear rifling in his heart. How could he have been so stupid? He could have gotten himself killed, or worse yet gotten Alphinaud killed...

He was supposed to be better than this. He was supposed to be past the temperamental rages of his youth. He was supposed to be the Arcanist’s protector, keeping him safe and helping to find their way in the wake of tragedy...

He was supposed to be the Warrior of Light. Not a rage fueled novice that almost impaled himself with his own stupidity.

Fingers brushing along his throat in concern, he fretted silently at how raw and aching it still felt even with healing. The pain flaring whenever he swallowed or tried to speak.

What if he damaged his voice permanently? What good was a Bard that couldn’t sing well enough to inspire their comrades? He wasn’t skilled in the sword or spear... he couldn’t cast white or black magic... His combat skills were as an archer. As a Bard. Raising his voice and channeling the courage and ferocity of victory into his allies...

Shaking his head firmly he shifted his focus. No, there was no time for that. No time for processing when the world kept spinning ever faster ahead of him. There was the matter of that messenger and his mysterious mistress to attend. They needed to hurry back to the Waking Sands. They had stopped briefly at Camp Drybone to handle their wounds and make use of the aetheryte once they were done, there was no time for wallowing in self-pity.

Moving to pull his recovered shirt back on, the Bard paused as he studied the broken closures of the Choral Shirt, fabric ripped and frayed around the main clasp and shoulder straps, scorched from the alchemy bomb in some spots and deeply stained in others. It would take forever to repair... if he even could... what thread had they used? What material and dye? His flight through the forest in search of this armor at the behest of Jehantel, being given this last piece at the end of that long journey when he had finally become something approaching a true Bard... he’d worked so hard to live up to the legacy this outfit symbolized. So hard to wield even a fraction of the inspiring image those storied Bards and Heroes before him possessed...

And here it was, shredded and ruined in his hands and he had only himself to blame. He couldn’t stop Ilberd and the conspiracy that had thrown them down in Ul’dah... and for all his temper he still hadn’t been able to stop him now when he was right in front of him. In his reach...

And all he had to show for it was the exhausted lives he hazarded for nothing, a damaged throat, the shattered remnants of his longbow, the lack of Hydaelyn’s blessing lying raw in his chest, and the ruined shirt of his former legacies he’d tried so hard to exemplify.

Dragging in a breath that hurt for more reasons than a stinging throat and lungs, he stuffed it into his bag and rooted for something else. And if the weight of the chainmail and thick tabard he pulled on instead agitated the still raw chemical burns on his chest... well, that was fair punishment wasn’t it?

-

The knock at the door is faint, delayed almost a full minute after the footsteps that had brought them to it.

“Alvaar?”

The hesitance and fatigue in Alphinaud’s voice pierces like a lance, and Alvaar sheathes the long hunting knife back into his boot before grabbing what’s left of his things and answering it. The Arcanist doesn’t step back from him, but the unconscious lean away isn’t lost on him either.

“The others are ready to set out. Shall we?”

The nod is automatic, as is falling into place in the Arcanist’s small shadow. He keeps his face set in deadpan calm per his usual, but after months of following the stubborn youth across most of the alliance territories, the glances back at him and odd hesitations in his step are obvious. So he stops and waits, watching the Arcanist finally halt several feet ahead of him in the hallway and stand with his back to him, shoulders tense and pose nervous.

The seconds crawl by, Alvaar refusing to budge and Alphinaud not moving for a long time before finally blowing out a breath and looking back at him.

There’s fear. A wariness that Alvaar had grown used to in others, but less so for him. But even then there’s a concern on his expression that’s stronger still and that’s what surprises him most.

“Alvaar?” he asks, hesitating a moment before carrying on. “I’m sorry... I know you cannot answer me in detail right now but, are you alright?”

The question draws him up short. When... in all the innumerable last battles, had anyone stopped to ask him that? Haurchefant had of course but…

He doesn’t know how to reply, and even if he did he doesn’t have the words to. So instead he manages a weak smile and nods, even as he knows it won’t be reassuring. The doubtful look he’s given is unsurprising, and he almost tries for words but stops himself. Setting a hand to his chest he holds it still for a moment before bringing his hands together and gesturing outwards, mouthing two words with it and frowning with a touch of frustration at the puzzled look he gets in answer. Pondering it a moment he takes two steps to close the distance before dropping to his knees, planting his hands on the stone floor, and lowering his head.

-

All at once Alphinaud notices how quiet it is. Alvaar groveling in apology to voice what he couldn’t speak.

The silence is deafening and uncomfortable. Suddenly alien to him even when he still remembers the Bard’s calm silence following in his wake. Cutting a path through Primals and Garleans at his command, a Holy Warrior at his beck and call...

It had never bothered him before, the fact Alvaar rarely spoke but did as he was told. In fact, he remembers finding it troublesome the few times he had spoken up following the Castrum... how quickly he’d dismissed the Bard’s words. Written them off as needless...

It’s strange how much he wishes he could speak now. To break that deafening silence. To show that in some small way things were different then what Ilberd had said. That maybe he had changed just a little from the foolish boy he’d been the last year.

The look Alvaar gives him is miserable when he sits up, carefully rising to his feet with a wince and stepping back from him deliberately and reassuming a muted expression.

Blinking up at the Bard as it clicks, his eyes widen but he says nothing for a long moment. Alvaar was worried he was afraid of him, apologizing for his behavior in Halatali. For the terrifying rage he’d shown and what it had almost wrought. He wants to say it’s fine, that he’s not afraid of him... but he is. Just a little. They had all been, watching the Bard chase down and floor Ilberd with a feral desperation. Savaging him with a ferocity he hadn’t ever seen in Alvaar before.

That... that hadn’t been Alvaar. That hadn’t been the patient and silent sentinel he’d known the last year.

Which really begged the question of if he knew Alvaar at all...

‘A pawn to be used...’

Those remembered words make him sick in embarrassment and shame. And after everything they’d been through the last few hours, the last month, for Alvaar to be the one standing there mute and still apologizing...? How? Why? When he couldn’t find a way to say anything of the guilt crushing like a vice around his own heart?

Breathing a slow sigh, he meets the Bards gaze pointedly. “There is naught to apologize for my friend. I... while I may not understand, for now I don’t need to. It can be discussed later if you wish, when you are well again.” He hesitates visibly before stepping closer and resting a hand to the Bard’s arm, both of them able to feel the few spitting sparks of aether as the Arcanist tried to reach briefly for another spell. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t do a better job of healing you, Alvaar,” Alphinaud murmurs, an increasingly more familiar flicker of doubt creeping through his thoughts with the dizziness of mana deprivation.

Alvaar’s hand closes over his warmly, palm calloused and rough against his skin. He almost tries to pull away on reflex before stopping himself, meeting the Elezen’s gaze as Alvaar shakes his head before tilting his head in question.

“Me?” he asks, watching Alvaar nod. “I’m fine. Tired but, we will have time to rest once this is over. I’ll be well for the meantime. But what of you? You did not answer me earlier. If you need to rest then… then I can inform them that we must reschedule. I would have us go together or not at all.”

The Bard stared at him for a stunned moment before a rasped breath left him in an amused huff. Rolling his free hand at him flippantly in a ‘really?’ gesture that made the Arcanist frown at the teasing.

“Yes really,” he grumbled.

The continued staring had just started at the fringes of irritation before Alvaar slipped an arm around his shoulders and tugged him into a loose one-armed hug against his side. Alphinaud blinked in puzzlement, too caught off guard by the move to protest before Alvaar squeezed him gently and held tight for a long moment. It was… still embarrassing. He still hoped people wouldn’t see him and make jokes at his expense but… It reminded him of the Binding Coils of Bahamut. Beaten and battered as Alisaie, Alvaar, and himself had been and the Bard had paused to hug them both in a similar fashion as they’d left the ruins. He’d been annoyed then but this time it almost felt like… like things would be fine. Surely, whatever had come over Alvaar in Halatali would need to be discussed but at his core the Bard was still the same. That would be enough.

Letting him go, the older Elezen thumped knuckles to his own chest, unable to help a faint wince as he aggravated his burns but offering a weak grin regardless.

“You’re well enough and we should be on our way?” Alphinaud asked, already knowing Alvaar would nod and managing his own faint smile. “Then I am relieved to hear it. Shall we?”

They set out together and the fact Alvaar was stepping at his side instead of behind him was not lost on the Arcanist. It was a bit different, not quite something he was yet used to, but he sort of hoped it would stay. While the Warrior of Light’s steady presence at his back had been commonplace before there was something far more companionable walking side by side as they were now even if the silence was almost the same. Something that at least suggested Ilberd’s heated words hadn’t all been truth…

“... If things change Alvaar,” Alphinaud murmurs, glancing up at him briefly. “When you can speak freely again, I mean... if you need to talk then I am here to listen.”

There’s a long pause before Alvaar gives a curt nod, offering the faintest smile at him before they step out into the foyer where the rest of their companions await.

It’s not much, not a miracle by any stretch, but it’s a small token of progress. And for now, maybe that can be enough of a start.

[pennycobb]

Ornament

Christmas Ink, day 17: Ornament, by Mitchel Stoycheff

Take away your alchemy These retched evil creations Born of lies and damnable glee You’ve sold my trust at auction Your cold heart has shown me What I simply cannot fathom This gilded castle is drafty From these walls of dried blossoms Stand there in your kingdom And tell me otherwise That it’s structure can stand this volume Of truth’s whispered lullabies

Christmas Ink is an original series…

[radabadabing-bing]

Niles’s Big Problem

Second of these to go up, this time with Niles. Same as last time. 18+ only, considering this story gets just as dicey, if not moreso, than the Xander one. Anyways, enjoy. Keaton story coming soon.

Niles wedged himself somewhere he shouldn't have been.

A crevice in between some rooms had become apparent to him, and it led him somewhere...bizarre. A laboratory, alchemy pages strewn about, and chair in the back, covered in dust and disuse. "Strange," He said, staring up. He saw a most curious thing- several barrels of something and a large tube connected to each of them. There was also small bottles of some orange liquid in the room. It was odd- why would they have just up and left? He went to read a page, only to find it in an bizarre language. This place had many posed many questions already, and was doing nothing to answer them. He went to investigate the chair in the back, and when he was close to it, something really strange happened.

He was pushed into it.

"What the hell!?" He said in surprise, landing in the chair. It was a little stiff though it certainly was...a chair. He turned around to see his assailant...to find nothing. "What the-"

Niles was interrupted again as the tube was shoved in his mouth. He tried to pull his arms up to remove it, but his wrists were suddenly magically bound to the chair's arms. "Mmmf!" He tried to shout as to get someone's attention,unable to make much more than a muffled noise with it stuffed in his mouth. A thick orange liquid began pumping down from the barrels above. Niles did his best to spit out the tube, but to no avail. It seems that it had been bound to his maw just like the chair held back his hands. His one eye saw it slither towards his mouth...It went down his throat like slime, slowly and uncomfortably making its way down into his stomach. Niles stomach gurgled, discontent with the foreign substance.

As the liquid continued to pour into his system, he felt his belly begin to stretch. "Mmmm!"

He could do nothing as his belly continued to grow, rolling up his shirt, exposing his fat to

the silent lab. It spilled upon his lap, groaning all the while. "Mmmff..." His indignance was fading as he became accustomed to the feel. In a way, it felt...good? "Mmmm..." Niles' felt a rousing in his pants, as the feeling became sensual to him. It seemed the liquid affected the rest of his body as well...he felt his butt jiggle within the seat as it grew a little larger, bit by bit. He felt his hips expand with them, growing wider and wider, his thighs too. This served as more leverage for his erection. His pectorals began softening, joining his swollen belly, which had long gone over the edge of the seat. The stiff chair groaned under Niles' new weight, easily passing three hundred pounds by then. Crack! Went the chair's arms, Niles' large hips spilling out from  them. The magical bonds on his arms were free, but it was then Niles noticed those too were fattened and difficult to move. Well, perhaps if he weren't too engorged to actually pay attention, and if he was, he was trying to feel himself up. He never thought that being so big would feel so-

And with a crash, the seat gave out from under him, plopping him on the floor. And he was snapped back to reality.

Oh gods, he was...so huge! His pants tore asunder, his ass eating up his underwear, and shirt ripped to expose his new moobs to the empty lab. "Mmmmph!" He reached for the tube with his plump hands, desperately grasping at air as he struggled to reach the tube feeding him. Despite his new resistance, he felt his erection only increasing in intensity. Was he really this depraved?

...This wasn't the time to think about it. As he desperately grasped for the tube, his arms only got further apart. How cruel, this twist of fate was. More and more of the orange potion flowed into his gullet, gaining layer upon layer of fat and blubber. His ass pushed up against the wall, feet began to touch the tables that were several feet away. And finally? It stopped.

Niles spat out the tube in disgust, only to find it wasn't over- no, he was still growing! His belly was growing ever larger, eating up the room under his fat. And...oh gods, he couldn't see it, but there was a real rager down there. He couldn't take it anymore, he closed his eyes and wished for it to be over. He grit his teeth, listening the bubbling of his belly...

It must've been hours later when Niles awoke, naked upon the floor. He picked himself off the floor. He looked like he was back to normal, but he felt so bloated and weird... "Uhhhn..." His boner was still upright and angry, throbbing in the air.

His belly grumbled and quaked, and he clutched it. "Oh, please not again." It blew up a bit in his hands. "Ugh..." He tried pushing it back to no avail. No, it was getting plumper by the moment. "Hnn...Got to...stop it..." He grasped an overturned bottle on the floor, ripping out the cork and downing it. He didn't even bother tasting it. He only hoped for it to stop. With incredible speed, his butt doubled in size. He desperately slurped down another one, his hips becoming wider. "No, no no...!" It was happening all over again, no potion would cure it! He drank another despite knowing it would only accelerate his expansion, his chest aching as his breasts became oversized and bloated. "Guuuh..." He slurped down yet another, stopping halfway through after he felt the change, but it was too late.

The ichor dribbled down his chin, rolling onto his oversized abdomen. His cock throbbed, hidden under his swelling belly. But Niles could feel how it was growing in diameter..."Gh..Ooooh...Yes...?" He was growing out in every direction again, his rolls of fat and blubber wobbling as he attempted to waddle towards the crevice. He wouldn't fit, but he'd be damned if he didn't try. Something made him stop though.

His hands attempted to reach his stomach as it gurgled again. This gurgle felt terrible. It sounded terrible, like a roaring storm of stomach acid and that damnable potion it was no doubt filled to the brim with. With a roar, his ass grew incredibly large, as if the potion was trying to intentionally immoblize him. He stumbled back, falling onto a table with a crash. His thighs blew up, doubling in size and weighing him down further. Another terrible growl from his stomach as his belly continued to grow and grow, his ample rounded pecs resting upon it's rumbling surface. He felt chins upon chins grow under his former one, his arms devolving into useless lumps of flesh. His single eye darted around, vision slowly obscuring as it was blocked by layers of blubber. Even under the layers, he felt his cock still solid, twitch in excitement as it continued to grow underneath Niles' girth. "H...Help..." Niles moaned, watching himself malform, growth refusing to stop. His skin soon felt taut as he filled the room almost completely. He groaned, feeling a dribble of the orange liquid roll down his chins. His nipples began to leak the foul substance. Belly button popped out, filled to it's limit. His penis became more and more agitated, beginning to sputter the warm liquid surging through Niles. Then it happened. "Guh...guh...GAAAAH!" Niles felt himself explode, splattering every which way.

...and then awoke in his bed with a jolt. He gasped for air, in utter disbelief at the dreadful nightmare. "It was a nightmare...thank the gods..." He stared down at himself. He was still lithe and muscular. "Ah." He did feel that the dream was...sort of...enjoyable?...Right until he exploded of course. Still, he was glad such a thing seemed impossible...

Or was it?