#Ouroboros Unbound writing

[memurfevur-archive]

Skinny Love

Character(s): Omnius Dioxal, Kulsot Amrida (@contrastparadoxx), Liahne Zaleae, brief mention of Stygia Astera (@whispertrolls)

About: Liahne finally seizes her chance to end it all with Omnius, but things don't go exactly as planned.

CW: blood, graphic depictions of violence, character death

Word Count: 3,764

==================================

It almost felt like a stroke of divine luck when Liahne had happened upon the billboard. For so long her enemy had been under her nose, hidden in plain sight. Frustration bit at her. His bright teal eyes mocked her, mocked everyone who walked by it on this busy street: an advertisement demanding attention, a charming smile that felt genuine and warm. He could fool anyone. He had fooled her once, long ago.

She closed her eyes and committed the bold letters of his firm to memory. It was not the only memory that echoed in her head; she remembered Omnius' warm embrace and the feel of his stubble tickling her cheek. She remembered laying her head on his chest and him kissing her horns or the top of her head. That aged cinnamon aftershave and the laugh marks at the corner of his eyes, his hair only beginning to pepper in white. Her heart twisted; those details had once brought her a feeling of safety, but the truth had long soiled it. It shouldn't have been Omnius' arms that held her. She had been blind; she believed a lie, and Rutaci had paid for it.

Liahne ducked herself into a quiet alley and away from the sounds of a bustling cityscape. She didn’t see the numbers dialed into her phone, and she could barely hear the line connecting when she brought the device to her ear. Every second was a slow heartbeat. Her palms began to sweat, causing her to idly wipe them on her jeans. It couldn’t be this easy, not after so long…

“Good evening. You’ve reached Triumph Law, Dioxal’s office– Mr. Amrida speaking. What can we do for you today?” The voice was soft yet strong, clear and cheerful. Liahne couldn’t imagine anyone sounding happy to work for Omnius.

That voice. It felt familiar, but… no, she was anticipating someone else. The only Amrida she knew would not be here in her enemy’s office, but off baking his heart out with a smile in a small town miles from here. “Is Mr. Dioxal in the office?” Liahne’s voice was low and barely above a whisper. It felt like superstition; say his name too loudly, and he will come with seven sweeps of bad luck. “I need to speak to him.”

“He is about to leave for lunch, but I can take a message. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Please,” her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, tried again, but didn’t feel as confident as she tried to be. “Please, it’s urgent.”

There was a moment of silence– hesitance. Liahne closed her eyes, trying to gather her nerves. She could hear the secretary shuffle on the other end, and then, “One moment, please.” It was the longest “one moment” of her life. Her hand began to shake, and her throat threatened to close as tears lurked behind her eyes. She found herself murmuring softly, too soft for the phone to pick up, little pleas that she was too late. That she would not be able to contact Omnius. That she never will– not without a knife in his gut.

A voice sounded on the other end, “Dioxal speaking.”

The world stood still, frozen in monochrome memories and acidic anxieties. Her breath shook like trees in the wind, and a concentrated headache was starting to take hold from her struggling effort to resist an audible cry. This had been the first she had heard his voice for several sweeps. Too many sweeps. She wanted to scream at him, ask him why, but fearful familiarity stunned her to silence. She listened to her killer’s probing hello’s trying to gauge if his client was still on the line. She would never give him that satisfaction, though not by her own choice. She had found him at last, with a plastic smile on a plastic sign in a blind city. Before long, the call was cut; he had hung up on her for wasting his time. She wiped the tears off her face and pocketed the phone.

It was at that moment that Liahne resolved this for herself; she couldn’t let Rutaci know about this. She owed it to him; she had ruined his life, and all he ever did was love her. Liahne swallowed a lump in her throat and bit back the tears that threatened to sting her eyes. She had let him go, and even now he continues to support her– from a distance, of course. He would never trust her again, not to that extent. They’re acquaintances, not friends, not lovers. She knew he was still hurting over her. No matter how many sweeps have passed, there will always be cracks in the canyon between them; a canyon void of water and natural beauty that once made it theirs to explore. Now, their exchanges were made through nothing more than vast empty space. The sun over the canyon was scorching them and burning them alive. At the very least, Liahne thought, she could allow herself to burn alone and keep him in the safety of the shadows.

___________________________________________________

Everyone else had gone home for the day, save for two. While the building was empty Omnius had thought to reward Kulsot for his work, and having no patience to get home the two stayed later than one might anticipate. The rush of heat and intimacy was a nice bonus, he thought, to the paycheck they had received that night. Everybody likes bonuses on their paydays.

A satisfied smirk stretched Omnius’ lips as he fastened his belt, and his bright teal eyes looked to his giggling matesprit with a level of love and compassion he had not felt for anyone else in a long, long time. He leaned in and kissed his secretary on the lips briefly. 

“I’ll meet you in the car, my prince. Oh, and don’t worry about dinner today; I’ll take care of it while you shower.” His treat. Afterwards, the two would sit on the couch with their daughter to watch the morning programs until Soliel was tired enough for bed. Then Omnius would carry her to her room, check for monsters in her closet, and read her a story from her favorite book. His favorite part comes when he would kiss her forehead, and subtly whisper to the ghost of his childhood moirail, telling them both to sleep well and that he would drive his daughter to school in the dusk. It would be a perfect night, one he’s learned to embrace as softly as he had learned to embrace Kulsot. 

The aforementioned Mutantblood slipped on his jacket with a smile on his face. After becoming fully dressed and checking himself over for any traces of the sins he and his matesprit had committed, he gathered his belongings and slipped out the door.

The building itself was rather large, hosting a number of legislacerators who either needed a company to work for or needed to rent an office to work in. Omnius was a special case; technically, he owned part of the firm, and in the cut-throat world of Alternia, his alter ego allowed him to keep the business safely and easily. He’d become a well established man, and the building reflected that with carpeted floors and milky walls reflecting marble pillars. Omnius did not design the building, but he did well in making sure it was presentable and comfortable for himself and his colleagues– and if it wasn’t for their pleasure, then it was for his diabetic rival. 

Kulsot hummed as he took in the sights; for all that it was worth, he knew his matesprit to be passionate– it was a prideful feeling that resonated deep within him to see his matesprit’s hard work everywhere. It made him feel safe and secure, like nothing could touch them.

The elevator ride to the parking garage was thankfully short. The lot was nearly empty, save for a car or two including Omnius’. Though Kulsot walked this path many times before, he couldn’t help but be wary alone in places like this. The clicking of his heels against the cold pavement brought some comfort, enough to pacify him on his walk to the car. A glossy silver Coupe of the previous (but not too far) century, it was a brand that Kulsot recognized only because the rich and powerful liked to flaunt it. The specifics of its appeal were lost to him, but he could appreciate its aesthetic at least. He hooked a hand around the handle, but paused when he saw a reflection of a shadow flitting behind him. He twisted around, eyes wide, only to catch the sight and sound of the exit door clicking shut.

The shadow glided up a few flights of stairs, deliberate and quick. She quickly glanced down at the slip of paper in her hand noting the wing and office number that belonged to Omnius, then tucked it away in her back pocket. A wistful, anxious sigh, and blood roaring in her ears. So close. She was so close. Just a little further now, and it will all end. Liahne thumbed her knife hilt’s texture. A quick and easy kill, just as he had done to her.

Her ear flicked at the sound of the exit door opening and closing. Holding her breath, she ducked into a nook between the stairs and the wall which concealed her from view. “Hello,” she heard the voice echo through the stairwell. “Hello, is anyone here?” She heard the click-clicking of dress shoes on the stairs and cursed under her breath. She leaped forward and pushed herself into the landing’s door that led to the third floor, then side stepped and pressed herself against the wall right beside it. This had gained the secretary’s attention, and just as he rushed past the threshold he choked out in surprise when he was suddenly grabbed with a hand over his mouth and a knife to his throat. This was not without struggle, however; the Mutant was much stronger than he looked in ways very familiar to her.

“Stop it,” she hissed. “Stop! I don’t want to hurt you. Do you work for Dioxal?” Kulsot paused, glared at her, but then fell limp in surprise when recognition flooded his gaze. Liahne’s heart lurched into her throat. It couldn’t be… “Kulsot, you work for Omnius?” There was no masking the hurt in her voice, though it prompted a nod from the other.

“Kulsot are … you his matesprit?” She had read about it from somewhere, a tabloid, trying to juice this as a scandalous affair when there was none. She was met with another, though more hesitant, nod. Sympathy pierced through Liahne’s chest; the chances that Omnius was only using him were likely. She wondered briefly if Omnius had Kulsot working for him just to keep an eye on him, just like how he used to court her to keep her away from his secrets. “Then, I’m sorry. You’re not the one I have beef with.”

She relaxed her stance, only for Kulsot to push against her with an aggravated hiss and elongated fangs. Instinctively she returned the gesture; she hadn’t expected him to be a rainbow drinker– when did he die? Who killed him? Memories flashed before her, of the sweet little Kulsot in that sweet little bakery, laughing with his brother and her beloved Rutaci far before this; far before the Tealblooded snake made his name known. 

This would make things harder. It broke her heart, but she knew what she had to do; she dropped into a combat stance, knife at the ready. But before she could act, Kulsot spoke, “Wait!”

Liahne wanted to move, to grab him, to silence him, but she found herself glued to where she stood. Frustration boiled within her; of course. This must be why Omnius kept him close: to have his own little bodyguard with a silver tongue. Did Rutaci know?

“What are you doing here?” She could see the confusion pooling in his unnervingly bright red eyes. She remembered making him special foods and drinks for his dietary needs. She remembered staying up late smiling and watching Kulsot and Rutaci talking, laughing, as if there could never be any trouble in the world that could tear them apart. She had made Kulsot and Wander gifts, little plush toys and flower arrangements for the bakery. He had been her friend just as much as he had been Rutaci’s. And now, here she was, where moments ago she had pressed a knife to his throat.

“He’s not who you think he is,” Liahne said, her voice almost pleading. Kulsot’s shoulders slumped as the puzzle pieces began to click into place. Of course; Rutaci knew Omnius, it would only make sense Liahne had known him, too.

“Oh, I know; that has never been an issue. But, you? This isn’t you.”

“I can’t afford to be me, not anymore,” she closed her eyes, remorse flooding through her. “You’ll understand, I’ll explain later. I need to see Omnius.”

Kulsot’s brows furrowed, “What for?” Liahne could not bring herself to answer that. Kulsot took several steps closer, his volume dropping, and worry hinting at the edges of his voice. “Liahne, when did you… Is Rutaci okay–” 

He was abruptly silenced when her blade went into his abdomen, and her hand covered his mouth. His eyes went round and wide, shock and betrayal painting his features.

Liahne choked back her tears and kissed Kulsot’s forehead, “I’m so sorry; please forgive me, Kully.” With one quick, fluid movement, she brought the knife to his throat and pressed in, slicing deep. 

To a mortal, this would surely kill them; but to a rainbow drinker, it would only incapacitate him for a few hours– or more. She bit her lip to keep herself from crying as she watched her friend crumple to the ground, holding his throat, gasping for air and throwing accusatory questions her way. …Why? Why? Why? Liquid emerald escaped down her cheeks; she hurriedly wiped them away and turned her back.

Omnius’ office was just down the hall on the left. Nerves left her hand trembling on the doorknob, her breaths nothing more than shaky hiccups. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was just supposed to be Omnius. “Get yourself together,” she hissed, “It’s now, or never at all.”

Liahne pushed herself into the office. It was small and cozy; Kulsot’s desk sat at the far side of the room, papers neatly stacked, and even the sticky notes and pencils were well organized. Liahne trailed a finger along the neat wooden desk, her heart dropping when she saw a framed picture of Kulsot with Omnius and some kid. She picked it up, studying their faces; Kulsot had made a life for himself. Omnius had made a life for himself. But that can’t be true… Omnius would never….

“Oh, hello, I’m sorry to inform you but the office is–” Liahne whirled around, heart racing. In front of her in the doorway was the man she had been hunting down all these sweeps. He looked much older than she remembered him; laugh marks made his eyes crinkle, and his head held a lot more silver hairs. She could see him calculating while his eyes were locked on her. He hadn’t expected to ever see her again, not after he had left her for dead. “--closed,” he finished slowly. It was satisfying, almost, to see him like a deer in the headlights of a car.

“Hello, Omnius.”

“Liahne.” His gaze flickered over her form, her clothes, and the bright red blood that was splattered on her.  “Where’s Kulsot?”

“I’m not here for him.”

“I know you’re not bloody here for him; where is he?”

“He’ll be okay.”

“What did you do?” Panic. She hadn’t expected to hear panic in his voice so quickly. Had he actually cared for him? For Kulsot? For the pretty boy with powerful controlling psionics Omnius could exploit and manipulate? No. Not Omnius. Omnius didn’t have a heart for that. He’s a monster who would never know love. Instead of answering him, she held her dagger firmly in her hands, and lunged.

The two collided against the wall, grappling with each other; Omnius held Liahne’s wrists, trying to keep her from digging that blade deep into his heart. Though even as the point of the knife demanding the most attention in the room, he couldn’t stop thinking about Kulsot. What did Liahne do? How badly hurt was he? Omnius felt weak at all the possibilities; he had to survive this. He had to find Kulsot. He had to help him. He pushed against Liahne, headbutting her head and knocking her back onto Kulsot’s desk. 

Stepping forward to grab Liahne, she quickly recovered and lashed out, cutting his arm. She kept up her flurry, lurching forward to slice at his arms and sides, but Omnius picked up a heavy porcelain figure from a display table and hit her across the head. Liahne stumbled backward, but was not deterred. When he went to smash her again, she kicked him in the stomach, knocking the breath from his body and giving her an opening to act further. 

She grappled the lawyer and shoved her knife deep into his stomach, unconsciously mirroring the wound he had dealt her long ago. In, out, in, out; she stabbed him as many times as she could, and Omnius cried out at every single strike. Teal blood soaked through his clothes and splattered to the floor leaving dark stains on the carpet.

“This is for Stygia,” she twisted the knife in his gut. “This is for her kid,” she kneed him in his bloodied abdomen. “This is for me, and most of all, this is for Rutaci!” One final push, and she shoved him to the floor. 

Omnius gasped, choking, coughing out blood and bile before falling limp. Still. Silent. Liahne glared down at him, then proceeded to kick him in the ribs. When he didn’t react, she felt satisfied with her work and the knife dropped to the floor. She wiped the little bit of blood from her cut lip and spat at the ground next to Omnius. “Rot in hell, honey.”

Easy. Pathetic. Hard, mind-blistering work for all these sweeps, and this was the end? So many nights stewing in the pain of past traumas, and all it took was this? Liahne was surprised to find disappointment pooling where relief should be, but it didn’t matter. She did her job. She avenged Rutaci. Everyone would be safe. Liahne turned to leave without a backward glance– that is, but a familiar ghost appeared with wide eyes and a frazzled expression.

“Stygia? Stygia, we did it–”

“Liahne, look out!!”

Hot pain shot through the back of her ankle, and she found herself collapsing to the floor. Rolling over onto her back, her eyes widened as Omnius loomed over her, eyes tinted red. With the hilt of her knife, he clobbered the side of her head. A loud ringing echoed in her ears as she tried to fight back against him, though this soon proved fruitless; he delivered another blow, this time to her jaw. There was a loud crack upon impact, and Liahne groaned. Another hit, and she realized suddenly she couldn’t see.

“S-Stygia!”

“Shut up!” Omnius’ voice was nothing but a monstrous growl, sounding nothing remotely Trollian. He coughed, blood landing on Liahne’s face. “Shut up! Oh, I should have made sure you stayed dead you wretched bitch!” His hands wrapped around Liahne’s throat and began to squeeze as much as he could. “What did you do to Kulsot?!” Of course, she could not answer. He smacked her face, and began to bash her head against the carpet, which was thin and did not entirely soften the hard floor beneath it. “If he’s fucking dead, IF HE’S FUCKING DEAD.”

“N-No–”

“SHUT UP!”

She clawed at his arms, cried for breath, cried for Stygia, but her voice held no power. Grabbing her knife once again, Omnius let go of her throat and lifted it high above his head. It went in too easy, like a hot knife to butter; a rageful blade to the heart. He twisted it far and deep, her hot blood washing over his hands. He was shaking, snarling, no more than a beast as Liahne choked out her final breaths. He felt her heartbeats slow quickly, letting out a triumphant groan when he finally felt it pull to a stop. This, he knew, would stop her entirely. Nothing can live without a heart.

Exhausted, he pulled himself up and leaned heavily against the wall, smearing Jade and Teal blood all over the expensive wallpaper. He clutched his side as he tried to regain his breath and bearings. He limped around Liahne’s body and nearly fell onto the door that led out into the hallway. He leaned on it, letting the swing of the hinges guide him out into the hallway. “Kulsot!” His voice was weak and cracked, pained, “Kulsot, where are you?!” His gaze landed on a black, white, and red body at the far side of the hall. Whimpers escaped his throat as he lost his strength and fell on his knees, dragging himself to Kulsot’s body. “No no no, not again, not again, please…” He picked Kulsot’s body up in his arms, noticing the slit throat. Ice cold panic flooded his veins; Omnius put his ear to Kulsot’s chest, listening for …

“Thank you,” Omnius sobbed, clinging Kulsot tight to him, “Oh goddesses, thank you.”

He pulled out his cell phone and made some quick dials, “...Quirky? Yes… yes I need your… assistance,” his breathing became more labeled as he spoke. “A Teal and a Red. Triumph Law Firm. Third floor. East wing corner. H-Hurry, o-or I’ll have your head and more.” Another day in the life of the Initiate. How sad. How boring. The same life-threatening adventures Omnius grew weary of. Omnius was confident, at least, that his connections will come– they always do– and he and Kulsot will get the help they need.

After shoving the phone back in his pocket, he ripped part of his dress shirt to wrap Kulsot’s wound. Then, he pulled the unconscious Mutant tighter to him and rested his head on the other’s shoulder as the world began to fade around him. His last thought before the darkness took him over, was that he hoped Soliel would not be cross with him for not picking her up from school on time….

[whispertrolls-archive]

Conflict of Interest, Part 1

Characters: Silene Khorin, Novalx Astera (mentioned), Omnius Dioxal (mentioned, @memurfevur), Rutaci Faurux (mentioned, @/memurfevur), Masuni Astera (mentioned, @/memurfevur)

Synopsis: As an employee in handling imperial intelligence, it’s important to have knowledge on standby. In light of current events, Silene must make a choice.

Word Count: 1,128

I always had my suspicions about the truth.

I’ve known for sweeps that something was amiss, long since before Stygia’s execution. I still think often of how they came to me in the quiet moments, seeking my guidance. They cared so much for Rutaci, and I believe that the same sentiments could have been said in their feelings for Omnius.

She had so much to say, but it seemed that she never could answer her own questions. She was a smart troll, but she seemed as if she would rather try to understand others than to understand herself.

I suppose the events of the recent days have left me reminiscing. Maybe I’m... a little nostalgic. I haven’t been able to stop thinking of any of them- all four of them- ever since the

Silene lifted her quill from the page. Her ears twitched as she glanced upwards towards the hatch. Her heart raced as she listened to the creaking, waiting with bated breath. She wasn’t afraid, not in the slightest, but there was yet more to listen for.

At last, there came the sound of scratching, and Silene stood to answer. A winged, white beast decorated with faint marks of indigo-purple and no smaller than a horse, descended through the hatch and landed before her with a chirp. Its beak clacked together as it rolled its tongue, and tufted ears flicked as it regarded her. The beast stretched as talons and claws tapped against the floor, and feathers and fur fluffed up before Silene brushed them down while she reached with her other arm to close and secure the hatch.

“You’re back,” she breathed in relief as she sat back down. The nights were always dangerous, and every night that her lusus came scratching was never taken for granted. Silene paused again as she reached for her quill. Unease settled in her stomach as she glanced towards her lusus, then she reached out to stroke her feathers again. It was more to self-soothe than to groom, then she watched the lusus turn to walk behind her before she felt a slight tug at her hair. She sighed softly as the beast began to preen her, and she took the opportunity to pick up her quill and gaze over the paper before her.

great fallout came to pass. There was a wild, untamed spark like a wildfire that seemed to blaze through all of them in the ways that they gazed upon one another. They were a fervent group with ideals that swatted through the dark as if they were reaching for the stars themselves. Their ideals were all similar, but their methodology was their downfall. Their modus operandi were what brought them into conflict. Manipulation and betrayal was what came to rule them. Their own paranoia consumed them, and if the recent talk of bounties and murders are any indication, then it may come to be worse yet.

I’ve been sitting on a new set of suspicions for sweeps, now. It was the lack of a corpse of a sought-after war criminal and the sudden uptick in a certain mutant’s bounty that told me everything that I needed to know: Rutaci is alive, implicated in the murders of several government officials and official-adjacents. He must be back in the area, no doubt in search of something that he’s clearly desperate or foolhardy enough to seek so openly.

I would’ve questioned the idea of revenge, had it not been so long ago. Instead, my theory is that it’s something else. I discovered in the registry an employee who caught my eye. A hemoanonymous young man, Masuni Astera, holds office in a nearby mental health facility. I paid a visit to said facility to see for myself, and indeed, he looks strikingly like Stygia. Her descendant, I’m sure, as meek and disarming as his hidden blood would surely allow. The boy seemed baffled, understandably disinterested in his heritage. It would concern me less had I not heard tell of how he held quadratic ties with Dioxal.

And yet, there was another during one of my visits. Dioxal was in the building, and I felt his gaze steeled upon me. I was in the office to seek records for another patient, as is customary to my position, when I chanced upon seeing the boy in question guiding out another troll. Their horns were the same, and I could see in the other that, while they wore a mask across the lower half of their face, their eyes bore an unveiled, vibrant green with rays of gold. Another Astera, I was sure- anonymous in symbol, but their eyes told their story. Omnius stayed close to them as they left in haste.

The Duellist paused in her writing. The gentle tugging ceased as her lusus retreated to lie in her nest, and it was during that silent respite that Silene turned her gaze to the computer on her desk, watching as it extracted lines of data and displayed them before her. That had surely been the young troll she had seen. It had been difficult to find any information on them, but there was no such thing as a nonexistent trail. She sat back, rubbing her eyes in protest of the brightness of her screen as she regarded the information before her: Novalx Astera, aged 13, caste redacted. Hemoanonymity could only get a troll so far in life, but it seemed in the case of Masuni and Novalx that they had managed to somehow survive.

Silene’s bloodpusher ached as if it had been gripped by an icy fist. Even with their face hidden, she could see the similarities. She had with both of them, even in ways that she would’ve never imagined. She remembered how she had threatened to soften when she had seen Masuni meekly hide himself behind his scarf. Ah, so much they had inherited from someone that they never knew. This couldn’t be a coincidence. It may have been far beyond her reach and even farther beyond any right of hers to involve herself in such affairs, but she wasn’t perfect. Until there was news of a body, she knew what needed to be done, if not for Rutaci’s peace, then her own.

It is as I feared. Rutaci is alive, rampaging, and Dioxal clearly has reasons for keeping close to Stygia’s spawn. I must find Rutaci first. I must speak with him before it’s too late. If he falls, then the fours’ collective ambitions will be lost with him. I wish I could say that Omnius himself could be a bearer of those same dreams, but it’s clear to anyone who knew him once that he had lost his way and himself so long ago.

Sempirus vivere tuum veri.

[mogwaei]

[Codex: Glimmer]

The supplicant’s path was a comforting one, 

hemmed with fair gardens, gilded by sun 

Leading to a temple beheld far and wide 

As a symbol of the People's power and pride 

~

Now ages and wars have come and passed, 

The temple's glory forgotten at last

The old path is choked far beneath 

Tangles of vines and depthless grief

~

Yet, in the midst of decay and despair

A glimmer of hope, a glimpse of repair

As a hand reaches to clear the debris

A new path emerges, waiting to be seized

~

The promise is lapsed, the vow no more

This new path offers a chance to explore

Renewed, unbound, free to write their own tale

They need only dare to draw back the veil

Dhrui Lavellan 💛Abelas

(part 2 of my valentine’s💕series)

longfic here: “Ouroboros”

[memurfevur-archive]

Mirror, Mirror

What have yΩu dΩne tΩ me?

He didn't have the energy to talk anymore. He didn't have the energy to keep fighting.

I s/\w the news, /\re you ok/\y?

What have yΩu dΩne?

I don't underst/\nd.

Omnius bit his cheek, becoming angry at himself when a tear blurred a corner of his vision. You! It was you Masuni! You were the one to make me weak, you were the one who made me doubt myself!

And then, as if the Hemoanon could read his mind:

/\re you bl/\ming me for your guilt? Would you like to t/\lk /\bout it?

Still keeping up that professional act... Fine. He'll play along. Of course he's playing along. He's playing along because he still has control over Masuni, of course. He needs it. That control. It's the one thing he can count on in life. His universal constant. His blood. His breath. Who was he without it? He'd be like everyone else, beaten and bruised, bloodied and torn, used. Omnius' throat felt tight and it grew harder for him to suppress his whimpers.

She was suppΩsed tΩ be dead.

It's norm/\l to grieve over losing someone you knew. I did, when it c/\me to you.

I shΩuldn't be grieving. I'm the Ωne whΩ started this.

You're /\ c/\t/\lyst, just like my /\ncestor. Somehow like her you bring out the best in people... by m/\king them go through their worst. Not unlike your own experiences.

Tell me Omnius, does the guilt stem from hurting your p/\st lover, or is it bec/\use when you st/\re into /\ mirror you see Liorre looking b/\ck?

With a scoff, Omnius set his phone on the side table, leaving Masuni on 'read.'

Ridiculous. Wasn't this patient influence? Perhaps Omnius could get him for that, get him for false therapy, get him for--

He deflated deeper into the hospital bed. He had no energy for this, no interest. No fight. He knew there was nothing to fight; all of this was true.

Omnius could feel Liorre laughing at him. In some roundabout way, he knew Liorre had won. Not only did Liorre ruin Kulsot, but he Omnius wrapped around his fingers, too. He wanted to scream at him to shut up, to stop his mockery; he thought Liorre wouldn't find them again when Kulsot had killed him, but the Violet lived comfortably nestled in the thorny remains of Omnius' heart.

And despite how tired her felt, despite the harsh stings of his wounds reopening themselves with every hiccup, the Tealblood cried.

The Initiate could not protect him this time.

[memurfevur-archive]

The Snake Bit More Than He Could Swallow

Character(s): Omnius Dioxal, Athens Uyilst, mentions of Kulsot Amrida and Soliel Laambe (contrastparadoxx)

About: Tension between Kulsot and Omnius finally broke, and Omnius is left to reflect and make some big decisions. Fortunately, a friend comes to comfort him.

Word Count: 991

Omnius stared into the glass of golden whiskey in his hand. He wasn't appearing himself, rather his hair was disheveled and shirt was wrinkled, his collar uneven and his tie undone. He felt just as he had the day Kulsot died: empty, and overcome.

His greed and hubris finally got the best of him. Not the whole of him, no, he wasn't dead yet, though he felt like he was. Both Kulsot and his baby girl Soliel? The hive was too quiet, the bed too cold, and he already missed the sound of Soliel's pencils scratching at a sketchbook. They could be anywhere by now, somewhere on the road, far away from here.

The shards of a mask that Kulsot left behind mocked Omnius. The Teal didn't even get a choice between the mask and his love. The string tied around Kulsot's throat has finally been pulled taught.

This is what you get, he told himself, for loving someone. For being weak and vulnerable.

This was my own damn fault and I know it, he tried to reason back.

It all felt hopeless.

He pulled out his phone, tempted to text Masuni, but what would that do? Therapy won't bring the Mutant back. No matter the progress.

Then he scrolled to Athens' number. Kulsot had loved him, too, had he not? Omnius wondered how their undoing went, if Athens was faring any better than he was. He pressed the phone to his ear.

"Hey 0mni." There was the slightest quiver in the Purple's voice. Omnius sighed, guilty for the relief.

"Athens."

Several moments of silence were shared. The Teal had no energy to keep up his normally charismatic facade, and Athens was ever patient even in his own sorrow. The Purple knew it was Omnius' fault for both of their failed relationships, and he was allowing the other to grieve.

"...Are you available tonight?" Omnius finally spoke after what felt like an eternity.

"I Am."

"Could you please," Omnius had to swallow a lump in his throat. This was not the man he wanted to spend the evening with. He'd much rather it be Kulsot, but it would go without saying that would be near impossible now. "Could you please come... come over?" He paused, hesitated, but then it spilled out from him-- croaked voice and tears and all: "I don't want to be alone." It's dark without his family.

"I'm 0n My Way 0ut The D00r."

"Thank you."

He hung up then and fished in his pocket for something else: a wallet. He opened it, gazed on the pictures of his former matesprit and daughter, and tugged at another photo behind them. It was old and worn, slightly torn, captured in black and white. It was a group photo himself, Rutaci, Liahne, Stygia, and a few others. His eyes lingered on Rutaci, especially.

"Is this how you feel, ole friend?"

A part of him wanted to reach out to the Pyrite, to hold him as he used to hold Kulsot. Maybe, just maybe, there was some possibility for forgiveness, and they could all start again....

No.

He crumpled the photo in his hand, brought it to his lips, and sobbed. The wedding ring in his pocket weighed a little too heavy for his comfort, and the picture felt like he was holding a fist full of needles. Painful items. Painful memories. Painful realizations.

He would have to let Novalx go, get Rutaci's attention and leave them to him. Then leave. Leave Rutaci. Stop chasing his own tail. Let the prey be free. Just leave. Leave. Leave. LEAVE.

Omnius didn't know how long he was sitting there, photo clenched in his hand, his whiskey growing warm. He didn't move until he felt hands on his shoulders, and he quickly jerked out of the way, eyes wide.

"S0rry T0 Startle. Y0u Left The D00r Unl0cked."

Omnius blinked, then looked to the ground, "I did, just in case they--"

"They're N0t C0ming Back. I Kn0w Y0u Have A Hard Time Getting 0ver Things, But Trust Me 0mnius I've Been D0wn This R0ad With My 0wn Sister."

"Th-they're not coming back...?" His eyes shone; wet, pathetic, not at all the man Omnius usually is.

His gaze seemed distant then, as if he was drifting off into a world of his own. You don't need them, said the cold voice in his head. They're taking away your control.

But he didn't want control. He wanted his daughter in his arms. He wanted his man on his lips.

"How did you move on, from your sister?"

Athens eyed him thoughtfully, "I All0wed Myself T0 Feel Hurt. Then I Th0ught 0ver Why She Left. And I Tried S0mething New In My Life."

"Did you ever make peace with the man you used to be?"

"N0," Athens answered, "But I Can Rec0gnize My Willingness T0 Change And C0mpare It T0 What Has Changed, And Kn0w That It Is G00d En0ugh. N0t Perfect. But G00d En0ugh. And Then I D0 It S0me M0re."

He tilted his head in a bird like manner, a motion that had always amused Omnius, "What D0 Y0u Want T0 Change Ab0ut Y0urself?"

"...I want to be a man that Kulsot could want again."

"Mm. Y0u Are Already. But Wanting And Being Are Sadly Tw0 Different Things.

"So what do I do? You've always been better at this... emotion thing, than I have."

"Let Him G0."

This was said in such a way that Omnius was taken aback, as if the 'him' in question were a number of people. Well, perhaps it was; Kulsot, Initiate, Rutaci.... but surely Athens couldn't know the latter two? The Teal looked up at the Lilacblood, startled, but Athens gave no further answer to his question than that.

[memurfevur-archive]

Plots Have Been Going Brrrrrr

[memurfevur-archive]

A Healing Body

This is a re-upload of an old drabble I posted before I deleted my old blog.

Character(s): Rutaci Faurux

About: Rutaci reflects over the weight he’s gained since moving in with Cyclus; he grieves over the past while confidently reclaims what he’s lost.

Themes: body image, weight gain, trauma recovery

Word Count: 1,055

He woke up to a stranger in his hive. Now, this wasn't uncommon; he often brought men home for him and Cyclus to enjoy. This stranger would have met the standard: a chiseled jaw and broad shoulders, well defined muscles, and long lashes to hold an umbrella for those beautiful golden eyes. He seemed strong and fluid, graceful in ways Rutaci was very much used to and yet ever was a stranger to. What caught his attention most were the curves and the weight. How his arms are thicker than before; how there was a slouch to his belly and hip handles to hold. His ribs could no longer be seen.

His throat tightened. If an old friend was here, he'd encourage Rutaci to lose it all. Starve yourself, so others would find you appealing. Exhaust yourself, so others would care about what you say. Rutaci knew he was right: that was the beauty standard, after all, as unrealistic and troublesome as it is, but he also knew that those were views that haunted him like phantoms in the wind. It was certainly easy to depend on a stranger when you're attractive in their eyes. Rutaci lost count of all the people he's slept with just to have a meal and a roof over his head for a day-- or to have enough money to do it all over again.

He wondered: did he really let himself go? He held his belly in his hands. He squeezed his hips and ran his digits over his sides. This was new. He could barely remember the last time he might've held resemblance to this; back on the farm, perhaps? Back when he had a stable life? When he had a lover to hold him-- all of him? This was a shape of happier times, so what did that mean for the present?

Anxiety tingled through him like an electric current. Clashing thoughts and feelings battled deep within. This was good, wasn't it? He had meat on his bones, his ribs had vanished, and he's living in a hive with a quad. He's fed, he's safe; he hid from the Fleet so much that many civilians don't recognize him anymore. He had a job, as temporary as it is most times. Oh, but what would the others think? Do they hide their disappointment through smiles and sarcastic tones? Do they hate him, look upon him with pity and dread? Is he still pleasing to them; is he someone they wouldn't want to abandon? But who are they? Who are the others? He couldn't find a name, but he feared them just the same.

These thoughts were overwhelming. He cowardly came back from the mirror with labored breathing.

A riddle buzzed through his head. Would he hate anyone else with this shape? No. Would he discourage anyone else with this shape? No. Would he love them for it? Yes. So why was it that he'd support others of having some healthy weight to them, yet when it came to his own body he felt disgusted and ashamed?

Could it be possible, a small voice asked, that it was because he asked you to be?

Who?

The one you hate to name.

Rutaci rubbed the bridge of his nose. Damn him. "I let him do this to me," he muttered under his breath. "But I hate to admit it, he had me on a healthier lifestyle." Those words tasted like cotton in his mouth. He looked back at his reflection with a frown.

"...No, no he didn't. I was starving. I was overworked. I became a toy to him and everyone around me. I was told to look like this: a zombie in gold. That's... Not me. None of this is me." His eyes lingered on the gold implants surgically melded into his body. Even some bones were replaced with gold, and needless areas like his grub scars. These things were tender to touch still, and every glance over was a wave of dysphoria he couldn't shake. This isn't him. This isn't his body.

But the weight is.

He tucked his lips into his mouth and bit them trying to stave off the tears that burned his eyes with gasoline. His body quivered as an emotion he couldn't begin to describe rocked him. Was this sorrow? Was this happiness? Was this grief? He couldn't sort through these individual parts. They could only be experienced as a whole. Only there was a problem with that: the whole hurt.

It hurt like a sucker punch to the gut. It hurt as the crushing weight of boulders to his bones. It hurt as if his body was being scraped and picked apart piece by piece with cold and careless hands. It hurt like the loss of a dear friend, someone he knew well yet had slipped from his hands with nothing left behind but silence. The more he felt the whole, the less he was able to hold the whole back. It weakened his walls, it threatened his tears. Before long his body was wracked with quiet sobs and whimpers.

But, in between the calls of distress there was a warm bubble rising within. It was the warmth of cocoa on a winter's night. It was the warmth of a hot bath loosening one’s muscles after a long day at work. It was the warmth of a blanket amidst a storm. It was the warmth of a bowl of soup made tenderly by a moirail when their partner was sick. It was the warmth of laughter after an awkward silence. It was the warmth of relief.

Omnius wasn't here to take it away.

The corners of Rutaci's lips pulled up into a tired smile. It wasn't a joyful expression, but it was an attempt at least to right the wrongs he felt. With puffy eyes and warmed cheeks, he once again looked at himself in the mirror. It was oddly beautiful, the way he looked. It was him. That's him. His body. Nova hasn't run from him yet, and neither has Cyclus. Nor Viktor, surprisingly. Rutaci took a deep, shaky breath. For the first time in a long time, he felt as if Stygia would be proud of him if she were here.

Which gave him a reason to feel proud of himself.

[memurfevur-archive]

its been really hard to write for my trolls since i fell out with a couple friends. theres a couple plots in place but i cant seem to have the oomph to put it together.

im very close in bringing athena back. i need to do one more drabble at least. its just getting myself to do it. motivation has just been so slow and barely existent

Ouroboros Unbound has a direction now, but not a plotted ending, and dealing with that plot anymore just stresses me out anyway

i feel like im not only letting people down but also myself down and its really hard to bounce back lately

[memurfevur-archive]

ive moved most ongoing Big and Named Arc Plots to Toyhouse (Ouroboros Unbound, Telltale, Hide and Seek). I still have more to put up there, and then pages to make for each plot to show characters and writing and what not BUT

BUT

I did something through this sad funk huzzah

[memurfevur-archive]

Ouroboros Unbound

“As he chases his tail, his prey shall be free.”

Breaking the cycles of abuse and finding strength and solidarity with one another; to live but not with chains.

Characters

Rutaci Faurux (memurfevur)

Omnius Dioxal (memurfevur)

Liahne Zaleae (memurfevur)

Masuni Astera (memurfevur)

Novalx Astera (whispertrolls)

Stygia Astera (whispertrolls)

Silene Khorin (whispertrolls)

Aurumi Faurux (whispertrolls)

Ethne Belikova (clown-fuckers-r-us)

Grimm Sallow (clown-fuckers-r-us)

Lysander (clown-fuckers-r-us)

Lindel (misfits-edge)

Check out the currently revealed timeline of events here!

Writing

Check out our collection of one-shot drabbles related to this plot!

Arc 1

When Fear Was Mistaken as Rage [n/a; needs rewrite]

Replay

Ouroboros

Mistake

A Healing Body

Arc 2

Learn His Face, Know His Name

For The Best

To Start A Fire (part 1) [n/a; needs rewrite]

Luck of the Draw

To Start A Fire (part 2)

Steps

Old Flames

Therapy

The Puppet Master’s Strings

Conflict of Interest (part 1)

Skinny Love

[memurfevur-archive]

Old Flames

Character(s): Rutaci Faurux, Liahne Zaleae, mentions of Stygia Astera (@whispertrolls)

Summary: Rutaci and Liahne confront their messy past.

CW: brief mention of blood, brief mention of r*pe, mentions of abuse, mentions of cheating, characters arguing, mentions of a dead body

Word Count: 2,484

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Luck is rarely fateful, Rutaci learned this long ago. There’s a reason to everything, even if it is never as it seems. What stood before him was not Lady Destiny, no spiritual force or fate. What stood before him was a liar of love, a thief of hearts, a traitor sided with the enemy. There’s a reason why she’s here, Rutaci knew; but it made the encounter no less surprising.

Liahne stood in the doorway of a dead man’s bathroom, one foot over the threshold and the other behind. She wore her hair down tonight, curly locks cascading over her back and shoulders. She wore a long black coat, and a cloth mask was pulled down and bunched around her neck. She was beautiful, dark, mysterious, a style Rutaci was not accustomed to seeing with her. He knew better, however; these were stealth clothes.

“What are you doing here?”

Liahne seemed to let out a quiet breath, “The same as you.” She gestured to the Cerulean that Rutaci had tied to the chair, questioned, and killed. “To get information, but it seems you’ve beaten me to it.”

“What for?” Rutaci sniffed disdainfully, the shock of seeing her slowly being replaced by a wave of anger.

“To find Omnius.”

“Find him? Aw, did your lover accidentally let go of the leash?” Rutaci grabbed a spare hand towel from the cabinet and wiped the blood off his hands and face. Though this reunion had just begun, he was ready for it to be over. “You can go and tell him that you saw me, maybe it’ll finally strike fear into that bastard. Or, better yet, tell me where he is so I can kick his ass.”

“It’s not like that, Rutabaga, I—”

“Do not,” Rutaci’s eyes flashed to her, a fire burning in hateful yellow. “Use that name with me, ever again.”

Liahne fell silent and she looked away, eyes falling onto an empty space in the room. Though there was nothing there, the look in her eyes spoke of desires to be encouraged, reassured, but ultimately her shoulders slumped in defeat. She looked back at Rutaci, “I’m not with Omnius anymore.”

“Bullshit.” He moved past Liahne and into the living room beyond, roughly bumping shoulders with her. A flicker of ire and disbelief shadowed her features as she watched him walk into the kitchen and open the deceased Cerulean’s liquor cabinet. Finding a bottle of whiskey, he poured himself a shot.

It was then that Liahne got a good look of him. Much of him has changed from the last she had seen him so many sweeps ago. Scars littered his body in places she hadn’t remembered them being, including large indentations on either side of his face: the seat here golden skin grafted designs used to be. His hair began to frost at the tips with age, and permanent bags hung under his eyes. Most noticeably, though, was the weight he had gained; he was almost unrecognizable. She once again glanced to an empty space, looking to someone that Rutaci could not see. A ghost, the spirit of Rutaci’s late moirail. Liahne wasn’t sure how often Stygia was able to see Rutaci, or how long it has been since; as Stygia watched Rutaci with a long sorrow in their eyes, Liahne wondered if these changes were new to her, too.

“So, what did he tell you?” Liahne sighed, crossing her arms. Rutaci briefly glanced at her but said nothing. “Oh, come on, you wouldn’t have killed him if he didn’t give you what you needed.” The Pyriteblood remained silent, looking straight ahead as he downed another shot. Frowning, Liahne across from Rutaci on the other side of the kitchen island that separated it from the living room. She placed her palms flat on the counter, leaning in, forcing Rutaci to look at her. “I am trying to help, Ru. He screwed me over, too, and I want him dead just as much as you. I’ve been trying to hunt him down.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“We can work together on this! We’re after the same thing!”

“And how can I trust a single word you say?” Rutaci’s face grew bright yellow as a small flame started to dance along his shoulder. “You slept with him, Liahne! You slept with him behind my back; I lost you when I needed you.”

“We had both slept with him, at the same time even, and you had been just fine then.”

“He made us do it! For his stupid mind games! But you’re the one who kept seeing him. You’re the one who lied to me, then when it all came to light you broke down crying begging me not to be angry with you for betraying me. Begging me for you to be with Omnius. Begging me to sit by while I watch what was my moirail make love to the Troll I wanted to spend my entire life with. I flushed for you, Liahne, and it fucked me up.”

“You couldn’t have,” Liahne shook her head. “With all those Trolls you were sleeping with and spending more time in that council than you were with me.”

“You!” Rutaci gritted his teeth. “We both talked about what needed to be done. I didn’t want to, Liahne! I hated it, I hated that life, I hated myself, but Omnius kept pushing and pushing and pushing. You said it was okay. You told me it was fine. We both agreed it was to advance this stupid social game we didn’t even know we were losing!

“I hated every fucking moment of the entire operation. Why, yes, Liahne, I would love to have my body ripped open and my bones be replaced with metal.  I love not being under any anesthesia! I love being belittled and convinced that I need to please others to survive. I love being isolated away from my friends, why, I never fucking missed them one bit! No! Why would I? It’s not like I spent my entire wrigglerhood growing up with them! I love sitting in a room full of strangers I don’t know, I love hearing them talk about killing the people we were supposed to have been protecting just because they told a bad joke or were too poor to pay rent on time. I loved being hurt and bled and choked just to fulfill another’s sexual fantasy in which I could never say no to no matter how much I tried. So, yes, Liahne, I loved all these people but you; I slept around with all these people with your permission because I was just having the time of my life! Makes sense, doesn’t it? And while all of that was happening, that asshole whispered lies into your damn ear so you would run off with him, leave me alone, and allow Omnius to play with his favorite little toy however he pleased.”

One shot. Two shots more. Liahne watched him down the harsh brown drink with sadness. Even Stygia was pulling their cloak tighter around themself.

“So, give me a reason why I should take your word for this. Give me a reason why I can believe that you’re here to gut him and not to spy on me.”

Silence and tension mingled in the air like cigarette smoke, so thick that it was hard to breathe, and yet it held no murky fog at all. The two could see each other just fine; they stared each other down, waiting for words to wave the smoke away. It was strange how words can mean so much and so little. Words were what got them into this mess, a power play of tongue shapes, lip movements and hisses. Yet, words were still never enough; Liahne knew that if she kept insisting the truth, the more Rutaci would be in denial. Words would not clear away this smoke; rather, it would circulate it back in again.

Liahne’s skin grew paler by the second until it became a bright white. A soft glow emanated from her body, a sharp contrast against the dark colors she wore. Somehow, she took on an even larger aura of beauty, an effect that was silent and deadly, as if the glow itself was an aphrodisiac luring prey to the fly trap. Her fangs, when seen, seemed sharper than the last time she opened her mouth. Yet, they weren’t as sharp as the words that came out of her mouth, “He killed me, Rutaci.”

Rutaci blinked, “What?”

“I found out the truth, and he killed me. Now I’m seeking him out for me, for us, for everyone he got killed.”

Rutaci rubbed his eyes with an exhausted sigh; even though she’s standing right in front of him, unexpected grief clutched his chest.

“I need to do this. I need you to believe, no, know that I’m on your side. We can all work together on this.” Liahne nodded to Stygia’s ghost, who had remained silent all this time—not that Rutaci would be able to see or hear anyway.

A moment of silence passed, then Rutaci tossed pressed the shot glass to his head. “So, let me get this straight. You’re helping now because you died.”

“I… yes?”

“Your death was the final straw. Not when he convinced you that I’m some terrible guy. Not when he had me undergo literal torture. Not when he had my moirail burn alive.”

Liahne narrowed her eyes, then looked at Stygia quizzically.

“But the line to cross, was killing you.”

“Rutaci, I hadn’t known what he was up to back then,” Liahne admitted. “He killed me because I found out.”

“He hurt me, and you stood by and watched.” There it was: a crack in his voice. His walls were tumbling, his lip trembling. The world felt heavier when Liahne spotted the well of tears forming in his eyes. “You did nothing, and then ran to his arms when I couldn’t hold you in mine.”

Liahne closed her eyes trying to keep back her own tears. He was right. She could have done something, should have done something, anything. She inhaled with a shaky breath, “Rutaci, these are daymares that haunt me constantly. I was wrong to treat you like that, and it’s something I carry with me every night. I will never be so foolish as to ask you for forgiveness. I loved you but chose to believe a version of you that contradicted everything that I’ve been through with you. I was scared, I felt alone. We both got in over our heads, bending to Omnius’ will, because we trusted him for it. He was the one with a plan, but his plan destroyed the one thing that meant the most to me: us. But I chose him. I went with him, and that’s my fault and mine alone. Rutaci, I am so, so sorry.”

Rutaci stood against the counter, head down, staring into the marble pattern of its surface. He looked as if he’s aged an extra ten sweeps. So tired. So worn down. “I’m still flushed for you, Liahne,” he said, his voice low, barely over a whisper.

“I am, too.”

“But all of this doesn’t change a thing.”

“I know.”

“You want to help?”

“Yes, more than anything.”

“Then stay out of my life, please.”

Liahne swallowed a lump in her throat. Hot globs of tears flowed down her cheeks like rivers. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Rutaci’s brows pulled closer together, “What the hell do you mean you can’t?”

“I made a promise,” Liahne said. “I made a promise to look after you.”

“Who?”

“Ru, I—”

Rutaci slammed his fist on the counter, scaring the Jadeblood back a few steps. “Gog damn it Liahne, who?”

“Stygia.”

“Stygia.”

“Yes,” Liahne licked the tears off her lips. “To her spirit, which still lingers. We’ve made a pact, her and I, she’s with me. Here. Now. She’s standing next to you.”

“Liahne.”

She started becoming a little more frantic, “The dead can see the dead, Rutaci; she’s here, believe me, please.”

“That’s enough.”

“We’re both trying everything in our power to bring him down.”

“Liahne, that is enough,” Rutaci scowled at her, causing Liahne to cease in her rambling. He briefly looked away, biting his lip in thoughtful disappointment. She could tell he didn’t believe her. “Stygia is dead. She has been dead for seven sweeps. And I would appreciate if you stopped fucking with me like this.”

“I’m not lying to you, Ru.”

“Look,” Rutaci leaned on the island counter, his hands clasped together. “I’m not here just because I’m angry at some jerk. I’m here for my descendent, who is, to be frank, the only reason why I choose to be alive. If you want to help so much, help me look for my kid.”

Liahne nodded, “I promise. I promise I will help.”

Rutaci rubbed his temples, nursing the beginning of a headache. The alcohol wasn’t helping. “You should rest,” the Jadeblood suggested. “We’ll go over new plans early tomorrow.”

“You’ll be here?”

“Well, yeah,” Liahne shrugged, wiping the tears from her face so she could dry. “I came all this way to get information. You’re the only one between us who knows anything.”

“Whatever. I’ll take the couch.”

---------

Rutaci stared up at the ceiling as he lied on his back. He couldn’t sleep, not with Liahne here even if she was in a different room for today. Too much was on his mind, making it hard to think. He needed to return hive and let Cyclus know he’s okay. A night spent with the Purpleblood was well needed, but he couldn’t see himself looking forward to it. Not now. Not while Liahne slept in the other room.

He sighed as he traced patterns over the roughed ceiling with his eyes. There were hearts and stars, faces, and fruits. He even saw an owl up there, or as close to an owl as dried paint would allow. His thoughts turned to Liahne’s exclamation of Stygia’s ghost. That wasn’t possible, was it, for ghosts to linger for so long?

“Uh, Styg?” he spoke, his voice slightly hoarse. He cleared his throat, “Hey, Birdie, if you’re there. I, uh, I miss you.” He couldn’t get those last few words out without choking back tears. “Uh, well, Nova’s got your stubbornness,” he tried smiling, though it was short lived. “I wish you could see them. They’re shy, but quirky, dorky; they’ve taught me a lot, ya know. Everyday I had seen a part of you in them.” He wiped tears from his eyes with his blanket, then placed one hand behind his head. “I hope the Afterlife ain’t too boring there, just hold on tight for me, a’ight?”

He rolled over onto his side facing the back cushions of the couch. “Alright. Catch ya later, Birdie.”

[memurfevur-archive]

Steps

Character(s): Rutaci Faurux, npc

About: Rutaci manages to track down one of Omnius’ men and interrogates him, though he had not expected a surprise guest to show up.

Words: 2,216

CW: water torture, choking, interrogation, drowning, character death

A/N: This is a drabble written months ago of the most recent event in the Ouroboros Unbound plot line. Ouroboros Unbound is still on hiatus as of posting this (6/24/22); the arrival of this post should not be confused with current events and relationships otherwise seen on this blog. I am trying to catch up with the lore that I had lost before its deletion. Thank you!

==================================================

He left early that morning with nothing left behind but a kiss on top of Cyclus' head. He didn't tell him where he'd gone, didn't bother to give any indication of his intentions. Instead, he left a little note that detailed nothing more than he'll be back later. If he gave any reason, he was sure the rational minds if his loved ones would call out to stop him. Rutaci had no time to be rational.

Wrapped in a sun-shielded cloak, he had made it to the train station in time. He knew not what gargoyles loomed over this city, but he knew of ones with names in the town over. Ole familiar stone forged back in the day when his gold remained untarnished. Back in the days before history was written and Rutaci became just another facet of its lies. He was careful not to let anyone see his face, and when the train hissed its stop not even a flinch rocked his body as he stepped into the spider's web. With enough luck, he'll be back on that train in three days' time.

Three days. That's all the time he'll spare.

The gargoyle was an old friend. Enemy. Acquaintance. Rutaci wasn't so sure of his old social circle anymore. Too many were wrapped around the spider king's thumb to be reliable. All the spider needed to do was whistle and the gargoyles would attack and spill every nasty secret they know while the spider stayed upon his throne under their shadows. How many gargoyles knew he was back, he wondered. How many gargoyles already know of his plans, how many have whispered into the spider's ear? Over the sweeps, Rutaci never bothered to check, that life long behind him. He was a fool.

But he was a fool with insight. He knew some of how the system worked. He used to be a part of it, after all; a thin line in the web, now broken and drifting in the wind.

First step: find the gargoyle.

Second step: follow it, learn it, study it.

Third step: ensnare it in a web of Rutaci's own design.

Fourth: kill it and leave.

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Amatio Bryran. Cerulean. 6'2. A man with a lot to say and little to show. Someone who finds joy in the luxury of cigars burning his lungs. Descendant of the ole friend, though living his ancestor's life breath for breath. Willing participant, too eager to be part of the web-- must be expecting spoils. He never knew the meaning of no. Never knew the meaning of mouth wash, neither.

Rutaci sat on the rim of Amatio's bathtub, hands clasped and resting against his mouth. His eyes stayed trained on Amatio, who was currently unconscious and bound to a small wooden chair.

For being someone who reports directly to Omnius, Amatio didn't live very securely. It was too easy to lock pick, too easy to go unnoticed, too easy to hide in. Rutaci half expected for there to be some sort of catch, but he guessed little Amatio here wasn't as loved by Omnius as he initially assumed. Lucky him. Rutaci would have killed for that pleasure. Though, perhaps Rutaci shouldn't take such luck for granted; after all, Omnius probably didn't keep Amatio's friends away from him, and he left him enough alone that he has not a clue as to what Rutaci was about to do to his ever useful gargoyle.

The more Rutaci thought about it the more anger boiled in his veins.

Groggy groans from his captive snapped him out of his thoughts. Amatio blinked up at him through a haze. The man jerked, but soon found himself bound to the chair. When he realized this and spotted the giant sitting on the edge of his bathtub, whimpers of panic started to fill the air. Rutaci scowled, "Enough."

"Wh-who are you? I don't... Ah, wait, no, you're the one," Amatio tried his damned best to cover up his fear. The recognition of Rutaci was certainly not a surprise, though the fact he was in Amatio's hive was. Dangerous. Too close. This wasn't in Amatio's pay grade. He tried to crack a grin, feigning the confidence he didn't have, "What a lovely surprise! You're just delivering yourself upon his doorstep now, aren't you?"

"Where is he?"

"Why would I tell you?"

"'Cause if ya don't there's no way in the thirteen hells they will ever find your body."

"Ooh, how intimidating. And cliche."

Rutaci fixed him with a cold glare that immediately drained the color from Amatio's face. When Rutaci pushed himself up from the tub, Amatio followed him out the door with his eyes. "Hey, hey! What're you doing?!" He waited impatiently as he heard thuds and shuffling in his kitchen, knowing perfectly well that his question will continue to be unanswered. Any conclusion he came to in his head weren't at all pretty. "There's nothing out there, ya know. As you can tell I can't really afford much in this dingy place." Still, only silence, and he knew all too well Rutaci wasn't here to rob him. His intentions were made perfectly clear before.

Amatio's question finally was answered when Rutaci slunk back into the bathroom with a pitcher of water in his hand. The Cerulean blinked in uncertainty, then gave Rutaci a wild smirk, "What're ya gonna do with that? Bathe me--"

Rutaci's free hand collided with the other's throat. His fingers curled around, squeezing, and cutting off Amatio's words with nothing more than a short wet gurgle. The look on Rutaci's face was borderline fury, though his expression was mostly stilled and unmoving. How could someone look so emotionless yet emotional at the same time? Whatever the answer was, Amatio slowly got the feeling he shouldn't push it too much.

"You're going to tell me about the Initiate," Rutaci growled. He loosened the pressure around Amatio's throat.

"You think you're the only one who's done this before? Trying to pinpoint the guy? You know how many people have interrogating folks like me, and failed to reach him?" Another cocky smirk. "You have no idea who you're messing with, Bud."

Fingers snaked their way back onto Amatio's throat, constricting even tighter than last time and cutting off his breath. Amatio's eyes widened as he came to recognize the unrelenting rage building in Rutaci's eyes. Feral anger. He wanted to hurt. He wanted to kill, and Amatio knew he was no friend of his. No one would know. No one would care. Rutaci wouldn't regret a damn thing. Of course, but what did Amatio expect? This was the same man who betrayed the government, who murdered another council member in cold blood, disrespecting his moirail. And he, Amatio, was allied with his moirail.

Little did he know that ship sank long ago before the fires were ever lit. Truth. Always a fickle thing, so dependent on one's point of view. Is there ever really a real truth out there? One without corruption of opinion, without belief? Just cold, and unfeeling? Immoral truths?

Right when Amatio's vision started fading to black, Rutaci let go of his throat. Amatio gasped for air, gulping it in like a parched man in a desert oasis. Rutaci watched him coldly, like he was studying, watching, waiting for something. Amatio shot him glares.

"Are you going to tell me anything about him?"

"No." Amatio knew if he spilled anything about the Initiate, a fate worse than death would follow. What could Rutaci give him that would be just as bad? He was hatched into this. He wasn't the one who formed the ties with the Initiate. He was just there for the ride, leeching off of what his ancestor had started. Death would be a release, a nice little break.

With a grunt, Rutaci forced Amatio's head back and jabbed a funnel into his mouth. Amatio hummed in surprise, the realization dawning on him what Rutaci meant to do. Amatio tried turning his head away, struggling in Rutaci's strong grasp, but it was futile. The Pyriteblood's large hands anchored Amatio's face still, jaw closed and clenched. Amatio glanced at the pitcher of water Rutaci had brought in, sitting threateningly on the counter of the bathroom sink. His chest heaved as panic took him. How did he know? How did he know his history with...?

Despite Amatio's desperate muffled pleas, Rutaci grabbed the pitcher. But he didn't pour. Not yet.

"One last chance before it begins." Amatio let out an involuntary whimper when he saw bubbles forming in the water. Was Rutaci heating the pitcher? Steam soon started to trickle out of the spout. Oh Gog. Oh fuck. "Will you talk?"

Silence.

With a quick flick of movement, scorching water was being funneled down Amatio's throat. The Cerulean tried to scream, but the water forbade it. His esophagus was quick to burn, and he felt it travel agonizingly down his body. He bucked, he squirmed, he cried with tears rolling down the sides of his face. He was drowning. Again. He was drowning again in the pits of hell. His stomach clenched.

When the water finally finished filtering through the funnel, and Amatio was able to breathe again, Rutaci removed the funnel and placed the pitcher back on the counter. Amatio whimpered, though every sound brought a wince to his face. Every swallow brought nothing but pain. He gazed upon Rutaci with fear plastered on his face.

"I, I don't know anything."

"Bullshit," Rutaci spat. "You report directly to him, you're one of his little fucking spiders. One in his pack of rats. Now tell me where he is."

"I don't," Amatio's face twisted in pain, his voice agonizing to force out. It felt like a thousand tiny claws punctured his throat. His lungs. "I don't report to him, that was my ancestor. He doesn't trust me enough, I guess. I'm just a new guy!" Any raise in volume sent him whimpering and shaking, but low volumes forced him to cough-- a whole new level of torture. "I have to, have to report to somebody else!"

"Who do you report to?"

Nothing but whimpers and sniffling sobs.

"I said, who do you report to?"

"Go to the Dark Carnival, man."

The pitcher steamed so hard there may as well been a fire inside. Amatio sobbed as Rutaci forced his face into position, pouring even hotter water in. Amatio couldn't hold back the scream, though this caused him to choke and cough as the water kept spiraling down. What splurged out of the funnel from his coughing and heaving splattered on his face, burning the untouched skin. He couldn't breath. His insides were on fire. Everything was so hot it felt like ice, a deep penetrating coldness. On his face. In his lungs. His stomach. His throat. He swore his skin was melting off his bones. Soon, the water was tainted with a lightest hue of blue. Rutaci then ripped the funnel out of his mouth and forced Amatio upright; the water that had been left in his mouth poured and dribbled from his lips, burning the skin of his throat and chest, his lap. The slightest sheen of blood on his coated his mouth.

It was almost satisfactory, Rutaci thought. This crying, trembling mess, heavy with sweat and weeping with blood because of him. There was sweet release in such a sight, as if this was what he needed all along. A way to let it all out. A way to... Hurt, like he had been-- and who better to shatter than someone he never knew? Someone so insignificant to him that the repercussions wouldn't matter. Oh, but it would be that much better if it was *him,* the spider king. The Initiate. Omnius. This wouldn't be the end. It won't be the last time. No, not until Omnius is found. Not until it was *him* sitting in that chair, begging for breath, sobbing. Because of him.

"Okay," Amatio croaked as more blood drooled from his mouth. "He's this--" an untimely interruption by a fit of coughs. "He's this clown, big guy. Runs a church, he--" More coughing. A spittle of his blood landed on Rutaci's face. Rutaci didn't mind.

"What's his name?"

More coughing. Whimpering. With a growl, Rutaci slammed his fist into Amatio's cheek. The Cerulean's shoulders shook with soundless sobs as he slowly turned back to his captor.

"WHAT IS HIS FUCKING NAME?!"

"Please..."

"I didn't ask for your pleading." Rutaci grabbed the pitcher again. "I asked for his name."

"Abbaedon!" Amatio wailed as Rutaci hooked his fingers around his jaw. Rutaci paused. "H-his n-name is Abbaedon. H-he works the confessional, at his church. Big dog. He's involved with the Court."

The Clown Court. Of course Omnius would interfere there. Control the clowns, and you control Alternia. Rutaci frowned.

"Th-there. There! I gave you what you asked! J-just let m-me go."

"No."

There was a sickening snap of bone in Amatio's neck. His head lay limp. Twisted, but limp. Rutaci scoffed, "Dead men can't tell where I've been."

"No but they give one hell of an indicator."

Rutaci froze in his place. That voice...

He spun around, his heart lodging in his throat. Could his eyes deceive him? Surely there was no way.... "Liahne?"

[memurfevur-archive]

To Start A Fire (part 2)

Character(s): Rutaci Faurux, mentions of Omnius Dioxal, mentions of Akidis Mitaze and her kids (goddesstrolls)

About: Rutaci heads to a friend’s house in a time of need, but finds instead a shocking discovery and the seed of vengeance.

Word Count: 918

CW: blood

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Rutaci held no consciousness as he walked; everything was automatic, even the nighttime birds in the trees seemed more like a recording. He could only watch his feet move, feet that didn't feel like his. He was in another world, another body, looking from the inside out. He didn't know where they were taking him. He didn't bother to check in and ask.

A flicker of movement from the corners of his eyes caught his attention. He paused, scoping out a rabbit in the midst of some vegetation. A garden. Akidis' garden. So that's where he has gone. He learned long ago not to mess with those rascally rabbits, after discovering how brutal they could be for a quick snack. He cringed at the memory of their sharp claws and powerful kicks. He was amazed that Akidis never thought lowly of him after that.

The thought of the pretty Cerulean woman brought his troubled heart to ease. She was ever so gentle and soft, compassionate and kind; natures that so often made him smile and fill his head with confusion. In every movement she made, in every word she spoke, all he could think of was how beautiful she was. In rare moments he'd catch a glimpse of her scars when her bangs would fail to cover it whole, and he would wonder why she would hide them as they did little to detract from her grace and kindness. He admired her way of living. Her wisdom. Her laugh. Oh, to see her laugh was enough to put his soul to rest and ascend to the heavens.

Deep down he knew they were friends, and that friends would be all that they would ever be. But he could dream; he could wish that, perhaps someday, he'd lay beside her happy. He could hold her in his arms and never have a reason to let go.

If the memory of Liahne would permit it.

But none of this would be, and for that he was more than content in playing the role of an ear to listen and a tongue to talk if she ever needed it. He would do nothing to advance anything. That was her choice and hers alone, and the decision was already made a while ago. Still, the thought of seeing Akidis and even the ever intimidating Pheira brought warmth to these cold and metallic bones.

He should have brought some pie to break the suddenness of his visit.

Her hive came into view, stopping Rutaci dead in his tracks. The door was broken open, and cerulean blood stained every patch he could see. The world fell silent save for a loud ringing in his ears. The very sight of the hive brought a terrible feeling to his gut, but shock refused to let him move. He shouldn't be here. Every fiber of his being told him that he shouldn't.

"Akidis?!" He broke the paralysis and tore off into a sprint, ignoring his intuition. He ran into the kitchen, the smell of blood and the ice cold feeling of fear tunneling his vision narrowly. No one was there. He hurried to the living room, the upstairs, the various room of this little cottage hive, and no matter how many times he pleaded for an answer, nothing came. He stepped back outside, eyes frantically scanning over the near distant pasture. He could find no sign of any of the Mitazes.

He leaned against the wall which had a heavy splatter to it, as if a corpse had been here just a moment prior. He clenched his jaw, trying to will the tears back as too many had already been spilled in this short of a time. What happened here?! His chest heaved and his lungs gulped in burning air way too fast. He coughed, a feeling of hopelessness overtaking him. He slowly slid to the ground.

Liahne.

Stygia.

Pyriti.

Novalx.

Akidis and her kids.

How many more will he lose?

Numbness allowed the sorrow and grief to dance in his veins. He lost her. He lost her, Pheira, and Suhari. And to whom? Who would do such a thing? For a moment, he feared that Omnius and his men had gotten them. Surely, they had to have? Why else would they be targeted, and so brutally bled? Their corpses were gone, kidnapped? Taken to somewhere else to bleed out? Rutaci ran his hands through his hair, unable to keep back the anger that toned his sobbing.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" A scream tore from his throat and echoed into the empty black skies above. "I'M HERE! I'M HERE YOU BASTARD! TAKE ME! LEAVE... leave them alone..." He looked up to the moons, his face twisted from emotions even grief couldn't capture.

He'll make him pay. This is the line he crossed, Rutaci had let Omnius go on with this long enough. How many other trolls did he have under his wing, torturing and exploiting? How many others were just like him, hopeless and defeated? Rutaci's lip curled. No. Rutaci wouldn't be so helpless, not anymore.

He pushed himself off the ground and wiped the tears from his face. Looking over his shoulder at the hive, he shook his head slightly and closed his burning eyes. Though vengeance burned in his veins, it wasn't enough to overpower the heartache. He sighed, "I should have told you, Akidis." Righting himself, he clenched his fists and began to walk away.

"I should have told you."

[memurfevur-archive]

Ouroboros

Character(s): Rutaci Faurux, mentions of Liahne Zaleae, mentions of Stygia Astera (@whispertrolls)

About: Rutaci returns to his roots to end it all, but finds light in the shadow of a friend.

Word Count: 2,309

CW: depression, suicidal tendencies/attempts, suicidal ideation, starvation

===========================================================

It took a lifetime to go back to the beginning.

Perhaps his feet just knew the way all along. He surely didn't mean to end up here. What do they say? All roads lead to Trome?

Rutaci's legs wobbled as he willed himself to step onto the estate. Doing so was like walking into a time capsule. The breeze still created familiar creeks in the ole windmill. The grass still crunched under foot, the apple tree still provided rudimentary shade; there was still standing water in the open barrels and troughs, now a breeding ground for insects. The fields still lay where they were, though the crops were now gnarled and withered, yellowed and browned and hardly recognizable from sweeps of neglect. The silos and wheelbarrows were rusted. The wood of the hive had some remnants of paint left, trying desperately to hold onto the cute summer hive aesthetic Rutaci and Liahne had tried so hard to maintain against the elements. The wind chimes still hung from the porch, twinkling a lonely tune.

He trudged on, numbing himself so the memories wouldn't come.

The wooden boards of the porch creaked heavily under his step. Old and warping from age, they weren't used to supporting a grown man with metal in his body. Rutaci ran his hand over the screen door, feeling the texture of time at his fingertips. There was a sigil on the door, a trident spray painted in red.

The Empire's brand to let others know that this location was on a watch list.

The door whined as he opened it and stepped inside, ignoring the warning.

At least inside the hive didn't look as run down and decrepit. True, dust layered every bit of furniture that inhabited the place, and a patch in the ceiling where it leaked wouldn't hurt, but otherwise it was a humble and homely abode. The screen door opened up to an unspectacular kitchen with wooden cabinets, thin lace curtains over the window above the sink, and rotted fruit that was no more than a measily core lay forgotten in a bowl. There was a small table to the side that had once been used for extra preparation room as well as dining. Rutaci could still make out the worn rings that were left behind by hot dinner plates and sweating cups filled with lemonade.

Beyond the kitchen lie the living room. It was a small space shaped like an L. A small TV set stood at one end of the L with cushioned chairs and a floral-print sofa to keep it company. To Rutaci's left was the other end of the living room where bookshelves holding tomes of agricultural knowledge and tables showcasing aged vintage knick-knacks lined the way to both the basement and the respite blocks.

Framed pictures peppered the walls; many of them being of himself and Liahne and whoever was within their friend circle at the time. His eyes scanned over these. There was the one with him and Liahne fishing down at the lake-- or attempted to. Rutaci's a horrible fisherman, meanwhile Liahne had been able to catch a huge three-eyed catfish Lusus that day. They may have orphaned some unfortunate Troll-- but hey, the dinner had been good. A small frame held a sneak shot of Rutaci and his Lusus napping in the hay of the barn, clearly Liahne's work. Another picture was of Rutaci with some drinking buddies on one of their poker nights. The basement had been a popular social room on days where Rutaci and the others weren't tending to the farm-- and later, a meeting place for unruly rebels.

On the mantle nearest the TV were more framed pictures. What was special of this one was that it was a group photo of some of the rebels. It seemed that the circles under Rutaci's eyes grew darker as he gazed upon the familiar faces-- some who had been best friends and some who had been quadrants. His eyes lingered on one man in particular. Angled features that sported a youthful face, warm and inviting, with a sly smile that always gave away that there was something cooking up in his thinkpan; patterned horns in the shape of Lipio's curves and points; soft teal eyes that spoke deep within you, telling you that you were the most special Troll in the world to them, the best moirail, and how he was only one in the world who could really understand you....

Rutaci flipped the frame down, burying the past from his sight.

The hallway that led to the respite blocks wasn't anything spectacular. A pot of dying house plants sat in the corner, its leaves littering the floor. Just ahead was the basement and bathroom, and on either side of the hall was a single respite block-- a guest room often used for storage, and then Liahne's and Rutaci's old room.

There was something hollowing gazing into the space that he and his past lover shared countless intimate nights in. The recuperacoon was empty with bits of slime crusted on the edges, its contents long since evaporated. A dresser stood to one side, and a small closet on the other. It was very clear who had claimed what side of the room; Liahne's, to the left, showed a collection of worn and dusty stuffed plushies mimicking various Lusii. She never had a Lusus of her own, she had told him once, and so she had liked to pretend those were the parental creature's watching over her; nevermind the fact that Bullpecula became just as much her Lusus as it was his. Rutaci's side, on the other hand, sported a variety of farming tools and mud-caked clothing. Hardly anything silly, as he was more about business and realistic goals than Liahne ever was.

Rutaci somberly stalked to his recuperacoon side table and picked up a small plush that resembled his Lusus: a fox with bull horns and back hooves. Bullpecula. Liahne had made this herself for an anniversary present once. Around its neck was a psuedo-gold bracelet with a heart-shaped locket. Clicking open the charm revealed a small image of the two Trolls and their animal friend. With a sigh, Rutaci hugged the plush to him, ignoring it's musky scent and the dust that covered the synthetic fur. Of all his possessions, of all the gold he carried in his body, this one treasure was priceless.

He retreated to the recuperacoon and sat on the floor with his back pressed against the chamber.

He could die here, he thought. He could waste away the days and nights until there was nothing left to him. Perhaps it was about time for such a conclusion for his story. Why not? Wouldn't it be better than to remain a puppet? Let the grave robbers take his ruined bones; his hope and livelihood had already been taken sweeps ago. There was nothing left for him to live for.

And so a day passed. Two. Three. He tried to will himself to keep still, to ignore the hunger pains raking deep within. Rutaci had tried to go a quicker route. A noose waited for him in his respite block. He had held knives to his person, cursing the fact that his wrists were bound with metal, and having enough anxiety to avoid his throat or midsection. He had filled the bathroom sink with water, but of course no unbound body would allow itself to drown. Why, then, wouldn't he let himself kick the bucket, so to speak? He doubted he truly wanted to live. Perhaps it was only cowardice that spared his life?

Ironically, cowardice would not be the thing to take it, either.

"I'm so sorry," he muttered to no one. Rutaci laid on his back, his legs propped against the recuperacoon. He slid his hands over his face tiredly. "I'm so sorry for everything." His hands clenched his hair between his horns, his lips pulled back in a grimace as a headache summoned tears to his eyes. "I shouldn't have said yes. I should have listened to you, my flower. I'm sorry, I wasn't enough, I failed you. I failed Birdy. I failed all those I swore to help..." The smell of singed hair filled the room. Tears stung the back of his eyes, spilling onto his scarred cheeks. "And nothing I could ever do will make it okay."

The sun peaked over the horizon and unfurled its long serpentine rays uninvited through Rutaci's window. In the dimness of dawn light, long shadows were cast on the walls, making funny shapes that borderlined sentient and living. Rutaci watched as these shadows jittered back and forth before his exhausted eyes. He couldn't hear them, but they answered every unspoken question in his head with so much as a bounce and a wriggle. The movement made him feel dizzy and he curled in on himself, holding his head. One shadow looked almost Troll-like, having a body made of a lamp and some of Liahne's many stuffed animals. Ah, the shape of sweeping horns and a cloak, and a body build that was so familiar that Rutaci's first instinct was to reach out and hold it to him.

Stygia.

Of course, that was impossible. Yet, this figment was perhaps the only thing keeping the Pyriteblood from jumping out of a window. He slowly sat up and rested his head back against the recuperacoon and opened his dry, dehydrated mouth. "There's little here for me to miss," he croaked. He cracked a small smile, splitting his bottom lip, "We could live in that country side manor we talked about, we could write that pamphlet, that journal, sparking hope... We could be together, happy. I would, just need to join you."

The wary shadow jittered. It almost looked as if it shook its head.

Rutaci frowned. Clenching his teeth, he picked up the nearest object to him-- his lusus plush-- and angrily threw it at the shadow. "No! I could join you! I'll join you, damn it! I'll do it! I'll fucking do it!" He leaned forward, crawling towards one of the kitchen knives he fancied a day ago, abandoned on the floor. Rutaci slithered on his stomach, dragging himself across ruined, splintered floorboard. He extended his arm to reach for the knife, only to be an inch short of his fingertips grazing the handle. Ah, pathetic. He was too far away. Rutaci looked helplessly at the knife lying tantalizingly before him. Useless. Couldn't even grab a knife. Grief consumed him. His body shook and writhed as sobs gurgled in his throat. He lowered his head, cheek on his arm, as tears flowed freely once more. Angry, he hit the floor with the fist of his opposing hand.

Rutaci stayed there occupying the floor, hand just out of reach of the weapon. He felt too weak to retrieve it. His eyes held captivated by the jittering shadow of his long dead moirail. Time passed. Seconds ticked by. Minutes sluggishly nodded their acknowledgement, and hours dragged carelessly far behind. The sun made its way across the sky. Its rays had kissed Rutaci's hand through its journey, leaving his arm blistered. He didn't care. His eyes never left the shadow which, by now, was shifted and skewed.

Shorter. The shadow was shorter. Younger. Rutaci squinted. This was no longer Stygia, and his interest faded. That is until the shade of the drawn curtains fell upon this shape, transforming the cloak into baggy clothes. Rutaci blinked; his voice broke as he tried to speak. Broken. Parched. "Novalx..."

He had left them. Alone. Wasn't there was a Purpleblood out there somewhere who wanted Novalx dead? Rutaci's head throbbed. Pain wrenched his gut tightly with an iron claw. Oh...

They looked so much like their ancestor. A walking memory, a breathing clone. Hadn't Stygia once mentioned about living through a legacy? She had trusted him, trusted him to be the paired ancestor. Father. That was their kid. That kid was the last thing he had left of her....

And he had left them all alone.

It took much longer than he would have liked to find the energy to push himself off the floor. He stumbled, weak, dizzy, unstable. Ah, but he was up now, he was on his feet. He looked to the shadow of his descendant, though it didn't quite look like them anymore. Just a vague shape made by long forgotten toys. He realized then that none of what happened was real; Stygia nor Novalx had come, their shadows didn't talk to him. But, before he could let it all sink in all over again, he stumbled out of the room.

Light was dying outside. The sun sunk slowly down, kissing the horizon and embracing it gently like a lover. Shadows were long and reaching, desperate for something tangible to hold. The wind was not as friendly; though it brought much relief from being inside such a stuffy hive, it brought chills along Rutaci's arms before long.

He held himself as he gazed at his long abandoned hive. This had been his wrigglerhood home. His entire life had been had here. With a grunt, he laid a hand on one of the wooden supports of the porch.

There was a click. A groan. A hiss. A sizzle.

The old dry wood whined in protest as flames began to lick its body. A leg of fire, starved from sweeps of neglect, ran crying to the rest of the hive. The hive crackled, accusing Rutaci of his betrayal as it was stirred awake by the pain. What about the memories? Why should he throw those away? Now the reels were burning and happy thoughts turned to ash.

With a quiet sniffle-- the only nod of acknowledgement for the passing of a friend-- Rutaci turned and left.

[memurfevur-archive]

NOOOOOO T.T I'm so invested in mr flutterby why he get shoved under bed

cuz my brain cant focus on a single plot arc for too long

im still working on Telltale, i have a drabble written up, i just cant focus to save my life. but id rather be jumping around from narrative to narrative or else id feel guilty and bored keeping myself to only one. like, for example why should i make art when theres an entire story to write? shame on me, i cant let that happen! im lazy! im bad! uninteresting! blah blah blah! it turns into a deal of how I'm no longer doing this for me... and id rather do it for me! i want to have fun with it else what's the point?

so id rather focus on many things at once and jump around wherever my mood takes me rather than focusing on only one and feeling terrible about it if i feel as if the progression isnt meeting my standards. part of this is because of ouroboros unbound; its on hiatus right now for reasons, and i increasingly felt bad about it. so, why not focus on other things and just go with that flow?

and mind you, Telltale won't be on pause forever, and hopefully neither will Ouroboros Unbound. chances are, my Avonis muse will be awoken very easily again (most likely by Bast <3) and I'll get to finishing the Dhavra drabble. its very hard for me not to have an active muse when people are taking direct interest in them. sort of how my motivation works ig; if people are interested in a character I'm more likely to do things with that character.

Avonis is still open for asks and rp! im just being very slow about writing the narrative, and for that i apologize!

[whispertrolls-archive]

Ouroboros Unbound got me wrapped so tight I’ve been sitting here just making gremlin noises instead of writing the reply, I need a moment