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felikatze · 2 years ago

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ISAT and Ludonarrative Harmony: Combat is a Storytelling Tool

Or: How Siffrin is stuck in the endgame grind, forever

Please Note: This is primarily aimed at an audience that already played In Stars and Time, because I am bad at explaining things, and it's good to already know what the fuck I'm talking about. I tend to only bring up game elements as I want to talk about them.

Spoilers for.... all of ISAT! Especially Act 5!

(image to show how i feel posting this and as an attention grabber over my wall of text)

To pull a definition of ludonarrative harmony out of a hat, game writer Lauryn Ash defines it as follows:

Ludonarrative harmony is when gameplay and story work together to create a meaningful and immersive experience. From a design implementation perspective, it is the synchronized interactions between in-game actions (mechanics) and in-world context (story).

It is, generally speaking, how well game mechanics work hand in hand with the story. I, personally, think ISAT is an absolute masterclass of it, so I want to take a look at how ISAT specifically uses its battle system to emphasize Siffrin's character arc and create organic story moments. I want you to keep this in mind when I talk here.

So, skills, right? If you've played any turn-based RPG, you know your Fire spells, your "BACKSLASH! AIRSLASH! BACKSLASH!" and the many ways to style those.

Well, what does casting "Fire" say about your character? Not all that much, does it? Perhaps you'll have typical divisions. The smart one is the mage, the big brawny one is your tank, the petite one's the healer. And that's the barebones of ISAT's main party, but it's much more than that.

Every character's style of combat tells you something about them. Odile, the Researcher, is the most well-travelled and knowledgable of the bunch. She's the one with the expertise to keep a cool head and analyze the enemy, yet also able to use all three of the Rock-Paper-Scissors craft types.

To reflect her analytical view of things, all her skill names are just descriptive, the closest to your most bog-standard RPG. "Slow IV" or "Paper III" serve well to describe their purpose. The high number of the skills gives the impression there were three other Slow skills beforehand - fitting, considering the party starts at level 45, about to head into the final dungeon. She's also the oldest, so she's the slowest of the bunch.

Isabea, the Fighter, has all his skills in exclamation points. "YOUR TURN!!!" "SO WEAK!!!" "SMASH!!!" they're straightforward, but excited. He's a purposefully cheerfull guy, so his skills revolve around cheering on his allies. He's absolutely pumped to be here, and you see that from his skill names alone.

Mirabelle, the Housemaiden, is an interesting case. She's by all means the true protagonist of this tale - She's the one "Chosen by the Change God," the only one who survived the King's first attack, the only one immune to his ability to freeze time, the only dual-craft type of the game - just a lot of things. And her skill names reflect that facade she puts on herself - she can do this, she can win! She has to believe it, or else she starts doubting. This is how you get "Jolly Round Rondo" and "Mega Sparkle Heal" or "Adorable Moving Cure." She's styled every bit a sailor scout shojo heroine, and her moveset replicates the naming conventions of "In the name of the moon, I'll punish you!"

Even Bonnie, the Kid, who can't be controlled in combat, has named craft skills. And they very much reflect that Bonnie is, well, a kid. "Wolf Speed Technique" or "Thousand Blows Technique" are very much the phrasings of a child who learned one complicated word and now wants to use it in everything to seem cooler than they are, which is none, because they're twelve.

Siffrin's skills are all puns.

You have an IMMEDIATE feel for personality here. Between "Knife to Meet You!" and "Too Cleaver by Half," you know Siffrin's the type to always crack a joke no matter the situation, slinging witticisms around to put Sonic the Hedgehog to shame. It's just such a clever way to establish character using a game mechanic as old as the entire history of RPGs.

This is only the baseline of the way the combat system feeds into the story, though.

The timeloop, of course, feeds into it. Siffrin is the only character who retains experience upon looping, whereas all other characters are reset to their base level and skills. And it sucks (affectionate).

You're extremely likely to battle more often the earlier in the game you are - after all, you need the experience (for now.) Every party member contributes, and Siffrin isn't all that strong on their own, since they focus on raw scissor type damage with the addition of one speed buff. (Of course it's a speed buff. They're a speedy fucker. Just look at him).

At first, the difference in level between Siffrin and the rest of the group is rather negligible. Just a level or two. Just a bit more speed and attack. And then Siffrin grows further and further apart. Siffrin keeps learning new skills. He gets a healing skill that doubles as an attack boost, taking away from both Mirabelle's and Isabeau's usefullness. He gets Craft skills of every type that even give you two jackpot points instead of one - thus obliterating Odile's niche. Siffrin turns into a one-person army capable of clearing most encounters all on their own.

Siffrin's combat progression is an exact mirror of story progression - as their experience inside the loops grows, they also grow further and further away from their party. The party seems... weaker, slower, clumsier. Always back at their starting point, just as all of their character arcs are reset each loop. Never advancing, always stagnant. And you have Siffrin as the comparison post right next to them.

I also want to point out here a change from Act 2 to Act 3 - Siffrin's battle portrait. He stops smiling.

Battles keep getting easier. This is true both for the reason that Siffrin keeps growing stronger even when all enemies stay the same, but also for the reason that you, the player, learn more about the battle system and the various encounters, until you've learned perfect boss clear strategies just from repetition. Have you ever watched a speedrunner play Pokemon? They've played this game so many times, they could do it blindfolded and sleeping. Your own knowledge and Siffrin's new strength work in tandem to trivialize the game's entire combat system as the game progresses.

(Is it still fun? Playing it over, and over, and over again? Is it?)

You and Siffrin are in sync, your experience making everything trivial.

As time goes on, Siffrin grows to care less and less about performing right for their party and more and more about going fast. A huge moment in his character is marked by the end of Act 3; because of story events I won't delve too deeply into, Siffrin has grown afraid of trying something new. And his options of escape are closing in. They need an answer, and they need it fast. He doesn't have the time or patience to dumb himself down, so you unlock one new skill.

It doesn't occur with level up, or with a quest, or anything at all. At the start of Act 4, it simply appears in Siffrin's Craft skills.

(Just attack.)

No pun. No joke. Just attack. Once you notice, the effect is immediate - here you have it, a clear sign of how jaded Siffrin has become, right at every encounter. And it's a damn good attack, too! The only available attack in the game that deals "massive" damage against all enemies. Because it doesn't add any jackpot points (at least, it's not supposed to), you set up a combo with everybody else, but Siffrin simply tears away at the enemy with wild abandon. Seperated from the rest of the party by the virtue of no longer needing to contribute to team attacks (most of the time. It's still useful if they do, though).

Once again, an aspect of the battle system enhances the degree of separation between Siffrin and the static characters of his play. You're incentivized to separate him, even.

Additionally, there are two more skills to learn. They're the only skills that replace previous skills. You only get them at extremely high levels, the latter of which I didn't even reach on both of my playthroughs.

The first, somewhere in the level 70 range, Rose Printed Glasses, a paper type craft skill, is replaced by Tear You Apart. It's still a pun about paper, but remarkedly more vicious.

The second is even more on the nose. At level 80, In A While, Rockodile!, a rock type craft skill, is replaced by the more powerful Rock Bottom.

I didn't get to level 80. If you do, you pretty much have to do it on purpose. You have to keep going much longer than necessary, as Siffrin is just done. And the last skill he learns is literally called Rock Bottom.

What do I even need to say, really.

Your party doesn't stay static forever, though.

By doing their hangout quests, side quests throughout the loops that result in Siffrin and the character having a heart to heart, all of them unlock what I'd call an "ultimate" skill. You know the type - the character achieved self-fulfillment, hit rank 10 on their confidant, maxed out their skill tree, and received a reward for their trouble.

These skills are massively useful. My favorite is Odile's - it makes one enemy weak to all Craft types for several turns, which basically allows you to invalidate the first and third boss, as well as just clown on the King, especially once Siffrin starts racking up damage.

But the thing is. In Act 3, when you first get them, yeah, they're useful. But... do you need them? After all, they're such a hassle to get. You need to do the whole character quest again, you can't loop forward in the House or you'll lose them. If you want to take these skills to the King, you need to commit. Go the full nine-yards and be nice to your friends and not die and not skip forward or skip back. Which is annoying, right?

Well, I sure did think so during Act 4. After all, a base level party can still defeat the King, just with a few more tricky pieces involved. Siffrin can oneshot almost all basic enemies by the time of Act 4. It's this exact evalutation that you, the player, go through everytime you return to Dormont. Do I want this skill, still? Would it not be faster to go on without it? I'm repeating myself, but that's the thing! That's what Siffrin is thinking, too!

I also want to take a quick moment to note, here - all skills gained from hangouts have art associated with them, which no other skills do. This feature, the nifty art, hammers home these as "special" skills, besides just how they're unlocked.

Siffrin also has one skill with associated art.

Yeah, you guessed it, it's (Just attack.)

At first, helping the characters is tied to a hefty in-game reward, but that reward loses its value, and in return devalues helping Siffrin's friends every loop. It's too tedious for a skill that'll make a boss go by one turn faster. You, the player, grow jaded with the battle system. Grinding experience isn't worth it, everybody's highest levels are already recorded. Fighting bosses isn't worth it, it's much faster to loop forward.

Isn't this what all endgame in video games looks like? You already beat the final boss, and now... what challenge is left? Is there a point to keep playing? Most games will have some post-game content. A superboss to test your skills against, but ISAT doesn't have any of that. You're forever left chasing to the post-game. That's the whole point - to escape the game.

As most games get more difficult as time passes, ISAT only gets easier. The game becomes disinterested in expanding its own mechanics just as I ran out of new things to fight after 100%-ing Kingdom Hearts 3. Every encounter becomes a simple game of "press button to win."

The final boss just takes that one up a notch.

Spoilers for Act 5 ahead boys!

In Act 5, Siffrin utterly loses it. His last possible hope for escape failed him, told him there's nothing she can do, and Siffrin is trapped for eternity. So of course, they go insane and run up the entire House without their party.

This just proves what you already knew - you dont need the party to proceed. Siffrin alone is strong enough. And here, Siffrin has entirely shed the facade of the jokester they used to be. Every single skill now follows the (Just attack.) naming conventions. Your skills are: (Paper.) (Rock.) (Scissors.) (Breathe.)

To the point. Not a moment wasted, because Siffrin can't take a moment longer of any of this. Additionally, his level is set to 99 and his equipment becomes fixed. You can't even pick up items anymore! Not that you needed them at this point anyway, right? Honestly, I never used any items besides the Salty Broth since Act 2, so I stopped picking items up a long time ago. Now you just literally can't.

Something I've not talked about until now - one of the main equipment types in this game are Memories, gained for completing subquests or specific interactions and events. They all by and large have little effects - make Odile's tonics heal more, or have Mirabelle cast a shield at the start of combat. For the hangout events, you also gain an associated memory that boosts the characters' stats by 30. It lets them keep up with Siffrin again! A fresh wind! Finally, your party members feel on par with you again!

...For a time. And just like that, they're irrelevant again, just as helping them gave Siffrin a brief moment of hope that the power of friendship could fix everything.

In Act 5, your memory is set to "Memory of Emptiness." It allows you to loop back in the middle of combat. You literally can't die anymore. Not that Siffrin could've died by this point in the first place, unless you forgot about the King's instant-kill attack. This one memory takes away the false pretense that combat ever had any stakes. Siffrin's level being set to 99 means even the scant exp you get is completely wasted on them. All stakes and benefits from combat have been removed. It has become utterly pointless.

Frustrating, right? It's an artistic frustration, though. It traps you right here in Siffrin's shoes, because he hates that all these blinding Sadnesses are still walking around just as much. It all inspires just a tiny fraction of that deep rolling anger Siffrin experiences here in the player.

And listen, it was cathartic, that one time Siffrin snapped and stabbed the tutorial Sadness, wasn't it? Because who enjoys sitting through the tutorial that often? Siffrin doesn't. I don't, either.

So, since combat is an useless obstacle now meant to inspire frustration, what do you do for a boss? You can't well make it a gameplay challenge now, no. The bosses of Act 5 are an emotional challenge: a painful wait.

First, Siffrin fights the King, alone. This is already nervewracking because of one factor - in every other run, you need Mirabelle's shield skill, or else you're scripted to die. You're actually forced to fight the King multiple times in Act 3, and have to do it at least once in Act 4, though you'll likely do it more. Point is: you know how this fight works.

You know Siffrin's fight is doomed from the outset, but all you can do is keep slinging attacks. Siffrin is enough of a powerhouse to take the King's HP down, what with the healing and buff skills they have now, not to even mention you can just go all in on damage and then loop back.

(And no matter which way you play it, whether you just loop or use strategically, it reflects on Siffrin, too. Has he grown callous enough not even death will stop their mission? Or does he still avoid pain, as much as he can?)

This fight still allows you the artifice of even that much choice, not that it matters. The other shoe drops eventually - Siffrin becomes slower, and slower. Unsettling, considering this game works on an Action Gauge system. You barely get turns anymore. The screen gets darker, and darker. Until Siffrin is frozen in time, just as you knew he had to be, because you know how this encounter works, know it can't be cleared without Mirabelle.

And, then, a void.

Siffrin awakens to nothingness. The only way to tell you've hit a wall is if Siffrin has no walking animation to match your button inputs. You walk, and walk, until you're approached by.... you. The next enemy encounter of the game, and Siffrin's absolute lowest point: Mal Du Pays.

Or, "Homesickness," in english. If you know the game, you know why it's named this, but that's not the point at the moment.

Thing is, where you could damage the King and are damaged in turn, giving you at least a proper combat experience, even if its doomed to fail, Mal Du Pays has no such thing.

You can attack. You can defend. But it is immune to all attacks. And in return, it does nothing. It's common, at least, for undefeatable enemies to be a "survive" challenge, but nope. The entire fight is "press button and wait." Except, remember the previous fight against the King? The entire time, you were waiting for the big instant death attack to drop. That feeling, at least for me, carried forward. I was incredibly on edge just waiting for the other shoe to drop. And, as is a pattern, Siffrin is, too. As Siffrin's attacks fail to connect, they start talking to Mal Du Pays.

But he gets no response, as you get no attacks to strategize around. The wait for anything to happen is utterly agonizing. You and Siffrin are both waiting for something to happen. This isn't a fight. It just pretends to be. It's an utter rugpull, because Siffrin was so undefeatable for most of Act 4 and all of Act 5 so far. It's kind of terrifying!

and it does. It finally does something. Ma Du Pays speaks, in the voice of Siffrin's friends, listing out their deepest fears. I think it's honestly fantastic. You're forced to just sit here and listen to Siffrin's deepest doubts, things you know the characters could not say because it references the timeloops they're all utterly unaware of. This is all Siffrin, talking to himself. And all you, all Siffrin, can do, is keep wailing away on the enemy to no effect whatsoever.

So of course this ends with Siffrin giving up. What else can you do?

And then Siffrin's friends show up and unfreeze them and it's all very cool yay. The pure narrative scenes aren't really the main focus but I want to point out here:

A) Mirabelle is in the first party slot here, referencing how she's the de facto protagonist, and Bonnie fills in the fourth slot left empty, which shows all characters uniting to save Siffrin

B) this is the only instance of the other party members having act specific battle icons: they're all smiling brightly, further pushed by the upbeat music

C) the reflecting shield Mirabelle uses to freeze the King uses a variation of her hangout skill cut in, marking it as her true "final" skill and giving the whole fight a more climatic feeling.

It's also a short gameplay sequence with Siffrin utterly uninvolved in the battle. You can't even see them onscreen. But... it feels warm, doesn't it? Everybody coming together. Siffrin doesn't have to fight anymore.

At last, the King is defeated. Siffrin and co. make for the Head Housemaiden, to have her look at Siffrin's sudden illness. Siffrin is utterly exhausted, famished, running a fever. And this isn't unexpected - after all, their skills in Act 5 had no cooldown. For context, instead of featuring any sort of MP system, all skills work on a cooldown basis, where a character can't use it for a certain number of turns. The lowest cooldown is actually Siffrin's Knife to Meet You, which has a cooldown of 1. In universe, this is reasoned as the characters needing a break from spamming craft in order to not exhaust themselves.

Siffrin's skills in Act 5 having no cooldown/being infinitely spammable isn't a sign of their strength - it's a sign that he refuses to let himself rest in order to rush through as fast as possible.

Moving on, Siffrin panics when seeing the Head Housemaiden, because seeing her means one thing: the end. Prior to this in the game, every single time you beat the King, the loop ends when you talk to the Head Housemaiden.

Reality breaks down, the whole shebang. It's here that Siffrin realizes - they don't want the loops to end, because the end of their journey means their family will leave, and he'll be alone again. The happiest time of his life will be over.

Siffrin goes totally ballistic, to say the least.

As it turns out (and was heavily foreshadowed narratively), Siffrin has been using Wish Craft to subconciously cause the timeloop because of their abandonment issues. It's rather predictable if you paid attention to literally anything, but it's extremely notable how heavily Siffrin is paralleled to the King, the antagonist they swore to kill by themself at the start of Act 5. The King wants to freeze Vaugarde in time because it is, in his mind, "perfect," for accepting him after he lost his home - a backstory he shares with Siffrin.

Siffrin has become the exact antagonist he swore to kill, and it's shown by how the next fight utterly flips everything on its head.

Siffrin is the final boss.

In a towering form made of stars, Siffrin looks down at their friends. His face is terrified, because of his internal conflict; he can't hurt his friends, but he can't let them go, either. The combat prompt is simply changed to "END IT!"

This fight is similar to the previous, in that you just need to wait a certain number of turns until its over. However, this time, it's not dreadful suspense. It's... confusion, and hesitance.

You have two options for combat: Attack your friends, or attack yourself.

And... you don't really want to do either, I think. I certainly don't. But what else can you do? It's Siffrin's desires clashing in full force. Attack your friends, and force them to stay? Or attack yourself, and let them go safely without you?

Worth noting, here - when you attack Siffrin's friends, you can't harm them. Isabeau will shield all attacks. And when you attack yourself, Mirabelle will heal you back to full. And the friends don't... do anything, either. How could they? Occasionally, Mirabelle heals you and Isabeau shouts words of motivation, but the main thing is...

(Your friends don't know what to do.)

None of them want to harm Siffrin. Both sides simply stare at each other, resolute in their conviction but unwilling to end it with violence. It's of note that this loop, the last one, is the only loop where the King isn't killed. Just frozen. And now here is Siffrin, clamoring for the same eternity the King was. Of course everything ends in a tearfilled conversation as Siffrin sees their friends won't leave him, even after the journey ends, but I still have to appreciate this moment.

Siffrin is directly put in the position with their friends as his enemies, forced to physically reckon that keeping them in this loop is an act of violence, against both their friends, and against himself.

It's a happy ending. But... what does it mean?

Of course, ISAT is obviously about the fear of change. Siffrin is afraid of the journey ending, and of being alone. However, ISAT is also a game about games. Siffrin is playing the same game, over and over, because it's comforting. It's familiar. It's nice, to know exactly what happens next. These characters might just be predictable lines of dialogue, but... they feel like friends. Have you ever played a game, loved it, put countless hours into it, but you never finished it? Because you just couldn't bear to see it end? For the characters to leave your life, for there to be a void in your heart where the game used to be?

After all, maybe it became part of your routine! You play the game every day, slowly chipping away at it for weeks at a time. For me, I beat ISAT in four days. It utterly consumed me during this time. I had 36 hours of playtime by the end. Yeah, in that week, I did not do much more than play ISAT.

And once i beat it, i beat it, again. I restarted the game to see the few scenes I missed, most specifically the secret boss I won't talk about here. I... couldn't let go of the game yet. I wanted to see every scrap I could. I still do. I'm writing this, in part because I still do. It's scary to let go.

Ever heard the joke term of "Postgame Depression?" It's when you just beat a game, and you're suddenly sad. Maybe because the ending affected you emotionally and you need to process the feelings it invoked, or you search for something that can now fill your time with it gone.

The game ends, for real this time, the last time you talk to the Head Housemaiden. But Siffrin gets... scared. What if everything loops back again? And so, his family offers to hold his hand. They face the end, together.

For all loops, including the ending, you never see what happens after. After they leave the loop for good. Because the loop is the game itself. It's asking you to trust that life goes on for these characters, and it holds your hand as it asks you to let go. There's a reason for Siffrin's theater metaphors. He is the actor, and the director, asking everyone to do it over one more time. He's a character within the game, and its player.

There's a reason I talked about endgame content. This, the way it all repeats, there's nothing new, difficulty and stakes bleed away as you snap the game over your knee - it's my copy of White 2 with two hundred hours in it. It's me playing Fire Emblem Awakening in under 3 hours while skipping every cutscene. Are you playing for the sake of play, for the sake of indulging in your memories, because you're afraid of the hole it'll leave when you stop?

Of note: the narrative never condemns Siffrin for unwittingly causing their own suffering. He's a victim of circumstance. It's seen as endearing, even, that Siffrin loves their friends to the point of rather seeing the world destroyed than them gone. But Siffrin is also told: we'll stay with you for now, but we'll part ways eventually. And one day, you'll have to be okay with it.

Stop draining the things you love of every ounce of enjoyment just because you're afraid of what happens next. I'm not saying to never play your favorite games again. Playing ISAT a second time, I still had a lot of fun! I saw so many new things I didn't before, and I enjoyed myself immensely, reading the same dialogue over and over. But... it makes me look at other games I love and still play, and makes me ask... is this still fun? Do I still need to play this game to enjoy it? Even writing this is an afterimage of my enjoyment, but it's a new way to interact with the game, to analyze it through this lens. Fuck, man, I write fanfiction. Look at me.

All of this, fanart, fanfic, analysis, is a way to prolong that enjoyment without making yourself suffer for it. Without just going through the motions of enjoyment without actually experiencing any. But one day, the thing you love won't be fun to talk and write and draw about. And it's okay. You'll have new things to love. I promise.

In the end.... I'm certain I'll replay ISAT one day. Between great writing, art, puzzles and unresolved mysteries, it's my shoe-in for game of the year.

But I won't replay it for quite some time. I've had enough, for now, so I let my love take other forms.

Siffrin is never condemned, because love is no evil. Be it love for another person, or for a game. And please, if you're overempathetic - it's still a game, at the end of the day. The great thing about games is that you can always boot them up again, no matter how long its been.

A circle within a circle indeed.

To summarize:

The repetitiveness of ISAT's combat, lack of new enemies, and Siffrin's ever increasing strength eventually allows you to snap the combat over your knee, rendering it irrelevant and boring. Though this may seem counterproductive at first, it perfectly mirrors how Siffrin has also grown bored with these repeated encounters and views them only as an obstacle to get past. The reflection of Siffrin's own tiredness with the player's annoyance increases the compassion the player has for Siffrin as a character.

Additionally, the endgame state of the combat system serves as commentary on the state of a favorite game played too often, much like how Siffrin has unwittingly trapped themself in the loop. Despite the game having no more challenge or content left to over, a player might return to their favorite game anyway, solely to try and recreate the early experience of actually having fun with it. This ties into ISAT's metanarrative about the fear of change and refusal to let go of comfort even when the object (here, your favorite video game) offering that comfort has become utterly bereft of any substance to actually engage with. Playing for the sake of playing, with no actual investment to keep going besides your own memories.

Later on, stripping away even the pretense of strategy for a "press button and wait" format of final bosses highlights the lack of options at Siffrin's disposal and truly forces the player into their shoes. Truly, the only way to win is to stop playing.

#feli speaks #in stars and time #isat #isat spoilers #lays down on floor. it's done. it's done #i actually narrowed down in scope to just focus on the combat by the way. and this is like. several thousand words

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piroulinewafers · 2 months ago

Text

𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐭

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: choso x fem! reader 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: choso doesn’t understand humans. but he wants so badly to understand her, especially when she’s quiet and sad— so he sits beside her, cold hands and clumsy words, trying to make the storm a little softer. 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬: open.

the wind bit through his coat, though choso didn’t mind.

snow clung to his boots, melting and sloshing inside the seams as he stomped his way up to the front door, fishing out his keys from his jacket pocket and, finally, after a few tries, he finally was able to get it through the key hole.

with a sigh, he kicked his boots off clumsily, the wet soles leaving muddy, snowy prints across the flood. whatever. he’d clean it later.

his scarf was damp, clinging to his neck in icy folds as he tugged it off and dropped it on the counter without a care. the heater in the corner buzzed gently, but the air still bit cold against his skin, numbing his fingers as he stepped inside further.

he didn’t mean to slam the door, not really, at least. the cold made him tense, sluggish. his fingers were stiff from the walk back and he was still reeling from the headache inducing mission he’s just come back from.

choso sighed, shrugging off his jacket and sloppily hung it, trying his best to replicate the way she hung her own jackets.

at first, he’d thought the room was empty. it was late, so it wouldn’t be all that surprising if she had gone off to sleep or perhaps she was busy doing something else. he didn’t know.

but there, curled into the far end of the couch in their shared living room space, she sat quiet and small, wrapped in one of those oversized hooded she always seemed to wear when something had worn her thin. her knees were tucked up, arms looped loosely around them, her face half-buried in the fabric. the soft glow of the lamp pooled around her, warm yet distant.

choso frowned. she hadn’t looked up when he came in. not even a small smile, not even that little scrunch of her nose she gave when he stomped too loudly through the hallway.

he hated the way that felt.

“hey,” he called out, not unkindly, his voice low and rough from the cold. “you okay?”

she blinked slowly, her eyes heavy and distant as she met his gaze, chin now perched on her knees. “hi, choso.”

not really an answer. not really anything.

choso shifted uncomfortably on his feet. he wasn’t good at this sort of thing— whatever this was. emotional stuff. feelings. humans. he’d always been better at instincts, at fighting and surviving and protecting the few he cared for. but with her… things tangled. quiet things, soft things. things he didn’t know how to name.

he crossed the room in a few heavy steps and dropped onto the couch beside her with a quiet thud. the cushions gave under his weight, sending a little bounce through her side. she didn’t flinch, just stayed still, eyes tracing something i invisible across the floor.

“you look sad,” he said finally, watching her out from the corner of his eyes. “like… weird sad. not your usual kind.”

she let out a breath— barely a sigh- and turned her head slightly. “it’s nothing.”

choso scowled, fingers twitching in his lap. “feels like somethin’.”

“i just… had a rough day,” she murmured. “work was loud. people were loud. and now it’s storming. it’s— i don’t know. it’s stupid.”

“it ain’t stupid,” he said quickly. then frowned. “i mean, maybe it is. but not ‘cause you’re feelin’ it.”

a sound escaped her lips, one he wasn’t familiar with.

he sat for a moment in silence, then leaned closer to her, elbows on his knees. “I don’t… i don’t really get why you get like this. you’re soft all the time, yeah? but this feels different. like somethin’s weighin’ you down, and i don’t know what it is, and it’s makin’ me itch.”

she blinked at him, brows furrowed.

“I ain’t tryin’ to poke at you,” he added quickly, trying to fix the the look on her face. he meant prod, but it was a good attempt. “just— if i knew what it was, maybe i could fix it. or punch it. or make it go away.”

choso shifted a little, scratching lightly at his jaw. he felt like something was stuck in his throat. not a real thing— just a tightness, a weight that didn’t go away.

“i don’t get humans,” he said flatly, finally, seeming quite frustrated.

“don’t get the way you all… carry stuff,” he went on, his tone slow, deliberate, like he was picking each word out of a pole carefully. “feel too much. talk around stuff ‘nd pretend you’re okay when you’re clearly not. you cry at weird times. you hold onto things that hurt.”

she looked back down at her lap, not answering. choso noticed, a strange expression on his face as he tried to think of what he could possibly do to make her feel better, to fix the sad expression on her face that he seemed to amplify with every clumsy words that left his lips.

he felt her shift again— maybe to look at him— but he didn’t meet her gaze.

“you get all quiet. small. sad. and i dunno why, i don’t get what’s in your head or why the world makes you cry sometimes, but i don’t like seein’ it. it’s not fair.”

his voice grew softer. “makes me wanna tear somethin’ up. but there’s nothin’ to fight. just you sittin’ there, looking’ like your all hurt and i can’t do anythin’ about it. i don’t get it, i just want to make you feel better again.”

choso rubbed his face, huffing as he tried to think of what to say next, what he could possibly conjure up in his sloppy attempts at comfort.

her lips curved, barely, and she leaned into his side just a little now. “you don’t have to fix anything, choso.”

he exhaled softly, like he didn’t believe her, but nodded anyway, taking her response to his touch as some sort of sign what he said had worked in some capacity.

“i just want to make you feel better,” he repeated.

she rested her head against his shoulder, and he tensed for a breath before letting it go. his arm looped around her, hesitant and rough, but steady, and just a little too quickly and eagerly. he wasn’t good at comfort, he never really had been.

his voice was always too blunt, hands and words too clumsy. but he tried his best and he meant well. he wasn’t graceful, wasn’t practiced in softness, but he gave when he had and all that he knew.

“i just… want you here,” she murmured, voice quiet against the rise and fall of his chest. “it’s been a rough day. i don’t want you to worry, cho.”

her fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt, as if anchoring herself there.

“seeing you all sad like that makes me nervous. what if you break and i can’t put you back together?”

she blinked at his words, a little taken aback but his intense, sincere thoughtfulness and concern, noting the way his brows furrowed, how there was still melted snowflakes clinging to his lashes from being out for so long.

her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out right away. her heart gave a small tug.

“that’s…” she murmured, her voice quieter than before. that’s a really heavy thing to say, choso.”

the man just stared at her, unsure if she was saying it positively or negatively. “i guess.” he responded with a shrug.

her eyes lingered on the snowflakes still caught in his lashes, delicate and fleeting. his brow still creased in worry, like he was waiting of her to crack right in front of him. she reached up and brushed a melting flake away with her knuckle.

“i’m not gonna break,” she said gently, a bit of a wobbly smile tugging at her lips. “but even if i did… i don’t want you to worry.”

her fingers lingered near his cheek for a second longer before falling back to her lap. “you don’t have to be nervous,” she added, her tone shy but warm. “just… sit with me. that helps more than anything else. i like being close to you.”

she let out a small, weary laugh— warm, even if it was a little frayed at the edges. “humans are kinda stupid, huh?”

choso’s gaze lingered at the top of her head, his hand slowly smoothing over her arm, craning his head abit so he could get a better look at her face.

“yeah,” he said, voice low. “but i like you anyways.”

#choso kamo #jjk choso #choso x reader #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso #kamo choso #choso x female reader #choso x you #choso x y/n #choso jjk #jjk x reader

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boyfriendtodeathconfessional · 15 days ago

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To any impostor anons, you probably won't read this, as you refused to read enough of my posts to accurately imitate me, but here are three things you missed in your endeavors (I'm well aware I'm shooting myself in the foot by listing these off):

1. My grammar and spelling are immaculate. I would never disrespect the Japanese people by not capitalizing their demonym.

2. I am extremely verbose. I read through my own posts and I fall asleep. Run-on sentences, asides, and non sequiturs pervade my work galore. I am a slut for commas. Further, I will always tie it back to the BTD series because I understand this is a fandom blog, not a drama blog.

3. I have never and will never use this platform to insult others even if they insult me first. Mod-Demon has enough on their plate, and I don't want to create even more work for them. They go through enough by having to comb through my dissertations.

On one hand, I am flattered. Even if someone means ill intent, it means I made an impression on them! I just want to give people something to consider though:

When you make something, you should always want to make it authentically yours. It can be inspired by others (I don't think there's any way for it not to be), but you will be at your best and your happiest when you use your own voice.

Take Ren for instance. He tries his absolute hardest to replicate Strade, right down to wearing his clothes. Yet in practice, it comes across as fake. It's not convincing. He tries and he tries to portray himself as Strade, even mimicking his appearance (perhaps similar to adopting an emoji), and no one buys it. He still has the greatest amount of survival endings in the series while Strade has some of the fewest. In some endings, he even expresses remorse over his actions when he realizes he and Strade were on completely different wavelengths.

The thing is, that's okay! Not everyone in the fandom likes Strade! Plenty of people like Ren for who he is, not who he tries to be! Even in TPOF, Ren is surrounded by everything he says he wants, but he still isn't happy. He's still so lonely and miserable that he tries bonding with someone he's paid to torture and eventually kill. He's not even the most evil character in TPOF. That honor goes to his former captor who became so evil that he turned into a demon. Ren will always be a second rate Strade, but he'll always be a first rate version of himself.

This post is not a call out, rather it's me beseeching this anon. Please please please don't let bitterness consume you. It's happened to me. It's happened to people I love. It's what destroyed my family with bickering and infighting. Hatred is tantalizing, as it wasn't offered but rather emerged from within. Thus you feel because it's not a drug or external stimulus, that must make it fine. However, it's more insidious than you might think. It twists hearts and warps personalities. It compels people to act against their own interests. It sows discord among communities.

I'm lucky that Mod-Demon has created a space where I can share the ramblings and buzzings in my brain. It was tearing me apart that I had all these ideas and absolutely no one to share them with. I don't know Mod-Demon personally, and we've only interacted through a handful of messages, but they genuinely seem like one of the sweetest people I've had the pleasure of interacting with on Tumblr. The fact they wanted to create a space where people could share their innermost thoughts of the fandom without judgment or compensation is greatly appreciated. I also appreciate 🔪🔪🔪's efforts at defending me. I only hope I don't pester them too much with my novel length posts.

So my final plea to you, anon, please cultivate yourself. Invest in yourself. You are worth it. Ren's biggest enemy wasn't his family or Strade: it was himself. He was tortured and brutalized, but he was the one who chose to join the brutalizers rather than learn and grow from his experiences. It's a mistake I've made repeatedly. The tragedy of Ren's story wasn't that it happened to the cute fox twink. It's that they could happen to anyone. -☢️

#This is the last I will be posting about this… very strange situation-#-as I feel they have the right to speak for themselves.#I hope we can now all act our age and let this go.#boyfriend to death #boyfriendtodeath #btd #strade #ren hana #Mod-Demon

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archetypal-archivist · 1 year ago

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Azul-Yutu Thoughts 0.2

Because I have brain rot and I'm enjoying myself, haha. (A bit of house-keeping, two name changes: Fior -> Fiore and Morry -> Mori). World belongs to @yuri-is-online, give their stuff a read, it's very good.

School continues on for Yutu, his first year friends, Mori and Fiore, and his second year friends, Sav and Thrush. After the disaster with the professor of defense failing to protect his charges, Crewel's nixed most field trips off school campus, which has some of the second and third years (who were next in line for trips) going a little stir crazy. Naturally, Sav is among them and he's making that Yutu's problem.

Sav keeps wanting to hear about the time Yutu and the other firsties took down the blot monsters the foolish professor failed to defeat and Yutu is getting sick of it. He already knows where he messed up in his tactics, he doesn't need yet another break down of how it all went, the first three times were enough. Eventually, Yutu decides that if Sav wants to hear about battle, it might be good to hear from other people on campus as well.

He grabs Sav, Fiore, and Mori (who doesn't need much convincing) and parks them all outside for lunch near the old wishing well (where Epel used to sing). Thrush, sensing trouble, comes too and sits atop the well to listen in and watch for anyone coming by. Yutu explains that there's still a lot they have yet to learn about blot monsters; that whole 'replicating from a puddle' thing is just one such example. If they'd known that was a thing, perhaps the professor could have dealt with it properly.

As such, it'd only be prudent to hear about other experiences people have had with blot monsters. Their job, Yutu explains, is to divide and conquer, finding adult mages of a certain age who'd seen life before the apocalypse and have some combat experience. If they can, get their stories of combat, if they can't, it's just another data point. Namely, how many people have actually lived through a blot monster attack? What are the odds?

Everyone agrees to the plan and they split up, Thrush trailing after his brother, Sav running off to talk to his professors, Mori leaving for the infirmary, and Yutu... Not really sure where to go. See, Yutu kinda has another motive for this plan beyond gaining knowledge and getting Sav off his back- he wants to know more about what's out there and what his chances of survival are.

Having come to Twisted Wonderland against his will, Yutu knows his future is bleak and he doesn't really have a plan for what he wants to do after graduation. Life outside NRC is tough and with Crewel breathing down his neck, he's not sure he'd be allowed to leave the school grounds even if he wanted to. His only plan is a tentative wondering about the chance of killing his overblotted father for good so he can lay him to rest with his deceased parent, Yuu. And that means Yutu needs to find info on Azul... Which is easier said than done.

Jump cutting between the members of Yutu's group, first round is Thrush and Fiore finding a group of recent graduates who'd fought overblotted mages, the stressed 20-somethings sharing about how the Queendom of Hearts is nigh-unlivable and how their attempts to retrieve things from their old homes have all been failures. One of them mentions how they'd heard rumors about safe places, another mentions how there are stories of a dread queen in red with four loyal monsters who is laying waste to the Queendom.

Fiore is fascinated, having been born at NRC and never having traveled beyond the borders is what's allowed. Thrush is far more wary, asking if the stories about the dread queen are true. The oldest of the group admits that yes, they likely are, and that the dread queen is Riddle, an alumni of NRC who's magic could shut down the magic of others. The dread queen has a similar power, which is why encounters with that overblotted mage are so deadly. Thrush feels a shiver go down his spine at the thought.

Sav is talking with professor Trein, attempting to put some of Yutu's lessons on getting others to tell you things to use. Of course, he's butchering it slightly and Trein is the last person to try this on, so eventually Trein asks Sav to cut to the chase. Sheepish, Sav asks about what it's like to fight an overblotted mage and Trein sighs before detailing his experience covering the retreat from the Shaftlands.

See, the Shaftlands are haunted by the monster of one of his old students, Rook Hunt, who makes sure no one lives within the borders of what he considers to be his 'Queen's' territory. Who the queen is, no one knows, but only parts of the snowy North and the driest parts rugged deserts/plains are safe, too difficult for Rook to travel. Trein hesitates for a moment, recalling Vil, before moving on to talk about the actual fight and how deadly it was. The only reason he survived was because he stepped over the border and Rook stopped attacking.

Mori is in the infirmary, greeting the healers there by name, who ask him if he's there for his 'usual'. He turns them down, then goes to talk to the patients, asking them about what landed them in the infirmary. They confess having tempted the outskirts of Briar Valley, bringing aid and supplies to those still trapped behind the massive walls of thorns. You'd think a kingdom where the most dangerous mage was asleep instead of a blotted ghoul would be safe, but that's not even close to the case.

When attacked, mages default to using their magic to defeat other overblotted mages, which drives them into over-blotting too. Since Briar Valley has the highest concentration of mages, it's a very, very dangerous place. Camps of survivors exist on the outskirts where Draconia's sleep spell is weakest, but news from them is rare and often consists only of casualty reports. As for Castle Draconia? Forget it. Briar Valley's king is asleep and everyone hopes he stays that way. Mori listens to all this in silence.

Cut to Crewel and he's being brought up to speed by someone off camera, learning that Yutu and his friends are looking for information on overblotted mages and how others have fought them. He frowns, looking serious, before sweeping out of his/Crowley's office, speaking over his shoulder that he needs to go talk to someone. Camera pans around and we see Sam take Crewel's place in Crowley's old chair. Only now, Sam is a withered husk of what he once was: estimated age, over 80 years old. Cut to Yutu and we see him enter Octavinelle from the main entrance just as we see Crewel enter the mirror for the Octavinelle dorm.

Cut again to Thrush and Fiore and the duo are play-shoving each other in the halls as they head for dinner. Fiore comments that he wasn't aware that there were 'boss mode' overblot mages, Thrush pokes back that Fiore's been spending too much time with Mori if that's how he's thinking. At this point, a passing old man chimes and claims that yeah, Fiore has about the right of it- some blot monsters really are 'Boss level.' As in, they control other overblotted mages and monsters.

The old man explains that he's from the Sunset Savannah, which is relatively safe thanks to the actions of their second prince, Leona, who had sacrificed himself to save the land. See, the prince had smarts, had figured out that there's a source for all this nonsense: a group of super powerful beings called Phantoms, twisted ghouls of the Great Seven. And Leona? Leona died to kill one. Thrush points out that if this was true, then more people would know about it, but the old man points out that it's not the amount of people who know, it's who knows. And trust him, he says, the right people know.

Back to Sav, he comes up to Fiore and Thrush's table with a troubled look on his face. He sits down with his tray of food (something canned and reheated with a side of fresh vegetables) and explains what the professor of botany said to him: that there are no blot monsters in the Scalding Sands. Apparently there's some sort of 'master mage' who rules the territory and demands fealty of all who live there, attacking anyone who gets too close to the palace. Those who are disobedient will die, monster or not.

Thrush startles then admits that such a mage sounds a lot like a 'phantom', proceeding to describe what the old man from earlier had told him. This troubles Sav further and he wonders aloud why they were never taught about these phantoms and why no one ever put together a strike team to go deal with them. If this Leona could kill a phantom, why hasn't anyone else tried. Fiore is excited by the prospect, Thrush is wary, pointing out that there has to be a good reason and it likely has a lot to do with not getting anyone killed. Fiore wonders aloud if it wouldn't be worth it though, to save lives, Thrush dope-slaps his younger brother upside the head, and the table resolves into silence.

Mori hadn't made it to dinner and is instead buying some instant noodles from a vending machine in Ignihyde. He turns to look up at a camera peering down from the ceiling corner and he gives it a little wave and a smile. He then tells the camera that he's found his 'party' and they're doing reconnaissance on the overblot phantoms. Mori waits for a moment, as if hoping for a response, but he gets nothing. Then he shrugs, muttering to himself with a smile that he supposes 'he can't always be watching' before turning on his heel, heading for his room. Through the window, the moon is rising, casting dark shadows across Mori's retreating figure.

Yutu steps into Octavinelle and immediately feels at home- which conversely has a shiver running up his spine, putting him on edge. Feeling at home in a place he's only just now visiting? Yeah right. Wary, he steps forward, caught up in admiring the colorful reefs and underwater scenery as seen through the glass tunnel to the main lounge area. As he walks, however, Yutu notices that there's a lot of people here and many of them look deeply unhappy. Couples staring up at the water, hands plastered to the glass, ignoring each other entirely; children sat in a line watching the fish in utter silence; then faces, empty faces, scars and sharp teeth and rough patches of dry, picked-at skin... It hits Yutu that these people are all merfolk, civilians displaced by the apocalypse that made the seas unlivable.

Stumbling through this tableau of both natural beauty and grieving humanity, the camera arcs over Yutu's head to catch the glass ceiling before returning to focus on his gently sad expression- then it zooms in over his shoulder to a bar where Crewel sits, talking to the bar tender. Cut to Crewel, he's drinking something fruity while Jade, the bar tender, cuts up slices of apple for other people's drinks.

Crewel tells Jade that Yutu has been settling into Savanaclaw nicely, Jade hums, waiting for the real reason Crewel is here. The headmaster keeps making leading small talk about Yutu's investigation and his parentage before sighing, finally asking Jade if there's going to be any... Problems. Jade's knife slams hard through an apple, leaving a neat half behind as he murmurs that at last, the truth comes out. Jade stands to full height and tells Crewel that no, he won't have any problems with Yutu coming to talk to him. Indeed... (And here he looks over Crewel's head to Yutu, who's standing, shocked, behind the headmaster).

Azul was one of Jade's dearest friends. Yutu fights back a gasp, not wanting the vulnerability of shock, and Crewel spins in his seat at the sound. He goes to introduce Jade but Jade beats him to it, coming from around the bar to stand in front of Yutu, hand over his heart as he introduces himself, explaining his place as Azul's friend and longtime business partner. And- here Jade pauses, tilting his gaze up to look out the window to the sea beyond- he believes he and Yutu have a lot to talk about.

#twisted wonderland #yutu-verse #my writing #fanfiction #jade leech #azul ashengrotto

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thatoneneuvichiliauthor · 1 year ago

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Something that I thought was neat and had to share with someone that you might also think is a cool idea: So we know that Aventurine is really competent with gambling and just being cunning in general. What I *havent* seen anyone mention yet is that considering how he grew up, he would also have some really great hands on survival knowledge. Like picture him and Ratio get stranded somewhere similar to the type of planet sigonia was, and suddenly the otherwise flashy seeming Aventurine is the down to earth one who knows things like which local plants should be safe to eat and how to find water in the wild when it’s a mostly desert landscape. Idk I just love the idea of ratio and whoever else realizing what being raised on a planet like sigonia really *means* when it comes to survival knowledge lol

Oh, you're absolutely right! I could definitely see Aventurine switch to survival mode, especially since being stranded in a place like that would make all his memories of Sigonia resurface all at once. And if the resources he finds happen to be scarce, I can also see him giving most of it to Ratio and keeping merely the bare minimum for himself, maybe under the guise that there is more, because he just won't risk losing someone else to such a planet again. Perhaps by making that sacrifice, he would even be unknowingly replicating what his parents did to keep him and his sister in somewhat acceptable health when there was little food around. He would do everything in his power to put all the chances on Ratio's side, while counting on little more than his insane luck to keep himself alive. Of course, Ratio would pick up the signs and inevitably find out how Aventurine put his survival before his own, which would lead to a long conversation, some arguing, and Aventurine opening up a little more.

But as for the survival knowledge itself, I think Ratio would be both impressed by how much Aventurine knows, and horrified by the implication of what he must have gone through to not only learn all that, but to also have it become habits. Especially if he is aware of how young Aventurine was when he left Sigonia.

Now I also can't stop thinking about how conflicted Aventurine would be in such a situation, since to him, Sigonia is both the only true home he's ever had and the place where he lost all the ones he cared about. The absence of his parents and sister would probably hit so much worse on a planet that looks like Sigonia. He would try to keep it all hidden beneath his usual bravado, of course, but Ratio would definitely see through it and be concerned.

As you see, I have many, many thoughts about this too, so thanks a lot for sharing this great idea with me! I'm always happy to scream about these two and to share headcanons ❤️

#aventurine #ratio #ratio x aventurine #rambling #asks

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s-b-party · 2 years ago

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Tayzzyronth & Oroboros: Aeons of Deadly Sins

****Honkai star rail spoilers/simulated universe spoilers/swarm disaster spoilers****

*The moment Herta described them as being arch enemies, my mind immediately started falling into a rabbit hole trying to analyze them both & some thoughts have been cooking lol

So who are these 2 Aeons? They recently have made more formal appearances (we finally get to see their forms) in the newest hsr patch specifically in simulated universe

Tayzzyronth is the Aeon of Propagation & Oroboros is the Aeon of Voracity; propagation refers to reproduction while voracity is excessive eating

I’d like to suggest that Tayzzyronth & Oroboros are aeons that represent 2 of the 7 deadly sins: lust & gluttony respectfully

*Note: lust can refer to extremely strong sexual desires but without sexual connotations it simply refers to an extremely strong desire/emotion for something you crave*

Tayzzyronth often self-replicated & the heirs they created eventually became their faction, the Swarm

The reason why they started reproducing was bc they feared being alone since they were the last of the Coleoptera (scientific name for beetle) so they had an extremely strong desire to procreate

As for Oroboros, they devour everything that gets in their way since everything including worlds will simply return to the void in the end

Now that we’ve established how they depict lust & gluttony, let’s look at their dynamic

Both are said to have been enemies & it seems that Tayzzyronth died in a war (which involved Oroboros) at the hands of multiple Aeons according to Kafka

What I find interesting is that (like in my analyses of Lan & Yaoshi and Nanook & IX) they have a few similarities

For instance what they do is mindless (all Tayzzyronth & Oroboros can think of/do are self-replicate & consume; I think it’s important to remember that doing mindless tasks doesn’t always equate to intelligence especially when they do it in repetitive cycles; the word mindless usually gets associated w/ low intelligence which Herta implies that Tayzzyronth & the Swarm have)

They may represent different deadly sins but they are different manifestations of greed in essence, all being forms of excessive desires

They also both have similar color palettes where they use cool colors (various shades of purple) which are paired with some reds or blues; to me this is showing that in spite of their differences they do share some similarities/vibes (not evil per se but destructive)

Now to look at their dynamic from a different light, I want to first point to how them being enemies makes sense if we consider what creatures they resemble

Tayzzyronth as we already know is based off insects, the beetle to be more precise, while Oroboros is based off the mythological ouroboros which was usually a tail-devouring serpent; irl snakes & insects are normally enemies & snakes are the ones usually devouring insects although the reverse situation is also possible

Perhaps it is bc both are representative of different aspects of greed that they both would end up being enemies in the end anyway if they are to fight for dominance in this world (going back to the idea of survival of the “fittest”, meaning the stronger concept would prevail in this case)

If that is the case, the end of Tayzzyronth could imply that the desire to devour is stronger than the desire to procreate but I don’t think that’s exactly how it is because there is some irony to be found here

Even though Tayzzyronth has been deceased for some time, the Swarm still remains & they still are a menace to the universe due to the destruction they can cause, all of this while Oroboros doesn’t seem to leave any trace of the worlds they have devoured so I think that even though the Propagation is gone, their concept still has influence in the universe w/ as much “strength”/importance as the voracity

I’m really glad to have seen Tayzzyronth & Oroboros in the swarm disaster mode of simulated universe bc for me it looks like the Aeons have interesting & complex relationships with each other and I can’t seem to get over them 😂 I also like the designs of the aeons

They just have so much in their designs & stories which fascinate me, it’s just really fun chilling in the pool of aeon lore & dynamics :3

#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail spoilers #honkai star rail lore #hsr aeons #hsr tayzzyronth #hsr oroboros #hsr simulated universe #hsr swarm disaster

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terrence-silver · 2 years ago

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Would Terry be a cat person or a dog person?

---

I mean, just aesthetically speaking alone, I can see why everyone widely imagines Terry Silver as a cat person. (Bond villain with a fuzzy, white Angora on his lap, smoothing her thick, elegant fur while he plots World Domination) but on the other hand, it is even more easy to envision him as a dog person purely because he admires the animal's innate natural devotion that tends to override all sense; something few or no people are capable of ever replicating to the degree an animal with animal instincts could, except maybe himself. Yep. Terry Silver knows nobody who has the loyalty of a hound except himself and he both relates to the animal and in odd ways, perhaps, resents the animal, because a dog holds up a mirror to him and says 'This is you.' and the experience of that is visceral, baffling and exposing, seeing as how Terry is genuinely pushing back deadlines, schedules and leaving everything behind as he happily and willingly goes performing extreme (and often ethically questionable) acts of service for those he deems his, but at the same time, the fact that someone as power hungry, ego driven and control oriented as himself enjoys being unscrupulously devoted to select few others to the degree he does is a baffling thing to say the least. It is contradictive. Shouldn't be a thing. Yet it is.

Man probably never owned a dog.

Doesn't intend to. Doesn't want to.

Chances are he cares for cats just as little in the practical sense.

But, he sees a dog snarling, barking, fighting off entire gangs of bigger dogs, following its human wherever it goes, snuggling up to him to keep him warm and dying next to its owner when it could've easily left and minded its own survival, maybe somewhere out on Skid Row or the more run down parts of LA through where Terry has his driver intentionally chauffeur his limousine to flex on the poor when he feels particularly sadistic and meanspirited, only to catch the image of a skinny, malnourished hound starving next to its homeless master out on the pavement; the image of which is something Terry loathes to see, going as far as possibly mocking it to his driver to cover up his true feelings on the matter with a whole lot of judgement and bravado, because fuck sake, he'd do the exact same thing too. The words For everything you need, your whole life, always immediately come to mind and Terry might think that if John Kreese was a sick, abandoned dog dying on the street and there was no chance to ever save him or persuade him to allow himself to be helped, senselessly proud as he is, Terry might go out there and die next to him too. Here he is, having everything in the world and envying a homeless man's loyal, skinny dog.

Terry forces himself not to think about that.

Yet how can he not when it is the foundation of his entire being?

#cobra husbands #terry silver #john kreese #dogs #cats #animals #pets #dog #character analysis #cobra kai #kk3

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mercysought · 5 months ago

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if Asharen could, what would be her primary focus in magical study? What would be the thing she would want to be an expert at in her field? Would she want to be known? Or would she just be happy with her studies?

unprompted asks my beloved . @extravagantliar

This is probably one of my favourite things to talk about Asharen.

She loved Solas, and perhaps her want to save him is one of the largest compass that alters and guides her life completely from that point on. However, the one thing that Solas did that changed her world was the fact that had it not been for Inquisition Asharen would have never realised how much she loved Rift Magic and how inclined her way of thinking works for intricate magic theory as a whole.

There is something to be said about blooming under pressure and tragedy, Asharen doesn't only bloom, she finds her purpose when she realises that there is more than she can do and that she excels at and actually wants to learn about. The anchor in her arm came at the cost of her older brother, of the life she had ever known, time with her family, herself, but it gave her friends, a vision of the world that inspires and drives her in a relentless manner and ultimately the one thing that she loves so dearly and eventually defines her: her love for this sort of magic and how it impacts the world around them.

So main subject and primary focus: Rift magic, the Veil, the Fade and how they all connect. What are the mechanics at play that could (theoretically and physically) allow one to cross.

If you want to add a subsection of specialization: exploration of the wild parts of the fade, the fauna and flora and the new spirits that are found within and have survived despite the Veil being raised. This last point is so important because it is another point that adds to her very strong want to have Solas not go through with things, beyond just her own heart. But this is a topic for another day.

Asharen realises pretty early on in her lessons that the focus, the orb, is related to Rift Magic in some way and that if it was used to channel great power then it meant that at some point it was possible to use this power 1. in a way that didn't incour great physical harm of explosion and 2. without the need to have it deeply implemented in her body (with the anchor). Meaning: she should be able to replicate, somehow, knowing the right things, the right theory how to reverse engineer it.

In a way, it's bittersweet, the conclusion that Asharen comes to are very similar to the way that the dagger in Veilguard works though in a much smaller scales. The dagger cuts beyond the confines of the Veil and the fade itself - meaning, cutting through the Titan's dreams, being able to tear down the Veil, being able to kill a very powerful being, cut the puppets strings so to speak - the work that Asharen comes to eventually works within. And it's also much less powerful, the dagger was created in a world where magic was just all around them, the artifacts that Asharen eventually comes to use and have as a signature to her magic is lesser in power, but if anyone were to take a second to realise it they would understand how much of an achievement that is.

I do think that post trespasser she does become somewhat known in the field. There are also so few people that are alive and can even be considered experts that she is maybe among 5 in Thedas. In a theorical and academic sense. Mid of her self imposed exile in Antiva where she is actively just... wanting to exist, and explore how to quell the Well (a ritual she eventually figures out despite the risks) she reaches out to other experts. To some in Orlais and Nevarra and does get some minor things published, most of it she keeps to herself because she is in a race against time, she doesn't have time to really work on papers like that, or even have luxury of academic discussion.

In Veilguard, while Asharen doesn't have her arm anymore or the anchor, she can open tears in the fade and walk into the wild parts of the fade (think Adamant, think DAO fade sections). More, she can use that magic to create stable and unstable tears in the Veil which can work in combat as well. For this, her staff will be covered in small (and sometimes large, think fish net) needles that are made of pure lyirum. They were developed by herself and Dagna, their first prototype working towards the end of Inquisition, then ending up being full developed in the time between Inquisition and Trespasser. They are what allows Asharen to use this sort of magic, even without the anchor. Let's just say that her staff is very pretty and, magic wise and money wise, would make anyone's eyes water when it comes to value.

In a different life, Asharen would have been a fantastic professor, a fantastic mentor of Rift Magic. She would have been amongst the greatest names, I think, in modern times when it came to the subjects I brought up above. But also, in another world, Asharen would have remained a small Dalish merchant in Antiva City, she would never have found out about Rift Magic, and so she would have never really fulfilled that role.

#extravagantliar #asharen lavellan ( headcanon )#raven received ( meme replies )#( rift magic literally changed her brain chemistry in the best of ways )#( sorry solas you will always be number 2 in her heart )#( I am sure I forgot something but tl;dr: she would have loved to just live as a scholar and yet )

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dailycharacteroption · 11 months ago

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Mantella (Druid Archetype)

(art by Hyarion-art on DeviantArt)

As much as we’re all very familiar with physical trauma being the “default” way to damage something, toxins are perhaps just as old when it comes to ways to harm or even kill other living foes. Life is, after all, the product of a complicated series of delicate curated chemical reactions, so it only makes sense to destroy life by disrupting a creature’s ability to continue those chemical reactions.

Toxins are subdivided into poisons, which the creature delivers passively when another creature interacts with them (touching, swallowing, injuring), and venoms, which the creature delivers actively as an attack (bites, stings).

It only makes sense then, with so many toxins being weaponized in nature, that there would be druids using their primal magic to draw upon said poisons, and we’ve had three of those: the toxicologist, which specializes in poisonous spells, making use of real poisons, and shapeshifting into giant vermin (Though only higher level versions get the ability to poison in those forms); second is the urushiol, which sweats poison from their skin like certain frogs and works to refine the poison to become more and more deadly; and third is today’s subject, the mantella!

The lore of the matella archetype suggests that it was invented by grippli to improve or replicate the poisons possessed by some of their kind, but the archetype doesn’t actually interact directly with the toxic skin racial trait, meaning that in theory anyone can take it.

What sets the mantella apart is that they seem in some ways to honor the creatures that specifically use venom or poison, which is true of the former two true, but while the toxicologist uses toxins in all forms they take (plus transforming only into vermin), and the urushiol generates it’s own poison, the mantella focuses on wild shaping to recreate venomous creatures as well as delivering their own venoms through their own natural attacks, as we’ll see.

Or maybe you just want a poisonous druid that doesn’t give up nature bond or a bunch of the druid’s passive abilities.

Either way, we’ll soon see what the mantella is all about.

The mantella’s primary difference is how they handle wild shape. Namely, while they cannot take elemental forms, they always gain the ability to replicate the poison of their plant or animal forms. This means that their animals forms prior to early mid-levels can be venomous, allowing them to get poisoning much sooner than other druids.

Their other ability allows them to take a dose of poison they’ve been inflicted with and store it in their bodies, secreting it again through the natural weapons they either normally possess or gain later either through wild shape or some spell. This consequently also makes then and any animal companion they have immune to poison as well, making for a nasty surprise when a foe’s own venom (or that of their allies or other monstrous neighbors) is suddenly used against them.

This archetype is much simpler than other poison-themed archetypes for the druid class, but that’s part of it’s charm, offering accelerated poisoning in the early levels when poison is at it’s most effective and a fun reversal effect later on. This can be especially fun for a druid that moonlights as a magical assassin, or one that just enjoys focusing on debuffing foes.

Since toxins are such a common adaptation in the natural world, it’s likely many druids, and especially mantellas, find the idea of poison being “dishonorable” or “evil” to be patently absurd. Even the most painful and unpleasant venoms exist purely to ensure the survival of the creature that wields it, and poisonous animals and plants ensure the survival of their species by either killing the one that eats them (or at least giving them a very strong Pavlovian aversion to eating another one).

Taking an ambitious bite of a plant, falling on an ant nest, reaching into a viper’s den… Baju the Rougarou has an intimate history with poison, but despite this, it hasn’t deterred him. Quite the opposite, as he has developed a great interest in the natural toxins of the world, which carried over when he became a druid. The fact he is now immune has only made him bolder, much to the chagrin of his packmates.

Rumors of the presence of a fachen, a misshapen parody of a humanoid with only one leg, arm, and eye, can only mean the influence of the deity known as the Hateful Sculptor. The local druid circle contemplates evacuating the area, knowing that the beast and other creations of the monstrous divinity are terribly strong despite their malformed nature. However, Ghilis has no intention of running, for as monstrous as the fachen is, it can still bow to venom’s agonizing kiss.

Claiming that they must be warding their morality against his divine senses, a paladin working with a colony of settlers has declared the grippli of the nearby rainforest dishonorable and evil for their use of poison. The longer he goes on, the more support he gains and the more unhinged he becomes. The fact that he hasn’t been able to feel the divine power flow through him is of no consequence, as surely it is just a divine test of character, one that he aims to pass by wiping out the “wicked frogs”

#pathfinder #archetype #druid #mantella #grippli #rougarou #fachen #Potions and Poisons

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nyt1ba · 2 months ago

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His eternity was a curse in repetition, a cyclical chain of events that spiraled ever downward. Each new dawn bound to end in darkness, after every age of ruin another begins, and those to have survived prove to have learned nothing from their predecessors, unknowingly falling into the same mistakes in a blind faith in abilities woven through naivety. He had witnessed it all, from the fall of his own kind to the many that followed, the Andro-Edios, though human only in skilled replication of feelings and mannerisms, have fallen down the same path as humanity had since the dawn of time. To think his long years in observation would have granted him the needed wisdom to act was a falsehood he knew better than to believe. His search for the ideal in the past had made one fact clear : whether human or machine, none was superior to another, humans were flawed by nature, and those that claim to have an understanding of them only learned to imitate those faults of character, but it was one's own imperfections that had given life meaning, to strive to better oneself and the world around them, a beauty to life he had failed to realize only when it was too late.

Earned wisdom and achieved sense of acceptance had calmed his storm through the ages, however, the repetitiveness of it all weigh him down on worser days, like a steel ball keeping him in place, any effort to move a chore, draining his energy with ease. What little light he had carried within him now flickers like a dying flame, a subtle change to someone as quiet &. illusive as him, hardly noticeable when he had learned to live in shade, almost invisible from view. Such times only prompts him to isolate himself further in his work, perhaps guilty for the inward need to escape when it was his own deeds that had brought fourth all this tragedy. He remains diligent in completing his tasks, to do something of value rather than to waste hours in self loathing, there was an attempt at least, as he found himself absent-minded all the while and easily distracted. He had spent all day on the same engine he was attempting to dismantle. A sigh, index and thumb pinching at the bridge of his nose, this is going to take all day.

[ food ] sender brings receiver their favorite dish to cheer them up. / hana is a good cook trust me

A stir beside him inform him of his guest, quite comfortable in her stride as she had easily made herself familiar, not only with the city, but this his own space away from everyone as well. Hana was one of the few people who would visit his safe house for reasons that didn't have to do with repairs or part trade, usually to annoy him and earn herself some entertainment within all this unbearable desolation. He does little to turn her away nowadays, she was unstoppable when she puts her mind into something, even if it was to get on his nerves. Instead of some snarky remark or a new nickname to insinuate his old age, [ only a few years older than her in appearance but quite ancient in human terms, it still ticks him off somehow. ] She places something beside him on the work table. At first, assuming it was another trinket gifted to her by the people of Xion, but proven otherwise when a forgotten yet so familiar scent catches his senses.

❛❛ Oh ... ❜❜ the only sound that escapes him for a long while, caught off guard as he looked on to find a steaming plate of food before him, taking him a full minute to recognize it was his favorite. Seasoned chicken and spaghetti along with some mushrooms all cooked in cream sauce, it had been a long time since he had seen anything like it. The Andro-Edios did eat, although it was mostly a luxury thing, unsure if they could actually taste the food but they seemed to like it anyway. Anything they cooked lacked real flavor, all artificial in a way and remarkably bland, and for him ... well, he hadn't the skill for such things and learned to get by with whatever he had. Normally, he would brush her off, knowing he could go on without a meal for a good while ... although the more he looked at this the more delicious it seemed, making him conscious of how tragically empty his stomach was at the moment. ❛❛ How did you know ? ❜❜ Adam asks, eyes flicking upwards to meet her from where he was sitting. He doesn't recall mentioning it was his favorite, he barely speaks about himself at all. Regardless of his confusion, there is something of a smile on the edges of his lips, hesitating only for a moment before trying a bite, a strong flavor he hadn't had in a long time, quite the strange and pleasant feeling. ❛❛ This is the best I've had in a while ... I didn't know you had a thing for cooking, or are you trying to get on my good side ? ❜❜ he jests, small smile melting into something tender, it was perfect, but he wouldn't feed her ego that far.

@efloresce // those aren't tears there's just sand in my eyes !!!!!

#efloresce #* answered.#// making him his favorite meal ... cheering him up ... she's the best sister ever ( you'll never hear it from him )#// I panicked and went with what I like don't judge me I'm not a food person HDJDJDJ #// Adam tries to do away with worldly things but I feel like one time he looked longingly at a poster from a restaurant and Hana caught it #// he misses a few things here and there but would never say a word about it #// and Hana being the one to give it to him WAHHHH #// I love them 😩🧡

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primevein · 3 months ago

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The Prime of His Youth: Book VI: Spark of Animus: Ch06: Contest

The twins landed in the main hangar, with most of the Transtector bays full.

"Is Twin-Strike?" Skyburst asked.

"Around?" Stormclash added.

The two draconic heads peered in from outside the hangar.

"Yo!" Skyburst exclaimed.

"We are heralds of the Prime!" Stormclash added.

Transformation noises could be heard, and then Twin-Strike walked in. He walked passed the new Battle Sisters and up to the twins. Beyond him the twins could see a giraffe gaze inside before turning to look away.

"What did the Prime?" the right head asked.

"Want?" the left curiously added.

"Oh?" Skyburst eagerly asked.

"We asked if we could play with you." Stormclash added.

"And He said yes!" Skyburst finished.

"Play?" Twin-Strike's two heads asked.

"Wrestle." Pyra Magna said, transforming into a walk to join them. The others did the same behind her. "If you wouldn't mind."

"Wrestle?" both of Twin-Strike's asked.

"It means to grapple." Stormclash stated.

"And try to move each other." Skyburst eagerly added.

"Trying to pin your opponent without hurting them." Pyra Magna added.

"And, the reason for this?" Twin-Strike asked.

"To test your strength!" Dust Up shouted.

"And fun." Jumpstream added.

Twin-Strike quickly looked between the six Femmes, "This does not seem?" the right head asked.

"To be an equal contest?" the left asked. In reply, the Femmes combined into Victoria.

"More of a challenge?" Victoria asked. Twin-Strike seemed positive about this. "Let's head outside."

"Luckily it is not raining." Twin-Strike stated, and he turned to step away. He transformed and walked out of the hangar, Victoria right behind him. As they walked passed Colossus, Victoria turned to him. "We're going to have a little bit of a wrestling match."

"A - little - bit?" he dryly asked. "Be sure - not - to damage the mushrooms - that protect - our rift valley."

"We will." the right head of Twin-Strike stated.

"Adopt." the left added.

"An appropriate." the right added.

"Danger radius." the left finished.

* * *

The Mistress of Flame and Wind Blade looked through Orion's window, watching the new crater form, 2/3 of a Gigachord from the rift valley leading to Maximus.

The Mistress of Flame turned to Ratchet, "You don't want to watch?"

Ratchet audibly grumbled in reply.

Magnus walked up along the gantry in front of the window, "Am I surprised, yes. Should I be?" he asked. The comm. unit on his chest buzzed, and he pressed it.

"Your Grace?" he heard.

"Speaking." Magnus stated.

"Victoria is wrestling with Twin-Strike." the comm. unit stated.

"Ah, yes. Thank you. Please open a comm. channel with Victoria." A moment of silent awe passed before his comm. unit buzzed again. "Victoria?"

"Your Grace?" she asked.

"I trust your contest in concluded?" Magnus asked.

"For the time being." she stated.

"Perhaps Master could use a chance to recover."

"Yeah." Pyra Magna said over the comms. "It was worth it, though. Not even the Prime left a crater."

"Because he was going easy on us." Rust Dust added over the comms.

"No, it's because it wasn't a contest." Dust Up stated, "We stone - cold - lost. He barely used his gravity, last time."

"I'll let you get back to - survival." Magnus said over the comms. "Magnus out."

* * *

"Awfully considerate of him." Jumpsteam said to Pyra Magna.

"We probably scared any beasts away," Pyra Magna stated, "but this is still Master."

* * *

Magnus turned to the Mistress of Flame and Wind Blade, "So, His Prime - uses gravity?"

"He is a Prime." the Mistress of Flame said with a wide smile.

"It's His new sword." Wind Blade stated, "Vector's Tear. It's powered by The Matrix of Leadership. It's extent is completely unknown, as he has barely used it. But, it could cut through Victoria's gravity shield." She paused for a moment, "He typically uses it in it's sheath."

"Because, it provides something extra?" Magnus asked.

"Because it's non-lethal." Wind Blade said with a broad smile. "Unlike mine. But, they could not replicate it, as it is powered by His Prime. And His wisdom allows Him to control it. My sword is a relic from the Primes, but one of their lesser ones."

* * *

Japheth and His close Femmes approached the top of the ramp, into Maximus proper. "Ciel." He said.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Talk to Ruck, find out if he needs my direct help with anything."

"Of course." she replied, and turned at the crossroads.

"Everyone else, let's get ready to leave." Japheth stated.

"So, don't kill anyone." Arcee sarcastically added.

"Why do I feel that was directed as us?" Royce sardonically added.

"Sorry." Arcee stated, and a harrowing silence followed.

"She's a Shifter." Charon finally said.

"She's not a Shifter." Japheth stated.

"Then what is she?" Charon asked.

"Am I going to have to spank you?" Arcee asked, and a pregnant pause followed.

"Yes?" Charon asked

"I'm sure, that if anyone should be apologizing, it should be me." Royce added, "But, in honesty..."

"You don't care?" Arcee harshly asked.

"I don't know where to start..." Royce voiced.

"Then don't." Arcee stated, and the horrid, cloying silence hung from them. "Nothing you say can undo what you've done." Another horrid silence followed, "But, that's not you, anymore."

"What makes you say, that?" Royce asked.

"Because you trust Him." Arcee said, and paused, "And He trusts you."

Royce nearly crashed, and had to transform into her spider form to land instead of crashing.

Japheth stopped as quickly as He could, with the others doing the same. Charon retracted her wheels and stopped beside Royce, looking at her out of the corner of her many eyes.

"Will you stop being nice to her?" Charon, "Or at least wait until we get back to Orion?"

"I agree with that last one." Arcee added.

"Royce?" Japheth's great voice asked. He then opened his panel and then side door.

The Dollform Arcee sighed and clambered out. Royce walked up, and then transformed into Dollform, slowly climbing in. He then closed his door and panel, before driving off again. Arcee transformed to follow him.

"Why don't I get headpats?" Charon asked.

"You do." Arcee replied.

"But why don't I get the moments of kindness so powerful that I have to stop what I'm doing and cry?"

"You know our history." Arcee said accusingly.

"True." Charon stated. "Would it help if I murder your loved ones."

"No." an annoyed Arcee replied.

"But how am I going to get my redemption arc?" Charon chided.

* * *

Nebulous Prime walked out over the smelting pits in Darkmount, casually walking up as Megatronus Prime turned to glare at him. "What's up, Megaman?"

A fuming Megatronus was desperately trying to think up a reply.

"Look, Megaman, I'm just here to visit. You know, see how an old friend is doing?"

"Oh, is that right?" Megatronus asked him, eyes wide, "You're not here to prove you can get into my fortress, at any moment? You're not here to threaten me?"

Soundwave's tentacles passed through a cloud of fog as Nebulous disappeared. "Just here to stop in." His voice echoed about, "I'm not the one you need to worry about. That said, the Elite Guard, and the Cloud Knights, are everywhere."

Soundwave landed beside Megatronus, looking him in the eyes.

Megatronus gave him a psychotic gleam, "We don't know." he simply replied, "He could be watching us at any time. But that said, I've never been one to walk away from a challenge."

Soundwave looked off to the distance, looking at the great foundry that Aurea had found him at.

"Ah?" Megatronus asked, "She is my ally." he said, and Soundwave turned to look at him, "And Japheth's, and Nebulous'." Soundwave turned his head a bit, which Megatronus recognized as curiosity. "Oh, that's simple, the one that makes her choose is the one that loses. I've honestly never been this interested in a Femme. I find it - oddly enthralling."

* * *

"I'll take care of it as soon as we get to Cybertron." Arcelia said to Ruck, "I am procurator for Japheth Prime."

"It has been so long since we've had hope." Ruck said with a weak smile, "We honestly don't know what to do with it."

"My boss isn't so good with that part." Arcelia said, trying not to squee, "He just moves through an area, changes everything. No one knows what happened, except that they are better."

"And happier." Ruck meekly stated.

"You should see Caminus." Arcelia said, "We worshipped the Primes before, but now - with Japheth?" she asked, basking in memories of his majesty.

---

Embers: 4

#transformers #prime #the prime of his youth #darcee #jack darby #arcee

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lunabo17 · 4 months ago

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/59700019/chapters/163066129

Take My Hand

Chapter 9: Choosing Hope

After exploring the Arcane Tower and returning to Omeluum, the party turn to Grymforge

Title from FF15

Despite chattering for a bit about various things he knew of Lenore, of magical Towers, and other random facts, Gale grew more silent as they clambered their way through the crumbling building. Much of the books he had hoped to recover were indeed damaged beyond repair. It was a pity, and he wondered if perhaps they could return to fix it, perhaps once they had discovered the magical means Lenore used to power the building.

This, of course, made him realize he was already thinking of the future, of disobeying Mystra's order to kill himself for the supposed protection of their world. Could he survive this action?

Yet, he couldn't help remembering how Elminster had subdued the Orb, how Mystra clearly had the ability to help him, maybe even to remove the blasted thing altogether, and didn't. It reminded him that the deities didn't see things like normal mortals. Perhaps Mystra saw a reason to continue his suffering. Were the gods so petty to keep mere mortals suffering just for their own delight?

A simple Feather Fall spell allowed them to make their way to the lower levels, but even as they moved, he wasn't entirely focused. Only Astarion tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear broke his circling thoughts.

"Are you with us now?" Astarion asked softly. The others were studying some plant life near them, but kept glancing back.

"Ah, I apologize. I was rather lost in thought."

"Will you tell me what is on your mind?"

Gale took a breath. "Let me think for a little. I need to sort through my thoughts for a bit."

With a curt nod, Astarion turned to the others. Was the vampire upset with him, he wondered. He wanted to pull the elf aside, to talk about his thoughts, and yet it wasn't anything new, nothing he hadn't thought before.

The generator inside held the dead remains of sussur blooms, their petals wilted. Tav went outside to the small sussur tree, and brought back the bloom. The Tower woke, the elevator thrumming, magical fires lit.

Gently, Gale touched the sussur flower, his magic silenced. He imagined it felt like losing a limb, a part of himself that was as normal as breathing suddenly gone. It was similar to when the Orb had entered him, his magic disabled, yet he knew it would return.

"Even in the darkest of nights, there is light" he whispered, before turning to join the others.

They found the alchemical ingredients Omeluum requested, but explored the other parts of the Towers. The upper levels held more decrepit books, though there were githyanki slates. Lae'zel read them, but refused to discuss the contents, slipping them into her pack.

The highest level held constructs that Lenore had created, and Gale wished they had more time to study them, to possibly learn how to replicate them. Yet the Absolute would not wait for them.

So they returned to the colony. Tav offered to take the potion Omeluum concocted, reasoning that Gale had performed quite enough. Unfortunately, the tadpole resisted any attempt at removal or death, seemingly pleased to burrow deeper, to grow stronger.

Then the Myconids requested their aide to kill Nere, a True Soul that had slaughtered many of their kind.

"Of course they request more of us," said Lae'zel. "No good deeds go unpunished."

"We have to save the gnome slaves anyway," said Tav. "Nere has them, so we can kill two birds with one stone. But let's go ahead and rest. We may not have much of a chance in Grymforge."

With a bit of grumbling, they set up their tents, a bit away from the Myconids. When they were done, Gale stared at the giant sussur tree.

"'How can I trust? How will I ever know? How can I show myself, my darkest me?'" He quoted from a book they had found in the Tower. He was startled out of his thoughts by a hand on the small of his back. It shouldn't have come as a surprise.

"I fear throwing you into water to break your mind from wandering would be quite a bad action on my part," said Astarion. "Talk to me?"

Gale looked around, then beckoned him when he found a comfortable spot. For a few moments, they said nothing.

"I shouldn't care if we go save the gnomes or not," said Astarion softly. "They should learn to fight for themselves, and I should hate them for not rising against their oppressors. But if I should hate them, I should hate myself. After Cazador locked me into a coffin for a year, I tried to become an obedient, little spawn, to avoid any further punishment. My siblings hated me for it, thought me weak for not fighting back, as if we had a choice."

Twisted in his stomach, Gale could feel the hatred, anxiety, and rage boiling. He wanted to kill Cazador, to tear him apart with his magic.

"I keep thinking of what Mystra told me, which seems quite silly, considering the torment that Cazador has put you through. I can't help wonder if I will need to follow her orders, and before you say a word, I am fully aware what your thoughts are on the matter. I am also quite convinced the others share your convictions. I also know that I don't wish to die. I keep thinking of the future, of all the many things I wish to do. I want to fix Lenore's Tower, though I have no idea how she would react should she return. I wish to study the constructs, to see how they are made, to create my own. I want to kill Cazador. It all seems so absurd, given that we may still die, or sprout tentacles."

Astarion took his hand, gently stroking his thumb. "Traveling with you, listening to your thoughts, and what the others say...is it so wrong for us to choose hope?"

"Hope," Gale whispered, looking up at the glowing tree. "No. I think it isn't wrong. The Ilithid has brought us many dire trials, but now that it has brought us together, I can't simply ignore that bit of luck."

"It has also given me the freedom to act against Cazador."

'It will be a joy to kill him."

"If we survive."

"I believe we were just talking about hope...?"

Astarion chuckled, giving Gale's hand a kiss. "We were. I believe I am allowed a few moments of pessimism, here and there."

Gale leaned against Astarion's shoulder. He was sure his mind would circle around again, as it typically did during times of stress. What he thought was his world had crumbled around him, leaving his soul bare to the elements, and yet he still chose hope.

"'Even in the darkest of nights, there is light,'" Astarion said, and Gale sat up, startled to hear his own words. "And in that light, can we not be reborn, rising from the ashes?"

He smiled, then, and instead of a verbal response, he leaned in for a kiss. He knew the answer, and the answer was, "yes."

~~~

With careful lies, they went to Grymforge, pretending to be True Souls of the Absolute. Here, they discovered that Nere was stuck in a mining error, poison gas filling the room. He almost didn't feel the urge to save the drow, but recognized that as vile as Nere was, they could get information.

They spread out, looking for ways to save the True Soul, as well as to save the poor gnomes. Gale had an interesting discussion about the architecture of the crumbling ruins, and he realized some of the duergar were not cultists. He received a piece of infernal metal, a gift he would give to Karlach.

At the tug of the tadpoles, and a call from their defacto leader, they returned to the main hallways.

"I may have acquired some explosives," Tav said cheerfully, Karlach grinning beside them.

"I'm not sure I want to know how," Wyll grumbled.

"I'll tell you later. Let's get that...ahem...get Nere out."

The explosion was massive, but thankfully, the gnomes recognized the danger presented, and ran for cover. However, Nere was not appeased to be released from his prison, but turned his anger to the helpless gnomes.

Without even a thought, Gale stepped in front of the innocents, his arms up, shielding them. He heard Astarion say, "shit."

Nere's mouth twisted into a deeper scowl. "A follower of the Absolute, aiding the scum of this land? You would do well to stand down."

"No," Gale replied. "I don't think I will."

And those words began a fight against the followers of the Absolute.

"I thought we were gathering information, not picking a fight, Gale!" Shadowheart said, smashing her mace into a duergar's head.

"You can't reason with a bully," he retorted, sending a fiery blast at the drow; let him feel the pain of burning alive!

"Remember those words," Astarion called back, his knives buried deep into the back of his foes.

The fight ended far quicker than their fight with the goblins. It appeared some of the duergar were not convinced to join the battle, and had simply fled, taking some valuables with them. The drow had a lantern of sort on him, and what appeared to be pixie dust inside.

"But what is it for? How does it work?" Halsin questioned.

"I doubt we'll find out now," said Tav.

"I apologize for my rash decision, Gale said.

"Eh, he looked like he was going to kill anyone who may have looked at him sideways."

"It would please me greatly if you stopped putting yourself directly in harm's way, however," said Astarion, giving him a glare. "He could have pushed you into the fire."

"Oh...well...I hadn't really thought of that."

"I am fully aware you didn't think. I believe my dead heart nearly burst."

"Stop being a dramatic shit," Karlach said. "Just kiss and make up."

They didn't kiss, though Astarion did take his hand, interlacing their fingers. The gnomes were thankful for their assistance, and he recognized one, a Barcus Wroot they had helped when they passed through on their way to the main goblin camp, a destroyed village filled with goblins.

"In addition to their other nefarious plans," said Barcus, "these cultists also searched for the adamantine forge, and I fear we did find it. Of course, like most greedy individuals, he simply wanted more than the two pieces he forged before his untimely death. Unfortunately, he killed all the gnomes he took with him, so we only have a general idea if the location, and not the exact path he took."

"Ah well," said Tav. "At least we know where the forge is, somewhat. Maybe we can come back."

"You do want the armour, correct?"

"What? You mean it's still here? I thought the duergar would have taken it with them?"

Barcus gave a snort, walking over to an ornate chest. "You think he would leave it lying around? He brought his valuables with him. Mind you, the chest is trapped as well as locked."

"I'm rather good with those sort of things," said Astarion.

"Let me help," Gale said. "In case there's anything magical with it."

There were indeed magical and mundane traps, and they worked carefully to break them, before Astarion was able to unlock the chest. There was more than just the armour; there was quite a bit of scrolls, money, and weapons as well. Tav cackled in delight. Two sets of adamantine armour were inside, one heavier than the other. Tav handed the heavier set to Lae'zel, who was surprised at the action. Gale looked at the other set, admiring the slight blue sheen.

"I think this set should go to Gale," said Shadowheart.

"What? No, absolutely not. Wizards don't wear armour," Gale said.

"If you keep walking into danger, you might as well get a good set of armour so maybe you don't die," retorted Tav.

"But I'm not even used to wearing armour."

"No time like the present, Gale."

"But..."

"I'll teach you how to put it on," said Astarion, gleefully.

"And I'm sure it'll involve lots of touching," said Karlach.

"Absolutely."

He wasn't sure how he could get warmer with lava near them, but he had managed to surprise himself before.

#baldur's gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bloodweave #astarion x gale #gale x astarion #alternate universe #astarion #bg3

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nostalgiachan · 1 year ago

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Blooddrunk

Thirtieth Prompt: A drunken night out

C/W: basically NSFW (vampire feeding GONE SEXUAL whoa wow), blood

Summary: Vier wants to take Astarion out for drinks, but remembers there's only one real way for him to get drunk. Good thing she's a cleric. (3,018 words)

---

It had only been two months since Vier had brought Astarion to her home in Dawnshire, but she could tell the provincial life was making him a bit antsy. While his nights in Baldur’s Gate had been an endless nightmare of blood and suffering, the fact remained that the hustle and bustle of the city was what he was used to. Eventually, she hoped he’d come to enjoy the comparative peace and quiet of small town life, but it would take time before his wild heart settled into it. What he needed in the meantime was a little excitement.

Perhaps, Vier thought, a night out on the town would do him some good. While much of the village was still rebuilding in the wake of the nautiloid attack, through sheer providence, the Golden Dew Inn had survived - not a particularly bawdy tavern, especially by Baldur’s Gate’s standards, but still a lovely place to spend an evening. They could head out, mill about town a while, get some drinks and–

Wait. Shit.

Did Astarion much care for drinking if it couldn’t get him drunk? And now that her mind was on the subject, how was he able to drink wine, anyway? She was certainly no expert on vampire biology, but to her knowledge, all food turned to ash and all drink to bile in a vampire’s mouth, thus the whole need to consume blood. Had that been why he’d always complained about perfectly good wines tasting like vinegar, or had he just been hard to please? And despite his attempts at drinking, the only time she remembered seeing him actually drunk was that night he’d exsanguinated a bear.

Planning a date would’ve been hard enough for Vier had Astarion been mortal; how did one go planning a date with a vampire spawn?

The memory of the night with the bear stuck around a bit longer than expected, and slowly, a question rose to the forefront of her thoughts: would she be able to replicate that effect with her own blood? How much blood did a bear have, exactly? Obviously, more than your average mortal, given the massive size difference. Even if she allowed Astarion to drain every last drop from her - a thoroughly idiotic notion, given she was not about to waste a truly hard-earned resurrection scroll on a flight of fancy, and she doubted that Withers (wherever he was) would summon her back if she ended up dead of her own folly - he still likely wouldn’t receive the same amount of blood.

But there was always her steadfast ally, the lesser restoration spell, wasn’t there? Casting it on herself had become almost as much a daily ritual for Vier as giving thanks to Lathander at each sunrise. Frankly, she was amazed Astarion hadn’t gotten tired of her taste yet, given how he indulged himself in her each and every night. She worked out a few more numbers in her head. By her estimation, she could lose about a liter and a half before she would need to cast the spell. Once she crossed that line, it would be much more difficult to focus on casting, and once she hit two liters, she was almost certainly a goner. She could cast the spell up to thrice, with short breaks between to allow time for the blood to regenerate, meaning she could give somewhere between four-and-a-half and six liters, all in all. Would that be enough?

As her mind lost itself in puzzling out the details, her body was left quite vulnerable as she sat on the couch in her office. Sensing this moment of weakness, a certain pale form was drawn to her side, quietly wrapping its cold embrace about her shoulders and startling her nearly out of her skin.

“Oh, dear,” Astarion cooed into her ear as he nestled his head against her left shoulder. “Someone looks deep in thought. Nothing’s troubling you, I hope?”

“No, no,” Vier quickly breathed as her pulse quickly evened out. “Just thinking, is all. Though now that you’re here, I wanted to float an idea your way.”

Astarion picked up his head to get a better look at Vier as she regaled him with the details. “Ooh, by all means, float on.”

As Vier walked him through the entire thought process, from the desire for a date night to the blood plan, a smile slowly crept across his face. “You know, I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to you being so sweet on me,” he finally said as she wrapped up her explanation, “but I do have one teensy concern. See, as much as I absolutely want this,” - his words positively dripped with desire - “are you sure you’re not going to hurt yourself? A bloodthirsty scoundrel I may be, but I’m not as alright with the idea of accidentally killing you as I used to be.”

Vier couldn’t entirely tell if he was joking with her. “I would hope you wouldn’t be alright with it at all, but we’ll get there one day, I suppose,” she grumbled with a grimace. “And about the only thing I’m sure of is that I want to try this for you. Worse comes to worse, I keep the resurrection scroll in a hidden drawer in my desk. I know you’ve already figured out how to pop that one open.”

With a tut and a pout, Astarion asked, “Have I really gotten that sloppy?”

“No, but I know you, dear,” Vier explained, “and I know you’ve probably rummaged through every container in my dormitory and at least half of those in the rest of the temple by now.”

“Aw, you really do know me,” Astarion said with a wistful sigh and a mischievous glint in his eye. “Promise I haven’t stolen anything, though; you took a great risk convincing your colleagues to let me stay here, and I swear I won’t do anything to get myself thrown out. On purpose, anyway.”

An opportunity presented itself, and Vier simply couldn’t pass it up. “You’re being a good boy?” she asked as her head leaned in just a touch, a sly smile crossing her face. Astarion responded in kind, leaning in even closer.

“Oh, I’m being a very good boy,” he hummed, his voice dropping dangerously low and quiet with each word.

“Which is why you’ve earned this little treat,” Vier replied. But just as Astarion could no longer contained himself and pressed in towards her neck, she put a finger to his lips to stop him. “Ah, wait, before you start.”

If Vier didn’t know any better, she’d have thought the man had started panting with anticipation. His red-eyed gaze locked on her intensely as she pushed him back just a hair. “Do you think you can keep your feeding clean, or should I put down some rags? I’d rather my office not look like the infirmary when all’s said and done.”

“I’ll keep the feeding clean, I’m sure,” he breathed with impatience, “but I make no guarantees about the rest. Now, may I?”

Something about the way he asked flipped a switch in Vier’s mind. A warm blush spread across her cheeks, and her gut fluttered like it was their first night all over again. It was going to be a lot harder to focus if her mind was half turned to love-drunk mush. This elf truly did have an incredible power over her, didn’t he? The next word came out much weaker, much softer, much more submissive than she’d initially intended.

“Please.”

With a flash of a fanged smile, Astarion reached across Vier’s lap and guided her to straddle his waist. The moment she was mounted and ready, he threaded one of his pale hands into her sussur bark hair and pulled her throat down to his eager mouth. His plush lips pressed against the skin in a teasing kiss, as if he wanted to make her wait for what lay just behind them - as though he hadn’t already shown her just how much he wanted to dive right in. She wanted to roll her eyes and say, “Sweetheart, just get in there already,” but the familiar sensation of his teeth finally piercing into her neck stopped the words.

Vier braced herself against the top of the couch as Astarion drained the sweet crimson from her, the sound of his lewd swallowing filling her ears. She wanted to cling tightly to him, to grip him by his luxurious hair and pull him in more and more, but she needed to stay focused. She couldn’t let herself get lost in the feeling of her lifeblood blissfully ebbing away and the delicious pain of his fangs piercing deep.

But gods, was it hard. Vier’s pulse had already been set to racing purely by being wrapped in Astarion’s deathly cold embrace, making it difficult to gauge when it began racing due in greater part to the blood loss. The heat of her body seemed to rise and fall in equal measure as he drank deeply from her. Had he started drinking faster, or was that the illusion of her brain beginning to cloud over?

No, don’t lose focus now.

Vier recentered herself, slipping as she was into the haze. She lifted a hand from the back of the couch, and intoned the words, “Vincere est vivere”. This was Astarion’s cue to take a break for a moment, and to her slight surprise, he freed her from his hungry jaws, slumping back onto the cushions with a half-lidded look in his eye. Vier’s body followed, her head resting against his shoulder a moment as the blood quickly regenerated within her veins. Her breathing steadied, her mind cleared, and her body temperature evened out - though as her faculties returned, each would be sent into total overdrive.

Once her head stopped swimming, she simply couldn’t help herself from turning his face towards her and kissing him deeply, harshly, the acrid taste of iron filling her mouth as their tongues collided. It was almost embarrassing the way she loved how he killed her, little by little. She could feel his skin growing the slightest bit warmer to the touch, and a distinct movement beneath her let her know he was enjoying himself as much as she was. At that rate, they weren’t going to make it to the second round. But for the experiment’s sake, they needed to continue.

Vier pulled away, her breathing ragged, and moaned out, “Alright, keep going.” Astarion wasted no time obliging her, swiftly pushing back her hair and tucking in once more. Loudly, Vier whined as fangs once again met flesh and her blood became his. Though she should have kept herself braced, did everything she could to maintain awareness, she was getting far too into it now. Once more, her heart set to beating wildly in her chest, once more her mind was awash in a haze of confusion and arousal. She could feel his nails digging into the back of her neck and the base of her spine. She couldn’t tell which of the two of them started grinding against the other first, but both of them were greedily pulling at each other, wanting to sink deeper inside one another.

Astarion was moaning now, growling now, as he feasted upon Vier, and though he’d promised to keep things clean, he was beginning to grow quite messy. At first, only a trickle of blood escaped the confines of his lips. But then, the trickle grew into a stream which traveled down Vier’s chest, staining her white blouse a deep maroon. She could feel him start to pull away, intent on following the stream and catching what he’d lost on his tongue, but she kept her hand locked on the back of his head to hold him where he was - if he pulled out now, her blood could very well end up staining more than just her shirt.

Once more, the edges of Vier’s vision began to darken, and as much as every fiber of her form seemed to cry out for that sweet, final release, she needed to restore herself. Again, she raised her hand, and again, she spoke the words. But this time, her mind and body struggled to summon up the healing energies within. While they did find their strength at last, would she be able to do it once more, or would she be too far gone to pull herself back?

More importantly, would Astarion have the willpower to stop himself? Because with the second cast, he didn’t release Vier immediately. No, he seemed to clamp down tighter this time, desperate to take just a bit more before the positive energies coursed through her circulation and sent him reeling away with a sputter - for the days of being healed by healing magic were once again behind him. As he leaned back on the couch once more, a groan pouring forth from his blood-soaked mouth, Vier noticed something peculiar - the sclerae of his eyes had turned pitch black, a curious reaction.

“It’s funny,” Vier rasped, her breathing slowly growing less haggard as the restorative magic took hold again, “your eyes look just like mine now.”

“Do they, now?” Astarion asked, his words coming out in a relaxed drawl. “Then I must have some lovely eyes, indeed.”

With a tired laugh, Vier’s head slumped onto Astarion’s shoulder once more. His skin had begun to gain a blush of life, nearly as warm as her own. If she listened closely, she swore she could almost hear a faint thud somewhere within his chest. Her lips returned to his, the sanguine taste even more overwhelming now as her tongue delved deep within.

“Are you ready for the last of it, my sweet,” Astarion moaned after their lips finally parted, “or are you going to make me beg?”

“Oh, I’m very tempted to, dear,” Vier chuckled dangerously, “but you did say you’ve been a very good boy, so I won’t keep your treat from you. I’m–”

The word “ready” had barely left her tongue before Astarion pounced upon her for the last time. Harder now, he bit into her, tighter now, his arms constricted her, as though he feared she could escape his clutches at any moment. Cries of pleasure echoed across the walls of the office, cries which Vier was far too gone to attempt to stifle now. She tried to snake one of her hands down into the infinitesimally small space between their legs to massage the mound which pressed against her, but her arms quickly grew weak with the speed of his feeding. Her mind struggled to remember her purpose, torn as her body was between sweet ecstasy and rapidly approaching death. Colder and colder, she grew, as more of her lifeblood fell from his lips and drenched them both. For a moment, she nearly forgot the words of the spell entire, and she was tempted to simply allow herself to go - she’d told Astarion where the scroll was, after all, and perhaps a little death wouldn’t be so bad?

No! She’d come too far to fail at the last hurdle now. One more cast was all she needed. Astarion would have an entire person’s worth of blood within him, he’d be happy, and they could go out and…do the thing…whatever she’d said she was going to do with him. What had it been? What was she even doing there? Why was she feeling so cold…

But just as Vier’s mind began to slip past the threshold, Astarion suddenly disengaged with a deep and thoroughly satisfied moan and a great shudder of ecstasy, and the feeling of her blood seeping out into the open air jolted her back into awareness. Though her arms felt heavier than stones, she raised a hand and strained to get the words out as the world turned to mist around her. “Vincere est…shit…Vincere est vivere!”

As he came to himself, Astarion pulled Vier back into a much gentler embrace, his hand delicately petting her head as it slumped against his shoulder yet again. “Oh gods, did we go too far?” he asked, his voice filled with a surprisingly genuine concern. “You’re alright. Please tell me you’re alright.”

“I’ll be fine, once all my blood’s back,” she sighed against his now quite warm skin. “Just, you know…give me a minute.”

Vier couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard Astarion sigh with relief. “Good, because I would feel just terrible if I was the only one feeling as good as I do right now.”

With a hint of a struggle, Vier pushed herself back up to look at him. Though he was still pale, his skin now held a healthy pink glow to it. His eyes had returned to their normal state, and he looked deeply, truly satiated in a way she’d never seen before.

“So, er…was it good for you?” she wearily joked, wiping the sweat from her still slightly clammy skin.

“Darling, aside from the bits where I was worried for your life, it was absolutely incredible,” Astarion replied, practically vibrating with excitement. “Look at me, I’m harder than adamantine and feel like I could fuck an orthon to death. You have utterly spoiled me tonight, my love.” “Oh, good, good. I think we’ll need to practice this whole process, because it was a bit touch-and-go for a while, but I’m glad the first attempt was a success. Say, erm…we can’t go out looking like this.”

For seemingly the first time, Astarion noted the fact they looked like they’d just gotten back from a visit with Bhaal - their clothes were absolutely soaked through, the couch was half-smeared, and a few splatters had even made it to the wall behind them.

“Oh…no, we certainly cannot,” he noted.

“So, I’ve got a bottle of Stagswift tucked away in my desk,” Vier continued. “What say we throw our clothes in the laundry, I polish off that bottle, and then you clean off all the blood you spilled on me, if you catch my meaning?”

“Darling, there is nothing I’d like more.”

#my writing #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion #named tav #drow tav #cleric tav #vier alurlssrin #vampire feeding

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helria · 2 years ago

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Forget-me-Lots - Wilson

Word Count: 821 | Pairing: Wilson Percival Higgsbury x Nondescript Female Character

Summary: While enjoying a cup of weeds, Wilson begins to realize that perhaps the best solution to his stress isn't simply forgetting about his problems.

The scientist sat alone with his cup of tea, and he thought of her.

The woman he had left behind, fending for herself in that shoddy cabin while he tore a hole through space. The woman that, for all he knew, had already changed her life and moved on. It was an easier thought to live with than believing she would mourn. That she would spend her days longing for a man who left her, for a man no longer there. He had always wondered how he'd managed to win her heart. With him gone, perhaps she'd find somebody new.

He took another sip once the idea crossed his mind, letting the bitter taste cloud the details until all he felt was aimless remorse. He couldn't deny the effect those weeds had in calming him down. It was easy not to worry when it was easy to forget. The tension in his mind eased as the floral scent filled his senses, already wondering just what it was that had bothered him in the first place.

It was his wife. No, fiancée? Had they tied the knot? Had he even proposed? He was sure that he has given her the ring, or at least... Yes, he clearly remembered taking the box from his cabinet drawer. Or was it the compartment in his desk? The ring itself, it was made of silver. Platinum? Steel. Or was it gold?

He didn't know.

The worries he'd tried to wipe away were only coming back in full force, compounded with a looming sense of uncertainty in the depths of his soul. How much of his life had he lost? How many cups of that wretched flower had he brewed? He had never stopped to notice its impact before, simply thinking of her as 'his wife' and nothing more, but the more that he tried to picture her face, the more blurry the details became.

Did her hair rest over her shoulders, or did it stop by her chin? He remembered a time where it went all the way down her back. She told him why she cut it, then; it was too warm. Too heavy, perhaps. Was that right? It could've been both. Either way, she hated having to curl it for events. Or did she like it? That she thought it was pretty, yet tedious? It was something involving those curlers, nonetheless. That was all he knew. He couldn't remember if the plastic was blue or pink.

He couldn't picture her face. He couldn't replicate her voice. The only thing he could come up with was a hazy silhouette, a vague, human figure in his mind that he was starting to forget. He was losing sight of their memories. Losing track of their quality time. All he held onto was the abstract way things felt, how joyous it was to be with her and how painful it was to be apart. He knew that he loved her. She made sure he knew she felt the same. Was that not enough? Was it really enough?

He poured his cup into the grass. The thought of drinking it made him sick. It may have eased his nerves in the moment, but what then? What was his goal? If he continued to erase those kinds of thoughts, if there came a day where he could think of her without an ounce of regret, would that not mean that he had fallen out of love? Wilson had a choice in front of him, then. To leave it all and forget, or to stay with her and mourn. It felt unbelievable that he'd chosen anything less.

In a sense, he wanted to welcome the pain. It was a sign that he still had a heart after all. The world that they lived in was one of magic and mystery, of so many radically ludicrous things that it was hard to keep his proverbial feet on the ground. He'd done nothing but gun for survival with every season that passed. For once, he needed to stop and remember that he was only one human man. One man caught up in the tangles of love. It almost felt like a different life. He struggled to see the man in those memories as himself.

But as he sat there on the ground, staring at the sky, staring at the clouds, feeling the breeze and the way it blew through his tall hair... He thought of her. As his heart ached, he thought of her. He thought of them, of the young couple that shone so blindingly bright. He thought of the way they'd grown older. The way they'd promised, so naïvely, that their love would never fade. He nearly smiled as he realized it still rang true. That even on the other side, he still had faith that she loved him, too.

The thought alone brought him far more comfort than the tea.

#don't starve #don't starve fanfic #don't starve fanfiction #oneshot #1000 words or less #wilson percival higgsbury #wilson higgsbury #wilson dst #fanfiction

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myfairstarlight · 6 months ago

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Remnants Of A Former Love

AO3 Link.

Rated: M

Length: 6k

Pairing: jayvik

Canon Divergence / Hanahaki Disease AU / Mixed lore, written before s2

Summary:

It is a familiar feeling in his lungs, yet one he never thought he’d ever feel again after replacing everything with machinery. Viktor almost wants to laugh at the irony of it all, even as petals and thorns threaten to choke him into silence. For all his efforts to get rid of these measly feelings, it seems fate, in a cruel twisted sense of humour, wanted to remind him that no matter how hard he tries, no matter how much of himself he butchers and sacrifices along the way, he cannot escape them. But he will keep trying anyhow. Or. Hanahaki Disease AU, in which the Machine Herald faces uncomfortable reminders.

*additional notes on ao3

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Blitzcrank is with him when the first petals fall, the robot is the only reason Viktor even notices them. Perhaps he should have worried when he had started coughing seemingly out of nowhere when his new body should have protected him from any illness known to man, but he had been so used to coughing and gasping for breath for years that he assumed it was just his new body trying to replicate old habits.

The fact it hurt while coughing should have tipped him off, but in his defence, he was in the middle of fixing his claw after one of Jayce’s unprompted attacks.

(Looking back again, there might have been a correlation between that event and the petals.)

“What do you have there?” he asks eventually as he looks at Blitzcrank gathering tainted petals from the floor. “Oh, peculiar. Where do these come from?”

The robot only blinks at him, before pointing a finger in his direction. Viktor frowns. Then the itch in his throat comes back in full force and that's when he feels them, soft petals spilling out of his mouth and falling ever so gently on his palm as pain attacks his throat and renders him to his knees. He heaves, earning distressed noises from Blitzcrank who pats his back in a feeble attempt at helping. After a few moments, the coughing finally subsides enough for him to pull his hands away and stare, incredulously, at the shimmer-tainted petals now resting on his palms.

“Hanahaki Disease…” he realises with both fascination and dread. “It shouldn’t… I don’t even have proper lungs anymore!”

Blitzcrank doesn’t say anything, why would it? Its purpose is to clean Zaun, not be a medical robot, although that is a new idea he could start workshopping on, however, he’d need a proper medical expert to weigh in on their expertise and he is not too inclined on talking with Singed.

Another bout of coughs interrupts his trailing thoughts.

“Ugh,” he groans. “Inconvenient.”

“Unit Creator Viktor, perhaps you should—”

“Go back to work indeed, Blitzcrank, this city is not going to better itself alone.”

Throwing the petals over his shoulder, he does what he always did once when his lungs first started to deteriorate — ignore his problems.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Why can’t you just, you know,” Jinx says, making a cutting motion with her fingers. “I mean I heard it permanently removes your capacity to love ever again but like, you already got rid of everything else.”

“Because I don’t have lungs, so Janna knows where these flowers even take root in my body,” Viktor replies. The thing is, he technically has no use for oxygen, with his augmentations, he can survive without the need for breathing. This disease is not life-threatening like it would be for any other being, it’s just… inconvenient and distracting, both aspects he’s been trying to erase from his life.

Jinx hums, sceptical. She flicks the flower pot on Viktor’s desk now filled with a red dahlia proudly standing in it. Its colour is vibrant against the grey of the laboratory, a sign of being taken care of, despite the environment. “And why are you keeping the flowers?” Why are you taking care of them?

She gets no response. Viktor pretends he cannot feel her disappointed gaze.

“Vik…” Jinx starts, her eyes widening, realisation settling in. “Vik! You can’t!”

“Jinx…”

“You can’t let him ruin your life again!”

Viktor should worry that they both know who this “him” is without either of them dropping a name. “You’re exaggerating. I’m here of my own volition.”

“He turned on you and exiled you as soon as he was threatened to lose his position as Councilor! If he cared he would have at least helped you escape the Enforcers, not hand you to them!”

Twist the knife, why don’t you? Vikor feels another flower threatening to birth from his frustration. Jinx looks slightly guilty as he doubles over, hands on his mouth trying to muffle his choking before he finds his bearing once more and finds a black dahlia sitting on his palm.

“At least the flowers are beautiful.”

Jinx huffs, snatching the flower from his hand. However, she doesn’t get rid of it like the rest of the flowers Viktor threw up during the small hour since they’ve met up, she looks at it with a frown, glowing pink eyes seemingly swearing revenge on the plant.

“They are. He doesn’t deserve them,” she says at last, crushing the dark flower between her bruised fingers. “Let me examine you, maybe I can find where the roots come from.”

It’s not a request, it’s a command. Viktor sighs. “Fine.”

She doesn’t find anything and in her frustration she launches a new attack on Piltover, cursing the Defender of Tomorrow’s name.

(Viktor reluctantly follows to make sure she doesn’t come back with a broken limb. He gets to blast Jayce with a new laser he’s been developing, at least.)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Life goes on, and Viktor’s lab gets filled with more and more flowers by the day. It remains quite the contrast against his stale walls and the rust covering every surface. Some of his patients ask about it, most do not, they come for Viktor’s prosthetics, not his choice in interior design, after all. If truly pressed about it, however, Viktor will simply say he uses the flowers as subject tests. Where he finds them, he doesn’t say. Most assume he somehow stole them from Piltover or the Firelights gifted them to him after helping them a few times. No one guesses they are grown from the Machine Herald’s own pathetic feelings, because everyone has rightfully accepted that the Machine Herald is a machine, therefore incapable of true emotions.

And yet.

It’s a bit cruel, isn’t it? Ever since his exile, he’s sought to erase anything that could make him weak, from his frail body to these measly feelings, but it was only delusion. Feelings are much more complicated than simply removing an organ or some skin, and it seems the universe has decided to remind him that he can’t escape. That, at the end of the day, he’s still very much human, despite how much he might despise the thought.

He takes the time to study the disease, however. It grows over time, petals turning into flowers, flowers turning into bouquets. Sometimes the flowers are the same, sometimes a different variety comes out at every cough. They most likely have meanings, although Viktor has not cared to research them.

(Viktor has the thought that Sky would have known. She loved flowers and plants. Perhaps that is why he refused to look more into it. Stupid feelings.)

The pain increases with the size of the flowers, if they have thorns, they’ll puncture the throat and if it was anyone but him, they could very well be fatal or require urgent surgery. The cure remains the same — either have your love returned or remove the roots of the flowers surgically. Unfortunately for Viktor, both options are unavailable to him.

There are days worse than others. He can go weeks without spouting any flowers and suddenly be almost rendered useless by endless coughing for a whole day, usually preceding — or following — an attack from Piltover.

If Viktor were any more in denial he’d conclude that the “unrequited love” he has been burdened with is one for his former home, the City of Progress. He knew the reality although he’d deny it for a bit longer if he could help it.

So far, apart from Jinx, he has been able to hide his disease quite well, a lifetime of dealing with a terminal illness that rendered his lungs useless made him quite good at bottling the pain and the coughing until he was alone and could let everything out. However, as already noted, although the effects can be spaced, they do still worsen over time, resulting in Viktor hiding away more often than not lately even when attacks on Zaun transpire.

Today is one such day.

“They’re particularly angry today and I hate to admit it but I actually need you out there this time,” Jinx says, awkwardly patting Viktor’s back as creeping cereuses overflow his senses.

He grabs one of the cacti with a groan, watching it crumble around his metal fist. “What about Ekko and the Firelights?”

“They don’t like me.”

“Common enemy.”

“I don’t like them.”

“Fair enough.” He wipes some spit and shimmer from the corner of his mouth. It would have been blood, if it was anyone else but him throwing up these flowers, although it isn’t any less disgusting. He heaves, lifting himself off with his staff. “Not sure I can be of much help, though,” he loathes to admit.

“You’ll be of plenty help, don’t worry,” Jinx says with an odd glint in her eyes.

Viktor sighs, feeling his throat get dry all over again, prepared to spit new flowers into the ground. “He’s there, isn’t he?”

“And he’s annoying! When you’re here at least he’s distracted and only focuses on you which leaves me enough leeway to absolutely destroy his army!” Especially Sheriff Kiramman and Enforcer Vi, she doesn’t say, but Viktor knows better.

“I’ll lure him into an old hideout,” he says. “Trap him there for a bit so that you have time to have fun.”

“Thank you!” Jinx cheers, hugging him. “Let’s go kick their asses!”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The plan goes as follows: get noticed by the Defender of Tomorrow and then book it at the other side of the battlefield towards an abandoned laboratory that was destroyed during Piltover’s first big attack. It’s not much of a plan, all things considered, just enough to distract the big problem so that Jinx and the others can make them retreat like usual. It’s always been like a sort of dance since the beginning of this war. Piltover attacks and Zaun pushes back. A few months of rest. Zaun then attacks and Piltover retreats before attacking again, and scene. A constant back-and-forth that seems to never end, and to have no purpose anymore, but they keep going, it’s their everyday life now so they must upkeep it.

And for some reason, every single time, the so-called Defender of Tomorrow always gets distracted and leaves his army to fend for itself in favour of playing cat and mouse with Viktor. It has become a sacred rule within both cities, if the Defender and the Machine Herald happen to be on the same battlefield, no one can go after them except each other. As soon as their eyes find each other among the screams, the dust and the explosions, nothing else can get in their way. This time, however, Viktor takes some time to observe from afar, perched on the roof of an abandoned building. Jinx was right, Jayce is particularly angry today which leads to Viktor wondering if the date has any significance before it dawns on him.

Ah yes, the anniversary of his exile, isn’t it? Or more like, the anniversary of his escape that turned into a self-imposed exile. Jayce sure gets especially restless around that time of the year although Viktor can’t fathom why. They’re better off on opposite sides of the bridge, aren’t they? Why can’t Jayce just let go?

(As if you were any better, his own treacherous voice bashes in his head.)

His throat feels dry and his chest tight. His mind flashes back to his own studies about Hanahaki Disease. There is a third solution he’s only hypothesised — what if the cause of the disease just died? Would it make it worse or finally stop the curse? Surely, the body would be forced to move on if the object of its desire were to disappear. Viktor has nothing else to risk, after all, it’s not like these flowers can kill him.

But how much does it take to kill the flowers?

Well, he’ll have his answer today. If Jayce is this frustrated, Viktor might as well take advantage of it. Without further ado, he finally jumps into the battlefield, and as soon as his feet touch the trembling ground, he can feel it, his dear enemy’s attention, all on him, just for him. For a quick second, all Viktor feels is elation, before he makes his way towards his intended destination. Among the cacophony that is a battlefield, Viktor can easily pick up footsteps following him dutifully, carefully, and then more hurriedly. Viktor doesn’t look back, doesn’t need to. In his left ear, he can hear Jinx laughing and updating him on the battlefield — she’s found Sheriff Kiramman and the troops are currently retreating under her line of fire. Some Firelights have also joined the fray. It sounds promising on their side, from what he can hear.

His feet click against the cold metallic floor of the abandoned laboratory. He supposes it is fitting that he decided to return to the one place that started it all. Jayce’s first attack. Viktor’s first failure — at winning and saving his own patients.

“Alright, you really followed me diligently without wondering if I was leading you into a trap,” Viktor says as he spins around to face Jayce now standing at the door, his signature hammer held tightly by his side. He snaps his fingers, prompting the metallic door to slam shut. “A poor strategist you are, always leaving your men behind.”

“They’re not mine, they’re Cait’s,” the other man replies. “And you’re my priority. You’re the one I need to bring back to Piltover.”

Viktor swallows around a lump. “And Jinx?”

“She’s Vi’s job.”

“Mm.”

But they all know, it’s an open secret, if one falls, the other would tear down all of Piltover to get them out or avenge them. Many things have changed since this war first began. Jinx, once feared in all of Zaun, now stands as its greatest soldier when so many would have not hesitated to sell her over to Piltover for a promise of peace a few years back. Viktor, who was once content staying in the shadows and letting his creations do the work, now stands as his people’s unofficial leader.

And a part of him understands Jayce and how the fame and the power blindsided him. It is nice to feel adored and recognised. Viktor never felt that before. Recognition. And he still gets his beloved anonymity, hidden as he is behind a mask. The Machine Herald may be revered and sometimes feared, the name Viktor remains a mystery, a name from Piltover’s past.

“Viktor.”

A past he’s gonna properly shatter now. Viktor scoffs and is the first to attack. His claw extends and its laser beam aims for Jayce, who summons his shield and reflects the attack. The laser bounces off the reinforced metallic walls, making Viktor take a step back to admire the now makeshift protective laser wall separating them before it dissipates after a few seconds.

He grabs his staff next and spins it, runes appearing out of thin air to wrap around Jayce's shield and shatter it to pieces. The soldier glares at him.

"What? You really thought I wouldn't find a way to counter your annoying shields?" Viktor scoffs.

Jayce growls — no seriously, he growls, and that makes Viktor wince out of sheer embarrassment for him — and smashes his hammer down, making the ground tremble. Viktor jumps back to avoid the blast from the hit, wincing as a crater forms below Jayce's feet.

"Oh go ahead, destroy this place more than you've already done," Viktor scoffs right before he has to dodge again when a boulder suddenly aims for his head.

Jayce really loves resorting to just throwing whatever shit he can get his hands on even when he has a perfectly working and deadly weapon next to him. Or he's doing it on purpose, but why would he?

And suddenly Jayce is much closer, dashing through the rubbles, to hit Viktor on the side, sending him flying into a nearby wall. Viktor curses under his breath as he readjusts his skewed cybernetic parts, Jayce can still be annoyingly fast even with that huge hammer on him. He stands back up, ready to strike back but he has to dodge another punch first, before he spins around Jayce so he can restrain him with his claw grabbing for the arm holding the hammer, his staff at Jayce’s throat and his right foot crushing the other’s foot and keeping him momentarily immobilised.

“Cheap trick, you and I both know you never last long when you latch on me like that,” Jayce snarls. And he’s right, even with Viktor's augmentations, when it comes to brute strength, Jayce still has the upper hand, but it always distracts him long enough.

“And yet you let me do it every single time, I’d start to wonder if you like being choked,” Viktor taunts because he can feel it, Jayce’s heart beating so vigorously under him, elated by the thrill of battle.

Jayce twists his head so he can stare into the glowing eyes of Viktor’s mask, a lewd grin on his lips. “Can you blame me? When we were lab partners, you were all skittish and avoiding me but now you keep finding excuses to touch me so in my incredible kindness, I let you.”

Instead of replying, Viktor activates his staff, electricity running through it and burning Jayce on contact. Jayce groans in pain and Viktor lets go before the other man can grab him and manhandle him into the nearest ground or wall. It also gives him the perfect opportunity to promptly run to the other side of the room as he feels the pressure in his throat get worse and worse after that short discussion, the pain actually strong enough to bring tears to his usually non-sensitive eyes.

Note to self: the symptoms get worse if you touch and sort of flirt with the object of your affection and they sort of flirt back. He could have guessed that earlier and avoided this exact scenario, but he somehow forgot. Jayce always had a knack for loosening his tongue.

Heaving, Viktor shoots a laser behind him in Jayce’s general direction, making dust and dirt fly around his enemy, giving him the opportunity to push his mask to the side as he kneels down and pours his flowers out in a raging coughing fit.

“Don’t you run away now!” Jayce accuses from a couple of feet away and Viktor quickly puts his mask back on and steps on the flowers and the puddle of shimmer, hoping they don’t stand out — he didn’t have the time to even note what the flowers were.

He goes to answer, he tries, but his throat feels strangely dry and no words come out. So instead he attacks again but makes sure to keep his distance this time. He only needs to stall until Jinx tells him she’s had her fun and he can teleport out of there, leaving Jayce to his own devices in this locked and destroyed lab.

Now, he can truly witness Jayce's intensity, or rather, desperation. He’s already concluded the date is the reason for such behaviour, however, Viktor cannot help but think there must be something more. Jayce looks delirious, his attacks even less thought-out than they usually are, he almost always dismisses his hammer in favour of physically reaching for Viktor as if he were the one with a claw strapped to his shoulder able to snatch anyone close enough.

Eventually, petals start to slip out at each exhale and pain laces his throat at every step and jump he makes.

“Fuck,” he whispers eventually, more than aware that he won’t be able to hide his condition much longer, especially with how determined Jayce is at caching him. Retreat might be his only option.

Swiftly, he retrieves his teleportation device but as he goes to activate it, Jayce dashes forward and snatches it out of his hand, crushing it effortlessly in his fist.

“No running away this time, Viktor.”

And hearing his name, said with such vitriol and Jayce’s breath hitting Viktor’s mask, makes the feared Machine Herald fold under the unfortunate reality of his humanity. The flowers overwhelm his senses and he doesn’t even try to hide. He removes his mask urgently before he kneels to the ground to let it all out.

It feels never-ending as he kneels and bends down there, flower after flower falling into a dark puddle of shimmer and blood alike, Viktor’s eyes may need upgrades again, because he can now see specks of red mixed in with the purple-ish hue of the shimmer powering his body and that… well, that shouldn’t be possible at all, he's made sure of it.

For a moment, he even forgets he’s not alone until he can finally take a breath without a new plant trying to grow out of him until he catches from the corner of his eyes a hint of Jayce’s annoyingly shiny gold armour approaching.

“You… you have the flower disease…” Jayce says when their eyes meet again, understanding downs on him with such force, his grip goes lax on his hammer that falls with a thud on the floor.

“Hanahaki,” Viktor snaps, bilberry flowers now resting in his palms. He doesn’t bother to look at the others. “At least use the correct term if you’re going to mock me.”

“You’re capable of love?!”

In any other circumstances, Viktor probably would have laughed in the man’s face for the dumbfounded expression there. His throat is a bit preoccupied at the moment, however. Huh, it’s not over yet actually, he thinks wryly. Pressure builds up in his throat even as he tries to repress it, swallow it down again because he’d rather die than humiliate himself further in front of the other man, all that with little success.

His throat burns. That’s a sensation he did not miss.

“Who?” Jayce asks, and there’s a danger to his tone Viktor can’t quite place.

He scowls even as he looks away to spit out marigolds into his armoured hand. Once he’s gained his composure back, he stands up and faces the defender again, letting go of the crushed golden flowers as they fall pathetically at his feet.

“Who cares? These don’t matter,” Viktor huffs, as if he wasn’t two steps away from choking just a second ago. “Pick that hammer of yours up, I don’t need your pity and we’re not finished.”

“Who?” Jayce repeats, now standing way too close.

Viktor once again fights back the urge to double over to puke, taking a step back instead, putting his staff between them. “Stay back.”

Jayce grabs the scorching end of the staff without so much as a flinch, pointing it directly at his own chest. His glove starts smoking under the immeasurable heat. “Then do it. You have the opportunity right there if you can take it.”

Viktor has half a mind to activate the device. And yet.

Jayce smirks. “But you won’t.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Viktor grits through his teeth. “For some reason, you’ve been so determined to catch me today and yet here you are now, doing nothing but talking like an idiot. That hammer of yours is still on the floor.”

“I don’t need it for what I’m about to do.”

“If you think I can’t still hold my own in a physical fight—”

Everything happens abruptly, Jayce shoves the staff away, making it fly across the floor before Viktor feels the wall slam against his back. Without missing a beat, he extends his claw, ready to fire at Jayce, only to falter when lips suddenly cover his own. His moment of weakness only lasts a mere second before he retaliates.

Undeterred, he grabs Jayce’s throat and bites down on the other’s lower lip. Instead of gasping in pain, Jayce only groans and Viktor swears he feels him grin against his mouth as a tongue starts pushing through.

And Viktor… well, he gives in, his grip goes lax around Jayce’s throat. He can sense the moment Jayce realises as well, because suddenly the grip around his waist is a tad bit gentler, although still steady. Viktor is no longer pressed against the wall as if Jayce were afraid he’d slip away at any second.

(Viktor very much could. He has another teleportation device hidden in a compartment in his left leg.)

For a moment, their bodies just collide, indulging in this moment of weakness in the both of them. Jayce is the first to pull back, gasping for air. In that split second, Viktor takes the time to look at the other man, his blown eyes, flushed cheeks and swollen lips. It is a surprisingly familiar sight, one Jayce would come back with on early mornings, back in the day, after he spent the night with Councilor Medarda—

And at the mere reminder, Viktor reels back as his throat burns once more. But with Jayce holding him so close, he cannot do much apart from slapping a hand on his mouth, and to his dismay, a small whimper escapes him, which snaps Jayce out of his pleasure-induced state to look at him in confusion.

With uncharacteristic gentleness, Jayce peels Viktor’s hand away, unfurling the metallic fingers to reveal a single white flower.

“Meadowsweet,” Jayce whispers, voice strangely rough, and eyes hardening. “How— who are those flowers for, Viktor?”

Viktor looks away. Hates how weak he feels. “You know.” Don’t make me say it.

“And yet…” His former partner crushes the flower in his hand then he swallows and winces. Viktor frowns. “Why can’t anything be simple with you?!”

“You’re talking nonsense, what are you even yelling at me for here? You think I spit out those flowers out of boredom?” Viktor huffs.

“I—” And once more instead of replying, he grabs Viktor’s chin and brings their lips together again. Predicting it, Viktor leans into it, consciously or not, he'd rather not think about it.

This kiss is short-lived though as Viktor suddenly tastes blood on his tongue. Jayce immediately pushes him and ends up on his knees as he coughs into his fist. Blood-covered petals and leaves fall to the floor, joining Viktor’s.

“... You have it too,” Viktor states, plainly, simply. “How long?”

Jayce winces even as he musters the energy to glare at him. “Not even gonna ask who?”

“I can hazard a hypothesis.”

(And the way his own throat suddenly feels free… as if magically cured… it is all the (ironically) scientific proof he needs.)

“Mm.”

“Humans diagnosed with Hanahaki are expected to last about two months before they die,” he states once again.

“Would you stop sounding like a robot now?”

Viktor sighs as he kneels down at Jayce’s level. “These feelings, they’re inconvenient, painful, deadly. Unlike me you could very much get rid of the disease, so why don’t you?”

Jayce gives a wry smile. “Why would I? That’s what makes me feel alive, human. And the fact you have it too, it's proof that how hard you try, you can’t ever get rid of it. There are cases, the love was so strong, the flowers just kept coming back anyhow.”

“Those are children's tales.”

“Sky would not have appreciated that comment.”

The sudden mention of their dead assistant makes Viktor reel back. “Bringing her up is an asshole move.”

Jayce huffs, the same derisive smile on his lips. “I know, that’s the point, dickhead. She was one of those cases. You were so oblivious, still are.”

And Viktor doesn’t answer. Jayce coughs, no longer trying to repress it, and suddenly he looks quite miserable, as opposed to the angry vengeful man who stood before him some moments prior. Viktor could cure him, right now, confess and be done with it, but he doubts Jayce would even believe it. For the disease to be cured, the victim must sincerely believe their feelings are returned.

The kisses weren't the confirmation Viktor had needed, but the flowers were.

And Jayce has never been one to trust people's words easily, not since Councilor Medarda admitted to using him at first. Not since… Well, Viktor betrayed his trust and indulged in immoral experiments on himself.

“Take this,” he says, retrieving his spare teleportation device. “Go back to Piltover and rest, you just sound delirious now.”

“Viktor?”

“I still don’t understand why you would choose to perish this way when you have the choice to kill it,” he continues, all but shoving the device in the other’s hand before standing up again. “I know I would.”

Jayce seems to deflate before he shakes his head, determination shining again in his eyes. “I know you would,” he agrees. That’s why his flowers are still here. “I don’t expect you to understand nor to properly return those feelings. I guess that’s just something we silly humans are, irrational and sentimental.”

“We’re scientists, not philosophers.”

“And somehow we stumbled upon the one disease that combines both.” Jayce stands back up as well, grabbing his hammer with his free hand and slightly leaning against it. “Rest assured, Machine Herald, that this doesn’t change anything, however. I will keep chasing you and bring you back home one way or another until my dying breath.”

Which may be closer than expected, Viktor thinks and a pang of discomfort laces his heart for a quick second. His throat aches with phantom pain. “I do not expect anything less, Defender Talis.”

And when he turns around, he hears Jayce use the teleportation device while he makes his way towards a secret exit, just as his right earbud sparks to life with Jinx triumphantly telling him she and their army successfully made the Piltovian army retreat.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Viktor ponders over the dilemma as he looks over his laboratory, the flowers, the labour of his painful love, still decorating every corner, bright and thriving. He watches as Jinx sits in the middle of his living room, happily humming to herself as she draws on his robots and tinkers with her pistols. He watches as Blitzcrank beeps whenever it waters the flowers as if greeting the plants. He then looks at his private study where he kept letters from kids thanking him for saving their parents’ or their siblings’ life, and ponders over the warm feeling he can feel in his chest, somehow, even though it should be hollow, superficial, cold.

He continues to ponder for the days that follow, as he continues on with his life, helping the people, fixing the parts of the city destroyed in the last battle. He finds Ekko supervising one of the reconstruction sites and the kid smiles at him and starts telling him about this new idea he has to improve the Firelights’ hoverboards while Heimerdinger, always by Ekko’s side ever since he’s decided to stay in Zaun, tells him about the development of the protective shield he’s been trying to create.

Then he comes home to a cooked dinner and Jinx excitedly tells him about her day, and to Blitzcrank making sure he goes to sleep at an acceptable time and does not get lost in his workshop. And he can enjoy it all again, without having to hide his condition, without every breath shooting pain in his throat.

And finally, one day he wakes with the realisation.

Love encompasses more than just romance, doesn’t it? He may have fooled himself into thinking he could get rid of it by replacing his body entirely when he’s still surrounded by people he cares for, whether he was conscious of it or not. Everything he’s ever done has been because of the love he holds for his people, for Zaun, for humanity and even beyond now that Blitzcrank and his other constructs exist. He could not imagine not being able to look at them all and feel pride and fondness for the life he’s built around them. He could not imagine just feeling hollow at the sight of them.

(And oh dear, he tried. He tried so hard to squash those feelings he qualified as a distraction. But he’s still full of love. Isn’t that pathetic?)

He feels quite stupid for not noticing it until flowers forced him to. Were they a challenge? One from the forces from above to determine if romantic love is worth suffering through, dying for, or if you’d rather sacrifice it along with every aspect of that strange concept?

Seems ludicrous.

And incredibly cruel.

Viktor is not a philosopher. But neither is he a callous man.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Jayce’s lab is laughingly easy to access, as Jinx told him. Unlike Viktor back in Zaun, Jayce did not install any sort of security, which is quite ironic, since this all started because of a robbery in Jayce’s old lab, it seems he doesn’t learn from the past.

Viktor slips through the window carefully and stops himself from gasping when he spots a figure hunched over Jayce’s desk — the man himself, absolutely not resting as he should be.

(Look who’s talking, a voice that sounds a bit too much like Ekko’s says in his head.)

Viktor huffs then takes a quick look around. Mercury Hammer sits proudly against the handle of the door, blocking the entry from there. The Hexcore is still there, glowing threateningly but no longer in a purple hue and Viktor cannot hear its voice anymore, to his grand relief. What used to be his side of the lab is still untouched, surprisingly, apart from an array of vases filled with different flowers across the dusty surface of his desk.

Then he looks at Jayce again. His desk is a mess of papers, petals and flowers. But among the chaos and poorly sketched-out ideas, Viktor can pick up a few photographs mixed in. He can recognise Caitlyn and Vi — and to his surprise, no sign of Mel Medarda anywhere, did they have a falling out? — but there’s also a little girl he doesn’t know appearing in some of them.

“Jayce has a kid now?” he wonders to himself. She doesn’t seem to have any shared physical traits with Jayce or Councilor Medarda, so he doubts she would be biologically his. But it’s an interesting development. Despite himself, he smiles at the thought.

What a terrible end it would be, for such a loved man to die a pathetic death by flowers. Viktor wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy.

(Who also happens to be the one his metallic heart has decided to still beat for, even though it doesn’t need to.)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The next day, Jayce wakes with a daffodil tangled in his fingers and a piece of paper stuck to his forehead. He blinks, eyes adjusting to the light as drowsiness takes its time to pass before he recognises the handwriting and is suddenly wide awake, straightening up in his chair.

“Viktor was here?!”

He panics for a moment as he stands up and frantically looks at his notes and around the lab, wondering what he might have stolen. After what might have been between five minutes and one hour of fruitless search, he slumps back down on his chair and looks at the letter left for him with apprehension.

I have pondered over this issue for the past few days, and I must come to terms with the fact that I despise the situation I’ve inadvertently put you in. Only I can bring about your demise, not measly flowers. Rest assured, Defender Talis, that it is with much shame I admit in this note, that your feelings are indeed returned. Admitting it out loud is much too humiliating so a letter shall do. Keep it or burn it, I do not care for either, I doubt anyone else but you can even read this. Do not dare question me.

However, you should also know that my love for Zaun shall prevail.

We’re enemies and shall remain as such, but I want to take you down myself rather than see you crumble under flowers.

Be well for our next battle.

Viktor.

Jayce frowns, his first thought telling him this must be some kind of joke one of the other Councillors decided to spring on him and yet there is no mistaking Viktor’s horrendous handwriting. Anger first bubbles in his chest at Viktor’s audacity and arrogance, and yet in his next breath, all he can feel is a strange sense of relief.

And… to top it all off, Jayce is stunned to realise his lungs feel as good as new, cured by such simple words on a fragile piece of paper. His life hung, even if for just one second, on a vulgar piece of paper. He stares at the daffodil in his hand and a sigh escapes his lips again.

That flower symbolises rebirth.

And yet the war will keep raging on, Jayce will keep trying to take the Machine Herald down so he can face the crimes he committed in Piltover and prompt Zaun to surrender. He simply does not have a time limit anymore, and a new variable has entered the equation.

Thus, cautiously, Jayce gives this daffodil its own special vase and places it where Viktor’s desk used to be, in the middle of all the other flowers he had cried for the man and then goes on with his day, as if his whole world has not shifted on its axis.

#arcane #my fics #arcane fic #jayvik #jayvik fanfic

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