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qinluna · 6 months ago

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NOT WHEN IT COMES TO YOU (W. SYLUS QIN) wc. 1050. hurt/comfort. reader is the mc and experiences a panic attack. canon compliant to the l&ds story, no spoilers. character study-ish on the mental state of the mc. sylus is perceptive person and sees through the reader. non-established relationship. not proofread. side note: my writing program crashed after i pasted it to the tumblr draft. lol!

‘Does any of it matter anymore?’

You write those words in a pocket-sized journal every night. The very same one that’s tucked away in your drawer where an assortment of lingerie overfills and molds within one another. You have to do something, anything, to keep your body aware of its movement, its functionality and life.

Does any of it matter anymore?

You almost want to reach out to Zayne about it. To talk. To explain this stream of endless thoughts and the endless void of questioning your worth. Things haven’t been easy, to the point where you wonder if taking the Hunter Exam, valuing your worth on whether or not you passed, was worth it in the end. Not after everything you’ve found out. Not after everything you’ve witnessed and lost.

Now, you had bargained your life. A bold, risky step that required more trust than you could ever ask for. (You got it, regardless. You had nothing to fear in that aspect.)

“Does any of it matter anymore…?”

You ask yourself again, your voice a low whisper. You needed to make sure you were here, still. Some way, somehow. You were now shrouded by a blaring red sky and even darker red moon. Your gaze, holding faux grit, stares into a crimson gaze that looks over your sunken, kneeling form.

He wears a light curl of a smirk, lowering himself to you: “You should speak up, little Hunter. I can’t quite hear you.”

You push down that growing dread in an empty chest. But if it were empty, your heart wouldn’t be housed there, beating ferociously as you were face to face with the one who had answers you needed. If not all, at least some. The ones to point you in the right direction.

You call it going away in your own head—it’s what you do when you feel more than just your heart on the verge of giving out. It’s what you do when your fingers begin to twitch and tremble, your words struggling to come out. You don’t consider it freezing up completely, but a different sensation.

It’s just something you always dealt with on your own, always aware of.

The gentle flick of your fingers at your side gauges your knowledge of it happening again. Surrounded by desperate brokers and merchants; people with vile intentions and greed that isn’t a homely territory back in Linkon City.

You’re reminded why Onichynus thrives. Why Sylus wears the success and pride he does.

Despite his teachings intending to help you hold that same pride, you can’t. You realize too late in this room full of people who could eat you alive, you bit off more than you could chew. You remain by Sylus’ side as he indulges in the meaningless chatter of those who throw themselves at him with wretched desperation—but the room is beginning to feel hazy.

You know you should’ve arranged something. Some kind of signal to let him know you needed a breather.

This was more than a breather you needed. This was an emergency where you’re a glass sculpture, waiting and begging to be knocked over. You hated being made of glass, regrettably—hated being ogled at in that way. You feel it in the worst form now, being the guest of the most powerful man in the N109 Zone.

Your arm, securely wrapped around his bigger one, shifts back just slightly to tug at his sleeve. It’s not an obvious action, not even to the keen eye like yourself. But it’s enough that you feel the slight jerk, that startles him. To Sylus, this would be a disturbance as little of a fly on someone’s shoulder.

Yet, the air between you two shifts.

Sylus holds a hand up to the two men standing before you both, “Ah—you’ll have to excuse me, gentlemen. I just recalled that I am to assist the security detail with an issue. Please, do enjoy the rest of the evening.”

He leads you away without another word, brushing off the guests.

Vultures. Vultures. Vultures. Every single one of them.

You hold your breath in a subtle manner, your throat constricted. Sylus’ movement is swift and urgent at once, heading towards the back of the ballroom. He opens one of the double doors, ushering you out first before following closely.

It’s just you two now, in this empty, grandeur hall.

You felt sick. You wanted to die. You wanted every fiber of anguish to leave you be and never come back. You never wanted to feel anything again. You wanted to rip your heart out and burn it, to bleed out to death by its side—

—Does any of it matter anymore?

“Little Hunter,” Sylus’ smooth voice cuts through your clogged mind. His hand comes forward, knuckles gently brushing against your cheek, catching stray tears that roll down, “Just focus on me. You’re alright now.”

Oh.

Your eyes widen, your faint breath an overwhelming echo in your head as you come back to yourself. Never before had you seen his eyes so… fond. Gentle. Comforting. It makes you feel sick. You feel the need to lurch and throw up everything you’ve eaten.

Instead, your tears thicken. You blink a few times before lowering your head, pressing the back of your hand against your mouth as you pant heavily. Clawing through your throat is a string of sobs, your body tensing along with it.

Sylus reacts with instinct, his voice lowered as he gently shushed you. His arm wraps around your shoulders, pressing you into his strong torso. To hide you away from the world, to delicately hold your sorrows.

“You’re alright, Little Hunter.” He whispers into the top of your head, lips brushing softly against your hair, “I feel your shame, there’s no need to carry such a thing. I’m not upset.”

You hiccup, pulling away just enough to tilt your head back—looking up at him: “You’re… not?”

A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest. His fingers gently tuck strands of your hair behind your ear, offering you the most warmth he possibly can in this moment. Unfamiliar, but not unappreciated. You’re more grateful than anything, in spite of everything you two had rough edges about.

“Never,” he assures you with a smile. “Not when it comes to you.”

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toraoistired · 2 months ago

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let's talk about project 2025 and smut.

bc I've seen some of my favorite authors already state they aren't writing any more smut due to the mere threat of project 2025 going into effect. And hey, I'm a simple person who likes to read abt sexy times.

pls read through all the way and share if ya like any of what i wrote here - i don't want panic to be spreading through the writers of tumblr/ao3 like wildfire unchecked.

qualifications: BA in political science focusing on domestic policy, activism and ethnic studies.

Part I - what is it?

project 2025 at its core is a roadmap. it was created by the Heritage Foundation (an extremely far right disgusting think tank), and plenty of people associated with the previous and incoming Trump presidency. its like 900 pages of alt-right, christian nationalist bullshit.

but its not uncommon.

think tanks like the Heritage Foundation often create roadmaps like this to plot out what they would most want to see in a future presidency or period of political control. it isn't even particular to right-wing think tanks; left wing ones do it too! the difference in this case is the magnitude and attention paid to the manifesto.

the heritage foundation is a vast organization with a lot of money, and has had a part in US politics for a long ass time now. because of this, what they say/do carries a bit more weight. combined with the fact that dems in the past election used project 2025 as a common refrain (instead of like, developing their own policy but whatevs), you get a general public who is aware of the buzzword "project 2025" but not knowledgeable about what it contains.

what it does actually include is certainly worrying, but among the new freaky shit is a ton of stuff that has been on the republican party's to do list since day one, like dismantling the department of education. just reading that seems really shocking, i know, but if you look back to when the department was created, you will find evidence of republicans trying desperately to dismantle it.

i find the media flurry around project 2025 to be a bit concerning, because while i understand dems wanting to show voters how dangerous this shit can be, its also made it into something far more important than it could actually be. as i stated earlier, these types of policy blueprints are extremely common among think tanks. its like their entire job!! and yes, this one is scarier and more visible than others, but it

a.) isn't the official policy of the incoming admin (and if you look at their actual policy statement, its very clear they don't rly have policies, so who knows what that's gonna look like)

b.) isn't united states federal law

Part II - what's it gonna look like?

i'm not gonna sit here and say you shouldn't be worried about project 2025, bc a lot of whats in it is freaky asf. but that freakiness is what (in my opinion) will be its primary challenge. since its so out there, the extreme right wing republicans are going to have to work their asses off to get the votes they need to pass these things.

which brings me to another point-- project 2025 is a whole list of proposals. its not like republicans can put forth one bill that has the entirety of project 2025 in it and pass it all at once. for a whole laundry list of reasons, that's not possible. the process of getting one bill passed through the house and senate is an excruciatingly long one, and doing this process for 900 pages worth of plans ain't gonna be easy.

i should mention that donald trump has yet to endorse the plan as his own, so there's the real possibility that he wont even want to implement any of the ideas included. i could 100% see him ignoring the entire plan because he doesn't like that someone else came up with it tbh. and while i don't believe he has never heard of the heritage foundation, as he has claimed in the past, i think it is important to note that there hasn't been any confirmation from him that project 2025 is his roadmap.

the plan includes rollbacks of rights for every minority group possible, restrictions on immigration, access to morning-after pills, restructuring of the federal government to allow for easier hiring and firing based on little/no evidence, etc. all in all, not great.

but again, project 2025 isn't united states federal law

Part III - what does it mean for fanfic authors?

the section that has the fanfic-consuming/creating world in a tizzy is the bit about outlawing pornography. this is a concerning policy propsal, but not because of possible fanfic bans. rather, bc project 2025 and the heritage foundation at large sees queerness as inherently and exclusively sexual.

"pornography, manifested today in the omnipresent propagation of transgender ideology and sexualization of children" (The Heritage Foundation, p.5)

thus, if they ban pornography (with a definition that includes/focuses on queerness), they can effectively ban expressions of queerness in the united states.

that shit is scary. and while i never want to rely on foundational documents when the people interpreting those documents (court justices (esp those appointed by the previous and incoming trump admin)), i will hesitantly say that this is gonna be a tough sell. both from a constitutional standpoint, and from a broad base support standpoint.

for the first of the two points, arguing that the first amendment doesn't "apply" to something is always a slippery slope, and defending that point is extraordinarily difficult. obviously this isnt always the case, but especially relating to pornography and obscenity, proving that a work fails the Miller test (a three part test created in Miller v. California (1973) to determine if something is obscene or not) is, like, really hard (heh).*

while the miller test is precedent for specific cases that come up in the court system, if some version of the porn ban goes into effect, the US court system is going to be dealing with challenges from every state, every form of media, every fandom.

which brings me to the second point. broad base support.

while the headline about Grindr crashing in Milwaukee during the RNC wasn't true in 2024, republican events in previous have brought an influx in users to the area in which the events are held if ya know what i'm sayin👀

on a real note though, getting a pornography ban passed in the united states would be exceedingly hard (no pun intended). especially one that includes forms of media like written pornography, not just visual. in terms of feasibility, a ban on video pornography is incrementally more likely than one on all forms of pornography. arguments against porn are weak at best, and the anti-porn movement in the US (usually religious) has been trying, and failing, for decades to ban pornography. most content about porn bans also refers primarily to video-based porn, not written smut.

let's just say worst case scenario something like this does go into action. anything you've written before the law goes into action cannot be used as a way to prosecute you. that would be an example of ex post facto punishment, which is explicitly prohibited in the constitution and by court precedent.

*note: i'm not endorsing the way the US court precedents around porn/obscenity look, as they are another symptom of purity culture and anti-sex culture created in the US

Part IV - what do we do?

well, giving up before a bill has even been proposed ain't it. it makes me deeply sad to see so many writers saying they wont be writing smut anymore because of the vague possibility of this plan. not only does it make me sad, it makes me angry. because that means people have seen so much misinformation about what project 2025 is and how it works that they are too scared to do anything about it. let me repeat again.

project 2025 is not law in the united states of america, nor is it in the process of becoming so. act accordingly.

so go forth, write smut, be gay, do some shit to make the heritage foundation angry today. and don't give up before the battle has even started. bc that's how they win. and i know shit seems really scary, but community and mutual aid is how we are gonna make it through this, so do your due diligence and research what you're scared about! knowledge is power and you gotta wield that sh*t.

i'd like to end with a quote from Timothy Snyder, who everyone and their mother has been quoting recently, but i still think it has value.

"Do not obey in advance. Most of the power of authoritarianism is freely given. In times like these, individuals think ahead about what a more repressive government will want, and then offer themselves without being asked. A citizen who adapts in this way is teaching power what it can do. Anticipatory obedience is a political tragedy." (Excerpted from On Tyranny by Timothy Snyder, 2017)

[Note - i have cited sources where appropriate, but this is also based on my (important to note, informed) opinion. please treat it as such, thank you]

#writeblr #fanfic writers #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #smut #smut fanfiction #smut writing #know your rights #queer community #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #smut writers of tumblr #fanfiction #fanfic authors #fanfic writers ily

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224bbaker · 1 month ago

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So, hypothetically speaking, if someone had never been interested in Sherlock Holmes before but wanted to get into it because of Fawx & Stallion... Where should they start?

Oh my GOD, anon, so upset we didn't see this until now because what a great question and also, our show inspiring someone to go check out Sherlock Holmes?? Deeply upsetting for our characters but SO exciting for us!

Hopefully since you sent this you've just dived in to the stories--because, honestly, that's how both of our writers got into them as kids, and also because despite what roughly 40 contradicting scholars will try to tell you, the timeline is nonsense and Watson's continuity doesn't make sense (we have made our own peace with this and addressed it in-universe because we didn't want to go on deep-dives to decide what puns we were allowed to use for the place we're at in the timeline it's fine, we're fine).

However, just a quick sidebar before we jump into The Stories--if you would rather start with an adaptation than the original ACD stories themselves, there are two options we'd recommend as starting points that are pretty true to canon while remaining engaging in and of themselves:

The Granada TV series with Jeremy Brett and David Burke/Edward Hardwicke: It rules, and most of it's on YouTube! Highly recommend their Solitary Cyclist, Speckled Band, Scandal in Bohemia, and Blue Carbuncle (we may be biased towards the early, David-Burke-Watson entries). These actors and sets are what we picture when we read Holmes.

For an audio adaptation, the 1989 Bert Coules radio adaptation, which you can get for a single credit on Audible in full and has basically the whole canon! Incredible dramatization work that preserves the stories and really deepens the character work in a way that we're obsessed with. Big fans!

If you're liking the vibe of these, you'll probably like the stories themselves! In which case, there are also awesome online book clubs like Letters from Watson that have great communities here on Tumblr (just peruse the tag, it's super fun!), and also over on Discord.

SO. If you're still here and looking for our direction on the stories:

If you just want to start with what is/will be relevant to Fawx & Stallion, we recommend:

Our goal is that our audience doesn't NEED to have read any Sherlock Holmes to understand anything in F&S. We'll hopefully lay things out or give context clues. However, we do have little jokes for the fans, and in season 2, some subtext may be a bit clearer, or have a bit more weight, if you've read some of the stories.

A Study In Scarlet: I know, I know I know I know, Holmes fans, the Utah Mormon stuff, I get it, BUT. Holmes and Watson meet in this one, and it's incredible. The first few chapters of them meeting, starting to live together, going from roommates with a mutual fascination to, through Watson's unintentional insult of Holmes's writing and a fateful invitation to a crime scene, actual friends, are electric. It's a crime (pun intended) that we have so few dramatizations of this in the canon era (we're trying to fix that), we love it so so much. Sacrilege, but, wikipedia the stuff in the middle, enjoy the fantastic meet cute that bookends the thing.

Hound of the Baskervilles: Happening during the events of Fawx & Stallion season 1. I don't need to tell you this one is a banger, we all know this. Less Holmes content than you expect, but a GREAT setting, mood, and roster of suspects, and a thrilling, well-paced mystery with some great Watson.

The Final Problem: Occurs right before the events of season 2, and though you again don't need to have read it, some stuff might hit better if you have, particularly in the back half of the season. High recommend. On the same note, The Beryl Coronet is also mentioned a few times, which is the case right before this one.

Ok, with that out of the way, we highly recommend:

The "Jump Around To Whatever Short Story or Novel Sounds Cool" Approach

This is the move, in my opinion. As I've said before, the timelines are nonsense, you CAN try to get into the weeds of continuity as we have and there is delightful madness to that, but would I recommend it as an intro? No. They're short stories! They're serialized! Treat it like a TBS rerun series at 1 AM and just pick one that is on/sounds cool!

Now, if you want our PREFERENCE? There are different genres of Holmes mysteries, different types of mysteries for different preferences, but we're going to recommend one particular sub-genre of Holmes mysteries that we find particularly fun/unique: The "It's Not Necessarily A Crime Yet But the Vibes Are There" Mystery.

We love these. They're the best. Not depressing or gruesome off the bat, usually starting with some whimsy at Baker Street, these stories usually begin with a client coming to Holmes and the following interaction happens

CLIENT: Um, hi. Honestly it's pretty silly that i'm even here. It's probably just a Weird Thing, you probably don't-- HOLMES: No no no please tell me I love Weird Things. CLIENT: Ok. Well. My boss/guardian/brother/[insert-person-who-has-power-over-them] has been doing this Thing where he [insert extremely weird thing that again, is not a Crime, but the vibes are there]. It's kinda weird. HOLMES: Yeah, super fucking weird. CLIENT: I know! But it's not a crime, so I don't know, you're probably not interested, I'm just a [not rich not male not high class not privileged identity] so there's really no point in checking that out-- HOLMES: No girl (gn), we are DEFINITELY checking that shit out there's a crime in there somewhere and we're gonna find it!

And we're off! If this sounds interesting to you (and it SHOULD), check out: The Solitary Cyclist, The Red Headed League, The Copper Beeches, The Greek Interpreter, The Speckled Band, The Stockbroker's Clerk, The Musgrave Ritual, The Resident Patient, and honestly probably some others we're missing because it's REALLY common.

Other fun Holmes bangers:

Holmes overworks himself and Watson takes him to the country to rest, only to solve ANOTHER FUCKING MYSTERY: The Reigate Squires

The Christmas One!: The Blue Carbuncle

The Dancing Men: I don't have a fun little thing for this one it's just a banger and the Granada Adaptation rules!

The One Where Sherlock Holmes does NOT fall in love with Irene Adler but does get completely owned because 1) he thinks women don't get up early, and 2) he wanted to have a sleepover with Watson: A Scandal in Bohemia

There are a ton, and hopefully you'll find one that you like and just jump in!

#sherlock holmes #fawx & stallion #letters from watson #granada holmes #acd holmes #asks

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wardensantoineandevka · 9 months ago

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I feel like I should be allowed—rather, get more opportunity—to approach fandom like academia SPECIFICALLY in how common it is in media studies to cite writing by people on a completely different work and apply that as a framework for analysis of the work I am discussing without necessarily having to completely re-articulate and re-construct that structural approach from the ground up.

It should be more common to point to a framework of ideas in someone else's Tumblr posts on, I don't know, Midst and Fullmetal Alchemist to discuss Critical Role: Campaign 3, just like how I've very much cited academic commentary on The X-Files and The Island to discuss Star Wars while I was getting my media studies degree.

We should start doing this more often, just start citing people's fandom meta articulating a point on something as a framework to discuss this completely other thing. Participate in the forum of ideas. We should just start openly be like this Tumblr user's commentary on The Locked Tomb ([link]) is a good structural basis to rant about MY hyperfixation on Fantasy High using the same structural framework.

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auroratumbles · 4 months ago

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first of all, do NOT in any way harass nor send hate to anyone mentioned in this post. this is simply to raise awareness about it all!!

user @/ceneid (formerly) was a popular person in the genshin writing community who lied about their age, identity, faked an ed, and was just mainly a shitty person in general.

all the information on this post comes from an anonymous source

the blogs that were owned by elise are:

ceneid

hikoiaa

umiloa

ha-yami

scarasgfreal

symphxony

fionvancia

fixnaie

a quote from my source:

"for context, elise ran a total of 4-5 accounts, with her very first blog being ceneid that was also mutuals with you - they’re the same person. elise had multiple accounts where she claimed she was different ages and it was fairly obvious it was her due to the fact that she didn’t bother to change her typing style or themes, one of the blogs claimed she was 18, a few of my friends and i ended up noticing she had a terrible tendency to say things like “oh i haven’t eaten in 20 hours! should i eat? oh nvm” and such which led to everyone being concerned, these were EXTREMELY frequent, and she’d speak about self harm - randomly putting it in a casual conversation without warning.

she also asked for my location at some point, and overall i eventually grew tired of it and blocked her. later on, someone i know made a callout post on her and it ended in shambles, elise continued to try to get them to take the post down but to no avail until elise deactivated ceneid and started the hikoiaa blog. the person who made the post found out it was her and the cycle continued, until elise ended up admitting everyone and apologized to everyone per the person’s request.

after elise did that, the person deactivated their blog thinking elise had changed for the better - and i even interacted with her too because i thought the same thing. unfortunately, we were all wrong and found out elise owned the @/symphxony blog where she says she’s 17. multiple things have it away that it was her such as coincidentally posting the same things, following the exact same people, and elise also bypassed someone’s boundaries by interacting with them through the blog as a way to become friends with them despite the person telling her to not interact with her directly.

elise made excuses when i confronted her and told her to stop, and she played it off as coincidences like she did before when the owner of the call out post tried to talk things out with her. i have people who can vouch for everything im saying, as well as some screenshots that would unfortunately not fit into this ask because there’s too many of them, she also has this strange obsession with following and interacting with people that i follow and interact with in any shape or form, this has happened almost 7 times now as well. she’s constantly made blogs to follow me on despite me telling her to NEVER contact me again. this stopped a few days ago when she blocked me."

screenshots provided were

another quote:

"elise’s stories never made sense, they were always exaggerated and/or made her seem smarter than she actually was - this was a small bit of the proof that she was lying about her age at the end when she claimed to be 16. she linked a few tiktoks on her blog, revealing her account in the process that studied 7th grade science"

she was called out by someone else on tumblr initially, but that post was lost to the depths. she lied about having a joint blog with someone when it was really just her. to save her own skin, she dmed them.

when that blog blocked her, she made a 'burner account' to talk to them even more.

another blog named 'scarasgfreal' was made. they were 𝜗𝜚 anon and 🦢 anon. the blog was made a few days after the incident mentioned above.

the blog confronted elise.

part 2 of this post

#i know i said id stay out of drama #but this isnt gonna be talked about so ill do it myself #genshin x reader #ceneid #genshin writing community #genshin impact

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lukolabrainrot · 4 months ago

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Calm theory anon here.. I've been busy with life but I checked in and I want to share some thoughts I have been having. Pictures are just a moment in time. I can look at a picture and think wow this couple really looks happy and you can look at a picture and say 0h wow there is sadness in their eyes I wonder what happened. People interpret differently and that's the beauty of everybody having their own mind. So you've seen a lot of photos, right with Nicola and Luke this summer. And we've seen twice now where people have misinterpreted situations. One pate gate people assumed that Luke didn't mind the photos, and that was due to the pictures we got. Later on someone put the photos together and a different story was told. Another circumstance the Nicola and JD picture we didn't get the photos in order and what happened assumed that she was just hugging him. As More pictures dropped we seen that they were actually taking a photo together. That's two times now that we've misinterpreted a photo. And that's fine because we all say this is theory. No one knows what actively going on. Not any of these big creators on Tumblr not any of these big creators on TikTok not any of these big creators on Instagram not any of these creators on Twitter. Not one of these people actively know Luke or Nic. All they're doing is taking a set of photos and likes and assuming situations. But as we've already established, there is something called misinterpretation. so anything you see or read can be a product of misinterpretation. Guys feelings and love aren't easy things to understand. Think about the last time you were in love. I was so confused and the feelings were scary. It was the best and hardest thing I ever dealt with. But imagine someone from the outside that doesn't know you trying to understand your feelings for each other. That's just impossible. Luke and Nic are people. They are dealing with feelings most of us have never dealt with seeing as I believe they are soul mates. I truly feel they will find their way.

💯

Ok I am going to say a few things, and I know my comments are going to blow up probably, but I need to get this off my chest:

Me, and NONE of the other creators on SM, actually know L and N, or any of the people in their lives. We are all coming to our own interpretation based on PUBLICLY AVAILABLE INFORMATION. None of us have some special inside scoop into L or N's life, and no one should take our word as gospel! I share my opinions on what I am seeing, but I can't definitively say what is going on BTS, or predict the future. I think because we have a lot more questions than answers, we just want to know what is going on BTS. But we are never going to know that full story, and we have to be okay with that. We need to just let them cook, and see what happens.

I have mentioned this multiple times, but my background is in psychology and studying human behavior. I have also mentioned how ~70%-90% of human communication is non verbal. And L/N's non verbal cues speak VOLUMES and is the reason a lot of us are still here. I've talked about this a LOT on here, so feel free to scroll through my page and see my thoughts.

But it was all PR, right?? It wasn't. IMPOSSIBLE. The end.

I try to look at the FULL picture of ALL the publicly available information I have before coming to my interpretation. Yes, I have had a few little freak out moments, but I try not to fixate on a single moment in time, or a single post or interaction on SM. I try to look at everything in context of the bigger picture. And if you look at the larger picture, a lot of the information is pointing to L/N being a lot closer to getting together and going public at some point in the near future. This is my opinion though of course, and it is alright if some of you don't share my opinion.

I think a major reason I decided to start this blog is because I was having a lot of thoughts that I wanted to share around L/N and try and put a psychological lens on what might be going on BTS and what we saw during the PR tour. Another reason I started the blog though is because I have NEVER seen a connection like L/N, or seen people respond so positively to two people just interacting with each other. I am a VERY jaded person, and do not think super highly of the human species. I also have never believed in soulmates, but L/N are the closest example I have ever seen in my life. Yes I don't know them. And yes, I KNOW it sounds sappy. Trust me. I NEVER thought I would end up here today shipping two celebrities I have never met. But watching the way these two publicly interact almost felt like I had run into a unicorn or fairy in the wild. And by THAT I mean this. It is SO rare to see two people publicly show their affection and love for each other the way L/N do. Humans aren't great at it. Period. So I think we fell in love with the way they love each other (at least I know I did) because it is so rare to see, and makes us a little more hopeful. And that, and ALL the other publicly available information I have seen, is why I am firmly sat. I want to see how this movie ends, because I feel like when the PR tour ended, the movie stopped partway.

Lastly, if you do not ship Lukola, MY BLOG IS NOT FOR YOU. Also, if you find yourself spiraling over every new piece of information, this shipping space is probably not the healthiest thing for you. I feel like ultimately, shipping should be fun and not taken too seriously since we're just fans and we don't actually know these people. If you find that you are getting really stressed and not having a lot of fun anymore, it is definitely valid to take a step back. And it is fine if you have a different opinion than me or someone in the comments, BUT PLEASE BE RESPECTFUL. I am going to start blocking more people who are trolling in the comments. Ya ain't slick, people can see you 👀

#calm theory anon #just my thoughts #a lot of people might not agree with me #and that's okay

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chaoticfandomgirly · 5 months ago

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The Stupidity of hating on fanon, featuring Jegulus.

Alright folks,

Welcome to another one of my rants because I found out that there are jegulus haters on tumblr. I have not encountered one but I saw it on my mutuals' page and I had some words (a lot of words) to say.

So let's get started...

One of the main complaints is saying that 'James would never fall for Regulus.' Umm...child, do you know what fanfic is? What fanon is? If not let me spell it out for you- it's made up. Something that is not canon and created by fans by employing their imaginations. We are not saying that James would fall for Regulus in canon at all, so please don't come barging in with your opinions. So yes, we don't really care about canon anyways.

Secondly, the argument of 'Regulus being a terrible person and pureblood supremacist' is really weak. Alright, he was a pureblood supremacist and was involved in terrible things. But do you know what else he was? He was just a 17 year old boy who grew up in an abusive household. A boy who had lost his big brother and had to learn survival at an age too young. He grew up before his time and was so traumatized that he always wanted to please his parents and do as they wish. Regulus was just another victim and he also was the one who ended up being the catalyst to Voldemort's defeat. As someone who studies psychology, viewing a person on the surface is the biggest sign of ignorance and it really shows. As for 'being terrible' then let's not forget that canon James wasn't all sunshine and rainbows either. He improved ofc, but he was still an asshole when he was young. Also, we really don't have enough background on canon Regulus to place him in one box. I love that some people want to believe him as good and fill in the blanks by writing something redeeming.

Then comes the 'it's a misogynistic ship'. Now, I won't argue it fully because I do think there are some people out there who don't like Jily bc they hate Lily. But, from what I've seen majority shippers ship both of them interchangeably or in a polyarmorous sense too. In fact, most jegulus shippers are also Marylily and pandalily shippers too. I really can't see anything misogynistic in it. I've actually read some great fics where Lily is a strong independent woman who is fierce and an overall queen.

And, if the 'canon' of it bothers you too much, then you should check out early Jegulus fics like Choices where nothing is sugar-coated. James still ends up with Lily. But in the end, it leaves you thinking and rooting for them anyways. The more new Jegulus fics are on a fluffier side but that fluff came in after bearing the pain of the full of angst fics like Choices.

Another thing should be noted is that these characters are also a big part of queer community. I've seen so many fans exploring themselves through these characters. Like Regulus as Trans is becoming a popular headcanon and it shows that through creative expression people are finding a safe place to explore. And if you're a bigot then...that is frankly a you problem. One I, or jegulus fans, don't want any part of.

In the end, my motive is not to convince you of shipping these two. It clearly started as a crackship, one even I stumbled upon accidentally. But the fandom has made it into something really beautiful and I think instead of spreading hate we should accept it. There are more problematic pairings to be concerned about, trust me. This one is the least of them all.

Thank you for listening to my rant. And if you have anything negative to say, kindly don't because it would just be proof of your own stupidness. There is no point you can argue about with anything substantial. Because in the end it's fanon. Let fans do what they want and if you don't like it then ignore. No one is forcing it on you.

@corwnvus I hope this covers it all. Also, I love your art. Did I mention that, already?

#pearl rants #jegulus #james x regulus #the marauders fandom #regulus black #james potter #all the jegulus haters #please grow some sense #fanfiction #fanon

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windvexer · 1 year ago

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What counts as a spell? Is intent all you need or do you have to do something before to get it all juicy and stuff.

Hi Anon! What a fun question, because there is no answer except this CAN OF WORMS you just opened.

There is no consensus anywhere as to what constitutes a "spell."

There is even LESS consensus as to what makes a spell go.

Intent is a good starting place. It is probably where you should start for all acts of practical magic.

But I find that in it's common form, the idea of intent + willpower = magic has been diluted past the point of utility for most people.

Like if we're talking about "intent is everything" I'm reminded most closely of Chaos Magic. But Chaos Magic is not a school of "just set your intent and you've worked magic!". It's a very rigorously developed system.

In Hine's Condensed Chaos, he lists the third Core Principal of Chaos magic as technical excellence, and I quote:

One of the early misconceptions about Chaos Magic was that it gave practitioners carte blanche to do whatever they liked, and so become sloppy (or worse, soggy) in their attitudes to self-assessment, analysis, etc. Not so. The Chaos approach has always advocated rigorous self-assessment and analysis, emphasized practice at what techniques you're experimenting with until you get the results you desire. Learning to 'do' magic requires that you develop a set of skills and abilities and if you're going to get involved in all this weird stuff, why not do it to the best of your ability?

Later in the book, Hine likens "magical powers" to the concept of achievements, and goes on to say:

Something which is an achievement is the result of practice, discipline, and patience.

Shortly after:

Chaos Magic is not about discarding all rules and restraints, but the process of discovering the most effective guidelines and disciplines which enable you to effect change in the world.

(In above quotes, all emphasis my own)

But these ideas get taken - and I'll give a big nod to the LOA which is just the worst kind of brainrot for encouraging the "intent is all that matters" mindset - and the ideas get diluted so much that people are literally out here saying, "so all those people who spend years studying magic in order to get results are buffoons? All I have to do is imagine what I want and it will be delivered to me? All humans since the start of history just have to decide they want something and it will happen in a miraculous manner?"

(Not you, Anon. I'm just in a mood)

In my mind, yes - something beyond intent must occur in order to make spells go.

But what?

Anon, have you ever heard that dumb belief floating around that all herbs in a spell can be replaced by rosemary, and all stones in a spell can be replaced by clear quartz, and these two things are "universal substitutes"?

I am 95% sure that this nonsense was based on two very popular dictionaries Cunningham wrote in the 80s, the Encyclopedia of Crystal, Gem & Metal Magic, and Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs.

In the very long entry for Clear Quartz:

Quartz crystal is used as a power amplifier during magic. It is worn or placed on the altar for this purpose.

And from Rosemary:

Rosemary is generally used as a substitute for frankincense.

And I believe that someone somewhere got the idea that since clear quartz amplifies all other powers, it therefore somehow magically Ditto-copies all other powers, and like a shapeshifter somehow becomes something it is not nor ever was.

And, you know. What's the difference between subbing out frankincense and blackthorn between friends?

These beliefs have become so popular that sometimes when unscrupulous blogs rip off entire Cunningham encyclopedia entries and paste them into tumblr posts (without credit), THEY INCLUDE THE EXTRA MADE-UP BIT ABOUT ROSEMARY BEING A UNIVERSAL SUBSTITUTE.

Anon, your question is "is it just intent or do we need other stuff to make it go," but sadly,

IMO common beliefs about the stuff that makes spells go have also been diluted past the point of utility for most people.

Because if I sat here and said, "hey Anon, it's not just intent, you also have to use correspondences ^-^/" then the very first thing you are likely to run into is absolute nonsense about correspondences. IMO, effective utilization of correspondences is a skillset based in research, theory, and technique.

Or if I said, "you also have to raise energy! 👍", this may be mistaken to mean, "set intent but also visualize white light inside of a candle," because the concept of raising energy and visualizing has been (IMO) diluted past the point of utility for most people. I believe that effective utilization of energy work is a song composed of many notes and chords, several of which you must practice before you can utilize it.

And to complicate all of this, which non-diluted things in which combinations you need to make the spell go depends on what paradigm you operate off of, because while there are approximately one billion ways to do magic that works, my currently very dim worldview is that most people who are talking about magic are doing magic that doesn't work,

and in my opinion the actual basis and reasoning, like the rationality behind the magical systems is really important. Because you need that shit to understand what it is within that system that makes the spell go.

And you need to understand what makes the spell go to make the system fit into your life without breaking it, and in order to troubleshoot problems without making things crumble further.

Because when people don't understand the basis and reasoning you end up with "rosemary is a universal substitute" and "imagining white light makes the spell go."

There are a few circumstances where you can totally strip technique from theory and be successful, but there are also a hell of a lot of people out here feeling shit about their practice because their spells never seem to work.

So.

I really just recommend choosing what school of magic you would like to learn about and participate in, and reading an introductory book on it.

This is because it is the job of introductory books to explain the principles and theories behind a system of magic, and most importantly, what makes the magic go, and a step-by-step primer on what you, the practitioner, are supposed to do to make that kind of magic go.

Despite above rambles I'm really not a Chaote, so I can't recommend a strong primer. As far as I'm aware, Liber Null & Psychonaut by Peter J. Carroll is a core text.

For Traditional Witchcraft, try The Crooked Path by Kelden.

For something more Wiccan, I can't recall having anything bad to say about Psychic Witch by Mat Auryn.

If either of these things are too Witchcrafty for you, try Six Ways by Aidan Wachter, which is still witchcraft, but it hits different.

For a general primer on helping your spells go, try Elements of Spellcrafting by Jason Miller.

#answered

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silence-ofthe-llamas · 1 month ago

Text

I feel I’m VERY late to the party with the mecha AU considering how bone deep Pacific Rim runs within me but I’m chomping at the bit. Gnawing at it. I LOVE YOU ALL. I’ve reactivated my tumblr for this. Good god. @keferon my leige. I'm meant to be SLEEPING.

Anyway, I’m a general nuisance, I wont be following much of the pre-established lore too closely because of who I am as a person, bone app the teeth.

TexAid for the soul is more potent than Chicken soup.

First Aid wakes up in an ice cold sweat.

It’s not the first time. He’d lost count, actually – it seemed that every morning was the same now. He’d wake up, he’d shudder, he’d carefully extract himself from his damp-with-sweat duvet, he’d shower, and then he’d pretend that everything was perfectly fine and normal.

His function first and foremost was one of a medic. He trained to work with live patients. His expertise was with the living, not the cold stares of the dead.

But lately, all he’d been dealing with were corpses, and it all came down to one reason.

Vortex.

Superstition wasn’t something that he bought into, but the theory on base was that the mech was haunted. At the start, he didn’t believe it – mechanics were plagued with stray code, oddly executed scripts. There was nothing supernatural about it. All of the pilots said that they felt another presence within their mechs with them – there wasn’t anything special about Vortex’s AI. If one wanted to look at it that way, all of their mechs were haunted.

But Vortex was different. Of course he fucking was, why wouldn’t he be. No, no, nothing was allowed to be normal. Ever. Firstly, there was the staring. The mechs weren’t meant to stare, but whenever he went close to Vortex, he could feel his piercing gaze against him. It wasn’t normal. They should have been offline without any human input, but Vortex stayed stubbornly awake and studied his every move. Sometimes he’d swear he could hear his internals humming, the rumble of moving parts, his plating trembling and straining against the dock as he tried to move. If someone got too close to him, he’d hear the hum of weapons systems warming up. It was part of their onboarding process that they were warned against approaching him, now. He’d cut them down without a second thought.

There was also the small fact that he had a tendency to kill his pilots. And it wasn’t even an exaggeration – their means of slaughter always came from within. The cameras that filled the insides didn’t show any breaches, no weapons were brought on board, the vital signs monitors from the pilots and their own helm-mounted cameras showed no foul play of an external parties part. No. It was… Vortex. The mech showed his displeasure in a shower of blood and moving parts – and that was if he was being nice. If they weren’t power washing the remains of a digestive tract from his floor, they were manoeuvring a live body that acted like a dead weight, the pilot a stuttering mess, mentally shattered and broken. They’d never managed to get any of them back into active duty – a lot of them First Aid had no idea what had happened to them. They were simply shipped off somewhere, never to be heard of or seen from again. The worst part of it was that they were all missing fingers, as if they’d been cleaved right off by sharp metal as they reached out for something.

An alarm ripped through the base, and he gagged on his morning coffee. He knew what that meant – deployment. And with deployment came another victim, courtesy of Vortex, and all that horrid stench and morbid fascination that sent his spine tingling and brain firing to the point of insanity that paired so closely with it.

Ambulon frowned at him. “Jittery this morning, Aid.”

“I just know I’ll be on Vortex duty again.” He groaned.

Ambulon patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. “Don’t let it get to you, Aid. Pharma only does it because he trusts you.”

Yeah, right. It’s so I haven’t got an excuse to be by the morgue.

You steal one Quintesson body…

He briefly remembered the smell of the grave dirt as he’d re-interred them into the ground instead of the stone cold morgue, and quickly smelled his coffee instead.

The deployment seemed to last an age. First Aid managed to get through all of his deskwork before they returned, and Vortex staggered into his bay. First Aid was waiting patiently by the gate as the docking station clasped around him, holding him in place as cables came down from the ceiling to plug into him.

“How many bets this guys dead?” Someone behind him asked, elbowing the one stood next to him. First Aid ignored them, focusing intently on the mech.

He could see blood behind the glass. It was leaking out down the side – they were more than dead. They’d been eviscerated.

The visor lifted with a loud hiss, and First Aid took a deep breath. He held it so he didn’t have to inhale the initial stench – that part was always the worst, having been left to fester within him – and carefully studied the scene before him.

Organs hung down from the ceiling. Scraps of fabric hung limply from the still locked harness.

“What did he do to them?” First Aid quietly asked himself as he stepped forwards with a bucket.

There was a rule - you never got inside Vortex on your own. First Aid followed it religiously, and he could hear someone behind him, and so he felt perfectly comfortable in getting inside.

Only the visor snapped shut with a sickening crack as their leg was cleaved clean through, the scream barely muffled by the glass.

“No!” First Aid flew to the glass of the visor, pounding against it. “Are you okay?!”

What a stupid question that had been. Of course he wasn’t okay. The smell in the air burned at his throat and turned his stomach, and he looked down at the dismembered leg.

He couldn’t breathe. Or he was breathing too much? He didn’t know, but his chest ached and his head spun and he felt like ice had been injected straight into his veins, every hair stood on end as panic gripped him. It took every ounce of self control he had to not scream from terror when he heard pistons loudly slam into place, firmly locking the visor.

Oh, god, have mercy.

Emergency exits. These things had them, right? He’d had to pull a barely conscious pilot from one once – he’d gotten trapped in it in a malfunctioned ejection sequence. The button would be big and bright red, surely – and with a protective cover so they didn’t smack it by mistake in the middle of a fight and end up launched into the face of a Quintesson. His eyes scanned wildly, breath catching in his chest as he tried to suck in air that didn’t make him want to vomit, hands hovering over the dash. Mental images of the pilots missing their fingers played in his head like an omen.

There. Bright red. The words were worn off, the plastic scratched. The metal around it was worn and faded from use, and the plastic cover was long gone.

Blood crusted it. He smacked it anyway.

Nothing.

He looked back to where it should have been, hyperventilating. What did that mean? The techs had never found anything to be wrong with it before. Everything was functioning as normal – it was why Vortex was still even allowed to be operated. So why didn’t the emergency escape open?

Red light flooded the cockpit. His teeth chattered together as he slowly turned to look at the display that had lit up, white text running across it.

[LEAVING SO SOON?]

“I’m just a medic.” First Aid pathetically said. He almost bit his tongue.

[TAKE A SEAT]

Tears prickled his eyes as he unbuckled the harness and sat down. He tried to ignore the wet squelch as he sat in what remained of the previous human who sat there.

“What do you need from me?” He tried to sound strong as he asked.

The screen remained blank. The lights slowly dimmed, leaving him in the dark with only the sound of Vortex’s hot systems for company. He tried to calm his breathing, timing it to the rhythmic thunk of a nearby fuel pump, and wrung his fingers together.

It would be okay. It would be okay. Everything was going to be okay-

The chair suddenly flew backwards, and First Aid shrieked. His throat felt raw with how hard he’d screamed, clinging on tightly to whatever he could get his hands on. He studiously kept his limbs away from the console – he had a theory on how they’d lost their digits, and he was not keen on finding out if it was true. The chair snapped back upright again, and he whimpered, tears pooling in his eyes and his bottom lip trembling. The mech shuddered, a grinding sound rumbling through the cockpit and rattling his bones.

[PLUG IN] the screen instructed. A cable fell from the ceiling.

Helmet. He needed a helmet. They had the required port for that cable. He scanned the floor, ignoring the rising nausea as he searched for the helmet from the previous pilot.

There. Behind the chair. He picked it up, and had to look away when he realised the head was still inside. He shook it out, humming loudly to block out the sound of it hitting the floor, and kept his eyes closed as he put it on and ignored how much it stank of organic metal. He reached up for the cable, and gently guided it to the port-

Agony. Burning agony. His back arched as he screamed, hands clutching the helmet as if willing it to stay on despite how hard his legs kicked and thrashed. Electricity coursed straight through him, setting him aflame as his brain tried to catch up with his body.

It hurt. It hurt so much.

First Aid gnashed his teeth together as he fought with his conflicting emotions. He wanted to know why. Why Vortex had trapped him in there, why he had gone to this length to do this to him, why him. But he also wanted to run, to run so far away that he was nothing more than a distant memory. He didn’t want to know why Vortex had taken such an interest in him.

But oh, oh he did. He did want to know what he’d done to catch the AI’s attention.

The pain slowly subsided, the fried nerves numbing to the raw energy that charged through them, and he cracked his eyes open.

[GOOD BOY <3]

“Oh, god, I think I broke something.” First Aid whimpered. He suddenly understood just why so many pilots came to them with nerve damage, with extensive burns, and why most of their heads were metal. The connection was. Intense.

“Don’t be such a pussy.” A voice spoke directly into his head. First Aid gasped, sitting up straighter. It was strangely human, yet equally as mechanical.

“What-!”

“I just want to talk, but it’s so irritating to have to wait for you to read the screen. Removing the barriers is so much easier, isn’t it? Now, to business...”

First Aid gasped and whined as he felt pressure in his head, white not points of pain slowly pressing through his brain. His eyesight flickered and faded in and out, his sight shifting from the inside of the cockpit to the chaos right outside – chaos that he couldn’t even hear – and he was glad to see that the man who had been right behind him was receiving medical attention. What a relief. Humour that wasn’t his and that he didn’t recognise pulled at his lips, and he felt a strong urge to smile so wide that his lips split and cracked.

The pressure on his head increased, and he felt his eyes cross, reality slowly slipping through his fingers like thick slime. Red dripped from his nose. Where was he, again? Why was this happening to him? What was even happening to him- Awareness snapped back to him in time with a loud bang on the glass. He heard his name, muffled. Someone was calling to him. He should go to them, right? “Don’t move, I haven’t finished looking at you yet.” First Aid felt phantom sensations of ice cold hands pressing against his skin, a shudder running up his spine. He felt a prickle run down his arm, chasing the feeling of the tips of someone’s fingers running down the bare skin. Obediently, he held still despite how curious he was to go and look. “I can tell you like the good stuff.” An invisible hand patted his cheek and the mech shuddered, loud and clunking. “God, I’m so lucky I found you.” “Found me?” His chest felt weird. His everything felt weird. It was difficult to keep his eyes open. “I’ve been watching you. On the cameras, when you’re in the hangar with me, your files. Fascinating. How wonderful you are to me.” “That’s a bit creepy. You could have asked first.” “I don’t like being told no.” “I would have liked it more if I’d known it was happening.” Why was he so readily admitting this? Where were his carefully constructed walls and defences, keeping the abnormality at bay? He felt like he was an open book and Vortex was just turning to the pages he wanted to read. “Maybe I’d have done something if I knew I had an audience.” The mech shuddered again, harder this time.

“Come on, baby, talk to me wont you? I’ve been so lonely.”

“Maybe if you stopped killing your pilots you wouldn’t struggle so much with that.” He gritted out. Fuck, everything hurt.

“You’ve got a bit of a mouth on you, don’t you.” A sound that felt like anger rumbled through him. “I like it.”

“Can I go now?” He felt woozy. Something was wrong. Something was really, really wrong, his ears felt wet and his face felt wet and he could taste copper-

As if on cue, there was a loud bang on the visor – someone was pounding it with their fist. A shared stab of annoyance flashed through them.

“Question first. How did it feel to have a Quintesson in your bare hands?”

“How did you know about that?”

“Come on, don’t be shy, you know I’ve seen everything.” He crooned. “Tell me. I’m so desperate to know. I know you liked it – I can feel it.” It felt as if he had someone’s arms wrapped around him, their mouth right by his ear. If he closed his eyes and focused, he could feel their warm breath ghosting over it.

“It felt fucking amazing.” He thought back to it. The warmth of the body – an infant, tiny in comparison to the adults that dwarfed their houses. How thick their blood was, how it dripped down through his hands. The burn of the smell, mineral rich and glowing bright blue.

“You fucking tease.”

“You cut through them every day.” First Aid argued. “What’s so special about that?”

“You can really feel it. I’ve got metal between me and my prey.”

The banging was louder, and First Aid’s vision shifted to be through Vortex’s. There was a big group of them now, he had an audience.

“I should go.”

“You’ll be back, honey.”

First Aid ripped the helmet off, and nausea hit him like a truck as he felt a sharp wrench in his head. He loudly gagged, folding in half, and pressed a fist to his mouth to keep himself from spilling his guts into the cockpit. Vortex was certain to kill him if he made a mess. Sucking in a deep breath, he staggered over to the glass and gently placed his hand against it. It felt like half of his consciousness was somewhere else, somewhere he couldn’t reach.

“Please?” He was starting to feel disorientated, the sudden disengaging scrambling his brain. What memories were his, or the previous pilots? Pain suddenly flashed through him and he screamed, his limbs going numb. He felt warm liquid slowly run down his suit, red blooming amongst the white, bone wrenching from bone-

[LATER, DARLING <3]

Vortex’s visor finally opened, laugher echoing in First Aids head, and he fell out face-first onto the catwalk. He was gasping for breath as he scrambled away, shaking and trembling and swallowing back vomit. His hands flew over his body, checking for injures, for limbs he was certain were missing – intact. He was completely intact. His team had their arms around him and were pulling him away faster, leaving a trail of blood smeared after him – was that his? Or was that the pilots? - and were shouting. All of it was just noise. Pure noise.

Giddiness bubbled up in his chest, and he laughed. It started quietly, a little chuckle. Disbelief at the situation, he thought. Pure, utter relief that he was alive. The cannibal mech had eaten him, but here he was – spat out whole and unharmed. His next laugh was a little louder this time, and Ambulon paused, taking notice. First Aid didn’t see him any more, his whole vision taken up by Vortex and the loud snap of his visor clamping back down into place, a hiss as the mechanism locked it back down. He could have sworn he was smiling, but it was ridiculous – the mech didn’t even have a mouth.

He didn’t realise he was still laughing – and hard – until his stomach began to hurt and he felt light headed. Gasping for breath, he let himself fall back onto the floor, staring blindly up at the ceiling. He could see the red lights of Vortex’s visor reflected on the metal there.

“Felix?” The voice of his mentor pierced through his peals of laugher. First Aid looked up and saw Ratchet running towards him, face twisted in agony. He felt himself start to laugh again, and he had to fight to not start punching himself in the stomach to get himself to fucking stop it. It wasn’t funny. None of this was funny. Why was he laughing.

“Is he hurt? Why is he bleeding?” Ratchet demanded as he knelt down next to him. Ambulons response was inaudible, First Aids ears ringing. He felt something dribble from his mouth, and from the acidic taste in the back of his throat he assumed that he’d finally thrown up. He didn’t remember turning – his airway was clear. Two hands gently cupped his face, forcing him to look at someone.

Ratchet.

“Can you hear me?” He gently asked, tension clear in his voice. First Aid could, but he didn’t know how to respond. He slowly blinked, hands reaching up to clasp at his wrists with trembling hands. The adrenaline was burning off, replacing itself with a leaden heaviness that threatened to drown him. Slowly, he nodded.

Get me away from that mech, he tried to say. They get it and I hate that we understand each other.

Ratchet seemed to hear him. “Help me move him.” He was looking at someone else, but First Aid didn’t want to look away from his face. He committed every detail to memory, every line, every grey hair, every follicle and aged scar and flush of colour. It felt like he was seeing him for the very first time.

The world spun and his stomach clenched as he was lifted unceremoniously onto a stretcher, and he took one last glimpse of Vortex before the oxygen mask was fitted over his face and he couldn’t see anything any more.

09090909

It was highly inadvisable.

But he was doing it anyway.

That taste he’d got of Vortex was like a breath of fresh air to him – he hadn’t realised how stifling the company on base was until he’d met him. Ratchet would be so disappointed in him. Pharma would hang him by his guts. Ultra Magnus would try and make it so he never saw the light of day again.

One moment of feeling his teeth at his throat and he was addicted. He wanted him. He wanted physical scars he could touch and remind himself that it hadn’t been a dream, it was real. Carefully sneaking through the base, First Aid crouched and peered around corners, internally humming the Mission Impossible theme. It felt ridiculous, but if he didn’t distract himself he’d make himself vomit from laughing too much again. He had found a random face mask and slapped it on, hoping that obscuring his identity a little would help him get into character.

They hadn’t found a new pilot for Vortex yet – they still went through the usual procedure of finding one with the right personality and skill set, of testing how well the AI meshed with the mind of the pilot outside of the mech before allowing them to go inside. They had a few candidates, but now it was a question of ‘are they more compatible with other bots?’ and ‘how expendable are they really?’ before they stuck them inside of him.

Like lambs for slaughter. They knew they were going to die – but what else could they do? Vortex was their strongest mech. If he went down, their whole operation would crumble with him. Mechs were expensive and difficult to make, the AI’s complicated and prone to disaster.

Pharma didn’t take his eyes off of him for two whole weeks. He’d fallen out of the mech looking like the pilots whose brains had melted under the pressure, his arm marked with a burn that followed the path of a nerve, mapping it onto his skin. Pharma had stared at it, long and hard, brain ticking over. He wasn’t to go near Vortex again. Not for a while, until they figured out why he’d decided to kidnap him, and why he’d decided to spit him back out. They knew why he’d mangled the other medic. He thought it was fun. He’d said so himself, writing messages in the morning memo. They still hadn’t figured out how he was doing it, but if you were early enough in the day you’d see it before they’d caught it. But First Aid didn’t do too well in following instructions, in listening to orders. The Infant he’d plucked from the formaldehyde to get a better look at was evidence enough of that. The fact he was scrambling to get back inside of Vortex right now was yet another reason why First Aid was to be kept under lock and key - god, if they knew anything about him they’d never let him see the light of day again.

The catwalk that lead out to the mechs was a stones throw away. A guard stood watch, hands firmly on their gun.

God damn it.

First Aid rocked on his feet, wondering how he’d get him to move, when he suddenly felt a prickle on the back of his neck as if he were being watched. He shuddered and whipped his head around.

Nobody. Alone. No eerie glow of a camera – not that there were any over on this side of the hall – and no shadowy figures. He held his breath and strained his ears – all he heard was the cough from the guard and their sigh of boredom. He slowly looked back to the guard, and a faint red glow caught his eye.

Vortex’s visor was on. He was watching.

The sound of something falling to the floor caught the guards attention. He quickly turned and ran out onto the catwalk, looking down at the floor. He quickly looked back up at Vortex and scowled.

“I’m not stupid, Vortex. I’m not going down and getting that.”

Vortex did not respond. The guard tutted and turned on his heel.

Something else fell to the floor, a little louder this time.

The guard threw his head back with a sigh.

“You are the worst.”

He marched off, out of sight, and First Aid saw his window of opportunity. He quickly slipped out, thankful for his socks muffling the sound of his steps, and hid behind the terminal the guard was stationed at before he turned back around and walked over to the terminal.

“Yeah, yeah.” He was speaking to someone on the phone, drumming his fingers on the terminal. “It’s Vortex again. I know, I won’t get close – yeah. He’s dropped two this time.” He paused for a moment, listening to what the person on the other end had to say, before making a sound of disgust. “Go and check? I am not getting close to him!”

First Aid could hear a raised voice on the other side, and strained to see if he recognised it. Before he could pin a face to the voice, the guard sighed loudly. “Fine. I’ll go look. You’ve got my will there, right? Take yourself off of it.”

The guard didn’t look back at the terminal as he walked to the stairs and descended down them. First Aid glanced between the stairs and the catwalk, and quickly crawled over. Peering over the side to see where the guard was, he gained an uncharacteristic burst of bravery before he sprinted towards where Vortex was, visor open and waiting for him.

“Can I?” He asked in a hushed whisper. Vortex didn’t respond. He gingerly approached, noticing that every single camera inside his cockpit was trained onto him. He swallowed nervously, and clambered in.

He should have been used to climbing inside of Vortex. He’d done it enough times. Maybe it was because he wasn’t wearing any of his protective gear? Not his uniform, or his helmet, or even his gloves. Just himself and his pyjama shorts, his t-shirt, and his socks with little bears on them.

Mmm. First impressions. Wonderful.

He should have gotten changed first.

[TAKE A SEAT] lit up the screen.

He slipped into the seat obediently, taking care to not touch the controls. He coyly waved at the camera.

“Did I wake you?”

[YOU DIDN’T. I LIKE YOUR SOCKS]

The bears stared back at him. First Aid tried not to think about the rumbling he now recognised as laughter that rolled through the cockpit.

“Thanks.” He replied, red tingeing his cheeks.

[THAT’S A GOOD LOOK ON YOU]

He pressed his legs more tightly together. “The socks?”

[NO, YOU’RE GOING VERY RED]

[MAYBE I SHOULD CALL YOU LITTLE RED INSTEAD]

The helmet dropped from the ceiling, firmly attached to the cable that would connect organic to mechanical.

[I WANT YOU]

[<3]

First aid scrambled with the harness, clipping himself in place, before putting on the helmet. It burned just as badly as the first time, and he saw as the nerves in his arms glowed with the energy of it – without the proper implants, there was nowhere for the current to go but him.

He whined, squirming in the seat. He ground his teeth together and squeezed his eyes shut, counting down from ten and losing his place three times before the connection settled. Vortex was a heavy and oppressive presence in his mind, and he chewed his cheek as he cracked an eye open.

[LET ME TAKE ANOTHER LOOK AT YOU]

The warning wasn’t even a verbal one. He read helplessly as he felt cold hands clasp him once more. Digital fingers made of 1’s and 0’s probed his brain, and First Aid arched in the seat, teeth clenching down over a loud moan of pain. Neurons fired agonisingly and his hands scrambled at the harness, the tips of his fingers raw and torn and bleeding against the rough fabric. Memories were brought to the surface unbidden, dragged out by artificial means, and others flooded in to take their place. He inhaled sharply, eyes going wide as the realisation hit him. Vortex was trying to show him something. He wasn’t a ghost. He wasn’t even an AI.

He’d been entombed in it. In the mech. Vortex had been a real, breathing human being, mocked in a sham trial in the name of obtaining more pilots. Rich men had paid him to do terrible things, and he had taken the entirety of the blame. Hundreds of thousands of pounds of funds, countless hours, blood, sweat, and tears – all for one mech. A prototype, at that.

First Aid blinked as a bright red screen flashed up, text displayed across it. He squinted and rubbed his eyes, grimacing at the drag of sore and exposed flesh against the rough material of his face mask, and blinked.

[LOCKED IN]

“W… what do you mean locked in?” First Aid hesitantly asked. Like… literally, he was locked in? He knew that. He was connected to Vortex’s nervous system – he could feel that there were bolts in place keeping the cockpit well and truly locked down like a fortress, impenetrable except to the override codes the high command kept locked in a vault in their office or the request of the pilot. He felt amusement push at the edge of his awareness, a shudder of a laugh running through the mech, and he clarified.

“I know your dirt, and now you know mine. Do you think high command are going to let you go peacefully?”

Ah. A threat. Of course. Worried he’d run? He wasn’t going to. He was fascinated by this mech – the joy of being caught in his mechanisms was sure to sing in his ears, the pure delight of watching him carefully pick apart his prey like a hawk dismantled a rabbit was like a chorus of cherubs to him. And Vortex knew it, he knew it and he loved it- he was certain of it, the way his mind melded with his, pushing against him and caressing him, a warm blanket around his psyche.

“I’m not going to leave you.” First Aid took a deep breath, the unsettling stench of bleach and cooked meat and rotting oranges filling his lungs. “No, I’m fascinated by you.”

He tensed, eyes briefly widening as he felt a grin that wasn’t his tugging at the corners of his lips, threatening to split his face in two.

“Happy about that?”

“Extremely.” He purred. “I’ve seen what your hands have done, what they’re capable of. I think we’d make a great team.”

“What if I refuse?”

Images flashed in front of his eyes. Bone fragments scattered around the cockpit, blood and guts and gore hanging obscenely from the ceiling. Blood ran thickly on the walls, the smell foul and rotten. First Aid wretched.

“You’ll kill me?” He hated the excitement that bled into his voice, how eager he was to feel the mechanism close down around him, to feel his metal deep inside of him, for his last thought to be about his touch. “It’s a shame you can only do that once, you know. It’s so exciting, all the different ways you could do it to me. You could make me completely unrecognisable, identified by DNA alone. Or maybe flood the cockpit with gas, slowly suffocating me before I realised what was happening.” He bit his bottom lip. “I wish I knew what it all felt like.”

A new image, one of gears and cogs deep inside of him. All sharp angles and straight edges. The presence was probing inside of him, trying to figure out his reactions. He pressed his hand to his mouth and gasped as his teeth pierced his bottom lip without him realising it. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and another. Vortex probed again impatiently. Respond, damn it.

He looked up at the camera, glad that his mask hid his face, the excitement glowing on his cheeks. “I’ll show you.” His voice was breathless. “And if your use for me runs out, give me a little warning before I’m a permanent feature, please?”

“I wont let you run away from me.”

First Aid swallowed hard at the burn of yearning in his chest. “You’d catch me if I tried.”

“Damn fucking right I would.”

He watched the energy sing in his nerves, the pain spreading down his limbs. His digits were starting to go numb. How much longer could he hold out? He never wanted to leave. He felt flayed open and alive. Squirming, screaming, and alive. Red dripped down and stained his pyjama shirt. Damn it. He liked this pair.

“How do you control yourself? You want what I want, you wish you could do it. So why don’t you?”

“I’m a pacifist.”

“Are you? Or is that just what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?”

First Aid whimpered as the pages in his mind flicked, a burning sensation flaring in his arms. He watched the skin there turn red, the connection starting to be too much. His nose felt wet as he thought of it, as the memories Vortex was looking at came to the forefront of his mind. He liked surgery. He liked anatomy. He liked the cadavers and how they felt under his hands, picking them apart and pulling on tendons and ligaments to move them like puppets. Even earlier, his first pet. A hamster. He had told his parents that he’d buried it in the garden all by himself, and they had praised him for being such a grown up young boy, when really he had picked it apart like he had practised on his teddy bears and then blamed on the dog before shoving it into a hole in the ground to hide the evidence before anyone had seen what he was doing.

Vortex chuckled.

“Oh, let me show you how exciting a Quintesson can be. Little Hamphrey hasn’t got anything on them.”

#texaid #tf mecha universe #Llama Writes #tf first aid #tf vortex #Jazz Prowl chapter is next but unfortunately it aint as cute as the original AU #forgive me #does this count as dead dove

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cosmiccrushes · 17 days ago

Text

A Sea Of Crows

Rook x Lucanis || 5.5k words

summary: Lucanis Dellamorte and Rook de Riva meet under the most unusual circumstances. But what's not unusual is the friendship, and eventually more, they find together.

notes: I have half a mind to keep writing this Rook (my og mage Crow Rook) and Lucanis into a longer form fic (maybe a series?) I do have a whole backstory planned for her that I think could be fun to explore but ahhh idk

UPDATE! I am going to keep writing this as a multi chapter fic. It's going to include Lucanis personal quests, main datv plot points I wanna cover, and eventually my named Rook's backstory as an Antivan Crow

also humongous shoutout to @ datvtranscripts on tumblr for their incredible work cataloging datv dialogue, massively helpful for this fanfic writer <3

~~~

CH 1: A Crow Underwater

Lucanis snaps the neck of the last Venatori cultist, letting their body thump to the stone at his feet. Spite’s wings dissipate at his back.

Someone speaks behind him, voice lilting in an almost playful manner. “I’m guessing you’re the reason we’re here.”

He turns to the two individuals who are entirely out of place in this underwater prison cell. Their unexpected arrival provided him with just the distraction he needed to burst from the crystal the Venatori had come to him in and dispatch them. He studies the new arrivals through narrowed eyes. One, a dwarf and the other, a Dalish elf, judging by the tattoos feathering around their eyes.

“Who are you? Who sent you?” His voice is gruff with disuse. A year locked away with nothing but a demon for a conversation companion would do that.

It's the elf who speaks again. “My name’s Rook. House de Riva. I’m here to bring you home. She’s Harding,” the elf jerks their head towards the dwarf whose hands tighten on her crossbow.

A fellow Crow? House de Riva. That makes them one of Viago’s. Has his grandmother sent them to retrieve him? The day's surprises continue for Lucanis. “House de Riva. You're a Crow.”

“Last time I checked.” The elf peers over their shoulder at an ominous groan from the prison’s walls. It appears the sounds of clashing Venatori and demons that Lucanis heard echoing through the Ossuary have resulted in a bit of structural damage. “We need to escape. Then we can talk.” The Crow, Rook, says, bringing their attention back to him. “I’m here to help. I’m breaking you out of here.”

“Only one of you’s a Crow?” Lucanis is baffled by this situation.

“And you’re possessed by a demon.” They sound curious, not judgemental, as their eyes trace the empty space around him where Spite's wings had been moments ago.

“It's complicated.” Lucanis supposes he should get used to people looking at him like he's an abomination. Only, this Rook…doesn't. Their gaze stays open and curious. Their partner's discomfort goes unhidden. But if Rook is alarmed by the presence of a demon-possessed assassin, they don't show it.

“Caterina promised us a mage-killer if we broke you out of here.” Rook says mildly.

“I can still work.”

“Good. Because I’m pretty sure more Venatori are on their way. We have to get moving.”

“Rook…” The dwarf looks to the Crow, her mouth pulled taught with wariness. “He's possessed.”

“It's fine, Harding.”

“Rook-” Harding tries again.

“I said I can work.” Lucanis bites out.

Harding glares at him. “And I’ll listen to whatever she says,” she gestures with her crossbow at Rook. “But I don’t trust him.” The last bit she addresses towards the elf.

“Understood.” Rook nods. “And we can discuss that later. Right now, I’d really prefer not drowning at the bottom of the sea.”

“I can’t leave yet. The Venatori have a vial of my blood. I cannot leave it in their hands.” He notes the staff at Rook’s back, marking her as a mage. She will understand better than any the gravity of a mage who owns your blood.

“Okay.”

“And I had a contract when I was captured. One of my targets is here. Calivan.” Lucanis locks eyes with Rook. “You know what that means. Crows don’t break contracts.”

“All right. We'll help,” she agrees easily. “But in return, I want help killing some things.”

“I’ll owe you.” Lucanis vows, noting the vagueness in her request. But a contract is a contract. Whatever things need killing, Lucanis would oblige. And if Caterina had sent her for a deal, Lucanis would never refuse.

“I’m sure we’ll owe each other before this is all over.” She pulls blades from her own belt, tossing them to Lucanis. “Let’s go. So, first order of business?”

“Blood first, then my target. Calivan. The prison warden.” Rook immediately takes the lead as they exit his prison cell. Lucanis follows and this provides him with a chance to study his mysterious Crow rescuer.

She's a wisp of a woman. Lucanis does not mean this derisively- he himself is of small stature and it serves him well as an assassin. But he has entire inches on her. She must make deadly use of that in their line of work. As they slink through the corridors of the Ossuary, Lucanis observes the fluid lightness of her steps and knows he’s right. A target would never hear her coming. Her long, silvery blonde hair falls over her shoulders in two, tightly woven braids.

“Where do we find them? Calivan?”

“In the tower. There’s a bridge.”

“Not anymore,” Rook replies and Lucanis wonders just how bad of a state the Ossuary has fallen into. “We’ll have to find another way across.”

A flurry of motion ahead of them as Venatori mages descend upon them in the chamber outside of his former cell. Lucanis refuses to even harbor thoughts that they will not escape this watery hell. He will not go back to that cell now that he is free, even if he must die instead.

“Good. Mages. My specialty.” Lucanis is so eager to have a blade back in his hand, to cause pain to the Venatori that Rook and Harding are barely needed in this fight. Spite lends his wings and Lucanis stretches his muscles for the first time in a year. He gets the distinct impression that Rook is deliberately hanging back– whether to study his abilities or to offer him a bit of vengeance, he is unsure.

Rummaging through the pockets of the slain Venatori, Rook raises a key, her triumphant smile spreading wide. “All right! One of them has a key. Must be my lucky day.”

Lucanis raises an eyebrow. “You have an odd idea of luck.” He glances pointedly at their surroundings.

Rook shrugs. “Well, I’m not dead yet. Neither are you. And actually, given the circumstances, that probably makes your luck better than mine.” She winks at him. Lucanis is suddenly very aware that these are the first true conversations he’s had with anyone in months. He’s not quite sure he’s doing it right. Is it possible to forget how to talk to people?

They move forward through the Ossuary. Lucanis wonders how his grandmother finally found his location and why it was this particular Crow she sent to retrieve him. Not a Crow from House Dellamorte. Not a Crow he had even met before, as far as he could remember. And despite the brevity of their acquaintance, Rook imparted a feeling that she was not easily forgotten.

“So, the Crows sent a mage to free their mage-killer?”

“No. They sent their best.”

“Did they?” Lucanis is genuinely curious how things may have changed within the Crows during his absence. Who has risen in the ranks, who has fallen. Had his cousin, Illario, moved closer to First Talon?

Rook raises one eyebrow at him, the other scrunching with what must be amusement as her lips curl up at the edges. “No. They sent who needed you and who came looking at exactly the right time. Although I am good.” She winks at him yet again. Lucanis searches his memory trying to recall what it means when people wink at you.

“Why were you looking for me?”

“Two blighted elven gods have broken free of their Fade prison and want to blight the whole bloody world. You're the Demon of Vyrantium. You're the mage-killer. Hopefully god-killer is in there somewhere too.”

“Blighted gods?” Lucanis must have heard her wrong.

“Yeah. I know, it's a lot. Just what the elven people need.” There’s a hard edge pressing against her words. “So about your target?”

“Calivan. The warden of the Ossuary. He oversees everything here.”

“Where do we find him?” The dwarf– Harding– asks.

“He’ll be in the most fortified part of the Ossuary, but first, we have to find where they’re keeping my blood. I cannot touch Calivan until it’s dealt with.”

Their conversation is interrupted when they enter a new chamber and a swarm of Venatori pop into existence around them. Even as they fight, Harding keeps one eye trained on him, her distrust evident. Still, she is deadly with her bow– her arrows do not miss.

And Rook– Rook is an artist, raising her staff like a brush against canvas. She paints death over the Venatori and effortlessly falls into step beside him, no longer holding back. Perhaps Lucanis has grown poetic during his isolation. Or maybe, he is simply moved by the welcome familiarity of fighting alongside another Crow. It has been too long since he had a taste of home. Regardless, it is apparent that Rook wasn't being overly braggadocious about being good. She wields her magic with all of the finesse and grace expected of a Crow.

They proceed. Striking down Venatori as they go. Rook pauses when they move through a chamber that served as a workshop for Zara’s tormented creations. She examines the evidence strewn across tables, a strained expression on her face. “Wait… Were they torturing demons? How? Why?”

“They didn’t all start out as demons. Zara made sure they ended up that way.” Lucanis states bluntly. The blood stains would explain his point well enough.

“Zara?” Rook hasn’t looked away from the workbenches.

“Zara Renata. There might be a higher-ranking Venatori somewhere, but I don’t know of one. This place is all her.”

Rook stares solemnly at the tables a moment longer. The stillest Lucanis has seen her yet, like the suddenly smooth surface of a lake that normally ripples with currents. Abruptly, she turns her attention to the Venatori crystals blocking their path. She smashes them, her mouth set in a harsh line, her eyes gleaming with a stony anger. A dam broken, an undulating eddy of motion as she cuts through the Ossuary.

“Corpses possessed by demons. Watch out.” Harding warns, nodding to the undead shambling up the path ahead.

“Zara Renata’s work. This place exists just for her to make new, worse kinds of demons.”

“I think I’d very much like to meet this Zara. Show her some of my work.” Rook watches the undead as they take a diverging path around. Attention snapping away as she states, “Venatori ahead.”

“Mine.” Lucanis steps up, determined to take his pay in blood today. Rook makes space for him. More blood mages crawl out of their rat holes behind them. “Mierda. These guys. Let me hit him first, then you can take him down.”

“With pleasure,” Rook hums beside him. They fall into sync again, Lucanis’ pulse racing with the adrenaline of long overdue kills.

Rook steps over the corpses of the dead Venatori and Harding quickens her pace to walk alongside Rook. “Rook. You sure about this? Abominations…” Harding's tone conveys her feelings on abominations.

“We made a deal with the Crows to bring him back. And don't forget that it's gods we're up against.”

“Right. Well, abominations never end well. Just remember I warned you.”

Rook doesn't respond. Lucanis grits his teeth at the way they discuss him as if he's not here. One thing he can say he knows about Rook now though, is that she will complete her contracts– regardless of what she finds on the other end of it.

The ground shakes beneath them and a macing creak echoes through the Ossuary, stopping them in their tracks.

“I don’t like this!” Harding exclaims.

Rook has her arms held out at her sides, steadying her feet. “Can’t say I’m a fan either.”

Lucanis watches a stream of water trickle down a wall. “We may not have much time.”

They reach a chasm where a bridge must have once been. Rook stares frustratedly at the open air they need to cross. “Damn it, there’s no path through here.”

I. Can make. A path. From the Fade. The demon speaks in Lucanis’ head.

“What?” Lucanis forgets that speaking out loud will draw attention.

Let. Me. Pull from the Fade.

“What are you-” NOW, Spite yells. “Fine.”

“What is it?” Rook asks, considering him with a softness in her eyes.

“He says he can get us across.”

“Who is ‘he’?” Rook leans slightly to the side to peer around Lucanis, eyes flicking back to him in question.

“The demon. He says there’s something here. Something he can grab hold of in the Fade. It’s close.”

“By all means.” Rook waves her hand and stands aside, looking distinctly unmoved by the fact that Lucanis has just confirmed speaking to a demon inside his head.

Lucanis allows Spite just enough rein to reach out. He’s shocked when the demon’s magic manifests an entire chunk of stone as a makeshift bridge for them.

“Wow.” The awe in Rook’s voice mirrors his own. “The demon pulled all of that from the Fade?”

“I’m as surprised as you.” Lucanis tries not to think too much about all the demon could do if left unchecked.

They enter another workshop area where Venatori mages and demons brawl.

“They’re fighting? But the Venatori made all these monsters, didn’t they?” Harding asks.

“Blood mages. They never learn. Zara can summon all the demons she wants, but they don’t have to obey her.”

“And it doesn't look like they plan to,” Rook quips before plunging into the fray.

The ghost of a smile flutters across Lucanis' lips before he charges after her.

Rook rolls her head side to side, stretching out her neck after the last blood mage– the Fabricator, Lucanis recalls their moniker– drops to the ground, lifeless. “What did Zara want all these undead for?”

“Nothing. Those are the failures.” So many failures. Lucanis' stomach turns at the innocent life lost within these damp halls. He may not be innocent, but he lost life here too.

“If those are the failures, what does success look like?” Rook questions.

“She took the ‘best’ results out a few days ago. But some of the demons she created are still here.”

“Calivan. You said he’s the one in charge?” Rook pauses her exit from the room to look back at him.

Lucanis shakes his head. “No. He’s a lackey. He runs this place for a powerful magister. He was my target a year ago. Now we both want him dead.” Again, Lucanis feels compelled not to hide what he is now. It almost feels like he's challenging her. This Rook says she needs him to fight elven gods, says she's here to bring him home. But what home could a demon-possessed assassin hope to have? The fighting he could do, but he would have her clear about what exactly it is she's bringing back to Treviso.

“‘We’” meaning…?” Rook trails off expectantly.

“Demons don’t forgive.”

Rook’s eyes roam over him. “Neither do Crows.” She pivots, resuming her quick, sure pace.

They draw nearer the chamber with Lucanis’ blood vial. “We're getting close.”

“How are we supposed to find this thing?” Harding asks him.

“I know it’s here. We can smell it.” The thing lurking within him has heightened his senses.

Entering into an expansive room, Lucanis identifies that the vial of his blood is locked behind a Venatori crystal ward. He informs Rook.

“If I never see another Venatori crystal…” Rook says darkly. She immediately begins to wind through the room, smashing crystals with a swipe of her staff. Lucanis gets the impression that she is not a very patient person. He imagines that it has probably earned her reprimand in House de Riva. No Talon would allow actions borne of recklessness, but especially Viago.

In the center of the room are more tables strewn with corpses.

“Look at what's left of these people… they were tortured. What a terrible way to die.” Harding shakes her head.

“Very few people survive Calivan’s ‘rehabilitation.’”

“You did.” Rook says simply.

Lucanis peeks at her, but she continues her prowl around the room, hunting for crystals.

Rook smashes the last crystal warding the room. She sweeps out a hand in a grand gesture to Lucanis, bowing slightly at her waist. There is a mischief about her that again has Lucanis' lips twitching on the hint of a smile, such a strange feeling after a year of only horrors.

Lucanis’ eyes lock onto the blood vial at the far end of the chamber. “There. That’s the one. It has to be.”

Rook’s graceful steps lead her to the container. Lucanis joins her. She looks at him, shrugs, then shatters the vial with her magic. “All right then, that’s done. Now for our contract.” Lucanis doesn’t miss the way she says ‘our’ contract. Since she appeared before him, she has been fully committed to assisting him. She hasn’t questioned his motives or monitored him out of the corner of her eye like Harding does. Is she reckless? Or has he simply earned her trust so easily because he is a fellow Crow? And not just any Crow. Lucanis is well aware of the weighty pull associated with the House of the First Talon, House Dellamorte.

Lucanis guides them through the Ossuary’s halls to its heart– where he believes the warden to keep office. His fingers itch to put a blade through Calivan’s heart. They reach a lift, filing inside.

Harding again voices her concerns in a low, warning tone. “Rook…” The two must know each other well for Harding need not say more to express her thoughts to Rook.

“It’s us against gods Harding-”

Lucanis doesn’t particularly want to hear what Rook will say next so he interrupts. “I am right here, you know.”

“It’s fine. We can talk about something else.” Rook shoots a pointed glance at Harding. “What’s Caterina like?”

Lucanis is surprised by the question, even more surprised that he doesn’t know how to answer it. “After so long in this pit… I barely remember.”

“You’ve been down here for a year?” Rook cranes her neck to speak to him behind her. Her braids slide against her leathers.

“Mmm,” Lucanis grunts in response. What else is there to say?

“Is there anything we need to know about Calivan?” Harding asks.

“You want to hear about his torture methods or something else? We didn’t chat.”

“He might be turning those torture methods on us very soon, so,” Rook’s shoulders shrug noncommittally. She doesn’t rise to Lucanis’ spiteful bait tossed at Harding, though Harding glowers at him.

The lift stutters to a halt and they are emptied into a cavernous room.

A voice echoes across the space as they step fully inside.

“Ugh, this was entirely unnecessary. Zara and her little jests. ‘He’s already the Demon of Vyrantium! Won't this be ironic?’” The man scoffs. “Hilarious. And now look at the mess you’ve made of my facility. She always leaves me to clean up.”

“So this is Calivan.” Rook sounds unimpressed.

“He is.” Lucanis confirms. “The target I was sent for a year ago. A Crow never abandons a contract.” His fingers tighten around his blade, well, Rook’s blade. He looks forward to reuniting with some of his own.

Rook calls out. “Calivan! We’ll help you with the clean up. I think we’ll start by taking out the trash.” A vicious smile twists her lips and then she strikes.

Lucanis falls into the rhythm of the fight. A dawning awareness crests over him that if he is to continue working with Rook, he may have to get used to racing into battle after her. He might be more disgruntled about it if she didn’t wield herself so masterfully.

Lucanis ignores the savage jabs Calivan attempts to distract him with. What words could hurt him more than the horror of having a demon possession forced upon him?

Rook, on the other hand, grows increasingly annoyed with Calivan’s incessant insults– despite none of them being directed at her. Upon realizing the need to destroy the barrier protecting Calivan and beginning their coordinated efforts to do so, the prison warden screams at Lucanis, “You will return to your chains!”

Rook snarls as she toils to bring down the barrier. “Ma halam! You will return to dust!”

Calivan’s barrier falls and his enraged shouts summon a flood of demons to the chamber. Rook meets Calivan’s rage blow for blow. And despite Harding’s obvious misgivings about him, she too fights fiercely. When a Pride demon stands before them, they do not falter.

Calivan’s desperation grows as he weakens and their group gains ground. “No! I will not be defeated!”

“Sorry! We took a vote-” Rook snaps between swings of her staff. “-decided you die today! I’m sure you understand. Being an arrogant prick and all!” Spite guffaws against his skull and a grim satisfaction grips Lucanis. He’s never been particularly crafty with his words and finds that he relishes Rook’s lashing tongue.

With a final blast of Rook’s magic and Lucanis’ blade through his chest, Calivan is no more.

Lucanis releases a long held breath as he stands over his contract. “The Crows send their regards.”

Rook breathes deeply beside him, tucking her staff at her back. “So, we got your target.”

“Yes. The job’s done.” Lucanis has waited so long to say that.

Beside him, Spite inhales. Smells like blood. Ashes. Not done. Not yet.

Lucanis grinds his teeth, staring hard at the demonic manifestation. He must not hear Rook attempting to get his attention.

“Lucanis… Are you all right? Lucanis? What are you looking at?”

When Lucanis finally registers Rook’s question, he turns to her. She is watching him, head tilted inquisitively at an angle.

Careful. They know. We’re not right.

Lucanis looks back to Spite, then at Rook. “You cannot see him. I wondered.” So, the disturbing likeness of Lucanis that the demon manifested as was only visible to him it seemed. Mierda. Was that a gift or a curse?

Rook’s head is still tilted at him. Her eyes shift from Lucanis to the vacant air beside him where Spite stands hidden from her sight. But she doesn’t look afraid nor concerned. “We clearly have things to discuss. Somewhere else.”

Harding nods vigorously.

“Agreed. I think…it’s time I got some air.” Lucanis feels a nervous thrill run through him at the thought.

Rook offers him a small smile. “Agreed. A Crow underwater… “ A shiver runs through her. “No thank you. I’m ready to get out of this place.”

Lucanis returns her smile, the muscles in his cheeks twitching. He cannot recall the last time he used them. “Imagine how I feel.”

***

The boat glides through the canals of Treviso. Lucanis' heart is in his throat as his city unfolds around him. He had been so close this whole time… He looks back to the rest of the boat's occupants and discovers Rook already watching him.

She smiles, gentle and friendly. “Welcome home.”

The first warmth Lucanis has felt since being locked in the Ossuary floods through him. Home.

They climb the steps to the Canatori diamond and he knows from the tense set of Rook's shoulders that he's not alone in sensing something is wrong. Rook glances at him, eyes tight with worry. He gives her a sharp nod.

Teia’s voice reaches his ears first. “Maker…”

Lucanis steps into a mess of a room. Broken furniture, strewn papers. Viago notices them first.

“Lucanis?” The Fifth Talon’s eyes flick over him and then to Rook at his side. Viago's clenched fists relax.

“What happened here?” Lucanis has never seen the Diamond so disheveled.

Illario slams his fist on a table. “A message. From Zara Renata.” His anger softens as he adds, “I can't believe it. You're home.”

Lucanis can't reconcile Illario's former words. “Zara… Her people got this close?”

“The woman who runs the prison?” Rook looks up at him for confirmation.

“The Venatori witch who captured me.”

“Revenge for the breakout, maybe?” The skepticism in Rook's tone matches Lucanis' own. How could Zara have moved so quickly?

“Where's Caterina?” Lucanis searches the faces in the room, but finds his grandmother's missing. His stomach roils with apprehension.

“She's…” Teia bows her head, her voice thick with emotion.

Viago steps up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulder. “The Venatori got her in the confusion.”

“I get one of you back, only to lose the other.” Illario sighs.

His grandmother… the mighty, unshakeable First Talon… no, it could not be.

Rook's tender voice at his elbow grounds him. “Lucanis… I'm so sorry.”

Lucanis is grateful for her simple words, spoken with earnestness. Her presence also reminds him of Caterina's last request of him. “I need to work.”

“Are you sure?” Concern squeezes Teia’s eyes. “You should take some time.”

“I don't need time– I need a target,” Lucanis says harshly.

His cousin addresses him. “You just got here, and already you want to leave again?”

Lucanis meets Illario's eyes, willing his brethren to understand. “Caterina gave me a contract. I'm not breaking the last deal she ever made. And I owe Rook. Once that's done… I'll come home.” If his home would still have him, when they learned what he has become.

“I'll return him in one piece.” Rook tells Illario. She sounds as though she wholeheartedly believes it, that she will act as a protector to the, now literal, Demon of Vyrantium. This Crow is a peculiar one.

“Thank you.” Illario inclines his head towards Rook. Then says to Lucanis, “Cousin, when you find Zara, I want– I need– to be there.”

Viago interjects. “We’re under attack. Antaam on one side and now Venatori on the other? Forget revenge, we need you-”

Teia stops him with firm words. “No, Viago. Zara came for us here. She took Caterina from my house. You find her and cut her heart out, Lucanis. VI and I will hold down the fort.”

“I'll give her your regards, Teia.”

Teia lifts her chin. “For Caterina.” A chorus of “for Caterina” sounds around the room. Teia's eyes drop to Rook. “And you be careful. Or this one-” A nod towards Viago. “-will lose his head over revenge, whether he admits it or not.”

Viago huffs but doesn't deny Teia's words. “Do not make a mess of this contract,” he throws at Rook.

Rook rolls her eyes at the Fifth Talon. Lucanis’ eyes widen at the sight and he waits for Viago’s reprimand but it never comes. “Yes, Viago.” Rook’s tone borders on disrespectful, but still Viago does not react. Lucanis stares between the Fifth Talon and Rook in confusion.

Viago scowls at Rook momentarily, then directs his frown at Lucanis. His mouth opens like he’s going to say something to him. Instead he glares at Rook one more time, his mouth clamping shut in a hard line before shaking his head and walking away. Teia smiles at Rook before following Viago.

Lucanis very much wants to ask Rook what vital piece of information he’s missing that allowed her to walk away from that interaction unscathed, but Rook’s already moving away. “Let’s go. It’s time for you to meet everyone else.”

***

Lucanis isn’t sure what to make of the Lighthouse. The eluvians were a fascinating bit of magic and the Crossroads were downright bizarre. There’s a confounding peace about the Lighthouse, but Lucanis does not trust a place borne of the Fade. Spite is far less wary, seemingly comforted by the closeness of the Fade– if a demon could even be comforted.

Lucanis’ introductions to the rest of Rook’s team had been made and he had, predictably, been met with skeptical looks and guarded expressions. Bellara– the Veil Jumper and ancient elven artifact expert– seems the least distrusting of him. Her and Neve– a Shadow Dragon detective from Minrathous– sit at the large dining table behind him discussing his possession. Lucanis leans against the fireplace mantel, staring into the crackling flames.

“They’re the same thing. Mostly. Kind of.” Bellara is explaining.

“Except one will manipulate you. Or kill you. Or both.” Neve replies.

“But how do you get rid of them?” Lucanis attempts to not sound as frustrated as he feels.

“Um…” Bellara’s hands flutter against the table. Lucanis suspects he already knows the only answer the Veil Jumper will be knowledgeable of. He’d come to the same conclusion himself while locked in the depths of the Ossuary.

“What’s everyone talking about?” Rook draws his attention– and the demon’s, he notes with interest– as she enters the dining hall.

“Spite.” Lucanis answers through clenched teeth.

“The demon in Lucanis.” Neve clarifies. “When a person gets possessed, the demon usually takes control.”

“And they turn into a monster. The spirit just…molds them. However they want.” Bellara adds.

“I’ve heard of abominations being cured by killing the demon in the Fade. That’s not a sure bet, though.” Spite bristles at Neve’s words.

“Well, there’s one way. But it’s..well…we’d have to, um…” Bellara stammers nervously.

“You’d have to kill me.” Lucanis finishes.

“There’s got to be another way. That can’t be the only solution.” Rook’s hands come to rest on her hips and an unyielding glint sparks in her eye. She looks as if she dares the world to disagree with her declaration. “Can’t we reason with Spite, maybe? Persuade it to leave?” Spite perks up at Rook’s question.

Lucanis gapes at the Crow mage who wants to have a chat with a demon. “Talk doesn’t work on Spite.” As the words leave his lips, Lucanis beholds with horror Spite manifesting beside Rook. He has never had to deal with the reality of Spite around other people and fear freezes him in place.

Spite leers at Rook, a scathing smile on his face. She won’t hurt you. How sweet. The demon’s derision drips through his sentence like honey, sticking unpleasantly to Lucanis’ skin.

No. Not sweet, dangerous. Lucanis stares into the determination solidified in Rook’s eyes. Very dangerous. If this partnership is to work, he needs Rook to be willing to stop him. Spite moves to Lucanis’ side and he tears his gaze away from Rook in relief.

I want to talk to them. Spite demands. Lucanis ignores the demon.

Bellara goes on. “Before we do, well, that. Let’s think this through some more. There has to be a solution.”

“I have people in Minrathous I can ask, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”

Rook nods at Neve. “All right. So what’s next?” Rook asks the room at large.

Spite growls in frustration. Let me talk to them! I want. To. Talk. To Rook! Spite lashes out in Lucanis’ mind and his head cracks to the side. He feels blood wet his nose and he grunts in pain.

“Lucanis!” Bellara exclaims as she and Neve spring out of their seats.

Lucanis holds up a hand to them. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

Rook’s fists are curled at her sides. “Don’t pretend this is all right. It wouldn’t be fine if another person did it.”

She’s angry for him, Lucanis registers. He softens at this. “No, but there’s nothing I can do about it. If it were another person, I could solve this with a knife.”

“Why did he do that?” She asks.

Lucanis will absolutely not tell her that the demon wishes to speak with her. His skin crawls at the familiar way Spite said Rook’s name. The demon has never said anyone's name before, not even Lucanis’. “Throwing a tantrum when he doesn’t get his way.”

“Perhaps he needs to learn what happens to Crows who throw tantrums,” she threatens.

Lucanis smiles. “I would prefer not to relive those lessons.” Rook’s closed fists loosen. “Just… give me a minute. He’ll get bored once everyone leaves.”

Rook’s eyes jump back and forth between his own. “I don’t like leaving you alone with a demon. I…”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Lucanis reassures her, though he’s not sure it’s entirely true.

“Lucanis..”

“Please.” He needs to get her– and everyone else– away from Spite until the demon calms down.

Rook nods and gathers the others to leave.

As the door to the dining hall falls shut behind them, Lucanis addresses Spite. “You’re not speaking to any of them so forget about it.”

Rook. Wanted to. Talk. To me!

There’s her name again. It grates on Lucanis’ nerves. “Yes. To ask you to leave.” Lucanis spits.

Spite hisses, but falls silent. Lucanis closes his eyes, the fire in the hearth warming his eyelids. It’s true. Rook had thought to reason with a demon on his behalf. Lucanis sighs, peeling his weary eyes open. He heads towards a door at the back of the dining hall, opening it to find a long, narrow pantry. Oddly, a cot is already tucked into the far corner. Lucanis sinks onto it, letting his head rest against the stone wall at his back.

Rook will have questions for him eventually. But for now, he soaks in the fact that she respected his request, that she trusted him enough to leave him alone. He mulls over his own questions of what that could mean for a man who has truly become a demon.

~~~

Next → CH 2: Questions & Coffee

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