#i was fighting for my life trying to spell indiscernible

[spottedloaf]

shoutout to dexter erotoph & his weird indiscernible accent

[scribeofmorpheus]

Himmeløyne [24/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: Angst???

A/N: Sorry for the slow updates and return, it’s been a shitty year for me so far and I barely have the energy to be creative or enjoy writing as I used to. Anyhoo, enough dark-loomimg-clouds overhead, I’m going to try and write more and slowly get back in the flow of things. Can’t wait to conclude this journey with all my Loki lovers out there!!♥

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Heimdall

The descent from the mountain was tough. The winds held a biting anger to them, as though they knew outsiders had slipped into Jotunheim, unwanted. It was morning, or a semblance of it, and the snow threatened to turn its grey, sludgy pelt to a blinding light-catcher. Snow blindness would have been an issue had the sun been young in Jotunheim. This old world was always angry every time he stepped foot on its lands, but, after the gates of Mímir’s Tomb closed behind him, the world seemed the slightest bit angrier.

Y/N stirred in his arms. Eyes closed, brows drawn close together. Her lips moved as if possessed, soundless words spilling from her mouth in a fervent cascade. Speech of tongues, a sign of dark magic possession. Y/N’s consciousness was in the stream now, and none could wake her. Even her magic, her presence, was sealed off to his own. Every time he tried to reach out, he felt nothing but the air on his cheeks, or the snow on exposed skin. It was cold. Cold and empty. He knew this feeling all too well. It had taken years for him to become adept in traversing the ways of dark magic. In his youth, it was common for him to be overcome by the Transcendence—the pull of the power of the ancients. Dark magic tapped into more than just the kindling of the Eternal Flame that breathed life into Yggdrasil and life beyond, it tapped into essence itself, of the past, the present and what lay in secret. Being a conduit to its onslaught was a thin blade to dangle by, for both the conjurer and their souls.

Shaken from his reverie, Heimdall caught sight of Hogun in the white-out of the landscape below. Hogun had scouted ahead to mark the safest path down the mountain. For some reason, he had stopped to kneel over a rockery below, from the way the rocks were stacked it looked to be the remnants of a shrine.

Sif waited for Hogun to wave them down and give the go-ahead, but to their dismay, he did not. Heimdall became more and more aware of the seconds trudging by the longer he stood out in the open. The colour from Y/N’s fingers and lips began to drain too. He dreaded seeing them turn blue.

“What’s the hold-up?” Fandral shielded his eyes as he stole a glace below.

Hogun mumbled to himself, voice lost to the harsh wail of the winds. Then, with a shift in his countenance, he turned to the group and shouted across the divide, “The ground… something is moving!”

“Towards us?” Sif shouted back.

“No, beneath. There’s something beneath us!” Hogun said. Just then, a rumble gurgled through the mountain, layers beneath, and Heimdall felt a wave travel from his soles upwards.

The frozen sea in the distance cracked. A hollow, whip-cracking noise echoed against the mountain’s stone. Sharp notes sliced at Heimdall’s ears, making him wince. The others showed discomfort too. The boy who they’d found in the tomb beside Y/N began to blink away whatever spell had pulled him under. Unlike Y/N, he looked to be untouched by the cold. In fact, the longer he was exposed to it, the brighter he seemed. Livelier.

The boy mumbled, and for the briefest moment, Heimdall could have sworn he heard the beginnings of Jotun trickle out. Volstagg was oblivious to this, simply thinking the boy’s sounds to be the groggy noises of between-sleep.  

“Easy there, lad. You’re with friends. You’re safe,” Volstagg said in a low candour. 

“We should get off the mountain,” Heimdall warned, refusing to let his voice be as loud as his fear truly was.

“Boy,” Volstagg lowered the boy from his grip, giving him room to find his footing, “can you walk?”

“Baldrick,” he said, swaying. His knees threatened to buckle, but before Volstagg could lend a hand to steady him, he righted himself. “Yes, I think I can.”

There was a dream-like effect to the boy. Reminiscent of a dream stretching long into the waking world. It doesn’t belong there, and yet, familiarity lulls the senses, as a sweetness masks a poison. His words fell soft, and struck hard once they faded, like swallowing ice; at first, there’s the initial chill, and then, once in the throat, you become terribly aware of the difference between your heat and the ice’s lack of it.

“Good,” Fandral said, face turned to the mountain peak, “because we’ve got another problem.”

With a roll of thunder, the crack in the sea of ice broke to form a cavern, hollow and open. The echoing sounds knocked against Heimdall’s body as If he were a tuning fork. Then, ominously, the wind went quiet, waiting. A single snowflake danced across the horizon, touched the ground and shattered. The ground shook, stronger than before, and a piece of the mountain burst into a mess of rock and dust. The snow gathered there tumbled downward, growing to an avalanche. The violent turmoil of rock and dirtied snow hurled itself towards them, tendrils separated into three prongs, outstretched in the shape of a hand reaching down. This was magic beyond conjuring. This was divine fury of a deadened world awakening.

Hogun waved them down, face paling. “Run!”

Heimdall felt his muscles brace of their own accord. A rush of heat to his chest and his feet moved faster, less cautious of slipping on the ice.

A formation of rock and magic took shape under the frozen lake. A head of something rendered from artifice breached to the surface. As if a snake, grey streaks writhed under the sea as this inanimate behemoth climbed to the surface, wrought, constructed and ancient. Two glowing orbs melted the ice to a waterfall as the construct continued its climb. A slow, guttural growl, strung together by fluctuating sound waves, burst into the air. It was language. It was Jotun.

As the behemoth grew, the mountain sank. Formations of rock working in tandem. Two muscles at work. And Heimdall and everyone else was stuck in the space between destruction and formation. The avalanche moved swifter than Heimdall’s feet could carry. Soon, the sky was filled with the wroth of the destroyed mountain.

 ~Y/N

Everything was black since the tomb. An emptiness. Peace. Waking up was riotous. White-out of snow was nearly blinding. There was a shaking to the world, roil and amble against flesh. As your eyes flung open, you realised your body was hovering off the ground, an avalanche charging towards you, but you weren’t afraid. By instinct, you raised your palm, feeling the cold of the snow before it touched you, and your magic spread as a vibrant shield. The rush of snow and rock piled over the magical barrier, threatening to overwhelm you. Once the barrage had stopped, you let your hand fall to your side, the magical barrier gone with it. The piled snow made a hushing noise as it shifted lower, for an instant, and then stopped.

“Y/N?” Heimdall’s voice called to you.

 Startled, you turned and saw the familiar faces of your friends, gobsmacked, mouths agape. Further in the distance, the maw of a giant snake lay open, fangs of stone and a throat of darkness peaked out above a split sea of ice. For some indiscernible reason, you knew you had to go there. Body aching to cross the divide and melt into the stone snake’s midnight throat. It was then that you realised the devastated mountain made smaller, and the surrounding landscape, changed, was Jotunheim.

“What happened here?” you tried to clear the cobwebs from your mind, blinking sluggishly.

“What happened to you?” Sif asked, unable to stop staring in your direction.

Everyone stared at you a little longer than they should. Focusing on your face. Or, rather, your eyes. You had forgotten that the last time you saw them was mere hours ago, not ages as the Verdenspeil had led you to believe. To them, you had only just given up your eye to The Collector for passage into the mirror world. To you, it felt like a distant memory. Readjusting to time would be tricky.

Your hand hovered close to your newer eye—the golden one—and you smiled fondly, “A long story.” Suddenly, a streak of dread shot up your spine. “Where’s Baldrick? Where’s the boy?”

Heimdall reached for your shoulder, calm expression melting your rattled countenance, “He’s fine.” Your father frowned, searching gaze landing on Baldrick. The gears of his mind were working. An obvious look of caution and wonderment fighting for dominance over his frown lines. “Who is he?”

You sighed a breath of relief as Baldrick smiled back at you, bare feet untouched by the cold as he rooted himself on the mountain. You returned your attention back to Heimdall, an ease in your chest. “I cannot say for sure. But he feels so…”

“Familiar,” Heimdall understood the same as you did. The boy’s presence was confounding. “As if he was known to us, from before.”

“Not to interrupt this reunion—Y/N, so glad you’re up and walking—but in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re out in the open, were nearly crushed by an avalanche and had a giant snake appear from beneath a frozen sea. Perhaps, standing around, exposed to the cold, in hostile territory is not the best move?” Fandral said sarcastically.

“He’s right,” Sif added, head in a constant swivel, keeping an eye out for trouble. “We haven’t had the best luck lately. Best not to tempt our luck by staying out in the open.”

“And it’s not like the both of you can just open a portal and return us home, we’re fugitives now. Traitors to the Allfather,” Volstagg tugged at his braided beard in frustration, aimless.

Baldrick spoke low, Jotun sentences strung together with ease. He pointed toward the snake’s maw. Somehow, you understood him. Clearly.

“We deal with things as they come. But first, Baldrick says that’s where we need to go,” you nudged your head towards the stone snake.

“You mean… inside the ominous shrine of Jörmungandr?” Fandral laughed, flat and unamused. “No-no-no-no! We should not be walking towards that thing. In fact, it’s a bad omen. Like end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it bad!”

“Would you prefer the cold then?” you raised a brow at him, humorous tone catching everyone by surprise.

Fandral opened his mouth, but came up short. He closed it and shook his head. “Into the snake’s mouth we go.” He led the charge for the foot of the mountain where Hogun stood.

 The walk to the snake’s maw was slow. The ice of the sea was fragile, compromised from the new hollow spaces made from the stone construction’s movement. Baldrick was light-footed, jumping from one crack to the next, delicate.  You found yourself holding your breath every time a crack formed under his weight.

Heimdall had refrained from asking questions, but you knew he must have had plenty. Hogun’s ear suffered from having to listen to Fandral’s tantrum quietly. Volstagg lagged behind, aided by Sif, whose stare made the nape of your neck prickle. She was dubious of you. You felt as if time had undone itself and you were the outsider again. Her, the watcher.

“Something is weighing on you,” you said.

Heimdall hummed, thoughts distracted by the sound of your voice.

“Why not ask what’s plaguing you?”

He sighed this time, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. “You seem… changed.”

You made a fist, stared at your palm that didn’t quite feel like your own and made a curious noise. “I do feel changed.”

“What happened once you crossed into the mirror? How do you have both eyes? Who is the boy? And why did Jotunheim seem to awaken to his presence?”

You chuckled low, “You’ve been wrestling with quite the mysteries, I see.”

“It felt wrong to bombard you with questions. You were barely lucid a few moments ago. Taken by the Transcendence.”

“Transcendence?” 

“It’s a common… ailment that afflicts dark magic users. It’s one of the reasons the art form is feared. It was popular amongst my people’s sages.”

“Your people? Not ours?” You read his posture, saw the regret in his jaw when he realised he let something slip. “You’re not Æsir, are you?”

He didn’t say a word. Then it hit you.

“Of course! That’s why you know the ways of dark magic. That’s how you knew about the fairytale of Bor and Bestla. It’s how you knew to come here. To find me. You were there, during the First Great War.”

 “It’s no secret.”

“Yet you omitted to mention it. Sounds like a secret to me. Why not tell me?”

“The Great Wars were gruelling. Unkind. And… I made choices…” He trailed off, eyelids heavy.

“That makes you older than Odin, but you don’t look it. How come?”

“My homeworld was known as Vanaheim. The Vanir were healers and poets. Our magic was linked to longevity, childbirth, and foresight. The Æsir were more powerful, stronger, tactical, but they were afraid of dark magic, so they saw us as a threat. My ageing is linked to this power. Slowed by it.”

“That means Odin was your enemy. Once.”

“His father was, yes.” It was evident, from his tone, he wasn’t going to explore that history further.

You changed the subject, afraid to let silence settle, to lose momentum. “Why didn’t you return, to Vanaheim I mean, after the war?”

“I couldn’t.” He rolled up his sleeves to reveal a sigil tattooed near his elbow joint. “The way is sealed for me. Asgard is my home now. Or… was my home.” He heaved a sigh, rolled his shoulders back and looked at you more animatedly. “Now, your turn. What happened once you crossed into the mirror?”

Give and take, you realised what his tactic was and smiled, showing teeth. “Ah, that’s why you told me all that. Cunning.” You spent the rest of the walk filling him in on everything that happened since you were separated.

 When you got the snake’s maw, you noticed a stone door sealing the entryway to the strange Jotun structure. It looked similar to a vault. Before you could step forward to investigate, Heimdall pulled you aside to whisper something.

“Be careful around Jotun magic. From what you told me, of how things ended after your encounter with Bestla…” he frowned, unsure of how to word things. Maybe he simply didn’t have a logical reason. He looked to Baldrick, eyebrows drawing upwards ever so slightly. “Just… be careful.”

You squeezed his hand, “I can’t make that promise, but I will be cautious. For you… Father.”

His eyes shot up, compassion shining in them. He looked vulnerable, open and strange… like a father ought when filled with pride.

“I don’t see a key, or a lever anywhere. How are we gonna get it open?” Hogun asked the group after he finished searching the walls and stone carvings for any hidden levers.

Baldrick said something to you in Jotun and then placed his small hand in a groove on the wall. The left side of the snake’s under-mouth glowed with magic. You went over to the right side and placed your own palm in the groove there. The right side lit up with a different coloured magic. Slowly, loudly, the door rolled open, revealing a set of shiny, emerald dark stairs that led deeper into the snake’s pit.

 “So we’re literally entering the belly of the beast?” Fandral asked. No one complained. Hogun just shoved him forward. “Well, I’ve had a long run. Couple of centuries. Some forlorn lovers. Few books of poetry…” Fandral’s voice disappeared down the tunnel way, still listing his accomplishments of a full life.

The stairs were winding, following the curves of a snake’s anatomy. The craftsmanship of such a construct was impeccable, and also unbelievable. It was stone, inanimate, hard and set. Yet, the magic that held its walls together, congealed them like glue, pulsed and shivered with a kind of electricity that was alive. It was odd, seeing life in a lifeless thing. Like the Destroyer, but not in the form of a weapon, in the form of architecture.

Baldrick ran his hands along the walls. Runes and drawings foretelling a story. A tragedy from the looks of it. You didn’t bother trying to decipher it like Sif and Heimdall were doing, you just appreciated the beauty of the carvings, imagining a younger Jotunheim, and a calmer people.

 Eventually, the steps led you to a large crystalline and stone structure. A splinter of stone pathways diverging from the sharp-angled, dome-like centre, lowering to an oval-shaped annex. Giant archways encircled the annex, all of them leading to a dead-drop and a roiling darkness below. There were two protruding prongs in the epicentre, like key-slots.

The design was familiar, like the branching pathway in Verdenspeil that led to the abyss’ portal way. Baldrick called it by its name: the Through-Way.

The group split in three. Hogun and Fandral marvelled over the architecture. Sif and Hogun both kept their eyes trained on Baldrick. And you and Heimdall to the end of the floor, teetering between the border of endless darkness and the thin pathway leading to the central annex. Heimdall kicked a stone over the edge, waited to hear it plop, but it never did.  

“Where are you from, boy?” Volstagg asked, curious of the boy’s knowledge of things. He seemed so much bigger next to Baldrick’s boyish frame. Like a large oak beside a green shoot.

“Now?” Baldrick turned to look at you, an odd expression to him. “I suppose, here. For a while at least.”

“And what of before? Where was your home before? You speak the Jotun tongue, yet you do not look as Giants do.” Sif noted, crossing her arms to seem imposing.

“I was told the Jotun are different here. Just like Jotunheim is different here. My home is similar but different. Warmer. As is our language. And our skin was not enchanted to survive the Endless Winter,” he answered in an airy manner. There was a purposeful vagueness melding truth and uncertainty together. A silverness to his words to the point you wondered if you believed him or simply wanted to. It reminded you of how Loki tended to explain around things in the beginning.

Hogun whistled, turning clockwise on his heel to get the full effect of the room. “I’ve never seen Jotun architecture like this…” He trailed off when he noticed ice, magically frozen and too stubborn to melt, used as plaster between the stone walls that rotated at an almost indiscernible pace. “Are we… moving?”

“Only a little. The ice hurts him.” Baldrick’s small palm was pressed to the wall, as if he could hear the thoughts of stone. “In my home, the snake moves for eternity beneath the sea. But the sea here is cold.” His bright, beautiful face fell. “Everything here is cold…”

Baldrick’s magic spilt outwards, invisible to everyone else. You could feel his sadness. Heimdall twitched beside you and you wondered if he felt it too.

“‘Hurts him?’” Hogun narrowed his eyes at the boy, a comprehensive look taking over. “Y-You can hear it? This… thing we’re inside… is it… alive?”

Baldrick shook his head, removing his palm from the wall, a light dimming in the cracks. “It is alive as much as any enchanted thing is alive. But, its magic is awake with us. And I can feel them…”

Sif turned from a carving she had been gawping at and said, “Them?”

A wind blew past you and Heimdall, and suddenly, you could feel them too. The echoes left behind by those that constructed this snake. Their hopes and dreams, their aura, the faintest whisper of voices. Their presence lived within the walls as magic. An afterimage.

“I feel them too,” you said.

Heimdall nodded in agreement. The other’s reflexively shivered away from the walls, trying to make themselves smaller. As if to toy with them, the walls constricted to swallow the distance.

Fandral made a strange noise and said, “Okay, we survived the belly of the beast, but I think I’ve had my fill. So… what exactly do we do now?”

A fizzling in the back of your mind grew to a cloud, foamy and large in shape. Somehow, you knew the next steps to take. It was just as Bestla said, the way was known to you, like instinct. You knew what the stone snake’s purpose was without context. It was a bi-frost, or… at least similar in function. “Those archways,” you pointed, “they’ll lead us where we need to go.

You took the first steps towards the annex, everyone else waited to take turns, afraid the thin pathway would give in.

You hovered near both of the protruding prongs, arms raising themselves without thought, fingers clamping down on the blunt grooves of either prong. The floor lit up, light shining through cracks. And the whole room shifted, adjusting to your magic. Numbness took over your body, a draining sensation, like the leeching, but kinder. You were a million leagues away from everything. Feeling weightless, an image filled your mind. It was the healing chamber and the sprawling sea near the gleaming, golden palace on Asgard. Loki was hovering in his curtain of golden light, still, quiet. And then, out of the corner of your eye, a swirl of colours gave birth to that very image in one of the archways.  

 ~Odin

Aisling, Captain of the Guard, was beaming in her own right, having delivered the good news to the Allfather. The Destroyer had returned. So too was Bor’s belt back in its rightful place. With warranted cunning, she had purposefully neglected to speak a word of what had happened to Heimdall and the others.

Yet, for some reason, Odin’s bones groaned with discomfort. Not age, premonition. Premonition without vision, simply a sensation. There was power in the air, palpable, just as how the sea’s salt lingers in the air. He could feel the waves of magic trickle into the cosmos. It was subtle but meaningful.

“What of Heimdall, and the girl?” Odin peered at Aisling.

She swallowed, her grin faltering to a grim line. “From the commotion, one of my men gathered that she had disappeared. Heimdall, Sif and the Warriors Three fled without her.”

Odin slumped lower into his chair, a sigh capturing the room into a stoic silence. The room had turned grave indeed, no more smiles of triumph from Aisling and her men. “We mustn’t rest until she is found. It is most impertinent. So much hangs in the balance.”

“B-But… my liege—” Aisling’s second-in-command spoke out of turn, stuttering to gain his place, “—they used dark magic to escape. It is near impossible to track, even with a gifted witch on our side, of which, we have none.”

Aisling glowered at her underling, making him turn pale and skittish under her imposing gaze. “I give you my word, we will find these traitors and bring them before you, my liege.”

“Traitors?” Odin pondered the word, saw how it felt. He decided he didn’t care for it.

Aisling waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. She bowed, turned on her heel and left the room, her men following suit.

Out the window, through the throne room’s glass, a beacon of light, pure as azure, beamed down from the skies into a tower. A nexus point. A magical link. The wind wrestled against him, made walking that much harder, but when Odin got near enough to see where the light came from, he gasped. It was the healing chamber where Loki slept.

Odin hadn’t seen such seamless magic like this since his youth, before his mother’s death.

 ~Loki

Loki felt warm air blow against his eyelashes. With a jaw popping yawn, he stretched off the table, straightening his back. The library was quiet. And Y/N beamed her playful smile at him from the chair beside him.

“I must have dozed off,” he worked his tender muscles, looking out the window to see a twilight. Strange…

Y/N slid the book he had been reading closer to her, flipping pages absentmindedly, garnering his attention. “My, my… must be such a riveting read for you to spend all day up here, away from me.” She pouted. The words on the page caught his eye, for a second. The page was flooded with strings of letters swishing about, no sentences or structure. For some reason, his mind didn’t seek an explanation as to why the letters on the page were the way they were. It seemed natural, admissible. So, again, he looked away, fixing his attention back on Y/N.

He smirked, leaning close enough to Y/N’s face that he could hear her soft breathing. He whispered in her ear, a hand caressing her cheek, “We both know you’re the most intriguing thing in my life, pet.”

Her face inched closer, eyes focused on Loki’s mouth. Just when he thought she’d take the plunge and close the distance, she withdrew from him. Her arms folded over her chest, “Evidently, not.” She nudged her chin towards the large book.

Oh, he lifted a single brow. “Well…” he swept her wild hair to the side until her neck was fully exposed and bent to place soft, lingering kisses along her exposed skin. “I’ll just have to show you…” He pressed another kiss to her skin, marking a trail to the back of her ear. Feeling a warmth spread when she shivered against him. “just… how… important… you are… to me. How… much… of me… is yours.”

 Y/N sighed sweetly when he drew his thumb close to her pulse point, fingers tickling the dip of her clavicle, “You’re off to a good start. But I’m still not convinced.” He could hear the smile in her voice. Feel how radiant she grew with every peppered kiss.

“Good, because I’m far from finished with my little presentation.”

Soon, in a fever, his lips were on hers, and it felt charged, full of potential. A desire to explore, and be explored. He deepened the kiss, finding solace in her body warmth. He felt like he was thawing but he couldn’t tell why.

In his daze, Loki was ignorant to the darkness befalling the room. The slow encroaching shadow that swallowed everything to black. When he broke the kiss, ragged pants making the air feel heated, he opened his eyes and felt a lump settle in his throat.

It was gone. The room. The light. Y/N.

In the darkness, a mist twisted and writhed like the limbs of an octopus, licking the blackened world with frost. Something large and tall, with protruding bone spurs and red eyes, seemed to materialise from the mist. It growled, feral with rage, and moved languid, as a predator does, towards him.

He tried to summon his magic, but it was dormant. Then his rational mind told him what he saw wasn’t real, but the cut that formed after the creature clawed through the air proved him wrong. Next, logic. To flee, but there was nowhere to go. There was nothing. Then his mind flashed back to the book, and how the words were illegible, floating like meat in soup, and his next idea was that this blackened world he was in, wasn’t real. A fabrication.

The creature stalked closer and Loki stayed in place, challenging with a lethal stare, hiding his doubt by balling his hands into white-knuckle fists. Tauntingly, the creature raised its clawed hand high up, the singular digits fusing into a jagged, bony protrusion.

Loki swallowed, too aware of how dry his throat was and how painful the bobbing of his Adam’s apple was. With a slice through the air, the creature bore down all its ferocity in a single attack. Loki felt warm liquid waterfall from his midriff. Before he could look down to see, he was wrenched from the dark world. Pulled by something powerful.

The next moment he blinked, he found himself seated in a meadow, pink flowers blooming with a subtle scent. He felt around his body, searching for a cut or the wetness of blood. But he found none. He was intact. Unscathed.

Something had changed. The world seemed to stretch, becoming brighter. And out near the gleam of sunlight over water, a woman’s figure grew larger. Her hand stretched out towards him. He took it, feeling completely safe once his skin touched hers.

He stood off the ground and shifted so he could see whose hand he held.

“Y/N?” he said, confused for a moment. She looked different, as if she had been unmade and was only just returning to the form he remembered her by. Still captivating, but in a damned sort of way. Darker, thin and tired.

“Loki,” she quivered, a hopeful laugh playing with her vocal cords.

He hugged her tight, shaking with fear that she might disappear if he closed his eyes again. A splitting headache caused him to wrench back and stumble. Gritting his teeth, he sucked in a breath, blinking rapidly to make sure the world was still there each time.

The memories came flooding back. Of what this place was. And why he was so afraid all of a sudden. The constant dreaming, reliving, being hunted by the creature and having it all restart again, aloof and confused. He was in his own personal hel.

Y/N moved closer so she could anchor him, give him something to lean into. He felt relief, but then the mist crept over the meadow, turning petals rigid with frost till they crumbled.

 Y/N didn’t notice, too consumed with what was right in front of her; him. “Loki, what’s—”

Hurriedly, he grabbed Y/N’s wrist. She flinched from his callousness. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if she was real or another figment of his imagination. It didn’t matter. He’d protect any version of her. Always.  

He looked into her eyes and noticed one was different, golden. A detail he couldn’t dream up. He took a moment to look at her, really look, and he knew she was real. And even if she wasn’t, she was warm and breathing and close. A strange relief despite the turmoil that threatened to tear this fake world away. Again.

“You’re real, aren’t you?” his voice cracked at the end, a little hope hidden there.

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears. She reassured him with a smile and a soft reply, “Yes.”

If she’s real… What happens when the nightmare gets her?

The gloom stretched further, stealing colour and life from the sky now. The flowers were all shiny and wet, like glass.

He pulled her further away from the mist, backtracking as the creature began to form again. Dread in his gut.

Her eyes widened, staring into the encroaching shadow, “What is that?”

“You shouldn’t have come.”

To be continued...

[seasonofthegeek]

This art and drabble is dedicated to @theredeyeswolf as part of the Gabenath Discord server gift exchange! I hope you like it, sweets, and Happy Holidays!

___

“From the way Adrien talked about you, I expected someone...nicer.” Bunnyx shook her head. “That’s on me though. I knew you couldn’t possibly be nice. I’ve seen too much.” Her face screwed up in disgust. “But I’m going out on a limb and trusting his judgement on this because I actually owe him this time around and he won’t let me forget it.”

“You realize I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Nathalie tightened the belt of her robe in an irritated gesture. “If you’re an akuma--”

“You know I’m not.” Bunnyx rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to act around me. Believe me when I say I’ve seen you at your worst, just like I’ve seen with everyone else.”

The other woman noticed the tightening around the hero’s eyes, the slump of her shoulders. She would use that if she needed to. She took the moment to study the large room she’d been brought into after being whisked through a portal right in the middle of the Agreste hallway. She wondered if Gabriel would realize she was gone before morning. 

She slipped into his room night after night and the few times that she didn’t come on her own, her bedroom door would open and there would be a weight on the other side of her bed. He would never cuddle up to her and even slept with his back to her most nights, but if she didn’t come to him, he came to her. He would realize she was gone.

She wrapped that thought around her like a blanket and realized the other woman was watching her. “Well, you brought me here. I assume you have a reason.”

Bunnyx gave her an indiscernible look before gesturing to the left. “Yeah, I’ve got you set up over here. Just watch.”

A grouping of blurred viewing windows became clearer simultaneously and Nathalie stared up at the wall of Gabriel with a soft gasp. There was Gabriel as she knew him, tall and stoic, awkwardly hugging his son. There was another side of Gabriel she knew in the next one, Hawk Moth using the dark power between his hands to create his next akuma as Chat Noir cowered before him. There was Gabriel as a young man and Gabriel as an anxious groom waiting for Emilie to come down the aisle and even Gabriel  as the holder of the Peacock Miraculous, fighting on the side of good and aiding Chat Noir and Ladybug with a sentiprotector.

A Gabriel with his Hawk Moth transformation falling around him as he held her broken body, the last magic of Mayura slipping away with what was left of her life. A Gabriel genuinely smiling as he held her close and they enjoyed a beautiful sunset. A Gabriel clapping proudly as Adrien finished his final fencing match at the top of his group.

Nathalie felt too many things at once and locked them down the best she could. She felt her face smooth out into a comfortable mask of indifference. “If you have a point, now would be the time to make it.”

“Really? You’re going to make me spell it out for you? And here I thought you were smart. I swear if I didn’t owe him, this would be going really differently right now.” Bunnyx shook her head. “Look, you can change things. You’re it. You’re the fulcrum.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Nathalie hugged herself as she watched Hawk Moth turn to ash from a deadly blow of Cataclysm in one of the windows. 

The hero sighed. “As hard as it is to admit it, no one is beyond redemption. Not when they still have life left. It’s a hard lesson I’ve come to learn while holding this gig.”

“You’re saying I need to help Gabriel change his dastardly ways.” Nathalie knew her tone was too dry. “I have nothing to do with him being Hawk Moth.”

“Maybe that’s not why he started, but without you, I don’t think he’d have it in him to keep going.” Bunnyx shrugged. “It’s a theory, but one I’ve seen play out a few times now that makes me believe there’s some weight behind it.”

“I see.” Her eyes strayed to the windows showing a happier Gabriel, a man who was a stranger to her. “And why should I believe any of this magic show, White Rabbit?”

“The name’s Bunnyx,” she scoffed. “And it’s not magic. Well, maybe it is, I don’t know. Max would say it’s all science. The point is that all of these futures have the potential to happen and I’ve watched enough to know that you can prevent a lot of them.”

And there it was, that small flicker of hope Nathalie felt sometimes. The way out. The way to a better life for both of them, for all of them. It couldn’t be that easy though. She refused to believe that she was the reason he kept going. It would be too...too...

“What I’m saying is that I don’t think the Agreste apple falls far from the tree and believe me, I’ve seen more than enough of knowing what Adrien will do for the love of his life. Gabriel isn’t any different.”

“Perhaps you’re forgetting that he’s not doing any of this for me; he’s doing it for Emilie.”

“Things don’t always end the way they started.” Bunnyx brandished her umbrella and a new portal appeared. “Anyway, I fulfilled my end of the bargain. You’ve seen what could happen if you get him to change and what does happen if you don’t. That’s all I can do.”

“You haven’t done anything.” Nathalie could see the familiar hallway through the portal. “You haven’t told me anything I didn’t know.”

The hero looked sad. “Yeah, I know.”

Nathalie went through the portal without another word and there was a staticky sound behind her as it closed. She took in a deep breath and a shiver ran down her spine.

“Wow,” Duusu whispered. “That was a lot, huh?”

With a blink of surprise, the woman reached up to feel the kwami nestled in her hair. She’d completely forgotten her presence in the middle of everything that just happened. Although it was very unlike Duusu to have stayed so quiet.  “What did you think of it all?”

“Oh! I think she’s right!” Duusu flew in front of her holder and clasped her tiny paws together. “It’s so romantic, isn’t it? You saving him from a bad life.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“You keeping him from making bad choices and showing him there’s still good in the world.”

“I’m not sure there is. Besides, I’m not his keeper. He’s a grown man with his own agenda. I don’t want that on me.” Nathalie tightened her robe and looked down the hall towards Gabriel’s room. She needed distance and time to think. She turned and began down the path back to her own room.

“But he needs you!” the kwami whined. “You can make him good.”

“I don’t want to be responsible for that! I can’t even make good choices for myself.” She slipped into her room and locked the door behind her. 

Duusu flew through the wood, unfazed. “Maybe you can help each other then!”

Nathalie curled up on top of her bed, not bothering with the blankets. She felt confused and angry and lonely and sad. She hated Bunnyx for showing her futures she didn’t think she could have and she wished she hadn’t seen the futures that were all too possible. “I can’t change anything,” she whispered miserably. “I don’t know how.”

She wasn’t sure how long she lay in the dim light of her room like that before she heard a rustling outside her bedroom door. The doorknob turned slowly until it caught on the lock. She watched it happen once more before she spoke. “Gabriel?”

There was a distinct silence from the other side of the door of someone trying to stay quiet and still. Nathalie held her breath. She wasn’t going to do this by herself. She wasn’t going to always be the one reaching. Even with the small flicker of hope burning in her chest, she couldn’t bring herself to get up without a sign from him.

She’d almost given up when the doorknob let out a small sigh of release and she heard Gabriel’s voice on the other side of the door, low and quiet. “May I come in, please? Nathalie?”

Her heart jumped in her throat as she rose from the bed and crossed the room. She opened the door and looked at him, not sure how to feel. His eyes were filled with guarded concern. “Is everything okay?”

“I can’t keep doing this.”

Gabriel blinked and took a step back. “Right.” He cleared his throat and tightened his own robe. “Of course.” He turned to go and Nathalie reached out, grabbing his arm. He looked down at her hand in surprise.

“No, I mean...” She trailed off with an exhausted sigh. “We can talk about it in the morning. Come in.”

They were quiet as they moved into the room and took their usual places on each side of the bed. Nathalie had a moment of indecision before she curled up close to Gabriel’s back. She felt him stiffen under her touch and then he was rolling over to hold her. Neither of them spoke in the quiet of the room, though there were plenty of words that needed to be said.

Duusu’s words rang in Nathalie’s head. Maybe they could help each other. Maybe they could both change. Maybe they could have a new life, together.

Maybe there was hope.

She closed her eyes and listened to Gabriel’s heart racing in his chest. 

Maybe they could still find redemption together. 

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence, chapter 16

Summary:  After Xehanort's death, Demyx finds himself unexpectedly human in Radiant Garden. With nothing but fragments of his past and a cryptic statement from Xemnas, he's left to figure out who he is. When Ienzo asks for his help with a project, the two find common ground, but the trauma and secrets in both of their pasts could tear it apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post-KH3 canon compliant

Read it on FF.net/ on AO3

----

Excerpt of an audio recording from device 5.875.32.852 (admin is registered as EVEN [surname REDACTED]. Transcription programs recognize the speaking voice of the admin as well as one other distinct voice. Transcription errors due to colloquialisms, slang, accent, muffled speech, etc. are acknowledged and will be used in further evolutions of this program.

Recording commences at 16:03.

--I hope you do not mind that I am recording this. I assure you any we can redact any exceedingly personal information. This is for my edification only. I would never dream of letting it fall into unsavory hands.

--Uh. Sure.

--Can you state your name and age in its entirety?

--Yeah. I’m [birth name and surname REDACTED]. I still go by Demyx. I’m twenty-two.

--That’s your name? That’s not what I thought.

--Yeah, well. It seems like I’m full of surprises. I don’t care who knows it, but it doesn’t seem to fit right anymore. You know?

--I suppose. So. Can you tell me what you remember, as far back as you can, as comfortably as you can?

--I’ll try.

----

These memories don’t feel like mine.

It’s weird. I guess it’s more like I’m reading a book, or watching a movie.

“It” started, if by it you mean all this Keyblade crap, when I was five. I was my parents’ only kid. We were broke. Like, squatting and going to soup kitchens broke. There were the early days, when the Foretellers--the five chosen ones or whatever--were just building their unions and preaching about their ideas in the plaza. I’m honestly not sure if they were the first wielders, but they were definitely the ones that made it a thing, That promised this as the way to seek the light.

Heartless started coming--from the future, or so they said in the square. We needed a way to defend ourselves. So they started testing people for worthiness. Kids were always easier. Less corrupt. More full of light.

More manipulable.

They said they would take the kids from more troubled circumstances, and give them what they needed to survive. In my parents’ eyes, food and a place to live. The luckier ones could stay at home. So that caused a big influx of poor people sending their kids in to be tested and trained. While some of the better off ones saw it as a sign of honor, everyone else wanted to keep their kids safe. Even the ones with Keyblades were dying.

My parents figured Heartless were better than me starving to death. So they sent me, by myself, for the test.

The older ones could pick their unions, but the real little ones like me they chose a more “organic” approach. They take you inside, and there the Foretellers are with a little table of five toys. Apparently picking one shows some intrinsic quality they’re looking for, or whatever. I got chosen to be in Ursus. And just like that, my mom and dad hugged me goodbye and left me there.

It was hard. Physically, mentally. I missed my parents. The training was grueling, and it hurt. But whenever I would cry or get upset either Master Aced or one of the older kids would tell me to be quiet. Because I was lucky. And I had a chance to be something.

But you see, Even, it doesn’t matter how lucky I was. I was still getting razzed by Heartless, getting thrown in and out of time to these worlds, getting reprimanded for bunging off quests or not getting enough lux. I got kicked out of a few parties for that. Making friends wasn’t so easy when I got a reputation for being a crybaby and a coward, even though I was six or seven.

I still tried to see my parents when I got a chance. They moved around a lot. Dad tried to get steady work a few times, but I think he had some kind of mental illness or something, and he could never be on time, or do what he was told, or get out of bed, so they lost their apartments a lot. Mom was a street musician, and she took in students sometimes, but it wasn’t enough money.

She taught me, too.

Compared to Keyblade stuff, music was so easy. I was so good at it. Knowing I wasn’t terrible at everything gave me strength to go on. I had a way to take all the bad feelings, all the nightmares, and make something beautiful out of it.

I tried to quit the union.

You wouldn’t believe the telling off Master Aced gave me. “Why was I ashamed of my heritage”. “Why wasn’t I doing my part.” “What did I think I would become otherwise, I came from the gutter.” It was devastating. Without the Keyblade, they said, I was worthless. I didn’t want to believe that was true.

As the years passed, and this all kept happening, I tried to study music on the side. That’s when I started keeping the diary. I wrote these weird avant-garde compositions, but that wasn’t enough to salve the pain. So I wrote how I felt, and if anybody found it, I’d just say it was nonsense. But nobody did, though. During that time the tensions between the unions started to grow, mostly over who was getting the most light. Kids were fighting in the streets. Killing each other’s Chirithys--that’s how I lost mine. Even the most legendary parties fell apart. People were still dying.

One of these days, when I was almost seventeen, I was going back to the dorms after another quest. Master Ava--Vulpes’s leader--stopped me. She said she’d heard about me, and I braced myself for another lecture like the ones Aced liked to give. But it was my focus on the bigger picture of my life she liked, she said. She wanted me to join a special union she was building.

The Dandelions.

The reason she built this union was because she feared there would soon be war between the others, and that war would escalate to apocalyptic proportions. Remember, we’d all been training for years at that point, we all had way overpowered magic--even me. But because we had no foresight as to anything other than collecting lux, nobody could see the consequences of fighting.

She was going to take this special union, and she was going to teach us how to escape this world altogether, just to make sure somebody survived.

I know you’re probably dying to know how we did it, but I honestly can’t remember. It was some kind of spell, for sure. I know that each of us cast it, and we were all supposed to go together. But it’s one of those things too slippery and powerful to hold onto for long. Not to mention, this travel was supposed to wipe our memories of the trauma and give us a fresh start. So she said.

The war started earlier than expected. The only reason I went to the battle was to find the other Dandelions so we could leave. But I’m not sure if I missed a memo or something. They were gone. Then again, there were so many bodies that had been just so completely fucking destroyed that they could have been some of these people.

…

…

…

[Audio muffled or indiscernible; external knowledge of social cues suggests emotional distress.]

People were just fucking killing each other. They… they tried to kill me, too. I remember Keyblades hitting my armor and I panicked. And I guess instinctively I cast the spell and got out. Got somewhere, or I guess some when is the better word. I ended up in the same place, just later, surrounded by all these rusting Keyblades, my memories completely cleaved and running through my fingers like sand. I remember that, feeling it all drain away like a dream.

That’s when Xemnas found me. When things started to hurt. The shock and the armor made it hard to tell, but someone had stabbed me clean through the chest.

He was nice to me, too. He said he’d been waiting for me and that I was going to be okay. He could give me purpose. My wounds would heal.

I died, and Demyx was born. Memory-free.

You know the rest.

End recording, duration--25:17.

----

“Goodness gracious. ” Like a child listening to their favorite story, he’d been leaning forward attentively. He’d even started recording it on his gummiphone, which Demyx initially felt was a violation of his privacy. But considering how close-lipped Vexen had always been about his experiments, he knew, if anything, his words would be safe in Even’s hands. “This is a window into our history.”

“Yours, maybe.”

“You simply must tell me more about these Foretellers. How is this organization structured? What was their training regimen like? Who was their leader--did they have a leader?”

“It's a lot to talk about." His throat was dry from talking for so long.

Even exhaled. He paused the recording. “I suppose you’re right. Of course you must be very tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I would say so.”

A beat of silence.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” Even said. “I realize… it is not easy. Especially given our past relationship.”

“Like you said. Forgiveness.”

He nodded once, curtly. “Would you like something to help you sleep?”

“I think I’ll be okay. But thanks.”

“Well. Don’t get too used to it.”

Demyx looked at him. He didn’t know how else to be kind, Demyx realized. It must take immense effort. “Wake me up if anything changes with Ienzo,” he said. “Please.”

“You can be sure of it.”

----

The next several days, he felt utterly hollow. Demyx slept a lot. This was a sort of mental exhaustion. He was afraid to stray too far away from Ienzo’s side, but his condition remained unchanged. Guilt clung to him. He wasn’t really sure what to do with himself. He cleaned his room, which took all of ten minutes considering his lack of possessions. Did laundry. Found a couple books to read which weren’t half bad. It was a toxic combination of boredom and stagnation. At the end of the first week of this, Dilan asked him to come play cards.

“I figure you could use a bit of a diversion,” he said. He offered a smile.

“I guess I’m being pretty pathetic, huh,” Demyx said. He forced a laugh.

“Given the circumstances? No. But wallowing must be horrifically boring.”

Dilan’s quarters were even smaller than Even’s. He and Aeleus shared a sitting room and kitchenette. A faint smell of garlic lingered in the room, along with something like eucalyptus. He had a small herb garden, each one meticulously cared for. Near this was a pile of puzzle boxes.

Dilan took out a pack of cards. Demyx sat gingerly on the couch. It was less stern than the other furniture, a bit more comfortable, a soft velor that felt good to touch. He was becoming increasingly reliant on the tactile to stay grounded. He didn’t know if this was one of his myriad issues, or an effect of being overwhelmed.

Dilan crossed to a small glass cabinet. “Would you like a drink?”

“God. Yes.”

He poured them each a few fingers of whiskey into small crystal glasses. It burned when Demyx sipped it, but he liked it. “What shall we play? It’s a shame we’ve no third. I’d rather have liked to play Blackjack.”

“It’s not like I have anything to bet.”

“Too, too true.”

They settled on Hearts. Demyx didn’t know what to say to Dilan. After winning the first game, Dilan got them another drink.

“I’m not sure how I feel about your newfound reticence,” Dilan said. “It’s so odd, to see how humanity has changed you youth.”

“How so?”

“You were hardly ever so reserved. Ienzo was never so friendly. You should have heard him, chattering away to Sora. ...I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t bother me. To hear his name. Either of them, I mean.” He felt only a shadow of the ping of anxiety he got when thinking about Sora. Of course, knowing what he knew now, it made sense that Sora’d had to strike him down. Psychically, there were bigger fish to fry.

“You’ve got a focus to you. An intensity. It’s like you’re more present.”

“I don’t feel very present.”

“Well. We’ve all received some shocks recently.”

The alcohol was making him warm and a little dizzy. Demyx wasn’t sure whether or not he liked the sensation. He slipped off his shoes and pulled his feet up under him. “Why did you become an apprentice?”

Dilan thought for a moment, shuffled his cards, and then drank down the remainder of his whiskey in one swallow. “Why indeed,” he muttered. “I was only a boy at the time, a bit younger than yourself. I needed something to do with my life. I’d always liked creating things. Building things. Ansem had passed some initiatives to make Radiant Garden a haven for the sciences. I applied to study engineering under him, and was accepted.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He chuckled. “Why did you choose to become a Keyblade wielder?”

“I didn’t,” Demyx said. “It chose me. I was poor. Being a wielder was pretty much the only way to survive.”

“I abhor such economies,” Dilan said sourly. “I cannot understand how some leaders will let their charges suffer for basic human rights.”

“I can’t really have a realized perspective of it. I was still a kid when I left.”

“What will you do now?”

“What will I… do?” Demyx repeated numbly. “Frankly, I didn’t think I’d get this far.”

“You and I both.”

He continued to pet the velor. He was feeling dizzier still, and heavy. “I want to be with Ienzo,” he said. “And I want to make friends. Real ones. But I don’t know where I’d fit.”

“What’s that old adage? “Be yourself?””

“Hasn’t exactly worked in the past.”

“It is a theory of mine that becoming a Nobody worsens one’s flaws and insecurities.” Dilan poured them another drink. “Our personalities devolved and repelled. Fed by darkness. Take your time. Be honest. That’s all.”

Demyx picked up the crystal cup and swirled the amber liquid around a little. “I guess.”

“What about that guitar of yours?”

“Sitar?”

“Yes. That.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I’ll find out.”

---

The next day, it sleeted. The echo of the splotches of snow piling up outside was audible within the confines of the castle. Demyx went to the library, armed with a cup of coffee. He lit a fire in the hearth. Once it was large enough to tend to itself, he sat down cross legged in front of it.

For some reason he was nervous. This was akin to stage fright. He’d much rather be worthy of Arpeggio than the stupid Keyblade.

Demyx held out his hands and pulled from within. The Keyblade appeared. He sighed. “I don’t want you,” he muttered. Let it disappear. He remembered the way the sitar had felt, the perfect weight of it, the smooth varnished wood.

Keyblade again. Demyx had to resist the urge to just toss the damn thing. He stared down at it. Traced the smooth shaft, twisted the links of the chain.

“Please,” he said to it. “I don’t want to fight. I just want--”

Not to be an idiot talking to an inanimate object?

Vanishing. Reappearing. It didn’t matter how long he thought about his Nobody memories, of all the music he’d ever made with Arpeggio. Of the fights or occasionally lack thereof.

“Are you mad at me?” Demyx asked out loud. “I didn’t ask for this to all happen.”

Hadn’t he?

Oh, we do too have hearts. Don’t be mad.

“Shut up,” he hissed at himself.

The fire popped as a log settled, startling him.

“Is it because I’m not him anymore?” he continued. “I’m still the sa-- no. I’m not.”

Demyx lay back on the plush carpet.

Remembering death was not easy. Doubly hard now that he knew it wasn’t the first time he’d been slain with Keyblades. Some of them were sharp, most blunt. You’d crush your ribs before you drew blood. Which was what happened. He rested his palm on the spot were the scars were.

Sora, Donald, Goofy. So much rage. Realization that this was a murder-suicide. He was able to pin Sora twice before the pain was too much. Before fading. Before waking up. Before Braig, with a soft smile, and a boy with silver hair, and a hot stab to the chest. What would have happened, really, if he hadn’t been turned into a vessel? What would he have done? Run away? Spent his life friendless, unloved and alone?

Without Ienzo?

He needed connections. Without them he could never hope to be whole--at least, figuratively. He had to do better. To be better. But how? Fancy displays of heroism were functionally worthless if there was no real intent behind them.

Demyx stood. Despite it all, he sort of had an idea.

----

The winter coat he had was warm enough, but it was not quite waterproof, and by the time he’d waded through the slop he was damp and chilly. When he reached the door of the committee’s headquarters, though, a knot of anxiety overrode his physical discomfort. Demyx stood for several moments at the door as wet snow piled on his hat, unsure of what to say. Several times he reached up to knock and withdrew his hand. He had barely placed his palm on the doorknob before it opened of its own accord.

“‘Could’ve finished War and Peace in the time it took you to make up your mind,” a middle-aged blond man said gruffly. “Come on in, kid.” He was smoking a cigarette, and its smell mixed with the ambient woodsmoke. “Don’t think we’ve formally met. I’m Cid.” He offered his hand. “Saw you unconscious, but I don’t think you remember that.”

“Not--exactly--” Demyx shook his hand.

“Let me take your jacket before you get snow everywhere.” He took the wet garments and hung them on a coat rack.

“It’s warm in here,” Demyx said, half in wonder. He was so used to the drafty castle that he’d forgotten what adequate heating felt like.

Cid raised an eyebrow. “‘Course it is.”

“It’s, um, the castle. Heating’s not very good.”

“I imagine it wouldn’t be.”

A beat passed. Demyx felt his anxiety rising and floundered for things to say.

“I’m guessing you’re here for Aerith?” Cid asked. He stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray.

“Well. Sort of. I want to help.”

“With what,” he said blankly.

“Anything. I mean I--” Demyx could feel himself turning red.

“In the middle of winter?”

He bit his lip and looked down.

Cid chuckled. “I’m messing with you, kid. We’re always happy to have an extra pair of hands. Any of ya’ll got a sense of humor over there?”

“Let’s just say it’s been a tough week,” Demyx said.

“I’ll say. Weather’s been driving us mad. I finally kicked out Yuffie and Leon to get some peace and quiet.”

“...Er. Sorry about that.”

He shrugged. “I’m sure one or both of them will be back soon. They know a bit more about the operations stuff than I do. Why don’t you have a seat?”

Demyx perched in one of the folding chairs. Cid sat back down at a computer and began absently writing code. He wondered if he should say something. Anything. Ask questions. He kept his hands knotted in his lap.

A door he hadn’t noticed previously opened, and out came Aerith, drying her hands on a towel. “Demyx? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Fine--well, enough. I’m here to help.”

She crossed over a plant on the table and cut off a few of its leaves. “Can’t do a whole lot in the winter other than plan, unfortunately.”

“What are you doing with those?”

“Making medicine.” She nodded her head towards the other room. “Want to see?”

He followed her. It was a small, narrow room, with a cot up against one wall. The other wall was lined with cabinets and some counter space. A few different types of dried leaves and blooms were stuffed in the myriad little drawers. She took the leaves, scattered them into mortar. To Demyx, the mix looked like a salad more than a medicine. She crushed it down, whispered a spell, and then with an odd little device began packing it into capsules. “Pectin,” she explained. “Goes down easier than the raw leaves. And doesn’t get stuck in your throat.”  She held up the tiny pill so he could see.

“What does it do?” Demyx asked.

“Cold cure,” she said simply. “We need lots of it this time of year. And colds always change. I’m forever tweaking it.”

A memory he hadn’t fully process washed in. He’d never been the best fighter in any of his parties, often left to provide background support. The spells then he’d used had been barbaric in comparison, but at least it kept people alive.

“When did you learn how to do all this stuff?” he asked. He was feeling odd.

“Oh, ever since I was a kid,” she said. “My mom and grandma before me were healers. They sorta taught me what I know now. And I’m also teaching myself.”

“Do you think it’s possible for someone else to learn?”

She crushed more herbs. “I’m sure it is. It’s magic like anything else.”

“What about--say--me?”

Aerith turned slightly. She appraised him.

“I’ve been wanting to help people and I don’t know how. You saved me. You saved Ienzo. I can’t do science, and I’m not a good fighter. But I have a good memory.” He considered the irony of that statement. But he’d always been good at memorizing.

“It’s a long road. This isn’t something you can do halfway. People’s lives could be at stake. But you know that.” She smiled a little. Tapped her forehead. “You’ve been through a lot in your life. Seen a lot of suffering.”

“Haven’t we all,” he said dryly.

“That’s… right.” She dusted off her hands. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, or believe you can do it. But you’ve gotta have a certain kind of tenacity. An ingenuity. Tell you what. Why don’t you read some base healing theory? There’s no way Ansem doesn’t have books about it. If that doesn’t send you running for the hills, we can talk.” She winked.

Demyx nodded. “Okay. Sounds good.”

“Good luck.”

He stood.

“Was that the answer you needed?” she asked.

“I think it was.”

----

A week or so passed. He tried to do what Aerith said, and study. But Demyx had never been the most studious, and almost everything he learned sans the very basics he’d learned in the field. He spent these minutes and hours alternating between the text and the dictionary. Why were academics such bad writers?

Sometimes he studied near Ienzo, sometimes he didn’t. Ienzo slept and slept and slept. Demyx could feel the utter lack of presence like a missing tooth. Honestly, being around him and not being able to talk to him was nearly painful.

During one of these marathon reading sessions, Even came in to check Ienzo’s vitals, as he did several times each day. “EKG activity is still fairly limited. But improving. He must be dreaming.”

“About what?” Demyx asked.

“I’ve no idea. ...What is that?” He reached town and felt at Demyx’s temperature. “Are you quite alright?”

Demyx sighed, marked his place in the book, and shut it. “I’m studying. Sue me.”

“But why?”

He drummed his fingers on the desk. “You’re just going to make fun of me.”

“I will… not,” Even said with great restraint.

Demyx raised an eyebrow.

“I must admit I am still getting used to the new you. Tell me. I will withhold judgement.”

“I’m thinking of learning to heal. Like. The magic.” He braced himself.

Even didn’t laugh. “Really? Why is that?”

“I want to help people. And this seems like something I can actually do.” He sighed. “I hate feeling helpless. If I can help someone not feel that way, it’d be nice. You know.”

“I admit I never put much stock in such magic initially. But seeing how that woman has cared for the two of you, I’m starting to change my mind.”

“Do you think I can do it?”

Even considered this. “You had a fairly potent magical ability in the Organization. I don’t see why not.”

“You don’t think I’m too stupid?”

He scowled. “I find it stupid that you hold my opinion in such high esteem.” Then, softening. “As you said. You’re not a scientist. But that really has little to do with practical intelligence.” He picked up the tome. “I’d be glad to help you, should you so want it. These aren’t exactly light reading. It’d be convenient to have another pair of hands.” He picked up another bag of saline. “Well. If you’re so interested, I might as well teach you how to do this much.” He showed Demyx how to change the IV and how to take base vitals. “I’m hoping we won’t need to do this for too much longer. But that’s all up to him.” Even patted Ienzo’s head.

“I miss him.” He felt tears in his eyes.

“As do I,” Even said softly. “Come. Are you hungry?”

---

The more Demyx studied, the more his memories became clearer. In those first shocked days, it had been hard to focus on any memory for very long. Now, not so much.

He’d been a healer then, but not a very good one. He’d still been a coward. More than once someone had gotten egregiously hurt because he hadn’t been willing to step up. He’d been kicked out of multiple parties that way.

He didn’t want to be a coward. It was time to be mature; a grown up. Deal with grown up things in a grown up way. Don’t run. Face it. The hurt will be over that much faster.

For the first time, he tried to summon the Keyblade because he wanted to. But that wasn’t what happened. Instead of cool metal, there was warm, varnished wood. Familiar. Well-worn. He held the sitar tenderly. Cried a bit out of relief.

He was still, despite it all, himself.

[dyslexian-obliterator]

The Insider - Chapter 1

Fencer’s Magemark - illus. Brandon Kitkouski

There’s something in the water.

My footsteps were masked by the splashes of rain droplets falling through the grates, making contact with the surface of the sewage beside the walkway. The splashes snapped with each drop, echoing the sound throughout the entire tunnel. It was a feeling worse than silence. 

There’s something in the water.

I tensed my grip on the searchlight’s chain as I continued to creep down the passage. The searchlight illuminated the path ahead, the rigid, reptilian interior of the sewer and the opaque, green sludge two footsteps to my right. A little too close for my comfort. 

There’s something in the water. The letter was unspecific to an exact location to where I’d run in with him. Perhaps it was a means to exercise my ability to draw to conclusions. That, or I didn’t pay close enough attention to the letter before the spell dissipated the parchment in my hands, the ashes dissolving into the air without a trace. I had even called an investigator- a former Wojek, in attempt to recover any trace or evidence that a letter had even arrived on my desk that morning. One-hundred percent empty handed. Whoever this was, he was very keen on keeping our meeting on a one to one basis.

There’s something in the water.

And to think that I never-

There’s. Something. In. The water.

The occasional air bubble beside me in the water was hard to ignore for so long, and I eventually traded a glance. Another bubble. To my own curiosity, I tilted my searchlight downward.

The peak of a cranium, along with several deathcaps which had grown onto the surface of the skull, emerged from the water as soon as the light glistened onto the surface of the sewage.

Slitherhead - illus. Greg Staples

My grip loosened. A Golgari listening device. Listening... fungus. Hearing shroom?

Regardless, it was not going to do me any harm and there was no reason to puddle my worries on it. I turned my spotlight back to the path, only to illuminate a man standing not three paces ahead of me in a patchy gray cloak. His hunch was hard to look at, and his noggin had enough warts to consider Gark’s nose-jobs on Tin Street to be both financially and cosmetically worthwhile. 

The laces of my boots jumped from their fastens and shot a chill up my vertebrate until I could feel it at the base of my skull. I took an involuntary backpedal into the sewer wall, light focused on him. A pale, calloused hand rose from his robes. “Please, please get your light away from my face, you wretched scalp!”

My brain fired enough neurons to recognize his request and lower the spotlight onto his chest, still revealing him while not blinding him. Slowly, his palms lowered- nails as long as dirks. 

“Is that how you usually greet strangers, young man?” His voice croaked, strained for air and pressed for sound.

My first thought was to reply with a simple ‘No’, but then I remembered that with interrogating people, sticking a light in their face is exactly how I greet strangers.

“Sometimes,” I winced in the veil of darkness behind the aim of the searchlight, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to recognize my expression past the glare of the light. “Do you... need to get by?” I pressed myself further against the wall and gestured past me to include a visual in my question.

The hunchback shook his head and hand in unison. An unearthly phlegm sound hurked from his throat before he spat a gob of it out into the adjacent pool. Somewhere in my gut, I crossed my fingers that it landed on the skull. “Not like I could without you making me see angels dancing above my head! I was actually trying to figure out where that god awful light was coming from.” A nail pointed in accusation at the searchlight “Turn that racket off, for Pivlic’s sake! The whole sewer knows you’re here!”  

Spectral Searchlight - illus. Martina Pilcerova

I blinked, looking around. Sure enough, the reflection of the light beamed across the tunnel, bounced off water and concrete endlessly. It was more than likely that his tale was true. Without further hesitation, I pulled on the lever and the hollowed light slowly dimmed, until eventually it was completely extinguished. Once again, the sewer grew dark. Seconds in silence rolled on by until the hushed scoundrel uttered a single word: “Follow.” And so I did.

“So how does one end up seeing their way around here then?” I inquired, slowly letting the now unlit searchlight dangle by my side. “They don’t.” He replied, bluntly. “One must only recognize the feeling each individual stone brick to know their way through these tunnels.” “Every single brick?” “It’s more of a euphemism than anything else, but I will admit I have my own tricks.” I followed the grizzled wayfinder through the dark, not certain where he was leading me. In any normal scenario my fight or flight would kick in right about now, screaming “RED FLAG! RED FLAG! BAD, BAD, BAD!” in attempt to pull me away from potential danger. But the fact of the matter was that this was my job. And I knew from the start that my hands were going to get very dirty. I just didn’t realize how dirty until I got involved personally.  After what felt like an indiscernible amount of time, my ‘guide’ came to a stop. A faint hum emitted from above, and the room came to life. 

Chromatic Lantern - illus. Jung Park

Ornate, white marble columns stretch up and branch off into the ceiling’s supports, where a small golden chandelier-esque object hangs by chains. It emanates a faint aura of both recognizable and foreign mana. While a more devious plot might be to use it as a font for ill intentions, this man has seemed to utilize it as a means to light a room. How humdrum.  

It took me whole moments of soaking in the room to recognize that we were no longer on the path at all. In fact, the room we were in bare no recognizable entry or exit points. And the guide who had led me here was-

“Behind you.” 

The gravel beneath my heal grinded as I spun in reverse to face him. The voice had not come from the raspy confines of an older man but rather a well dressed Vedalken, with a fine-cut, thin black coat that reeked of outdated style. The gray cloak worn by the former hunchback, as well as what looked to be his skin- nose included, was folded over his arm like a bath towel. It kind of looked like something you’d see at a Rakdos baby shower gone normal.

“So you are-..”

He cut me off with a raise of his hand before I could even finish my statement. “In this line of work, we do not address one another’s names.  You know my face, that alone is enough.” His voice slowly motioned the words but his speech was punctual. “I think we’ll begin you with a simple task. Enough to be worthy of this meeting, as well as enough to grant you a permissible amount of freeform to see how you execute it.” My eyes narrowed on the Vedalken as he begun to pace, fingers pressed against one another at his waist. His head slowly turned towards my direction, and an uneasy feeling met me even before I knew what he wanted from me.

“You’re going to rob a bank.”

“A bank?” I riposted quizzically, stressing the furrows of my brow in confusion. “Just... rob a bank? That’s it?” “If you’re going to ask why, then I can find another who will ask less questions.” His eyes narrowed as well, and slowly he began to approach me from beneath the hanging lantern. “Precinct 16. Ordo District. I want the Alms vault emptied.”

Boros Garrison - illus. John Avon

“A whole bank? Emptied completely?”

A few of the battalion commanders spoke in hush among one another around the perimeter of the large table, until another took the stage. He was a Minotaur, adorned with the most vibrant red clothes and the Legion’s fist emblazoned on the clasps of his cape. His chest bare witness to a myriad of medallions, hailing from service during the Gruul riots of Utvara to the Kraj incident.

“Since the Dimir informant has not tipped off Lieutenant Kolben of any precursor reasoning to this robbery, we’re left awfully empty handed.” His gruff voice filled the room, hooking any side conversations his way. “It’s clear that our only course of action is to follow through with the heist to build further trust. The more Kolben cooperates with given directives, the more information he will be given. Inserting the Lieutenant into the innermost ring of the Dimir hierarchy is our priority.”

“And where does your crusade of vengeance find its limit?” 

A voice piped in from the corner of the room. Malus, an arbiter of the Azorius, was appointed to the consul of this operation by Isperia personally to ensure the law was followed to every individual letter, much to the dismay of the command structure of the Boros. Malus rest his elbows on the table through his robes, gesturing his skeletal fingers blatantly towards the Minotaur. “At what point do you draw the line? Will you go as far as to raze the whole city in your fabled attempted at a wild goose chase?”

All the while, Jat stood across from the mirror of the barracks with a short knife and a chin of soap, slowly shaving off the remains of a bad five-o’clock shadow. He flicked a wad of dirty soap and hair into the sink rinsing it thoroughly- or as thoroughly as Izzet plumbing will allow. Turns out that the Boros contract for the pipelines seem to deter most of the usual grime, most likely after several “visits” to Nivix demanding clean water.

Sunken eyes stared back at one another through the reflection of the mirror in query, palms leaning on the edge of the sink as he asked himself a plethora of questions. Because in exactly a week, a Wojek operative was going to single-handedly infiltrate and empty a high security Orzhov vault, empty it out, all the while breaking every law that they had been molded to uphold. At the end of the day, it stood as testament to one truth: 

No one watches the watchmen.

[iratzetribute]

「#Solo —; New Game, New Rules.」by @IratzeTribute.

And there he was, like he’d never left. Like he’d always been there and yet it felt as though he’d been gone for an eternity. Every single second since had been spent searching for him. Fighting for him and now he stood there before me. I could reach out and touch him but he still felt so far away from me that he could have still been with Valentine, on that boat, with that man who we know as our father.

What had he done to him? What had Valentine do that gave him that tortured and shadowy look. The bags beneath his eyes so dark they could almost be bruises. His gaze, usually sparkling and bright were dark and distant and when he looked at me it’s as if he were looking through me, passed me at something else entirely.

He avoided my gaze even now. Isabelle and Alec hovered around him, chattering amongst themselves about their next plan of action. Magnus, who had to all but spell the Institute to allow him to bring Jace back here, was off tinkering with a few bottles that he had set upon a small bar like surface. It seemed the warlock often turned to alcohol to numb the pains that life had wrought upon us all recently.

“We need to strike fast and hard, we can’t give him a chance to go back into hiding,” Alec’s voice broke through the fog that clouded my mind. “I agree but we can just storm the boat with guns-a-blazing, Alec, he’s got an army at his command. We’re just 5 people.”

“Then we will get the Institute to send in reinforcements, Valentine is an enemy of the Clave, they - have - to help.” Isabelle scoffed, rolling her eyes skyward as Magnus returned to the group, drink in hand. “Isabelle is right,” He said, Alec flashing him a look. Magnus blinked once towards the archer then continued, “The Clave may indeed want to put Valentine down, Alexander, but they aren’t going to rush in without a plan. After all, this is a sensitive situation…”

Magnus’ gave flickered to the blonde which once again brought my attention to Jace who, for the most part, had been silent and staring at something unseen across the room. However, when everyone’s gaze followed Magnus’ and they quieted to await where he was going with his explanation Jace’s eyes shut a moment before meeting everyone’s in turn, even mine and for a split second it was almost as if he was touching me.

His gaze caressed my skin that same as his hand once did when we kissed and, like that kiss, it ended all too soon as he blinked away and found Magnus’ once more. “They’re going to use me.” He said as if to finish Magnus’ thought. “The Clave will send the Inquisitor.” After an hour of discussion, after what felt like forever, I finally stepped forward and joined the group. “Who’s that?” I asked. Isabelle’s eyes met mine first but it was Alec who spoke, his tone leaving no mystery to how exasperated he was, with me or the situation, however, was the real question.

“The Inquisitor is the judge, jury and executioner in matters of The Clave. When Izzy stood trial, that was The Inquisitor, she’s since returned to Idris but she will return and then it’s Jace’s turn to stand trial.”

“They’ll wanna see what he knows about Valentine and his operation,” Isabelle spoke up. “And they’ll want to know if Jace can still be trusted or if Valentine has turned him.” That was Magnus, I met the warlock’s gaze, “That’s ridiculous, why would they think that? Jace has been like the perfect Shadowhunter all his life.”

I found Jace’s gaze, he looked at me a moment, a indiscernible emotion twisting his features before his eyes flickered away from mine, “I don’t think that matters anymore.” He said, pushing himself off the chair he’d been perched upon. “Shouldn’t it matter?” I asked, meeting everyone’s gaze in turn, “Shouldn’t what he’s done for them stand even now?”

“That could go one of two ways,” Isabelle said and as she went on I watched as Jace crossed the room towards a door that lead to a balcony and sat open a few inches. “They could say Jace has been an upstanding Shadowhunter and has merely fallen prey to Valentine as many have before or…” She stopped, causing me to look away from Jace and towards her. “Or…?” I hedged.

“Or they could say I’ve been a spy for him all along. Just doing what I had to earn the trust of The Clave until Valentine came out of hiding.”

“Like Hodge…” Alec said, seeming almost sad as he did so. “Well they would be wrong.” I countered. “That doesn’t matter!” Jace snapped, turning back to me. His dark gaze boring into me, feeling as though it were searing my flesh and leaving a mark in it’s wake. “Nothing I’ve done in the past matters now. All that matters is what they think and they think I’ve been working with - our father - to create a new and improved Circle that will eventually lead to another uprising.”

The words ‘our father’ dripped with venom as he spat them at me. Like they were poison in his mouth and he would undoubtedly choke and die at the mere mention of them. I shrunk back, not entirely sure what to say next. I loved him still, loved him in a way that no sister should love her brother and I wanted to go to him. To hug him and tell him everything will be okay but I honestly didn’t know if it would.

They way he looked at me now, like I was the product of all the things that had gone wrong in his world. Like I were the very thing that now stood between the life he knew and certain death. I felt like I was teetering on the edge. One step to my left and I’d fall into a deep and dark pit of nothingness and eternal despair and one step to my right was Jace, - my brother -.  

“I think we’ve had quite enough of that.” Magnus spoke up, breaking the silence and causing me to finally look away from the battered and broken shell of the boy I was knew. Valentine did in fact get to him. He took what was once a prized Stallion and he broke him. Who even knew what Jace was really thinking now? How do we know he hasn’t been brainwashed?

“I think we should all take a break, maybe get some sleep and try to sort this out in the morning.”

“Magnus is right,” Alec said, causing the warlock to smile and croon a soft, “Oh I do love it when he says that.” Alec rolled his eyes but Isabelle quirked a grin. Jace, however, looked as though he hadn’t heard a thing. “Cooler heads and all that.” Isabelle agreed, catching my gaze. “You probably shouldn’t come back to the Institute tonight.” She said.

“I think with everything that’s going on, plus, there’s that whole thing where you disobeyed a direct order. Aldertree is kind of on the warpath. He wants us to bring you back.”

“Yeah well I didn’t go to your special shadowhunter school, I wasn’t born into the shadow world and he doesn’t tell me what to do.” Alec sighed - loudly, only to turn towards me. “You really don’t get it, do you?” he asked, “It doesn’t matter if you grew up like we did or not, you’re in this now and that means they own you. If you don’t follow their rules they can forcibly de-rune you.”

“Yeah but they can’t send me into exile or whatever… I have a family, my mother and Luke they wouldn’t let that happen.” Isabelle stepped passed Alec, touching his shoulder to will him into silence before continuing in his place. “Clary, there’s something you need to understand, maybe they can’t excommunicate you in quite the same way but you’d never be able to go back to your old life. Once you know about the Shadow world they won’t let you just go back to being a mundane. They will send people after you and they will keep sending them and for Luke, Jocelyn and probably Simon as well.”

“But The Accords…” I started… “They will no longer apply to you,” Magnus supplied. “Besides,” Alec said, moving back around Izzy. “You just said it yourself, you’re not one of us. They might not even apply to you now.”