#i was expecting them to do like necromancy or something but instead they kinda just do elemental stuff

[unsanctitude]

Holy shiiiit I love Janus' concept and design!!! Do you have any silly fun facts about them? (Feel free to yap as much as you like btw !!!

YAY im glad you like JANUS !!!!!!

since he's kind of a newborn i havent had much time to accumulate fun facts about the guy, he's essentially still in his larval stage. but i do have a few!

his natural hair color is purple but is turning into a muddy greyish-green due to excessive magic exposure! he also once had a normal skin color but he is now a lovely shade of green

the rubber gloves he has on are enchanted and is what allows him to operate, its all he needs to sort of reach in there and move stuff around hehe

you can only discern this in one pic but he does wear high heels/stilettos all the time cause why not ☺ he's become so good at sleepwalking in them

[emptymanuscript]

One of the essays sitting and percolating in my brain is about how much (and more importantly WHY) I loathe the idea of Hard vs. Soft magic systems and how terribly these concepts are for thinking about magicbuilding.

While also in no way objecting to Sanderson's 3 Laws of Magic which I actually love because they are so clever and usable. I'm all for them.

It's a dialectic. Sue me. I just don't think that the 3 laws actually necessitate the hardness scale of magic. At all. And in some ways the two ideas actively work against each other.

I just know it is a HUGE essay, involving a lot of work and data gathering. And I feel like I can't be bothered to expend that much effort within even the medium term. So... it just kind of sits there and occasionally I'll run into something that reminds me: oh, yeah, I kinda wanna do that. Like, this is pretty good but it would be ten times as brilliant if you weren't hampered by the idea of a hardness scale of magic.

I ran into somebody today trying to talk about a pyramid of magic users that was partly dependent on this idea of a chart of Magic Hardness on the Y axis and Diversity of Magical Expression on the X axis. For four fundamental quadrants of Hard Diverse, Hard Same, Soft Diverse, and Soft Same. The last of which he couldn't think of any examples of and I'm just sitting here thinking: yeah, because one of your axes is wrong and its getting in the way of you saying something brilliant.

Think instead of several diversities: Sources of Magic, Types of Magic, Expressions of Magic, and User Variability as a 4D model. Each converging at 0, no magic. Each going to ∞, meaning each kind is entirely individual to the caster and is measured by the number of casters instead of the number of magics. And useful numbers for fiction falling somewhere in the relatively low range of numbers.

So, for the favorite Hard Magic (grumble) example, AtlA, you would have 1 source of magic: Chi. 5 types of magic: Water, Earth, Fire, Air, and Spirit. Then 2 basic expressions of magic: Elemental Control and Spiritual Control. And finally a relatively low (numbers aren't very useful but expectations are) amount of user variability in that expression. This can be shown to the audience with any level of clarity, without altering the system itself.

For the favorite Soft Magic (still grumbling) example, LotR, you would have an unknown number of sources of magic because it is never really delved into. However, it is possible to count what actually appears, and that is a low number, with some possible overlap: There's magic in the race you belong to, there's magic in the divine plan, there's magic in words and speech, there's magic in things sublimely crafted, there's magic in your intent, there's magic in birthright (not your race but your family lineage), there's magic in herb-lore and nature, there's magic in corruption, and there's magic in knowing/wisdom. It is possible to divide all those into separate categories or to unify all those into the singular Divine Will with many offshoots. The types of magic, again, are not enumerated and delved into but can be counted. There seems to be mostly the use of (un)natural phenomenon, communication/command/seduction, knowing/wisdom/fortune telling/working with fate, crafting things to do magic for you, necromancy/corruption, and oaths. Again there is overlap or not depending on opinion since the story doesn't delve into it. And user variability is fairly high in that it isn't particularly useful to know what one magic user can do in order to predict what another magic user can do. And this is really what makes it a "soft system" that whatever rules underlie the system are not only not communicated to the reader directly but aren't communicated in such a way that the underlying system is deducible. It is entirely possible to make a "Hard Magic System" (just ugh) that would produce exactly what we see in LotR. What makes it soft is the information we get, not the system itself.

And that really is my basic issue with Hard/Soft Magic as an idea. It conflates multiple different bits of information into a single bit that isn't dictated by any one of the original bits.

The Idea of Hard vs. Soft Magic relies on the idea that the perception of the Magic System is the same in the Imagination of the Author, their Expectations of the Audience and that Audience's Reception, their intentions, the Encoded piece of Art - the text itself, the Consensus Audience's Interpretations, the Individual Audience's Interpretations, AND the cultural interpretation of story as applied to this whole mess.

While literally none of that has to be true.

It is (accidentally?) doing the precision opposite of what the Artist Philosophy does at its worst. It is elevating the audience experience of Story over every other factor. It is essentially saying that every other position on the map must accept "my" interpretation and play to it. It's flipping the script - ex: men are good so women are bad but now we've had our glorious revolution so now women are good so men are bad - instead of actually addressing the problem inherent in the script - one gender is portrayed as superior to another.

BUT that's like two examples out of... hundreds? Thousands? Per year! >_<

Two texts aren't a sufficient corpus of material to talk about these sorts of things. Neither is one figure to illustrate the issue out of one textbook. And I just DON'T want to deal with that level of work. Especially since no one will really particularly care. And the minority that would be interested are generally pretty happy with the Hard / Soft divide because they're the readers whose views are being reflected. So...

:/

No point.

And this is why I shouldn't write essays anyway. I just wrote an essay about NOT writing an essay >_< I have issues >_< it's just... so much thought on how to do things on the back end (writing and worldbuilding advice) which is growing excellently right now would be so much better without that Hard-Soft conceit which is just... *sigh* an entire essay on why it is an issue. With half probably devoted to soothing egos and rough reactions of 'but it works for me.' Which is the point. The entire point.

And ugh.

And I'm probably only putting work into this in this way here so I won't feel the need to lash out at my sister quite so intensely. Again >_< I have issues.

And thanks for reading / sorry for writing. You know. Me and essays :/

[coeursetcolores]

Cyrus, The Scholar: Chapter 2

WARNING! Spoilers ahead for Chapter 2 of Cyrus’ story in Octopath Traveler!

Man, things got dark!

I thought Prim had the dark story, but this was messed up! Human sacrifices, kidnapping, torture...It was not just a name, not just a name.

Someone give Cyrus a break! And this is only Chapter 2?!

I have the feeling Chapter 4 might constitute bumping the rating up, this game is so unexpectedly dark. And so detailed about it.

But, let’s press on.

Since this is the same town as Tressa’s Chapter 2, I actually did her’s first. I figured with Cyrus being a gentleman and all, he’d step out of the lady’s way. 

And wow, can things change between two chapters.

I will admit, the bursts of humor about Cyrus’ obliviousness about how attractive he is got old pretty quickly: not that funny when it cost him his job (still salty Therese). Kinda feels like a double standard, female characters don’t usually end up in his situation...I dunno, I just really don’t like Cyrus getting punished/made fun of because he doesn’t notice when people are interested in him: if they like him, they should be upfront with him.

Lay off Odette, he’s supposed to be your friend.

Oh well; Detective Cyrus is back everyone! Book man’s hittin’ the streets!

Quarrycrest is nice, little mining town. All the wooden parts make it look like it’s still being worked on. It really sells that the place is developing into something else, like it would be bigger and more advanced later on. The wood could get upgraded to stone and the stalls could become stores. It’s nice to think of after Tressa’s chapter.

I do wish the mystery parts had more to them; I know it’s not that kind of game, but they’re just so easy it’s hard to believe Cyrus is the only one who can solve them. Eh. Moving on.

Are all of Cyrus’ chapters going to end up underground? I get that his bad guys like to stay hidden, but there’s more options: attics, abandoned buildings, woods, creepy mansions...

Overall, the sewer starts out pretty basic (hope everyone did laundry after they finished up down there): dark, wet, rats...

And then we get to the boss’ room.

Dang...This guy’s messed up. How do you even crystallize blood? And was the circle on the ground made of blood too?

I was not expecting that corpse to fall. Usually the hero gets there before anyone dies, so I figured everyone would get rescued and that the ritual just took more time.

And the game showed me it wasn’t playing around.

You save three people.

Ten went missing.

We’re going into some dark territory going forward, it looks like.

I’m actually kind of glad Gideon didn’t show up much, this guy is pure evil. Worked pretty well to just show up for the fight. Would’ve liked to have had his motivations explored a bit, though. Honestly just seems like he was written to just creep the player out.

I really like how this chapter shows Cyrus’ moral side: we already learned about how much he craves knowledge, but here we see where he draws the line. He admits the topics about necromancy intrigue him, but he would never actually try them. He knows that some things shouldn’t be researched and has the self-control and morals to reject them instead of blindly pursuing more than he probably should. Usually intelligent characters will disregard the moral choice in favor of research, but Cyrus doesn’t. I like that.

And now Odette wants to be nice. Yay.

Aaaaaaand, we’re being followed.

Let’s hear what our companions have to say about this tonal shifting chapter!

Primrose: Ooh, debate! And a respectful one! Both sides have points, and Cyrus even admits he likes hearing about her perspective. Just a talk about two ways of seeing the world. But did they have to end with another oblivious Cyrus joke?

Tressa: Cyrus, you are going to get killed one day. Tressa’s supposed to be the newcomer to the traveling life, why is she lecturing you? Though, it is refreshing to see how older people can have less wisdom than younger ones at times. Neither of them are naive, they just have more smarts than the other in different areas.

Ophilia: Oooh! I know he’s just being frank, but I have shipping goggles on! Watch yourself, Cyrus!

Therion: Recruit a criminal, solve a crime. But aww! Cyrus praised him! You go inspire that disenfranchised youth, Professor! GO TO CLASS, THERION! Achieve your potential (but also stay a thief, because they’re cool)!

H’aanit: You’re far too modest, my dear! People would line up to take your courses! I never want to hunt, but I’d love to learn biology from you!

Alfyn: Aww, poor guy! You go dad on him, Cyrus! Team Dad #2! I really like how he presents knowledge as ultimately being subject to the user. And yes, Alfyn is pure. I’d love to listen to discussions between these two about their fields, mutual mentoring is an interesting topic to explore.

Olberic: WAIT, YOU GUYS ACTUALLY NOTICED YOU’RE BEING FOLLOWED?! I was not expecting that! No ambushes coming for them, then. I feel so much wiser when these two talk to each other: one about knowledge, the other about danger. 

By the way, I love that everyone addresses Cyrus as “Professor;” even if he’s not on the clock, they respect him.

All we wanted to do was find a book. Now we’re involved in a conspiracy with necromancy, torture, murder and kidnapping.

Who hires someone to do this? And how does the academy fit into it?

And who’s that hooded figure?

Guess we find out.

On to Stonegard!

[junghelioseok]

covenant.

↳ your best friend’s engagement forces you to reevaluate your own feelings.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | angst | werewolf!au | f2l!au ◇ 16.4k [1/1]

⇢ arguably also an arranged marriage!au, ft. kinda sorta dumbasses to lovers? a very, very late bday fic for the most beautiful man in the universe and my favorite funky lil dancer. ♡

notes: i started this in my drafts well over three months ago and all it said was “this ain’t gonna be on time for hobi’s bday i can feel it” and damn if past!me wasn’t right on the money!!! this has undergone three edits, going from 14.6k to 16.4k somehow, and i am going to lose my whole damn mind if i don’t just post it so here it is! hope you enjoy!

warnings: dom!hobi, alpha!hobi, bit of dirty talk, oral (f receiving), some grinding against hobi’s thigh, knotting, hobi’s got a big dick idk, also he’s in heat!!! but things eventually get really soft bc i love him and am a Soft Bitch™ 🤷🏻‍♀️

It’s going to rain.

You can smell it in the air and feel the damp chill against your skin, permeating through every layer of your clothing. The surrounding forest and all its occupants seem to be collectively holding their breath, waiting for the first drops to come. Even your footsteps, soft as they are against the loamy earth, sound much too loud in the hush that’s fallen. Dark clouds gather overhead, looming like an omen, and you silently reach into your purse to check that the umbrella you’d stowed this morning is still there. Vaguely, you wonder if it’s big enough for two.

Around you, the trees slowly begin to dwindle, until there’s only open sky above your head and a wide grassy expanse beneath your feet. A certain heaviness lingers in the air here—a low thrum of energy, born from the ancient magic that sleeps in the gnarled roots of the tree that sits in the center of the clearing. You can feel it prickling along your skin, raising gooseflesh and igniting your veins, and the closer you get, the stronger the feeling becomes.

At the far end of the clearing, you spot a small crowd of people, all clad in black. Your best friend—and your entire reason for venturing out today—stands amongst them in a tailored suit, his black tie snug at his throat and laid atop a charcoal gray shirt. He’s chatting with his father and a few other family members, seemingly calm and collected, but you can tell from the sloppy knot of his tie and the way he fidgets with the hem of his jacket that he is anything but. After all your years of friendship, you can read Jung Hoseok like a book. His auburn hair is disheveled as if he’s been incessantly raking his fingers through it, and even at a distance, you can sense the turmoil in his aura, haloing him like the stormy clouds overhead.

Sensing your approach, Hoseok’s gaze flickers up to meet yours. He raises a hand in greeting and bids farewell to the people he’d been chatting with, picking his way over to you with a wan smile.

“Hey. You made it.”

“I wouldn’t miss this,” you reply, reaching out to take his hand. It’s warm and strong as always, but you don’t miss the slight tremor in his grip. “How are you holding up?”

He shrugs half-heartedly, a sigh escaping his lips and dissipating into mist in the wintry air. “As well as can be expected, I guess. It just… it all happened so fast.”

“I know,” you murmur, twining your fingers together in quiet reassurance. “I’m so sorry, Hobi.”

“Thanks.”

Slowly, his gaze flits to the center of the clearing where the ancient tree sits, traversing from the leafy canopy all the way down to where the gnarled roots disappear into the dirt. In its shadow sits a polished wooden casket, and you squeeze Hoseok’s hand gently as he walks closer, his eyes beginning to glisten.

“I still can’t believe he’s gone, you know,” he mumbles. “All these years of war, of negotiations and peace talks, finally seeing the Accords pass and the company flourish… and now he’s gone. Cancer. Just like that.”

His voice cracks on the last sentence, and you clasp his hand a little tighter. You know as well as he does that a healthy werewolf can live for well over a century, if not for the human genetics that remain susceptible to human weaknesses and disease. True immortality afflicts only the faeries and the vampires of your world—and even then, there are still ways that those folk can die.

“He lived a long life,” you say after a moment’s hesitation, grasping onto any semblance of comfort you can offer. Together, you and Hoseok come to a stop in the shadow of the tree, peering at the closed casket where his grandfather lays. “And it was a good, just life. Not all of us can say that.”

A lone, wet droplet falls onto the polished mahogany, and Hoseok hastily wipes his eyes, tilting his head skyward. “Not long enough,” he whispers. “He still had so much to do. I… I still have so much I wanted to do—to say. And now I’ll never be able to.”

You caress a thumb across his knuckles, the motion soft and tender. “I know. And I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

Hoseok glances down at that, a glimmer of something manic and desperate swimming in his amber-flecked irises. “You could,” he says, grabbing both your hands and clutching them to his chest like a lifeline. “You could bring him back. You know how, don’t you?”

You shake your head sadly, hating the way his frown deepens as you free yourself from his grasp. “That’s forbidden magic, Hobi. That’s necromancy. You know I can’t do that.”

Hoseok’s entire body sags, his shoulders slumping as he lets out a heavy sigh. Instinctively, you step forward to wrap him in a hug, and he loops his arms around your waist automatically, pulling you flush against him. “I know,” he mumbles into your hair. Then he huffs out a dry chuckle, humorless and deprecating. “Fuck. I’m a mess, huh?”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. Instead, you hold him a little tighter, rubbing his back soothingly in long, slow motions—the same way his mother used to do during bedtime. His heart thuds erratically in his chest, fast and frenzied like a caged bird, but lulls as you continue your ministrations, settling into an even rhythm once more.

“Thank you,” he murmurs after a few moments, his warm breath caressing your cheek. “For coming today. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“You can do anything, Hobi,” you reassure, running a thumb along the sharp line of his jaw when he raises his head to look at you. “With or without me. But… you’re welcome, all the same.”

Your presence at this funeral is unusual, and both you and Hoseok know it. Werewolf packs tend to keep their rites and ceremonies private, and the Gwangju pack is no different. Led by Hoseok’s father, and his late grandfather before him, the werewolves of the city have rapidly risen to prominence and power, aided in large part by the founding of JungTech. The company, started by Hoseok’s grandfather, began as a small operation in a battered old warehouse, but quickly grew to become one of Gwangju’s biggest corporations after the signing of the Accords twenty years ago. The peace treaty marked the start of a tenuous coexistence between humankind and Shadowfolk, and, together with your fellow witches—along with the werewolves, vampires, and the few fair folk who decided to leave their homes deep in the forests—you migrated into cities all over the country to forge new lives.

It’s proven easier for some. While the wolves of the city have found tolerance—acceptance, even—you have not fared quite as well. Humans, you have found, tend to fear the ancient magic that runs through your veins. Though nothing you’ve faced comes remotely close to what your ancestors faced in centuries past, you remain wary of those who take a little too much interest in your abilities.

You’re a bit paranoid, your familiar, Bast, has remarked on more than one occasion. But it’s justified, so I suppose it’s all right.

As if sensing that your thoughts have turned to him, Bast stirs in the back of your mind. You feel him yawn and stretch lazily before there’s a tug on the soles of your feet, as if the force of gravity has suddenly, inexplicably doubled. Then he’s materializing—morphing out of the spot where your shadow would be if the sun were shining, taking the form of an inky black cat with sharp, golden eyes. Hoseok perks up when Bast loops between his ankles, and immediately squats down to scratch behind his ears, a small smile settling across his face as a low, content purr rumbles up from beneath his fingertips. From elsewhere in the clearing, a single howl rises up into the air, forlorn and wavering.

It’s starting, Bast says in your head. At the same time, Hoseok straightens to his full height, fiddling with the hem of his black jacket and looking over at you tentatively.

“Sounds like they’re getting started,” he says.

You nod. “I should go.”

Hoseok opens his mouth as if to protest—as if to say no, stay—but you know better and cut him off with a single raised finger.

“I’ll go,” you murmur. “This is a private rite, and I don’t want to break centuries of tradition by overstaying my welcome. Go join your pack, Hobi.”

“Will I see you later?”

“Without a doubt.”

Your parting gesture is to reach out and grab his hand, tucking a little drawstring bag into his palm and closing his fingers over it. “Valerian root and chamomile,” you tell him gently, taking in his rumpled collar and the dark bags beneath his eyes. “Make some tea tonight. It’ll help.”

Hoseok swallows and nods, his features softening as he gazes down at his hand cupped in your smaller ones. He looks like he wants to say something, but another howl interrupts, disrupting whatever thoughts he may have had. Instead, he nods again, murmuring a soft goodbye before turning on his heel to join the rest of the pack gathering around the raised casket. You turn as well, leaving behind the ancient clearing with Bast trotting by your side.

Up above, the heavens finally open, drenching the dirt path beneath your feet with rain. And behind you, the single howl is joined by dozens more, echoing mournfully up into the weeping sky.

///

You’re in the middle of straightening out a display of dittany when the kettle begins to boil, emitting three short, shrill whistles accompanied by a long stream of whirling steam. When silence falls over the shop once more, you wander over to where the kettle sits—atop a small wooden end table next to an old wardrobe. It’s an old relic that’s been passed down through generations of witches in your family, wrought out of silvery metal and suspended in an iron frame above a single lit candle. The flame is glowing pink, flickering in a nonexistent gust of wind, and you smile. Quietly, you grab two teacups from a nearby shelf.

Not two seconds later, the door of the old wardrobe creaks open, revealing the familiar face of Kim Seokjin behind it. A fellow witch and a good friend of yours, Jin has made a name for himself as a baker, running a café in Seoul that offers all sorts of confections—both with magical properties and without. His hair is dyed a muted dusty rose—a stark contrast to the casual black hoodie and jeans he’s wearing—and you reach out to push a stray lock back from his forehead in lieu of a greeting.

“Your hair’s pink again,” you remark. “I like it.”

Jin grins, his plush lips pulling back to reveal perfect teeth. “Thanks.” Carefully, he steps out of the wardrobe and shuts the door behind him. A beat of silence passes, and you take the opportunity to select a canister of tea leaves. You don’t miss the flicker of solemnity that settles into Jin’s features, though, listening as he clears his throat before voicing the question that is undoubtedly the reason behind his unexpected visit.

“So. How’s Hoseok holding up?”

Jin has never been one to mince his words. You suppose you appreciate that about him.

Quietly, you lift the kettle out of its stand and beckon for him to join you at the little wooden table at the front of your shop. It’s tucked neatly into the nook carved out by one of the two bay windows on either side of the front door, flanked by two well-worn, mismatched chairs. Atop it sits a pile of books—everything from ancient remedies to common household spells.

One book in particular always sits open—a detailed list of all the herbs and plants you carry in your shop, along with the various concoctions you’ve created with them. Hellebore, the spine of the book reads, and it’s the same word that graces your storefront in flowing, golden text. An apothecary of sorts, you spend your days dealing out potions and remedies to those in need, both human and Shadowfolk. You do your best to help, for all the times modern medicine has come up short and left someone wanting.

“Honestly? I don’t think he’s been sleeping.” You set the teacups down onto the table and fill them both before handing one over to Jin. “I saw him this morning, at the funeral. He looked exhausted.”

Jin’s brows disappear behind his pink hair. “You went to the funeral?”

“I didn’t stay,” you clarify, taking a sip of your tea. “Just wanted to drop by, say hello, and pay my respects.”

“Werewolves are a private bunch,” Jin remarks. “I’m surprised.”

You shrug. “Hoseok wanted me to be there. So I went.”

“I see.” He doesn’t say anything further, and neither do you, lapsing instead into a comfortable silence that’s broken only by the occasional sip of tea and the clinking of china. Your gaze wanders, drifting over to the front door of your shop, painted a cheerful green and set with a flowery stained glass window that throws kaleidoscopic rainbows across the cream walls and dark wooden floor. Sunlight streams through the wide bay windows, illuminating the interior in warm, hazy gold. On the other side of the room, Bast is curled up, fast asleep on his favorite plush bench beside the glass door that leads to the greenhouse, perfectly haloed by the sun.

“Must be nice being able to fall asleep anywhere,” you mutter, almost to yourself.

Jin hears you anyway, a chuckle escaping his lips. “You sound jealous.”

“Maybe I am,” you reply, laughing with him. “Speaking of which, where’s Adam? Did he stay home?”

Jin nods, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the wardrobe. “Yeah, he’s keeping an eye on the café. Told me to say hi to you for him, though.”

You giggle at the thought of Jin’s familiar, a long-haired sheepdog with a stubborn streak the size of the Nile and blatant disdain for following orders—especially those that come from Jin himself. “Keeping watch, or trashing the place?” you tease.

“With my luck, probably both,” Jin admits with a sigh. “I should probably get back there soon. He ate all the egg tarts last time.”

“Bring him with you next time,” you advise. “Bast will keep him entertained.”

He grins. “I don’t doubt it.”

Finishing off the last of his tea, he stands up and taps the rim of his cup, murmuring a soft cleaning spell under his breath. You smile gratefully as he replaces it back onto the shelf with the others, and stand to walk him back over to the wardrobe. Opening up the creaky door, you watch him clamber inside, standing amongst the hanging coats and the single pair of shoes on the bottom shelf.

“See you later,” you murmur. “Give Adam my best.”

Jin nods. “See you.”

He shuts the door, and you watch the flame of the candle once again turn a soft, roseate pink. It flickers briefly, dancing in an invisible breeze, before reverting back to the color of regular fire, signaling Jin’s departure. Quietly, you clean your own teacup and return it to the shelf.

The remainder of the afternoon passes with few customers, so you opt to close down early and head to your apartment, located up a short flight of stairs on the second floor of the shop. You’re rifling through the refrigerator for dinner ingredients and humming softly under your breath when your phone suddenly rings, Hoseok’s name lighting up the screen in bright white text. “Hey, Hobi,” you say, swiping across the glass to answer. “What’s up?”

On the other end of the line, Hoseok exhales shakily. “Can you come over?”

You blink, glancing at the darkening sky outside. “Now?”

“Yeah. Fuck, sorry. I know it’s late, but I really… I really need to talk to someone. I—” His voice cracks, and your heart sinks. “I need you.”

“Say no more.” Straightening up, you shut the refrigerator door and tug off your apron. “I’ll be there in half an hour. Have you eaten yet?”

Hoseok sighs. “No.”

“I’ll bring takeout,” you decide, already glancing around for your purse. “See you soon, okay?”

Bidding him farewell, you don your coat and head out the door, locking up behind you. Hoseok lives downtown in a sleek, modern penthouse that’s normally a twenty-minute walk away from Hellebore, but after stopping by the restaurant on the corner for food, you opt to catch the bus instead. Fifteen minutes after you hang up the phone, you are rapping the bronze knocker on Hoseok’s front door, a paper bag and a bottle of wine in hand.

Almost instantly, the door is flung open. Hoseok stands in the threshold as if he’s been waiting there, his auburn hair wild and his eyes even wilder. His aura is turbulent, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You raise the bag. “I brought dinner.”

“You’re the best,” he sighs, stepping aside to let you in.

Hoseok’s apartment toes the line between modern and cozy in a way that only Hoseok’s apartment could—with lush green plants and plushy, earth-toned furniture to offset the cold impersonality of the floor-to-ceiling windows and the stainless steel kitchen. Flicking on the kitchen light, you set the food down on the granite countertop and grab two wine glasses out of the cabinet. Hoseok sidles over as you pour a generous helping into each glass, rifling through the silverware drawer for utensils.

“Smells good,” he murmurs, popping a box open. “I’m starving. Thanks for bringing dinner.”

You brush off his gratitude and hand him a glass, raising yours so you can clink it gently against his. Quietly, the two of you fall into a comfortable routine, with Hoseok grabbing the food and you grabbing the bottle of wine to bring into the living room. You help him clear off the coffee table and arrange the food, then settle onto the couch beside him, sipping your drink in silence and patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts. Years of friendship have taught you that he’ll talk when he’s ready, and you’re content to wait as long as he needs.

Sighing, Hoseok tips the rest of his wine back into his mouth before setting the empty glass down with a soft plink. “So,” he begins, not quite looking you in the eye. “My dad and I had lunch today.”

You stay quiet, waiting for him to continue. He takes several more seconds to muster up the words, and when he finally finds them, they’re exhaled in a tumbling rush. “He told me that he’s pleased with how I’m running JungTech. It’s been over a year, and things are going well… so he wants to expedite my takeover of the pack. In two months, he wants me to take over as the alpha. And…” He swallows. “He wants me to settle down.”

Perturbed, you blink. “What?”

Hoseok finally looks at you, his expression frighteningly devoid of emotion. “He wants me to get married, {Name}.”

Comprehension doesn’t settle in right away. But when it does, your jaw drops to the floor, landing somewhere alongside the ornamental persian carpet and a stray sock that has no doubt jumped ship from Hoseok’s laundry.

“W-what?” you manage after a few long seconds of gaping at him. “Why? Why now? That’s so… that’s completely out of the blue.”

Hoseok shakes his head, a few shaggy strands of auburn hair falling across his forehead and into his eyes. “It’s not, actually. He’s been talking about it for a long time—trying to arrange something with one of the other pack families. It’s tradition, you know? Mating within the pack, keeping the bloodlines pure through marriage. The difference is that Pops always talked him out of it. Always said I was too young, that there was no rush, that I should wait for someone I love, my true mate...” He sighs, heavily. “But he’s gone now. And Dad’s decided that he’s done waiting.”

You shouldn’t ask. You shouldn’t, because you know it’ll hurt, but the question comes regardless—leaving your lips in a near whisper. “Who?”

Hoseok takes a deep breath, his shoulders slumping as he exhales. “Do you remember Im Nayeon?”

You do. You’ve known Nayeon almost as long as you’ve known Hoseok—the three of you having attended the same schools starting from elementary all the way up until Hoseok left to attend university in Seoul. Admittedly, you were never close—and if you were completely honest, you always found her to be a bit disingenuous for your tastes. Nevertheless, you often found yourself at the same events—parties and gatherings you attended at Hoseok’s request, and that she was privy to due to her family’s high-ranking status within the Gwangju pack.

“I remember,” you tell him, your bottom lip finding its way between your teeth. “Does… does she know yet? Have you met up with her?”

Hoseok nods. “She was there this morning, at the funeral. We talked a little bit and got coffee after, but… this is all happening so fast.” Slowly, he tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling, a sigh escaping his parted lips. “But there’s nothing I can do, right? It’s enough that Dad’s somehow talked Mom into the whole thing, but now he’s gotten the Council on board too. Did you know that Nayeon has an uncle on the Council? It’s insane, right?”

“Insane,” you agree in a whisper, doing your best to ignore the way your heart is splintering at the edges.

“You know, I always thought my Dad pressuring me was bad.” Hoseok buries his face in his hands, peering at you from between his splayed fingers when you hum in acknowledgment. “But this? The entire Council on my back? This is way worse.”

“I’m sorry.” You don’t know what else there is to say. Your ribcage feels like it’s been split open and filled with burning coals, weighing hot and heavy on your insides.

Hoseok has dated in the past, of course. You both have—chasing that elusive, fluttery feeling called love and never quite being able to catch it and hold on. Hoseok’s last relationship fizzled long before he graduated from university, having lasted only about six months. You distinctly remember meeting the girl during one of your frequent visits to Seoul, at a small party hosted by Hoseok and his friends. By your next visit, however, things had already ended. He never really told you why the breakup occurred either—only that the relationship never would have lasted in the long run.

Perhaps foolishly, you chose not to pry.

“Is there anything I can do?” you ask softly. Reaching out, you take ahold of his hand and tug it into your lap, threading your fingers into the gaps between his. The gesture is familiar and comforting, like cocoa in front of a lit fireplace, and you can’t even begin to fathom the idea of another person sitting here and holding his hand in your stead.

“Just talk to me,” Hoseok entreaties, squeezing your fingers. “Distract me. What’s going on with you?”

You hum, swallowing down the lump in your throat and letting your head fall onto his shoulder as you pick through the events of the past week for the most interesting tidbits. “Bast has been bringing me dead rats lately,” you finally say, nose scrunching at the memory. “You should see the size of them—they’re almost bigger than he is. And they smell like the sewers, because I’m ninety-nine percent sure that’s where he’s getting them from. It’s horrid.”

Hoseok huffs out a stilted laugh. “Sewer rats? Gross.”

“It’s not all bad, to be honest,” you tell him, nestling a little closer to the warmth of his body. Hoseok keeps his apartment chillier than you’re accustomed to, and you’re beyond grateful for the furnace-like heat he gives off naturally. “The bones are pretty useful. The tails too, provided you don’t tell people what they actually are.”

His laugh is much more genuine this time. “Tricky little minx,” he says, amusement lacing his tone. “I’ve always liked that about you.”

You ignore the uptick in your heart rate at his approval, grateful that he can’t see your face as a pulse of heat flushes your cheeks. Instead, you burrow into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. Hoseok smells like the forest—fresh and woodsy, with a slight floral undercurrent from his fabric softener. It smells like home, and you smile when his arm comes up to wrap around your shoulders.

“Jin came by today,” you murmur.

“Yeah?” The monosyllabic response rumbles through his chest.

“Yeah. He asked about you, too. You should probably text him later.”

Hoseok hums a confirmation, and, satisfied, you cuddle a little closer to him. You pull at the afghan he keeps laid over the back of the couch, laying it comfortably over your lap as he rests his head gently atop yours, his ear pressed to your crown. Your eyes fall shut as you listen to the rhythmic thud of his pulse—solid and steady, backed by the soft hum of the refrigerator and distant traffic on the street far below.

It’s comfortable, sitting with him like this. Comfortable, stroking his arm with your fingertips, in time with the drumbeat of his heart. Ever so gradually, Hoseok’s breathing evens out, and you briefly think that you could stay like this—encapsulated in this delicate, iridescent bubble of contentment—for the rest of your life.

You know the thing about bubbles, though? Bast remarks dryly in your head. They burst.

I know, you sigh.

I know.

///

There’s something soothing about taking inventory—something calming in the repetition of walking down the aisles of Hellebore and restocking the shelves one by one. You’d woken this morning to an apologetic Hoseok making pancakes in the kitchen, his residual heat and woodsy scent lingering on the blanket tucked around your body. After a harried breakfast and a promise to text you later, Hoseok rushed off to the office.

You, in turn, returned to your shop, where you grabbed every ounce of cleaning supplies you possess and scrubbed the place from top to bottom, foregoing all of your usual dishwashing charms and dust-clearing jinxes. The physical labor is a welcome distraction from the events and revelations of last night, and you’ve thrown yourself wholeheartedly into all the chores you need to complete.

“Almost out of rosehip oil,” you mutter, eyeing the half-empty vial and making a note to extract more from one of several plants in your greenhouse. “Low on valerian too, hmm…”

The bell over the front door jingles merrily, diverting your attention away from your task. “{Name}?” a voice calls softly. A moment later, a familiar head of coppery red hair pops around the edge of the shelves, choppy bangs framing a soft, warm face. “Hey, there you are. You busy?”

You shake your head and shut your inventory book, setting it down on the nearest shelf. “Not terribly, no. What brings you here today, Lisa?”

Lisa’s answering smile is sheepish. “Got something to return,” she says, holding up a little glass jar full of lavender colored pills that you immediately recognize. “I’m guessing you’ve already heard the news. Looks like I won’t be needing these anymore, right?”

Your laugh sounds brittle, even to your own ears. “Right. Yeah. Not anymore.”

For just over ten years, Lisa has been the wolf assigned to help Hoseok through his heat. Between his family’s status and his longtime designation as the next alpha of the Gwangju pack, it’s imperative for Hoseok to avoid anything that might be perceived as scandalous. Torrid sex stories splashed across tabloid covers is the last thing a man like Hoseok needs, and that’s where Lisa comes in. Once a year, for three days, she goes to him, and no one is none the wiser. Her job is one that calls for the utmost discretion, and as the daughter of a high-ranking Council official, no one understood that better than she did. You’d only found out because of your role as one of the few witches in the country who makes and stocks the proper contraceptives for such wolves—the dosage much stronger than the human equivalent.

And when Lisa had first approached you to purchase the pills, you’d dropped two jars and nearly set fire to a third. Your stomach had fallen to somewhere around your toes, right alongside the shattered glass and little lavender tablets.

You’d chalked the accident up to surprise. Hoseok hadn’t mentioned anything to you, after all, and you’d known very little about the intricacies of werewolf heats back then, having just opened your shop at age eighteen. But surprise doesn’t explain the snaking jealousy that bubbles up in your tummy every time Lisa comes in to restock her supply of pills, nor does it explain the overwhelming sense of relief you feel now as she presses the unopened jar into your hands.

“I still can’t believe he’s going to be the most powerful man in Gwangju soon.” Lisa steps back, tucking her hair behind her ear and letting out a soft sigh. “And now he’s engaged, too. It’s pretty crazy, huh?”

“Crazy,” you agree tonelessly, turning to replace the jar onto the appropriate shelf.

Lisa, however, is nothing if not perceptive. A gentle hand lands on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. “Hey,” she begins, soft and slow. “You know you can talk to me, right? Are you—?”

But the sound of the bell drowns out the rest of her question, metallic and bright in the quiet of your shop. “Hello? Anyone home?” a cheery voice asks.

“Be right there,” you say immediately, shrugging off Lisa’s hand and stepping out from amongst the shelves. There’s a young woman standing at the checkout counter, rifling through the collection of seeds on display, and you cringe as she replaces a few packets in the wrong spots. “How can I help you?”

At the sound of your voice, the woman turns gracefully on her heel, her expression a perfectly crafted amalgamation of surprise and delight. “{Name}!” she exclaims, stepping forward with an outstretched arm. “Long time no see!”

“N-Nayeon,” you stammer, the shock of seeing her face freezing you in place. “What… what brings you here?”

The dark-haired woman steps forward to pull you into a hug, enveloping you in her fruity perfume. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to catch up with an old friend?” she asks playfully.

We were never friends, you want to say. In your head, Bast lets out a derisive snort of agreement. Lisa, you notice, has conveniently melted away somewhere amidst the organized chaos of your shop, disappearing into the myriad shelves and knickknacks.

“Plus, I really wanted to look at some flowers,” Nayeon continues, betraying her true purpose at last. “You’ve heard, haven’t you? About my engagement? I’m sure Hoseok—I mean, my fiancé—has mentioned it to you, of all people. You are his best friend, after all.”

The inside of the shop is beginning to feel stifling. Perspiration trickles down your neck and you tug at your collar, loosening the material from where it’s plastered against your skin. “Sure,” you manage, once you feel like you can breathe again. “Right. Sure. The flowers are right this way, if you want to follow me.”

I’d forgotten how much I don’t like her, your familiar remarks dryly in your head.

Shut up, Bast.

Mercifully, he does. There’s a tug on your feet, and you glance down just in time to see him morph out of the shadow you cast against the sun-drenched floor. Ghostly and amorphous at first, he quickly solidifies into the feline figure you’ve grown accustomed to, and slinks protectively around your ankles before darting off to perch in the cushioned bay window seat.

Conveniently, that’s also where the flower display is. Colorful blooms and trailing leaves adorn the wooden shelves and tables in this particular corner of the shop, and you force yourself to shift back into professional mode as you come to a stop in front of an assortment of honeysuckle. “So, what kind of flowers are you looking for?” you ask, brushing your fingers along the pale yellow petals.

Nayeon hums thoughtfully and picks up a potted rosebush, examining it from all angles. “Roses, maybe. Are roses too clichéd now?” She brings the crimson buds closer and inhales, eyes fluttering shut. “No matter. I’ve always liked them.”

“They’re beautiful,” you agree, turning your attention to the selection of roses lining the topmost shelf. “Do you have a color preferen—?”

“Or maybe these would be better,” Nayeon interrupts, plucking up a pale pink calla lily from the bouquet you keep in a table display. “Or that one—what is it?”

You follow the trajectory of her gaze to a bunch of little white flowers with golden centers, stark against the dark dirt and surrounding green foliage. “That would be bloodroot,” you answer. “One of my personal favorites—it’s both ornamental and medicinal. It would look lovely in a bouquet.”

Nayeon pulls a face and shakes her head. “No, no—I don’t want anything with such a horrible name. What about these?” she asks, reaching up to take a closer look at a larger bloom. “Peonies, right?”

By the time Nayeon makes it back to the checkout counter with a few sample rose cuttings in hand, you’re fairly certain that several eternities have passed. “Is there anything else you need?” you ask as you ring her up and wrap the flowers neatly in paper.

“A discount for an old friend?” she queries, shooting you a playful wink. When you don’t answer right away, she giggles. “I’m kidding! Obviously, I’ll pay. It’s not like I’m pressed for money—I mean, you’ve seen who my fiancé is, right? Now gosh, where did I put my wallet?”

Your cheeks are beginning to feel far too hot. Nayeon is still rummaging in her purse, and you quickly duck beneath the counter under the pretense of looking for some ribbon to tie off the bouquet. Fanning your face, you take a few deep breaths, listening as she continues chattering away.

“We’re having dinner tonight, actually, Hoseok and I. It’ll be our second real date, and… wait!” She gasps, and you peer up just in time to see her slap a hand over her perfectly lacquered mouth. “You should come! Bring someone, if you can—it’ll be like a double date!”

If you can? Bast snipes. Curse her.

You sigh inwardly and straighten back up, ribbon in hand. Shut up, Bast.

If you won’t, I will.

You’ll do no such thing.

Mustering up your best, most earnest smile, you hand over the wrapped flowers along with her change. “That sounds like fun,” you tell her, ignoring the way your insides lurch at the lie. “When and where?”

Nayeon beams and rattles off the address of an unfamiliar restaurant. “Don’t be late!” she calls as she heads for the door. The bell jangles cheerily as she departs, and as soon as the door shuts behind her, Lisa pokes her head around a nearby bookshelf.

“Finally,” she sighs, walking over to join you. “I thought she’d never leave.”

Ordinarily, you wouldn’t dare speak ill of a customer, but you’re willing to make an exception today. “You and me both,” you reply, watching as Bast slinks over like a shadow and hops onto the counter beside you. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your elbow in silent solidarity, and you mindlessly begin scratching behind his ears as Lisa speaks again.

“Are you really going to go to that dinner tonight?”

You meet her gaze, shrugging. “I already said I would. Do I really have a choice?”

There isn’t much else to say, and both you and she know it. Pushing off from where she’s leaning against the countertop, Lisa flips her coppery hair over her shoulder and shoots you a look, brown eyes full of sympathy. “Good luck,” she says sincerely. You get the feeling that she wants to say something else, but decides against it at the last minute. Instead, she bids you goodbye and walks out with a wave and another chime of the bell. Silence settles over the shop once more, and you allow yourself a few moments to breathe—slow and deep, in and out—before picking up your phone and opening up the most recent text messages. It doesn’t take long to find the name you’re looking for, but you still pause, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, before you begin to type.

[4:21pm] You: how would you like to join me for a very awkward dinner date?

[4:21pm] Jin: consider me intrigued.

///

You and Jin arrive at the restaurant first. It’s an ornate, palatial place with tuxedoed waitstaff and a coat room, and despite giving the name ‘Jung’ at the door, you’re certain that Hoseok played no part in the venue selection. The host ushers you to a booth tucked in the back, the cushioned seats a velvety burgundy and a chandelier glittering overhead, throwing refracted, iridescent light across the veined marble table. All of a sudden, the simple black dress you’re wearing feels painfully inadequate. Glancing down at your feet, you wonder if you should have worn heels instead.

Beside you, Jin cuts a striking figure in a creamy silk shirt with ribbons that tie into a bow at his throat, the material loose and flowy up until where it tucks into fitted black slacks. His pink hair complements the elegant outfit perfectly, parted and swept off his forehead to reveal his dark brows.

As if reading your mind, he lays a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You look beautiful,” he says, before gesturing at the booth. “Now, do you want the inside or outside? Think you’ll need to make a quick getaway at some point?”

“Probably,” you sigh. Jin nods and sits down first, and you watch him slide across the seat cushion before settling in beside him. “I still can’t believe you volunteered to be here,” you murmur, plucking up one of the folded cloth napkins and fiddling with the crisp white edges. “You’re a saint, I swear.”

Jin chuckles and plucks the napkin from your clasped hands, laying it across your lap instead. “Not a saint,” he says, matching your soft tone. “Just someone who cares about you.”

Your cheeks warm at his sudden proximity. “Thank you,” you tell him, for what must be the umpteenth time. “I can’t even imagine what I’d do without you.”

“Good thing you don’t have to, then,” he replies with a grin. “Now, chin up. They just walked in.”

You can’t help the groan that escapes you. “Is it too late to run?”

“Afraid so,” he answers honestly.

And then Nayeon is slipping into the cushioned seat opposite you, syrupy smile in place on her berry lacquered lips. “Hi!” she chirps, laying a hand on Hoseok’s arm as he sits down beside her. “Sorry we’re late. We, um…” She pauses and shoots Hoseok a conspiratorial look, giggling. “... lost track of the time.”

Your magic flares, hot and bright in your veins, and you know Jin feels it too when he lays a cautionary hand on your knee beneath the table. “We weren’t waiting long,” he says, offering the two a genial smile. He’s perfectly polite as he and Nayeon exchange quick introductions, and gestures toward the assortment of menus on the table as soon as everyone has settled down. “Why don’t we order some wine to start?”

“Oh, that’s a splendid idea! Isn’t that a splendid idea, Hoseok?” Nayeon turns to the auburn-haired man beside her, and you do the same, gaze landing on Hoseok for the first time tonight. He’s in an all black ensemble, sharp jacket layered over a silky black shirt, the top buttons loosened to bare a tantalizing sliver of golden skin. His auburn hair is parted, a stray lock falling across his forehead, and you shiver when you realize he’s staring right back at you with dark, unreadable eyes.

At the sound of Nayeon’s voice, Hoseok seems to snap out of his trance, his expression smoothing out as he plasters on a smile. “Take a look at the menu,” he says, picking up the leather-bound book and offering it to her. “Dinner’s on me.”

You blink. “We can’t let you do that, Hobi.”

“Let me pick up at least part of the tab,” Jin adds, already reaching for his wallet. “I’m no corporate bigshot, but I do well enough for myself.”

“No need to be modest,” you chime in, nudging him playfully. “Weren’t you just telling me about your new restaurant opening on the way over? Next week, right?”

Jin’s ears redden as all the attention is turned onto him. “Next week, yeah.”

“That’s amazing!” Nayeon chirps, pressing closer to Hoseok. “We’ll have to check it out sometime. Maybe a date night, right, darling?”

Hoseok busies himself with rearranging his cutlery, swapping the knife and fork around. “Right—sure. If we ever make it up to Seoul, we’ll, uh… we’ll definitely stop by. Congratulations, man.”

The conversation continues. A server stops by to take your wine order, and Jin decides on a moderately priced bottle of cabernet sauvignon. Glasses are brought over, and wine is poured. Hoseok finishes his quickly and pours himself another, and though his wolf metabolism prevents him from getting drunk off of regular wine, you know that he’s a bit of a lightweight and tends to avoid drinking heavily no matter what the beverage. He’s drinking with a purpose tonight, and you’re beyond grateful when Jin pipes up with yet another story when the conversation lulls.

“And then I found out that the oven was on the whole time! Adam would probably let the entire apartment go up in flames just to spite me—I should watch my back.”

“Or, you know, just watch the oven more closely,” you tease. “I’ve seen your place, Jin—it’s a complete fire hazard. It’s a wonder it hasn’t burned to the ground already.”

Jin sniffs. “You’re exaggerating. Stop making me look bad.”

“You make yourself look bad,” you retort, laughing when his lower lip juts out into a pout.

Across the table, Hoseok clears his throat. “Speaking of fire hazards—did I ever tell you about the time {Name} set me on fire?”

“I did no such thing!” you protest, reaching over to slap his arm. “I mean, okay, maybe a little bit, but that was one time! And you were barely singed!”

Hoseok snorts out a laugh. “Barely singed? I couldn’t sit properly for a week.”

“Oh please, that’s a lie and you know it!”

Nayeon interrupts your conversation with a loud huff, setting her wineglass down with enough force to thud against the veined marble tabletop. “Do one of you maybe want to fill us in on the joke here?”

Abashed, you glance back at Hoseok, watching as his smile slowly fades back into the careful, neutral expression he’s worn all evening. “Sorry,” you murmur. “It’s an old story from when we were kids—when we first met, actually. We were seven years old, and it was the second day of school. I didn’t have a very good handle on my magic yet, and accidentally set Hoseok’s tail on fire during recess.”

“I preferred to run around in my wolf form back then,” Hoseok further elaborates. “There was a big field out behind the school—remember that, {Name}?”

You nod. “Of course. It went right up to the very edge of the woods. And if you kept going and went far enough, you reached the old wooden bridge.”

Hoseok is smiling again, soft and fond. “That thing was a death trap.”

“But the teachers could never keep us away,” you say, grinning at him.

“All right,” Nayeon interrupts again, sniffing disdainfully. “Enough about the old days—I think it’s time to talk about the present. And more importantly, the future.” She sighs happily and props her chin up in her palm, ensuring that the delicate golden band on her ring finger is on full display, the metal glimmering in the warm light. “You’re both invited to the wedding, of course. And I never did properly thank you for the flowers today, {Name}!”

Her words seem to come as a surprise to Hoseok, who straightens up in his seat. “Flowers? You visited Hellebore today?”

“Of course I did!” Nayeon hides a giggle behind a manicured hand. “I wouldn’t even think of trusting anyone else with my bouquet.”

Hoseok’s gaze skitters over to you, awash with concern and tinged with apology, but you ignore him in favor of forcing your expression into something that’s meant to be a smile. Yet no matter how much you strain your cheeks and stretch your lips, it feels—and looks, you’re sure—far more like a grimace.

“I’m happy to do it,” you lie, your teeth gritted and tight. “I don’t mind it one bit.”

///

“So. That was just as awkward as promised.”

You and Jin are walking back to Hellebore, leaving behind the bustling downtown area for the darker, quieter streets of your neighborhood. Your companion’s hair is tinged orange in the glow from the streetlamps, and you can only chuckle humorlessly when he turns to you and raises his eyebrows.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I was duly warned,” Jin agrees.

A car drives by, the headlights throwing Jin’s profile into stark relief. His expression is solemn but he doesn’t say anything else and neither do you. The remainder of the walk passes in silence, broken only by the occasional strain of conversation from passersby and the low drone of late night traffic. You reach Hellebore with no incidents, and you muffle a yawn as Jin steps into the wardrobe to go back to Seoul.

Just before he shuts the door behind him, he shoots you a meaningful glance over his shoulder. “You should tell him how you feel, you know. He deserves to know. And you… you deserve to be happy.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t need him to. Long after he’s gone, his remark echoes in your head, and no matter what, you simply cannot seem to shake it.

///

It’s been years since you’ve last gone to the old bridge, but after last night’s conversation you find yourself pulled back, lured by the promise of memories of a kinder time. The forest beyond the field hasn’t changed much since your school days, and neither, you realize, has the bridge itself. It still stands tall, proudly spanning the steep ravine that your teachers warned you about, the rickety wood splitting apart at the seams and overgrown with lichen and climbing ivy. Far below, the white-capped river rushes by on its long, turbulent journey to the sea.

Carefully, you step onto the bridge—first one foot, then the other. The energy in the air shifts as soon as your feet leave the loamy earth, finding traction instead on hewn wood, and you sigh as your fingertips brush against the railing. The magic here is an old magic—different from the ancient magic that dwells in places like the werewolves’ clearing and the realms of the fae. The low thrum of it fills the air and seeps into your veins, quickening your pulse and prickling your skin.

“I thought you might be here.” The voice comes from your left, barely audible over the rush of the river.

“You thought right,” you reply, stepping forward until you’re toeing the railing and leaning over to stare down into the swirling, eddying waters below.

Hoseok joins you at the edge. His profile is stark against the leafy green backdrop, and for a few moments, all is still. Then: “I’m really sorry about last night.”

The apology hangs in the silence for a few moments before fading into the sound of churning water and wind whistling through the trees. You suck in a deep breath, oxygen swelling your lungs until you can hold it in no longer, before letting it escape in a resigned sigh.

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Hoseok.”

“Maybe not. But I want to.” He shoots you a sidelong glance. “Will you let me make it up to you?”

You raise a brow. “Make it up to me? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

“Anything you want.” Hoseok smiles crookedly, but you can’t quell the tumult brewing in your belly.

“What do you want, Hobi?”

His smile fades. “I—” He stops and shakes his head, auburn hair flying. “It doesn’t matter what I want. This is about you.”

You gaze up at him, taking in the sharp cut of his jawline and the straight angle of his nose. Your eyes trail along the smooth slope of his rounded cheeks and the soft curve of his mouth, lingering on the little mole atop his upper lip.

And then you reach out and take his hand, savoring the way his fingers immediately, comfortably settle into the spaces between your own. “Why don’t we head down to the river?” you ask. “It’s been a long time since we’ve been, and I’ve missed it.”

Hoseok’s expression softens, a glimmer of something bright shining in his amber-flecked irises. Gently, he tugs on your hand, taking the lead as you leave the bridge behind and head north in search of the sloping path that will take you down and into the ravine that houses the riverbed. You chance a few glances over the treacherous edge, watching the water froth and tumble over the rocks.

“You know, this seems a lot more dangerous now than it did back then,” you muse. “I see why our teachers were always trying to keep us away.”

“We were kids back then,” Hoseok says, grinning. “We thought we were invincible. Nothing could touch us.”

“Simpler times,” you agree with a laugh. “I set your tail on fire, you cried—”

“—and then we became lifelong friends,” Hoseok finishes, joining in your mirth. “Easy-peasy.”

Together, you locate the path down to the ravine. The descent is easier than it was back then, your longer limbs extending your reach, but you’re grateful for Hoseok’s steadying hand all the same. He carefully guides you around the biggest rocks and tree roots, pulling you closer when you lose your footing near the bottom. His fingers remain twined with yours even after you’ve safely arrived at the riverbed, stepping across stones that have been worn smooth and warmed by the sun. You slip off your shoes, letting them dangle from your free hand, and Hoseok does the same.

Sunlight glitters off the water, throwing a thousand refractive diamonds across the surface, but when you dip your toes in you find that it’s cold as a mountain spring in autumn. That doesn’t stop Hoseok from bending down to splash you though, and you shriek in surprise before retaliating with a silent spell that sends icy water splattering across the faded denim of his jeans.

“That’s not fair!” he protests. “You can’t use magic!”

“I’m just using every resource available to me,” you reply with a sly grin, sending a swelling wave of water toward him with a lazy twist of your hand.

From beneath his drenched hair, Hoseok raises a challenging brow in your direction. “Oh yeah?”

Before you can even blink, he’s shrugging off his jacket and pulling his shirt over his head, baring a taut, honeyed abdomen and toned arms. Tossing the discarded clothes onto the bank, he unfastens his belt and lets that drop as well, fixing you with a crooked little smirk all the while. The muscles in his torso ripple.

And then he��s shifting—limbs elongating and reddish-brown fur sprouting from his skin. His remaining clothing rips under the strain of the transformation, floating downstream in tattered shreds, but you don’t pay them any mind. No matter how many times you’ve watched Hoseok shift, you’ll never quite get used to it. He hunches over, more beast than man at this point, his chest rumbling. And before you know it—before you can even pinpoint exactly when the transformation is complete—he’s standing before you as a massive russet wolf, baring ferociously sharp teeth that you know could easily tear a man limb from limb.

His eyes, however, remain the same—warm, molten brown flecked with amber and gold, a devilish twinkle lurking in their depths. You cock your head to the side in a silent challenge, and swear that the wolf in front of you grins before pouncing forward, landing in the river with an enormous splash that leaves you thoroughly drenched.

“Now we’re both soaked!” you cry in between giggles, watching as Hoseok emerges from the water, his fur dampened black and dripping. “How is this a win for you?”

Hoseok rears back and lets loose a triumphant howl, shaking himself out and further drenching you with the spray of water from his coat. You squeal and back up several steps, batting him away, but Hoseok just presses closer and nuzzles his wet face into the crook of your neck. His body heaves with every breath, flaring hot against your skin, and for a few long moments, you simply stand there, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck as icy water rushes past your ankles.

After what feels like an eternity, you step back, releasing Hoseok and staring up into his face. Even in his wolf form, he towers over you, and you reach up to stroke his muzzle tenderly before bopping him on the nose. “Come on,” you murmur. “Let’s dry off.”

Hoseok lets out a low rumble of agreement, and together, you make your way back to shore. You fold up his discarded clothing while he trots off to locate his shredded jeans, quickly finding them caught between some rocks and carrying the denim tatters back over to you in his teeth. Shaking your head, you add it to the growing pile and lay a hand atop it. Heat concentrates in your fingertips, mingling with the magic running through your veins. Stitch by stitch, his jeans repair themselves, drying in the process. Hoseok bumps your cheek with his nose in gratitude and darts off to change, and you dry your own clothes while you wait.

When Hoseok returns, he’s reverted to his human form, fully dressed and raking a hand through his damp hair. “Thanks for drying these off,” he says, flashing you a sheepish grin. “And for fixing my pants. Again.”

“Mending charms are easy,” you reply, and it’s the truth. Over the many years you’ve known Hoseok, you’ve mended his clothing countless times—from the accidental transformations in his early years, before he could control it, to the calculated ones as he got older. Hoseok doesn’t shift terribly often nowadays, but on occasion he still goes out to stretch his muscles and hunt with his pack. His grandfather, in particular, always made the time to take him hunting at least once a month. You wonder if he’s gone since he passed, but decide not to ask.

“Should we go see the Towers?” you ask instead.

“Lead the way,” he agrees, falling into step beside you as you head downstream. The ravine walls are higher here, decorated with gnarled roots and rocky outcrops that obscure the periwinkle sky and cast long shadows across the ground. Cairns begin to crop up on both sides of the river—each tower of stones carefully and deliberately stacked. They’re small and scattered at first, but gradually become taller and more frequent until you’re nearly surrounded by a forest of stone. The air grows noticeably heavier—the magic more potent. It almost feels as if electricity is dancing across your skin, the sparks sinking into your pores and melding with your soul.

Hoseok feels it too, if the look of awe in his eyes is any indication. “I can’t believe I’d nearly forgotten about this place,” he marvels, running a finger across one of the stacked stones. “Do you feel that? The magic?” Then he chuckles. “Wait, of course you do. What am I talking about?”

You smile softly, tracing the path his fingertips leave behind. “Yeah, Hobi. I feel it.”

The topmost stones are almost out of your reach now. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a gray pebble about the size of your palm—a near perfect disc veined with white. Gently, you place it atop the cairn closest to you, watching it glint in the sunlight for a moment before turning to your companion.

“Well?”

Ancient legend dictates that as long as an offering is left, one may take a stone from the Towers. You and Hoseok have each acquired a rather sizable collection during your childhood years, lured by the promise that the stones will bring about good fortune and happiness.

“I forgot to bring something,” Hoseok admits, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “But I can pick one out for you. Hang on…” He hums thoughtfully as he scans the towering pillars, tapping his chin until he alights on one in particular, plucking up a stone that’s been worn smooth, burnished orange and marbled with ivory and copper. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” you reply, admiring the way the marbled surface glitters in the sun.

Hoseok takes your hand and places the stone gently in your palm. “It’s yours.”

Then he’s off—stepping over a fallen log to admire another tower, brushing a curious finger across a moss-covered rock before glancing over his shoulder at you. “Coming?”

You nod, tucking his gift away safely in your pocket. Together, you carve out a path amongst the towering cairns, clambering over river rocks and brushing aside the dense undergrowth. The path opens up again gradually, revealing the burbling water to your left and the steep ravine wall to your right. The river is calmer here—clear enough to see all the way to the bottom where shimmering, silvery fish dart about. A low, flat rock juts out into the water a short ways away, and Hoseok strides over to plop atop it, gesturing for you to join him.

“This is nice,” he sighs once you’ve made yourself comfortable by his side. “The fresh air is doing me a world of good. I’ve been cooped up at the office for so long, I swear I almost forgot what trees smell like.”

“You’re more than welcome to sniff around the shop if you ever need a reminder,” you tell him, nudging his shoulder playfully. “Better yet, I’ll bring you a plant for your office. Spruce up the place a little bit.”

“That sounds great, actually,” he admits with a chuckle. “I don’t have your green thumb, though. I’ll probably end up accidentally killing it.”

“Something low maintenance, then,” you promise. “A succulent, maybe. When should I bring it by?”

Hoseok’s expression sombers. “You can always stop by tomorrow after the hearing.”

Your heart plummets into your stomach. The Ministry—the overarching government body that dictates all Shadowfolk affairs—summons every pack alpha for a confirmation hearing when they first come into power. “They’re holding the hearing? Already?”

He nods. “The Ministry’s summoned me for tomorrow morning. First item on their schedule, I’m pretty sure.” A resigned sigh escapes his lips, dissipating into mist on the air. “And there’s a party at JungTech HQ afterward. You know. So my dad can officially hand the reins over.”

“The most powerful man in Gwangju,” you murmur, thinking back to Lisa’s words.

Hoseok lets out a derisive snort. “Yeah, right. The most powerful man, beholden to his dad, the Council, and the entire fucking Ministry. It doesn’t matter what I want to do. Never has.”

It’s the second time he’s dismissed his feelings, and as much as you want to ask what it is he truly wants, you find that the words are stuck in your throat, your mouth suddenly as dry as the desert on a cloudless day. Instead, you lay a silent hand over his, feeling his warmth seep up into your palm.

“Hey.” Hoseok doesn’t tear his gaze away from the sky, watching a flock of birds fly overhead. “Yesterday, when Nayeon said she’d stopped by… did she say anything to you?”

The sound of her name leaving his lips leaves a sour taste on your tongue, but you swallow it down. “Not really,” you tell him. “She looked at some flowers and invited me to dinner. Simple as that.”

Hoseok nods slowly, lips pursed. “Was Jin already there when she came?”

You blink. “Jin? Oh, no—no, he wasn’t. I texted him after Nayeon left.”

“Ah.”

“I’m glad he was free, though.” You stare down into the water, where a curious fish swims in and out of the shadow you cast. “I’m honestly not sure who I could’ve invited if he hadn’t been available. Plus, it’s been ages since I’ve had dinner with him, and it’s been a few months since you’ve seen him too, right? I’m really happy it worked out.” You’re rambling now, but you can’t stop yourself. Hoseok has become eerily still, lost in introspection, and you feel obligated to fill the silence.

“You two make sense, you know.” Hoseok’s voice comes suddenly. “As a couple. Both witches—it makes a lot of sense.”

You peer over at him, eyes widening at his assumption. “We—we’re not actually together, Jin and I. We’re just friends.”

Hoseok straightens at that, his gaze flitting down to meet yours. “Really?”

“Really.”

A beat of silence. Hoseok looks like he wants to say something else, but a quiet buzz from his pocket stops him in his tracks. His mouth clamps shut as he checks his phone, teeth clicking together, and you can tell from the sudden tension in his jaw that it isn’t good news.

“Do you have to head back?”

He nods stiffly, silent apology written all over his face. “Work calls.”

You offer him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about me. Go on. I’ll see you tomorrow after your hearing.”

He nods again and turns to leave. Before he can take too many steps, though, you call him back, reaching into your pocket to pull out the stone he’d gifted you earlier.

“Take this,” you murmur, pressing it into his hands. “I’m pretty sure you need it more than I do right now.”

Hoseok’s fingers curl protectively around the stone, holding on like it’s his only remaining lifeline. “Thanks.”

///

Downtown Gwangju is a monochrome forest of towering glass and steel, clamorous and unchecked by nature, proudly defiant in the face of the earth mother herself. The sidewalks are awash with people rushing back from their lunch break, forcing you to dodge around several businessmen too absorbed in their phones. Just as you are finding your footing again, a hapless intern carrying a tray of coffee cups rushes past, nearly crashing into you.

“Oh, shi—sorry! Sorry, oh, jeez. Are you okay?”

You wave off his apology with a smile, taking in the ill fit of his suit and the messy knot of his tie. “Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, reaching out to help him steady the tray in his hands. A stabilizing spell—silently cast, the magic pulsing through your fingertips—should be enough to get him back to his office with no additional mishaps. You wonder if he’ll notice that his tray is suddenly more well-balanced, or that his hands have steadied.

But then again, you suppose it doesn’t really matter whether he does or not.

Somehow, someway, you make it to JungTech without running into anyone else. The receptionist recognizes you immediately and points you toward the elevator with a smile, and you thank her as you press the up button. It doesn’t take long to arrive, and you take a deep breath as you step inside, staring at your reflection in the mirrored walls.

All right? Bast queries, stirring awake in your mind.

You release the breath that you’d been holding in a long whoosh. Yeah. I’m all right.

The doors open on the top floor, and straight away, you are assailed by a cacophony of sounds. Scattered conversations and laughter intermingle with the clinking of champagne flutes. There are at least fifty people scattered around the open space that lies between the elevator and the glass-fronted CEO’s office at the very back—the office that bears Hoseok’s name on the door. There’s no sign of the man himself, but you have no doubt that he’s nearby. This entire party is a celebration for him, after all.

The elevator doors begin to close, and you quickly reach out to stop them, stepping out before it can protest at your dawdling. A young man in a pristine white shirt materializes on your right with a tray full of champagne flutes, and you pluck one off with a murmur of thanks. Sipping slowly, you wander around the perimeters of the party, listening to the lively chatter. Across the room, you spot Lisa, returning her friendly wave with one of your own.

“Hello, {Name}.”

The deep, familiar voice has you whirling around in an instant, head bowing in automatic deference. “Mr. Jung,” you murmur, not quite daring to look him in the eye. “It’s been a while.”

Hoseok’s father inclines his head in acknowledgment, salt-and-pepper hair gleaming beneath the fluorescent lights. No doubt he was a handsome man in his younger days, but the salt in his hair has steadily overtaken the pepper in the last few years, the stern lines around his mouth deepening.

“I didn’t know you would be joining us today,” he says cordially. “But then again, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised after all these years. Have you been here long?”

“Not long. Five minutes, maybe.” Beneath his piercing gaze, you feel like a small child again. Quickly, you scramble for something else to say, gesturing around the sleek glass interior of the office. “This is a lovely party. You must be so proud.”

Another nod. “I wasn’t sure that Hoseok was going to step up,” he admits. “I had my reservations about whether or not he would accept his duties as a Jung, but he has, and I’m pleased that he did. It’s no easy feat, running this company and leading the city’s pack. But I’ve served my time, just as my father did before me.” His gaze flits down to meet yours suddenly, and you find that you can’t read the emotion swimming in them. “I believe I spotted you at his funeral the other day, did I not?”

You nod, resisting the urge to take a sip from your nearly empty champagne glass as your cheeks warm under the scrutiny. “I was, yes. I’m very grateful to have had the opportunity to pay my respects. He was a great man.”

“That, he was,” Mr. Jung agrees. “Hoseok takes after him in many ways. My father—as great as he was—always had a soft spot for the boy. Coddled him a bit too much.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Jung, I think that’s a grandfather’s job,” you reply with a smile.

That earns you a smile in return, the lines around his mouth easing. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Hoseok’s father excuses himself to talk to the other guests, and you set off in search of Hoseok himself. You can feel his aura somewhere nearby, strong and steady, but the room is large enough that you cannot pinpoint his exact location. Not for the first time, you curse the fact that you don’t have a werewolf’s sharp sense of smell. No doubt it could easily be as cumbersome as it is helpful, but it would certainly help you right now.

Turning a corner, you are about to continue lamenting your average olfactory system when you suddenly catch a glimpse of familiar auburn hair, afloat in a sea of black suits. Dodging around a sharply dressed businesswoman and ducking beneath a waiter’s serving tray clears your path to Hoseok, and you’re milliseconds away from stepping forward to greet him when you feel it.

There’s an energy emanating from Hoseok, the likes of which you’ve never felt from him before. It’s heavy and commanding and so potent that the air is laden with it, and a cursory glance at the people surrounding him reveals that they feel it too—their gazes lowered, voices hushed and respectful. In his fitted black suit and emerald green shirt, he looks every bit the alpha he is, and you are quickly realizing that you’re not immune to the power radiating off of him. The Hoseok standing before you isn’t the same Hoseok whose tail you set on fire all those years ago. Far from it. The revelation is somehow simultaneously terrifying and thrilling, and your heart leaps into your throat when you notice that he’s waving you over.

As if compelled, you comply, striding forward until you’re standing before him. “Hi,” your murmur, suddenly feeling shy.

Hoseok’s face splits into a smile. “Hi yourself,” he says, and you would have laughed if your insides didn’t feel like they were about to burst.

“I, um. I brought you your succulent,” you tell him, reaching into your bag. There’s a tiny potted jade plant inside, packaged neatly into a box that you open up and present to him. “It’s jade. Easy to keep alive, and easy to propagate too, if you’re inclined.”

Hoseok accepts your gift, his smile growing as he admires the plump green leaves. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

You shrug and wave off his gratitude, fiddling to clasp your bag shut. “So,” you start, glancing around and gnawing on your bottom lip, completely missing the way Hoseok’s eyes darken as he follows the movement. “It looks like everything went well at the Ministry. Your dad is pleased.”

Hoseok hums, low in his throat. “You talked to him?”

“Yeah, just now.”

“I see.”

He looks like he wants to say something more, but he’s interrupted by a blur of motion and a shrill cry of his name. A moment later, Nayeon is at his side, latching onto his arm and batting her lashes, adorned in a form-fitting red dress and golden jewelry.

“Hoseok! There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you!” Then her gaze alights on you, eyes going wide as if she’s only just noticed your presence. “{Name}, oh my goodness. I almost didn’t see you there, hi!”

“Hello, Nayeon,” you grit out, unable to hide your scowl. You wonder if she spotted it before you hid it behind a large sip of champagne.

Luckily, she doesn’t seem to notice. Her attention refocuses onto a spot behind you, and you watch as her expression lights up, delight etching across her features. “Mr. Jung!” she exclaims. “There’s my favorite future father-in-law. Come and join us—it’s not a party without you.”

Hoseok’s father chuckles lightly, coming forward to stand beside you. “Long time no see,” he jokes, nodding in your direction. “And Nayeon—hello. How are you enjoying the party?”

“Oh, I’m having the loveliest time,” she chirps, simpering up at Hoseok. “How could I not be, when my fiancé is here with me?” Then she smiles—her lips painted the same shade of red as her dress. “But I’m sure I’m nowhere near as happy as you are. You must be beyond excited to spend some quality time with your wife after being busy for so long.”

“I am,” Mr. Jung admits. The severity in his features softens as he seeks out his wife, standing across the room surrounded by friends and extended family. “I’m a very lucky man to have a woman like her.”

Nayeon giggles. “And I’m a lucky woman to have a man like your son. Isn’t that right, darling?”

She tilts her head to look up at Hoseok, who blinks twice in rapid succession, his throat bobbing. “Right,” he says, his voice raspy. “The luckiest.”

And as you turn to engage Mr. Jung in conversation once more, you miss the way his gaze lingers on you.

///

Tuesdays at Hellebore are for brewing. You save bottling for Thursdays—giving your potions and other concoctions ample time to simmer and set—but today, you are hunched over the stove with all four burners turned to different temperature settings, watching over your pots so that they don’t boil over.

A cursory glance out the window tells you that it’s well into the afternoon, the pastel blue sky littered with trailing clouds lit hazy and golden in the sun. You’ve been in the kitchen since early morning, and, desperate for a breath of fresh air, you crack the window open and inhale deeply. Then you turn back to the stove, giving one pot a stir and adding a pinch of burdock root to another.

Wandering downstairs, you head to the greenhouse. The sunlight is brighter here, the air more humid. Inhaling deeply, you breathe in the scent of the hundreds of plants growing inside, before heading for the laburnum tree in the far corner. Carefully, you brush aside the cascading golden flowers, about to gather the dried ones that have fallen to the dirt when there’s a knock on the front door.

“I’m sorry, we’re close—” you say, stopping when you recognize the head of coppery red hair in the window. “Lisa?” Confused, you open the door and let her inside. “What brings you here today?”

“You need to go to Hoseok, now,” she says, foregoing any preambles. “He’s… well, you’ll see. Nayeon’s there right now, but she’s not helping the situation, and...” She sighs. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who can help him now.”

All at once, your stomach drops to your toes. “What’s wrong with Hoseok?” you demand. “Is he hurt?”

Lisa shakes her head, red hair flying. “No, he’s fine. I don’t know how much longer that’ll last, though.”

The cryptic response sends your heart into overdrive, pounding against your ribcage like a doomsday drum. Striding over to the bay window, you wake Bast from his nap in a slanted ray of sunlight, scratching behind his black ears and watching as his golden eyes flicker open, pupils going wide when he senses your turmoil.

What is it?

Hoseok, you reply shortly. Beneath your touch, Bast’s ears perk up.

What do you need?

You swallow, hard, and suck in a deep breath. I’m going to open a portal.

It’s a dangerous feat, and both you and Bast know it. Opening a portal requires an immense amount of energy, and maintaining one long enough to travel through is a risk to even the most experienced witches. You’ve heard horror stories of spliced limbs and paralysis, and in some cases, even death.

But for Hoseok, you’re willing to risk it all.

“Lisa,” you say, grabbing your purse and striding back to the front door of the shop. “Can you lock up once I’m gone?”

She nods nervously. “Of course.”

You incline your head in silent thanks. At your feet, Bast is slinking continuous figure-eights around your ankles, betraying his worry at the task ahead. Your own heart feels ready to spring out from your ribcage and onto the sun-drenched floor, but you swallow down your nerves and look down at your familiar once more. Ready? you ask.

Ready, Bast confirms. Be careful.

I will.

Closing your eyes, you begin to visualize Hoseok’s front door, focusing on every little detail you can remember. There’s the scuff in the black paint from when he first moved in and accidentally scraped a table leg against it. There’s the bronze knocker that always hangs slightly askew. The image builds slowly in your mind, coming together like the broken pieces of a puzzle.

The air around you is suddenly much warmer than before, an invisible force sapping away at your strength and weakening your legs. Bast’s energy melds with yours, but it’s barely enough to keep you on your feet. Exhaustion seeps into your bones and steals the oxygen from your lungs. You gasp, chest heaving.

I don’t think it’s going to work. Bast’s voice is a faint whisper in the back of your mind.

It will, you hiss. It has to.

The front door of your shop is beginning to glow white, becoming hazy and amorphous as the edges begin to blur. You spot a splash of black paint coming through the fog, followed by a bronze knocker. A matching handle appears a moment later, growing out of tendrils of mist and solidifying before your eyes.

Sucking in a deep breath, you reach forward to grab it. Slowly, you turn until you can turn no longer.

And then you step through.

The first thing you hear is a low, cavernous rumble—deep enough that you feel it reverberating through your very bones. Then your surroundings begin to come into focus. You’re in Hoseok’s entryway, all your limbs thankfully intact. The relief you feel at your success is quickly eclipsed by worry though, when you see Hoseok himself on the far side of the living room. The look in his brown eyes is nothing short of wild, his white shirt unbuttoned to nearly his navel and his auburn hair sweaty and disheveled.

“H-Hobi?” Your voice is no more than a breath, dissipating in the open air.

“Hoseok.” The new voice has you whirling. Nayeon is pressed against the wall opposite him, her expression harried. “Hoseok, please—“

“Get out,” Hoseok growls, his voice dangerously low. He’s bristling with the same energy as before, the same energy you felt back at JungTech—but this time it’s enough to fill the room and spill out the opened door and into the hallway. You can feel it pulsing against your skin, hot and electric, and know that Nayeon is even more affected from the way her shoulders slouch, her eyes dropping to the floor when he snarls. “Get out, now.”

She does. Nayeon turns on her heel and dashes out, slamming the door behind her and leaving you alone with Hoseok. His eyes are alight with something more wolf than man, his chest heaving with uneven breaths, and it’s all you can do not to shrink back when he turns his full attention onto you. Even from across the room, you can smell the liquor spilled across the coffee table in a dark ooze of fluid, cloying and bitter.

“What are you doing here?” Hoseok asks, his voice cracking on the last syllable. “You shouldn’t be here right now, {Name}.”

“Lisa told me to come,” you whisper. “You’ve been pushing yourself too much, Hoseok.”

Hoseok shakes his head and rakes a frazzled hand through his hair. “You need to leave,” he grunts. Shakily, he reaches out to right the overturned liquor bottle, the pad of his thumb skimming across the shattered edge.

“Let me do that,” you tell him, making to step forward, but Hoseok stops you with a raised hand and a low growl that stops you in your tracks.

“Don’t,” he hisses. “Don’t you dare come any closer to me.”

You shake your head. “Hobi, it’s obvious you’ve been drinking. Let me help you.”

“No!” he snarls, flinching back when you take a step forward. “You need to leave. It’s… it’s dangerous for you here.”

“Dangerous?” Your voice is reduced to a whisper at the severity of his reaction, the energy in the air intensifying until it’s almost unbearable. “Why?”

“Because I’m in heat!” Hoseok spits. He sucks in a deep breath, the air whistling between his teeth, before he lets out an agonized moan and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m in heat,” he repeats, reticence dripping from every syllable. “I can’t even fucking think straight, and I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you if you stay. So please, {Name}. Please go.”

“But Nayeon…” you begin, wavering when his eyes flash darkly at the mention of her name. “Or Lisa… I can call her, maybe—”

“No!”

You jump, startled at the volume of his shout.

“No,” Hoseok repeats, softer this time. “Don’t. I don’t want them. I’m—I’m fine.”

The sticky humidity and the pulsating energy flowing through the room tell you otherwise. “You’re clearly not,” you tell him gently, taking another step toward him. “Let me call Lisa. Or maybe one of the other girls in the pack, I’m sure someone can help y—”

“I don’t want Lisa.” Defeat suffuses his tone, his eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t want any of them. I want—fuck.” Hoseok groans and lets his head fall back against the wall, the dull thunk echoing in the stillness. “It doesn’t fucking matter what I want. You need to leave, {Name}. You’re only going to be in danger if you stay.”

For the second time that afternoon, only one word springs to mind. “Why?”

Hoseok groans again. “Because I’m weak,” he mutters hoarsely. “Because I’m weak, and I’m not thinking straight, and if you come any closer to me, I won’t be able to stop myself from pinning you against that wall right there and having my way with you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. The rippling energy in the air is almost oppressive in its strength, and only grows when Hoseok’s gaze finally lands on you, his pupils blown out and blacker than the night.

“Go,” he entreaties, dragging a frazzled hand through his hair. “Please, {Name}.”

You suck in a deep breath, your lungs swelling and expanding with the newfound oxygen. Then, ever so slowly, you let your gaze flicker up to meet his. “What if I don’t want to?”

Hoseok freezes. Time comes to a standstill, and even the overwhelming energy emanating from him seems to falter. The room is near silent, broken only by your companion’s ragged breathing, his chest heaving beneath the thin white fabric of his shirt. Even from across the room, you can see the sheen of sweat coating his honeyed skin, shining in the light of the setting sun.

“You don’t mean that,” he says at last. “You can’t mean that.”

“I can,” you whisper. “And I do.”

For three agonizingly long seconds, Hoseok remains rooted firmly in place, his throat bobbing harshly. Then, before you can even blink, he’s striding forward—a blur of motion almost too quick for your eyes to follow. He comes to a stop a hair’s breadth from you, one hand reaching up to cup your face delicately, as if you’re made of glass.

“You,” he rasps, “have no idea what you’ve just done.” His thumb traces the swell of your cheek just below your eye, the motion surprisingly tender. Your heart stutters in your chest.

And then he leans down and crushes his mouth to yours.

The rest of the world falls away, dissolving into nothing. Your eyes flutter shut as Hoseok’s hands slide down your sides to curl around your hips, your body melting against his taut frame. He is all you can feel and all you can taste, and you keen helplessly when he grinds against you, his cock hot and hard against your stomach.

The sound seems to awaken something in Hoseok, a cavernous groan erupting from his throat. Pulling away from your mouth, he descends upon the delicate skin of your neck, teeth and tongue blossoming bruises in their wake. Shaky hands find the collar of your shirt, questioning eyes seeking out yours for permission that you happily give. He tugs the garment off almost delicately, his ravenous gaze roving across each bit of newly revealed flesh, and once it’s freed from your head he tosses it aside and sets about doing the same to the rest of your clothing.

Maybe it should feel odd, watching through lidded eyes as Hoseok drops to his knees to pull your jeans down and off your ankles. Maybe you should feel embarrassed, seeing your best friend bury his nose between your legs, delirious bliss etching across his features as he inhales, his strong fingers curling around your thighs to spread you wider. But instead, it feels completely and utterly natural—as if this was always meant to be.

“You smell divine,” Hoseok breathes, slotting himself between your spread thighs and running a fingertip along your lace-covered slit, collecting the considerable slick there and bringing it to his nose. “Fuck, {Name}. Just one whiff, and I can tell that you’re primed and ready for me.”

“Take me, then,” you breathe back shakily, rolling your hips when he slips past the lacy barrier of your panties to find your clit, circling around the sensitive nub until you’re gasping his name.

Hoseok’s gaze darkens to obsidian, his pupils swallowing up the amber-flecked brown of his irises. In one smooth motion, he’s on his feet again, straightening up to his full height as his hands find purchase on your hips. He twirls you around until you’re facing the wall, your palms pressed flat against the woven tapestry hanging there.

“Gorgeous.” A single word, laced with unmistakable awe. Then he’s fumbling with his belt buckle, the metallic clink and tug of a zipper reaching your ears, before he presses against you, clothed chest molding against your bare back. Even through the thin layer of fabric, you can feel the sweltering heat emanating from him, his sweat soaking through the cotton and sticking to your skin. His mouth finds its way to the junction of your neck and shoulder again—teasing at the flesh until you’re quivering—before he begins laying a trail of hot kisses down your spine.

“Wanna fuck you,” Hoseok rasps, tearing your panties away once his lips reach the waistband, the flimsy lace ripped to shreds in his desperate grip. “Want you on your front, want you on your back, want you on my tongue—” His voice drops, rumbling through his chest and sending shivers through your entire body. “Want you. Wanted you for so long.”

And as if to reinforce his words, the velvety head of his cock nestles against the cleft of your backside, hot and slick.

Wordlessly, you arch your back, presenting him with the tempting swell of your rear. A glance over your shoulder reveals the strained clench of his jaw and the bob of his throat, his biceps tensed and his gaze unwavering. His control is undoubtedly dangling by a single thread at this point—a delicate, gossamer thread that’s on the verge of snapping. The delirium of his heat is overtaking his senses, his grip tightening on your hips, and ever so slowly, he begins to press forward until the tip of his thick cock is just beginning to part your walls. Already, the fit borders on excruciating, and your body tenses at the intrusion, stretched to the limit around his thick girth.

Hoseok exhales shakily, his primal instincts warring with his desire to ensure your comfort. Soft lips drop kiss after kiss onto your bare shoulders, your back, your neck—wherever he can reach as he whispers tender praises into your skin. “Breathe, princess,” he encourages lowly. “You can take it—I know you can. You were made for me.”

Obediently, you inhale, focusing on the way your lungs expand and contract as you draw air into them. The pain ebbs away with each breath you take, until all that is left is a low throb of pleasure. Your hips rock back against him, and Hoseok takes it as a sign to push forward once more, parting your walls until he’s fully seated inside you, your body stretched to the limit as you mold around him.

There’s no pain now—only an aching desire for more, more, more. He’s deep enough to reach parts of you that you’ve never been able to explore before—either alone or with other partners—and you moan brokenly when he rolls his hips experimentally. “More, Hoseok,” you whimper. “Please.”

He obliges. One thrust leads into another, the punishing pace he sets fueled by his heady desperation for relief. The full, heavy weight of his cock dragging along your walls ignites every nerve ending in your body, sizzling electricity blazing through your veins. It’s all you can do to plant your palms flat against the tapestried wall, fingers twitching at the woven fabric as Hoseok grabs your hips with enough force to bruise and pulls you back against him in time with his thrusts.

“Look at you,” he says hoarsely. “Love the way you feel, clenching around me like that. My perfect, pretty girl, taking my cock so well. I always knew you were made for me.” He grunts, forehead falling against your back, damp hair matting against your skin as he continues rutting against you. “Always—fuck—knew you were my mate.”

The particularly harsh thrust that follows his raspy declaration sends all coherent thought flying out of your head, taking your surprise along with it. All you can manage is a shuddery whine that vaguely resembles his name, the sound intermingling with the obscene smack of flesh against flesh and the continuous stream of praises Hoseok whispers into your skin.

There’s something building inside you—a dull, throbbing pressure at the point where your body joins with his. He’s still rolling up into you, but each subsequent thrust grows more and more shallow. The realization dawns on your dazed mind all at once, as you feel the growing swell at the base of his cock. Hoseok is rendered near immobile as he finally reaches his high, the entirety of his length sheathed firmly inside your pussy as he spills ropes of white against your fluttering walls. The swelling continues, filling you until you feel fit to burst.

“H-Hoseok,” you gasp. “I can’t. I can’t—you’re going to rip me in half.”

Soothing hands smooth along your sides, warm lips littering kisses onto your bare shoulders. “You can,” he murmurs tenderly. “You were made for me, and I for you. You can take it, princess. I know you can.”

The gentle repetition of his fingertips trailing nonsensical patterns into your skin eases your labored panting somewhat. Beneath his touch, you slowly relax, the pressure in your abdomen abating as his knot begins to subside.

“You did so well.” His voice is no more than a mumble, almost lost in the sweat and slick coating your skin.

You sag against the wall, taking a few moments to catch your breath before slowly easing off of him, the sudden loss leaving your core empty and aching. Gingerly, you turn around to face him, acutely aware of the way your combined juices immediately begin dribbling down your thighs.

“You said I was your mate,” you whisper, almost afraid that the sentiment will disappear if voiced aloud. “Did… did you mean that?”

“Every word,” Hoseok replies, equally soft. “Is that okay?”

A smile blooms across your face. Rising up to your tiptoes, you kiss him again—a soft, reassuring peck that he immediately leans into, seeking out your touch like a flower in the sun. “More than okay,” you breathe, feeling the way his lips stretch upward against yours. “I’m glad, Hobi.”

Hoseok sighs into your mouth, a slow smile settling across his features. “Now it’s your turn,” he says, and in an instant, he’s swept you off your feet, one arm beneath your bent knees and the other around your back. “And I’m planning to take my time with you, princess. You’re not leaving here until I say so.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, crossing your hands at his nape. “Fine by me,” you tell him, earning yourself a wide grin. His lips seek out yours again as he carries you down the darkened hallway and into the shadowy depths of his bedroom, pausing only to nudge the lightswitch on with his elbow. Golden light suffuses the room as he steps forward to lay you on his bed, your back sinking into the plush mattress and dipping further when he joins you. He hovers over you with an arm on either side of your head, and you reach up to trace the vein that lines his biceps with a gentle fingertip, giggling when he gives your bottom lip a punishing nip.

The kiss deepens from there. Hoseok parts your lips and seeks out your tongue with his own, subduing it into compliance. By the time you pull apart, all the oxygen has left your lungs, leaving you flushed and gasping. Hoseok chortles breathlessly and trails down to press a kiss to your navel, before traveling downward until he’s reached your clit. Gently, he wraps his lips around the sensitive nub, rumbling with laughter when you buck against him.

“So needy,” he murmurs. To your displeasure, he straightens back up to kneel between your spread thighs, but your complaint quickly dissolves into thin air when he edges forward until his knee is pressed against your aching clit. Desperate for more friction, you grind against him, your wetness soaking through his jeans in a matter of seconds.

It doesn’t take long for pressure to build up in your belly again, winding tight as a coiled spring. Hoseok is staring down at you, transfixed, and his undivided attention only serves to bring you closer to the edge, teetering on the very brink.

“Look at you.” His voice could almost be described as a purr, if he weren’t so utterly canine in mannerisms and appearance. “Such a greedy little thing, all desperate to get off. You’re making a mess of my new jeans, princess.”

You’re too far gone to care about the teasing lilt that colors his tone. The edge is rapidly approaching, and one last roll of your hips is enough to send you over, your walls convulsing around nothing as you ride out your high.

Hoseok doesn’t wait. In an instant, he’s back between your legs, having moved so quickly you didn’t even see when he’d started or stopped. His tongue darts out to lave at your folds, a growl rumbling through his chest when your hips jump on instinct. Immediately, he tightens his grip, strong arms winding around your thighs and anchoring at your waist to render you helpless in his grasp, only able to take what he sees fit to give.

“How is it that you taste even better than you smell?” Hoseok muses as he leans down to suck your clit into his mouth, lips curling up into a pleased smirk when you gasp out his name. “Cute,” he says, releasing the nub in favor of descending to your drenched entrance instead, flicking his tongue shallowly inside before withdrawing with a chuckle.

“Hoseok—” you begin, only to dissolve into a moan when he sheaths two fingers inside you without any warning, curling them up and in until you’re shaking in his grasp.

“Come for me,” he commands softly. “Go on, let me hear you.”

And you do, chanting his name like a mantra as a wave of pleasure overtakes you. Hoseok’s thumb circles your clit in just the right way to prolong your orgasm, and it isn’t until you’re cringing from overstimulation that he finally relents, descending down to mold his mouth to yours in a searing kiss. His lips part yours, tongue dipping out to explore as he sheds his shirt and shucks off his ruined jeans. His skin, when he presses against you, burns hot as a furnace wherever it touches. Against your stomach, his cock stirs back to life.

He’s gentler this time. Every movement is slow and deliberate and tender as he breaches you, murmuring your name reverentially as he fills you again. Your body bows to his willingly, stretching to accommodate him, and the spike of pleasure that lances through you when he bottoms out is almost enough to send your oversensitive body over the edge again, your walls fluttering around him.

There’s an unmistakable shift in the air when Hoseok starts up a slow rhythm, leaning down to kiss you again. His lips move against yours, soft and tender, before moving past your jugular and down to the crook of your neck, elongated canines scraping against the delicate skin in a silent question. You wind your arms around his neck and nod, giving him his answer. There’s no need for words.

And then his teeth are sinking into the spot he’s so lovingly scoped out, breaking the skin. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, and the pleasure intermingles with the pain of the bite until you are delirious, rendered boneless in his grasp. Hoseok’s hips stutter, his pace growing erratic as he soothes the wound over with his tongue.

You’re prepared for the swelling this time, but the fullness still manages to knock all the air out of your lungs, bordering on painful as his knot grows. Hoseok quells your whimpers with tender kisses, the instinct to comfort his mate paramount even as he paints your walls with ropes of creamy white. He traces a path from your lips down to where he’s marked and claimed you as his, imbuing your skin with a litany of praises that warm you from the inside out.

“My mate,” he murmurs, reverent. “Finally.”

You lean into his touch with a tired smile. “Finally? How long have you wanted this?”

His lips curl into a smile against your clavicle. “Ages. If I’m honest, I think I fell in love with you the day you set my tail on fire when we were kids. It’s always been you, {Name}. Only you.”

You can’t help it—you need to hear it from his mouth again. “You love me?”

Hoseok chuckles. “Of course I do. My tricky little minx—my perfect, pretty mate. I love you more than anything.” One hand reaches up to caress your cheek, running along the tender skin beneath your eye before cupping the back of your head so he can mold his mouth to yours. “Love you more than I can even explain,” he breathes, punctuating each word with a kiss. His hands blaze trails down the slopes of your body until he finally anchors below the crook of your legs. “So why don’t you let me show you instead?”

And he does. Over and over that night, and in the two days of his heat that follow, he shows you exactly how he feels. Propriety is forgotten, left by the wayside with his scorned fiancé and marriage. He is yours, and you are his.

Consequences be damned.

⇢ aftermath.

also set in this universe:

[myg]

[thebigqueer]

"Fellas, Is It Gay to Perform Necromancy on Your Ex-Crush?" - Valgrace (1/2)

Summary: Nico decides to help Leo reach out to Jason.

Notes: This is a 2-part story because I made it too long lol. Also it's technically valgrace but it features nico & leo more (for this first chapter).

Read on AO3

The firelight flickers over Leo’s features as he sticks his marshmallow stick into it. Despite the warm company of flames, goosebumps still rise against his bare arms as a gust of wind pushes through the evening air.

He sighs. Piper’s been gone for too long, and he’s getting lonely on his own. He could easily move across to the other side of the amphitheater and sit with his siblings, but right now, Leo really just wants to be with his best friend. He hasn’t seen her in a long while and it’s been nice catching up with her.

The marshmallow’s lightness gives way to darkness as it chars in the fire. Leo considers bringing it closer again, but he figures it might be better to let it continue roasting. He likes the taste of burnt marshmallows.

So did Jason, Leo thinks wistfully. Then he scolds himself for even thinking about the late demigod.

It’s been months since he’s has died. Leo should be over it by now; he should have moved past it. But he hasn’t.

It’s hard to forget when every time he thinks about Jason, he can only remember the secrets he kept from him.

Leo scrubs a tired hand across his face. He needs to stop thinking about him. Jason’s in the past, and in front of Leo is only the future. He can’t keep himself tied to what could have been, but instead focus his attention on what can be.

Besides, Nico’s already sent in those holograms that Leo made Jason while he was trying to find his way back to the real world. That alone has released the demigod of some of his guilt; at least Jason’s going to finally know how he feels.

But it’s not enough. Leo needs to talk to Jason. He needs to let go of him for once and for all.

The marshmallow in the fire blazes. Its whiteness bubbles and boils in the flames, then hardens into black crust. Leo almost laughs. How metaphorical.

The crunch of footsteps snaps the demigod’s attention, and he turns to the sound of it. Expecting it to be Piper, Leo offers a false grin to the approacher and gears up a joke to exclaim. Upon closer inspection, however, his eyebrows jump in surprise and anxiety - as well as a little bewilderment - hum in his blood.

A teenage demigod stalks towards him, his dark, feathery hair fluttering in the cool air. Silver tips gleam in the firelight at the ends of it. Abysmal obsidian eyes bear into Leo’s own, and a knowing, embarrassed smile cracks against the hero’s face.

“Nico,” Leo murmurs into the quiet. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he responds. His deep, glass-like voice resonates in the air and pierces into Leo’s ears. “Mind if I sit?”

Leo scoots over to make room for him, offering a confused but nonetheless welcoming look. “Sure. Cool hair, by the way.”

Nico smiles. “Thanks. I did it after a mental breakdown.”

“Sounds ideal.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Oh.”

After an uncomfortable pause, in which Leo turns back to his marshmallow in embarrassment and Nico picks on his jeans, the son of Hephaestus asks, “What brings you here?”

“I live at camp,” the demigod says blandly.

Leo rolls his eyes. “Not what I meant.”

Nico’s dark eyes glimmer with amusement. Despite Leo’s melancholic state just seconds before, a flutter of relief overcomes his heart. He and Nico haven’t talked much since he’s gotten back, but he’s glad to see that the demigod looks a lot more… comfortable here, for lack of a better word. He looks like he’s found his place.

“I know,” Nico says. “I’m actually here to talk to you.”

Leo nods. He’s been expecting this. “About the holograms I asked you to send Jason?”

The other demigod shrugs. “I’m a curious person. I’m just wondering what’s up with that. Totally fine if you don’t want to talk about it, though. But, you know, seeing how you asked me to travel to the Underworld specifically just to do that… Can’t help but be a little anxious about whatever it is that I gave him.”

Leo nods again, but this time a trickle of anxiety runs down his back. His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug.

“I don’t mind talking about it,” he says. Leo turns his gaze to Nico and offers him a pointed stare. “Besides, I think more than anyone, you might know what I’m talking about.”

If Nico understands what he means, he doesn’t show it. He remains still and patient, unsurprised, as if he’s expecting whatever Leo’s about to say before he even says it.

The son of Hephaestus sighs. He pulls his marshmallow stick back from the fire, but he doesn’t make a move to take the sweet substance off. His mind wanders back to so many nights ago, when he, Jason, and Piper had been sitting in this exact place, telling each other scary campfire stories and laughing when any of them cracked a joke.

It’s amazing how much has changed within a year.

“Listen, Nico,” Leo begins, his voice strangling itself, “I just want to start by saying that… I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you on the ship. I wish I could have been a better person to you then. But I guess I was dealing with my own stuff, and I was kinda blinded by my own issues to see that others around me were having troubles too. So I’m sorry about being inconsiderate to you.”

Nico waves his hand by way of dismissing the apology. “It’s fine. I understand that. My problems didn’t need to be of your concern, and I’m sure there were things that I could have helped you with that I hadn’t. Don’t feel sorry, Leo. You were dealing with your own issues.”

Leo shakes his head. “But it’s… I…” He groans and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “It’s more than just me being sorry. I just wish I’d let you know you weren’t entirely alone. In terms of being, like, confused about your… identity, I mean.” His heart flutters in his chest as he turns again to Nico, anticipating the demigod’s reaction to his admittance. He’s not sure if he’s come off as direct as he needs to be.

Nico frowns. “You mean, like, me being gay? What does that have to do with this?” he asks defensively.

Leo notes the way his voice hitches at the word “gay,” like he’s still trying to taste the way it feels around his mouth. Nico shifts the tiniest bit away from him, as if he’s fleeing from judgment. The sight of it creates a crack against Leo’s heart; he doesn’t want Nico to feel like he’s being criticized.

“What I’m trying to say,” Leo says in what he hopes is a calming voice, “is that… I know what it was like. I mean, I don’t know what it was like to be you specifically, but I get that anxiety over your sexuality. I… I went through something similar.”

For a moment, it seems as though Nico doesn’t fully understand. His eyebrows curve into the center as he absorbs Leo’s words. Confusion sparks against his eyes. But after a moment - a moment in which Leo’s eyes bear deeper into Nico’s, begging him to comprehend - understanding flashes against the son of Hades’ features. “Oh,” he murmurs. “So… Are you saying…”

Leo nods. “I’m… queer. I know you and I haven’t had the same experiences with our sexualities, or even in general, but just know that… I wish I could have done more to reach out to you.” He shrugs. “Maybe we could have helped each other out.”

Nico offers a hesitant smile. “Yeah. I guess so. Wish I’d known, too. But… I’m honored you told me. Admitting this kind of stuff can take a lot of courage, as I’m sure you know. I’m glad you’ve come to some kind of conclusion about yourself.”

“You too, man,” Leo says. “I’m glad that you’ve found a way to move on from your fears of yourself. I’m not sure where you stand in terms of your confidence, but just know that we’re all proud of you. We all support you.”

Nico’s smile widens, just a bit, and that’s enough to make Leo’s heart skip a beat. He’s never seen Nico look so sure of himself, but the sight of it makes Leo excited, too. It gives him hope that maybe someday, he’ll be able to reach that level of assurance.

Not today. But someday.

Nico rolls his eyes. “Enough of this cheesy stuff. What does this have to do with those holograms?”

Leo shifts in his seat, contemplating what to say and how to say it. His chest thrums with a sudden burst of anxiety at the very prospect of admitting to Nico something that took him so long to do to himself. How will Nico even take the news? Would he make fun of Leo? Would he tell him Leo’s feelings are a mere joke?

Will he understand?

Leo’s chest expands as he takes a deep breath. He knows he’ll feel better when he tells someone about why he’s done what he’s done. He’s kept this in for too long.

The son of Hephaestus plays with his fingers in his lap, if only to get a distraction from the world around him. “I… I really… I liked Jason,” he murmurs. “I spent a lot of time pining for him. But I also spent a lot of time hating myself for liking him.”

Nico’s eyebrows lower and he offers a considerate, empathetic nod. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Leo turns his gaze to the son of Hades. Sincerity sparkles in Nico’s eyes, and an urging look covers his features. Leo’s anxiety lulls itself as he sees the understanding; at least the son of Hades isn’t judging him.

“Yeah,” Leo murmurs, “so that happened. It’s kind of why I decided to date Calypso. I just wanted to… forget about my feelings for him, you know? But that wasn’t fair to her or me, because in a way I kind of used her. We’re broken up now, though, which I think is better for both of us. Still good friends.”

Nico offers a polite nod.

“Anyway,” continues Leo, “I was getting tired of keeping that secret in. So you know how I sent that hologram to you?” When Nico nods again, Leo takes that as a sign to go on. “Yeah, so I tried doing something similar to Jason. Except for him, I kind of just kept all those holograms for myself. They were mostly used for therapeutic purposes, just so I could get a better understanding of myself.” Leo sighs and runs a shaky hand through his hair. His hollow chest thrums with guilt at the thought of the holograms; they contained so many secrets that he couldn’t give up, not even to the person they were intended to be given to. “I meant to give it to Jason,” he promises, “but he…”

In a quick second, memories of Jason sear Leo’s mind. His gleaming hair, his awkward smile. The way his laugh would echo around Leo and envelop him in happiness.

He was perfect. He was everything Leo wished he could be.

He was everything Leo wished he could have.

Leo bites his bottom lip. A surge of hot tears crash against his eyes, and it takes all his strength to prevent them from pouring out.

Nico shifts his body so that he’s closer to Leo. Not close enough to make either of them uncomfortable, but enough so that Leo knows he’s not alone. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “I get it now.”

Leo nods. Despite his efforts to keep his emotions in check, a tear still manages to slip out. It flashes in the orange firelight and drips from his face, bursting onto the green grass below.

Through a choked voice, he whispers, “I just… needed him to have those holograms. I needed him to know the truth. I didn’t want him to leave this world without… without knowing that there was someone who loved him in that way.”

“You needed to let go of your ghost,” Nico murmurs in understanding. “You needed to move on.”

Leo nods.

“Did it work, at least?” asks Nico. “Do you feel better now that you’ve given it to him?”

The son of Hephaestus opens his mouth to speak, but silence strangles his voice. Taking a deep breath, he whispers, “It’s not enough. I need… I need more. I need to actually confront him.”

Leo turns his head to Nico, a pleading look in his eyes. He hopes Nico understands what he’s asking.

The child of Hades’ eyes widen in surprise. “Are you asking me to take you to the Underworld?” he asks. “Look, Leo, I’m not sure-”

Leo shakes his head and waves his hands dismissively. “No, no, I’m too exhausted for adventures. I just want some time without all that excitement. But I just… I’m wondering if maybe there’s a way that I can contact him. And knowing that you’re a ghost whisperer…”

Nico’s eyes darken in the firelight. A cold, icy film covers them, and he fixes Leo with a stern look. “I can’t bring him back, Leo,” he says. “That’s not fair.”

Leo raises his palms defensively. “Hey, no, that’s not-”

“I’m not finished, though,” says Nico. An air of hesitance lingers in his words, and when he turns his dark eyes away from Leo, the latter’s heart skips a beat in anticipation. Excitement and anxiety roar in Leo’s ears. Will he agree to help?

Nico turns his face into the firelight, but he looks right through it. His mind wanders to some other place, some other world where Leo can’t reach him. The son of Hades’ olive fingers twitch in the glow of the flames.

Nico looks around, and as he does so, the silver tips of his hair flash in the firelight. A stern, anxious look pulls on his features.

“What is it?” Leo asks. “What were you going to say?”

Nico turns back to him. His dark eyes burn brightly in the firelight, flaming with excitement. In a hushed, hurried voice, he whispers, “Meet me in the woods tonight, right after the sing-along. Don’t worry about curfew, because I can shadow travel the two of us out. Don’t tell anyone you’re going there. I have a plan to help you.”

At Nico’s words, a gust of wind brushes between the two and chills Leo down to his core. His skin prickles with goosebumps once more, but he’s not sure if that’s because of the chilly air or because of Nico.

With one final skeptical look, the son of Hades stands to leave. But before he can, Leo asks, “Wait, what are you doing? What am I going to walk into?”

Nico pauses in his steps. His body freezes and he goes rigid, almost as if Leo’s question has shocked him.

Then he turns and, in the flicker of the firelight, a ghost of a smile haunts his lips. “You deserve to see him one last time, Leo. And you need to learn to let him go, because the more you keep holding onto his memory… the more you become a ghost of yourself. I can’t bear to see another friend go. Consider this a gift from me to you.” His hand lingers at his side, almost as if reaching for a sword that isn’t there. “Consider this a gift from one friend to another. That is, if you consider us friends.”

A ripple of surprise thrums in Leo’s blood. If there’s anything he didn’t expect tonight, it was to hear that Nico di Angelo considered him a friend.

But nonetheless, a relieved, grateful smile gleams against Leo’s mouth.

“Friends,” he promises. “I owe you one.”

Nico laughs. “Yeah, you do. I’ll see you in a bit.”

And with that, the demigod rushes off into the darkness, leaving Leo alone with only the flames for company.

[anarmorofwords]

I kinda wanna write a better version of tlh where Tatiana is still insane but there's no Belial bc that makes zero sense to me

In this version there would be:

Kamanna done correctly with actual genderqueer rep and not toxic relationships

Barbra and Oliver bc fight me she didn't die

Genie and Filomena bc I love them and all the lightwoods are queer

The gracelet doesn't even happen bc I refuse to write that

Grace is pretty much still the same but she breaks off their(hers and james') relationship bc she notices that he loves Cordelia

No bad James. He's not a shitty person to Alastair, and he doesn't treat Cordelia like a sex object

Anna puts a stop to Kellington and Matthew's relationship before it gets serious. She also tries to get him to stop drinking all the time

Alastair apologizes around seeing them again for the first time. The merry thieves are a little reluctant because of some of the things he did but they don't actively try to keep him away from events that they're at

Matthew notices how Alastair looks at Thomas and locks them in the sanctuary with Genie and Cordelia's help

Grace gets badly injured due to a mistake in necromancy and Christopher helps her treat it without letting people know

Lucie meets Jesse, and falls in love ofc, so in order to bring him back successfully she asks Malcolm to train her in using her magic

Matthew opens up to his mom about the incident. She doesn't blame him at all and instead apologizes for often putting her work before him

Matthew finds out about Charles and Alastair because he found Alastairxs break up letter to Charles

Matthew, the mother hen he is, decided to attempt to murder his older brother, only being stopped by James who had been there at the right time

Kamala ends things with Charles and tells Anna that she still loves them and hopes that she will give her another chance

Anna told her that they needed time to think, and that she is worried how Kamala's reputation will be affected if anyone besides their friends and Anna's family finds out

Kamala respects her decision and doesn't contact her until Anna's ready to talk about things

The merry thieves don't ignore Christopher and they actively listen and help him

The merry thieves also aren't terrible to Grace bc they realize she's been isolated alone with Tatiana and 1) she might not understand what's saying/doing is wrong or 2) that sometimes she's trying to push them away so her abilities don't accidentally make them do something

Good tid parents

James and Alastair being respectful to each other despite personal differences

Matthew, Alastair, Kamala, Christopher, and Grace being besties, or as I call them, the neglected squad

No fetishizing mlm/wlw

Domestic cuddles and taking care of the other one when they're sick

Jesse/Lucie/Matthew pairing bc I love them and I refuse to pick between lucie/matthew and lucie/jesse

Christopher teaching Grace the elements(at the time) on the periodic table

Tatiana dies at the end yay

It's very unpolished and I'm open to b hearing any feedback and/or suggestions that anyone may have

The idea came to me and I decided it would be best if I told someone before I forgot

hi, I'm sorry it took so long,but I wanted to properly answer this and I keep having either internet connection issues or little time

DON'T BE SHY, WRITE THIS 👀

In all seriousness tho... THIS IS ABSOLUTE PERFECTION?!? I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE TO START I AM UTTERLY IN LOVE WITH THIS IDEA, I NEED IT

Look, I've been on the verge of rewriting ChoI, and I keep saying I want someone to write a TLH that will live up to its potential, but I've never actually came up with a proper idea for it, and you?!! YOUR BRAIN DARLING THIS IS GENIUS

ok hold up I'll just react to each and every single one so

yes please?!? I mean it started off so sweet in EEV?! Also actually genderqueer Anna and not dancing around the subject like CC is doing now?! That's what they deserve, and that's what we all deserve too

yesss please. also just,,,, Barbara, the feminine, not-wanting-to-fight-which-doesnt-make-her-less-badass queen that she is, getting the page space and appreciation she deserves

that's actually brilliant?!? it would be so great, just imagine the new girl arrives for her travel year and Genie is completely awestruck. I'm so invested in Joshwood it's difficult to imagine not having them, but this is actually the only valid alternative?!

ok that's fine. I think it could still happen and be done well, but tbh for now... the gracelet doesn't seem to have done anything relevant to the plot itself? I mean yeah it messed up James's life and Jordelia, but what did it give Belial? Tatiana? nothing. It makes no sense atm.

could be! maybe she's still encouraged by Tatiana to befriend/seduce him, but without the gracelet it doesn't work out? or maybe James somehow manages to realize that she's in danger and he actually like,,,, kidnaps her? idk idk

yes. YES. just,,,,z James is a sweet compassionate literature nerd who accidentally makes a good leader and he actually cares about people, and not just judges them from his high horse; he does still have hero syndrome, but he's kind and respectful and overall a good character

ANNA INTERVENES ABOUT KELLINGTON PLZ. PEOPLE ACTUALLY NOTICE MATTHEW'S STRUGGLES. JAMES DOES, TOO, BECAUSE THERE'S NO GRACELET.

ok yes, so what about: basically TMT don't harass Alastair and accept his apology, and realize they were also being stupid and mean at times at the Academy (especially Math). Matthew doesn't want to accept Alastair's apology, because of The Sin, but his behaviour alerts the rest of TMT and they inquire what's wrong and he tells them about the sin and that's how he later tells his parents (because his friends encourage him) and as you say, she just hugs him and reassures him it's not his fault; so after that Matthew slowly begins to heal and accepts it wasn't Alastair's fault, and also since they've kind of adopted/started including Alastair in things, he can't help but notice he's actually changed and he even starts to grow fond of him

then like you said, Matthew notices Thomas likes Alastair PLEASE HE SO WOULD. I'm not sure about the Sanctuary, if it actually happens (I'll get to why later on), but him and Lucie get really invested in the matchmaking schemes, they include Genie/Kamala because these two are friends with Alastair (both? Or at this point only Kamala?) but they also share some Moments during their scheming/talking about love 👀 (yes I'm a Fairdale shipper, I think it's time to expose myself lol)

Which leads me to (sorry I'm going off order rn) YES YES YES LUCIE AND MATH PLEASE. A FELLOW SHIPPER, HELLO, NICE TO MEET YOU. But since we're actually fixing him then we can give Jesse a personality and I'm totally down for poly Math/Lucie/Jesse

Lucie seeking Malcolm's help in secret, morally gray heroine style?!? no, it's probably not legal. but also has there ever been a Shadowhunter like her? If the Law doesn't expect such situations, it can't really forbid them...

Plz Matthew ready to strangle the carrot when he learns about their relationship, YES. sure, maybe he's still not the biggest fan of Alastair, but he's seen how much the boy's been through and starts to develop an attachment to him, and besides, NO ONE DESERVES TO BE GROOMED AND TREATED LIKE THAT. He's SO MAD at Charles, and he confronts him about it - remembering Kellington as he does, and it makes him sick to think his brother would do the same thing to someone. Maybe he gets very emotional over this and later finally tells his friends about Kellington? Maybe they didn't know before, only Anna did? So when they all realize what was happening then they comfort him etc? Or maybe it's just Alastair that learns now, and the others knew before, and they share a bonding moment over that?

Injured Grace seeking Kit's help is a genius idea I didn't know I needed

Kamanna giving each other time and space and deciding they need to question their relationship and figure out if it actually makes sense would be great. Anna realising she's very privileged and Kamala doesn't have those same opportunities, and also in general realising coming out should never be pressured or forced. Just,,,, Anna being self-aware and respectful towards Kamala. Well-written Anna. Plz. Also Kamanna is actually developed and not just "in love" because,,,,, they're attracted to each other? Maybe even remaining friends while Anna makes up their mind?

yeah just TMT being more compassionate and less judgy because they're not written by Judith so her bias isn't projected onto them

It's not a want, it's a need. They adopt Alastair and Grace eventually. Like, maybe not literally - although, Grace? - but you know what I mean.

I think they all should just have various friendship dynamics and switch between them, because people need more than one friend group

no fetishizing, no watching your brother make out with his lover, yessss

yes domestic cuddles, affection, taking care of wounds, all those things. plz.

Gracetopher bonding over science yes

obviously. or maybe she's imprisoned?!

ok, now for some more notes/my ideas etc., if you don't mind:

I actually think Belial could still be featured? After all, I don't think Tatiana could do much on her own, and since she seeks help from demons, it makes sense to include a Greater Demon as well. But Belial would have to be a stronger villain, written better; I'll think more about this

if that was the case, the serial killer plot could still happen, but be done better. and it would allow for a scenario I talked about with @littlx-songbxrd to happen, where it's Alastair who's falsely accused of murder. It creates a great opportunity to explore some things, because we know Alastair is much more likely to be seriously suspected, considering all the prejudices and bad rep his family has and all that

...what do you say to well-written Jordelia? 👀 Cordelia hasn't been obsessively in love with James since childhood, she only had a crush then. And now that they meet again, she's fond of him but not in love, not straight away. They're both grown up, and different people, but as they spend more and more time together, they fall in love. What if Cordelia gets to flirt with some other boys first? What then. What if she ends up choosing James, instead of going for the only boy she's ever had feelings for and idealized since childhood. What if we even make it friends-to-lovers and have James be a little jealous at some point?! but not in a possessive awful way, just "oh damn oh no"

Now I won't know peace until this exists BUT THANK YOU

[thetypedwriter]

Chain of Iron Book Review

Chain of Iron Book Review by Cassandra Clare 

You know, I was actually really irritated when this book came out because once again, the Dark Artifices seems to be shafted for this new series (that nobody asked for) to shine, but fortunately I wasn’t as bothered by it as I predicted I would be. 

In case you are in the small minority of people who haven’t heard of Cassandra Clare and her millions of Shadowhunter books, Chain of Iron is the next nephilim installment in Clare’s never-ending series. 

Chain of Iron is the sequel to Chain of Gold, and the series as a whole is a sequel to the Infernal Devices series, but a prequel to the original Mortal Instruments as well as the Dark Artifices which is the sequel series to the Mortal Instruments. 

I would be surprised if you weren’t baffled right now. 

I’ve said this before for other Shadowhunter installments, but these books are not user friendly for new folk. You genuinely need to have read the other series to get full enjoyment and understanding of these books.

 If you do read them without having read the others, I'm sure it would still be enjoyable to a certain extent, but a large case of ensemble character and relationships will be lost to you and a big portion of these novels are the relationships within them. 

To delve right in, Chain of Iron has our main cast of friendly teenagers nicknamed the Merry Thieves (which I just abhor, sorry, not sorry) return from Chain of Gold after fighting one of the princes of Hell, Belial, and now with Cordelia and James being married as to avoid a scandal of Cordelia’s reputation and James’ criminal record. 

In addition, there is a new serial killer on the loose murdering shadowhunters at dawn and stealing their runes. Most of the book is dealt with trying to catch the culprit, the Consul and Inquisitor along with the whole of adult shadowhunter authority being inconsequential and inept as usual (how these people became parents are beyond me as they never have any sort of clue what their children get up to) along with side plots including raising Jesse Blackthorn from the dead and romance galore in typical Clare fashion that makes you want to rip your hair out because if everyone just communicated and was honest there would be no issues. 

The beginning of the novel is molasses slow.

I’ve come to expect this with Clare’s books. Actually, I think I’ve figured out the formula entirely. Here is is:

Mostly nothing of consequence happens for nearly 400 pages except for character building and small instances of plot 

Intersperse some random demon attacks for flavor 

Everyone is beautiful, everyone is in love, and love is the most groundbreaking, earth shattering thing in existence 

Get into the last 200ish pages and shit hits the fan with action, misunderstandings, and confessions 

Nobody is honest with anybody and lying is commonplace

End the behemoth on a cliffhanger so that the audience is kept in suspenseful anxiety until the next installment 

You can’t see me, but I am bowing right now. 

Genuinely, that is how 90% of Clare’s novels pan out. Obviously, as she has a very successful and long-running book series, the formula works. 

That being said, there are some vices and virtues to it. 

For this book, the beginning was slow. Almost nothing of significance happens for most of it and it's a dredge to get through. 

However, it’s mundane to get through in the same way that reading fanfiction of your favorite characters is mundane. What Clare does for 400 pieces of paper is build up her characters and their relationships. Normally, you would do this interspersed with plot, but not in this case. 

It’s not very conventional, but it kinda works?

I definitely struggled connecting with the characters from this series more than any other of Clare’s novels. The Mortal Instruments, as the original, were beloved if a little cheesy. Then came the Infernal Devices with witty Will, soulful Jem, and intelligent Tessa. Then we got the Dark Artifices, which to me, is still the best as Julian, Emma, Mark, Christina and the others are the most flawed in any of the series and I enjoy that. 

I enjoy that they’re not perfect, I enjoy that they’re devious and conniving. It makes them more interesting and more worthwhile to read about. 

Instead, the main characters in Chain of Iron and the subsequent series are mainly James, Cordelia, Matthew, and sometimes Lucie. I would argue that no one else matters in the book and are just added in for some sugar, spice, and everything nice. 

Some of you might be outraged at this statement. What about Grace? You might say. Or Jesse? Or Thomas, Christopher, Alistair, Ariadne or Anna?

They don’t matter. 

They matter in a very small, plot convenience, fluff ensues kind of way, but not really in any way of substance. Or, at the very least, that’s how I feel. 

Anna is just there to be cool, Thomas is a gay gentle giant with literally no personality, Christopher is so basic and is essentially the Trader Joe’s version of Henry who was better and more interesting as the first, Alistair is a redeemed bully, and Ariadne is an orphan who loves Anna. 

The end. 

Once again, sometimes Clare bites off more than she can chew and I wonder if she just throws these characters in there just because it makes her happy. 

As for our main protagonists, they’re mediocre. Matthew is definitely the most interesting in the bunch and I was jubilant to see him get more screen time this time around. The increasing realization of his alcohol abuse, his feelings for Cordelia, his nonplussed attitude. 

All of it is intriguing. I still don’t like him as much as other protagonists from other installments, but he is by far the winner of this triad. 

James is too perfect, too beautiful, and a worse version of his father. If I wanted more Will I would have turned to fanfiction of the Infernal Devices instead of imagining up his son. The only interesting thing about James is his demon connection which is not even something he does, but rather something that is done to him. 

Cordelia is banal. Once again, she’s too perfect, too brave, and too kind. Literally nothing is wrong with her. She’s level headed, intelligent, forgiving, and fierce. 

Basically, she’s boring to the brim. 

I do think Clare did a better job this time around to include more of Cordelia’s Persian heritage, but it still mainly fell to the backburner of her lackluster and blank personality. In fact, I think James made more of an effort for Persian food and culture than Cordelia did, but I digress. 

Also, a small note, but still with weight, why does Cordelia have eight names??

It bugs the living daylights out of me that in a single sentence she will be called Cordelia, Layla and Daisy. 

Clare. Give the girl one name. My god. 

Actually, as a side note to this side note, Clare is talented at many things, but nicknames are not one of them. EVERY SINGLE CHARACTER IN THIS NOVEL has a nickname and all of them are horrible. I have never in my entire life known a Matthew that has gone by the nickname Math. 

What. In. The. World. 

Anyways, the only other character of note is Lucie. I like and dislike Lucie. Lucie is also boring and her novelist passion is aggravating to me. However, I did like her turn with necromancy and her increasing desperation to save Jesse that drives her to work with Grace and lie to her friends and family was a much-needed note of interest. 

Overall, this book did make me like the characters more than I did in Chain of Gold, but it took a lot of blood, sweat, and tears to get there, more than what I think should have been afforded. If you need to kill 400 trees in order to make me like your main characters, that’s a problem. 

Whatever the method, I do care about them more than I did previously so I suppose mission accomplished. I do think some of the strongest relationships in the book are the romances, but then also the parabatai bond between Matthew and James. 

Matthew and James have one of the best relationships in the book and I’m equally frustrated and intrigued how things will play out with Matthew now having confessed his feelings for Cordelia. 

I do feel like female parabatai get shafted in a lot of Clare’s novels compared to the boys. The coed pairs often do well like Clary and Simon or Emma and Julian. Otherwise, the boys far outrank the girls in terms of bond and friendship. 

Even in this novel, the “friendship” between Lucie and Cordelia is laughable. They barely talk to each other or spend time together and when they do is shallow.  Whereas Matthew and James seem much more involved in each other’s lives. 

That being said, if you noticed I didn’t speak much of the plot it’s because for me plot comes very much second in a Shadowhudenter novel. It’s there of course, and it’s entertaining, but I do enjoy the characters and their relationships more than anything else which makes Chain of Iron  better than its predecessor but still worse in my view than any other of Clare’s novels. 

Plot just doesn’t compare to the soul crushing love and friendships shown between the pages, for better or for worse. 

Recommendation: The Dark Artifices > Infernal Devices > The Mortal Instruments ...and  The Last Hours fall somewhere after the Mortal Instruments and the trillions of side novels that Clare has co-written with other authors and all seem to be about Magnus Bane.

Score: 7/10 

[ryttu3k]

Already finished Coteries of New York, so on to Shadows of New York! I’ve seen the first bit in an LP, at least, but the bulk of the story will be new. This will have two playthroughs, one for each ending, since at least it has them XD First up - the ‘good’ ending!

Oh dang I like the music.

Julia is a bit on the edgy/cynical side XD

Yeah, she’s got a shit deal :-\ And what’s worse is that it’s all planned out.

Interesting note - at Lodestar, there were shadowy figures in the background, but you could rationalise it as people on the other side of the windows. On the train, you only see the shadowy features, and it’s otherwise empty, so no obvious figures casting them...

I guess if you choose the ‘don’t shoot’ option, Julia gets drained and it’s an early game over?

God that Embrace scene is intense. I got goosebumps!

Spirits, huh? Oh yeah, Obtenebration became Oblivion and is now connected with necromancy, IIRC?

I’m glad she had a good few nights XD;;

Valerie Duval, she was... the scourge in CoNY hunting down the Red Hook killer?

Nice to meet you, ‘Katherine Wiese’ XD

Cool ponytail, Qadir! I really dig the relationship between him and Julia, it’s fun. ‘sup Aisling, how’s Agathon? A blood hunt, really? Y O U. Okay yeah probably better for Julia’s long-term survival for Arturo to ignore her XD;; Samira’s so pretty. Ooh this guy is Hope’s sire, yeah?

“You wanted to hear about which member of New York City's Camarilla I dislike the most?"

"Yes?"

"Too bad. They're all my dear colleagues, and I deeply respect every single one of them."

"Sure you do. Wouldn't want to blurt out something that could lock you out of Mr Vanderweyden's legal services, would you, you ass-kisser?"

"I do expect to find myself in need of a good defense attorney when my broke, incompetent, and foul-mouthed assistant finally pushes me over the edge."

THEMST.

Benoit hi!! “Got any news about Sophie Langley?” *sharp intake of breath* Benoit backstory, that’s rad. I wonder if it’ll be uncovered in-game? Like we know Arturo is still around, Panhard is still around. Presumably Adelaide Davis is still around. Callihan... well, I know what happens to him. I think Torque ditches the scene before Sophie dies?

Father Leonard seems like a good sort. I wonder what his deal is?

Dakota is adorable. I’m going to do the ‘good’ end first even though I know it’ll make me feel horrible, but dangit, the ‘bad’ end is totally going to be my canon.

...Vin Diesel? XD

DING DONG THE DOUCHE IS DEAD. ...Deader than usual, I mean.

jfc Panhard that is pretentious as hell. Both the party description and the costume, actually XD Qadir’s mask is kind of funky. Oh my god Arturo you are a Toreador is that the best you can come up with?! Nice horns, Aisling.

...Thought, given their clans, Samira/Aisling could be interesting as hell.

Man, Arturo and Panhard must be pissed off XD Unless they’ve already picked their replacement stooge?

And here’s where the plot starts! Hey, isn’t that the priest’s house? Ohh, they’re meant to be meeting with Mia. I guess they’re just reusing assets.

“It’s a list of four names. ‘D’Angelo. Hope. Agathon. Tamika.’“ *SHARP INTAKE OF BREATH* Okay, that could be the list Sophie gave the fledgling. Which one did Callihan get it from?

Oh criminy Dakota don’t tell me you’re into that Q-Anon shit XD;; Ooh okay that makes more sense. Neat.

Ahhh man I was hoping to get a lead and instead Julia has to punish this poor fuck XD;; Yeesh. Okay, Bunny as a Reporter it is, then.

Almost run over by a limo, huh? *chinstroke*

Oooh this is the lead to Hope! Yeah, I’d say she has a connection with a Montgomery XD Wonder if she did end up eating her? Huh, contact used LeakyGutSyndrome... didn’t Hope end up having to retire that one, or was it the other one? Let’s just... Dominate this guy. Sorry dude it’s for your own good.

Agathon’s missing? :( Damn, he’s like one of the only decent Tremere. Oho, a diary! Oh sweetheart :( Oh, Silvia died :( Damn, interesting past, though... and a reference to CoNY again.

Fucking shadows, I literally glanced over my shoulder.

S C H E M E S. And yeah, looks like I’m on my way to the ‘good’ end :-\

Oh shit, Adelaide or.... whatshisname, Kaiser’s dude? Oooh man who to meet first... Kaiser’s dude. Oh. That was a bit anticlimactic XD

On to see Hope at Double Spiral. I think this is one of those choices that leads to one of the endings, so what’s more ruthless and Camarilla... busting in it is.

Nastya isn’t having a good night, is she XD;; Also Hope’s suit is badass.

...huh. Sounds like she’s actually managed to get shit sorted decently XD

Interesting... the coterie members were a list of heroes for hire that multiple people had, including Sophie. Well, that widens the scope a bit! Anonymous information broker, shall I assume that’s Kaiser? OH. No, it’s her sire!

“The story going around is, he left me alone and I hate his guts. Well, at least half of that is true.” Which half, though...

Aww man I wish I had saved some of those websites! I miss SciFiVine...

You know, I’m not 100% sure Carter’s the murderer (my main suspect is Arturo at this point tbh) but damn, the bit about Stern’s show kinda makes me want to slap him anyway XD;;

Queer Catholic blues, huh :-\

“Haven’t you noticed what’s going on in the news? People are going absolutely insane about this virus, cancelling trips and orders and --” Ahh. We’re in that 2020 XD;;

Okay the scene with the kid meeting his girlfriend was cute but then spooky time?? jfc was that the Abyss?!

Ooooh did she just find Tamika solely by accident? Thanks, Abyss XD I love how Julia’s first response is ‘shit, she’s hot’. And she took out a whole SI squad herself? Nice. Calebros mention! Huh, so the SI are maintaining the status quo... they became an issue because the Camarilla tried to sic them on the Anarchs and Sabbat and it backfired, maybe it actually succeeded here?

Ooh, a history with Torque. Neat. Also not sure with the art, but are those tattoos on Tamika’s arm, or fur? I mean, Gangrel beast marks and all.

Sorry Torque I’m just trying to get the ‘good’ end :(

Mention of the fledgling! Officially ‘disappeared’, that leaves it fairly ambiguous at this point.

Oof. The Circulatory System are... not cool. And yeah Julia’s just been called tf out, I do look forward to this scene in the ‘bad’ end XD;;

COVID strikes back. The Big Beat Burger is closed :( Charlie is sweet, at least! I hope his mom is okay.

Well that rat bit was weird. Hi D’Angelo! Oh my god blood doll rats? Drunk blood doll rats?! Still a damn good detective, though, that’s good shit. On to Kaiser and some answers! ...Yeah, okay, he’s a prime suspect too.

Kaiser, you are a deeply unpleasant person :-\

...good to know pepper spray still works. And, uh, probably satisfying to beat him up XD;; And yeah, there’s the last choice for the ‘good’ ending. Sorry dude.

...huh. Okay, I was at least partially right XD;; Oh Qadir, not you too :-\

Well that’s a bit... weird of Dakota, yes.

lmao oh Benoit you absolute mess. Religion as A E S T H E T I C XD I have a theory he’s from Michael’s line and I also quite sincerely believe that Michael would take one look at him and bitchslap him into the next millennium. He’s a Path follower, isn’t he?

Father Leonard is okay. I wonder who the ‘friend’ is?

This is very Agatha Christie, revealing the killer in the midst, except I have the horrible feeling Qadir’s going to go with ‘it was suicide’ and not ‘it was everyone’.

Denouement! Before it ends, Julia’s traits:

Loyal only to myself

Glass half-empty

A little abuse of power never hurt nobody

You can’t be a writer and not lie

The ends justify the means (duh)

Honestly she may have just blackmailed her way into power, set up Carter to take the fall, and sent poor Dakota to final death, but the drama was impeccable XD Good luck not ending up in the Abyss, Julia!

[1000scrubs]

Round 2: Titus Mede II

Writer Titus Mede II ‘s entry for August 2021

ANTONIO ALBUS AURELIUS XVII sat in a chair bearing his name. He was waiting in a dark, seemingly infinite room, remembering neither why he was there nor how he got there. He concentrated hard, trying to think back to remember anything that could help him figure out what the Hell was going on. He could vaguely remember… robes? A stick? No, think harder… a beard? Nothing useful came to Antonio’s poor, empty head. Indeed, it was as empty as this void he was sitting in. But then—

“Bad morning to you,” said the dark-clad man, who had just entered the room from a doorway that had not existed a second earlier. The man was rather large, and after closing the door and turning around, Antonio got a proper look at him. He had a large mustache and an extremely fancy three-piece suit, though the fabric seemed impossibly dark. He had a large hat atop his head, and underneath the brim were his unsettling silver eyes. The look of him gave Antonio a feeling of visceral fear, though he could not tell why.

“Oi, you this pompous Aurelius sounding fella?” asked the man, who spoke in a thick Cockney accent.

“Yes, I am Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII. Where am I?” asked Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII.

“Well, ‘Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII’ — mind if I call you Tony? Nah, of course you don’t — you have been lucky enough to arrive here, in Hell, where you shall spend the rest of eternity being tortured in my district of New Los Angeles! Oh, but I suppose you won’t understand that reference.”

“What in G— in G— what? What in Go—“

“Oh, you can’t say that name here. Don’t even try. It’s a bit petty, if you ask me, but it’s not up to me! Anyway, my name is Tommy. I’m here to answer any questions you have before you are sent into New Los Angeles.”

Though Tommy’s blasé nature made him feel somewhat less uncomfortable, Antonio was rather confused. He had no idea what this “New Los Angeles” is, or how he had ended up in Hell. “Well,” he started, “for starters, I can’t remember a thing about my life on Earth. What exactly did I end up doing to get down here?”

Tommy chuckled. “Oh, where do I start? First of all, practicing the Arcane Arts is an instant no-no to the Big Man Upstairs. Massacring an entire village probably didn’t help either. But what threw you over the edge was definitely the time you—“

“No, no, this has to be some sort of mistake. I didn’t do any of this stuff, I’m a good man! There has to be some sort of trial, or appeal, or something! This isn’t fair!”

“Fair? Tony, you’re in Hell, there is no more ‘fair’. Except Jimmy’s ‘Fun Fair of Fantastical Flying Feet’, were you are mercilessly pelted by— you know, I should stop getting so sidetracked, I’ve got 12,000 other people to orient after you before my shift is over. No, Tony, there’s no appeal, there’s no trial, and I think I’ve answered all of your questions. So peace out, and make sure you follow my TikTok when you get to the Social Media Torture Tower!”

Antonio started to object. “Wait, you haven’t answered my—“ but before he could finish, Tommy was gone, instantly returning through the doorway that had been there a second ago. He was now immensely confused, perhaps even more so than before. However, before Antonio had any time to think about what just happened, or why the demon was so well dressed, he was suddenly sucked through space to another location in the most painful way imaginable.

“Ianuae Magicae!” he shouted instinctively. The pain and the sensation of movement stopped; he had broken through whatever ethereal force had been moving him, and was in what appeared to be an infinitely large library. Antonio scoffed. “Another damned infinitely large room? And full of books? What, is this some kind of nerd kingdom? I’ve just gotta find a way out of here.”

“The exit’s over there,” someone said behind him. Antonio turned around quickly, and was greeted by the sight of a normal librarian, albeit looking extremely tired.

Antonio narrowed his eyes, not knowing what to expect. “Excuse me?”

“You want to leave the library, right? So instead of wandering around and making a racket, there’s the exit. Now get out and let me get back to re-reading the end of the Eragon trilogy, it’s the least terrible thing in this library.”

Antonio didn’t want to be in the vicinity of anyone who would even think of reading something like that recreationally, so he took her advice and left through the doorway she pointed out. He then found himself in an infinite-looking corridor, which looked like something right out of a 1980s office building. Antonio started walking aimlessly, but what seemed like hours later, he was still going down the same corridor with no end in sight. Fed up with his predicament, he opened the nearest door and went in. It turned out to be an elevator, so he clicked on the top level and waited.

When Antonio’s eyes finally opened, he could not quite understand what he was looking at. It seemed he had fallen asleep during the impossibly long elevator trip, but having arrived at the top, he was now seeing a gigantic, gothic-styled room that was entirely colored in black with red accents. The wall to his right was one giant, uninterrupted window, with a red hue shining from the outside. In front of the middle of the window was an ominous looking throne and a desk, with a villainous chandelier hanging above. Running out of adjectives to describe this room, Antonio noted the oppressive and boiling hot atmosphere inside the room before stepping inside. He sat down at the throne and started going through the desk, finding many files that seemed to detail the various operations of Hell. Antonio finally realized… he was sitting in the Devil’s chair.

“That’s kinda neat-o,” he thought to himself. As anyone would, he immediately went to look for his file. “Hmm, ‘Antony A. Augustine’, ‘Anthony A. Andreas’… ah, here we go, ‘Antonio A. Aurelius'! Oh, of course there are 17 of them… there it is: ‘Antonio A. Aurelius XVII’”

Antonio opened his file and was shocked to see the photograph inside. He saw a picture of a rather horrific looking man, with a gaunt and sickly looking face, terrible hair, and unsettling eyes. Shrugging this disturbing revelation aside, he looked back into the file and started reading it. “Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII, born in 13th century Tuscany? Exemplary record… lived a nearly flawless early life? If only he hadn’t chosen to become a necromancer!?”

This deeply shook Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII. Though it turned out Tommy had been exaggerating, as Antonio had apparently lived a good life outside of necromancy. Nobody had liked him of course, being a heretic necromancer who looked like some kind of cheap horror movie character, but Antonio had still provided valuable services when people had needed them. “I shouldn’t be here,” he thought. “I should be up in Heaven. I can only imagine how many other mistakes like this have been made…”

Antonio looked around some more and found a computer in Satan’s desk. He wouldn’t have thought that they used computers in Hell, but it made more and more sense the more he thought about it. Naturally, Satan’s password was “password”, and Antonio decided he would take advantage of the situation to implement some cosmic justice. He would bring balance to the universe, being a righteous man given the power of God.

After typing in a few commands, Antonio hit the return key like it had owed him money. Satisfied, he got up and turned around to look out of the massive panoramic window. He could see a vast ocean of lava, with a coast that was blackened and rocky, looking inhabitable and yet lit up with the bright lights of many settlements, which were all doubtless places where the residents of Hell were tortured. As he watched, he saw hundreds of bright beams of light flash from the muddy red sky straight down to the ground. He smiled to himself, just as he heard a colossal crash behind him.

“What in the Hell,” bellowed the Devil, “has conspired here?” The Devil walked into the room, the ruined remains of the main door behind him. His voice sounded of pure power, with an impossibly booming level of bass that Antonio could feel in his bones. He was the size of 3 men, with a large forked tail and two large horns protruding out of his forehead, which was maroon, matching the rest of his body.  “I’m taking my first vacation in millennia, enjoying my time in San Diego, when I’m informed that some unauthorized low-life scum is in my personal office? And not just any unauthorized low-life scum, a resident?”

The Devil looked Antonio up and down, his glowing red eyes seeming to see straight into every cell in Antonio’s body. His sharp teeth became visible through his grin, then he started laughing. “Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII? You’ve just made your stay here in Hell… so much worse.”

With a motion of Satan’s hands, Antonio was restrained by some glowing red binds. Before Satan could continue, an extremely fit man dressed in white robes blasted straight through the panoramic window with contempt. He had short black hair with piercing, almost luminescent blue eyes. His clean-shaven jaw looked sharp enough to use as a weapon, and everything about him made Antonio feel inferior in every way. Even looking at the man for too long started to make his eyes hurt. Effortlessly hovering in the air, now with no discernible expression of emotion, he went over to Satan and looked him straight in the eyes. Satan, on the other hand, was seemingly unable to hold his gaze, and looked away.

“The Lord would like to express His dissatisfaction with you, Lucifer,” he said matter-of-factly in an extremely posh-sounding British accent, his voice sounding impossibly clear and extremely commanding. “There is a holy pact that has gone back to the founding of the universe. I know your kind doesn’t take kindly to any amount of reason or honor, but even I didn’t expect you to do something like this.”

Before the intimidating-looking man from Heaven could continue, Satan interjected. “I have done nothing of the sort, knave! This is the work of this dark magician, Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII.”

The man from Heaven turned around and sighed heavily. “Please, you expect me to believe that? You lot really are pathetic.”

Satan growled with irritation. He turned to Antonio. “What did you do?” he asked in a low, hushed voice.

Antonio smiled to himself and puffed up his chest, entirely overconfident and forgetting his place. “I have done what you are either too evil or too unintelligent to do,” he said, looking at both Satan and the well-dressed man from Heaven, the latter of whom immediately raised his eyebrow. “I have sent the best half of all people in Hell to Heaven. These people did not deserve to be here. They made mistakes in life, yes, but were ultimately good people.

The immaculately dressed man from Heaven scoffed. He turned to Lucifer and said, “Do you take the Lord and all of us in Heaven for fools, expecting us to believe this utter shamble? Could you have not picked a more convincing low-life to take the fall for you?”

“I know nothing of the situation!” Satan shouted angrily. He started storming over to the computer. Antonio stood by, unflinching, in total confidence that he had done the right thing.

“I mean, seriously,” continued the really very fancy looking man from Heaven. “If you’re going to come up with some pathetic excuse, don’t pick one we will so obviously know isn’t true. There has been no such influx of your heathenry to Heaven. Spending so much time down here really does reduce God’s creations to absolute worthlessness.”

Antonio was confused upon hearing this. How did none of the people he freed show up in Heaven? And why is the man from Heaven so rude? All of a sudden, he heard a bellowing roar from Satan, who promptly punched him with cosmic force. Antonio flew across the room, before hitting a television mounted on the wall. The force of the impact completely destroyed the TV, and Antonio was now lying on the ground reeling in pain.

“Do you realize what you have done!?” Satan was furious. “You will burn in the deepest circle of Hell for all eternity—I will torture you myself!”

The impeccably dressed man from Heaven scoffed again. “Are you seriously pretending to not know what happened? A man of God such as myself will not be so easily fooled by your pathetic tricks, Lucifer.”

“Don’t call me that! And you—” he turned to Antonio, who was now entirely aware that he was little more than an ant compared to everyone else in the room, then continued. “All you have done is send the WORST half of all people in Hell back to EARTH!”

The man with a perfect sense of fashion from Heaven interjected before the Devil could continue. “Finally, you admit to your wrongdoings, you traitorous wretch! I trust you realize that this surely means war, I was sent here to find out why this has happened and I have found no compelling reason whatsoever!”

The Devil sat still for a moment. “I suppose there is nothing else to be done in this situation.” He picked up a mobile phone and started typing an angry Tweet announcing his intentions. After he finished, he moved over to his desk, where he drafted and signed a document that was naturally written using someone’s blood. Probably someone who hated pens, documents, or both. He then got up and handed it to the hovering man from Heaven.

“A declaration of war? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, coming from such animals as you. I shall take this up to the Lord Himself, who shall surely destroy you once and for all. See you never,” he said, before flying straight out of the window and disappearing into the sky, sending a sonic boom echoing throughout Hell. Satan then turned to face Antonio, who was nowhere in sight.

Antonio, still in disbelief that he had manage to slip away undetected, was running as fast as he could to try and get as much distance between himself and the Devil as possible. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t looking where he was going, and ran straight into a guardrail with enough speed to flip straight over it, helplessly falling straight into some sort of magic portal that was stationed several miles below.

#

Antonio awoke again, though this time instead of being presented with the depressing sight of Satan’s office, he could feel a pleasant breeze on his face and grass beneath him. Sitting up, he looked around to see grassy rolling hills with a city in the distance. The view was short-lived, though, as soon a large aircraft dropped a gigantic bomb, destroying the entire city in one blast. Not ten seconds later, a missile shot up from the top of a faraway hill, striking the plane and destroying its wing. The plane faltered, then fell out of the sky, crashing down into a field with all of its explosives onboard, causing an even more massive explosion that wiped out a nearby town. Antonio heard gunfire behind him, and turned around to see two armies fighting each other. The two armies ran at each other and Antonio could only imagine the ridiculous amount of bloodshed going on.

Suddenly, amidst the fighting of the two armies, a giant red portal opened up out of the Earth. Soldiers started falling in, only to come flying back out impaled on the horns of giant red demons that had erupted out of the portal. The demons landed on the ground and promptly started tearing both armies to pieces. Before Antonio could even comprehend what was happening, another giant white portal appeared in the sky. Hundreds of people who looked similar to the man from Heaven he saw earlier flew out like Supermen, some riding on giant chanting chariots, all of them without any weapons at all. The demons, seeing this, roared with ferocity and left into the sky to fight them, with the humans, now fighting side by side on the ground, shooting at their backs. The angels and demons met some thousand feet off the ground, combining cosmic blows that destroyed everything on the ground for miles. It seemed as though each angel could easily destroy a hundred demons at a time, but more and more demons kept appearing. More and more fighting was happening, clearing away anything and everything else in the sky, and knocking Antonio hundreds of feet along the ground even though he was far, far away from the fight.

Stunned, Antonio sat up again, ears ringing and completely covered in dust and debris from the blasts in the distance. Through his blurred vision he looked around him. The countryside was destroyed, and the cosmic forces were nowhere to be seen, surely having moved the fight elsewhere. Antonio tried to stand, but his body was too sore from being thrown about. He blacked out.

#

Antonio awoke once more, and now was greeted with the sight of a hospital. The inside of a hospital, that is. In fact, now that he’s waking up properly, Antonio noticed that this hospital was completely overcrowded. The nurse came over and looked him up and down. “I’m not sure why you’re still here, but get up and get out. Go down the hall and to the left.”

He wasn’t particularly surprised by her rudeness, given the circumstances, so he got up and went down the hall she mentioned. Even in the hall, there were bandaged people strewn all about the ground. “This is truly apocalyptic,” Antonio thought to himself, trying not to think about how he had caused it all. Upon reaching the end of the hall, he decided that he was a maverick, and went right instead of left. After a short walk, he found himself in what appeared to be a recruitment center.

“Another recruit— oh, God, you’re an ugly one aren’t you?” noted a man with an extremely well-featured face was sitting at a desk. “Never mind that, all able-bodied discharges go through there,” he said, pointing to a door just past his desk. Antonio, deciding that being a maverick hadn’t been very beneficial for him, elected to do as the man said. In a blur, he was given armor and a strange weapon, and loaded into a large metal carriage that seemed to drive itself with a bunch of other men, many of whom were covered in bandages. Antonio judged he was somewhere in the American Midwest, though the world had devolved into complete chaos as millions of the worst people who ever lived had been brought back to life.

From talking with the other soldiers, Antonio had learned that several major nations had been taken over by some of these people, who had immediately started violent wars in as many parts of the world as they could manage. Most large cities had already been destroyed by bombs they called “nuclear”, and now that the demons and angels were fighting each other, even more of the world had been completely destroyed. One soldier even said that Mount Everest had been completely leveled. Antonio was completely wracked with guilt, knowing he had caused all of this.

Suddenly the transport stopped, and the commander shouted to Antonio and his fellow soldiers to get out. Antonio got out and ran, before looking back and seeing a demon flying straight into his transport. An angel flew up and emitted a pure white beam of light from his bare hand, which shot straight into the demon and obliterated him.

“Children of God,” he started, turning to the soldiers. “Fear not, for the Lord shall protect you. Retreat to safety, and let us handle this threat.” He then rose into the air, and flew impossibly fast into the distance, causing a massive sonic boom that startled all the soldiers.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Antonio asked his commander.

The commander sat and thought for some time. “Listen,” he began. “We are completely outgunned in this fight. I think the flying man is right, we have no hope of defeating the enemy with what we have. There’s an old nuclear bunker 20 klicks that way.” He pointed to his left side, then continued, “Carry your weapons with you, let’s march.”

About 10 miles in, the march was disrupted. Right in front of the group, a demon came crashing down after being thrown what looked like hundreds of miles. Still disoriented, he opened his eyes and tried to look around.

“Fire! Fire! Give it everything you’ve got!” bellowed the commander. Every soldier opened fire, pumping hundreds of rounds into the demon. After what felt like 5 minutes of straight shooting, they let up. The demon looked as though he had merely been shot with a super soaker, and just looked at them. Seeing the terror on their faces, he smiled, and stood up, but then stopped after hearing a loud boom behind him. He turned around and couldn’t see anything, but suddenly an angel flew down out of the sky and kicked his head clean off. The angel turned to face the soldiers, and despite all of the brutal fighting, there wasn’t a single speck of dirt anywhere on her. Her long, flowing golden hair didn’t even look the slightest bit disturbed.

“You should all get to safety,” she said in what sounded like a Greek accent. “We are pushing the enemy back, but it’s still not safe to be out here. We will let you know when the demons have all been taken care of, and remember that you are all under the Lord’s eternal protection.” She then flew far up into the sky, until Antonio couldn’t see her anymore.

“Let’s keep marching,” said the commander. “The sooner we get to that bunker, the better.” They resumed the march, and only saw fighting happening in the distance for the rest of the trip. Upon arriving at the bunker, they turned on the radios and waited for their all-clear signal. And they waited. And waited some more. Until Antonio couldn’t bear waiting, and faded into darkness.

#

Antonio opened his eyes, as he had done many times after being stuck in that bunker. They waited 2 years for the all-clear signal, emerging from the bunker to see practically nothing left on the surface. The angels remained on Earth for some time to regenerate the natural resources that had been destroyed, then most left. The few who stayed provided support for some time, but then they left as well. Antonio traveled around for several years afterwards, trying to find somewhere proper to stay, but the world had largely been thrown back into the pre-industrial era. Nevertheless he persisted, traveling across the North American continent to help whom he could. Instead of necromancy, he learned healing magic to try and aid the people he came across along the way.

One day, Antonio found an old map of the United States. He instantly recognized most of the regions he had visited, but one area stuck out to him as strange. “Wyoming?” He’d never heard of this place, nor had he ever been there. He decided that this is where he would visit next, and after a few months of being on the road, he finally arrived and was shocked to see that it seemed entirely untouched.

After traveling into the city outskirts, Antonio looked around. Many people walked about freely with not a care in the world, all of them looking pristine in luxurious looking clothing. They reminded Antonio of the angels he had seen, though that must’ve just been how people looked right before the apocalypse. There were so many cars on the road that they actually had to stop and line up in turns to wait for each other, and all were driven by regular people rather than military personnel. Antonio looked back at the sidewalk and saw a man walking towards him. He held a small black slab in his hand that shone on his face, and was wearing very high quality clothing. Antonio walked up to him and grabbed his shoulder .

“What happened here?” Antonio asked, stunned at what he had just seen.

“Hey, what the hell? Watch yourself buddy, or I’ll call the police! Now I don’t know if you want any money or anything, but why don’t you go beg somewhere else instead of bothering me, ok?” He turned around and started walking away. Antonio grabbed his shoulder again, this time not letting go.

“What happened here? This place looks like it wasn’t destroyed in the war, that’s impossible!”

“War? What are you talking about? Are you pretending to be a time traveler or something? Or are you one of those people who like to play dress-up? And God, you reek, get away from me!”

Antonio grabbed him with both hands. “The war, the angels and the demons, it was years ago! Back in 2021!”

“Look, dude, I’m calling the cops. There was no ‘war’ in 2021, all that happened was the electrical grid crash and all the movies got canceled.” He started fiddling with his device, but then got frustrated and gave up. “And the damn cell service went to shit. But I’m pretty sure we would’ve noticed if there was a war.”

Antonio was in disbelief. “The rest of your country is destroyed! The entire world is destroyed! This state of ‘Wyoming’ is the only place left, and you don’t even know what happened?”
 The man from Wyoming shrugged. “To be honest… we don’t really pay attention to the rest of the world. And they don’t pay any attention to us. What you’re saying… it would sort of make sense why all those movies never came out… do you have any photos of it on your phone?”
 Antonio collapsed to the ground. “So what you’re telling me is,” he started, out of breath. “This place was left untouched… because everyone forgot about it?”

“Yeah, probably. I dunno, dude.  I think I should probably call someone to come get you.”  He started looking around, before pulling his glowing slab back out again.

“No, no… I don’t understand… just give me a moment.” Antonio lay down on the ground and covered his face. He could hear the murmurs of other pedestrians watching in confusion. Soon he sat back up and looked around, only to see a seemingly endless sea of faces in front of him. “Wait, no… please…” He turned to look at the man he had been speaking with, but he was no longer there.

The crowd parted, and two mustached men dressed in blue uniforms donning gleaming silver badges came through. Antonio couldn’t comprehend what was happening. They restrained him and put him in the back of a car. Antonio watched the surreal sight of the city pass him by; everything looked exactly as it must have been before the apocalypse. Antonio had not been in a car for many years, and the sensation of moving so fast was starting to make him sick.

Thankfully, the car stopped outside of a large, intimidating building. The uniformed men dragged him in and up to a woman standing by a desk.

“What is your name?” the woman asked him.

“I am Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII. I am from Tuscany of the 13th Century. I died and went to Hell, but accidentally caused the apocalypse when I tried to send half of the people in Hell to Heaven.”

“Oh, really? Here, walk with me, and you can tell me all about it.” Antonio started following the woman down the hallway.

“Yes. I’m a necromancer, you see. Or, I was. But that’s  why I was in Hell. I somehow managed to get into the Devil’s offices, and on his computer I tried to send the best half of people to Heaven. It was a sort of cosmic justice, you know?”

“Oh, for sure,” the woman responded. Antonio could sense that she wasn’t particularly interested in the conversation, but he continued nonetheless.

“Yeah, so it turns out I got it backwards, I suppose. I sent the worst half of people to Earth, instead of the best half to Heaven. So this angel came down and Satan ended up declaring war, I suppose.”

“Angels and demons, eh? I’m all ears,” the woman said, completely uninterested.

“I managed to escape, and then I somehow ended up back on Earth. This was way back in 2021, of course, before the apocalypse. Which happened immediately after I returned. There were already nuclear wars and whatnot, but the war of the angels and demons really devastated the world, you know?”

The woman nodded. “Of course, we all saw it, right?”

“Yeah, finally, someone who knows what happened! So I ended up in a bunker during the war, for several years while the angels finished off the demons. Then I traveled around the country, I learned proper healing magic so that I could help people. Then I heard of this place, ‘Wyoming’, and came over here to check it out. You guys seem to be the only part of the world that was left untouched. It seems as though everybody forgot you existed.”

“Yes, we are used to that; that was a fascinating story, but we’ve arrived at your room. You can stay here as long as you like, you’ll be perfectly safe and taken care of.”

Antonio was startled, but very excited at this news. “Oh, thank you so much!” He eagerly rushed into the room, which was largely empty. “Hey, wait, this room doesn’t even have a—” He was cut off by the door closing and locking. The room was padded, and there was nothing but a light in the roof and a bed in the corner. Antonio knocked on the doors for hours, trying to get someone to talk to him, but nobody answered. Eventually, some food slipped through a hatch in the wall, and some time after that he was restrained and escorted to a restroom. He tried to talk to the guards, but they didn’t respond, and he was locked back in the room.

Eventually, Antonio lost track of the days, the months, then the years. One day, he fell asleep on his bed as he had done thousands of times before, but when he woke, he sat in a familiar black void. An invisible door opened, and he saw a familiar face come through.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII.” He laughed fiendishly. “We’ve been waiting for you down here. Let’s see…” He pulled out Antonio’s file, then continued, “Necromancy. Nasty business, that. But let’s just skip this part and get to the real juicy bit.” He licked his finger, then flipped the page. “Insurrection against the natural order. Impersonating the Devil. Unauthorized actions compromising the realm of Hell. Actions causing the release of people from Hell. Returning to Earth without permission. Actions directly causing the death of millions on Earth. And perhaps the worst of all: directly causing the Intergalactic Wyoming Empire to become the dominant human civilization—for the foreseeable future, at least. Seriously?” He leaned in closely, then continued, “they would never have known if you never went there!”

He slammed the file shut with a satisfied grin on his face. “There’s a special place down here for you. I don’t think any human has ever been there, so congratulations on becoming the first! You should take it as a compliment, really,” Tommy said, leaning back in his chair. He began fiddling with his mustache. “And I suppose I can use it as bragging rights. ‘Tommy, the torturer who was once assigned to the infamous Tony Aurelius!’ I like the sound of that!” He laughed again. “Oi, mind if I take a quick video of the two of us for my socials? I could use this cred’. And you’ll probably look disfigured forevermore once the Boss starts his work on you, so I should get in early y’know?”

Antonio, having not listened to Tommy for some time, did not respond, but only hung his head in shame. He didn’t know what was in store for him, but he did feel that he deserved it. He had officially become the worst person to have ever lived.

——-

Who: A necromancer with a heart of gold What: Causes the apocalypse When: The year 2021 Where: In Hell Why: To bring balance to the universe

[beatrice-blaze]

Cold Blooded || Bea & Luce

LOCATION: Luce’s Hospital Room

TIME: A few days after the resurrection 

TRIGGERS: Sibling Death mention

@divineluce

Groggily, Luce opened her eyes once more. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed since she’d been in the hospital room that she shared with Nell. The last few days had gone by with her slipping in and out of sleep, her body exhausted from the taxing magical ordeal she’d undergone. The doctors had prescribed her on all kinds of medicines, had her hooked up to a monitor at all times to ensure that her heart wouldn’t be at risk for anything else. She hated it, mostly because she was as sure as she could be that her heart would be fine. But, throwing words around like “Massive Heart Attack” and “electrical burns” and “fractured ribs” was enough to keep her in bed. That, and she didn’t have the energy to fight the doctors on this. As she mulled over her situation, Luce glanced over to the corner of the room and blinked in surprise. “Bea. Hey.” She said, a small flicker of a smile playing on her face as she looked at her sister. At her sister, who was alive and present and whole. “Stopping by to check on us?”

As the days ticked by, Bea was coming to grips with what had happened. She still had moments where reality seemed to be slipping through her fingers, but at least now she knew how to breathe through it. It had been difficult to come to terms with the idea that Luce’s heart had stopped, but there was no escaping this. She was bundled up in the corner of the hospital room, wearing one of Luce’s old hoodies, knees tucked to her chest. As her sister shifted, she leaned forward, a breath leaving her as Luce spoke. “Hi, Lulu,” She rasped, using her old childhood nickname. “I had to. How are you? The doctors explained a bit to me about the medical stuff, but… How are you otherwise?”

The familiar nickname, which normally would have filled Luce with annoyance, brought a wave of nostalgia and reassurance. Bea was back. She was really back. The sound of her voice, scratchy and rough… it was different. Luce swallowed, shifting a little in bed. Had they… had they fucked up the ritual? But, as she stared at her sister, looked at her wearing one of the old UMWC sweatshirts she kept tucked away, it was impossible to deny the fact that Bea was here. Alive. Alive. She still couldn’t quite believe that. At the question, Luce moved to run a hand through her hair. Instead, she winced as the motion sent a wave of pain up the side of her ribs. Fuck. “I’m…” Luce paused, struggling to describe how she felt. Beyond the physical exhaustion and pain, there was the troubling reality of her magic. Instead of the normal warmth that filled her, the familiar magic that always burned… there was so little left. Crumbling ashes, smoldering embers, barely glowing. “I kinda went overboard. So, not… not doing my best. But I’ll be better.” She had to get better.

It was painful to watch Luce struggle. It didn’t sit right with Bea that the ritual went so poorly that everyone had such severe backlash. She hated what it had done to her sisters, but she also worried for what it meant for her. “Do you need help with your hair?” She asked, eyes trailing over her sister’s form. A heart attack. It was an interesting form of backlash. Bea was tempted to write her own tome based on the information they had gotten from this. There weren’t many necromancers who could claim they guided others to bring them back. Only the best could say that. She wasn’t the best, at least not yet, but this could help her become that. “Do you feel cold?” Bea had been cold ever since she had crawled off that alter. Her fingers went to her side, trailing above the Mark. “Thank you, Luce. I know that wasn’t easy for you to do.”

Bristling slightly at the way Bea asked if she needed help, Luce waited to feel the familiar surge of energy that usually followed her emotions flaring. But, instead… nothing. It was just the barest smoldering of warmth. Even her body, usually hot to the touch, it felt cool. Not cold, but for once in her life, she was grateful for blankets. Even if they were thin hospital blankets, it still felt better than just feeling the AC blow against her skin. “I’m good. It’s fine.” She said, tossing her hair back with a flick of her head and blowing a puff of air up to push her bangs out of her eyes. Swallowing at Bea’s question, she offered a slight shrug, ignoring the spasm of pain that came with it. “Yeah.” She fell quiet for a moment, looking at her hands where they lay against the clean linen sheets of the hospital bed. “It’s like the fire’s… low. Not out, not gone. Just… low. Lower than it’s ever been.” She said with a shudder. In a way, it reminded her of how it had felt in Morgan’s memories. The numbness, the lack of connection to the universe around her. But, she could still feel the thinnest of threads keeping her tethered to her magic. Swallowing, Luce looked up at her sister, pain burning in her eyes. “No, it wasn’t. But, I’d do it again.” And that scared her. The fact that she would do all of it over, cause all the damage and pain and hurt again… That thought shook her to her core.

Bea’s head dipped to stare at the hand resting on her knees. As Luce spoke, Bea feared the worst. She didn’t even feel the same connection to her magic anymore. She knew it was somewhere, it wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t the same. There was no warmth in her now. She had always felt like she glowed from the inside out because of her fire. She wouldn’t be the same person without her fire. She already wasn’t the same person. She flexed her hand, tried to conjure the small fire she used to keep there. If anything the palm of her hand grew dimmer. She let out a soft puff of air. “I can ask Grandma what she does if people use too much magic,” She told Luce, wishing to tell her sister that she had lost her fire, but not willing to compare their pain. “It’ll come back to you soon, I’m sure.” She’d bring another sweatshirt with her next time she visited. She met her sister’s eyes then, looking the fiercest she had since she had crawled off that alter. “You won’t have to. Even if something happens again, I’ll take care of it. I know ways of making sure it can be handled without dragging you all in again.”

Watching the way her sister’s hand twitched, Luce looked on, fully expecting to see the familiar ball of bright flame that filled her palm. But, there was nothing. Was she out too? Was this an effect of being… gone for so long? Of being dead? Or had she ruined the ritual? Had she done this? Was this her fault? It, it couldn’t be. They’d followed the ritual to the letter, did exactly as the tomes had described. And Bea was back. But, she wasn’t quite the same. Maybe that’s just what happened when you went against nature. You could fight nature all you wanted, but it would still exact it’s toll, taking the pound of flesh that it was owed. Jaw tensing slightly at the mention of their family, Luce shook her head. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” She said, hoping that her words were true. She had to be okay. Her fire would build and return to her. It was just weak right now. With time and energy, the flicker of flames would burn again. At Bea’s words, Luce frowned. “Bea. You didn’t drag me into this. You didn’t drag any of us into this-- we chose to do what we did. We chose you. Don’t think that you have to do things on your own, you’ve got me. You’ve got Nell. And Winston. And Blanche. You’ve got all of us.” She said with a firm nod.

Bea wanted to curl her hand into a fist and try to force a flame out. Instead, she carefully laid it on the armrest. Her magic should be the least of her worries, not with her sister in a bed connected to a heart monitor. Still, it ate at her that there was a void where her flame used to live. She swallowed the feeling down. She would not drown from this. She would never let herself drown in a feeling again. She considered her sister for a long moment, trying to determine if Luce was really okay with this. She decided not to push where she might have in the past. “I have you all, I know,” She agreed with Luce. She knew that she had any of them again, but she didn’t want to rely on them like this again. Not when she could make sure it would be taken care of in other manners. “Still, if this happens again, I can put measures in place that would make me come back without having you all have to get your hands dirty again. I don’t relish knowing that I changed the course of each of your lives with this. I’m not sorry for it, but I don’t want that happening again.”

“Yeah, you do. And don’t fucking forget it.” Luce said with a weak grin, hoping that the swearing would add some humor to their situation. There was just something so different about Bea. her voice lacked it’s typical warmth. Maybe it was just the situation, maybe that was just part of what happened when someone came back from… the dead. That was an unsettling thought. One that she really didn’t want to address right now. Bea was back, that was what mattered. “What happened happened.” She said simply, though she couldn’t help the way her hands curled up against the blankets in her lap. In the few short weeks of Bea’s death, Luce had done far more than she’d ever thought she was capable of. Gone further than she’d ever thought she would go. She’d studied necromancy, absorbed it, practiced it, brought things back from beyond the veil of death. She’d threatened people, gone after creatures, destroyed whole swaths of the forest, hurt people. She’d put Remmy in an awful position just to try and drown out her own emotions, raged against Adam in the forest because she’d been incapable of handling her grief. And August. She’d signed away his freedom that night she brought him to Lydia’s home, had written off his life when she’d retrieved him the next day. She’d done so much. And while she regretted many, many things… she didn’t regret the worst bits. She didn’t regret the cruel twist of pleasure she’d experienced when she’d watched Lydia command him with absolute power. She didn’t regret sacrificing his life for Bea’s. She didn’t regret any of it. No, her hands were bloodied and they’d never be the same again. “It’s not your fault. It’s the bastard who hunted down Nell who did this, who changed all of our lives. Montgomery.” She said, the name bitter in her mouth. “He did this.”

Where Bea once would have cringed at the sound of Luce cursing, she had no reaction now. It was just a word. She had no idea why she had hated it so much before. It was just a word that most people used. Her sister was right though, what happened happened. There was no changing it and there was no reason to feel sorry about what happened now. Apologies would give them all nothing but weak words to hold onto if they felt badly about what they had done. Bea hummed as she took in the name of the hunter that had struck her down. Montgomery. She hadn’t known his name. As she soaked in his name, she felt her soul flex, roll in rage within herself. Her soul was unhappy with this knowledge. She was unhappy. “When we’re all strong again, we’ll let him experience how painful it was to bring me back.” It was a trick of the eye, Bea was sure, but the room got darker as she promised that. Rolling her neck, she shrugged,“I think we all need a shot at him after what happened.”

Her sister’s lack of reaction, which once would have been all that she had wanted, now put Luce at ill ease. She clenched her jaw, one of the only motions she could do that wouldn’t make her body groan and ache in pain. She almost wanted Bea to chide her for swearing, to tell her off for being so rude and impolite. It would have been reassuring, would have been a reminder that her sister was still… there. But, Bea hardly reacted. Whoever her sister had been before, some part of her had died and it hadn’t come back with the resurrection. Luce watched as her sister’s gaze grew colder and she flinched involuntarily-- there was danger in her eyes. A deadly promise lived there, one that scared her. But, Luce steadied herself all the same. “When we’re strong again, we’ll make him pay.” She said, her eyes looking away as Bea rolled her neck. “Yeah. Yeah, we do.” She said with a cold smile. If this was what Bea wanted, if this was what Bea needed, if this was what would bring her some sense of relief and closure, she would do it. She would do anything for her sister. Hadn’t she proven that already? And yet, she would continue to prove it. She’d prove it as many times as she had to.

When Bea had first began to research necromancy, she thought of it similarly to that of a Phoenix’s cycle. Dying and coming back. In a way it seemed more desirable because the deceased would come back to their own body with all their memories. She had known it was tricky and dangerous, and nasty with the human sacrifice, but it seemed worth it to come back as they had died. Now, she understood that death took something with necromancy. The sacrifice was not only taken from the human being used, but also the soul coming back to it’s body. Bea’s had been her fire, the warmth that had made her so iconically Bea. She didn’t entirely mind losing her warmth, though her fire was a tragedy, but her warmth had let this happen. And she refused to let anyone else think that because she was warm her family was easy to take on. “I hope you know I would have done the exact same if it had been you instead of Nell.”

Swallowing, Luce shifted her gaze to the wall that stood before her. She didn’t want to think about that-- she’d spent so long thinking about what she should have done. How she should have known that Bea’s text was off that day. How she should have tried harder to reach her sisters. How she should have just left work, should have found her sisters, should have been there with them that night. Because, if she had… maybe Bea would have lived. Maybe they wouldn’t have had to go through any of this. “I know. And… there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you or Nell. I mean. I feel like you know that now.” She brought her hand to rest on her sternum, just above the tattoo that linked the three of them together. She winced as the motion brought a fresh wave of pain but pushed past it. “We’re sisters. No one fucks with my sisters.”

[punkwithpaints]

The Rammstein Magic!AU no one asked for

Sorry this is kinda Richard heavy. I originally was just going to use him as an inspiration for a single character, but the deeper I went for his character, the more I started pulling in the rest of the gang until I decided it was easier to call it an AU. This is absolute word vomit and spit balling an idea, but I’d love to hear what you think and some feedback! Pardon the rambling and sorry if this makes zero sense.

 Richard: Alright, so, basically he can summon spirits/entities things like that. He knows about the forest’s darker secrets. Think of those spooky writings that are like “If you’re in the woods and hear 3 knocks, knock back but leave immediately.” Like, this fucker knows every old spirit, good, bad and unknown that go through the forest. He knows all the do’s and don’t’s and people come to him when they manage to get curses put on them or their families. He also knows about monsters that lurk around at night and other things.

With summoning, it’s a skill where at first it’s overwhelming since he starts to see and hear spirits and all that, so it’s a hard power to learn. Most summon animals or things that are living, not the dead. Most people’s minds can’t handle the added effect of seeing and hearing that stuff constantly.

He goes to churches or houses that people are like, “Uh, What is happening in this place?”. And he can strut in, look around and be like, “lmao that’s a demon, I see you fucker.” And he’s gotten so good at summoning that he can kinda reverse uno whatever it is, causing to it to be able to be seen by everyone else as well.

Problem is, when he first started learning, he got cocky and ended up fucking around with something way stronger than what he could handle at the time and basically got possessed. For years he is basically a dick. He’s dangerous, reclusive, hurts his friends and those around him, yadda yadda. Finally, he has enough will power to try and stop this thing, but the only way he knows how to get rid of it is to kill himself. Because without a living soul/body, the demon has nothing to feed off of or a place to stay. So he attempts by trying to slit his wrists, however, the demon is so impressed with his willpower and determination he offers a deal. It basically says, “Listen, I’ll make you a deal. You will have free will over your body and mind, but I get to stay.” Fine. Demon doesn’t let him die, heals his wounds, but there are scars obviously.

Richard now has a demon inside him. Fantastic. Richard and the demon can converse back and forth. So, Richard will be like, “Yeah, looks like you’re dealing with *insert demon thing here*.” And suddenly his voice will change and the demon is like, “I don’t know, it seems more like *other demon thing*”. Freaks people out pretty bad usually, if they aren’t expecting it. Richard also has a regular eye and a blind eye. Regular eye is just a regular eye, but his other blind eye is what gives him the ability to see the spirits. It’s like a right of passage for his type of people, where they have to blind one of their own eyes somehow.

ANYWAY

With the demon inside him, the demon has the ability to bring things back from the dead. Hence why Richard was able to come back after attempting to kill himself. Technically speaking, Richard is sorta permanently dead but living. I considered giving him no heart beat but I’ll get back to that in a sec. So, Demon and him slowly start working together where he lets the demon influence and strengthen his summoning powers and summon the actual dead as well as see them. Now he has necromancy.

When the demon made his deal, he tells Richard he can summon him if he needs him, but it’s gonna be hella taxing. Richard has to summon him exactly as he did the first time. AKA, slit his wrists to activate it. So, demon would take back into control causing Richards magic to get stronger by God knows how much. Obviously, he can’t do this very often or for too long, but if shit really hits the fan, this could help him make it out alive. I mean, the demon really doesn’t want to lose his flesh home.  I’m thinking this is where the heart beat thing comes into play. Where he’s sorta half dead, his heart would stop when he activates the demon to take over.

  Till: TILL. THIS GUY. So, I figured where Till likes the water/swimming/animals so much, he’d live at the edge of the forest by the ocean cliff sides. He’s specialize in familiars and mythological creatures. Like, he’s BFF’s with the local sirens and mermaids. He’s the opposite of Richard. Till has the magic that I forget the name of but it revolves around communicating with animals, knowing what the area is saying through them, that kinda stuff if that makes any sense. He likes growing special and rare herbs for potions and rituals. He’s pretty quiet and doesn’t like being around people, so he keeps his magic on the down low usually and spends his time talking to the sirens and mermaids, creatures/animals around him. Tends to his garden and such. He sells it at the weekend markets where he does fine since he’s one of the few that can offer certain herbs. I think he would have a shapeshifting ability or have a familiar he could change into. I’m thinking a bear or a griffin. Druid-ish????

Although Till loves the water, he’s actually specializes in pyromancy. He doesn’t use it too often, since he keeps his magic mainly hidden, but hey, he can start a camp fire or his stove with it, so that’s nice. He loves to gossip with the mermaids and sirens. They were a little confused when their tricks and songs didn’t work on him, well, they did a little, but not completely. But then they put 2 and 2 together and go, “Oh….Wait….I don’t think he likes girls as much as some of the other sailors we’ve met.” So now they just accept him as their bestie and like talking to him about their crushes and the newest dumb sailors they all lured in. They both share fish catches with each other, and Till does sketches of the market/forest so he can come and show them what it looks like since they’re curious.

He also owns a dragon. Not a big one. One that’s the size of a parrot. It likes to chill on his shoulder and likes crackers and grasshoppers. He raised it from an egg. Everyone is all like, “Dude yeah he’s scary omg, I heard he has a whole dragon!!” and they stop by, only to find this burly dude having a cup of tea with the mermaids and a tiny dragon nibbling a graham cracker on his shoulder.

However, his herbs/garden is what links him to Paul and Flake.

 Paul/Flake: So, these two bois live together (Definitely no homo going on here) and Flake is even more recluse than Till. They have a cloaking spell on their cabin. You have to absolutely know a certain tree with a ritual attached to it or a spell/password sorta deal to gain access/the ability to see it.

They’re in an open field/prairie area. Flake would be a healer and very good at protection based spells and rituals. He always buys a lot of his herbs from Till so him and Till are close because 1.) Both reclusive as fuck and 2.) P L A N T S.

Meanwhile, Paul has telekinesis and mind reading. He’s a cocky boi but he does care a ton. Even if everyone wants to smack him half the time. I keep thinking their first meeting was something along the lines of:

Flake brings him along when he goes to Till to stock up on herbs, and Paul meets Richard for the first time since Richard stopped by to visit. It’s probably pretty fresh after the whole “Tried to kill myself to yeet the demon out of me and now we’re roommates” deal. And They have barely shaken hands when Paul is looks smug and goes, “You regret you didn’t die but you were honestly too scared too as well.” And Richard is like “ALRIGHT I HAVE TO KILL HIM DON’T YOU DARE READ MY MIND LIKE THAT”. So, Paul and Richard hate each other for a while. Well, Richard hates Paul, Paul doesn’t mind Richard, he’s just waiting for him to come back to him cause that’s usually how first meetings go for him.

Later on, as they start to talk, Paul confides in Richard (after apologizing) that he understands what Richard felt and that he had attempted before as well. Being able to hear everyone’s thoughts and feel their emotions is horrible when you first start out, and is incredibly overwhelming. Over time, Richard and him end up connecting pretty well. Richard still hates the mind reading thing (so does Till), but despite the differences, they’re friends.

Paul can also temporarily slow/reverse time in a certain limit around him. Maybe like, 15-20 foot radius? For about 30 seconds? Let’s say Till decided to use his pyromancy towards him, Paul can decide to halt it and slow it, or it can begin to reverse itself. Richard sends out some hellhounds, Paul can cause them to slow way down once they get close so he can duck around them and hurry off somewhere else.  

Flake, despite the hatred of being around people, is actually a pretty great guy once he warms up to you. He’s someone you can have a good cry with but also, he can absolutely fuck up your whole day. I’d think since he can do cloaking spells, he’d understand spells about portals and rifts. To make something ‘invisible’ (AKA, their house), he’s more so just shifting the dimensions people can see, making it into one that they can’t. And sometimes, you got to yeet your idiot friends through portals to somewhere safe cause they don’t know when to shut the hell up. One of my inspirations for his powers was the music video to the song Falling to Pieces by David Guetta, specifically around the 2:55 mark. I’d imagine that, instead of getting obliterated like the people in the music video, it more that he’s shifting every part of that person into different portals/dimensions. I mean, technically, yeah, they die. BUT HEY, who can say they died via getting blasted through different portals and shifts down to a molecular level? Flake can’t do it a lot obviously. It’s hard enough opening one or two portals, so to pull a stunt like that could kill him if he isn’t careful enough. So many times everyone has had to be like FLAKE NO HEY CHILL WE ARE OKAY DON’T DO THAT.

I imagine Flake and Paul have been friends since they were teenagers, so they watched each other’s powers develop. Once Paul starts figuring his powers out, it starts becoming too much. Flake tries his best to be supportive and encourage him and keep him sane, but Paul can feel how much he’s scaring Flake and making him worry. Paul finally tries to end it (in a similar fashion to Richard, so they have matching scars which is another bonding point for them), but Flake finds him in time. However, Flake hasn’t quite got his healing abilities down yet, but the fear and adrenaline of losing his best friend is what flips the switch to finally allow him to completely channel it. Paul heals up and startles back into reality and is like “EXCUSE ME, I THOUGHT YOU COULDN’T DO THAT” and Flake is shaking him like, “YOU DUMBASS IF YOU EVER DIE IM GOING TO KILL YOU.”

 Ollie: My tall boi. I’m thinking he’s part wood elf. His magic is based off of using the environment such as tree roots or trees, manipulating and summoning eco life around him. Wanna get beat by a root system? Ollie is your guy. His powers are kinda like Till, but not as animal heavy. I know there’s a word for this magic too but my ass cannot remember it for the life of me. He’s probably one of the rarest of the bunch to spot, but unlike Till or Flake, he doesn’t put up much of a fight when it comes to seeing people or going out. People are intimidated by him cause, I mean, this fucker is 6’7 and came out of the woods like some magical sasquatch lumberjack.

But he’s very down to earth (Pun intended). Ollie crafts armor or blades in his spare time. Sometimes he’ll join Till at the market and sell his stuff or take commissions from anyone who needs new weapons/armor, or if they need anything repaired. He knows how to lace objects with magic so it can do a better job with protection or heighten the users own abilities. Ollie is able to know what’s happening in his neck of the woods. He lives in the deepest part of the forest, Richard isn’t too far from him actually. But Ollie’s area is more of a calm area of the woods, not the spooky ass weird area Richard stays in.  Ollie has way more ALIVE deer, first off. No wendigos. What a difference.

I don’t know how to phrase this without it sounding dumb as hell, but basically he talks to trees. He can tap his magic into the systems of the trees and plants and pick up on conversations miles away from him. The trees become his eyes and ears, if that makes sense. It’s never super sharp or in focus (Dream like maybe?), but he’ll know when you’ve entered his section of the woods. He can sometimes tell roughly how many, and catch snippets of your conversations. He’ll make sure to keep an eye on you.

Schneider: My boy. I’m thinking he’s a witch mage kinda guy who has visions and predictions. He fucking loves crystals, tarot cards, special odds and ends, things like that. Reading the stars kinda guy. Schneider actually gets called in by the king or whomst the fuck ever is running this world I’m coming up with, to predict the futures of queens incoming babies, wars, decision making, yadda yadda. He’s hella guidance and damn good at what he does. His visions are never in perfect clarity, but with the aid of his other doodads and such, he can give you a pretty good estimate. He’s like Turbo Tax, but with life choices.

I’m thinking his powers would probably be something along the lines of a copy cat? He can usually tell what your about to do a few seconds before you do it. Somethings are super easy for him to predict (like a punch), other things are harder (complicated magic). I think he might fit under the title Warlock with a Vestige pact? Where the souls/echos of his ancestors that have passed on stay with him. They’re the ones that help him see glimpses into the future make sure he’s protected. They’re also why he can replicate (roughly) most spells that are done towards him. For example: If Paul tried to levitate something and toss it at him, there’s a chance that someone before Schneider, in his linage, had some kind of knowledge of that form of magic. If Schneider reacts fast enough, he can reverse uno that shit back at Paul or toss it somewhere else. Sometimes, it’s more of a canceling effect. So, if Richard tried to resurrect something to attack him, he could undo the resurrection spell, making the dead thing fall back apart, since you can’t double bring something back to life.

Him and Richard went through a similar process to gain their abilities. Richard is a host and dealt with/is dealing with being possessed, and Schneider is temporily possessed/influenced by his ancestors when needed. For a bit, they’re tense around each other cause both felt they were better than the other. Schneider felt like Richard “cheated” to gain his necromancy powers, while Richard is pissed that Schneider had it “so easy” compared to what he went through.

Like Paul and Richard, Schneider and Richard finally have a sit down and Schneider admits his whole ritual/process of gaining his abilities.

To gain access to all the souls/echos, Schneider had to ‘live’ through each ones most painful times via his visions. So, easily 100+ memories that he has to go through in one go. No stopping, feeling/seeing/hearing everything that happened to these people, one at a time. Sometimes it’s their deaths, sometimes it’s a fight or injury, sometimes is verbal things. It totally wrecks with a persons mind and body. A lot of times, the people who go through this process don’t make it because they try and kill themselves afterwards or during. If they stop the line of visions, they cannot ever be started again. They usually develop a severe fever and cold chills, and the process can take several days. So if the fever or themselves don’t kill them, they might make it. So him and Richard bond over that.

I know it sounds stupid, but Schneider lives in a cave. Once you enter, it’s lined with different crystals, crystal balls, dices, maps, star charts, ornate rugs on the floor, silks all over the place, just really nice and cozy.

Overall, each one could work together and combine powers. Examples include: Richard and Till combining Richard Necromancy and Till’s Pyromancy to create a physical embodiment of hell and scare the absolute shit out of anyone.

Ollie (Controlling trees/roots) and Till (connections with animals and mythical beasts) deciding to just use a whole ass forest all that lives in it to really fuck up someone’s day.

Schneider and Paul staying 50 plus steps ahead of the game. Even more so, could Schneider have Paul slow time so he could have a better chance of knowing what’s about to happen/copy a spell?

Flake and Paul working together to slow time, then open portals for enemies to run head first into at last second.

There’s some other ways but there’s a few! I’m so sorry this is so long.

[clericbyers]

Dungeons and Dragons, Will the Wise, Paladins, Wizards, and Clerics

I’ve been sitting on this idea for an analysis for a hot moment so, let’s dig in, yeah?

D&D is a large part of the Stranger Things storyline for a good number of reasons.

The campaign echoes the plot line of the seasons (as we see in ST1 and in ST3)

D&D is how the Party bonds and it’s a marker of their unity and friendship

Will and Mike specifically use D&D to escape from the issues they face in the real world: bullying for them both, Will specifically with sexual identity issues and not being “normal,” and Mike with insecurities and well, not having a girlfriend.

Because of 3, D&D is also a marker of Will and Mike’s unique bond and intense friendship. In the concept bible, Mike is specifically addressed to be Will’s best friend and to be the one friend most particularly troubled by Will’s disappearance (which we see make it in the show).

[ screenshots from the st concept bible ]

Now, Stranger Things has both official comics and a D&D starter kit. The comics is what I want to focus on the most in this first part. (FYI, All pictures used from here on out are my own/my own screenshots.)

Stranger Things Volume One: The Other Side

These are panels from the official Stranger Things comic with Dark Horse Comics. This in particular is from issue #4 which is set in S1. The series as a whole follows Will’s time in the Upside Down that we don’t get to see in the show. He flows a lot between remembering the campaign he and the Party were in the middle of before he was captured, and his hands on experience in the Upside Down. When El greets him in Castle Byers, Will is depicted as having mentally escaped into his Will the Wise persona to protect himself. He even sees El as an elf (check out her pointy ears!)

Now I want to bring in the Stranger Things D&D starter kit for a moment. It comes with 5 character sheets: paladin, cleric, bard, ranger, and wizard.

The wizard is a half-elf.

On the official D&D site, it’s stated that, “To humans, half-elves look like elves, and to elves, they look human.” Will the Wise is depicted as human in this comic, but El switches between looking elven and human when she finds him in Castle Byers. Much like Will fades in and out of his Will the Wise persona and himself, the cleric (who, according to the D&D starter kit, is a wood elf). 

Mike called El a mage in ST2 but he’s also constantly calling Will a cleric, his true self, even though the character Will the Wise is a wizard. (You can find more about what it means that Mike calls Will a cleric in this amazing theory from kaypeace21). I want to focus on the wizard class for just a moment here since that is what Will considers himself and that’s what El is (even if Mike sees her as a mage).

The Wizard(s)

Wizards are one of the base classes in D&D and as we all know, they are magic users. Spells and knowledge is why wizards keep up their studies, always learning new spells and new ways to harness arcane power. Wizards can study magic from one of these arcane traditions: Abjuration, Conjuration, Divination, Enchantment, Evocation, Illusion, Necromancy, or Transmutation. Thinking about El’s powers, she’s part of the Transmutation tradition: telekinesis, levitation, and Blink, which I wanna talk about more.

This is the description of the Blink spell, where “you vanish from your current plane of existence and appear in the Ethereal Plane.” Sounds like something El has done before, right? “While on the Ethereal Plane, you can see and hear the plane you originated from, which is cast in shades of gray, and you can't see anything there more than 60 feet away. You can only affect and be affected by other creatures on the Ethereal Plane. Creatures that aren't there can't perceive you or interact with you, unless they have the ability to do so.”

The Ethereal Plane can be considered the Void or the Upside Down. Only the monsters from the Upside Down can attack El when she’s there. Only Will was able to see her when she was there visiting him in Castle Byers.

Will the Wise though, given the fact he was going to cast fireball during the campaign, comes from Evocation. Evocation is basically elemental spells, so things like fire, earth, air, water, lightning, acid, and also communication. Let’s focus on “Sending”, a level 3 wizard evocation spell. “You send a short message of twenty-five words or less to a creature with which you are familiar. The creature hears the message in its mind, recognizes you as the sender if it knows you, and can answer in a like manner immediately.” Nice, but what about if you’re on a different plane like Will is? “You can send the message across any distance and even to other planes of existence, but if the target is on a different plane than you, there is a 5 percent chance that the message doesn't arrive.” While in the Upside Down, Will has the ability to contact through the lights and the radio, but we also know some of his messages don’t get through to his mom. 25 words or less according to the spell rules.

So, El and Will the Wise are wizards, but Mike the Dungeon Master believes they are mage and cleric respectively. El is truly a wizard, but Mike fantasizes about her being an all powerful and knowing mage. There’s not much different between the two but wizards are generally stereotyped to be those who gain magic through study while mages are more innate with their powers. This is a fair analysis given El “studied” her magic/powers (through abuse and torture) but Mike sees it as an innate gift, which it still is even if she was abused into using them.

So, mage vs wizard aside, we still have the idea that Will the Wise is a wizard but Will is a cleric. Let’s go back to the comics. 

When El leaves, Will is captured by the demogorgon. These two pages here are a flashback (these are interspersed throughout the series) of Mike and Will in the library reading books together right after he’s captured. It’s a cute moment for Will to think about despite being snatched up by the demogorgon and possibly about to die.

I want to focus on Will’s words in the last panel.

He said, “I’m just looking out for Will the Wise.” Okay, pause. Will is captured by a monster and he thinks about Mike, and not just any memory of Mike but one connected to them hanging out and reading books, one of which Mike is using for their next D&D campaign. As mentioned earlier, their personal connection is through D&D, the ST story comes alive in a manner similar to the Party’s D&D campaign and adventurers, so it’s important to keep in mind how both characters go about it throughout the seasons and even here in these comics. Moving on to the next page, Will says, “I want him to live forever.”

Okay, another pause. What else did Will expect to last forever? Him and Mike, hanging out in the basement playing games (in particular, D&D) for the rest of their lives. Basically, Will the Wise lives forever because they wouldn’t stop playing. The thing is, Will the Wise isn’t Will according to Mike. In Mike’s mind, Will is a cleric, which is a completely different class.

Mike prides himself on knowing his loved ones deeply, especially Will and El, so we’ll side with Mike for a second on Will truly being a cleric. Clerics and paladins are similar enough, though unlike paladins who follow an oath, clerics have a god they worship and their spells’ powers come from that godly worship’s domain. In the cleric class description for the Stranger Things D&D starter kit, clerics are “intermediaries between the mortal world and the distant planes of the gods.” Will is one who can go between the mortal world and the Upside Down / Mind Flayer. El can travel there as a wizard yes, but Will draws his magic from that domain. If we look at Will’s powers from a cleric POV,  he obtains his power from the Life Domain, as the character sheet also claims. Life includes healing powers and the ability to harness light and choose between two magical effects: Turn Undead or Preserve Life.

Now, Turn Undead means undead creatures will spend a turn getting away from you if it fails a Wisdom saving throw (a saving throw is a check the DM will make for the creature to see if it is able to complete an attack or take action). Preserve Life on the other hand heals creatures nearby.

Cleric instead of Wizard

Let’s look at Will’s abilities in the Upside Down / possessed by the Mind Flayer as him being a cleric instead of a wizard. Will was able to communicate with his mom and Mike through the lights and the radio. This is a level 1 evocation cleric spell called Thaumaturgy. Here, a cleric manifests a sign of supernatural power for a minute at a time. Flickering lights, diming or changing the color of lights is included in this. Clerics can also cast the Sending spell, which again allows for contact across planes and given the Cleric is labeled to be level 3, this is another possible spell for Will to cast as a Cleric rather than as Will the Wise.

In the Upside Down, Will can hear previously dead creatures talking to him. This could be part of Revify or Speak with Dead, which are Cleric spells that both deal with talking to previously dead creatures.

Back to that harnessing light point. The Mind Flayer was banished with light/heat (fireball in ST2 with the fire in the labs / getting burned and then ST3 with the fireworks). Will banishes darkness in ST2 with happy, healing (light) memories, his love for his family and the people most devastated by his disappearance: Joyce, Jonathan, and Mike. Will is a healer; once he starts healing thanks to the love his mom, his brother, and Mike (his crush) impart on him, he starts to resist the Mind Flayer more. ST3 shows us still that the Mind Flayer is very vulnerable to happy memories and healing through them.

The Dungeon Master

Mike is usually the DM and has a large hand in what happens to Will the Wise during campaigns; this is again pointing to how Mike has kinda always had the ball in his court when it comes to the relationship between himself and Will. In ST3, Will the Wise, the wizard not the cleric, is DM and trying to get a grasp on keeping the game alive. As DM, you don’t play your character, so the wizard with his fireball and ability to go between planes of existence and the cleric with his healing abilities and harnessing light / happy memories aren’t active. Will the Wise is so obviously a characterture in this scene. There’s heavy exaggeration, Will is trying to play a part but the adventurers are not really participating (which is also showing how these three got on the issue with the Mind Flayer’s return a little later than possible, as many ‘villagers’ ended up dying).

This campaign is being played with a paladin who has lost his way (Mike) and a ranger who kinda did the same--though rangers don’t have oaths like paladins do so it’s not the same; plus Mike’s paladin losing his way would be a more egregious offense than Lucas’ ranger and Mike is the one who really offends Will the most in this situation. Mike and Lucas try to shut the campaign down, try to kill Will the Wise controlling the situation. That’s when Will loses it. He’s trying to keep Will the Wise alive all the past couple days, trying to keep him and Mike together, and Mike just shut him down and didn’t care. Will’s reaction, which is odd for someone like a healer, brings Mike back to his oath.

According to the ST D&D kit, Mike’s paladin has sworn an Oath of Devotion. This means Mike is bound to justice, virtue, and order, something like a knight. “They hold themselves to the highest standards of conduct, and some, for better or worse, hold the rest of the world to the same standards.” Breaking that Oath, as Mike has done in ST3, is damaging and requires a cleric who shares their faith to bring them back on the path.

(This is something unique to 5th edition, but a paladin who broke their oath and doesn’t seek absolution becomes an Oathbreaker. They keep their base powers, but becomes darker and more attuned to evil creatures. When Mike lied and broke his oath with El, he didn’t seek absolution and instead, became darker and ruder and even less oath driven. When he upset Will, he immediately rushed after Will to apologize and seek forgiveness. By the end of the night, Mike started fresh just in time for the battle of Starcourt, where he was far more a paladin and faithful leader of the Party.)

The Paladin

Now, let’s discuss some more of Mike’s paladin powers outside of the D&D campaigns. Paladins have a holy symbol and can speak a prayer that turns other creatures so they won’t fight. They also have a spell called Zone of Truth, where basically any creature that comes into that zone cannot lie. Friends don’t lie. We also know Mike in particular is able to touch Will and bring him back from the Upside Down throughout ST2. Mike’s paladin though according to the D&D kit, draws on divine magic through prayer just like a cleric. He is also tied to Life Domain just like Will and can be a healing presence through his touch (Lay on Hands spell) and prayer (Turn the Unholy as seen in the shed scene in ST2 where Mike’s confession could be seen as a healing prayer).

Mike the paladin and Will the cleric are extremely similar and bound to each other in interesting ways. Mike the DM and Will the Wise on the other hand...Mike creates the campaign, he builds the story, he creates the universe, and takes on a persona and Will does the same. These two D&D masks are what they both escape into as professed in the concept bible. Will in particular is more uninhibited when being Will the Wise. He’s able to be braver (as shown in the comics when he slips into his Will the Wise persona to stay alive). When they aren’t playing D&D though, Mike and Will are the paladin and cleric respectively and are so in the real adventure they ‘play’ with the Upside Down.

Saying Goodbye

Now we get to the end of ST3 where Will is donating his D&D manuals. I’ve already done a very Byler centric look at this scene, but pulling away from that ship-heavy lense, I want to point out that this is also a symbol of Will growing out of Will the Wise. Will destroying Castle Byers is also another symbol of this. Castle Byers is Will the Wise’s fort. It’s where he goes in the Upside Down to feel safe, where he meets El, where he takes on the Will the Wise persona when he thinks he’s about to die. By destroying the fort, he’s ending the Will the Wise persona as well. So, that Castle Byers scene is a combination of Will accepting growing up through 1) acknowledging his feelings for Mike, 2) trying to destroy the feelings because he knows it’s not appropriate / part of growing up according to Mike, and 3) recognizing that Will the Wise won’t live forever.

When Will donates the manuals, he’s accepting his cleric role while telling Mike that it’s not possible to want to play another party. Implied in that is the fact that Will only wants this party where Mike is DM, where Mike is the paladin to his cleric, where Mike is devoted and loyal and trustworthy to not just the Party, but to Will as well. And Mike as DM has the power to build a new campaign, a new story, for Will now as the cleric he is.

Hopefully, ST4 will gives us the next step in both how Mike and Will face their changed friendship through their D&D adventurers as paladin and cleric and in real life between each other as Mike and Will. Also, looking forward to further insight into the fact that the Mind Flayer took away El’s powers but exists in the same domain that gave Will his (hopefully permanent but as for now, temporary) powers.

[ If you made it to the end, honestly thank you a bunch for reading this! I have heavy focus on Will, El, and Mike here, but if you want details on Dustin and Lucas’ bard and ranger, let me know! I’m so down to post about those characters, too. ]

[scatterpatter]

15 w Corren!

15: What is your characters background story?

OHOHO, so I’m going to leave One Detail Out because there’s one part of his backstory I don’t wanna spoil for Jazz yet, but... >:3c

Also it’s under the cut because i totally infodumped and then some OOPSIE

oh also cws: serious illness, death, domestic violence, depression

Corren Hartwell grew up the youngest of 3 siblings, the oldest being his big sis Mila and the middle child being his bro Julian. Their parents were pretty detached emotionally, but that’s pretty par for the course where he was from, and they provided for the kids so it really wasn’t all that bad. Not a perfect family, no fam ever is, but they were happy.

His race’s culture is super inclined to intelligence and studying technology, the mind, etc, so Corren spent his childhood being a total bookworm. Studying history, arcana, all sorts of stuff... he never really minded it, though. He was actually quite good at what he did! 

Mila was a spellcaster- I honestly forgot what school of magic she was in OOPS, and Julian dual-classed as a Necromancer and Bard! Jules and Mila were both pretty close in age, and they were like besties on top of being siblings, and they’d often team up to do small adventuring jobs: hit up the help wanted board in town and take care of short deliveries or a monster stalking a farm or something like that- both for the thrill and to also earn some extra gold for the family. They loved Corren, but they couldn’t take him with them because it was too dangerous for him since he was still just a little kid. Still, Corren admired them and wanted to be just like them(better, even?) when he grew up! ... Oh yeah I always forget this detail but Corren’s totally trans XD He came out pretty young but his family was chill with it so like... ayyyeee

Though one day, Mila started getting sick. Corren doesn’t really know what it was, but for whatever reason she wasn’t able to heal from it with simple healing spells. It was a slow process, but she was just getting worse instead of better, and one day she passed. The family was a wreck, understandably. The issue is... Corren and Julian had... different ways of grieving. Corr was still young, the equivalent of like someone 10-12 in human years, so he didn’t fully grasp the concept of death just yet. He retreated into himself a lot, had trouble grounding himself to the present and really struggling with depression. Julian, about the equivalent of someone 16-18, had a better understanding of what was going on, but he was wrecked. He wanted their sister back, and was so upset he couldnt do anything... but he wanted to try. He ended up doing something rash, and... well, spoilers ;) (dont worry he didnt hurt Corren or anyone else, but... he Fucked Up in what he tried doing)

Things quickly went downhill from there for the Hartwells. There was often a lot of fighting between Julian and their parents, or Corren would be chided for being unable to focus, like, at all, and... Corren and Jules never really fought, but there was a clear rift between them after what happened. They still loved each other, but it was so obvious their relationship would never be like what it was when Mila was still around, and that hurt both of them so much.

A few months later, things reached a boiling point and Julian was kicked out of their home. Before he left, though, he found Corren and gave him something: a small amethyst pendant on a necklace chain, something Julian used to always wear. They made a promise that this wasn’t gonna be goodbye, that they’d find each other again, and then Jules was gone. It was just Corren and his mom and dad.

Things were still strained, and Corren just did his best to keep to his studies to distract himself from everything. Not wanting Corren to end up like his brother, his parents forbade anything necrotic in the magic he learned. The problem was... Corren still loved Julian. And still wanted to be like him, to a point, so... he would study necromancy in secret. It was kinda like his little lifeline like “hey Jules is still here to an extent if I know the spells he does”, and things seemed to be going okay, for the most part

Well uh... one day his father caught him practicing his necromancy and... well, was far from happy about it. An argument quickly erupted between them both, a lot of yelling back and forth, and before Corr could react properly, his father grabbed something from the desk and struck him with it, giving him a pretty bad cut across his right eye(the smol scar I always draw? Yeah...). In a panic, Corren’s flight of fight kicked in as he cast a magic missile at his father in retaliation. Corren isn’t sure if his attack just stunned, knocked out, or killed his father, but the flight of fight-or-flight kicked in as he just ran from the situation. He had no idea what he was to do or where to go, but he just knew he couldn’t go back home after that.

SO this poor kid, probably the equivalent of a 14-15 y/o, is out on his own now... and he sure does his best. He mainly spends his time hopping from town to town, taking up small jobs to get some gold in his pockets, and is just... focusing on surviving. Going from this sheltered lifestyle to suddenly on the streets was a wake-up call and then some, but he found ways to make it work. Luckily his background of studying all the time gave him enough intelligence to take up tasks others weren’t as capable of, but it was still... far from easy. But he made it work!

One day he’s in a city known as Lilenthemar, just taking a break in one of the town squares, when an Elven man takes a seat on the bench next to him. They both sit in a comfortable silence for a while... but the elf then strikes a conversation. Corren, socially awkward like no tomorrow, tries to keep up the conversation... key word tries. The man introduces himself as Jethro, and I imagine the conversation took a turn like this:

Jethro: I don’t see many Marelienths around here, are you new in town?

Corren: Yeah, just passing through I guess. ... Gotta say, wasn’t expecting to see the Dragon Saint of the Green as I came here, though.

Jethro, laughing: Ah, yes, Raerose. Don’t worry, he’s a kind dragon. Though, it’s certainly surprising to those who are new to the city.

Corren: Oh, no, I know all about Raerose and his connections to this city and the Edgewoods. I just wasn’t expecting to... you know, run into his path as quickly as I did.

Jethro: Oh, so you’ve done your research, I take it?

At that point, Corren does what any neurodivergent would do when asked about his hobbies: Infodumps the hell out of what he knows. He’s far from a great scholar, considering he’s only the equivalent of someone 16-21ish at this point and spent quite a few years away from studying in favor of surviving, but he was still very intelligent and knowledgable about what he talked about. Jethro, picking up on this, decided to offer Corren a temporary position as a Family Historian. Jethro was actually a noble, something Corr somehow didn’t pick up on, and not only could’ve used the help... but also, he kiiiinda picked up on the fact that Corren looked like a kid who could use a place to stay for a while. Corren, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, immediately accepted the offer.

Now, Corren wasn’t intending to stay for long. A few months, maybe a year or two... but. He realized he was building a pretty stable life by having a consistent job for the elf- it didn’t make much sense to just leave that in favor of hopping from place to place with no purpose. Not to mention, he was actually growing quite close to his boss. They’d often spent time together during off-hours, sitting in a comfortable quiet, just taking comfort in each other’s presence. Jethro’s actually the only one Corren ever opened up to about his past, and over the years Corren really grew to love him in a strong platonic way. They both struggled with their own grieving, Jethro with his passed wife and son he hadn’t seen in years, and Corren with his passed sister and brother he hadn’t seen in years, which only helped them grow closer, since they understood each other’s pain, in a sense.

He still struggled with depression, but overall Corren was doing pretty damn well in life. ... Many years later, Corren being 44(idk which human-equivalent this would be. Mid-Late 20s? Early 30s?), actually gets to meet Jethro’s son, Jericho, and the party he traveled with... called the F.U.C.K.s. ... I couldn’t make this shit up even if I tried. They needed help getting to a place called the Menoa Tree, which Corren happened to have studied for a long while, so he offered to help the party. ... They totally broke him with their antics. He proceeded to have a mental breakdown in front of them, and essentially went “FUCK THIS IM GOING HOME AND TAKING A NAP”. Jethro got a laugh out of the furious rambling Corren came home with.

... But despite that, something stuck with him. He just couldn’t quite get the party out of his mind. Something about them, as frustrating as they were, was almost... magnetic? ... Well, weeks later, word came to Lilenthemar about a war that had been raging on for years now... but specifically of a battle at a city known as Joshua, the forces being lead by Jericho alongside many others. Jethro was of course worried about his boy... and Corren... well, something in him changed. He wanted to know more about the FUCKs and just WHAT their deal was, and he wanted to ease Jethro’s worries, so... he grabbed a sniper rifle and decided that he’d go help protect Jericho and his friends as they fought. 

He eventually caught up to the party, convinced them to let him help, and after many battles... the war was won(Corren kinda came in at the tail-end of it all). The only thing is... after that, Corren didn’t really want to go home just yet. He actually enjoyed spending time with the party... and then it clicked: They were powerful adventurers who were totally crazy, stupid, and had no sense of self-preservation... they were just like Julian. And Corren loved it, even when they drove him crazy. He felt alive, which is something he realized he hadn’t felt in a long time... and quickly grew attached to his party, Alistair now taking the reigns as leader as Jericho retired from adventuring. And, well, he’s stuck with them ever since!

He still has Julian’s amethyst, as they’ve yet to reunite(yknow, assuming Jules is still alive even), but... certain events are causing some concern with the story I’m telling. Mainly... Corren is slowly facing Aboleth Corruption(he doesn’t know this yet, but is starting to suspect there’s something wrong with him), and that’s causing parts of his memory to be... patchy. Certain things aren’t lining up, and there could be more(or just different altogether) pieces of this story than what I’ve just told... but we’ll have to wait and see until we get to the quest that deals with that before we find out what’s REALLY going on ;)

... HEY UM I HOPE YALL DONT MIND THE IMMENSE INFODUMP IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR THEN THANK U FOR CARING ABT MY BOI ;-;

[godlyborn]

what’s your plan? | jordan & victoria.

date: july 18, 2020, a few hours after talking with cyrus characters: jordan abe & victoria brant summary: victoria tells jordan that she’s leaving to go find hecate. jordan thinks it’s a bad idea, victoria doesn’t listen.

Victoria was in the Hecate cabin library, choosing some books to take with her while on the trip with Cyrus. She knew that if she was going to see Hecate, possibly, she needed to study somethings. She looked over when she heard someone walk in, only to find Jordan strolling in. "Hey," she said to him. "Are you going to use any of these?" She pointed to the little stack she had already made. "Is it cool if I take them?"

Jordan hadn't been expecting to see anyone when he walked into the cabin, but he also wasn't surprised, with how many of the old residents would also come and go, taking books on the subjects that they needed. "Hey." Jordan had mostly been interested in the darker selection, focused on necromancy, death, spirits and summoning, so when he ran his eyes over the titles of the books, he shook his head slowly, then smirked. "Trying to turn someone into a frog?"

“No, trying to turn someone back into a human,” Vic joked back. “Do we have a book just specifically on breaking curses anywhere?” She looked over the books.

Jordan gave her a strange smile and hummed. "There was one with an entire section on it, but not the whole book." He ran his finger along the covers on one bookshelf. "I think you might have it there, but I believe there's another one..." He disappeared behind one shelf and reappeared a few moments later, holding a book with a dark green cover. "This one. It always ends up in a weird section of the library. Jumps around. Maybe that's its curse." He smirked. "What do you need these for?"

Victoria looked at the book, flipping through the pages when she took it from him. "I think I tried this one already," she replied. "We only have two?" she replied. She sighed, that meant that she would really have to go. "I have to do something for a friend." She sighed slightly, and looked at him. "Which also means I have to leave camp, but if I tell you, you have to keep it a secret about where I'm going, because people aren't going to like it."

"Just the two," Jordan confirmed as he nodded. His expression grew more serious, and he frowned at her, leaning against the table where her books were stacked. "I don't really tell people shit. Where are you going?"

Victoria let out a soft sigh. “I’m going to try and find our dear mother, father, parent,” she replied. It had been years since she’s seen Hecate, the last time Hecate was trying to recruit her just before the war broke out. She leaned against the bookcase. “Cyrus and I. Hecate’s the one who cast the curse, and I guess I’m gonna have to actually ask her how to break it. You know, without me dying, or something.”

Jordan pressed his lips together in a thin line. He hadn't be present for the torment that their shared parent had brought upon camp, but Jordan had heard enough about it from Victoria to know that a curse was hardly unprecedented from Hecate. Reversing one cause by the goddess of magic however... Jordan wasn't sure if that was possible, and if it was, he was pretty sure it was a terrible idea. "Why are you guys cursed? What happened?"

"It's a long story, but I'm not the one cursed," Victoria replied. She crossed her arms, moving her hair from her face, her fingertips resting on the ends of the hair, twirling it around her fingers. "I just, I uh have to find her, find where they have some weird God jail they told us she was in. Beg her? I don't know. She's got to have some care in her arm for her own blood? Right? I don't know, it's worth a shot."

"Do you have any idea as to how to find her? Where that god jail is, if it even is a place rather than a concept?" Jordan wasn't exactly sure why, but the idea of Victoria facing Hecate was off putting and upsetting to him. "What's your plan?"

"Plan? Uh, we were just gonna wing it," Victoria replied. "I"m sure we can get some God to tell us, maybe Hermes." Victoria shrugged. "What proper way do I have to go about seeing a God that killed a bunch of people and destroyed camp?"June 21, 2020

Jordan shrugged. "I dunno, have you tried reaching out to talk to her? I guess Hermes is a good idea, he definitely knows where everyone is. How are you gonna find him?"

"How am I supposed to reach her. If she's in this so-called God Jail or whatever, I don't think we can even have contact with her." Victoria shrugged again, she didn't exactly have the best plan, yet again that's how her and Cyrus worked. "That I also don't know."

“I dunno, look up a spell for it?” Jordan frowned and scuffed his shoe on the ground. He raised his eyebrows a bit. “Looks like you don’t really have this all figured out.”

"I don't know if we can even use spells for that. I mean it's God level shit, I can sometimes not even do demigod level shit," Victoria replied. "I don't know, Cyrus and I work well on impulse."

Jordan pursed his lips. "Do you? Or do you guys get by on impulse?" He frowned and crossed his arms. "I think you should do more research before going out and doing god-level shit. Gather intel, that kinda thing, talk to Hermes and then do more research before just... going to her."

Victoria raised her eyebrows at Jordan when he crossed his arms. “Well,” she confirmed. She then shrugged again, only slightly this time. “She holds grudges, I don’t think research is going to stop her doing whatever she wants. Cyrus is desperate to fix it, and well, I’ll do anything for him, he’s my best friend.”

Jordan just frowned more, obviously upset. “Okay, I’m just saying that this isn’t something to take lightly. What did he do to get himself cursed anyway?”

"Who said he was the one cursed?" Victoria replied.

Jordan raised his eyebrows. "You just said that you'd do anything for him. Are you the one who's cursed?"

"It's a long story," she told him, not wanting to go into too much, for the sake of Cyrus. "Just," she put her hands on his shoulders. "I'll be okay, alright? Just don't do anything stupid while I'm gone, okay? I don't want to come home to a beat up brother or something."

“So you’re not.” Jordan frowned again and looked away from Victoria. He almost pulled away from her grasp, and opened his mouth to correct her, but then closed it again, figuring it was a detail that didn’t matter. “Ugh, shut up.” He looked back at her. “As if I’m the one doing something stupid. Is this a quest? Everyone keeps coming back from those half dead. Or dead,” he added. He paused for a moment, then pulled her into a quick hug, his heart rattling in his chest as he thought the worst. “If you need help,” he said as he pulled away, looking at the books again. “Call me. Send me coordinates or a location or... something. I can try to help.”

Victoria smiled slightly when Jordan didn’t correct her, and smiled a little bigger when he hugged her. “Oh, so he does have a heart,” she teased. “It’s not a quest, it’s more of a last resort at this point. I’ll be fine Jordan. If things don’t work out, I’ll get out of there.”

Jordan rolled his eyes and sighed instead of commenting. She was probably using humor to push away hard feelings. Family resemblance, he thought to himself, though he pushed the thought away as soon as it came. “You’d better,” he mumbled. “I know you’re not that stupid. You’re at least half as stupid as most of the people sent on quests.”

“Wow thanks,” Victoria replied. She then wrapped her arms around him in a hug again. “Thank you,” she said sincerely this time.

Jordan sighed and hugged her back after a moment, then pulled away again. "Just..." He looked down, ringing his hands together. "I dunno, stay safe, be prepared, don't eat yellow snow and all that."

Victoria ruffled Jordan's hair. "I promise I will, and I won't eat yellow snow."

Jordan swatted at Victoria's hand and smoothed out his hair. "Cool." He set his jaw and pursed his lips. "When are you leaving?"

"Within the next day or two," Victoria replied.

Jordan’s lips tugged slightly downwards and he nodded. “Alright, well... everything I said, yeah.” He rocked back and forth on his feet before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her in another quick hug. “Please don’t make me commit matricide in an act of revenge.”

"I won't, I promise," Victoria answered, hugging Jordan back.

Jordan sighed and pulled away again. “Cool, yeah.” He rubbed his brow and then stepped back. “Guess I’ll... see you when you get back.” He picked up a book he was originally looking for and looked away before teleporting out of the cabin.

[numeronubisexualhawkeye]

Be Kind, Rewind

2278 words

@thatahjuma

(ngl cheif, almost didn’t do this one cause it was kinda hard for me lmao)

It was Quill's idea. All of the guardians and Thor had been onboard in an instant, but Clint was hesitant when Nebula had come forward to tell him the plan. He missed Natasha more than words could describe, but Clint wasn’t one to try to fuck with the dead.

He had already time travelled twice in one week, fought an alien army for the second time in his life, and ran around with a glove with stones powerful enough to wipe out a planet, all in the course of 72 hours. Necromancy was something he probably should have expected to be next on his involuntary to-do list, but not like this. Not with Natasha.

She had quite literally given her life for the fate of the universe, so that he could live to see victory. Undoing her sacrifice felt selfish, and a part of him feared that undoing her death would somehow undo the battle against Thanos. It also felt incredibly unfair. Who was he, or any of the guardians, to play G-d? Clint could understand Quill’s need to do this, Gamora had had no choice in Thanos being her father and being killed for the soul stone. But Natasha, she was different. It felt disrespectful to go for such a long shot to bring her back. She had wanted to jump, had bet her life that it would work, and it did. They won. Hurt like a bitch, but Clint was ready to accept that she had died as she had lived; working to save the world. He wasn’t sure if he was willing to undo what she’d done all because he missed her.

But Bruce confirmed the math (even if almost all of it was completely theoretical), and everyone onboard was willing to give it a shot. Worst case scenario, everyone hangs it up, and tries to move on with life, try to carve out something new among the old ashes of a missing loved one. Best case scenario, well Clint knew what that was, but he was still too afraid to think on it. What if she came back angry? Would she even come back the same? Would the Red Skull even let her come back at all? There was only one way to find out. He packed his bags, boarded the ship, and held on as Rocket piloted them to lightspeed back to Vormir.

Clint was almost mesmerized when he saw Vormir appear out of the vast blackness of space when Rocket pulled them out of lightspeed. But when the realization of what they were here to attempt to do flooded his mind again, he felt uneasy. This felt like a mistake waiting to happen. It wasn’t going to work, there was too much working against them for this to work. They were about to mess with a magic Clint had never seen before. Even after being around aliens for the last 24 hours and seeing the Infinity Stones’ power for himself, he still felt like they were meddling with something completely out of their realm of comprehension.

They exited the ship, Quill leading them at first, but Nebula stopped them halfway up the mountain and turned to Clint. “You should address the guardian.” she said.

He had been nervous before, but hearing her suggestion, it made him want to turn around and wait on the ship. The plan had originally been for Quill to go first, seeing as Gamora had died more recently than Natasha had. If everything went smoothly and she came back, then that would mean that the chance of bringing Natasha back were better than the some odd million to one chances that Bruce had offered when he hypothesized their plan back at on Earth. If he went forward first and this didn’t work, he didn’t know what he would do. He had failed to turn up to fight Thanos, wasted five years brooding and killing, left Natasha alone to deal with trying to run the Avengers and save the world by herself, and when he finally came back, he barely had any time to appreciate those last few hours they had had together. He had always envisioned the both of them making it out together. That they would be together right now, leaving the guardians to fight their own battle alone and finally leave the world in the hands of some of the fresher Avengers. But all of that had dropped into oblivion when Natasha let go of his hand. But now, well now he had a chance to get it all back. A very fragile and slim chance, but a chance nonetheless. Their plan wasn’t foolproof, but he would much rather stick to it than wing it and hope for the best.

“Nebula, seriously?” Quill said stepping towards Clint. “I really doubt some guy is gonna be able to handle whatever Hellraiser here is gonna throw at him.”

Nebula’s expression didn’t change. She simply shot a glance between Quill and Clint. “You’re wrong. He’s been here before. Tried to give his life to save Natasha so she could bring the stone back. He can do it.”

“I’m flattered,” Clint started, “but,” he didn’t have time to formulate a full answer.

“Clint, son of Edith.” the Red Skull said. He floated down from the cliffs above. Had he been able to hear them this entire time? “Nebula, daughter of Thanos. Peter, son of,”

“Okay, enough with the role call,” Quill cut in. “We’re here to bargain.” Quill reached inside his pocket and held out the soul stone. It had been agreed upon that he would be the one to carry it, seeing as he had held the power stone years before without dying.

The Red Skull didn’t say anything. As a matter of fact, he looked, confused. His eyes squinted and he reached out his hand for the stone when Quill held it out. “No one has ever brought it back.” he explained. He paused again, and looked at Clint. “You have come for an exchange?”

Nebula’s plan to have Clint speak instead seemed to be set in motion even though no one had agreed on it. “Yes. You remember me?” Clint asked.

The guardian nodded. “Of course. Few ever follow through with the exchange for the stone. But even fewer willingly give themselves for it.”

Clint fought against the lump in his throat as he remembered he and Natasha fighting each other as they raced to the cliff’s edge. “It should have been me. If I switch places, and you bring Natasha back,”

“Barton what are you doing?” Quill hissed beside him. “This wasn’t the plan.”

“We’re fucking with death Quill, you really think any kind of plan was going to hold water here?” Clint whispered harshly. “We have to play by his rules, or turn around with our tails between our legs. If this doesn’t work, then nothing else will.”

Clint was willing to give his life for Natasha. He had done it so many times before back when Shield was still around, G-d all those missions seemed so trivial compared to what he was trying to do now. Jumping in front of a fire fight to pull Natasha to cover felt like a walk in a park to this. But he was willing to do it. He was already willing to give his life for the soul stone before, and not just for Natasha, but for the fate of the universe. Now that the dust had settled and he had a second chance, a chance to do things right in his eyes, he wasn’t too eager to screw that up because Quill suddenly had a penchant for doing things according to plan.

He held his hand out to Quill. “Give me the stone.” he instructed. “I can’t make any promises, but I will try my hardest to bring Gamora back.”

Quill looked away for a moment, his face twisted as he weighed the very limited options. It was either this, or they both jump and hope the Red Skull accepted 50/50 deals. “Fine.” Quill said at last. “But if this doesn’t work, I swear to G-d, I will dig you up and kick your corpse’s ass.”

He hadn’t said it to be funny, but Clint smirked anyway. “It’s going to work. He took the stone from Quill and walked to the Red Skull. “A soul for a soul, that’s what you said right?”

The Skull’s expression was unchanged. “Follow me.”

Clint gave one last glance over his shoulder to the guardians as he walked to the mountaintop. This is the only way. He thought. It’s better this way. Natasha was going to come back, the scales would be tipped to order. Clint just prayed that his promise to Quill would hold up, he couldn’t stand to think if he had wasted another life and kept another couple apart because of his selfishness.

At the mountaintop, Clint swore he could hear the ghost of he and Natasha’s conversation in his ears. To the Red Skull, that had been almost a decade ago, but to Clint, it had barely been two days. He walked to the edge, the Red Skull following closely behind him.

“A soul for a soul.” he repeated. He looked back to the guardian, “Will this even work?”

The Skull didn’t answer. He just held out his hand. Clint looked at the stone in his hand one last time. For a moment, he wondered if he could bring the Red Skull down with him. When he and Natasha had first come to Vormir, he had said that he knew all there was about the stone. He had seen G-d knows how many people come to try and get the stone, the few that did leaving half the person that they had been before. Those souls and bodies didn’t just disappear. They had to go somewhere. The stone was the only logical answer, but if that were true, then they would have been released when Bruce snapped his fingers.

A soul for a soul.

Clint held his hand out toward the Red Skull, and when he brushed his hand with his to take it, Clint lunged forward off the cliff. He tried to be quick with his grappling hook to catch himself, but the added weight of the Red Skull pulled him down too fast. Falling through the air, he felt impossibly slow, but he still reached out for the cliff wall, praying to find any ledge to take hold of. But there was none, and he finished the fall with the Red Skull, the soul stone forgotten in the air around them as he met the stone floor of the ground below.

There was a rush of sound around him. Wind? An explosion? No, no it was quieter than that. It was voices. Only a few of them, but he was sure that’s what he was hearing. But as quickly as they came, they were gone, the air in his ears popping as if the air was rushing to fill in the void that the voices had left when they vanished.

Clint’s eyes snapped open, he was staring up at the same purple-black sky that he had seen when he awoke with the soul stone. He bolted upward, his back soaked, he was in the same pool of water as last time.

“No.” Clint whispered to himself. He looked down at his hand, and there was the soul stone, the soft glow a beacon in his hand, telling him that he had failed twice now. “No. No, no, no, no.” he cried.

It didn’t work. Of course it didn’t work. Just like he had suspected, they had tried to play G-d, and G-d played back.

He put his face in his hands and heaved out a sob. He didn’t care if the guardians heard him. He had failed again. Now, not only had he gone against Natasha’s dying wish and every conceivable law of nature, but himself as well.

“Who the hell are you?” a voice nearby said.

Clint looked up and saw a woman, no, an alien, green skin and all, standing a few feet away from him. “Gamora?” he whispered. She backed away slowly when she looked down and saw the stone in Clint’s hand.

“Hey, hey, no. I, I wasn’t supposed to get this. It was supposed to be a tra-”

“Clint.”

This time the voice came from behind him, but he didn’t need to turn around to see who it belonged to. He would know her voice long after he had passed on. Natasha.

Slowly, he allowed himself to turn around. When he saw her, he broke. They walked toward each other, his arms stretched wide, ready to pull him into his embrace. When they met in the middle, she pushed him away with tears in her eyes.

“I told you to go. You weren’t supposed to come back. I told you it was okay!” Despite the anger in her voice, she cried. But he wasn’t listening. He pulled her to him and kissed her, letting the stone drop to the water as he pressed his hands against her back. She was there, she was alive, she was real.

“You know I’m a jackass.” he said when he finally paused for air.

Natasha let out a short laugh. “Fuck. Me dying to save the literal universe just wasn’t good enough, huh?”

Clint didn’t even know what to say. He just kissed her again and took her hand, as he lead them and Gamora back to the guardians and the ship, so they could finally live in the victory they deserved.

[thestarsofdragons]

Necromancers (and friends)

So having posted my necromancy headcanons, I’m going to follow it up with a dragonshare of my own Necromancers and accompanying dragons. (Note, None of the outfits are finished in my actual lair, what you see here are from the dressingroom, though I am working on bringing them to reality.) actual dragons under the readmore cause this got long!

First is, of course, the first Necromancer to join the clan. Aesthetic over function, mister edgelord, OP dumbass with no risk assessment abilities, Vardijurn. (Pronounced: Var de jurn. j is like the french soft j not hard like english does it)

This right here, this is what a walking pile of problems looks like.

From raising emperors before my clan found him, to teaching a weredragon serthis seeking to overthrow dragonkind how to do necromancy when he was supposed to be spying on them, to openly courting the plaguebringer’s ire along with generally the ire of all the eleven, to refusing the acknowledge that his use of shade energy in his necromancy will eventually corrupt and consume him, this dude seems to live to cause problems. He is also completely extra, the sort of person who is absolutely convinced that everything hinges entirely on the presentation and aesthetic. Those rips are absolutely intentional, and if he falls over that skirt you can bet he’ll find a way to make it look like he meant to do that. He’s genuinely trying to look scary as a defence mechanism but sometimes he seems kinda camp instead, like an over-the-top 80′s villain in a big chair stroking a white cat. Of course, this aesthetic is not complete without at least one henchman, which brings us to...

The undead assistant, Kliaujhwe. (Pronounced: Kle ow jwe, j is soft again)

Kliaujhwe was animated by Vardijurn to be his assistant, months before my clan found him. Kliaujhwe doesn’t remember much of being alive, and doesn’t much mind being Vardijurn’s assistant. He’s pretty smart, and understands what Vardijurn does well enough to be of genuine assistance. He continues to be Vardijurn’s assistant even now, and also will guard Vardi’s lab when he’s out. He is completely loyal to Vardijurn, and follows his commands without question.

And then there’s the spawn of Arenji, loyal follower of her god of chance, gamebreaker, and necromancer to match Vardijurn - Celyn.

A newcomer to the clan, one might expect Celyn and Vardijurn to find themselves butting heads as they vie for the position of best necromancer in the clan and their different approaches on how to do it - she draws her power from Arenji instead of the shade - but that is not what happened. They quickly fell into step on equal terms, swapping ideas and working together to unite and expand their powers, all the while crossing commentary on the flaws and lies of the Eleven. While the harmony pleases Jean, then clan leader does find herself concerned about what exactly the pair are going to end up doing. However Celyn’s close working with Vardijurn has raised one Dragon’s ire...

The assassin, the flower with claws and Vardijurn’s girlfriend, Hyjinrakka. (Pronounced: Hy-jin rack ka. Another soft j, my conlang uses the soft j a lot)

Hyjinrakka is as cold as her element, being willing to kill just about anyone... for the right price. She has a taste for the finer things in life and, in contrast to her boyfriend, likes to look as harmless as possible to lull others into a false sense of security. After all, it’s much easier to slip a blade between someone’s ribs when they just asked the pretty little dame to dance and you’re doing a nice waltz. It was poisoned, you barely nicked them, no-one will know something is wrong until she’s gone and then it’s far far too late. This leads anyone who doesn’t know the pair too well to think Hyjinrakka is some kind of damsel in distress who needs saving from the cruel necromancer, but honestly it’s Hyjinrakka that’s the actually dangerous one, and if anyone’s being saved by anyone it’s usually her saving Vardijurn by killing whatever problem he’s created this time before it either kills him or escapes. Also she’s willing to donate her targets to his experiments whenever a contract requests the body to not be found - unfortunately for them Jean has set down a rule that while they are in her clan the necromancers aren’t allowed to practice on Dragons or Beastclans, so her “donations” cannot often be used.