i can never choose good colors for blushing fuck my hot life
btw the first expression is seen on ray approximately .0001% of any time ever and its usually when he is alone or in phone calls so its a really rare expression of his nnnnnnrgh
v__v i need to work on my writing style and i use too many fragments to make it read a certain way omfg
ignore my deliberate and gross misuse of commas and dashes
“—And if you wish on the right star, then it’ll come down and start talking to you! Or—at least, that’s what I heard.”
“What? No way, that’s just a fairytale.”
“Yeah, maybe…”
He hadn’t planned on eavesdropping—for years, Raycer had been telling himself that. But when you’re the quiet kid in school and nobody gives you half a glance as long as you keep your mouth shut, then they tend to start carelessly having conversations within earshot.
Penciling in the answers to his homework diligently, he tuned into the other students’ conversation in the back of his mind—if these kids were stupid enough to hang around after school to gossip, rather than actually doing anything education-related, then it was their own fault if anyone listened. They certainly were being loud enough for the entire school to overhear.
Their conversation turned to more mundane things after a while, and eventually they dispersed. Raycer gave a small sigh in appreciation and returned to his work with a new fervor—it was quiet now all across campus, and he could concentrate without any disturbances.
His mind wandered back to what he’d overheard earlier. Fairy tale was right—the entire thing sounded like bullshit. He understood why it might appeal to the girl who’d been speaking so enthusiastically about it—he’d seen her around school before, and was pretty sure she was in the classroom next to his. Her head was always in the clouds, as far as he’d observed, and she seemed very malleable and easy to persuade.
Fairy tales were sort of nice, maybe. But they weren’t real.
Raycer shook the thought out of his head and tried to return to his homework. After a while, he found himself unable to concentrate, so with a sigh he packed his stuff and left for home.
Homework had been done, and dinner eaten. Tonight wasn’t all bad—Raycer thought so, at least. Nobody had bothered to ask him to do anything around the house, and it was largely quiet now, indoors and out. The moon was rising now, nearly full and shining dully. As a change of pace, he’d opened his curtains—heavy, black things, that were designed to keep all light (and any prying eyes) out. It was a nice night, and his bedroom light was off—he’d opened the window, as an afterthought, and a welcomed chill was floating in now, curling around him. Having it open gave the room a strange, but not entirely unpleasant air of abnormality. Raycer thought he was a moron for doing it at all, now that shitty, stupid, fake fairy tales were on his mind, but… who would notice it? Or know what his motivations were, for that matter? It was ridiculous; he was being ridiculous, but…
He left them open with the excuse that he was too lazy to shut them.
His mind had drifted far from stars or moons or fairytales in the hour since, however. More concerning was that this moron didn’t know how to watch his own back and would soon be without a virtual head a la Raycer Athnai. Video games were always a good escape from his thoughts, and the amount of focus needed was a large comfort to him. Concentrating on things grounded him, kept him sane, and it made diving into studies and hobbies so easy. Concentration was a safe place, something he was good at. Persistence was always one of his stronger areas.
He lost horrifically. It was the most spectacular and unnecessary loss he’d ever seen from a team he’d been on—most of these players were terrible. He didn’t even feel like continuing the game out of pure irritation—maybe the infestation of morons online would die out in a few hours.
Leaning forward, he turned off the game before falling back lazily, sitting against the side of his bed. After detangling his legs from the mess of wires across his floor and crossing them, he spared a glance out his window. For a while, he’d forgotten it was open at all—immersive games had the tendency to make him forget his surroundings, which was obviously an intended side-effect—
This was stupid. Wishing on stars was old shit. There were never shooting stars out here—at least, not that he’d seen. Everyone knew that you could wish on them, anyway! And that absolutely nothing would come of doing so. It was nothing new.
But for some reason, the conversation from earlier was digging into his brain. If he had a wish, if he had any wish, what would he ask for? He… wasn’t really sure.
Friends? No, fuck that. He could make friends if he wanted to—keeping them was the problem. Take one part asshole, one part sensitive crybaby. Mix well, and serve. Despite Raycer’s cold disposition towards others, he really wouldn’t mind—maybe even wanted someone around. Maybe even several someones. But his self esteem was at absolute zero, and would remain at that level, as far as he believed. Nobody wanted to hang out with someone who was rude one second, and then got stupidly upset at the other’s retorts the next. He wasn’t really “friend” material. Somehow he felt sort of okay with that.
Maybe to be more likeable—but that’d be an entire personality change. He didn’t really want to change. At least, not with anyone else’s help. That’d be a waste of a wish. He wanted to do things by his own hands—if it was possible to do it himself, then it wasn’t a good wish for him.
Think bigger, moron, he thought.
Wealth? Fame? Boring, overused. There was always some sort of trick with those two, anyway, and it was always really stupid shit. What the hell would he do with tons of money or fame anyway? Fame would bring him criticism, and judging by his past experiences, he wouldn’t be able to take it. Money was useless to him. Anything he really wanted that badly, his family could afford—taking into account that he didn’t ask for much anyway, of course. He was largely content with what he had already.
An hour passed in this fashion, consisting of little more than Raycer sitting on the floor, several cords making uncomfortable dents into his ass while he pondered this. Getting lost in his thoughts wasn’t anything new—he attributed it to the life of a quiet kid. In the end he couldn’t settle on one idea, and he shifted uncomfortably, frowning deeply. This was really stupid—why was he thinking bout it so hard? Wasting time was useless. He could die at any moment and he’d have spent his last minutes thinking about what to wish for on some stupid, fictional, talking shooting star. A plane could crash into his house. A fire could start downstairs. He could have a chronic disease previously unknown to the medical field and drop dead at any second. The wires across his floor could electrocute him! There could be a serial killer who only targeted teenaged Mexican boys with green hair. A thief could break in and kill everyone in the house, or there could be a ghost out to kill this house’s inhabitants. He could be struck by lightning.
Immortality would be a great wish. He could finally stop worrying about stupid shit like this. Everything was a potential risk; anything could kill him at any time. Who cares about the overwritten, tragic old theme of “Everyone I Love Dies and I Continue Living” shit? He didn’t have anyone he cared about enough, minus maybe his parents. He was impossible to befriend—though, that was mostly his own fault for being such a douche bag. He didn’t mind doing things for himself. His own company was his favorite in the end—
Wow, was he stupid? Thinking about this shit as though he were actually getting a wish. Yeah, right. Maybe the disease thing wasn’t so farfetched, after all. Chronic disease of the smart part of his brain. Imbecilitis. It sounded completely accurate.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something
☆F l a s h n e a r t h e e d g e o f t h e m o o n . . .
Instinctively, he jerked his head to the side to watch the sky closely.
“You are shitting me. I’m a fucking moron, and you are shitting me,” he muttered, if nothing else than to break the deafening silence of the still room.
There it was again—just a small flash, but definitely a star. He knew what airplanes at night looked like, and this was definitely NOT a plane.
He couldn’t believe—he couldn’t fucking believe he was about to say this shit out loud. Something was compelling him to, though—probably the side of him that still rather liked fairy tales and magic. Afterward, he could return to being a bored kid in his bedroom, but with an Idiot Meter that had tripled in the space of a few seconds. What a terrible plan.
“…Immortality. My idea of immortality. I wish for that, you stupid piece of shit star,” he said lowly. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and balled his hands into fists on the carpet. He suddenly wasn’t sure what to do with them—was he supposed to take up some dumb praying position or something? No, that was too far. He already felt like the amount of dumbass currently fermenting inside him was enough to fuel three lifetimes worth of stupidity and still have enough left over to fuck up his fourth reincarnation. He hoped his parents couldn’t hear him saying stupid shit like this. He was mortified with himself enough already—he didn’t need anyone else adding to this self-respect train wreck.
I can make your wish come true.
The voice came from somewhere between his ears. Raycer flinched and whirled around to see if anyone was behind him. The room was empty; the silence began creeping back in from the corners. He was crazy. Schizo. That was his issue, he was hearing fucking voices. Now would be an opportune time for a car to crash into his house. Or for a bear to maul him.
A small tune—light, hopeful, catchy—was hummed into his mind before the voice returned.
All you need to do is agree to become magical.
Suddenly the conversation from earlier flooded his thoughts—this was the star. This was a fucking talking star. Neither the girl nor any of her friends had actually said anything about what happened when the star began speaking—it was an incomplete rumor at best. Except, it apparently wasn’t actually a rumor.
Trying to slow his heart down, Raycer swallowed thickly to try and clear the knot of pure terror in his throat before responding. He wasn’t sure about what he was supposed to say—but. But…
“…Sure. Yeah. Okay.” His voice wavered embarrassingly. He mentally reprimanded himself—he couldn’t get a hold of himself for five fucking minutes, could he? Not when his classmates talked to him, not when teachers talked to him, and not when shooting stars talked to him.
Become Magi and fight off Forlorn Souls, and then I will grant your wish.
“Wh—“
Like fucking—Cardcaptor pretty girl? Sailor Moon? He was a fucking boy. Magical Tuxedo Mask.
It was almost too much for him. He couldn’t think straight; his mind was racing as fast as his pulse. It was nearly dizzying. Part of him wanted to just back the fuck out—but if he did that…
If he did that, then he would spend the rest of his short life wondering what would have happened.
“Okay. I’ll do it,” he said, voice uncertain and hesitant. He was scared—extremely scared. Terrified, even. This was a horrible idea, to go along with some voice inside his head. He still wasn’t sure that this wasn’t some trick of his own goddamned mind. Next, it’d tell him to go jump off of his roof, and then where would he be? Extremely hurt. Even if it wasn’t some fucked up part of his brain, this could be some evil demon spirit here to eat his soul and possess his empty body.
Very well.
'Very well?' What the hell did that mean?
For several seconds, Raycer sat there waiting for something to happen—then his hands began to grow warm, contrasting against the chill drifting in lazily through the open window. The heat spread up his arm, into his chest, throughout his entire body, and all he could do was sit there on the floor, staring at his bare, tingling arms in abject horror before everything burst into opaque white light before his eyes.
He could feel himself being engulfed by thick, warm light. He couldn’t even process the lack of logic in it coherently—his mind was a perfect mixture of ambience and the type of pure, unadulterated terror brought on by the worst of nightmares. The black and whites mixed into a thick, grey paint, taking up every bit of thinking space his mind possessed.
Completely hyperaware, the terror slowly subsided into a feeling of mere existence—an awareness devoid of feeling. He was floating, almost; he wasn’t really sure. He wasn’t sure of anything, now. He felt drained, empty of everything, and he felt as though he could drift like this forever, content to just be.
His focus stirred, and an item settled onto the middle of his chest—small, firm, several degrees cooler than the surroundings. Metal, perhaps. A clear noise emanated from it, comforting and whole, and then something began to grow.
From the center of the object, fabric began materializing, spreading, growing, racing across his skin, down his legs, his arms—it added weight to weightlessness and texture to the textureless environment. He began to feel whole again, all of his emotions rushing back to him in a wave—
It was over faster than Raycer had realized. He could feel the cool air from his bedroom window against his skin again, and then he was dropped unceremoniously to the ground in the same place he’d been only minutes previous. In awed fear, he looked down at himself—there were gloves, boots, clothes that weren’t his, that looked like they were more at home in a magical cartoon than as physical things on his body.
He scrambled to his feet and turned to look at himself in his wall mirror, taking deep breaths to attempt to even out his nerves. He felt dizzy, like he was going to faint. The outfit was green, really fucking green, rivaling his hair in saturation and shade. He ran a hand through it in exasperation before turning back to the window—it seemed the appropriate place to direct his questions, for some reason, as though there was an invisible star girl sitting there on his second-floor windowsill.
At first he was unable to find his voice, eyes traveling around the room wildly. It felt like his vocal cords had died and rotted away. A full minute passed where Raycer attempted to say something—anything.
“...What?” he finally managed, roughly, before clearing his throat and repeating himself. He could feel himself nearing the brink of hysterics. “What?”
Fight off the Forlorn Souls and fill your Solus Gem up with Aurora. Only then will your wish be granted.
For a moment there was silence, and Raycer opened his mouth to say something when the white fabric between his collar and shirt began to glow dully. He puffed out his chest a bit and bent his head down to see what was happening. A small gem appeared before him, from where he guess it had been hiding under his clothing—triangular, like a clouded emerald, with thick gold edging and two handle-like protrusions on either side. It bore resemblance to the design cut into the bottom of his outfit’s green top.
A chain materialized from the object, looping around his neck loosely before settling. The gem fell to his chest gently, and Raycer picked it up, holding it with both hands by the flat metal on either side.
Your heart is embodied in that stone.
Raycer felt hands clasp over his own, pushing the Solus Gem between his hands, though there was nobody visible.
Take care of it.
The presence in the room was gone. Raycer felt an odd sort of loneliness.
Hesitantly, he opened his hands and peered at the small stone glimmering faintly in the moonlight, still streaming through his window. A gentle, exhausted sigh escaped him. He wanted to go back to ten minutes ago, back to normal—his outfit immediately flashed, and the shirt and khakis he’d been wearing previously returned to their place, cold, as though he’d just put them on.
He was tired. So, so tired. Maybe he’d wake up tomorrow and this would have all been a dream, or maybe a product of his addled mind. He needed a cup of coffee. He needed some sleep.
He collapsed on his bed and fell asleep immediately, with his Solus Gem protectively clasped between his hands.
