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dr3amfyr-e · 7 months ago

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brat. - j.v. ( w. 4.5k )

꒰ in which the boy you see every summer enrolls in the same university as you. ꒱ — modern!jacaerys velayron x reader

୨ ⎯ i cannot stress enough, football means ⚽️ not 🏈. childhood-friends-to-lovers, but you have to get through my 2000 word psychoanalysis and backstory first. light angst. mention of the death of a parent. lots and lots of talk about the velaryon-targaryen-hightower family dynamic. light make out action. reader's family is implied to be wealthy enough to have a summer home. almost everyone lives au. set in the uk, not westeros. omitted daemon rhaenyra marriage because there’s no way to to make it even semi-normal. realizing now i omitted daemon entirely erm sorry. pushing the laenor agenda bc he’s my favorite character. this is abhorently long. extreme overuse of the em-dash. uhh the perspective is wonky in a few places. part two. ⎯ ୧

i had to write this twice. i'm offering this to you with shaking hands, like a peasent child begging for coins. i may write a part two because i have more to say, but i don't want to figure it out rn.

On the cold January morning that Jacaerys Velaryon-Targaryen was born, the media went into a frenzy.

The Targaryens were old money, their fortune rooted a century back in good investments. Historically adept at finding their way into things, the empire had a string to pull in every industry. From art and law to technology and shipping, if business prospects looked good there would be a Targaryen investment.

And then there were the dogs — regal greyhounds, with long, thin bodies and sleek coats. The Targaryens bred them as far back as bloodline records went. The pups were never for sale; sometimes they were used as show dogs, and successful show dogs they were, but more often they were pets. It was a status symbol, to nonchalantly own such a coveted creature.

The Targaryens were idolized in the public eye. They were all stunning, with sharp features and silver hair, and each member of the family seemed to possess a Midas touch. But, where Valyrian blood ran hot, so did the press. It was no surprise when magazines started to turn a profit from silver heads plastered across their glossy covers. It was the price that came with God-like aristocracy.

From editorials to gossip columns, people devoured the insider life of the untouchables. When Aemma Targaryen died, there was a four-page spread in nearly every magazine; complete with pictures and quotes. Business papers filled with opinion pieces about Rhaenyra’s inheritance claim to her family’s empire; magazines exploded with the announcement of her engagement to Laenor Velaryon, and subsequently Viserys’ marriage to Alicent Hightower, the daughter of his lawyer.

When Jacaerys was born, reporters lined up outside of the hospital doors. There were cameras and microphones and crew trucks, and Rhaenyra hated it. It wasn’t the way she wished to welcome her child into the world — swarmed by people who didn’t know nor care for him.

Laenor had always been good at navigating the attention, and Rhaenyra was constantly grateful. So, when he pulled his gaze from the babe and steeled himself to deal with the onslaught of reporters outside, tears pricked at her eyes. Appreciation, exhaustion, adoration? She couldn’t be sure.

Looking down at her son, she thought, he’s perfect. He had a smattering of dark hair, and he was quiet but not concerningly so. Wispy lashes fell upon his cherub cheeks, and when he eventually blinked up at her his eyes were dark. He looked nothing like her — she didn’t care.

She refused to talk to anyone outside of her family, and had the curtains in her private room drawn. To expose her son, her heart, to the prying eyes of the bored masses with nary a care for his well-being was a nightmare. She wouldn’t have him exploited.

At the time of Jacaerys’ birth, she and Laenor had been married for a little over a year. Laenor’s father, Corlys, managed the bulk of the import and export for Viserys’ company. Corlys was a good man, he hadn’t dreamed of marrying his son off. But Laenor and Rhaenyra were both in the same impossible situation: the wiles of youth mixed with the ever critical public.

They had both fallen into scandalous relationships, both preyed on by paparazzi. If they married one another, it would save face for both of their families. Plus — both being the eldest and heir, this would clear the expectation of a dignified marriage. They agreed to leave each other to whatever youthful fun they wanted to have, as long as everything was discreet.

Both the Velaryons and the Targaryens kept a summer home in Dragonstone, a private community in coastal Wales. It was the perfect place for Rhaenyra and Laenor to begin their life — far from her father, close to his parents, and out of the line of sight for any nosy journalist.

The public eye had looked to other things by the time Lucerys was born, two years later. Again, Laenor dealt with the small gathering of reporters with the utmost grace, and Rhaenyra submitted a written statement.

Alicent divorced Viserys that same year.

As she watched her boys grow up, full of energy and life, Rhaenyra thought, there was no one better to parent with than her best friend — a title Laenor had rightfully earned. They hadn’t had much choice in knowing each other, and they certainly would never have chosen to be married, but he made a bearable roommate. They had things in common; they liked the same music, and the same men. They drank the same wine and frequented the same restaurants. And, they both loved their boys.

As Jace and Luke grew up, they found the best company in each other — the school in Dragonstone was so small, though, that there were very few other options. They both played on the school’s small football team, and Jace took piano lessons while Luke learned to fence. Where Jace was driven by emotion, Luke was level-headed; where Luke was cautiously quiet, Jace spoke his mind. It was an ideal childhood, the Welsh coast was an idyllic backdrop to grow up upon, with the sea in their backyard.

They were ten and eight when Joffrey was born, both excited for their new brother. Their mother brought him home, bundled in a soft red blanket. The boys sat on the couch beside Rhaenys and stared at him for upwards of an hour.

Hardly a week had passed when Harwin Strong died. He was a family friend, a frequent presence in their home and life — Jace and Luke had been upset by this, of course.

In time they came to understand the situation fully. Jacaerys first, fitting the pieces together with the evidence he found in the mirror. Neither Rhaenyra nor Laenor had dark hair, like he and his brothers.

His matriline was uncontestable though, as he grew into himself. He possessed the same nose, jaw, brow, and high cheekbones that Rhaenyra wore. The comparisons between the two became more frequent as he grew older, and he found himself to be quite proud to look like her.

Her attitude lived in him as well, the temperament she had been so notorious for as a girl festered in her eldest son. She had once been christened ‘The Princess of Dragonstone’ after flipping off a reporter at their summer home. Jacearys earned it for himself when he was fifteen, after loudly berating a reporter. He had been defending Luke, but no one seemed to care when they deigned him ‘The Prince of Dragonstone’. He took it with grace, claiming that he couldn’t help but be his mother’s child.

It instilled a sense of public propriety he strove to uphold.

Rhaenyra remarried the same year — to Alicent Hightower — and moved her children from Wales to London. It took a while to adjust to the new life — Jace liked his new school, but he detested his step-brothers. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t come around to the idea of living with Aemond and Aegon, who took so much pleasure in making he and his brothers miserable.

After the first month, Jacaerys fell in brilliantly. He performed well in school, quickly being enrolled in the advanced literature and history courses. He got on well with his peers, and made a number of friends. He joined the football team and spent his Sunday afternoons learning piano concertos.

Living in London made him a more publicly prominent figure in his family's legacy. He knew how to play his role as heir; he carried himself perfectly — confident and charming and elegant. He didn’t particularly like being in the public eye, but there was a certain sense of satisfaction when he did something to receive positive public attention.

King’s Landing, much like where he had grown up, was a community reserved for the upper echelon. Situated in Northwest London, and surrounded by wrought iron gates, it was regal and dignified. The house had high, vaulted ceilings, large stained glass windows, and more than enough bedrooms. It rained more, Jacaerys noticed in the first month. When it had rained in Dragonstone he would watch the droplets bounce off the sea, where it lapped at the sandy bay. Here the rain splattered unceremoniously upon the pavement.

For as wonderful as life in London had turned out, Jacaerys found himself longing for what was left behind in Dragonstone. Laenor lived there still, and while he called often and visited as much as he could, it wasn’t the same. Jace’s childhood bedroom remained, along with all of the memories in the house he grew up in. And his friends. There was an assortment of people he only saw between late May and early September; the children of the other seasonal residents. The number had dwindled in years past, with fewer of them returning for break — favouring more interesting places, like Ibiza or Rome, as they got older.

Far too few of his childhood friends he kept in contact with, especially after the move to London. You were the exception.

He was grateful, on days when it stormed in London, to receive a silly text or too-long voice note. It made things feel less dull — you had a way of doing that.

He took to reading theory around the time he turned seventeen. It’s queer theory, at the suggestion of his cousin Baela, who lent him his first Judith Butler book. He finished it that weekend.

His aunt Laena and her two daughters lived in London, and Jace found a close comrade in Baela. She played competitive tennis and listened to riot grrrl, she was much cooler than him and he knew it. Her bedroom held two massive bookshelves, and she let him pillage her collection for De Bouvier and Didion and Gay. Hours were spent lying across the floor in Laena’s house, studying, or reading, or talking. He enjoyed Baela’s company more than any of his school friends, favouring anything with her over anything with the boys from his football team.

His youngest sister, Visenya, turned one around the same time. Baela, staying with Jacaerys while he babysat one night, inducted him into the eldest daughter club.

“You’re so keen on driving your siblings around, and taking care of them. Plus, aren’t you your mother’s closest confidant?” She asked.

True, Jace supposed. He was the oldest of Rhaenyra’s children, and the most responsible of his brothers and step-siblings. His mums both worked full time, they were busy but as involved as possible. Jace just did the menial things. He made Joffrey breakfast, picked Luke up after school, and watched Visenya when necessary. He didn’t mind.

Baela argued that he should mind.

He had been a sensitive child, more so than his brothers, but it made him incredibly emotionally adept as he aged. So many boys his age prided themselves on stoicism, but that was never something Jace felt connected to. He always felt things too deeply to bottle them up — it accounted for the occasional temper that flared up when he was upset, but also how empathetic and kind he was.

Jacearys was set to graduate with honours in the first week of May. It was three months before when college acceptance letters began to appear in the mail. He had applied to a number of places, and been accepted everywhere. The University of the Vale was where his hopes hinged though.

Just after Valentine's Day, it showed up. The envelope was wide and stuffed full, and sealed with a wax stamp. His acceptance letter was on the very top of the stack of papers — the thick paper heavy in his hands, as he admired the blue printed border and silver flocking.

Rhaenrya sorted through the informational packets while Jace reread the letter. Part of him couldn’t believe it was real.

He sends you a picture of the letter, and you respond in kind with one of an identical nature.

You hadn’t planned to go to the same university, but it certainly was a happy coincidence.

After graduation, he was beyond excited for the reprieve that Dragonstone granted. The promise of early morning hikes, and evenings spent on the beach — the once empty house, full of life and bustling with bodies.

You were the first thing Jacaerys thought to look for when he set his bags down in the summer home.

It was late May, and you were guaranteed to be out of school. I’ll text after I unpack, he thought, pulling clothes and books from his suitcase.

His room in Dragonstone had once been his childhood bedroom. The walls were a warm tone of white, and the small bed was still covered with his blue and white checkered duvet. Piano scales and pictures of his brothers and friends adorn the walls. There was a soccer trophy on the back edge of his desk, something he had won when he was eleven. It was stuffy from nine months of stagnance, but familiar all the same.

He pushed the curtains back from the window to let sunlight filter into the dusty room, gazing down at the beach, when he spotted your figure. He was quick to rush downstairs, out the backdoor, and across the stone path that leads from the patio to the beach. He greets you with a call of your name and a tight hug, sunglasses perched atop his head and linen shirt half buttoned.

It had been a year since he’d last seen you. You had kept in touch during the school year; Jace favoured Snapchat and FaceTime, delighted with the pleasure of seeing the mundane things you were up to. There was a nearly constant text thread, and voice memos passed back and forth. But, it all paled in comparison to physical company.

He abandoned his housekeeping duties, keen to sit on the beach and talk. And you did so for hours, about everything and nothing. He tells you about his last year of school and listens as you do the same. When the sun dipped past the treeline, he leaned back on his elbows, watching the water crest on the sand. He felt more at ease than he had in a while, enraptured by the ease of your presence. The conversation flowed, there were no awkward lulls and no pressure to talk about something dignified. It was comforting to be so close to someone who didn’t see much of his life in London — you knew the best version of him.

Your friendship had always felt like that, from a young age. On days that smelled of sunscreen and sea salt in his mind, you would meet in the mornings and depart past dark and then do it again the next day, never tiring of each other. Your parents knew his, so you had always been welcome in his home — invited or not. You had shared a bed during sleepovers, drunk from the same cup, and fallen asleep on the couch during movie nights countless times. Quick glances and imperceptible expressions were a language you communicated in, reading each other without words. In your presence, Jace was the most comfortable.

The summer slipped away as it always did, taking long nights and leaving memories of sand and sunshine. The days were ambled away in the water, on rocky hiking paths, or in the meadow that sat a mile away from all of the homes.

Jace had started The Hobbit before school ended — most days he found himself sprawled out in the park or on the beach, reading. He had also taken to running with his dog, Vermax, in the mornings. He relied on the serotonin boost to start the day, and with no football to play a jog was a decent alternative.

When the summer drew to a close, the typical melancholy that befell the return to the real world wasn’t present in Jace’s mind. He presumed it had everything to do with the fact that he would see you every day now

You have one college class together — a nine a.m. medieval literature discussion.

Clinging to familiarity in the new environment, he glued himself to your side for the first week of classes. He memorized the way to your dorm, meeting you outside every morning to walk together to your first lessons. The meandering conversation was a good start to the day, and he silently relished in your tired eyes and quiet voice, not yet used to the early schedule.

On Friday he all but begged you to come back to his dorm after the discussion; it was your only class that day so you had given in. You hadn’t seen his living quarters yet, and he wanted to spend time with you, worried for when your schedules would fill up and you would lose room for each other.

The discussion had been mind-numbing. You reviewed the same syllabus as the lecture, and went over the same rules and policies as every other class. With the thirty-five minutes remaining, the teaching assistant made everyone watch an incredibly monotone video about the history of medieval England.

Jace linked his arm into yours in the hallway after class, pulling you to the doors. The cool morning air was refreshing, waking you up more as you walked across campus. His dorm building was new and modern, seventeen floors with grey siding and big windows. It was private housing, clearly expensive.

He had a single room with an adjoining bathroom and a small common space. The walls were typical dorm white, with laminate wood flooring. Joffrey’s school photo is hung on one wall, the frame clearly decorated by the child with glitter and string. Scattered across the other walls were photographs in thin silver frames, a large world map, a clock, and a cross-stitch of a rainbow stag beetle.

Sitting on the couch, you observed the unframed photos that lay across the coffee table, inspecting a leggy grey dog as you plucked it from the pile, “Who is this?”

Jace leaned into your side, gazing at the photo, “My mum’s dog, Syrax,” He reached over you to tap the picture, “Syrax is my dog’s mum.”

He slipped his hand into yours as you walked with him to his second class of the day.

In the third week of school, Jace asks you to attend a mixer for a pre-law society with him. He doesn't know anyone, and doesn't want to be alone at the party. You meet at his dorm at a quarter-to-six so you can walk to the event together.

The dress-code is emi-formal, and when he opens the door to you his hair is slicked back with water and he smells like his cologne — musk, sandalwood, and amber.

“Are your clothes pressed?” You ask, grinning at his freshly ironed slacks and the three buttons undone on his shirt.

He rolls his eyes, locking the door behind him as he escorts you down the hallway. The walls of the elevator in his dorm are mirrored, and you laugh at him when you catch him taking pictures of himself. He makes you take one with him, and sets it as his lock screen.

The mixer was in the dean of law’s massive house, buzzing with young people in smart outfits. Jace abandons you about fifteen minutes in, spotting a group of poli sci majors from his social psychology class.

From his childhood spent between galas and his mother’s business meetings, Jace was good at navigating these situations. He was charming, leveling the professors with charismatic smiles and confident posture. He was good at holding an intelligent conversation, discussing theory and strategy.

You were on the patio, watching the stars, when he found you an hour later.

His arms brushed yours as he leaned against the railing, “Sorry for leaving you,” His voice was quiet, and he stared at your profile, watching the way the moonlight illuminated your skin.

You wave his apology off and make him buy you coffee in recompense on the way home.

You’re stood talking together on the quadrangle a few weeks later, a cup of hot chocolate warming your mitten-less hands, when you realise just how cold it’s gotten. It's just too cold for the thin jacket that you try to sink further into, hiding from the wind that bites at your delicate skin.

Jace watches you shiver, observing your lack of appropriate attire.

“Are you cold?” He asks, reaching out to run his hands up and down your arms, half to warm you, half to gauge how thick your jacket is. Not very.

You nod, “I didn’t check the weather this morning.”

He sighs with exaggerated exasperation and slides his arms around you, careful of the paper cup you held. Of course, he’s worn the right coat, and you feel the downy material of his hood against your cheek as he rubs your back to generate some warmth. You smell the cologne on his collar and the expensive shampoo he uses; he grumbled something about taking better care of yourself.

Then, one particularly cold Friday morning he has forgotten his coat. Dressed in a hoodie, he mirrors your excuse from the week prior, smiling sheepishly — face flushed from the chilly air, dark curls blowing around his head like a halo. You take pity on him, slipping your scarf off. You loop it around his neck, tucking the ends down into the collar of his sweater, and leave him with a fond peck on the cheek; his skin is cold.

He's appreciative, though the scarf does little against the cold wind cutting through his sweater. Still, he doesn't give the scarf back.

With the cold, comes midterms. You’re the first person Jace asks to study.

Your dorm room is closer to the central part of campus, and thus a shorter walk in the bitter cold. Jace brushes snow out of his hair as you unlock your door, ushering him inside. It's small. Two twin-sized beds, one on each wall, with nary enough room for two bodies between them; a desk is crammed into the small space between your bed and the window. You let him take the desk, spreading your books and notes out across your bed.

Your dorm is old, and the room has very little ventilation. Despite the frigidity outside, the room is stuffy and almost hot with both of your bodies inside. An hour into studying Jace shrugs off his heavy, knit sweater and pushes his glasses up into his hair.

“What are you working on?” You ask, leaning forward. You’re bored, working on the same power point you started yesterday. You want to talk to him, though he doesn’t seem keen on the idea

He doesn’t look up from typing as he speaks, “Analysing The Art of War.”

You shut your laptop, bent on distracting him, “The book?”

He nods but doesn’t give a verbal response.

“Who's that by?” You ask, fighting to suppress a grin

This time he does look up, glaring at you over his glasses, “Sun Tzu.”

His tone is short, but it's amusing to annoy him so you grin, suppressing a giggle, “Sounds very interesting.”

“What do you want?” He asks after a beat, still holding your gaze.

You shrug, “Nothing. I’m bored,”

The next time you study is even less productive, school work discarded on his floor in a matter of minutes.

“We can’t be trusted to work together,” He tells you, watching as you calculate his astrological chart, geometry homework forgotten.

You attend your first college party together in November. When you arrive at his dorm, he’s dressed much more casually than normal.

You reach out to tug at the thin silver chain peeking out from his shirt collar, “This is fun,” You tease, giggling, “Aiming to impress tonight?”

He rolls his eyes in mock-offence, turning you around by the shoulders to shove you out of the doorframe.

The lights in the house are dim, and they strobe slowly through different colours. It’s too dark and too bright all at once. The music is almost unbearably loud and people are packed in like sardines, it’s all incredibly overstimulating.

When he senses your unease, Jace takes your hand, pulling you tight against your side to lead you through the throng of bodies. He’s looking for someone, but you’re unsure who, and he canvases the whole space before giving up on finding them.

The backyard of the house is quieter, but the ground still vibrates from the bass of the music. People are scattered about, smoking cigarettes and sipping from bottles of cheap beer.

You both learn what Jell-O shots are, and make out in the bathroom back at his dorm. It’s not the first time you’d kissed each other, trying it a few times in your adolescence just to see what it was like. But this is different, tipsy and sloppy, as you giggle into his mouth.

It's forgotten in the morning, when you wake up in his bed still dressed in your going-out clothes, head pounding.

But then it happens again, the week before finals.

You had stayed at the library far too late studying, leaving the pair of you to walk back to his dorm in the dark. It's positively frigid, cold December air whipping snow into your face.

There are still snowflakes in your hair as you shed the thick coat you’re wearing, pulling off your gloves and hat.

There's a bottle of wine in Jace’s freezer, left by Aegon the weekend before. It's expensive and rich and red, and Aegon would likely skin you if he found out you were drinking it — but, that's part of the fun. There's a baking show on the small television, and you’re curled into Jace’s side to steal some of the warmth from his body.

When the program lulls he brings his hand to your hair, combing through the tangled strands. You pay it little mind, leaning into his touch as you watch a contestant on-screen whip macaron batter. His fingers slide down to your jaw, turning your head so your eyes meet his. He’s studying your face, cheeks flushed from the wine or the cold.

The attention is odd, and you giggle nervously under his gaze. His hands come to cradle your jaw as he leans towards you, nose brushing yours. The air is charged with an unusual tension, his mouth a breath away from yours.

When he kisses you, he’s slow and gentle, his whole body angled into yours. Everything feels warm, a welcome contrast to the weather outside, and you chalk it up to the glasses of wine coursing through your bloodstream.

It's pleasant, different from times past; this certainly doesn’t feel like an innocent, experimental kiss. It's heated, tinged with passion. He uses the placement of his hand to ease your jaw open, tongue sliding slowly into your mouth.

There's a vibe, something you hadn’t felt before with him. It's communicated through the gentle touch of his hands, and how his breath hitches when you kiss him back with the same sort of force.

The moment is broken by the announcement of a winner on the television. His hands slide down, resting on your shoulders, pulling your frame into his.

You don’t talk about it afterwards.

#guys be honest can you tell that i work for a newspaper #column ☝️🤓 editorial ☝️🤓#i wrote a whole 4000 word draft and fucked the perspective so badly i had to rewrite the entire thing #this actually kind of cooked me tbh #pls dont base my merit as a writer on this fanfic that i wrote in the car and also in a public bathroom in the suburbs of chicago #HONESTLY i'm not really a modern au enjoyer but this is eating my brain so it needs to get out into the universe #i got locked into a public bathroom while writing this btw #𖦹｡⋆ jace #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys x reader #hotd jacaerys #prince jacaerys

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crematedcow · 1 year ago

Text

She couldn't simply surrender what had been the very essence of her life, the one thing that no one was supposed to have the power to take away from her. Her freedom? Nobody was acutally free. Her love? She could find a way to cope with it. Her child? A heart-wrenching sacrifice, but she could endure it. Yet, this vital part of her, this very core of her being – she would never allow anyone to snatch it away.

And that marked the tale of a parasite.

Of a Patron and Its Chains is a 18+ interactive fiction in a fantasy and steampunk setting inspired by the worlds of The Witcher Series and Fullmetal Alchemist. You are a seasoned hunter tasked with tracking and eliminating dangerous supernatural threats. However, your story takes a turn when you decide to become also a pactbearer.

In this realm where the intricate dance of magic and technology creates a canvas of possibilities, one could easily envision an idyllic existence.

The ability to traverse into other realities, though often at a steep cost, promised rapid advancement that could border on madness. Yet, amid these innovations and developments, lurking dangers remained ever-present. The very act of opening portals to other realms could inadvertently usher in creatures not meant for this world, seamlessly intertwining them with reality.

It was a world where the choice was to either be the hunter or the hunted, and most succumbed to the latter fate. However, your father instilled a different path in you. As a hunter of those creatures, he ensured you absorbed all the survival knowledge you needed before eventually got wrongfully accused and executed, a tragic turning point that reshaped your plans. Rather than simply following in his footsteps to become a hunter, you decided to become a pactbearer.

Summoning a Patron, a legend from diverse worlds and realities, your mission was to unite with fellow pactbearers. Together, you would confront an encroaching evil, all while seeking the fulfillment of a cherished wish granted by a god. Yet, even with the support of numerous companions and your trusted Patron, each victory over a monstrous foe revealed a looming threat waiting just beyond the horizon...

You are the hero... right?

This is an 18+ interactive fiction that is being written on Twine.

be a hunter that kills monsters or embroils into unwanted drama

fully customizable mc from appearance, pronouns and personality

several sidequests to develop your skills as a hunter (includes: Possession, Witches, Ancient Beasts and more)

a beastiarium with further information to every creature you meet on the way

the big world of Vestria & Co. with a lot of lore that you can all uncover - or not!

a cryptic voice inside your head that occasionally breaks the fourth wall

meet the other pactbearers and their patrons and decide what relationship you want to have with them

choose what animal-form your patron is going to have

a total of six companions (including your patron) who will be with you a majority of your journey

all of them are romancable, plus a hidden romance option for those who can be patient

lots of parental issues!

figure out the truth of your world, or fail to do so - there is no right or wrong

and a... cow?

CONTENT WARNINGS: depicitons of death, violence, mental illness, gore (in the territory of body horror), animal cruetly and death, abuse, pornographic content, strong language

More might follow

DEMO TBA

CURRENT WORD COUNT: 21000+

but nothing demo ready yet

The RO's include:

✸ Cú Chulainn (M/F)

In ancient tomes and tales, Chulainn stood as a formidable legend — an indomitable hero whose laughter echoed in the face of enemies and even death itself. They reveled in the thrill of combat, never yielding without a proper battle. Yet, such was the image you held dear until the moment you summoned them into your realm, making them your esteemed Patron. The being before you shattered the illusion you once cherished. No longer did they exude the vigor of a warrior; instead, bitterness clung to their spirit, entwined with a profound disdain for the world and all its inhabitants. Longing for the solace of death they once fervently evaded, Chulainn relinquished their ardor for combat, dismissing it as a hollow pursuit devoid of significance. As a consequence, their role as your Patron proved less than… helpful. Nevertheless, a flicker of optimism lingers within the depths of their desolate heart. Perhaps, against all odds, you possess the power to reignite the flames of purpose within them, offering a renewed sense of hope and the chance for a remarkable new beginning.

✸ Lysander/Lysandra (M/F)

Within the illustrious court of the High Queen, there exists a figure of great repute: Lys, a distinguished servant renowned for their unparalleled ability to fulfill any given task. Their name has become synonymous with perfectionism, as they consistently meet and surpass the lofty expectations placed upon them. The mere mention of their name evokes awe and respect throughout the courtly corridors. Alas, despite their esteemed standing, Lys remains a figure of divisive sentiment. Whispers and murmurs abound among their colleagues, swirling in a ceaseless cycle of gossip. Tales of their rigid and occasionally insolent demeanor dominate these conversations, yet there is another facet that elicits both awe and envy in equal measure. Lys possesses an unparalleled loyalty to the High Queen, a level of devotion that others find almost unattainable. Yet, the reality surpasses the worst of these rumors. Lys' nature transcends the bounds of mere unpleasantness, particularly in their interactions with you. Adding fuel to the fire, they perceive you as a sort of rival, amplifying the tensions between you. One can only wonder if it is merely a facade in an attempt to hide their weakness or the reality of their identity.

✸ Holographic Entity "Holly" (F)

Holly, the Patron of Lys, assumes the guise of a long-haired housecat, but her true essence hails as a revolutionary from a distant reality, a realm of unparalleled advancement far beyond the scope of Vestria. For Holly, her presence in this foreign world feels akin to embarking on an elaborate holiday excursion plucked from the very pages of historical books she once heard of. Her insatiable curiosity serves as the driving force behind her existence, propelling her to seek new experiences and infusing every interaction with a buoyant energy that suggests no challenge is insurmountable. Unafraid to vocalize her thoughts and opinions, Holly fearlessly shares her insights, even when they clash with those of her companion, Lys, particularly when the subject of her candid musings centers around you. Or at least, that is the impression you choose to hold. Her unabashed honesty may lead some to believe that she is a simple, unassuming creature. However, the more time spent with Holly reveals that there is much more to her than meets the eye. After all, one cannot lead a revolution based solely on a smile and an unfiltered mouth.

✸ Elli Agilulf (M)

The Blessed Ones, the esteemed right and left hand of the Night Church, are figures known to all who have ventured beyond the confines of ignorance. Cloaked in an aura of mystery, their veiled faces lend an air of both authority and enigma. Among their ranks is Elli, who strives to embody the idealized image of a Blessed One. He adheres to a code of silence, speaking only when necessary and responding with a detached aloofness. True to form, he carries himself with an air of subtle intimidation. However, beneath his carefully crafted facade, Elli is easily rattled by even the slightest inconvenience or a quick-witted remark, his frustration and anger palpable despite his hidden face. He is short-tempered and stubborn, a nature that clashes with the expectations of his position. As a Blessed One, he is expected to be a mindless automaton, devoid of thoughts or personal desires, but Elli's mind is a swirling vortex of thoughts and emotions, overflowing with complexity. Perhaps it is this contradiction, this clash between his true nature and the expectations placed upon him, that makes Elli an actual enigma. You do feel yourself challenged when he decides that you are a criminal to-become.

✸ Irydion (F)

Irydion holds a perspective that challenges the notion of victory being achieved simply through diplomatic agreements and signed papers. To her, a war is not truly won until she has exacted revenge to those she deems responsible for the suffering inflicted upon her country. As a member of the militia, she is fueled by a desire to fight, her hands trembling with the power of her magic, ready to unleash it upon her enemies on the frontline. While others may perceive an undisturbed silence on the battlefield as a sign of these so called peacetimes, Irydion remains vigilant, recognizing it as a deceptive tactic used by the enemy to lure her into dropping her guard. Too bad she is always a step ahead of those who seek to harm her people! Her selfless dedication to protecting and caring for her fellow countrymen is unwavering, even if it means being seen as misguided or paranoid by those who don't fully understand her. Irydion's allies may acknowledge her kind-hearted nature, but they also recognize her single-minded determination and unwavering belief in the necessity of fighting back against an enemy that is just a shadow. Irydion does not care for these rumors, knowing that regardless of how many may stand against her, they will eventually come to understand the truth of her cause. She remains steadfast, believing that time will prove her right in the end. After all, you believe her… right?

✸ "Junius" (M)

Even as Irydion's patron, the line between their roles blurs, with Junius' approach to her and other humans carrying an arrogantly nonchalant air. His actions, delivered with ease and naturalness, ridicule or charm one without noticing. With a mere lazy wink or a mockish bow, he effortlessly asserts a sense of superiority, deliberately refraining from putting genuine meaning or depth in his antics. Maintaining an elusive detachment, he keeps others at arm's length, preventing them from ever truly getting close to him. Despite his mysterious past, he carries himself as if the weight of secrets hold little significance to who he is. Junius' personality dances on the edge of daring, akin to playing with fire, drawing allure and enticement from the very act itself. He fearlessly indulges in flirting with married women and engaging in challenges with those of higher social standing, defying conventional norms and embracing a provocative existence. There lies a subtle irony in his guise — a wolf rather than a lion — his pride speaking for another form. And even in conversation, he adeptly maintains the facade, never allowing his act to waver, leaving you to question whether it is indeed a carefully crafted performance or indeed the reality of his character.

???

If it wasn't the work of gods, maybe it was fate that brought you together.

And several other characters you meet on your way across the country; other pactbearers and their patrons, tragic lovers, a noisy priest, ill-ridden villages (there is only two but it's weird it happened twice), two twin-rulers who don't seem to get along, a talking book, and more.

#twine if #twine game #twine wip #interactive novel #if game #twine #wip #i was kind of forced to post this #interactive fiction #oapaic #im not a native english speaker pls be nice #of a patron and its chains

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candywife333 · 2 months ago

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Always With Me

PART 1

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I plan on 4 parts.

I've come back after too long and wanted to give you guys a new year gift. I was unfortunately ridiculously busy with my professional commitments. And I have been sucked into the vortex of Janitor AI, but that is a different story altogether.

But I will be writing so much you will get sick of me posting in January. Thanks for bearing with me my wonderful readers. I will be completing incomplete fics also. Hope you enjoy part 1.

As usual, minimal proofreading.

Warnings: nsfw, odd alien in body cavity sequences, sexually explicit scenes , cursing

pairing : tiny alien specimen turned hottie Jungkook x scientist reader

Towering, bioluminescent trees stretch their vivacious tendrils towards the ceiling of the ship, their roots glowing faintly in the low light. Strange flowers with translucent petals pulse with color, shifting from deep blues to radiant purples and greens, emitting a soft, harmonic hum. Brightly colored vines snake along the walls, curling up and around the doorways, creating an almost seamless connection between the spaceship and the garden.

In the distance, you can see large, floating platforms covered with grass-like plants that sway in an invisible breeze.The air inside the ship feels fresh, carrying the faint allure of alien blossoms, mixing with the hum of technology. It’s as if the ship itself has become one with the garden, a perfect blend of nature and futuristic design.

The behaviors of all the other life forms till date have been predictable. Either they are avoidant, indifferent, noxious and poisonous, or happy. They coo and lean towards human touch if they are joyous and turn away or shrivel when they don't want to be bothered.

All the specimens till now have been enchanting ,somewhat ethereal, and overwhelmingly cute. Tiny corals that look like the ones on earth, embedded with crystalline eyes that glow in the dark. Blue snails that camouflage as mini blueberry doppelgangers. But no way can you eat one of them. They are poisonous, even a tiny lick can send you to the after-life. A place I don't intend to explore very soon if I can help it.

However, one life form has been ruining my life. Like straight up demolishing my peace of mind. One life form I can never particularly understand is a specific tentacle like creature. It could be mistaken for a rhubarb plant or a raging highlighter pink baby octopus tentacle. I carry great contempt for things shiny and pink so I let my co-workers flourish it with attention and study it. I wanted nothing to do with it.

I hate to be a debby downer and maybe I come off as rather harsh, but this life form is an attention whore. I said it. Maybe it's mean of me. But the thing literally whines for attention 24/7. And to my great dismay, it seems to have latched on to me. How is that possible you ask, if you have never touched or taken care of it? I don't have a freaking clue and its driving me bloody crazy. It is like it imprinted on me, which could be highly possible now that I think about it, because I had been the first thing it had seen when it hatched from its clutch.

It had been born from the most obnoxious egg: a concoction of yellow and black polka dots- the ghastliest, most discordant color combination, you could have seen in your life time. I know I would hate it from the time it was born. Call me a baby hater, an alien discriminator, a eugenic villain, or a shallow person. Call me any name, but it didn't change facts. I hated it. And its behavior didn't help. I hated it from the time it was born.

But IT, didn't understand my sentiments. Every time I left to take a piss or to eat lunch it would let out a high pitch whine, slamming itself against the glass walls of its enclosure. Becoming akin to a spilled incandescent fuchsia party punch on the floors of its cage. Whenever I smiled at another co-worker, it pitched a fit, becoming loud , screeching as if I tweezed out all its hairs individually. Oh, I forgot to mention. It has the ugliest little patches of black hair sprouting all over in clumps on its body. It ain't a mammal or a reptile or an amphibian. I can't classify the damn thing-which is making me late for my deadline on its report. WHICH IS MAKING ME HATE IT MORE!!!!

IT was a contradiction in every sense, its behavior a bizarre mix of infantile helplessness and primal aggression. Its neediness, the way it reacted to every small shift in the room, made it feel like something out of a nightmare nursery. And god forbid I talk to a male co-worker. I don't even know how it sensed that I was talking to a male. This pitiful, high-pitched whine would begin as a soft, almost desperate whimper, rising in pitch the longer I stayed away. It wasn’t just a noise—it was like a cry for attention, a cry that could pierce through the air like a needle through fabric. As though it couldn’t process the simple fact that I needed a moment for myself.

And you know what the worst part about all of this is? The cherry on top of this messed up sundae? Once it latches onto my finger , it doesn't let go. LIKE EVER!!! It will crawl up onto my arm and snooze there, absorbing my body heat (cuz I swear I feel like I get a degree cooler). It's like a vibrating hairy pink blob that sleeps on my freaking arm.

I told my coworkers it looks like a diseased patch. They all gasped, affronted that I would talk about their favorite little subject Pesto that way. Oh right. It's pathetic little name is pesto, and whoever named it named it right. It's a DAMN PEST. BANE OF MY EXISTENCE!

I try to remember what on earth this thing is similar to? Why am I so stupid? Oh right, it reminds of a baby. It is being clingy and needy. Which is rather odd for an extraterrestrial creature. None of the other life forms behave that way. I did some carbon dating on this thing, to find out how old it was, because the egg it came out of I learned apparently wasn't truly an egg according to our senior scientist. The egg was a calciferous shield that had kept it preserved for centuries. I carbon dated the thing, and it came back as 300 FREAKING YEARS OLD in human years!!!

This thing had no business acting like a baby. All my co-workers convinced me to take it out of the lab to get it used to its surroundings. I asked them to, but they all gave me puppy dog eyes, begging me, because the last few times they tried taking the hairy blob outside, it had loudly raged and even bit one of them, drawing a drop of blood. COWARDS. They couldn't handle a drop of blood. I sighed , what even was this thing?

Alien acclimatization to surroundings is a part of observing their behavior. We study them and right a report after a month of introducing them to the external environment. And I wouldn't have minded for any other subject, but I sure mind for this thing. It cooed and gurgled like a well burped baby as it wrapped around my wrist , pulsing happily as I walked it from room to room.

Like a pink squishy fit bit that squealed. Yay, I am so elated. NOT. And I don't notice, lost in my ruminations- when it drops from my wrist, plopping on the floor, crawling frantically back towards me. It lunged towards my leg, the sudden movement making me fall onto the floor of the spaceship in surprise, close by to a closet door.

Without hesitation, it starts climbing up my space pant. Its claws scrape against my pant leg, small, sharp and insistent. I try to step back, but it’s quicker than I expect, its body undulating in a grotesque, crawling motion, as though it’s a creature of pure need. It’s slithering up my flesh, its legs spasming in a frantic attempt to ascend. It’s making its way up my knee, its body pressing against my skin, the touch unnatural and clammy. I feel the uncomfortable warmth of it seeping through the fabric, its form wriggling as if it’s trying to burrow into me, to get closer, like it’s trying to crawl under my skin—into me, somehow. I almost scream. BUT I AM IN LITERAL SHOCK. Is this what my life has come to? Being molested by a cross between a hair brush and month old marinara sauce?

The sensation is revolting. I feel its miniature grooves digging into the fabric of my pants, then into my skin, pulling itself higher, eager to reach more of me. My stomach churns as its body slides against mine, making a soft, sickening sound as it writhes upward. Every movement is fueled by desperation, by an instinctual, possessive need to be as close to me as possible, to crawl its way under my defenses.

I chastise it, and it to my great surprise, stops in its ascent. Till it doesn't, climbing up to where my thigh meets my ass, at the verge of my panty line. Oh hell no. Before I can scream bloody murder, I see vivid colors in my head, and a whining voice of a squealing toddler. Hewwo, Can you hear me? I don't know what to freaking do. Is this think talking to me without actually saying anything?

I am frozen in horror and discomfort. "Yes I can ", I reply back mentally. "Come back out. You have no business in my pants", I sputter out humiliated at its behavior. But, it's warm down here. "F*** excuse me, but get the hell out. You are literally harassing me, and I do not want to be assaulted by you". But, it's warm and wet down here. I want.

What the hell does this thing want? Pweaaaase!! It literally squeals. And before I can object, it slips close to a place even I do not look at every month if I can help it. And that's when I know I am well and truly f***ed, and not in a good way.

#bts x plus size reader #bts x reader #bts #angst #comedy #humor #alien jungkook #bts x curvy reader #curvy #voluptuous #fanfic #chubby smut #chubby reader

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waytooinvested · 4 months ago

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Forgotten, Not Forgiven - Chapter 33

This and previous chapters are also on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The takeout bag hit the roof with a soft thump as Lena and Kara turned to face Lex, sushi rolls spilling out across the too-short distance between them.

‘Lex. How long have you been here?’

‘Long enough. I was surprised to hear from you after all this time, so I thought I’d teleport in quietly and get the lay of the land before I revealed myself. Imagine my surprise when I arrived to find you not in a deadly battle for your life, but casually sitting up here doing nothing in particular. I considered that maybe you had just come round to my way of thinking and were ready to join your family, but then who should show up but Little Miss Blonde Ambition herself, and you all but tell her you’re trying to lay a trap for me. Not a very good one I’ll admit, but that still hurts Lena.’

‘It’s not like that. Kara followed me up here, and I was trying to get rid of her. Just because I didn’t want to let you kill her doesn’t mean we can’t still be on the same side.’

Lex shook his head pityingly.

‘I almost admire your attempts to salvage the situation sis, but lets be honest, we both know that I could outwit you with my wits tied behind my back. So shall we just cut to the chase?’

Lena took a cautious quarter step towards Kara, trying to get between her and Lex, but it was no good. She was standing just too far away to block without being obvious about it, and that would only draw further attention to her.

‘Alright, fine. But lets keep this in the family. Let Kara leave, and you and I can discuss things like adults.’

‘Really, Lena? Even now, that – creature – is all you can think about? After everything I did for you, after how generous I’ve been all this time, letting you have your way with your little toy when you should have been focusing on building our legacy? No matter how far I lower my expectations of you, you always find a way to disappoint me. You’re pathetic.’

‘HEY, don’t talk to her like that!’

Kara stepped forwards, fists clenched and jaw set with fury at Lex’s casual cruelty, though she hadn’t seemed to care a bit when he had insulted her. She seemed taller suddenly, a new set to her shoulders that recalled Supergirl more than Kara Danvers, a steely look in her eye that said she was ready to fight for Lena if it came to it.

Lena threw out an arm to stop her before she could move any closer, her own stare flint as she met Kara’s steel and struck sparks.

‘Stay out of this Kara.’

Her tone was a sharp rebuke, though inside she was more touched than she could express that even without her powers Kara was willing to go up against the mass-murdering maniacal genius who had very nearly taken down Superman at full strength, all for her sake.

But her best hope of getting Kara out of here in one piece was to have Lex dismiss her as beneath his notice, and her noble but ill fated attempts to defend her were not helping with that.

‘Yes, stay out of this Kara. Or should I call you Su-’

‘DON’T. She’s nothing to you, she’s not a threat. Just let her walk away, and I’ll come with you. I can help you.’

‘You think I need to bargain for your help? You’ve been helping me for months. Just imagine – DEO backed beta testing for my patented alien neutering technology with full, if unwitting, co-operation from the primary test subject. It’s been most illuminating.’

Of course.

Of course Lex had factored her attempts to restore Supergirl into his plan, and if Lena hadn’t been so laser focused on Kara the whole time she would have deduced that from the start . Not that it would have mattered anyway. After all, what other choice had there really been? Her brother had set up a situation where he won whatever move she played, and Lena stood by her decision to at least try to get Kara’s memories back. Besides, it might even work to her advantage now.

She tilted her chin up and flashed a sharp, self-satisfied smile worthy of Lex himself, conveying all the arrogant Luthor confidence that was her birthright as much as his.

‘And doesn’t that just go to prove my point? Leave the Danvers girl out of this, and I can help you with your real objective. You know she was never the one you really wanted anyway.’

‘And you’d be willing to go after my real objective, in exchange for her?’

‘Lena, whatever this is, you don’t have to-’ Kara tried to chip in, but Lena spoke over her, her eyes never leaving her brother’s face.

‘If that’s what it takes.’

She was lying of course. Once Kara was safely clear of Lex and she had access to his hideout, she would revert to plan A and find a way to get the information she needed out of him, and then kill him before he could carry out his intentions against Superman. She tried not to dwell on what she would do if things went wrong and the only way to save Kara’s life was to remove Superman’s powers for real, leaving the world at Lex’s mercy without either of its Kryptonian protectors.

It wasn’t going to come to that.

And… well, if it did, she’d just have to find a way to save the world herself, and then restore both of them. She’d do it if she had to.

Whatever it takes.

The silence between them lasted just long enough that Lena began to feel an inkling of hope that he might be considering it, then Lex shook his head.

‘As soon as you let go of the chess piece you’re committed to your move, you should know that by now. You broke a sacred trust today Lena, and you have to accept the consequences.’

Lex kept eye contact with her, his expression almost regretful as he pulled a gun from the concealed holster in his jacket and took quick but careful aim at her chest. Lena’s fingers twitched to reach for her own weapon, but as her plan had been to gain her brother’s trust she had compromised accessibility for discretion in her packing, and she had been so intent on getting Kara away that the risk of retrieving it had felt too great compared to what could happen if she failed. Now it was too late: by the time she realised what he was doing, Lex had well and truly outdrawn her. The moment echoed with all the other times it had come down to the three of them, and the choice she had to make between her xenophobic brother and the alien woman she had fallen in love with.

Only this time Lex was the one with holding the gun, and Lena was staring empty handed down its barrel at her own demise, knowing that once she was shot the choice would be out of her hands. There would be nothing she could do to save Kara.

‘It’s time to say goodbye, baby sister.’

The apparent regret in Lex’s eyes hardened into gloating satisfaction, and Lena had the brief, awful understanding that the brother she had once known was so far gone that he was going to enjoy watching her die. Somehow that knowledge hurt even now, and the spark of anger it kindled made her shift her stance, preparing for one last ditch, pointless effort to, if not save herself, then at least wipe the smug look off Lex’s face before she died.

She was preparing to spring when, at the very last second, the barrel of the gun swung from Lena to Kara, Lex’s finger tensing on the trigger as he recalibrated his aim. Lena, watching him intently throughout for any hint of an opening, caught the shift almost before it appeared and threw herself at Kara, shoving her hard to the ground and out of Lex’s line of fire even as Kara tried to do the same for her.

The gunshot rang out, deafeningly loud in the still night, and there was a spray of red as Lena staggered backwards.

She stumbled, off balance, her knees colliding with the low barrier at the roof’s edge.

Time stretched out into slow motion as Lena felt her centre of gravity shift. Her arms pin wheeled desperately, but there was nothing she could grab, and she tipped, agonisingly slowly, out into empty space.

‘LENA!’

Through a rush of tears she saw Kara above her, leaping the railing and launching herself off the edge. Lena couldn’t get enough air into her lungs to make a sound, but her mouth formed a silent howl of no, no, NO as she watched Kara plummet down after her, arms outstretched like a diver from the high board.

She hadn’t even hesitated.

Lena had been having nightmares like this ever since Kara’s accident, but now she wasn’t waking up with a jerk and a cold sweat in her own bed the way she should have been. She was wide awake this time, and Kara had thrown herself off a roof in a doomed attempt to save Lena’s life. Because this wasn’t like her parkour accident. They were a hundred stories up, and there was no surviving this fall.

In the distance behind Kara’s shoulder Lena saw Alex’s stricken, chalk white face appear over the edge of the roof, grabbing uselessly for her sister even though she was well out of her reach by now.

Where the hell had Alex come from?

But the thought slipped away as quickly as it had come as reality rushed in to replace the first seconds of shocked dissociation from what had just happened.

She was about to die.

Kara was about to die.

Lena’s ears were full of screaming and she wasn’t sure which of them it belonged to, or if the world had simply reduced to one long howl of anguish that would echo and rebound throughout eternity.

Unable to bear it, Lena closed her eyes. She didn’t want to risk seeing the moment that Kara shattered on the unforgiving concrete that was rushing up to meet them.

I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.

And then the whistling of wind past her ears stopped. Her hair fell lightly back against her shoulders as gravity seemed to lose its grip on her, and she heard the soft thumping of a heartbeat that wasn’t her own against her ear.

Was this what dying felt like? Whatever came afterwards, she had at least expected there to be more pain at the moment of impact.

Very tentatively, Lena opened her eyes.

Kara was looking down at her, her expression full of mingled concern and fierce determination. Somewhere during the fall she had lost her glasses, her hair was standing out wild about her face from the wind, and a strange, detached thought came to Lena that she couldn’t believe she could ever have missed that Kara and Supergirl were so clearly the same person. Kara Danvers. Kara Zor El. Just, Kara.

‘Are you okay?’

Somehow Lena managed to reinflate her winded lungs enough to choke out a reply.

‘I… think so? Are you?’

‘Yeah, I’m okay.’

Tears flowed down her cheeks as her survival instinct panic spike began to drop out of fight or flight and towards shock.

‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’

‘Of course, you know I’ll always catch you Lena.’

Lena made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and the yelp of a puppy being stepped on.

‘I actually wasn’t sure this time. You have… not been entirely yourself recently.’

‘What do you-?’

And finally Kara seemed to realise where they were and what she was doing. Her eyes widened, and for a moment Lena was afraid that the realisation would cause Lex’s barrier to snap back into place and they’d both plummet to their deaths after all. She cursed herself for not insisting that Kara fly them down immediately and tried to calculate whether they could keep their balance on one of the narrow window ledges if they could get to it before Kara’s flight cut out.

But rather than tumbling from the sky, Kara stared back at Lena with a pained expression and eyes rapidly filling with tears of her own.

‘Lena… you saved me.’

This time her laugh sounded more like a real one, if slightly hysterical with the potent cocktail of adrenaline and relief still pumping through her system.

‘Given our current situation, I’m pretty sure that’s my line. Kara, you just threw yourself off a building for me when thirty seconds ago you had no access to your powers. How did you know you were going to fly?’

‘I didn’t. I-’

The truth seemed to catch up with Kara then, and she shook her head in wonder at what had just happened.

‘I really, really didn’t. I just knew that I couldn’t let you fall.’

It was the purest, most sincere declaration of love that Lena had ever received, and she had no idea how to process it in this moment.

She wanted to tell Kara that she would jump off a building for her too.

That she would bend the laws of nature and unravel the very fabric of the universe.

That there was no line in any reality she would not cross, and while she never, ever wanted to hurt another person, if it came down to it she would choose to let the rest of the world crumble to dust if it meant that Kara would be safe.

The words burned inside her heart, but they were too big, too intense to be allowed out into the open air, especially when Lena was still reeling from their near brush with death, and in the end all she managed to get out was:

‘Now who’s the marshmallow?’

Kara smiled into her eyes, infinitely gentle in spite of her newly restored muscles of steel.

‘Still you.’

‘Honestly, I can’t even argue with that right now. I really want to be mad at you for jumping off a building again, but I am just so, so glad not to be a red stain on the sidewalk.’

Kara gathered her in a little closer against her chest, protective even now the danger was past.

‘Me too.’

‘HEY! If you two don’t get your asses back up here so I can hug you for not being dead RIGHT NOW, I’m going to kill you both!’

They looked up to see Alex glaring down at them from the edge of the roof, gesturing emphatically with one hand while the other held the railing in a white knuckled grip.

‘Oh, right, oops! BE RIGHT THERE!’

Kara began to rise easily back up the way they had come, and in another few seconds Lena found her feet on firm ground and she and Kara were being hugged so tightly that the air was squeezed from her lungs. There was no room to draw another breath to replace it, but still she never wanted the moment to end, because this was everything she had always wanted and never had, and she knew that no matter who she was born to or who raised her, this was her family now.

‘Alex, I can’t believe you’re here. How are you here?’

Alex shrugged, flashing a grin that was half cocky, half guilty.

‘I followed you. Well. Technically I had a drone follow you. I’ve had one in place since our text conversation last night actually, because I could see you were too much of a stubborn ass to back down, and I at least wanted to be there give you some back up if things went badly. So when I saw you sitting up here for no apparent reason I had a hunch that it was somewhere worth being. I’ve been hiding behind your solar panels for hours waiting for something to happen. I was sure you were going to find me when you started pacing, we were practically face to face at one point.’

‘Well, I was a little distracted.’

‘Yeah, no shit. And then Kara showed up and I damn near broke cover to get her the hell out of here, and maybe chain her to a radiator for real this time.’

‘Hey!’

‘Sorry Kara, but it was for your own good. You could have been killed.’

‘So could Lena.’

‘I know. I can’t even imagine what I’d have done if anything happened to either of you. Lex so nearly shot you, and then you both fell…’

Alex shuddered at the memory of watching them plummeting over the edge of the roof, but something else in what she said caught in Lena’s mind – the missing piece that had been niggling at her ever since they had touched down.

The last thing she had been aware of before she fell was the ringing gun shot, and a spattering of blood. She had thought in that brief, chaotic moment that she must have been the one who had been shot and was just too much in shock to feel it yet, but here she was, completely unharmed, along with a very definitely not shot Alex and Kara.

Which meant…

‘What about Lex? What happened up here after I fell?’

The happy relief dropped from Alex’s expression, and her gaze slid over Lena’s shoulder to the expanse of rooftop behind her.

Dread pooled in Lena’s stomach.

Had she been keeping her back to it on purpose? Knowing, on some subconscious level, that she didn’t want to see what was there?

But she had to see now.

Lena turned slowly, and was confronted the thing she should have noticed as soon as they had regained the roof, despite the gathering darkness around them.

Lex lay spread-eagled in a spreading pool of blood, a hole no bigger than a dime in his shirt showing where the bullet had passed through him.

Such a tiny thing to end such a big life.

Lena’s legs felt numb as she left Alex and Kara and went to kneel beside her brother, though whether from her recent near-death experience or the sight before her she couldn’t have said for certain. She reached out a tentative hand to check for a pulse at his throat, but there was nothing to find.

He was gone.

She closed her eyes, and a single tear seeped from beneath her lashes to roll down her cheek, a traitorous admission of the grief she was trying so hard not to feel.

Even though she had tried to kill him twice now and had come here with the intention of doing it a third time, it was still hard to believe that Lex could ever really die. He had been such a permanent presence in Lena’s life since early childhood, first as her champion and role model, then as the dark shadow reminding her of all she must never become. She felt strangely untethered without him, as if a strong breeze might just blow her away to scatter to the winds like the seeds of a dandelion clock.

Somewhere in the background she was vaguely aware of Kara saying her name like she was about to come over, only to be stopped by Alex, their murmured voices dropping just too low to make out the words as they – presumably – argued about whether they should join her or give her time to say goodbye alone. She tuned them both out and instead took Lex’s still-warm hand in hers, allowing herself just this one moment of weakness.

I’m sorry it came to this big brother.

The pool of blood around him looked black in the gathering night, as if all the darkness was leaking out of Lex to leave him in death as the boy he once was, and the man he could have been if only he hadn’t let hatred and resentment take him over.

There was so much blood.

It had reached Lena’s knees now, and she could feel the wet stickiness of it soaking into her slacks, but she didn’t try to move away. It didn’t matter. She would never wear them again after this anyway.

She stayed where she was until it was too dark to easily distinguish the blood from the roof surrounding it, or to make out how unnaturally still Lex was lying, as if he might be merely unconscious after all. The idea sent a ripple of unease through her, for all Lena knew it wasn’t true. She sat back on her heels to put a few more inches between them, and became aware of someone else nearby. Her movement must have been taken as a sign that she was done with her silent vigil, because a hand came to rest gently on her shoulder, and she glanced up to find Alex standing over her.

‘I’m sorry Lena.’

‘Don’t be sorry. You saved Kara.’

‘YOU saved Kara. I was trying to save you. I saw Lex aiming at you about to pull the trigger, and I couldn’t let it happen, so I killed him before he could. I’m not sorry I stopped him from shooting you, but he was still your brother, and now he’s dead because of me. I understand if you don’t feel like you can be friends with me anymore after this.’

Lena turned away from the slack, lifeless features of the man who had once been her greatest hero to focus instead on Alex’s tear stained face, grim and still slightly spattered with Lex’s blood. She laid his hand carefully back down by his side, and rose to stand beside Alex.

‘I knew Lex had to die. He was my big brother and part of me will always love him for who he once was to me, but he was never going to stop no matter how securely he was locked away. Killing him was the only option, I knew that when I came up here, and I was prepared to do it. But then... you did it for me. You shot him so that I wouldn’t have to, just like you said you would.’

She met Alex’s eyes through the unshed tears still swimming in her own.

‘Thank you.’

Alex made a soft sound that was almost a whimper and pulled Lena into another tight hug, the motion pressing her face hard into to the armoured vest of her friend’s tactical gear, but she didn’t care. She hugged Alex back just as fiercely, pouring all her gratitude and relief into the embrace.

‘Guess I have two little sisters now, huh? Or... maybe that should be sister in law…?’

Lena’s cheeks heated and she broke the hug to give Alex a stern frown, but she couldn’t help ruining the effect with a slight watery grin at the implication.

‘It is way too soon for that kind of joke Danvers. You know Kara and I have a lot to talk about...’

Her gaze drifted up to where Kara was silhouetted against the full moon, evidently reveling in her newly regained power of flight as she gave them space to clear the air over Alex’s role in her brother’s death, and (hopefully) resisted the urge to practise her super hearing by listening in on their exchange.

‘I’ll take being your sister though. Whatever else happens next, you’re my family, and I don’t want that to change.’

Alex gave her a warm, genuine smile, then reached over to ruffle Lena’s windswept hair like she was an unruly puppy.

‘You know this means you’re going to be Lulu forever now, right?’

Lena rolled her eyes, swatting Alex’s hand away from her head more forcefully than she would have with any other friend, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that it would be taken as the gesture of affection she intended it to be.

‘Urgh, fine. But if anyone apart from you calls me that, I break their fingers.’

#supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #my fic #kara x lena #supergirl fanfiction #multi chapter fic #forgotten not forgiven

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cognitivejustice · 12 days ago

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Sergey’s most important insight was that such a widespread extinction would inevitably have serious ecological repercussions for the planet as a whole. He and other scientists have proposed that certain grasses negotiated a symbiosis with large herbivores. The grasses offered grazers endless fields of tender green leaves that quickly regenerated when shorn. In exchange, megafauna trampled, ate and otherwise deterred the grasses’ main botanical competitors, such as shrubs and trees, and fertilized the fields with their copious dung. Together, the theory goes, grasses and megafauna maintained the mammoth steppe ecosystem.

In turn, Sergey reasoned, the mammoth steppe would have influenced the planet’s climate. In the Pleistocene, as today, thick layers of frozen soil known as permafrost lay beneath the Arctic’s surface, concealing a vast reservoir of carbon. If the temperature rose high enough, the permafrost began to thaw, allowing microbes to break down its organic matter and potentially releasing potent greenhouse gases such as carbon dioxide and methane in sufficient quantities to warm the planet.

But the steppe itself could counteract such warming. Because grasses were typically paler than trees and many other plants, they bounced more light back into space, cooling Earth. Grasses also captured enormous amounts of carbon from the atmosphere and stored it in deep, diffuse roots. In winter, large herbivores stripped away heat-trapping layers of snow through the simple act of walking on the ground with their considerable heft as well as by digging through the snow to forage. In doing so, they exposed the permafrost to frigid winter temperatures, ensuring that it remained frozen. When humans killed off most of the world’s megafauna, they did much more than reduce Earth’s biodiversity—they also impaired its ability to regulate global climate.

The complex ecological bonds between grazers, grasslands and climate emerge from one of the most important transformative processes in the Earth system: co-evolution, the reciprocal evolution of two or more entities. Although co-evolution usually refers to interacting species, such as flowering plants and pollinators, it can also occur between other entities. Memes, technologies and cultures can co-evolve, for instance. Life and its environment evolve together, too. Darwinian evolution by natural selection happens through changes to the genetic composition of populations whose members vary in their traits. Those individuals best able to survive and reproduce in their particular environment leave behind the most offspring and pass on the genes coding for the very traits that made them so successful. Generation by generation, those genes and traits become more common in the overall population. Thus, species adapt to their environments.

But their physical environments do not remain fixed during this process, nor are they subject to purely geological change. As living creatures evolve, they alter their surroundings extensively. Some of those changes persist and inevitably influence any evolution that follows. In this way, life becomes an agent in its own evolution. Natural selection is embedded within, and influenced by, the reciprocal transformation of organisms and their domains. Life and environment continuously shape one another and Earth as a whole.

#solarpunk #solar punk #indigenous knowledge #reculture #long read #steppes #ecosystems #siberia #grasslands #climate change

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ravenwraithe · 1 year ago

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hoooooooooo boy, tmagp 4 go-

this time its becoming apparent that there are some themes and clues that tmagp wants us to notice, the sections stand out, begging for attention

like the recurring theme of bones, and blood, and gore in general (it might be too soon to tell exactly what themes are leading to, but they are definitely there)

the violin could fit right in grifter's bone with it's affinity to music and violence

(the music feels aligned to circus over spiral or web

tho there are elements of the web what with the mind control, but i fear all fears possess a certain degree of control, as such

the violence feels more of the slaughter variety rather than the hunt, though you could make a valid argument for flesh as the words 'sacrifice', 'payment' and 'creature with needs and purposes of its own' do stick in mind

once again i do not think that tmagp follows the same format as the smirke's fourteen (or 15) , i merely use them as parallels to better explain what aspects of the episode sticks out to me (and for me refer back later on))

as other listeners have noted, another theme that tmagp in general follows, is 'obsession', rather than tma's 'fear'

i feel this is also paralleling (intentionally or not) the audience's own listening habits and motives

we first consumed the magnus archives for its content of horror

and yet we are back for the magnus protocol like we never left, and perhaps

we never did

the statement's first person pov depicts a truly horrific picture of the slaughter, of the violence that the violin demands

and his descriptions of the mania on the audience's faces too

it's eerily reminiscent of the france's dancing plague

enough about the statement, lets talk about my boy sam and his co-workers, and their workplace in general

there's a protocol surrounding the magnus institute? interesting interesting, very similar to the police division daisy and basira were part of, the unofficial supernatural division

is this like the civil servant version of such?

another thing that is interesting; how is freddy getting these statements incidents? like sam asked, how exactly does a letter from the 18th century end up in the system?

i don't think gwen's answer is satisfactory (and we weren't meant to either), sure someone might be updating the archives website for reasons unknown but rarely in magpod is something a dead end, every little thing is a clue, a small part of the larger picture

so how exactly does a letter from the 18th century is in freddy's system?

perhaps an 'avatar' or the equivalent (such people are suggested to exist in tmagp universe, like the tattooist from daria's statement)

or maybe the fears themselves manifest in phenomena that upload relevant content to freddy

colin my guy, still being iconic and not trusting tech, hats off to you, the only real character in the whole show

never trust any piece of technology older than paper

the video of lena that gwen got in the end? weird? yeah, fuck yes, but how did she even get it? is there any sort of personal communication available on the ancient system? why gwen?

i have so many questions and so many more thoughts, but this is already so long, im gonna write a separate post about tmagp so far, in general

#the magnus protocol #the magnus institute #tma #tmagp #magpod #the slaughter #the flesh #the circus #tmagp 4 #samama khalid #gwen bouchard #colin becher #freddy #fr3 d1 #themes #tmagp analysis #tmagp 4 taking notes #tw gore mention #lena kelley

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azaenya · 7 months ago

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Sandrone Headcanon - III

"Haah... Some Harbinger I am..."

This one comes from an interpretation of Wanderer's voice line about how "all Sandrone creates is garbage." So, I thought about what exactly is garbage to him, and since he is a sentient puppet (with an ego), I assume what would be beneath him would be mechanical beings that lack any sentience.

But this is the fun part, it is my belief that Sandrone CAN create beings with sentience; during her "childhood," she learned about what connections needed to be made in the robotic brain to achieve sentience, but she chooses not to.

Because even if you are a thinking creature doesn't mean you have a good standard of living. Even in herself, there are aspects of the human experience that she is yet to replicate, like the sense of touch. It is hell. Alain brought her into a world she can only see and hear, but never feel, and she refuses to repeat his mistakes.

But there are times where she thinks about it.

Where the whole world cheers her name, the revolutionary genius, FAR greater than that rotten artificer, Alain Guillotin. It was HER hands that built herself, not his.

But she tells herself that sentient beings are much harder to control than simple machines. What she actually knows is if she brought her machines to life experiencing the same hell as she does, she couldn't forgive herself. So she is trapped between being better than her creator technologically or being better than him morally.

Her co-workers are unaware of her moral debate, regarding her with disinterest or disdain. (Except Columbina, she's an outlier.) The thoughts always return, imagining their shock at her hidden genius and her soaking it in with smug pride. But it must remain hidden. Any compliments would be short-lived, this she knows. It will always be about what is next. So she retreats into her workshop, where she improves her creations or her own flesh indefinitely.

End of headcanon.

About the art

It was hell AAAAAAA

As I got to work on the background and the table, my face became like Sandrone's lol. Rendering is a fuck.

I'm happy to be done with it, I did just finish it this morning, so I'll probably feel more proud of it later.

Also I love Limbus Company, so I made it in that style kinda. That is what the little bit on the bottom is about. I realize that I'll need to refine the icon later, and also make it just 3 colors instead of rendering, but for now I'm done.

I do love Limbus Company so much. To be honest, I fell off Genshin before Fontaine happened, then I played HSR, and now I've fallen off of that in favor of Limbus. I am taking notes from Project Moon when thinking about Sandrone's writing, because its writing is truly zenith material.

Anyway, oughhh, amogus, bye

Start | Prev

#sandrone #sandrone headcanons #my art #art #artists on tumblr #genshin impact #trans artist #genshin fanart #trans artwork #genshin #limbus company #transgender #trans #fatui harbingers

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faresong · 1 year ago

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figuring out my gijinka designs ^_^

Hallownest draws from Japanese inspiration in my headcanons. With this in mind as applied to this AU, I believe (as a general rule) higher-class folks would end up with detailed, painted masks & additional accessories surrounding it (as seen with Lurien's butler contrasted against Quirrel's). Lower-class will still paint theirs, but cannot afford to buy new masks very often; this makes their mask feel much more permanent and personal—thus, most will engrave their masks instead.

Lurien's mask is an odd case in it being rather blank. While crafted specifically by the King's hand to fit him, it lacks any visible design—that is, until one attempts to use magic against him. Only then do the seals of protection glow and reveal the true pattern the King granted his dutiful Watcher, though the assailant likely won't live to share that fact. In another sense, however, Lurien's seemingly blank mask only further emphasizes his use as the King's right-hand. Only ever an extension of him, where only his king knows his true use. He is as Hallownest must see him, and nothing more.

...There are very few who know what lay beneath.

In any case, it is mentioned on the first sheet, but I will delve into more detail on masks' significance in others' cultures as well:

Deepnest occasionally uses masks, or their charms, to acknowledge the community which raised them with pride; as it contains a multitude of rich cultures within it (particularly drawn from East Asian inspiration, here) who are generally (presently) amicable with one another. It is easier to mark trade, as well as shift to other languages as a show of hospitality. Due to its winding passages, children will often get lost in exploration (an encouraged pastime), and are then escorted back to their people if need be. These charms are typically placed in their family's shrine once they've passed; carrying a charm that is not your own is seen as grave disrespect, even if the person in question is not dead. Each person is brought to the one we know as Mask Maker for their charm, drawn from their essence, and to take the charm is to act as if one claims agency over another person. Even parents rarely hold their child's charm.

As for the Uomas, granted a part of Unn's land, Monomon is the one who oversees these creatures. Recognizing the responsibility she is capable of handling, as well as her evident intelligence in her work with the Mosskin, Hallownest approached her as equals with intention to work a beneficial truce. Hesitantly, Monomon accepted their terms with the promise they would not further impose on Unn's land—still, the canyon would be safe travel for all persons, as a neutral ground. Hallownest gave her resources, and the King made her mask to show this allegiance. Though she rarely (properly) wears it, she will have it on her when working with Hallownest's scholars to show respect for them & expect respect in turn. Monomon is at peace co-existing with all surrounding areas; the only one she is wary of is Hallownest... it poses great threat, but she finds solace in knowing she has made herself a necessary pillar in the kingdom's technological development despite being a foreigner. She may use her position to open the minds of those who choose to study or collaborate with her—to see the people who surround them as societies in their own right, worth learning about despite Hallownest's imperialistic views. It is significantly easier to get through to scholars that have come from poorer backgrounds, but the environment she's cultivated does manage to steadily wear down the harsher beliefs ingrained in them.

After a few years spent with Quirrel, Monomon began incorporating some of his traditional dress for herself and encouraged him to do the same when he was to visit her (and, inevitably, when he lived in the Archive). She quite enjoys studying culture & its history, and would often ask Quirrel to indulge her questioning considering he was a first-generation immigrant to Hallownest. Once she manages to meet Herrah in-person, she does the same—with their meeting coinciding with the King's requests to pursue the Dreamer Project, she wanted to help preserve what she could of Deepnest should the plan fail. Kept not in Hallownest's texts, but her own... there was still much that Herrah preferred to keep to oral stories, but she did eventually learn to trust Monomon in this (despite her alliance with Hallownest).

The masks that are gifted by the King often have a slowing effect on the aging of their chosen person. Monomon was already given Unn's blessing (aging & enhancing magic) to help protect what remains in Her stead, but the mask still applies its effect to Quirrel once he'd 'stolen' it (and with it, a part of Monomon's own soul that'd been fused with it). The same applies with Lurien & each of the Five Knights, though no one else is really given the luxury... not even those of the Pale Court, except for one. Even she would come to see it as a curse, however, despite the cheer she presently puts forth.

A lot of poor communities in Hallownest tend to wear more earthly colors, whereas the nobles are given more variety in color/cloth. Many of them consider the land they inhabit carelessly, an idea which doesn't carry over to any other community that has existed much longer than Hallownest; most prefer warm, natural colors by contrast. Monomon specifically puts a spin on Hallownest's noble clothing in mixing it with the Mosskin's cloth (in this particular outfit, it is her skirt).

& As for the particulars of this 'human AU' (of sorts), here's a general listing: Herrah as mixed Syrian-Filipino; Monomon as Jamaican; Quirrel as Vietnamese; Lurien & his butler as Japanese; Hegemol as Korean.

Hm-hm... other than that, I don't think I have much else to talk about that is specific to this AU. It's mostly my excuse to draw the cast as humans (which is easier for me, haha). I'm open to questions, of course, but as this stands... I think I've said all I meant to say/clarify. Thank you for reading :D

#more details under the cut...! :]#//#hollow knight #monomon the teacher #herrah the beast #lurien the watcher #lurien's butler #hegemol #quirrel #my art #folder #headcanons #aus #hk gijinka #;;#dreamers #lurien x butler

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shadowknightapologist · 2 months ago

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how would your mystreet rewrite be impacted by your mcd rewrite? you said they’re in the same universe right

your writing is really cool :))))

thank you so much!!

(tragic how huge this thing is, but i guess that's the price i pay for self expression.)

also i'm so sorry this is late, i forgot i started this ask </3

WARNINGS FOR: potential inaccuracies, a lot of this is probably subject to change but it's a general idea!

GWGFGD (MCD) spans entirely over two eras in myverse history—"B.P" and "D.D"—and then a very small portion of the current era, "A.G". currently, GWGFGD contains at least 850 years of history, as well as a number of crucial developments within geography, religion, government, society, and of course, the final defeat of the true king/shadrach. a lot of these changes were done or at least started by eurydice and co., including:

de-stigmatization of magik and its users;

reduction of species-based stigma/discrimination;

reduction of religious dominance;

actual abolishment of monarchy and development of democratic systems;

development of states, cities, etc. and infrastructure;

genuine unity between countries;

etc.

because of this and magik enhancing technological advancements, the beginning of A.G is about the 18th/19th century in real world equivalents (i say this because the current world year when the MCD storyline is over is 1350). politics at any point are largely underdeveloped but i feel i can solidly say about a century after GWGWGD, people are not going to war. bc actually i don't like war and i think it's largely, if not entirely, unnecessary. but anyway.

at this point, everyone knows that the divine warriors existed and most are also aware that massive portions of their mythology is incorrect (i have an eventual religion post that'll explain this more). because of this, religions surrounding the divine warriors become less about the warriors themselves and more about the themes and ideals people associated with them. for example, "solusism" during GWGFGD is about worshipping eirene as the sole goddess—and even creator—of the world, while solusism in myverse is centered more around the belief that all creatures deserve to live uninterrupted from start to finish (so a solusist may practice vegetarianism/veganism to uphold this idea).

now presently, things aren't awful, but there are some misconceptions, flaws, or gaps in the history that would still have the GWGFGD cast rolling in their graves, like:

shadow knights being rebranded as demon subtypes (like imps, succubi/incubi, etc.), and eventually completely replaced by those subtypes (only the most dutiful of history/theology nerds can find information on shadow knights; trying to explain the difference to the masses usually kills the soul, though).

many characters, especially shadow knights, are forgotten or removed from most historical accounts despite eurydice and co.'s best attempts. this includes characters like vylad, dante, lucinda (who's only known as "the White Witch"), several of the lords eurydice befriended, etc. essentially, anyone dubbed "unimportant". this is a persistent issue with myverse history, as they did this with the divine warriors as well. maybe one day they'll learn.

relic holders are assumed to have been reincarnations of the divine warriors, which is almost entirely false.

eurydice gets "mother, maiden, crone"-d and largely stripped of the individuality she fought very hard for. later, in the actual myverse roleplays, aphmau also ends up struggling with this and is believed to represent the maiden (eirene = crone, eurydice = mother).

lastly, i'll discuss some of the bigger changes to the myverse roleplays.

the biggest one is probably going to be names. a majority of the myverse cast will be descended from GWGFGD, so instead they more "represent" the OGs rather than being them. this means almost no one has the same name because it would make me tweak. the exceptions to this are the shadow knights and travis.

an example that's already come up is aphmau. she's actually born with the name "elissa", but adapts "aphmau" from final fantasy and eventually it catches and it becomes her preferred name.

the myverse cast is also supposed to look different—probably still recognizable, but individual. once again, the only exception to this is shadow knights, but this is because (as briefly stated before), shadow knights are sentenced to an automatic, reincarnation-adjacent fate. i say adjacent because instead of being reborn as something new, shadow knights are always reborn as, well, shadow knights due to the way their soul is corrupted. their reincarnations are supposed to be opportunities to live as they should have been, but there's always a chance they'll end up the same as they did in their first life (that is, a frightful husk of heated armor, boiling with fury all the time). afterlife never is and never will be an option for them. they're reborn again and again, filling in the holes where their soul belongs, and when they die they do it all again.

(how aging and death work for reincarnated shadow knights, i don't know yet.)

(the only shadow knight who doesn't follow this system is shadrach. after GWGFGD, he's employed as "judgement". when his time is served, he'll join the rest of the divine warriors, save one, in the afterlife, where they will never be reincarnated.)

#hyenlowz #[ 🃏 ]#shadowknightapologist #[ 👻 ]#ask answered #cainverse #aphmau #MCD #minecraft diaries #aphmau myverse #phoenix drop high #aphmau PDH #aphmau mystreet #aphmau divine warriors #aphmau shadow knights

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mwexodusofficial · 1 month ago

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Mouthwashing: Exodus | Chapter I: Primer

In the year 2087, humanity discovered FTL (faster-than-light travel) via rapid transmission between distant locations by using a form of quantum entanglement combined with dark matter reactors.

This discovery exploded the commercial spacefaring ventures, and within decades multiple solar systems, planets, and new spacial phenomena were discovered. As asteroid mining became mainstream, rare minerals prompted a new age of technological development that exploded humanity's progress exponentially. Newly-discovered planets were quickly terraformed, colonized, industrialized and beautified. The new wave of entrepreneurs and innovators, combined with the excitement of exploration, sparked revolutions in every industry.

The medical industry, in particular, had produced cutting-edge bionic limbs and organs, stem-cell regeneration, limb cloning and micro-bots capable of eliminating nearly every ailment known to man. Mankind was nearing its zenith in reaching a true utopia under a united galactic government.

Then came The Terror. A mind-boggling, behemothic alien creature the size of the moon entered the Terra solar system at FTL speeds and immediately assailed Earth with millions of its monstrous offspring- Gaiters, termed for their stumbling gait when they moved around. These car-sized creatures ripped through the atmosphere and slammed into the surface, wreaking havoc and slaughtering humans wherever they trampled. This cataclysmic event was met with global outrage and fury. Military counterattacks, long-range bombardment, and close-range combat led to the deaths of billions of humans, on top of the already overwhelming casualty rate of innocent civilians.

(Below, a Gaiter - Circa August 2nd, 2122 - Art by @Sherza_shrew)

The Terror was eventually brought down by a heroic band of starship fighters strapped with nuclear warheads, and its offspring were tracked down and killed. However, the losses it caused and the widespread destruction it left created a mass paranoia amongst humanity. Military expenditure and innovation skyrocketed, which caused regression in most other industries' advancements. Logistics were heavily disrupted as Earth was the central planet of commerce amongst the galaxy, which led to many colonies and governments being forced to revert to heavily outdated technology. Governments became corporatist and autocratic as the fear of hostile alien life drove regressive policies and mass consumerism.

And on January 24th of 2263, a transport freighter by the name of Tulpar, working its last human shift for Pony Express, fatefully collided with a stray asteroid...

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

"Captain, Orion speaking. The Tulpar flight path stops here."

Captain Hawkes reached across the multitude of control panels around him and toggled a switch that brought up a holographic cartograph of the transport freighter's flight path. It was true. After 10 long months of travel, they'd arrived at their destination.

"Pull up the far-range scanners and find that damn ship." The Captain radioed in over his headset. "When we finish this rescue mission, we're getting a fat paycheck and medals galore. So scour that freighter from top to bottom and ensure no man or woman is left behind."

Captain Hawkes switched comms to EVA and Medical channels to issue further orders.

"EVA Team, make sure you're in gear with plasmas loaded, your time to shine is coming up. Triage team, I want you following the EVA Team if the oxygen in the freighter passes scrutiny."

"Roger that, Cap, over."

"Copy Captain, over."

He switched off those channels and pulled up imaging of outer space from the hundreds of cameras installed on the exterior of the massive military vessel. Nothing aside from distant stars could be seen in any direction. It was fortunate that the far-range scanners could reach up to 2 Astronomical Units away. The Captain turned to his co-pilot, Sammy; a stocky yet athletic-seeming young man with bright, optimistic eyes and a charisma that swayed the whole crew and landed him at the third-highest authority on the vessel in under 2 years.

"Sammy."

"Hey-ho."

"Take over piloting. I intend to board the freighter and assuage the crew."

Sammy's eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"Captain, you sure that's a wise move?"

Another reason why the Captain had taken on Sammy was because he was intensely straightforward. Whereas other crew rarely dared to question Hawkes' decisions and assessments due to his decades of military service, Sammy had no such fear. That brash honesty had come in handy in the past, and it would continue to do so in the future.

"Yes. This I am confident in. And I'll tell you why." Hawkes addressed him, reaching into his coat pocket and removing a cigar box. He took one out and lit it up on the spot, blowing the smoke to the side.

"How long have you been chainsmoking cigars, Captain?"

"Since before your balls dropped, kid. And I haven't been chainsmoking, wise ass; I'm enjoying the privilege of my position."

"Excessive enjoyment."

"Anyways... around a decade ago, we did a rescue mission similar to this one- a stranded commercial freighter in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. We docked and I sent in the EVA Team, only to find out minutes later that half of them had been stabbed, shot and beaten severely by the crew. Turns out the crew was full of exotics who didn't speak English, and the EVA leader using the translator was a brash prick. Couple of his words got mistranslated into some very unsavory terms, and next thing you know, a battle breaks out."

"Damn... did anyone die?" Sammy asked curiously. Captain Hawkes seemed particularly offended at the question and flicked Sammy's forehead with his index finger and thumb.

"Nobody died because I acted quickly. That's Rule Number One, if you ever take command. Rule Number Two, is to never show favor to any subordinate or equal in times of crisis. That EVA leader I told you about- he was a good friend of mine, over 3 years. After that mission, I canned him. You can't have people that senseless and irresponsible onboard a vessel; they can be the sole unravelers of your entire ship. I've seen it happen too many times, on too many journeys with too many cruisers."

Sammy nodded his head solemnly, acknowledging the Captain's grim background. Captain Hawkes was a near-legend within the Canaris Armed Forces, and a war hero to the citizen populace. His astounding feats at the Battle of Yamilcar and the Siege of Korres were widespread tales, and his list of accomplishments were so vast that even the most ill-informed citizens of Canaris heard regaling tales of his bravery, cunning, and heroism in their day to day.

To be in his ranks and, no less, his Third Mate, was an honor that Sammy latched onto with intense fanaticism. Captain Hawkes was even more magnetic in person- despite his decades of battle experience, he was eloquent in his way of speaking, mixed with occasional layman phrases and speech. It was incredibly endearing no matter if a person were the lowest criminal or the most elite of socialites.

Yet in this moment, when Hawkes spoke that last sentence, his eyes grew foggy and distant. His speech staggered and broke into a brittle narrative, as if he were revisiting haunting memories in his mind.

"I've seen the crew of a medical cruiser slaughtered port and bow across the ship. They'd hacked each other into gore. The surveillance records revealed a young woman had been stoking distrust after their food storage had broken out into flames. She'd deluded herself into believing there was an enemy spy onboard, romanced the Captain to get a hold of his keys to the cockpit- where she locked herself in when the killing started. Turned out she was taking smoke breaks in there, near the pallets of gauze and disinfectant. One carelessly thrown cigarette was all it took. And she was fuckin' ignorant to it."

Sammy saw as his eyes filled with a subtle but brimming rage, as if he were reliving the experience and seeing the perpetrator right in front of his eyes. A nasty grin erupted across his face.

"She was lucky little cunt. She was the last alive, and perished right as we docked with their ship. Found her locked inside those same Captain's quarters, wrists slit and in the middle of pigging out on cigars and emergency rations. And as a final 'fuck-you' to the people who had survived the slaughter, she turned on the ship's disinfectant sprayers and left it on. Everyone else on the ship suffocated to death."

He averted his eyes, shaking his head with a cynical sneer on his face.

"Rachel Gillaby. The lowly sack of shit that doomed an entire crew for no good reason, and the Captain who put his personal pleasure ahead of foresight. Hopes, dreams, ambitions, the desire to survive- all snuffed out in despair, because of one petty bitch and a worthless captain to boot."

Hawkes slowly leaned towards Sammy, eyes burning with fire and brimstone, his facial muscles stretched in vitriol. In a passing moment, Sammy could plainly see the faint bags under Hawkes' eyes; gray hairs peeking out within his scalp that weren't easily seen.

"You read the same report I did." Hawkes rasped, toggling a few buttons to turn off the ship's primary engines. "The Tulpar's autopilot was overridden, sent on a direct collision with the asteroid. Only the Captain is capable of that. And that means we likely have another Rachel on this ship. So I'm going to board that ship with my own two legs, and I'm gonna find that bastard, and I'm going to make sure he suffers the worst imaginable fate a human being can conceive."

"Are we allowed to punish civilians during a rescue mission, Captain?"

Hawkes chuckled slyly, opening a side drawer, pulling out a hefty red book, and tapping Sammy (somewhat-lightly) on the head with it.

"You haven't read up on Canaris Spacetime Intragalactic Law, have you?"

"N-No, sir. Sorry, sir."

"I'll simplify. The Discretion Clause under Article Seven permits 'interrogations, up to and no further past the point of severe injury, for suspected traitors, mutineers and corsairs, as long as medical aid is provided hereafter.' As long as they are breathing, coherent and given medical care, we can de facto torture them."

"Captain... is that ethical?"

"I base my ethics on the magnitude of the crime and their truthfulness." Hawkes retorted, finishing his cigar. "I'm sure you would treat a suspect of rape who's lying to your face much differently than an accomplice to petty theft who spills their guts out. Then again, I'm one man. I know how bad this law can be for victims of cruel Captains. But with what our nation is dealing with right now, changing a law like this is probably not at the top of the list. And I sure as shit am gonna use it to my advantage for however long it lasts."

Sammy nodded, this time more fervently, an expression of grim determination on his face.

"I see. Good luck, sir."

The Captain exhaled, patting Sammy on the shoulder as he stood up.

"Don't scratch this beauty even slightly when we dock. It needs to look pristine for the photo ops when we return home."

Sammy smiled, nodding one last time, as Captain Hawkes briskly made his way down to the EVA Team.

"God is with us!" Sammy shouted out, and the Captain stopped in his tracks for a moment. He smiled, and this time it was one of youthful relief.

"God is with us." He mumbled, almost hesitantly. For the last 40 years of his life, he'd been a cynical, grim atheist who considered the universe a cold, dark place that was entirely uncaring of life and its inherent suffering. Less than 3 months ago, he had carried a deep hatred and loathing for religion, what he had believed to be a disgusting false hope to the fearful and dying. Less than 3 months ago, he was on the verge of retiring, finding his home agrarian planet, and blowing his brains out. It had been nothing but despair, rage, and agony. For decades, on end.

Now... now he felt... reborn.

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(Music: "Ratnik", by Avery Alexander)

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"Captain, freighter sighted. Proceeding to point."

"Good, I'm turning off coms for a sec to speak with EVA."

"Copy, over."

Hawkes switched off the radio receiver, looking across the room at the EVA Team gathered in front of him. Outfitted in Roxcorp EVA suits. Plasma cutters in one hand, Hyletta handguns in the other. Hawkes had Central Command to thank for these cutting-edge weapons; they'd approved his recent request for up-to-date weaponry and artillery. This ship was outfitted and his crew rearmed; the Argonaut II was now one of the most powerful military ships in the nation, and arguably within the Lower Quadrant.

Hawkes could be more proud as its longtime Captain.

"EVA Team, last check."

"Ready." "Ready, Cap." "Ready, sir."

"Ready, Captain Hawkes!" "Ready!" "Ready."

Hawkes nodded, looking to the Triage Team. Outfitted in Janil Company space suits, carrying medical bags and cauterizers; even they carried holsters with handguns. Captain Hawkes was taking no chances after that incident he'd told Sammy about.

No more of his crew's blood would be on his hands.

"Form up!" Hawkes barked, and the teams stacked into two column in front of the depressurization chamber. Hawkes flipped on his radio and switched to Drone Control.

"Elise, what are the unmanned drones seeing?"

"The freighter suffered catastrophic damages at the front where the cockpit lies. There's sealing foam covering most of the front, and there are dozens of holes over the exterior and nearly to the back of the ship that's filled with sealing foam. I've sighted two docking entrances, only the starboard side is unaffected."

"We'll be docking starboard, then. Any signs of forced entry or looting?"

"Negative, Captain. We're in some remote deepspace, so I wouldn't expect it."

"Catastrophes come when you least expect it. Comb it over one more time with the drones then report back."

"Copy, Captain."

Hawkes switched to the Command room, where Sammy was steering the ship.

"Prep us for docking, Sammy."

"Roger that, over."

Hawkes kept his radio on to wait for an ETA on docking, taking one final examination of the two teams in front of him. If there were signs of forced entry into the freighter, the Argonaut II's military garrison would be deployed through first. In this case, however, Hawkes' primary goal was getting emergency aid and rescue to these poor souls. A year stuck in a crashed and floating freighter in the middle of nowhere was no doubt terrifying, and Hawkes didn't want them to feel a second more of that- especially if there was a traitorous captain onboard adding to the despair.

"Elise here, drones found no external forced entry into the ship. You are greenlit."

"Copy, Elise, over."

"Sammy here, we will be docking, ETA 3 minutes."

Captain Hawkes tightened his gloves, unslinging the automatic energy rifle over his shoulders and into his hands, cranking the bolt intensity up a notch. If there was even one traitor onboard, he wasn't taking chances.

"2 minutes to go."

Hawkes noted the air was filled with nervousness. No matter the experience, no matter the repetition; nobody was truly and fully prepared to enter an unknown stranded ship unfazed. Any number of things could lie on the other side.

"30 seconds left."

It was up to Hawkes to make sure this mission ended in complete victory.

"We are docking in 3... 2... 1..."

Rumble.

The ship quaked in momentary reverberation as its docking anchors latched onto the port of entry into the ship. The light to the airlock pulsed green as it confirmed docking was successful.

"Get moving!" He barked, and the EVA leader opened the airlock, walking in with the teams and Captain Hawkes. The airlock closed shut behind them. The depressurization chamber hissed loudly as pressure equalized between the Argonaut II and the Tulpar. Hawkes latched his helmet onto his spacesuit, readying his rifle.

The doors to the Tulpar, however, did not open. This was somewhat unexpected by Hawkes; dark matter reactors were infinite power sources, which meant that the Tulpar's reactors weren't maintained and shut down as a security measure to prevent over-stimulation and explosion. That didn't bode well, and Hawkes was beginning to feel a sinking ache in his chest as he gave the next order.

"EVA, do your thing."

His EVA leader, Wally, shuffled forward alongside two others and began searing into the dense metal with their plasma cutters. The process took only a few minutes, and after finishing, Hawkes kicked in the cut-up doors. Chunks of metal crumbled to the ground, and Hawkes prepared for a large wave of suction if the inside of the ship was depressurized. To his surprise, it never came. The ship was pressurized, but out of power, which meant that the auxiliary batteries were still working.

Hawkes walked aboard with his crew, rifle raised as they scanned each part and parcel of the ship's interior.

"What the hell..." He muttered, seeing a host of destruction, dereliction, and blood scattered across this floor of the ship. On edge, Hawkes made his way towards the cafeteria- this was commonly where survivors tended to gather on stranded ships due inherently to its social atmosphere.

On top of the unease, Hawkes was also angered as he made his way through the tight corridors of busted pipes, broken machinery and leaking silos. Having been a captain for over 30 years now, Hawkes could tell by look and instinct alone what state a ship was in.

This one was nearing the verge of self-implosion. He quickly went for his radio.

"Search Teams, we won't have time for salvaging ops. This ship is in a bad state, and I don't trust the next hour. Find the survivors and any bodies, and evac A-S-A-P."

"Yes, sir!" "Roger, Captain!"

Satisfied, Hawkes continued down the winding corridors, and noticed a change in scenery as he rounded a corner-

"What the fuck?!"

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(Music: "Temporary Suicide", by Kevin Penkin)

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Hawkes felt nauseous as he moved in to clear the room, seeing a horrific display of insanity and gore in front of him. Three mummified dead bodies were sat the cafeteria table, frozen in place like a picture in time. Holding back his horror, Hawkes walked up to the table and inspected the plates in front of them.

"This is fucking sick." He mumbled, coming to the quick realization that there were sliced portions of leg meat adorned on the plates like cutlets. Without wasting a beat, Hawkes activated his radio.

"Hawkes here, get to the cafeteria. 3 confirmed dead. Get 'em to the Argonaut II and clean them up for the Revivifi- Revifiv- Rev- FUCK, The Rev-iv-if-ic-ation Ritual!"

"Copy, over."

Hawkes stared morbidly at the corpses of these three. A young woman, a young man, and a middle-aged man. What a horrible outcome. Momentarily, he inspected each of the corpses, attempting to figure out how they had died. His conclusion was sickening, and only left more questions than answers.

The middle-aged man, whose name tag read 'Swansea', had been shot in the chest and head. Hawkes knew only the Captain had access to a firearm on a freighter like this.

The young woman, whose name tag read 'Anya', had overdosed on painkillers, every orifice on her face leaking blood.

The young man, whose name tag read 'Daisuke', was axed in the face; Hawkes had glimpsed the bloody weapon sitting next to a makeshift bed as he had entered the room.

Sickening. Atrocious. Horror.

Hawkes had seen plenty of terrible, gruesome, and outright barbaric events in his life. But this was certainly up there. He could feel the despair in the environment, the utter hopelessness of this crude vessel. Just by looking around, Hawkes could glimpse the dystopian feel, the uncaring corporatist metal and sinew that only amplified their morbid horror at the developing situation.

This was a terrible death. And morbidly, that gave Hawkes hope. The more terrible the death- the more likely a revivification could occur. What a sick way of thinking, but it was the inevitable changing of the times. He got back on his radio.

"Elise, I need answers for what happened here. Rip open that surveillance station and get a drone to download the records, all the way back to a year ago, if possible."

"Shouldn't be a problem, Pony Express has shit vessel designs but they love to keep records of their employees."

Half the EVA Team and the entire Triage team clambered into the room, cleaning up the bodies and loading them into transparent body bags, before hauling them down the corridors to the Argonaut II.

"Hawkes, Wally here. We found the Cryo room, there's a confirmed KIA inside, gunshot wound to the head."

"Copy, Wally. I'm heading over."

It took a minute to get there, and all along the corridors Hawkes was getting more and more uneasy. They were gambling with their lives, for every second they remained on this freighter. It was in an obvious state of breaking down and he wanted to be nowhere near when it eventually imploded.

He arrived at the Cryo Pod room, only to find Wally using a plasma cutter to sear through.

"Hey, Captain. The door lost power, so we're cutting in."

"Take it away."

Another searing finished, another door kicked in. The team made their way inside, and Hawkes walked up to the cryo pod.

"Holy shit."

Sitting inside the cryo pod was a frozen amputee, wrapped in bandages and covered in seared flesh. A single eye stared out from the cryo pod's window, its eyelid missing completely.

BWOOOM! BWOOOM! BWOOOOM!

The atmosphere changed from unease to alarm as the ship's emergency sirens went off suddenly.

"Warning. Equilibrium disruption in DMRC-3. Dark Matter implosion imminent. Evacuate via the departure pods. Evacuate via the departure pods-"

"Get him out NOW!" Hawkes ordered. "Throw the corpse over your shoulder and haul ass!"

The EVA Team scrambled to open the cryo pod's chamber. It hissed and opened upward, and the EVA Team loaded the amputee onto a stretcher and sprinted for the exit. Wally picked up the dead body and threw it over his shoulder, making exit the same way.

The remaining group onboard the ship ran with terror pumping through their veins. A Dark Matter implosion was an extremely rare event, and often resulted because of low-quality engineering of the safety mechanisms that deactivated reactors when they became unstable.

In essence, this event was very in-character for Pony Express- that shitty low-tier transportation company. Events like this were so rare that any company, corporation, agency or interest group whose name was on a ship that suffered a Dark Matter implosion event could kiss their companies, livelihoods, and lives goodbye. Regulations on Dark Matter reactors and maintenance, across every nation, were the most strict and scrutinized.

"Elise, make sure you record that ship's activity on the far-range scanners when we're out of blast range. I want evidence to bring down those sleazy Pony Express shitstains!"

"Copy."

The last of the teams shuffled hurriedly into the airlock, watching as the door closed behind them. They practically stampeded into the Argonaut II as soon as its airlock hatch lifted up, and Hawkes fumbled for his radio.

"Sammy, disengage the port and get us the hell out of here!"

"Got it!"

A high-pitched whirling sound emitted through the room as the airlock clamps let go of the Tulpar airlock and retracted. The entire ship began to rumble as primary engines roared to life, accelerating the ship away from the Tulpar at increasing speeds.

"Sammy, we need to be a million miles away before that thing detonates, charge up the FTL and HIT IT!"

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Hawkes felt existential chills run down his spine. He'd only heard this sound once before in his entire life. It was the sound of microparticles of dark matter getting ready to collide.

It would be annihilation of everything within a 93 million mile radius. This was why Dark Matter reactors were only authorized for private sector companies in exceptional circumstances; they were so destructive if the failsafes failed, that the emergency contingency plans in place for reactors erupting near planets and stars all involved some form of death for any crew onboard the ship. The firstmost plan enacted is to use Quantum Positioning technology to 'warp' the unstable ship to an empty area of the galaxy.

This ship didn't have a Quantum Positioning Relay, so the next plan was to get out of dodge.

"Sammy here, FTL drivers are spooling, ready for takeoff in 5... 4... 3..."

Hawkes pulled up an external camera from the back of the ship to check on the state of the Tulpar. His face paled as he witnessed the ship begin to fold in on itself as two giant orbs of pure light spun around each other with intensifying rapidity. The vibration emitting from the dark matter could be felt to the bone, and the entire ship was reverberating nonstop.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!" Hawkes began to panic, seeing the orbs nearing detonation.

"2... 1... Launching!"

BWWWWWWWWWWW-IP!

And just like that, they had entered FTL travel. The reverberation came to a sudden stop, and the crew surrounding Hawkes breathed a sigh of relief. Hawkes, meanwhile, was shaking violently with nothing but after-thought panic on his mind. He and Elise were likely the only ones who knew how close they had been to complete obliteration.

Taking several gulps to bring himself back to reality, Hawkes turned off his wrist holopad and stood up on shaky legs, attracting the room's attention.

"WELL DONE!"

The room erupted into raucous applause and cheers. The mission was done, and nobody had died. That was a victory in his and everyone else's books.

"Where's the amputee?"

"Over here, sir!"

Hawkes walked over to the amputee, who was just beginning to come to his senses from the cryo-freeze aftereffects. His eye slowly moved around groggily, then slowly, gradually...

Clarity.

"Hggghhkkk.... Hgggkk! HGGGGKKK!!!! HGGGGGKKKK-AAAAAAA!!!!"

The amputee looked around in wild, frenetic shock and jolted his seared limbs in a frenzy. The agony, the pain, the terror, the despair, the memories- they all came flooding back into his mind.

Almost immediately, the triage team moved in to restrain and treat the slowly-bleeding leg stump that had clearly suffered amputation. Hawkes immediately connected the severed leg limb to the scene he had witnessed at the cafeteria.

"What the fuck is going on here... Kai, get him some anesthetics and haul him to the Operating Room!"

"Yes, sir!"

As they carried him away, Hawkes' eyes, tired but observant, scanned over the corpse of the fourth dead crew member. He flipped him over to read his name tag:

Jimmy

"We'll find out what happened." Hawkes muttered with a grimace across his face. "We'll find out who's responsible. And we'll make sure we get justice."

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(Art below is credited to @rabstergabster on Twitter/X)

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(Portrait of Captain Hawkes)

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