#Hollow Descent AU

[spycemel]

GOD DAMN THE SUN

Turns out that WIP was not staying a WIP for long.

So here! Have my Angel Radiance design, fully colored and shaded :D

I'm invested in this now so I'm gonna try and make a design for the Vessels, I have a bunch of ideas for them :DDD

[larvasmoon]

Starry Nights - Chapter 1: The naughty list

Summary : Maven is an outcast, a clumsy Christmas elf, who lives high up in the North Pole's fir forest. She dwells in the shadow, shunned by all of her peers. Yet, when the Christmas preparations turn into a disaster, she has no choice but to partner up with her sworn enemy: Santa's secretary, Astarion Ancunín. Only the two of them seem to be able to see the mysterious creature that lurks near the factory, wreaking havoc in its wake. Pariting: Astarion/Original female character Rating: Explicit Content: Christmas AU, angst and fluff and smut, moody elf stuck in an endless party, Astarion as Santa's insufferable secretary, enemies to lovers

Read on Ao3

Like every morning, Maven is running late. She bursts out of her cottage home — hair still wet from her bath, pointy hat askew, green uniform crinkled and unbuttoned. She runs down the steps of her porch in a hurry, but the thin layer of frost on them sends her flying up in the air. The world spins, the content of her pockets with it, and she plummets into an ocean of smooth white snow. 

“Damn this perpetual winter,” she groans, choking on a handful of little snowflakes, “Damn this nightmare of a job!” 

She angrily secures her tool belt around her hips, buckles the straps of her backpack, and strides towards her enchanted sledge. The knot of the rope tied around it is stubborn, unyielding, and she wonders if the entire universe is conspiring to ruin her day. Well, to be fair, this day in particular is not worse than the last, and certainly not worse than the next. Most days begin and end the same way, with Maven either breaking something, offending someone, or hurting herself. The latter is indisputably the best out of the three options; it’s far easier to tend to a wound than it is to regain someone’s trust and affection.

Everybody knows about her, about the bad-tempered and unlucky elf who lives high up in the pine forest. She’s a local celebrity, if you will. Nothing ever goes her way, everything she does eventually turns into a disaster, and wherever she goes chaos follows. This is her curse — or at least, this is what all the christmas elves have decided to call it. 

‘Butterfingered Maven,’‘Doomed daughter of the Aelfric family,’ ‘Krampus kin’: people have all sorts of horrible ways of calling her, and she has grown used to most of them. 

Maven straddles the sledge with an exasperated sigh, tugging as hard as she can on the cable. After what feels like an eternity, the rope breaks with a snap, and the old heap of wood finally starts its spectacular descent towards the North Pole village.

“Damn Christmas and damn Santa!” she screams, holding on for dear life as it dangerously slaloms between the trunks. Everything is a blur of shimmering white around her, the cold wind lashes her face, and from time to time a red pixie pops out of a hollow log to shout at her.

“Stupid girl! Roadhog!” they shriek in a cloud of shimmering dust, “Slow down your darn toboggan, some people are trying to sleep here!”

For a few glorious minutes, she almost forgets who she is and where she’s headed. For a few seconds, she is just Maven Aelfric, a happy little girl once more, with nothing to apologize for and no forgiveness to earn.

But just as quickly, the dream fades and disappears. 

The trees of the forest change; they grow taller, thicker, sparks of colors glimmering in the leaves and in the pine needles. Their foliage eerily twinkle in the dark undergrowth, like the blinking eyes of a maddened beast. Iridescent glass baubles dangle from branches, glittering candy canes swing on twigs, and dawn’s pale hues dull in the distance. 

She takes a sharp turn to the right, silently riding along the first opulent houses of the village. North Pole’s Gate is a violent flash of neon red and green, a whirlwind of bright fairy lights that burn her eyes. Music echoes through the streets, day and night, night and day, and Maven doesn’t know how the people living there haven’t already lost their minds. That morning, it’s the same awful tune as the one they always play at work.

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year — With the kids jingle belling and everyone telling you be of good cheer!” a voice croons in the crisp morning air, and she tightens her hold on the leather straps, pouring more magic in the wood below.

She slips past the road on which most of her coworkers are still walking towards the toy factory, grinning when she realises that she might actually make it on time. But the Christmas carol follows her still; the trees bend low to sing it in her ear.

“There'll be parties for hosting, marshmallows for toasting, and caroling out in the snow!” The spruces hum and the sledge races, gliding at a terrific speed, almost lifting off the ground.

Far beyond, Santa Klaus corp. is a glorious stain of white, red and green in the blue hour. The tall gingerbread house is already open; smoke slowly curls out of its chimney. 

It’s time to work, she has no choice. She’s bound by a contract to good old Santa, after all.

Maven is about to leave the wood behind her when she sees something in the corner of her vision. 

Something that seems to be running after her.

A tall shadow leaping through the forest with unnatural speed.

A wolf? A bear? she thinks, taking her eyes off the road, probably not, it wouldn’t be that big.

Fear grips her heart when the glowing light of the factory illuminates the creature’s face. She sees horns, red piercing eyes, a long forked tongue, and a small imp perched on a massive shoulder. 

In the panic, she lets go of the reins. The monster smiles at her and the sledge hits a rock, breaking in two.

And soon, she’s falling again, but it’s nothing like her little morning dive in the snow.

This one will actually hurt, she can already tell it will. 

“There'll be scary ghost stories, and tales of the glories of Christmases long, long ago!” The voices continue to sing, muffled and strange.

This time, amongst them, she can hear another melody.

A warped  call, a crowd endlessly chanting her name.

Maven, Maven, Maven, Maven, Maven —

**

When she wakes up, Maven is lying at the foot of a tall tree, splinters of wood scattered around her. 

The cold scraps her lungs clean; she tastes iron on her tongue. 

But the sky above is the color of a glass of strawberry milk — it’s still dawn, she’s still on time, she can still make it right. 

She lifts herself up with a huff, ignoring the throbbing pain on the side of her head. Behind her, countless elves are already lining up in front of the entrance. There is no time to lose, so she leaves it all behind, nicely hidden beneath a pile of snow.

She doesn’t want to think about what happened, and about what it means. 

Not yet.

Blood trickles down her temple while she waits with all the others, and she discreetly wipes it off with her sleeve. There’s a familiar shame in the pit of her stomach, the certainty that if someone stares at her for too long they’ll see through her lies and know the awful truth about her.

The one she’s not even sure of knowing.

Were they right all along? Has Maven always been cursed? A black sheep in a white flock — or worse, a wolf in disguise.

“Bah! Aelfric!” a harsh voice cuts through her thoughts, “Stop wasting my time, I don’t have all day, show me your arm.”

Maven jumps and blinks, quickly realising that she’s now at the front of the line, standing next to the doors of the factory like an idiot. Laezel glares at her, regal and intimidating in her red velvet uniform, golden buttons and officer’s epaulettes catching the light of the glittering garland above her head. Maven takes a clumsy step towards the guard; the githyanki’s hand visibly tightens around the hilt of the longsword resting at her hip. 

“Ah yes, yes of course, sorry, here you go —” she mumbles, showing her the badge permanently tattooed on the thin skin of her forearm. 

“Chk!” is the guard's only answer before she lowers the level beside her. Maven’s contract number appears above the gate, amidst a rain of bright stardust. 

N° 261214

A number. That is all she is once she steps into her workplace, and sometimes, it’s almost comforting. 

Maven heads towards the toy workshop without so much as a glance for the tall Christmas trees, the socks hanging near the blazing fire in the hearth, or the big pots of simmering hot chocolate. The fragrant fir wreaths on the walls are adorned with all sorts of juniper branches, pinecones, and berry spray. Each time she looks at them, she’s reminded of cold winter days with her mother, of long afternoons spent in the forest gathering branches and small red fruits in a wicker basket. 

Shadowheart is already sitting in front of her workbench, pliers in hand as she works on the wheels of a small wooden car. She’s in a sour mood — that much is obvious — her brows are furrowed and her lips are but a thin discontent line. Maven dares not disturb her, she simply slides in her assigned corner to start working on the thirty presents she has to make before the end of the day. 

She’s already completely engrossed in her task when she hears Shadowheart stand up, her stool crashing on the floor, her tool box clattering at her feet. “I’ve had enough! If they play another one of those songs, I’m blasting the entire place and ourselves with it!” 

A few elves gasp in horror, wide-eyed and confused. Of course they’d be shocked, this is their entire world, the sole universe they’ve ever known. Their entire lives revolve around candy canes, decorated trees, and insufferable christmas carols! The only elf who hates Christmas just as much as Maven does is Shadowheart. She has never been bold enough to ask her why she does though; she has every reason to believe it is not a joyous story.

You’re not like the others, she thought the first time she saw her, with her long black hair and her angry steel blue eyes, you hate it here, don’t you? 

“That’s fine by me,” Maven chuckles, sewing a pair of fragile translucent wings on the back of a fairy doll, “You’d do us all a favor.”

Shadowheart looks down at her, chest heaving, braid coming undone.

“But in the meantime,”—she bends over to place a little wooden box in front of her — “use this.” 

“What is that?”

“Earplugs. I have a spare pair, no need to thank me.”

“No,” she says, motioning towards Maven’s brow, right above the old scars on her left cheek, “I meant this, on your forehead.”

Maven blushes, hastily covering the bruise under her choppy dark green bangs. She almost forgot about the incident in the forest, about the monster, and about the wound…

“It’s nothing, you know me, clumsy as ever! I slipped on the steps of the porch this morning,” she blurts out, trying to hide the fear in her voice behind a small laugh.  

But Shadowheart doesn’t believe her, she knows Maven a little too well. It’s a blessing and a curse, because she has a few secrets she’d like to keep to herself. 

“What happened, Mav?” she asks, laying a gloved hand on her arm. 

She looks at her in silence, and something in Maven almost breaks. A door that has long been closed, a keyless lock that she doesn’t trust anyone else to open — not even her friend.

Before she can answer, a familiar chime echoes through the entire building. 

Shit… Is it already that time of the month again? 

“Dear Christmas elves, please gather in the foyer. The names of the best employees of the month are about to be revealed!” 

An ocean of ecstatic elves rushes through the narrow corridors; they squeal and they laugh as they run towards the grand hall. They celebrate Christmas Eve every year in this wide room — dancing and eating under the tall chandeliers, gifting each other little trinkets at the feet of the tallest tree of the entire realm, kissing under the mistletoe…. 

But once a month, it’s also the place in which Santa simultaneously rewards a handful of his workers and punishes the rest of them.

The most hardworking of the elves are given new uniforms, as well as a big golden snowflake medal to wear on the front of their pristine coats. They are admired amongst their peers, earning a respect that never quite fades no matter how many years go by. 

Those who fail to produce enough toys, however, face a far less alluring fate… The entirety of North Pole shuns them, they are encouraged to work some extra hours at night by the management, and — to add insult to injury — they are kindly asked to take a considerable wage cut. 

Maven has been part of the latter group for the past years, and this Christmas is no different. Shadowheart sighs in relief somewhere behind her. She’s in neither of the two, she’s right in the middle, in the comfortable middle ground of ‘normality.’ 

“If my salary gets any lower than this, I’ll be working for free,” Maven grumbles, eyes fixed on Beatrix Birchborn and Rue Littebell, Santa’s new favorite employees. The girls’ long red hair glimmer like two crowns of fire when they bend down to receive their prizes, and Maven can’t help but envy them a little.

“Oh my… Are you on the naughty list again, darling?” someone whispers in her ear and her entire body grows tense as a bow. 

Astarion Ancunín, Santa’s insufferable secretary, is standing right beside her. 

In the soft glow of the candles, he looks as if he was molded out of clay by Santa himself. White curls sculpted out of morning’s first snow, skin smooth like polished spruce wood, red eyes crafted out of the same glass as the bulbs in the vast tree behind him — he is Christmas incarnate, and this place’s finest creation.

But everything that is beautiful is also dangerous, poisonous like the Amanita mushrooms that grow at the feet of the white firs. 

And for that reason, Astarion is the most dangerous out of all the elves of the Christmas realm, and the one Maven should be the most wary of. 

Tonight, he looks especially magnificent. He is wearing a perfectly tailored red velvet two piece suit, lined with bright green silk. The bow of his white lavallière shirt cascades down his chest like a river of melting snow, and on his collar shines a little snowflake brooch. He must have won it many years ago, on a night like this one, or so Maven imagines. It’s her first time seeing him wear glasses though, and she wonders if he walked straight out of his office when the announcement rang through the factory. They’re small and round, delicately perched on top of his Grecian nose. She rather likes them, they make him look a little more… stern.

Maven hates to admit it, but her heart always races a little when she’s around him. It’s a daily inconvenience, something that happens far more often than she’d like… She’s eating lunch at the refectory, or taking a short break in the fir plantations, and all of a sudden, he’s here! And each time, she can’t really tell why he ventured out of the factory’s headquarters to find her in the first place. Maven might be too much of a bungle to be crowned ‘employee of the month,’ but she has observed Astarion for long enough to know a thing or two about him — things he probably wouldn’t like her to know. He’s calculating, ambitious, and each of his actions always serves a purpose…So naturally, it didn’t take her long for her to figure out that he wants something from her.

But what could she possibly give him? Her, North Pole’s favorite outcast. 

“Don’t act like this comes as a surprise to you; you’re the one who wrote that list,” she says, a little more bitterly than intended.

“You’re sweet darling, but there are thousands of elves in this factory, do you truly think I would know all of that by heart?” he huffs, straightening his jacket, “Perhaps, I ought to remind you that I’m just the hand that holds the quill, nothing more.” 

Maven doesn’t answer, she simply stares at the bottom of the list plastered on the wall. There’s something even more humiliating about the fact that Astarion put her badge number there himself — knowingly or unknowingly. She’s drowning in an ocean of dark thoughts when she feels his fingers pushing her hair away from her brow, feeling the bruise on her temple. And she flinches, like some kind of wild animal that is not used to being touched so gently.

Astarion doesn’t ask her how she hurt herself, he simply stares at it with a strange look in his eyes.  It’s not a kind or a soft expression though, and soon, a familiar smirk forms on his face.

“Don’t look so defeated. I think I prefer you naughty anyway, it suits you better.” 

Is that a compliment or an insult? Her stupid body doesn’t wait for her mind to settle on either before blushing. 

“Don’t you have something else to do? Somewhere else to be? I hear you’re pretty busy this time of year,” she says as she starts walking away, quickly heading back towards the toy workshop. “I myself have no time to spare, so if you’ll excuse me…”��

His voice follows her through the long corridors, stubborn and haunting. “Nothing that demands my immediate attention, no.” 

“How unfortunate.”

She bursts inside of the atelier with Astarion on her heels, and her heart sinks when she realises that Shadowheart is not there. It was a bad idea to leave the hall, this is even worse. The last thing she wants at the moment is to have a little tête à tête with Santa’s secretary…

Maven has no choice but to pretend he is not there. She puts her gloves on, sits down and throws the fairy doll she finished earlier in the jute bag by her feet. Persistent as ever, Astarion draws close again. He takes a few graceful steps and leans on her workbench, looming over her with bright ruby eyes. 

“You need to dream big, dear,” he sighs, carefully inspecting one of her little screwdrivers. “Do you want to spend your entire life crafting silly gifts? Don’t you want to be the one opening up presents? I started out like you, you know — at the very bottom of the ladder, in that very workshop — but I managed to climb my way up to the top.”

“Why do you care? None of my dreams include anything that could be placed under the christmas tree anyway, nothing that could be wrapped in a red little bow.” 

He moves to stand in front of the tall windows of the workshop, the ones that face the reindeers’ enclosure. Night is already falling and the fairy lights on the fences light up, one by one, like stars in the black skies. 

“I’m sure Halsin over there would gladly step into a big box and wait for you to unwrap him on Christmas Eve,” he chuckles, and Maven turns red as a beetroot.

Halsin Silverbough, Santa’s hostler, has always been kind to her. She likes that he smells like the forest and the warm fur of the reindeers he takes care of, not like the heady mixture of cinnamon and cloves that constantly floats around the other elves. Last year, during the Christmas party, he’s the only one who talked and danced with her. But Maven doesn’t seen him as anything more than a friend — a shoulder to lean on and a sympathetic ear, at best.

“You know he fancies you, right?” Astarion says, but it’s almost like he’s asking her a question, waiting for her to either confirm or deny, “He’s always had a taste for the singular and the untamed.”

A ridiculous and incongruous thought crosses her mind. 

Is he jealous? a small incredulous voice asks in her head, No, no, it cannot be. People like him are not jealous, they have all they could ever ask for and… I couldn’t possibly be what he wants. 

“Tempting but no, thank you.” 

“Don’t be so picky, darling,” — he slumps down a leather armchair near the fireplace, crossed legs elegantly slung over one of the armrests — “One has to seize the opportunities when they arise! Maybe this is the reason why your name is never at the top of that cursed list. That little head of yours is always so full of unnecessary thoughts. Unwinding would help to boost your production rate.”

Astarion certainly ‘unwinds’ a lot in his free time. Over the years, she has watched him leave the factory with an endless parade of lovers. It’s never the same face or the same name, but his paramours are always pretty. And on some nights, before entering the forest, Maven turns around to look at him and at the elf who gets to walk him home, foolishly hoping that he will choose her one day.

You don’t belong there, she finds herself thinking each time it happens, beasts lay on the soft moss of woodlands, not in townhouses’ plush beds.

“I don’t need any of that, what I need is to work in peace, Mister Ancunín,” she finally answers, stitching a pair of glassy eyes on the small face of a stuffed bear. “Would you please leave me alone now? I have much to do.”

For a little while, he remains uncharacteristically silent, quietly poised over the cushions like a sleepy cat. The leather creaks beneath him when he finally rises to his feet, and Maven is almost sure she hears him retreat towards the door. But, when she looks away from her handiwork, he’s right beside her stool again, looking down at her with an odd glint in his red eyes.

“If Halsin is not to your liking, maybe I could help you instead,” he whispers, voice low and suave like the wind blowing through the trees of the pine forest that surrounds her home. “In fact, I think we could help each other, in more ways than one, darling.”

At first, she isn’t sure she heard him right; it’s the type of thing she should only hear him say in dreams. The needle slips from her fingers, and her body freezes. She knows it’s not right, she knows it can’t be true— she’s Maven Aelfric, good things never come her way. 

So, what’s the catch? What kind of ugly trick is the universe playing on her? 

Right then and there, Shadowheart barges into the atelier, coming back from the foyer with two small apple turnovers in hand. She’s with Karlach, one of the mechanics in charge of taking care of  Santa’s sleigh, and she can vaguely hear them arguing about the type of polish she’ll need to use on its footboards before Christmas Eve. 

“Mav! I got you something sweet to eat, I thought it would cheer you up—” she calls out before stopping in her tracks, almost dropping the little viennoiseries to the ground.

“Oh gods, look at the time! I’m awfully late!” Astarion giggles, straightening up to fetch a sparkly pocket watch from his jacket. “I must go now, my dear! I’d love to stay but I have a tedious evening ahead of me. Countless letters to open and Santa’s sacks to prepare, you know how it gets! But what a pleasant little conversation this was…”

Shadowheart is still petrified, pale as a ghost, when he walks past her and swiftly exits the room. Karlach on the other hand, seems very amused by the whole situation, barely managing to contain her laugh. It must be both funny and dreadful to see someone like Astarion Ancunín close to a girl like Maven. In fact, the whole endeavor has the potential of becoming the ‘joke of the year’ if anyone in the factory gets wind of what happened.

“And darling?” Astarion says with his back to her, his hand idly waving goodbye as he walks down the corridor, “Smile, will you? You know what the song says, it’s the most wonderful time of the year!”

There’s a few seconds of silence before the tiefling wheezes, laughing so hard that she struggles to catch her breath. “Did you see his face? I haven’t seen him so panicked since the day he fell on his ass in front of everyone at the village’s skating rink.”

“Pretentious arsehole,” Maven mumbles under her breath, eyes still fixed on his back at the other end of the hallway.

“At least, stop ogling him while you say that, soldier,” Karlach says, putting a muscular arm around her shoulders, “I know his bum looks glorious in his fancy clothes, but come on!”

The tips of Maven’s ears burn, probably as red as the rest of her. “I have done no such thing!”

“Yes yes, I’ve caught you with your hand in the cookie jar more than once,” the tiefling laughs, wiping the corner of her amber eyes, “I don’t blame you though. That man is a prick, but he’s gorgeous.”

“What was he doing here?” Shadowheart finally asks, slightly disgusted, as she hands her one of the little cakes.

But once again, Maven doesn’t know the answer to that question. She still hasn’t figured out what sort of game he is playing and why he is playing it—

“I’m not sure, some kind of problem with Halsin and the reindeers’ enclosure,” she lies, not looking either of them in the eyes.

Tag list : @obsessedwhyyes @zozoparsnips @karinamay

Don't hesitate to send me a message if you'd like to be added on the tag list! ❤️

Happy holidays everyone and see you soon for the next one!

[thepagansystem]

Blood of Gold and Tears of Stars [Genshin Creator AU]

soooooo, I've recently discovered the Divine Creator AU and got obsessed. Naturally, that means I started a new fic, lmao. It's going to be updated on AO3 Here, but I figured I'd post the first chapter here <3

--------

The people of Teyvat had long forgotten their Divine Creator, the usurpers from the Stars having used dark knowledge to seal Her and the memory of her away inside the floating islands of Celestia within a year of arriving on her planet. And this imprisonment lasted for many, many years. However, after the fall of Kaenri’ah 500 years ago, cracks in the magic they used began to form. The Tsaritsa, fair Goddess of Love, was the first to remember their beloved Creator. This revelation led to her creation of the Fatui--she hoped overthrowing Celestia and the Heavenly Principles would undo the blasphemous act and free Elysia Seraphine at long last. 

It was also around this time that the Ley Line Outcrops began to appear all across Teyvat--the first rumblings of Elysia’s returning consciousness. As the Ley Line Blossoms began to be purified, bits and pieces of the Creator returned to the people of Teyvat--and they began to remember. No one knew where the Creator was, but they held onto the hope that she would return to them one day and began chronicling the stories they could remember of her in the meantime.

And then, one bright sunny day--an immense implosion of elemental energy swept across the land, stopping at the central island of Celestia. Those nearest to the floating island of the Gods stared up in shock, and after a moment of unnerving stillness--the islands disintegrated in a burst of blinding golden light. At long last, the Creator had awoken from her imprisoned slumber.

--------------------------

Elysia fell from the sparkling wreckage of Celestia, the winds of Teyvat wrapping around her limp body and slowing her descent to the shores near Mount Mingyuan. As the sleeping Goddess neared the ground, a group of Dendro slimes jumped out of the earth and made a bed of elemental energy as the wind gently laid her down.

The Dendro slimes bounced around her protectively, as the teal-haired protector of Liyue appeared in a sudden burst of smoke--wide amber eyes staring at the peaceful form of Elysia Seraphine. He deflected the bursts of dendro the slimes shot at him, scowling at the interference as he swiped at the largest of the slime. “I’m here to protect her Grace, back off.” He glanced back at the Creator as he snapped at the slimes, suddenly worried he might disrupt her slumber. After assuring she still slept soundly, he squinted back at the slimes as they plopped back into the ground one after another--deeming him safe. The Vigilant Yaksha released his hold on his spear, letting it disappear as he carefully approached the Divine Creator.  Stepping inside her aura made him pause, a look of surprise crossing his face as the years of karmic debt he had accumulated just...faded to silence. The relief was as blessed as it was unsettling, but Xiao shook his shock off as he gently crouched down. It felt blasphemous to touch her so casually, but Morax had ordered her safe retrieval until the Creator awoke. Shaking his head again, Xiao gently lifted Elysia into his arms with her head cradled into the hollow of his neck and shoulder, before disappearing in another cloud of smoke. 

A pair of pink eyes narrowed in irritation as the two disappeared from sight, as the white-haired woman stepped out from the rocks she had been hiding behind. As the Dendro Slimes popped out of the ground to attack her, the woman materialized her sword and cut all five down with one strike of her blade. Glaring at the spot the Divine Creator had been, she scoffed before tearing open a rip in space and stepping back through.

----

Zhongli sat at the stone table he, Guizhong, and Cloud Retainer used to eat at atop Mount Aocang, lost in thought as he awaited the arrival of Xiao and Lady Elysia. To think that Celestia had locked away everyone’s memories of their Divine Creator...it angered him greatly. Now that she had been freed at last, all the hidden memories had rushed back--and he finally understood what the Tsaritsa had been working towards these long years. 

He blinked away his thoughts as Xiao appeared in a cloud of smoke, standing and walking towards the oft scowling Yaksha. His eyes immediately went to the still form of his Goddess, as he fell to his knees. She looked so peaceful asleep in Xiao’s arms, and the golden dragon of Contracts had a sudden spike of envy. Shaking himself from his stupor, Zhongli stood back up with a clearing of his throat, before turning to walk back towards the stone table with a hand beckoning Xiao to follow. He paused upon reaching the table, conflicted on laying his Goddess upon such an uncomfortable surface. Before he had a chance to think of a solution, the trees near the table shivered as dendro energy pulsed through the area, while a gentle breeze brought soft bedding of flowers and leaves to rest atop the stone table. Awed by the reverence the very land seemed to bestow upon her, Zhongli nodded to Xiao as the Yaksha stepped forward and hesitantly layed Elysia upon the created bed. 

The two stood in silence for a few moments, before Zhongli shook himself and took a few steps away from her, Xiao following behind him. “Did you have any trouble bringing Her here?” 

Xiao shook his head, crossing his arms across his chest. “No, Lord Lapis. She was being protected by Dendro Slimes when I arrived, but no one else was around.” He paused, contemplating his thoughts before hesitantly asking his Archon. “Do you really think anyone wishes to harm Her Grace?”

Zhongli hummed, looking back at the sleeping Creator, slowly answering the question. “I believe it is a distinct possibility that Celestia put fail-safes in place. It seems best to not risk Her injury until we know for certain.” Xiao nodded in understanding as the Geo Archon continued, “Everyone likely knows what the implosion of energy meant, and will come searching for her--with good and ill intent certainly. I’m sure the other Archons are like to trace her aura here before long, though I do not know if any will show themselves.”

Xiao nodded again, looking back at Elysia before scanning the surroundings for potential threats. “Have you summoned the other Adepti to guard her until she wakes?”

Zhongli nodded slightly, his eyes still locked on the sleeping form of his Creator, entranced. “Indeed, they should arrive before too long--I find it imperative to protect Her Grace from further harm.” As he spoke, he abruptly turned to stare out across the sky, sensing the abnormally shifting winds as he spotted a green and brown-clad form shooting towards them. He immediately stood and shot his arms out, “Solidify!” The pillars shooting up around Elysia caused Xiao to jolt, immediately drawing his spear and facing towards the inbound figure as a protective geo field formed around the Creator.

Zhongli only slightly relaxed upon recognizing Barbatos, the short windborne bard gracefully landing before the pair with an unusually somber and serious expression on his face. Xiao remained in his defensive stance, unsure if the bard posed a threat or not and unwilling to take the chance. “What brings you to my domain, Barbatos?” Zhongli’s tone was guarded and weary, his arms crossed over his chest and back rigid. 

Venti gave a shallow dip of his head, leaning to the side to see around Zhongli--eliciting a small gasp as he saw Elysia. He took a few steps towards her, before Xiao sliced his spear out to stop him as Zhongli unwittingly let out a low growl deep in his throat. Venti stumbled to a stop, blinking owlishly at the two of them before giving a weepy-eyed pout. “Why are you keeping Her Grace to yourself Morax? We all want to see her now that she has been returned to us.” 

Zhongli’s eyes and ends of his hair started to glow slightly, as his draconic instincts picked up, golden scales spreading across his cheeks. “I am ensuring her safety from those who may wish to harm her--we do not yet know for certain that Celestia has not sent people to attack her.”

Venti’s eyes widened, his already pale skin going ashen--he had been so excited to feel her presence that the thought of her safety hadn’t crossed his mind. “Oh.”

As the three continued their heated debate, Elysia’s golden eyes slowly opened. She stared up at the open sky in awe, slowly lifting an arm up in muted curiosity and disbelief. As she slowly sat upwards, she turned to look at the three who were serving as her protectors, a bemused smile on her face. With a whisper of wind helping her stand for the first time in at least 10,000 years, she took a careful step towards the three. Seeing the shimmering geo energy around her, she skimmed a hand over the surface and the shield dissolved. 

Xiao was the first to notice her, the angry voices of long dead gods quieting as she drew near. Dropping his spear, the Yaksha fell to his knees with his face upturned towards her. The two ex-Archons ceased their bickering to look over--freezing upon seeing their Divine Creator gazing at them mere feet away. Following Xiao, Zhongli and Venti both knelt on the ground, bowing their heads to Elysia in supplication. Of all the denizens of Teyvat, the Archons felt the most guilty at forgetting their Goddess--and bowing to her usurper.

She tilted her head slightly to the side, her long elegant tail whispering along the ground as it swayed back and forth. Taking another step towards them, she cupped each of the gods cheeks in one hand to lift their heads up. “Do not bow your heads in shame, my dear Cherubim. You are not to blame for my entombment and expungement from memory.” As the two gods looked up, Xiao felt a bitter sense of longing for her caress as well. As if she could read his thoughts, Elysia turned towards him and ran her fingers through his hair in a gentle caress. “Thank you for bringing me somewhere safe while I regained my strength, my brave and sorrowful Yaksha. You have done well, so please don’t view yourself so lowly.” She gave him a soft smile, drawing her hand back as she clasped both behind her back and watched the three with bemusement. 

Xiao blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to fight back the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. After a moment of silence, Zhongli rose to his feet--causing the other two to follow in his lead when Elysia nodded encouragingly. Zhongli was also the first to break the silence, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of himself in the presence of his Goddess. “Your Grace..Is there anything we can do for you? I am sorry that you were so sacrilegiously treated for so long without us doing anything to assist you.”

She chuckled softly, her smile brightening at the sincerity in his words, “Do not fret, dear Morax. Even if you had learned sooner, there is not much more that could have been done. The usurpers used dark knowledge they brought from beyond the stars, and I was unprepared for such an attack.” As she spoke, her tail swished and she raised her head to look towards the glowing blue waypoint as it pulsed with energy. Curiosity sparked in her eyes at the unknown technology, another bemused smile passing onto her face as Zhongli and Xiao took up protective stances in front of her. 

They both relaxed as the form of Shenhe, Ganyu, and Xianyun stepped onto the grass. “One does not understand why ones charges do not visit unless there is some dire situation!” Zhongli cleared his throat, getting Xianyun’ attention before she could continue ranting at the half qilin and exorcist pair. 

Ganyu and Xianyun both let out a small gasp upon seeing Elysia, while Shenhe studied the Goddess with an impassive expression. Ganyu bowed deeply to her, while Xianyun dipped her head respectfully as she took a step towards them. “One is pleased to see you in good health, Your Grace.”

Elysia stepped between Xiao and Zhongli, smiling at the new arrivals as she neared them. “Thank you, Cloud Retainer. It is wonderful to see the sky after so long in slumber.” 

Venti, who had remained quiet this entire time, stepped around Zhongli and Xiao to stop beside Elysia. “Is there anything you wish to do, Lady Elysia?” 

She turned to look at him, her long sparkling hair draping across her shoulder as she tilted her head in thought, tapping a finger against her chin. “I would like to travel across Teyvat, and see what has become of my land.” She turned back towards the newcomers, walking towards them as she studied the waypoint with her hands once again clasped behind her back. “How do I use this curious device? Is it connected to my Irminsul network, as my memory blossoms are?”

Unsure how to interact with the curious Creator, the group shuffled together to look at her, before Zhongli answered her question. “I believe so, Your Grace. Anyone who can control the elements is able to access the system by touching the device, and it connects to all the other waypoints or statues in the area.” He hesitated as she hummed in contemplation, walking around the device thrice as she studied it. “Would..you allow me the honour of showing you my city of Liyue Harbour?”

She glanced up to him with a slight smile, but was unable to respond before Venti cut in. “Your Grace, my city of Freedom, Mondstadt, would be an excellent place to begin your journey~ It is where wayward travellers often start!”

Before any more bickering could begin, she raised her hands up in a placating manner, “Patience, please, my cherubim. I intend to visit all of the stations, and will gladly welcome a knowledgeable tour-guide.” She noticed Ganyu nervously wringing her hands, and tilted her head at her. “Is there something wrong, dear Ganyu?”

The half-qilin looked up at her with a nervous smile, “I’m sorry for my forwardness, Your Grace, but Lady Ningguang asked me to invite you to her Jade Palace if you felt so inclined.”

Elysia smiled at her, nodding her head in acceptance. “Very well, that is where we shall start then.” She looked over each of her welcoming party in turn. “I greatly appreciate your concern for my well-being, however...I do not wish to travel with a large party.” She smiled softly, dampening the bluntness of her statement.

Those gathered each bowed their heads, with Venti waving his arms in front of himself to ward off her apology. “Of course, Your Grace! We will gladly accept whatever you wish of us!” Zhongli and Xiao both nodded their agreement, with Xianyun giving a slight harumph. 

Xiao bowed to her with a hand on his chest, “If you have need of me, Your Grace, merely call out my name and I will be there.” 

“One shall return to Yilong Wharf for the time being! Come Shenhe, one wishes to ‘catch up’ with you, as they say.” The tall adepti smiled at Elysia, bowing her head once again. “One hopes you have safe travels, Your Grace, and that we may meet again soon.”

Elysia smiled after the two, as Shenhe gave her a nod as they passed to touch the waypoint and teleport away once again. Venti looked like he was fighting the urge to latch onto her, as the stormy-haired woman turned back to the waypoint with a nod to Ganyu. “I shall ask you to input where we are going, Ganyu. I will meet with Ningguang before beginning my exploration.”

“O-of course, Your Grace.” Ganyu bowed to Zhongli with an apologetic grimace, before she walked up to stand right beside Elysia. “U-uhm, I will have to touch you to teleport us both together, Your Grace, I’m very sorry.” The nervous adepti selected the Jade Chamber teleport point, looking at Elysia for confirmation.

She smiled encouragingly at her, placing a hand on the younger womans’ shoulder. “There is no reason to apologize, dear adepti, it is quite all right.”

The two disappeared, with Ganyu’s cheeks growing rosy pink.

----

When it was only Xiao, Venti, and Zhongli remaining, the anemo god sighed as he sank to the ground. “Whoah.”

Zhongli chuckled slightly, crossing his arms across his chest. “Our Goddess truly seems to be a kind soul. I am glad the history that we were able to regain was right.”

Venti let out a nervous laugh, nodding along. “I was honestly a little worried that she would be like the Heavenly Principles. The winds of Teyvat sing in her presence though!”

Zhongli nodded as well, “As does the earth.” His expression turned more serious, as he looked at Xiao. “Nonetheless, I wish for you to stay near her, Xiao. We must ensure she is not harmed, as it would be a great sin for her to have any more pain. We must ensure her happiness and safety now that she is finally free to roam her land again.”

“Understood, Lord Lapis.” Xiao nodded, bowing to both Venti and Zhongli before disappearing in a cloud of smoke. 

Venti stood back up, stretching his arms high above his head before grinning widely at Zhongli. “Well! I’m off to Mondstadt to sing praises for our wonderfully beautiful Creator! I’ll make sure everyone in my City of Freedom is awaiting her arrival~” With a giggle, the anemo god propelled himself into the air on a gust of wind, waving goodbye to Zhongli before flitting away.

Zhongli shook his head at Barbatos’s always carefree nature, before using the waypoint himself.

[catiecat1320]

Sonadowtober Prompt 21: Reincarnation

For one of my AUs, Echoes

The reincarnates do use different names!! Relevant ones are: Synth - Sonic Echo - Shadow Ami (Amaryllis) - Amy And EGGMAN (Endo-Genetic Graft: Main Alternate Network) is an AI with the original Eggman's mind

Additional context in AO3 endnotes :)

Read Below🔽

Synth smashes through the last robot, cheering as sparks fly and its digital screen flickers out. “Score! I think I win this one, Echo.”

The black hedgehog rolls his eyes, flicking his bangs out of his face. “It’s not a competition. Be serious for a moment. I don’t think this is everything EGGMAN has up its sleeve.”

“Psh,” Synth scoffs. “That computer has nothing against us.” He ignores the way Echo shakes his head, blowing a raspberry at the nearest camera before opening his communicator. “Ami! We’re done!”

“That’s great! Just give us a second to wrap things up—” She’s interrupted by a sudden tilt of the shuttle, throwing everyone and everything not tethered off balance. Synth slammed into the nearest railing with a yelp, barely managing to roll aside as the bot he just crushed slid off the side to meet the sky. 

If it stopped at that, they would’ve been fine, but…

The entire ship lurched the other way, gaining speed until it flipped over entirely, leaving Synth dangling precariously on the railing lest he fall off. “W-what in Chaos was that?!”

“I don’t know!” Ami’s voice came through, crackled with static. “Are you all alright out there?”

“I…”

I am, he meant to say. But it’s then the realization dawns on him that it hadn’t just been him on the deck.

“Echo?”

The hedgehog is nowhere to be seen. Not as lucky as Synth to have grabbed on before their surprise roll, he’d likely been dumped on a trip through the atmosphere.

…an one-way trip.

“Echo!”

A sinking feeling of deja vu hits him like a truck. 

“Not again…” Synth breathes, shallow, panicked, “not again…” He combs the sky below for any sight of Echo. How hard is it to see—? 

Black, but a spot in a sea of blue and white.

Ignoring the concerned voices from his communicator, he lets go without a second thought.

By the time he’s freefalling, it’s too late to think about how stupid that was, so he zones in on his target. The more he focuses, however, the more other things overtake his vision. 

Funny how things worked, huh? Days spent watching his friends regain their past lives one by one, his lost far beyond him despite many attempts, and it takes this to kickstart it.

Not black among blue, but gold. A mere dot in space, but it grows, into a star, fading, backlit by the marbled Earth… horror floods his veins as he dives, reaching out with a hand that wasn’t his, at a hedgehog he does not recognize, only to receive a serene smile and be waved away.

He feels a sadness like he’s never felt, deep and hollowing, and even worse is the suffocating failure—

Synth slams into Echo, knocking the breath out of both of them as he wraps his arms around the other and flips them around from the force of impact. For a moment it’s just gasping and the ringing in his ears that Synth hears.

Memories from a life past fade into the back of his head, but the dread lingers. He attempts to remedy that by cuddling as close to the other hedgehog as he and the gravity pulling at them would allow.

“...Synth? Synth?”

“Mmph.” Synth buries his face in the crook of Echo’s neck, his heart beating far more rapidly than he would like. He hoped the other hedgehog couldn’t feel it. Which was likely impossible.

Eventually he pulls away with a broken laugh. “Sorry. I… uh…”

No longer hugging each other, the two hedgehogs link hands and fall back to a stomach-down position, the extra surface area helping slow their descent as much as possible.

Echo mouths something, unheard with the wind filling both their ears. When Synth doesn’t respond, he says it again, then again. “Are you okay?”

That’s sure a question. Synth doesn’t have an answer for that. “I… suppose?” 

Too quiet to hear as well, evident in the other’s still concerned face. He speaks louder. “As okay as I can be while falling to my death!”

Echo cringes and squeezes his eyes shut, threatening to snap a few joints in Synth’s hands as he tightens his grip. 

Fear.

Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned falling to their deaths. Synth’s thrown back to gold and black and blue again. “It’ll be okay, Shadow!”

Echo’s second name falls out of his mouth before he can stop himself. But it does the trick of catching the black hedgehog’s attention, and in the moment that he looks up, Synth sees someone else in that familiar face.

“You never use…” Echo trails off to something incomprehensible, the wind whipping in their quills carrying away his words before Synth could hear. But it’s something of surprise, if his expression was anything to go by.

“It’s ironic, isn’t it?! The first thing I remember is you!” The beginning of a smile graces Echo’s face at that, but it’s immediately replaced by shock as a cyan glow envelopes the both of them and stops them mid-fall.

“Silver!” They jinx. The white hedgehog is far from amused, locking eyes with Synth.

“Why in Chaos would you jump?!”

“You jumped? Off the shuttle?” Echo stares at the increasingly sheepish hedgehog. “You jumped?!”

“Look—”

“Good Gaia, Synth, how stupid are you?! You could’ve died!”

“You could’ve died too!”

“And how was jumping after me supposed to help?”

“Can you two cut out the flirting for a moment?” Silver interrupts, deadpan, making both flush with embarrassment. “They still need help up there.”

“Right, right!” Synth jumps at the opportunity to change the topic. “Let’s go!”

[atinyslittleworld]

Light: The Descent

demon king!seonghwa x angel!reader

Summary: The mighty King of the Underworld, Seonghwa, gets intrigued by a little angel, whose light is intoxicating

Genre: angst, au, romance

Warnings: signs of depression, brainwashing by a demon

<previous part

Life in the underworld had become a torment for Y/N. Stripped of her celestial light, she struggled to adjust to her new existence as a fallen angel. The once radiant beacon of hope and purity now found herself enveloped in an overwhelming darkness. The weight of her wings, now a muted grey, mirrored the heaviness in her heart. The warmth that once filled her soul had been replaced by a cold, consuming void.

Seonghwa watched helplessly as Y/N sank deeper into despair. Each day, her sadness grew more palpable, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't reach her. He offered her comfort, distractions, and even the treasures of his dark kingdom, but nothing seemed to lift her spirits. The love that had once sparked joy in their hearts now seemed like a distant memory.

One night, as Seonghwa sat on his throne, his thoughts consumed by worry for Y/N, she entered the room. Her movements were slow, her eyes void of the light that once defined her. She approached him, her steps hesitant but purposeful.

"Y/N," Seonghwa said softly, rising to meet her. "How are you feeling?"

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes filled with a desperate longing. "I don't know who I am anymore, Seonghwa. I feel so lost.”

Seonghwa reached out, gently cupping her face. "You are still the same Y/N I fell in love with. Your light may have dimmed, but your spirit remains."

Y/N shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I can't feel it, Seonghwa. I can't feel anything but this emptiness."

In a moment of desperation, Y/N closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his. The kiss was intense, filled with a raw need that startled Seonghwa. He could feel the despair in her touch, the way she clung to him as if he were her only anchor.

Seonghwa pulled back, his eyes searching hers. "Y/N, what's wrong? This isn't like you."

Y/N's eyes were glazed over, her thoughts clouded by a darkness that wasn't her own. "I need to feel something, anything," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Please, Seonghwa."

A chilling realization struck Seonghwa. He sensed a sinister presence in the room, an energy that wasn't his own. One of his demons was manipulating Y/N's thoughts, feeding on her vulnerability. His anger flared, his protective instincts kicking in.

"Stop this," Seonghwa commanded, his voice echoing through the dark halls. "Show yourself!"

A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, a smirk playing on its lips. The demon bowed mockingly. "Oh, mighty King, I was merely having a bit of fun."

Seonghwa's eyes blazed with fury. "You dare to toy with her mind? She is under my protection!"

The demon's smirk widened. "But look at her, Seonghwa. She's so fragile, so easy to manipulate. I thought I was doing you a favor."

Seonghwa's grip tightened around Y/N, his rage barely contained. "Leave now, before I tear you apart."

The demon laughed, its form dissolving into the shadows. "As you wish, my King. But remember, even in the underworld, darkness can be quite persuasive."

As the demon vanished, Seonghwa turned his attention back to Y/N. She looked at him with confusion and fear, her earlier desperation replaced by a hollow emptiness.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry," Seonghwa whispered, holding her close. "I won't let anything harm you. We'll find a way through this, together."

Y/N clung to him, her body trembling. "I'm so scared, Seonghwa. I don't know how to fight this darkness."

Seonghwa stroked her hair, his heart breaking for her. "You don't have to fight it alone. I'm here with you, every step of the way. We'll find your light again, I promise."

Days turned into weeks, and Seonghwa dedicated himself to helping Y/N reclaim her light. He sought out ancient texts, consulted with wise spirits, and even ventured into the deepest parts of the underworld in search of answers. But the path to restoring her light was elusive, and Y/N's depression grew deeper.

One night, as Y/N sat in their chamber, staring blankly at the flickering flames, Seonghwa approached her with a gentle touch. "Y/N, can you hear me?"

She turned to him, her eyes reflecting the torment within. "I hear you, Seonghwa. But I can't find my way back."

Seonghwa knelt beside her, taking her hands in his. "I know it's hard. I know you feel lost. But I won't give up on you. We will find a way, no matter how long it takes."

Y/N's eyes filled with tears. "Why do you love me so much? I'm not the same anymore."

Seonghwa's gaze was unwavering. "Because I see the real you, the Y/N who brought warmth and light to my world. You are still that person, and I love you with all my heart."

Y/N leaned into his embrace, finding solace in his unwavering love. "Thank you, Seonghwa. I don't know what I'd do without you."

As they held each other in the darkness, a spark of hope flickered within Y/N. Though the journey ahead was uncertain and filled with challenges, she knew that with Seonghwa by her side, they could face anything. Their love, forged in the balance of light and dark, was a beacon that would guide them through even the darkest of times.

[moonsharky]

eddie unscripted

read from the beginning

rating: teen | current full word count: 50,331 | pairing: buck/eddie

tags: Post S7, Alternate s8, its like an au but not, like a cross between "it takes two" game and "the hollow" on netflix but also different, Pining Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)

level two: in the pages

The fall feels endless, like they're sliding through time itself, the slick surface beneath them curving and twisting with no clear direction. It's a strange sensation, almost like they're being funnelled through some kind of tunnel, the walls impossibly smooth and just close enough to graze their arms as they descend. The darkness around them pulses with a faint, rhythmic glow that ebbs and flows in a mesmerising pattern, casting brief, disorienting glimpses of the smooth walls around them. At one point, the tunnel seems to twist impossibly, spiralling into a tight coil that sends them both spinning out of control. Eddie feels his stomach lurch as gravity shifts, the direction of their slide changing so abruptly that he loses all sense of up and down. The smooth walls close in around them, squeezing them together in the tight spiral before suddenly releasing them back into a wider section of the tunnel. The air grows cooler as they continue to plummet, a chill that seeps deep into Eddie's bones, making him shiver involuntarily. The tunnel begins to billow, like a serpent writhing in slow motion, and with each heave, the force of their descent accelerates. Eddie can hear the rush of air around them, the sound rising in pitch as they pick up speed. He clutches onto Buck's arm with all of his strength, the two of them locked together in a desperate attempt to stay connected amidst the ride. There's a sharp turn that whips them to the side, their bodies pressed together as the tunnel banks hard to the left, then back to the right, twisting like a labyrinth designed to disorient and confuse. Just as Eddie thinks they might be trapped in this endless descent forever, the tunnel begins to level out, the steep angle giving way to a gentler slope. The wind in his ears fades slightly, the sense of speed diminishing as the floor beneath them becomes less slick. But the relief is short lived; the tunnel opens up suddenly, flaring out into a wide, yawning space that sends them both tumbling through the air. Theres a sickening jerk as they drop, their momentum throwing them forward, and Eddie braces himself for impact.

continue on ao3

[pengujoon]

NOW I AM BECOME DEATH, DESTROYER OF WORLDS.

cont. what would happen if the strongest fell over into the dark side? gojo satoru-centric, psychopath gojo, villain!au, graphic depiction of violence, blood and gore.

a/n. viewer discretion is highly highly advised.

Satoru had always been known for his boundless energy and charismatic personality, a shining beacon of hope in the world of Jujutsu Sorcerers. But lately, a shadow had crept over his once-bright spirit, casting a pall of sadness upon him.

It wasn’t a sudden transformation, but a gradual erosion of his vitality. The relentless weight of responsibility, the ceaseless battles against malevolent curses, and the unending demands of his role had taken their toll. Satoru, the paragon of inspiration and leadership, had become a prisoner of his own obligations.

Each morning, he awoke with a leaden heart, the prospect of another day filled with dread. The genuine smiles that had once adorned his face had become rare, replaced by artificial facades masking the profound despair that now resided within him.

As days turned into weeks, Satoru found himself drifting further away from the passions that once defined him. His beloved hobby of teaching and mentoring young sorcerers had lost its lustre, becoming a monotonous chore. The intricacies of Jujutsu techniques, which used to fascinate him, now felt like burdensome routines.

Even the simple pleasures of life, like savouring a cup of tea or gazing at the setting sun, had lost their appeal. The world around him seemed to blur into a grey landscape, devoid of colour or meaning.

Friends and colleagues noticed the change in him, but he brushed off their concerns with a forced grin, unwilling to burden them with his inner turmoil. The new world he had once dreamed of, a place where people could find solace and inspiration, remained a distant vision, fading with each passing day.

Satoru’s descent into apathy was a slow, painful journey. He no longer recognised the person he had become, a hollow shell of his former self. The world of curses and sorcery had claimed not only his body but his spirit as well, leaving him adrift in a sea of indifference.

One evening, after a particularly gruelling battle, Satoru stood alone in a dimly lit alley. His clothes were torn, his body battered, but it wasn’t the physical pain that tormented him. It was the emptiness, the numbness that had settled deep within his soul.

He gazed at his reflection in a puddle on the ground, and for the first time, he didn’t recognise the person staring back at him. The sparkle in his eyes had dimmed, and his once vibrant spirit felt like a distant memory.

Satoru leaned against a cold brick wall and closed his eyes, allowing the darkness to wash over him. He no longer cared about being the hero, about protecting others, about the fate of the Jujutsu world.

It was as if a switch had been flipped, and he was spiralling into a void of apathy.

Days turned into weeks, and Satoru withdrew from his friends and colleagues. He isolated himself, seeking solace in the silence of his apartment. The world outside felt distant and insignificant.

His training sessions became brutal, a way to release the pent-up frustration and despair. He pushed himself to the limit, not out of a sense of duty but to feel something, anything other than the numbness that had consumed him.

One night, as he sat in the darkness of his apartment, Satoru whispered to himself, “I can’t do this anymore.”

And in that moment, he let go.

He let go of the expectations, the responsibilities, the need to be the hero. He surrendered to the darkness, allowing it to engulf him completely.

He no longer cared about the consequences, about the lines he had sworn never to cross.

He was falling, and he didn’t want to be saved.

He wanted to lose himself in the abyss, to become one with the darkness that had become his refuge.

It was a descent into the unknown, a journey into the darkest corners of his soul. And as he fell deeper, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was any way to climb back out, to rediscover the person he used to be before the darkness had claimed him.

Satoru’s descent into darkness was swift and unrelenting. The man who had once been a beacon of hope and strength had now become a shadow of his former self, consumed by the very darkness he had sworn to combat.

He ceased to be the charismatic leader of the Jujutsu Sorcerers, the one who inspired and protected others.

Instead, he became a symbol of fear and dread, a force to be reckoned with, and not in a heroic way. His powers, once a means of defense, now became tools of destruction.

Satoru no longer cared about the lives of those around him. He saw curses and humans alike as mere obstacles, obstacles to be eliminated without remorse. His attacks became merciless, his cruelty unforgiving.

The Jujutsu world watched in horror as Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer, descended into darkness. His former allies attempted to intervene, to bring him back from the abyss, but he shrugged them off with cold indifference.

The more he embraced the darkness, the more powerful he became. It was as if the curse energy that flowed through him had been tainted, transformed into a malevolent force that defied all laws of nature. Satoru revelled in this newfound strength, using it to sow chaos and destruction wherever he went.

His apathy had turned into something far more sinister — a calculated, deliberate cruelty that left a trail of devastation in its wake. He no longer recognised himself, but he didn’t care. There was a perverse satisfaction in embracing the darkness, in becoming the very thing he had sworn to destroy.

The curses, once his enemies, now bowed before him in reverence. They saw him as a god of destruction, a being who revelled in chaos and despair. And Satoru, in his twisted state, relished their adoration.

The world outside was no longer of any consequence to him. He had become a solitary force, a harbinger of doom, and he had no intention of turning back. The Jujutsu Sorcerer world had lost its greatest hero, and in his place stood a monster.

As he roamed the darkened streets, his laughter echoed through the night, a chilling sound that sent shivers down the spines of those who heard it. Satoru had fully embraced the abyss, and there was no turning back from the path of darkness he had chosen.

Years had passed since Satoru’s descent into darkness. He had become one of the most feared and notorious curse users in the Jujutsu world. His power had grown to unimaginable levels, and he had left a trail of destruction in his wake.

Satoru Gojo crept back into the heart of Jujutsu Tech, his once-revered presence now a shadow of malevolence. He had once stood as a paragon of wisdom, but now his intentions dripped with sinister purpose. Deep within, he nursed a blackened desire — to annihilate Jujutsu Tech High, the sacred ground where he had once been the beacon of enlightenment to young sorcerers. His motives were veiled in the darkest of ambitions — a relentless craving to seize the school's concealed vault, a trove brimming with cursed instruments and malefic artifacts.

As he entered the school building, he couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of nostalgia. The hallways that had once echoed with laughter and camaraderie were now filled with dread and despair. Students and sorcerers alike averted their gaze, unable to meet his eyes, knowing that this was their only way of surviving. Anything more that poses as an obstacle would be exterminated with nothing left to mourn for.

It was then that he encountered a group of familiar faces — his former students. They had grown into powerful sorcerers themselves, but the shock of seeing their former teacher as a curse user sent shockwaves through their ranks.

Megumi, Nobara, and Yuji — the trio that had once been his pride and joy — stood before him, their expressions a mix of disbelief and horror. They had heard the rumors, but seeing Satoru again in the flesh, clad in the dark aura of a curse user, was a harrowing experience.

Satoru regarded them with a cold, detached gaze. Gone was the warmth and affection he had once shown them. Now, he saw them as nothing more than obstacles to his goal.

“You’re in my way,” he growled, his voice a chilling echo. “Move aside.”

Megumi, determined but trembling, stepped forward. “Gojo-sensei, we won’t let you continue down this path of darkness. We’ll stop you, no matter the cost.”

Satoru’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Oh, do try.”

With a mere flick of his hand, he unleashed a torrent of cursed energy, a maelstrom of malevolence that sent the trio hurtling through the air. Their bodies collided with walls, and their screams of agony reverberated through the desolate halls.

Satoru had become an embodiment of pure malevolence, a being who thrived on torment and despair. The students who had once revered him as a mentor now faced a monstrous aberration that defied reason.

As they prepared for a battle unlike any they had faced before, Megumi, Nobara, and Yuji knew that their former teacher was lost to them. He had become a creature of darkness, an adversary beyond their wildest nightmares.

The battle that unfolded within the hallowed halls of Jujutsu Tech was a clash of despair, a confrontation between former teacher and students that none of them had ever anticipated.

Satoru stood unscathed as the trio launched their most powerful attacks. Cursed techniques, shikigami, and sheer brute strength were thrown at him with all their might, but it was as if their efforts were nothing more than a gentle breeze against an unyielding mountain.

Satoru’s dark aura enveloped him like a shroud, an impenetrable barrier that deflected their every assault. He moved with a malevolent grace, evading their attacks with a sadistic amusement. It was as if he had transcended the very laws of nature, becoming an unstoppable force of destruction.

Nobara’s straw dolls, once wielded with precision, were swatted aside like insects. Megumi’s shikigami, symbols of his strength, crumbled under the weight of Satoru’s overwhelming curse energy, shattered like porcelain. Yuji, the embodiment of raw power, charged with a roar of defiance, but his strike was effortlessly sidestepped by Satoru. With a casual flick of his hand, Yuji was sent crashing into the wall, a broken puppet.

Satoru observed them with sadistic delight, his cerulean eyes devoid of any humanity. “Is this all you’ve got?” he mocked. “Pathetic.”

The trio’s faces contorted with desperation and terror. They had honed their skills, faced insurmountable odds, but it was clear that they were outmatched by the abyss that had consumed their former mentor.

Satoru remained an impassive figure, an uncaring spectre as their attacks washed over him like insignificant waves. He had become invulnerable, an entity immune to their every effort.

Megumi clenched his teeth, a simmering rage burning within him. He refused to accept that their former mentor had become so monstrously powerful. But the evidence was undeniable, and denial was a luxury they could ill afford.

Nobara, her resolve unyielding, unleashed a relentless barrage of nails imbued with cursed energy. They struck Satoru’s form, but it was akin to pelting a mountain with pebbles. Satoru didn’t flinch; he didn’t bother to evade.

Yuji, his fists brimming with cursed energy, charged forward with a scream of defiance. He unleashed his most devastating attack, a punch that should have shattered the very earth. But it struck Satoru head-on, and the impact sent shockwaves through the area.

Satoru’s form flickered momentarily, as if affected by Yuji’s assault. But then, to the trio’s horror, he reappeared unscathed, a malevolent grin etched across his face.

“You fools,” Satoru taunted, “playtime's finished.”

With a single motion, Satoru unleashed a devastating wave of curse energy that sent them hurtling through the air. They convulsed in torment, their forms contorted by the malefic force surging within them. They crashed into walls, pillars, and the unforgiving ground, their bodies battered and broken.

As they struggled to get back on their feet, their strength waning, Satoru approached them with an eerie calmness. He had become an embodiment of malevolence, a being untouched by empathy or compassion.

“You all were always a disappointment,” he muttered, his voice laced with contempt as he stood over them. “I expected more from my students.”

He sneered, his words cutting deep. “Weak and naive. You thought you could save me? You thought you could change me? Pathetic.”

With a flick of his finger, he sent a surge of curse energy that enveloped them, their screams echoing through the once-hallowed halls. The trio writhed in agony, their bodies contorted by the malevolent power that coursed through them.

In that horrifying moment, they realised the true extent of the darkness that now defined their former teacher. He had become an irredeemable monster, a harbinger of despair beyond measure. They were trapped in a nightmarish confrontation with their own creation, a manifestation of their failure and powerlessness.

With a flick of his hand, he dispelled the cursed energy that held Megumi, Nobara, and Yuji in agonising paralysis. They collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, their bodies trembling with pain.

But Satoru didn’t spare them a second glance.

They were lucky to not have him kill them all at that very moment.

He turned away from his fallen students and began to walk through the school, his steps slow and deliberate. Memories of his time as a teacher here flickered through his mind, but they held no emotion for him now. They were nothing more than distant echoes of a past he no longer cared about.

The hallway that had once been filled with laughter and camaraderie was now a scene of devastation. But Satoru felt nothing. His heart had turned to ice, and his soul was a barren wasteland of apathy.

As he moved through the hallways, his very presence wreaked havoc. The walls cracked and crumbled, the ceiling caved in, and the floor beneath his feet shattered. It was as if the school itself was groaning in agony, unable to withstand the overwhelming curse energy that radiated from him.

Satoru’s apathy was a destructive force. He didn’t discriminate between friend or foe; everything in his path was a target for his wanton destruction. The classrooms where he had once imparted knowledge were reduced to rubble. The training grounds where he had honed the skills of his students were torn apart.

He walked through the chaos, his eyes vacant and his heart devoid of feeling. The very essence of his being had been consumed by darkness, and he had become a harbinger of despair.

Students and sorcerers who crossed his path cowered in fear, their attempts to stop him futile. His power was unmatched, his apathy unyielding. He had become a force of nature, a cataclysmic event that left destruction in its wake.

As he reached the heart of the school, the place where he had once taught and mentored his students, he paused for a moment. The memories of those days brushed against his consciousness, but he brushed them aside with a cold indifference.

With a wave of his hand, he unleashed a devastating surge of cursed energy that obliterated the very foundations of the building. The school that had once been a symbol of hope and learning crumbled to the ground, reduced to a pile of rubble and dust.

As the dust and debris settled, Satoru stood alone in the midst of the destruction he had wrought. He felt nothing, no remorse, no satisfaction, only a profound emptiness.

He had become a living embodiment of apathy, a curse user without a shred of humanity left. The school that had once been his home was now a graveyard of memories, a testament to the darkness that had consumed him.

He continued to walk, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake, his apathy a stark reminder of the depths to which he had fallen. The world had changed, and Satoru Gojo had become a force of chaos, a curse user without remorse, without humanity, and without redemption.

Amid the desolation he had wrought, Satoru’s apathetic eyes fixated on a hidden entrance beneath the rubble of Jujutsu Tech’s main building. It was a place he had frequented during his time as a teacher — a secret vault where cursed objects of immense power were stored away, hidden away from the prying eyes of the world.

Though his heart had turned cold and his soul had descended into darkness, Satoru had not lost sight of his goals. He had come to the school not only to unleash chaos but also to retrieve these cursed objects, each one a source of untold power.

With a casual gesture, he cleared away the debris blocking the entrance to the vault. The heavy metal door creaked open, revealing a chamber filled with shelves upon shelves of cursed objects. They gleamed with malevolence, each one radiating a dark energy that matched Satoru’s own.

His apathetic demeanour did not waver as he scanned the room. He knew exactly which cursed objects he sought, and he wasted no time in finding them. With a swift, efficient motion, he collected the objects and placed them in a black bag that seemed to absorb their sinister aura.

These cursed objects were the key to furthering his descent into darkness, to becoming an even greater threat to the world. Satoru had forsaken his role as a protector of humanity, and now he sought to wield the very curses he had once sworn to destroy.

As he exited the vault, the ruined school lay behind him, a stark reminder of the destruction he had wrought. But Satoru was not concerned with the aftermath; he was apathetic to the suffering he had caused.

With the cursed objects in his possession, he disappeared into the night, leaving behind a world forever scarred by his apathetic descent into darkness and the malevolent power he had acquired. The Jujutsu Sorcerer world had a new, and perhaps even more formidable, threat to contend with — one of their own.

Satoru’s descent had plunged him into a bloodthirsty madness, and he revelled in the gruesome spectacle that lay before him - the corpses of those who dared to oppose him or had simply crossed his path.

Was he sorry that they met their end this way? If Satoru had that little bit of humanity left in him, maybe, but he simply couldn’t be bothered anymore.

His once apathetic demeanour had transformed him into a manic hunger for violence and carnage he left in his wake. The world had become his canvas, and the spilled blood of his victims his masterpiece.

Every step he took was marked by splatters of blood, as he eviscerated everyone who dared to even stand in his way. Friend or foe, he couldn’t be bothered anymore. His eyes, once filled with mirth, now gleamed with a sadistic delight.

Coming across a new group of naive sorcerers hoping to take him down as he left the vault, he let out a cold and emotionless chuckle, unleashing his cursed energy with brutal precision. The air crackled with malevolence as their now lifeless forms were torn asunder, blood and viscera splattering in all directions.

Satoru’s laughter rang out like a demented symphony as he revelled in the gruesome spectacle. His hands moved with a fluid brutality, tearing their bodies apart with an unholy fervour.

It was a scene of unbridled savagery, a bloodbath that defied all reason and humanity.

Limbs were severed, bodies torn asunder, bones snapped and cracked, the air filling with the sickening sounds of flesh tearing. He tore limbs from torsos, severed heads from necks, and ripped bodies apart with an insatiable appetite for gore.

Blood sprayed across his face and soaked his clothes, but he paid it no mind.

In fact, he relished the sensation of warm blood against his skin, the metallic scent filling his nostrils in a horrifyingly comforting manner. The stench of death and decay hung heavy in the air, but to Satoru, it was a tantalising aroma that sent shivers of pleasure down his spine.

Blood sprayed and splattered, painting the white walls and streets in a nightmarish tableau of crimson. Satoru’s eyes gleamed with madness, his thirst for violence insatiable.

But he wasn’t finished.

With a final, sadistic flourish, he unleashed a torrent of cursed energy that tore through the already mutilated corpses, reducing them to a gruesome pile of mangled flesh and bone, the sight unbearable to the normal eye.

Reaching a fever pitch, Satoru’s laughter echoed through the streets as he revelled in the gruesome display of power - a symphony of carnage, a ballet of death, and he alone was the conductor of this macabre orchestra.

As he stood amidst the blood-soaked carnage, his clothes stained with the evidence of his sadistic indulgence, Satoru felt an intoxicating rush of power and pleasure; his decent into darkness had reached its nadir, and he revelled in the depths of his psychopathic bloodlust.

“Now I am become death,” he whispered, his voice a chilling echo in the stillness of the night. He stood amidst the wreckage, the mangled bodies of those who had dared to challenge him strewn at his feet, their pitiful cries silenced forever.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie pallor over the scene. Satoru’s eyes gleamed with apathy as he stepped on their bodies, the sickening crunch of bone and flesh deafening through the silence.

The world trembled in the presence of this malevolent force, and there was no turning back from the abyss he had willingly entered.

“The destroyer of worlds.”

i've never really wrote anything like this before, but the newest episode really explored a whole new genre of satoru, prompting me to imagine what it's like if he fell over into the darkness - how heartless and cruel could he be if he really chose to.

[fallen-in-dreams]

Also on AO3.

Pairing: Gaara/Sakura.

Summary: Her descent into madness came after her friends were all dead and before she was sold off like livestock. To him. He knew a thing or two about madness. And there was peace to be found in the violence of that madness. Even if only for a time. Canon divergence AU.

Rated: Mature.

Chapter word count: 4,916.

Status: Ongoing.

Author note: This is a Danzo-won-and-is-Hokage fic. [Further information on AO3.]

Warnings: dark themes. Arranged marriage (not what you think). Eventual smut (level and degree of that warning being necessary is subjective). Death. Suicide talk. Self-harm. PTSD – expect some well-known symptoms and some not well-known ones. Please don’t read if you’re triggered by psychological &/or emotional-related trauma and effects.

. Beautiful Lie: A lie that furthers the happiness/prosperity of others at self-cost. Commonly looked upon as a true show of love or friendship due to the self-sacrificial nature of the action. .

Tumblr version:

… Chapter One: Broken. ...

.:.

I used to see in colour Now it’s a wave of grey Feel and pull me under Drowning in the disarray There’s no escape

-- Closing In, by Ruelle.

.:.

The darkness was setting in, the air was cooling, and the birds were chirping. The stench of death hadn’t scared them away. It was only the dying sun that wavered as it filtered down through the tops of the trees above her, with soft beams of shifting light. What little illumination could be seen was beginning its silent, slow end-of-the-day death. And the soft breeze that precipitated the cold night air brought only the stench of dead bodies to her nose. She was surrounded and it wouldn’t be long before the fauna that wriggled under the forest floor would claw their way into the night.

To feed. To crawl into the hollowed-out tree stump she’d been using for cover.

Only prickly shrubbery that had germinated its way up into the stump through dead roots to fill in the empty carcass of what used to be a tree would be witness to that humiliating end. However, the threat of carnivores or bugs or whatever might have a taste for her flesh was not the problem. They were nothing compared to the heavy footsteps of what was hunting her. Those predators who did not eat their prey.

Foreign shinobi.

Sakura Haruno was used to this by now, but it never failed to surprise her how often it happened. It was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission. She was supposed to stay out of the territory she was watching but shit had happened and now her whole team was dead. She felt a stab of pain, remembering how the two Shinobi she barely knew had met their fate at the hands of her hunters. The memory of their screams was the only thing keeping her from jumping out of her hiding spot and attacking these animals. There had been no rhyme or reason to their barbarity. And she had no reasoning to excuse a brazen attack on them now. Not in her pitiful state.

I would not survive.

And it would be a slow end. But really, was that such a bad thing? Did she actually care about that, after everything?

She sighed as quietly as she could, closing her eyes. All ninja could sense nearby chakra, though the chakra needed to be powerful or released in large quantities for that to happen: those words were straight from the ninja handbook. So, it surprised Sakura when the foreign ninja began patrolling through the area, expelling chakra from themselves like they were trying to alert her to their positions. Or using it like echolocation to ping her position.

Maybe they’re just toying with me. Fuckers.

There were enough of them that she was not only surrounded, but out of her league, especially in her broken condition. Instinctively, Sakura attempted to push her chakra signature down even further. There was no need to do so really, as she had already supressed it as much as humanly possible, and her chakra reserves were practically empty anyway.

Her captain had killed the enemy sensory ninja in his final explosion of chakra, which nearly took out half the fucking forest, but it wouldn’t be long before they sent for another one. All Sakura could hope for was that recovering her beaten body wasn’t worth scouring the forest all night. She could pretend to be a part of the dead tree trunk that was currently digging into her back as if it too viewed her as an enemy and wanted to punish her for her oversight. Knees under her chin. Arms wrapped around her legs. Like a child.

The muffled sounds of unfamiliar voices made her eyes snap open, and it took all of Sakura’s self-control not to gasp loudly at the sudden intrusion to her peripherals. Someone sat in the undergrowth of the next tree over, staring at her. On the edge of her vision, it was just a blur. A mirage. But as she slowly turned her head, her heart racing, her palm sweating, Sakura’s vision suddenly cleared.

Eyes wide and breath hitching, she bit her lip to keep from gasping in surprise.

It was an image of herself. Something human shaped that was wearing her face. A face that was broken and bruised. A body that was covered in gashes. Clothes that were torn and bloodied. A long, open gash on her face; like someone had taken a blade and cut her slowly in one ragged line from the top of her right ear and down to the bottom of her left cheek. The path of its destruction was remarkably similar to a wound she’d endured six months ago. But bloodier. And more brutal. Of course, the real Sakura had healed it perfectly while bleeding profusely as her chakra waned, in the middle of yet another battle that could’ve been avoided with better intel.

What is this thing looking at me? Looking like me?

Sakura closed her eyes again, willing it to just leave. It looked too much like a past version of herself. But when she tentatively opened her eyes again, it was still there, sitting on its haunches like a wild animal in human form and staring right at her, looking through her, unblinkingly. Intently. As though waiting for her to acknowledge its existence. She couldn’t control the trembling of her body.

I must have a concussion.

This wasn’t right. It took her a few minutes to calm down and she still wasn’t sure if she was hallucinating or not. What the hell was this thing? Staring, silent, and creepy, that’s what. Sakura sighed at her silent companion.

I’m definitely going crazy.

Even in her delusion she dared not utter a sound. She wanted to reach out and touch the phantom, to see if she really had lost all her marbles. If it was an enemy jutsu then her position would be overrun by now. No, this was something else. But she couldn’t move. A few inches too much in any direction and her movement would alert her position to the enemy. The enemy who apparently wasn’t trying to psychologically scar her after all.

Enemy.

She inwardly scoffed at that. Several years ago, they were coming together for peace talks. If Sakura had her way, things would still be that way. But apparently, the Shadow Master that now ruled Konoha with an iron fist didn’t like that. He’d cut off trade routes in order to gain leverage in negotiations, lied about neighbouring countries during disputes, and undermined the internal politics of several other nations just to make a few extra ryō. And he treated his own ninja like kunai and bombs.

Danzo.

He liked to send on her missions where others had died failing to complete it. Her current, allegedly simple mission had gone awry when they’d realised that they were being watched. So here she was, hiding in the middle of a forest, with her chakra depleted, her wounds open and likely infected, while all she could think about was what a shithole this world had become for her.

Tsunade dead.

Ino dead.

Her teammates all dead.

So many dead.

The Konoha Eleven dwindled to a handful. The jounin and chunin leaf shinobi she knew and cared about, from all over the village, gone. Whatever ninja who couldn’t stand working for Danzo had been forced to flee not only Konoha, but the land of fire as well. In fear for their own safety. In the safeguard of their souls. They had disappeared so effectively. Who knew where any of them were. She had no-one.

The foreign shinobi now scenting the air for her blood weren’t the enemy. Danzo was. Root was. The Foundation. But she couldn’t do anything about that.

Not to mention this phantom that my exhausted, damaged mind seems to have conjured up.

It was still staring at her. She’d decided it was a mirage.

An abrupt sound nearby had her holding her breath. They were barely several feet away now, but thankfully heading in the opposite direction. They were leaving. (Was her blood really that dry? That weak?) They must be giving up though. She had to be dead by now. Her wound was gaping and could’ve hit a vital artery for all they knew. They didn’t know she was a medic. Her face covered in the Anbu mask that she’d taken on at Danzo’s order had hidden her identity. It was almost laughable and disrespectful how he’d forced her to wear such a thing. She wasn’t Anbu. But even more important to this Hokage was that nobody knew they were fighting the former Hokage's protégé.

What would they do then, I wonder?

Sakura had thought, many times, of disobeying and taking it off. Scrunching up her face and brow in consternation, she always took a moment to debate it before returning to Konoha. With Root all over the nations and spies everywhere, defying him was a death sentence and some twisted part of her still wanted to live. A part of her that should’ve died off long ago. It hadn’t done her any favours. But no. She would behave herself, providing that doing so kept her alive. An aching in her heart and head wouldn’t let her allow everything to just end. Not yet. She had to keep the ghosts that haunted her happy somehow. She almost laughed out loud at that ridiculous thought. The truth was so much worse than that.

The sound of her alleged enemy became distant, but it wasn’t until she could no longer sense them in any discernible way that Sakura finally let out a deep and noisy breath. She immediately relaxed her frame and winced at the pain as her muscles tormented her for it. Clenching her fist, Sakura’s hand involuntarily clasped the straps of the bag that sat next to her, under a few unruly and woody stems of the shrubbery around her. She’d almost forgotten about her travel bag. She picked it up and held it to her breast.

She blinked heavily, her body now shaking. She was alive. She was fine. Yes. Fine. Sakura took another deep breath and let herself cry. Just for a few minutes. She’d survived. Again. Her mind felt like it was going to break, but she was stronger than Danzo. She was better than he thought and even though he couldn’t kill her outright without looking like he was just killing off the old order, that day was still looming over her.

Sakura trembled as she forced herself up and onto shaky legs. It was a small victory, but she’d done it. Compared to the ones who hadn’t returned, what did she have to complain about?

She heard a loud scoff and spun around, suddenly remembering the phantom that had been staring at her. The image that looked like a torn and bloodied corpse of Sakura Haruno smirked at her before flickering then shimmering before disappearing completely.

What the fuck?

.:.

Blood trailed behind her, but she was beyond caring. Nobody was tracking her anyway and if some random team discovered it, it would just lead them back to the leaf – a fortress more than a village these days. They would either attempt to enter and get captured or leave before they were detected and killed. Captured or killed. Whichever was on the itinerary of the Root guards that day.

Sakura hesitated at the sight of the main gates to Konoha, blinking heavily. There was something in her eyes. The gates were painfully familiar but looked so different to the ones she used to take for granted in her early kunoichi days. She contemplated, yet again, just making a run for it. Surely Danzo would just assume she’d gotten herself killed this time. It did seem to be the purpose of these thinly veiled missions he’d assigned her lately. Apparently, her medical skills were no longer necessary, which boggled her mind. She was still as sharp and methodical with a chakra scalpel as she’d ever been. Originally, when the Hokage had taken over, she’d stayed in the village through her determination to do some good under his thumb. That and her friends and family were still in the village. She couldn’t just run out on them.

But things were different now. Most of the people she used to know before this regime were dead or M.I.A. She had nobody to stay for. Not really. Her parents were shells of their former selves so mourning her now would be just another day at the office. Everyone was expecting her to drop dead any day now, with the way Danzo had been handing out these kinds of missions to troublemakers.

And the people of Konoha were kept under a strict rule but they were safe. She clutched at her chest, ignoring the blood that had yet to dry on her shirt. She no longer held her Anbu mask as it had broken, alongside the bodies of the actual Anbu who’d accompanied her. There was no reason for her not to turn around and disappear into the foliage. Perhaps she could sell her services to someone who’d appreciate it. There were many who hated Fire now. She could dye her hair, change her name, and adopt a civilian lifestyle. Yes, she could go to one of the neutral territories where nobody knew her and spend her days healing the victims of Danzo’s senseless war.

A war nobody is officially recognising that he’s waging.

Everything hurt. Her arms. Her legs. Her heart. Her head. Especially her head. Sakura decided she definitely had a concussion.

But her feet began the familiar walk toward the gates, without waiting for her permission. Kotetsu and Izumo used to man the entry. Now the faceless Root did. They watched her silently as she strode through, trying to exude a strength and confidence that she just did not have. Sakura had no doubt that they were already contacting Danzo to tell him she’d survived. Too bad, she wouldn’t get to see the honest disappointment on his ugly, weathered face. Her eyes drifted up to the Hokage monument, but she didn’t slow her gait. Seeing them once again brought righteous anger to her heart. Though time and enough lashings for speaking out had taught her to keep these traitorous feelings to herself, nothing could truly quash them.

She stopped in front of the Hokage building, her feet no longer working against her will.

What did Ino used to say? Only ugly men want to rule the world?

Her hands started to shake so she gripped her travel bag tight enough to cut off circulation, wrapping her fingers over the strap like she was throttling Danzo and all his little minions. It was a nice thought. And if she did it, then the sweet bliss of nothingness would be her reward. Death at the hands of Root was not her intention. Nor was it something that scared her. No, she’d strangle Danzou then slit her own throat and be done with it. Go out killing a murderer and save herself the long, agonising, painful death that his loyalists would plan for her.

Bliss.

Sakura didn’t flinch as the door opened suddenly in front of her. A shinobi ten years her senior stared at her for a second and slowed down for a moment before leaving hurriedly. A flicker of recognition on his face before it quickly fell away had her heart racing for a moment. Then there was a look of pity, and finally his expression went blank. Like they weren’t comrades in a ninja village. Like they weren’t on the same side. He didn’t even hold the door open for her, just noting that she stood there like a dumb fuck who hadn’t clued onto the fact that they were a walking corpse and moved on. She had no idea who he even was.

The silence of her unimportance was deafening.

.:.

“What are you doing here?”

Sakura bowed ever so slightly, careful not to show too much respect. “I’m giving my report on the mission, Lord Hokage.”

Danzo glared at her. “And your team?”

Her left eye twitched. “Dead, sir.”

“Again.”

Fuck you.

“Yes, sir.”

He sighed. “I suppose it’s too much to ask the protégé of the useless Slug Princess to keep her team alive. Weak. Like her.”

Fuck you twice over and shove a hot poker up your arse.

Sakura twitched again. In the days following his take over, she would’ve destroyed this room for that remark. Or maybe just his desk. Now, she’d learned not to lash out. And she knew what it must’ve felt like for the children he stole and turned into Root, to be punished for having human emotions.

She picked at the dark uniform she wore. It was ripped and bloodied and dirty; gone were the days when Leaf ninja stood out from the darkness the shinobi once immerse themselves in. But she hadn’t learned to do it properly. She touched the side of her face, where a katana slice had destroyed her fake Anbu mask. Or maybe she had.

Why else do I keep surviving these suicide missions he sends me on?

“And the intel you were supposed to gather?”

Sakura rifled through her bag and found the scroll, tossing it to Danzo unceremoniously. If nothing else, the deaths of her comrades had afforded information that might save others. Whatever that information was. It wasn’t just her own blood on her uniform, after all.

“I suppose this will have to do.” He motioned for a Root Anbu who stepped out of the shadows, took the scroll and teleported away. “Now, for your next assignment.”

Already?

Why was she surprised? The only time she’d gotten to rest in the past six months had been in the moments on missions where she had to stay hidden. Sleeping in a tree trunk or passed out in the back of a civilian wagon when undercover. She still had the blonde wig from that mission that made her look like a prostitute. She’d long since lost her virginity so that mission hadn’t been as traumatic as Danzou had clearly been hoping it would be.

“You still cried like a baby.”

Sakura glanced around slightly to see where that had come from. It certainly hadn’t come from her. She was reminded of the strange mirage in the forest, but the only people in the room were Danzou, his protection, and Sakura herself. There were also his numerous books that lined his east facing shelf. Like “Transportation through the Decades” and “Ninja Seals and How to Undo them”. Sakura almost scoffed at that. She turned back to the Hokage, schooling her features. His gravelly voice broke through her thoughts, and she sighed. He was saying something. She forced herself to listen.

“I wonder what kind of mission could be so simple that even you won’t mess it up.”

Sakura had no idea. If she wasn’t meant to survive the last six months, then he could easily just have her killed outright. It would save him time if nothing else. She’d convinced herself that would be bad for him but would it really? There was something else going on with him. It wasn’t just a desire to see her crawl home or disappear in a hole. These missions had something in common. She could feel it in her bones. But she was given so few moments to herself that she didn’t have the time to try working it out.

So many of her comrades were dead. Mostly ninja loyal to Tsunade. But it also didn’t make sense to reduce their numbers. They’d fall behind all the other hidden villages and, if nothing else, Danzo could be trusted to not want to appear weak to the rest of the ninja nations.

What are you up to? She asked thoughtfully as he appraised her.

Her eyes widened slightly as his gaze slowly raked over her body.

Is it a seduction mission again?

She shuddered involuntarily, pushing down those disgusting memories. No. It couldn’t be. Everyone knew those were only being assigned to ninja he trusted, now. This decision had come after Tenten had accidentally killed her target when he tried to share her with “friends”. Sakura hadn’t seen her since, but she knew the weapon’s mistress was still alive. At least, that was what she kept telling herself. Even with how the civilians would whisper, Danzo could easily make any of them disappear. But Sakura wondered how people talked about the sudden disappearances of so many.

She couldn’t rule out the possibility that Danzo wanted her to sleep with some random idiot. She’d had Root assigned babysitters on those missions before. She shuddered again. Perverts the lot of them. The idea of having to go back to flirting with and fucking around with random strangers to get them into dark corners so she could get information off them made her want to vomit. It wasn’t her thing. It always made her feel dirty. And not the good kind of dirty. Sakura had the confidence to talk to men, but not the tolerance for the bullshit they spouted while trying to charm her. Nor the way they made her skin crawl.

Maybe it was because she no longer thought of anyone in particular when she touched herself.

Sakura blinked slowly. Then shifted her body slightly; her stomach clenched painfully. The almost-consequence of the last seduction mission made her glad when Danzo had stopped sending her on them. Sakura laughed at herself, internally, for that. She’d rather die than bring a child into this world.

Time’s a-ticking.

She’d rather die than get into a situation where Danzo could reign supreme over decisions pertaining to her body. More so than he already was, anyway. Sakura looked over as a masked Root member appeared suddenly and whispered in his master’s ear. Danzo looked surprised, tapping his desk impatiently. Sakura zoned out again. By the time she zoned back in, they were still talking in whispers, occasionally glancing at her like she was a monkey in a zoo. A badly behaved monkey that needed to be euthanized but in the least humane way possible.

She caught a few words, like “traitors” and “under the guise of” as well as “can’t be trusted”. It sounded like the same rhetoric he’d spouted to keep the residents of Konoha from a full-on revolt. Fear and subjugation in the hands of a man who operated in the shadows and knew nothing of the light he coveted. That light being the Hokage chair.

Danzo waved the aid away and stared down at Sakura, suddenly very interested in her. “Well, well,” he said. “It seems I have the perfect mission for you after all.”

She didn’t want to know what it was. The twisted look on his face made her wary. Her entire body tensed, like it was autonomously preparing for battle. Her instinct was to take a step back, but any sign of weakness would just make him draw this out even longer. She forced her face into a deadpan expression as he rested his chin on his clasped hands in front of him.

“I was going to use some random nobody, but you fit the bill nice enough.”

More insults on her worth.

“Something so straightforward you couldn’t screw it up.”

More assaults on her character.

“Not that I’d expect you to understand.”

More questions about her intelligence.

“But what else could you possibly be good for?”

She started fantasising about ripping his head away from the rest of his body. His spine would still be attached to the base of his skull and blood would be flying everywhere. She was a medic. But the image she was conjuring in her head was not remotely as disgusting as the worst thing she’d ever seen. Her face was impassive as he continued to talk down to her. She didn’t react to the way he degraded and verbally abused her. Not anymore.

Cut off all his limbs and break all his bones. Not to mention his withered dick.

Sakura dissociated for what felt like hours but couldn’t be any more than sixty seconds before blinking slowly, becoming aware of her surroundings again. What was he saying now? Nothing. Danzo was staring at her expectantly. Was it because he wanted her to rage at him or because he’d just asked a question? She raised her eyebrows at him instead, hoping he’d interpret that… in some way. However, he wanted to, she didn’t care, as long as it meant she could get out of here as soon as possible. She stunk like a horse’s arse.

“It doesn’t bother you?” He asked.

Damn it.

She missed what the mission was.

“If I may?” She asked and he didn’t respond, so she continued. “Can you please repeat that?”

He scoffed at her. “Hard of hearing, are you? Very well.”

Sakura almost forgot to breathe when he repeated himself.

What the actual fuck?

Of all the things she could’ve imagined Danzo would use to get her out of the way once and for all, this was not it. What happened to good old-fashioned torture? They could go back to that. Had he no self-respect? He waved the mission scroll about mockingly.

“Of course, if you’re not up to it, there are a few even grittier missions, such as your previous one, up for grabs. And since you keep crawling back here, you must like them. The next will be worse, I fear.”

Sakura bit her tongue to keep from snapping back at him. She had a temper. One that even before Danzo’s takeover, she had some semblance of control over. It was just specific people and circumstances that set her off. Naruto’s…

She clenched her fists tightly.

Don’t think about him.

She had enough problems. She ground her teeth together. “I am to spy for you?”

He scoffed and she realised that wasn’t her role. It would’ve been a natural side mission to the one he was forcing on her, and she reasoned that she was only being sent as a distraction. Or political leverage. He didn’t care if she succeeded or failed. Kunoichi were only a distraction, as far as he was concerned. Tools, just like any shinobi, but even more so. He’d brought it up often enough. This mission would make her eye candy at best and fodder at worst.

And if she tried to reject this mission…

“I’ll have no further use for you,” he said, and Sakura realised she’d asked the question out loud.

Which means… she’d be robbed of her kunoichi status and become a civilian. She clenched her fists and narrowed her eyes. She’d seen this happen before; other leaf ninja she’d cared about had chosen the civilian option and… disappeared shortly after. Nobody questioned the disappearance of a civilian. Even one that had fought, bled, killed, and almost died for the village many times. All their belongings still in their apartment. All their sealed jutsu and weapons suddenly missing. Six months of watching her march to her death only to return more broken and bleeding than before seemed to have lost its appeal. She was now to be tossed out like trash that nobody cared what happened to it.

I will not die that way.

They both knew she had no choice. But at least this way, she could get away from Danzo. Away from the constant suicide missions and blatant insults. Away from the stink of her life. Sooner or later, one of those suicide missions would hit their target and she would be freed. But… Sakura glanced to her right as something shimmered on the edge of her vision, but just out of sight. A familiar stranger who wore her face.

She could escape to someone who everyone knew held no love for the current Hokage.

Sakura took the scroll from her Hokage and nodded in mock respect. “I accept.”

The grin on his face made her stomach churn. She wanted to rant and scream. Her face twisted into a glare before she could stop herself, but she quickly schooled her features. Sakura waited impatiently as he laid down the unwritten rules to her. She waited impatiently to be freed from Danzo’s grasp, not glancing at the Root member who was apparently going to accompany her like a shadow under orders from a man who wanted to flay her alive.

Sakura gripped the mission scroll tightly. She was heading to Suna. She would have a Root babysitter, but this wasn’t going to be like her previous missions. This time, the enemy would not be some random foreign shinobi that Danzo had slighted and was out for leaf blood. No, this time she was going to make it through without getting the blood of her companions on her person.

But if I can get this Root babysitter killed I will.

Despite her initial reservations, she suddenly felt good about this. Though the niggling voice in the back of her head told her that he wasn’t going to be happy to see her. The dark voice that said she didn’t deserve to get away from Danzo. But she had a new mission now. One that should’ve given her more pause than this but didn’t.

I’m heading to Suna.

To marry Gaara.

.:.

[stargazeraldroth]

Fuck it, angst time. We ball.

AU where everyone in the Multiverse has turned against Ink and Dream for whatever reason (I believe you had a prompt on AO3 similar to this, where Dream became Shattered), and it’s gotta so bad that they’ve been trapped in the Doodlesphere… Which Error and Nightmare’s gang has managed to figure out how to destroy. And now, Ink and Dream are going down with it. Mind you, they aren’t evil here- At best, there was a horrific failure to communicate, and at worst, Error and Nightmare are liars.

I imagine there’s a bittersweetly fluffy death for the two where they’re cuddling as their last safe place crumbles to nothing around them- Potentially with last minute love confessions to each other, because I love Drink and think they should be able to kiss as they die together.

Cue the rest of the Multiverse realizing they fucked up with their two primary good Guardians gone, because the fabric of the Multiverse itself is starting to break apart. I imagine it’s all just a progression of bad to worse from there, potentially with the ghosts of Dream and Ink watching on.

Listen Anon, I might have to come back to this with some actual writing, but for now WE BALL!!!!

The news of their arrest/imprisonment spreads like wildfire, reaching the others in an instant. Some of them can't believe it, but depending on what led to the decision, some of them can. Many are in opposition to it, believing that nothing good can come from it. And right they will be, but not yet.

Dream's in hysterics, going over every word and exchange, trying to find where it all went wrong. Ink's doing what he can to comfort him but to no avail. It doesn't help that he can... feel it in him. The Doodlesphere slowly teetering toward destruction. And it hurts like hell, like thousands of sharp pins being inserted into his bones, but he deals with it. What else can he do in this situation?

They know they're going to die. There's no way they'll survive what the others have planned, and even if they do, will they still be... themselves? Or will they be deformed, hollow shells of who they used to be? The only comfort they have left is each other. And they hold each other close as the process is complete and they wither away into nothingness, as though they never existed at all. With them, they unknowingly take their authorities to their nonexistent graves, and the others won't be far behind them on their descent into the Void.

The effects are almost instant. Not a ripple, but a tsunami. A disaster of great scale that can't be escaped. It doesn't help that with the loss of positivity, how it's draining from every person in the Multiverse at an alarming rate, negativity is reaching its highest point in... well, ever. Fear, regret, anger... those who aren't spending their last moments cowering in fear or drowning in their sorrows and regrets are too busy screaming, fighting, and seething at their very core.

This wasn't what was supposed to happen.

[good-rwbyaus]

Destiny - [ Side Story : Ruby - Pt 1]

[ Part 1: Pyrrha ] [ Part 2: Jaune ] [ Epilogue: Oscar ]

// As usual, this AU haunts me like an evil spectre. So have some of the aftermath of Jaune ends up killing Cinder at Haven AU and the descent of Remnant's third goddess.

Note this was written pre-vol 8.

---

Disconnect:

Fighting Neo who had obtained the Summer Maiden's powers required her to pull out all the stops and more.

She drew the Maiden away from Vacuo while the rest of her team dealt with the hoard of Grimm that Salem attracted over.

And then she fought for her life.

Never had she needed to use her Semblance so many times and in such quick succession before. In hindsight, the brief moments of clarity she received when not being completely corporeal allowed her to see past Neo's lies without her knowing it.

The fight ended when she feigned going for Neo's decoy, only to shoot the real one through the leg and leaving her at her mercy. By that point, she was completely spent - hollow. As if not all of her came back after she used her Semblance so many times.

She had Crescent Rose pointed right at Neo's chest, her finger resting on the trigger.

All she needed to do was pull it. Put an end to the Summer Maiden on Salem's side - and Neo knew it too. But the woman showed no fear. Still defiant. Wasn't going to grovel for her life. She knew the price for losing coming in.

She would've been in the right if she chose to kill her.

...And yet there was a difference between killing someone in the heat of battle and killing someone that was no longer a threat. And as stupid as that thought was - a Maiden without aura is still dangerous, especially one dead set on killing her...

...she couldn't bring herself to take that next step.

She just stared straight into Neo's eyes - feeling the grief, the anger, the rage, the loneliness...

And just walked away.

Walked back in the direction towards Vacuo.

Hoping the choice she made wouldn't come back to bite her.

---

Her team naturally didn’t like her decision.

Uncle Qrow was particularly vocal about it, given that he didn't like the idea of a murderous Maiden nearly killing both his nieces.

But what's done is done.

They didn't like it, but they accepted it.

---

When she woke up the next day, she found a familiar bowler hat on top of her chest.

And the Relic of Destruction stabbed right next to her head.

---

Question:

"So what exactly is a god then?" Ruby asked, "I mean what makes them different from a Hunter with an overpowered semblance or even a Maiden?"

Oscar pondered the question before he grimaced and closed his eyes. It didn't take a genius to know he was conversing with Ozpin. Ozpin was still not particularly trusted, but their relationship was on the mend after that disastrous revelation involving the Relic of Knowledge.

"...A Maiden. A powerful Hunter. They're all still mortal in the end. Limited by Aura. Limited by the Physical. Limited by Death. A god no longer worries about any of those things, " Oscar said - except not quite. The boy's pose was straighter, though a slight gloom lingered on his face, "There is many a tale about the gods and about becoming one, but Remnant has only ever had two gods."

"The Gods of Darkness and Light, the Brothers Grimm," Ruby replied, "But it's not like they didn't come from nowhere, right? They created Remnant, but who created them?"

"Who knows? Maybe they existed from the very start," Oscar leaned back onto the chair he sat on, "Their powers transcend logic. Maybe their origins do too."

Oscar hummed a bit.

"But it is interesting though," Oscar continued, "in Remnant's history, all myths about creating a god always have three common points: Aspect, Worship, and Sacrifice."

Ruby mouthed the words silently - curiously.

"Aspect would be the god's specialty. Worship would be the faith directed towards them. And a Sacrifice to allow them to shed their body. The ingredients to create a god."

"Many sought godhood throughout history," Oscar lectured, "Committed atrocities against their fellow man for just the chance."

"All have failed except for one," Oscar sighed.

"And that one hasn't failed yet simply because she is immortal."

---

Return: 

Ruby quietly placed the last of the white knight pieces onto the shrine, glancing at the rest of her team and the remnants of Jaune’s team. 

It’s funny how life is sometimes. After traveling through Remnant in search of the relics, it was oddly fitting that all of them would return to the beginning, the Emerald Forest, when life was more simpler back then. More innocent times when the titles of Hunter and Huntress were synonymous with hero and not of responsibility and painful decisions. 

Normally, she wouldn’t think about such sentimental things - she’d always been the type to strike first and plan later - but time was all she had during the long flight from Vacuo to Vale. Just her and her thoughts.

Her hand gently pulled out the Black Bishop pieces from her satchel and placed them onto the checkerboard-shaped dais, the empty starting spots nearly filled. Ruby glanced over at Cardin and gave the matured Hunter a nod. Like the rest of them, he too changed after the Fall of Beacon, more empathetic to others and able to trust his life to those he once considered lesser than him. The fact those he hurt could trust him now spoke of his growth as a person. 

Perhaps it was a lesson that team CRDL could’ve only learned in Vacuo, the continent where if one could survive there, they were welcome there. Jaune probably would've been happy to know that his once tormentor matured into someone he could respect. 

She pulled out the Black Queen piece from her satchel. Her gaze turned to Emerald, the Fall Maiden, and Mercury who hovered close beside her like a bodyguard. The small knowing smile she made was something she couldn’t help - and something that the illusionist noticed, for she scowled and turned her head, pushing the boy away.

Ehehe. Even someone as dense as herself could tell Mercury’s feelings for Emerald, though what would come of it was a different story. Hopefully, their ending would be happy. They risked a lot to steal this piece from Salem’s clutches. It’s only right they’d have a good ending.

Ruby turned her away from the pair, drawing the last piece from her Satchel. The White King piece. Her gaze turned to Oscar who only nodded his head quietly, his presence filled with a wizened air. Hard to believe that this boy was, a year and a half ago, just a farmer - now he fought like the best of them, gave them advice like Professor Ozpin did.

With him and the rest - Weiss, Yang, Blake, Nora, and Ren....her best friends, her family, the ones she could leave her back to - she could find the courage to walk towards the future.  

Was it Destiny that allowed them to return here?  

The ground she stood on glowed with a brilliant light. 

----

A darkness surrounded her, speckled with orbs of light.

She was alone.

“Welcome. I have been waiting a long time for you," said a voice directly ahead of her. A familiar young-sounding voice.

“...Who are you?”

“I am the instant where Will becomes Action. I am the progenitor of both Regret and Satisfaction. You know who I am."

“The Relic of Choice. Do you have a name?”

“Choice does not exist without the Will, just as I cannot exist without you. My name is yours.”

“Ruby?”

The darkness and light in the room seemed to meld into one shadowed figure, a silhouette barely visible in the dim light of the Shrine. It was her - back when she was fourteen and begging Ozpin to enter Beacon - maybe even a little younger than that. The only difference was a shining crown on her head - the Relic of Choice.

“Correct. Why have you come?”

“I wish to obtain the Relic of Choice, reunite the four relics, and defeat Salem once and for all.”

“That’s possible. But first...” her figure said hesitantly, “May I hold her?” Her hands pointed towards Crescent Rose. The question shocked her for a moment; Crescent Rose was her most trusted companion, something more than just a weapon to her. She instinctively wanted to say no.

But the look in the Relic's eyes...they were familiar. Like a kindred spirit.

With a bit of reluctance, she held the top of Crescent Rose's folded form and allowed the Relic to grab onto the grip.

The relic smiled as she hugged and nuzzled her weapon with her cheek. A moment later, she sighed before giggling, “Thank you. Though I am not you, I still feel your sentiments. For us, Crescent Rose is like...”

“An old friend,” she understood. Not the whole having a weird clone thing, but she couldn’t really be wary of someone who clearly loved Crescent Rose so much.

“I can allow you to have the Relic of Choice, the heart of the Relics,” the relic said, “It can lead you to victory, but you should know the consequence of using it.”

“I know. I asked Jinn of what I can do to defeat Salem. I know the cost of the relics’ power is my life,” Ruby quietly said, “I’m willing to do it.”

“You shouldn’t sacrifice your life so readily," the Relic said sadly.

"But I will respect it," continued the Relic, "I sense the day that the future will be decided.”

“You can defeat Salem at the price of your life but everyone around you will die. Or you can save everyone at the cost of your life but you will no longer be able to kill Salem with the Relics.”

What?

“I...”

“You don’t have to make a decision now. I just wanted to inform you of the choice you will need to make,” the shadowed figure said as she flickered and appeared in front of her. Taking off the crown from her head, the child that looked like a younger her placed it upon her head. 

It was heavier than it looked, shining with a white glow.

“You look good with it,” she said with a sad smile, “Now go. All that’s left for you is the Staff of Creation.”

She felt the world turned dark around her, the young girl in front of her was slowly moving further and further away as if she were being repulsed.

“Wait! What about you!?” she screamed. 

The young girl smiled, “Do not worry about me. I’ve been waiting here for a long time. Now I’ll finally get to rest.”

“Come with me!” she yelled out.

“Sorry, Ruby Rose.”

She reached out to the younger girl's fading form.

“But if I may give some advice...”

“I hope you’ll allow yourself to follow your heart this time around.”

“Goodbye.”

----

“Ruby, are you okay?’

“Huh?” Ruby managed to exclaim as she shook her head. She was back at the Abandoned Shrine, surrounded by worried faces both new and old. 

“Are we missing something? No, all the pieces are here.”

“Hey, Oscar. Was something supposed to happen?”

Several teams started whispering in confusion.

“...I have it,” Ruby interrupted the growing commotion and closing her eyes.

The Relic of Choice appeared over her head, its heavy weight settling down onto her.

Her gaze slowly glanced in the direction of Atlas, feeling the pulse of the final piece needed for the Relics to be complete. 

[spycemel]

Settle in, because I have a lot of thoughts about them.

Here's the concept thing for Ultrakill!Ghost (+other Vessels that aren't the Pure Vessel). So my idea for the Vessels is that they were built for the Hell Expeditions with the Pure Vessel being a sort of predecessor (similar to the situation between V1 and V2) or prototype for the model.

Their whole thing is adaptability, they were built to be able to adjust to the constantly changing environment of Hell, this had the unintentional side effect of them being able to also adapt to combat situations.

As I said in the Angel!Radiance post, the Vessels are classified as 'Lesser Machines' by the terminals, this is generally because the unmodified Vessels are considerably weaker than most of the other machines in Hell, especially those built for War.

They are pretty fragile compared to other machines, not as built for battle as some are, but they're very fast and light.

Head is the most durable part of the body (they can basically survive anything and repair themselves as long as their head is not destroyed)

Adaptable (Will salvage literally anything they can find to better themselves, doesn’t matter if it came from machine, husk, demon, or angel)

Have pretty good climbing abilities even prior to modifications.

Don’t have V1’s blood auto-repair ability but can repair with Hell Energy (it’s far less efficient, but does allow for some lenience when it comes to fuel)

Additional Notes:

(1) The Mask: Some Vessels adapted to their fragile states by salvaging parts of demons they were able to take down, carving out pieces of their stone bodies to make protection for themselves.

(2) Cloak: Very, very few of the Vessels have cloaks, the few that do are the ones that managed to defeat and kill a Ferryman (the one Ghost managed to kill was not the one V1 encounters in Wraith). The cloaks retain their divine properties, allowing more protection to the Vessels wearing them regardless of their machine status. (Might enrage any Angels or other Ferrymen they come across though)

(3) Wings: (This is one I'm less sure about.) Depending on timeline shenanigans, Ghost would either encounter V2 after its first fight with V1 (taking advantage of its crippled state to try and incapacitate it, or Ghost would salvage the wings off of its corpse (in this scenario let's just say that in this AU V2 didn't get completely reduced to a bloodstain when it died in Greed). The wings give Ghost the dash ability.

(4) Sentry Legs: Modifications made to Ghost's body to further increase their movement and climbing abilities.

(5) Sword: Taken from a defeated Swordsmachine, broken to allow the Ghost to wield it with their smaller size. They can parry with it, but its no where near as good as V1's Feedbacker arm.

(6) Unmodified: The unmodified version of the Vessel Model.

(7) Kinship: There is a small sense of kinship between the Vessels, the fact that there is less competition between them because of the lenient fuel requirements helps with this.

(8) Small: The Vessels are small enough that they could ride the drones.

This AU's version of Hornet (another design I'm planning on making) also gave them the name "Ghost".

[lunarifie]

The Hollow - SuperHero School AU Power Discovery Backstories

SuperHero school au explanation post

Reeve:

- Reeve’s parents died when he was 3 on a Super-Hero mission.

- Once his grandmother took him in, she tried everything to get Reeve to discover his powers. She did this in grief, hoping that Reeve would have his parents powers and the that she’d be able to hold on to a small part of them.

- Because of this, Reeve’s incredibly complicated power was discovered incredibly early.

- At first, Reeve felt pressure, believing he had to live up to all the tremendous stories his grandmother told him about his parents.

- Eventually, his grandmother reassured him that he didn’t have to live up to those expectations. Reeve gladly decided not to care, growing into his own person outside of his powers.

Mira:

- Mira was adopted when she was 5. When her fathers discovered she had powers, It was assumed by them and by the school district that it was genetics.

- This was proven to be false when Mira decided to go back to a lake she’s had fuzzy memories of when she was a child.

- Mira discovers she was in fact slashed by an eerie unidentified creature, one that had somehow found its way out of the ocean and into the lake.

- For some reason, she cannot talk to this creature, but memories flood back and she remembers falling into that exact lake when she was 4, safely returning back to shore with only a small injury and two new powers.

Adam:

- Both of Adam’s parents were Normie’s, so it was a surprise when their son suddenly came home with the strength of a body builder and the agility of a gymnast.

- Turns out, the martial arts/self defense dojo they sent their son to (to stop the bullying) had an instructor who’d been impressed with Adam’s determination and drive.

- The old instructor was a retired Super-Hero. He no longer had a need for his power, a power that’d been passed down for generations. So, he decided to become a self-defense instructor in search of an inheritor.

- Adam was found worthy and was bestowed the power (unknowingly). Adam was given a note by the instructor, explaining everything, but when Adam went to confront him, the instructor was no longer at the dojo.

Vanessa:

- Vanessa’s parents divorced when she was 6. Her mother had floatation powers and her father was a Normie. Vanessa mostly lived with her mother, increasing the desire to have powers instead of being boring and normal like her father.

- One day, on vacation with her parents, she stood a bit too close to the ledge of a bridge. Vanessa bends down to tie her shoes, only to trip and fall off. Both of her parents are too busy arguing to notice her descent.

- That is until she flies. The crowd of tourists clap for her, bringing over her parents attention.

Skeet:

- As a kid, Skeet was a wanderer, constantly giving his single father heart attacks. One day, his father (a nurse) brings Skeet to the hospital to visit, and as always, Skeet wanders.

- Skeet stumbles upon an empty hospital room with a comatose patient. This super-powered patient has specific chemicals being pumped into them due to their super-power requirements.

- Skeet sees the plastic bag of chemicals dripping onto the floor, and being a curious 6 year old, dips his finger in the chemical puddle and licks it.

- His speed powers come in a year later with no explanation. Skeets father rushes him to the hospital and they explain that Skeet swallowed a substance that had a 90% chance of killing him. As shown, Skeet had luckily survived.

Kai:

- Both of Kai’s parents come from a long lineage of super-powered individuals that double in powers. Due to this, his parents have a sense of self-superiority.

- As time passes, Kai feels an immeasurable amount of pressure to have super-powers, especially when he showed no signs of them at the age of 6.

- His parents sent him to every doctor they knew. All they could say was that Kai was a late bloomer (since his parents left no room for discussion of their son possibly being a Normie).

- When he was 13 years old and still showed no sign of powers, his parents gave up on him and abandoned him in Davis’s care. They only visited every few months, enrolling him into The Hollow high-school for super-powered individuals, as a last ditch effort.

- Eventually, at the school, Kai’s powers are discovered. Yet they are still not up to his parents standards, since he only has one power, and its unknown how he received them.

[theicescorpions]

Primal Fire Chapter Eleven: Wheyr the Wild Things Are

Wheeljack never escaped the Decepticons, instead he was made into Shockwave’s lab experiment and was turned into a Predacon.

Inspired by @sugarand-everythingnice And her “of Flesh and Steel” AU

Master Post

Chapter One

Previous

Several weeks quickly passed by without incident and the four predacons had turned the cavern into a functioning shielded base of operations. Wheeljack’s affinity for engineering began to slowly return though he still spent large amounts of time reading on the subject in the crashed ship’s computer archives. He had taken time away from his research to help Fablebreaker carve out a hollow of their own and she began nesting and fussing over her space while he worked. Thunderdrum and Fidget made their own hollows before going out to bring back resources and other offerings for the nesting female.

Fablebreaker found the process of creating her hollow both exhilarating and exhausting. She meticulously arranged rocks and branches to form a cozy nest, weaving together different materials to create a warm and inviting space. As Wheeljack worked on his engineering projects, she busied herself with preparing for the arrival of their offspring.

Meanwhile, Thunderdrum and Fidget scoured the surrounding area for resources to support their growing community. They brought back fresh energon deposits, salvaged technology from nearby wreckage, and even discovered hidden caches of ancient Cybertronian artifacts in pockets of fractured off wreckage. Their efforts were essential in ensuring the well-being of their group within the environment of the cavern.

Eventually, Wheeljack felt secure enough to call the Autobots. He reached out to his former comrades using the encrypted communication channels that he had managed to repair within the crashed ship. The massive mech waited for a response with his arms crossed over his chest.

The response to Wheeljack's call came sooner than expected. A crackling voice filled the cavern as Optimus Prime's familiar tone resonated through the communication system. ::Wheeljack, it is good to hear from you. We are relieved to see that you and your group are safe.::

Wheeljack kept his voice even and calm. "Optimus, we have established a wheyr. It is well-hidden and well-protected. I’m calling because I was hoping that Ratchet could come check out Fablebreaker. I don’t know why but something feels off. She’s already nesting. We need to know if Shockwave did anything more to her.”

Optimus Prime's response was swift and filled with concern. "We will send Ratchet immediately. Your caution is wise, Wheeljack. We cannot afford to overlook any potential threats or unseen tampering from Shockwave."

“I’ll send Thunderdrum to these coordinates to retrieve Ratchet and anyone else you send here.”

Thunderdrum immediately transformed into his beast mode, a flat-headed feline-esque dragon form, and took off towards the coordinates designated by his clan leader.

The journey to rendezvous with the Autobots was a swift one for Thunderdrum. His powerful wings beat against the air as he soared over the rugged terrain, his keen optics scanning the landscape below for any signs of trouble.

As he approached the designated coordinates, Thunderdrum spotted Ratchet and a small team of Autobots waiting below. With a graceful descent, he landed before them, transforming back into his towering robotic form.

“Who is coming with you?” Thunderdrum asked the medic.

Ratchet nodded in acknowledgment of Thunderdrum's question. "I've brought Arcee and Bumblebee with me," he replied, gesturing to the two Autobots standing beside him.

Arcee gave Thunderdrum a nod of greeting.

Bumblebee, beeped his greeting cheerfully.

“I hope you do not mind flying. The terrain is too rough for wheels.” Thunderdrum told them.

“Flying? How?” Ratchet asked

“I’d carry you.” The Predacon said as if it were obvious.

With a look of surprise mixed with uncertainty, Ratchet hesitated for a moment before nodding in agreement. "We don't have much time to waste. Let's not keep Wheeljack waiting."

Thunderdrum transformed back into dragon form and crouched down, offering his foreleg as a step, allowing Ratchet, Arcee, and Bumblebee to climb onto his broad back. Once they were securely in place, Thunderdrum spread his powerful wings and took off into the sky with a mighty leap. The Autobots held on tightly as they soared through the air, the wind rushing past them.

After a swift flight, Thunderdrum landed gracefully outside the entrance to the wheyr. Wheeljack was there to greet them, his expression a mix of relief and concern.

"It’s not much to look at.” The wrecker turned Predacon ushered the three Autobots into the cavern, alerting them to dips and holes in the path until they reached the main chamber.

“Where is the patient?” Ratchet asked.

“In our hollow. She’s constantly fussing over her nest.”

Fablebreaker was nestled in her carefully constructed nest, a mix of packed dirt, rocks, and salvaged materials woven together into a cozy haven. Her optics brightened at the sight of Ratchet and the other Autobots entering the hollow.

Ratchet approached her slowly, his medical scanners already activated to assess her condition. Fablebreaker watched him intently, a mix of curiosity and wariness in her gaze.

Ratchet's examination was thorough, his expert hands deftly checking her systems for any signs of tampering or irregularities. As he worked, Fablebreaker remained surprisingly still, a sense of trust evident in her posture.

After a few moments, Ratchet straightened up and turned to face Wheeljack. "She seems physically fine, Wheeljack. No signs of tampering or external interference. It's possible that her behavior is simply due to the natural instincts of your species. We know precious little about the Predacon species. Like what conditions they had when they existed or how quickly their young developed in the carrier’s body. Modern Cybertronians when sparked often take two earth years to produce their sparklings because the carrier’s body produces the needed spark before manufacturing the new spark’s frame. With Predacons it seems that the bodies are manufactured at the same time as the new spark is being developed. It may take half the time or less for your young to come into this world.”

“I see.” Wheeljack hummed before glancing at his mate, “Were you able to tell how many whelps she’s carrying?”

Fablebreaker shifted slightly in her nest, a low rumble emanating from her vocalizer. Wheeljack knelt down beside her, gently placing a hand on her side as if seeking some kind of confirmation.

Ratchet's optics narrowed as he scanned Fablebreaker once more, focusing on the readings related to her spark and the life growing within her. After a moment of intense concentration, he finally spoke, his voice laced with a mix of surprise and awe.

"She's carrying three sparklings," Ratchet announced, his words hanging in the air with a weight of significance. "It's rare for Cybertronians to carry multiple sparklings at once, but not unheard of. However, given the differences in Predacon biology and reproduction, we may need to be prepared for the unexpected. Multiple young at a time may be incredibly common.”

Fablebreaker looked at Wheeljack “Three whelplings? The others I witnessed had five to seven whelps.” She said in the musical Predacon language.

“Five to seven? How many females were bred in shockwave’s first experiment with predacons?” Wheeljack asked stunned.

She replied with a simple chirp.

“four females?” Wheeljack mused.

Ratchet looked thoughtful as he considered the implications of Fablebreaker's words. The revelation of the potential numbers of sparklings and Shockwave's experiments weighed heavily on his processor. The mysteries surrounding the Predacons deepened with each passing moment, presenting a challenge unlike any he had faced before.

"We'll need to monitor her closely," Ratchet finally stated, breaking the thoughtful silence that had settled over the chamber. "The gestation and birth process for Predacons may be vastly different from what we're familiar with. We can't afford to take any risks with Fablebreaker or her whelps."

Wheeljack nodded in agreement. "We'll do whatever it takes to ensure her safety."

when they left her to continue fussing over her nest the three autobots spotted the ancient ship embedded inside the main cavern. It was decently lit up and the cargo was stacked out in different piles it definitely appeared that the predacons were integrating the ship into their base of operations.

It was a massive ship, its metallic hull gleaming in the soft light of the cavern. Arcee, Bumblebee, and Ratchet approached it cautiously, their optics scanning the area for any signs of movement or activity. As they drew closer, they could see Predacons working diligently to unpack and sort through the cargo that had been housed within the ship.

Ratchet's attention was immediately drawn to a stack of crates marked with ancient Cybertronian symbols. He knelt down to examine them, his curiosity piqued by the possibility of finding valuable resources or technology that could aid them in their mission.

Arcee and Bumblebee kept a vigilant watch as Ratchet carefully opened one of the crates, revealing a trove of ancient artifacts and components that had been preserved over countless cycles. The Autobots' optics widened in amazement at the sight before them, realizing the potential significance of the discoveries within.

"We need to report this to Optimus," Arcee whispered, her voice tinged with excitement.

Ratchet nodded in agreement as he quickly scanned the contents of the crate, cataloging each item for further analysis. The implications of their find were monumental, hinting at a deeper connection between the Predacons and the ancient history of Cybertron that had long been shrouded in mystery.

“oooh what did you find?” Fidget chirped as he appeared behind the three autobots.

Fidget's sudden appearance startled the Autobots, causing them to whirl around to face the small, curious Predacon. Ratchet quickly closed the crate, hiding its contents from Fidget's view.

"We found some ancient artifacts and components," Arcee explained, her voice calm but guarded.

“We’ve found plenty of that stuff. They aren’t worth as much as these though.” The small Predacon male said eagerly as he quickly showed the Autobots to a stack of twenty six crates.

Arcee, Bumblebee, and Ratchet followed Fidget to the stack of crates, their curiosity piqued by the small Predacon's insistence on the importance of these particular containers. As Fidget excitedly motioned towards them, Ratchet knelt down to examine the nearest crate, his optics scanning the symbols etched into its surface.

"These crates are different," Ratchet observed, his processor analyzing the intricate markings.

“Yes.” Fidget reached in one crate and pulled out a Predacon skull. “Clan leader thinks they were destined for museums. But the ship crashed here and never made it to its destination.”

“That’s a-“ Ratchet began, stunned.

“Now you can keep your promise.” Fidget smiled happily. “The ship has decently in tact medical and scientific rooms. The steel clan will grow stronger so we can fight the other clan and protect you more fragile two legged ones.”

The Autobots exchanged glances at Fidget's words, recognizing the significance of the opportunity before them. The alliance between the Autobots and the Predacons was poised to shift in a new direction with the discovery of the ancient ship's resources.

"We are grateful for your trust, Fidget," Ratchet said solemnly, his optics reflecting a newfound respect for the small Predacon. "We will honor our promise and work together to ensure the prosperity and safety of both our clans."

“We need to report to Optimus.” Arcee said urgently to Ratchet.

“They are Wheeljack’s people. We founded our alliance with the steel clan and we must keep our word. You and Bumblebee will return to base and inform Optimus of the developments but I will remain here for the time being. Fablebreaker requires observation and they need a science officer here. We don’t know what kind of information is stored in the hard drives of this ship.” Ratchet said firmly, leaving no room for objection.

Arcee and Bumblebee reluctantly nodded and prepared to leave the cavern.

As Arcee and Bumblebee made their way back to base to report to Optimus, Ratchet turned his attention back to the stack of crates filled with ancient artifacts and components. His processor whirred as he began to carefully examine each item, piecing together the history and significance behind the discoveries before him.

Fidget watched in fascination as Ratchet worked, his bright optics reflecting a mix of curiosity and excitement. The small Predacon had been wary of the Autobots at first, but now he felt a sense of camaraderie and trust forming between them.

As Ratchet delved deeper into the contents of the crates, he uncovered ancient schematics, data tablets filled with historical records, and even a few pieces of advanced technology that had long been lost to Cybertronian knowledge. Each discovery brought new insights and possibilities for both the Autobots and the Predacons.

Hours passed as Ratchet meticulously cataloged and analyzed the artifacts, his mind racing with the implications of what they had uncovered. The alliance between their clans had taken a significant step forward, opening doors to new advancements and understandings that could benefit them all.

The man was in an absolute frenzy and nothing could stop him now.

Chapter Twelve: A Union of Forces

[sandsorghum]

03.02.2023

1st fic of 2023, and obviously it's for a very special someone's birthday! I would also like to dedicate this to the person who so graciously and generously encouraged me to keep writing in 2022, in their hands all my scraps and ramblings and odd ends become treasure maps for plots and perhaps even a few things yall can keep a look out for down the road 👀

That individual is none other than @sukunasun. Not only are they galaxy-brained, they're somehow both the comet from which i tailspin and the sextant parsing constellations from the cosmic chaos of my fictitious obsessions. They're both moonbeam and moonshine, without them i would be lost and have to face that most horrible prospect of sobriety. TLDR if you're a JJK fan and not following them wtf are you doing with your existence. Go, be illuminated.

Anyway I wish I had more time to polish up this piece but I didn't want to procrastinate any further, so hope yall enjoy this. Feedback and reblogs greatly appreciated as always!

Studies in Graphite

Genre: High School AU, Humour, Romance WC: 2.6k Point of inspiration

You abhor these afternoon classes. They were despicable especially at the height of summer. 

The post lunch haze was extra insufferable, the satiation from a food coma conspiring to coil anaconda like around your bones, urging hibernation. You had anvils for eyelids and the drone of the teacher only added extra weight to them. 

But there was one thing helping to keep you awake, a singular saving grace that prevents you from entirely loathing the midday heat which made the hours ooze by excruciatingly. You don’t mind the minutes melting together, the taunt of the second hands’ tick tocks is ameliorated by the way he’s illuminated.

Your classmate sits one desk and several eternities away from you, silhouette radiant against the 4pm sun. The sharp slope of his nose and the jutting edges of his jawline cast shadows in all the right places, delicate strands of his fringe that frame his face begging for a breeze. Still, that forehead remains unfurrowed, even with the bead of perspiration that rolls past his temple, arcing across the high cut of his cheeks to drip down in the hollow of his throat. Your own grows scratchy and dry at the descent of this dewy melodrama, mesmerizing in its mundanity, causing you to swallow hard. 

The pen perched upon his lips inspires you to lick your own chapped, cracked ones as he fiddles and flicks the writing instrument around, so his knuckles now rest against that plush bottom lip, joint tentatively pressed in thought to it. 

God, how the sun adores Geto Suguru. 

And then there were those eyes, brighter than any beam daring to stream in through the windows to challenge his gleaming coal gaze. It appears attentive enough and yet he exudes an aura of boredom. If only that sight might slide a couple inches to his right, where you were. Although, you realise immediately as the thought forms, that’s a foolish thing to wish for - he’d catch you staring, and you’d burn to a crisp in a moment.

Focus, you chide yourself, dropping your eyes to your notebook, graphite grazing against the paper in languid loops and swoops. You could never quite get his expression right, maybe fuller lashes, or a little less shading of the philtrum? 

There’s an echo of annoyance in the distance, words muffled by their irrelevance but then you hear the syllables most familiar to you spill from an unfamiliar voice, much closer and quivering with the timbre of amusement. He knows your name? Your sight flicks to the side, and oh, there’s the quirk of Geto’s lips to match your silly little hopes. They tilt further with the incline of his head, and at last you trace the sound of exasperation to your teacher. 

“Uhm, sorry sir, what was that?” you stutter, shooting up too abruptly and knocking your textbook to the floor. 

With a long suffering sigh, the teacher repeats himself.

“Name the solution.”

“Just one second, Yaga-sensei…” You scramble to retrieve your book, bending down but a pair of hands beat you to it. Suguru passes it to you, mouthing page 56. 

You duck your head in an abashed gesture of appreciation, flipping like a hurricane through the pages. You clear your throat, stalling for time as you frantically scan for the relevant question. Suguru hums low, signaling assistance and your eyes dart over to his index, tapping the top right corner of his page. You feel the glare of your teacher barreling towards your bowed head yet you still steal a second to flash Suguru a grateful grin before glancing at where he’s hinted. 

Perfect! You actually knew this one for once.

Triumphantly you raise your head, reciting in a voice loud and clear, “Here we can apply Pythogoras’ Theorem, which is a squared plus b squared equals…” 

You trail off noticing your teacher’s perplexity at your unwarranted confidence, though it switches to irritation in a moment.

“If you’d like to join us, we’re on page 89,” he says in a clipped tone. 

“Ah, right. Sorry…” your fingers fly through the pages.

“...of the geography textbook,” he adds after an unnecessarily cruel pause. 

It’s not the tittering that swells over the rest of the classroom that make your ears burn scarlet, it’s the stifled snort from the side. Your entire body freezes but your eyes snap to the left, rebelling against your better instincts. And now you’re really scorching, regarding the way Geto Suguru has clasped a palm over his mouth to choke back his chortles, but you see them wracking his body, belly tensing and convulsing with slight shudders. 

Amidst the inferno of your infuriation and shame, any gratitude towards Geto goes up in smoke. Still, some small part of you appreciates the view before you, his eyes glittering with mischief, attention fully on you and your seething stare, as you expect embers of embarrassment to spark where your fingernails bite into your palms. Alas, even the gasoline fumes of his grin don’t ignite any real flames in your hands to char that stupid smirk off him. 

You’ve heard the rumours, Geto Suguru was pegged to be the next valedictorian. 

But now, for a fact, you know he’s also made it to the top of your list of Handsome Assholes Not to Trust. Ever. 

As you slump back into your seat, dignity shriveled, you barely register the exasperated sigh of your teacher.

“Would anyone else like to volunteer the answ- oh great.” His grumble gets cut off by the shrill of the bell, indicating the end of the period and thankfully, the school day. 

You haul up your books and hurry out to the corridor, deliberately ignoring Geto calling after you, despite how sweet the syllables sound ringing out from him.

You yank your locker door open, snatching your bag and stuffing everything into it haphazardly. You had to get off campus as quickly as possible but - your pack feels less bulky than usual. You’re missing your notebook. Shit, it had all your assignments - or more accurately the distractions from your assignments in it. You rummage through files and folders. Of course your bag chose this precise moment to unfathomably transform into a black hole, of course -

“Looking for this?” 

And of course Geto Suguru had to be the one holding up the very thing you were looking for, bemusement twinkling in his eyes. As he strides toward you, you wonder if the inexplicable cosmic phenomena in your bag could swallow you up first. 

It doesn’t, naturally.

“Hello,” Geto says, unnaturally chipper. “You dropped this just now.”

You can tell by the sparkle in his eyes the worst has happened, he’s already rifled through it.

“Give it back,” you snap, holding your hand out. Geto’s a good several feet taller than you, you’re not about to humiliate yourself in front of him a second time today by treating him like a basketball hoop. 

He waves it back and forth anyway, seeing if he can get a rise out of you. And sure, if someone popped an old-fashioned thermometer in your mouth, the mercury would be rocketing up. 

“You’re so quiet, I always took you for the diligent, studious type ya know? Turns out you’re quite the day dreamer, aren’t ya?” 

“Give it back,” you repeat with pitch-perfect stoicism. 

“But I wonder what you dream about at night,” Geto muses, as if you were mute. “Or should I say who?” 

That thermometer under your tongue has turned into a cat’s claw.

He presses the spine of your notebook to the corners of his mouth in mock contemplation, and your mind screams louder Don’t say anything! Just make him submit with your stare. Your brain always provides the best advice.

That your mouth just doesn't abide by.

“That’s none of your business. Probably nightmares of Yaga-sensei, thanks to you.” 

“Sorry, sorry. You were just so perfect…” 

“Excuse me?” You’re caught wholly off guard by the combination of Geto’s half-assed apology and what seems to be his entirely sincere compliment.

“For my plan,” he elaborates, advancing toward you. Your heart skips a beat for every step Geto takes closer to you. 

“Class was almost over, I just needed an incident to make sensei forget about giving us homework. Or maybe, a few more minutes to help me get through the day,” he hums, voice dropping low. You don’t need to lean forward to hear Geto, with how he’s looming over you now, your body caged between the locker and his arm. 

“Either way, you were the perfect distraction.” 

“If you want to express your thanks, you ought to return my property.”

You clutch your bag to your chest, trying to form some sort of shield between you and the hot gust of Geto’s chuckle. Or perhaps it’s a sound barrier, so he doesn’t detect the drumming of your heart; you have a hunch that’s futile though. 

“Your property? See, I don’t know about that. Sure, you bought this book, but the intellectual property inside, the likenesses of certain images, that I certainly don’t remember authorizing the replication of...”

“You gonna stand there and lecture me about...about copyright infringement?” You huff, incredulous. 

“Well, no,” Suguru cocks his head, contemplating your retort.

“I suppose involving you in my earlier stunt is payback enough.”

“Payback?”

“Mmhmm, for invasion of privacy.”

“You’re the one who went through the contents of my-”

“You must have taken a picture of me without my permission,” Geto frowns, as if disappointed that you’d try to fib so pathetically.

“I didn’t!”

“Hm? How else do you explain the quality of your art? You must have had some sort of reference, or sneaky recording.”

“I- I did no such thing! I just drew you from memory and thought about your face a lot!” You yell, composure shattering like glass. You see Geto’s smug victory reflected in its shards.

Too late you realise the outburst his accusation triggered is just what he wanted.  

“All that from memory? It’s awfully accurate, that’s impressive.” Geto murmurs, and you’re taken aback again by how much he means his praise.

“You honestly think that?” You mumble, temporarily forgetting the original transgression that allowed him to have any opinion of your work in the first place. 

Geto nods, holding your gaze level with his. “Although you probably shouldn’t doodle in class so you can avoid humiliating scenarios.”

“Oh yea, and what should I call this then?”

“Well, we’re technically outta class now, I can’t give you any guarantees there.” 

Your breath hitches with the slender finger that Geto slyly slides beneath your chin, tilting them so your mouth is perfectly angled to meet the one you’ve been fixated on for months, breaking in dozens of 2B pencil points on their outline, the precise shape of their smirk remaining elusive. Now, that you had an up-close study though…

“I - um - I suppose I should concentrate during lessons more,” you admit, “Art’s not a real subject anyway…” 

Geto’s lips twitch downward in the same motion he arches a brow. 

“Not real?” There’s a huskiness, a promise, a risk to his rhetorical inquiry. 

“This subject doesn’t feel real to you?” 

Suddenly, a weight collides against your mouth, Suguru’s scent invades your senses - but not his taste; something feels wrong. There’s just the texture and flat flavour of wood pulp, no warmth of flesh or curve of a wicked grin crashing against your lips, certainly no wet muscle stroking along them, probing aggressively for entrance. 

You had cinched your eyes shut to brace for the impact of your first ever kiss but they fly open again to investigate the abnormal sensations, so foreign to your fantasies. You’d always anticipated some degree of incongruity with reality but this wasn’t how any man’s mouth should feel, definitely not Suguru’s. You would know, after all, you had devoted a...not insignificant amount of time and mental capacity considering what his in particular might feel like.

The cunning bastard’s gone and slipped the notebook between your mouths, the pages pressed between lips. Fortunately (or unfortunately?) the notebook’s less thick than when you’d purchased it. In your exasperation you’d torn out dozens of pages of failed starts and imperfect sketches of Suguru. And now, you’re further frustrated by the irony that if only you’d ruined more of your drawings, the individual you’d based them on would perhaps have been able to give you a proper kiss, damned fantasy obstructing reality.

But even now, you feel his heat, his hunger. 

This close to him, your noses are brushing, foreheads bumping. Obviously you can’t see the smirk etched on his mouth blocked by the notebook, but it’s traveled to his sparkling eyes, mirth apparently finding permanent residence there. You think it probably is unlucky after all, for the pages to be so thin, you wouldn’t want anyone catching you and Geto Suguru making out (not making out?) in the school hallways, that would be-

“Oiii Suguru, I’m finally freaking done! Let’s head to the arcade, I’m gonna smash your Street Fighter record!” 

You glimpse a shock of white hair and dark sunglasses, and hurriedly shove Suguru away. 

“Oh. Is there another record you’re more interested in setting?” 

Suguru shakes his head at his best friend’s snarky comment. Birds of a feather, you think, dazed at the close shave. You barely register Suguru curling his fingers around you, but the light squeeze of his hand sends a bloom of warmth rushing through your body. 

“I was just swapping notes with her,” Suguru responds nonchalantly. 

“Yeah? Looked more like you were swapping spi-”

“How about you get some practice rounds in first, you could use the head start.” 

 “Now you’re telling me not to dawdle? After spending all semester sighing about…”

Your schoolmate squints at you, then his friend, then back at you. His face is inscrutable beneath his shades, but Suguru seems to have picked something up. 

“Give us a few minutes, Satoru. Alone.” 

He clasps his hands behind his head, scoffing, “Right, because that needed emphasis.”

“Whatever. Bring enough change later, no excuses for copping out this time,” he drawls, drifting back down the hall. You turn back towards Suguru.

“Street Fighter?”

“It’s an ongoing bet. Long story,” he responds with a vague gesture.

“Right.” 

“Right.”

You lock eyes with him, curiosity ballooning, the question you’re so tempted to ask stretching the silence even tauter. For once, your muse studies you instead, patient and observant.

Slowly you ask, “Was I really that obvious in class?”

Suguru shrugs - or attempts to, the jerky movement of his shoulders syncing with the grin splitting his face. “Nah I just have extraordinary peripheral vision.” 

You bury your face in your palm, fingers valiantly attempting to dam back the flood of blood to your cheeks. 

“You know, I wouldn’t have noticed if the resemblance wasn’t that striking.”

You shoot a glare at him. “Are you humble-bragging about your looks right now?”

He laughs, an unfettered full-throated ribbon of sound reverberating in your bones. “Not intentionally. I just meant, you’re talented. You should keep it up.”

He notes the incredulity wrinkling across your expression and his smile widens.

“In fact,” he taps the hand clutching your notebook. It’s light and playful, but there’s a touch more tenderness in his tone, “if you want to keep improving your drawing skills, next time just ask me to be your model, all right? I can’t promise I’ll sit still the whole time though.” 

Airily, too daringly, you reply, “I don’t expect you to.”

Suguru’s eyes glint, in recognition of your challenge.

Since that day, you've stopped tearing out the pages.

Not that it really mattered how thick or thin your notebooks were when the pictures leaped out of them at you, that same charcoal gaze turning your skin to canvas; His very own work of art, a portrait to savour in private.

[serenescribe]

for the new ask game!! hope you're having a fun day!

1/ my favorite fic of yours:

i want to say all of them but thats not how this works TvT so ill limit myself: anything you wrote for the selkie au (beloved selkie son <33), hollow moon (im still haunted whenever i see the moon outside), everything goes dark (i dont even know anything about feh?? but i fell in love with the setting and extreme dubious morality) and the silver sleeps for 100 years after mal's ob fic (utter hell; broke my heart and tore it to shreds. i will shatter like glass if i attempt to re-read it i think)

6/ something i remember vividly from reading one of your fics:

the flashbacks from 'everything goes dark' come back to haunt me every now and then. i vividly recall the growing dread i felt reading through them and the gut churning horror of reading those final ones; terribly fucked up lilia my beloved 🫶

7/ what made me the most emotional after reading:

two for nero got a visceral reaction out of me the first time i read it but what actually made me most emotional was the absolute descent into madness that hollow moon was. the build up of silver's condition and the way i kept going 'there's no way it can get worse' only to get proven wrong a few paragraphs later had my inside tied in knots and tears dripping down my face before i even got to the end ;;; ALSO that fic where lilias "i love you's" aren't enough to wake silver up anymore tore me apart. i still think about it a lot

12/ a fic of yours that ive re-read:

so many!! i re-read two for nero twice, i go back to the selkie fics a lot, also re-read the silver sickfic, the diasomnia cuddle pile anddd that's all ive got off the top of my head o/

Fanfic asks - for the askers

micaaaa my beloved!! i love our selkie au dearly and i still want to write more for it when i am not crushed under the weight of old english and essays :'D excellent picks for fav fics!! i'm glad to see some appreciation for everything goes dark bc i'm still very fond of that; i went a lot more descriptive than i usually do and i'm still quite happy with it!

again, i am so SO glad that hollow moon fucked people up. mission goddamn accomplished!! the way everyone was probably just like "it can't get worse" only for me to sledgehammer them with the next paragraph. truly a train wreck in the slowest possible speed. it really does get worse before it gets better. (and aaaa god that fic ;;; tore at my own heart while i was writing it)

happy to know that you reread some of my stuff <3 thank you for sending this in!! :D

[junkmailmusubi]

watch my descent into madness HERE !

i think it's probably abt time i make one of these. uh

yo! i'm Cass. (or Marie. experimenting w/ that) i post silly stuff and the occasional art. here's some info about me

-agender (she/they, it/its too for friends)

-aroace

-ADHD haver

-furry

-aspiring animator/songwriter

(NOTE: Cassandra Ellard is not my legal name! it's being used here as a sort of pen/stage name.)

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FANDOMS - you are more than welcome to talk to me abt any of these

-my OCs (they are always top priority in my mind)

-In Stars and Time (the Hyperfixation </3)

-vivid/stasis (the Hyperfixation Part 2 </3)

-Hi-Fi RUSH

-Hollow Knight

-Rhythm Doctor

-Splatoon

-Murder Drones

-A Dance of Fire and Ice

-Just Shapes & Beats

-Undertale/Deltarune

-my various AUs for any of these

-music tastes: techno/electronic, punk, chiptune, VGM in general

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DNI - if you fit any of these criteria, you are not welcome on my blog. very few to no exceptions.

-bigots of any kind (racists, sexists, homophobes, anti-semites, etc.)

-terfs/radfems

-exclusively NSFW blogs

-proshippers/pedos/zoos

-Vivziepop apologists/defenders. you're off the hook if you just enjoy hazbin/helluva casually or aren't aware of the drama, but be aware that you're on thin ice.

-Mormons/other extremely religious people. this is also where the 'very few exceptions' comes in. you'll kinda have to go under review if you fit this

-i feel like i should also say that if you feel the need to attack me for any of my fandoms/tastes, you're probably getting blocked.

MORE GENERAL INFO - just stuff you should know about me

-use caution when talking about death + cosmic stuff with me

-i generally do not respond to vents. this does not mean i don't care, i'm just terrible at verbal comfort and can't send a hug or an understanding look through the web.

-if you like my stuff, REBLOG IT! liking is equivalent to saving a post here on tumblr. it doesn't do anything, a liked post will just sit and rot in your Likes tab. reblog it to spread the word! i promise it's not at all like reposting on other sites.

-shortened names are preferred over just Cassandra. just Cass or Cassie will do. maybe even Cas if you're feeling fancy + gender-neutral.

enjoy your time here. or smth. i dunno