; R A V N I C A

Jace Beleren Planeswalker || Savior "I'm no one's hero           " canon divergent || semi-selective

[phxntxsmxl]

After the shift in the planes, he’d found solace here amongst a people where magic held no sway. It was naive to believe he could live peacefully, that no harm would come to the people on this small ignorant world. At first Jace believes himself steadily going mad, seeing glimpses of old companions and old enemies. In the crowds he sees faces thought long gone, dead. Breath catches in his throat when today, this time, it is no illusion but reality that has caught up with dangerous precision.

“Ob Nixilis -- -” What could be more dangerous than another planeswalker? His only saving grace is the thought that this man was one he could deal with in due time. If it came to a fight though, well, he prefers not to consider it as he pulls up the hood of his jacket fighting the chill crawling up his spine. A wisp of blue light, magic curling in the air as illusions set off into the crowd.

How he prays to whatever gods are listening, please, please don’t let his grasp snare him. Jace is ill-prepared to fend off another planeswalker, he needs time to consider a strategy that doesn’t end with him dead.

└ @oftheblackoath

[foxcoloredcat]

MtG + Ao3 tags

[oftheblackoath-deactivated20250]

👊

Ob barely flinched at the hit. Jace’s mind was prodigious, but physically? He was not an imposing figure. 

“Is that the best you can do?”

A strong hand snapped out, backhanding Jace with enough force to knock him off his feet. “I could not be less impressed if you were a child.”

[phxntxsmxl]

guess who finally lives !! I have some time to write and come back to jace. <3 consider this a STARTER CALL of sorts.

[phxntxsmxl]

✺ . @lorcanthropy

his breath is shallow, brows narrowed together, tears wet on dark lashes. jace doesn’t know the man’s name, he doesn’t care. it’s real, it makes him feel something, it makes him forget. agile fingers are slick, delving in with wanton need and spreading himself wide as his legs spread further. his clothes are scattered on the floor in a mess and his heart aches. there isn’t enough alcohol to soothe the pain but he’s tried valiantly enough.

“cmon,” jace mutters, looking up with wet blue eyes, “why’re you taking so long just fuck me.” he doesn’t want to remember what this stranger looks like, he doesn’t want to taste him on his lips and crave him. laying back, his chest heaves beneath himself and he pulls back his knees desperate and waiting with an arch of his hips.

“just do it already. cmon.”

[redxperil-blog]

he does not feel what is happening, so much as he has some innate sense that something off is happening, and ilya glares at the man who sits, wondering if the cause of the strange feeling in his head, the pressure just behind his eyes is due to the stranger or if he’s imagining it. as soon as he notices, though, the sensation is gone–all the more reason to be wary and mistrustful of this stranger. 

whoever jace knew, there was some sort of deep bond, something that ilya had never felt, not really, not by what it seemed this man had lost. a small part of him nearly feels pity, though ilya cannot pity a man for losing something he never had in the first place. he is a stranger, no matter how long jace says they were acquainted, this is the first time his blue eyes have laid eyes on the magician’s, and he does not know them. there is no spark of recognition. 

the way he speaks, it seems as though jace expects this to be their first of many meetings, and honestly, ilya has not decided whether he wants to punch him and run yet. nostrils flare as the self-preservation kicks in. was that an educated guess or has this magician been following him, stalking him maybe? what was the ulterior motive to interrupting his sandwich and otherwise peaceful day? 

“yes.” one word, one answer to two questions. ilya can feel the gun strapped to his ankle, and the one under his coat. the knife in his pocket is a heavy weight against his thigh, but he does not get them out, not yet. there is no threat to defend from, but he is wary. this man seems to know too much about a man who’s entire life is lived in the shadows. he feels exposed, and he does not like it.

[phxntxsmxl]

perhaps he should be more mindful of ilya and of how strange the meeting could be if happening without the context jace had from a life before. standing in line, he is hesitant and unsure if there’s any hope for a future he remembers. maybe it would be better to simple forget. but as he steps forward and orders his drink alongside ilya’s he sees it, the familiar frayed edges. some part of him is grateful it still exists and with careful hands he pulls the photograph out as he waits.

jace no longer has the memory of when it was taken or what they were doing but he remembers the feelings attached. ilya is smiling in the picture and jace--he looks happy--can’t help but run his fingers lightly over the cracking glossed surface. it’d be easier to burn it, to erase the last few memories and let go. but--

blue eyes settle on the back of ilya, his chest growing taut slowly the longer he looks. some things were worth fighting for, jace recalls ajani telling him once. the great lion towered over him, standing at the foot of a grave that was only a stand in for a body that would never return from the underworld. the sense of loss he saw in such a proud creature was something he never wanted to feel in his life.

“two black teas.”

he’s drawn from his thoughts and snaps his head up, fumbling with the photograph and carefully returning it to his wallet. “yes,” jace says with a smile, grabbing the two drinks, “thank you so much.” it isn’t difficult to make them out of habit, the way he remembers on lazy sunday mornings. walking back he carefully sets ilya’s tea in front of him before returning to where he was before, seated patiently and pulling his wallet slowly back out with a note of reluctance.

“you don’t trust me. i know. but--” his gaze drops again to that fraying edge and he chews his lip, brows narrowing. “i lost everything to save this world, to save you. i’ve watched a friend mourn a love he was never brave enough to admit. i can’t--” a pause and he lets out a breath, pulling the photograph free once more and letting his wallet drop to the table.

“here. look at it, keep it, burn it, it’s yours. i could never read your handwriting on the back anyways. it’s the only thing i have left.”

[phxntxsmxl]

it’s that kind of day so feel free to press that like button for a thing!

[phxntxsmxl]

Jace: (about his father) You know where he was for most of my birthdays? A little place that rhymes with 'not there.'

Chandra: Times Square?

[bace-jeleren]

Jace Beleren: a powerful telepath who can gaze into people’s minds and see into their deepest darkest thoughts and secrets. Jace Beleren: has to be taught how to throw a punch

[phxntxsmxl]

Nahiri: My first girlfriend turned into the moon.

Jace: That's rough, buddy.

[redxperil-blog]

a magician. it wasn’t the strangest thing he had ever seen, and ilya had seen both stage magicians and ones who could toy with the fabric of reality, but…could he really see into other universes? were there even other universes?

he put his sandwich down and watched the man decide to invite himself into his private meal, but he was not angry, not yet, the drums did not begin to dance in his head, nor the marching feet. nostrils flared as he watched the hoodie come down, those eyes lock into him as he had only ever felt solo do before. this was not solo, however. this was nothing like him, small and meek, careful and gentle. he was all curves and caution, not angles and abandon like the american he missed more every day. 

“mr. beleren—” he began, but was struck to pause. yes, they were at a tea house, but even so, it was not the customary drink to be offered. a vagueness or some other specific liquid. his tongue is cold as he wets his lips, giving himself a moment to respond.

“fine. i will take chamomile.” calming, just what he needed. “no, you did not make sense. unfortunately i am used to that.”

[phxntxsmxl]

old habits die hard. so when they sit he cannot help but listen to the thoughts racing through ilya’s mind briefly before he catches himself and reigns in his desire to listen to the almost familiar russian lull. the ilya he knew began to notice these things, an amused sort of frustration would surface alongside words he didn’t comprehend. ‘little luchik’ the man would say, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear ‘stop prying and use words’.

jace watches ilya and reminds himself to restrain the quiet affection they shared. he doesn’t understand, he tells himself and almost smiles at the telling tone and look given. ah, the embers of that temper are threatening to rise into a growing flame. the times he has tried to work that flame into a wildfire are without count as the end of days dawned over them and the need for bruises, for evidence, became a desperate necessity.

mr.beleren. it feels so terribly formal and he wants desperately then to give ilya the memories forgotten. fingers smooth across the table and his smile brightens at the response. “I’m quite accustomed to not making sense, you’ll get used to that as well,” he says, pushing himself back to his feet. “Honey and one sugar?” old habit has him asking as a formality.

old ghosts rise in his mind and it feels akin to deja vu. meeting once upon a time at a cafe where their roles had been reversed and it had been ilya ruining his lunch with a cup of tea and a punch to the man responsible for bumping into him.

“I -- When I come back, promise you’ll still be here?”

[redxperil-blog]

ilya had been enjoying his sandwich when this strange man came up to him talking about other universes, of supposed loves. he didn’t know why all this strangeness seemed to follow him, or to find him, but he was quite ready for it to be gone. 

“i am inclined to the first option. who are you?” 

a simple request, but one that may lead to violence, depending on the answer. he just wanted to eat his sandwich. the fact that he spoke of one dying and one surviving however, gave him pause. he had been in this sort of situation before, he had died countless times, but he had never seen the face of the man in front of him. when no answer came, he repeated himself, more insistent this time.

“who are you?”

[phxntxsmxl]

“A magician.”

he is bold, taking a seat uninvited and knows the telling signs to the rising temper. agile fingers draw back his hood, a threadbare smile curling at his lips. again jace wonders if this man remembers anything before the past was altered and the future ripped at the seams. his fingers ache with it, itching to touch and show ilya all his old tricks just as before.

brows knit and he looks away, taking up just enough space to remind ilya of his presence. should he press into the corners of his mind and breathe hazy smoke into the spaces in between? should he toy at the man’s mind, reminding him of who he was back before the world fell apart at the seams?

“We knew each other. Once--”

there it is, suffocating him. the truth itching to be set free but he knows, gods does he know, it is better they relearn the steps to this old dance. jace swallows down the bitterness alongside the ache. “Ah, my name is Beleren. Jace Beleren. Sorry I probably made -- well, I know I made know sense whatsoever.” a coloring of cheeks and a nervous laugh. “Can I at least buy you tea to make it up to you?”

[phxntxsmxl]

✺ . @redxperil

“...if I told you in another lifetime we fell in love would you punch me or would you run away?”

And how he thinks of idle memories. Of sunlight. Of calloused hands tracing tired eyes. They are fleeting flickering things like wisps of smoke he tries desperately to cling with aching hands. All has changed on this plane, this timeline, it is all different and yet the same. His heart aches and he thinks, guiltily, what would have happened had he stayed.

Jace closes his eyes tightly, bottling the smoke, keeping the memories (what little remains) tucked close treasured as it dwindles. His eyes burn, an echo of an argument unfinished on his tongue. Instead he smiles, looking up from beneath the shadow of his hood.

“Again, what would it matter if one of us died and the other survived.”

[defyxoblivion]

One wouldn’t believe such a mighty and large dragon could go unseen, but Nicol Bolas had. The streets of Ravnica were teeming with citizens of all sorts of races, but the great Forever Serpent paid them no heed. He was focused entirely on the ‘Living Guildpact’. 

An amusing title, to be sure. But it did give some interesting opportunities. Bolas could appreciate Ravnica, it’s resources were massive. There was, after all, a reason he established a home of the Infinite Consortium here. He’d have to start it up again.

Above the city proper, his mind sought out that one other exceptional being among the millions of useless creatures. When he located Jace, Bolas’  thoughts projected to him, interrupting what he was currently doing.

Hello, Beleren, the arrogant voice cut, please, join me outside. We have much to discuss, you and I.

[phxntxsmxl]

The dragon’s presence is not one so easily forgotten nor set aside. An unease settles in the form of whispers slipping hurriedly from one tongue to the next. Jace is well aware of what is lurking in his city long before he feels that numbing pressure like white hot flames licking down the curve of his spine.

His gaze strays from the guild leaders, each making their plea to him to fix the wrongs. As if he held the power to mold the minds and make them act as one. It would not be a terribly difficult feat, yet, he is reluctant. It comes with a price more oft than not, a terrible weighty thing.

How many lives has he ruined for the sake of running and staking his fortunes elsewhere? In truth, he does not recall, his mind wandering as his feet have. Fingers strum a slow rapt of noise against the desk, the room is frighteningly silent.

The dragon licks into the confines of his mind, making room for words and haughty tone. Lips twist into a terse line. “We will continue this tomorrow. I call for a truce, no one is to end up dead or else I will be forced to be more than mere judge.” Neither party voices complaint as he rises to his feet, his gaze drawn towards the window.

◇ Nicol Bolas, why am I not surprised you are far more difficult to kill than I previously believed. What business we have can be spoken face to face but not where your jaws might end our talk prematurely. ◇

Fingers smooth against the stone railing along the balcony of his lofty perch. There are the sounds of clamoring armor, the rustling of parchment as the meeting is adjourned and all evidence cleaned away.

◇ Speak. ◇ 

[gathering-art]

Jace’s Mindseeker by Greg Staples

[priscilllapresley]

[phxntxsmxl]

priscilllapresley:

Gossip Girl Cast  ›› 268/300

[wiildspeaker-blog]

The pain is a constant companion now. Not only his own, but his creatures’. His beasts’. His forest’s. His friends’. The poison seeps through the air in a miasma, and it’s toxic. It’s acid. It burns them, and it rots them, and he blames himself for their agony. He is their harbinger. He is their plague. 

Yet they are loyal, and they call to him when the intruder breaks their perimeter. The trees groan, and his beasts howl and stamp their feet, because this place may be retched, but it is theirs. The memory of light pains them too much to see it walk in their midst. 

He is so small, yet the air around him crackles. There’s an urge to put it out, to wet the flame that flickers so defiantly in this mire of darkness. He is so small. So fragile.

He steps from the shadows, inasmuch as another shadow can. 

“This is not your place.” 

His voice thunders and trembles all at once. He is the shade of a man.

“Go.”

[phxntxsmxl]

“Garruk--”

His voice sounds small by comparison, even as he rising to his feet. Fingers draw back his hood and he meets that haunted gaze. What has she done to you, he thinks once more as he takes in the sight of the once proud warrior. Fingers reach in the space between them, itching to touch. Jace is certain that one wrong move will see this ends poorly.

A careful step forward is taken.

“I’m not leaving without you,” he says softly, pleading. His mind reaches out, feeling for the ragged edges of Wildspeaker’s mind. There is still light in him, still good, he knows it. “The veil’s power wanes in Liliana’s passing. If you give it time, the curse will pass I know it will, it must.” Jace remembers the words of warning spoken to him by Elspeth, by the great lion Ajani. They spoke of Garruk with caution and told him to strike first.

Jace stands before him, fingers featherlight upon an arm, and hopes.

This is not his realm, no, and Garruk rarely dares to tread the plane of Ravnica. But some part of him believes this is worth it, that the man before him is worth any amount of struggle. “You can still do a great deal of good,” he says, pulse rabbit fast and painful against the ache in his bones.

“I believe you can be saved.”

No longer do the beasts frighten him as his hand settles fully upon sickly looking flesh. Jace looks up at him, the monster apparent, and can’t help the aching burning anew in his veins.

“Let me do this for you. Let me help you.”