#misuse of Beholding powers

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 83: June 2017

Running was difficult. Running away was more difficult. Running away in the gathering dark was even more difficult. Running away in the gathering dark from someone with a significantly better knowledge of the area was almost impossible.

Doing all of this while sopping wet and covered in blood was an added challenge Martin could have done without.

The shack had turned out to be in the middle of a swamp, and running in the opposite direction than he’d been brought had brought Martin to the edge of a river that flowed alongside the interstate. The Christina River was clean, as rivers went, which was fortunate even if he didn’t have any open wounds. He’d thought at first to simply walk in the river for a bit, to hopefully throw off his pursuers once they got free of the ghosts—he didn’t know what they were going to do and wasn’t going to waste time trying to find out—but in his haste he’d slipped on a rock and lost his balance, and at that point swimming for a bit had seemed easier than fighting the current. By the time he dragged himself out at a point where the river got shallower and lazier, almost two miles of river from where he’d started, the sun was going down, and Martin was a little annoyed to discover that his shirt was still bloodstained from the knife wound.

He had to get to an airport. Somehow. Wilmington International Airport was probably a good choice, but he wasn’t entirely sure which direction he needed to head. The current had carried him back the way he’d originally come—which was probably not a bad thing, they would be expecting him to continue on towards DC—and he genuinely didn’t know where anything was from here, let alone an airport. He was, at least, on the other side of the water, so he turned his back on the setting sun and started moving. If nothing else, maybe he could make it to the ocean—he had no real clue how big the state of Delaware was, or how close it was to the Atlantic—and at least get his bearings. If all else failed, surely there was a tourist information kiosk somewhere.

Logic said he should probably conserve his energy as much as possible, since he had a long way to go. Panic said he should put as much distance between himself and the Hunters as he could as quickly as possible. The result was that, as soon as he had solid ground under his feet, he started running at a pace that he definitely wouldn’t be able to sustain for long.

He was still reeling a bit from the shock of having met his father’s ghost, but he set that aside to think about later. The list of things he was going to have to think about later—the information he’d got from Max Mustermann, the idea of Julia and Trevor being the Bookmasters, the implications of his hand healing so quickly despite having been stabbed clean through—was getting long. Luckily he’d have a long flight back to England to think over most of them. Instead he could think about things that were immediately important—like that he didn’t have his phone anymore and thus had no way to either call for help or find his way. Or that he didn’t have his bag with him and thus couldn’t even change out of his wet clothes, and if he walked into a shop like this, there would almost certainly be awkward questions.

As he reached to check his pocket and confirm his wallet was still in there, just in case, the realization of what else he’d left in his bag nearly made him miss his step and fall to the ground.

His passport. His fucking passport. Which meant that, even if he had enough money to cover a plane ticket back to London, he wouldn’t be able to board it.

Okay. New plan. He needed to get to the nearest British consulate, or possibly the British Embassy. There was a consulate in New York, the Embassy was in DC, and Martin was aware without really trying to be that he was about equidistant between the two. He would get to civilization, get his bearings, maybe find a pay phone—there were seven hundred forty-four of them in Wilmington, he could surely get to one easily enough, and okay, that had to stop or he was going to spend all his energy too quickly—and then go from there. The Amtrak went through Wilmington, surely he could easily get from there to one of his two options.

He forded a small creek, threaded his way through some trees, and came, unexpectedly, on what looked like a walking trail, or perhaps a bike trail. Regardless, it ran more or less in the direction he needed to go, and while there seemed to be some construction going on up ahead, it didn’t seem to be going on at this time of night, so he was likely to be able to get through the area without too much trouble. Stepping onto the trail, he took a moment to stretch, then started running north.

Naturally, the “construction” in question was building a bridge across the river. Still, there was enough completed that Martin was reasonably certain that, with care, he could make it across. It was the “with care” bit that was going to be tricky. Between the quickly falling darkness and his size, it would be extremely easy to miss his footing and plunge straight into the river, and he had no idea how far up he was, how deep it was, or what lay beneath the surface.

Nothing for it. He had to try.

Martin took a deep breath, slid his hand into his pocket and gave the recorder a reassuring squeeze, and ventured onto the first tentative overtures at a footbridge spanning the river.

It wasn’t as bad as he’d feared in some ways, and in other ways it was worse. The pylons had been sunk into the riverbed, sturdy and evenly spaced, and the beginnings of the framework had been laid, twin beams running parallel to one another about two meters apart and braced with long crosses between each set of pylons. The trouble was that all of it was narrow, and none of it was close enough that he could do anything but walk across it one foot in front of the other. Slowly, carefully, he began placing his feet as carefully as he could, taking long enough steps to keep from wobbling but not so long he overbalanced. The going was slow, and he was definitely exposed out here. A memory—or was it a memory? Had he ever actually read it, or was the knowledge just there?—surfaced in Martin’s mind, something about lowering your center of gravity, that it might be less dignified to cross a span on your hands and knees or scooting on your butt but was definitely safer.

“Fine time to tell me,” he grumbled to himself, swinging his right foot around to take his next step. “When I’m halfway across the damned river and as likely to fall if I try to get down than if I just keep going.”

The knowledge that he was, in fact, exactly twenty-seven percent of the way across the span popped into his brain with the smuggest tone a soundless thought could possibly have. Martin took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and tried to shut the Ceaseless Watcher out of his mind for five goddamn minutes.

With the aid of a crane that had obviously been left for the next day’s work, Martin was able to successfully navigate the last few meters of the span and make it to the other side, at which point he sank up to his ankles in water. Something told him that he definitely wasn’t supposed to be here, but screw it, it wasn’t the first time he’d broken a law in the name of safety. In a pinch he could claim disorientation from blood loss and at least get taken to a hospital, which ought to be easy enough to escape if he played his cards right and would get him closer to where he needed to go.

He was probably getting way too comfortable with that sort of thing, but it was a bit late to worry about that.

The sun had fully set by now, and the light pollution from the city was too great to see the sky clearly; Martin squinted desperately up at the sky, but he couldn’t pick out the North Star well enough to navigate. Instinct said that he’d wasted way too much time, that if he didn’t hurry and get to an Amtrak station or something, he’d be dead. His best bet was going to be to head towards that glow, which would at least be some kind of urban center and somewhere he could get some help, assuming he didn’t get killed on the way. This looked like prime hunting grounds. He set off towards the glowing horizon as fast as he could, considering the squishy terrain.

Eventually he came to a walkway and managed to haul himself onto it. It led around to a large, glass-walled building, obviously locked up for the night—not a problem, Martin didn’t plan to go in. He was starting to make his way around it, on the theory that he would almost certainly find a road on the other side, when a light suddenly shone itself in his face and a voice shouted, “Hey!”

Martin threw up a hand to shade his eyes instinctively. Running would be the smart option—but where? Back into the wetlands? The person with the light was between him and where he needed to go. He took an uncertain step back as the light drew closer and lowered. Now Martin could see the figure behind it—a barrel-chested man with a shaved head, not quite as tall as he was but probably about as heavy and all of it muscle. He wore a shirt and vest declaring him to work for a security company and a scowl declaring him to not want to put up with this.

“What are you doing here?” the man demanded. His voice was harsh and grating, but also sharp and firm. This was a man who expected to be answered and obeyed, or he would know the reason why. He wasn’t a Hunter—Martin could sense that without even trying—but that didn’t mean he was safe. Plenty of perfectly ordinary people were dangerous in and of themselves.

“J-just, just a bit lost.” Martin tried to sound as nervous as possible. It wasn’t exactly difficult. He was nervous, although he couldn’t have exactly said why.

“Lost,” the man said, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. “This is a wildlife preserve. And it closed at dusk. How did you get in here?”

Well, didn’t that just figure. Martin crossed his arms over his chest and took a deep breath. “I was just…out for a walk. There’s a trail that goes right to here…” He trailed off, hoping it was convincing.

It wasn’t. “That trail isn’t going to be finished for another year. You’re trespassing. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t call the police on you.”

Somehow, Martin didn’t think I’m trying to save the world and going to jail would be bloody inconvenient was going to be good enough. That left him…well, technically it left him several options still, but he was in a hurry, so he chose the path of least resistance, which he was definitely going to regret later. He reached for the Beholding again. “I don’t know…what’s something you don’t want the police to know about?”

“I’ve got an appointment with a dealer in an hour to pick up some heroin,” the security guard said automatically. His face immediately flushed crimson. “What the hell?”

“Right, well, I’ve got that on tape.” Martin waved the tape recorder at the man, hoping he wouldn’t be able to see clearly enough to know that it was waterlogged, and possibly not even on—certainly Martin hadn’t turned it on, and he didn’t know if whatever was behind them considered this important enough to record. It must have worked, because the man lunged for it; Martin jerked it back. “So here’s the deal. You let me walk out of here, you tell me the way to the Amtrak station, and this stays between us.”

The security guard wavered. Then his gaze sharpened, and he angled the light at Martin’s front. “Is that blood? Did you kill someone?”

Martin cursed inwardly. Of course, he hadn’t thought about that. He didn’t have any visible injuries—the knife wound on his hand wasn’t exactly healed over like it had never happened, he was definitely going to have a nasty scar from it, but it didn’t look like he’d got it that day—so naturally, the guard wasn’t going to believe the blood was his. Fear and anxiety mingled to cloud his judgment, and Martin drew himself up to his full height and fixed the guard with an intent stare. The static crackled in the air and actually made the beam in the torch flicker and dim.

“Do you want to find out if I can?” he growled.

The guard’s face went from crimson to white, and he took a step back; Martin couldn’t even begin to imagine what he looked like—wait, no, he could, he could almost see it in front of him: a dark, shadowy figure suddenly larger, eyes glowing green, with more glowing eyes peering from behind it…okay, no, that couldn’t be right, it—

“No,” the guard whimpered. “No, no, I don’t know anything, please—”

“How do I get to the Amtrak station?” Martin interrupted.

“Through the visitor center and turn left, right on Judy Johnson, left on Market, right on Rosa Parks and it’s across from the park,” the guard said immediately. “Don’t hurt me!”

“Then I suggest you move,” Martin said forcefully. The guard complied, and Martin strode away at as fast a clip as he could.

The sudden surge of adrenaline carried him forward until he had to cross a set of railroad tracks, and then all his energy seemed to desert him at once. Christ, he’d used way too much of himself on that, and he’d given in to the Eye, that wasn’t good either. He hadn’t needed to do that. He could have claimed the blood on his shirt was from a nosebleed, the guy probably would have bought that…he could have even explained the blood loss and resultant disorientation as why he’d somehow stumbled into a wildlife preserve without noticing. He’d had options. But he’d gone for the quick solution, the easy one…well, for a given definition of easy. Whatever he called it, it was the reason that put him further under the thrall of the Ceaseless Watcher. He could almost hear Gerry and Tim’s scolding, Jon’s worried protests, Sasha’s barely disguised curiosity, Melanie’s vitriol…and God only knew how Elias would feel about knowing Martin was binding himself harder and deeper. Smug, probably, which was the last thing he wanted.

He took as deep a breath as he could and forced himself onward.

He was definitely disorientated now. The road wasn’t lit—was he even on the right road?—and he couldn’t see any street signs. He was dizzy, and tired, and his hand was starting to hurt again—not bleed, thankfully, but definitely hurt—which didn’t help his state. He was going to be easy pickings if anyone caught up to him…

The sound of rushing water caught his attention, and Martin stumbled towards it. A minute or two later, he barely managed to catch himself before he toppled straight into the smooth inky blackness that was water at night.

Great. He may not have found the right road yet, but he had, at least, found the river. Surely that would get him closer. Surely.

Martin followed the curve of the river, gasping for breath. Finally, finally, he saw lights up ahead, and slowed down just a bit to make sure he didn’t run out into traffic. As he got closer, though, sudden misgiving struck him. He came to a stop and began patting down his pockets, his movements getting more and more frantic…but no, it was exactly as he’d feared. There was nothing in his pockets but the recorder. He’d lost his wallet somewhere, possibly back in the shack, possibly somewhere in the river. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he officially had nothing—no ID, no money, no proof of who he was, no proof he was even here legally, no way to get home.

Fucking. Fantastic.

“Ahoy there!”

Martin almost leaped out of his skin at the voice. He whirled around quickly, the movement making him lightheaded, and saw a shadow looming a few feet away.

“Who’s there?” he demanded, then almost bit his tongue at the static. He forced the Eye back. Using that any more would almost surely kill him.

“A friend,” said the voice, which—again—sounded almost like home; definitely a British accent rather than an American one. The shadow moved closer and stepped into the light, revealing an older man in a blue raincoat and white pilot’s cap, which shielded his eyes. All Martin could clearly see was his neatly clipped beard and impressive mustache. “I’ve come to help you.”

Martin stood his ground, as best he could when it seemed to be swaying beneath him. “Have you now.”

“Elias sent me.” The figure—man, whatever—clicked on a very small penlight and pointed it towards the river. It just caught on some rough boards, a bit of glass, some very weathered rope, and faded letters Martin couldn’t quite pick out. A boat. “You need a way home, don’t you?”

Elias. Damn the bastard. First he’d known Martin was going to need a statement, and now—wait, hang on, that didn’t make sense. “How—how did he—how long have you been here?”

“Oh, I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a while,” the man said, almost cheerfully. “Elias knew I was here, and when he caught wind that you might be in…a bit of a bind, shall we say? He suggested I come find you. It’s Martin Blackwood, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Martin replied. There didn’t seem to be any real point in lying. He eyed the boat. “I…I don’t have any money with me. Or…”

“Or ID?” the man supplied. “Yes, I know. Don’t worry. Nobody’s going to be checking the boat looking for you.” He beckoned. “Come on. I have the perfect place.”

This was a trap. Of course it was a trap. There was something going on here, and it wasn’t going to be good for Martin. But he was also exhausted and scared, and he needed to get home, so against his better judgment, he followed the man to the boat.

The man opened a hatch and indicated for Martin to climb down a ladder. “I’m afraid you’ll have to stay down there until we’re back in England, but don’t worry. It’s not too closed in.” He chuckled comfortably. “You’ll be perfectly safe.”

Martin didn’t even need the Eye to know that was, if not a lie, at least a gross misrepresentation of the situation. But he didn’t get the tight, panicky feeling he always got when the Buried was nearby, so at least that part was the truth.

He took a deep breath and headed down the ladder.

The space was…not exactly large. Martin’s head and shoulders were still above the hole when he stepped off the ladder, meaning that he had to drop down to his hands and knees to be fully into the area. He estimated the dimensions were maybe three meters by three meters by one and a half, giving him enough room to move around—or more accurately crawl around—but not get a lot of exercise. Still, as the man had promised, it wasn’t so enclosed he felt sick or trapped, and there was a comfortable-looking bed. The bed was even right beneath a porthole, rather a large one for a forty-foot dinghy, the lower third of which was underwater but the top part of which gave a good view of the horizon…or would, during daylight.

“I’ll come and get you when we arrive,” the man promised. “Get some rest.” With that, he closed the hatch, leaving Martin, somehow, in even darker darkness than before.

Martin peeled himself out of his still-wet clothes and spread them out to dry. As an afterthought, he pulled the tape recorder back out of his pocket. It lay still and silent in his hand, but it still made him feel at least marginally better. With that, he crawled towards the bed and got into it. It was very comfortable, and soft and warm and dry, and smelled faintly of something that might have been lavender.

He was far from stupid, despite all current evidence to the contrary. The boat’s captain was almost certainly touched by the Lonely, and the fact that Martin hadn’t been able to compel his name out of him—even though he hadn’t really been trying hard—meant he was likely quite powerful in it. He vaguely remembered that one of Evan’s uncles had a boat or some such, and if Elias had really sent him…well, Elias needed him alive to stop the Unknowing. He had to trust that fact, as bad an idea as that was. Anyway, he’d already been Marked by the Lonely long ago, so it wasn’t like being down here could hurt him all that much. It wouldn’t be easy, but maybe having the tape recorder would help keep the worst of it at bay until they made it back to London (oh, please let them actually be going back to London). Maybe he would take a look around once he’d got a bit of his strength back and was sure the exertion wouldn’t kill him, but for now he decided to accept the ride—he smiled grimly at the thought—Sight unseen.

He pulled the covers up over himself, turned onto his side, closed his eyes, and willed himself to sleep.

#ollie writes fanfic #tma fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest) #martin blackwood #blood #panic #pursuit #intimidation #manipulation #threats #misuse of Beholding powers #drug mention

[biolizardboils]

Behold—The Grievance of the Graphite Ghostwriter and The Woeful Watercolor Heartache of the Weeping Wet Hairbrush!

notes and a sort-of plot under the cut!

My recipe for these was (Kid + Nuclear Waste + Favorite Creative Utensil) x Personality Trait That Could Realistically Boil Over. George’s trait is his sense of justice, Harold’s is trying to downplay his sadness with jokes

They’re foils to each other in a few ways: Writing vs. Drawing, of course, but also Dry Dust vs. Wet Puddles and Only Eyes vs. Only A Mouth

Their surroundings in the second pic is intentional too. George is attacking the cool-colored Downtown Piqua, where cold-hearted businessmen exploit their workers; Harold attacks the warm-colored suburbs, tearing open nuclear households to feel the warmth inside

They get two forms because Booger Boy and Sir Stinks-A-Lot did too and also I’m indecisive lol. Think of their first form as Mega Evolution and the second as Gigantamax. Introducing Pilkeymon Graphite and Pilkeymon Acrylic

The Sort-Of Plot

First off this takes place in an unholy mashup of all three canons, because again I’m indecisive. Anyway:

One day The Boys realize their comics tend to come true and try to game the system lol. They make one about them getting Writer/Artist Powers and fixing all of Piqua’s problems with them! ...But nothing happens, and it upsets them more than they want to admit

Later they go on separate field trips to opposite ends of town (they’re in different classes like in the Movie I guess). They miss each other and sneak away to self-soothe by writing/drawing

But someone comes to bother them—a teacher scolds George harshly for wandering off, and a mean older kid picks on Harold knowing The Tie won’t stop him. They try to get away and fall into the sewers, where their frustration (and nuclear waste) catalyzes their transformation

At first they use their new powers for good: George “rewrites” the teacher to stop misusing his authority, and Harold “repaints” the mean kid into a literal class clown. But they don’t feel better, so they try harder: bad businessmen give away their riches, and the gas station from Book 9 becomes a candy store. They still don’t feel better, and soon their well-meaning “fixing” turns everyone into either single-minded zombies or forcibly smiling blobs

Melvin was in the downtown field trip and Knows About Captain like in Book 8 or whenever it was, so he finds Krupp, snaps, and sics him on George. Then he goes to the suburbs and “tells” on both Boys to their families. “Hey your sons have been leading dangerous monster-fighting double lives and now they’re monsters and you should be mad at them about it!”

Meanwhile, Captain is horrified that one of his sidekicks has fallen to evil!! He doesn’t want to hurt George and tries to talk him down while dodging his Pencil-Tie. George yells that he could never understand what he’s going through and takes on his Tornado form, blowing Captain all the way to the suburbs. There Captain sees Harold, gets horrified again, and tries the same talk on him—cue his giant Dolphin form. And since he’s spewing wet paint everywhere, Krupp wakes up in front of Melvin and the families. (What Captain didn’t get is that the Boys aren’t evil now—they’re having literal nuclear meltdowns due to past hurt and current stress)

So now there’s two giant monsters wrecking different parts of the city, Captain is down for the count, and the Boys’ families know Everything. Someone says, “Well, at least it can’t get any worse!” Cue the Boys seeing each other in the distance, not recognizing each other, and meeting in City Center for a KAIJU FIGHT (in Flip-O-Rama of course)

Melvin calculates their weaknesses and everyone splits up to gather the necessary supplies. But by the time they meet back up, the Boys have already neutralized each other (Harold bites down on George’s tie, and George sucks the water out of Harold’s hair). So instead the parents just talk to them and hope they’re listening from somewhere inside the dust clouds and dried hair. They tell them that they know what they’ve been going through now, that they get why they didn’t tell them, but that they shouldn’t have to bear so much responsibility alone. Maybe they even get Krupp to apologize for the part he's played in their constant stress (as if I haven’t derailed canon enough already lol).

The Boys emerge, human and crying, and run into their parents’ arms. Everyone helps clean up the city and cure its citizens with the supplies they’d gotten earlier. The sort-of plot ends with everyone going home, making popcorn, and watching the Kaiju Fight on the news. They might’ve caused millions in property damage but hey, at least it looked awesome

The outcome: Now the Boys don’t have to keep as many secrets, and Krupp is a bit more mindful of how he treats his students. (And maybe he knows about Captain now too, I haven’t decided yet)

#captain underpants #george beard #harold hutchins #captain underpants the first epic movie #the epic tales of captain underpants #au #cu #george #harold #graphite ghostwriter #weeping wet hairbrush #my draws #me talking

[ao3feed-jonmartin]

My head is screaming words that I just don't wanna repeat

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Uu09GXq by WordsINeededToGetOut Written for Jonmartin week 2024 Day One: Season 1. Jon discovers/develops his compulsion powers in season 1. Tim has fun with it. Martin does not. Words: 1090, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 1 of Jonmartin week 2024 Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M, F/M Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives) Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker Additional Tags: jonmartin week 2024, The Magnus Archives Season 1, Screenplay/Script Format, day one: season 1, Compulsion, Misuse of Beholding Avatar Powers (The Magnus Archives), Accidental Use of Beholding Avatar Powers (The Magnus Archives), trigger warning: secondhand embarrasment, embarrassed Martin Blackwood, Pining Martin Blackwood, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love, Martin Blackwood Has a Crush on Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood Has a Crush, everyone knows but Jon, No beta we kayak like Tim read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Uu09GXq

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #tma #jonmartin #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin fanfic

[thecatholicbozo]

 "Of these duties, the following bind the proletarian and the worker: fully and faithfully to perform the work which has been freely and equitably agreed upon; never to injure the property, nor to outrage the person, of an employer; never to resort to violence in defending their own cause, nor to engage in riot or disorder; and to have nothing to do with men of evil principles, who work upon the people with artful promises of great results, and excite foolish hopes which usually end in useless regrets and grievous loss. The following duties bind the wealthy owner and the employer: not to look upon their work people as their bondsmen, but to respect in every man his dignity as a person ennobled by Christian character. They are reminded that, according to natural reason and Christian philosophy, working for gain is creditable, not shameful, to a man, since it enables him to earn an honorable livelihood; but to misuse men as though they were things in the pursuit of gain, or to value them solely for their physical powers - that is truly shameful and inhuman. Again justice demands that, in dealing with the working man, religion and the good of his soul must be kept in mind. Hence, the employer is bound to see that the worker has time for his religious duties; that he be not exposed to corrupting influences and dangerous occasions; and that he be not led away to neglect his home and family, or to squander his earnings. Furthermore, the employer must never tax his work people beyond their strength, or employ them in work unsuited to their sex and age. His great and principal duty is to give every one what is just. Doubtless, before deciding whether wages are fair, many things have to be considered; but wealthy owners and all masters of labor should be mindful of this - that to exercise pressure upon the indigent and the destitute for the sake of gain, and to gather one's profit out of the need of another, is condemned by all laws, human and divine. To defraud any one of wages that are his due is a great crime which cries to the avenging anger of Heaven. "Behold, the hire of the laborers... which by fraud has been kept back by you, crieth; and the cry of them hath entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth."(6) Lastly, the rich must religiously refrain from cutting down the workmen's earnings, whether by force, by fraud, or by usurious dealing; and with all the greater reason because the laboring man is, as a rule, weak and unprotected, and because his slender means should in proportion to their scantiness be accounted sacred. Were these precepts carefully obeyed and followed out, would they not be sufficient of themselves to keep under all strife and all its causes?" -Pope Leo XIII, Rerum Novarum, Paragraph 20, 1891

#christian #christianity #catholic #catholicism #rerum novarum #labor #work #religion

[offrozenmemoirs]

Returning Home

Cast: Nelia "Creed" Zarin, Ariortos Zarin, Mentions of Helios Zarin Set four years before the main story.

"Nelia. I'm sure you're wondering why I called you home."

Even if she towered over her older brother now, she still feels like she reverts to the meek child she used to be when she was younger. Though Ariortos had that type of presence, where he seemed commanding, even when he wasn't paying attention to the general affairs. She stands in front of a painter, her hair neatly tied back into a bun along with her formal wear on.

"It's time to update your portrait within the family archives. I'm sure you would prefer having your own face looking back at you instead of something you left behind."

She thinks about how uncomfortable she is about returning home. The walls of House Zarin had eyes and ears, and even now she's careful about what she expresses, her voice or face never betraying her thoughts. Her grandfather was likely busy in his lab. Not that he ever bothered to make time for her when she was younger.

[Can you really call this place home? As far as you're concerned...You never belonged within House Zarin. Your family made that clear when it became obvious you would never have any control of the occult or arcane arts. It's only by your brother's will that you haven't been officially disowned and had your name taken from you.]

"That's fine with me. Shouldn't take too long."

Creed stares, unmoving. After all, she knows the process for these take far too long already. She wants to leave as soon as she can, so she can go back to feeling like herself.

"It's been some time since you've been home. Won't you consider staying? I've been keeping up with your exploits. Your alchemical mastery was something to behold. Dissolving walls with acid or setting a part of the desert ablaze is something to be proud of. Your intellect is something to behold. But I noticed that you've put those poisons I've sent you to good use. Though it begs the question..."

Ariortos taps his cane against the floor, standing up.

"Why become a monk? The labor law I can understand, even if you misuse your gift to help the...'downtrodden', it's something that still commands respect of your craft. But a monk? I certainly didn't think you would take such a path."

Creed keeps her expression neutral, resisting the urge to clench her fists as she stands there. If there was one thing she hated, it was people looking down upon her for her choice.

"Perhaps it's because I found it to be a worthy use of my time. Or, even better, maybe I see that our house needs to have a better reputation among the common folk. We have a power that many would wish for. So why not do some good with it? Not everything is about this rivalry you wish to continue with the other houses. Besides, being a monk is enjoyable. I'm beheld to nobody else but myself and my path."

That had been a lie. She does enjoy traveling around, but part of her does wonder what it would be like to settle down somewhere, work as more than a freelance lawyer. Settle down with Estranha, stop pulling her around...That's not fair to her, or herself. She's a selfish woman sometimes and she knows it.

"You would've made a better artillerist. I've heard of some of your creations. What you might've deemed as a failure, would be useful. Though I'm sure you're aware of that. Even if you didn't become an artillerist, a master of alchemy would be useful to our house. We could corner a part of the market."

Her tail longs to lash in irritation, but she remains still.

[Flow...Let these emotions melt away. Let them become formless.]

"Everything is all about power with you! The fights between the damned houses are over. We don't need to constantly look over our shoulders or inspect everyone and everything for weakness. You're so godsdamned paranoid that it is astounding you haven't sealed yourself away in armor so that you can't be hurt!"

"You are a fool to think that the other houses would not plot our downfall! Just because you are friends with that Elrose doesn't mean Lady Engalis isn't looking for a way to stab a dagger into our backs. I took it as a boon when the previous heirs went missing. I don't quite care what they're doing, so long as they are out of the way. As far as House Sarranne goes I place them below Grimgard and Roquenet, The game never ends, no matter what happens. You should always remember that."

Her brother taps his cane against the floor again, as he looks at Creed.

"Lady Zarin, I've finished your portrait."

Creed finds her snapped out of her reverie, the painter waiting for her to look over the portrait. Had that much time passed already? She walks over to look it over.

[There you are. Looking as if you're an untouchable pillar of stone. Stoic and Superior, as you were meant to be. At least, that's what your brother would say. Ariortos is certainly the type who would prefer it.]

"It's a fine portrait, madame. Thank you for your work."

She took the portrait from the woman, who bowed to her. She stares at it, frowning, it doesn't feel like her. It's her face, sure, but it's not who she is. She isn't some stoic figure, who seems to look down upon the world from a throne. She's a woman who has laugh lines, and a natural smile and wide grin. She laughs with her friends, drinks with people she's fond of and she's excited over new alchemical creations.

[At the very least...It's better than your old portrait. You had long since burned it, after all, there's no point to holding onto strings better left to fray.]

Creed hangs the portrait in the one spot that has a missing picture. And her fingers slide across the engraved nameplate.

[Though you bear House Zarin's name...This will never be your home. You know that, right?]

#the burning path (in character; creed) #IT'S DONE #I AM FREE

[anchirayce]

To Behold the Golden Sun Ch. 4

This takes place after the events of BG3. Basically, a smol adventure about Tav and Astarion arriving at Tav's childhood city to search for a way to have Astarion walk in the sun again! Drama ensues!

Rating: M - Strong language, strong violence

Warnings/Tags: Tiefling racism, alcohol use (responsible, suggestion of misuse), suggestion of non-con, suggestion of child abuse, typical canon violence, slight angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn(I mean it, it's slow), Astarion might be ooc, but hopefully not!

Tav couldn't always run away from his past. He knew this from the moment he started to help Astarion find a way to walk in the sun again. He wanted to stay away, but spurred by another failure, a memory of eld came to him. A whisper of something said, something promising. Hopefully, this little spark of hope was what he and Astarion were looking for.

Chapter One: Here

Our suits arrived the evening of the party. We had told Father Garret about the identities we were adopting. And he delivered quite well.

"I must say, darling. This Garret has some deliciously powerful connections."

I hummed as I pulled on my shirt. Astarion came up behind me and kissed my shoulder before snapping the clasps closed. I continued to get dressed, my tail nervously flicking.

"Tav…" Astarion soothed.

"Hm?" I grinned trying to calm my mind.

"You're a mess darling." He grabbed my hips and pushed me to sit. I grabbed for my tail trying to stop the insistent pats. The mobility of it was nice, but having it now attuned to my emotions was annoying.

"I know." I sighed, "I'm sorry…"

"Don't be." He gasped. "Tav, what can I do to ease your anxiety, pet?"

"I don't know." I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. "I'm so fucking tired with how this place has messed with me. I never feel safe, I feel like I'm going to be found. It makes me feel so weak…I just want something for you to walk in the sun and leave."

"You're not weak, my love." I looked away from him. "Remind me of our adventures, hm? Tell me about your strength."

And I did. Listing off the mounting horrors we took down. Except--I didn't kill the Netherbrain. It was Astarion’s last notched arrow that pierced it. I recalled his cry. His begging scream, for all of us--even the Emperor. To get up as we failed to brace ourselves against the commanding wave. I knew he would never admit it. But Astarion called out to Ilmater that day and he answered.

"See, your bravery is my beacon. This is no different. We will conquer this no matter what. And who's to say we can't enjoy ourselves, drink some good wine for once. And you can eat some good food that isn't hardtack and coffee."

"You're right." I stood and brushed my elegant velvety suit. "I can do this."

"Damn right." I finished up. And with a quick pat down from Astarion, we left the quiet room to find Father Garret, Rowen.

“We’re waiting for two more.” Rowen said, taking a drink from her water. We settled down and waited.

“Cub!" I stood to find a very familiar face.

"Jaheira!" I gasped and pulled her into a warm hug.

She turned to Astarion. "Thanks for the call. Have you been good to him?"

"Oh but of course, darling! I wouldn’t want my personal snack to suffer now would I?" Astarion's quipped.

"Oh blessed Mystra. No need to bore us with details Astarion." Gale scoffed coming in behind us.

I lost my smile. Bitterly remembering how he left the party after the ordeal with the crown. "Thought you went to find the crown." I mentioned.

"I tried to. But someone had already gotten to it. Or it went deep into the lake. Jaheira offered I come with. And I couldn't say no. That, and Tara made me."

"Good. Mystra doesn't deserve you. And that crown would have killed you."

"Ah yes, I might have realised that now."

“Excuse me.” Rowen cleared her throat. “But who are you two?”

"Ah, usually we're better at introductions." The wizard smiled. "Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep." He bowed.

"Jaheria Head of Harpers. We are friends of Tav. Astarion called upon us for a favour." She announced. It was amazing how little our friends had changed. The years seemed to be kind to them, they both were dressed for the ball. Gale wore a handsome purple accented suit trimmed with white fur and a flourishing cape with golden decor. While Jaheria wore a flowing green silken dress with a shoulder of fur, tall white gloves and no shoes.

"Tavalin. Shall we?” Father Garret said.

"Ah, yes! Apologies.” I cleared my throat.

"Tavalin? No…certainly it can’t be." Gale huffed and I cringed, he couldn't know who I was. Surely?

"I know." Astarion tutted. "A melodious name. Hidden away, such secrets my husband keeps."

"No, Astarion. Wait, what?”

“Aw, congratulations cub!” Jaheira clapped.

“Bah, you two!” He motioned his hand and turned to me, "you can't be the Tavalin Omid? Right, Tav?" I closed my eyes, sighing. I gave a small nod.

"Gale, darling, care to explain?" Astarion asked. Gale stared at me, his mind seemed to break.

"Our Tav, is one of--if not the best healers in the realms! I cannot believe I didn't make the connection!" I stared at the map, my heart in my throat. "Astarion, Jaheira. Have you heard rumours of a healer? In the mountains that could heal any wound?" Astarion raised a brow.

"Can't say I have." Jaheira shrugged.

"Aw, makes sense. But our wounds, healing overnight; that wasn't just a coincidence! I thought it was Withers. But nay! It was none other than our Tav!"

"Selune and Ilmater gave me a gift." I mentioned, shuffling against the crowded gaze. "And I needed you guys well enough to fight. And not in--in pain."

I glanced at Astarion, his eyes bright with intrigue. "We can talk later. We're losing moonlight." I tapped the map trying to get everyone's concentration.

"Right." Gale cleared his throat. My love came up to me, resting his hand under my arm. I exhaled and began.

“Astarion and I are going to sneak into the vault. We have no idea what will be waiting. But we need everyone on standby, but please. Don’t hesitate to enjoy yourselves." I swallowed, smiling to ease my already pounding headache.

"Astarion and I are playing as a cleric and his charge. Astarion is going to faint some time during the party. This is where he and I will try to sneak out. I've prepared some illusion spells for the occasion but things might get hairy fast. If they do. Run." I looked at Jaheria and Gale. "If there is any inkling of a minor fight, do not engage for us. Astarion has a dimension door spell. And we will flee if need be." I took both of their gazes and they nodded in understanding. “But of course, we all know. That this plan is going to vanish the moment we step inside. So keep your wits.”

"Tavalin, before events become chaotic." Father Garret produced a brooch. "This is a pocket dimension. I wish for you two to have it. In case you don't find something to help Astarion."

"Father Garret you can't--why?" He pushed it towards me again.

"I can see how much Astarion means to you. And as your…father, it is my duty to take care of anyone you care for." I clutched it tightly. And pulled it up so we could look at it. It was pitch black, and yet shimmered against the candle light. He explained how to use it. And with a wide smile I looked at Astarion.

"The possibilities!" I gasped.

"We can speak of them another time my dear. Come. Focus up." I nodded and pocketed it.

“Anything else to add?” I cleared my throat, everyone was quiet.

“I do. The Lord of the Land will appear to choose the treasure from his vault to give to the crowd. He will take people from the crowd. He might know the Hero’s of Baldur’s Gate, so try to hide and don’t do anything reckless.” He leaned over the map. “I have very limited knowledge of what’s inside. But there will possibly be a major enemy, so wear what armour and weapons you can.”

“The Lord of the Land killed Lin, yes? I remember the symbol of the mansion’s guard…” I stared at Rowen. She gave a soft nod. “If we have time…” I told her.

Rowen sighed as she pushed herself up and came to me, her hand gripped my shoulder. “May Selune guide us.” She said as she left the room.

“Do we honestly want to kill a lord?” Gale asked.

“Yes.” I answered, Astarion squeezed my arm as we left.

We entered the carriage waiting for us, Gale settled next to us. Astarion absent-mindedly placed his hand on my thigh. And I placed my hand on his, threading my fingers through.

"No rings you two?" Gale mentioned.

I chuckled awkwardly. "No time. We just wed a few nights ago." He seemed confused.

"Gale, I'm a cleric." I grinned.

"Right." He looked away for a moment. "Well, I could remedy the missing rings. With a magical brand. Doesn't hurt, and I can enchant it."

"Gale!" I gasped. "Seriously, you would do that?"

"Aw, it's nothing." I looked at Astarion, utter glee had spread a wide grin upon his lips. We leaned and offered our hands. Gale turned in the cramped space and created a small orb. We both put our hands inside and the weave around it shimmered as the wizard spoke an evocation.

"I'll leave them blank for now. Tav, reach out to the weave when you two wish to brand the rings with your vows. When finished say, 'metam'. I've given you two a warding spell. Apologies, but that's all I can do."

"Gale I could kiss you!" Astarion marvelled at the glowing empty brand that settled into a dull grey against his pale colour.

"Please don't." He chuckled.

"Well then, what if Tav did?"

"Then you'd be jealous, my fanged-friend."

"You didn't say no." He grinned.

"I refuse to dig myself deeper, Astarion." He wagged his finger adjusting his purple suit.

Astarion smiled and I leaned towards him, kissing him deeply, he placed a hand against my cheek. And pulled away to rest his forehead against mine. His hand was woven tightly into mine. I sat back sighing with the comfort that came from being with Gale and Jaheira. And a part of me began to hope that we could find something for Astarion.

The carriage pulled up to the mansion and as we stood around Gale had a thought. “How are we getting Astarion inside?”

“Shit…” I was so distracted.

"It’s been taken care of." Father Garret interrupted. "Follow me you two. Everyone else please continue through the main entrance." We did, I tried to hide against the darkness as I grabbed Astarion's hand. We continued through a garden and to a backdoor.

"Father Garret?" Someone called.

"Aye," he addressed an elegantly dressed woman. "Thank you Lucy."

"But of course. I've never heard of--" She gasped when she saw me. "A tiefling?"

"He's the personal cleric for this gentleman. He's dying, and it was a personal wish from his house to attend."

"I can't let a tiefling in." She raised a fan to her face, her eyes flashing with disgust.

"Please, grant his wish."

"Why a tiefling?" She whispered.

"They come from a long line of healers. They...pacted with a devil for powers." Father Garrent recounted our lie. "But, this guest is not a devil himself. He simply displays the nasty effects of his ancestors' choices." She eyed us suspiciously.

"It would be ignoble for me to decline. Come in and follow me. I will take you to a private balcony." I allowed Astarion to go first and Father Garret flanked us.

The lady of the house was an elegant high-elf maiden. She looked about middle age, probably four-hundred years, maybe five. Her hair was tied up and she wore a pure white gown. With shimmering pink lace tatted with beads and crystals that hummed with magic.

"It is an honour that a beautiful beacon like yourself is escorting us through your lovely home." Astarion flirted.

"Oh, why, the pleasure is all mine." She stopped before the door and opened it for us.

She grabbed my arm, her nails digging through the fabric. "Stay by the door, tiefling. I will not have your filthy appearance burden my ball."

"Yes, madam." I glance at Astarion, a thread of rage burning behind his eyes. I closed the door behind her and immediately stepped forward. But not too close to the balcony.

“You two are taking this quite well.” Father Garret sighed, placing a hand to his heart. "To lie so naturally…"

“This isn’t our first time.” Astarion grinned walking towards the balcony. He confidently leaned over the railing.

“Father Garret, I would like you to leave somewhere safe.” I said. “You’ve done so much for us. And events are going to get chaotic and I don’t want you to face punishment for our deeds.”

He took a long inhale, and slowly nodded. “I think it’s about time Rowen and I leave this city as well. I will wait for you outside the city.”

“Thank you for staying so long.” I smiled, taking his hand. He smiled and pulled me into a strong hug.

“Rowen will lead you to me after the party, we’d like to join you afterwards.” I affirmed it with a nod as he pulled away.

Food was brought to us. A small platter of sandwiches and fruit with some wine. "Would you like some?" I offered, as I took my fill.

He didn't answer. I finished what I could and walked to a curtain, observing my love. He wore an elegant suit of black and red. A high collar hid his bite marks with a simple lace cravat neatly tucked away. Two sharp tails fell around his legs. The silver embroidery shimmered in the elegant swath of magical light cast overhead. It curled between pillars and danced underneath the glass ceiling. The laughter from beneath startled me and the music soothed it away.

“Astarion.” I smiled as he turned leaning on the bannister.

“Come to me.” He purred. "I would like to say my vows to you.”

He saw my hesitation. “We will leave for the vault immediately.”

“We need to be sneaky.” I tried to grin through my nervousness.

“Where's the excitement in that?” He scoffed dismissively towards the crowd, “and besides when do any of our plans go right? Also the lady of the house has nothing on us.”

“Father Garret and Rowen.”

He tutted, “Tav, they’re grown ups. And these are bored nobles. I’ve hunted a few parties like this and nothing like a little drama helps spice up the evening. Trust me, my love.” I took his outstretched hand and he pulled me close to him. I swallowed as he placed his hand protectively on my waist.

“Quickly now.” He urged as I called upon the weave. His fingers squeezed lightly.

“Astarion Ancunin, my elegant Star. Two and a half years I have travelled with you, from the beginning I knew of your schemes, and I tried so hard to not fall for it. But it was just one night and I was utterly in love with you. Through patience, frustration, and kindness. I have finally seen who you are, underneath it all. And my passion for you has calmed into a flame of devotion, I am here to stay. I will never leave. And I wish for nothing more than to remain by your side forever more. Metam.”

“Tav, my pillar of strength and morality. It took time, so much time, but here we are--you are. Still with me through petty arguments and lust of power. I tried so hard to keep it simple, but you managed to find a place to warm my cold heart ever so simply. Metam.” I kissed him deeply, feeling the magic snap onto my finger. I pulled away and peered down at the agape crowd.

Astarion twirled me about, almost sweeping me into a dance as we turned. The lady of the house suddenly screamed at us as the crowd roared with gossip. We turned to the door hearing pounding footsteps.

“Catch me!” I gasped as I took the pocket dimension out and rubbed at the smooth black stone.

Astarion caught it, and veiled himself with invisibility just as they burst into the room. From the empty shimmering box I was able to watch, but for now I only heard an echo of sound. The looking glass was covered with his pale hand.

He was quick and quiet, I heard nothing. My anxiety grew worse as I paced, I knew he memorised where to go but his invisibility wouldn’t last forever. I hoped he would quickly cast something to look like anything but his beautiful self.

A door opened, and the looking glass was cleared. “Astarion!” I sighed.

“We’re here, Tav.” He panted and opened his palm to the ceiling. I rubbed at the walls. The magic made me dizzy as I popped out of the gem, I shook it away and handed him his weapons, our armour would have to wait. We stood before a massive golden gate. Intricately carved and held with chains. I peered at it, trying to discern what was carved. It seemed like an eye was peering at us.

“How the hell are we supposed to get in?” I scoffed. "Father Garret didn't mention anything about a gate."

“It’s magic.” Astarion mused and drew near. I followed closely behind. His fingers touched the metal, observing for any locks. I turned and looked around the area.

“Scrying eyes…” I groaned. “Better make this quick.”

“No lock. I bet the key is in the mansion’s private wing.” I hummed and pulled my greatsword from its aetheric sheath.

“Force?” I pulled the weapon upon my shoulder.

“Seems like the only way.” I gave myself a running start and jumped up on the gate. I raised my blade towards the centre. With a snarled grimace I plunged it deep into the gate’s eye.

Magic blasted me back, I shouted as I fell to the floor. “Tav your arm!” Astarion gasped. With a loud pop I put it back into place, I stood and as I stepped towards the gate the floor below me opened up, a black portal had swallowed the marble.

Both of us screamed as we fell. Astarion’s rushed incantation echoed against the darkness we fell into. But it wasn’t fast enough, the ground came hard and fast. My breath and bones pulsed, as I tried to inhale and deal with ringing and dizziness in my ears but all that came up was vomit.

“‘Star--?” I gasped, pushing myself up.

“Tav?” He strained. He was behind me. I sat back, my ribs burned.

“Shit.” I hissed. I pushed my magic into my body. “Astarion where are you?”

“I’m here.” He called again. He was in front of me. “My leg…” I crawled to him. Sweeping my hands until I found him.

“Gods, I’m so sorry.” I helped him up, weaving his bones back together with a gentle snap.

“I can’t blame you for your impatience, my love.” He groaned as he sat up. “Where are we?” There was a faint scent in the room.

“Do you smell that?” I asked, he sniffed the air.

“It’s…odd.” He replied, I reached above us and helped Astarion stand. “Incense?”

I called upon a flame, and dropped it to the floor. Immediately it was quenched, I produced another. And held it out, there was nothing.

“A darkness spell?” Astarion offered, it took our words, filling us with worry.

“I’m scared if we move we’re going to find something that will kill us.” I whispered.

“The scent is too vague to follow as well.”

“We must have confidence.” I took the first step, Astarion’s arm hooked around mine.

We wandered, and wandered, and wandered…

“Gods, there’s no end.” I huffed, I wanted to sit but didn’t dare let my love go. “And I can’t think of anything.” I rubbed at my forehead.

“Humour me dear?”

“Of course.” I weaved my hand through his arm, hanging on his shoulder.

“Close your eyes.” I obeyed, “when we smell the incense we take a step forward. Not too late or soon.”

“Right.” Astarion grabbed my other hand. We waited, each breath felt too slow. I swallowed and tried to find it, waiting for it.

“Now!” I stepped with him, my heart spasmed with urgency. I pleaded I wasn’t too late. I squeezed Astarion’s shoulder and slowly opened my eyes.

I was back. “No…nonono.” I fell to the floor, the scent of rotting sweat and human waste filled my lungs. A full tremor took my limbs, as I eyed the familiarity of my prison. The huts were built from bones and ash brick, the smell of burnt flesh and wood carried past everything else like a whisper of apology for the harrowing reality of what had been done.

The packs of feral tieflings eyed us, their gaze held no weight upon me. But they began to slink down when they saw Astarion.

“Tav get up!” I looked at him. My breath stopped mid-inhale, continuing with a long wheeze. They slowly surrounded us, Astarion equipped his blades.

“Stay away!” I tried to stand, to pull away from the dimness and gore. Astarion’s arm was on my shoulder, shaking me. “Love, you need to stand up!" I shook my head. My words were sealed deeply in the painful ache burrowing and clawing against my chest.

They spoke in Infernal. Broken and disjointed, it made my tongue curl. “Tav, I need you to help me here!” Someone stepped forward, I sprang up and grabbed Astarion’s blade. I gave them no chance, no opportunity to hurt him. I plunged the blade into their chest, only removing it to add another.

I turned back to Astarion, flashing my gaze around another lunged, I grabbed their shoulder completely slashing their throat once I yanked back. The group snarled at me and I clashed back, brandishing my fangs.

They backed away. Slowly, I turned and found another two stepping out of line. For the first I threw my blade and lunged at the second, tackling them down to the ground. In a fit of fury I clawed at their face, neck, and chest. Their screams caused panic in the group as I staggered to my feet. All of them scattered over each other.

"Tav…Are you with me love?" I turned to Astarion. His eyes were horrible. His ruby red studied me sporadically, glistening fearfully in the grey-light.

My brain shivered with numbness, it came in waves with my heartbeat until it settled as a buzzing nuisance. Astarion stepped up to me, raising his hands. I flinched from it, shaking my head. I didn't want him to touch something so filthy.

"Wfrre…" I whispered reverting back to Infernal, slowly drawing into myself, covering my head with my gored arms. "A'h wfrre…"

"Let's leave." I shakily pointed to the door, keeping my gaze away from him. To our side I heard a group, barking orders.

I stared at them, removing the blade from the corpse. I growled low through a half-lunge, challenging them to a fight. One of them ran forward, I stopped the long untamed talons from slashing through me. But they managed to claw at my face, Astarion came up behind me, gutting them.

"Tav your magic! Heal yourself!" Astarion urged. I tried to summon it. Tried to remember how to. But my instinct to maim with my hands curtained my thoughts. Another's claws slashed into my back, infecting me with acidity. I pulled away and on the turn, I sank my teeth down on the throat of my assailant. I tried to keep the others at bay but they grew confident and pounced at me, clawing at my clothes and skin.

A third sprang on me, trying to get me to the ground, I pulled them over my shoulder and snapped their arm with a rough yank. Astarion’s voice rang with magic, the boom of thunder causing most to fly back. I managed to slice the throat of the one struggling against me as the other ones stood and sprinted towards my beacon.

I caught one with a blade to their back, the other I ran to and slammed into the ground, cutting deeply into their spine. I didn't stop, I sprang at Astarion, knowing we couldn't rest. They knew our scent. We would die if we didn't get out of here.

He stumbled back, raising his own not against me. It wasn't against me, I had to remind myself. He closed his eyes, bracing as I wrapped my arms around his middle and supported him, I kicked off my shoes and dashed forward. I held him against my chest, giving him full access to fight.

I ran hard, dodging and hopping up on rocks as Astarion flung magic. But not everything could be evaded. My arms, legs, and back were caught with long marks of pain. I jumped up on the cliffside, kicking at dirty hands as I leapt up.

"Xf!" I hissed, “go!” My throat burned as I tried to speak common. Astarion pulled himself up and turned to help me. His hands slipped on mine as he pulled me up.

"XF!" I shoved him and turned to the group scrambling up the side. I turned when I heard him shouting. Astarion was caught between the door. I lunged at the one that came up behind him, gripping their head and snapping their neck cleanly. Astarion kept up with me, his blades flashing against the darkness. The group backed up, giving us space.

“Gf cf cyp lffr!” I pointed to the door as I shouted. Astarion turned to look at me, catching someone as they tore into his shoulder. I stabbed their eyes, grabbed their forehead, and tore them off as Astarion stabbed their gut.

“Tav, I can’t understand you!”

I grabbed his arm and ran with him to the door. I turned as he braced himself against it. I crouched low, my tail flicking angrily. I tore into those who dared to step one foot towards us. And with an addition of two bodies they stared at us, waiting for one of us to mess up.

“I need help!” Astarion struggled to push against the heavy stone. I stepped away, until my back touched the smooth stone. “I just need enough to dimension door through!” He panted, it moved and the corral of hungry eyes stared at us. Someone moved, I snarled at them, trying not to let go of our progress. A few of their conscious ties pulled them back, fearful for their deaths.

The door slipped, the loud scrape of stone echoed against the quiet hall and our straining. I saw Astarion peek through the crack, and he suddenly grabbed my waist, and with a shout called us into the void.

I scrambled away from him immediately. Falling against the wall, curling against a pillar. I was out, I was free, but the smell was burned into my lungs, the taste of familiar blood upon my lips. My body ached with bruises, cuts, and wounds bound to become infected pustules without healing.

I tried to keep my sobs back, but when I looked back at the thick stone door something broke away. It was a loud shaking wail of pure relief, Astarion kneeled in front of me, trying to soothe me.

“My love…” His expression was soft, but it brought no comfort to me. I closed my eyes trying to grasp the person I was before. The person who I had built and forged, I pulled at my hair and horns, trying to claw it back.

“You’re okay.” Astarion’s hands graced mine, I flinched but he didn’t draw away. He placed a hand on my knee and squeezed.

My hand trembled as I reached for it, I desperately craved the comfort but my hands were disgusting, gore, hair, and blood dripped from them. I immediately pulled away, rubbing them on my clothes, and rubbing at my face. The long scratch across my nose and cheeks ached as I pulled the blood from my mouth. No matter how much I rubbed it was still there, I sobbed again my breath heavy with loud desperate gasps.

I tried to get it off, but it was caked into my pores. My claws pooled even more red against my forearms. I opened my eyes after a harsh blink to find Astarion’s pale flesh blended against the sea of red. I pushed his hands away, but he grabbed my fingers, red smeared onto his hands. I was infecting him.

“Stop…” He said, pinning my arms. I twitched against him and shook my head. It felt like it was going to explode.

He leaned into me. “Look at me.” I didn’t. “Tavalin, look at me.” I hated my name upon his lips. But I managed to drag my eyes to his ever comforting shimmer of ruby.

“You’re okay.” He grinned, cupping my cheek. “Take your time, don’t rush. Breathe and find yourself again.” I shuddered and my head fell back, thudding against rough stone. I didn’t fight as I receded into a deep sleep.

Chapter Five: Here

#bg3 #spawn astarion #astarion x male tav #astarion #bg3 tav #slow burn #established relationship #hurt/comfort #slight angst

[marmolita]

a selection of my favorite AO3 tags seen in The Magnus Archives fandom:

Canon-Typical Worms

Canon-Typical Compulsion Kink

Sexy Cosmic Horror

Non-Consensual Supernatural Actions

A Leitner Made Them Do It

Good Cows

Martin Blackwood Makes Tea

Misuse of Beholding Avatar Powers

Beholding Kink

no beta we kayak like Tim

#the magnus archives #do not archive #tma

[charlesandmartine]

Saturday 8th July 2023

I always think it's nice to leave something behind if you have been in a foreign country. What could be better than correcting the locals of any misuse of the English language, in short pronunciation. Around here they have a gondola ride up a mountain similar to the one in Banff. We didn't understand when our host said GondOla. There was far too much O and not enough gon. You just have to do your bit.

Today with much prompting from our host and also the tourist information centre, after we had checked in with Rocky Mountaineer and talked to Mr Enterprise, we set of for Maligne Lake some 48kms away. (local?) Fourteen miles in length, fed by the Maligne River, it is famous for its Azure colour. Very pretty lake and extremely popular with tourists. There were set walking trails available so with the thought in mind that this might be the last opportunity for a bear introduction, we took the wooded trails with the scents of pine and surprisingly, oregano. Bear fur and poo was in evidence but no actual bears to be found. Well we tried. On the road back to Jasper we came upon a cluster of RVs and cars parked either side. Clearly something was afoot so I climbed out of the Toyota to investigate. Drivers and passengers alike were leaning out of vehicles; some by the roadside. We spotted a black bear said one. So cameras at the ready, the woods were being scanned for the beast. Then, just to put a lid on it, a ranger's truck arrived all lights flashing and a girl jumped out clearly having sussed what was going on and said 'If there is one in there, you're too close'. So like naughty children we all got back in our vehicles and drove off still looking at that patch of trees.

A bit further down the road was Maligne Canyon. Now I know we went to a Canyon yesterday, but this was really the Daddy. Maligne is French for evil or wicked. Pierre-Jean de Smet, a Belgium Jesuit missionary, used the word to describe the river after having trouble crossing it on his horse in 1846. The river coursing through this Canyon was something to behold with its power and velocity, and dare I mention, waterfalls cutting the soft limestone walls into curved pot shapes. Even Martine, who is not easily impressed by such natural phenomena was taken by this spectacle.

We are not allowed to cook in a little apartment so we went to a Greek restaurant for lasagne and fish and chips respectively.

Tomorrow we hand over the Toyota and board the Rocky Mountaineer to Vancouver. Overnight we disembark at Kamloops to stop in a hotel, then rejoin the train in the morning, getting in late to Vancouver on Monday evening. We shall be sorry not having the Toyota. Very strange driving here as all towns are on a grid system, so junctions occur every 50 meters or so. At each junction there's a 4 way stop sign, so we all sit there eyeing up eachother to see who blinks first allowing the other to go. Strange system, saves on traffic lights and slows the traffic down to a crawl.

ps. Hoping to see a bear out of the train window.

[wire-smith]

Behold! The world's most convoluted hacked-together telescope mounting!

I recently acquired an old telescope, an old camera tripod, and an old fine-adjust stage. None of them were compatible with any of the others. But now, by the power of perseverance and the blatant misuse of power tools, they are connected into one usable whole!

Don't ask me how much it wobbles. It's steady enough and that's what matters.

#crafting #telescope #I tried a simpler setup without the fine adjust #but there was so much wobble and backlash I couldn't aim it #now at least I can aim #even if it's very silly

[xasha777]

In the year 2404, on the war-torn frontiers of space, there existed a legion known as the Cosmic Punjab Regiment. Commissioned by the United Nations of Earth to protect the realm of humanity across the galaxy, the regiment was forged from the finest soldiers hailing from the historic lands of Pakistan. Among these elite was Lieutenant Aara, known among her peers as the "Guardian with the Gaze of the Void."

The portrait of Lt. Aara, the one you are beholding, was an enigmatic figure, whose eyes were said to pierce through the very fabric of reality. Her face, adorned with the traditional war paint of her ancestors, had become an emblem of hope and unyielding resolve.

The tale begins when a strange artifact was unearthed on the desolate planet of Xyber-9, located in a region where space and time had become a tangled web. It was an ancient device, predating humanity's ascension to the stars, yet it buzzed with an unmistakable energy signature.

The Cosmic Punjab Regiment was dispatched to secure the artifact. However, upon their arrival, they found themselves entangled in a skirmish with a race of cybernetic beings known as the Krylox, who claimed the device as their lost relic of power.

During the battle, the artifact unleashed a pulse of energy, enveloping Lt. Aara in a cocoon of light. When it dissipated, she stood transformed. The intricate patterns on her skin now glowed with a vibrant orange hue, and at the heart of her chest shimmered an alien gem pulsating with life.

Aara's newfound powers were beyond comprehension. She could see through the Krylox's invisibility cloaks, predict their movements, and control the very energy that fueled their war machines. She became a one-woman army, turning the tide in favor of the Cosmic Punjab Regiment.

The story of Lt. Aara became a legend whispered across galaxies. It was said that she was the chosen guardian of the artifact, bound to protect it from those who would misuse its powers. Her eyes, once human, now mirrored the vastness of the cosmos, and her presence on the battlefield became both a beacon of inspiration for her comrades and a harbinger of defeat for her enemies.

The portrait that captured her visage was more than an image; it was a reminder of the resilience of the human spirit, a testament to the courage of the soldiers of the Cosmic Punjab Regiment, and a symbol of the mysteries that lay in the uncharted territories of space. Lieutenant Aara, the "Guardian with the Gaze of the Void," stood at the vanguard of humanity's quest among the stars, forever vigilant, forever steadfast.

[bookoformon]

3 Nephi Chapter 24. "The Master of the Ordinances."

The Lord’s messenger will prepare the way for the Second Coming—Christ will sit in judgment—Israel is commanded to pay tithes and offerings—A book of remembrance is kept—Compare Malachi 3. About A.D. 34. "Glared."

The Glare of the Light, the Light of Life, emanating from the Ethereal Spirit cancels all darkness, all ignorance, all darkness, all sin and iniquity. In His Glare we can find our way out of sin into holiness and through our example, the rest of the world comes to understand the mission of the saint, and revels in its importance.

There is a such thing as an anti-saint, a diabolic, and our world is being managed by them and not by us. The wars, the use of state power by diablical politicians to abuse or misuse their constituents, the muddying, burning, and littering of the earth are all signs we are losing hold of the concept of the saint.

America, the birth place of the Book of Mormon is leading the charge of the diabolic forces on the planet. We have a sprawling, highly technologized military, the best in history but its planes, ships, and men sit waiting while evil consumes this world.

Our congress and Supreme Court snigger at us while they plot and plan to snatch away our civil rights and impose theocracy upon us right in front of the eyes of the law in direct opposition to it.

The State cannot be used to remove civil rights protections from its taxpayers. This is a vulgar abuse of power and those who perform it can be accused of apartheid and put to death.

In general, right and wrong are losing the thrust of their meanings and this has to be addressed.

This was all happening before in America when the Book was written and the Prophet chose to reprint this chapter from the book of Malachi (430 BCE) in order to impress upon us the human race has struggled with oppression and the diseases of tyranny for a very long time:

1 And it came to pass that he commanded them that they should write the words which the Father had given unto Malachi, which he should tell unto them. And it came to pass that after they were written he expounded them. And these are the words which he did tell unto them, saying: Thus said the Father unto Malachi—Behold, I will send my messenger, and he shall prepare the way before me, and the Lord whom ye seek shall suddenly come to his temple, even the messenger of the covenant, whom ye delight in; behold, he shall come, saith the Lord of Hosts.

2 But who may abide the day of his coming, and who shall stand when he appeareth? For he is like a refiner’s fire, and like fuller’s soap.

3 And he shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver; and he shall purify the sons of Levi, and purge them as gold and silver, that they may offer unto the Lord an offering in righteousness.

4 Then shall the offering of Judah and Jerusalem be pleasant unto the Lord, as in the days of old, and as in former years.

5 And I will come near to you to judgment; and I will be a swift witness against the sorcerers, and against the adulterers, and against false swearers, and against those that oppress the hireling in his wages, the widow and the fatherless, and that turn aside the stranger, and fear not me, saith the Lord of Hosts.

6 For I am the Lord, I change not; therefore ye sons of Jacob are not consumed.

7 Even from the days of your fathers ye are gone away from mine ordinances, and have not kept them. Return unto me and I will return unto you, saith the Lord of Hosts. But ye say: Wherein shall we return?

8 Will a man rob God? Yet ye have robbed me. But ye say: Wherein have we robbed thee? In tithes and offerings.

9 Ye are cursed with a curse, for ye have robbed me, even this whole nation.

10 Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in my house; and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of Hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing that there shall not be room enough to receive it.

11 And I will rebuke the devourer for your sakes, and he shall not destroy the fruits of your ground; neither shall your vine cast her fruit before the time in the fields, saith the Lord of Hosts.

12 And all nations shall call you blessed, for ye shall be a delightsome land, saith the Lord of Hosts.

13 Your words have been stout against me, saith the Lord. Yet ye say: What have we spoken against thee?

14 Ye have said: It is vain to serve God, and what doth it profit that we have kept his ordinances and that we have walked mournfully before the Lord of Hosts?

15 And now we call the proud happy; yea, they that work wickedness are set up; yea, they that tempt God are even delivered.

16 Then they that feared the Lord spake often one to another, and the Lord hearkened and heard; and a book of remembrance was written before him for them that feared the Lord, and that thought upon his name.

17 And they shall be mine, saith the Lord of Hosts, in that day when I make up my jewels; and I will spare them as a man spareth his own son that serveth him.

18 Then shall ye return and discern between the righteous and the wicked, between him that serveth God and him that serveth him not.

Malachi means "to follow God's messenger to mastery."

The verb לאך (la'ak) means to transpose one's will, purpose or intent via an agent. This verb isn't used in the Bible, but joined with the prefix מ (mem), which expresses agency, it yields the following nouns:

The feminine noun מלאכה (mela'ka) refers to an artistic work or an act of mastery, whether by merit of superior skill or by superior force. But ultimately, the noun מלאכה (mela'ka) reflects the nature of whoever masters it. It's this word that describes the "work" which the Creator completed on the seventh day (Genesis 2:2), which explains how his attributes and character can be observed through what was made (Romans 1:20). Strikingly, it's also the word for domesticated animals; animals that are mastered and which act according to the will of the master who drives them.

The masculine noun מלאך (mal'ak) means messenger, or someone who conveys the will of the master. The plural form of this word mostly refers to human messengers and the singular form mostly refers to divine messengers.

In the latter case, translations use the word "angel," but it should be remembered that the original makes no distinction between kinds of messengers.

A similarity in form may have reminded of the noun מלך (melek), meaning king.

While every verse in the above chapter from the Book of Malachi is valid, we are working in wickedness and not even pretending to be happy, the best way to make use of it is found in the final verse: We must be able to defer to the Holy Ghost as to who is good and who is evil and do away with persons that want to turn evil into policy in the government.

The Republicans are trying to turn their vapid vile religion into a kind of government and they must not be allowed to do it. Political parties are not things that are guaranteed by law. Civil rights, however are guaranteed by law, that is why they are called rights and not options.

President Biden needs to get off the pooper, flush the toilet and get rid of the Republican Party. There are now many opportunities.

The GOP has been abusing power my entire life, attempting to wage war upon their own constituents, deprive everyone of equality and social equity, and now they are doing absolutely nothing to bring peace and prosperity to a world that is drowning in mud and blood. And now they have attacked Israel using Hamas as a facade and have abandoned the needy all around the world.

They are unholy, despicable, and should not be allowed to share this place with people of better ilk than they. And as it turns out, they don't even have a legal right to remain in their company.

Malachi says, "even those who walk mournfully before the Lord of Hosts shall be delivered."

The Republicans bring nothing but strife and sadness at every opportunity. Tell the Congress and White House the time to mourn is over. Tell them we want saints to hold sway in the government, not these freaks.

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 65: April 2017

The first thing Martin heard when he surfaced from unconsciousness was a high-pitched voice crying in evident delight, “Oh, it’s you!”

Martin groaned as the voice grated on the raw edges of his throbbing head. There was almost certainly a lump where Breekon or Hope had struck him, and his first addled thought was to wonder if Jon could be prevailed upon to bring him an icepack. Then awareness sludged through the pudding of his brain of something tight around his wrists and something unpleasant-tasting stuffed in his mouth.

He forced his eyes open and immediately wished he hadn’t. Someone had taken his glasses off, which was the opposite of helpful in his current situation, because his eyes immediately reached for the Ceaseless Watcher to compensate before his rational mind could get up to speed enough to stop them. A thousand glowing indigo eyes stared at him impassively and unblinkingly, and looming directly over him was a person-shaped flare of the same indigo light. Off to one side, he thought he could see something glowing brownish-tan, from which a low sort of humming came, indistinct and melodic but grating at the same time. None of it was as bright as he might have expected. The static that always seemed to hiss on the edge of his hearing when he used his powers sounded wrong, and it hurt, but he wasn’t in any kind of shape to force it back.

“Oh, fuck,” he said, or tried to. It came out as muffled upset.

“Now, that’s not good,” the voice said from the direction of the person-shaped blur in front of him. So an Avatar of the Stranger, then. “Where are my manners? Give him back his glasses.”

Rough, unkind hands shoved Martin’s glasses onto his face, forcing his head back and making him grunt as the sore spot impacted with something hard and wooden. Pain made his vision white out for a second. When it cleared, the indigo glow around him was gone, replaced with a sputtering light from a bare bulb dangling overhead that didn’t so much illuminate the area as give interesting edges to the shadows. It was, from what little he could see, a warehouse of some kind. He seemed to be sat on a chair, a wooden one, but sturdy; ropes bit into his wrists and ankles when he tried to move. There was some sort of foul-tasting cloth shoved into his mouth and tied in place. He was cold all over, and needed no more than a quick glance down to confirm that he was totally naked. Waxwork mannequins, not very well-done ones, crowded the space around him in near-regimental lines. Standing next to him was a tall, burly figure he almost recognized as one of the delivery men who had dropped off the table, arms folded over its chest and scowling; another, similar figure he almost recognized stood a few feet away, also scowling, and between them was a wooden box that Martin immediately hated very much. Directly in front of him was a mannequin of a different kind, this one plasticine, shiny and smooth and graceful, like the ones you saw in shop windows at the higher-quality department stores. It had slim, cruelly sharp fingers at the end of arms just slightly longer than normal, and it wore a red-and-gold jacket and matching top hat reminiscent of the one the ringmaster had worn the time Martin’s class had gone on a trip to the circus, but its face was smooth and blank, even more than shop mannequins usually wore. As he blinked the last of the spangles out of his eyes, though, the figure tied on a Venetian volto mask, a Pagliaccio, with its black tears stained red and its lips—most unusually for the style—parted, baring its teeth in a preternaturally sharp grin, and stared at him with its blank, hollow eyes that revealed nothing beneath.

Martin’s muffled exclamation this time was one of fear and panic. This had to be Nikola Orsinov.

Orsinov clapped its (her?) hands. The sculpted expression of the mask, of course, never so much as twitched, but the pleasure certainly seemed genuine enough. “So you’re Martin! You know, when Breekon and Hope told me they had brought me—how did they put it? Oh, yes—‘some fat schlub’—”

Martin couldn’t suppress a muffled bark of annoyance. He knew he was fat, but really, coming from those two…

“—instead of the Archivist, well, I was very unhappy,” Orsinov continued, as if she hadn’t heard him. “I was all set to just kill you and use you for spare parts. But imagine my surprise to see…you!” She gave a merry giggle that sent chills up Martin’s spine. “Oh, yes, I know all about you. You’ve been quite the nuisance these last few years—you and your little friend. What’s her name? Melanie.”

It was difficult to sound threatening with a gag in his mouth, but Martin gave it his best go anyway. Orsinov ignored him. “We really wanted an Archivist for this, but from everything I’ve heard, you’ll do just fine.” She giggled again. “Do you know, Jude actually thought you were the Archivist? I didn’t have the heart to set her straight.”

Martin wanted to point out that Orsinov didn’t have a heart at all, unless she’d stolen that from somewhere too, and that Jude Perry was by no stretch of the imagination “straight”, but it was extremely difficult. He pushed at whatever was jammed into his mouth with his tongue, trying to dislodge it, but it was firm and unyielding. He settled for glaring.

Orsinov waggled a finger at him. “Ah-ah-ah! We’re letting you keep your glasses so you can see, but don’t think you can See here. I’ve heard all about your eyes, Martin! I know what you can do. But try to do that here, and it will be very bad for you.”

Martin grumbled at her through the gag. He wasn’t trying to See; he didn’t enjoy it, and he didn’t really need to, either—he knew she was the Stranger. Besides, it would only drain his energy, and he was going to need that if he was going to escape.

“Now then. Let’s see what we have here.” Orsinov picked up something from a nearby table—Martin’s jacket—and began rifling through the pockets. “Two train tickets from Newcastle to London…dated today. My, my, we are being nosy! A canvas case…” She unzipped the case. “With lock picking tools. I wouldn’t have thought you would go for that, Martin. And…oh? What’s this?”

She held up the tape recorder that Martin had tucked into his jacket on a whim before he and Jon set out for Newcastle; he hadn’t necessarily planned on recording anything per se, but he’d figured it couldn’t hurt to have. He directed a sarcastic mumbling in Orsinov’s direction about whether she was too young to know what a tape recorder was.

“I wonder if it’s any good?” Orsinov turned it over several times in her hands, then pressed the RECORD button experimentally. Since she was right under his nose, Martin was able to see the wheels begin turning, which meant there was still room on it, not that he knew for sure how long each side was. Long enough for statements, that was all that mattered. “Oh, it does work! What have you been recording? Anything spooky?”

Martin tried to tell her that he’d been recording the truth about her assistants, but it still came out as just muffled nonsense. Orsinov didn’t seem to notice. “Is it…your Elias who listens?” She held the recorder up to the mouth of the mask. “Hellooooooooo!”

Martin mumbled a few choice words about Elias’s parentage, the species of said parents, and the validity of their marriage, most of which were swallowed up by the gag. Orsinov continued to address the recorder. “He’s mine now, and you can’t have him back.”

Martin was about to tell Orsinov she was welcome to Elias—even though he knew she likely meant him—but then he realized that the low background humming had increased in volume until it was practically an angelic chorus. He looked at the box again. This time his eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the warehouse, and he recognized the shape of it: a coffin, made of some old, dark wood, with chains wrapped around it. His skin crawled as he recognized it as the one from Joshua Gillespe’s statement—the coffin that was clearly the Buried. But why was it here? He tried to quell his panic and ask Orsinov what the hell she wanted it for; it just came out as vague, questioning mumbles.

Orsinov actually seemed to understand him. “Oh, don’t worry, it’s not for you. You won’t even need a coffin—we’re going to use every piece of you.”

That part, at the very least, was…not a surprise, actually. Martin found himself humming a couple bars of “Every Little Piece” from Pete’s Dragon. Orsinov turned to the two men Martin presumed to be Breekon and Hope. “Now, could you two please move that thing somewhere far, far away?”

Martin found himself emphatically agreeing with Orsinov, not something he’d ever have believed he would do. One of the deliverymen, though, just shrugged. “Not really.”

“Needs to be near us,” the other said, which Martin found interesting.

Orsinov’s expression never changed, but somehow, Martin suspected if she could, she’d be scowling. “Well, just…move yourselves away, and take it with you.”

“Gotcha,” said the first.

“Right you are,” said the second.

They picked up the coffin as if it were an ordinary bit of furniture being moved, one at the front, one at the back. With an ominous rattle of chains, they lurched off into the depths of the warehouse. The eerie chorus gradually faded away until the only sound in the warehouse was the sound of rain, faintly drumming on the roof or windows or both. Martin breathed a bit easier despite the gag in his mouth.

“Right,” Orsinov said cheerily. “Where were we?”

“Oh, really.” Martin almost managed to make that spit out distinctly despite the gag.

“Oh, of course!” Orsinov returned her attention to the tape recorder. “So, Elias, can I call you Elias? Let me set the scene, as I know you can’t actually see this. He’s tied to a chair—Sarah wanted to use nails, but I talked her out of it because I’m a good friend. You’re welcome. And he’s absolutely surrounded by waxworks. Not…good waxworks, though. Weird ones. Wax faces where you almost recognize who it’s meant to be, but then…ah, it’s downright uncanny!”

Martin swore at her in three languages, secure in the knowledge that she probably wouldn’t care even if she could understand and translate them. Orsinov scoffed at him. “Excuse me! I’m talking to your boss, and I would thank you not to interrupt.”

If the gag had permitted him to physically bite his tongue, Martin would have. He didn’t know where the recorders were coming from, but he did know they were hardly a direct line to Elias. Still, better to let Orsinov believe that for now. She might say something indiscreet.

“You know,” Orsinov continued to the recorder, “I must say, Elias, can I call you Elias? You have not raised this one very well.”

At that, Martin couldn’t restrain himself from telling her he’d been raised by someone a lot scarier than Elias, but she ignored him. Or just couldn’t understand him. “He is rude. And he just will not stop asking questions. Ooh, but now, I can ask the questions! How are you feeling?”

Cold. Annoyed. Probably not as terrified as he should be, because this was an objectively terrifying situation, but he was quite a bit less tense now that the Buried coffin was gone. Worried about Jon and whether he’d made it back to the Institute, although Orsinov had said they’d got him instead of Jon. Slightly hungry, seeing as he hadn’t eaten since early that morning and it was…however late it was now. Relieved that it was him and not anybody else trapped in this position. Martin tried to convey all of that in as simple a way as he could, but since he couldn’t twist his wrist, restrained as it was, to flip her the bird properly, he settled for another muffled sentence.

“Oh, wonderful,” Orsinov said brightly. “Now, about the whole skin thing…did the Archivist tell you about that, by the way? Well! We had an ancient relic one we wanted him to find, and originally I was just planning to have him followed until he did. I mean, my goodness, it is very powerful. And if he didn’t come through, well, he’s quite powerful himself, and more than that, he is…symbolically appropriate, so…” She giggled again. “I thought he’d make a lovely frock!”

If Martin had tried to threaten her before when she’d brought up Melanie, he was definitely more emphatic now when she brought up a direct threat to Jon. Orsinov just giggled again. “Exactly! And, well, I was going to wait, but…y’know, have you ever had one of those backup plans that, when you think about it, they’re—they’re just more fun? So I told Breekon and Hope I changed my mind. Only you got in the way, Martin. Just think, you could be safe and secure…but you had to interfere, and get in the Archivist’s way.” She clucked her tongue (did she even have a tongue? Had she stolen that too?) almost sympathetically. “But as I said…you’re plenty powerful, too. In fact, if I hadn’t known who the Archivist was, I might have agreed with Jude. So…out with the old, in with…well, in with the you!”

Martin’s long-suffering groan needed no words or translation. Orsinov reached out and caressed his cheek with one long, plasticine finger. It felt wrong, unsurprisingly, and he shuddered at the unpleasant sensation that ran through his entire body. “You understand, don’t you, Martin? You know all about the power that can be written on a skin. And you’ve been so beloved of your patron for so long…is it any surprise that I realize now you will make the very best outfit for the Dance? You’ll fit me so much better than the little Archivist.”

That, more than anything, finally broke the dam that was holding back his fear. Martin had tried so hard not to be afraid, or at least not to show he was afraid, but now he couldn’t stop himself. He garbled at her incoherently as he struggled against his bonds, trying desperately to break free. He’d always been strong, surely…but no, the ropes were thick and tight and no matter how he fought, he couldn’t even so much as shift the chair.

“Oh, no, I’m afraid he can’t See you, can you Elias, can I call you Elias?” The mask’s expression didn’t change, but Martin envisioned Orsinov baring her teeth a bit more in a sharp grin. “What’s the point of having a secret place of power if you can’t hide it from a big, stupid Eye?” She set the recorder down on the table without turning it off, then patted his thigh, which he enjoyed even less than her touching his face. “Anyway, you sit tight. Lots to do!” She stood up and paused. “Ooh, also, do you have a preferred brand of lotion? Because you have not been taking care of your skin, and we really do need it in better shape before we peel you.”

Martin, with malice aforethought—on the off chance she would actually understand him—rattled off three brands of lotion he knew had been discontinued and one that was only available from those door-to-door salesladies. Orsinov either saw right through him or couldn’t make out a word. “All right. I’ll just ask them to pick up a selection.”

With a flutter of her fingers, she strode away. A door closed in the distance, sounding incredibly ominous and final, and Martin was alone. He took several deep, heavy breaths, trying to settle his racing heart and turbulent mind.

The recorder shut itself off with a preternaturally loud click that seemed to echo in the cavernous space.

A small whimper of fear and despair clawed its way out of his throat. He closed his eyes, trying to force back the tears, but one escaped and wended its way down his cheek anyway. He’d been afraid plenty of times, threatened by the Fourteen and their servants more times than he could count, trapped and injured and manipulated…but this was different. Every time it had happened before, he’d been with Melanie or Gerry…or Jon, or at least known one of them wasn’t far away. Now he didn’t even know where he was, let alone where the others were, and they likely had no idea where to find him either. He’d dropped his phone, so they couldn’t call him and track that, and there was no way for him to contact them. Now even the tape recorder had abandoned him, which was probably a stupid thing to think—they weren’t sentient. Still, they did feel like a presence, a comforting one at that, and if it was off, if it wasn’t listening…

He allowed himself a few moments to break down, then gathered himself and tried to think rationally. Jon was safe, he had to be, even if Martin hadn’t actually seen him make it to the Institute doors. The others would look after him. And he had the log book from Breekon and Hope. Surely, surely they had logged deliveries to…wherever this place was. Surely Jon would be able to figure it out, and they’d be able to rescue him. Or better yet, they’d figure out what was going on with the Unknowing and how to stop it, before it got to the point where…where Martin would be needed. They’d be okay. He would be okay. And maybe he hadn’t been able to break away right off the bat, but if he was just patient, if he worked at it, he’d be able to make it.

For now, he was going to rest. For now, he was going to breathe slowly and deeply and just…relax. He could do that. He could. And then, when he felt a little stronger and calmer, he’d get to work on those bonds. He’d get himself free.

Quietly, he began humming, then singing softly, even with the gag in his mouth. It was the song he always used to ward off the Lonely, or just when one of them was upset or scared, and even if someone listening couldn’t have made out the words clearly, Martin knew exactly what he was singing.

Let the lower lights be burning, send their beam across the waves…

#ollie writes fanfic #tma fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest) #martin blackwood #nikola orsinov #breekon and hope #kidnapping #being restrained (including gagged) #being trapped #threats #misuse of Beholding powers #mannequins #masks #mention of skinning #minor/indirect fatphobia

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24Leaders #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental justice #environment protection #environmental health #Youtube

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

David's Righteous Branch

“Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of My pasture!” declares the LORD.

Therefore this is what the LORD, the God of Israel, says about the shepherds who tend My people: “You have scattered My flock and driven them away, and have not attended to them. Behold, I will attend to you for the evil of your deeds, declares the LORD.

Then I Myself will gather the remnant of My flock from all the lands to which I have banished them, and I will return them to their pasture, where they will be fruitful and multiply. I will raise up shepherds over them who will tend them, and they will no longer be afraid or dismayed, nor will any go missing, declares the LORD.

Behold, the days are coming, declares the LORD, when I will raise up for David a righteous Branch, and He will reign wisely as King and will administer justice and righteousness in the land. In His days Judah will be saved, and Israel will dwell securely. And this is His name by which He will be called: The LORD Our Righteousness.

So behold, the days are coming, declares the LORD, when they will no longer say, ‘As surely as the LORD lives, who brought the Israelites up out of the land of Egypt.’ Instead they will say, ‘As surely as the LORD lives, who brought and led the descendants of the house of Israel up out of the land of the north and all the other lands to which He had banished them.’ Then they will dwell once more in their own land.”

As for the prophets: My heart is broken within me, and all my bones tremble. I have become like a drunkard, like a man overcome by wine, because of the LORD, because of His holy words. For the land is full of adulterers— because of the curse, the land mourns and the pastures of the wilderness have dried up— their course is evil and their power is misused.

“For both prophet and priest are ungodly; even in My house I have found their wickedness,” declares the LORD.

“Therefore their path will become slick; they will be driven away into the darkness and fall into it. For I will bring disaster upon them in the year of their punishment,” declares the LORD.

“Among the prophets of Samaria I saw an offensive thing: They prophesied by Baal and led My people Israel astray. And among the prophets of Jerusalem I have seen a horrible thing: They commit adultery and walk in lies. They strengthen the hands of evildoers, so that no one turns his back on wickedness. They are all like Sodom to Me; the people of Jerusalem are like Gomorrah.”

Therefore this is what the LORD of Hosts says concerning the prophets:

“I will feed them wormwood and give them poisoned water to drink, for from the prophets of Jerusalem ungodliness has spread throughout the land.”

This is what the LORD of Hosts says:

“Do not listen to the words of the prophets who prophesy to you. They are filling you with false hopes. They speak visions from their own minds, not from the mouth of the LORD. They keep saying to those who despise Me, ‘The LORD says that you will have peace,’ and to everyone who walks in the stubbornness of his own heart, ‘No harm will come to you.’

But which of them has stood in the council of the LORD to see and hear His word? Who has given heed to His word and obeyed it? Behold, the storm of the LORD has gone out with fury, a whirlwind swirling down upon the heads of the wicked. The anger of the LORD will not turn back until He has fully accomplished the purposes of His heart. In the days to come you will understand this clearly.

I did not send these prophets, yet they have run with their message; I did not speak to them, yet they have prophesied. But if they had stood in My council, they would have proclaimed My words to My people and turned them back from their evil ways and deeds.”

“Am I only a God nearby,” declares the LORD, “and not a God far away?”

“Can a man hide in secret places where I cannot see him?” declares the LORD.

“Do I not fill the heavens and the earth?” declares the LORD.

“I have heard the sayings of the prophets who prophesy lies in My name: ‘I had a dream! I had a dream!’ How long will this continue in the hearts of these prophets who prophesy falsehood, these prophets of the delusion of their own minds? They suppose the dreams that they tell one another will make My people forget My name, just as their fathers forgot My name through the worship of Baal.

Let the prophet who has a dream retell it, but let him who has My word speak it truthfully. For what is straw compared to grain?” declares the LORD. “Is not My word like fire,” declares the LORD, “and like a hammer that smashes a rock?”

“Therefore behold,” declares the LORD, “I am against the prophets who steal from one another words they attribute to Me.”

“Yes,” declares the LORD, “I am against the prophets who wag their own tongues and proclaim, ‘The LORD declares it.’ ”

“Indeed,” declares the LORD, “I am against those who prophesy false dreams and retell them to lead My people astray with their reckless lies. It was not I who sent them or commanded them, and they are of no benefit at all to these people,” declares the LORD.

“Now when this people or a prophet or priest asks you, ‘What is the burden of the LORD?’ you are to say to them, ‘What burden? I will forsake you, declares the LORD.’

As for the prophet or priest or anyone who claims, ‘This is the burden of the LORD,’ I will punish that man and his household.

This is what each man is to say to his friend and to his brother: ‘What has the LORD answered?’ or ‘What has the LORD spoken?’ But refer no more to the burden of the LORD, for each man’s word becomes the burden, so that you pervert the words of the living God, the LORD of Hosts, our God.

Thus you are to say to the prophet: ‘What has the LORD answered you?’ and ‘What has the LORD spoken?’

But if you claim, ‘This is the burden of the LORD,’ then this is what the LORD says: Because you have said, ‘This is the burden of the LORD,’ and I specifically told you not to make this claim, therefore I will surely forget you and will cast you out of My presence, both you and the city that I gave to you and your fathers. And I will bring upon you everlasting shame and perpetual humiliation that will never be forgotten.” — Jeremiah 23 | The Reader’s Bible (BRB) The Reader’s Bible © 2020 by Bible Hub and Berean.Bible. All rights Reserved. Cross References: Genesis 4:16; Genesis 18:20; Genesis 49:1; Exodus 32:34; Leviticus 5:1; Deuteronomy 13:1-2; Deuteronomy 18:20; 1 Kings 18:18; Job 13:4; Psalm 69:20; Isaiah 11:11; Isaiah 13:1; Isaiah 30:10; Isaiah 43:5-6; Isaiah 43:18-19; Jeremiah 6:13; Jeremiah 7:14-15; Jeremiah 9:12; Jeremiah 14:14; Jeremiah 20:11; Jeremiah 25:32; Jeremiah 33:3; Jeremiah 36:31; Matthew 1:21; Matthew 2:2; Matthew 7:15; Matthew 11:24; John 6:39; John 10:8; John 12:35; Acts 17:20; 1 Corinthians 2:16; 1 Corinthians 3:12-13; 1 Corinthians 4:5; 2 Corinthians 10:4-5; Galatians 1:7-8; Hebrews 4:13; 1 Timothy 4:1-2; Revelation 8:11; Revelation 11:8

#false prophets #false oracles #David's righteous branch #Jeremiah 23 #Book of Jeremiah #Old Testament #The Reader's Bible #BRB #BIble Hub #Berean Bible

[ao3feed-jonmartin]

Levitate

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Lk5qw27 by sieveyourtea In a seaside cottage in Bournemouth, Martin Blackwood arrives home after a long day of running errands. Jon, of course, is waiting for him. Words: 2249, Chapters: 1/2, Language: English Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Additional Tags: Monster Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Post-Episode: e200 Last Words (The Magnus Archives), Location: Somewhere Else (The Magnus Archives), Canon-Typical The Beholding Content (The Magnus Archives), After the Panopticon, Jon Stays a Monster, Martin isn't Mad About It, Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sex, Implied Oral Sex, Human Martin Blackwood, Protective Martin Blackwood, Chapter 2 The Rating will Change to E, Misuse of Beholding Avatar Powers (The Magnus Archives), But for Fun Things, fantasies, Kissing, Neck Kissing, Feeding the Archivist, Statement Hunger (The Magnus Archives), surprisingly soft, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sex-Neutral Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, jonmartin week, Day 7: Eldritch Power, Day 5: Cryptids, Mute Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Avatar Martin Blackwood read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Lk5qw27

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #tma #jonmartin #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin fanfic

[chronicallyillpeanut]

Name : Jezaree’

meaning of letter J. Family and a peaceful home are extremely important to these people. That is also why they dedicate themselves to solving all problems and conflicts. Having harmony in these two areas of life brings them happiness. In other areas their plans and desires might change often. But once they find a preferred area of interest their focus can become extraordinary. They love things related to family life such as organizing everything related to the home.

meaning of letter E. Your powers of seduction are a sight to behold. A close community and a good environment are two things you really love. One of your strengths is your readiness to put effort into things you care about. This always leads to constant progress and self improvement. Giving respect to others is one of your most prominent features. Having such a strong willpower makes you very tough. Not one to openly show emotions when having a hard time with life.

meaning of letter Z. Good companions who show plenty of affection. Your strong intuition gives you huge insight into other people. Being able to read others like a book is an advantage in social situations. Yet your kind heart and spiritually inclined mind would never try to misuse those abilities. You feel a closeness to animals and really love them.

meaning of letter A. You can sometimes leave a rude impression when meeting new people. This is not done intentionally. It simply takes you time to warm up. Once that initial barrier is crossed you can become very social. The letter A has a tendency for firmness. Which means that you like to know the facts, before making decisions. Overall very mature people. There is a trend to turn away from unimportant situations(small talk would be an example). Communities you become a part of usually end up trusting you. Your good heart makes you altruistic and kind. Family life is important, so is taking care of your own.

meaning of letter R. A fast thinker who can easily come up with solutions for everything. With a never resting mind you often find it hard to slow down and think less. Because you are always devising or inventing something new. Meditation would work best to calm down your mind and lessen the nervous tensions. Ideas come to you when you least expect them. Making new friend and holding on to current ones has always been easy for you. That is because of your open and affectionate character.

#finding myself #name meanings #name meaning #birth name

[hefillsthevoid]

THE POWER OF ALCOHOL

As an upstream swimmer, I wish to expound on an evil that is destroying homes, families, individual lives, and churches, too. Anything so pervasive as this needs to have alarms ringing repeatedly. I write of the destructive abuse of alcohol. Now hold on! Before you turn me off, be kind enough to read the entirety of this short article.

God made alcohol just as He made all other substances. But everything is created for specific purposes and are entirely good within the scope of respective purposes. Alcohol has been long known for its medicinal properties and purpose. But, it has been subverted to a beverage and its abuse through this misuse brings about catastrophic results.

Some will object to this line of thought saying the bible is filled with instances where people, even the Lord used, drank, wine. It remains unknown the level of alcoholic content of the wine, new or old. But I freely acknowledge its use. So, does that make it a good thing for all God’s children to use, understanding the tendency of all men to abuse most things because of the presence of sin? Thinking of the Bible, how about letting it speak for itself?

The wisest offspring of Adam, Solomon, had much to say on the subject. One record is Proverbs 23:29-35, “Who hath woe? who hath sorrow? who hath contentions? who hath babbling? who hath wounds without cause? who hath redness of eyes? They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed wine. Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright. At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder. Thine eyes shall behold strange women, and thine heart shall utter perverse things. Yea, thou shalt be as he that lieth down in the midst of the sea, or as he that lieth upon the top of a mast. They have stricken me, shalt thou say, and I was not sick; they have beaten me, and I felt it not: when shall I awake? I will seek it yet again.” In another place he wrote, “Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging: and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise. Prov. 20:1.

Other biblical writers had something to say as well. The prophet, Habakkuk wrote, “Woe unto him that giveth his neighbor drink, that puttest thy bottle to him, and makest him drunken also, that thou mayest look on their nakedness!” Hab. 2:15. The prophet Isaiah charged the priests in his day saying, “But they also have erred through wine, and through strong drink are out of the way; the priest and the prophet have erred through strong drink, they are swallowed up of wine, they are out of the way through strong drink; they err in vision, they stumble in judgment.” Isa 28:7.

Conclusion: Did not all these scriptures come to us through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit? If such examples and admonitions are spurned, what good would a direct commandment do? Wise people follow instructions to correctly use what God has made, not abuse it through alternative purposes. Acordingly, Paul told Timothy, “Drink no longer water, but use a little wine for thy stomach's sake and thine often infirmities. I Tim 5:23. Here, medicinal purpose is clearly indicated.

As with other drugs, the addictive nature of alcohol is overpowering to masses of folks. So what is the end of the abuser? Hear the Word! “And thou mourn at the last, when thy flesh and thy body are consumed, And say, How have I hated instruction, and my heart despised reproof; And have not obeyed the voice of my teachers, nor inclined mine ear to them that instructed me!” Prov. 5:11-13.

Truly, “The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge: but fools despise wisdom and instruction.” The obvious conclusion of wisdom is use alcohol medicinally, but as a beverage leave it alone.

William Andrew Dillard

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24HighSchoolStudents #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental education #environmental justice #environmental protection #environmental health #high school students #high school #youth #youth of america #school