Of Ink and Bone

(They/them) A collection of stories I'm either writing or have written in the past. If you want, drop an ask and request a prompt.

[nocturnaladvocate]

Tenets and Choices

“Join the Paladin Order and you will cease being my student.” Pallas’ tone left no room for argument.

But Sovi had never let anything be said without understanding why, and so they asked and it seemed this was one of the rare times Pallas would explain.

“Paladins have oaths, tenets they must follow. These limit the Paladins, keep them confined. Limit their potential. That was the only reason I chose you, that potential. I don’t often find children with potential like that, unmolded and unshaped, still an undulating thing.Usually it has started to take a shape, direct itself somewhere. I mean, I also rarely find children with as much raw power as you did.” Pallas snorted to herself before continuing. “If you become a Paladin, your potential will be limited in a direct way I cannot teach to, and as such you will no longer be my student.”

And Sovi understood now. It was a choice. They could pursue joining the Order, but then they would lose Pallas as a teacher or they could remain with Pallas, but they would lose that external purpose, the creation of an internal direction.

“Don’t decide anything yet. Think about it. I don’t want you to regret your choice.”

Sovi went home that night with a thought. A choice. A decision that was, for one of the first times, completely their own. And they started writing. Pros and cons. Whether or not they remembered any of their dreams, guiding them to one of the choices. There were no dreams. The cons and pros for each choice were ultimately equal, balancing out. The choice was theirs. The choice was theirs. The choice was theirs. They did not want to choose. They wanted to be told what choice to make because then if it was wrong it wouldn’t be their fault. But no one would make this choice. The Order would want them, but they had to submit a final application. Pallas wanted to keep them, but she would not force them to stay. Both had the chance of death. Both had the chance for advancement.

But then Sovi looked to the notebook with half formed notes, attempts to create a theoretical creature, something similar to the owlbear, like the things the Ancients had made. The choice was made then. Their sleep that night was dreamless. Completely and utterly blank.

[nocturnaladvocate]

The Stars Carry Secrets

“You know, your parents are only your parents until one of you forgets.” Sovi murmured, no longer focusing on the stars above them, eyes glazed over as they went somewhere else. Somewhere Kitan couldn’t follow. “I’m sure mine have already forgotten me, they’re in the capital now. My little brother and sister to occupy them.”

Kitan paused, hands no longer held tighter to the piece of charcoal he had been using to map the most recent shift in the constellations. This was not the first time Sovi had ever told him about their family, but it was the first time they had done so freely. Sovi did not often speak about themselves, no, usually it was about a project or a class or something they knew the schematics for but refused to tell him exactly how, claiming to have been sworn to secrecy.

“I tried so, so hard to be a good child for them. To belong, but nothing I did was ever enough. So I grew up with Nona, but even she held me at arm’s length. She had been a mother before, served her time. She shouldn't have had to do it again. I wonder how much of her bitterness and caution was about the failure of her children to raise their child and how much was being saddled with me, as precocious as I was.”

Sovi paused for a moment, letting the silence hang like an ill placed stop in a melody. They let their head drop onto Kitan's shoulder and he felt some of the tension melt in their shoulders, like they were finally letting the wound up spring they had some slack.

“And I decided that if I couldn’t be loved for being me, I would be valued for being useful, even if it’s not the same. It would be enough. It had to be. It’s-” Their voice caught, the words thick with something Kitay couldn’t quite place. “It’s why I only feel like I exist if someone else is there, if someone else is watching, if I’m doing something for another person.”

And suddenly so many things made sense to Kitan.

He nearly flinched when their hand reached for his own, their hand taking place of the charcoal from only minutes earlier, but he managed to stay still. He didn’t know how Sovi would have taken it if he had flinched, but he was certain it would have been some flavour of rejection, and he’d have lost one of the few friends he had managed to garner in the school.

[sehyn]

my mom says she’s not a hugger. but when i put my arms around her on a gloomy day or after bad news she’s the last to let go. my dad says he doesn’t want gifts on his birthday, but i see the way his face lights up when i get him a card with a nice message and a box full of chocolate anyway. he’s just a kid inside, still. it makes him giddy. my brother never says i love you. but when i tell him “i just need to finish the dishes before i vacuum!” he wordlessly goes to vacuum the entire house before i can, and if he sees me struggle with a wrapper or a jar or a bottle he mutters ‘c’mere’ and opens it for me without even sparing me a glance. the thing is, people love you quietly, and you love them quietly, and the air is buzzing with tiny but grand gestures & once you look for them, you find them everywhere. i think that’s really beautiful.

[meels3-deactivated20250103]

I love love and I love knowing people

[nocturnaladvocate]

What the Underworld did not Hold

Lee kept things. They kept a lot of things. Grudges especially. The binder with most of the locations to enter the Underworld from the time they got bored and mapped it? It was in the stack of notebook that held the details of the celestial bronze project they needed to turn into a thesis already. But Lee didn’t care about their thesis right now, as they rummaged through the stacks, looking for that particular binder.

How long ago was it that Eric had first proposed the idea of going into the Styx? How long ago was it that Atlanta had called them all idiots? How long ago had any of it been? Time hadn’t felt real for how long? A while at least. They found the binder, their messy scrawl staring back as they paged through it. They had it organized in some way or another, the system no longer clicking in their mind. At least they had the forethought to also label the states each set of coordinates occurred in.

The closest one wasn’t anywhere close, closer to the north, to where the worlds disconnected between old and new, an inbetween. Anything can exist in an inbetween for the idea that material, physical reality is not the ultimate one. The sunless place where the souls of those who died went after death were in an in between until filtering through into the final space. And Hermes, in all of his many facets, had received the name psychopomp so long ago. He was master of the in-between spaces called liminal and a psychopomp guiding the souls of the dead to the underworld.

And inbetweens had always been a place Lee flourished. Never needing to be one thing solely.

They didn’t tell anyone about the trip or quest or whatever it should have been termed. It wasn’t important enough for that. It was the desperate bid of a demigod who refused to let things go when it wasn’t of their volition. Lee could cut contact as easily as a knife could cut cheese, one day a person could be important. A shining light even. And the next? Whoever it was didn’t exist anymore. But this was only when it was under Lee’s terms. Which meant when people left. When they were taken. Then Lee became an fervent creature, because they were nothing in their soul if not obsessive, interests coming and going at a constant rate, letting Lee dive deep into the pools of knowledge before being swept into another tide, one where they would look into, the past topic nearly forgotten.

But Iffet had made him leave on her terms, not anyone else’s and for that. Lee would get some type of closure, depending entirely on which mood they found Iffet in. Until then though they had to make sure this avenue was not closed to them entirely. And if it was closed? Then Iffet would meet a Lee that had not been allowed to the surface in many years, the chaotic child that enjoyed harmless mischief and minor inconvenience ||slipping away into a creature that enjoyed watching people cry, that liked seeing the way a throat would bob under their hand as they crushed a windpipe, found pleasure in the way people would plead for mercy. Lee had told so many people that they were cruel, they were not a good person. Lee was capable of kindness yes, but no one was ever willing to look past the crooked smile and see the roiling shadows that hovered just below the surface.|| Maybe it was for the best Julian wasn’t here to see it. Some wrathful thing in the child of Hermes that was begging to get loose, and no one wanted to be around when it slipped its leash, but Iffet now was the target of that wrathful thing and Lee couldn’t even bring themself to think of a lie for Cole when that time came.

But first. The underworld.

-

```The image of Hermes as psychopomp relates to a different and more benevolent kind of descent into that nether realm, compared to that of Persphone.```

An image Lee was hoping to mimic as well as they could. Hermes had not yet called on them to fulfill the promise they made to receive the ring. That time would come. But right now, Lee needed their father only in terms of idol. For why else would they attempt to venture to the Underworld, without fear, without hesitation? Because Lee had just as much ability to exist as a messenger as any child of Hermes, and the realm Hades ruled over was merely another location to deliver a message, a package, anything really.

```An aspect of Hermes' role as psychopomp is his unique ability to make the transition between the realms of the living and the dead, between the world of consciousness and the depths of the personal and collective unconscious.```

This was not the first time Lee was thankful for the array that Hermes presided over.. It would not be the last.

Lee reached a hand out, fingertips brushing over where they knew the entrance was, calling upon the divinity that was mixed so deeply within their veins, a part that could never be abandoned, not truly. This was not a role they had ever thought they would have to play, that of a psychopomp. That of one who had to truly traverse the space between. But it was not one that they were incapable of playing, the role unfamiliar, but close enough to those they had played before it was not impossible.

```As Above, So below```

The door opened. But it was not a door in the normal sense. A hole in the stone that would disappear without even the hint of it’s presence.

The descent was not fast and it was not slow. Time did not exist in the spaces between, where reality was not itself. Lee was to live life in the time between time, the space between one moment and the next because that’s all there was in this place. There was nothing. There was everything. And Lee had to walk the balance between the two lest they be consumed by either.

```Because of his great skill at passing “in between” dimensions—whether these dimensions are physical, chronological, or psychological in nature – Hermes is also the god of all things liminal, all things transitional. “Ever a transitional figure,” Doty states with simplicty,```

Time was not time, and when Lee finally reached the shores of the Styx there was no indication as to whether much time had passed or none at all. They supposed it was similar to the way the casino functioned, keeping people for centuries or years with barely a day having passed. They looked to Charon and said nothing, handing him a drachma and taking a place on the barge. They were the same as Hermes, in this moment, not alive and not dead. A mere messenger, sent to collect a package that needed to rest on mortal soil.

The barge was cold in the way that is not truly cold, but rather an absence of heat. A thought passed through Lee’s mind, half formed, to go find Nyx’s home, to scream at her for not caring for her own son. For not bothering to keep him safe. For everything. But the thought was gone before Lee even had the wherewithal to examine it. The dead paid mind to Lee, but not in a way they would respond to anyone else. It was so similar to the way in which they knew they reached to their father.

```they generally did not fear him in this guise because of the gentleness with which he performed this terrible task. “gentle, his golden staff gleaming, Hermes appears even among the musty paths of ghosts. Here, too, he is named akeketa , ‘painless,' since he does no harm even to these unfortunate souls```

But they were indifferent more than anything. Lee was not fully divine and so they could not ferry the souls back to the surface, they questioned whether or not they would even be able to do the thing they had originally set out to do.

To the dead there is nothing but a monotony, no memories because they become hazy with nothing to remind them. Nothing to act as an anchor. Was that why Jules had been so confused for so long? Had struggled with his reality versus theirs? Lee knew enough to know he had never been dead. Listened enough to him speak about the other place to know there was something to it. Something with Apollo. Something with the sun. But Lee did not have all the answers, and that was what they hated.

In the same way some of their siblings would collect objects, both precious and not, Lee had always liked to collect information. Notes on people, facts about anything and everything, a new turn of phrase. Lee was a collector before anything else, and often times this collection would exchange hands, in search of a buyer. Maybe they would seek out Ezra more now, try to find a purpose beyond simple grief, and being a broker of information was as fair a purpose as any. It wasn’t like finding things out was hard, not with the way Lee could always disappear into crowds or be left unseen just around the corner. For so long Lee had refused to be a thief, but they certainly carried the markings of one and eventually they fell into it, sinking into the role as easily as one sinks into a pile of blankets.

That’s all life was, wasn’t it? Seeing the role you’re expected to fill and donning a mask to best fit there. To carve out a place of belonging that is never really yours, because it is not the truth. All lies are based in truth though. But at what point does one even know who they are anymore. Did Lee?

The barge came to the otherside of the river and Lee looked to the inky depths. You needed an anchor to take on the Curse of Achilles, and Lee might have had an anchor for it once, but no longer. How can one have an anchor if they don’t even know who you are anymore? Did they ever? Did Lee ever know who they were or had they always been playing a part in someone else’s play. A side character who decided to play hero, to become the main character and force themself into the narrative.

Was that why Lee was in the Underworld trying to find the person they called a brother? To become the driving force in the story rather than a simple reaction? What gave them the right for that though? Why did they think they could do this, to take a soul from the Underworld when even the heroes of old could not? A child of Hermes had already had a leading role in the last century, so why did Lee have the audacity to try to make one for themself? It was-

It was an act of desperation that was bounded by logic. Lee knew they could enter the Underworld. Lee knew where Julian had likely ended up. They had a goal here. They had a goal and no voice of spiraling doubts would draw them deeper into the void, ready to act as a pawn for some greater creature that had managed to stitch itself back together again.

```in his guise a bringer of dreams, was also called “the ‘psithyristis, “taught me to listen to the inner whisperings that tend to get drowned in the mind's cacophony, and to value and respect my dreams”```

Lee turned away from the river, stepping off the barge, letting the thoughts run, not silent but not controlling. They were simply empty noise that kept them on the trail to the destination. When everything is dark and wrapped in mist. The journey is a rite of departure and crossing-over, but this was not Lee’s final place. No. Not yet. Someday, maybe. But not yet.

And so they walked, unnoticed by the shades that clustered, waiting to be judged and find their final place. They walked past the gates that seperated the true realm of Hades from the rest of the underworld, Cerberus having long since ceased paying mind to the taste divinity that came from the messenger god.

There was a destination. There was a goal. Lee would not be drawn toward the darkness that usually loomed so close and watched them with unblinking eyes.

They walked still.

And walked.

And walked.

Time was not real in a place that was between time. Time would consume everything eventually. Nothing and everything and so truly a place of transition, a divine place that Lee had so often taken residence. For what is a conversation but a transition? An exchange. So much of what Hermes stood for revolved around the idea of movement: messengers, communication, athletes and thieves. All forms of change and movement.

Lee made it through the Fields of Asphodel, the nothingness a blur in their mind, so similar to the cornfields of their youth. Maybe they should have ended up somewhere else, not in the location they did, but even if Lee’s mind did not know the path, oftentimes their feet did.

They walked.

The fields disappeared and a gate appeared.

The air here was not cold or warm, but it was pleasant. Not the stifling heat of the fields of punishment nor the heavy torpor of Asphodel. The air here reminded Lee of the surface, not quite heavy, but enough sharpness they could feel it in their lungs. It felt more solid and real. Closer to the surface where reality had form and weight, not the endless windings of a barely thought out map.

“I come with a message for one of the deceased.” They announced to the gates,knowing somehow, it would open, even if there had never been a reason to believe so. There was no myth saying it would just open. There had never been a guiding hand from Hermes that signaled this would be the case. This was one of the times where Lee simply had to *know* something and expect it to happen.

They walked forward, into this layer of the Underworld. Into this place they would rob. But they walked in like a guest, rather than a thief. A gilded mask rather than one of truth.

Elysium looked similar to town, a mix of modern and old. The Ionic pillars mixed with the new york brick. It was familiar enough that Lee could navigate without having to think, they could simply search, moving from building to building, sweeping the town beginning from one sector and moving to the next, paying special attention to areas where the Julian they knew would be near.

He was not there.

Lee turned on the ball of their foot and went to search again, this time keeping in mind the footpaths they traveled. Maybe he was moving around. It was similar enough to night that he wouldn’t be staying in one place.

They did not find him. They looked once. Twice. Three times. He was not there. He had to be there. Julian had taken on too much and been too perfect to not have reached Elysium. Lee turned on their foot to go looking again when a hand wrapped around their wrist, forcing them to stop. The callouses on the hand were familiar, rough just below the fingers, where a rod or pole would rest in the hand. The hand itself was warm, large, easily wrapping around their wrist.

`A memory. They were seven again. Getting out of the midwest. Winter had just ended and they were cold. They were reaching a hand into the suit jacket of an older man, fingers grazing the smooth leather of a wallet. If they could get to a train station they’d be alright for a few days, able to say they were on their way to some relative’s home. Have food access long enough to fill the small backpack that dangled on their shoulders. But the man turned to them, hand around their wrist, skin pale against their own, blue eyes meeting theirs with a cold gaze that quickly flickered to something soft. The man put something away into his pocket, the quiet hiss of something barely registering in Lee’s mind as they froze under the man’s careful stare. They could not move, not even to pull their hand from his pocket. To pretend that they hadn’t been just about to rob him.

“Hey kiddo. What you got there?” He asked, voice surprisingly warm given the situation.

The words didn’t want to come. What were the words in English? Their tongue felt like lead.

“Lo siento.” They stammered out, finally able to draw their hand away, the man no longer holding onto their wrist. “I-I-I didn’t-” but the words didn’t want to form correctly, to make something coherent. They tasted bile and ash. But the man stopped. He took out a wallet that held multiple currencies, each bill a radically different colour, some bright and others not.

“We’re in the States, right, kiddo?”

Lee nodded, weight now on their back foot, reading to bolt, laces on their shoes starting to fray, but still mostly held together. What would be the easiest way to run? How far was the station? Maybe they could pretend to have lost their mother if this man chased after them, ready to press charges. Lee just wanted something to eat. That was all. A sandwich or bread. They knew if they could find a shop that sold tortillas they could eat for weeks, a stack handed to them as they spoke rapid fire Spanish to the owner in near tears.

“Alright. This should be enough then. Try and get yourself to New York, yeah? It’s a long trip so you’ll be able to stock up. If you can get to Long Island you’ll be safe, probably. They’ll find you.”

The man handed them some green bills, the numbers higher than Lee could count to in English. But they knew the numbers. Knew vaguely what they meant.

“Stay safe kiddo.”

And then the man was gone, not even a hint of him in the crowd, just the bills in Lee’s hand as a signal he had ever been there. But Lee knew enough about strangers to know not to listen to what he said. The man had said to go to New York? Lee would try and get to Virgina. It would be warmer there anyway.`

“Lee. Enough.”

“He’s here. I just need to find him. Let me find him. He needs to come home.”

“Lila.”

`Another memory. This time when they were ten. It was one of the first times they had snuck out of camp, needing to have time away from it. Away from so many people. In a place that wasn’t as cold as the woods, but didn’t have the easy access of the beach did. They didn’t know where they were. But it wasn’t on campgrounds. There was darkness. Warmth pooling in their palm. Then it went fuzzy.Fuzzy and dark and cold, other than the dripping warmth that traveled in rivlets down their hand.

“Lila.” And a hand was at their cheek, brushing against the skin, touch gentle and soft, hardly a touch at all.

And then it disappeared and went black.`

“Let me bring him back. Dad, please. Let me have this.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Why not!” Their voice shook and strained, words too sharp to mean nothing, eyes already starting to well with the tears they had tried to force themself from letting spill for so long now. Over a month. Lee had allowed themself to cry immediately after, but had kept themself in check ever since, acting as a pillar or anchor or whatever the fucking word was for everyone else because they couldn’t break.

“The dead have to stay dead, that’s how it’s always been.”

“But he’s come back before! Why not again?”

“He’s not here, Lila. You know this.”

Reincarnation. Of course Jules would have opted for another go at life rather than rest here. Gods. Did he doubt them when they had said they’d come find him if he ever died again, if he had even died originally? Or had he just forgotten? Or did he just not care? So many thoughts, jumbled and swirling and unable to come into focus enough to rest on tongues and enter the air.

The words did not come, instead a choked sob escaping. “I want him back, Dad.”

“I know you do, kiddo.”

-

The god pulled his child into an embrace, their cheek pressed firm into his shoulder, hands tightly holding to the fabric of his jacket. The god did not know the last time this specific child had clung to him like this, or if they ever had. The god did not know if this child had ever truly seen him as a parent, or if they had ever wanted his help in the way he tried to offer it. He did not know much about this child because this child did not let themself be known. Everything was a performance, a ruse, a grift. There was no truth.

The god knew that this child could so easily turn into the one before them, who had such a similar rage. This child was softer though, and did not crave violence in the same way. Did not think the only way forward was through blood. This child could be swayed to remain where they were, it just was the matter of keeping them there.

-

```always Hermes reveals himself again as the guide```

Lee turned away from Elysium, just beyond the gates. This paradise did not have what they sought, nowhere did. What kind of thief were they if they couldn’t even keep an eye on the mark?

The path back the barge was not one Lee had to pay mind, knowing the way by instinct alone. They always had been good at finding things, at least until they weren’t.

Lee turned away from the underworld, mind finally silent, not clear, but silent. The haze that usually separated clarity from te place they would disappear to beginning to clear. The Underworld was a place where lies could be truth and truth could be lies, so long as it’s ruler did not deem otherwise.

Everything felt muddled.

And when they ascended back the surface the feeling of being muddled did not clear, it did not clear as they made their way back home, to an apartment where two cats were waiting. Where their brother was waiting. Nothing felt like it should, it felt far away. Like watching reality through a tv screen, or existing outside the body they inhabited, just a step to the left, present but not.

And when they returned home, they did not go to their apartment, no, they went to the place where darkness was meant to be and wrapped them in a cool embrace. Silently they sat, hiding away in a closet they had robbed so many times before, this time not taking anything but comfort. Presence had just as much impact as physicality and simply knowing this had been such an inhabited spot was able to quell most of the hollowness that spiderwebbed from Lee’s chest.

Until there was one thought that was clear.

The sun of the astro-globe. An arrangement that could bring it back. The stars had already taken so much, why not return it as well?

Lee would have a new obsession now it seemed, when they had energy and clarity enough to return to their own home instead of sitting in the darkness, lost in the velvet of its hold. But this darkness did not stare back, this darkness was silent.

And so there they remained.

```“hermetically, one opens out endlessly, never closing down nor attaining the point of stasis, but always evincing anticipations of futures all the stories of the past have only begun to intimate```

[nocturnaladvocate]

The Stars Carry Secrets

“You know, your parents are only your parents until one of you forgets.” Sovi murmured, no longer focusing on the stars above them, eyes glazed over as they went somewhere else. Somewhere Kitan couldn’t follow. “I’m sure mine have already forgotten me, they’re in the capital now. My little brother and sister to occupy them.”

Kitan paused, hands no longer held tighter to the piece of charcoal he had been using to map the most recent shift in the constellations. This was not the first time Sovi had ever told him about their family, but it was the first time they had done so freely. Sovi did not often speak about themselves, no, usually it was about a project or a class or something they knew the schematics for but refused to tell him exactly how, claiming to have been sworn to secrecy.

“I tried so, so hard to be a good child for them. To belong, but nothing I did was ever enough. So I grew up with Nona, but even she held me at arm’s length. She had been a mother before, served her time. She shouldn't have had to do it again. I wonder how much of her bitterness and caution was about the failure of her children to raise their child and how much was being saddled with me, as precocious as I was.”

Sovi paused for a moment, letting the silence hang like an ill placed stop in a melody. They let their head drop onto Kitan's shoulder and he felt some of the tension melt in their shoulders, like they were finally letting the wound up spring they had some slack.

“And I decided that if I couldn’t be loved for being me, I would be valued for being useful, even if it’s not the same. It would be enough. It had to be. It’s-” Their voice caught, the words thick with something Kitay couldn’t quite place. “It’s why I only feel like I exist if someone else is there, if someone else is watching, if I’m doing something for another person.”

And suddenly so many things made sense to Kitan.

He nearly flinched when their hand reached for his own, their hand taking place of the charcoal from only minutes earlier, but he managed to stay still. He didn’t know how Sovi would have taken it if he had flinched, but he was certain it would have been some flavour of rejection, and he’d have lost one of the few friends he had managed to garner in the school.

[nocturnaladvocate]

Mage Rush

They were on their knees. They were the last one standing and they looked up at their mother, a paladin who had been warped, a barbarian who had found an outlet for the rage Sovi had never learned to temper.

"Why?"

"I had work to do and they got in the way."

"Please. Let me bring them back, we'll leave. We won't return."

She laughed. "You weren't strong enough to protect them, in what world would you be strong enough to keep them from returning. Besides, youre out of spells."

"Let me bring them back."

She laughed, cold and harsh and cruel, an echo of was Sovi had been, what Sovi was going to be.

"Be my guest. It means I get to have another plaything when they won't do as you say."

They were hurt but they weren't dead, and that was all they needed, digging through the pockets of the dead and finding the diamonds they had insisted each of them carry in case something happened. Revivify would only barely bring them back, alive but hurt. Reserection would heal them fully. Already Sovi was mentally calculating who was a willing soul, who wouldn't fight coming back.

Their mother and retreated from the room, but still Sovi felt her gaze. They crouched beside Ren first, finding the diamond and whispering the words needed to yank her soul back to her body. They felt the heartbeat return, the faintest rise and fall of the chest. The spell would need a moment to fully run it's course, but Sovi had taken care of the inital part. They could move on to the next one. Already they knew they were pushing it, casting spells they shouldn't have the energy for, spells they didn't have the energy for, but Sovi refused to let them die, not when they had the capability to do otherwise.

Zigmund wasn't cold yet, still radiating heat for the most part and they went rummaging for the diamond, casting revivify again, forcibly pulling a soul from the ether and shoving it back into a body. It didn't matter how tired they were, how much this was going to hurt later when Mage fever was coursing through them, destroying the magic pathways and rebuilding them. They had to. They pushed through the pain, biting back the scream as they felt the magic burn its way down to their hands, their fingertips scorched and black. He was alive but barely. The spell needed more time. And they turned to the last one, the one who they hoped would make the smart choice and retreat. The one they hoped was a willing soul and they went searching through his pockets, hands shaking badly enough they nearly dropped the damn thing. 

Resurrection would bring Anirab back and heal him completely. They knew that. They also knew that this one was the one that would kill them if they didn’t survive. Maybe Ren would have been able to do it, but she was only just now starting to sit up, movements slow after having just been forced back into a corporeal form and Sovi didn't know how long their mother would grant them benevolence.

They cast the spell, feeling the magic rip through their hands, burning and consuming and this time they couldn't bite back the screech of pain. They couldn't stop the shaking as they pressed their hands to a cooling chest, asking the soul to return, opening the way for it to return. And when the body was warming, when they felt the heartbeat return they spoke.

"She'll let us leave, but only once."

They didn't know if Anirab heard them speak, they didn't know if the spell had even worked properly, weak as they were. All they knew was that everything was too warm and when they tried to stand they immediately collapsed back to the ground, trembling and shaking without any imput into the movement.

They had enough coherence to think it was a seizure before everything went black, too warm. Maybe they were going to be melting now, a puddle of flesh from the overuse of magic. Maybe they would wake up forever marked by the black lines, losing the abilities they had become so reliant on these past fews years. Or maybe they would get lucky and the Wild Court would smile upon them and allow them to heal. Sovi did not know, and they did not see or feel. They did not know they lay on the ground surronded by those they had healed, still hurt and weak but alive, seizing and twitching covered in black lines as their magic choked on itself, their skin too warm to touch.

Distantly they could feel themself leave the ground, but it was easier to succumb to the darkness of the unconscious mind rather than indulge the pain of the magic pathways being ripped apart. Then it was all darkness and silence and nothing. Pure utter nothing until they woke with a start, agony tracing the lines of the magic pathways as they sat up, looking to the fire. They moved closer towards it, suddenly cold despite their own skin being warm to the touch, almost burning. They moved as close to the fire as they could without crawling into it, but still they felt cold.

Across the fire was a familiar face that greeted them. Worry in Zigmund's expression as he moved around the fire to sit next to them, not close enough to touch, they were still likely to burn him if he tried, but close enough that the physical closeness was there.

"This time is a worse than on the ship. Lot warmer." Sovi commented, trying to make light of what had happened despite the pain.

"Are you okay?"

They paused, hesitating. They could be truthful. They could lie, spare his feelings. Or at least try to.

"I don't know. Everything-Everything hurts."

"What can I do to help?"

"I don't know."

He paused then.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you over exert yourself like that?"

"I couldn't just let you die. Any of you. I had the capability to fix things. What's the point of this magic if I can't bring people back. I wanted to fix things."

"And it could have killed you."

"But it didn't."

"And what if it had?"

They winced at how his tone had gotten louder, a pounding in their head growing in turn. Their voice quieted in response.

"I wasn't going to leave you. I wasn't going to let any of you die, not when-not when I could do something about it."

"Sovi."

"I know it should have killed me. I was expecting it to. I didn't care if it did, as long as you three lived. I was more than willing to trade my life for my friends'. . . for yours."

"Sovi, enough."

But they didn't stop. Not until the words ran out. And when they did Sovi looked more worn out than they had in years, shaking from the fever and cold, eyes barely able to stay open as they sat, words silent, nearly at least.

"You can hate me if you like, but I would make this choice every time if it meant you would live."

"Your life matters too."

They stayed silent this time, almost reaching for the flames when a large hand grabbed their wrist, dark red eyes giving them a warning look, before dropping it and pressing his palm to the dirt.

"You could just say that you're cold."

"I'm not though. It's just the fever."

"A fever doesn't make you touch fire."

"It does when you forget that it can hurt."

[nocturnaladvocate]

The Impact of a Dare

Kitan had stolen a bottle of sorghum wine from a storeroom. Or maybe he had talked it out of a professor. Regardless, Sovi didn’t know, but they did know that the three of them sat in a loose circle, passing the bottle around among the three of them. Sovi felt delightfully warm, their head wasn’t quite foggy or floaty, but everything was slightly out of focus, not so sharp. Not so loud. It was like their mind had finally slowed down to match the world around them.

Their gaze wandered from the leaves twisting in the wind to Rin, the words a millisecond behind the movement of her lips when she spoke, a slur in her words. She had drank the most of the three, Sovi thought. Or maybe it had been Kitan. They weren’t quite sure.

“Kitan,” She drawled, the soft vowels of the south making themself known in her words, “I dare you-I dare you to kiss one of us.” She laughed after, like it was the funniest thing she could have said at the moment. 

It was really, the funniest thing she could have said that is in the course of this game of truth or dare because Sovi knew the answer. He would kiss Rin. Maybe not for any romantic reasons, but because the two were connected in a way Sovi would never understand. Which would explain why they were caught so offguard when they felt his fingers against their jaw, turning them from looking at Rin to looking at him. His hands were soft, a gentle reminder that unlike Sovi and Rin, he hadn’t ever had to work a day in his life before coming to the Wycademy, his only worry was his studies. But he held their face so softly, like it was something fragile to cherish as he drew closer, the barest hint of a smile on his face. When their lips met it was little more than a light touch, but in that touch Sovi could tell his were slightly chapped, the wind getting to him. They could feel the light brush of one of his curls against their cheek, soft like down. It was chaste more than anything. It was nothing intense or with emotion. It was the type of kiss shared between friends when there would never be any meaning in it, other than a warm affection. Their own hand curled into the fabric of their pants, not quite sure where to wander when he pulled away, already laughing as he turned back to Rin, a quip on the tip of his tongue as he said something that Sovi didn’t quite catch.

It wasn’t a bad kiss, Sovi thought. It just wasn’t the type they had ever thought would be in their life. Not with Kitan. Maybe someday, years down the line something could have happened, but Sovi knew it wouldn’t anymore. Sovi cared for the both of them, but they knew neither of them cared for them in the same way. It had been pleasant and warm, but it felt like a hollow reminder that they still were lacking that instant draw those two had formed.

Sovi leaned back on their hands, looking back at the leaves twisting in the wind, listening to Kitan and Rin’s voices intertwining like a harmony and allowed themself to be content for the first time in years, and the last time for centuries.

[nocturnaladvocate]

Healer

Sovi did not know they healed differently at first. They did not know that most healers left scars, the adventurers they worked on healed just enough to get up and fight or to go do another job.

Sovi did not heal like that. When Sovi healed there was no scars. After Sovi healed a person enough, their skin was left unmarred, not even hinting at the old scars there were there once.

Sovi did not know why their healing was different. They assumed it was because of the amount of study they put into physiology. But even professional healers, those who had made this their entire livlihood did not heal like Sovi.

This scared them, far more than they would ever admit. What would happen years down the line with healing like this. Would the people they healed age? Or would they remain in a limbo of not even being thirty yet. And what of Sovi themself? They did not know of anyone else who healed like this. Everyone else they saw only healed enough to get the person up for another round. Was it draining their life-force? Healing like this? Or was it all divine? Or was it something else? And what happened if it turned out the people they healed were stuck in the limbo they feared putting them into? Was Sovi going to be the one abandoning them, growing too old to go on missions? Or was their healing a reflection of themself, caught in their own limbo? Living far too long, Wyervian lifespans mixing with Druidic magic. They were going to outlive Nona now, a fear they hadn't ever realized was there until faced with the knowledge one day. How long would they even live? They knew they already had an extended lifespan from Nona's magic passing down the family line. The magic of the Druids would only extend it further. Every ten years that passed they would only age one.

[canine-t33th]

if this post reaches 100k notes by Halloween I will read Homestuck

[sakura-haruka]

#my heart

[somanyfandomssolittletime]

#the trilogy should have been about them#really someone should have checked with me#a stormtrooper uprising led by finn#a nobody from nowhere proving jedi will continue to be born rwgardless of politics#and the crowned son of the rebellion learning to take over power#see i solved your trilogy#they get married in the end#because poe has a last name to give and rey and finn are in need of one

[whitepeopletwitter]

[nocturnaladvocate]

Shattered Idols

“We were named the new vessels of the gods, you know. Aleks and me.” Balthene started, staring at the richly painted ceiling in her room. She was speaking to the newest retainer, someone who had belonged to the Izer for years, yet had never been near the kin of the Apostle. “We were each forced to wear the Broken Crown, in hopes that the voices we heard would manifest and claim us. It shattered him. He was consumed by the shadows. I was left like this, not divine and not mortal, some unwanted halfbreed. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them.”

The room started to shudder, the shadows snaking out and forming a writhing mess of half formed limbs and human faces contorted in the final stages of decomposition. 

“I hate them.” Ball repeated again, this time weaker and fainter.

The shudders stopped and she collapsed to the ground, lost to the voices of the divines in her head. The retainer waited, seeing if she would right herself and when she didn’t they held her against their chest for a moment laying her on her bed, silently hoping the tremors would fade away without intervention. 

For once they did. The shudders lasted only a moment before fading away to nothingness. The retainer looked at the Broken Crown resting on Bal’s desk, coils of obsidian, shattered and jagged. Once her brother broke, the Apostle decided she would become the caretaker of the relic. She was the only one who would  ever see it. Ever touch it. The retainter reached out, almost drawn to it. The inky coils calling out.

“No.” Bal sat up now, eyes black with those piercing violet irises. “It is not yours. The Crown belongs to no one, least of all you.”

The black in her sclera faded then back to white, but the iris remained that haunting purple. 

“Syrn.” She spoke softly and finally feeling. “Please. The Crown breaks those with magic. I-I don’t want to see what it does to those without. She stepped out taking their hands in hers, frigid and cold and tanned and oh so very small. “Please allow me this indulgence. Do not touch the crown.” 

----

Sometimes her eyes would turn gold, the goddess Mythis claiming her vessel, just for a time. A moment, maybe less. But she was claimed by the goddess nonetheless, during these times the Apostle came. Spoke. Tried to force words from the idol to which he had given form, given a vessel. But there was only silence before the golden eyes returned to the unnerving violet. The brilliant purple and shadows. That was all that could be given from Balthene on her own. 

When her brother was still there. Before the Broken Crown had shattered him, he had those same violet eyes, the same shadows. Except when the god would claim him his eyes were an ethereal silver. 

Both were creatures of the night, both were the personification of what the Izer worshipped. Death. Decay. Destruction. Sometimes to Apostle would walk among the citizens of the nations, Balthene at his side draped in black silks and dripping with inky jewels. She was the symbol of the gods walking among humanity after all. But the Apostle never let the hands of the people touch her, never let them hear that voice of velvet darkness, never let them see those violet eyes. 

~~~~~

“Syrn.” she whispered, hand entangling with theirs. “He wants to try the ritual again. He tried the other relics on my siblings, but it did nothing. They didn’t have the divines in their head… just the magic. And not even the true magic.” She paused now, violet eyes shaking in the white sea. “He wants me to wear the Broken Crown again. Syrn, he wants me to become the goddess. I’m scared. I hear her constantly. She’s not cruel, but I’m scared. I want to exist as myself. Please. Please, help me escape. Please.” 

Her hand dropped theirs now, shaking and afraid. “I-I-I don’t...I don’t...I can’t become the goddess. I will cease to be. My body will exist only as the vessel for her. It will never be me again. I’m afraid to die.”

The shadows started pooling from her palms, called forth from the instability. “And if it doesn’t work, I will be shattered. They’ll send me to Aleks again and make other mages try and produce the next set of vessels.”

“They’ll kill you. An offering to the goddess. You’ve seen the weakest moments of her vessel. You offered kindness to her vessel. You know more than even the Apostle claims to about the goddess because of me. They’ll kill you if it doesn’t succeed. And if it does you will be forced to take the Draught of the Keeper. You will have to remain by the goddess’ side until she desires you no more. But we can run. If we leave now they won’t know until the ceremony next new moon. Please.”

The shadows dissolved from the halls, leaving them the bone gray they were in the light. Balthene in turn ran, ran far away. The whispers of the divinities were loud now, clouding the whites of her eyes black.

~~~

They refused to run. The Izer had been their only home from as long as they could remember. Bal refused to look at them, those violet eyes betrayed and beaten down as they were marched to the front of the gathering hall, the most devoted gathering around the nave in clusters. Watching. Waiting. Perhaps now the goddess would take what had been so painstakingly crafted for her. When presented in front of the followers there was a bruise that spanned across her cheek, purple, but dull when compared to her eyes.

[nocturnaladvocate]

An Archive Party

The night had started innocently enough. Sable’s roommate had reminded them about a party someone was hosting. It was going to be a proper party too, not one of the imitations gringos were always trying to pass as a party. Offhandedly Sable mentioned it to Tim, when he had stopped by for his daily story about the skull. Tim then passed it over to Sasha, who had been itching for a good drinking contest. Sasha knew she was going to rope Martin in this because the poor man had become Jon’s punching bag. As for how Jon found out, and came to them asking for an address was a mystery. At least none of them would stick out, all in varying shades of brown the entire archive staff would blend in with the crowd easily. Their shifts were to end at a similar time, Jon being the last who was meant to leave, but what Elias didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. They cut the day a little short in favor of piling together into the auto that Mercury had waiting outside the Institute.

“Sorry, Mercy. Entire team found out on accident.”

But the driver only laughed, before turning to the three archive workers in the back. “I’m the dd for tonight so don’t worry about anything.” Neb said with a smile turning back to the wheel and the group left the hellscape that was the Magnus Institute, coming to a stop a few blocks away from a nondescript house and as the group came closer the faint sound of music could be heard.

“Jon, it’s gonna be warm. You might wanna ditch the sweater vest.” Sable called over their shoulder, having already turned a work uniform into something applicable to a party.

“I will be keeping my sweater, thank you.” He responded tersely before the quintet came to the front door, opening it to be met with a wall of differing languages all spoken in such a free and casual way that English usually was forced into taking the place of.

Mercury grinned before diving into the fray, pulling Martin after neb, taunting the others as the pair disappeared. Jon bristled at the loss of a member, but was quickly pulled in but the remained archive workers, Sasha and Tim discussing plans and Sable smiling at him.

When  Sasha finally disappeared, lost into the crowd where music hung in the air, voices occasionally intertwining with the notes in that off-key way that always came with smiles and laughter. Sable wrapped a hand around his wrist, gaining the archivist’s attention.

“Take a breather, Jon. You look like you’re twenty seconds from a freakout. Come on, I’ll lead you outside, alright?” Silently he followed their lead, emerging in the cool night air where the crowd was just milling around and talking. He could smell a barbeque somewhere out there, but what it was cooking he couldn’t tell. The hand on his wrist disappeared, but now he was calmer and in a place with so much less noise. It wasn’t that he disliked parties or loud noises, no, it was just that it always overwhelmed him at first, head pounding and the ground swimming and bass throbbing in his chest. But then it became the setting and he was fine, it just took a few minutes. The music from inside muffled itself and he could breathe again, taking a moment to recollect himself. One of his workers seeing that momentary break irritated Jon, but it had been the one least likely to make comment on it, so that was a relief after all. And they were his friends, at least as much as he allowed himself to indulge.

Inside the home, however, the party was thriving. Sasha found the drinking challenge soon enough, the loud jeering called her over easily and really it was shots, tequila. A clean shot. Simple enough, but she would pull the Jaeger bomb at some point, coaxing out the real challenge.  But that could wait, for now. She flashed the group a wide grin, sliding in and stealing a shot from the end of the line, downing it in one and placing it on the table upside down. “Twenty quid says I can drink you under the table. All of you.” The loud and slurred consensus of agreement earned her another shot.

Tim wandered through the throngs of people, drink in hand amd flashing that smile that earned himself the title of most people's workplace crush. And in this moment, there was no exception, for he quickly drew the attention of all. Sable went between their friends before settling close to the music station, waiting for a moment. Waiting for the right moment. A mechanisms song. One-Eyed Jack. Our Boy Jack. Either would do. Both would yank.Jon to center stage.

They watched the crowd, and when that familiar sweater was spotted, Sable changed the music, the always familiar chords ringing in the air as Jon's attention was drawn to the source. He hummed along, despite himself, and upon seeing Sable's shit eating grin he knew this was no accident.

"Why, Mr. D'ville, I believe this to be your cue." They called, eyeing the table where the speakers sat above, mounted on the wall. Jon shook his head, his smile stupidly fond as he climbed the table and fell into his age old persona. His voice rasped as he sang along, becoming Jonny D'ville once more. If only for a little bit. And then the song ended and Sable offered a hand, helping him down. "Find your stride? Treat it like an old concert." They smirked before darting off, leaving him on his own. Amd his own didn't seem too bad, not with the confidence of an immortal space pirate first mate possessing him. And if he saw Sasha drinking and being passed notes of cash or saw Martin dancing with some random man, learning the salsa with a tie wrapped around his head or Mercury watched with a gleeful grin or Tim making his way through the circles of people or Sable causing their usual mischief or pulling Mercury and Tim into dances throughout the night? Well. He wasn't going to say anything. He was allowed to have some fun and so were they.

The night was coming to a close, most of the crowd clearing out and separating on their own paths. Most, but not the archival team and Mercury, not yet. In a couch hidden in the basement, just barely out of sight, Tim and Sasha and Sable had all squished together, the smallest of them in the center. Sleepy mumbles and terrible jokes. 

“Sasha. Sasha. Sasha,” Tim started making grabby hands over Sable before launching into one of his trademark jokes. “Statement Joe Spooky on the topic of Jimmy Magma-” was all he was able to say before the laughter overtook, pulling spams from the three assistants before they all squished more, trying to minimize any space between them because that’s what a friend pile was. It was protecting against being touch starved by virtue of becoming a pile of kittens, except with humans. 

On the upper level Martin, still with his damned tie wrapped around his head and cheeks flushed red, danced with Mercury, even if it was mostly just swaying side to side with music playing in the background. He was wrapped around neb like a kola, mumbling something in the hybrid language his family had created and making softly pleased noises, trying to show his affection in a way that could be accepted. Perhaps there was too much alcohol in his system, still, causing this stupor instead of the manic energy from earlier. But fuck, if he wasn’t pleased with the current events, swaying with a beautiful person in his arms and tangling his hands in nebs hair. 

Jon, still with remnants of D’ville in him, came to the basement, finding three of his archists laying in a pile of limbs and warmth. He sat in front of the couch that trio had collapsed on, legs folded together, and barely tugging Sable’s hand before being met with tired brown eyes. Eyes that sometimes glinted with mischief or knowledge they shouldn’t have. Eyes that outside of the dark and dust of the archive and in the sun held glints of tawny in the usual dark umber.

“Would you care for a dance?” He asked, voice still having the rasp that separated Jonny from himself, however minimal the presence was now. Groans of protest came from Tim as they tried to disentangle from his lazy grip, arms eventually falling limp as Sable emerged from the pile. Carefully he stood once more, leading them upstairs where music still floated lazily in the air, pulling them close and resting his head on their shoulder, for a moment at least before taking a step and leading a spin, Sable easily passing under his arm. 

But the night had to come to a close, the host finally kicking them out. Jon and Sable descended a level to the remaining archive workers, rousing them from slumber. Hands reached out for the normally third member of their group, instead latching onto both Sable and Jon. Sasha and Tim both draped over their smaller compatriots, allowing themselves to be led to the auto where Martin and Mercury waited, the former of which climbed in shotgun seeing the swarm.

The swarm of four then piled into the back, Sable and Sasha each half on Tim's lap and Jon nearby. Neb, made way to the one flat the location of was known for sure, Mercury's own. Inside awaited a fort built of most of the blankets in the flat, a remnant of the night before. Before it could be accessed however, Mercury would fumble with the key in the lock, surrounded by archive workers in varying states. The door opened and in fell the horde, piling into the flat and finding areas of situation inside the fort. Where shoes and outer layers were shucked did not matter in that instant, sleep did.

Inside the fort it appeared a tangle. A heap. But divisions were clear enough. Tim slept between Sasha and Sable, legs tangling with them both. Sasha had an arm draped over Tim's chest, hand curling into Sable's sleeve and keeping their hand close. Jon slept with his head on Martin's stomach, a hand outstretched and entertwined with Sable's. And Mercury slept in the center of it all, touching the entire entourage in one way or another.

When morning came, it would be different. The peace would be broken and everyone's lives would return to the typical, but the night would be remembered fondly enough. Morning would come and ruin the moment, but locked away and away from the Entities was a moment of peace. For now, at least.

[haltyoubillowychickenwing]

[lucifer-kane]

i want whatever jonny dville has with gender 

[worldtreehearts]

Party at our place tonight! Reblog this with a picture your f/o for a free vibe check, courtesy of our local party boy.

(Be warned, though, Lanque can be a bit....opinionated.)

[nocturnaladvocate]

I may have had a difficult time narrowing it down, but I present three f/os if that's alright. From left to right, top to bottom we've got Ushijima Wakatoshi, the ever chaotic chicken owner Tim Stoker, and then the 'master tactian' Khalid 'Claude' von Riegan.

[thevastnessof]

instead of getting a space heater or something for the archives, tim plays such a heavily modded version of minecraft on the ancient office computers that they overheat and warm up the room